#he often asks his MANAGER to hang out with him

[greengoblinswifey]

Secret Lovers— Brother’s Bsf!Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— you and your little brother’s best friend sneakily navigate your secret escapades around your house. based on this request.

warnings— slight age gap(nicholas is 2 years younger), mentions of sex, sub!nicholas, oral, praise kink, unprotected sex, forbidden relationship, sex in brother’s bed.

Part one

The first time it happened, it was late at night. Nicholas, shy but completely captivated, had stumbled over his words as you found your way into his pants. That night was his first, and by dawn, he’d snuck out before anyone could notice. But as fate would have it, he ran into your brother at school the next day.

“Dude,” your brother had gawked, looking at the hickey’s all over Nicholas’ neck, “what happened to you? You look like you got into it with a—well, someone.”

Nicholas had just grinned, his face flushed. “Yeah, you could say that. Maybe I’ll tell you about her sometime.” But he never did.

After that, things only got riskier. Nicholas would slip in through the front door while your brother was gaming with headphones on, and the two of you would race past his room to your own. It was thrilling, sneaking around in your own home. Your brother assumed you were just seeing someone new, completely unaware that his own best friend was sneaking in.

One evening, Nicholas started showing up at your house a bit more often under the pretense of “hanging out.” Your brother didn’t think much of it, only shrugging when Nicholas stuck around long after he’d gone to bed. Those nights always ended the same, with Nicholas slipping down the hall to your room once the coast was clear, holding back moans as you pushed him up against the closed door behind him.

But there were close calls, too. Once, after a late night together, your brother woke up earlier than expected. Panicking, Nicholas jumped out of bed and bolted into the bathroom, pretending he’d been in there the whole time.

Another time, your brother came home unexpectedly, just as the two of you were tangled up naked in bed. Nicholas managed to hide under your bed just in time, holding his breath as your brother knocked on your door, asking if you'd seen his headphones.

Then, there was the night Nicholas accidentally dozed off in your room, only to be jolted awake by the sound of your brother’s voice just outside the door. He barely had time to scramble under the bed before your brother strolled in, asking you for help with girl problems.

“Hey, have you seen Nicholas? Thought he might still be here,” he mumbled, oblivious to the fact that his best friend was lying flat on the floor under your bed, barely stifling his laughter.

Whenever Nicholas stayed to eat with you and your family, he’d sneak glances across the table, his eyes filled with lust. You’d catch him looking just a little too long, smirking over the rim of his glass or giving you a slight nod had you throbbing. He looked innocent enough to everyone else, but you knew better; those looks were anything but.

Your brother, though oblivious, began picking up on little changes. “Hey, Nicholas, you got a lock on your phone now?” he asked one night, narrowing his eyes. “Didn’t think you were the private type, you never used to have one.”

He chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head. “Just—uh, you know, gotta keep things secure.”

Your brother smirked. “You hiding something? Got some secret girl or something?”

You listened quietly from the kitchen, heart pounding as you overheard their exchange. Nicholas played it cool, just laughing it off and saying, “Nah, nothing like that.” But you knew he needed the lock for a reason. His phone was practically a vault of amateur porn— naked photos of you both, late-night messages, and homemade sex tapes you’d both be mortified if anyone, especially your brother, found.

“Just admit it,” your brother teased, nudging him. “You’re holding out on me.”

“Nothing gets past you, huh?” Nicholas muttered, glancing toward the kitchen where you hid, smiling to yourself.

One evening, things got riskier than usual. Your brother’s bathroom was under repairs, and he’d started using yours out of habit, which made sneaking around with Nicholas more challenging. You and him thought you had a moment for a quickie on the couch downstairs, his hands tracing soft patterns along your inner thighs as he pulled you close. Just as he began lifting up your skirt, you heard footsteps coming down the hall. In a split second, you scrambled, doing your best to appear innocent just as your brother stepped in, oblivious to what had nearly happened.

And yet, those close calls only added to the thrill. When he’d stay over, you’d find yourselves whispering in hushed tones, or meeting for a secret kiss in the hallway while your brother watched TV. Those late nights, Nicholas would slip into your room once your brother was asleep, barely containing his excitement as youshoved him onto your bed, whispering how much he’d missed you in your ear.

The stolen moments, the thrill of secrecy, and the constant dance of nearly getting caught only made things more electric.

Nicholas slipped into your room one evening with that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. You tried to keep him quiet, whispering, “He’s right downstairs! We can’t risk it.”

He gave you a needy look, running a hand through his hair, leaning in close. “Five minutes. That’s all I need,” he whispered, brushing his thumb gently along your jaw with pleading eyes.

You sighed, glancing at the door. “Five minutes? You’re sure?”

His smirk deepened. “I’m sure. I missed you way too much for me not to cum quick.”

Your resolve melted as he pulled you close, his hands warm and insistent. You couldn’t resist him, feeling the excitement of sneaking around and the thrill of getting away with it.

“Five minutes,” you murmured, guiding him to sit quietly on the edge of your bed as you kneeled in front of him, his breath hitching.

He barely held back a quiet moan, his eyes wide with gratitude and need, whispering, “Y-you’re the best,” as you leaned in, savoring the feeling of him deep in your throat. You bobbed your head faster and faster, determined to make the five minutes count and to not have your brother catch you in such a compromising position with his best friend.

You arrived home late from your trip, bags in hand, to find your house in full party mode. Music blared, people were mingling, and your brother was clearly hosting more friends than he'd probably asked permission for. Shaking your head at the scene, you slipped inside quietly, hoping to reach your room without being spotted.

As soon as you opened your door, there was Nicholas, sitting on your bed, a sly grin spreading across his face. “You’re back early,” he whispered, pulling you into a warm hug.

“Looks like my brother’s a little preoccupied,” you murmured, nodding toward the commotion outside. “Guess that means we won’t be disturbed for a while.”

His grin widened. “So, we finally have the house to ourselves?”

You smirked, locking the door behind you. “And no one’s going to come looking for either of us.”

For the next few hours, you and Nicholas enjoyed your stolen time together, sharing quiet laughter and mind blowing sex as loud as you wanted as the party thumped downstairs. You listened to the sounds of your brother and his friends, comfortably hidden away in your room.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re so big!” you screamed.

God, it felt good to scream as loud as you wanted. Nicholas was enjoying himself too, unable to contain his sweet little whimpers as he stared up at you like you were the only girl in the world while you rode his cock.

Later, your brother knocked on your door. “Hey, you in there?” he called, the music fading as he paused outside. Nicholas held his breath, glancing at you with wide eyes.

You kept your voice calm. “Yeah, I got back early. Just tired, going to sleep.”

He hesitated. "You seen Nicholas around? I can’t find him.”

You exchanged a glance with Nicholas, who was barely holding back nervousness. “Uh, last I heard, he said he’d be mingling. Probably outside somewhere.”

“Alright,” your brother replied, sounding slightly suspicious, but he wandered away, calling Nicholas’ name as he headed back down the hall.

When his footsteps faded, Nicholas shook his head, laughing quietly. “We really need to be more careful. He’s going to catch on one of these days.”

You grinned, pulling him closer. “That’s the risk we take, isn’t it?”

It was late, and your brother had just gone to bed after a long night of studying. Nicholas had come over under the guise of helping him with an assignment, but as soon as your brother headed upstairs, he quietly slipped into your room, closing the door as softly as he could behind him.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, he was on you, hands on your tits, pulling you close and groping as he murmured, “Do you know how hard it is to sit across from you and pretend like I’m focused on anything else?”

The thrill of him sneaking around, practically right under your brother’s nose, made everything even more intense. But just as things were heating up, you both froze, hearing footsteps heading toward your room. Nicholas’ eyes widened as you whispered, “Closet, now!” You pulled him inside, shutting the door just in time to hear your brother knock on your door.

You barely breathed as your brother called out, “Hey, I thought I heard something in here, everything good?”

“Yeah, I’m just on the phone,” you replied quickly, hoping he wouldn’t question it.

He paused, as if he might press further, but eventually, he muttered a distracted “Alright” and walked away. You let out a sigh of relief, turning to Nicholas, who was smirking at you even in your huge closet.

“Close call,” he whispered, grinning mischievously. “Guess we’ll have to be quiet—if you still want to finish what we started.”

You shot him a daring look, realizing you might just take him up on that.

One afternoon, when your brother was out with his other friends, Nicholas couldn’t resist pulling you into your brother's room with a mischievous glint in his eye. “You uh, ever thought about us doing it—here?” he whispered, eyes dark with that playful, needy, look.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “In his fucking bed? You’re insane.”

“Just a little,” he grinned, moving closer. “But it’s kind of thrilling, isn’t it?” He kissed you deeply, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you down onto the bed with him. The forbidden aspect only made things more intense.

You were both already naked, on your brother’s fucking bed too and you straddled him as he lined his very hard cock up with your leaking entrance.

You never thought in a million years you would ever do something like this, you were even shocked out of your wits when shy, sweet, Nicholas suggested it, pulling you onto the bed without waiting for protest.

“You’re so fucking sexy, I need to be inside you, please, right here, right now,” he pleaded.

Your eyes were filled with a dark glint, how wrong it was, how absolutely insane it would be, but that’s what made it all the more endearing. The thought had you warm and throbbing.

Giving in, you slowly sank onto his cock, his loud moans filling the room, he was enjoying this, maybe even more than you were.

“You’re so naughty,” you murmured, your knees on either side of him as you bounced wildly.

The bed creaked beneath you, the bed frame slammed against the wall loudly and the sound of skin slapping and both your moans would be heard the minute someone stepped into the house.

“Faster, p-please baby, please,” he whimpered, his hands gripping your hips.

But just as things were getting heated, you both heard the unmistakable sound of a car pulling up outside. Nicholas’ eyes went wide, and you both scrambled, hurriedly grabbing clothes and slipping off the bed. You couldn’t help but laugh softly, both of you barely stifling your giggles as you made a break for the door, tiptoeing down the hall and slipping back into your room just as the front door opened.

You and Nicholas collapsed onto your bed, breathless from the rush, both of you laughing quietly. He leaned close, grinning. “Worth the risk,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear.

“You’re lucky we didn’t get caught,” you teased, nudging him.

Then, you heard loud pounds on the door, “hey, Y/N, were you in my goddamn room?”

[twisted-broth]

A Human's Touch

Mr Gap x Reader

(Anything in bold is other world language)

It had been a while now since you had returned to the other world. It was hard to tell time here, but at least you knew that this was where you belonged. It was almost laughable to think that you once tried to leave this place.

You would never admit it, but you really owed a lot to the shit eating grin that always manages to pop up whenever you need him. Even now, with you life no longer in constant peril, he pops up somewhere nearby quite often. It could be from the crack of your closet, inside your bag, or a random hole in the wall that you swear wasn't there before. As annoying as Mr Gap was, he was probably the closest thing you had to a friend. He would even bring you things from the human world if you asked. For a price, of course.

You sigh as your "friend" holds one of your favorite books from the human world just out of reach. He was playing his favorite game again.

"Give leg." He demanded.

"Give foot." Was your counter offer. Most of your body parts would grow back, but it takes longer for bigger parts and more complex organs. Luckily there didn't seem to be a word in their language for liver or spinal column.

His expression twists for a moment, but the smile quickly returns. "Yes." He agrees.

The pain that radiates from your ankle would have made you pass out a few months ago, but now it only elicits a stifled grunt. You snatch the book from Mr. Gap's hand as he smiles at the newfound treasure that appears in his grasp. You sigh once more and put the book to the side before pressing an already bloodied towel to your ankle.

With the bleeding successfully stopped, there was nothing else for you to do but lie in bed while you waited for it to grow back. You spared a glance towards your new book, but couldn't muster the energy to read it. The isolation of this world had been wearing on you. You had been spending time with Mr Silvair and Mr Chopped lately, but there was another recent earthquake that blocked off your path to them. You had yet to find the time to search for a new one.

With an arm draped over your eyes, you fell back against your threadbare pillow. The covers rustled around you, giving away the presence of another with you.

"Why sad?" You opened one eye to look down at your covers. The face of Mr Gap blended in with the darkness above your legs. If he had a body, he would be nearly lying on top of you. The part of your brain that was still human couldn't help but think that some actual physical touch would be nice.

"I one. Sad. Friend not here." Elaborating on the concept of loneliness using a lexicon of 100 words wasn't really a task you wanted to undertake at the moment.

You had thought Mr Gap would either leave or laugh at you, but to your surprise he looked confused. "I here." He responded.

Now it was your turn to be confused. If you weren't mistaken, he seemed almost offended that you hadn't called him a friend.

"You friend?"

"Yes." If this language had some equivalent of 'duh', you imagined that would be what he would say instead.

All you can do in response is blink at him. You really never imagined that Mr Gap would hang around you because he considered you a friend. If anything, you thought he just saw you as a an endless stream of various body parts. "Thank you. I like friend."

Hesitantly, you lifted a hand to reach up and stroke his head. He looked mildly disgusted (which was often his expression anyway), but didn't react otherwise. His hair wasn't exactly pleasant to touch- it was greasy and weirdly damp in places- but at least it was something of what you had been missing. He continued to humor you, but you decided not to push your luck on how long he would allow you to continue touching him.

"Why touch?" He asked when you were done.

"Human like touch. Make sad go away." It wasn't exactly what you wanted to say, but you figured it would get the point across.

Hesitantly, one of his arms reaches out from beneath your covers. Your current working theory was that his arms just appeared whenever he needed them, but you haven't gotten around to asking him yet. Your positioning is a bit awkward, so he can't reach your head to return your pats. Instead, he pats you on the shoulder for a few seconds. His hands are cold and clammy, but those few seconds of touch are something you've been missing for a while.

You smile. Mr Gap could be annoying at best and cruel at worst, but it would seem that he does have a sweet side to him after all. You distantly wonder if some semblance of a normal relationship would be possible here. Unlikely, but it may not be as out of reach as you once thought.

"Thank you. You good friend." You said after a beat of silence. For a moment it appears like he isn't quite sure how to feel about your declaration. You don't imagine it's something people tell him often. After a second of thought, he returns your smile.

"Me good friend. You give heart?"

Well, you can work on that.

[itsa-me-lily]

God I love this au, it's feeding me so good today. The last one with the part about only one bedroom has me thinking about a sick reader, the gross kind of sick where you're sweaty and wheezy and snotty, and the fact that if it were anyone else Simon would be quarantining them. But because it's his spouse, he wakes up to you nasally wheezing and mouth breathing while sprawled across him, and all he can think about is when you're due for your next round of medicine and if he needs to buy more tissues.

Sometimes love comes coated in mucus, and is reciprocated with an artificial cherry taste. Also do the guinea pigs have names and what do they look like?

I'm dying. This is the first ever ask I've ever gotten (that I recall) and I'm going to pass away. Also "sometimes love comes coated in mucus, and is reciprocated with an artificial cherry taste" that is such a good line, I'm apologizing in advance if I steal it.

Also warning for content of being sick, this is based off my last bout of plague.

Also Also Here's the Masterlist

Bedsharing in general does not happen at first. (Now I want to percolate an idea about sharing the bed for the first time). You're way to use to having your own bed that sharing with someone means you're not sleeping easily and I think Simon would rather sleep with the guinea pigs in their cage than have another human being that close to him when he sleeps. (This was also not something he initially thought about when being told a spouse was to be picked)

So what's the solution? Obviously bunk beds! Kind of, sorta...okay not really but the look on Simon's face when you had suggested getting bunk beds had been entertaining. Who knew so much indignation could come through a medical mask. Really his eyebrows did so much talking.

With the dream of bunkbeds dashed, the next best solution was either two twin beds crammed into the bedroom with a bedside's worth of space between them, or a pull out couch. You managed to find a couch same day that didn't terribly clash with the artwork you have yet to hang up.

You two actually manage to come up with a schedule for who slept where. Obviously you'd get the bed when Simon was deployed, made no sense for you not to. And when he was home the bed was all his unless he was having a night that he knew he wasn't going to trust a deadbolt to keep monsters at bay. Then he made himself comfortable, TV playing low until he managed a few hours in the early morning before you try to leave a silently as you can for work.

(Funny thing, even if you aren't sharing a bed traditionally, you both most certainly have your own sides, along with bed stands that told two different stories)

The first time you get sick is when Simon is technically deployed. Well actually, the day he returns is the day you spike a 101.8 fever and work forces you to go home so you don't become a walking petri dish and expose the college kids that come into your office.

Once you're home you appease the little beasts demanding some sort of vegetal boon, change into the rattiest clothes you have, and then huddle under a staggering amount of blankets that have made their home on your bed. (Simon may have side eyed them when you first set them out, but you've seen the mountain he creates under them, you knew the magic of weighted blankets)

Sleep isn't peaceful, you hadn't broken out the Nyquil quite yet, but you do manage to drift off for a few hours. And then the coughing starts. It's the kind that's a bitch to deal with, dry and pushing your ribs to the limit with how often they can expand and contract. By the time Simon comes home you've steamed yourself twice, taken only a smidge over the recommended amount of cough suppressant, and slathered yourself with Vic's Vaporub. All in all, you were properly miserable.

You're in the kitchen, staring into the abyss of your over-steeping tea as if it will magically make you feel better if you only sell your soul to it, really a tempting offer, when the wheeks of the pigs announce that another person they know has arrived.

