#never two without four au
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The twins trigger Wirt's tendency to parent, the poison factor of Mabel's cooking is discussed (Wirt does end up eating it), and the girl knit stuff.
#one of my oldest headcanons is that wirt eats anything#and I mean ANYTHING#otgw#n2w4#gf#over the garden wall#gravity falls#comic#my art#never two without four au
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Drifting Stars headcanon where Mabel and Ford use the "we're father/daughter" story so often to avoid suspicion that Mabel calls him "Dad" instead of "Grunkle Ford" now.
Ford has a reasonable amount of emotions about this and does not nearly cry the first time Mabel calls him "Dad" outside of lying to people.
#mads posts#drifting stars#drifting stars AU#mabel pines#ford pines#stanford pines#gravity falls#gravity falls au#listen i have a lot of emotions about drifting stars AU#specifically how mabel and ford interact after getting out of the portal#i want them to be so intensely close with one another in a way neither of them never really realized when they were constantly running for#their lives#mabel can't sleep without her crossbow in hand and ford within 10 feet of her#ford panics whenever he loses sight of mabel for more than 30 seconds#dipper gives mabel her old knitting needles back and she gets halfway through sharpening the points before she remembers not everything has#to be a weapon anymore#dipper and stan drifting further from each other while trying to get their twins back from the portal#because dipper blames stan and stan blames himself and neither of them want to breach that gap#versus ford and mabel becoming insanely close while in the portal because they had to rely on each other for EVERYTHING#and when ford and mabel get back; stan and dipper have to wrestle with how the two of them are so close#and all four of them lost so much time together#um#anyways#uh#yeah im normal about this
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sunday's 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚
{yuta okkotsu x popular f!reader}
summary: yuta okkotsu has been in love with you since he started college— living in the shadows of your popularity as he watched from afar how your bouncy and genuine kind soul prospered and shined everywhere you went. but during one of his shifts at the 50s diner down the street from his campus, you walk in with you friends one sunday night and immediately bond over your shared love for elvis presley’s music, yuta stammering and fidgety at how pretty you are up close, and you falling fast for his pinky cheeks, sweet little words, and how he takes care of you every single day.
warnings: college!au, FLUUUFFF omg so cute, lovesick yuta he thinks you’re so prettyyy, no smut in this one!, popular reader, cursing, afab!reader, lots of mentions of elvis presley LOL, little bit of angst, clueless yuta, strangers to friends to lovers.
word count: 9.6k
authors note: THIS ONE HITS HOMEEE FOR MEEE AAAHHHH CAN YOU TELL I LOVE ELVIS PRESLEY? i live and breathe that man and oldies in general, so this is a love letter to him! :] this fic is all of my favorite things combined and it is SO FREAKING CUUTEEEE UGH i hope you all love it seriously <3333 MWAAHHH I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU—
yuta okkotsu had never seen a girl so beautiful.
you were breathtaking, watching from afar, it was truly as if the world revolved around you in the most positive way yuta could think of.
you were popular— a beam of gorgeous light following you everywhere you went as you were always just enveloped by people and strangers and friends, them wanting to talk to you, wanting to get to know you, wanting you to better their lives because that’s what you selflessly liked to do for everyone without knowing.
and every time he’d walk in between lectures and spot you— feeling in the dumps if on certain days he’d miss your presence entirely, he’d just stare. stare with pink cheeks and softened eyes as you laughed and messed around with your friends or did extracurricular activities around campus, always giving a helping hand to those who needed it no matter the status.
that’s what yuta admired the most about you. you didn’t treat anybody differently just because they didn’t stand in the same level as you. you didn’t care about things like that, and you spoke to people with such fucking class and poise, that he always dozed off picturing how it would be like if he ever had the privilege of actually speaking with you.
that’s how most of his work shifts went at the diner after his classes.
he would wait tables or be in the kitchen, wipe down the windows or run the hostess stand… and you’d be on his mind— permanently there to torment him in the loveliest way he knew how.
and on one sunday night, you were unexpectedly there right in front of him at his job.
“hello?”
you waved a gentle hand over his face, and he snapped out of it immediately, cheeks pinky and bright, your friends snickering.
“yes! s—sorry.” he reached behind the hostess stand. “how many are with you?”
“four!” you responded sweetly, yuta having to swallow the huge lump in his throat as he officially saw your smile up close for the first time in his life— a gorgeous contrast to what it looked like from far away.
yuta quickly grabbed the corresponding menus and stepped to the side of the hostess stand, leading you and your friends through the empty restaurant and to a big booth— placing two menus down on each side of the table.
a series of elvis presley oldies (a personal pick from yuta) played through the jukebox in the middle of the diner while you and your friends scanned the menu, yuta fidgeting and anxious with his pen and notepad, waiting for you to order.
“do you have a favorite milkshake from here?” your kind voice spoke, looking up at him.
“uh— milkshake?”
your friends snickered again, but this time, you turned to them and shot them all a menacing glare.
“hey!— stop that you guys…” you shook your head at them and turned back to a red faced yuta, smiling apologetically. “i’m sorry! i’m really sorry.”
your friends only looked annoyed as they buried their faces in their menus or looked away entirely— yuta shaking his head softly.
“n—no it’s alright. um— i usually prefer this one-”
he timidly pointed his pen downward, the words ‘elvis shake’ reading from it.
“it has uh— vanilla ice cream with peanut butter and bananas.” he pursed his lips. “if… if you like that?”
“oh i’m a whore for anything with peanut butter in it!…” your hands spread flat across the menu as you leaned closer, yuta shyly laughing a little at your wording.
you looked up then, your eyes bright and excited and yuta doesn’t think anyone has ever looked at him the way you were at that moment.
“is that why you like it? because of the peanut butter?”
“yeah! yeah definitely... m— mainly because of the name though.”
you stopped and your eyebrows furrowed. “elvis? do you listen to him?”
his cheeks buzzed. “do you?”
“y/n!” one of your friends harshly whispered to you from across the table. “are we here to chit chat or are we here to eat?”
“fuck okay! jesus—”
you and the rest of your group ordered, yuta nervously scribbling down the names of various platters and drinks before silently excusing himself to send the note off to the kitchen staff.
and when it came around to serving your food, placing each individual dish down for each person— yuta gently settled the elvis shake you got in front of you, adorned with baby pink sprinkles over a mountain of whipped cream with a cherry on top, something that yuta did extra for you out of the goodness of his infatuated heart, since it didn’t come with the drink in the first place.
he didn’t know why, but he could tell that the energy was different between you and your friends the second time he came around, and after hiding in the kitchen for the entirety of the time you were there instead of outside waiting tables like he was supposed to, by the third time he came back around— you were fighting with them.
he quickly retreated behind the bar and made himself look busy, guiltily eavesdropping as he picked up a random salt shaker and falsely examined it.
“i don’t understand why you guys can’t just be nice!” you pushed. “is having a normal conversation with somebody that funny? every time?”
“y/n you always talk to a bunch of rando’s of course it’s funny.”
“what the hell does that even mean?”
“it means it looks odd and you’re embarrassing yourself every time you skip around not being mindful of who you’re having conversations with!” one of them seethed, their tone judgemental and rude and one yuta didn’t like at all.
“like— like the server today! i’m pretty sure i’ve seen him around campus, he’s odd. why were you asking him about��� about— who the fuck were you asking him about?“
“elvis.” you spat. “i was asking him about elvis."
“that guy! who cares? he works here why do you have to always talk to people like that—”
“like what?!” you threw your arms up. “like a normal decent human being would? i can see why you’d lack that.”
“excuse me?”
“yeah. and it sucks for you.”
“sucks for?— okay. i think we’re done here.”
“way fucking done.”
as each of them scooched out of the booth, yuta watched with wide panicked eyes while you stayed seated and silent, arms crossed over your chest and lips tight as you glared.
“i don’t know why everyone loves you so much…” one of them muttered. “there isn’t anything to you.”
and they all walked out, the bell above the door chiming as they did.
yuta’s eyes darted from you to the exit and to them through the window outside in the parking lot, watching fucking gobsmacked as they all got in one singular car and sped off, leaving you there by yourself and with the responsibility of the bill.
soft sniffles reached him, and he turned then, your body hunched over on the table as you cried with your head down, yuta’s heart aching for you.
he put down the random salt shaker he was holding and walked around the bar, slowly making his way towards your table.
“you don’t—”
you shot up startled.
“sorry! sorry—” he awkwardly scratched his pinky cheek. “i was just— gonna say you don’t have to pay the bill… i— i can—”
“oh! no you don’t have to do that.” you wiped your cheeks. “it’s okay i can pay it.”
“but they left you the entire bill.” he said softly.
“i know… it’s okay! really.” you smiled a little through your tears, the sight making his shoulders slump.
how you could possibly smile at a time like this was beyond him.
yuta started clearing the empty plates from your table when you spoke up again.
“i’m sorry you had to deal with their attitude...” you mumbled. “and my ugly crying.”
he smiled softly and shook his head. “no it’s okay. you shouldn’t apologize for them.”
“i should though…” you whined a little. “they were being mean the moment we got here and were just straight disrespectful.”
you leaned back against the plush of the booth and crossed your arms, muttering. “it’s not like they were my friends either..”
yuta quirked a confused brow, setting the last of the plates away in the kitchen before coming back around. “they weren’t?”
“nuh uh.” you shook your head. “i had just met them today actually, from a sorority event. i thought they were nice at first but i started noticing they were a little bitchy.”
“bitchy?” he laughed a little, his heart leaping like a little leap frog at the realization that it was just you and him at the diner alone, the cooks having already gone home seeing as it was past closing time for the diner.
“yeah…” you sighed deeply through your nose. “they weren’t being very nice to the other girls there either… and— and when they asked me if i wanted to come eat here with them i didn’t really want to go but—” you pursed your lips, a sheepish look on your face. “i have a hard time saying no to people so…”
yuta’s eyes softened, leaning back against the edge of the long bar table as he eyed how resilient you tried to come across but damn well knowing you were hurting inside by their actions, your cheeks still wet and your bottom lip in a slight pout.
“what they said to you wasn’t very nice…” he murmured. “i’m sorry they did that.”
you smiled warmly. “it’s okay. i get it here and there.”
his eyebrows furrowed. “here and there? what do you mean?”
“from other people that i meet.” you perked up slightly then. “do you wanna sit?” you signaled to the seat across from you in the booth and he stiffened, eyes wide and cheeks pink as he reluctantly scooched his legs over and sat across from you.
“they just get a little mad when i don’t do what they want me to do.”
“like be mean? like them?”
you shrugged a little, but the way your gorgeous eyes peered up at him indicated that he was right. “i suppose.”
“are all of your friends like that?”
“oh no! thankfully not…” you fiddled with your fingers on the table. “a lot of them are really sweet.”
yuta never thought about how something like this could be a possibility, as all he saw was how much you were loved and idolized and sought after by literally anyone who knew your name— but he missed the mark on the logistics of it. he should’ve known certain girls wouldn’t be in favor of you and desired what you didn’t have to work very hard for to get.
he saw how you wiped the remnants of your wet cheeks and sniffed, looking like you had at least recovered from crying but still a little dejected as you slouched over the table, eyes down.
“do you want… another elvis shake?”
you looked up. “what?”
“a—another shake. do you want one?” he stood slowly from the booth. “or i could get you ice cream? we just have vanilla and chocolate but—”
“oh no! it’s okay really i don’t want to freeload over what you have—”
he giggled a little. “you’re not freeloading. i’m offering.”
and before you could reject him again, he was already making his way to the kitchen— hands skillfully prepping his favorite milkshake like he’d done so many times before since the age of sixteen, and now skillfully and lovingly preparing it for you, the girl he’s adored since the moment he started college.
you stood and timidly followed after him, but instead of fully going into the kitchen, you stopped in front of the vintage burgundy jukebox and scanned the selection of songs.
“you won’t get in trouble?” you worriedly called over your shoulder. “i don’t want you to run into issues with your job…”
“no it’s okay!” you heard from the kitchen, glasses and silverware clinking together. “i’ve been working here since high school and my manager doesn’t mind. i usually um— close on sunday’s on my own too.”
the blender went off as you spotted your favorite elvis presley song on the list of selections, perking up and quickly digging into your purse for any stray quarters you magically hoped would appear inside.
yuta switched the blender off and unhooked it from the base, pouring out the frothy liquid into a fountain glass cup.
“you close on your own on sunday’s?” your head turned to where he was, catching little glimpses of him from the doorway as he moved to and fro. “the entire restaurant?”
“yeah…” he laughed awkwardly. “well— all of the time.”
“all of the time?!” you gawked, popping your head into the kitchen and accidentally scaring him.
“oh shit!—”
“sorry!” you giggled cutely. “i’m sorry…”
he laughed with you and waved you off. “it’s okay.”
yuta looked down and proceeded topping your milkshake with baby pink sprinkles again. “and yeah we’re kind of… understaffed right now. it’s just me and another kid.”
you hummed understandingly, watching the way he finished off your shake with two cherries on top instead of one like last time, making you softly smile in response.
he plopped a straw in. “here you go.”
“thank you!” you bounced excitedly on your little toes and he grinned, handing the glass over to you gently.
“i hope you feel better…”
your milkshake filled cheeks made him laugh as you paused and swallowed, the sweetest expression ever on your face as your eyes flickered to his name tag and back to him.
“i do yuta… thank you!”
the way his name rang off your tongue, something he never ever would’ve thought to hear come out of your mouth, to come out from you, sent him feeling lightheaded as fuck as he dropped his head down to hide his rosy cheeks, walking out of the kitchen as you followed after him.
you paused in front of the jukebox again.
“oh! i didn’t get to hear your answer from earlier.”
he picked his head up. “from earlier?”
“if— if you listen to elvis?”
“oh—” his gaze drifted to where you had your focus on the elvis presley selection panel on the machine. “i do! i love his music.”
you beamed, eyes lighting up so excitedly as you looked at him.
“oh my god i love him too! so much!”
“really?” he smiled. “do you— do you have a favorite song?”
“yeah! i have a lot...” you giggled shyly. “but i mainly like ‘always on my mind.’”
“that one’s a good one!” his smile grew. “i love that one too.”
“right?!” you stepped closer to him, and his face flushed. “and you? what about you?”
“i uh— i like ‘moody blue’…”
you gushed. “i like that one too!”
you loved the way his pinky cheeks bloomed and how kind he was— the way he tried his best to make you, a stranger, feel better with a cute little milkshake, his stuttering and fidgeting something that you found yourself adoring and only made your heart mushy with the weird need to pinch his rosy cheeks.
and he loved elvis.
“i’m glad you like him.” you hummed, running the pad of your index finger mindlessly over the smooth glittery surface of the jukebox. “people don’t really listen to him or oldies in general now.”
you gently set your nearly finished milkshake on the bar table as he nodded his head in agreement, thinking he couldn’t fall more in love with you over the fact that you actually liked one of his favorite artists. “i didn’t—expect you to either…”
you tilted your head. “really? why?”
“because—” he stammered, eyes darting around your breathtaking face. “well you’re popular. and pretty. and in a sorority. and i just—”
“oh— i see!” you smiled with blushing cheeks at his quick compliment, but it didn’t really reach your eyes. “i understand.”
“no but!—” your eyes stayed glued to the jukebox, and he worried that he might’ve accidentally offended you as he frantically tried to get his words together.
“i know it’s all stereotypes and assumptions so i’m— i’m sorry.”
“it’s alright!” you giggled softly. “i just don’t want you or anyone to get the wrong impression of me because of those things is all…”
your eyebrows pinched in thought, and he quickly shook his head.
“i’ve never!” he reached and placed a hand on your shoulder, your cheeks growing hot as he did so. “i’ve never gotten the wrong impression of you…”
“no?”
“no.”
you peered up at him. “what do you think of me then?”
“what do i—” he gulped. “what do i think?”
“yeah!”
“i think uh… you’re really nice.” he mumbled. “really nice. to everyone.. to me. doesn’t matter who honestly. and… you’re not afraid to say something if someone is being rude.”
yuta shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he avoided your gaze. “and you’re helpful… you put a lot of care into the things that you do, which are always never for your own benefit but for the benefit of others.”
he froze. “i— i see you around campus! a lot— so…”
your doe eyes were soft and filled with affection and warmth, the weight of his words settling into your mind as if they’ve always belonged there. as if he’s always belonged there.
you wrung your fingers behind your back then and leaned up on your tippy toes.
“you think i’m pretty?”
beautiful.
yuta hadn’t even realized that he had called you that until the moment you mentioned it again, his eyes widening as his wobbly lips tried to form coherent sentences for you.
“well— well who doesn’t...” he squeaked.
“but do you?” you leaned even closer, your cute smile nearly making him want to blurt out that he’s in love with you and that he’s maybe thought about you being the mother of his children from time to time.
“i— i do.” his eyes flickered back to yours. “i do.”
you bit your bottom lip and gleamed, giving into your impulses and reaching up to gently squeeze his flushed cheek.
“you’re so cute yuta…” you murmured, arm falling back to your side and eyes casting over the jukebox again.
and he nearly just about died.
“do you want a little donut?” he asked. “i— i can get it from the back—”
you and yuta spent literally the rest of the night until two in the morning chit chatting, playing various oldies tunes on the jukebox that conspired of mainly elvis presley, and yuta literally feeding you and giving you anything he possibly could just so he could watch the way you beamed at him every time he did— even when at one point you literally begged him that it was okay, your tummy absolutely filled with sugary sweets and drinks.
you even helped yuta close— disinfecting and wiping down all of the tables, sweeping the floors, triple shining the little elvis mural the diner had by the hostess stand, and organizing the menu’s for tomorrow’s shift.
in the midst of you wiping down the last of the big glass windows by the entrance with him, you thought of something.
“oh my god yuta—” your head snapped in his direction, his eyes widening at your sudden outburst.
“what if i work here?”
he stopped.
“work here?”
“yeah!” you nodded vigorously. “with you!”
he bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from screaming. “with me?”
“uh huh!” you chirped sweetly. “i would love to wipe down tables and listen to music with you everyday..”
yuta’s ears went red as he heard your soft voice say something so cute, wanting to literally run into the kitchen to the sink and dunk his face in sink water to cool off his boiling face.
“if that’s okay!” you sputtered. “am i being weird? am i freaking you out—”
“no! no not at all!” the corners of his lips curled, and he smiled, genuinely smiled. a big loving one that made his cheeks hurt with how hard he was doing it, and one that made your heart lightly flutter inside your chest at the way he was looking at you.
“i can talk to my manager.” he spoke gently. “i’m pretty sure he’ll take you.”
you bounced excitedly on your tippy toes, unexpectedly throwing your arms around him and landing a big fat kiss to his cheek.
“thank you thank you!”
yuta kept true to his word and talked to his manager the following day, who barely even had to think about it since he trusted yuta more than his own damn kids, waving him off and giving him the all clear to have you start the coming week.
“look look! do you likkeeyyy?”
you twirled around in your waitress uniform, the frilly pink fabric moving and swaying with every spin you made as he casually tried to bite down on his thumb in stupid restraint.
“it’s great!” he muttered, teeth locked around his thumb still. “you look great y/n.”
“thanks thanks!”
and you hopped over, giving him another quick kiss on the cheek before skipping away to the kitchen, him ecstatic as he’d been wanting another one so fucking badly again since the first time you did it— him biting down even harder on his thumb when you disappeared from view.
“why do you look like you’re about to shit yourself?”
yuta whipped around and saw his other coworker, yuji, the kid who shares shifts with him sometimes and spills everything and anything that comes out of his mouth without thinking twice about it, standing next to him with a clueless face.
yuji then wiggled his eyebrows teasingly. “is it the girl? the pretty one? the one with the big ass—”
“knock it off—” yuta shoved him away lightly and walked off, crouching down behind the bar counter and sorting through piles of rolled up silverware and buffet napkins.
“do you like her? yes or no?” yuji leaned against the edge of the bar.
his cheeks went pink.
“because if not i’m gonna go try y’know—”
yuta scoffed. “yuji you’re a freshman in high school and we’re in college. she’s in college—”
“okay maybe she likes them young? cougar moment?”
yuta looked at him absolutely horrified and bewildered. “you’re fucking insane—”
his reaction and response only made yuji double over in a fit of laughter, clutching his stomach and gasping for breath as yuta looked at him with an unamused face.
“i’m kidding! i’m just kidding i know you like her you’ve been red in the face the minute she clocked in—”
“what’s so funny?”
you popped your head in from the kitchen, making yuta jump again and yuji double over laughing like before, you giving yuta an apologetic look.
“i wanna laugh!” you pouted. “what happened? what’s funny?”
“yuta didn’t like the joke i made.” yuji quipped.
“well what was it? maybe i will!” you smiled sweetly.
“i said—”
“don’t say it!”
yuji ducked as yuta threw a kids menu at him.
“yuta has a cru—”
“shut the fuck up!—”
you covered your mouth with your hands in a little fit of giggles, the sound halting yuta mid throw to look at you with wide dreamy eyes— not wanting to miss the way you laughed and the way your nose crinkled with every hiccup.
yuji snickered and he shot him a glare before standing and walking over to where you stood.
“you don’t wanna hear it…” he mumbled shyly, fiddling with a buffet napkin. “it was freaking weird.”
you settled your giggles down and breathed, nodding cutely. “i’ll take your word for it, yu.”
yu.
“eeehh?! look y/n! look at his face!—”
“shut up!”
for the rest of the days and shifts that you spent together, yuta made it his mission to do things for you to hopefully earn him a sweet cheek kiss in return like last time, all while desperately trying to avoid yuji and his big ginormous annoying mouth actively corrupting some of his attempts on purpose.
yuta would try and bring you any kind of pastry he could give away to you without his manager knowing, or make you milkshakes randomly throughout your shifts or small BLT’s during lunch time to feed you, all for the purpose of watching the way you’d smile and hug him gratefully each time, and if he got lucky, a sweet kiss on the cheek.
“i don’t get it.” yuji shook his head during one of your shifts, him shuffling through a movie magazine on his break. “why don’t you just ask her for a kiss on the cheek? hm? i’d bet she’d do it! ooo better yet—” he looked at him with sarcastic laced excitement. “ask her out you little loser.”
yuta’s cheeks were hot as he listened, watching you from the kitchen take orders and scribble them down on a notepad.
“it’s been months yuta. months. i am in agony every day watching you follow her around like a lost puppy even though it’s the funniest thing i’ve ever seen.”
yuta rolled his eyes, but sent him a small sad smile. “can’t do it.”
“why not?” he whined. “she likes you too!”
“because she’s out of my league.” yuta pursed his lips. “and no i don’t think she likes me.”
“oh man—” yuji hunched over the sink, tossing his magazine to the side and gripping the rim in exhaustion. “she kisses your cheeks and hugs you and literally took this job because of you! what more proof do you want?!” he grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “a straight up confession?! a straight up kiss?!”
yuta’s heart accelerated at the thought as he pictured yuji’s words clear in his mind.
would you ever kiss him?… would you ever like him back?
“m—maybe?”
“what about school! do you guys not hang out or talk at school?”
“we do!” yuta perked up, but his shoulders quickly slumped. “we’re in different circles though so it’s always just for a little bit or casually.”
yuji groaned loudly and smacked a hand over his forehead. “it’s useless. you’re on your own man i tried i tried so hard i can’t help you—”
he continued to mutter under his breath as he picked up his backpack and walked out of the kitchen and out of the restaurant, the end of his shift drawing near as yuta laughed to himself over his words.
he appreciated how much yuji cared and how badly he wanted him to succeed, but even though his unrealistic expectations and hopes annoyed him most of the time as he blabbed on to him about them, yuta knew he was just a kid. so he valued it anyways.
“yu!” you spoke from behind the bar, him quickly rubbing his sweaty palms over his pants as he walked out of the kitchen to you.
“i’m so excited for tonight!” you smiled, your giddy little self practically bouncing off the walls in anticipation.
he laughed. “you’re excited to clean?”
“yup yup! i’m excited to clean with you.”
with him.
yuta adored sunday’s because that’s when you were both scheduled to close together on your own— just like the first time you did months ago, back when you weren’t working there yet.
there were no cooks, no yuji, no manager, and no customers. just you and him as you blasted elvis singles on the jukebox and got a sugar high from the ice cream machine as you wiped down tables and dusted off shelves— one time you literally slipping on the checkered tile by the entrance because you forgot you had just mopped the floor, yuta practically jumping over the bar counter to see if you were okay and him absolutely sick and worried over nothing as he showered you with more pastries and sweets to help you feel better.
that sunday night he got a kiss on the cheek.
so as you both bid the last customers a good night and got right to work, yuta considered yuji’s dumb words.
maybe he should just ask?
“if elvis was still alive i would probably sell myself to go see him.”
he let out a shocked laugh. “sell yourself? like prostitution?”
“mhm!” you hummed, wiping down the bar counter. “think about it— his tickets would probably cost like three thousand dollars. where the hell am i gonna get three thousand dollars? i’m broke and in college.”
yuta shook his head, his lips in an amused grin. “anything for elvis.”
“exactly!” you leaned over the counter excitedly, yuta on the other side with pink cheeks and a fuzzy feeling in his heart. “you get it. only you understand me.”
he laughed.
“i think it’d be cool if they brought him back as a hologram and did concerts that way.” yuta suggested.
you gasped incredulously as a hand flew to slap over your mouth. “yu! you little genius! oh my god i have to start pimping myself out now—”
yuta laughed again and shook his head. “don’t do that. we’ll find a way to get in.”
“we?!” you propped yourself up on the counter with your elbows and cupped his hands in yours, him stiffening with wide eyes and wobbly nervous lips. “you wanna go with me?”
“y—yeah.” he stammered. “of— of course…”
you squealed and nodded quickly, seemingly accepting the hypothetical proposal.
but then you settled down a little. your eyelashes slowly fluttering as you stared at him— a slow 50s love song statically murmuring through the jukebox adding to the atmosphere as you leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.
but this time it was different.
it wasn’t quick and cutesy and one that yuta barely had time to bask over before you pranced away. it was slow, tender, and yuta could feel the way your soft lips touched his skin and left behind a burn as he let his eyes close at the blissful gentle feeling, him finally able to relish in the rarity of it before you slightly began pulling away, eyes twinkling.
“…do you still think i’m pretty?” you whispered.
he swallowed thickly, your face so close he could feel your breath fanning across his lips.
“i do.” he whispered back, eyes locked on yours. “very much so.”
you bit your bottom lip as you smiled, ever so slightly leaning closer and closer to him as your lips nearly brushed against—
riinnggg!
you quickly pulled away and ran to the back to answer the phone, leaving yuta sitting there swooning and nearly collapsing on the table, his hands cold from not being encased in your own soft hands anymore.
but most of all… leaving him confused. he didn’t know why you were leaning in like that.
“i’m sorry we’re closed for the day!… uh huh… we open at eight am tomorrow if—”
yuta could still feel the blaze your lips left behind on his cheek as you spoke on the phone, his hands coming up to rub his eyes as he tried to get his head back down from the clouds and simmer down the beating of his heart.
“someone wanted to come in right now!” you exclaimed, coming back over to your previous spot.
he furrowed his eyebrows. “right now? are you serious? it’s—” he spun around on the barstool and turned his head to the coca cola themed vintage clock on the wall. “it’s nearly twelve am?”
“i know!” you breathed out. “we closed four hours ago.”
“four?!—”
it dawned on the both of you how long you had been inside the diner, fully convinced it would’ve been longer if you hadn’t noticed.
so as the two of you mutually agreed to finish up and gather your things— the jukebox switched to an iconic elvis presley slow love song as you were just about halfway through the entrance double doors, eyes snapping to each other’s.
“aw i love this one…” you spoke softly, a little whine seeping through.
a small close lipped smile spread across his face. “i love this one too.”
“do you wanna—” you stopped.
his eyebrows pinched. “do i wanna what?”
“do you wanna… dance with meee?” you dragged out cutely, slightly bouncing on your toes.
“dance?” his eyes widened. “i— i don’t know how—”
“s’okay! i’ll teach you!”
you quickly pulled his hand and dragged him out, opening one door and jamming a door stopper underneath it so the music of the jukebox leaked out of the diner and through the empty street.
the pavement was a little wet from the morning rain as you took his hand again and pulled him to the middle of the dead empty street, the bottom of your shoes tapping and splashing a little with each tiny puddle you stepped in.
elvis presley’s voice softly hummed through the air, but it was loud and clear to the both of you as you gently took yuta’s hands and set them around your waist, his heart fucking palpitating and feeling like he was about to have a stroke when you wrung your arms over his neck and showed him that pretty smile he loved so much.
you both slowly stepped side to side, the air crispy and cold as your breath’s blew out foggy misty clouds due to the condensation, both of your noses and cheeks flushing red and buzzing warmly as you continued to slow dance— yuta’s grip slowly tightening until he was practically hugging you flush against his body.
out of anything that could possibly happen to yuta in his life, he wanted to remember this moment specifically— with you, dancing in the middle of the street listening to the man that essentially brought you both together in the first place, your beautiful beautiful face looking at him like he was the most important thing in your life… yuta wanting so badly for that to come true as he basked in this little made up scenario in his head that you were already his.
“yu…” you murmured.
he didn’t trust his voice.
“hm?”
“why haven’t you kissed me yet.”
what?
“kissed… you?”
“yeah..” you whispered, your bodies swaying. “don’t you like me?”
yuta let out a shaky breath. “i— i mean yeah… who doesn’t?”
your smile faltered. “i’m talking about you though…”
“oh. well you know i do. i’m sure a lot of other guys would want to kiss you.”
the song drawled to a gradual close and the jukebox reset, you both no longer swaying but still holding on to each other.
your eyes drifted to the side. “other guys?”
he pursed his lips, not really liking the thought of you kissing guys, but answering your question anyways. “yeah… other guys.”
his emphasis on other guys and not on himself left a bad taste in your mouth.
your eyes narrowed in confusion as you looked up at him, yuta a little shocked at your sad expression.
did he say something wrong?
“i thought—” you shook your head softly. “i thought you…?”
“…thought me what?” he cocked his head to the side, his genuine confusion solidifying his rejection in your eyes.
“i— i thought—”
your hands slipped from his shoulders and you stepped back, yuta sadly complying and letting his arms open and fall beside him as you rapidly blinked back tears, his eyes slowly widening once he caught it.
“hey— are you okay? what’s wrong?”
yuta went and reached for you, you backing away in response as you shook your head and gave him a small smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes at all.
“why are you crying? did i say something mean? i’m sorry—”
“no no i’m fine.” your voice was quiet and sad. “i think we should go home now.”
his shoulders deflated.
“are you sure? we— we usually hang out until at least one in the morning on sunday’s…”
you walked past him and towards the double doors of the diner, letting your tears slip in secret as you picked up your school bag and swung it over your shoulder, quickly wiping your cheeks before picking up his bag and giving it to him.
yuta thanked you and hoisted his backpack up on himself, ushering you gently to step to the side as he pulled the door stopper from beneath and placed it in its corresponding place by the entrance, letting the door close on its own before pulling out the keys from the pocket of his jacket and locking the diner up.
he did all of this— completely unaware to the way you were trying to quiet down your sniffles behind him.
you were so sure he liked you back… now you just felt a little stupid.
of course— the one genuine guy you came across that you actually liked out of all the others that you’ve met, one that wasn’t like the rest and was sweet and funny and caring and so so attentive of you… didn’t like you back.
the one thing you truly truly wanted, you simply couldn’t have— you walking ahead of yuta in silence through the parking lot with your arms crossed as you wondered if the way he treated you was literally just because that’s how he was as a person.
a good person at that. way too good for this world, and way too good for you.
yuta didn’t know why you were so quiet, his chest a bit achy at the absence of your usual cheerful voice.
when you reached your cars, you barely even bid him a proper goodbye like you always did before you got in your car and sped away, leaving a perplexed yuta standing alone in the parking lot— eyebrows pinched together in clueless concern.
you were acting so weird, and you unfortunately continued to do so for the following week.
the next time you came into the diner (which was literally the next day), yuta was taken aback by how bloodshot and sunken your eyes were when you came in for your shift, not saying a single peep to yuji and him when you walked through the kitchen or through the bar counter like you usually did… and it was weird.
through the bustling of the busy restaurant, it was oddly quiet to the two boys, simply because you weren’t your usual boastful self.
and you were hardly talking to yuta either… which pained him the most. you kept it strictly casual— as if you weren’t completely tied together every fucking day for almost a year now, you just completely casual about your day and about the things you had to do whenever he asked you, your one word dry responses sending him through the worst confusing and sadistic loop of his life.
but it wasn’t casual at all. nothing about you was casual. so why were you acting like this? did you finally maybe open your eyes and realize yuta was a big fat nobody who didn’t belong with a girl like you?
yuta nearly cried at the thought. perhaps you had finally realized that.
but how fucking cruel was it that he lived a year of love and beauty and everything that was just you, getting a taste of what it would be like to live a life where you thought of him as something really special and a life where you wanted to basically do everything with him— only to be ripped away from him overnight? with no explanation?
by wednesday, yuta was dead inside.
you didn’t seem to want to do anything with him anymore like before. you didn’t excitedly jump and squeal and bounce on your little toes when it was time for the both of you to clean during your shift or restock the ice cream machine. you didn’t talk to him about elvis anymore or about another ludicrous idea on how to resurrect him from the dead— you didn’t smile like you used to whenever he tried to give you a small pastry, actually rejecting it instead, and you didn’t kiss his cheeks anymore.
by friday, yuji was fed the fuck up.
“what the fuck did you do?!” he whispered harshly at him from the bar, you somewhere in the diner taking orders. “that woman is like a walking zombie. her eyes have been red like red since monday, and she’s not yapping about elvis anymore.”
yuta leaned against the counter with a flat palm to his forehead in worry, feeling like he was gonna be fucking sick over you.
“i— i don’t know.” he stuttered. “i truly don’t know i don’t know what i said that’s making her act like that.”
“okay run it back for me run it back.” he placed both hands on his shoulders and roughly pulled yuta to face him. “explain to me again what happened on sunday.”
“we were closing…”
“uh huh?”
“she wanted to slow dance in the street so we did…”
“okay cute i love that part okay keep going..?”
“and then she asked why haven’t i kissed her—“
“she what?!” yuji choked, “you didn’t tell me this part! you fucking jumped to the parking lot!”
“my bad…” yuta muttered.
“shit— whatever keep going.”
“she also said that she thought i liked her and i said who doesn’t… and then i told her i was sure other guys would want to kiss her.”
“you said other guys?”
yuta’s eyebrows pinched. “yeah?”
“you. said…” yuji repeatedly slowly. “other. guys.”
“yes i did—”
“oh you’re done.” he rapidly shook his head. “i can’t help you i’ve done all i can you’re my buddy and i love you but i cannot take this anymore—”
“woah woah slow the fuck down—” he narrowed his eyes. “what’s so bad about what i said?”
“you rejected her.”
“what? no i didn’t—”
“yes!” yuji nodded frantically. “yes you did you freaking dingus! yuta she wanted a kiss from you a kiss! she literally said ‘when are you going to kiss me!’”
“i thought she was joking about that?” he answered softly.
“i might die early if you don’t figure this out right now.” yuji spat. “when you said other guys, she took it as you saying you’re sure other guys would want to kiss her and not you! do you understand what i’m trying to say?!”
yuta stayed silent.
“you said ‘i’m sure other guys would wanna kiss you,’ which is you indirectly saying ‘i’m sure other guys would wanna kiss you but not me.’ emphasis on others—”
“holy fucking shit.”
why was yuji kind of smart?
“oh thank god!” yuji breathed out, throwing his hands up in the air before clasping them together and looking up at the ceiling, his eyes screwed shut as he shook his interlocked hands and prayed.
“thank you! thank you elvis presley for finally making him see what a dumbass he’s been this entire year especially this moment your music has never been better—”
yuta shoved his fingers through his hair, his eyes bulging open. “holy fucking shit what the fuck did i do?!”
you walked past the bar just then and they both shot their arms down and tried to appear as nonchalant as humanly possible, you not even sparing them a glance as you walked over to the kitchen and disappeared from view.
“oh you have got to fix this.”
yuta spent the rest of the week trying to devise a plan to ease into the situation and have a conversation with you about it, but doing it fucking poorly as he miserably couldn’t come up with anything and yuji having even worse ideas— going as far as to suggesting he kidnaps you and takes you to elvis presley’s home in graceland and apologize there, yuji calling it a ‘grand gesture.’
by sunday, yuta was grasping at straws.
you slowly looked up from the bar as you saw a little sprinkled donut pastry slide across from the other side, your stinging eyes locking with yuta’s and feeling an immediate colossal pang through your chest when you saw him.
“you um—” yuta sighed softly through his nose. “you haven’t had a donut from here in a while…”
“oh.” your eyes stayed glued to the pastry. “thank you but i’m alright. i’m not that hungry right now.”
yuta bit his tongue. “please.”
he wasn’t pleading for you to eat the damn donut, but he pathetically couldn’t get the words out properly either.
“i don’t want it i’m okay.”
“why not?” he pushed. “you love donuts. you haven’t accepted my milkshakes either and you love those too.”
“i got sick of them.”
yuta froze.
you sounded like a completely different person at the moment, and yuta knew that your words held an entirely different meaning to them— his heart literally throwing up all over his insides in distress.
it was near closing time, the last pair of customers just about finishing up their meal as you both stared solemnly at the uneaten donut.
“are you—” yuta cleared his throat. “are you mad at me?”
the customers called you over then, and you quickly pushed yourself off from the edge and walked over as yuta heard your kind customer service voice from somewhere in the diner finalizing the bill for them, the bell above the door chiming as they left— you coming back around to stand back on the other side of the bar.
“sorry what did—”
“are you mad at me.”
you shook your head, eyebrows pinched. “no. why would i be mad?”
“are you upset with me?”
you hummed a no.
yuta wanted to rip his hair out at the fact that he couldn’t fucking think of what to say to you— not wanting to accidentally say something that could offend you like last time without him even knowing, as he didn’t trust his mouth for shit.
“you haven’t looked okay since last sunday.” he murmured. “you don’t look happy around me anymore.”
you pulled your lips into a thin line and pressed hard, already feeling tears threatening to spill.
“it’s just school. it’s tough at the moment.” you mumbled.
“you’re lying.”
you slightly snorted. “okay thanks.”
“no— fuck i did it again.” he screwed his eyes shut. “i know you’re upset with me and i know you’re mad at me. you don’t talk to me as much, you don’t— you don’t take any of the sweets and drinks i give you when you always do, and you refuse to talk to me about elvis.”
“it’s school yuta i don’t know what else to tell you.”
he groaned and pushed himself off the bar, swiftly making his way around the counter to stand right in front of you as your pretty red eyes widened, your body immediately fidgeting.
“please… i miss you.” he mumbled, and your bottom lip started to wobble. “i miss when you wanted me around.”
“i— i do want you around.” you said, so so softly he could barely hear you.
“then please tell me what you’re feeling.”
you brought your hands up and pressed your fingers into your eyes, trying your absolute hardest to keep the tears inside as your body trembled.
“it’s all me it’s not you so— so please don’t worry about it it’s school and— and—”
“i love you.”
you paused.
yuta shakily pried your fingers away from your eyes, holding them in his hands as silent tears escaped down your cheeks.
you shook your head. “no you don’t. you’re just saying that—”
“i love you.”
“stop it you’re being mean i don’t need you to tell me you love me because you feel bad for me—”
you tried to tear your hands away but his grip only tightened as he shook his head and wrung you in, pressing your hands flat over his heart and holding them there as he leaned and pushed his lips to yours, the taste and feeling of you complete fucking paradise as he hoped that the weight of his lips were conveying how much he truly fucking loved you, how much he truly needed you in his life and how much he wanted you to treat him like he was something to you again.
he was tired of you carrying around the missing half of him, but not because he wanted you to give it back.
he wanted you to keep it. he wanted you to keep it forever and ever and not let it dangle over ineptly like you’d done for the past week. he wanted you to kiss it and shove it next to your heart and keep it there snug where it belonged until the day that he died.
the jukebox murmured another soft 50s tune, you slowly but surely letting your tense shoulders relax as you allowed your lips to move against his, your heart screaming and zooming through your bones at the fact that this man was kissing you like you’d wanted and dreamed for him to do so badly for the past year.
you both slowly pulled away with your lips quietly smacking apart, your stunning face finally looking at him the way you always did, the way you used to, even if it was a little timid still.
“are you lying?” you murmured.
his eyes softened as he gently shook his head.
“absolutely not.”
“but you rejected me.”
he sighed through his nose, his hands still pressing yours over his heart as you felt it beat rapidly under your palms.
“i— i didn’t mean to. i swear to god i didn’t mean to.” he gently dropped his forehead against yours as he closed his eyes. “i was being stupid and worded everything wrong. but— but i’m telling you now that i wanted to kiss you… so fucking bad. you’re too pretty for me so i honestly thought i just didn’t stand a chance…”
you couldn’t believe it.
“i don’t want other guys to kiss you.” he continued. “not at all… just me.”
“just you?” you murmured, and he nodded against your forehead.
“just me.” he propped his chin on the top of your head. “i’m sorry i hurt you and made you cry.”
“no yu…” you spoke gently. “i’m sorry too. and i’m sorry i said i was sick of the sweets you give me… i was lying i love them.”
he chuckled softly.
“it’s okay… i know.” yuta gently caressed your fingers with his thumbs. “but i love you pretty.”
“i love you.” you whispered, and you slid your hands up his chest and around his neck, pulling him down in a warm embrace as he copied and pulled your body to his so so tightly, your hearts beating in time with one another as he felt his fingertips go numb at your confession, kissing your soft little cheeks over and over and over again until he got giggles out of you.
yuta loved sunday’s… and so did you.
and when he asked you to be his girlfriend that same night while standing over the jukebox, staring at the elvis presley song selection like you’d done many times together before in the past, yuta for the first time realized that he hadn’t felt alone since the moment you came into the diner with your mean friends— finding himself actually thanking them in his head for that, realizing that if they hadn’t then you probably would’ve left with them and he would’ve never gotten the chance to speak to you that night.
the next time you both came into work, you back to your usual jumpy self as you took every pastry that yuta gave you again and babbled about elvis and how you were gonna spend your hypothetical prostitution money on a flight to memphis to see his grave and pay your respects, yuji was elated.
“what happened?! you have to tell me what happened come on you can’t keep it from me i’m just a boy—”
you skipped into the kitchen then and smoothly walked in between them, pressing a gentle cute peck to yuta’s lips before grabbing what you needed from the back and walking back out, yuji’s mouth flinging open and his jaw hitting the fucking floor.
“how— what— when— where—”
you stepped back in after a second and bounded over next to yuta, his eyes soft as he watched you lean your head on his shoulder.
“what?” you asked. “what’s wrong yuji?”
“oh god no!” he wailed, dramatically throwing an arm over his eyes in agony. “i thought this is what i wanted but it’s not! i want a kiss like that man!”
he flew to his knees in front of you and took your hand in his. “y/n why can’t you just wait for me please?! wait five years you’re so pretty i won’t confuse you like this dingbat and i’ll give you better sweets and milkshakes than him please!—”
yuta took your hand and slapped yuji’s away. “you freak stand up man the floor is dirty—”
“i need a popular gorgeous girlfriend like you yuta! how could you do this?! i thought we were brothers?! what spell did you cast?! have you ever learned jujutsu?! what have i done!—”
your manager popped his head into the kitchen and you all stiffened.
“yuji why are you crying? everyone outside can hear you, kid.”
yuji flew to his feet and shook his head. “m’not crying sir. everything is fine just fine and dandy sir.”
“okay… well can you check on your tables? leave yuta and y/n to work.”
“yes sir i’ll check on them sir.”
your manager nodded, muttering something about today’s generation as he left and went back inside his office, yuji walking out of the kitchen shortly after with his head down as you both tried your hardest to keep your laughter in, hands tightly clasped over your mouths and silently snickering to keep yuji from hearing it on the other side.
“p—poor him.” you heaved, a hand over your chest. “i hope— i hope he finds his ‘popular girlfriend’ when he’s older.”
“i wish her luck.” he muttered, and your hand slapped back over your mouth again as you burst into another fit of giggles alongside him.
yuta sheepishly outstretched his arms for you once you both settled down, you perking up excitedly with a cutesy little grin as you skipped into them, your arms wrapping snug around his torso as he brought his around your shoulders and squeezed, earning a tiny squeak from you that made him laugh.
he hoped to god he wasn’t dreaming.
yuta started shifting his weight from one to the other, gently moving and swaying you side to side in the kitchen as you giggled and let him lead you like that.
“you slow dancing yu?” you murmured softly, head coming up to give him a kiss on the cheek as he blushed.
“yeah..” he hummed. “i like it when we do.”
“i do too yu… it’s like our little thing! we’re so vintage.”
he snorted, and a charming beautiful smile spread across your face— one that made him wonder how he ever managed to land you when all he did was wait tables and stutter foolishly and wasn’t anyone particularly special like you were.
but you. you were everything. everything and way fucking more as you looked at him like he built the diner himself brick by brick for reasons he still couldn’t understand why.
yuta spoke after a moment.
“…what do you think of me?” he murmured suddenly, cheek mushing up against the side of your head as your brows furrowed.
“what do i think of you?” you asked, your perplexed face slowly shifting to one of realization as it dawned on you how yuta was reiterating your words to him from when you first met.
he grinned. “yeah.”
you pulled back to face him.
“i think you’re kind… you always have been even when i didn’t deserve it.”
his jaw dropped. “what? didn’t deserve it?—”
“i’m not finished!” you pouted, and he playfully rolled his eyes as he shut his lips.
“you’re too good to me yu…” you sighed a little. “you’re so helpful and selfless, and even when things piss you off you still take the time to appreciate them… like yuji.”
you both snickered then, and yuta brought his head down and nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck.
“i love the way you love, yuta. i love the way you love me and take care of me and always feed me…” you giggled. “without me ever having to ask.”
you felt his arms tighten around you.
“don’t ever think that you aren’t special to me or anyone or i’ll kill you and go to graceland without you.”
he laughed loudly in your neck and pulled back, half lidded ditzy loving eyes staring back as he leaned in and kissed you— gentle and delicate, his hands coming up to cup your warm cheeks.
“jesus man table nine would not stop asking me for— oh god no!”
you and yuta jumped apart, yuji immediately wailing and crying again as he flung himself to the floor on his knees.
“really?! in my kitchen?! in front of my face?! how cruel can you be yuta?! y/n can you maybe give me a ki—”
yuta leaned down and smacked him upside the head.
“owwwuhh! what’s wrong with just one little kiss man?!—”
“cut. it. out!—”
and just like always, the week came and went, sunday fast approaching as the day eventually came to close the diner together like lovely clockwork— wiping down tables and sweeping the floors, organizing the menu’s and restocking the crayons for the little kids, gulping down milkshakes with yuta like water as you worked…
but most importantly— sharing long kisses in between each sweeping rotation, kissing and pinching his cheeks repeatedly whenever he asked or did literally anything, and slow dancing to the same 50s love song that played when you first tried to kiss him at the bar that one night, swaying together in a silly way and giggling whenever you’d both nearly topple over to the floor— yuta beaming and lovesick as he looked down at your gorgeous smile and your gorgeous face… it gleaming with so much purpose, so much pure love and importance and value for him as you danced—
that yuta decided he wanted you to keep the other remaining half of him too.
forever.
this! is the song that was playing when reader was about to give yuta a kissy kissy on the bar counter, and again at the end if you’re curious :3 it was playing when i wrote it and it literally fit so well and lifted my entire body and spirit and i felt like i was THERE MAN! <333
taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):
@cupcaketeddybehr @soobiary @roachfun @waterfal-ling @saebaey @reneinii @luvvmae @cake-with-the-cream @pixie-dix @2ukika @cramelmacchiao @hy3phiren @fushigurioo @wil10wthetree @jameinfrau @pancakeszs
(HATE when tumblr doesn’t let me tag some of yall i don’t know why it does that!!)
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#yuta okkotsu#gojo satoru#jjk fanfic#jjk x you#geto suguru#geto suguru x reader#gojo satoru x reader#jjk fluff#yuta okkotsu x reader#jujutsu yuta#jjk yuta#yuta x reader#yuta okkotsu x you#jjk yuuta#jjk megumi#jjk x reader#jjk geto#jjk gojo#megumi fushiguro#yuji itadori#nanami kento x reader#choso kamo#choso x reader#jujutsu megumi#jujutsu kaisen megumi#jujutsu gojo#gojo x you#gojo fluff
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sage & stardust
🌙 starring. Kim Mingyu x afab!Reader
🔮 preview. “I think you’re amazing, and good with your hands, and pretty, and I enjoy spending time with you too,” he counters, echoing the entirety of your sentiment. You stare blankly up at the man. It’s clear he doesn’t know what you’re getting at. You wonder how fairies court each other- do they even court each other? Do fairies have sex? Or are they just… you don’t know, blossomed out of flower buds or something?
tw/cw. Unprotected sex, Mingyu holds y/n down by the wrists, size kink, mentions of possible bondage kink, heavy petting, worship, Mingyu is a boobs guy, nipple sucking, fingering, pussy stretching, foreplay, multiple reader orgasms, oral (f receiving), praise, dirty talk, etc… I pet names: (hers) my star. (his) Gyu.
👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 9.6k
🍭 aus. Fairy au, fantasy au, non idol.
☀️ mlist + an. Okay, so, I’ve written sooo many fics on this blog, and lately I’ve been wanting to try things I haven’t done before. I’ve never done a legit small man fairy dude (who does become normal/large sized later) x yn in a fic before, so bare with me, because these two are such a delightfully domestic pairing. Without further adieu, I give you: blue-collar fairy Mingyu.
Prologue
Pandora lives in a little cottage in the forest. Even though she’s young, she knows the trees and ferns, the mushrooms and flowers. Who needs mundane playthings when you have four entire acres of wilderness to keep you entertained?
Her mother is an artist, and steady hands run in the family. Pandora spends her evenings carefully painting a dollhouse model of the cottage that her father had crafted for her in his little workshop shed outside.
All in all, it’s a peaceful existence, and things are very predictable. Mother is in the studio solarium room, fingers covered in inks and colorful spots. Father is crafting something in his shed, fixing up the house as he engages in an endless war against the elements of the forest.
Pandora flutters around, checking in on her parents, and exploring the immediate grounds around the cottage. Today, she’s following a particularly beautiful butterfly as it glides amongst the trees down by the pond. She’s so enamored with the pretty wings, that she almost doesn’t notice the fairy ring.
A circle of mushrooms, one she’s scouted out before, is along the bank of the murky water. Pandora has heard tales of fairies and pixies, and has been warned not to enter circles like this. She sidesteps the ring, and that’s when she notices something out of place, something that hadn’t been there yesterday.
Just outside of the little circle, is a small creature. At first glance, the glossy wings look butterfly-like, but Pandora has never seen sage green wings like these on a bug. The small child pauses, hiking up her dress and kneeling down to get a better look.
Definitely not a butterfly. Where an insect would have a thorax at the joining of wings, this creature has a tiny little man. Well, he’s bigger than a butterfly would be, but it’s clear to the young girl that she’s looking at a fairy, and as she inspects him further, she notices one of his wings is torn.
Pandora has mended butterfly wings with her father before- she knows what to do, but she’s hesitant. Should she help this small fairy, as she’s helped many bugs before him? Is he simply resting and not in immediate danger?
She looks around, noting any predators in the surrounding area. A large bird circles overhead, and Pandora decides she has to act. Reaching for a leaf, she scoops the tiny fairy's body into the greenery, carefully carrying him back toward the cottage.
As she gets there, she sees her father getting into his work truck to head to town, and Pandora knows better than to stop him. She also knows better than to go interrupt her mother, who is on a deadline for a piece and has asked not to be disturbed.
No, Pandora will have to do this rescue mission herself, and she heads into her father’s workshop to find the glue.
She does her best to be gentle, even with her pudgy fingers, as she mends the torn wing. When she’s done, Pandora finds one of the many small boxes her father has made. It’s a cedar box, with a small, iron latch.
Leaving the fairy, she goes outside, collecting a little nest of moss to put into the box.
When everything is finished, she sets the fairy into the box, carefully closing it and latching it shut. He needs some rest, and as far as the small child is concerned, he’s safer in her little box than lying in the grass where big predators might hurt him.
One:
“I’m sure it’s no surprise that your grandmother left you the cottage,” the lawyer in charge of the estate tells you as he looks over the papers on his desk. “As you are the only artist in the family, Pandora wrote that she hopes the solace will inspire, as it had inspired her, and her mother before her.”
You nod solemnly. It’s a monumental gift, one your cousins would kill you for- but alas, you’d spent the most time with your grandmother in her later days, and the solarium studio is already set up as your own. To be young, and a homeowner now- this had never been your intention in spending time with her, but perhaps it’s a happy outcome, given the dire situation of her passing.
“She also wanted me to tell you, that you can finally open the box.” The lawyer looks at you expectantly, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Do you know what she was referring to?”
“Yes,” you respond. “She’d kept this small cedar box. Her father had made it for her when she was a child. It’s on her nightstand, but she’s never opened it.”
“Well, that’s… interesting.”
“Yeah, Pandora’s Box, I know the story,” you let out a sad chuckle. “Part of me doesn’t want to open it, she always told me not to, I guess I made it this big bad thing in my head as a kid.”
“I’m sure it’s just jewelry or something of the sort,” the lawyer assures you, and you remind yourself that men of the law are never the superstitious type.
Two:
You’re a few glasses deep into your bottle of wine, and you find yourself looking at your grandmother’s small cedar box. Curiosity is getting the better of you, and liquid courage is doing wonders to calm your superstitions.
There can’t be anything dangerous in the box, or your grandma wouldn’t have left it for you… right?
Taking a breath, you approach the box. It’s sitting on your dining room table, you’d gingerly carried it from the bedroom earlier, with the intention of opening it, and now, you will.
You sit, staring at it for a few moments. Your hands shake when you reach for it, but you push away your anxiety. The iron latch is old and worn, but it clicks open after a bit of work. Taking another deep breath, you lift the cedar lid.
Nothing happens, no surge of dark spirits releasing the worst of humanity, no hurricane or pestilence-
You lean forward, looking into the box, and you’re shocked by what you find there.
Half buried in a nest of mossy greens that looked like they were only picked hours ago, is a small winged man. It’s a fairy, you realize, with glossy wings-
He stirs a little, stretching his arms above his head and yawning.
How could this be? Ignoring the moss that’s apparently been preserved for over seventy years, how is this tiny creature still alive after being shut away for a lifetime?
Part of you wants to close the box, to forget about it- but then the tiny man’s eyes open, and he stares up at you. You freeze immediately, as if paralyzed, your mind going blank in the face of the supernatural.
The fairy rubs his eyes, sitting up amongst the bed of moss. His hair is all messy, but in a way that’s kind of adorable. He gazes up at you, and then, he speaks. “Hello?”
“Hi?” It comes out a question, and you’re unsure how to proceed, so you say nothing else.
“Sorry, this is embarrassing,” he laughs, and you note the way his skin has turned pink. “Did you save me?”
“As horrible as this sounds, I uh… inherited you?”
“I don’t even know what that means,” the tiny man muses. “I remember being attacked by a large bird in my realm, my wing was damaged, I made my way to a fairy ring to come to your world and recuperate, but I must have passed out.”
You consider his words for a moment. “My grandma used to fix butterfly wings, is it possible she found you and fixed yours?”
The fairy extends one of his sage appendages, inspecting it. “It definitely looks repaired… Your grandma, you said?”
“Yes.” You nod. “I was told she’d had this box since she was a girl… have you been in here for a long time?”
“I was in hibernation, the dark and the moss- it was healing, I awoke because of the light.”
“So you have been in there for years,” you conclude, shocked. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”
“How many years is ‘years?’ You humans have a different view of time than I do.”
“Probably seventy or eighty?” you suggest.
“It didn’t feel like that long.” He cocks his head to the side, clearly thinking, then he looks up at you again. “How long have you had me?”
“I uh…” you swallow thickly at the question. “Well, I just inherited the cottage, and my grandma left the box to me in her will too… so, only two days.”
He nods, looking down, continuing to think hard about whatever it is that fairies ponder deeply on.
“How… how do you feel?”
“Well rested,” he smiles, breaking the look of deep concentration. “I’m ready to get back to tinkering.”
Tinkering… that definitely sounds like a fairy word, and you don’t question him further.
“Please don’t let me stop you from getting back to your home,” you tell him. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience of my grandmother keeping you in this box all this time.”
“It’s alright,” he yawns again, then pushes himself up from the moss. He’s dressed in a little green fairy outfit, and you do your best to commit him to your memory. His wings are truly beautiful, the way they shimmer even in the electric light of your kitchen. “I remember a pond.”
“Yes, there’s one right out the back way, must be a fairy circle there,” you nod.
“Thank you for the directions,” he smiles sincerely, and then, he begins to fly. You wonder how such delicate-looking wings could carry his body weight as he heads toward your open kitchen window. He lands on the ledge there, turning to give you one final nod of farewell, and then the fairy is gone.
You sit there for a few minutes, staring after him in shock.
How much wine did you have to drink?
Three:
It’s a Thursday like any other. You’re getting used to living in this cute cottage in the woods, spending your mornings waking up with the sun, heating a kettle for tea, and letting the creative juices flow in your mind before you ease your way to the studio to paint.
It’s the end of spring, and the promise of summer warmth is looming on the horizon.
You’re just beginning to contemplate breakfast when there’s a knock at your door, and it makes your heart freeze in your chest.
Although you might be getting somewhat accustomed to the seclusion, there are still very real dangers of being a single woman out on a large property alone in the woods, and this fact makes you hesitant as you head to your front door.
You can make out a large man through the glass, and you take a breath before peaking your head out. “Hello?”
It takes you a moment to recognize the man, as he’s substantially larger than the last time you saw him. The fairy is no longer palm-sized, instead, he’s well over six foot, and he flashes an awkward smile down at you. “Hi.”
You take in his attire, the worn jeans and the green flannel… you also note that he’s barefooted. “You’re wearing my grandpa's clothes.”
“Yeah, I uh… noticed the box in your truck, figured you might be getting rid of them anyways, so I slipped in through a crack in the window. I couldn’t just show up naked.”
Good point. “You’re big now,” you point out.
“Can I uh… can I come in?” He rubs the back of his neck nervously, surveying your front porch.
You take a breath. Part of you says this is a bad idea, but part of you is also saying that this is a fairy the size of a human man, and if you don’t hear him out, you’ll be wondering what could have been for the rest of your life.
You push your door open for him. “I just made some tea, follow me.”
The fairy’s footsteps are loud on your wooden floors as he shadows you to the kitchen. You give him your cup, pouring a second one for yourself before leaning back against your sink.
“I don’t even know where to start,” the fairy sighs, taking a seat at your small dining table. He cups his large hands around the mug of tea, as if warming himself.
“Well, I’m y/n,” you tell him.
He smiles thankfully. “Mingyu.”
“Nice to meet you again, Mingyu, how about you tell me how you’re human-sized and your wings are gone?”
“Fairies can transform. In my own realm, keeping my smaller shape is easier, but here- it takes less energy to just… blend in. It’s a sort of, um, adaptation, for survival, I guess.”
“It doesn’t make sense how you can go from tiny to massive,” you point out.
“Well, you see, I’m big for a fairy,” Mingyu laughs nervously. “It’s part of the reason I never fit in that well with others of my kind.”
You frown at his words, giving him the space to continue.
“Yeah, so anyways, I went back home, and I had been gone a while, and it just felt weird. I hadn’t fit in before, and I didn’t fit in when I got back, and I guess I just figured… you’re a girl, and you’re here alone, in the forest- I mentioned I’m a tinkerer right? I fix things? Was thinking maybe I could help fix up your place.”
Is he seriously offering to fix your house? You stare at him in shock. “I’ve never really thought about fairies being blue-collared.”
“Blue-collared?” he looks down at his flannel in confusion.
“Never mind, it’s uh, it’s a phrase, it means you’re a worker, you do building and stuff.”
“I’m really good at building and fixing things,” he nods solemnly.
“So… you want to stay here with me? Room, board, food… in return, you’ll fix up the cottage?” you clarify.
“I guess.”
You study him. “I’ve heard about pixies and fairies who try to lure people into fairy rings-”
“It’s not like that, I promise.” He meets your gaze. “Look, what if I fix your little shed workshop thing, show you what I can do, and you can decide later?”
You consider it for a moment. “I guess that could work, but first, you’ll need some workboots.”
“If you think that’s best.”
God, he probably does most of his tinkering while fairy-sized and barely wearing clothes… which isn’t something you want to think about.
Setting your tea down, you head to one of the back closets, where you’d stashed away a few of your grandfather’s possessions, the important things, unlike the donation box currently in your truck.
You find Mingyu some shoes, and when you go give them to him, he flashes you a smile and heads outside to get to work.
Four:
You’re doing your best to focus on painting, but your solarium gives you a perfect view of your grandfather's old work shed, where Mingyu is currently tinkering around.
He’s fast, and it’s clear he knows what he’s doing.
Your grandfather’s shed has a whole stash of tools, shingles, and wood, and Mingyu has already redone the roof, ripped a few worn boards off to replace them along the sides, and completed general tidying work.
He’s even weed-whacked the tall grass around the workstation, and as lunch turns into evening, he comes back from the woods with a small tree on his shoulder, which he then begins to chop for firewood.
You can definitely see how he’d be helpful to have around… and you can afford to feed him if he’s going to fix up your home. He’s probably already done a couple hundred dollars of work, maybe even a thousand- work that you’d been meaning to hire someone to deal with once you’d settled in a little more.
You get started on dinner. You’d planned on rice bowls, and it’s easy enough to make a plate for him. Then, you go outside, calling him toward you.
Mingyu’s sweaty, and he’s got some sawdust on his jeans- but God, does he look handsome and chipper.
“I made dinner,” you tell him.
He nods, smiling before following you inside. You note the way he takes off his boots at your door, brushing off his pants, careful not to bring any dirt into your otherwise tidy house.
The two of you sit down to eat, and he’s extremely verbal about how thankful he is for the food, and how good it tastes-
You come up with an avenue of discussion to distract him from his praises. “What would you living here entail?”
He pauses. “I hadn’t thought too hard about it.”
“I feed you, you do work, you live here?”
“Something like that.”
“How long do you keep your human shape?”
Mingyu takes a breath, setting down his spoon. “I’ll be honest with you, whether you see it this way or not, your grandmother saved me. I was wounded, I came to your realm, anything could have gotten me, but your grandma saved me, glued my wing, and kept me safe so I could hibernate and heal. I owe your family. My home isn’t my home anymore, please let me help you make this cottage your home.”
“No, I-” you release the tension in your shoulders, “you can stay, but, seriously, how long do you keep your human shape?”
“Is it a space thing?” Mingyu looks around. “I can be small when I sleep if it’s a space thing-”
“I mean, my grandma has a replica doll house of the cottage that her dad made for her, was going to offer that up for you.” It’s meant to be a joke, but Mingyu takes it completely seriously, nodding diligently.
“That works, I just have to go collect some moss to make a bed-”
“Are you being for real?” you ask, blinking at him.
“I should probably go back to my normal size when I sleep, it makes sense and takes up less space,” Mingyu nods.
“If you change your mind, I do have a spare bedroom.”
“Nope,” the man-sized fairy shakes his head, “the doll house works.”
“Well… if you want to go get some moss, I can grab the box of clothes from my truck,” you suggest.
“Let’s do it.” Mingyu is so easy, he just agrees to everything.
Soon the two of you are reconvening at your front door, you with a box, him with a palm full of moss. “The doll house is in the studio, I was planning to paint it.” Mingyu follows you to the solarium. In the dark of the evening, you have to turn on the fairy lights you’d strung up, and Mingyu lets out a breath.
Even you have to admit the space has ambiance. The solarium studio is a lovely part of the house, your favorite in fact, although, tonight, you’re feeling a little shy about your art strewn about.
“Did you paint all of these?” Mingyu asks, approaching your most recent work.
“Yeah, they’re uh, abstracts,” you explain. “I mean, I gather a lot of inspiration from nature, but it’s more a feeling than a specific thing that I like to paint, if that makes any sense.”
“It does,” Mingyu nods, leaning down to get a better look at your art.
“My grandma, she uh, she was an artist too, and so was her mother, and she gave me the house because she knew I needed inspiration-”
“Maybe that’s why she gave you me too.”
Your heart lurches in your chest, and you blink up at the tall man. “Uh… maybe.”
“So this cottage has a long line of artists and tinkerers,” Mingyu concludes.
“The line ended in my mother’s generation,” you sigh.
“That’s not true.” Mingyu looks down at you. “We’re here now.”
Five:
You wake up feeling as refreshed and well-rested as ever. It’s odd how much of a difference having a male presence in the house can make, even if he was the size of your palm while you were sleeping.
You’ve been here over a month, but you’ve not yet gotten used to the seclusion, the feeling of being alone. Mingyu is an unexpected comfort, and you quietly tiptoe to your solarium to see if he’s awake.
The nest of moss in the dollhouse is empty, and you move to your kitchen, getting a kettle started before looking out the window. Mingyu’s lumbering around in the tree line. He’s dressed in a white shirt and blue jeans, and damn does it look good.
You turn on some music, quietly making breakfast for two while trying to fight the urge to watch the beautiful man.
You’d slept in more than normal, another byproduct of feeling safe, and due to that, by the time you’re taking two plates of food outside, the temperature of the late spring air is already warming with the noon sun.
“Mingyu,” you call, finding him by the workshed, “breakfast!”
He bounds over like a puppy, and you set the plates down on a small circular table. The metal lawn set can be a bit rough, and you’ve tried to soften it with comfy pillows. Mingyu doesn’t seem to mind as he plops down, grabbing the bacon sandwich you’d prepared.
“Smells delicious,” he tells you, taking the largest bite of food you’ve ever seen.
You watch him, amused. “Did you get up early?”
“Yeah, I don’t need much sleep. Just spent eighty years sleeping, or so you tell me.” Mingyu smiles at you, a tight-lipped smile to hide the food in his mouth, you’re sure.
“It’s a nice day,” you sigh, leaning back in your chair and looking at the world around you.
The sun is out, it’s a little cold, but the sky is clear. Dew drops are in the last stages of evaporation, clinging to the green strands of grass along the hillside area that leads down to the pond.
“Every day is a good day for tinkering,” Mingyu agrees. “Which, I meant to ask- is there anything you wanted me to do?”
“Uh… like what?”
“I’ll finish the shed soon,” Mingyu promises. “I already have ideas about extending it, but, if you wanted me to paint the house, fix anything inside that’s a little wonky and in need of tinkering-”
“I think you should focus on the shed, if you want to extend it, you should.” For some reason, you’re apprehensive about him coming into the house just yet- you need to… acclimatize to his presence, and right now, having a wall of glass between the two of you is keeping your heart from exploding every time you look at him. “Do you uh… do you need anything to build your addition?”
“Your grandfather kept a lot of tools, nails, screws- and we’re surrounded by trees. He had loads of extra shingles, enough for years of repairs to the cottage and the shed.” Mingyu smiles at you. “I think I’ll manage… but, when it comes time to paint it, maybe we could paint it together?”
“Maybe.” You can feel your skin heating at the idea. “Anyways, I wanted to bring you some food, now I’ve gotta go inside my studio and get to work.”
“Sounds good, tinkering calls, thanks for breakfast.” Mingyu pushes the last massive bite of his sandwich into his mouth before standing up.
He nods to you and then you watch him go, sneaking a look at his butt before you tear your eyes away.
This could either be the best idea of your life, or the worst.
Six:
Mingyu had taken his time with the shed. He’d made it twice the size, and added more windows that your grandfather had left sitting around in the original structure- it’s crazy how much he’s accomplished using only the things that are left over and semi discarded.
Then, Mingyu had taken to restoring the inside. He’d spent two days just moving stuff around, tidying and dusting- and another day just cutting wood to fill up his firewood stash.
Now, a week after showing up at your door, he’s finally come inside to begin tinkering with old hinges and loose screws. He’s going over every inch of your cottage to make sure it’s up to his fairy standards, and you’re extremely aware of him, especially when he makes it to the solarium to begin to work.
The french doors have been a little off for years, one hinge is a little wonky- and it’s hard to focus on your painting while Mingyu’s standing there and fiddling- or, scratch that, tinkering.
“Watcha working on?” Mingyu asks, and you suppose he must have caught you staring.
“Oh, uh… it’s a new project, and starting is always the hardest part.”
Mingyu comes around your easel, looking at the new blank canvas you had pulled out just an hour ago.
“Do you have any ideas?” he questions.
“I mean… one or two.”
Mingyu cocks his head at you. “Tell me.”
You release a deep sigh. “I guess… I was wondering if maybe… maybe I could paint your wings sometime, in an abstract sort of way.”
Mingyu is quiet for a few moments, and you immediately try to backpedal, but he stops you. “No, it’s okay, sorry, I was just- I’ve never been someone’s muse before.”
“You haven’t?”
He shakes his head. “In uh… where I come from, my wings aren’t exactly that extraordinary.”
“Really?” you ask in shock.
“Yeah, they’re just green. I know a lot of fairies with all sorts of colored wings, pinks, purples- every color of the rainbow. Green is… well, it’s bland, it’s like everything else in the forest.”
You can’t believe what you’re hearing. “You seem to forget that I came to the forest for inspiration- the greens here are beautiful. If I remember correctly, your wings are like… sage and stardust.”
“Sage and stardust,” Mingyu repeats, his voice like a whisper. He cracks a smile. “I like that.”
“So you’ll let me paint them?”
“If it would make you happy.”
“It would.”
“Then yes, you can paint by wings.”
Seven:
Mingyu’s continued his daily tinkerings, but now, your evenings are spent in your solarium. You’d found one of your grandmother’s magnifying glasses, the type she used for butterfly wing repair, and Mingyu is the perfect muse, sitting patiently and letting you inspect him.
You’d spent half an hour just trying to get the color of his wings right, and now, you’re doing long brush strokes against the cream canvas. You’d found some glitter too, and while Mingyu spends most of the time sitting on your shoulder while you’re painting, he also offers to douse his hands in sparkles and do the small details for you.
It’s odd, thirsting for this large, beefy man during the day, only for him to downsize and nuzzle into your hair at night- he’s still so cute as a fairy, and his wings are truly beautiful.
“You see me like this?” Mingyu asks, fluttering off your shoulder to gaze at the painting. He’s so small in comparison to the large canvas. “These are really my wings?”
“They’re beautiful, Gyu,” you tell him, giving him a nickname without a second thought.
“Gyu,” Mingyu repeats, turning to look at you. “I like that.”
You hold out your paint brush, and he flutters over to it, balancing on the wooden handle.
It’s crazy how you’re already getting used to him- to the little things, Mingyu included.
Eight:
It’s gotten to the point where Mingyu wants to paint the shed, so the two of you decide to head into town together. It’s a small population, and you know that the sight of the two of you is raising a few eyebrows as you enter the paint store.
Mingyu sticks out, not only for his size, but his beauty as well. He truly is stunning, and you notice multiple women staring as the two of you wander around the store.
“So what coloring are you thinking?” Mingyu asks, heading to a wall of paint swatches.
“I mean… I just sort of figured we’d repaint it to match the house again?” you suggest.
“Well… it’s your house now,” Mingyu points out. “What are your dream colors?”
“My dream colors?”
“Yeah, I promised you I’d help you make it your dream home, didn’t I?”
Your heart melts as you stare up at this gorgeous man. He has such a soft heart, you can’t believe how much you care for him after only two weeks, how much he clearly cares for you- but you try not to read into it too deeply.
You turn to look at the paint swatches, truly considering what your dream home would look like.
You choose a pallet, showing it to Mingyu, and he nods. “This will be great.”
The two of you go to get the paint, and soon, you’re back in your truck. You try to play the radio, but it doesn’t drown out your thoughts, so you turn the music down.
“Did you notice how many people were looking at you today?” you ask.
“Hmm?” Mingyu tears his gaze from the trees moving by.
“Girls, a lot were staring.”
“Were you staring?”
You flash a glimpse at Mingyu and find him grinning at you… is there a mutual attraction here? Does he like you the way you like him?
Things are just so easy. Choosing paint with him for your house, letting him make your house your dream house- it all just feels so domestic, not to mention the fact that you generally don’t like people watching you work on your art, but you feel comfortable with him.
“I, uh… yeah, I look at you, we’re friends.” You cough, forcing your eyes back to the road.
“Close friends,” Mingyu confirms.
You turn the radio back up, and Mingyu looks out at the trees again, but he doesn’t stop smiling, and your heart doesn’t stop racing either.
Nine:
It’s hard to sleep. You can’t help but think about the car ride with Mingyu earlier.
He has to be attracted to you… right?
He’s been more touchy during your late-night painting sessions, and less afraid to cuddle up in your hair. You’ve noticed him watching you too… often when you look at him, you catch his gaze already on you.
Cohabitation with a man as fine as he is- well, you know where it leads, and you’re a little shocked you’ve gotten this far without breaking first.
You toss and turn in your bed, groaning.
God, when was the last time you were this horny?
Can you… can you touch yourself with him right downstairs? Is that weird? What if he catches you? Mingyu said it himself, he doesn’t sleep much- and… is his hearing better as a fairy? You don’t actually know much about his abilities when he has wings… maybe these are things you should ask.
You let out a sigh, bringing your hand to your breast through your sleeping shirt. In no time at all, your nipple is pebbled against your touch. You release another breath, closing your eyes and thinking about Mingyu.
You search through your memories, deciding to focus on the thought of him chopping wood. God, in his little tank top, his muscles all bulging and glorious- the way his sweat begins to drip, making the fabric stick to his skin, showing off his abdominal muscles-
You can feel your pussy getting wet, and you begin to glide a hand down between your legs-
You stop, opening your eyes. Fuck, you can’t do this. It feels dirty, sinful- and not in a fun flirty way.
This isn’t something that you can continue with- you can’t keep feeling this way. You have to tell Mingyu how you feel. If it ruins everything then it ruins everything, but you can’t keep this cohabitation agreement up if you’re falling in love with the man- or, should you say, fairy.
God, maybe you should have never opened Pandora’s Box. It wasn’t a flurry of chaos, not one you could see anyway, but you’re beginning to feel chaotic inside, and coming clean to Mingyu is the only way to get it settled.
Ten:
When you wake up the next morning, you move slowly. You have a shower, make some tea, and then, after going through an internal script numerous times, you decide to go outside to tell Mingyu how you feel.
He’s been painting the shed all morning, that much is obvious from how much he’s completed- and to make matters worse for yourself, he’s shirtless.
You almost turn and go right back inside, but instead, you pull up your big girl panties, taking a few deep breaths.
You have to do this, you’ll regret it if you don’t- just as you knew you’d regret it if you hadn’t let Mingyu inside a few weeks ago to hear him out.
“Gyu?” you call.
“Oh, hi!” he waves, and you watch paint splatter everywhere from the brush in his hand. “Oops!”
God, he’s so- he’s so- he’s a big dork, in the best way possible.
You watch Mingyu wipe his hand across his abdomen, clearing the splatter stain there. “Had to take my shirt off, painting isn’t my strong suit sometimes,” he explains, putting the brush back into the can before he approaches you. “What’s up?”
Suddenly, everything you’d planned to say to him just disappears from your mind.
“Are you thirsty?” you ask, voice cracking.
“Could use some water,” he nods.
“Come inside,” you instruct, tearing your gaze away from Mingyu’s perfect body to lead him back into your cottage.
He follows you like a good boy, taking his boots off on your deck before joining you in the kitchen where you have a cup of water waiting for him.
Your hand is practically shaking as you give him the cup, and he looks you up and down, an expression of concern appearing on his face. “You alright?”
“Yeah.” You swallow thickly, shaking your head. “Just… a little jittery.”
“Is there something on your mind?” Mingyu questions, taking a sip of his water.
God, he’s still shirtless, and it’s as if he doesn’t even realize it! It’s as if being half naked in your kitchen is the most normal thing in the world to him!
You take a deep breath, doing your best to hype yourself up. “I like you,” you say finally.
“I like you too,” Mingyu grins.
“No, I… I like like you.”
“Like like?” he repeats, cocking his head to the side in confusion.
“As in… I think you’re really amazing and good with your hands, and you’re handsome, and I enjoy spending time with you,” you blurt.
“I think you’re amazing, and good with your hands, and pretty, and I enjoy spending time with you too,” he counters, echoing the entirety of your sentiment.
You stare blankly up at the man. It’s clear he doesn’t know what you’re getting at. You wonder how fairies court each other- do they even court each other? Do fairies have sex? Or are they just… you don’t know, blossomed out of flower buds or something?
“Mingyu,” you take another very deep breath, stepping closer to him. “I feel for you, in here.” You put your hand over his heart, looking up at him, searching his brown eyes for some form of recognition, of understanding.
Mingyu’s lips part, and his gaze shifts to your hand, then, he slowly places his own over yours. His palm is warm, and he squeezes you gently. “Are you saying you love me?” he asks.
You blink… it feels like he’s skipping a few steps here. You love him as a friend, and you’re attracted to him, but you’re not… in love with him, not yet anyway.
“I-” You swallow thickly and decide to just be honest. “I think… things could be heading that way, with some more time.”
“More time?” Mingyu frowns a little. “Humans can be weird.”
“We can?” you laugh. “What’s love like for you?”
“Fairies don’t do anything halfway. We feel intensely, more so than humans I think.”
“Have you…” you cough. “Have you ever been in love before?”
“No.”
“So… how do you know what you’re feeling right now is love?”
“I know it because I would do anything for you. Just being near you makes me happy. I want to protect you, and provide for you- I’d give up my wings for you. I choose you over any of my own kind, because you understand me and accept me better than my own kind. I don’t need anyone else but you.”
You don’t know what to say, so you choose not to say anything. Instead, you get on your tiptoes, pressing your lips to his own.
Mingyu freezes for a moment, but then he reciprocates, wrapping his arms around your body to pull you tight to his chest.
It’s a slow kiss, an exploratory one. It’s soft and gentle and every good thing, but you get the sense you’re going to have to lead the build-up of this. After a few kisses, you lick at his lower lip, and Mingyu responds by opening his mouth, allowing you to deepen the experience.
His hands grab your hips, and Mingyu pushes you backward until your bum hits the counter, then he lifts you onto it, prompting you to wrap your legs around his hips.
As you kiss him, there’s a small voice in the back of your mind reminding you that this is a fairy. His original form is small… but as he grinds against you, you realize that what’s inside his pants right now is anything but tiny.
God, he feels so good- and he’s already shirtless, which gives you the perfect opportunity to graze your hands along his body, teasing the muscle you find there. Mingyu shivers from the contact, breaking the kiss.
He presses his forehead against yours, breathing deeply, and you can feel his heart racing under your palm.
“Do you want to do this? Even though you don’t love me the way I love you?” He asks.
“I want this, and I do love you Mingyu, I just…”
“You need more time,” he sighs.
“I think… do you remember how you said eighty years felt fast in the box for you? I feel like, you just move faster than I do, and that’s not a bad thing, it’s just… something we have to adjust for.”
“Adjust how?” Mingyu questions, looking down at you as his hands grip your hips harder.
You shrug. “Maybe you’ll just have to be patient with me.”
“Do I have to wait to say ‘I love you’ since you’re waiting?”
You smile up at him. “You can do anything that feels right, Mingyu.”
“This feels right,” Mingyu muses, pulling you closer to the edge of the table so he can grind his denim-clad cock against your core.
“Then do this,” you whisper, cupping his cheek and drawing his lips back to yours.
Mingyu doesn’t fight it, in fact, he melts into the kiss, and then, his hands are grabbing your thighs and he’s lifting you up.
You grip his strong shoulders, releasing a small squeal of shock- but you refuse to break the kiss as he begins to carry you through your cottage. He knows where your bedroom is, and it’s sweet that he wants your first time to be on an actual mattress- you’d half expected him to bend you over in your kitchen and have his way with you right there, but you suppose that’s not really his style.
You still have so much more to learn about Mingyu, and you’re excited to take your time learning it.
Mingyu lays you down gently on your bed, and his lips move to your throat. His hands find yours, and your fingers intertwine as he sucks on your sweet spot, making you moan and writhe against the bed beneath him.
“Fuck,” you groan, brows furrowing from the pleasure already coursing through you.
Mingyu grins against your throat, and then he begins to descend.
You’re wearing a sleeping shirt and boxers, and Mingyu’s hand is sneaking up the oversized fabric. “Can I take this off you?” he asks, pulling away and swallowing thickly, his gaze fixed on your covered chest.
You nod, but instead of forcing him to do it, you push on your wrist confines, prompting Mingyu to let you go so you can sit up, tearing the shirt off. You’re not wearing a bra, and Mingyu’s pupils blow at the sight.
He leans down, pressing his lips to yours again as he helps you back down to the bed. You relax against the duvet, enjoying the sensation of your bare chests rubbing against each other. Your nipples are pebbled from interest, and each brush of him against you feels like magic, especially when he begins to swivel his hips, grinding down against your pussy.
His mouth begins to move down again, and this time, there’s no fabric to stop him in his tracks. Mingyu’s lips wrap around your nipple, your fingers threading through his hair as you fight the urge to arch your back and moan like a whore in heat.
“Feels good,” you tell him, earning a groan from the large man who sucks on your pebbled bud even harder.
His free hand is on your hip, but soon, it’s rising to massage your neglected breast. His warm palm feels so good- your eyes close in pleasure, your body reacting to Mingyu and the foreplay he’s providing.
You thread your fingers deeper into his curls, gently massaging his scalp while he works you up, teasing you in the best possible way.
He’s clearly solely focused on you, you don’t think there’s an ulterior motive, a motive of getting you to beg or forcing you to wait, you think he’s simply enjoying you, and you love the feeling of being enjoyed in this way.
Even so- now it’s your patience that’s running thin, and you tug at his curls, forcing his mouth away from your breast. He looks up at you with confusion, lips parting in a silent question.
“I need you,” you tell him, swallowing thickly.
“You have me,” he assures you with a laugh.
“I mean-”
His hand slips between your thighs, rubbing your pussy through your boxers. “You mean, you need me here,” Mingyu finishes for you.
Fuck, he’s so hot- part of you had expected him to be a virgin fairy who’s never been in love, but it’s clear from his dirty talk that he’s no virgin.
Your pussy is wet, and you can feel a wet spot to match in your shorts, you’re sure Mingyu can feel it too.
“Since…” Mingyu takes a breath, and you can see his skin beginning to flush a pretty shade of pink, “since I’m the one who likes you more, maybe you’ll let me take my time and do what I want to do? Out of… pity?”
You laugh. “Pity? I don’t pity you- I kind of love you, Gyu, I said that-”
“Just kind of, though,” he points out, leaning down to bite your nipple gently.
You groan, arching your back and taking a deep breath. “Fine. Do whatever you want to me. Take your time. Worship me. Make me fall in love with you.”
Mingyu smiles, and then he whispers a soft, “Thank you,” before diving back toward your chest.
It’s clear that now that you’ve given him permission, he’s in no rush.
He worships your breasts, just like you’d told him to, taking all the time he wants to massage and lick and kiss and bite- and then, one of his hands returns between your legs, pushing your boxers to the side so he can access your dripping pussy.
He’s gentle at first, circling your sensitive clit and teasing your slit up and down. Then, after too much teasing for your tastes, he eases his finger into your tight hole. He’s gentle as he begins to finger fuck you, working you open at a snail's pace-
You think, as someone who time moves fast for, he really must be savoring every long moment of this. He wants to take his time with you, and for a fairy, that means something.
Mingyu’s lips are still wrapped around your nipple, and as he adds a second digit to your core, you think you might just combust.
“Gyu,” you whimper.
He hums in response.
“I’m close,” you tell him, beginning to wiggle your hips against his hand. “I’m so close-”
Mingyu’s palm finds your clit, and he finger fucks you harder, crooking his digits to reach a spot that has your toes curling.
“Oh my god-” you groan, closing your eyes and latching onto Mingyu’s hair as an anchor, keeping his face buried in your tits as he works you closer and closer to the edge-
One graze of his teeth across your nipple has you cumming on his fingers, and Mingyu releases his own sound of pleasure to echo the whimpers escaping your lips.
He’s got you pinned to the bed, there’s nowhere to go, nothing to do except take what he’s giving you.
He works you through your high, allowing you to feel every lick of pleasure as it courses through your entire body-
You’re a gasping mess at the end of it, and Mingyu gingerly removes his fingers from your pussy, pulling away from your chest to sit up on his knees, licking his digits clean as he inspects you carefully.
“Are you okay, my star?”
You shiver at the nickname, a whispered echo of your pleasure running through you.
“Yeah,” you nod, still trying to catch your breath.
“Was that good for you?” he asks, teasing his wet finger across your nipple and making you shiver again. “It was good for me.”
“It was so good,” you groan, shifting against the bed.
“Good.” Mingyu hooks his fingers in your boxers, tearing them down your legs.
You’re now completely bare for him, and you expect Mingyu to work on his jeans next, but he doesn’t. He lays down between your thighs, looking up at you as he peppers your skin with chaste kisses.
“Ready for more?” he questions.
You groan, and the groan turns into a laugh. “I guess I told you to do whatever you want to me,” you sigh, adjusting your legs so your feet are flat and your knees are bent, giving him better access to your pussy for what you know is about to come next.
“You did.” Mingyu’s breath is hot against your still pulsing core, and you grab at the duvet in preparation, knowing he’s about to completely rock your world for a second time.
Mingyu doesn’t say anything else, he continues to kiss up your thigh, and he doesn’t stop. When he reaches your core, he licks your clit gently, circling it.
You open your eyes, looking down at him to find his own lids are closed. He’s completely focused on pleasuring you, and as he pushes his tongue into your core, lapping at your slit- well, fuck, no thoughts are going through your mind.
You can only whimper, grabbing the duvet tighter, your toes curling deliciously as this man eats you out in a way that no man ever has.
He really is taking his time. It’s clear this isn’t just a duty or a ‘task’ he has to complete in order to fuck you, no, eating you out is as much his pleasure as it is yours, and somehow, that knowledge makes it even better.
You give yourself to the pleasure. There’s no anxiety, no racing thoughts, or pressures you’re imposing on yourself.
You know there’s not a time limit. Mingyu’s not eager to make you cum so he can fuck you, he’s simply enjoying the act of licking your pussy- so you simply enjoy it too.
You’re not keeping track of time, your focus is solely on the pleasure running through you, and the way it’s building.
Soon, you’re at the edge again, and you warn Mingyu, your thighs twitching around his head.
Mingyu groans in response, lips wrapping around your clit. A squeal escapes you, your chest heaving, back arching off the bed as your second orgasm slams into you.
This one is even more electric than the first, and it almost feels like you’re floating off the mattress- like you’re truly ascending to cloud nine, as if you - like Mingyu - have wings.
God, there’s not a feeling like it in the world, especially as Mingyu continues to suck your clit, working you through the most intense high of your entire life. Your legs are fully quaking around him now, your grip like a vice on the duvet.
Thank God you live in the middle of nowhere because you’re aware that you’re being loud.
Mingyu’s groaning too, his fingers digging into your thighs, keeping you pinned and in place for him to eat you through the pussy contracting pleasure convulsions that are threatening to overtake your entire body in an ecstasy you’ve never, ever experienced before.
The large man finally lets up, and you gasp, flopping back down against the bed. There are aftershocks of pleasure, and you jolt a little, goosebumps erupting on your flesh from the sensation.
You feel the bed shift, and you look from under heavy lids to see Mingyu standing at the foot of the mattress, finally taking off his jeans.
Fuck, he’s huge- maybe foreplay wasn’t so much of a want, as a necessity.
“You still want me?” Mingyu asks, joining you on the bed again, his breath hot against your throat as he grinds down against you, teasing his cock against your dripping pussy.
“Fuck, I need you,” you tell him.
Mingyu kisses you then, grabbing your hands and putting them above your head. He collects your wrists in one grip, and with his free hand, he grabs his cock, lining it up with your core.
“If it hurts-”
“You’ve made me cum twice,” you tell him, “I’m pretty sure I’ll be okay.”
“Whatever you say, my star,” he grins, pressing his lips to yours as he pushes the head of his cock into your tight, wet hole.
You groan desperately, struggling against his grip on your wrists, but Mingyu doesn’t let up. In fact, he tightens his hold on you, pushing his cock even deeper into your core.
The sounds you’re making are feral as he kisses you, his lips and tongue are hot against your own in the most delicious way.
You can feel your pussy stretching to accommodate for his girth, and when his hips are finally flush against your own, you think this might just be the most full you’ve ever felt in your entire life.
Mingyu breaks the kiss, panting and looking down at you. “You feel perfect,” he whispers.
“You feel perfect,” you counter, feeling a little dim with your repetition of his own works back to him, but also too fucked out to think of anything better.
He only grins, drawing his lips to yours. It’s a gentler kiss as he begins to fuck you, his motions slow so you can acclimatize to the massive cock that’s already rearranging your guts.
You get lost in him, and there’s a kind of safety in having your hands pinned down above your head. You can’t quite explain it- maybe it’s just a size kink? You can’t have a bondage kink, can you? Does Mingyu even know what bondage is? Do fairies watch porn?
You push the thoughts from your head, focusing on the cock that’s dragging against your sensitive inner walls.
Soon, you’re moaning loudly again, and Mingyu finally lets up on your wrists. “I kind of…” he swallows thickly, thrusts faltering, “I kind of want you to ride me when you cum.”
“You do?”
“I’ve… well, I know I’ve been a little rough-”
“You haven’t been rough,” you assure him.
“I just mean, the first two times you came, I did what I wanted, and I want you to be in control for this last one, don’t want to overstimulate you.”
It’s a soft idea, and you nod up at him. “I’ll ride you.”
“Good.” Mingyu kisses you gently, and then the two of you are adjusting.
He lays flat as you swing your leg over his hip, grabbing his cock to line it up with your core so you can slowly sink down on him.
Mingyu groans, his hands settling on your hips to help you be gentle as you come to a fully seated position on his cock.
“You look so perfect like this, my star,” he tells you, one free hand moving up to grab your breast, massaging it gently and pinching at your nipple.
“Think you can cum with me, Gyu?” you ask, beginning to bounce.
You watch Mingyu’s lips part in concentration, his gaze fixed on your chest. He’s clearly in a daze, and it’s adorable. “I’ll cum with you,” he whispers. “You’re so beautiful.”
“You’re quite handsome yourself,” you smile.
Mingyu’s ears turn pink first, and it’s so endearing to watch the massive man flush from a compliment as you’re riding his cock.
God, he is a perfect man, isn’t he?
“I think… I think I was made to be found by you,” Mingyu says, looking up at you with eyes full of adoration. “I don’t know what I’d do If I never met you.”
“Gyu,” you coo, slowing your thrusts. Mingyu sits up, allowing you to pull him to your chest, cradling him to your breast as your fingers stroke through his hair.
“I do love you,” he continues. “And… it’s okay if you don’t love me the same way yet. I know it’s fast, even for me, but… yeah.”
“It’s fast, but that’s okay. You don’t have to hide yourself from me,” you tell him, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.
“You don’t have to hide from me either,” Mingyu promises.
He lays back down flat, and you move with him, your chests pressed together as you ride his cock, groaning into his ear.
Mingyu’s hands are warm on your hips, and he steadies you, beginning to thrust up to meet your movements.
You both release sounds of pleasure, and you can feel your hearts racing together in your chests as they remain pressed to each other.
You’re tired, but you’re also eager to cum again, so you push through, closing your eyes and focusing on the pleasure instead of the increasing burn in your thighs.
“Are you close?” Mingyu pants in your ear. “I’m close.”
His sounds are like magic, and they help drag you to join Mingyu on the edge. “I’m close,” you confirm, swallowing thickly.
“Can we cum together?”
“Yeah,” you whimper, muscles clenching in preparation.
Mingyu fucks up into you even harder, and you put all of your energy into carrying this out, into riding this man until you pass out from how good everything is about to feel.
He releases another grunt, and you press your lips to his own, which is all it takes for you to both fall over the edge together.
You feel like you’re flying again, it’s almost an out-of-body pleasure-fueled experience, but this time, Mingyu’s with you, and you know you’ll be safe with the man who knows how to navigate the skies.
He cradles you to his chest, keeping his cock buried as deep as it can go in your core. You’re both kissing each other desperately, shaking and contracting from orgasms that continue to surge through you. Your hearts are racing together, and you’re both trying to catch your breaths even in the midst of a passionate kiss.
Everything just feels so right, and natural.
It’s as if your body was made to do this, with Mingyu especially.
Soon, your orgasms are subsiding, and you’re simply kissing now.
Mingyu holds you close, not letting you go until he’s good and satisfied.
You take a deep breath, breaking the kiss to look down at him. “So…”
“So,” he grins.
“So… I guess this changes our arrangement a little?”
Mingyu laughs, holding you tighter. “Does this mean I don’t have to sleep in the dollhouse anymore?”
You find yourself chuckling too, and the contraction it causes of your pussy around Mingyu’s cock makes him groan desperately, his hand pushing on the small of your back.
“You don’t have to sleep in the dollhouse.”
“I meant it when I said I’d give up my wings for you,” Mingyu muses, turning serious as he looks up at you.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“The future-”
“Is something we can talk about later,” you assure him. “Right now, I just want to enjoy you.”
“I guess… I guess we can do that,” Mingyu concedes. His arms wrap tighter around you, securing you down against his chest. He tucks you under his chin, releasing a deep breath, and that’s where you fall asleep, completely content with your blue-collared, human-sized, fairy lover.
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🔮 preview. “I’m happy where I am… but, when you cum, I’ll let you warm up while I fuck you stupid.” Mingyu never used to swear. He used to call sex ‘making love’ and something about it had made you uncomfortable in some weird way- so your soft lover has taken to using profanity for your own benefit, and you can’t help the way your body reacts to the term ‘fuck you stupid.’
cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, size kink, worship, Mingyu is a boobs guy, nipple play, fingering, pussy stretching, foreplay, multiple reader orgasms, hand job, shower sex, praise, dirty talk, etc… I pet names: (hers) my star. (his) Gyu.
👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.7k I teaser wc. 175
🌙 starring. Mingyu x afab!Reader
bonus
It’s summer, and you’re more in love than ever. Mingyu’s made you rethink what it is to live in your cottage. He’s done everything in his power to make it your dream home, and his latest upgrade is a small rowboat that he’d handcrafted with the purpose of meandering around your pond.
You can’t stop smiling and giggling as Mingyu rows you around, the sunlight kissing his skin in the most beautiful way. He’s so gorgeous, and his soul is just as stunning.
Every day is a dream with him… but there are still things on your mind, things you need to discuss.
“Mingyu?” you ask, drawing his attention away from his haphazard rowing.
“Yes, my star?” he pauses to look at you, setting down the oars to give you his complete, and undivided attention.
“I’m just… I’m thinking.”
“That’s not always the best sign,” Mingyu teases. “Thinking about what?”
“Just… we’ve been together a while now, and, I guess I’m starting to look at the future more, and I’m not really sure how to envision it.”
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In the Blink of a Lens
Summary: When Spencer Reid finally succumbs to technology and gets a smartphone, he takes a tentative step into the digital world by sending his best friend (and colleague) Y/N a picture. What starts as an innocent attempt to embrace modern tech leaves Y/N flustered as the seemingly innocent gesture forces her to confront feelings she’s been ignoring for years. Neither of them is prepared for the powerful impact of a single, innocent photo as the lines between friendship and something more start to blur.
(AKA Spencer sends the above selfie and reader gets horny because his hand is quite literally swallowing the phone HAHAHA)
CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Hand kink/fixation. Overstimulation. Oral (both m and f receiving). Fingering. Unprotected sex/P in V sex (do as I say not as I do and STAY PROTECTED IRL!!). Dirty talk/praise kink. Softdom!Spencer and bratty!sub!reader. Some religious phrasing (because who are fanfic writers really without it?) Pull-out method used (again, do as I say not as I do!!) Very brief mention of a sex toy (doesn't get used). Fluffy smut. Two idiots in love/best friends to lovers trope. <3
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!BAU!reader/afab!reader
A/N: This is my humble contribution to the Spencer Reid hand kink supremacy (no but seriously how are his hands THAT attractive??). This is kinda sorta an AU I guess because I wrote this with season four Reid in mind but I'm not sure (and Google will not give me a clear answer) if that type of iPhone was around then so let's just pretend it was for the sake of the fic pls. :') Also the "Sincerely, Spencer Reid" was a direct nod to B99's very own Raymond Holt because I could definitely see him and Spence handling tech the same way LMAO. As always, please tell me what you think! :) If you enjoy it, please like, reblog, and share it with your friends! <3 Thank you and I love you all :) (I also ask that my work not be uploaded to other platforms or translated without my explicit permission. Thank you!)
Am I doing this selfie thing right? Sincerely, Spencer Reid
The screen felt almost blinding in the dim lighting of Y/N's bedroom as she stared slack-jawed at the image open on her phone.
Spencer finally upgraded to a smartphone a week ago after an unfortunate crash to the ground (stupid raised sidewalk) shattered the old flip phone that had long ago earned him the nickname "Grandpa" from his pain-in-the-ass-loving best friend. Y/N had never seen a man so devastated over losing what was essentially a brick that made calls, so to cheer him up, she helped him pick out a new phone and set it up.
She was beginning to regret that decision as she gawked at the selfie Spencer had sent.
