#if not i explained in replies lmfao
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oh good, wild life is over, now i can catch up on the whole thing in one fell swoop and possibly overwhelm the dash with my rabid Posting.
#ngl i've been avoiding tumblr bc my blocked words list is airtight but some of y'all bitches don't be tagging spoilers LMFAO#and my brain literally Would Not Let Me watch wl so. that was fun.#once i get off of my three days in a row and get into the weekend. the marathon is fucking ON broskis#hope ur doing well hermiblr imy#*#also maybe wild life ending means i'll stop getting replies to my comment on one of Joel's videos that predates it#''you predicted it!!'' yes yes you and ten other people really do think so. please stop my notifs are crying#← still doesn't quite understand what wild life's premise is because she only watched etho's first episode and that man explains NOTHING#and so was technically spoiled :) by random YouTube commenters :) nowhere is safe :) :) /hj
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The only white rapper I can tolerate is Jayeazy. Sure he’s awkward, but that man likes his queer fans.
I’ve never heard of this dude until white tumblr ppl kept on talking about him if I’m being real
#I reblogged the post of him joining here tho since it was funny but I don’t be caring about getting into w rappers foreal#nothing against him tho 😭#it’s like how wp only acknowledge rap/HH if a white guy is doing it like that’s what it gives#not you anon but just in gen lol#tkf replies#the fact that he had to explain the meaning behind his very obvious rap name proves enough just how w his audience is#I might give him an honest listen just so that I won’t come off as too biased just because he’s white lmfao#he might be cool#he seems like he’s all about fun so that’s what matters#q slur
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𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 || 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary_ where the salesman discovers his wife is a recruiter like him and punishes her for keeping the secret.
warnings_ AGE GAP (not specified), wife!reader, crumbs of frontman x reader, angst, fluff, the worst smut you’ll ever read, piv sex and kinky stuff, blood play, gun play, both are little freaks do not romanticize this irl, NOT PROOFREAD
notes_ 49 people liked my gong yoo playlist, and it’s a bad playlist lmfao
♫ ♪ the worst playlist 4 gong yoo
✰ Index (+ fics here)
୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ———୨ৎ───୨ৎ
Looking through the little window of the kitchen, you noticed it was going to be a cloudy day.
Rain was forecasted but the air was kind of warm, either way, you would take the subway. Your hands pour two coffee cups and soon you place them perfectly on the table.
You return to serve the scrambled eggs with sausage you made, very occidental given the circumstances.
Two big hands snake around your hips and you roll your eyes, giggling.
“You shouldn’t spoil me this much, blossom,” your husband says, kissing your cheek and making you feel utterly in love.
“I can and I will, baby” you reply, spinning around, his hands remain on your hips and you step on your tiptoes to give him a soft kiss.
He had a grey suit already on. His hair was perfectly combed and his well-mannered composure displaying too.
“I was thinking on something…” your husband says, tracing circles over the fabric of your pajama sweats. “What if?… We have a date?”
“A date? Aren’t our usual hangouts dates, love?” You ask confidently, you can hear him huffing but in a playful way.
“It’s different. We married three years ago…” you nod at him, a silly smile plastered across your face.
“And where are you taking me?” your sultry tone makes him grope your hips harder and it almost makes you gasp.
“That’s a surprise…” your husband says, grabbing the plates with food and walking away. “Fine, dear. Surprise me then…”
As you both eat dinner, you remember your tasks of the day, making you eat slowly.
“I’m staying a couple of extra hours in my office, I have three scheduled meetings with students to counsel” you explain.
“I still believe you’ll be home earlier than me…”
“Well, just in case, I already left chicken breasts marinating and the vegetables are disinfected” Your husband eyes you with curiosity, already thinking why you would take longer. “Just cook the chicken and pour the vegetables in a bowl. I’ll make the salad and drinks if I’m late”
He nods, smiling at you with ease. But his thoughts are running high already.
Soon he is at the door putting on his shiny black shoes while you slip into your low maroon heels.
“See you tonight,” you say, stepping forward and kissing him so passionately that he almost closes the door to throw you on the couch.
“Love you,” you said.
“Love you too” the salesman answered.
…
Your fingers twirl around the red keys you had hanging in your office. The computer was on and the announcement of a zoom call ended was on display. You unlock a drawer with said keys and you grab a cellphone.
It was cold and off. As soon as you turn it on, you stand up to close the door and that’s when it starts vibrating.
“Are you alone?” The deep voice on the other side asks. “All clear…”
“Good” You can tell how imposing his voice is, he was your boss after all. “Have you read the archive of the games of 2020?”
“Yes, sir” you answer confidently.
“Player 456, Seong Gi-hun is trying to find us…” you remembered the morning you put aside your counselor job to read the archives and search most of the profiles of the late players of the squid game of 2020.
“We have located his intern. Get rid of him and the work he has done so far…” you silently sigh at his words. In your hand, the phone vibrates again, alerting you of a new message, probably containing the address of the intern.
“Do you need proof of my job?”
“I trust you enough to complete your task without doubts” he says and it almost made your cheeks burn.
You stay silent, already accepting you would be late for dinner.
“Can you do that for me? Or do you have to get home to your husband?” He is mocking you, you roll your eyes, standing up and ready to leave.
“Don’t push my buttons, Hwang In-ho” and with that, you hang up.
…
The washing machine of the apartment was too quiet. At given times, it almost made you forget you had clothes washing. You stand in front of the machine, your arms crossed and looking at the clothes spinning inside. You could still see the dress shirt of your husband and the tiny droplet of dry blood, slowly turning pink and then dissapearing completely.
The salesman didn’t ask you why you took longer than expected the night before. You has already warned him you could be late. he respected it.
In the morning he woke up hard and you gladly spread your legs for him. You whispered his name in his ear until you couldn’t help but moan loudly. Your husband was always soft but hard. Sometimes you wondered if he had more unveiling under his perfectly neat aura. He once said his job was dangerous, but both of you were getting to know each other and were drunk. What if it wasn’t a joke?
He was a businessman, but ever since you met him, you hadn’t questioned with sincerity what he specifically worked for.
As you see how the blood disappeared from his dressing shirt, you wonder if he was also lying to you.
What if he was cheating? Women could get freaky and draw some blood if things went messy in the sheets.
No. He was head over heels for you.
The salesman picked you and never let you go. He asked for a fruit cake slice and you asked for a crème brûlée at the same time. The girl at the counter asked if you two were a couple and both of you chuckled, pointing out you were strangers.
It made more sense your husband was in some dirty job.
Just like you…
But you did it because you needed extra money to send to your home. Your parents needed a house, new cars, you just couldn’t ask your husband to sustain them as well.
What was his reason?….
You shake your head, realizing you were overthinking and your husband probably was just working at some office. You would keep your lie as long as possible.
And that was it, for a moment…
…
It had been raining all night. The streets were quiet but the sense of tranquility flooded the air. Your heels clicked with every step you gave through the station.
You were slightly far from home, at the Busan station. The frontman wanted you to meet with a recruiter to count how many cards both of you have handed out and how many were left.
It didn’t made a lot of sense but there you were; waiting for a tall man with navy suit and black tie.
You look around, trying to spot said man. Coming down the streets you saw a briefcase.
And nothing prepared you to discover said recruiter was your dear husband.
Your blood pressure lowered, and on the verge of feeling dizzy, you turned after seeing your husband looking around.
Your first thought was to take off your shoes and coat. The grey heels and red coat would easily give you away.
As you do so, you start walking away, feeling extremely uneasy.
Your heels start sounding louder as you start running. You know it will start drawing unwanted attention, possibly your husband’s as well.
He couldn’t see you, he heard some heels and looked for the person wearing them. But he only distinguished the silhouette of a woman.
She looked a lot like you.
The salesman hurried to move across the busy station. Everyone was waiting the arrival of the train. He immediately started wondering if it was actually you. And what were you doing in Busan?
When he tried to reach the woman, she was already out of the station. And the salesman realized he should have paid more attention to your sudden changes. If he didn’t love you as much as he did, he would’ve tracked you down every single day until he was able to unmask the truth.
But your husband loved you. Even when he was insane.
He pulled out his phone and dialed your number.
You grabbed a cab and set the route back home. Your phone ringed and you tried to calm yourself before answering.
“Yes?”
“Are you still at the office?” Your husband asked with feigned innocence.
“No. I made an appointment to get my hair done” he nods, feeling slightly relived for some reason.
“And you?” You suddenly feel insecure. Because you saw him at the station.
“I’m still at the workplace…”
Liar…
“Oh, okay, honey. I’ll see you tonight…” you say, smiling.
But how bad could you feel when you were also lying? You had a hair appointment but it was a couple of blocks away from the apartment.
The salesman sat on the train. He never did so, he always stood straight, ready to walk out. But the odd moment was making him more uneasy than it should.
His phone vibrated, but it wasn’t the phone he used just for you. It was his work phone.
He opened the message and he stared at it in silence.
A picture of you at the station. With the red coat and grey heels he saw you wearing in the morning.
“Tell your wife to send the record of the people she recruited”
The salesman couldn’t hide his surprise.
…
You didn’t consider the way restaurants decorated everything with hearts and too many balloons, making the place look like too much. You loved it.
The place your husband picked was gorgeous. Both of you had nearly finished a bottle of wine, with exquisite plates and a tiramisu to die for.
“I love the way your new haircut looks” your husband admits, making you blush immediately. “Really? Thanks, love”
“Did you get it done before or after going to Busan to recruit players?” he was smiling, not sweetly but cynically.
“What?” he chuckles at your shy question.
“Now, don’t be shy, blossom” You sip at your glass of wine as he hands his credit card to a waitress. “I asked you a question. Answer me…”
You sigh, brushing some hair away from your forehead.
“Because I will gladly reveal to you that I’m also a recruiter….” half of you were relieved but the other was extremely confused. “I was once a pink guard. I knew the thrill of killing my father as he lost a game would get me far”
You gasp, almost covering your mouth.
He had said his father fell ill after the war and eventually perished.
“I love the face of the poor souls that play with me and feel like they’ve won” There’s something about his behavior that alerts you. About an unknown side of your husband. “Then I remind them how fucked up they are, the desperation they carry”
He knows you are analyzing every word and gesture he is doing. He doesn’t mean to scare you. He is testing you.
“I did to help my parents” You can’t look him in the eye, you are shocked. “To help them pay their bills and buy a new home. I wasn’t going to ask you for help with this”
“I would’ve traveled to your hometown and handed them every single dollar in person, y/n,” he says with a cheeky and proud smile. “With every single thing I do, you’re on my mind. Every single person I hand a card to, I hope you’ve never known them. Every single person I kill, I check to walk home neat and clean. All so I don’t have to scare you…”
Your husband was insane.
“And you think I wouldn’t have helped you pay your parent’s bills? Be honest with yourself, my dear wife…” you gulp, you feel like he is drinking your fear. “You accepted the job because you also fill the thrill like me…”
Was he right? You didn’t know yet. But you wouldn’t let him get away with it.
“I have been doing this for two months, you have been in this for years!” you don’t let your broken voice expose you. “Let’s not point anyone here”
The salesman sits there, with his hands under his chin and looking neutrally odd for the situation. However, he had never seen you mad at him before. Just once a couple of months after you started dating. But now, as a marriage, it felt odd, worse.
Your teary eyes make him feel almost wrong. He never wanted to be the reason for your cries.
And yet, he felt a burning rage, because you lied to him.
You turn away, standing up.
“Where are you going?” He asks patiently.
“Home, I’ll see you there…” you say between the tears.
Everything feels so odd. You can’t completely control your emotions at that moment. You just walk some blocks away.
You want to overthink the situation, but you can’t.
All you knew was that it scared you more to admit you were as twisted and evil as your husband than to accept he was actually like that.
Your work phone vibrates and you already know who sent the “See me in room 14, red building” message.
…
You carelessly blow out the smoke of your cigar inside the room. One arm under your breasts and the other holding the cigar between your index and middle finger.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me my husband was also part of this?” You ask looking through the big crystal window. You could see the long line outside of the restaurant you had left half an hour ago.
“Because I didn’t know at the beginning” you huff, smoking again, ignoring the way you could feel his eyes wandering across your figure. “And then I understood my best salesman was married to my best saleswoman”
The moment you stepped inside and the frontman met you sat on a leather couch with his mask on, you prayed you to be home with your sociopathic husband.
“This will prove our ‘till death do us part’…” you attempt to joke, without smiling or trying to sound funny.
In-ho stands up and you feel him stand behind you.
You remain still when his hands land on your hips, it doesn’t feel the same as when your husband does it.
“This is the first time we’ll try to host two games per year. One in the spring and one in the fall…” he says slowly. “I have to go because I’m a busy man, you know that, dear y/n”
“And what is my job?” In-ho smiles, eager to see your face but willing to wait until you finish your cigar.
“You and your husband must soothe the waters so Seong Gi-hun will stop trying to find us…” you sigh, not prepared to start working with your husband.
“Very romantic” you blurt out, stepping on the cigar and then the hands in your hips made you twist around so you could face your boss properly.
“Make me proud, blossom” you almost spitted at him.
Only your husband made it sound normal whenever he gave you a nickname.
“Yes, sir…” But it doesn’t matter, you can’t fight. You would protect your husband at any cost. And defying the frontman meant danger. Why provoke it?
“Good girl,” he says, turning away.
…
It couldn’t be because of money. The salesman was wealthy enough to take care of you in every single aspect. He never told you to quit your job because he knew you loved it and you felt proud for contributing financially with him.
A lover? You didn’t have male friends for starters. Your husband was aware that you were a rare case of contained extroversion due to a lack of friends.
He was crazy enough to deal with you and get so used to end up falling in love.
But yes, he believed you it was because of the money. Your family was so important to you. He never understood, because he never experienced the same love as you.
He took off his blazer, grabbed a bottle of soju sat in the living room, and loosened his black tie.
The clock marked 12:40 pm, you were taking longer than expected.
Then the door opened.
You were drenched in blood.
It didn’t surprise the salesman. He stared at you and you briefly eyed him, then turned to take your keys.
At that point, it didn’t matter anymore. He knew you weren’t as sweet as you appeared. And you knew your husband wasn’t as good as he looked. You had to kill a man for almost exposing part of the organization.
You sighed and walked past your husband.
“Where do you think you’re going?” You hear his deep voice.
He was manspreading on the big couch and looked utterly consumed by his thoughts.
“We’re talking after I take a shower. I won’t do it while I’m drenched in blood…” he chuckles, making you realize he might not be tremendously surprised. He wasn’t even shocked about the blood. He already knew your true nature.
“Come here, darling…” The way he speaks is demanding.
You hesitate but step forward until you end up standing between his legs.
“Take off your clothes, please…” you scoff, chuckling, he doesn’t change his cold expression. “What?”
“Take off your clothes, blossom…”
You lock your eyes with him and do as he says.
It felt like a little competition. But nobody was winning.
Your flesh was exposed. Just like you were brought to earth. Your husband started to look down.
Maroon painting your neck, chest, and legs.
He makes you lay on the fancy carpet of the living room.
The blood is almost dry, but splotches still ruin the light brown carpet in the living room. You feel the deep gaze of your husband, but you only stare at the ceiling, feeling a little bold. You had no problem with showing him that he couldn’t easily scare you.
And then you hear him pulling something out.
A gun…
The cold unleashes some fire in your lower belly as your husband holds a revolver and starts tracing imaginary patterns from your neck, down to the valley of your breasts.
“You have been lying to me…” he pretends to be offended, you suppress a moan when he keeps lowering the gun, inches away from your pelvis. “I thought there were no lies between us…”
“I didn’t know how to tell you” you admit, closing your eyes, trying not to look like you are taking so much pleasure from your husband showing you a hidden side of himself. “And it seems like you didn’t know how to tell me either…”
“No, no, no. You knew my job was dangerous” He pouts, dragging the gun up and down your wet folds. “I just never told you exactly what it was about”
“Who cares? It’s the only secret we’ve kept from each other, let’s work in our commutation and that’s it…”
“I don’t think so, love” he objects, slipping the gun inside you, erupting a moan from you, he smirked. “I’m going to show why good girls shouldn’t lie to their husbands”
He set a restlessly low pace that made you lift your hips, but he pushed them back against the couch.
When you least expect it, you had already gushed around his gun, probably ruining it. He was naked and fucking you in a possessive matting press position.
“Tell me how much you love,” he says in between breaths.
“Fuck- I-, I love you so fucking much” you moan”
He was another man, you were another woman. Suddenly the marriage felt renewed, to the max.
“Say you’re sorry” he demands, fucking you harder, your eyes close in pleasure but you are thinking clearly. “Say you’re sorry too” you fight back, his hips align better and you can’t help but feel your eyes get teary as his tip brushes a special spot. You can’t help it…
“Oh- god- I’m sorry” you admit, little tears sliding down, but your husband is insane so he leans and without slowing down his pace, he licks your tears. “I’m sorry too”
It feels too good, more than usual. You feel your core tightening and your hips trying to meet him impossibly closer.
“Admit it, you are not as innocent as you want to appear” he spats out, his moans leading you closer to your fourth orgasm of the night. “You take joy in the chaos of having some power others don’t have…”
Busted.
You know something has changed. Like a superscar freshly appearing in your marriage. And somehow, you don’t feel bad about it anymore.
“Admit and you’ll see why we perfectly fitted like puzzle pieces since the beginning” he urges you.
“I do…” you confess.
The air feels lighter, your stomach tenses, and your back arches.
As you throw back your head and close your eyes, you hear your husband say he loves you again.
His warm cum floods your walls and you feel full. And satisfied…
There’s no turning back. You were bound to recruit people for some deadly games, to track down people and kill them if necessary. All along your husband.
“I knew I was right about you,” he says, pressing his forehead between your breasts.
“You’re the love of my life” you don’t say anything for some minutes, you only stare at the perfect ceilings of the apartment. But you think too much about his touch.
Your husband loved you. He could drain all the blood from a corpse with his hands and make love to you with said hands. He would leave aside his insane nature just to come home and make you happy. And he would accept your also insane nature and love you the same. If not, more…
“You’re the love of my life too” you finally answer, cradling his face and kissing him in the lips.
________________________
Man, I need to start the silent sea to write for another gong yoo character
#the salesman x reader#salesman x reader#recruiter x reader#gong yoo x reader#gong yoo#squid game x y/n#squid game x reader
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Beyond the Window
Summary: With her package plan a success, the only thing standing between Y/N and Spencer now was his job. But as soon as he returned home, nothing would hold them back from finally acting on their feelings—this time, with no windows in the way. (Part One)
CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Some might consider this dubcon (talk of Spencer watching reader through her window but reader had wanted him to) so please be aware of that! Fingering (f!receiving), oral (both m and f receiving), unprotected P in V sex (birth control mentioned), overstimulation/multiple orgasms (both m and f receiving), dry humping (if you squint), creampie (fuck I hate typing that), minor corruption kink, heavy praise, Virgin!Spencer, Sub!Spencer (he is pathetic and LOUD in this FYI), Soft Dom!reader, Perv!Spencer and Perv!Reader (they're back at it again LMFAO). Both fluffy and smutty. They match each other’s freak your honor!!
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader/afab!reader
A/N: Anddd done! This was, to date, the filthiest thing I've written so I'm nervous but I also loved writing it LMAO. I hope you guys enjoy part two as much as I enjoyed writing it :') I'll be putting out more sub!Spence in the future, but for now I hope you guys like this!! As always, please let me know what you guys think and if you do enjoy it then please like, reblog, and share it with your friends. <3 Thank you and I love you all!! :)
Spencer was certain the universe was playing a cruel, twisted prank on him.
It was the only explanation for being called into work early on a Sunday morning when he was supposed to be off. The night before, he’d gone to bed without replying to Y/N, hoping to come up with the perfect witty, flirty response the next day—when his brain wasn't a pile of mush. As he hurried to pack a go-bag and get dressed, Spencer cursed under his breath for waiting. Now, he’d have to send a hasty, jumbled apology and hope that Y/N would still want him to come over when he got back.
While Spencer drove—a task he loathed but had no choice in, given the lack of time for the metro—Penelope briefed him on the case details. The team was being sent to Wyoming to assist with a rapidly escalating unsub, which explained the need to get there quickly. Spencer couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as Penelope spoke. Even with the case's urgency, his mind kept returning to Y/N.
“Reid?” Penelope sighed, then tried again. “Hello? Earth to Reid?!”
Spencer snapped back to reality, his face flushing as he cleared his throat. “Sorry, I got distracted. What was the last part again?”
Penelope's laughter echoed through the phone. “What’s keeping your mind so busy? Besides all your usual genius stuff, that is."
Spencer groaned, knowing that the blonde wouldn’t stop pressing until she got an answer. With a heavy sigh, he reluctantly began to explain.
"There’s this girl who lives across from me, and I’ve had a crush on her for a while… We’d run into each other a few times at the library and the coffee shop near my place, but recently, a package of hers ended up at my door. I took it to her yesterday morning, and we ended up hanging out—" He paused, swallowing hard as his mind drifted to what had happened that night, but he quickly pushed the thought aside. "Anyway, she texted me to come over again, but then I got called in for the case. So, yeah, she’s just been on my mind."
Spencer winced as a loud squeal erupted from the phone, quickly followed by the sound of enthusiastic clapping.
“Spencer! That’s adorable! What’s her name?”
“Nope. Not a chance. I know you’ll look her up and start stalking her!” Spencer protested as he pulled into the parking garage. “Look, I just got here, so I’ll see you when we get back. Please keep this between us for now, alright? I don’t need everyone hounding me about it while we have a case to focus on.”
Penelope groaned dramatically but gave in, sighing in playful annoyance. “Ugh, fine, lover boy. You just ruined all my fun,” she grumbled. “Be safe, my sweet angel, and tell Derek to call me when you guys land!”
Spencer finished the call and hung up, swiftly typing out a message to send to Y/N before he had to go in. His thumbs clumsily pressed the buttons as he hurried, letting out an annoyed sigh as he fumbled with his flip-phone. He’d never been a fan of modern technology, but if getting a new phone meant it would be easier to talk to her, he’d consider it.
Good morning! I hope you slept well. Apologies for the late response. I’d love to come over, but unfortunately, I’ve been called in for a case. Would you still like me to come by once I get back?
Spencer gave a nod to himself, hit send, then gathered his things and stepped out of the car.
Y/N paused when she heard her phone ding, toothbrush still in her mouth. She quickly finished brushing, swishing mouthwash as she walked to her room to grab her phone. Returning to the bathroom, she spat out the mouthwash before finally glancing at the waiting text.
A small giggle fell from her lips as she read Spencer’s message, leaning back against the sink as she responded.
Of course, Spencer. Only if you want to :) xoxo
He texted like an old man (which wasn't surprising, considering his wardrobe). She thought it was charming. She placed her phone on the bathroom counter and stepped toward the shower to start the water, a smile still playing on her lips from his message.
A content sigh fell from her lips once she stepped into the hot stream of water, letting the water relax her tight muscles.
As her soapy hands began to wander her body, her mind wandered back to Spencer and just how deliciously pathetic he’d looked stroking himself to the sight of her. Honestly, Y/N had worried she’d scared the poor guy with her message after he’d watched her the night before, so seeing his text was a relief. Now, she just had to wait for him to return from his case—and then he’d finally be all hers.
The week crawled by, each day stretching on painfully, leaving both of them restless and longing for each other's company.
Each night when Y/N came home, she’d glance out of her curtains, hoping to see that Spencer had returned, only to let out a quiet sigh when she found he hadn’t. She couldn’t remember ever being this excited to see someone before. Something about Spencer had her completely hooked—not just his looks, but the man behind them. After spending time with him, she was eager to uncover more about the sweet, brilliant person who lived across from her.
Another four days went by before the text she’d been waiting for finally came through.
Hey pretty girl, we just landed so I’ll be home in about an hour. Are you up for some company?
Y/N arched a brow as she read the message, re-reading it a few times to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. That didn’t sound like Spencer at all… but she was too eager for him to come over to worry about it now. She’d figure out who actually sent it when he arrived.
With a small grin, Y/N typed her reply, then set her phone down to get ready and tidy up her apartment.
“Morgan! Come on! Are you serious?” Spencer griped, swatting at the man in an attempt to grab his phone back. “What did you say to her?”
Penelope had (accidentally) let it slip to Morgan that Spencer was, in her words, "dating but not dating this super cute girl who lives across from him." Naturally, she’d ignored his requests for privacy, tracked down the tenant list for Y/N’s building, and found her online after figuring out she was the one. So, when Morgan glanced over Spencer's shoulder and saw the carefully composed message he’d written, he snatched the phone and sent something entirely different.
“Relax, kid! I’m just helping you out. You’re going to scare her off if you keep talking to her like a geezer,” Morgan chuckled, tossing him back his phone before standing from his seat and stretching. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Spencer sighed, shaking his head in frustration before unlocking his phone to check the message. He cringed at what Morgan had sent, but then his heart skipped a beat as he read Y/N’s reply.
Come over whenever you’re ready, pretty boy. I can’t wait to see you. :)
Spencer’s face flushed as he brushed off the curious looks from the team, eager to get off the jet and head home to drop his stuff off—then straight to Y/N’s. A mix of nervousness and excitement churned inside him, his hands trembling as he started the drive home. It felt surreal to him, knowing not only that she was excited to see him, but that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.
A firm knock at the door pulled Y/N’s attention from the couch, a bright smile spreading across her face as she jumped up to answer it. "Coming!" she called, quickly unlocking the door. When she opened it, Spencer stood there, looking a bit nervous and holding a bag of takeout from her favorite diner.
"Oh, Spencer," she murmured, her gaze softening as she noticed the bag. "You’re so sweet! You didn’t have to get dinner—I was planning to order something when you got here." She stepped aside to let him in, closing the door behind him and taking the bag from his hand so he could slip off his coat.
Spencer waved it off with a sheepish grin as he followed her into the kitchen. "I wanted to," he said. "I noticed you ordered from them a lot and thought it would be a nice surprise." His eyes widened in panic. "Not that I’ve been, like, stalking you or anything! And, um, I'm sorry if I didn’t pick the right thing. I can run back and grab something else—"
“Spencer.”
Y/N sat down the plates she'd gotten out for them and silenced his nervous rambling by gently cupping his cheeks. Spencer froze mid-sentence, his mouth slightly open as he looked down at her. She smiled up at him, softly stroking her thumb along his cheekbone.
“You did perfect, sweetheart,” she reassured him, her gaze flicking to his lips for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “It was so thoughtful of you to pick up dinner. I'm sure I'll enjoy whatever you ordered. Thank you.”
Spencer swallowed, his heart pounding at the feel of her hands on his face. He drew in a deep breath, steadying himself before he whispered, “Of course.”
Y/N smiled, brushing her hand over his cheek one last time before turning back to plate the food, which looked and smelled delicious. Once she finished, she headed to the fridge, glancing back at Spencer. "Wine, water, or soda?"
"Water, please. Thank you."
Nodding, Y/N poured herself a glass of wine and then filled one with water for him. They walked into the living room, both of them buzzing with anticipation for what was to come later. They sat side by side, enjoying the warmth that came from being pressed together as they began to eat.
"So," Y/N started, laughing softly before continuing. "Who texted me from your phone earlier today? Unless the grandfather ghost inhabiting your body decided to take a rain check."
Spencer groaned in embarrassment, chuckling awkwardly as he glanced at her. "Sorry about that… that was my co-worker, Derek. And best friend too. He accused me of 'talking to you like a geezer' and decided to try and do better himself."
Y/N laughed even harder, putting her fork down to take a sip of her wine before replying. "I knew it wasn’t you!" she said with a triumphant grin, then paused, a new realization dawning on her. "You talk about me to your team?"
Spencer hesitated, finishing his bite slowly before taking a drink and nodding. "Sort of… I told Penelope about you, and then she mentioned it to Derek. I’m sorry—i-is that okay?" His fingers pushed his glasses up, a nervous habit of his.
It was more than okay. A giddy feeling rushed through her at the idea of him talking about her to his co-workers, recalling how he'd mentioned during their first hangout how much he valued them. She nodded, nudging him with her shoulder gently.
“You apologize too much, Spence. It’s totally fine. If anything, I’m flattered,” she admitted with a grin.
It didn’t take long for them to finish eating. Once the plates were cleared and placed in the sink, Y/N turned to Spencer, a small smirk playing on her lips. Spencer swallowed, leaning back against the counter, his eyes locked on her with a mix of curiosity as she began to speak.
"Do you watch every girl you're interested in through their window? Or am I just special?"
Her tone was playful, not angry or accusatory, but Spencer still tensed, stumbling over his words as he tried to explain himself.
"I swear I didn’t mean to come off as creepy or anything," Spencer stammered. "It’s just… from the moment I met you in the library, you were so captivating. And when I found out you lived across from me, I couldn’t help myself—"
Y/N's gaze softened as she realized just how nervous he actually was, and she took a step forward, shushing him with a finger to his lips.
"Spence, hey. Look at me, sweetheart,” she murmured, her arms loosely wrapping around his neck. She waited until their eyes met, then continued, her fingers gently twisting the hair at the nape of his neck. “I was just teasing. I wanted you to watch. That’s why I left my curtains open.”
Spencer’s eyes widened at her admission, a shaky sigh escaping his lips as he recalled every time she’d left her curtains open. All this time, she had wanted him to watch. The realization sent a strange warmth through him, and he carefully placed his hands on her waist.
“So, was the package at my door part of your plan too?” he breathed, his expression a blend of lust and adoration as he looked down at her.
Y/N's answer came in the form of a nod and a smug grin. Spencer chuckled, his nerves easing the longer he held her in his arms.
"I didn’t think you’d ever make a move, so I decided to take matters into my own hands," she said softly, still grinning as she met his gaze, mirroring the admiration in his eyes.
Spencer wrapped his arms around her, drawing her closer. “Is it wrong to say I’m glad you did?” he murmured, his hands gently caressing her lower back through her shirt. “You’re just… perfect. I was afraid you wouldn’t even give me the time of day if I’d tried to.”
Y/N’s mouth fell open in surprise, her brows furrowing as she tilted her head. “Are you serious?” she asked incredulously, letting her hands slide to rest on his shoulders as she leaned back in his embrace. “Spencer, I adore you. You could’ve asked me out in the library, right then, after just thirty seconds of knowing each other, and I would’ve said yes without a second thought. You really don’t give yourself enough credit.”
She tilted her head up, brushing her nose against his, continuing before he could speak. "Let me show you just how incredible I think you are. Please?"
Spencer sucked in a sharp breath, his heart racing at her words. It was exactly what he wanted, more than anything. But he hesitated, his mouth working as he fought to find the right words.
"I'm a virgin!" he not-so-eloquently blurted out instead.
Y/N's head jerked back, blinking hard as she processed his words. Had she heard him right?
"Wait... what did you just say?"
Spencer blushed hard, averting his gaze to the ground as he repeated himself.
"I'm a virgin."
It was Y/N’s turn to suck in a sharp breath, the admission arousing her more than she’d care to admit. She rubbed his shoulders gently before using one of her hands to guide his face back to hers, her gaze earnest as she looked at him.
“Honey, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. We don’t have to do anything at all—“
Spencer shook his head vigorously at that, a low whine emitting from his throat as he pressed his forehead to hers. “I want to do everything with you. I want to more than anything, I swear! I-I just… I don’t want it to be bad for you,” he whispered, unnecessary shame lacing his words.
“Spencer… sweetheart, it would never be bad for me as long as I’m with you,” Y/N whispered, her voice warm and steady. “I don’t want you to feel pressured, babe. Honestly, we could just curl up on the couch, watch a movie, or talk. I love talking with you, about anything.”
Spencer’s heart swelled at her words. No one had ever told him they truly enjoyed his company before, nor had anyone ever shown such genuine affection or concern for his emotions. It was a feeling he hadn’t known he was missing.
“I’m more than sure, Y/N. Please?” he mumbled, his grip on her hips tightening slightly. “I-I want to make you feel good.”
She paused, her eyes closing as she carefully considered her next move. After a long breath, Y/N gave a small nod, then pulled away from him completely.
“Follow me, then.”
Spencer hurried after her, nearly stumbling over his own feet in his eagerness to keep up. Once they reached her bedroom, Y/N shut the door and turned to face him, leaving him standing in the middle of her dimly lit room. He glanced around, almost in disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite believe he was really here—standing in her room and not caught in some dream.
“Bet it feels different being in here rather than just looking in,” Y/N teased, stepping closer to him.
“Very. I’m still waiting for the cameraman to jump out and tell me it’s all a prank.”
A soft laugh escaped her, and she shook her head with a smirk. “Sorry to disappoint, but that’s not happening. No prank, sweetheart,” she hummed, her eyes catching the way his gaze swept over her, full of unspoken desire.
Y/N smirked as she took another step forward, urging Spencer backward until the backs of his knees hit her mattress. She reached up, pushing down gently on his shoulders until he gingerly sat on the bed, looking up at her with wide eyes as she moved to straddle his lap. Her fingers carded through his hair, tugging gently and eliciting a whimper from him as she cocked her head.
“Quit looking at me like that,” she murmured, scratching her nails gently against his scalp.
A shiver ran down Spencer’s spine, his brows furrowing at her words. He shifted underneath her, resting his shaking hands on her hips. His tongue poked out to wet his lips, and he didn’t miss the way her eyes darkened at the sight.
“Like what?”
“Like you want me to ruin you.”
Y/N’s words lingered in the air, their breaths the only sound breaking the stillness. The tension between them was electric, each waiting for the other to break first. Finally, Spencer did, his voice barely a whisper as he spoke.
