#in the same sentence as them taking their clothes off

[munsonsmixtapes]

Gotta Get Home to My Girl

rockstar!eddie x fem!reader

Eddie is never able to shut the fuck up about you.

The boys take their seats and everyone besides Eddie are mentally preparing themselves for what they know is to come. But how long is it going to take this time? The most recent record for how quickly Eddie was able to mention you in a sentence without being asked was less than a minute. 

“Oh, y/n has those shoes,” he’d said as soon as the interviewer sat down. She just nodded and then got him talking about you for the next five minutes. 

And that’s the thing, he uses your first name and everyone just knows who he’s talking about. He uses your name and “my girl” interchangeably and it’s assumed who he’s talking about. 

The guys love you, of course they do, how could they not? But that man will never ever fucking shut up about you so it’s gotten to a point where if he brings you up first, he’s got to put a fiver in the jar that they’ve brought along with them. 

The promo tour for their new album has barely even started and now there’s almost two hundred dollars in there because he can’t keep his fucking mouth shut. 

But that’s not stopping Eddie at all. He’s happily paying the money and will continue to talk about you as much as he damn well pleases. 

He just can’t help it. He loves you so much that he thinks that everyone wants to hear about you just as much as he wants to talk about you, not even noticing if they aren’t interested because he’s so caught up in gushing or bragging about you. He’s so down bad and doesn’t even care about how much of a simp he comes off as. 

You’re his girl, the thing that he thinks about all the time. No matter what’s going on, there’s going to be something that inevitably reminds him of you so he’s gotta mention because he’s certain that everyone wants to know. 

It’s gotten so bad that there are multiple compilations of him yapping away about you for however many minutes and the thing is, every single one has millions of views and that majority of comments are positive except for a select few that aren’t so nice. But that’s every video about anything, isn’t it? 

And the funny thing is, he knows that you watch them. Especially when you miss him and can’t speak to him at that moment. Because the love that he has for you is absolutely reciprocated and you know you’d be the same if the roles were reversed and you were the famous one. The multiple years that you’ve been together have all been one big honeymoon phase and neither of you care that people are rolling your eyes, saying that it’s cringey. Because deep down, you know that they’re just jealous. 

“I like your shirt,” the interviewer compliments and Eddie looks down, smiling at the shirt once he recognizes what it is. It’s one of the many band t-shirts he wears often. 

“Oh, thank you,” he smirks and just by seeing it, the boys know exactly what he’s going to say. “It belongs to my girl.” When he’s packing to go away, he makes sure that you throw in a few of your own shirts, making sure to spray them with your perfume so he can smell it when he especially misses you. 

“Do you share clothes often?” She asks and Eddie’s smile widens as the boys are shaking their heads. There goes another five dollars. It’s such easy money. 

“Oh, all the time,” Eddie nods. “Especially when I’m away. I like having a piece of her everywhere I go.” He’s actually counting down the hours until he can see you tonight, having trouble sitting still, like an excited puppy who can’t wait to see its owner. 

“That’s so sweet,” she replies, her smile matching Eddie’s. “So, let’s talk about the album.”

“Yes, let’s,” Gareth speaks up, nudging Eddie in the arm. That is the reason why they’re there, isn’t it? 

Eddie’s actually on his best behavior throughout the entire interview, not mentioning you again until the singular song about you that’s on the album is mentioned. He talks about it for the rest of the interview, which is actually only five minutes, but he could easily talk about it for hours. Well, he could talk about anything involving you for that long. 

They get on a plane after that and Eddie’s going through everything like it’s a race. TSA is so quick and boarding the plane goes by in a flash. He blinks and he’s grabbing his luggage from the baggage claim. When he blinks again, he’s in a cab on the way to the apartment that the two of you share. 

He’s now going up the elevator and as soon as the doors open on the correct floor, he’s running to the door with his suitcase dragging behind him. He doesn’t care if it’s close to midnight and all of his neighbors are probably sleeping. He’s got to get to you as quickly as possible. 

He unlocks the door and as soon as he steps inside, he sees you in the kitchen, making something on the stove. When you turn around, your face lights up and you immediately drop your spoon in the pot, making a beeline over to Eddie. 

He scoops you up into his arms and your legs wrap around his waist as you bury your face into his neck. You’re squeezing each other tight and he’s giggling as you pepper his face with kisses like you always do when he comes home. It’s his favorite part of the whole thing. 

“I missed you,” you tell him as sets you back on your feet, pulling him in for a kiss. His lips are cold because of the temperature outside but he knows you’ll warm him up with a cuddle. 

“Missed you too, baby,” he sighs as you take him by the hand and lead him into the kitchen where you’ve got dinner waiting for him. You pile the pasta into a bowl and hand it to him along with a bottle of his favorite beer. 

After you’ve both eaten, you head to your bedroom where you both get dressed for bed and climb into it, cuddling up under the covers, telling each other about what you did while away from each other while a rerun of your favorite show plays on the tv. And it’s there that Eddie decides that there’s nowhere he’d rather be. He’s got his girl and that’s all he’ll ever need for the rest of his life. 

[that1nerd-20]

When a fanfic writer puts a nickname you think Is icky in their smut fic

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

i need to write more he/him 13

[shawtuzi]

imagine smoking out ur bfs!choso & armin and milking them at the same time….whew i just got chills

cw include: some drug use, oral m! receiving, overstimulation, milking, choso blacks out lmao ( boarder credit @/bernardsbendystraws)

“i feel like m’gonna fuckin’ p-pass out,” choso sniffled, hand trembling as he brought the almost finished blunt to his kiss bitten lips. his hips weakly bucked upwards to start fucking your hand, obnoxious shlicking noises echoing throughout the room—armin and choso’s shared dorm room to be exact.

armin was next to choso, practically melting into the bed as you continued to stroke his dick. shiny pearls of pre seemed to endlessly leak from his tip, creating an even bigger mess in your hand.

you were cockdrunk as ever, moaning around their dicks as you took turns taking their tips into your hot mouth. choso was the whiniest of the two no doubt, moaning and babbling about how good he was feeling like a bitch in heat—he was too cute :((

choso shakily brought the blunt to armin’s lips, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip as he watched armin french inhale the drug. “jesus you’re so—hah! m-messy y/nnnn,” just as armin finished his sentence you had deepthroated his cock, fresh hot tears now brimming at your lash line. his dick throbbed in your mouth, the two thick veins on the underside thrumming against your skillful tongue.

you pulled off his dick with a lewd pop! your focus now on choso’s full balls. choso sucked in a sharp breath, nearly dropping the blunt in the process. you sucked one of his balls into your mouth, internally cooing at choso’s pathetic, flushed face. “m’gonna cum baby,” choso’s voice cracked as he whined out to you, abs clenching as his fourth orgasm of the evening was approaching.

“m-me too,” armin slurred, throwing an arm over his eyes. you licked up the base of choso’s cock to the tip, sucking the reddened muscle greedily before moving onto armin, giving his dick the same treatment.

if the ppl living on choso and armin’s floor didn’t hate them before then they certainly did now, because the symphony of pornographic moans that could be heard were just straight up unholy. that’s why you loved smoking them out so much—they were a couple of screamers and you thrived for that shit.

choso flopped on his back, just like armin, his hips thrusting wildly into your hand. armin’s big hand rested on top of your head, gripping onto your hair as he fucked your throat raw. armin pressed his foot against your clothed cunt, grinning to himself when he felt your throat tighten around him.

“hah! hah! s-shittt,” armin damn near shouted, his thighs trembling as he finally released his fourth load down you throat. choso wasn’t far behind at all, his hips stuttering when you tightened your grip around his tip. ropes of his milky white release coated your hand, dripping from your knuckles and onto his shaking thighs.

“f-fuck i think he might’ve passed out again, dammit y/n you always do this to him,” armin chuckled, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. “s’not my fault he’s such a slut for a blowjob,” you giggled, grabbing some nearby tissues to clean yourself up.

the two of you cleaned choso up, giggling quietly to yourselves as you pulled his sweats up. “he’s so cute,” you cooed, brushing the stray baby hairs from his forehead.

[v6quewrlds]

DOCTOR'S ORDERS, JOE BURROW.

pairing⠀⁎⠀joe burrow x doctor!reader. word count⠀⁎⠀9.6k.

summary⠀⁎⠀between petty fights and an abnormal level of clinginess, you're at your wit's end with joe's recent behavior. who would've known that ja'marr could crack the code before you?

author's note⠀⁎⠀combined a couple of different requests into one. collection of scenes more than a real plot? struggled with the smut so pls forgive me if it sucks. i have zero medical training, pls don't yell at me. warnings⠀⁎⠀18+ mdni, established relationship, married couple fights, one (1) communism joke, joe can't shut up when he's in love syndrome, teasing, fingering, oral (fem receiving), joey talks you through it <3

Slumped shoulders and tired sighs filled the still air of their Cincinnati home as you and Joe crossed the threshold just ten minutes apart. Words remained limited to the necessary as you greeted each other for the first time that evening, the clock hanging over the front door reading 6:45 PM. The crisp smell of antiseptic and hand sanitizer mingled with the lingering scent of Joe's familiar deodorant and cologne.

You padded down the hallway to your room, heels in hand, eager to shed your work clothes and scrub the clinical office off your skin. You hadn't seen Joe in what felt like days, your paths only crossing at night, a brief intermission in your chaotic schedules. Between your patients and his training, the time you had together was a blur of tired half-sentences and fleeting kisses.

Mindlessly, you stripped out of your white coat and knee-length dress, tossing them onto the chair by the door. The sound of the fabric hitting the wood was a welcome release of the day's tension. You stepped into the bathroom and turned the shower knob, letting the water heat up. You heard Joe's footsteps approaching, the soft thud of his sock-covered feet entering your bedroom.

You lathered away at your brown skin, softly humming a tune that had been stuck in your head all day. The warm water cascaded over you, the steam wrapping around you in a comforting embrace. Suddenly, the bathroom door creaked open, and Joe's large frame filled the doorway. You paid him no attention, assuming he was just checking in before heading back to the bedroom to answer some emails, settle into bed, and mentally prepare himself for his media obligations tomorrow afternoon.

To your surprise, Joe didn't retreat. He stepped closer to the shower, his blue eyes squinting at you through the foggy glass, a deep sigh escaping his lips. "I need a shower too, babe. Can you hurry?" he said, his voice tinged with annoyance.

You rolled your eyes, holding back before answering him. "I had a full schedule today," you retorted, your voice echoing off the tiles. "You got home before me. Did you not get one in at the facility?"

Joe leaned against the sink, his arms crossed over his broad chest. "No, I wanted to shower at home." He tried to play it cool, but the hint of irritation in his voice was unmistakable. It was one of his rare flaws, the inability to hide his emotions when it came to inconveniences.

You reached for your exfoliating sponge, the sweet scent of your body scrub filling the small space. "Baby," you began, your voice firm yet tired. "I'm almost done. You could've used one of the other bathrooms."

Joe's sigh grew heavier, the frustration in his eyes evident. "It's not the same, all my stuff is in here," he said, his voice tight. "Why are you taking so long? Just hurry up."

You couldn't help but feel a spark of annoyance flicker within you. You had been looking forward to this shower, the one thing you could control after a long day of treating patients and navigating the chaos of your new practice. "Joe, I’ve been seeing patients all day. Can't you wait five more minutes?" you snapped, your voice bouncing off the shower walls.

He stepped closer, his expression unyielding. "Five minutes turns into ten, turns into twenty," he said, his voice flat. "I'm exhausted, babe. I just want to get clean."

You felt a twinge of guilt, but you stood your ground. "I've been looking forward to this shower all day," you said, your voice a mix of frustration and weariness. "You could've just told me you needed to get in first."

Joe grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, pacing for a minute before yanking off his clothes. You felt the cooler air of the bathroom flood the shower before you realized what he was doing. You squealed as Joe stepped in behind you, large hands reaching for your shampoo as if disregarding your personal space.

"Joey," you whined, your pout deepening as the shower suddenly felt much smaller. "What are you doing?"

He shrugged, ignoring the tone of your voice to deliver a straightforward answer. "What does it look like? We're sharing."

The initial shock gave way to a playful scoff from you as you turned to face him, your eyes glinting with amusement despite your earlier irritation. "You're serious?"

Joe nodded, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he squeezed past you to stand under the water. "Deadly," he said, "If you’re good, I might even scrub your back for you."

You rolled your eyes, gently nudging him away from the direct shower of the steamy water. "You can’t hijack my shower, Joe. That’s not how this works," you said with a huff.

Joe chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he stepped closer to you, the water now spraying you both. "I'm not hijacking, I'm sharing," he said, his hands reaching for your very expensive, tropical-scented shampoo, squeezing a generous amount into his large, open palm. "Like we learned in preschool?"

You didn't respond, choosing instead to focus on scrubbing your extended arms. You felt Joe's amused chuckle reverberate through his chest as he lathered his hair, the suds cascading over his shoulders and down his torso.

Sensing your irritation, Joe reached over you to nudge the temperature valve. The once warm embrace of water turned frigid, causing you to jump and shriek. "Joseph!" you yelped, trying to avoid the icy spray. You took a step back, your back meeting the solid wall of Joe's broad chest as he rinsed the shampoo out of his hair, the water temperature now to his liking.

"Perfect," he murmured, his voice thick with feigned innocence. "Just how I like it." He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer as the cold water continued to assault your skin. You squirmed in his grasp, the shock of the cold water fading into a laugh as you realized the futility of fighting him on this.

"Joe," you squealed, your laughter mixing with the sound of the water, "turn it back!" Your attempts to escape his grip only made you laugh harder as he held you firmly, his deep laughter vibrating against your back. You attempted to get a hand on the valve but your movement was cut short by Joe's larger hand gently swatting yours away.

"Come on, it's good for your skin," his deep voice rumbled in your ear. You shivered and tried to push him away, but he was too strong. The cold water continued to pummel them, and you felt your body tighten with the shock of it. "You should know better, doc," he quipped, his breath warm against your neck.

Your tense laughter subsided into a whine. "Joey, please," you begged, your teeth chattering slightly. "It's too cold. You're ruining my shower."

"Your shower?" Joe echoed, his tone incredulous. "This is our shower now."

You couldn't help but laugh despite yourself, the absurdity of the situation bringing a smile to your lips. You leaned back into him, your body beginning to warm again as the chill dissipated. His arms tightened around you as the water washed away the last of the soap. The two of you stood in silence for a moment, the sound of the water the only thing breaking up the quiet.

"Alright, Comrade Burrow, let go of me," you said, your voice filled with mock irritation. Joe's arms loosened, allowing you to twist the valve back to a warmer temperature. The lukewarm water washed over you, and you turned to face him, your eyes dancing with playful anger.

"That's strike two," you muttered, a hand settling against his jaw as you pulled him down for a chaste kiss, leaving his skin tingling with a bite at his pink bottom lip.

Joe raised an eyebrow, chasing your lips as you pulled away and turned back around. "Strike two?"

You nodded, your eyes still closed, as you enjoyed the warm water cascading over you. "First, you try to bully me out of my shower, then you try to freeze me to death. You're on thin ice, babe."

Joe leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "I'll warm you right up," he whispered, his hands skimming over your wet body.

"That's strike three, I'm leaving." You giggled, pushing Joe's hands away with a gentle smack. You stepped out of the shower, your skin glistening with water droplets. Joe stepped aside, the playfulness in his eyes never fading as he watched you wrap a towel around yourself. You grabbed another for him, tossing it onto the vanity counter before exiting the bathroom.

Joe stepped out behind you, long limbs leaving a puddle on the gray mat beneath his feet. He wrapped the towel around his waist, his skin still slightly red from the cold water. "You're cute when you're mad," he said, his voice teasing.

You rolled your eyes, the corners of your mouth twitching with a smile you couldn't hold back. "I'm not mad," you replied, walking over to your side of the sink to start your nightly skincare routine. "Just disappointed."

Joe stepped closer to you, the warmth of his body contrasting the coolness of the bathroom air. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder as he peered at your reflection in the mirror. "How can you be disappointed with this?" he asked, his voice playful as he gestured to your reflection.

Your hand paused mid toner application, and you couldn't help but smile. "It's the principle," you said, turning your attention back to your routine. You felt Joe's warm breath against your neck as he leaned closer, his arms tightening around your waist.

"Well, the principle is that we both needed showers, and we're both tired," Joe said, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. "Let's just get ready for bed before we start arguing over stupid shit again."

You took a deep breath, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease slightly. You finished your skincare routine, your movements precise and methodical, while Joe brushed his teeth with a hint of minty toothpaste wafting through the air. Joe finished drying off, forgoing a trip to his closet for a pair of sweatpants, and simply heading off to bed.

You set off for the closet, swapping your towel for Joe's raggedy Athens Bulldogs long-sleeve and a pair of his boxers. The fabric of his shirt was well-worn and smelled faintly of his scent. You couldn't help the shy flutter of your heart as you emerged to find him sprawled out underneath your sheets, taking up a good deal of space. The room was dimly lit by the bedside lamp, casting a soft glow over Joe's muscular form. His bare chest peeked out from beneath the line of the sheets covering his lower half. He held his phone in one hand, the other arm bent behind his head as he scrolled through his notifications with a trademark unimpressed expression.

You approached the bed, sliding under the covers with a dramatic sigh, your body heat immediately melding with his. As if second nature, Joe's arm curled around your waist, his free hand coming to rest on your lower back, your head finding its usual spot on his firm chest. The two of you lay there in silence for a few moments, the only sound being the soft rustling of the sheets and the occasional buzz of his phone. Your eyes drifted shut, the warmth and safety of Joe's arms around you acting as a sedative after a grueling day.

"Love you," he hummed, placing his phone on the nightstand before switching the bedside lamp off. The sudden darkness enveloped them, and you felt Joe's chest rise and fall as he took a deep breath. You knew he was waiting for your response, but you remained silent, fighting off the twitch of a smirk.

He nudged you, a hint of urgency in his voice, "You gonna say it back?"

You pretended to be asleep, your body relaxed and limp against him, enjoying the quiet after the shower squabble. You felt his grip on you tighten slightly, a silent protest to your silence. With a dramatic sigh, you opened your eyes and propped yourself up on your elbow, the moonlight from your bedroom window highlighting the mischief in your gaze. "You really expect me to after you ruined my relaxing evening?"

Joe rolled his eyes, but the tension in his body dissipated as he couldn't help but smile at your feigned indignation. "I love you," he repeated, his voice softer this time.

You leaned in, your fingertips tracing his strong jaw as you whispered, "I love you too," before leaning in to kiss him softly. Your kiss held the promise of warmth and comfort, a silent apology for your earlier squabble. As you parted, Joe's eyes searched yours in the dim light, looking for any lingering traces of irritation. Finding none, his features softened, and he pulled you closer, soothing the two of you into your familiar embrace. His hand moved from your ass to your lower back, rubbing in slow, comforting circles as you slipped into slumber.

Your schedules left little time for cuddly nights like those as the season pushed forward. Between your full work weeks and Joe's demanding training and game days, your time together had melted into an afterthought. The occasional dinner date had turned into a rare luxury, and your once-nightly pillow talks had been replaced by quiet grumbling about who forgot to take out the trash or who left their keys scattered around the house.

The world only seemed to grace you with a few fleeting moments on Sundays when the Bengals played at home. Though you wouldn't see Joe until after the game, sharing him with his parents for a few hours before you all retired to bed, you always looked forward to Sunday evenings. It was the one day you could count on for a decent stretch of time together. This weekend, however, had been particularly testy on both your nerves.

Joe's parents, Robin and Jimmy, were staying over before making the trip back home the following morning. You and Robin fluttered between the living room and the kitchen, chatting about the game as you prepared dinner together. Jimmy sat in his designated Lazyboy, nodding along to your conversation, occasionally throwing in a comment about in his southern cadence so similar to Joe's. The house was filled with the comforting scent of dinner cooking and the first pumpkin pie of the fall baking.

You could feel your nerves frazzle every time you came within Joe's grasp. His constant touches, though affectionate, felt suffocating today. You needed space, but he seemed to need you more than ever. Each time he grabbed you, you'd give him a look that was half-playful, half-exasperated, but he remained oblivious, his attention not quite turning away from the conversations at hand.

Finally, Robin spoke up, her voice carrying a hint of teasing. "Joey, let the poor girl breathe," she said, gaining a chuckle from Jimmy.

Joe looked up, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at his mother's words. "What do you mean?" he asked, adjusting his grip on your waist as he pulled you closer to his chest protectively.

You couldn't hold back your laugh. "Sweetheart," you said, your voice light with affection. "You're smothering me today."

Joe met your eye, jaw set with tension. "I just want to spend time with you," he murmured, his voice thick with a hint of defensiveness. His hand remained firmly on your waist, his thumb idly tracing circles against the fabric of your crewneck.

Your smile softened, and your eyes searched his. You knew he was just feeling the weight of your different lives. "I know," you said gently. "But you're being a little clingy."

Robin looked up from the salad she was tossing, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "It's okay to let her go, Joey," she said. "You guys need to learn to live without each other a little."

You shot her a grateful look, which Joe returned with a glower. "You're one to talk," he said, his voice tight. "You and Dad have been joined at the hip for what, thirty years?"

Robin chuckled, setting the salad bowl down on the kitchen island. "That's different," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "You two are still in the 'can't keep your hands to yourselves' phase of being together. It's adorable, really."

Jimmy coughed out a laugh, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Your mother's right," he said, his gaze flicking from you to Joe. "You're both young, and busy. If you're serious about staying together, you need to find a balance of affection that works."

Joe's grip tightened, and you felt the beginnings of a petty protest brewing. "I just want to spend time with you," he grumbled into your ear, his voice a mix of annoyance and longing. "Barely see each other these days."

"I know, babe," you said, placing a reassuring hand on his forearm. "Just give me a few minutes to breathe, okay?" You gave him a warm smile, hoping it conveyed your love without patronizing his feelings.

Joe hesitated, pouting like a scolded puppy.

"Actually, sweetheart, do you mind taking a look at this?" Robin said, holding up her hand to reveal the beginnings of a scar running along her forearm. "It's been a week since I got it, and it's not healing right."

Your gaze shifted from Joe's sulky expression to Robin's arm. "Sure," you said, your professional instincts kicking in. You stepped out of Joe's embrace, following Robin to the bathroom. You could hear Joe grumble something under his breath as you closed the door behind you.

In the well-lit bathroom, you washed your hands before reaching out to take Robin's arm in your hand. "It does look a bit red," you said, your voice concerned. "How did you get it?"

"Tripped over a box at the garage sale," Robin said with a shrug, her tone airy. "Thought it was nothing, but it's still bothering me."

You continued scrutinizing the scar. "It's definitely inflamed," you said, your voice even. "I might need to write you a script for some antibiotics."

"Oh, no need," Robin said, her voice bright. "I got this checked out on Friday. I just wanted to hear your opinion and get you some space from Joe."

Your eyes widened as realization dawned on you. You couldn't help but laugh. "He's gonna kill me," you said, shaking your head. "But thank you, I needed a breather."

Robin chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "You guys are going to be okay," she assured you, giving you a comforting pat on the arm. "You just need to remember to make time for each other, and communicate when you need space better. Like Jimmy was saying, you need to find a good balance. I wouldn't want you two to be miserable over communication."

You nodded, your eyes lingering on the scar, which you knew was fine. The whole thing had been a clever ruse, but it had given you the break you needed. "We've been at each other's throats the last week. He just wants to be with me, but he can be..." you trailed off with a sigh.

Robin leaned closer, her expression understanding. "A little too determined?" she offered.

You nodded, unable to hold back a chuckle. "Yeah, that's one way to put it. But I love him, and I know he just misses me. I feel awful asking for space when he's so obviously trying to reconnect."

Robin squeezed your arm. "You're not asking for the moon, honey. Sometimes, Joe just needs a nudge to understand. You two are both stubborn as hell, but that's what makes you work. You understand him." She smiled softly before adding, "Just be upfront with him. Tell him you appreciate the affection, but you need some breathing room."

You nodded, taking Robin's advice to heart as you returned to the kitchen. You could see Joe sulking on the couch, scrolling through his phone. He glanced up, his eyes searching yours, looking for any sign of the argument's resolution. You felt a pang of guilt, knowing he was just craving your attention. You gave him a warm smile and took a seat beside him, your legs curling under you.

"Better?" he asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

"Much," you assured him, leaning into his side. You knew that Joe's clinginess was just his way of dealing with the distance your hectic schedules had forced between you. "Your mom just needs antibiotics for that scar," you said, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

Joe looked up from his phone, his expression unchanged. "Oh," he said, his voice devoid of interest, choosing instead to allow you to pull his arm around your shoulders. A sly smile tugged at his lips, he couldn't help but feel the tension in his chest ease slightly.

Your office buzzed with the steady rhythm of a busy clinic, the murmur of patients, and the tap of your heels against the linoleum punctuating the air. You stood at a long counter, finishing up your notes, when one of your nurses, Luca, looked up from where he was entering data into a computer. "Joe's here," he said, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

"Where?" you responded, your focus still on the paperwork you were filling out.

"In room four. He said he had an appointment," Luca replied, raising an eyebrow.

Your eyes darted up, a mix of surprise and confusion. "Appointment?" you murmured, setting your pen down and looking at Luca. "Was he on my schedule?" you trailed off, reaching for one of the stray iPads kept around the office to take a look at the day's appointments.

"Well, no. But your 2:45 was a no-show," Luca explained, his smile widening as he leaned back in his chair. "Taylor did his rooming and said it was something simple, probably just a sunburn."

You couldn't help but laugh, your heart warming at the thought of Joe sneaking in for a visit under the guise of needing medical attention. It had been weeks since you had any real quality time together, with his football schedule colliding with your busy clinic hours. You shook your head as you closed the manila folder you were holding. "Alright, I'll go see what Mr. Franchise needs," you said, your tone playfully sarcastic as you handed Luca the folder and pushed away from the counter.

Walking into the exam room, you saw Joe sitting comfortably wide in the light blue exam chair. He looked up when you entered, a familiar spark entering his eyes when he took in the sight of you. "Hey," he said, his voice low and a little shy.

"Hey yourself," you responded, your smile genuine despite your initial surprise. You set your iPad down, sitting cross-legged in your chair just a few feet away from him. "What's this about?" you inquired, your gaze traveling over his face and exposed limbs for any hint of the irritation that had allegedly brought him into the practice.

Joe shifted, his eyes avoiding yours for a brief moment before meeting them again. "Well, it's…it's my neck," he said, his cheeks flushing slightly. "My skin's been bothering me for a couple of days."

Your smile grew softer as you stood from your chair, walking over to inspect the area. "You know, I've told you before," you said gently, your voice professional despite the intimate setting. "You really need to get a better helmet liner. This irritation is from the constant rubbing."

Joe shrugged, his large hands folded in his lap. "I know, I know. I'll look into it," he said, his eyes meeting yours. The silence grew between them as you examined the reddened skin, your touch feather-light.

"When you sweat, the friction just the irritation makes it worse," you added, your thumbs tracing the inflamed line along his neck. "It's not anything serious, but it could become infected if you don't treat it. With your skin being so sensitive, we need to be careful."

Joe didn't respond, his eyes lingering on yours. You could feel his hands settle gently on your hips, urging you closer. You sighed, setting aside your professional demeanor for a moment. "You know you could've just called me to tell me about this," you murmured, a hint of exasperation in your voice. "Or gone to the team physician."

"Honey, are you listening to me?" you asked, your eyes searching his as you stepped closer, your hand reaching down to thread your fingers through his hair. The ends of his unstyled dirty blonde strands curled around your fingers, reminding you of the hundreds of times you had done this before. His cheek pressed to your chest, his breathing slowed, you knew he was enjoying the simple closeness.

His eyes fluttered closed, and he leaned into your touch. "I am," Joe said, his voice a soft rumble.

You couldn't help but chuckle, continuing your gentle threading. "You know you're being ridiculous," you said, your voice a warm tease. "Is everything okay? How was practice?"

"Practice was fine," Joe replied, his eyes still closed. "I missed you. Just wanted to see you."

You felt a twinge of guilt. "I know," you said, your voice gentle. "I miss you too. I'm sorry we've been like this lately."

Joe's arms tightened around you. "Me too," he murmured, focused on the way your heart beat steadily beneath his ear.

"Did you really come here just to see me?" you asked, your voice filled with a mix of affection and skepticism.

Joe looked up at you, a boyish grin playing on his lips. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, his blue eyes sparkling. "My skin was irritated so I came to see the best dermatologist in Ohio."

You rolled your eyes playfully, unable to resist the warmth spreading through your chest. "You're terrible," you said, your voice filled with affection. "But I'll take the compliment." You lifted his jaw, meeting his eyes before leaning down to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. "I'll write you a prescription, you big baby."

Joe grinned, his grip loosening slightly. "I'm your big baby," he murmured, his eyes lighting up as you kissed his nose.

You couldn't resist the charm, your eyes crinkling with laughter. "You're something, alright," you said, stepping back to scribble something on the prescription pad. You tore off the top sheet and handed it to him. "This should help with the irritation, but you really do need to get that helmet sorted out."

Joe took the prescription with a nod, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'll do it," he promised, his voice earnest. He pulled your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently. "Thank you, Doc."

You felt the tension of the day melt away as you leaned into him, your free hand coming to rest on his cheek. "Any other ailments or afflictions you'd like me to check out?" you asked, your voice teasing.

Joe's smile grew into a grin. "Maybe just one more," he said, his thumb tracing a line down your arm. "My lips are kinda chapped."

You rolled your eyes, your own smile widening. "I'll take a look," you said, leaning in to kiss him lightly. "Feels fine to me. But maybe you should keep hydrating," you said, lightness entering your voice once again.

You shared a quiet laugh, the air in the room thick with the intimacy that had been missing from your recent interactions. Your hand lingered on his cheek for a moment longer before you stepped away, washing your hands before reaching for the medical cream you needed to apply. You squeezed a small amount onto your fingertips before gently rubbing it into the irritated area. Joe leaned into your touch, his eyes drifting closed as the coolness of the cream soothed his skin.

"You'll pick this up from the pharmacy, right?" you said, your voice firm but gentle as you capped the tube of cream.

Joe nodded, his eyes still closed. "Yes, ma'am," he mumbled, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing.

You couldn't help but smile at his obedience. "Good boy," you said, your thumb smoothing over the cream to ensure it was evenly applied. "And Joe, please don't make a habit of this. I nearly popped a blood vessel when I thought you had something serious going on."

Joe nodded, his eyes still closed, savoring the moment. "I know," he said. "But sometimes, I just need to feel you taking care of me, you know?"

Your heart swelled. You did know. Your lives had become a series of passing moments, stolen kisses, and rushed conversations. You missed the simplicity of your early days together too. You gently placed your hand on his shoulder, your thumb brushing against the fabric of his shirt in small, comforting circles. "I'll make sure to be home at a reasonable tonight," you promised.

Joe's eyes fluttered open, and he gave you a warm smile. "You don't have to," he said, his grip on your waist loosening slightly. "But I'd like that."

You nodded, your eyes soft as you met his gaze. "Okay, I'll be home by seven. We can have dinner together, and maybe watch Episode IV for the thousandth time?" you suggested, your voice hopeful.

Joe's grin grew. "Now, you're talking," he said as he leaned back in the chair. "You promise to stay awake for the whole thing?"

You rolled your eyes playfully. "It's dangerous to make promises like that," you teased. "But I'll try." You stepped back, your hand lingering on his shoulder before you finally pulled away. "Now, go get that cream, and start looking for liners. No more sneaky appointments unless it's a real issue."

Joe chuckled, standing from the chair. He wrapped his arms around you in a quick, tight embrace. "Deal," he murmured before letting go.

Things had seemed to cool off, but as the weekend drew closer, the two of you were swept back up into your separate routines. By the time Thursday evening came around, you were both exhausted and looking forward to a quiet night in.

It wasn't unusual for Ja'Marr to pop over, especially before important games when Joe had his individual film sessions. The two men had made it a tradition since their time together at LSU, their friendship had remained tight with their close proximity.

Ja'Marr, with his broad shoulders and a fresh cut, strolled into your house without knocking, having memorized the code to the keypad ages ago, a bag of chips in hand. "What's up?"

You looked up from the open fridge, shaking your head with a smile, watching him unload his pockets as Joe's heavy footsteps echoed down the hall. "Hey, I'm about to make dinner, you want some?"

Ja'Marr nodded, tossing the bag of chips onto the counter. "Yeah, sounds good," he said, offering you a side hug as Joe approached. The three of you settled into the kitchen, Joe leaning against the counter, Ja'Marr with his hands in his pockets, while you started pulling ingredients out of the fridge.

"You're cooking?" Joe asked, raising an eyebrow as he watched your flurry of activity. "Why don't you just order something?"

You shot him a look over your shoulder. "Because I want to?" you said, a sassy edge to your voice. You knew Joe's question was more than just a preference for takeout; it was his subtle way of hinting that you were working too hard. "It'll help clear my head."

Ja'Marr chuckled, taking a seat at the kitchen island. "Joe, are you really complaining right now?" he teased, popping a chip into his mouth.

Joe shrugged, his eyes still focused on your moving figure. "Nah, just making sure you're not pushing yourself too much," he said, his voice filled with affectionate concern. "You've been going non-stop lately."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't suppress your smile. "I am literally making you dinner," you said, your voice light. "How are you complaining?"

Ja'Marr laughed outright at that, shaking his head. "You two are something else," he said, taking a sip of water, scowling when Joe reached into his bag of chips for a few pieces.

"What?" Joe said, munching on a handful. "You walk into my house uninvited, man. I can have a few of your chips."

You walked over to Joe, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Go watch film, I'm okay, I promise," you said, gently nudging him away from the kitchen. You knew he was just trying to help, but you needed this time to unwind.

Joe sighed but didn't argue further, grabbing his iPad and retreating to the living room. Ja'Marr lingered behind, watching your every move with an expectant look on his face.

"Yes, Ja'Marr?" you asked, your eyes flickering over to him as you prepped vegetables.

"Are you still driving up to Cleveland on Sunday?" he started with a light tone. "If you are, maybe my girl could sit with you? She's been wanting to see me play in person for a while."

You paused mid-chop, the knife hovering over a bell pepper. You looked up at him, a hint of surprise in your eyes. "No, actually," you said, placing the knife down carefully. "I thought I'd stay home this weekend, maybe go to the spa, and catch the game from here."

Ja'Marr's eyebrows shot up, and he looked at you as if you had just suggested something unthinkable. "You're not going to the game?" he said, his tone incredulous.

Before you could respond, Joe's voice cut through the kitchen, his tone incredulous. "What do you mean you're not going to the game?" he called out from the living room.

You took a deep breath before releasing a long sigh. You knew Joe was sensitive about you not attending the games you typically did, but you had her reasons. "I just need some me-time, Joe," you called back, your voice firm. "I don't want to drive to Cleveland by myself. Besides, you're going to be busy with the game. I won't even see you until we get home at like two in the morning."

Joe appeared in the kitchen entryway, his expression a mix of confusion and hurt. "That's not the point," he said, his voice tight. "You always come to the games in Cleveland."

You took another deep breath, keeping your eyes on your task. "Joe, this has nothing to do with you. I just know I'm gonna be exhausted, and I want to take care of myself."

Ja'Marr looked uncomfortable, shifting in his seat. "Maybe I'll just ask Tee," he offered, trying to ease the tension. "His mom is staying with him this week, she might go to the Cleveland game."

"It's fine," you said, turning to give him a reassuring smile. You didn't want to ruin his night with your relationship woes. "I didn't know you were that serious about her. I wish I could meet her."

Joe's face fell, and he took a step forward, obscuring Ja'Marr's view of your faces. His voice dropped, "Are you really not coming?"

You could hear the disappointment in his tone, and you felt a twinge of guilt. You knew Joe thrived on your support at games, and you had been his rock at every single one, cheering him on from the sidelines. But you were tired, so tired. "I'm sorry, babe," you said, your voice sincere. "I was gonna tell you tonight."

Joe crossed his arms, his eyes searching yours. "Is that the real reason?" he pressed, his voice low. "Or are you upset with me about something?"

You took a deep breath, turning to face him fully. "Joe," you said, your tone measured with a warning. "I have my own life too. Work is tiring, and I need the weekend to recover."

Joe's jaw tightened, his blue eyes boring into yours. "But we hardly see each other as it is," he countered. "I like knowing you're there, supporting me."

"Are you worried I won't watch if I'm not sitting in the stadium? Because I promise you, I'll be screaming at the refs through the TV just as loud." You knew Joe was taking your absence personally, but you couldn't help the way you felt.

"It's not the same," Joe said, his voice gruff. "You know that."

You sighed, wiping your hands on a kitchen towel. "Babe," you began, your voice calm but firm. "I love watching you play, but I can't always drop everything to follow you around. I have my own shit to deal with here."

Joe shook his head, biting at his lip with a frown. "I don't get it," he murmured, his voice tight with frustration. "But whatever."

Your eyes narrowed slightly at his tone, but you kept your voice steady. "What don't you get?" you asked, your patience wearing thin.

"We will talk about this later," Joe said, his voice a low growl. Your jaw tightened, the two of you engaged in a silent staring contest.

Ja'Marr took the moment of silence to clear his throat awkwardly. "I can leave if you need to talk? Just let me know when dinner's ready?"

You offered him a tight smile. "No, it's fine. Stay and watch film."

Joe didn't say anything, choosing instead to continue staring intensely at the side of your face as you resumed chopping vegetables. The kitchen was filled with the rhythmic sound of the knife slicing through the peppers, the tension palpable. You felt a simmer of annoyance build in your chest, but you pushed it down. You didn't want to fight, not really, but you had to stand your ground.

"Okay," Ja'Marr drew out slowly under his breath. "Y'all two fighting like an old married couple. Maybe you need some one-on-one time, or some shit."

Joe grunted, his arms still crossed tightly over his chest. "What do you mean?"

Ja'Marr leaned back against the counter, popping another chip in his mouth as he attempted to play relationship counselor. "Y''all been at each other's necks," he said, gesturing between you. "Maybe you just need to, you know, fix it in the bedroom."