It was sweet—an innocent photo of him sitting in his car, just after finishing the paperwork he’d insisted on handling alone, despite her offers to help. He'd banished her to her apartment, as stubborn as ever. The shot was taken in his rearview mirror, a faint grin tugging at his lips, his maple-toned eyes obscured by the phone. There was nothing about the image that should have made her pulse quicken. But when the realization hit her, a rush of warmth flooded her face.
It was his hand.
His hand seemed almost too big for the phone, dwarfing it as he snapped the picture. It wasn’t that she hadn’t noticed how large his hands were—everyone did—but she’d never given it much thought. Until now. Watching the way his fingers effortlessly swallowed the device, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. There was something about the sheer size of his hand, the way it seemed to overpower the phone, that made her suddenly hyper-aware of every detail.
His fingers were long, elegant, and well-cared-for; fingers that seemed capable of touching parts of her she'd never been able to reach on her own—
No. No, no, no. There was absolutely no way she was having these thoughts about Spencer Reid. Spencer, her endearingly awkward best friend of four years. Her rock. Her partner in the field. The man she’d always thought of as just that—nothing more. Well...
Y/N did have a crush on him once, in the earliest stages of their friendship. But it was just a small, silly, unreciprocated crush that she locked away in the deepest parts of her subconscious so that she could at least still be his friend. She accepted that it would never happen and moved on. Or she thought she had...
A muffled curse leaves Y/N's lips as she realizes she never responded, her thumbs hovering over the keyboard as she struggles to think of a response. Since when has she ever struggled to talk to Spencer? Seriously, what the fuck was wrong with her tonight? Was she ovulating?
Y/N: Next time, show off those pretty brown eyes of yours and you've got it down pat :)
Okay... That sounded way flirtier than she intended... But that's how they usually joked with each other, right? She was just overthinking everything because she was exhausted from their most recent case. That's it.
Y/N: Also... why have you not put your phone case on yet?? You're practically begging for another sidewalk incident to happen, Grandpa.
That's better. That feels normal.
She sets her phone down on her nightstand, picking up her abandoned book to continue reading. Y/N's heart rate is almost back to normal when her phone's ringtone blaring startles her, the book falling to her lap with a muted thud. An annoyed groan rumbles in her throat as she reaches over to grab the device, internally praying it wasn't Hotch calling with another case. They had JUST gotten back from Ohio not even six hours ago and she just wanted to rest—
To her surprise, it was Spencer calling.
"It's awfully late for you to be calling, Grandpa," Y/N drawled as she answered the call, her lips curling up into a grin as she heard Spencer scoff on the other line. "Shouldn't you be in bed by now?"
"I am in bed," Spencer grumbled in response, and she could hear some shuffling as he got comfortable. "And I put the case on right after I sent the selfie, thank you very much. Speaking of, did you know that the origin of selfies was actually believed to be..."
Spencer launched into a thorough explanation of not only the origins of selfies but also a detailed account of why self-portraits came about. Y/N hung onto every word, just as she always did when he spoke. Most people found his rambling to be annoying, but not her. She thought it was fascinating how much information he kept tucked away in that brain of his and was more than willing to listen and ask questions about anything he blurted out.
The conversation stretches on for another hour, neither of them wanting to be the one to end it. It’s not until the fifth yawn escapes Spencer that Y/N finally chuckles into the phone before reluctantly saying goodnight. Spencer’s voice is warm as he wishes her sweet dreams, and the call ends with the soft beep of disconnecting. And, for the first time in a long while, sweet dreams she did have…
"Does that feel good? Hm, pretty girl?" Spencer murmured into her ear as she writhed between his spread legs, her bare back pressed flush to his clothed chest.
The night had started with celebratory drinks after finally closing one of their more grueling cases, the team getting some much-needed relaxation and bonding in. Spencer was Y/N's designated driver as per usual since he didn't drink, instead choosing to nurse a soda as he eyed Y/N down from across the booth.
He was directly across from her, snugly between Derek and Hotch. But he wasn't paying attention to them. His eyes had been fixated on her from the moment she'd come back from the bar with Emily and Penelope, tracing the contours of her flushed face as she tipped her head back and took another shot.
Y/N had no intentions of getting completely drunk, instead choosing to remain just tipsy enough to enjoy the warmth that flowed through her body from the alcohol and maintain a steady buzz. That way she could be aware of her surroundings while also enjoying herself and the company of her team.
The bar was dim, the pounding of her heartbeat matching the beat of the music bumping overhead as her gaze fell on Spencer. Her brows furrowed at the unabashedly hungry look in his eyes, her tongue poking out to wet her lips subconsciously. She had to have been hallucinating. There was no way he'd be looking at her like that... right?
But he had been. And that same look is exactly what led them to where they were now, with Spencer propped up against her headboard holding her at his mercy while his fingers pumped tirelessly into her drenched pussy. She was sure the sight of them was downright filthy, an erotic contrast of her completely bare body pressed against his fully clothed one.
Y/N was in shambles, her legs trembling as her nails dug uselessly into his thighs while soft whimpers and moans flowed freely from her kiss-swollen lips. Her mind was reeling, a dizzying mixture of the remaining alcohol in her system, the pleasure coiling tightly in her lower stomach, and the knowledge that it was Spencer causing said pleasure.
She was so, so close... just a few more strokes of his fingers and...
A sharp gasp sounded through the bedroom as Y/N jolted awake, her chest heaving as she shakily sat up to turn off her alarm. She blinked hard, attempting to clear the fog from her vision as she fell back into her pillows. The dull aching between her thighs served as a sore reminder of what she was so close to achieving in her dream...
Her eyes snapped open as the memory of the dream hit her like a tidal wave. Guilt, confusion, and sheer horror crashed over her, and she groaned, her hands dragging down her face in frustrated disbelief. She’d just had a dream—a wet dream—about Spencer Fucking Reid.
What had gotten into her?
Before she could dive too deep into why her crush on Spencer had apparently resurfaced with a vengeance after being dormant for so long, her phone dinged with a message from the genius himself. It felt like the universe was rubbing salt in the wound, taunting her for the forbidden thoughts she couldn’t seem to shake about her best friend.
Spence <3: Are you going to get coffee? Sincerely, Spencer Reid
Y/N snorted out a laugh at how he signed his text, shaking her head as she responded.
Y/N: ... Spence, you don't have to sign your name on each text. I have your number saved. And yes, I am :)
A minute passes before his response comes through.
Spence <3: Oh. Well then, can you also bring me coffee please?
Y/N: Of course I can <3
Her earlier guilt lingers in the pit of her stomach as she sets the phone down, rolling out of bed with a sigh to begin getting ready for work. How was she going to face him after having a dream like that? Maybe it was a fluke; a one-off occurrence manifested from her lack of sexual endeavors so her brain had no choice but to use Spencer as a fill-in for her fantasies.
Opting to pretend it never happened so she could face her best friend later, Y/N finished getting ready and left for the café, determined to get there on time for work.
The elevator dinged as Y/N strolled into the bullpen, her and Spencer's usual orders in hand and a soft smile on her face. Thankfully, today was a paperwork day—a task most of the team dreaded, but one Y/N welcomed. It gave her a chance to recover from the constant motion sickness from the jet and the relentless flirtations of the officers when they worked cases out of state.
"Mm, my very own coffee fairy!" Spencer grinned, setting down the stack of papers he’d been poring over. His eyes sparkled as she made her way across the room, finally meeting his gaze from across the desk as she stopped in front of him. "Have I ever told you you're the best?"
"Yes, you have," Y/N teased with a playful grin, holding out his coffee. "But I don’t mind hearing it more often."
Her dream, it seemed, hadn’t been a fluke, a realization that hits her as Spencer grabs his coffee. Her eyes involuntarily track the way his fingers curl around the Styrofoam cup, and a shiver runs up her spine when they inadvertently brush against hers. Her cheeks flush as she quickly pulls her gaze away, meeting his curious eyes instead.
"You feeling okay, Y/N? You look a little flushed," Spencer murmured, his brow furrowed in concern as he eyed her over the rim of his cup.
Y/N blinked, her heart pounding in her throat as she swallowed and nodded. The sight had sent her mind reeling, the memory of those same fingers buried deep inside of her in her dream the night before surfacing against her will.
"Y-yeah. Yeah, I'm fine I just-"
Before Y/N could finish stammering out her lame excuse, Morgan sauntered into the bullpen with Garcia, the pair immediately honing in on her and Spencer as they made their way over.
"Oh, c'mon Y/N! Seriously? Pretty boy here gets a coffee but the rest of us don't?" Morgan taunted, chuckling as Y/N reached out to playfully swat at his arm with an eye roll.
"Well obviously! He's her work husband," Penelope chimed in matter-of-factly, giggling as she wiggled her eyebrows. "It would mean a divorce was brewing if she didn't."
The team had started the joke years ago, teasing her and Spencer for being the youngest members and for how quickly they’d clicked. To everyone else, it was obvious their friendship ran deeper than either of the two realized. The problem was that neither one of them could see it. Some profilers they were.
No matter how many times the joke was made, Spencer’s face still turned bright red every single time.
"Har dee har har," Spencer scoffed, his eyes shifting to the cup still gripped in his hand.
The banter was cut short as Hotch stepped out of his office, everyone mumbling their goodbyes and scurrying back to their desks to get their work done. Y/N welcomed the distraction with open arms, diving into her work to try to get her mind off of her conflicted feelings towards her best friend.
All day long, Y/N fought the growing urge to watch Spencer’s hands, but it was impossible to ignore. Her eyes were drawn to the way his fingers traced the edge of a case file as he analyzed it, or how they drummed a steady rhythm on his desk, each tap somehow amplifying the tension she was trying to suppress.
Her breaking point came when the team was wrapping up for the day. Spencer, eager to show off, insisted on demonstrating a new cardistry trick he’d learned. The rest of the team gathered around, and Y/N felt herself drawn in, unable to look away. Her eyes locked on his fingers as he deftly manipulated the cards, the muscles in his hands flexing with each smooth, controlled movement. She barely registered her open mouth or the way her pulse quickened—every part of her attention was on him.
Y/N was jolted back to reality when Emily nudged her, a raised eyebrow full of amusement as the rest of the team cheered and complimented Spencer on his newly acquired skill. Rather than meet Emily’s knowing look, Y/N quickly murmured her praise for Spencer, then hastily made her exit, claiming she needed to hit a store before it closed.
If she thought that day was bad, the next few weeks were hell.
The BAU had two back-to-back cases, leaving them no time to rest as they flew straight from Tennessee to Arizona. The dry heat seemed to make Spencer restless—constantly running his fingers through his hair, fidgeting with his watch, or rolling up his sleeves. Meanwhile, Y/N felt her sanity slipping away, her thoughts unraveling as she stumbled over her words or completely lost track of what she was saying—because she couldn’t stop staring at those goddamned hands.
Spencer wasn’t blind to the shift in her behavior. He’d noticed how she started to occupy herself with something whenever he entered the room, or how she became increasingly uneasy around him—spinning the rings on her fingers, tugging at the necklace he'd given her for her last birthday, or even finding reasons to leave the room entirely the moment he stepped in.
Y/N's usual teasing had begun to feel hollow, and the familiar touches she used to give him—guiding him gently by the hand, rubbing his shoulder when frustration set in, or planting an exaggerated kiss on his cheek before leaving—had completely disappeared.
He felt gutted, unable to think of a single reason for Y/N's sudden distance. The uncertainty gnawed at him, twisting his stomach with worry. What if she was tired of him? Or worse… what if she had finally seen through his feelings for her and was repulsed by them?
When the team wrapped up in Arizona and boarded the jet home, Spencer made up his mind.
After Y/N chose to sit next to Emily instead of her usual spot beside him, he couldn’t take it anymore. The not knowing was eating at him, and more than anything… he missed her. She was the one person who saw him for who he truly was, the one who understood him better than he understood himself. The one who brought him solace during the toughest cases and reminded him why he kept going. The thought of losing her was unbearable, and he promised himself he’d do whatever it took to fix whatever had gone wrong.
As soon as the jet touched down in Quantico, Y/N quickly muttered her goodbyes and made a beeline for the parking garage. Finally, she was free. Free to go home, shut herself off, and stop behaving like a complete mess around Spencer. She hated how distant she’d been, but she couldn’t help it. The weight of her obsessive thoughts about him and the feelings she’d tried to bury for so long had completely overridden her rational thoughts, leaving her acting out of control.
Fingers closed around her upper arm just inches from her car, and a sharp yelp escaped her lips. She spun around, startled, to find an equally surprised Spencer standing there. She had been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she hadn't heard him following her.
"Jesus, Grandpa! Make an announcement before you sneak up on people!" Y/N complained loudly, turning away from him to unlock her car and toss her go bag into the backseat.
Spencer couldn't help but feel some relief at the nickname, a surge of hope coursing through him. Grandpa. She hadn't called him that in almost two weeks. He cleared his throat, holding onto his courage as he finally addressed her recent behavior.
"Sorry! Sorry, I just— I wanted to make sure we were okay? I’ve noticed you’ve been acting… not like yourself lately. Not that I’m calling you weird or anything—"
Y/N's heart broke at the nervous rambling spewing from his lips as he stood before her, tucked into himself and fidgeting with his hands as he tried to speak. God, she was such an asshole.
"Spence," Y/N murmured, gently interrupting him before letting out a soft sigh. "I promise, we're fine. I’m sorry if I’ve seemed distant. It’s just… I’ve been so stressed with the cases, and compartmentalizing has been harder than usual. I guess I didn’t want to drag you into it. I’m really sorry."
It wasn't necessarily a lie. She really had been stressed and struggling with compartmentalizing... just not because of their job.
Spencer’s shoulders relaxed, his tense expression softening into one of understanding. “You know I’m always here for you, right? You don’t have to carry that burden alone. I’d much rather you let me in than struggle with it on your own."
Scratch that. She wasn't just an asshole. She was the biggest asshole in the world for making him feel the way he had.
"I know that. I really do," Y/N murmured, her fingers nervously playing with her lip. "It's just… I get way too independent sometimes." She sighed, then brightened. "How about this? Tomorrow’s our first Saturday off in over a month… Why don’t you come over and we can do a movie marathon? We could use some good 'work spouse' bonding, don’t you think?"
Spencer’s smile stretched across his face, his voice a little more eager than usual and his cheeks flushed. "Yeah, I'd, uh... I'd love that. Let's do it."
Y/N returned his grin, her heart fluttering from how excited he looked. Relief flooded through her veins as he agreed to her plans, not realizing how much she had truly missed him the past few weeks since she'd been so focused on trying not to gawk at him every five minutes.
"Perfect. It’s a date,” Y/N teased, her smile widening. “Now, get in. I’m not letting you take the train back this late."
"What? Isn't this what you wanted, sweetheart?" Spencer crooned into her ear, tightening his hold around her wrists as he kept them pinned above her head.
Another frustrated whine left her lips as she tugged uselessly against his hold, but they both knew she didn't actually want to slip free. One of his hands was wrapped tightly around both of her wrists, his other tracing maddeningly up and down her side.
"Or did you want Officer Davidson's hands on you instead?" His tone was taunting, a hint of jealousy tainting his words as he tightened his grip.
The moment they stepped into their shared hotel room after leaving the precinct, Spencer was all over her. She’d noticed the heated glares he shot her way while she stood across the room, wearing a bored expression as Officer Davidson repeatedly (and unsuccessfully) tried to flirt with her.
They hadn't announced their new relationship status to the team yet per Spencer's insistence, but it was obvious from the intensity in Spencer’s eyes that he wanted to shout it to the world now. The way he glared at Davidson made it clear he was ready to stake his claim, watching the officer eye her like prey.
Now they were here, with Spencer hellbent on making sure she understood that she was his.
Y/N shook her head, looking up at Spencer pleadingly as she tilted her hips up in search of his. "No, never. Only want you, Spence."
A dark chuckle escaped him as he smirked down at her, his hand, which had been trailing along her side, now cupping her chin. His fingers gently squeezed her cheeks, coaxing her lips into a pout.
"Only me? Is that right, sweet girl?" Spencer cooed, loosening his grip to press on her bottom lip with his thumb before sliding the digit into her mouth. "Because it sure looked like you were enjoying his attention."
The flushed head of his cock teased her entrance, pressing between her folds as his hips slowly rocked back and forth, prolonging her teasing instead of giving her what she wanted. She groaned around his thumb, sucking the digit further into her mouth and holding his gaze in an effort to tempt him into finally fucking her instead of just grinding against her.
A soft hiss fell from his lips as his gaze darkened. He shifted his weight above her, keeping her wrists clasped in his hand and shoving them into the mattress as he began to rut against her harder. Her sharp gasp sounded through the air as he angled his hips up, the tip of his cock dipping into her deliciously before he halted his movements, keeping only a few inches inside of her.
Y/N writhed beneath him, whimpering her protests around his thumb as her jaw slackened, muffled pleas spilling from her lips as she began to beg uselessly for him to just fuck her already.
Spencer pressed down on her tongue with his thumb, a grunt escaping him before he yanked his thumb out of her mouth, using the hand to pin her down instead.
"Be still—"
Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, the harsh light of morning pouring through her curtains, and she let out a disgruntled groan as she blindly searched for her phone on the nightstand. After weeks of peaceful, dreamless sleep, of course she would dream about Spencer the night before their hangout. Wait—
Y/N sat up abruptly, unlocking her phone to check the time, only to notice a message waiting for her on the lock screen.
Spence <3: I’ll be there in an hour with a surprise.
Sent twenty-three minutes ago.
Fuck. She'd completely forgotten to set an alarm to get ready for their movie marathon, despite being the one who had suggested it in the first place. Whatever brain cells that photo had scrambled in her brain needed to get a grip so she could function on a level above Neanderthal.
Y/N: Surprise? You spoil me, old man. I'll see you then :)
Y/N exhaled wearily, rolling out of bed and dragging her feet across the plush carpet. She shuffled over to her dresser, picking out an outfit consisting of black yoga pants and an old band tee before heading to the bathroom for a cold shower. Maybe it would clear her head—or at least get rid of the incessant aching between her thighs. It worked on men, right?
One miserable shower and a change of clothes later, Y/N finally managed to clear some of the fog clouding her mind. She darted around her apartment, tidying up in a flurry before Spencer arrived. Moving between the kitchen and the living room, she gathered everything for their movie marathon: a pile of 90's slasher films spread out on the coffee table, her biggest throw blanket draped across the sectional, and a bag of popcorn popping away in the microwave.
Spencer's signature knock rang through the apartment at the same time the microwave started beeping, signaling that the popcorn was done.
"Coming!" Y/N shouted from the kitchen, opening the microwave door so it wouldn't repeat the shrill noise before making her way to the front door.
She swings it open with an excited grin, her gaze immediately dropping to the bag in Spencer's hand. She beckons for Spencer to come in, trying to sneak a peek at what was in the slightly crinkled paper bag.
"Geez, don't look too excited to see me," Spencer chuckled, following Y/N into her kitchen.
She waved dismissively, laughing softly as she grabbed the bag of popcorn and a bowl to pour it into. Spencer sat the bag on the counter, finally revealing its contents as he pulled out a tub of ice cream and some sour gummy worms.
"A man after my own heart!" Y/N gasped with an exaggerated swoon, cackling as Spencer swatted at her playfully.
"You said you were stressed, and I know you’ve got a sweet tooth just like me, so I figured it’d be perfect for our movie marathon," Spencer said with a shrug, the faintest blush creeping up his neck.
That kind of thoughtful behavior was just another reason her emotions had been in turmoil for the past few weeks. The selfie had opened a door to a spiral of introspection, one that made her revisit every moment they’d shared. She had always known their friendship straddled the line between platonic and something more, but she’d convinced herself it was simply because they were so comfortable with one another. It wasn’t until now that she began to wonder if those boundaries had been blurred intentionally — if, deep down, they both had wanted more all along.
The movie marathon kicked off after a bit of grumbling from Spencer, who finally gave in to watching the cheesy slasher films he’d insisted were beneath him. A few awkward moments of shifting on the couch later, they settled into a comfortable spot—Y/N tucked into his side, both of them with snacks in their laps and the throw blanket wrapped around them, ready to dive into the horror-filled lineup.
As they settled into the movie, Spencer’s gaze lingered on Y/N for a moment too long. He noticed the drip of vanilla ice cream at the corner of her mouth, the sight causing an unwelcome tightness in his pants. Before he could stop himself, he reached over. His thumb gently swiped the sugary trail now pooling along her lower lip, a soft swipe that left his hand lingering a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
"Here, you've got a little..."
The words died in his throat as her lips wrapped around his thumb, both of their eyes widening as their gaze met.
In that moment, everything fell into place for Spencer. It wasn’t stress that had been driving her distant behavior—he realized with a sudden jolt—it was something else entirely. The way she'd been pulling away, the tension between them… it wasn’t just exhaustion or anxiety. No, it was something far more complicated. It was desire.
Y/N jerked backward, nearly sending all of their precariously placed snacks to the floor as her face burned with embarrassment. "Oh, my God I- I'm so sorry Spence," she stammered, her words tripping over each other. "I have no idea why I did that-"
"Y/N."
Spencer cut her off with a hushed murmur of her name, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she stopped her nervous rambling.
"It's okay. I-I liked it," Spencer reassured her softly.
Y/N stared at him, dumbfounded.
"What?"
"I liked it."
Spencer repeated himself surely, but the tremble in his voice gave away the fact that his brave front was exactly that: a front.
"I—" He hesitated, a heavy sigh escaping him. His hands fumbled with the snacks for a moment, setting them carefully on the coffee table as if buying time. He finally turned to face her fully, the weight of his words settling in. "Y/N… I've been in love with you since the moment I met you. I never said anything because I was scared… scared you wouldn’t feel the same. And after everything these past few weeks, with you pulling away, I thought maybe you’d figured it out and hated me for it. But… maybe I was wrong. Maybe you actually feel the same way I do..."
Y/N’s mouth parted in shock, her mouth opening and closing like she wanted to say something—anything—but the words just wouldn’t come. Spencer loved her. He always had. And she had spent all this time convincing herself her feelings were one-sided, certain he couldn’t possibly feel the same way.
Spencer's voice wavered as he spoke, his eyes searching hers with a quiet intensity. "Please, tell me I was wrong. Tell me you feel the same." His words hung in the air, and he held his breath, waiting, afraid that his confession might have been the thing to push her away for good.
The raw vulnerability in his voice broke through the fog in her mind, and without thinking, she nodded quickly, the words tumbling from her lips before she could stop them.
"Yes! Yes, Spence, I feel the same way," she breathed, her voice shaky as she looked up at him, eyes wide with a mix of relief and disbelief. "I always have… I just… I convinced myself it was impossible. I never thought you could feel the same."
A soft laugh escaped him, his grin widening as he wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. "How could I not, Y/N?" he murmured, his voice low and sincere. "You’re everything to me. You’re the reason I started believing in soulmates… because I know I’ll never find anyone more perfectly made for me than you. You’re it. Always have been."
Y/N's heart skipped a beat at his words, her eyes welling up involuntarily. No one had ever spoken to her with such reverence, and in that moment, she realized she held him in the same regard. But where Spencer's words were so effortlessly beautiful, hers often fell short. So, instead of trying to find the right ones, she chose to show him just how deeply he mattered to her.
Within seconds, her lips were on his, her hands gently cradling his face as she pulled him closer. Spencer surrendered to the kiss, his hands sliding to her waist, mirroring her movements and pulling her in.
It started as a slow, hesitant kiss that rapidly devolved into something more desperate as the weight of years of silent longing melted away between them. What Y/N couldn't articulate into words she poured into touch, threading her trembling fingers into his soft hair and tugging, urging him to hover over her as she laid back against the couch. Her lips moved against his fiercely, trying to convey the silent message that she was just as in love with him as he was with her.
The movie had long since faded into the background, its faint dialogue and sporadic screams now an odd soundtrack blending with the muffled whimpers and soft pants that filled the space between them as their hands began to roam. Spencer's hips were nestled between hers, unmoving and stiff as he tried not to mindlessly hump against her like an animal in heat.
Y/N noticed Spencer's rigidness, breaking the kiss to look up at him with a furrowed brow. "What's wrong?" She breathed out, propping up on her elbows and brushing their noses together. "Are we moving too fast? We can stop if you want, I-I'm sorry—"
"No!" Spencer borderline shouted in his haste to ease the insecurity he saw creeping into her eyes, his face flushing as he cleared his throat. "No, no that's not it at all. I just, um... I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I wasn't sure how far you wanted this to go."
Y/N’s shoulders relaxed, a small frown giving way to a playful smirk. She idly twisted the loose curls at the nape of his neck between her fingers, her gaze locking with his.
"I want you, Spence. All of you. If that's what you want, too."
Spencer's nod was immediate, his forehead almost knocking into hers, causing her to laugh at his eagerness. "God, yes. I want that, so much. I want you so much."
Y/N grinned as she tilted her head to brush their lips together, landing a chaste kiss on his mouth before she tugged him down, leaning forward to whisper into his ear. "Yeah? You wanna fuck me, Spence?"
He inhaled sharply through his nose, his eyes fluttering shut as his head fell into the crook of her neck. If he were younger, he probably would have just cum in his pants from her words alone. But he was a man now. A barely composed man who was dizzy from the intoxicating scent of her perfume crowding his nose and the most painful erection he's had since puberty straining against his slacks.
"Such a crude mouth you have," Spencer murmured in feigned disappointment, shaking his head before pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to the skin of her neck. "Maybe I should fill it up until you learn some manners, hm?"
He traced the fingers of his right hand up her side as he pulled back enough to look into her eyes, his left hand pressed into the cushions to keep him from laying all his body weight onto her. He'd caught her lingering glances at his hands throughout the last few weeks. He just hadn't been sure why she'd been staring at them so hard... but now? Now, he knew exactly why she'd been so fixated on them, and he planned to use that to his advantage.
The whimper that slipped from Y/N's lips as Spencer slid two fingers into her gaping mouth confirmed his suspicions, the shit-eating grin on his face growing wide as he pressed the digits down against her tongue. She began to suck at his fingers eagerly, the feeling of her tongue laving over them making his body tremble in anticipation.
His hips began to rock against hers, slowly grinding against her aching core as he pressed kisses up and down the side of her neck. Once he was satisfied with his teasing, he pulled his fingers from her mouth with a slick 'pop', replacing them with his tongue as he kissed her deeply.
Y/N’s mind whirled, both surprised and intrigued by the sudden shift in his demeanor, captivated by how effortlessly he stepped into control. It wasn’t what she’d anticipated at all. She’d seen glimpses of this side of him—brief moments in the field or during interrogations—but never like this. The man before her was assured and confident, a stark contrast to his usual, endearing awkwardness.
Their kiss grew hungry as Spencer continued where they had left off before, his hands sliding under the hem of her shirt and bunching the fabric as they trailed up. He broke the kiss long enough to help her out of the shirt, tossing it somewhere in the direction of the TV before capturing her lips once more. He was a man ravenous, consumed by the sweetness of her lips, and even the seconds it took to remove her t-shirt felt like an unbearable eternity without them.
Her hands were just as busy as his, dragging down his clothed chest before finding the button of his slacks in the cramped space between them. Her fingers fumbled with the button blindly, and her movements faltered when his teeth gently tugged at her lower lip.
"Off," Y/N whined indignantly against his mouth, tugging frustratedly at the button. "Take them off."
Spencer obliged, helpless to her commands as he sat back on his heels, easily undoing the pesky button that was keeping her from what she wanted. She went to sit up to help with his zipper, but in her rush to get his pants off, she didn't realize just how close his knee was to the edge of the cushion.
The motion knocked his knee outwards, a surprised yelp leaving his lips as he instinctively reached out for her to steady himself, but it was too late.
A startled squeal slipped from Y/N as they both tumbled to the floor, landing with a muted thud on the plush carpet. Spencer’s hands shot to her waist, his eyes wide as he glanced up at her, now sprawled on top of him, her laughter filling the air at their unexpected fall. He joined her, chuckling loudly.
They were a perfect chaos—rumpled clothes, kiss-swollen lips, tangled hair, and eyes full of love. But neither of them minded, because they finally had what they’d both been yearning for all this time: each other.
The fall did little to curb their desire for each other. Y/N ducked her head, pressing her lips to Spencer's with renewed vigor as her hands slipped underneath his sweater. She giggled as he squirmed underneath her touch.
"You're such a wiggle worm!" Y/N huffed, pulling back just enough to let the words slip free into the air between them as she lifted the sweater up and over his head.
Spencer scoffed, his own hands slipping beneath the waistband of her yoga pants and shoving them down her legs. "I can't help that your hands feel like ice!"
A quiet hiss left her lips at the feeling of his equally cold hands brushing against the skin of her thighs. She wriggled on top of him, kicking off the remaining fabric that had wrapped around her feet.
"So do yours, but you don't see me acting like a baby about it!"
"Oh, I'll show you a baby—"
Y/N cackled as Spencer rolled them over, hovering above her once more with a cheeky grin and soft chuckles. He bombarded her with kisses all over her face and collarbones, ignoring her hands swatting at him playfully as he continued his attack. Soon his pants joined the growing pile of clothes near the entertainment center, the soft glow of the TV illuminating the room as the final scenes of the forgotten movie played out. His hands made swift work of removing her bra, leaving her lying underneath him in only her lacy underwear.
Their laughter died out as they stared into each other's eyes, the weight of what was about to change—what had already changed—settling over them. But fear didn’t touch them. There was no reason for it. This was always meant to be; written in the stars, woven into their destiny long before they existed.
Spencer closed the gap between them, kissing Y/N tenderly as he lowered himself just enough for their bare chests to press together and their hips to align perfectly. A sigh escaped her at the feeling of his hardened cock grinding against her, the thin fabric of his boxers and her soaked panties doing little to conceal what lay beneath.
Neither of them had ever pictured their first time unfolding on the living room floor, but in a way, it made the moment even more unforgettable. It was a testament to how desperately they wanted each other—so much that they’d choose the roughness of the carpet and rug burns over the luxury of her bed to avoid the few minutes apart it would take to get to her room.
"You're sure you want this?"
Spencer broke the kiss, his eyes tracing hers for any trace of hesitation or doubt. Y/N's lips curved into a faint smile as she reached up to caress his face. Her thumb stroked the skin of his cheekbone as she nodded.
"More than anything."
The look in her eyes told him that she was being completely honest. That was all the confirmation he needed. His shaky hands found the edges of the lace adorning her hips, inching his body down as he tugged the soaked-through fabric down her legs.
Y/N's face scrunched in confusion as Spencer moved lower, her brows furrowing as he pressed a kiss to her knee. "What are you-"
Her words cut off with a sharp moan as Spencer latched his mouth to her clit, her head tipping back against the floor as her hands buried themselves into his disheveled strands. Her back arched as her legs spread instinctively, making room for him as he began to devour her. He shifted, grabbing ahold of her thighs and placing them over his shoulders as his tongue alternated between teasing kitten licks and long, drawn-out laps up and down her pussy.
Y/N struggled to open her eyes, peering down at him as pleasure began to flood her veins. The sight of his hands—those beautiful goddamned hands that had inadvertently caused this to happen— gripping her thighs hard enough to leave bruises had her mouth hanging open, small whimpers and moans flowing freely into the open space.
"You taste exquisite, sweetheart. So, so good," Spencer mumbled against her slick skin before sucking her clit into his mouth gently.
Y/N cried out, writhing underneath him as the pleasure in her lower stomach began to build rapidly. A loud groan wrenched itself from her throat as Spencer grabbed her hips, pinning them to the ground as he continued to ravage her in a way that rendered her useless.
"You can take it, pretty girl," Spencer cooed, placing a kiss on her clit before one of his hands left her hip to trace her folds. "Cum for me so I can fuck you so good you'll never want anyone else again."
Who the fuck taught him how to talk like that?
Y/N couldn’t speak to tell him that she’d never want anyone else anyways; that he was etched into her very soul, and every part of her would forever long for his touch and his touch alone. She cried out as his middle finger prodded at her entrance before slipping inside, her orgasm so close she could almost taste it.
Spencer moaned against her from how little resistance her walls had against the intrusion, immediately adding his ring finger to the mix. He thrusted them into her hard, curling the lithe digits in search of that rough patch of skin that would give him what he wanted. It took all of three strokes before he found it, his mouth forming a smirk as she gripped his hair and yanked, grinding her hips up into his mouth as she thrashed beneath him.
"Spence! Fuck, I-I'm cumming—"
Y/N barely uttered the words before her climax seized her, her toes curling as her vision whitened and the world shattered around her. She could vaguely register Spencer's sweet voice coaxing her through it, his forehead now pressed to hers as his fingers continued to gently thrust into her through the aftershocks. Only when she was trembling and weakly shoving at his wrist did he finally stop his movements, his lips meeting hers in a series of soft kisses as her chest heaved beneath him.
"Yeah?" He murmured with a smug grin, pulling back to smooth her hair away from her damp face with his clean hand as she stared up at him in bewilderment.
Spencer Reid had just caused her to cum harder than she ever had in her life. Spencer—the same Spencer that was too shy to look her in the eyes for a solid month after first meeting her— just made her cum so hard she almost blacked out. She understood why he was a man of magic now... and it had nothing to do with the novelty tricks he was always showing off.
"Yeah," Y/N whispered in response, still reeling from her orgasm.
If that was the type of climax she could reach simply from his tongue and fingers, she was convinced that she'd never actually experienced one with anyone else.
"Do you want to stop there? Or do you want to keep going?"
Spencer's voice was soft as he stared at the gorgeous woman beneath him. He found it ironic that he was already kneeling between her thighs because that had now become his place of worship. His redemption came in the form of her essence, dripping from his fingers as they rested against her hip. He'd never need anything else as long as he had her.
"Keep going. I want to keep going," Y/N pleaded softly, her hands reaching for his boxers. "Just—c'mere. Wanna taste you before you fuck me brainless. Please?"
A pitiful whine left Spencer’s lips as he felt his composure crack slightly. He wasn’t prepared for her to practically beg to suck his cock. He found himself nodding mindlessly, his hands going to help her strip him of his boxers before he remembered the mess still clinging to his fingers.
“Clean these for me first, sweet girl. Then you can.”
Spencer brought his fingers up to her lips, watching in amazement as she obeyed without a fuss. She even went as far as moaning while she licked his fingers clean of her, holding his gaze while she did. Y/N knew what she did to him. She knew he was just as affected by her as she was him. And she reveled in it.
Once he deemed them clean enough, he pulled them from her mouth before ridding himself of the last shred of fabric between them. The second that Spencer was bare before her, she pounced. Her hands pushed at his chest, urging him to lie back as she crawled on top of him.
“You’re so pretty, Spence,” Y/N breathed dazedly, pecking his lips before trailing her kisses down his chest. “God… look at you.”
Spencer flushed bright red while she continued to murmur her praises as she gripped the base of him, his cock twitching in her hand.
He had never been particularly confident—growing up as a child prodigy in a Las Vegas public school had stripped him of any sense of self-worth before it had a chance to take root. Unlike Morgan, he didn’t have the muscles or the easy charm with women. He could count the number of sexual encounters he’d had on one hand. His dates rarely progressed beyond the first, driven away by his nervous rambling and the unpredictable demands of his job.
The only way Spencer even knew how to make Y/N feel so good was because he had studied every piece of material he could find on the intricacies of female anatomy and sexual pleasure on the off chance one of his dates would blossom into something more than an uncomfortable hook-up and dash situation. It also helped that he’d pined after her since he’d known her, that longing translating into a dire need to make her feel the best she ever had because that’s what she deserved. She deserved to feel pleasure in its purest form, to feel cherished and worshipped because that’s how precious she was to him.
And in this moment, as she gazed at him with the kind of reverence that made it seem as though he was the center of her universe, Spencer believed that maybe, just maybe, he deserved to feel that way too.
His fingers grasped helplessly at the carpet beneath him as her beautiful lips wrapped around the flushed head of his arousal, a muffled curse falling into the air as she swirled her tongue around him. Y/N smirked around her mouthful, her eyes glinting with amusement as she inhaled through her nose and pushed lower, taking him into the back of her throat. The gag that she emitted from the motion had his hips jerking up, a flurry of apologies spewing from his mouth.
Instead of responding verbally, she simply grabbed his hands and guided them to her hair, encouraging him to take hold and move her as he pleased. Once he threaded his hands through her hair, she continued. Her own hands planted firmly on his thighs as she began to bob her head around what she could fit, a soft hum vibrating around his length as her eyes fluttered shut.
Spencer was speechless— absolutely floored as he stared slack-jawed at the woman moaning around his cock like she was the one receiving pleasure from it. He gave an experimental tug of her hair, his head falling back with a thunk as she moaned louder and moved faster. It was as though she were unraveling his very soul with her tongue, hurtling him towards an orgasm he didn’t want to have just yet.
“Y-Y/N wait I— ngh!” Spencer groaned, his grip on her hair tightening unintentionally as he tried to pull her off of him. “I won’t be able to fuck you if you make me cum down your throat, pretty girl. P-please—“
Y/N whined in protest but finally eased herself off of his cock, a trail of spit bridging her lower lip to the head of him as she stared up at him with watery eyes and swollen lips.
Spencer felt delirious as he took in the sight. It was something he’d dreamed about (albeit guiltily) for years, and having the real thing in front of him was infinitely better than anything his subconscious had conjured up during those restless nights. She was a vision; a work of art that deserved to have a museum dedicated to her and her alone.
“Oh, don’t pout. Unless you don’t want to be fucked anymore?” Spencer chuckled breathlessly, arching a brow as she moved to straddle him. His hands found their way to her waist, a shudder running down his spine as she settled over him.
“If you won’t fuck me… I have a pretty nice dildo in my bedside drawer that should do the trick,” Y/N hummed coyly, dragging her heat across the length of him with a soft sigh.
Spencer’s eyes darkened at that, his grip on her hips tightening to put a halt to her subtle movements.
“Yeah? You think it’d make you feel better than I could?”
Y/N swallowed hard, the aching between her legs starting to override her logical thinking. She knew the answer he was looking for; the answer that would give her exactly what she wanted. But she decided to be a smartass instead.
“Maybe,” She answered with a shrug, nibbling at her lower lip as she tried to fight against his hold to get the friction she craved.
“Go get it then.”
Spencer leaned forward, his nose brushing hers as she sat in his lap, a challenge in his gaze. He knew she wouldn’t—she was getting restless, just like him. But if this was the game she wanted to play, he was determined to win.
Panic spread across Y/N’s face at the cold, indifferent look in his eyes. Her hands rested on his shoulders, her frown betraying the sinking realization of the hole she’d dug for herself. They were both ridiculously competitive, so why she’d started this—rather than just admitting how badly she wanted him buried inside her—was beyond her.
“I was kidding,” Y/N huffed, tilting forward in an attempt to capture his lips.
Spencer leaned back, keeping his lips just out of reach. He shook his head, smirking softly. “Nope. Either go get it, or say you’re sorry.”
Y/N hesitated, frowning as she weighed her options. She wanted him so badly it hurt. But pride was a hell of a thing. She knew he wouldn’t back down. Normally, she wouldn’t either. But his cock was pressed so deliciously against her clit that she decided it would be more than worth it to lose just this once.
“I’m sorry,” She mumbled, barely audible.
“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”
Spencer’s taunting made her groan in frustration before she sighed and tried again.
“I said I’m sorry—“
He shifted them so that his back was against the couch, her knees on both sides of his hips digging into the carpet hard enough that he was certain it would sting once they started. He’d make sure to take care of her afterward, though. He gazed up at her with adoration, thoroughly enjoying how needy she'd become. Her breath hitched as he adjusted his hips, the head of his cock pressing against her entrance.
“One more time, hm?” Spencer coaxed, his hands now rubbing up and down her sides but still holding her tight enough that she couldn't rock against him. If he was honest, his resolve had crumbled as quickly as hers, but he couldn’t help from teasing her for just a little longer.
“I’m sorry!” Y/N cried out, her forehead pressing against his as she whimpered. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Spencer finally pressed a kiss to her lips before pulling back, his lips brushing against hers as he crooned. “Good girl, baby. Thank you.”
Hearing the praise fall so easily from his mouth had Y/N canting her hips down eagerly, willing to do whatever he wanted just so she could hear his sweet words over and over again. Her determination didn’t waver, her hips pushing down insistently. Spencer’s hold on her waist faltered, and for a brief moment, gravity claimed its victory.
A startled gasp slipped from her lips as the tip of his cock pushed into her, followed by a guttural moan that had Spencer's ears ringing as he cursed loudly. She had been so used to his hold that she wasn't prepared to support herself, his hands having barely caught her from dropping completely. He immediately yanked her up, the cool air against his skin a shock after having felt her warmth for the first time.
“God—fuck!" Spencer groaned as his head tipped back against the couch cushions, straining against every instinct begging him to just drive into her and utilizing every muscle in his body to keep her suspended as she wriggled impatiently.
"Baby... how are you— how are you wanting to do this?” Spencer whispered, swallowing before he continued. “I’m pretty sure I have a condom in my wallet, but I… um. I’m clean...”
Their hearts pounded in their chests as his words lingered in the air, the only sounds in the room being the repeated menu options from the forgotten movie and the ragged rhythm of their breaths.
Y/N meweled, reaching down to realign him with her entrance. “I’m clean and on birth control… Can we...? Like this? Please—“
“Yes.”
Y/N chuckled at his blunt response, though she was just as desperate to feel him after having the faintest taste of what he felt inside her. Her lips found his for a chaste kiss before she finally began to lower herself onto his cock, this time without his resistance.
Her laughter died in her throat, morphing into a choked whimper from the stretch of him. Even with how aroused she was, trying to make him fit was a struggle. Spencer was easily the biggest out of anyone she’d ever been with— a feat she hadn't quite realized until she was pausing halfway down his cock with a stuttered moan, slowly circling her hips in an attempt to adjust to the sensation.
Spencer was convinced he'd somehow died and ascended to paradise as he gazed up at the angelic woman hovering above him, enthralled by watching her fight to take the full length of him into her depths. His hands massaged up and down her trembling thighs, hoping to help her relax enough to take the rest of him without it hurting. Hums of encouragement rumbled from his chest as he stared unblinking at her, the warm amber of his eyes almost consumed completely by his blown pupils. His thumb found her clit and rubbed small circles into it as her eyes fluttered closed and she inhaled sharply through her nose.
"That's it, sweet girl," He cooed, continuing his gentle ministrations as she whined from deep in her throat. "Just like that. You're taking me so well. My gorgeous girl."
There was a pleasant burn as Y/N gingerly lifted her hips, leaving only the head of him inside of her. The way her hardened nipples brushed against his bare chest had her shivering lightly, the touch sending small sparks of pleasure jolting through her. Soft whines spilled from her lips as Spencer moved his hands around to grip her ass, gently massaging the flesh as she raised up on her knees.
With a committed roll of her hips and a quiet grunt, Y/N finally took the rest of his length, their bodies now flush together as her head dropped into the crook of his neck. The whorish moan Spencer released into her ear as he bottomed out had her clenching around him, a dire need to cause more of those sinful noises prompting her hips to begin moving. The raw stinging against her knees as she began to ride him in earnest only spurred her on, her nails digging into his shoulders as her head lolled back.
"Spence—" Y/N whimpered, resting her forehead against his as she panted out his name again and again, chanting it as though it were a mantra.
Spencer shushed her, understanding exactly what she couldn't manage to vocalize. He nodded against her as their bodies moved in tandem. "I know, baby. I know. You feel divine. My sweet angel." He continued to murmur out his praises as his head rested back on the edge of the couch cushion, small fingerprint-shaped bruises marking her skin as he clung to her.
Her hips began to falter as exhaustion started to settle into her bones from the vigorous pace she'd set, her second orgasm brewing in the pit of her stomach as though it were a wicked thunderstorm in waiting, ready to roll in and wreak havoc on her entire body at any minute. The slick sounds of their bodies connecting over and over paired with the symphony of heady moans and whimpers spilling between them—it was all driving her closer and closer to ecstasy.
Spencer noticed the fumble in her movements, his brows pinched together as he fought to keep his own climax at bay so he could enjoy the sensation of being wrapped up in her walls for a while longer. But he couldn't let his pretty girl do all of the work, could he? That would be cruel.
He planted his feet into the ground, beginning to pound into her from below. A satisfied smirk adorned his face as Y/N cried out, her head falling into the crook of his neck once more as she began to babble incoherently against his skin. The pace he set was wild and unrestrained, the angle allowing him to drive into her g-spot repeatedly.
"Take it, take it, take it—" Spencer hissed through clenched teeth before he latched his mouth onto her right nipple, sucking at the bud and swirling his tongue around it.
Y/N threaded her fingers through his hair, hanging on tightly as Spencer ravaged her. Her mouth hung open as moan after moan wrenched itself from her core and embedded into his damp skin. The pleasure searing through her veins was consuming her, burning her from the inside out. She was so close—
The catalyst for her orgasm came in the form of Spencer's hands slipping down her ass and underneath her thighs so that the tips of his fingers were brushing against where they were connected with each thrust. All it took was that one simple touch for the tension in her body to snap, her teeth digging into his shoulder as she tried to muffle her screams while her walls pulsed around him violently. Her eyes squeezed shut as she wailed his name loudly, not caring if any of her neighbors heard them at this point. She wanted the world to know exactly who was making her feel this good.
Spencer toppled them over onto the ground as she came around him, pinning her to the carpet and rutting into her fervently. Something akin to a sob fell from his lips before he abruptly pulled out, jerking his cock in quick strokes before he was spurting his cum across her stomach and tits with a cry of her name.
He crumpled to the ground beside her, pulling her into his side before he slung an arm over his face. Their chests heaved as they came down from their highs, both of them completely spent after such depraved lovemaking. His free hand stroked up and down her slick skin as she rested her head on his chest, calming the tremors wracking her body as they caught their breath.
Once Spencer regained feeling in his legs, he scooped Y/N from the floor and into his arms, hauling her off toward her bathroom as giggles bubbled from her lips at his surprising show of strength. Y/N watched with pure fondness as he started the shower, her heart swelling as he glanced back at her with a tired grin. When the water was warm enough, he held her hand as he helped her step in, following behind her with a hand wrapped around her waist to hold her steady.
After a shower spent lost in love-struck gazes, soapy caresses, and slow, tender kisses against the tiles, they ended up wrapped in each other's arms in her bed. It was only midday, but it was Saturday—so why not indulge in a nap? They had more than earned it after their (failed) movie marathon.
"Y'know," Y/N started, her voice low as fatigue began to cloud her mind. "You really do have massive hands." She took his hand, which had been resting loosely between them, lifting it to align with hers for comparison. His hand was nearly twice the size of hers, and the sight made her smile with amusement.
Spencer snorted, his nose scrunching as he laughed quietly at her observation.
"Well, yeah... I am 6'1", sweetheart. It would be abnormal if I didn't have massive hands," He stated matter-of-factly. "Besides, you love them. Really love them," He added with a sleepy smirk.
Y/N's face burned as she rolled her eyes, playfully shoving him with a scoff. "Yeah, yeah. It isn't my fault you have hands that were crafted by Michelangelo himself," She murmured defensively.
Spencer pulled her closer, brushing a kiss against her forehead, then her nose, her cheeks, and finally, her lips.
"You know I'm just teasing you. Did you know that—"
As Spencer began to prattle on about the variations and degrees of hand kinks and fetishes, Y/N's mind drifted back to the picture that had unknowingly set everything in motion. She couldn’t help but thank that raised crack in the sidewalk for pushing her old-fashioned boyfriend (that still felt so surreal to say) to embrace modern technology—because without it, she might have spent even more time blind to the fact that she was utterly, hopelessly in love with the man lying before her.
And as they drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms, Spencer felt a deep sense of gratitude for finally being able to love the beautiful woman in his arms the way he’d always dreamed of.
Continued A/N's: I felt evil for my first (published) fic being so angsty so I decided to write this as a formal apology LMAO. I had so much fun writing this, and I hope you have just as much fun reading it. Please tell me what you think and let me know if you'd like to see a sequel for this as well! :) K <3
#spencer reid#spencer reid smut#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x bau!reader#criminal minds smut#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x fem!reader smut#best friends to lovers#two idiots in love
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untitled (part 3)
You reunite with your crow friend! But it seems to need your help with… a man?
nav: one, two, three (current), four, five, six or: read on ao3
tags: sylus x reader, an au where you're an average citizen, slow burn, hurt/comfort, angst, mentions of blood and death, descriptions of a panic attack, bossman is here yay
“Congratulations! You’ve just won the loyal customer raffle at Linkon Supermarket!”
“But I shop at Bloomshore Mart.”
“Yup, congratulations!”
You furrow your brows, eyeing the paper the delivery driver is enthusiastically waving in your face. Sure enough, it announces the conclusion of the famous supermarket’s year-end raffle, and there it is: your full government name printed neatly under “winner.”
