#small talk only does so much i don’t want to talk to him i don’t care about our relationship

[a99jazzybean]

Let's Experiment a Little

synop: Viktor requests your assistance in testing out a new invention. Little did you know, walking into that lab would be your undoing.

words: 3.1K

includes: jayvikxfem!reader, sex, threesome, vibrators, fingering, cum eating, riding, a sprinkle of pathetic Jayce.

a/n: Besties, it's just porn. So 18+ only!

Stop by the lab tonight. Wear a skirt.

-V

You looked over the note Viktor had stuck to your door. Oddly enough, it wasn't a weird request from the man. Him and Jayce had begun working on technology for medical purposes, and you just so happened to be the perfect candidate for beta testing some of their inventions. While you had gotten a shock once or twice, most of the time it was generally safe. Plus they had perfected stabilizing the hexgems, so you weren’t too concerned. 

Obliging Viktor’s request, you donned a short skirt. Something you hadn’t worn for awhile as showing this much skin wasn’t necessarily something you enjoyed. But for science, you’d allow it. Sure, you could have picked something slightly longer, but you had a feeling they were going to need to connect something to your exposed skin. Might as well remove that barrier. 

Okay, maybe you were lying to yourself. Perhaps there was a small part of you that wanted to gain the men’s attention. Lord knows they always gave it their all on their work. Maybe they could give you some for just a little bit of time. Especially considering you had been pining after them for what seemed like forever. 

Little did you know, the two shared the same affections for you. Viktor being his cool, calculated self patiently waited for your entrance. Jayce was fiddling with hands as he waited as well. 

“Do you think she’s gonna come?” The larger man asked, hazel eyes glistening with hope.

Viktor hummed, a smirk on his face.

“Yes. She always does. Tonight will be no different.”

As he finished his sentence you pushed open one of the doors to the lab. Peeking in your head and beaming when you saw the men. You entered the room, not noticing the men appraising your appearance. Their eyes raking over your very exposed legs. Jayce was sure if you bent over he would be able to see everything. 

“So, what do you need help with?” You asked, nervously rocking on the balls of your feet. 

“Just some testing on a new device of ours.” Viktor said cooly. His gold eyes trying to read you. 

Your demeanor, sweet as always. Innocent. Though Viktor knew you better than that. Catching your lustful gaze one too many times as you watched his hands fiddle with tools. Enjoying the way your mouth would part in awe when he would dexterously spin screwdrivers with his fingers. 

“What’s the device do?” You asked, looking around to see if it was visible.

Viktor bit his tongue with a coy smile. He could just outright tell you, but where was the fun in that? He could already picture the flustered state you’d be in when you connected the dots yourself. 

“Something that can help provide relief.”

You raised a brow, a confused yet oh so adorable look on your face. 

“Yeah, relief.” Jayce echoed giddly. The action made him receive a warning look from Viktor. The man decided to let his partner do the rest of the talking. Jayce was never good at keeping surprises. 

“Like pain relief?” You asked. 

Something felt off. The air in the lab was charged with something, something you couldn’t place your finger on. Both of the men eyeing you up as if they wanted to devour you. Which they did, but you weren’t privy to that just yet.

“Something like that…” Viktor trailed, hoping you would catch on soon. 

“Why are you being so cryptic?” You felt your heart rate pick up. 

Yes, there was something different about this request of theirs. 

“I’m not being cryptic.” The man gave you another smirk. 

“Quit teasing me…” You almost whined. 

“Why don’t I show you the device?” Viktor waved for Jayce to grab the item. 

The taller man held a box in his hand, as he ushered you up to him and Viktor. You tentatively made your way over to the men. Still feeling their hungry gazes on you. 

When you stood before them, Jayce opened the box. Inside was a small somewhat cylindrical shaped item, but more organic looking. It was the classic blue of Hextech items, with a gold trim. On top, a smaller version of the hexgem was placed in a divot. There were three buttons on the object. Jayce picked it up and placed it in your hand. It was made of a softer material, almost rubber like. Your fingers skimmed over it, eyes filled with curiosity. It was unlike anything they had made before. 

“What is it?” You asked after observing it. 

“Press this button.” Viktor pointed to the one closest to the front end of the item. 

You did as he asked. The hexgem glowing blue, as a small vibration came from the item. The movement startling you, making you almost drop the item. Thankfully, you managed to keep ahold of it. 

“S-sorry!” You said, cheeks ruddy with embarrassment. “I didn’t know it was going to do that.”

“Press the one on the opposite side!” Jayce said, eyes glittering with anticipation. 

You nodded, pressing the other button. The vibrations changed into a pattern of buzzes. A look of confusion on your face. You didn’t understand how this could provide pain relief. Then you had a bit of a lightbulb moment. 

“Oh! Is it a massager? That’s what you mean about pain relief? The vibrations loosen muscles.” You looked at them with a smile. Catching them giving each other knowing looks. 

Viktor reached for the item, turning it off. Nimble fingers tracing around the edge of it. He chuckled.

“It’s a massager of sorts. Would you care to try it out?” That hunger was back in his eyes again. 

“Sure!” You said. You enjoyed helping your friends, even if they were being odd. It was for science after all. 

“Jayce.” Viktor nodded to the doors. 

Obeying the unspoken command, Jayce jogged over to the doors. Quickly flicking the locks on. The action making your heart rate speed up. 

“Why did you lock the doors?” 

“This experiment… is eh, best performed away from prying eyes.” That coy smile played on his lips. “Jayce, why don’t you come over?”

The man once again followed the command. Viktor patted the counter next to him. Jayce took a seat on top, legs spread. 

“Why don’t you sit here?” Viktor pat the open space between the man’s thick thighs. 

Heat shot to your face. The thought of the close proximity making your heart flutter. 

“Oh…um. Okay.” You said softly, walking to the counter and sitting between his legs.

Warm hands grasped your waist and pulled  you flush against the tall man’s chest. 

“Don’t worry, I don’t bite. Unless… you want me to?” He flashed a gap-toothed smile at you. 

Your heart was hammering in your chest. You let out a squeak of surprise when a cold hand grasped your thigh. Viktor had pulled up to you. He placed the device on the counter. Long fingers traced circles on your thigh as you felt your breathing pick up. Face flush with embarrassment. 

Viktor knew you would comply with their wishes. Always the people pleaser. You had put yourself in uncomfortable positions for the men before, and you would keep doing so. Something Viktor greatly appreciated. Such a devoted and pretty test subject. 

“Before we begin testing the device, we’ll have to see how you respond to more neutral stimuli.” His gold eyes locked with yours, making you shiver. 

The hand on your thigh, still affectionately drawing along your skin. 

“Neutral stimuli?” You squeaked, barely finding your voice. 

This position was something you had dreamed of for countless nights. It felt unreal. Having the two men touching you like this. 

“Yes, neutral. I suggest using my hands.” He said, placing his free hand on your other thigh. The action made you jolt, but Jayce quickly held your hips down. The man behind you chuckled darkly. 

“You can tell me to stop. I will. We’ll unlock the doors, and you can head home like nothing happened.” The man before you spoke lowly. “Or you can stay. Which is what you want, isn’t it?” 

You felt like you couldn’t speak. Instead, you nodded your head. Your lack of words making Viktor tisk. The hungry look in his eyes had you shivering.

“I need you to say it.” 

“Yes.” You breathed. 

Jayce stiffened behind you, a small whine leaving him. The sound shooting straight to your core. 

“Now, shall we begin?” Viktor asked. 

“Yes. Please.” You said.

The man before you chuckled. His hands pushing up your skirt. His amber eyes flitting up to you after he took in the panties you were wearing. A cute white lacy number. A long finger reaching under the waistband, snapping it against your skin. The sharp sting made you jolt, but Jayce held you down again. 

Trailing a finger on your clothed core had Viktor groaning. You were already so wet, so ready for them. He pulled your panties off, and groaned again. The sight of your weeping core making his cock strain in his pants. Behind you, you could feel Jayce’s own erection pressed against your back. He felt huge, and Viktor wasn’t anything to shrug off either. Through his pants you could tell he was hung.

Not wanting to waste any more time, Viktors fingers swept through your folds. A strangled moan leaving your lips as he did so. Jayce’s cock twitching at the sound, a groan of his own hot against your neck. The man began to leave wet kisses down your throat, occasionally nipping at your sweet spots to hear the sounds you made. 

“Such a pretty pussy.” Viktor was entranced by you. Loving how slick you already were. Practically dripping onto the counter beneath you. 

The pad of his thumb swiped against your clit, a tremor shooting through you. Then he inserted one of his fingers, drawing out a long moan. Jayce’s hands traveled up your body, warm palms groping your breasts. Squeezing them as Viktor continued to play with you. Inserting another finger, then curling them on that sweet spot inside of you. The loud moan you let out made the man’s cock twitch in his pants. His fingers continued to stroke at the spot, making sounds continually tumble out of you. Eyes rolling back as you felt him bring you closer to your peak. 

“Fuck, Jayce. She’s squeezing so tight.” Amber eyes looked over you. Already wrecked, arching back into Jayce. Mouth open and panting. “I bet you’re about to cum, aren’t you?” He crooned. 

“Mhmm.” It came out strangled.

“Do it, cum for us.” 

His words shoot electricity through you. Your pussy clenching against his fingers. Fluids covering his hand as you came. Continually moaning as you came down from the high. Thrusting against Viktor’s fingers, while grinding against Jayce’s cock. The man behind you holding your body in place, forcing you to take the overstimulating pleasure. When you whimpered, Viktor removed his fingers from you. Bringing them to his lips, sucking your essence off of them with a groan. 

He leaned up and offered his fingers to Jayce. The man gladly opened his mouth to taste the two of you. His tongue lapping at Viktor’s fingers with a groan. 

“Fuck, you taste good.” Jayce said, voice husky. He returned to kissing your neck. 

Viktor, despite having you rattle him internally, remained composed on the outside. 

“Now, let's try out the toy.” He said, grabbing it and pressing one of the buttons. 

He placed it against your clit, the vibrations unlike anything you had ever felt before. Pleasure coursing through you, practically making you scream. Gods, you were already cumming again. Your cum covering Viktor’s hand once more. 

His mouth was open in surprise at how quickly you climaxed. Cock twitching uncomfortably once again.

You relaxed into Jayce’s hold, unsure if you could take more. Based on the hungry gaze in Viktor’s eyes, he was going to make you. And you would gladly accept it. 

“Let’s try that again.” He said, turning on the device. 

The next time you came was less intense, but still left your body electrified. You were wet and sticky. Your spent coating your thighs and the countertop. 

“Jayce, why don’t we try what we discussed earlier.” Viktor said.

The man didn’t have to say it twice. Jayce excitedly pulled off his belt and scooted his pants and underwear down. Cock springing free against your ass. It was so hot, almost pulsating with want. 

“He’s going to fuck you, okay?” It really wasn’t much of a question. More like making sure you understood what was about to happen. 

The thought of Jayce filling you had your pussy gushing. You whined, pressing back against Jayce. The man letting out a hiss as you ground against him. He stalled your hips, easily lifting you up with his strength. Strong hands holding you in place as he lined his cock up with your entrance. Your slick dripping down onto his unbearably hard cock. 

Both of you whined as he slid you down his length. With how wet you were you took the man easily. Jayce’s hand reached around to your tummy, feeling him bulge through your stomach making him groan. 

“C’mon Jayce, fuck her.” Viktor stared at where you and Jayce were connected. Loving the way your pussy sucked up the man’s cock. 

Jayce didn’t need to be told twice. He forced you down his cock, making him moan. He was hitting you in places you had never reached before. 

“S-so tight, and wet. Mmph… why didn’t we do this sooner?” He whined out.

Suddenly, you both jolted as vibrations were pressed against your pussy.

“Shit V, that, that feels so good.” The man fucking you was practically drooling at the pure pleasure he was feeling. 

The sensations were turning you into a moaning mess. Jayce continued to force you down on his cock. Both of you feeling your climaxes on the horizon. You were sure you were going to squirt again. The pleasure was too much, but oh so addicting. These men were going to ruin sex for you, and you didn’t mind at all. 

“Please, baby. Please.” Jayce whined as he kissed up your neck. Leaving a trail of hickies against your throat. “Please cum on my cock. Need to. Need to feel you.” 

The vibrations and the man’s pleas made you shudder. White hot pleasure coursing through your body. Making you scream as you came, drenching his cock. Your plush walls clamping down on him made the man finish. Gritting his teeth and groaning as he filled you. The heat from his cum making you moan. His cock twitched with aftershocks.

Viktor removed the vibrator. He gazed over you and Jayce’s intertwined bodies. The man behind you grabbed your chin, making you face him. Hot lips captured yours, the kiss wet and debauched. Your pussy clenched around Jayce again, making him whimper in your mouth. 

He pulled you against his hard chest. Kissing all over your face and neck as you attempted to catch your breath. A very sweet lover he was. 

A cold hand on your thigh returned your attention to Viktor. The fun wasn’t over just yet. Through the fabric of his pants you could see his cock painful straining. 

“My turn.” Viktor said. 

Jayce shakily lifted you off of him. Groaning as he watched his seed drip down your thighs. Two long fingers swiped along your inner thigh, picking up the cum. Viktor placed them against your lips. You complied, trailing your tongue along his fingers, enjoying the taste of Jayce. Eyes fluttering shut in bliss. 

Viktor slowly stood up, and walked over to the couch the two kept in the lab to crash on. Sitting down, he shifted down his pants and boxers. Hard cock springing free, a bead of precum at the head. It made your mouth water. He grasped his dick and began stroking, eyeing you.

“Well, are you just going to sit there?” He huffed.

“I-I don’t think I can walk.” You said sheepishly.

He chuckled.

“Jayce, be a dear.” 

The man behind you nodded enthusiastically. Lifting you off the table, seating you on Viktor’s lap. Your overstimulated pussy grinding against his cock, making Viktor groan. His hands grabbed at your waist. Forcing you up, then down onto his dick in one swift motion. 

“Ah!” You gasped at the intrusion. 

Looking at Viktor you watched as the man’s eyebrows twitched from the pleasure of having you wrapped around him. 

“You feel so hot, so perfect…” He cut off with a moan as you lifted your hips and began to ride him.

“We should, should, should have done this sooner.” He groaned at the feel of you. 

His length making you whimper. Electric shocks sparking through you with each grind against him. With the little composure he had, the man slotted your lips against his. His tongue sliding against yours, making you moan into his mouth.

So much pleasure, too much pleasure. However, you wouldn’t have it any other way. Allowing yourself to fall into the bliss. Viktor’s hand reaching between your bodies, playing with your clit.

“Viktor…” You breathed. “You’re gonna make me cum… again.”

“Good.” He pecked at your lips. 

The look in his eyes along with a swipe on your nub, made you choke out a moan as you clenched around him. The heat in your belly was overwhelming. Yet you found your body couldn’t stop. Reaching for another high as you rode him like no tomorrow. 

“Again.” He groaned. “I need to feel you again.”

Nodding, you whimpered. 

Jayce was already hard again. Stroking himself as he watched you ride his partner. Biting his lip, he tried holding off cumming. The two of you were so hot. So much better than the man could ever imagine. He thumbed the head of his cock, then shuddered over as he came in his hand. 