If Simon wasn't clued in that something was off at seeing you home before the end of your work day, the pungent smell of menthol would have been a dead give away. You're still communing with your tea when he knocks against the wall, pulling you out of the deal for your soul to meet him with bleary eyes and a flushed face.

You croak out a greeting that makes Simon wince in sympathy, though that's about all he really does. Simon doesn't really do pleasantries and doting probably wouldn't be the first word people use to describe him, so with your brain function reduced by an overflow of mucus and fever, the kitchen was rather silent.

Until you started coughing, face buried into the crook of your elbow to try to keep your contagion to a minimum and back bowing to nearly double you over. That drives Simon to action, coming to try to keep you up incase you collapse, grabbing your free arm.

When you feel him touch you, you try to pull away, shaking your head and finally finishing your bout, gasping a little as you try to daunting task of breathing and speaking to dissuade him from getting close lest he catches what you have. He clearly wasn't persuaded, hands clenching and unclenching like he simply wanted to pick you up and put you...somewhere.

How exactly Simon Riley would take care of you, he didn't know but he'd be damned sure to at least try. He'd been left to fend for himself while sick before and he didn't like the idea of you going through that. When it was clear that he wasn't going to just leave you to your suffering you relented enough to try to reach a compromise; if he'd be alright watching the pigs while you were sick that would be more useful than a nursemaid while you camped out on the couch.

That...that was something Simon could do. He'd watched how you took care of the boys, surely this was something he could do. And then his brain caught up to the rest of what you had said. There was no way he was going to let you sleep on some pull out couch, as nice as it was. Being Sick meant sleeping in a proper bed, on a mattress that didn't spend it's days folded up.

You tried to insist it was alright but he wouldn't listen to a word of it. Instead he practically herded you back to the bedroom, ignoring your murmurs of your abandoned hot beverage. He didn't lift you to plop you onto the bed itself but it was a near thing. He had to bribe you with the promise of a proper cup of tea for you to even lay your head on your pillow, eyes already heavy with the need for sleep. By the time he had actually made a cup you were out for the count, nasally mucus filled snores letting him know you hadn't perished in the time it took him.

The next few days were filled with mucus, the attempted escape of your lungs via coughing fits, and more Vics than the human body should be exposed to. And the entire time you insisted that you could fend for yourself. Simon didn't push to play nurse, but your tissues never ran out, a dose of medication was always ready on your bedside, and a warm cup of tea stood waiting for you after each nap, like a solider committed to his guard.

Edit;

I'm going to make a separate post for the guinea pigs, because honestly I'm torn on if they're based on my guinea pigs I used to have, or guinea pigs I'd want to have in the future

[suzukiblu]

Day eleven of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. tw: implications of past grooming/abuse and the inherent problems that causes for someone who was in that situation and hasn’t processed it trying to have a relationship with someone actually age-appropriate. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Uh–is it?” he asks, not really sure what else to say. Or more like, not really sure what else to say that would not sound both desperately, desperately horny and desperately, desperately weird. 

“I dunno,” Kon replies, giving him a quick, sheepish little smile. “Just makes me feel good, that you think I’m worth, like–taking out and showing off, or whatever. Like–without the S-shield on, even.” 

“The S-shield would definitely make date night a lot harder to enjoy, yeah,” Tim says, torn between wanting to kiss him and wanting to dissolve the entire entertainment industry and all of Kon’s previous romantic interests in acid from the ground up. Slowly. Kon blushes again, his smile widening. 

“And, uh–and that,” he says, glancing sidelong. “And that you wanna hang out with me without anybody interruptin’.” 

I want to hang out with you until I overthrow Gotham AND Metropolis and then I want to install a zeta between them and the biggest beachfront property you’ll let me buy for you and any little Kon 2.0’s you let me make you, Tim’s most insane self thinks and his slightly more rational current self does not say, because he has at least some small and tiny and miniscule scraps of self-control. 

Like, barely, and only lasting until the fifteen-year sidekick-to-supervillain plan goes off, but still. 

“I definitely don’t want anyone interrupting, no,” he agrees instead, and Kon beams at him again and then ducks in and kisses him again–just a quick little peck, but definitely still a kiss. Tim, belatedly, realizes that Kon might actually be getting more up in his space than he was before the whole . . . script issue happened. Just–standing closer, and leaning in a little more often, and things like that. Not in a demanding way or anything; just like he wants to be there a little more often. 

Like maybe he’s a little more comfortable being there, now. Or like maybe he thinks he can do it without anything being–expected from it, maybe. 

Tim doesn’t even know if Kon’s doing it on purpose or not, but he’s definitely noticing a difference either way. Just–there is very much a difference there to be noticed. 

He is definitely, definitely not going to be able to find out who any of Kon’s exes are before he goes supervillain. That’s just not going to work out for his timeline at all. 

Also Bruce would absolutely get upset if he found out about whatever he ended up doing about it, and he’s an emotional support sidekick, not, like, an intern or whatever. He is not here to cause problems, he is here to facilitate Bruce’s mental health, help him manage his paranoia, and minimize the amount of overkill beatings of petty thugs and small-time criminals. 

Admittedly Bruce managing his paranoia is not going great, but it’s a process, alright? He’s doing his best here. 

“So like, if we do go shopping again, wanna pick something out for me to wear for you next time?” Kon asks, still beaming at him. Tim’s brain attempts to reboot a couple dozen times before he manages to remember how to string a coherent sentence together. 

“Yes,” he says in an almost normal-person voice. Maybe. Theoretically. He . . . hopes, anyway. “Uh–yeah. That sounds, uh–like something I would like to do.” 

It’s a little harder to focus on the supervillain thoughts with Kon both wearing that expression and actually asking him to buy him something–especially specifically something he wants to wear for him–so that’s helpful for keeping to his timeline. But also, uh–embarrassing, kind of, because usually Tim is better at thinking than he currently is being. Like, his normal thought processes are a lot more involved than Kon’s so hot and Kon’s so CUTE and hurr durr pretty boy. 

He definitely still wants to ruin some people’s lives, but first he wants to get Kon dinner and dessert and buy out a boutique or four for him, and just like, a small suburb. Or town. City. Tri-state area. 

And also to pick out something for him to wear “next time”, since apparently Kon still wants there to be a next time that he sees Tim Drake and also just like . . . just the whole thing with the picking out something for him to wear thing, because Tim only has so much self-control, alright? He is doing his best here, but he’s only an emotional support sidekick, alright, he’s not made of stone. 

Seriously, Kon asked him to dress him and asked him to buy him something. Tim is not actually sure if he’s more thrilled about actually getting Kon to specifically ask him to buy something for him or frazzled over Kon offering to let him pick out something for him to wear. Just–god. Tim is just not even–Tim does not know what he’s feeling right now. Just–whatever it is, he is feeling it. 

He wonders if it would be, like, a little too pathetic of him to maybe get Kon another crop top. Or, uh, a little too thirsty of him. 

. . . probably, yeah. Probably definitely, in fact. 

. . . . . . but like, if Kon sees one he likes, it's not like Tim's gonna say no or–

Anyway. 

[gingerteawrites]

"I wanna be yours" - Gojo Satoru

A/N: Fellas, I have returned! Been wanting to post more often, so I'll try actually making a schedule for myself. Anyways, enjoy :)

Content: JJK sorcerer!reader, kind of canon, Gojo x reader, mostly fluff, teeny weeny angst

Gojo Satoru had always gotten everything he wanted in life. Many called him spoiled, but being a prodigy came with its perks. No one ever dared to stand in the way. And those who did never stood for long anyway.

So from the moment you were transferred to Jujutsu High and his crystal eyes laid on you, he knew he wanted you. He marveled at the way you treated your students and fellow staff members. The sweetness of your smile haunted his dreams. He had made up his mind, and nothing could get in the way.

Except you. You got in the way.

"Hey, sweetheart? Wanna grab desserts after classes are done today?" He asks, leaning against your desk as you finish grading your students' tests.

"Sorry Gojo," you look up from your paperwork, adjusting your frames on your nose. "I've got to finish up some lesson plans."

He sulked openly, lips pursed as he lifted his blindfold. Frustration gnawed at his insides. He'd been trying to go out with you one-on-one for months now. But you always found a way to turn him down.

"Can't spare me a little time?" He drew closer. You could feel the cursed energy radiate off of him. Even when he wasn't trying, the Strongest's aura was something that could not be ignored.

"Next time, okay?" Your eyes returned to your papers, and he sighed in defeat.

There was never a "next time".

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Kyoto sister-school exchange event had just concluded. Cursed energy flowed through you while you worked on healing the injured students. "Thank you ___-san." Itadori beamed at you, the worn out skin around his knuckles slowly repairing.

"You're welcome Yuuji-kun." You returned the smile, standing up to move towards Shoko who had just finished patching up Maki.

The students, fully healed started to part ways. You made sure everyone was set and after a small debrief with Yaga on the special grades' attacks, you walked outside the main building.

"Is Gojo still meeting with the higher-ups? I can't believe they managed to attack us here." You mused, sitting on one of the benches outside the classrooms with Shoko.

She took a long draw from her cigarette and lazily turned towards you.

"I promise you he would appear right this second if he could." Her smoky voice danced in the afternoon breeze. "Couldn't resist you being here." She spoke as if it was fact.

You shook your head to yourself, looking down at your lap with a chuckle. "Pfft, he's just flirty Ieiri. I don't think too much of it." The idea of having Satoru's attention was not unpleasant. His presence always made your heart beat a little faster, after all. But you would never give yourself false hopes. He could have anyone he wanted, and the prospect was more than enough to make you want to keep your distance.

Shoko just shook her head, the cloud of smoke hanging around her parting when she stood. "If thinking that is what helps you sleep at night," she waved with a turn "I'll see you."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Too many things had happened. Getting attacked by multiple special grades, half of the school destroyed, the kids hurt. The balance of the Jujutsu society felt like a wreck and you knew that October 31st spelt even more trouble.

You sat in one of your empty classrooms, head on the desk with your eyes fixed outside the window. You had to prepare for Shibuya. A deep sense of anxiety gnawed at your insides, causing you to close your eyes in hope of some respite.

However, the sound of doors sliding open prompted them open, turning your head to identify the intruder. There stood Gojo with his blindfold off, a rare occurrence.

"Hello, sweetheart." He approached your desk, pulling a chair to sit beside you.

"Hi, Gojo." You replied, tired voice barely carrying through the room. His azure eyes traced your features.

His hand slowly coming up to brush against your cheek. And you didn't pull away. The soothing touch was oh so welcome. It drew you out of the anxious hole your mind was digging.

"Before we go out there." He paused, voice uncharacteristically soft. Smooth. Not putting on a show, but deeply honest. "Before the fighting starts... I need to be sure."

"Sure of what?" You couldn't help but lean into his touch. He chuckled, almost humorlessly.

"I've been trying. In not so subtle ways." He spoke quietly. "I just want to hear you say it. That you truly don't want me."

Your eyes widened, body stilling. The wind blew in through the window, the chill of the outside filling the room.

"Satoru... I..." Your mouth gaped, in a desperate search for words.

"I wanna be yours." He assured, thumb brushing across your lower lip. "Even if it's the last thing I do." He took in a deep breath, drawing closer so that there were only a few inches left between you. "Will you let me?"

Your thoughts melded together into a hazy mush, breath taken away by his words. By his closeness. You weren't sure you could formulate the correct words. To express how much you wanted it too. How much you wanted to be his. How much you reveled in his closeness, despite the parts of your mind that screamed that it was hopeless. That he was too good for you.

So you pushed all thoughts away and acted on instinct. You closed the distance, lips meeting his in a tender embrace. Your hand rested along his jaw, pulling him closer and he responded to your invitation, gently slipping a hand around your neck. Your lips moved in a soft tango, rhythm dictated by your frantic hearts. Kissing until your lips were tinted red with passion.

You finally parted and rested your foreheads against each other, and Gojo let out a chuckle, a quiet thing, teeming with joy.

"That was the first time you've called me Satoru."

You smiled. "I want to be yours too, Satoru," he pressed a tender kiss on your cheek, his lips pulled into a wide smile.

The future had never seemed more uncertain, and the balance of the jujutsu world barely hung on by a thread. But in that moment all Gojo could feel was unbridled joy.

"Thank you, my love."

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated(❁´◡`❁)

[vole-mon-amour]

2x02, part 2.

the way Sevika is STILL loyal to Silco, even though he's dead and she doesn't have to. i saw some spoilers, but I'll say this as if I haven't: the way she doesn't like Jinx, never did, but tried to help Silco understand Jinx being upset and how she'll get around. she's loyal to Silco, therefore she's loyal to Jinx.

gosh, I love Sevika. she truly is trying her best to fill Silco's place. she was his loyal guard dog for a damn good reason.

her expressions!! let's go, Sevika, let's go. the animation is so good. it's so subtle, so smooth, you gotta pay attention to the frames.

there's something so special about both Sevika and Jinx still hanging out at Silco's office, and both Sevika and Jinx talking to Silco. i'm pretty sure Sevika didn't know that Jinx is there, so she spoke out loud, but she knew where to aim WITHOUT HURTING JINX (!!) because Jinx hang up there often enough for Sevika to remember.

listen, I have 4 favourite characters in this series and that always was the case: Silco, Jinx, Sevika, VIktor. i love them with all my heart. Sevika was always such a great character & she deserves way more love.

poetic cinema.

just shows how truly important he was, what a strong grip he had on Zaun.

i like how when Sevika throws a piece of furtinure in her outburst, Jinx doesn't even BLINK, not to mention flinch. the way they are connected to Silco and how well they truly fit (for the lack of a better word) him.

the little scowl. babygirl, i love you so much.

baby girl. baby. this is such a cool little representation of how their process looks before they draw frame by frame/animate the thing to look smooth.

i hope Jinx kicks their asses. the fact that she's coughing but she can STILL breathe in this, just like Silco did when others couldn't. take off your masks, assholes, let's see how you can handle this gas.

honestly, Vi, this is such a dirty move. you never wanted to accept that Powder was always Jinx and Jinx was always Powder. Silco loved Jinx. you? maybe, in your own way, but maybe, mostly, the idea of your little sister? because Silco would NEVER do this. he accepted Jinx for who she always was and is. if he didn't, he wouldn't allow her all those things that got him in trouble and never wouldn't give her all the materials and all the playground that she wanted.

the coughing, crying, screaming fit. i'm so :_; for her.

"Baby Blue. Right through their fingers. You must be part eel."

And you must be a whole piece of shit, beating Jinx with such hatred for all those years you couldn't bring hard to her because of Silco.

i just want to hug her and hold her tight. she's the best girl ever.

LET'S GO, THE TWO CLOSEST PEOPLE TO SILCO EVER. LET'S GOOO.

i LOVE that Sevika tried to use Jinx's gun, but Junx fixed Sevika's arm, so they exchanged the weapons. Sevika managed not to only throw Jinx her gun, but managed to catch the arm. i also love that Jinx can shoot that gun without even looking. this is a symbiotic relationship that i currently ADORE.

i'm in love with this. <3

this is adorable and made me smile so much.

the smirk. the music. the babiest baby of all babies (the baddest bitches ever).

i'm pretty sure Sevika will hate the adjustments that Jinx made to her arm but hey. it's a free fix :D it's almost 2 am and here i am, smiling. i love this show so much. i didn't know i could have so much fun with it without Silco. it's a new vibe completely.

this is BADASS.

there are SO many expressions in this little scene, i couldn't possibly fit it into this post. yeah, i'm completely in love with this so far.

babygirl, please, i am begging you, destroy Vi. Silco aka her family is gone, Vi is being an asshole to her, so she's ready, more or less. let's fucking GO.

love seeing Jinx and Sevika communicating. love the "you've got that look in your eye again, what are you planning?" which simply shows you how well she knows Jinx.

also,

"i haven't asked you for this" "it was something I could fix."

aka it was no trouble for her. she loves the mechanical stuff. she does it with ease. Sevika's strong side is the brains and brutal force, so they work well together.

[doctorho]

ok so i've been thinking of continuing that vampire viktor fic and... i'm not sure what to do with it. it's brewing up there in the old brain soup.

in the meanwhile, what i have so far is that, you know, viktor has been living in that old library, secluded, alone (sometimes he sees jayce who brings him stuff from town, tools, tea, sugar - viktor never did manage to lose the sweet tooth even now, new books, other... stuff), and so when the reader starts visiting, it's like a whole new spark of life in his viktor's world. someone new and interesting and alive, someone who looks at him and sees a person instead of a thing.

that's what he was hoping for, anyway. it was starting to seem that way, though it might have been wishful thinking. he hadn't exactly explained his...situation.

but they meet up once a week. it's not an agreement, but it quickly becomes a habit, and he likes it, and for the first time in a very long time viktor has a reason to make his living space comfortable. so he does his best, cleaning and decorating and trying to make the seats more comfortable to sit on, and to make the living room look more like a living room instead of just a hall of books where he'd confined most of his life to. and the reader brings him stuff, without being asked, and he's not quite sure what to do with that, but he's not going to complain. no, he'll carefully arrange those new books and the tea selection and the... plant? to look like they've always been there, and when jayce asks about them he pretends he doesn’t know what he's talking about.

and then the reader explains the plant's there because there's this stray cat that likes hanging around the bookstore, more often now than before, and it's one of those plants that cats aren't supposed to be around, and then viktor has to explain that there's also a stray cat that likes to hang around the library, and turns out they've been feeding the same stray cat, and for a moment viktor wonders if maybe the reader is secretly a witch. cats liked witches. or so he'd heard.

it would be nice.

comforting, somehow. for them both to be rejects in a way.

though he thinks that the reader is still infinitely more well-adjusted to society than he was, and witches didn't exactly have the same reputation as vampires did, but there's still something about him that likes the idea. of them both being different. and, yes, he knew, he probably should've told the reader that he's not technically entirely a human, but that's not something you just tell someone, especially if your relationship to that somebody is we see each other once a week and talk about books. but...he still hasn't felt this close to anyone in a long time, and...he's pretty sure the reader already knows. he's not really sure if the reader believes it, but he knows they must have heard the rumors.

but the reader still shows up every sunday with a book and something sweet from the village bakery, and viktor has to pretend it doesn't feel like a significant hollow in his heart is being patched up every time that happens.

