#second one doesn’t have an actual name yet

[fanfic-she-wrote]

Second Chances

One of the reasons Beetlejuice is determined to get married is because he needs true love’s kiss to return him back to the man he once was. Only Lydia doesn’t return his feelings…or so he thinks.

(Beetlejuice x Lydia Deetz)

(Contains spoilers for Beetlejuice Beetlejuice ⚠️ Do not read if you haven’t seen the movie! )

Chapter 1:

It was about mid November in the small town of Winter River, Connecticut. A slight dusting of white covered the lawn of a lonely house on top of the hill, the one known to locals as “the ghost house”. Which now belonged to Lydia Deetz, who decided to keep the house after Delia’s passing. Why? She really didn’t know. She had some fond memories there of course, like the time she spent with the Maintlands before they crossed over. But she also had some equally bad memories as well…

She took a deep breath and turned over in her bed, forcing her eyes shut trying to sleep, but she couldn’t. Not after what happened a little over a couple weeks ago when she saw him again. At first she was scared,but after a while it was like her and Betelgeuse seemed to just work together. She didn’t know why, but she actually found herself missing him. How strange, she thought.

She even felt a twinge of regret for sending him away after everything he did for her. If only he didn’t try to make her marry him…again. She didn’t want him or anybody for that matter. Then again if she didn’t, why would she be lying there thinking about him? She groaned feeing confused. If only she had someone to talk to. Astrid wouldn’t understand. She had nobody now. Not her father, not Delia, Rory, not even Betelgeuse…

——————————

Lydia wasn’t the only one feeling lonely. Betelgeuse was too as he sat there behind his desk listening to the sound of the shrunken heads endlessly typing away. Things had settled back down to how they were before, the same way they’ve been for over 30 years. To be honest, he was tired of it and just as he thought he would be free, he was sent back to the netherworld again. What was he going to do now? Just wait for Lydia to need him for something again? No, he was done with her. He helped her out twice and this is what he gets. Nope. Never again!

But then why was her picture still on his desk in a brand new frame?

—————————

Unable to rest, Lydia got up, put her black bathrobe on, and slowly opened the door, peering out into the hall as she went not wanting Astrid to see what she was doing.

Quietly she crept out into the hall and made her way towards the attic. Everything in the house was dead silent except for the thoughts racing through her mind as she slowly approached the stairs.

She just had to talk to him. Even though she was a little afraid to, she knew she had to see him again. At least thank him for what he did.

Lydia paused at the bottom step, looking up she saw the attic door was shut. She swore she would never go up there again and yet here she was. Just as she was about to take the first step she heard a voice call out from behind her, making her jump.

“Mom? What are you doing?” Astrid asked, half asleep.

“Nothing. Just…checking on things.” Lydia quickly replied, folding her arms, and taking a deep breath to calm herself.

“He’s gone, mom. You don’t have to worry anymore.” Her daughter assured her. Lydia sighed. That wasn’t exactly what she wanted to hear.

“What’s wrong?” The teen asked, noticing how unusual her mother was acting. Her mother was always unusual, but this was different.

“Nothings wrong, kiddo. I’m fine. Let’s just go back to bed.” Lydia said, pushing her daughter down the hall away from the attic.

“You can tell me.” Astrid insisted. Lydia shook her head.

“Astrid, it’s complicated.”

They came to a stop just outside Astrid’s bedroom door. “Is it about…Be—“ She quickly stopped herself, not wanting to say his name. “Him?” She asked.

Lydia sighed, becoming impatient. “Just go to bed. Don’t worry about it.”

“But-“

“Good night Astrid!” and with that Lydia shut the door to her daughter’s room officially ending the conversation.

Lydia took one last glance over towards the attic and went back to her room, losing her nerve. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea after all? Maybe he’s better off wherever he is without her.

“Oh Betelgeuse…” She sighed as she headed back to her room.

From the Netherworld, her voice carried down to his ears sounding like a faint whisper. “Fuck.” Betelgeuse swore to himself. Why did she have to say his name?

[descendantsramblings]

Im gonna join the Morgie Male reader fans and also request something xD

Please consider writing a story where Male reader and Morgie are dating but Morgie is just always talking about Uliana and constantly trying to impress her etc and Reader feels unvalued and like Morgie is actually in love with uliana and not him so drama i guess

I like hurting myself as you can guess 🙂

-emil

Let’s not enjoy that!!!! But no I love some good angst; I’ve got you. You’re always welcome in my inbox sugar 💛

Second Place

Morgie le Fay x Reader

Pronouns used: he/him/his

Summary: just once he wants to feel like he’s not his boyfriend’s second choice

Warnings: angst, underage drinking (depending on where you are ig), Morgie isn't purposely a bad boyfriend he's just stupid. Pet names, Bestie Hades and Hook because the boys gotta stick together

Word Count: 2.3K

    His fingertips brush over different silks and starched cottons as he follows his boyfriend around the store, barely paying attention to dress shirts around him. How could he? How could the boy ever focus on the task at hand when all it did was ground his insecurities into his bones? Morgie is taking the lead as he walks through the store, occasionally lifting different button ups to feel them. Ones that seem to pique his interest led to him holding them against his chest, raising a brow to his boyfriend to silently ask his opinion. And (Y/n) does his best to respond, though it comes out more as hums and silent nods than true responses. His heart isn’t in this, he can’t focus on something like this. It is so incredibly obvious that he doesn’t want to be here, and maybe if Morgie would actually look at him instead of through him, the boy might notice. He won’t though, lord knows the sorcerer doesn’t have the time to care. Not when his task at hand is so dire. Uliana’s birthday party is only a week away, how could he think about anything but making sure it’s perfect?

   Obviously Morgie can’t look a mess, he just has to be in something new. And the gift has to just be perfect, he has to outshine everyone. Of course he does, he always does. Uliana was the sun in his solar system, and (Y/n) was barely even the tides that the moon was occupied with pulling. How could Morgie ever remember to pull the tides when he was so busy reflecting the light of the sun? How could he dare to wear something the sea witch has seen already when her eighteenth birthday was such a big deal? “Babe, you are being extremely unhelpful right now,” Morgie grumbles the words as he’s putting an honestly kind of atrocious golden silk shirt down. He’s turning away from his lover, venturing even further into the store. “Sorry, I’m just kind of tired. Didn’t sleep well,” his voice is far off to the sorcerer though, the boy too wrapped up in his own world to pay attention to a word that falls off of his fellow villain’s lips. “Once we find the right shirt we can go.” (Y/n) sighs, giving the boy a curt nod that he doesn’t even see. They’d been out shopping for four hours now, the bags in his arms were surely going to cut off his circulation soon and Morgie was still just as tuned into what he was doing as he was when they left the dorms. 

   They were supposed to see that new Nightmare on Elm Street sequel that (Y/n) had been dying to see, but now there would only be one showing left until the mall closed and it started in twenty minutes. He guesses he can kiss that plan goodbye, why would what he wants matter when Uliana was in the frame. He always fell behind her in Morgie’s priority list, he should have known that. Why would he dare to ask his boyfriend out this soon to Uliana’s “most important birthday yet”? He should have known better. The early weeks of November always took to Morgie being far more engrossed in his friend than his partner, he should have known better. 

    “Babe, can you please at least give me a color option? I’m drowning in options here!” He spares (Y/n) a look over his shoulder as he speaks, reaching back to grab his boyfriend’s hand to keep him behind him. “Go green, Uliana wears some green too,” the snarky tone has Morgie’s brows furrowing. If he looked back he’d see the way that he was shaking his head as he talked, sass falling off of every word. “Are you sure you’re okay?” “Yeah, let’s just find you a shirt, Morgz.” 

                                   ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

  If the crew of the Jolly Roger would be known for nothing else, they would still go down in history for the parties they threw during their time at Merlin Academy. So of course, they would be the true hosts of Uliana’s birthday party, and it was set to be a rager based on that alone. Of course, every villain party was known to be a good one. Obviously the group known for breaking rules and dark magic would have a reputation of throwing good parties. But a pirate party? Those could go on all night, with just about every liquor you could think of. And though no one ever saw them bring a blender in, there would be daiquiris and piña coladas flowing all night just so they could convince you that rum was good. Surely once he was a few daiquiris deep Hook would be sliding a shot of rum into his hand with the false promise that he’ll like it this time. Though he’s yet to actually like it. 

    He might need it tonight though, considering that in the hour that they’ve been here Morgie has spoken to him twice. He’s too busy being Uliana’s dog, running around and doing whatever the sea witch asks of him. So (Y/n) has occupied himself with leaning on a wall, squinting as the blue and green lights are far too bright compared to their normal tones. He barely notices that someone has idled up beside him until there's a solo cup of what he’s pretty sure is a mango daiquiri under his nose. “You look like you need this,” Hades’ gruff voice rings out beside him, the soft sound of metal spikes against the wall accompanying it. He reaches out and nearly snatches it, sipping the drink and giving it a hum of approval. Definitely mango, god bless Hook for that one. “I might just love you, you know that?” He leans his shoulder against the god’s with a smile, sparing him a glance. “Yeah, someone has to take care of you. Shouldn’t your little boyfriend be getting you drinks?” He glances around, shaking the other villain off of him to instead slide an arm around him, “Or at least be near you? Where is he?” 

    A sound that Hades thinks is supposed to be a laugh slips out of the other boy’s lips, the boy seeming to snuggle into the god’s side. “Oh you haven’t heard? It’s his wife’s birthday. It would be wrong of him to act like he cares about the side piece on such an important day.” As (Y/n) finishes the statement he nods aggressively towards where Uliana is sipping on a piña colada on a make-shift throne. She’s glowing, talking to Maleficent and Morgie about god knows what with a tiara sitting on her head. At least she’s having a good time with Morgie’s attention, no one else seemed to be getting any of it this week. “Oh ouch,” Hades forces out a fake hiss as he taps the other villain’s hip with his own, “Calling yourself the side piece?” 

   “Yeah well,” he shrugs, tearing his eyes away from the green silk shirt and carefully styled hair across the room, “That’s what it feels like.” Hades shakes his head, letting his hand slide up and down his friend’s bicep, “Now, you know that’s not true.” “Yet.” The singular word earns his arm a squeeze and gains him a verbal scoff from his friend. “Morgie’s little snake heart beats for you. He’s an idiot, but he does love you, you’ve gotta know that.” (Y/n) bites his lip, sliding out from under Hades’ arm. “Shouldn’t Hook have tried to force a shot of rum down my throat by now? Where is he at?” He’s walking away as Hades watches him with a disappointed face. He did know that Morgie loves him, didn’t he? Hades needs to keep an eye on him.

   Hook is at the make-shift bar in the back of the hide out when the other villain finds him, pouring two shots in the comical little solo cup shot glasses that he keeps handy for nights like this. “Where have you been? It’s not a villain party if I don’t take a shot with you before I sneak out.” He smirks, slipping one of the two shot glasses into his friend’s hand before lifting his own. “How did you get Morgie to agree to leave this early?” At the mention of his boyfriend’s name, (Y/n) slams the bottom of the shot glass in their hand against the table before them, quickly throwing the rum back before he can process so much as the taste. A strong sip from his daiquiri follows it, sliding the shot glass across the table. “Another, Cap.” It makes thick brows burrow, grabbing the rum nonetheless as he stares at him. “Finally finding a taste for it, eh?” The boy shakes his head, “I just need it. I’d like to be able to sleep when I finally hit my dorm, easier if my mind is swimming.” 

   It makes the pirate beside him frown, sliding another shot to him, “That’s a lot of alcohol compared to what you normally go for, Lad. Morgie is walking you home, right?” It draws a bitter laugh out of the slightly tipsy villain, “No it’s his wife’s birthday. He’s far too busy for me.” As Hook opens his mouth to argue, Hades comes up behind (Y/n), his hands sliding onto the boy’s shoulders. “I’ll walk you home, idiot. As long as the daiquiri stays here.” It elicits a whine from the villain in his grip, (Y/n) leaning his head back to pout at him, “No fair. You gave it to me.” And Hades scoffs, “Yeah, to drink here. You’re not drinking on our walk back to yours.” Hook wants to argue that his friends shouldn’t leave yet, but something about (Y/n) simply isn’t right. Of course, there was always a bitter air around the topic of Morgie and Uliana but this level was new. He didn’t normally act like this, and if he was this set on getting drunk over it, the boy needed to go home. So instead of arguing, he raises his shot glass to (Y/n). The two villains knocking the little glasses against each other. “Down the hatch, Darling,” he smirks, watching the way that his friend raises his brows with his own shot. And they knock them back, the same way they had at every party the group had ever thrown. 

    Of course, normally Hook didn’t take (Y/n)’s drink so it “didn’t go to waste” right after. The boy wishing Hook a good night before double checking that the god behind him truly didn’t mind walking him home. Something that the villain was sure he could do alone but there was no way that Hades or Hook would allow that, not when the boy was like this. So Hades promises Hook that he’ll be right back and wraps a hand around (Y/n)’s shoulders to drag him out of the party and back into the chilly November air. 

                                      ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ 

     (Y/n) knew his limits well enough, he was lucky for that. The second he hit the pillow he was asleep, and now he was awake without even the ghost of a hangover looming over him. Not that he wanted to be awake, he would much rather spend his Sunday wasting the day away in his bed. But how was he meant to sleep with that incessant knocking at his door? So with a begrudging whine and stiff joints, the boy finds himself swinging his legs over the side of his bed. The knocking only seems to grow louder and more urgent as he makes his way over to the door. “I’m coming, god!” A hand reaches out to snatch the door handle, basically ripping it open. Morgie le Fay all but tumbles into his room with the motion, center of gravity being thrown off as the wood he was leaning on is ripped from him. And he looks worse for wear, sweat dampened neck and dark bags under his squinted eyes. 

   “What?” He recoils at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice as if it bit him, a pout crossing over chapped lips. “Can you quiet down? My head is killing me.” (Y/n) rolls his eyes, scoffing as he goes to close his door. “Then go home.” A foot is thrown in the path of the door, stopping him from closing his boyfriend out. “I woke up after a party without you.” There’s this odd sense of disappointment hanging off of his words, eyes seeming to pout more than his lips already did. “Yeah, I’d assume so. I left hours before you did.” Morgie pushes his way into the room at that, softly closing the door behind him. “You did?” “Yeah,” there’s a scoff dripping off his lips as he makes his way back to his bed, “Which you would have noticed if you gave me so much as a minute of thought this past week.” Morgie frowns, leaning against the door with his arms crossing over his chest, “You didn’t walk home alone, did you? You should’ve come and got me. I don’t want you to walk around at night like that.” 

   “No, Hades walked me home.” Morgie nods, looking over at the boy curling up in his bed. (Y/n) obviously trying to make himself smaller as he attempts to talk about his feelings. As if he was doing something wrong. “So why did you ask Hades instead of your boyfriend?” He cuts Morgie a look, rolling his eyes, “I didn’t ask Hades, he just knows me well enough to know when something is wrong.” Morgie raises his brows, “And I don’t know you? I know you, I can tell when something is wrong.” It earns him a laugh, a twisted and broken one that makes his skin crawl. “You do, do you? Okay, then why did we originally go to the mall last Saturday?” And his stomach falls with his confidence. How was Morgie ever meant to come back from this one?

@an-absolute-waste-of-space

[too-many-hyperfixations]

Transformers One Megatron Character Analysis

The movie calls him something else for a lot of its runtime. I’m calling him Megatron because that’s what we know him as and it’s cooler. Spoilers for the movie and a TON of paragraphs ahead.

Megatron’s arc in Transformers One isn’t primarily about betraying Optimus, it’s about his trust in authority is shattered and how that affects all other forms of trust for him.

We meet Megatron in this movie before he believes himself on the level of the primes and thus not having taken up the name of one. This movie is Optimus’ movie, as most transformers movies are, so we have to encounter Meg through him. Meg’s first time speaking his own mind rather than just covering for Orion is on the train shortly after his initial onscreen appearance, where he chided Orion for breaking into the archives yet a g a i n. The reason he does this is interesting to me though!

See, Megatron doesn’t just point out that it’s dangerous because this isn’t the first time security has chased him down, he says it’s an unnecessary risk. Meg cares as much about the source of the planet’s energon being revitalized as anyone else, but he wholeheartedly believes that their leader is not just looking in the right area in the first place, but that he is fully capable of wrenching free the matrix from the forces that be on the surface! Mind you that these are forces he nor anybody else can verify. Only Sentinel and his personal cabinet (who have everything to gain from keeping their mouths shut) have ever actually BEEN up there!

For all the faults of Orion in this movie before the consequences of his actions force him to discover what it takes to become a dependable leader, Orion forces Meg out of his comfort zone in the ways he has to be to grow as a person! This is what leads to Megatron getting into the race, which is the first time we see Meg having to make split second decisions, and doing really well at it! The two nearly get first by a close margin!

The next time that Orion manages to talk Meg into a situation outside of his comfort zone is when he gets them to go all the way to the surface, and even explore there, instead of going home! Meg’s journey on the surface marks the first time he really starts making choices for himself, because although he has a friend he trusts enough to follow the decisions of with him, there’s no authority up here with him. Sure, his former manager is there, but she was demoted earlier and he followed Orion’s judgement over hers even then. Megatron is now making decisions as part of a group in a situation with nobody qualified to give orders. Even when a sudden mountain formation starts taking out the tracks, listening to Bee and running is a conscious decision made in the moment rather than one made because he does this every day this is what you do. He can make decisions in a split second for himself, he's done it with hiding Orion in his cart, but never without the safety net of someone to defer to. When the quintessons are scanning, Meg is at equal standing in the group with their discussion agreeing that those ARE quintesson ships and then helping decide their course of action about the danger. This all comes to a head in the cave, when Megatron, loyal Megatron finds out his life is a lie. His own words on his LIFE BEING A LIE! The minute he fully processes that this information is real and what it means, he goes into a pretty brutal explanation of how he wants to kill Sentinel! This doesn't just break his trust in authority, however, he starts questioning if he can trust ANYONE he's meant to trust! He takes the capsule of proof the original prime gave them partly because he doesn't trust others with it, and partly because he now has a need to be the one in control, including over how that crucial information gets used. If he can't trust the person whose integrity is the most important for their entire society, can he even trust his friends? By the time they reach the Old Guard, Meg has already decided that the answer to that question is no. Even while running over Sentinel with a TRAIN, Optimus is set on using the power of broadcasting and entrusting truth with the people to do the right thing with it! Megatron believes Starscream's philosophy even before he's told the words of it, the strongest bot gets all the power. His trials out here have been those of combat as well, that have fortified his mind, made him worthy! The problem isn't in the system, it's in this one specific person who needs an example made of him for all time! "The rebirth of Cybertron cannot begin with an execution!" Says Optimus. To Megatron, it was always the only way. The strongest bot deserves all the power.

[awrkive]

r we getting tlp3 anytime soon 😖😖😖

anon asked: Could you please give us a little tiny spoiler about tlp pt.3?🥹🫶🏻

hi first anon! no i dont think i can give u guys a date yet. im actually currently joining an architectural competition at uni so thats keeping me a bit busier than usual, but i am writing tlp 3 during my breaks so ... thats that. ANYWHO. i will make sure to update u guys when its ready to be out!

anyways, to second anon. a tiny spoiler under the cut proceed if u wanna.. 🤓

You’re pretty much drained the moment you arrive at your place.

Sighing heavily, you punch in the passcode and almost feel your knees buckling at the sight of the interior of your apartment when the door opens.

It feels like it’s been so long since you’ve been here, and coupled with the discussion that you had with Doyeon two days ago, everything suddenly feels overstimulating and there’s a certain burn at the sides of your eyes that urges you to cry. 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you breathe in and out as you enter the threshold, noting the fact that anybody is not home. Or Jungkook isn’t present anywhere in the living room. You’re a bit grateful for that if you have to be honest to yourself – after all, the last time that you talked to him, it did not exactly go as well as you’d like. 

He could be in his room, though. That’s what you assume as you go straight over to the kitchen in hopes to heat up the take-out that you bought at the driveway. But the to-go container from Chipotle at the island catches your attention, as well as the laptop that is left open beside it. 

So Jungkook is home. 

The question is, where could he possibly be, leaving out his stuff here in the kitchen? Might be in his bedroom to grab something real quick? 

You don’t mean to do the next thing that comes to your mind, but your feet – your stupid feet – track back from the microwave to the island, and your eyes betray you as they go look and read the words on Jungkook’s macbook. 

The tab that's left open shows an apartment listing website, and the following tabs beside it are some familiar real-estate names you’ve come to visit on the internet before when you were looking for a place yourself.

It makes you freeze in your spot, eyes glued to the daunting images of the apartment layout that Jungkook must’ve clicked on awhile ago, and you take note that he’s seemingly, specifically, looking for one-bedroom and studio apartments. 

Your mind goes into a sudden haywire at the sight. 

What does this mean? 

“Oh, hey,”

The embodied voice makes your head snap to its direction, and you see Jungkook standing in front of you in his sweats and shirt – his usual home clothes – with a charger in his hand. 

“Jungkook.” You say, or more like, breathe out. There's a heavy feeling that sits in your heart when you look at his face – but most of all, it beats a little above normal.

But Jungkook looks just as surprised as you. 

“I… I didn’t know you’re coming ho– back.” He says, and you feel a sudden twinge inside that you ignore when you caught him pointedly avoiding the word home when pertaining to your place. Somehow, it felt intentional.

But you give him a smile. Probably a weak one. Probably doesn’t really look like a smile at all and more like a grimace.

If Jungkook notices, he doesn’t say anything. Just goes straight to the direction of the high chairs on the island and plug in his charger on his laptop. 

Then, he turns to look at you. “Uh.. you just got off from your shift?” 

“Uhm, yeah. You too?” You say, nibbling your bottom lip with your teeth. A nervous habit. 

“Nah, got off a few hours ago.” 

“Oh. Okay.” 

“Yeah.” 

You nod your head. You stand there for a while, letting the silence that’s admittedly awkward hang in the air. 

It’s weird, really. Jungkook and you usually have a lot to say to each other – but right now, there doesn’t seem to be a single thing that you can bring up.

There's a certain kind of melancholy in the case. 

“Well, uhm. That’s Zillow.” You say, pointing to his laptop. The moment the words left your lips you swear you could have slapped yourself. 

How stupid to ask him about it. How incredibly stupid for that thing to be your choice of topic after weeks of no proper communication with him. 