“Viktor…” You whined.

“I know, I know. Cum for me.” 

And you did, another shudder making you clench around the man. The tightness forcing his own climax out from him. His cum filling you along with Jayce’s. The thought of having both of them in you making you clench around him again. Eliciting a strangled groan as Viktor’s cock twitched with aftershocks. 

The two of you came down from your final highs. Foreheads pressed together as you caught your breath. After a moment, you slowly lifted yourself off Viktor. Releasing a moan as his softening dick left you. His spent mixed with Jayce’s spilling out of you before you collapsed onto the couch cushion next to him. 

The only sounds in the lab were your labored breaths. You perched yourself on your elbows, taking in your surroundings. Viktor’s head leaned back against the couch. Jayce slumped over. Both men were looking at you, making your heart swell. 

“You could have just asked.” You breathed. “Not come up with some ruse to tease me with.”

“But what would be the fun in that? You make for a great test subject.” 

[darlingdaisyfarm]

𝑯𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆'𝒔 𝑫𝒂𝒚

a/n: happy valentine’s day, my beloveds!!! i love all of you so, so much. like, so much. if i could, i’d send you all glitter-covered valentine’s cards and the biggest, warmest hugs. i hope today is kind to you, whether you’re spending it with someone, treating yourself or just chilling. you deserve all the love in the world. Bill’s and Fiddleford’s parts are coming bit later, but in the meantime, i hope you enjoy Stan and Ford. take care of yourselves, and remember: you are so, so loved 💖

𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒍𝒆𝒚

the first thing Stan does on valentine’s day is complain. “ugh,” he groans as he gets out of bed, rubbing his back. “it’s valentines and i wake up feeling like i got hit by a bus.”

you raise an eyebrow when you see him coming downstairs to the kitchen. “you say that every morning, Stan”

“yeah, but today it’s worse. i swear.”

you tilt your head, thinking. “i could give you a massage?”

just one simple innocent offer and Stanley Pines, full-grown conman, ex-criminal, self-proclaimed tough guy, goes absolutely red. “uh—what? no, i don’t need—” he coughs, turning away. “not like—i mean—“

you smirk. ”so that’s a yes?”

“that's a no!” he grumbles, turning away and heading out of the room, all red and embarrassed.

later, after hours of pacing, making frustrated noises and trying to convince himself that this is a stupid holiday and why does he even care, while also trying to figure out how to ask you on a date without looking like a complete idiot. . .

Mabel is busy hanging out with Candy and Grenda, so he turns to Dipper, which is a mistake.

Dipper, who was in the middle of reading Stanford's journal, looks up at him. “so, essentially, grunkle Stan, what you need is a multi-step plan.”

Stan is horrified. “a what?”

“a plan,” Dipper continues, flipping to a fresh page. “a strategic approach. first, we gather data. then, we make a list of optimal date locations. i’m thinking greasy’s diner, because statistically—“

Stanley just groans, dragging a hand down his face and that's when he realises something. he’s overthinking this. he’s sitting here, talking to his nerd nephew, listening to plans and lists, when he’s never needed a damn plan before in his life. what the hell is he doing??

“okay, nope, nevermind. kid, i’m just gonna take ‘em to a diner.”

“wait, what?” Dipper frowns. ”but you need a PLAN!”

”the plan is the diner.”

“wait, grunkle Stan! i was getting to the part about psychological profiling!“

so that’s how Stanley Pines ends up standing in front of you, very awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “uh. you, uh. wanna go to greasy’s with me. for a date. or whatever.” the moment the words leave his mouth, he wants to die.

and now he wants to die much more because you just smiled at his words and nodded. “yeah. . . yeah, i’d love to!”

the date is going great, which means Stan wants to run. you are too beautiful. it’s pissing him off. especially when light catches your face, when you laugh, when you keep tilting your head while listening to him ramble about whatever, even though he’s pretty sure he’s not making sense.

his heart is pounding. “soo, uh, you, uh. you ever been arrested?”

in response he gets a full-on, unattractive, choke-on-your-own-spit kind of snort from you, what makes him look so proud of himself.

“okay, ice broken,” he thinks. “we’re doin’ great. yeah.”

Stanley hates himself for it but you are too beautiful and funny. and it is ruining his life. he’s sweating. literally sweating. he tries to make small talk and immediately forgets how to speak like a human being.

he’s gonna run.

he's gonna find some dumb excuse, say he left the stove on, pretend to trip and fall out the window. but what he doesn't know is that he's not the only one who's nervous, you’re both so awkward it’s ridiculous. Stan keeps tugging at his collar. you keep fidgeting with your hands, stuttering and avoiding eye contact

suddenly, even to yourself, you stand up. “non specific excuse!!” after announcing that, you flip the entire damn table over and run out of the diner.

Stan watches this happen in slow motion and, without thinking, he jumps up, pointing at you.

“now that’s my kind of person!" he yells to people at the diner as he runs after you.

you’re both running through the empty gravity falls streets, laughing so hard you can barely breathe. when he finally catches up, you both collapse against a wall, panting.

“i can’t believe you just did that, wow!” Stan wheezes.

“well, i can’t believe you chased me,” you shoot back.

you’re both just grinning at each other like idiots. Stan looks at you and damn, he’s so in love it’s stupid.

𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒅

there’s glitter in your hair and Ford notices this first, because there’s glitter everywhere, on the floor, on the couch, on him.

“Mabel,” he says slowly, lifting a sleeve coated in shimmering specks. “what exactly have you done?”

Mabel, who is sitting across from you, shrugs, completely unbothered. “we're making valentine’s day masterpieces, obviously.”

you grin, lifting a small, glittery pink heart with messy writing scrawled across it. “see? Mabel’s making some for her friends. im just helping her!”

oh, damn, that adorable smile of yours. . . Ford clears his throat, though his ears turning noticeably pink. “oh. well. that’s very sweet of you.”

before you can say anything, he disappears into the kitchen, leaving you and Mabel alone together.

some time pass and what started with nail polish, somehow escalated to homemade friendship bracelets with Mabel telling you about all boys she met in Gravity Falls, avoiding Gideon's name, you smile at her because that girl looks so cute cutting out ridiculous little shapes with her tongue sticking out.

“you think waddles would like a card?” Mabel asks, tapping her chin. “or do you think pigs don’t understand the concept of romance?”

“i think waddles would eat the card,” you reply, flicking a bit of glitter at her.

“you are so right!”

suddenly, you hear very familiar voice from the kitchen. “no— waddles!! no! bad pig! shoo! go away!”

Mabel screeches so loud your eardrums nearly rupture. “Ford and Waddles interaction?! i need to see this!”

you dont even have time to react as she launches herself across the room, screaming your name over and over in excitement.

“off the counter! off the counter now!”

you're a curious person, so when you finally peek in you see Ford half-bent over the kitchen table, trying desperately to shield something from Waddles, who is aggressively attempting to munch on a piece of paper.

“uncle Ford!” Mabel yells, “why are you yelling at my baby??”

Ford jerks up. “i—i. . .”

Mabel’s eyes catch sight of the now slobber-covered valentine’s day card and she gasps again, so loud you cover your ears.

“OH. MY. GOSH.” she whips back toward you, pointing dramatically. “go. go away. go to the living room and act like nothing happened!”

you want to stay here longer, trying to see what is going on there, but Mabel keeps pushing you. “do not question me, just go!”

Ford looks mortified. you, very confused, decide to listen to Mabel and back out. when you sit down on the glitter-covered floor, you still hear their voices, because Mabel just doesn't know what does “talking quiet” means.

“oh my gosh, uncle Ford!” from the kitchen comes the unmistakable sound of a chair scraping across the tile, a very panicked grunt, and what is possibly the sound of an envelope being hastily shoved under something. “i knew it! you were making a valentine’s day card!! oh my GOSH, i knew it!! i knew you had a crush on—“

“MABEL!!”

“i can’t believe this, holy llama socks, you’re actually doing something romantic!”

“shh!! keep your voice down!! what if—“

“what color was the glitter? tell me right now. was it pink? was it gold?! it was gold, wasn’t it?!”

there’s a very long pause. then, Ford mutters, “. . .it was gold.”

Mabel squeals. ”uncle Ford, you have to give it to them, please please please!”

“i can’t do that!”

“ughh, why not?!”

Ford sounds so exasperated you can picture him running both hands down his face. “because that is embarrassing! i. . . Mabel, i can't do that.”

”but you wrote them something sweet, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU??”

“Mabel, sweetie, please.”

“you are so lucky i have a strong sense of mystery, uncle Ford, i would never, ever reveal your deepest secrets. no matter how much they might want to know. even if they asked very nicely. even if they bribed me with candy. even if they looked so, so beautiful today!”

and god, Mabel acts so suspicious for hours. she side-eyes you at dinner, she hums conspicuously when Ford walks past, she does wiggly eyebrows. it’s a whole thing! but she doesn’t tell you why, and by the time the day winds down, you nearly forget. . .

until later that night, when the house is quiet, you find a folded pink valentine’s day card tucked neatly beside your pillow.

the front has a little hand-drawn equation that you don’t totally understand, but something about it makes you smile.

the inside reads, in Ford’s impeccable cursive handwriting:

“of all the possible realities, i’m grateful to exist in this one with you ♡ ”

and underneath, a little scrawled postscript “p.s. please ignore the bite mark on the corner. i had to fight for my life against a pig today.”

[ivyues]

Echos of Home: Stray Kids' reactions to their S/O not being close with their parents

Bang Chan

The front door clicks shut, quieter than usual, but it’s enough for Chris to hear from the living room. He frowns, glancing at the time on his phone. You weren’t supposed to be back for another few hours.

“Babe?” His voice carries through the apartment as he stands up, walking toward the entryway. When he sees you, his expression softens, but there’s still a flicker of concern in his eyes. “You’re back early.”

You nod, setting your bag down a little too carefully, like you’re keeping yourself in check. “Yeah. I’m back.”

He studies you for a moment, his head tilting slightly the way it does when he’s trying to piece something together. He knows – has always known – that things with your parents aren’t exactly smooth. There’s no big, dramatic fallout, no abusive history, just a constant, lingering sense of not quite fitting in with them. Conversations that feel like walking through a minefield, small comments that chip away at you, a love that never feels warm enough.

Chris takes a step closer, reaching for your hand. “What happened?”

You shrug, not really wanting to get into it. “Nothing new.”

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, grounding, patient. “Wanna talk about it?”

You shake your head. “Not really.”

He just tugs you into his arms, wrapping you up in a hug that is nothing like the ones you get from your parents – half-hearted, obligatory. No, this one is firm, warm, steady. You melt into it before you even realize how much you needed it.

His chin rests atop your head, his voice gentle. “You know you don’t have to go if you don’t want to, right?”

You close your eyes, exhaling slowly. “I know.”

“And you know that no matter what, you always have a home here with me?”

Your throat tightens, but in a good way. In a way that makes you feel safe. “Yeah,” you murmur. “I know.”

Chris squeezes you a little tighter before swaying side to side, humming softly. You’re home. That’s all that matters.

Lee Know

It wasn’t unusual for you to be at his parent’s house; in fact, it was almost expected at this point. His parents had practically adopted you into their family, treating you like one of their own. His mom always insisted you stay for dinner, and his dad would ask you about school or work like he would his own son. With the cats curling at your side, it felt warm here – comfortable, safe.

That’s why, when Lee Know casually mentioned, “You know, I think you spend more time at my parents’ house than at your own parents’,” with a teasing smile, he didn’t expect the way your body tensed ever so slightly.

It was brief, almost imperceptible, but he caught it.

You let out a small laugh, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Maybe you're right.”

He didn’t press, not yet, but the thought lingered in his mind. And then, as if the idea had just struck him, he said, “Maybe next time, I should come over to your place. Your parents probably think I don’t exist.”

Your reaction was immediate. A flicker of hesitation crossed your face, and for a moment, you looked like you wanted to say something – anything – but then, you just shrugged. “They’re busy,” you said vaguely. “They wouldn’t really care.”

That didn’t sit right with him. You had always been good at avoiding certain topics, but this one was different. This wasn’t just avoidance – it was reluctance, something deeper.

He tilted his head slightly, his voice softening. “You never really talk about them.”

You forced a smile. “There’s not much to talk about.”

Lee Know didn’t push. He knew you well enough to understand that if he did, you’d only retreat further into yourself. Instead, he nudged your arm lightly. “Well, if they’re too busy, you know that you can come over any time. I start to think that my mom already likes you better than me.”

Changbin

Changbin slumped onto the couch beside you, letting out a dramatic sigh. “When was the last time you even visited your parents?” he joked, nudging your shoulder playfully.

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Oh, you know,” you said with heavy sarcasm, “got yelled at for every life decision I’ve ever made. Good times.”

The teasing glint in Changbin’s eyes disappeared in an instant. He frowned, tilting his head to get a better look at your expression, but you avoided his gaze, pretending to scroll through your phone. His heart sank at the forced nonchalance in your voice.

“Wait… what do you mean?” His voice softened, laced with concern.

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “You know how they are. Nothing I do is ever right. I could be a literal millionaire and they’d still find a way to tell me I messed up.” You let out a small, humorless laugh. “It’s just how it is.”

Changbin didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile. “That’s not how it should be, though,” he murmured. “You deserve better than that.”

You blinked at his sincerity, feeling a lump form in your throat. “It’s fine, Bin. I’m used to it.”

He sighed, shifting closer so your shoulders touched. “That doesn’t make it okay,” he countered, his brows knitting together in frustration. 

You hesitated for a moment before speaking again, voice barely above a whisper. “Sometimes, I wonder if I could ever be a good mom,” you admitted. “like… I never really got to experience what having a good mom feels like. What if I mess up the way they did?”

Changbin’s eyes softened, and he gently cupped your cheek, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Hey,” he said firmly. “You are already so full of love and care. The fact that you worry about that proves you’re going to be amazing. You won’t be like them. You get to choose the kind of parent you want to be.”

Your heart swelled at his words, warmth spreading through your chest. You had always carried the weight of your strained relationship with your parents alone.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I know.”

Hyunjin

Hyunjin had never been one to push too hard when it came to personal matters. He understood boundaries, respected them even. But every time the topic of parents came up – his or yours – you always managed to steer the conversation elsewhere. And most importantly, you had never once mentioned introducing him to them.

At first, he brushed it off, thinking you were just taking things slow. But after nearly a year together, it stung. It made him wonder if there was a reason, a reason that had everything to do with him.

That thought festered in his chest until one evening, it finally slipped out.

“Do you not want me to meet your parents?” His voice was soft, uncertain.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I mean… we’ve been together for a while now, but you never bring it up.” He forced a small chuckle, trying to keep his tone light even though it felt anything but. “I just… I guess I can’t help but wonder if it’s because of me.”

Your heart sank at the vulnerability in his voice. “Hyunjin—”

“Is it because I’m an idol?” He cut in before you could explain. “I know that might be weird for some parents, and if that’s the case, I get it. But I just—” He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his hair. “I don’t know. It feels like you don’t want to include me in that part of your life.”

You swallowed hard, guilt settling in.

“Hyunjin, it’s not that I don’t want you to meet them,” you said carefully, fingers gripping the fabric of your sleeves. “It’s just… my relationship with my parents isn’t great. It’s complicated.”

