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yuta-nakamots · 26 days ago

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Dive Into You - L.Haechan

Pairing - Boyfriend!Haechan x University!AFAB Reader

Genre(s) - Fluff, Smut, University!AU

Warning(s) - smut, unprotected sex, reader wears a bikini, slight public sex (more like just public indecency and really heavy petting), dry (wet?) humping, creampie, multiple orgasms, marriage, reader and haechan have a kid

Summary - After a whirlwind semester, Haechan sweeps you away on a surprise getaway after finals are over. Between salty kisses and soft-spoken promises, you both begin to realize that Fridays mark more than just the end of the week, they mark the beginning of something new.

Word Count - 7.5k

Author’s Note - I meant to get this out on his birthday but got caught up in life so I guess happy belated birthday to Haechan haha

Taglist - @k-vanity @cosyhomenet @neocity-net @k-films @cinneorolls @dinonuguaegi @tinyzen @fancypeacepersona (join my taglist!)

Written for the Resonance Beach Collab originally hosted by @loeycity. Part of the K-Films Summer Event 2025 hosted by @k-films. Also part of my NCT Dream: Seven Days Collection.

Now playing: Dive Into You - NCT Dream, Bahama - aespa

You first met Haechan in a music theory class halfway through the semester. You were taking it for your degree, as was he, though he hadn’t managed to show up to a class thus far because of his busy idol career. On his day off, he finally attended class for the first time, slipping into the back row of the lecture hall ten minutes late, wearing sunglasses indoors and a hoodie too big for the late-spring weather. Yet no one batted an eye. That’s the thing about university, you could be a celebrity or a sleep-deprived caffeine gremlin and still get away with everything as long as you looked miserable enough.

He sat beside you, even though the rest of the row was empty. “Your notes looked better than mine,” he remarked.

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you even enrolled in this class?”

He grinned, teeth flashing beneath the shadow of his hood. “Technically.”

“Technically,” you repeated, unimpressed, as you angled your notebook away from him.

“Come on,” he whined, nudging your elbow with his. “The midterm is next week, I haven’t studied, and my manager thinks I’m watching video lectures at home right now. Help a guy out?”

You sighed, already sliding your notes a little closer. “If I get caught helping you cheat, you better buy me lunch.”

“Deal,” he agreed, a little too quickly. “And maybe a song.”

“A song?” You questioned.

“You’ll see.”

Your friendship with Haechan started just like that. A few shared notes, a couple late-night study sessions in the campus café when he had time off in his schedule. He hummed next to you while you worked on your laptop, occasionally changing songs halfway through the phrase just to annoy you. You quickly learned that when he wasn’t on stage, he was a menace with too many inside jokes, an alarming stash of memes, and a knack for making your cheeks hurt from laughing.

The first time you let him into your apartment, he tripped over cables hooked up to music equipment. He made it up to you by immediately assisting in layering harmonies onto the half-finished chorus of a demo track you made. “This would sound so good with a weird falsetto ghost vocal,” he commented, already recording himself singing off your cheap microphone like it was a stadium stage.

Somehow, you didn’t mind because somehow, his chaos just fit with yours. You made music together, half as a joke, half because it felt right. You teased him about his idol life, and he teased you about your messy desktop and how seriously you took your plugins. He never stopped talking, but you never wanted him to. Somewhere between 3AM laughter, breathless studio nights, and his fingers brushing yours over a keyboard, you stopped writing love songs about people who didn’t exist.

One night, when your midterm projects were due and sleep felt like a forgotten luxury, he popped by your apartment with fast food and insisted on ‘helping’ you mix your final track. The ‘help’ amounted to him curling up on a chair next to you with a can of soda and randomly hitting keys on your MIDI keyboard while proclaiming it to be ‘art’.

You swatted his hand away from your laptop for what had to be the tenth time. “You’re going to make me fail.”

“I’m inspiring you,” he countered, leaning over your shoulder to peer at your project window. “See, this part? Needs more chaos.”

“You are chaos.”

He laughed, dropping his chin to your shoulder. “I’m glad you finally noticed.”

You turned to look at him, a comeback ready, but the look on his face made the words freeze in your throat. You didn’t realize until that moment just how badly you wanted to kiss him, his lips looking so full and soft mere inches from you. Your breath caugh,t and Haechan heard, but didn’t move away.

“If you keep looking at me like that,” he said quietly, the usual teasing in his voice softened by something more sincere, “I’m going to think you like me.”

Your eyes flickered to his. “What if I do?”

The words hung there, suspended in the space between your breath and his. You weren’t sure who leaned in first, but suddenly the distance didn’t exist. His lips met yours in a kiss that tasted like soda and secrets you didn’t want to keep anymore. It was gentle, slow, and careful, like neither of you wanted to break whatever this was turning into.

When Haechan pulled away, his eyes searched yours. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, his usual bravado stripped away.

You swallowed, heart thudding in your chest, and your brain fighting with every reason why this shouldn’t have happened. “Haechan,” you started hesitantly. “You’re…you. And I’m just me. This isn’t right.”

He tilted his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Do you think I don’t know that?” You blinked. “I’ve thought about this, all the reasons it could go wrong. But then I think about how you save lecture notes for me, how you roll your eyes at me, but still tolerate me when I make a bad joke. I think about how I’ve never heard music the same since I first met you.” You looked down at your hands, the weight of reality pressing against the lightness you felt just seconds ago. “Hey.” He reached for your hand. “I can’t promise it’ll be perfect, but I can promise I’ll show up. For you, for this, for us.”

Your eyes meet his again. There was no cockiness there, just quiet determination and something you realized had been growing behind all his jokes and late-night harmonies. It was real, terrifying, beautiful affection. You nodded slowly, lips drawing up into a small smile. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He echoed, eyes widening.

“But if I end up in a dating scandal, you better write me a hit breakup song.”

He laughed, his fingers lacing through yours. “Deal. But I’m aiming for a love song first.” And somehow, it felt like the beginning of one.

Your relationship didn’t erupt like the drop of a chorus, it eased in like a warm synth line, subtle but impossible to ignore. Somewhere in the haze of long nights and low battery percentages, between split headphones and shared playlists, Haechan became the rhythm you moved to without even realizing it.

One night, long past midnight, you both sat sprawled on the floor of your apartment, surrounded by tangled cables, empty ramen bowls, and the fading echo of a demo track you’d been layering harmonies into. You lay back, arms spread out, gaze unfocused on the water-stained ceiling. “I want to do this forever,” you swooned. “Not the ramen-for-dinner part, I mean the music. Producing, composing, I want it to be my life.”

Haechan was quiet for a beat, then shifted to lie next to you, his shoulder brushing yours. “I think about that too,” he said. “I think about what I’ll do when the spotlight fades, if I’ll still be making music, if I’ll still be me without the stage.”

You turned to look at him. In the dim blue haze of your laptop screen, he looked less like an idol and more like just a boy who loved music too much to let it go. “I think you’ll still be you,” you murmured. “Just…a little less glitter and a little more sleep.”

He laughed at that. “You think I’ll sleep? I’ll be recording your songs. That’s what my future looks like. You, writing chaotic brilliance in your studio, and me, still trying to convince you to add in a nonsensical adlib.”

“I don’t pay you enough for this,” you joke.

“You don’t pay me at all.”

A grin spread across your face. “Exactly.” That night ended like most did these days, with your head on his chest, fingers tangled, some indie R&B track humming softly in the background.

But finals week and a new comeback changed the tempo. You barely saw him after that. He was swallowed by comeback promotions–early call times, live broadcasts, and late-night rehearsals. You, in turn, were drowning in projects, caffeine, and academic despair. The apartment was filled with the evidence of the struggle, empty energy drink cans, abandoned sheet music, and forgotten takeout containers strewn across the floor.

You missed Haechan in moments that didn’t make sense, like when your headphones didn’t sit quite right, when a melody sounded a bit lonely, when your mind wrote a joke only he would laugh at. So when your last exam ended on a bright Friday afternoon and you staggered out of the lecture hall blinking like a mole, you didn’t expect to find Haechan standing just outside the door.

He was wearing sunglasses indoors again, paired with an all too large hoodie, like it was the first day you met all over. But this time, he was holding two plane tickets. “Fridays are meant to be fun,” he said, grinning like he had a secret, “so I made one just for you.”

You stared at him, eyes going wide. “What?”

“Hope you have your passport, because we’re leaving like, now. Tropics. You, me, no deadlines.”

“Haechan.” You deadpanned. “Are you kidnapping me?”

He pulled down his sunglasses just enough for you to see him wink. “Only a little. You seem like you could go for some sleep and peace, and actual food for once.”

You huffed a breath, somewhere between laughter and disbelief. “You’re insane.”

“I’m you’re insane,” he corrected, curling a finger into the strap of your backpack to tug you closer. “This is me keeping my promise.” So you let him take your hand, let him lead you out of the building and into the very beginning of your own song. There’s no chorus yet, just an opening note that felt like freedom.

You were half-asleep by the time the plane took off. At some point during the flight, you woke up with Haechan’s hoodie draped over your lap and his hand curled loosely around yours, his thumb moving in slow, absentminded circles. You wanted to be annoyed, you really did. He hijacked your post-finals crash and turned it into a spontaneous getaway with little to no time for packing. Who does that? But as warm sunlight spilled through the plane window and Haechan softly hummed a tune you vaguely recognized as one of your demos, annoyance melted into something warmer.

By the time your feet hit the sand in the Bahamas, you’d accepted two things. One, you were exhausted, but you were here with Haechan. Two, you wouldn’t be getting any rest with Haechan looking at you like that.

The private villa he booked looked like it had been pulled straight from a honeymoon brochure with whitewashed walls, a hammock strung lazily between palm trees, and the sea glittering just beyond your doorstep. You barely had time to toss your bag onto the bed before Haechan grabbed your hand again, pulling you out to the beach with the urgency of someone racing daylight.

You squinted against the sun. “I can’t believe you kidnapped me.”

“You say kidnapped, I say rescued,” he replied smugly, already kicking his slides off, dragging you toward the shoreline. “You were on the verge of becoming a coffee-addicted music gremlin.”

“I think you missed the part where I already am one.”

Haechan gasped like you just confessed to a felony. “You admit it? Bold.”

You shot him a look. “You say that like you haven’t seen me crawling on the floor at 4AM trying to find a flash drive.”

He grinned. “I’ve also seen you fall asleep with a pencil in your mouth and four open Ableton projects on your screen, so yeah, it was time for an intervention.”

You barely had time to reply before a splash of water hit your shins. You gasped, stunned, looking down at your now-soaked pants. Haechan stood a few feet into the waves, a boyish and playful smile on his face as he cupped more water in his hands. You narrowed your eyes at him. “Did you just–” Before you could finish the sentence, he splashed you again. “Haechan!” you shrieked, stumbling backward as cold water hit your thighs.

You kicked off your shoes and chased him into the water, shrieking as the ocean soaked through your clothes. Haechan laughed wildly, arms flailing as he tried to evade you, which didn’t work out all that good for him when he tripped and nearly face planted into a wave. You pounced on him.

The two of you wrestled in the shallows, screaming and splashing like kids on summer break. At one point, he scooped you up bridal style only to dramatically dunk you, then immediately panicked when he thought you might actually be mad. You emerged like a sea monster, hair dripping and clinging to your cheeks, and tackled him right back into the water.

“Timeout!” he gasped between laughs, hands raised in surrender. “You’re actually kind of terrifying like this.”

“You deserve terrifying,” you shot back, breathless from laughing. “I’m still in my clothes, you maniac.”

He swam closer, catching your wrist under the surface. “Okay, but like, you’re also kind of hot when you’re angry.” You rolled your eyes, heart racing not just from the chase, but from the way Haechan was looking at you. His hair was plastered to his forehead, skin glistening with saltwater, and his thumb rubbed against your wrist like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “Come on,” he said softly, tugging you toward the shore. “Let’s go change and swim for real. I want to see you in that bikini set I know you packed.”

You changed in the bathroom of the villa while Haechan took forever in the outdoor shower, emerging half-wet and humming something suspiciously romantic under his breath. When you finally stepped out in your bikini, adjusting the strap at your shoulder, you didn’t even get the chance to say anything.

Haechan stopped mid-hum, jaw slack. “...Okay,” he said after a beat. “I lied. You’re not terrifying, you’re going to ruin my life.”

You raised a brow, crossing your arms. “That’s a bit dramatic.”

“No, no, no,” he stepped closer, eyes never leaving you. “You’re not allowed to look like that and expect me to behave. I brought you here for relaxation. This is not relaxing.” You laughed, flushed and flattered, but his tone shifted as he got closer. His hand skimmed down your arm, deliberate now, no more teasing in his touch. His fingers slipped just under the curve of your waist. “Mine,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Everyone else can look at the ocean while I look at you.”

You swallowed hard. “You brought me to paradise, and now you’re acting like you want to keep me locked in the villa.”

Haechan leaned in, mouth brushing just below your ear. “I absolutely want to keep you locked in the villa.” Your breath hitched, and the air between you shifted, lazy heat turning into something far more dangerous. His hands didn’t leave your skin. “But I promised a beach day,” his voice dipped, sounding like velvet and fire, “so you better walk ahead of me and give me something to look at.”

You smacked his chest, laughing. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re unreal,” he countered, grin crooked, pupils blown wide. “Let’s go swimming before I forget how to be decent in public.”

You hadn’t even made it ten steps outside before Haechan was at your side again, fingers laced with yours, palms tight against each other like he couldn’t stand even that much distance. The sand was warm underfoot, powder-soft between your toes, the ocean glittering like a postcard dream just a few yards away.

The water was perfect. Warm, clear, and so inviting, it almost made you forget the way Haechan’s eyes had darkened the second he saw you step out from the bathroom. He followed you into the ocean like a man possessed, hands already reaching before the waves even reached your hips. You squealed when he caught your waist from behind, spinning you in the water with a triumphant laugh.

“Don’t act surprised,” his lips brushing your exposed shoulder. “You came out here looking like that and expect me to behave? Please.” You rolled your eyes at his theatrics, but your pulse was a dead giveaway.

His hands were everywhere, drifting down your spine, splaying wide over your stomach, teasingly tugging at the strap on your shoulder like he was two seconds away from snapping it. When you waded deeper, Haechan followed like a shadow, grabbing your hips under the surface and pulling you flush against him, salt-slick skin on skin. You twisted in his arms, giggling, trying to push him away, but he only groaned low in your ear and held you tighter. “You think I’m playing,” he muttered, fingers trailing under the water, slipping between the thin stretch of your bikini top. You gasped as he cupped one breast, his thumb circling with infuriating slowness, masked by the motion of the waves.

“Haechan—” you whispered, scandalized and breathless.

He just smirked. “No one can see us. We’re underwater.” You weren’t sure if that was true or if he just didn’t care. Probably both. He kissed you then, salt and heat and something greedy in the way his tongue brushed yours. The kind of kiss that melted your knees even in the water, the kind of kiss that left you breathless and aching and already wishing you were somewhere more private.

His hands didn’t behave. One stayed low on your waist, the other sliding beneath the fabric again, bolder this time, palm warm and rough where it wasn’t supposed to be. He kissed you harder when you gasped again, like he wanted to devour every sound.

“Don’t you dare,” you scolded when he started to push a little further, slightly nudging the strap of your top to the edge of your shoulder.

“Don’t I dare what?” he asked, all innocence and sin. “Touch my girlfriend?” You splashed him in the face. He laughed, full-bodied and beautiful, but even then he didn’t let go. His arms circled your waist, drawing you against his chest like he couldn’t live without his skin on yours. “I love this swimsuit,” his lips moving against your cheek. “I love how it looks on you. I also love that I’m the one who gets to take it off later.”

You swatted at him again, face burning, but he caught your wrist and kissed your knuckles, then your inner wrist, then the inside of your elbow, making his way back up your arm like a man worshipping something divine. You hated how easily he made you fold.

Eventually, the two of you migrated back to shore, half-drunk on heat and horniness. The sun dipped low on the horizon, turning the sky into a watercolor gold and flame. You sank into the warm sand belly down, his thigh pressed against yours as he lay on his back, your fingers tangled together with his. You propped yourself up on your elbows, drawing shapes in the sand with your free hand.

“Mmm,” Haechan hummed, his eyes following your finger in the sand. “This is almost enough to distract me from the fact that I can see the curve of your ass through that bikini.”