Beyond his shoulder, you notice the other worker unloading boxes from the delivery truck. He’s dressed in the same uniform, with identical dark curls and also sporting a black face mask. He catches your gaze and gives a lazy thumbs-up.
There must be something wrong with your memory, because you could swear you haven’t stepped foot in Linkon Supermarket in years—let alone registered for their raffle. That place isn’t exactly known for catering to the humbler economic classes.
And it’s still 5:30 a.m. Have supermarkets always done graveyard shift deliveries?
“Thanks…” You squint at the driver’s name tag. “…Lukas.”
“No problem!”
Once the two workers finish unloading and stacking boxes of who-knows-what in your living room, they wave cheerfully before speeding off down the street. Half-asleep, you manage only a bemused wave in return.
You think you might’ve been cursed. Or blessed. It’s hard to say. Because ever since your crow friend escaped a week ago, it feels like you’ve already blown through a lifetime’s worth of luck.
In the span of days, you’ve gotten a raise and better employee benefits (odd, considering you’re still just an assistant manager), won lifetime vouchers for three of your favorite food spots, and now, apparently, won a supermarket raffle—complete with at least three months’ worth of groceries.
Rummaging through the boxes, you find they’re stocked with all your usual brands. Snacks, non-perishables, beauty products, household items—everything. Even fresh produce.
For the first time in a while, you won’t have to worry about going hungry.
—
You’re not sure why you’ve come back to the park tonight.
It’s late, and you’ve already visited the crows earlier, spoiling them with extra bags of peanuts thanks to your recent streak of good fortune.
The crows seem to wonder the same thing. While they peck enthusiastically at the peanuts, their beady eyes occasionally flick toward you, as if to silently judge your lack of anything resembling a social life.
Admittedly, you’ve been hoping to see your crow friend again.
You think you’re starting to come to terms with its disappearance. Life goes on, right? It’s just an animal, after all. It probably doesn’t feel the same complex emotions humans do—the kind that have you so affected by its absence after only a few days of sharing a space. (Maybe it was a one-sided friendship all along...) It probably just followed its instincts, leaving to do whatever it is that lone crows do.
Still, a petulant part of you feels bitter. Sure, it left behind a hoard of treasures—trinkets, gems, and gold so polished they must be real (though you’re not ready to think about where it might have stolen them)—but it could’ve at least waited for you to come home before flying off.
In hindsight, maybe it’s a good thing you never had pets. Your apparent abandonment issues would be a nightmare to deal with if they got lost, ran away, or died.
Suddenly, a familiar series of shrill caws pierces the air. Before you can process what’s happening, something crashes into your lap, a blur of loose black feathers hitting your face.
Could it be…?
The unmistakable garnet glint in the midnight-feathered avian’s eyes confirms it. Without hesitation, you scoop the bird into your arms, pulling it tightly to your chest, and press a rough, enthusiastic kiss to its head.
“Where have you been?” you exclaim, laughing as you nuzzle the void-like creature against your cheek, smothering it in an embrace. “I’ve been so worried about you!”
Its muffled caws are drowned out by your babbling. “Oh gosh—your wing! How is it?” you say, quickly pulling back to inspect it.
Its feathers look good—healthy, even. In fact, they almost seem brand new, gleaming like a freshly unboxed gadget. Its once-injured left wing no longer looks broken—or as you’d thought before, no longer resembling a mechanical part with a loose screw.
Before you can start fussing over it again, the bird suddenly wriggles free from your grasp and lands steadily on your lap. It caws again, but something’s different. It’s louder, more piercing—frantic. It paces across your lap, continuing to practically scream at you, as if trying to tell you something.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” you ask, your heart squeezing at the sight of its feathers puffing up with each stressed caw.
You try to pat its head, hoping to calm it down, but it jumps off your lap and lands on the ground, still cawing. The other crows, clearly spooked by its urgent cries, start to scatter. Bewildered, you bend down, attempting to scoop it into your arms again, but it evades you by hopping a few feet away, still cawing—loudly.
“What is it?” you say, exasperated. I can’t speak crow!
You step closer, bending down once more, but it hops away—again.
You stare up at the heavens. This has to be some cosmic joke. You can’t believe you’re playing this strange version of tag with a bird.
You don’t even realize how far you’ve walked, now a good distance from the bench you were sitting on. You’ve reached the darker area of the park, still desperate to grab the cawing bird and figure out what’s wrong. Then, without warning, your foot catches on a tree root. You stumble, and before you can recover, you hit the cold, wet ground with an unceremonious thud.
“Well, there goes my good luck streak,” you mutter, trying to push yourself up. Good thing nobody’s around to witness your embarrassing lack of coordination.
“Tell me about it.”
The sudden presence of a deep, unfamiliar voice makes you freeze. Heart pounding wildly, you scramble to sit up, eyes darting toward the source.
It wasn’t a tree root you tripped over. It was a leg—a stretched-out leg attached to a man slumped against one of the park’s statues. A huge, beautiful man, with silver hair and a pair of breathtaking garnet eyes, half-lidded and filled with amusement. He’s clutching his abdomen, the fabric there soaked in dark, ominous red.
Blood.
A field of red datura blooms. A starry night sky with the clouds beneath you. Mountains of gold against jagged walls. A burning plaza. A bloodied claymore.
You don’t register the ringing in your ears or the flash of blurry, unfamiliar images racing through your mind. Your gaze remains locked on the man’s injury. Before you know it, you’re shrugging off your puffer jacket and sweater. Now clad in just your turtleneck, you drop to your knees and press your sweater firmly against his wound.
You, waiting for your turn to walk on stage to receive your diploma. A university staff member rushing toward you. You, running out of the graduation venue. Two totaled SUVs. Three dead bodies.
Your pulse pounds in your ears as you work methodically. Stop the bleeding. Stop the blood. Apply pressure. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Just keep pressing. Don’t think about how much there is. Don’t panic. You fold the sweater tighter against the wound. Okay, stop the bleeding first. That’s all you know. Just keep the pressure steady. He’s losing too much. Is this enough? Should I tie it off? No, just keep pressing. Keep him alive.
The edges of your vision begin to blur. You have to save them. You have to save him. They can’t leave you. He can’t leave you. Not again.
“Sweetheart.”
The word, softly spoken, snaps you out of your trance. Your eyes lift to meet his, and the world seems to still. You’ve never met this man in your life, but the way he looks at you—it hurts. It feels like an ancient grief has surfaced from the depths of your soul.
You finally notice the state you’re in. You’re shaking. Badly. The cold winter air bites into your skin, sharp and unforgiving. Your palms are scraped from your earlier fall, but you hardly register the sting. The man’s hands—large and warm—enclose your trembling ones, grounding you.
And it’s like you’ve never known peace until this very moment.
note: can u tell the extent of my yearning to be spoiled with groceries LMAO
nav: one, two, three (current), four, five, six or: read on ao3
check out my other works!
#ori.writes#sylus x reader#sylus x you#sylus x mc#love and deepspace sylus#sylus#love and deepspace#sylus fluff#sylus angst#sylus hurt/comfort#sylus comfort
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“BE MY VOICE AND I CHOOSE YOU TO FILL THE VOID”
“Why a second chance when the first one didn’t work?” “Because we’re too stubborn, love.”
pairing: fashion designer! suguru geto x supermodel! reader
summary: after you broke up with suguru a few years ago, you swore you’d never have anything to do with him ever again… until new york fashion week arrived and you found yourself forced to take part in the event with suguru geto — aka your ex and one of the most famous personalities in the fashion world, as your fashion designer. but perhaps the latter will take advantage of the event to do his utmost to regain your heart.
warnings: +18 only, smut, modern au! (no curses), exes to lovers, geto is your ex-boyfriend, fluff, (light) angst, hurt/comfort, anxiety attack, bossy! reader, nobara is the reader’s assistant but also plays cupid, only one bed/second chance trope, jealous! geto, gojo makes an appearance because he’s a fashion designer too, switch! geto, oral (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, handjob (m! receiving), body praises, fanart by @ / hiikeu.
wc: 15,257
“He wants you among his troupe.”
You nearly spit out the sip of your drink through the straw. “Excuse me?” you laugh out loud.
But even in front of the serious expression of one of the employees of the agency you work for, it’s hard to keep your own. A fit of giggles takes over your stomach, releasing uncontrollable laughter that echoes throughout your dressing room.
Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Nobara — your assistant — squeezes her planner against her chest — a nervous tic that has never been trivial to you. Silence finally returns to the room, and neither of the other two women utter a single word. The corners of your lips fall. “This is a joke, right?” you whisper breathlessly.
Nobara pulls her phone out of her pocket and scrolls for a few seconds before showing you an announcement from the official website of New York Fashion Week. She is followed by the employee who hands you a tablet screen displaying an email signed by someone you had erased from your life years ago:
Suguru Geto.
°°°°
“Next.” Suguru’s sharp tone cracks like a whip as another model steps onto the casting studio podium. His fist clenches nervously around the handle of the megaphone, resting its bell on the foldable wooden table.
In front of the silhouette of yet another candidate, Suguru’s gaze scrutinizes the model’s fine features that adorn her refined face with prominent cheekbones. A defined jawline. Hazel eyes and a slender body.
“Next,” Suguru repeats mechanically — perhaps because his eyes are desperately searching for your form? With each new woman, he hopes to meet your captivating gaze. And he almost systematically dismisses everyone when it’s not you?
“Mr. Geto, maybe we should—”
“Silence,” he cuts off without a glance at Manami, his assistant.
She sighs and offers an apologetic smile to the model who leaves the podium with a look of icy disappointment. Suguru’s right leg starts to twitch slightly in his chair—a sign of anxiety gradually eroding the calm he tries to maintain in his troubled mind.
“Night Skies: The Illuminated Darkness.”
A relatively inspiring theme and quite easy to design. So why has no inspiration come to him since the announcement? Why do his thoughts constantly drift to outfits that only you deserve to wear, making him prefer to withdraw his participation rather than let someone else wear them?
Fuck.
After the next four hours, Suguru and Manami leave the casting studio for a break in the lounge. He leans against the counter, letting his obsidian eyes fix on a void, swept away by his overwhelming reflections. In the background, the coffee machine rumbles.
You had to join his troupe. Even though he already envisions a firm refusal from your agency. But he is ready to try anything for you — even risks that could endanger his career.
Manami clears her throat slightly and takes a hesitant step towards him. “Mr. Geto? Out of the three hundred top models proposed by partner agencies, we’ve only shortlisted four…” She fiddles with her nails painted in vermillion red, bites her lower lip, and adds, “And that’s under my insistence. At this point, I seriously doubt—”
“Write a letter to this agency,” Suguru cuts in once again without listening to a word of what she tried to explain. He hands her a business card from your agency and mentions your name. “You must know her. I want her among the models for my collection. Otherwise, I’ll cancel my participation,” he declares in an uncompromising tone.
Manami carefully takes the small card and studies it. She lets out a perplexed sigh and nods. “Alright.”
°°°°
“No, absolutely not! I refuse! Reply to him that it won’t be possible!”
“Miss, please—” Nobara tries to calm you and prevent you from committing murder against the top model manager of the agency.
“We’re talking about Suguru Geto! THE internationally renowned designer!” the manager yells with such vehemence that it surely carries well beyond your dressing room.
“I don’t give a fucking damn! There are thousands of models in the world! No one knows, so reply to this email with a fucking refusal!” you yell back just as fiercely. Your usually well-groomed hair is slightly disheveled by a few rebellious strands as agitated as your anger.
There is no way you’re participating in New York Fashion Week or any other event involving Suguru Geto. Not after everything that happened.
Not after he abandoned you.
No.
“But are you aware of what you’re saying—”
“Shut up! If you’re not happy, I’ll quit this damn agency right now! Do you think you’re the only one who wants me? I have hundreds who will be at my feet as soon as I’ll leave!” you spit after a bitter laugh.
Nobara’s soothing hands rest on your shoulders and force you to sit in a chair. Assured that you won’t attempt another assault on the manager, who has turned pale at your declaration, your ginger-haired assistant easily pushes the manager out, whispering to her not to set foot back in here until the refusal is sent to Geto.
She tries to argue one last time, her voice a bit more pleading and less aggressive, but Nobara slams the door in her face. She leans against it, sighs deeply, and closes her eyes for a moment. “Phew…”
As for your own state, ‘fury’ is the perfect adjective. Hair in disarray, cheeks flushed with anger, chest heaving with irregular, harsh breaths, and a vein throbbing along your neck; it’s as if you could turn your dressing room upside down at any moment.
Nobara heads to your automatic water dispenser and pours you a fresh glass. After ensuring you drink every drop, she notices you seem calmer.
Your bloodshot eyes meet her gaze, and she offers you a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll personally make sure everything is sent properly.”
You nod and run a hand over your face to wipe away your overflowing emotions.
It’s crazy how just the mention of that cursed name can set you off. But the final straw was when your manager was informed of Suguru Geto’s request for you to join his models for New York Fashion Week. She insisted relentlessly despite your patience for a no.
She said she didn’t understand.
Of course, no one could understand when no one knew that one of the world’s greatest designers had been your boyfriend before your careers took radically different paths. But how could you explain when he was the one who pushed you to break up with him, leaving you alone, lost, and broken with only an unknown fate to face without anyone’s help?
It was without anyone’s help that you built yourself into who you are today.
Even less your international career.
All the agencies are at your feet, but the only person you wanted to see there wasn’t.
So there was no reason to pay attention.
You will not participate in New York Fashion Week. As long as it involves Suguru Geto, anyway.
°°°°
Mouth agape in shock, Suguru thinks what he sees before him is a prank.
But it’s indeed a clear refusal from the agency you work for.
No, no, no, no, no.
NO.
Suguru storms out of his design office and rushes upstairs to his luxurious bedroom to rummage through his personal belongings. An old photo album is hidden under the piles of clothes in his dresser. He scatters his things carelessly, paying no attention to the mess, and with trembling hands, he drops to his knees, flipping through the album.
On each page, a plastic film covers photos of you and him. One — the most painful — is the first one he took at the beginning of your relationship with him. Both of you standing next to an ice cream vendor, radiant smiles on your faces with sun rays illuminating both your faces, you had your arms around Suguru’s neck. Another one, as he turns the pages. You, lying in his bed one morning. He had taken it the night you had your first time with him. Your figure, which he worships, is covered with his sheets, and your mouth is slightly open as you sleep. A cute little drool escapes from your mouth.
All these photos hold real memories. Proving that nothing was imagined by him when, in his moments of madness, he wondered how he could have ended up here if it all was real. His heart twists in his chest when his eyes catch a photo of him with a bouquet of flowers in his hands and your lips pressed against his cheek. Those flowers were the first Suguru had ever received. He had never received flowers — not even from his own family. You were the very first to give him any.
Suguru pinches his lips, lost in reflections that lead him to check your Instagram page. On your profile, your posts are often collaborations with luxury brands, your body wrapped in fabrics showing your silhouette in its best light, some old videos of you as a child that you wished to share with the world, or random photos of you in pajamas in front of your mirror or with your daily makeup.
He couldn’t help but watch your stories, your posts, your interviews, and your shows in the shadows, never intervening as much in public as in private.
Suguru is obsessed with you.
And he has never stopped being, even after you broke up with him years ago. He never wanted to end things with you.
He pushed you to do it so as not to hurt you more than you would be.
It was when you announced the breakup that he felt all the accumulated resentment he had caused in your heart, and he was nostalgically happy for you.
You no longer had to endure the pain of canceled dates, missed calls, his constant absence.
He knew, at the time, that he was hurting you. He knew you hid your wounds behind forced smiles and excuses you found for his lack of involvement and neglect without him even having to make them when his career started to take off in the fashion world. He understood that he didn’t deserve you.
Yet today, Suguru burns for you.
He is ready to risk his career to find you and seek your forgiveness.
He is ready to lose all his dignity, let you use him like a mere pawn, humiliate him, and break him.
All that, just for you.
Even if he doesn’t deserve you, Suguru wants your forgiveness at all costs.
Even if he doesn’t deserve you, Suguru wants to redeem himself to you.
Leaving your Instagram page, he opens Twitter and tries to find a way to force your hand to participate with him in New York Fashion Week, to meet him, to allow him to do everything to deserve you again and no longer have any regrets.
He taps the ‘New Tweet’ icon and writes words that may place his reputation on an unsteady platter that could fall at any moment.
°°°°
The grip around your phone threatens to make it explode between your fingers. Your knuckles whiten, your hand trembles, and your eyes burn as you read the few words on a Twitter post where you’ve been tagged. It’s as if this time, you’ll actually turn your dressing room and even your agency’s headquarters upside down.
“@reader’sagency. @reader, would you do me the honor of participating with me as a model at the next New York Fashion Week? :)”
Your eye twitches, and you robotically lift your head toward your assistant. “Nobara, I beg you. Pinch me, hit me, slap me, but tell me this is just a nightmare.”
She looks up from your phone and sighs with a forced smile. “It’s... a nightmare?”
You grab a cushion from your red velvet sofa and bury your face in it to muffle a long scream from the depths of your soul. Nobara chuckles and places a hand on your shoulder. “You can just refuse. I’m sure everything will be fine. A public refusal should calm him down,” she whispers.
“Have you seen the comments, retweets, and reposts?” you murmur in a small voice, your brain numb.
Nobara frowns and shakes her head before taking out her own phone. But you stop her by handing her yours without lifting your face from the cushion. “No... Already? But... He posted it less than twenty-four hours ago!” Nobara breathes out in astonishment, covering her mouth with her hand.
Indeed, even though Geto’s tweet is less than a day old, it hasn’t stopped an overwhelming number of internet users and fans worldwide from reacting strongly to the news. You could very well refuse publicly yourself or through your agency — even humiliate him by posting a screenshot of the initial private request that was rejected, making him look desperate and creepy. But that’s not the issue.
By daring to renew his request publicly as if the previous one never existed, he’s putting your reputation and your fans’ hopes — whom you cherish so much — at risk.
If you refuse, you risk disappointing many and tarnishing your image as an arrogant and condescending supermodel for refusing to participate in such a globally anticipated event with one of the best-known designers in the world — despite the fact that no one knows about your past connection with Geto.
The reactions are so hyped, so excited and amazed at the possibility of you and Geto forming a partnership that would result in something beyond imagination.
Suguru Geto has just forced your hand, hovering a threat over both your career and reputation, as well as his own. But you need to make a decision.
You lift your head from the cushion and take a deep breath to brace yourself for what you’re about to do.
“Nobara?”
°°°°
With one foot in a pair of shiny white stiletto sandals and an outfit of the same color, one of your bodyguards helps you step out of the black sedan with your first step onto the ground. You stand up elegantly, wearing dark sunglasses. You are escorted in front of a huge building — one familiar to you from the pages of fashion magazines you usually read — and the immaculate sliding doors open for you.
You stand in the middle of the enormous hall, head held high and one eyebrow raised. “Weren’t the other models supposed to be here at the specified time?” you ask Nobara, who hurries to join you at your side.
“That’s what the email indicated…” she sighs, busy arranging the white fur draped over your arms, framing your long strapless dress in the same color as your heels — a tribute to Marilyn Monroe. Nobara lifts her head with a worried frown. “He couldn’t have stood us up or changed the address at the last minute—”
A confident and cheerful female voice calls your name. In a synchronized movement, you and your assistant turn toward an elevator entrance where a fairly tall woman with a slender and elegant figure, dressed in a long sleeveless Byzantine purple dress, stands. Your two bodyguards follow you and Nobara to join the woman, but she raises a firm hand.
“Your assistant will suffice.” She smiles professionally, and you nod, entering the elevator with the other two women. Like Nobara, she holds a clipboard against her chest and almost looks at you with admiration. “It’s an honor to meet you in person.”
You offer her a polite half-smile, and the elevator begins to climb its endless floors.
“My name is Manami Suda, Suguru Geto’s personal assistant and one of his executives,” she continues, glancing at Nobara. “And you are?”
“Nobara Kugisaki, her personal assistant,” Nobara replies with equal seriousness, and a hint of pride fills your chest. “But since you are Mr. Geto’s assistant, that answers our question. Why are we the only ones to arrive at the agency on time? Where are the other models?” she asks, tilting her head to the side, skeptically.
A small chime announces the arrival at the very top floor, and the doors open to let the three of you out.
Manami doesn’t lose her smile and leads the way down a corridor with an immaculate gray carpet. Her black heels make muffled sounds with each step until reaching a door where she knocks three times. “Everything will be explained by Mr. Geto himself,” she assures, opening the door after a ‘come in’ is heard from the other side.
The voice, though muffled by the door, is easily recognizable. A bitter pang grips your heart, but you shake it off within seconds with a blink.
Manami steps aside and introduces you as you enter.
At the back of the office stands a black swivel chair facing away from you — masking the already known identity of the owner and adding palpable tension.
Manami discreetly leaves, closing the door silently, leaving you to face one of your worst nightmares. The chair turns to face you and Nobara, and the face of Japan’s most popular designer and couturier lays his dark eyes on you.
You remain secretly frozen a few meters away, back to the door, your eyes coldly staring at your ex.
Suguru Geto has always had a reputation for being a man of style, in his behavior, his language, and his way of dressing. While the basic suit he wears contrasts with the extravagant outfits that the wealthiest designers can afford — in this field, they are certainly experts, and some can wear clothes as expensive as the series of Picasso’s “Les Femmes d’Alger” paintings — his perfectly sculpted body and charm embellish the slightest thing he wears, even if it was straight from an old supermarket. But if there’s one prominent feature of his face that can match his advantageous physique (his body), it’s his hair. Being a chic, elegant, and refined man, Suguru is also known for his iconic long raven hair. With strands cascading down his back and bangs framing his temple, the half-bun at the back of his head has always earned him numerous compliments and collaborations with the most well-known brands for their haircare products.
Suguru’s piercing eyes narrow as his lips stretch into a smile. Your name rolling off his tongue gives you goosebumps. “Welcome. Please, have a seat.” With a broad gesture of his hand, he indicates two cocoa-colored leather chairs at the end of a ridiculously long glass table.
You take a seat without looking at Suguru at first, and Nobara seems to read your thoughts as she immediately asks, “Where are the other models?”
Suguru places his forearms on the table in a measured gesture, but as he responds, his gaze never leaves yours. “None are at this agency, it seems.” And it all feels as if asking such a question is stupid.
“That’s what was written in the email,” you reply in a dry voice.
“That’s what was written in the email,” Suguru confirms with a strange softness. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? If I hadn’t said that, you would have refused the meeting.”
You blink. “Excuse me?”
Suguru’s smile widens even more as he continues, “Aren’t you happy to see me again?” And for a nanosecond, you thought you saw his irises darken.
Nobara alternates her gaze between you and Suguru, completely lost.
“Mr. Geto,” your tongue clicks against your palate, “I came here to discuss the initial progress of the collection you will present at New York Fashion Week. Nothing else.” You pause. “If it’s for any other subject, please address my manager, and I can leave right now.” Your frozen facial mask doesn’t falter at all.
“Awwww… You’re breaking my little heart, love—”
“Enough.”
Nobara looks dubious. “You… you already know each other?”
“We…” You pause, torn between the idea of confessing everything to Nobara or pretending nothing happened. “In the past. Before we became known,” you reluctantly admit. “But it doesn’t matter. I have nothing to do with anyone now.”
Suguru’s gaze darkens and never leaves yours. Yet, he doesn’t say a word, and an uncomfortable silence sets in.
Nobara decides to break it by clearing her throat and speaking again. “I— I see. I won’t say a word,” she murmurs.
You sigh and straighten slightly in your seat. “Fine. Let’s discuss the proposed theme.”
Suguru’s Adam’s apple moves as he swallows, and during the next half-hour, neither of you brings up your past relationship with Suguru again. The choice of the leading model was quickly settled on being you — because among all the proposals from partner agencies, no other model in Japan reaches your level of fame.
Suguru also doesn’t waste time revealing that he has selected very few models since the theme announcement. The delay will potentially impact the preparation and organization for New York Fashion Week, but he hasn’t bothered to explain why. He simply asked for your help with the rest of the selection.
You hesitated before accepting, finding it strange that someone like him is so behind. But how could you know that you are Suguru’s muse — his source of inspiration, the purpose of his existence? He is much more confident than a few weeks ago since he finally saw you again and ensured you decided to work by his side. It’s only a matter of time before you settle the score with the low blow he dealt you — something impossible to do with witnesses like Nobara around.
The agreements also included a trip from Tokyo to New York. The group will be accommodated in a secure, comfortable, and luxurious hotel until Fashion Week ends and preparations allow access to dressing rooms for each model.
This means being much closer to Suguru than expected...
°°°°
“What do you think?”
“I’m not a stylist.”
“That’s true; you’re more than that.”
“Shut up.”
“Come on… Don’t be so rude! I need your help!” Suguru grins, and you roll your eyes, noting the name of a model who just walked past.
On the runway where hundreds and hundreds of models from all over the world are parading, you, along with Suguru — much to your dismay — are perched on a high platform giving a panoramic view of each model. Of course, he had to move his two-seater table just to spend time with you — a detail he didn’t hesitate to hide from you. What’s the point? he muses with amusement, glancing at you; from the side, he gets a view of your hair falling like a curtain along your cheeks, your nose bent over your clipboard as you jot down names of models that would be interesting to keep for Fashion Week. This poses no problem in itself, especially for an event like this.
If only your partner wasn’t Suguru Geto.
Ugh.
“Help you? While I’m the only one noting names while you harass me with your pathetic attempts at conversation? Don’t pretend to ask my opinion when you’ve barely looked at more than ten models,” you retort irritably. The ballpoint pen rolls over the paper with obvious frenzy.
“‘Harass’ is a bit harsh,” Suguru comments, his lips pursed in a mockingly offended pout — just to hide his predatory smile. “I’d say I’m trying to have a conversation — something you, let’s be honest, avoid like the plague.” A smile curves his thin lips. “And then, why bother looking at what doesn’t interest me when I already have what I want. I’ve never bitten, you know,” he whispers, his eyes softened by a tenderness he hasn’t felt in a very long time.
“You don’t have me,” you respond immediately. You raise your eyebrows and, without looking at him, you continue, “Oh really? You do have quite a resemblance to dogs,” You wrinkle your nose to sneer mockingly as he takes offense. It’s strange because you haven’t laughed in front of Suguru for years. But as expected, the laugh is not joyful; on the contrary, it’s meant to hurt him because you still can’t stand his presence — even less when it’s forced.
“Hey! You’re insulting me!” he frowns and wipes away a laugh. Suguru shakes his head and sighs. “How cruel.”
Your lips turn downwards, and you roll your eyes yet again (you could have won an award for the record number of eye rolls in such a short time). Ignoring the feeling of vice and hatred gnawing at your heart, you refocus on the runway several meters below. The blinding spotlights brilliantly illuminate all these models eager to participate in the highly anticipated Fashion Week alongside Suguru Geto, the internationally renowned stylist, and you, a supermodel equally famous — while you both are plunged into the shadows of the upper floor that looks more like a hallway where stage technicians usually come to secure and manipulate high-up equipment, rather than anything else. Especially when the provided table is just foldable wood and almost fragile to abrupt movements.
Your eye catches a rather tall model with long ebony hair and golden, radiant skin. Her silhouette seems almost ethereal, and it’s at this moment that you don’t regret for a single second having taken your life into your own hands when you were alone just to admire the beauty of all these women of various beauties, shapes, and ages. The female body is beautiful.
No, magnificent.
“That one…” you murmur, noting the candidate’s name announced by Manami below. You bite your lower lip in a concentration tic. “She’s perfect. We’ll keep her for later.”
Suguru nods, but his gaze hasn’t once rested on the model whose name you just mentioned. His irises don’t leave your features, which he has missed so much, especially at this distance. “Hmm…” he hums simply. He gets lost in his contemplation.
You haven’t changed a bit.
Even if your hair is styled differently, your makeup meticulously done, and your chic and luxurious fashion sense, to Suguru, you left him in the same state you are now. He knows your body by heart — not thanks to the photos he kept of you — but because your existence has marked his so much that your simple face is forever etched in his retina.
When Suguru says he is obsessed with you, he goes to the end of his words.
Of course, he regrets his past actions and seeks the right moment to ask for your forgiveness, but he couldn’t hold back.
It was stronger than him.
°°°°
In the spacious studio typically reserved for smaller fashion shows (the irony noted), today it is being used to give Suguru a first taste of what his final troupe was proposing. With your help, Suguru has finally moved on to the next stage just before the outfit creations begin.
Manami, who is backstage, is managing the music and the secondary effects. She sends a message to Suguru to indicate that the line of models can begin their walk before returning from the runway.
The music starts with a rhythmic tempo suited to the steps the models are to take. You are the last to go, which annoys you immensely. Your supermodel status is far more valuable than that of a mere model. Every aspect of your profession is a relentless effort; so seeing these poor models advance with such banal and mediocre strides makes you want to vomit.
Did you accept this for that?
Already, you’ve had to endure disdainful looks from the other models in the group regarding your popularity. It’s quite audacious for them to act so confident when their steps resemble those of a penguin, you can’t help but ponder.
When it’s finally your turn, you waste no time.
The music resumes, and you begin your first steps with a feline grace, almost silently gliding down the runway. Your high heels strike the ground with a hypnotic regularity, syncing with the pulsing beat of the music and its rhythmic cadence: a perfect synchronization. Each step is a demonstration of confidence and control, shoulders straight, chin slightly lifted, eyes fixed straight ahead.
Each step brings a breeze that lightly lifts your hair from your face, like a halo enhancing your display worthy of a true model. At the end of the runway, you pause gracefully before turning on your heels with impeccable precision.
As you return, it’s even more captivating as you continue to walk with palpable assurance, your hips swaying slightly, capturing everyone’s attention.
Your turn finally ends, and the desired effect has certainly been achieved: everyone’s eyes have been glued to you from start to finish. You also didn’t miss Suguru’s gaze fixated on you, his lips parted in captivation. This, of course, earns you the disdainful looks of the other models in the troupe, but a triumphant smile adorns the curve of your lips.
This is what it means to be a model.
“Very well, very well! Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for your very pleasant and… captivating performances,” Suguru announces energetically, standing in front of his chair with his arms open towards his official troupe.
Unsurprisingly, his gaze does not leave you and remains fixed on your silhouette as you move towards the backstage, back to him.
°°°°
You knock on the door, and Suguru’s muffled voice invites you in.
For a stylist and designer as popular as he is, Suguru’s sewing workshop is… more unconventional than you would have thought.
Indeed, several spacious tables are littered with sketch sheets—some colorful—fabrics of all colors, lengths, and textures. Crafting materials are scattered here and there, cluttering the passage along with open boxes on the floor, making it nearly impossible to take a step without brushing against piles of stuff that threaten to collapse. But at least the workshop isn’t filthy and retains the same aesthetic touch you’d find in TV shows or fashion serials.
At the far end of the room, a single chair is occupied by Suguru, who is sitting with his back to you. Hearing your approach, he turns towards you, his eyes fixed on a bright yellow measuring tape and a metallic needle wedged between his teeth, with a fuchsia pink thread running through the tip.
“Come closer,” he murmurs, moving towards you with the help of the wheels on his chair.
Feeling self-conscious, you take another step closer, and when he lifts his eyes to you, it feels as if you are naked before him: less than a step away, you are wearing a delicate sport bra that barely covers your chest, dreading any shiver that might reveal hardened nipples, along with a pair of equally revealing bicycle shorts in the same color. You had insisted to Manami on a firm refusal to wear any underwear in front of Suguru, without providing a reason.
Even though he has seen far more intimate parts of your body before, the current situation with him challenges everything.
A faint blush colors your cheeks, and without a word, Suguru extends his arms, his long, slender, pale fingers wrapping the measuring tape around your waist first. You can’t gauge the meaning of his gaze. How is he reacting internally right now?
But his mischievous remark answers you the moment after, “You okay? Are you still breathing?” The sarcastic tone immediately irritates you.
“And you’re taking the opportunity to enjoy the view, aren’t you?” you retort venomously. You’re about to continue spewing your hatred towards him when his hands gently — but with some firmness — grasp your hips and make you turn around. You stifle a moan at his touch, which sends a shiver through your body and, as you feared, your nipples harden. You step away from him abruptly when his breath grazes your side. “What are you doing?” you ask sharply, your arms futilely trying to cover your chest.
Suguru sighs. “Are you done acting like a kid?” He grabs you by the elbows and forces you to turn your back to him. He wraps the measuring tape around you again. “So no, I’m not enjoying the view, I’m doing my job.” He kneels to measure your hips, and with a glance downward, you see his amused smile. “You should have refused to work with me if it bothers you so much to be measured.”
“Ah, as if I had a choice?” you retort abruptly.
“You did,” he whispers as he stands up, brushing your hair away from your back, and for a moment, his warm breath caresses your shoulders. All you want right now is for him to place a tender kiss on the side of your neck, but the resentment towards him always takes over.
“No, you know that’s not true.” Your tone is harsh as a whip. “By the way, have all the other models been through here? I saw assistants with all this gear. Why am I the only one alone with you?”
Suguru grins. “The others went through with my assistants,” he replies with a chuckle before taking your bust measurements. “You’re the first I’m measuring, and the only one.”
“What game are you playing?” you murmur after a pause.
“None.”
He continues with the rest of your measurements — bust, thighs, legs, and finally arms. During this part, he takes an unusually long time to scrutinize you, and his head tilted close to your skin makes your heart race uncontrollably.
The final straw is when his lips accidentally brush against your arm.
“Stop that,” you warn him all of a sudden, stepping back. Your furious gaze seems to want to kill Suguru on the spot, and he loses his smile.
“I—”
“Stop pretending to be clueless, Geto.”
He already knows it will be hard to win you back, especially with this reaction he had long feared. But it had to explode sooner or later.
“If you think I’ve forgotten the past, you’re deluding yourself. The jerk you were is still the same in my eyes,” you seethe.
Suguru takes a step towards you in an attempt to beg you not to avoid him as you continue to back away. He murmurs your name in a plea. “I know you’re mad at me, and you have every right to be, but I did all this for you. I knew you wouldn’t be able to refuse a second time with—”
“I don’t want you to try to make up for it, not after all these years. Is that really why you asked me to come back? Because I’ve reached your level of popularity? My money? My body?” Your throat tightens further, and you squint your eyes to hold back your tears. “I will never forgive you, Suguru. I’m no longer the naive girlfriend who waits like a fool for someone who didn’t give a damn about her!”
“I— It wasn’t— Please, let me explain… I still love you as much as I did before, and I know I’ve been unworthy of everything you’ve put up with for me, but—”
You bitterly laugh in his face. “Liar! You’re lying, and you always have, even when you said you loved me! Your babble about what you were and what you are now is just the typical crap an toxic ex says when they want to win someone back. Did I really have a choice to come back to you? Do you think it’s a good method?”
With those words, you turn around and walk away towards the workshop door.
Suguru’s heart screams at him to follow you and beg on his knees for you to listen, but he knows your stubborn temperament. The only words that come from his mouth after his first failure are enough for him to know you’ve heard them, even as you fling the door open and rush out.
He knows you heard him.
“You will always have a choice with me.”
°°°°
“What do you mean, ‘the camera isn’t working’?” Suguru thundered with severity.
The entire group waiting for the final shoot (including you) turns towards the back of the studio to face a visibly agitated Suguru. He is handling the camera in every direction and then turns towards you.
You’re ready, dressed in the latest collection from the luxury brand you’re working with for Suguru’s troupe’s Fashion Week. There’s no problem on your end.
So why is he talking about a camera that isn’t working?
Especially when it’s your turn?
You take a hesitant step towards him, and Manami quickly avoids your questioning gaze, stepping away from her superior.
A few other models follow you, whispering incomprehensible things not far away to your ears, but all you care about is hoping you’ve misunderstood something.
“Find me another camera,” Suguru orders, violently throwing the one he had against a wall. The sound of metal shattering on the floor startles everyone.
Manami follows him out of the studio at a brisk pace. “Wait! Mr. Geto! Did you forget that this isn’t our studio? It’s the only camera we were able to borrow!”
“SO?” Suguru retorts acridly. “She’ll be the only one not photographed while she’s the star of MY troupe?” His tone rises significantly towards Manami. But he doesn’t spare a glance at you, even as everyone listens to their conversation intently. “Don’t forget that tonight the magazines will be prepared, and we won’t be here but at Gojo’s reception!”
All the other models turn to you in unison, watching you with astonishment.
“Too bad, I’m sorry but she won’t be in it!” Manami resigns with an even tone. “We need to leave in an hour, and the reception starts then!”
“Absolutely not! Find me a fucking camera so she’s in the magazine for tomorrow!” With those final words, Suguru opens the studio door and storms out, slamming it shut behind him with a loud bang.
Silence envelops the room, and you find yourself at a loss for words, your lips sealed and your voice stuck in your throat.
Manami sighs and finally turns to you, her face showing sincere regret. “I’m sorry… I know it’s really unfair, but I think you won’t be in the promotional magazine for the brand partnering with us…”
“I—” Your face falls completely, and you look in dismay at the broken camera on the floor from a few minutes ago.
“I’m truly sorry…” Manami murmurs, lowering her head in genuine remorse.
A few hours later, you’ve resigned yourself as well. The luxury brand partnering with Suguru’s agency had lent outfits from their latest collection for advertisement in fashion magazines. The models and the brand were to be highlighted, but this preview was unfortunately ruined by the delay caused by Suguru, who couldn’t complete the photo shoot in his own studio. On the same day — at a time too close to the reception hosted by his friend-rival Satoru Gojo, a stylist of equal renown—the weather and equipment decided to turn against you.
According to Manami, the camera borrowed from a nearby photo studio was sabotaged right after photographing all the other models. So, despite your star model status, you won’t appear in the magazine coming out. The lack of time also prevented photographers, as well as Manami and Suguru, from finding another camera in time, as everything was prepared at the last minute.
Your troupe isn’t the only one participating. Those of other stylists — like Gojo, for example — will also be featured in a fashion magazine with their partner brand and all their models. The shame will fall upon you as the one not included.
And it will be a scandal — you couldn't make it up.
But Nobara has been far more helpful than you would have thought. She learned the news that evening while helping you prepare in your dressing room for Gojo’s reception and was outraged by the situation. Most of all, she was scandalized to learn that someone had attempted to sabotage your photo shoot.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Your name rolls off Satoru Gojo’s tongue as he bows respectfully and takes your hand, brushing his pink, thin lips against it.
“Likewise.”
Your raise eyebrow and small, sly smile don’t escape him, and he responds with a laugh that makes your heart flutter. Through his signature round sunglasses — Gojo’s trademark — his cerulean eyes sparkle with mischief. He gives you a wink, then releases your hand and offers you his arm. You take it without hesitation, appreciating the touch of a man like him.
The reception hall is packed with models and stylists; some are Japanese, while others come from different corners of the world, ‘passing through’ before heading back to New York. Indeed, the trip is fast approaching, and this evening is one of the last things you’ll need to face before traveling to the other side of the world.
Chandeliers light up the marble floor with tiny reflections that resemble stars. Tables lined against the walls overflow with dishes and canapés — along with chocolate fountains and desserts. Small groups are gathered in every corner of the room, and the dance floor is filled with couples or partners dancing amidst the exceptionally chic ambiance.
“I’m meeting you in the flesh,” Gojo murmurs, casting a flirtatious glance at you. This man has always had the reputation of being exceedingly handsome and tall. Today, you confirm it.
In his immaculate tuxedo, Satoru Gojo walks with you through the room, maintaining a perfect conversation without awkward pauses or questionable vibes. He is exquisite, charming: everything a woman could dream of.
“Few people get to meet you up close,” you add with a light giggle. You adjust your hold on his arm and look up at him. “I heard you’re also participating in the New York Fashion Week.”
“Indeed.” He takes a glass of champagne and hands it to you. “It would have been a pleasure to work with you, though,” he murmurs with a wry smile.
“I would have loved that.” Your gaze sweeps across the room as you take a sip of champagne. “It’s a shame I went with Mr. Geto.”
“Oh yes, Suguru. My eternal rival. I was surprised by that Twitter post. A model like you… should be among the best, and unfortunately, Suguru is one of them.”
“Do you think so, Mr. Gojo?”
He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you a bit closer as he stops near a table with canapés, not far from a window. “Call me Satoru,” he says, looking at you over his sunglasses and taking a mini macaron.
You pick up one as well, and Suguru’s figure passes by you, too quickly for you to understand what’s happening but close enough to notice his gaze on you and Satoru.
“Would you be interested in working on a future collection with me after Fashion Week?” Satoru asks, his attention completely focused on you.
Your blood rushes in your ears as you feel his breath on your lips and you hold back the urge to lean in and kiss him.
“With pleasure, Satoru,” you respond with a smile as playful as his.
“Perfect.” His face lights up, and he is about to say something when he is interrupted by a trio of models approaching you.
“Excuse us, Mr. Gojo,” one of them coos with a sugary voice, batting her eyelashes.
“Can this wait?” He rolls his eyes without any shame. “I’m busy.” He pulls you closer to him with a firmer, more possessive embrace.
Without wasting any time, he takes you out of the reception hall, where a few people are lingering and chatting in a slightly more intimate setting. Thick crimson velvet curtains adorn the various entrances, and Satoru leads you further in.
Your cheeks flush in reaction to the pleasant situation you’re in. Your mind even begins to compare him to Suguru...
“Have I told you how beautiful you are, especially in that dress?” Satoru whispers near your ear, his voice low and warm.
“No,” you murmur, dazed by his hand resting on your lower back, his thumb making gentle circles.
Satoru leans in and his lips brush against yours. “May I?”
You nod, aware of what’s to come as his lips slowly capture yours in a soft, needy kiss. Your lips respond immediately, and Satoru’s two hands join behind your back to guide you into a room that looks like a luxurious bedroom.
Without breaking the kiss with its wet sounds, your back meets the soft surface of a mattress, and you’re already panting. You know that with him, you won’t regret doing anything.
Satoru’s heavy breathing moves away from your pink, swollen lips to approach your bare collarbone and kiss it with those same lips. With his hand gently caressing the back of your thigh, which you lift and drape around his waist, Satoru uses his nimble fingers to slide down the thin strap of your dress. Your chest rises and falls with the sensual tension descending upon you. Your fingers help him lower your dress, first revealing your bare breasts, and a flush colors your face.
“Beautiful, sweetheart,” he purrs in your ear, taking pleasure in depositing a line of soft, affectionate kisses along your neck and down to your chest. Satoru stretches his lips into a smile against your skin and lightly touches the swell of your breasts. He takes one nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue.
A moan escapes you, and you arch your hips to rub against him desperately. His bulge becomes more prominent and presses against your own underwear, adding friction that makes your core sensitive. “Satoru…” you pant softly, stroking his snow-white hair as he lavishes your breasts with wet kisses. “More…”
He grins and returns to your lips, whispering “Adorable…” while sliding your dress down further.
But the door to the room suddenly opens, revealing a frozen Suguru standing before the scene. You and Satoru immediately turn your heads toward the intruder and pull away from each other abruptly.
But it’s already too late, as neither of you have time to say a word before Suguru turns and leaves as quickly as he arrived, his face as pale as a sheet.
An unusual pang tightens in your chest, and you sit up from the bed, overwhelmed by a sense of guilt. But why? Why feel this way?
You sigh, and Satoru shakes his head. “He won’t say anything,” he reassures you, reaching out a hand to stroke your cheek.
You don’t push him away, but he understands that you wouldn’t want to go any further with him tonight.
°°°°
“Here… Lift your chin…” Suguru takes a photo with a sharp click. “Perfect…” he murmurs to himself, his tone filled with admiration.
Sitting on the floor of Suguru’s photography studio in yet another outfit from the luxury brand partner, you give him a profile shot, your chin lifted in a dreamlike expression of devotion. For another photo, you lie on your side, your eyes fixed directly on the lens.
Suguru, for his part, doesn’t hesitate to give his best effort to capture the most beautiful photos he’s ever taken in his career. He insisted on handling it personally — despite what happened less than two days ago at Satoru’s reception. He even came up with an idea to make up for the consequences of his delay with the magazine published for all the participating Fashion Week troupes in New York. The scandal over your absence, despite being one of the featured models, had shaken most social media, and indeed, enough for Suguru to come up with a plan that would do justice to you.
What better way than to discuss with the luxury brand partner to release an entire magazine featuring you as the sole model? You would showcase the clothes that weren’t worn due to the lack of time. The success and attention would be all focused on you — spotlights fixed on you.
Because you deserve it.
No matter how long it takes Suguru.
He vowed to do everything to make amends.
So that’s why you find yourself alone in the studio with him, posing in outfits that shake him so much that he’s suggested taking a break twice to calm his trembling hands.
Two days later, the magazine is finally out, with you as the star, once again shaking up social media and causing a wave of appreciation from fans. At your finest, every page shows only you.
You, the heart’s desire of Suguru Geto.
“Have you seen the reactions?” Suguru asks as he approaches you while you’re busy admiring the sky and the skyscrapers from one of the agency’s balconies. Suguru slides the glass door closed and joins you. “Am I bothering you?”
You sigh.
“Come on, at least thank me for doing such a good job. You look stunning in all the photos.” He has a smirk and nudges you in the ribs as he leans his forearms on the glass railing. “And you always have been.”
You give a subtle smile but don’t immediately respond. You leave a small silence between the two of you. For the first time in years, Suguru’s presence doesn’t bother you as much.
“Thanks, I suppose,” you murmur. Without looking at him, you continue, “It’s nice of you to do this.”
“I did it for you,” Suguru breathes, his heart tight.
You nod. Lately, it feels like you don’t quite know how to react. All these compliments, the fact that he hasn’t changed his behavior after catching you with Satoru (he’s even become even more gentle)... It’s a lot to take in.
You eventually clear your throat. “Well, I think—”
“Wait.” He turns his head toward you. “Please.”
The note of pleading is the only detail that brings your feet back to the railing.
He lets a light silence linger, not saying a word. A breeze brushes both your faces, like cool water on a tired face.
Perhaps it’s this that makes Suguru speak up, saying your name.
“You’ve become someone since then,” he whispers with a faint smile. “I’m proud of you.” And oh, how you wish you could erase the blush spreading across your cheeks! “I don’t want to pretend like nothing happened anymore.” He turns fully toward you, the wind whipping his long raven hair and his obsidian eyes scrutinizing you. “I haven’t forgotten you. I’ve never forgotten you, actually.”
His sudden declaration catches you off guard. Why is he saying this? You already knew it. And your behavior towards him gives an unspoken response. You simply turn your head towards him without moving your body, with a forced nonchalance. He mustn’t see what he still evokes in you after all these years.
“Not a single day has gone by that I haven’t thought about you. I know I hurt you, and coming back now is probably not the best way — especially after I pushed you away.” He takes a step towards you. “And I want to win you back.” You prepare to retort, eyes narrowing, but he cuts you off immediately. “I know. And it’s not because you’ve become a famous model. Far from it.”
He repeats your name once again.
But this time, his tone is different.
His voice returns to what it was so long ago. The voice he used to whisper in your ear in bed, when you were standing in a supermarket line, and on the phone.
The thorny brambles of your heart wrap painfully around you, reminding you of what he became later.
“I love you. I’ve always loved you.”
Your lips press together, and you start to pull away from the glass railing.
“Give me a second chance, I—”
“No. There’s no point.”
Your steps move closer to the glass door, but Suguru grabs your hand.
“Please, let me at least explain—”
And your hand tears away from his grasp with an insensitivity hidden beneath its opposite in your heart. “We were perfect, Geto. Incredibly perfect. But now, I really wonder if you ever truly loved me,” you admit without any warmth.
“I did, and I still—”
“No. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been increasingly distant, avoiding our dates as your career took up more and more of your life.” You take a trembling breath meant to chase away the tears from your eyes, but it’s in vain. Your voice quivers. “At least you didn’t give up on your dreams for someone. Even less for love. And for a love that only brought you pain after it left you…”
“Love,” Suguru pleads in a heart-wrenching whisper. He takes another step towards you, arms outstretched, but you shake your head.
“But at least, I can thank you for what I’ve become today. I’ve become the person that little me always dreamed of being. Thanks to your departure from my life.”
The words slap and scratch him violently.
You turn on your heels and open the glass door, casting one last glance back at him, tears streaming down your face, smearing your mascara.
“So don’t ruin it all.”
°°°°
As scheduled, the private jet successfully dropped Suguru’s entire troupe at a New York airport less than a week before Fashion Week, where a luxurious van awaited your arrival. As soon as you stepped inside, fuchsia purple LEDs assaulted your eyes, and a multitude of leather seats were lined against the vehicle’s walls. At the very back, there was a mini-bar stocked with alcoholic beverages and spaces near the seats featuring multifunctional drawers: a retractable coffee machine, a selection of accessories and makeup products, as well as blankets, sleep masks, and other handy items. Near the driver, who greeted the troupe with a nod, a tablet fixed to the wall allowed you to change the background music at will.