His eyes searched yours, confusion flickering across his face. “Complicated how?”

You hesitated. “We don’t really… talk much. When we do, it’s tense. We just don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things.”

Hyunjin’s expression softened slightly. “Then why didn’t you just tell me that?”

“Because I didn’t want to talk about it,” you admitted. “It’s messy and frustrating, and I didn’t want to drag you into that.”

“But I want to be dragged into it,” he said, leaning forward. “I want to understand what’s going on in your life. That includes the bad parts, too.”

You looked away, the weight of his words settling in. “I guess… I was embarrassed.”

Hyunjin’s brows furrowed. “Embarrassed?”

“I don’t have the kind of parents who are loving and supportive,” you admitted, voice quieter now. “And I didn’t want you to see that and think less of me.”

“Y/N, I would never think less of you because of something like that.” He reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. “I just wanted to understand. I thought… I thought you didn’t want me to meet them because of me.”

You exhaled shakily. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

Hyunjin shook his head, lips pressing into a thin line before he let out a breath. “I just want you to trust me enough to talk to me about these things.”

“I do,” you said quickly. “I just… I didn’t know how.”

Han

"So you don’t want me to meet your parents?" Han repeated, his voice softer than you expected. Not quite hurt or offended – just… concerned.

You swallowed hard, nodding. "It’s not that I don’t want you to. I just— I don’t think it’s a good idea."

He tilted his head, studying you. "Can you tell me why?"

You hesitated. Han had always been so good at making you feel safe, but there was still a deep-rooted instinct inside you that told you to keep this part of your life locked away. It wasn’t that your parents were abusive, not in the way people might think, but they had never really seen you. Not truly. Their love came with conditions, with expectations you could never quite meet.

"I just… I don’t want to put you in a situation where you're not treated well," you admitted, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "They don’t respect me, Han. And since you’re with me, they won’t respect you either. I don’t want that for you."

"I get it," he said quietly, his voice steady. "And I love that you’re thinking about me. But, baby… you don’t have to protect me from them."

You opened your mouth to argue, but he shook his head before you could.

"I’m not saying we have to go to a family dinner or anything," he continued. "But you don’t have to carry this alone. I know it’s complicated, and I know it sucks. But I don’t want you to think that you have to shield me from this part of your life just because you’ve been dealing with it alone for so long."

Your throat tightened. "But they’ll—"

"They can think whatever they want about me," he interrupted gently. "What matters is what you think. And if they don’t respect you, that’s on them. That’s not a reflection of who you are, and it’s definitely not going to change how I see you."

You exhaled shakily. "I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to let you meet them. I've spent too much time hoping they'll change."

Han smiled, squeezing your hands reassuringly. "That’s okay. We’ll take it at your pace. Just… don’t shut me out, okay? I want to be here for you. For everything."

Felix

Felix stretched his arms, groaning slightly as he leaned back against the couch. The two of you had been catching up on life the whole evening. He had just been telling you about his latest video call with his parents, laughing about how his mom still worried if he was eating enough.

"Honestly," he said between bites of the cookies he had brought over, "I think I see my parents more often than you see yours."

You froze, your fingers tightening around the mug of tea you were holding. The playful lilt in his voice made it clear that he hadn’t meant any harm, but the words hit you harder than you expected. Your mind ran through the last time you had actually visited your parents.

Felix must have noticed your sudden stillness, because when you looked up at him, his brows were slightly furrowed, eyes searching yours. 

"You’re not wrong," you admitted quietly, sipping your tea to avoid his gaze. "I think you really do."

"Oh. I— I didn’t mean to... I was just joking."

"I know," offering him a small smile. "It’s just… true."

A beat of silence stretched between you. Felix set his cookie down, shifting closer until his knee bumped against yours. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

You hesitated. It wasn’t that you never talked about your parents, but it always felt exhausting to explain the complicated mess that was your relationship with them. They weren’t cruel or absent, just distant – close enough to be in your life, but never truly present.

"Not much to say, really," you murmured. "We just don’t talk much. It’s always… weird. Like we don’t know how to be around each other."

Felix listened, nodding. "That sounds really lonely."

Your lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the simple truth in his words. "Yeah," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "It kinda is."

Felix didn’t say anything at first. "You know," he said, voice warm and sure, "family doesn’t have to be just the people you’re born with."

Your chest tightened, not with sadness, but with something gentler.

Felix grinned, before nudging you playfully. "Well, for what it’s worth, my parents love adopting people into the family. You might already be part of it without knowing."

Seungmin

The living room was quiet except for the occasional tapping of Seungmin’s phone as he scrolled, stretched out comfortably on your couch. You sat beside him, your head resting against the couch cushion, feeling the warmth of his presence next to you. 

Then, your phone buzzed on the coffee table.

Mom flashed across the screen.

Seungmin glanced at it briefly before looking at you, expecting you to reach for it. But instead, you pressed decline without a second thought.

He blinked, his brows furrowing slightly. "You’re not gonna answer?"

You shrugged. "Nope."

He sat up a little, setting his phone down. "Why not? It could be important."

"Unlikely," you muttered, avoiding his gaze.

The confusion on his face lingered for a moment before realization set in. "You don’t really talk to her much, do you?"

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. "Not if I can help it."

Seungmin didn’t respond right away, just watched you carefully. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. "You guys don’t get along?"

"Not really," you admitted. "We just... don’t see things the same way. Talking always turns into a disagreement, and honestly, it’s exhausting. It’s easier to just not deal with it."

Seungmin hummed, a quiet sound of understanding. 

For a moment, he just sat there, thinking. Then, without warning, he leaned over and lightly nudged your shoulder with his own. "You don’t have to pretend you’re fine."

You glanced at him, surprised by how easily he saw through you.

He tilted his head, his expression unreadable yet undeniably gentle. "You’re allowed to be upset about it. You don’t have to act like it doesn’t bother you."

Something in your chest loosened. You hadn’t even realized how much tension you’d been carrying until now.

"Thanks," you murmured.

He gave you a small, reassuring smile. "Anytime." 

I.N

You sighed as you scrolled through your messages, the same feeling of disappointment creeping in. Your parents had sent another message in the family group chat – one of their usual updates about your sibling, filled with admiration and excitement. You were happy for them, truly. But every time you saw their name being praised while yours was barely acknowledged, the ache in your chest deepened.

I.N sat beside you on the couch, watching your face shift from neutral to something more distant. He nudged your arm gently. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You hesitated before tilting your phone toward him. He skimmed the messages, his features tightening as he put the pieces together. He already knew the story – how your relationship with your parents had grown distant ever since you chose a different path, how they seemed to relate more to your sibling, leaving you feeling like an outsider in your own family. He also knew you weren’t looking for pity.

Instead of offering empty words, I.N put your phone aside. “Does it hurt?” he asked quietly.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “A little,” you admitted. “I mean, I moved out as soon as I could, and I’ve been independent for a while, so I shouldn’t care so much. But… it’s like no matter what I do, I’m not enough for them.”

I.N frowned. “That’s not true. You are enough. They just… don’t see you the way they should, and that’s on them, not you.”

You looked at him, feeling a flicker of warmth in his gaze. He wasn’t trying to fix it. He wasn’t telling you to move on or pretend it didn’t matter. 

“You’ve built a life for yourself that you love, haven’t you?” he continued. “That takes courage. And just because they don’t recognize it doesn’t make it any less real.”

A small, wobbly smile broke through your somber expression.

I.N grinned, giving your hand a playful squeeze. “I just know you. And I know that you deserve to be seen, to be valued. Even if they don’t show it, I will.”

You exhaled, leaning into him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Thank you, Innie.”

masterlist

[necromancerbunny]

I’ve got a secret, can you keep it? || #1

summary: Aaron corners you at your parents’ anniversary party to tell you what he wants.

warnings: age gap, dbf!Hotch

If your parents knew what thoughts are plaguing your mind every time you look at Aaron at their anniversary party, they would lose their marbles. But how could you not think about him? How could you not think about the way he looks at you from across the room, how much his expression softens when he’s talking to you? The signs are there, you’re just unsure if you’re decoding them right.

It’s probably the age difference that makes you so uncertain, prompting you to wonder if he would even want something from you. Aren’t you too young? Aren’t you too naive? Why would he want you? Still, the way he looks at you always pulls a dreamy sigh from your lips. Just one chance. All you need is one chance to find out what if.

There’s something about him that keeps pulling you in, that gravitational field forged from his quiet confidence, from the way he acts so nice and polite despite being the unit chief of one of the FBI’s most prestigious teams. And those eyes? And that rare smile? They haunt you in your dreams. Oh, those dreams…

“I need your help. It’s an emergency,” you hear your cousin’s voice a mere second before his fingers clasp around your wrist to pull you away from the terrace door.

You love Liam, he’s only sixteen, but he’s dating his first proper girlfriend now, so he can be pretty lost sometimes, and he doesn’t feel like asking for his parents’ advice. So, you became the person he turns to for a few wise words, which is kind of funny considering you haven’t dated anyone properly in a while.

Despite your love for this kid, your attention often slips away during the conversation, because you know Aaron’s eyes are watching you closely, putting a sweet pressure on you by making it hard to focus on your relative. When you dare to throw a casual glance in his direction, as if you were just scanning the room without looking for anyone or anything, you see that damn smug smirk on his face.

Suddenly, your cousin’s phone starts playing his favorite song, his girlfriend’s name flashing on the screen. He looks uncertain, but you want to take this chance to get rid of him. With a kind, supportive smile, you tell him to be a man and talk to her, tell her why exactly he doesn’t feel like introducing her to his parents just yet.

With a sigh, you head to the backyard, following the path that leads you to your parents. Not because you want to have a chat with them, but because Aaron’s there. He’s busy explaining someone to a woman you don’t know, but you can see that look in her eyes, that smitten look with those sparkling eyes that tell you what she wants from him. He doesn’t seem to notice, or rather he’s just good at hiding his emotions.

It’s jealousy that’s clawing at your heart, leaving an ache behind you don’t want to feel, so you flash a smile at your mother who’s watching you with curious eyes, then take a step back to leave the group. But your body freezes before you could walk away, because you suddenly feel his hand on the small of your back. When you look at him, you see the way the corner of his lips curl into a barely visible smile.

No one seems to notice, not even that woman who’s still watching him with those wide, doe eyes. You can’t help but wonder how long that might last, because you instinctively bite your lower lip when his fingers spread on your back. He’s gonna be the death of you, but god, wouldn’t it be the sweetest possible death?

“I’m sorry, do you happen to have some painkillers? I can feel a headache coming,” he suddenly says, giving your parents an almost awkward smile. Your mother tells him they have some in the master bathroom, but when she puts her champagne flute on a table behind her, he’s quick to speak up. “No, it’s your night, I’m sure your daughter knows her way around.”

It takes a second to register what he just said. He wants you to go with him, he wants you to join him on this trip into the house. A part of the house that is usually off-limits to the guests. Panic fills you, but you manage to take a deep breath to calm your nerves. It’s just an innocent request, he surely doesn’t have some ulterior motive. And if he did, then what? That’s what you want, after all, isn’t it?

Before you know it, Aaron leads you toward the house, passing through the crowd in silence. There aren’t any curious looks, no one seems to wonder what you’re doing there together, because you’re an adult, and he’s just a family friend. A recently divorced and stupidly handsome family friend, someone you have very, very indecent dreams about.

God dammit.

When you reach the master bedroom, he closes the door behind you and stops. You turn back with a questioning look, but he’s just standing there, brown eyes observing you curiously. Gulping, you decide it would be for the best if you just moved on to the bathroom to get what he asked for, so you don’t have to face him. The way he’s watching you? That’s pure torture. It’s like he wants to say something, but he’s hesitating, as if something was holding him back.

You find some Advil in the bathroom, but when you take the box from the shelf, you hear the sound of footsteps behind you. “I don’t really need that,” you hear him say, so you turn around to see what he wants then.

Aaron’s smile reaches his eyes, making you melt on the spot. No wonder that woman was all over him, who in their right mind wouldn’t be? Sometimes you can’t help but think about what he must be like behind the scenes, because there has to be something, a reason why Haley left him. You heard the story from your parents, but you never dared to ask him about that.

“But you said–”

“I know what I said, but that was a lie,” he informs you casually. When you give him a questioning look, he flashes a smile at you. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

At first, you just stare at him, mouth agape. But then your brows furrow as you take a deep breath, preparing to ask the stupidest question you can think of. “Nothing. Why do you ask?” you wonder out loud.

There’s a beat of silence before he steps closer to you. “Dinner. I have a reservation for eight, so I’ll pick you up half an hour earlier, okay? Wear something nice.” When he sees that you froze from the suggestion, he lets out a quiet chuckle. “You’re so beautiful when you’re confused,” he says as he reaches out to push a strand of hair behind your ear.

A secret relationship with Aaron Hotchner is like a rabbit hole. You dive in, following the flow, and only hope things would work out in the end. But damn, isn’t it the best thing ever? He’s nice, handsome, confident, and did you mention handsome?

Yes, you’re screwed.

[damn-stark]

Chapter 2 Lavender green, lavender blue

Chapter 2 of Sinnerwoman

A/N- Ahhh!! The second chapter is here and I really hope you all like it just as much as I liked writing it!!

Warning- ANGST!! Weapons, blood, light violence. Talks of death! And small SA part. Spoilers for the show!

Pairing- Hwang Jun-ho x fem!reader

Episode- 1x09 & 2x01-2x02

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

——

A decision has been made. It was made the moment the Front Man revealed his identity, but what is the warmth and the sound of your lover's beating heart compared to a lifetime of bitter solitude and agonizing screams?

Nothing…nothing compares to what you have to return to, but you can’t stay or risk waiting. Jun-ho might be in a coma, he might wake up a month from now, and you would have waited a month or all your life if you had to, but you can’t risk it.

You have to leave, he has to forget about you for his own safety. And maybe it is a selfish decision, you got mad at him because he chose to leave you in the dark when he decided to put his life at risk to sneak onto that Island, but this is different. This is a sacrifice you're making to save his life. Does it make leaving him behind any better?

No, you don’t want him to forget about you. You don’t want him to meet someone else, and you don’t want him to live the life you wanted with him with someone else. You want him to only love you, but there’s no other choice. He won’t stop pursuing the Island and that will get him killed, and you don't think you’ll be able to survive this time if you have to watch someone else that you love die in your arms again, so you have to leave.

First, though, you have to snuggle up against him and share his warmth for a little longer. You have to hear the sound of his beating heart for a little longer to memorize its calming beat.

Just a little longer.

“Lavender’s green, dilly, dilly…lavender's blue,” you sing, or try because every word of the lullaby comes out shaky and like you’re out of breath because you can’t help the tears that run down your cheeks and stain Jun-ho’s hospital gown.

“If you love me…dilly, dilly. I will love you,” you continue and maybe you aren’t the best singer, but memories fade or get obscured, especially those of children, and that lullaby is one of the few memories you have of your sister when she would sing it to you at the orphanage. It means so much to you, to her memory and now when you think of that song, besides your sister, you’ll think of the only man you’ll love. The man who loved you; your Jun-ho, so you have to share it with him. Even if he can’t hear it.