You couldn't help but snort with laughter, turning to Joe with narrowed eyes. "Did your best friend just tell us to have sex to solve our problems? Both of you get out of my kitchen, please. Go do literally anything else."

Joe couldn't help the laugh that erupted from his chest. He turned to stalk off to the living room, already taking Ja'Marr's words to heart. The wide receiver followed him as he muttered, "I'm just tryna help you, bro."

You finished dinner, serving the two men before retreating to your office to catch up on some paperwork. Ja'Marr had left before the clock hit 8:30, reminding Joe of his earlier words.

"Maybe he's onto something," Joe mumbled to himself, watching as the front door closed.

By the time Joe made it up to your bedroom, you were already tucked into bed, your laptop open and the soft glow of the screen casting a cool light over your features. You looked up at him as he entered, your eyes questioning. He paused in the doorway, his mind racing. He knew he had to tread carefully; he didn't want to start another fight, especially not after your earlier tension.

"Hey," he began, his voice tentative.

You paused from her work, the glow from the laptop lighting up your face. You studied him for a moment before closing your laptop with a sigh. "Hey," you replied, confusion etched into your features as you observed Joe carefully.

Joe took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the unspoken words between the two of you. He walked over to the bed and sat down beside you, his eyes searching yours. "I'm sorry about earlier," he said, his voice sincere. "I overreacted. I just miss you, you know?"

You nodded, the tension in your shoulders visibly dissipating. "I miss you too," you admitted, your voice softer, offering him space to climb under the blanket with you.

Joe leaned in, his hand brushing against your cheek as he turned your face to meet his. His eyes searched yours, looking for any lingering anger or resentment. Finding none, he leaned in to kiss you, a gentle brush of his lips against yours that grew more urgent with each passing second. You closed your eyes, your arms sliding around his neck as you melted into the kiss.

Your kiss grew deeper, your bodies pressing closer together as Joe's hand traveled down to your waist, pulling you towards him. You felt the warmth spread through you, the stress of the day slowly evaporating. The two of you broke apart, both panting slightly, staring into each other's eyes as if seeing one another for the first time in weeks.

"Do you want to...?" Joe trailed off, his voice low and hopeful, his thumb tracing the plump of your bottom lip. His palm cupped the side of your face, blue eyes searching yours.

You studied him, the love and desire swirling in his gaze undeniable. You knew he was referring to the "one-on-one time" Ja'Marr had so bluntly suggested. Despite your initial dismissal, you couldn't ignore the spark it had ignited within you. The petty fights had clearly been a symptom of a deeper issue - your lack of intimacy. "Please," you murmured, leaning into his touch.

Joe didn't need any more encouragement. He leaned back, pulling you with him so you were straddling his hips. The weight of you felt like home, the warmth of your skin seeping into his as he kissed you deeply, his hands exploring your curves. Your sighs turned into a moan as you ground your hips down into his, feeling his hand squeeze your ass under his palms before bringing a hand down to hear the satisfying 'smack', the friction sending shockwaves through Joe's body.

He rolled you over, his body pressing yours into the mattress, his hands roaming over your skin, peeling your clothes away. Your hands were equally busy, fumbling with the hem of his shirt, your nails scraping lightly against his chest as you pushed the fabric over his head. The room was filled with the sound of your ragged breaths and the rustle of fabric.

Your kisses grew more urgent, Joe's hands tracing a path down your body, his fingertips dancing along the edge of your panties. You gasped, your body arching up into his touch. He paused, his eyes dark with desire. "Tell me what you need, baby," he whispered against your skin, lips drawing heat as they pressed wet kisses to your chest, nipping eagerly at the fat of your breasts, hands kneading the flesh beneath his palms.

Your breath hitched, your voice thick with want. "You," you managed to get out, your eyes fluttering shut as Joe's mouth found your neck, kissing and sucking the tender skin there. His touch was soothing an ache you hadn't realized you had been carrying with you for weeks.

"I can do that," he said, his words muffled against your salty skin. Your hips squirmed against him, your lips parting with another pretty moan from the feel of his tip pressing against your core. You could feel the frustration of him being so close but not close enough. The thin fabric of your underwear - ironically matching in color - was the only barrier left between you.

With a low groan, Joe's hands slid down to the waistband of your panties, his thumbs hooking into the elastic. Your own hands were busy in his hair, pulling him closer as his mouth found your breasts. He kissed and bit, his teeth grazing your nipples, and you couldn't help but arch your back, pushing yourself into his mouth. He took his time, savoring the taste of you, feeling the tremble of your body with each nibble.

You whined, tugging at the messy strands of his hair. "Joe," you breathed out his name, a plea for more. He chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming with lust as he peered up at you. He held your gaze as his fingers slipped into your panties, humming in approval when he found you slick and ready. With a nudge, he kept your thighs spread to accommodate him, allowing you access to his lips as his fingers lightly stroked through your folds.

"You're so wet for me, baby," Joe murmured, his voice thick with want. He kissed your stomach, your hips rolling with impatience. He took his time, dragging his kisses down the line of your navel until his mouth was right there, hot breath against your clit. His cheek rested against your thigh, breathing in your sweet scent as he continued to hold you open for him.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as Joe's fingers continued rubbing you in slow circles, your hips bucking upward in silent demand. He trailed kisses down your inner thigh, his tongue darting out to soothe you after biting into your brown skin. The anticipation was agonizing, but you knew he enjoyed teasing you, drawing it out until you were begging.

"Joey," you breathed, your voice trembling with need. "Please."

He chuckled under his breath, forcing himself to keep his attention on your sensitive center. His fingers still pressed against you, sweeping through your wet pussy as your arousal began to coat the inside of your thighs and slowly drip down to the bed. He knew if he looked up and saw your face, he'd be lost in your eyes, so he focused on your reactions, the way your body arched and trembled. He brought his face closer, hovering just out of reach, his thumb gently teasing your entrance without giving you the satisfaction you craved.

"Give me a second, honey." He murmured reassuringly under his breath. "Need to make sure she remembers me. It's been so long, you think she does?" He smirked against your skin, his teeth grazing your inner thigh again, making you squirm.

Your grip tightened in his hair, your hips bucking upwards. "She'd never forget you," you managed to gasp out, your voice breathless. "Just..."

Joe took the hint, his smirk growing wider as he leaned in closer, his tongue pressing flat against your center, licking up your slit with a maddening slowness. Your nails dug into his scalp, your body tensing as he finally took you in his mouth, sucking and licking with a hunger that had been building for weeks. The sensation was overwhelming, your thighs shaking as they tense over his shoulders. You released a soft moan, the sound of his name on your lips like a prayer.

Your body was tightening, the tension in your core growing with each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck of his lips. Joe could feel you getting closer, the muscles in your legs tensing as your breath grew shorter. He didn't stop, his mouth working to bring you to the edge of pleasure. Your hips began to rock against him, your moans growing louder, gasping and writhing to his touch, feeling yourself getting closer and closer.

Joe pulled away with a smug smirk, watching you react to his touch as his fingers took over for his mouth. With a start, he inserted one finger inside you, feeling the heat and the tightness of your walls. He stayed close, watching the way your body quivered in reaction to his touch.

"I know, baby, I know," he soothed, voice deep as he kissed your thighs, his breath brushing over your overly sensitive skin. He watched your face, the way your eyes had glazed over and your teeth bit at your bottom lip. He didn't want you to come from his fingers, though. He wanted to feel you come around his cock, wanted to hear you scream his name as you lost control.

"Keep 'em open for me, gonna give you my cock, beautiful," he urged, instructing you to keep your thighs open as you whimpered at the loss of his fingers. He kissed your stomach before sitting up to remove his underwear. His cock stood proudly, thick and hard, the tip glistening with pre-cum. Your chest heaved as you watched him gently stroke himself, turning your head to the side as your thighs closed together, the ache for him unbearable. You could feel your pussy fluttering, begging for his attention.

He wasn't quite done teasing you. As he sat back on his heels, he guided his tip through your folds, using your wetness as his lubricant. You pressed the back of your hand to your mouth, muffling a moan at the sensation. Your eyes were glossed over with lust, watching him with a mix of frustration and need.

Without another word, Joe pushed into you, watching your eyes widen as he filled you up. He took his time, savoring the feel of your tight warmth surrounding him, your inner walls pulsing around him as you adjusted to his girth. Your eyes rolled back, your back arching off the bed as he began to move, setting a steady rhythm that had you both panting within moments.

Joe leaned forward, supporting himself on one hand as the other pulled your leg to rest against his hip. He was positioned directly over you, allowing your hands to reach for his jaw, bringing him down to kiss you deeply. You could feel the heat from his body, his chest pressing against your breasts, and you reveled in the feeling of being filled by him. His strokes grew more urgent, and you could feel the tension building within you once more.

"Come on, talk to me, sweetheart," he groaned out. "'M listening, need to hear your sweet voice."

Your breath hitched, your eyes snapping open to meet Joe's intense gaze. "I need you deeper," you whispered, your voice a desperate plea. He smirked, his eyes lighting up with challenge, and lowered himself onto an elbow, pulling the thigh in his grasp higher on his hip. The adjustment sent him deeper, and you gasped, your body tensing for a brief moment.

He chuckled, his thumb drawing a soothing circle into your thigh. "Breathe, baby," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. You took a deep breath, feeling the pressure building once more. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your legs locking around his waist as he began to move again, his hips rolling into yours with a deep, steady rhythm that had your toes curling as you struggled to stay in control of your body.

"Yeah," you moaned, your voice strained, "like that."

Joe's pace quickened, the sound of your skin slapping together filling the room as he pumped into you with an animalistic fervor that had been building since you started fighting. The frustration of the day, the need to claim you, to make you his again, was palpable in every thrust. You whimpered as his nose nudged against yours, reminding you to keep your eyes trained on his. He liked watching you come, liked the way your pupils would blow wide and your eyes would glaze over like you were baring your soul to him.

He felt you tighten around him, your legs squeezing him, your breaths coming out in short puffs. You were close, so close, and he couldn't help the smug smile that tugged at his lips. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Right there?"

You nodded, mouth wide, pupils blown, your breathing ragged. "Yes," you gasped, "right there, don't stop. Fuck, yes."

Joe groaned, his eyes never leaving yours as he felt you tighten around him. He could feel his own release building, but he held it back, focusing on you, wanting you to come first. His hips slammed into yours, the rhythm relentless, his cock driving deep within you with each thrust. You were so wet, so tight, the sensation of your pussy gripping him like a glove threatening to send him over the edge at any moment.

You began to squirm as your orgasm approached. Your breathing growing more shallow, your eyes locked with Joe's as if begging for release. His own breaths grew strained, the muscles in his arms tensing as he held himself above you, his hips moving faster, pushing into you with a force that had your body rocking against the bed.

"Uh uh," he tsked, snapping his hips into you with more force, the smugness in his expression growing with each whine you made. "You're not going anywhere, baby. Stay right here with me. I got you. Just let it go for me. Let me make you feel good."

The words were like a dam breaking, the orgasm crashing over you with a ferocity that had you arching into him, your legs tightening around him. You threw your head back, moaning his name as you came, your body shaking with the intensity of it. He watched your face, the way your eyes screwed shut and your mouth fell open in a silent scream, the way you clamped down on him, and it was his turn to moan out. He could feel your pulses around his cock, your walls milking him for all he was worth.

"Yeah, there you go, babe. That's it, baby, good fuckin' girl." Joe's voice was a gruff whisper in your ear, his thrusts growing more erratic as he felt your climax ripple through your body. He held on, waiting for you to come back down before he allowed himself to go over the edge. Your nails dug into his skin, leaving lines on his back, but he didn't care. He liked the push and pull, liked knowing that you were feeling everything just as intensely as he was.

"Oh, my fucking god - shit!" you gasped, feeling your orgasm continue to ravage your senses, each wave more intense than the previous as Joe's hips continued to roll into yours.

"Look at that. So fuckin' beautiful," Joe murmured, his voice thick with the beginning of his own climax. He leaned in, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss as his own release began to build. The taste of you was on his tongue, and it was all he needed to push him over the edge. He groaned, his hips stuttering as he filled you, the warmth of his cum spilling into your depths as his muscles tensed and then relaxed.

Your bodies lay tangled together, a mess of sweat and limbs as you both caught your breath. You felt Joe's weight shift, his muscles slackening against you as his breath evened out. You trailed your fingers through his tousled hair, pressing gentle kisses to his forehead as the fuzziness in his head cleared.

"You okay?" He murmured, his voice gruff with satisfaction.

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "Okay," you assured him. "You?"

"Better than okay." Joe nuzzled closer, his chest rising and falling with deep, contented breaths. You lay in a cocoon of warmth, the sheets twisted around your legs. "We should do this more often."

You chuckled, stroking your hand down his back. "Damn," you breathed, your voice filled with a mix of pleasure and amazement. "You've never spoken to me like that before."

He laughed, his eyes still closed as he enjoyed the still aftermath of your passion. "It's all that pent-up frustration," he murmured. "But you liked it."

It was a statement, not a question, and you couldn't help but agree. You kissed him again, your hands still tangled in his hair. "I loved it," you admitted, your voice still a bit breathless.

Joe chuckled, his chest rumbling against you as he pulled out of you. "Good to know," he murmured, his thumb tracing over your cheek. "Guess we know what the cure for our petty fights is now."

You couldn't help but laugh, the tension from earlier dissipating. "Next time I start arguing with you about stupid shit, you have my permission to fuck it out of me."

Joe smirked, planting a kiss on your forehead. "Deal," he agreed, his voice filled with a newfound lightness. He rolled away from you, collapsing onto the bed with a sigh of contentment. You turned onto your side, kissing him softly before slipping out of bed to clean yourself up.

Joe followed her, allowing you space to handle your business before taking his turn. When you both climbed back into bed, the air was thicker, charged with the aftermath of your released tension. You lay down with a satisfied sigh, your body still humming with pleasure. You snuggled closer to him, your hand tracing shapes over his chest as you lay in the quiet darkness.

"I'm sorry for being such a pain in the ass recently," Joe said, his voice soft and sincere. "I know you've got a lot going on with work and stuff, but I just feel guilty being gone so much this season."

Your hand paused on his chest, your eyes searching his in the dim light of the room. "I know, baby," you replied, your voice filled with understanding. "It's not your fault, I should've been more honest, should've told you I wasn't going to Cleveland when I made the decision."

"That's okay," Joe said, his thumb tracing lazy circles into your supple skin. "We're good. I'll go up to Cleveland, get a win, and come back for victory sex." His voice was light, the tension from earlier replaced with humor and affection.

You couldn't help but laugh, "Sounds like a plan." You cuddled closer to Joe, feeling the warmth of his body seeping into yours.

[screampied]

‘ CANDY BOY ! ’

ᡴꪫ sum. who would have thought that the #1 camboy in your city was no one other than your virgin roommate gojo, who’s totally putting on a show for his fangirls. he talks too much, but maybe you can shut his mouth and put his sweetened little fantasies to reality.

wc. 5.8k

warnings. fem! reader, camboy!gojo, college au, gojo's a virgin, switch! gojo, unprotected, dirty talk, he gets pússy drunk quick, overstim, "good boy" usage, cunnilıngus, premature ejaculating, nipple play, lots of spıt, handjōbs.

if someone would have told you that your loser of of a roommate who stuffs his mouth with a bit too many sweets, cries at romcoms, and is just an overall dork was a camboy, you’d call them crazy. batshit crazy even, yet that’s exactly what happened—

gojo was rightfully one of the top camboys in the city, probably in the world too. he was sort of a household name, it was more of a side hustle for him. he did it only for the money—sure, he adored his fans, even the ones that went a little too extreme with the provocative thirsting. but that’s all part of the job, he’s about seven months strong in his little gig. every saturday and sunday, he logs on under the user of: @/GOJOSLUTORU.

the moment that same notification pops up that he’s live, a plethora of his fans join immensely, wondering just what their favorite camboy satoru was up to today. his streams would last for a good two hours—longer sometimes if it was some kind of special event where he’d reach a massive amount of donations, a special treat for his fans. gojo was beloved for his flirty personality, he’d make his fangirls swoon with his words, despite knowing full well he doesn’t know the first thing on how to please a lady.

that’s until you came along—more like catching him right in the act. it couldn’t have been any more embarrassing though. eleven thousand eyes were cheering him on, showering him with lewd "good boy" praises until you drop your bag.

“satoru?” you utter, curling your brow into a surprised furrow once you take in the scene in front of you. tossing the spare set of keys into the bin, you glance at your roommate—he freezes mid stroke with the most flustered expression. his hands were a bit … occupied, and a glimpse of a familiar cloth you once wore catches your eye. “are those my panties?”

“no….?”

with a deadpan, your shoulders drop before you drag your feet towards him to take a quicker look. oh, those were definitely your panties. so that’s where they ran off too. gojo tries to shield his nude exposed lower half with a nearby towel but it’s no use—you saw everything you needed to see.

“anywhooo,” he swallows, taking a brief peer at his chat that was flooding with all types of questions. they wanted to see you, they wanted to see gojo’s pretty roommate who he’s always rambling about on stream. clearing his throat, he runs a hand through his hair before pitching his tone. he tries to sound more attractive but ends up butchering right away, stuttering at his first pathetic sentence. “ i- i didn’t think you’d get here so early. how was the exam?”

“it was … fine,” you mumble, barely acknowledging his words. your mind was racing vigorously, trying to process how you’d just seen your roommate half naked. going up behind him, you lean in towards his neat set up—you grew a bit curious, immediately, your eyes meet the other eyes that stare back at you. near the top right displayed his large following of eight hundred thousand, the top left displays his current view count, a whopping amount of almost twelve thousand. peeking at the chat, you’re met with dozens of freshly new comments saying how pretty you are, asking if you’re his girlfriend he always talks about, and so on. “you’re a camboy?”

“heh, camboy’s kind of an exaggeration but,” and he’s nervous, you can hear the slight tremor in his voice. it’s cute, gojo was prepared for you to judge him for his side hustle but instead you don’t. he relaxes a bit, shifting his attention away from his crude chat and towards you. “i like to label myself as a um, streamer..”

you have a growing simper. “i don’t think streamers usually get naked for their audience,” and you take a quick stare at his attire—he was practically shirtless, his boxers were covered although he was wearing some kind of tank that had ‘submissive and breedable’ printed on the very front. you furrow your eyebrow, though you choose not to question it. his nervously sly smile only grows once he catches your eyes quite literally checking him out. glancing at the comments again, you hum. “why do they keep asking if i’m your girlfriend? you don’t have a girlfr-”

“woah, s-shut up!” he whines, cupping a hand over your mouth. you giggle, feeling the warmth of his palm rub against your lips. gojo lowers his voice, speaking in a faint whisper. “they think you’re my girlfriend,” and he peels his hand away before running a finger down his nape. “i told them that because-”

“satoru,” you roll your eyes, noticing how he was quite stiff with his body language. being this close to you, your mere elegant fragerence was so exhilarating for him. you made him this nervous, truth be told ; you were far too caught up in your academics to even realize your roommate had a little crush on you. however, you do wish you found out in a more … non less of a lewd way, a way where he wasn’t caught red-handed fondling with a pair of your pretty sage-colored panties. with a sigh, you mumble to him. “you wanna fuck, don’t you?”

that’s definitely not what he thought you was gonna say,

with pouty shimmery lips, gojo’s eyes widen before a sheepish grin marinates against his features. “pft. do i wanna fuck, whaaat?” and he doesn’t even last a second before sighing, dropping his head down in defeat. “y-yes..”

the ringing from his monitor — dozens of women sending him gifts, tickets, donations, begging for their favorite camboy to notice him only gets more disruptive.

the ringing grows louder, the repetitive chiming sound of bells, the blaring notification it makes whenever someone sends him a sweet contribution. pretty soon, he was on the verge of meeting yet another goal. ever since you got spotted on the stream, his viewer count doubled.

“well, why didn’t you just ask? besides, there’s other ways than using my panties to get off.” and a wave of embarrassment washes over his face. the towel’s still covering his torso before he shoots you a shy smile. any closer you could’ve got to him and he thought he was gonna explode. the heat radiating from you had his head going in a crazed ditz. stroking his cheek, you speak softly.

“i’m sorry,” he whines, bottom lip poking out. you end up sitting flat on his lap, and instinctively, the curvature of your waist was met with two big hands snaking around it. you’re so pretty like this, he wanted you so so bad. swallowing, he peeks towards his chat before you cup both of his temples to stare right back into your eyes. “i was gonna ask you but- but i’ve never done this, you know,” and the way you slide a finger behind his neck, skimming the texture of your middle finger down his undercut snatches a purr from him. “i- i want you, but i just don’t know what to do with like .. i wanna make sure that i don’t embarrass myself.”

oh, he couldn’t have been any more cuter,

you heard the slight crack in gojo’s voice at the end of his candied sentences before you sling your arms over him. “don’t be embarrassed,” you softly reply, still straddling his lap. “i can always show you how.” and he gulps, your voice was smooth as silk. sweet as honey, the more you strum your thumb down his undercut, the more he can hear the rapid pulse of his heart beat throb through his ears. the simplicity of your touch was enough to have him weak.

“please..” he murmurs in a hushed tone, loving the way how gentle, how tender you were with your touch. gojo mewls out a needy whimper, feeling a sudden tent rise near between his legs. he was hard, you’d giften him a pretty solid boner and whilst you were propped up on his lap, you felt it rub against you all too well.

gojo awaits for you to make the first move, but you’re teasing . . seeing if he was going to initiate, and he does, inching his sheeny lips into yours.

your roommate pulls you into a deep kiss, he tastes like candy, candied. with your arms still occupied, wrapping around him, you glide your tongue against his, parting lips, teeth clashing amongst each other in sync. you could hear the faint sounds of whimpers run from his lips, he doesn’t exactly know what to do with his hands though—so gingerly, a hand of his strums down your back, giving the fabric that stuck against your skin a soft yank. he wanted you, the strain beneath his half on boxers only grows the more he starts to suck on your tongue.

heavy, wheezing breaths collide against each other, hitting each moving muscle like a wave,

he’s so eager,

gojo’s mind clears everything out of his head and he’s just focused on you. the saccharine tang of your signature lip gloss, he tastes it and it’s so delicious.

through cerulean-pristine hazed peripherals, gojo looks towards his chat to read some of the comments . .

chososdoublehomicide: i miss choso

zorosthroatwarmer293: i wanna be gojo >:( she’s so pretty

secksybabeamy: Hey hot stuff ;) Subscribe to my only fans!

throatgoatemily: His whines omg

as the kiss deepens, gojo whines once your hand slithers its way down between his legs. slowly removing the towel that sheaths his exposed body, you feel against his dick. at first touch, he whimpers, then whines, then whimpers again.

he was so pent up—you could feel it, you were gentle with your fingers, brushing it against the length of his dick before gently wrapping a hand around its girth. gojo moans in your mouth, feeling hitched breaths arise from his lungs. he could never get enough of how fucking sweet you were,

and he didn’t even want to.

pulling away for a long gasp of fresh air, he bites his lip as he looks down to feel your hands stroke his cock. gojo had quite the staggering inches on him, he shivers at how precise your hand movements were—

up and down,

with a hand of yours gripping over his fat length, a thumb of yours runs down the vein that coats his shaft. its pulsing, he’s needy for more of your touch so bad that it sends shockwaving static to rigorously coarse through his bouquet of neurons.

“y-your hand feels so much better than mine, heh,” he breathes, swallowing the imaginary balled up lump that resides near the back of his throat. blue irises, dilated and all stares at you—a hand reaches towards your back before his thigh starts to bounce. “not to be weird but i kinda had a dream about this, angel.”

“a dream about me stroking you?” you hum, amused before sneaking a wet kiss near the crook of his twitching lips.

gojo nods wearily, forever deeply captured by your beauty. your hands swiftly resumes to stroke him, feeling the tender skin that lives near his frenulum peel back every few seconds. gojo moans, burying his face into the very depths of your neck. so desperate, he wanted more and more. “aw, is this too much? should i slow down?”

“no.. don’t stop,” and his desperate plea was so sweet, though he wanted to go further. you giggle once he suddenly lifts you up, dragging you towards the bed. “f-fuck, ‘m sorry. can’t wait anymore,” and he hovers over you with that crazed look of total desire. “can i … eat you out?”

with a coy smile, you’re laid on your back as he just stands over you — eyes gawking at your entire physique, the way your thighs were all out with the short hem of your shorts reaching against your ass. you could tell gojo was impatient, that hungry stare in his eye never once faded.

“yeah,” you coo, parting your legs slowly. oh, you were a fucking tease.

not only were you a tease for him, you were a simple force to be reckoned with. no panties on either, gojo felt himself get hard yet again before he kneels down. with your roommate positioning himself between your legs, he lets off a soft sigh.

combing your fingers through his soft tangles, he looks up at you with a craving yet impish expression. you giggle, making him look right into your eyes. peering at his chat that was going ballistic over his girlfriend, you speak in a soft tone. “do you know how to even eat pussy, ‘toru? i can h-”

“girl i know how to eat pussy,” he grumbles, and he sounds almost offended at you asking if he needed any sorts of help.

sure—gojo literally didn’t know the first thing of eating a woman out, maybe visually.

but now that he’s up close, he has to stop himself from folding right then and there. so soaked, he gets a full view of your slick entrance, your pussy was the prettiest thing he’s laid his eyes upon so far.

as he’s a few inches a apart, with sprawled open thighs—the last thing you’d expect was for to gojo to start drooling all on your cunt. a stringy, syrupy concoction of his own saliva pours out of his mouth and onto your folds. just a quick glimpse and he’s pussy drunk. fuck, he’s more embarrassed than he’s ever been but he can’t help it. gojo didn’t even get a taste and he’s already salivating at the sight of your sopping wet arousal. a thumb of yours wipes the spit that dribbles near the corner of his mouth and he whines at your touch again before he finally digs in.

lolling out his tongue, the very tip licks near the inner moistened entrance of your pulled out labia. gojo for probably the umpteenth time lays his tongue flat before he goes all in. a broad left hand of his attach towards the fat of your thigh as he remakes a long striping lick. “s-shiiit, ‘toru.” you gasp, the coldness on his tongue taking you by sheer surprise.

the texture of it .. you’re weak, gnawing on metaphoric bars of your enclose as well as the skin on your lip, you whine.

for someone who’s never had much experience, let alone no experience, you’d easily second guess. your back arches forward while gojo’s tongue rummages through every part of your clit. he sucks on your nub, closing his eyes and fully sinks into bliss. gojo’s pristine white brows cock into a furrow before he slides a thumb down your wet entrance. he just can’t get over how wet you were for him. sopping wet, inept lips of his constantly quivers before he gives your cunt a sweet kiss.

wet for him, he breaks his lips away for a few seconds just to smear his face against your pussy.

“m-mhm,” he whimpers, wanting your scent to linger on his face for as long as it could, your scent .. it was hard to not get obsessed, a few minutes in and he already felt his mouth watering.

as bundles of minuscule taste buds of his tingle with excitement — his tongue swiftly swirls through every orifice, not missing any spot. he searched through the gooey crevices of your walls, lips moving in complete tandem. his dick strains between his thighs that it’s almost painful.

if eating you out tasted this good, he only imagined what it’d feel like to be inside,

shoved deep into your pussy, stuffing you full with his luscious thickset inches . .

that same repeated whine that always sounds raw dies straight out of your esophagus, you yank on the strands of your roommate’s messy hair as his pace quickens by a mile. in the midst of devouring your heat, a broad hand of his caresses near the juncture of your thighs—he kisses the long slope inside of your entrance, lips all glossy and glittering with gloss thanks to you. that same panging throb starts to grow within you again. your toes curl up tightly before your eyes meet the drywall splattered on the ceiling. his tongue, the way it continues to scrabble all through every part of your cunt, he grows addicted almost immediately. gojo can’t help but lather a few sloppy kisses on your folds, sliding his tongue through your slit.

he even starts to tongue fuck you, softly thrusting the swollen tip of his tongue in and out until you’re about to whine out again for him.

that was his favorite part by far, pushing his tongue in and out of your puffy folds — relishing the way your pretty pussy coats the underside of his chin with a lustrous amount of sweet, burnished slick.

“ngh, ‘toru,” you’d wail, and your hips start to jitter against his face. he doesn’t mind . . in fact, gojo brings two hands to grip against the curves of your hips.

once he maintains a secure grasp, he lets you rub your wetness all over him. with his tongue thoroughly exploring in every part, he starts to whine too .. so eager to touch himself but he wants to keep his hands on you. a whiny whimper wrenches from the back of your throat before you start to babble. “satoru, ‘m gonna cum, fuuuck. jus’ like that, keep l-lickin’ there, baby.”

he was such a quick learner, part of you thinks he maybe had more experience than you oughta thought. gojo can’t help but attack your sweet syrupy folds with a multitude of kisses, drooling lips of his making you more sticky than you already were. your legs could barely hold themselves open.

he had to pry them open with clammy hands, slurping in every drop as if he was dehydrated with thirst. a thirst you happily quenched with him being propped between your legs. after a while, he runs a thumb down your slit once more, pretty eyes glancing up at you, wanting to see your sweet face. “a-am i doin’ a good job?” and his voice was a bit hoarse, the way he speaks, drooping eyes and a sheepish grin—visibly pussy drunk, you grab onto his strands before rocking your hips into his mouth. he giggles, muffled noises eliciting from his mouth, taking your eager jittery movements as a yes.

he just couldn’t get enough of his roommate’s taste.

occasionally, he likes to depart his lips to gather a nice concoction of saliva—only to then spit right onto your sopping folds, whining at how it was so shiny. so pretty, he’s mesmerized again at how it looks, and you end up cumming with the cutest shrieking orgasm. it snatches out of you roughly, your speech is slurred for a moment as your legs quaver in utmost pleasure.

you’re shaking, feeling him clean you up with the flatness of his tongue—gojo moans, white lashes fluttering as he takes your beauty in. this was so much better than one of his risqué wet dreams. so much better,

without even a single word leaving from his lips, he gets up to pull you into a kiss. almost immediately, you taste yourself that lingers on his tounge. it tastes sweet, gojo props himself between your thighs as you sit up, a free hand of his sliding between your stretched out legs. the constant rings of his donations continue to scream out that same annoying chime before he leans in to shut his computer. he’d probably have left so many—thousands of his fan girls devastated, but there was only a new fan girl he was fixated on.

you.

gojo was addicted, with tongues colliding against each other, hot breaths wafting against each own, he feel his breath hitch at your touch. a hand of yours snakes down to feel on his erect dick. he whines, gnawing at the bottom of your lip before his tongue gets more curious. he licks the bottom of your chin, the side of your mouth, only to then pull you into another deep kiss. “f-fuck, ‘m so hard,” he rasps between sultry kisses, heaving from each breath. you still couldn’t get over the taste of yourself that loiters all on the flat of his pink tongue. “i wanna feel you from the inside, angel.”

“but your stream,” you tease once he finally pulls away, taking a second to catch your breath yourself. you felt the heat roam across the room before stroking his cheek — flushed lips of his burn with such intensity, you had him feral. “your fans, i wouldn’t wanna interrupt them, ‘toru.”

“fuck them,” he pouts, the cute frown on his face tugging against his lips. “okay that’s mean, they help me pay rent but just- i want you right now,” and he’s so needy. he paws at your t-shirt, glossy eyes widening, god. his bottom lip pokes out, squinting for two seconds before seeing how your nipples invitingly poke out. so perky, he could feel his mouth watering sporadically. he lays you back before swallowing, a loud gulp before he hovers over you. “you knew this was gonna happen, didn’t y-you? such a tease.”

you simper, opening your legs for him and he gets a good glimpse. gojo sucks his teeth, still so soaked. he only dreamt of what you’d feel like inside.

probably so tight and warm,

the more he thinks about it, the more he could feel himself starting to drool. gojo’s panting as if he’d just finished a marathon. a hand of his wraps around his length—giving it a few solid pumps. “i thought you’d wanna do doggy for your first position,” you sweetly say, and oh, he pouts for you again. you sit up, awaiting for him to take the lead first before smiling. “missionary though? you’re not so good with eye contact, baby.”

“i know how to do missonry.” he grumbles.

“missionary,” you correct him with a titter.

he pouts again, preparing to align himself. so wet, your pussy was sopping wet, swollen from just being eaten out so good. a warm breath fans out through his lips before he rubs it against your slippery slit. “and don’t call me baby,” he moans, although the simple pet name for him a lot harder than he thought it would. slowly, gojo’s fat leaky tip continues to ghost against your folds. you hold back a sweet moan, laid all out on display for him on the mattress. he’s waited for this moment, had dreams about it, even fantasized about it. “fuck,” he’d huff out, and his voice cracks. you’d laugh but he’s staring at you the entire time with that cute pouty expression. “can- can we hold hands? for you know, leverage?”

“leverage, sure,” you play along, your fingers locking against his. damp, perspiring palms squeeze against yours before his rounded tip starts to slowly make its way inside. immensely, a breath gets caught in his throat and he whines. the warmth he’s rudely greeted with makes him gnaw his pearly whites together. “you’re kinda b-big, so go a little slow, ‘toru.”

“i’m big?” he repeats—cutely enough, it boosts his ego that you think so, yet his confidence fades the further he dumps a few hefty inches into your entrance. as you expected, you were a bit tight and stiff for a few seconds—unyielding against him for a moment, you moan. saying gojo was big was a mere understatement, he couldn’t help but lean in to lay against your chest. “how’s it feel? s-slower?”

“it’s good. that’s good,” you start to heave, gasping once he inches his head closer to latch his lips against your neglected cold nipples. he doesn’t even lift up your t-shirt, he runs his tongue through the fabric and sucks on your perked tits. “t-toru, fuckk.”

it was a soft twinge sensation at first before he’s close to bottoming out . . so close,

it’s at the moistened tip of his tongue. gojo’s shaft resumes to go in further, you feel him pulse inside before once he’s all the way in, he’s already out of breath. with his mouth occupied—he’s still sucking on your nipples through the shirt, whiney. a free hand of his runs gives your left thigh a nice firm grasp before he starts up a single few thrusts.

you whine, tossing your arms over him and he glances down at you—beads of sweat race down the sides of his brow before he sits up in a proper position. gojo can’t get over how pretty you look for him like this, he’s fully in and he sneaks a kiss onto your lips. “can i m-move?” and the falter in his voice was adorable, gojo’s breath continues to get more heavy before you give him a nod. he peppers various kisses near your mouth, neck, and of course, your precious chest. his personal favorite,

with frail arms wrapped around him, pulling him close—you run your ankle down his back and he moans. “oh, ‘s even better than i imagined,” he whispers against your ear, hot breath sending you antsy judders. the more his breath goes against your skin, the more you smell how minty it was. fresh, you desperately yearned for more so you pull him into another kiss for the nth time. “ugh. the way you clamp down, ‘s gonna kill me,” he babbles in a low puff. he’s speaking between staring up at decent pace for you to get accustomed to. you whimper, trying to get adjusted to his barreling length but he was just so fucking big. it was an ongoing rumor that between gojo—and his best friend suguru geto had the top biggest dicks. of course, you always wondered exactly how whoever started that rumor would even know, but gojo was definitely a packer. he stretched you out in ways you’ve never felt before. with strained breaths, he coats your mouth with many wet kisses. time and time again, the feeling of himself going into you raw has him drooling again. “pussy’s so wet, ‘m gonna die, oh my god.”

“don’t be dramatic, you’re not gonna die.” you try to reassure him. the grip on your hand only grows tighter, crimson lips of his suck against the underside of your chin.

so damn needy,

mussed strands of white tickle against your forehead the closer he presses his body into you. gojo was shivering, just a few minutes in pussy and as if it was a game—he’d be on the last level, game over. albeit, you feel it too. the warmth, it turns into a sweltering hot. as his hips rock, his whines start to become more vocal. he sneaks a hand down to feel the area that’s being stuffed, a thumb skims against your tummy before he moans,

“feel me t-there, yeah?” he whispers, a cute attempt at dirty talk but alas, it’s subtle. gojo easily folds once your eyes meet his gaze.

you moan, intertwining your fingers with his, moaning out a soft, “yeah,” and you sound out of breath yourself.

he’s jerking back and forth — his pace, his tempo . . wasn’t too slow or two fast, perfect.

with a quivering bottom lip, he leans in to lick against the outer shell of your ear. your cunt’s singing in harmony, sloshes of wet that leaves its metaphoric vocal cords and you start to get a bit louder. “f-fuck, ‘toru right there—fuuuck.”

“s-shit, you’re so pretty,” he pants, repeating his ways at coating your entire face with his wet kisses. you had him weak, entirely. you found it a bit silly considering how this could have happened anytime—anytime at all, all he had to do was ask. but gojo being gojo, he was not only a man with barely any experience, but he was nervous. he’s always had a bit of a crush on you but confessing sounded way scary. it was as if this entire thing was mere coincidence though, you happen to find out he’s not only a sloppy eater but,

he’s a camboy.

part of you wonders what he does on his streams. if you saw him rubbing one off while thinking about you—you could only imagine what other lewd antics he participated in.

gojo’s rutting into you at a much more quicker pace, he’s whining into your neck;

forgetting to praise you, and it’s more of the other way around. you’re cupping his face, stroking his cheek before repeating in that same melodic voice, “good boy, ‘s so good, makin’ me feel good, ‘toru baby.”

your voice, oh your voice, he could listen to it all day. you feel the constant twitch of his cock inside you and he whines every time your ankle rubs down his back. with the way your pussy holds him hostage— it’s so provocative, his reaction time was as slow as a sloth, droopy eyes stare at you before he grunts out a pleading, “f-fuck, ‘s gonna come,” and his voice sounds like a soft purr, gojo was like a kitten to you— so cute, his pout always make things more true too. he’s groaning in your ear, fat balls thwacking against you before his ears starts to ring. you’re moaning with him, bodies thrusting in sync that it’s almost like a pornographic choreography. “ugh, i- i feel it, ‘m gonna cum so much. so hot, gonna die.”