[just-one-more-beer]

Rain scene; Rindou x Inupi (smut) MDNI

Art by @rinupi

Inspired by @rinupi and their undying love for this ship.

@rinupi writing prompt that struck a vein of inspiration: "Rindou shows up to Inui's house, soaking wet from the rain". ***

It was a steaming warm summer night. It was usually warm during the summers but somehow it felt like the temperatures wouldn’t stop climbing today. Inupi wiped sweat from his forehead with the little space on his forearm that didn’t have any motor grease on it and glanced at the clock. It was already getting late and he had expected him to show up by now. But it had started pouring relentlessly and the water was already gushing over the edges of the rainpipes. He wiped his hands on the cloth hanging from his overall pocket as he watched the massive amount of water coming down. He undid the top buttons to his overall and tied the sleeves around his waist, tossing his hair out of his face. And right as he was reaching for his pocket to check his phone for any messages he heard the door chime go off and someone came sloshing into the back of the garage. 

“Jesus fucking christ, are the gods trying to drown me?” Rindou cursed as he leaned forward, allowing most of the water to run out of his long hair. 

Inupi felt his breath catch in his throat and his heartbeat pick up as Rindou righted himself. He was soaked until the last thread. His white blouse sheer as it stuck to his upper body, giving him a glorious view of the enormous half-torso tattoo that curved and twisted across his muscles. And his blouse wasn’t the only part of his outfit that had gotten clingy, as his already fitted pantalon had clung to his legs and crotch. The heat made the cool rainwater steam off him in the fading light. He managed to scrape his throat a little as he couldn’t take his trembling eyes off the sight in front of him. 

Rindou pulled back his shoulders and walked up to him slowly, arms spread wide in confidence. “Hmmm? Are you admiring the view?” He hummed in a low, grumbling voice. He grinned as he paused a couple steps away, popping his hip out and putting a hand in his waist. 

“Y-you devil, coming in here looking like that,” Inupi muttered and despite his reluctance he could feel his cheeks glow even hotter. 

Rindou chuckled, closing the gap between them with a couple long strides. “Devilishly handsome, I assume?” He said, clasping Inupi’s chin between his thumb and fingers, forcing him to look up at him. “Are you liking what you see, babe?” He growled as he brought his face closer. 

Inupi tried his best to keep his grease smeared hands and overalls away from the pristine white blouse but he could feel himself stumble backwards. “You’ll get grease all over you,” he tried, glancing up into Rindou’s piercing, violet eyes. 

Rindou squashed him up against the wall. “You think I care about that right now?” He asked, a determined grin dancing across his face.

Inupi felt more than just his cheeks glow hot as he watched drops of rain water seep out of his hair and across his face, dripping into his neck. He could feel his self restraint slip through his fingers like sand as he was pushed up against him like this and he grabbed a fist full of Rindou’s hair as he pulled his head aside, taking his time to lick the trails of rainwater from it. 

Rindou bit his bottom lip and tilted his hips, for there was no point at hiding that he was getting hard as fuck by now. 

Inupi flinched a little as the corner of Rindou’s shoulder holster poked into his ribs and he skillfully found the buttons and ripped it loose. He could feel Rindou’s abs tense as he braced against his pull to allow the leather strap to come undone. The weapon sank to the floor with a heavy thud and hands found their way across those chiseled abs, leaving dark smears all across the fitted shirt. 

“I would step into the shower with my clothes on more often, had I known it would have this effect on you,” Rindou joked sarcastically. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Inupi groaned as Rindou trailed his slender hand down the inside of his thigh roughly. 

“Oh?” Rindou sang in a velvety voice. “I’ll shut you the fuck up,” he continued before savagely kissing him. Inupi wasn’t the only one getting more than steaming hot by this.

Inupi couldn’t deal with the sticky fabric that was so adamant to cling to his lovers body like it did. He did not have the mental clarity for this anymore. He only wanted one thing. Needed one thing. He ripped open the shirt as he gasped for air. Buttons clattered down and bounced away and he pushed himself up against the now bare but incredibly warm body under his hand. He was barely allowed to catch his breath as Rindou’s tongue already found it’s way back to his lips. And frankly; how could he back away from that?

Rindou groaned against Inupi’s lips. His hard-on was becoming uncomfortably tight in the sticky pantalon and he pushed himself off the wall, grabbing the sleeves that were tied around Inupi’s waist as he staggered back towards the couch. He allowed himself to fall backwards over the armrest and quickly pulled Inupi on top of him, squeezing his ass as he rolled his hips against his crotch. 

Inupi fell forward on his hands as he struggled to think straight. The feeling of their still contained boners rubbing against each other was as frustrating as it was delicious. “This couch-,” he gasped as Rindou ripped the knot out of the sleeves. “It won’t hold,” he managed in a strained voice as Rindou’s hand found his way into his overalls. “Fuck-,” he gasped. 

“Want me to stop?” Rindou taunted him with a satisfied smirk as he glared up at him, his hand firm around Inupi’s cock now. 

Inupi noticed his head becoming more hazy with every jerk. 

“Do you?” Rindou growled as he pushed his hips up but pulled his hand out of Inupi’s boxers.

Inupi’s eyes shot open as he looked down in utter shock as Rindou had let go of him. 

“Getting desperate, huh?” Rindou said as he folded his hands behind his head, shaking his soaking hair out of his face. 

Inupi’s eyes darted across Rindou’s body, frantically looking for ways to make him continue and then it struck him. He resolutely grabbed the edge of Rindou’s pants and got it open quicker than he’d thought he would in this state or hazy lust. He yanked the soaking fabric down. And for the second time he had to thank the rain as Rindou's boxers had already come off along with his tight pants because it was such a soaking mess. He buckled forward and without warning took Rindou’s penis in his hand and mouth. 

“Fucking hell-,” Rindou gasped, whipping his hands back out and grabbing Inupi’s hair with both hands. Not to pull him off, but to push him onto himself even firmer. He groaned unrestrained as Inupi’s tongue whirled around him and his grip intensified. He couldn’t help but rock his hips with every thrust. It took every ounce of restraint to not fuck him like he was taking him from behind. But he couldn’t bring himself to bruise Inupi’s handsome face. He glanced down and watched Inupi’s mouth move around him and he felt himself get even harder. The pressure was already building so high he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. But he couldn’t look away even though he wished he could drag it out a little more. There was something so insanely hot about the desperation in Inupi’s eyes while they both were too fucking eager to take their time. “I want to see your face,” Rindou demanded, pulling Inupi’s hair to get him to break away from him. For just a moment Inupi’s grip on his cock weakened a little, but he was proud to feel how his baby grabbed onto him again almost instantly. He grabbed Inupi’s ass and scooted him closer so he could grab his still rock hard penis in his hand while simultaneously moving Inupi’s hand around his own up and down again. He groaned and rocked his hips against Inupi’s thighs and fist as he locked eyes with him. Inupi’s eyes had gone all dull with sheer lust and even though he seemed to try he couldn’t hold back his moans as he was jerked off with firm, long and well timed movements. “Squeeze me like you’ll never let go,” Rindou groaned as he could feel his orgasm boil in his groin. 

“Love,” Inupi gasped. 

But Rindou picked up his pacing mercilessly, feeling how Inupi’s cock tensed even further against his grip. “Give it to me, babe,” Rindou growled and he barely finished his sentence when he could feel the same thing happening with his own against the inside of Inupi’s fist. “Fuck,” he let out in a whistling moan. The mental clarity vanished and the space for snappy remarks obliterated. For a moment it was just clenching and jerking hands and thrusting hips accompanied by mutual moans of pleasure. He did his absolute best to drag it out as long as he could but he could feel Inupi struggle in his hands as his thighs twitched against him and he pushed his hips forward, causing the pressure on his own dick to increase even further as well. “Come on me,” Rindou moaned as he glanced up through half lidded eyes and as he sensually brushed his free hand up Inupi’s thigh and abs he bit his bottom lip as he felt how he had sent him over the edge, his sperm warm and sticky on his chest and hand. “Ride it,” Rindou demanded as he kept moving his hand around Inupi’s penis, feeling him shudder in the release. But he gasped and almost bolted upright as Inupi’s grip tightened around him and suddenly, Inupi’s green eyes turned clear again, his grip confident and resolute. No one had mastered moving with the slight curve in his dick as well as him. Knowing exactly when to squeeze and when to back off. 

“I’ll fucking ride you,” he growled out of breath and he flicked Rindou’s hand off him and scooted close against Rindou’s cock, rubbing it against his lower belly while increasing pace and pressure. He rocked his hips against Rindou’s and he raised his chin in defiance as he noticed how Rindou struggled to keep his face smug. “Give it to me, love,” he taunted as he rolled his balls against Rindou’s. And by the jerking in his hand and against his legs he knew very well the time was close. “Come on, fuck me, damnit,” Inupi growled as he cupped Rindou’s ass and pulled his hips up against him tight. 

Rindou closed his eyes and pushed his hips up against the inside of Inupi’s thighs as he felt the heat boil over. He let out a hearty moan, grabbing onto Inupi’s ass and pulling him onto him as he was milked for every last drop that was willing to spill out over his partner's hand. He clenched his teeth and gave Inupi’s fist one lasting hip thrust before allowing himself to sink back into the couch. 

Inupi pulled the cloth from his overalls pocket. It had surprisingly stayed put. And as he wiped his hands, his cock still hard, he looked down on Rindou, smugness returning to his face. “Devilishly seducing, I meant,” he joked with a grin, tucking his dick back into his boxers as he got off. And he handed Rindou the cloth to clean himself off at least a little. “There’s an overall for you to wear in my locker,” he gestured as he kicked aside some of the buttons he had ripped off, shaking his hair out of his face. 

[bl4sphemy-archived]

samael is such a prime example of "it's lonely at the top" and it makes me emo

[elisamaza]

Pizza delivery drivers of Reddit, what are some of the craziest reasons people have ended up on the “no delivery list”?

gameryamen

I worked for a pizza place that was near a very large software company. Deliveries to the neighborhoods or offices where all the tech workers lived was usually pretty awesome because they'd tip rather well. But there was one apartment that started to become a concern for us drivers. The man ordering was always polite, always paid, always tipped $4, and he would have been a perfect customer. He'd order breadsticks and a salad twice a week, and sometimes he'd include a bottle of root beer. Except when he opened his door, you could see an alarming amount of our breadsticks boxes stacked everywhere inside. Not like a few on the counter and a couple by the trash, stacks and stacks of them. Even worse, it was only our boxes in there. He wasn't just ordering from us often, we were the only place he was getting food outside of work. Now, I've worked in some of those tech offices myself, I know that there's enough decent food options just hanging out in the break rooms that this guy was probably not malnourished, but the way his living space was a shrine of greasy cardboard was a clear sign that this guy didn't have a healthy relationship with our food. Our manager was a really cool dude though, and he heard the drivers joking about the boxes and asked a couple of us "Is this like a messy guy or a guy who needs help?" We agreed it was probably the latter. So on his day off, the manager went to the guys apartment with an envelope that had gift cards for several other restaurants that delivered in that area and chatted with him. Manager found out that the guy was an immigrant on a Visa who was struggling to find American food he liked, and too socially awkward to ask anyone. So he talked with him through a few menus and helped him with some recommendations. Then he helped the guy load all the old boxes into his truck to take to the dump, in exchange for a promise not to order from us more than once a week. For a little while, the manager had a note on the calendar showing the last time the guy had ordered, and a couple times he had to hold his ground and refuse the guy's order. But after that chat, I never saw the stacks of boxes again, and the guy would boast about the different meals he'd had.

what the fuck dude, this is so sweet.

[s0dium]

Victoria Secret

A/n: For all my Geto lovers, i made sure the fucking was extra juicy. Enjoy!

Synopsis: Your secret indulgence? Buying lingerie. You've managed to keep this "hobby" under wraps until your worst nightmare, Geto Suguru, discovers your secret. Unexpectedly, he proposes a deal: he'll keep your secret, in exchange you help set up his friend Gojo with your roommate, and after that he will even buy you ten sets of your favorite lingerie. There’s just one catch—you have to model them for him. What could go wrong?

"W-what are you doing?" You manage to gasp but Geto just kisses the hollow of your throat. "Why? Do you want me to stop?" He murmurs against your skin. And you know you should say yes, but you shake your head. Like a fool. "Good girl."

Warnings: Teasing, praising, body worship, nipple play and sucking, soft-to-rough sex, unprotected sex, breeding

Word count: 5.5

Every Sunday, at precisely three in the afternoon, you sneak out of your apartment for what you call your "secret indulgence."

Your eyes gaze at the velvet-lined shelves, mentally dissecting the lace and silk items that sit on the red fabric. A familiar, gentle melody fills the boutique, playing overhead as soft light casts a warm glow on the meticulously displayed delicate fabrics. As you run your fingers over each fabric laid before you, you stop when you find one that feels like a whisper against your skin.

This one is perfect.

Carefully you hold the item up on either side, feeling the fabric between your index finger and thumb. Intricate floral patterns cover the lace material and you note the high-waisted cut and scalloped trim that would certainly flatter your figure. You hum in contentment. Yes, this piece of underwear will go perfectly with your collection.

Your "secret indulgence" you may ask? It is collecting lingerie.

Your indulgence was secret for a reason as well. Far too often people assumed that you collected lingerie for a boyfriend or even an audience, but it wasn't like that at all. In fact, it was the opposite, you collected lingerie for you. It wasn't like you never thought about trying it on for someone though, you just never seemed to have an opportunity too. Unlike many of your peers, you're not a social butterfly, never one to attend college parties or gatherings. Even your best friend Shoko has to drag you out of your room every once in a while. Yet, ever since you can remember, there's something about lingerie that captivates you—perhaps it's the delicate lace, the intricate patterns, or how damn good you looked in it. You were simply in love with it.

And up until now, you were pretty damn sure your indulgence was perfectly secret as well.

"Y/n! Just the person I needed to see."

Oh what the fuck.

Your steps halt instantly at the sound of the familiar voice, freezing you in place. You didn't want to look back, you didn't need to look back, you knew who was behind you. You purse your lips as a rush of thoughts floods your mind: Had he seen you leaving the boutique? He wasn't a fool; surely, he'd deduce that the two bags you were clutching came from somewhere significant nearby.

Shit shit shit. Fuck it.

With a nervous bite to the inside of your cheek, you slowly turned around, facing the tall man behind you.

"Geto." You dead pan. There’s a tightness around your mouth, the corners pulled down just enough to betray your displeasure. The usual spark in your eyes is conspicuously absent, replaced by a guarded, cool glare that clearly communicates your discomfort at this encounter.

Geto smiles and takes a few steps toward you. Your first instinct is to step back but you stay in place, taking in his appearance. He's wearing a black tank top today, one that clings to his well-defined muscles and shows off the tattoos covering his arms. He pairs this with casual grey sweatpants that hang loosely around his hips and of course, his long black hair is partially tied up in a man bun like it usually is, while the rest cascades down his back.

Of course he looks good.

Thin sharp black eyes scan you before landing on the two bags you are clutching. His smile grows. You know you're fucked. The last person you needed to uncover your secret.

"Enjoy your shopping?" He chuckles, nodding to the bags and you harshly bite your lip.

"Just some clothes for the summer" You respond dryly, making sure to be heard over the bustling people around you.

"Ah, you don't have to keep secrets from me." Geto chuckles and he gestures to the tattoo and piercing shop across the street. "You know I work there right? I see you go into the little shop every Sunday."

No. No, you did not know that.

You pause before speaking again. "Can I help you with something Geto?"

"Actually, yes you can. I need a favor."

"Favor?" Your eyebrows raise and you scoff. "What could I possibly help you with."

Geto smiles and takes another step forward. "I know we aren't friends, but Shoko is your best friend and she is also mine so I thought maybe we could benefit each other a bit."

You dont respond this time and he continues.

"My best friend, Gojo, im sure you know him."

You have to fight to hide the disgust on your face upon hearing the white-haired man's name. Of course, you knew Gojo, every one on campus knew Gojo, you specifically for the amount of girls he has "toyed" with.

"Yes, I know who the fuck Gojo is." You roll your eyes and you notice Geto has taken another step forward, effectively closing the distance between you two.

"Well, he is head over heels for your room mate-"

"Head over heels or just want to fuck her." You sarcastically snap back, cutting Geto off.

"Is there any difference these days?" he replies, a slight smirk playing at the edges of his lips, challenging the cynicism in your tone.

"And you want me to do what, exactly? Set her up with him? No way," you snap back, your voice rising slightly in indignation. "She's my friend, and I'm not some kind of matchmaker. Gojo can go screw himself."