Yet those last words uttered were like a pierce to the heart and with each impact, more and more of you was chipped away, leaving no more strength to continue the rest. Thus you stroke Jun-ho’s chest one more time before you shift your head to press a light kiss on the part of his chest that you were resting your head on. You then slide off the bed and sit up to study every inch of his face before you lean down and leave one last kiss on his lips.

Rather than getting up right away, you let the warmth of your lips linger on his to cherish the taste before you force yourself off the hospital bed.

When you’re standing at the foot of the same bed you steal one last glance at him, wishing you could have seen his eyes and talked to him one more time, but you keep telling yourself that what you’re doing is for the best, so you push yourself away with tears crawling down the curve of your cheeks.

Before you can leave the room and the hospital, however, you make a stop at the bathroom. You splash your face with water to wipe the tears off your cheeks and any marking they could have left behind. If you had any other clothes besides the ones you wore to the Island, you would have put them on now, but you have nothing. All you can do is disconnect your phone from any satellite that gives you service, and then the wifi to go offline, making the hospital the last place your phone would have been.

Once that is taken care of, you move to leave, but you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror, so you stop and slowly scale your eyes to the scar of a skidding bullet above your ear, and every bad memory you have of the island comes rushing in, making you hesitate and dread having to return to that horrible and terrible life.

You almost have the nerve to return to Jun-ho’s bedside and pretend you weren’t going to leave. You don’t want to see it again. You don’t want to live it. You can’t hide behind a mask again, but…it’s a sacrifice you have to make for the man you love, so after a deep breath you make it out of the bathroom. You throw your phone away in the nearest trash can and stride out of the hospital.

No one stops you, and no one looks. You walk out alone under the cover of rain and leave everything behind.

——

*3 YEARS LATER.*

“…IT'S ALMOST BEEN THREE YEARS SINCE THE DISAPPEARANCE…”

Whatever had been said before didn’t matter. It didn’t even register as noise, but these words finally steal his attention. After all, it's been the same words they once repeated daily and then weekly, monthly, and then every year, so like his name, Jun-ho becomes alert when he hears them,

“…OF THE RESPECTED AND DECORATED DETECTIVE KANG…”

Yet when the news anchor begins to say your name he tunes out the news again. He can’t muster the strength to hear your name or see the portrait of you that they display on the screen without feeling agony pierce his heart. So with memorized timing, he tunes out those few seconds and then focuses again to hear the rest of the news bit.

“…SHE WAS LAST SEEN LEAVING THE HOSPITAL. IF YOU HAVE INFORMATION ON HER WHEREABOUTS PLEASE CONTACT YOUR LOCAL AUTHORITIES. THANK YOU.”

Yet no one ever does contact the authorities. It’s like you just vanished in the rainfall that supposedly hit that night.

Maybe if you hadn’t been seen at the same hospital he was taken to it would be easier to pass you off as dead, but you were seen. You made it out of the Island, just like he did, so how could he possibly forget you? You of all people. You out of every soul he knew. You…his epic love.

Just like his brother was his life. You were also all of his life and so much more of it. He would have to be dead to forget you.

Maybe death would be good though. That way he would forget what he saw his brother become. That way he could stop blaming himself for your disappearance, but when he looks up at the picture of you and him that he has attached to his locker mirror, he thinks to himself, “How can I possibly die without knowing where you are, or…what happened to you?”

He can’t die yet. He has so many questions, and so much unfinished business that also has nothing to do with you, but, you…

“You,” he thinks to himself as he pulls the picture off the mirror, catching at that moment the wandering eyes of his colleague before he quickly looks away and walks off without saying a word.

At first, the first few weeks of your disappearance, when he returned to work, all he would get was pitiful consolations. After that, anytime you were brought up they just passed him pitiful stares that were also mixed with curiosity as they wondered if he still cared.

He would tell them to fuck off, but he doesn’t want to waste his breath so he lets them think what they want. He’s still searching for answers and he’s the only one that needs to know that.

“I won’t stop looking,” he thinks to himself as he folds the picture so you and your timid smile are the center of attention.

After he strokes his thumb over the image of you he sticks the picture back on his mirror and tries to continue changing back into his normal clothes, but then the scar his brother left on his shoulder steals his attention.

Just like you, how can he possibly forget about In-ho? Sometimes he forgets what he saw, but when he sees his scar, when he feels the shape under his fingertips, he remembers what happened that day In-ho shot him and he’s hit with a wave of different emotions and questions.

One question he has is if In-ho has anything to do with your disappearance. You escaped the Island, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t find you after you escaped.

Maybe In-ho…took you away from Jun-ho’s life?

He doesn’t like that possibility, he can’t imagine that his brother is the one who stole the woman he loved from him, so he finishes changing. Once he’s done, like every day that came before, he leaves the department and heads to his car.

Yet this evening as he’s walking to his car he feels this sensation like someone is staring, so he stops walking, and lifts his gaze to look in the direction he felt the stare coming from.

However, when his eyes find the spot, there’s no one there. There’s just an empty street. So after a couple of seconds of lingering, he continues to his car. It’s only once he’s driven off that you come out from behind a pillar, and keep your eyes where you had seen him last before you take a deep breath and collect yourself to check your phone.

When you see what time it is you groan in annoyance and set off. There’s no hurry in your pace, or an urgency to get a ride to where you’re meant to be. You go on as if you’re taking a stroll through the city, enjoying the sights like a tourist, and enjoying the sounds of everyday life because that’s the one thing you like; the commotion of the busy city life.

Where you live now is like living in a construction site, or sometimes it feels like an office. In the off-season when there’s not an army of workers, there is a stillness that you appreciate, but with it comes a silence that drags on and if you weren’t used to it you would be driven insane.

That’s why you soak in the everyday commotion while you can. Even if it makes you late to your meeting.

“Hi, I’m here to join a party already at a table. Under the name, Oh,” you let the hostess know, and right away her eyes search the list on her screen. In a matter of seconds, her finger stops scrolling and she faces you with a perfectly practiced smile.

“Follow me,” she says and walks away from her podium to guide you to a secluded table at the end of the room, still nicely lit, but secluded to offer privacy.

Thus the walk is longer than usual, but when you reach the table the party waiting for you stands from their seats to welcome you to the table at long last.

“Here you go, ma’am, do you know what you want to order or should I leave the menu?”

“No,” one of the party members interjects. “We already ordered ahead for her. Let the waitress know she’s here.”

The hostess offers him a smile and nods in comprehension before she backs up and walks off, leaving you alone to face your rather patient dates.

“Forgive me,” you announce with a small smile. “I’m late. I know. There was some business I needed to take care of.”

You proceed to take your seat that faces the party you met up with, and they then take their seats after you, letting you meet them at their eye level and offer them a wider smile. “Shall we?” You suggest.

——

*2 YEARS AGO*

“…I don’t like to see you get hurt and if something had happened to you, or if something happens to you because of me, I…don’t think I could ever in my life forgive myself. I…love you.”

“I…love you.”

“I…love you.”

Jun-ho’s words are the commotion that keeps the quiet lobby from truly being deafening so late at night. While the picture in your hand keeps you company in a lobby where you’re the only one occupying it.

That is until you hear the glass front doors get pushed open and a single pair of wet footsteps walk in and change the occupation from one to two. Or so that’s what it sounds like.

You peer back thinking you’ll catch more people walking in with the person you’re waiting for, but alas, it’s a single man. A homeless man…maybe? He looks ragged with his beat-up clothes, his shoulder-length unkempt hair, and his dirty face.

But who are you to judge his appearance?

“The elevators are down the hall,” you share as you turn your head away from the man who seems lost. “If not. The receptionist start their shift at six. You’ll have to be gone by then.”

The man begins to walk down the hall while he offers you a response. “Oh…thank you. Goodnight.”

“Good night,” you deadpan and keep listening in. It’s not until you hear the elevator doors close that you bring up your picture again and keep admiring Jun-ho’s image, his heartwarming smile that he only showed to the camera because you were posing with him. Otherwise, you would only catch him in a picture alone if it was off guard. It’s why you have a lot of pictures of him off guard, and that’s why the ones with him actually looking at the camera and smiling are your favorite, but the one you hold in your hand is a picture you cherish the most because decorations from your favorite holiday adorn it, and he’s holding your little black Scottish Terrier, Gentleman.

If only you could be with them, especially now, but if you picked up your dog the moment you left the hospital that night, it would have made your disappearance questionable, so you left him behind with your neighbor the day you left for the Island. And Jun-ho…there’s hundreds of reasons why you can’t be with him…

That’s why you’re here alone, watching the snow start to fall and stick to the ground with a solemn look that will probably never leave. Once the snow is thicker you put the folded picture away and step outside where you break the snow’s path so some part of it can fall on you instead.

It takes a while for you to look up as you stand in your solitude and let the snow weigh you down first as if you’re just another object on the street. When you do finally break from your stupor, you slowly look up at the white sky intermingled with the night, and notice two perfectly shaped snowflakes dancing down from the sky in an attempt to reach the ground, so you put your hand out and try to catch them on your palm.

Nevertheless, one snowflake breaks away from its path and continues barreling to the ground, while the other lands on your palm all alone and melts right away.

Perhaps if the other snowflake had also landed on your palm, the lonely snowflake would have lived longer, but it was no good alone. Thus you fist your hand with disappointment and attempt to head back inside, but in that moment you then catch a man across the street.

He doesn’t seem conscious, he seems to be sleeping with the way he’s slumped on the ground, but you can’t be sure from where you are, so you make your way to him.

The moment you reach him you call out to him in hopes of gaining his attention. “Sir? Are you okay?”

You wait for a few seconds but there’s no response. His eyes remain closed and his breathing heavy, so you get closer and catch a whiff of alcohol, but you don't let that matter. You still shake him gently, causing him to slip.

When he doesn’t wake up that way you back away and immediately pull your phone out to call the police. And rather than staying there and waiting for the police out in the open, under all the street lights, you choose to walk off to a bench across the street and wait there where you won’t be seen.

You continue to wait and wait until finally a siren sounds and police show up to take the man out of the cold. And even then you don’t leave the cold yourself, you stay on the bench, letting the snow continue to pile up on your slouched figure as you wait and lose yourself on the untouched sheet of snow already covering the ground.

After some unknown time passes the headlights of a car break you from your stupor and you look up, noticing black SUVs with dark tinted windows pull up to the apartment building you had been waiting in. Thus ending your waiting period and making you dust the snow off your body before you get up to look like some creep waiting just outside the car.

Thankfully who you’re waiting for doesn’t leave you waiting too long, but the moment your eyes land on him your breath catches in your throat. And when his eyes fall on you, he comes to a stop and has the nobility to look at you in the eyes.

There’s no softness and no agitation. He doesn’t pass you a firm or deadpanned look. He seems curious about you, just as you are about him; Hwang In-ho, the older brother of the love of your life, and the Front Man.

Even so, neither of you exchange any words on any matter, he just says your name so you counter by stating his own name. “Hwang In-ho. It’s nice to meet you in a calmer environment.” You scoff and he just looks at you before he turns his body to face the car.

“Are you coming?” He asks and walks away without waiting for an answer as if he knows what you’re going to choose. Yet you still linger where you are to hesitate as if you have a choice when your mind's made up and has been forcing you to follow through with that decision for a year now.

It’s just…if you get that in that car, you officially go back to that nightmare. You leave your life behind. You leave Jun-ho, and trade it for…a life that turned its back on you?

“Your father is dead,” In-ho shares from inside the car as if he can read your mangled thoughts only getting more and more twisted—“you have a chance to start over. Not where you started, but by my side. Just as we discussed. Get in the car.”

You put your hands in your pockets to grab the picture and debate for a second longer before you choose not to live a lifetime secluded. If you’re going to be alone you might as well be alone there where you can be a piece upon the board. So you get in the car and watch your decision get sealed when the door closes.

“Is the host dead?” You ask first and foremost, skipping formalities because you already know each other's names.

“The flower arrangement was inappropriate,” he says in a deeper tone that could be passed as scolding.

“Well,” you respond with a growing malicious smile. “Look at it this way, now my flowers will be the first to decorate his grave.” You snicker and look over at him with a smile, but he looks at you nonchalantly.

“You can’t see Jun-ho anymore,” he changes the subject bluntly, causing your smile to fall and your amusement to fade right away.

“I know that,” you mutter as you turn your head away to look out the window. “That’s why I disappeared because I saw you. I knew who you were and what you meant to the games, and I…knew,” you pause and swallow back a lump of emotions that had begun to form in your throat. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to lie to his face.”

You see your eyes water through the reflection painted on the window, so you avert your gaze and continue. “He really cares about you…you know. He looks—looked up to you. It wasn’t long after we met that he told me about you, so…seeing you take that mask off…” you trail off and peek over at him, seeing that he can't look at you, his eyes are on his hands, and his jaw is clenched, giving away his discomfort on the matter.

“…was when I knew what I had to do to protect him because if he knew that I knew how to find you, he wouldn’t stop. He would get himself killed to get back on that Island again. To reach you, and,” you pause and feel the tears break away to fall down your cheeks.

“I can’t lose him. He means everything to me. And coming from someone with nothing, losing everything is like losing one's own life.”

In-ho hums, and you take that as a simple form of acknowledgment, but if you could understand the deeper meaning behind that simple acknowledging hum, you would know that he also knows what it’s like to lose everything.

“I already lost everything once. I can’t lose it again. So I know I can’t see him again,” you finish stating and then wipe the tears off your face to slowly look over at him.

“Are you sure there will be a place for me there?” You make sure to ask.

In-ho’s eyes drift to you to catch a glimpse of you before he reaches down and grabs a black box decorated with a pink bow to give it to you.

You don’t wait or question him. You pull at the pink bow to pull it off and then pull the lid off the box. When you reach inside you pull out a shiny silver mask of the top half of a crane’s face.

“This is where you belong,” In-ho assures you as you keep looking at your mask and realize there’s no turning back. This is you now. Again.

Another piece on the board…

Or the piece that ends it all.

——

*NOW*

“I’m glad that we are meeting in the city,” you muse as you pull your coat off and hang it on your chair. “The island tends to suffocate me.”

“You insisted on meeting here,” In-ho quips as he studies you as if that will give away where you were. “Annoyingly so.”

You shrug and flash him a sweet smile. “And you accepted. You had the power to deny my suggestion but you caved, so my point still stands.”

In-ho sighs deeply in annoyance before he snaps his gaze away to look at your third guest, the man in charge of recruiting the players for the games. “Anyway, considering some of us are meant to be missing, we're short on time. Tell us what you know,” he directs at the recruiter.

“Well,” the recruiter doesn’t leave you waiting. “As I’ve mentioned, player 456, Seong Gi-hun, and his…hired lackey,” he adds without masking his disgust. “Are trailing me.”

“What else is new,” you mutter and sit back as the waitress walks over with your cup of coffee just the way you like it. “Aren’t they on the subway lines every day?”

The recruiter sighs whilst he also picks up his spoon to mix his coffee. “On the dot. Which leaves me surprised that…such low lives are so loyal to their boring jobs.”

You pick your cup up and raise it to quip. “Money. Maybe we can offer them more to act like they don’t see you. That will keep player 456 chasing after his own tail.”