“breathe, baby,” you whisper, pulling his face closer to you. his chubby cheeks squish together once he’s within your grasp, the sharp piston of his hips makes you moan. his thrusts gets a bit sloppy and you press a kiss onto his mouth. “mwah,” you hum, watching how flustered he gets at a lick of your affection. “you wanna finish inside, don’t you?”

gojo whimpers. “yeah, yeah. really bad,” and the moment you suggest that, his ears perk cutely. he’s gotta be careful though—with a cunt as addicting as yours, he just might end up falling in love.

speaking of love, it’s as if heart eyes pour into his irises as he glances at you—again, metaphorically of course. gojo gulps at the tender touch of your fingers, leaning in to nip a kiss near your neck. through muffled words, he mewls. “i wanna fill you up. ‘s only fair since you’re milking me s-so much, ‘m so thirsty,” and he’s just babbling, pulling him close—he whines once he feels your finger glide through his sensitive undercut again. “hngh, gonna break me. let me make a mess in you please? i’ll even eat it out of you once ‘m done.”

you’re tempted at his pleads, giggling before dragging him into a deep kiss. “such a blabbermouth,” you tease between kisses, staring to feel the tears of sweat race down the sides of your forehead also— with a sly smile, you lick the drool that was about to run down the side of his lip. “finish in me, ‘toru. it’s okay. be my messy boy.”

his eyes dilated once he hears that,

your messy boy.

he even repeats it, “y-your messy boy, yeah, ‘m so messy for you, roomie,” and as he’s preparing for his inevitable release, he sinks into your warm embrace. “one more kiss, h-hold me.” and as if on command, you yoke his head in close, giving him a deep, passionate kiss. his pulsing heart beats through his ears. gojo—by this point, he was already whipped. the way his hips pick up, growing more sloppy and deranged—he’s feral.

the feverish under parts of his thighs burn, longing for its incoming conclusion climax—yet, as your smoldering heat gnashes against his, it finally comes.

with a primal gasp, it’s here.

the nirvana—euphoria, whatever it could have been called to describe this feeling, it was here.

gojo whimpers, going into a complete spazzing fit once he feels the slow orgasmic waves of himself starting to shoot literal humid blanks inside you.

it’s hot, parching hot— your heat against smelts his, it scratches a fervor itch in your brain. his tongue rummages the inside of your mouth again as he’s painting the insides of your gummy walls with his snowy white color.

satiny ropes of your roommate’s seed trickle into you, it’s so gooey and hot that it starts to stick against the inner parts of your thighs. each rough kiss reflects the same desire the both of you share before he shudders.

slow thrusts, he’s barely moving as fast as he was before but he’s still active. he wants to make sure you feel every inch he’s saved for you,

for weeks, months, maybe even years—

“god,” he whimpers out, pulling away from your glossed lips—a pretty cobweb of spit departs from each and he happily laps it up with his tongue. who knew your roommate was nothing more than a mere freak.

not you, not by a long shot.

it takes a moment for him to catch his breath, with a flustered look— gojo’s now clingy.

he doesn’t wanna move away from you, nor does he wanna exactly pull out. not just yet, he’s plugged you full of sticky cum that was threatening to ooze of your hole before he kisses the bridge of your nose. “that was so awesome.”

and just like that, the mood’s ruined—you pant, he’s hovering over you, his weight barely on you before you sigh.

“you know,” you change the subject, brushing a thumb against his cheek. “your moans, you sound more like a girl than me, ‘s kinda hot.”

“whaaat?” he grumbles, his sweetened pout forever returning. “that’s not nice, ‘n besides if it’s anyone who moans louder it’s you, angel.”

you kiss near the twitching corner of his lip, watching his sudden attitude shift like a light switch and he’s now a puddle. “you finished a bit early though,” and with your arms wrapping around him again, you speak in a soft voice. “wanna go again? you’re a natural, ‘toru.”

“please,” he whines with a nod, feeling how sweltering hot it felt to be still buried into the comforting tightness of your cunt. “this time, i wanna try doggy.”

“okay, pretty boy,” you tease, leaning in for another one of gojo’s sloppy, need kisses. just before he could pull out, the door springs open. the hinges scream once it pulls back and the two of you both look to see what the racket was.

as the door opens, it was geto—gojo’s best friend, and he had the most disgusted look on his face.

with a scrunched up face, he utters. “i’m never running errands for you two again, what the actual fuck.”

and as he turns his heel to leave, gojo snorts. “suguboooo! aw, don’t leave just yet. you can always joinnn.”

[vanesycho]

• bf!hyunjin x f!reader | m.list

| let's just say you get 'very excited' after see your boyfriend's new haircut

warning | fingering, oral(f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex

word count | 1k

enjoy reading！

❝ Is a haircut really enough to get you this high? ❞

oh.

This was exactly your reaction when you saw the message from your boyfriend saying 'I got a buzzcut.'

Everything definitely suited him but this move was unexpected and caught you completely off guard. He had long hair since you knew him and now even imagining him like this made butterflies fly in your stomach. And the fact that he was going to be back home in a few hours made it hard for you to stay still.

As a result of your waiting, you were startled by the sound of a door, Hyunjin left his extra belongings in a corner and let out a tired breath. "Baby?" when you heard his call, your steps started to pull towards him. But the difference you saw made you stop in your tracks, you looked at your boyfriend you weren't used to for a while, when Hyunjin noticed your look, his tired face disappeared and he approached you with a smile. "Surprise?" his arms wrapped tightly around your waist and without waiting, he pulled you to him and buried his face in your neck, mumbled "mm..i missed you.."

You grabbed his shoulders and pushed him lightly so you had a chance to look at his face better. He was...the hottest man you'd ever seen in the world and he belongs to you. Hyunjin looked at your unresponsive face, started examining your face in the same way as if he was trying to figure out if you liked it or not "So...do you like it?" instead of talking, you preferred to give him an answer by kissing him, and Hyunjin accepted it with pleasure, grabbed your hips and pulled you hard to him. After a long kiss, you whispered the moment you pulled back "I don't think I can put into words how sexy you look right now."

He chuckled briefly at your frankness, tilted his head slightly to the side and spoke teasingly "Really? Maybe you can show me that, baby." you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him into another kiss. Hyunjin, noticing how eager and impatient you were, laughed between kisses and picked you up without waiting, walking towards the room without parting your lips.

He pulled back as soon as your back reached the soft bed and helped you take off your clothes before throwing his own clothes in a corner. Even though he was impatient like you, he wanted to take it slow. Spread your legs and get between them without breaking eye contact "Is a haircut really enough to get you this high?" his fingers went to your pussy, you let out a moan as he caressed your clit with slow movements "N-no. You're enough to get me high. N-not your hair." he grinned, the compliment he received made his cock twitch completely "ah..how sweet." he mumbled and after that sentence he leaned down and sucked your clit while inserting two fingers inside you, you let out a loud moan, instead of starting his movements slowly he started to fully exploit your pussy.

You whined wanting more, your hand went to his head, you moved your hips with the new feeling you felt instead of his long hair and pressed him against you. Hyunjin responded to every one of your movements, his tongue moving rapidly on your clit while his fingers curled inside you and made you pour all your juices onto his fingers with a fast pace "Hyun- f-fuck.. I'm close..I- oh fuck." your head went back in pleasure, his tongue and fingers were already skilled, but the feelings that were triggered inside you the moment you saw him would make you cum even faster. Hyunjin didn't slow down, he buried his head between your legs and continued until you cum. And when you reach your peak, he didn't stop until all your cum was wrapped around his fingers, he sucked your clit one last time and tried to catch his breath "Good job baby..oh shit look at this mess.." he said under his breath while looking at the cum flowing from your pussy.

He gave you a while to catch your breath, filled this space with many kisses but he couldn't hold it anymore, his cock was aching in pain and he needed you. He pulled back while his face was buried in your neck and rubbed his dick against your pussy. Hyunjin whimpered as soon as the tip entered, slowly pushed more into you, feeling all your walls, he let out a loud moan and buried his face in your neck again "You feel so..g-good, god you're going to make me go crazy.." his hips moved without hesitation, he was hitting with slow but hard movements, each of his breaths tickling your neck.

Hyunjin was putting his whole cock inside you, he wanted you to feel every inch of him. His arms wrapped around you, your legs wrapped around his waist and the occasional kisses on your neck, your bodies were completely one. "Faster.. please Hyun..I can't take it-" he didn't wait for you to finish your sentence, his hips started moving in fast movements, he lifted his head and held one of your hands, pinning it to the bed, your eyes locked as a few drops of sweat ran down his forehead.

The room was filled with just the moans of pleasure between the two of you, your wetness mixed together "I'm close, baby. It won't...take long for me to come." Hyunjin spoke breathlessly, pumping his cock hard inside you, begging to cum. His rapid breaths turned into a tearful moan, close to cumming, as you prepared yourself for a second orgasm. A few strokes later, your second orgasm hit you, Hyunjin came right after you and came out of you, his cum spilling onto your belly. Hyunjin threw himself directly next to you and tried to catch his breath. "Fuck...I should've cut my hair earlier." you laughed at his mumbled sentence and moved closer to him. He immediately took you under his arms. "Like I said, you're perfect in every way, it's not just about your hair." he grinned, lowering his head towards you. "Thank you, baby. I expected you to like it, this reaction was even more than I expected. But I'm definitely not complaining."

[heesimp]

tasty (heeseung)

summary: it’s not your week and it doesn’t seem like the semester will ease up on you as time flies by, but your best friend is here to help in more ways than one.

word count: 5.6K

notes: based off of this request. thank you anon! I probably won’t open a taglist at this time but I’ll let you know if I do when I post other fics. XX

warnings: reader touches herself, porn mentions, vibrator mention, phone sex, oral (f. receiving), dirty talking, mentions of heeseung with other girls, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex.

“You sure you don’t want to go out with us?” 

Your co-workers stare at you while you try to push down any simmer irritation. They’re not to blame, but pestering you to go out to a bar and get drunk when all you want to do is go home, is making you even more irritated. They mean no harm and look at you with sorry eyes. 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you tell them. Luckily for you, they nod and accept your decline. “Thanks for the invite though.”

“Well if you change your mind, you know where to find us.” 

In typical twenty-something-year-old fashion, certain days feel longer than most. Today is no exception. It’s hard to navigate the woes of landing on your feet when you’re wrapped up in midterm projects and trying to have a social life without throwing yourself off balance. When the semester started, you were nothing other than a happy-go-lucky, fourth-year university student who was excited to finish college and take the first step towards “real life.” Unfortunately for you, your days would get tough before you’d see it to the finish line. 

The ride back to your apartment isn’t long by any means but the traffic from your job at a convenience store was met with rush hour. The bus took much longer than usual but you always anticipate that when you’re scheduled until 5pm. Everybody’s going home at the same time and even public transportation falls victim to the hustle and bustle of corporate life. 

On your way home, you can’t help but linger on the inconveniences of the recent past. Midterms have snuck up on you like they do every year and no amount of studying into the night could ever prepare you for the stress that comes with obsessing over good grades for five separate classes. It kills you that no two tests weigh the same and preparing for projects feels like you’re signing a death sentence. You’ve barely seen your friends aside from in passing and haven’t had any time to take care of yourself and have fun. 

It feels as though you’ve lost all motivation because school and work has sucked the energy right out of you. Even your best friend, Lee Heeseung, has started to soften up around you because he can tell how stressed you are. If anything, the amount of unread texts from him and your absence in his physical life is a telltale sign that school is kicking your ass, but he knows you always bounce back. You know you will too, but right now it feels like it’ll take too long to get there. 

The first thing you do is take all of your clothes off and settle them in the dirty hamper and take a shower, cleaning off the grime from a long day outside of your bedroom. Your hair is clean and your skin feels silk to the touch when you step out and dry yourself. It takes a great deal of effort to follow through on your skincare routine and tidy up your room so that it doesn’t feel like an overwhelming mess the more you look at it. Today sucked. There’s no doubt about that. 

Eventually, the clock turns into a late hour after you’ve had dinner and a sweet treat to make up for the awfully long and boring day you had. The week drains on you and you’re looking forward to the weekend because that means you don’t have to work. After settling in bed with the television on, you try your best to let your worries escape you and focus on what’s in front of you. 

Whether the show is too boring or you’re too worked up, you don’t know. The TV is long forgotten as you aimlessly scroll through your phone and start pushing your thighs together and clench around absolutely nothing when you log into a Twitter account you don’t post on. It must be out of habit to act like this when you see the familiar username because it’s where you keep your porn stash for when you need to get off. There’s everything you could ever want–short videos, photos, and links to other websites that always gets you off. The long day has made you think about how you need at least a single win in order for this week to not completely suck. Bringing yourself to orgasm might be the way to do it. 

You spread your legs underneath the covers and take a finger to tease up your slit that’s covered by your panties and hold your phone in your free hand, using your thumb to scroll past the plethora of videos that turn you on. It’s all about finding the right one, and seeing big dicks and wet pussies makes you worked up. You start to forget about the week and consider that a good start. 

Moving your finger against your covered pussy always makes you wet. You imagine it’s someone else teasing you the way you like it and pretend you don’t need to move a muscle to get off. Swiping the tips of your fingers back and forth makes you soak through the pathetic fabric anyway, and the excitement of your arousal makes you gush right onto your panties. 

You scroll through them one by one and pull your panties to the side to feel just how wet you’ve become and moan quietly as the feeling of your slicked up walls. Pushing a finger inside, the welcomed sensation is exactly what you needed after a hard week. You add two, then three, and pump them in and out of you with your legs bent towards your chest. It should be an easy orgasm. 

Except, it isn’t. Three of your own fingers isn’t enough.

At this rate, you don’t know how long you’ve been rutting your hips but what you do know is that you can’t seem to get yourself off with just your fingers. Pulling them out makes you wince at the loss and you force yourself off of your bed to find your trusty vibrator that has always served you when you need to get off quickly. You dig for it in the depths of your drawers but, to your dismay, the device is uncharged. You’re far too worked up to wait for it to become usable. You crawl into your bed again and angrily look through your phone at the porn in your bookmarks and try to get yourself back to that state of euphoria when you started touching yourself, but knowing too much is bothering you is preventing you from letting go. 

Your room echoes as you groan in frustration when your eyes land on a photo on your desk. It’s a picture of you and Heeseung that Jay took when the three of you hung out together after you first moved into this apartment. The two of them helped move boxes and furniture, and you rewarded them with a free meal from the noodle shop across the street. Heeseung sits next to you with his thighs pressed against yours because of the small table but neither of you really cared. 

That’s the thing, though. Heeseung isn’t shy about physical touch with you or anyone else. He’s the kind of guy girls feel comfortable around with just a few words spoken and you’ve always envied the way Heeseung can talk his way through anything. People love him, girls want to fuck him, and guys want to be like him. There’s a part of you that wishes you could exude the same aura that your best friend does but, unlike him, you cower at any chance of interaction and can’t seem to get anyone to be interested in you the way you’re interested in them. Heeseung has heard your fair share of love debacles whereas it seems like romance is presented to him with the snap of a finger. 

It isn’t that you haven’t had experiences with sex and dating, but they haven’t been worthwhile. So far, nobody has been memorable enough to keep in your backpocket for days like this, when you need a hot and erotic memory to come in an instant. It feels impossible to find guys who know what they’re doing when a woman is presented in front of them. Guys are so lucky because it takes next to nothing to get them hard and get them off. 

And like, your best friend has had his fair share of hookup stories that leave you wetter than a goddamn fountain. He’s not shy about skimping the details because he’s seen you cry snot since kindergarten and you’ve seen him eat shit on bicycles since elementary school. Sex isn’t off the table. You just don’t have anything to contribute and he doesn’t judge you for it. You aren’t really keen on telling him about all of the bad experiences you’ve had when he talks about how mind blowing sex for him is. Part of you is envious that your best friend has never had one bad day of sex in his life. Allegedly. 

Still, this frustration bubbles up and there’s nothing you can do to quell the way you feel. Perhaps it’s a mix of general life stress and the events leading up to this very moment. The entire day felt like a test to your patience as minor inconveniences piled up on top of one another before your breaking point. You thought your vibrator sitting uncharged was your last straw but it seems like your mind isn’t clear enough to focus on getting off. You recall a few unread text messages from Heeseung and open your shared text thread with him and watch all of the funny TikTok videos and tweets he sends you. You’re missing him right now. 

Heeseung answers after one ring. 

“Back from the dead, I see. What’s up?” 

You huff. “Nothing.” You hear him laughing from the other line. The faint sound of his keyboard clicking echoes in your ears. 

“Can’t be nothing. You always call me when you need to tell me something.” 

“Not true.”

“Y/N, you and I both know you prefer to talk on the phone when you have something important you need to say so neither of us ends up sending long voice memos.” Okay, he’s got you there. “So begs the question: What’s up?”

“Well I called you because I’m bored. Happy?”

Heeseung laughs again. You’re sure he can hear your disdain. “It’s a good thing I know how to deal with your attitude, huh? Since you’re bored, I’ll have you know you’re calling me while I’m playing with the guys.”

“What, no girl to hook up with?” 

“Not tonight, princess.” 

“How sad.” 

“If you must know why, I had a pretty long day at work but I’m fine now. Jake’s ass keeps dying so that’s pretty funny.” You don’t say anything, not right away. Not when you realize you called him in a haste and that you’re naked except for a tank stop and dainty white socks. The realization makes your cheeks heat up as you think about it, even though Heeseung can’t see what you’re wearing. “You good? You’re unusually quiet, especially when you give me attitude.” That makes you roll your eyes.

“You know, it’s unfair that all you have to do to get off is brush your hand against your dick.”

“Where’s this coming from? You don’t really talk about sex. Is everything alright?”

“It’s unfair!” He hears you groan in frustration. You’re somewhat annoyed he’s still typing away on his gaming keyboard.

“Y/N…Are you okay? What’s gotten into you?”

That question alone seems to ease your mind a little as your irritation bubbles over the surface. You couldn’t stop yourself from talking even if you tried. You tell Heeseung everything, good and bad, and he won’t relent until he knows you’re okay. But even this is treading into new territory. It isn’t that you haven’t noticed just how attractive your best friend has gotten since you met him for the first time as kids, but it’s the first time you’ve ever acknowledged it while talking to him. 

“I can’t get myself off.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper. You don’t hear the sound of his keyboard anymore.

“What?”

“Heeseung…”

“No, say it again.” 

Suddenly, you’re starting to regret calling him to complain about something like this. You feel like you might as well be diving into the depths of your secrets.

“I can’t get myself off.” He hears you whisper it into the phone. 

“Did I hear you correct? You can’t get yourself off?” Heeseung curses under his breath and his hands have stopped typing on his keyboard completely. Frustration pushes tears to the rim of your eyes. 

“I can’t.” Your voice wavers like you’re about to choke a sob. “I just want to cum, Heeseung.”

You don’t see it, but he disconnects his video game connection without consulting his friends. He sits back in his seat and brings the phone off speaker mode and pushes it to his ear. “Y/N…Have you been touching yourself?”

“Yes. I don’t know why but I’m in this mental block and I can’t focus on anything. Nothing is helping.” 

He chokes. “What do you mean?”

“My vibrator is dead and I’ve been using three fingers but it’s not helping!” 

Heeseung sits quietly on the other line. “Are you touching yourself now?” 

“No,” you sigh. “I’ve been at it for an hour and I can’t finish.” 

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You must be so wet.” 

“Not anymore.” You say it through your teeth, too upset that your high has ebbed away.

“You should start touching yourself again.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Touch yourself and make your pussy all wet.” It’s concerning how much you like hearing your best friend talk to you like this. But you do, putting your phone on speaker and putting it on the mattress beneath you with your hand caressing your pussy. You don’t know if it’s you, Heeseung, or the notion that you’re crossing a bridge, but your spine starts to tingle. Your touch is as light as a feather.

“Are you doing it?” 

“Yeah,” you admit. 

“How does it feel?” 

“Really good…”

“How good?” 

“Feels like someone else is touching me,” you tell Heeseung. “If I close my eyes, I can pretend it’s someone else.”

“It’s not enough, is it?” 

“No, Hee. I just…I’m so frustrated.” 

“Yeah, baby?” He’ll address that nickname later. “Why are you frustrated?” 

“School and work are stressing me out and nobody in my group projects lifts a finger. I feel so alone in this.”

“But you aren’t alone. You have me, remember?” You get wetter the more he talks. It feels wrong to be turned on by Heeseung’s voice but you can't help it. He’s talking to you like he hears the way your voice quivers and how badly you need somebody to take away all of your pain, and perhaps you feel comforted because you know Heesueng will do just that and always had. Your fingers rub your wetness around your bare mound the more you think about it, pushing aside any guilt or awkwardness you initially felt.

“When have I ever not been there for you? Never, baby. Including this.” 

“This?” 

He chuckles. “Yeah. Helping you cum.” 

“Hee, don’t say that.” 

“Why? It’s true. Best friends help each other cum.” 

“How are you gonna help me do that?” 

It’s silent on the other line for a long pause and your heart starts to sink when you think you might’ve crossed a line. Is he uncomfortable? Does he want to hang up and forget about this? Will he ever look at you the same way after tonight? 

“Keep touching yourself. I’m coming over.” 

Your eyes widen. “N-Now?” 

“Yes, now. I live five minutes from you. I’ll be over soon.” 

The thought of Heeseung coming over makes you impossibly wet. It’s been so long since you’ve let anybody touch you the way you’d like after failed hook ups that left you unsatisfied. Your bedroom suddenly feels warmer and your arousal keeps your fingers slick the more you rub against your pussy. It makes your toes clench and you’re starting to get excited again. 

“Please hurry, Hee. My fingers are starting to get sore.” 

“I’ll be there in two. Don’t hang up.”

“F-Fuck,” you whimper silently. Heeseung’s phone picks up your moan and you hear him let out a low groan when he turns his engine on. 

“You have the sexiest moans. I wanna hear them while you get yourself off, okay? Can you do that for me?” 

You rub your pussy faster. “Yes, Hee. Fuck, I’m so wet. This feels so good.”

“Be a good baby and play with your clit a little for me, hm? Get her all nice and prepped.” 

You do as he says, moving the pads of your fingers in circular motions around your engorged nub when he tells you. Your eyes close shut when that jolt of pleasure makes your body jerk and arch off of the bed and that loud sound emitting from the back of your throat makes Heeseung hum in approval. 

“Juuust like that. Fuck, you sounds even better than I imagined. You’re a vocal one, huh?” 

“Only when it feels really good.”

“Yeah? Do you feel really good?” 

You lick your lips. “It would feel better if you were here.” Heeseung laughs. 

“I’m here and I’ve got your spare key. Keep fucking yourself for me.” 

The call ends there. You hear the door opening and part of you considers using your blanket to cover yourself up because in all of the years you’ve been friends with Heeseung, he has never seen you this indecent. It feels a bit humiliating to know your best friend will find you with your fingers rubbing against yourself while your hips chase that delicious pleasure but ultimately, you can’t find it in yourself to care too deeply about that. 

Heeseung’s footsteps alert you to his presence and you’re pleasantly surprised to see him standing in the threshold of your bedroom after he’s opened your doorknob. His black hair covers his eyes as he catches his breath, and it looks like he ran up the two floors just to get to your apartment quicker than an elevator could take him. He’s hesitant when he walks inside until his eyes lock with yours. Your next moan comes from deep within your chest and Heeseung wastes absolutely no time. 

He lands on his knees and pulls your body towards the edge of the bed. Your scent invades his olfactory senses as he looks down below you, pushing your feeble hand away to admire the mess you’ve made of yourself. It should feel embarrassing to have your best friend look at you like this, but it doesn’t. Your heart beats faster the more Heeseung’s eyes scan your wet pussy and before you know it, his mouth latches onto you. 

The feeling of someone’s tongue shoved deep within you is a feeling you haven’t experienced in a long time. Heeseung kneads your thighs with his hands as he keeps you in place and the pace he sets makes your body feel like it might as well be up in space. 

You hear stories all the time about Heeseung hooking up with other girls whether it be from himself or others. Girls love to pretend to be your friend to get close to him and love to talk about these kinds of things with you because they assume you’re getting in on the action too, only to leave the conversation perplexed when you tell them you and Heeseung have never gotten involved like that. But now, with every bit of information about how he slurps pussy like he needs it to live, you’re starting to wonder why you never asked him to do this before tonight. 

“Tasty,” he mutters after a beat of silence. Your hand comes to grip his hair for stability when he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks on it while rubbing his tongue against your pleasure point. “How come you never told me you taste so good?”

“You never asked.” 

He laughs against your pussy. “Still got some attitude, huh?” 

“What are you gonna do about it?” He looks up at you like he’s weighing a challenge. 

“If you were any other girl, I’d pull out every time you’re about to cum. I’d have you begging for that shit. If you were somebody else, I’d stuff your mouth with my cock until you learn how to obey.” He licks up your pussy once more before adding two of his fingers inside, moaning at your smooth and wet walls as he pumps them inside of you. “But you’re my best friend and you’ve had a hard week. I’m gonna make you cum.” 

If a thousand suns exploding feels like Heeseung’s tongue and fingers working in tandem with each other, then this is a feeling you never want to forget. They work separately but it feels like he’s pushing you closer and closer to the finish line the more he pays attention to your clit and g-spot at the same time, pressing on that little button the more you whine and aimlessly beg for him to let you cum. You can barely register your own voice moaning because the pressure is too much against your ears. Heeseung’s fingers plunge in and out of you at a pace that is somewhere between gentle and brutal, giving you enough force to take your mind off of the stress from the week to focus on your pussy being pleasured. 

You screw your eyes shut when you can feel that coil unraveling. Heeseung seems to notice that too because of the string of moans you let out when he pushes his fingers against your sweet spot. His mouth licks and licks as his hand pushes your wetness right against his tongue and it doesn’t take very long for him to taste your cum. 

Heeseung’s head disappears between your legs and he’s barely able to move his hand because of how tight your thighs are against his ears. He’s always loved your thighs and legs, and loves them even more now that he knows what it feels like when you suffocate him as he licks up your delicious cum. You ease up on him when he pries them away to free his hand from the uncomfortable position and uses both hands to keep your legs apart as he licks up the remnants of your cum and helps you ride out your orgasm until your chest falls against the mattress. 

He wipes the back of his hands before giving your slit a gentle kiss. “You’re so sexy when you cum.”

“I can’t believe I let you do that.” 

“Why?” 

You watch him crawl up your body between your spread legs. “Because…” 

“Because?” 

“You’re my best friend and we’ve seen each other through everything. Don’t you think this is a little, I don’t know, weird?” 

“No.” Heeseung shakes his head and dips below to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Not weird. In fact, I’d argue we should do this more often.”

You frown. “I don’t intend to be somebody you keep on a roster, Lee. You can keep that shit to yourself, but thank you for helping me cum.” Heeseung laughs against your mouth until you feel his lips ghost right over yours. 

“There won’t be other girls involved if we fuck, Y/N. I’m not heartless like that. Everybody else knows I’m in it for sex and nothing else, but it’s like you said. You’re my best friend. I won’t make you feel like you’re just somebody I can hit up.” 

“So this would be like…friends with benefits?” 

“We can work out the semantics later.” He lets his lips touch yours and when you don’t object, Heeseung opens your mouth with his own and you taste the saltiness of your cum on his lips. You clench around nothing when you hear your mouths smacking together in the quiet of your bedroom. 

It feels…good. It doesn’t feel out of place, even though this is the first time you’ve kissed Heeseung. You haven’t thought about it much either, but somehow his lips fit perfectly in yours and his soft hands holding your body in his adds to your arousal. You feel safe with him at this moment and it’s the first time you’ve ever had sex with somebody who hasn’t made you feel like an afterthought. Your mind feels a bit foggy but you know you like this feeling and don’t want him to stop. Still, you have your worries.

“This won’t be weird, will it?” 

“No, baby. In fact, all you had to do was ask me to drop the other girls and I would’ve.” You roll your eyes. 

“Sounds like you’re in love with me, or something.” 

Heeseung pulls away and smiles down at you. “Yeah. Or something.” You ignore the way your heart flutters and realize his bulge is poking your bare pussy. 

“You’re hard.” 

“So you’ve noticed.” 

You pinch his bicep. “You get hard eating pussy?” 

“Well yeah because it’s pussy, but it’s also you.” You start to talk but Heeseung silences you with a kiss. “Are you satisfied now that I’ve made you cum?” 

His vulgar words make you shy underneath his gaze all of a sudden. It’s a new feeling and you’re not quite sure how to navigate it, especially with the way he’s staring down at you with a raised eyebrow. Heeseung is still your best friend who gives you shit for everything. You suppose you’re grateful that he’s not changing who he is just because he knows what you look like naked. 

“You know what? Actually, I don’t think I’m satisfied.” 

Heeseung grins wickedly and pulls his body off of your chest to take his shirt off, his chiseled muscles on display for you to look at. He grabs your hand and places it on his abdomen. “Oh yeah? What else can I do for you, princess?”

You take your fingernails on his skin and feel his abs move beneath you. “I think I need you inside me too.”

“Were my mouth and fingers not enough?” You shake your head. Heeseung tuts as he gets off of the bed to step out of his pants and boxers, revealing a long and thick cock you’ve only ever heard about. It’s dripping with precum and you can’t stop your pussy from clenching or your mouth from drooling. 

You watch him get back on the bed one knee at a time before he’s hovering over you again, pulling your body to the position he wants as your legs spread before him. He looks down at his cock and tugs on it twice before letting his tip rest against your clit. 

“Need some of my cock?” 

“Yes, yes!”

“Who knew my best friend has such a tight pussy. Makes me wonder why I even bothered with other girls in the first place.” You seem to like hearing that. He brings his fingers to push the head of his cock inside of you before sinking halfway in, allowing you to adjust to his size as you squeeze him. “Oh yeah, honey. This pussy’s gonna make me cum hard, I already know that.” 

Heeseung holds your legs open and pushes his hips into you slowly. The drag feels so good with how warm he’s made you and you can feel him throbbing with every pass. You hold onto your breasts for stability, which seems to turn him on even more because he’s pushing your legs towards your chest and pushing into you with all of his might. 

You’re able to see him from where you lie. His eyebrows concentrate as he squeezes his eyes shut and sweat lines his forehead the more he thrusts inside of you. He sits up on his knees to angle his dick inside of you better and moans when you let out a strangled groan. The clench is so tight and amazing, and Heeseung can’t fathom why he’s never fucked you before tonight. 

“Sexy pussy,” he grunts, looking down at your abused hole as he thrusts into it. He brings his thumb to your clit and you yelp when he starts to rub it. “So wet and fuckable.” 

“Fuck me,” you manage to choke. 

And truthfully, you like Heeseung plowing into you at the pace he’s set. He’s not too fast but not too slow and you can feel him hit your cervix every single time. It’s no wonder girls were always lining up to have sex with him. Heeseung knows what he’s doing with his dick and you’re finding that out now. 

“You want me to fuck you?”

You nod pathetically. “Please fuck me.”

“How hard?” You bite your lip and shake your head at the humiliation of begging for him but Heeseung tuts and smacks your clit with his hand. “I said, how hard?”

“So hard that I feel you in my stomach!”

“Atta girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Heeseung slips out of you and pulls you up on your hands and knees, beckoning your back in a deep arch. He plants both of his feet on the mattress and bends until he’s sinking his cock back down inside of your pussy, letting your mixed wetness coat him again. 

He thrusts himself as his mouth hangs open. Heeseung grips your waist with both hands and squeezes you hard to balance himself as he throws his head back at the phenomenal sensation of your walls pulling him in every time he tries to pull out. Your eyes roll to the back of your head when you feel his balls against you and clutch into your bedsheets.

“Your balls are slapping against my pussy and it feels really good,” you manage to get out without stuttering. Heeseung feels you clench around him again and emphasizes his thrusts until the sound of his balls makes your ears vibrate. 

“Feels good when it hits your clit, doesn’t it?”

“So good, fuck!” 

Heeseung speeds his thrusts and relishes in your string of moans the more his tip nudges your g-spot. “Can you cum, baby? Cum around my cock like I know you want to. You’ve earned it after this week. Cum for me. Won’t you let me feel that?”

“Fuck, fuck, I’m cumming, Hee! I’m fucking cumming!”

“Yeahhh. Oh your cum is so good. Doing so well, making your pussy creamy all over me like that. Cum for me.”

And it feels so good that you follow his command. The orgasm Heeseung’s cock brings you feels like a physical manifestation of letting go of your worries and enjoying the present moment. Despite your legs and pussy aching, this feels an awful lot like freedom because your own mind isn’t caged by the inability to get yourself off. 

You don’t think, you can’t think. You’ve reached a point of nirvana that’s made your mind completely blank with the exception of your orgasm and the feeling of your best friend fucking right inside of you. His cock, so hard and warm, somehow feels so perfect lodged inside of you. 

Heeseung cock twitches and you feel it the more he pounds into you. He looks down and moans at the sight of his cock becoming white with your cum with every pointed thrust and doesn’t remember the last time he truly enjoyed himself to the point of being able to forget about everything except the person he’s with. Sex with other girls is incredible but there comes a point where he realizes that they’re using him just as much as he’s using them. But you, his best friend since he can remember, give him some kind of peace that he’s never felt before. This is more than just a quick fuck, even if neither of you address it.

“Your pussy’s gonna make me cum,” he moans through a choked grunt. “You feel so good baby, fuck.” 

Heeseung pulls out of your hole just enough to rest his tip against you. His warm cum floods against your folds and your body jerks at the way he twitches against you, but his hands keep hold of your hips to place you exactly where he wants you. He looks down to watch his cum spill from his slit and paint your pussy like the artwork that it is.

When he’s finished cumming, Heeseung leans back against his knees to spread you apart by gripping your asscheeks. “Would you look at that?” 

“Stop looking…”

He chuckles. “Why, baby? Your pussy’s so pretty with my cum on it.” 

You look back at him. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” He nods at you before pulling away to scour your room until he finds a box of tissues on your nightstand and grabs a few to clean you up to the best of his ability before cleaning himself up too. 

Overcome with a wave of tiredness, your body feels much more relaxed once you’ve slipped underneath the covers as Heeseung throws away the dirty tissues. He turns around when he hears the blankets ruffling and resists the urge to coo at you when you’ve tucked it underneath your chin. 

“Looks like you needed one good fuck to relax, hm?”

You blush. “Shut up.”

“No can do, Y/N.”

“I…”

Heeseung leans down towards you and tilts his head. “You what?”

You avert his gaze. “I liked it when you called me baby.” 

“Yeah?” He pushes some of your hair back as you yawn. “I can do that.” 

“Are you gonna go home?”

“Not if you let me stay the night.” You don't have it in you to talk back to him after all he’s done for you. Instead, you open the covers as Heeseung puts his boxers back on and watch him smile before climbing in next to you. “Come here.” He tucks your body on his chest and you’re too tired to argue with him. 

His heartbeat puts you to sleep.

tagging: @zara2318 @markmato @heechwe @horijiro @ggumjilgeong-yjn @porunarefuu @leov3rse. :)

[gh0stsp1d3r]

i love your work sm!! could i request something with nerd!rafe? like reader never normally wears her glasses, so she decides to put them on while she reads and gets insecure and rafe comforts her?

beautiful with them.

NERD!RAFE MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: insecurities w/ glasses, angst to comfort

A/N: thank you sm! LOVE THIS. agh so sweet.

You flipped through the pages with anticipation, your eyes darting over the sentences. The world around you faded into the background, the rustle of the pages the only sound you heard. It wasn’t until you caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of your eye that you realized Rafe had entered the room, leaning against the doorway.

As your gaze caught him entering the room, your eyes widened in surprise. You fumbled to remove the glasses that sat on your face, the frames slipping through your fingers as you set them aside. The suddenness of your actions caught him off guard, a look of confusion flickering across his face, but he dismissed it as he stepped toward you. A warm smile graced his lips as he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours.

“Hi, baby.” He murmured against your lips.

“Hi.” You breathed out. “You’re home early.” You noted, him moving away, putting the briefcase on the bed as he shoved off his suit jacket.

“Meeting finished early, and I was free the rest of the day.” He replied, you nodding, glancing down at your book and your glasses. “What have you been doin’ all day?” He asked you.

“Reading, mostly.” You replied, him letting out a chuckle.

“I thought so.”

Even though he’s seen you read so many times, you always wore your contacts. He’s never really seen you with your glasses. And if he has, it’s been only a few times.

You glanced back down at the glasses, and then back at him. He was taking off his clothes, changing into sweatpants and a baggy shirt.

He sat on the bed, phone in hand. He got comfortable, settling underneath the covers as he began his scrolling.

You turned back in your seat, putting your glasses back on and making sure you were facing away from him as you began to read again.

About thirty minutes passed when he stood up, making his way to the door. You moved your hand, resting your head on your palms as an attempt to hide the frames on your face.

He came back in with two cups of water in his hand, coming back over to your desk with them. He leaned against the desk, offering one of the cups to you.

You took off your glasses, looking back at him for a moment. You gave him a small smile, and he gave you one back.

“You know,” he rasped out. “I like you with your glasses on.”

Your cheeks warmed under his gaze, smile faltering.

He picked them up in his hands, going to put them over your face when you gently grabbed his wrist, wrapping your fingers around it.

You plucked them from his hands, him quirking an eyebrow.

“Thank you.” You replied quietly, setting them back onto the desk.

“Why don’t you wear them?” He asked you, and you knew he was gonna keep pressing until he found out, because that’s just how he is.

You hesitated before answering, “I just… I don’t like how they look on me.” You admitted softly, avoiding his gaze. “It’s why I wear the contacts.”

There was a flicker of sadness on his face, watching you with a visible frown. He knows how you felt, because he’s thought the same thing about his own when he was younger.

“Well, I think they look good on you. You wear them better than me.” He spoke honestly, you letting out a chuckle, thinking he was joking.

“Stop.” You told him, but he didn’t, instead, he reached for your face.

He gently grabbed your jaw, making you look up at him. With his other hand, he grabbed your glasses.