“That’s exactly what I want you to do.”
The slight tremble in his voice and the doe-eyed look he sported were all it took for Y/N’s resolve to crumble completely.
With a low groan, her lips crashed onto his. Their mouths melded together, the small whine bubbling in Spencer’s throat encouraging her to kiss him even harder. His hands reached up to cradle her face, matching her intensity as their lips moved together.
It wasn’t what she’d expected at all.
Spencer didn’t kiss her like the shy, hesitant man from earlier. Instead, his kiss was fiery, almost desperate, as though he wanted to drown in her and never resurface. And she found herself wanting exactly the same.
Y/N’s hands wandered from his hair down his chest, letting her fingertips dip beneath the hem of his shirt as their tongues brushed together. Her nails gently dragged along the soft skin there, and she felt his erection twitch from where it was firmly pressed to her core. Spencer whimpered, breaking their kiss with a soft gasp as he looked up at her pleadingly.
“Please,” he panted, his hands reaching for her hips to pull her down into him. Y/N rolled her hips against his, moaning lowly at the friction. She repeated the action once before stopping her movements, climbing off of him despite his protests with one simple command.
"Take off your clothes, Spence."
He complied immediately, scrambling to stand and strip out of his clothes. His fingers fumbled as he worked at his tie, his focus stuck on her as she undressed before him. A frustrated groan left his lips as he finally yanked the tie off, his hands moving too slowly for his own liking.
Y/N arched a brow, chuckling at his irritated noise as she stepped out of her pants. She reached up to stop his hands, beginning to unbutton his shirt herself. "What's got you so worked up, hm? It's not like it's anything you haven't seen before," she purred, sliding her hands under the fabric and slipping it off of him.
The shirt hit the ground with a muted thump, and her eyes roamed over his newly exposed skin hungrily. Spencer whined at her teasing, letting his hands roam up and down her sides as she worked on getting his pants off.
"I could see you like this an infinite amount of times, and it would still take my breath away every time," he murmured, his hands gently squeezing her hips.
A faint pink spread across her cheeks at his words, and she lifted her face to place a soft kiss on his lips, a silent thank you. No one had ever made her feel as treasured as Spencer did. He gazed at her with a devotion that felt almost reverent, as though she were someone to be worshipped—and he longed to be the one to worship her.
Which was highly ironic, considering she was the one sinking to her knees the second his pants pooled around his ankles.
"Wh-what are you doing?" Spencer's voice raised pitch as she steadied herself with her hands on his thighs, looking down at her with wide eyes, pushing his glasses back up his nose as they threatened to slip down from the angle.
"What does it look like I'm doing, sweetheart?" Y/N murmured, leaning forward to press an open-mouthed kiss to his hip. "I want your pretty cock down my throat. You okay with that?"
The sound Spencer made was almost pained, his fists clenching at his sides as he struggled to figure out what to do with his hands. His mouth parted, a stutter escaping him before he finally gave in, nodding instead. His cock twitched in his boxers, aching to feel her touch.
"Words, baby. Use your words."
Y/N's lips skimmed across his navel, peppering kisses along the smattering of hair there as she waited for his response.
"God—yes! I'm okay with that," Spencer whined, his hips bucking forward instinctively from her touch. "Please... please touch me—"
Y/N couldn't deny such sweet begging. It would be downright cruel if she did.
Her fingers found the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down slowly. She kept her eyes locked on his, carefully assessing his every reaction to ensure there was no trace of doubt before proceeding. When she saw none, she swiftly yanked them down the rest of the way, letting them pool around his ankles with his pants.
Spencer gasped as the chill of her bedroom air met his warm skin, goosebumps spreading across his arms as he fought the urge to shy away from her gaze. He never thought that highly of himself in the physical aspect— all lean muscles, lanky limbs, and pale skin spattered with freckles and a few random scars. But his insecurities faded the moment he heard her breath catch, her eyes filled with admiration as they lingered on him.
"You're so beautiful, Spencer," Y/N breathed, bringing a hand up to grip him gently. "So, so beautiful."
Her mouth was on him before he could respond.
A keening sound filled the room as he watched in pure awe as she dragged her tongue up and down the length of him slowly before her lips wrapped around the flushed head of his cock, a spark of pleasure shooting up his spine as his hands flexed by his side. She sucked gently, swirling her tongue around the tip before pulling off of him to speak.
"Don't be afraid to hold onto me, sweetheart. Go ahead."
Spencer's hands immediately came up to cradle the back of her head, finding purchase as she returned to what she was doing. The sight of her on her knees and taking the length of him into her mouth had his knees almost buckling. It was something he'd dreamed about for nights on end, but now that it was actually happening, he didn't know what to do with himself.
"F-fuck—" He whimpered, his eyes squeezing shut to prevent himself from cumming right then and there.
All he'd ever experienced before was his own hand (and occasionally some desperate humping against his mattress), so the feeling of her mouth around him was otherworldly. Just when he thought it was safe to open his eyes again, Y/N smirked around her mouthful and pushed her head down to take him in completely.
"Oh—!" Spencer cried out as he hit the back of her throat, jolting and stumbling backward and falling out of her mouth with a slick 'pop'. His chest heaved as he reached down to grip himself tightly, staving off his orgasm. He didn't want to cum yet. Not this quickly.
"I-I'm sorry, it just felt too... too good—"
Y/N gently stroked his trembling thighs, pressing a kiss beneath his belly button before rising to her feet. She shushed his stammered apologies with a kiss on his forehead, caressing his face as he caught his breath. His face was flushed, both from embarrassment and arousal, and the sight was more endearing than it should have been.
"You have nothing to apologize for, sweetheart. Absolutely nothing," she whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before turning to crawl onto her bed. “Get up here, baby,” she crooned as she laid back against her pillows, patting the spot beside her.
Spencer almost tripped over his pants in his haste to follow after her, kicking the fabric away before he kneeled onto the mattress, smiling meekly at Y/N as she watched in amusement. "I w-want—" Spencer paused as he watched her lean forward so she could unclasp her bra, completely enraptured. "I want to taste you. Please?"
Desire coursed through her at his words, searing through her veins as she met his gaze. She loved how pretty the word please sounded falling from his kiss-swollen lips. She slipped free from her bra, tossing it to the ground before answering his pleading.
"Go ahead, baby. Take whatever you want—I want you to have it all."
Spencer swallowed hard at that, a small grin playing on his lips as he moved forward to settle between her spread legs. He kneeled between them, taking off his glasses and setting them on her nightstand before lowering himself to hover over her. He bumped his nose against hers, his grin widening as he moved to tentatively kiss along the side of her neck.
Y/N moaned at the feeling, tangling her fingers into his tousled strands. He continued, trailing his kisses down the slope of her shoulder before pausing to suck a small mark into her skin, relishing in the soft noises falling from her lips. Once he was satisfied with his mark, he brought his lips down to mouth along her breast, laving his tongue over the taut bud of her nipple.
"Spence—" she whimpered as he closed his lips around the hardened peak, suckling with a low groan that rumbled against her skin. She tugged at his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. "Feels so good, sweetheart."
Spencer hummed, pulling off her breast after a moment and switching to the other to give it the same treatment. Y/N whined, arching into his touch as he began to move down her body. What he may have lacked in physical experience, he more than compensated for with knowledge.
Contrary to popular belief, he wasn't a prude. He'd read plenty of erotic novels, as well as countless books all centered around the female anatomy and how to inflict the most pleasure so that he could at least pretend to feel prepared for his first time. It seemed to be paying off, though, if the noises she made were any indication of how he was doing.
Spencer's hands came up to rest on her hips as he settled on his stomach between her thighs, hissing softly when his erection pressed into the mattress. His eyes met hers, and the clouded look in her eyes was all the encouragement he needed.
"God, you're soaked," he whispered in astonishment as his finger traced the damp spot in the front of her panties, causing a breathy chuckle to slip from her lips.
"How could I not be?"
Spencer blushed, leaning down to kiss her inner thigh before pulling the fabric down her legs. His breath hitched at the sight of her glistening pussy, fully on display for him without the barrier of their windows in his way. Any coherent thought that was swirling around in his head vanished, replaced with an urgent need to taste her. He moved without thinking as he latched his mouth onto her eagerly, groaning against her slick skin as he began to lap at her hungrily.
"Fuck! Spencer—" Y/N cried out, her grip on his hair tightening at the unexpected pleasure. Her head tipped back against her pillows as her hips writhed under his ministrations, rolling against his mouth as he devoured her.
There was little to no technique— just pure, unbridled enthusiasm. But it felt so good that she didn't care. He alternated between sucking at her clit and thrusting his tongue into her, needy moans slipping from his lips the entire time he did.
"Fingers, baby—" she gasped, biting her lower lip harshly to stifle a loud moan. "Use your fingers, too."
Spencer didn't need to be told twice. He pulled away from her, licking the taste of her from his lips as he brought two fingers up to her entrance. He focused his gaze on her face as he pushed them inside of her, his mouth hanging open and soft breaths panting against her skin as he began to thrust them.
"Like this?"
His tone wasn't cocky or arrogant. It was curious, like he was genuinely invested in finding out what felt the best for her. She nodded, a choked moan slipping from her lips as he grazed against that rough patch of nerves inside of her that had her hips thrashing.
Spencer watched in fascination for a moment before bringing his head back down, his eyes fluttering shut as he began to trace her clit with his tongue. His hips rocked instinctively against the bed, grinding against it in a desperate attempt to find some relief for his aching cock as he brought her closer and closer to her climax.
"Spence—" Y/N whimpered, her hands falling from his hair to grip the sheets as she clenched around his fingers. "I-I'm cumming—"
Spencer groaned against her, doubling his efforts so he could watch her fall apart on his fingers. With a soft cry, Y/N came hard, her eyes squeezing shut as she trembled underneath him. He continued his movements, pumping his fingers into her gently until she was whining and wriggling away from his touch.
Spencer watched her in awe, kneading her thighs and hips to help her come down from her high.
"C'mere," she panted after a few minutes, finally opening her eyes to look up at him as he moved to hover above her.
A proud grin made its way to Spencer's face as he obeyed, resting on his forearms as he looked down at her. The hazy look in her eyes made his heart race, knowing that he was the cause of it doing more for his ego than he cared to admit. She returned his grin, leaning up to kiss him softly and tasting herself on his tongue.
"You did so good, sweetheart. Such a good boy for me," she mumbled against his lips.
She broke the kiss to press on his shoulders, rolling them over so she straddled him once more. A lazy smirk adorned her lips as he looked up at her, his pupils so dilated that the soft brown of his eyes was indiscernible. She began to rock her hips against his aching cock, a sigh slipping from her lips as her folds dragged over him.
Spencer moaned lowly at the friction, bringing his hands up to palm at her ass as she continued her movements. His fingers dug into her flesh as she spoke, but he didn't hear a single word she said as he kept his gaze locked on where her pussy was gliding along his length.
"Hey," Y/N cooed, patting his cheek gently to guide his eyes back to hers. "Eyes on me, sweetheart."
Spencer whined, his hips bucking underneath hers in an attempt to bring back the delicious friction that had been taken away when she lifted her hips. "I-I'm sorry. I wasn't listening," Spencer mumbled sheepishly, his face flushed as he held her gaze.
Y/N chuckled, tutting in mock disappointment as she gripped his chin. "I know you weren't," she muttered with an arched brow before continuing. "I was asking if you wanted to use a condom or not. I'm clean and—"
"No condom!"
Y/N jumped, startled. The urgency in his voice sent a wave of warmth through her as she eyed him in amusement, enjoying the bashful look that immediately appeared on his face after his exclamation. Spencer cleared his throat, attempting to regain some of his dignity.
"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to borderline shout that," Spencer said softly, his voice cracking slightly. "I just— I want to feel you, please. Without a condom in the way, preferably."
The grin that spread across her face could only be described as salacious as she nodded, cradling his face before leaning in for a tender kiss.
"No condom it is, then."
Y/N shifted up onto her knees, reaching between them to align him with her entrance before pausing when he spoke up.
"I— um... C-can I be on top of you instead?" he whispered, looking up at her with nervous eyes.
Her gaze softened at the sight, and she nodded immediately. "Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you want, remember?" She murmured with a fond smile, rolling off of him to lay back against the pillows.
Spencer thanked her quietly, moving to hover above her once more. His body trembled as he propped up on one arm, reaching down to line himself up with her once more. She cradled his face, stroking her thumb along his cheekbone reassuringly. He took a deep breath to steady himself before pushing forward, sinking into her.
The feeling of her tight walls wrapping around him had him keening while she moaned just as loudly in return, dropping his head into the crook of her neck as he sucked in desperate, shaky breaths. He'd never experienced pleasure so overwhelming before. He was honestly convinced he'd died right there in her arms, pressing sloppy kisses to her skin just to prove to himself that he was, in fact, still alive.
"God— feels so good," he began to babble, moaning softly as he pulled his hips back slightly before thrusting forward again. "So tight... so wet— fuck!"
Y/N dug her nails into his shoulders, whimpering as he thrusted into her again, this time a little harder. "That's it, Spence," she panted, encouraging him to begin really moving. "You feel so good, baby. So fucking deep."
Spencer's hips jerked at that, his head dropping back into the crook of her neck as he began to drive into her in short, jagged thrusts. Moans slipped freely from his lips, mingling with hers as their bodies moved in tandem.
It didn't take long before the familiar tightening in his stomach came back, but he was too lost in the pleasure to stop. The feeling of Y/N around him was addictive. He seeked solace in her walls, rutting into her like a man possessed now as he sang her his praises against her skin. His hips stuttered as he lifted his head up, crashing his lips onto hers in a messy kiss as his hips pounded against hers even harder.
"Gonna— cum, fuck, I'm cumming—"
Spencer cried out against her lips, burying himself as deep inside of her as he could before filling her with rope after rope of his release. A pitiful noise fell from his lips as he broke the kiss, his eyes wide as he gawked down at her. His hips stopped moving, but before he could speak, Y/N was looping her arms around his neck and pulling him down.
“Did I say you could stop fucking me, Spencer?” Y/N’s voice was taunting in his ear, her nails digging into his shoulders as she wrapped her legs around his waist to keep him in place.
Spencer’s brows pinched together as confusion washed over him, and his arms trembled as he struggled to remain hovering above her. His cock twitched inside of her as she canted her hips up, causing him to hiss softly from the overstimulation. His lower lip wobbled as he stared at her with a half-dazed, half-pleading look.
"W-what?"
“You greedy boy,” Y/N purred as she rolled her hips again. She smirked at the whimper he let out before tilting her head to skim her lips across his. “Don’t you want to feel me cum on your cock? Hm?”
Spencer shuddered at her words, chasing helplessly after her lips. He whined petulantly when she tilted her head, keeping him from succeeding in getting his kiss.
“I do,” Spencer whimpered, nodding fervently. “I wanna feel it so bad,” he groaned, his words beginning to slur from the pleasure coursing through him from head to toe.
“Then keep fucking me, sweetheart.”
A determined look crossed over his face, his brows knitting together as he shifted up onto his knees and pulled her hips up before thrusting forward. The change in angles had her crying out as he brushed against her sweet spot, and he grunted as he began to rock into her slowly, pushing past the sweet sting of overstimulation. He tightened his grip on her hip with one hand while his other moved to where they were connected, rubbing small, sloppy circles against her clit as he began moving with a purpose.
“Mm—“ Y/N groaned out, her eyes threatening to close as she struggled to keep them focused on his face. “Just like that, Spence. Ah—!“
The sound of his hips snapping against hers paired with the slick, crude sound of him fucking his cum back into her had his head lolling back, a guttural moan rumbling in his throat.
His hips were relentless, chasing her pleasure more so than his own now. It was messy and borderline feral—their mixed arousal coated his pelvis and her thighs and one of the corners of the sheets had come up from Y/N yanking at them. But neither of them could find it in themselves to care.
“Cum for me, Y/N,” Spencer begged, shifting her legs up onto his shoulders and clinging to her thighs as he drove into her. “Please—wanna feel you cum on my cock… I need it—“
The sound of his pleading hurled her over the edge. Y/N’s nails nearly tore through the sheets as her eyes squeezed shut, cry after cry of his name falling from her open mouth as she came around him. Her body trembled from the force of her orgasm, her walls clenching so tightly around him that it triggered his second climax unexpectedly.
“Oh my God— oh— fuck!” Spencer wailed, devolving into a series of whimpers as he spilled everything he had into her.
After a moment of ragged breathing, he turned to press a kiss to her ankle before easing her limp legs off of his shoulders and to the bed. Y/N stroked his hair with shaky hands as he crumpled over on top of her, their bodies warm and damp with sweat. Their chests were heaving as they struggled to catch their breath, with Y/N whispering into his hair how good he did and how perfect he’d made her feel.
They stayed curled up for a while, but eventually, the stickiness became too much to ignore. They both stumbled into her bathroom—both for a quick shower and for Y/N to pee to avoid a UTI. After changing the sheets, they returned to her bed, and Y/N turned away to switch off the lamp, leaving them wrapped in the peaceful darkness.
“Does this mean you’re my girlfriend now?” Spencer asked, a shy grin on his face as she turned back to him, snuggling into his embrace as he pulled her closer.
Y/N huffed out a soft, sleepy laugh, nodding against him. “If you want me to be, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice heavy with exhaustion as her eyelids fluttered shut.
“Of course I want you to,” Spencer replied, his words followed by a small yawn as sleep started to take hold of him too.
“Looks like it’s official then. I’m your girlfriend, you’re my boyfriend. Now, get some rest, my sweet boy.”
It wasn’t until the following evening, after a full day spent with Y/N on their first official date—a trip to the museum and lunch at his favorite restaurant—that he noticed something tucked into his pocket. A giddy grin spread across Spencer’s face as he unfolded the lacy pink panties, a small note tucked inside that read: For you to take on your next case. ;) xoxo - Y/N.
Spencer glanced down at the fabric in his hands, a soft chuckle escaping him as he silently thanked whatever force had made her the one to fill the vacant apartment across from his.
Continued A/N’s and tag list!! <3: Big big thank you to everyone that enjoyed part one and came back to read part two :’) And thank you to everyone that wanted to be tagged!! If you guys would like for me to start doing an official tag list, please let me know :’) <3 @halfbloodwriter , @opheliahotchner , @mothgrrrl666 , @silver138, @elliet1ou
REMINDER: I do not give permission for my work to be re-uploaded to any other platforms (c.ai, Tiktok, ao3, etc.) under any circumstances. If you'd like to translate my work, then please just ask me before doing so. I know it sounds whiny, but I (as well as many other fanfic writers) spend so much time on these and it's genuinely not okay to take credit for work that isn't yours. It's insulting and completely unnecessary. If I do see my work uploaded anywhere without explicit permission, I WILL say something.
#Spencer Reid smut#Spencer Reid fanfiction#Spencer Reid fanfic#Spencer Reid x you#Spencer Reid x reader#Spencer Reid x y/n#spencer Reid x fem!reader#spencer Reid x self insert#criminal minds smut#perv!spencer#sub!spencer
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ORBIT YOU ⋆⭒˚.⋆ CHAPTER THREE: MERCURY
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summary — summer break begins and you end up crashing on joel's couch, luckily he's more than willing to accommodate.
author's note — this one make me want to SCREAM, i'm sorry in advance lmfao.
content warning — 18+ MDNI, dbf!joel, virgin!reader, age gap (20s/40s), birthday parties, plenty of miller family time, sweet ol' tommy, age jokes, ellie being a little shit, the daddy issues are big in this one, pussy worship, copious amounts of oral, inappropriate use of alcohol, joel isn't wasting his damn beer (is this safe idk, i also don't care), little angst and mostly fluff
word count — 5.5k
He forgot, again.
Your father wasn’t even home, either.
Your bags had slumped to your feet as you stared into your room.
It was full of boxes, labeled and unlabeled—there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that some of these belongings were your mother’s that she had left behind, but also an amalgamation of mindless junk and collectables your father wasn’t willing to part with.
Piles and piles of boxes, dirtying your white sheets and collecting a thick layer of dust.
It was clear that it had been this way for a while.
And even after the handful of reminder texts, he hadn’t bothered to put an ounce of effort into allowing you to feel comfortable in a place you once used to call home when you weren’t fleeing to the Miller’s.
He’s a ghost, nowhere to be found, but you remember his old Nissan in the driveway and Joel’s truck parked on his own across the street, suspecting that if wasn’t here, he would be there.
The last time you spoke to Joel was a couple days prior—he was busy with a new client and more short with conversation than usual, you couldn’t blame him, but it made you antsy for the conversation to follow now that you wouldn’t be divulging your passions behind a screen, if he wasn’t geared to push you away again.
You were almost expecting it.
You drag your bags back outside and heave them onto your closed trunk before walking across the street to Joel’s house, noticing the passing shadows behind the curtain that led to his living room—one of them definitely Joel, but the other unlikely to be Tommy.
And they’re arguing about sports.
Football, to be precise.
Fucking football.
He was invested enough to have a passionate conversation about men throwing around a ball but he couldn’t remember when you were supposed to arrive in town despite your numerous reminders.
It seemed Joel had finally gotten over the hump of avoiding your father for his own moral ambiguity.
They hadn’t even noticed you walk in and loudly close the front door, too warped by the conversation until you’re clearing your throat with a defiant cross of your arms.
“Hey,” you interject, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace, crumbling beneath the weight of disappointment that pressed down on your chest. The familiar scent of Joel’s house—the mix of warm wood and something sweet, like vanilla—should have brought comfort, but in this moment, it didn’t.
“Oh, hon’,” your father replies with a genuine look of shock, “you’re early!”
Your lips pull together in a thin line and you shake your head slow, “Mmm—nope,” you begin to clarify, briefly looking over at Joel, “I said Saturday…today is Saturday,”
“I thought you said you were drivin’ down on the seventeenth,” your dad replies and Joel can see your irritation stretching thin, the slightest twitch in your jaw giving him a clue.
“It is,” Joel tells him, “....it’s the seventeenth,”
Joel can see the way you’re eyeing your escape, wanting to flee, so he saves you.
“Oh, kiddo, I almost forget—Ellie left a gift behind a couple weeks ago to give to you,” Joel explains, snapping his fingers as he points at you, “she wasn’t sure if she’d catch you, but uh, I can show ‘ya real quick,”
You eyed him suspiciously but obliged with a determination to escape your father’s gaze, still remaining utterly confused that he had mixed up his days.
You trail Joel quietly, watching him glance back over his shoulder before he disappears into Ellie’s bedroom at the end of the hall, beckoning you inside with a gentle gesture of his window before closing the door when you were both inside.
“What’s botherin’ you?” Joel asks immediately, voice quiet but serious, “I mean, other than the obvious—”
“My room is packed with shit,” you gripe, “old boxes, shit that has been sitting in the garage for months and suddenly my room has become a personal storage,”
Joel shifts uncomfortably, a slight frown creasing his brow as he leans against the door. “I get it, really,” he murmurs, glancing at the floor where the scattered remnants of childhood linger, old drawings that his girl had scribbled taped on the wall of Ellie’s bedroom, “But I’m guessin’ maybe it’s not just about your room.”
You scoff, folding your arms tighter, trying to find some semblance of control over your rush of emotions—it felt ridiculous, miniscule in your mind as you spoke, but Joel was listening intently, like he always had, “I’m trying, you know? I always think coming back home will magically fix whatever I’ve done to make him so dismissive or that shit would begin to feel semi-normal again.”
Joel nods slowly, careful to not interrupt and let you breathe, looking up at him sadly, eyes averting briefly to wrangle your emotions back, “All I see are reminders of what I wanted to escape from. I can’t even breathe in that place anymore, Joel.”
“You’ve always got a place here,” he says, but there’s an edge to his voice that suggests he’s hesitant, knowing how dependent your connection had grown and in turn, his own, unwilling to admit it, “Ain’t much, but our couch is pretty comfortable.”
“That’s an entire summer in your house, Joel,” you remind him, “I feel like you can’t stand to look at me for more than a few hours, like I’m getting under your skin.”
“You are,” Joel admits candidly, but it was laced with intention and it makes your breath catch, “did you break my rule?”
There it was.
“Maybe,” you decide to offer and Joel isn’t believing it, “does it matter?”
Truthfully, you had listened. There wasn’t a moment within that span of time where you thought about touching yourself, driven by the motivation to please him.
It feels pathetic, but it was true.
You watch as the corner of Joel’s mouth twitches, a mix of intrigue and mischief dancing in his eyes, narrowing as he sees straight through your lies.
“Fine,” you sigh finally, “no—I didn’t.”
You’re both interrupted by the shout of Joel’s name by your father, snapping you both back to reality as Joel had begun to let his eyes roam, curious what your definition of no touching consisted of, wondering what loopholes you had created to bypass him.
Though, he would come up empty.
When you both resurface to the living room, your father is jutting his finger toward the door, expecting you to follow with his arm lingering on the open screen door as he holds it open, but you remain stilled in place.
“I think I’m gonna crash on Joel’s couch for a bit,” you admit, “all the boxes in my room don’t leave me much choice, anyways,” it takes a moment, silence blanketing the conversation before the realization stuns your father into thinking, cursing to himself.
“I’m sorry,” he offers, too late for sincerity in your mind, “I wasn’t even thinking, reorganizing the garage and all, tryin’ to throw out some of the stuff your mother had left behind,” but it didn’t explain the mountain of her belongings he had stowed away, for whatever reasons, he presence lingering in the house like an oppressive shadow, “give me a couple hours, I’ll get it all cleaned up so you can keep outta Joel’s hair,”
“She’s alright,” Joel assures, “Sarah and Ellie are supposed to be comin’ soon to visit, I think they’ll be overjoyed havin’ her ‘round—ain’t gotta be long term, but—”
“Yeah, don’t….rush or anything,” you tell him, “and don’t worry, I’ll mind my manners.”
“If she gives you any trouble, Joel…” your father adds and Joel nods with a smile that turns down the corners of his mouth, getting the gist of what your father was implying.
“She’s a good girl,” Joel offers, the admission making your head snap to look at him, “always has been, she’ll be alright,”
Your father doesn’t put up much fight beyond that, leaving you in Joel’s hands.
The moment the door clicked shut behind your father, a charged silence settled between you and Joel.
“Are you really okay with it?” you asked straightforwardly, “Me crashing here?”
He stepped closer, closing the distance between you, his breath warm against your skin, like an entirely different man—though one you had come to recognize—now that it was only you, “I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t,” he murmured, his voice low, wrapping around you like a warm hug, “You won’t give me any problems, right?”
“I am such a good girl afterall,” you reply with a faux sweetness that is quickly broken by your inability to believe his words to your father, “—the fuck was that about?”
“Well, you listened—” he offers plainly as your gaze trails toward your bags still resting on the trunk of your car, eager to grab them before night crept it, unwilling to face the sweltering Texas humidity beyond evening hours, but as to grab your attention he adds, “and I think you like it, being told what to do—‘least, by me, anyways.”
You scoff weakly and shake your head, “So, what is my reward then?”
Joel chuckles to himself and touches you for the first time since the camping trip months prior, though it felt like eons ago now, a simple swipe of his thumb over your chin as he tilts your head up.
A shiver raced down your spine at the contact, a familiar warmth spreading through you.
His eyes darkened as they lingered on your lips, your heart beginning to race, each beat echoing the unspoken tension that had grown between you since then.
“Reward?” he echoed, voice low and soft like velvet, “Who said anything about a reward?” His thumb swept across your bottom lip again, and just like that, any irritation you had been holding in from earlier dissipated in seconds.
You found yourself leaning closer, instinctively drawn to him like a moth to a hot flame.
“Joel…” you breathed, barely able to form coherent words as he’d pressed himself closer, inevitably backing you up against the front door your father had closed minutes ago, taken aback by Joel’s sudden willingness to confront you with both physicality and his words, underestimating how strong of an effect he had on you.
“Be patient,” Joel responds, it doesn’t satisfy you at all, but Joel’s expression left little room for argument, if anything, “I’ll grab your bags, getcha set up here, alright?”
You nod slowly, eyes locked on him as he finally stepped away, releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding until he was gone.
Joel had plenty of tricks up his sleeve it seemed.
–
The reward does come, but it isn’t until the weekend of your birthday.
And it wasn’t the arrival of Joel’s daughters, despite how much instant joy it brings you to see their faces again, thankful they weren't addressing the giant elephant in the room of why you were crashing on Joel’s couch.
Admittedly, your dad had cleaned up the mess in your old room, but it took longer than a few hours and the peacefulness that staying away from the house had brought was far more valuable than a space that had become your panic room.
While Sarah gushes over her photography major and the classes she had taken, Ellie seeks you out in the quiet of chaos in the house, reluctantly watching Joel and Tommy prepare for a small party to celebrate your birthday.
Ellie shared a similar love for the celestial life, heading toward an Astronomy major with little doubt in her mind and an end goal to earn an internship at NASA—she had big dreams but the confidence to match and it was heartwarming.
The sound of laughter bounced through the house, wrapping around you like a cozy blanket, watching as they all seemed to move in tandem, carrying on conversation amongst their work, refusing to let you help as you sat restless on the couch, leaving over the back as your senses were invaded with the smell of freshly grilled food.
You watched as Ellie and Sarah teamed up, shuffling in and out of the kitchen.
Their excitement was palpable as they prepared decorations. Streamers hung from the ceiling, and balloons bobbed playfully against the walls, fussing over the cake as they showed two candles into the center to read out 21.
Tommy cracks a joke about how stupid he had been at that age and the egregious amount of times that Joel had to bail him out of bad situations, but reminiscing fondly on the time.
“Okay, grandpa,” Ellie interjects, “you’re like triple that now,”
“I’m fourty, the fuck are you tryin’ to say?” Tommy asks his niece accusatory as he snapped a stray rubber band in her direction, watching her dodge it with precision before promptly flipping him off.
“Well, dad is only five years off from a senior discount,” Ellie points out and you can see the instant Joel’s expression turns sour, looking at you for a brief second that lingers before he slips outside, amiss to the ongoing conversation between Tommy and Ellie as you watch him silently, face pensive and emotionless.
“You’re a shithead,” Tommy teases Ellie with a vague fondness as he nods over his shoulders, “and now you hurt his feelings,”
You refuse to sit around much longer, slipping through the kitchen and into the backyard as you pull the glass door shut behind you—it was mostly the same; the same furniture they had for years, a grill they had gotten a lot of use out of, and an old tire swing that definitely should have snapped by now.
“Should be inside,” Joel tells you, “unless I need to go and tie ‘ya down,”
“Easy old man,” you tease him gently, crossing your arms as you step closer and watch him place the layers of meat onto the hot grill, “I might be into that,”
Joel pauses for a moment, looking up but not at you, staring out into the expanse of his backyard with a subtle smirk that bubbles into laughter before he quickly steels himself.
“You heard from him?” Joel asks curiously, though his tone is more hushed as Tommy brings Joel another bowl of food to grill.
“He’s been working,” you remind him, “but knowing him, he probably forgot anyway.”
“Come on, kiddo,” Joel supplies, trying to urge some sympathy even though he isn’t sure how much your father deserves, “I’m sure he’ll say something,”
“It’s fine,” you shrug, “I’d bet you money he doesn’t even know how old I am—he thought it was my fifteenth birthday for a couple years,” you sigh, pushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear as you lean in closer, feigning looking over the grill, “I’d rather be here celebrating with you, anyways.”
Joel looks at you briefly, something indecipherable in his gaze but he quickly snaps out of it as Sarah joins you both, pulling his daughter in for a hug before she dove for you.
Everything was so much easier like this, with them.
-
“I’m telling you, he forgot,” you argue to Joel who’s holding a chunk of your birthday cake and a leftover plate of food, attempting to prove a valuable point to break through your stubbornness, “last time, it was over a month before he realized.”
“Give it a chance, kiddo,” Joel tries to argue in a casual manner, standing on the final defense he had for your father, praying he wouldn’t disappoint you again—not now, not today.
You knock against the door with a heavy hand, shifting quietly from foot to foot, aware of Joel’s worrisome look when your father finally answers the door almost a full minute later, rubbing at tired eyes and still dressed in his work uniform, aware of the distinct stench of alcohol that you had become familiar with.
Your eyes drag to Joel immediately, a frown growing.
“Shit,” your dad exclaims lazily, “it ain’t my birthday but I appreciate it.”
Joel’s eyes narrow, almost in disbelief.
He’d grown close to your father over time, knowing he had his faults but unwilling to see how far he had deteriorated after the split from your mother, attempting to put on a valiant front that fell from time to time—Joel had hoped for you, it wasn’t this bad.
But, it was.
“Yeah, uh,” you interject with a softer, level tone that disguised whatever emotion was building in your chest, “because it’s mine—Joel was going to invite you but you were working,”
“Whaddya mean?” your father inquired, taking the plate Joel offered, “Your birthday ain’t until August—”
He was confusing you with your mother—it doesn’t even shock you anymore.
“No, that’s mom,” you tell almost dismissively before you turn to Joel and throw an arm up in defeat, “can we go?”
Unfortunately, you don’t wait for Joel’s response.
You’re already at his front door before the short conversation between Joel and your father commences, unwilling to give him any leeway for an excuse, quickly putting on a half-efforted smile as Ellie and Sarah are shoving their gifts into your hands.
Joel arrives soon thereafter, garnering the tailend of your reaction to the small planet shaped keychain Ellie had gifted you and a shirt brandishing your favorite band from Sarah, feeling a faint swell to your heart as Tommy watches with a smile.