Jungkook seems just as taken aback by this, though, turning his head immediately to look at his laptop. There’s a slight jerk in his movements when he glides his fingers across the trackpad that closes the entire window of the internet and shows his PC wallpaper instead. 

“Oh. Yeah. That was… Zillow.” 

Stupid, stupid you makes everything even more awkward when you say, “You’re looking for a place?” 

Jungkook stares at you for awhile. There’s a pregnant pause, and then he nods his head. A bit hesitant. But his voice is full when he speaks. 

“Yeah.” 

So he’s moving out. That’s what you think as you avoid looking at his face, letting your gaze fall back on his laptop.

You give him a small smile. 

“Ah. Good luck with the search, then.”

Your hope you hide the way your heart completely breaks when you say the words. 

[euphorajeon]

twenty-seven.

You turn twenty-seven this year.

The first time I had known of you, it was from a birthday live in 2015. I clicked on the video randomly, with zero knowledge about you and Bangtan, and I was confused. Why are these boys so loud but not the birthday boy? I didn’t know anyone’s names back then. Didn’t know your personality. Didn’t know how much you’d mean to me in the coming years.

You turn twenty-seven this year.

You were nineteen when I saw you in concert for the first time in my life. Twenty that year, actually, but still nineteen in April—the month of the concert. Your hair was so different back then, the style the one we used to say coconut head, but your smile remains the same. Wide, bright, and the light still reaches your eyes where they twinkle in glee. My memories of that night are a blur—but the brightness of your smile while being on stage, I’ll never forget.

You turn twenty-seven this year.

For the next couple of years, I watched you struggle before my eyes. You used to be so hard on yourself about your performance, crying over a minuscule mistake that no one but you noticed. It was heartbreaking to watch, especially knowing how hard you work for those performances. But over time, I watched you be more gentle towards yourself, now being able to laugh off the mistake that you do on stage. It was nice to see that you’re able to be at peace about those mistakes.

You turn twenty-seven this year.

Over the years, I have watched you go from someone who’s closed off to someone who’s not afraid of showing who you are. You used to hold onto fans’ requests and complaints like a lifeline, thinking they will leave you the second you say no. Now, you just tell those who complain to fuck off. (Not in those words, exactly. You were more gentle. Sorry that I’m not.) Also, this paragraph won’t be complete without mentioning the cursed green dishwashing gloves—that you ditched in favor of short-sleeved t-shirts two years later. Then two years after that, you let us in on the meaning of the art covering your arm. I couldn’t be more proud (and thankful.)

You turn twenty-seven this year.

And yet, your childlike wonder is still intact. For the past few weeks, I watched you feel excited over the smallest bit of things some people find mundane. The snack you’d found in an American supermarket. The kimchi and grilled fish in that Jeju restaurant. That climbing place that has you jumping around in joy. It’s refreshing to see you enjoy those small things, makes me feel like it wouldn’t take a lot to be happy. I hope you stay happy like this every day (even when Jimin scolds you for running around the supermarket searching for guacamole and tortilla chips instead of the sponge you initially planned to get.)

You turn twenty-seven today.

I hope your smile never dims. I hope your happiness doesn’t falter. I hope you have a great time today. I hope you know that we’re still here, staying with you, holding your hand, even when you’re currently away. We’ll never let go.

Happy twenty-seventh birthday, Jeongguk.

september 1st, 2024.

a/n: it's a veryveryvery late post but still, happy 27th birthday, ggukie!

masterlist

[psychopomparia]

Drew two of my Honkai Star Rail OCs as those bean cake cats from the new event. We shall call them Dark Chocolate Cherry Cat and Grass Jelly Cat

[tonycries]

Whiskey, Neat, With a Side of You - T.F.

Synopsis. When your date stands you up, you’re lucky that the hot bartender is more than happy to keep you company! 

Pairing. Bartender! Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, strangers to lovers, unprotected, pússydrunk Toji, cúmplay, oral (female + male receiving), créampie, some heinous things with pantíes, dirty talk, spitting, whískey, neither are drunk, absolutely filthy, pet names (doll), swearing.

Word count. 4.6k

A/N. Was originally gonna be Nanami but Toji mmmm

“So, that date of yours is late, huh?”

You don’t know what shocks you more - the question, or the voice from behind the counter - so very deep, tinged with just a bit of amusement.

Tearing your eyes away from the clock at the other end of the bar, it takes a second - and one look around the almost-empty room - for you to realize that shit the hot bartender was talking to you. Sputtering out a quick, “Oh, yes, um-” quickly reading that faded nametag, “-Toji. He’s a bit late.”

The man in front of you raises a brow, dark green eyes locked on the way you shift in your seat. He seemed a bit older, and - you gulp, eyeing the way his arms flex as he fumbles with the shaker - so undeniably attractive. Plowing on obliviously, “Boyfriend?”  

You sigh, pinching your nose, “No, some guy from a dating app. It’s supposed to be our first date.” 

“First date?” Toji lets out a low whistle. “Way to make an impression, dunno what type of asshat would keep a pretty lil’ thing like you waiting.”

Cheeks flaring, you don’t know what it is about him that makes you want to defend yourself, but it doesn’t matter anyway - because whatever rambled excuse gets stuck in your throat at the sharp scrape of glass against the counter. Large hands gently placing a pretty pink daiquiri in front of you, Toji gives you a reassuring nod. “S’on the house till that dumbass shows up. Until then, you can keep me company, doll.”

Playing with the straw between your fingers, your eyes flit to the clock again - 8:10pm.

Well, there was still time. Right? 

Nonsense, maybe.

Because it’s around 10:21pm when you conclude that no, there really wasn’t still time, and your date seemed well and fully intent on completely embarrassing you. And now, him still nowhere in sight, lips a bit looser, you were having the time of your life complaining all about it to Toji.

“-no, I swear.” you groan over his low chuckle. “He really gave me the ‘sorry, my dog ate my keys’ gem. And you know the best part?” Beckoning him over to whisper conspiratorially in his ear - heart stuttering at the heat of his proximity, “The man doesn’t even own a dog.”

Shaking his head, Toji seemed like he was drinking in your every word. “Classic. If yer gonna be late, at least make it interesting. Like, ‘I accidentally joined the circus on the way here.’”

“Mhm, I’ll have to keep that in mind for my next no-show date.” you grin, suddenly feeling a lot lighter than you were a few hours ago. Nowhere near tipsy, but definitely high off the conversation and the addictive scent of his cologne - the expensive kind that left you wondering whether all of him smelled this delicious. 

“Or better yet, you could spend your time with someone who actually knows how to keep you entertained rather than some scrub.”

Snapping out of your little reverie, lifting your head just fast enough to catch the little smirk tugging Toji’s lips. Managing to grit out, “Smooth, huh?”

“Just sayin’.” he hums, before turning his back to organize the glasses on the shelf. And you can’t help but traitorously admire his broad shoulders, cursing that t-shirt for being so goddamn tight that you could see the way his muscles ripple with each movement. 

“Besides-” Catching the tail-end of Toji’s question, “-neat whiskey for all the failed dates?”

You chuckle, “Ah, I really shouldn’t, the other customers will probably-” your sentence dies in your throat as a quick glance at the empty room showed that everyone else had eventually left - leaving just you. And Toji. Damn. Slow day, huh?

“Well, doll?”

Heaving out a shaky breath, you nod. Eyes zoning in on the way he expertly handles the glasses, so dizzyingly inviting. It makes a sheepish smile play at your lips, letting out a quiet little, “Despite all the shitty dates, I’ve actually never had whiskey neat before.”

Oh? That made him pause. Eyes widening ever-so-slightly as he sets down the glasses and leans in a little closer, breath hot against your face. “Never?”

“Never.”

“Well.” Toji muses. “This overpriced shit can’t be your first intro to neat whiskey. If you’re up for it, I’ve got a special 1926 Macallan stashed away in the back n’ can get it for us?”

Oh. Maybe it was that slow, silent grin that curls his lips, that sinful little scar moving as he does. Or maybe it was the way he places a hand on the counter to stare down so heavily at you. Probably it was just him - because you find yourself batting your lashes so deceivingly innocently, “Or I could just go with you?”

And shit if there was ever a time where Toji was sure he met his match then it might just be right now. Because that sultry lil’ smirk on your lips was killing him, making such a carnal little part of him twitch so dangerously. With a heavy nod, you’re following him through the dimly lit bar.

The back room is more of a VIP room than anything - cozy, lined with shelves of alcohol and leather furniture. Heady with the liquor and something so so Toji. 

You’re halfway through reading the title of a wine you could barely pronounce before he’s letting out a grunt of satisfaction from behind you, “Excuse me, doll.” It’s all that’s said before Toji’s pressing up against you. His muscular arm just inches from your head, reaching for something from the very top shelf. And oh you could feel his abs rubbing up against your back, so warm and- 

And then he’s pulling away. 

It was quite hard to stomp down the disappointed whine that almost leaves your throat, and if you didn’t know any better you’d have said something about the amused little glint in his eyes. Smug bastard knew what he was doing. 

Instead focusing on the way he turns to show off a bottle with a deceivingly innocent reverence. “This is going to be a real treat.”

Well. Two can play that game.

“Is that so?” you tilt your head, reaching out to grab the bottle neck, with not as much care of concern as you should have considering this was a million dollar whiskey. Swiftly unclasping the lid, focused only on the way Toji’s breath hitches as you fist his t-shirt in your other hand to pull him close to you - so close.

Close enough that you could count every shade of green in those half-lidded eyes, long lashes fluttering as your breath fans his face. “Such a shame we didn’t bring our glasses, huh?”

Oh the devilish grin that splits across his face sends such delicious shivers down your spine - Toji gets your drift. Of course, he does. Because he’s squishing your cheeks together in an almost-embarrassing pout, fingers searing on your skin, lips ghosting yours, “Yeah, real shame.” 

Immediately bringing the bottle to his mouth, letting the burning liquid pool on his tongue, he spits into your mouth, once. Twice. 

A steady stream of whiskey, and spit. It tasted just like the acrid alcohol and sin. And Toji. 

And it was so messy, smearing across your lips and trickling down your chin. Tilting your head back, you let it flow down your throat obscenely. Locked in his greedy gaze as you loll your tongue out to show off the way you’d swallowed everything he gave. 

“Maybe I do like neat whiskey.”

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him because fuck Toji was intoxicating and just there. That little scar rubbing against your lips as he devours you so sloppily, all hard muscles and heated skin underneath your fingertips. 

“Fuck.” he hisses into your open mouth. Setting down the whiskey God-knows-where near the couch to pick you up like a ragdoll. Drinking in the cute lil’ gasp that leaves you as you wrap your legs around his slutty waist. Groping and kneading every inch of skin he could reach. “How ya likin’ the Macallan, doll?”

“A ‘real treat’.” you mimic his earlier words, voice slightly broken as you feel his rock-hard cock through your wet panties, throbbing angrily against your cunt. Fuck, would you even be able to take him all?

“Oh yeah?”

And before you can react you’re being pushed against the hard wall. Toji’s lips dizzying on yours, fiddling with that godforsaken clasp on the back of your tight dress. 

“Shit.” he groans impatiently, wedging a knee between your legs, grinding against your wet pussy. “Such a delicious meal all f’me but I’ve gotta get through this- fuckin-” rip! “-dress”

Well, you expected your dress to end up on the floor somewhere, just not like this - tattered and hitting the ground of this back room behind the bar, faster than your jaw. And so do Toji’s - pupils blown, eyes hooded as he takes in the heavenly view in front of him. 

Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, licking like he couldn’t stay away. “Shit, doll. You were gonna wear this pretty lil’ number for that loser?” he sounds genuinely confused. Immediately tweaking and rolling your swollen nipples through the sheer fabric. “M’so fucking glad that bastard doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.”

“T-Toji- ngh-” you mewl, as he lets your bra fall to the ground. Taking in one tit in his mouth, swirling his hot tongue around your areola. “Wan- wan’ more-”

“Now now,” he tuts mockingly, delicate strings of spit connecting him to your breasts. “S’rude to be the only one drinking. Unless…” Toji looks up at you through his thick lashes, “You wan’ me to drink in that pretty lil’ cunt of yours?”

And shit that sounded like everything you ever wanted right now. All you can let out is a delirious little nod before Toji’s dropping to his knees. So hard you wonder if it hurts - and maybe it’s the liquor, probably it’s the way he’s drunk off you - but he doesn’t give a fuck. 

“Yeah, atta girl.”

Pulling down your panties in one, fluid motion, he tugs them underneath your legs, disappearing between his own, fumbling with his waistband. And if you angled your head just right you could see the slightest glimpse of Toji fisting his cock. Soaking your already-wet panties with his precum.

“Aw, look at the way she’s so wet f’me already.” he coos at your dripping cunt. Absolutely obsessed with the way you’re so drenched for him already. Slick beading through the flimsy fabric at each hot breath, oh Toji has half the mind to just take you right here, right now. But no, he wanted- needed a taste. Doesn’t think he could live without it. “Wonder if she tastes just as sweet as she looks.”

Whatever retort on the tip of your tongue is cut off by Toji burying himself face-first in your pussy. Licking a long, languid stripe up your swollen folds, pooling your slick on his tongue. 

But it wasn’t enough - it might never be. Because one taste of your pretty cunt and Toji is hooked. 

With a low groan, he’s spitting a steady stream of spit onto your quivering pussy. Spreading it with his thumb before he’s diving back in nose-deep. Snaking a hand down to draw frenzied little circles on your swollen clit, letting your juices glisten all down his wrist.

“Taste s’fuckin’ good. Fucking sweet.” So hot and maybe you should’ve gotten an inkling with how sloppy he was with the whiskey - but Toji was so fucking filthy. Your slick glossing his face so prettily, smearing right up to his nose and dribbling down his chin. Lewd little squelches deafening in your ears. 

“Ngh- Sh-shut up-”

“Shut up? Can’t shut up, doll, m’drunk on this sweet cunt more than I am on whiskey.” he mutters into your folds. “My favorite taste. Got me addicted, huh?”

He huffs out a dark laugh into your pussy, taking in that cute lil’ embarrassed expression on your face. Throwing one of your legs over his sculpted shoulder, Toji bullies his soft tongue into your snug cunt, past that delicious little ring of resistance. 

Making out with your pussy deeper. And his tongue was so long - perfectly hitting your sweet spots, licking all over your plushy walls. Thrusting in time with his thumb drawing on your clit, in and out in and out in and-

“Fuck, I could get used to this. Have you for breakfast, lunch, n’ dinner.”

His words were so dirty, but Toji looked so pretty stuffing his face in your cunt. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, dark strands of his hair sticking to his forehead. Tilting his head just so that your sweet sweet juices slide down his throat. 

It’s what has you tugging in his hair to angle him just right, using him like your favorite toy. Such cute lil’ whines of his name leaving you each time his tongue grazes that one spot that has you keening and bucking into his mouth for more more more-

“Fuck fuck fuck jus’ like that- Ah!” you let out such pretty whines, words slurring together. Delirious little ones that go straight to Toji’s achingly hard cock, angry and twitching in his fist. So needy and glistening with precum in the dim lighting.

Shit, Toji thinks he could cum at just that, which is why he’s lapping at your cunt even greedier, drinking you in like a madman. Fingers so deftly toying with your pretty clit, making you putty in his hands. He has to make you cum. Now. Or else he’s gonna fuckin’ embarrass himself in front of such a goddess. 

“Oh? So drunk on m’tongue, already, doll?” he chuckles. “Can’t speak?” Vibrations sending white-hot jolts of pleasure up your spine. It has you dragging your cunt so sloppily all over Toji’s face - and he likes it. Loves it even, only speeding up his movements. Even when his jaw is aching, walls sucking him up so desperately that it was almost difficult to eat out your pretty lil’ cunt. Even when your sweet juices are dripping down to the hardwood floor in a sinful little drip! drip! drip! 

“I- ngh- m’gonna-”

“Gonna what? You can handle whiskey, you can handle using your words, doll.”

“Cum!” you yelp, “M’gonna cum Toji- ah- feels t’good.” 

And that’s exactly what he liked to hear because Toji only gets sloppier. Alternating between stretching you out on his tongue, sucking on your clit, licking everywhere. Over and over-

“Then cum f’me, doll.”

And you are - fast and hard. So hard that you don’t even realize when you’re rocking your hips all over Toji’s face. Cunt fluttering around his tongue as if you were trying to suck him up - and he lets you. 

“Fuck. Sweeter than I imagined.” he’s slurring into your cunt. “Jus’ like that- yeah, ride out that pretty lil’ cunt on m’face.” Words muffled as he tonguefucks you through your high, stars behind your lids every time he flicks at your pussy. 

Distantly, you hear such embarrassing little whimpers of his name in time with the sinfully wet groans from below - ones you realize are yours only when you’re blinking back your vision. Heart thundering, pathetically trying to catch your breath.

The first thing you hear is Toji’s little chuckle, followed closely by a lewd pop! that has you whirling to look at him down below.

“Wh-wha-” and all you can let out is a strangled little oh! at the sight before you - Toji licking his fingers clean, sucking all your sweet juices like he couldn’t get enough. Even when he’s flashing you a devilish grin around his fingers, rising from his position on the ground to cage you against the wall.

“Told ya m’addicted, doll.”

Your back hits the soft leather before you even realize what’s happening. Bouncing at the sheer force of the throw, you gasp in both shock and at the audacity of this man.

“Toji…” you warn as he looms over you on the couch, yet it comes out more breathless than you intended. But looking at him there - straddling your hips, pants pulled just below his heavy balls, tugging and teasing his rock-hard cock like he was trying to fuck something delicious out of it - how could you be blamed, really?

He was so big. Pulsing wildly in his fist and just soaked in precum - all the way from his pretty pink tip to the tufts of black at his base. Not quite wild, not quite tamed. You cunt clenches in- anticipation? Fear of not being able to walk for the next week?

And in the haze of your orgasm it takes you a second to register the flimsy panties wrapped around his hand. Rubbing against those prominent veins on the side as Toji fucks his fist. So wet and ruined that you almost didn’t recognize it. 

“Jus’ think of it as repayment.” he grins, following your line of sight. 

You scoff, eyes still traitorously stuck on his throbbing cock. So massive and mouth-watering that it makes you wish he used you instead of those panties. “Those were expensive y’know.”

“I’ll buy you new ones. Four. In the color of my eyes.”

“How about…” you flash him a sultry smirk, urging his hips to shift higher. And by the amused quirk of his brow, you knew Toji liked where this was going.  “I can repay you another way.”

And before you knew it, his pants are thrown to God-knows-where, and you had two, muscled thighs straddling your face. Toji slaps his swollen cock on your face once. Twice. “Think that loser was this big?” Thumbing your mouth open as he grazes his weeping tip across your lips, glossing them so prettily. Precum salty on your tongue, all filthy and dripping down to your chin. 

“Open wide- Fuck. Tha’s it-” he hisses, brows furrowing as he stuffs his fat head into your hot mouth. Eyes rolling to the back of his head at the way your lips bulge around him, flicking at the sensitive tip. And it was so delicious, Toji couldn’t decide whether he liked eating you out or this more. 

“Shit, doll.” he grunts, hips fucking into your plushy tongue in shallow, quick little thrusts. “Taking me so well, huh?”

You didn’t know if you were - lips stretching obscenely around his thick cock, tears clinging to your lashes. Choking and gagging around his length in a way that made Toji twitch inside you. Shit, he liked this - liked seeing you like this. And as soon as the realization hits you, you’re moaning around his cock, making Toji’s hips stutter above you. 

Toji has to fight off that part of himself that just wants to paint your mouth a sinful white. Fuck his cum into your till it’s all you can taste - all you can feel. 

“Shit. You little minx. Ah- s’heavenly around me ngh-” pressing your head down till all the way till your nose is flush against his pelvis, balls twitching against your chin. Finally bottoming out and fucking your mouth in harsh, long strokes. “Fuck- Wonder if that pretty lil’ cunt of yours is gonna take me t-this well, huh?”

Oh does he love your smart mouth - but he loves it even more when all he gets in response is wet gurgle around his cock. Looking up at him so tearily and shit he could get used to this sight. “M’gonna take that as a yes.”

And then he’s speeding up, balls squeezing so painfully. God it’s so fucking hard to look at you too - precum and spit bubbling sloppily at the corners of your mouth, makeup so messy and fucking gorgeous to him. 

“Can feel m’self riiight-” Reaching out a hand to wrap around your throat, feeling his dick bulging in and out in and- “here.”

Moving faster so he can ruin your pretty face. It’s so sloppy the way your spit glistens down his length, using your swollen mouth as he pleases. And you’re so eager to make him lose his mind too that it has been fucking into you like a toy.

“Ya like this? Like me using your pretty lil’ mouth like oh- it’s a fucktoy? Oh fuck, doll.” he groans, running his mouth like he’s drunk off yours wrapped around him. “Gonna paint that pretty mouth of yours white if y’don’t stop now.” 

And shit if he knew those words would have you eagerly bobbing your head to meet his hips a little slut then he’d have said them a lot sooner. Trying to get just a taste of him. Mascara runny now, swirling your tongue around his leaking tip every time he hits the back of your throat, so hard that it’s probably sore and bruised. Toji almost feels bad. 

…

Nahhh

Pulling your mouth off him, muttering low and dangerous. “Told ya to stop now, didn’t I?”

And oh he hates to cut off that cute lil’ whine spilling from your kiss-bitten lips, but shit Toji’s losing his patience and his sanity with each passing second that he isn’t stuffing his cock in your pretty cunt. 

Toji backs up, swiping a thumb under your lip, sucking off the remnants of his precum before capturing your lips in a searing, searing kiss. Tasting you and himself and you- 

“Liked the Macallan, huh?” Reaching blindly for the bottle of whiskey, taking a deep swing. Spitting it back into your mouth because shit you looked so pretty swallowing it all up. Rutting his hips into yours, sliding his throbbing erection in between your swollen folds. Collecting your sweet juices on his head, drinking in your adorable gasps.

“T-Toji.” you whimper, hips bucking up wildly. “Just fuck me already, goddamnit.”

And then he is - pressing his fat tip into your sloppy hole. Inch by fucking inch. Not even thinking of easing into it because fuck he needs it. He needs it-

“-s’bad. Ah-” Toji drawls against your lips. “Wan’ed this ever since y’walked in through that damn door.” A mess of spit and alcohol and precum - it made you feel so dirty, dirtier than the pressure between your legs as he bullies his heavy cock into your snug pussy. And all you can do is fucking take it because Toji was so unrelenting.

