#sitting or leaning in or making eye contact???

[reidmarieprentiss]

Don't Get In Your Own Way

Summary: You and Spencer have always been close - everyone else can see it's more than just friendship. When will you two be ready to see it as well?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader

Category: fluff, light smut (18+)

Warnings/Includes: alcohol consumption, suggestive content, friends to lovers, minimal BAU case talk, mild public indecency

Word count: 10.3k

a/n: this was an olddd draft ,,, i came back to give it the ol' razzle dazzle

main masterlist

Every afternoon, like clockwork, you and Spencer retreat to the stairs outside the FBI offices, your little quiet corner away from the noise of the bullpen. The team is usually scattered—some opting for takeout at their desks, others heading out for a bite—but you and Spencer? You prefer the fresh air, the slight reprieve from case files and fluorescent lights, just the two of you.

Spencer talks—a lot. And you let him. You never interrupt when he goes off on a tangent, whether about a book he’s been reading, some obscure historical event, or even the latest behavioral theory he’s been mulling over. He’s learned, over time, that you listen—that you don’t just humor him but engage, ask questions, challenge him. It’s one of the reasons he feels safest around you, why he lets the mask slip, why he doesn’t feel the need to filter himself. Around you, he’s just Spencer. Not Dr. Reid, not the genius of the BAU. He's just a guy who loves sharing the things that make his brain light up.

Lately, he’s been growing his hair, letting the waves fall into his face while he works. He never noticed how often he pushed it back, but you did. One afternoon, after watching him shove it out of his eyes for the hundredth time while struggling through paperwork, you wordlessly slid a hair tie onto his wrist.

“For when you finally give up,” you’d said with a small smile.

Spencer had looked at the simple black band like it was some kind of sacred object before slipping it on. He never did tie his hair up, but the band stayed. Now, when he’s anxious, when his thoughts spiral too fast for even him to keep up, he rolls it between his fingers, snaps it lightly against his skin, and uses it as an anchor. He wonders if you even realize what you’ve given him and how something so small makes him feel grounded.

You are completely unaware of how much Spencer sees you and how much he feels for you. You like him—more than you should, more than is probably appropriate for two people who are just friends—but you tell yourself it doesn’t matter. Spencer is brilliant and kind and so effortlessly attractive, and you? You convince yourself he’d never see you that way. It’s not self-deprecating, not really—just… reality.

Meanwhile, Spencer sits beside you every day, wondering how you don’t notice how his eyes linger, how his heart jumps every time you laugh, and how he holds onto your hair tie like a lifeline. How he wonders if you feel the same way.

—

Derek doesn’t let up. Not now, not ever.

Spencer’s been subjected to his relentless teasing for years, but ever since he started growing his hair out—and ever since you gave him that hair tie—Derek has been on a mission.

“Pretty Boy, you’re pathetic,” Derek says one afternoon, leaning against Spencer’s desk with his arms crossed, watching him roll the hair tie between his fingers like it’s some kind of lifeline.

Spencer, who has been deep in thought, barely looks up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on, man,” Derek scoffs. “The hair tie? The way you light up every time she talks to you? The fact that you, the man who hates all forms of physical contact, don’t even flinch when she gets in your space? Do you even hear yourself when you talk about her?”

Spencer blinks at him, feigning ignorance. “I talk about her the same way I talk about all of my friends.”

Derek lets out a loud, incredulous laugh. “That’s funny. Real funny. Because I don’t remember you getting all flustered and dreamy-eyed when you talk about me.”

Spencer’s brows furrow. “I don’t get flustered.”

Derek raises a brow and mimics Spencer in a high-pitched, breathy voice. “Oh, she listens to me ramble. She actually engages with me. She’s so perceptive.” He drops the act, shaking his head. “Man, you are down bad.”

Spencer rolls his eyes and turns back to his book, a weak defense mechanism. “I really don’t think—”

“No, you don’t think,” Derek interrupts. “That’s the problem. Because if you were thinking, you’d realize that she looks at you the same way you look at her.”

That makes Spencer freeze, a book halfway in his hands.

Derek smirks, knowing he’s struck something deep. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Spencer opens his mouth, ready to protest and argue some logical counterpoint, but nothing comes out. He can’t explain away the way his heart clenches at the mere possibility that you might feel the same.

Derek slaps a hand on his shoulder, grin widening. “Any day now, Pretty Boy. Any day now.” Then he walks off, leaving Spencer to stare blankly at his book, brain absolutely wrecked.

He glances down at the hair tie around his wrist, suddenly hyper-aware of the way it sits against his skin.

Rossi is just as relentless with you as Derek is with Spencer—except he’s a little more subtle about it. He doesn’t tease in the same playful, in-your-face way that Derek does with Spencer. No, Rossi prefers to plant little seeds, make small comments, and give you just enough to get your mind churning.

He’s been keeping a close eye on you ever since you joined the team. Maybe it’s the way you love to talk about home or how you light up when someone treats you like family. So, naturally, Rossi steps in. A guiding hand, an occasional piece of advice, a warm presence when you need one.

And right now? Right now, you need someone to tell you that you’re being blind as hell.

“You know, bella, I’ve been around a long time,” Rossi says one afternoon, leaning back in his chair, swirling a glass of bourbon in his hand. “I’ve seen a lot of things. A lot of things. And I’d like to think I have a pretty good read on people.”

You barely look up from your case file. “Are you about to say something wise or just something annoying?”

He smirks. “Oh, I can do both.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue.

Rossi takes a sip of his drink, watching you with that knowing look that makes you feel like you’re being studied under a microscope. “You like him, you know.”

Your stomach twists uncomfortably, but you don’t react. Not outwardly, at least. “Who?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb. You’re smarter than that.”

You exhale sharply, still keeping your eyes on your paperwork. “I don’t like Spencer.”

Rossi chuckles, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “That’s cute. Now say it again like you mean it.”

You finally glance up at him, narrowing your eyes. “I mean it.”

“Mm-hmm,” Rossi hums, clearly unconvinced. He leans forward, resting his arms on his desk. “You know, you remind me a lot of myself when I was younger.”

You raise a brow. “Oh? You had a thing for Spencer, too?”

Rossi lets out a full-bodied laugh. “No, but I was stubborn. And I was good at convincing myself that things weren’t what they obviously were.” He tilts his head, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Let me ask you something. If I told you that Spencer thinks the world of you, that he practically glows when you’re around, what would you say?”

You swallow, suddenly very aware of your heartbeat. “I’d say you’re exaggerating.”

Rossi shakes his head. “No, bella, I’m not. Derek sees it. I see it. Hell, even Garcia sees it, and she’s usually too busy matchmaking herself to notice when something’s right under her nose.” He leans back again, watching you carefully. “But the real question is—why don’t you see it?”

Your mouth opens, then closes. The truth? Because the idea that Spencer could feel that way about you is terrifying. You’ve convinced yourself he wouldn’t, couldn’t, not in the way you secretly hope.

So you deflect. “Spencer’s just… Spencer. He’s sweet to everyone.”

Rossi sighs, shaking his head with something like fond exasperation. “You keep telling yourself that, kid. But one of these days, you’re going to wake up and realize you’ve been standing in your own way this whole time.”

You scoff lightly. “What, you want me to march over there and declare my undying love?”

Rossi grins. “Wouldn’t be the worst idea.”

You shake your head, muttering something about meddling old men as you shove your paperwork into a neat stack, trying to ignore the way your hands feel slightly unsteady.

Rossi just watches you, amusement still lingering on his face.

Because he knows.

And one day, you’ll know, too.

—

The precinct is buzzing with too much movement and too much noise. Officers shuffling papers, detectives arguing over case details, coffee machines gurgling, the fluorescent lights humming like an irritating static in the back of your head. It’s a small station, cramped, and the team has been forced into an even smaller conference room, shoulder to shoulder with local law enforcement.

Spencer has been quiet all morning, his fingers twitching slightly, his blinking a little too frequently. You’ve been with him long enough to notice when the world is becoming too much for him, and right now, it’s clear that the rapid-fire conversations, the overlapping voices, the smell of burnt coffee and cheap air freshener—it's all pushing him to the edge of his tolerance.

So, as usual, he attaches himself to you.

It’s something he’s done for years, seeking you out when things get overwhelming. You’ve never minded. In fact, you never even thought much of it—until now.

Right now, his head is slumped against your shoulder, a deep sigh escaping him, his breath warm where it ghosts over the fabric of your shirt. His long fingers loosely clutch your jacket sleeve, not in an obvious way, but just enough that you know he’s anchoring himself with your presence. His entire frame is pressed slightly against your side, fitting into your space in a way that should feel intrusive—but it doesn’t. It never does.

But today? Today, it does feel different. Not bad, not at all, just... noticeable.

The warmth of his body against yours. The way his hair brushes your cheek when he shifts. The way you can feel the weight of him, trusting, unguarded.

You should say something—acknowledge it, maybe even tease him like Derek would—but your throat feels tight. Instead, you sit perfectly still, let him rest, let him take what he needs from you.

Across the room, Rossi is watching. He doesn’t say a word, just gives you a knowing look, an almost smirk, before turning back to his conversation with Hotch.

You swallow hard, your mind racing with thoughts you don’t have time to entertain. Not right now. Not with a case on the line.

Spencer exhales again, a deep, exhausted sound. Without thinking, you lift your hand and gently brush it over his arm, a quiet reassurance. He hums in response—barely audible, but enough to let you know he appreciates it.

And you?

You pretend your pulse isn’t hammering; pretend this is just like every other time.

Even though, for some reason, it doesn’t feel that way anymore.

—

The room is already cold and sterile, the air thick with the lingering scent of antiseptic and something darker, something that clings to the walls of places like these—death, decay, the remnants of lives cut short. The mortuary is dimly lit, the fluorescent bulbs casting a bluish hue over the metal slabs, the bodies covered with crisp white sheets.

Spencer and Emily step inside, the door clicking shut behind them, sealing them away from the world of the living for just a little while.

Emily exhales, rubbing her hands together despite the temperature-controlled environment. “I don’t know what Hotch thinks we’re going to find that we didn’t already see,” she murmurs, but there’s no real complaint in her tone—just exhaustion.

Spencer doesn’t answer right away. He’s already moving, scanning the room with sharp, restless eyes. He doesn’t like being back here. Too quiet, too still. Too much time to think. And he’s already spent the morning overstimulated, barely hanging onto himself. If it weren’t for you—your presence, your steadying warmth—he might have lost his grip entirely.

But you’re not here now.

Emily watches him for a moment, sees the way his fingers twitch slightly, how he pushes his hair back only to drop his hand to his wrist, rolling the familiar hair tie between his fingers. A grounding mechanism. She’d seen him do it before.

“Spencer,” she calls gently.

He blinks and looks at her.

“You okay?”

He hesitates, then nods.

Back in the SUV, Emily watches Spencer out of the corner of her eye as he flips through the case file, his knee bouncing slightly, his fingers twitching against the edge of the folder. He’s rattling off statistics about the likelihood of unsub behavior escalating post-mortem examinations, but there’s a certain absentmindedness to the way he’s speaking—like he’s not entirely here.

And Emily Prentiss? She’s no fool.

So, as she turns onto the road leading toward the mortuary, she decides to go for it.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she starts, keeping her tone casual. “In fact, I haven’t for the past few years.” She glances at him and watches as his fingers tighten slightly on the folder. “But today felt different. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Spencer stills, his knee stopping mid-bounce before he forces it back down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Emily snorts. “Oh, come on. You can’t seriously expect me to believe that.”

Spencer purses his lips, shifting in his seat like he’s trying to physically move away from this conversation. “We have more important things to focus on right now.”

“Uh-huh,” Emily hums. “And yet, back at the station, you looked about one deep sigh away from crawling into her lap.”

Spencer stiffens. “That’s an exaggeration.”

Emily shrugs, smirking slightly. “Is it? Because from where I was standing, you were practically molded to her side.”

Spencer stays silent, glaring down at the folder like it’s personally offended him.

Emily softens, tilting her head. “Look, I’m not teasing you. I’m just asking—are you okay? Because I’ve seen you cling to her before when things get overwhelming, but today… it was different.” She hesitates. “You were different. She was different.”

Spencer swallows, pressing his lips together. He could brush it off. He could easily throw out some logical, cold dismissal. I was overstimulated, and she provided a familiar presence. There is nothing unusual about that, but the problem is, it is unusual.

Because for the first time, he noticed it.

Noticed how natural it felt, how good it felt, to be pressed against you. Noticed the way your touch lingered, how your fingers brushed his arm with a softness that made his skin buzz. Noticed how he felt safe, not just because you were familiar, but because he wanted to be close to you. Because he liked it.

And that? That realization is unraveling something in him he isn’t sure he’s ready for.

“I—” He hesitates, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know.”

Emily watches him for a moment before nodding, letting the conversation settle for a few beats before she speaks again.

“You know,” she says, keeping her tone light. “You could always ask her.”

Spencer’s head snaps toward her, eyes wide, panicked. “Ask her what?”

Emily grins, eyes twinkling as she pulls into the mortuary parking lot.

“Oh, you know. On a date.”

Spencer makes a strangled noise of protest, but Emily is already unbuckling her seatbelt, pretending she doesn’t hear it.

She lets him stew in his thoughts and sit there with that panicked expression because honestly?

He needs to figure it out for himself.

—

Tuesday nights were for Star Trek, and Friday nights were for pizza and movies. It had started as something casual, a way to unwind after long days at work, but over time, it became an unspoken rule—a part of your week as consistent as waking up in the morning.

Tuesday nights meant curling up on your couch, debating over which Star Trek series to watch that week. Spencer always had his preferences—he loved The Original Series for its groundbreaking storytelling and The Next Generation for its philosophical depth—but he never protested when you picked Voyager because he knew how much you liked Captain Janeway. You didn’t always pay attention to the episodes the way he did, but you loved listening to him ramble, watching his eyes light up as he dissected the scientific inaccuracies or argued about the moral dilemmas presented in each episode.

And then there was Friday night—pizza and movie night.

Unlike Star Trek night, where Spencer usually held the reins, movie night was a battle. You had vastly different tastes—Spencer leaned toward old classics, noir films, and things with intricate plots that required full intellectual engagement. On the other hand, you sometimes just wanted to watch an over-the-top action flick, something fun and ridiculous.

“I don’t understand why we can’t watch Casablanca,” Spencer had complained one Friday, frowning at your choice of Die Hard.

“Because Casablanca is depressing, and I just want to watch Bruce Willis blow things up,” you’d argued, plopping onto the couch.

Spencer had grumbled but ultimately stayed, reluctantly eating his pizza while you enjoyed Die Hard a little too much.

But despite the friendly bickering, you both always showed up for each other. No matter how draining the week was or how heavy the cases got, Tuesday and Friday nights were yours. If one of you was too tired, the other brought food. If Spencer needed to visit his mom, he’d make you promise not to watch Star Trek without him. If you had a bad day, he let you pick the movie without a single complaint (except for that one time you picked Twilight, which he still refuses to acknowledge).

For years, it was just routine, something comfortable, something easy.

The case had finally wrapped up late Wednesday afternoon, and while you should have been relieved—grateful that everything ended as cleanly as possible—you were distracted. Off-kilter. Your mind wasn’t on the debriefing, the flight back to Quantico, or even the pile of paperwork waiting for you tomorrow.

No, your mind was stuck on him.

Spencer.

More specifically, the way you couldn’t seem to shake the lingering warmth of his body from when he had leaned against you, or the quiet, vulnerable way he had sighed into your shoulder, or the way Rossi’s words had wormed their way into your brain and stuck.

"You keep telling yourself that, kid. But one of these days, you’re going to wake up and realize you’ve been standing in your own way this whole time."

Damn him.

You were usually so good at compartmentalizing, at keeping your feelings neatly boxed up and shoved into the farthest corner of your mind where they couldn’t betray you. But now? Now, every little thing Spencer did had you spiraling.

Like right now.

Friday afternoon rolls around, and you’re already on edge.

When Spencer casually walks up to your desk, his messenger bag is slung over his shoulder, and his hands are tucked into his pockets, you already know you’re in trouble.

“Hey,” he says, tilting his head slightly. “We’re still on for tonight, right?”

You blink at him.

Wait. What?

Is he confirming plans? He hasn’t done that since the first month you started doing this—since he was still unsure if the ritual was set in stone. But now, after all this time, he’s asking?

Your heart starts hammering, palms go clammy.

“Yeah—yes,” you blurt out, nodding a little too fast. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we?”

Spencer watches you carefully, clearly picking up on something being off. His brow furrows slightly, and he studies you with that damn profiler gaze, the one that makes you feel like he’s reading every single thought you’re desperately trying to bury.

“You okay?” he asks slowly.

You force a laugh. It comes out weird. “Yeah! Why wouldn’t I be?”

His frown deepens.

Okay. You need to fix this before you combust.

You grab your phone off your desk and clear your throat. “So! What are we watching tonight?” you ask, trying to force the conversation forward before you completely unravel.

Spencer tilts his head slightly, still watching you with suspicion, but he lets it go.

“For our movie night? Or are you asking if we’re switching to a Star Trek episode lineup for some reason?”

You roll your eyes, grateful for the distraction. “Movie night, obviously.”

He hums, his lips quirking slightly. “I figured it was my turn to pick.”

You groan dramatically. “Ugh. If this is another silent foreign film that you claim is ‘captivating,’ I’m kicking you out before the pizza even gets here.”

Spencer smirks. “It’s not silent.”

You narrow your eyes. “But it is foreign.”

Spencer just shrugs.

You groan again, shaking your head. “Fine. But if I fall asleep, I’m blaming you.”

He grins, and for a moment, just a moment, everything feels normal again.

Except it’s not.

Because now you’re noticing everything. The way he’s smiling at you, like he genuinely likes looking at you. The way he’s still standing a little too close, the scent of cologne you’ve never noticed mixing with the faint smell of old books and coffee. Your heart is pounding, not from panic anymore but from something else.

And Rossi’s voice echoes in your head—You’re going to wake up and realize you’ve been standing in your own way this whole time.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to push the thought away.

Spencer is still looking at you, waiting, expectant.

You clear your throat. “So… my place at seven?”

He nods. “Your place at seven.”

And with that, he walks away, leaving you gripping your desk, trying to convince yourself that your entire world hasn’t just shifted on its axis.

—

The knock at the door makes your stomach drop.

You weren’t expecting it. Not from him.

Spencer never knocks. Not anymore. Not when he’s been coming here for years, slipping inside without hesitation, using the key you gave him so long ago that neither of you even remembers when it stopped being your apartment and started feeling like his, too.

But tonight, he knocks.

And for a moment, you just stare at the door, pulse pounding in your ears, a strange, unsettling panic twisting in your chest.

Why?

Why would he knock?

Did something happen? Did you do something? Did he?

You scramble to your feet, nearly tripping over the corner of the rug in your rush to reach the door. Your hand hovers over the doorknob for half a second too long before you finally pull it open.

And there he is.

Standing in the dim glow of the hallway light, looking just as nervous as you feel.

He’s holding the pizza in both hands, gripping the box like it’s the only thing anchoring him. His lips are parted slightly as if he’s mid-thought, mid-explanation for why he’s standing here like a stranger instead of walking in like he always does.

“Hey,” he says, and his voice is careful, deliberate. Like he’s testing the temperature of the air between you.

You swallow. “Why’d you knock?”

Spencer shifts, his fingers flexing against the cardboard. “I—” He exhales sharply, eyes flickering down for a moment before meeting yours again. “I wasn’t sure if I should just—if you wanted me to just come in.”

Your stomach twists. “You always just come in.”

“I know,” he says quickly. “I just—” He stops, swallows, tries again. Spencer takes a breath, shifting his grip on the pizza box. “Can I come in?”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the doorknob as you nod and step aside.

The warm glow of your living room wraps around Spencer like a familiar embrace. The scent of old books and candle wax lingers in the air, mingling with the rich aroma of fresh pizza. He’s holding the box carefully as if it were fragile or important. His fingers clutch the edges a little too tightly.

Something is different.

You feel it the moment he walks through the door, the way he hesitates on the threshold before closing it behind him. His usual easy presence is replaced with something unsure, something heavy that neither of you can quite name.

It’s never been awkward before.

But tonight, it is.

Maybe it’s the way he swallows before speaking or the way you feel hyper-aware of the space between you—space that’s usually nonexistent when you’re tangled up on the couch, watching whatever movie you finally agreed on after bickering for twenty minutes.

Maybe it’s the way his fingers brush against his wrist absentmindedly, rolling the hair tie between them, a habit you know means he’s feeling too much.

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because something unspoken has been hanging in the air between you for a while now, something neither of you have dared to name.

Spencer sits down beside you, a little closer than usual but still not quite enough. His knee brushes against yours, and you don’t pull away. Neither does he.

“Movie?” you ask, trying to sound normal. Trying to push through the tension.

Spencer nods, but he doesn’t reach for the remote. Instead, he glances at you, searching your face, lips parting slightly like he wants to say something.

And for the first time in all the years of Friday pizza-and-movie nights, for the first time in all the comfortable silences and easy laughter, you think—

He might actually say what you’re both thinking.