He let go of your jaw, and put both hands on the glasses, before moving your hair, putting the lens over your eyes, and tucking the tips of the glasses behind your ears.

“I’m serious. Maybe you can’t see it, but you really do look beautiful with them on. You were beautiful without them, and you’re beautiful with them.” He told you, holding your face in his hands.

“You really think so?” You asked him quietly, to which he nodded, removing his hands from your face.

“I think, that you should wear them more, if anything.”

He watched the corners of your lips quirk up, small smile making its way onto your face. He leaned down again, and cupped your face once more, pressing his lips softly against yours, both of your glasses clashing as he did so, causing him to look at you, both of you beginning to laugh together.

You settled for putting your foreheads together, soft giggles still escaping your mouth as he smiled at you.

“Thank you.” You told him quietly.

“Course.” He responded in the same quiet volume, “If I didn’t say something, what kind of fiancée would I be, hm?” He hummed out.

Taglist:

@10ava01 @mileyraes @moonssyrup @koibleufish @anamiad00msday @wearemadeofstardust0 @wintertxt @teenwolfbitches28

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

(18+) horny brainrot & hcs about the men I write for..

includes: bucky barnes, logan howlett, matt murdock, miguel o’hara, moon boys, peter quill, pietro maximoff, spencer reid, tangerine

fem!reader, mdni

cw. mentions of edging, blow jobs, dry humping, cock warming, oral (f receiving) fingering/ clit play, pinv sex

bucky barnes: likes to eat you out after you've had a bad day. he likes to listen to you try to formulate words describing the details of your day while his tongue flicks over your clit - the feel making your mind blank and hazy. he loves listening to you restart your sentences over and over and over because you keep cutting yourself off with noises - with moans

.

logan howlett: likes to play with your clit while he’s fucking you. palm resting on your public bone, thumb extended down to your clit — the motion slow and unrushed. each little circle and swirl matches the pace of his strokes, his cock fucking into you. the sensation of his dual touch earning him all your beautiful sounds and noises. every little one acting as fuel, as his momentum to keep going for you.

.

matt murdock: he knows the moment just as you're about to let go. he listens to your body, to your heart - listens to it pick up in rhythm, to it pump wildly just before that moment. he listens to your breathing stagger and heighten, listens to the change in your body, to your muscles seize and tense. though that's all he lets you feel. he snatches himself away just as you're about to cum - pulling away his cock or tongue or fingers, not allowing you that sweet moment of release. he plays with you, endlessly working you up until you're just shy of your orgasm, then yanks himself away - listening to you whine and protest, panting wildly. he tells you he'll be nice on you and let you cum, but it'll be the same story again. working you up impossibly more, leaving you on the cusp of your high

.

miguel o'hara: he won't always fuck you with the full length of his dick. sometimes, he's just too much for you to take, so you have to satiate your need with just the tip of his cock. he'd keep his fat head wedged snuggly inside you, not moving or giving you any friction you desperately need. only placing his thumb over your clit, circling it slowly as he essentially uses his tip as a plug. he'd look down at you almost pitifully, cooing at you when you'd pout and whine, trying to take more of him. but he won't allow it - placing a large hand on your hip, stilling you as he continues to toy with your clit

.

moon boys: they make you wear a blindfold while they take turns fucking you. you have to figure out who is fronting solely by their touch - no talking, no communicating, no nothing. you have to differentiate them by their strokes and rhythm, by the way they fuck you, by how they touch and caress you. they don't like being mistaken for one another, so you best not guess wrong - they won't be so lenient with you

.

peter quill: a lazy, heated makeout in bed under the covers. both wearing comfy, cozy underwear, quill hovering atop, your legs wrapped around his hips - keeping him snug to you. kissing each other carnally, all slow and sloppy, breathy muffled moans into one another's mouths as he nudges his clothed chub-on on your pussy. leisurely winding his rock-hard cock against the pit of heat between your thighs. one hand on your throat deepening the kiss, the other holding your hand beside your head

.

pietro maximoff: before you both get down and dirty one night, he'd pull out a deep, dark red lipstick from his nightstand, asking you to put some on before you suck him off. he loves to see the red kisses scattered along his chest and stomach - your lipstick marks littered over his pale skin as you work down to settle between his thighs. he'd smear the red over your mouth, his thumb dragging over your slightly bruised lips - smudging the lipstick around. he keeps his eyes glued on you the whole time, watching the way your mouth wraps around his cock, leaving a messy red ring at the base - streaks running up his shaft

.

spencer reid: enjoys the intimacy of touch during sex. loves the feeling of your fingers in his messy curls, your hand soft and gentle on his face as his cock rocks into you. it would all be slow and sweet - the encounter so leisured and unrushed. the steady wind of his hips into yours and the warmth of each of your hands on one another faces, creating a beautifully tender moment

.

tangerine: loves to play with your cunt while he's sat behind. you'd lean into him against the headboard, your back resting against his chest, one of his arms tightly wrapped around your middle, the other between your thighs. he'd extend his neck, reaching around to kiss up the side of your throat, peppering your skin in soft, light kisses as he lazily rubs over your clit. middle and ring finger leisurely circling over the swollen nub. just him mindlessly toying with you as he kisses your cheek, whispering sweet words into your skin as he palms your tits with his spare hand

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

had some of these ideas floating around for ages, but never done anything with them—so finally finally wrote about the brainrot that’s been eating me up

added bucky and reid mar 5th

added logan oct 11th

[4unnyr0se]

❥ timeskip! haikyuu captains matching with you on tinder | tetsuro kuroo

warnings: timeskip! kuroo, fem! reader, reader is his secretary, riding(?), unprotected sex, rough sex, implied multiple orgasms (f! receiving), reader acts innocent but is actually a slut, implied size kink, kuroo is rich asf argue with the wall

MDNI | 18+ content

word count -> 904

Sports promotions was an easy job once you knew what you were doing and who you were working with. Kuroo, being a former captain of a powerhouse team, already knew the trade fairly well. His division of volleyball promotions worked closely with people he once had games with, it was always a treat to mess with them over an expensive dinner that his company would pay for. There weren’t many women in that field, so whenever one was hired it caused a stir. Kuroo thought that the stir you were causing was stupid, but that was before he saw your pretty face.

You were behind a desk, typing away at your computer. You looked so innocent, humming a little tune as your tiny fingers typed away. He approached your desk and offered you a smirk, introducing himself. He noticed how you blushed when he looked at you, like a fawn being spotted by a wolf in the forest. Fuck, Kuroo thought that was so fucking hot. But he couldn’t do anything about that, he had too much respect for you. You were just so innocent, how could he defile you?

Turns out, you weren’t as innocent as he thought. Kuroo was mindlessly swiping on Tinder when your profile popped up, displaying your curves that were barely concealed by a little red clubbing dress. ‘Only on here for some fun <3’ was all your bio said, and that made Kuroo practically jump out of his bed. His finger slid right on the phone screen and the two of you matched, causing his cock to throb in his sweatpants. Finally, he had a in. 

The harsh cracking of Kuroo’s hand against the supple skin of your ass filled his penthouse apartment, acompanied by the squelching noise of your pussy struggling to take his massive cock deeper. You had barely managed to get the tip inside, using all your strength to hover yourself above his lap. Kuroo leaned against his padded headboard, the same smirk from earlier adorning his face as he watched the lewd display in front of him. You had talked a big game in your earlier messages, so why were you struggling now. Perhaps you had bitten off more than you could chew when you decided to swipe right on his profile. “What, you’re having trouble taking all of me inside you? C’mon now baby, don’t be like that. Getting all shy again?” his words were laced with sarcasm as you shook your head, feeling your quivering legs about to give out. “I-I can take more, promise!”

Kuroo shook his head in disagreement, shifting his hands to they rested on your hips. “You looked so fucking slutty in those photos,” he teased, slamming your hips down further onto his cock. He gave you no time to adjust to his girth of length, breathing in your wanton and painful cries of pleasure and pain. “Gonna fuck you like a slut now, okay princess? Making me do all the work, typical.”

His hands slammed you up and down on his length, using your body like his own personal fleshlight. Your head was thrown back as your eyes focus on the ceiling above you, the chandelier sparking in the candlelight of his bedroom. Your tongue rolled out of your mouth, saliva dripping onto your swollen tits that were so carefully marked with Kuroo’s teeth. Just enough that you could still wear revealing clothes to work, showing the tiniest bit of cleavage.

His cock hit your G-spot perfectly each time, your sobbing cunt pulling him in deeper with each thrust inside of you. “Fuck, you’re fucking milking me baby,” Kuroo groaned, smacking your ass once more. “You want me to fill you up, huh? It that it princess? C’mon now, lemme hear you beg for my cum. Can you be a good little slut and do that, yeah? Don’t keep me waiting.” he punctuated his sentence with an incredible thrust, a wanton moan falling from your bruised lips.

“K-Kuroo! Wan’ your cum, fuck! P-please, please!” you patheically cried out, fingers scrambling for purchase in his mess of black hair. Your moans were so pretty and wet, how could he refuse his adorable little secretary? His release painted your insides with a roar, the warm sensation filling your stomach. He stopped bouncing you on his length, hands falling limp against his sides.

“Fuck,” was all that Kuroo could muster, smiling to himself as you collapsed onto his chest with his cock still nestled deep inside your creamy core. “I never knew you would be such a slut, you know? Thought you were a virgin or something.” he chuckled, kissing the side of your cheek.

“I might as well have been one, you’re fucking insane,” you mumbled against his skin, lifting your face up to look into his golden eyes. Your mascara was running and your hair was a damn mess, but Kuroo thought you had never looked as pretty as you do now. “You gotta give me some mercy next time, okay? Most girls aren’t used to your massive fucking cock.”

“Oh? There’s gonna be a next time?” Kuroo smirked and wiggled his eyebrows at you, causing you to roll your eyes in mock annoyance. 

“Hell yeah there’s gonna be a next time, that was the best sex I’ve ever had.” you smirked, playfully nipping at the cartilage of his ears.

“I can’t wait.”

[clemswinecorner]

Getting caught 4+1 - [Arthur Frederick (TV)]

Summary: Getting caught 4 + 1 (or, 4 times Arthur an Y/N almost accidentally revealed their relationship, and the one time they did)

Wordcount: 4.2k

Warnings: sexual innuendos and alcohol, other than that it's fine

Not based on but the first part was inspired by this arthur fic! As well as prompts from the amazing @creativepromptsforwritinghttps that I always love <33 It's a bit of a longer one so sit down and enjoy, I hope you guys like this!

Main Masterlist

It was at their friends' house-warming, Chris’ initiative, when they had their first scare of getting caught.

Arthur and Y/N had been mingling around for a bit before making their relationship official a little over a month before, just days before Y/N left for a few weeks in Italy. Y/N was standing in front of their friends' house with a bottle of gin and a small plant as Chris opened the door with a smile. “Hey! How’s it going?” He asks as he hugs the twenty-four-year-old. “Good, good. Congrats on the new place, by the way, have you and the boys been settling in alright?” She asks as she makes her way inside. “Yeah, it’s different from before, but I’m getting used to it,” he admits as she hands him the gifts. “Oh, I got you some decoration, and something nice for tonight or whenever,” she explains, and he thankfully smiles. “Ah, thank you so much, that’s lovely! You can put your jacket in the closet right there.” He motions to a closet door as she takes off her jacket, which she hangs up. “I’m glad you could make it tonight, I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever! We need to plan a proper catch-up soon,” she chuckles as they make their way to the living room. “That’s what you get when you decide to be busy right when I come back from four weeks in Italy, mate. But yes, we need to arrange something. Oh, I love the posters, by the way!” 

Chris doesn’t realise why the jumper she’s wearing looks familiar until Arthur walks into the living room. “Wait, doesn’t Arthur have a hoodie just like this?” He asks, interrupting their chat about beers. Her eyes grow a little wide as she looks down at the hoodie she’s wearing, that is clearly Arthur’s. She was in a rush before leaving, as usual, and pulled on the first hoodie she saw, thinking she wouldn’t need it indoors anyway, not considering it wouldn’t be as crowded when she arrived. “Oh, really? I just got this the other day, I had no clue! That's so funny,” she says, half a beat too late, which was just long enough for Chris not to notice. “Yeah, I mean, I guess it makes sense for you to have the same style a bit since you’re a bit alike, although your clothing isn’t that similar,” she simply shrugs, as she glances at Arthur. He was wearing a Fellas hoodie — the one she desperately took off him less than 24 hours ago. He looks her way as he’s making his way around greeting people, arriving at the couch soon enough. Chris stands up and greets him as they have a quick conversation as she stands up and straightens her skirt. “Hi, nice to see you again. How was Italy?” He asks, and she giggles as they hug. “Like you don’t know,” she whispers, making him chuckle, before she answers. Chris softly touches her shoulder, “I’m gonna go and socialise a bit, we’ll plan something proper, yeah?” She nods, “Yeah, yeah, go ahead, they’re your guests!” She exclaims. “Don’t hide and play chess, have some fun, yeah?” He pats Arthur’s back with a chuckle before moving over, making his old friend roll his eyes before turning back to his girlfriend. “We almost got caught, he rec-,” the girl stops her sentence as she notices George Clarke making his way to the pair. “Yeah, I’ll send you the name for when you go to Rome,” she mentions, as George joins them. “Hello friends! Y/N, it’s been forever, how are you doing!” She smiles as she embraces her friend, “It has been! Good, good, good, lovely place you have! How’s everything going?”

As they make conversation and drink, Arthur and Y/N keep locking eyes. She smiles shyly when he nonchalantly bites his lips, and leans against the back couch. God, that’s fucking hot. George leaves to get more drinks, as they were all about half a drink away from being tipsy, and she immediately scoots closer to her boyfriend. “We almost got caught. Chris noticed the jumper,” she quietly says, as he puts his arm on the back of the couch besides her, looking at her intensely. “Hmm, did he,” he says absent-mindedly. She glances around and stands up, her hand softly grazing his leg. “If George asks, I’m going to the bathroom. You can find me on Chris’ balcony,” she says, low enough for no-one to hear. His eyes follow her as she walks away, and he takes the last sip of his drink as she makes her way around the corner to go up the stairs. “Where’d she go?” George asks, interrupting his, admittedly not very faithful, thoughts. He coughs, “Bathroom. Thanks,” He says, accepting the drink George made him. “Ah. They’re playing Beer Pong in the kitchen, d’you wanna join?” He asks, and Arthur shakes his head. “Not today, but you can go. I’ll let Y/N know when she gets back,” he simply says, and George nods. “Alright, alright,” he simply says before leaving the twenty-eight-year-old to sit by himself. 

“Well, hello,” She turns around at Arthur’s soft voice with a smile as he closes the door to the balcony. “Hey baby. How was the meeting?” She asks, and he shrugs. “It was alright. Would’ve rather stayed in bed with you this morning, though,” his comment makes her cheeks flush red. How this man still had her feeling like a girl with a school crush was incredible, but she loved it. “You have me now,” she says, Arthur putting one hand on her wrist, the other around her waist pulling her closer. “Wish I didn’t have to share you, though,” he says when their faces are mere inches apart, pressing his lips to hers. Despite having seen each other every day since, they craved each other as much as they did when he picked her up at the airport after four weeks of not seeing each other. “Do we go back inside before us being gone becomes suspicious, or…” Arthur shakes his head, “no, I’m keeping you to myself for a little longer.”

The second time they almost get caught they were in a similar setting, though this time the party was George’s. 

It was their six months anniversary, and although they didn’t necessarily want to celebrate every single anniversary, they did tend to spend every 10th of the month together. They’d much rather be cuddled up with some comfort food with a movie on the background, simply enjoying each other’s company and chats — instead, they found themselves chatting to friends as they’re waiting to go home tipsy. She’d asked before they left, getting ready at Arthur’s flat after ordering in. “Are you actively drinking tonight?” She turns away from the mirror doing her makeup for a second to look at Arthur rummaging through his closet. “I mean, I don’t think I want to get too drunk. Maybe if we don’t make it too late we can come back here, maybe have a drink by ourselves to celebrate half a year?” You nod, “Yeah, sounds perfect. Just a few drinks, I would like to get to enjoy you tonight,” she smirks, and he sends her a smile through the mirror. “Oh! Before you get dressed, I got you something,” he realises, quickly getting out of his room. He returns with a pink and white striped bag, “just something small,” he says, a bit flushed. She looks up at him before she takes out the wrapped present, and looks at him with a sly smile, “Ohhh this is exactly the right colour. Oh my god that’s so nice,” She smiles as she takes out the lingerie, and looks at him nervously smiling. “Is it good? I didn’t know if you’d like the model,” She nods, “yeah, yeah. It’s so beautiful,” she says, moving towards him. “Suits you,” he whispers as he grabs her hips. She chuckles, putting her arms around his shoulders. “Thank you,” she says, giving him a kiss. “I was going to take you out to dinner today, but you know… We’ll do that somewhere this week.” 

She's simply chatting with George, pulling down her shirt to show her tan they were talking about. “Wait, did you get that bra from Arthur?” He chuckles, and her eyes go wide. “What? Why’d you think that?” She asks confused. “I swear he bought something in the colour just like that, he said his sister needed it to be picked up in London so he picked it up for her,” She quickly shakes her head in denial. “No, I got this for Christmas last year. Don’t know why Arthur would give me it,” She explains, and he looks at over at him and back at her. “Hmm, I don’t know, either,” he says suspiciously, taking another sip of his drink before she swiftly changes the conversation topic. “Oh, I saw you did the Sidemen video we were talking about before I left, how was it?”

Y/N nudges Arthur as she sits down next to him on the couch, “Want to explain why George knew about the bra?” She asks. He looks up from his phone in surprise, “What?!” He asks, and she giggles. “He said, and I quote, ‘Did you get that bra from Arthur?’, because you bought it when he was there,” She explains, and he chuckles. “Yeah, I did buy it when he was there. Wait, no, actually, why did he even see it?!” He asks in surprise. “We were talking about tanning and I showed him my tan line, so he saw the bra strap,” Arthur nods suspiciously at the explanation. “Uh-huh. Well, I won’t buy it when George is there next time. And you shouldn’t show him your bra!” She jokingly rolls her eyes, “I wasn’t just showing my bra!” Arthur laughs at her reaction and looks back at her with a smile. “Hmm. Well, I do want to see it. Should we go?” She looks down at the time. They’d been here for about three and a half hours, and it seemed socially acceptable to leave. “Yeah. I’ll grab my bag, and we go say goodbye.”

The third time, was the closest it ever got, at the Sidemen anniversary party.

They were glad it wasn’t someone already suspecting something, because if it was the couple definitely would’ve been found out. It wasn’t even a special evening to them, they’d already spend the entire week together and wanted to treat it as a casual night out with friends. It was going to be a fun occasion to get drunk, but Arthur knew that idea was thrown out the window when he saw her in a casual-chic black dress that suited her way too perfectly. He was glad the other boys weren’t there yet when he arrived at her place, where the group had agreed to meet, because he was just too stunned to speak. He was wearing a matching black shirt, with some casual white pants underneath. God, he looked insanely hot in it, and Y/N couldn’t help but voice the thought the second he took off his jacket. The rolled up sleeves, the two top buttons open, the little bit of chest — this outfit was really doing it for her. The same could be said about Arthur, who couldn’t keep himself away from her, constantly whispering compliments, touching her dress or staring at her. It was a dangerous game they were playing that evening, and they knew it all too well.

The party was very much going when they both had to use the bathroom, and they walked through the crowd holding hands. The bathrooms were not in the view from the dance floor, in a seemingly deserted hallway. So when Y/N had come back from the bathroom to Arthur just standing there, on his phone, she couldn’t resist. He looks up at the sound of her walking over, “You look so god-damn handsome,” she expresses, fixing his collar. “You look just as beautiful,” he says, softly grabbing her waist. He shamelessly scans her body for the umpteenth time that evening, and she simply looks at him, grinning. She gets closer to his face, making him gulp. “We make a hot looking couple, don’t we?” She questions, and he nods in response. “We sure do,” he lowly whispers, feeling her breath. Unable to resist any longer, he pulls her closer, pressing his lips on hers. The entire evening full of tension waiting to be released was felt as they passionately kissed each other. All they want is to pull each other as close as physically possible, only pausing to take a quick breath. Arthur has just turned them around, pressing her against the wall as a form of support, when they hear a cough. “Oh, sorry guys, sorry, sorry!” She gasps as she hears Harry’s voice, moving away from Arthur the second she hears the door lock. “Oh my god,” she says, and she looks at Arthur, who seems a bit stunned. “I forgot this wasn’t just an abandoned hallway, oh my god. Should I go in to like, talk to him?” She bites her lip as she fixes her dress. “Hmm, don’t bring it up, and if he didn’t recognise you, you didn’t see a thing. If he did see you, act like I’m a random influencer. And in the worst case scenario that he saw me too… He’ll keep quiet. I hope.” Lucky for them, all Harry asked Arthur is if he also saw a couple making out in the hallway, to which he said no. 

The fourth time was perfectly avoidable, if they hadn't been in the same room.

Sharing a room during the friend group skiing trip was a bad idea. They knew that. But George and Chris were sharing a room, and Harry and Will were, it was a logical thing. It would be, at least, if Y/N hadn’t always been the one to get the room for one, being the only girl or non-girlfriend. But they’d been careful, and all the previous close calls were long enough ago that it wouldn’t look suspicious. Right?

Arthur and Y/N had gone back to the lodge directly after dinner, tired from the long day of snowboarding after a late night filled with drinking games. They took a nice long shower in their en-suite bathroom — realistically their only time together without the lingering thought of one of their friends being able to hear. Whilst the rest was still partying in one of the ski huts, they decided to crawl into bed, watching a movie. They figured their friends would be back late enough for them to have gone to bed, so it wasn’t a surprise that they were already asleep when their friends got back. They’d come back around 11PM, surprised to find the living room area abandoned. “Have they gone to bed already?” Will asks, and Harry simply shrugs. “Y/N especially was pretty tired, I wouldn’t be surprised,” George expresses, and the rest of the boys agree. “Yeah, but Arthur too?” Chris simply shrugs, too tired to care. “You can go check on them, if you’re worried, but they’ll probably just show up by the morning either way,” Harry says, sitting down on the couch. “Hmm. I’m going to change, I’ll just check and see if they’re not kidnapped, or doing something I don’t want to see,” he jokes, making the other boys chuckle. Since they’d confirmed the rooms together, there’d been an ongoing joke about how long it would take for them to get off together— oblivious to how long they’d been doing that already. “For your own wellbeing, knock,” Chris calls after him, as the northerner walks up the stairs. Walking past their room, he softly knocks, not hearing any response. He opens the door and looks into the room to see the pair cuddled up, Y/N’s against Arthur’s chest and their arms intertwined. He recognises Arthur’s laptop on what looks to be Y/N’s night stand, and chuckles. Will didn’t want to assume anything, of course, so he decided not to. He quietly closes the door before walking to his own room.  “They were sleeping already, both of them,” is all he tells the other boys. 

When they finally get found out, it still comes as a shock, despite the ongoing joke.

Although Will didn’t tell anyone how he’d caught them in bed together during the skiing trip, the joke kept going. It had become the name of a group chat, they were constantly gossiping and were just waiting for the pair, who realistically didn’t show any signs of dating each other, to announce their relationship. They were so invested, that when they finally discover they were, in fact, in a relationship, it was almost like the boys were the ones that got caught. 

It was about a month after the skiing trip, and they had all gathered in Chris, George and Arthur Hill’s shared flat before a night out. Arthur and Y/N were in Chris’ bedroom getting ready, whilst the others were in the living room having drinks. “Have you noticed they keep talking about us?” He asks her, and she laughs, “Oh my god yeah. Their group chat is named Arthur&Y/N fans,” she exclaims, putting on her necklace. “It’s so funny, they really think we don’t realise they keep gossiping about us whilst they actually have no clue what’s actually going on,” he chuckles, walking over to help her out. “I know. Should we just, like, act like we’ve told them? And then watch them be confused,” she says, as he clicks the necklace together. “Thank you,” she softly expresses, and his hands move down, head leaning on her shoulder. “Ahh, yeah, that’d be hilarious. Imagine their reaction when we say we’ve been together for a year now,” he says, kissing her cheek. She giggles, looking at them in the mirror they were standing in front of. “It’s been the best year. I love you,” She turns her head to give him a kiss. “And I love you,” he says, pulling back. “Okay, we should make our way out there, or they will actually think we fucked.”

They make their way back to the living room separately, her going to the bathroom first. When she’s come back, they’re all gathered on and around the couch, playing a game of never have I ever. “Never have I ever… Kissed someone in this room on the lips,” Will says, making the group laugh. George and Arthur Hill raise their glass to each other before both taking a sip, and Chris looks up thinking. “Surely we have at some point, like, Maddie’s party?” Arthur asks Chris, reminding him of their days in Jersey. “Oh yeah, for sure,” he says laughing at the memory, the both of them taking a sip. As they discuss whether Stephen and Will’s accidental touching of lips counts, Y/N giggles, taking a sip. Only Arthur sees it, having kept an eye on her, and smirks as Will and Stephen take a sip. “Okay, next one. Drink if you’ve been on a date in the past week,” George asks, and Chris groans. “You’re targeting me,” he says, taking another sip of his drink, making George laugh. Arthur also takes a sip, making the boys look at him. “And who have you been out on a date with, Mr. Television?” He shrugs. “I went to a museum with the girl I’ve been going out with,” he simply says, not elaborating any further, even as the rest are looking at him expectantly. They all share a confused look as Y/N mumbles to herself. “Oh, was it this week? I guess it counts huh,” she takes a sip, which only Arthur Hill, sitting next to her, notices. He nudges her, “You went on a date? With who?” She nods, “Hmm. With my boyfriend,”  she casually says, and he looks at her shocked. “Your what?! Am I the last one to find out about this?“ She shakes her head, “No, one of the first. D’you need another drink?” Arthur shakes his head in confusion as she stands up and walks to the kitchen. She looks over to see most of them still had a drink. “Harry, another one?” She asks, holding up a beer bottle. “Uh yes, please,” she grabs another one, already opening it for him. She grabs one of the vodka-sprites her boyfriend was drinking, and hands him the can before handing Harry his beer and sitting back down. “I reckon we do that card game from last week and then go? Get us a bit further but doesn’t take too long,” Chris suggests, and they all agree. “Oh, I have the cards in my room, sorry, I’ll get them.”

When they’re all getting ready to leave the house, they’re all a bit more tipsy, everyone moving around grabbing their stuff. “Do you still have my keys?” Y/N asks Arthur, who’s chatting with Harry. “Oh, yeah, sorry,” he says, grabbing them from his pocket. “No, it’s fine, just wanted to be sure I hadn’t lost them. Do I need to keep yours in my bag?” She asks, and he nods, “Yes, please.” She naturally grabs his keys from his jacket, taking the typical girlfriend role of keeping his stuff. “What if you guys lose each other, and you can’t give him his keys?” Harry wonders, and they look at each other with a giggle. “We’re going home together, so we won’t leave without each other either way,” she explains, and Harry nods in understanding, but then looks between them as the implications catch up with him. Before he can say anything, they’ve both walked off doing their own things. Y/N goes to the bathroom, walking back to Arthur when she's done. “Excited to go out?” She asks, as he hands her his jacket. “Yeah, I am, it’s been a while. It’s cold out, wear it. I know you didn't bring anything and I have my hoodie,” She takes it with a sigh, “Fine. Thank you,” she says, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. She grabs his hand, and they walk to the kitchen, where most of the guys are, grabbing a drink for on the go. “Where are we going, actually?” She asks the group as she opens her canned cocktail. “We’ll be walking to Cuckoo’s and see if any of the places there are anything exciting today,” Chris says, and she nods, “cool,” before turning to her boyfriend again. “Are we going to yours then? We could just walk instead of taking an Uber to mine,” she softly asks him. His hand his on her back as he looks down at her, “Yeah, that’s fine,” he says as she leans against him, looking at all their friends chatting. “Are we actually waiting for anyone?” She thinks out loud, looking around the group. “Just George and Harry going to the bathroom, I think,” she nods as she makes her way over to the door, sitting down to put on her sneakers. Arthur gives her a hand and she stands up, quickly thanking him with a kiss. George looks around the group of guys, all too stunned to speak. “I wasn’t the only one that saw that, right?” Will shakes his head. “No, what’s going on there, mate?” He asks, whilst Arthur Hill points at the couple. “So he IS the boyfriend!” He exclaims, making the pair blush lightly. “Right, okay, well. Did you guys just start dating, or?” Chris asks curiously, and Y/N rolls her eyes. “We know you’ve bet on it, and you’ve all lost, so I reckon we get the money. Unless anyone bet on before the skiing trip?” She asks, and they all shake their heads. All the guys have similar facial expressions, a combination of shock and getting caught. Will is the first to speak up, “so, how long have you been dating, then? Because I saw you all cuddly during the skiing trip, but I didn’t want to assume,” he admits, and Arthur looks at her with a sheepish grin. He puts his arm around her pulling her closer, “Well, we’ve been together for a year, next week,” he casually says, and chaos ensues. All sorts of surprised expressions come out, mixed with words of betrayal such as “how could you do this” and excitement. “A year ago, so that’s… Wait, you weren’t together before we lived here, were you?” Chris wonders. “Well… We got together just before I went away to Milan for a month, so you were about to move in,” Y/N explains, and he nods. “Fuck, that’s a while, oh my god,” Y/N and Arthur simply laugh at all their friends’ reactions. “Wait wait wait, at the Sidemen party, when I saw those people kissing, was that actually just you?” Harry asks, and Arthur scratches his head whilst Y/N looks down in embarrassment. “Yeah, we honestly thought you saw us,” Arthur admits, cheeks turned red as Harry laughs. “Okay, enough of us, let’s go,” Y/N says, opening the door. She grabs Arthur’s hand, pulling him with her, and the rest of the guys all follow them laughing. “Don’t think this is it, we need the details!!”

[ambros1an]

Hsr characters in a Soulmate au

warnings: sunday backstory, implied Gopher Wood being a bad father (Sunday), implied stellaron hunter Sunday, discrimination (aventurine, not said by reader), debt (aventurine), firefly backstory, 2.0-2.2 penacony spoilers

characters: Sunday, Aventurine, Firefly

a/n: it's so obvious who's my #1 fav in this

Sunday: writing

Throughout the world, everyone had the ability to communicate to their soulmates through writing on their own skin.

Sunday doesn't remember much about his childhood. His home-world was entrenched in war. The only constant in his life was his own sister, and the strange symbols on his wrists.

After being taken in by Gopher Wood, he would be taught that those symbols were words, and they came from his Soulmate. Excitedly, he'd take to the books to communicate with the person on the other end. At first it was little doodles, then broken sentences, and then full on conversations.

He wrote about his sister, the charmony dove, music and literature. One day, the writing stopped. You'd jot down messages in concern, so worried to the point your hand writing looked like illegible scribbles. He never did tell you his name after all.

After years, finally you got a response.

'Meet me at Dreamflux Reef, here, at 8 pm.' You couldn't help but notice that your soulmate's penmanship had improved after all these years. The once poor excuse for cursive wasn't just printed letters attached to one another, but font-like in it's neatness with broad loops. Despite the brief words written on your skin, your stomach rolled. Was it nerves or excitement?

There was a little hand-drawn map, taking up a portion of your forearm, with an 'X' on the location. You approached the streetlight ahead of you. It was five minutes before 8 pm, at the exact area he told you to be at.

There was somebody there. In the darkness, it was hard to see. The streetlight offered little brightness. Just a faint glow upon whoever it was. They were clearly halovian, a light bounced off their halo, providing a shine in your line of sight. Contrarily, they stood in dark clothes. And seemed to be fidgeting...as if waiting for someone.

As if on cue, the figure straightens up and turns to look at you. Those grey feathers and yellow eyes were unmistakable.

"Mr. Sunday?" The man hasn't been seen since the Order was chased out of Penacony.

"I didn't expect you to show up early," Sunday gives a halfhearted chuckle, then he calls your name, "you are them, right?"

"Yes, but-" You look towards your arm where the writing is located.

He sighs and shakes his head, "I...I'm the one who's been writing to you all these years." Sunday lifts his sleeve, on it is your reply to him, asking where he's been, and saying you'd be there.

Your soulmate was Sunday. The former head of the Oak Family. An MIA criminal. But also your childhood friend, who you never met.

There was so much to say, but the only thing you could think to ask was, "Why? You've been gone for so long..."

"I'm sorry. My fa-the dream master, prevented me from reaching out to you. He wanted me to be 'the chosen one' for The Order. I'm sorry that it took so long for me to-"

Gently, you put your arms around him.

"I was so worried. Please, talk to me. About everything."

He would, but now, all he wanted to do was rest in your embrace.

Aventurine: eye color

Everyone has one of their eyes the same eye color as their soulmate’s, until they meet.

It’s something that’s so arbitrary and meaningless to most people. There are only so many colors in the universe after all. But not yours.

“Sigonian.” Disdain.

“Poor child.” Pity.

“Whoever your soulmate is, you’re better off not meeting them.” Disgust.

Sigonia. A far off planet somewhere in the galaxy. Lightyears away. Where a people known for their unique eyes resides. Or used to reside.

Looking into the mirror, your right eye looks back at you, it’s a purple tinged with blue. You wonder what your soulmate’s would’ve looked like. You’ve long since accepted that any possible soulmate would’ve died years ago. Not even baseless rumors could settle any feelings of loss.

Knock Knock

Debt collectors.

The gentle knocks turn into bangs. The person standing outside takes a full walk around your house, peering inside any windows in search of you. The IPC was relentless when it came to debt. They'd make constant calls, tell your neighbors, blackmail their debtors, tack on more and more money, all to collect as much money as possible.

Just as your nerves calm down your phone rings. It's from a family member.

"Hello?"

"Hello, I'm calling from the IPC." That's not them. The voice is male with a smoothness to his voice. He disguised his number.

Just when you're about to hang up, "Don't hang up yet, I have a proposition for you." He instructs you to open the door.

You follow his instructions. Each step you make, the pit in your stomach gets wider. The door creeks as you turn the knob.

Two purple eyes, with a blue ring around the pupil. Sigonian. His eyes mirror your right one. But, within his reflection you see your own two regular colored eyes. Wait-

The man's mouth drops in shock, but instantly pulls into a grin. He hangs up the call.

"I see what's going on here. This time, the charge is on me," Aventurine insists. He's covered in designer clothing from head to toe, with golden rings lining each finger. You know right then and there that anything you say will get you nowhere. You're just glad he seems to be on your side.

"...Thank you."

"Mmm, but I never said it was without recompense." Shit. "In return, I'll provide you with a better place to live. This place is a bit...run down," he takes a glance around your home, and you can't help but feel embarrassed.

"Thank you, Aventurine, but that just sounds like I'll be in your debt."

He waves you off. "Debt? No, friend. What kind of partner would I be to let my soulmate fend for themselves?"

Firefly : timer

Every person across the galaxy has a timer leading up to the meeting of their soulmate.

4,000 years. Approximately 35,040,000 hours.

That was what Firefly had.

When she first awoke in her incubation chamber, it felt like she could wait forever. Their purpose was to devote their entire being to Glamoth. She did not dream. Not of the warmth of someone’s hands in theirs. Not of someone telling her that she was more. That was not a right of a weapon.

Yet, under the ashen sky and fields of smoke, not a single light shone through. Glamoth would never see the sun again. That was no place for a firefly.

For the last time she broke all protocol.

They unfurled their wings and chased the light. Finally, Unit AR-26710’s heart fluttered for a purpose that wouldn’t destroy.

24 hours = 1,440 minutes = 86,400 seconds.

They’d be landing in Penacony soon. She looked at her wrist, where the countdown was located. 1 day. She could feel her heart beat in her throat; she was so nervous.

Love. Kafka taught her that emotion. She’d never felt it before. Not that way.

Her eyes never left the window.

5 minutes = 300 seconds.

299, 298, 297, 296… Thinking in seconds was faster than minutes. It made time go faster. Minutes felt like eternity.

120, 119, 118, 117… Were they standing in the same area? Could she be looking at them right now? How far apart were they? Would they be tall or short? Would they be the time to put milk before cereal? Would they even like her?

10, 9, 8, 7… She watched the time tick away. She didn’t dare to look up least she burn up from the inside. It felt like her propulsion accidentally activated.

4, 3, 2, 1—

A figure crashed into her from behind. “I’m so sorry!”

0

She turned to look, and there you were. Yet, there was no celebration like she imagined. No hugging. No holding each other in an embrace. Instead, your face was pulled into grimace. Your arm gently interlocking with hers. Your posture was tight and hunched. All the signs of an uneasy person. Two Bloodhound members trailed after you.

“Did we do something wrong?” Firefly moved to stand in front of you

“That’s classified information,” one of the bloodhound guards say, gaze shifting off to look at you.

“I really didn’t do anything.” You look at Firefly with a pleading look.

The girl looks back at you and nods. She grabs your hand, the one the countdown is located on and charges for the alleys.

You hear the slap of their shoes against the concrete. The hurried pants of the guards. The footsteps behind you get louder and closer. In spite of the danger, all you can think about is the girl whose fingers are intertwined with yours. It brings a rush to your cheeks that only a breeze can soothe.

When your soulmate rounds the corner of the alley, her warm hand laced with yours turn a cold metallic. Her other hand placed around the small of your back in support. The suit of the armor is cold against your skin, but there’s a heat that radiates from the chest of the mech. It soothes your nerves. The lack of heat from her hand interlocked with yours may be replaced, but it was welcome.

When she unwraps her wings from behind her suit, a warm air erupts around you. Suddenly, you’re in the sky. The wind ruffles your hair, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when it dawns on you that you’re in your soulmate’s arms.

‘How would the other hunters react if they knew she blew her cover? Kafka was definitely going to tease her."

a/n #2: aven's was so hard to write. he feels like such a sleazebag in this but its only because he's in work mode I promise !! I want to do more of these bc it was fun.

[halfmoonaria]

what i can’t say

pairing: tara carpenter & female reader

summary: tara wants the only person she can’t have, but she’ll do whatever it takes to change that —even if it means risking everything.

word count: 10.7k

author’s note: yall don’t forget to wish me a happy birthday this friday on the 22nd!