Without delay, everyone rushed to the seats and chatted merrily over drinks and snacks as the journey finally began. All the models’ assistants were allowed to join the trip, which meant you found yourself laughing with Nobara about the different shades of blush provided in one of the drawers.
She took out her phone and suggested doing an Instagram story, which you accepted without hesitation. You were soon joined by the others, and a group photo was taken by Suguru. To your great surprise, you participated with a small pose. It was also posted on Suguru’s agency’s Instagram, and Nobara quickly showed you the reactions. For the past three weeks, she has almost been gushing on your behalf over the wave of positive responses you received following your appearance in the latest leading fashion magazine in the United States — even despite the success that Satoru Gojo’s own troupe has also enjoyed.
But it has also been three weeks since you last spoke to Suguru following your conversation with him. Throughout the journey to the hotel — where you will stay with your troupe for the rest of Fashion Week until its end — you couldn’t help but have unintentional eye contact. Fortunately for you, he didn’t make any attempts, and somehow, you would have liked to have Suguru in your life once more — just one last time.
But your bitter past with him still haunts your dreams, so that’s out of the question.
A few hours later, the van drops the troupe off in front of the famous hotel, but to everyone’s great surprise, a crowd is packed around the entrance. Security is pushing back some people protesting that they’ve been queuing for hours, and Suguru steps outside to observe what’s happening.
“They were right. The hotel is packed.” Of course, all due to Fashion Week taking place just a few kilometers away. Celebrities, high society, and tourists alike, the gigantic hotel promises not to be easy for the model troupe and Suguru himself. He signals the driver, who contacts security agents and bodyguards via his walkie-talkie to approach the van so that the troupe can either queue or simply navigate through the crowd.
So, with further delays and heightened security, a decision was made regarding the group: it was divided into several smaller groups so everyone could pass without issues. Some models have already gone to the reception and are enjoying their rooms, while you find yourself paired with…
…Suguru.
And last in line.
Neither of you speaks a word, and you are engrossed in your phone, trying your best to ignore him. On the other side, your assistant with ginger hair, Nobara, has asked if it bothers you that she takes a trip to do some shopping in New York— a rare opportunity for the young woman. How could you refuse her? How could you say that you don’t want to be alone with Suguru, even if it’s for the sake of organization? Being stuck in a line with him is uncomfortable?
You finally sigh in relief when your turn comes after forty minutes of waiting while other customers check in.
Bodyguards step aside, both of your luggage in their arms, waiting for a word from you.
The receptionist clears her throat and squints at the screen of his computer. “I apologize, but... I think there’s a reservation issue with your rooms.”
“What do you mean?” Suguru and you ask in unison.
“Um... There’s only one room reserved for both of you.”
The response hits your ears like thunder. You blink, the embarrassment of the situation rising to your cheeks. You don’t even dare to glance at Suguru. “Then book me another room,” you request in a measured tone.
The receptionist discreetly elbows her colleague, who looks up at you. “I— Miss, you are the last guest with Mr. Geto for the coming weeks, and there are no more rooms available…”
For the next five minutes, you try every possible way to avoid being alone in a single room with Suguru. But it’s in vain, as you end up in the infamous room with the receptionists offering a myriad of apologies, blaming their oversight regarding the reservation.
In the room, you stand, boiling with anger as the bodyguards set down your luggage and leave. One of the women tries to divert your attention from your ready-to-explode gaze by pointing out an undisturbed sofa — of course — where one of you might sleep.
But a single glance is enough to see that even your own feet wouldn’t rest on it. The receptionists leave the room in their little heels, and you sit on the firm sofa. You grimace and massage your temples while Suguru has not said a word since entering the room.
He takes a few steps towards the bed and places a hand on the mattress, so soft and comfortable that his fingers almost sink into it. “You can take the bed if you want,” Suguru offers with a calm and kindness that makes you grit your teeth. “I can take the sofa.”
Your body is in such turmoil that if you stay one more second in the room with him, you might explode — literally. So, you don’t respond and rush to your luggage, driven by the need for space. You pull out some comfortable clothes and retreat to the bathroom.
A small sigh of exasperation from the main room still reaches your ears.
You lock yourself in and collapse on the floor, groaning with frustration.
Damn it.
Why does this only happen to you?
If a shower seems to have calmed your nerves a bit, you would have preferred not to have decided to shower right away because, barely dressed in a loose t-shirt and pajama shorts, hotel staff members are gathered around the sofa and start carrying it out of the room.
In shock at the realization of the situation, you call out to them. “Hey! We need that sofa!”
One of them turns his head towards you nonchalantly. “There’s been another reservation issue. We need this sofa for others in a much more urgent situation than yours, miss.” He adjusts his hat as a gesture of apology and leaves the room as if nothing happened, taking with him the only thing that provided a slim chance of escape — however slim — to avoid Suguru.
Suguru stands there, arms hanging, too stunned by what’s happening to react. He blinks several times without saying a word.
This is all just a nightmare.
°°°°
“I’m not going to break my back sleeping on the floor, and neither will you. Or is that what you want?” Suguru nearly barks as he slips under the covers.
“There’s no way I’m sharing a bed with you!” you retort in the same tone, arms crossed over your chest.
“Stop being so prissy for two minutes, will you? It’s not like we haven’t done this thousands of times before.” He rolls his eyes and finally lies down.
The comment hits your chest like a sharp arrow. The already horrifically awkward situation combined with Suguru’s reasonable demeanor, which only seems to make things worse, makes you look simply ridiculous for not cooperating out of pride.
So, you find yourself under the covers, forcing as much space as possible between you and Suguru, trying to stay as far away as you can. Both of you have turned your backs to each other, nerves too frayed to say anything without igniting yet another argument.
But Suguru closes his eyes with a smile on his lips that night, noting in the back of his mind to thank Nobara as soon as he has the chance for agreeing to his ridiculous plan of deliberately booking a single room for both of you.
°°°°
That night, your sleep is much more restless than usual. You have sleep troubles, but this night they seem to intensify despite your peaceful breathing, which Suguru uses as a lullaby to fall asleep. You toss and turn from time to time, with your leg carelessly hanging out of the bed or an arm too close to him. A dangerous position where you might easily slip off and fall.
When Suguru feels the sheets pulling away from him as he’s about to fall asleep, he turns around and catches you just before you fall. With a pounding heart, he pulls you a little closer to him and finally lets you go.
Unaware in your sleep, you roll towards him and your fingers cling almost desperately to his t-shirt. He freezes and doesn’t dare move, hoping you won’t wake up so he can extricate himself from the embrace you’ve claimed. Your arms drape around his shoulders and your legs seek to wrap around him like a koala.
“Sugu…” you murmur in your sleep. Your face contorts into a small frown.
His nickname is a purr to him. He’s tempted to push you away, but your slight frown, seeking comfort, makes him relent, and he holds you completely in his arms. Your nose nestles into the crook of his neck and you hum before letting out a small snore.
Maybe Suguru is dreaming — amidst the dim light of the room and your two blurred bodies. Nevertheless, he rocks you gently in his arms, holding the most precious thing to him close.
°°°°
Your dream continues where you’re alone, nestled in your bed — yes, it must be that. Finding yourself in the same bed as your ex is just a nightmare.
Or maybe a dream.
Warm, sweet whispers envelop you in a comforting embrace.
“Forgive me, love. I’m sorry… I love you so much.”
These distant words soothe you enough when your sleep is half-awake, with Suguru’s body and voice surrounding you. You should push him away, but everything around you feels so dreamlike. So why not give in for once when you can’t in real life? After all, it’s just a dream for one night.
Nothing can happen to you.
Especially at a moment when your heart wants to accept these pleading whispers of forgiveness that will probably never happen in real life.
°°°°
A warm ray of sunlight tickles your cheek, and you hum as you bury your head against something firm and comfortable that envelops you. Arms rub your back, and you smile, deciding to give in to the warm embrace. Something places a gentle kiss on your temple, encouraging you to stay in bed a little longer.
Before a knock at the door jolts you from your comfort.
Nobara’s voice is heard from the other side. “Are you awake?” she asks out loud. “Almost everyone is already ready!”
You open your eyes at the same time as Suguru, and your noses almost touch. It’s a close call not to scream and almost jump out of your spot. Dazed and still groggy from sleep, neither of you says a word, only muttering a few curses about the alarm not going off.
You rush to do your makeup and put on your outfit, as by 11 a.m., at the very place where the last preparations for the show will be made, hundreds of fans, journalists, and paparazzi will be lined up behind barriers or security ropes, shouting for autographs or even a smile. So there’s no time to waste; you need to cover your tomato-red complexion with foundation.
Downstairs in the hotel, the rest of the crew is waiting for both of you, and others arrive at the last minute — some even with their poodles. To your great relief, no one seems to suspect anything about Suguru, whom you carefully avoid even after arriving at the Fashion Week preparation area.
As you step out of the black sedan, piercing fan screams ring out, eagerly waiting for you to approach them: banners with names written in capital letters, notebooks, and hands outstretched almost desperately.
On the red carpet and under the bright morning sun, female fans call out your name, and you turn with a smile to approach them behind the security barrier. You spend about ten minutes taking selfies and signing autographs with the rest of the crew until one girl, after you’ve signed her autograph, speaks to you again. “It’s incredible that you’re working with Suguru Geto! I never thought I’d see this day, so I’ll be here to watch you walk the runway!” she exclaims with stars in her eyes.
Your smile freezes at the mention of Suguru, as you’re constantly reminded that no one but you and Suguru know what happened between you two. You swallow and regain your composure. “Oh, honey, you’re adorable. I’m glad you’re coming. I hope we’ll run into each other again.” You then give her a final wink and rejoin your group.
Nobara catches up with you a few minutes later in your dressing room with a smile and quietly closes the door. You collapse onto a couch and sigh, hiding your face in your hands.
°°°°
“You’ve measured me before.”
“I lost them.”
“Liar.”
Suguru lets out a small laugh and grabs his measuring tape before approaching you. “It’s just my job, love.”
“You’re playing around,” you accuse with a pout, and he kneels in front of you to measure your legs and waist.
His movements are precise, slow, meticulous, and attentive. Even his gaze doesn’t fall inappropriately on you, a look of respect filling his entire being, guiding him gently with that eternal mischievous smile that reminds you of Satoru’s.
“Don’t give me that pout, now,” Suguru whispers as he stands up with a sigh.
Today, he’s wearing a simple white shirt under a pair of black pants and a matching blazer — perfectly tailored, of course. An unfair perfection. Among all the exes you could have had in your life, it had to be Suguru Geto—the man with a beauty almost impossible to rival, and who clearly shows a refusal to let you go. And the worst is the still-fresh memory from the night before with the image of a half-asleep Suguru against you — you in his arms. If you loathe yourself for what happened, why does his embrace comfort you so much? If you truly hate Suguru, why do you show such weak resistance to both his gentlemanly behavior and his irresistible charm?
“And there we go,” Suguru announces softly with his notepad in hand. “Lovely as always,” he adds with his eternal smile. “Hey!” You punch him in the bicep, and he steps back, laughing.
“Don’t mess with me,” you grumble, still pouting.
When was the last time this kind of situation happened?
When you two were still together.
And is forgiving him a good idea after all?
“I wasn’t messing with you, love,” Suguru replies quietly. He locks his eyes with yours to capture all your attention. “You’ve always been beautiful. And that will never change, even if you turn into a slug.” He grins at your comical look of disgust.
"A slug? You’d still choose me even if I were a slug?" you repeat, not convinced at all by his promises.
Suguru scoffs and moves closer, facing you directly. “No matter what you are in any lifetime, it will always be you that I choose, again and again.” He slowly lifts his hand and places it on your cheek. His thumb caresses your cheekbone, and your guard weakens. His words, spoken with sincere tone, float like clouds in the dressing room-turned-sewing workshop.
You remain as vulnerable with Suguru Geto — despite years of building a fortress to avoid falling back into the state you were in years ago. Yet, you are in a massive denial, giving a semblance of change in your life. You haven’t erased all feelings for Suguru. You’ve simply buried them in a corner of your heart and forgotten where—neglecting the risk they might resurface someday.
You look up at him, your lower lip trembling. “Then why didn’t you in this one?”
The question seems to catch him off guard, as his lips part and an equally vulnerable look appears on his face. He’s about to respond when someone knocks on the door.
“Mr. Geto? Are you finished?” Manami’s voice calls from the other side, sounding slightly concerned.
You both immediately step away from each other, and the tension between you dissipates, replaced by the usual coldness.
Suguru clears his throat, runs a tired hand over his face, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Uh, yeah, yeah. You can come in, Manami.”
°°°°
Less than two hours before the main moment, you are practicing breathing exercises to calm the stress of a runway show. You’re wearing one of the luxurious outfits designed by Suguru himself, and if that alone isn’t overwhelming enough, an invisible vise is tightening around your chest, making your breathing heavy and your lungs congested.
You grimace at the sensation and groan as your heart beats more erratically than expected, and tremors run through your limbs. You can’t have a panic attack now.
No.
Not when Nobara isn’t by your side to help you relax.
Staying locked in a stuffy dressing room won’t help, but the very idea of stepping outside paralyzes you. You need to wait patiently for the makeup artists to finalize your look, and it only makes you more impatient and on edge.
Someone knocks at your door and asks to enter.
Suguru.
You open your mouth to utter even a sound, but anxiety wraps around your throat and chokes you. You gasp for air, your hands sweaty and cold, slipping from the back of the chair you’re clinging to, and you collapse to the floor.
The noise is enough for the door to burst open, and Suguru rushes in, dropping to one knee and taking you into his arms.
“Love, what’s happening?” Suguru murmurs as you cling to him as if your life depends on it.
The panic attack gradually overwhelms you, and you start crying in front of him. Thank God your face is only covered with skincare, but tears are streaming down your cheeks, mingling with your grimace and your difficulty breathing.
“I…” Then a hiccup takes over. You try to inhale, but as soon as your lungs fill, the air cuts off and doesn’t pass through. You keep trying, but all you manage is to cry without stopping.
Suguru frowns. “You… Wait.” He slides one arm under your knees and back to lift you easily and place you on a sofa. “It’s going to be okay, my love… Everything will be fine… Do the same thing I do.”
You sniffle and wipe your eyes to prevent the blurred vision from making it even harder to see Suguru helping you. He places his hand on his chest and does the same for you. “I’ll count to three and you breathe in very slowly, okay? Same for exhaling,” he murmurs with all tenderness and patience. His chest rises slowly in sync after he counts to three. The air flows more smoothly now. Encouraged by this, he smiles and holds his breath. He nods for you to do the same, intertwining your fingers with his and exhaling at the same slow pace. The icy air leaves your lungs at the same time as your racing heartbeats.
For the next five minutes, a silence punctuated by controlled, rhythmic breathing fills the dressing room. You eventually manage to regain a normal breath and quell your panic attack, leaving only a few residual hiccups.
Suguru leans toward you and kisses your sweaty forehead. With your still-trembling arms, you grip his to keep him close and draw him against you, the tip of his nose brushing against your neck. The unexpected action makes him freeze, and up close, you can see goosebumps spreading over his skin. With hesitant movements towards each other, you both hold each other gently in a comforting embrace.
“Suguru…” you whisper, your voice hoarse from the recent panic attack. You take the opportunity to bury your head in the crook of his neck.
He immediately welcomes your touch and affectionately kisses your cheek. “I love you, love. Do you feel better?”
His affirmation reaches your heart so strongly that, once again, tears well up and you force yourself to blink them away. Suguru notices and a worried crease forms between his eyebrows. For a moment, his chest against yours allows you to feel his racing heart. “You—”
“I’m better,” you interrupt weakly. “Thank you…”
He sighs in relief and gently caresses your hair absentmindedly. His fingers weave skillfully through your strands, bringing back a memory that hits you hard: him comforting you for various reasons when you were together, that same hand resting and caressing the same spot on your head. So for once in years, you let yourself indulge in this nostalgic feeling without pushing it away.
However, you can’t prevent a burning question from crossing your lips. “You love me?”
Suguru reacts immediately. He carefully pulls away from you and helps you sit up on the sofa, wiping the dried tears from your beautiful cheeks. He smiles at your flushed face and bloodshot eyes. “Of course I love you. I’ve told you. I’m sorry, and even if you don’t accept it, I’ll do everything to make you forgive me.” He kneels in front of you. “I didn’t want to break up with you because it would have broken my heart, so when I saw that my career was starting to affect our relationship and I couldn’t take care of you as you deserved, I thought it would hurt less if I let you detach from me.” His shoulders shake with a sigh. “Forgive me, my love. I want to make amends and—”
“But why a second chance when the first one didn’t work?”
“Because we’re too stubborn, love.”
His words, spoken with such sincerity, reach your heart directly.
You take his face in your hands and press your lips against his. Suguru gasps slightly in surprise but quickly follows your lead, his hesitant hands sliding to your waist to deepen the contact.
Fuck.
How he missed you…
With every kiss, you reclaim Suguru’s lips as if one moment without them would take away your life. They are so soft and warm, as alluring as they are addictive, making it almost impossible for your body to pull away from him. It’s only when you feel that time seems to be passing a bit too quickly that you finally pull away from him.
“I…” A semi-horrified expression pulls at your face as you’ve just initiated a kiss with your ex—the one you’ve been avoiding for months. You shake your head and back away, stammering, “Sorry… That was a mistake, I—”
Suguru utters your name in a pleading tone. “Please… I’m begging you. Give me another chance. I only need one word. One word, and I’ll stay. One word, and I’ll leave and never come back to your life.”
“You…” If you’ve never been short of sharp retorts for Suguru, today is a new experience.
One word from you, and Suguru will accept your choice. For any other ex you might have had, you wouldn’t have even attempted to participate or do anything that involved them. But with Suguru…
“S-Stay…” you murmur in a broken voice, almost throwing yourself into his arms. He wraps you in his embrace and rocks you, his breath quick. “Stay, Suguru…” You break down, tears returning with a vengeance, flooding your face.
“I love you, sweetheart. Forgive me…” And he continues to repeat these words until someone else knocks on the door.
He prepares to pull away, but you hold him back, not wanting him to leave you once more. With a swift move, he crouches and rests his forehead against yours. “I have to go. You’re going to do great. I have no doubt, and you have no reason not to, understood?” His breath, as warm as his hands around your head, brushes your nose, and you sniffle one last time, nodding. “You’ll be perfect. I’ll watch and wait for you at the show. You’re going to shine.”
°°°°
The lights in the hall dim, plunging the audience into darkness. A bright spotlight illuminates the runway as the music begins to resonate throughout the fashion studio, amplified by the speakers.
“Here we go… In three… two… one…” Manami makes a frantic arm gesture to signal the lineup of models to step onto the runway.
The first model makes her entrance, wearing a spectacular outfit that instantly captivates the audience, with audible “oooohs!” reaching even backstage where you await your turn with a suffocating pressure. You are among the last to walk, but the distinct sound of heels clicking in rhythm with your heartbeat still reaches your ears.
But there is no room for panic now that you no longer carry the weight of your past relationship with Suguru.
He will be there to admire and reassure you from afar.
Manami gives a final signal and your lineup thins, giving you the space needed to step onto the stage.
The outfits parade down the runway, each one more impressive than the last. The theme of the collection is clear: dark silhouettes adorned with sequins and stars, reminiscent of a starry night sky. Your own outfit, the centerpiece of the collection, is bound to captivate the awed spectators. The black, sparkling dress catches the light with every step, creating an illusion of a moving firmament. Murmurs of admiration fill the room first, followed by camera clicks and cheers as you appear at the first quarter of the runway.
Taking a deep breath, your heels glide as elegantly as ever down the runway. One foot in front of the other, the sole firmly planted but almost silently advancing on the runway, chin up, and a neutral expression on your face; if anyone had never heard of your modeling career, your impression answers immediately.
Your hips sway slightly from side to side in the same entrancing rhythm as the powerful beat of the music, giving an unmatched grace to your walk. Reaching the end of the runway, your gaze falls on the front row where recognizable men have their eyes fixed on you, feeling the palpable energy of the room.
The scene lasts only a second, but it feels like an eternity.
Satoru Gojo, with a smirk, hands in the pockets of his dark stylist suit, stands with his legs spread in a posture highly unflattering for a personality like his. But then again, he exudes a carefree attitude, so who would be shocked? You manage to keep your mouth from stretching into a smile thanks to Suguru Geto, whose eyes are glued to you. His obsidian irises shine with admiration, professionalism, and also pride. He gives you a knowing wink that sends a warm, pleasant wave through every corner of your abdomen.
You snap out of your trance and pause, striking an elegant pose under the camera flashes before gracefully turning around. The shimmering fabric of your dress captures the lights with every movement, creating a shower of stars around you.
As you return backstage, the music shifts, signaling the grand finale. The crowd is buzzing, applauding enthusiastically as the spotlights sweep across the stage to accentuate the dramatic effect of the starry collection. The show comes to an end several minutes later, and you notice the applause intensifying. Suguru seems to have taken the stage and begun speaking — his voice reaching every ear — and you listen intently near your pairs.
“Thank you all for coming tonight. This collection has been a true labor of love, and I am honored to share it with you. Thank you also to all the wonderful people who made this possible, especially our incredible models,” Suguru declares, a wave of shared pride resonating through his speech.
The applause erupts once more, louder than ever.
°°°°
“Really?” you murmur softly, the tone as warm as Suguru’s hand on your hip. “If I did so well in the show, don’t I deserve a reward?”
He kneels in front of you, sliding his large hands along your thighs. “So beautiful, so magnificent…” Suguru continues to whisper as if in a prayer. “I love you… Ruin me… Use me and hurt me, love…” he pleads before placing a long, sweet kiss on your inner thigh.
The effect sends waves of goosebumps across your body, and desire burns in your eyes as you lower them to your desperate lover.
What better place to want to fuck your ex than during a festive reception hosted by Satoru Gojo, in one of the luxurious corridors of his many mansions? The same heavy, thick, velvet burgundy curtains brush against your back as he nuzzles between your legs like a little boy.
The gesture might seem funny and cute, but not when he slides his head under your evening dress and presses his nose against your panties. You gasp in surprise and place your hands on his head. “Sugu… Not here…” you whisper, alarmed.
He grumbles like a displeased child, the vibration of his voice against your core increasing your sensitivity. “You— Ah…” you moan as he plants a kiss on your already swollen clit.
“I love you, sweetheart… I love you so much…” Suguru keeps repeating these words that make you melt. He shifts your underwear with his index finger, finally gaining access to your core. He starts with a chaste kiss on your damp folds and hums in contentment, as he catches the first drop of your juices. “Tastes s’good, baby…”
Your moans intensify under his agile tongue as it licks and laps at your swollen, wet folds. Your teeth sink into your lower lip, forcing you to gasp. “Suguru…” You groan as he focuses on your throbbing bundle of nerves this time. He gently sucks on it, coaxing more juices from you, and this has the effect of drawing whimpers from your lips. If you were already struggling like mad to keep quiet, Suguru always loves to tease you and he gently inserts a finger into you. Your walls clench around it as if afraid he might pull it out. Unfortunately, pleasure comes far too quickly. With only a few long, slow thrusts inside you, your fingers find their way into his dark strands. “I’m going to—”
“Cum for me, my love,” he murmurs between flicks of his tongue.
You pray that no one can see or hear you, letting the knot in your stomach that was holding back your orgasm finally release. It bursts onto Suguru’s mouth, who doesn’t waste a single second in collecting your juices until the last drop, all while you moan in pleasure.
He finally pulls his hands and head from under your dress, panting in the same ragged rhythm as you, a satisfied smile on his lips. “I love you,” he murmurs for the umpteenth time.
A slightly exhausted smile from the intense sensation lights up your face, and before you can even respond, Suguru scoops you into his arms and nearly runs to one of the luxurious bedrooms in the Gojo mansion.
He locks the door and gently lays you on the mattress. Within seconds, you take charge, removing Suguru’s pants and teasing his bulge with the tips of your fingers. You smile mischievously and giggle.
Suguru shivers at your touch and props himself up on his elbows, weak as he is for you. “Sweetheart—” But you catch him off guard by pulling down his boxer, exposing his twitching erection. “Oh God…” He almost rolls his eyes as your hand administers a few gentle strokes. “I love you… I love you… I love you… I love you…” he repeats in a plea in the dim light of the room.
Your fingers wrap around his base as you lower your head just to kiss his sensitive, reddened tip. “What, baby? Is it too much for you? You’re already so hard f’me…” And he doesn’t have time to protest as you go slowly, for he might not last. He smiles slyly as you lick the bead of pre-cum that escapes his length.
“Damn, princess… I’m not gonna last…” he hisses, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. He lets out a sigh, his muscles tensing under your hands. You run a thick band with the flat of your tongue along his dick, and he grits his teeth. “Tease…”
You raise an eyebrow. “Oh really? Let’s see about that…” Your lips part around him, taking him fully into your mouth. As soon as his tip hits the back of your throat, he lets out a groan. “Sorry…”
Your hands slip to graze his balls and caress his thighs. With a motion of your head, you suck him, your tongue swirling around his tip and veins. “Love, I—” And with a twitch of his cock, he signals that he’s about to cum. He shudders and groans, moaning your name. His cheeks flush, and you take the opportunity to tease him. He gives in and lets his release paint your mouth white. Without wasting any time, you swallow the warm substance and pull his cock from your mouth, a string of saliva mixed with his cum linking your lips to him.. The sight of your lover in a messy, submissive state sends a shiver down your own spine.
He regains his breath, rising onto his knees, unuttons his white shirt, and tosses it into a corner at the foot of the bed. Suguru’s hands settle on your hips, pulling at the fabric to undress you completely. Your panties are just as damp as when he ate you out. Your bra quickly joins his discarded clothing, and he seals his lips with yours as if it’s the last thing he needs to do in his life. He gently flips you onto your back on the bed.
Your hands move sensually across his chest to settle on his shoulders, maintaining a grip, while Suguru’s hands grasp the back of your thighs and slowly detach his lips to press them against the side of your neck where your pulse races. He marks a hickey in that exact spot and revels in the moan you produce.
“Suguru, please… I need you…” you plead into his ear, you aching clit grazing his hard cock, and he clenches his jaw to avoid holding you too tightly in his arms. Hasn’t he dreamed for years of having you like this, in his arms, begging him to please you?
“Anthing for my princess,” he coos, his lips curling. Gently, he wraps your legs around his waist and maintains eye contact with you. One of his hands grabs his dick and teases your needy cunt with the tip to collect droplets of your wetness. “Still so wet?” Then your blush is enough to make him burst into laughter. You pout, and he purrs. “Awww… I’m going to give you what you want…”
With utmost care, his tip parts your folds and slowly pushes into you, finding its way deep inside your hot, dripping pussy. Breathing between his teeth, Suguru closes his eyes for a moment and hisses. “Damn, you’re so fucking tight…” He pants for a few seconds before resuming his movements as you moan for him to go further. “Fuck, princess… taking me so well… Like you were made for me since start…”
“Suguru…” You moan, your nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders. The pressure his cock exerts makes it hard for your pussy not to react and tighten with each of his slow thrusts as you adjust. “That’s it, my love… You’re doing so well…” He whispers in your ear. His hands grip your hips, helping you find the right space for both of you as he sinks into you, your pretty walls clenching around him deliciously. He lets out a whimper of your name and hits that sweet spot deep inside, making you twitch beneath him.
"Again… Please… Sugu—” But another sound of pleasure escapes you as he slowly increases his pace inside you. His length twitches between your gummy, tight walls. “So deep… So good…” you murmur with a pleasure-filled wince. “I love you… I love you…”
Words hit Suguru like a punch to the stomach, and he almost has tears in his eyes. He doesn’t stop bucking his hips into you and nuzzles his head in the crook of your neck. “Baby…” you whisper, your fingers tangled in his hair, pleasure all for you now. He nods, and his hand snakes to your clit, rubbing it in circles. “Suguru… I’m close…” you squeal as he continues to pound into you until you see stars and your cunt contracts around his length, your toes curling.
His seed paints your walls white, a warm, gentle sensation spreading through your lower abdomen, Suguru groaning into your neck, his teeth biting into the flesh of your trapezius. He slightly lifts his head, panting heavily, and presses his lips to your ear. “I don’t want to see you on anyone else’s arm, okay? Not even Satoru.”
You nod and giggle, trying to catch your breath, your eyelids closed and exhausted from the aftermath of intense pleasure. “Jealous, hmm?”
“Yes. And very possessive, love,” he affirms in a strained voice. “Will you forgive me?” he adds with a glimmer of doubt in his eyes. He withdraws from you and lies down beside you, attentive to any signs of discomfort.
“For a long time, Suguru,” you affirm, yawning.
“Oh.” He raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Can I ask since when?”
“Since the hotel.”
Suguru buries his head between your bare breasts and closes his eyes with a sigh. “I see. I owe that to Nobara. What do you think would make her happy?” he asks in a casual tone.
Suddenly, it’s like gears are turning in your brain, and your fingers, which were caressing his hair moments ago, freeze.
“WHAT?”
And Suguru’s laughter echoes throughout the room.
a/n: finally! i'm relieved that i've finished this fic (promised from far months now...) well, i hope you'll enjoy it! <3
tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @alwaysfreakingout @mutsu422 @lymsfm
#[azra masterlist]#[dividers by @/saradika]#suguru geto x reader#suguru geto x you#suguru geto x y/n#suguru geto#jjk geto#geto suguru#suguru geto smut#jjk smut#geto smut#jjk au#jjk x you#jjk x reader#suguru geto fanfiction#geto x you#geto suguru x reader#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#geto x reader#jujutsu kaisen imagines#suguru geto imagines#jujutsu geto#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#getou suguru x reader#getou suguru x you#jjk memes#jujutsu kaisen suguru#jjk suguru#geto x y/n
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So glad you asked for more roommates cause I’ve been brooding over it for the last 2 seconds since you asked.
Now just see the vision rq, it’s still kinda early into her moving in but yk they still want her BAD anyways she brings home a guy thinking they were gonna and now she just has four military men questioning and intimidating her tinder date…
I love writing for the roommate au sm so i am always happy for shared thoughts! 🙂↕️💕
Roommate au masterlist
The date had started innocently enough- or at least, you thought so.
It wasn’t like you were expecting the boys to be home. They’d mentioned a late training session, and with how demanding their schedules were, you figured you had the apartment to yourself for the evening. So, when your Tinder match, Matt, suggested coming over to watch a movie, you agreed. What harm could it do? Maybe it’d even turn to more. Hell, you hoped it’d turn to more.
Matt was nice enough, you supposed. Decent-looking, polite, and he hadn’t said anything off-putting yet. But as the two of you settled on the couch, popcorn in hand and the glow of the TV filling the room, your front door clicked open.
Your could practically feel a ball drop in your stomach.
The sight of Price stepping through the door, his shoulders hulking under his coat, was enough to send your nerves spiraling. He stopped mid-step, sharp eyes locking onto you and your date.
Behind him, Simon followed, pulling down his hood, but balaclava not yet removed. Johnny and Kyle weren’t far behind, their conversation halting as they took in the scene.
The air turned thick, tension palpable as four pairs of eyes honed in on Matt, who was looking increasingly uncomfortable by the second. You honestly couldn’t blame him.
“Didn’t know we were having company,” Price said, his tone low and deceptively calm as he shut the door behind him.
Your voice caught in your throat. Honest to God, you felt like you were a soldier who’d fucked up in front of him. He just had that Vibe. “I… I thought you guys wouldn’t be home until later.”
“And who’s this?” Soap asked, his smile wide as he nodded toward Matt. It didn’t feel friendly and even you could tell.
Matt shifted nervously, offering a small, awkward wave. “Uh, hi. I’m Matt. Nice to meet you guys.”
The silence that followed could’ve cut glass.
“Matt,” Simon repeated, his voice flat, his imposing frame seeming to block out all the light in the room. To you, he’d never felt that scary before… more like a particularly grumpy giant whose toes were always freezing. “And what exactly are you doing here, Matt?”
“I- I’m just hanging out with her,” Matt stammered, looking at you for reassurance. “A date.”
Kyle crossed his arms, leaning casually against the wall, though his eyes never left Matt. “Funny. We don’t remember her mentioning anything about a date.” He almost spat the word out.
You shot to your feet, hands up in a placating gesture. “Guys, seriously, it’s not a big deal. We were just going to watch a movie-”
“And you thought bringing a stranger into the house without telling us was a good idea?” Price cut in, his tone clipped.
Well, he wasn’t wrong about that…
Matt’s eyes widened. “I’m not- I mean, I’m not dangerous or anything.”
“Oh, aye? That right, then?” Soap drawled, stepping closer, his easy smile taking on a sharp, menacing edge. “And how d’ye reckon we’re meant to trust ye, Matt? Could be anyone. A thief, a creep, someone tryin’ tae take advantage of her.”
“I- … what?” Matt looked at you again, desperation in his eyes and voice.
“Relax, Johnny, it’s-” you tried, but your voice wavered under the weight of their combined stares.
“We’re just looking out for her,” Kyle said, his tone deceptively smooth as he grabbed a chair and spun it around to sit on it backward. “You understand, don’t you? We are her roommates.”
Simon didn’t say much- he didn’t have to. The way he loomed was enough to make Matt visibly sweat.
Price, meanwhile, stepped forward, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are she let you in? She’s trusting. Sweet. Too sweet, if you ask me. Makes her a target for the wrong sort of people.”
“I- I’d never hurt her, sir-” Matt stammered, his voice cracking slightly.
Price’s lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smile. He looked unimpressed, more than anything else. “Good. Because if you did…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but the unspoken threat hung heavy in the air.
“Okay!” you blurted, stepping between them. You gave up; you knew this date has gone to shit. “That’s enough. Matt was just leaving.”
Matt didn’t need to be told twice. He practically bolted for the door, not even stammering a quick goodbye before disappearing into the night.
As the door clicked shut, you turned to face them, your cheeks burning. “What the hell was that?”
“…you can do much better than him.” Kyle huffed, drawing you to sit down beside him on the couch even as you pouted glared. “Much, much better. Ain’t that right, John?”
Price nodded, sighing. “He was trembling like a leaf, love. Men like him? Not worth your time.”
Simon simply stood there, his eyes fixed on you. “Next time,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, sending a shiver down your spine. “Let us know before you bring someone here.”
You sighed, pressing a hand to your forehead. “…You’re all impossible.”
Though by the end of the night, you still found yourself between Johnny and Kyle, and finished the movie anyways, date forgotten.
#noona.asks#noona.writes#cod x reader#cod x you#cod#tf 141 x reader#tf 141 x you#tf 141#cod imagines#john price x reader#ghost x reader#soap x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#ghost x you#poly!141 x reader#gaz x reader#johnny soap mctavish x reader#kyle gaz garrick x you#poly 141 x you#poly 141 x reader#poly 141#poly!141#gaz x you#soap x you#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you
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Shared Apartment, Shared Feelings
Leon Kennedy x gn afab!reader
CW: 18+ (mdni), virgin reader, college roommate au, retired fuckboy!leon, vendetta trio (chris, leon & rebecca), talks about virginity/relationship/trauma (car accident), fluff/angst/smut, a lot of kissing, dick piercing, oral job (afab receiving), pussy slapping, thigh jobs, aftercare.
Words: 7.4k
A/N: special thanks to my wife @roseglazedlens for beta reading and helping me with the banners <3 muah muah
Without a doubt, college is such a drag. It’s a wonder you haven’t given up on yourself already, with all the assignments piling up, submissions one after another, professors breathing down your neck, dealing with crappy groupmates and customers from your part-time job. But here you are, almost three years deep into your degree, with no turning back now.
You sighed, feeling the strain in your fingers from typing away all day. The pressure was real with an assignment due in just a few days. You tried to unwind with a book and music, but the impending thought of reading through another paragraph might just make your head explode.
It’s been known that college can get pretty lonely at times. Sure, you've got friends here and there, but they're all caught up in their own stuff, on top of all that, their partners. This is when you wish you had one yourself. You've had your fair share of relationships or flings in the past, but it never really went beyond first base – blame it on your commitment issues and insecurities.
Virginity is a funny thing, isn't it? Some people don't really give it much thought, while others, like yourself, see it as a significant part of who they are. To you, it's more than just a physical state – it's about vulnerability, about letting someone in and truly being seen. Maybe that's why your relationships never seem to last long. You realise now that you settled for them, not for yourself. You were caught up in the idea of a relationship rather than being honest with yourself about what you truly wanted and needed.
Heading into college, you finally found yourself crushing on someone – your roommate, Leon Kennedy. Your first meeting was awkward, to say the least. It started with your classmate-turned-friend, Rebecca Chambers, asking if you wanted to live with her and two of her friends since they had an extra room. Without hesitation, you agreed – after all, why not? Splitting the rent between four people and having a bigger apartment than your current one sounded like a win-win. But when you finally met her two friends, it felt like you stumbled upon an adorable squirrel with her two guard dogs.
You could definitely say that Leon and his other friend, Chris Redfield, were pretty protective of her, but Rebecca reassured them that she trusted you and thought you were a lovely person – bless her heart. From that day on, the tension slowly dissipated, and all of you learned how to live with each other, quirks and all. If there was ever a disagreement, Chris would call for a 'family meeting' to sort things out.
You've grown close to both Chris and Rebecca, but with Leon, it's different. He's close, yet there's still a sense of distance.
—
Exhibit A:
The huge, comfortable couch in the living room was decorated with a mismatched assortment of decorative pillows, giving the area a homely, well-worn feel. The walls were covered in posters of bands, and a shelf next to it held a tidy collection of DVDs. Game controllers, remote controls, and empty food wrappers were frequently strewn all over the coffee table – no matter how many times Rebecca told Chris and Leon to clean them up. The room had the ideal ambience for movie evenings thanks to the floor lamp's warm glow and the fairy lights.
You noticed that Leon would always have your favourite snacks on hand, without you even needing to ask. But then again, he made sure to get snacks for everyone else too. You never once mentioned your favourite snacks to him – you guess he might have overheard you talking to Rebecca in the dining area while he was playing video games with Chris in the living room that one time.
"Here," Leon said, passing you the brightly wrapped package after doling out snacks to the others.
“Thanks,” you said, taking them from Leon. “How did you know these are my favourites?”
He shrugged casually. “Maybe I'm just good at picking up on things.”
"But I've never told you," you pointed out, genuinely curious.
Leon hesitated for a moment, his gaze meeting yours. "I've got my ways of finding out,” he replied cryptically before turning away to grab a drink.
You raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced by his response. “Oh, well, thanks again.”
"Oh my god! It's been so long since I've eaten those," Rebecca, who was cuddled up next to you, exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she gazed at your snacks. You chuckled at her enthusiasm.
"You want some?" you offered, opening the snack package.
"Yes, please!" she eagerly replied.
If you had turned back, you would have noticed Leon's ears turning a faint shade of red, but you were too focused on sharing the snacks with Rebecca to notice his reaction.
Exhibit B:
Amidst the chaos of exam week, you and Chris had taken over the living room for a study session. Notes, textbooks, and Post-it notes were strewn everywhere, creating a cluttered workspace. Rebecca had wisely chosen to isolate herself in her room, knowing that if she joined you two, it would devolve into gossip rather than studying. As for Leon, he preferred the solitude of studying alone.
By 2 am, Chris had already succumbed to exhaustion, snoring away on the couch. Meanwhile, you were hunched over your notes on the floor, frustration building as you re-read the material for what felt like the hundredth time. A headache was starting to form, exacerbated by the late hour and Chris' snoring.
Lost in your work, you didn't notice Leon's quiet approach until he set a hot mug of green tea on the coffee table beside you. "Take a break," he said casually, before moving over to Chris and gently nudging him awake, signaling that it was time for him to call it a night.
"Hey, wake up," Leon whispered.
Chris grunted in response, rolling over to his side and snoring loudly. Leon couldn't help but roll his eyes and deliver a – gentle – punch to Chris's arm, hoping it would be enough to jolt him awake.
"Ouch! Damn, Leon, that hurts," Chris groaned, rubbing his arm where Leon had punched him.
Leon, unapologetic, raised an eyebrow at Chris. "Maybe if you didn't snore like a freight train, I wouldn't have to resort to violence."
Chris, still rubbing his arm, shot you a playful glare. "Well, if someone didn't study so quietly, maybe I wouldn't need to fill the room with my soothing snores."
"Don't look at me, I'm just trying to study peacefully," you retorted, raising your hand in mock surrender while cradling the mug in your other.
"Yeah, right. Your snores are like lullabies, Chris. I almost fell asleep while making my late-night snack,” Leon said with a slight smirk.
Chris mockingly gasped. "You wound me, Leon. My snores are an art form."
You chuckled. "Well, gentlemen, whether it's an art form or a lullaby, it's time for the masterpiece to take a break. Chris, go get some beauty sleep." Chris nodded.
"You too, don't stay up too late," Leon said to you, shooting a glance in your direction before grabbing Chris by his shirt.
"I'm up, I'm up," Chris protested, his voice muffled as Leon playfully put him in a headlock and guided him towards his room.
You couldn't help but chuckle at their antics, taking another sip of your tea as you watched them disappear down the hallway.
—
You found yourself in a dilemma. Leon had always been just a friend, but lately, you couldn't shake off the growing attraction you felt towards him. It wasn't just his physical appearance that drew you in, although his blue eyes, his piercings and the little details about him were certainly captivating. It was the way he was always there for you, that’s what friends are for, right?
You discovered that you couldn't stop thinking about him, day or night. His presence seemed to linger in your mind, occupying your thoughts even when you were supposed to be focusing on something else. You couldn't help but notice the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his video game strategies or the way he would absentmindedly run his hand through his hair when he was deep in thought. And those moles scattered across his skin, you found yourself itching to trace your fingers over them, to memorise every little detail of him.
But despite your growing feelings, you were hesitant to act on them. You cherished the ‘friendship’ you shared with Leon and you were afraid of risking it by admitting your true feelings. So for now, you kept your emotions buried deep within, hoping that they would eventually fade away – but they didn’t.
—
Leon had been sceptical when Rebecca first introduced you to him and Chris. He thought you might have ulterior motives, using her to get closer to him for his body. After all, he had a reputation as a fuckboy, although he considered himself a retired one now. That's why both him and Chris were so protective of her; he didn't want to drag Rebecca into his messy past again.
However, Leon was genuinely surprised when he discovered that you didn't know much about his past. While you were aware of his existence, you weren't deeply immersed in campus drama, preferring to spend your time online with other interests. You treated him like any other person, and he found himself grateful for that. In the past, he had been the worst version of himself, indulging in alcohol, weed, and sex, using his body to get whatever he wanted. But hey, in this economy, whatever works.
He had grown accustomed to people using him, whether it was for physical gratification or emotional support. It was the darkest chapter of his history, and his once-close friendship with Chris and Rebecca had deteriorated to the point where they were practically strangers, but that was six months ago. Now they were back to being three peas in a pod, their bond stronger than ever.
Then came that one fateful night – that one awful night – when he had drunk too much and made the reckless decision to drive home while intoxicated from a party. What great friends he had.
As Leon stirred awake in the hospital room, the rhythmic beeping of machines punctured the air, accompanied by the clinical scent of antiseptic. His gaze fell upon Rebecca, slumbering peacefully in a chair beside his bed, though the fatigue evident in the bags beneath her eyes spoke of restless nights spent by his side. Summoning what little strength he could muster, he attempted to rouse her with a feeble movement of his finger.
Suddenly, Chris burst into the room, bearing two cups of coffee in hand. The sight of Leon awake nearly caused him to fumble the cups, hastily setting them down on a nearby table before rushing to his friend's bedside with evident concern. Rebecca, startled by Chris's sudden entrance and booming voice, blinked awake in a daze.
“Leon, you’re awake!” Rebecca's smile lit up the room as she clasped Leon's uninjured hand in hers.
Leon attempted to speak, but his dry throat betrayed him. Swift to notice, Chris quickly retrieved a water bottle and a straw for Leon. While Rebecca, with practised ease adjusted the bed to a more comfortable position, allowing Leon to sit up slightly. As soon as the straw touched his lips, Leon didn't hesitate to take a much-needed sip, the cool water soothing his parched throat.
Once he had quenched his thirst, Leon managed a weak smile of gratitude, his gaze shifting between Chris and Rebecca. "Thanks, guys," he murmured hoarsely, his voice still rough from disuse.
"Was anyone else hurt?” he asked anxiously, recalling the events of the previous night with a sense of dread. He knew he had made a terrible mistake by driving under the influence, and he dreaded the thought of anyone else being harmed because of his actions.
Chris exchanged a glance with Rebecca before answering, his expression sombre. "It was just you, Leon," he replied gently, placing a comforting hand on Leon's shoulder. "You're lucky, man. Could've been a lot worse."
Rebecca nodded in agreement, her worry evident in her eyes. "We're just glad you're okay," she added softly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.
For once in his life, he let his tears flow freely, openly crying in front of them. There were many reasons for his tears, but two stood out: their unwavering support despite his past behaviour and the stark realisation of how close he came to losing everything. It felt like a wake-up call, a sign that he needed to change his ways.
As both Chris and Rebecca leaned in for an embrace, he felt the warmth of their love enveloping him. That moment marked a new beginning for them. They took turns caring for him, offering support and encouragement every step of the way. And with their help, he began to see a therapist to address his trauma and work through his issues, determined to become a better version of himself.
He knew he wasn't perfect, but he was steadily making progress.
—
You were like a breath of fresh air, bringing a sense of normalcy to Leon's life outside his close circle of friends. The more he observed you, the more smitten he became. He found himself falling hard for you, enchanted by the melody of your voice and the way your smile lit up the room. Even when you laughed at his silly jokes while Chris and Rebecca remained unimpressed, it only deepened his infatuation. From your quick wit to your undeniable charm, he felt like a lovesick puppy in your presence.
Many moments with you left a lasting impression on Leon. One night, he had fallen asleep on the couch, and you had just returned from a night shift. Spotting Leon asleep, you crept, careful not to disturb him. You gently placed your belongings on the dining table before quietly slipping into his room to retrieve a blanket.
You returned with the blanket and draped them over him, ensuring he stayed warm throughout the night. As you crouched down beside him, you couldn't resist the urge to tuck a loose strand of his hair behind his ear, smiling softly at the peaceful expression on his sleeping face.
As you quietly left the room and retreated to your own, Leon being the light sleeper he was, felt a rush of emotions flooding through him. His heart raced as he became aware of your proximity, even in his slumber. The gentle touch of your hand and the warmth of your presence lingered in his mind, leaving him feeling strangely comforted yet unsettled all at once. It was a moment he couldn't shake, stirring something within him that he couldn't quite put into words.
These mixed emotions were still present during another memorable moment, when you, Chris, Rebecca, and Leon gathered for a pizza dinner. Chris, in his usual generous fashion, ordered a variety – cheese, pepperoni, and BBQ pizzas. The living room transformed into a makeshift dining area as you all settled in to watch a movie while enjoying the feast. Despite the lively atmosphere, Leon found himself quietly observing you, the feelings from the previous night still lingering in his mind, adding a layer of depth to the otherwise ordinary gathering.
Whatever, he shook his thoughts away.
As the pizza boxes opened, Leon grabbed a slice of the BBQ pizza, only to discover a surplus of onions. His displeasure was evident and despite his efforts to discreetly pick off the offending toppings, the struggle did not go unnoticed by you.
Your laughter bubbled up as you observed Leon's onion-removing antics. "Not a fan of onions, huh?" you teased.
"Nah, I don’t like the extra crunch," Leon replied, continuing to pick them off.
You extended your plate towards him. "Just give them to me; I like onions," you offered with a smile.
"Really? Thanks," Leon responded, handing you the onion-laden slices.
"You need to stop being such a picky eater, Leon," Chris chimed in between bites of his pizza.
Leon shook his head defiantly. "Nope, not happening," he retorted, earning a round of laughter from the group.
Rebecca joined in, adding with a playful grin, "Hey, at least now we know who the real onion lover is around here!"
After your laughter died down, you couldn't help but sneak a glance at Leon – you loved onions, but little did they know that you had a particular disdain for red onions.
Despite all this, Leon couldn't shake the memories that haunted him. Beneath the surface of his laidback demeanour lay a vulnerability he had yet to reveal to anyone outside his close circle of friends.
It was a sunny morning as you and Leon walked side by side to class, chatting idly about your schedules. But then your conversation was abruptly interrupted by the screech of tyres from behind, a sharp, piercing sound that seemed to echo through Leon's bones.
Without warning, Leon's steps faltered, his body freezing in place as his breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened with fear, his muscles tensing as if preparing for impact.
You sensed the shift in his demeanour immediately, instincts kicking in as you turned to face him, concern etched across your features. "Leon?" you called softly, reaching out to touch his arm. "Are you okay?"
"Don't," he said sharply, his voice tinged with a mixture of desperation and frustration. "Please, just... don't touch me."
You froze, your heart sinking at the rejection. You had never seen Leon react like this before, and the realisation only fueled your determination to help him.