But when Spencer finally does speak, it’s not what you expect. You blink at him, your brain short-circuiting.

"Do you want to watch 10 Things I Hate About You?"

It takes you a second to process the words because that is not what you were expecting.

For a moment, your grip tightens on the edge of the couch, your knuckles going white, and your heart still hammering from the sheer weight of what you thought he was about to say.

“What?” you finally spit out, voice higher than you’d like.

Spencer shifts awkwardly in his seat, clearing his throat as if he’s just realized how strange the moment is. “It’s… isn’t it your favorite rom-com?”

You stare at him. “Yeah… but I didn’t think you liked it.”

“I don’t dislike it,” he hedges, suddenly looking everywhere except at you. “And, statistically speaking, if we’re ranking romantic comedies based on their adherence to Shakespearean influence, it’s arguably one of the better adaptations of Taming of the Shrew—”

You cut him off with a squint. “You’re rambling.”

He presses his lips together, a nervous habit, his fingers twitching slightly. “Right. Sorry.”

The air between you feels charged, like an unsaid truth is pressing against the walls, threatening to break them down. But instead of confronting it and saying whatever it is that’s clearly sitting on the tip of his tongue, Spencer is talking about rom-coms.

You cross your arms, tilting your head. “Okay, but… why? Why that movie? Why now?”

His eyes flicker up to yours then, just for a second, and there’s something raw, vulnerable, and uncertain.

And then, before you can decipher it, he shrugs. “I just thought you’d like it.”

Your heart clenches painfully because God, he’s so Spencer. Always thinking of you, noticing the smallest details, and looking out for you even when you don’t expect it.

And yet… there’s still something unspoken lingering between you, something simmering beneath the surface, something that almost came out before he took a sharp left turn into the world of 10 Things I Hate About You.

“Do you want to watch?” Spencer asks again in that vulnerable tone, lifting the movie case from his bag.

You exhale, rubbing your hands on your pants to wipe off the nervous sweat. “Yeah,” you sigh.

Spencer nods, but it’s almost hesitant, almost like he wasn’t sure you’d say yes. He lingers for a second with the 10 Things I Hate About You DVD case in his hands, gripping it just as tightly as he had the pizza box moments ago.

You swallow, rubbing your palms against your pants again before reaching for the remote. “Uh, you can put it in.”

He moves toward the DVD player slowly, methodically, like he’s focusing on the action so he doesn’t have to focus on you. You watch him as he kneels down, sliding the disc into the tray, his fingers steady even though you know he isn’t.

The air between you is thick with something unspoken, a weight pressing on both of you, but neither of you acknowledges it. Instead, you wait as the movie boots up, the familiar menu music filling the quiet space between you.

Spencer hesitates before sitting, but it’s closer than usual when he does.

Not overly close—not close enough to make it obvious—but close enough that you can feel the heat of his body, close enough that his knee brushes yours again.

You pretend not to notice.

He pretends not to, either.

The movie starts, and for the first time, neither of you is watching it.

You’re too aware of him—the way he shifts slightly when you do, his fingers twitch against his knee like he’s trying not to reach out, and the way his breath catches ever so slightly when your arm brushes his.

Spencer doesn’t usually do this. He’s tactile when he’s overwhelmed, yes, but this? This is different. This is hesitation; this is awareness; this is something tiptoeing dangerously close to the edge of something neither of you has dared to touch before.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

So you try to focus on the movie, try to push through the nervous energy coiling in your stomach.

But then—

Then Spencer shifts, leans back against the couch, exhales softly—

And his arm drops, just slightly, around your shoulders.

Your heart stops.

You stare at the screen, unblinking, unsure if he even realizes what he’s done.

But he doesn’t move.

And neither do you.

The room feels different now. Warmer, heavier, charged with something neither of you have spoken aloud. You can’t tell if it’s the candlelight flickering in the dim space or if it’s just him, just this, whatever this is, settling around you like a second skin.

Spencer’s arm—his arm—is resting along the back of the couch, not quite on you, but close enough that you can feel its weight, close enough that if you shifted even the slightest bit, it would be.

You try to focus on the movie. Try to act like nothing’s changed.

But your body betrays you.

Your shoulders stiffen at first, instinctively, not because you don’t want this—God, you do—but because you don’t understand it. Because Spencer Reid does not do things like this. He does not reach out in this way, not unless he’s overwhelmed, and even then, it’s different. This is intentional, isn’t it?

Isn’t it?

You inhale slowly, carefully, keeping your eyes trained on the screen as Kat Stratford delivers another sharp-witted insult. But you’re not really listening. You’re waiting. Waiting for Spencer to shift, realize what he’s done, pull back, laugh nervously, and pretend like nothing happened.

Except—

He doesn’t.

If anything, he seems more relaxed than before. His breathing is even, his body settling into the couch like he belongs there. Like you belong there.

And then, before you can stop yourself before you can overthink it like you always do, you shift. Just slightly. Just enough that your shoulder leans into his arm.

The movement is so small and insignificant that if it were anyone else, they wouldn’t notice. But this is Spencer. And Spencer notices everything.

You hear the sharp inhale of breath and feel the way his body tenses just for a moment—just long enough to make your pulse hammer against your ribs—before he exhales slowly, deliberately.

And then—

Then his fingers brush against your shoulder.

A whisper of a touch, hesitant, almost like he’s waiting for you to pull away.

But you don’t.

You can’t.

So, he stays.

And for the rest of the movie, neither of you moves. Neither of you speak.

But everything, everything, has changed.

The credits roll. The music swells softly through the speakers. The dim glow of the screencasts flickering shadows across the room, but neither of you move.

Not even a little.

Your body is still pressed into his side, your shoulder tucked against him, his arm draped so loosely yet so deliberately around you that you can’t tell if it’s keeping you close or if it’s keeping him grounded.

Maybe both.

Maybe that’s what this has always been.

You don’t know how long you sit there, frozen in the moment. You don’t know if he’s thinking the same thing, if he’s waiting for you to speak, to move, to acknowledge that something unspoken has settled between you like a weighted silence.

But then—

“Y/N,” Spencer murmurs.

Just your name.

Soft. Almost careful.

You inhale sharply, blinking yourself back into the moment. Your head turns toward him slowly, cautiously, like moving too fast might shatter whatever fragile balance is hanging between you.

And then—

Spencer shocks you.

Because the second your eyes meet his, the moment your lips part in silent question—he leans in.

And he kisses you.

It’s not hesitant.

It’s not unsure.

It’s not like the Spencer Reid you thought you knew—the one who second-guesses, who overthinks, who analyzes every possibility before making a move.

No.

This is something else entirely.

This is Spencer moving without logic, without calculation, without fear.

This is Spencer wanting.

And for a split second, your brain short-circuits, unable to process what’s happening or understand how the man who had just spent two hours analyzing 10 Things I Hate About You is now kissing you like he means it.

But then—

Then you kiss him back.

And it’s over.

Whatever line had existed between you—whatever barrier had kept you from stepping over the edge—it's gone.

Spencer exhales against your lips like he’s been holding his breath for years. His fingers tighten against your shoulder, just slightly, pulling you in closer, pressing against you like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he lets go.

But you’re not going anywhere.

Not now.

Not after this.

—

Dating Spencer is like stepping into something timeless, warm, and constant. It’s not rushed or overwhelming. It’s not dramatic or chaotic. It’s just Spencer. And that, in itself, is everything.

He doesn’t love convention. He doesn’t do big grand gestures unless they mean something. But he does the little things, the things that matter. The things that show how deeply and irrevocably he feels for you.

Like reading to you before bed.

It starts without much thought, just a quiet habit that becomes part of your nights. You never ask him to do it, and he never makes a point of it, but it happens—night after night, in the soft, dark quiet of your bedroom when the world slows, and nothing exists but the warmth of his arms and the soothing rhythm of his voice.

Some nights, it’s The Picture of Dorian Gray or a few pages from Pride and Prejudice. Other nights, it’s something entirely different—a passage about an old poet, a historical retelling of an artist’s life, something obscure and worn, a book he’s read a hundred times before. It doesn’t matter. You don’t even remember the contents most nights.

What you remember is the sound of Spencer’s voice, the way it lulls you into a hazy, comfortable state within minutes. The way his fingers draw lazy circles on your arm as he reads, absentmindedly tracing patterns like he can’t not be touching you. The way his lips brush the top of your head in soft, feather-light kisses like he’s saying goodnight without ever actually stopping the words on the page.

You never make it past a few minutes.

That’s how long it takes for his voice to pull you under, for the warmth of his chest to turn into a lullaby, for his steady breathing and gentle presence to quiet every thought in your mind.

And Spencer?

Spencer never minds.

Even when you fall asleep on him mid-sentence, even when his voice trails off and he realizes you’re gone, lost to dreams, he just smiles to himself, presses one last kiss to your temple, and quietly closes the book.

Because he loves this.

Loves you.

Even if he hasn’t said it yet.

—

You knew Spencer was good with kids—he had an innate gentleness, a patience that most adults didn’t possess. You had seen him with Jack before, seen the way he could calm a crying toddler with a few soft words and a fascinating fact about dinosaurs. But this? Watching him take care of a baby?

This is a whole different level.

JJ and Will had been desperate for a night out—just a few hours, nothing crazy—and with Garcia tied up at some tech conference, JJ hesitantly asked you and Spencer to watch Henry. She had barely finished asking before Spencer nodded, assuring her that he had plenty of experience with child development and cognitive growth.

Now, an hour into babysitting, you sit on the couch in quiet awe as Spencer moves around the living room, cradling Henry against his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"Statistically speaking, infants exposed to language early on are more likely to develop higher literacy skills in adolescence," Spencer muses softly, bouncing Henry gently in his arms as the baby babbles against his sweater. "So even though you might not understand this now, Henry, I think you'd really enjoy learning about the Fibonacci sequence when you’re older."

You stare, biting your lip to contain the ridiculous grin threatening to take over your face. "Spencer, are you seriously lecturing a one-year-old on mathematical sequences?"

Spencer glances at you, unfazed. "He seems interested."

Henry lets out a delighted squeal, gripping a fistful of Spencer’s cardigan and yanking with surprising strength.

"Ah—Henry, no, that's my—" Spencer stops mid-sentence as Henry starts giggling, his tiny fingers still tangled in the fabric. Instead of pulling away, Spencer just sighs in resignation, adjusting his hold so Henry can comfortably rest his cheek against his shoulder.

And oh, no.

Your heart is gone.

Your ovaries? Destroyed.

Because Spencer—sweet, brilliant, slightly awkward Spencer—is standing there in JJ’s living room, holding a baby like he was made for it, rubbing gentle circles on Henry’s back as he hums absentmindedly.

And you are not okay.

"You’re good at this," you murmur before you can stop yourself, watching how he instinctively shifts to sway Henry slightly, lulling him between sleep and contentment.

Spencer shrugs, but there’s a soft pink dusting his cheeks. "It’s just… knowing how to respond to their needs. Babies need security and reassurance. If they feel safe, they thrive." He glances at you then, his voice quieter. "It's not complicated."

But it is.

Because suddenly, your brain is not thinking about just this night. It’s not just thinking about babysitting Henry. It’s thinking about Spencer as a father, Spencer with his own baby in his arms, rocking them just like this, whispering facts to lull them to sleep, pressing soft kisses to their tiny forehead.

And the thought wrecks you.

JJ has no idea what she’s done by asking you to babysit.

Because now?

Now, you are painfully aware that Spencer Reid would be the best dad in the world.

And you really need to go splash cold water on your face before you say something insane.

The drive is quiet at first, a comfortable kind of silence, filled only with the hum of the engine and the faint rustling of Spencer shifting beside you. The weight of the night still lingers, the softness of it, the warmth—Spencer holding Henry, the easy way he’d cared for him, the way it had done things to you that you weren’t entirely sure you were ready to name yet.

"Are you dropping me off," Spencer asks suddenly, his voice cutting through the stillness, "or am I coming over?"

Your hands tighten slightly on the steering wheel.

The question is simple. Straightforward. But there’s something deeper beneath it, something unspoken. Because this isn’t the first time Spencer has stayed over. But tonight, with the way you’re feeling, with the way you want him—really want him—the meaning feels different.

Your pulse picks up.

You don’t answer right away, not because you don’t know what you want, but because you do.

Because you want him to come over. Because you want him in your bed for more than just resting. Because you’ve wanted it for a while now, but neither of you have crossed that line yet.

And suddenly, it feels like Spencer knows exactly what you’re thinking.

He’s watching you, quiet, observant, his fingers resting lightly against his knee as he waits for your response. He doesn’t push, doesn’t pry—he just waits.

You swallow, exhaling slowly before finally speaking. "Come over."

Spencer doesn’t say anything at first. But when you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, his lips are pressed together, his fingers twitching slightly—nervous energy, anticipation, something else.

"Okay," he says finally, voice quiet but firm.

And that’s all.

You don’t talk for the rest of the drive.

But you feel everything.

The way his hand rests between you is so close to yours but not quite touching. The way your breaths sync up is slow but uneven, charged with something you both know is coming.

When you finally pull into your parking spot, turn off the car, and steal one last glance at him, Spencer doesn’t hesitate.

He just unbuckles his seatbelt, pushes open the door, and follows you inside.

Spencer follows without hesitation but doesn’t move past the doorway immediately. He lingers, standing just inside your apartment, watching as you set your keys down on the counter, as you exhale slowly, as you try to steady yourself against the weight of what this night is turning into.

You turn back to him then, and the sight of him standing there—hands tucked into his pockets, shifting slightly on his feet, looking at you like he’s trying so hard to figure out what happens next—makes your stomach flip.

He’s waiting for you.

Waiting for permission.

You take a step forward, closing some of the space between you. Spencer watches you carefully, his breath hitching just slightly, his fingers twitching where they rest at his sides.

Spencer nods. Swallows. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he asks, “Are we just sleeping?”

The question hangs between you, thick with implication, and that’s when it happens—the shift from nervous anticipation to something else.

You step closer again, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, close enough that if either of you moved just slightly, you’d be touching.

And then, softly, hesitantly, you reach for his wrist, fingers brushing against the skin just above the hair tie he still wears, the one you gave him so long ago.

“I don’t know,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “Do you want to just sleep?”

Spencer’s breath catches. His eyes flicker to your lips, then back up again.

“No,” he murmurs. “Not really.”

And that’s all it takes.

Because suddenly, you’re kissing him.

Or maybe he kisses you—you don’t know who moves first, don’t care, because all that matters is the way his hands are suddenly on your waist, pulling you closer, the way his lips part against yours, slow and deep and wanting.

It’s different from the previous kisses you have shared. And as his hands slide up your back, as you press yourself into him like you’ve been waiting forever for this, as he exhales sharply against your mouth because he’s finally getting to have you—

You know neither of you will be getting much sleep tonight.

The first time you and Spencer had sex was nothing short of mind-blowing—at least for him.

You hadn’t known just how little experience he had until later when he mumbled something against your skin about only having done this once before, his voice laced with disbelief and something like awe.

But it wouldn't have changed anything even if you had known beforehand. It had started so slow, like neither of you wanted to rush like you were both trying to memorize each other in ways you hadn’t been able to before.

Spencer had been nervous at first—not clumsy, not hesitant in a way that made you think he didn’t want this, but careful, intentional, like he wanted to make sure he was doing everything right. Like he was terrified of messing up, of not being enough.

But God, was he more than enough.

Because once he got past the nerves, once he stopped thinking and started feeling—

It was everything.

He touched you like he was discovering something new like he was learning you in real time. His fingers mapped the soft curves of your body, memorizing the way your breath hitched when he kissed your neck and how you sighed when his hands gripped your waist.

And when you guided him, when you whispered what you liked against his lips when you told him exactly how to move—

That was when he really fell apart.

Because Spencer thrives on knowledge, learning, on understanding. And now, he was learning you—learning what made you shiver, what made you moan, what made you clutch at his shoulders and gasp his name in a way that sent a shudder through him so deep he thought he might break apart completely.

By the time you were actually together, when he finally slid inside you with a deep, shaky moan, his hands gripping your hips like you were the only thing keeping him grounded—he knew.

He knew he was ruined for anything else.

Because nothing—not the one experience he had before, not the books he had read, not the theories or statistics—could have ever prepared him for this.

For you.

And when he came undone, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm and ragged, your name tumbling from his lips like a prayer—

It was the closest thing to heaven he had ever known.

You pulled Spencer on top of you without hesitation, letting his exhausted body flop onto yours, his full weight pressing you into the mattress in the best possible way. He didn’t resist or try to roll away or give you space—he just let himself be and melt into you like he belonged there.

You traced slow, lazy shapes on his bare, sweat-slicked back, feeling the way his breathing gradually evened out, the rise and fall of his chest pressing against yours in a steady rhythm. His damp curls tickled your skin where his face was buried against your neck, but you didn’t dare move. You liked having him close like this.

Then you felt it—Spencer taking a deep breath like he was about to say something important.

His voice was muffled, soft, still laced with lingering wonder as he exhaled against your skin.

“Did… was that good for you?”

You smiled at the ceiling, your fingers still tracing mindless patterns along his spine. He was too cute. Too him.

“It was amazing, Spencer.”

He didn’t respond immediately, but you felt him tense slightly, his arms tightening around your waist as he let out a small, almost sheepish exhale.

“I’m sorry it was over so quickly.”

You laughed, tilting your head so you could press a soft kiss to the crown of his head. “Spencer, you have nothing to apologize for.”

He huffed, shifting slightly so his face was visible again, his flushed cheeks still pressed against your skin. “But I—”

“Nope.” You cut him off before he could finish whatever self-deprecating thought was about to leave his mouth. “I loved it. And besides…” You trailed your fingers down his spine, feeling the shiver it sent through him. “Now that the nerves are out of the way, we’ve got all night to take our time.”

Spencer froze for half a second before lifting his head just enough to look at you properly, his eyes wide, dark, needy.

“All night?” he repeated, voice barely above a whisper.

You smirked, fingers tightening ever so slightly on his back. “Mmmhmm.”

And just like that—

Spencer wasn’t exhausted anymore.

The night stretched long and slow, turning into early morning, and in those quiet, intimate hours, you discovered things—things that made you grin, things that made Spencer writhe, things that neither of you had ever put words to before but suddenly felt so obvious now.

Like hickeys.

Spencer really liked hickeys.

You hadn’t meant to leave one, not at first. But the moment your lips latched onto the sensitive skin of his neck, the second your teeth scraped lightly against his pulse point, Spencer let out a sound that was almost embarrassing—a sharp, gasping whine that had his fingers digging into your waist, his hips bucking up against you without thought.

And just like that, you knew.

“You like that?” you murmured against his skin, already smirking, already marking another spot just below his jaw.

Spencer shivered violently, his breath stuttering, his grip on you tightening. “I—” He cut himself off with a choked noise, arching into you again.

Yeah. He definitely liked it.

And then there was the other discovery that made your entire night.

Spencer was a certified bottom.

He liked giving up control, liked you taking the lead, liked it when you moved on top of him, guiding him, making him fall apart underneath you.

And oh, he thrived in it.

Especially when your hands threaded into his hair, whispered things to him, and praised him in that sweet, teasing tone that made him whimper.

And God, the way his hands roamed when you were on top—

Which led to the third discovery of the night.

Spencer was a tits guy.

Sure, he loved all of you—he worshipped every inch of you with those big, eager hands, his lips, his tongue, taking his time, savoring you like he had all the time in the world.

But your boobs?

Those really got him going.

Maybe it was because of the angle, the way they bounced when you moved, or maybe it was the way they fit so perfectly in his hands, how he could squeeze, cup, and knead them just the way he liked.

Maybe it was the fact that he could bury his face in them, groaning as he nuzzled into your chest, leaving open-mouthed kisses against your skin, mumbling about how perfect you were, how soft, how he never wanted to stop.

And when you realized?

When you teased him about it?

He turned a deep shade of red, sputtering something about biological instincts and aesthetic appeal, but the second you rolled your hips and dragged his hands back to your chest, his words died completely.

“Oh my God,” he groaned, his head thudding back against the pillow, his fingers squeezing you almost desperately.

And yeah—

You really liked that discovery, too.

—

Spencer had barely stepped into the bullpen when Derek’s booming voice rang through the air like a damn foghorn.

"Pretty boy!"

Spencer flinched. He knew that tone. That taunting, giddy, Derek-is-about-to-ruin-your-life tone.

And then—before Spencer could so much as blink—Derek was grinning at him, full teeth, eyes sparkling with absolute mischief as he pointed directly at Spencer’s neck.

“Oh no,” Spencer mumbled under his breath, instinctively reaching up as if he could somehow erase the evidence.

But it was too late. Because Derek had seen it. The hickey.

The hickey.

The one you had left on him Saturday night. Or was it Sunday morning? Honestly, it didn’t even matter—what mattered was that he had forgotten to cover it up, and now? Now, Derek was never going to let him live this down.

“Damn, kid,” Derek laughed, sauntering over with the confidence of a man who lived for this kind of teasing. “So you are gettin’ some.”