Thrusting in shallow, mindless little thrusts to just fit himself inside you - and you already feel like you’re being stretched to your limits. Whimpering out a tearily little, “Are you at least ngh- halfway in yet? Oh-”

If Toji was any lesser man he’d just have split you apart on his cock right now, but no. Instead settling for a smug little, “Nope”, popping the p.

But that doesn’t stop him from wrapping two arms around your waist, sitting up on the couch with you splayed out so prettily on his cock. Pulling you, squeezing his dick into your soft cunt, sliding down, down, down.

“Ah! Ah- shit shit shit s’too deep, ngh-”

“No such thing as ‘too deep’, doll.” he clenches his jaw. Hands pushing your thighs apart even further as you’re split apart on his cock. “You jus’ hafta sit there all pretty n’ take- it-” Each word is punctuated by a harsh thrust. 

And Toji’s manhandling you around while bouncing you on his dick. Drawing unhurried little circles on your clit while trying to find that one spot he knows you’d love more than any whiskey or drink. Looping a strong arm to arch you into his body and-

“Fuck!” you keen, hips grinding sloppily to milk his cock as much as you could. Walls clenching so sinfully and shit-

“Found it.”

And then it was like something snapped - because all of a sudden Toji’s no more playful teasing and letting you have your little fun. No, he’s fucking you like a man possessed - thrusting his cock up into you. All the way from his weeping tip, till his balls smack your ass. So hard he’s sure they leave such a shameful mark for tomorrow. Hitting that spot over and over-

“Aren’t ya glad you chose to ah- s-stay with me?” he hisses, throwing his head back. One hand rocking your hips deeper the other becoming faster and faster on your poor, ravaged clit. Driving you crazy. “Fuck that date ditcher, y’look all pretty like this for me.”

“Yes yes yes- s’glad.” you manage to sob out. Voice shaky and hitching at the way he was bouncing you on his cock with reckless abandon. The lewd squelches and skin-on-skin filling the heady room, making your head spin so much that you barely hear Toji’s words. 

“I’d make a much better date. Hngh-” he lets out a guttural groan as your nails rake his back. Fingers on your clit becoming more and more frantic. “Would buy ya flowers n’ a-all that shit. Show up on time, all dressed up.” Drinking in your lewd little ah! ah! ah! every time he milks himself on your sloppy pussy. But oh maybe Toji was a talker when he was drunk because he wasn’t done yet. 

“Make all those other scrubs fuck- jealous. And then-” Hips stuttering and so so sloppy. “Hah- at night- m’gonna fuck you dumb just like this.” he gasps, sounding like he was at the end of his sanity. Losing it bit by bit every time his veins rub so deliciously against all the right spots that make you see stars. 

Losing his sanity especially when you whine out such a cute lil’ noise of agreement. “Fuck m’close. Wanted this too, huh? I saw the way you’d been eyeing me all night.”

You can’t even be embarrassed about being caught red-handed, only looking up at his pretty face with delirious heart-eyes. Too cockdrunk and delirious at this point. And, well, maybe it’s the alcohol in your veins because you’re grabbing at the shiny bottle on the seat, bringing it to your lips. The bitter taste barely hitting your lips before you’re meeting his. Making out as sloppily as he was ravaging you below - all teeth and whiskey and pure filth. 

And that answers his question. 

Messy and desperate. 

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same - clamping down so sinfully on his aching cock. And shit it’s so heavenly that it sends him over the edge as well. 

Toji cums, and keeps cumming so hard that he can see the way his seed was gushing out of your poor, overfilled pussy. Especially not when his thrusts get sloppy, thick cum spilling all over your pretty cunt. Purposely not pulling out like the mean bastard he is to paint your walls a sinful white

Over and over, forming a wet little patch on the couch that he knows he’ll have to worry about later. But right now he doesn’t give a fuck because your bloated and so prettily all covered in his seed. 

Leisurely, he pools the cum trickling out of your cunt on his fingertips, not even wasting a second before stuffing them in your mouth, pushing through your swollen lips. And you don’t complain - not at all. In fact, you’re sucking it all up eagerly. Looking Toji straight in the eyes while you swallow it all. 

“Hmm, not as good as the whiskey.” you tease. Letting yourself be yanked into his body, as he grins against your lips.

“For that, m’keeping the panties.” 

--- 

“Toji…” a low voice rings through the closed bar. Shiu sounding like he’s absolutely at his wit’s end as he continues, “Where the fuck is our 1926 Macallan?”

The man in question was staring suspiciously giddily at his phone - either having not heard what Shiu said, or he just couldn’t give a fuck anyway. And knowing Toji, it was probably the latter. 

A warning. “Toji I’m serious, that shit costs over a million dollars.”

“Yeah yeah, congratulations or my condolences but hey, do you know any great flower shops?”

A/N. I don’t even like whiskey so much, it’s just the thought of bartender! Toji that has me feral.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[zorobff]

how to disappear. (opla!zoro x fem!reader)

synopsis: joining luffy’s crew made you believe that you’d finally escaped your former pirate crew and nightmare of a captain for good. that is, until a certain butler starts looking a little too familiar. good thing zoro’s keeping a close eye on you.

warnings: opla spoilers (ep 3), some direct dialogue from opla, mentions of verbal/physical abuse, kuro is just a weirdo tbh, reader is called a bitch, protective zoro, for the sake of the story sham and buchie joined the black cat pirates after reader left

word count: 4.7k

“this guy is full of shit.”

you knock your shoulder into zoro’s wider one. “be nice. and so what if he is?” 

zoro gives you a pointed glare. “then we should turn around and look for someone who can actually help us find a ship.” 

“all business, as per usual,” you reply, with a purposefully dramatic sigh. “why can’t you have a little fun?” 

“what about this is supposed to be fun?” zoro spits out the word like it’s poisonous. “this is the blandest village i’ve ever seen.”

you scoff. “now you’re the one that’s full of shit. nothing’s ever bland with us and you know it.” 

the us in question was your newly formed pirate crew… if you and luffy could even be considered that. having left the ship you’d been on a few years ago, you were in search of a new crew. luffy was persistent and charming — when you’d crossed paths in shells town, it took little to no time for him to convince you to join his hunt for the one piece. zoro and nami, on the other hand, had yet to follow in your footsteps. 

“well, considering that we’ve only been traveling together for a day and a half and i’ve already escaped a marine base, defeated a marine captain, and fought a clown with devil fruit powers… i’d actually have to agree.” 

you can’t help but giggle at his sarcastic delivery. “be grateful, zoro. not many pirate crews are this fun to be on, trust me. oh wait, that’s right, you still haven’t officially joined—”

“tell me about your old pirate crew,” interjects zoro, your comment having piqued his interest. 

you notice that the playful atmosphere dissipates. “god, where do i even start?” 

zoro answers that for you. “why did you leave?”

“starting with the hard hitting questions, huh?” you joke, mostly to stall. you clear your throat before you answer. “well, it was different. nothing like what luffy has going on. he actually cares about his crew… and even those who aren’t technically on it.” 

at that, a smile tugs at the corner of zoro’s lips. even you crack a small grin. although as you continue speaking, it fades. 

“on my old crew, we were dispensable. anytime something went wrong, our own captain would threaten to kill us. it was… scary, to be completely honest. there were so many times when i thought i’d die with that filthy crew. and i never wanted that. so as soon as we docked at shells town, i left.”  

zoro’s jaw clenches as imagines the things you’d seen and been subjected to. “this old captain of yours sounds like a real—”

“he was a nightmare,” you tell him. “he didn’t care that i was the only woman on board, he treated me just as horribly, if not worse.” 

zoro stops so suddenly that it takes you a second to realize he’s not walking alongside you.

“what do you mean by that.” the way zoro phrases the inquiry doesn’t even make it sound like a question. more like a demand. his narrowed eyes are fixed solely on you. holding his gaze feels… intense. 

you can’t help but glance away as you answer him. “he was just a bit of a creep.”

before zoro has the chance to try and extract more information out of you, a familiar voice calls both your names. you’re not really sure when you and zoro had fallen behind but from where you currently stand, the rest of your group looks miniature. or perhaps it’s just the massive size of the mansion behind them that makes luffy, nami, and usopp look pocket-sized in comparison. 

“why’d you stop walking?!” your captain shouts, hands pressed on each side of his mouth to amplify his voice. “get over here, we’re about to go in through the top secret entrance!” 

you vaguely make out usopp gesturing for luffy to keep his voice down. you’re sure that would warrant another comment from zoro about his reliability but he’s too busy staring at you with that expectant look in his eyes. 

“we better catch up,” you tell him, heading in the direction of the deluxe home. 

he allows you to dodge the subject and sighs, walking in long strides to catch up to you.  

“i’ve never seen a house this big before,” luffy admits, admiring the mansion along with the wellkept greenery surrounding it. 

“awesome, right?” usopp gloats, walking around like he owned the place. “kaya’s given me an open invitation to drop by anytime i want.” 

“wow.” you’re not sure if luffy was just going along with usopp’s act or if he really believed him. knowing the devil fruit user, it was more than likely the latter. “all this for just one person?”

“well, she lives here with her butler and a few other staff,” usopp replies, leaning against the stone well that sat in the middle of the lawn.

“money really shows you who people truly are,” nami mutters, eyes scanning the property. “most people only care about themselves and what’s theirs.”

zoro is quick to throw the insult back at her. “sounds like someone i know.”

you roll your eyes at his comment, though you make no effort to disagree with him. nami was a little on the materialistic side. 

“and a small staff makes for easy pickings,” she continues, proving your point.

“we just got here and you’re already planning on robbing the place blind?” you ask though you already know the answer.

“at least a little blurry,” she smirks, following behind luffy and usopp who walk toward the entrance. 

you and zoro share a look. one that says disappointed but not surprised. 

going under a shrub shaped as an arch, you’re met with a beautiful pond. you admire the pink lilies that float at the top and the bushes that were intricately trimmed into the shape of various animals. even if the people that lived here were filthy rich, at least they had good decorative taste. 

“so if you have an invitation, why are we going around the back way?” luffy ponders.

usopp’s answer is nonchalant. “oh, i never use the front entrance. like i said, this is the vip entrance reserved for special guests.”

zoro scoffs. “this guy’s definitely–”

“don’t start,” you groan, cutting him off. 

abruptly, usopp freezes and spins around, attempting to usher your crew back. “you know what, there’s actually a more exclusive entrance this way–”

the sharp swoosh of a knife cutting through the air and burying itself in the ground between usopp’s feet cuts him off. from the direction the kitchen utensil was thrown stands a heavyset gentleman with his face wrinkled in anger. his demanding voice booms through the garden, “the hell are you doing here, usopp?” 

the dark-skinned boy fumbles over his word. “buchi, buddy, uh, kaya’s expecting me.”

“another one of your lies,” the man – seemingly named buchi – seethes, grabbing him by the collar. “you ain’t welcome here and you know it.”

“i know nothing of the sort,” usopp retorts, keeping his cool even when he was practically being lifted off the ground by his shirt. “i’m here to give kaya an extra special gift.”

before buchi can get another word out, a feminine voice calls out for your companion. coming down the steps is a frail looking girl in a pink dress. on her arm is a man dressed in a crisp suit, presumably the butler usopp had mentioned earlier. though, from where you stand you can’t see either of their faces too clearly. 

“what a wonderful surprise,” she exclaims, breathlessly. 

“kaya!” usopp exclaims, returning her enthusiasm. buchi has no choice but to let him go, begrudgingly. usopp makes sure to shoot him a smug look before walking towards the young girl. “happy birthday.” 

the butler clears his throat, not afraid to intrude on their special moment. “usopp, we’ve discussed this before. you mustn’t show up unannounced.” 

“nonsense, klahadore.” kaya smiles warmly. “have you come to tell me another story? i do love hearing about your adventures.” 

“i’ll do you one better,” usopp smirks with such confidence that even you’re left wondering what kind of surprise he has up his sleeve. “i brought some of my crew!” he gestures back towards the four of you, proudly. 

your excitement vanishes. “oh. the surprise is… us.”

“well, that’s boring,” luffy agrees, just as disappointed as you are. 

kaya, on the other hand, is none the wiser. “it’s so nice to meet you. you must all stay for dinner.” 

klahadore lowers his voice. “miss kaya, it is a bit last minute. i’m afraid the kitchen hasn’t prepared for any extra guests.”

“please,” begs kaya, softly. “it’s my birthday. can’t be too much trouble can it?” 

giving in, klahadore purses his lips. “anything for you, miss kaya.” 

luffy claps his hands together. “alright! when do we eat?” 

“you don’t. not dressed like that, at least.” the butler directs himself to a staff member with teal colored hair. “sham, kindly show usopp and his friends to the guest suites. you will bathe and change before dinner.”

she follows his orders and leads the way. luffy, usopp, nami, and zoro trail behind her and you go to do the same. however, all it takes is a quick glance to stop you dead in your tracks. usually, you weren’t one to stare but klahadore’s face. that stare. so dark and depraved. 

“yes, miss?” he asks, holding your gaze. “can i help you?” 

“n-no, i…” your throat goes dry as you attempt to recover smoothly. “i just wanted to, um, thank you for being so hospitable.” 

his lips curve upwards into a sinister grin. “the pleasure’s all mine.” as if to confirm your worst fear, klahadore uses his palm to readjust his glasses. his beady eyes gauge your reaction closely.

the familiar gesture sends chills down your spine. appearance-wise, he had changed drastically but his aura was still just as menacing as you remember it. he was still the corrupt pirate captain you used to serve under. you feel like a weak and helpless subordinate all over again.

“klahadore!” giggles kaya. “you’re smiling! that’s certainly a rarity.”

he hums. “i’ve simply come to the realization that having guests once in a while can truly be a delight.”

his sickeningly sweet tone makes your stomach turn. just the fact that you were standing in front of him – captain kuro – again after all these years was nauseating in itself. last you’d heard he had died at the hands of captain morgan. how was this even possible? then again, he wasn’t dubbed kuro of a hundred plans for no reason. he always had a trick or two up his sleeve. you assumed this was no different. 

“hey, you comin’?”

you turn around to see zoro waiting for you. he meets your gaze for a moment. the softness of his eyes is a stark contrast to kuro’s. it’s a breath of fresh air. he then shifts his attention to your former captain and you swear his eyes darken. 

“yeah, sorry,” you mumble, trying not to look shaken as you walk up the steps. 

zoro follows behind you, this time closer than before.

“why would anybody even need this many clothes?”

“it’s not about need with these people, luffy. it’s about want,” nami spits, thumbing through the various fabrics on the wall. 

“at least she’s rich and nice,” luffy replies, innocently.

nami rolls her eyes. “yeah, letting us stay for dinner must be her idea of charity work.” 

“what are we even supposed to wear?” luffy continues, uninterested in nami’s criticism of the rich. 

“anything you want. when are you ever going to get the opportunity to wear things this nice?” 

you step out from behind the changing board where you’d swapped out your old tee and cargo skirt for an elegant satin dress. it was a stunning shade of olive green and frilly lace decorated the edges. not to mention, it hugged your curves in all the right ways.

nami’s eyes widen. “see, she’s got the right idea. you look amazing.” 

you smile, bashfully. “honestly, i feel amazing.”

“you look the same to me,” your captain shrugs.

nami shoots him a death glare but you intervene before she can scold him.

“way to keep me humble, luffy.”

“no problem!” 

at that exact moment, a freshly showered zoro arrives donning a silk robe. he eyes the multitude of garments that cover every inch of the room, not particularly impressed. 

“there you are. don’t you think she looks nice?” nami asks him, gesturing towards you. she doesn’t notice how you shrink under zoro’s gaze. neither does he, as his eyes take their time raking over you, from top to bottom.

he hums. “suits you.” with that, he sets off towards a chair in the corner of the room.  

“seriously?” sighs nami, exasperated. “are you two physically unable to give compliments or something?” 

“hey, doesn’t that butler seem familiar to you guys?” zoro asks, promptly ignoring nami’s complaint. 

his question causes your breath to hitch. you’d pushed the kuro problem to the back of your mind while you were in search of a suitable dinner outfit. you figured that as long as your crew was by your side, he wouldn’t dare try anything. and even if he did… well, you’d seen what had happened to axe-hand morgan and buggy. 

“yeah, i think he was at the last dinner party i attended,” nami replies sarcastically, taking a handful of dresses behind the changing board. 

as he takes a seat, zoro grumbles, “i swear i’ve seen him before.” 

“where?” you can’t help but ask, fiddling with the lace on the neckline of your dress. 

“so far, i’ve got two suspicions. a wanted poster or funky bar on mirrorball island. you ever been?”

you know zoro’s teasing you, judging by the grin on his face. after all, funky bar was known to get insanely rowdy; never would he imagine finding someone as gentle as you there. but what he didn’t know is that it happened to be one of kuro’s favorite bars. per his request, you and the rest of the black cat pirates frequented it often, so he was more than likely right about having seen kuro there. he’d probably even seen you in passing, once or twice. thankfully, he doesn’t seem to have any recollection of that.

the thought of zoro knowing about your past forms a knot in the pit of your stomach. would he think less of you for having joined such a ruthless crew at one point in your life? what if it put a strain on the friendship you’d worked so hard to form? 

“i’ve, uh, heard of it,” you decide to reply, pushing down your worries for the time being. 

he tilts his head slightly, thinking out loud. “then again, i have seen a lot of wanted posters and bars in my time as a pirate hunter.”

you feel a grin creep onto your face. “probably more bars than posters, huh?”

zoro mirrors your smile. “shut up.”

by the time dinner rolls around, the entire crew is doing what they do best. 

luffy is stuffing his face, nami is attempting to swindle one of the staff, zoro is hanging by the drinks, and you’re hanging by zoro. 

“hey zoro, you gotta try this!” luffy calls through a mouthful of food.

“i’ve got all i need right here,” he mutters, taking a swig out of his champagne flute. 

“you know, i don’t think i’ve ever seen you choke down something that isn’t alcohol,” you comment, watching the way he downs the glass in one go. 

dryly, he replies, “that’s because i haven’t.”

“very on brand.”

“ladies and gentlemen,” calls out that voice from the top of the stairs. “may i present… miss kaya.”

arm in arm, kuro and kaya walk down the steps, all eyes on the birthday girl and her stunning gown. well, except you. your eyes never leave the so-called butler by her side. your jaw clenches when he has the audacity to meet your gaze and hold it. shameless bastard. 

once they reach the bottom, merry leads kaya to the guests while kuro takes his post at the bottom of the stairs… right next to the drink table. before you can think about steering yourself and zoro away, kuro speaks.

“forgive me if i am speaking out of line, madam, but i must inform you. you look positively radiant,” he purrs, soaking in your appearance. he looks ready to pounce.

you can’t stop your eyes from rolling. good to know he’s the same pervert he used to be.

looking between you both and sensing your discomfort, zoro steps in. “and you look familiar.” 

kuro’s head stiffly turns to face him, eyes peeling away from you. “highly doubtful, sir.” 

“funky bar? mirror ball island?” 

“funky bar?” kuro repeats, disgusted. “well, i can assure you i’ve never patronized that type of establishment.” 

while it was amusing to see your highly esteemed former captain lie through his teeth, the tension between him and zoro was unbearable. 

“well then.” zoro continues with his little interrogation. “ever been on a wanted poster?”

you cringe at his bluntness. sometimes it seemed like he had less of a filter than luffy.

kuro puts on a scandalized face at the question. “sir! such an accusation is highly offensive.” tugging on his collar, he goes to remove himself from zoro’s probing. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i’m going to help prepare the dinner table.” 

he leaves, en route to the dining room. zoro’s eyes follow his figure until he disappears, squinting as he racks his brain for any further recollection of this suspicious butler. 

you sigh. if zoro was going to continue being so relentless, you were sure the night would end in bloodshed and uncovered secrets. 

“keep this coming,” zoro demands, handing the empty wine bottle to sham. she takes it with a glare. 

“would it kill you to say please?” you ask, slicing the slab of fish on your plate into smaller pieces.

“the service here is shitty. why should i have to be polite?” 

you scowl. “remind me to never have dinner with you again.”

zoro turns to you with that cocky grin of his. “what if i asked nicely?” 

his quip makes your heart flutter but you manage to keep your composure. “you can try your luck.” 

before he can respond, usopp speaks up. “luffy, isn’t there something that you wanted to talk to kaya about?” 

luffy gesticulates enthusiastically with his fork. “oh, yes! usopp told me that you own the whole shipyard.” 

“well, actually, my parents founded the shipyard and merry’s been running the business since they… passed. but all that’s about to change. tonight, at midnight, i will become the sole owner.” she smiles somberly. 

“well, that’s great,” luffy says, raising his drink at her. “because we want to buy a ship from you.” 

“ah, i see. usopp mentioned that you’re sailors.” 

“nope, not sailors. we’re pirates!”

you’re certain at least three people at the table choke on their food, yourself included. 

“this ought to be good,” zoro mumbles behind his glass.

you’re too busy coughing into your napkin to chastise him for finding this entertaining.

“pirates?” kaya repeats, unsure of how to react. 

“yup! we haven’t sailed together for very long but we’ve already defeated an evil clown, raided a marine base, and taken down a captain with an axe! for a hand!” luffy holds up a fist, presumably to impersonate axe-hand morgan.

“sounds a lot like your adventures, usopp,” kaya says, turning to the brunette.

all he can do is laugh dryly. “yeah, that’s… that’s crazy.” 

“and we’re just getting started!” luffy continues, climbing up onto the table.

“someone put me out of my misery,” you mumble, looking down at your plate to ignore the secondhand embarrassment.

a tap on your shoulder answers your plea.

turning around, you find yourself face to face with kuro once again. “madam, a word please?”

“might i ask what for?” zoro cuts in before you can so much as think of a response.

kuro offers him the most forced grin you’ve ever had the displeasure of seeing. “i’m afraid that is between the lady and i.”

the swordsman turns to you, scanning your face for any ounce of discomfort. “you okay with that?”

you inhale, figuring it was finally time for you to confront the darkest part of your past. it was silly to assume you would be able to ignore him throughout your entire stay here. besides, you were sure zoro, just like the rest of your crew, would be on standby if kuro got brave enough to try anything. “sure. just… keep an eye out.”

zoro understands completely. truthfully, you didn’t even need to ask – he always looked after you. “got it.”

you push yourself out of your seat and smooth out your dress. you allow kuro to lead you to the doorway – he was smart enough to know that was the farthest you’d let him take you. 

