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nereidprinc3ss · 11 months ago

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light of the morning

in which spencer sneaks into bau!reader's hotel room and they share a little more than just the bed

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom!spence x sub reader, munch!spence, unprotected piv sex (dont do that), creampie (hate that word btw) praise, mentions of having to be quiet because morgan is right next door LOL, fluffy, established co-workers/friends with benefits, soooo idiots in love a/n: here is the promised smut. i am literally kicking my feet and twirling my hair and giggling and blushing at my own writing. I'm gonna have a freak out. requests are open like my legs

It’s late when the knock finally comes. Late enough that you’re dozing on the bed above the covers.

It takes you a moment to reorient yourself—you’re rubbing your heavy eyes when you finally get the door.

"Hi."

"Hey," says Spencer, hands awkwardly shoved into his pajama pants pockets. It’s funny, really. He never gets any better at this.

You step aside and he enters the room, looking around as you close and relock the door.

"Did I wake you?"

"How could you tell?"

"You’re in pajamas. And you look tired. I mean—you don’t look bad. You never look bad, I just meant… you don’t look tired but you’re not—I didn’t mean to—"

"Relax," you yawn, putting him out of his misery. "I was joking. I know I look tired." You glance at the digital clock on the nightstand. "It’s late. We have to be up early tomorrow."

"Yeah, I got, uh, sidetracked. Sorry."

He was reading. If it was anyone else, you'd be offended--but a sinkhole could open up under Spencer's feet and he probably wouldn't notice if he was absorbed in a book.

You shrug, a knowing smile lifting the corner of your mouth.

"It’s fine. But I don’t know if tonight is a good night. I really am exhausted."

His eyebrows dart up.

"That’s fine. That’s totally fine. I’ll just, uh—"

When you don’t move from in front of the door, he pauses, unsure. You bite the inside of your cheek, studying his rangy frame and choice of clothing. Blue pajama pants, slippers, grey CalTech zip up hoodie. It feels wrong to describe a 6'1 man as adorable, but that’s how he looks in his sleep clothes. There’s a very real chance, you find yourself thinking, that you are the only member of the BAU to ever see him in something other than slacks and a button-down. He looks so cozy that you kind of really want him in your bed even if he’s not doing anything but sleeping. The invitation slips out before you can think too hard about it.

"You could… stay, anyway, if you want?"

His mouth parts slightly, and those eyebrows raise again. There’s a moment of awkward silence and you are very much beginning to regret your offer, wondering if you somehow violated the sanctity of your co-workers/friends with benefits situtationship. Clumsily you try to backtrack.

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, you can—"

"No, no! You didn’t, I just don’t want you to feel obligated to invite me to stay in your room. I’m right across the hall, I can go back if you want me to."

You smile awkwardly, silent relief replacing the brief anxiety.

"It’s fine. It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before." And not like you wouldn’t have ended up doing it tonight anyway, if things had gone as originally intended.

He chuckles, looking to the floor and nodding. The blush on his face does not go unnoticed by you. "Fair enough."

It’s incredibly endearing how nervous he still gets after six months of this little arrangement.

"Do you wanna get your stuff, or…"

"No, that’s okay. I’ll just go back early tomorrow. The chances of someone seeing me leave your room are significantly higher if I do it so soon after entering."

You squint, unable to tell if he’s fucking with you or if that’s an actual statistically sound probability. And then you realize, blissfully, that you don’t really care.

"Okay, well. Make yourself comfortable. I’m just going to brush my teeth."

Once you’re enclosed in the bathroom, hotel vanity lights blinding you as you brush, you find that there is a jittery sort of apprehension buzzing in your chest. But that’s silly. As you yourself pointed out, the two of you have shared a bed many times over the past few months. But the sleeping together is always a byproduct of the sleeping together. Never have you shared a bed in a completely decent, virtuous, strictly non-sexual manner. It’s always been a matter of convenience—less bother if he doesn’t have to worry about sneaking back into his room in the middle of the night when you’re both exhausted. Or maybe that’s just what you’ve been telling yourselves.

You rinse your mouth out and exit the bathroom, flicking off the light and finding that Spencer has indeed made himself comfortable. The hotel room is dark and he’s already under the covers, fiddling with his phone.