Spencer groaned, his entire face going up in flames. “Derek—”

“Nah, nah, don’t even try to deny it,” Derek interrupted, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “That is a grade-A hickey, man. I’m talkin’ official, stamped, certified ‘this man is gettin’ wrecked’ level.”

“Derek, please,” Spencer hissed, glancing around desperately as if he could somehow stop this from escalating.

Too bad the damage was already done. Because JJ and Penelope were already staring. And then laughing. Loudly.

“Oh my God,” Penelope gasped, practically shrieking with delight. “Spencer! Look at you! Our boy is all grown up and getting marked up like a romance novel protagonist!”

“Okay, stop,” Spencer pleaded, feeling absolutely doomed.

JJ just smirked, sipping her coffee like this was the best entertainment she’d had in weeks. “So, how was your weekend?”

Spencer exhaled sharply, adjusting his bag on his shoulder and making a beeline for his desk, determined to escape. “I hate all of you.”

Derek just grinned, following after him with his arms crossed. “Nah, Pretty Boy, you love us. Just not as much as you love your girl—who, by the way, did some damage on you, man. She got territorial.”

Spencer slammed his forehead onto his desk with a loud thud. JJ and Penelope cackled. Derek patted him on the back like he had just won something. And Spencer?

Spencer knew damn well that this was never going away.

—

Spencer was always composed. Always Spencer. Polite, intelligent, articulate. The type of man who didn’t act impulsively, who thought through everything before making a move.

Except, apparently, when it came to you.

Because when it came to you, Spencer had no self-control.

And nowhere was that more apparent than tonight—right now—when he had you pressed up against the bar in the middle of a crowded room, his lips hot against your neck, his hands resting just a little too low on your waist, and his very obvious boner grinding against your ass.

This was not the Spencer the team knew. This was not the awkward, hesitant genius who stumbled over his words and overanalyzed his every move.

No, this Spencer was different.

This Spencer wanted you, and he didn’t care who saw.

This Spencer also happened to be a few glasses of champagne deep in his birthday celebration with the team.

“Spencer,” you hissed, gripping the edge of the bar for support as another firm roll of his hips had heat coiling low in your stomach.

He hummed against your neck, his lips still moving, still marking you in the same way he had been since he discovered how much he loved leaving hickeys on you.

“Hmm?” he murmured, voice low, dragging his tongue lightly over the fresh mark before pressing an open-mouthed kiss against it.

Your grip tightened on the bar. “We’re in public,” you reminded him, but your voice was breathy, weak, barely convincing.

Spencer chuckled—actually chuckled—against your skin, his fingers flexing against your hips. “And?”

And?

And?

You blinked, stunned by his sheer audacity, by the fact that Spencer Reid was grinding up against you in a public bar like he had every right to.

Like he owned you.

And maybe he did.

You hated to stop him. God, you hated it.

But Spencer was too drunk.

It wasn’t that he was wasted—Spencer didn’t drink often, and when he did, he rarely overindulged—but tonight, between rounds of celebratory drinks with the team and the way he had relaxed into your presence, he was just tipsy enough that his usual inhibitions were gone.

And normally, you wouldn’t mind. Normally, you’d love seeing him like this, out of his shell, more bold in his affections. But Spencer was intoxicated, and you were sober, and you refused—refused—to take advantage of that. 

So, with a deep breath, you gently pried his hands off your waist, turning around to face him fully.

“Spencer,” you murmured, voice soft but firm.

He blinked, slow and dazed, his lips swollen from where he had been so intent on marking you up. “Huh?”

You cupped his face, thumbs brushing against his flushed cheeks. “We need to get you home, okay?”

His brows furrowed. “But—”

“No ‘buts,’” you interrupted, kissing his cheek quickly before pulling away completely. “Come on, before Derek starts making bets about whether you’ll take shots with him.”

Spencer groaned, looking devastated—like a scolded puppy who had just been denied his favorite treat. His hands flexed at his sides like he wanted to pull you back, but even in his inebriated state, he listened.

With one last longing look at you, he sighed. “Fine.”

You smiled, taking his hand and leading him back to the group. The second you announced, “I’m taking Spencer home,” a chorus of hoots and hollers erupted from your friends.

Derek practically howled with laughter. “Damn, Pretty Boy, she’s gotta put you to bed already?”

“I hate all of you,” Spencer grumbled as Penelope cackled.

JJ smirked into her drink. “Don’t forget to hydrate him.”

“Oh, I will,” you assured her, rolling your eyes as you steered Spencer toward the door.

After a few more teasing remarks and one last dramatic wolf whistle from Derek, you managed to load Spencer into the passenger seat of your car.

As soon as you pulled out of the parking lot, you reached for the stereo and turned on classical music—something calming that would hopefully settle the restless energy still buzzing under Spencer’s skin.

And sure enough, within minutes, he was already melting into the seat, head lolling to the side as the soft notes of Debussy filled the quiet space.

You smiled to yourself, reaching over to squeeze his hand.

“Almost home, Spence,” you murmured.

He sighed deeply, squeezing back. “You’re the best,” he mumbled, voice slurred with exhaustion.

The rest of the night had been easy enough—getting Spencer home, guiding his sleepy, clingy self into bed, listening to him mumble drunken nonsense as you pulled the covers over him. He had curled around you the second you lay down beside him, burying his face in your neck, sighing deeply as if you were the cure to whatever hangover awaited him in the morning.

Before you had drifted off, you had set up a glass of water and some painkillers on his bedside table, making sure everything he needed would be right there when he woke up.

Now, in the golden light of morning, you were sitting up in bed, back against the headboard, reading while Spencer slowly resurfaced from his alcohol-induced slumber.

He stirred first, shifting slightly under the sheets, letting out a sleepy little grunt before blinking blearily up at you.

For a moment, he just stared.

His hair was a complete mess, curls sticking up in every direction, and his face was still warm and soft from sleep. His lips parted slightly, his eyes unfocused as he tried to piece together where he was, why he felt like this, and why the hell you looked so perfectly content beside him while he felt like his brain was swimming in molasses.

“…Morning,” he croaked, voice raw from sleep.

You glanced down at him, smiling over the top of your book. “Morning, baby.”

He blinked slowly, still processing. Then, realization dawned—the bar, the teasing, you dragging him home like an overgrown toddler.

He groaned, flopping onto his back and throwing an arm over his face. “I was drunk.”

You laughed softly, closing your book and setting it aside. “Yep.”

He peeked out from under his arm, his lips twitching slightly. “Did I…?”

“You were very affectionate in public,” you teased, shifting to face him. “Like, very affectionate.”

Spencer made a noise between a groan and a laugh, rubbing his face. “Derek’s never going to let me live this down, is he?”

“I didn’t let anybody see, Spence.”

He sighed dramatically before turning his head to look at you again, his expression softening. His eyes flickered to the bedside table, taking in the water and painkillers, the small gesture that made something warm and fond settle in his chest.

“You took care of me,” he murmured.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Of course I did.”

Spencer didn’t say anything momentarily, just looking at you like he was trying to memorize you in the morning light. Then, without warning, he reached for you, pulling you down into his arms, burying his face in your shoulder.

“I love you,” he mumbled against your skin, voice still thick with sleep.

Your heart stopped.

Completely.

Frozen in time, in this moment, in him.

Spencer had said it. So casually, so effortlessly, like it had always been there, sitting just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to slip out. Like it wasn’t something earth-shattering, something that made your breath catch and your entire world tilt.

You barely breathed as you whispered, "You love me?"

You felt his lips curve slightly against your skin—soft, sleepy, so sure.

"I love you," he repeated, voice muffled but certain, like it wasn’t even a question in his mind. Like it never had been.

The warmth of his words settled over you, seeping into every inch of your skin, curling around your heart like the softest, safest thing you’d ever known.

Suddenly, you were moving, pulling back just enough to cup his face in your hands and tilt his head so that his eyes met yours—still drowsy, still heavy with sleep, but so incredibly full. You smiled, soft and disbelieving like you couldn’t believe you had gotten this lucky. Like you couldn’t believe he was yours.

"I love you, too."

Spencer blinked, like it was his turn to freeze like his still-sleepy brain was trying to process that you had said it back. Then he smiled—wide and beautiful, the kind of smile that made his dimples show, the kind of smile that made your chest ache in the best possible way.

And without another word, he kissed you.

Slow, deep, certain.

Like he had just decided—right here, right now—that he was never letting you go.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[l-starsz]

Billie sees reader doing yoga early in the morning and can't contain herself

a/n: this was actually quite fun to write even though i’m clueless about yoga😞 got a bit carried away writing it if i’m honest..

i turned over in bed and squinted as i opened my eyes. too early, but i needed to get up. i smiled as i noticed billie. her eyes were lightly shut, her mouth open the tiniest bit, and her hair messy around her face as she slept. she looked beautiful. with the small smile still on my face, i stretched, then stood up out of bed, heading towards the bathroom. i washed my face before heading downstairs for some breakfast. i wasn't usually a breakfast person, but i decided i needed some food in me since i was planning on doing some yoga. i'd recently started getting into yoga, and quickly discovered the hard way that i couldn't do it on an empty stomach no matter how much i hated breakfast. i didn't want to keep getting lightheaded halfway through..

i quickly made myself a bowl of cut up fruit with yogurt over it. it didn't take me too long to finish it, waiting for a little bit for my food to settle before going back to the bathroom to brush my teeth, changed, put my hair up, and then back downstairs to do yoga. i'd set my mat up, and began stretching, and doing different poses. i had gentle music playing through my headphones because i knew i wouldn't have been able to focus if i was doing it in silence. since my music was pretty loud, and my headphones were noise cancelling, i didn't notice at all when the door at the back of the room opened, and billie walked in. i had no clue how long she'd been in the room, but i only noticed when i saw a shadow nearby. obviously, i panicked, not expecting her to be in the room with me. i flinched and rushed to take my headphones out, looking up at her as my heart pounded in my chest.

i placed my hand over my heart, feeling how quick it was beating, and giggled as i spoke.

"billie, you scared the shit out of me."

she laughed and shook her head, then crouched down beside me. i was honestly still pretty confused about what she was doing, she never usually watched me, she only came in the room every so often to check on me and tell me how much she missed me, but she hadn't said a word yet. my eyebrows furrowed as i spoke again.

"how long have you been in here watching me, hm?"

"hmmm, not long." she smiled.

i reached over and grabbed my water that was nearby, taking a few sips and processing her words. i still had more poses i needed to do, but first had a question.

"what's up then bil? usually you come in and tell me you miss me, then go and wait for me to finish. what's going on in your pretty mind?" i smiled back as i spoke.

"well you just look so beautiful. look so perfect in that outfit. you look so perfect in everything. i couldn't help but watch." i saw a small smirk appear on her face while she spoke.

"oh really?" i raised an eyebrow, then sighed, "i need to carry on now, you can stay and watch if you want baby?"

she was very quick to nod at my suggestion, sitting herself down on the floor next to me. the whole time she was there, her eyes didn't leave my body. i could feel her eyes watching my every move, but i just continued. i knew why she was really there. i took another short break after a while and turned to face billie. she had a smirk on her face, and was making direct eye contact with me. i rolled my eyes and laughed, knowing exactly what that look meant.

"i still have a little more to do, baby. not long left now." i laughed as i heard her groan at my words, but something must've clicked in her head. she had a plan.

"can i at least have a kiss?" she smiled innocently.

"when i’m done. i have like ten minutes left."

"pleaseeee. pretty please with a cherry on toppp?" she whined.

i giggled at her words and shuffled a little bit closer to her, leaning in and waiting for her to kiss me. i couldn't say no to her. it obviously didn’t take her long to press her lips gently against mine. when i tried to pull away after a few seconds, i felt her hand come up the back of my head, deepening the kiss and causing me to let out a quiet moan into her mouth. i really didn't expect her to deepen the kiss. i felt her smirk against my lips as we began making out. small whines left my mouth before she pulled away, causing me to groan. i looked into her eyes, practically begging her just by looking at her.

"i thought you had ten minutes left, angel? what happened to that, huh?"

she was getting cocky because she knew she'd got her own way. she knew that it didn't take a lot to convince me to stop what i was doing and give her even more attention, and she knew her plan all along.

"please bil.." i whispered, my lips hovering over hers.

she didn't reply, just carefully laid me down against the mat on the floor.

"in here?" i mumbled.

"just for now, okay? are you comfortable, love? if not i'll take you to our room right now."

"please just touch me. i'm comfortable billie. i need you now." i breathed out.

she soon enough pulled my leggings down. she paused when she saw my underwear. there had to be a spot where i'd practically soaked through them, there was no doubt about it. i felt her fingers run over the damp no, soaked spot on them, lightly brushing over my clit, before pulling her fingers away. i glanced up at her, noticing that she looked mesmerised. i laid my head back once again when my underwear was being pulled off almost immediately. she wasted no time, leaning down, laying on her stomach on the floor, hooking her arms under my thighs and pulling me closer before diving right in.

her tongue separated my folds as quiet, breathy moans came from me. she made her way towards my clit, but then moved back down and pushed her tongue inside me. i clenched around her and moaned loud. whilst i was busy moaning, i didn't even notice her move one of her arms from uner my leg, allowing her fingers to find my clit. her movements were quick, and precise. we both knew i wasn't lasting long at all. i couldn't even stay still as both her tongue, and her fingers worked against me, bringing me right to the edge of my orgasm. my moans were more frequent and high pitched as i squirmed around, trying not to cum until she told me to.

conveniently enough, just as i was focusing on not finishing, she tapped my thigh with her free hand, signalling to me to cum. and best believe i did. all over her face, and her fingers, and the mat beneath me. hopefully it wasn't ruined.. but at that moment in time, i had no time to think about that, my mind was filled with my pretty girlfriend. as she carefully moved away from my pussy, and closer to my face, i took notice of my arousal that coated her lips and her chin.

"such a good girl for me, waiting for me to tell you to cum." she whispered against my lips, "upstairs now?"

i desperately nodded and tried to stand up, but stopped when i heard billie tut.

"ah ah, let me carry you, baby. cmon." she giggled, carrying my all the way up to our bedroom and laying me onto our comfy bed.

"just relax, okay pretty girl?" she whispered against my lips, placing a gentle kiss against them before moving towards my neck, and peppering soft kisses there too.

it wasn't long before my shirt was discarded on the floor, her lips all over my tits and working their way down my body. as her kisses trailed all over me, her fingers lightly pressed against my entrance, slowly pushing into me.

"still so wet and needy for me, hm baby?" i heard her mumble.

"yeah- yes. all for you bils. all yours." i whined.

"good girl." she praised me.

her fingers curled inside me, making my back arch. i was still so sensitive from my last orgasm, and was ready to cum again within only five minutes.

"that's it, my love. doing sooo good for me. taking my fingers so well, isn't that right?"

i moaned from the tone of her voice alone, my walls tightening around her fingers as i resisted the urge to cum already.

"what was that?" she spoke clearly.

"yes! taking your fingers.." i breathed, unable to think straight.

"that's right, baby. so well." she smiled, watching me struggling.

she knew how bad i needed to finish, how difficult it was getting to hold back, she just wanted me to ask her. to tell her. and of course, she got exactly what she wanted.

"please!! please- bil- billie. need to- for you, please. let me cum?" my words were broken, i could barely from a sentence, all that filled my head was how good billie was making me feel, and how bad i needed for cum over her fingers.

"there you go. just needed to ask me, honey. cum." she spoke in a soft tone, sending me further over the edge.

she sped up her fingers, resulting in my cum coating them, and dripping down her wrist, onto the sheets. broken moans and light sobs left my mouth as i started to get overstimulated. i grabbed her hand, urging her to gently pull out and place her hands against my waist. her fingers ran up and down, before she moved to lay against my chest. meanwhile, i was still trying to calm my breathing down.

her clean hand ran through the sweat covered strands of hair that stuck to my forehead. my eyes had been shut for a while, but as soon as i felt her hand on my cheek, i opened them, both of us smiling as my eyes drooped from how worn out i was.

"let's get you cleaned up, okay baby? then we can have a nap, and spend allll day together. how does that sound?" she ran her thumb across my cheek.

"perfect. thank you billie." i lazily smiled.

[frost-queen]

The love in a man's eyes (Reader x Anthony Bridgerton)

Requested by: anon  Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @floatlosers, @alex–awesome–22, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown, @wildiefleur , @meyocoko , @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23, @melsunshine  , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedrava-bitch-187, @erikasurfer , @slythetic  , @eliscannotdance, @p0nycurtis, @slythetic, @bitchybananaflower, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr

If anyone could reflect admiration and adoration to the world, it would be Anthony Bridgerton. For his wife was the bane of his existence and the object of all his desires.

Anthony hummed satisfied, wrapping his arms tighter around you. He came laying his head down on your chest. Making you stare up to the ceiling with a giddy sigh. – “Anthony I must get up.” – you told him, running your fingers through his hair.

“Just a moment.” – he responded in a mutter. Listening to your heart beat. Inhaling deep as his hand brushed against your skin. – “Anthony I am hungry.” – you told him.

Anthony lifted his head up, hand remaining by your waist. – “Hungry for me?” – he asked with a teasing smile. You stared in shock back at him. – “For food.” – you responded giving him a playful slap.

“Shame for I could devour you.” – he let out, pressing his hand deeper onto your waist. – “Anthony!” – you called out to shush him. To dim his idea’s full of lust. Curling up a smile to his adoring wife. You smiled cheeky back at him.

He came leaning forwards. Opening his mouth to deepen a kiss onto you. Taking his time to fully explore your lips. Explore them as if he hadn’t explored them a thousand times before. Hearing you laugh against his lips made him curl up a smile as well.

Kissing you over and over again as your laugh filled his heart with excitement. It was a sound he could never get enough off. You tapped him against his shoulder to break the kiss off. Needing a little breather. Anthony stared lovingly down at you.

Eyebrows quirking curiously up at the growling of your stomach. – “I informed you that I am hungry.” – you reminded him. Anthony chuckled. Lowering his head to leave a kiss on your stomach. – “Then I must feed my beautiful wife.”

Slapping him playfully against his arm for speaking so fondly of you. Another growl left a silence between the two of. This time you looked down at your husband with intriguing eyes. He glanced down at his own chest. Chuckling cheekily at the growling of his own stomach.

Both of you rolled out of bed. Getting dressed. Anthony couldn’t stop staring at you. Barely getting a move on with himself in utter awe of you. With his shirt still unbuttoned, he walked over to you. – “Allow me.” – he whispered out. Leaving a tender kiss in the nook of your neck before tying your corset up.

Smiling over your shoulder, you turned around to him. Pressing your hands against his cheeks. Your smile was enough to make him melt. Your gaze lowered as his remained lingering on your face. Watching your focused expression. Brows furrowed whilst you buttoned up his shirt.

“What would I do without you.” – he muttered out. You batted your gaze up to him, head slightly tilted with a faint smile on your lips. You let your arms go around his neck. Taking in a deep breath, pulling your shoulders a bit up. You kissed him tenderly. Patting him against his cheek afterwards to get a move on.

Both of you went downstairs. Anthony walking as closely as possible to you. Needing his body to be in contact with yours. He felt empty without it. After breakfast, you remained in the drawing room. Sitting in the sofa with Hyacinth beside you. Anthony stood behind you, keeping his hands on your shoulders.

“Have you read the latest Whistledown yet?” – Hyacinth asked. You turned to her with a mischievous smile. – “You, young lady should not be reading Whistledown yet.” – you told her, spotting the edition underneath her bottom. Having tried to hide it. You plucked it from underneath her. – “Hey!” – Hyacinth called out.

You moved your hand up, allowing your husband to take the edition. – “Y/n is right, Hyacinth. You are far too young to be reading such gossip.” – he reminded her with a soft glare. Hyacinth crossed her arms grumpily back at her brother. You poked your fingers against her cheek to make her laugh. The door to the drawing room opened. Colin entering with loud pants.

“Y/n!” – he called out upon seeing you. He walked over to you, holding one of his trousers. – “You must help me. Can you mend my trousers?” – he asked. Showing you a little hole in it as he stuck his finger through it. – “Colin, ask one of the maids.” – Anthony insisted upon. – “But Y/n is the best with a needle.” – Colin responded, arguing with his brother.

“Oh hush.” – you said to Anthony taking the trousers from Colin. – “It will only take about two minutes.” – you informed him, getting up. You walked towards the closet, feeling a presence behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, you noticed your husband had followed you. – “The needles and thread are not in here.” – he spoke. You opened the closet as they indeed were not there.

“I have some in my room.” – you told Colin. – “Our room!” – Anthony corrected, looking down at you. You gave him a slight annoyed expression. – “It won’t take long.” – you spoke to Colin. Colin moved his hand to his heart, bowing his head to you.

You took a few steps towards the door, noticing Anthony was following you. – “Anthony darling, I would only be a minute.” – you told him, holding the door in your hand. He only hummed loud. When you moved to head further, he remained close.

Rolling your eyes playfully at him, you let him be. He followed you through the hallway, up the stairs back to your quarters. You opened the drawers in search of needles and thread. Anthony came sitting on the bed, watching you. Staring.