“I figure we could all enjoy a night out,” Tommy suggests, “they’re doing a Curtis and Viper rerelease that Ellie won’t shut her trap about—I know you girls loved those movies,” Joel’s footsteps are quiet as he moves into the kitchen, silently cleaning up,
“I’m, uh, a little tired,” you admit, but Tommy wasn’t clueless—something was bothering you, but to what extent he didn’t have a clue, though Joel did—but he didn’t push or pry.
“Oh, well, we can always try next weekend,” Sarah decides and Ellie looks only slightly disappointed, but nods nonetheless.
“No, seriously, go enjoy it,” you assure her, “I’ll survive–plus, I can drag Tommy to take me and see it next weekend if he feels guilty enough,”
“Sure can,” he relents with a chuckle before moving in for a hug that allows everything to fade away for a brief moment, rubbing his hand over your arm in a comforting gesture, “keep an eye out for the old man, alright?”
You nod quietly before moving to join Joel in the kitchen as the rest of them depart, cleaning up beside him as you chew at the inside of your cheek, stacking plates up to carry them to the sink, setting them down gently before you feel Joel’s hand wrap around your bicep and you freeze, looking down at his hand,
“Sit down,” Joel orders, nodding toward the couch—he should have expected some defiance, but you do listen, just not in the way he expects—instead, you push yourself up onto the clear side of the counter and watch in silence as he cleans the kitchen.
“I get it,” Joel admits after a while, the house having gone silent and his hands curled over the edge of an empty sink, “—didn’t think it was that bad, but I’m startin’ to understand.”
“Joel…” you began, your voice barely above a whisper, the weight of unsaid emotions hanging thickly in the air. “I really don’t want to feel this way, not today.”
He turned to face you, his expression a mixture of concern and understanding, stepping closer until he was almost within arm's reach, but not touching. You could feel the heat radiating off him and drawing you in.
“S’alright, sweetheart,” he replied gently, eyes steady on yours. “this shit ain’t easy to let go,” His gaze flickered briefly down to your lips before returning to your eyes, and you could feel your heart race in response.
“I just need a distraction,” you suggested with a sad, soft smile.
Joel extends his hand quietly and you eye it cautiously, like it was a live wire.
“I spent the last few weeks following your stupid rule,” you remind him, “if you touch me, you’re breaking it on your own, not me—”
“Grab my damn hand,” Joel demands, “and stop bein’ a smartass.”
You hesitate for just a beat, but something in his tone pulls you closer. Your hand slides into his, and the warmth of his palm against yours brings an immediate comfort.
“Good girl, she can listen,” he murmurs, the praise igniting a thrill in your chest as he gives your hand a gentle squeeze, coaxing you off the counter. He steps back, creating a slight space between your bodies as he swipes his half drank beer off the counter before tugging you down the hall, pointedly turning toward his own room.
“Alright,” he says, a teasing glint in his eyes as he moves you through the open door before he’s closing it shut “how ‘bout we find a way to keep your mind off things?”
You’ve never been here before, inside a space so personal to Joel.
His bed is haphazardly made and his dresser is covered in clutter, but somehow it still seemed put together, thriving in chaos. You take a slow seat at the edge of his bed, feeling your heart race in your chest at how real this had become.
There wasn’t a screen to divide you or reluctance to keep your distance.
Joel stepped closer, and instinctively you tilted your chin up to meet his gaze—a smirk danced on his lips as he took in your expression. “Is this my reward?” you ask.
“Can be,” Joel offers, “or your birthday gift, whichever works.”
His thumb splits your lips apart and you suck in a soft breath as his thumb curls over your bottom lip and teeth, into your mouth to press against your tongue. Without asking, your lips curl around his finger, sucking the digit inside and you can see the subtle twitch in Joel’s lip, staring at you in a mix of amusement and disbelief.
His breath hitches, the sound barely a whisper as he watches you, his eyes darkening with something primal.
“Always under my goddamn skin,” he murmurs, pulling his finger from your mouth before it curls around the back of your neck and guides you back, face pushing up as you gasp at the slight sting of his grip, “I’m gonna take care of ‘ya, alright?”
You nod jerkily, watching as he gestured for you to lay back on the bed, scooting further until you reach his pillows, thighs spreading instinctively as he pulled off your shoes and toed off his own, beer still cautiously in hand as he moved toward you on his knees.
He takes a slow sip as he reaches around the thin, malleable band of your flowy shorts and tugs them down and off, panties caught alongside them as he tosses them aside, leaving you exposed as his hand immediately presses against your thigh to keep them spread open.
Joel's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, laid out before him, exposed and shivering with anticipation, his gaze looked as he lewdly stared at your wet folds, glistening in the dim light.
He wanted you so badly he thought he could combust at the mere thought, but he was patient, he had been, much more so than he ever gave himself credit for. He had set the same rule for himself, having controlled himself over the thought of this happening in his eventual future and you peering up at him so wantonly.
You had never been a burden, truthfully, and Joel could list about ten things morally wrong with what was happening here, but you had broken him and he needed you to put him back together, too.
“Hold this for me,” Joel hands his beer over before spreading out on his stomach, immediately latching his mouth on the inside of your thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh as you balance the cold bottle against your pelvic bone as Joel shoved your thigh higher, kissing around your cunt in an effort to work you up.
He places a gentle kiss against your mound as you glance down at him when the ceiling wasn’t spinning overhead with a pleasure that made you dizzy, “So pretty,” Joel speaks to you—but not at you, whispering compliments against your pussy in a way that makes you squirm, gasping as his tongue licks between your folds without warning.
Your legs trembled with anticipation as Joel continued to explore your folds with his tongue, tossing aside every ounce of restraint you both had built up over the past few months.
His words were like a caress on your frayed nerves, broken moans escaping your lips, as he deftly traced the edges of your entrance with his tongue, dipping his tongue inside testingly, "Fuck," you gasped, arching your hips upwards in an effort to get closer to him.
Joel chuckles, proud of himself, his tongue dragging up to flick over your clit, teasingly circling it before taking it into his mouth as he hummed, the vibration of his mouth sending a shock up your core.
"This alright with you?" Joel asks, feeling the vibrations of his tone against your cunt, nodding quickly in response.
Your moans echoed in the room, vibrating through your chest as you arched your back, surprised at how swiftly your body had gone from warm to hot, hand gripping the glass bottle tight as your opposite hand squeezed the sheets tight, embarrassed at how eager your body was to fulfill his desire.
And he doesn’t stop, not even as your body jerks with the sudden wave of your orgasm, feeling the gush of sweetness hit his tongue as he drank you in, working you gently through your aftershocks with his mouth and calculated touches, coming up briefly to nod toward the beer in your hand and you can’t help but laugh through your euphoric haze, tipping the bottle to his lips as he takes in an a small amount of liquid.
You lean up on one arm, staring at him with a curious expression before he looks you directly in the eye and dribbles the beer down the center of your cunt, quickly gathering up the liquid before it wet the sheets, slurping lewdly as your eyes had begun to roll back at how oversensitive you had become, your breath quickening as he hand pressed over your stomach, attempting to keep you still.
“Came too fast,” you say breathlessly, “your—fuck, your fault,”
Joel makes a show of his tongue dipping the center of your folds and dragging pointedly over your clit, “It’s cute,” Joel admits, “couldn’t help yourself, could you?”
“Feels—” you sigh breathlessly, eyes fluttering shut as your head falls back, “feels too good—oh, mmph—” you muffle your words as your teeth bite into your bottom lip to silence your sudden cry, legs shaking at Joel’s attempt to coax you into a second orgasm.
“She’s so damn sensitive,” Joel notes, pausing for a moment as his fingers curl around your inner thigh and hold your legs apart, watching the way you pussy spasms around nothing but the cold air he blows against you, earning a soft slap to his arm.
“Stop it,” you warn through gritted teeth, breath catching at the introduction of his fingers—thick fucking fingers that did nothing to soothe the growing ache, your cunt squeezing the digit in greedily.
“What? Didn’t it feel good?” Joel inquires with a cockiness in his tone, watching enraptured at how your body reacts so well to his touch, “You want more?”
You gasp at how his finger curls inside of you, beer almost spilling over your stomach before he catches your grip as it slips, “No one’s touched me like this,” you admit, “you know—fingers and st—stuff, fuck—”
The admittance makes something in Joel snap, his entire goal now to wipe your mind of any other thought than him, “Look at me,” he demands, waiting until you respond as you lean up, your fucked out expression driving him into near madness, “you still thinkin’ about earlier?”
“A little,” you shrug, watching his fingers curl around the hand that was holding the bottle of beer as he nods, actively listening but attempting to distract you.
“Never asked you if you liked the cake,” Joel remembers, “spent an hour stressin’ over which one to get for you,” it was a sincere admittance that drove something home within you, curious why someone would take the time for such a thing, but it was Joel.
He slowly tips the bottle until the liquid begins to trickle out, “It was g—good,” you stutter, gasping softly at the cold liquid as it trails toward Joel’s waiting tongue, finally releasing your hand as you continued to pour the remaining liquid, “you know, m—moist, sof—soft, and uh,”
His eyes drag up to look at you, the bottle emptying as he tosses it aside with a deft thump, his nose bumping against your clit as his tongue pressed inside of you, using the friction to your advantage as you selfishly grind against his nose, “and uh—real s—sweet,” you continue, voice cracking toward the end.
“Yeah?” Joel asks, muffled against your cunt as your body curls up, hand fisting into his hair, “Does it feel good?”
You nod immediately, lips parting as you stare down at him with a half-lidded, lust filled gaze, “So good,” you admit and Joel smirks into your cunt.
“What’re you thinkin’ about now?” Joel asks after a moment, pausing his actions briefly as you recollect the question before he’s diving back in, dialing up his efforts immensely.
You couldn’t even string together words as he ravishes you, words coming out jumbled and incoherent, “I—I’m, uh—huh, I’m—” is all you manage before you orgasm makes your body go hot, a momentary blackout as you cry out suddenly, hearing Joel grunt as your hand twists into his hair harshly, riding out your orgasm against his face as your cunt rocks against his tongue.
Joel gives you the proper time to rest, his touching comforting despite your drifting consciousness, body lying limp against his sheets as his hand searches for your own, intertwining your fingers quietly as he slumps his head against your thigh, his other hand trailing mindlessly up your shirt, your fingers curling around his wrist to keep you anchored to reality, wondering how he had managed to scramble your mind so effectively.
“You still in there?” he asks jokingly and you force out a weak laugh.
“I don’t know,” you answer indecisively and Joel grins, pressing a kiss against your thigh.
“Happy birthday,” he says, as if he hadn’t told you it a handful of times earlier in the day, but this one held weight.
“Thank you,” you reply earnestly, “do…you think we could still make the movie with them?”
Joel glances at his watch, squinting before he gives up and crawls up the bed to reach for his glasses, pushing them onto his face to see clearer, “Probably not,” he decides, “you know—we’ve got the discs here, both of ‘em, if you wanna watch,”
“Could we?” you ask, perking up slightly.
“'Course, sweetheart,” Joel answers, pushing himself off the bed slowly as you watch him palm at the front of his jeans, adjusting his erection under the denim and he can see the way your eyes track the movement, tongue wetting your bottom lip as you instantly lean and begin to crawl forward.
A spark of mischief ignited within you as your fingers grazed the front of his jeans, feeling the solid outline of his cock, imagining it in his hands in front of you instead of over a video call. Joel looked down at you, surprise flickering in his eyes before it settled into something darker, more fervent.
“Easy now,” he warned playfully
“What?” you challenged, your pulse racing as you grinned up at him. “It’s my birthday.”
He grabbed your wrist lightly, but it was enough to send a thrill through you.
“You’ve been doin’ good,” Joel compliments, “I don’t need you worryin’ about me when this day should be about you, you got that?”
You frown slightly and nod, feeling his grip on your wrist loosen.
“Do you wanna know my wish?” you ask suddenly, a mischievous grin on your face as Joel hands you the discarded clothes with a look of confusion, “Like, when I blew out my candles—”
Joel senses your energy and agrees with caution, slipping your shorts back on with a snap of the band as you press into his space, face mere inches from his own.
“A mind-blowing orgasm,” you offer genuinely.
Joel had delivered, clearly.
“And here I was thinkin’ you had wished for good health or some shit,” Joel jokes.
You shrug, “Same thing, good for the body and mind or whatever, right?”
“Sure,” Joel agrees easily, grinning slightly at your obvious change in emotion from earlier in the day.
“Oh,” you say suddenly, tapping your palm against the center of his chest to stop him as he turns, “are we gonna talk about the beer?”
“I ain’t wasteful,” Joel explains easily, “—besides, I think you enjoyed it a little more than I did,” he finishes, a playful smirk curling at the corners of his lips.
He’d caught you red-handed.
You smile with a faint hint of embarrassment before you quickly move past him, escaping from the bedroom and his pointed gaze.
“I’ll grab the popcorn, you start up the movie,” you voice trails.
Joel couldn’t deny how easily he followed your direction.
The hold you had over him was enchanting.
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#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#the last of us#pedro pascal#joel miller fic#joel miller smut#pedro pascal characters#x reader#reader#joel miller fanfiction#tlou#tlou fic#the last of us fic#the last of us fanfiction#my writing#fic: orbit you
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Play Fighting
Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x gn!reader T/W: hurt/comfort, angst word count: 2.1k A/N: feels like an eternity (it was) so here's an early Christmas present to all of you.

The night had started quietly, the kind of stillness that settled naturally between them. You were curled up on the couch, legs tucked under yourself, scrolling through your phone while Simon sat nearby, sharpening a blade. The metallic sound of the whetstone filled the rom, steady and methodical.
“You know..” You started, breaking the silence, “for someone who spends so much time sharpening knives, you’d think you’d be better at cutting fruit.”
Simon didn’t even look up “Not my job”
“You literally sliced though an apple like it was a brick the other day,” you continued, smirking. “it was painful to watch.”
“wasn’t meant to look pretty. its functional,” he replied, the corners of his eyes crinkling faintly beneath his balaclava. “Bit like me, really”
“Uh-huh. Functional” you echoed “Except when you try to cook. Then its just tragic.”
He snorted, finally glancing over at you. “You want tragic? How about that time you tried to explain to me how GPS works?”
Your mouth fell open, mock-offended. “I was simplifying it for you! i know what triangulation is!” (lmfao no you didn't)
“Sure you do,” Simon muttered, voice low and gravelly.
You grabbed a pillow of the couch, sitting up straighter. “Say that again Lieutenant”
He leaned back, clearly unbothered. “i said—”
The pillow hit him square in the face before he could finish, and for a moment, the room was silent except for the soft thump as the pillow hit the ground.
Simon slowly straightened, his head tilting just slightly as he regarded you “Oh. You’re dead now love”
“Oh, no,” You said, already sliding off the couch, her grin widening. “You don’t scare me, Lieutenant.”
Simon stood slowly, like a predator sizing up its prey. He reached for one of the couch cushions, hefting it in one hand. “I’m giving you a head start, love. Better take it.”
You squealed and darted toward the kitchen, your laughter echoing through the apartment. “You’re too slow, old man!”
“Old man?” he repeated, his voice trailing after her like a threat.
You turned to stick your tongue out, but Simon was faster than you expected, closing the distance between you in just a few strides. you yelped and grabbed a dishtowel off the counter, flicking it at him before taking off again.
“You’re really making this a thing?” he called after you, his voice edged with amusement.
“Oh, it’s already a thing!” you shot back, ducking into the living room.
Your heart raced as you darted around the couch, narrowly dodging his outstretched arm. You were laughing so hard you could barely think straight, and when Simon lunged again, you shrieked and tried to pivot - but his arm caught you around the waist, pulling you back.
“You’re done for now,” he murmured in your ear, his voice low and teasing as he hauled you onto the couch.
“Not a chance!” you gasped, twisting under him.
“Keep struggling. Makes this more fun,” Simon teased, pinning your hands above your head.
You squirm beneath him, laughing breathlessly, your wrists pinned tightly above your head by his hands. “You think this is enough to hold me down?” you tease, your voice light, testing him like you always do.
Simon smirks, leaning his weight forward just enough to keep you trapped. “It’s more than enough,” he says, his voice low, a touch of challenge in his tone.
You wriggle harder, laughing again, though the first seed of unease stirs faintly in your chest. His grip doesn’t loosen, not even slightly. “I’m not giving up, you know,” you say, still playful, though you tug harder now, testing the strength of his hold.
“Don’t have to,” he murmurs, calm and certain. “You’ve already lost.”
It’s supposed to be a game, like it always is. But this time, his weight feels different—heavier, immovable. You shift your hips, trying to create some space, but he doesn’t budge. His strength is startling, his body unyielding in a way that sends a faint shiver through you. You twist your wrists again, more deliberately this time. Nothing.
Your smile fades. “Alright,” you say, your voice firm but still light, not wanting to ruin the moment. “You win. Let me up.”
Simon tilts his head, his smirk deepening. “Not until you tap out properly.”
“I am tapping out,” you insist, tugging harder, your breath hitching slightly. “Simon, let me up.”
But he doesn’t move. His hands remain locked around your wrists, his weight pressing down on your chest. The faint unease grows sharper, colder. You twist again, harder, panic bubbling up now. “Simon,” you say, your voice louder, strained. “I’m serious. Get off.”
He doesn’t respond immediately. The playful glint in his eyes remains, but it feels detached, distant, as though he’s not hearing you. You buck your hips sharply, trying to shift him, but it’s like trying to move a wall. His body doesn’t yield.
“Simon!” you gasp, your voice breaking. The fear that had been creeping at the edges of your mind crashes into you full force. Your chest tightens as you realize you can’t draw in a full breath. “Get off me—I can’t breathe!”
His smirk falters, confusion flashing briefly across his face. “What’s that?” he asks, like he doesn’t quite believe you.
Your lungs burn, your chest heaving uselessly as you press both hands against his chest, shoving with all your strength. “I can’t breathe!” you choke, tears springing to your eyes as panic claws at your throat. “Please, Simon—get off!”
But his weight is relentless, his strength overwhelming. You thrash beneath him, twisting your wrists, clawing at his hands, kicking out with your legs—anything to get free. Your vision starts to blur, your body screaming for oxygen as your heart pounds against your ribs. It’s hopeless. He’s too strong, too big, and you can’t move him. The world around you narrows, and for a terrifying moment, you think he won’t stop.
Then suddenly, the weight disappears. but your lungs still don’t work right. Air scrapes through your throat, harsh and unsteady, as you sit up too fast, clutching at the edge of the couch to steady yourself. The room tilts, your vision swimming with faint, dark spots at the edges.
Simon rolls off you so quickly it’s as if he’s been burned. He scrambles back, his breathing sharp and uneven.
For a moment, all you can do is breathe—ragged, desperate gulps of air that burn as they fill your lungs. Your hands tremble uncontrollably as you press them against your knees, grounding yourself, willing the panic to ebb. But it doesn’t.
Your mind races, frantic and scattered, replaying the last few seconds in painful, vivid detail. The crushing weight. The way your voice broke when you begged him to stop. The helplessness—God, the helplessness—of knowing you couldn’t move him, couldn’t make him hear you.
You never thought Simon could hurt you. It was an idea so absurd it hadn’t even crossed your mind before tonight. Simon was your protector, your anchor. He was the man who held you when nightmares clawed at your sleep, who stood between you and the world when it felt too heavy to bear. He was safety. Always safety.
But tonight, he hadn’t been. Tonight, his strength had terrified you. And for the first time, you’d felt just how small you were compared to him—how utterly powerless.
“Love.” His voice cuts through the haze, raw and thick with something you don’t immediately recognize. Guilt. “Shit. I—are you—” He can’t even finish the sentence, his words breaking as he reaches a hand toward you. But you pull away sharply, flinching before you can stop yourself.
“I’m fine,” you croak, though the words barely sound like your own. They’re hollow, rasping, a poor imitation of reassurance. You stumble to your feet, your legs trembling beneath you, the ground tilting again as your knees threaten to give way.
“Wait—please, wait,” Simon says quickly, his voice frantic now, laced with panic. He moves to follow you, his hand reaching for yours, but you recoil again.
“Just—don’t,” you manage, your voice cracking. “Give me a minute.”
You don’t look at him as you leave, but you hear the sharp intake of his breath, the low curse he mutters under his breath as you shut the bathroom door behind you.
Inside the bathroom, the small space feels stifling, the air thick and heavy despite the fact that you’re finally able to breathe again. You press your back against the door, your chest still heaving, as the reflection in the mirror catches your eye.
You hardly recognize yourself. Your eyebrows furrowed, your eyes wide, still glassy with unshed tears. Red-rimmed and raw, like they’ve seen something they shouldn’t have. Your trembling fingers reach for the sink, gripping the edge so tightly as though the solidity of the porcelain can anchor you.
He didn’t mean it. You repeat the thought over and over in your head, trying to make it stick. He didn’t mean it. It wasn’t his fault. Simon would never hurt you—never.
But the memory doesn’t care. It keeps replaying, a merciless loop: the way he’d held you down, his weight crushing the air from your lungs, his smirk lingering while you struggled. He hadn’t seen it—hadn’t seen you. The way you’d fought. The way you’d begged.
The helplessness rises again, thick and choking, like a wave crashing over you. For those few terrifying moments, you hadn’t been his wife. You hadn’t been you. You’d been nothing. Just small, trapped, and utterly powerless.
It wasn’t his fault. You cling to the thought like a lifeline. He didn’t realize. He didn’t know. But that doesn’t make it easier to forget how it felt.
When you finally gather the courage to leave the bathroom, your legs are steadier, but your chest still aches with every breath. You step into the living room slowly, your movements deliberate, and see Simon sitting on the couch.
His elbows rest on his knees, his head bowed low, his broad shoulders hunched. His hands are curled into fists, pressed tightly against his thighs, his knuckles white from the pressure. The moment you step closer, he lifts his head, and the look on his face hits you harder than anything else tonight.
It’s guilt. Bone-deep, agonizing guilt. His eyes are wide, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscle twitches, and there’s a hollowness in his expression that twists something in your chest.
“Love,” he says, his voice rough, breaking around your name. “I didn’t—” He cuts himself off, his head dropping again as he drags a hand over his face. “Fuck. I didn’t realize. I wasn’t—I didn’t know.”
His words spill out in broken fragments, a sharp contrast to the Simon you know. There’s no confidence in his voice now, no calm certainty. Only raw, desperate regret.
I didn’t mean to,” he says, his voice cracking. “I thought—I thought you were still—” He stops again, exhaling shakily, his fists tightening. “I should’ve seen it. I should’ve stopped.”
You sit down beside him, leaving a small space between you, your hands resting on your knees as you try to find the right words. He looks at you, and the pain in his eyes makes your chest ache.
“I never meant to hurt you,” he says again, softer now. His voice trembles, but his gaze never leaves yours. “You know that, right? Love, I’d never—”
“I know,” you say quickly, your voice gentle but unsteady. “I know you didn’t mean to. But…” You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. “You scared me.”
He flinches, the words striking him like a blow. “I scared you,” he repeats, his tone low and hollow, as though he can’t believe what he’s saying. “God, Love, I didn’t—” He cuts himself off again, his hands trembling slightly now.
Simon drops his head into his hands, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his guilt. “I didn’t notice,” he mutters, his voice thick. “I should’ve. You were laughing—I thought you were still—I thought—” His voice breaks, and he exhales sharply, shaking his head.
Reaching out hesitantly, you place a hand on his arm. “You didn’t mean to hurt me,” you say softly, your voice cracking with the effort. “But it happened anyway. That’s what scared me, Simon.”
He turns to you, his eyes dark and full of anguish. “I’ll never let that happen again,” he says, his voice trembling but firm. “Never.”
You nod slowly, the beginnings of a tentative smile tugging at your lips. “Good,” you say, leaning against him, letting your head rest on his shoulder. “Because I like you too much to let you break me, Simon Riley.”
He lets out a weak, humourless chuckle, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close. His grip is strong, but this time it feels safe. Protective. And though neither of you speak, his silent promise is clear: he’ll never let it happen again.

A/N: honestly this shouldn't have taken as long as it did to write lol i was in such a slump. please leave a comment if you enjoyed i wanna be more active in this community and that would help me do that. either way if your reading this then you made it to the end of the story lol. thank you.
hastags :
#call of duty#cod modern warfare#cod mwii#simon ghost riley#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x you#angst#simon riley x reader#love#hurt/comfort#simon ghost x you#cod mw2#cod angst
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all the things she said -> jjk (finale)



summary: he had you and lost you all in the span of a few hours, what will it take to prove to you that you’re all he could ever want and need? as jungkook tries to wriggle his way back into your sheltered heart, taehyung tries to reconcile with you. jungkook is the one he faces at the door instead.
rating: R18+ MATURE, minors please do not interact
genre: roommate au, angst, fluff, smut
word count: 12k
warnings/tags: this is so angsty omo, swearing (is it even a warning atp lmfao), lots of kissing, caressing, so much touching how does oc even breathe, fingering, more friendship break ups:(, time jump at the end, big and full-circle moment secret reveal.
notes: it's heree!!! the final part of attss! i gave myself whiplash writing this lmfao. i hope you guys enjoyed this series, it's kind of bittersweet that it's over huh :c but if you enjoyed reading about this couple, i’m so more than happy to write drabbles for them, or answer any questions about these characters! (and for any of my ocs/couples! i love interacting with you guys so don’t be shy and send some in if that’s something you’re interested in <3) i hope you enjoyed the absolute MESS that was all the things she said.
soundtrack: getting lighter - goldmund // it’ll all work out - phoebe bridgers // i was made for loving you - tori kelly (feat. ed sheeran)
⋆ ࣪. masterlist ˖ ࣪⭑
<- prev
Jungkook had woken up early in hopes to catch you. He waited a good half an hour, looking clean and put together, but the bags beneath his eyes made it known that he wasn’t doing great. He had spent the entire night pacing his room, convincing himself to knock on your door and explain that it really wasn’t it looked like.
Well, it kind of was.
Him and Yuri were a thing for a few months, you knew that as well as him, but the text was a misunderstanding. Jungkook didn’t have a chance to explain that he had been blowing Yuri off for weeks, that her reply was laced with sarcasm in response to the dry one-worded answers he’d been giving her.
It wasn’t fair, and it was wrong, and he knew that. It wasn’t fair to Yuri, and it wasn’t fair to you. Therefore, Jungkook felt stuck.
He was still in the wrong no matter what he decided to tell you, and he wasn’t sure you wanted to hear any of what he had to say either way.
He leans against the kitchen counter with a luke-warm cup of coffee, waiting for you to march through your door snd demand answers from him, and he was prepared to give them to you. He had spent all night practising what it was he was going to say to you.
Eventually you do come storming out, your bag slung over your shoulder. Your features are flat, hair pulled back into a ponytail, your face flushed as if you had only just recently stopped crying. He stands up straight when your presence enters the living room, but he doesn’t even get to let a word past his lips, he can only suck in breath because you head straight for the door, closing the door calmly behind you. You don’t spare him a glance; you don’t even turn around.
You were out of the apartment just as quickly as you walked into the room. Jungkook sighs, dumping his coffee into the sink, grabbing his bag before heading out the door for work.
When he gets to work, he decides he isn’t going to force it, he’s not gonna check his phone every two seconds in hopes you’ve replied to his message(s). He’ll give you space, let you breathe if that’s what you wanted. He wishes he knew what you were thinking, and he wondered if this was enough of a fuck up on his end to make you hate him. He thinks you hating him might be the scariest thing that could happen to him. Scarier than that time his coffee mug exploded in the microwave at work a couple of months ago, and he had found that moment to be particularly terrifying.
He’s leaning too far forward into the screen as he types, and when Jimin rolls over in his seat he clicks his tongue. Jimin grabs the back of Jungkook’s collar, pulls him back slightly and gives the buff baby a stern look. It reminds him terribly of his mother, which only reminds him that he should call her, it’s been a while. “Don’t slouch, Jungkookie.” The brunette grunts at his supervisor and friend, leaning back instead, and turning back to his work.
Jimin lets out a careful breath, “So, you look like death today.” He rolls closer to Jungkook so that he’s beside him, tapping a pen against the table to garner his attention. “What’d you do this time?”
Jungkook lifts his fingers from his keyboard, puffs out a frustrated breath. He brings his stiff fingers to rub at his tired eyes. “What didn’t I do?” He mumbled, mostly to himself, “I completely took advantage of the girl I love, is what I did.” He scrubs his palms over his face. “Why did I do that?” When he finally looks at Jimin, his eyes are red. He fails to hide the way they’ve glossed over slightly, even though he’s managed to keep his voice steady.
“I’m not following, kid…” Jimin looks at him worriedly, lifting his hand to his friends’ tense shoulders. “Are you alright?”
Jungkook shrugs. “Y/N saw a text from Yuri on my phone last night, and–”
“So what? Doesn’t she know that you two were hooking up?” Jimin frowns, his brows pinching together, bracing himself for what Jungkook is about to reveal to him. Because Jimin knew him, which meant that he also knew you, by default; he knew that you rarely ever got mad at Jungkook, and if there was going to be a reason for it, it was going to be a valid one. As much as he loved and cared for the younger boy, he was renowned for making mistakes. Especially with women. But this was you that they were talking about; Jungkook wasn’t going to take it lightly when it came to his chances with you.
“Yeah, but the text she sent me made it look like we were still hooking up.”
Jungkook had met Yuri at a college part you’d invited him to in late November last year. With absolutely zero intention to sleep with anyone, he had simply agreed because it meant that he got to watch out for you while you got drunk and partied yourself into the ground. To celebrate, you had told him, to let loose. Of course, there had been a theme, which of course was Slutty Santa, and that meant you dressed as a skimpy little elf. You wore a tiny little red and green outfit; with white knee-high socks and a pair of regular loafers you already owned. He remembers it vividly, how could he forget when it was all he could see the entire night; it didn’t matter that the house was dim, the only form of light the LED ones hung along the walls— you stood out to him like the single star that shined just a little bit brighter than the others in the night sky. You always had.
It was jealousy that led him into the arms of a red head with fox eyes, the black dress and Santa hat she wore was lazy work to the theme that Jungkook himself hadn’t even indulged in, maybe it was why he had found himself standing by her, engaging in conversation. Yuri wasn’t subtle in her motivations, touching his arm and smiling sweetly at him. He looked between you and her, and when you had fallen into the lap of a guy he didn’t even know, but you apparently had known so well, he had let Yuri lead him up the stairs and into a vacant bedroom. She was a beautiful woman in her own right, but even when he indulged himself in the way she kissed him, slow with lust, he found it hard to see anyone else but you when his eyes fell shut.
That was that.
He only sees how bad that was when he thinks back to that night, where his possessiveness over a girl who didn’t want him allowed him to make poor decisions. He shuts his eyes tight, blinking rapidly when the ring of his pupil’s pounds through his vision as he tries to adjust them. It makes his head spin instead of ridding himself of the memories of his missteps like he’d intended it to.
“Are you?” Jimin raises a brow that’s met with a deep, sharp glare. He holds up his hands in defence, “Just asking.”
“I haven’t been entertaining Yuri at all since Y/N told me she wanted to give me a chance.”
“Did you tell Yuri that, though?”
Yuri? Why would he tell Yuri? That wasn’t relevant to her or to the arrangement they had together. “No, it’s none of her business.”
Jimin tuts, shaking his head with a disappointed look on his face. “You are such a mess, you know that?”
He expects Jungkook to grow defensive, he always did when he was slapped in the face with the harsh truth, but the change in his demeanour makes Jimin’s stomach turn.
Jungkook narrows his eyes at him. “Why didn’t you tell me it was Taehyung?”
“I told you I didn’t think it wasn’t good timing–“
“He’s one of my best fucking friends, Jimin!” He whisper-shouts, his jaw stiffening. His sadness merging into the anger he felt last night. “You should have at least told Y/N.”
Jimin nods, “I was coming over here to talk to you about that, actually.” He chews on his lip, rummaging his thoughts for the right words to say. He takes that time to really look at Jungkook.
He looks tired, like he hasn’t even had the chance to shut his eyes. Surely it wasn’t over you finding Yuri’s text. No, there was more to it, and he could tell; it evident in the way his usually lively features were drooping with exhaustion, anger, frustration; his notably big eyes were heavy with the lack of rest he had gotten, and it’s been a while since Jimin’s seen Jungkook so shaken up about something.
He wasn’t going to bounce back quickly from this like his usual self would.
“I was wrong, I–“ Jungkook’s stare remains firm, causing Jimin’s head to drop, looking to the ground with a deflated sigh. “It was wrong of me to keep it from you, from Y/N, too. I thought it was the right thing to do.”
“Yeah, well, you were wrong.”
“I know!” Jimin tosses his pen onto the table with frustration. Jungkook eyes the pen, watches it roll off the table with a dull thud against the carpet floors. With a sigh, he gives Jungkook a sincere look, “I know, I’m sorry.”
For the first time in a long while, Jimin looks apologetic. It’s only then Jungkook softens his gaze, letting his shoulders roll forward. Maybe it wasn’t exactly fair to be taking it out on Jimin, although he stands by the fact he should have told him the minute, he discovered the truth, he trusts in Jimin when he says he was trying to do the right thing. Jimin was always trying to do what he thinks is best for everyone, even for you, even when he was harsh and stern with you about your intentions with Jungkook. While you knew that, it sometimes left you wondering whether he actually liked you or not. Ever the overthinker, you’d always confide in Jungkook about that. Even when his answer was always the same.