"What time should I set the alarm for?" He asks, looking over at you as you crawl into bed, drawing the covers over yourself. "I was thinking 6:23. That should give me enough time to—"

"Sounds perfect," you affirm, wiggling under the blanket as you get comfortable. He schedules the alarm and sets his phone on the bedside table, dousing the room in complete darkness. Your eyes stay open despite, waiting for them to adjust. A few moments of utter silence and stillness pass, and you can tell Spencer is completely stiff next to you.

"Spencer."

“Yeah,” he answers immediately. Like he’s even more wired about this whole situation than you are.

"You know you don’t have to avoid touching me at all costs, right? I’m not a leper."

He looses a nervous laugh.

"I know. We’ve just never really done this."

You frown at the darkness.

"We’ve definitely slept in the same bed before."

"Yeah, but… this feels different."

That, you can’t argue with. Can friends with benefits share a bed just to be near each other? Does that blur some line? And why does it feel more intimate than the sex?

Screw it. If there is one thing you don’t want your relationship with Spencer to be, it is uncomfortable. Uncertain, you can work with. But not uncomfortable. You reach for him, hand sliding under the duvet—and find his hand already waiting for yours.

"I don’t think it’s that different," you lie, interlacing your fingers together slowly.

"Prolonged physical non-sexual contact does have measurable health benefits…" the words are murmured, like the moment is fragile and he doesn’t want to shatter it.

"Can’t argue with the facts," you breathe, trying to modulate the shakiness of your voice. But you have a feeling you’re doing about as good of a job at concealing your nerves as he is. He shifts.

"Can I…"

"Yeah."

Your heart is pounding as he slips one arm under your neck and the other around your waist, pulling you close. Instinctually you curl into him, slinging your top leg over him as you’ve done before, but always dismissed as post-sex brain chemicals making you feel all warm and fuzzy. A neurological reaction that is so solidly scientific, neither of you ever questioned it. But it feels bigger now.

He exhales as you settle against each other—a sound of relief that mirrors your own. He’s so warm, so safe as he envelops you, physically and sensorially. In such close proximity, so clear-headed, you notice each layer of his scent. Toothpaste, lavender, vetiver, detergent. You sort of feel like a creep, but you can’t deny how comforting it is. Nor can you deny the pirouette your heart does when he begins minutely rubbing your back, like he’s not even thinking about it.

"Goodnight," you whisper into his shirt.

"Goodnight," he whispers back.

You fall asleep pretty quickly after that.

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It’s unclear what wakes you up—maybe it’s the blue-grey dawn light filtering in through the filthy window (doubtful, it’s still mostly dark) or maybe it’s the blinking green digital clock on the nightstand. 5:02 AM. Your alarm will go off in an hour and 21 minutes.

Sometime in the night you shifted, turning over in your sleep, but Spencer is still holding you close. The arm slung so casually over your waist is slightly domineering, but you manage to rotate again and face him once more. Mere inches away from his face you can see every detail. His expression is so peaceful, it makes your heart ache.

But you’re just friends.

Perhaps he felt you moving, because his eyes flutter open and you watch as they flood with consciousness. He takes you in, takes in his arm over your waist. For a split second you’re nervous he’ll pull away.

"What time is it?" His voice is scratchy with sleep.

"Five."

"Why are you awake? We have over an hour til the alarm goes off."

"Sometimes waking up early is okay."

His eyes flicker between your own, and momentarily you’re paralyzed as you realize this is a limbo state for the two of you in which you’ve never operated. You don’t know what’s acceptable. You don’t know what to do. Being close to him feels so good, that the idea of separating hurts. But you don’t want to make him uncomfortable, or—

He leans forward and kisses you softly. In the blue light of dawn, rather than frenzied and hidden in the dark, a desperate tear of clothes and teeth and hands—it’s almost freeing. All the anxiety you were feeling just seconds ago begins to melt.

Friends.

"You looked anxious," is his whispered answer after he pulls away a moment later, like a kiss is the simplest remedy in the world. He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear. "We should go back to sleep."

"I don’t want to go back to sleep."

The corner of his mouth twitches as he studies you.

"No? What do you want?"

Emboldened by your mutual indiscretion, it’s your turn to kiss him. You feel him smile against your lips, hand finding the back of your neck and raking up through your hair to pull you closer.