You snorted and looked away from him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m in pain, actually,” he said, reaching over and placing a palm on the back of your thigh, fingers sliding upward. “Real suffering is happening right now.”

“You’re the one who dragged me here. This is your fault.”

“And yet,” his eyes traced over your body like he was memorizing every sun-kissed inch, “I would do it again. A hundred times. Just to watch the way you move with barely anything on.” Your heart stuttered. Haechan pulled back to meet your gaze. “We should head back,” his voice rougher now, molten and thick. “Or else I will fuck you right here, right now.” You could tell he meant it.

There was nothing joking in his eyes now, only heat and hunger, tethered just barely by your hand in his. You stood slowly, tugging him up by the wrist. “Then let’s go,” you say confidently. “Before you really lose your mind.”

Haechan groaned like you’d just given him the best present of his life. “Race you to the villa,” he prompted, already grabbing your hand. But you didn’t run. You walked slowly, skin still tingling, Haechan’s hand never leaving yours, practically pulling you as the sky burned orange above.

You reached the edge of the villa’s patio just as the last sliver of sun kissed the horizon, casting everything in warm honey and soft firelight. Haechan tugged you toward the outdoor shower, barely glancing over his shoulder as he flicked the water on. “Get in,” his voice low and coaxing. “You’re all sandy.”

You looked him up and down. “So are you.”

“Guess we’ll just have to help each other out,” he said, eyes gleaming.

The water was lukewarm, cascading in soft rivulets over your sun-warmed skin. Haechan stepped in behind you, crowding your space like he had no concept of personal space, his hands sliding up your waist, over your stomach, until resting under the swell of your breasts. You shivered when his fingers slipped beneath your bikini again, cupping one breast with no hesitation, thumb brushing over your nipple until it peaked under his touch.

“Haechan,” you warned, breath catching.

“I know,” he practically growled, pressing closer, hips grinding slowly against your ass. “We’re technically at the villa…” His hips rolled, unhurried yet firm. You felt him, thick and hard beneath the wet cling of his swim trunks, grinding into you like he was seconds away from losing his sanity.

You gasped as he moved your bikini top aside completely, exposing your breasts to the air and the spray of the water. “Haechan–”

“No one’s out here,” he whined, mouth finding your shoulder, biting it lightly. “We’re still on our villa property.”

“There’s only trees, no fence,” you hissed. “Anyone could walk by–”

“Let them,” he muttered, grinding harder, one hand sliding down to palm at the softness of your thighs. “Let them see how pretty you are when you let me touch you.” You moaned at his words, reaching behind you to grab at him, palm sliding down his abdomen, fingers slipping beneath the band of his trunks.

He groaned through his teeth, thrusting forward involuntarily. “Fuck, baby,” he breathed. “I want you so bad I’m gonna die.”

“We can’t,” you insist, even as you arch into his hold on your breasts from how good his hands felt. “We can’t do it out here.”

“Why not?” he begged, kissing up your spine. “We’re dripping wet, you’re practically naked, I’m hard, just let me–”

“No,” your voice firm while grabbing one of the towels hanging by the knobs of the shower and moving your top back into place. “Inside. Now.” You barely managed to toss it around yourself before his hands found your waist again. You glared at him, and he growled in frustration, eyes dark and glassy, but the second you turned toward the villa, he was grabbing a towel and he was on you again, barely letting either of you dry off before he was hauling you through the door.

The door had barely clicked shut behind both of you when Haechan was already reaching for your towel, mouth crashing into yours like he’d been starved for days. But you pulled back before he could drag it off you entirely, palm firm against his chest.

“Hold on,” you command, eyeing the growing puddle surrounding the two of you. “You’re soaking wet. We’re dripping all over the floor.”

“I’ll clean it up later,” he muttered, stepping closer to kiss along your neck, but you pushed at him again.

“No, you’ll slip and die before we even make it to the bed,” you say playfully with a smirk, grabbing the towel he’d brought in with him. “Stand still.”

His brows furrowed, his hair wet and wild over his forehead. “Wait…what?”

You only smiled and tossed the towel over his head. “I said, stand still.”

Haechan stood frozen as you began to dry him off, starting at his head, rubbing the towel gently over his hair. Your fingers massaged his scalp as you worked, slow and soothing, watching his eyes flutter closed under your touch. Then you moved to his neck, the hollow of his throat, the slick curve of his shoulders. “You’re really gonna take your time with this, huh?” he asked, unamused.

“Uh-huh,” you respond, dragging the towel down his chest, deliberately slow, the plush fabric skimming over his nipples. He twitched slightly under your touch.

You made a show of dragging the towel over every inch of him, his stomach, the sharp cut of his hips, the waistband of his swim trunks. Then you dropped the towel lower, pressing your palm over his length through the fabric of the towel.

Haechan cursed under his breath, thighs tensing. “Baby–”

You rubbed slowly, palm flat, teasing pressure, feeling how hard he already was. His hands hovered like he didn’t know what to do with them, torn between grabbing you and obeying. “I thought you wanted to be dry,” you cooed, glancing up at him through your lashes.

“I do,” he groaned. “I do. But, fuck, you’re killing me.”

You squeezed his length softly, just enough to make him choke on air. “Is that better?”

He threw his head back, jaw clenched. “You’re evil. I’m gonna die. Actually die.”

You leaned in, kissing a droplet of water from his collarbone, your hand still moving against him through the towel. “Maybe. But at least you’ll die warm and dry.”

He whimpered, actually whimpered, hips rolling into your hand. “Please,” he begged, desperate now. “Let me touch you, let me taste you, anything. I need you.”

You let the towel slip from your grasp, the object of Haechan’s agony falling to the floor. “Then take me to bed.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. In a blur of motion, he had you pressed against the bed, your towel forgotten. You barely caught your breath before he was on you again, hot, hungry, and entirely yours.

Haechan’s hands found your waist again, pulling you flush against him as his hips began to grind with a desperate, jagged rhythm. You gasped at the friction, the slick heat of him pressing through the damp fabric of your bikini bottoms. His fingers tangled in your hair, his breath ragged as he nuzzled your neck. “You feel so good,” he murmured, voice rough and needy. His movements grew more frantic, less controlled, as if holding himself back was a losing battle.

Your hands roamed his chest, nails scraping lightly over his skin as he ground harder, hips rocking against you in a slow, scorching tease. You could feel the pressure building in him, thick, pulsing, utterly relentless. Haechan’s grinding slowed just enough for you to feel every inch of him pressed through the thin fabric, teasing and maddeningly close. His breath was ragged in your ear, words lost to the haze of want and heat. Your hands slid under the waistband of his damp shorts, fingers curling around the fabric as you tugged gently but firmly. Haechan froze for a second, chest rising a falling fast, then gave a breathy laugh.

“Can’t wait any longer, huh?” you teased, dragging the shorts down over his hips and thigh before he kicked them off.

He was fully naked above you now, his skin gleaming under the fading light of sunset, every muscle taut and trembling with need. His hardness pressed sharply against your stomach through the thin fabric of your bikini bottoms, twitching with each shallow breath. Haechan’s eyes were dark, glazed with want, and he didn’t hesitate to lean forward, mouth finding your collarbone as his hands roamed over your skin. His hips began to move again, slow and deliberate at first, pressing with a teasing persistence over you, every brush of skin against skin setting fire to your nerves.

Haechan’s hands slid up your sides, urgent but reverent, until they cupped your breasts over your bikini. His thumbs circled your peaked nipples through the damp fabric, coaxing a gasp from your lips. “So soft,” he muttered while kneading your breasts, voice wrecked like he was in a dream he couldn’t quite believe. “So perfect, all for me.”

You arched into his hands, breath catching, and he took that as permission to push the fabric aside once more. Your nipples were pebbled in the open air, and then his mouth was on you, hot and wet, tongue swirling, lips sucking, his teeth lightly scraping. His hips kept moving, grinding against your clit through the soaked barrier between you, the pressure maddeningly precise. “Haechan,” you breathed, your nails digging into his shoulders, your body thrumming with tension.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered between kisses to your chest, hips never stopping. “Gotta make you feel good. I need to–fuck, baby–need to feel you fall apart.”

Your hips lifted instinctively, chasing the drag of his cock against your clit, even through the layer of clothing. His cock twitched, leaking pre-cum that smeared slick against your skin and mixed with your own arousal, making the friction even worse. It was so good it was almost cruel. He rutted harder now, sweat and water making his glide even easier, messy and hot. “Oh my god,” Haechan groaned, hips stuttering. “Fuck…fuck, I’m–”

You felt it before you saw it, his cock jerking between your bodies as he came hard, hot ropes of cum spilling onto your stomach, dripping down your sides as his thrusts slowed, then faltered. He collapsed forward, breathless laughter bubbling against your chest.

“Are you proud of yourself?” he rasped, barely able to lift his head, still panting. “You wrecked me.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut. “A little.” But then you felt it, his cock, still hard, twitching again as he looked down at the mess he made. Haechan moaned low in his throat, eyes glassy as he licked a stripe of cum from your stomach, lips brushing your skin in an obscene way.

When he reached your navel, he looked up to you with something dark and hungry. “Inside this time,” he whispered. You didn’t say a word, you just nodded.

He surged up to kiss you, slow and deep, tongue sweeping into your mouth as he pressed his length against you again. The kiss was different now, less frantic, more deliberate, and you could taste remnants of his cum, tangy but slightly salty as it mixed with the lingering seawater on your skin. You reached between your bodies, tugging your bikini bottom to the side. He groaned as his cock slid through your slick folds, the head catching just below your clit before dragging down again. He did it twice, three times, coating himself in your arousal. Each pass made your thighs shake.

When he finally pressed in slow and steady, stretching you open, you gasped, grabbing his biceps. Haechan held your gaze, even as a tremor ran through his whole body. “You feel unreal,” he whispered. The thrusts were slow and deep at first, hips rolling, not just to chase pleasure, but to memorize how you felt around him. Every drag of his cock against your walls had you gasping, thighs locked around his waist.

Earlier, he had been desperate to lose himself in you. Now, he was desperate to stay in this moment. His forehead pressed to yours. “Let me see you cum,” he pleaded, one hand driving down to circle your clit, the pad of his finger working you in slow, steady circles while his cock filled you over and over.

The pressure built fast, your body was already primed from how he had bullied your clit with his cock earlier, the way he had made you ache from the rutting of his hips before he even got inside you. You cried out, clenching around him, your orgasm snapping sharp and intense as you clenched around his cock.

Haechan moaned as you pulsed around him, his rhythm faltering. “Fuck, baby, you’re squeezing me so tight, so good.”

You felt him tremble above you, like it took every ounce of willpower not to cum. His cock twitched inside you, but he held still, panting against your lips, eyes wide and shining. “Don’t move,” he said, more of a command to himself than to you. “I’m not done.”

Before you could reply, he pulled out slowly, his cock dragging slick and heavy against your walls. You whimpered at the loss, but he was already shifting, already flipping you onto your stomach, handling you like something precious but breakable. Your cheek pressed into the sheets, and you barely caught your breath before you felt his hands spreading you apart, his cock sliding between your soaked folds, grinding up against your entrance and ass, teasing and filthy.

“Shit,” he breathed, rutting forward, dragging the head of his cock through your folds before rocking it between the cheeks of your ass. “You’re so wet…you want it like this, huh?” His voice cracked on a moan as he rocked forward again, not quite slipping in, but close enough to make you ache.

“Please, Haechan,” you whined, writhing back into him, greedy for the weight of him inside you. “Put it back in. I need you.” That was all it took. He pressed into you again, entering you all too easily, your body welcoming him soft and hot and soaked with everything he’d pulled from you. His cock sank in deep, and he groaned loud against your ear, collapsing over you like he couldn’t hold himself up anymore.

“Fuck,” he cried, rutting shallowly, hips flush to your ass. “Fuck, you feel too good. I can’t–I can’t stop.” His arms slid beneath you, wrapping tightly around your chest. One hand curled over your breast, squeezing as he buried his face in the curve when your shoulder met your neck, teeth scraping gently at the skin there. The other traveled down, urgent and clumsy, until his fingers found your clit again. He rubbed you with no tempo, no restraint, just pure desperation. “Wanna feel you cum with me,” his voice was shaking. “Wanna feel you clench around me, while I’m inside, while I fill you up.”

The angle had him pushing in deeper, the stretch unbearable and perfect, your entire body wound up beneath his. You could feel it coming again, the pressure sharp and devastating, your moans helpless as he rutted harder against you, gasping every time you clenched around him. Then it hit, sudden and overwhelming, tearing through you as you sobbed his name into the sheets. Your walls fluttered around him, tight and wet and trembling.

Haechan cursed, cock throbbing deep inside you as he finally let go. He came with a broken cry, hips stuttering against your ass as he pressed as deep as he possibly could, like he never wanted to leave your body again. His cum spilled inside you, warm and thick, and he held you tight, still moving in tiny thrusts, dragging it out as long as he could. Afterward, he didn’t move, just breathed against your back, arms still wrapped around your chest like he was afraid you’d disappear.

You didn’t speak for a long time. Just the two of you, tangled together in the afterglow, his breath fanning hot against your shoulder, your heartbeat slowly syncing back to something steady. His arms stayed wrapped around you, even as his cock softened inside you and your bodies finally relaxed into the sheets. You could feel the sweat cooling on your skin, the dampness between your thighs, the faint ache in your hips, and still, you didn’t want to move.

Eventually, Haechan shifted just enough to slip out of you, making you whimper at the emptiness, but he hushed you with a kiss to your shoulder blade. He pulled away only long enough to grab the towel off the edge of the bed and gently cleaned between your thighs, mumbling quiet apologies when you flinched at the sensitivity. Then, he crawled right back into bed, curling himself around you like he belonged there.

Your legs tangled instinctively. His hand found your waist under the sheet, warm and steady, and he tugged you closer until your back was snug to his chest, your head nestled under his chin. “You good?” he asked softly, voice scratchy and slow.

You nodded, a faint smile playing on your lips. “Yeah. You?”

He hummed in response, then kissed the top of your head. His thumb rubbed idle circles into your hip bone. For a while, the only sound was the lull of waves outside, still crashing softly in the dark, echoing the pulse of your bodies slowly calming down. Then, so quiet you almost missed it, he said, “I want every Friday like this.” Your heart stuttered in your chest. “This one…” He hesitated, tightening his arms around you, like he needed to hold the thought together with his hands. “This one feels like the start of something.”

Your breath caught. You twisted just enough to look at him over your shoulder. His face was half-lit by the moonlight cutting across the room, but you could see the sincerity there. His eyes were warm and tender, never leaving yours. You reached up to brush his hair back from his forehead. “It does,” you whispered. “It really does.”

He smiled, slow and soft, and leaned in to kiss you again, gentle, no heat this time, just truth. Neither of you said anything else. You didn’t need to. Not when you were already wrapped up in what was starting, and not when Friday had never felt this good.

The next morning, the light changed everything. It slipped in slowly through gauzy curtains, bathing the villa in soft gold. The ocean beyond the villa was calm now, like it had worn itself out from singing you to sleep. The salt-heavy breeze drifted in and made the white linen curtains sway, lazy and warm.

You were still asleep when Haechan stirred. He didn’t move much, just shifted enough to lean up on one elbow, the sheet barely clinging to his hips. His gaze drifted to you, still curled beneath the covers, one hand tucked under your cheek, lips slightly parted. Your hair spilled across the pillow like something he could get lost in, and maybe he already had.

He reached out, touched your shoulder gently, tracing the faintest circles with his fingertip. Not enough to wake you, just enough to feel the shape of you, real and here. You made a sleepy noise in your throat, but didn’t open your eyes. He smiled to himself. “What would life look like with you?” he pondered quietly, not really expecting an answer, just letting the thought live in the morning light. His finger trailed down your spine, leisurely. “Would we have a house?” he mused, voice low and thoughtful. “Backyard? One of those little ones who tugs at your shirt after preschool and asks for snacks and cartoons?” He paused, the smile spreading wider, eyes fond. “A kid who likes Fridays.”

You shifted under the sheets, breath catching on a sleepy laugh. Your voice came muffled against the pillow. “We’ll find out,” you murmured, still half-asleep. “One Friday at a time.”

His heart pulled tight. God, he wanted that. Not just the house, not just the child, but this–this exact moment, you still drowsy in his bed, the sound of your voice soft from sleep, your warmth next to him, as natural as breathing. He leaned down and kissed the bar curve of your shoulder, lingering there like a promise. “I’d give you every one,” he whispered. “Every Friday I’ve got.”