"No, no, that's not what I'm saying at all," Geto quickly interjects, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. "I'm just asking you to let her know that he's available, that he likes her. Just make him out to be an option, you know? Your roommate can do whatever she wants with that information."

"Still, why would I want to do that?" you question, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion and frustration. The warmth of the afternoon seems to intensify the tension between you as Geto steps closer, diminishing the gap until he's just inches away.

"Because in exchange, I'll buy you anything you want," he offers, his voice low and persuasive.

"Um, what?" Your response comes out more as a reflex than anything else.

"Let me rephrase that," he continues, nodding slightly towards the bag of lingerie you're holding, which causes your cheeks to flush with embarrassment. "I’ll buy you what you really want."

"No," you retort firmly, feeling the discomfort rise.

"No?" He echoes, his tone a mix of amusement and disbelief.

"Yes, no. Besides, I'm not strapped for cash. I can buy what I want whenever I want—"

"Didn't I tell you you don't have to lie to me?" Geto cuts in, his voice lowering a bit. "Please, I know how expensive that store is, and I'm not offering just one thing. Say, how about 10 sets from that store you love?" he declares, his eyes flashing with a mix of challenge and amusement.

"10? Can you even afford that?" you retort skeptically, your eyebrows arching in disbelief. This game of his was becoming more intriguing and absurd by the minute.

He leans back, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Oh, and I have to go shopping with you and see you try it on," he adds, as if the deal wasn’t provocative enough.

"Why the hell would you want to do that?" You feel the tips of your ears grow red and you scoff. The idea of Geto Suguru choosing lingerie for you sounds so personal sends a shiver down your spine.

"Because," he pauses, his gaze intense, "its not about buying you lingerie, Consider it… a test of trust, can't just give you hundred of my dollars and let you do whatever you want, I want to make sure you use the money the way our deal assures you will which is... buying lingerie."

You pause, absorbing his words, the heat of the afternoon sun pressing down on you, making the moment feel even more surreal. "Fine. We follow each other on Instagram, so I'll DM you when it's done. But like you said, it's up to her what she wants to do with that information."

"Alright by me. See you soon," he replies, his tone casual yet carrying an underlying note of finality.

As you turn away, walking down the busy street, your mind races with the absurdity of the conversation.

What the hell just happened?

Your fingers hesitated over the blue send button, poised to confirm the completion of your part of the unusual bargain.

Earlier, you had shared with your friend the prospect of a date with Gojo Satoru, carefully omitting the details of the deal behind it. As expected, she was ecstatic, thrilled by the idea despite Gojo's questionable reputation—a fact that gnawed at your conscience. But what could you do? The arrangement was already in motion. Now, it was time to let Geto know that you had held up your end of the agreement, and it was his turn to fulfill his promise.

You took a sharp breath through your nose and pressed down on the screen, watching as the word "delivered" appeared beneath your message in the chat. Just as you were about to set the phone aside and start getting ready for bed, it pinged with a new message. It was from Geto Suguru. Your heart raced as you read the simple words.

When do you want to meet?

The sun blazes down as you approach your favorite boutique, the heat making the pavement shimmer like a mirage. Despite the sweltering temperature, you've donned a big, baggy sweater over your shorts—a choice more about comfort and less about fashion, especially since you didn’t want this meeting to scream 'date'. It’s your casual armor, albeit a warm one on a day like today.

As you near the boutique, you spot Geto Suguru waiting by the entrance. He leans casually against the wall, dressed in some graphic t-shirt and black jeans, his eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses. This time his hair is completely up in a man bun that shows off his black gauge earrings and hints of a tattoo on his back. The moment he sees you, his lips curve into a knowing smile, as if he can read your thoughts about the outfit.

"Hey," he greets, pushing off from the wall to stand upright. His voice is smooth, a calm contrast to the bustling street around you. "I was starting to think you were gonna bail."

"And miss a chance at free money? I think not." you quip. "Hope Gojo enjoyed his date by the way." Sarcasm drips from your words and Suguru chuckles.

"Probably not as much as I'm gonna enjoy this." he counters smoothly. "Come on," he says, gesturing towards the boutique's door. "We got some shopping to do."

The moment you walk through the boutique doors, cool air hits you in refreshing waves, making you sigh with relief. The boutique interior sparkles with delicate lighting and the gentle clinking of hangers, an ambiance you know and love all too well. You notice that the store is unusually quiet today, with no other customers around—just the shop owner standing by the cashier, who flashes you a small, welcoming smile as you enter. As you step further, your eyes lock onto a stunning pink lingerie set draped elegantly on a mannequin right by the entrance. Its intricate lace and delicate details shimmer under the boutique’s soft lighting, radiating an aura of both luxury and temptation. It's new, and most definitely pricy.

"You’re staring," Geto observes with a smirk, catching you in your admiring glance.

"I'm appreciating," you correct him, the corner of your lips twitching upwards. The price tag hanging from the mannequin does nothing to deter you; it's clearly on the pricier side, but today, Geto’s wallet is on the line. "And since you’re offering, I think I’ll indulge."

Geto's laughter fills the air, playful and unbothered. "I should’ve known you'd go for the gold. Well, it’s your day. Let’s make my pockets weep then," he says, gesturing grandly towards the set.

Who were you to deny him?

You dive into the racks, your fingers grazing over silks and satins, selecting the most exquisite pieces you lay your eyes on. One by one, you gather a collection of lingerie sets—each more lavish than the last. There’s a daring scarlet set that promises to captivate, a royal blue ensemble that speaks of deep oceans, and a classic black lace number that's timeless in its elegance. By the time you're done, nine luxurious sets accompany the initial pink one on the counter.

Geto watches with a mixture of admiration and apprehension as the pile grows, his eyebrows raising slightly at each new addition. But he doesn’t protest; instead, he engages in light banter with the shop owner, who carefully folds each set into sleek boutique bags.

As the total rings up—a sum that makes even the shop owner blink twice—you don’t look away from Geto's face, watching for any sign of regret or hesitation. None comes. He simply pulls out his black card, the smirk never leaving his lips as he hands it over.

The transaction goes through with a soft beep, and you can’t help but feel a thrill of victory as he signs the receipt. You reach out to grab the bags and head toward the door, already planning where each piece will go in your wardrobe, when Geto’s voice stops you.

"Where do you think you’re going? We still have the other part of the deal, remember?" he says with no attempt to hide the amusement in his voice.

Geto's reminder hangs in the air, the playful edge in his voice more pronounced now. As realization dawns on you, you let out a low groan, remembering the full scope of the deal. "Oh," you say, hesitance hanging from your voice. "Right, the 'trying on' part."

"Exactly," he grins broadly. "Come on, my car is parked outside."

"HAH! You think I'm going to your house?" you scoff, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief.

"Why not? Or can we go to yours?" he counters quickly, his grin turning into a challenging smirk.

You bite the side of your cheek. Your place was an absolute mess right now and you don't think you can handle Geto Surguru in your room. "Fine, yours it is," you finally concede.

The drive to Geto's place unfolds in a tense silence, your gaze fixed on the cityscape sliding past the car window. Your heart pounds with a mix of dread and nerves, the quiet amplifying the whirlwind of thoughts in your head. There had to be a way to get out of this. The idea of layering your clothes under the lingerie flickers through your mind, but you dismiss it almost instantly—Geto would see right through that. The thought of making a daring escape through a bathroom window doesn't seem entirely out of the question, though it feels more like a scene from a comedy than a realistic plan.

As you mull over these scenarios, you wonder about Geto's intentions. Was this all just a game to him, a way to tease you? He'd watched you choose each piece with care, so there was no question of you running off with his money. Was this some weird way he got off?

Your so into your thoughts that you dont even realize your at Geto's door.

"Welcome to my humble abode," He says through a grin as he swings upon the door. Rolling your eyes at his grandeur, you step inside, instantly taken by the loft's undeniable charm. The space is open and airy, with high ceilings and large, sunlit windows that overlook the bustling city below. Exposed brick walls add a touch of urban cool, while modern art pieces dot the walls, giving the place a curated yet lived-in feel.

"The bathroom is over there," Geto points nonchalantly towards a sleek, sliding door on the far side of the room. His tone is casual, as if inviting you to try on clothes was an everyday occurrence. He saunters over to a plush couch, settling in comfortably. "You can start whenever you're ready."

Feeling a flutter of nerves, you clutch the bag of lingerie a bit tighter. "You want me to—to try on all of them?" Your voice barely hides your anxiety.

"Nah, just two or three," he responds, his voice calm and nonchalant as he picks up a magazine from the coffee table.

With your heart pounding so loudly you're sure he can hear it, you make your way to the bathroom. The cool, modern aesthetics of the loft seem to blur as your mind races. Was this just a fucking joke to him?

As the door closes behind you, you set your bags down on the bathroom floor.

Holy shit Holy shit Holy shit.

You were going to die, this was it. You were going to die out of embarrassment because of god damn Geto Suguru. Your face burns a deep shade of red, heart racing as you lean against the cool, marble sink. Fuck, you're overwhelmed, your thoughts a tumultuous whirl, but you know you need to pull yourself together. Yes, the task is simple: pick two sets of lingerie, try them on, and get this ordeal over with. Just two sets, then you can leave. That's all.

Peeking through a slight crack in the bathroom door, you see Geto lounging effortlessly on the couch, casually flipping through a magazine as if he hasn't a care in the world. A quiet curse escapes your lips at his composure— god you hated him.

Turning back to the task at hand, you rummage through the bag containing the 10 pieces of lingerie. Each piece is stunningly beautiful, making the choice unexpectedly difficult. The last thing you wanted was to make it seem like you where trying to impress him. After a moment's hesitation, your hands settle on a set of black lace lingerie—bold but the plainest out of all of them.

Slipping into the black lace, you feel the fabric glide smoothly over your skin. The lace is intricate, delicate yet firm, offering a sensation that is both luxurious and comforting. As it settles into place, you notice how perfectly it cups your breasts, enhancing your natural shape without discomfort. The fabric molds to your body, sculpting your curves in a way that boosts your confidence, even in such a vulnerable moment.

Turning to face the mirror, you take a moment to really look at yourself. The lingerie accentuates your figure beautifully—your waist appears slimmer, your hips more pronounced. Yes, this was exactly what you loved about lingerie, how it made you look and more importantly how it made you feel. Despite the situation, you can't help but feel a surge of self-assurance. It's a small victory, but in this moment, it's enough to steady your nerves.

Now was the hard part.

Slowly you step out of the bathroom, your heart pounds fiercely in your chest, echoing in your ears. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, Geto's attention shifts from his magazine to you. He lays the magazine aside, his gaze instantly locking onto you. His eyes rake up and down your figure, taking in every detail of the black lace lingerie that clings to your curves.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Geto muses, a teasing grin playing on his lips. "If it isn't the bravest fashion model of our time."

"S-shut up," you stammer, trying to mask your discomfort with irritation. "Just remember, I'm only doing this because of the deal."

"Oh, and you're doing it magnificently, may I add. Who knew you hid such bold taste under that sweater."

"It's just underwear, don't read too much into it," you retort, your cheeks warming under his scrutiny.

"Turn for me," he commands softly. "I want to see the back."

"What?" you falter, caught off guard.

"Turn for me, I want to see behind," he repeats more firmly.

Fuck it.

Reluctantly, you turn, exposing the delicate lace detailing on the back.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, almost to himself, his gaze lingering appreciatively on the design.

"What?" you ask, your voice wavering slightly—unsure if you're more startled by the compliment or by the intimacy of his tone.

"Nothing, baby," he responds, his hand dismissively waving as he looks away, pretending to refocus on something else in the room. "Go try on the next one."

You dont say anything, instead slipping back into the bathroom and rummaging through the bag. Your heart still thumps audibly in your chest, but now there's an undercurrent of excitement mixed with the nerves. The flutter in your chest isn't just from anxiety though; it's also from a burgeoning sense of empowerment. You realize that you have control over how you present yourself, a certain power over Sugruru.

After discarding the set you were wearing, you reach into the bag and pull out the pink set you splurged on earlier. The fabric is luxurious, with a hint of sheerness to the bra that would no doubt show your nipples. The underwear is equally bold, designed as a thong with delicate straps that loop around each thigh, highlighting the curves of your hips and legs.

As you slip into the pink lingerie, the fabric settles against your skin like a whispered secret. The sheer material of the bra makes you acutely aware of your own body, and as you adjust the straps around your thighs, the ensemble frames your form in a way that feels almost artistically deliberate.

Yes, just after this you would be done. So why not go out with a bang?

As you step out of the bathroom, the transformation in your demeanor is palpable. The delicate pink lingerie accentuates your confidence, which resonates with each step you take towards Geto. His eyes lift to meet yours, and the moment they travel down to take in the full view, his expression shifts dramatically to one of... shock? His usual composure falters, and he lets out a low, incredulous whistle.

"Jesus Christ," he breathes out.

You shift in place, playing with the silk hem of your underwear.

After a moment, he composes himself slightly and gestures towards him with a slight tilt of his head. "Come here," he says softly, his voice low and inviting.

You pause, the hesitation clear in your stance. The intensity in his gaze and the palpable tension in the air make your heart race even faster.

Seeing your reluctance, Geto's expression softens. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. "Please," he adds, a hint of something more vulnerable in his tone this time.

The room seems to pulse with the silent energy between you as you take a tentative step forward, then another, drawn by the magnetic pull of his gaze. The air thickens with a charged mix of anticipation and desire as you finally stop just a breath away from him.

He looks up at you, standing up from his seat, his gaze intense yet tender. "You look incredible," he murmurs. You flinch when you feel his hand his finger trace your jaw and his other hand play with the hem of your lace underwear. He bends down, his lips just grazing your cheek, a feather-light touch that sends shivers down your spine, making your entire body quiver. "If you want me to stop, say it now," he whispers. When you remain silent, he brushes his mouth against the hollow of your temple. "Or now." He traces the curve of your cheekbone. "Or now." His lips meet yours.

For a moment your so shocked that he kissed you, you don't do anything. It feels like you are having an out-of-body experience like you can't believe this as actually happening to you. Then in a matter of seconds, his lips move against yours and you melt. Suguru is gentle at first, then unyieldingly hard. You feel yourself falling —not just physically, but emotionally too. You open for him and his tongue snakes its way inside your mouth. His hands move from your face to your lower back as he pulls you toward him, closing whatever space was left between you. He pushes you against him as he deepens the kiss. One of his hands remains on your hip, while the other travels to cup your breasts.

"W-what are you doing?" You manage to gasp but Geto just kisses the hollow of your throat."

"Why? Do you want me to stop?" He mumbles against your skin. And you know you should say yes, but you shake your head. Like a fool.

"Good girl."

Without a warning, Geto sweeps you up in his arms with an ease that leaves you breathless, carrying you effortlessly across the room to his bed.

Geto stands over you, his eyes tracing the contours of your body splayed elegantly across his bed.

"Shit baby, you let anyone else see you like this?"

You thickly gulp and shake your head.

"Oh thank god." He murmurs, climbing over you to place light kisses along your neck, trailing down your chest. Each kiss is soft yet deliberate, sending a cascade of warmth through your entire body. You close your eyes, allowing yourself to be fully immersed in the sensation.

"Your skin feels like silk," he murmurs.

"Did you steal that line from a hallmark card?" You crack.

"Nope just stating a fact." He skims the underside of your bra with his fingers. "Always watched you come out of the store, always wanted to see how you'd look in what you bought." He lifts his head to give you a wry look "You're so smooth and perfect you know that right?"

You let out a soft gasp when his lips find your nipple, pulling your lacy bra down so soft lips can evoke your nub.

"Oh god sugu-" He doesn’t let you get to the last consonant, his eager, hot mouth enveloping one of your nipples and sucking. His tongue flattens, rolling your peak and swirling around your areola, fast and rough until you’re whining. His ears go hot at the sounds you’re making, all desperate and needy.

"So beautiful, fuck your tits are so beautiful" He groans into your skin like it was cocaine. He then switches to your other breast, sucking and licking until he knows you will be sore. Jesus, your breasts feel so good in his mouth, so soft and sweet, why didn't he do this sooner? How much longer did he think he could maintain this facade of being your 'enemy' when all he truly desired was to have you underneath him?

You are squirming underneath him now, the stimulation of his wet tongue on your nipple is becoming unbearable and so was the growing heat between your legs. Your tits feel so good in his mouth, supple, sweet, far better than his imagination could ever conjure

"God, sugu-"

"Love it when you say my name." Suguru breaths between licks and you feel your stomach twist with.

"Sugu please" you manage to gasp, "please touch me please anything please-"

"Fuck you?" Suguru coos, and the words make warmth blossom from your core.

"Please." You breath.

And who was he to deny you?

Without much of a word he pulls your lace panties down to your ankles, making you instinctively hide your bare cunt with your hands, but he clicks the roof of his mouth with his tongue and swats your fingers away. Then, as he stands over you, Suguru steps out of his black pants and pulls off his t-shirt. As you glimpse Suguru, you feel your breath get caught in your throat. His large, incredibly toned frame is a clear testament to rigorous workouts, and intricate tattoos weave across his skin, adding to the attraction.

You were no longer in the kiddie pool.

You are too immersed in his figure that you dont even notice he has lowered down his black boxers just enough so his long length springs out and slaps against his abdomen.

You thickly gulp.