“If you might stare any harder, I would turn to rock.” – you called out teasingly. – “Ahh…” – Anthony responded in a long breath, adverting his gaze away. He hadn’t noticed he was staring so intensely at you. He simply couldn’t help it.

Always wanting to gaze upon his beautiful wife. For you were the bane of his existence and the object of all his desires. You sat down by the vanity, mending Colin’s trousers. Anthony drummed his fingers impatiently on his knees. Looking up at the ceiling. – “Almost done.” – you let out, keeping your focus on the trousers.

Anthony kept drumming his fingers for you to hurry up. – “Done.” – you said holding the trousers up. Anthony jumped up from his position. Walking up to you. Sneaking in a kiss, leaving your gaze wide for a second. It had felt like eternity since he had kissed you.

Both of you returned to the drawing room where you returned Colin’s trousers. He thanked you with a hug and a kiss against your cheek. – “Alright, alright.” – Anthony called out, shooing his brother away from you. It made you laugh loud at his jealousy towards his brother.

“You must know I only have eyes for you.” – you declared turning his chin to you. Seeing how his expression softened around you. His eyebrow lightly raised with a curled up smile. Anthony slid his arm around you when you came leaning against his shoulder with your head. He kissed the top of your head.

“Shall we go for a walk, Lady Bridgerton?” – he suggested. – “We shall, lord Bridgerton.” – you responded. Hyacinth got up with a loud gasp. – “Can I come too!” – she exclaimed. You nodded as she came hurrying over. Following the two of you for a stroll.

-------------------------------------------------

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[daeniradraconis]

My Emergency Contact – William Nylander

Just a little short Valentine’s Day fluff—because nothing says romance like realizing your boyfriend is absolutely not qualified to be your emergency contact. (Yes, inspired by the TikTok trend!) BTW, this pic is literally my favourite of Willy. Like, sir—how are you this hot and this cute at the same time?! ---

Moving in together was supposed to be romantic. Cozy. A new chapter in your relationship.

Instead, you’re sitting on the couch in your new apartment, watching your shirtless boyfriend, William Nylander, struggle for his life against an IKEA bookshelf.

The shirtless part isn’t unusual. If anything, it’s his default state. The man has never met a fabric he liked.

And honestly? You’re not complaining.

His blond hair is tousled from running his hands through it in frustration, his cheeky grin flickering in and out as he mutters to himself in Swedish, clearly losing patience. His mustache and beard are in full force—an off-season indulgence, just like the sheer amount of cake he’s been consuming lately.

And it shows.

Willy is always strong, always an athlete, but off-season Willy? He’s soft. He still has muscle, but instead of his usual sculpted abs, there’s the faintest hint of a tummy, a little dad bod moment that somehow makes him look even hotter.

Unfortunately, all that raw, Swedish power is currently being humiliated by a simple bookshelf.

“IKEA is a scam,” Will mutters, glaring at the half-built monstrosity. “They make the instructions impossible on purpose.”

“You’re Swedish,” you remind him, sipping your coffee. “This should be, like, in your DNA.”

“Yeah, well, my ancestors built actual ships, not this bullshit.”

He picks up the hex key like it personally insulted his mother, then frowns down at the two pieces of wood he’s supposed to connect. His brows furrow, lips pressing together in deep concentration, and for a fleeting moment, you think—maybe—he’s finally figured it out.

But no. No, he has not.

With way too much confidence, he tightens one screw, nods to himself like a man who knows what he's doing, and then leans his full weight on the side panel—only for it to give out instantly, betraying him in the most dramatic fashion possible.

The entire bookshelf wobbles violently before crashing down in slow motion.

And so does Will.

You watch in horror as your six-foot, professional athlete boyfriend completely loses the battle. He stumbles backward, knocks into a chair, flails to catch himself—too late. His knee buckles, and before you can react, he fully wipes out.

A loud thud. A groan. Silence.

For a split second, your heart stops. You freeze, eyes wide, a sharp pang of panic in your chest. He’s completely motionless, just lying there, staring at the ceiling.

“Will?” you ask, rushing over, hovering a hand over his arm, not sure whether to touch him or call 911.

No response.

Then—he bursts out laughing.

Flat on his back, bare chest rising and falling with laughter, stomach shaking, cheeks flushed—he looks absurdly proud of himself. And you can’t help but laugh too—though only after you're sure he’s not actually injured.

And then it hits you. This man is your emergency contact.

The realization hits you slowly. This is the guy responsible for calling an ambulance if something happens to you. This one.

The same man who once set off the fire alarm trying to “improvise” a grilled cheese with a blowtorch because he thought it would be “faster.”

The same man who got his shoelace caught in an escalator last summer and had to be rescued by a mall employee.

The same man who confidently insisted he could fix a leaky faucet in your old apartment, only to somehow make it worse—so much worse—that you had to call an actual plumber, who took one look at the situation and just muttered, Jesus Christ.

You blink down at Will, still sprawled on the floor, grinning like an idiot, and a strange mix of affection, disbelief, and sheer terror floods through you.

You sigh, shaking your head. “I can’t believe you are my emergency contact.”

You look at him, grinning up from the floor like he just won a prize, and a mix of affection, disbelief, and helpless laughter washes over you.

Will, still sprawled out, turns his head to smirk at you. “Baby. I got you.”

“You just lost a fight to plywood.”

“It was a close fight.”

“In your dreams.”

He just shrugs, completely unbothered, propping himself up on one elbow. “Eh. I’m strong. I can take it.”

You stare at him, still processing the absolute chaos of it all. The lack of concern.

Will sees your expression and smirks, sitting up fully. “You’re thinking about it, huh?”

“I’m regretting it.”

He gasps, pressing a hand to his chest like you’ve just wounded him. “Wow. That’s ruthless.”

“Honest.”

Will squints, then rubs the back of his head. “Maybe. But too late, baby. We live together now. No take-backs.”

You roll your eyes, standing up to help his dumb ass off the floor. He lets you pull him to his feet, then immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest.

“Will—”

“Shhh,” he says, resting his chin on top of your head. “Let me hold you. I almost died, älskling.”

You snort. “You did not.”

He squeezes you tighter, grinning against your hair. “You were so worried about me.”

You groan, but his arms feel nice, and he smells like cedarwood and the vanilla latte he stole from you earlier. Despite everything—despite his complete incompetence at building furniture or being careful at all—you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You sigh into his chest. “Yeah. You are sometimes actually terrifying. You clumsy idiot.”

Willy laughs, pressing a lazy kiss to your forehead.

“Terrifyingly sexy, you mean.”

Well, he’s not wrong.

[hrrtshape]

things to do with your s/o in honour of valentine’s day (or: things to script if your s/o is currently trapped in the fabric of space-time like a 1940s soldier in a locket)

kiss in every doorway you walk through. just because.

link pinkies instead of holding hands sometimes. just to keep things interesting.

make up a new anniversary. valentine’s day is amateur hour. find a random date and assign it significance. the day you first locked eyes across a crowded room? the day you both almost got hit by a taxi? make up a fake, elaborate backstory if needed. insist it’s the most important date of the year.

bite their sleeve when your hands are full. bonus points if you make eye contact while doing it.

wear something of theirs. a jacket, a sweater, a ring. something that smells like them, something that makes you feel like you belong to each other.

drag them into a photo booth. don’t give them time to think, just pull them in. later, hide a copy of it in their bag. or tape it to their mirror. or slide it into a book they’re reading. let them find it when they least expect it.

learn an entire obscure skill together. forging documents, deciphering ciphers, folding napkins into extravagant birds. something wholly unnecessary but deeply specific. nothing says ‘i love you’ like a hyperfixation you can share.

love each other like you are the last two people on earth who understand what love is. (because maybe you are.)

make them breakfast. not just toast. i mean ridiculous breakfast. pancakes with their initial spelled in syrup, eggs made exactly how they like them, fresh fruit cut into hearts if you’re feeling insane.

go to a bookstore and pick something for each other. something you think they’d love, or something that reminds you of them, or something with a title so absurd it makes you both laugh in the middle of the aisle.

write each other love letters. not texts, not dms. actual letters. fold them up, pass them under the table, seal them with lipstick like a 1950s socialite sending a telegram to her lover overseas.

slow dance in the living room. play something old, something scratchy and filled with longing. press your face into their shoulder. sway like you have all the time in the world.

light candles at dinner, even if you’re just eating pizza. especially if you’re just eating pizza.

draw on each other’s skin. little hearts on their hands. initials on their wrist. a whole mural on their arm if they’ll sit still long enough.

fall asleep on each other. on the couch, in the car, heads leaning together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

go to a museum and act like the most insufferable art critics alive. invent elaborate meanings behind paintings. whisper things like ‘this piece destroyed me’ in front of tourists.

go somewhere haunted. make up an elaborate backstory for a ghost that definitely does not exist. demand the ghost give you relationship advice.

say ‘i love you’ in new ways. in a different language. in a ridiculous accent. spelled out in alphabet soup. traced onto their back with your finger.

leave them a note somewhere stupid. in their coat pocket, under their pillow, inside the fridge next to the soy milk. something simple. something damning. ("thinking about you." "you are so loved." "i win.")

trace hearts on their arm when they’re talking. act like you’re not doing it.

buy a cheap little ring and put it on their finger like it’s a royal coronation. it could be plastic. it could be candy. what matters is the ceremony of it all.

wear their favourite colour. don’t say anything about it. just let them notice.

[edamameimei]

do i wanna know?

"sort of hoping that you'd stay..."

pairing: daniela avanzini!dream academy x reader!dream academy

synopsis: all the girls in dream academy knew you and daniela had a very close dynamic. it was one that often left them all confused, but they knew one thing for certain, and that was you belonged to daniela avanzini. but as your friendship grows with a certain australian, daniela begins to do some reflection of her own when it comes to her attachment towards you.

fluff in the beginning, gets a little suggestive near the end. mostly angst soz. CW: dani is a lil possessive and toxic if you squint!

a/n: just want to put out there that this is not a REAL portrayal of the people mentioned in this fic. all events are fictional and are for entertainment purposes only. i am and will always be an ezrela thinker so i had to express it somehow so i decided to throw it back to dream academy era for valentines day <333

wc: 4344 words

now playing: do i wanna know? (live at the bbc) - hozier

Daniela had always been curious about you and Ezrela’s relationship. 

At first, she thought it was sweet. Watching you two together always brought a smile to Daniela’s face, the way your 5’10” stature towered over Ezrela significantly. The girl was just so tiny and cute, it would be hard to not find the dynamic between you both somewhat adorable. 

That was, until you two become much more comfortable with each other. 

There was an unspoken rule amongst the Dream Academy girls. It was one that only you and Daniela were not in on, yet you two created it. Or, more so Daniela. That rule was to keep physical contact with you at a minimum. They found hugs were fine (as long as they don’t last longer than a second or two) and just speaking with you was fair game. But once someone tries leaning in closer, tries to place a hand on your arm, Daniela Avanzini magically appears right next to you and inserts herself into the conversation. 

The girls didn’t mind it. Actually, they found it amusing. It became somewhat of a teasing game amongst them. Who can piss Dani off the most? But when they notice the Latina is not in the mood for any jokes or any playful games, they all know to back off. They wouldn’t dare piss the girl off even more. Daniela, without even knowing, has made her claim on you. She made it very clear. Of course, this sparks speculations over the true dynamic of your  “friendship,” but the girls know it’s something you two will have to figure out on your own. According to Lara, “it’s a canon event and we cannot interfere.” 

But Ezrela really knows how to push Daniela’s buttons. 

It was subtle at first, honestly. 

After another long and tiring day of T&D, a few of the girls decide to make a trip to a boba place they saw around the corner. While you sat on the practice room floor, switching out your sneakers to wear converse, you spoke to Ezrela animatedly. You both were engaged in a conversation about an anime you both were watching and had very similar opinions on an episode that recently aired. 

On the otherside of the room, Daniela and Lara wait, having their own conversation. Every once in a while, Daniela would look over, her eyes focused on the way Ezrela acted around you. Once she was satisfied with what she saw, she would turn back to Lara, giving her undivided attention. 

When she looks back at you two, Daniela’s eyes narrow slightly. At some point, Ezrela shifted closer to you, now sitting right in front of you. The small girl shows you something on her phone and it makes you laugh loudly, placing your hand on her shoulder to brace yourself. 

Daniela decides she is done waiting when she sees Ezrela tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. She is basically stomping over when she hears a soft giggle escape your lips. 

She extends her arm, waiting for you to take her hand so you all can finally leave. Ezrela immediately stands to her feet while you take Daniela’s hand, unaware of the Latina’s hard gaze. You stand up, allowing Daniela to pull you towards the door with a tight grip. 

And then it was the Instagram posts. 

You and Daniela lay in the Latina’s bed in the dorms. You’re both still in the gray uniforms, too lazy to take them off after filming all day for Dream Academy. At some point, while Daniela scrolled through her TikTok so you two could watch together, you fell asleep. Daniela has her head against your chest, feeling comforted by the way it rises and falls with every breath. Her leg is swung over yours and for some reason, it just feels natural to be this close in proximity. 

Daniela switches to Instagram, finally getting tired of watching the videos on her For You Page. The first post that pops up strikes a nerve within the girl. 

Five minutes ago, Ezrela posted a photo set of you and her. The photos were taken the day before and it was of you two in the gray uniforms. 

The first photo was of you looking down at Ezrela with a teasing smile as the Aussie had her arms crossed, pouting up at the girl. 

The second photo was a .5. You held the camera with your tongue sticking out. Ezrela kept a neutral expression. 

The third photo was of you two hugging. Daniela’s eyes harden at the way you held Ezrela close. The Aussie had her head against your chest, her arms wrapped around your torso. Your arms wrapped around Ezrela’s neck, one of your hands in the girl’s hair. The photo looked tender and rather loving and it made Daniela feel sick. 

The last photo was quite blurry but it still did enough to make Daniela’s blood boil. You two were smiling widely as you held Ezrela in your arms bridal style. The Aussie had her arms securely wrapped around your neck, head on your shoulder. 

The caption read: THE short and tall duo>>>

Daniela huffs. She feels even more annoyed with the caption. She looks up at you and sees that you’re still sleeping peacefully. Your mouth is slightly open, snoring softly. For a moment, Daniela’s eyes soften at the way you look. It quickly disappears when she remembers Ezrela’s stupid post and pokes your side, trying to wake you. You stir, groaning when you feel Daniela’s finger jabbing into your side incessantly. You swat at her with no energy at all. “Dani stop… I’ve been up since 5 AM let me keep my eyes closed a few minutes longer…” 

Suddenly, you feel the bed shift. You open your eyes slightly, a bit confused by the commotion. Your eyes widen when Daniela begins straddling you, sitting prettily on top of you with her legs on either side of you. Your breath catches in your throat and you wonder if you’re still dreaming. 

“I wanna take a photo for my Instagram story.” You raise an eyebrow at the Latina. “That’s why you woke me up?” She simply nods her head in response. You groan, closing your eyes again. Suddenly, you sigh in exasperation, relenting to your best friend. “Okay… How do you wanna do it?” Daniela grabs you by the tie, pulling you up while she is still situated on your lap. You scoot back a bit so you can lean your back against the headboard. You instinctively wrap your arms around Daniela’s waist and rest your head on the girl’s shoulder. You mumble, “what now?” 

Daniela bites her lip, suddenly feeling shy by how intimate this feels. She doesn’t know why she’s acting like this. It’s not like you and her were together. It’s not like she even has romantic feelings for you. But Daniela has never been the one to share and she is going to make it a point for everyone to see. 

You are her best friend. Not Ezrela’s. 

She wraps an arm around your neck and grabs her phone, going to the Instagram app. She raises the phone, making sure you are both in the frame. Daniela smiles as you keep your head nuzzled into her shoulder, a small smile on your face can be seen. When Daniela is satisfied with how it is framed, she takes the picture. You mumble again, tightening your arms around Daniela, “Is it good?” 

Daniela nods, biting her lip to hide her smirk. “It’s perfect.” 

She captions it: hugs from y/n>>>

Manon sits in the lounge, headphones in as she scrolls through her phone. 

Lara and Lexie notice her alone and decide to walk over to her. Lara sits next to her on the couch while Lexie sits in the armchair. Manon looks up, smiling tiredly. Lara raises an eyebrow. “You… Okay?” 

Manon laughs, nodding her head. “Yeah. Dani is having a… Moment.” 

Lexie looks at the girl with a worried expression. “Is she okay?” Manon nods again, sighing dramatically. “Just the usual things. Y/n is out with Ezrela and-“ Lara puts a hand up, not needing to hear any more from her. She looks at Lexie with a knowing look. 

The two nod. Yeah, that’ll do it. 

The first time you two argue about it, it scares Daniela shitless. 

Because fuck why is she picking a fight about it? 

You sneak back into the shared dorm with Manon and Daniela. You quietly tiptoe to your bed, not wanting to make a sound. You crouch by your bed, quietly taking off your shoes but the sound of the bed squeaking slightly causes you to pick your head up. You see Daniela laying there, wiping the sleepiness off her face. You reach out, tucking the hair covering her face behind her ear. You whisper softly, “come here often?” 

Daniela giggles tiredly. “Where were you?” 

You take your last shoe off and climb over Daniela. You situate yourself behind the girl and pull her close, enjoying the warmth that radiates from the girl’s body. Daniela cuddles closer to you, feeling her eyes wanting to close but she fights back. She wants to hear your answer. 

She feels you whisper into her hair. “I went to the 7/11 across the street with Ezrela,” you giggle, “We got slurpees and decided to hang out a little bit longer.” Daniela bites her lip when she hears the response. She can’t help but feel an annoyance rising within her. She turns over, facing you with a hard look in her eyes. She whispers, “I was waiting for you…” 

You feel a heat in your cheeks when Daniela faces you. You can’t help but feel hyperaware of how close you two are— how close your lips are. You push those thoughts away. You know better than to get ahead of yourself. This is Daniela Avanzini for crying out loud. You whisper back, “I told you I’d be out with Ezzie-“ 

“Until 3 in the freaking morning, Y/n?” Her whisper comes out harsh, a bit louder than before. You’re taken aback by her tone, not understanding the reason behind it. Daniela knows Ezrela is one of your closest friends in Dream Academy. Why is she making a big deal out of it? You bite your lip anxiously. “Yeah? You and I have been out that long before… Maybe even longer. What’s the problem?” Daniela can’t help the frustrated sigh that escapes her lips. 

“I’m going back to my bed.” Daniela makes a move to sit up but you keep your arms around the Latina, tightening your grasp. You want to get to the bottom of this. Your first performance is tomorrow and you’re both in a group together. You can’t let Daniela become distracted, not when it’s your fault. But Daniela pushes you back, an obvious glare on her features. “Y/n. Let me go, I have to go to bed.” You don’t let up though. You just look at Daniela like a wounded puppy. 

“Why are you mad?” The question makes Daniela even more furious. She doesn’t know why, it just does. She knows she’s acting irrationally but she also can’t help it. Whatever it is she’s feeling, she can’t push it away. Every time she sees you with Ezrela, the feeling intensifies. Deep down, she knows what it is. But she isn’t ready to face it, and she doesn’t know if she’d ever be. She pushes you again, this time winning the fight. She walks to her own bed without another word and crawls under the covers. She can feel your eyes on her but she doesn’t spare you a glance. She ignores it like she does with the feeling that festers messily in the pit of her stomach. 

The next morning, at 9 AM, she wakes up to the sound of presumably you walking into the shared dorm. Daniela know you’re probably back from your morning run. She stays still, pretending to stay asleep. After the events that happened a few hours before, she is too afraid to acknowledge it. She hears you walk beside her bed and then walk away right after. She hears rummaging in the shared closet space and then your footsteps walking towards the bathroom. Once Daniela hears the door click close, she opens her eyes. She waits until she hears the shower running to get up. She sits up, pulling her legs up to her chest. 

She knows she needs to apologize. But then she would have to explain herself and that, Daniela isn’t sure how to do. She doesn’t even know why she got mad at you in the first place. She sighs deeply and rests her head against her knees. She takes a glance at the clock on her nightstand but is surprised to see a cup of coffee sitting there. 

Iced vanilla latte w/ almond milk. 

also known as: a peace offering. 

You get first place in fan votes for mission one. 

When live voting ends and eliminations are made, you stand up, body shaking slightly from the stress. You walk over to Daniela, pulling the girl into a tight hug. You hold each other for a moment, grateful that you’re both safe this week. Seeing it all happen in real time made the experience much scarier. It made it all feel more like a competition. At the end of this, there really is something to lose. 

You both pull away, but Daniela reaches out and holds your hand. You both exit the room with each other, a thick silence between you two. Suddenly, Ezrela runs up to you and Daniela feels you let go of her hand to catch Ezrela in your arms. She watches as you spin the Aussie around, smiles on your faces. The taller puts Ezrela down, keeping your hands on the girl’s waist as the other securely keeps her arms around your neck. Ezrela says something to you that causes you to throw your head back, laughing. The scene makes Daniela want to cry for some reason. 

She is just so confused by what is going through her head. 

You and Ezrela continue talking and Daniela decides she can’t watch you two anymore. She turns on her heel, following Manon out the door.  