When you finally opened your eyes and turned to look at him, sleepy and smiling, it felt like maybe you believed him. Because this one, this Friday, felt like the start of everything.

Years later, Fridays still hold meaning in your house. They always have, and probably always will. You hear them before you see them, your daughter’s giggles echoing down the hallway, pure and breathless, followed by the familiar thud of Haechan’s socked feet on the hardwood floor.

He’s carrying her on his hip, her backpack slung over his other shoulder, her tiny hand clinging to the collar of his shirt. She’s still wearing the glittery pink hair clip she insisted on this morning, slightly askew now from whatever adventure she had at preschool. Her cheeks are flushed from the walk home, smiling brightly as she talks excitedly about something that happened on the playground.

“She made a painting today,” Haechan calls out as he steps into the living room, his voice loud and proud. “It’s us. All three of us. And the sun has hearts in it because she said that’s what Friday feels like.”

You set your laptop aside, rising from the couch just as your daughter wriggles in your arms, reaching for you. “Mommy!” she squeals, arms flung wide as Haechan lowers her carefully into your embrace.

“She missed you,” Haechan murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple before dropping her backpack by the door. “And she may or may not have convinced me to stop for strawberry milk.”

Your daughter pulls back just enough to show you her pink-stained lips and a guilty smile, causing you to laugh. “I see that.”

Later, after dinner and bath time and a chaotic attempt at brushing her teeth, the house quiets again. The dishes are done, the toys are tucked away, and the soft glow of your living room lap spills across the floor as Haechan settles beside you on the couch, one arm thrown over the backrest, content. There’s something in the stillness that feels earned.

You glance at him, your body relaxing instinctively in his presence. Even now, with fewer stages and more studio days, he’s still unmistakably him. His voice still sells out records, his face still flashes in LED lights on billboards from time to time. Fans still recognize him in grocery stores, still send letters with inked hearts in the margins. But here, like this, barefoot with his daughter’s preschool painting in his lap, he’s just Haechan. Yours.

And somehow, you’re not just the girl who loves music anymore, you’re in it. You belong to the music world just as much as he does, not as a spectator, but as a contributor. Your name rolls across credits on streaming platforms, buried between synth programmers and vocal producers. Your beats pulse through earbuds across continents, your songs make it into playlists people fall in love to. You’d once dreamed of this life from behind classroom desks and secondhand headphones, back when it felt impossibly far away. Now, it’s home.

Haechan turns to you, brushing his hand gently across your knee like he can read your thoughts. “Didn’t think I’d end up with the label’s most in-demand producer,” he says, voice soft with admiration. “Kind of a dream for me.”

You smile, a little shy even after all these years. “Didn’t think I’d end up working for my husband.”

“Mmm,” he hums, leaning in with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Technically, I work for you. Have you seen the way everyone treats you in the studio now?” You laugh, shaking your head as he shifts to press a kiss to your cheek. “I’m serious,” he adds. “You walk in and it’s like ‘oh my god, it’s her.’ You earned that. Every bit of it.” You let the words settle in your chest, warm and solid. A breeze moves through the curtains, the night quiet and full.

You’re searching for a charger in the drawer of the side table next to the couch when your fingers graze against paper, thin, crips, and familiar. You pull it out and smile as the memories rush forward. Plane tickets, the villa, that first real Friday.

Haechan sees what you’re holding, and his expression shifts into something fond. “You kept those?”

“Of course I did,” you tell him, brushing your thumb over the dates.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes tracing the curve of the old boarding pass in your hand. “Best Friday of my life.”

You glance over at him, then nod toward the hallway where your daughter’s bedroom door is cracked open, the glow of her night light spilling out. “Until the next one,” you murmur.

That night, the three of you end up in the same bed. It wasn’t planned, just one of those nights where the world outside felt far away. Your daughter lay between you, her fingers curled around the edge of your shirt, breathing steadily and even. Haechan reaches for your hand in the dark and squeezes it when he finds it. You squeeze back. And you know, just as you did back on that villa in the morning light, that this is the start of everything, all over again.

Fridays are still yours. They always will be.

Autoplay: If you liked this, you may also like Some Kind Of Wonderful - L.Mark

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ssahotchnerr · 1 year ago

Note

Mom!friend reader bringing everyone cute lunches at the bau with personalized little notes for each person 😭 maybe hotch doesn’t even know that you do this for the others too so when someone mentions readers cooking, he’s like “wat”

personalized

ADORABLE cw; bau!fem!reader, established relationship, mentions of food, fluff and aaron being cute <3

the pace at which aaron was moving must've been more intense than he intended and realized; as he hurried past jj's desk, the small draft that followed caused a small piece of paper to flutter to the ground.

uttering an apology, aaron immediately reached down to pick it up. however it had landed face up, and his eyebrows furrowed in small confusion as he caught a glimpse of its contents.

your familiar handwriting kept his eyes, instead of peering away as he normally would - 'my sweet jj! thank you so much for your help on the arizona case file, you're a total lifesaver and your expertise is always appreciated, hope you know that. enjoy <3 ps - your new lavender sweater is the cutest. must plan a shopping day w/ pen soon!'

aaron's eyebrows stayed in that confused line, his eyes shifting up to jj's in a silent question.

"came with the cookies." jj answered for him, pointing her head towards the tupperware container perched on her desktop.

instantly aaron's mind made the connection - so that's why you were up late baking. that made more sense; the time you had spent baking was much too long for the small plateful quantity he had found reserved for him and jack this morning.

"pretty girl sure knows how to cook." derek added into the conversation as he approached the cluster of desks, raising his hand to pat aaron on the back but stopped himself halfway - aaron shot him a pointed look, hiding his own amusement, while jj attempted to conceal her smile with her palm.

another eyebrow furrow. "and when have you had her cooking?"

"here and there. always comes with a note too. i could just about fill a desk drawer with how many i have." derek admitted, with his signature, vivid grin. "she may be yours, we get special treatment too, y'know."

a bit later, you strolled into aaron's office, juggling numerous files in your hands.

"as requested," you started, dropping them firmly onto aaron's desk. "five action reports, minus dave's. he told me when you're as experienced and italian as he is, you can slack off and kinda get away with it. but i think that's his fancy way of admitting he's old." you joked with a eye roll.

"thank you," aaron flashed you a smile, sorting through his current papers. assuming that was all, you spun on your heel to head out and return to the everlasting joy of paperwork, but, aaron's voice stopped you.

"hey hold it, c'mere a sec."

you pulled back one of the chairs in front of hiss desk, the legs producing a scraping noise against the floorboards, but aaron gestured for you to come around. your eyes darted in the direction of his open blinds, then back at him. 'you sure?'

aaron nodded in confirmation. and if you needed any more convincing, once in reach you were pulled onto his lap, his hold on you tight.

if he wasn't being a stickler on the open affection, neither were you; you relaxed yourself against him just as you would normally, your body melting into his and throwing your arms loosely around his neck. "what's up?"

"i didn't know you wrote the team notes."

"oh," you laughed softly, with a light shake of your head. by habit your fingers ran along the skin of aaron's neck, scratching the nape of his hair gently. "yeah, if i bring in lunch or a treat or something. or both. or sometimes just because. an appreciation reminder."

aaron nodded, his fingers drumming against your hip comfortably.

"that's not a problem, is it?"

"well," aaron pretended to think, his hand changing motions and sliding up and down your side, "yes."

"actually?" you blurted as your own fingers paused. that wasn't the answer you expected, and it caused a rush of nervous heat to pool within you. until, you saw the feigned, solemn expression on his face.

aaron peered down at you, his playful eyes canceling out the forced pout on his lips. under his breath, he mumbled humorously, "i thought i was the only one getting notes."

you laughed brightly, the joy within the sound immediately bringing a smile to aaron's lips. "oh don't worry, they don't get the lipstick smooch on theirs. that's reserved for you and you only."

"i would hope not."

"or the, occasional... explicitness."

"again, i would hope not." aaron laughed again. his lips graced your temple, lingering gently as he spoke, "you're sweet."

"a very wise, very attractive person once said, 'people need to know they're important'." your lips quirked into a loving smile, a glint in your eyes. "thought this would be an easy way - i learned from the best."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x fem!reader

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vigsplosion · 1 month ago

Text

Stepsister g!p paige x reader

Third person pov:

Paige is in the gym practicing with her team, and currently they're shooting jumpers. They were having a good time, talking about anything when Kk, paige's teammate change the topic to paige's stepsister y/n.

"How's your sister doing paige?" Kk asked while shooting from the free throw line. Paige who is behind kk waiting to shoot answered, "she's doing alright, but she hasn't had any sleep this past few days because of nursing school", y/n is a first year nursing student at uconn and is the daughter of paige's step mother, when paige heard that y/n was searching universities to pursue nursing, paige insisted that y/n should join her in uccon to watch over her and they're parents agreed.

Azzi who just finished shooting a jumper before kk was behind paige and overheard their conversation asked worriedly, "awww is she ok? I know nursing school is hard" paige who just finished shooting goes back to the line then answered azzi's question "yeah im gonna check on her after practice, don't worry" kk who was now behind paige then said "you better 'cause that's my girl boo", paige just laughs "shut up kk".

Fast forward paige is inside y/n's dorm after practice and 'cause paige has the duplicate key to her dorm, she didn't shower at the gym because she wants to shower at y/n's dorm, she was sweating so bad that the jersey is clinging on her body.

Paige goes to the living room to put her bags on the sofa and she strips her jersey off and throws it in the laundry basket, she's just wearing a sports bra and basketball shorts. Paige goes to y/n's room and catches her still studying and she looks like she hasn't had any sleep in days, paige who is worried for y/n goes inside the room and after knocking on the ajar door, proceeds to put her hands on y/n's shoulders to give her a massage. Y/n relaxed in paige's massage tiredly demands "paige stop please i have to study 'cause we have a test in two days" paige who continued to massage y/n answered back "y/n, you have been studying two days ago maybe you need to relax to rest your brain and you need sleep too 'cause you have some massive eyebags goin' on there" paige said and joked at the same time. "But-" y/n retorts "aph no listen to me you need to sleep now" paige demands then carries y/n out of her desktop. "Ugh fine" y/n surrenders, "wear something comfortable, you know what? Im gonna do it for you" paige then goes to the closet then grabs a pajama top then a comfy short shorts, "here now change" paige gives her the clothes then sits on the desktop chair to watch her change, why would paige watch y/n change? to ensure that y/n follows paige orders, paige has been doing this since they were in high school.

Y/n who is accustomed to paige's behavior strips her shirt off first and she is not wearing underneath the shirt, so her boobs are now showing, her nipples hard 'cause of the ac and then pushes down paige's stolen basketball shorts leaving her wearing only a panty on. Paige who is seated in the desktop chair watches with a dark glint in her eyes then paige gets hard, she puts her hand subtly on her lap then massages her dick through her shorts. Meanwhile, y/n is putting on the shorts first then the pajama top, when she is done buttoning she looks to paige who is watching in the corner, one hand on her lap the other on the arm rest. "There, happy now paigey?" Y/n questions, "yeah i'm happy, now im gonna tuck you to bed" paige said then stood up then walks closer to y/n then helps her get comfy and puts the duvet on y/n up to her neck. "Im gonna go take a shower now, ok?" Paige said "ok" y/n mumbles, "sweet dreams" paige then gives her a forehead kiss for five seconds then goes to the bathroom inside y/n's room.

Paige strips her sports bra, basketball shorts and then boxers, her cock springs out and smacks on her stomach, her cock is red and veiny and is dripping with precum, paige moans then grabs her dick then strokes it a couple of times. After a few seconds she goes inside the shower stall then showers while thinking about y/n's body. Paige has been obsessed with y/n since their parents introduced them and y/n was and is paige's first love. When paige committed to uconn she feared that she will never see y/n again for a long time till christmas breaks but a year later, paige heard that y/n was gonna take nursing so paige was desperate that y/n take nursing at uconn, and her plan worked. Now paige can look after y/n and make sure that no one will pursue her.

Paige finished showering and drying her body and hair, she goes outside the bathroom with nothing but a towel hanging losely on her waist, her cock still hard and the outline of it can be seen through the towel. She saw y/n fast asleep on the bed so she goes to the closet to fish out her sports bra and boxers, paige has a compartment of her clothes on y/n's 'cause paige keeps visiting y/n in her dorm. She puts on the sports bra first then removes the towel on her waist in front of y/n who is sleeping then puts on her boxers with her hard cock resting on the left side. Paige goes to the other side of the bed climbs in pulling y/n closer to her body, with her cock resting on y/n's ass. Paige inhales y/n's scent on hair and neck. She waits for a minute to make sure y/n's really sleeping, a minute passed, then paige checks on y/n's face and then puts her hand between y/n's thighs close on her pussy, she massages her inner thigh then cups her pussy through her shorts afterwards circles her clit y/n whimpers then positions herself with her back on the bed and closing her legs to stop what she is feeling, but paige just spreads her legs wide putting her right leg and interlocking it on y/n's left leg, with her right on y/n's clit and her left hand on her cock, motioning it up and down through her boxers, y/n jolts and attempts to close her legs but can't so she grips the biddings and her hips are in the air, thinking that it was a dream, but it is very real. About two minutes of y/n tossing and attemping to turn, paige stops and y/n relaxes on the bed, sweat on her forehead, her panties and shorts are soaked. Paige puts her right hand at her nose and inhales y/n's pussy smell on her hand.

Paige removes the duvet that was covering their bodies and places herself between y/ns thighs, she removes the shorts gently to not wake y/n, once successful, she spreads her pussy through her panties the outlline turning paige on, paige moans at the sight and puts her face on the pussy, her nose at the clit and inhaled y/n's scent and while her left hand is on her cock motioning it up and down, she licks y/n's pussy through her panties and y/n's moans gripping the bedding, paige continues to lick on her pussy for a minute, once done her panties soaked with paige's saliva. Paige removes her boxers and puts her cock head on y/n's clit bumping and playing with it. Y/n is now breathessly moaning now, paige puts her cockhead on y/ns pussy hole then push it through her panties, then fucking her, the panty was stretch because of paige, her cock is inside along with the panties, but not to much to break the hymen. Paige then unbottens her pajama top and y/ns boobs was revealed, paige grabs the left boobs and sucked her nipples while the left hand circles her clit. Y/n is gasping for air, in her head she thought it was a dream, a wet dream but it felt so real, she is pleasured so much she can't help it she comes.

She moans so loud and her body is shaking, she is sobbing because it's to much, she can feel something is inside her still and sucking on her nipples she blacks out.

Paige slides her cock head out of her pussy then removes the panties, y/n's pussy wet from her cum, paige moans at the sight then puts her thumb on her clit, doesn't give a fuck that y/n's black out, then slides her cock inside y/n's pussy but just the head. She kissed y/n to wake her up, sucking on her tounge, for a while she just kissed her then y/n woke up of someone sucking on her tounge, she opens her eyes and saw paige's close on her own, her eyes widened and she panics but paige clamps her mouth while sucking her nipples again but on her right, she stops sucking then makes a shhh gesture on her left hand while making eye contact, y/n nods, paige removes her hand then nips y/n's neck, y/n moans, both her hands scratching on paige's back, y/n moans and asked "why are you doing this to me paigey?" Paige cock goes impossibly hard then kisses her lips and confessed "i have been in love with you since the first time we met y/n, you are my first love and will be forever, but when i saw you sleeping and not on guard around me, i just can't help it, i need to claim you now" she growls but y/n retorts "but we can't paige! It's wrong" "well, too late" paige said, grabs both y/n's hands then hold them with her left hand, afterwards with her right hand, she holds her cock, taps it on her clit then slides inside of her wet pussy, breaking her hymen in the process. Y/n screams and pleads for paige to pull out but she doesn't listen, she's just inside of her, letting y/n adjust on her cock, paige kisses her while lightly choking her using her right hand while the other plays with her clit.