"Okay," you said softly, pulling your hand back. "I won't touch you. But I'm here, Leon. You're not alone."
Leon's breaths came in short, ragged gasps, his gaze fixed on the ground as he struggled to regain control of his racing thoughts.
Thinking quickly, you searched for another way to reach him. You remembered the breathing exercises you learned from the internet, the rhythmic pattern designed to calm the mind in moments of distress.
"Leon," you said gently, your voice a steady anchor in the storm of his panic. "Listen to me. We're going to try something, okay? Just focus on my voice."
Leon nodded hesitantly, his gaze flickering up to meet yours.
"Close your eyes," you instructed, your own voice calm and measured. "Now, take a deep breath in through your nose... and out through your mouth. Good. Now, let's do it again. In... and out."
Together, both of you repeated the breathing exercises; Leon's tense muscles gradually relaxing with each steady breath. You kept your voice low and soothing, guiding him through the process with gentle encouragement.
The chaotic noise of the campus faded into the background, replaced by the steady rhythm of your shared breaths. And with each passing moment, Leon felt the grip of panic loosening its hold, replaced by a sense of calm and clarity.
"Thank you," Leon whispered as he finally opened his eyes, his voice hoarse with overwhelming emotions.
"Anytime.” You smiled softly at him.
—
You were attractive, considerate, attentive, but sometimes sarcastic — all the more reason to love you. So imagine his surprise when, during one of your deep conversations, you dropped the bombshell: "I'm still a virgin."
Leon's reaction was immediate. "Wait, what?" His eyes widened in disbelief, and he nearly choked on the iced tea Rebecca had made for everyone.
You couldn't help but smirk at his reaction, finding his surprise somewhat amusing. "Yeah, I know, right?" you replied casually, trying to downplay the moment. "Just never felt the rush, I guess."
Leon's expression softened, his initial shock giving way to an understanding. "Well, that's... unexpected," he admitted, his voice laced with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. "But hey, it's your choice, and there's nothing wrong with that."
"Yeah," you said, taking a sip of the iced tea. You couldn't help but grimace as the sweetness hit your taste buds; Rebecca had gone a bit overboard with the sugar again. “I guess, I just have a hard time trusting people to truly see me, you get it?” you said, revealing a vulnerability that Leon hadn't seen before.
“Just the idea of letting someone see a vulnerable side of you and then, things fall apart, and that person is not in your life anymore... it's terrifying."
Leon nodded thoughtfully, the flicker of a reassuring smile appearing on his lips. "I get it," he responded softly, his eyes reflecting understanding.
"It's hard to open up when you've been hurt before. But not everyone is the same, you know? And sometimes, taking that risk can lead to something beautiful."
"Yeah, but I’m not ready to take that risk," you pondered, your voice tinged with uncertainty.
Leon leaned forward, his expression gentle. "That's okay," he said. "It's all about timing, and when you're ready, you'll know. Until then, just focus on being true to yourself." If the old Leon heard this, he would cringe in disgust at how poetic he has become.
“Aw, look at you, Mr. Wise man,” you teased, playfully punching his shoulder.
“Hey, I have experience, okay,” he chuckled, offering a playful wink. "Life's full of surprises, and you never know when the right person might come along." Leon thought to himself, hoping silently that he could be that person for you.
To be your person — it was a dream he cherished deeply. He already felt privileged enough to see you with your dishevelled hair every morning, to enjoy the breakfasts you made, to hear you humming to yourself as you cleaned the apartment, and to witness all the little quirks that made you... you.
Like the way you always insisted on starting your day with a cup of hot warm water because of its health benefits. Or how you had a habit of tapping your fingers on any surface whenever you were anxious. The way you collect little trinkets and gift them to others because they reminded you of them, or how you could never resist stopping to take pictures of the sky when it looked especially pretty. The way you scrunch your nose when you laugh, and how you always double-knot your shoelaces because "you can't be too careful,” even though they somehow always come undone, so he has to tie them for you again — cue to Rebecca and Chris giggling quietly at the back.
“Yeah, who knows?” you replied with a smile, stopping him from his daydreaming state.
Leon looked into your eyes, a gentle warmth spreading through his chest. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you at that moment. Your smiles softened, and a comfortable silence settled between you. Time felt like it slowed down as you both gazed at each other, the unspoken words and hidden shared feelings hanging in the air.
However, the moment was cut short when cock-block Chris slid the balcony doors open, surprising you guys.
"Hey, sorry to interrupt," Chris said, his voice breaking the momentary silence. "But I thought you might want to join us for board games. Rebecca's been bugging me to drag you both inside.”
You chuckled at Chris's interruption. "Sure, sounds like fun," you replied, shooting a playful glance at Leon.
Leon grinned in response, a twinkle in his eye as he nodded in agreement. "Let's go then," he said, rising from his seat and motioning for you to follow.
“Can’t wait to beat you in Monopoly,” you added with a mischievous grin, earning a playful scoff from Leon.
“Dream on,” Leon replied with a playful smirk, grabbing both his and your drink before heading back inside.
“Hey, we know Rebecca is the master of Monopoly,” Chris chimed in.
"Yeah, you’re right, she always bankrupts us within the first hour," you agreed with a laugh.
"Alright, let's see if we can finally overthrow the reigning champion," Leon said with determination, leading the way back inside.
—
You should have been spending your weekend with friends, but alas, the call of assignments beckoned you to spend the week in your room. Your fingers moved on autopilot as you typed away on your laptop, nearing the end of your essay. All that remained were the conclusion and the references.
This was the second time you had to redo this assignment. Your professor, Dr. Wesker, critiqued it during the tutorial, and it fell short of his expectations, so you had to incorporate the points you had missed. You made a mental note to give him three stars in the end-of-semester review – that being generous — and to punch Chris because he said Wesker’s class was easy. No, it was not; Wesker made sure to run the class like the Navy.
As the evening turned into night, you fueled your essay-writing spree with a touch of spite. The anticipation of going to the new jazz bar in your area with your friends was the added motivation. Empty instant coffee cans littered your desk, proving your determination. In the apartment, it was just you and Leon; Chris was visiting his sister, Claire, while Rebecca was out on a date with Billy. Helping Rebecca get ready had only made you more jealous of her evening out. Ever the sweetheart, she noticed you were down and promised to bring back treats for you as a reward.
The apartment felt unusually quiet, with only the hum of your laptop and the distant sounds of city life filtering through the windows. The silence was a stark reminder of the fun you were missing out on. Yet, there was a strange comfort in knowing Leon was just in the other room, a silent presence that somehow made the tedious task of essay writing a bit more bearable.
However, the universe was not on your side as your old laptop finally decided to give up on you. Despite all your efforts — charging, troubleshooting, and pleading — it refused to turn back on. "No, no, no, no!" you exclaimed, punctuating each word with a frustrated slam of your hand against the desk. Scratch that, Dr. Wesker is getting only one star and a long paragraph in the comment section.
Hearing the commotion from Leon’s bedroom, he paused his game and rushed into your room. "What happened?!" he asked, concern etched on his face.
You looked at him with tears streaming down your face. "My laptop won't open," you said.
His face softened as he approached you. "I'm assuming you've tried everything," he remarked.
"Yes!" you exclaimed, frustration evident in your voice.
"Okay, okay, calm down," Leon reassured you, his tone soothing. "What did you use to do your assignment on?" he inquired, rolling your chair closer to him and kneeling down in front of you.
You took a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions. "Google Docs," you replied.
He nodded reassuringly. "Okay, they have an auto-save feature, so your work is still there. In the meantime, you can use mine." Leon wiped away your tears with his thumb. "I know a guy who can fix your laptop, so you don't have to worry."
Leon's comforting touch eased your tension slightly. "Thanks," you said, your voice wavering with emotion. "I'm sorry for lashing out. It's just….it’s been a stressful week."
He offered you a sympathetic smile. "No need to apologise," he said softly. "We all have our moments.”
"You're too good for me," you whispered, your gratitude evident in your eyes.
Leon's sympathetic expression softened further as he gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face. "Hey, don't say that," he replied earnestly. "You're amazing, and anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend. And if you ever need someone to talk to or help you through tough times, I'm here for you, always.”
“I could say the same thing about you,” you said softly as you wiped the remaining tears away.
There was a moment of silence, filled only by the sound of the gentle hum of the air conditioner and the soft rhythm of your breathing. Then, you hesitated before speaking again.
"Leon... there's something I've been meaning to tell you," you began, your voice barely above a whisper. "I know we're friends, but... lately, I've been feeling something more. I can't shake this feeling that there's something between us, something deeper?"
Leon's eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he didn't interrupt as you continued.
"I understand if you don't feel the same way," you said, the words tumbling out in a rush as you fidget with your fingers, feeling vulnerable and exposed. "I just needed to get it off my chest."
For a moment, there was only silence as Leon processed your words. Then, he reached out and gently took your hand in his, stopping you from fidgeting. On the inside, he was literally jumping up and down and screaming internally. His heart raced with excitement and joy, but he kept his composure, squeezing your hand gently to convey his feelings.
“I... I've been feeling the same way," he admitted quietly, his voice filled with emotion. "I didn't know if you felt the same, but… I've been wanting to tell you how I feel for a while now." His hands felt warm against your cold ones, a reassuring touch that sent a shiver down your spine.
"But are you sure you want to be with someone like me? I’m a bit damaged,” he confessed, his voice carrying a hint of insecurity. As you shared a tender gaze, his vulnerability spilled out.
"At the same time… I want to be with you. You keep me grounded, and every day I feel like I'm becoming a better version of myself because of you. But I don’t want to burden you with my baggage."
Your heart swelled with affection as you reached out to cup his face, gently wiping away the traces of doubt etched there. "Leon, I see you, all of you, and I wouldn't have it any other way.”
“Being damaged doesn’t make you any less worthy of love and happiness. We all have our scars and struggles. What matters is that you’re taking steps to heal, to become the best version of yourself. And I want to be there for you, every step of the way.”
At that moment, Leon knew he couldn't let his fears hold him back any longer.
Leon’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as he leaned in closer, his breath mingling with yours. The world seemed to stand still as he closed the gap between you, capturing your lips in a passionate heartfelt kiss. His hands moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t bear to be apart.
The kiss was intense, filled with all the emotions he couldn’t put into words— the love, the gratitude, the desire. His lips moved against yours with fervent need, and as you responded, you could feel the weight of his insecurities lifting, replaced by the warmth of your mutual affection.
Breaking the kiss, Leon scooped you up from your chair with ease, his arms strong and secure around you. He carried you to your bed and gently laid you down, his gaze never leaving yours. The tenderness in his eyes spoke volumes as he caressed your face.
"You mean everything to me, and I want to be the one you can always rely on." He leaned in for another kiss, sealing his promise with the warmth of his embrace. “Just how I can rely on you.”
When Leon's words settled in, you felt a rush of emotion swell in your chest. You reached up, your fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble beneath your touch and moving down to his neck where his moles were. The tenderness in his eyes was almost overwhelming, and you could see the sincerity behind every word he had spoken.
Leon let out a gasp as your fingers continued their gentle exploration, the touch feeling soft and human against his skin. He couldn’t even remember the last time someone touched him so tenderly. Letting out a sigh of contentment, he buried his face against your neck, inhaling your familiar scent—the comforting mix of laundry detergent and coffee, so wonderfully homey.
“God, you don’t know how much you've softened me.” He chuckled softly, his lips trailing kisses along your neck.
You couldn't help but tease him, a playful glint in your eyes. "Oh, is that so?" you murmured, a smile tugging at your lips. "Big, tough Leon going all soft on me?"
He lifted his head, meeting your gaze with a grin. "Yeah, you have that effect on me," he admitted. "Never thought I'd be saying that."
You laughed softly, your fingers brushing through his hair. "Well, I kind of like this softer side of you," you teased, your eyes sparkling. "Makes me feel special."
"You are special," Leon whispered, his expression turning serious. "More than you know."
“Leon…I’m ready,” you said, your voice steady but your heart racing.
“Ready for what, sweetheart?” he asked, the endearment rolling off his tongue naturally. He liked how it felt, unlike the generic terms, ‘Babe’ and ‘Baby’ he had used for his past flings when he didn’t bother to remember their names.
“Ready… for you to take my virginity.”
Leon’s eyes widened slightly before he softened, his expression filled with tenderness. "Oh… you're so precious. Not now, okay? I want to take you out on a date first."
“But—”
“No buts,” he interrupted gently. “I can make you feel good without taking it…do you trust me?”
“I do,” you replied, feeling a rush of warmth.
“Then just relax," he said softly. "I’m here, and I’ll gladly help you release your stress.”
Without another word, Leon closed the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a passionate, desperate kiss — a culmination of months of longing and pent-up desire. All your worries and stress melted away as you sought solace in each other’s embrace.
As the kiss deepened, Leon’s hands roamed over your body, pulling you closer with a strong need to please you. The hunger and longing that had built up over the months drove you both, igniting a fire that burned with an intensity neither of you had ever felt before.
Leon’s fingers deftly found the hem of your sweater, slowly lifting it up and over your head. As your bare skin met the cool air, a wave of shyness washed over you. Instinctively, you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to cover yourself.
Leon paused, his eyes filled with a mixture of admiration and gentle reassurance. He reached out, his hands gently removing yours from your chest. “Don’t hide from me,” he whispered, his voice soft but firm. “You’re beautiful, and I want to see all of you.” He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, and you felt your body relax under his touch, trusting him completely.
“Leon…”
With a reassuring smile, Leon stepped back slightly and grasped the hem of his own shirt. In one smooth motion, he pulled it over his head, revealing the defined lines of his chest, the faint scars that marked his skin, and the tantalising happy trail leading down from his naval.
“See? Nothing to be shy about.” Leon had come so far, enduring countless battles, to reach this moment of vulnerability and softness with you.
You nodded, your cheeks flushing at the sight of his happy trail peeking through his sweatpants. His lips, slightly swollen from your shared kisses, only added to the heat coursing through you. The mere thought of kissing him had you feeling an ache between your legs — maybe those cringy scenes in films about virgin sex aren’t so fake after all. As you squeezed your thighs together unconsciously, he chuckled softly and gently pulled them apart.
"You okay there?" he teased, his voice laced with amusement.
You laughed nervously, trying to mask your embarrassment. "Yeah, just... overwhelmed, I guess."
Leon's chuckle deepened. "I'd say that's a good sign," he teased, his fingers tracing a soothing pattern on your thigh. "But let's take it slow, okay?"
Leon's fingers trailed along the curve of your thigh, a gentle caress that sent shivers down your spine. "Have you ever... touched yourself before?" he asked softly.
Your breath caught in your throat at his question, the sensation of his touch combined with the intimacy of his inquiry making your heart race. "Um, well... yeah," you replied hesitantly, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks.
Leon's touch became even more tender, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin as he leaned in closer. "Tell me about it," he murmured, his voice low and husky with desire. "I want to know everything."
“I... I just use my fingers,” you confessed, feeling a little embarrassed by the simplicity of your answer. You found yourself rambling about the prices of sex toys and how impractical they seemed, but Leon's attention was elsewhere as he trailed his fingers down to your clothed heat.
With unabashed hunger, he traced his fingertips over the fabric shielding your wetness, sending shivers through you. He moved lower, his mouth finding your inner thighs, licking and biting gently, his breath hot against your skin.
As you continued to ramble with hitched breaths, Leon nodded along, occasionally responding with a thoughtful "hmm" here and there. His lips pressed against your clothed mound and his tongue piercing tracing circles over the fabric. Each teasing lick and swirling motion sent shivers coursing through your body.
“Leon, fuck,” you moaned, bucking your hips toward his face.
His lips curled into a wicked smirk as he slid down your underwear, revealing your glistening folds. His tongue darted out, flicking against your swollen clit while his hands moved to your hips, holding you in place.
Leon savoured the taste of your arousal, relishing how you quivered beneath him, desperate for more. His lips closed around your clit, sucking gently while his tongue worked in skilled motions. As your moans filled the room, he intensified his assault, his tongue delving deeper and applying more pressure.
“You’re mine,” he murmured against your slick folds, his voice filled with possessiveness. “My special sweetheart.” With a playful yet firm touch, he lightly slapped your clit, eliciting a gasp from you.
Your breath hitched at Leon's possessive words and instinctively, wrapped your legs around his head, pulling him closer and squeezing them together in response. The sensation of his tongue and lips working so intimately against you, combined with the pressure of your thighs around him, heightened the intensity of your pleasure.
“Leon!” you babbled his name like a prayer as he worked his tongue on you. Each flick and swirl of his tongue made you tremble, the overwhelming sensation almost too much to bear. Your hands gripped the sheets, knuckles white, as you surrendered to him.
Lost in the intensity of the moment, Leon started to grind himself against the mattress. His sweatpants strained against his growing erection. He could feel the dampness of his pre-cum soaking through the fabric, each grind intensifying the need coursing through him. His cock strained painfully against the confines of his pants, desperate for release as he focused on bringing you to the edge of ecstasy.
Your breathing grew ragged, and you could feel the tightening coil of release building within you. Instinctively, your hands flew to his head, gripping his hair tightly as you arched your back, your body seeking more of his touch. The sharp tug made Leon grunt, a deep, guttural sound vibrating against your sensitive flesh.
Despite the pain, he refused to relent, his determination evident in the way he continued to devour you. His hands gripped your hips, holding you firmly in place as his tongue and lips worked with relentless precision, pushing you closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy, refusing to let you go.
Finally, with a shuddering gasp, you surrendered to the overwhelming waves of pleasure crashing over you like a tidal bliss. Leon held you through it all, refusing to let you go until you were utterly undone beneath him, lost in the euphoria of the moment.
As you lay there, panting and trembling, Leon parted from your cunt, his chin and lips glistening with your release. He smirked, a wicked glint in his eyes, before tenderly kissing your clit. "You taste so sweet," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "I could devour you all night."
Your cheeks heated up due to his remarks, a turbulent rush of feelings that filled your senses with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. Under the intensity of his gaze, you quivered, feeling another desire surge through you again.
Leon leaned back, his eyes never leaving yours as he spat on your cunt, the warm liquid mixing with your own arousal. He clumsily peeled off his sweatpants, revealing his hard, straining cock. He positioned himself between your legs, pushing your thighs together to create a tight, plush space.
With a low groan, Leon began to stroke himself between your thighs, the friction against your slick skin sending jolts of pleasure through him. Each thrust caused his piercing to occasionally bump against your clit, sending thrilling shocks through your body and making you gasp with the unexpected sensation.
“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, his eyes fixated on the scandalous sight before him — the view of his reddened and swollen tip emerging from the clutch of your thighs.
You were certain Leon would leave bruises on your thighs from the way he was gripping them. “I’m gonna... gonna—shit,” Leon whimpered, quickening his pace. His thrusts became urgent and forceful, driven by an insatiable hunger for release. The air was filled with the sound of your moans and the slap of skin against skin. He leaned over you, shifting into a mating press with your legs squished to your chest and his balls slapping against your ass.
With a few more thrusts, Leon succumbed to the pleasure, his body tensing as he spilt himself between your thighs and stomach. Waves of ecstasy washed over him, and he continued to move, riding out his orgasm with a mix of intense relief and satisfaction. His body trembled with aftershocks and his breathing erratic as he slowly descended from the high.
As Leon collapsed beside you, panting and spent, he realised that you hadn't come for the second time. He then shifted his position, propping himself up on one elbow as he glanced down at your flushed form. Seeing the need still evident in your eyes, he gently brushed his fingers over your slick folds, seeking out your swollen clit.
"Let me take care of you again," he cooed as he began to rub gentle circles over your sensitive bud. With each stroke, he felt your body respond, the tension building once more as you whimpered and writhed beneath his touch.
Leon focused entirely on bringing you to the peak of pleasure, his movements deliberate and precise as he pushed you closer to the edge. Your moans grew louder, and your hips bucked against his hand, signalling how near you were to release. With a shuddering gasp, you finally reached your climax. Leon’s grip was steady as you trembled beneath him, lost in the overwhelming euphoria.
He pressed a loving kiss to your forehead before slipping out of bed. "I'll be right back," he whispered, leaving the room momentarily to grab a warm, damp towel. Returning swiftly, he carefully wiped away the sweat and traces of cum from your skin.
Once he finished, he picked up your discarded sweater from the floor and slipped it over your shoulders, ensuring you were comfortable. You nestled into its warmth as Leon retrieved his own sweatpants and pulled them on.
Returning to your side, he asked softly, "Feeling better?"
You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips as you snuggled closer to him. "Yeah, much better. Thanks for taking care of me."
He smiled back, his eyes filled with affection, and gently massaged the nape of your neck. "How was the aftercare? It's my first time doing it."
You chuckled softly. "Honestly, I can't say much about it since I don't have any experience either."
Leon laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Guess we're both new at this. Maybe I should include 'aftercare specialist' on my résumé."
You grinned, your eyes twinkling with amusement. "Yeah, but only if I get to be your reference."
He smirked, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Deal."
Pics are from pinterest and edited by: @roseglazedlens
Dividers by: @chachachannah
#✧˚ ༘ ⋆。 ˚#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy fluff#leon kennedy angst#leon kennedy smut#leon kennedy fanfic#leon s kennedy
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Things about Wirt & Greg in Gravity Falls that my mind just won't let go. Set in my Never Two Without Four AU, after the brother's adventure in the Unknown but during the twin's first summer in GF.
Wirt, in the beginning, tries dealing with the twins the same way he deals with Greg and gets told off for his "doting" by Dipper
Mabel makes Wirt give her piggyback rides
If Wirt was ever possessed by Bill his ghost would be dripping wet bc he's traumatized and also bc Bill just wants to freak him out more
Greg brings back every strange creature he can find to the Shack and tries to hide them away (Wirt won't let him keep them)
Wirt is totally scared of Wendy
Greg would spend a LOT of time hanging out with Soos. They'd be best buddies
Wirt's first instinct when facing a monster is to grab the kids and run. Dipper complains about this regularly
Wirt is the only one who's seen the Hide-behind, on account of not being noticed. He slips into the background so easily not even the forest's local horror can notice him (it's not on purpose)
Greg, although unrelated by blood, fits so well into the Pines family people wonder whether Wirt is the real cousin
Wirt wants to burn the journal(s)
Greg casually mentions stealing a horse and Stan spends weeks trying to get the story out of the boys. Greg's story is unrealistic and unhelpful and Wirt is just uncooperative
When frustrated Wirt says some choice words that Dipper may or may not recite to Pacifica's face later
When the undead rise Wirt just sets out to start digging graves with quiet resignation but no fear whatsoever. Greg, very helpfully, sings him songs about Enoch during the meantime
#n2w4#never two without four au#just things. probably should finally write something about this but another wip is not something I can afford#gravity falls#over the garden wall#otgw#dipper#mabel#wirt#greg
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𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐓𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤 | choso kamo
𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Finding out your boyfriend's a vampire was far from the chill evening you planned with him. But you can't lie, imagining those fangs sinking down on and sucking on your skin....it's kinda hot.
𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: vampire bf! Choso x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern! au - oral (m! receiving) - handjob - fingering (f! receiving) - nipple play (licking, sucking, tweezing, fangs grazing) - piercings (nape and frenum) - biting (wrist, shoulder, breast, implied more afterwards) - Choso got a long schlong, rip - missionary position - overstimulation - clitoral play (swiping) - cervix fucking - the first time you and Choso have sex + you two being nervy/cute - pet names (angel, baby, princess) - Choso takes blood supplements + drinks pigs blood - Yuuji is his half-brother - mention of blood (duh) and saliva/spit - proofread but will check for more l8r.
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.4k (bro, wtf???)
𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: y'all watched that new ep, right? right. anywaysss, in celebration of choso [and yuuji]'s big fight being animated, i was thinking of vampy bf! choso for a few days and how cute/hot that would be! soooooo, enjoy~~ ☆ and tysm for 2.6k!!
“Sooo, you two gonna like fuck tonight?”
“Whatever happened to ‘How’s your day,’ ‘You doing okay,’ or ‘You still haven’t offed yourself after midterms,’ Nobara?”
“Yeah, my day is going fine, but answer the question.”
“I swear to Christ…” you sigh heavily as you walk down the sidewalk.
The month of October brings more dread to your being than anything else. As much as you want to be festive, order a pumpkin latte, and chill watching the leaves fall gracefully with the autumn times, college life does whatever it takes to prevent that. And what better way to do that than have you suffer with midterm exams.
You and your roommate, Nobara, have experienced the worst, especially this week. Having to study and pull all-nighters so much that you two can count with four fingers at max how many hours of sleep you get daily. Whatever gets the work done. However, it shouldn’t cost you your necessary slumber. Even your other best friends, Yuuji and Megumi, are victims of the tests. Hell, Yuuji found out he had an exam the day BEFORE and had to come in clutch by spending the entire day finishing the two-page study guide!
All four of you are depleted of fun; it’s non-existent as you try to navigate out of this academic hell…Despite that, though, there’s one thing you’re always looking forward to during the week: the weekend! Oh, yes, today is finally Friday. You’ve been anticipating this day throughout the week, finally done with your exams and ready to relax with your friends after so much schoolwork. But that’s not the only thing you’re looking forward to…
Because this weekend, you’ll finally be with your boyfriend, whom you haven’t seen since the start of midterms. Choso Kamo, Yuuji’s older half-brother and the man of your life, is the only person you’d love to see sweep you off your feet and take you in his loving arms, away from all the stress and discomfort from your college life. The two of you have been dating for almost a year, and he’s, without a doubt, the sweetest guy you ever got lucky with.
Since the start of this semester, it’s been hard for you two to meet at one place, let alone get on the phone. With you on campus and he outside with his job as a piercer, there have been times when you thought you’d never see him until winter break. Yet, it is now fall break, and Yuuji invited you and the gang to have a relaxing weekend at Choso’s place (with his permission). You accepted the invitation with a gleeful heart, practically bouncing and giggling at the thought of being in the same place as your partner again. And that’s where you’re heading now, walking down the sidewalk to his townhouse with a duffle bag full of your stuff, and you on the phone with Nobara to keep you company.
“All I’m saying is,” the brunette starts on the other side of the line. “If there’s ever a good time for you two to get it on, it would be this weekend.”
“I’m sorry, since when has my sex life been on your mind instead of studying for the exam you have in ten minutes?” You hear your roommate suck her teeth, and you grin with satisfaction. “Besides, he and I are waiting for the perfect time to do it, no rush. And seeing as you, Megumi, and Yuuji will be in the same place as us, I highly doubt we’d ever think of having sex.”
“Hmm, fair point —KNOCK KNOCK— WHO IS IT!!?” You almost remove the device from your ear from Nobara’s abrupt yelling. “Sorry, Y/n. Megumi is here and says we gotta head to the classroom right now.”
“That’s fine. I’m already at Choso’s place, anyway. See you guys later, and good luck with the exam.”
“‘Kay, see ya later.” She bids you farewell. “Also, if you two ever do it this weekend and you don’t tell me, as your best-est friend, I have legal rights to make sure all your cute underwear gets thrown out next time I take out the trash.”
“Good-fucking-bye, Nobara.” You scoff, your thumb already pressing the end call button and stuffing the phone in the pocket of your leggings.
In just the nick of time, you make it to Choso’s townhome and climb up the stairs to knock on the door. Within seconds, Yuuji opens the door and greets you with a hug.
“Y/n!” He’s always so eager and chipper when he sees you. “I was just about to text you; gotta run to the grocery store, then head to the pizza shop to place the order.”
You enter the foyer to remove your shoes while the salmon-haired other rushes to put his on. “Oh, how come?”
“The phones and websites seem to be down, so I gotta head there in person to place the order. But don’t worry, I’ll be right back before Megumi and Nobara.” He stands to open the door again before grabbing his car keys from the rack. “Choso’s up in his room right now, so you can say hi and chill with him while I’m gone.”
“All right,” You watch Yuuji run down to the sidewalk before he stops to shout something in your direction.
“Don’t do anything too crazy, ya lovebirds!” He sends you a cheeky grin, and you give him a playful glare with puffed cheeks.
“I won’t; go get the pizza!” He laughs at your response as he jogs down the street to his car, and you close the door when you see him drive off.
Alone with Choso…The thought of being alone with your boyfriend for a few hours has the butterflies in your stomach become active, fighting the urge to smile with warm cheeks. It’s been a hellish month thus far. Finally, after all this time, being in your boyfriend’s arms is enough to wash off all the stress you’ve pent up for the past couple of weeks.
With glee in your steps, you tip-toe up the stairs with wholesome thoughts of you and your boyfriend. I wonder if he’s been eating right these days. Same with getting sleep, he has a bad habit of sleeping at ungodly hours…Oh my God, wait, are we going to sleep together? If so, it'll be the first time we share a bed together. Does that mean—
You mentally slap yourself out of your delusion when you stop at his bedroom door. Oh, snap out of it, Y/n! That’s just Nobara getting into your head. Plus, it’s not like you two will be by yourselves for the entire night — the other three will be here. Hell, his own younger brother will be across the exact hallway! Don’t think such horny shit, for God’s sake…
You shake your head to abolish the impure thoughts, raising your fist to knock on your boyfriend’s door. “Chocho?" You greet with a nickname. "It’s me, Y/n. I just got here and—“
CRASH!!
The sound makes you jump, halting you from finishing that sentence. Rushed footsteps and another noise that something was bumped into follow along. “Ch-Choso? Everything all right?”
“Y-Yeah, I’m good,” you can tell even from outside the room his voice had an unsure tone; he was, in fact, not good. “Just wait, I gotta—Ow!!”
You know you shouldn’t have done what you’re about to do as it goes against basic etiquette; however, when you hear sudden cries of pain from your boyfriend, how in the world would you stay still!? With a chewed lip, you grab the door handle and bust it open to enter his room.
You know you shouldn’t have done that. Because what you see before you is way beyond your comprehension.
The carpeted floor had items all over the place. There are packets filled with what appear to be red liquids and tiny red pills contrasted with the white carpet. They must’ve been knocked over and made that noise. Suddenly, you notice a stain on the white mat in a bright red color. That was the thing that alerted your nerves, immediately searching for the figure standing behind the bed. It was your boyfriend, Choso Kamo.
But was it him? Because what on earth were you looking at!?? He still had the same face, light brown hair that was usually tied up now fell to his neck, his black “tattoo” on his face now red and leaking down to his chin. And his mouth was agape, your eyes noting that his canines were extended out more than usual with red fluid at the ends. Not to mention that the man was now shirtless! His bare chest and abdomen out for you, covered with smeared….Is…Is that blood?
Choso slowly moves his hands up in defense. “Y/n…Just stay calm for me, okay?”
The entire scene was too much for your brain to grasp, your breathing increasing to an unstable pattern, and your eyes looking at every jarring detail doesn’t help ease the thoughts going way too fast for you. The worried expression of your boyfriend has your body at a standstill, and your limbs quiver as if you’re about to give way. So, what are you left to do?
You faint.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
He stares at you, and you stare at him.
He averts his gaze shyly away from you, and you keep yours fixated on his.
Brown orbs teeter meekly to your figure sitting on his bed before reverting back to the other side, and yours refuse to leave his face, practically sinking holes into his forehead.
This has been going on for five minutes ever since your consciousness returned, and Choso cleaned up the mess in his room and himself — now, he wears a black tank top after cleaning the red stains off his body. After giving you an explanation as to what happened, you haven’t said a single word to him. You only stare at him while pondering questions of your own. And you can tell the lack of communication makes the poor man uncomfortable in the confines of his bedroom. So, for his sake (and your headache-inducing curiosity), you eventually uttered something.
“So,” you say the first word with a long pause, treading carefully on which questions to ask. “Those pills…are filled with blood?”
“Yes…” He admits with his gaze still not away from you.
“And you take them every day?”
“Twice a day…”
Okay…Next question, “And those small packets,” you point to the dresser where a pile of said red packets stack upon one another. “Also blood?” He nods slowly. “Human blood?”
He finally brings his eyesight to you but with a hurried shake to the head. “No, no! It’s pig’s blood.”
Is that worse or better?? Never mind— You then point to your set of canines. “And your teeth, I’ve never seen them that long...”
“They only get like that when I don’t drink blood for a while. So, when you knocked on my door, I was just about to open a packet. But then I heard your name and kinda panicked…”
“Oh my God…” Everything comes together and hits you all at once. From his pale skin contrasting yours, the unusual tattoo across his face now revealed as a blood mark, or all those times you caught him drinking his super red "beet juice." It all comes down to the only acceptable truth that feels foreign to leave your lips. “…..My boyfriend is a vampire.”
Choso cringes internally at the words you uttered. The truth has finally come, and he didn’t even mean for it to happen, at least not like this. Who in their right mind would want to reveal to their partner that they’re a blood-sucking monster? It’s the most dreadful talk of his life that Choso has done all his years avoiding. And now you, his sweet, perfect thing, have discovered his abnormal existence.
“That’s…” He cringes harder when you say more words. “So...” Anxiety pools his stomach, mind filled with uneasy guesses on what you’d think of him now. He could only assume the worst; it’s only natural. “...Cool!!”
Wait, what? That’s not what he expected. Way off, actually.
He feels the dent of the bed when you move closer to him, your face merely inches away from his as you examine every single feature of him. It takes the vampiric man aback, holding his breath while watching your face stare at him intensely with your beautiful eyes, beaming with excitement and wonder. And his vision slowly drifts to your lips, watching them move as you ask questions. And he keeps staring until, “—so…Choso!!” He snaps his orbs back to yours, his cheeks blossoming pink. “I’m asking you a question. So, since you’re a vampire, how come you’re not melting or sparkling when the sun touches you? Is that why you wear black all the time?”
“You mean that stuff from the books and movies?” He questions your logic, but it’s not your fault; he’s sure many others would’ve asked the same. “I don’t know about melting, but my skin gets dry if I stay out too long.”
You hum along to his answer, nodding as if you were in a lecture. “How come Yuuji isn’t a vampire, or at least half? Wait, does he know!?”
“No! No, he doesn’t. I became a vampire because my father was a vampire and turned me and my mother into one. I think I was around the age of twenty. After she died and my dad found Itadori’s mom, he didn’t change her into one. So, with that luck, I guess he isn’t fully a vampire. But I wouldn’t blow past it if he has some characteristics…”
“I see.” Again, you nod along. That might explain some things, like why he’s so fricken fast when he plays sports and that crazy-like strength he has… “So, how long have you been like this?”
“Almost a hundred and thirty.”
Woah. “And when have—I’m sorry, how long have you tasted human blood?”
Choso ponders on that question for a few seconds before answering. “I started when I became one. I try not to have it as I did back then; the last time I had it was around two years ago. But even then, I switched more into donated or pig’s blood for the past four decades.”
“Do you ever have cravings for human blood?” Was that too much to ask? It possibly was because Choso makes a face that conveys slight objection. Yet your mind genuinely wanted to know.
“I do, but I try not to act on them. Especially now that I have a human brother, and you…I guess it doesn’t feel right that I do so, ya know.”
His response replays in your mind, not because you were confused but because you understood where he was coming from. You’re sure it wasn’t easy for him to go around and sink his fangs into human flesh back then; modern times should make the task a lot easier with so many people on this earth. Although, you can imagine how hard it must have been for Choso to ignore an urge like that, specifically when it caters to his whole being. Alternatives such as pills and blood packets can only do so much.
“..…Have you ever thought of biting me?”
The question came out on its own as your curiosity got the best of you. Yet you don’t regret asking because it’s not impossible to think of ever happening.
Choso’s brown eyes look into yours sincerely, releasing a heavy sigh as if the truth was weighing him down. “…Yes.”
Your expression doesn’t change, remaining neutral. There’s no point in asking why because you can practically answer that yourself: he doesn’t want to hurt you. He’s very considerate, so no wonder he’d put your health and well-being above all else. So, why not do the same for him? “…Would you like to taste mine?”
His eyes widen at your proposal, surveying your face to see any twinges or crack soft a smile that entails a joke. There were none, your expression exhibiting nothing but honesty. “A-Are you sure??”
You nod with a smile. “Yup. I mean, it’s not every day someone gets to have a vampire taste their blood — let alone see a vampire, period. Besides,” you stretch out your arm, your wrist stationed in front of Choso. “If it were any other random vampire, I’d probably throw garlic their way.”
The man scoffs at your comment. “Something also you see in books and movies, Y/n.”
“Whatever,” the two of you laugh at your silliness. “But I’m serious, Chocho. I’m fine as long you’re the one doing it. So, go on.”
A moment of hesitation keeps him in his thoughts, the mental cogs of his brain deciphering what course of action he should take. But he does take your wrist with a large hand, bringing it towards his mouth. And before you know it, the vampiric man unsheathes his fangs out for display and sinks them into your flesh, tearing the skin as they pierce through.
The sharp pain was expected, but you still forced your eyes shut and took in a big inhale. Choso watches your reaction as his fangs take in a sample of your blood for him to taste. The familiar texture of the body fluid courses through him, and drips of it slide down to his tongue. You exhale through your mouth, pursed lips blowing out cool air. It felt as though two needles were simultaneously stabbing your wrist, your hand forming into a fist to situate yourself through the hurtful sensation.
And Choso just keeps watching you as he drinks your red fluid, taking in your graceful reaction. He knows it hurts, but you don’t say anything, pushing through it for the sake of him. He examines your steady breathing, eyes sewn shut, and plump limps agape for inhalation. You looked so good like this — tasted good as well, very sweet with a floral scent; it must have been your signature perfume. It intoxicates him, thinking of your body and fragrance on him and your sweet taste on his tastebuds. It ignites something inside him. Something that he hadn’t experienced in a long time…
“Choso?” You call out to him as his blinks signal that he heard you. “You done there? Don’t want you sucking my arm dry.” You jest to him.
He takes the hint and removes his teeth from your wrist, licking the two pierced holes of excess blood that seeps out. “My bad.”
You tease him some more. “Do I taste that good to you?” You didn’t expect him to give you a curt nod, a silent compliment from your boyfriend. “O–Oh…That’s good to know…” You say timidly, gaze averting downwards. Then, you notice something in the crotch of his pants. You gasp: a pinched tent. Choso follows your sight, finding out about his predicament to his horror. He opens his mouth to explain himself, but you beat him. “Can I take care of it?”
Again, Choso tries to say something, but no words dare to come out as you crawl up towards him. His brain short circuits at your movement, his back hitting the headboard of his bed. His blush creeps around to his ears, contrasting his pale skin and chocolate-colored hair. You smile at him; he’s so adorable and shy about this. “Mind I take the lead for a minute?” You ask for permission, even though the answer is quite clear when he peers at your lips. He nods, your face drawing inward and your soft lips landing on his.
One kiss. Two kisses and a moan. Three kisses pass, and it’s at this point that you two can’t get off each other. As his hand snakes to the back of your head to deepen the kiss, he takes your mewls with his lips, the insertion of his tongue making your toes curl.
Taking the lead as promised, you bring a hand down to the zipper of his ripped jeans, bringing the zipper and the clothing down to throw on the floor. Your fingers curl around the band of his black boxer briefs, pulling them down to reveal his lo— WHAT THE FUCK!!??
His erection springs out from his underwear, and what you’re met with is a fucking behemoth. For one, the thing was way longer than you anticipated — most definitely the longest you’ve had within reach. And because of its length, it looked so pretty to look at. The way his precum trickles down his glans to the underside is so magnificent to your eyes that you’re practically stuck looking at it. And…Is that a piercing right at his frenulum? Oh, wow. Vampire dick, huh.
“Heh, you like what you see, princess?” Suddenly, you feel so small from being called out with that little tease from your boyfriend. You give him a condescending expression, making him chuckle to himself. And who told him to call you that cute nickname!?… Keep going.
Back to the matter, you ogle at his dick again and mentally prep yourself by slowly moving your hand toward it. Your fingers curl around the base and unhurriedly stroke him to figure out a good pace to start. A moan from Choso entails that you know what you’re doing, so you dial up the speed and go further up, stopping your strokes from his piercing down to the base.
He becomes more vocal as your friction becomes more confident, spitting on your hand and tightening your grip to make it easier for his rough skin to slide across your palm. Sticking with a firm and consistent rhythm, you watch your hand go to work on his shaft, watching more of his precum leak and slide down to your fingers. It was so lewd yet so arousing; you feel the throbbing heat between your legs begins to form, swaying your ass to ease the pleasurable sensation while instructing a pornographic act.
“Ahhh, ahhnn, oh shit…” He stammers to give you a proper response, your hand feeling too good. “Oh fuck, your hand feels so good, angel, so goo—Nhhhh!!”
“Really?” You can’t deny the pride you feel for yourself, so you move down to situate between his legs. “That’s all that matters, then.” You bring your free hand to massage his testicles and cover more surface, and more of Choso’s whines and croaks fill the space, his hips bucking to ensure more friction and pleasure on his end.
With the rate this is going, more of his essence leaks out from his urethra, and the raunchy image playing right in front of you has your lips quiver. An intrusive thought roams around your brain while looking at his pink glans. You chew on your lips as you decide on what to do. And when you finally do, it’s now or never.
With a gulp, you bring the tip of his cock to your lips, and the man sharply gasps at the wet sensation of your tongue on his glans. The precum leaves a salty aftertaste on your tastebuds, proving that this is happening: you’re giving your vampiric boyfriend a blowjob right now. Deciding to take things to the next level, you intake more of his inches as much as you can. Not the whole thing because you know you’d probably choke, so you take your time inhaling his length at a comfortable pace and manner. And once you bob your head, the hisses and groans from Choso should give you an idea that he’s feeling elated.
“Haahh…Mmmph…Y/n, your mouth feels so good—Oh shit…” He brings a hand down to the top of your head, a sign you can guess that he wants you to keep going. And so you do, speeding up your motions. Your mouth sucks and teases the underside of his dick, your tongue curves and licks around the piercing of his frenulum, and he jerks when you slowly teasingly lick from the base to the tip. You bring your hand to the rest of the inches you couldn’t cover, your pretty fingers sliding up and down his dick while your free hand comes to his balls for you to massage. The sudden contact of your hands wasn’t expected, his body jolting to the sensations of your tongue and fingers around him, kneading his scrotum as you playfully lick on his cockhead. “—Khhh, ohhhh, fuck…Y/n, baby, I’m—Ahahhh!!”
From the sound of it, he was bound to release his load. So you prepare and bring the tip back into your warm mouth, urging the man to climax. With a few more pumps from your hands coinciding with the laps and sucks of your plump lips, he ruts his groin to your face as his essence spreads inside your oral cavity. And you take it like a champ, sucking every pump to your throat, not letting the tip go until he finished. So, once his body calms down, you release him, wiping off the trail of saliva from your mouth.
Yet it doesn’t stop there; of course, it doesn’t. Because Choso’s cock is very much still sprung and active from your blowjob, meaning it’s inevitable that you’re going to move on to the next phase. And judging by the sheer length of this thing, you have no idea how that shit is gonna fit inside of you. Damn, vampire dick sure is something…
“Y/n?” You snap back from your thoughts when Choso calls out to you, noticing you gawking at his size. “You don’t have to do the rest if you don’t want, baby. I can take care of it.”He’s so sweet looking out for you as he’s aware that you’re a little worried.
But you surprise him when you exit off the bed for a quick second, removing your leggings and underwear for the carpet to keep for you. The same thing goes for your matching bra. And as you crawl back to bed, his wide eyes never leave your lower figure, watching you lie on your back with your head on a pillow and your legs spread wide. “As long as you take the lead, I’ll be fine, Chocho.”
It’s his turn to gulp and ease his dry throat before getting on his knees and positioning himself between your legs, dark brown orbs intaking every detail of your cunt that’s exposed for him. You chew on your lip, “It’s embarrassing if you stare so hard at it, ya know…”
“S-Sorry,” He apologizes while getting back to the task. He grabs ahold of his length and aligns the tip to your wet entrance, and your breath hitches at the contact. “I’ll go real slow, okay?”You give a couple of honest nods for confirmation, and he watches your breathing. When he notes your inhales and exhales, he pushes into your folds. With every inhale you take, he nudges further into you. The pain gets bitter and bitter by the second, and your hands grip the sheets beneath you. “Relax for me, angel, relax.” He comes down to whisper those words to ear; swear to God, you could’ve moaned right there and then. However, you switch your focus to following his advice, reminding your body to stop resisting the unfamiliar limb making entry. The pain is still present, but you count your breaths to distract your mind until the tip finally makes it in, a sharp gasp sneaking past you and a hiss from Choso when you involuntarily grasp around him while he pushes more of him inside.
However, he doesn’t move right away, giving you as much time as you need to catch a steady pattern to breathe along with. Your head already feels too hot, and your chest feels too tight to breathe. You peer down to find that he is only halfway in, and there’s no amount of words to describe the disbelief you’re experiencing at this moment. “I feel…so full already…” You nearly choke on your words. You can practically feel his piercing scrape your insides.
“I know, princess,” he comforted you with a kiss on the forehead while lifting your shirt, your chest meeting his cold, slender fingers that massaged your mounds. All the while, he pushes his cock further into your chasm, and your breathing goes shaky as you try and take every inch of him. Then all of a sudden, your body jolts upward when you feel the tip of his cock hit your cervix; you can only guess now that everything’s entirely inside you. Oh yeah, vampire dick is most definitely something else. Tears start to water your eyes, and your hands come around Chos’s neck, the coldness of his nape piercing greeting your skin. “—Mmmm, fuckin’ Christ…I’m gonna go start moving now, Y/n.”
You appreciate the warning because, with the way his hips start to create a motion to and fro from your entrance, it’s surreal that his shaft is churning your inner wall with minimal effort. Shivers crawl up your spine every time the base meets your southern lips, grazes to your most tender spots result in you chewing on your bottom lip, and God, the occasional jab to your cervix is something you’ll have to get used to. He sucks on one nipple while the other hand tends to the other, the laps of his tongue on the bud of your breast feel so good, and you gasp when his fangs lightly graze it. So exhilaratingly dangerous.
“Choso—Ohhhh…” you coo, your head thrown back when he tweezes your nipple simultaneously with the jab to your cervix. The pace of his thrusts increases a tad, and your voice becomes more vocal than before, filling his bedroom with your breathy whimpers. “So big, you’re so big for me—Ohooo!”
“—Mmfhh!! Fuck, you feel so good for me, princess…Shiiiit—” The way your cunt wraps around him so tightly causes him to rut into you harder and faster, evoking spine-chilling whines from your puffy, bitten lips. Your disheveled figure squirms on the sheets, holding onto Choso for dear life as he churns your tummy insides. Your fragrance attacks his nose when he kisses your neck, nibbling the skin to listen to your cute gasps more. Then, the urge rises. He opens his mouth for his fangs to scrape your neck.
“Ahahhnn!! Ch–Chosooo!!”
Your voice halts his unconscious, realizing what he was about to do and quickly withdrawing his teeth from your neck. No, not now… He thinks to himself, moving his fangs to your shoulder instead. The bite elicits a sharp shriek from your unbeknownst self. Your nails dig into his shoulders, the pain motivating him to explore more of your body with your mouth.
You can feel his kisses trail down your collarbone and breast, sucking on your nipples once more before leaving a tiny bite. You clamp around his girth as a response, which jabs into your cervix repeatedly with precision. More kisses and licks later, and he leaves a bite mark by your collarbone, sucking on the spot to taste more of your sweet blood. Your mind goes dizzy with the constant of his lips and teeth, and the commotion down south has you wrap your legs around him, caging him in as your climax is soon to come.
“—Nnaahh! Ahaahhnn!! Oh, God, Ohmyfuckin’Go—Hhmmff!!” Choso leads a hand down to your clitoris, and you see stars in no time. “Chosooo!! Yer handsss, you’re gonna make me cummm!! Ooooh, shhahhh!!”
Choso listens to your pleas with attentive ears, his fingers swiping rampantly on your clit. Your choked sobs are so beautiful to hear. The way your walls grasp around his length entails you’re about to come on him any second now. “Go on, my angel. Ring me out—Hnnghh!! So fuckin’ tight…”
Erratic ruts to your sloppy cunt cause wet noises to fill your eardrums, and the heat in your face is unbearable while your head pounds harshly. With the swipes on your clit and him grinding his cock to your tender spot, it’s apparent that you two come concurrently. He fills your cunt with his anticipated load while your velvety walls contract around him euphorically, and exchanged pants fill the space between your sweaty bodies.
The two of you experience shocks of your own as your heaving bodies rest on each other, Choso nuzzling his face to your neck as his hand softly massages your breast. Your body calms down, gradually exiting your blissful haze. But it tenses again when you feel another sharp pain in your shoulder, and you snicker while pulling his ear to tease.
“Let you have a taste, now you’re already hooked, huh…”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Choso uses a washcloth to dab on the bite marks around your body, gently pressing down on it and wiping off any blood that leaves your newly added markings. The warm cloth feels good on your cold skin — as if the stinging sensation subsides in seconds.