The delirium of sleep seems to have softened you, filed down the rough edges of your boundaries and kicked away the lines in the sand. What’s a kiss or two when you’ve just woken up? A small, innocuous display of affection while you’re still barely conscious. Nobody could fault either of you for that. People don’t think clearly when they’ve just been asleep.

So what if your lips part against his, and his other hand finds its way under your shirt to stroke the bare skin of your waist and hips? So what if you hitch that leg over him again and press closer?

Spencer breaks the kiss, still ghosting over your lips.

"I thought it wasn’t a good night?"

"It’s not night time anymore, is it, genius?"

You sneak another kiss, nipping his bottom lip gently as you pull away.

Instead of whatever array of responses you were expecting, Spencer smiles slightly, eyes almost sparkling in the faint light. The hand on your hip moves to your face, gently thumbing across your cheek. He begins to say something, and stops himself—biting his lip to hold back the words.

"What?" you ask, heart dropping. Illusion fracturing.

"I was just—" he begins, pausing for a moment before the words all come out in a rush. "I was just going to tell you how beautiful you are, but I don’t know if that’s something I should say, or if it would feel too… I don’t know…"

He trails off. A rare instance in which he doesn’t have the words.

You do. Intimate. Real. Romantic. And he’s right, it does feel too much like all of those things. But that doesn’t mean you don’t like it, perhaps more than is strictly good for you.

"It’s fine. Thank you."

He continues chewing on his lip for a moment.

"Did I just ruin the mood?"

"No," you laugh, "not at all."

"Thank god," he sighs, surging forward again.

"Since when do you thank god?" You manage between kisses.

He moves to press his lips to your jaw and down your neck.

"Do you want me to talk about the historical and cultural transition of religious expressions into ubiquitous secular colloquialisms right now?"

"Kind of," you breathe.

"No you don’t," he murmurs against your neck as his hands find the hem of your shirt. "You want me to take your clothes off."

Well, he’s not wrong there.

You help him tug the shirt over your head before leaning back into the pillows as he situates himself over you and lavishes more kisses down your neck and collarbones, pausing to suck a mark only when he knows it’s low enough to be covered by your clothing later.

You gasp when his lips brush over your nipple, before running his tongue over the sensitive skin. He glances up at you, and though his mouth is occupied, you can see the humor in his eyes. He loves how sensitive you are—how easy it is to get a reaction out of you.

Of course, you continue to prove him right when he takes the other into his mouth, trying to hold back your little whimpers as he darts his tongue over the peak. Maybe somebody else wouldn’t hear them, but Spencer does. He’s hyper attuned to the sounds you make. Something of a catalogue has begun to form in the back of his mind; he knows exactly what each noise means and how to get them out of you.

Once satisfied, he moves to press a kiss to your sternum.

"You’re gonna be quiet for me, right?" Another kiss above your bellybutton. "Because Morgan is sleeping right on the other side of that wall, and we don’t want to wake him up."

"I’ll be quiet," you promise, somewhat breathlessly. Spencer’s mouth trails lower until he’s pulling your shorts down your legs, leaving you completely naked. He tosses them somewhere on the floor and hooks your legs over his shoulders.

"Good." He plants one last kiss to your thigh and the next one lands right between your legs.

You regret the need to be silent almost as soon as he drags his tongue over your clit. It’s not like the two of you have ever had the privilege of making a lot of noise, as the hotel rooms are always so close to each other, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

Instead you opt to rake your hands through his hair and try to take deep breaths. But he knows exactly what you like—he knows starting light and slow, teasing around your most sensitive spot will work you up to the brink of insanity, just like he knows gentle circles make your back arch and elicit the prettiest little moans.

"More," you beg, and the hands wrapped around your thighs rub soothingly, reassuring you that if you can just be patient you’ll get what you want.

He takes your aching clit into his mouth, sucking lightly and you’re forced to clap a hand over your mouth, muffling the sob of pleasure you can’t hold back. Spencer keeps it up until you’re practically riding his face, teasing your dripping entrance with the tip of his tongue when you get too close.

"Fuck, please, Spence," you whisper through your fingers, hips rutting in your desperation. Somehow it always ends up like this—with him in charge and you begging. Not that you have a problem with it, of course.

He hums into you, and if the way his tongue moves back to circling your clit with newfound fervor is any indication, is apparently satisfied with your entreaty.