"I dont think that will-" You stammer, the sheer size or his dick making your gut twist and turn. "I think it will hurt I dont think it will-" As you continue to stammer, searching for the right words, Geto cuts you off with a deep, consuming kiss that immediately shuts you up. When he finally pulls back, a confident smirk plays on his lips.

"It will, baby, it always does," he murmurs, his voice low and dark.

Geto positions himself atop you, his strong legs straddling either side of your body, anchoring him in place. He leans over you, the intensity of his gaze capturing yours as he methodically entwines his fingers with yours. With a firm but gentle grasp, he pins your hands down on either side of your body, his proximity reducing the world to the space between you. The warmth of his breath brushes against your face, his presence both overwhelming and exhilarating, as he holds you there under him, completely in control yet tender in his touch.

Before you can even get a word in, you gasp when you feel large pressure against your hole.

"Slowly baby," he hushes you before you can protest. "I'll go slowly."

Suguru's slow roll of hips hips into you is enough to make you scream. The way his dick parts your walls and fills every single inch of you makes your brain go hazy, especially when his tip smooshes against your cervix, sending blots of electricity throughout your body.

"Talk to me baby," Suguru murmurs, his voice cracking from the vice grip your cunt has on dick. "Want me to move?"

You're too lost in the hazy pleasure to form words, all you can do is nod, making Geto breathe out an air of what must be relief. His thrusts started out shallow and slow, testing the waters for how much he could get away with. What your limits were, and if you could fully take him for what he wanted.

You feel like you are going insane from the pleasure. Your cries came silent from your throat, eyes screwed shut in complete bliss. Your body adjusted rather quickly to him, Suguru coaxing you to relax as he peppers kisses along your neck, sucking and biting your sensitive skin. And as you adjusted, your hips began to buck against him at their own pace, beckoning him to move faster.

Of course, Suguru doesn't miss this, and without missing a beat he speads up his thrusts, the pap pap pap of his skin against your echoing in your ears

"Shit, you feel so good baby." Geto practically whines. You don't know it, but he's starting to lose his grip, the overwhelming pleasure beginning to unravel his usual composure.

The delicious friction of his dick scrapping your walls has your heart pounding in your ears and your breath close to hyperventilating. Everything is too much too good all at once. The proximity of Geto's body is overwhelming, his warm skin against yours, his ragged breath hot against your neck. When you gaze into his face, the sight nearly makes you faint—his eyes scrunched shut, lost in euphoria, beads of sweat lining his black hairline. His mouth is slightly open, panting, a sight that makes your cunt flutter from excitement.

"Su-Suguru, so good you're fucking me so good." you babble and he can only groan in response. Your toes curled and uncurled as he continued to wreck your body with his completely brutal thrusts. The pain of him hitting the tip of your cervix nearly every time mixed with the kisses he peppered on your neck and lips was all enough to end you to heaven.

He knows you're close. And you know it too. The way Suguru is fucking you is truly a primal display of affection; him rutting into your cunt like an animal in heat and you frantically scratching and clawing at his back.

Thats when an idea hits you, no, a need overcomes you, You need Suguru, you need all of him, all of him inside you filling you up and making you his.

"Sugu cum in me please," you beg through a hoarse voice. "Fill me up please please please."

He’s been pressing kisses and biting into your shoulder, but you don’t miss the way he practically whines at your words.

"Course baby, course I will."

As if on cue, you feel your seize up and your mind go blank. It feels like your body is free falling into a euphoric grave, electric arrows of pleasure coursing through your sin and directly to your core.

"Oh shit" Suguru curses at the way your cunt clamps down on him and it isnt to long before he follows you, shooting thick ropes of cum straight into your belly. In a fluid motion without leaving your insides once, he picks you up so you are straddling him, and his bare chest is pressed against yours.

“You’re so warm,” he murmurs into your ear. And you can only sigh in response.

'I'll buy you 1000 more lingerie sets if we can do this again."

[lostfracturess]

seven minutes of misunderstanding — satoru gojo

of all the ridiculous situations you've found yourself in, being trapped in a closet with satoru gojo has to top the list. especially when you're convinced he's dating his best friend.

Of all the places you expected to end up tonight, being crammed in a tiny closet with Satoru Gojo wasn't one of them.

A stupid campus party game had somehow led to this moment—you, him, and about fifteen winter coats in a space barely big enough for one person, let alone two.

You're painfully aware of every point where your bodies touch — your back against his chest as you try to avoid the hanging coats, his breath tickling your neck, his hand awkwardly hovering somewhere near your waist like he's not sure where to put it.

The closet is so small that when you attempt to turn around to face him (because somehow facing him seems less intimate than having his breath on your neck), your chest brushes against his.

You hear his sharp intake of breath, feel the way his body tenses against yours. You're so close to him in a way it makes your skin tingle, and you're grateful for the darkness hiding your blush.

"So..." Satoru drawls. "Come here often?"

"Did you seriously just—" You try to gesture incredulously and end up elbowing him in the ribs with enough force to make him grunt. "Shit, sorry!"

You try to put some distance between you but that only results in you stepping on his foot. "Oh god, I'm so sorry! Again!"

"Just—don't move," he says, his hands finally finding your shoulders to hold you still. You feel the warmth of his palms through your shirt as he clears his throat. "We could just... not do anything. Nothing has to happen if you don't want it to. We can just wait it out."

The consideration in his voice surprises you. You try to see his face in the darkness and end up with a mouthful of fuzzy coat. After spitting out what you hope isn't synthetic fur, you say, "That's really sweet of you. And like, I get it. This must be super awkward for you too."

"Awkward?" He sounds puzzled.

"Yeah, I mean... being stuck in here with a girl when you're..."

"When I'm what?"

"You know..." You wave your hand vaguely in the narrow space. "I just meant, like, with you and Geto..."

There's a moment of complete silence, and then Satoru starts laughing so hard you can feel him shaking against you. "You think— me and Suguru? Oh my god, is that why you turned me down for lunch last month?"

"Wait, what? I thought you were just being nice! You're always hanging all over Geto—"

"Because he's my best friend."

"And that time I saw you feeding him—"

"He had a broken arm!"

"The couples' costume at Halloween—"

"We were Mario and Luigi! They are brothers."

Every explanation makes you want to dissolve into the floor more. "Oh my god," you say. "You know everyone on campus thinks you're gay—not that there's anything wrong with that! I totally support you two, you're so cute together and—"

"Can you please stop," he interrupts, pressing a finger to your lips to silence you. "I am very, very interested in women."

Your heart skips. "Oh, really?"

"Yes." His voice drops lower as he removes his finger from your lips. "One woman in particular, actually." You can feel him lean closer. "And she's currently pressed up against me in a very small closet."

"Oh," is all you can manage, your brain short-circuiting as you process his words. You try to lean back slightly, but there's nowhere to go, and suddenly his face is very close to yours.

Then he asks a question you never thought Satoru Gojo would ever ask you. "Can I kiss you?"

The question is soft, almost vulnerable—so unlike the usual Satoru you know. When you don't immediately respond, too shocked to form words, his hand comes up to gently cup your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze in the darkness. "Can I kiss you?" he asks again, his thumb brushing across your lower lip.

A breathless "yes" escapes your lips before you can overthink it.

The first brush of his lips against yours is gentle, questioning, like he's afraid you might change your mind.

Then you grab his shirt and pull him closer, and gentle goes right out the window. He kisses like he's trying to prove a point, like he's been thinking about this for ages, and oh — maybe he has been.

His hands slide from your face to your waist, pulling you flush against him as he deepens the kiss. You gasp against his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to sweep his tongue against yours, drawing a small sound from your throat that makes him grip you tighter.

"Still think I'm gay?" he says against your jaw, trailing kisses down your neck that make your knees weak.

"Not sure," you tease him, even as your head tilts back to give him better access. "Might need more convincing."

You feel him smile against your neck. "More convincing, huh?"

In one fluid motion, he presses you more firmly against the wall, his body completely flush against yours. One of his hands slides into your hair while the other grips your hip, thumb stroking the strip of skin where your shirt has ridden up.

"Let me be very clear then." He punctuates each word with a kiss. "I am very—" kiss "—very—" kiss "—interested—" kiss "—in you."

His hand tightens in your hair as his tongue sweeps against yours, drawing a small whimper from your throat that makes him groan in response.

"God," he breathes against your lips, pulling back just enough to speak. "Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do this?"

You can't form a coherent response because he's already kissing you again, harder this time, more desperate. Something falls off a nearby shelf as you shift against him, but neither of you care.

You're so lost in each other that you don't hear the warning knock. The door flies open, flooding the space with light and the sounds of party chaos.

"God, finally!" Geto's voice breaks through the stunned silence. "Do you know how long I've had to watch him pine over you?"

"Suguru, I will literally murder you," Satoru growls, but he doesn't let go of you. Instead, he leans down, his lips brushing against your ear. "Wanna leave this party?"

And oh, you do.

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or modify my work.

tags. @fayuki @starmapz @saurondriell @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna

@cocomanga @nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @shervinss @chiyokoemilia

@janbannan

[webism]

KINKTOBER DAY TWO: taking choso's virginity.

kinktober masterlist

virgin!choso who, at first, lied to you about the intactness of his 'innocence'. he didn't want you to think him unworthy of your body because he didn't quite know what he was doing. so when you asked? of course he's had sex before.

virgin!choso who knows you're not stupid, who knows you pick up on the way he mewls with white hot need every time a kiss turns to a heated make-out session. he knows you pick up on the hitch of his breath each time your hands roam over that delicate chest of his. he knows you know that he's a fucking liar.

virgin!choso who still doesn't come clean until one night when he's sure you're too needy to keep your hands to yourself. when you're laid underneath him because he's finally gathered the confidence to push you into the mattress of your bed, and your hands start to roam down to the waistband of his pants.

virgin!choso who is rock hard from a few kisses, and can't bear the thought of you knowing just how desperate he is for your touch, your scent, your whole being. so he pulls back, sits back on his heels as you sit up on your elbows to give him an inquisitive look. you ask him if he doesn't want you touching him there—he knows you'd respect it if that were the case.

virgin!choso who can't deny his want—who can't help the blush that colours his cheeks as he shakes his heads and manages the words to tell you that it's not a lack of want, but rather a lack of experience. his voice is small, delicate, when he tells you, 'I've just never done it before."

virgin!choso who can't figure out why you're laughing when he's just opened up to you. you're not laughing at him, he knows you'd never do that, but the sweet giggles that fall from your lips indicate nothing other than the fact you already knew. you tell your sweet boy as such, that you'd be concerned if he had been with anyone before you, considering the logistics of your relationship.

virgin!choso who, when he asks you if it bothers you that he's got no experience, feels his achy cock twitch in his pants when you tell him that it actually turns you on. to know you're the only person to feel him inside of you—the only one that ever will—is beyond an aphrodisiac for you. it only feeds into the possessive streak you have, and god does choso find he likes being the subject of your staked claim.

virgin!choso who decides he'd like to set the pace for his first time. which is more than okay with you, because god the sight of him hovering over you with his eyes squeezed shut as you reach down and pull his cock out of his pants is heavensent. he's unsurprisingly big, and offers to prep you with his fingers first, but you decline—the notion of taking your sweet boys virginity is enough to soak you.

virgin!choso whose vision blurs once he's got your panties pulled off and he's rubbing his fat tip up and down your folds, choked for breath at only a taste of your heat. his hair is loose, hanging over his face and falling into yours as he steadies himself above you—he's beautiful, his virginity in your hands, trust struck between you as he takes a breath and pushes into you, inch by gorgeous inch.

virgin!choso who has to busy his mouth with kissing yours, because his gasps come in quick as he bottoms out inside of you, pushes to the base as he tries to acclimate to the feel of you wrapped around him. you take him perfectly, and choso often wonders just how handmade his design is, but can't deny he was made with you in mind, what with how perfectly you fit together. he moans against your lips, loud and unashamed, because he's never in his life felt so good.

virgin!choso who reels when you wrap your legs round his wait, use your hands to grab at his shoulders, trace your nails down his back, grab his ass as he jolts into you. who, when he starts moving, can't stop. the drag and pull of his cock inside of you is hypnotic—choso would swear this is a cursed technique of yours, sending him dizzy after only a few thrusts.

virgin!choso who, understandably, can't hold on for very long once he finally finds a nice rhythm. he's sent so stupid with all these new sensations that he's a babbling mess, barely comprehensible as he complains about the taut band in his abdomen that's going to snap any moment—thankfully you're right behind him, the intimacy of cho's devout lust is more than enough to justify both of your early orgasms. you decide that his first orgasm with you would be a waste anywhere besides deep inside of you, and spur him on to finish inside.

virgin!choso who cries when he cums. hot tears prickling at his eyes, rolling down his cheeks in salty drops that you kiss clean. his hips stutter, and he's simply unable to keep himself supported above you—he collapses on top of your body as he twitches and jerks with rapt pleasure. you pepper kisses all over his face, from the tip of his nose to his fluttering lashes, right before you follow in his climax and tip over the edge yourself.

virgin!choso who becomes fearful of losing this sensation. who, once you're both back in reality, refuses to pull out of you. hopefully you can handle cockwarming for a long time more, because frankly, your sweet choso has quickly become an addict.

[innerfare]

Cuddling - Part 1

Summary: How do they cuddle you?

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid

Genre: Fluff

CW: None // SFW

——— 

Luffy:

He’s more of a koala bear than a literal koala bear. He doesn’t even realize cuddling is a thing because it’s so normal to him, like eating and breathing. You’ve literally never slept in the same bed with him without him wrapping himself around you (neither has anyone else, for that matter). He even gets a little grumpy if you’re not there for him to hold on to. 

Zoro:

It’s not called cuddling, that’s for sure. He might refer to holding you, but that’s about it. One of his guilty pleasures, though, is being held by you. He especially likes it when you sit behind him and wrap both your arms and legs around him, bonus points if you run your hands up and down his chest and abdomen. 

Sanji:

A total cuddle bug. He usually comes to bed after you (though not so late that you’re already asleep), and likes to slip between your legs while you’re sitting up against the pillows. Bonus points if you rub his back or smooth his hair. He’s also one for quick daytime snuggles, often coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around you for a long hug. 

Ace:

He grabs hold of you easily, but he doesn’t let go easily. If he falls asleep, you’ll be stuck by his side until he wakes up because he holds on to you so tight. He’s clingy, but not in a little spoon kind of way, more of a ‘I’m going to put you where I want you’ kind of way. It puts him at ease to keep you so close because he feels your a little safer that way. 

Sabo:

He’s so sweet about it. He holds you like a baby every time you two have any privacy, encouraging you to wrap not only your arms but also your legs around him. He sort of pretends it’s to put you at ease and make you feel safe, but the weight and warmth of your body makes him feel safe and, in particular, makes him feel capable and dependable. 

Law:

If you call him the little spoon, he’ll break up with you, but he is often the little spoon. He gets annoyed when you don’t automatically wrap your arms around him in bed because he doesn’t want to embarrass himself by asking. One of his favorite things in the world is falling asleep with his head in your lap while you play with his hair. 

Kid:

Not so much cuddling as it is him collapsing on top of you. If you manage to fall asleep without him on top of you, you’ll wake up either with him on top of you or to him yanking you into his arms to hold you against his chest while he’s still asleep. Treats you like his teddy bear, hangs on to you extra tight when he’s stressed. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[reidmarieprentiss]

No More Misunderstandings

Summary: You have a big crush on Spencer, everyone can see it except for Spencer himself.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Tech Analyst fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: crushing, (un)requited feelings, bad communication, Spencer trying to flirt, gay Elle, Rossi not Gideon, happy ending, Elle is out but reader doesn't know

Word count: 9.4k

a/n: if this man ever asked me to hang out i would say yes in two seconds flat

main masterlist

Every day, you settled into the hum of computers and the soft glow of monitors that painted the walls of the BAU's technical analysis hub, affectionately dubbed the "bat cave" by those who knew it best. Your role as a tech analyst found you working side-by-side with the brilliant and bubbly Penelope Garcia, a woman whose personality was as colorful as her wardrobe. Despite the comfort of being shrouded in the semi-darkness of your tech-laden sanctuary, a certain type of light seemed to elude you—the spark of acknowledgment in Dr. Spencer Reid's deep, thoughtful eyes.

You harbored a crush so palpable that even the air in the room felt charged with your nervous energy whenever Spencer was near. However, your shy demeanor cloaked these feelings in a veil of secrecy that somehow, miraculously, Spencer himself never managed to pierce through. Everyone else on the team had noticed, from the knowing smiles of Derek Morgan to the gentle teasing of JJ, but Spencer remained blissfully unaware, his attention often drifting towards Elle Greenaway with an intensity that tugged painfully at your heart.

Penelope, ever the observant friend, never missed a beat. "Oh, honey," she would whisper, "it’s like you’re sending Morse code with those blushes and he’s living in a blackout."

Her words were gentle, tinged with humor and affection, yet each jest felt like a pinprick to your already tender sensibilities. Whenever Spencer visited the bat cave to discuss case details or gather information, your heart raced as you tried to provide him with everything he needed without tripping over your words or, heaven forbid, your own feet.

"Hey, Spencer," you would start, your voice a careful mixture of professionalism and the warmth you couldn’t keep at bay.

"Hello," he would respond, his eyes scanning the screens filled with data. His focus was razor-sharp, dissecting information with the same precision he used on everything but the emotional currents swirling around him.