Y/n is now a sobbing and whimpering mess, her checks and nose colored dusty pink, paige then marks her neck and breast. Then paige moves slow at first for a few minutes then she's full on pistoning on her pussy, "fuck you're pussy so tight it's made for me y/nn" paige grumbles while choking her, y/n is now looking at the ceiling, eyes dazed and dilated because of the pleasure that paige is giving her, both her hands scratching paige's back, when paige hits her g-spot, she moans while shouting then squirts making her roll her eyes and she spams while paige just keep fucking her, like y/n's a fuckdoll. Y/n bites paige on her left shoulder. Paige feels a pull in her groin then pistons away resulting in y/n coming again, paige pulls her cock out and strokes herself and cums, she cums outside her pussy, was done she taps her cock on her clit a couple of times, after that she stood up, grabs some tissues then wipes her cum on her pussy, then she drinks some water, looking at y/n's well fucked pussy, her hole gaping like it wants paige's cock, she is now fast asleep, paige checks the clock and saw it was 6:07 pm, they haven't had lunch and they start fucking at 2 pm. So paige decides to cook dinner for the both of them but first she wants to kiss y/n, so she goes to her and kisses her, "sweet dreams mama" paige mumbles and goes to the kitchen to cook while she's naked.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #g!p paige bueckers #uconn #wbb #wnba #wnba x reader #smut #wlw smut

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nerdygirlramblings · 7 months ago

Text

Off to See the Wizard (2)

previous | next

tw: canon-typical violence

Your introduction didn't cause pandemonium, per se, but your effect on the rest of the team was immediate. Soap sat straight up, his eyes alight like a kid who'd been set loose in a toy store. Kyle's whole demeanor unwound, his smile softening, his eyes going glassy, as if all the tension holding him together was suddenly released. Simon tried to make himself smaller, take up less space, maybe disappear into the cushions of the couch he was on. It was clear they didn't know you were coming, and they seemed as excited - well, all but Simon, who seemed terrified - about it as you were.

Things settled down quickly after that as Price reminded everyone this arrangement was for the sake of their next mission. That took some joy out of the introduction, but the electric thrum of excitement was there. You were finally in the same place as your boys.

Your first full day is rather boring. You are only a little startled to hear voices in the hall at 4:30 but then realize the guys are simply getting ready for their morning training. You also slightly regret picking the room next to the bathroom, despite how helpful it will be when you need to shower while the others are around.

You spend your morning setting up your mobile command center with the tech you brought. You arrange the monitors to match your usual setup, pulling up the background files and current mission data across your screens. You send an encrypted message to Laswell updating her on your status. You know she wants someone she trusts here, and encrypting the email is probably overkill, but you didn't get to where you are by assuming anything about safety. You'd been a black-hat hacker before Laswell scooped you up, so you know it's possible.

When you left, she told you you'd have the same decision-making abilities in the field as she does. You've never had that much power, and you want to show Laswell her trust is justified, so your message is a concern about transports and what you'd like to do instead. You want to get her take on it before simply changing things. In your mind, roping her in on these kinds of decisions now means she'll be less likely to challenge any decisions you make when the boys are in the field.

The highlight of your first day is the knock that comes around 1:00, startling you a bit, just as you're realizing skipping breakfast after such an interrupted schedule the previous day was not a smart idea. The only person you know who knows you're here is John, so you quickly open your door, smile already in place. But you're pleasantly surprised to see Kyle instead.

"Hey doll, Cap said you should come eat." He leans against the doorframe, smiling gently at you. "Looks like you're all set."

"Got everything but the curtain," you reply cheekily.

He grins in response. "We may call ya' Oz, but you're so much better than the man behind the curtain."

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks and duck your head. You aren't behind a screen anymore; you're going to need to be more aware of your reactions to the boys if you don't want them reading you like an open book. "You said something about food," you murmur, shuffling paperwork around on your desk.

"Yea. The Captain was hopin' you'd join us," Kyle replies.

You glance up at him in the doorway. "Do I have a choice?" you ask cheekily. You need to eat, but you can't let them think you're so easily commanded. It sets a bad precedent and is at odds with what they know of you from previous missions.

Kyle's smile slides into a smirk. "He did say I might need to convince you."

You aren't sure what he might try to do to convince you, and your mind immediately jumps to some inappropriate fantasies. You're so flustered you quickly stammer, "No, you don't need to do that." You minimize your open programs, leaving a blank desktop, despite the fact you're the only person with access to this office. You turn to Kyle moments later. "I'm ready."

Kyle steps fully into the hallway, gesturing you to lead the way. You pull the door closed behind you, checking to make sure it locks. "You do remember I got the ten cent tour yesterday and don't really know where much of anything is, right?"

Kyle puts a gentle hand on your lower back, in the same way John did last night, unconsciously. He leads you through base, and you watch other groups of soldiers notice you for the first time. Some openly stare while others watch you on their perifery.

You're not sure what they think of you or if they even know who you are, but you don't like their prying eyes. Kyle doesn't seem to like it either, wrapping his arm more possessively around your waist as he guides you to the mess.

Walking through the door, it's easy to find the rest of the 141. For one thing, Simon is massive. Even seated he's nearly a head taller than most of the other people in the mess. For another, you know of their reputation, but the soldiers here have seen it first-hand and keep a wide berth in the mess. You don't know if the distance is out of fear or respect, but it means your boys have a table to themselves near the back of the room.

John and Simon are facing the door, eyes constantly scanning the room. You don't know if this is how they always are, or if they're looking for Kyle and you. You catch John's eye before turning to the food line, but Kyle steers you towards the others. As you approach, he calls out, "Look who I found? An' she's here without any coercion!" Simon looks at you and away again quickly, what is going on with him? Soap turns around, grin stretching across his face.

"Oz, mah girl, finally get ta see yer pretty face! Where've'ye been heedin'?" He pats the space next to him.

You slip onto the bench. "I've been in my office, Soap. Setting things up so I can support you while you're gone." He seems to deflate a little at the reminder that they'll be leaving soon, leaving you. You try not to read into it.

You turn and look at John, who's now across from you, and Kyle, who took the spot on your other side. You don't fail to notice that though your back is to the room, the two most imposing members of the 141 have their eyes on everything in the room, and you're flanked on either side by some of the youngest ever members of such an elite task force. Consciously or not, they've made sure you're well protected.

"So what do you recommend I get?" you ask, glancing around only to realize no one has anything to eat yet. "Wait, did you all eat already?"

John chuckles. "Nah, Oz. We were tryin-a be polite and wait for ya. 'Sides, Laswell said you'd likely skip meals, so I figured eatin' with ya would make sure yer fed." He stands, as does Kyle and Soap. "Now you sit tight with Ghost while we grab some scoff."

You watch as the others get up, leaving you with a Simon who looks anywhere but at you. You notice he has a plain black balaclava on, and he'd been wearing one yesterday too. You wonder if anyone on base knows what he looks like. You don't know what to say as you sit there in awkward silence. This is so different from your usual dynamic with Simon, it makes you uncomfortable.

Minutes tick slowly by, and you look over at John chatting with some other soldiers, Kyle and Soap with a few trays between them. Across from you, Ghost is still silent. And you finally snap.

"Simon?" You try to keep the hurt from your voice as he finally drags his eyes to yours. "Did I do something wrong or offend you somehow?"

series masterlist | main masterlist

an: I'm trying to get Soap's accent, and it's hard because it's all in the vowel sounds, which have to be spelled out. Forgive me any glaring issues.

Taglist: @blackhawkfanatic

#cod #poly!141 #poly!141 x reader #johnny mactavish #john price #simon riley #kyle garrick #off to see the wizard #nerdygirl says #tf 141 #tf 141 x reader

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fatliterature · 7 months ago

Text

The Streamer

Something was happening to Carlos.

Before it began, he was an early 20s hoodie-wearing streamer boy. See his tub of protein powder on the shelf behind him, his laundry basket in the corner, his gym bottle reflecting the blue LED lights of his room. He had all the gear, the lights, the mic, a good brb animation, his subscriber count wasn’t crazy but he was happy with his progress. ‘What is uppp guys uhhhhhh I’m gonna stream some Fortnite tonight guys… but I also wanna watch some stupid videos on YouTube maybe?’ See his face framed by his hood. He’s cute, he has big dark eyes and thick eyebrows, lots of potential. This is the night he makes a mistake. ‘Okay okay okay lemme get up my YouTube okay I have uhhhh…’ He shares his screen with the viewers. There is a kind of guilty pleasure in seeing a streamer’s screen shared for a few seconds, a weird wallpaper, a messy desktop, how many notifications? He opens the browser and brings up YouTube. It’s the usual recommended videos, they look like yours, games, video essays, meme compilations. But what’s that? The bottom right hand corner. There is a recommended video. It’s on his ‘watch again’ list. The screen changes but it’s too late. The chat starts to react. ‘Uhhhhh what are you all talking about?’ There’s a long pause. Belly play video. Belly play video. Bro…. Belly play video? WTF LMAOOOOOOOOO. Bro is watching belly play videos whatttt. OMG. No. No, no, no, no. ‘Chill. Someone uhhhh somebody sent that to me as a joke chat literally chill.’ It’s fine. They’ll move on. They’ll forget it. Jesus why would the algorithm do him dirty like this. Last time he ever shares his screen on his YouTube homepage. Plus, it was TRUE, somebody had sent him it as a joke, and he had loved it, he’d laughed and watched it again, and again, and again. Each time laughing less, each time getting a little quieter, totally perplexed, and… curious. ‘OKAY guys, we’re gonna go to Fortnite.’ He thinks the moment is forgotten. But someone watching him won’t forget.

It’s a few months later. And chat is driving him crazy. He had started eating on stream, just snacks and whatever. But someone in the chat was making it into a thing. 600 calories! The first time they did it he barely noticed. But the next time he ate… 450 calories! Was that the same person in the chat? 1800 calories!!! OMG yesss! Okay, so every time he ate something, they were gonna comment the amount of calories it had, kind of a weird joke. Also, what the fuck, this meal has 1800 calories? He finished his soda. 400 more calories! Keep it up king! Fuck. Something about this was making his brain feel funny. ‘Chat why is everyone calorie counting me? Let me live!’ He looked away from his game for a second and read the chat. We love it king. You should eat more. Everyone spam 5000 CALORIE GOAL in the chat right NOW. 5000 calorie goal!! 5000 calorie goal king Carlos!! You can do it! BANG! He looked back at his game. Game over. You placed #80th. ‘Fuck.’ How long had he been staring at those words? ‘Alright guys, clearly I suck at this game tonight.’ His heart beat a little faster. ‘You wanna see me reach 5000 calories by the end of the stream? Get me to 5000 subscribers! Then maybe I’ll think about it you fucking weirdos.’

It’s a few months later again. This is where it’s safe to say, something was happening to Carlos. He tried not to think about it too much. His audience of subscribers had grown, a lot. And they seemed to be in on the joke. It was a joke by the way, the calorie counter at the top of the screen, which had made the chat go WILD when he first put it up to make them laugh. Carlos found that the more he leaned into the joke, the more his subscribers grew. The more he did what they wanted, the more they came back for more. The more he ate, the bigger he got. And he had definitely gotten bigger. ‘I mean chat, look at me, you’ve made me blow up it’s not even funny, I don’t move off this chair and you want me to RAISE the daily calorie goal are you insane?’ He jiggled a little when he laughed. His brain felt funny a lot of the time now, it made him feel kind of foggy, to play along with this. But what was he doing? He had actually gained weight… and he had yes, gained a lot of subscribers too. And they loved it, they loved it more than the games he was streaming. His breathing got a little faster. What if my subscriber count just kept getting bigger? What if I kept it up? Could this be like, my gimmick? Ge could just let his chat decide how big…. His breathing got a lot faster. Up until this point, he had denied the semi erection that happened every time he started thinking like this. He tried not to think about it too much. But he wanted those subscribers, he wanted his platform to grow… he wanted…to grow. What? ‘Chat I think you guys are messing with my head.’ A long pause. The comments appeared… We just want you to be who you truly are - Calorie Carlos! Omg yes. Calorie Carlos… our fat streamer boy. Carlos felt dizzy. Calorie Carlos! Our growing streamer pig lmaoooo. Okay, his erection wasn’t going away. What the fuck was happening. He tried not to think about it, as he reached for the keyboard. He tried not to think about it, as he raised the daily calorie counter to 6000 a day, he tried not to think about it, as he lifted his hoodie, jiggled his belly for the camera, and changed his name to Calorie_Carlos.

It’s a year later. The games Carlos plays are almost irrelevant. The calorie counter glows in the corner of the screen, it makes sounds and animates as it tracks his every meal, and every time it updates the chat goes wild. The more he gave in, the more he shared his growing belly and showed himself eating, the more every stream filled with responses. Encouragement. Looking good Calorie Carlos! Looking BIG. Keep growing! This changed the landscape of his chat. It…. turned him on, it KEPT him turned on. And eventually it began to change the landscape of his brain. Good streamer. Good piggy. Never stop. He couldn’t get away from it. The hazy brain fog that happened when he read these things, it became how he spent most of his days. Show your belly in the next 1000 calories king. Good fat boy! Eat more for us. What effect did this have on Carlos? He stopped worrying about why this turned him on, the validation he received from so many subscribers meant his mind was filled with encouragement and gluttony, it struggled to find space for anything else. His personality began to change. See his tubs of ice cream on the desks around him, his neglected gym gear pushed into the corner and hidden under empty pizza boxes, his 2 litre bottles of soda reflecting the pink LED lights of his room. He is Calorie Carlos. ‘What is upppp guys uhhhh URPP tonight I’m getting a HUGE fast food order and I’m gonna rate it all as I eat it, I know you all wanna see this massive belly when it’s full ha! Well, you’ll just have to keep watching.’

#belly gainer #gainer boy #weight gain story #gainer stories

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fuctacles · 10 months ago

Text

<<😺😺😺😺 | 😺😺😺😺😺😺>>

if i didn't respond to your comment it's bc desktop tumblr didn't let me, I still love and appreciate y'all

Maybe tomorrow he'd bring his book here, and keep the cats company while he reads. Would they like it if he read it out loud?

Oh lord, the crazy cat lady energy must be rubbing off on him already.

The cats certainly are. He looks down at his black attire now speckled with cat hair, and sighs. He should have asked Steph where the lint roller was before she left. With great effort, he stands up from the comfy couch, vowing to himself to only do a cursory search with no unnecessary peeking.

The entrance seems like an obvious start since people like to de-hair themselves before leaving the house. The dresser next to the door is cluttered with typical things - sunglasses, hand lotion, chapstick, some loose change, and jewelry. No roller in sight. So he goes to the kitchen instead, because kitchen is where everything goes. The cats are watching him curiously from their chosen perches around the house.

"Stop it. This is all your fault."

He finally finds what he's looking for on a windowsill next to a dead fly. He starts cleaning his clothes there, next to the fridge, and its colorful display catches his attention.

There's an Ewok magnet that looks handmade, holding up a birthday card, and a few holiday photos, capturing smiling people in swimming costumes. Some of them look older, like the photo of a kid in a wizard robe, or a pair of bloodied-up teenagers in sailor costumes, which must be a very obscure reference because Eddie hasn't seen it at any costume party before.

The caption under the photo reads BFF but someone added a circle of smaller F's all around the photo, turning them into a frame. Which, if Eddie's connecting the dots correctly, would imply that it's Robin and Steph. The quality isn't the best, but at first glance, he's assumed it must be a family member, maybe a brother, but he remembers her saying she's an only child.

He tracks the other photos, but most of them are new, of the Steph he already knows. There might be more around the apartment, though.

But he's already rolled his shirt and he'll be back tomorrow morning anyway, so he quickly works on his pants' legs, gives the cats a wave, and leaves.

While walking back, he's apparently so lost in his thoughts, he gets startled by his own uncle.

"The cats still alive?"

"Do you want?! Me?! To die?!" Eddie screeches, eyes wide and a hand on his heart, the other holding him upright against the wall. "Why the fuck are you sitting there in the dark?!"

Wayne looks pointedly at the lamp next to him, then to his nephew. Aside from his reading nook in the corner though, the living room has no other light sources right now, but Eddie just throws his hands in defeat, deciding not to argue. Especially not when his uncle finally folded and was reading Blade Runner.

"Must have been thinking some guilty thoughts, huh?"

"Excuse me?" Eddie takes a step back from his course towards the kitchen. His uncle was flipping a page in his book, clearly not reading but not looking up from it either.

"To get scared like that. Did you do something bad, son?" He finally looks up, and Eddie doesn't like it. He looks exactly like his friends just before teasing him about something. "Saw something you shouldn't have?"

Eddie folds his arms and sticks his nose up, hoping the evening darkness hides his warming cheeks.

"I don't know what kind of panty raiding you do up there, but I'm not a pervert."

"Panty riding, huh?" Wayne raises his eyebrows in interest. "That what you boys do in college these days?"