You gasp and try to control your breathy moans, but his mouth feels so good on you that your vision is going out and you’re losing touch with reality ever so slightly. You use the last of your brain power to bite down on the back of your wrist, hoping it adequately muffles the noises you make as you come on Spencer’s tongue and he greedily continues lapping at you. There’s really no way of knowing—your ears are ringing anyway.

When you come to a moment later he’s peppering kisses on your thighs, rubbing your hips gently.

"So pretty," he murmurs, climbing back up so your lips can meet again. "Everything about you is pretty."

You paw at his shirt, signaling that you want it off as you moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue, feel your slippery arousal staining the kiss. Spencer helps you, sitting up briefly to unzip his hoodie and pull off his shirt.

You’re the one to drag him back down, and you notice that he pulls the covers back over the both of you in a sweet gesture he probably didn’t even think about.

"Need you to fuck me," you beg, reaching down to try and undress him further.

"So crude. What happened to my nice, sweet girl?" He mumbles against your neck, but helps you with his pants anyway.

"You must have me confused with someone else."

"Doubtful."

You don’t have much time to consider what that could mean before he’s running the head of his cock over your clit and you’re gasping into his mouth, saying please like it’s the only word you know.

"There she is," Spencer croons, slipping inside you slow enough for you to feel every inch but quick enough for it to expel all the air from your lungs. Once he’s opened you all the way up, impossibly deep and close, you’re seeing stars, barely breathing. His head has dropped to your shoulder but now he drags his lips up your neck and jaw. "We okay?"

It’s been a while, you realize, since that last case in Maine. He always takes some getting used to. Hardly able to think around the pressure of his cock you nod, trying to string together a few words.

"Fuck, I need a second." The words come out choked, but you manage. Spencer rubs your hip, his lips brushing yours as he speaks.

"Relax, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you."

He curses to himself, dropping his head momentarily. You’re so fucking soft, and warm, and perfect, he can’t think straight. But he has to try because he has to take care of you.

"Spence," you gasp, failing to verbally communicate the intensity of the physical sensation.

"I know, baby," comes his sympathetic coo. "You know you can take me. Deep breaths."

"Mhm," you squeak, trying to take follow his directions and soften your muscles. Spencer keeps rubbing soothingly over your hips, stomach, whatever he can get his hands on, really, pressing kisses all over your face and telling you how good you are, how perfect you feel for him. After a few moments he feels you fluttering around him and experimentally pulls out halfway, before pushing back in equally as slowly. Your jaw drops as he begins to leisurely fuck you, arms wrapping around his back. He gets deeper than you expect every time, rubbing you raw and stretching you out in the most delicious way.

"Perfect, baby. Such a good listener, did exactly what I asked."

You cry out when he begins fucking you impossibly deeper, but still so slow and sweet.

"You feel so fucking good for me," he groans. "This is what you were made for, huh?" You agree enthusiastically, eyes fluttering shut.

"Only for you."

Just three words—but he wasn’t expecting to like hearing you say that as much as he does. A strong desire to possess you overtakes him—one that he’ll probably have the decency to feel guilty about later, but for now feels fucking fantastic and intoxicating.

"Only me?"

You moan an affirmation.

"Good. I don’t want anyone else fucking you, do you understand me?"

"Yes!"

"I’m the only one who gets to touch you," he breathes, speeding up ever so slightly, "nobody else is going to feel you like this. Such a good girl, spreading her legs for me at five in the fucking morning. You’re not doing this for anybody else, baby."

"Uh-uh, please, pleasepleaseplease Spence—"

He knows what you need, reaching a hand down between your bodies to rub your clit.

You gasp an airy, high pitched curse, hips twitching but unable to escape the near-punishing rhythm of his own. It’s obvious that your orgasm is close, but you can’t even warn him, too overwhelmed with pleasure. He kisses you, swallowing your moans that have probably become just a bit too loud given the whole hotel thing.

No words are exchanged between the two of you as you near the finish line for a change, open mouths slipping against each others in what is too messy to be called a kiss. Your orgasm body-slams you, a choked silent scream as you tighten around Spencer and he seems to come at nearly the exact same moment—deep inside you, slowly rolling his hips in a few more strong thrusts as he finishes.