“I just, Y/N isn’t this perfect girl that can do no wrong. I think sometimes you forget she’s just a girl.” Jimin explains, “She’s allowed to be special to you, you’re allowed to love her, but just like you, she makes mistakes.”
Jungkook shakes his head, “What are you saying? Aren’t I the one who’s making the mistakes? I got so blinded by her wanting me that I forgot that the rest of the world was still going on around me.”
“I’m just saying she has flaws. One you have in common is that you both lack good communication skills, and if you don’t learn how to, well, talk— it’s going to be a problem for you in the long run.”
Jungkook groans, throws his head back against the chair and folds his arms over his chest. His head has not stopped throbbing since he came into work. For a moment he wonders if you’re okay; a deep part of him hopes that you’re not letting any of it ruin your day, that it’s not affecting you as much as it was affecting him. But it was wishful thinking because he saw the way you walked out of your shared space, avoided seeing him altogether.
He knows you have a big test coming up that you’ve been head-in-books over, and he feels guilty when he thinks about how this was probably piling onto the stress you were currently feeling. He had always admired how hard you work, had always found that part of you attractive— he wasn’t a model student himself, so he really thought it was admirable how consistent and serious you were to your crafts.
“So, should I text her?” He asks, letting go of the anger he had previously directed at Jimin. There was no use for that now, and he was tired of throwing his emotions out on his sleeve. It was starting to suck the life out of him.
“Yeah actually, for once I think that might be a good idea.” Jimin nods, “Take your half-hour if you need it.”
Being alone and to be lonely were two different things— to be alone meant to breathe, to recharge when your batteries inevitably depleted, and all you wanted to do was curl up on your couch with a blanket and some cookies and milk to snack of while you watched the Twilight series back-to-back.
The feeling of being lonely, though? Well, you knew in that moment that it meant to feel lost. Hollow inside, constantly on the verge of tears. To be in a desperate search for a hand to grab onto, a shoulder to lean on; for someone that tells you everything will be okay, that you’re not alone.
It was clear then— this was loneliness. You have never ached so hard, never felt so out of place. Jungkook was the person you turned to for everything; when you got into a fight with Jia, because you always used to butt heads with her because you were both stubborn and head-strong, or when Jimin had something a little bit too honest that hurt your feelings.
You wonder if cutting them off was a good move. They hadn’t reached out since the part, like there was an unspoken silence of the end of an era, the fading of a friendship that was at its foreseeable end. Now you somewhat wish you could pull out your phone and text them, tell them that they were right and men really were impossible.
Still, you can’t help but believe that all of this is your fault. It was you that had kept such a vulnerable secret from the people you loved. You don’t know what’s wrong with you. You don’t know why you find it easy not to say things, to keep them locked away in the taverns of your soul where no one can find them; where your flaws can’t be picked apart, where the people you wanted validation from couldn’t tear you to shreds and realise that you’re damaged.
You hugged your bag to your chest in search of comfort, instead of wearing it over your shoulders like regular. You took your time walking through the courtyard and watched idly as people walked by you; the very people you never bothered to take a second glance at once.
They were the people you’ve attended the same university as for the past three years, smiling and laughing with a friend, or holding hands with their loved one. It only deepened the frown on your face, wondering why you’ve deprived yourself of that. Why were you afraid to make eye contact and smile at a stranger, knowing that if it were you, it would probably make your day a little bit easier. Knowing that you’ve been acknowledge, that you were noticed.
Your bottom lip wobbled when you looked over into the field, where a couple was making a little bit too much noise; a boyfriend that lifted his girlfriend up in his arms with ease, spinning her around and making her laugh hysterically. You think of him then:
Jungkook.
He had sent you a text just before your tutorial had ended, and you hadn’t didn’t reply. You were mad, or sad, or– okay, you admit you don’t really know what you’re feeling. You just felt heavy with emotions, you feel let down. If this were any other guy you were sure you’d find it easier to put one foot in front of the other and keep your shoulders straight. You’d still be smiling, enjoying the sun and seeing the bright side of things. Music playing through your headphones, blocking any chance to feel sadness, or betrayal. What was meant to be would be, and if it wasn’t— then it wouldn’t.
All the walls you had spent years building around your heart had immediately crumbled into dust the moment you felt his lips on yours. His gentle touches, the fluttered pecks along your neck, they all lingered; the ghost of his touch haunting you in your darkest hour. Could it be that you’re using Yuri as an excuse to push Jungkook’s heart away? Maybe partially, because pushing people away felt easier when things got too real. You convinced that all bad things had a purpose to you, and that you were made to deal with on your own.
You pause on your walk to your car, resting your back against a building wall, sniffling. Your tears feel hot when they fall past your eyes. The more you blinked, the more that fell.
You can’t help but think that Jimin had always been right about you; you were avoidant and dismissive, not so much towards other people but to the person that mattered most— yourself. You weren’t the easy-going person you portrayed yourself to be, not the way Yuri was.
Jungkook had always felt like home to you. Being near him steadied your heart and made you feel light. You had mistaken it for the great platonic connection that you had with him; you were comfortable around him, he was easy to talk to, and he never looked at you like you were strange when you let the most unhinged thoughts slip out loud.
He made everything feel better when times got a little bit too tough, and that was something you couldn’t say for any of the other guys you’ve dated over the course of your life. To be comfortable in a relationship was a foreign concept to you, you weren’t meant to let them see your weaknesses because that’s what friendship was for. That’s what you thought.
That gurgling feeling in your stomach whenever Yuri sat in your kitchen in his clothes, it wasn’t because it was late and you needed a snack— it was because you were envious. You were jealous that she was beautiful and very much the type of girl you had always envisioned being with him. Yuri was patient and comfortable with herself and just overall chill about everything— everything except for him.
You knew she had to be crazy about him, because how could she not be? You knew it so not only because she would glow every time she looked at him, but because you were also crazy about him, and you thought she would have to be clinically insane not to be.
Still, he had chosen you. In the words of his own, he had always chosen you. Though right now it didn’t feel sincere. Even if you knew that his feelings were true, because Jungkook plastered his emotions on his face like post it notes on a corkboard. But if he was going to toss Yuri aside like she meant nothing to him.
What’s to say he won’t do the same to you the moment you let your guard down with him?
It’s what you’ve always been afraid of, no matter how much you trusted him. What if the way he claimed to yearn for you was all in the name of the chase, of wanting something he couldn’t have?
You know that it was too late, because you’ve already shown him that the things he did, they mattered to you. That the choices he made, how they affected you. You thought of Yuri, what she’d think if she knew. Did she already know? Would she hate you if she knew? You wonder why that even mattered to you, why you cared so much about what she’d think. Even if she did have something that you’ve always wanted.
Now that you’ve had him, you know it was going to be impossible for you to let him go. It was going to be so much harder to separate your feelings for him when you’ve already allowed him to worm his way into your thoughts and dreams. There was no going back to being his roommate— Jungkook wasn’t just your best friend anymore.
Maybe he never was.
That’s why you couldn’t go home, not yet. You needed to recollect yourself and breathe before you could face him again. Without looking at him with tears in your eyes, all while desperate to fall into his arms for comfort, even if he was the reason for them. When you find yourself in front of Jimin’s apartment instead of your own, you don’t even realise just how long you’re parked, ruminating in your spiralling thoughts. When Jimin knocks on your window, it hardly even makes you flinch. You lift your forehead off the steering wheel, peering up at him with dreary eyes and stained cheeks. He looks through the glass with a confused expression that silently asks you what you’re doing here. It makes you pout, and you start to cry again.
Jimin clicks his tongue, cocking his head towards his home, even opens the door for you to climb out of the driver’s seat. You lock your car and drag your feet behind him, following him into his apartment. He waits until your sat in his kitchen, a cup of cool water held delicately between your hands. Your fingers tap against the glass, palms slightly wet from the condensation. You take another sip before he plants it on the counter.
“He didn’t exactly tell me what he did, but I can muster up some ideas.” He leans in front of you, a careful smile on his full lips. You pucker your lips, staring into the peppery pattern of the marble. It’s then he scoffs, his grin is bright though it holds no humour to it. “God, I feel like a therapist.”
“You’re too honest to be a therapist.” Your voice cracks, but he doesn’t mention it or tease you for it the way he normally would.
“That’s why I’m a supervisor at an office.” He snorts, “Jungkook works hard though, does his job well.” He nods, taking a sip of his third cup of coffee of the day. He had garnered a bit of a caffeine addiction, and he blames everyone else but himself for that.
You hum, “We slept together.”
Jimin carefully lets the mouthful of coffee spill slowly back into his cup, putting it down and pushing it aside. “This he failed to tell me.” He raises his brows.
“It was my fault. I was sad, I was angry, and I was confused–”
“So, you regret it?” He cuts you off.
“No! Not at all. It was…” There’s a slight tug at the corners of your lips, looking up as you think back to the moment.
“Okay, no need for details.”
“Magical.”
“Alright, okay.” He makes an x with his hands, tapping his wrists together “Time out.”
You chuckle lightly, “You know when he started to see Yuri, I closed up my heart to him completely.” You begin, your small smile falters. “I was so sure then, that he had found someone good for him.”
“Even though I spent that night in someone else’s bed, all I could think about was him. I was so used to him being available, and there for me all the time. I took advantage of that, and I realised how much I wanted him because after that I didn’t even so much as look at another guy. Even when he brought Yuri home, let her sleep in his bed.”
Jimin watches you carefully as you talk, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth in hopes to stop yourself from crying anymore. “Then the money my parents had lent me had started running out, and I couldn’t find a job that suited my availability and then I found that stupid app.”
“It helped me forget, made me feel good about myself when my heart was hurting. It’s not his fault, but I sometimes wonder if it would have been different if one of us just said something. I didn’t even know–” You take a breath, steadying your emotions, “I don’t understand why Taehyung did that. He’s always been so kind to me, and he’s one of Jungkook’s closest friends.”
Jimin nods, “I’ve never liked Taehyung. I think he’s always had this secret animosity towards Jungkook. Always competing with him, wanted the things that he had. When Jungkook got a job at our office, Taehyung was stuck as a mechanic.”
You never saw it that way. Taehyung had always seemed comfortable in who he was, content with his life. Whenever you were around him and Jungkook, they were always laughing and having fun together. There were parts of their relationship that had gone unnoticed by you, or perhaps you hadn’t spent the time to really analyse it all the way Jimin seemingly had.
“I think naturally he envied what you and Jungkook had. When I confronted him, he told me that you liked you, too. Actually, he said he saw you first? Whatever that means.”
“What does he mean by that?” You tilt your head.
Jimin isn’t sure what would do more damage than good. The things Taehyung had told him had left him confused, yes, but they did make sense to him. A lot of people had crushes on people that didn’t even know they existed, he supposed it wasn’t a totally foreign concept. He himself remembers the people he admired from afar, especially during his school days.
“Apparently, he ran with the same crowd you did, like a year or so before you moved in with Jungkook.” He explains, “I guess he’d always had his eyes on you.” He shrugs, feeling slightly awkward as you look into the distance at nothing in particular, processing the idea he had just planted in your head.
“I didn’t meet Taehyung until I moved in with Jungkook.” You shake your head, like you’re trying to convince yourself of the fact.
“I’m sure that’s true, or– I don’t know. Don’t take this the wrong way, but is possible you just don’t remember?” Jimin asks, pressing his lips together into a thin line.
You groan when you think about those times. You did do a lot of drinking, that much was true. You roll your head back, suddenly feeling the stiffness in your neck. “It’s not impossible, if what he’s saying is true.”
Jimin only hums, nodding idly.
You pull out your phone to check the time, your eyes drop to the notifications left unopened. Your thumbs over it, you hold your breath when you tap on them.

He watches the way your thumbs over the keyboard on your phone, typing out messages, visibly deleting them when you tap on the same spot repeatedly, clearly removing your reply altogether.
“Go,” Jimin urges. “Talk to him. speak from the heart, just say everything— just don’t let your fears obscure the truth of it all. It’ll work out better that way, I promise you.”
When you look at him, he can tell that you’re just by the way your eyes water through a tightened smile that you’re grateful for him. You’re glad he was there for you when you needed him to be, the way a friend should do. No judgement, no picking apart your errors, just an ear to listen and a gentle outlook.
With a final nod, you let him walk you to the door, groaning when he ruffles your hair and pushes gently on your shoulder, thanking him before he closes the door.
Standing in front of your door, you don’t expect to hear the amount of noise coming from the other side. Clashing of cookware and utensils sound through to make it known that he was there. You try to be as quiet as possible when you shove the key through the door, careful in the way you step into the apartment.
You’re successful, he doesn’t notice you’re there yet. It gives you a moment to take in the sight of him. His back turned to you, the string of the apron tied neatly against his back, the sleeves of his hoodie rolled up to his elbows as he muttered under his breath.
Jungkook whips around the moment he hears the door shut, wide eyes and parted lips. There’s a line of flour along his cheekbone, and when he wiped the back of his hand along his nose it leaves some at the tip of it as well. “Y/N, hey.” His nose twitches, fighting off a smile. He’s not sure if you’d appreciate the gesture or not, not yet.
“What are you doing?” You ask him softly. Your hands linger on the doorknob as you press your back against the door.
“I’m making cookies.” He nods fast, the nerves evident in the way he wipes his palms against his apron. Your apron. “F-for you.” He huffs, shutting his eyes when you stare at him blankly, turning his back to you again as he continues making an absolute mess of the kitchen.
But the aroma it sends throughout the apartment makes your insides flutter with a warmth and giddiness that you fail to subdue. Warm cookies have to be one of those scents that could make nearly everything feel better; maybe it was why you lingered around in the bakery section at the supermarket in the mornings. You slip away from the door, sneak your way to his side. He can hear the quiet patter of your sock-clad feet against the floor. He doesn’t look up at you when you stand beside him, but he can see you in his peripherals.
He wipes at the dampness on his forehead with his forearm, rolling the last of the dough he’d made into a ball to put onto a second baking try. You peak over him where there’s a batch that’s already been cooked. You can tell it’s mixed with white and semi-sweet chocolate chips. That was your favourite, but of course he knew that.
“Jungkook.” You try, resting your temple against the fridge, your fingers still fiddling behind your back. He hums in response, opening the oven to put the tray of cookie dough inside, only to look over all the mess he’d created for himself. Preoccupied, he moves the tray of cookies to the other side of the kitchen out of his way. You shadow him as he moves back and forth within the space. “Jungkook.”
His knuckles hit the underside of the marble, and he grunts, shaking his hand off as the pain sears through his arm. The exhale he lets out shakes slightly, but he meets your waiting eyes. “Yeah?” He exhales.
“I think we should talk about last night.” You push yourself off the fridge, walk toward him slowly. He’s frozen in his spot, forgetting all about what he was meant to be doing. His eyes don’t leave your face, not even breaking contact as you reach around his head, slowly remove the apron from around his neck, moving them down to release the knot that kept it tight around his waist. You toss it onto the table, avoiding his deep stare, letting yours look over his chest that rose and fell faster than normal. You can still feel it even when you turn your back to him, creating some distance between you.
“Y/N–”
“Don’t say sorry.” You stop him. “I just want to know if you love her.”
Jungkook blinks at you from behind. “Yuri?” He almost laughs. But then he sees the way you turn your head, not quite looking over your shoulder at him, but showing him a part of your expression. You were serious. “Not even close.” Because it’s you that I love, he thinks to himself. It doesn’t quite come out, though.
“I could feel this…aching in my chest–” Your fingers twitch, reaching up to rest just where you heart sat inside of you. “–seeing you with her. You seemed happy.” You admit, your throat growing dry as you speak words you’d never imagine would fall past your lips, would ever move past fleeting thoughts. “Seeing you with her only made how I felt for you real, and that terrified me.” You let the silence ring between you, but when he doesn’t speak you allow yourself to continue.
“I never saw that guy you know. After the Christmas party.” When you turn around, your initial fear of his eyes piercing into you rings true. For once, you don’t let it shake you. “But you kept Yuri around.”
He opens his mouth, goes to say something but you don’t allow it, there was too much you wanted to say, so you say it. “I thought what you had was serious. I just wanted to leave it alone, pretend that I wasn’t so incredulously into my roommate–” You forget to breathe for a moment. Gasping for air, allowing your breathing pattern to settle back down. Still, you’re bracing yourself for the impact of what you’re about to say next.
“It really hurt to see you make someone else smile, someone that wasn’t me.”
He sighs shakily when your voice breaks at your confession, and the sad look in his eye alone is enough to let yourself cry. He reaches for you, rubs at your arms with a quiet hush. “Don’t cry.” He begs, because it was the most painful thing he’d have to endure— being the reason for your tears.
“I know– I know it’s selfish.” You whimper as he pulls you into his chest, burying his head into your neck, breathing you in. “To just think you could read my mind like that, to think you’d wait for me.”
“I would have, I could, Y/N— wait for you, I mean.” He rushes out, assuring you that it wasn’t just on you. “I fucked it up, okay? I act out when I get jealous. Every time you called me your best friend, I sulked and ran into Yuri’s arms thinking she was going to solve all my problems, but she didn’t.”
Your body shakes in his arms, vision blurred by the tears that didn’t stop coming. You felt so vulnerable, so beaten and broken down, everything hitting you all at once. You failed Jungkook, and you failed yourself— and you truly believed that.
“Have I ruined everything?” Jungkook laughs, but there’s no amusement to his tone. He removes himself from you, to let you breathe, but you only forget how; the moment he lets you go you feel cold— empty.
Subconsciously, your arms reach for him again, but he takes your hands in his instead, thumbs brushing over your knuckles. You watch the movement; you feel the warmth of his hands transfer into yours, uncaring of the fact they were growing clammy.
You shake your head, “You couldn’t ruin how I feel about you, I don’t think it’s possible.”
“Really?” He asks hopeful, can’t contain the way it makes his lips curl up. You release an amused breath through your nose, looking up at him shyly.
“Will you do something for me?” You ask, meek.
“Anything, dove.” His fingers wrap around your wrists, lifting your fingers to his lips. He kisses them gingerly.
“Will you talk to her? Tell her the truth.”
You can tell that he recoils slightly at the thought of that, he releases your wrists, one of his hands reaching to the back of his head. He scratches at his scalp, then runs the same hand through his hair. Jungkook hasn’t had a conversation about his feelings with Yuri, not even close. Their conversations were surface level mostly, if they weren’t indulging in a distraction from his raging emotions. Jungkook frowns, searches your features for answers. Why would you want him to talk to her when you had basically just told him that you were jealous of her? You sniffle, eyes still slightly glassy from earlier. He’s glad you’ve relaxed since, even if it was only a little.
With a huff, he nods curtly. “Okay. If that will make you happy, then I’ll talk to Yuri.”
You smile, thanking him as you reach up to cup your hand over his cheek. He places his own on top of yours. Suddenly your nose twitches, taking a step back, looking down at the oven.
“I think they might be burning.” You state, pointing at the dark-looking cookies that the both of you had long forgotten about.
Jungkook curses under his breath, throwing on the oven mitts and dragging the sweets out of the oven. He slides it onto the counter with a pout. “At least the other batch turned out okay.” He turns to you, hardly given a moment to breathe when you crash into him, your arms falling over his shoulders as you press your lips onto his unsuspecting ones.
He’s only frozen for moment, but it doesn’t take long for his mouth to catch up with his brain, his top lip closing over the top of yours. He lets out a long, happy sigh exiting through his nose. His hands come to rest on your hips, but he still stumbles backwards as you throw your weight at him, your toes not enough to support you leaning forward into him. He moans against your mouth, dragging his hands up your body until they reach your jaw. He takes your face in his hands to pull you off him gently. “I didn’t think you would forgive me just yet.”
“I don’t forgive you.” You breathe, lean forward to find his lips again. He only pecks your lips, holding your shoulders. You roll your eyes. “I also can’t stand being away from you.”
Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek, nodding in understanding. “Okay.” He leans down, kisses you softly. You blink slow when he pulls away, smiling sweetly before repeating the action. “Then I’ll keep trying.”
You melt into him when he walks you back against the counter, pressing his body flush against yours. It’s subtle, but his foot pushes between yours, forcing your legs apart without you even fully realising. “I’ll bring you flowers every day after work.” He kisses your cheek, one hand on your lower back, the other holding the back of your head steady. He feels you rest against it, letting it fall back to give him access to your throat. “I’ll make you dinner every night.” He continues, dragging his lips along your jaw. The feeling makes your eyes fall shut, and with each heavy breath you take your chest rises, colliding gently with his. “I’ll keep telling you how much I love you.”
Your eyes open, looking over his shoulder as he kisses your neck, the warmth of his tongue against your hot skin making you gasp. He pulls away, comes face to face with you. “I–” He closes the distance between you, stealing the words from your lips. Shutting you up.
“How much I always have.” He continues when he pulls away, breathy and quiet— for your ears only.
“When you’re not around, all I can think about is you. You’ve plagued my life with that pretty face of yours, and now I can’t go back.”
“That’s dangerous.” You flash him a half smile, and there’s a teasing glint in your eye. “Sweet talking like that.”
“I’m just saying how I feel.” The hand on your lower back twitches, you hardly register the way he lowers it until he grabs at your ass, making you arch your back, narrowing your eyes at him in light-hearted warning. He snickers, his forehead resting against yours as he scans your face, watching as you try to capture his lips again. He pulls away whenever you get close, your lips only ever brushing before he pulls away, he kisses your cheek, hiding his face in your hair.
“We can stop; we don’t have to do this.” He whispers against the shell of your ear, his nose dragging along the side of your neck. You whimper at the pet-name, and you fear that you won’t be able to now— you don’t think you can stop. “I’ll wait however long you need me to— I’m not going anywhere.”
Why does it feel like he’ll slip through your fingers if you say no to this? How do you say no to this when his knuckle caresses your inner thigh so patiently, never riding his touch high enough to cross a line. Why did you feel like nothing else mattered whenever his lips touched your skin? You were still not sure where you wanted this to lead, or rather, you weren’t sure you were quite ready to forgive him so easily when he had unfinished matters with another woman. A part of you felt dirty for letting him touch you, allowing him to make you want to beg for him to pleasure you; there’s another part of you that feels triumphant, and you know that’s wrong of you.
You never claimed to be good, no matter how hard you tried to be.
Nobody was good 100% of the time.
You’ve only just learnt to stay true to how you feel inside. Your morals are telling you that you should reel this in, tell him you need his friendship right now, that there were things you need to talk about first. But your body? Your body couldn’t care less about your morals right now. Above all, Jungkook was your best friend, and as much as you enjoyed the way he soothed your worries right now, Taehyung still lingered in the back of your mind.
Did Jungkook know that Taehyung knew who you were?
The question ebbs within your thoughts, but the forefront is filled with the way he has your knees giving in. You needed his arms to hold you up, needed his body pressing into yours to keep you stable. “I can’t…” you whine, to yourself or Jungkook you’re not entirely sure.
“Can’t what?” The low buzz of his voice tickles your skin, clearing your throat when you think you might moan because of it. “Talk to me, dove.”
“I…”
Speak from the heart.
“I love you,” it comes out in almost a sob, like it was hurting you to say, all while finding the hand that circled your thigh, leading it higher u, manoeuvring his fingers to skim the material of your shorts between your legs. “I love you too.” You throw your head back when his fingers move on their own, cupping your clothed crotch, pushing his palm into you. He only answers in heavy breaths, guiding your head back up so that he could kiss you again.
Who needed alcohol when you could get this intoxicated from his touch alone? If you had known so back then, in times that you were reckless, you might have waited for him to find you. Maybe then you wouldn’t have put up all of the walls that kept you from these moments. Maybe you would have had him sooner, and things wouldn’t have turned out so complicated. You realise there was no reason to dwell, not when you’re here now.
Still, you wonder. Then you might have remembered those days more clearly, remember the people around. Or maybe you’d know different people altogether. It was funny how every choice you made would change the course of your life forever, would impact every decision and every moment. It would lead you down roads you couldn’t come back from.
You didn’t need to live in your thoughts anymore though.
You knew better than anyone that you could change your life in the blink of an eye, all you had to do was snap your fingers and decide that for yourself. You’ve done it before, and you could do it again.
Knowing Jungkook had changed you for the better. With him you had learnt what it meant to be cared for, to be loved without any strings attached. Jungkook showed you what it truly meant to be seen— to be wanted. You didn’t think someone like that could exist for you; you spent the most part of two years convincing yourself of that.
But you deserved to be happy too, and for the first time – in a very long time – you truly believed that. There was no need to punish yourself for who you used to be. Not anymore.
So, you let his name fall past your lips, buck up into his hand as he pops open the button of your shorts, pulling the zipper down. You grip the edge of the counter with tightened fingers, throwing your head back completely when his hand moves to support your arching back instead of your head. He invades the place you ache for him, dipping his hand into the fabric of your underwear to drag a singular finger between your wet folds. He nips at your neck, tongue soothing over his attack to your sensitive skin.
You release a hand to hold onto his wrist as he rubs on your clit, tantalisingly slow but the feeling is delicious all the same. Your hips stutter as they chase his touch, and you’re no longer shy about the high-pitched breaths that leave your throat, your tiny mewls of desire making it known that what he’s doing is pleasing you.
“Barely touching you…” he laughs, nosing at your jaw. “Look like you’re close to cumming already.”
He’s only teasing, but he’s not wrong. The way he circles and flicks at your bundle of nerves brings your high closer than you’d anticipated. When you look up at him with heavy eyes, he raises a brow at you. “You gonna cum for me, baby?” He asks innocently.
“But Y/N…I haven’t even put my fingers in your pussy yet.” He complains playfully, but his voice deep and coarse. It rings through you and makes your legs stutter on the spot.
You release a shaky moan, your grip on his wrist tightening as you flutter around nothing, feeling empty. You noise your displeasure when he takes his finger off your clit, middle finger circling your entrance. He hums with satisfaction. “So wet, so ready for me.”
He pushes his finger inside, curling them up to prod at your sensitive walls. His thumb finds your swelling nub, rubbing you a little bit faster, in rhythm with his finger dragging in and out of you. “Oh, Jungkook, s’good…” you drag out, struggling to keep your eyes open. You want to see him, so you try but they only roll backwards as that knot in your stomach begins to build up again.
“You’re perfect,” he praises, “Look so beautiful like this.”
The sound of his fingers working you towards your orgasm sounds through the kitchen, the lewd squelch an indication of just how worked up he had made you. Jungkook watches your face contort in pleasure, teeth playing with his lip ring in concentration. He stirs in his boxers, but the thought of releasing his cock from his tightening boxers is far from his mind, too engrossed in the way you moan for him. With a final cry of his name, he leans down to quieten your keening, his tongue swirling into your mouth, soothing over yours. His finger rests inside you to the hilt, his palm resting against your heat as you ride out your orgasm on his hand.
When your noises dispel into slow, heavy breaths, he pulls his hand away, looking at you with dark eyes. He brings his soiled hand up to his lips, pushes his finger them to taste you on his tongue. He moans lowly, dragging it out slowly to tease you. You watch with wild eyes.
“Wha- I hate you.” You whinge, hiding your face in your hands. His laugh is full, genuine as he watches you cower in embarrassment. He mutters something about you being adorable, but your heart is pounding so loudly in your ears you don’t really hear him.
When your hands fall from your face, you find him already watching you, a soft glimmer to his stare that makes you want to fall into his arms all over again. He finds it endearing when you peer up at him with wonder, likely trying to figure out what he’s thinking when he looks at you with such endearment. When you blush, he hums with an upwards twitch of his lips.
It all just feels like one big dream to you.
You shake your head, pushing lightly at his chest as you brush past him. You turn around again, he leans against the counter the way you were previously, arms crossed over his chest with a smug expression.
“We are not doing this again until you talk to Yuri.” You point at him sternly with wide eyes.
He holds his hands up in front of his chest, folding them back when he nods in understanding. “Yes ma’am.”
You groan, stomping down in the hallway toward your bedroom to wash yourself up, pushing aside the thoughts of him following after you, stepping into the shower behind you.
A sheen of steam trails after you when you opened the bathroom door, walking into your bedrrom wrapped in a towel, your wet hair cascading over your shoulders. You lift your arms, pushing the wet strands over them so that the rest against your back. You only catch that he’s standing at the entrance of your room when you turn your head whilst doing so. He opens his mouth to speak but it closes again when he sees you, knocking the wind out of him. He only lingers for a moment longer before he turns around and closes your door behind him. You shake your head, giggling at the dumbfounded look on his face.
You spend your time drying your hair and putting on your pyjamas, readying yourself for the good night’s rest you missed out on the previous night.
You prance into the kitchen where Jungkook’s just finishing up cleaning the area, the cookies stacked neatly in a pile on a plate. He tosses and folds the washcloth he uses to wipe down the table nearby the sink, turning to you. He eyes you as you happily grab one, biting into the sweet treat.
The cookies are slightly over baked.
You usually liked a gooey centre, teetering the edge of raw, because you liked the different textures on your tongue. You hum in delight the moment you bite into the cookie, still enjoying its taste despite the minor indifference.
“They okay?” He asks, chewing on the fingernail of his thumb as he watches you take another bite. You nod wildly, maybe a little too enthusiastically because it makes him narrow his eyes at you. “They sound kinda hard.”
You roll your eyes, putting the half-eaten baked-good back onto the plate. “It’s yummy, Jungkook. Thank you.” You assure him with a gentle smile. “It was very sweet of you to make them for me.”
His head lowers sheepishly between his shoulders in a soft shrug. “It was least I could do on short notice.”
You snort, playfully whacking his arm with the back of your hand. You’re about to counter something witty back at him but are interrupted by a soft knocking at your door. Jungkook furrows his brows when you look at him in questioning. “You expecting someone?” You ask him.
“No… are you?” He brushes by you, ignoring the way you click your tongue at him.
“Why would I ask you if I was?” You mumble under your breath, trailing after him. You stand idly behind the door, watching Jungkook unlock it swiftly, swinging it open and covering you from the person waiting outside.
There’s a thickness that coats the air that you breathe when Jungkook doesn’t speak. You hold your breath, the silence inducing the anxiety rising within you.
“What the fuck do you want?” Jungkook seethes through his teeth, landing like daggers into the throat of his target. Your heart sinks, because you can only piece together who they might be. He’s only met with a deep sigh, and he steps back, swinging the door to shut it but a hand slams down on it to stop it from slamming.
“Wait, just let me–”
“Let you what?” You move further against the wall, pressing your back against it as your breaths shake. You were right about your initial assumption, but you don’t feel good about it. All the ringing questions that plagued your thoughts earlier had resurfaced, pounding through your ears and sitting on the edge of your tongue. You want to peak over, confront him too, but all you can do is listen to the way Jungkook spits at him. “Explain? Apologise? Which one, Taehyung? I’m looking for both personally, but I think I’m more interested in knowing why you went out of your way to ruin Y/N’s life.”
Jungkook wasn’t a terribly angry person. In the time you’ve known him, he was grumpy at best but seeing him angry was a completely new scene to experience. It made your heart race; it was intimidating, and it, even though you hadn’t planned on doing so. You can only imagine how he looks right now if he weren’t hidden from your view behind the door. Bulging eyes, his lips curling in anger; His chest was most likely rising and falling, his stare grim with malice. His fingers would be squeezed in fists unbeknownst to you, preparing for the worst of how he feels when he looks your betrayer in the eye.
It only fuels his anger when Taehyung lowers his head in shame, his own hands hiding in the back pockets of his jeans, hunching over like a kicked puppy.
But Jungkook felt no empathy for his friend, if he even was one to him at this point.
“Why the fuck would you do such an evil thing to her?” Each word Jungkook fires at Taehyung gets louder, more frightening. You flinch when he shouts at his friend. “Why, hyung?”
“I didn’t think it through,” He admits, “I didn’t think it was going to affect everyone so much, okay? I care about Y/N too, man.”
“You care about her?” Jungkook shakes his head, jabbing his finger into his chest. He takes a step back, knowing better than to let it irk him. He keeps his distance as Jungkook steps closer to him standing in the hallway before your apartment. “Fuck, Taehyung. I thought I was bad, but you’re something else.” He pushes at his chest, a little bit harsher, “You wanted my girl and this was the way you thought to go?”
“And yet, she still went running to you.” Taehyung nods, a humourless laugh leaving him. His defeated demeanour does nothing to shake Jungkook’s hatred from him in the moment. looking “Even when you made her feel small about the way she was making her money.”
“You watch your fucking mouth, Taehyung. I never did that, and you fucking know it. I’d never— I love her.” He’s in his face now, makes Taehyung turn his cheek to him. “So, what then? You thought you’d be the one to swoop in and save her from everyone? Is that it?”
Taehyung throws his head back, taking another step back as he runs a shaking hand through his dark locks.
“Huh?!” He pushes him one last time, and this time he does stumble, catching him off guard. He looks at Jungkook with apologetic eyes, but Jungkook’s expression doesn’t falter. His nostrils are flared, his entire being is tense and ready to fire. Taehyung doesn’t want to fight; his sight flickers up over Jungkook’s shoulder to see you peaking your head through the door. Seeing you makes it difficult to get out a steady breath, let alone anything of value to say to his friend. The friend he’d lost, the same way he’d lost you.
You don’t let him look for too long, you disappear behind the door again, pushing it slightly but keeping it ajar for Jungkook’s return.
“I don’t even want to look at you anymore, just fuck off. Don’t come back here, yeah?” Jungkook scoffs, but his voice is eased as if the words are easy to say, but they manage to hit Taehyung tough in his chest. He turns on his heel with his head low, ridding his presence from your lives.
Jungkook watches, waits. Taehyung taps once at the elevator button, turning his head to look over his shoulder as the it dings “Kook?”