"Do you want a sandwich? Some tea maybe?" Eddie has already turned his back to him and is switching the light on in the kitchen. "And the cats are fine, thanks for asking!"

"Yes and yes. Thank you!"

Eddie prepares them sandwiches and teas and grabs his own book so they can read in silence waiting for the evening news. It's nice to have this, a break from busy and loud college life, just sharing silence and love for books with his uncle.

That is, of course, until Wayne looks at his watch and puts the book down to exchange it for a remote. Eddie likes to keep his nose in the book until the news become too distracting or he catches something interesting being reported on. His uncle has other plans for him this time.

"You know it's alright to like her, right?"

Eddie lowers his book, slightly incredulous that Wayne is still talking about it. He looks at him with wide eyes.

"You really want me to fuck your neighbor, huh?"

Finally, his uncle gets a taste of his own medicine, almost choking on the tea that he unfortunately decided to sip on at that moment. Eddie: one, Wayne: zero.

But later, the score evened out again, as all Eddie could think of while trying to sleep were the pictures on the fridge, and plowing his uncle's neighbor into her mattress until she screamed.

The next morning, with not enough sleep under his belt, Eddie skips two sets at a time, because he totally absolutely royally forgot about the fucking plant.

He fumbles with the keys, can hear the inquisitive meows on the other side of the door, and once he's in he takes a beeline to the kitchen, ignoring the little creatures following him like they have been starving on the streets and he was a fresh batch of tuna factory waste.

The plant looks normal, the same as it did 24 hours ago, and he waters it as per instructions while trying not to even brush its leaves because he truly believes his touch might kill it. His track record with plants indicates so. Only then does he turn to the meowing bunch at his feet.

"Hello, little demons. Time to feast."

The cats are fed, their mouths making unpleasant wet noises against the equally wet food, and Eddie has a moment to take a curious walk around the place, in search of more photos.

He finds a wedding photo, with Steph in a pink dress and stunning make up dancing with a man with curly hair. There's one from a barbecue, where Steph is being hugged by a tall man with a mustache. She's wearing jean shorts and a sweater in this one, and somehow, looks a bit off. It looks older than the wedding one.

But a true treasure chest is the huge frame he finds above a small bookcase.

It's a collage titled 'The fucking journey' that seems to be a collection of Polaroids from a multitude of workplaces, with the same two people present. Year after year, one job after another, until they got where they are today.

It starts with a 1983 and the sailor costumes he's already seen. They are less bruised and more tired in this one. Knowing where to start, Eddie's eyes track from one photo to another, observing Stephanie's features, her wardrobe, and her hair change until she becomes the woman she is today.

There was no boy in that photo on the fridge. It's always been her. Growing into herself.

Is this what his uncle was talking about? Well, not talking, but being annoyingly vague about it, like he wasn't sure what he was talking about himself.

Fear not, Uncle Wayne. Eddie's going to pick up every pamphlet and every zine he can put his hands on, to educate them both about who their neighbor is, how to navigate the topic and respect her the way she deserves.

ko-fi

#crazy cat lady stevie #steddie #transfeminine steve harrington #transfem steve harrington #tw: age gap #age gap steddie #stevie harrington #stevierything #mine

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luveline · 1 year ago

Note

coworker!james is fueling me rn thank u miss jade!! can i pretty please request a coworker!james drabble in which someone at work, a higher-up of some kind or someone visiting from another company being kind of cruel to reader, and jamie discovers that maybe there are several people who have just not been very kind to her, and she doesn’t really understand why he’s upset for her? please and thank u

—Why is James so upset? And how do you calm him down so quickly? fem, 1.2k

The horrible heat of the first week of British summer time finally breaks. It was an eventuality. Nothing good ever lasts for James —he must’ve been enjoying it too much. The sun is gone, the clouds are grey, and the office radiators pump a meek heat into the room.

The dreary skies outside depress him. “I miss the sun,” he sighs, putting the tips of his fingers together and bringing down his hands, base of his palms apart to stretch the sore inside of his wrists. They pang.

“Sunny again next week,” Remus says reassuringly. “Just in time for your review!”

“Please don’t remind me.”

“I must remind you, Jamie.” Remus stands up, and he gives James a loving squeeze on the shoulder, voice close to his ear, “Because you need to pretend you like your job, at least for the next few days. Come and get some coffee with me.”

James waves his hand. “In a second.”

When James met Remus, Remus couldn’t take touch. Didn’t like it or want it, couldn’t accept so much as a compliment, but things change, and years of knowing one another makes squeezing and pinching easy work. Remus flicks him without cruelty and exits the nook, leaving James on his own.

He glares at your empty seat, confused. When did you leave?

Doesn’t matter. Coffee. James is in desperate need of coffee as Remus recommended to warm up. He exits out of his desktop and shucks his suit jacket back on, taking a hand to run through his knotted hair as he walks. Past the desk banks of the account managers and the reception bank to the hallway that runs into the break room and adjourning kitchen. The office is a weird maze but the worst part is having the big ‘conference’ room right next to the break room, so the people inside working can judge you for eating, and vice versa.

The conference room door is propped open.

James recognises you from behind, your hair and tight shoulders. He should recognise the stress, having caused so much of it.

“It’s just not good enough.”

“I know.”

“You coast by, doing half the work of your fellow accountants.”

“I… I was sick for a week, I know it affected my turnover. But nothing went unfinished, sir.”

“No, because your colleagues picked up your slack.”

“Sir, I– I promise I work hard.”

Your voice is so oddly unlike yourself, a tone James is unfamiliar with. He’s arrogant and agitating and has no business interrupting, but he knocks the conference door anyways.

“Hi, Mr. Vida. How’s it going?” James asks.

“James, it’s fine. We’re just going through L/N’s review.”

James pulls one of those boyish smirks that men often share when they should be grimacing instead. “I’m sorry to interrupt.” He hangs on like he has something else to say.

“I think we’re about finished.”

Mr. Vida is a predictable man. He ushers the woman away to make room for the man. His misogyny is unsubtle and unfortunate, your expression laced with hurt as you gather yourself and stand to leave.

“Not looking forward to mine,” James says easily. You round the door, and he sends Mr. Vida a suck-up smile before he goes. He should stand up for you in a way that matters, but he’d felt it imperative to remove you from the situation, rather than escalate.

He’s on your tail, coffee forgotten as you scurry back to the desks. “Hey,” he says, finding himself in a half-jog to keep up, “wait, wait, are you okay?”

You slow. “I’m fine,” you say, so mildly perplexed that he doesn’t think for a moment you’re playing it cool.

“He was getting a little heavy with you.”

You frown in agreement, but otherwise move on, rolling your chair back with your foot to open your desk drawer. “I guess so. He’s like that.”

“Is he? I’ve never had him that mad at me.”

“He’s not that bad.” You pull a blister pack of painkillers from your drawer and pop three out in a row. “Have you met his boss? Oh, have you ever spoken to the manager of the account managers from the Brussels office? She sucks.”

James doesn’t have the wherewithal to pretend he wasn’t following you. He stands with his hands vice-like on the back of his chair. “What did they say to you?”

“Who, Mr. Vida’s boss? Or the Brussels manager?”

“Both.”

You sit and fish a bottle of water from your bag. “I actually filed a successful grievance again Mr. Vida’s boss, he kept calling me sweetheart. I know,” —you wince— “that’s a bit much, but it was really obvious he was looking down at me, so.”

“And the Brussels manager?”

“She emailed me thinking I was much more involved with the lab than I actually am. She kept calling me stupid.” You take one of your tablets and wash it down with a swig of water. “But,” you add, smiling at him, “I did manage to solve her problem.”

“What do you mean, she called you stupid?”

Your smile slips. “She called me a bunch of stuff. Professionally, you know, but she kept asking why my foresight was so sorely lacking. You know what they’re like.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t, no. Nobody’s ever called me stupid. Or sweetheart.”

You smile genially. “Perks of being a girl. Or stupid.” You laugh at yourself softly.

“You’re not stupid.”

You sober at his solemn tone. “I know,” you say. “I’m just joking.”

“Nobody should be talking to you like that.”

“I know, James, but what am I supposed to do?”

He doesn’t know. What can you do? Nothing. What can James do? What should he do?

“I’m sorry,” he says softly.

Your frown deepens. “It’s not your fault. It’s really fine.”

“It’s not fine. It’s not, though, it’s–”

“James?” you say.

“What?”

You stand up. You stand close to him, looking into his face. “Don’t be upset,” you say, mirroring his softer tone, “it’s okay. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with it at all.”

“Well, luckily this time I had you to come and rescue me,” you say. “But it really is fine. I can look after myself, even if I shouldn’t have to. Okay?”

Your hand finds his arm. You squeeze his wrist and his entire torso lights up, everything, his chest, the backs of his shoulders, like goosebumps but warmer and with a softer fuzz to it. Your eyes meet his, an encouraging smile playing on a pretty mouth. For the first time that day, he feels pleasantly warm, like he’s had that first hot sip of coffee.

The pads of your fingers are so, so soft where you catch his bare skin.

“Okay,” he says instinctively. He’d say the sky was red if you asked him to, in that moment.

You rub the back of his thumb with yours before letting him go. You sit down and finish your drink, and it takes James a good two minutes at his own desk to remember he’s not the one who needed comforting.

He opens his emails to write a formal complaint against Mr. Vida for poor work conduct. He doesn’t think twice about hitting send.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

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uracutieraka · 6 months ago

Text

When did you get so pretty

Pt. 1 // Pt. 2

Keigo x Younger!f!reader

SMUT!, yearning, dirty talk, needy!hawks

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

synopsis: You've missed Hawks the past few weeks. But you don't know if he's even missed you. Why has he been borderline ignoring you?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The night after the gala, Hawks had to leave early in the morning.

Hero work and what-not.

You weren't unfamiliar with him getting so busy you only see him in passing at the agency, but you were unfamiliar with these past few weeks behaviors.

Hawks had been distant.

Unable to hold eye contact with you, nor a conversation even.

Anytime you tried to talk to him it had seemed he would get a phone call and have to fly off somewhere.

You had grown bored of being alone in your apartment. At your life. Being single.

You had gotten a sweet, sweet taste of what it was like to be in love and now you just couldn't seem to feed your insatiable cravings for it.

You literally had the hawks begging for you.

What are you supposed to do with yourself after a high like that?

Go back to normal? Hell no.

On the other hand, Hawks was your boss, and close friend.

Maybe he regretted it?

He was drunk after all.

Maybe he changed his mind about not caring what people would think.

After all he had a reputation to uphold.

You had been in your room for hours, overthinking every interaction you'd had with him since that night.

A loud buzzing broke you from your thoughts.

You grab your phone off your desk and pick it up.

'Hey' a quick but simple word had your breath caught in your chest.

'Hey' you finally huffed out.

'Can you come to the office? I have some paperwork I need help with,'

you felt kind of disappointed with his mindless nature of the things he says.

'And, I hate to admit it, but I miss you.'

It was like a new life had been breathed into you.

'I missed you too Keigo.'

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

45 minutes go by and you find yourself entering the familiar work place, pushing the top button of the elevator you make your way to the floor with Keigo's office on it.

Finally the elevator stops, and you couldn't be more eager to get off it and go fill out paperwork.

And speak to him.

Pushing open the door youre welcomed by a warm light filling the room, recognizing it as his lamp your eyes scan across the papers strewn across the desktop.

He looks up at you, smiling a bit before he pushes himself out of his seat.

Moving about the room he retrieves the all too familiar seat youve spent more late nights in than youd ever admit to, helping him fill out paperwork, just chatting on your rare and few slow days of work, or waiting around for him until the early morning hours, just to make sure he came back alive and okay.

“Here,” he motions toward the seat. “Sit down. Get comfortable.”

And you do.

He retakes his seat and hands you a few papers. You naturally put your head down and get to work filling them out.

Time seems to slip away on nights like this.

Hours and hours of paperwork work go into running a successful hero agency, and you knew that.

It also meant hours and hours of time you got to spend with the man.

Finally you look up from the papers infront of you, trying to initiate any kind of conversation.

After a second Keigo looks up, locking eyes with you. He takes a breath in and pushes his pile of papers away from him.

He puts his elbows on the desk and dramatically drops his face into his palms, sighing loudly.

Looking up he finally speaks.

“Look, about that night,” he starts but you dont think youre ready to hear what words inevitably are going to leave his mouth, so you cut him off.

“Im sorry if i made you uncomfortable! Or ruined our friendship! I understand that you want to keep things casual!”

He looks at you in shock.

“W-what? I was going to say I really enjoyed it and wanted to know if you did too?”

You now look back at him, your eyes are so wide you look like a scared cat.

“Huh?” You grumble out, embarrassed at your lack of a filter a few seconds before.

“That night? Did you have fun?” He pops a sarcastic brow at you, giving you a devious smile. Now hes just doing this to be a brat.

You take a deep breath in, finally going to speak.

“Yes.,” You say, its quick and embarrassingly needy.

He hums as if hes looking to find the right words.

But before he can you speak again.

“But, why have you been avoiding me?”

Keigo clears his throat and readjusts in his seat, not expecting a serious question.

“I uh,” hes looking anywhere but you. “Ive had some things going on that im not allowed to talk about. And uh, a villian brought your name up so i had to stay away from you for a while but we got him.”

The way he admits to this secret is so shy and awkward. Like he was a small child admitting to eating the last cookie.

You stare at him blankly. Not expecting him to behave like he is.

Youre used to his goofy and weird side, not his shy and embarrassed one.

“Oh.” Is all you manage to say.

“Yeah. Im- look, im uh, really sorry for not saying anything, like not even giving you a hint or anything. I just couldnt risk this guy finding out, or finding you.”

You knew these things would come with being close to him, but normally since you two were so close, it was someone else that would be brought up in threatening manners by villians.

You two were side by side and had been for a few years, so normally villians just targeted both of you.

But now there was a new found since of, pride?

Like youre really so important to the Hawks that if a villian even mentioned you he would do anything he could to protect you, even if it meant hurting your feelings temporarily.

A sly smirk overtook your face and you gave him a familiar but challenging look.

“So, im really that important to you that villians use me as leverage? Ha! Thats a new one!” You swing your legs over the arms of the chair, putting yourself in a bridal position with the piece of furniture.

Hes silent for a moment, processing the sudden 180° in your behavior before giving you a similar look back.

“You are. Y’know, its honestly really annoying.,” he stands from his spot behind his desk and makes his way so hes behind your back. Your neck leans back to look up at him, and hes already looking down at you, hands on his hips.

“You know why its annoying?”

“Why?” Its a meek whisper almost.

He leans down, putting his rough hands on your shoulders for support.

“Because when I had to stay away from you for so long, all I could do was think about you.”

Hes now rubbing his thumbs in circles on the base of your neck.

“Whys that annoying?” You couldnt hide the bit of nervousness in your tone, scared maybe he really didnt like you.

“Because when all i can do is think about you, my mind starts to wonder…” hes running his hand lightly down your shoulder, than your arm, and tracing it back up again to start over.

“Wonder what?” You are now purposefully whispering.

He moves to be infront of the chair normally, grabbing your ankles and pushing them off the arm rest, signaling for you to sit normally.

You move and sit facing him.

He leans down be in front of you.

He’s so close you can see the faint scars you recognize from past fights. Now healed. Its almost symbolic.

The pain and hurt a person goes through can just fade away to seem like it almost never happened.

You find yourself lost in this train of thought, so much so, that you dont even realize youve lifted your hand to cup his cheek. Its almost as if it was a reflex, or maybe a way to prove this was actually happening, who knows.

He leans into your palm and lets out a small sigh, as if maybe hes doing the same as you, trying to figure out if all of this was really happening.

Its interesting, just a few years ago you were some total fan girl and now here you are, in his office in the late hours of the night, with him literally in the palm of your hand.

“Y’know,” he speaks up. “Before a few weeks ago i didnt even notice.”

“What?” Its as if he only said half a thought out loud, which is something he tends to do often.

“That I was actually in love with you.”

You move at the sudden admission of romance.

In love with, you?

Keigo ‘Hawks’ Takami just said hes in love with you.

“You- you- HUH?!” You move so now youre standing up hands waving around in the air.

“Is that not what this is?” Hes now standing as well, a look of hurt is on his face.

“No it is. It definitely is. Im just,” you breath in and now stand straight looking at him. “Im caught off guard is all.”

His face eases for a second before he changes to a quizzical one.

“Im confused.”

“Youre confused?” You ask.