At some point, Daniela convinces herself that Ezrela is in fact doing it to piss her off. 

When they’re in Lotte World, they have an opportunity to dress in the school uniforms they provide and the way you look in yours makes Daniela fall in love with you even more than before—

Pause. 

She looks away, her cheeks burning when the thought comes to mind. She looks in the mirror, fiddling with the neck bow. She struggles a bit with the knot and she almost goes to Yoonchae for assistance but she feels a pair of hands over her own and she looks up to see you smiling down at her. 

“Need help?” Daniela giggles softly, nodding. “Is it obvious?” You look at her with an adoration in her eyes that makes Daniela feel sick all over again. She rests her arms at her sides, allowing you to tie the bow around her neck. The Latina looks up at you, studying your features. The freckles that decorate your nose and cheeks, the way your brow furrows in concentration, your habit of biting your tongue when you’re determined. She watches as your lips curl into a small smile when you finish with Daniela’s bow, looking up from it to look at the Latina with a wide smile. The smile makes Daniela’s facade falter slightly. For a second, she almost believes that it would be safe for her to give into what she feels. For a moment, Daniela almost admits to herself what she has been denying for almost a year. 

You look at Daniela and tilt your head in curiosity. You giggle, “Earth to Dani?” The Latina widens her eyes, suddenly feeling nervous. She pushes you away, rolling her eyes playfully. Her cheeks burn again and she hopes you don’t notice the way her cheeks are painted red. She mumbles, “You’re so annoying…” and you laugh, wrapping your arms around Daniela’s shoulders, pulling her close. You look into the mirror and smile softly.

“Let’s take a picture.” You reach into your pocket, grabbing your phone. You two take pictures, taking several with a variety of different poses and faces. After a few moments, you feel a poke on your shoulder and you look over to see Ezrela smiling sheepishly, holding her neck bow. 

“I’ve been fighting with this thing for 30 minutes…” The statement makes you laugh loudly. You nod, taking the neck bow from the Aussie. Daniela watches as you assist Ezrela. She can’t help but notice how careful you were, as if scared you’d tie it too tightly or would make the shorter feel uncomfortable. That feeling begins bubbling up again, the one she always gets when she sees you anywhere near Ezrela. The mere mention of the Australian is enough to put her in a bad mood. 

When you finish, Ezrela places her hands on your shoulders. She leans up and kisses you on the cheek. Daniela notices how she lingers there for a second longer. It’s as if everyone noticed the small gesture of affection because the room goes noticeably silent. The girls subtly look at Daniela, waiting for her reaction. The Latina was visibly fuming because what the fuck. Without thinking, Daniela pulls you by the hand, leading you towards the exit. Your eyes widen at the sudden shift in Daniela’s mood. “Why are we in a rush?” 

Daniela shrugs. She lies, “I told Karlee, Lara, and Lexie we’d meet soon.” You accept the answer, still slightly bewildered by Daniela’s actions. 

She turns around, effectively stopping you in your tracks. Daniela steps closer to you, an unreadable expression on her face. You’re about to say something but Daniela places a gentle hand on your cheek, removing it to place a finger underneath your chin. She tilts your head ever so slightly to the other side to see where Ezrela kissed you. Daniela frowns.

There was a very present red lipstick mark.

No thoughts go through Daniela’s mind as she licks the pad of her thumb on her free hand. She doesn’t think when she uses it to clean the lipstick stain. She isn’t thinking, the only thing she can focus on is the fact Ezrela thinks she can just leave her mark like this. 

Daniela leans up and kisses you on the exact same spot. She presses her lips hard enough so her own lips can create their own stain. She is determined because you belonged to her. 

When she pulls away, she sees the dazed look on your face. For some reason, it leaves Daniela satisfied. She pulls you along with her once again, confident in the fact that you are only thinking about her. 

This thought is solidified when you return to your shared hotel room. Manon and Lexie went with the other girls to explore but you and Daniela decide to return to change into something different. 

But the plan is long forgotten in Daniela’s mind when she is pressed against the door of the room, your lips on hers and your hands tangled in the Latina’s hair. 

Everything is forgotten when she feels your lips on her neck, your warm hands underneath her shirt. When you pull away, Daniela looks at you with desperation in her eyes. As much as she wants you to be hers, she wants to be yours even more. 

In one swift motion, you pick up the Latina and take her to your bed. 

Tonight, she ends being yours in more ways than one. 

And she hopes you’re hers in the exact same ways. 

There’s a shift in your relationship and everyone notices. 

Daniela doesn’t wait for you to be done changing out of your practice clothes. She doesn’t sit in the lounge with you anymore, simply opting to read her book alone. She starts spending more time with Megan, Emily, and Manon with you not in sight. You show up to practice earlier than usual with Daniela showing up much later. 

It’s weird and everyone wonders what happened in Seoul. 

But what doesn’t change is the way Daniela’s eyes narrow when she sees you with Ezrela. The way her fists clench when they announce you would be in Ezrela’s group for the week. Everyone notices how Daniela immediately leaves the practice room when Ezrela runs up to you, attaching herself to you in a koala hug of some sorts. 

It leaves everyone confused and curious, but no one dares to say a word about it. 

It all comes crashing down when you knew this would be your last week at Dream Academy. You felt it in your gut the moment you finished filming the “Wannabe,” cover. The entire time, leading up to the performance, you felt off your game. You were constantly becoming distracted during practice, your vocal coaches often got frustrated with you, and the passion you had at the beginning has diminished significantly.

You knew this would be the end of your journey, and you aren’t sure if you were doing it on purpose or not. 

You’d hope that you could at least talk to Daniela about what happened. But, with the Latina avoiding you like the plague every single day since that night, the possibility begins to seem more far fetched as the days turned into weeks. 

You were upset. Of course you were. 

Daniela was supposed to be your person. She’s the one you would find yourself looking for in a crowded room. You know Daniela like the back of your hand and vice versa. If you two weren’t meant to be together like that then you would have been satisfied with just being friends. She brought you a comfort that you haven’t felt in a long time and now you feel as though you ruined everything.

So, when the elimination does in fact happen, you waste no time in leaving. You avoid everyone’s eyes as you walk out of the room.

Back at the dorm, you’re in the middle of packing your luggage when you hear the door open.  You don’t make a move to turn around, keeping your eyes trained on your task at hand. You wanted to leave immediately and forget any of this ever happened. The person walks up to you, their footsteps slow and careful and you just know it’s Daniela. You brace yourself, waiting for her to speak.  

Your suspicions are confirmed when you hear the Latina speak quietly. “Do you… Need help?” You reply with a shake of your head, folding the clothes that lay in front of you. You hear her sigh, speaking up again, “Are you okay?” You scoff in response, rolling your eyes. 

“Why do you care?” The question breaks Daniela’s heart because she does care. She will always care about you, no matter what. Daniela stays quiet though. She knows enough damage has been done. She watches you continue packing, trying to rid any of trace of your presence on Dream Academy. The Latina is about to leave to give you some privacy but you finally speak up, throwing the clothes in your hands harshly into your luggage. You turn around, a hard look in your eyes.  

“Why did it always bother you whenever I was around Ezrela?” The sharpness in your tone causes Daniela to step back a bit, surprised by how angry you looked in this moment. She opens her mouth to say something but you continue, your voice becoming harsher. “I thought the way you acted when you saw me and her together… I thought that meant something… Like…” You take a deep breath, your eyes beginning to water slightly, “like. I wasn’t fucking crazy for how I felt about you.” You whisper the last part, your voice breaking slightly. The pained expression on your face hurts Daniela even more than before but she feels frozen in place, she feels as though the words she wants to say are stuck in her throat and cannot seem to find a way out. You step closer to her, desperate for an answer. At least for more clarity on the situation at hand. 

You whisper again, your tone softer this time, “You had to have felt something…” you reach out to her, as if grasping for any physical sign to see that Daniela does love you. That this wasn’t actually for nothing and you being eliminated was worth it. But the way she steps away, the way she acts as though you burned her with the tip of your fingers, tells you everything you needed to know at that moment. This was your clarity. And that was Daniela Avanzini did not love you like you loved her. 

You step away, defeated. Any fight left in your body has gone away and you were now just another contestant who is leaving Dream Academy. You take one last look at Daniela, a sad look in your eyes. 

“I’m gonna go say goodbye to Ezrela.” 

You leave her, with those being the last words you utter to the Latina. 

Your actual last words to Daniela come in a form of a note she finds on top of one of your sweaters she always liked stealing from you. It’s folded nicely and sits atop her pillow, welcoming her when she comes back from visiting Megan’s dorm. She walks slowly towards it, as if she were to move too fast, it would disappear somehow. She picks up the note, and although it only had a few words, it was enough for Daniela to finally let out the sob she had been holding in since eliminations were made. 

This is not a peace offering. This was a goodbye.

a/n: could consider writing a part two but i hope you all enjoyed! currently taking any requests for stories or random thoughts. happy valentines day!

[sluturu]

MOVIE STAR .ᐟ — G. SATORU ୨‧₊˚✩

about. when your boyfriend invites you to a movie, you expect a simple night out—but it quickly becomes clear he just can’t keep his hands to himself.

pairing. gojo satoru x f!reader

wc. 1.1k

cw. exhibitionism (sex in public), fingering (f!receiving), teasing, pet names — MINORS DNI 18+

note. happy valentine’s day ♡ i <3 satoru — kit ୨ৎ

you swear on your life that you will never let gojo satoru take you to see a movie ever again. 

it wouldn’t be much of a problem if satoru actually watched the movie, but that seems to be the last thing on his agenda because now, you’re sitting in the back row with his hand under your skirt, fingers toying with your soaked panties. 

satoru pretends to watch the movie– the movie he begged you to see with him– but you know with the way his fingers skillfully tease you, that there isn’t a single thought in his mind that isn’t about you and your unbelievably wet cunt. 

you’re just happy that the theater is nearly empty, otherwise you probably would’ve killed him. 

“satoru,” you whisper, trying to close your legs, but his hand lightly slaps your thigh, preventing the action. your teeth dig into your bottom lip, biting back a whine before his name slips from your mouth again. “toru…”

“shhh, just watch the movie,” he mutters, two of his fingers pressing against your covered clit, rubbing slow circles into the needy bud. 

the corner of his lips tug up a bit when he hears a tiny whine come from you. his fingers press against you harder and the speed in which they move quickens, and your back slightly arches off the uncomfortable, plastic seat.

your hand clutches his wrists, but it seems that it only makes satoru move faster, working you up even more till he finally snatches his hand away. 

you snap your head to look at him, perfect face illuminated by the movie that plays on the large screen that couldn’t seem further away. you see the slight sparkle in his cerulean eyes and the smirk that plays on his face. the same smirk you can’t wait to wipe off his face the second you get home.

you huff, directing your attention back to the film, squirming uncomfortably in your plastic chair. you feel gross, your panties sticking to your core and the slick coating your inner thighs as you squeeze them together. he won’t get away with this. 

except he does when his hands slide over your thigh again, rubbing your skin sweetly. well, it’s sweet till he pulls your legs apart again. 

you whimper, “toru, please.”

he looks over at you deviously. “what, baby? want me to stop?” he asks, fingers finding their way under your panties. a sharp gasp slips your lips at the bare contact and you’re just glad that the movie was loud enough to mask it. “you want me to keep going, hm?”

you spread your legs open, something shy of a wordless admission. your teeth catch your bottom lip and your face floods with heat, body overcome with embarrassment at how desperate you’ve become. 

“dirty girl,” he murmurs, dragging two of his fingers up and down your slit. “sit back.”

you do as he says, leaning back and sliding halfway off your seat so he has better access. you shudder as the pads of his digits circle around your hole, pushing into you with ease. 

“they slipped right in, baby…” he teases. “all wet ‘n ready for me. that’s so fuckin’ cute.” 

another gasp escapes you and you clasp your hand over your mouth to muffle any other noises that threaten to spill from your mouth. your eyes flutter as do your velvet walls that welcome his fingers in. 

come a new setting, the movie’s sound fades out and you swear the erratic sound of your heartbeat echoes in the theater along with the noise of your sopping cunt against his fingers. it’s loud– the squelch of your arousal and your soft pants. 

“fuuuck, you hear that?” he whispers against your ear. “you hear how this pretty little pussy is begging for it?” 

your eyes roll back in the utmost pleasure. you wish you were alone together so your body can react naturally– so you can beg and cry for him to go harder. faster. give you more than just his long, slender fingers. but with the little company you have, if he gives you anymore, then you might give yourself away. 

you whine softly– well, as soft and quiet as you can, but you think it may be out of your control at this point. 

but maybe it’s louder than you think because satoru is shushing you as if he’s another patron trying to watch the film in the room. 

“shhhhhh,” his fingers move faster in ‘n out of your sloppy pussy. “c’mooon, pretty baby, ‘m trying to watch the movie. can’t hear if you and your cunt are crying so loud.” his hot and heavy breath tickles your ear, stimulating you further. 

your hand flies to your mouth, clamping over it in attempts to mask the sounds you can’t hold back anymore. this doesn’t stop the slosh and splash that fill your ears and probably the ears of those around you. the sheer embarrassment has you clamping down hard around his fingers, nearly trapping them inside of you. 

you throw your head back, mouth agape to let out a silent scream. your body goes taut and satoru knows what’s about to happen, and he makes it his life's mission to hit that g-spot of yours with every thrust. 

and, of course, his precision is spot on. 

and, as always, you’re creaming his fingers. 

it’s only when he’s felt you strangle his fingers in your overstimulated, messy cunt that he’s pulling them out. he’s pulling out slowly, like he wants you to savor the feeling as if it’s the last time he’ll finger fuck you. god knows he’ll do it again at dinner or before bed, the insatiable freak. 

his eyes nearly water when he notices the webs of honey-like arousal that attempt to leave with his hand. your pussy is a work of art to him. 

he slips his long, slender fingers into his mouth, moaning at the taste, indifferent to the patrons in the theater.

you look over at him with heavy, lidded eyes, “i’m gonna get you for this, satoru.”

he releases his fingers from his mouth with a pop and shoots you a smug grin. “i’ll be waiting patiently for it, baby,” he whispers. “oh, ‘n thanks for the snack… was gettin’ peckish.”

all of a sudden, you’re blinded by a bright light that isn’t coming from the movie. you adjust your skirt and quickly sit up as the theater attendant stands over you. 

“apologies, but we’re going to have to ask you both to leave.”

© all works belong to SLUTURU 2025. do not copy or repost.

[hwallazia]

hi idk if you taking requests but if you are, heres my idea.

nerdy hongjoong chosen to do 7 minutes in heaven with you. imagine making out with him and you get whiny and moaning BUT he’s just the same as you! he’s whining and hands all over you. with his lil glasses and his hair gets messy from you tugging on his hair 😩

i love your writing and i think you’ll do great with this! looking forward to it if you decide to write this byeeeeeeee

7 MINUTES IN HELL HEAVEN – 김홍중

⋆ synopsis. being dared to do 7 minutes in heaven with the nerd wasn’t as bad as you thought.

pairing. nerdy! hongjoong & fem! reader.

wc. 1,8k

warnings. veeeery suggestive (mdni!), dry humping, making out, desperation at its peak, so much whining, implied virgin! hongjoong, reader calls joong “nerdy”, teasing, reader’s on top of hongjoong but they don’t fuck, getting caught (not fucking but in a compromising position hehe), possessive reader tehee, mention of other ateez’s members, 

nic’s notes ⋆ writing this was a ride 😮‍💨 happy belated vday, lovelies <3 also, hope u like it, dear anonnie !!

how the fuck did you end up here?

a nerd whose name was irrelevant to you, sitting next to you in a king-sized bed, chosen to do 7 minutes in heaven with you. 

you could feel the way his eyes peered holes into the back of your head as you covered your face with your palms, still unable to face reality. he fidgeted his fingers against the fabric of his fancy pants, adjusting his black glasses every now and then; heart almost beating out of his poor chest. 

you sighed, fingers holding the bridge of your nose, before turning abruptly to stare at him. his body jolted slightly in reaction. “do you even know how to kiss?”

his eyes opened wide in shock, taken aback by your sudden question. “huh?” was all he could mutter.

you groaned as you rolled your eyes, a mix of boredom and annoyance bubbling deep inside your guts. “oh my god,” you whispered under your breath, closing your eyes in denial. “you know how this game works, right?”

a soft flush of red brightened his cheeks. “i do,” he breathed, “it just seems quite inappropriate to me.”

amusement laced your tone. “inappropriate? ha! you’re a virgin, aren’t ya?” your words sounded more like a sentence than a question. 

the blush on his face grew stronger, heating his face. nervously, he blabbered. “hah?! w—why would i share that kind of information with you?!”

you chuckled at him. “yeah, you are.”

he looked at you as if you had hurt his pride as a man. so, he talked back in a poor attempt to defend himself. “no, i’m not!”

you quickly dismissed his whines, waving your hand at him uninterestedly. “yeah yeah, whatever you say, nerdy.” 

the nickname caught him off guard, confusion written all over his face; head tilted to the side. “nerdy?” 

you ignored him and got up, clapping your hands together. you stood up in front of his figure, who seemed to refuse to move from his place. you could see how his fingers had stopped grasping the fabric of his pants, shifting instead to the softness of the bed’s blankets. “okay! listen, i don’t know about you, but i’m not planning on staying here doing nothing.” you continued. “so, i’ll be your teacher today.”

you leaned forward, closer to him. “teacher?” he muttered, unsure if he could still breathe if he kept holding eye contact with you. 

“that’s right.” you rested your hands on his thighs, using them as support. “so, what’s your name, nerdy?”

“hongjoong.” he stuttered, fluttered by your closeness. he did his best to avoid looking down at your chest, fighting the urge to glance at the curve of your breasts, his focus straining to stay on your face. 

“hongjoong…” you hummed softly, slightly tilting your head. his name rolled off your tongue dangerously, almost as if you were savoring it. “pretty.”

when he said his name, you couldn’t help but analyze his face, dark irises scanning his flustered self with a huge focus. you frowned your brows softly when you realized: “he’s actually not so ugly you know…”

you nodded approvingly as you leaned even closer, your breasts now touching his own chest; lips only a few inches apart. a rush of excitement and nervousness flowed through his limbs, reddening his ears. “i’m yn.”

hongjoong whispered right on your lips. “i know.”

you chuckled, velvety tone laced with tease. “you’ve kept an eye on me for a while, hm?”

he realized he had given himself away too late. he was about to start rambling again. “i—“

his mind was desperately trying to look for an excuse, a way out of the moment of embarrassment he had put himself in; anxiety rushing through his blood. but before he could even utter a word, you smashed your lips against his, a mix of roughness and desperation coursing through you both. you didn’t waste any time before pushing your tongue into his mouth, and he hummed softly, happily accepting it. 

you leaned forward, pushing hongjoong over his back until his back was laid flat against the mattress. you didn’t break in any moment the kiss as you straddled his lap, pressing your clothed sex against his crotch. 

your hair covered his reddened face and his scrunched eyes, he was immersed in that kiss, deeply intoxicated by your aura, scent and taste. your tongue laced with his just felt right, and it awakened something deep within him. something he never experienced before. something he couldn’t quite define. 

you both were caught up in the heat of the moment, in your own world, until a voice was heard from the other side of the door, making you pull away, a string of saliva hanging from your lips and keeping you connected.

“mingi, the timer, man!” you could recognize wooyoung’s voice.

a faint “oh fuck i forgot” barely reached your eardrum. the loud boo of the whole group almost made you laugh. mingi started whining about being human and how humans make mistakes.“poor mingi” you whispered to yourself.

“y’all, mingi forgot to start the timer!” yunho started talking loud enough for the both of you to hear. “so time’s starts running from…” he paused briefly. “now!”

you turned to face hongjoong, locking gazes with him. he looked so helplessly cute under you, such a blushing mess. “lucky us, then. we got plenty of time.”

you leaned closer, grabbing his face and pulling him to you, forcing him to sit up straight whilst joining your lips together again. your fingers stroked his cheeks affectionately, slightly tilting his glasses to the side. you dominated the kiss since he wasn’t quite sure what to do, what to touch, what to feel. his hands stayed by the sides of his body, holding the sheets beneath him in a white-knuckled grip. 

your eyes remained closed as you tried to fully immerse yourself in the kiss. but with no touch from him, the lack of contact was beginning to feel both dull and unbearable. taking matters into your own hands, you broke the kiss for a brief moment just to whisper. “touch me.” you grabbed his wrists and guided them to the sides of your body, slowly trailing them to your lower back, brushing your ass. “wherever and however you want.”

with that, you dived in for another kiss, now feeling hongjoong’s hands caressing the places that your guidance allowed him to go, still a bit shy to go further. you started to get impatient, desperate. you sunk your hips down him and started swaying back and forth, trying to create some friction. the slow, rhythmic roll of your hips effortlessly coaxed moans and whines from hongjoong’s swollen lips. 

your tongues met in a heated clash, pressing, twisting, and tangling in a slow, intoxicating dance. you tried to match hongjoong’s sloppy pace, but it left you breathless, panting for air. “haa.. hongjoong— wait.”