Jungkook furrows his brow, fists balled at his sides. He eyes him harshly as he steps through the opened doors of the elevator, turning to face him with his hands in his pockets once again.
“I could have loved her, too.”
Before he can even think about what he said, he’s gone.
One of his dearest friends, all throughout his high school years, into some of his college ones— all the good and bad times alike ripped from his hands in an instant. He shouldn’t feel so hurt, not when he knows Taehyung was never truly a good person, but he doesn’t want to think about what it made him to have known that. He had a heart, that much was certain, but he was only ever meaningful to the people he cared deeply for. Keeping something like this from Jungkook felt unforgiveable, and wanting the girl that he knew damn well he loved, well, that was fucked up— but not as fucked up as what he had done to you.
And to think all he had to say to Jungkook was that he could love you too.
It was pathetic, and a testament to how selfish he truly was.
That didn’t mean he didn’t feel any less wounded by the end of their friendship. All he can think about as he turns back to re-enter his home is if this was a similar feeling you felt when your friends judged you instead of nurtured you. Did he do a good enough job of protecting you, making it certain that he cared for you more than any stupid job, or picture, provocative or not.
Jungkook doesn’t relax until he sees you curled up on the couch, chin resting on your forearm, legs splayed out comfortably as you wait for him to come back inside. You only perk up slightly upon seeing when you catch sight of him, watching him cautiously as he locks the door behind him.
Your eyes follow him as he drags his feet toward you, plummeting back into the couch with a puff.
“Are you alright?” you ask, shuffling over to rest beside him, soothing your hand over his bounching leg. He rubs his face with his hands and scoffs, then groans.
“You know he was the reason that we met?” Jungkook says, and you tilt your head at the information. “Fucker showed me your ad on the website, said it might be a good fit.”
You pull your eyebrows close together, trying to piece what he’s telling you together. Jungkook never mentioned this before. “I didn’t think it was that important, or coincidental.”
For some reason, your throat tightens. There’s something accusatory behind his words, and it muddles with your mind. Yet, when you start to mentally prepare yourself for an interrogation, it doesn’t come. He takes your hand that rests on his thigh, bring it to his lips for a kiss. He inhales sharply, flashing you a quick smile before he stands up.
“I’ll call Yuri tomorrow; I’ll settle everything with her.”
You nod up at him, speechless as he leans back down to kiss your temple one last time. “I love you, dove.”
FOUR YEARS LATER—
“Excuse me? Sorry. You’ve forgotten the Iced Americano for my order; it’s for my fiancé.” You beam politely at the server, who doesn’t look the slightest bit amused with what you have to say.
“Sorry about that.” He deadpans, turning his back to you as he – at least you think – makes that Iced Americano for you. You don’t let it ruin your day, so your smile lingers on your lips as you tap you rock heel-to-toe, clasping your hands in front of you as you inhale comfortably.
You feel content.
Today was a good day, and here was why: you’d been promoted, and the both of you were moving to Seoul to start your new life together. The melancholy you felt to leave your home town and the home that brought the two of you together in the first place didn’t last too long; ever since you landed your first job since graduating, you’ve been working tirelessly and left little to no time to make any new lasting friendships after the fall out you had all those years ago. The tears you shed when you revealed the news to Jimin were second-hand because he had unexpectedly burst into hysterics at the news. He shook Jungkook violently and begged him not to go, that he was one of the company’s best, and fastest, workers and that they would fall apart without him.
When you had told Jungkook the news, he took it as a sign to finally pursue his dreams— he had never wanted to be stuck in that office for the rest of his life anyway, and what better time for a new beginning than this?
Needless to say, there wasn’t anything that the universe could throw at you that was going to wipe the smile off your face. You bow at a 90-degree angle when the barista slides you the americano and a cardboard drink holder, popping your iced latte into the spot right next to where you put Jungkook’s drink. You lift it close to your chest and thank him with a chirpy tone, but he only nods curtly and turns his back to you again. Oh, but you can’t stop the way your lip curls upwards in a silent snarl, burning sockets into the back of his skull with imaginary laser beams.
Nothing was going to shake this terribly great mood you’re in!
You’re too busy cursing under your breath to look ahead and brace yourself for a customer walking toward the door. You stop in your tracks when the bell of the café door rings to alert the worker of another customer. You look up, about to apologise to the person but instead your fingers falter and you nearly drop the coffee you had worked extra hard to wait for.
Your patience was really testing you today, you think. God forbid you had one good day without something annoying, or absolutely terrible happening in between.
You have half a mind to ignore him, push right past him and pretend that you don’t know the person you’re looking up at; even though he’s staring right at you, as if he walked in here because he knew that it was you. Still, something about seeing him makes your curious eyes linger, and you blink at him as he lifts a hand, pressing his lips together tightly. Like he knows he’s really testing his luck here, and he is lucky in some regard— lucky that Jungkook isn’t here to see him.
Taehyung looks different. He’s ditched the leather jacket, and the patterned button ups he wore with the chest dangerously low and undone. Now he’s sporting loose pants and neutral colours. His hair is neat, shorter, and small pieces of his cut fall over his forehead. He brushes those loose parts back with his fingers, but it does nothing to tame them.
“Hi.” He says eventually. It feels like you’ve been frozen in your spot for hours with how tense everything suddenly felt.
You clear your throat, somehow hugging your coffees even closer to your chest. “Hello, Taehyung.” You nod politely.
“How are you? You look well.” Even the way he talks seems different, like he’s allowing himself to be someone who cares about what others thought of him, because the fact had always been true. He had worn a guise, similarly to yourself, to save himself from the harshness of reality.
You nod some more, not really sure what to say.
Hey, you ruined my life, cost me some friendships and could have seriously hurt any chances I had at a career, and it’s absolutely fantastic that I’m seeing you here right now!
“Things are well.” You settle for the simple answer instead. You can’t help but wonder if this was one of those tests of your morality.
Taehyung nods, humming as if he’s pleased to hear that. He lets his eyes rake the image of you before him, and you shift uncomfortably as he inspects you. His land gaze lands on your left hand’s ring finger.
The ring is unique, not any typical rock. It enwraps the expanse of your finger like vine, small, light pink gems adorn the white gold jewellery like little flowers.
He nods towards your hand. “That’s a pretty ring.” He says.
Despite the strangeness of it all, it makes you smile. “It is, isn’t it?” You hold your hand out in front of you to admire it like you don’t already do that at least ten times a day. You swoon internally, thinking back to the moment he got down on one knee, that sparkling boba pearls beaming up at you nervously.
“You’re engaged?” He asks, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth.
“For six months now, yeah.” You grin from ear-to-ear, unable to contain the joy those words make you feel.
Taehyung’s eyes widen, but only for a second, his hands glide behind his hips to find his back pockets to rest them in. A nervous habit.
“I’ve never been happier.” You admit.
It does feel like a blow to the stomach. He doesn’t even think it hurt him this much when Jungkook punched him in the jaw. He deserved it though. He knows that now; deep down he knew it then, too. That he couldn’t come back from what he’d done. “Congratulations.”
His only choice then was to move on, to change. And he’s been trying.
A part of him thought you might be glad to see the changes in him, or to even see him at all. An old friend, one that you didn’t even care to recall. A friend that held your arm over his shoulder when he got black-out drunk, sitting you down somewhere safe and quiet and giving you water to help soothe that throbbing inside your head. Let you whine about how much of a failure you felt like, even if you didn’t remember it the next day.
You had never wanted to go to college, you had never been interested in studying, or academics in general. You had dreams, you wanted to travel the world, to see and create art through the lenses of experiences. It was too far-fetched to you, an impossible dream that was frowned upon by everyone you knew. That wasn’t a job, wasn’t a career that was going to support you through life.
It was so out of reach that you had only let yourself say it out loud when you weren’t going to remember you even admitted that to anyone. You hadn’t even bothered to learn the name of the boy who saved you so many times, who’d hauled you cabs to get home safely.
And when you were sober, you were either in bed sleeping or spending time with your other friends. He didn’t know how to approach you when you looked like your head was always pounding, the bags beneath your eyes telling of the hangovers you hadn’t yet cured.
You wanted those memories pushed so far away that you didn’t recall them. Now, the only parts you do are the ones of you dragging yourself out of bed, fighting with your parents about being a drunk and a screw up, and crying until your eyes had completely been sucked dry of moisture.
If you had known, you would’ve said something. You never even noticed the way he always looked at you, how he was always looking over his shoulder at you when you gathered together as friends, to see if you were okay.
You were okay.
You had gotten better.
That was all that mattered.
“Jungkook,” he shakes his thoughts away, “How’s he?”
“Happy.” Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes, “He’s going back to school when we settle into our new place.”
“You’re moving?”
You lift the coffees in your hands, “Our last ever coffees from this place.” You laugh softly.
“That’s good, I’m really happy for you.” He smiles.
You don’t know what else to say.
Taehyung wants to say so many things.
He takes a step back toward the door. “Just wanted to see how you were doing, check if you were doing okay.”
With that, you nod, flashing him another polite smile. He returns one, a look in his eye you can’t quite decipher, as you watch him open the door, walk out and disappear from your line of sight.
You look down at your coffees, briefly thinking that you were glad they were cold and not hot, because they’d be cold by now if they were. You inhale deeply, let out a sigh like you’ve been holding your breath the entire time, desperate for a breath of air.
You leave out the door then, but before you can get very far a small envelope on the concrete catches your attention. You pick it up, wondering if Taehyung had dropped it, looking in both directions but he’s nowhere to be seen. You don’t have his number; you have no way to find him to return it, either. That was preferable, though.
Right?
Still, you pick it up, flipping it over to the front to see that your name is written there. It was a letter, addressed to you. You blink rapidly, look up in front of you again in confusion. Had he left it there on purpose? Had he meant to give it to you by hand but decided not to? You pull the wrinkled paper from its sleeve.
You tighten the old, crumpled paper in your fist. The breath you take to calm yourself is shaky, and your entire face feels like it’s stuck. You don’t even know how to process the words you’d just read.
You don’t know if you want to.
This damaged person that Taehyung claims to know doesn't exist anymore.
That girl was dead to you. Long gone.
Someone you don't want to remember.
It’s then that your phone rings, and you struggle a little to dig it out the pocket of your jacket staring at the contact image of your fiancé on the screen. You let it buzz a few times more before you answer, the piece of paper resting between your fingers.
“Baby,” he whines playfully through your device, “What’s the hold up? I wanna spend my lunch break with you, not with the moaning beluga with horrifically grown out roots.”
You can hear Jimin whine loudly in the background, and it makes you laugh, even though your eyes are stinging with tears. You suck in a breath and wipe at your cheeks. “I love you, Jungkook” You tell him.
Over the office Jungkook makes a confused sound, pulling the phone from his ear to look at the screen as if you’re able to see him. “I love you too?” He scoffs light-heartedly, shaking his head like you’re crazy, but he can’t deny it makes his heart swell all the same, and he smiles so big his cheeks start to hurt.
You tell him you’re just around the corner, and he insists on staying on the phone until he sees your face. You hold your phone with your shoulder, balling the piece of paper up in your fist before you toss it into a nearby bin. You tease him all the way there, bickering with Jimin who steals the phone away to scold you for stealing him away.
You find your feet moving a little faster, picking up your pace towards Jungkook's workplace building— towards your future.
©jigglyjeon 2025 all rights reserved
taglist: @bhonbhon, @rikifever, @jungkookswifeeeeeee, @songbyeonkim @ttanniett, @jungkookswifeeeeeee, @songbyeonkim, @busanbby-jjk, @justsomoneliving, @supercoolchem, @jeeykey, @toosweetforyall, @nikkinikj, @prxdajeon, @whoa-jo, @kelsyx33, @bugbxte, @army7-013, @jmsrealgf, @elimelbe, @yunhoswrldddd, @gukkie7
#jungkook smut#jungkook x reader#jungkook fan fiction#jungkook fanfic#jungkook x you#jungkook fic#jungkook fanfiction#jungkook imagines#jungkook x y/n#jungkook imagine#jungkook fluff#jungkook angst#jungkook ff#bts x you#bts smut#bts fanfiction#bts x y/n#jigglyjeon#attss
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I am fully obsessed with Diman the dragon and saw that requests are open so I thought I'd shoot my shot and ask for more of him!!
I love the smut but I also love how domestic he is with the reader <3
I think it'd be so funny if he were all disappointed that the reader didn't lay any eggs after their sex marathon and she's like "diman, babe, light of my life, man/dragon of my dreams, humans don't lay eggs, they get pregnant"
Their dragon hybrid kids would be the cutest I know for sure that poor girlie would get knocked up with triplets lmfao
dragon!Diman x human!Reader Good to know: pregnancy
Previously: [dragon] Diman [dragon] Diman +1 [dragon] Diman + NSFW Alphabet
"Don’t stare at me." Your voice comes out sharper than you intended, laced with a frustration that isn't entirely fair. You can't explain it entirely either.
"Sorry, love," Diman replies immediately, but the weight of his gaze remains. His steady attention presses against your skin, warming you up from the inside out.
"Diman!"
You hear the rustling of the nest as he shifts. His claws scrape against the rough stone ground, and you can feel the weight of his steps underneath you.
"Yes, love?" he asks, amused. He nudges your back gently. His exhale ghosts over your neck, raising goosebumps along your spine. As an answer, his child stirs inside you. Your hand snaps to your swollen belly with a gasp, feeling them kick and stretch.
"Oh," you breathe, eyes widening as another little nudge ripples beneath your skin. "They are awake."
Diman hums. The deep, rumbling sound makes the air vibrate around you. His massive form leans over you, casting a shadow that dims the firelight in front of you. Then, with all the tenderness of a devoted mate, he nuzzles into your belly where his child moves.
A deep purr breaks free from his chest, seeping into your bones. "Mummy is too hungry, huh?" he teases. "Can’t sleep next to that grumbling stomach."
"Hey!" You gasp, scooting away slightly with a glare. "I can’t help it! The midwife’s visit lasted longer than I thought!"
Ever since your pregnancy became obvious, Diman has had no trouble tracking down people; old friends, acquaintances, or those who owe him favors, to ensure your comfort. The midwife’s visit today was the final one before you give birth, a last check to confirm that you and the baby are healthy and that everything is ready. She was thorough, taking her time to examine you, ask questions, and reassure you with a gentle smile. By the time she finally left, after Diman's endless questions, you were tired and hungry.
"That’s a good thing," your dragon reasons. "It means she is thorough."
He is not wrong. The midwife knows exactly how to handle him, wherever they first met, she is not the least bit intimidated by his size, his growling, or his endless barrage of questions. If he gets too overbearing, she puts him in his place with a sharp tongue and a firm hand, something you are more than grateful for. Diman can be a lot, especially now that you are so close to the finish line.
"I know," you sigh, giving the stew one final stir before pouring yourself a generous portion. The rich scent of spices and freshly baked bread fills your nose, making your mouth water and your stomach give another impatient growl.
Without hesitation, you scoop up a steaming spoonful, then groan with satisfaction. "So good!"
You don’t have many cravings, but red meat has become your weakness, something you’d almost be willing to kill for. Well, not you, but Diman. The dragon has taken it upon himself to go out every few days, hunting and bringing back anything that can make you and your baby more comfortable. You are spoiled. Utterly, shamelessly pampered in a way you have never been before, and while you hate to complain, sometimes, it’s a bit much.
Like right now.
"You are still staring," you grumble between bites.
Diman doesn’t even flinch at the accusation. If anything, his eyes gleam with even more warmth. He can't help it. There’s something mesmerizing about the way you sit curled up by the fire, bathed in its golden light, wearing one of those flimsy but comfortable dresses that drape loosely over your form. You can’t sit still, not with the constant ache in your back, but the moment you take that first bite, tension melts from your body. Your shoulders loosen, and Diman watches, utterly transfixed.
"Sorry," he murmurs, though you both know it’s a lie. He isn't sorry. Not in the slightest.
Something primal and urgent stirs in his chest. Seeing you like this, comfortable, warm, and well-fed, ignites something deeper than just affection. It’s instinct. He needs to do more. He has to hunt again, bring back more food, and find the midwife because what if she missed something and-and-and-
"Diman." Your voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts. "I need you here," you groan, reaching behind yourself in an attempt to straighten your aching back. Your already half-empty plate is in your other hand.
"Of course, love." His words are followed by a rustle of movement. His scales drag over the floor, and after a second, you feel his long tail curl around you, pressing firm and warm against your back. It holds you steady, supporting you exactly where you need it. "Anytime," he adds with a hum, settling down beside you. He positions his body just the right way to keep himself between you and the entrance of the cave, even though nobody could take a step inside the mountain without his knowledge.
Silence settles between you, thick with warmth from the quiet crackle of the fire. As you finish your meal, you let yourself sink back against Diman, his body a steady wall of strength behind you. One hand rests on your stomach, fingers tracing slow, soothing circles over the swell of your belly. Any irritation from before has long since faded, replaced by the deep, steady comfort of his presence.
"What?" you ask, a smile tugging at your lips as you watch him still watching you.
Diman exhales, and for once, there is no teasing in his voice, no playful remark. Just raw honesty. "You are the best thing that ever happened to me," he murmurs. "You and the little one."
The words land deep. Your breath catches, and before you can stop them, tears spill down your cheeks in hot streaks.
Your throat tightens as you let out a shaky sniff. "Now you did it! Who knows when I will stop crying again!"
Diman grins, unbothered by your outburst. He nudges your leg with his snout, both affectionate and teasing. "It's fine. I better get used to all the crying before the baby arrives."
"Oh, shut up." If it weren’t for the way your voice breaks, you are sure you would sound more annoyed, but instead, the words come out soft. Fond. Completely ruined by your love for the oversized lizard next to you, all around you.
#monster romance#monster x human#monster x reader#monster boyfriend#teratophillia#sweet asks#dragon boyfriend#dragon romance#dragon x reader#dragon x human#terato#monster lover#monster kink
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Touch-Starved (canon)
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otherwise known as; the part where The Puppetmaster finds out he has THE FEELINGS(™, patent pending) for the Combat Harlequin. lmfao
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"Almost..." His hand trembled at the last piece required. He carefully slotted the optics in place, and twisted the eye multiple times to stick it in place. Within moments, he steps back, and Bubble flared up alive again, checking out his new, updated vision. “Wow! I can see more colors now!” The Blimp spun in place.
“Those new eyes should allow you to broadcast anything you see to me, if I so wished.” He explains, pulling out a small, thin black screen from one of the the desk’s many compartment. He switches it on, and Bubble’s eyes suddenly have a tiny red dot blinking in the middle of it.
So far, so good. The device was working as intended and he could see the top of his dentures from Bubble’s perspective, making Caine grin proudly.
“You may proceed to do your chores once more, the upgrades are done.” He sends the blimp to his merry way, and Bubble only nods before turning away to make his way out of the office. He leans back with a content sigh and closed eyes, satisfied with the work done for the day.
At that very moment, Pomni also opens the door.
She looked… disheveled, to say the least.
“Oh hey Pomni!” The butler blimp greeted with his usual reply. The Harlequin only sent him a look of acknowledgement, knowing that it’s useless to try to spark up a conversation, as Bubble was already making his way out.
Caine blinked once, and then he blinked twice just to make sure he’s seeing things right.
Was she always this… dazzling? Literally? He could see sparkles forming everywhere.
She flipped her hair in a messy attempt to get rid of the strands currently stuck to the skin of her nape. Her trademark golden ponytail missing, most likely a B.O.S.S.’s doing. She made her way to Caine’s desk and he swears he could feel his heart beat faster and faster with each step she took. The Harlequin’s trademark squinted brows with half-lidded eyes meeting his own wide stare, a gaze that would typically make any person with a still-functioning sanity cower in fear.
She took a seat on his desk with her legs crossed and her back turned against him and leaning on her right arm, as she usually did.
“Here’s the die you asked for. Took me a bit, but still got the job done.” She checked her left arm for damages after she placed the multi-colored puppet heart in front of him, while she flashed her teeth with a victorious, smug smile. His words are caught in his throat and her entirety shines too brightly for him. He couldn’t understand it.
Why… did she seem like a flame, and he felt like an unsuspecting moth, drawn to her light?
He shook his head clear and forced his stare away from her direction, clearing his throat while clutching the die. “I-I see, thank you, Pomni. You-you’ve done… a… wonderful…” Her hand grasped his own and his heart leapt at his own throat. Her synthetic, calloused fingers felt so rough, yet so gentle against his own gloved ones that he considered taking them off.
“...j-job.” His breath hitched as he struggled to finish the end of his sentence, unable to tear his attention away from her eyes. He found himself gawking at her intense, golden eye matched with blue and red pinwheel ones.
“Aren't you forgetting something, Puppetmaster?” Her expression questioning, yet with a slight and subtle undertone of mischief glinted at her optics.
He couldn’t speak. He struggled to form coherent words. It felt like he was being strangled by an unknown force clutching at his neck, yet there was clearly no malice behind it.
“Wh… What am I forgetting…?” He asked in such a feeble tone that made her chuckle in such a low rumbling tone, snaring his full attention.
“Well, I think that I deserve a reward for my services. Don’t you think?” She stands up. Warm hands suddenly felt so cold and empty, and already he missed the warmth present just about a second ago. The Harlequin made her way towards him as he spun his chair to meet her halfway. Hand at her hips as she towered over his sitting form. He’s all of a sudden clutching at the armrest so intensely.
“Y-yes, of course! H-how could I forget!” He nervously chuckles, he would pull on his collar right about now. “What is it you wish to be rewarded with?”
He offers her his best smile, and she giggles as she shakes her head. Without any warning, she took a seat on his lap, and he went frozen. As if making one single move would shatter the very fabric of the universe. She leaned her head to his shoulder, fiddling with the collar of his shirt then her fingers trailed onto the underside of his chin to make him look at her. He shivered from the contact.
“You.”
He trembled as his face warmed up to uncontrollable degrees, and produced visible heat waves. Not even his self-installed coolants were helping him tone down the sudden rise in his body temperature in the slightest. He couldn’t control his shakes, making the Harlequin smirk, knowing that she had the Puppetmaster all wrapped around her finger.
He didn’t know what came over him, because now his own hands were making their way onto her thighs to pull her closer to him entirely, the other shakingly placing itself onto her shoulders and he could feel the way she sighs contentedly against his touch. He exhales a shaky breath himself, attempting to steel himself.
“M-my dear, a-are you positive that… that is what you’d like?”
It was better to be safe than sorry. She sits up straight, and for the first time, he regrets ever asking that question in the first place.
“Actually…” Her voice trails off playfully, while she stands up. “... Maybe I’d like something more.”
It only took her a finger underneath his chin to pull him as she leads him to a nearby wall. As if his own body had a mind of it’s own, he pins her in place with both arms adjacent to her head. His face leans in closer and closer to her with eyes closed, and she’s leaning up close to him, fully ready to accept his advances.
Pomni’s soft lips met his teeth, and Caine could smell the faint traces of grass and sweat rolling down from her synthetic skin, evident of her hardships from the recent battle. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and his loops around her waist to pull her closer, while the other cups at her face intensely. He savored her mouth as their breathing became heavy and fast-paced, only breaking apart for a mere second, gasping for air before delving back in to their desires.
Desire…
Quite the accurate depiction of how Caine truly felt for the Harlequin at this moment. He couldn’t quite decipher when this had started, though.
As if her intentions were to pry him away from his overbearing and unnecessary thoughts, Pomni pushed him away to pin him to the wall this time, continuing the liplock. He grunts from the impact, but gladly returns her enthusiasm with fervor as he loops his arm around her back, pulling her flush to him once more. Her hands made their way to the lower sides of his jaw to caress so gently, and he finds himself melting at every contact their touches made.
Without breaking the teeth-on-lip-lock, he steered their bodies onto the direction of his desk, leaving the Harlequin laying on it as he loomed over her, ravaging her mouth once more like the touch-starved man he was. He adjusted her thighs just enough to make room for him without making the position uncomfortable for the both of them, their heated make out session felt like it could go on forever as he gripped her waist tightly.
It felt like if he let her go, she would disappear all of a sudden. And he didn’t want that.
He made sure to not lean too much of his body weight onto her by propping himself up with his elbows, both hands find themselves cupping her face to keep her in place as her hands trailed all the way up from the lower arms to his shoulders to do the same to him. He broke the kiss to gasp for air, a string of saliva being the clear proof of their heated action, but quickly delved back into the riveting sensations of their activity.
Her touch against him were like magic; every contact sent shivers and jolts down his spine as she switched from holding his shoulders to holding his chest just above where a collarbone would traditionally be, pushing him away to let herself up. For a nanosecond he thought that maybe he went a little too far with his advances, until she disproved his theory by shoving him to one of the nearby long couches, only a pillow to cushion and soften his landing onto the furniture.
Quickly making up for lost time and contact, she quickly crawls to straddle his waist, clutching the back of his head to make him look at her, and her only. His hand found itself gripping at the back of her waist tightly once more, the other clutching her own head just to make sure she’s still there with him. Both were panting heavily, the room temperature very much heated as a result of their affairs.
His eyes looked at her longingly as he breathed heavily. “Pomni… I… I don’t think I want this to end.”
She flashed him a consoling smile.
The alarm rings, deafening the surroundings as he jolts awake, falling from his chair comically with a loud, slightly high-pitched scream emitting from his throat. He groans from the headache he had received from the impact to the ground, clutching at the top sides of his jaw, as he leans his head onto the desk for support.
His false heart was beating faster than when one would run; His face was flushed and he frustratingly ignores the heat from the rest of his body with a grumble.
He shifts his eyes to look around. Nothing’s changed. Everything was the same since Bubble left to do his daily chores.
He shakes his head and slams his face down onto the elegant desk, groaning depressingly and half-sobbing.
What the fuck? Was… WAS IT ALL JUST A DAMN DREAM!?
Oh, he could scream and cry into a pillow right about now. But the panicked angry screaming of a certain someone being bothered by the recent addition; the Ragdoll Mannequin that was “Ragatha”, suddenly grabs his attention. Now, he’s looking outside into the manor grounds from his office’s windows with a tired and questioning gaze.
“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”
“But Mistress! You still haven’t tried out my trademark cookie recipe!! It’s GUARANTEED to be your instant favorite!”
“STOP CALLING ME MISTRESS! FOR THE LAST TIME, I DON’T CARE, GET THE FUCK AWAY-”
Caine sighed disappointingly to himself, dragging his hand across his eyes.
God fucking dammit. He actually feels something for her.
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I would say I'm sorry, but we all know I'm not. :)
#tadc#tadc au#harlequin au#tadc harlequin au#the amazing digital circus#pomni#caine#ragatha#caine x pomni#pomni x caine#tadc showtime#showtime ship#showtime shipping#tw making out#WATCH OUT EVERYONE#THERE ARE MAKE OUT SCENES!!!!!!!#they're not suggestive#I tried to make sure they weren't#as advised by a good friend and author#but make out scenes may not be for everyone soooooo#Also I was so listening to Senorita by Camilla Cabello and Shawn Mendes while writing this#shut the fuck up it's MY AU I GET TO DECIDE WHAT SONG TO ASSOCIATE TO THESE TWO HOT MESS /lh /j
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hiii I love your work and I was wondering if you could write a friends to lovers/academic rivals to lovers for nct wish?
f2l/academic rivals to lovers + when they fell for you ♡
# author's note … that’s such a long ass title i’m crying LMAO prolly the longest one i’ve written BUT i decided to combine the two reqs i got bc they just seemed to fit right, yknow? so thank you anon for rqing n i hope you don’t mind i merged it w a diff one ~~
# warnings ... wearing and threatening to punch someone (jaehee), sion's is longer than others lmfao sorry <//3 its a bit ... not detailed? i didnt wanna turn it into a mf essay so sorry if some bits seem chopped!

┆彡 SION [ 시온 ]
sion was a friend of a friend with whom you just clicked right away. you two became inseparable, the boy’s clinginess just triggering whenever he was with you. and while you loved hanging out with him, lately you noticed a slight change in his behavior. like, for example, pulling you closer whenever a guy looks at you.
sure, it was normal for him to hang his arm around your neck when you were walking or standing next to each other. or to hold your arm. but every now and then, his hand would interlock with yours only replying with “what? friends do that all the time” when you shoot him a puzzled look.
your other friends pointed it out to you. because at first, you just thought he’s being protective. giving you his jacket when you were cold or wearing shorts. holding your hand. sometimes even resting his hand on the small of your back (which gave you butterflies, weird). cuddling or hugging. but apparently, it was jealousy.
you started noticing it too. whenever you wanted to ask someone for something, he’d do it. his large hands were always on you in some way, eyes as well. he was acting like your boyfriend.
“sion, do you see that guy?” you asked once, deciding to call him out. his brows furrowed instantly, looking. “the one with a cute smile… and a red hoodie. yeah, that one”
“mhm. what about him? was he bothering you?” is he acting weird?” he asked, sending the guy a cold look.
“no. i think he’s cute. but i’m too shy to go ask him for his number… could you do that for me?” you asked sweetly. sion’s fist tightened but he stood up without a word and approached the guy. you observed the faces, a mix of anger and shock visible. when sion came back, his hand landed on your waist with a satisfying smirk. you asked how that went but he said the guy was uninterested.
after a while, when sion went to the bathroom, you decided to approach the guy and ask him what sion said.
“he said you’re taken by him. like, you’re his girlfriend. so i should stop staring” he explained and walked away.
sion came back from the bathroom and saw you, arms crossed and a frown on your face.
“sion, why do you keep acting like you’re my boyfriend? i’ll let the hand holding slide, hell, even the cuddling. but telling people we’re a couple? how many times have you done this? why… why are you doing that?” you asked it right away, too angry too hold it in. his smile dropped, heart speeding up.
“i… i like you, okay? i was too anxious to get rejected and… i don’t know, i was too jealous. i didn’t even want to think that someone else might be interested in you” he explained, whining.
“you like me?” you blinked. right. it all made sense. it wasn't platonic jealousy.
“yeah, i did ever since yush brought you over that one game night!” sion grunted and sat down next to you, grabbing your hand “sorry i did that, i just so angry and… it’s the first time. and last time. i promise. i’ll… i’ll stop seeing you if you’re uncomfortable…”
“sion. i’ll be honest, i’m… i never really thought about you in that way” you said and saw how his breath hitched, so you quickly corrected yourself “but i can give it a try. i like the way you hold me and how much fun we have together. we can give it a try. you can tell people now”
“wh… what?” his eyes widened and you nodded.
“but please, let’s take it slow–” you started
“can i kiss you? he cut in. if he was a puppy, his tail would be swinging like crazy. you broke into a smile and nodded. sion wasted no time and kissed you as if the world was ending in 10 minutes.
┆彡 RIKU [ 前田 陸 ]
on the first day of high school riku sat next to you. and it just stayed like that. you didn’t really talk much for the first two years, just occasionally asking questions. but in later years, you started noticing his stuff is all… decorated with sanrio stickers. once you commented it’s cute and his cheeks just burned with a red shade as he stuttered that it’s his sister’s doings. suddenly you whipped out a chococat sticker and put it on his pencil case. he just grinned. slowly, you started decorating his stuff too. you got closer and started doodling with him during the classes, gossiping and chatting. somehow you didn’t get scolded, able to know when to stop. riku became more than a seatmate and definitely more than a friend, which hit you hard when once he didn’t come to school because he was sick. the day he got back you hugged him and sat down, the lesson starting. you wrote down in his textbook, with a pink pen, and started a conversation.
“riku i need to tell you something”
“you missed me”
“no”
“then don’t tell me :D”
“i will anyways :D”
you hesitated and sent him a shy look, covering your face with your hand. then, you wrote down with a shaky and sweaty palm.
“i like you, more than a friend”
riku dropped his pen - the sound echoing in a quiet classroom. and when he rose his head up from picking it up, his head banged against the desk. a loud bang was followed by a whine and you leaned in to wrap your hands around his head while holding back a laugh.
he looked up, teary eyed, and snuggled into your touch. then he grabbed the pen and messily wrote down.
“i like you too”
he felt your breath stop and added
“why do you think i decided to sit next to you on the first day?”
┆彡 YUSHI [ 得能勇志 ]
tokuno yushi… the name rang in your ears as you stepped into the room. you were doing competitive dancing for a while now and you were definitely the most female member of your group. yushi, however, was the most famous male member. the workshop that held the classes you were attending decided to hold a competition, the winner’s prize being a scholarship to a professional dance school.
the competition was for both genders, so you were aware to stumble against yushi somewhere. hell, you knew he’d be in finals too. you never met him personally but you acknowledged each other. which is why, when he’s performing now, you’re getting worried. he’s really fucking good.
once he came off stage, he sent you a smirk.
“good luck. don’t trip” he hummed and nudged your shoulder slightly when passing you. with a huff, you walked away. what an asshole.
after your performance, it was time to wait for the judges to make a decision. you sat in the hallway in front of yushi. he looked up, smug smile on his lips.
“listen, don’t feel sad if you don’t win. i gave all my best, there’s no way of topping that” yushi hummed.
“yeah? who asked” you grunted and saw a flash of offense on his face. the judges called you in. just the two of you, not even the other person.
“we have a dilemma, really. both of you are extremely good. but we only can offer one scholarship majoring in solo competitive dance” the judge said “however, we have an idea. either you both agree on being placed in second place and win $100…”
you peeked and yushi who just rolled his eyes.
“...or you two agree to do a duo dance and we can make a deal with the dance school”
a moment passed by before you realized the judges were waiting for your answers.