Each interaction was a dance. You would inch towards openness, leaning in to catch a whiff of his cologne or to appreciate the subtle shift of his hair when he ran his fingers through it in concentration. But as soon as he glanced up, those hazel eyes like windows to an enigmatic soul, you would recoil slightly, cheeks aflame, words retreating as quickly as they had dared to emerge.

Later, as the screen showed live feeds of the team moving through their environments, Penelope would nudge you gently with her elbow, her voice low and teasing. "You know, if we had a dollar for every time you fumbled around that man, we could retire and buy an island in the Bahamas."

You’d offer a small, embarrassed laugh, grateful for the low lighting hiding the worst of your blush. "I just... I don’t know how to act around him, Penelope. What if he doesn’t..."

"Feel the same?" she'd finish for you, her tone softening. "Sweetie, the heart’s a funny creature. It doesn’t play by the rules of logic that Spencer loves so much. But who knows? Maybe one day, he’ll surprise you and actually look up from those case files and see what’s right in front of him."

The comfort in her voice was soothing, yet each day ended the same—with you watching Spencer, Spencer watching Elle, and Penelope watching over you, a guardian angel clad in technicolor, armed with an arsenal of jokes and just the right words to keep you smiling through the uncertainty.

—

The day had been rolling along as usual in the BAU's bat cave, the rhythmic clicking of keyboards providing a steady backdrop to the glow of computer screens. Penelope had excused herself for a quick bathroom break, leaving you alone amidst the towers of technology. Just as the door clicked shut behind her, the shrill ring of the phone sliced through the quiet, startling you slightly. Calls from the field were usually Penelope’s domain, her cheerful voice a soothing constant for the team. Today, it seemed, you would have to step into her shoes.

“Y/N speaking, what can I do for you?” Your voice wavered slightly, anxiety bubbling up as you prepared for your usual toggle through databases and security feeds.

When Spencer’s voice responded from the other end, a different kind of alertness prickled across your skin. “Hi, Y/N, we need to cross-reference known associates of the unsub with recent flight records. Can you pull up the lists and cross-check for any matches?”

Your heart thumped erratically, his voice weaving through the receiver like a familiar song that never failed to stir your soul. You tried to maintain a steady tone, hoping your voice didn’t betray the sudden nervousness that his presence, even just over the phone, incited. “Sure, Spencer, just a moment.”

As your fingers danced across the keyboard, the professional mask you wore each day slid comfortably into place. You were adept at your job, a fact that never faltered, even under the weight of your emotions. Quickly pulling up the necessary records, you began the process of cross-referencing, your mind briefly detached from the flutter in your stomach.

“Looks like there’s a match. Michael Davidson, on a flight from Atlanta to D.C. this morning,” you reported, a trace of pride threading through your words at the efficiency with which you’d located the information.

“Great, Y/N. Thanks,” Spencer’s voice came through, a hint of relief palpable even through the static of the connection. His appreciation, simple and straightforward, filled you with a warmth that went beyond professional satisfaction.

Hanging up, you let out a breath you’d been holding. Penelope chose that moment to breeze back into the room, her presence as effervescent as ever. Catching the tail end of your smile, she quirked an eyebrow playfully.

“Spill the beans, buttercup. You look like someone just handed you a golden ticket,” she teased, settling back into her chair.

“It was just Spencer needing some quick info,” you shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant as your heart continued to beat a staccato rhythm against your ribs.

Penelope’s smile widened, her eyes twinkling with unspoken understanding. “Oh, just Spencer, huh?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, trying to brush it off casually. “Derek would never betray you by talking to me,” you teased, hoping to steer the conversation away from your flustered feelings.

Penelope’s eyes sparkled even more as she winked at you. “Oh, he’s allowed to have side pieces, my love. I’m a generous goddess.”

You burst out laughing, your nervousness momentarily forgotten as Penelope’s playful banter eased your tension. “I’ll let him know you said that,” you shot back, turning back to your screen, trying to focus on anything other than the residual warmth from talking to Spencer.

Penelope, never one to let you off the hook easily, leaned in closer. “Should I let Spencer know he isn’t allowed to have any side pieces then?” she asked, winking at you again, her tone as sweet as honey but with a hint of mischief.

“Penelope!” you gasped, feeling your face flush all over again. The blush you thought had faded returned with a vengeance as you turned away, hoping she wouldn’t see just how red you were.

She laughed, clearly pleased with herself. “I’m just saying, babe. The boy’s got options, but I think we both know his best one is sitting right here.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands as you let out a small, embarrassed laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Just doing my part to make sure he doesn’t miss any signals,” Penelope sang, tapping her keyboard lightly, her grin as wide as ever. You couldn't help but smile too, secretly grateful for her teasing. After all, it was these moments that made the crush a little more bearable.

—

During one of Rossi’s famed pasta-making sessions, a relaxed atmosphere filled his spacious kitchen, with the rich aroma of tomato sauce simmering on the stove and the sounds of laughter mingling with soft Italian music playing in the background. Rossi, the consummate host, guided everyone through the steps of making the perfect pasta dough, his hands moving with the ease of long practice.

You found yourself stationed next to Spencer, who was diligently kneading a mound of fresh pasta dough. His hands, beautiful and dexterous, worked the dough with a precision that was mesmerizing. The veins on his hands stood out, accentuating every deliberate movement, and you couldn’t help but be captivated by the fluidity of his motions. It wasn’t just his intellect that drew you in; even his seemingly mundane physical actions had a way of catching your undivided attention.

Derek and JJ, who were partnered up on the other side of the kitchen island, caught your fixed gaze and shared an amused look between them. Derek’s smirk grew as he nudged JJ, whispering loud enough for you to overhear, “Looks like someone’s more interested in the handwork than the handiwork.”

JJ chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she joined in the teasing. “Yeah, I think Y/N’s planning on writing a thesis on the manual dexterity of certain geniuses.”

Flustered, you tore your eyes away from Spencer’s hands, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. You attempted to focus back on your own portion of dough, which had begun to stick to the counter more than it should. Spencer, oblivious to the exchange, looked up and noticed your struggle.

“Hey, you need to dust a bit more flour on the surface,” he said, his voice gentle, unaware of the reason behind your distraction. He reached over to sprinkle some flour on your dough and then on the countertop, his fingers briefly brushing against yours. The brief contact sent a pleasant jolt through you, further flustering you.

Rossi, ever the observant host, noticed the playful dynamic and decided to rescue you from your embarrassment. “Alright, everyone, let’s focus on the art of pasta! Y/N, why don’t you help me with the sauce?” he suggested, giving you a knowing smile as he handed you a wooden spoon.

As you helped Rossi stir the simmering sauce, carefully blending the herbs into the rich, aromatic mixture, you couldn’t help but cast furtive glances across the kitchen. There, Hotch had taken up the spot you vacated next to Spencer, now deeply engaged in the art of pasta making under Rossi’s enthusiastic instruction. While Hotch was methodically following Rossi’s guidance, Spencer’s attention occasionally drifted.

Across from them, Elle was rolling out her dough with a confident flourish, laughing at something Hotch had said. You caught Spencer's eyes as they met Elle's, a shared glance of amusement passing effortlessly between them. The ease of their silent communication was stark, their smiles syncing in a moment of private jest that seemed to exclude the world around them—including you.

That simple, silent exchange felt like a punch to the gut. The laughter and camaraderie around you suddenly seemed a bit dimmer, a bit more distant. It wasn’t just jealousy that twisted in your stomach—it was the aching realization of how much could be said in a single look when there was a real connection; a connection you feared might never form between Spencer and yourself.

You turned your attention back to the sauce, the spoon moving mechanically in your hand as Rossi continued to chat about the nuances of Italian cooking. He didn’t seem to notice your distraction, caught up in his culinary passion. But inside, your thoughts were swirling as tumultuously as the sauce you stirred.

Trying to shake off the sinking feeling, you focused on the positives—the laughter of your team, the comforting weight of the wooden spoon in your hand, the delicious smell that filled the kitchen. But despite the festive atmosphere, a part of you remained reserved, quietly nursing the tender hope that maybe, just maybe, one day Spencer would look at you with the same warmth and understanding he so effortlessly shared with Elle. Until then, you resolved to keep smiling, keep stirring, and keep hoping.

—

The BAU briefing room felt unusually empty without Penelope's vibrant presence, Elle's keen insights, and Derek's charismatic confidence filling the space. With them on vacation, the dynamic had shifted, and you found yourself stepping into roles that stretched beyond your usual behind-the-scenes expertise. The weight of Penelope's responsibilities now rested squarely on your shoulders, a challenge you accepted with both determination and a hint of trepidation.

As the team gathered for the briefing on the new case, Hotch turned to you. "Y/N, could you walk us through the case description and the current leads?" His voice was calm, authoritative, yet imbued with a supportive undertone that did little to ease the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

Nodding, you stood, remote in hand, feeling every pair of eyes in the room settle on you. Public speaking was not your greatest fear, but it was hardly your favorite endeavor—especially not with Spencer's intense gaze locked on you. It was as if his eyes were a pair of spotlights, illuminating not just your words but every minute reaction and emotion that flickered across your face.

As you began to outline the case, detailing the patterns and possible psychological motivations of the unsub, Spencer's scrutiny never wavered. His stare was not judgmental nor dismissive; rather, it was analytical, perhaps even a bit curious, as if he were trying to read the nuances of your presentation, to understand not just the facts but the person delivering them.

"Based on the geographical profiling and the behavioral pattern, we believe the unsub may be operating within a ten-mile radius of downtown," you explained, pointing to the map projected behind you. Your voice steadied as you delved deeper into the analysis, the familiar terrain of data and evidence providing a solid foundation beneath your initially shaky confidence.

Spencer's focus, rather than rattling you further, began to foster a sense of resolve within you. You found yourself speaking more confidently, your nerves tempered by the realization that this was still your team—your family in all but blood. They weren't here to judge; they were here to listen and to learn from what you had to offer.

As the briefing wrapped up, Hotch nodded in approval. "Good work, Y/N. Keep us posted on any updates from Garcia's systems until she returns."

You nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. Glad it was over, you were already preparing to scamper back to your office when you heard a voice that sent a familiar shiver down your spine.

“Y/N?” Spencer's voice, calm yet inquisitive, caught your attention.

You spun around to face him, trying not to let your fluster show. “What’s up?”

“Can you put the map back up on the screen, please?” he asked, already standing by the large projection screen.

“Ye–yeah, of course.” Your fingers fumbled with the remote as you quickly reactivated the display, bringing the map back onto the screen.

“Here,” Spencer said, still not looking back at you. “Come look at this.”

You walked over to stand beside him, your eyes inadvertently drawn to his long fingers as they traced paths along the map, pointing out specific areas. The same hands that had mesmerized you earlier were now gliding over the screen, drawing you into his thought process.

Spencer started talking about the geographical profile, rattling off information with his typical rapid-fire brilliance. But what took you by surprise was how he spoke to you—not as the team’s tech analyst, but as if you were another profiler, someone he wanted to consult. This was new, and it left you momentarily stunned. He’d never done this before.

“Spencer?” you asked quietly, your voice barely audible in the spacious room. He hummed in response, still focused on the map as he tugged thoughtfully at his bottom lip—a gesture you’d come to adore and envy.

“Why are you asking me about this?” you continued, your curiosity growing along with your nerves. “Why not Rossi? Or Hotch?”

Spencer paused, finally turning to face you, his eyes filled with the same focused intensity he usually reserved for solving cases. “Because you see things differently,” he said softly. “You have a different perspective, and that’s valuable. Sometimes it’s not just about profiling. It’s about how we approach the data, and you… you understand patterns in a way that’s unique.”

His words caught you off guard, but they filled you with an unexpected warmth. You weren’t just the tech analyst who plugged in the data—they saw you, Spencer saw you, as part of the team, as someone with valuable insights.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you held his gaze for a moment longer than you intended. “Thanks, Spencer,” you whispered, trying to suppress the blush creeping up your neck.

He smiled, a small but genuine curve of his lips, before turning back to the map. “Now, what do you think about this area here?” he asked, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for you two to be collaborating like this.

For once, you weren’t just lost in thoughts of him—you were part of the conversation, and it felt good.

After you felt you'd helped all you could, you excused yourself back to your office, ready to sink back into the more solitary part of your work. However, Spencer seemed to have other plans, as he walked alongside you, his footsteps synchronized with yours, indicating he wasn't quite done talking. His expression was one of mild concern, a usual precursor to his deep dives into various subjects.

As you walked, he continued to unravel his thoughts about the case, tying loose ends and circling back to previous points with a precision that was nothing short of impressive. It was typical of Spencer to thoroughly dissect each aspect of a case, often taking tangential routes in the conversation that surprisingly led right back to the main topic, a testament to his prodigious mind.

However, as engrossed as he was in discussing the case, his next words veered sharply from the professional to the personal, catching you completely off guard and momentarily stalling your mental gears. The shift was so sudden that it took a moment for you to register what he was actually asking, pulling you out of your case-focused mindset and into a more introspective space. This unexpected question not only showed his human side but also reminded you of the depth of his observational skills, not just in work but in personal matters as well.

"How is Felix, by the way?" Spencer asked, an innocently curious tilt to his head as he regarded you, his pace slowing slightly.

"What?" The name jolted you, an echo from a past chapter of your life you hadn’t opened in ages, and certainly not one you had expected Spencer to know anything about. You blinked, momentarily confused, trying to piece together the leap in conversation.

"Felix? How are they?" Spencer repeated, his interest seemingly piqued by your reaction—or perhaps just his natural inclination toward thorough understanding.

You paused, standing now in the doorway of your office, the background hum of computer servers providing a soft soundtrack to this unexpected moment. "Um, I don't know," you admitted, still trying to navigate the strange turn the conversation had taken.

"Oh, I’m so sorry, did you two separate?" Spencer’s tone was filled with genuine apology, his face reflecting concern.

You managed a small, somewhat awkward laugh, finding both the absurdity and the sudden intimacy of the conversation slightly overwhelming. "Well, yes. A long while ago." Your response came out lighter than you felt, the surprise of the question making your heart race for reasons other than your usual nervousness around Spencer.

As Spencer absorbed your response, his expression remained unreadable, a common trait when he was deep in thought or processing information. He nodded, perhaps filing away the conversation for later reflection, before excusing himself with a polite but somewhat distant farewell. His departure was quick, efficient, the way he typically transitioned back to work, yet it left a trail of questions in its wake.

You watched him go, a blend of relief and curiosity mingling in your thoughts. The inquiry into your personal life was uncharacteristic of Spencer, who usually maintained a strict boundary between professional and personal discussions, at least when it came to initiating such topics himself. The interaction lingered in your mind, an outlier in the usual pattern of your interactions.

"Maybe it's because Elle isn't here," you thought silently, turning back to your computer.

After leaving your office, Spencer quickly texted Elle to update her that you were no longer seeing Felix, contrary to their assumption. Elle replied enthusiastically with two thumbs up, urging him to ask you out soon or she would take the opportunity herself. 

—

Throughout the week, with Penelope, Elle, and Derek away, the dynamic at the BAU shifted noticeably. Spencer seemed to step out of his usual reserved demeanor, engaging more frequently, particularly with you. His attempts at conversation often appeared to teeter on the edge of something beyond mere professional interest, though it was so subtle that it often flew under your radar.

Tuesday morning, Spencer leaned against the counter, watching you struggle with the temperamental coffee machine that had decided today was the day to revolt. "You know, statistically, manual coffee presses have a lower failure rate compared to electric ones," he commented, a slight quirk to his lips.

You glanced at him, chuckling lightly, "Is that so? Maybe I should switch, then."

"Yeah, and they make better coffee. Maybe I could show you how to use one sometime?" His tone was casual, but there was a tentative note to it, almost hopeful.

As the coffee machine finally sputtered to life, producing a somewhat decent cup of coffee, Spencer’s offer lingered in the air, subtly altering the atmosphere between you. His suggestion about the manual coffee press had been light, almost playful, but it carried an undercurrent of personal interest that left you unexpectedly flustered. Despite this, you masked your reaction with a casual nod, trying to maintain an even keel.

"Sure, I could always use better coffee," you responded, your voice steady despite the slight quickening of your heartbeat. You focused on fixing your coffee, adding just the right amount of cream and sugar, using the mundane task as a moment to collect your thoughts.

Spencer watched you for a moment, perhaps sensing the shift in your demeanor but respecting the boundary you subtly enforced with your nonchalant reply. His smile was gentle, not pushing further, as he too turned his attention back to preparing his own drink.

Wednesday at lunch you sat in the break room flipping through case files, Spencer slid into the seat across from you with his own lunch—a homemade sandwich seemingly crafted with meticulous care. "I read somewhere that sharing meals can enhance group bonding and individual rapport," he began, looking directly at you with an earnest expression.

You looked up, smiling at the factoid, you loved hearing Spencer talk. He was always so endearing. "That sounds about right. Food does bring people together."

"Maybe we could test that theory. There's a new Thai place nearby that’s supposed to be great," he suggested, his voice smooth but slightly hurried.

"That would be an interesting experiment," you agreed, your thoughts inadvertently glossing over Spencer's subtle personal invitation. Instead, your mind wandered to the social dynamics of the team, or perhaps more pointedly, the possibility of Spencer going out with Elle without having to extend a direct invitation—an idea that stoked a twinge of jealousy, burning in your stomach like an ugly green monster. 