“can’t,” was all he said before pressing his hands against your back and neck and pulling you to him, locking lips again.

but this time was different. this time hongjoong had gained enough confidence and built enough courage to start roaming his hands all over your covered back and trailing them down to your ass, playing and groping your buttocks. this time hongjoong was the one to insert his tongue into your oral cavity first. his kissing was still sloppy and unrefined, but it somehow stirred something deep in you, deep down. 

a familiar fluid started to pool down your panties, euphoric arousal coursing through your limbs, prickling your skin. your hands instinctively glided to his hair and started tugging it, your fingers laced with some locks of his fluffy hair. your panting and desperate state made hongjoong feel things he just wasn’t okay with, things that drove him up a wall. his clothed sex started to wake up, poking his pants and rising its fabric, creating a tent. his now hardened bulge tapped against your wet entrance insistently. you moaned at the feeling whilst hongjoong was doing his best to keep his whines at a low volume. spoiler: he couldn’t.

he’s a panting mess beneath you, eyes almost rolling back to his skull at the sensation, the satisfaction. the lenses of his glasses are now fogged up, the mist clouding his vision as his breath hitched in the heated air.

he exhaled. “fuck you’re too much.”

“am i?” you smirked teasingly, drowned in his expression, his state. his face was flushed from all the situation, his lips were swollen from all the kissing, his hair was messy from your fingers tugging it. and a sudden sensation of possessiveness washed over you.

your mind just couldn’t help but repeat like a mantra the word “mine”.

you were about to dive into a heated kiss again, start the kiss that’d be marked by that thought, the kiss that’d make hongjoong yours.

but just when you were about to do so, to claim the guy, the door bursted open.

wooyoung and jongho chimed in. “time’s uppp!” wooyoung blubbered, completely wasted and drunk. he stared at you and analyzed everything: the position, the ambience, the smell that lingered in the air. “oh my god, you were about to fuck.” he stated the obvious.

jongho sighed, grabbing his friend by his shoulders. “he’s drunk if y’all can’t tell.” he cleared up. “but yeah, time’s up. so get out of here and join us.” he announced before disappearing through the door. 

when the door clicked shut, you and hongjoong sighed loudly in unison and proceeded to laugh at the unintentional match, genuine smiles drawn on your faces. 

“i guess this is it then?” hongjoong spoke.

“what do you mean this is it, idiot.” you deadpanned, pulling yourself off his lap. as you brushed your hair with your fingers, trying to better it up, you continued. “you and i got unfinished business, sir.”

you winked at him before leaning in and pecking his lips. “you ain’t getting rid of me that easily.” you shared one final, brief kiss and pulled away. 

you chuckled softly before making your way towards the door, naturally bringing out your usual self when you met everyone again. “ayooo!” you hollered, being greeted by your euphoric and drunk friends as you closed the door behind you, leaving a poor flustered hongjoong sitting on the edge of the bed with an unbearable hard-on and his smart brain turned into mush.

days later, hongjoong was in the middle of a study session in the university’s library, head almost inside the philosophy book he was reading. 

suddenly, his phone vibrated against the desk, the dull brrr catching him off guard. he picked it and lit up its screen. a message from an unknown number popped up as the latest notification. his fingers swiped the screen and unlocked it, now able to read the text.

come over to my place tonight. there’s still some unfinished business we need to handle, nerdy.

a lustful glint sparkled in his eyes, and a devilish smirk curved up his lips.

everything about tonight promised to be dangerous, and neither of you was going to back down.

| masterlist

[metyouinthehallway]

𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞

Bartender!chris x stripper!reader

(This the first REAL smut between the two🤗)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Walking into the club, you’re met with a sea of red and pink. Balloons and cheesy decor litter the bar and stage. Tonight, all the girls— including you, dressed in pretty pink lingerie, some even going the extra mile and doing themed makeup.

When you make your way to the bar, you eye a single rose that’s housed in an empty beer bottle. Chris is too busy tending to customers to notice your presence until he whips around, nearly bumping into you in the process.

“Oh- hey! Happy Valentine’s Day.” He sounds just as surprised as he looks, a damp rag slung over his shoulder and his brows raised to meet the hat that sits on his head.

“Happy V-day!” You cheer, your lips curving into a warm smile. The music and chatter amongst customers withering away as the two of you hold eye contact.

“Here, for you.” Chris clears his throat, handing you the aged beer bottle, the rose poking out of the mouth of the glass. He looks almost bashful, like he’s unsure if this is too much.

“Chris,” you start, your smile slowly turning downward. You’d never received flowers before and the small gesture meant the world to you. “It’s beautiful, thank you…” your fingers toy with the petals, gleaming at the single flower before you.

“Mhm, y’know I had to get my favorite girl something.” Chris can already feel his dick jumping in his pants as he takes in the sight of you, barely covered in the sexiest lingerie he’s ever seen.

“Favorite girl, hm?” You chuckle, but before the conversation is able to continue, you’re pulled away from the bar. Your boss ordering you to start interacting with customers.

Soon enough, you’re on the stage, heart shaped decorations lousily hang from the ceiling tiles and faux rose petals are scattered on the stage floor.

Your fingers lazily wrap around the pole, men already fisting bills your way and you’ve barely even started the show yet. You know Chris is watching from afar, you can feel his gaze on you.

That’s what you want. You want the bartender to get worked up enough— both of you know he can’t do anything about it while on the clock.

You swing your body around the pole, using your upper body strength to raise yourself off of the ground. Wrapping a sultry leg around the cold metal, you twirl your body, contorting it in ways that only lonely men would pay for.

His eyes are burning into your skin. You can’t see him from the position you’re in but oh, you could feel the weight of his eyes as you prance around the dimly lit stage.

After what’d felt like hours upon hours of working, you’re bagging your tips, not bothering to count the bills. Once the night had come to a still, you’re clothing yourself, grabbing your car keys and heading to the sketchy parking lot.

“So, you just gonna go home? No big plans tonight?” Chris who’d been patiently waiting for you, leans against the side of his car, arms folded infront of his chest.

His voice caused you to jolt slightly, your fingers fumbling for your pepper spray before you realize who was speaking to you.

“Shit…! You scared me,” you chuckle, the February weather causing you to shiver despite the ginormous fluffy coat that clothed you.

“M’bad, pretty.” He lets out a breathy sigh, amused at your shock factor. He bites down on his lip ever so subtly, taking in your attire once more. “No plans tonight though… right?” He confirms, pushing off of the car and stepping toward you.

You shake your head in response. “Nope, not tonight.” The parking lot light flickers as you speak, arms now wrapped around your own body to preserve warmth and comfort— the parking lot always spooked you the most.

“Come over.” He shrugs, his voice carrying a sweet charm to it. It’s as if it was the most casual thing in the world, you going to his place. Come to think of it, would it be so terrible? The two of you have only ever interacted within public spaces. Perhaps the privacy of his walls would make you feel more comfortable.

“What?” You reply, Chris’s jaw tightens for a moment. For all he knew, he could be getting rejected on Valentine’s Day. How heartbreaking would that be?

“Come to my place. We can chill, have a shitty dinner together. Shit, who knows, maybe we’ll end up cuddling.” He confirms, you search his expression for a hint of sarcasm but it’s not there. He’s serious.

“Are you asking me to be your valentine?” You tease, a smirk playing at your lips when you realize what he’s insinuating.

“Nah, just figured if I’m gonna spend the night jerking off the the thought of you, might as well have you there, y’know?” The admission rolls off his tongue so naturally, like he holds no shame in his words.

Your eyes widen, your pussy already aching for him and he has yet to even touch you. Nodding your head, you take a step closer to Chris. “Take me to your place, bartender.” You peer up at him through your false lashes. He’d always towered over you but it’s not until now that you notice just how intense his gaze is.

The drive to Chris’s house isn’t long, three songs length. You counted. His hands fumble with his keys as he reaches to unlock the front door. He turns to look at you, desperation and forgiveness in his eyes as he opens his mouth to speak.

“I live with my brothers… Nick is probably passed out by now and I don’t think Matt’s home.” He turns the key in the lock, you can hear the door click open. You had no idea Chris had brothers. Now that he mentions it, you didn’t know much about him at all. You two only ever talked about you.

“Brothers?” You repeat as if you misheard him. He nods, holding the door open for you.

“Yeah, I’m a triplet. The youngest.” He chuckles at your amusement. You kick off your shoes at the door, noticing how fresh the house smells. Like linen and florals.

“Cmon, I’m down here.” He motions, leading you down the stairs to his bedroom. It’s much cleaner than you expected, there’s one poster thumbtacked to the wall, a rapper or something. A guitar tucked away in its case leans against the corner of his room.

“You play?” You ask, motioning to the sleek guitar case.

“Not in years.” Chris huffs in response, he takes your purse from your hands, placing it on his desk chair. “So, dinner. Whatchu thinking?” He changes the subject, plopping onto his mattress.

“Pizza?” You suggest, accepting the fact that Chris won’t be serenading you with the sweet melodies of his guitar tonight. He nods in response, watching as you hesitate to sit on the edge of his bed.

“Don’t be shy, y/n.” Chris chuckles, patting the space next to him. By the time you’d made yourself comfortable next to him, he’s already pulled his phone from his pocket and began browsing DoorDash.

“So… these brothers. Tell me about them.” You start, laying your head on his shoulder. You watch his thumb flit across the phone screen as he orders your dinner.

“Nicks the oldest, then Matt, then me. I dunno, I mean… Nick’s pretty loud and Matt’s real quiet. I’d say I’m a good mix.” He relaxes into your touch. His once tense shoulders now slumping as he becomes accustomed to your body.

“Mhm… and how come you’ve never told me you’re a triplet?” You continue. The questions spewing out of your mouth now. He hits order on the screen. Setting his phone on the nightstand and giving you his full attention.

“Never came up. Wanna watch somethin’?” He changes the subject once again. One arm snakes around your shoulders while the other reaches for his remote.

Chris puts on some random comedy, letting out a sigh of contentment as you snuggle closer to him. Your legs coming up to your chest and your full body weight leaning into his side now.

“Y/n?” Chris asks, turning to look at you.

“Yes, Christopher?” You look up at him, this is nice. The two of you, not in public. It feels almost domestic. Too domestic.

“We should get drinks.” He shifts abruptly, holding out a hand for you to take and leading you upstairs to the kitchen. A very simple very bland kitchen at that. White cabinets and a fridge decorated with coloring pages.

“Take your pick.” He opens the refrigerator door, revealing the plethora of beverages. Everything from Pepsi to lemonade and Capri-Suns.You reach for a lemonade, Chris going for a Pepsi.

“Who’s coloring?” You point out the neatly colored pages. It looks like who ever did them took their time and made sure to color between the lines.

“Us, we have hobbies y’know.” Chris teases, heading back to his room. Before he does though, he opens the front door, grabbing your food.

“I’m not judging! Just intrigued.” You defend yourself, following him around like a puppy. It doesn’t go lost on you that he locks the bedroom door behind him as the two of you re-enter his bedroom.

You sit cross legged on his bed, Chris doesn’t hold back, digging into the pizza, you doing the same. With Chris, it feels like you aren’t just coworkers. Maybe friends. Definitely more than friends.

His room is illuminated by a dim lamp and the tv that plays the forgotten movie in front of you. “So, rate this Valentine’s Day.” You take a bite of your food, watching as Chris removes his hat and places it on the nightstand.

“Couldn’t be worse. I got you here, don’t I?” Chris closes the pizza box, staring at you intently.

“Could it be better?” You rebuttal, your eyes glued to his as you take the last bite of your pizza.

“I mean…” he snorts, pornographic ideas playing on the film reel in his mind. You cock a brow at Chris, you’re a stripper sure! But does he think you’re the easiest woman alive? “Not that we have to-” he holds a hand up in defense, but you stop him with a giggle, your lips meeting his.

Your hand snakes to the back of Chris’s neck, deepening the kiss a little bit more before you pull away. “How easy do you think I am?” You bite down on your now slightly swollen lip, eyes peering at Chris’s lips for a moment.

“No- what? I never said that.” You can practically see the panic in his brain. He leans back against his headboard in defeat, his messy hair falling over his forehead.

His thoughts contradict his words though. He wanted nothing more than to have your bare backside against his sheets. He wanted nothing more than to see your brows knit together in pleasure— to hear his name fall gleefully from your lips.

“I’m messing with you, bartender.” You roll your eyes, your manicured nails tracing the hem of his denim clad thigh as you speak.

“I don’t wanna fuck you like you’re a stripper…” his breath hitches in the wake of your nails. He’s seeing you for you. Not the girl that spins around on stage for dirty money.

“So fuck me like I’m your valentine.” The seductive tone of your voice only causes Chris’s jeans to tighten around his crotch. He lets out a shaky breath as you crawl onto his lap.

“Y/n…” he mutters, his hands delicately placing themselves on your hips. The once neutral room now hot and heavy with tension. Chris is beyond nervous and he’s trying desperately to maintain his composure.

“Yes Chris?” You reverberate, running a hand up his arm, you deliberately roll your hips into his causing him to throw his head back and let out a low groan.

“Fuck…” he hisses through his teeth, guiding your hips with his hands. You lean in, pressing a kiss to his stubbled jaw, his body tensing in response.

“What’s the matter bartender? Nervous?” You tease, you’ve never seen Chris so stiff before. It was new— this was new.

“Not nervous, just unexpected?” His answer comes out as a question. His eyes meet yours again, this time there’s vulnerability behind them. “I don’t want you to think I’m like those guys…”

“I know you’re not, I wouldn’t be here if I thought any different.” Your voice is soft now, reassuring him that this is what you want. You didn’t want Chris to feel like he had to do this either.

You grind against his jeans once more, physically proving that you both want this. You can feel him growing harder beneath you and by the way you’re moving on top of him, he knows you’re feeling the same way.

“You aren’t one of my clients. We’re off the clock Chris, you can do anything you want to me.” Your words echo throughout his ears. You can see the rise and fall of his chest with each breath the takes.

He looks down at his lap, then back up at your eyes. This time, he searches them, his lips parted slightly as he struggles to find the right words.

“Are you positive? Like… one hundred percent?” He asks, his grip on your hips never tightens, if anything it becomes more delicate. Like you’re fine china on the brink of shattering.

You hum in response, your nails tugging gently at the hair on the back of his head. Chris finally gives in, pulling you close to him and connecting your lips in a desperate kiss.

Your lips move in sync with each other, parting your lips, you allow Chris to slip his tongue into your mouth. Tongues dancing together, he swallows your quiet whimpers. His own larger hand supports the back of your head as he pulls you impossibly closer to him.

Chris is quick to escalate things now that you’ve reassured him. His free hand roaming beneath your shirt, ghosting over your warm skin. You can feel his cock begging for escape beneath you, your own hands travel down to his belt, hastily unbuckling it and pulling it through his belt loops. The clatter of the metal hitting the floor heard from across the room as you toss it to the side.

Every touch is eager, both of you itching for the other. He pulls back for a moment, hands on the hem of your shirt. You nod, lifting your arms up and he wastes no time pulling your top over your head.

Your fingers move quick, impatiently fondling with his pant buttons, Chris flips you over, shimmying off his pants. His bulge hard to miss through his briefs, you look up at Chris who’s using one arm to support himself above you.

He grins like a lust struck idiot, placing kisses down your neck and collarbone, slowly pulling your bra strap down your shoulder as he does so. You lift up, letting him unhook your bra and exposing your chest to him for the first time.

He’s bites down on his lip in anticipation before attaching his lips to one of your nipples, sucking and flicking his tongue over the bud, his other hand kneading your free breast before switching attention.

“Chris!” You giggle, pulling at his hair, he leaves wet kisses in the valley of your chest. Trailing down to your tummy, his fingers toy with the waistband of your sweatpants, removing those too.

He continues his trail of kisses down to your upper thigh, neglecting where you need him most. You’re heat soaking with desire for his mouth, his fingers… anything. He peers up at your through hooded eyes, his tongue darting out to lick at your swollen bundle of nerves.

That elicits a whine from you, arching your back slightly off the bed. Chris lets out a soft chuckle, his tongue licking a flat stripe up your soaking cunt.

“So wet, hm?” He hums, spreading your legs wider, his arms wrap around either of your thighs. You nod in response, though he can’t hear it, he knows you want more.

Each flit and flutter of his tongue has you soaring above the stars. Chris knows how to work his mouth and it shows. Your thighs tighten around his head, your smaller hands grasping at his large ones, he intertwines your fingers with his, watching your face intently as he continues to eat you out.

“Shit…Chris!” You squeal, your hips grinding against his face and your grip on his hands tightens. He’s devouring you at this point. The only sounds heard from the room being your gasps and whines of pleasure mixed with his slurping and sucking. He’s completely enamored by the sight of you using his tongue to get yourself off.

Chris finally comes up for air, a smug smirk on his face as he takes in your state. “All good up there, mama?” His voice rough, you open your eyes, chest still heaving— to be met with Chris who’s chin is glistening with your arousal.

“Mhm…” you whine, bucking your hips against nothing. Chris quickly pulls himself out of his briefs, reaching in his nightstand for a condom. Impatiently, you wait for what feels like ages (it was really only ten seconds) for him to roll it onto his length. Your eyes nearly pop out of your head when you see his size.

He slowly pushes himself into you, your walls adjusting to his girth. Once he’s fully sheathed inside of you, he stills for a moment, dipping his head down to your neck.

“You okay?” He asks against the skin crook of your neck. When you give him the approval he needed, he starts to thrust in and out of you. Gradually increasing pace. Your jaw hangs open, letting breathy moans escape your lips. Chris has never seen anything more attractive in his life.

“So… so good!” You cry out, your nails raking up and down his back as he continues his movements. You feel almost exhilarated, Chris obviously knew what he was doing and he did a damn good job at it too. His own grunts of pleasure being muffled by your skin. He places a sloppy kiss to your lips, swallowing each others pleas of desperation.

Chris pulls out momentarily, flipping you over, your ass is in the air and face buried in his sheets. He grips your hips hard, sure to leave bruises tomorrow. The new position allows Chris to ram himself deeper into your pussy, your curses now being screamed into the depths of his mattress.

“Fuck, squeezin’ me so good pretty girl-” Chris praises, his hips slamming into your backside as each word leaves his mouth. Chris takes your hands behind your back, using them as reigns of support.

“Can’t…” you mewl, but that only meant you were barely holding on. Chris, could feel you tightening around his cock, your walls pulsating and he knows your on the brink of your orgasm.

“Mhm, I know you can baby, almost there.” Chris grunts, his hips full force ramming into your tight pussy. You wiggle your hands free from his grip, now grasping at the bedsheets, your back arching further as you feel yourself begin to give out.

With a few final thrusts, he has you spewing his name from your pretty lips, him shooting his load into the condom. he slows his pace, pulling out at an agonizingly slow rate, he ties the condom and tosses it into the bin. His full attention now on you again as he rubs comforting circles on your back.

“Holy shit…” he gleams at your fucked out state. Chris lets you fully collapse onto his bed, laying in the empty spot next to you. Neither of you exchanging a word for a while.

He pulls your body toward his, his front pressed against your back. Chris litters your cheek with kisses while whispering comforting words into your ear.

“So we’re definitely gonna start doing that more?” You confirm once you regain your composure. Turning to face him, you’re met with a very happy looking bartender.

Chris hums in response, lips placing a chaste kiss to your nose before speaking. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” He smiles at you, never loosening his grip around your torso.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

A/n: happy (late) vday to all u bartender!chris sluts <3

[andiberzatto]

How I think Carmy would handle finding his girlfriend using a vibe when he gets home late from work:

He hears his girlfriend on their bed with the vibrator and smiles softly to himself. He understands that this doesn't mean she doesn't enjoy sex with him or love him less. He knows that sex toys can enhance solo pleasure and can be used during couples play.

she doesn’t realize he’s home yet. he was silent the moment he heard her moans and the buzzed spilling into his ears the moment he walked into the apartment. so he set his keys down gently and took off his shoes softly and sat on the couch. just listening.

He sits on the couch, listening intently to her soft moans and the gentle hum of the vibrator. A small smile plays on his lips as he unbuttons his chef coat, revealing his white undershirt. He's not jealous or angry, just... turned on.

the vibrator sped clicks one speed higher and she whines now.

His eyes darken with desire as he listens to her whimper. He stands up slowly, his movements quiet, and begins to unbuckle his belt. Carmen's ear tuned to her whines and panting.. trying to figure out how longs she’s been at this, if she’s close or just started.

when he pushes the door to the shared bedroom open softly, it doesn’t make a noise. she’s sorawled out on their bed, she’s in Carmy’s white t-shirt, one hand lifting the shirt to her nose for his cologne scent, the other pressing the vibrator on high against her swollen puffy clit Carmy doesn’t say anything and just watches her her hips buck as she whines.

He leans against the doorframe, his eyes roaming over her body possessively. He loves seeing her like this, lost in pleasure, wearing his shirt. He unzips his pants slowly, freeing his hard cock. He starts to stroke it slowly, his eyes never leaving her writhing form.