“what do you want, klahadore?” you seethe, folding your arms.

he arches a brow. “why must you call me that? it’s ridiculous.” 

you tilt your head with faux innocence. “oh? is that not your name? must have misheard.”

he gives you an irritated look, dark eyes drilling into you.

“i remember that look,” you mutter, your memory serving you well. “it’s the same one you’d give me before you’d threaten to slice me to bits with your claws.”

kuro has the audacity to chuckle dryly. “but i never did, did i? although there were certainly times times where i should’ve.”

“what you should be is dead,” you hiss bitterly. “when i heard the news, i knew it was too good to be true.”

“you wound me, kitten,” he drawls, reaching up to fix his glasses. 

the condescending nickname makes your skin crawl. it carried so many awful memories of your time spent with the black cat pirates. it reminded you of just how weak kuro viewed you — nothing but a helpless, pitiful kitten in his eyes. typical of the man that abused his authority and treated you with not a single ounce of respect. 

he continues, putting on a sweet tone. “after all these years, stuck waiting hand and foot on that spoiled brat, there’s nothing i’d love more than to hear my favorite crew mate say my real name.”

you snap at him. “i’m no crew mate of yours.”

he sighs, dramatically. “sadly, you’re correct. after all, you did slip off the ship the moment we docked in shells town. locating you on an island crawling with marines proved to be nearly impossible. we had no choice but to leave without you.”

“that’s exactly why i chose to escape there.” 

“and to this day i can’t for the life of me figure out why you would ever do that. why would you want to leave us? leave me?”

you actually laugh right in his face. “is it really that hard to figure out? you were evil. you threatened and harassed me on a daily basis.”

“so your solution was to join that ragtag crew?” he glances at the table. “it’s pathetic, even for you.”

you lean into his face, lowering your voice down. “i’m happier than i ever was on your shitty crew. every day i wake up grateful that i managed to escape you.”

you see that vein on his forehead bulge before he’s gripping you by the chin. “listen here, you little bitch–”

the shiny silver of a sword slides between you and kuro, coming to rest against his neck. his adam’s apple bobs as he gulps anxiously, releasing you. thanks to zoro’s sword, it seemed as if he finally remembered where he was. you were no longer on his ship, he was no longer allowed to treat you like the dirt he walked on. not without someone noticing, that is. 

“why don’t you step away?” zoro offers simply.

that much was a kindness. usually those who found themselves on the end of zoro’s blade(s) weren’t lucky enough to receive a warning. however, the swordsman didn’t wish to cause a scene. at least not when you were right there and everyone was watching with shock from the dinner table.

kuro obliges, stumbling back. he meets kaya’s horrified eyes, feeling ashamed that he allowed his act to slip. surely this would cause some setbacks in his plan. with no excuse for his uncharacteristic behavior, the raven haired man scurries away and up the stairs.

zoro turns and locks eyes with luffy, giving him one singular nod. luffy returns it, jumping out of his seat and going after the butler. quiet murmuring breaks out at the dinner table, everyone surely confused. 

sheathing his sword, zoro directs his attention to you once more. “are you alright?” a calloused hand comes up to grip your chin, much like kuro had. however, this time, the touch is gentle. loving, almost. you welcome it.

“yeah, i’m… fine.” your heart is beating out of your chest and it has everything to do with your close proximity to zoro.

he tilts your face around, inspecting every inch of it. once he finishes, he pulls back. his demeanor goes serious once more. “we need to have a talk.”

you nod. “i know. i’ve been keeping some things from you guys and–”

“just tell me what’s been going on,” he demands. “and don’t overcomplicate it. you can be straightforward with me.”

his sincerity makes you start over, this time far more candidly. “klahadore used to be a pirate. i was part of his crew. he was my… captain.”

the shame in your voice pulls at zoro’s heartstrings. didn’t you know there was no reason to feel guilty with him? “is that it?” 

you open your mouth to speak but come up empty. all you can do is furrow your eyebrows at his unexpectedly dismissive reaction.

“i knew it,” zoro continues, annoyed. “i knew i’d seen him on a wanted poster before. just didn’t have any proof.”

“wait, so you don’t– you really don’t care?” you ask, still avoiding eye contact. “me being a former black cat pirate doesn’t bother you?”

he shrugs. “you said it yourself. ‘former.’ all that matters is that you got the hell out of there. and away from that creep. would he always put his hands on you like that?”

you blink a couple times, sighing. “his temper was really bad so–”

that seemed to be enough for zoro. “i’ll kill the bastard,” he hisses. “wanted to slice him to bits the moment i saw him grab you.” 

though it’s a violent threat, you can’t help but smile. the idea of zoro being so protective that he’d kill a man just for touching you made you blush. pirate love language, you suppose.

“well, i wouldn’t have stopped you,” you tell him, more than ready to see your former captain go.

zoro clicks his tongue. “nah. could’ve stained your new dress with his blood. i never would have been able to forgive myself.”

“so you do have a soft spot,” you tease.

“only for pretty things.”

“do you mean me or the dress?” 

now it’s zoro’s turn to become bashful. though, his lack of response is an answer in itself. you can’t help but giggle. 

a loud bang from upstairs interrupts your moment with the green-haired man. you assume luffy had gotten his hands on kuro… or vice versa. zoro must be thinking the same thing judging by the way he instinctively rests a hand on the handle of his blade.

“you should go up there,” you tell him. “i’ll stay with kaya.”  

he gives you a nod, though he doesn’t make any effort to leave. he stands there like he wants to say something… or do something. before you can think about it too much, you pull him in by the collar and crash your lips onto his. they’re slightly chapped and taste like the wine that’d come from the cellar – it’s pleasant. his large palms come to rest on your lower back; his hold feels tight and secure. 

when you finally allow yourself to pull away, you’re biting back a smile. “kick his ass for me.” 

“will i get more of that if i do?” asks zoro, wetting his lips. they now taste like the cherry lip gloss you’d borrowed from kaya. he takes a step forward, attempting to close the gap between you two once more.

you shrug, pushing him away by the chest. “go help luffy and we’ll see.”

you both know that means yes.

[marvelouslizzie]

One More Night

Summary: You and Bucky Barnes are fuck buddies for a while. The problem is you have feelings for him but you don't think he reciprocates and it just makes it impossible to continue your relationship. Little did you know how much he wants you and how hard he's trying to keep it casual.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: +18, friends with benefits, idiots in love, unspoken feelings, miscommunication/misunderstandings, angst with happy ending, unprotected sex, pet names, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 3.4K

All work is mine, please do not repost or translate without my permission.

It is one of those days when you feel absolutely worthless. It wasn’t something you felt often before but now…. It is starting to feel like your new normal. You know it’s your fault, and it just makes you feel even worse. You let this happen when you let Bucky Barnes walk into your life without any consequences. Now he just has a free pass to destroy you anytime he wants. 

It was supposed to be just fun. Something casual because you know he has no intention of settling down. Especially not with you. Not that he said any of those words but he doesn’t need to. You just know it. 

He’s one of the popular guys in your college. It’s not surprising considering how handsome and charming he is. He’s also talented and hard-working. He takes school seriously unlike a lot of people around you. So when it comes to his free time, he just wants to have some fun, no strings attached and you were fine with this arrangement. You wanted to be close to him and this is the price: Your heart breaks every time. 

You don’t blame him but you definitely blame yourself because you put yourself in this position. If you weren’t so pathetic, you could simply say no and this regularly hooking-up arrangement of yours would have ended. Yet you never said no and he never stopped coming back to you. Probably because it’s convenient, you can’t come up with any other reason. Like who says no to an easy fuck, right? That is what you are. An easy fuck. Still, it’s breaking your heart every time he leaves your bed. You say to yourself “This is gonna be the last time” but when the next text or call comes, you fold once again. 

That’s how you ended up here. Your face is buried in the pillow while Bucky is pounding you from behind. It feels good. Actually, it feels pretty amazing. It always does but this time your emotions are overshadowing the physical pleasure. Tears are streaming down your face and you are grateful that he can’t see it thanks to this position. Then a sob escapes your mouth and you feel betrayed by your own body.

“Does it feel that good, doll?” He sounds smug but you can’t answer him. Not while trying to hold the rest of your sobs back. That seems to worry him. He suddenly stops and when he takes a closer look sees that your eyes are filled with tears.

“Hey, hey, hey! Are you alright?” He sounds genuinely worried. You try to say something but instead, more sobs come out. “What happened? Did I hurt you?”

He didn’t physically hurt you, yet you are hurt. You don’t know how to explain this to him. You feel embarrassed and angry at the same time. You pride yourself on how good you are at hiding your emotions. You don’t want anyone to see you cry. You don’t want anyone’s pity. Yet here you are. Eyes filled with tears, sobs escaping your lips and your heart is shattered.

“Please talk to me!” His desperate tone snaps you out of your thoughts. You try to turn on your back and quickly dry your tears. 

“It’s fine. Sorry for killing the mood. I just…” You hesitate for a second but no, you won’t back down this time. “I just can’t do this anymore.”

“That’s fine.” That wasn’t the response you were expecting. “You know it’s okay right?” His worry is so apparent in his voice. “You can always tell me to stop.” What is he talking about? “If you don’t like something or you don’t feel like it anymore… Just tell me next time and I will just stop.”

“There’s no next time Bucky.” The words come out of your mouth before you can process them. You didn’t intend to be so harsh but it came out so definite.

“What?”

“I’m telling you that I can’t do this…” You wave your hand between you two. “...anymore. I’m done. We are done.” 

“What…” He sounds shocked and hurt at the same time. You try to avoid looking at his eyes while he struggles to find the right words. “What are you talking about? Did I do something?”

“You didn’t do anything. It’s all my fault.” You have no intention to blame him. You know it’s on you. He never promised you anything.

“I don’t understand.” He sounds so lost. “Just help me understand what happened, okay? I thought everything was okay.”

“They were, for you. It was never okay for me.” 

You watch how his expression changes into something that breaks your heart even more. You never thought he would care this much but… apparently, he does. Maybe he’s not used to being rejected. Especially in the middle of sex.

“I… I don’t know what to say.” He looks at your face and then around. “I thought this is what you wanted.”

“What I wanted?” You repeat his words without missing a beat. “I never wanted this. This is what you wanted and that’s why we kept doing it. I was just…” You hesitate for a second because you hate to admit it. “weak.”

“Weak? You are never weak.”

“Oh, I am weak. This is why I kept saying ‘one more night’ to myself whenever you called or texted me. I’m weak as fuck and it makes me angry, okay? I shouldn’t be like this.”

“Doll, what are you talking about?”

His confusion confuses you as well. Can’t he see how much he’s hurting you? Is he really that blind or maybe he just doesn’t care.

“This arrangement might be working for you but it’s not working for me, okay?”

“But… this is what you wanted.”

“I never wanted this.”

“You said we can’t get emotions involved!” He sounds somewhat angry this time.

“Because you didn’t want emotions involved!” Your answer comes instantly.

“When did I ever say that?”

His question makes you stop for a second. He never said that but did he really have to? You know how popular he is. Everybody loves him. He has the prettiest face you have ever seen. You desperately wanted to be with him. You didn’t care how.

“Just look at you.”

“What does that even mean?” Is he doing this on purpose? He surely knows everybody wants him. Why does he have to hear it from you?

“It means you didn’t have to say it.”

“How does… I really don’t understand you.” His confusion is written all over his face. The way he hesitates makes you realize you have to say it out loud to make him understand.

“You are handsome. You are talented. Everybody loves you.” He keeps looking at you with confusion. He really doesn’t get it, does he? “You can have anybody you want!”

“Apparently not.” Why does he sound broken?

“Oh, come on!” Your reaction is instant. “You know you can. Don’t act humble. I’m just easier.”

“Easier?” You don’t miss the disbelief in his voice. “Easier?” This time it comes out more angry. “You were never easy!”

“You know what I mean. An easy fu-”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” The tone of his voice startles you. You never heard him talk like this. “I never wanted just an easy fuck. Especially not with you but that was all I could get!” Your head flinches back slightly. What is he talking about? 

“Bucky…” He doesn’t let you continue. 

“I don’t know what has gotten into you because this… what you called it? Arrangement, yes, was never my idea! You were the one who didn’t want to involve emotions. You were the one who said anything more than this would affect our friendship. I never said that!”

“I was trying to protect myself!”

“You never showed any interest to me!”

You blink a couple of times, trying to process that information. What did he think you were doing with him?

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You never showed any interest in staying over. You never wanted to do anything outside the bedroom or wherever the fuck we were fucking. Whenever I tried to take you on a date, you came up with a lazy excuse.”

“Uh… what?”

“I tried so many times, sweetheart. You never let me in. You were only interested in sex and now you are blaming me for it. No. Be honest. If you wanna end this thing, it’s fine. You don’t need any lies. I get it. I knew it would happen eventually.” He’s speaking so fast, you can’t even find any opportunity to interrupt him until he stops.

“You tried to take me on dates?” He squishes his eyebrows together like he can’t believe you are focusing on that part.

“Many times. I suggested study dates, tried to take you on that concert, then that one comedy club thing…”

“I thought…” You don’t know how to finish that sentence.

“You thought what? You knew what I was trying to do and you weren’t interested, so I finally gave up.”

“No, no, no.” You jump from your awkward position on the bed. “I never realized.”

“What did you think I was doing?”

“I thought… they were activities with other… people. Not dates.”

“Why would I take other people to a concert with us?” Oh, he really doesn’t get it.

“I thought… you had plans with your friends and… you were… inviting me as well. Just to show… we are nothing more than friends.”

“Oh, dear god.” He covers his face with both of his hands. “Seriously? Why would you even think that?”

You mimic him and cover your face with embarrassment. You don’t want to say it. Especially not to him.

“I… just never thought…” You don’t know how to say it without making him realize how low you think of yourself. “You were interested in anything more than sex.”

“I’m handsome. I’m popular. Everybody loves me. Is that why?” He repeats your words with that god-awful mocking tone and it hurts to hear. What you don’t realize is that he’s making fun of himself.

“Yeah.” Your response comes out so weakly but he hears it.

He starts to laugh all of a sudden and all you can do is give him a confused look. 

“God you are so blind.”

“Hey!” You instantly respond.

“Have you ever looked in the mirror?” You make a face but it just spurs him. “You are gorgeous and smart. I always thought you were way out of my league.”

“What?”

“You heard me. You are out of my league.”

“Come on… That’s-” He interrupts you again.

“Please.” The way he says it makes you stop talking. “I have been struggling to come to terms with you not liking me. I just told myself, you have done everything you can. You tried so many times. It’s a miracle she still wants to fuck you. I convinced myself this was all I could get so I tried to make peace with it. Now you are telling me you don’t want to keep doing this. What did you think I was gonna think?”

He just baffles you with every word coming out of his mouth. You look at him, not knowing what to say or what to think, even.

“And you thought you were just an easy fuck? Jesus, doll. Do you have any idea how many times I prepared myself for rejection? Every time I called you, I thought you weren’t gonna pick up. Every time I texted you, I prepared myself to hear ‘no’, and every time it did not come, I was the happiest man on earth because I had one more night with you!”

You don’t know when it started but you start to feel tears filling your eyes.

“Please don’t cry anymore.” He moves his hand on your face and catches a tear before it drops on your cheeks.

“I…” It’s so hard to speak normally. “I never thought…”

“What?” This time it comes out softer. You know he wants to hear it because he needs that assurance as much as you do.

“You would actually like me.”

“Like you? Oh, doll… I don’t like you. The word like doesn’t even cover it.” The smile he gives you ignites something inside you. Something you tried to push down for a long time. Suddenly you push him back a little bit and his mouth falls open but he doesn’t get the chance to say anything. You just sit on his lap, taking him back inside you and it slips right back in so easily. It makes you want to moan out loud but instead, you wrap your legs around his torso and trap him there.

“Oh fuck…” His moan is like music to your ears. It’s so raw and unfiltered.

You don’t say anything. Your hand wraps around his neck before you start to move. His hand quickly finds your breasts, squeezing them a lot harder than he ever did before. 

“You are so fucking gorgeous.” He says right next to your ear. You feel his breath on your neck and his lips attach to your neck as if he knows what you want. He starts gently. First, he sucks the skin and makes you whimper. Then his teeth graze the sore skin. When he finally bites the same spot, you realize he was just giving you some time to protest but it never came. His bite pulls a groan out of you and the way it hurts falters your rhythm.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” He licks the same spot, trying to soothe the pain. “There’s a part of me…” He tries to find the right word. “...that wants to mark you. Show the world that you’re mine.” Fuck, is he serious? He stops for another second to ask “Are you mine, doll?” He sounds so nervous yet possessive.

“I am.” You move a little back and look into his eyes while saying that. “I have been for a long time.”

He grabs your cheeks with both of his hands and pulls you in for a long, passionate kiss. It's all tongue and teeth, making you burn with passion.

“I’m yours, too. I think I always have been.” 

It’s your turn to show how much those words mean to you. You start to move again on his lap. This time it’s faster than before and it just makes both of you moan loudly. He wraps his arms around your body while he supports your movement by grabbing your ass and moving you a bit faster than before.

“Shit!” It feels good but it also restricts your range of movement and he realizes it quickly.

“Sorry. I just want to feel you all over me.”

You want to say it’s alright but he’s a lot faster than you. Suddenly you find yourself on your back. Bucky’s still between your legs. He never left inside you while changing the position. 

“Wrap your legs around me, baby.” 

God, the way he says it sounds like a soft order. You can practically feel the desire running through your veins. Your legs are automatically wrapped around his ass while he starts to move but he doesn’t put any distance between you. His whole body is pressed against yours while he’s kissing and licking all over your neck.

Sex with Bucky never felt like this. It was always good. You don’t remember any occasion you didn’t enjoy it or reach orgasm. Yet this feels like real intimacy. The way he’s making you feel is indescribable. You can feel everything he said before while he moves inside you. How much he wants you, how much he adores you… The way he clings to you fills you with love. All of it enhances the physical pleasure. Loud moans escape your lips.

“So… All this time…” Bucky starts to talk. “You thought I was here because this is easy.”

Ah, fuck. He isn’t gonna let that go, is he? You should’ve known that. You roll your eyes in response but he doesn’t see it. His head is still buried in the crook of your neck.

“All this time… I was where I wanted to be.” Your annoyance quickly fades away as he keeps talking. “Underneath your body.”

“You weren’t always underneath me.” You answer him with a playful tone.

“As long as I’m inside you, the position doesn’t matter.”

“So…” You try to ask as quickly as possible before your sudden courage disappears. “You haven’t been sleeping around with anyone else.”

He raises his head just to look into your eyes. 

“All this time, you thought I was fucking other people?”

“I mean…” You were just friends with benefits. What else you were supposed to assume?

“Were you?”

“Was I what?”

“Fucking other people?” His question is a lot more blunt than yours.

“I asked first!” You sound so defensive all of a sudden.

“I can’t live without touching you, smelling you, feeling you… I have been craving you non-stop, only stopping myself from calling you every day, just so I wouldn’t scare you away and you are asking me if I have been fucking other people. Jesus Christ, doll. How blind are you?”

You are questioning the same thing yourself, to be honest. How blind were you? While trying to surpass your feelings, you were overlooking his, as well. It’s just unbelievable.

“Doll?” You didn’t realize you were lost in thoughts. “It’s fine if you have been.” It doesn’t sound fine at all. It sounds like he’s trying to rationalize it so it would hurt less. “I’m not saying I won’t be jealous but it’s not like we were actually together.”

You start to laugh and he gives you a strange look.

“You are such an idiot and you call me blind.”

“What?”

“I only ever wanted you, you moron.” 

His smile is so big and bright, it’s worth everything you two went through. His happiness is practically radiating. Suddenly, his lips are on yours, kissing you like a madman.

“You’re only mine.” He starts to move inside you again and you can feel how close you are to coming.

“Only yours.” Your words make him groan loudly. 

“Fuck that mouth of yours. You’re gonna make me come before you.”

“You can do that later.” You tease him while moving your hips to meet him.

“Is that a promise?”

“It can be. Only if you fuck me just a little harder so I can finally come!”

That makes him move away from you. He stands up and without losing any time, pulls you on the edge of the bed. You know what’s coming and it makes you smile like a fool. He positions himself between your legs while pushing your knees on your chest. In a couple of seconds, he’s back inside you but the position feels so much better this time. A loud moan leaves your lips every time he hits that sweet spot inside you.

“Harder, huh?”

“Yeah. Just like that.” It’s so hard to not roll your eyes with the pleasure he’s giving you. It’s familiar yet it feels so different this time.

“My girl wants it rough. Why didn’t you just say so?” He sounds cocky there’s also a hint of eagerness in his voice. You can tell he’s close.

“Do I have to tell you everything?” 

“From now on, yes. You have to tell me everything.” That authoritative tone pushes you over the edge. “Every fucking thing you feel, okay? Every fucking thing you want. I wanna know everything!”

“Yes!” You practically scream. You don’t know if you are answering him or just screaming because of the way he makes you feel. Your legs are shaking violently while your whole body tightens up. “Fuck yes. Please, please, please, don’t stop!” Your eyes are closed while you are riding your high.

That makes him groan so loudly. Even though you can’t directly look at his face anymore, you just know he’s about to come. He starts to pound on you so forcefully, it just unlocks another level of orgasm for you. Both of your moans fill the room and he keeps going until he empties himself inside you. After what feels like an eternity, he pulls out of you and lays right next to you.

“Fuck, that was…” The struggles to find the right word.

“On another level?” You offer to end the sentence for him. That’s exactly how you feel.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “We should’ve talked to each other before.”

“We were busy doing other stuff.” You smile and he smiles back, knowing exactly what you mean.

“I guess we did everything other than talking things through, huh?”

[tame-the-lion-writes]

reader x dog shifter 141 [pt.2]

(If you haven't seen it yet, here's part one.)

It’s been a couple weeks, and you’re starting to catch on to just how smart your dogs are.

Not that you know what they actually are—but they’ve got this weirdly human intelligence behind their eyes, and weirdly human personalities. The Great Dane likes to sit on the recliner in your living room, regal and commanding, often watching your front yard whenever the gardener would come over. The gardener’s son replaced him once for a job, leaving grass cuttings in the driveway, and he was all huffy about it. It amused you at first, but then you realized his judgement wasn’t reserved for strangers. He was even more huffy the time you accidentally burned a steak. (Jeez, since when was he a dad?) Not to mention the empty whiskey glasses he likes to keep around, but that's not right—dogs can't have alcohol, can they?