The recruiter laughs and you flash him a smile as you take a sip of your coffee. Albeit In-ho doesn’t share your amusement. “That won’t be necessary. You will let Player 456’s lackey find you.”

The recruiter lets his spoon go and blinks repeatedly in confusion before he questions the command. He’s not one to question any command given to him. If In-ho or anyone above him says bark, he will do so without hesitation, but he questions this command this one time. “Are you sure?”

In-ho nods. “Play with them or be straightforward. It doesn’t matter as long as Player 456 gets this key,” he shares before digging in his suit pocket and pulling out a brown card that he hands to the recruiter. “He won’t want any other thing but to see me. That key will have all he needs to find me.”

The recruiter doesn’t read the card. He blindly tucks it away and nods in comprehension.

“How many players have you recruited?” You interject now as you take a longer sip of your coffee.

“I’m close to getting all the players we need. I have of course left three spots open.”

“Good,” In-ho mumbles.

The recruiter licks his lips and leans forward. “Will you still go through with it, Captain?”

In-ho grabs the cup of his almost-finished coffee and leaves the question unanswered for a moment before he nods and then takes his last drink of coffee. Once he's done he proceeds to answer. “As long as player 456 does.”

You set your cup down and keep your eyes lingering on the coffee in your cup to avoid anyone’s potential stare.

“Will you?” The question gets passed and you know the Recruiter is looking at you. “It’s hard to imagine you getting your hands dirty. All those people.”

You swallow thickly and simply steal a glance at him before you take a sip of your coffee and keep your eyes on the cup rather than him to avoid letting him read any part of your current thoughts.

The Recruiter is no mind reader, but he’s crazy enough to know what’s lurking in the shadows of your mind. He always has.

“I’ve been a cop,” you argue. “I know how to get my hands dirty. It doesn’t bother me, and neither do the people.”

“Right,” he snickers. “You’re a lone wolf. With no social skills.”

You sit the cup down hard and snap your eyes to him, catching that stupid taunting smile plastered on his stupid face.

Just like when you were young he always finds a way to pester you.

“If you weren’t number two. You would die. There’s a difference between watching and actually playing. Did you ever play those games in the orphanages you—”

“My brother and I played all the time,” you cut him off before he can tick you off. Which is hard to do. You know how to keep your cool, but he just knows how to press your buttons. “Don’t worry about me,” you deadpan and then look at in-ho. “Shall we?” You press.

In-ho nods without fret, letting you grab your coat before you get up. In-ho mirrors your actions, and before he heads out he does add one last thing to the Recruiter. “Do you have us covered?”

Without a doubt the Recruiter tries to please In-ho by agreeing, letting In-ho then point his hand ahead to let you lead the way out of the cafe.

“See you soon,” the Recruiter throws at you as you walk away without giving your goodbyes, but there’s a reason you didn’t so you just offer him a feigned smile over your shoulder before you roll your eyes away and leave. Once you’re in the car you lean your body toward In-ho and don’t forget to complain.

“Why don’t we change recruiters? This one’s psychotic,” you grumble as you prop your elbow on the armrest and rest your chin on your hand. “He’s always been missing a few bolts in the head.”

In-ho grabs the newspaper of the day from the seat pocket and begins to read the articles. “Some will say that’s what makes him perfect for the job. Don’t let him get under your skin.”

You roll your eyes but keep watching him. “I know someone who will be better at the job. And he’s got a charm to him.”

“Who?” He immediately counters. “I never see you talk to anyone besides me.”

You sit up and look at him like he’s wounded you, while he hides his faint smile by keeping his eyes on the newspaper.

“Oh. Funny.” You grumble and turn away to look ahead with your body slumped in the seat.

“If you’re going to join the game you’ll need to socialize. Gain their trust. Or you’ll be a burden to me.”

“I’m not asking you to take care of me. We can pretend not to know each other.”

“That'd be impossible, who would you talk to then?” He teases you dryly. He’s teasing you!

It seems like you're starting to prefer when he was standoffish and blunt.

“Just be a player. Gain their trust and sabotage Player 456,” he puts it simply without long explanations because this is a matter you already discussed.

“No, no.” You shake your finger. “My job is not to crush Player 456 and destroy his last flicker of will. That’s your job. I am simply joining to not die of boredom watching the games.”

Or so you say out loud.

“Well whatever the case, there’s no fun in it if you isolate yourself,” he disregards you to keep insisting, making you sit back again and look out the window this time. “Do you want me to tag along on the 31st?”

“If it’s what you want,” he says while the newspaper in his hand rustles as he sets it down. “I’m gonna have snipers posted on the route. And two men that will walk in the club.”

You nod in comprehension and share what you already have planned. “Well, I’ll be your lookout then. I’ll have your back. Secure the perimeter, and figure out how many people Player 456 brings with him.”

Through the reflection on the window, you see In-ho nod before he turns his head to look at you before he bluntly changes the subject. “You went to see him didn’t you?”

You stiffen and slowly meet the reflection of his eyes. “You had me followed?” You snap.

“You’re making it harder on yourself,” he says without denying or admitting to the accusation which means it is true—“let him go. What if he had seen you? What if any of his colleagues had seen you?”

You roll your head his way to look him in the eyes with a firmly pointed look. “But he didn’t and he never does!” You argue with your voice raised higher than usual.

“It doesn’t matter if he never has. He can and he will,” he counters with no raise in his voice. He’s just trying to sound firm. “If he sees you, what then? You’ll throw away everything you sacrificed for him and for what? To see him dead?”

You furrow your eyebrows and puff out your chest, but can’t form any argument to throw back at him because you know he’s right. “He was all I had,” you say instead as your eyes wander down.

In-ho sighs and his voice is now softer. “I know, but you’re only hurting yourself more.”

You swallow back thickly and huff as a response. While In-ho steals a glance at you and lets his eyes linger on your drooped frown, your watery eyes, and your furrowed brows. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t show any emotion, he’s still, and providing a deafening silence that is…odd and uncomfortable. There was once a time when he could sit in the silence without it bothering him, but now?

He’s made a mistake welcoming you back on the island and allowing you to have a spot in the innermost circle, but he didn’t know what your presence would bring to his life and now that he lives amongst it, you are his new normal. So when that normal is disturbed it always feels so odd.

Like he’s upset the scales of life.

——

*LATER THAT NIGHT*

Maybe it’s because when you were growing up you were never asked for forgiveness from the man who called himself your father, so you learned to move on and not expect it; live like nothing happened in the first place and shove that problem away. Or maybe it’s because In-ho was/is right about you hurting yourself more by continuing to see Jun-ho, but now as dinner has rolled around, it’s like he didn’t make you upset to the point you haven’t talked to him since the car ride home hours prior.

As is your new normal, you set the dinner table for two, just him and you. It makes for quite a lonely dinner, but there isn’t anyone else either of you care about on the Island to have seated with you for dinner. Plus, after the awkward stage passed, it’s actually nice having dinner together. You look forward to it when you’re not upset at him.

Therefore once you finish setting the table you have the intention to go get him, but when you leave the dining room, there he is just outside the door. It seems like he was passing by the moment you opened the door.

Albeit, unbeknownst to you, he had been outside the door debating whether to come talk to you in order to balance the scales or not. Nothing he said was wrong, he was right and he was going to stand by that, but he also knows there could have been a kinder approach and he was going to explain that.

However, he also debated whether there was a point in asking for forgiveness. He isn’t your brother or your father, he’s your superior, your colleague, and your friend so he was leaning toward that choice. Yet you walked out before he could leave.

“Dinner is ready,” you let him know with a glass of wine in your hand. “But if you want sad ramen that’s okay too.”

In-ho is stuck again. You’re giving him a way out to do as he had chosen to do, but there you stand across from him with a tiny smile tugged on your lips, a pleading gaze you couldn’t keep discreet no matter how hard you try, a warm plate of food already expecting him, and no one else to fill the silence. You’re waiting and asking for nothing in return even if there is something he wants to offer you.

Thus, he accepts your invitation. He walks in, washes his hands, and sits down with no forgiveness to offer you in return. And it's not like you bring it up either. It's like you knew how not to expect it just to please him.

“My sister,” you offer him some more information on a past that you rarely share. “…Was older, so we were separated for most of the day at the orphanage, but when dinner rolled around we always made it our tradition to eat together. It was always my favorite part of the day and something I always looked forward to.” You pause and take a bite of your food, making sure to chew it well and swallow before you take a long drink of your wine and then continue.

“When I was adopted by my family, I was glad that I could continue that tradition with my mother and my brother and on occasion my father. And then…after Jun-ho and I became close, every day after work we would have dinner together. Whether it was in the park, in a car, or at one of our houses. That’s why I learned to cook so well. You’re lucky I’m not six anymore or we’d be having banana sandwiches.”

In-ho scoffs with amusement, letting a small smile appear on his lips as he chews. When he’s done with that bite he interjects. “I can’t imagine your sister was too pleased with your meal choice.”

You laugh softly and shake your head. “Never. She always scolded me, but they were my favorite and the only thing I was allowed to make at a young age, so on days she expected me to make them, she always had boiled eggs for us to eat after.”

In-ho’s smile stays on his face for a moment and it’s in that comfortable silence that was made by the fact that you could make him smile, that you bring up the matter that left a strain between each other.

“You were right, you know,” you say after you take a couple bites of your food. “About Jun-ho.”

You pick up your wine glass as you also lower your head.

“But,” you argue in your defense.

“No,” he cuts you off, and as you bring your eyes up to look at him, you notice that his smile and any sign of amusement is completely gone, leaving him…as always, nonchalant—“You need to completely cut him off. You need to forget the life you had on the mainland. That life will only drag you down and be your worst enemy.”

Tears slowly fill your eyes, but you’re tougher on yourself this time. You don’t cry, you simply snap back with no sign of spite, just nonchalance. “So should I be like you?”

In-ho clenches his jaw as he doesn’t know how to take that, but there’s also no other way to be. “Yes,” he deadpans.

You blink and look down at your food to take a couple of bites and then a longer drink of your wine, managing to finish it and serve yourself more as you think about what he said and that it's not what you want

You know what you yearn for, or so you tell yourself and you don’t want to become everything you despise. You know what you want and you don’t want to be the person that the masks turn you into.

Is he everything you loathe though? If you look at him in the eyes. Really look at him, will he be the reminder of the father you loathe? That’s who he wants you to be…is that who he is?

“Do you think that the workers here will obey me if I am more like you?” You fill the silence as you sit back with your new glass of wine in one hand, and a firmer look that isn’t like that warm look you carried moments ago. “I mean when I’m not in your shadow that is.”

In-ho sits up and holds your gaze as he nods with reassurance. “They’ll no choice will they?”

You tilt your head slightly and scoff.

“When your father was the Front Man…”

“He ruled with an Iron fist,” you continue for him since he wasn’t here when your father was the Front Man. He only knows stories. “Yes, but that’s a thing of the past. Done by different old men. I am no man. I left a different regime behind shall we say, and then I came back under you donning a position of power right away. Do you see where my doubt comes from him?”

“They don’t get to ask questions,” In-ho says. “They have to listen to you. Now if they catch you slipping they will take the chance to do what they want. And with that comes chaos that will eat you alive. Never falter.”

You slowly look down at your wine and begin to gently spin it. “I suppose it is easy to get rid of those who don’t listen here isn’t it?” You ask with a faint smirk.

“You don’t want to overstep either. Easy or not,” he interjects.

You slowly look up at him as you stop spinning your wine and nod stiffly. “I know,” you mutter.

He holds your gaze for a couple more seconds, letting you look him in the eyes and search for what you need.

Right away you see that his eyes are kinder, he is kinder—or was, from what Jun-ho has told you, and from the rare times he metaphorically takes his mask off. Albeit if you look deeper will you see everything you despise? Or something different?

You…don’t know.

But does that change anything?

——

*A FEW DAYS LATER*

“Can you hear me?” You ask for assurance after you made a discreet sweep down the street.

“Yes,” In-ho responds right away in his distorted voice. “We can hear you.”

“There’s nothing that stands out specifically, but I spotted two vans full of men who have not moved or left the car. Both the driver and the front passenger have earpieces on in both cars as well. Let me pass you the license plate,” you direct that last bit to the pink guards before you share what you mentally noted in your quick scouting trip around the block.

“I’m heading back toward the club now,” you follow up by announcing as you pick up your pace, but not in a way that will pique anyone’s interest. You’re fast enough to return to the club quicker.

“We spotted player 456,” a guard shares. “He and a companion are getting out of the car and are en route inside.”

“Wait for them to get inside and then go after them,” In-ho orders.

“There’s also a man in the driver's seat. It seems like he’s waiting.”

In-ho answers with a hum before he passes an order. “Get the license plate and share it with The White Crane,” he refers to your alias. “Take note of who he is, White Crane, and if he gets out of the car to go after player 456, stop him.”

You press the button on the earpiece to give your response. “Understood.”

You keep your pace with a new task in mind. No one stops you because you blend perfectly with everyone else on the busy street celebrating Halloween.

However, you do have to admit you are a bit envious that people seem to be having so much fun. It makes you want to walk into the club and get plastered to have fun too, but you’re on the mainland on a mission, so you’re strictly forbidden to even drink, you can only be envious.

Then again when you finally approach the club, you catch sight of the club and the giant line formed outside, and you admit that maybe being inside doesn’t sound as tempting.

“They’re inside,” a guard shares.

“Alright move in.” In-ho demands.

You finally reach the street where the Pink guards said the car and the man are, but there, in a black car parked in the exact spot you’re on the lookout for, sits Jun-ho. He’s in the driver's seat of the car that matches the license plate the guards told you about.

You could be mistaken. This could be some delusion, but you’re not sick and you can see perfectly fine through your mask, so no, he’s not some fever dream, it’s Jun-ho in the flesh.

Does he notice you?

Your heart stops at the sight of the man you love, making it feel like you’re about to be hit with a heart attack, so you stupidly stop in front of the car and look in wondering if he sees you too.

But how can it be if you’re wearing a fucking mask…

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it!

Of course, he’s involved. Why wouldn't he be in the middle of this ordeal?!

With or without you he didn’t let the Island go and now…you have to confront him and do what In-ho told you to do. There’s no other choice, but will you tell In-ho that it’s his brother working with player 456?

No.

Will you tell him that now that you know he’s here and once again involved in all this, that you have an absurd plan to confront him after 3 years of disappearing from his life?

Also no because he doesn’t need to know.

“I found the car and the driver,” you share through the earpiece after you manage to unglue yourself from your spot before Jun-ho can find you suspicious.

The moment you finish crossing the crosswalk though, the sight of Jun-ho getting out of his car catches your attention.

“He’s out of the car in pursuit of his friends,” you let your people know.

“Stop him,” In-ho deadpans with no clue that you’re referring to his brother.

“On it,” you assure him and cross the street properly, unlike Jun-ho who runs in the middle of a busy street like a madman, forcing a car to break.

He does make it across unscathed, but when he tries to just walk inside he’s stopped by the bouncer, so you have to pretend that you’re taking a smoke break so you don’t look like a stalker, or so he doesn’t spot you before you can stop him.

“Hey, no cutting. Go to the back of the line,” the bouncer tells Jun-ho off, which more than likely aggravates him knowing how impatient he can be.