“i… i’m fine with that” you hummed. the scholarship was your dream, you won't let some random-angry for no reason-boy jeopardize your chance. yushi’s eyes widened but he nodded.
“me too.”
“we’re set them. you have three weeks to choose and practice a choreography”
with that, you left the room. you exchanged looks with yushi. suddenly, he pulled out his phone and handed it to you.
“type your number, we’ll discuss it over texts. i don’t feel like talking to you right now” he grunted, looking away.
“rude” you scoffed and did that anyway. he left without saying goodbye.
since you wanted to use all of the time you had for practice, you met the next day with a set song.
even though yushi didn’t like you, his heart fluttered when you first started practicing the dance. your hands were so soft and gently with him, he never witnessed that before. having you up close, hand resting on your waist… made his stomach swirl with butterflies. he didn’t know what was happening and he wasn't sure if he liked it - but he knew that by the end of the three week practice period, you’ll be his.
┆彡 JAEHEE [ 재희 ]
“the fuck you mean you’re leaving?” your voice broke, arms crossed on your chest and clawing into your skin.
daeyoung sighed, looking down. he couldn’t handle the look you were giving him. the look of someone he loved ever since childhood. the look of someone who just heard that their best friend is leaving them. to pursue his dreams.
“i’m sorry but i, i don’t know. it’s just so sudden, i didn’t even know they want me there now, well… in a week” he mumbled, heart doing somersaults in his chest.
he’s going to seoul to pursue his trainee dream. to achieve success and do something he’s passionate about. his plan was to ask you out and then apply but… he got too lost in the moment and applied earlier… passed auditions… without confessing yet.
“you can’t leave me, hee” you broke down, quickly wiping your tears. daeyoung finally looked up - and that was a mistake. he always hated to see you cry but… for the first time he was the one who made you cry.
“i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i just… i…” he didn’t even know what to say “i need to tell you before i leave, y/n”
you shook your head, turning around. you didn’t want to look at him right now–
“i love you. i always did. and i should’ve done it sooner, i should’ve confessed before but i didn’t have the courage and now… now i don’t have anything to lose” daeyoung mumbled and tears blurred his visions as well. you looked at him through your shoulder, quiet “y/n… please…”
you just walked up and looked him in the eye, biting on your lip. million thoughts were racing in your head.
“please say something… anything, please” he begged, chest rising up and down irregularly in panic.
“i wanna fucking punch you right now” you grunted and suddenly captured his lips in a sweet kiss. daeyoung was taken aback, not sure how to respond. the feeling of your plush lips knocked air out of his lungs, he didn’t know what to do - not like he knew in the first place, not having been kissed before.
you leaned away and buried your head in his chest.
“it’s okay. we’ll think of something. i’ll go with you” you mumbled. and daeyoung took that as a quiet ‘i love you too’. even though he loved you since forever, this moment made him fall even more.
┆彡 RYO [ 廣瀬遼 ]
neither of you know how it happened. ever since middle school ryo and you were rivals in terms of academic successes. in every subject, since little kids, you were bragging who’s better and who got a better grade. you were quite peaceful during classes doing your thing but during the breaks, you’d start comparing your scores. if one failed a bit, the other would laugh. if one succeeded, the other would roll their eyes and leave. pure rivalry, no feeling attached. ryo thought you were smart, though. he didn’t hate you (even though he acted as if you were his archnemesis), he even quite liked you. you were witty and funny, pretty too. but he always scratched it off, too distracted by a fact that you both won the first place in competitions - resulting in sharing prizes and posing to pictures together, faking smiles.
once you were paired to do a project on your school, a presentation. because every teacher knew you and decided to pick you out as school representatives. and as much as you hated that, you had to invite him over to work on it.
which is why ryo was currently spinning on your chair and looking at all the posters in your room. it was quite nice too see what you’re passionate about and what kind of music do you like.
“can you like, focus? i really don’t wanna do this either” you grunted and despite your mean tone, you handed him a bowl of fruit.
his heart melted at the gesture and he accepted it, popping a grape into his mouth.
“then stop trying so hard. your grades will drop and they’ll give me a new partner” he snickered and watched you turn on powerpoint.
“yeah, you wish. you’d miss me too much, smartypants” you teased and focused on your laptop screen. ryo halted his moves, barely chewing on the grape.
you were right.
he wouldn’t like anyone to replace you. he liked that. he liked the rivalry, the snickering, the teasing.
he liked you.
“are you done eating, hirose? chop chop” you sighed and patted the spot next to you.
with a goofy smile that left you puzzled, he joined you. you don’t have to know about this now, he’ll tease you for a bit longer.
┆彡 SAKUYA [ 藤永咲哉 ]
he’s your rival - not necessarily an academic one, though. it all started when you joined the baking club he was in and everyone started swooning over your baked goods. like, hello?! he’s right here?! it turned into rivalry once he started decorating his sweets extra fancy. you did too. the members of your club just giggle, always eager to try both of your products. glaring daggers your day, sakuya was once shocked when you approached him.
“it’s not like i’m curious or whatever… can i try your bread?” you asked, pointing at the pink sourdough bread with sakura shaped cracks. he only nodded, taken aback too deeply to respond. it was the first time you tasted something. after you did, you just muttered a quiet ‘it’s really good’
after that, you two started slowly bonding over your food. form time to time you’d share recipes and over time, sakuya asked you to come to his place and bake together.
it was a bit chaotic, despite both of you being good bakers. flour and sugar everywhere, the countertop sticky with honey. sakuya was looking at you softly, observing how you’re decorating the cupcakes with whipped cream.
“sprinkles, please” you reached your hand out and met his gaze on you “what?”
“nothing, um” he cleared his throat and gave you the pink sparkles. the moment your hands met, sakuya’s cheeks blushed.
he realized that watching you in your element, baking and enjoying yourself… was something he could see forever. how pretty you looked and how…
“am i dirty? you keep staring, saku” you grunted, raising your brow. there was i see a bit of whipped cream on your lips.
“there’s a little bit…” he whispered and gently wiped the cream with his thumb, his ebony eyes not leaving your lips. his breath hitched, blinking slowly. “can i kiss you…?”
you nodded and allowed him to lean closer. he was shy, almost unsure. so you kissed him back, showing that you’re into that. sakuya smiled into the kiss and leaned away, cheeks flaring. you tasted sweeter than any cupcake he’s ever baked and he wouldn’t mind kissing you everyday.
masterlist <3
taglist. @l3visbby ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @mon2sunjinsuver ,, @w3bqrl ,,
@eternalgyu ,, @haecien ,, @slytherinshua
#nct wish#nct wish x reader#nct wish fluff#nct wish fic#sion#sion x reader#yushi#yushi x reader#riku#riku x reader#jaehee#jaehee x reader#ryo x reader#ryo#sakuya#sakuya x reader#nct wish sion#nct wish riku#nct wish yushi#nct wish jaehee#nct wish ryo#nct wish sakuya#sion fluff#riku fluff#yushi fluff#jaehee fluff#ryo fluff#sakuya fluff#nct wish headcanons#nct wish reactions
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Supermarket Scare
This idea is originally from @rosenclaws and I HAD to write it. (They actually did turn it into a fic which is here) I took the idea, changed a few things (Logan is boy dad in this one I fear), and idk I guess this is what came out of it lmfao

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader
Tropes: MILF reader <3
Warnings: None that I know of
Other tags: Logan who is GREAT with kids, but doesn’t know it, extra dramatic backstory that may not be legally accurate bc I said so
Background: You’re raising your adopted son, Arlo, on your own. Wade, Al, and Logan live down the hall from you.
Description: While shopping at the grocery store, you don’t realize that Arlo has let go of the shopping cart. When you look down to talk to him, you realize that he’s gone. Thank god for Wade’s new roommate.
“Can we get some of those little donuts?” Arlo asked, his small hand gripping the shopping cart as you walked down the bread aisle. He knew the rule, if he wanted to walk instead of riding in the cart, he had to hold onto the cart.
“Sure,” you hummed, “What kind? The chocolate ones or the white powdered ones?” You asked.
“The white ones,” he decided. “They’re yummy.”
“White ones it is,” you nodded, stopping the cart in front of the bread you needed. Turning away, you reached up and grabbed a loaf of bread. “You wanna pick out some cereal while we’re here too?” You asked, turning back to the cart, only to find that Arlo was gone.
Looking down the aisle, he was nowhere to be seen.
================
Logan stood on one side of the aisle, observing the different kinds of granola bars. Why were there so many goddamn flavors anyway? His focus was drawn away from the boxes on the shelves when he felt a tug on his pants.
Looking down, he saw a young boy with tears falling down his cheeks.
“Uh,” Logan froze, not sure how to interact with a child. “Hi.”
“I can’t find my mama,” the boy cried, his tears coming down harder.
“What does she look like?” He asked, kneeling down so he was closer to the kid’s height.
The boy only cried in response, clearly scared and missing his mom.
“Alright,” he replied, looking around as he stood up and tried to decide what to do. “Let’s go to the front of the store. Then they can find your mom, okay?”
The boy nodded, letting go of Logan’s pants to hold out both arms at the man. Grabby hands. How could anyone say no to that?
Logan sighed, debating it in his head before leaning down and scooping the boy into his arms. As he walked to the front of the store, the boy’s tears slowed until they eventually came to a stop. The boy laid his head down on Logan’s shoulder while one of his hands held an iron grip on the front of Logan’s flannel.
“Excuse me,” Logan spoke, walking up to the customer service desk.
“How can I help you?” The woman at the desk asked.
“He can’t find his mom,” Logan explained, nodding towards the boy in his arms.
“Let me make an announcement,” the worker gave the boy a sympathetic smile. She picked up a phone from the counter, putting it up to her ear and hitting a few buttons on the keypad. “Attention shoppers, we have a lost little boy at the customer service desk. If he is your child, please come pick him up.” After the announcement was made, she hung the phone up.
“Alright, kid,” Logan said. “Now you just gotta wait for your mom to come get you.”
“I’m Cherie,” the worker spoke softly to the boy. “You wanna stay here with me while we wait on your mom?” She offered, holding out her hands.
Logan moved to pull the child away from him and hand him to Cherie, but Arlo began to cry again. His grip on Logan’s flannel tightened.
“C’mon kid, you gotta let go,” Logan encouraged.
The boy cried harder, bawling as he tried to desperately stay in Logan’s arms.
“It’s alright, angel,” Cherie hushed. Based on her tone, Logan could tell that this woman had certainly dealt with kids before. She was definitely a better person to watch the boy temporarily, but kids want what they want.
“Okay, okay,” Logan relented, holding the boy close to his chest again. “I’ll stay, just stop crying. You don’t have to cry.” He looked to the worker, “I’ll stay with him ‘til his mom gets here.”
Despite being secure in Logan’s arms again, the tears didn’t stop.
“Shhh,” Logan attempted, gently swaying with the boy in his arms. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he’d seen mothers do it with their babies before.
The tears just kept coming.
Logan looked around, spotting a small display of stuffed animals. He reached out with one hand, grabbing the first one he could and holding it up in front of the boy.
“Look at this,” he redirected the boy’s attention, shaking the toy slightly.
Sniffling a few times, the boy in his arms slowly stopped crying. He used his free hand to grab the animal, pulling it to his chest.
“Fox,” he said simply, looking at the orange and white stuffie in his arm. “I like foxes. Thanks.” His voice was barely more than a whisper.
“Yeah, it’s a fox. You’re welcome,” Logan nodded, just happy that he had made the kid stop crying. With his free hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a few dollars. “For the fox,” he commented to the worker, who just smiled and nodded.
Logan moved to sit down on a bench in the customer service area. As expected, the boy refused to move from his lap. So, there they sat. Logan, a mutant, and on his lap, a lost kid holding a stuffed fox. Quite the pair.
================
“Oh thank god!” You exclaimed as you walked into the customer service area. “Arlo!”
“Mama!” Arlo exclaimed from where he sat on a man’s lap.
“Told you she’d be here,” the man said as he helped Arlo down from his lap. He looked familiar, but you were more concerned about Arlo.
The moment his feet hit the ground, Arlo was running towards you with his arms reaching out.
As he reached you, you dropped to one knee so you could wrap your arms around him. Your arms held him tightly to your chest.
“Honey, I’m so glad you’re okay. I was so worried,” you breathed out, closing your now teary eyes as you held him.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, beginning to cry as you held him.
“Hey, it’s alright, sweetheart,” you assured, pulling away enough so you could see each other’s faces. “You’re not in trouble. Just promise me you won’t run off like that ever again.”
“I promise,” he nodded, leaning back in to cling to you.
You slowly stood, picking Arlo up as you did so.
“Thank you so much,” you spoke to the man that had been with Arlo, who was now standing. Now that you got a good look at him, you knew why you recognized him. “Wait, you’re Wade’s roommate, aren’t you?” You asked.
Logan gives you a strange look, so you continue talking.
“We live down the hall,” you explained. “Arlo loves talking Wade’s ear off whenever we run into each other.”
“Probably because they’re on the same learning level,” Logan joked. He held out a hand for you to shake as he introduced himself. ��Logan.”
You supported Arlo on your hip as you took his hand in yours. As you shook his hand, you gave him your name in return.
“And, of course, you’ve met Arlo,” you added, letting go of his (very warm, very large) hand and squeezing the boy in your arms for emphasis.
“Arlo,” Logan smiled slightly at the boy. He hadn’t expected the little munchkin to grow on him so quickly, yet here he was.
“I knew you,” Arlo stated.
“You knew it was Logan?” You asked.
“I knew he was Wade’s friend,” he smiled proudly. “The big guy with kitty ears,” he clarified, pointing to Logan’s hair and giggling.
“Kitty ears?” Logan asked, raising a brow. “I’ve never gotten that before.”
“I like them,” Arlo hummed happily. “They look like fox ears too,” he observed, holding up the stuffed fox with both hands.
Logan let out a breathy chuckle, tucking his hands in his pockets.
“Thank you again,” you told Logan. “I really owe you big time,” you smiled. “It’s just me and Arlo, I don’t know what I would’ve done if something happened.”
“No need,” Logan shook his head. Now that he’d learned it was just you and Arlo, he decided to try and flirt with you. “He’s a nice kid. And he’s got a very nice mom,” Logan gave you a small grin, which came across as more of a smirk.
You aren’t sure how to react. It wasn’t like you had guys lining up to date you. Most of them didn’t want to flirt with a single mom. You weren’t even sure if he was flirting. What could you say? You were a little out of practice.
“At least let me make you dinner,” you offered. You tried not to sound too hopeful, but you were almost positive that you’d failed.
“Pretty please,” Arlo chimed in, sticking out his bottom lip and giving Logan his most convincing puppy dog eyes.
“Well when you put it like that,” Logan smiled, reaching a hand out to ruffle Arlo’s hair, which earned him a giggle. “I’d love to.”
“If tomorrow night works for you, we don’t have anything going on,” you suggested.
“Sure,” Logan nodded. “I’m free.”
After deciding on a time, you caught a glance of your watch and realized you had to get Arlo to home to make dinner tonight.
“We should get home, gotta finish shopping and get this little gremlin fed,” you chuckled. “Arlo, tell Logan goodbye.”
“Bye!” Arlo gave Logan a big grin. “We can play when you come over tomorrow.”
“Sounds fun,” Logan nodded, smiling at Arlo.
“We’ll see you tomorrow,” you smiled. “And feel free to stop by anytime,” you added as you started to walk away.
================
“Mama! There’s someone at the door! I bet it’s Logan,” Arlo exclaimed, running into the kitchen, where you were working on finishing dinner.
“Okay, okay,” you chuckled, making sure nothing would burn as you wiped your hands off on a towel and headed to the door with Arlo. You checked the peephole, confirming that it was Logan, before opening the door.
You and Logan didn’t have a chance to speak before Arlo was jumping up and down.
“Logan!” He grinned, practically vibrating with excitement. He held both hands out for Logan.
“Hey, bub,” Logan greeted, picking Arlo up into his arms with a small ‘woosh’ sound. He then turned his attention to you, smiling softly.
“I’m just finishing up dinner,” you hummed, stepping aside and letting Logan in. You shut the door behind him as he toed off his shoes neatly next to the door.
“Take your time,” Logan replied, not wanting you to feel pressured.
“That means we can go play in the living room,” Arlo giggled. “Me and Fink were just playing in there.”
“Fink?” Logan raised a brow. What the hell was a Fink?
“Yeah,” he nodded. “The fox you got me. His name is Fink.”
“Oh,” Logan chuckled softly. “We can go play with Fink before dinner as long as it’s alright with your mom.”
“Please mama,” Arlo looked at you, giving you his brightest smile. “Can me and Logan go play while you cook?”
“You can,” you laughed softly at Arlo’s excitement. “Play nice, okay?”
“I will!” He promised, wriggling around until Logan put him down. He grabbed the man’s hand, tugging on it. “C’mon, c’mon, I wanna show you my toys.”
You and Logan shared an amused look before Logan let Arlo drag him off to your living room.
================
“Hey, you two, dinner’s rea-,” you stopped mid sentence as you walked into the living room. You hadn’t expected the scene in front of you.
Logan sat on the floor with Arlo, who’s hair was now pulled up into two tufts on top of his head.
“Look mama!” Arlo spoke proudly. “I asked Logan to make us match! Do we look cool?”
“You look very cool, sweetheart,” you chuckled softly. “You’re both very handsome. But even cool guys have to eat dinner.”
“Yeah, to be big and strong,” Arlo nodded, hopping up from the floor and rushing off to the table.
Logan stood up from the floor, groaning softly.
“Didn’t know you were a hairdresser,” you joked as he began following you to the table as well.
“Well when he gives me those big puppy eyes, I can’t say no,” Logan defended.
“You’ve got me there,” you chuckled softly. “You can go sit at the table, I’ll bring in dinner.”
================
Dinner with Logan felt good. Domestic. Arlo yapped about his current favorite show while you and Logan chuckled. As much as you loved Arlo, you did want to talk to Logan without having every other sentence be about Nubs the pooba boy from a Star Wars show Arlo was obsessed with.
“Alright, bud, it’s time to head to bed,” you hummed to Arlo. After dinner, the three of you had stayed at the table talking, and now it was time for him to get some sleep.
“Do I have to?” Arlo frowned. “I wanna stay up and play with Logan some more.”
“Listen to your mom,” Logan replied before you could. “If you go to bed now, we can play another time. Deal?”
“Deal,” Arlo nodded, accepting Logan’s offer. He climbed out of his chair and walked off in the direction of his room.
“If you wanna wait in the living room, I’ll be back out after I get him down,” you told Logan as you stood.
Logan gave you a nod before you walked off after Arlo to help him get ready for bed.
“I like Logan,” Arlo stated as you stepped into his room. “He’s fun.”
You chuckled softly, getting into Arlo’s dresser to pull out a couple pairs of his favorite pajamas. One was yellow and covered in dinosaurs, while the other was light blue with green stripes.
“Which pajamas do you wanna wear tonight?” You asked, holding up both pairs for him to pick from.
“Dinosaurs!” He grinned.
“Dinosaurs it is,” you nodded, putting the other pajamas back in the drawer for another night.
Once Arlo was changed into his pajamas, you helped him brush his teeth. The two of you went back into his room so that he could lay down.
“Wait!” Arlo gasped before he could climb into bed. “I have to go get Fink and tell Logan goodnight.”
Of course he had to tell Logan goodnight. What had you been thinking?
================
“Logan!” Arlo giggled as he ran into the living room. Logan was sitting on the couch as he waited for you to come back.
“I thought you were going to bed,” Logan chuckled at Arlo’s energy.
“Had to come get Fink,” Arlo answered, grabbing the stuffed fox from where he’d left it on a chair before dinner. “And I wanted to tell you goodnight,” he smiled, climbing on the couch next to Logan and wrapping his arms around the man to the best of his abilities.
Logan was surprised, to say the least. It wasn’t exactly a regular occurrence for kids to come up and hug him. After a split second of shock, he wrapped both arms around Arlo and gave him a soft squeeze.
“G’night,” he hummed before letting go of Arlo.
“Goodnight,” Arlo grinned, planting a kiss on Logan’s cheek before hopping up and running back to his room where you were waiting on him.
“You ready to go to sleep now?” You asked as he hopped up on the bed.
“Yep!” He nodded, crawling under his blankets.
As he got settled, you leaned over and flicked on his night light. Then, tucked him into bed, smiling as he wiggled around to get comfortable.
“Do you think we can get ice cream with Logan and Wade one day?” Arlo asked hopefully.
“We’ll see, sweetie,” you chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead.
“Goodnight, mama,” he smiled softly at you, “I love you.”
“Night, bud. I love you,” you replied, standing from the bed and heading for the door. “Sleep tight,” you added, flicking the lightswitch and leaving his room, pulling the door closed as you did.
Now that he was in bed, you made your way back to the living room.
“He’s in bed,” you spoke as you entered the room. “He’ll be out in a few minutes. That kid can fall asleep anywhere,” you chuckled softly, plopping down on the couch next to Logan. You left a little bit of space between the two of you, not wanting to make things weird.
“It must be nice,” Logan joked, an amused breath leaving his nose.
“One time I found him asleep halfway through using the bathroom. He had his head leaned over against the toilet paper roll,” you laughed at the memory.
“Jesus,” Logan laughed along with you. “He must keep you on your toes.”
“You have no idea,” you chuckled, pulling one leg up onto the couch so you could face Logan as you talked. “He’s got enough energy for about a dozen kids. But when he’s out, he sleeps like the dead.”
“He definitely has the energy,” Logan agreed. “But he seems like a good kid.”
“He is,” you smiled proudly. “He’s a great kid. One of the sweetest kids I know. Maybe I just think that because I’m biased,” you joked.
“I don’t think so,” Logan smiled. “He’s sweet. When he and I were playing earlier while you cooked, he was always offering to share whatever toy he had. Not a lot of kids are offering to share things.”
“I try my best with him. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be a mom, but then Arlo came along, and I dunno, it was just, it was right,” you spoke fondly.
“It can’t be easy being a single mother,” Logan started, “You’re doin’ great. He’s lucky to have you.”
“Thank you,” you said softly. Nobody had ever told you anything like that before. You weren’t really sure how to react. “I hadn’t really expected to be a single mom, but I don’t have any regrets. I adopted him when he was just a baby, but that’s a story for another time.”
“I didn’t realize,” Logan replied. “He’s even luckier to have you than I thought, then.”
You smiled at Logan, feeling so grateful that the mishap at the supermarket had happened. You enjoyed having him around.
=================
“Tonight was nice,” you told Logan as you walked him to the door. It was getting late, and you had to be up the next morning.
Logan put his shoes on while you opened the door.
“I had a good time,” Logan smiled slightly at you as he stood.
You both stepped into the hallway, and you pulled the door most of the way around behind you.
“Thank you again, for yesterday,” you hummed, leaning against the wall next to your door.
“No, thank you,” he replied, “For dinner. It’s not often I get a home cooked meal.”
“Well, feel free to come by for more anytime,” you smiled up at him, “Even if it’s just chicken nuggets and mac n cheese, you’re more than welcome to join us.”
Logan chuckled softly, nodding at your invitation.
“I’d say that you two are welcome to drop by Wade and I’s place, but that is not fit for children,” he joked.
You laughed, unable to help yourself. Joking with Logan felt so natural.
“Well,” Logan spoke again. “I should get out of your hair, but I’ll see ya around, yeah?” He tried not to sound too hopeful.
“Yeah, I’ll see you around,” you nodded in response.
Logan hesitated for a fraction of a second before leaning in and placing a barely there kiss on your cheek.
“I’d really like to see you again sometime. As a date,” he admitted. “I understand that dating is more difficult when you have a kid because you have to consider Arlo when you make decisions, but I’d like to see where this goes.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked someone else, and all he could do was pray he wasn’t making a fool of himself.
“I would love that, Logan,” you grinned. He was the first man to ever consider Arlo when it came to dating you. He seemed like the type of man to know that you had to put Arlo first. “Arlo is having a sleepover at my sister’s with his cousins this weekend. Maybe we could get dinner then? Just the two of us this time.”
“That sounds great,” Logan nodded, trying and failing to fight off a smile. He felt like a goddamn blushing school boy. “I’ll come by at seven so we can go to dinner.”
“Perfect,” you smiled. You leaned up, placing a quick peck on his lips. “I can’t wait.”
Logan was shocked that you’d kissed him, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a voice from inside your apartment.
“Mama?” Arlo called out for you from his room. He must’ve had a nightmare or want a glass of water.
“Duty calls,” you joked. “Goodnight Logan,” you hummed, stepping back into your apartment.
“Night,” he replied, giving you a small nod as you shut the apartment door to go check on Arlo.
After the door was shut, Logan realized he was smiling like an absolute idiot. He hadn’t been this excited for a date since…. He couldn’t actually remember.
Turning on his heel, he headed down the hallway back to Wade’s. He couldn’t stop smiling.
Walking into the apartment, he groaned as he saw Wade laying on the couch as if he had been waiting for Logan to get back.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he huffed, shutting the door behind him.
“Like what, peanut?” Wade shrugged. “I just wanna know how things went with the hot milf down the hall.”
“Fuck off,” Logan rolled his eyes, dropping his keys on the entry table and walking off to go to bed.
“I’ll take that as ‘It went great, Wade, you officially have a nephew now’. Is that about right?” He called after Logan.
Logan ignored Wade, shaking his head. He had to admit, though, things had gone great with the hot milf down the hall. And it would only get better.
#logan howlett#fanfic#fanfiction#hugh jackman#james logan howlett#logan wolverine#xmen#wolverine fanfiction#wolverine#x reader#x you#logan howlett x reader#best wolverine x reader#wolverine x reader#worst wolverine x reader
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house md rewatch: 2x17, "all in"
hit it, lady gaga. does it count as a poker face if you're talking over the phone, though?
and if i said this is my "three stories?" would that break your trust in me?
it doesn't do the same story work as 1x21, nor is it all that innovative in its presentation, and YES, it's a bit gimmicky, but i love her (2x17). next to 5x04, it's probably my most watched, which is why i was surprised when i realized i don't have a ton to say! one of 2x17's strengths is its directness/efficiency, so this recap may just read like a big appreciation post, more than anything else.
and what i want to appreciate first is how wonderful everyone looks :)
foreman is kinda real for that lol ^
second, i think someone told the writers' room what "haunting the narrative" meant when they started drafting this episode and they Ran with it. apart from reinforcing house's addiction to the puzzle and reaffirming his godhood along the way, i couldn't decipher much more about the old patient esther. the king james bible dictionary (lmfao) says that the name comes from the old persian word for star, "satarah," which could allude to a sort of northern star situation; something that house strives for. but it's also a stereotypical old people name, and house as god is actually deconstructed by the end of 2x17, so who knows.
at a textual level, what i liked the most about 2x17 was its self-awareness about its driving theme/allegory: gambling & games of chance is like diagnostics. audiences are fully down with the sickness atp, so to speak; this isn't news for us. but the kid patient ian and his parents are NOT down with this. every time the team unveils a new potential diagnosis, the parents try to roll with the punches but grow increasingly restless and distrustful of house. fair enough!
the team's stress mounts as ian begins tanking just like esther did twelve years ago, and right around the time that the party has about 2 hours to go, so does ian. their desperation turns to a numbers/instinct game, with house having a very Always Bet On Black moment with his repeated erdheim chester diagnosis. it ends in his favor; his celebration is very much that of a gambling addict, too. but remember this for later!
back to self-consciousness: house and wilson have a very interesting conversation when rehashing the esther saga from twelve years ago. wilson, because he's a theatre/literature/pop culture nerd (a man after my own heart), reasonably compares esther to house's own personal moby dick. house replies with a short tirade against metaphors:
"you do realize that the point of metaphors is to scare people from doing things by telling them that something much scarier is going to happen than what really will happen? god, i wish i had a metaphor to explain that better."
first, i have to laugh because house does nothing but use metaphors every chance he can to describe things from the mundane to the medically complex. but more importantly, here, house md is directly acknowledging the shakiness of the metaphor of gambling/doctors. its anticipating the audience's renewed anxiety - will my health be reduced to such a turbulent guessing game? - and maybe even taking a stab at repairing that anxiety. i think this is so clever!! i love manipulating and acknowledging the genre!
this discomfort translates to house, too, like i've alluded to above. esther really does haunt his narrative, and we've never seen him outwardly celebrating cracking a case like this one before. he himself is unwilling to admit to the gambling/doctoring dichotomy, either, because it would reinforce his fallibility. even when cuddy directly (and rightfully) attacks him for hijacking the case, he doesn't totally relent.
"sometimes you lose, house! you're not god!"
very, very true and important and telling!
house's fallibility isn't just thrown in his face via dialogue or inward self-doubt, however. it's obviously unusual for house specifically to be dressed so formally ever since the vogler/lab coat debacle. but as the case progresses, the pomp and circumstances of the poker tournament fall away. while the fellows don their lab coats and Doctor Gear, house strips down:
his second to last iteration is the sterile gown he wears while sitting next to ian with cuddy. i like how this transfers this motif to cuddy, too. they're both without their pretty poker night outfits, united in a cleanroom with concern. that happens a lot - the patient's urgency trumps their tension/pettiness. subtle but forever mounting moments of solidarity between them.
the revelation that it was, in fact, erdheim chester all along in ian and esther's cases superficially restores house's poker face. he's reclaimed that godhood card - on the surface. wilson delivers cuddy's same point in another instance of vulnerability like the cleanroom moment. this time, the text of 2x17 hands wilson the self-consciousness reins. he forces house to confront the immense gamble he won, and their resulting laughter is one the audience can join in:
in Every Way, this scene is stripped back. the hospital is actively disassembling the poker night decorations/paraphernalia. they aren't using poker chips anymore. their clothes are in equal states of disarray; i don't quite understand why wilson hung back for so long lol. and house's cigar is lit, whereas in the first poker game, it was a prop to irritate and see through wilson and cuddy's poker faces. now wilson can see through its literal smokescreen.
this is also the first time house/wilson and cigars makes landfall. i'm obsessed with this motif.
better yet, house doesn't call. he doesn't try to read wilson - he's too busy being read for filth himself. i truly love this scene, especially when you think about all the pseudo-marital problems they've been having lmfao.
finally, i need to address the Hudson Psychosexual Games of it all. they play THROUGH wilson. the trifecta is trifecta-ing. for now, this reads as an isolated incident, and showcases how well these 3 know each other. i like that it finally invites cuddy into the mix since she'll quickly become integral to house and wilson and all the rest in a way that's not fully realized yet. more than that, i like how she and house can see through the communication barrier. above all, however, i'm obsessed with the thrill wilson gets from the arrangement. freak. obviously there's more to come on this matter >:)
i just love this episode. 10/10. no notes. and look how happy he is that he won the tournament! never mind that he couldn't have done it without house's help! he beat burman, from business affairs! (i can recite his dialogue here from memory).
i'm gonna throw up.
#HE WON THE POKER TOURNAMENT. DO YOU HEAR ME#idk i feel like i don't have much of anything interesting to contribute here#just reiterating how baller 2x17 is#house md#malpractice md#greg house#james wilson#allison cameron#eric foreman#robert chase#lisa cuddy#house md rewatch#rewatch 1#season 2#also can you believe how far we're getting in season 2. wow.#one thing about me#i'm gonna link my other posts lol#i'm web weaving guys that's all fdhjflsdgds
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It's a Terrible Life | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader
Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, potentially toxic relationship dynamic between boss and subordinate, undertones of misogyny
Word Count: 7310
A/N: I got a little carried away here.... lmfao I hope y'all enjoy!!!
Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist
Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist
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You groaned as your alarm clock beeped. You pulled your pillow over your head before reaching over and silencing the alarm.
Slowly but surely, you were getting frustrated with the monotony of routine. The stuffy cubicles, the holiday office parties, and the fucking assistant job you’d be starting today. You were grateful, but you wanted more out of life. Being some douche’s gopher wasn’t what you envisioned your life would be.
You took a sip of your sugary morning latte and turned your back to the counter. Your apartment was small, but it was home. You hoped with your new job you’d at least be able to afford some nicer furniture than the futon you often fell asleep on watching “Sex and the City” re-runs.
Gas was expensive, and you lived in the city. So, you preferred to take the bus to work. The building— or, rather, skyscraper— you’d be working in was as monotonous and boring as ever. Columns of windows extending miles high made up its exterior, and you clutched the handle you were hanging onto tighter as you approached. One of your biggest fears was heights, and your new job was on one of the top floors.
The lobby was pristinely clean, and your heels made a loud clacking sound as you strode over to the elevator.
You checked your clipboard of papers you’d printed out at the library the night before and noted the office you were to report to.
You knocked on the door labeled “Dean Smith— Director, Sales & Marketing.” “Good morning,” you said as you poked your head into the open doorway.
A man with his hair slicked down in a sharp suit and tie stood from behind his desk. “Ah, you must be (Y/N),” he said.
There was no denying how gorgeous he was. “Hi,” you replied shyly, trying to keep your cheeks from heating.
He strode over to you and extended his hand. “Dean. Dean Smith,” he said.
You put your hand in his and smiled. “Nice to meet you.” You hated how small your voice sounded, but he seemed to find it endearing.
“You’re early,” he said. “I like it.”
You shrugged. “I just wanna make a good impression.” You took a deep breath. “Now, I have a few ideas about how I could organize your schedule a little bit better and maybe take a few things off your plate…”
****
The night of your third day working with Mr. Smith— who insisted you call him Dean— dragged on. The man could be a bit of a workaholic, but he also seemed to have a pretty solid sense of humor at times.