The German Shepherd, on the other hand, is surprisingly clingy—but not in a bump-into-your-leg or overtly cuddly kind of way. Instead, he follows you while never begging for attention, attentive and patient as though a soldier awaiting orders. You’ve been jump-scared one too many times by his presence, when you think you’re alone and he appears out of thing air. A massive giant of a dog, with paws as silent as a shadow. And he’s stubborn—doesn’t initiate contact, but you swear you’ve caught a subtle bashful glance. Especially when you scratch behind his ears and along the scar of his cheek and chin.

But what the Shepherd lacks in open affection, the Labrador makes up tenfold. He doesn't pester about it, though, simply hopping up to your side on the couch to curl up or placing his muzzle on top of your knees. Still, while probably the most obedient out of the four, you’ve seen him get roped into food heists with the Foxhound, or stalking as closely and silently as the Shepherd. Very much the little brother who tags along with whatever. But you can't stay mad at him for long, either—not when he knows how to apologize—bringing you a freshly chomped-off flower from the backyard whenever you get mad. Then he'll sit at your heels with a faint tail wag, whining 'til you're settled and appeased.

The Foxhound is perhaps the most talkative, in both a noisy and conversational way. His joy is unrelenting around you, and he greats you like you’d expect any other dog. Still, he’s awfully communicative. It’s how you’ve learned their names—with you wandering aloud what to call them, and him making faces at every suggestion. He eventually settled for playing retriever: playing charades by bringing you back bottles and bars of soap. For the Great Dane, he grabbed an old receipt from the trash. For the Shepherd, he threw on a sheet. He seemed awfully confused on what to do for the Labrador, though, and just kept whining as if in apology.

“So Soap, Price, Ghost, and…,” you trail off, glancing at the Labrador with a slight pout. “Oh, I’m sorry, boy. I really don’t know what to call you. And Soap here seems like he’s run out of braincells.”

Ghost snorts in amusement, which is returned by Soap’s unfettered glare.

The next morning, though, there really is no explanation as to how Soap learned the alphabet, how to write, or to arrange your bedsheets in the following name: GAZ.

_

Bonus Thoughts:

"Aha... what the fuck."

Price has face-palmed (face-pawed?) and Ghost just walks over and calmly almost slapstick-esque baps Soap on the head. Meanwhile, Gaz looks dejected, pressing his forehead to the front door, like he's expecting you to kick them out in the next five seconds.

Not that you would, of course—but we can queue the mild horror and existential questioning of what the hell these dogs actually are. You call your friend to rant about your theory—that they could be escapees from a top secret government laboratory, or spies from another country. She just says to enter them into a dog show, or make ‘em celebrities on social media.

[stunie]

“FIRST TIME’S GOTTA BE SOFT!”

WIND BREAKER + SOFT SEX. ft. togame jo, kiryu mitsuki, hayato suo, & sakura haruka x f!reader

req 1 ﾉreq 2 ﾉ nsfw + explicit smut ﾉ contains : dry humping, praise, very mild teasing, overstim, you cum from just putting it in, size kink / big dick!togame, fingering, squirting, pet names

TOGAME JO.

“Gotta relax,” Togame coos from just above you, leaning down onto his forearms to press hot kisses against the side of your neck. “And just lemme in, yeah?”

You take in a sharp breath, embrace tightening around your boyfriend’s neck as he sinks himself deeper inside, inch by inch. Your thighs are trembling atop his shoulders as you try your hardest to just relax and let him in like he said, ignoring how your cunt feels so impossibly full— and oh- he’s only halfway in.

You always knew Togame was a big person, and that it implied he would be big there…but actually trying to take him was a completely different story. You think he might actually be splitting you in half.

“J-Jo,” your eyes clench shut as you whimper. “Big…”

“Shhh, shh, shh,” he coos softly against your sensitive skin before he’s messily kissing and licking at your neck in an attempt to distract you from the agonizing stretch. “I know. ‘S okay, doll. Doing so good for me.”

“So big…” you repeat, voice sounding just as cute as always to him, so sweet and syrupy and innocent— even when you’re practically being folded underneath him like this. His cock suddenly reaches a particularly sensitive spot inside you, and you cry out, walls instinctively clenching tightly around his length.

And you think the growl that rips out of togame is borderline carnal. “Oh, fuck,” he grits through clenched teeth. “Careful. Don’t do tha— don’t squeeze me in like that.”

“S-sorry,” you pant, arms wrapped around him tightly. You think you might be feeling dizzy, or maybe just sensitive— it feels weird. Electrifying. You can feel everything so vividly right now, and maybe it’s because you’ve never taken anything this big inside, but the way your core has balled up into such a tight and intense knot is different than usual.

“Jo…..wai—”

“Shit, doll,” he’s snarling from above you. “Not letting me in.. just a little more, ‘kay?”

The knot seems to tighten up impossibly more when he pushes a bit forward, and your eyes widen, the realization suddenly hitting you like a truck. “Wait!”

Your words come out a second too late, and he’s already pushing the last few inches inside all at once. He presses up against the spot that makes you gasp, vision clouded with white as the knot in your core abruptly snaps, head falling back as you scream.

“Whoa— whoa, you’re…? ” Togame stiffens up, eyes blown wide when your walls violently clench around him before you’re suddenly gushing, juices coating his cock and thighs in a messy layer of slick.

You’re gasping under him, chest heaving up and down as you come down from your high, and a part of him wishes he could have gone back in time and recorded that. He would’ve caught the way your face contorted at the fullness and catch how you’re looking now— eyes half lidded as you pant and tremble.

It would’ve been such a treat to save a video like that.

He’s suddenly aching, and he thinks that just sitting inside you like this wasn’t gonna be enough for him now. Togame’s looming back over you in an instant, labored breaths just above you as you peer up at him through teary eyes. “I didn’t mean to,” you start babbling. “Was just too much. Came so fast- I-”

“Haven’t even moved yet, doll,” he lulls, the amusement in his eyes obvious from the way he’s watching your lips press into a nervous line. “Too early for you to be squirting on me, don’t you think?”

The burn on your cheeks worsens, and you think you could die of embarrassment— but the excited flutter of your walls is practically shameless, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by him. “Feeling good on my dick?”

“..Good enough for another one?”

Your eyes widen, and he’s pulling out slowly until just the tip is inside before he slams back, and the noise you choke out has his cock just twitching in anticipation.

“Let me join you this time, yeah?”

KIRYU MITSUKI.

“My pretty girl,” Kiryu smiles when you perk up at the nickname. “Are you nervous?”

His voice is a soft whisper against the shell of your ear, hands steady on your hips as he guides you back and forth across his cock, your slick coating him in thick and messy layers. “Just a little bit..” you mumble, face buried deep into the crook of his neck.

You’re so wet. You were never this wet when you touched yourself, and truth be told, you didn’t know it was possible to be this soaked. The sounds of your pants and Kiryu’s deep sighs are drowned out by the lewd noises your cunt is making when you’re humping so desperately against him, face contorting each time your clit grinds against his tip.

He hasn’t even gone inside you. Not his fingers, not his cock. Nothing— and you’re aching so badly for it.

“Ah!” You gasp when his cock suddenly twitches against you, slapping against your clit before he’s pulling you right back down, moving you back and forth with a little more urgency this time.

“Ah, sorry,” Kiryu’s chuckle comes out strained, his jaw clenched tightly. “It’s a little hard to control myself, I guess. You just feel so good, love. Can’t help it..”

A part of you is thankful that his lights are off. the faint glow of Kiryu’s gaming leds are just barely enough to illuminate the two of you, and it gives you the courage you need to sneak glances downwards, eyes catching the way the muscles of his arms flex as he guides your hips back and forth.

It’s only when your gaze shifts further downwards that you notice it. Tue subtle flex of his abs, and just below, his hips. Completely soaked in your slick. Were you really that wet? Your thighs are also trembling more wildly now, and you’re unsure if it’s because you’ve been hovering over him for so long or if it’s because he feels so good against you.

Another part of you thinks it’s because of nerves— his voice sending a shiver straight down your spine each time he whispers something so lewd into your ears.

“I-it’s okay,” you stutter, fingers digging into the muscle of his shoulders. “Want more, Suki.”

“Hmmm?” His hum comes out amused. “More? Can you handle more?”

He chuckles a bit when you nod without even a small trace of hesitation. “But you’re shaking so much.”

Kiryu is certain he’s fallen in love with you all over again. His gaze softens at the sight of you, watching with a smile as your shaky hands move to shyly line his cock up with your hole, thighs trembling even harder trying to keep balance without his help. It’s only a few seconds later when you’re letting out a distracted whine, pleading eyes coming to lock with his. “Suki..”

“I know. Leave everything to me, angel,” he says with a soft smile, grunting when he adjusts his position on his mattress, hands coming to steady your hips.

“Let me know if it's too much, okay?”

HAYATO SUO.

“Mmm,” Suo lets out a slow hum from beside you, chin rested gently atop your shoulder and his eyes fixated on the way his fingers are moving in and out of your dripping cunt. “I don’t think you’re quiet ready yet.”

Your eyebrows furrow— not ready? This had to be the third, or maybe even the fourth. You’ve lost count of the exact number of orgasms he’s pulled from you tonight with just his fingers, but you’re certain it was more than enough to prep you.

“No….” your protest comes out strained, voice weak and weary, but your cunt seems to be the opposite— still greedy, still eagerly swallowing his fingers whole and sucking him right back inside each time he’s trying to pull them back. You’re gushing with every curl of his fingers, slick lewdly dripping onto your mattress to form a puddle right beneath the two of you.

“Please….need you— need you so bad,” you babble, unsure if your words are coming out coherent with how hot your head feels. “Please, please, please.”

His lips tug into a gentle smile, eyes softening at your current state. “..And what is it that you need?”

He’s feigning innocence, but he swears he’s not being mean to you. He would never, not when you’re asking him so sweetly, crystalline tears collecting along your lashes from the overstimulation— but he knows the extent of your greed. fingers aren’t enough for you.

“Y-you. Need you.”

The soft chuckle that leaves his lips has your cheeks filling with heat, but you don’t get to wallow in embarrassment— not when you’re gasping loudly as soon as he’s pressing against your ass, heavy cock rubbing against you. He feels so big against you, and you think your senses have been heightened from how clearly you can feel each and every vein on his cock drag along your skin.

“This?” he asks. “You can have it. I’m yours, after all.”

You’re quick to shake your head, looking almost too innocent for someone who’s making such a mess on your sheets just for some dick— and he hasn’t even stuffed you full yet.

“No— not like that. Need it inside..” you whisper, voice trailing off into a needy and frustrated whine.

“Oh? You meant inside?”

You ignore the way your cheeks burn at the suggestion, head nodding desperately. He’s humming when his hands come to delicately circle at your clit, cock slick with your juices when he finally prods at your hole. It’s slow and steady when he pushes inside, forcing himself deeper and deeper as your eyes widen, strained moan ripping from your throat at the stretch.

“You should have specified, love,” he coos, but his voice comes out a little breathless from the way you’re squeezing him. It takes everything in him to go slow for you— inch inside until his cock is finally nestling against your cervix, and oh- you’ve never felt so stuffed.

“You okay?” Suo exhales shakily, hands subconsciously tightening their grip around your hips.

You’re barely able to choke out a “w-wait,” tired eyes narrowing and blinking to rid of the dizzying stars dotting your vision. “‘M not sure.”

Suo’s lips are back on your neck the next second, planting a wet trail of kisses up the skin as you shiver beneath his hold. “You can handle me, pretty girl. I know you can. I’m already inside, aren’t I?”

Your walls flutter eagerly against him at the sound of his voice just beside your ear, and you nod, mumbling something about how you wanna try, and that he feels so good— you just aren’t sure you can take it.

“Sure you can. And you know exactly what to say if it’s too much, don’t you? My sweet girl.”

SAKURA HARUKA.

Sakura’s hands roughly slam beside your head, face contorting to a grimace as he inches inside, your walls sucking him up with desperation. His face is red with heat, jaw clenched so hard that he thinks he can hear the way his teeth are grinding against each other— but you just feel so good. He’s drunk on the feeling, and he hasn’t even gone all the way in yet.

“Ah—!” You gasp when his hips stutter against you, the rest of his length slamming inside as he chokes out a strained groan.

He never would have guessed that he’d be buried in your cunt by the end of today. It started off as a sweet movie date, with you cuddled against his side as you shared snacks. He doesn’t quite remember how that led to such a heated make out session, or how the two of you starting marking each other up— lips attached to the other’s neck, or even how that led to desperately grinding against each other … and now he’s sinking his cock into you.

“S-shit, sorry,” he sputters, hands balling into fists as he forces himself to keep still. His cock twitches once, twice, so eager and desperate for more of you— but he holds himself back. He would never ever dream of hurting you.

“Did that hurt..?”

You shake your head.

“Need you, Haru,” you whine, and your arms reach to wrap around his neck, pulling him flush against you— but you accidentally pull him deeper inside, both pairs of eyes widening when his cock roughly shoves against the deepest spot inside you.

“Fuck—” his voice is just above a growl. “Don’t fucking do that.”

“But I want all of y-you,” your voice is so sweet, so soft, and it’s a challenge for him for hold back the knot threatening to snap in his core. You feel so damn good, so fucking good— he just can’t handle it.

“No,” he protests, lips parted in heavy pants. “Don’t know if i can hold myself back if you act like that.”

[sacharinee]

pairing: bf!peter x reader

synopsis: peter likes having you close to him. all the time

wc: 630 ish

a/n: surprise! another one oops. im rlly bored can u tell? cuddling prompt with peter. reader is a cheeky and annoying lil shit. one office reference. i saw a tiktok about this a long time ago and thought this would be a cute idea to write about. also does anyone know how cuddling works tho?? if ur laying on ur side, do u just lay on top of the arm ur crushing on? under a pillow? idk lol. anyways i hope u like :D

there's an ache settling in your right side that wakes you up from your sweet slumber. your head lays atop peter’s soft chest, his steady heartbeat against your ears. it was what lulled you to sleep in the first place. but with peter’s body practically being your own personal heater, the warm air filling the room, and the prominent soreness resting on your side, you began to feel uncomfortable.

“pete,” you whisper.

peter is entirely unfazed. his hold on you is strong. his face is towards you, mouth slightly ajar, letting out the softest of snores and drool out the corner of his mouth. although you love your cuddles with peter, you think he could actually suffocate you in your sleep. the boy loved to sleep, especially on top of you.

your limbs are tangled together. your left leg slung around his waist, arms around his torso, while his buff arms embrace your shoulders protectively.

ever so slightly, you begin to move your leg, retreating it back to your side as you push against his body and establish a more comfortable position. you snuggle further into peter as sleep wins you over once again.

it only lasts for a second when you wake from your boyfriend’s murmurs, he seems to talk in his sleep when he whispers your name. he huffs loudly and smacks his lips a couple of times with his brows furrowed. you feel his warm hand reach for the back of your knee to bring it over his crotch.

a confused look paints your face as you gaze up toward him. he’s asleep as dead. did he really just do that? you almost laugh out loud. his quirky behavior never fails to amuse you and has your stomach going in flips. he just wants you close to him. :(

but you think you’re funny, so you test out that theory one more time, this time blatantly stripping your leg away from him.

this gets a reaction out of peter. he seems to wake when he gusts an impatient breath, “no” and grabs your knee again, forcefully holding it against him.

in disbelief, you’re unable to contain your burst of laughter as you hold yourself up with one arm and stare at him wide-eyed, “what is wrong with you?”

“ph’shhh” peter knits his brows together, his eyes shut tight with a cute pout, as he blindly brings a hand to your face and gently shoves your head back against your pillow.

“peter-” “shut up.” he feels you lick the palm of his hand, “yuck,” but he doesn’t care to move it away from you. it’s only when you swat his hand away and settle back down against him to give him peace of mind. only for a moment, though. you have fun annoying peter, almost like a hobby. he’s halfway asleep when he feels you aggressively snatch your leg away from his hold.

“y/n!” peter groans, “stop it.” this time, your boyfriend pushes you on top of him, your entire body weight lays over his while he keeps a tight grasp on you, making sure to keep your leg over his waist and your head upon his chest.

his irritation riles you up, and you’re giggling through it all.

peter’s not having it though, not at all. he heaves another deep breath through his mouth, with the same grumpy look on his face, “why are you the way you are?”

you gasp, “me?!” “yes, you.”

not done yet, you flick his forehead, “you know, you’re so annoying sometimes, pete.”

he scoffs, “oh yea?”

“yea. a total pain in the-”

peter shoves his hand against your face and into his chest one last time, “ass.”

you decided you’ve had your fun but you’re too delighted to go back to sleep. too delighted to know that the boy you love and cherish always wants to be impossibly close to you all the time, conscious or not.

[g0dlyunsub]

don't pretend.

spencer can see through all of your lies, including the bruises you’re hiding behind makeup.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: mentions of prisons, physical violence, bruises, reader gets injured, patching up, fluff

word count :: 1.6k

author’s note :: oh, looks like i’ve spawned another hurt/comfort fic yet again…

accompanying song :: who hurt you by role model

you’re an ambitious profiler. 

you’re such an ambitious profiler that you interview offenders with the most extensive list of records whenever you have time. you want to understand more than just the simple question of why they did it. you want to explore the how’s and what if’s.

and you’re soft-hearted, so much so that you jeopardize your own safety. 

things should’ve gone smoothly with your fifth and last inmate of the week, had you been a little more aware of your surroundings.

but you placed too much faith on your ability to make peace with the man who unyieldingly worshiped violence.

that was your only mistake, but it was a costly one. 

you had kindly asked the guard to release the handcuffs, even though he insisted that they stay on. 

it’s alright, you told him with the wave of your hand. 

but you should’ve noticed the look of challenge on the inmate’s face. it was like he was taunting you, almost as if to say, do you really feel safe being in the same room as me?

it was your soft-heartedness that almost got you severely injured. 

he managed to land punches to your left cheek and scratched his nails into the flesh of your leg as he fell, right as he was tackled to the ground. 

he laughed when he saw you holding your hand against your throbbing cheek.

you arrive at the office as early as you can, a layer of makeup thicker than usual coating the bruise swelling your left cheek. 

you pretend to bury your head in the case file that you retrieved from your desk when the rest of the team started to flood into the room.

when spencer arrives, he gives you a nod and gleefully chirps good morning as he takes his seat beside you. 

spencer knows your routine like the back of his palm – he knows you’re busy with interviews at the federal prison on saturdays and sundays, and he knows you always need a caffeine boost the next morning. you gladly accept the cup of coffee that he sets in front of your hands with a small smile.

as hotch is debriefing the case with garcia, however, you can’t help but feel his eyes drilling into the side of your face, as if he can see through your cover. 

your makeup can’t be that obvious, right?

your thoughts are interrupted when hotch closes the cover of his case file, stands, and announces wheels up in 20. 

you lift yourself with the support of the table and wait for everyone else to exit before you follow, doing your best to disguise the limp in your walk.

---

“alright. jj and prentiss, go to the morgue. morgan and reid, go to the crime scene. dave, you and l/n can set up with the local p.d. i’ll go talk to the victims’ families.”

as hotch assigns roles to the team, everyone nods when their names are called out. but spencer raises his hand slightly and clears his throat.

“actually, hotch, do you mind if i switch with rossi and set up with l/n and the locals instead?”

hotch hesitates for a second, but nods slowly. 

“sure. dave, you okay with that?”

the italian agent cocks up a questioning eyebrow but gives a warm smile. “i don’t see why not.”

you’ve never heard spencer contest hotch’s orders before, so you’re stumped as to why he’s suggesting an alternative role this time. but you soon brush off the thought, and decide to occupy your time re-reading the case files before the jet lands.

you sink into your seat with a heavy sigh, forcing your eyes shut as pain travels down your legs. you’re thankful that hotch assigned you to set up at the local p.d., since it doesn’t require much locomotion and spares you the struggle of getting up constantly. you watch as spencer spreads the corners of the map and sticks push pins into the corkboard. 

“how did your interviews go yesterday?” spencer breaks the silence first and moves to grab a red marker. with his practiced hand, he quickly circles the areas of the crime scenes on the map.

you gulp.

“they went pretty well, you know, nothing out of the ordinary.”

spencer caps the tip, and a click sounds as the plastic edges meet. he nods, wets his lips with his tongue, and turns to look at you. you meet his gaze for a brief second before you look away, pretending to busy yourself with the m.e. reports that jj sent over.

“green neutralizes red.”

his sudden remark startles you. you drop the papers in your hands and look up. “i’m sorry?”

“green contains the wavelengths that are missing in red light, so when they mix, the colors neutralize each other. that’s why concealers with a green base are better at covering up more reddish bruising,” spencer elaborates, and starts to match up the photos of the crime scenes to the locations marked on the map.

you blink. oh.

there’s no way he’s talking about you, right?

“um, yeah, green’s a common color corrector,” you mutter as you nervously tap your fingers against the wooden table. “but there weren’t any bruises or marks of assault on the victims.” 

spencer scoffs as you finish your sentence.

“it’s not about the victims. you. i’m talking about you.” 

you swallow slowly. 

“i-i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you try, a fake smile plastered over your face as you shake your head left and right. 

spencer studies you with a scrutinizing stare, eyes boring into yours like he’s counting the number of times you blink.

“could you grab that for me?” he asks at last, pointing to the book that’s two tables away, the one titled florida’s topography and bathymetry. without thinking, you nod and stand.

fuck.

what a clever way to set you up. now you have to somehow mask the limp in your steps and pretend like the pain coursing through your legs is nonexistent.

you do your best to walk normally, but it’s hard to tell if you’re doing a good job from his unreadable stare. you hold the book out with a bemused smile, hoping it’s enough to cover your pained expression.

he doesn’t look convinced. 

“that,” spencer points to your leg with an accusatory gaze, “why are you walking like that?” 

he swiftly takes the book from you, and your hand instinctively grips the side of the table for support.

“like what?” 

you’re going to make him pry the confession out of you. 

“like you’re hurting,” spencer utters quietly. his last word catches your breath completely.

“is that why you asked rossi to switch with you? so you could interrogate me?” 

“who hurt you?” spencer ignores your question, setting the book aside and leaning over the table to get a closer look at your face. 

instinctively, you retreat and look down, but he walks around the table and kneels in front of you. your brain buzzes with the words he’s just declared. it’s not what did you do, or what happened to you. instead, it’s who hurt you. 