“Police. Move,” Jun-ho snaps bluntly and once again tries to walk in, but again, the bouncer pushes him back.

“See your fellow officers waiting in line?” The bouncer points out to the line of people waiting. “It’s Halloween. Go put your uniform on first.”

With no warning and zero patience, you watch Jun-ho pull out his gun and point it at the bouncer as he shoves him back against a wall. “Does this look like a toy?” He threatens him, making you smile with amusement.

This time around the bouncer has nothing to say in return. He’s speechless, so Jun-ho is able to walk in, whilst you wait a couple of minutes before you drop the cigarette and stomp on the barely used stick to walk in without any resistance. Not because the bouncer was left shaken up after Jun-ho, it’s because they know who you are. That’s why In-ho chose this specific club.

Once you’re inside, you’re immediately enveloped by all the commotion, the raging music, and the bodies of people crowding the entrance and every step you take, making it hard to find Jun-ho, but not impossible. Luckily enough he didn’t make it far so you’re able to find him just on top of the metal stairs that lead to the main floor before he descends them and joins the madness.

With no other choice but to be like some haunting spirit you trail after him rather than being a part of the madness.

Every step he takes you take not so long after. Every turn he makes you do the same, and every person he shoves aside, you carefully slip past. There comes a point where he stops at a bar and shakes an unconscious man with a bright green horse mask, so you finally stop trailing after him. Instead, you pull your mask off and walk in the crowd of dancing bodies to find a way around Jun-ho.

“Dance?” A drunk man shouts and grabs your waist to try and pull you, but you shove him back harshly and snap at him while glaring at him.

“Do that again and I’ll tear your fingers off your hand to shove them up your ass.”

The man is left bewildered so he backs away, letting you disappear in the sea of bodies. And for a moment, because of the interruption, it seems like you lost sight of Jun-ho. You can’t find him again, but as you keep pushing through, you catch a glimpse of him so you run to get ahead. When you finally find an opening, you exit the crowd and stop across from him, making him come to an immediate halt as he notices right away.

You, the person who has been missing for three years. You, the woman he loves and has been searching for relentlessly. You stand there looking him in the eyes, unscathed, healthy, and just as beautiful as the day he lost you.

Yet it’s because he sees you so clearly in your flowing white robes that show off glimpses of your figure when the lights flash on you, that he can’t believe it’s really you. You have to be some divine spirit brought by stress.

“Come,” you wave him over with your hand without letting go of those dark eyes that glisten with brimming tears every time the flashing light basks his face. His jaw then drops slightly and his eyebrows rise as his eyes widen with shock. You proceed to not wait and turn to start walking away.

“Wait!” You hear Jun-ho call out after you.

You peer over your shoulder and see him do just as you want; he follows you, so you lure him to an employee-only door. It is hard making sure that he doesn’t lose sight of you or that actually reaches you since there’s so many people and it’s so crowded, but you manage to stay one step ahead and reach the employee-only hallway without having him stop you.

When Jun-ho sees that you disappear in the hall, he calls out your name and turns cautious when he approaches the door, letting you rush up the stairs to position yourself just around the corner and take out your taser gun.

Jun-ho continues to be cautious when he walks inside, but as he’s climbing the stairs he breaks into a run. In doing so, turning the corner hastily and not being able to stop you from hitting his neck with your taser gun that doesn't leave his flesh until he's knocked out.

Before he can hit the ground you catch him in your arms. “I'm sorry,” you whisper as you admire his face now that you can finally be close to him again. “I had to do it, but it will be okay,” you assure him before you lean down and press a kiss on his forehead. “I promise,” you whisper one last time against his temple.

.

.

.

.

.

A/N- Ahhhhh xD

[dejavew]

precis: some of the infinite things that levi does that will never make you question the feelings he has for you. (bulletins)

content: fluff, just simple little things that levi shows how he loves or likes you

warnings: none, except for the fact that your friends are questionable in some of them.

⁠

❥ Walks to the park was always a part of your weekly routine. It wasn’t the walk itself that made it fun for you, but it was the scene that would entertain your eyes. Watching dogs, carelessly run around fetching frisbees, and tennis balls to return them back to their owners, and seeing people enjoy their time with the small little family that you hope you’ll be gifted one day.

However, these weren’t the reasons why you came.

It was the guy with the undercut who sat right under the shade, sipping what it look like to be tea in his hand, wearing his reading glasses, and scanning the contents of his book that kept you coming back to this very park every week.

You’d walk countless times around the park over and over for at least within an hour at least but under an hour and a half at most.

It made you feel like a creep. You couldn’t stand to imagine if a stranger did what you were doing, whether a man or a woman. That thought alone gave you an unsettling feeling. However, you couldn’t help the longing feeling of him being so familiar to him.

Still, it felt wrong.

You scrunch up your face. Resisting the urge to continue on being a creep, you let out a sigh. As much as you wanted a chance with this stranger, you knew that it shouldn’t happen this way. Please, give me a sign—you begged to whoever was writing your story.

And as you pass him once again, you got your answer.

Just beside his own cup of tea that he bought from the tea shop not too far, sat another cup of tea sat right beside him. Something your eyes were heedless to catch. It’s safe to assume that he’s waiting for his partner to arrive.

Instead of making a fuss about it, you nodded your head all while you continued to walk along the path so he wouldn’t know that you were staring. You accepted that maybe this wasn’t meant to be, and so instead of turning to go around the park a couple more times, you walked towards the entrance.

“Hey miss!” A light jog can be heard behind you.

You turn around, attracted to the sound and the sound that was addressing to you.

The guy with the undercut that sat under the shade. Was now the same guy who was face to face with you—only a couple feet in front of you.

“Fuck, I thought I’d have more time to think about what I was going to say.” You catch his mutter. “My names Levi. I noticed that you’d stare at me every time you took a walk here.”

Your face burns red. “I thought it was weird. But when I saw you do nothing but stare, so I became content with it.”

He lets out a frustrated sigh when nothing was said back to him. Just you and your dumbfounded face. He didn’t know what he was doing, he wasn’t confident in his skills of flirting, but yet, he persisted. “Look, I’m not really good at this, so let me make this short and simple. I bought you tea.” He points to where he sat, and sure enough the tea was still sitting next to his.

“I know it’s not smart to take things from strangers, but there’s something about you.” If possible your face reddens even more.

“If you’re not going to talk at least take the tea. I can save it for later, and we can go back to the tea shop to get another one.” He awkwardly sticks his pretty hands out for you to take.

This could be the sign that you were looking for, and so you take a leap of faith.

You place your hands in his, and you let him guide you back under the shade.

“My name’s Y/N.”

With matching shy and goofy grins, the two of you walk back to the place where he would catch you staring, and he would stare discreetly back too.

⁠❥ Nights out with your work friends were always the one thing you looked forward for on Fridays. You don’t have to worry about working the next day, or the day after.

It seemed like everything was going as planned. A karaoke room reserved for the six of you, everyone participating in the imaginary singing contest that was being held, the winner getting an imaginary one million cash prize, and the food, as well as the booze, was filling up all your stomachs.

Until it wasn’t.

“It’s alright guys, just make sure she gets home safe, and she doesn’t throw up anymore.” Worry etches on your face, you peak into the car and your sick friend was slump over the window, with the support of your other friend—who was rubbing her back.

They all say their quick goodbyes and tell you to be safe as the uber pulls out onto the main road, along with the owner of the karaoke spot, panicking about the vomit that was marinating the floor.

You were now alone.

Just hitting 1 am in the morning, you were now aware that you were standing under lamp spots that provided very limited light.

You knew Levi would be grumpy if you woke him up. With his luck, he’d be able to get at least four hours of sleep, but you also knew he’d be upset at you if he found out if you were transporting back home all by yourself.

After a couple of minutes, conflicted in your situation, you decide to call your boyfriend, Levi.

“Hey baby. I know it’s really late, but everyone left. Is it alright if you pick me up? I’m only about ten minutes away?” You chew on your thumb, nervously.

With no reply, you took it as a sign as annoyance. “I’m sorry Levi, I know I should’ve went—“

He cuts you off mid sentence, surprising you. “You don’t have to apologize, brat.”

“I’d rather you call me to pick you up late at night, than for you to try to get home, all alone.” You hear him get out of bed, sheets dancing as he moves out of them. “Also, who are your friends? Aren’t they supposed to make sure that you get home safe?”

“One of them got sick.” You let out a sigh remembering the different emotions everyone went through. “The uber that pulled up only had four open seats left.” You explained to him.

“I thought there were six of you.” You hear his car unlock, and the car door closing a few seconds later.

“One of my coworkers left an hour ago.”

He lets out an annoyed sigh after hearing where your coworkers were. “You’re gonna stay on call until I get to you. There’s no good reason why you should be by yourself at night baby.”

“I know. If I knew that tonight was going to end up this way, I would’ve planned way more.” You kick your legs trying to busy your body.

“Or just get new friends.” He teases.

You roll your eyes, smiling. “Maybe I should.”

Somehow, his car got to you within six minutes, instead of ten.

As he rolls down the window, and you capture his pretty face, you can’t help the giddy feeling you always get when you see him.

You get into the car, and buckle up. “Have I ever told you that I love you?” Trying to hide his shy smile, he looks away and coughs.

“I’m glad that you’re with me now, and not with your inconsiderate friends.” You smile at his words knowing that that was his way of saying I love you back.

⁠❥ ”Ugh I know! I haven’t ate some in a while.”

You were engaged with a phone call with your friend. The call was at least reaching twenty minutes old, and you just so happened to be in the same room as Levi.

Who was trying to do his work.

“I think it’s been-“ You try to calculate in your head. “Two months?”

“I’ve actually been craving for it recently.” You twirl the ends of your hair standing weirdly leaning on the wall.

Ever since you walked into where Levi does his work, which was ten minutes ago, his progress had slowed due to the constant and loud replies that your friend received.

“No, I used to—“ A small object hits your shoulder. “What the hell!”

You turn to face your boyfriend, giving you looks that could kill you. “Would it hurt to keep it down. Or at least go to another room?”

“Are you okay?” Your concerned friend asks on the other side of the line.

“Hold on girl. My boyfriend wants attention from me. Give me two minutes.” You mute yourself on call.

“Yes, it would hurt if I quieted down a bit. You should know.” You reference to the time you gave him the silent treatment for not even a full five hours, and he was bothering you every second, minute, and hour.

Knowing that you weren’t wrong, he scoffs. “What were you guys talking about anyways?”

Forgetting the fact that your boyfriend threw a pen at you, you get excited immediately. “Oh this one place that sells the best pastries! I haven’t had them in a while and—"

You squint your eyes at him, thinking you caught him in his little scheme. “Actually, I was talking to my friend about this bakery not my boyfriend.”

His eyebrows slightly rise, amused, as he watches you unmute the call, bringing the conversation to your right ear, and walk out the room.

You find yourself in the kitchen now, ready to continue on the conversation, letting Levi to finish up his work.

“I’m sorry about that. My boyfriend—who doesn’t know how to have fun.” You said that loud and clear and on purpose for him to hear. “But anyways it’s these little buns called warm bears because they feel warm, as if someone was giving you a bear hug.”

You pause to hear your friend’s question. “No, I just made that up. But they’re really called warm bears.”

The next day, after a long day of work, you celebrate quietly as the keys to open up to the apartment your shared with your boyfriend.

You mindfully place your work bag where it belongs, and take your shoes off by the door, knowing how Levi gets on you for the lack of tidiness you have compared to him. You walk past the living room, and head towards the kitchen, your stomach ready to eat.

But before you could check out the fridge, a familiar looking box, with new, updated designs on them, was sitting patiently to be open. Attached was on the top was a little sticky note on it with Levi’s handwriting.

‘For you brat, Levi.’

You open the box, and there, the aroma and the sight of warm bears stare right back at you.

Unlike all the other times, it wasn’t the warm pastries that warmed you up, but rather the little act of love your boyfriend continuously pulls off.

⁠❥ You felt awkward watching your friend show PDA with her new boyfriend. Is this how they all felt when you would invite Levi to tag along? Well, it’s not like Levi was one to be into extreme PDA. Anything that involved making out, sensual eye contact, dirty innuendos, or anything that should be kept private wasn’t his thing. He could handle hand-holding, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, having you walk inside of the sideway—to put it simple, the softer kind of PDA.

You were sat at a food court sitting across your friend, trying to get some rest from the two hours of walking around the mall. What you thought was just going to be you and her, turned out a thirdwheel trip for you.

So as you watch your friend maul her boyfriend’s face off in front of you, you couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed.

So naturally to avoid letting your friend know that you were repulsed, even though there was no way she would notice given the fact that she had her face smushed against his, you go and text your boyfriend.

Hey babe. You desperately wait for his reply. And in an instant your phone goes off.

Hi sweetheart. You smile, completely forgetting—what you consider—live porn in front of you.

Your fingers excitedly type back, I’m really bored.

Bored? I’d be annoyed if my friend who asked me to hang out with her was making out with her boyfriend.

Confused on how he guessed right with the lack of information that you gave him, you look around the area for his figure.

Where are you? You text him, after failing to do so.

You wait for his reply, that now suddenly stopped die off. You kissed your teeth, closing the app, to scroll endlessly on social media. Eager to ignore the third wheel feeling, you wanted to see people’s stories. Unfortunately, your face cringes, seeing that the first post you see, was the same exact friend who was making out in front of you.

You let out a defeated sigh, close the app, and turn your phone off. Only to gaze off into the sidewalk wondering where your boyfriend could be.

A pair of shoes shows up in your field of vision. But too involved with your daydreaming, and your goal of avoiding at looking at your friend who was now flirting shamelessly with her boyfriend, you ignore whoever stopped in front of you.

“Are you just gonna stare off into oblivion or are you going to take my hand?” Your head snaps to Levi.

Now filling your heart up with relief, you take his hand, and stand up to greet him with a tight hug. Unlike the couple across from the two of you, you gave Levi a quick kiss on the cheek as a little thank you, and he gives a small smile.

This gets your friend and her partner to look at the two of you.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, I was with one of my friends who wanted to buy something for their partner.” He points to his friend, you recognize them as Hange, who in return waves back with a gigantic smile. “And I just so happened to see you.”

“Perfect timing.” Your friend’s boyfriend chimes in. “That means we won’t need to get you home.”

Your friend who was a little embarrassed by his comment hits his thigh. “Babe you don’t say things like that.”

“It’s alright, we can drop her off.” She says to Levi, with a polite smile.

With a deadpan, Levi looks at the boyfriend, and it’s clear that he already made the decision that he doesn’t like him. “No it’s alright. Thanks for considering it though.” He says only to your friend.

“Just remember for future reference.” He glares at the guy next to her. “If your girlfriend was hanging out with me and Y/N. She wouldn’t need to worry about her ride bailing on her, whether you show up or not.”

Levi turns back to you, his expression now soft, and his hand grabs yours. “Let’s call it a day then darling.”

And with that, he walks off—not wasting another second talking with a guy who couldn’t even do the bare minimum—with you towards his friend, backs now turned to the couple as he whispers, “she deserves way better than that guy.”

You giggle, agreeing with his statement.

⁠❥ “I promise I’m not going to fall.”