You let out a delayed moan at the sensation of being filled up, still pulsing around him as he comes to a halt, buried inside of you. He drops his head to your neck, and you can feel each breath against your flushed skin. Other than the panting, you’re both silent for a while. Spencer seems to gather himself sooner than you do, finally breaking the quiet.

"You okay?"

All you can manage is a little squeak, at which he looses a breathy chuckle. His hand slides to your hip, gently stroking the skin with a thumb.

"Need your words, angel girl."

"I’m okay," you coo into his shoulder, but he has to strain to hear it above his own breathing.

"Yeah? Why so quiet?"

But it seems that at least for the moment, he’s gotten all the words he can out of you. When he tries to move, you whimper indignantly, clutching onto him tighter.

"I really did a number on you this time, huh?" He laughs when you nod into him. "Are you falling asleep?"

"Mhm," you hum dreamily, little puffs of warm air slowing against his neck.

"You can have…" he cranes his head to check the digital clock, "48 minutes."

"An hour."

He settles his weight on you once more, pressing a chaste kiss to your throat. His voice is low and gentle as he admonishes you.

"I said 48 minutes."

But it doesn’t matter—you’re already asleep, or close enough to it. Spencer takes the opportunity to shift you to your side, and the way you wrap around him like a vine even unconsciously makes his heart ache. He really should go now—the earlier he gets out of your room the less likely certain complications will arise—but how can he possibly leave you like this? A vulnerable, dreamy girl with tangled hair haloing around her on the pillow case, clinging to him with blind trust that he’ll watch over her as she sleeps? No—there’s no way he’s leaving yet. Instead, he brings you closer. 48 perfect minutes will go by far too quickly, he’s sure.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut

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bkgsdoll · 10 days ago

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౨ৎ❆ ₊˚♡⊹ jingle bell rock - katsmas

❄️︵︵　summary: you and your friends (more like terrified followers) decide to recreate the iconic mean girls jingle bell rock dance for your school's holiday show. but then, you hear from one of your lackeys who heard from umi-- whatever, it doesn't really matter. point is: bakugou katsuki, the notorious jerk of the school was heard jerking off to you in the bathroom! 🍫︵︵　notes: popular!reader x popular!bakugou, nsfw (no smut tho), alcohol mention, male masturbation, college au, and the end sucks i lowk hate this </3 🎀︵︵　word count: 2.2k

being the head of your sorority wasn’t exactly challenging. every single girl fell in line with whatever you said, eagerly sharing gossip without hesitation and practically memorizing your every move. well, most of them did...

you scoff, shoving a coffee cup into a girl’s hands. "i asked for three pumps of vanilla, nejire. go get another." you wave off your little errand girl as she mutters a quick apology, while your three minions exchange smirks behind you. you pick up your stride across campus, heading toward class while the trio of lackeys trail closely behind.

"what’s on your to-do?" a suck-up blonde named kumi asks, clutching her ipad and apple pen like they’re part of her identity. you sigh, flicking a glance at your perfectly manicured nails.

"i need a nail appointment at my usual spot. book it for 11:30, please. after yamada's class, i’m heading to the library to study. you should all join me, but i won't force you," you add sweetly, applying a fresh layer of lip gloss in the reflection of your tiny compact mirror as you strut ahead.

two of your girls end up free to tag along, and you settle into a cozy corner of the library, your nose buried in a textbook. meanwhile, as you're fulfilling your student duties, your lackeys giggle quietly, sharing whispers that sound more suited for high school than college. you look up with a curious expression. "what is it?"

their eyes flash to you instantly, wide with excitement. "bakugou was staring at you in yamada's class, and he canceled his 'hangout' with camie. he’s probably going to talk to you!" one of them grins, her head dropping into her hands dreamily.

you blink, your lashes kissing your cheeks as you try to recall who they're talking about.

after a few seconds of silence, it clicks, and you frown. "ohhh, that jerk? hard pass," you say, dismissing the thought with a flick of your wrist. "anywho, i was thinking about what we should do for mei's birthday next week. ideas?" your eyes brighten, always excited to plan something fun and flashy.

the two girls stare at you suspiciously with their mouths hanging open.

one of them pipes up, "well yeah, he's a little rude sometimes, but girl, he is sooo fine!!!" she giggles, twirling her hair flirtatiously.

she's not wrong. you do somewhat recall seeing him around campus and seated in your lectures with his feet kicked up on the desk. his blond hair and thick muscles were gorgeous, but really, there are plenty of supermodel-worthy guys around. the bare minimum is to be friendly, you think.