Your nerves had not yet eased up, and it seemed Mr. Smith was doing his best to break you out of your shell.
“(Y/N), tell me something about you,” he implored after hanging up the phone for his last meeting of the night.
You sat on the couch in his office flipping through his calendar for the upcoming week. “There’s not much to tell,” you shrugged.
“Ah, c’mon,” he said, “please?”
You sighed dramatically with a smile. “Well, I, uh— I went to University of Kansas in Lawrence for business—”
“Something non-work-related, (Y/N),” Dean smirked. “I already know you’re overqualified to be working for me.”
Your cheeks heated, and you looked down at your lap with a smile. “I, um, I wanted to be a ballerina up until I was eighteen. Twelve years of intense training at a ballet academy just for me to trade it all in for this,” you explained, gesturing around you. “You can imagine how happy my parents were.” You tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “What about you?” you asked. “Tell me something non-work-related.”
“Well, I haven't been to the gym in ages, and I was definitely never a dancer. Carrying a little bloat around nowadays,” he said. “It's a sedentary lifestyle, y’know?”
“Trust me, I know,” you said. “All I get you for lunch is salads; you don’t seem to be doing that badly.”
Dean smirked. “Thanks very much.”
You realized what you’d said and your eyes widened a bit. “Sorry, I shouldn’t’ve— sorry—”
“It’s alright, no sweat,” he told you. Trying to break up the slight tension, he asked, “How do you feel about ‘Project Runway’?”
You snorted. “Seriously?”
“Hell yeah!” he replied.
“I’m more of a ‘Top Model’ fan myself,” you said.
“Ooh, Tyra’s a bitch,” Dean added. “How do you put up with watching her?”
You shrugged. “Slightly masochistic enjoyment.”
Dean chuckled. “Well, I’d better get going,” he told you as he checked his watch. “Close up whenever you leave, would you?” He tossed you his keys, and you were left there reeling from the interaction you’d just had.
****
The next morning, Dean came in looking slightly rattled.
“Mr. Smith?” you asked, standing from your seat on the couch. “Are you alright?”
His head swiveled toward yours. “Huh?” he said. “Oh, uh— yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”
You walked over to him and took the briefcase he was white-knuckling gently. “What happened?” you questioned.
Dean shook his head. “Just this weirdo in the elevator,” he said. “First, I thought he was trying to get me to the showers, if you know what I mean, and then, he asked me if I believe in ghosts.”
You snorted. “What?”
“I’m dead serious,” he replied.
“Does he even work here?” you asked. “Or was it, some, like, poor soul off the street that doesn’t know what year it is?”
Dean chuckled. “He works in tech, I think.”
“Weird,” you muttered.
“Completely.”
****
“Mr. Smith?”
“It’s Dean, (Y/N),” he replied.
“Sure,” you said, putting your clipboard down on the coffee table in front of you. “But do you believe in ghosts?”
He scoffed. “What?” Dean stopped typing on his computer.
“You never said whether you did or not,” you replied. “When you were talking about that guy in the elevator.”
Dean chuckled. “You’re funny, you know that?”
“I’m serious,” you whined. “Humor me.”
Your boss seemed taken aback. “Well, I’ve never given it much thought, to be honest.”
“Me neither,” you replied earnestly. “But I think that maybe I do.”
“Well,” Dean scoffed jokingly, “you can go get help on the paddy wagon with the tech support guy.”
You giggled. A few moments of silence passed between the two of you. “Did you ever figure out who he is?”
Dean shook his head. “I don’t know that I care to find out.”
You considered. “Fair,” you finally said.
****
A few days later, a man was found dead in the tech support cubicle office several floors down from you and Dean. He’d apparently stuck his head in a microwave and cooked himself to death, which you found slightly implausible.
You held a hand to your chest as the coroners wheeled the man out of the office. Dean was standing next to a few other suits, and you stood a few yards off with some of the other women who worked on your floor.
“Something doesn’t seem right about this,” you told the small group you stood in.
“Try the whole thing,” another girl piped up. “I’ll never eat popcorn again.”
“Me neither,” chimed in another. “Finally gives me an excuse to quit all the carbs.”
****
That poor guy’s death really tugged at you. Without sharing your feelings with your boss, you pulled out your laptop and put it on his desk opposite from where he sat. Dean had given you access to the personnel files to help him manage his own employees a bit better, but you took advantage of it to access the file of the man who’d died: Paul Dunbar.
“Two weeks?” you muttered aloud without realizing it.
“Huh?” Dean questioned.
You shook your head. “Sorry, it’s just— It’s nothing.”
“No, c’mon,” he pleaded. “Tell me what’s up.”
“The guy who died,” you said. “Paul Dunbar. His retirement party was supposed to be in two weeks.”
“Why are you—? (Y/N), that’s not what I gave you access to personnel files for,” he replied.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I was just curious,” you said nervously. “His death’s jus’ got me shaken up, is all.”
“(Y/N), do your little investigation on your own time,” he snapped.
You were taken aback by his attitude.
Then, someone knocked on the opened door. A nervous-looking tech support employee stood there with his shoulders slumped.
“Hi. Ian, is it?” you asked, standing and snapping to attention. “Come on in.” You shut your laptop, picked it up, and began to walk out to your own office which you found you spent very little time in. “I’ll give you guys the room,” you said, shutting the door behind you. There was some sort of issue Dean needed to take up with him, and you decided to give yourself the time to think.
Before you could shut the door behind you, the tech support employee sprinted past you with Dean hot on his heels. You followed as fast as your feet would allow.
“Mr. Smith?” you called after him. “Dean!”
Ian sprinted into the men’s room, and Dean followed him. With only slight hesitation, you followed, too.
“Ian, hey. Just chill out, man,” Dean told the employee. “Okay?”
Ian was staring into a mirror, and you noticed how cold the room was. The bathroom was always slightly frigid, but never like this. Then, you noticed you could see your breath.
Suddenly, all the faucets came on as well as all the soap dispensers.
“What the fuck?” you murmured.
“Ian, hey, maybe we should get out of here, huh?” Dean insisted. “Come on, Ian. Look at me.”
Ian turned toward Dean and pulled a pencil out of his pocket. After a brief moment of tense eye contact, the man stabbed himself in the neck with the sharp end of the pencil.
You screamed in horror and covered your mouth with your hands. You jumped again when you saw an old man in the mirror behind Ian.
“Dean, look!” you cried.
He saw the man as well, and when the two of you turned around, he was gone. Immediately, you rushed to Ian’s side. You listened to his chest for a heartbeat, but he was long gone. Stricken with confusion and grief, you looked up at Dean and shook your head.
“Somebody help us!” he screamed.
****
Of course, the police had questions for you and Dean. And, of course, you didn’t mention the disappearing old man.
In the middle of the investigation, a tall man with a yellow shirt on was staring at you from across the room. You occasionally glanced at him, slightly unsettled, but continued to provide answers to the best of your ability. After hours of rigorous interrogation, Ian was wheeled away on a stretcher in a black bag.
You just stared after him, and you jumped when your boss tapped your arm lightly.
“Whoa, hey,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “Just me. Come, uh— come with me real quick, would ya?”
You nodded and followed him back to his office still in a bit of a daze. “What’d you wanna see me for?” you asked, closing the door to his office behind you.
“I’m sorry,” he said. Dean cleared his throat. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” you told him. “Are you, uh— Are you okay?”
“Maybe,” he said. “I saw that ghost guy from the elevator outside the bathroom.”
“Oh,” you replied. “What’s he got to do with anything?”
“He and Ian were close. And I thought maybe he could answer a few questions about that old man from the bathroom for us,” Dean explained.
And so, Dean called him in.
“Come on in,” he told the employee. “Shut the door.”
The man closed the door behind himself, and you stood in the far corner just watching. “Wait, this is the guy?” you asked.
Dean gave you a strange look. “Yeah…?”
“He was staring at me outside the bathroom,” you told him.
“Who the hell are you?” Dean asked him, his tone slightly accusatory.
“I'm not sure I know,” the man replied.
“What the hell does that mean?”
The employee shook his head. “Sam Wesson. I started here three weeks ago.”
“Alright. You cornered me in the elevator talking about ghosts. And now…” Dean trailed off, pacing a bit behind his desk.
“Now, what?” Sam asked, eyebrows raised.
Dean sighed. “Now nothing. I, uh… so you started working here three weeks ago, huh?”
Sam nods.
“Me, too,” you said.
Dean looked at you in surprise. “Yeah, me, too.”
“Huh,” you murmured, staring at the ground. Something about this felt strange.
Dean unscrewing the top of a bottle pulled you out of your own head. “It's the Master Cleanse,” Dean told you and Sam. “You tried it? Phenomenal. Detoxes you like nobody's business.” He took a large swig.
“When you were in that bathroom with Ian, did you see something?” Sam asked.
“I don’t—”
You cut Dean off. “Yes,” you replied.
“(Y/N)—” Dean almost scolded. “We don’t know what we saw.”
Sam turned his attention to you. “Wait, are you saying that—did you see a ghost?”
“We were freaking out,” Dean answered for you. “The guy penciled his damn neck.”
“Yes, we did,” you responded anyway.
“Okay, listen. What if these suicides aren't suicides? I mean, what if they're something,” Sam trailed off, searching for the word, “not natural?”
“So, what, ghosts are real?” Dean scoffed. “And they're responsible for all the dead bodies around here? Is that what you're telling me?”
The three of you finally decided to sit down, almost doing so in unison.
“I know it sounds crazy. But yes. That's what I'm telling you,” Sam replied.
“Uh-huh,” Dean nodded skeptically. “Based on what?”
Sam searched for an answer for a moment. “Instinct,” he finally said.
Dean looked down and shook his head. “I've got the same instinct.”
“Seriously?” Sam asked, almost sounding relieved.
The two men looked at you expectantly.
“What? I already told you I thought the guy in the bathroom was a ghost,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.
Sam turned back to Dean. “You know those dreams I was telling you about? I was dreaming about ghosts,” he said. “And then it turns out that there's a real ghost.”
Dean scoffed. “So you're telling me that your dreams are special visions, and you're some kind of psychic?”
Sam made a deadpan expression. “No. I mean, that would be nuts. I'm just saying something weird is definitely going on around here, right? So I've been digging around a little,” he leaned over and pulled some papers out of his bag, “I think I found a connection between the two guys.”
Sam passed the papers, and Dean then passed them to you.
“You broke into their email accounts?” Dean questioned.
The employee looked bashful. “I used some skills that I happen to have to satisfy my curiosity.”
“Nice,” you grinned lopsidedly.
“So it turns out, Ian and Paul both got this same email telling them to report to HR, room fourteen forty-four,” Sam explained.
“HR’s on seven,” you noted, furrowing your eyebrows.
“Exactly.”
“Should we go check this out?” Dean asked. He seemed a little excited, if you were honest.
“Like, right now?” Sam replied.
Dean shook his head. “No. No, it's getting late. You're right.”
“I am dying to check this out right now,” Sam grinned.
“Right?” you added, excitement causing butterflies to jolt around your stomach.
Despite the exhausting day, adrenaline surged through you as you went to the fourteenth floor. You felt slightly relieved to be moving down a few floors.
The building was mostly empty by this time of night which was why you were caught off-guard by someone yelling down the hall as soon as the elevator doors opened.
You shared a quick glance with Dean before the three of you were racing down the hall to the source of the sound. Unsurprisingly, the screams were coming from behind the door to room 1444.
“It’s locked,” Dean said.
Almost instinctively, Sam kicked the door open.
“Whoa,” your boss breathed out.
Once inside, you could see the man screaming and writhing under a fallen bookshelf. You rushed to his side along with Sam, and the two of you tried your best to get him out from under the shelf. You hardly had time to register the whirring computer monitors and shaking shelving units scattered throughout the room.
The old man from the bathroom appeared next to Sam and shoved him over before telekinetically flinging you and Dean against a wall.
You groaned, and your head lolled to the side. Then, you noticed a wrench lying on the ground a few feet away from you.
Dean had risen to his feet to try and help the man the ghost was approaching, and you shouted, “Dean, catch!” while throwing the wrench at him.
He caught it easily, and then, he swung at the old man with the wrench. Immediately, the old man dissipated before he could touch the man underneath the shelf. The chaos around the room came to a stop as well.
You were able to help the man out from under the shelves, and he scrambled away and out of the room.
“How’d you know that would work?” Sam asked.
You and Dean shook your heads. “I have no idea,” the two of you responded in unison.
****
Dean suggested the three of you head back to his apartment to recharge and chat. You and Sam agreed, and it was clear the three of you were reeling from the incident on the way there.
Dean took a large swig of his Master Cleanse, and you and Sam sat awkwardly on his couch. It was clear the two of you were out of your element in Dean’s luxury apartment on the nicer side of town.
“Holy crap,” Dean breathed out before taking another drink of his juice cleanse.
“Yeah,” Sam added. “I could use a beer.”
“Oh, sorry, man. I'm on the Cleanse. I got rid of all the carbs in the house,” Dean replied with a sheepish grimace.
Sam turned to you as Dean handed him a water bottle. “Hey, how the hell did you know that ghosts are scared of wrenches?”
You shrugged.
Dean chuckled. “Crazy, right? And nice job kicking that door too. That was very Jet Li. What are you, like, a black belt or something?”
“No. I have no clue how I did that. It's like… we've done this before,” Sam commented.
“What do you mean, ‘before’? Like ‘Shirley MacLaine’ before?” Dean scoffed.
“No. I- I just can't shake this feeling like I— like I don't belong here, y’know? Like I should do something more than sit in a cubicle,” the taller man said.
“I think most people who work in a cubicle feel that same way,” you noted. “But I get what you mean. I’m not crazy about my job, either. I don’t exactly like constantly being an accessory to someone else without being able to do my own work. Sorry, Dee.” You covered your mouth with your hand after realizing what you’d called him.
“Dee?” your boss mouthed under his breath as you continued to flush.
“Well, look, it's more than that. Like, I don't like my job. I don't like this town,” Sam explaIned. “I don't like my clothes. I don't like my own last name. I don't know how else to explain it, except that...it feels like I should be doing something else. There's just something in my blood. Like I was destined for something different. What about you?” He looked over at you. “You ever feel that way?”
You considered, and Dean took the opportunity to answer for you. “I don't believe in destiny. I do believe in dealing with what's right in front of us, though.”
“Okay, so, what now?” you asked.
“We do what I do best, Sammy. Research,” Dean replied.
Sam looked taken aback. “Okay. Did you just call me Sammy?”
“Did I?”
“I think you did,” Sam chuckled. “Yeah. Don't.”
“Sorry,” Dean grimaced. He sat at his laptop at his corner desk, and you and Sam pulled out your own on the couch.
Within thirty minutes, Dean chuckled. “Oh, jackpot.”
“What you got?” Sam asked.
“I just found the best site ever,” Dean grinned, beckoning you and Sam over. “Real, actual ghost hunters.”
You and Sam got up from the couch and stood behind Dean.
“These guys are genius. Check it out,” your boss said.
“Instructional videos,” Sam added.
You read the banner of the website, which was entitled “Ghostfacers.” You thought the name was interesting, and the guys on screen were a bit nerdy-looking, but you were willing to give them a chance.
The two men were wearing white lab coats and glasses standing behind a metal table.
“We know why you're watching,” one said.
“You've got a problem,” the other added.
“A ghost problem.”
Almost in unison, the first man said, “A ghost-related problem. A ghost— it's like a ghost-adjacent pr— it's like a problem that's— and the ghost is—”
The dark-haired Ghostfacer cut his coworker off. “Whatever. You've come to the right place. The only decent place, really, because the Ghostfacers know how to solve it.”
“Period.”
“Watch and learn.”
“See, the first step in any supernatural fight—”
“Figure out what you're up against,” the two said in unison.
You rushed over to your laptop to show them the picture of Sandover’s founder. “This is the guy,” you said.
“Yeah,” Dean confirmed. “That’s him.”
“P. T. Sandover. Died 1916. Devoted his life to his work,” you explained. “No wife, no kids.”
“Used to say he was the company,” Sam read from the article, “and his very blood pumped through the building.”
“Wow, okay. So slight workaholic. Maybe he's still here, y’know, watching over the company, even killing for it.”
“I mean, he’s talking about it like it’s his child,” you joked. “Plus, turns out this isn't the first time people started killing themselves in the building. First time was in 1929. And I know what you’re thinking, y’know, Great Depression, lots of people killed themselves. But this company had seventeen suicides.”
“Phew. Okay, so P. T. Sandover, protector of the company,” Dean grimaced. “His ghost wakes up and becomes active during times of grave economic distress.”
“Well, I mean, the worst time we've seen since the Great Depression—”
Dean cut Sam off. “Is now. Yeah, ‘now’ sucks. My portfolio's in the sewer. I don't even wanna talk about it.”
“So Sandover's helping the bottom line—”
Dean cut Sam off again. “By zapping some model employees.”
“Do you always cut people off when they’re talking?” you asked rhetorically.
Your boss gave you a playful glare.
“Anyway, I mean, Ian and Paul,” Sam continued. “It was like he turned them into different people.”
“Perfect worker bees, exactly,” Dean noted. “So devoted to the company that they would commit hara-kiri if they failed it.”
“One more interesting fact. The building wasn't always that high. Used to be fourteen floors. And the room where the ghost attacked, fourteen forty-four? Once upon a time, that was the old man's office,” Sam read from your computer.
You then returned to the Ghostfacers video.
“Once you've got that thing in your sights—” the redhead began.
“You kill it,” the two men said in unison.
“Using special ghost-hunting weapons.”
“First, salt. It's like acid to ghosts.”
“Burny acid.”
“Not LSD,” the dark-haired one clarified.
“No. It's a bad trip for ghosts. Next up, iron.”
“That's why the wrench worked,” Sam said, lightly slapping Dean’s shoulder.
The Ghostfacers continued, “Pure power in your hand.”
“Dissipates ghosts instantly.”
“Next little trick. We learned this from those useless douchebags—” The redheaded one added, “That we hate.”
“The Winchesters.”
“What are they, like Bonnie and Clyde?” you wondered aloud.
“Gun,” one man said.
“Shotgun shell. Pack it up with fresh rock salt,” the dark-haired one added.
“Very effective.”
“Very effective.”
“Winchesters still suck ass, though.”
“Affirmative. Suckage major.”
“The girl they’re with, what was her name?” the dark-haired man asked.
The redheaded one replied, “That’s not important right now. She knows who she is. She’s still got my heart.” He made a kissing face at the camera.
You giggled at his antics, but you slightly felt bad for whatever girl he was referring to.
Dean paused the video and got up from his seat to pack his fire pokers in a duffel bag with a salt shaker.
“Where do we even get a gun?” Dean asked.
Sam shrugged. “Gun store?”
“Isn't there like some kind of waiting period or something?” you questioned.
“I think so,” the taller man replied.
“Well, how in the hell—”
Sam cut him off. “I don't know. Seems pretty impossible, honestly.”
You three then returned your attention to the video.
“The aforementioned super-annoying Winchester douchenozzles also taught us this one other thing. You have to burn the remains,” the dark-haired Ghostfacer explained.
“Okay, this next part gets a little gross,” the redhead warned. “Sometimes you might have to dig up the body. Sorry.”
“It's illegal in some states—”
“All states—”
“—Possibly all states.”
Sam looked over a page on his laptop. “Sandover was cremated.”
“What? So what do we do now?” Dean asked, nearly gripping the screen as if asking the Ghostfacers in person.
“Now, if the deceased has been cremated—” “Don't panic.”
“Just gotta look for some other remains.”
“A hair in a locket, maybe. Fingernails. Baby teeth.”
“Milk teeth,” the dark-haired one suggested.
The redhead nodded. “Genetic material. You know what we're talking about.”
“Go find it.”
To sign off, the redhead said, “Fight well, young lions.”
“Godspeed,” the other added. Then, the video went dark.
****
You and the boys entered the elevator to the building, trying your very best to evade security. For two considerably large and well-built men, they looked pretty terrified. It made Dean seem kind of adorable, if you were honest with yourself.
“Set your cell phones to walkie-talkie in case we get separated,” Dean instructed you and Sam.
You obliged.
“How the hell are we gonna find some ancient speck of DNA in a skyscraper?” Sam questioned.
“Well, that creepy storeroom used to be Sandover's office, right?” He pressed the button to floor fourteen, and you subconsciously reached for his wrist as the elevator jolted. You gripped it tightly, and your entire body tensed.
Dean looked down at your hand that was holding his, and your cheeks heated. Quickly, you pulled your hand away as to not make him uncomfortable.
“Elevators?” Dean asked, referring to your fear.
“Heights,” you replied, swallowing harshly.
Dean grabbed your hand again in an attempt to comfort you.
You looked at him sheepishly, but he gave you a light squeeze to let you know it was okay.
You gave him a small smile, and he returned it.
The elevator dinged to let the three of you off, and you headed down the hallway to the room marked “1444.”
You flanked the shelves on one side, and Dean looked through the shelves on the other. Sam headed over to the desk and began searching through the drawers.
“What the hell are you doing here?” A guard holding a flashlight suddenly asked from the doorway. He had his flashlight beam focused on Sam, and you hoped he hadn’t seen you or Dean yet. You ducked behind the bookshelf you were searching.
“Man, listen. Look,” Sam pleaded as the guard took him away by the arm. “It's okay. I—I work here.”
The guard shut the door behind him and Sam, and you took the opportunity to rush over and lock it behind them.
“You think he’ll be okay?” you whispered to Dean.
He nodded. “He’ll figure something out.” “How do you know?”
“Seems like a smart kid,” Dean shrugged.
“ ‘Kid’? And how do you know?” you snorted.
Dean thought for a moment. “You ask a lotta questions, you know that?”
You giggled.
Suddenly, you heard a sickening crunch from your phone. “Sam?” you called.
“Hey. You okay?” Dean asked into the speaker on his phone.
After a few moments, Sam said, “Call you back.”
You and Dean shared a look, and the two of you shrugged in unison. You then continued your search.
You walked over to Dean who was holding a picture of a Sandover Bridge from the company’s early days. In slight sadness, you sighed.
“What?” Dean asked. He turned over his shoulder slightly to look at you but was careful not to bump into you with the proximity.
You stayed frozen to the spot directly behind his left shoulder, staring down at the picture. “I don’t know. I think Sam’s right, I guess,” you replied after careful thought. “I think I wanna be more than… bridges and paperwork.”
Dean searched your face, but you continued to trace your eyes over the black-and-white image.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” you clarified, “you’re great, and all, but I don’t just wanna continuously be a sidekick in someone else’s life. It… it feels like I’m constantly living for someone else. I wanna be the star— the- the superhero sometimes, y’know?”
Dean nodded. “I get it,” he said, turning to face you a bit more. The amount of space between you did not seem to increase, though.
You scoffed playfully. “Sure, you do, Mr. Director of Sales and Marketing.”
He chuckled. “If it makes any difference to you, you are my superhero, sometimes, y’know?” He cleared his throat, seeming to realize what he said. “I mean, you’re instrumental to everything I do. Without you, the ship wouldn’t keep running.”
“I guess you’re right,” you shrugged. “Thanks, Dean.”
“Yeah, no problem,” he replied. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was leaning in to you in the dim light. You took a deep breath and moved away, effectively creating more space between the two of you.
****
When your search was complete, you landed on one of the company’s history display on floor twenty-two. Dean told Sam to meet the two of you up there, and he’d bizarrely warned you to take the stairs.
However, when he entered the room, it became clear to you why.
“That’s a ton of blood, Sam,” you noted, seeing the splatter on his yellow shirt. “What the hell happened?”
“Guard,” Sam explained shortly. “Elevator. Uh… decapitation.” He made a gesture of the elevator coming down to chop the guard’s head off from above.
“Gnarly,” you grimaced.
“Right. So, uh, in there.” Dean pointed to a glass case containing a pair of gloves.
Sam noted, “P. T. Sandover's gloves.”
Dean made a clicking sound. “Yeah, how much you wanna bet there's a little smidge of DNA in there? You know, like a fingernail clipping or a hair or two? Something.”
“So, you ready?”
Dean blew out a puff of air. “I have no idea.”
“Me neither,” said Sam.
You shook your head but grabbed a fire poker anyway.
Sam and Dean followed your lead by grabbing a container of salt and the other poker respectively.
“Go for it.” Sam gestured at you and Dean.
“Right,” Dean gulped, and you rolled your eyes with a small smile.
You gave the glass a solid whack, and it shattered upon impact. Suddenly, you were flying through the air along with the two boys. Quickly, you scrambled to your feet just in time to see Sam throwing a bit of salt at Sandover. The ghost thankfully dissipated before it could get any closer to Sam.
“(Y/N)!” Dean shouted at you, and you caught the iron poker he threw at you like a reflex. You swung fiercely behind you, and you turned around just in time to see Sandover disappear again.
“Nice catch,” Dean told you, a slight air of bewilderment in his voice.
“Thanks,” you replied, staring down at the poker strangely. That fight almost made you feel like your body was possessed by someone trained in combat.
Then, Sandover appeared behind Sam.
“Sam, look out!” you yelled, and he threw salt behind him.
The fight that followed was mostly orchestrated by you and Dean against Sandover while Sam tried to make his way over to the gloves. It fell upon you and Dean to defend him, and the two of you did so in a way that was uncomfortably effortless.
You and Dean subconsciously pressed yourselves back-to-back and circled around waiting for Sandover to materialize again.
Sam grabbed the gloves, and Dean lunged forward to hit at Sandover with the poker while the taller man lit the gloves on fire.
Sam dropped the burning gloves to the ground, and Sandover appeared again to burn into nothing.
Breathlessly, Sam said, “That was amazing.”
****
“You got a first-aid kit?” you asked Dean. The three of you had gone back to his office to clean each other up.
He nodded and reached into the bottom drawer of his desk, then handed it to you. When he handed it to you, you noticed a nasty cut on his cheekbone. You sucked in a breath through your teeth and hissed. “You mind if I take a look at that?”
He hesitated but ended up nodding.
You gingerly cleaned the wound with a cotton pad and hydrogen peroxide, and Dean winced. “I’m sorry,” you told him.
“Y’know I can fix myself up, right?” he asked.
You nodded, heat rising to your cheeks again.
Dean still just let you continue your work before you moved on to Sam. When you went to address a wound on your arm, Dean shook his head and took the cloth pad from you. You offered a small smile, trying your best not to seem too bashful.
“Man, I gotta tell you,” Dean chuckled, “I've never had so much fun in my life.”
“Me neither,” Sam grinned.
“Was a hell of a workout, too, wasn't it?”
“We should keep doing this.”
“I know,” Dean replied.
Sam insisted, “I mean it. There gotta be other ghosts out there. We could help a lot of people.”
“Like the Ghostfacers,” you added, your voice a little smaller than you would have liked.
“No, really. I mean, for real,” Sam continued.
Dean snorted. “What? Like, quit our jobs and hit the road?”
Sam nodded, and you scrunched your brows together in confusion.
“How would we live?” Dean asked.
The brunet didn’t have an answer.
“You gotta be kidding me,” Dean scoffed. “How would we get by? With stolen credit cards? Huh? Eating diner food drenched in saturated fats? Sharing a crap motel room every night?”
“That's all just details,” Sam shrugged.
“Details are everything. You don't wanna go fighting ghosts without any health insurance.”
A silence settled over you.
“Alright, um, confession.”
You and Dean turned to Sam.
“Remember those dreams I told you about with the ghosts?” Sam asked. “I was fighting them.” He sucked in a breath, seeming uncomfortable. “With… the two of you. We were these, like, hunters, and we were friends. And we—” he gestured between himself and Dean, “were more like brothers, really. I mean, what if that's who we really are? I mean, you saw us back there, working together. The ghost was scrambling people's brains. What if it scrambled ours?”
You considered while Dean said, “That's insane.”
“Is it? Think about it for just one second. What if we think this is our life, but it's not?” Sam continued.
“Hey, man, the ghost is dead and we're still standing. I mean, I'm sorry, but—”
Sam cut Dean off. “Look, all I know is this isn't who we're supposed to be.”
“No. I'm Dean Smith, okay? Director of Sales and Marketing. I went to Stanford. My father's name is Bob, my mother's name is Ellen, and my sister's name is Jo,” Dean stated, getting to his feet.
“When was the last time you talked to them? To any of them?” Sam questioned, standing as well.
“Okay, you're upset. You're upset, you're confused—”
“Yeah, 'cause I only moved here 'cause I just broke up with my fiancée, Madison. But I called her number, and I got a damn animal hospital,” the taller man said.
You stood, too. “Dean—”
“Okay, what are you saying?” Dean scoffed. “Are you trying to say that my family isn't real? Huh? That we've been injected with fake memories? Come on.”
“Dean, maybe he has a point—” you tried.
“You’re seriously not going along with this, are you?” Dean asked.
“No, I’m just saying—”
Dean cut you off again. “C’mon, (Y/N).”
“All I know is,” Sam jumped back in, “I got this feeling in my gut. And I know— I know that deep down, you gotta be feeling it too. We're supposed to be something else. You're not just some corporate douchebag. This isn't you. I know you.”
Dean scoffed. “Know me? You don't know me, pal. You should go.”
Sam looked like he wanted to say something more, but instead, he just headed to the door. You collected your stuff and moved to follow him out.
“Not you, too,” Dean muttered.
You turned around. “Dean, I don’t know what is going on,” you told him. “I don’t want to live on the lam, but I also don’t want to stay here and just ignore whatever’s happened. I don’t know what the right thing to do right now is, okay?” You sighed, voice softening a bit. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” You turned for the door again.
Dean admitted quietly, “I don’t, either.”
You turned back around. “What?”
“I don’t know what the right answer is, either,” he said, more confidently this time. He hesitantly moved over to you. “What I do know is that we made a really great team earlier.”
You smiled lopsidedly. “Yeah, we did.”
“And… I can’t believe I’m saying this—” he murmured, continuing to approach you.
Your heart began to race, cheeks flushing.
“—but whatever you do, I’ll do, too. I trust you.” Dean stopped when the two of you were just inches apart.
You looked up at him with doe eyes. “I gotta think about it.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
****
The next morning, you felt resolute in your decision. Hardly minding the height of the building on your walk into the lobby, you marched up to Dean’s office while trying to gather your courage.
When you opened and closed the door to the office, though, an unfamiliar voice came from behind you.
“Ah, (Y/N),” the voice said.
You wheeled around to face an older man who seemed strangely familiar, but you couldn’t quite place his identity. He unsettled you.
“Good of you to join us,” he continued.
“Oh, (Y/N), this is Mr. Adler,” Dean told you as the two men sat down.
“What’s going on?” you questioned.
“We were just discussing Mr. Smith’s future at the company,” Mr. Adler explained.
“Oh,” you said, slightly dejected. If Dean followed through on his statement to you from the previous night, you’d be ruining a really solid opportunity for him.
“Wanna make sure he’s not going anywhere,” Adler chuckled. “And you, too, missy. You’re both Sandover material. Real go-getters. Carving your own way.”
“Well, uhm,” you laughed awkwardly. “About that…”
Dean’s and Adler’s eyes were nearly burning holes into you, but you were focused on quite literally anything else in the room.
“Is something wrong?” Adler questioned, looking between you and Dean.
Dean took off his headset. “Uh, well, thank you. Thank you, sir. It's, um...but… I am giving my notice,” he said.
“This is a joke,” the older man scoffed. “You're kidding me, right?” He was just as stunned as you were.
“No. I've—I recently—uh, very recently realized that I have some other work I have to do. It's, uh, very important to me.”
“Other work? Another company?” Adler rushed out.
“No, I—”
You cut Dean off from answering the man. “I don’t want to speak for us both, but… I'll be leaving, too.” Adler grinned widely.
You were confused by that and even further unsettled. “Is something wrong?” you asked.
“Finally,” he said. He pressed two fingers to your forehead, and the world around you seemed to dim.
“What the fuck,” you murmured, blinking at the world around you. Then, you jumped back in surprise at the man in front of you. “No…”
Dean seemed to have come back to as well. “What the hell? Why am I wearing a tie? My god, am I hungry.”
The older man before you laughed. “Welcome back.”
“Zachariah,” you breathed out, backing toward the door. Given how Uriel had treated you and the stories he’d told you about this particular angel, you were frightened of him.
“In the flesh,” the angel said.
“Oh, great. That's all I need is another one of you guys,” Dean scoffed, seeming to have caught on.
“I'm hardly another one, Dean. I'm Castiel's superior. Believe me, I had no interest in popping down here into one of these smelly things,” Zachariah sneered, gesturing at his body, “but back when you were stuck in the Pit, the higher-ups felt it necessary I pay a visit. And now I see why after the business with Uriel. Gotta get my ducks in a row.”
“I am not one of your ducks,” Dean grunted, moving toward you slowly. You were frozen near the door.
“Starting with your attitude,” Zachariah stated dryly.
“Oh, so, what? This was all some sort of a lesson; is that what you're telling me? Wow, very creative.”
“Dean, stop,” you begged.
He glanced over at you in concern. Your tone had seemingly put him off.
“You’d do well to listen to her,” the angel stated.
“What are we doing here?” you asked, trying to get the heat off Dean. “Was this just a dream?”
“Not at all. Real place, real haunting,” the angel explained. “Just plunked you in the middle without the benefit of your memories.”
“Just to shake things up? Hm?” Dean pressed. “So you guys can have fun watching us run around like ass clowns in monkey suits?”