“Yeah, because obviously youve been in love with me since however long because i saw the posters in your room, and we spend almost all our time together, like you even come into the bathroom with me when i shower, and yet i dont know why i didnt know sooner.”

Hes dead serious.

This man is just now figuring that out?

And hes a prohero?

Gods, help us all.

You deadpan at him now, throwing a hand on your hip sassily.

“It took seeing some old posters in my room from like 5 years ago to figure it out?”

Hes now giving you a shocked expression.

“Well its not like you said anything!”

“Out of respect for you! And anyways i should be the confused one! You spent 2, nearly 3 weeks, basically avoiding me, which i now know why, but then you call me to do paperwork and confess your love for me!”

“Well I’m just figuring it out since that night!”

Its an argument, but theres no ill-intent, you know that, he knows that, you guys do this often enough.

“What?”

He now looks embarrassed, a blush is on his face.

“I think that maybe i’ve felt like this for a while but I just didnt realize this is what i felt. Ever since i saw you all done up that night and relaxed, i guess it just clicked? I guess?,” he clears his throat. “Like that ive felt like this for a while.”

“Well ive known how i feel.” You feign arrogance, to lighten the mood.

He chuckles a bit, stepping towards you.

He closes the distance.

Pushing some of your hair behind your ear he whispers to you. “Yeah? And how exactly do you feel?”

You give him a small smile.

“Im definitely in love with you.”

A soft chuckle leaves his mouth, hes so close you can feel it on your skin.

“Good.”

He closes the distance, his lips meeting yours.

Its hungry and desperate.

You feel a primal like desire rising in your belly, reaching up your hands find their way to sit on each side of his face, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.

A slight moan leaves his mouth at the sudden movement.

He backs up until you hit his desk.

He leans down grabbing the underside of your thighs, then hoists you up onto the tabletop.

He readjusts to stand between your legs, restinf his forehead on yours he breathes out a few words.

“All that thinking i did, fuck, i need you so bad y/n.”

Hes so desperate for you it makes you weak in the knees.

You chuckle slightly and pull his face back to lock lips with yours again.

After a moment you whisper in his ear.

“Not as badly as i need you keigo.”

He gives you a wide eyed look before you see something in him completely change.

It's as if something in him snapped, he grabbed your face pulling you back in once again, harsher and more hungry.

He pulls you to the edge of the desk, so you and him are flush against each other.

your arms are wrapped around his neck and his hands are on your thighs, he glides them up to rest on your hips.

He grinds against you, slowly, almost like he's making sure it's ok too do it.

You grind back on him, letting him know its ok to do so.

He begins, slow, honey like movements of his hips, and you do the same, matching his pace, rocking forward into him.

Your tongues clash in each others mouths, soft moans leaving the both of you.

You can feel him through his pants, and it's not like you really needed any more proof of how big he was, you had already gotten an idea a few weeks ago before your last heated make out session was interrupted.

He pulls away, breathing hard.

"Can... can I take your clothes off?"

It's shy and sheepish, surprising coming from the man who was so eager and bold just minutes ago.

"Please."

He licks his lips before moving to pull your shirt off.

He then unbuttons your pants, pushing them down to your knees, you make haste to step out of them fully.

Lastly he reaches behind you and unhooks your bra clasps, stepping back slightly he pushes the straps forward, letting the bra slide off your arms and onto the floor.

You're now only left in your underwear.

He looks down, then up, then down, almost like he's taking a mental picture, but it doesn't make you feel any less awkward. You bring your hands up to cover your chest.

He quickly pulls them off and shakes his head 'no'.

He grabs your hand and brings it to his belt clasp, you take this as a hint to undress him.

Doing so you unbuckle his belt, then undo his pants. pushing them down, keigo kicks them off to the side.

You then lift the bottom of his shirt, in a slight way to let him know you want him to be the on to take it off.

He does.

Now you're both In the same predicament you were in at your apartment.

Underwear was the only thing separating you from him.

He walks forward, quickly closing the gap again.

You guys are standing in his office almost completely naked, kissing, he's running his hands all over you, you're doing the same to him, grabbing his biceps and running your hands up and down them.

He lifts you up setting you onto the desk again.

He drops to his knees and pulls your underwear down until they're hanging off one of your ankles.

Pushing your legs apart, He groans burying his face into you.

His tongue circles your clit a few times before he finally locks onto you.

He's eating you out like a man who's been starving for years.

You're moaning and tugging his hair between your fingers, holding the loose strands out of his face.

After a few minutes of this he stops, standing back up he wipes his face.

Leaning down he kisses you again.

You move your hand forward and tug at his waistband on his boxers.

He pulls them off quickly.

You break the kiss to look down and finally see him fully.

It's big, like you predicted.

You reach out and touch it, wrapping your fingers around it, you look back up at him to make sure it's ok you're even doing this.

He kisses you.

You kiss back and begin pumping his length for a moment before scooting forward to the edge of the desk.

You run his tip up and down yourself for a minute, using the wetness as a lube.

You finally line him up to your entrance, rocking your hips forward it pushes in a bit.

He hisses and you moan a bit.

He moves to be closer to you, pushing himself in further and further until he's all the way in.

You both moan when he does.

He's still for a moments so you decide to speak.

"Keigo. Need you to do sum'thin' please." Its breathy and sounds so sweet and pretty coming from your mouth.

"Sorry pretty girl, j'st needed a second."

His voice is strained and gravelly.

He begins moving at a steady pace, not too slow nor too fast.

You throw your head back and moan softly.

Keigo can't believe his eyes.

You are the most gorgeous woman he's ever seen.

You looks so pretty under him too.

He feels like he's being baptized in your beauty.

a sultry and soft call of his name breaks him out of his trance like state.

"Keigo, f-faster."

He picks up the pace and wraps his hands around your thighs, pulling them up around his waist.

you lean back so you're propped up on your elbows.

"F-fuck! Feel s'good Kei."

"A-ah!"

Moans, and cries of the mans name fill up the room.

He stops for a moment, pulling you off the desk before he bends you over and pushes you back over the top of it.

Your feet are on the ground still, but now you're ass up for the man.

He moans loudly before speaking.

"God damn, you're so fucking sexy baby. Gonna make you mine."

You wimper pushing yourself back in a pathetic attempt to get him back inside you.

He takes the hint and pushes himself back in.

He reaches over, wrapping your hair around his hand, pulling back he forces you to arch in a 'c' like shape, your head is on his shoulder, while he's still in you.

He moves his hand to wrap around your throat.

He kisses your jaw as he begins moving his hips.

Slowly at first, but then his hand gets slightly tighter around your throat and he suddenly begins thrusting faster and faster.

you move to drop your hands on the desktop.

His arm extends with your movements, as his had that was on your throat now makes its way back into your hair, yet again. He's still thrusting in and out of you hard.

He continues the same pace for a moment before yet again pulling out of you.

He guides you towards the large window in his office. It overlooks the city down below.

"What- What are you doing."

"Gonna show everyone what's mine."

You go to speak again but before you can, he pushes back into you. Simultaneously pushing you against the window. He has your cheat pushed against the cold glass.

You know from this height nobody could actually see you without binoculars.

But the thrill of getting caught like this made it all the more alluring to you.

He is moving a a fast pace again.

Slapping and squelching is ringing in your ears.

He's moaning loudly, as his strokes are getting sloppier and sloppier.

"Im- Im gonna cum."

"D-do it.," you reach under you to touch yourself while he's pumping in and out of you. "M'gonna- cum too, fuck kei!"

"Good- good job baby, a-ah! Fuck cum- cum for me." he's breathless and his words are broken up through choked moans.

"M' summing!" you chant out.

He pulls out of you, pumping himself briefly before moaning your name loudly followed by a "Me too baby!"

He slowly stops pumping himself and his breathing gets heavier.

You stand up, on shaky legs and turn to face him.

Your eyes scan over the office, clothes are every where, papers scattered on the floor.

You look down, a huge stain on his carpet from the messes you two had just made.

You wrap your arms around your chest and move away from the window.

"So, uhm, this is a huge mess."

He now looks around the room.

"Yeah..."

"Well I guess we better get cleaned up!"

He stares at you blankly for a moment.

You speak up.

"Then maybe you'd want to come over? And stay the night at my place? Maybe we could shower?" A devious grin spreads on your face and you wiggle your eyebrows at him.

A similar grin fills his face too.

"I mean, if that's an invite, who am I to turn it down?"

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Omg y'all sorry it took me so long to do this second part!

taglist

@asteruuu

@ava-cjkk

@gotacoinslot

#x reader #mha #fanfic #mha x reader #hawks smuh #hawks smut #mha hawks #mha smut #bnha #my hero academia #my hero acedamia #boku no hero acedamia #mha fanart #mha liveblog #boku no hero academia

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rizlowwritessortof · 3 months ago

Text

Friends and Lovers

You and Dean were the best of friends - until the night something happened that changed everything. But when you tried to move on, Dean was always standing in your way. And when you signed up for an online dating service, he was a total dick about it. What the hell did he want from you, anyway??

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 4719

Warnings: Nothing but a little angst, arguing and smut

Square #8 for my @jacklesverse-bingo 2025!! Prompt for this one was: Online Romance. Hope you enjoy!!

“It’s just a bad idea,” Dean argued, glaring at his laptop to avoid looking at you.

“Dean, people do online dating all the time.”

He scowled at you. “People. Maybe. I still think it’s stupid. But the thing is, we’re not ‘people.’ We’re hunters.”

You rolled your eyes. “What the fuck does that have to do with it?”

He let out a long-suffering sigh. “Do you know what internet dating is to monsters? A fucking take-out menu.”

“Oh, my god. You are so dramatic.”

“These things never work out well. I know.”

Sam snorted softly from his seat at the end of the table. “Impala ‘67,’” he muttered, and Dean shot lasers his direction.

“Shut up, Sam!”

You closed your laptop and glared across the table at him. “Look, I’m sorry about your hooker and her demon pimp. But this site is different.”

“Right.”

“You won’t even listen, so this – this discussion is over.” You stood up, grabbing your laptop and moving to leave the room.

Dean leaned forward, his eyes sparking with anger as he raised his voice. “Just a bunch of assholes lying to you, that’s what you’re gonna get. And you’ll be lying to them, because you can’t be totally honest about who you are to some clueless civilian.”

That stung. “Fuck you, Dean!” you fired back as you stormed away, heading for your room. You slammed the door with extra emphasis, and the sound echoed through the bunker. You let out a muffled scream of frustration, dropping your computer onto the desktop and throwing yourself down on the bed.

He was so stubborn. You knew he was just being protective – over-protective – and that he wanted to keep you safe, but nothing fired you up more than his obstinate refusal to listen to someone’s viewpoint that didn’t align with his. He pushed your buttons in a way that no one else had ever done, and it pissed you off that you let him get to you like he did.

The argument had been going on for days. It had all started when you signed up on the dating app, Friends and Lovers. Their whole approach was the antithesis of the hook-up sites that were basically there for booty calls. No photos were allowed, each person signing up was assigned a generic name, once they filled out a form stating their pronouns, relationship preferences, general likes, dislikes, and interests. They encouraged setting up private chats, spending time getting to know each other for a few weeks before actually meeting in person. The whole premise was that building a friendship first would be a stronger foundation for a lasting relationship instead of basing everything on looks and physical attraction.

And if Dean hadn’t been snooping on your computer, he wouldn’t have known anything about it. Ok, fine, he had just asked to borrow it, and you had left the app open by accident. But he’d been riding your ass about it ever since.

This was all his fault in the first place. That night a few months ago had fucking ruined everything. Before that, you had resigned yourself to being his bestie without benefits, no matter how you really felt. Because you knew he didn’t feel the same way, so you just pushed it down and enjoyed what the two of you did have together. And then he had to go and give you that spark of hope for one quick second, that glimpse of what could be, and it had fucked it all up.

You woke gradually, reluctant to leave the warm, cozy comfort of sleep, your eyes fluttering open and blinking slowly. Dean’s green eyes were right there, looking down at you as he brushed a lock of hair from your eyes. “Hey, sleepyhead. You didn’t even make it halfway through – lightweight,” he teased.

He was so close. It finally dawned on you that you were laying on his shoulder, and he smiled in amusement at your sleepy confusion. “Are you with me?”

“Yeah, I think so. Wow, I crashed,” you muttered, yawning.

“Big time.” You looked up at him again, a sleep-drunk smile on your lips. He was still staring down at you, his smile slowly fading. Something in his eyes changed as he looked at you, moving closer, and closer, and you wondered for a second if you were still dreaming, because it looked like – oh, shit, it felt like – he was going to kiss you. You let your eyes drift closed again, and you could feel his breath, could sense his lips almost brushing against yours.

And then he froze. He stayed there, motionless, for a moment, then straightened up so suddenly that your eyes opened again, searching. He was sitting bolt upright, stiff, jaw clenched as he looked away from you. Then he leaned away, rising to his feet after you sat up in response, disoriented, your head spinning a little at the sudden change in the atmosphere.

“Guess we should hit the sack, huh? G’night.” And then he was gone, leaving you feeling suddenly cold, alone, and utterly rejected.

Your relationship – whatever it was – hadn’t been the same since. He had pulled away, keeping you at arms length, and you had pulled away, too – hurt and confused. And the longer it had gone on, the bigger the rift had grown.

Dean sat there staring at his computer, his brows bunched as he gnawed at his lower lip. Sam fixed his eyes on his brother, his lips pressed together as he shook his head. “Don’t do it, Dean.”

Dean frowned back at him. “Don’t do what?”

“Whatever it is that you’re thinking about doing.”

Dean reared back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest. “How do you know I’m thinking about doing anything?”

“I can practically read the thoughts going through your brain just from your expression.”

“Shut up, Sam.” Dean leaned up to his laptop again, and Sam spoke again, more softly this time.

“Dean, I’m just saying, some things you may not be able to come back from.” Dean let out a frustrated sigh, but Sam went on. “Maybe you should just talk to her.”

When his brother looked up this time, his eyes were clouded. “She won’t talk to me. She hasn’t for a while now.” He closed his laptop and pushed back from the table. “If we’re done with therapy, I’m gonna go to bed.” He ignored Sam’s accusing stare as he left the room, heading for the peace of his own bedroom.

He pulled off his boots and sat on his bed, pillows propped behind his back, and opened his laptop. The home page of the dating site was still open there, and he looked at it for a few minutes, Sam’s words still ringing in his ears. “Fuck it. What’s the worst that can happen?” he muttered to himself, and started filling out the form.

You hummed a tune to yourself as you stared into your closet, debating on which shirt to wear with your jeans. It was your first meeting with ‘Tom,’ and you had decided to go casual. You were just meeting him for drinks, wanting to keep everything low-key to start with. Not that you still weren’t nervous, but the two of you – well, ‘Tom’ and ‘Dana’ - had been chatting regularly for three weeks now, and he seemed like a pretty nice, easy-going guy. You seemed to have a lot in common – that you could share, anyway – and he made you laugh. You both constantly referenced and quoted movies and TV shows, liked the same type of food, and he came off as pretty down-to-earth. You were looking forward to getting to know a little more about him – like his real name – and that was a good sign, right? It had been so long since you had an actual relationship with potential that you weren’t even sure how to act. The plan was to keep things loose and not get too eager to jump into more before you were both really ready. If you were ever really ready.

Neither of the guys were in view when you walked through to go to your car. You were a little relieved, not wanting to answer questions anyway. Dean would just get that expression you hated, or start in again about meeting up with some guy you didn’t really know, and you breathed a little sigh of relief. It was sunny outside, and you allowed yourself a dose of cautious optimism as you drove to town.

You walked into the restaurant, targeting a table in a back corner where you could have a little privacy. You were really looking forward to meeting ‘Tom’ in person – your conversations had been far easier than you’d expected. He had a goofy sense of humor, and you’d laughed more online with him than you had in months. You just wanted to enjoy spending time with someone who understood you. He seemed to get you.

The waitress showed up and you ordered a draft beer and some appetizers. He would be showing up soon, but you didn’t want to be sitting there staring at the door when he walked in, so you took out your phone to keep yourself busy. When you heard footsteps, you looked up, your eyes widening as you saw the last person you expected or wanted to see standing there. Dean. “What the hell are you doing here?” you asked, fighting to keep your voice steady.

He looked a little nervous, staring down at his boots as he answered. “I’m supposed to meet somebody here.” He took a deep breath, finally looking you in the eye. “Her name is ‘Dana.’”