Tara wasn't used to hearing the word "no."

Growing up, she'd mastered the art of getting exactly what she wanted, whether it was a toy, a treat, or just a little more attention.

All it took was a well-timed look, a hint of a pout, or a small scene in a public place—not that she ever felt bad about it. After all, it always worked, and it always felt worth it.

But more than any toy or treat, Tara always seemed to have what she wanted most: you.

Her best friend since... well, since you both were small enough to think scraped knees were the end of the world. You'd been there from the start, the friend who laughed with her, who stood by her through every phase and whim.

Tara didn't have to beg or throw a fit to keep you close. You just were. It was like you were woven into each other's lives, and if anyone asked, she'd say you'd always be there—like you were something she'd managed to keep just for herself.

If anyone asked, Tara couldn't quite recall a time before you.

You were there in every memory that mattered, the friend who understood her quirks, finished her sentences, and knew every dream she'd ever had.

You were inseparable, not just in the way kids cling to each other, but in the way people do when they know they'll never quite find someone who gets them like this again.

You shared everything with your clothes, midnight snacks, and every embarrassing crush you'd ever had.

You laughed together about the silly things you thought were love back then, sharing conversations about who you'd marry someday and who had the best smile.

Although. Tara was always a little quieter during these talks, listening more than sharing, and you never thought much of it. That was just Tara, after all, always keeping a bit of herself back, tucked away in her own mind.

But when it came to your middle school crush, she never missed a chance to tease you, brushing him off as if he wasn't as special as you seemed to think.

She'd laugh and tell you he wasn't as funny as you made him out to be, or that his smile really wasn't anything to write home about.

To you, it was just typical Tara, always finding a way to poke holes in the things you liked.

You didn't notice how her smile faltered when you gushed over him or how her gaze turned a little sharper, though even she didn't fully understand why.

It left her with an uneasy feeling, the kind she could never quite explain, that made her want to change the subject whenever she could.

And as time passed during this time, it seemed like your crush only grew, and so did the way you talked about him.

No matter how many times Tara brushed off your comments or tried to steer the conversation elsewhere, you still lit up whenever his name came up.

Brian.

Brian slipped into conversations almost daily, whether it was about the way he made everyone laugh in class or how he'd held the door for you that morning. And each time you brought him up, Tara felt a pang of irritation she couldn't quite explain.

She never told you how much she despised Brian, but the feeling ran deep. It gnawed at her whenever you mentioned him, and even though she tried to brush it off, she found herself disliking him more and more.

The worst part was, she couldn't understand why. It wasn't like you weren't allowed to like a boy—that was just part of life, after all.

Whenever she hinted at her frustration with her mom, she'd hear the same thing: it was normal, fun even, to have a crush, and Tara would experience it too someday.

But she hadn't. She'd never felt that way about any boy in your grade, no matter how many times she tried to convince herself she should.

It confused her, and in a way, it confused you too. You'd always laughed off the fact that Tara never seemed to "crush" the way you did, teasing her about how she'd figure it out someday.

But whenever you'd gush over Brian, Tara would just sit quietly, trying to ignore the strange knot in her stomach that seemed to tighten with every word you said.

Time went on, and those middle school crushes never quite faded.

Brian only seemed to grow more attractive, transitioning from the shy boy you liked to someone who was effortlessly charming, with a confidence that made everyone notice him.

Back then, you'd have called him "cute," but now, there were new words—hot, gorgeous—terms that made Tara roll her eyes every time they left your mouth.

But you still felt that rush of excitement when he was around, that same giddiness you'd had since you were ten, only now it felt a little more real.

Tara, on the other hand, hadn't changed much when it came to relationships.

While others around you both dated, broke up, and fell in love, she stayed quietly distant, brushing off questions and teasing about why she never seemed interested in anyone.

The truth was, she didn't really know why herself. There was a part of her that felt left out when you gushed about Brian, when your other friends talked about crushes or brought dates to dances. She tried to tell herself that she just wasn't interested yet, that maybe someday she'd feel what everyone else seemed to.

But as the years went by, Tara started to realize that maybe she was different—and she couldn't shake the strange sense of frustration that came with that realization, especially whenever Brian was mentioned.

Somewhere along the way, as high school turned into something more serious, so did her thoughts about you.

Tara didn't want to admit it at first—not to herself, not to anyone. The idea crept up quietly, unexpected and unwanted, like some shadow she couldn't shake.

The way you'd laugh at something silly, the familiar warmth of your hand in hers, or the way her heart would skip when you'd throw an arm around her shoulders. It all made sense now, but it was a sense she desperately didn't want.

When the realization hit her, it was like she couldn't breathe.

There was this tiny voice in her mind that whispered, almost cruelly, You're in love with her. Tara's immediate reaction was to shut it down, to deny it with everything she had. This couldn't be right. She wasn't in love with you.

That wasn't what best friends did. She told herself she was just confused, that maybe it was normal to feel this strongly about someone you'd known your entire life.

But every time she saw you look at Brian—every time you said his name with that sparkle in your eyes—it felt like a punch to the gut, and there was no denying it anymore.

The more she tried to reason with herself, the clearer it became. And that terrified her.

She couldn't let herself feel this way about you. You were her best friend, the person who knew her better than anyone else.

The idea of telling you—of you finding out and looking at her with pity, or worse, disgust—made her stomach twist. She could already imagine the awkward smile, the way you might back away, laugh it off, or even leave her behind. It would shatter her, and she knew that.

And so, she decided then and there that this secret would stay with her.

She'd lock it away, bury it so deep that even she could forget about it someday. Telling anyone—even her parents—wasn't an option.

Not only did she fear their reaction, but she knew they wouldn't understand. To them, you were her friend, nothing more, and the thought of losing you, or of anyone making her feel like her love was wrong, was enough to keep her quiet.

But keeping quiet wasn't easy. The secret felt like it was burning a hole through her, consuming her thoughts and leaving her frustrated in ways she couldn't explain.

She wanted to be around you, but every moment with you felt like a reminder of what she could never have, and it only made the ache grow stronger.

She was angry, scared, and hopelessly in love with the one person she could never tell.

So she became skilled at hiding the depth of her feelings, putting on a mask that had somehow become part of her daily life.

She played her role well, acting like nothing had changed between you both.

At school, she kept her gaze casual, listening to you talk as if she didn't want to lose herself in the way your lips moved.

During sleepovers, she'd lie next to you, forcing herself to focus on anything but the warmth of your arm just inches from hers.

And at parties, now that you were both old enough to go, she'd laugh and dance alongside you, all while pretending her stomach wasn't in knots from the way you looked at her under dim lights, a playful grin lighting up your face.

It was like living with a constant tug-of-war inside her, balancing between wanting to be near you and needing to keep her heart steady.

She'd perfected the art of nonchalance, even when you made it nearly impossible. When you got excited about something—eyes wide, laughing about some small victory—Tara would have to swallow down the urge to reach out, to brush a strand of hair from your face or lean in just a little closer.

The hardest moments were the little things, the 'normal' things, like when you'd give her an easy, carefree compliment, your eyes warm and sincere.

She'd feel the blush rise to her cheeks, and she'd quickly look away or laugh it off, hoping you didn't notice the way her voice wavered.

And when you held her hands, like you always did, squeezing them to give her a little boost of courage, she'd act as though it didn't send her heart racing, as though she wasn't fighting the impulse to hold on tighter.

Every smile you threw her way, every moment you lingered too close, she had to act like it didn't make her insides flip.

She trained herself to respond with that same easy smile, to pretend she didn't feel like the air had been knocked out of her whenever you looked at her like she was the only one in the room.

It was a constant game of pretending, a battle against herself that she had to win every single day.

And as much as she tried to hide it, each touch, each laugh, each simple, familiar look left her more tangled in her own emotions.

She tried to tell herself that these things were just... normal. Friends did these things all the time, she told herself, even if everything in her felt far from normal.

But no matter how many times she told herself that, her resolve was starting to crack. She couldn't help but notice her jealousy flare up when she saw you talking to other people, especially Brian.

Then, one Tuesday at lunch, you dropped a bombshell that flipped her world just a bit more.

She leaned back, half-focused on your conversation with the others at the table, when she saw you walking toward her with a grin so bright it felt like it could light up the whole room.

Tara felt her heart jump at the sight, her thoughts immediately swept into the excitement that was clearly radiating off of you.

You barely took your seat before bursting with excitement. "Tara!"

Tara's smile matched yours, though a part of her already felt a small pang of unease. But she pushed it aside and leaned in eagerly, mirroring your excitement. "What happened?"

You practically glowed as you told her, "He sat next to me in class today." Tara's chest tightened, but she held her expression steady, keeping that casual, easy smile.

She already knew who you meant—you didn't even have to say his name. It was in the way your voice softened, how your eyes sparkled with excitement she rarely saw except when you were really, really happy.

She couldn't stand the sight of it. Seeing you so... in love, so giddy, felt like a punch she wasn't ready for.

You practically glowed, your whole personality seeming to shift as if you were that younger version of yourself again, like back in middle school when every new crush filled you with wide-eyed excitement.

Except now, it wasn't an innocent schoolgirl crush; it was real, and you were already slipping further from her reach with each passing second.

Tara kept smiling, but inside, every bit of her was tangled up in knots.

You'd never look at her like that. Never talk about her with that bubbly, uncontainable happiness. The thought clawed at her, a reminder she could never push away.

She was your best friend, sure, but she'd never be the person who made your cheeks flush or your heart race. And somehow, knowing that made it even harder to keep that same easy smile on her face.

"And?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't betray her, even as she felt a knot forming. She listened as you recounted every word, every laugh you'd shared with him in that class.

Then you dropped the real news, your eyes sparkling. Your grin only widened. "And then, right before class ended, he asked me to go with him to that party next weekend."

Tara's heart sank, yet she barely let the smile slip. She forced herself to open her mouth in surprise, eyes wide, like she was just as thrilled as you were. "Really?" she said, trying to sound as shocked and happy as you seemed, her voice just a bit too bright. "Did you... did you say yes?"

Of course you did. Tara felt stupid for even considering asking you that question.

But you didn't seem to mind, you just nodded eagerly, your whole face lighting up. "Obviously!"

"Oh, wow. That's... that's great, actually," she said, her voice a little too steady, but it was the best she could manage.

Inside, though, she was unraveling. You were actually going with him. It shouldn't have been such a shock—after all, this was what you wanted, right?

But knowing that you'd be there, dressed up, all smiles and laughter... with him... felt like a lead weight sinking in her chest.

She could already picture it, the two of you in some dimly lit room with music thumping, Ethan leaning in close to say something to make you laugh, you smiling up at him like he was the only person in the world.

The thought of it made her throat tighten, her mind racing with feelings she didn't even want to name.

"Are you excited?" she asked, her voice coming out just barely above a whisper. She hoped you wouldn't notice how strained it sounded, how much effort it took just to ask.

You nodded, your smile impossibly bright. "Yeah, I mean... I didn't think he even noticed me like that, you know? But now... maybe he does."

The way you said it—hopeful, almost in disbelief—cut deeper than she wanted to admit. Maybe he does. Those three words stayed in her head, echoing louder with each second.

She was supposed to be happy for you, and maybe part of her was, but mostly, she just felt hollow.

Because even though you'd never know it, she'd been looking at you the way you were looking at him, longing for that same chance to mean something more to you. And now she was faced with the awful reality that she might never get that chance.

Swallowing down the bitterness, she forced a tight-lipped smile. "You'll have a great time, I'm sure."

But even as she said it, a part of her was already wondering if she'd do something she'd regret. The thought of watching you fall for someone else—someone who wasn't her—was more than she could stand.

And as much as she hated to admit it, she knew she'd do almost anything to keep you from slipping away.

Your eyes brightened again. "You should come with us!"

Tara's heart twisted at the invitation, feeling both flattered and devastated. Of course you'd want her there, being the good friend you were—unaware of what it did to her to see you light up over someone else.

Forcing herself to stay casual, she shrugged, managing a small playful smirk. "I'm not exactly great at third-wheeling."

Her voice sounded steady enough, but inside, it felt like she was clinging to the last threads of composure.

She couldn't stand the thought of watching you fall for him right in front of her, yet the idea of saying no, of letting you go without her... that hurt, too.

Maybe if she was there, she could stop whatever was beginning to grow between you and him. Just maybe, she thought, she'd find a way to keep you by her side, where you'd always belonged.

Her mind spun, the smile on her face frozen, all she could focus on was the sinking realization that she might actually lose you.

Until now, she'd convinced herself that her feelings for you were something she could handle, something she'd eventually learn to live with. But now, with Brian's name hanging between you, that quiet acceptance shattered.

She could see the way this might unfold, each painful step already clear in her mind.

She'd watched enough romance movies to know how these things went, and as much as she wanted to push the thoughts away, they crept in, vivid and unrelenting.

First, you'd go to the party together, and maybe he'd make you laugh so much that you'd find yourself leaning in, your hand brushing his.

She could already picture the two of you on future dates—sharing secrets over a quiet dinner or standing too close on some sidewalk, your face lit up in a way that made her stomach twist with envy.

And worse, she could imagine what might happen after those dates, how one day soon he'd reach for your hand, and you wouldn't hesitate to hold his back.

She didn't want to picture it, but the thought seeped into her mind anyway, filling her with a fierce, unfamiliar ache.

The image of you wrapped up in his arms, whispering into his ear, or—even worse—laughing with that same joy you always shared with her, but this time meant for him, made her chest feel hollow.

The thought kept spiraling, her mind betraying her with scenes she couldn't bear to picture.

You, with Brian, alone, closer than she'd ever be, maybe even leaning in for a kiss.

She imagined his hand brushing your cheek, the two of you getting so lost in each other that you forgot everyone else around you—including her.

The jealousy was sharp, hotter than anything she'd felt before.

She hated the way it took over, the way it made her feel small and powerless, like she was losing something that had never even been hers to begin with.

And then, a terrible, aching thought hit her: she might never get to be close to you in that way.

She might never get to be the person who held you, who kissed you, who made you laugh like that.

It wasn't just about watching you fall for someone else—it was the crushing realization that you might never look at her the way you looked at him.

Maybe it would be better if she came along?

The idea took a root in Tara's mind, an unexpected, half-formed plan that both excited and unsettled her.

If she went to the party with you and Brian, it might give her a chance to keep things from moving forward between you two.

She could play it off as tagging along to "keep an eye" on you, to make sure you had fun—and stay close enough to step in if Brian tried anything. It was risky, maybe even a little desperate, but what choice did she have?

At least if she was there, she'd know exactly what was happening. She wouldn't have to lie awake later, imagining him whispering things in your ear, pulling you close, stealing the attention she wanted only for herself.

She could keep you safe from all that, and maybe, if she was careful enough, find subtle ways to draw your attention back to her, where it belonged.

In her mind, it sounded almost justified. A "protective friend" sticking close to make sure you were all right. But the truth simmered beneath that excuse—she knew this was more than friendship, that she wanted to keep you to herself in ways you might never understand.

If Brian was going to try to win you over, he'd have to do it with her there, watching his every move, ready to swoop in the second things started looking too cozy.

And maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to make sure that night ended with you still hers—still looking at her with that easy, trusting smile that had always been her anchor.

Her chest tightened at the thought of it, the chance to stay close to you a little longer, to stave off the reality she dreaded.

If you didn't have the chance to fall for him—if she could prevent that—maybe she'd finally have the time and courage to make you see her the way she saw you.

You nudged her lightly, snapping Tara out of her thoughts, leaning in with that familiar, hopeful smile that always made it so hard to say no to you. "Come on, Tara. It'll be fun—just this once. Please?"

Tara's chest tightened at the way you looked at her, like her answer actually mattered to you. It made something inside her ache, the way your face lit up with excitement, completely oblivious to the storm brewing in her mind.

She should've said no. She wanted to say no.

But the thought of watching you leave without her—without knowing what might happen between you and Brian—made her stomach twist painfully.

And now, thanks to the idea she'd let herself entertain earlier, the thought of staying home didn't feel like an option anymore.

That plan, desperate and reckless as it was, had already taken root, and no matter how much a small part of her whispered it wasn't right, she couldn't let it go.

What if she stayed behind and missed her chance to stop something from blossoming between the two of you? What if she sat in her room, alone, while you fell for him right in front of everyone? The mere idea made her skin crawl.

But going wasn't any better. If she went, she'd have to watch you fawn over him, maybe even see you with him. And that thought was enough to make her want to bolt from the room. Yet here you were, looking at her like her presence actually mattered.

But why? Did you think she needed convincing, or was there some part of you that truly wanted her by your side? Her stomach churned at the thought.

She hesitated, her fingers brushing the hem of her shirt as she tried to keep her expression neutral. If she said no, you'd go without her, and that stung more than she wanted to admit. But if she said yes...

Her mind spun with the possibilities. She didn't even know what she'd do if she went—how far she was willing to take this twisted plan of hers. But what she did know, with a growing certainty, was that she couldn't stay behind. Not when the thought of Brian pulling you closer was enough to make her chest burn with jealousy.

Your face shifted slightly, your brows knitting together when she didn't answer right away.

"Tara," you pressed gently, your voice dipping into that teasing tone you always used when you were trying to coax her into something. "Come on," you pressed again, your grin widening when she hesitated. "You have to come. It won't be the same without you."

It won't be the same without you.

Those words sealed it, though not in the way you meant them to. Something twisted and desperate bloomed in her chest, making her pulse quicken.

You didn't even realize it, but you were giving her exactly what she wanted: a reason to stay close. A reason to be where she could see you—and control what happened between you and Brian.

"Fine," she said at last, forcing a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes. "But don't complain when I tell you it sucks."

The way your entire face lit up at her answer sent an ache through her chest. Her stomach fluttered against her will, a mix of longing and guilt tangling together in a way that made it hard to breathe. She hated how much it affected her, how happy you seemed just because she'd agreed to go.

She looked away quickly, pretending to focus on something across the room, anything to avoid the way your joy sent another wave of guilt and longing through her.

She knew it wasn't right—none of this was. But she couldn't let it go. Not when her plan had already started to take shape. Not when the thought of Brian having you was enough to make her reckless.

Because no matter how hard she tried to tell herself this was just a party, just a stupid night out, deep down, she knew she wasn't going for the music or the fun.

She was going because if Brian thought he was going to win you over tonight, he was dead wrong.

___

"What about this one?"

Tara looked up from where she was sitting on the edge of your bed, her gaze drawn to the shimmering fabric you held up against yourself. It was a short, fitted dress, one you'd clearly been saving for a moment like this.

The way Tara sat there, watching you flit around the room, sifting through piles of clothes you'd pulled from your closet.

It reminded her of when you were younger, back when the two of you would raid your moms' closets, parading around in oversized heels and dresses that pooled around your feet. You'd giggle uncontrollably, striking exaggerated poses in front of the mirror.

But this wasn't dress-up anymore.

Now, the clothes were your own—real, grown-up outfits that fit you perfectly, accentuating curves and edges Tara wasn't sure she was supposed to notice. It wasn't just playtime; this was your life now. And tonight, you weren't dressing up for laughs or pretend tea parties.

You were dressing up for him.

Her eyes flickered briefly over the dress before settling on your face. You were beaming, the excitement practically radiating off you as you turned to the mirror, holding the dress against your body.

She should've said something. A simple "looks great" or even a teasing "a bit much, don't you think?" would've worked, but the words caught in her throat.

It wasn't the dress—it was the way your whole body hummed with energy, the way your smile was just a little too wide, your movements a little too quick. Tara saw it all, and it was like watching you wear your feelings on your sleeve.

The way you twirled the dress in front of the mirror, the way your hands moved restlessly as you smoothed down imaginary creases—it was all too familiar. She knew exactly what you were feeling, even if you didn't say it out loud.

Did Brian? She doubted it.

He didn't know the little things, like how your voice got higher when you were nervous or how you couldn't stand still when you were excited. He didn't know the way your lips pressed together when you were thinking too hard about something or the way your shoulders tensed when you wanted something to go perfectly.

He didn't know you, not like she did.

"What do you think?" you asked again, snapping her out of her thoughts. You turned, holding the dress out at arm's length, giving her a better look. "Too much? Not enough?"

Tara forced a smile, her heart twisting as she watched you. "I think it's... nice," she said carefully, her voice steady even as her stomach churned.

Nice. The word felt like a betrayal. It didn't come close to how she really felt—how beautiful you looked, how much she wished those bright eyes were sparkling for her instead of someone else.

"You think Brian'll like it?" you asked, your tone innocent, but the question struck Tara like a punch.

She swallowed hard, her fingers curling into the fabric of your comforter. She wanted to tell you Brian didn't deserve you, that he wouldn't know how to appreciate all the little things that made you you. But instead, she kept her tone casual, masking the storm inside her.

"I mean... yeah," she said after a pause. "It's hard not to like you in anything."

Your grin widened, lighting up the room in a way that made her stomach flutter. You didn't notice the tightness in her smile, the way her eyes lingered on you for just a second too long.

"You're the best." you said, turning back to the mirror.

Tara's chest tightened, a quiet ache settling beneath her ribs. She glanced away, forcing a small smile as she leaned back on her hands.

She let her fingers dug slightly into the comforter as she watched you move across the room again, this time heading toward your closet. You sifted through the hangers with an almost frantic energy, pulling out one piece of clothing after another until something caught your eye.

"This," you announced, holding up a sleek black skirt and a tiny top with delicate lace accents.

Tara blinked, her focus shifting from the faint hum of her own thoughts to the outfit in your hands. The skirt was just short enough to grab attention, and the top would clung to the curves in all the right places—your curves, she couldn't help but think.

Her stomach twisted again, but not with the same bitterness from earlier. No, this was something else entirely. She couldn't stop herself from picturing you in it, couldn't stop the way her mind immediately conjured the image of you standing there, all done up, looking effortlessly hot and completely out of her reach.

She swallowed hard, tearing her gaze away. "You're not wearing the dress?" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.

"Oh, I am," you replied with a grin, holding the outfit closer to her. "This is for you!"

Tara froze. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe, her chest tightening as your words sank in.

She had been so caught up in watching you, so wrapped up in her own spiral of emotions, that she had momentarily forgotten she was actually going to this party.

"Me?" she echoed, her brows furrowing slightly as she tried to act like the idea of dressing up didn't make her stomach drop.

You laughed softly, stepping closer to hold the outfit up against her frame. "Yeah, you! Come on, Tara, you can't just wear that." You half-pointed to her attire.

Tara's eyes darted to the mirror, catching a glimpse of herself in her usual hoodie and jeans.

She had planned on blending into the background tonight, just another shadow in the corner, but now you were holding out a version of herself she wasn't sure she wanted to confront.

"It's... a little much, don't you think?" she murmured, her fingers brushing over the fabric.

"Not at all," you said, undeterred. "Trust me, you'll look amazing.

The way you looked at her, so excited, so hopeful, made it impossible for her to argue. The truth was, she didn't want to blend into the background—not really. Not if it meant letting Brian win.

"Alright," she said finally, forcing a small smirk as she reached for the outfit.

You grinned, clearly thrilled, and the sight sent her heart fluttering all over again.

As she stood up to take the clothes in you, the weight of the night ahead settled on her shoulders again. She knew this wasn't about the clothes or the party. It was about you—about keeping you close, about holding onto the part of you that still felt like hers, even if it wasn't.

And as much as she hated to admit it, she was willing to do whatever it took to keep it that way.

Tara pulled the clothes from your hands, her fingers brushing yours for just a second longer than necessary before she turned away.

She hesitated only briefly, her eyes darting to the bathroom door, but then she decided against it. It wasn't like this was anything new. You'd seen her change plenty of times before.

Slipping off her hoodie, she pulled the top over her head, the soft lace brushing against her skin in a way that felt oddly delicate, almost foreign.

The skirt followed, the fabric snug around her waist and flaring slightly at her hips. When she finally turned back toward you, she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

It was strange. She didn't recognize the girl staring back at her right away—not entirely. The clothes fit her so well, so effortlessly, that she felt a flicker of something unexpected: pride.

She looked... pretty. Not in the same way you did, with your radiant energy that drew everyone in, but still. Pretty enough.

Her heart jumped a little at the thought of you seeing her like this, of you noticing her in the way she always noticed you. She didn't know why she wanted that so badly, but the hope curled tightly in her chest, warm and persistent.

You looked up from where you'd been smoothing out your own dress, and your reaction was immediate. Your eyes widened slightly, and then your face lit up in that effortless way that always made her stomach flutter.

"Tara, oh my god, you look so good," you said, your voice soft but genuine, carrying none of the over-the-top excitement you sometimes used when joking around. This was real.

Tara felt her cheeks warm under your gaze, her fingers automatically reaching to adjust the hem of the skirt, as if she could somehow shield herself from the weight of your words. She tried to play it off, shrugging casually. "It's just a skirt," she mumbled, but her voice lacked its usual bite.

"It's not just a skirt," you countered, stepping closer. "You look amazing. Seriously, this is perfect for you."

Your words were kind, almost too kind, and Tara wasn't sure how to process them. There was no teasing, no playful edge, just an earnestness that made her chest feel tight and achy.

She glanced away, pretending to focus on her reflection again, but the warmth of your approval lingered, sinking into her skin like the lace of the top.

She wanted to feel good about it, to let herself bask in the way you saw her, but the nagging thought that this wasn't for her—that it was all part of your excitement for Brian—kept her grounded.

Still, the way you smiled at her, so unreserved and so entirely you, made her feel something she hadn't in a long time: seen. She wished, just for a second, that you were saying all of this for the same reason she wished you would.

You spun on your heel, nearly tripping over the pile of discarded clothes strewn across the floor in your excitement. Tara's breath caught for a second, her hand twitching instinctively like she was about to reach for you, but you caught yourself, laughing it off as if nothing had happened.

"You need to clean your room before someone gets hurt," Tara muttered, though her tone held more amusement than annoyance.

You ignored her, too caught up in the moment as you reached your makeup table, rifling through your collection with a kind of chaotic precision.

Pulling out a palette, you held it up, the colors catching the light as you grinned at her. "What do you think? Want me to do your makeup?"

Your voice was so full of unfiltered excitement, your smile so wide it made her stomach flip. Tara hesitated, her fingers brushing the hem of her skirt as she glanced at the palette in your hands. She wasn't really the makeup type—not like you were—but the way you looked at her, like you were just waiting to make her feel special, made it impossible to say no.

"You don't have to," Tara said finally, though her voice lacked conviction.

"I want to!" you insisted, stepping closer, the palette still in hand. "Please, Tara? I promise I'll keep it simple. Just a little something to go with the outfit."

She sighed, feigning reluctance as she sat back down on the edge of the bed. "Fine."

You grabbed a chair and pulled it in front of her, gesturing for her to sit. "Alright, let's make you even more stunning."

Tara rolled her eyes, though the faintest smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she leaned forward.

___

The buzz of the party hit you as soon as you stepped through the door.

Music pulsed through the house, the bass vibrating in your chest as voices overlapped in a cacophony of laughter and shouted greetings.

People crowded the space—groups gathered near the kitchen, couples pressed close against walls, and a few brave souls danced in the living room, already letting loose despite how early it was in the night.

You glanced over at Tara, catching the way her shoulders stiffened slightly as the noise and energy enveloped her. She'd been quiet on the drive over, her fingers drumming against her thigh in a way that let you know her nerves were kicking in. But she'd never admit that, not to you.

"See?" you said brightly, bumping her shoulder with yours as you stepped further into the house. "I told you this would be fun."

Tara gave you a look, one that was half-skepticism and half-amusement, as she tugged at the hem of her skirt. "Yeah, we'll see about that."

Your laugh was warm and easy, a sound that somehow made the chaos of the party seem less overwhelming. You reached back to grab her hand, pulling her through the crowd as you made your way toward the kitchen. The feel of your fingers around hers made something in Tara's chest twist uncomfortably, though she forced herself to ignore it.

The kitchen was just as packed as the rest of the house, but you managed to snag two drinks from the counter, handing one to her with a grin. "Alright, party rule number one: stay hydrated."

Tara raised an eyebrow, glancing at the cup in her hand. "This is definitely not water."

"Details." You waved her off, your playful smirk making her stomach flutter in that maddeningly familiar way.

Before she could respond, a voice called out from across the room. "Y/N! There you are!"

Tara's grip on her cup tightened as she followed your gaze, her stomach sinking when she saw him—Brian—making his way toward you. His smile was wide and easy, the kind of grin that would make anyone else swoon.

But Tara wasn't anyone else.

"Brian!" you said, your face lighting up in a way that made Tara's chest ache. She stepped back slightly, letting go of your hand as he drew closer, though her eyes never left you.

He didn't deserve that smile.

Brian's gaze flickered to her briefly, his smile faltering just a bit. "Tara, right?"

She nodded, her expression neutral as she took a sip of her drink. "That's me."

If he noticed the edge in her tone, he didn't comment on it, turning his attention back to you instead. "You look amazing," he said, his eyes raking over your dress in a way that made Tara's jaw tighten.

You beamed at him, clearly pleased by the compliment, and Tara had to look away, her hand gripping her cup so tightly she was surprised it didn't crack.

This was going to be a long night.

And it most definitely was.

As the night went on, the party only grew louder and more chaotic. People drifted in and out of the circle you, Tara, and Brian had settled into, friends of his joining the conversation with easy smiles and casual jokes.

You made a genuine effort to include Tara, always pulling her back in when she started to fade into the background, but it was clear who held your focus.

Brian.

He stood close to you, his arm brushing yours as he leaned in to talk over the music.

You didn't seem to notice—or maybe you did, and you didn't mind. Either way, the proximity between you two only seemed to grow as the minutes ticked by, and Tara couldn't stop watching.

Every time you laughed at something he said, her chest tightened just a little more.

You weren't doing it on purpose. Tara knew that. She knew you didn't notice the way her jaw clenched or how her fingers drummed against her cup.

You were just being you—kind, bubbly, and effortlessly charming. But watching you with Brian, seeing how much of your attention he was soaking up, felt like a slow, relentless sting.

She hadn't expected it to bother her this much.

At first, Tara tried to play along, chiming in when she could and taking small sips of her drink to distract herself.

But then Brian's friends started joining the conversation, their loud energy making it harder for her to keep up. You were still trying to include her, turning to her every so often to ask her opinion or flash her one of your brilliant smiles, but it wasn't enough.

Not when you lit up like a damn firework every time Brian said something that made you laugh.

Tara tipped back her cup, finishing it quicker than she probably should have. She wasn't much of a drinker to begin with—she never really liked how it made her feel—but tonight was different. Tonight, she needed the edge taken off.

"Want another?" you asked, noticing her empty cup.

She hesitated, but before she could respond, Brian offered. "I'll grab her one. Be right back."

She opened her mouth to say she didn't need another, but he was already walking away.

You smiled after him before turning back to Tara, your expression so full of effortless warmth it made her stomach churn. "You having fun?"

She forced a small nod, her grip tightening on the plastic cup. "Yeah. It's... fine."

You didn't notice the strain in her voice, too caught up in the energy of the party to catch on.

By the time Brian returned with her drink, she'd already decided she wasn't going to overthink it. She took it with a quiet "thanks" and drank just enough to feel the buzz set in. It wasn't much—maybe two drinks total—but Tara was short, and she always felt the effects quicker than most.

The alcohol didn't drown out her frustration, though.

Every laugh you gave Brian, every time you leaned in to whisper something to him, only seemed to magnify it.

And you? You were oblivious. Still trying to keep her in the conversation, pulling her in with the same ease you always had. But she could feel the gap widening.

Tara's foot tapped against the floor as she shifted her weight, her eyes flickering between you and Brian. She should've left, should've wandered off to another part of the house to escape this torturous little triangle, but she stayed.

Because if she left, she'd have to admit to herself why she couldn't handle this.

So instead, she took another sip of her drink and plastered on a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"You okay?" you asked, your voice cutting through her thoughts.

"Yeah," she said quickly, her words sharper than she intended. "I'm fine."

But she wasn't. And as the night wore on, that became harder and harder to hide.

And after an hour, or maybe even more.

The alcohol was definitely working its way through Tara's veins. She could feel it, the familiar warmth spreading through her chest, making her limbs feel looser but her thoughts louder.

The edges of the room blurred ever so slightly, but her focus on you was sharp as ever, almost painfully so.

You were giggling at something Brian said again, your hand brushing his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Tara had been watching you both like a hawk all night, trying to play it cool, but the subtle touches, the shared smiles, the way your eyes sparkled when you looked at him—it was getting under her skin.

She clenched her jaw, tipping back the rest of her drink as if it might drown out the frustration bubbling inside her. But it didn't.

It wasn't just the alcohol making her feel reckless, though it didn't help. Tara was desperate.

Desperate to do something—anything—that might shift the balance back in her favor. But how? She wasn't like Brian. She didn't have easy jokes or effortless charm. And she wasn't like you, all soft laughter and open smiles.

So she sat there, stewing in her own silence, searching for an opening she couldn't find.

Then she turned her head for just a moment.

A distraction—a loud burst of laughter from somewhere across the room. She glanced over, barely processing the source, and when she looked back...

Her heart stopped.

You and Brian were kissing.

It wasn't shy or hesitant. It was full and unguarded, like something out of the movies. His hands rested lightly on your waist, your fingers clutching the front of his shirt as though you were afraid to let go.

Tara's first thought wasn't sadness. It wasn't heartbreak or even surprise.

It was rage.

Her body went rigid, the plastic cup in her hand creaking under the force of her grip.

Because of course this wasn't a problem.

Why would it be?

You weren't hers. You'd never been hers. You were allowed to kiss boys, especially the boy you'd been crushing on for as long as she could remember. It wasn't like you were breaking some unspoken rule. She had no claim to you, no right to feel betrayed or blindsided.

But God, it felt like a betrayal.

Her rational mind tried to reason with her, repeating the same useless mantra: This isn't a problem. This isn't a problem. This isn't a problem.

But the other side of her mind—the side that had been clawing its way to the surface all night—was screaming the opposite.

It was a problem. A huge one.

The anger burned through her like a wildfire, consuming every rational thought as it spread. It started in her chest, hot and heavy, before curling into her throat and setting her teeth on edge. Her nails dug into the soft plastic of her cup until it crumpled under her grip, a sharp crack breaking through the buzz of the party.

And still, she couldn't look away.

She hated it. Hated the way his hands touched you so easily, like he'd earned that right. Hated the way you kissed him back like you'd been waiting for this your whole life. Hated how he got to have what she wanted so desperately without even knowing how much it mattered.

Her breaths came quicker, each one catching in her chest as if she couldn't quite fill her lungs. The alcohol amplified everything, stripping her bare of the filters she usually relied on. Every raw, unspoken feeling she'd buried for years was rising to the surface now, and there was no stopping it.

She wanted to scream.

To grab you and pull you away, to tell Brian to get his hands off you, to do something.

But she didn't.

Because no matter how angry she was, no matter how much she hated what she was seeing, there was a part of her—a small, quiet, agonizing part—that whispered:

You're not supposed to feel like this.

So instead, Tara sat there, her body tense and trembling, her nails biting into the palms of her hands. She didn't even realize she'd crumpled her cup until the sticky remnants of her drink dripped onto her lap.

And still, she couldn't look away.

Eventually you pulled back from Brian, cheeks flushed and eyes slightly glassy from the alcohol coursing through your system.

A small, almost dazed laugh escaped your lips as you glanced at him, then turned to find Tara in the crowd. She hadn't moved from where she'd been watching, her posture stiff and her eyes fixed on some indistinct point on the wall—anywhere but you.

When your gaze landed on her, your smile widened, bright and unrestrained, like you hadn't just set her entire world on fire.

Tara's chest tightened, the molten frustration inside her bubbling hotter with every passing second. She couldn't stop her thoughts, couldn't silence the storm brewing in her mind.

You stumbled a little as you reached her, still grinning like a fool, your energy infectious to everyone but Tara. You leaned close, tipping forward on your toes, your voice loud but slurred enough to betray your tipsy state.

"I think he kissed me," you said, as if it hadn't been entirely mutual.

Tara felt something snap.

Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms so hard she half-expected to draw blood.

She couldn't speak, couldn't trust herself to even try. If she opened her mouth, she was sure she'd yell or say something she couldn't take back. Worse, she might cry—and that wasn't an option.

Her silence stretched on, but you didn't seem to notice. You were too lost in your own world, your thoughts spinning with the buzz of the alcohol and the remnants of Brian's touch. Tara's silence didn't matter, because you filled the space with another easy laugh, leaning closer so she could hear you over the pounding music.

"I need to use the bathroom," you said, your lips brushing near her ear. The warmth of your breath made her stomach twist. "Wanna come?"

Tara's mind scrambled for an excuse, her mouth dry as she fought the urge to say something reckless.

"No," she said finally, forcing her voice to sound casual, detached. "I think I'm good down here."

It wasn't true. She wasn't good down here, or anywhere else in the universe at that moment.

You gave her a light shrug, your expression still full of that easy joy that made her want to scream. "Okay! Be right back!"

You disappeared into the crowd, weaving your way toward the bathroom, leaving Tara standing there alone.

The second you were out of sight, she exhaled sharply, her hands shaking as she reached for another drink she didn't need.

She wasn't sure if it was the alcohol, the anger, or the ache of jealousy threatening to overwhelm her. Maybe it was all three, swirling into something she couldn't control.

But one thing was clear—she couldn't keep this up. Not tonight. Not with you and Brian. Not with her chest full of feelings she couldn't name and didn't want to face.

Tara's eyes burned as they landed on Brian, standing not far from where you'd left him. His posture was easy, relaxed—too relaxed.

He stood there like nothing had happened, chatting casually with a couple of his friends, his hand lifting a red cup to his lips like this was just another night. Like he hadn't just kissed you.

The most beautiful girl on the planet.

Tara felt her stomach twist painfully, her grip tightening around the drink in her hand. How could he be so unbothered? So unaffected? He wasn't grinning ear to ear, wasn't puffing out his chest or gushing about how lucky he was.

He wasn't laughing with joy or smirking proudly like any sane person would if they'd just kissed you.