Spencer nodded, his expression shifting subtly as he detected the undercurrent of your thoughts, interpreting them as disinterest in a personal outing. He tried to mask any hint of disappointment, maintaining his typical composed demeanor. Internally, however, he wrestled with the sting of what felt like another missed connection, another attempt at reaching out quietly rebuffed.

"It would be a great way to explore some new flavors... maybe just the two of us first, to see if it’s worth recommending to the team?" His tone was measured, carefully modulating between casual and sincere, revealing his hope that this might pave the way to a more personal connection between the two of you.

Despite his clear wording, your mind twisted his intentions, clouded by the assumption that his ultimate aim was to impress Elle upon her return. This idea gnawed at you, the thought of being potentially used as a stepping stone in Spencer’s strategy to engage Elle more personally. It tainted the sincerity you might have otherwise perceived in his proposal.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good plan," you responded, trying to mask your feelings with a nod and a polite smile. "Testing it out sounds sensible... then we can tell Elle and the rest if it's good." Your voice carried a hint of forced cheerfulness as you inadvertently redirected the focus back to Elle, reinforcing your misinterpretation of Spencer's motives.

Spencer noticed the subtle shift in your tone, the slight stiffness in your smile. He paused, a flicker of confusion crossing his features as he tried to gauge whether his message had been misunderstood. "Yes, of course," he agreed, his voice faltering slightly as he picked up on your emphasis on Elle. Disappointment edged into his heart, sensing a barrier he hadn't anticipated—one that perhaps wasn't his to cross just yet.

He nodded slowly, offering a gentle smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll send you the details later then," Spencer added, stepping back to give you space, his mind busy piecing together where the conversation had veered off track.

Thursday while you were digging through old case files in the archives, Spencer wandered in, ostensibly looking for a book. He lingered by your side, helping to shift the heavy tomes. "You know, there's this book on cognitive science I think you'd really like. It talks about pattern recognition and emotional intelligence in ways I think you'd find fascinating," he offered, his fingers brushing against yours as he handed you a different file.

"Sounds intriguing," you responded, your attention still partially on the file in your hands. The hint of a smile played at the corners of your mouth, touched by the realization that Spencer was not only paying attention to your interests but was actively thinking about ways to engage with you on a more personal level.

"I could lend it to you. We could discuss it over coffee?" Spencer's suggestion came with a hopeful undertone, as gentle and tentative as the expression in his eyes.

Your reaction, however, was immediate and unexpected—a sudden choke on your spit as his words caught you off guard. A brief fit of coughing ensued, and Spencer's concern was quick to surface. He reached out instinctively, placing a comforting hand on your back with a gentle touch. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with worry.

The unexpected contact made you jolt, a reflexive response to the sudden intimacy of his touch. Realizing your reaction, Spencer quickly withdrew his hand, a flash of disappointment crossing his features as he stepped back, giving you space.

"Yeah, I'm fine, sorry," you managed to laugh it off, though your cheeks burned with embarrassment. You tried to smooth over the moment, still recovering from the unexpected cough and the even more unexpected contact.

Spencer's response was gentle, a soft nod accompanying his words. "It's okay, I'll, uh, see you upstairs," he said, stepping back with a hesitant smile. His decision to not press the coffee invitation further reflected his respect for your comfort, but inwardly, he felt he might have missed his opportunity for the day.

As he turned to leave, the brief contact and your embarrassed reaction replayed in his mind, leaving him wondering about the right approach to take next time. His intentions had been straightforward, but the execution hadn't gone as smoothly as he hoped. The way your eyes had widened, the laughter that followed the cough—it all suggested a mix of emotions that he couldn't quite decipher.

Watching him walk away, you felt a pang of regret. His retreat made you realize that your reaction might have been misinterpreted as discomfort, rather than the surprise and nervous excitement you actually felt. The idea of discussing a book over coffee with Spencer genuinely appealed to you, and you wished you could convey that without the awkwardness of the moment overshadowing it.

Gathering your thoughts, you considered reaching out to him later to clarify your interest, maybe even suggest a specific day for that coffee. The day hadn't gone as either of you planned, but it wasn't over yet, and perhaps there was still a chance to turn it around.

Friday afternoon as you both waited for the elevator, Spencer tried again, this time a bit more directly. "Did you know that the probability of meeting someone compatible is surprisingly high within work environments?"

You raised an eyebrow, trying to steady the rapid thumping of your heart. "Really now? I guess we’re in the right place, then."

"Yes, exactly," Spencer agreed, a bit more eagerly than you expected. "It’s like... finding the right piece in a puzzle."

"Like solving a case?" you asked, your voice shrinking with uncertainty, afraid that, once again, he had someone else in mind—someone who fit into his world effortlessly, maybe a profiler like Elle.

"Yeah," he smiled warmly, his eyes soft as they focused on you. "Just like solving a case."

Your heart cracked a little at his words. You interpreted the metaphor differently, convinced he was searching for someone like the other brilliant profilers on the team—someone you believed you could never be. With a forced smile, you said quietly, "Well, looks like you need a profiler-shaped puzzle piece then."

Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his face as you stepped into the elevator. He stood there, frozen, not understanding the weight behind your words or why you seemed so distant.

As the elevator doors slid shut, he replayed the conversation in his mind, his heart sinking as he realized something wasn’t connecting. He had been trying to tell you, in his own way, that he was interested in you, that you were the piece he was talking about. But somehow, despite his best efforts, the message kept slipping through your fingers. Why weren’t you getting it? Why did every attempt seem to fall short?

Spencer watched the elevator descend, a sinking feeling settling in his chest. He had been so certain of his feelings for you, and yet, with every attempt, it felt like they drifted further away, lost in the unspoken misunderstandings between you.

—

When the freshly bronzed trio returned from their vacation, Spencer, seemingly on edge, wasted no time in seeking out Elle, his face etched with a mix of hope and frustration.

“So? Did you do it?” Elle asked eagerly as soon as they were within speaking distance, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Did she say yes?”

Spencer’s response was laden with disappointment. “Every time I try to ask her out, she thinks it’s a friendly suggestion, or—or she even mentioned you one time like I was thinking about you!” He ran his hand through his hair in exasperation, clearly puzzled by the recurring miscommunication.

Elle couldn’t help but laugh slightly, though her lips were closed, trying to mask her amusement at the situation. Spencer, on the other hand, whined in annoyance, “What?” He genuinely didn’t understand what he was missing.

With a fond smile, Elle prodded further, “Reid, how did you ask? And what did she say?” Her voice was gentle, coaxing him to unpack the details.

Spencer recapped all the moments from the past week—the coffee machine incident, the lunch invitation, the casual chat in the archives, and the awkward elevator conversation. Each retelling showcased his subtle, cerebral approach to what he thought were clear invitations.

“Oh, boy genius,” Elle said teasingly once he finished, her tone light but her words cutting to the heart of the issue. “I think I see the problem here.”

“What? What is it?” Spencer asked, desperation and confusion in his voice.

Elle placed her hand on his arm, a gesture meant to be comforting but one that did not escape your notice, intensifying the ache in your heart. “She thinks you’re interested in me!” Elle revealed, her insight sharp.

“Why would she think that?” Spencer asked, his bewilderment evident. The connection between his actions and your perception seemed utterly foreign to him.

Elle’s explanation was straightforward, “Because, Spencer, every time you make an attempt, it’s so subtle and wrapped in layers of intellect that it’s easy for her to miss the romantic intent.”

Her words seemed to pierce through the fog of confusion surrounding Spencer. The realization that his attempts at expressing romantic interest were getting lost in translation—or rather, lost in his own intellectual approach—was a revelation. He nodded slowly, the gears turning as he processed this new insight.

“Plus, if she’s mentioning me and no one else, she must think you’re looking for ways to take me out!” Elle added, emphasizing her point with a light chuckle, though her eyes remained sympathetic to Spencer’s plight.

The weight of Elle’s explanation settled heavily on Spencer. It dawned on him how his interactions, though well-intentioned, might appear to others, especially to you. His style, inherently analytical and often indirect, had inadvertently sent the wrong signals, steering your thoughts towards a narrative where he was interested in Elle rather than clarifying his feelings for you.

This misunderstanding struck a chord within him. Spencer had always prided himself on his communication skills when it came to the nuances of unsubs and case theories. Yet, here he was, stumped by personal emotions and interpersonal communications that veered off course.

“Okay, so... I’ve been too subtle,” Spencer acknowledged, almost to himself as much as to Elle. “And she’s misreading the subtlety as disinterest—or worse, interest directed at someone else.”

Elle nodded, squeezing his arm gently. “Exactly, Spencer. You’re thinking like a profiler trying to decipher hidden meanings, but sometimes, directness is key. Maybe it’s time to just tell her how you feel, plainly and clearly. No puzzles, no hints.”

“But—but what if she’s not interested?” Spencer stammered, the creeping sense of insecurity wrapping around him like a heavy blanket. His confidence from earlier was starting to erode. “I mean, she did turn me down on multiple occasions,” he added, his voice softening with self-doubt.

Elle sent him a playful glare, her expression one of disbelief. “Be serious, Reid,” she said, her tone firm but affectionate. “Everyone here can see that she’s into you. Ask anyone.”

Without giving Spencer a chance to stop her, Elle raised her voice, calling across the room, “Hey, JJ!”

Spencer's eyes widened in panic, his face flushing. “Elle! No!” His voice cracked as he tried to stop her, but it was too late.

JJ approached the two of them, a curious smile on her face as she looked between Spencer and Elle. “What’s up, you guys?” she asked, her easy going demeanor not yet aware of the situation she was about to walk into.

“Do you think Y/N is into anyone? Should we set her up?” Elle asked with a mischievous smirk, clearly enjoying Spencer’s discomfort.

JJ’s reaction was immediate—she burst into laughter, glancing between Elle and the now-mortified Spencer. “Are you kidding?!” she laughed, unable to believe the question was even being asked.

“No! Do you have anyone in mind?” Elle pushed, her smirk widening as she kept the act going.

Spencer looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, his mortification plain as he stood there frozen. His mind raced, desperate to find a way to steer the conversation away from himself. But JJ, still chuckling, fixed her gaze directly on Spencer, her expression turning to amused confusion.

“Spencer? Duh! She’s basically in love with you!” JJ declared, her blunt response leaving no room for misunderstanding.

Spencer blinked in disbelief, his mind stumbling over the directness of JJ's words. "W-What?" he stammered, his heart pounding in his chest.

JJ just shook her head, laughing softly. “Reid, it's so obvious. Trust me, you should ask her out.”

"Right," Spencer exhaled heavily, the weight of his nerves tangible in that single word. His eyes followed JJ as she walked away, her knowing smile and shake of her head a clear sign that she was rooting for him.

Elle, observing the entire interaction, turned back to Spencer with a look of determination. “Do you believe me now? You just need to be blunt,” she said firmly, reinforcing the advice with her unwavering gaze. Her stance was one of staunch support, wanting to push Spencer past his habitual overthinking.

Spencer nodded, feeling a bit more fortified by the support of his colleagues. Elle’s insistence on being blunt was exactly the nudge he needed. It was clear that subtlety had not served him well in this arena, and it was time for a change in strategy.

—

Throughout the week, Spencer made several more attempts to ask you out, each time with a bit more directness than the last, but somehow the message never quite landed. Each time deepening his frustration and your oblivious disappointment.

Spencer joined you at the coffee machine again, a site of many a casual encounter but today, he was armed with determination. "I was thinking," he began, carefully measuring his words, "that maybe you and I could try that new café downtown this Saturday."

You smiled, stirring your coffee absentmindedly, your mind on a deadline you were close to missing. "That sounds like a great break from work. It’ll be good to get the team out and about. Should I send an email to everyone?"

Spencer’s heart sank a little. "Uh, well, I meant more like a... never mind. Yes, let’s get everyone involved," he conceded, hiding his disappointment.

In the midst of discussing a particularly complex case, Spencer tried to weave in a personal invitation as naturally as he could. "And after we wrap this up, maybe you’d like to join me for dinner? I know a place that’s quiet, great for discussing... cases."

You nodded, focused intensely on the case details. "Oh yeah! I already told Pen I’d grab dinner with her after the case, do you want to join us?"

Spencer’s heart sank just a bit as he adjusted his glasses, a gesture that had become a telltale sign of his internal resignation. His intention of a quiet dinner, meant to create a private space for you and him, vanished with your invitation to Penelope. Still, he managed a smile, not wanting his disappointment to show.

“Sure, that sounds great,” Spencer replied, trying to keep his tone light and cheerful. Inside, however, he was strategizing his next move, wondering how he could ever convey his feelings without the constant backdrop of the team.

As the day progressed, his mind kept circling back to the conversation. He appreciated your inclusiveness—always making sure no one felt left out, a trait he admired deeply. Yet, he couldn’t help but wish for a moment where it could just be the two of you, away from the dynamics and distractions of the team.

As you both walked to the parking lot after a long day, Spencer decided to be as clear as he could. "I enjoy spending time with you," he said earnestly. "I was hoping we could maybe go out this weekend, just you and me. What do you think?"

You paused, turning to face him with a puzzled smile, unaware of the mounting frustration behind his calm demeanor. "Sure. What do you want to do? I heard of a nightclub that's supposed to have a disco on Saturdays, we could see if everyone is interested?”

Spencer’s patience, worn thin from repeated attempts, finally faltered. “That doesn’t really sound like my scene,” he replied, a note of desperation creeping into his voice as he motioned between the two of you. “Could we go somewhere more subdued? Just us?”

The simplicity of his request, paired with the intensity of his gesture, made you pause. "You want to hang out? With just me?" you asked, a hint of confusion lacing your words.

“Yes!” Spencer exclaimed, his voice echoing a bit louder than he intended in the quiet space between conversations around you. His hands were in the air, a gesture of his exasperation and earnestness. Realizing how his reaction might have seemed, he quickly lowered his hands and softened his tone. “I mean, yes, I would like to spend time with you. Just us. Maybe somewhere quiet where we can talk. Just... talk.”

Your heart was beating so fast you could barely contain it, “Just the two of us?” 

The realization struck you fully now, the words "just the two of us" hanging in the air, tinged with possibility. Spencer nodded, his eyes earnest and hopeful, watching for your reaction.

"Yes, just the two of us," he confirmed, his voice steadier now, filled with a quiet intensity. His gaze never wavered from yours, as if trying to convey all the sincerity he felt directly into your heart.

Your heart raced with the understanding of what he was asking, the implications of this simple request suddenly reshaping the narrative you had constructed in your mind about his feelings. The thought that Spencer, with his brilliant mind and shy demeanor, wanted to spend time alone with you, not for a case discussion or team outing but for something personal, sent a thrill of excitement mixed with nervous anticipation through you.

"Yeah, Spencer," you grinned, your heart still racing but excitement slowly overtaking your nerves. "That sounds nice. Um, I'm free Saturday."

"Saturday works for me," Spencer nodded, his own smile broadening with quiet confidence. "I'll call you?"

You nodded quickly, almost too eagerly, but you didn’t care. "Yeah, mhm, that sounds perfect."

For a moment, you both stood there, a shared anticipation buzzing in the air between you, neither wanting to break the connection just yet. When Spencer finally turned to leave, you found yourself smiling uncontrollably, the prospect of Saturday lingering in your mind, a warmth spreading through you that hadn't been there before.

—

Your excitement about the upcoming date with Spencer bubbled within you, yet you chose to keep it close to your chest. The thrill of it all felt so fragile, like a dream you didn’t want to jinx by sharing too soon with the rest of the team. This cautious optimism marked your days, turning ordinary moments into a series of hopeful glances at the calendar as Saturday approached.

Meanwhile, Spencer found himself seeking counsel from Elle, who was all too eager to lend her expertise, not just on potential date activities but on the more intimate aspects of dating as well, particularly women. Knowing Spencer’s limited experience—his only kiss having been with Lila Archer during a particularly intense case—Elle took it upon herself to offer some advice.

“Okay, Spencer, listen,” Elle began, her tone both serious and sisterly. “If the moment feels right and you think you want to kiss her, make sure you read her signals. It’s all about mutual understanding and respect, right?”

Spencer nodded, absorbing every word. Elle continued, “Make eye contact, see how she responds. If she seems receptive, maybe lean in halfway and let her meet you the rest of the way. It’s a two-way street.”

“Halfway,” Spencer repeated, mentally noting the advice. Elle’s directness and her willingness to discuss these details without any embarrassment provided him with a strange comfort.

“And, Reid, just be yourself. You’re a great guy. Let that show,” Elle added, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

Spencer felt nerves and gratitude at Elle’s advice, it was straightforward and practical, and helped ground him. He trusted her judgment, appreciating her sharing of her personal experience, especially when it came to navigating relationships—something he found infinitely more complex than the most puzzling cases.

—

The phone call on Saturday morning added to the bubbling excitement of the upcoming date. Spencer’s voice was clear and a tad nervous, which you found endearing. He promised a unique experience and asked you not to wear black, a request that piqued your curiosity and set your mind racing with possibilities. What kind of place would require such a specific dress code? The mystery only heightened your anticipation.

You quickly texted him your address, along with a playful note about your curiosity regarding the attire guidelines. Spencer replied with a simple smiley face, keeping the details of the date under wraps, which intrigued you even more.