"if you wanna go out with that delinquent, be my guest." you lean forward, eyes narrowing. she gulps, her smile fading as the girl next to her quickly changes the subject.

"alrighty then...!" she clears her throat. "moving on, the santa costumes should be here in like, two more hours!"

you clap your hands lightly with a happy grin. you and three of your sorority sisters were recreating the iconic mean girls jingle bell rock dance for your little holiday party. you’d managed to get a frat boy to throw it, since sororities, annoyingly, aren’t allowed to host their own big bashes.

your phone pings with a message just a second later. you grab your pink phone, exhaling with a scoff as you read nejire’s “where are you??!!! i got your coffee :D” text.

"mine is too small!"

the night of the party arrived, and you and your friends were hidden in a large, echoey bathroom to get dressed for your upcoming performance.

laughter fills the room as the girls help each other adjust their tight two-piece outfits.

you grin, fixing your rubbery skirt in the mirror. you were absolutely in love with your outfit resembling the movie perfectly-- a red tank top with fluffy white trim, paired with a matching red latex skirt and topped off with a cute santa hat. your black gloves fit perfectly, complementing the thigh-high black heels that complete the look.

"who should we kick the boombox into?" mina giggles half-jokingly, fluffing her hair beside you.

"ugh, monoma for sure!" kento chimes in with a rolls her eyes.

you squeal, glancing at the time on your phone. "oh shit, we gotta go!" you giggle, swinging open the bathroom door. "we'll take pics later," you offer, dragging a whining mina out into the living room with the other two girls following behind. the crowd of students erupt into cheers at your outfits, immediately getting the reference.

you spot your lackeys all huddled together, giving you thumbs ups and cheesy grins. you smile happily, giving them a little wave before getting into position. one of your minions stands beside bakugou, and you hesitantly do a double take, not having expected to see him here. he's not in any kind of festive wear. his arms are crossed with his face set in a clearly bored scowl. you notice your lackey mouth the words "can i get your number?" to the blond, and you can't help but roll your eyes.

the music begins to play, and you all perform flawlessly. mina, sadly doesn't end up kicking the boombox into anyone's face, just nudging it slightly forward with her foot. regardless, it was still a huge success. the audience cheers with pleasure, and you all strike cute little curtsies before heading to get drinks.

by the hot cocoa (and other beverages) stand, you meet up with two of your minions, the one ogling bakugou not present. they fawn over your dance skills, and you graciously accept their compliments. then, out of breath, the missing girl rushes up to the group.

"what happened to you?" kumi smirks, already laughing to herself.

"yn! i was standing next to bakugou, trying to score a date with him, right?" she starts, her eyes wide and eager. you nod along, interest piqued from the unexpectant story. "so he left to go to the bathroom in the middle of your dance, and i followed him, but when i got there..."

you and the other two exchange glances as she trails off, waiting for the rest of the story.

she leans in closer, cupping her hands around her mouth. "he was groaning..."

you all gasp, your face instantly heating up.

"i swear on every pair of heels you own, he was totally beating it to you! kinda jealous, can't lie, but oh my gosh??!" she squeals and bounces up and down on her heels.

you huff, shaking off your flustered expression and folding your arms. "so what? we're not in middle school, i couldn't give a shit if we got him turned on,"

this is half true. part of you thinks he'd be a really great fuck buddy. i mean, seriously! his toned body could get your mouth watering if you'd ever stared at it for longer than five seconds. that is, if you even did the whole "lets fuck and then never speak again" thing.

"who's we?" the girl chuckles, leaning closer to your ear. "he was whispering your name...!"

you can't help the grin slipping past your lips. you got the prideful katsuki bakugou all bricked up with a little christmas dance? you giggle, eyes flicking over to the bathroom door, still closed shut. "i'll be right back..." you mutter, twirling a strand of hair between your fingers as you strut away from your group, ignoring their little cheers and moans.

you stride up to the bathroom, leaning against the wall. you hum quietly to yourself as you wait for bakugou to come out, even though you're not really sure what you're doing. you know your girls are watching you, you can still hear their immature mewls from your spot. you inhale sharply, oh gosh, you hope your hair isn't a mess from--

the door swings open, interrupting your thought with a flushed and grumpy bakugou. his eyebrows raise at your presence. a muscly arm raises to the back of his neck, scratching awkwardly. "hey," he grunts.

you grin at his avoidance of eye contact. "hii," you coo, fluttering your lashes as he steps to the side of the door, inviting you to go next. you shake your head. "oh no, i don't have to go. i was waiting for you actually,"

he coughs, visibly startled. "what?" you could practically see his heart drop to ass as his grumpy expression falters.