How was he not telling everyone in earshot about what had happened? How was he not reeling from the fact that you—you, with your blinding smile and endless energy—had given him even a second of your time, let alone your lips?

Her jaw clenched, teeth grinding together as she stared at him, her anger bubbling hotter with every second he stayed calm. Her hands itched to grab him by the collar, to shake him and demand he act like he understood the weight of what had just happened.

Did he even realize how lucky he was?

Did he know how many people in that room—how many people in general—would kill to be in his place? To have even the tiniest fraction of your attention, let alone that?

Her vision blurred, and it wasn't from the alcohol. Her chest felt like it was about to implode, like something inside her was trying desperately to escape, and she didn't know how much longer she could keep it together.

Brian's laughter snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts. He was laughing at something one of his friends said, his expression light, carefree—unbothered.

Tara nearly saw red.

She downed the rest of her drink in one go, the sharp burn doing nothing to dull the fury roaring in her chest. How could he be like this? How could he act so normal, so indifferent, after kissing you?

How could he not be overwhelmed by the fact that you'd chosen him, even for a fleeting moment?

It was insulting. Infuriating.

She wanted to march over there, to grab him and make him feel the way she was feeling. She wanted him to hurt, to ache, to boil with jealousy the way she was.

But she couldn't.

Because none of this was his fault.

The real issue—the one she didn't want to admit—wasn't Brian. It was the simple, heartbreaking truth that he could kiss you without consequence.

He could have you.

Tara wasn't sure what happened next.

What she was thinking when it happened, or if she was even thinking at all. Maybe it was the anger—burning hot and uncontrollable—making her body move before her brain could catch up. Or maybe it was the alcohol, buzzing in her veins and drowning out every voice in her head that might've told her to stop.

All she knew was that one second she was standing there, glaring at Brian like he'd committed some unforgivable sin, and the next, she was storming toward him.

His friends noticed her first, their chatter faltering as they shifted awkwardly under her sharp glare. But Brian, oblivious as ever, didn't see her coming. He was mid-sentence, that stupidly calm look still plastered on his face, when Tara grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him down to her level.

The movement was forceful enough to knock the air out of both of them, and before he could even process what was happening—before she could process what was happening—she pressed her lips against his.

It wasn't soft.

It wasn't sweet.

It was messy, rough, and fueled by a cocktail of rage and desperation. Her hands fisted his shirt tightly, holding him in place, her nails biting into the fabric. Brian stiffened for a second, shocked, but then his hands hovered awkwardly near her waist, unsure of what to do.

Tara didn't care. She didn't care about his reaction, about his hesitation.

Because this wasn't about him.

It wasn't about his stupid, clueless face or the fact that he'd kissed you without giving it a second thought. It wasn't about him being unbothered or unaffected.

This was about her.

Her anger, her frustration, her absolute inability to sit there for another second and watch him act like kissing you was nothing.

The kiss deepened as her grip on his shirt tightened, pulling him even closer. She wanted to erase the memory of you from his lips, to replace it with her own. To make him feel something, anything, the way she was feeling.

But it wasn't working.

If anything, the kiss only made it worse.

Because no matter how hard she pressed, no matter how desperate her movements were, it didn't feel right.

It didn't feel like you.

And that thought was like a punch to the gut.

Brian made a soft, surprised noise against her lips, his hands finally settling on her hips, but it only made her angrier. How dare he hesitate now? How dare he act so unsure, like he didn't know exactly what he wanted when he'd so easily taken you from her just minutes ago?

Her chest heaved as she pulled back slightly, her lips still brushing against his, her heart pounding in her ears.

His wide eyes stared at her, confused and more than a little alarmed. "Tara—" his voice laced with bewilderment, but she silenced him with another kiss, pressing harder, needing to cut him off.

She didn't want to hear his voice. She didn't want to hear him try to make sense of this, because she didn't have an explanation. This wasn't about him.

It wasn't about you either—not entirely, at least.

It was about her. About the way she felt like she was unraveling, about how every smile you gave Brian felt like another thread being yanked loose, every laugh you shared with him felt like a blow to the chest.

She didn't know how to make it stop, and the only thing her mind could come up with was this. She didn't have to think when she was kissing Brian. Didn't have to feel the jagged ache of watching you be so happy with someone else.

This wasn't about him.

But it was all she could do to stop herself from falling apart completely.

And Tara wasn't sure what was happening anymore.

Brian hadn't pushed her away. He hadn't stopped her, hadn't hesitated for even a moment after that first surprised noise.

No, he'd leaned into it. He'd kissed her back with the kind of intent that only made her angrier, made the fire in her chest blaze so hot she thought she might combust right there.

Because it wasn't supposed to go like this.

His hands slid from her hips, pulling her closer, pressing her tighter against him, and she hated it. Hated the way he responded like this was exactly what he wanted, hated the way he kissed her back like she wasn't just a replacement for you.

And worse than anything, she hated herself for not stopping it.

His hands moved lower, gripping her ass, pulling her even closer, and she felt herself clench her fists tighter into the fabric of his shirt.

She didn't know if it was the alcohol buzzing in her veins, numbing her better judgment, or if it was the anger still consuming her every thought, but she didn't do anything to stop him.

She should've.

But she didn't.

Because in this moment, it wasn't about him. It wasn't even about you. It was about the chaos she felt boiling in her chest, about the way she felt like she was spiraling further and further out of control.

Brian murmured something against her lips—she didn't catch it, didn't even try to—but his hands stayed firm on her, guiding her, pulling her toward the stairs.

And she let him.

Every step felt like she was wading through quicksand, her mind shouting at her to stop, to push him away, to pull herself together. But her body wasn't listening. She didn't know if it was the heat of his hands on her or the fog of alcohol clouding her better judgment, but she let him lead her.

Because stopping meant facing the truth. And Tara wasn't ready to do that.

Not yet.

She'd barely registered how they ended up in the room. One second, she was being pulled up the stairs, Brian's hand gripping hers tightly, and the next, they were in a dimly lit bedroom, the door clicking shut behind them.

Her heart was racing, but not from excitement. There was no thrill, no anticipation, just a gnawing sense of wrongness she couldn't shake. Yet she didn't stop it. She didn't stop him as his hands found her waist, as his lips trailed down her neck. She didn't stop herself from responding, from letting this spiral further than it ever should have.

It was mechanical, empty, and every moment felt like it was happening to someone else. Brian's touch wasn't unpleasant, but it wasn't what she wanted. His lips weren't the ones she craved, his hands didn't spark anything but an aching hollowness inside her.

And yet, she let it happen.

Because, for a fleeting second, it felt like power. Like control. Like maybe, just maybe, if she could take this from him—take you from him in some twisted, nonsensical way—it would hurt less.

But it didn't.

Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word she barely heard, only drove the knife deeper into her chest.

When it was over, the silence was deafening. Tara lay there, staring at the ceiling, her body still and her mind racing. Brian shifted beside her, saying something she didn't hear, and the sound of his voice made her stomach twist. She felt nauseous, disgusted—not with him, but with herself.

What had she done?

Her chest tightened as she fought to keep her breathing steady, refusing to let him see the tears threatening to spill over. It hadn't helped. It hadn't made anything better. If anything, it had only made everything worse.

Because no matter what she did, no matter how far she went, it would never be enough to make her stop wanting you.

Afterwards Tara laid still, the dim light of the room casting shadows that felt too heavy, too oppressive.

Brian was beside her, breathing evening out as if nothing monumental had just happened. As if this was just another casual moment in his life.

Her mind, however, wouldn't stop.

It wasn't Brian she was thinking about—not the way he'd touched her, not the way he'd looked at her. No, every thought clawed its way back to you.

She pictured you in the bathroom, probably still staring at yourself in the mirror, giddy and flushed. She could almost see your smile, so wide it was infectious, and the way you'd probably tilt your head, trying to relive every second of that kiss.

You'd been dreaming of that moment since second grade, scribbling his name in the margins of your notebooks and lighting up every time he was near. Tara could already imagine how you'd be practically glowing, heart racing with excitement as you ran your fingers over your lips, trying to make the feeling last.

She wanted to hate you for it. But she couldn't. She never could.

You'd come out of that bathroom with a smile so bright it could light up the whole house, your hopeful eyes scanning the crowd as you made your way back to the spot you'd all been standing. And what would you find?

Nothing.

Tara wasn't there. Brian wasn't there.

She could imagine how your smile would falter, confusion settling in as you looked around, searching for the two people who were supposed to be waiting for you. How long would it take for the excitement to drain from your face? How quickly would hope turn to disappointment?

The thought was like a knife twisting in her gut.

And yet, she still couldn't make sense of why she'd done this. Why she'd let it happen. Because it didn't feel like she'd won anything. She hadn't taken Brian away from you. If anything, she'd stolen something from herself—something she could never get back.

Her chest tightened as the realization hit her like a freight train. She hadn't wanted him. She hadn't wanted this.

She'd wanted you.

And now she'd ruined everything.

[eddiesxangel]

Your Touch is my Scripture | Emperor Geta

Cw: ancient times (not 100% historically accurate pls don’t come for me) canon adjacent, darker themes, slavery, angst, smut, fluff, f!concubine!reader, reader is referred to as whore, oral, unprotected p in v (it’s like 211 AD duh)

5.5k words

The sun was bright, high in the sky, telling you it was about mid-day. Your robes were expensive, worth more than anything you have ever worn in the past. But you were at the Palace now. No longer would you need to endure tattered, rough, earth-coloured cloth. Now you get to enjoy the riches of luxurious silks of reds and purples and fine linens etched in gold embroidery.

A gold headpiece was pinned to your hair, curled and oiled for you. You got to be bathed in luxurious perfumes. Your face was pained and your lips reddened, your eyes lined with the dark kajal eyeliner you would not have recognized yourself if you had access to a mirror.

Yesterday, you were all but a present girl selling yourself on the street. How you fell into this situation was beyond your comprehension.

While you were scrounging for food, you spotted the royal carriage but paid no mind. That was until a guard came up to you and instructed you to come with him.

You were terrified, had they been here to arrest you? To sentence you for being a street rat?

You were looking around confused but see that from the carriage the emperors were gazing at you- Caracalla with a smug look on his face and Geta with a look of hunger.

You shiver at the memory, the way his deep brown eyes held your attention, his controlled gaze only broke once the carriage started moving once again.

You were instructed that you’ve been summoned by the Emperor, they didn’t specify which one but you had a hunch as that haunting look in his eyes never swayed.

You were brought to a council room, where many men of status, including the Emperors, sat in a semi-circle… what for, you didn’t know… but you would soon find out.

You waited until the Emperors were finished their conversation and you were led to them by the same soldier who plucked you off the street yesterday.

“Do not speak unless spoken to” he had instructed you a few moments ago…

“Ah yes, I’ve been waiting for you.” Geta couldn’t help but look you up and down.

To him, you had been perfect. He stopped the carriage immediately upon the very sight of you. He needed to have you, whore or not he would make you his.

When your eyes met, your breath hitched, stuck in your throat. He was beautiful, alluring, and yet- terrifying. You could feel the automatic pull to be near him, do whatever he wished. That is what you were here for, to be his newest toy.

You felt like you didn't have much of a choice when it was explained to you why you had been summoned to the place.

“You will serve his majesty however he pleases. You will have a roof over your head and food in your belly.” The soldier explained.

You hadn’t been whoring for long, but anything would be better than going hungry in the streets. You longed for food, your hunger took over any rational thinking and you agreed without taking more time to think about what you signed up for.

You had been shown the servant quarters, that’s where you met the other girls. There were five of them in the room when you entered, all equally beautiful. How you fell into this group was a mystery.

“Your Majesties” you curtsy, bowing your head. You’re very aware of the little coverage, the white sheer fabric, draped across your chest, leaving little to the imagination.

You’re the only woman in the room that you can see and the men were very aware of your presence, but you were for the Emperors alone.

“Even her voice is like honey” Caracalla muses.

“Yes, brother, a marvel, isn’t she?” Geta’s eyes sparkled as he examined you.

“What do we call you?”

“Whatever would please you, your Majesty.” You knew that was the correct answer when a knowing smirk spread across Caracalla’s face. A shriek of a laugh fills the room and others join to appease the rulers. Their power was clear. They commanded the room.

“Come, sit”

You were led to a throne and your eyes grew wide, no way he could expect you to sit there.

You look to Emperor Geta and he sits down and pats his thigh, beckoning you to sit down. With a sigh of relief but still a bit of unease seeing as though you just met him, you turn to place your bottom on his thigh.

The day was filled with excitement as two gladiators had been the source of entertainment. The shock and awe of the fight had Geta grabbing at you at each brutal hit. The way his fingers dug into your soft skin, how his grip tightened on your thigh had you squirming on the inside. Your calm and cool demeanour was all an act. He pulled you in closer; you draped your arm around his shoulder as you became more comfortable. His touch had been electric, his hand ran up your thigh if he went any higher, he would feel your arousal, praying it hadn't already seeped through your linens.

“Remarkable!” Geta praised the young warrior. His enthusiasm was contagious, as was his eccentric brothers. It was electrifying to be near that kind of energy for once. This new world was overwhelming but you liked being close to Geta.

After his conversation, he turns back to you. “Come,” he says with a smile, guiding you up the winding staircase to what you assume to be his quarters.

Once entered, he can no longer contain himself; he finds himself reaching his hands to your hips, pulling you in. He meant to offer you wine, but he couldn’t resist. You smelled of lilies and berries; he needed to taste you.

His kiss was rough but needy. He tasted of wine; you could have gotten drunk off of his tongue alone.

His hands slid down to your ass, and he gripped and massaged it, making you moan, forgetting this wasn't supposed to be about you.

“You’re going to be my good little pet aren’t you.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Get on your knees,” He pinched your bottom. “But first, discard your robes.”

The look in his red-rimmed eyes was sinister, as you obeyed the look deepened. Nothing could keep you from disobeying him, his command over you was all too powerful. This monster of a man was your commander, your Lord, and your life source.

“Perfect, utterly perfect.” He praised you as you knelt for him like a god.

His cock was hard already, and you hadn’t even touched him yet. You could feel through his robes he was thick, probably the biggest you have yet in encounter. His robes were discarded, and before you stood the most powerful man in the world, who ruled and owned so much land it was too much to comprehend.

He was greedy, so greedy and all you wanted was to give him everything.

You lean in and kiss the tip of his leaking cock.

“Yes, worship me” he grips your hair tightly.

You take more of him in your mouth and swallow down your gag. More and more you fit him down your throat until you can’t breathe.

A low curse leaves the Emperor’s mouth as you pull back.

“You’re a dirty little whore aren’t you”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” He scolds.

“Yes, my Lord”

“Better. Now get on the bed”

He smacks your ass as you pass him and it makes you squeak out a giggle.

The sound of your laugh startles Geta, it makes his heart flutter and he isn’t sure what to make of it. He shoves the feeling down, deep down. Ignoring it.

“How do you want me, my Lord?” You stand before him, in front of the lush bed.

“Worship me” he looks down upon your naked body, nothing about him in this moment was human. It was all pure primal need that flowed through his veins.

“Lay down for me, my Lord.” You smirk and he listens.

You crawl over him, your hands roaming his alabaster skin as you glide your slick core over his reddened hard cock. Over and over you glide on him until you decide to let him slide into you with ease. You were right. Your pussy has never been stretched out this much. Luckily the hours of teasing was enough to have him stretch you out with little pain.

Geta loved the way your jaw went slack when he stretched you out. His face said it all as you looks down at him. A smile spreads across both of your faces when you start to move.

“Fuck, yes” he sighs.

Never had a woman made him feel this good this early on. He’d been inside of you a whole of 10 seconds and he’s already ready to blow his load.

“Sorceress” he curses you, accuses, you. Your cunt was otherworldly- magical.

You could feel the familiar tension building, forgotten was your duty to the man beneath you.

“I’m going to cum” you whisper under your breath as your hips rock on His Majesty.

It almost slipped past the Emperor’s attention, but you say it once more, only a little bit louder this time, as your pussy clenched.

“Stop!” Geta demands. However, you’re too lost in the feeling that you don’t hear the command.

“Stop at once!” The emperor pushes you off of him. He doesn’t understand what you just did, he’s never had that feeling while in a woman. It scared him, he was bewitched by you. You were a temptress, an enchantress, a Cantatrix.

“Your majesty, did I do something wrong?” You were more terrified than confused. The other girls had warned you about his moods.

“Get out!” The veins in his neck bulged out, his face reddened with rage.

You don’t argue, you don’t say another word. You pick your garment off the floor, put it on and silently walk towards the door trying to hold your head high.

“And send in Fauna instead” he spat.

You turn around quickly, not wanting to the the hurt slip from your eyes. You don’t look at him.

“Yes, my Lord.” You curtsy with your head down. Shame filled you and you tried not to sob as you ran down the empty halls.

Once you reached your quarters you shook Fauna awake and begrudgingly told her she was up. She looked at you confused but quickly patted down her long thick black curls and made her way to him.

You didn’t understand where or what went wrong. You thought you had a connection, chemistry. Your mind was clouded, he had felt so good beneath you, and you couldn’t understand why he pushed you off. He hadn’t said anything- he was enjoying himself, you were enjoying yourself. So where had you gone wrong?

Weeks passed and Geta hadn’t sent for you, nor Caracalla. You were getting worried you’d be kicked out into the street. Why house and feed a whore when she’s of no use to you? You had little to no money. All you had left was the gold ring that belonged to your father, and you were not about to give that up if you got kicked out into the streets.

Your name being called startled you, and you were lost in thought, braiding Aurelia’s hair. You stand up immediately.

“Ouch!” You hear her and giggle a sorry before one of the emperor’s guards escorts you.

Thrill filled your veins at first, but then dread quickly followed. Worry and anxiety seeped through your veins as you made your way down the corridors.

The walk down the torch-lit hallway is quiet, only the echoes of your barefoot steps can be heard bouncing off the walls.

The guard pounds on the door three times you flinch at how loud it is.

A muffled “Enter” is said aloud, you look to the guard he gives you a taut nod before he turns to get into position for the evening.

With a quick sigh, you hesitantly open the door.

“Disrobe.” He didn’t bother to look at you.

He was standing in the corner of the bed chamber by his wall of scrolls. Floor-to-ceiling rows upon rows of papyrus filled with stories you could only imagine. What you would give to be taught how to read?

Clearly what is written is more interesting to him than to you. You try not to feel offended as his eyes don’t stray from the page. You need to show him you’re worth keeping. That you are worth wanting.

You cannot help yourself but want to please him. You will get past this silly little obsession you’ve created, and get over how much you want him to notice you. You’re a whore. Nothing more will ever come from this.

You obey his instructions, and your body shivers as the cool breeze of the midnight air kisses your skin. Your nipples can’t help but perk, but you’re not sure if that is due to the sudden loss of warmth or the way His Majesty is looking at you. Those eyes, his deep cinnamon eyes gaze into you like he is the lion and you are his prey.

“Come here, Sorceress.”

Your heart races and you slowly step towards the Emperor.

“You seem nervous” his voice is calm, yet assertive.

“I don’t want to fail you this time, my Lord” You bow your head and your long wavy hair falls with it, covering most of your body,

“What you said last time” he clears his throat, “you are wrong.”

“Apologies, my Lord, I know not which you are addressing?” You look back up.

“Women do not orgasm. They cannot, it is not in their nature. Where you heard of these lies is unbeknownst to me. You were giving the wrong information.” He said matter of factly.

Your stomach swirled as his eyes didn’t break contact with yours. That is why you were thrown out like a piece of trash? Why for weeks you’ve been trying to see what it was you did?! Because you said you were going to cum?

You didn’t know what to do. Your internal battle was clear on your face as you debated if picking this battle was worth it. You could show him a new world or he could kick you out immediately, once again.

“Spit it out then.”

“I-I am sorry, my Lord. It will not happen again. My intent was not to deceive you.” You lower your hard once more like a scolded puppy, knowing that the one perk of this gig will never be fulfilled.

“Good girl, now get on the bed.”

The night went as you expected. You were brought to your knees at first, then you were upon his lap, just like last time. Only this time you kept your mouth shut.

It was hard, so hard to not cum for this man. How could he not understand women also could orgasm? Had none of the other girls? And if not, why has none of the other girls shown him? You don’t understand, but you will not bring it up. You want to be good for him. You need to stay here in the palace.

Your eyes burned with tears as you tried to get him off before you accidentally did. You had to before you cried out in pleasure…the pleasure you so desperately want for him to know that he is giving to you- that he will not let you have. You want to cry out how he is the one who makes you feel this good. How it is his cock that hit all of the right places. You fight the urge to play with yourself as you ride your Emperor.

“Come for me, my Lord.” You test the waters.

This seems to be okay, he smiles at you for the first time since the first day you met.

His beautiful face relaxed as he released himself within you, pinning you to him as the euphoria washes over his whole body. You’re dismissed immediately after, as expected.

Day and night, he calls for you, and only you. All hours, most hours you are with him. Weeks passed, and the other girls were becoming snippy with you, to which you didn’t know why- it’s not like they would be getting off with him as they did with each other. They all served Caracalla between them. They got a break; they got to share.

However, it was you and him, alone for hours. You don’t know how you would feel if he didn’t ask for you. Hurt and jealous, most likely. You were bonded to him. Wanting to please him but not being able to please yourself or what you wanted, for him to please you, it was torture, night after night, going to him. Pleasing him and knowing your silly feelings would never be reciprocated. He showed no compassion, he would fuck you either in your cunt or your ass. Depending on his mood sometimes both, yet, you can’t shake this desire you feel when you think about him. When you’re accompanying him in the day when you lay with him at night. Some days, he would have you in his bed for hours before he got up and went to work, others he would have your draped around him while holding council.

You were consumed, borderline obsessed, but how could you not be when he was your only source of company?

As expected, you had been summoned after supper. When you arrived, you sensed that something was different.

Geta didn’t say a word as you greeted him-he didn’t command you to strip, but you know the routine so you disrobe and approach his Majesty.

His back is turned to you but this doesn’t stop you from leaning up to kiss his neck. To touch him, to praise him.

"How will you have me tonight my Lord?"

His stiff body didn’t move, he didn’t make a sound until you made your way to face him and you gasped. Pulling away you could see the look on his face was pure anger. This is what the girls had warned you about all those months ago.

“I must apologize.”

That was not what you had expected. You didn’t say a word as you let him explain.

“I was having a chat with Macrinus, and he informed me that you were right all along. But I still don’t believe you…or him.”

“My lord, I do not follow?” You whisper, scared he will lash out.

“Come.”

You take a step towards him, not wanting to upset him.

“No, I mean, cum for me.”

Your breath hitched, eyes going wide. This was not what you had expected.

“My, Lord.” you gasp.

“Show me, teach me.” His voice became gentle, you would say almost venerable if you hadn’t known any better. “Please.”

“Y-yes, your Majesty.” You take his hand and lead him to the bed.

You lay down in front of him, and he leans down to kiss you. You have kissed him before but something about this time feels different, like the feeling is being reciprocated. His body slowly mimics the routine that you do to him night after night. His makes his way down your neck, you’re scared to make a noise for him. But the feeling of his plump lips has you slithering out of your skin to react.

“Is it not good?” He pops up, genuinely concerned.

“Yes my Lord, it’s very good” you reassured him.

“But- but you’re not reacting.”

“I didn’t think-“

“No!” He bellowed but realized his mistake when you flinched away from him.

“Please do,” he said much softer…like he wanted to do a good job for you.

You silently nod your head and he continues from where he left off.

His lips glide over your burning skin, a soft moan leaves your lips and you feel him smile like he’s won.

Sex for Geta is always about him, that is how it should be. That was how it was taught to him. ‘The man’s pleasure is how life is created,’ he remembers his father telling him. Nothing was ever mentioned about how the woman was to feel during it. So night after night, years of silent fucking and only thinking about himself, this new territory was exciting.

When you moaned it set off something in Geta’s head, he wanted more. Needed more.

He brought his mouth to your perked nipple, and you arched yourself into his touch. The feeling of his tongue rolling around your sensitive bud sent waves through your body down to your dripping core.

The smallest of touches from him made your head spin as you had hardly gotten them in the past. Having the Emperor touch you like this had you reeling for his touch.

A long drawn-out moan left your lips as his teeth scrapped at your perked breast.

“Oh, you like that, huh?” He murmured into your hot skin.

“Yes. Very much” you sigh.

“Good…now-um- what should I do?” His venerability, slipping.

“Touch me” you take his hand to your clit. “Here”

“My god, you’re soaked.”

“Yes”

“Just form that little-?”

“Please” you begged. No more questions, you needed him to pleasure you.

You move his fingers on your clit in circular motions until he gets the tempo. Your hips are moving with his hands, telling him he’s doing a good job.

“Does that feel good?”

“Yes- now add a finger or two, inside”

Geta slipped his fingers inside but didn’t stop circling your sensitive clit.

You were so close, he could sense it, he felt your walls contract against his fingers like they did the first time you two fucked, but this time he didn’t pull away.

“I can feel you, Sorceress.”

“I’m so close, don’t stop, you’re perfect”

Geta’s heart fluttered at your praises, only this time he doesn’t swallow down the feeling.

“I will never stop pleasing you, that’s all I want, is to please you.”

How could this be? He is the emperor, you are nothing, a concubine who’s tricked this being into falling for you. He tricked you along the way as well.

“Geta” you let slip, and he doesn’t even reprimand you because in that moment is the most beautiful sight beneath him.

His hands were like magic, how dare he be holding this back from you this whole time.

Your orgasm rippled through you. Weeks of denied pleasure bursting from your womb making your body shake and your throat cry out.

Nothing has ever felt so good.

A soft giggle passes as you come down from your high and Geta gazes at you in shock and wonder.

“My little entrance. Cantatrix” he leans down to observe your pussy. It was wetter than he thought possible and the smell, he was addicted. He can’t help himself but bury his nose in you for more. He lets his eyes roll back with a grotesque moan. He needs to taste you.

“Yes, I’m yours. Only yours.”

You both knew what that meant. The countless nights of sex, the endless glances when he holds council, the silent communication, the hours he kept you in his chambers. The way he hates to be away from you, how he needs you by his side through the day even if he knows he can’t have you he wants you.

You both know that he can’t bring himself to ask for another girl.

It’s all understood by your words and that terrifies him, but the urge to please you is so much greater than his fear.

“I must have you” he kisses your pussy deep and passionately. His tongue explored your sopping cunt, the taste of you will be burned onto his tongue.

You can’t help but roll your hips into Geta’s tongue. Grinding on his face, your hands run through is hair, tuggin the roots. A soft moan leaves your lips and Geta can’t get enough of you.

“Take me” you plead.

Deeper he pushes his tongue into your cunt he can taste your cum coat his tongue. How he had been so wrong for so long. Not knowing the taste of a woman pleasure could be so addicting.

You can’t help pulling his face into your core. His nose brushes your clit over and over as you ride his face.

“Take me, take me” you release your grip and he pulls away. Your slick covers his lips and chin, but he leaves it so your sent is coated on him, his sinister smile shines towards you.

He grabs his thick cock and aligns with you. Never had Geta gone with long without being touch before sex, he had to hold himself back from plunging into you. He knows his size, and he doesn’t want to hurt you.

You open your legs wider so he can ease his way into you. Geta watches as his cock ploughs into you. Over and over you chant his name like a prayer. He watches you breast bounce with each thrust, and now he thinks he’s discovered his new favourite position with you. Out of all the months you’ve spent tangled up together, never have you been on your back for him. Why? He is not sure because his cock is burred so deep.

He doesn’t break eye contact as he thrusts himself into you. The weight of his body on top of your makes you feel that much more connected.

“Tell me, Cantatrix, who you belong to?”

“You, my Lord, only you.”

His hips worked into your cunt with such intention, needing to feel your pussy cum onto him.

Nobody had ever made you feel like this, and nobody else ever would.

“Come for me again!” Geta begs, his voice is so desperate and needy, as he thrusts into you. Your hands are planted on his ass guiding his hips into you as your bodies roll into each other as one. He was your saving grace, your lover, and the unspoken little bit more.

You can’t help but moan with your head thrown back arching your breasts into him. The sweet sounds coming from his lips are what you silently plead for. You feel every finger he places on you. His hands planted themselves upon your hips. Moving your body so effortlessly that he can’t help but beg. He needs to feel you come for him. To know that he’s the only one who can make you feel so much euphoria that he never knew existed before. You were the woman that broke the curse for him, the woman that he rescued in the streets, his collection, his prize. You owe everything to him, and he will take what is his. You are his.

“Cum for me, I demand it. As your Lord, your Emperor. Cum” he grits through his teeth, holding back his pleasure.

Your body can’t take the build-up any longer, you listen to him, and you release all that’s within you. Your second orgasm is just as strong as the first one. His words and his commands are what pushed you over the edge. You will give him everything he wants of you.

The feeling of your cunt squeezing his cock like a vice has Geta cuming seconds after you. Never had he thought a pussy could feel more pleasurable, more perfect than yours in that moment.

Geta and you both had been so worn out of the night’s events he didn’t ask you to leave, he offered you some wine and with a bright smile on your face you accepted. You got up to stand, but you were greatly surprised when he insisted he be the one to serve you.

You talked for hours after, about your childhood, how your father was a soldier in the conquest of the empire, and how he had been killed 3 years prior. Your mother tried her best but she fell ill a year ago and it took her quickly thereafter. You had been selling yourself since then.

Geta told you about his life as well. He spoke to you as if you’ve been friends for years. It was as if the veil had fallen between you. No longer was he this intimidating mountain of a man. He was Geta, a young man who has the world at his fingertips, and the responsibility you wouldn’t wish upon anyone.

You fall asleep in the wee hours of the night wrapped around one another, you never slept better.

You woke before him, you didn’t want to ruin the magic of what last night brought so you snuck out and back to your quarters before he awoke.

Geta was disappointed when he saw you were not sleeping next to him, but he was too busy with the day’s events at the Colosseum to dwell on it any longer. He must get ready.

It was pretty early in the day, the games were supposed to run late, so you had time for yourself for a little while. The girls were still giving you a cold shoulder so you kept to yourself.

Your name is called, “You’re being summoned.”

You know better than to ask questions. You collect yourself and walk the corridors with the guard. You know the route by heart however your stomach turns when you try a left instead of a right.

“May I ask who has called upon me?”

“The Emperor.”

A sigh of relief exists in your lungs. Maybe he is in another room you’ve not been privy to.

The guard leaves you at the door when you knock to enter.

“Come in” The voice was not who you were expecting.

Your eyes widen only for a slight second with shock before you collect yourself.

“Your Majesty” you bow your head to Caracalla.

“My my, you are truly magnificent. No wonder my brother has been hogging you.” He smiled.

“I am flattered, your Majesty.” Your voice shaky.

“Shall we” he motions to the bed and you try and fake your way through this while your stomach is in knots.

“May I ask you one thing before we begin?”

“Of course” he nods his head.

“Why are you back so soon? I imagined the games would still be going on at this time?”

“There was an incident with roge arrows”

“I hope everyone is all right.”

“Not to fret, now I get to spend more time with you.”

“Quite right, your Majesty.” You agree.

And so you began.

Geta was in his room when he heard a knock on the door. He was waiting for the guard to bring you. He needed to blow off some steam from the assassination attempt on him and his brother today.

“Apologies, your Majesty, she was not there.” The soldier regretfully informed.

“What do you mean she was not there? Where is she?”

“With Emperor Caracalla, my Lord.” The guard regretting to be the one to inform his Highness.

“Like hell she is!” Geta bellowed.

The Emperor pushed past his loyal guard and stormed through the corridors of the palace.

You were draped over Caracalla’s lap, bouncing on his cock when the doors swung open with a bang and scared you half to death.

“Get off of him at once!”

You froze, not knowing what to do. The two brothers had equal power over you, so who did you obey?

“Brother!” Geta bellowed out.

“My my brother, what is the matter, I am only enjoying what has yet to be promised to me.” Caracalla sits up into his elbows

“She is mine.” Geta physically pics you up off of his brother and tosses you to the side so hard you can’t find your footing.

“Brother, what has gotten into you? You act as if she is your betrothed.”

“I- I …” Geta had no answer as to why you made him act the way you did. Only that he feels everything for you but is not sure how to control these feelings deep within.

“I think I understand bother… but you and I both know that can never happen.”

“You speak of buffoonery.”

“But is it? Otherwise, why would you interrupt us the first time she is taken from you?” Caracalla was no fool, and he knew his brother better than anyone else. “I will not touch her again if that is what you desire, brother.”

“It is,” Geta growled.

“Very well, I shall call upon Julietta instead.” He shrugged.

Geta turned to you finally, and you hoped he would take you to his chambers.

“Come.” He was curt, and you followed silently.

He was still seething by the time you reached his quarters, but it wasn’t until you were in utter privacy he began his scolding.

“How dare you lie with him!”

“My, Lord-“

“That’s right! I am your Lord. I am your master and you will only serve me!” His face redden.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Is that all you have to say for yourself?”

“What is it you wish for me to profess, my Lord?”

“You left me this morning. You didn’t even leave a note.”

“I couldn’t,” you said shamefully.

“Oh right, you’re just some uneducated present girl I plucked off the streets.” he scoffs.

“You’re right!” you scream, and Geta is taken aback. Never have you spoken to him with such power. “That is what I am! I don’t know what more you want from me?! I have given you everything! All of the parts of me! My wounds, my pain, my suffering, my love, my affection, my ass, my womb!” You cradle the small bump.

How had he not seen? Hint noticed? Had he not understood you have been with him every night and not been through your courses yet? You’ve been here for months, and not once have you bled.

Geta looks down to where your hands are pressed against your stomach and back up into your eyes.

“Is it true?” Instantly his demeanour flipped. It only takes him three large strides to face you to place his hand atop yours.

“My cycle has yet to come since I have been here.”

You watched as Geta did the math in his head until a look of shock then glee spread across his face.

“How far along?” he cradles you in his arms.

“Three or four months,” you suspect.

“Remarkable” he whispers. “utterly remarkable.” He takes you into a lustful kiss. “Now you are a part of me forever.”

“Is that what you desire?” You fight back the tears.

“It is, my Cantatrix. I have yet to find the words, but you are my light in this dark heart of mine.”

“Geta…” you test the waters.

“Only once I have heard you sing my name, and it is more beautiful than the last” He picks you up and carries you to the bed.

“I…”

“Tell me.” His brows furrow with worry.

“I think I love you.” You peer up at him through your lashes.

Your heart feels like it's going to burst from your chest it is beating so fast that it must not be good for the baby.

You’re a fool to admit such emotions. You want to take it back; you must take it back your thoughts are cut off when Geta’s lips meet yours.

He might not be able to say it out loud. However, this kiss tells you everything. You’re his everything.

If things were different, he knows he would make you his Empress, he yearns to have you rule by his side, but you can give him the next best thing.

A child. His first child, whom he will cherish and adore, even if they will be of the lower class, he does not care.

“Tell me you are mine,” Geta hums into your skin, his hands groping at every inch of you.

“I am yours, my Lord.”

“Geta” He sighs into the kiss. “I am your, Geta.”

“My, Geta?”

“Yes, Cantatrix, your Geta.”

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[januaryembrs]

LET IT ONCE BE ME | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [7]

Description: The THREE times she waits + the ONE time she doesn't have to.

length: 17.9k

trigger warnings: criminal minds gore + violence. jealousy. talks of sex and male and female anatomy. they get horny for one another basically. talks of Maeve + day of the dead. yearning idk? mention of one twin absorbing the other one in the womb (sorry if this is taken the wrong way but I conferred with my friend who did this when she was a foetus and she said it's not offensive and is okay to talk about so?)

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‘Let it once be me, who do I have to speak to 

About if they can redo the prophecy?’

The one where they pretend to be married

“I will not be exploited in my own home,” Bugsy chided, the faint smell of burning toast filling the small kitchenette. The butter knife sat ready in her hand, salted spread dripping down the handle where she’d been busy making breakfast before she had been called. 

He blinked back at her, unamused. 

“No. You cannot just scream at me whenever you want something from me. This relationship is toxic,” She huffed, turning back to butter her toast with the thick goodness. Sometimes she loathed living with three boys who had her wrapped around their fingers. 

The second piece of bread popped out of the toaster, which she quickly grabbed and began spreading, her fingers gripping onto the crusts gently as she did so. The squealing started again just as she readied herself to take the first bite, and she whirled around to see the two orange eyes that stared at her from on top of the counter. 

“Sergio, stop. You’ll get Niko all wound up-” She hadn’t even finished her sentence when Spencer shuffled into the kitchen, his hair mussed from sleep, his long plaid pyjama bottoms skirting high up his ankles where he’d impossibly hit another growth spurt and forgot to find better fitting clothes. Niko darted in between his legs, rushing to jump up on the breakfast bar, where Sergio was already interrogating Bugsy for more treats, a low yowl leaving his throat at the thought of being left out of feeding. “You boys are driving me crazy, no more biscuits for today-”

The yowl grew in decibels, a second one symphonying it, and she rolled her eyes, ignoring the whiney babies, turning to hand Spencer his piece of toast, crust already cut off and split into halves the way he liked it. 

“I warned you not to treat them when I’m not here, they’ve become spoiled brats,” She huffed, though she felt her entire body warm up when she looked at his doe eyes, still half idled with sleep as he watched her swan around his kitchen, their kitchen technically since she had all but moved in to his little apartment meant for two housemates. 

But they weren’t just house mates. They weren’t even dating. But she knew he wanted to. Because he loved her. 

“How could you expect me to say no, they’re so compelling,” He said, his voice gravelly where he’d lightly snored, as much as he always denied he did, fussing Niko behind the ear with long, gentle fingers. He took the plate out of her hand, his eyes swirling with a moved expression when he saw she’d cut his crusts off, his gaze snapping back up to where she’d sweeped her hair out her face, a large shirt and a pair of his clean boxers adorning her figure, “Thankyou,”

He hadn’t said the three magic words since, neither of them had. But they felt it. The weird static that had been thick in the air between them before was crackling along their skin with every glance, like they were both thinking the same thing.