Your eyes went wide, your mouth opening wordlessly as you stared back at him. Then you shoved your chair back, almost knocking it over, and pushed your way between the waitress and Dean as you rushed towards the door.

“Hey!” the waitress said, barely managing to keep from dropping the beer and food you’d just abandoned. She set it all down on the table and looked back towards the door. “Great. Now who’s gonna pay for this?”

Dean pulled out his wallet and dropped a couple of twenties on the table. “Keep the change.”

She smiled at him in relief and thanked him. “Listen, you’d better go after her. She seemed pretty pissed.”

Dean moved towards the door, muttering under his breath, “You have no idea.”

When he stepped outside, he spied you, leaning against the side of your car, arms folded across your chest, staring hotly in his direction. “Shit,” he breathed, walking towards you, trying to come up with words.

“This is a new low for you, Winchester,” you spat, your seething anger making your voice a little shaky.

“I know it was stupid. Sammy told me not to do it.”

“Sam knew you were doing this?!”

“No – he didn’t know. He just knew I was thinking about doing something, and he told me not to.”

“Why? Why would you do this? I really thought I was talking to a nice, normal guy, thought maybe for once… But no, you were right, it was just another asshole lying to me on the internet.”

Dean ducked his head, his jaw working as he felt the blows from her well-aimed words. “I’m sorry. I never meant…” He looked up at her, shaking his head. “I didn’t do this to hurt you.”

“Then why the hell did you do it?”

He hesitated for a second before answering. “Because maybe I’d like to get back to the way we were before.”

“Before what?” You shouted, your voice still brittle with anger, and he returned fire before he could pull it back.

“Before I fucked it all up!”

You were silent for a second, staring down at the ground, the sounds of your raised voices seeming to linger in the air between you. You finally looked up, hurt in your eyes as you spoke quietly. “Well, this didn’t exactly fix things, did it?” You turned and opened your car door, climbing inside and closing it without another word. He stood there watching as you drove away, head hung low, wishing like hell he had listened to Sam’s advice.

It was almost unbearable in the bunker for the next couple of weeks. It was miserable trying to avoid Dean while living in the same space, and you finally got up one Saturday morning, deciding it was time for a change.

You went out to the kitchen and grabbed a cup of coffee, ignoring the surprise on the brothers’ faces at your appearance. “So,” you ventured, “it’s been too long since we all hit the bar together. Tonight we’re going out for drinks. We’re gonna get drunk and we’re gonna have fun. You know, like we used to.” You turned on your heel and headed back to your room leaving them wide-eyed and jaws dropped in the kitchen.

That evening, you stood in front of the mirror in your room, critically eyeing your reflection. Black lace thigh-high stockings, short denim skirt, and a clingy silver-grey top that draped gracefully low, providing a tempting view of soft curves and a generous portion of cleavage. You smiled, happy with the results of your preparations, and turned to put on your denim jacket. You’d save the unveiling for later. One way or another, before the night was over, Dean was either gonna make a damn sandwich or get the hell out of the kitchen.

You sat at the table with the boys for a couple of beers, even though the conversation was sparse and stilted. Sam tried his best to keep things going, but Dean was obviously still not up to much small talk. When you stood up and shed your jacket before heading to the bar, the expression on his face was everything you had hoped for.

You could feel his eyes burning into you as you made your way to the bar, ordering a shot and chatting with the bartender. It wasn’t long before a guy with an expensive haircut and too many buttons undone on his shirt came sidling up to you – exactly what you had been hoping for. When he asked you to dance, you gave him a promising smile and let him lead you to the dance floor.

Dean sat at the table, staring in your direction with a death grip on his beer. You were out there having a great time, laughing and dancing, flirting your ass off from the looks of it. He ground his teeth together, then slammed the rest of his beer down in one go, standing up and stalking to the bar for another. No, fuck that, he wanted whiskey. A double.

He polished off the whiskey and ordered another before heading back to the table. Sam was watching him, but wisely pressed his lips together and kept his mouth shut. Dean’s eyes drifted back to the dance floor again, just as another song began, this time with a heavy, sultry beat. His blood came to a low simmer as he watched the asshat you were dancing with move in close behind you as you turned your back, his hands possessively on your hips as you swayed to the music. Then you did a sexy little dip and roll, and Dean felt his mouth go dry, followed by his temper reaching the boiling point.

Sam said his name as Dean stood up, killing his whiskey in one swallow, but the blood rushing in his ears drowned it out as long, purposeful strides carried him over to you. “We need to talk,” he demanded as you stopped dancing, staring up at him incredulously.

“Seriously, Dean? Right now?”

He grasped your hand with a firm grip. “Right now.”

You shrugged and rolled your eyes at your dance partner when he protested, but Dean’s murderous expression cut him off, and he backed away, hands held out in surrender. “Yeah, whatever, dude.”

“Good choice,” Dean muttered, and to keep from making a scene, you let him lead you through the bar and out the front door. He didn’t stop until the two of you were in the back parking lot next to the Impala, and then you jerked your hand away, planting your feet and glaring up at him.

“What? I was dancing, having a good time. What is so goddamn important?”

“Dancing? Really? He was practically dry-humping you on the dance floor!”

“So?” You shouted the word at him, anger sparking in your eyes. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, no words coming to his rescue. “Why do you even care?”

His jaw worked as he tried and failed to look you in the face. “Because I do.”

You moved a step closer to him. “Why?”

He huffed out a frustrated breath. “I just do.”

You rolled your eyes. “Right. Because we’re such good friends, and that guy is no good, and you’re just trying to protect me. Blah, blah, blah.”

“Yeah,” he said defiantly, and you shook your head.

“Not good enough. Every guy in the world that I look at can’t be bad news, Dean.”

His lips were pressed tightly together, the dimples that always deepened when he was angry or frustrated showing clearly in the dim light. “I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t trust anybody with me. Why don’t you just tell me why?”

“I told you why.”

You jabbed a finger his direction, your voice rising. “If you don’t tell me the fucking truth, I swear to God I’m going back in there and do him right on the dance floor!”

His glare sent a little thrill up your spine. “The fuck you will.”

“The fuck I won’t.” You whirled around and took a step back towards the bar, but he grabbed you, jerking you back and turning to trap you between his body and the car. You shoved at his chest in frustration. “Why don’t you just admit how you feel?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means.”

He looked away, avoiding your searching eyes. “No, I fucking don’t!”

“Admit that you want to be with me.” He still avoided looking at you, and you bit at your lip hard, then forced the next few words out, fear making you feel a little sick. “If you don’t want to be with me, Dean – you’ve gotta let go. I can’t – we can’t keep doing this.”

There was a tense pause, a few seconds where you thought you might have to just walk away. When he spoke, his voice was hushed, strained. “I can’t stand watching some asshole touch you the way I want to touch you.” He finally looked at you, the intensity in his gaze making your heart jump. “Yeah, I want you, so damn bad it scares the hell out of me.”

You stared up at him, reading the truth in his eyes. “Fucking finally,” you said, standing on tiptoe, your arms wrapping around his neck as you kissed him, his body warm and solid as he crowded you against the car. He deepened the kiss with a low groan, one hand coming to rest at your waist as the other trailed slowly from your jaw down the length of your throat, finally finding your breast and kneading at it as you arched into his touch.

When you finally stopped, he leaned his forehead against yours as you both panted for air. “Where are your keys?” he asked, and you reached into the pocket of your skirt to pull them out. “I’m gonna take these in to Sam. I’ll be right back.” He kissed you again, soft and quick, and backed away, letting you open the car door and slide inside.

He was back in a flash, slipping in beside you. He leaned in to kiss you again, then raised his head, pulling his bottom lip in as if he were savoring the taste of you. “You ready?” he asked, his voice raspy and low, and you smiled, your eyes shining.

“So ready.” His lips curved in a sexy smirk as he started the car and backed out, his hand warm on your lace-covered thigh as you headed down the road.

You scooted a little closer, returning the favor and tracing little patterns on his jeans, feeling the muscle shift beneath your fingers as he braked at the stop sign at the edge of town, then stepped on the gas. His hand was stroking slowly over your thigh, moving a little higher each time until he slipped under the hem of your skirt, and he swore under his breath as he touched the bare skin above your thigh-high. “Not sure we’re gonna make it all the way home, sweetheart,” he managed to get out, and you laid your head back on the seat next to his shoulder, smiling up at him.

“I’m okay with that.”

Dean took a sharp turn onto the next gravel road, and by the time he found a trail where he could pull off and park, you had gotten your boots off. You moved so he could slide out from under the steering wheel, and he watched you with hunger in his eyes as you finished shimmying out of your skirt and began to peel off your shirt.

He watched every move as you climbed aboard his lap, nothing but black lace and silky skin, and he swore as you settled on top of him. “Jesus, baby,” he said, shifting his hips a little as you trapped his hard-on between you. “You know you’ve been driving me crazy for months now.”

He was reaching for you, but you grabbed his hands, holding them against his chest as you fixed him with a stern stare. “Well, whose fault is that?”

He ducked his head with a rueful smile. “Mine. Totally mine.” He looked back up at you as you nodded.

“Damn straight.” You tilted your head, an evil glint in your eyes, then leaned forward and gave a gentle tug on his lower lip with your teeth. “I should make you wait.” You couldn’t help but laugh when a little whine escaped his throat as he looked at you with the most pathetic sad-puppy face you’d ever seen. “Awwww,” you cooed as you bent to kiss him, shifting your hips and making him groan at the friction.

You finally let go of his hands, and then they were everywhere, exploring, squeezing, grabbing handfuls of your ass and pushing, rubbing you rhythmically against his hard cock. You raised your head, letting it drop back as you lost yourself in the sensations. “Are you gonna be mad at me if I ruin these?” he asked, plucking at the waist of your panties.

You lowered your chin and looked into his eyes. “I don’t care if you set them on fire, as long as it ends up with you inside me,” you said breathlessly, watching his face as he swore softly and moved his hands to one side of your hips, then the other, ripping the lace apart.

“Lift up for me, sweetheart,” he said, his voice a little breathless, and he tossed the ruined scrap of cloth to the floor of the car before reaching under you to cup your pussy in his hand. “Christ, baby, you’re so wet. Gonna let me slide right in, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you whimpered, “Hurry up, I need you.” You were fumbling at his zipper, and he chuckled softly, pushing your hands aside and taking care of it himself, shoving his clothes down as far as he could reach with you straddling him. You reached to hold him steady as you centered yourself over him and sank down on his cock, inch by delicious inch until he was fully buried inside you, so deep it ached in the best possible way.

You squeezed your eyes closed, overwhelmed for the moment. When you opened them again, Dean was watching you intently, and he cupped your face in his hand, leaning in to capture your lips in a lingering, tender kiss. “Sorry I waited so long,” he whispered, then kissed you again, slanting his mouth over yours with a moan as you opened to him, your hips grinding against him as he bucked upwards in response. “So – fucking – perfect,” he groaned in between kisses, each word emphasized with a thrust, and you reached up to brace your hands on the Impala’s roof, bearing down to take him as deep as possible.

“Dean! Fuck…” you managed to utter breathlessly as he bent his head to bite and tug at your nipple through the lace of your bra. The car was rocking and creaking in rhythm with your motion, you and Dean both panting as you fucked each other with the reckless need of passion too long suppressed.

Your orgasm hit you just when your thighs were trembling in exhaustion, electricity firing through your veins, his name a keening cry as you came undone. Dean swore as you clamped tight around him, a velvet vise that soon sent him over the edge, and he flooded you with his release, pulling you close to his chest as you collapsed against him with a whimper, your strength spent.

You clung to him, a helpless little whine smothered against his shoulder as an aftershock shuddered through you. His arms wrapped around you tight, crushing you to him as if you were going to disappear. “I got you, baby,” he said softly. “I got you.”

After a time, you sat up, leaning in to kiss him before looking into his eyes with a sweet smile. He gave you a lazy, crooked smirk in return, his head resting back against the seat. His eyes roamed over your face, then down to your chest, warming as he took in every detail of your breasts still covered in black lace. “Didn’t even get to see,” he muttered, and you laughed softly, reaching to stroke your fingertips along his jaw line.

“Well, take me home, and you can see anything you want,” you said, your smile growing as he arched an eyebrow, his cock twitching inside you. “Or we can just stay here, I guess,” you teased.

“Let’s go home, give my memory foam something to remember,” he rumbled, leaning up to kiss you. He shrugged his flannel off his shoulders, and you helped him take it off. “Here, you can use this if you wanna clean up a little, since somebody ruined your underwear.”

You moved away from him with a kiss and a sigh, getting dressed while he adjusted his clothes. He slid back behind the wheel, and you tucked yourself under his welcoming arm for the ride home.

The bunker was quiet when you got there, and the two of you made your way to Dean’s room, whispering and giggling, stealing kisses like a couple of teenagers who had broken curfew. When you made it inside, he closed the door behind you and pulled you close for a long, slow kiss, your arms around his neck. He finally let you go, and you sat on the end of the bed, taking off your boots and then peeling your stockings off as he watched appreciatively. “Hey, what do you call that little move you did on the dance floor tonight?”

You looked up at him, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “You mean this?” You stood up and shifted your hips in the little dip and swirl that had shifted him into action at the bar, watching him catch his tongue between his teeth as he moved closer to you, his eyes following every move.

“Mmmm, yeah. That.”

“Well – I call it…” You pulled your shirt off over your head and looked up at him through your lashes. “Bait.” You laughed as he shook his head, a slow grin curving his lips before he pounced on you and tackled you to the bed.

Sam paused for a second in the hallway outside on the way to his room from the shower. The sounds of muffled laughter and a little shriek from you made him smile, and he nodded his head in approval. “It’s about time,” he mumbled to himself, then went on his way.

Tag List #1:

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@darcia22 @winchesterprincessbride @ellen-reincarnated1967 @eyes-of-a-disney-princess @deanslittleangel2y5

@melanie451 @spectaculacular-sammy @bookchic20 @jodyri @selma-jean-blog

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#friends and lovers #jacklesversebingo24 #dean fic #dean x reader #dean angst #dean smut #tag list 1

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syneilesis · 6 months ago

Text

[fic] Impact Factor

Impact Factor

Love and Deepspace | Zayne (Li Shen) x Main-Character!Reader | G | 4k words | ao3 link

god, i'm so lovesick. what have you done to me? You tell Zayne that you're co-authoring a research paper. He finds himself wanting and waiting to read it.

A/N: For @seraphiism 's 2024 writing event. I chose Lovesick by Laufey. I know. Zayne? Lovesick? Lmao I don't know if I pulled it off, but I have to write for Zayne at least once.

I gave this fic a single, cursory proofread. Any mistake is still my fault. Divider by @/saradika

“By the way, a professor of mine in college reached out to me last week and asked me if I was interested in co-authoring an article with her on the phenomenology of vocation of the people working in Hunters Association.”

The clacking of the keyboard is crisp and loud in the silverlined office, accompanied by the low hum of the airconditioner. Zayne's attention remains on the computer, updating your status condition. He makes a brief noise to indicate that he's listening, and when he takes his gaze away from the desktop he finds you watching him with a faint grin on your face.

“Do you want me to guess your reply?”

That faint grin grows wide and whole.

“What do you think?”

Zayne leans back and rolls his chair a little farther, reaching out to turn on the printer. The machine whirls to life, chatters.

“You accepted the offer, of course.” He returns to his laptop and clicks on the print icon. “You don't have the heart to refuse your professor.”

“Dr. Zayne, you know me so well.”

Something in the way you said it compels him to turn to you again. Your expression hasn't changed, but the fall of your hair frames your slightly narrowed eyes that sparkle under the bright fluorescent light, like rare midday stars. It staggers the beats of Zayne's heart for two seconds, seizes his throat, and in that sliver of a moment Zayne forgets to breathe.

“Maybe it's because you're transparent,” he says, after retrieving the prescription from the printer. He hands you the paper, and surprise stretches your features. He clarifies: “Supplements. Undoubtedly you will need it when you begin your research.”

“Nothing less from my doctor.” My. The word is malleable around your mouth. And then: “I'm transparent? Is that a bad thing?”

“It's not a flaw.” He signs the healthcare forms you passed onto him. “But neither is it a virtue.”

“Hmm. Then, I guess I'll watch myself.”

His head jerks at your response, and Zayne has something to say to that—something like your not needing to be conscious of how open you are—but then your watch beeps and you apologize for the sudden departure.

Alone in his office, Zayne sinks into his chair and closes his eyes.