There you stood confidently a few feet from the floor. You so stubbornly wanted to grab a book that was inconveniently stored at the very top of a bookshelf in Levi’s office. Your arms were stretched out to its maximum length, but with no use, you barely touched the base shelf that the book sat on.

“Hold on.” Only looking up at the book that was calling your name. “I can grab it I swear!” Levi was next to you, worried that you could fall at any moment.

I mean look at you. On your toes of the highest step of the stool, with one leg trying to push you to somehow go higher.

“Babe you can seriously get hurt.” His arms were angled in a way where you would fall bridal style in his arms if you were to fall.

“Let me get the damn book for you.” His words filled with stress.

He was stressed even more when he sees you, still on your toes, but now jumping like it was going to help you at all. Miraculously, it was working. You managed to swipe the book your way, and with each small jump and your hand swiping continuously, it inched towards you.

You feel a smile grow on your face, knowing that you could prove that you could do it yourself. As the book got closer to the edge, where you could grab it, you swear you felt like you could conquer the world. You were almost there!

Yes! The feeling of accomplishing something so small made you feel good.

And then you landed wrong.

Eyes now wide, pride now spilling out from you, you feel your body slowly pull towards the ground. You swipe at the air, hoping that you could grab on to something, but of course it was too late.

You were about to hit the ground.

Twenty minutes later, here you two are at the hospital getting both your injuries checked out. The whole car ride you couldn’t even look at Levi. Not because you were scared that he was going to crash into something, because he did hit his head when you landed on him. But at the fact that he was silent the whole car ride not even bothering to hum in response.

Seeing an ice pack on his head, and your foot naked—for the doctor to check out—while you sat on the hospital bed. You knew you fucked up big time.

Instead of admitting to your mistake to your concussed boyfriend, you instead let the pride sit in your chest, and wear your head high.

“Babe, why would try and catch me?”

Levi looks slowly to you, as he sits next to you on another hospital bed. The two of you looking hopelessly.

“I’m asking myself the same exact thing.” His face cringes after finishing off his sentence.

Of course now fully observing him, your pride shamefully hides somewhere in you. Feeling a bit foolish at the situation you got you and your ever so loving boyfriend in. Over a damn book too.

“Don’t give me that look.” He says. He adjusts his position, facing the ceiling, and he closes his eyes

“You look pitiful.”

Scratch that. It looks like your pride was starting to show itself again. “Alright then. As soon as I start to say my wrongs, you want to comment on how sad I look.”

He doesn’t reply for a couple of seconds. Letting his beating head calm down, and his eyes open slowly. He looks back at you, lips in a pout and your arms across your chest.

“That’s not what I meant brat.” He hisses at the sentence.

“I meant you shouldn’t apologize, because no matter what the outcome was going to be, I was going to be right beside you the whole entire time.” Again he moves his head back to face the ceiling.

“You did alright trying to get the book.” You almost laughed at his stubborn semi compliment. “But next time. Let me do it.”

“So what I'm hearing is that you’ll be there for me through any life crisis that I go through.”

“That we go through. Also getting a book is not a life crisis. But you know what is? Hearing any more talking. Now shut up.” He cringes again turning away from you.

You smile at his grumpiness.

“I love you too.” You whisper just loud enough for him to hear.

What he was able to hide from you was a big fond smile that matched yours.

In the end, whether Levi had enough or ran out of patience with you, he knew that you were made for him. Even when life threw constant obstacles at you, none of it mattered, because what truly mattered to him was the fact that he was with you to experience it all together.

As well as the next lifetime, and the next, and the next…

[tulip-room]

blush - tobio kageyama || wc: 1.1k || genre: fluff || masterlist || tags: he fell hard, 5+1, just a two paragraph bit of angst, happy ending, yn our confident queen, hinata there to help the plot, shy kageyama

syn. a little blush here, a little blush there, a makeup artist and an athlete fall in love. it's only so many times kageyama can see them before he loses his mind. someone beats him to it though

i.

the first time she meets kageyama tobio is for an ad for some curry brand. he’s not hard to work with and he doesn’t try to make conversation and make her job more difficult. that’s all she notes about him and doesn’t make an effort to look further in to him.

ii. 

he’s glad that it’s her doing his makeup the second time they meet. all of the other makeup artists he’s had to deal with for various ads or interviews always want to talk to him more than he wants to. the process takes much longer he’s noticed if they talk and he just wants to go home to get the makeup off of his face. it never feels good on his skin, too sticky and heavy.

“hello again,” she says with a smile. she’s brought less product this time and he appreciates it. 

“hello.” he watches her as she goes about cleaning everything and using disposable applicators to apply the minimal product to his face. he can't help the twitch when she puts concealer under his eyes.

“not like makeup?”

“feels too heavy.” she hums in response and nods as she searches through her bag for something. “i can use water-based products instead. they should feel lighter on your face.”

“okay,” he does admit it feels better. not as sticky and heavy. they don’t talk again after that.

iii.

the third time he begins to believe that it’s not a coincidence. but he can’t complain much when she’s gentle with applying what needs to be done and he’s found himself wishing she would talk to him more.

who keeps asking for this? does she keep asking to be the artist for all of his shoots? “do you like makeup?” that’s a stupid question, why would she do this for a living if she didn’t like it?

“yes,” she replies with a small laugh. “all done.” there’s a smile on her face that has his breath hitching and he’s not sure why. 

he brings it up to hinata and glares at the laugh he receives. “you like her.” he can hear him over the crude speakers of the phone. 

“idiot, i don’t like her. i barely know the person.” he scoffs and realizes hinata won’t be of any help in this. 

“trust me on this, i know you’re bad at feelings but you definitely have a little crush.” hinata can’t hold back his small bits of laughter through the sentence though.

“idiot.” with a click he hangs up the phone and finds himself staring at the wall. did he like her? they’ve met three times and he likes her? that seems ridiculous. 

he calls his manager five minutes later requesting her for all of his appearances.

iv. 

surprisingly, the next time they meet he isn’t sitting in her chair and she doesn’t have her makeup bag with her. it’s at a local diner and her booth is right across from his table. she gives him a smile after realizing it is him and he nods his head. 

he tries not to look at her but he hasn’t seen her look so…relaxed and free before. the actions she takes don’t look practiced and meticulous. he watched her putts around with the straw wrapper and almost knock over her glass of water with an inkling of a smile on his face. 

“do you want to sit with me?” he finds himself asking over the silence. 

“why?”

“i don’t like having lunch alone.” that’s a lie, he’s perfectly fine with eating alone. 

“okay, i don’t like eating lunch alone either.” they eat their lunch in silence and kageyama pays even though she tries to refuse. 

“you can pay next time,” an unspoken promise. 

v.

when he visits japan it doesn’t feel the same. maybe he’s grown too used to the structure of italy. the sights, the language, and the people. his heart yearns for italy on nights he sleeps in his childhood bed. it’s become uncomfortable and bulky compared to his bed in italy. as much as it hurts, japan doesn’t feel like home anymore. 

his friends are there…mostly, some have gone off across the world in their own ways. his family is there, his old coach is there, the place he got rejected for the first time. his first kiss was there, his first volleyball game. japan was his beginning but it feels like a coat that he’s grown out of but is still made to wear when the weather grows cold. it will always be warmth but not enough for him to stay there. 

he returns to italy two weeks later and the first thing he does it run to the beach and just watch the waves. italy is warm and italy is his home now. “funny seeing you here,” his eyes flutter open and behind him he sees her approaching him. “haven’t seen you recently, i thought it was my turn to pay?”

that’s another thing japan didn’t have. it didn’t have her. “it is.” she sits down beside him and they look at the clouds.

“where were you?” her voice feels as gentle as the waves. wearing down slowly at his resolve. 

“visiting japan,” he sighs and brings his knees down from his chest.

“most people would say visiting home you know.” she remarks with a small smile.

“japan doesn’t feel like home anymore.” she hums but doesn’t push. “i think i’ve been gone too long.”

“that happens…are you upset about it?”

“i’m…not sure.”

“that’s okay, do you want to get some lunch?”

“yeah, i’d like that.”

vi.

they’ve been meeting more frequently. numbers were exchanged and texts sent later than either should be up. quiet smiles at their phones between practice and appointments. it’s two months before he sits in her chair again. before the lights hit his face and the bag she carries with her is set down on the vanity next to him. 

his cheeks feel warmer than they used to. has she gotten closer? when he closes his eyes he can feel her breath and the soft touch of her fingers as she applies product to his face. “you’re really pretty tobio.” he feels his breath stutter a little bit. 

“thank you, you are too.” 

“might need something to cover the red on your cheeks.” oh…could she tell? “if you like me, you can just say so. i like you too.”

it takes a moment for the words to wrap around his brain. “i do. like you i mean.”

“i know,” she cleans off her pallets and throws away the applicators. “this is where you ask me on a date.”

“will you go on a date with me?”

“i would love to. be ready by six.”

hi ave <3 i hope you enjoy this !!! it’s your present for valentine’s day because i love you so much <3333 if you guys want to see the other things im writing today go here, it will be updated throughout the day <33

taglist (gen fill out this form) @hiraethwa @hatsukeii @cherrysurf @cheriisae @darthferbert @localgaytrainwreck @lale-txt @szyvrue @wyrcan

[meeraonpole]

Valentines Day Grand Prix OP81 X Y/N4

The air buzzed with the electric energy of race day, the scent of burning rubber and high-octane fuel thick in the paddock. The world was watching, and Oscar Piastri was more focused than ever—but not just on the race. Somewhere in the grandstands, you were there, wrapped up in a McLaren hoodie, cheering for him like you always did.

This year, Valentine's Day coincided with the Grand Prix, and while Oscar wasn’t one to get overly sentimental, he still wanted to do something special for you. He had left a tiny surprise in your bag that morning, and he couldn't wait to see if you had found it yet.

The hours leading up to the race were chaotic—briefings, last-minute strategizing, and media appearances. But amidst the whirlwind of activity, Oscar had taken a moment to slip a small, heart-shaped note into your bag while you were distracted talking to Lando.

The note was simple, scribbled quickly in his neat handwriting:

Happy Valentine’s Day. I know today is all about the race, but I promise, the moment it’s over, it’s about you. Dinner, just us two. Hope you don’t mind postponing the romance a few hours. Love, O.

It was stupidly sentimental, but for you, he didn’t mind being that way.

You only found the note when you reached into your bag for your sunglasses. Your heart melted instantly. Glancing toward the McLaren garage, you caught sight of Oscar adjusting his gloves, completely in race mode. Even so, as if he had some sort of sixth sense, he looked up just in time to see you beaming at him, holding up the note between two fingers.

He grinned beneath his helmet and gave you a quick thumbs-up before turning back to his car.

The race was intense, nail-biting from start to finish. Oscar had been fighting for a podium position the entire time, and by the time he crossed the finish line in P3, the crowd erupted.

Podium ceremonies always felt surreal, and this one was no different. The sight of Oscar standing tall with his trophy, a proud smile on his face, made your heart swell. But the best part was when the post-race interviews began.

"Oscar, P3 today! How does it feel?" the reporter asked.

"Feels pretty good! Tough race, but I’m happy with the result. The team did an incredible job. And, uh…" He hesitated just briefly before adding with a boyish grin, "Guess I should also say happy Valentine’s Day to my girlfriend. Hope she enjoyed the race as much as I did."

Your cheeks burned as the camera panned to you in the crowd, and the internet exploded instantly. Social media was already running wild with the moment, calling it the most unexpectedly romantic thing ever.

By the time Oscar had finished with the press and celebrations, he was exhausted—but the moment he saw you waiting for him outside the McLaren motorhome, that tiredness melted away. He walked straight up to you, arms sliding around your waist as he pulled you into a hug, uncaring of the cameras still lingering around.

"Told you I’d make time for you after the race," he murmured against your hair, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.

"You also made time for me during the podium interview, apparently," you teased, nudging him playfully.

He chuckled. "Figured I’d let the world know I have the best Valentine."

Your heart flipped at his words, and you tightened your grip on him. "So, about that dinner?"

"Already have it planned," he assured you, taking your hand in his. "Let’s get out of here. Just us, like I promised."

And with that, Oscar Piastri, fresh off a podium finish, whisked you away for a Valentine’s night you wouldn’t forget—because at the end of the day, no matter how fast his world moved, he always made time for you.

enjoyyy

[ancha-aus]

I finished two more chapters of the Real Age editing!! We euh...

Don't talk about how one chapter went from 3600 to 4000... and one went from 3500 to... euh... 7300...

INSTEAD!

Have a sneakpeak!! Of the rewrite! :D

This is from the drabble: Parentalbond Dust.

*-----------------*

Dust watches as some dude bro guy walks through the forest, shouting about how he isn’t scared and to come get him. That he can defeat that creep with his tricks.

“… Why?”

Dust almost didn’t hear the question. Nightmare spoke quietly and just barely above a whisper. When Dust glances at him Nightmare is only just barely looking at him from the corner of his own wide sockets, eye lights big but shaking a tiny bit.

Anxiety? Fear? That are usually things that cause that kind of reaction from the magic that makes up their eyes. People aren’t joking when they say the eyes are the windows to the soul. For most monsters it is very much fact as magic affects their eyes and that comes from the soul.

Dust makes sure to break eye contact by turning towards the phone. He paused the movie as soon as he realised a question had been asked. He turns back slightly towards Nightmare and sees he is a bit more, not relaxed but calm. Mh. Doesn’t like the focus on him? Dust does remember that even as adult Nightmare much preferred to work from the shadows or the backlines.

Dust shrugs “Why the guy is screaming and making himself an obvious target? I don’t know exactly, it is either bad writing or a show that this guy is too confident in himself or just too stupid to realise what will happen to him.”

Nightmare frowns as he looks away “No. I mean… Why… this?”

Dust frowns. He isn’t exactly sure what about the situation he is asking about. He glances at his phone “I mean. I was bored. I figured a movie and some food would be nice…” as a distraction. As a way to pass time. To make sure that Nightmare has energy and food in him. It just… made sense.

Nightmare looks more frustrated for a moment. Glaring at his hands which formed into fists. Shoulders tense as he obviously searches for the right words.

Dust thinks it is very strange. He is so used to Nightmare being well spoken and always aware of what he feels and in turn wants. Nightmare now… just isn’t like this. He is struggling to put his thoughts into words. He is more expressive and the emotions shift easier from one to the other. There is less control, less refined skills.

He is acting like a child would.

…

He is a child… and struggling with the problems and limits that brings him.

Dust can almost feel the shift that follows that thought.

It happened in a second as Nightmare sighs and just looks down as he is mostly lax “Okay.”.

Dust frowns. That is wrong. That isn’t Nightmare accepting something. No, that is the sound of someone who resigns himself to something. Nightmare doesn’t do that. Nightmare keeps asking, Nightmare keeps looking. He wants to know everything and more importantly understand everything. After all of them told their stories he didn’t just accept those as fact. He would keep asking. Asking about details about their thoughts. Everything.

Dust frowns as he remembers the anxiety of before. If he keeps Nightmare’s past in his mind it makes sense. It isn’t like he would be used to having adults listen to him, and when they did Nightmare was an adult. Maybe he needs to prod himself instead?