I love you, and you love me.

He smiled at her warmly, the urge to grab her by her face and kiss her skin all over almost overwhelming him, because he counted himself lucky every single day. She loved him. She loved him. She loved him. He heard it in every heart beat, like a mantra that his chest clung to since the words had spilled from her soft lips. She was waiting for him, for his head to settle with the idea that Maeve was gone, and he could let her go and not feel terrible about it; waiting for him to make the first move. 

“Coffee?” He asked, watching her eyes soften as they trailed over his face, and he worried he looked a little worse for wear since he’d rolled out of bed and headed towards the source of the girl he loved arguing with someone in the kitchen even though that someone had turned out to be the greedy bastard they loved dearly.

He knew he was the luckiest guy in the world to have her waiting on him, and he never let himself forget it. 

“Yes, please,” She said, and he brushed past her, close enough for it to be on purpose when their arms touched, his hands busying themselves in between the plate and munching on the first bite of breakfast, because he didn’t know what he might do if they spent one more second looking at one another like that. 

She watched him move towards the kettle she’d sent him for Christmas when she was in London. After using one for two weeks she’d seen the light and realised he would love the nifty little invention. Her arm burned where he’d touched as if he’d taken a flame to her skin, her chest boiling up with every single thing she could think to tell him, like how good his hair looked when he didn’t do much with it, or how hot his voice sounded like that, or that she really really did love him the way she’d never even thought possible outside her silly romance novels, that she’d never believed Pip when he’d told Estella; “You are part of my existence, part of myself. You have been in every line I have ever read,” and yet when she thought of it now, watching Spencer busy himself shovelling sugar into two mugs, it made entire perfect sense. 

She couldn’t remember who she was before she knew him, and she didn’t ever want to know. 

She opened her mouth to say something, perhaps to say those three little words again, or just to tell him he smelled good even when he hadn’t put any deodorant or aftershave on, but her phone’s ringtone cut her off. 

Already knowing it was going to be Penelope with a new case, she flicked the call on to speaker phone, “What you got for me, baby girl?” She said, trying to make her voice as deep as it would go, and she heard Spencer snickering where he was stirring hot water into the instant coffee.

“Was that supposed to be Morgan?” Pen’s voice replied, a small chuckle of her own evident even through the digital tone.

“I thought that was pretty good,” Bugsy replied, stuffing the last of the toasted bread into her mouth.

“I thought he was right in the room with us for a moment there,” Spencer chimed in, humouring her, as he also took an enormous bite from his breakfast, knowing they were more than likely about to be called in and their game of house, one where they flustered every time they spoke, was going to be over, “I was like, woah, Morgan, when did you get here-”

“Alright, my little rascals. We have a case, Hotch wants everyone in,” Penelope said, no doubt already paging through JJ, “No more coffee for either of you, you’re both being weird enough as it is,” 

“Definitely not,” Spencer said, sliding the mug of milky, sweet caffeine over to Bugsy who smiled at him wickedly.

“Wheels up in twenty, Garcia,” The woman added in the same voice as before, Spencer laughing with a shake of his head and moving to stand behind her, his chest pressed against her back, his arm winding around her waist to give her a small, affectionate squeeze on the hip. 

Penelope sighed, already accepting that their mercurial attitudes weren’t going away any time soon, the sudden mood change entirely odd to the rest of the team who had no idea that they had almost kissed just one week ago. To everyone else, they just seemed to have bounced back to normal, reverted back to Bugsy and Spencer; attached at the hip, only the eye contact and secretive smiles had been dialled to a hundred. The line went dead, and her head shot to look at him, where his hand had yet to move, and it was scoldingly hot against the soft fat that gathered at her hips.

“I’ll get your good shirt, I put it out to dry yesterday,” She said, her voice suddenly much less brave than it had been when she saw his eyes crinkling with a small smile. 

He nodded, and she caught his gaze trailing down her nose, darting over her lips for a second in a way that made her chest rev like a Ferrarri out of gear. She felt her breath catch in her throat when he looked back up to her eyes, his forest hues entrancing like he was playing some silent flute song and she was a snake dancing under his orders. 

He took a second to realise they were standing in his kitchen, his body pressed against hers like he hadn’t even realised they were so close, like he’d just gravitated to her that way, like he couldn’t stop it even if he’d tried to. He’d had a taste of nectar, and he was a drunk man ever since. 

Spencer wrangled a hold of himself, allowing himself to stroke the back of her head lovingly, and pressing a kiss to her crown, before he stepped away from her, and the siren song dropped, the two of them dispersing to get ready for the case. 

Bugsy swore she could hear her heart pounding the entire drive to headquarters.

–

“I think the real question is why married couples?” Hotch mused, a steaming cup of black coffee sitting in front of him on the jet, his nose in the file on his lap. 

Bugsy scanned over the manilla folder in her hands, her legs swinging rhythmically beneath the table she sat on, Rossi to her left, her own second cup of coffee squeezed between her thighs. It was a heavy case for a weekend morning, three married couples found slashed and dumped together, the UnSub showing no signs of slowing or stopping.

“If he’s a sadist, having a witness to his torture heightens his pleasure,” Alex added, her lips pursed in contemplation, her hair primped surprisingly neat considering they’d been called in with little to no notice on a Sunday. 

“Israel Keyes kidnapped a husband and wife at gunpoint, got them in a car, took them to a remote location, and then killed the husband in front of the wife,” Spencer said, trying not to look straight at Bugsy when he felt her eyes on him.

He’d never been one to keep a good poker face, never been good at hiding how he felt especially when he was happy. And she made him happier than he deserved to be. He knew their little arrangement would become glaringly obvious to the rest of the team if he let himself look at her. he had no control of his face when it came to her, how he felt his eyes soften, his lips turn up into a dopey smile, his hands itching to touch her just to confirm she was real.

He saw her head tilt down, into her lap as she tried desperately to focus on the words on the page, but he caught the small smile that she kept for herself, and he had a feeling she was struggling just as much as he was. 

“Keyes was a sexual sadist, though,” Rossi interjected, his hands wrapped around a scolding cup of the green tea Penelope had bought them because she’d read of the stress relief benefits. They’d taken it, but David and Bugsy were the only ones who had tried it, “This guy, I don’t know,” 

“Cutting a husband and wife to death, it’s more like he’s mocking their marriage bond,” JJ said, her bluebell hues dancing to Bugsy when the girl chimed in.

“Mutilating both of them, killing them together, it’s like the idea of couples and happy marriage is a trigger for him; it’s personal. He wants to make them pay for their happiness, likely because something’s stopping him from having it too,” She said, taking a long sip of her coffee, Rossi nodding along with her. 

“That’s where my head’s at. ‘You took each other for better or worse, now I’m going to show you worse’,” He said, leaning back against the table, his shoulder nudging the younger girl. 

Derek stroked a hand over his stubbled beard, “His home life’s probably a wreck, at least one ex-wife, not to mention mom and dad,”  

“Alright we need to hit the ground,” Hotch said, flicking a glance at the youngest agent where she was all but inhaling her sweet beverage, “Prentiss and Reid, I want you mapping out a geographical profile,”

She nodded, her eyes slowly trailing to Spencer’s as Hotch distributed jobs around the team, but her head subconsciously tuned his stern voice out into static. Because when she looked up at his face, he was already staring at her, and the sound of her heartbeat racing crawled its way back into her ear, the thrumming so loud she was sure David could hear it too, she might as well have held a megaphone to her mouth and announced “Spencer Reid, you make me so nervous in the good kind of way,”

His hazel eyes trailed over her face, her expression unreadable as she scrambled to keep a lid on her feelings, and she wondered if this was where the phrase ‘Don’t shit where you eat,’ came from, because him so much as looking at her wiped her mind completely, which was not ideal for an agent working on a case. But she couldn’t help it, he was enchanting, and she guessed he was having just as much of an inner quarrel as he looked away from her, the apples of his cheeks and tips of his earlobes turning a strawberry ice cream pink. 

She had no idea how she was going to make it through the rest of the day so close to him. 

–

“First couple were last seen on the corner of Hill Avenue, Bella Mia Italian restaurant,” Bugsy read from her scrawled notes, as Spencer took a purple white board pen to the map of Detroit. Drawing a circle of a 5 centimetre radius around the little dot, he kept his eyes ahead of him. Hearing her pace behind him, he didn’t need to look up to know she was chewing her cuticles again. 

“Stop biting,” He chided lightly, hearing a guilty silence where he knew she’d caught herself with embarrassment. He tried not to show his amusement, knowing it would only make her feel worse, he bit down a smirk and raised his pen back to the map, “Next one?” 

She’d been on edge all day. He would have probably brushed it off as caffeine jitters seeing as she was on her fourth cup already, but Spencer knew her too well to know her tolerance was so high she had about two more mugs in her before she’d start to crash. 

He knew what it was, the memory of her skin beneath his lips burning his cheeks all over again, the look in her eyes when he’d been close enough they were sharing breath. He knew what it was because he felt it too. It was like their confession had set off a ticking time bomb, one that neither of them had the countdown to, and the clicking of every passing second sounded oddly like a pulse in their throats. To put it short, just the sound of her footsteps was making his skin pimpled with gooseflesh. 

“Uh, next one is Bowlarama, about ten stores down from there, Couple number two were seen getting milkshakes and heading towards the parking lot before they went missing,” She recited, her fingers firmly clutching the paper in her hand to resist the urge of gnawing at her nails again. Why was she so nervous? She lived with Spencer, ate breakfast, lunch and dinner with Spencer, spent almost all her evenings either playing chess or watching movies with Spencer, or on the odd occasion he found a book in reach he hadn’t read yet, he’d read out parts to her he found particularly engaging to those million, trillion, billion neurological pathways of his. 

The squealing of the pen against the board was the only thing keeping her head in the case, Spencer’s messy handwriting dotting around the map with points of interest, and she begged her brain to kick into gear the way it normally did, tried everything to yank herself out of the head fog she’d found herself lost in where thoughts of him emerged through like Mr Darcy strolling through those clouded moors, like how his voice sounded when he smiled, how his hand looked gripping that pen, how his body was lithe and handsome even from the back. 

She shook her head, jamming her face back into her files, to the gory images of couple number three, mutilated and bloody, and reminded herself she had a job to do. 

Get it together, Prentiss.

“Couple number three’s last known location was on the corner of Whittier Avenue, outside a wine bar named Blue Mates,” Bugsy read out, hoping her hot cheeks would dissipate before he noticed, “It seems couples out on date night really agitate this guy,” 

Spencer hummed, focused on his third circle, the three of them overlapping with almost precise measurements. It was hard not to notice the pattern to them. He heard her draw nearer with his profile complete, and they stood beside one another, so close they knocked hands when they leaned in to take a closer look at the rings.

“He hits the same street of stores every time, one after another,” Spencer said, his long forefinger trailing down the strip of shops and bars the UnSub seemed to have a taste for, “I mean, excluding retail and supermarkets, since they’re unlikely spots for a husband and wife to go out on a date, the pattern is really quite linear where he hits next,” 

Gently taking the pen out of his hands, Bugsy leaned up to colour in every single store that would be considered retail, crossing out a pet shop or two, leaving only the cafes, bars, restaurants, even a cinema. And sure enough, the three spots the victims had been last seen lined up perfectly as the first three ‘date night’ locations on the strip, the next being a steak restaurant named The Greasy Grill. 

“How much do you want to bet our UnSub is getting a craving for Sirloin right about now?” Bugsy said, putting the pen down onto the table and they exchanged a look of accomplishment, just as Hotch walked in with the Chief of Detroit police. 

“What did you find?” Hotch asked, his eyes falling to the asterisks drawn on the whiteboard, the rest of the known locations Penelope had sent dotted around the map. 

“Date night is very important to this UnSub,” Spencer said, the two of them turning to their boss, his shoulder bumping hers, and it was only then she’d realised she was all but pressing up into his side. 

“He goes on dates?” The chief of police asked, his brows furrowed. Taking a step away, her eyes darting to the map as a means of distracting herself, she pointed to the ink marks they’d squiggled on the paper.

“No, but the victims do and he knows that,” She explained, tracing a chewed fingertip down the street, “The UnSub hit here first, where our first couple went out for pizza. He then moved down here where the second victims had their date night in a bowling alley, and onto our newest victims, they were last seen having wine here, each kidnapping site along the same strip with the next possible location being right here,” She said, her finger slapping against the Greasy Grill, Hotch nodding in thought as the Chief got on the phone with his own team. 

“Good work, you two,” Hotch hummed, and he opened his mouth to speak again when Bugsy’s phone began to ring.

Snatching it out of her pocket, she caught sight of Alex’s name before swiping to answer, pressing it to her ear, “Hello?” 

“Fourth victim has just been found dumped in a car.” The woman said immediately, and Bugsy switched her mobile to speaker so the other two could hear her. Turning on her heels to face the white board, she grabbed the pen resting on the table beside her, yanking the lid off with her teeth.

“Where?” She asked, Spencer picking the plastic from between her lips to help her communicate, her eyes focused on the road names as she waited for Alex’s response. 

“Back alley between Warren and Forest Avenue, one woman found alone in a white Buick,” Alex said, and all three of their faces scrunched in confusion as she said it. 

“He’s changed his victimology,” Spencer murmured and Bugsy nodded, her lips pressed in a flat line, “Alex, is the woman married at least, or has the UnSub completely altered his preference?”

“We have her husband here right now,” Alex confirmed, and Hotch stepped over to where the two geniuses inspected the map, “He said he missed a dinner reservation they had two nights ago at a restaurant called-”

“The Greasy Grill?” Spencer and Bugsy spoke synchronously, and Alex paused audibly. 

“I take it you two have figured out his pattern already?” She asked, though she didn’t sound all too surprised. 

“See if the husband knows anything else, Blake. We’re going to figure out the next location that fits the pattern,” Hotch ordered, and they bid each other goodbye, as Bugsy and Spencer were already coordinating which plots of land were retail stores. 

By the time the line went dead, there was a big red mark circling a mini golf course slash cocktail bar, and the duo looked at him expectantly. 

“If the UnSub keeps his victims for around three days at a time, and the woman was found this morning, my guess is he’s going to head there tonight,” Bugsy said, capping the pen and dropping it back onto the desk, feeling Spencer nodding behind her, “And if the victim was supposed to be at the restaurant with her husband, it means he’s still looking for couples, he just happened to get unlucky. He’s going to want another happy-go-lucky husband and wife pairing,” 

Hotch’s face became unreadable for a moment, his gaze switching between the two of them, like he was assessing the risk factor of sending his two youngest agents undercover for the second time. But they seemed to have worked together seamlessly the first time, in that casino, so he didn’t see the qualms about asking them to work the same act this time.

“What?” Bugsy asked, the look in his eye unnerving her, and she flicked a glance behind her at Spencer’s equally lost expression, turning back to see Hotch dialling Dave’s number to update him on their plan, “Hotch, what is it?”

“He wants a happy couple,” Hotch said, his phone already up to his ear as he eyed the little to zero space between the two agents who swore blind they were just friends, “We’re going to give him one,” 

–

She had to admit, this was a little nicer than the red dress she’d been stuffed into last time. The sundress was flowy enough she could hide her gun strapped to her hip, and still compliment her figure nicely enough that she couldn’t complain. And best of all, it meant she could wear her ballet pumps instead of those god awful stilettos she’d pulled out last time they were undercover. 

She still remembered that evening in the casino, watching Spencer’s big brain tick faster than she’d thought possible even for him. The briefing of this even seemed much more relaxed, seeing as their aim was to look like the happiest couple alive. ‘You worry about playing your parts, we’ll worry about playing ours,’; was what Alex had said when she’d brought in a dress about Bugsy’s size, the woman already styling her hair to look like she was really going on a date. 

Because she was, sort of, not really, going on a date with Spencer. Except none of it was real, like someone up there had to have one final laugh at her luck, like that carrot on a string she’d been waiting patiently for the past week was looking a lot more delicious by the second as it dangled in front of her.  

There was a knock on the small hotel room Hotch had booked them in for the evening, seeing as they were going to be scoping out the area until late, and Bugsy headed for the door without pause, thinking it was JJ returning with the fake wedding rings they’d gotten from a cheap jewellers down the street. 

She swung the door open, only to be greeted by two dark eyes looking at her done up face, her primped hair, her floral dress. 

“Spence,” She said, picking over every inch of him, breathless already, because she always thought he looked hot in a button down shirt, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, “You look-”

“You look beautiful,” He rushed, like he might just burst if he held it in any longer, and she smiled sheepishly, her face flooding with heat all over again. Damn you, Reid, with your stupid charm and ridiculously good looking lips.

“You look beautiful too,” She complimented, noticing a gold band on his finger then and she realised he had something in his palm, “You run into JJ already?” 

He nodded, smiling with a stammered breath, “Yeah, I said I’d come check if you were ready. Hotch and Dave are already there scoping out the bar,” 

She simpered under the weight of his nervousness, “Well, I’m ready,” Holding out her left hand, she raised her ring finger, “Marry me, pretty boy,” 

He snickered, shaking his head at her clear diversion from the stifling tension in the air, and held her hand in his delicately, his skin warm as it encompassed hers entirely, and he was careful to slip the false engagement ring over her digits, following it with a gold band of her own. 

“You ready to get your ass kicked at miniature golf whilst our friends catch a criminal, Mr Reid?” She asked, and he had yet to let go of her hand as she shut the door behind her, slipping her hotel room key into her purse. 

“That’s a bold statement from such a sore loser, Mrs Reid,” He said back, a smile so wide he thought he might burst a vessel as she laughed, and tightened her fingers around his, interlacing them just like she had done a handful of times before, and his chest crackled with white hot excitement when she knocked her shoulder into his side in affection. 

His lips scorched with the words Mrs Reid the entire drive to the bar. 

–

“Any eyes on him, yet?” Bugsy whispered to the women in the stalls, touching up her lipstick as JJ and Alex hid in the women’s bathroom for the signal. 

“Not yet,” Blake said, sitting on the closed toilet seat in her kevlar and jacket, all but twiddling her thumbs and wishing she’d brought a sudoku, “Are you guys having fun at least?”

“Pretending to be married to my best friend while a serial killer eyes up my guts for the taking; yeah I’m peachy,” Bugsy replied, rubbing her lips together and making sure her gun was still strapped tight to her hip, “Besides, he really is kicking my ass at golf,”

“He’s going to let you win anyway, you know that right?” JJ said, tucking her feet up onto the seat in her own stall in case anyone who wasn’t on their team came in to the bathroom, “He always lets you win because he knows it makes you happy,”

Bugsy paused, the tissue that was collecting rogue lipstick smudges from her face almost falling in the sink, and she was quick to gather her voice with a clear of her throat.

“Maybe I just win because I’m good, Jennifer,” She said, a lilt of teasing in her tone, binning the scrap tissue paper and heading for the door, “Keep an eye out, kiddos. I’m going back in,”

They chirped a goodbye, the two of them sighing as they waited for Hotch’s message, and Bugsy walked back out to where Spencer was waiting by Hole Seven. It was a classic windmill on top of a hill, a small tunnel where the door was supposed to be leading to a lower level behind the plastic decor, where the hole lay waiting for them. 

“You ready, honey?” He said, holding out a purple putter they’d chosen at the start of the course, and she smiled genuinely at him. She had been telling somewhat of a lie when she’d been so unenthusiastic in the bathroom, though she thought telling the women just how much fun she was having being married to Spencer might just rub salt in the wound considering they were bored stiff sat in the bathroom.

That and she wanted to keep whatever it was they were feeling theirs and only theirs for just a little bit longer. 

“Ready, my love,” She sang in response and let him go first. He had to lean over a fair bit seeing as he was so tall he made everything on the course look particularly miniature, including the putter that seemed dwarfed by his height. Taking a quick look at the hill, no doubt calculating the angle and force he would need to hit it with, he gave the little, pink golf ball a generous tap and it raced up the slope, straight into the tunnel. They heard it knocking around a little in the chamber, before it came careering out the other end and rolled no closer than a yard away from the hole. 

Bugsy looked at him with wide eyes, to which he pretended not to look almost arrogant with how easy he’d made it seem, only when he looked back at her with a shit eating grin, she knew exactly how pleased with himself he was. 

“I bet it’s not that difficult, it’s all just a matter of force and drag and whatnot, right?” She said, strolling up to place her lilac ball on the inky dot marking the start. 

“Totally, although this is where, I don’t know, say a degree in Engineering would come in useful, I bet,” Spencer chimed in, and she didn’t need to look at him to know he had that smirk on his face. 

“Mr Reid, get ready to eat your words,” She replied over her shoulder, smacking the ball hard enough it flew up the slope, bouncing off the wall of the windmill and racing all the way back down the hill, rolling right back to where they stood, Spencer hiding a laugh behind his hand. She gaped, her face hot with annoyance, “Wait, wait! That was a practice run, I get another go,”

“Practice run, I see,” Spencer said with a chuckle, shoving his hands in his pockets, and watching her scramble to set the ball back on the marker, “So out of interest, how many of these practice runs are you getting,”

“Just the one,” She said, hitting the plastic globe again, though this time it barely made it half way up the incline before it rolled right back down again, “Two, I get two. This one’s the real one, starting now,” 

“The real one? So this one’s really the one that counts, right?” He teased, and she glared at him over her shoulder. He stepped closer to her, a look of the cat that got the cream smeared all across his face as he took a stance behind her, wrapping his arms around hers with the oldest trick in the book, “Why don’t you let your dearest husband help you out, huh?” 

“I have a masters and half a degree in medicine, I think I know what I’m doing,” She hummed, though the feeling of his hands resting over hers soone quietened down whatever fire was stoked in her belly from losing their game. Spencer was so close she could feel him breathing down her neck, feel his chest on her shoulder blades, and worst and most heinous of all, feel his crotch pressing against her tailbone. 

“Alright, alright. Just humour me,” He murmured, a new found confidence in him that he only seemed to get whenever they were playing the part of being other people. He gave her a salacious lick of his lips, smiling at her with a pink parted mouth, his eyes dark in this light like he knew what she was thinking as well, and he couldn’t help but think she looked so pretty when he flirted with her a little. He’d always thought that when she was stunned into that quiet tone, the mousy look she got on her face was rather cute. 

His hands engulfed hers with a mesh of pornographic veins and sadistically handsome knuckles, his mouth at her ear as they lined up the shot together. 

It was as if a murmuration of birds had flocked together in her chest, dipping and diving and creating all manner of shapes in her stomach as she felt it flip three or four times, his body so entirely pressed against hers she never wanted to move a muscle. She’d had the odd thought pop into her head about what sex with Spencer Reid might feel like, and yet all she could think about in the haze of the putter and fake grass beneath their feet was how delicious he felt pressing into her like that. 

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear as she looked forward again, and she could have sworn she held back a moan when he breathed out down her spine. 

“Hotch has eyes on a guy at the bar watching us,” He whispered, her back straightening as she was reminded with a slap to the face they were still working the case. That as much fun as they were having, as happy as they were supposed to seem, they still had a very real job to do, and she felt stupid for thinking the flirty glances and erotic embrace was for anything more than to sell the married couple act. 

But Bugsy was nothing if not committed to her job. So instead of worrying if Spencer had felt anything real in the last hour or so, she decided to double down and give their UnSub a real show. 

Sticking her ass out so she brushed against Spencer’s crotch more, she intertwined her fingers with his, and hit the dimpled sphere the direction he guided her; and sure enough it rolled straight into the tunnel with little qualms.

Spinning in his arms, the smile was nearly wiped off her face when she saw Spencer’s eyes had darkened to a rich espresso hue as he looked at her. But she hid it well, despite the fact she caught the way his pupils were blown wide, and simply leaned to kiss him smack dab on his cheek, a smirk on her face when she pulled away.

“I guess I just needed the correct motivation,” She said with a flirty undertone, and she revelled in the way his lips parted enough she saw the whites of his absurdly pretty teeth. 

“Remind me to not take you out to mini golf for our first date,” Spencer huffed, his ears red as a mushroom top as they both stepped over to where the hole was and she snickered, trying her best to ignore the wings hammering away at her ribcage when he said that. 

“Duly noted, Mr Reid,” She said, watching him lineup his next shot with a smirk, and she wondered just where exactly they would go on their first date. Her smile only got wider, a girlish glee to her eyes. “So, theoretically, where were you thinking of taking me?” 

“Theoretically,” He said, lining up his shot, the ball only a small tap away from the hole, his feet spreading a little wider so he could lean down to putt the pink sphere, “I was thinking of going to that book cafe out in Delaware, the one where they have a bunch of drinks inspired by different authors. We could play a game I used to with my mom, where we choose a book for each other we think the other would like,” He took the shot, his ball rolling into the cavity without much effort as she watched him meticulously, her entire body softening with his sentiment right down to her marrow, “And then I was going to say we build a sofa fort in the living room and watch whatever movie you like, maybe get some popcorn on the way home,” 

He looked up at her, and almost reeled back in surprise to see her looking at him with something so vastly emotional in her eyes, like he’d offered her a winning lottery ticket or a chance to go back in time in a flying police box, her expression a complete window into her soul because she’d never been too good at hiding how she felt when she was around him. 

Spencer opened his mouth to speak again, only for their earpieces to jump to life, Hotch’s voice out of breath as he reported down their ear. 

“We have the UnSub, we caught him trying to sneak into your car like we profiled.” He said, and she knew his brow was creased without even having to see his face, “We’re taking him in for questioning now, you kids wrap up and head to the station,”

Bugsy hummed in confirmation, fighting the disappointment that their show was over, and they’d have to go back to their usual act of pretending there wasn’t three little words hanging over both their heads, gnawing at the back of their brains. 

Clearing her throat, she set up her shot ready to finish their game, “Well, theoretically speaking, when you’re ready to ask me on that date, I’m there,”

He smiled to himself, perhaps ready to flirt with her just a little more before they went back to being Bugsy and Spence, not Mr and Mrs Reid, when she hit the golf ball just the tiniest bit too vigorously. It rolled straight past the hole, bouncing off the wall and heading further away from the end than when she’d started, and she groaned in frustration. 

“How are you so terrible at this-” Spencer burst out laughing as she stomped over to the lilac ball, lining up another shot with a grumpy expression. 

“Not another word, Lover boy,” 

2. The one with an old flame.

“I wonder what Hotch wants,” She mused, her head resting on the arm of the seat, her eyes shut for the duration of the flight. Rossi had called them into the office startlingly early for a Friday, the entire team sleepy eyed and annoyed as they’d strolled onto the sixth floor. 

Yet the minute that they’d heard Hotch needed them, they’d soon perked up in interest, seeing as it was Aaron’s only appointed week off to see Beth in New York, and they had quickly jumped in to help with whatever it was he needed. 

“Penelope’s still waiting for NYPD to send her the autopsy reports for the previous victims,” Rossi said, him, Strauss, JJ and Alex playing a few rounds of Shithead with a peeling deck of cards because for once they had no paperwork to be looking over while they travelled. Bugsy had laid on the couch, the one Spencer usually commandeered, except this time he let her take the comfy seat, instead letting her legs drape over his lap as he read from his book, another two sat next to him for when he finished that one. 

“He sounded panicked. DEA thinks we might have a bad batch of something making its way through the club scene causing the deaths,” Strauss added, putting down two sets of three on top of JJ’s ace, “Aaron’s brother just happened to have been caught in the crossfire,”

“Men are almost twice as likely to die from drug overdoses than women, just last year there were forty-one thousand, five hundred and two cases.” Spencer said without lifting his head from his pages, his thumb caressing over Bugsy’s ankle bone, “The fact that the majority of the victims are women suggests it’s more than likely is a date rape drug that has been laced since they tend to be targeted towards female victims more often than males.” 

“Ecstasy can be made in pill, powder or liquid form so it really wouldn’t be too difficult to slip it into someone’s drink,” The girl mused, her eyes squeezed shut tightly as she attempted to catch up on another half hour of sleep, “Or to convince people the drug they’re taking willingly is safe,”

“Even regular users might not know they're being dosed until it's too late,” JJ agreed, setting down a seven on top of Rossi’s two fives. 

“What about the two victims who were clean, Linda Heying and Eric Sullivan’s family claimed they never touched the stuff,” Alex questioned, as Morgan looked over the list of victims that they had been able to track down, despite the majority of the information waiting for them at New York. 

“Either the victims are good at hiding the truth or the UnSub is killing for another reason,” David said with a sigh, as Strauss set down the six of clubs, “We should take a closer look, see how they’re connected,”

“Well for now, let the princess get her beauty sleep,” Bugsy said, snuggling into the throw pillow Spencer had passed her as they’d sat down, “I’m feeling weird today,”

His head ripped from his book at that, the rest of the team going back to playing their cards, his hand skirting up to her calf to stroke her leg gently, “You okay?” 

She huffed, “Yeah, Penelope said it's because my Mercury is in Retrograde or something, I don’t know. I just feel strange,” She grumbled, resting a hand over her stomach, “Probably just coming on my period early,”

He frowned, moving her legs off his lap and standing up. Before she could ask where he was going, he stepped to the opposite end of the couch, picking her head up gently by the crook of her neck and sitting back down, resting her back onto his lap. 

His fingers were in her hair before she could say anything, scratching gently at her scalp the way he knew she turned to putty for, and she smiled, swearing blind she’d be purring if she could. 

“We’ll get you some breakfast when we land,” He murmured, and she snuggled her cheek into his thigh, his slender fingers massaging her skin kindly. 

“Thankyou, Spence,” She whispered back, all but slurring her words as sleep caught right back up to her, and before long she was drooling on his black trousers, the sight of it making him smile sweetly to himself. 

And it was for a moment like that he wondered what exact feeling he was waiting for in the first place. 

–

“Any updates?” Bugsy asked, as they entered the New York Police Department and saw Hotch waiting for them, his arms crossed in a casual shirt and jeans, clearly having had no intention of working this week, “How’s your brother?”

“A little shaken but then he never exactly made the best choices in life,” Hotch huffed, putting a hand on her back as she leaned in to give him a small hug because he seemed particularly stressed, “Emily always said you were bad, I’d take you over him any day,”

“Thanks,” She murmured into his shoulder, with a frown, “I think?”

He smiled, amused the way she had a knack for, though the worry in his mahogany eyes didn’t budge, and Spencer was all but a step behind her as the team filed into the building. 

“You guys have coffee?” Spencer asked, his eyes subconsciously trailing after Bugsy as she moved to talk to one of the detectives, and Hotch nodded, pointing him over to the small kitchenette at the back of the precinct. 

“Over there, I’ll get you guys set up with the lab reports now that you’re here. Autopsies came back for Linda and Eric,” Hotch said, and Spencer murmured in agreement, heading straight for the instant coffee and creamer, worrying about the girl who was already nose deep in a file by the time the machine had poured the first cup. 

He wondered whether there were any pharmacies nearby for anti-sickness tablets, or if she needed a heavy dose of water and sleep instead of the caffeine goodness he was whipping up for her, but then he knew she’d rather shrivell into a ball in the precinct bathroom than ask for a day off, would rather suffer in proud silence than make herself look weak. 

Bugsy remembered it happening in choppy intervals. One minute she was heading up the steps towards where Spencer stood patiently by the coffee machine, something already popping up as a point of interest in her overworked brain. Her head was down, muttering to herself the points of the victimology that conflicted with one another, when she felt herself slam right into a solid body, and she jumped back, steadying herself with an embarrassed expression. 

“Oh my god, I’m so, so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was-” Her eyes snapped up to see a messy blonde sweep of hair, wide blue eyes she’d known ten years ago and a thick beard that happened to be the only thing new about him. Her gaze locked onto him, and she felt a fury she’d not thought about in over a decade rile up inside her, “Sean?” 

“Bugsy,” He breathed, the horror sweeping over his expression, a hand shooting up to slick his hair back nervously, “What are you- how are you-” 

She shoved him back with two firm hands, tossing the file onto the table beside her, and shoving at his chest again, his own hands coming up to defend himself lightly even though his expression read nothing but guilt. 

“Woah, woah, let’s just talk about this, I was just a dumb kid-”

“You left me, Sean. You left me in a foreign country alone with no boarding pass, no cell phone,” She snarled, and the sound of her tone rising turned a few heads, Spencer all but ditching the spoon into the sink when he saw her going nose to nose with some guy who looked purely terrified, “Your dumbass friends spent all my money on hookers, I’d still be in Italy if it wasn’t for the fact you graciously decided not to steal my bank card-” 

She shoved him again in between her growls, and it wasn’t until two hands came up to stop her did she realise Derek and Spencer had all but appeared behind her, the former’s arms wrapping around her waist to draw her back. 

“Woah, woah, talk to me, pretty girl. What’s with the aggression?” Derek asked, his eyes wide with concern as he looked between the youngest agent and their suspect. It seemed her volume had reached the other side of the room where Hotch had been talking with Strauss and Alex, and Spencer could practically see the steam coming out his ears as he whipped around to their trio. 

He could already hear the lecture coming, and the thought of it made him gulp.

“This is Sean,” She spat, and Derek and Spencer’s head snapped to the blonde man who looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole, “You know, the asshole that ditched me on another continent and stole my money,”

“I didn’t mean to steal your money, I thought you had it in your purse, I-I didn’t think to check before we left the hotel room,” He tried to interject, though the girl's glare intensified, unaware her boss's shoes were now thundering across the steps. 

“Where you left me to miss the flight I paid for, you inconsiderate prick-”

“You told me to leave you alone! You said you were sick of us waking you up-”

“I meant playing your music too loud, dumbass-”

“Well sorry, last time I checked I’m not a mind reader, Bugsy-”

“What in God’s name is going on here?” Hotch’s voice was a crack of lightning through the precinct, and the two of them shut up immediately, like two school children caught squabbling in the halls, Sean turning to his older brother with an exasperated expression. 

“Aaron, I swear, I don’t know what she’s doing here,” Sean pleaded, and Derek, Spencer and Bugsy turned to their boss in unison with bewildered faces. Hotch looked back at them, his own anger dissolving into utter, raw confusion. 

“Do you two know each other?” Hotch, Aaron, asked the girl in the middle, the other men all but positioned as bodyguards in the midst of their little spat, and he saw her cheeks hot with anger deflating as she drew a breath to answer. 

“Unfortunately,” She spat, scrutinising the familiar tone Sean had used when he’d said Aaron’s name, “Do you two know each other?” 

“He’s my brother,” The Hotchner’s replied in unison, their tone almost identical and she felt stupid for not seeing it sooner.

Bugsy felt her face drop, her eyes scanning between them for any signs of a lie, except all she found were the tiny details of their face that seemed to half match. Like their cheekbones, and the crease between their brows, the shape of their lips. 

Her face blanked, gobsmacked silence passing between the five of them as she digested exactly what that statement ment. 

Sean, her Sean, the Sean she’d been sleeping with on and off for six months straight, who used to make her tea way too milky and without sugar the way she hated it, but would bring it to her in bed and stroke her back when they were finished, the Sean who once tried to ask her to be his girlfriend when he was stoned and she’d laughed at him and snatched the blunt away, told him to get a hold of himself because that was the exact opposite of how friends with benefits worked. 

Sean, who she had trusted to keep her safe, who’d ditched her naked in a hotel room in a foreign country and made her feel stupid for ever believing a word a man said.  

She stuttered for a response, a wide eyes mix of terror and confusion and repulsion washing over her in stages. 

“I need-” She swallowed thickly, her mouth drier than sandpaper, gently pushing Derek’s arm from around her waist, “I think I need a walk- a walk sounds good- yeah-”

Rossi paced over to the five of them, his phone clutched tightly in his hands. He almost paused at the wall of awkward tension around the group, each participant seeming stuck for the right thing to say, the entire situation so bizarre that Spencer debated faking a migraine to get him and her out of the room for some air. 

“Hotch,” Both of the men turned to look at him, and the sight of it made Bugsy shudder, feeling almost completely out of her own body at the thought of her nude body on top of Sean’s because now all she could see was Aaron in his place, “Six new bodies found in a nightclub-”

“I’ll go!” She jumped, all but bolting past the men, trying her hardest not to touch either of them because her skin crawled with a sickening uncanny valley looking between the brothers, “I’ll go inspect the crime scene,” 

And no one stopped her, because they’d seen her be all manner of strange before, but never quite like that. Aaron nodded his head to Morgan, and the man took it as a sign to follow her. He quickly obeyed, hot on the girl's heels as she kept her head down with an odd, freaked out expression on her face like she was about to throw up and scream at the same time. 

Which left Sean alone as Spencer and Aaron whirled around on him, similar looks of annoyance on their face as the younger agent looked the man head to toe. 

He was handsome, handsome in a rugged way like he was used to bar fights and late nights and drinking until three am with pretty ladies like her. He was built wide like Aaron, his shoulders broad and muscles stocky, a few tattoos dotted around his arms that only added to his rough looking appeal, and Spencer wondered if she’d always liked the bad boys, wondered if he was an outlier in her dating history. 

Except they weren’t dating, not yet at least. 

“So I take it she’s one of your agents,” Sean said, wringing his hands together in anxiety as the two taller men looked down at him, equally unimpressed.

Though, Spencer hated to admit, his was more green faced jealousy than anything else. 

“Agent Prentiss is one of the best,” Reid corrected, his tone cold and stern, and Sean visibly shrunk in on himself, looking to his big brother for help, only he found Aaron was just as annoyed, glaring down at him. 

“You have some more explaining to do, Sean,” His brother snapped, and the two men diverted him into one of the interrogation rooms, Spencer’s jaw clenched so hard he felt his temples ache, “Or next time I’m not stopping her from handing your ass to you, and believe me when I say you’ll wish you’d told me sooner,”

Sean gulped, all too aware of the way eighteen year old Bugsy had never backed down from a fight, when men twice her age shoved her in clubs or girls bitched at her for dancing too close to their boyfriends. He didn’t imagine she was any different at twenty eight, except this time she was trained and licensed to handle a gun. 

The door slammed behind them, and Aaron pushed his little brother into the seat with a firm hand, the sight of his unit chief just as protective over her as he was making Spencer bite back glee. The image of Bugsy laying into the guy was burned into his memory, eidetic or not, and it seemed to be the only thing that stopped him blowing his top as Sean opened his mouth to explain what had happened between him and the younger Prentiss woman. 