“i… it’s nothing.” you shift in your chair, but he stops the seat from turning completely by laying a hand on the headrest.

“tell me. please.” 

you can’t fake it anymore, especially when he’s already hammered the nail into the hole perfectly.

you rub your sweaty palms on your lap. “one of them tried to hurt me during the interview. i-it was my fault, i asked the guards to take off the cuffs. i thought they’d be more willing to cooperate that way.”

spencer’s expression mellows as you speak, but he doesn’t return a comment. somehow, this makes you even more nervous.

a second after, he lifts his hand and slides a finger along the slightly swollen area of your cheek. he hesitates when you start to wince in pain.

tapping his knee with his index finger, he instructs, “let me take a look at your leg.”

you comply.

when you lift your leg, spencer’s hand slips between the wedge of your platform's heel, and gracefully sets your foot on his knee. 

you observe him gently push the thin fabric of your trousers upwards. you hold your breath when he leans in to inspect closely, and you almost shudder when the vapor of his warm breath tickles the gash on your flared shin. 

spencer steps back to retrieve a first-aid kit lying nearby and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. without saying a single word, he pulls a cotton pad and a gauze roll from the bag.

as he wraps your leg with the gauze, he looks up to meet your lowered gaze.

“tell me his name.”

you bite your lip.

“it’s fine. you should focus on the geo-profile instead.” you exhale as spencer unfolds the rolls on the hem of your trousers to cover your leg again.

“you do know that it won’t take me long to go through every incident report,” he retorts back with a challenging glint in his eye. your cheeks heat up with a hot flush of red.

goddamnit, spencer reid. 

you hastily brush yourself away from him.

“what are you going to do?”

he pauses, every second of silence only feeding your suspicions. you watch the corner of his lips tug into a smirk.

“you know, nothing out of the ordinary.”

you huff.

“don’t use my words against me.” 

he shrugs with an indifferent expression, but chuckles before standing back up.

“his name. or do we want to do this the hard way?”

[peachesofteal]

Deckhand Simon Riley / female reader 18+ mdni, dubcon. Simon is very no good terrible and kind of mean. Predator/prey. Excessive alcohol consumption, manipulation. Spitting, size, praise, a little bit of breeding/daddy - kink.

Simon arrives to town on the last summer wind. 

It’s cold for the shoulder of the season. Not the coldest he’s ever felt, but cold enough his scars become rigid, inflexible swaths of skin littered across his body pinching at every hinge. 

He can already feel the burn. The stretch and strain of his upper back, his arms, his legs. Can already feel the weight of the pots, sharp metal slamming and crashing, teeming with things that look more like creatures than they do delicacies.

Hook. String. Pull. Block.

The people stare at him, wide, wind whipped eyes peeking out underneath knit wool hems, gagged and confused, whispers passed back and forth like children with a lolly. 

Did you see him? 

Look at the size of ‘im- 

Is that Ernest’s new deckhand? 

Fucking monster of a man, I tell you. 

He keeps his head down. Eyes fixed to the floor, old instinct still churning in his blood, shoulders stiff and squared. Captains are all the same, whether on land or at sea. Says “yes sir” as Ernest sizes him up, asks about his previous two seasons, and then sends him away with a perfunctory nod and a departure date. 

The Old Man leaves in two weeks. See you then.

King crab fishing is the closest he’s felt to having a foot in the grave since he was actually in one. Opponents in a firefight are known, predictable. Monsters of their own kind, but ones he knows intimately. Minds of a killer, the lot of them, a certain subset of consciousness nearly shared. 

The ocean shares its mind with no one. Its secrets are its own, buried in the briny deep, never to be revealed. 

And the Bering-  

The Bering is its own horror. Savage and cruel to those who would tempt it, willing to swallow anything offered and pull it down into fathomless black water. Cold enough to kill a man in seconds. Violent enough to toss them all to sea. 

He’s seen it happen. More than once. The environment is uncontrollable, unpredictable, lethal, and the work is arduous. 

The company is tolerable at best. The season is short, yet taxing. Deckhands live dozens of years, in a few short months. They stare off into nothing, watching the horizon, long gone look in their eye. 

Still, he sees familiar flickers in them, same firelight he’s seen in the many men he’s killed, or worked alongside of. 

At the base of it, these types of men, his kind, are all the same. 

Rabid and dangerous in packs. 

The cove is nearly derelict. The town spills up into white and black spruce, houses nestled in the grove of tree trunks twice Simon’s size, all doors facing the warped and tilted wooden slats of a long-loved dock. 

There isn’t much here, a small grocery, a liquor store, a petrol station and of course- 

A pub. 

Aptly named The Wharf, the bar is as old hat as they come, seedy and sticky, sunken into the soft earth. It’s everything he’s come to expect in a fishing town this far up north, where the season is variable, and the money is too. Dark wood from floor to ceiling, over polished oak horseshoe, neglected stools and booths. Everything creaks, and The Wharf is no exception. The pub, the dock, the trees. Wind whistles and bark groans, a rasp you can only find here, in these places where time is too slow, and the world forgets. 

There are rooms above the bar, usually rented to his ilk, deckhands biding their time, greenhorns rattling with excitement. They all filter in weeks before the season opens, and when he checks into his, he’s not surprised when the woman at the desk tells him he’s got the last one. 

There are only ten, after all.

The Wharf’s side door swings open in a gust of blistering wind, yet not a single person turns their head. 

None except him, though he doesn’t need to look to know it’s you. 

He can smell you. Can feel you, clear across the floor. Sea salt and lavender, it whirls in your wake wherever you go, and when he lingers on the sidewalk outside of your little workshop, he swears he’s standing in a cloud of it. 

“If y’need jackets, bibs mended from last season, there’s a place on the corner, next to The Wharf. She’ll get ‘em done before season.” 

You’re the bloody seamstress. The tailor. Nimble fingers twisting and tying, threading and looping inside a faded light blue storefront, working into the small hours of the night. Your workspace is small, and overflowing with bright orange polyurethane covered clothes, long lengths of neoprene, socks, shirts, wristers. A mass of work, it seems, one that keeps your light on after all others have gone dark. 

Except The Wharf’s. 

It’s the second time he’s seen you here. 

He doesn’t count the times he’s seen you without you realizing it. Doesn’t count the times he’s finished a cigarette on the street at the perfect angle, a solid perch to peer right in through your window. He doesn’t count the times he’s watched you from The Wharf’s one dark window, when you step outside to take a long breath of air, stretching your back and shaking your arms out, rolling your head in a circle- 

and baring your throat for the slaughter.

The first was days ago, close to zero hundred, when you swung in to settle on a barstool with your back to the door. You look like you’re made from spools of silk, even underneath all of your winter layers, big coat, knit wool hat. There’s a coruscated dapple in your eye, one that manages to shimmer even in the darkest shadows of the bar, voice saccharine as he’s ever heard, dipping into a melody as you go back and forth with the bartender. 

He hears it now when he closes his eyes at night, awash in a sea of bourbon, cigarette stench sunken into his skin. A gentle rhythm, a syrupy voice, saying his name. 

Screaming it. 

You catch his gaze across the bar. Catch him watching you, peeling you, picking you apart, but you say nothing. Blink a few times, glance down at your beer, pretend to busy yourself with something else. It’s not a flinch, but close enough to it. 

He knows what you see. What you should see. 

A monster. Licking his lips at a girl. A fire breather bearing down on top of a princess. 

If he crossed this room right now and yanked you off that barstool, who would interrupt? Intervene? They’re all men of the same vein, born from different battlefields. The rules of engagement become status quo, regardless of whether you’re baptized by the Bering, or by fire.

Rabid, dangerous in packs.  

Eleven days left, and he’s finally found something worthwhile to occupy his time, besides lurking in the dingy corners of The Wharf like an old, decrepit sailor. 

You. 

You live above the shop, an old fire escape leads to a wooden door with a big window, one covered by a curtain hung from the inside. 

The Wharf’s rooms have a fire escape too. A metal catwalk. 

Metal. Who’s the idiot who decided metal anything would be good in a place like this? Iron nearly turned red, rusted to all hell. One shift, and it all falls down. 

He takes his watch there, at night. A gargoyle at his post, waiting for the flicker of your kitchen and bedroom lights, shapes and shadows dancing behind the thin drapes, a ballerina on stage for the masses. 

For him. 

He brings you his gear. Looms over you at the desk where your sewing machine is grinding out an industrial stitch thicker than what he’s seen on parachutes. 

“H-hi.” Hi. Aren’t you cute? A little lamb, alone in the woods.

He nods. Stays silent. Enjoys watching his catch twist herself up on his hook. 

You glance at the noxious orange pieces draped over his arm, and half timidly reach.

“Need those patched? Er, like… have any tears or rips?” Not really. He keeps his gear in good condition. Throws out his underclothes after every season- can never get the stench of fish out of em, but his outer gear is well cared for. 

It almost pained him to rip them apart last night. 

“Simon.” He gives it expectantly, jogging your manners to the forefront. You have the good grace to look embarrassed with how fast you spit out your own name.

“Bibs have a few holes. Big ones. Jacket’s got a rip under the armpit.” You reach, tiny little fingers stretching across the barren space between him and you, and he lashes down the urge to snatch your wrist out of midair and bring it to his teeth. 

Do you taste like lavender? Sea salt? Is your cunt briny like the Bering, slicked sweet and brackish? 

“Okay, well, I should have them done before-“ 

“You better.” You startle, eyes wide and confused, before they find your feet, cowed little girl before an awful man. “Jus’ need em, is all.” He softens the approach, not willing to cut you down just yet (that comes later), and you respond well, perfectly, pushing your glasses up onto the bridge of your nose with a genuine smile. 

Live bait on the line. Set, cast, hook.

“Got it.” 

His control is becoming a house of cards. 

You’re in The Wharf earlier tonight, asking Jimmy for a double, whiskey over ice and nearly to the brim of a rocks glass. Just one, you say. Neck is sore as hell.

He maintains a distance. More inclined to watch you devolve, fascinated by the way you unravel with each sip. Lightweight. Figures.

You pull your glasses off and rub your temples, hopping off the bar stool with a quick word over your shoulder, a request for another drink. “Just goin’ to the bathroom.” You explain, walking away with a hardly detectable sway in your step- 

directly into the side of the wall the bar juts out from. 

Someone, a woman who never so much as looks up the entire time she’s here, furrows her brow at where you’re rubbing your forehead and tsks. 

“Your glasses!” You turn, embarrassed, downright mortified, and sheepishly slide your fingers across the bar until you find them. 

“Oh, right. Thanks Laurie.” Laurie, says nothing. Not until you’ve turned away and almost disappeared into the bathroom. Then, she mutters to herself, into her fresh pint. 

“Damn girl is blind as bat without those things.” 

He buys Laurie another round before he leaves for the night. An eventual thanks. 

"Can I bum one?"

His neck nearly snaps. Where did you come from? You're timid in the mouth of the alley, lichen washed red brick flanking you on either side, your hands folded together at your navel.

"Little girls allowed to smoke 'round here?" Now your neck snaps.

"I- I'm not a little girl, thank you." It's like you're trying to turn your nose up at him, but he's a giant above, and it's hopeless.

"Sure you're not." He plucks the cigarette from his lips, and then holds it out to you. Your breath hitches, top teeth digging deep, an instigation, invitation. His hand whips forward, too fast for you to realize, gripping your chin, pressing his thumb into the flesh of your bottom lip. "Want a drag or not?"

"S-sure." He's got your cheeks squeezed together, just so, enough that the fat of them crowds your mouth and makes the s sound more like a whistle.

He doesn't let go as he feeds it to you, stopping just before the filter touches your teeth. "Go ‘head then." You draw, deep, eyes closing as that first hit of nicotine rushes your blood, undoubtedly making you light headed, and his cock thickens with dreams of his fat head pushing between your lips instead of this cigarette, dreams of you split open on him with a soaked pussy, neck bared for his teeth.

Hook. String. Pull.

He squeezes himself overtop his jeans, heavy weight pulsing between his legs, a dangerous affliction growing larger and larger with each second. He could rock against his palm, right here in front of you, and it would feel worlds better than the last measly meal he had, months and months ago. Nothing will compare to you, he already knows.

You see it all. Frozen like a deer in headlights, your lips part, transfixed, confused. Will you run? Will you shout? Will you tell?

"I uh, I better... get going. Have a lot of work t-to finish." Good girl. He nods, letting go of his aching cock, slipping the cigarette back in his mouth, searching for even a hint of lavender and sea salt lingering in the filter.

"Goodnight."

Four days left, and his gear is finished.

You leave a message for him, letting him know he can pick up whenever is convenient. During shop hours. Cash or card accepted. What a dutiful business owner.

You’re in the back when he arrives. It’s long past close, but no one locks their doors here. Anyone could walk right in.

“Be right out!” You yell, slightly muffled. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t opt to give himself away, just waits at the front desk, where a mug of fresh coffee sits, still hot, still steaming.

Desperation for claim, for possession, claws up his throat to his tongue, thrashing in a fit until saliva pools in his cheeks. He sucks through his teeth, rolling the pockets behind his molars forward, pulling as much as he can, his soul even, up and out, landing it in a glob on the surface of your evening caffeine fix.

It sits there, tiny bubbles and all, an island in endless ocean, unable to break apart or disappear. Blatant. Obvious.

So, he sticks his finger in it and gives a quick swirl. For good measure.

There’s rustling in the back, and then you pop through the doors, glasses sliding to your nose. “Hi! So sor-“

You grind to a halt, spine curling forward, as if you’re trying to protect your precious organs from his fingers, avoiding his grip around your ribs, his urge to rip you open and devour you whole.

He smirks. “Got a message my gear is done? Nick o’ time.”

“Yeah, it’s… it’s done. I’ve got it, one sec.” You fidget, gun shy and shuddering, flitting away on the turn of a heel, eager to escape where he hulks in front of your desk, no doubt.

When you come back, you’re a bit more put together. Polished. Glasses in their rightful place, you place his bib and jacket on the counter unceremoniously, lips pressed together. He hands you a wad of cash, and you count it carefully, keeping your eyes pinned on the bills as he inspects the stitching, taking stock in your sharp attention to detail. “Like new, great work. Thank you.”

You go doe eyed, demure, flattered, and then confused, trying to reconcile this man, this version with the one from last night. “T-thank you.”

It all comes to a head, two days out.

There’s a party of sorts, a gathering. Entire boat of deckhands crammed into The Wharf, plus others, town residents and even some from the next over.

Too many, for Simon’s tastes.

Too many, except for one.

You’re crammed between the wall and someone’s shoulder, occasionally saying hello, accepting thanks for work well done. You keep your idle hands busy, accepting drink after drink, a shot of tequila, another of rum.

You’re even dressed up, cute as a button. Sweet as cream, honey on the hive.

Your hiccups ring out from across the room directly to his ears, chest shaking with each one. The bar is at max volume, shouting, cheering, chattering, but he can hear you crystal clear. Can hear the high pitch echo of each one, can hear your throat bobbing, the long exhale singing from your nose after trying to hold your breath. “I need some air,” you say to your neighbor, “be right back.”

He downs the last of his bourbon, subtle fire in his throat, and then makes for the back door.

Your arms are crossed, leaning against the brick with your head tipped back, eyes closed. Wearing a knit sweater, a skirt, and wool leggings, for fucks sake. “Dangerous place to be, a little girl all alone.” Your eyes snap wide, startled.

“Simon,” you don’t stutter his name, liquor easing your nerves, sweetening you up to a slaughter like the little lamb you are. Your ability to assess risk is long gone, and when you peek over at him, head rolling, the usual skittish haunt of your gaze is nowhere to be found.

“Out for a smoke?”

“No, just some fresh air.”

“Poor lamb. Drink too much?” You shrug, steadying your balance against the wall. Trying to appear more with it than he knows you are.

He stalks closer, closer than you should be comfortable with, but you only sigh, wilted as the grass withered by the impending winter.

He tests. Probes. Brushes a hand against yours, watches how you tip a little to the side, his side, eyes glassy between hard blinks. “You’re so sweet, little lamb.”

“Oh,” you make an o with your lips when you say it, like you’re suprised. “T-thank you.”

“Do you taste sweet, you think?” You jolt, but he handles your hip like he’s afraid you’ll fall, though you have a better grasp on your balance than you think you do. “Hmm?”

“I’m… I’m not sure.” It’s a race now, one you’re desperate to catch up in, but falling behind faster and faster.

Hook. String. Pull.

“Open your mouth.” You do, on instinct, and he hums with approval. “Good girl.” He sticks his thumb inside, depressing your tongue, shoving back and to the side, hard enough he stretches the corner of your lip, and then tugs.

Hooked.

You’re too drunk to process it, not really. Enflamed with a rollercoaster of shock, shame and disgust. But beneath it all, something else rises, breaks at the surface for air. Desire.

He doesn’t waste the moment, hands splayed at your ribcage, shoving you back against the wall, your shoulders slamming into it. He’s on you, rabid, wolf at the throat of a lamb, tongue forcing its way between your teeth without permission. You jerk, tense, muscles shifting like you might put your arms up, but instead they fall limply to your sides, and you moan.

String.

The length of his torso, chest and stomach press against you, hold you in place, allowing him free rein to wrap his fingers into the fine fabric of your wool stockings and rip. The shocked little gasp falls from you as expected, but you’re too far gone to fight. Prize on the line, he tugs them aside and strokes over your folds, already wet for him, dipping into your cunt, tight and fluttering around his invasion.

“Si- Simon- stop.” You push at him shoulders, trying and failing, squirming and whining. He shoves deeper, one nearly too much, two an impossible fit.

“Why would I stop when you’re so wet f’me little girl?” He presses the swell of his cock against you, your walls clenching at the contact, and he chuckles darkly. “Gonna say you don’t want this, sweet lamb? Gonna lie when this little pussy is dripping all over my hand?” You’re scandalized. Ripped from your comfort and thrown ashore, a fish out of water, gasping on land. He breathes into your neck, biting and sucking his way back up to your mouth where he distracts you for a brief moment, long enough to tip your balance to the side, a stutter step disrupting your focus, and delivers an opportune strike to snatch your glasses off your face so fast you flinch backwards in the confusion. He manages to cup your head just in time and cushion its bounce against the brick.

Pull.

“My glasses.” Your voice trembles, and he’s surprised to feel a twinge of guilt. Don’t worry little one. He’ll pull you apart, but he’ll put you back together. Eventually. “Simon… my- my glasses, do you see my glasses?”

“No, sorry. It’s too dark, sweet thing.” You tear up, horrified, and they spill down your cheeks, fat and wet, leaving tracks all the way to your neck.

He licks them with glee.

“I need to-“ he pays you no mind, returning to his work, his meal, shoving your knee to the side and lifting you up the wall, until the smear of you cunt weeps all over his jeans. “I need-“

“Know what you need, little girl.” He shreds your leggings wider, tearing a hole big enough to expose your thighs, your lower belly. Later, when he has you pinned to his bed, he’ll eat you until you can’t speak or see, but for now, bludgeoning the entirety of his cock into this too tight space will have to do.

You hiccup again. It’s too sweet, rots his soul. He wonders if you’ll be here, when he gets back. If you’ll run, or if you’ll wait. Maybe he’ll give you something to remember him by, knock you up, nice and fat by summer, heavy with a piece of him. Maybe.

He slides his zipper now, pulling the weight of his cock free, sliding the head through your slit as you look down. You can’t see, how big, how thick, how impossible it looks, head trying to push into you, your body unyielding, spasming as he batters his way inside. You claw at his shoulders, spitting out a half moan, a half sob, and he taps his forehead to yours. “It’s too m-much, too- hurts-“

“Don’t fight it. You’ve got plenty of room, be good.” He soothes with a lie, probably. You’re so tight he can feel you in his bones, restricting, bearing down. He pushes, heat and slick closing in around him, making him dizzy, his pulse pounding in his ears. “Fuck- that’s it. Feel that?” He drags your hand to the root of his cock, splaying your fingers around the base. “Feel yourself splittin’ open on me?” You moan some nonsense, some sort of garbage mixed with a yes, and a no. “Perfect little pussy, stretchin’ for me, yeah?” Only for me.

He fucks you so hard you’re shoving higher and higher up the wall, cunt choking him with each thrust, your fingers twisted in his sweatshirt, clinging on for dear life, a sailor in a storm. Lost in the fuzzy, blurry world without your glasses, he gives you a port in the dark, a lighthouse calling you home. He spreads you wide, rolling over your clit, pinching, thumbing, finding the rhythm that makes your buzz, hips starting to jerk, swallow him up.

Unbelievably, you tighten up even more, eyes slamming shut, and he holds you steady at your hips, driving deep, mouth on your ear. “Gonna be good and cum? Gonna show daddy how good you can be and cum all over his cock?” You gasp, and he drags you to it, pushes you over, rolls your shoulders back against the brick when you curl forward, pussy so tight it tries to force him out. You scream with it, but he covers your mouth, palm to your tongue, elbow at your collarbone. He’s relentless now, shoving himself until there isn’t a space inside you not filled with him, as fast as possible, body like a ragdoll. When he’s on the edge, teetering so close, he pinches your cheeks. “Open up, little lamb.” Your brow furrows, but partially blind, you’re more trusting, and you do as you’re asked. His hips piston, a rough saw, chasing, sprinting towards the end, heat climbing down his spine and across every muscle until he’s shoved so deep inside you he thinks he’s in your belly, and rears back, sucking a glob of spit to his lips and launching it into your mouth, just as he floods your pussy with cum. He jerks inside you, slow strokes, and you hang limply against him, fucked out, still drunk, docile as a lamb.

You hiss when he pulls free and lurch forward against his chest, not able to stand on your own. “C’mon, let’s get you a bath.” He murmurs into your hair, and you protest weakly.

“My glasses.”

“I’ll find ‘em.” He vows, patting their safe spot in his front pocket. “Don’t worry.”

[ponderingmoonlight]

Saving Genya from his big brother only to make out with Sanemi

Pairing: Sanemi x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,9k

Synopsis: It was never an easy job, being the only one who's able to calm the wind hashira down. There was never more than respect and understanding between both of you. Until you bodly decided to stand up for Genya, until Sanemi finally reveals his true feelings...