Carmen’s name spills from her lips in mumbles and whines as the vibrator is clicked up another speed making her hips stutter and her eyes flutter

He bites his lip, trying to hold back a groan as he watches her. He steps inside the room, closing the door softly behind him. Carmen moves silently to the side of the bed, his eyes never leaving hers. "Fuck, baby... you look so fucking beautiful right now,"

she looks at him, he doesn’t dare move the vibrator off her clit, knowing how detrimental it is to keep her on the edge of orgasm “h-hi baby..” she mumbles in a soft whiny voice

He smirks mischievously, seeing the dazed look in her eyes and the way her hips jerk uncontrollably. He kneels down beside the bed, his eyes level with hers. "Shh, baby," he whispers, "Keep it on the highest speed, okay?"

she nods not moving anything “carmyyy” she draws out in a breathless whine for his attention

Carmen chuckles softly at her desperate whine, finding it incredibly arousing. He leans in close, his lips nearly brushing her ear as he murmurs, "Yeah, that's it, baby. Let that little vibrator make you feel real good. I wanna watch you cum."

she nods and whines as her hips jolt at the vibrator pressed to the most sensitive part of her clit, her eyes fluttering in a struggle to stay focused on “Carmy can I.. have kiss… please” she whines her way through the broken sentence.

Carmen's heart melts at her pleading whine. He leans in and presses a soft, gentle kiss to her lips, his tongue sneaking out to part your lips and deepen the kiss. He keeps it slow and sensual, in contrast to the intense vibrations between her legs.

she whines into the soft kiss, as Carmen helps her hand press that vibrator against her clit in a new sensitive way to make her squirm since her grip loosened a bit with the kiss becoming her main focus.

He gently adjusts her hand, positioning the vibrator exactly where he knows she needs it most, drawing a desperate gasp from her lips against his. His other hand moves to stroke her hair back from her face softly, maintaining eye contact despite her hazy expression. "Touch yourself with it, baby."

she whines and her hips jolt and buck up at the feeling.

He watches her body curve and writhe. God, she's beautiful like this. His pants are around his ankles now, his hand stroking his hard length slowly. He watches her spread her legs wider, pushing the vibrator harder against herself, making herself whimper louder. "Damn, baby..."

she whines and arches off the bed, she clicks the vibrator to the highest speed now.

The sudden increase in speed sends her into a frenzy, her back arching off the bed, her legs shaking, and her whines turning into high-pitched screams. Carmen can't hold back anymore, he grabs his cock and starts stroking it furiously, his eyes locked on the sight before him.

she whines and gasps “Carm… please hold” she means hold her hips so she can press her clit more and cum.

He understands immediately what she needs. Releasing his cock, he swiftly moves, gripping her hips firmly with strong hands. He holds her just right, allowing her to grind against the vibrator intensely. His grip helps stabilize her, letting her focus all her energy on chasing her orgasm.

she whines and pants “fuck- carmy.. carmy… Carmy…” she babbles his name as her body heats up and her vision goes white.

He swallows hard, watching her lose control. His girl is beautiful when she's put together, but god, she's a mess when she's this turned on - whining his name, spreading her legs wide, humping the vibrator shamelessly. He tightens his grip on her hips.

she whines as her hips stutter once more and drop hard onto the bed.

His jaw clenched, watching her perfect tits bounce underneath his shirt, hearing how desperately she's babbling his name. He knows she's right on the edge. In a rough whisper against her ear, "Cum f’me, baby. Fuckin…cum”

his command sends her over the edge, cumming hard soaking the sheets and the vibrator.

Her orgasm is intense, her entire body convulsing as waves of pleasure wash over her. He holds her hips firmly, loving how she soaks the sheets and rides out the vibrations against her sensitive clit, crying out his name brokenly. "Fuck…baby... such a good girl..."

she pants as Carmy kisses her hips like a reward. Carmy plants soft, affectionate kisses on her hips, his chest heaving with exertion.

Once she's mostly calm, he stands up, his cock still hard and desperate for release. He looks down at her, still lying there, panting and soaked in sweat. "I need to cum, baby."

He takes the vibrator from her trembling fingers, smirking softly. "You're a fucking angel, you know that?" He brings it to his lips, sucking off her wetness before wiping it clean with the corner of his shirt. Then he grabs his dick again. "You wanna.. Want me to jerk off for you?" He arches an eyebrow teasingly. "Or you want this cock somewhere else? Could fuck you through another orgasm if you're up for it." His voice is low and husky, his cock throbbing visibly.

“mmm stroke it a little looking at the mess between my thighs first …” knowing he didn’t see the full extent he was too busy helping hold her hips to watch it.

He chuckles, settling down beside her on the bed. "Alright, baby, let me get a good look at the mess you made." He reaches over, gently spreading her thighs apart to reveal the soaked mess between them. "Fuck, look at you. So fucking pretty and messy."

she nods, “that’s all because of you”

His heart swells with pride and love at her words. He leans over, pressing a soft kiss to her messy pussy. "All for me, baby. I love it." He sits back up, grabbing his cock and starting to stroke it slowly while looking at the mess between her thighs.

she rubs her fingers through her cum soaked folds.

He groans, his hips bucking into his hand as he watches her get even messier. He loves seeing her like this - so shamelessly post-orgasm, playing with her own release. He speeds up his strokes, his other hand reaching out to spread her thighs wider.

He watches your fingers spread your wetness around your pussy. God, she's dirty. He loves it. He slows his strokes down again, not wanting to cum yet.

He groans, his hand moving faster on his cock as he watches her pinch and tug on her nipples. Fuck, she's so fucking cute. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the bed and bringing his face closer to her messy pussy. "Let me lick it clean, baby."

she nods letting him eat and suck and lick her cum off her pussy while his cock grinds into the mattress.

He buries his face between her legs, his tongue lapping up her release. He loves the taste of her, sweet and slightly bitter. He sucks on her clit, making her squirm and whimper. His cock is rock hard, grinding against the mattress as he eats her out.

"Mmmm..." He hums against her pussy, his tongue slipping inside her as he holds her thighs open. Fuck, her whines are driving him crazy. He wants to make her cum again just with his mouth, but he knows she told him not to cum.

"Jesus, baby..." His cock throbs painfully at the thought. "I’ll cum fucking immediately if you finished on my face. The feeling of… on my tongue... fuck..." He moves back between her legs, he can barely articulate just how much he loves the idea so he’d just show you instead.

she blushes, she doesn’t want him to cum anywhere that isn’t inside her… but she also loves him eating her out… it’s a touch choice.

He looks up at her, his eyes burning with desire. "Baby, look at me. I need you to finish on my face right now. I can't hold back anymore." He dips his tongue back inside her, fucking her with it rapidly.

she gasps, Carmy definitely solved that dilemma for her.

He feels her legs start to shake, her fingers tangling in his hair. He knows she's close. He pushes his tongue deeper, curling it inside her as he sucks on her clit. He wants her to drench his face. "Cum baby, cum all over my fucking face."

she gasps and grips his curls He feels her body tense, her pussy clamping down on his tongue. Then, she's coming undone, her release coating his face. He laps it up, swallowing it down greedily as he continues to tongue-fuck her through her orgasm. "Fuck yes, baby! Soak me!"

He looks up at her, his face glistening with her release. He's never seen her look so disheveled and beautiful.

[ghoularaki]

Hello!~ I would like to join in on your Heart's Desire Motel event. Can I be with Sylus in the parlor? .////. Please and thank you in advance <3

NOW ENTERING HEART'S DESIRE MOTEL

cw: gun play, riding, commands, dom/sub, blowjobs

Sylus looked out of place in the pink parlor. He was hunched over, cleaning his gun while you sat across him in a cushioned chair with rose gold detailing. Sitting on your hands, you swung your feet back and forth as you watched intently.

“You like what you see, kitten?” Sylus didn’t even glance up, just continued clean his gun.

Not responding, you got up from your seat, an idea sticking to your mind like gum. Sylus finally look up from his gun while you rounded the table and stood in front of him. He raised a brow.

Placing your hands on his shoulders with a determined look, you straddled thighs, sitting on his knees.

“Well that’s one way to get my attention.” He leaned back with a smug smile, not even mad you interrupted him.

“Can we try something?”

“Whatever you want,” He easily agreed.

Heat crept up on your face, clearing your throat, you turned your head to the side. Shyness dripped off your form. Not wanting to lose your cool, you stumbled out, “Use your gun.”

Sylus blinked, not understanding, “Use…. my gun?”

You nodded slowly, “Use it against me, please?”

“Like this?” Sylus brought the gun underneath your chin, finger away from the trigger.

Your breathing instantly picked up. The threat only turned you on. Shifting further down on his lap, you pressed your hips flush to his.

Sylus slipped right in the same mindset as you, “Take your clothes off for me.”

You didn’t immediately listen, waiting to see what he would do. Sylus scowled at you. Digging the gun further under your chin, your neck craned to accommodate it. Understand the threat, you lifted your shirt up and over your head. You reached behind to unclip your bra, but Sylus slapped your hands away.

With ease, he flicked it open. Sagging your shoulders, you let the garment fall down your arms. Throwing it somewhere in the room, you slowly got off his lap to peel your pants off. Neither of your broke eye contact as the cold metal left your skin, but stayed pointed at you.

Standing between his knees, you undid your pants and stepped out them. You stood before him in a part of flimsy panties. If you parted your legs, an obvious wet spot had already formed.

Sylus flicked the gun, “The panties too, kitten.”

Hooking your fingers under the band, you tugged it off. You were completely bare in front him. Your feet curled in, trying not to hide yourself from him.

“Undo my belt.”

Listening, you leaned over and unlooped the buckle until the belt was released. You stopped, waiting for his next command.

“Now my pants.”

Eager, you undid his pants like you did yours. As you fingers unzipped it, you could feel how hard he was. Gulping, you spied his bulge in his underwear. You flinched back when the gun hit the center of your forehead.

“Pull it out. Better make me wet enough because that’s all you’re getting for prep.”

You moaned at his harsh words. Pulling his underwear down and his pants further down his hips for better access, his cock sprung up from where it was confined. It slapped against his stomach, almost reaching his belly button.

Ready to serve, you leaned forward and licked from the bottom to the head. Knowing you wouldn’t be able to take him fully, you went to wrap your hand around the hilt. Though the gun cocking had you freeze.

“No hands.”

Ripping your hand away, you wrapped your lips around his cockhead and sucked. He groaned and buck his hips forward. Clenching your thumb between your fingers, you forced yourself down. You got about half-way when you gagged. Ignoring you reflex, you went down further. What you couldn’t reach with your mouth, you swirled your tongue around.

Sylus was a big man in many ways, so you needed his cock as wet as possible if you even thought of taking him. Though, you knew your cunt was dripping.

Bobbing your head, you kept going further down with each gulping. Sylus bucked his hips as your throat clenched around his head. Gripping your hair, he ripped you away from him.

“I think that’s enough, come here, kitten.”

Forcing you back up on lap, he didn’t care about the drool coating your bottom lip. He licked the mess of your face as you hovered over his aching dick. Grabbing the base of his cock, he guided the head to your hole. Shifting the position of the gun, he brought it back under your chin.

“Ride me.”

Not needing any other words, you pushed your hips down. Gravity was your best friend as his cock breached your hole and teared you open in the best way possible. Your breath caught in your throat as he rubbed against your gummy walls. He just kept going and it took you a couple moments to be able to take him to the hilt.

Your hands gripped onto his red dress shirt, using anything to stabilize yourself. Whimpers and whines pour from your mouth as you swirled your hips. He was so much and no matter where you moved, he bullied the spot deep in you.

The biting metal tilted your chin up more.

“I said ride me.”

Hazy with bleary, lidded eyes, you barely processed his words. Those piercing red irises offered you no mercy. With shaking thighs, you lifted your hips up so he was almost out and then slammed back down. You cried out as he jammed right against your cervix.

Establishing a rhythm, you fucked yourself over and over as Sylus sat back and watched. His free hand grabbed on the fat of your hip and helped you drop down on his cock.

To your best effort, you tried to fuck yourself as Sylus did—hard, fast and with frightening precision. Though, you were quickly running out of stamina and your thighs burned.

“Need help, kitten?”

“Please, I need you,” You begged, ready for your release.

Throwing the gun onto the table with little regard, he clutched onto your waist and meet your thrusts. Using your waist as leverage, he bounced you up and down while he hips bucked upwards. You collapsed onto his chest and let him take the reigns.

Planting his feet down fully, he fucked up into you. Moans poured from your lips not caring if someone heard you. With another punch to your g-spot, you came with a whimper. Sylus followed right behind you, his cum coating your spasming walls. You whined at hotness deep in you.

Sylus sagged down and shifted his hold to hug you to his chest. Softly, he rubbed up and down your back making no movement to leave your warmth. He kissed your temple and smiled at how crazy you both are. He looked at the gun laid on the table that was never loaded. The magazine wasn’t even in the gun. He wouldn’t risk even the possibility of you getting hurt.

[legalmente-loca]

V𝔞𝔪𝔭𝔦𝔯𝔢'𝔰 L𝔲𝔰𝔱

Pairing: Vampire!Ben (Soldier Boy) x Lamb!Female Reader

Summary: You arrive at a party with your friends thinking it was a normal one. As soon as they leave, the vampire most coveted by everyone appears before you.

Word Count: 1,088

Tags/Warnings: 18+, smut, blood kink, oral (female and male receiving)

He was mesmerizing. Truly attractive. His fangs glistened when he wanted to show them. It was lust in person. His orgy parties were very well known and everyone was dying to go and be chosen by him. But as soon as he saw you at one of those parties, your lost gaze, trying not to look at the naked bodies rubbing against each other, something changed inside him. His cock immediately stood up as his gaze ran up and down your body. He approached you, your look surprised when you saw him. His large body covered in a robe was too much for you. Your big eyes, along with your wool dress, gave Ben the impression that you were a simple lamb lost among wolves.

And he would be the only one who had a bite.

He took you to his room. Ben wouldn't let anyone but him in. But he decided to make an exception for you.

He invited you to sit on the bed and stroked your arm gently with his finger.

“You are beautiful.” He murmured in a soft voice.

“Thank you.” Your small voice was barely heard.

He moved his face closer to your neck, causing you to pull back slightly.

“Relax. I’m not going to hurt you, little lamb.”

Seeing that you didn't move away, he gently brushed his nose against your neck, sniffing. He could already taste your blood on the tip of his tongue. He stuck his tongue out slightly and gave you a small lick. He murmured at your taste.

“You are delicious, little lamb.”

You looked at him with those eyes of yours and he smiled at you. He delicately took your hand and brought it to his mouth, leaving a kiss there. You let out a sigh and he took it as a sign that he could move forward. He moved his kisses up your arm to your neck, where he took out his fangs and gently scraped your skin. You gave a small moan. Probably the same sound scaring you and he laughed softly.

“You can touch me, baby.” He moved your hand to his chest under his robe. “Explore all you want.”

You felt his skin and with it his hardened muscles. He sighed at your touch and brought your hand lower, his robe slowly opening. He placed a kiss on your jaw before your hand made contact with his hardened, large cock.

“That is. Good girl.” He moved your hand up and down, guiding you, because it was clear that you didn't know what to do.

His other hand moved to one of the wool straps of your dress, sliding it over your shoulder, causing a portion of your breast to show. He lowered his mouth as you continued your gentle movements on his cock and licked your nipple. You were sensitive, your body reacting immediately. Your hairs stood on end and a soft moan came from between your lips. He gently nibbled your nipple and sucked. He moved his mouth away and gently placed his hand behind your head, making you lean forward and start sucking his cock.

“Very good honey.” He stroked your hair as you gave small experimental licks along the length.

He made you take it in your mouth and moved his hips up and down. Moans left his mouth and he threw his head back.

“You're doing really well. A dirty little girl after all.”

He made you go all the way to the bottom, making you stay there for a few seconds before allowing you to breathe.

He pulled you back on the bed and gently took off your dress, staring hungrily at your naked body. Your nipples erect, your pussy already pulsing his name and the sound of your blood running through your veins as if it were a stream. It was enough to drive him crazy.

He positioned himself on top of you and spread your legs, his cock bouncing against your thighs.

“You will experience pleasure at its maximum splendor.” He murmured close to your face. “And you will enjoy it… And you will come back for more.”

He lowered his face until he was face to face with your pussy. He took a long lick from bottom to top, the tip of his tongue caressing your clit.

“You are delicious. I wish you were on your period to enjoy yourself better. I’ll have to wait for that.”

He continued licking you and even stuck a finger in your little hole, which you squeezed and sucked right away.

You came quickly like the virgin you were, your moans filling the room as he licked up your delicious juices that spread all over the mattress.

He crawled back up your body and kissed you, biting your bottom lip. You moaned in pain and he caressed the wound with his tongue, licking your blood.

And that taste of your blood was enough to make him addicted.

He guided his throbbing cock to your already spent entrance and slid in gently. Your eyes rolled back and you grabbed his arms tightly.

“Oh, God…”

“No fuckin’ God, sweetheart. Soldier Boy or Ben, whatever you prefer to call me.” He reached the bottom. “But not God.”

Slowly, he pulled out of you and then back in. He moved his mouth towards your neck and covered you with his fangs again, breathing deeply. Your wet walls surrounded him and he couldn't help but feel a thrill inside him at this great discovery. You.

His eyes grew darker, his body heavier, and his hands gripped the sheets beneath you tightly. He hissed before sinking his fangs into the side of your neck, sucking your sweet blood. You gasped lightly and closed your eyes. It was like a viper, its venom bringing great, hitherto unknown pleasure throughout your body. His hip movements didn't stop and his fangs didn't move away from your neck.

And so you continued until dawn, your bodies united and sweaty from the action. It wasn't until the sun hit his back that he pulled out of you (fangs and cock), laying down next to you. Around his mouth was a trace of your blood, which he wiped away satisfied. He ran one last lick over the wound he'd given you and placed a kiss on your cheek, your breathing panting, still trying to return to the present.

“You were very good, little lamb.” He stroked your hair as he looked at you adoringly. “I have finally found my life partner.”

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[lunarsworld]

ʚଓ i’m your babydoll…

warnings: MDNI, 18+, unprotected p in v, overstimulating, the L bomb, dirty talk/explicitness pairing: smallville!clark x f!reader

as soon as you moved to smallville, you had every single persons head turning. the way your hips swayed, your short shorts, and every inch of your exposed skin had the towns teenagers in a frenzy. but one boy in particular caught your eye. what immediately made clark appealing to you was just his sheer size. every man you ever hookedup with was definitely tall, but compared to them clark was an absolute fucking machine.

just for shits and giggles one day, you and lana went to watch a bunch of the guys play basketball. and they just so happened to get so sweaty and hot that they took their shirts off! for the entire rest of the scrimmage, your eyes never left clarks. and oh boy did he notice.

after it ended, like always, you ran up to him with a bottle of ice cold water. when he grabbed it from you, his hands almost fully covered yours and the thought of what he could do with them made you whimper. “you alright?” he questions. you just nod your head in response and look into his eyes, praying and hoping he could make a move. but clark was nervous. so fucking nervous. the way your little ripped jean shorts showed the bottom of your ass? how he could practically see your nipples poking out of your tank top? the poor boy thought he was genuinely about to cum in his pants from just that.

“can we hangout? kinda bored and i have nothing else to do at home…” you muttered out of sheer embarrassment. never in your life has a man made you this dripping, especially considering the fact clark hadn’t even touched you yet. “yea we can chill in the loft or whatever you want. just get in the truck.” he answered, patting the roof of his truck.