–

“What did you do, Thane?” Sean’s voice crackled over the feed, the wire on his chest brushing against his shirt as he paced in the wine cellar. Aaron, Morgan, Spencer and Bugsy sat in the van, listening to the conversation through shared headphones, Spencer and Bugsy’s heads pressed together as they followed the voices as best as they could, waiting for a confession or anything they could tie to the victims' gory deaths. 

“I spiked the wine, you idiot,” Sean’s boss, Thane, snapped, his breathing laboured and Bugsy took a shot in the dark to say he was pacing, worrying now that there was concrete evidence linking his date rape drug to the deaths of atleast nine people so far, “Oh, God. Oh, god, Jim is going to kill me.”

“Why the hell would you do that?” Sean seethed, his patience wearing thin as the man all but confessed to killing his girlfriend. 

“For a laugh, I thought it was X. Girl’s love that crap,” Thane replied, his voice louder as Sean stepped closer to him, and she exchanged a look with Aaron.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t X, was it?” The younger Hotchner barked, and she quickly let go of the headphones to grab a kevlar and her gun. 

“He’s going off track, Aaron, he’d not going to keep his cool much longer,” She said, and Spencer’s eyes trailed up to her face, her brow furrowed as Aaron moved to slip his own bulletproof over his head, adjusting the straps at his side. 

“Tell SWAT to stand by, we’re going in to support, but we may need back up,” Aaron ordered, unholstering his gun and switching the trigger off safety, “You two stay here and see if Thane says any more about the wine,”

She drew her gun to her side just as he did, and Spencer made a move to stop her, even just to check where her head was at because he knew she had this tendency of throwing herself in harms way and asking questions later. He selfishly worried what that upset look in her eyes meant, like she loathed that Sean was in danger as much as she loathed him. 

But he wasn’t quite fast enough, because by the time he’d reached a hand out for hers to ask if she was feeling alright, she had slid the door to the van open, hopping out onto the tarmac as Aaron shadowed her. 

And something ugly and envious reared its head in Spencer’s gut as the doors slammed, so much so that his jaw feathered and he took a deep breath out, his lips pressing into a thin line.

The two agents moved as one, their footsteps pounding over the linoleum floor of the night club. They swept to the back of the building, where the door to the stock room was, and it became apparent almost immediately from the grunting and shuffling the other side of the door that the two men were much closer to brawling than they’d guessed. 

“FBI, drop your weapon!” Bugsy called, bracing herself as she felt Aaron’s domineering figure at her shoulder. She raised her leg to kick the door in, and it swung on its hinges, smacking into the rack of beer. They caught the two men in the middle of a fist fight, Sean with a split lip, Thane with a gash on his forehead, his head locked under the younger man’s arm with a deathly grip.

She holstered her gun, seeing that neither of them were carrying, and moved forward to break the two of them up.

“Alright, Sean- Sean, that’s enough,” She scolded, her fingers prying his muscled arm off his boss’s trachea, and Sean took a second to realise it was disappointment in her face, not the white hot anger it had been not even a few hours before, before he let the man go, some colour returning to his bluing lips.

“He killed Linda,” The blonde Hotchner said softly, and something wavered in her eyes, something close to pity, and she nodded at him while biting her cheek hard. Aaron holstered his gun, surging forward to grab Thane with rough hands as he fought against the taller man’s grip. “She was sober, she’d gotten clean and he killed her,” 

“I know,” Bugsy said lamentingly, and against her better judgement she patted his shoulder kindly, more kindly than he probably deserved, and the thought of it made Sean’s baby blue eyes turn away in sorrow. 

Before she could say anything else, Thane wretched his hand out of Hotch’s grip, grabbing for the sharp box cutter and lunging right for Bugsy where she turned away from him. 

Sean’s expression morphed into fear for a moment, grabbing for her to yank her out of reach, but it was too late. She felt the slash across the back of her arm, where her kevlar couldn’t cover up, and she yawped in pain the way a dog sounds when its tail gets crushed. Turning towards the source of the danger, Sean’s hand weaved around her waist to tug her backwards as Aaron scrambled to grab the suspect. 

Thane’s hand gripped the blade and slashed down again, across her cheek and only inches away from her eye, her hands too late to grab his wrists to stop his advances. By the time he drew back to swipe for her again Aaron had already tackled him to the ground, pinning him to the wine soaked floor and fumbling for his cuffs. 

“We have an agent injured and needing medical, repeat, medical unit required on scene,” Spencer was out of his seat before Hotch could even finish his sentence, forgoing his own vest as he darted from the van, his heart racing at the sound of the scuffle echoing through Sean’s wire, and he felt his chest seizing at just what kind of a state she’d be in when he saw her. 

She was the only other agent on the scene. That call had to be made for her, the voice in his gut told him, but the twisted part of him hoped that it was someone else, anyone else, that had gotten hurt, because he might just throw a punch of his own at Thane or Sean or maybe even both of them if she had so much as a single hair misplaced. 

Spencer had only just about reached the bar area when the four of them emerged from the stock room, Thane in cuffs, looking rattled and aggravated. Spencer let himself take a long, hard look at the man with a glare that soon made him cower away, though he found little luck elsewhere as Hotch’s hands gripped him so tight Spencer thought he might be trying to strangle him through his arms. 

But that wasn’t who he was looking for. And there, trailing behind his unit chief sheepishly, with Sean’s hand on her back as he watched her carefully, his eyes worriedly darting over her skin when he saw how fast the blood was pouring from the laceration on the apple of her cheek, was Bugsy. Her expression was shaken, no doubt from nearly having her corneas slashed open had Sean not pulled her away even a second earlier, and she seemed in some sort of a daze, until she spotted the sweater vest she’d shoved in the wash about a hundred times, and two supple hands reached for her shoulders, snapping her attention out of her head. 

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked, all but ignoring Sean as the man went to flag down medical, his own appearance dishevelled and stunned, and it irked Spencer something childish when her head snapped to the blonde, watching him head for the paramedics. 

“I’m okay, Spence, it’s just a superficial wound,” She said as a reflex, meeting his eyes finally. But she simpered when she saw just how terrified he seemed, a warm palm raising to cup his face affectionately, “He just nicked the skin, that’s all. It’s not as bad as it looks,” 

Which wasn’t exactly a lie. Her face stung like a bitch, but the feeling of her cheek dribbling with the ichor was worse than the actual pain, and made her feel queasy more than anything. 

He went to say something else, or perhaps even gently caress the clean side of her face with his own loving gesture, but he was quickly interrupted by the medical team all but grabbing Bugsy out of his grip and assessing her themselves. 

“It’s probably best if you come take a seat, Agent Prentiss,” The woman said, pointing to where Sean sat on the back of the ambulance getting his nose checked over, “We’ll be over with some stitches and glue,” 

And Spencer made a move to follow the two of them, only to be stopped by Hotch, who called his name with that direct tone he took when he was worried.

“Reid, I need you and Morgan to interview Thane about where he got the drugs he used to spike the wine,” Aaron ordered, even though he seemed to watch the girl go just as bothered as the younger agent, and Spencer seemed conflicted between rebelling against his boss’s instructions or keeping to his track record of following them to a tea. 

He paused for a second, his gaze flicking to the girl who sat with her old flame, Sean’s eyes roving over her head to toe worriedly, and he looked back to Aaron, “But-”

“Now, Reid. She’s going to be fine.” 

And Spencer was forced to listen, even if his face burned with annoyance at the sight of the man watching her so tentatively. 

–

“Would you quit fidgeting, the medic said it was a surface wound,” Bugsy snipped, feeling the ocean hues burning a hole into the side of her head. She dusted her knees off of invisible dirt, braving a look up at her ex-fling where she was met with a wall of guilt.

And it was like for a split second she remembered all the mornings she’d wake up to him twirling the tips of her hair between his fingers, or when he’d shake his head whenever he’d look over her shoulder at her lab reports she’d be writing and make a passing comment on how a hot girl like her could have brains and looks. 

Or how he could be kind to her, genuinely sweet when he wanted to be, when they toed a weird line between friends with benefits and something a little more, because at his core she knew he was a good guy, he was just incredibly dumb for an eighteen year old. 

“Listen, Bug,” Sean sighed, looking down at the ground where they were perched on the back on the ambulance, Bugsy’s face stitched up so tight she hoped it wouldn’t scar very deeply, “I really am sorry for how I treated you,” 

His voice shook with something remorseful, and she let her eyes cast over his face that had grown even more handsome in the ten years since she saw him. With the good memories came the bad ones in equal measure, and the arguments over stupid shit like leaving cupboard doors open and playing music late at night and the time he forgot to feed her gerbil for two days when she was out of town washed back to shore from the deepest crevices of her mind. 

She’d been with men after him, had flings and meaningless kisses with boys who’d treated her much less kindly than he had. And when she thought about it, the anger and resentment she’d felt when she thought about those few days she spent lost in Italy stemmed from the fact she’d been forced to confront what she’d always feared since she was little. 

That Bugsy was alone in the world, forgettable, someone you could leave behind and sleep soundly. 

But when she thought of that now, the first face she pictured was Spencer, and how he would tell her to knock it off if she ever said that out loud, because he would never leave her, in a foreign country or even at a gas station if she needed to get fuel. He always walked up to the pump with her because he knew exactly how many women got kidnapped in places like that every year, he'd told her so already. 

And she knew the person she was when she could have loved Sean, the person who was reminded just how easy it was to leave her behind, was gone. In its place was the girl who Spencer loved like it was as easy as breathing. And the thought of it made her feel just that little bit less bitter towards the blonde man who fiddled with his rough, bloodied hands. 

“I was a dumb kid, I did a lot of things that I’m not proud of,” He swallowed heavily, his frown looking strikingly similar to Aaron's as he did, but she would never remind him, “But I did always wonder whether I’d see your name in the news curing some disease I could never pronounce or being the first person to learn like every single language there is,” He smiled sadly, and the old her knew him just well enough to know he was being honest, because his nose turned red whenever he lied. 

The thought of it made her lips curve up, despite how annoyed she’d been to see him again, and there was something bashful about the way the slid a hand into his to give it a quick squeeze.

“We were eighteen, Sean. No one has themselves figured out at eighteen,” She said earnestly, her head dipping to meet his ashamed gaze.

He shook his head, “You deserved so much better than I could ever give you, we both knew that,” He pulled his hand away, and her expression contorted into confusion, “It’s probably why you're with that doctor, right? Aaron said he’s like a whizz kid,”

“He’s not-We’re-” She sighed, running a hand over where the EMTs had stitched the gash on the back of her arm, “It’s complicated,”

“Complicated like we were complicated?” He asked, her fingertip tracing every single nook where they had looped the suture through her skin. 

She smiled to herself and looked over at him, something weighty like closure passing between the two of him as he watched her take his tired face in, knowing they were nothing more than just passing ships in the night now. 

“You meant something to me once, Sean, no matter how much we drove each other up the wall,” She snickered, and something like an exhausted chuckle matched her, “But it’s different with him. It’s like everything I do means something to the world when I’m with him, you know?” 

Sean took in the wistful look in her eyes, the girl he’d known who had only gotten stronger, scrappier, wittier with age, and he thought he’d be lucky to ever get someone like her again.

“I hope I do,” He said, and she knocked her shoulder into his to dispel the bad memories of two teenagers figuring out what feelings and kisses and sex meant in the messiest of ways. 

“Do me a favour?” Sean hummed at her, and she looked surprisingly like herself again when she smiled at him wryly, “Call Aaron more. It’s difficult being the only disappointment child in his life,” 

Sean barked a laugh at her words, and she smiled into her lap. Who’d have thought closure would be so healing. 

–

She felt eyes on her even as she tried to nap on the jet, having returned back to their original position on the couch, her head on Spencer’s lap. She had a sixth sense to who it would be, the Spider Sense they’d been calling it despite the fact Spencer tried to tell her it was mere intuition, she glanced up to where something melancholic swirled inside his forest gaze, already watching over her despite his book being open in his lap. 

She hadn’t even opened her mouth to speak before his obscenely large hand had sneaked under her jawline, tilting her face up so he could take a better look at the messy cut. 

“Have they given you anything for the pain?” Spencer said quietly, because the other’s were already trying to sleep, and she blanked for a moment, before her hand came up to snake around his wrist gently. 

“They gave me Naproxen for two days. Spence, I’m fine, really,” 

His teeth ground together, his other hand placing his book down beside him and moving to smooth the back of her hair, the sealed wound staring daggers at him as his eyes darted over the rest of her face, just to be sure they hadn’t missed anything. 

He nodded to himself, as if to conclude his consultation and his thumb stroked down the curve of her jaw, his head whipping up to quickly make sure no one else was watching.

“What, uh,” Spencer cleared his throat nervously, her expectant eyes looking up at him, “What were you and Sean talking about?”

Her brow quirked in confusion, and it wasn’t until she felt his delicate strokes hesitate that she realised he seemed on edge, “Why?”

“N-No reason, I just was wondering, you looked like you were-” He coughed again, even though there was nothing tickling his windpipe, nothing except embarrassment, because he’d never thought he’d be the envious type. 

He braved a look at her again, worried she would be annoyed with his crass and intrusive questions, only to see her smiling at him wickedly. 

“We were what?” She asked, and Spencer went so quiet he could have heard a mouse knitting if he tried, his cheeks flushing with raspberry red heat, “Are you jealous, Spencer?” 

He shook his head fast, unable to formulate anything that wasn’t a stammer, and she sat up in her seat, throwing her legs onto the ground so she could scooch up into his side. 

“Because if you were, you know I’d find that wildly attractive right?” She murmured, his cheeks burning an even hotter shade, the sight of it all but a bone to a hound to Bugsy who loved teasing him. She snickered, leaning in close to his vermillion ear, and leaving a tiny kiss on his clenched jaw, “Don’t worry, Wonder Boy. He knows I’m all yours,” 

3. The one with the day of the dead.

“Thankyou, thankyou, my helpful little mice,” Penelope chirped as the three of them stepped into her apartment, their arms filled with shopping bags, “Set them down on the counter, I’ll unpack them later,” 

“Wow,” Bugsy gawped at the altar stood in the corner of the woman’s living room, an assortment of sweets and tissue paper flowers decorating the layers, “Oh it’s so pretty, they’re going to love it. We spent a Summer in Mexico when Mom was having talks with their President, but we moved out before October rolled around so I never got to see a Día de los Muertos,” 

Penny smiled, though she quickly looked around the rest of her apartment that had yet to be decorated, “There’s still a lot to do before the party next week and,” She huffed, the bags taking up the entirety of her kitchen table as Bugsy frowned at her, “I’m scared. I’ve never had the whole team here before,” 

“Relax, Pen, I can help you set up,” The younger woman reassured, helping unload the groceries that needed to go in the fridge as Spencer helped her carry the larger items. 

Penelope perked up watching her guests move towards the cooler, a devilish smirk twitching at her lips, “Hey, while you guys are there, can you see if I have enough hot sauce for the party?”

“Sure,” They replied in synchrony, Bugsy putting the milk and soda in the side drawers as Spencer shelved away some of the meat. They both looked at the top row, where some kind of jalapeno salsa was resting next to a jar of fake eyeballs, and the flicked a casual glance at the woman who was pouring vials of red viscous liquid made to look like blood down her cheeks for a Penelope version of a practical joke.

Bugsy blinked once, not quite surprised as she would have thought seeing Penelope attempting to scare them with something they’d seen a thousand times over for real. 

“Now, are the eyeballs marinating in anything spicy or is it just like a pickled onion type of thing because all you seem to have is the jalapeno sauce,” She said, and Penelope deflated at her bored tone, looking at the two agents in discontent. 

“You guys didn’t even flinch,” She said sadly, her dark eyes flicking between them, “My poor babies, what has the world done to you?” 

Bugsy smiled, shutting the fridge door and handing the bubbly woman a leaf of tissue paper. 

“JJ’s right, I told her I wanted to go scary this Halloween and she just laughed at me, and said that I don’t have a scary side,” Penelope whined, and Bugsy giggled. 

“Sorry, babygirl, you wouldn’t be Penelope Garcia if you were capable of scary,” She teased, waltzing around the kitchen to put away the rest of the shopping, even as the woman tried to shoo her away from helping, “I’ve seen puppies scarier than you, Pen,” 

“If it helps, you probably do,” Spencer interjected, helping Bugsy shelve something on one of the higher cabinets, his long arms weaselling over her own as he reached past her, “The building blocks of the human personality are complex, varied and multi-faceted. It’s essential to one’s mental health to want to express these hidden personalities and it’s just a fact of nature that everybody has one,”

“Everybody?” Penelope asked, ignoring the way the two of them bumbled around her kitchen, handing things between one another the way she imagined them putting away the groceries in their own kitchen, like they worked just as well in the home as they did in the field. Dare she say it, like a couple who had been married and knew each other's routines for years. “Even the two of you?” 

“Oh, absolutely, yeah,” Spencer agreed, and Bugsy flicked a smirk up at him as Pen turned to her expectantly.

"I mean, you can't tell me Bitch-Slapping our boss or fist fighting with my sister was exactly usual behaviour for me," She pointed out, and the two of them nodded in agreement, although they wouldn't have exactly called it out of character for her.

“Okay, okay, I want to see it. I want to see Dr Spencer Reid’s hidden personality,” Penelope said, a smile growing as thick and fast as a weed when he seemed thrown off by her request, and it only took one look at the younger Prentiss to know she wanted front row just as badly. 

“R-right here? Like right now you want to see it?” He stammered, all too aware of Bugsy’s amused lashes batting up at him, the innocent expression she knew made it difficult for him to say no to, and he wondered for a second if she understood the exact amount of control she had over him when she wanted to. 

“I wanna see this hidden personality, pretty boy,” She smiled with her teeth, and he felt his hands turn jittery in embarrassment. 

“Okay, alright,” Spencer shook his arms out, clearing his throat with a growling sort of husk that made her raise her brows, and in a single blink he’d locked stern eyes with her, pointing to her with a completely un-Spencer-like stance; completely rose to his full height, confident and domineering, “I know what you’re thinking,”

She really hoped he didn’t. Because what she was really thinking was just how hot he sounded with that deep sort of timbre, that cocksure attitude. 

“You’re thinking ‘Did that guy just fire five shots or did that guy just fire six shots?’” He went on, his tone deadly serious, as her lips parted in surprise, and what had started out as a game turned into some wildly lewd thoughts fast, “You’re going to have to ask yourself a question; Do you feel lucky, pun-k,”

She swallowed haughtily, as he squeezed his eyes shut and when he looked at her again he was entirely puppy like the way he usually looked, none the wiser to the way her stomach had coiled in want. 

“That was Clint Eastwood from Dirty Harry,” He explained, looking to Penelope because he had no idea what that strange look on Bugsy’s face was, only to see his techy friend just as in awe, “I mean I know it’s not as effective as my dominant personality, but I really think it’s there-”

Penelope’s phone sprung to life with a call from Hotch and she quickly spluttered an excuse that they needed to leave right away, grabbing for her keys and heading for the door. 

Spencer made a move to follow her, only to feel a hand grab his shirt and turn him right back around, Bugsy still staring at him with that look in her eye, like she’d had too much caffeine or been told there was a million dollars cash waiting for them at home.

“Is everything okay-”

“Is Clint Eastwood strictly a party trick or would I be able to have him on request, maybe?” She said, her hands oddly tight as they grabbed at his soft stomach, and it was like he heard the click in his brain when he realised what she meant. 

“R-request, I guess,” He stumbled for composure, finding his footing when he felt her palms were clammy, “You got a thing for cops?” 

“Just the one, I guess,” She said with a clenched jaw, and he laughed though it sounded more like a choke, as she darted right behind Penelope to avoid suspicion. 

–

By the time the party rolled around, Penelope had decked her apartment out to the nines, marigolds and tissue garlands and lights and food of all sorts spread out across the altar, a mix of alcohol and juices available in pitchers, because Penelope was nothing if not a people pleaser. 

The doorbell rang right as Alex and Bugsy poured themselves some margarita, complete with the eyeball ice cubes ofcourse, and Penelope fussed in her beautiful dress, muttering under her breath the way she did when she was nervous. 

“What, what, what,” She murmured, her blonde curls bouncing with her steps as she reached for the door, “I thought you said you couldn’t come!” 

Bugsy’s head whipped to the door, Aaron looking much more casual than they were used to seeing him as he entered the decorated home, his colleagues all dressed smartly and in some shade of black. 

“Jack got a last minute sleepover invitation so I hope it’s okay,” He said, a bottle of rosé in his hand he’d brought as a contribution. 

“Ofcourse, ofcourse,” Penelope sang, leading him over to the altar where everyone stood with their offerings, sipping on their glasses of liquor, “Okay, everybody, I guess it’s time to start, here you go sir,”

She handed him a freshly poured glass of wine, chilled courtesy of the eyeball, and Aaron thanked her kindly, taking a generous sip to catch up with the others. 

“I want to thank everybody for doing this with me, and our altar’s burning, and I just feel so blessed to have you all here,” Penelope started with a grateful smile on her painted lips, a handful of old photos between her fingertips, “I will start, um, this is my mom and dad,” She said, nostalgia idling her tone as she gently placed down a worn picture of a teen couple holding a beautiful, blonde girl, eyes bigger than moons and full of curiosity, just how Bugsy would have imagined Penny as a baby, “I miss them. And this is my cat, Simba with his usual bowl of soda pop. He was a weird cat,”  

The team chuckled, looking at the enormous ginger Tom that lapped at the bubbly liquid. Bugsy took a sip of her drink as JJ took a step forward with a smile, her own photo in hand. 

“This is my sister, Roselyn. Ros.” JJ said, placing down a photo of a fifteen year old with identical eyes and nose to her, sitting it next to a small statue of the eiffel tower, “She always dreamed she’d live is Paris so um,” She swallowed, looking at her sister laying in the grass of their childhood home, something girlish in her gaze, “It didn’t happen but I thought this would bring her some happiness,”

They took it in turns bringing their offerings and pictures: David bringing some Cubs tickets for a soldier he had lost in Vietnam, Alex bringing a crossword for her mother, Spencer sliding down a picture of Maeve silently, alongside a cut out picture of Nikola Tesla, Morgan bringing his father, Hitch putting down the picture of Haley he kept in his wallet. 

Which left them all to turn to the youngest agent, who seemed flustered.

“So, I fortunately have not lost anyone properly thus far, so bare with me here guys,” She said fishing out an old scrapbook photo of her as a seven year old, a small orange snake wrapped around the length of her arm, twenty two year old Emily standing right behind her, the pair of them with beaming smiles as the snake seemingly poked its tongue out for the camera. 

Penelope clutched her chest in horror, “Is that a-”

“This is Tigger, the corn snake Emily gave to me when she left home,” She explained, and Spencer couldn’t help but smile at the million dollar grin she had in the photo, three of her front teeth missing sweetly, “I had him until I was about twelve before he kicked the serpent bucket, but he was cute for a slithery little guy,” 

She drew another photo, an ultrasound showing two tiny embryos and she put it beside the picture of Tigger, and the group drew a shared breath. 

“Bug, I never knew you were…” Spencer started, his stomach flipping when he saw the outline of the foetuses, only for the girl’s eyes to widen. 

“No! No, it’s not like that, this is um,” She cleared her throat awkwardly, scratching the back of her hand with a guilty look, “This is the twin I absorbed in the womb,” She said, and she felt the rest of her team gawking at her without having to look, “I guess I’d like to say, uh, I’m sorry pal. It was nice while it lasted, I hope you can forgive me,” 

“You’re being serious?” Morgan asked, gawping at the girl, right as Hotch broke out into disbelieving snickers, probably spurred on by the wine, and Alex was quick to join him, her hand over her mouth.

Bugsy turned to him with a ‘duh’ kind of look on her face, “Oh, 100% serious, yeah,” 

“Is that why you’re a little…” Rossi started, only he found himself stuck for words when she looked at him betrayed. 

“A little, what?” She asked, looking to JJ who cracked into a chuckle, putting her head in her palm.

“What he means is you have a big personality,” Alex said, wrapping an arm around the girl’s shoulder and giving her a motherly squeeze, hoping they hadn’t offended her, “And we wouldn’t change it for the world,”

“I should hope so, she got a double helping.” Morgan cackled, and Bugsy smacked his arm with a smile. 

“Every time I think I know everything about you, you come out with something new,” Penelope said, her own snickering laugh meeting the girl’s ears, “You’re like Jason Bourne,” 

“God help us if there had been two of you, Prentiss,” David added, patting the girl on the head as they laughed, and Penelope raised a toast to their altar, the rest of the team doing the same before they sipped out their cups and allowed themselves to enjoy the rest of the party. 

–

“Oh, I have something for you!” Bugsy said, springing to her feet and almost tripping over Sergio who had curled up by her legs. 

She’d cut herself off after her third, and by the time midnight rolled around she’d almost completely sobered up enough to the point her and Alex had been playing hangman except with only Old English words.

Her and Spencer had gotten home twenty minutes later, the two of them exhausted from an evening well spent, the melancholy happiness in the room draining them to the point Bugsy had immediately changed into her pyjamas when she got into the house.

Her pyjamas being Spencer’s boxers and one of his shirts since he’d inadvertently been hiding all of the underwear-top combinations she’d gotten from other flings that she’d brought when she moved into his. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” He said earnestly, and she simply waved his humble attitude off, the two of them sat on the sofa in their nightwear, flicking through the late night TV. 

He smiled, watching her bustle into her room and root around her closet, before she emerged with a terracotta coloured pot of lilac flowers, whirling on her heel to head for him. 

“What’s this?” Spencer asked, standing to meet her and Bugsy simpered, because she’d felt silly for buying them in the first place. Perhaps it was some left over guilt considering she’d spent the majority of Maeve’s existence in her life hating the girl, or atleast hating what she had that Bugsy thought she could never be privy to. Perhaps it was because all things considered she wanted Spencer to know that it was okay for him to mourn, because she’d never force him to hurry up his process when he’d been there for every second of hers. 

She handed him the potted plant, the small purple petals in the shape of half moons lighting up at him, and his mind raced as to what species they were since he’d certainly never seen them around the East Coast before.

“Scaevola aemula,” She said, fiddling with the hem of his shirt around her waist as she spoke because his eyes were unnervingly doe-like when he looked at her in the dark lamp light, “It’s called the fairy fan flower. I thought-"

She paused, her expression morphing into embarrassment, "Wait, this is so stupid, I’ll send them back,” She shook her head, the worry overtaking the rational part of her as she grabbed for the pot to stash it back in her room, but he held it out of her reach, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her body against his hip, as the other stretched out to keep her from snatching back the plant. 

“Tell me. What?” He said, his lips stretching into a devious smile to see her so shy suddenly, and she buried her face into her hands as he watched her, “I'm not going to think it's stupid. Why did you get me these?”

“They’re not for you- well, they are, but I just thought,” She stumbled over her sentences, her heart thumping that this was entirely the wrong move, that she was poking at an open wound no matter how caring she was being. Clearing her throat, she let her forehead thump onto his shoulder, her eyes squeezing shut as she spoke, “I thought you could keep it so that you can think of Maeve every time you water it, since Maeve was the name of the fairy queen,” 

He was quiet. God, why was he so quiet? Her breath was thick as molasses as they sat in the silence for a second. She nearly jumped a foot in the air when two of his fingers ran delicately beneath her chin, tilting her head up enough that he could see her face and she drew a sigh of relief when she saw he didn’t seem angry or hurt at all. 

His eyes were soft as pools of honey as he looked at her, his brows stirring into a sad-happy mix. 

“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” She whispered, their faces so close they were sharing breath, and he shook his head, his fingers never leaving her skin where they forced her to stay near, gave her no choice but to keep her looking at him. She didn’t think she could stop even if she wanted to. Everything pretty about him was dialled to a thousand whenever she got close, and his thick lashes blinked at her like he was seeing a mirage, a daydream. 

“This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me, Bug,” Spencer murmured back to her, his every word fanning over the bridge of her nose, and she sighed in content, melting back into his side as he pulled her into a hug, his own face burying into the crook of her neck, “Thankyou,” 

She smiled and hummed in happiness, wrapping her arms around his slender waist and drawing him so close she got a whiff of his shampoo. 

“I have a bigger pot in my room, if you like, then we can keep it in the kitchen sill, away from the boys,” She offered, beaming at him when he stroked over the back of her hair affectionately. She hopped out of the embrace, “I’ll go get it for you-”

“You’ve done enough, Bug,” Spencer reminded, something grateful in his tone as she paused and waited for whatever he was going to say, “I’ll go get the pot, you go decide what movie we should watch,”

“You’re sure?” Bugsy asked, her brows furrowed as she checked for signs of an escape in his movements. But he just smiled back at her tiredly, the purple flowers his accomplice as she gave in and headed back towards the sofa, “It’s by my dresser, where my paper bin used to be,”

He set the gift on the kitchen table, the lilac hues brightening up the kitchen already like they just knew how touched Spencer felt to have received them, like there really was some kind of fairy magic burrowed into the soil as they watched the two of them dance around one another, heading to opposite ends of the apartment with lingering glances and bashful smiles.

Spencer thought his chest couldn’t swell any bigger in size, his heart so inevitably full of her, it left room for no one else, not even Maeve, which was the first time he’d brought himself to think that in months. 

+1 The one with the book.

He opened the door to her bedroom, her duvet tossed everywhere because it was a rare occasion she made her bed before they left for work, her clothes strewn about the floor in the general direction of the bathroom, like she’d stripped on the way there, and the thought of it made his stomach seize with a heat, the idea of her undressing little more than a wall away from him knocking his every thought from his head.

The vase. He needed a bigger vase.

Quickly collecting her clothes up and shoving them into her laundry basket for her, he diverted his attention to her dresser, where the slightly roomier pot sat on the floor, a towel underneath it to catch any water remnants and he stepped over her various note pads and books she’d clearly tossed off the bed before she went to sleep. 

He tried to ignore them, he really did, but his scratching urge to keep things tidy for her wrestled with his conscience that said to leave her stuff alone. Before he could talk himself out of it, he found himself organising them into a neat pile in his hands and placing them on top of her dresser where one of her books had made it safely, or at least safe enough she wouldn’t trip over it. 

His gaze dropped to the book already on there, its leather cover entirely melting into the background of the dark chestnut dresser, yet it stared daggers up at him like it had been waiting to be noticed.

Great Expectations, Charles Dickens.

The book looked old enough to be easily from original 1900s, at least one of the first few hundred published. It was scuffed a little on the edges, the black lettering of the printed title choppy in places where it had been handled recklessly, and the leaves of paper were atom thin. The smell of dust and paper clouded his nose when he picked it up delicately.

Opening the front cover curiously to see its printed date, he was stopped in his tracks to see a little post it note on the title page, covering Mr Dickens’ name with a scrawled handwriting he’d known for six years. 

Six whole years. Nearly seven. He felt like he’d known her his whole life, when in startling reality he’d not even known her a third of it. 

And there it was, where he was expecting a list of notes or her thoughts on how David Copperfield had much more likeable characters, anything that she’d thought important enough to scratch down on the front page, instead was his name. 

Spencer,

He felt his breath catch the second he read it, contemplated slamming the book shut right then and there because this felt illicit to read whatever it was she’d scribbled out just for him even if it was dedicated to the stupid man who’d been asking her to wait on his stupid head and stupider heart to align so he could give her exactly everything she deserved. 

His gaze snapped away from the page, that voice in his head telling him this was wrong, that if she’d wanted him to see that book she would have given it to him already. And yet, like it did most days, the beating organ in his chest writhed in annoyance that he’d looked away, that he’d followed the rules one too many times for its liking. He bit his cheek, the two halves of himself arguing amongst themselves. 

After a second of debating, his eyes fell slowly to the note, a creeping guilt skirting down his spine that he was reading something private. How could something be private and yet meant for him? His brain scoffed at the dichotomy of it all, while his chest lurched when he caught a glimpse of more of her writing. 

‘Spencer,’ His heart trembled almost as much as his hand as he traced the writing with his forefinger, imagining her writing it out in a little ball point pen, her body slumped over the book with every intent of having him read her little note. He imaged her breath fanning across the page, her hand warm as her knuckles stroked over the paper, and it felt so much more intimate than a little post-it when he thought of her like that, ‘By the time you’re reading this I’ll be back home from London and we’ll probably be in your apartment doing that stupid thing we do when we pretend like I haven’t missed you more than anything in the whole world while I’ve been here in England,’

She wrote this in London, probably in that tiny apartment her and Emily had rented on a short lease, the one she’d said smelled like mildew and dust and wet wood but had a gorgeous view of Hyde Park when she looked out her bedroom window. 

She’d written it months ago, so why hadn’t she given it to him?

‘I miss you every day. You’re all I think about when I go for a run, and I think sometimes you’d really like it here. I’ve mapped out all the bookshops I’ve found and all the places that do really good coffee if you ever did want to visit England, but I think I’d be happy with you even if we lived in a little ditch on the side of the road like two drowning rats,’

His chest seized, tears lining his lashes when he thought about that day she’d yanked him into a hug the second she saw him, when he’d been too busy thinking about Maeve and burying whatever he felt for Bugsy entirely behind him. 

You should have called, Bug. He’d said, like his eidetic memory wanted to twist the knife in just that bit deeper, and he didn’t need his freaky brain to remember how her face had fallen when he’d said it like that. Like he didn’t even want to see her. 

He hated himself. He hated himself more than she’d ever had. Even if she had more rights than anyone to despise his selfish guts. 

‘Anyway, I know Dickens isn’t your favourite or anything, but I got you this because I know you like the original copies and because it made me think of you (but then again, what doesn’t?). 

I never truly enjoyed the living part of life until you were in mine. And so I guess that means I’ll love you until the life part stops too. 

All my heart,

Bug.’

He didn’t realise he was holding his breath until he finished the note, digesting every single word the average speed instead of his usual method of inhaling the letters faster than should be possible, like he wanted to savour every single one because they’d come from her. 

He heard her saying every single one, the thought striking him like someone had cracked him across the face with a paddle. She’d wanted to say all of this when she was in London, when he’d been too busy for her, when he’d been too busy with Maeve. 

I never truly enjoyed the living part of life until you were in mine. 

“Did you find it?” Her voice called from the other room, no doubt where she was settling down to flick the movie on, her heart so delicate and gracious because she was still waiting for him. 

Even now, even when she was in his clothes and under the blanket she’d brought from her apartment for them to use on movie nights because it got cold too fast in his house, when she was waiting for him to come back. 

Spencer felt knocked out of a dream, like someone had yanked the chord on his music, shaken him awake into the freezing realisation she was waiting for a reply. 

He’d made her wait long enough. 

He barely heard her footsteps entering her own room, probably worried when he hadn’t responded and she said his name, “Spence?” A shudder rolled over his neck when he heard it, a siren song he’d been hearing like a mantra for weeks and he felt something fat and full well in his chest when he turned to look at her, standing there in nothing but boxers and a shirt, just as she had when he’d first met her. 

Except she was his. She was waiting on his call, on his signal, on his word go. 

And it was like the idea of being with her for the rest of his life made his living part worth it too. Like it always had done. 

Her eyes fell down to where his hand rested on top of the book, the page splayed open where he’d delicately flicked it open, the yellow post-it catching in the light and making her expression fall. 

They looked at each other, the same thought channelling between them, their brains meshed together on some other kind of bluetooth the same way they’d always done, only this time it was a prickling hive mind that gave them both gooseflesh the second they locked eyes. 

“Why didn’t you give me this?” He asked, his voice small because he already knew the answer, not daring to move a muscle like she was some kind of deer ready to be spooked. 

“You were busy,” She said equally as sheepish, her thumb moving to pick the side of her nail when she saw his still stature. They went quiet again, neither of them daring so much as to breathe too loud because they both knew what was on that note. It was the closest she could ever come to splitting open her own chest and handing him that thumping wad of bloodied muscle herself, and it was only when he turned to look at her did she panic, words tumbling from her lips; anything to stop him from walking away because she’d been poking around a fresh wound, “You weren’t supposed to see- I mean you were but only when you wanted to, I didn’t want you to think-”

Except he wasn’t heading for the door like she’d thought, he was heading straight for her. 

“Spence, please, I wasn’t going to tell you until-” But she’d shut up, because instead of replying anything back to her, instead of telling her she could have his heart and his soul and everything in between if she’d ever ask for it again, instead of telling her she was the thing that had kept him alive, like she might as well be the blood that rushed through every one of his veins, he grabbed her face in his hands so hard her back hit the wall, her hands flying out to stop herself from falling. 

And he kissed her, so hard he thought he might cry because it was better than any high he’d ever had, any drug on the market, better than his wildest dreams. She froze for a second, worried she’d tripped and fallen on her way over, that this was a concussion spun wild, because there was no way he was kissing her with every inch of their available skin pressing against one another, his hands swallowing her cheeks whole, his body invading her space, his breath rushing through her nose that bumped against his clumsily. 

Bugsy woke up after a second, her hands gripping onto his slender waist like he was pulling her drowning out of water, like he was dragging her from a flame which she didn’t think sounded too far off since her skin had become molten, her cheeks hot, her chest wrenching for control like she’d inhaled black smoke. 

But he was there, kissing her like she was all he had left, and she kissed him back with equal fervour, whimpering when he bit her lip, a hand wrapping around her waist to tug her just that bit closer to his stomach. Any molecule of her that was left behind was stolen by the action, and all she could think was that every inch of her was his, entirely his, his forever if he wanted it. 

“I love you, I love you so much,” He gasped, drawing away for a split second of air before he took her lips to his own once more, twice, and a third for good luck, their teeth knocking together as he wanted to tell her that a million more times while still kissing her, “I love you, I love you. God, I don’t think I ever want to stop saying it,” 

He pulled her to him again, silencing his own stupid ramblings of a mad man, a whine dragging from his throat as his brows furrowed, his lips soft and plump as he kissed her like he was begging for honey after a hundred day fast. 

And she smiled into his mouth, because Spencer was finally hers. 

--

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