Warnings: We're talking about Sanemi so language at violence lol, aggressive making out

I love love love Sanemi and I desperately hope you do as well hehe, enjoy and leave a comment/like/reblog <3

There he stands with his hot temper filling the air and his ruthless beatings torturing the poor souls in front of you. Hashira training never sounded like fun to you, especially when you consider who you’d have to deal with.

Sanemi Shinazugawa, especially.

“Get back up, brat. We’re not finished yet.”

You watch from afar as he hits the poor red-haired poor over and over again. Without any mercy, without the slightest hint of regret. And still, you can’t help but ponder about the way his arms flex and show every vein that decorates his skin. How he moves so effortlessly that your eyes are almost unable to follow. No, it’s not a secret that apart from being a madman, Sanemi Shinazugawa is hot as hell.

And your crush since you joined the demon slayer corps.

“Don’t you think that’s enough for today? The poor boy isn’t even able to stand up straight anymore”, you interfere when he’s about to hit him once again.

 "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were the expert on disciplining. How about me fetching you a chair so you can supervise more comfortably?”

All pairs of eyes are set on you while you step towards the scene in death silence. Apart from everyone else, you aren’t here to train under Sanemi. No, you are a very capable demon slayer yourself, so good that you even managed to beat Mitsuri from time to time. You definetely don’t need Sanemi to train.

In fact, you are here because you’re the only one who is able to tame him apart from Kagaya-sama himself.

"Well, if you ask me so nicely, a chair actually doesn’t sound bad for the next time. Meanwhile, how about we wrap this up? Enough's enough."

Sanemi’s venomous eyes meet yours, tempting you to lose your cool. Within the past few months, you’ve learned how to act around him and that his actions don’t reflect his true feelings at all. Deep within, he is the most caring and compassionate person you’ve ever met, so tender that you’d simply melt away in his touch. He never failed to protect you even if not needed, always made sure you are save before looking out for himself. Damn, he even left his desert for you to eat.

But on the other hand, he’s very good at hiding that side of him.

“Fine. Call it quits for today then. But we two will have a talk later”, he finally mutters before turning around and disappearing without any trace.

Your heart skips a few beats before you’re able to think straight again. Oh, how much you adore him. Just the sheer thought of meeting him alone sends shivers down your spine even though nothing ever happened between you two. After all, you’re only here to look out for him, right?

“Thank you for standing up for me. Now you’ll get in trouble for helping me out”, the red-haired boy lying in front of your feet speaks out while dragging himself up.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, I can handle him. Are you alright?”

In the matter of seconds, your eyes scan his body for serious injuries. Nothing, as you expected. Even though his training methods seem rough, he’d never allow himself to truly lay hands on another corps member. Not even him, Kamado Tanjiro. The boy who has what Sanemi always dreamed of.

“Yes, thanks to you. We really need a break after training day and night. Sorry, may I ask you for your name?

“My name is (y/n). Nice to finally meet you in person, Kamado Tanjiro.”

His eyes widen in an instant when you tell him your name. Even though you’re not a hashira, it seems like a lot of corps member know you. A decently skilled swordswoman, a trained doctor who made sure that no one ever died as long as you were around.

“The angel”, he breathes out.

“What an honor to meet you in person!”

In an instant, he gets on his knees and places his head on his flat palms. A pose of deep respect, so intimate that your cheeks heat up in an instant.

“Please, lift yourself off the ground. I don’t deserve your praise-“

“You deserve so much more than that!”, Tanjiro interrupts in an instant.

“Leave her alone. Can’t you see that you’re making her uncomfortable?”, another voice mutters from behind.

A very familiar voice you haven’t heard in quite some time, that makes your heart jump up and down in joy.

“Genya!”, you cry out.

You waste no time. In an instant, you lunge yourself at the now much taller boy and wrap your arms around him so tightly that he cannot escape. Oh, you really missed him. Even though Sanemi states over and over how much he hates his little brother, you always had a weak spot for him. Maybe because you’re able to see his soft side as well or because of the cute way he blushes when you look at him.

“Genya, are you alright? Your face is so red-“

“SHUT UP”, he barks at Tanjiro while you giggle to yourself.

“Why didn’t you send me a crow like I told you to? I was beyond worried about you. But oh I’m so proud. Did you really help to kill an upper moon demon and supported your friends?”

“Well I-“

“Yes he did! He was a big help for all of us!”, Tanjuro interferes immediately.

“(y/n), didn’t I tell you we need to talk?”, someone suddenly barks from the inside.

All color drains from Genya’s face immediately as he turns around with you.

There he stands with his arms crossed in front of his muscular chest, eyes almost piercing through you while the vein on his forehead threatens to pop any minute.

Your heart sinks in an instant. No, don’t let him control you like that, not when you know that he’s just…jealous?

“I needed to talk to Genya first”, you clarify.

“(y/n), please don’t-“

“Oh, is that so? Why would you even look at that trash?”

Thick anger rushes through your veins like the flood. If there’s one thing you hate about Sanemi’s attitude, it’s the way he talks about his little brother.

“I’m looking at you as well, don’t I?”

He flinches ever so slightly, his furrowed eyes now piercing through you like a thousand knives.

“Get inside. Right now.”

“Get some rest you two”, you quickly shout over your shoulder before you disappear into the house with a furious Sanemi by your side.

He slams the door shut behind you so rapidly that it rains plaster.

“What was that, huh?”, he speaks out with threatening low voice.

“I asked your little brother about his mission.”

He cages you between the wall with no way to escape, dangerous eyes locked with yours.

“I told you to stay away from him.”

“And I told you that I don’t care.”

“Why don’t you leave, then?”

“Because I’m the only one who’s able to tame you down”, you bite back.

He huffs in sheer annoyance while pushing himself off the wall. Why does he have to look so vulnerable and strong at the same time, so scary but also mesmerizing?

“You won’t force me to talk to him”, he finally speaks out.

“I want him to leave the corps and get as far away from me as possible.”

“Away from you or away from the danger?”

“I don’t care about him.”

“So you don’t care about me as well?”

Thick silence hangs between both of you while you stare at each other. To this day he never revealed how he truly feels about you. Does he hate you, respect you, love you? You might never know. But your influence on him speaks for itself.

“Go to sleep. We’ll get up early tomorrow.”

Without another word, he leaves you standing in a new wave of ponderings and emotions.

-a few hours later-

Your eyes dart open for no reason. Aimlessly, your orbs roam around the dark room, ears searching for a single sound.

Voices. Shouting. Blows.

Blows?

“Big brother?”

Your heart drops to the floor. That’s Genya. Why does the floor start to vibrate now?

Out of instinct, you yank out of your room, follow a wave of destruction until you finally get what’s going on.

There they stand. Genya with fright written all over his face and Sanemi with orbs so empty you’re almost able to see through them.

Your guts turn uncomfortably as he speeds forward so fast that your eyes are almost unable to follow. Fuck, is he about to pierce through Genya’s eyes?

You waste no time. In the matter of milliseconds, you drag Genya to the ground and therefore safe him from Sanemi’s merciless attack.

“Sanemi.”

You breathe out his name like a prayer.

“Get out of line, (y/n).”

“I can’t allow you to hurt him!”, you cry out, hands still holding onto Genya’s trembling body for dear life.

“You leave me no choice, then.”

It happens faster than you’re able to think. He dashes forward while grabbing the handle of his sword tightly, his eyes and blade darted towards you.

But you don’t even think about leaving Genya. No, you stand your ground in front of him, glossy orbs watching as his blade crashes down straight towards your face.

Until it stops.

“I said move”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

“And I said I won’t. Leave Genya alone.”

“Are you really putting up a fight with me, (y/n)? Here, right in front of everyone else?”

You couldn’t care less about the stinging fact that the others are watching you drowned in fear. This goes too far without any doubt.

“You don’t have to do this, Sanemi. Not when we both know you love your little brother dearly”, you breathe out.

“Come on Genya, let’s leave”, Tanjiro’s voice mutters behind you, causing a wave of relief to wash over you.

“I don’t love anyone. Not him, not you, I don’t give a shit about anyone around here”, Sanemi barks back at you with nothing but hatred spilling from his mouth.

Genya doesn’t deserve those words reaching his ear. But apart from that, you can’t escape the sting that fills your heart with agony.

Him, not loving anyone? Of course you never really expected the wind hashira to actually like you back. Of course even him respecting you is more than you could have ever asked for. But somehow you still hoped. Each and every night, you imagined what if would feel like to lay in his arms while listening to his steady heartbeat. Every free second, you pondered about how his lips must feel pressed against yours, how it feels to fall asleep and wake up next to him.

And now he tells you that you mean nothing to him.

You swallow hard, desperately trying to avoid his gaze at any cause. No, you can’t afford to lose yourself right here when everyone is watching.

Out of instinct, you straighten your shoulders and cross your arms in front of your chest.

“If that’s the case, I’m leaving. Good night, wind hashira.”

You don’t care about waiting for an answer. All you want to do right now is going back into your room, going back into safety where he’s not around. How stupid to even consider that Sanemi Shinazugawa could feel anything apart from a little respect for you. You, nothing but an ordinary slayer, still too weak to be called a real hashira. You, apparently nothing but a fool.

Hot tears start to swell up your eyes and cause your vision to get foggy. You never allowed yourself to cry over something so minor. What did you expect, a gut-wrenching love story? With the wind hashira?

“Why did you turn your back on me?”

You flinch so hard that you almost trip over your futon.

“What are you doing here?”, you cry out.

Fuck, this is him, without any doubt. What on earth is Sanemi doing in your room? Just now, when you’re looking like a mess.

“Are you crying?”

“Even if I do, why would you care?”

When your gaze drifts towards his, you feel like drowning and taking your first breath at the same time. He looks so distressed that your heart wrenches all over again. Like a lost puppy, he draws closer until he cages you against the wall. His eyes seem to stare right through your soul, make it hard to produce a single logical thought.

“Why would you even think that, idiot?”

His hand yanks your chin up, forces you to stare at him even more intensely.

“Because you said so yourself”, you bite back.

“You shouldn’t have interrupted me in the middle of teaching Genya a lesson.”

“Teaching him a lesson? You’re breaking that poor boy’s heart-“

“Breaking him? I’m saving him, goddamn!”, he blurts out so suddenly that you shake.

“Saving him? What are you t-“

“Poking his eyes out isn’t that big of a deal, he’d definitely survive. But his career at the demon slayer corps would have been over and out, he would have been saved”, he mumbles frantically.

“That would have meant he’s save, that would have meant he doesn’t die in this shit-“

“Sanemi”, your hands grab his face gently, try to get him out of his constant mumbling.

“He’ll die just like our mother did.”

“Sanemi.”

“I can’t fucking protect you all. Not when you’re around as well, not when you’re not listening just like he does-“

“Sanemi.”

When your eyes meet his, he looks like a troubled child scared of thunder. His glossy orbs stare at you desperately, make your heart ache all over again. All that rambling, giving Genya his coldest shoulder…to protect him?

“You’re just as reckless as him. Not looking out for yourself. What am I supposed to do without both of you around? What if I lose you two as well?”

“You won’t lose anyone, I’m good enough to-“

“How can you know?”, he screams into your face, his voice vibrating through every cell of your body like thunder.

“How can you promise you won’t die? One wrong move and you’re gonna bite the dust. Or you’re at the wrong place at the wrong time like Rengoku-“

It might be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done in your entire life, so reckless that you’ll lose Sanemi completely.

But you don’t care.

Before he’s able to talk about the grief within the past any further, you crash your lips against his while holding onto his face for dear life.

Over and over, again and again until your mind finally shuts up, until it’s only you and Sanemi and his puffy lips against yours.

He wraps his arms around you so tightly that you allow your knees to give in, bodies resting against each other so desperately that you feel like dreaming. Countless nights you pondered about the way his frame feels pressed against yours, what the wind hashira might taste like.

Oh, the reality is so much better, so good that you have to convince yourself you’re not dreaming.

“You’re driving me insane. Since the first time I saw you training with Obanai, since you beamed at me with that sickening gorgeous smile. I can’t escape you. I can’t fucking lose you”, he hisses against your mouth before entangling his tongue with yours all over again.

Sparks fly, stars take up your sight completely as you threaten to choke on all the affection and love that hits you with full force.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”, you breathe out.

“And risking you’ll never talk to me again? You have to be out of your mind.”

“I’m out of my mind because of you. Because you make me feel all those strange things”, you puff out.

Faster than you’re able to react, he pulls his face away from yours enough to almost drown inside your glossy orbs. For a moment, all the does is staring at you as you desperately gasp for air with your chest rising and falling rapidly. This really happened. Did you really make out with the wind hashira after he tried to murder his little brother, after all the fighting and rambling of today?

“You’re my weakness, (y/n)”, he finally blurts out.

“And I hate that power you have over me. Especially that everyone else knows it.”

You tilt your head to the side. Oh, that’s so true. After all, this is the reason why you were sent here. You are here to make sure he doesn’t go too rough on his students, that his hot temper is kept at least a little cool.

Well, given the heat that radiates from him at this very moment, the last part definitely didn’t go as planned.

“They know about my feeling for you as well.”

His eyes widen while he stares you up and down in sheer disbelief.

“Stop fucking with me”, he grumbles.

“You were too blind to realize that I loved you for so long while I didn’t even think about the opportunity that you might like me back”, you admit with your cheeks turning as hot as the sun.

“You fool.”

He yanks your chin towards his face, a small smile decorating his usual so irritated face.

“I’ll definitely never let you go again now.”

His lips crash into yours and leave your mind blank all over again.

“But I’ll still kick your ass for talking to me so disrespectfully and interfering with Genya.”

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso  @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake

@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345

@komelrebi-san @kentocalls (your fic will be next) @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp

@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine (thank you sooo much for helping me creating reader for the cover)

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 5

in which spencer reid and fem!reader are reunited, but the worst kind of sparks are flying. you meet a man named randall. derek morgan buys you a drink (sort of). it seems that some things can't be unsaid.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: r goes to a bar but doesn't drink alcohol, gets hit on by weird men, dramatic, angst, sorry in advance a/n: surprise! i'll see myself out. love you! lmk your thoughts on this bad boy! i KNOW you'll have some! i'm locking all my doors and the cops are on speed dial after posting this. stay tuned for part six tho

You don’t call Spencer for four days. 

Spencer doesn’t call you for four days. 

It’s scary. 

There’s some texting—mostly him giving you updates on how things are going and when he expects to be back. Mostly you giving the messages a thumbs up and saying nothing else. 

Finally, on Thursday afternoon, his ringtone (the Bill Nye theme) makes you jump as you’re sitting on your bed staring into space. 

His caller ID photo—which is simply his passport photo, because you’d thought it was adorable—stares at you. You stare back. Contemplate not picking up. 

But you’re not quite there yet. 

And you cannot keep listening to Bill Nye the Science Guy. 

The answer button is cold under your thumb, but not as cold as your greeting. 

“Hi.”

You barely recognize your own voice. 

It seems to send Spencer for a loop as well, because his reply is halting. 

“Hey! Hi, um—how are you? I feel like we’ve barely talked this week.”

That would be because you told me my feelings for you are stronger than your feelings for me and I don’t know how to stop making every single word I say secretly mean I love you. We can’t have a conversation without me loving you. It will always be in the room or on the phone with us. To ignore the presence of it is impossible, and I don’t know if I can ignore the absence of yours, either. 

“Uh… yeah. I’m fine. What’s up?”

There’s a pause. 

“We wrapped up this morning. We’re getting on the jet here in a few minutes, and, um—I know it’s not ideal, but we missed Derek’s birthday and Penelope is insisting we all go to his favorite bar tonight. And he told me that for his birthday he wants to meet you. So… would you be up for that?”

“You want… to take me to a bar?”

“No. I mean—I know it’s not really your thing, but we missed Derek’s birthday three years in a row, and—and I understand if you don’t want to meet him tonight, but we wouldn’t have to stay very long and I really, really shouldn’t skip it. Derek has saved my life on more than one occasion.”

“You could go without me.”

More silence. Every second hurts, but you don’t understand why he wants you to come meet his best friend if he thinks the two of you are in different places emotionally. 

But maybe he’s not going to break up with you just yet. Maybe he’s going to keep inviting you to bars and foreign film festivals and bookshops. Maybe he’s going to treat you exactly the same as he always has but with this new added layer of knowledge that the way he treats you isn’t actually love, and it never was, and you’re not sure if it has the potential to ever become love. Because if it did—wouldn’t it have already? What more do you have to offer than what you’ve already given him?

Breakup or no breakup, you feel sick. 

When he speaks his tone is similarly chilly. It’s welcome. You want him mad. If he can’t reciprocate your adoration, then the very least he can do is have the decency to reciprocate your reproach. 

“I could. Is that what you want?”

No. I don’t want any of this. I need you to know me well enough to know that. And if you can’t love me then at least get angry. At least show me you feel something other than passive contentment. 

“Yeah. Sure. I don’t know.”

A pause stretches so long your heart pounds. You watch the elapsed time of the call tick by, second by second, and you wait for the anticipation to crack under the weight of silence, to give way to some terrible jump scare or to give way at all. 

But the words that end the conversation (if you can even call it that) aren’t any great relief. They’re just sad, and chalk full of defeat. 

“Alright. I’ll… I’ll call you later.”

You feel like you’ve swallowed an ice cube. All the words you’d like to say are frozen in your stinging throat. 

“Okay. Um… I’ll let you board now.”

“The jet’s not…” but he trails off. When he speaks again he sounds just as hurt as you’d wanted—and it doesn’t make you feel better at all. “Okay. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The line goes dead, and your face is burning as tears fill your eyes for the hundredth time this week. That call was terrible and poisonous and you don’t feel like yourself. 

Things have gone so wrong so quickly, and all you know how to do is ice him out so he can’t do it to you first. But it’s not going to make this better. No matter how mean you are to him, at the root of it all you feel unloved and scared and alone and Spencer knows things about love and relationships that you don’t. He’s confusing you with all this talk of feeling differently about each other and I’ll be home tomorrow I miss you and things get complicated when one person likes the other more and let’s talk in person and will you come meet my best friend tonight. All of it leaves you motion sick and ugly crying in the fetal position. 

All you have to get through this is who you’ve always been, a little of the person you’ve become, and the love you harbor for Spencer which rattles around in your chest like a nail in an empty toolbox. At the moment it hardly seems helpful. It mocks you, pointing out the pathetic hilarity of your paradox. The only person who can comfort you, the person you want more than anything, is the reason you’re so upset in the first place. But you can’t help being drawn to him. 

Maybe the love you have for Spencer is more like a magnet in a compass. 

Even if he doesn’t feel it for you, you do love Spencer. And that goes beyond just loving the parts of him that like you. To hide from that love would be a gross disservice to yourself and all the work you’ve done to get here. It’s not as if you suddenly know exactly what the answer is—but you’re sure that hiding is the most childish, cowardly thing you could do and the furthest you could get from a resolution. Even if you can’t make him love you back, you refuse to allow yourself to fizzle quietly out of his life. This relationship deserves something more than that. 

So maybe you don’t have a plan when you wipe your eyes and pick up your phone. Maybe there’s no strategy behind your actions as you text Garcia for the bar location. But if you keep running from everything you’ll never get anywhere. All you can do is show up. It seems like the next best step. 

------

The pub isn’t too crowded—but for a Thursday night, you suppose it’s a bit busy. 

Boot heels hooked onto the metal foot-beam of the stool you’re sitting on, elbows resting on the polished mahogany surface of the bar, you’re staring into an untouched mixed drink. Then you glance down the bar to your right, at the man who’d bought it for you. 

Maybe your ensemble gave him the wrong idea. 

Coming to this gathering had required bravery, and you came armored. Your ensemble projects significantly more confidence than you’re currently feeling. It was intentional, a form of self-protection—but now you’re wondering if it’s projecting a little too much confidence. 

All done up, clearly still a little rough around the edges, and sitting alone at a bar was bound to draw the wrong pairs of eyes. 

“Hey, darlin’,” the gruff man says, approaching when you inadvertently catch his gaze. “Are you gonna drink that, or should I? Otherwise I’m lookin’ at eleven dollars right down the drain.”

You avert your eyes, scanning the groups dotted here and there. 

“I’m waiting for friends.”

“Does that make a free drink less appealing?”

He takes the stool next to you, off-gassing the scent of cigarettes and leather. 

“I’m not drinking.”

“Really? I’ve never seen a girl who looks as sad as you do come sit at the bar to stay sober.”

You frown, looking back up at the man next to you. He seems like the Hell’s Angels type—tattooed knuckles, leather jacket, grey beard, and a weathered face that’s clearly spent decades with the sun. Fifties, maybe younger and just looks more rugged. What does it say about how I look tonight that this is the kind of man I’m attracting, you wonder. Maybe you look desperate and just as lonely as you feel. As he claims you do. 

“I’m not sad.”

“Alright. I’ll take your word for it. But a happier girl wouldn’t be all alone.”

“I’m waiting for friends,” you repeat, letting the words drip like venom from your tongue. 

“I’m Randall. See? Now we're friends.”

“I don’t need more friends. I like the ones I have.”

Something catches Randall’s attention long enough to catch yours. He raises his bottle vaguely, gesturing beyond your shoulder. 

“Are those angry lookin’ guys in the suits marching right over here the friends you’re talking about?”

You turn your head, brows furrowed, and immediately see the gentlemen to whom your new pal is pointing out. 

Spencer is storming across the bar looking close to furious (which for him, means an expression so placid it gives you chills) followed by Derek Morgan—a man who you’ve only seen pictures of and is even more impressive in person. 

You hate how your breath catches, how your heart is already beating a little faster than usual at the sight of him even though you’re not exactly pleased with each other right now. 

Suddenly the bubbles in your cocktail are once again fascinating.

“Those are the ones.”

“And why are they dressed for church?”

Church?

“They’re FBI.”

“Ah. My lucky fuckin’ day.”

You almost snort. 

“Hey,” Spencer says sternly, hand settling on your back as he partially fills the small space between you and the strange man. “Who’s this?”

You shrug, sit up a little straighter, and take a shallow breath—not because you’re scared of this man but because Spencer is suddenly so close to you and you can feel his warmth and the air bending around him and the scent of him is genuinely dizzying to you. 

“Randall,” you exhale unenthusiastically. But the odd thing is that you’re rather grateful for Randall’s presence. Because now Spencer is here and you have no idea what you’re going to say to him. 

“Oh,” Randall says, sipping his beer unhurriedly before using it to gesture to Spencer. “You’re the boyfriend. You know, that’s funny, because she didn’t mention a boyfriend.”