“You know,” You hum along as he takes care of your body. “I didn’t think you’d be that much of a biter.”
“Sorry,” he moves to your front, dabbing the teeth marks on your breasts and shoulders. You can see the hint of pink that flushes his cheeks and ears. “Got a little carried away…”
You giggle. “No need to apologize, Chocho.” The nickname has him blush harder. He’s so cute when he’s flustered. “Just goes to show that you were enjoying the moment.”
His hands suddenly stop moving, the washcloth now around your wrist. “…Did you?” Caramel eyes dare to peek at yours. “Did you enjoy it?”
You could tell that the question carried a deep-rooted meaning. Not only was this the first time you and Choso had sex, but it was also within the same day you found out he was a vampire. If you were in his shoes, you could guess he’d probably think you didn’t like the experience or found it heavily discomforting. Yet that wasn’t the case at all. So, you have to communicate that to him.
With a warm smile, you let him know, “Yes, I did. I had a great time.” Before you can say more, a random thought prompts you to ask a question. “Hey, I felt you were about to bite my neck, but you didn’t.”
“Hmm? Oh, umm, yeah, I did. The only way for someone to become a vampire is by biting the neck,” He confirms, his gaze drifting down to your wrist as he uses the wet cloth to dab on the mark. “But I don’t want you becoming one now. At least, not without you telling me.”
“Wait, you don't want me to be a vampire?”
“I mean, that’s up to you, honestly. As much as I love you and would love the idea of spending my life with you, that’s only my selfish wish at the end of the day. The choice should be yours to make, not mine.”
You remove your hand from his hold and place it on his cold cheek. The other hand comes up to cup the other, provoking your boyfriend to look directly at you.
“You’re so sweet, you know that?” You have never seen his face change into a flash of pink so quickly; it makes you giggle at him. “Chocho, I appreciate you telling me the truth about yourself. I’m sure it’s been hard on you to carry this burden of pretending to be something you’re not, especially with me. So, again, thank you…However, I can’t really see myself as a vampire, at least right now. My life seems to be at a good place right now, and I want to experience it first-hand, ya know. With you by my side.”
You know Choso is listening to you word-for-word; his brown eyes never leaving your face is evidence of such. So you continue: “So, until then, let me be human for a while longer. When the time is right, I’ll let you know. Sounds good?”
The brown-haired man gives you a smile before answering, resulting in yours broadening. “I’m cool with that.”
You nod. “Cool.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…You want more of my blood, huh.”
“…..I’m sorry,” you laugh at his awkwardness. “You just smell so good. And you taste sweet…”
“In that case,” you withdraw your hands from his cheek and extend an arm out for him. “Have one last taste.”
There’s hesitance when his hand grabs ahold of your wrist. But when he knows you’re complying and on board with this, Choso brings your wrist to his lips, his fangs pierce down on your skin, and he sucks your blood. The pain this time around wasn’t too excruciating. Maybe with all the bites you have on your body right now, you came around and got used to it.
And who knows? Perhaps you’ll grow to love the sensation soon enough.
“Yo! I’m back!” The two of you freeze. A familiar voice from the other side of the hallway brings you back to the present moment. You then remember that Yuuji promised to return from the store and pizza place. And seeing as though time has passed enough for him to be done, the warmth of your body shifts to a disturbing shiver when the bedroom door opens up. “I got the pizzas and left them on top of the oven—“
The salmon-haired other stopped mid-sentence when his eyesight landed in your direction. You can only imagine what’s going through his mind when he looks at you and Choso because that was the same experience you went through a few hours back.
Yuuji looks at the two of you on top of the bed. Clothes decorating the carpeted floor, both your bodies free and nude, your tits out for him to see crystal clear. One of your hands holds a washcloth that harbors red, bloody stains. The other hand stretched out towards Choso’s mouth, where the younger notices fangs withdrew from your wrist. The newly drawn blood from your new mark connects to the sharp teeth of his older brother.
Thirty seconds go by where no one says anything, just three pairs of eyes and figures falling victim to the discomfiting silence of this situation. Until Yuuji starts to uncomfortably laugh at the sight before him for a few seconds. And then suddenly, he stops, and his balance gives way for his body to meet with the floor beneath him.
He fainted.
♱ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2023 – reblogs + comments are appreciated wholeheartedly <3 header art by rororogi mogera + dividers by the amazing @/cafekitsune!!
#𝑯𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊 ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ 𝑾𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔: 𝑭𝒊𝒄𝒔#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk smut#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#choso kamo x reader#choso kamo smut#choso x reader#choso x reader smut#choso x you#choso kamo x you#kamo choso x reader#kamo choso smut#choso kamo x y/n#choso smut#choso x y/n#choso fanfic#jjk imagines#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen fic
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✿ To All the Boys I've Loved Before! - Masterlist.
✿ feat. Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugou, Kirishima Eijirou, and Todoroki Shouto.
✿ warnings: to all the boys I've loved before!Au, quirkless!reader, teacher!reader, aged up characters, all the boys are pro-hero (including Deku).
✿ synopsis: Your childhood letters, the ones in which you declare your love for every crush you had, ended up being sent without your permission. What could come of that?
✿ notes: HIIII. I've posted the first chapter, sorry for the delay in the chapters 😩 but I'm trying to finish as quickly as possible with everything I have to do, I swear when you see it, it'll almost be complete!!! One thing is that I'll probably do 4 different endings, if you want me to. But I can also do an ending with all four if you prefer!!! But I'll leave that for later.
01. [PROLOGUE]
your lovely students, discover about the letters. What a mess they made.
02. [IZUKU MIDORIYA]
your first love, and one of the sweetest. You will always remember him, but now things were different for the two of you.
03. [KATSUKI BAKUGOU]
Your second letter, and the worst of all. Sometimes you wonder why you liked him? But would your opinion change now?
04. [KIRISHIMA EIJIROU]
A little teenage love, an unexpected encounter that happened in a coffee shop when you were 15. You never forgot those red eyes and sharp smile.
05. [TODOROKI SHÕTO]
He was just so charming and funny with the way he dealt with things he didn't understand, but you resigned yourself to the fact that you would never have a chance with him, right?
TAG LIST!!! So if u wanna be tagged just click on the link and give me your username and I will add you!
© 2024 m0nnypie - all rights reserved, please don’t claim my work as your own, or translate without permission
#shoto todoroki#bnha fanfiction#bnha#bnha fic#bakugou katsuki#bnha x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader#bnha bakugou#bnha x fem!reader#bakugou x reader#katsuki bakugo x reader#midoriya x you#mha midoriya#midoriya x reader#denki x y/n#kirishima x reader#kirishima eijirou#mha kirishima#bnha eijiro kirishima#bnha kirishima#bnha midoriya#izuku midoriya#bakugo katsuki x reader#bakugou x you#mha bakugou#todoroki x reader#shouto todoroki#shouto x reader#bnha shouto#kirishima x you
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the holiday
a the holiday au that explores what that first night in the cottage would've looked like. pls dont sue me nancy meyers
word count: 9k, warnings: smut city baby
---
The fire was slowly building, what were once small embers was now growing into a respectable glow, overtaking the tiny logs you had set in place. You willed it to work faster, to warm up the room as your hand slipped out from under your cocoon of blankets to grab your overly full wine glass, taking a long sip, trying to warm yourself from the inside out. It was fucking cold in here.
This was fine. Everything was fine. You made the right choice. It was perfectly normal and sane to decide to fly across the world to spend the holidays completely alone in a cottage in the middle of an English town where you knew absolutely no one. To give up your house in LA to a complete stranger in exchange for hers. All because of fucking Derek.
Derek.
A surge of pain rips through your chest, as if you can physically feel your broken heart. No tears spring to your eyes though. You don’t do that. You’ve not done that for years, decades even, something Derek was all too eager to scream at you during that final fight of yours. You wince as the memories swirl around in your brain, the ones you’ve been desperately trying to block out.
He was following you through the house as you threw anything of his that you could find into his suitcase.
“Can we just have a civilized conversation about this without you going off the fucking rails?” he ask and you whirled around to face him, cocking a brow at his poor choice of words. “I just mean - please. Babe. Let me explain.”
“Don’t call me what you call her.”
“Jesus Christ -”
“Is this how you expect to have a civilized conversation? You’re being a fucking dick.” you said, turning around to walk away before he grabs your wrist, brushing his thumb along your skin. The way he’s always done. You can feel yourself softening. Damnit.
“You’re right,” he says, pulling you towards him, though you quickly pull your wrist out of his grasp. “I just need you to talk to me, okay? We can work this out together.”
“You want to talk?”
“I do.”
“Tell me the truth. Did you sleep with her?” you ask and you can see him physically have to stop his eyes from rolling. You cross your arms, tap your foot. Trying to physically hold yourself together. You’ve gone through harder things. You can definitely handle hearing confirmation that your boyfriend of 2 years did, in fact, sleep with his assistant. “You wanted to talk. Let’s talk.”
He takes a steely breath, hands curling into fists as he looks down at the ground before looking back at you. Every second of his silence already confirms everything you already knew.
“Okay. Fine. In the interest of honesty - yes.” he says, and even though you were expecting it, even though you told yourself you knew it was the truth, you’re not prepared for the way the words rip through you. This relationship had been crumbling around the two of you for a while but you never thought he’d actually do something like this. “Yes. I slept with her.”
“How many times?” you ask and he groans, head falling back in frustration as he stares up at the ceiling. “Just trying to have a civilized conversation here, babe.”
“I don’t want -”
“Just answer the question.”
“What’s the point -”
“Just. Answer.”
“There’s not really a -” he sighs, shaking his head. “Four.”
“Four?!” you practically shriek, before clenching your jaw, taking a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment.
The reality practically bowls you over. This man you lived with, this man you’ve loved for the last year and a half of your life - okay, well, you think you love him. You’re not sure you’ve ever actually been in love, like really, fully in love. And looking at him now, at this stupid expression on his stupid face, you know you’ll never love him in any way, shape or form again. He slept with someone else. Four. Times.
You want to scream, you want to curl up into a ball and cry and cry and cry. But you can’t. And you won’t. You can feel all your defense mechanisms coming up, his eyes never leaving your face as he eagerly awaits a response.
You clear your throat, your voice completely devoid of emotion as you say: “Thank you for telling me. Now get your things and get the fuck out of my house.”
“Oh you can’t be serious -”
“Bye, Derek.”
“This is how you’re going to end things?”
“You ended things when you slept with someone else -”
“Yeah, but I’m here fighting for it. For us. You’re over there like you don’t even care.” he barrels on, following you back into the bedroom. “You know, if you’re ever wondering why I slept with someone else, maybe it’s because I don’t want to live with a fucking robot all the time. Maybe I want to be with someone who feels things, who actually experiences emotions. You know, someone who actually puts out every once in a while -”
Aaand that’s when you slapped him.
You shake your head, having no desire to rehash the rest of that argument. Just knowing that he is a dick, was probably always a dick and you never have to see him again. You can’t believe you spent two years of your life with that asshole. What a waste. You take another long pull of wine, already reaching for the bottle on the table for a top up.
You’ll be fine. Once you stop thinking over every little thing he’s ever said to you. Once you stop beating yourself up for not ending the relationship sooner. For even starting it in the first place. You were happy at one point, right? Maybe? Or did you do what you always do, ignore your feelings and look at the logic of the situation. You worked in similar fields, had some mutual friends, you looked good together. It made logical sense. But did it ever feel good? Or right? Did you ever feel loved or cared for by him? Ever?
Now would be the perfect time to cry. To let it all out. You sit up, take a deep breath and try to squeeze tears out of your eyes. Nothing. Okay try again. Think about how much time you wasted with him, think about how he slept with Christina four. Times. Yes, that hurts, okay, lean into it aaaand still nothing.
Maybe he was right.
No. Nope. You’re not doing that. You’re in England! For Christmas! Freezing cold, middle of nowhere England. All on your own. Nothing and no one but Gemma’s dog to keep you company. You can do this! It’s just the first day, you’ll get some sleep and have a lovely holiday starting tomorrow. You take a peek at the clock, groaning when you see it’s only 4:30 pm. Time was moving at a glacial pace. You flop back on the couch, opting to drink straight from the bottle this time. You were in for a long night.
—
Harry was drunk. Not spectacularly drunk, not really. He had his wits about him, enough to know exactly where he was headed, though to be fair he does know this path like the back of his hand, despite the snow on the ground, the dark night sky, the way the earth spins a bit too much if he makes a sudden movement. It’s fine. He’s fine. ‘Tis the season and all that.
He’s allowed a bit of fun! He’s a young (ish) lad, his mum has the girls this weekend, he can let loose for once. Sure, he’s been letting loose every single weekend in December but who's counting? Gemma might be, he knows she’s going to give him so much shit for arriving this drunk on her doorstep for the third weekend in a row but hasn’t she been telling him to get himself out there (though she never ever follows that advice herself)? Hasn’t everyone in his life been telling him to go out, meet a nice girl and take her home? It’s not his fault that the idea of bringing anyone over to his home is far more complicated, more paralyzing than anyone realizes, though they swear they understand. Not his fault that the drinks have been providing better company.
Drinks. Right. He’s had a quite a few. He really, really needs a wee.
He looks up, relief flooding through him when he sees Gemma’s cottage in sight and he makes a run for it. More like a jog, a clomp through the snow if you will. It’s the least graceful he’s ever looked but it’s the middle of the night and he needs the toilet so bad. Why is it that alcohol seems to move faster through your bloodstream than water? Why can he be fine walking in the snow and now need a toilet more than he’s never needed anything in his life? Life’s mysteries never do cease.
He runs up to the stoop, pausing to catch his breath before slamming his fist against the door, feeling like his bladder is about to explode. He’s got no bloody idea what time it is, but he knows she’s home, she hardly goes anywhere unless Jasper asks her to. Bloody Jasper. What he wouldn’t give to clock him right on the jaw. He’s gonna tell her that right now. He bangs on the door again.
“Gem!!! I know you’re in there,” he calls out, banging on the door a third time for good measure and he can see the staircase light come on through the window on the top of the door. He waits a second, rolling his eyes when there’s no movement, pulling up his coat collar as the wind whips through the air.
“Who is it?” her voice comes through the door and he rolls his eyes. Who is it?! Who else would be banging on her door at this hour?
“Gem, come on, it’s me.”
“Who are you?”
“Gemma, come on, this isn’t funny, it’s bloody freezing.”
Still nothing. He groans. This dumb bit she’s doing would be a lot more tolerable if his bladder wasn’t on the verge of actual explosion. He turns to the right, trying to remember where she used to store her spare key, eyes catching on absolutely nothing.
“Gemma, I’m going to take a leak all over your plants if you don’t -”
The door swung open. Finally. He spins around, fully prepared to push past her and head straight to the toilet when -
Oh.
You’re not Gemma.
He’s frozen in place, staring dumbly at the woman standing in his sister’s doorway. At you. Christ, you’re pretty. You’re like, the prettiest woman he’s ever seen. And your eyes. Shit. Wait, why is this gorgeous woman at his sister’s house? Is he at his sister’s house? Yes, he has to be because it's the only bloody house on this path. But what is going on? He sways on his feet for a moment before snapping out of it.
“You’re not Gemma,” he says, rather stupidly. “I mean - uh, if you are, then I’m far drunker than I thought.”
You shake your head, a light laugh leaving your lips that makes his heart twist in his chest.
“No, definitely not Gemma,” you say, quickly introducing yourself. It’s a pretty name, that. And you’re pretty. And he is still very much drunk. And you…are you American? What’s a bloody American doing all the way out in Surrey? In his sister’s house?
“I’m staying here for the holidays while Gemma stays in my place in LA.” you explain, almost reading his mind. Unless he said all of that out loud? But he doesn’t think so. They were just loud thoughts in his brain. “Part of this home exchange … thing.”
“That’s not possible. Gemma doesn’t go anywhere. She would have told me.” he says, brow furrowing before he remembers: “Oh, shit, she called me last night and I let it go to voicemail… which I now feel terrible about. Should have answered the bloody phone.”
He looks back at you, suddenly aware of what this looks like, a strange drunk man banging on your door at arse o'clock in the morning. But luckily for him, you just look more amused than anything.
“‘M Harry, by the way, Gemma’s brother. Should have led with that. There’s a photo of me and her hanging on that wall next to you if you want, like, proof or summat.” he says, warmth blooming against his cheeks despite the cold winter air whipping through.
“It’s okay, you look just like her so that helps, though she never mentioned a possible drunk brother sighting,” you say, lips twitching into a smile as your eyes twinkle with mirth. “So, did you want to fuck up her plants or do you need to come inside to use the bathroom?”
Oh right. That. God. The time to curl into a ball and die would be now. But he really, really needs the toilet.
“Yes, could I?” he says and you’re already stepping back to let him inside and he rushes inside, making a beeline for the washroom, muttering apologies that you shake off.
He quickly shuts the door behind him and unzips his trousers, quickly kicking the toilet seat up and relieving himself. Sweet jesus.
He can hear your steps shuffle around outside the door, his mind still reeling from what he has walked into, the last thing he ever expected to encounter on his drunken snowy walk. He still tries to get his bearings as he quickly flushes, washes his hands and hastily rushes out of the bathroom.
“So where did you -” he starts to ask but his limb control is not what it should be and he slams into the lamp on the end table next to the loo - who the fuck puts an end table next to a loo?? - and scrambles to catch it and right it. “Shit - sorry. Um -”
He settles the lamp and looks back up at you, the way you’re barely containing your amusement and right, he’s got to redeem himself now.
“Sorry,” he says with a laugh, shaking a hand through his hair as he makes his way back towards you, leaning against the doorway in a way he hopes looks effortlessly cool but the truth is that he doesn’t trust himself to be able to stand upright on his own two feet, the drinks still swirling through him. “You said Gemma’s in LA? LA, LA?”
“Yeah,” you say, laughing a bit at his incredulous tone. “We exchanged homes for the holidays so she’s there for two weeks and I’m supposed to be here for two weeks but -”
“We’ve not made a great impression on you, have we?” he asks, feeling weak at the knees when you duck your head with a shy smile. No, he might actually be weak at the knees as the room starts to spin, can feel himself swaying a bit. “Sorry - do y’ mind if I sit down? Feel like ‘m about to knock you over.”
“Oh, yeah.” you say, quickly moving out of his way and letting him make his way to the couch.
He plops down, heat rushing to his cheeks as he holds his hand out to steady himself.
“You alright?” you ask gently and he wants to curl up and die a bit. He shuts his eyes for a second and when he opens them, the room is in one place again.
“Yeah - sorry. I know what this looks like, but I do promise I am Gemma’s very respectable younger brother. Usually more put together than this.” he says, a self-deprecating smile on his face. “Just sometimes I do like to have a drink or two and on the nights that I have more, which is happening a bit more frequently these days, Gemma puts me up on the couch so I don’t have to drive home like this.”
“I get it,” you say softly. “You can definitely stay over tonight.”
“Don’t want to impose more than I already -”
“Please. It’s snowing and freezing outside. I won’t be here much longer anyway.”
“Leaving already?” he says, looking into your eyes.
“Flights in about” - you sneak a look at your watch - “ten hours.”
“Not what you expected?”
“No, it’s not that it’s -” you shake your head, looking down at your hands before back at him. “I came here on such a whim, booked the entire trip without thinking twice which I never do and I don’t know what I was thinking -”
You cut yourself off, seemingly wanting to get more into it but stopping yourself before you reveal too much. You take a second to look at him, giving him a once over and he has to stop himself from preening. He knows he’s pissed but he’s not so far gone to know when he’s just been checked out. He quite likes the way your eyes feel on him.
“Do you want a drink?” you say suddenly and he has to bite down a smirk. “Coffee? Tea? ….Wine?”
“There’s actually some whiskey in that cabinet,” he says, leaning over the arm of the couch and pointing his hand to the upper cabinet over the fridge. “If y’ want something stronger.”
You smile, your eyes practically twinkling as they light up, and he knows he’s done for. You walk over to the kitchen, grabbing the bottle and then rummaging around the other cabinets until you find two glasses.
“So, you married?” he asks and instantly cringes at himself for the abrupt way he asked that. You laugh and shake your head.
“No, not in the slightest.” you say and then it’s your turn to cringe. He huffs a laugh as you roll your eyes at yourself, walking the two glasses back over to the couch where he sits, placing the bottle on the end table next to it and handing him his glass.
“Cheers,” he says, holding his glass up to you as you repeat the salute and clink against his, both of you taking long sips. He wants to say something, anything to keep this night going but also doesn’t want to overstay his welcome, doesn’t want to be reading you wrong.
“So, is it a horrible imposition if I stay? Promise I’ll be out of here before you wake up and you’ll never have to lay eyes on me again.”
There’s a flash in your eyes at that, which he can’t quite read and is desperate to ask you about but you’re already taking another sip, blinking quickly before nodding.
“Not a horrible imposition at all. Let me grab you some -” you put the glass down before slowly swinging around, trying to find the best place to locate a pillow and blankets and he quickly comes to your rescue.
“That cupboard, underneath the Scrabble.” he says, pointing to the cupboard directly across from him and you smile in thanks, making your way over and opening it, holding the Scrabble in place before grabbing the pillow and blanket underneath.
“So - you, um said y’ did this on a whim?” he asks, hoping to keep this conversation going as he stands up to take off his coat and suit jacket.
“Yeah,” you say, getting a better hold on the bedding in your hand. “I just um - I broke up with someone, yesterday.”
His eyebrows shoot up at that before he tries to school his expression into something more neural, the drink making all polite social cues fly out the window. His heart skips a beat when you laugh.
“I know, I know. It was a long time coming though and I just thought it’d be good if I got as far away as possible but all that’s done is make me realize just precisely how miserable I actually feel and what a loser I am so -”
“I don't think you’re a loser,” he says softly.
“You just met me and you’re drunk off your ass,” you say, raising a brow at him and he honks out a laugh, making you smile.
“While that may be true,” he says, overemphasizing the word until you giggle, “I’ve got a good sense about these things. If anyone’s a loser in this scenario, it’s whoever you just dumped.”
“That’s kind of you to say,” you say with a small smile and his lips twitch up in response. You stare at each other a moment and another and -”
“Here.” you say, walking over the bedding to him and he quickly turns to you - oh shit, too fast - catching himself before holding his arms out for the bedding and suddenly you’re so close and smell so nice and have the loveliest smile he’s seen in years and he’s not been this wonderstruck on first sight with someone since, well, Sarah - but no, he’s not thinking about that right now - and he can’t help himself he mutters a soft thank you and doesn’t stop to think for a second before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours.
And - oh. It’s only a second or two but already it’s different - it’s something. Something he thought he would never feel again, something he thought he would only get lucky enough to feel once in his life until the universe had other, horrid plans and this is a lot to put on a first kiss with someone he just met. Not just someone, it’s the woman who’s staying at his sister’s house, christ, Harry -
He pulls away quickly, already mumbling apologies but stopping when he sees the look on your face.
“Would you mind -” you start to say and he’s hanging on your every word, feeling like he’s about to be thrown off a cliff - “trying that again?”
He leans in again almost without thinking, softly pressing his lips to yours and feeling an electric current when you, albeit tentatively, kiss back. He pulls back after a few moments, eyes quickly scanning your face, the way it looks like you’re processing a million things at once.
“Bad?” he asks and you instantly shake your head.
“No, just - weird”
He’s heard lots of things over the years about his technique but he has to admit weird is a new one. You plop down on the couch, still processing, and he places the bedding down and takes a seat next to you, eyes never leaving your face.
“Sorry, it’s just - I haven’t kissed someone new in like 3 years and wasn’t expecting this but I want to…” you trail off, eyes roaming his face in a way that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Maybe if I close my eyes.”
And he’s already nodding, waiting for your eyes to flutter shut as he brings his hands up to cup your face, delicately brushing the hair out of your eyes and he knows this is his only chance. He’s got to kiss the hell out of you or this will be the last time he ever does and he can’t bear that thought.
He gently presses his lips to your temple and can practically feel you melt under his touch. Good. His lips drag down the side of your face, slowly, surely, before capturing your lips with his, holding you firm to him as he gives you everything he’s got, kissing you so thoroughly it’s almost as if the room starts spinning again. Your hands come up to clutch at his wrists as you kiss him back, both of you getting lost in the moment.
“Good?” he asks, practically begs, as he pulls away, hands dropping from your face. He needs to know that it was okay, that it was good, that it felt as right for you as it did for him.
“Yeah,” you say breathlessly before you’re leaning in again, wrapping your arms around his neck and he’ll go wherever you want him to go, as long as you keep kissing him like this. Your tongue grazes the seam of his lips and opens up for you, a soft moan pouring into your throat from his as he drags his tongue along yours. He can feel the way you shiver at that and he wants to make you do that again and again and -
You pull back and he follows suit, not going to do anything more than you want, taking all his cues from you.
“You know, given that I’m in a bit of a personal crisis,” you start to say and he instantly nods, completely understanding that this is not what you’re looking to do and he starts to put some more distance between you but then you tighten your grip and - oh? “And you’re a complete stranger who walked in here at two in the morning and we’re never going to see each other again and you probably won’t remember any of this-”
He nods, because he gets it, he really does. This isn’t the right time for you and -
“I think we should have sex.”
What?
He knows his eyebrows must be shooting off his forehead right now and you quickly start to speak again, licking your lips and he;s helpless to not trace the exact movement of your tongue.
“I don’t think I’ve said this to anyone ever in my life but I just think you’re here and I’m here and as you said, we are never crossing paths again which I think makes this exciting and the holidays are the perfect time to have my first ever one night stand so I think we should fuck.” you say and you’re practically panting after your speech. “If you want.”
If he wants? If he wants? Has he not been as glaringly obvious as he’s felt the last half hour or whatever?
“I want. I really want.” he says and this time, you’re both leaning in, and this kiss is already different. It’s hotter, almost scorching and deep. He doesn’t want to ever stop kissing you, each curl of your tongue making him press his lips all the more hard against yours. He wants you, he wants you -
“I should warn you - ,” you say, quickly pulling away and his lips quirk into a smile. This seems to be a habit of yours, the long winded speeches, the cogs of your brain never stopping as thoughts whirl through your mind. “I’m not good at this.”
“You’re - what?”
“I’m bad at sex.”
“That’s not possible.”
“No, I am.” you say, and your eye contact falters for a moment before looking back at him. “My ex-boyfriend told me all the time -”
“I don’t think he’s got any sense of decent judgment if he was stupid enough to let you go. ”, he says, blood boiling at the thought of some prat telling you you’re not good enough. Which is impossible, just kissing you a few times makes him feel like he’s on fire. He’s surprised at how angry he feels, how protective of you he wants to be and he hardly knows you. “If y’ think for one second you should ever believe a dickhead like that, who had no idea how lucky he was -”
You shut him up with a kiss, pressing your lips to his for a moment before you’re already pulling away again.
“I’m serious though I don’t want you to get disappointed -” you mumble against his mouth and he has to kiss you once, twice, three times before pulling back.
“Y’ not going to disappoint me. I want to kill that bloke for getting this idea into your head. Y’ dead sexy. Think ‘m addicted to your mouth.”
He leans in again and you slowly pull away when he gets too close, a tease that make heat pool in his stomach. Your hand slides down his tie as you slowly get up from the couch, not breaking eye contact as you walk backwards, slowly grabbing your glass and the bottle of whiskey and he’ll be damned if he looks away for a second, mouth suddenly dry.
“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Y’ already better than you think.”
You grin at him over your shoulder as you turn to make your way up the stairs and he stands up as if in a trance, grabbing his glass and following you as quick as he can without looking too eager even as he’s already loosening his tie. He’s definitely still pissed, can feel it in the way his feet trip over themselves occasionally but it’s fading, or at least becoming less important than the arousal dipping deep in his stomach as his eyes trail over the back of you, running a loop over your arse and legs that he swears he’ll never tire of.
You turn to face him once you reach the bedroom at the top of the stairs, both of you finhsing off your glasses in one sip before putting them next to each other on the dresser with the bottle. And then you’re reaching for the bottom of your shirt, already beginning to pull it up before his hands gently grab your hands to stop you.
“Not even going to let me enjoy this bit? Let me do that,” he says and you huff a nervous laugh. His thumbs rub against the backs of your hands as he leans in to press a slow line of kisses along the side of your face and down your neck, tongue darting out to suck at the skin, the unique taste of you. He already can’t get enough. “Can take our time, can’t we?”
You nod and he hums, leaning in to kiss you, his lips sliding against yours as he slides his hands underneath your shirt, letting his fingers graze against your bare skin of your back before gliding to your front and sliding up, feeling a bit like a fumbling teenager as he palms your breast underneath your shirt but it doesn’t seem to matter to you, given the gasp you let out into his mouth and he’s dying to hear what other sounds you make.
He pulls away but not too far, pushing the shirt up and waiting for you to lift your arms before pulling it up and over your head and tossing it gracelessly next to the bed so he can get a good look at you. You fidget a little under his gaze before moving your hands to his shirt and he finds his gaze switching from your hands on his chest to your half naked body and he feels like he’s on fire. You make quick work of the buttons, pulling the shirt open before splaying your palms against his chest, small smile quirking at your lips when his muscles jump at your touch, every new move of your hands causing goosebumps in its wake.
He quickly shrugs his shirt off and freezes when you move your hands behind your back to unhook your bra, the straps sliding down your arms as you pull it off. He was all set to chide you for rushing him but all words have left his brain because christ you’re stunning.
“Y’ gorgeous. Can’t even believe it.” he says, eyes flickering from your chest to your face, unable to settle on one place, too much beauty before him. You shake your head slightly and he shakes his right back, his hand coming up to hold your chin while he guides your mouth back to his, pulling you flush against him, chest to chest. It’s sloppy and messy in an instant but neither of you care, practically clutching onto each other as you kiss.He feels warmer than he has all night, all year as your nipples graze against his, his hands unable to stop moving across your skin, taking hold of whatever he can.
All thoughts of savoring the moment have flown out of his head, desperation seeping into his every pore as he feels like if he doesn’t get his mouth on you soon is going to lose his mind. He licks his way into your mouth and walks you backwards until your knees hit the bed and he gently pushes you down against it. You prop yourself up on your elbows, backing up to make room for him as his hands fall to the waist of your joggers. He presses a few kisses to your belly before looking up at you, almost bowled over by the pure want in your eyes.
“Can I -” he asks and you’re nodding before he can even finish the question and he can’t help but huff a disbelieving laugh that has you flailing out one leg to kick him. He grabs your ankle for a moment, thumb brushing along the bone as his eyes scan your naked body, despite the joggers pooling at your ankles he can’t believe what he’s seeing. You’re fit.
You move to sit up but he gently pushes you back down, helping you maneuver so you’re laying with your head against the pillows. His hands rubbing up and down your legs as he moves to kneel in between them on the bed.
He ducks his head down, sliding down the bed as he kisses you before pressing kisses down your cheek and along your neck, your chest, your belly while his hands don’t stop their movements, loving how you feel underneath his palms. He can already feel himself getting too serious about this and will blame the alcohol in the morning, for how intensely he’s approaching this one night stand but he feels desperate to prove himself, to make you feel better than you’ve ever felt. His mouth continues its trail down your body, pressing a kiss to your hip bone, getting closer to where he wants his mouth the most -
“Oh, you don’t have to -” you say, pressing yourself up on your palms. He freezes, lifting his head up, his hands stilling on your skin.
“Do y’ not want me to?”
“Oh, no. I mean - yes. I mean - it’s just - I know that’s not like the best part of having sex -”
“Who told you tha’? That bloke you just broke up with?” he asks and you begrudgingly nod. “Thought we already established he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.”
“Fair enough,” you laugh. “But it’s just - I haven’t had someone do this in so long and I know it’s like tedious and maybe a little gross and not really enjoyable for you -”
“That’s not true. I really enjoy it,” he says and he can see the way the words hit you, a look of awe and pure lust passing over your face in tandem, almost as if he can see the arousal spiking in your veins and oh, he wants more of that. “Not going to do anything you don’t want but ‘m telling you, I want this. And really like it. And want to do it for you. To you.”
“Okay,” you say, weakly, breathlessly, his eyes distracted by the slight heaving of your chest before he looks back up at you.
“Okay?” he checks and you nod with a small smile that he mirrors, leaning in to kiss you again, to get you more malleable under his touch. His tongue swipes against yours, sucking it into his mouth, a preview that makes you moan, his hands tightening against your skin. His descent down your body is faster this time, he won’t be delayed any longer. His kisses a bit sloppier this time but no less determined.
His hands slide up your thighs and grip tight to hold you in place as he slides down the bed to bring his face directly in line with your core. He looks up at your face, the way your chest heaves slightly and you desperately nod and that’s all the permission he needs as he dives in with a groan.
He has no idea the last time anyone has done this for you, likely years given the way you react to the first lick of his tongue, hips punching up into the air and he has to scramble to hold on for a moment before he holds tight again, holding you right where he wants you so he can take you apart. He presses soft kisses to your clit, tongue darting out every so often so he can hear those sweet sounds that have begun to leave your lips.
“Y’ alright?” he murmurs against you. “‘S good?”
“So good,” you practically whine, back arching as he takes broad licks, wanting to taste all of you at once, pressing down on your hips so you’ll stay right where he wants you as he nudges his nose against your clit. “Fuck.”
“Doing so good for me,” he mumbles and he can feel your hips twitch, unable to hide the smile on his face, the heat searing through him at how much you liked that. This is already more intense than other hookups he’s had this year, he’s more focussed on getting you off than he he has been on anything but he can’t bring himself to analyze that just now, just wants to keep tasting, keep feeling the jumps of your muscles underneath his palms, the sweet sounds pouring out of you.
Once he knows you’ll hold still, he brings his thumbs in to hold you open just the way he’d like you. Tongue licking down into your entrance before slowly circling back up to your clit, taking his time to suck it in into his mouth, tongue drawing patterns along the sensitive bud and he moans against you, at your taste, the way your hips keep twitching but you do your best to hold still. Your sounds have started to become more muffled and he looks up to see you holding a hand over your mouth. He reaches up quickly to pull it away, interlacing your fingers and you give his hand a squeeze.
“Let me hear you, love.” he murmurs, kissing along your inner thigh. “Sound so good. Taste so good.”
You let out a loud moan at that and he groans as he dives back in, being able to taste and feel the effect he has on you making him harder than he’s been in ages. He ruts down against the bed a few times for some sweet relief before focusing on the task at hand. You’ve not let go of his hand and keep squeezing it every so often and he brings your interlaced fingers to the top of his head to let your hand rest in his hair.
“Y’ can pull, darling.” he mumbles against you. “Want to know y’ like it.”
“I do - fuck. Harry -”
The way you moan his name has him more determined than ever as he takes deep, languid licks of you, kissing along your clit and swirling his tongue around it. You’re a symphony now, gasps and moans, hips twitching as you pull his hair every so often. He closes his eyes, letting himself get lost in this, in you.
He can tell when you’re about to come, though he has no sense of how much time has passed, finding himself utterly enraptured by you. But your noises are getting higher, your hand locked into his hair and he tightens his grip on your hips, pulling you into his face as he sucks on your clit, hard, opening his eyes at the exact moment you fall apart. Mouth open and loud, eyes closed with a furrow in your brow as your back arches, your free hand sliding along the bedding for something to hold onto, your other hand holding his hair for dear life. He can’t take his eyes off you, even as you come down, your eyes fluttering open as you dry to take some deep breaths, laying your arm across your forehead as you blink up at the ceiling.
“Shit.” you say after a few moments and he hums in agreement. You’ve still not let go of his hair and he’d be fine to lay like this for the rest of the night.
“Do y’ want another like that?” he asks, grazing his lips across your hip bone as you look down at him almost in disbelief. “Give y’ as many as you want.”
“Where did you come from?!” you ask, making him laugh as he rests his forehead against your belly, just breathing you in. Your hand loosens its grip in his hair, now running your hands through it gently.
“Can you come up here, please?” you ask softly and he props himself up on his palms, crawling up the bed, up your body until you're face-to-face, your hand sliding down from his hair and resting on the back of his neck. You look the most relaxed you’ve been since he first saw your face, cracked open in the best way possible, stunning smile hasn’t left your face since you came apart on his tongue.
Your thumb brushes along his bottom lip, wiping away traces of you and he’s quick to suck the thumb into his mouth, making you close your eyes, seemingly overwhelmed for a moment.
“Was it good for you?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your cheek before pulling back to look at your face. He knows the answer already, not to sound too completely full of himself but he could feel the effect it had on you, could see the pleasure on your face when you came but he needs to hear it.
You look back at him like you know exactly what he’s doing and he loves that, that he feels like you can already read him so easily despite all the things he’s left unsaid. Makes him think he can say them. Has to keep reminding himself this is just for tonight.
“So good,” you say softly, raw, open vulnerability on your face. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s done that for me and -”
He cuts you off with a kiss then, can’t bear the thought of you being trapped in this loveless, sexless relationship for years, wants to kiss it all away. Wants to do all he can to undo all the falsehoods your ex told you, all the things he made you feel or never made you feel.
“Thank you” you’re murmuring against his mouth but he’s already shaking his head, kissing you deeply before pulling away.
“‘S the bare minimum. Don’t want you ever believing a word that bastard said to you.” he says fiercely. He leans in to kiss you again and this time you take over, holding on to his neck as you lick into his mouth, shivering against him when he groans.
“Was it good for you?” you mumble, already trying to pull him back in for another kiss to protect yourself from his answer but he resists, opting to look you straight in the eye.
“Good for me?” he asks incredulously, can’t believe you’re even asking as if you can’t feel his hard length digging into your thigh. He grounds his hips against you for emphasis, living for the way you gasp, kissing his way up your neck to whisper in your ear.
“Feel that?” he asks and you shakily nod. “Y’ got me so hard, just from tasting you. Just from making you feel good. Because you did, yeah? Felt good?.”
“So good,” you all but moan out, pulling him back into a kiss as your free hand travels down his body and he feels like he’s on fire, has to focus on kissing you into oblivion because he feels like he is going to explode, almost blacking out when you wrap your hand around him. He has to bury his face in your neck, dragging his lips against your skin and biting down when your next touch comes back wet.
“What do you want?” you ask and he’s already shaking his head.
“‘S about what you want. Supposed to be welcoming you to the country,” he says and it startles a laugh out of you and he has to pull back to get a look at your face, the uninhibited glee on your face. He made that happen. He wants to keep making that happen.
You lean in to kiss him again and he’s unable to stop the moan when you thumb over the head of his cock before going back to working your hand over him.
“Want you inside me.” you whisper and he nods, an endless stream of “yes, please” leaving his mouth before you continue: “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, about not being good.”
“None of that, sweetheart, I won’t hear it.” he says, kissing a line along your jaw. “Y’ already so good.”
He never talks this much during sex, maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s you but he finds himself mumbling into your ear about how good you’re doing, how good you are, just for him, living for the way you shiver. All he can think is that his can’t be the last time he has you like this. It’s irrational, it’s irrelevant, it’s insane to be this gone just from getting his mouth on you and you’re flying home to Los Angeles where you live in mere hours and his life is complicated beyond belief but this can’t be it for you two. It can’t be it can’t be it can’t.
You’ve been steadily kissing down his neck while he let his mind wander and know he needs to get back in the game. If this is it, he’s going to make it the best night of your life.
He slides his hand down your body, fingers brushing over your folds, still soaked and pushing two fingers into you, his ministrations from earlier making the stretch easy. His eyes never leave your face as he moves his fingers in you, taking note of what makes your eyes roll back, what makes your hand lose its rhythm on him.
“How do y’ want to -?”
“Like this. Want to see you.” you say and he kisses you, quick and deep.
“Need a -”
“In the drawer. Saw them earlier. ” you say and he pauses with a groan as realization dawns on you both and you start to laugh. “Oh shit. Those are your sister’s -”
“Don’t, please. ‘S disgusting.”
“They’re not used -”
“Stop stop stop.” he says, his eyes shut and you’re shaking with laughter against him. “Gonna make me sick. Or go soft.”
“Just pretend they’re mine. And we’re in my bed.”
“Christ, I forgot about the bed. Might actually be sick.”
“Shhh, you’re not gonna do that.” you say, your hand sliding down him again and playing with him just the way he likes. “You gonna pass up the chance to fuck me? Thought you wanted to make me feel good.”
He’s stunned for a moment, looking down at you, the way your simpering gaze never wavers from his and his breath catches in his throat, heat pooling in his stomach. He’s more turned on than he can ever remember being, just staring back at you in disbelief.
“Told y’ you’re better at this than you think.” he mutters and you laugh, kissing him once before urging him to move over onto his back and he pushes back against the pillows when you straddle him, hands sliding up your thighs to hold you in place despite the surprise on his face.
“Thought y’ wanted -”
“Changed my mind.” you say. “This alright with you?”
“How can y’ even ask that? Of course it’s alright, you’re -”
He’s cut off when you lean over him to open the end table drawer, chests brushing against each other and his hands slide up your back. You grab a condom, completely ignoring the way he grumbles about how freudian this bit feels as you sit back against his thighs. You keep your eyes locked on his as you open the package and slowly roll it down his cock. You lean in, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest and then kissing your way up, mapping a line across his skin with your lips until you reach his mouth.
It feels like ages since he last kissed you and he lets himself get lost in every press of your lips against his, the way your tongue slides over his lips, the light moan you let into his mouth when he opens up. He’s so lost in the feel of you, the taste, that he misses the moment you start to sink down onto him until he’s already inside. And - fuck.
Everything is warm and wet and tight. His hands grip you hard as he pulls back to look at you, heart skipping a beat when he sees you’re as affected as he is. That this feels as once in a lifetime for you as for him. The way your bodies sync up like they were made for each other. And sure, you’re both a bit drunk. And it's the holidays and everything gets warped but what if this is different? What if this is more?
It’s a thought that doesn’t leave his mind even as you start to bounce in his lap, and he wants to curse and thank your ex at the same time because he can’t imagine having gone his whole life without experiencing this. Without experiencing you. He can’t stop kissing anywhere he can reach as his hips start to snap up and meet your own, your bodies creating a perfect rhythm without much effort. This is more.
He knows you feel it too, can see it in the way you respond to his every touch, his every mutter of how good you’re doing, the way your rhythm falters when he punches his hips up just right, lips sliding against yours until it’s too good that all you can do is just breath against each other. He’s not too sex stupid to call this love - he only just met you like an hour ago - but there’s a spark here he can’t ignore, a spark he’s never felt before and he needs it. He’ll do anything to have it. To have you.
He thinks it when you tire from being on top and ask him to switch and he gets to pin you down against the bed with his body, watch every emotion sweep over your face as he drives his hips into yours, adjusting the angle to make it just right, to make you moan into his mouth the way he has come to crave.
He thinks it when he feels you start to come again, your eyes not leaving his as you clench around him. When you pull him closer, hand sliding down to his arse to encourage the roll of his hips, whispering in his ear that no one has ever made you feel this good, that he’s the best you’ve ever had until he’s coming, stars behind his eyes as he shoots into the condom and holds onto you for dear life.
He thinks it when your pillowtalk turns into wandering hands and lips and a round two, then three until you collapse against each other, sweaty, content.
Even the next morning when reality literally comes calling, he still thinks it and wants to do whatever he can to convince you to stay. He goes for casual, an invite to a pub, “if you change your mind” tacked on as if he is someone who could just let you walk out of his life forever and not think twice about it, as if his mind isn’t replaying every instant of your night together, and he has to bite down on his lip to stop himself from begging.
There’s something about the way you’re fully dressed so early, already seemingly bracing yourself to go back to the real world, your walls already going back up and all he wants is to get you pliant in his arms again, to feel your skin against his skin, your mouth on his mouth. He wants to know you even more than he wants to get back in bed with you, something he swore he would never ever feel again at the funeral years ago.
He wants you to feel it too but isn’t going to force anything. You said your life was complicated and he knows his life would only add to it. So maybe you just had this one special night, one life changing, mind blowing night and that was it. He forces himself to leave, to remind you of the name of the pub “just in case”, to press a chaste kiss to your cheek when all he wants to do is get your mouth on his again. This was something more…wasn’t it?
When he gets to the pub later that night, absolutely trapped in his own mental spiral, beating himself up for not trying to be more direct. To ask you to stay, at the very least for the two weeks you were meant to. To just see what this is, what it could be. But he’s a coward and he let you walk out of his life. He’s planning on drinking away his depression, to numb himself from focusing too much on the once in a lifetime chance that slipped through his fingers. This person he let get away. Who he will never ever see again.
Then, he looks up. And there you are, sitting at a table, a glass of wine in front of you. You lock eyes with him and break out into a grin, giving him a shy wave that he returns in a daze. So, you feel it too. This newness, this otherness, this spark. It’s like Christmas came early and he has to stop himself from running over to your table and taking you in his arms. You’ve got time now, even if it's just these two weeks but he’s going to cherish every moment of it.
He’ll be damned if he lets you get away again.
----
a/n: can u believe i've written something that is not part of the something old universe i simply cannot and i am nervous !! let me know what u think. starting writing this last december and felt like tis the season heres some smut.
#harry styles fic#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles smut#the holiday au#reader is amanda#harry is graham#omg ur girl is so nervous we are posting and we are ghosting
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Love Plug
🌙 starring. Johnny Suh x afab!Reader
🔮 preview. “The only things Johnny’s horny for are things that come in green: money and weed. He doesn’t date, babes, and you two are on a date.”
tw/cw. weed/drug use, shotgunning (kissing after John's taken a hit from a joint), reader likes wine, alcohol, plug!Johnny, unprotected sex, oral (f/m receiving) face riding, big dick john, 69-ing, size kink, grinding, multiple reader orgasms, fingering, pussy stretching, dirty talk, praise, ass groping, hand job, creampie/filling kink, cumming together, etc… I pet names: (hers) angel, sweet thing, good girl
👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 7.9k
🍭 aus. plug/drug dealer!Johnny, semi-strangers to lovers, Valentine's Day, etc…
☀️ mlist + an. I know this is slightly late, as it's Valentine's Day themed, but I hope ya'll like it anyway! big thank you to @sehunniepotwrites, my beta reader, my fellow John lover, my bestie- Love you girlie, thank you for helping me edit this to get it posted on time 💕
Being alone on Valentine’s Day is never fun. It would be one thing if you were with your girlfriends, but today, you’ll truly be alone. Everyone is busy, people are working, or with significant others- you feel like you’re the only person without plans, and it’s driving you completely insane.
Your apartment is spotless, you’d gone on a cleaning bender to distract yourself from today’s date, but as three o'clock rolls in, you find yourself sitting on your couch and staring at the ceiling.
There’d been a time in your life when boredom would make way for addictive traits. Dopamine-filled hobbies that you’ve since done your best to squash. But as three becomes four and you have nothing to satiate yourself - not even the pink bottle of wine in your fridge has been able to drown your loneliness - you begin to consider more drastic measures.
You’d never been a stoner, per se, but you’d gone with your cousin a few times to pick up from her run-of-the-mill dealer. If anything can help you relax and watch a movie, you think it might be some Grade A Indica.
Unknown number: Hi John, are you out today?
John: define out. Who is this
Unknown number: shit
Unknown number: my cousin gave me your number, I’ve picked up from you a few times
Unknown number: You probably don’t remember me but my name is y/n
John: I remember you
John: how much do you need?
Unknown number: I’m thinking $100 worth?
John: I’ll bring my shit. Text me your address and I can be over within the hour
Usually, when your cousin has gotten in contact with John, he comes to her apartment and the two of you go outside, filing into his truck. He has a duffle with jars full of weed, shatter, and the like. You give him money and he helps you decide what your night is going to look like.
When John calls you half an hour after you’ve texted him, you’re already almost at your door. “I’ll be down in a sec,” you tell him, searching for your keys.
“How about you buzz me up instead?” he suggests. “I’m outside the front door.”
You freeze for a moment. As far as you know, John’s never come up to your cousin’s apartment, and the idea of inviting the sexy local plug up into your one bedroom is sketchy… but at the same time, you’re feeling kind of desperate.
“Okay, type my apartment number into the keypad and I’ll let you in. The elevator will take you to my floor.”
You hang up, and a moment later your phone rings again. You press the buzz-up key and hold your breath.
You’re not sure if you’re scared of being alone with John because he’s a drug dealer or if you’re frightened of your own lack of self-control. John’s one of the sexiest men you’ve ever seen and this is Valentine’s Day. You’d been planning on maybe getting a little high, pulling out your vibrator, and having a good time with yourself… but if you could have a good time with him…
You give your head a shake, reaching for your bottle of wine. You pour the last bit of it into a cup, lifting it to your lips while you wait for the local plug to arrive at your door.
When he knocks, you practically jump, heart lurching in your chest. You scurry to your door, not wanting to make him wait- not wanting any of your neighbors to see the tall, sexy, tattooed man standing outside your home.
John greets you with a grin. “Special delivery,” he jokes, stepping past you and into the apartment and looking around. “You’ve got a nice place.”