As you prepared for the evening, you chose an outfit that was comfortable yet charming, avoiding black as instructed. The time leading up to Spencer’s arrival seemed to crawl by, each minute stretching longer than the last. You found yourself glancing at your reflection, adjusting your hair, and double-checking everything, ensuring you were ready when he arrived.

Finally, the sound of a car pulling up snapped you out of your reverie. Glancing out the window, you saw Spencer stepping out of his car, looking around with a nervous excitement that matched your own. 

As you stepped outside, your nerves fluttered slightly, but your smile was genuine when you saw Spencer waiting by his car. Waving shyly, you greeted him, "Hi, Spencer."

Spencer looked up, his eyes lighting up as he took in your appearance. "Y/N, you look great," he breathed out, his compliment wrapped in a warm smile that seemed to ease some of the tension between you.

"Thanks, I like your cardigan," you replied, noting the soft, well-worn cardigan he wore that somehow made him look even more approachable and endearing.

His smile widened at the compliment, and he seemed to relax a bit more. "Thanks! It's an old favorite," he admitted, holding the car door open for you. 

As you both stepped into the cozy, softly-lit space filled with the gentle sounds of purring and the occasional meow, Spencer immediately began sharing interesting facts about cats. “Did you know that ancient Egyptians considered cats sacred and even had a goddess named Bastet who was depicted as a lioness?” he said, looking into your eyes as you walked past a playful tabby.

Your response was a mix of admiration and amusement. “I didn’t know you were an expert on ancient cultures too,” you teased, feeling comfort and excitement as Spencer chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the opportunity to share his knowledge.

While playing with a particularly friendly cat, Spencer used the opportunity to flirt in his unique way. He gently lifted the cat, holding it out towards you. “It’s interesting how animals can facilitate social interactions, isn’t it? For instance, it's been found that people are more likely to engage in conversations in the presence of animals. They act as social lubricants.”

You laughed, reaching out to pet the cat and feeling a bit flustered by his proximity and the way he looked at you when talking about social dynamics. “Is that your subtle way of telling me you needed a furry wingman for our date?”

Spencer grinned, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Maybe, but it seems to be working, doesn’t it?”

“I don't know, say lubricant again,” you teased. Spencer's grin widened at your playful challenge, and the atmosphere between you sparked with a shared humor that made the moment light and enjoyable. 

He leaned in slightly, adopting a mock-serious tone, "Lubricant," he repeated, emphasizing the word, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You laughed even harder, your eyes bright with amusement. "Hearing you say 'lubricant' is so funny!"

Spencer, caught up in your joy, couldn’t help but laugh along. “Why?” he asked, his own grin wide as your laughter proved infectious.

"It’s just... it can be a dirtier word," you giggled, trying to explain through your laughter. "And I can’t imagine our resident genius using the word lubricant!"

Spencer's laughter joined yours, ringing out genuinely as he caught the playful jab. The lightness of the moment brought a relaxed glow to his features. "I assure you, the application of the word was purely scientific," he teased back, still chuckling. 

The café around you seemed to buzz with the warmth of your shared amusement, creating an intimate bubble amidst the quiet hum of other patrons and the soft padding of cat paws. "I suppose," Spencer continued, his smile lingering, "I should be more careful with my vocabulary around you. You're giving me a whole new perspective on language."

Your laughter gradually subsided into a series of light chuckles, but your eyes were bright with delight. "I think I like this side of you, Spencer," you said, a playful sincerity in your voice. "It’s nice to see you in a different light, not just as the genius profiler but also someone who can joke around about...lubricants."

Spencer's eyes softened, clearly touched by your words. "I'm glad," he said softly, his voice carrying a note of appreciation. "It’s not often I get to show this side, and I’m happy to share it with you." 

As you observed the cats seemingly gravitate towards Spencer, who seemed both amused and delighted by their attention, an idea sparked in your mind. It was the perfect segue into a lighthearted flirtation, mixing your shared love for animals with a touch of mystical charm.

"You know, it’s said that animals, especially cats, have a keen sense of good and bad," you started, watching Spencer's reaction as a particularly fluffy cat chose his lap as its new throne. "They're often drawn to people with good auras. I guess they must sense something pretty great about you."

Spencer looked up, his expression a mix of surprise and pleasure at your comment. He laughed softly, a sound that warmed you to the core. "Is that so? Well, I must be on the right track then. Maybe they sense my excellent choice in company for this evening," he replied smoothly, his gaze locking with yours in a moment charged with a gentle intensity as a cat nuzzled its way into your lap as well.

Your heart fluttered slightly at his words, and you smiled, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. "Oh, so we’re using cat behavior to gauge our decisions now?" you teased back, leaning in a little closer. "In that case, I think they’re on to something because I’m feeling pretty good about my choice too."

Spencer’s smile widened, and he reached over to gently nudge a playful kitten back onto the table, his actions thoughtful and tender. "I'll take that as a high compliment, coming from someone who clearly knows her way around cats and their mysterious ways," he said, his voice soft but filled with an underlying warmth that suggested he was as affected by the exchange as you were.

As the evening wound down, and the café began to prepare for closing, Spencer drove you home. The conversation flowed effortlessly, and you found yourself sharing little anecdotes from your childhood, while Spencer listened intently, always eager to learn more about you.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of your home. The end of the evening had come too quickly, a sentiment you both silently acknowledged as you lingered at the doorstep, not quite ready to say goodbye.

"Y/N...I had a really nice time today," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that seemed to wrap the evening in a perfect close.

"Me too, Spencer, thank you for asking me. I was kind of shocked," you admitted, your words sincere and open. The evening had unfolded beautifully, but part of you had still been wrestling with the disbelief that it was all really happening.

"Really? Why?" Spencer's curiosity was piqued, his gaze intent on you, wanting to understand more.

You smiled shyly, a nervous habit kicking in as you rubbed behind your ear. "I just... liked you for so long, I never thought you were interested in me too," you confessed, the words tumbling out more easily than you'd expected. The truth had been a quiet companion for so long, and saying it aloud to Spencer felt both freeing and terrifying.

Spencer's expression softened even further, a gentle understanding coloring his features. "Y/N, I’ve been trying to ask you out for two weeks," he confessed. His chuckle was light, trying to ease the tension.

Spencer's revelation brought a mix of relief and amusement. "Really? I had no idea you were trying," you replied, a smile breaking across your face, reflecting both the surprise and joy of the moment.

He nodded, a bit of sheepishness showing through his usual composed demeanor. "Yes, it turns out I'm not as skilled in expressing personal interest as I am with criminal profiles," he admitted, his light laughter mingling with yours.

The air between you felt lighter, a shared understanding dawning that, despite the initial miscommunications, there was a genuine and mutual interest. "Well, I'm glad you kept trying," you said, your tone sincere. "And I'm sorry I didn't pick up on it sooner. I guess I was just scared to get my hopes up."

Spencer reached across the small space between you, his hand hesitating just a moment before gently taking yours. "No more missed signals, okay? Let's promise to be more straightforward with each other," he suggested, his gaze steady and reassuring.

You nodded, squeezing his hand in agreement, feeling a warmth spread through you at the contact. "It's a deal," you responded, your heart feeling both settled and exhilarated by the new promise laid between you.

“So... in honor of being straightforward…” Spencer began, his voice soft but steady, a shy smile playing on his lips. He stepped closer to you, his eyes searching yours, a quiet vulnerability in his gaze. Gently, he took both of your hands in his, his touch warm and reassuring. “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart raced, the moment feeling both tender and surreal. The way he held your hands, the genuine care in his voice—it was everything you'd hoped for, wrapped in Spencer’s uniquely thoughtful way. You felt yourself nod before you even spoke, your breath catching slightly. “Yes,” you whispered, smiling softly, your eyes never leaving his.

Spencer’s smile deepened with relief and excitement. Slowly, he leaned in, his movements deliberate and gentle, giving you every moment to close the gap as well. When your lips finally met, it was soft, sweet, and full of the promise that had been building between you for so long. The world seemed to pause, leaving just the two of you in that quiet, intimate moment, finally aligned in your shared feelings.

When you pulled back, there was a brief silence before you both laughed lightly, the tension melting away completely. "That was… nice," Spencer said, his voice low, his smile radiating warmth. 

"Yeah, it really was," you agreed, still feeling the butterflies in your chest as you held onto his hands just a little tighter. 

“Oh, and for the record,” Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he took in your reaction, “I don’t like Elle—romantically, of course. She’s my best friend.”

Your face flushed with sudden embarrassment, realizing he'd caught on to your earlier assumptions. “Oh, I—well, uh...” you stammered, struggling to find the right words.

Spencer's smile remained soft and reassuring. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he said warmly, squeezing your hands gently. “Elle is super gay, not sure how you missed that, and... I really like you.”

His words, so genuine and direct, melted away the last bit of tension you’d been holding onto. You laughed lightly, the awkwardness dissolving into relief. “Well, that’s good to know,” you said with a grin, finally allowing yourself to fully relax into the moment.

Spencer's grin mirrored yours as he added, “I just wanted to clear that up. No more misunderstandings.” His gaze softened as he looked at you, the weight of unspoken feelings now out in the open. 

“No more misunderstandings,” you agreed, feeling the warmth of his words and the certainty that everything between you was finally where it should be.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[ellecdc]

girl girl hear me out YAPPER GF X REGULUS!! Pls pls pls like u could do anything u wanted with them!!! I have a few ideas (take any or none)

May be she just walks up to him one day like clearly wanting to befriend him cuz she has a lil crush and just starts yapping about how the great hall had her fave pastry for breakfast today and he's so confused but also intrigued and then she starts sitting next to him in classes and asking him to hang out at hogsmead and she just yaps and sometimes she thinks may be he zones out but then he'll bring up this super niche detail she mentioned last time like "hey what happened to that quill you forgot in the potions lecture?"

they r already dating and she worries she's too much energy and talk for him and tries to be quiet and he's just like r u sick? R u mad at me? What's wrong u haven't gone on a 30 min description/rant about ur day

3. May be someone else brings up she talks a lot and Reggie defends her?

you guys really love your bubbly/talkative readers with Regulus, don't you? (so do i); thanks for your request!

Regulus Black x yapper!reader who didn't think he was actually listening

CW: fem!reader, rolling thoughts, brief mention of difficulty making friends, people talking about reader behind her back, swear words (on ellecdc? nooo [sarcasm])

Your family said that you had an incessant need to fill silence from the moment you could talk. 

“If there’s a room with our daughter in it, you can be certain that it won’t be quiet.” Your mum had proclaimed as she beamed at you lovingly one day.

While it was certainly a trait that your family had always found rather endearing, you felt that it made it particularly difficult making friends once you began attending Hogwarts. 

But the friends you managed to make loved you for it, and they had often stated “you can call her what you want but you can’t call her boring.” 

That didn’t mean your other classmates appreciated your stories or tangents, though. 

Which is how you ended up serving numerous detentions for speaking during class or lectures and disturbing the students around you, and how you’d been cycled through numerous seat partners in potions class. 

And that is how poor Regulus Black ended up stuck sharing a worktable with the likes of you.

He didn’t seem to mind, though. And if he did, well, he certainly never said anything about it.

You were quite sure he tuned you out during your rambles, hardly ever sparing you a glance and keeping his eyes trained on his parchment in front of him as he took dutiful notes during lectures.

Couldn’t be you, however.

No.

You were too busy lamenting about the fact that you couldn’t get more than twenty feet to the mooncalf herd up the hill behind the quidditch pitch before they would all run off. They only came out at night, you see, and you wanted to take some photos of them. Some photos turned into midnight picnics, and picnics turned into sharing apple slices by means of throwing them towards the bug-eyed beasts and watching them argue over the slice until you threw another. But even after feeding them forty seven apples and counting at this point (Winky the house elf from the kitchen was not pleased with you), they still wouldn’t let you get any closer to them.

Your next course of action was to try a smellier and higher value treat; you wondered then if mooncalves could have tuna? Tuna was certainly smelly enough. Well, if you couldn’t entice the mooncalves, you’d certainly entice a cat or two. 

You wondered then if mooncalves and cats got along? Kneazles were nearly the same size as the poor beasts, but cats were much smaller. You figured cats would look at a mooncalf the same way they’d look at a goat. 

You’d seen a cat ride a goat once, not many people believed you, though. You’d have to learn how to make a pensieve one day just to prove it to everyone. You didn’t much care for goats, though; something about their square pupils seemed alien to you. 

Which seemed odd considering there were numerous beasts in the magical world that really were quite alien, yet it was  goats that did it for you.

And why were they always associated with the devil? Was it because of the square pupils? Do you think there’d be a book that explained that?

But you didn’t even realise that the period had ended until Regulus stood and collected his books, offering you a curt nod before leaving the classroom. 

Fuck….do you think he’d let you copy his notes? 

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Merlin’s tits, she never stops talking! I feel bad for the poor sod stuck next to her; Black probably wants to avada himself every class. You heard a classmate mutter as you walked to your workbench, movements slowed as you lowered yourself into your chair and tried not to let their words hurt you. 

You were used to the comments, you were used to the sentiment honestly; did they think it was easy being you? Did they think you didn’t get tired of listening to yourself too? 

Of course you did, it was exhausting; your brain never stopped moving, and apparently, neither did your mouth.

But it did hurt a little, perhaps because Regulus had been quite gracious about it thus far. He had listened to you carry on about the astrological significance of space waste and how that was affecting the magic of the stars. He had listened to you bemoan about the positive impact that centaur migration had on local flora and fauna and how the fencing of fields and forests was going to cause unimaginable damage to the life cycles of such. He also had listened to your morose mooncalf story and the update the next day that you were able to order cans of tuna via owl to the castle.

And he’d not so much as bat an eye at you.

Certainly he’d have said something to you if you bothered him? 

Although, perhaps this was why Slughorn put him beside you, because he knew Regulus wouldn’t say anything; had Regulus done something to anger Slughorn? Was placing you beside Regulus less about you driving your seat mates crazy, but more about being a punishment for Regulus?

Well, you couldn’t imagine Regulus had done anything bad enough to deserve a full term with you as a potions partner.

No, you decided, you would not be his punishment.

So when Regulus entered class that day, and Slughorn read out the instructions for today’s potion brew, you resisted the urge to speak.

You were quiet when retrieving your potion ingredients, you were quiet as you checked and double checked the brewing instructions, and you were quiet as you waited for the potion to reach its boiling point. 

You actually thought you’d done quite well; you sort of wished you had started a timer, this may very well have been a record for you. 

Well, unless sleeping counted. Would sleeping count as being quiet? Oh gods, what if you talked in your sleep too!? You’d have to ask your roommates.

“L/N.” Regulus called as if it hadn’t been the first time he’d done so. “You alright?” He asked, ducking down in an attempt to meet your gaze as you watched a divot appear between his brows.

“Yeah? Why?” You asked, finding yourself furrowing your brows in solidarity; you found Regulus to be too pretty to look so worried. 

He shrugged his shoulders and straightened up, though the space between his brows remained divoted. “You’ve been awfully quiet, s’all.” He murmured quietly, and you were surprised to see a dusting of pink on his cheeks.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” You muttered perhaps pointedly; his eyes narrowing to match the furrowed brows. 

“Says who?”

Your eyes traitorously darted to the students who had been discussing your habits, and Regulus followed your gaze.

He rolled his eyes and muttered something in French under his breath as he turned his attention back towards your shared potion. “Those tossers are just mad that they have nothing of value to say.”

You more felt than heard a disbelieving breath escape your lips as you looked at Regulus in bemusement. 

He didn’t seem to notice though, as he continued to the next step in your potion and carried on. “Did the tuna work?”

You stared at him dumbly before your brain kicked back into gear. “I beg your pardon?”

“The tuna.” He repeated. “For the mooncalves?”

Oh.

“Oh.” You started, giving your head a shake as you tried to find your balance you had long lost during this conversation. “Erm, no, but I did indeed attract a few cats.”

“Ah.” Regulus offered, smiling at you (or at the expected poof from the potion signifying that the two of you had brewed it correctly thus far). 

“Also, I found out why goats are often associated with the devil, but the book you’d be looking for is Biblical in nature.”

You stared at him with your mouth agape as he continued. “There’s a quote where that Christ bloke mentions something about separating people from one another just as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. They’re used as a metaphor for the ‘bad’ or ‘inferior’ member of any group; it could also be understood as the divide between the pure and the wicked. I say goats got a bad rap, though.”

The next step in your potion brewing process was to allow the potion to simmer until it turned a milky white colour, so Regulus lowered the heat before appearing to remember something.

“I almost forgot…” He started as he began rooting through his book bag. “I asked the shopkeep at Brood & Peck, and she said this is a favourite of mooncalves; maybe you’ll have more luck tonight?” He asked as he held out a parchment of beast treats to you. 

“You’ve been listening? This whole time?” You whispered in awe as you took the bag delicately as if  he had just handed you a delicate china dish. 

His brows furrowed again as he searched your eyes. “Well…yeah? I’m rather invested now.” He explained just as your potion turned its intended colour. 

“Very good Mr. Black, Miss. L/N.” Professor Slughorn commented as he walked past your workbench. 

You were alerted to the fact that class was over when everyone’s potions were vanished with a pop and students started to pack up their belongings.

“You’ll keep me posted, yeah? About the mooncalves?” Regulus asked as he started walking backwards towards the door. 

“Sure.” You murmured, earning you a wide smile from the notoriously quiet boy. 

Yes… You’d be more than happy to keep Regulus Black posted.