“I didn’t mention anything. We weren’t having a real conversation.”

Randy holds his hands up defensively, fingers still wrapped around the neck of a sweating bottle. 

“I’m just saying it’s in-ter-esting. Not trying to start anything.” He stands, pauses for another sip—Spencer obviously isn’t sure what to make of this man because he says nothing. “But listen, man to man—you better buy her some flowers or a real pretty fuckin’ necklace or somethin’ because a happy girl in a happy relationship does not come pout at the bar all by herself.”

“Get out of here, man,” Derek finally speaks up. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He sets his empty bottle down and fishes in his pocket for a cigarette, sticking it between his lips. “But—just for the record—I have a wife. I wasn’t gonna do anything weird. Sometimes when you’re my age you just gotta live a little. Buy a pretty girl a drink. Piss off some Mormons, or whatever the fuck you are.”

This guy sounds like a bad Bruce Springsteen song. But part of you would almost rather hang out with Randall than be forced into a conversation you’re not prepared for with Spencer. 

And whose fault is that, you remind yourself. You decided to come be mature. Suck it up. 

“Goodnight,” Derek emphasizes. 

Spencer doesn’t say a word. You can feel his eyes boring smoking holes into the side of your face, and you look anywhere else.  

“I’ll be here next week after physical therapy like clockwork,” the stranger waves as he ambles away—but not before pointing at you. “You enjoy that drink, friend. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

What a weird man. 

There’s silence for a moment—in which Spencer refuses to stop watching you and you refuse to acknowledge that. 

“And here I was thinking Spencer made you up.” Derek has a beautiful smile and a warm, charming cadence as he holds out his hand for you to shake. “I’m Derek.”

You take the proffered hand and shake, offering him a shy smile and introducing yourself in kind. 

“Happy birthday, by the way. Sorry for crashing your party.”

Really, he’s stunning. 

“Thank you, sweetheart. And you’re not crashing anything. I told pretty boy here I wanted to meet you the second he started talking about a friend. But nah, he just wanted to talk and talk and talk about you—” 

“Alright,” Spencer mumbles, blushing, eyes finally torn from your profile. You smile slightly, brows knitting as Derek magically melts some of the terrible tension.

“Pretty boy?”

Before either of them can explain, someone shrieks in your general direction. You startle backward in your seat, and Spencer steps closer, hand sliding up your back as Penelope, JJ, and Emily join your little huddle. For only a second you allow yourself to shrink into him—before you’re straightening your posture like your spine is a metal rod and his touch burns. It’s a knee-jerk defensive reaction for which you have no explanation. You can’t see him, but you don’t feel his hand on you again. 

“Oh my god! Look at this beautiful person who I love!” Penelope exclaims, pushing past Derek to grab your face and kiss both of your cheeks. “Oh my god,” she says again, wiping sticky lipgloss away with her thumbs, “I totally meant to ask before I did that. But your face is just so kissable. I’m so glad you decided to come!”

“Hi, Penelope,” you smile half-heartedly, incapable of reciprocating her cheery mood. Fortunately, she’s cheery enough for a standard commercial flight’s worth of people, and probably thinks of Derek’s birthday as a national holiday—so she doesn’t pick up on this. 

Emily and JJ offer you tamer although perfectly kind greetings. 

“Ooh, what are you drinking?” Emily asks, leaning closer to examine the forgotten beverage in front of you. 

“Not that,” Spencer mutters, grabbing the glass and sliding it away from you. You give him an affronted look—and immediately wish you hadn’t, since you’re meeting his eyes for the first time since he left. His words stall for just a moment as his eyes dart between yours before he’s saying, “you shouldn’t accept a drink if you didn’t watch someone make it.”

The audacity of him to be acting protective makes you scoff. 

“That guy didn’t spike my drink. He was harmless.”

“People thought Ted Bundy was harmless, too.”

It’s such a ridiculous thing to say that you don’t even have a response—your eyes simply narrow and you shake your head. A claustrophobic silence falls over the small group. 

“Okay…” JJ murmurs. “Um, do you guys want to go check out the jukebox with me? We have to play all of the birthday boy’s favorites.”

Several enthusiastic yeses go around, but you’re too busy having a stand off with your boyfriend to take much notice. 

Soon, it’s just the two of you. 

“Controlling isn’t a good look for you,” you finally say, spinning to rest your elbows on the bar once more and studying the bottles of liquor on the shelves beyond. 

“Evasive and avoidant isn’t particularly flattering, either. I was under the impression that you had no intention of coming after that phone call earlier.” 

You scoff again as your blood heats. Already the conversation is going worse than you’d expected—and your expectations were not high. 

“Do you think the cab driver was a serial killer, too? Or maybe the bartender?”

He’s still behind you and slightly to the side—but he leans down, resting his own fists on the bar right next to you and speaking lowly, directly over your shoulder. 

“Why don’t you try speaking to me like we’re adults instead of starting meaningless arguments in order to get under my skin?”

From him, that hurts. 

It’s a branch on the tree of your greatest insecurity—the fear that you’re too inexperienced with relationships and that makes you too immature and he’s been lying every time he says it’s not an issue. Because of course it’s an issue. It’s why you fell in love with him, it’s why you don’t know how to fix it, and it’s why you’re incapable of actually expressing any of your feelings to him.

“Why do you think I’m here right now?” you whisper—as sharp and stinging as a poison dart. “I’m trying to be a fucking adult. I don’t want to be here.”

Silence. 

“Then why did you come?”

His voice is so calm it burns like dry ice. 

“Because! Because you asked me to, because—”

You can’t bring yourself to say it aloud. 

Because I’m obviously still in love with you and I can’t just turn that off. I tried to do the right thing. 

Instead you bury your face in your hands and let it hang in the air, unspoken. You know he knows. You just don’t know why he’s acting like you’re so unreasonable for being upset. 

“Let me make this very clear to you,” Spencer murmurs, brushing your hair away from your ear so tenderly, speaking so softly you could convince yourself that he’ll say something kind. It’s the closest he’s been in days and now that he’s here you feel how much you missed him in your bones. And even though you sense a trap, you can’t help but sit up straighter. You’ll be complicit in your own undoing if it means you can have him close. His breath shakes slightly as he inhales and you brace as best you can. “Nobody is forcing you to be here. You told me you weren’t coming and then you decided to show up. I was ready to give you the space that you were too scared to ask me for. But I can only take responsibility for so much of what is ultimately your bad behavior and your adolescent volatility. You can only blame so much of your bad behavior on inexperience before I run out of patience because I don’t find thoughtlessness and emotional immaturity compelling. I told you that if there is a disparity in the way we feel for each other, that was fine, and I meant it. But if you can’t cope with how I feel about you then don’t let me hold you back. I am not holding you hostage. You can leave whenever you want. So don’t waste your time punishing me because you don’t want to be here. And if you do want to be here, good. I want that too. But act like an adult and make a decision. My leniency has limits, even for you. I am asking that you do not push it any further than you already have.”

You don’t know how long it’s been since your last breath by the time he finishes his address.

Long enough that you’re dizzy when you push away from the bar and shoulder through the throng of patrons as quickly as you reasonably can without outright running. 

Long enough that when you burst out the door into the biting-cold night air, and finally take a deep, gasping breath, it burns and stings and aches and so does your head and your eyes as they well with hot, furious, heartbroken tears. 

You speed-walk to the end of the block, hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your cries and all the curse words you’d love to scream. 

Part of you knows you walked away from the bar in case he decided to try and follow you—but when you look over your shoulder the sidewalk is empty. You should’ve known better than to think he’d follow you after that. But at least it means you can have your breakdown by the relative safety of the bar, leaning your back against the dirty brick facade next to the entrance alcove and sliding down until your butt hits the cold concrete and you don’t even care. 

Who the fuck was that man in the bar who looked like Spencer and sounded like Spencer but spoke to you like this is all your fault, like it’s your fault you love him and he doesn’t love you back, like it’s ridiculous that you’d be upset, like you’re cruel and petty for having feelings about it, about him—for having any fucking feelings at all? And to think that was the man who you let know you more intimately than anyone ever has. Every insecurity you’d ever admitted to him was hurled back in your face like it was nothing. Hell—he even handed you the ones you’d never mentioned. He proved every terrible thought you’ve been having about yourself right. 

How could he be so unabashedly mean to you?

Spencer doesn’t have to love you. It seems clearer now than ever that he doesn’t. But part of you wonders if he suffered some sort of traumatic brain injury because that’s the only explanation for why he could go from treating you how he did before to treating you like he doesn’t even like you. 

You feel like you might throw up. 

“Called it,” a rasping, grumbling voice says from a few feet away. 

You look up, and spot fucking Randall standing under a street light ten feet away, still smoking. 

You go back to studying the tar spots on the sidewalk through bleary eyes. Pebbles sting as they press into your palms. Another one of the universe’s terrible jokes, you suppose. Just earlier you’d thought that you’d rather talk to Randall than Spencer and now here you are and here he is. 

“That kid as much of a dipshit punk as I thought he was?”

Hearing Spencer described as a kid and a dipshit punk is so jarring you almost stop crying. 

“He’s not a dipshit,” you sniff, voice thick with tears as you find yourself explaining Spencer Reid to this stranger for no reason at all. “He has an IQ of 187. He’s a genius.”

“Ah,” he scoffs dismissively, flicking ash from his cigarette. “Dipshit-ism don’t discriminate. Anyone can be one. Even your genius punk boyfriend. As a recovering dipshit myself I know what the work of a fellow dipshit looks like. And this has dipshit written all over it.”

You sob harder. 

Randall speaks calmly around his cigarette. 

“You know, I’m sorry for whatever you got goin’ on. But I’ve never not been the asshole when I got a hysterical woman in front of me. It’s nice that I can confidently say this time it is not my fault.”

The bar door opens, letting a warm burst of jovial music and chatter into the otherwise still night. Steps that are too heavy to be Spencer’s hit the concrete next to you—you look to your left and see Derek Morgan before he looks down and sees you. 

“Hey—you okay out here?”

“Why don’t you go ask your Jehovah’s Witness buddy? He did this.”

Derek makes a face, locating the source of this interjection. 

“Sir, I asked you to leave her alone once and I don’t appreciate being made to repeat myself. Are we clear?”

“Yeah, whatever. Fuck me for making friendly conversation, I guess. Gonna have to call my wife and tell her to pick me up down the street. I don’t want her on the damn phone while she’s driving.”

Randall wanders away again, still muttering to himself and smoking. Derek watches him go, staring daggers into his back until he turns his gaze to you. 

Goodbye, Randall, you think. Great. Now I have neither of them. 

“Hey,” he softens, crouching down to your level. “You okay?”

You sniff, wiping your cheeks and attempting not to smudge your makeup. It’s impossible not to feel awkward—you just met this guy and now he’s here trying to do emotional labor for you on his birthday. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. This is embarrassing.”

“You don’t look fine. Can I do anything for you? Do you want some food? A drink?”

“You really don’t have to—”

“I know, I know. But look—Reid is always talking about you. You’re important to him, and he’s important to me. I’ve never seen him this happy and I’ve known that kid a long time. It is in my best interest that someone maintain you, and if it’s not him, it’ll be me. Call it a favor to him, if that makes you feel better.” Derek is sporting a slightly more modest Cheshire grin again by the end of his sentence. Listening to him speak that way about Spencer speaking about you, it’s impossible not to feel a teeny bit lighter. Even if you’re not entirely sure where you stand on all things Spencer related at the moment. “So I’ll ask you again. Is there anything I can do for you?”

You sniff again. 

“Sure. A ginger ale or something might be good.”

“Got it. I’ll be back. And come inside if Randall tries to run up on you again, okay?”

Despite yourself you manage a laugh at the way he says the name. His warm smile flickers warmer at this.  

“Will do.”

When Derek returns a few minutes later, the plastic cup he’s holding looks decidedly not like ginger ale. 

“Penelope insisted that this is what you would want. I don’t even know.”

You smile slightly as you take the cup, full to the brim with bubbles and thick red syrup. A cherry bobs underneath the layer of cubed ice. 

“Shirley temple,” you chuckle. “I’ll take it. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he says, flashing that brilliant smile again, and you look into your cup as you drink. Maybe your face warms just a bit. You’re still shy around men, you realize. Especially attractive ones. And Derek Morgan definitely qualifies as attractive. 

“So,” he begins, and to your surprise, crouches down in front of you. “I have to be honest—I came out here in the first place because Reid sent me to check on you. But now I’m wondering what the hell he did.”

Spencer sent him. A considerate action that would theoretically signal his care for your feelings. You take another sip, staring into space and trying to digest this information, but it only jumbles with the rest to confuse you more. 

Of course, you don’t know how to convey this to Derek in a way that’s not overly-familiar for just having met the man, so you go with an old standby. 

“I’m probably just overreacting.”

“Uh-huh. I have sisters. I know what an overreaction looks like and if you were overreacting you wouldn’t be out here hiding. What’d he do?”

You can only keep up the facade of emotional stability for so long. Your chin wobbles in a horribly embarrassing way and you look down again. 

“I’m not sure—I’m not sure if he really did anything or if I’m just being dramatic and I don’t want to make him seem—”

“Why don’t you stop defending him and just tell me what he did?” Derek urges. “Trust me—I love that kid to death. But I also know he can be a dick sometimes. You don’t need to worry about making him look bad in front of me.”

Part of you is glad Spencer has such a good friend on his side. And Derek is right—Spencer is an adult. You don’t need to worry about besmirching his reputation. So you take a shuddering sigh, staring into the red of your drink. 

“He just doesn’t like me as much as I like him. Which isn’t his fault, like I said, but—he’s being such an asshole about it.”

Derek pulls a face, strong eyebrows making an impression as they knit.  

“Did he tell you that?”

“Over the phone,” you nod emphatically. “And just now he gave me this whole fucking speech about how immature and horrible I am for not being 100% happy about it. And maybe he’s partially right, I mean—I know people feel things differently and maybe he just was asking for more time. I worry I fucked it up so bad because I couldn’t handle that—but at the same time he didn’t say he wanted more time. He was really fucking unclear and vague about what he wanted, and he asked me to come to this bar like it was nothing when I’ve been worried he was going to break up with me all week. So yeah, I guess he’s right and I have been a bitch about it because I was upset that he didn’t… like me as much. And I wanted him to feel bad because I was so embarrassed, and I also didn’t want to act like everything was normal if he was just going to dump me, I…” you realize you’ve been hardcore rambling and your face heats. “I don’t know.”

There’s a pause, and you worry you’ve done exactly the thing you didn’t want to, which was overshare to this man who seems like he’s significantly more normal and well-adjusted than you. You drink deeply, swallowing sugar and the rest of your words. 

“That’s… bizarre. I don’t mean to invalidate your feelings, but… that just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, projecting annoyance so you won’t start crying again. “I was confused too. I thought he really liked me.”

“No, sweetheart, I’m saying—that doesn’t make sense because he does really like you. Really, really likes you, more than I’ve ever seen him like someone before. I mean, last week I finally finished that Tesla biography he’s been on my ass about for months and when I told him, all he wanted to do was talk about your thoughts on it. And then it wasn’t even about the book anymore. I have never, ever seen Reid pass up an opportunity to talk about Nikola Tesla. I’m talking never in my life. He finds a way to make every conversation about you. I can’t even follow the connections sometimes but he always finds a way.”

Your nose wrinkles. 

“Sorry you’ve had to hear so much about me,” you mumble. Though you’re not really sorry. It feels good. A twinge of joy in all the murk. 

“I’m not. Like I said, I’ve known Spencer for a long time and I’ve never seen him this happy. I’m not about to let him fuck it up.”

“If I make him so happy then why did he tell me we don’t feel the same?” you whisper, reaching into the puddle of syrup and ice at the bottom of your now empty cup. 

“Is that exactly what he said?” Derek asks, after a long pause. You bite the maraschino cherry off the stem and nod morosely, grinding a long-gone stranger’s cigarette butt with your boot just to crush something. There’s another beat of silence. “Alright. You know what I think?”

You raise your head to meet his gaze, your own wide-eyed and expectant. 

“I think you two need to have an honest conversation. You’re both confused and hurting—I promise Spencer is feeling it too. If you talk to him he won’t be unkind to you.”

“He already was,” you admit. 

“I apologize if I’m out of line here, but you just told me you’ve been icing him out all week because you want him to feel bad. I’m willing to bet you don’t realize how sharp these claws are.” Derek grabs your hand as he says it and you marvel at how much he is the opposite of you. Everything he does and says seems so natural and reasonable and charming even if it would piss you off from anyone else—and you just met the guy. You can see why Spencer and Penelope speak so highly of him. “I think you’ve probably both had your moments these past few days. But that doesn’t mean neither of you deserve any more chances.”

He puts your hand back on your knee and pats it. 

“Besides, Spencer‘s not good at mean. I bet he’s inside worrying himself sick over whatever dumb shit he said to you. He’s probably hyperventilating as we speak.”

“It was really out of character for him,” you concede. 

“Yeah. He’ll be apologizing for a long while. It will get annoying. But he sure as hell won’t be doing it again, I can tell you that much. If he does, let me know. Emily and I will whoop his ass and call it a fitness evaluation.”

“I think that’ll be unnecessary,” you laugh thickly, pulling your sleeve over your hand and wiping away the few tears that haven’t quite dried. “But thank you.”

“Anytime. Now, it’s my birthday, and as a grown man I should not be getting involved in someone else’s relationship drama. I was supposed to be on the dance floor a while ago.” His tone is so warm and sugary by the time he finishes it could rot his perfect grin. It’s futile to hide the way your mouth twists into a reluctant smile as you look down and fix your hair—praying he can’t tell how fazed you are by his kindness. “You’re going to talk to him, right?”

“I’ll—yeah. Right,” you say quietly. But the sinking feeling in your stomach knows it’s a thing easier said than done. 

“Good,” Derek grunts, taking your empty cup before pushing himself back up to his feet and offering you a hand. “Do you want me to send him out here or do you want to come find him inside?”

You balk.

“Like—right now? I have to talk to him now?”

Before he can give you an answer you think you’d rather not have, the bar door is opening. From your spot you can’t see who it is right away, but Derek turns over his shoulder and does a double take before looking back at you. 

Spencer steps out onto the sidewalk, eyes scanning for until he realizes you’re a few feet shorter than usual. Sitting on a filthy public walkway is probably his worst nightmare, you realize, as you scramble to your feet and dust the crumbs of concrete from your palms against the back of your cold jeans. He begins to say your name, and it sounds like relief and regret, but you stop him. 

“I have to go wash my hands.”

It’s monotonous and mumbled and comes out too quickly but you don’t have time to worry about that as you brush past both of the men on your way back into the bar, making an immediate beeline for the bathroom. 

Your face burns with anxiety as you shut the door behind you, immediately drowning in the yellowish lighting which is so harsh but seems to illuminate almost nothing. Who paints a bathroom red? It’s suffocating. You feel like you’re inside an aorta. 

Water runs cool over your hands as you sniffle, rinsing the bits of dirt from red indents made by pebbles and things, and the soap is too floral and powdery but you wash twice anyway. Maybe you’ll just stay in here and wash your hands forever. 

There’s a light knock on the shiny wooden door and it makes you jump. Your name is muffled from the other side. 

“You in there?” 

Quickly you wipe under your reddened eyes in the mirror, trying to fix the slightly smudged makeup. 

The door opens when you don’t respond, and there’s Spencer, looking weary and tense all at once. Is that your fault?

“Hey,” you sniff, trying to effect casualness, but it comes out too quickly and your posture is too stiff. Under his all-seeing gaze you cross and uncross your arms, look at him and look away. Your hands end up in your pockets. He’d say crossed arms are a sign of self-soothing. 

“Hey.” His is more measured, and of course makes you feel embarrassed in comparison. The door swings shut behind him as he enters the small room and makes it feel that much smaller. “Are you… hiding from me in here?”

Yes. 

The graffitied toilet stalls to your left suddenly look fascinating. 

“Nope. Just washing my hands.”

This is not what Derek told you to do, you scold yourself internally. Stop being so scared. Be honest with him. 

Silence rings. All the brutally honest things you’d like to say choke you until your throat hurts and your eyes get hot. Yet again you feel like a stupid little girl who’s too emotional to communicate. 

You cross your arms. It’s an indulgence you feel you’re owed. 

Spencer says your name again and it’s too much. He never says it this often. When he does it feels good but now it’s too formal, makes you too aware of your own inadequacy, and how he must be seeing you—a wraith of a girl in a dingy bar bathroom with clammy hands and smudged eyeliner, practically shaking with fear under an unforgiving light. Someone who is too scared and much too sensitive. 

Spencer attempts to speak again. 

“What I said before, it was—”

“Can you just take me home?” 

It comes out on one exhalation and seems to stall him with all the effectiveness of a slap to the face. 

You don’t know where it comes from, either. 

Easier said than done, you’d thought a few moments ago. All the bravery Derek had tried to instill in you is gone, swallowed down the drain like soap scum. And now you’re choosing to let your fear win—because at least that’s a known quantity. The fear will never reject you. It will always be waiting with open arms. 

Too scared. 

The end feels imminent. You try to press yourself back together, fingernails biting into palms, trying to make something feel more tangible than the terrible knowingness that you’re careening toward an end which was supposed to be a beginning. It’s stifling and you wonder if Spencer is breathing it too. 

You can’t look at his face, but you watch him pocket his hands in his pants and there is so much impossible space between you in such a tiny room. 

“Yeah. I can.”

Something breaks. It’s small, and without fanfare. But it feels final. 

It’s just a ride home. Just a ride home. 

That’s all you have left, and you don’t know how you know it but you do. 

Something so important is being left in this stupid, dingy bathroom. Something that was at one point beautiful and shiny and so arrogant in its newness that it seemed it would never become ugly. And now you’re abandoning it without dignity on the chipped tile floor and in the cobwebs on the walls. It was bigger than you, it was you—and now it’s going to be nothing. 

A vehicle honks on the street. A boisterous group laugh explodes somewhere beyond the door. Water drips from a faucet. 

“I’ll… I’ll bring my car around.”

“Okay.”

But he just stands there for another moment. Like he can’t get himself to move. 

If only time would freeze before he could walk away. 

But it doesn’t. 

He sucks in a decisive breath. 

“Okay,” he murmurs. 

It’s that fucking phone call all over again. 

Then he spins on his heels and leaves you there.

Your time is up. 

-

part 5.5