“Thank you.”
You watch him head into the living space. He walks as if he’s been here before, as if he belongs here. The duffle makes a thumping sound when he nonchalantly sets it onto your small dining table, but John doesn’t immediately open it to show you the product like he does when you’ve bought from him before.
“Is it just me, or does it feel kind of sad in here?” John asks, turning to look at you.
“Hmm?”
“I just mean…” he gestures around, “spotless house, a pretty girl alone on Valentine’s Day… you haven’t bought from me in a while, sweet thing, I kind of thought you’d quit.”
“I did quit-” you stutter, “I mean… I was never a huge stoner or anything, so I wouldn’t say I quit-”
John grins while watching you search for an explanation. He leans back, palms flat on the dining table. The black v-neck he’s wearing shows off some of his chest piece and the tattoos on his neck are definitely a distraction as you try to formulate words.
“Look, all I’m saying is… I’d hate for you to lose your sobriety streak because you’re feeling lonely on Valentine’s Day.”
“I’m not exactly sober,” you scoff, reaching for your glass of wine.
“Is that a rosé?”
You look down at the liquid. “It’s a pink strawberry sparkling wine.”
“Sounds nice. Give me a taste.” He holds out a hand, and it’s clear that it’s more of a demand than a request, so with a sigh, you hand your cup to the local plug.
John swirls the glass, then he lifts it to his lips. He doesn’t sip, doesn’t take his time, he simply tilts his head back and downs the wine in two large gulps. When he’s done, he wipes his hand across his mouth, grinning mischievously. “Yummy.”
“That was the last of it,” you groan. “Now I have to hit the liquor store too.”
“Is it usual for you to get crossed, sweet thing? Weed and wine? You must really be feeling some type of way today.”
“So says the drug dealer working on Valentine’s Day.” You roll your eyes, annoyed that he’d downed your whole glass and isn’t cutting to the chase of your transaction.
“Ouch,” John laughs. “When did you get such a mouth on you?”
“Since you just drank an entire cup of wine in two seconds and started talking about my sobriety streak- are you going to sell me some weed or not?”
“For a girl with nowhere to be, you sound like you’re in a rush,” John muses. “You want to get me out of your home that badly, huh?”
“I mean, I would have preferred meeting you at your car,” you admit.
John simply shrugs. “And I wanted to see how dire your situation was. Clearly, it’s pretty fucked. Listen, we can still go down to my car if you want.”
“Will you sell me the weed if I go with you?”
“Nah, but I can take you out for a drink instead.”
His words hang heavy in the air, and your mind does mental gymnastics to make sense of the suggestion.
Is he asking you out?
Finally, you ask, “Aren’t you working?”
“The good thing about being your own boss is you can always say fuck it, I wanna go to a bar,” John points out. “So are you going to come with me and let me distract you better than weed would? Or are you going to mope around here with no wine, no weed, and no sexy plug to make you feel better?”
You definitely have a sexy plug or two hidden away under your bed that could make your day better- but you don’t tell John that. Instead, you let out a sigh. “I guess I have nothing better to do.”
“That’s the spirit, sweet thing, now let’s go on an adventure.”
The place he takes you to is a complete dive. It’s a dark ambiance, and as you settle onto a bar stool, you notice the stickiness of the counter in front of you. John, however, seems completely at home here. He doesn’t mind the alcohol-stained wood, leaning over it to speak to the bartender over the loud rock music that plays through the establishment. “Two shots of the regular,” he announces.
“You got it, Johnny,” she laughs, turning to grab a bottle of whiskey from one of the higher shelves.
“So I guess I don’t have to ask if you come here often,” you breathe.
“And I don’t have to ask if you’ve been here before. You stick out like a sore thumb, sweet thing. Relax a little.”
You let out a sigh. “Are we really going to do whiskey shooters?”
“I’m buying so I’m choosing,” John insists. “But if you want a cocktail or something, you can get that too, on me.”
So instead of taking your money today, he’s spending his money on you.
John is an enigma, and the confusion you feel has you more curious than ever.
“So how’d a guy like you get into your line of work?” you ask.
“He’s eighteen, gets stupid tattoos on his neck and hands, is rejected from other lines of work, and then discovers he has a talent for growing the best weed in town,” John responds. “Although, between you and me, I’m pretty good at growing orchids too.”
You had not pegged him as a plant guy. He’s always seemed so one-dimensional, and you realize now that your stereotype of him had been wrong. You’d never have thought John was the one actually growing the product he sells, and the idea of him nursing an orchid - a famously difficult flower - has your heart softening.
The bartender returns, setting two shots in front of you and John. “How’s your day going, Hyuna?” John asks, picking up a conversation with her.
“It’s going,” she sighs.
“Ouch, that doesn’t sound good,” John muses, pushing one of the shooters in front of you. “I thought you were seeing that new guy- the finance bro. Figured you’d be with him today.”
“I’m not sure he’s the commitment type.” Hyuna brushes her long dark hair over a shoulder, looking between you and John. “Besides, someone has to run this lonely hearts club here. You’re ruining the single vibe by bringing a date.”
“My bad for not introducing her, by the way,” John grins. His arm comes around the back of your chair, and he pulls you closer. “This is sweet thing, I’m saving her from making bad decisions today.”
“Yeah? And how are you doing that?” Hyuna laughs.
“By substituting one drug for another.” John picks up his shooter, turning to you. “To bad decisions.”
With a sigh, you grab your own shot, lifting it to clink against John’s. “To bad decisions,” you echo.
The whiskey is like fire as you shoot it, and you have to do your best not to sputter from how bad it tastes. You feel your face scrunch up involuntarily, and it earns laughs from Hyuna and John.
“I think we can all agree Johnny’s taste in alcohol is a bad decision,” Hyuna muses. “What can I get you, sweet thing?”
You order your drink of choice. John asks for three more shooters. When Hyuna sets them all down in front of you, John holds one out to her. “This one’s for you. I’m sorry it’s not working out with finance bro.”
Hyuna assesses the shot, then, with a groan, she grabs it. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”
“No one’s gonna care,” John insists. “And we both know your manager is in love with you. Just take the shot, babes.”
Hyuna rolls her eyes and downs the drink. She sets the glass down, her perfectly manicured black nails dragging along it momentarily. “You and your annoying tastes.”
“You’ll learn to love this,” John assures her. “You learned to love me, right?”
“After I got over how annoying you are.”
John only laughs. He downs another shot, bringing his total to three. Then he stands up abruptly. “Vape break,” he announces. “You girls better not have too much fun without me.”
You watch him leave, sipping on your cocktail.
“So how did you two meet?” Hyuna asks, half turning to remove some glasses from the washer so she can polish them while you chat.
You lean forward, whispering, “He’s literally my plug.”
“John’s everyone’s plug,” Hyuna laughs.
“How about you? He’s a regular?”
“Yeah, but I also dated his sister once upon a time,” Hyuna explains. “He was her annoying kid brother. I did my best to be nice to him but things didn’t end so well with her- then three years later he came in here, all tattooed and wreaking of weed- He recognized me right away, and he’s been coming in here ever since. Tips good too.”
You’d been wondering about the specificities of their relationship. Hyuna’s gorgeous, like- one of the prettiest bartenders you’ve ever seen. Her lean arms are covered in intricate tattoos, her nails are filed to points, her hair is perfect, her cheekbones are prominent and her lips are puffy like pillows-
Who wouldn’t have a crush on her?
“He’s an interesting guy,” you muse finally.
“Don’t let his tattoos fool you,” Hyuna says, meeting your eye. “He’s a sweetheart. He just likes to look all tough because of his job.”
You consider what she’s just said.
“So…” your throat feels a little dry. “Does he often come in here with girls?”
“Never. And especially not on Valentine’s Day.” Hyuna sets a cup down, leaning over the bar top to get a good look at you. “So tell me, sweet thing, what’s the end goal here?”
“Hmm?”
“Johnny might be an annoying plug, but like I said, he’s a good guy. I’m not dating his sister anymore, but he’s still like a kid brother to me. I don’t want to see him get hurt.” There’s a beat of silence. “He’s giving you heart eyes, and he let you choose your own drink. John doesn’t even let me choose my own drink once in a blue moon when we go out. He’s also never cared about what drugs I do, so why does he care so much about you? What makes you so special?”
“I…” you set your cocktail down. “I really can’t answer that.”
Hyuna cocks her head, pursing her lips. “Girl to girl, don’t be a bitch to him. I’m the one he’s going to come crying to if you reject him really hard. Let him down softly, if you have to.”
“Honestly, girl to girl, I don’t even know if he’s into me that way.”
“Sweet thing,” Hyun scoffs, “you must be blind as a bat. Don’t you see the way he’s looking at you?”
“I sort of thought he was just horny for Valentine’s Day.”
The bartender lets out a barking laugh. “The only things Johnny’s horny for are things that come in green: money and weed. He doesn’t date, babes, and you two are on a date.”
Your lips part to respond, but the door to the bar opens and John comes back inside. He lumbers over with a grin, taking the seat next to you. His arm slides around the back of your chair and he leans forward, looking between you and Hyuna. “So what did I miss?”
“Nothing important,” Hyuna lies.
“In that case, I think I’m going to order a-”
“You’re aware that at some point I’ll have to take your keys away, right?” Hyuna raises a brow at John. “I just gave you three shots, you have one sitting in front of you still-”
“We both know I’m a heavyweight,” John insists.
“Sure you are,” Hyuna rolls her eyes, “and your skin is naturally pink.”
You assess John. Hyuna must have good vision, because in the shitty lighting of the bar, you can hardly tell that John has definitely flushed from the alcohol. His cheeks are a rosy hue, and he looks as boyish as ever, a stark contradiction to the neck tattoos that are also beginning to blossom with color.
“How about this… two more shots,” John bargains, holding up three fingers.
Hyuna scoffs loudly.
“How about… two more shots,” John continues to hold three fingers, “And I’ll buy dessert so my body doesn’t turn into a complete whiskey barrel.”
“Two desserts and you have a deal,” Hyuna sighs.
“Two desserts it is.” John sits back in his chair. “What are you thinking, sweet thing? This place has a really good brownie, although, there's no weed in it.”
“We’ve also got apple pie with ice cream, tiramisu from the Italian place next door-” Hyuna does her best to be helpful, and you’re beginning to appreciate the tough love elder sister act thing she has going on.
You order the dessert that sounds most to your liking, and as you wait, John begins to ask about your cousin. “She’s a trooper,” he muses. “I sold her this massive thing of mushrooms last week and she texted me like two days ago asking for more.”
“She’s a heavy hitter for sure,” you agree.
“She told me once that she only does things like weed and shrooms because they come from the Earth,” John continues. “Never asks for links to cocaine or MDMA or anything- just the Earthy shit. She told me it’s cuz she’s a Taurus.”
You laugh. “That’s my cousin.”
“It was interesting meeting you for the first time,” John continues. “Your cousin gets into the car, knows exactly what strains of weed she wanted- pretty sure she was buying shatter. And there you are, asking for a blunt. Didn’t know if you wanted indica or sativa or a hybrid…” John shakes his head, as if it was the most baffling experience in the world. “In the end, I gave you some indica. Could tell you had a lot of anxiety and shit. I was kind of happy when you stopped buying, I’d hoped you’d found some other outlets or something.”
“I picked up wine,” you say, only half joking.
“Look, on our way back to your place to drop you off, I’ll stop and pick up a bottle for you to make up for what I drank earlier, deal?”
“Deal.”
John grins, and then you see his hand dipping down into his pocket. “Vape break.”
You watch John lumber outside again, and you release a deep sigh, meeting Hyuna’s eye. “Boys and their vapes.”
Dessert had helped mellow John out somewhat, and he’d actually been pretty law abiding while driving to the liquor store after. The two of you are now walking around the aisles, with John asking you all sorts of questions about your preferences when it comes to booze.
It feels shockingly domestic, especially when people go to move past you and John’s hand finds the small of your back, gently prompting you in front of him to make way for others to go by.
“What if I get us two bottles, and you let me come up for a movie,” John suggests as you reach for a replacement wine from earlier.
“What sort of movie?” you ask.
“Anything you want.”
“Are you sure I’m the only lonely one today?” you tease. “You’re being pretty clingy, John.”
“Anxious girls love a man that clings,” the plug insists. “Here, I’ll sweeten the pot for my sweet thing. Three bottles of wine, on me, and I’ll hand roll a blunt that will blow your socks off.”
“What happened to not wanting me to lose my no-weed streak?”
“I never said I’d let you smoke it, I just said I’d hand roll it and you’d be super impressed by my skills.”
You let out a laugh. It’s shocking how much your opinion of him has changed in a few short hours. You can’t believe how comfortable he’s making you feel.
“Fine. Three bottles,” you agree.
John grabs two more to join the one in your hand, and you head to the checkout. As you’re waiting in line, his phone rings, and he brings it to his ear.
“Hey, Mark…” John’s eyes meet yours. “I mean, I’m kind of busy… You really need it huh? Okay, give me a sec.” The plug presses his phone to his chest. “I’ve got a buddy who wants to link up. He lives pretty close by. It would take like… ten or fifteen minutes max. You good with that?”
“Yeah,” you agree. “Sounds okay.”
John lifts his phone back to his ear. “Okay, I’ll be there in ten minutes. You better be waiting outside though, I told you I’m busy.”
A short while later, you’re sitting in the front passenger’s seat of John’s truck as he pulls up in front of an apartment building. A man in a hoodie and baseball cap is standing there, and he quickly gets into the back, giving you an odd look.
“Mark, this is sweet thing. Sweet thing, this is Mark,” John says smoothly.
“Dude. I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”
John ignores the comment. “How much are you spending today?”
“Five hundred.” Mark pulls a wad of bills out of his pocket.
“The usual?” John asks, reaching down for the duffle by your feet.
“Half shrooms, quarter indica flower, quarter butter or shatter, whatever you think is best today.”
“You got it.” John sets the duffle gently on your lap, rifling through it. He begins to pull things out, like a jar full of weed. As John sections it off into bags, Mark leans forward to get a better look at you.
“Sorry for interrupting your plans,” he says sheepishly.
“That’s okay,” you assure him.
“You guys up to anything fun?”
“Movie night,” John answers, tossing a baggie of weed back at his friend.
“Nice.” Mark nods to himself, waiting patiently.
Soon, John’s fulfilled the order. Mark hands the cash to the plug, and with one final nod and half smile, he gets out of the car.
“So…” John’s hand returns to the wheel. “Movie night?”
You’re two glasses of wine into the movie when John begins to roll a joint. He’s seated next to you on the couch, his thigh just touching yours as he bends over the coffee table. For a guy with such large hands, he’s more adept than you would have thought he’d be at the fine-tuned movements needed to make the perfect joint.
You’re more enthralled by him than the movie at this point, and you can’t help the way your body reacts when he lifts up his nearly finished product to swipe his tongue across the paper. He seals the joint masterfully before turning to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna pop onto your deck for a moment to smoke this.”
“I’ll join you,” you tell him immediately, pausing the movie to stand up.
You follow him outside, momentarily taken aback by how cold it’s gotten.
John pulls a lighter out of his pocket, and after one sharp flick, he begins to smoke the joint.
You like the way his jaw looks in the shadows of light from the deck lamp. He’s so handsome and regal-
The cloud of smoke he exhales is bigger than anything you’d ever be able to do yourself, and even that is sexy in some odd way.
“You’re really not going to give me a hit?” you ask.
“Nope.” John looks at you with a lazy expression and a half smile. “You’re the good girl, and I’m the bad guy, remember.”
“Bad guy,” you scoff.
“Why are you laughing, sweet thing? I’m a plug with tattoos. I’m bad.”
“You’re a softie.”
Now it’s his turn to laugh. “Says who?”
“Says me,” you insist.
“Yeah? And how do you figure?”
You think about it for a moment before responding. “You’ve taken care of me today… even though you didn’t have to.”
“Well, I wanted to.” John takes another puff, blowing it in your face. “It was pretty self-serving actually.”
You roll your eyes, waving away the smoke. “Sure it was, John.”
“Johnny,” he says quietly. “Call me Johnny.”
You stare at him, taking in his pretty face, the way his perfect lips wrap around the joint when he takes a puff. “Johnny… be for real. Why are you here?”
He lets out a laugh, but there’s little humor in it. “Isn’t it obvious?”
You shake your head, holding your breath while you wait for him to elaborate.
Johnny sighs. “Look. I’ve always liked you. I liked having you come around, needing an explanation about weed, and joints versus blunts, and indica versus sativa- it was like… it was like having a little bit of sunshine every once in a while. Then you stopped buying, and I was happy about that, but I also wasn’t. Hadn’t heard from you in months, didn’t have your number, couldn’t ask your cousin about you- you texted, and it’s Valentine’s Day, and I came up and saw you were alone- and… I don’t know… I just hate missed opportunities, and I couldn’t let this one pass me by.”
You’re really not sure what to say. His demeanor is usually kind of joking, he’s the type to always have a smile- but right now, he’s not smiling, not joking- he’s being dead serious.
“I’m happy I messaged you.” You feel stupid as the words leave your lips, but they bring back Johnny’s boyish grin.
“Yeah?”
“Uh huh,” you step closer, looking up at the tall plug. “Thanks for taking me out for drinks.”
“It would have been a crime to leave a sweet thing like you alone on Valentine’s Day, and trust me, I know all about crime.”
God, he’s such a goof. Why is he so endearing?
“Do you know about shotgunning?” you ask.
Johnny’s brows furrow for a second. “I’m shocked you know about shotgunning.”
“Do you wanna try it?”
The plug looks you up and down. “Is this a ploy to get at my joint?”
“Nuh uh,” you shake your head.
Johnny leans forward, meeting your eyes as his lips almost brush past your own. “Liar.”
He pulls away, slotting the joint in his mouth. He watches you while taking a long drag. Then he’s removing the joint and bending down again, meeting your gaze.
You lean forward, reaching to gently grab at his shoulders. Your heart is racing a million miles a minute in your chest, and you do your best to exhale, although it comes out shaky.
“Kiss me,” you whisper.
Johnny doesn’t have to be told twice, he closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours in an open-mouthed kiss. He exhales the smoke into your lungs and you do your best to breathe it in, but Johnny’s so much bigger than you, and you have to pull away before he’s completely finished his breath.
You sputter a little, feeling tears in your eyes. There’s a rush through your body, and you feel a little wobbly, but your grip on Johnny keeps you standing.
“John-” As soon as you’ve recovered, he’s kissing you again, but this time, it’s not for the purpose of shotgunning.
This time, he’s kissing you like he means it.
Like he needs it.
His large hand cups your cheek, and he releases a soft groan when you kiss him back, wrapping your arms tighter around his shoulders to pull him closer.
He tastes like weed and wine, and oddly enough it’s not a bad combination. As his tongue swipes past your lip and you open your mouth for him, you find yourself releasing a groan of pleasure.
Johnny returns the sound. In the periphery, you’re aware of him flicking the joint to the ground in favour of grabbing you with both hands. First, he cups your hips, pulling you flush against him, but after a moment, he reaches down to squeeze your ass too.
You go for a breather, and he takes the opportunity to kiss your throat, teasing his tongue against your skin and making you shiver in the cold evening air.
“You know…” you thread your fingers through his hair, “if you won’t give me drugs to use for happy chemicals, the least you could do is give me an orgasm.”
Johnny chuckles, pulling away to look at you with eyes that somehow sparkle. “I thought that was a given, sweet thing.”
“It better be,” you tease, cupping the back of his neck to bring his lips to yours again.
This time, when the kiss deepens and Johnny bends down to cup your ass, he lifts you off the ground, prompting you to wrap your legs around his hips. He pushes the door open behind you, taking you back inside.
You’re so lost in his lips you almost don’t realize he’s moved past your couch, and then he’s gently laying you onto your bed. “So how do you like it?” he asks, pulling away so he can tear his hoodie and shirt off, revealing a toned chest, and all the tattoos you’ve been itching to see.
“I like it any way you want to give it to me. Dealers choice.”
Johnny lets out a laugh. “You’re cute.”
“You’re cute,” you retort, hooking your fingers in his belt to draw him closer again.
Johnny presses a hand to the bed by your head, bending over you so he can kiss you. Your thighs wrap around him, pulling him fully on top of you while you’re locked in the hottest tongue battle of your life.
He’s just so big and sexy- the weight of him is enough to have you gasping, even though he’s still holding himself up with his elbow now propped into the bed.
His free hand finds your hip, slipping under your shirt to trace your skin. Each brush of his fingers builds the fire in the pit of your stomach, and as he slowly moves to grasp your breast, you find yourself almost dying with need for him.
You whimper lewdly against his lips, pushing your chest up toward his palm. With a bra in the way, you can’t get the proper stimulus against your nipple, and within moments of him massaging your tits, you begin to tear your shirt off, needing more.
Johnny helps you remove the fabric, tossing it to the side so his mouth can find your throat. “You’re so pretty,” he muses, reaching under you to undo the clasp of your bra. “Can I take this off?”
“Yeah, fuck- let's get naked.”
Johnny chuckles, pulling away to look down at you. “You sure you didn’t drink too much wine, sweet thing?”
“I’m mostly sober.”
“And that shotgunning didn’t make you needy?”
“You make me needy,” you insist, cupping his face. “You know how you said you were into me months ago? When we first met, I swear I thought you were the sexiest plug I’d ever seen.”
“Probably the only plug you’d ever seen,” Johnny points out with a grin.
“John,” you meet his gaze, “earlier, when you first got here, I wasn’t even sure if I should invite you up. I was worried I’d lose my self-control and jump you or something- trust me, the physical attraction has always been there, but… getting to know you today, I like who you are inside too… so, just fuck me, yeah?”
“Happy fucking Valentine’s Day to us lonely hearts, huh?”
Instead of answering, you kiss him again, tangling your fingers in his hair. Johnny groans when you tug gently, and he grinds his hips down against your own. You can feel the bulge of his cock as it drags against your core, and you’re pretty sure your panties are going to be ruined after this.
You can’t help yourself, you trace your hand down from his shoulders to his chest, then his abdomen- then you cup his cock, applying pressure that has him moaning again, thrusting against your hand for friction.
“I think I kind of want you in my mouth,” you admit breathlessly.
“That’s funny, I want you in mine.”
You think about it for a moment. “Sixty-nine?”
“Fuck, you’re a girl after my own heart, aren’t you, sweet thing?”
You can only grin, heart thundering in your chest as you push at Johnny’s shoulders, prompting him to roll onto his back.
“You take off your pants, and I’ll take off mine,” you suggest, getting off of him so you can work on your jeans.
Johnny doesn’t need to be told twice, and you watch the way his muscles ripple under his skin as he hurries to get naked.
He’d never actually taken off your bra, so you do that yourself. In moments, you’re both completely nude.
You stare at Johnny, taking in his cock.
He’s rock-hard and huge. It makes you excited, but you’re also not sure how well you’ll be able to take him. He must be at least seven or eight inches, and thick too, with a pretty mushroom tip that’s already leaking precum.
He grins at your reaction. “Think you can handle this, sweet thing?”
“Something tells me you’ll make it fit.”
“You got that right,” he laughs. “Now come sit on my face, wanna taste that pretty pussy.”
There’s something so suave about half-baked Johnny. He speaks with an almost melodic tone, it’s deep and sensual, and your pussy throbs just from the words coming out of his mouth.
As you crawl onto the bed, getting into position, his hands are careful against your form, helping you settle as you swing a thigh over his head, hovering your core over his mouth. Instead of waiting for you to sit down, Johnny lifts himself up a little, burying his face in your pussy before you can even touch his cock.
“Fuck-” you whimper, grabbing the base of his length as he pushes his tongue deep inside of you, licking the length of your slit.
You would love nothing more than to enjoy his mouth on you for hours- but you have your own job to do, and you’re already drooling. You bring his mushroom tip to your lips, gently licking at him.
Johnny’s large hands find your ass, and he squeezes you gently. “No teasing,” he mumbles, and the vibration against your clit has you squirming down on his face.
You take him into your mouth, sucking on the tip and twirling your tongue. Johnny immediately releases a groan before diving back into your pussy. He grabs your hips pulling you down tighter against his face.
It’s hard to know what to focus on. He feels so good with his mouth worshiping your pussy, but at the same time, you’re kind of obsessed with sucking his cock. He’s so huge, and you want to see how much you can take. You sink further onto his length, feeling your lips stretch at the intrusion-
God, he’s going to absolutely wreck your pussy. You can’t even fit half of him in your mouth before he’s hitting the back of your throat, and as you constrict around him, he releases lewd sounds of pleasure that have your core practically throbbing with need.
You pull off of him, if only to collect your saliva as lube so you can stroke what your mouth can’t reach. Taking a breath and steadying yourself, you grind gently against his tongue, moaning loudly. Then you take him past your lips again, getting lost in the act of simultaneous giving and receiving.
You’re lost in him, so lost that you don’t even know how long you’ve been in this position- but you can feel an orgasm bubbling in the pit of your stomach every time Johnny focuses on your clit.
You find yourself grinding harder against his face, and as the feeling builds, you can’t help but pull off of his cock, gasping and moaning. “Fuck, Johnny, I’m gonna-”
“Cum for me,” he groans, squeezing your ass as he kitten licks your clit. “Don’t hold back. Cum on my face, sweet thing, give me everything.”
You’re stroking his cock mindlessly, your muscles tensing as Johnny takes your clit into his mouth, sucking and licking-
“Oh my God-” you whimper, toes curling-
Your orgasm washes over you like a wave. It tingles through every inch of your being, throbbing out from your core. You and Johnny both release groans of satisfaction, and the knowledge that he’s enjoying having you cum on his face only makes your pussy clench tighter.
You’re practically riding his tongue now, chasing the last inklings of your high until you’re absolutely breathless.
Johnny presses one last kiss to your clit, and then he’s tapping your ass gently. “Gonna roll onto your back and let me fuck you like the good girl you are?”
“God, yes,” you groan. Your legs are shaky but you get off of Johnny’s face, collapsing next to him.
“Damn, sweet thing, that was a good one, huh?” Johnny laughs, sitting up and stroking your thigh.
“So good,” you whimper, still feeling the aftershocks.
Johnny gets between your legs, elbow pressing into the bed next to your head as he dips close to kiss your neck. “The way you were grinding against my face was so fucking hot.”
“Johnny-” You wrap your legs around him, feeling absolutely desperate for his cock.
“You’ll have to be a little patient for me, sweet thing,” Johnny sighs, one large hand cupping your breast and teasing past your nipple. “I’ve gotta stretch you out before you can take me.”
“What if I want you now?”
“Like I said,” his breath is hot against your throat, “you’ll have to be patient.”
“What if I want you to wreck me?”
Johnny laughs, pulling away to look at you. “You’re not as innocent as you look, are you, angel?”
You trace your fingers along the fine line, black and white, Japanese Oni mask tattoo that sits on his chest between his defined pectoral muscles. “Not when it comes to you.”
The plug simply grins at your words, his hand trailing down until it reaches your core. Two thick fingers prod at your opening, and you spread your legs even wider to accommodate him. He teasingly dips the first digit inside of you and you release a moan at how good it feels, but he’s quick to pull it out and circle your clit.
“You know what you said earlier?”
He lets out a humming sound.
“About not teasing?” you correct. “If you’re making me wait for you to prep me, you better not take your sweet time with it.”
“You’ll have to let me take my time with you next time then.”
“Next time?” You cock a brow.
“Yeah,” Johnny ghosts his lips over your own. “Next time.”
“Deal, now finger fuck me open then give me your cock.”
“Jesus, I love it when you talk dirty,” Johnny groans, dipping his finger into your core again. “Tell me more.”
“You just feel so fucking good,” you groan, swiveling your hips. “Even one finger- you’re just so big- Johnny, how are you so big?”
“You haven’t really experienced the Big yet,” John points out, adding a second digit that he scissors inside of you, stretching you out for him.
In response, you reach down and wrap your hand around his cock, pumping him gently. “I’m gonna feel you inside me for days after this.”
“Especially if you let me fuck you tomorrow, and the day after- you could feel me forever if you wanted to.”
“Forever, huh?” You let out a whimper as his digits work harder inside of you, crooking up to stroke your g spot with shocking precision.
“I’m still a little high, it’s making me… too honest.”
“I like honest,” you admit, cupping his face with your free hand, drawing his lips to yours. “I like you.”
“I like you too,” he whispers, kissing you deeper as he finger fucks you faster. “Okay, sweet thing, I think you’re just about ready for me- dripping all over my hand.”
“I’m ready,” you assure him, staring into those beautiful chocolate-brown eyes.
“Should I grab a condom?”
“Are you clean?”
“Yeah. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t fuck around that often. I’m not a one-night stand kind of guy.”
You giggle. “I’ve sort of noticed that.”
He kisses you again. “I can still grab a condom though.”
“No, I’m on birth control. I want you to fill me up with cock and cum until it’s all I can think about.”
“I can do that.” Johnny pulls his fingers out of your pussy, and before he can lick them clean, you grab his wrist and guide them to your own mouth. “Fuck, you’re so fucking hot, angel.”
You groan around his digits, sucking them clean. When you’re done, Johnny grabs your jaw, drawing your lips to his so he can taste you, his tongue gliding against your own.
You’ve still got his cock in your hand, and you pump him gently, adjusting against the blanket to get closer to him so you can guide his tip toward your core.
Johnny takes the hint, and he breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours. His gaze dips to where your bodies meet, and he allows you most of the control as you drag his cock through your folds. “You really want this?”
“Just fuck me, John. Please don’t make me beg.”
He pushes forward, the tip of his cock sheathing in your tight core. “Holy shit,” Johnny groans.
“More.”
Johnny can only laugh, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours as he thrusts deeper into you. The two of you hold your breath as inch after inch stretches you open. You’re so wet, and it makes the process easier, but you can still feel Johnny everywhere.
You’re a wriggling, moaning mess by the time he’s fully inside of you.
Johnny’s breath is hot against your skin, and his chest is rising and falling with effort, his bicep bulging next to your head. “You good?”
“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing thickly.
“Can I-”
“Rail me. Break my back. Murder my pussy.”
Johnny laughs, pressing his lips to yours to shut you up as he begins to move his hips, pulling out only to thrust back in. You can feel your insides practically quivering with each drag of his length against your walls. He’s so big, and you’re stretched to the brink- the vein along the underside of his cock is an added stimulus that has your toes curling already.
You’ll never be the same after this.
No one’s cock is ever going to compare and you just know it.
Johnny’s lips can’t muffle the sounds of pleasure still escaping you, and you grab at his broad shoulders, tracing your nails against his skin.
It’s so easy to get lost in Johnny. He makes you feel safe, and the pleasure he’s giving you has time flying by like nothing else. Johnny’s mouth goes to your throat, teasing the spot that has you moaning even louder.
“Can I flip you over? Wanna see that ass.”
“Do anything you want with me,” you tell him, and you mean it.
With one last kiss, Johnny pulls out of you. His large hands find your hips. He manhandles you over, pulling your ass back and up so he can push into you again.
“Fuck,” you groan, grabbing at the bed sheets. “You’re even deeper like this-”
Each time his front meets your ass, the slapping sound turns you on even more. He’s practically rearranging your guts like this, and you don’t mind it one bit.
“Do you wanna rub your clit for me, sweet thing?” Johnny asks. “You’re so fucking tight around me, and I’m so sensitive when I smoke- not sure I’ll be able to last long, and I want you to cum with me. Wanna feel this pretty pussy all clenched and dripping-”
Every word has your body tingling, and you bring your fingers to your clit, rubbing in quick circles.
“Johnny-” you whimper.
“That’s it, angel. You feel so fucking good- so fucking good for me.” He grabs fistfuls of your ass, squeezing in a way that has you crying out. “Who’s my good girl?”
“Me!”
“Who’s taking this cock so fucking good?”
“Me!”
“Fuck-” Johnny lets go of your ass, wrapping a hand around your throat. He helps lift you up until your back is curved, shoulders pressed to his chest. His lips find your neck, hand dipping down to grasp your breast roughly, pinching your nipple.
“I’m gonna-”
“I know, sweet thing, me too-” He’s fucking into you like a god damned fuck machine, and each circle of your fingers on your clit has you closer and closer to the edge- “Fuck, okay, I’m there- shit, yeah, I’m there- you’re gonna cum with me, right? Gonna cum on my cock and let me fill you up?”
All you can do is whimper, your body fulfilling his ask before your brain can even fully process it. Your core clamps down hard on his cock, and Johnny releases a deep groan in your ear. He holds you close, squeezing you as his thrusts get erratic.
You can feel him cumming deep inside of you, and you’ve never felt this cock drunk in your life.
Nothing matters except Johnny and his huge cock filling you up to the brink. His lips are hot on your throat, and he fucks you through your highs, your pussy fluttering around him as wave upon wave of pleasure rocks through you.
As you both finish, he pushes himself fully inside of you. You can feel his cock throbbing, and his groans are music to your ears.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he whispers, letting out a soft laugh as he nuzzles against your cheek.
“Happy fucking Valentine’s Day,” you giggle, grabbing the hand on your breast and lifting it to your lips so you can kiss his palm.
He holds you for a few more moments, then he gently lowers you to the bed, cock still inside of you. “I’m gonna pull out,” he says, smoothing a hand over your ass. “You don’t mind if I watch it drip out of you for a second, right?”
“I’m just laying here,” you smile against the quilt.
Even so, it feels like a loss as he takes his cock out of your aching pussy. His hands are on your ass and he spreads your cheeks. “Fuck, sweet thing. This is the prettiest view in the whole fucking world.”
When you’d texted Johnny earlier for a link-up, you’d never expected this. Never expected to see this softer side of him.
You’re so fucking happy you reached out- he provided more than what you’d asked for.
“I busted a fat load in you, angel,” Johnny laughs, his thumb moving to rub your clit, causing you to whine and push back against him. “How about we go for a shower. I can wash you up, eat you out some more-”
“Damn, Johnny, are you pussy drunk?”
“Uh huh.” He leans over you, kissing up your spine and to your shoulder. “Valentine’s Day isn’t over yet, we should make the most out of it, right?”
You get the sneaking suspicion that you’re going to be making the most out of it with Johnny for many days to come, Valentine’s Day be damned. God. Your cousin is going to have a freak when she hears about this.
☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! I know it's late by three days but this John still has me in the Valentine's Day spirit
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🔮 preview. “You’ll like this. You always like this. You love cumming on my cock. But you don’t get my cum unless I get yours, that’s the deal, right?”
cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, grinding on his thigh, hand job, oral (m receiving) blow job, he spits in y/n’s mouth, spit as lube, masturbation, y/n touches herself while blowing Johnny, fingering masturbation, y/n rides his cock, multiple reader orgasms, praise, gentle degradation, dirty talk, breast worship/tit sucking, etc… I petnames. (hers) angel, sweet thing, good girl.
👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.6k I teaser wc. 250
🌙 starring. Johnny x afab!Reader
bonus
You’ve gotten accustomed to your plug boyfriend. You’d only been dating for a month when he’d officially asked you to be his, but you know the two of you were exclusive to each other since that very first night you’d fucked.
Being with John is pretty easy- but his odd work schedule can be a bit of a pain. He never knows how busy he’s going to be, so you can plan date nights, but sometimes he has to push it back a few hours to do unexpected late-night deliveries.
If you’d been cock drunk for him after the first time he’d fucked you, you’re even more dependent on him now.
No drug in the world could fill you up and give you the pleasure that Johnny’s cock does, and you’ve become a little impatient when you have to wait for him to complete deliveries… although, you’d never bring it up with him
You know being a plug is his job. It’s what pays the bills and allows him to dote on you in ways you’d scarcely been able to imagine before meeting him.
Even so, you can feel your skin crawling, pussy practically aching with anticipation as he completes the last handful of orders for the night. He’d initially wanted to be over at your place by seven, but it’s nearly ten now, and you’re three hours behind on the fuck marathon you’d planned.
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ENTRY #1 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // I lay my dreams upon your feet, please be careful taking your steps.
contents: arranged marriage!au, angst-ish, slight age gap (reader's around 22, Satoru is 28), loveless marriage, brief mentions of blood and toxicity — wc. 1975
a/n: starting a new series while two other are hanging in the air and hundreds of wips are waiting for being written? yeah, that's me, but hey, I needed to start something new to get my creative juices flowin'. this one's gonna be a series of entries, a diary if you will.
series masterlist
When you were younger, a girl innocent and little, blissfully unaware of the world around you, you wished to marry a prince. Influenced by tales told by your mother and tv shows you watched with big and curious eyes, you had a vision of the ceremony straight out of a dream. A magical display of love and the path of rose petals and feathers through which you were meant to stride in a dress made of satin and lace – white and elegant. You also saw him, the man that your heart would choose and desire. A prince handsome and kind, who would love and protect you even if by doing so, his life would be on the line. You were too little to be aware of the naivety of the dreamy pictures in your head.
Sometimes you wished to turn back time and once again step into the shoes of the innocent you who never got to know sadness and fear. Sometimes you think of it with a bittersweet smile, reminiscing the way you used to go about your days without care about the world around. With mild regret you reminiscence the moment you learned that everything around you was–
“I’m talking to you. God damn it, are you deaf?”
“I heard you.”
–a lie.
You were a late bloomer but besides the judgmental looks you were receiving left and right from the elders of your clan, you also owe it the beauty of your prolonged childhood. Few years of freedom that you lost the memory of how it tasted and yet, you like to go back to it and drown in the pictures it left in your mind. Whilst all of your siblings were training and learning, fighting and risking their lives against the cursed spirits, you brought shame to your family. There was no place for someone without a cursed technique in a world of sorcery and you were made painfully aware of it at the day of your tenth birthday. That was also the end of your childhood and the day you wish to forget. You remember how the smiles of your parents turned into frowns and the soft, melodic tone of your mother became harsh and never got back to how it used to be. The tales and cookies vanished and what was left was nothing but suffering and degradation.
“Oh, did you?”
It took you six years of training to awaken the technique that later on was called the most powerful in the history of your clan. Six years of days and nights filled with sweat and tears, six years of bloody knuckles and bruises but also, it took six years of your determination to prove all of them wrong. Despite being the youngest of four siblings, you were able to stand against the worst of curses with nothing but a sword and raw power when everyone else relied heavily on the cursed techniques. You were strong and skilled, you were trained and fearless but still, you were looked down. A shame. To your family you were nothing but a shame.
And then, suddenly, you became a pride. You were on everyone’s mouths; you were talked about as if you were the most expensive and rare diamond. Years of harsh treatment you received suddenly became forgotten because once your technique awakened, you became the strongest in your clan, surpassing your siblings, your parents and everyone else who bore the same name as you. Suddenly other clans were talking about you too, with curiosity and fear. Suddenly, you became someone. But somehow, it didn’t make you happy. Once you realized that the world you were born into wasn’t a tale you always thought it is, you lost the ability to enjoy it. Maybe the pain of what you had given to become a true sorcerer rendered you unable to fully appreciate the adulthood, but you found it hard to see the light, when the darkness seemed to embed itself into your soul.
“You know what? Fuck that. I’m leaving.”
Ah yes, the marriage. With years that had passed since you were young and naïve, you stripped yourself of the dreams of sharing a life with a prince, but a part of you still hoped for love and calm. A part of your heart wished to settle with someone you’ll trust and care for. Someone who will ground you in the world of constant danger and for years you thought that you will find a man with whom the stressful life of sorcery will be a little kinder, a little less scary, a little more bearable. It was a child in you, a faint spark of juvenile carelessness that never died down, even in the darkest of days you endured.
You let out a deep sigh and allowed your lids to close. Your head leaned forward, forehead restless against the cold doors of the kitchen cabinet. The loud thud of doors snapping shut echoed in your ears for few moments and then it became silent. An earie cacophony of nothing but your own breath and soft ticking of the clock on the wall next to you. For a moment you thought about how many times you relived this very same situation already. The cold detachment, harsh exchange of words and then he’s gone. A salve of ruthless stabs that never seem to hurt less and the sound of your own voice forming sentences you wouldn’t think of if the circumstances were different.
First time you saw Satoru Gojo was many years before you truly knew who he is. It was a picture that you noticed by accident, somewhere in the papers your parents had spread out on the coffee table. He was a young boy back then. You remember the impression he made on you. He looked cold, intimidating, unapproachable. He looked like someone you’d never think of becoming friends with. You were young, just barely nine years old and he was already fifteen. He was already the strongest and even though you weren’t actively involved in the world of sorcery, you knew his name.
And then, many years later you sat in front of him. While the elders of your clans discussed the importance of the arrangement that was planned within the sorcerer’s society, Satoru was resting on a couch unamused, with his legs crossed and eyes covered by a layer of white bandages. You watched him, analyzed his lack of interest and the veil of cold arrogance with realization that everything you wished for was never on the table for you. During the two long hours of conversations that were about you and yet no one asked for your opinion, you and Satoru didn’t exchange one word.
You heard his voice actively directed at you for the first time during the wedding ceremony. It was small, very private and filled with people that you mostly didn’t know. It was far from perfect, though pretty in a way. Under the cautious watch of the most important figures of sorcery, you said the vows that made you feel nothing and yet meant so much. The words of promise, that for anyone else meant love and safe future, to you meant status and the name. You became Gojo. You became a wife to the strongest man in the world.
Now it’s seven months after the wedding and the day you and him moved together. The apartment you shared was filled with both yours and his belongings and yet it didn’t feel like home. It lacked the atmosphere of love and understanding and on days like this, you were losing hope it will ever feel different than miserable.
That day was nothing out of ordinary when it came to your marriage. Yet another fight, yet another beeline he made to leave you alone in the empty house. You always argue. There was no warmth between the walls of the apartment, there was no care and respect. Instead, there were snaps and insults, there was silence and avoidance. The large bed in what was meant to be a shared bedroom was occupied only by you, while Satoru preferred to sleep on a couch even though his tall frame was way too big for it. Besides one very brief and formal kiss you shared during the wedding day, you never kissed again. There was no holding hands, no incidental touches, no nothing that would convey any sort of feeling and only times your bodies made contact was when he grabbed your wrists in anger or when your shoulder hit his arm while you were passing by.
Truth is, you had no idea what Satoru was talking about that morning before he left. You were lost in thoughts, but you could only imagine he was mentioning the meeting he needed to attempt in the evening. He probably won’t be home until late and once he’ll come back, he’ll be annoyed by elders and for that, you couldn’t blame him. Whenever you face the elders of jujutsu community, your blood pressure raises as well and you’re quite calm by nature. That being said, if unlucky, you’ll be the one to take the hit of his anger.
Your fingers run across the golden band that adorned your finger. It was an absentminded motion that became a habit of sorts, helping you gather the thoughts, calming your mind. The cold feel of metal allowed you to let go of the stress and forced you to suck it up yet again.
Two hours after the morning fight, you found yourself surrounded by the familiar buildings in the Jujutsu tech area, watching your husband from afar. Satoru was in the middle of teaching students, if whatever the hell he was doing could be called teaching. Megumi was resting next to him as some other kids were fighting on the training field. The sound of wooden swords colliding echoed between the woods that surrounded the expanse of the school zones. Gojo was looking as careless as ever, calm and smiling – a sight that you almost never see unless he’s facing someone else. He was chatting with his almost-son, shouting some advice to the sparing students and going about his day as he usually does, but one thing was different.
“Satoru,” you called his name as you went down the stairs to reach the spot where he was standing. He noticed you, you knew that. He most likely knew about your appearance way before you even got to see him, but now he chose to actively ignore your presence as his light blue eyes stayed focused on the field instead of landing on you.
“What brings you here?” He asked and you could tell how the tone of his voice changed from the friendly sensei to your husband’s rough approach. He wasn’t happy with your visit; you weren’t welcome near him and everyone knew that. The fact of your marriage being arranged wasn’t a secret and it also wasn’t a secret that it was Gojo’s clan decision, not his own. Satoru felt some sort of humiliation that despite him being the strongest, he was stripped of a choice who to spend his life with and you, as his wife, were paying for his resentment.
“I brought you this,” you replied, reaching your hand towards him. His eyes landed on your palm and you noticed a ghost of relief that washed over his features when he took the band of black fabric from your hold. His blindfold, that you realized was ripped – he left at home in the morning. That was most likely what he was talking to you about because once you cleaned up after the breakfast, you noticed the band and his broken glasses left on the coffee table.
“So you were listening,” Satoru said quietly and securely covered his eyes.
“I wasn’t.”
#𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐲 ♡#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen fanfiction#jjk fanfiction#gojo#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#satoru#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x y/n#gojo x you#gojo satoru x you#satoru x you#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#satoru x reader#gojo x y/n#gojo satoru x y/n#satoru x y/n#gojo angst#gojo satoru angst#satoru angst#gojo arranged marriage#jjk arranged marriage#gojo fluff#gojo fanfiction
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Hey Elle! I was wondering if I could request any of the marauders in the hockey au interacting with a young hockey fan? It could just be little sweet encounter after a hockey game that makes the reader love them even more, y’know? Please pass over this if you’re not comfortable writing this for whatever reason, thank you and I love your work!
hi babes! thanks so much for this really cute prompt; it felt sort of perfect for who I imagine hockey!remus to be in my mind <3
hockey player!Remus Lupin x team medic!reader who sees a young fan [733 words]
CW: quick mention of 'baby fever'
Most hockey players were notoriously bad at press.
They gave dry responses, they kept their cards close to their chest, they appeared aloof and indifferent, sometimes even impassive. And they hardly ever smiled.
Of course, there were always exceptions to the rules.
Isak Grönvall, in his thick Swedish accent and what the rest of the team called Swedeisms, always managed to talk circles around fans and the press without ever really touching on the question at all.
Sirius Black, notorious flirt and tiktok heart throb, could convince any reporter that he’d given them a very good interview with nothing more than a quick wink.
And James Potter had a smile on his face almost always; whether he was throwing punches on the ice, blocking slapshots from the net by means of his body, or waving at fans, that man was always smiling.
But generally, hockey players were notoriously closed off.
And Remus was no different.
He never made eye contact with reporters. His responses were quick, dry, and if he could get away with giving a one word response, he would do so. He spoke in generalities only, and was often halfway down the hall before the reporters would actually release him. And when he was on the ice, he was usually all business.
Which is why you were stunned when you stepped up onto the bench during the pregame warm up ahead of that night’s match to find Remus bending at the waist to interact with a young fan and his father through the thick glass.
The kid had to be no older than four or five, sitting on his fathers lap and was wearing a Lupin 10 jersey, which saw Remus rearing his head back theatrically as if he simply couldn’t believe what he was seeing, grabbing at his shoulder as if he was trying to read the name on the back of his own jersey causing him to skate in circles like a dog chasing his tail. You couldn’t hear the kid from where you were, but you were certain he was squealing in delight. Remus mouthed something dramatically to the dad who nodded at him before Remus was carefully trying to toss his stick over the boards and banging on the glass to ensure that the people who caught it gave it to the kid.
“Nadeau.” You interrupted as he went to skate by, holding out a few pucks and a gold sharpie. “Bring this to Loops, please?”
Nadeau simply smiled over at the sight before accepting the items from you. “I was starting to think he only ever smiled at you, doc.”
You ignored the fire roaring beneath the skin on your cheeks as Nadeau skated away, waving at the young fan and showing him the puck before handing it to Remus to sign and throw over the glass.
Remus posed for a selfie through the glass, flashing a smile that nearly rivalled James’, before waving goodbye and skating over towards the bench.
“How’s that for baby fever, eh?” Sirius commented casually from where he was stretching on the ice, causing both you and Remus to nearly choke (you on air, he on the swig of gatorade he was in the middle of drinking).
“What?” Sirius asked innocently as he stood, which left you feeling like he was decidedly not innocent in the slightest. “It was a cute kid.”
The two of you found yourselves very busy with watching Sirius skate away instead of making eye contact with one another.
“That was a pretty wide smile you had on your face there, Lupin.” You teased quietly then, eyes still focused on the warm up though you could feel Remus smirk up at you from where he was leaning on his elbows against the boards.
“What? Were you jealous, doc?” He murmured quietly, earning him a derisive scoff in response.
“Nadeau did suggest you’ve only ever smiled like that for me before.” You countered instead throttling him (or taking him right here on the ice in front of the crowd).
Remus hummed in acknowledgement as he kept his gaze glued on you, though you stubbornly refused to return it.
“I was thinking of you…” He admitted quietly. “Perhaps that smile was for you after all.”
And you watched as he skated towards the centre of the ice to line up for the shot warmup without sparing you a second glance.
#marauders era#marauders au#marauders fanfiction#reader insert#self insert#remus lupin#remus lupin drabble#remus lupin fic#remus lupin ficlet#remus lupin imagine#remus lupin blurb#remus lupin fluff#remus lupin fanfiction#remus x reader#remus lupin x you#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin x y/n#remus lupin x self insert#hockey au#nhl au#hockey player!remus lupin#hockey player!remus#team medic!reader#ellecdc fics
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