30 minutes into the drive and clark found himself pulling over to a cleared space on the side of the road and with you on top of him. grinding your clothed bud against his hardness was so agonizing for you both. “let’s get these off- please,” he begged. to think you were scared of this boy when he was practically whimpering under you just baffled you. you leaned back and let him unbutton your jeans, almost ripping them off with the sheer amount of force, and he started instinctively rubbing his fingers along your clit. “fuck clark. just like that.” you moan into his mouth. as your grinding moves faster against his hips and he can tell your getting close he pulls his fingers away. you whine at the loss of contact but your whole demeanor changes when you look at where clark traded his hands to. he undoes his belt, pulls down his pants, and for the first time in your life you were nervous.

again, like before, you’ve seen all sizes and girths, but clark kent was genuinely inhuman. the length of his cock seemingly would hit up to your belly button if he were all the way in, and his width looked like he could tear you in half with it. “everything alright, baby? your staring ya’know.” he mutters, scared that you’re silently judging him. “no its just i don’t know if it’ll fit.” you whine, putting on an innocent front. you want need clark to lose control. “i’ll go nice and slow for ya, how that sound?” he says, slowly shifting your hips so your hovering over his cock. you slowly begin to sit down, taking in his length. you’re only about halfway down his dick when you wore yourself out. “c’mon, only a little more to go.” clark pleaded and as soon as you hear his little whimper and you squeezed around him and felt his dick twitch inside you, you couldn’t do it anymore. “just use me clark. want you to fuck me like a toy.” you whimper.

that was all the confirmation clark needed. as soon as those words left your mouth he began pounding into you at an unfathomable speed. he hits your g-spot over and over again until your squirting on his dick for the third time. clark wastes no time after that adjusting you into the backseat to finish you off in a mating press. he’s pumping in and out of you slower than before, but this round he’s savoring because now he’s finally ready to cum. he looks at your fucked out eyes, the sweat beading down your forehead, the marks left on your tits, and, his favorite, listens to your broken words. he was relishing in the way your voice was so hoarse and the fact you could barely speak because of his dick. he fucked you dumb. and now you were his. “my fuckin needy girl- yea? gonna cum all on my cock again? fuckin love this shit, love you-” he cuts himself off when he comes in you. and when you come with him as the exact same time, thats how he knows. “good girl, now lets head to the loft and get you cleaned up.” he says, acting like you can really fully process what just happened. “and if you’re good maybe we can do this again, huh?”

a/n: hi sorry if this sucks i haven’t written in a while bc of college acceptances and life and stuff but i hope u guys likey happy valentinesss

[anonity]

seeing

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

hi ladies! happy valentines day <3 i have the flu 😩 the last time i had the flu my ex-gf broke no contact to tell me to take care of myself.. just thought i’d share that.. i meant to post this wednesday but i lost the original draft i had of it and only just now finished rewriting it

WC: 765. supa short, longer fics coming i pinkie promise

summary: paige should look away. she knows she should. but azzi is beautiful and, more importantly, hasn’t noticed paige staring. (or maybe she has, and is letting her look anyways.)

the cabin drums with the white noise of plane engines, accompanied by a stillness unique to the sky — suspended moments paige has only found 35,000 feet in the air. 

somewhere behind them, there’s a flight attendant passing by with a drink cart. it clatters against someone's seat, the wheels making an unpleasant scraping sound.  aaliyah is craning her neck to see if they have fritos, and KK is arguing vehemently with whoever is behind her. paige barely registers any of it. 

because azzi is sitting next to her, leaned into the window seat they’d fought over, bathing in the dim light of the overhead lamp — and paige cannot stop looking at her. 

she’s reading. or at least, she was reading, because the page hasn't turned in a hot minute. it’s a new book (a paperback paige had caught her eyeing in the airport and bought the second she looked away), but the spine is already cracking from use. 

her head is tilted just so, cheek pressed against the cool glass, and the way she’s leaning has the setting sun softening over the curve of her jaw. paige swallows thickly, shifting in her seat. 

she should look away. 

she knows she should. 

because azzi is her best friend, her teammate, the peanut butter to her jelly. and so she should turn away to scroll through her phone, or even watch the moving where-are-we map displayed on the flight screen in front of her. she should do anything but sit there, yearning in the cabin of an avelo airline, and stare. 

but azzi hasn’t looked back yet. and so long as it stays that way, paige figures she can get away with it. there’s something stupidly intimate about watching azzi when she’s so clearly focused on something else, eyes decorated with golden flecks where the sun is catching them. there's something soft in the way azzi hasn’t noticed yet, or kind in the way she probably has but is choosing not to acknowledge it. maybe that is what creates the weightless feeling that only seems to exist in the quiet in-between of being with azzi. the way she’s letting paige look, deliberately allowing her to have this moment.

paige knows the second azzi turns her head, she’ll have to school her expression – pretend she wasn’t memorizing the way azzi tugs her lip in between her top teeth, or the way her eyebrows are knitted together like she’s trying to figure something out.

for how hard paige is staring, you would think she’d notice the way azzi’s eyes have stopped following the paper in front of her.

she doesn’t, though. azzi shifts, paige tracking the way her fingertips slide up the spine of the book, and lets her gaze follow upwards – to the slope of her shoulders, the outline of collarbone where her sweatshirt is falling.

then, azzi inhales softly, speaking without raising her gaze. “you’re staring.”

paige freezes, eyes landing on the digital airplane in front of her. “no i’m not.”

azzi smiles. “you are.”

paige shuffles further back into her seat, rolling her eyes. “you think you got your degree, and you know every fuckin’ thing, huh?” she deflects, grin widening at the reference as she nudges azzi’s knee with her own.

azzi hums. she has that look she gets when she knows something paige doesn’t – like she’s waiting for her to figure it out. “i know what it feels like when you’re looking at me.”

paiges grin stutters, her stomach flipping like it does when there’s turbulence. it’s the first time azzi has ever really acknowledged that paige looks at her. if she’s honest, she feels a little caught, walls she thought were well-built around her crumbling at the mere notion of azzi noticing the way paige watches her (of azzi recognizing the way paige looks at her, seeing it in the pages of whatever romance she’s reading).

paige risks a peek over, but azzi is still staring at those same words. paige’s shoulders slump in relief. azzi’s giving her this – this safe distance, the opportunity to ignore what's sitting thickly between them. 

i know what it feels like when you’re looking at me. of course she does. it’s all paige can do sometimes: stare.

then paige laughs, light and easy like her world didn’t just briefly stop spinning. “crazy thing to say,” she mutters, faking an unbothered yawn. she prays azzi doesn’t catch the way her voice wavers.

azzi finally turns her head, but paige's gaze is trained stubbornly on her phone. not because she’s embarrassed, but because she’s not sure what would happen if she looked at azzi right now – not while azzi is looking at her.

but from the corner of her vision, paige catches it – azzi smiling, soft and knowing.

and yeah. she probably knows.

[saebyeokbliss]

JUST MEET ME AT THE APT.— K. SAE-BYEOK

CHAPTER NINE

synopsis: managing a rising rock band is already chaotic enough, but when you're stuck touring with four reckless musicians, things get even messier. between late-night facetime calls, teasing that feels a little too knowing, and a certain guitarist who might just be your biggest problem, keeping things professional is getting harder by the second. but hey, no one said the music industry was easy.

warnings: mutual pining, intense eye contact, teasing that borders on flirting (or maybe it is flirting), friends who refuse to mind their business, secondhand embarrassment, slow burn that burns, emotional whiplash, online scandals

playlist: spotify

It started with a tweet.

A blurry, low-quality video posted by some fan who had managed to sneak backstage. The caption was cryptic but damning:

"WTF did Jisoo do to make Kang Sae-Byeok this mad???"

And underneath it—

A video of Sae-Byeok pinning Jisoo against the wall.

The audio was grainy, muffled by the distance and the hum of post-show chaos, but some words were crystal-clear.

"I don’t want to see you near her or the girls ever again."

"You don’t get to come in here and make her feel like nothing."

The internet exploded.

At first, there was confusion. Speculation. Wild theories about why HOT DIVISION’s lead guitarist was this close to throwing hands with an influencer-turned-socialite like Jisoo.

Then came the sides.

Some people immediately took Sae-Byeok’s, praising her for standing up for whoever she was talking about. Others rushed to defend Jisoo, twisting the narrative into something uglier—something about how aggressive Sae-Byeok had looked, how scary her temper seemed, how it was unprofessional for an artist of her status to act like that.

And then, of course, the worst theory took hold.

That it was about you.

Screenshots of old photos resurfaced—pictures of you with the band, of you standing next to Sae-Byeok at award shows, of you in the background of HOT DIVISION’s biggest moments. Someone even found a picture from that night, showing you leaving the backstage area just moments before the video took place.

And suddenly, you weren’t just the band’s manager anymore.

You were the reason for the fight.

The narrative twisted: Sae-Byeok was in love with you. Jisoo had done something to you. You were caught in the middle of some messy, behind-the-scenes drama that no one was supposed to know about.

It spiraled fast.

By the next morning, articles were being written. Think pieces dissecting Sae-Byeok’s reputation, questioning her professionalism, debating whether or not HOT DIVISION’s label would make a statement.

And through it all—

You stayed quiet.

Because you knew exactly how this worked.

Scandals like this didn’t just pass. They grew until someone stopped them.

And that someone had to be you.

You found Jisoo before anyone else did.

She had been avoiding the internet, dodging calls, probably waiting for it all to blow over before she made her next move. But you weren’t going to give her that luxury.

You cornered her in the back of a café, where she had been sipping an overpriced latte like her name wasn’t being dragged online.

She barely had time to react before you sat down across from her, fixing her with a look that made it clear you weren’t here to play games.

"Fix it," you said, voice steady.

Jisoo blinked. "Excuse me?"

You leaned forward. "You fix it. You clear it up. You tell everyone exactly what the fuck happened before this gets worse."

She scoffed, setting her cup down. "I don’t owe anyone anything."

Your patience snapped. "Are you serious? You owe Sae-Byeok everything right now. Because you’re sitting here, drinking your stupid fucking latte, while she’s getting torn apart for something that wasn’t even her fault."

Jisoo frowned, finally looking uncomfortable. "I didn’t mean for any of this to happen."

"But it did," you said sharply. "And I’m not letting you be the coward who lets her take the fall for it."

A beat of silence.

Jisoo looked away, jaw tightening. "I didn’t think she actually cared that much."

You exhaled through your nose, forcing yourself to stay calm. "That’s the problem. You never thought about what you were doing. You never thought about how it made me feel—how it made her feel."

She swallowed. "I just… I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong."

You shook your head. "Exactly."

Jisoo sighed, rubbing a hand down her face. "So what do you want me to do?"

"Tell the fucking truth," you said. "Make a statement. A video. A post. I don’t care. Just fix it."

She hesitated.

Then, finally, she pulled out her phone.

And for the first time since this entire mess started—

She actually did something right.

Jisoo’s video went up within the hour.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t some grand, emotional apology.

But it was enough.

She admitted that she had been careless, that she hadn’t realized how much she was excluding you, that she had walked into HOT DIVISION’s space without thinking about how it might have made you feel.

And most importantly—

She cleared Sae-Byeok’s name.

She explained that the argument wasn’t about anything romantic, that there was no secret drama or jealousy, that Sae-Byeok had only been angry because she had stood up for you.

The backlash didn’t disappear overnight. But it shifted.

Now, instead of attacking Sae-Byeok, people were applauding her.

And you— You finally let yourself breathe. But the damage had already been done.

And you weren’t sure if things could ever go back to the way they were before.

Dinner was quieter than usual.

Not because there was tension—no, after everything that had happened, the tension had finally cracked, leaving something raw and unspoken between all of you.

The girls had chosen a small restaurant, tucked away from prying eyes and the chaos of the internet, somewhere they could just be without worrying about cameras or fans or another scandal brewing.

And tonight, for the first time in a long time, they weren’t just HOT DIVISION.

They were just friends trying to make things right.

Ji-Yeong was the first to break the silence, setting her chopsticks down. "Alright, let’s just say it."

Se-Mi exhaled. "Yeah, we fucked up."

No-Eul nodded. "Big time."

Sae-Byeok, sitting across from you, was unusually quiet, arms crossed, her gaze flickering between you and the others.

Ji-Yeong leaned forward. "Look, we got caught up in our own shit, and we didn’t notice how much we were leaving you out. That’s on us. Completely on us."

Se-Mi sighed. "We should’ve realized sooner. We should’ve—" She hesitated, then met your eyes. "We should’ve been better friends to you."

You swallowed, feeling the weight of their words, the sincerity behind them.

And then No-Eul, ever direct, said, "We’re sorry."

Your chest tightened, but this time, it wasn’t from pain.

It was relief.

You let out a small, shaky breath, nodding. "Thank you."

Ji-Yeong gave you a hesitant smile. "Does this mean you forgive us?"

You huffed a quiet laugh. "I mean… yeah. But you guys owe me. Big time."

Se-Mi grinned. "Obviously. We’ll buy you so much coffee to make up for it."

No-Eul smirked. "Or we could just kick Jisoo’s ass next time we see her."

That made you laugh—really laugh, for the first time in days.

And just like that, things started to feel okay again.

After dinner, you stepped outside for some air.

The night was cool, the city lights flickering in the distance, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you actually felt lighter.

But you weren’t alone for long.

No-Eul appeared beside you, hands in her jacket pockets, her usual calm, unreadable expression on her face.

"You doing okay?" she asked, her voice softer than usual.

You hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Better than before."

No-Eul tilted her head, studying you in that way she always did—like she could see right through you. "You sure?"

You sighed, leaning against the railing. "I mean… I still feel kinda stupid for letting it get to me so much."

No-Eul frowned. "Why?"

You shrugged. "Because it’s not like they meant to hurt me. And I knew that. But it still—" You exhaled. "It still sucked."

No-Eul was quiet for a moment, then said, "You don’t have to justify feeling hurt."

You glanced at her, surprised.

She met your gaze, something unreadable in her eyes. "You deserved better from us. And you were right to be upset."

The way she said it—so steady, so certain—made warmth bloom in your chest.

You smiled, small but genuine. "Thanks, No-Eul."

She nodded, her gaze lingering on you.

And for a moment—just a moment—something shifted.

The space between you felt smaller.

The air heavier.

Her eyes flickered to your lips, just for a second, and you felt your breath catch.

Was she—?

Were you—?

Before anything could happen, a voice cut through the air.

"Time to go," Sae-Byeok’s voice rang out, firm but unreadable.

You both jolted slightly, stepping back as if the moment had never happened.

When you turned to look at her, Sae-Byeok’s face was blank, but her eyes—her eyes—were sharp, flickering between you and No-Eul with something you couldn’t quite place.

You cleared your throat. "Right. Yeah. Let’s go."

No-Eul didn’t say anything—just shoved her hands back into her pockets and followed after you.

And as you walked ahead, you could feel Sae-Byeok’s gaze lingering on you.

Like she had seen everything.

Like she was thinking about something.

But she didn’t say a word.

Not yet.

taglist: @everly-summers-solace @knfthxv @madebysae @knfthxv @katieschry1 @imlackingsleep @lyzem @stellssxo @wiltingconquest @peelover25@monroesturnns @laurenkens @yenyu1s @idontliketoread2137 @bitchybananaflower @lyuuw

[blitziwitchwrites]

pairing: older bf!ryomen sukuna x reader

content warnings/tags: domestic fluff, cursing/language, age gap (sukuna in his 40s and reader in her 20s), size difference, brief mention of family conflict (jin and sukuna), suggestive but no smut

author’s note: little bit of a long imagine, but i saw fanart of sukuna in glasses yesterday and then again earlier today and had to write this. happy valentine's day!

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imagining older boyfriend!sukuna’s eyes are wearing out with his increasing age, and he has to get glasses that he absolutely fucking hates.

“tch.”

you know that song all too well. after being with your older boyfriend, ryomen sukuna, for as long as you have, now going on living together for over a year now, that was the sound he always made whenever something was bothering him and he didn’t want to just tell you about it, rather wanting you to go on and ask him about it.

it’s late at night, and after having to wake up early and accompany your boyfriend to the eye doctor to pick out a pair of frames and order contact lenses, you were quite ready for bed. sitting beneath your warm satin covers, you glance over as your boyfriend moves over to the bed and lifts the cover, climbing in next to you, his frames still perched neatly over his eyes.

“what’s the matter, ryo?” you hum softly, leaning over to be closer to him. you lean your chin on his large biceps, as he is so ridiculously tall that you cannot even comfortably rest it on his shoulder when you are sitting next to each other, his large and muscular body half-sunken into his side of the mattress.

“flimsy pieces of plastic. shit’s ridiculous.”

“you’re seriously still beefin’ with your glasses?” you giggle, batting your eyelashes up at him, your eyes trailing over the thin black metal perched over his nose and boxing around his eyes, sliding back his cheeks and sharp jaw and tucking behind his ears.

sukuna scoffs, looking over at you, furrowing his eyebrows and letting another ‘tch’ sound click from his mouth, before he looks away from you. he clasps his fingers around the black metal piece resting on the bridge of his nose, beginning to pull the glasses from his face with a roll of his eyes. “fuck kinda language are you using brat? beefin’? fuck that even supposed to mean?”

gently, you brush your hand up, gently placing it over his large and thick fingers that are attempting to take off the glasses without breaking them- again. thank god for the warranty on the glasses, because when you two had initially picked up the frames, he hadn’t even made it out of the office yet before he looked at the frames and squeezed them just a little too hard and broke them, resulting in him having to walk into walls and struggle to drive for another three days before you two could pick up the repaired ones.

you gently push his fingers back towards his face, placing the glasses right back onto his nose. “i think they look sexy.”

sukuna furrows his eyebrows at you, minding himself to resist the natural urge to swipe your hand away from his face like he would anyone or anything else, minus his tattoo artist who’d inked his face all those years ago, long before he met you. sukuna was not used to being gentle. he’d never been a gentle man with anyone before you, and even with you, sometimes he had to mind himself because you were so much smaller and more fragile than anything he’d ever handled before. he simply turns his hand, lightly clasping it over yours, his entire hand enveloping yours as he pulls your hand away from his face. “don’t be ridiculous. they look absurd.”

“no, ryo.” you giggle, leaning up, batting your thick, soft eyelashes up at the man as he scowls down at you, your fingers gently bunching up while trapped under his own. nobody else ever referred to sukuna by his first name and lived to tell the tall, except you. nobody had ever even given him a nickname for his last name, much less his first name. “they make you look distinguished.”

“don’t patronize me, brat. there is not a thing about me that gives off what you are alluding to, so if anything, this stupid plastic just looks out of place.” sukuna responds to you, though his voice is a little gentler this time. a little softer. there’s a hint of vulnerability to his voice that nobody else but you had ever witnessed before.

you giggle, feeling his hand squeeze yours before he drops it, leaving both of your hands to rest in his lap. without warning, you shift from your side of the bed, climbing into your older boyfriend’s lap and straddling him, your knees resting on his outer thighs as you do so. instinctively, his large hands move to your waist and just gently rest there, keeping you secure so you do not fall off his lap and off the bed like you have in the past. once you are secure on his lap, you lean forward, having to let your knees sink into the mattress a bit as you move. you place your hand on his chest this time, leaning on him for stability as you pucker your lips, softly kissing the bridge of his nose between his eyes, your lips softly pressing against the frames and his sore flesh from holding them for a whole day for the first time ever.

sukuna shuts his eyes, melting into your loving gesture. his large hands squeeze your waist, his calloused fingers pressing against your back tenderly as he does so. you hold your lips for a moment there, your hand gently twitching on his chest, before you pull away, resting yourself to sit back on his lap. “i think the contrast looks nice.” you say softly up to him, your voice just above a soft whisper. sukuna opens his eyes, causing you to giggle, the frames of his glasses lightly fogged from the breath that had left your lips after your kiss. sukuna rolls his eyes, but can’t seem to retract the gentle begrudging smile that rests on his lips and the light flush of pink that brushes the tips of his ears. 

“you speak such nonsense.”

“you know i’m right,” your counter, a playful smile plastered over your face as you watch the older man, who is always so poised and kept together and cold in the presence of others practically melt from your simple words. “you look even better in them than jin does.”

sukuna’s face falters, whatever resemblance of restraint he had been using now crumbling. he looks at you, his breath hitching slightly as he looks down at you, squeezing your waist. ah, yes. the man’s younger twin brother. the golden child, you always teasingly called him. the husband, the father, the one who was always better in every way. sukuna had never gotten along with him, and after a while, stopped trying to compete and had lived his life in every way opposite to his brother, sick of the comparisons their lives had always lived. hell, sukuna hadn’t even touched a woman until you came along and were too sweet to resist, not wanting to have to face any bad husband allegations, unlike his brother who was always considered the perfect man to his wife, kaori.

even though sukuna had never intended to love another, he couldn’t ever have managed to stay away from you. and he was glad he didn’t. you were the first person in his whole life, in all of the years he carried, who never compared him or made him feel lesser. sukuna had been tempted to even tell you he was an only child, but he didn’t want to be dishonest with you, and he was glad he wasn’t when you exceeded all expectations and never once put him down in comparison of the man who carried an identical face to him, yet polar personality.

you hum softly, gently laying a kiss on sukuna’s lips. his hand slowly slides up, cupping your cheek tenderly, his other hand slowly rubbing up and down your side. you both melt into the affectionate kiss, sukuna’s shut eyes keeping him unaware of the way his glasses had significantly fogged up more from the passion of the intimate moment, until you gently pull back and look up at him as he opens his eyes.

“tch. flimsy lenses tryna keep me from lookin’ at my wife.”

your face softens, but you barely have time to register his words when he suddenly reaches up and pinches the corner of the frames, pulling them off his face… only the frames to snap! right where the arm of the glasses meets the corner, the long thin wire falling down into your laps and resting on your thigh.

“ryo!” you whine, picking up the arm, only to drop it again when your boyfriend’s hands both swiftly slide underneath your thighs and push them up after he tosses the remnants of his glasses that had been in his hands away. sukuna roughly pushes you onto your back, his hands gripping your thighs, your knees behind your head and into the mattress as he roughly kisses you. the frames become next to nothing as you quickly slide your hands up his face, locking your fingers in his hair, returning the hungry and passionate kiss as your knees bend, your legs hooking over his shoulders. your fingers remain locked in his hair, even as he suddenly bites down on your lip and then proceeds to pull away, his eyes narrowing as his nose brushes against yours, his hands gripping your thighs harder. he grunts slightly, before turning his head, beginning to slather kisses down your neck.

you two can replace them tomorrow. right now, his biggest priority was making sure he made his beloved feel just as good as she always made him feel.

—————

not proofread. please do not steal, copy, repost, and/or translate. copyright protected by blitziwitchwrites.