▼

That exchange, brief yet odd, lingers in Zayne's mind, like a stone at the base of his brain, next to the stem and cerebellum. He can feel its weight, its matter, solid and bothersome that at one point Greyson stops and asks him, “Are you okay, Dr. Zayne? You seem to be distracted today.”

A flash of memory; the word transparent, your answer. Were it not for the emergency mission, he would have hastened to add that transparency is closely associated with sincerity—and that is a virtue. He imagines a version of you as secretive as a glacier, as closed-off as a fortress, and the dissonance it invites rings discordant in the history between you—you who have always reached out to him first.

His hands itch for the phone that's secluded in one of his drawers, away from distraction, from memory. Zayne is, after all, duty first, the rest a distant second.

“It's nothing,” he tells Greyson. “I'm fine.”

“Maybe it's time for a vacation? You've been busy—busier than usual—lately.”

“I'll take a vacation at the end of the year. Right now, you're needed in the meeting room for a briefing.”

When Greyson clears the area, Zayne turns and sees Yvonne near the entrance of the lobby, studying him, her face arranged in a way that invites him to defend himself for some reason. But he resists the irrational urge.

He meets her scrutiny with a long and stoic gaze, and she shakes her head, wordless, then continues on with her work.

Left in the hallway, Zayne sighs and goes back to his office.

▼

“Dr. Zayne!”

Shapes of different colors coalesce into your reflection on the glass that displays the myriad cakes Zayne's been deliberating upon for the last fifteen minutes. The figure looms larger and larger, until it sidles up next to him and he straightens up, turning to his side.

“What a coincidence,” you continue with a glancing smile, hand on your chin as you survey the available pastries for purchase. “Are you buying desserts too?”

Earlier, Akso Hospital had a rare moment of slowness that allowed its personnel to indulge in a breather, which afforded Zayne to clock out on time. As a treat—and he will never admit this to anyone—he's stopped by the bakeshop on the way home, and to his surprise, here you are as well.

To your question he can only give a noncommittal sound; then to the cashier he points at the sea salt caramel vanilla slice that he's wanted to try for a while now. Both you and the cashier let out an intrigued Oh! before the purchase is processed at the register.

“Sea salt caramel vanilla,” you say with an evaluatory seriousness, “good choice.”

Zayne pinches the bridge of his nose.

“By the way, I've started on the research project. Been doing some preliminary reading since I don't want to disappoint my former professor. So far I'm doing well—the supplements are a great help!”

The supplements. He had an inkling that, as you are wont to do with every mission, you were rushing into this project with all your mind and body, tunnel-visioned, only the end goal visible in your sights. This unfortunately excludes concerns regarding your health, and Zayne is correct: all nighters and skipped meals, both of which erode the state of a person's health. When you are focused on something, that something takes the highest priority, and he can't always be with you all the time to remind you to take a break, or eat healthy food, or drink water. Which is why: supplements. They're not preventative, but at least they mitigate.

And it seems you're telling the truth: no tightness in your eyes and tautness in the shape of your mouth. In this case—in the case of your aspiration to conceal—you have not changed—or at least attempted to hold yourself back. Something in his chest loosens, smooths the tenseness out of his muscles that Zayne hasn't realized is there.

This is something to ponder, but not at the moment.

“I don't have to remind you that supplements are not substitutes for healthy food and proper sleep, do I?”

“Of course not! Even I know that.” But then your expression turns sheepish. “In practice, that's a little ...”

Zayne pinches the bridge of his nose again.

“But don't worry too much about me, Dr. Zayne! I'm taking care of myself just fine!”

“That doesn't instill much confidence.”

“How about this, then?” And you face him fully, a ready smile brimming with its own confidence and assurance, as radiant as an aurora. “If something happens, you will be the first person I'll turn to.”

At that Zayne pauses. The easy trust you bring between the both of you warms his neck, the back of it, climbing up, up, up to the tips of his ears and to his cheeks. He moves on to the cashier, his back on you.

“Try not to let that 'something' happen, but I know you're too stubborn to listen.”

A chuckle, and then: “I can't make any promises, but I'll try.”

This time, Zayne turns back.

“'Try' implies effort, so I am expecting effort.”

You snap a salute, grinning. “Got it, Doc!”

▼

The day after that, Zayne begins to read up on the subject of phenomenology.

▼

It won't be a couple of weeks until Zayne sees you again—but this time it's under the harsh hospital lights and the din of frantic footsteps and rolling wheels, the mixed scents of blood and antiseptic stinging his nose. A Wanderer surge disrupted the southern part of Linkon, and of the hunters dispatched you had been one of them.

Zayne glides around the moving bodies, steps never faltering until he finds you tucked in a corner, cradling your broken arm.

When his shadow falls upon your involuted frame, you lift your head and a rueful grin greets him. Your glass-sheen gaze doesn't escape his scrutiny.

He's wearing his white coat, and both of his hands retreat into its pockets, where he closes them into tight fists. If Zayne tilts his head a little more to the right, he can see a lengthy gash that lines along your temple and into your scalp, covered by your blood-crusted hair. He is painfully aware that this is part and parcel of your profession, the risk that endangers a hunter during a mission. A part of him is thankful that today it is only a broken arm and a couple of wounds. It could have been much worse, and Zayne refuses to imagine a scenario where you come into the hospital drained of vitality. A frustrated sigh threatens to spill out of him, but he endures, and just pointedly shoots you a disappointed look.

“So this is all the effort that you mentioned just amounted to.”

“To be fair I was doing well for a couple of hours until I had to rescue a civilian trapped in a damaged building.”

“That is commendable.” And he means it. But—“Follow that nurse with the brown clipboard. He's in charge of injuries like yours. Can you walk that far?”

Your uninjured hand braces against the wall and you pull yourself up, the motion not quite fluid but not a slow stagger either. Zayne would have assisted you, but it seems that you can do it on your own.

“It's my arm that's broken, not my legs.” A wincing smile, and you start to make your way forward. “I know that you have to take care of other people, Dr. Zayne, but thanks for checking up on me.”

Behind him, a nurse calls his name, a signal to go back to his work. There are other patients who need his attention more than you do, and overall you seem fine, still put together. A broken arm can heal over time, given proper medical care. And Zayne knows, intimately, that Akso does not lack for anything.

Still. It's not entirely on purpose, but Zayne calls your name.

“I—” he begins, as you slow down to wait for whatever he's going to say. His throat struggles, constricting and opening in subconscious reflex. “I'd still rather not worry about you like this.”

In and around the space between you and him, the hospital remains astir—shadows and silhouettes slipping in and out of Zayne's sight—until they give way to the blossoming smile on your face, eclipsing everything from the back to the fore, a pinpoint mark on the map.

Later, even as he tends to his patients, your smile persists in Zayne's mind, an afterimage that refuses to disappear behind his eyelids.

▼

Exactly one week after that incident, Zayne receives a bouquet of jasmines and a box of banana bread. Attached to it is a pristine white card with a line written: Don't forget to take care of yourself too!

The card stays in his breast pocket well beyond his working hours, right next to his beating heart.

▼

Days pass, weeks, months, and Zayne finds himself browsing through phenomenology journals during his break in the hopes of seeing your name in one of them. He knows that you'll tell him once it's published, but there's a part of him that clamors for the first touch of knowledge, the letters that make up your name woven in the glowing screen of his tablet.

At the same time, Greyson and Yvonne have bitten into their suspicions—whatever they are, Zayne refuses to ask—and swallowed the succulence as if it's a juicy truth. Often he sees Greyson glancing at him with a shadow of a smile, a quick sleight of hand that when Zayne fully faces him his expression is already ironed out and professional. Yvonne is no better: all glimmering eyes and knowing grins and incessant questions about his mood. Once, he asked the reason for the barrage of questions and Yvonne ignored the frost in his voice and tittered, telling him that sometimes in life, they have to combat the monotony with exciting things.

It worries him somewhat that you and Yvonne and even Greyson have been getting along quite well for a time now.

But your name still doesn't appear, and it doesn't seem to be appearing in the foreseeable future. Still Zayne searches, his fingers already making a habit of typing your name in the bar, his heart beating for a yes.

▼

At some point, he's asked about your progress.

“It's been going well,” you answer. “Professor made some comments about the part in my results and discussion, so I'm going to revise that. I think we can submit it by next month if we maintain the pace.”

After a thoughtful pause, you rest your arms on his desk, cushion your chin on them, and angle him a sly look.

“Are you offering to proofread my work, Dr. Zayne?”

“I may need a box of red pens for that.”

That jolts a laugh out of you, and you recover by sending a mock pout his way.

“I’ll have you know that I was a diligent writer in college! I won in essay writing competitions!”

“Is that so? Then I suppose your first foray in academic publishing will be a successful ‘accepted with minor revisions’ reply from the editor.”

“Of course! Oh, fine, fine. I won’t ask you to proofread the manuscript. You can just wait until it’s published.”

A small, genuine smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

▼

Eventually, he receives a text that says, We finally submitted the article! Now we just have to wait 🫣

He excuses himself from a cluster of medical professionals talking about the latest breakthroughs in oncology and parks himself beside the long table of drinks. He texts back: Watch out for Reviewer #2. They’re always the culprit.

It takes a full ten minutes before you reply, and during that period of anticipation four individuals have come up to him and attempted to pull him into a conversation about his accomplishments and recent research—one even braving to entice him into applying to another hospital.

Zayne shakes them off as politely as he can (and to that one poacher he gives a cold and resolute no). When his phone beeps, he turns away and redirects his undivided attention to the screen. All your latest message contains is a single salute emoji and the single-word sentence Gotcha! A laugh startles out of him, which Yvonne—having developed an eagle eye for Zayne in the recent weeks—notices and she scurries over to Greyson, bowing their heads in hushed whispers, glancing at him every now and then.

He's realized what they'd been talking about whenever he's in their vicinity, and he's tempted to refute their assumptions and retaliate accordingly. But the stone-weight in his mind had transformed into a persistent itch that does not choose when it strikes. In most cases it's merely annoying, but on rare occasions it is, frankly, merciless. A good-night text echoes in his dreams, and Zayne wakes with a thick sweetness coating the inside of his mouth. A fleeting touch from your worried hand burns the skin of his arm, the heat seeping into the layers until it reaches the subcutaneous tissue, where it spreads all over his body through the veins. He has to evade your glare to hide the ruddiness of his cheeks. Capitulation is the only option he had to choose in the end, and the idea of surrendering to this melts away the reflexive inquiry of when and how and why—a trait he had to hone as a doctor and a researcher.

What else is left when all the signs are pointing to this one immutable conclusion?

▼

On the day and hour your article is published Zayne is in the middle of a delicate surgery that takes him five hours and two hysterical family members of the patient—even with Evol involved. He emerges from the operating room with good news and exhausted-yet-relieved colleagues, Greyson's smile emerging from the doors the first indicator of a successful operation.

The patient's mother clings to him in tearful gratitude.

He orients the family on the next steps, and as he signs the healthcare forms he discovers a new slice of wound on the back of his hand, thin but lengthy. He has long since accepted that his hands, his arms, will forever be spattered with scars, and if that's the price he has to pay for saving lives, then it's of no consequence to him.

(Once, he had caught your gaze glued to his hands, so he snapped his fingers, startling you into looking at his face.

“What was that for?” you demanded.

“You're not paying attention.”

“I was just—” you bit your lip, torn. A pause, then: “Did they hurt—each one of them?”

He glanced down and studied each scar. Too many, you'd probably think. But not once had they bothered him.

“I never even noticed them in the first place, so no.”

“Okay.” Your eyes were crystal glass and the deep breath you took was stuttering in all its inelegance. “Okay.”)

A sliver of a break provides him the opportunity to sink into reprieve, and his hand gropes for his phone on the desk, peeking out under a sheaf of documents that he has to fill out later.

A cursory look at the screen, and then Zayne is leaping for the computer.

The research article you and your professor had written is kept behind a paywall. Zayne spares a moment to shut his eyes in irritation. He's fortunate that his university library account is still active, so he utilizes that privilege to gain access to the article’s full version, made available by the university’s database.

When the file loads, he syncs it to his tablet, after which he leans back on the chair and settles to read. He can locate which parts you had a hand in writing, and the parts where your style comes out. It isn't his field, but he has read enough to venture that the insights of this paper are valuable. Unwittingly, a proud smile surfaces on his lips.

At the end of the article, in the acknowledgment section, something is curiously written:

The co-author is grateful for the moral and medical support of Akso Hospital's Dr. Zayne. Dr. Zayne, would you like to have dinner with me? As a date. Yes, I'm asking you out.

Zayne’s mind blanks out and the itch returns, scrabbling at the walls of his skull, loud and frenetic and overwhelming all his senses. His entire body warms and the sensation of crawling needles prickle at his skin. Everything is white noise; his heart threatens to jump out of his ribcage. He gets the ridiculous thought that he can't perform a surgery on himself.

The next thing he knows, he's driving his car at the same time dialing your number. The car speakers amplify the ringing tone once his phone is attached to the dashboard. Both his hands tightly grip the steering wheel.

When the call connects, he opens with “What would you do if I hadn't read your article?”

He can practically hear the smile in your voice; it resounds around the car interior. “That's not an option, Dr. Zayne. You would have definitely read the article.”

Laughter bubbles up inside him; he tamps it down. “Confident now, are we?”

“Of course!” A pause; a shuffle of feet. You must be heading to another room. “I hear car engine, where are you now?”

“On the way to your apartment.”

“Wait, don't—go to this restaurant instead. I'll text you the address. I have it all reserved and ready.”

He blinks once, twice, surprise slackening the muscles on his face. “... You haven't even heard my answer yet.”

“You can tell me at the restaurant. And then we'll celebrate with excellent food, excellent wine, and scrumptious desserts.”

“You sound so certain about receiving a positive response.”

“I'm optimistic that way, Dr. Zayne. I'm heading out now—I'll see you in a bit!”

You hang up, and the speakers beep into silence. Two seconds later Zayne presses the hazard switch. The car slows down and then comes to a halt on the side of the road. Other vehicles zoom past him. Without the need to drive, Zayne can finally give in to the urge to exhale aloud and let out a brief yet astounded laugh, forehead pressing against the leather smoothness of the steering wheel.

You've always been transparent. But Zayne has made the crucial mistake of neglecting the fact that you are also clever. If this were a competition, you've already won.

▼

You're already at the restaurant when he arrives, sat on the corner facing the floor-to-ceiling windows, the shifting lights outside dancing over your serene profile. Your elbows rest on the table, where everything is already set up except the food. A vase of red roses at the center completes the picturesque scene.

You lift your head and welcome him with a triumphant grin once he's a few steps away. And when he settles on the chair opposite you, you lean forward and stare at him expectantly.

“You could have asked like a normal person,” Zayne begins.

“I could have,” you agree, nodding, “but I like it this way. I like to get closer to you through the things you do.”

Another moment of Zayne getting caught off-center: the warmth flushing outward from the core of his body like vibrant ink on clean, clear water. He has to lower his gaze from the sheer brilliance of your certainty, the way your patience and care have allowed this moment between the two of you, something that he has never imagined culminating like this: two people sitting opposite each other, in this softly lit restaurant while the world bursts into festive lights outside it. The tender way your hand moves across the table, stopping right before the flower vase, as if affording him the liberty to arrive at a decision Zayne has already made, many, many months (years) ago, just buried under the strata of responsibilities, boundaries, and improbabilities.

Never the when, never the how, never the why. It is, only, sublimely, this.

Zayne sighs with a rueful shake of his head. “It's not yet too late—maybe I should answer by publishing my own research article.” But the hand meeting yours belies his words.

Your smile: pleased, pleasure, like the sun emerging from the winter sky.

He's too occupied with the touch of your hand and the radiance of your expression that Zayne misses the throwaway comment that tumbles past his lips:

“If we're talking about getting closer through doing the things the other does, then I suppose I should propose to you when we're in the middle of a Wanderer invasion.”

And then he realizes what he just said.

Zayne whips his head up, heart in throat, and scrambles for an excuse. “What I meant was—”

“Getting ahead of ourselves now, are we?” Your face is pure indulgence, pure bliss. Your hand squeezes his, not letting go. “Don't worry, Dr. Zayne; I'm looking forward to it.”

And that lustrous smile, sustained. Zayne relaxes and you release him to clap your hands together, delighted.

“Now then! Shall we have our dinner?”

▼

(You have, indeed, delivered in all aspects: excellent food, excellent wine, and scrumptious desserts.)