"relax," you tease, "i just wanted to make sure you're uh..." you trail off, turning slightly to hide the little smirk tugging at your lips. as you spin to face him again, his expression is a perfect mix of confusion and feigned annoyance. "i just wanted to know if you're all... situated?"

the blond rolls his eyes, shoving his hands in his pockets. "shut up,"

"hey i'm not judging, it's completely understandable!" you shrug with an easy smile, tilting your head back against the wall.

"listen up." his growl cuts through the pumping noise as he folds his arms. you swallow as he towers over you, blocking the bathroom entrance. "jus cause you looked-- good or whatever-- doesn't mean i wanna fuck you," he chuckles almost mockingly. you scoff. what a pretentious ass.

"nobody said anything, about us fucking, first of all." you retort, eyeing him up and down, though that does little clear your flustered state. "i don't do just anyone, unlike you. and anyway, can't i just want to help my fellow students out of the goodness of my heart?"

bakugou flicks your forehead, earning a loud scoff from you, swatting his hand away from your face. "and just what the fuck do you mean by 'helping' then?" he challenges.

for the first time in a very long time, you're stuck. you have no idea how to respond-- shit! bakugou notices your hesitation and laughs again, leaning down to tap your cheek with his finger. you huff through your nose, but seemingly frozen in place as his intense red eyes bore into you. then out of nowhere, his expression softens. "y'look pretty,"

your eyes slightly widen. wary, you keep your guard up, tossing your hair over your shoulder. you half expected him to walk away and move on with his life but he doesn't, clearly interested in you. "thank you, playboy." you reply cautiously.

he stares at you, his face falling into a disappointed frown. "playboy? fuck off," he grunts.

you regret the term. you of all people should understand rumors and false assumptions. realizing your mistake, you backtrack. "i'm sorry-- no, i-"

your lackey, kumi, suddenly pops up at your side, giving bakugou an ogling once-over as she puffs out her chest. she turns to you with a naive smile. "hiii, I know now's probably not the time, hehe, but I was thinking about what you said earlier-"

"kumi? doll? hi," you interrupt, sharply spinning towards the dumb girl as you plaster on a fake smile. "uh, i don't have time for this, so if you could..." you point towards the dancing crowd, rubbing her shoulder with feigned kindness.

she looks between you and a bored blond before nodding to your words and mousily rushing off.

"so what're you, regina george?" katsuki chuckles, snatching a drink from a partygoer scrambling past.

your mouth falls open in surprise, totally ignoring his comparison. "you've seen mean girls?"

for a moment, your words go unanswered as the gangly junkie curses at bakugou. the blond merely rolls his eyes. "go do some coke or somethin," he says with a groan, shoving him away. "fuckin loser," he spits under his breath.

katsuki quickly turns back to you. "my ma loves that kinda stupid shit," he replies.

you can't believe you're standing away from your posse to talk to katsuki bakugou. but minutes pass, and here you are, completely absorbed in conversation with him. you've felt multiple vibrations from your tiny purse, definitely from your group chat. the onslaught of messages are probably just desperate pleas begging for you to return... they wouldn't know what to do without you. but you ignore your phone altogether, too engaged in this unexpected exchange.

a soft hum escapes your lips as your eyes sweep the room, gathering a hint of courage. "we should hang out sometime," you suggest, voice playful yet sincere with a smile and a touch of hope in your glance.

katsuki narrows his eyes like he's assessing you, making sure you're for real. he grunts, gaze briefly flicking over your outfit before he speaks again.

"fine. only if you were more clothes though, goddamn."

you can’t help but giggle, the sound light and teasing as you loop your arm around his. "you like it, though, huh?" you grin as he leads you to the dance floor.

"shut the fuck up."

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