“To prove to you that the path you're on is truly in your blood. You're a hunter. Not because your dads made you, not because god called you back from hell, but because it is what you are. And you both love it,” replied Zachariah. “You'll find your way to it in the dark every single time, and you're miserable without it. Guys, let's be real here. You're good at this. You'll be successful. You will stop it.”
“Stop what? The apocalypse, huh? Lucifer? What? Be specific, man.” Dean had finally come to a stop next to you, and you grabbed his wrist to try and stop him from aggravating Zachariah further.
“You'll do everything you're destined to do. All of it,” the older man stated. “But I know, I know. You're not strong enough. You're scared. You got daddy issues. You can't do it. Right?”
Dean’s jaw stiffened. “Angel or not, I will stab you in your face.” “Stop it,” you begged him, your breath catching in your throat.
“All I'm saying is it's how you look at it. Most folks live and die without moving anything more than the dirt it takes to bury them. You get to change things,” Zachariah shrugged, pacing the room a bit. “Save people, maybe even the world. All the while you drive a classic car and fornicate with this lovely woman.”
You grimaced, staring at the floor.
“This isn't a curse. It's a gift. So for God's sakes, Dean, quit whining about it,” Zachariah continued. “Look around. There are plenty of fates worse than yours; so are you with me? You wanna go steam yourself another latte? Or are you ready to stand up and be who you really are?”
Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-nesmith @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld
#dean winchester#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x y/n#spn#supernatural#dean winchester x you#dean x reader#dean x y/n#dean x you#spn series rewrite#supernatural series rewrite#supernatural reader insert
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Sirius Black x Fem!Slytherin!Reader
Summary: An unlikely companionship between you and Sirius begins to form after you two share a cigarette at the annual pureblood Christmas party. Everything seems to be going very well until an argument over whose music taste is better arises.
cw: mention of bloodpurist attitudes, mention of drinking, smoking, Sirius and Reader are both a bit sleazy lmfao, Reader is a Beatles fan
4.5k words
A/N: this is a rewrite of a fic I wrote last year. I really liked the idea but hated how it was written so I redid it. It ended up completely different than the original one but the premise is still the same, enjoy!! 🫘
masterlist
This year’s annual pureblood Christmas party-gathering was by far one of the most boring ones you had to endure and your body was desperately aching for a cigarette. You hope that it will take the edge off and give you a much needed break from all the small talk you had to get through today.
Barty managed to convince his father, Mr Crouch Sr., to let him stay home and not drag him to this stupid party by using the excuse of needing to complete this three page essay assigned by professor Slughorn over the holidays. Or maybe Mr Crouch is a bit too embarrassed to be seen outside with his son’s pierced face and ears, messy hair and disruptive personality.
The Rosier twins, Evan and Pandora, were engaged in a “riveting” conversation with your classmate Mulciber. You would quite frankly rather sit through an entire two hour period History of Magic class, listening to professor Binns talk at length about another goblin war, than hear about Mulciber’s family trip to Venice or Paris or Mykonos or the Bahamas for the thousandth time with no escape.
That left you with your friend, and host of this year’s party, Regulus Black. Reggie was a really really good friend, trustworthy, reliable, helpful, and despite being a year younger than you he was really mature and a great conversation to have. However, regardless of all his redeeming qualities, he was so uptight! He would of course sit with you while you smoked to keep you company if you asked but that also meant having to endure the diatribe he was bound to launch into about all the health hazards of nicotine and its effects on the human body.
You essentially had no choice but to go looking for a quiet, secluded space in order to have a smoke. Your objective now is to find an empty balcony at the Black manor where you could get at least five minutes of peace. You carefully open the door of the gathering room, making sure no one sees you, and you slip out of the room into the long hallway. You scurry down the ornately decorated corridor, eyeing the various portraits suspiciously, praying that they don't decide to question why you're not with everyone else. If your mother finds out you smoke you're dead. Right before you reach the staircase you hear a familiar voice behind you.
“Where do you think you're going, young lady? The guests should be in the other room, not wandering the corridors” Mrs Walburga Black asks in a shrill voice. You turn around panicked, your eyes widening like a deer caught in headlights. You relax slightly when you see that it is in fact the portrait of her likeness speaking and not the real one.
“Good evening Mrs Black, lovely party tonight, thank you so much for inviting my family.” You reply hoping this distracts her; she stares at you with her gaunt, piercing eyes, waiting for you to continue.
“I was just, uh, looking for the bathroom. I need to touch up on my make-up you see.” You explain looking around nervously.
“Well the guest bathroom is the first door on the left of this hallway. You are not permitted upstairs.”
You are about to give up on your mission when suddenly Kreacher appears from the kitchen holding a tray of cakes.
“KREACHER,” she shrieks, “No, no, NO! How many times do we have to tell you that these cakes are served AFTER the wine, not before, stupid elf.” She turns her piercing gaze to the poor house elf, who just apologises to his Mistress and returns to the kitchen to fetch the wines instead. You almost feel bad for him. Almost because his mistake acted as the perfect distraction for you to slip away up the stairs unnoticed.
You tiptoe up the grand staircase that leads to the upper floors of 12 Grimmauld Place, grimacing at the shrunken house elf heads that were mounted on the walls. Merlin, no wonder Sirius behaves like that in school, if this is his childhood home. Sure, your parents were blood purists too but this was madness!
~
You finally reach the landing of the first floor and you look around, making sure that it’s empty. You make your way towards the door that is furthest down the long hall, admiring the intricate wallpaper decorating the walls. You stifle a laugh as your gaze lands on a framed photograph of Sirius when he was approximately five years old, crying because a lollipop got stuck in his hair. The next photo in the line is him with a shaved head and a pout on his plump toddler cheeks. Your hand lands on the snake carved door knob and you twist quietly hoping that the room is empty. Luck seems to be on your side tonight as you find the drawing room empty — what a perfect place to have a smoke. You enter the long, high-ceilinged room and take a moment to admire the dark olive green striped tapestries on the walls, the lush, expensive looking persian carpet beneath your feet, the roaring fireplace that kept the room warm despite the freezing London winter that controlled the weather outside. You approach the large windows that overlook the street below and, pushing aside the dark velvet curtains, you open the window and step outside, exposing your skin to the harsh elements. You curse at your past self for deciding to wear a short sleeved, knee-length dress because now you were absolutely freezing. At least the thick material kept your core somewhat warm but it was nearly not enough for you to feel comfortable.
You reach your hand into your handbag and pull out a nearly empty pack of Winston cigarettes along with a metal lighter. You put a cigarette between your lips and cup your hand around the lighter in order to prevent the wind from blowing out the fire but, unfortunately, to no avail — the wind was simply too strong. You turn over, facing away from the direction of the wind and looking out towards the courtyard of the Black household, effectively blocking the wind and finally lighting the cigarette, burning your hand in the process. You take a drag from the cigarette, wincing and shaking your hand in hopes it alleviates some of the pain. You look down at the Muggle cars rushing past, people either returning from or heading to various Christmas celebrations.
Your attention seems to be too focused on observing the various cars and couples stumbling down the street to notice the door to the drawing room creak open behind you and the footsteps, muffled by the soft carpet, that are steadily approaching.
“Boo!” You hear a male voice whisper directly in your ear and you jump in shock letting out a noise of surprise. You spin around to face the person that had just startled you, accidentally dropping your cigarette from the balcony. Your gaze lands on the dark grey coloured eyes of none other than Sirius Orion Black staring back at you with a teasing glint and a taunting smirk playing on his beautiful lips.
“Shouldn’t you be downstairs rubbing elbows with ministry officials? What are you doing here all by yourself?”
“Nothing.” You reply a bit too fast.
“Oh right, nothing…” he walks past you and leans over the balcony rail, “I’m assuming that the still lit cigarette below just apparated here by itself then?” He smirks, turning to gaze at you lazily, supporting himself on the rail with two elbows propped against it.
“I- uh, it’s not- look, please don’t tell anyone.” You plead, you were way too worried about someone discovering your unhealthy habit and telling on you. Sure you were no longer a kid but that didn’t mean you stopped being anxious of your parents. You chew on your lower lip nervously, waiting for his reply. Black finding out was one of the worst outcomes, besides being caught by your parents of course, he definitely could — and would — use this against you.
“And why shouldn’t I?” Sirius asks, a lazy smile plastered on his lips. “I mean, seeing as you are the one littering on private property.”
“Please don’t, my parents will be very cross with me!”
“Alright, I won’t tell anyone…” You exhale in relief, “if you give me a cigarette.” A wolfish grin spreads on his face.
“Are you blackmailing me, Black? And here I thought Gryffindors were honest and virtuous.” He chuckles in response and you dig into your handbag retrieving two more cigarettes. You really didn’t mind sharing, especially now that Sirius wasn’t being a total arse like he was in school. Being around his friends and trying to impress James really seemed to make him act out, but now that he is by himself, with no one around worth impressing and gaining the approval of, he was actually being quite tolerable, you'd even go as far as to say that he was even being slightly pleasant! Probably just trying to make the best out of a bad situation like you, and you can sympathise with that.
You take out your lighter, placing the cigarette between your lips and attempt to light it again. The wind however seems to have other plans once again. Sirius watched you, an amused expression on his face, and he snorts when you hiss in pain as you burn your thumb again.
“Shut up!” You chide, eyebrows furrowing in annoyance as you rub your thumb in pain.
“Here let me do it.” He fishes in his trousers pocket for his lighter and takes out an intricately chiseled silver lighter. You go to grab it from his hand and he brushes past your arm and brings the lighter close to your face. “Allow me.” He whispers; he was so close you could smell the lingering scent of alcohol fanning across your face, and he could no doubt sense the two glasses of wine you managed to sneak without your parents catching you.
“You have to inhale, remember?” He chuckles, teasing you. You quickly do as he says, turning around once your cigarette is lit, hoping that he didn't catch the faint blush prickling at your neck and rising to your cheeks. If he mentions anything you can just blame it on the freezing December weather.
“I know that…” You roll your eyes, mentally berating yourself for acting like such an idiot in front of a guy. You didn’t like him or anything but it still is embarrassing to make a fool of yourself like that in front of anyone, not just him!
You take a long puff of your cigarette looking around at the entrance to the Black family home. The drawing room balcony overlooked the street below and you could faintly make out a couple, tucked away and hiding behind a tree across the road, snogging. No doubt two guests that had snuck out of the party for some alone time. The atmosphere could have been slightly enjoyable had it not been for the dry, winter breeze that picked up as the minutes go by. You shiver, taking another quick drag of your cigarette and expelling the smoke. You just wanted to finish your smoke, go back inside and warm up, and maybe tell your mother that you feel unwell and that you want to return home to rest.
“No need to be so uptight, love, there’s no rush, just enjoy the smoke.” Sirius mentions off handedly from beside you; you almost forgot that he is still next to you. He is being uncharacteristically quiet tonight, especially juxtaposed to his loud, raucous attitude during school.
“I’m not being uptight.” You roll your eyes. “I’m cold and I don’t want to freeze to death on your balcony.”
“Oh, my! Well, where are my manners?” He gasps dramatically, taking off his black suit jacket with a grand, theatrical gesture.
“No- Stop, you don’t have to.” You begin to protest but he dismisses your objections, grabbing your upper arm and turning you to face him, he wraps his jacket around your shoulders.
“Now what sort of gentleman and proper host would I be if I didn’t take care of my guests, hm?” He quizzes, his grey eyes locked on yours and his arms still placed firmly on your shoulders, keeping his jacket on you. His scent engulfs your senses as you breathe in; the perfume he put on before the party started, smelling strongly of musk, leather and citrus, alongside the cigarettes he has smoked and the drinks he has drunk, is making your head spin.
“What’s wrong, love? Cat got your tongue?” He teases, his smirk deepening. You tut and pull away, turning back around to face the balcony, leaning on the railing in hopes he doesn’t notice the blush forming on your cheeks – you can’t blame this one on the cold anymore.
A comfortable silence forms around you two, the only sounds that can be heard is the muffled classical music from downstairs, people laughing and glasses clinking, the whistling of the wind and the rustling of the trees from the park across the street.
“We should go back in…” You sigh, putting out your finished cigarette, and throwing the butt in an ashtray on the balcony table nearby. You turn to go back inside the drawing room when Sirius’ arm stretches out in front of you, trapping you outside on the balcony with him.
“Wait, no! Don’t go.” Sirius exclaims, almost frantically, while putting out his cigarette, discarding it and stepping in front of you, completely blocking your exit. You cock your head in confusion.
“I just- look none of my friends are here and I’m so bored.” He slouches, relaxing his shoulders.
“Alright, can we at least go inside the drawing room, I don’t want anyone coming up here looking for us and seeing two fresh cigarette butts in the ashtray.” He grins at your acquiescence, stepping aside allowing you entry back inside the house.
“Ladies first.” He bows dramatically and, despite yourself, you giggle at his antics.
~
You both take a seat on the mahogany carved couches. It felt almost illegal to sit on such an intricately designed couch.
“You still have my jacket, you know.” Sirius mentions flippantly as you both get comfortable.
“Oh, sorry.” You make a move to take it off and return it to him but he puts his hand over yours.
“No, no, keep it, you look good like this.” He says, his eyes trailing over your body as if you’re not even there.
“Okay…” You draw out. “So what do you want to talk about?”
“Well, I wasn’t exactly planning on talking much.” He replies, his tongue sticking out to wet his lips, as he glances down to yours and back to your eyes. You catch his hint immediately and your thoughts start to race. A popular, albeit rude, attractive boy from your school wants to kiss you. Sure it won’t exactly mean anything special, but you’re not looking for that deep of a connection either. You’re both two bored, unsupervised and slightly intoxicated teenagers. Fuck it, what’s the worse than can happen?
“Oh yeah? And what were you planning on doing then?” You smirk playfully.
“Oh, I think you know.” He replies leaning in closer but you pull back, leaning on the velvet armchairs.
“Hm, I don’t believe I do, you’ll have to tell me what you want.”
Without missing a beat, and with no reservations whatsoever Sirius replies. “I want to kiss you.” His piercing gaze makes your heart beat in your ears and heat rise to your cheeks as you try to come up with a witty response, but no words come out of your mouth. You were not expecting him to be so straightforward but with such an arrogant man you should’ve known that this was the approach he would take.
“Can I?” He smiles smugly, taking note of your flustered and startled expression. Trying to outwit Sirius Black was a futile act and you should know that, especially after being in the majority of the same classes with him for the past seven years. You can only muster up a pathetic nod in response to his request.
He slithers over towards you, his one arm wraps around the back of the couch, around your shoulders, and his other rests on the arm of the sofa, cornering you.
He leans down closer to your face, your lips almost brushing and you wait for him to lean in.
“Don’t you want to kiss me too?” You hum in response.
“Use your words please, can you do that for me?” Your breath hitches. You can smell the alcohol and nicotine on his breath and it’s making you reel.
“I want to kiss you.” You reply.
“Well, go ahead then.” Without taking a moment to think about the fact that you're the one leaning in to kiss him and not the other way around, you’re already crashing your lips against his. You feel his lips form an insufferable smirk as you're kissing and you curse yourself internally for giving into his charms so easily.
His arm snakes around your waist as your hands root themselves in his raven hair, pulling him impossibly closer. You both pull away for air but your brief moment separated is quickly gone as Sirius buries his face in the crook of your neck, peppering soft, yet hungry, greedy, kisses along the exposed area of your neckline.
Your eyes glance towards the unlocked oak door of the drawing room and back down to Sirius who was busy planting kisses along your collarbone.
You give his hair a tug, pulling him back as he groans in annoyance.
“What?” He questions, rolling his eyes, his lips red and puffy from the kiss.
“Sirius,” you push the boy away, catching a glimpse of the door again, “someone might come looking for us…”
“They’re too busy downstairs to notice we’re missing, it will be fine, no one visits the upper floors anyway.” He explains, leaning back down, but you put your arm on his chest, stopping him.
“I mean guests, family members, classmates might stumble in looking for the loo, you never know. I don’t want word to spread that we’re shagging or something. You can guess how Slyherins are with rumours.” You roll your eyes.
“We can go to my room. It has a lock. Please?”
You nod in response. Seeing Sirius be so needy for you made your chest swell with pride. He takes your hand in his and leads you out of the drawing room, his jacket laying abandoned on the room’s ornate couch. You follow behind him up the stairs, past the scornful and disapproving look that the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black shoots his great-great-grandson on the second floor.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, young man!” You hear him shout from downstairs as you reach the third floor.
“Ignore him, my room is on the last floor.” He tugs your arm, pulling you upstairs quicker, heat rising to his cheeks from his being embarrassed by the portrait’s remark.
You finally reach the topmost landing and you’re faced with two doors; one leading to Sirius's room, and the other to Regulus's. The latter was marked by a sign on the massive oak door — “Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black” —what a dork, you think to yourself. The former had a Gryffindor banner hanging from the top of it and a red tie fastened to the serpent shaped doorknob. It’s painfully obvious which door leads to Sirius’ room.
As Sirius opens the door a sudden foul stench infiltrates your senses. It’s a vile concoction of spray deodorant, wet dog, body odour, unwashed bed sheets, cigarette smoke and dirty socks. You think you are going to vomit. How can boys be so disgusting?
He walks in and turns on his lamp, illuminating the high ceilinged room.
“Ta-da! Welcome to my humble abode.” Sirius says, returning next to you.
“Merlin, Black, do you ever open any windows here?” You turn to look at him, your face grimacing in revulsion.
“Do you open the windows in the Slytherin dorms?” He raises his eyebrow, pushing you inside the room and closing the door behind you, locking it.
“Touché, you know we can’t, we’re under the Black Lake.” You roll your eyes, turning to look at him. “I mean seriously, Black, do you ever clean up in here? The room is filthy!” You continue your complaining, your eyes landing on the mess on the floor. Discarded clothes everywhere and vinyls strewn about next to his shelf, at least his record player is taken care of. You’re pretty sure you can see his underwear tossed on the ground beside his desk. You don’t have enough time to make a fuss about the obnoxious posters of motorcycles and half naked women plastered on his wall when he starts to push you towards his bed –and unmade bed sheets.
“Well I sincerely apologise, your majesty, I wasn’t exactly expecting guests tonight…” He whispers pushing you down on his bed.
“Do you need to have guests in order to clean? These aren’t acceptable living conditions, you're a grown man.” You say, your hands resuming their previous position in his hair as he lays on top of you, supporting himself on his forearms.
“Look, are we going to snog or will you keep chastising me for my unkempt room?” You answer his question by pulling him down by his hair and crashing your lips onto his again. He returns the kiss almost immediately, kissing you with much more fervour and urgency than before. Your one hand is still tangled in his messy hair while the other wraps around his neck pulling him even closer. He bites your lip, making you yelp. He takes advantage of your parted lips to slide his tongue in your mouth. His mouth leaves your lips as you take a deep breath. He starts peppering kisses down your face, over your jawline towards your neck. His hungry, drunken kisses turn into light nibbling and sucking in an attempt to leave a mark.
“Fuck, love, I want you so bad.” He whimpers against your neck.
“Oh Salazar, what would Regulus think if he saw you here like this with his brother. Merlin, what would mother and father think if they saw marks all over your neck?!” Your thoughts start to race but still, you’re too caught up in the momentary pleasures you’re feeling to push Sirius away. You feel his hand trail up your thigh, hiking up your dress and at the same time you turn your neck to give him better access. Your gaze then lands on the record shelves by his bed.
You learned about the muggle contraption from one of your classmates in third year and you fell in love with it. The idea that the ridges of a vinyl, when put in that machine could produce such lovely tunes without the use of magic simply amazed you. The record player is perched on a dark oak bookcase that contains at least fifty different vinyls, all from some of the most popular bands of the past two decades. Some of the records are worn out and tattered from the years of use, probably second hand, and they’re placed either on the bottom shelves or they’re messily thrown on the carpeted floor, while others are in pristine condition and delicately placed on the upper shelves of the case, those are his favourites, you assume.
Sirius is, of course, quick to notice the lack of attention being given to him and he follows your gaze.
“What sort of music do you listen to?” You turn back to look at him and you see his hair dishevelled and a strong blush staining his otherwise pale cheeks.
“No offence, darling, but I didn’t bring you to my room to talk about music.” He whispers leaning into your ear.
“At least tell me your favourite band.”
“Fine. I guess I’ll have to go with the Rolling Stones. Can we go back to what we were doing now?” He replies exasperated.
You pause.
“…what?”
He pulls back more, laying on his forearms now, and looks at you quizzically, head cocking like a confused puppy.
“What’s wrong with the Rolling Stones?”
“I mean there’s nothing wrong with them per se but how can you say that the Rolling Stones are your favourite band when the Beatles are right there.” You scoff, pulling yourself up more so you can properly look at his face.
“Ugh don’t tell me you’re a Beatles fan…” Sirius groans, rolling his eyes. You sit up fully now.
“Yes actually, I am.” You continue. “And they’re much better than the Rolling Stones for your information. I mean Paul McCartney and John Lennon are lyrical geniuses!” You explain.
“Oh are they now?” He says, the teasing tone returning to his voice.
“Yes, they very much are!”
“You know,” you continue, “I bet you fancy yourself as another Mick Jagger or something and that’s the only reason you like his band.” You giggle, twirling a strand of his hair at the nape of his neck around your finger.
“Well of course I do, honey, I have the hair, the eyes, and most importantly the sex appeal, wouldn’t you agree?” He teases again, lightly pinching your thigh on the exposed part of your leg after he hiked up your skirt.
You hum in response.
“Go on then, enlighten me. How are the Beatles that much better than the Rolling Stones? Because last time I checked John Lennon wasn’t the one who came up with “Sticky Fingers” or “Let It Bleed”…” He asks, his voice dropping an octave .
“Well, you must be daft if you think those albums are better than “A Hard Day’s Night”! And besides, the Beatles have albums filled with hits while the Rolling Stones have what? Maybe three good songs spread across ten albums”
“Hah, James always says the same thing!” He laughs. “Well, to me it seems that you just have shitty music taste and you hate listening to fun stuff.” He sticks his tongue out and blows a raspberry in your face. You laugh at his silly antics.
“I’m so sorry that I prefer something with a little more substance and meaning than the Rolling Stones.” You roll your eyes, smile still plastered across your face as your hands bury themselves again in his hair. You pull him back down.
“Oh finally, you’re apologising!” He exclaims in faux surprise, eyebrows raising dramatically.
You shake your head mirthfully. “It’s okay to admit that the Beatles are better than the Rolling Stones, you know? I won’t tell anyone. Promise!”
“But they’re not though.” He mumbles against your jawline, underneath your ear.
“Yes they are.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
He’s about to reply with yet another “no” when your legs wrap around his waist and a sharp tug on his hair brings his face back up to your lips, making his brain short circuit and completely forget any part of the conversation you two just shared.
#marauders#sirius black#marauders era#the marauders#sirius black x reader#marauders fanfiction#sirius black x y/n#sirius black x you#regulus black#pandora lovegood#evan rosier
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okay so here's the update regarding my mom's opinions on catws
she fuckin gets it, dude
i talked about how despite everything hydra does to make him look intimidating, you can see that he's very neutral, sometimes even scared. i showed her this gif:
and she said "it's like he's lost"
we talked about how he's extremely calculating and doesn't react emotionally even in high stress or when he's being bested, like when Natasha fucked up his arm, or even during the face reveal. and she said "because they didn't understand the science of it... the serum enhances everything about the person, and he wasn't bad. that's why they had to work so hard and wipe him so much, because he wouldn't ever actually want to do those things." i couldn't help but smile while she was saying this lmao
she also said: "to me, Steve always seemed... independent. it's almost like Bucky relied on him more than the other way around" which is the most stucky thing she could've ever said. she's so fucking right
she was like "wait, so he pulled him out of the water... and then he just walked away?? so now he's just wandering around... and the longer he stays unfrozen, the more he's going to remember everything"
we can't quite yet watch civil war but we are very excited for it lol
oh, and she loved nick fury and she didn't even know who the fuck he was. i forgot to explain beforehand but she understood pretty quick. and then she was very upset when he "died" as well LOL she said "THEY NEED TO STOP DOING THAT." she hated rumlow immediately as well and i was like yeah that's the correct opinion
now i wanna respond to some of the comments under the cut cuz ive been having such a good time lmao
@bucky-boychik-barnes @impetusofadream HERE U GO (one of them is from a different post where i talked about the same thing lmao)
@ilovemosss i read this post out to my mom including the replies and when i read this one she went "YOU ARE!!!!!!!!!"
@sentowritesstuff @stuckydrewx @partofthefandom @musette22 @rillils @skullfragments
she really thought all these responses were so funny and sweet! i however will not be introducing her to ao3 lmfao. she's no prude but she's pretty shy. i'll have to just relay ideas i find myself, i think. if anyone has any non-M rated recs you think she might like based on what she's said, feel free to send them my way haha
honestly she'd probably enjoy herself but i am probably only be showing her Cap and Bucky related stuff LSKDJF we didn't even watch avengers and i sure as hell am not showing her AoU. i'm basically explaining the relevant information as to what went on in between movies. i was like "natasha is an ex russian spy that was groomed to be as a child. that's basically all you need to know" like i didn't even explain nick fury and she was SO UPSET WHEN HE DIED LMAO
and, i gotta spill the beans, but i haven't seen a marvel movie since the first black panther. yeah that includes IF and EG. i know what happens but my interest in marvel PLUMMETED back then and i never caught up. honestly i'm only back into this stuff because i rewatched jessica jones and then wanted to go through the whole MCU from the beginning, saw CA:TFA, went "oh yeah this was all that i liked," and went all in for them.
i have watched TFatWS and i loved it (it seems like the fandom doesn't though LOL) for what it was, so i'll probably show her that. she is gonna be so so so so so upset regarding steve's choice, just like the rest of us. and i'm not looking forward to it lol. but i'll update when that happens too
i'll have to make a post civil war mom thoughts once that happens haha
#captain america#the winter soldier#catws#steve rogers#bucky barnes#marvel#mine#mom update#mom watches marvel#i'll only tag to update people who respond in the future so i'm not spamming haha#oh regarding he doesn't react to high stress: the WS doesn't. but bucky does. so he's extremely emotional in the final fight
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tell your boyfriend
natalie scatorccio x reader
warnings: cheating (sorry not sorry, travis), reader being a shitty person, angst
ever since I found out this song was actually about a woman, I don't know why, but I immediately thought of nat. I can't explain it LMFAO.
it had been weeks since the plane crashed, and the team was condemned to suffering in the wilderness. it was lucky lottie had found the cabin in the first place, but as you swung the axe high in the air, before bringing it down with a resounding crack, you started to wonder if life would've been better if you died in the crash.
you were starving, delirious and weak. there was no sign of a rescue team—who knows how long you'd have to spend out here. watching natalie and travis walking back, hand in hand, you felt yourself growl quietly to yourself. it wasn't fair that travis, who'd never talked to nat before the crash was dating her, but you—who'd loved her for years—were forced to watch from arms length. the sight wasn't made any better when you noticed the absence of meat.
everyone was teasing the two of them, causing you to storm off into the forest. you couldn't help but find everything unfair. falling for a girl who liked a boy—knowing if you were a boy, she'd love you.
kicking over a pile of leaves, you took out your anger on the forest. you hadn't even noticed natalie, until you almost pegged a rock at her (you'd meant to get the log). "oh my god, I'm sorry nat," you exclaimed, running towards her to see if she was okay.
she snorts, moving closer to you. "feeling hangry?" she teased, taking a seat on the log you were aiming at previously. you sarcastically laugh in response, taking a seat next to her.
"joke all you want, if you spent less time fucking travis and more time looking for animals, I wouldn't be destroying the forest," you snap, feeling your stomach begin growling. nat's eyebrow raised teasingly, eyes pointed at your tummy. it's timing was uncanny.
"we're not fucking," natalie replied, making your heart race in excitement. "I mean, I'd like to. . . but he can't get it up."
knowing this was your chance, you took advantage of this information. "maybe he's gay?" you reply, trying to sound as earnest as you can. you nudge her side, "no straight man could resist you," you wink at her teasingly, receiving a soft shove to your shoulder.
"I've always trusted your gaydar. . . but I don't think this is it," she mumbles in response, leaning forward and placing her chin in her hands.
there was a beat of silence, as you desperately try to come up with a plausible explanation to break them up. "you could always ask coach, I'm sure he'd know all about gays," you joke.
nat turned her head slightly to face you, "you're right. maybe I should—" your heart sank, realising that she was seriously thinking about it.
"have you thought that maybe he's interested in someone else? and you're just a distraction," you blurted out, wishing you could take it back immediately.
nat scoffed, standing up, "yeah, thanks. that makes me feel fucking fantastic," she snapped, stomping away.
"nat! I'm sorry!" you called out, but she ignored you.
«—(♥)—»
later that night, you found yourself in the storage room, with your stomach growling. you knew that mari was hiding some berries in here and you were so hungry that you no longer cared about stealing.
the sound of creaking behind you made you jump in fright, whipping around to let out some excuse when you realised it was just natalie. "oh, I thought you were mari," you mumble, turning back to continue your quest.
"looking for her secret stash?" she asked, you tried to work out if her tone was curious or teasing. "it's behind the box there."
when she pointed in the direction, you side eyed her, wondering how he knew where it was. glad that she'd shown you, you decided not to ask. you pulled out a large white bucket and hungrily opened the lid, only to be disappointed at the contents. "she's letting them ferment?"
you turn to face natalie, who shrugs, "it's not that bad. it's pretty strong though, just made purely out of berries, makes you get drunk quicker," she explains; you snort at her, shaking your head.
"you'd have a lot of experience with being drunk," you snipe.
"hilarious, you know you're so funny, you should think about joining snl," she replied sarcastically, crossing her arms over her chest.
you sighed, putting your head in your hands. "I'm so hungry, nat. I can't keep living like this," you whisper, on the verge of tears.
natalie sits down next to you, placing a hand on your thigh. "it'll be okay, I promise. travis and I are heading to a new place tomorrow, we'll find deer there, I'm sure," she soothes. you lay your head on her shoulder, playing with her hand on your thigh.
"a new place to hunt? or a new place to fuck?" you snapped.
narrowing her eyes at you, she scoffed and got up, "you know, I liked that you weren't like the others, that you never slutshamed me. . . I guess you're just like the rest of them," she replied, leaving you alone.
you knew it was stupid to take your unrequited feelings out on her, especially because she didn't owe you romantic love. however, it killed you watching her fall in love with travis—and the hunger eating you away wasn't making you a nicer person either.
tentatively scooping some of the berry juice in your hand, sipping it, when you heard mari approaching. in a panic, you'd never put something away so quickly.
«—(♥)—»
natalie trudged through the forest with travis in defeat; the gun slung over her shoulder serving as a reminder of her duty as hunter—a duty she was failing. their eyes were still peeled for any deer, hopeful for any last minute catches. however, it seemed like all the animals in the forest knew about their plans.
groaning, nat put her head in her hands and sat on the log. "this is fucking stupid," she grumbles, ignoring travis as he took a seat next to her.
"maybe we should stay put here, just for a little while," he suggests, his thigh brushing against hers. nat rested her chin against her knees and offered him a weak smile.
neither of them noticed you, hiding in the bushes, having given up scavenging for berries. they'd been gone for three hours, leaving everyone else in the cabin to search for food—and for what? it seemed no one would be eating anything. . . meat or fruit. the disappointing view of just the two of them made your stomach growl, reminding you of how long you've gone without eating something substantial.
stepping on a twig accidentally, you winced as both their heads snap in your direction. "you're following us now? disappointed to see we aren't having sex?" natalie sniped, getting up and walking towards you.
showing off your basket, you know that she wouldn't believe you even if it's true. "just hunting for berries, figured they were further out than usual," you mumble, taking a step back the closer she got.
it wasn't until you were both face to face, your chest heaving and trying to look tough, that natalie smirked. "I get it, you're hungry, but you don't have to follow us," she teased.
you rolled your eyes, "travis, can you give us a moment?" you asked, your heart racing as you come to terms with what you're about to do.
travis scoffs, looking at nat for confirmation, who only gestured for him to return to the cabin. in shock, he sent her an odd look, before standing up, and walking away silently.
natalie turned to face you again, "what did you want to talk about?"
"i wanted to apologise. you're right, I shouldn't be slutshaming you because I'm hungry. . ." you pause, wondering whether or not you should continue. desperate to tell her about your feelings, you could feel your heartbeat raising impossibly fast. "it's actually so stupid—the real reason I was mad at you."
natalie raised her eyebrows teasingly, placing her hands on her waist and smirking at you. "let me guess, the real reason is that you like me?" you stare at her stunned, "please, you don't think I know? I'm not Jackie," she laughs. you feel a blush coming across your cheeks.
sliding her thumb through your jean loops, nat pulled you closer to her, until your chest was pressed against hers. "how'd you find out?" you whisper, looking up at her in awe.
"because I may or may not feel the same about you," she mumbles, her lips inches from yours.
"what about travis?" you ask; nat shrugs in response, finally pressing her lips against yours. initially, you freeze, not kissing her back, until she gripped your waist firmly, holding you in place, encouraging you to kiss her back passionately.
wrapping your hands around her neck, natalie pulls away for a second, "I should probably tell my boyfriend," she whispers. you raise your eyebrows in shock.
"tell him what? that I'm your girlfriend now?" you teased, eliciting laughter from the blonde. she nodded, before placing her fingers under your chin and pulling you in for another kiss.
#natalie scatorccio#natalie x reader#wlw#yellowjackets#fanfic#fluff#travis martinez#oneshot#inspired by#tell ur girlfriend#yellowjackets showtime#travis yellowjackets#tw: cheating#natalie scatorccio x reader
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