Dust is so bad at this. Killer should have stayed here, he is much better at this whole conversation thing. Still Dust mutters his question “No. What why?” is that enough? Does that explain what he wants?

Nightmare tugs on his own phalanges. Tugging on the small bones and Dust can hear a soft creaking sound coming from it. Dust is already reaching towards those hands and Nightmare flinches at it.

Neither of them move as Nightmare looks much more panicked as his breathing picked up.

He is… terrified… He is actually terrified.

How… how does he fix this?

A loud laughter “Fix this?! You can’t fix this! Nothing you can do can fix this! These are the consequences of your actions dear brother. You forced a traumatised child to experience more trauma, more abandonment and then took his choices from him. Forcing him to remain by those who clearly don’t care. There is no fixing this. And you deserve to be aware of this.”

No. No he… He can… fix this? Maybe Horror can? Horror is a good brother. Horror could explain and reassure him… Killer knows Nightmare better than any of them. Killer could maybe say something to connect with him. Or Cross!! Cross is trustworthy and a true protector. Maybe Cross can make him feel save.

Dust… Dust can’t do that. Any of it.

Nightmare is still shaking as he stares at him. Frozen. He always froze when he encountered something he didn’t know the answer to. They thought it was to think… Was it to think?

Dust realises he still has his hand out. With some difficulty he slowly pulls it back. Nightmare watches the hand silently. Nothing moves aside from his eye lights, which are only looking at the hand. Dust manages to bring his hand back to the phone and holds unto it, afterwards he just waits.

*----------*

It was a large sneak peak!! :D

[classyrbf]

THAT D!CK IS A 10/10! — JJK MEN

SYNOPSIS...an analysis on the jjk men’s dicks just because hehe :)

INFO...jjk men x gn!reader, we’re talking about cock and balls a lot (no seriously), cum analysis, where they like to cum, heavy detail (be warned), im trying to make this a little realistic so no, gojo will not have a 12 inch dick (sorry not sorry), not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

here’s a little something while I’m being a busy bee and dealing with life (help me)

GOJO

to start off, gojo isn’t too big or isn’t small either, if anything he’s just perfect (cause he is perfect duh). He’s around 3 inches soft and 6.6 inches hard. Listen, as much as I want to make this man have the hugest dick ever, he does not and it’d cause an extreme amount of pain every time he is pounding you. He’s not too girthy either, just the average 4.3. His also slightly curves upward which is perfect for hitting your sweet spot. But he’s super sensitive on the tip! So if you tease him too much there he might just cum prematurely. His balls are definitely a decent size too, they may be on the bigger side a little but he loves to have his balls played with so have fun! When gojo cums, he cums a lot! It literally will go all over the place if he can’t control it correctly. It’s spurts out in waves and it sometimes it’s like torture cause it makes his orgasms last longer but god does it feel so good. His cum is sort of thin and runny instead of thick and goopy with a slight salty taste.

NANAMI

i personally feel like nanami is fucking packing girth wise! He is slightly smaller than gojo around like 5.75-6 inches but he is fucking girthy! It’s like a damn weapon and it’s heavy (I’ll help you carry it around nanami, don’t you worry). His girth is around 5.5-6 inches and it’s veiny! Lord help us all because he knows how to use that thing, hitting all the right angles. From being so girthy his cock slightly hangs…So what comes with a fat cock? Big breeder balls! Duh! His balls are so fat and big it’s like an instinct to suck and lick on them. He leaks a lot of precum when he’s hard so it just drips from his cock until he cums so hard. Speaking of cum, unlike gojo he has more of a thicker consistency, and instead of spurting out all over, it just flows from his cock and it’s looks so pretty like a fountain. It drips all down his cock and balls and onto his hand if he’s jerking himself off. When he’s fucking you, he definitely cums inside and just fucks his cum into you over and over until he makes a big mess.

TOJI

my man, my man, my man! Toji is definitely bigger than nanami and gojo but only by like 1-2 inches. So he’s around 7 inches which is still scary bc why are just walking around with that? He’s definitely girthy too but not like nanami, he’s more girthy around the tip of his cock and it gets slightly smaller towards the base but it’s not a huge difference. He’s tip gets really pink and red when he’s hard that it almost looks painful (don’t worry baby I’m on my way to help) but I promise he’s fine. Dare I say that doesn’t trim that often???? I feel like he has a slightly bush, nothing too crazy but it’s kind of grown out. He doesn’t care (me neither) as long as he gets laid he’s fine. His balls are mix of nanami and gojos but they hang! So when he’s fucking you they definitely slap against your skin. When toji cums it’s pretty normal, it’s sometimes shoots out a little bit and then slows down after, but it’s definitely a good amount of cum that does come out quickly. He loves to see your face or your chest covered in it because he’s a pervy little bastard for sure.

GETO

pretty boy geto hehe…let’s just say that thing curves to the left okay? He’s around 6.5-7 inches and girthy so let’s pray for everyone’s holes cause I don’t think we are making it out alive. He’s somewhere between nanami’s and Toji’s girth so…do what you will with that info. His dick is so pretty though, a pretty dick for a pretty face, the curtains match the drapes yk? He has two prominent veins that run on the underside of his dick where he’s really sensitive. If you look closely you’ll see them pulsing when he’s hard. His tip is also a very pretty pink color while his shaft and base are slightly darker than his skin tone. His balls aren’t too big either so it’s definitely more about his dick. He doesn’t cum a lot either surprisingly, he’s never been the cum everywhere and get super messy type of person but if hasnt had sex or jerked off it’ll be more than usual.

CHOSO

choso is closer to nanamis size, maybe a little smaller but not a huge difference. His is pretty average but there is nothing wrong with that (can I get free ride???). Just like geto he also has a very pink tip and his shaft is the same color as his skin. His girth is around Gojo’s but he has some big balls that are just asking to licked and sucked fr. Baby boy gets so whiny when he’s hard and leaking that he’s almost embarrassed by it, he tries to control it but he literally can’t stop getting so hard to point it drives him insane. His cum is stringy and thick, like the perfect consistency for cumming on your face, chest, ass, literally anywhere. He cums a normal amount, usually spurts out super quickly and then slows down towards the end of his orgasm.

SUKUNA

where do I even begin??? Clearly, this mf is the biggest out of all of them. He’s scary asf because he has two, yes, two dicks that are practically identical. 8-9 inches long, 4.7 girth. End my life. THIS MF GOT 4 LEGS. It’s actually cruel. They’re thicker towards the base and gradually get narrow towards the tip. So at first, the stretch doesn’t seem that bad until you realize you got about 7 inches more to go…yeah. His cocks are darker than the rest of his body and his tips are sort of like a light pink/tan color. The only difference between his cocks is that one is super veiny and the other quite literally has like 3 veins. Fat breeder balls that hang, swing, touch the floor (I’m jk) but literally the mix of toji and nanamis balls. They hold so much cum, he can literally go round for round back to back and fill up every hole of yours without taking a break. And he cums so much that it’s actually concerning. Like nanami, its overflows maybe once in a while it will shoot out.

HIGURUMA

believe it or not I think this man is packing at least 7-8 inches. It may not look like it but I think he does! He never brags about it either so it’s really hard to guess. When he’s hard his dick touches his belly button…and his balls are somewhere between Geto’s and Gojo’s size so they’re kinda average. The color is slightly tan maybe like one shade darker and he has a pale pink tip. Did I mention he has a fat tip?? It seems like it gets even bigger when he’s hard, all swollen and everything. His girth is pretty average too like Gojo’s maybe slightly bigger like 4.5 but that’s it. Higuruma doesn’t cum that much it like toji where it’s a pretty normal amount. His cum isn’t super white either, it’s kind of on the clear side and super stringy which is perfect for cumming on your tongue imo

[gojorgeous]

"MINE, MINE, MINE."

pairing: alpha!geto x omega!fem!reader summary: your doctor won’t refill your prescription until you’ve reset your cycle. you’re desperate for that refill, but geto’s not having it. content: MDNI (18+ ONLY), a/b/o dynamics, nsfw, dubcon? (reader doesn’t want a heat but it’s medically necessary (LMAO what)), established relationship, unprotected sex, breeding, praise, pet names, knotting, slight manipulation, dacryphilia, somnophilia, spit, blood, oral (fem!receiving), so much licking and smelling?, geto and reader are just downright feral LMAO, lmk if i missed anything. a/n: have y’all figured out that i have a breeding kink yet… anyway, this is the first a/b/o fic that i’ve ever written but i just read one and was feeling *inspired*. if people want i might do a prequel sort of thing for this that goes more in-depth about how they met and stuff. lmk! also, i have a vampire gojo fic planned hehe get ready bbs. if you want more of my omegaverse fics check out my alpha!gojo fic here! and remember, AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED! divider credit to: @cafekitsune wc: 5.2k

“No.” 

No? You shift in your seat, cold and plastic, sure you must have heard him wrong. 

“I’m sorry?” you ask. You press your tongue to the roof of your mouth, an anxious habit.

“I can’t refill the prescription. I’m sorry, but, frankly, it would be completely irresponsible of me to do so. I’m shocked your previous physician prescribed them for so long.” Fingers find yours and twine them together. Your eyes flash to Geto, but he’s only staring at your new doctor, staring with that furrow in his brow he only gets when he’s worried.

Your new, soon-to-be old, doctor sighs again, running a hand through his thinning white hair. “You need to have a heat as soon as possible, allow your body to recalibrate. Indefinite use of suppressants is dangerous and unhealthy. They are meant to manage your cycles, not stop them altogether.” 

Sweat beads on your palms. He can’t be serious. But it’s his first opinion. Surely there’s another option.

“I-I’m sorry, doctor. I don’t think I’m understanding.” 

Another glance at Geto reveals that he’s frowning now. When his eyes find yours you see the decision there, one he’s already made without you. Your stomach drops.

The doctor sighs and suddenly the walls of the office feel small, tight, suffocating. The twinge of alcohol and chemicals in the air makes your nose scrunch. “Let me say this clearly. I will not refill your prescription for suppressants, nor will any other reputable physician. You have been taking them continuously for far too long. You risk permanent damage should you delay a proper cycle any longer.” The doctor glances to Geto, then back to you. “Go home with your alpha and allow nature to take its course. It’s what’s best.” 

Your eyes widen with realization– you are not leaving this office with what you came for. Your heart pounds and your palms sweat. “Th-that can’t happen, doctor. I need my suppressants. My job- I can’t be out that long a-and Geto can’t either, we–” 

“We will go home,” Geto interrupts, and his tone is final. “Thank you, doctor, for the advice.” 

Geto pulls you to your feet, gently but firmly. He leaves no question about the fact that you’re leaving. You can feel the intensity radiating off him in waves. You ignore it. You turn to your new doctor, silently smiting him. Why did your old one have to retire?

“Doctor, you don’t underst–” 

“Thank you again,” Geto interrupts.

Before you can make another sound, another protest, Geto pulls you through the door, out of the office, and back to the car. He opens the door for you, as he always does, except this time you’re not so eager to accept his chivalry. 

“Suguru,” you bite out. His eyes meet yours, but they are surprisingly gentle. So calm. How is he always calm? 

“Just get in, baby. We’ll talk about it in the car.”

You debate saying no, but you can’t bring yourself to start a fight when he’s being so good. You grumble when you climb in, buckling your seatbelt before Geto can do it for you.

The engine revs to life, but you hardly notice. You’re already scrolling your phone, the search bar reading a simple and straightforward “doctors offices near me”. You scroll right past the first ten, for once in your life wanting a doctor that’s a little sketchy. You scroll further– still not sketchy enough. Someone who’ll give you the prescription you need, even if it’s not necessarily… ethical. Or maybe you could get some on the street? Surely there was some kind of dealing ring for that. There was a dealing ring for everything, right?

“What are you doing?” His voice is soft, but his fingers are tight around the steering wheel, skin stretched tight across his knuckles.

You lift your phone to your ear, dialing the first office that looked relatively shitty enough. “Getting a second opinion,” you answer. 

Suguru plucks the phone so swiftly from your fingers that you hardly even notice it’s gone. You see him end the call and slip it into his back pocket, out of your reach. 

“Hey!” You scramble across the center console, hopelessly grabbing at your lost phone, your last hope. 

Suguru grabs your wrist, restraining you far too easily for your liking. “You’re not getting it back,” he says. His eyes never leave the road. 

Your brows pinch and anger boils in your stomach. “This is not for you to decide. It’s my body.”

He glances at you, unconcerned. Still calm. “And you’re not in a headspace to be making a responsible decision about it, so I’m making it for you.”

Your jaw drops and you pry your wrist free of his grasp. You escape, but you know it’s only because he allows it. “I am of perfectly sound mind, thank you.” 

He shakes his head and sighs. “You’re blinded by desperation.” 

“It’s still not for you to decide!” When you don’t notice any change in his expression, you switch tactics– from anger to honesty. You let your face fall, let your true feelings creep through. “You know how much I hate it, Su.” 

Finally, he cracks. It’s instantaneous, the way he melts for you- the way the soft smile finds his lips and his hand finds yours, twining your fingers together. “I know, but you have to, baby. You heard the doctor.” 

You clench your jaw and avoid the sting of tears behind your eyes. You had heard the doctor, but you weren’t ready. Maybe next month, when you’d had more time to mentally prepare. 

Your skin crawled. You hated it, hated this. You hadn’t had a heat in years, avoiding them like the plague. You hated how vulnerable they made you, how they put you at the mercy of another. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Suguru– you did. You trusted him more than anyone, anything, but you still hated the feeling of being so completely helpless, so completely out of control, even if it was Suguru you were submitting to. 

For most of your life, you’d successfully hidden your omega status. With the help of suppressants, you’d passed as a beta until your early twenties. Then you met Geto. 

You’d met at work. He was cute, beautiful even, you’d thought, but he screamed alpha– and alphas could be dangerous, especially for hiding, unclaimed omegas like you. You’d stayed away as long as you could and, for a while, you were quite successful. You avoided him in the halls, sat at the opposite end of the table in meetings, replied to emails succinctly but politely. All was well until you’d been trapped in an elevator with him one morning, biting your lip anxiously as you waited to reach the twelfth floor. He’d smelled so good that day, perhaps due to an oncoming rut. You hadn’t been able to resist inching closer, taking deeper breaths. Suguru would later tell you that he’d suspected your hidden status, but he had no reason to question you. At least, not until he had you up against the elevator wall with his face buried in your neck. One deep whiff was all he’d needed to know exactly what you were, even with suppressants in your system.

You’d dated for a little over a year, until you’d decided he was the one. Your fingers dust over the mate mark on your throat, the one that had not only made you undoubtedly Suguru’s, but also the one that had revealed to the world exactly what you were. There was no hiding your true identity with an alpha’s scarred mark on your neck. 

Suguru had never seen you through a heat– no one had. You’d taken your suppressants daily, ever since you met him and even long before that. He’d claimed you on a day like any other, no heat necessary. He hadn’t had a rut in all these years, either. When he felt one coming on all he had to do was pop a single pill and all was well– apparently with none of the nasty side effects that came along with your suppressants. Another unfair privilege of being an alpha you supposed. 

“Sugu, I can’t do this.” Your lip is raw from how much you’ve been chewing on it by the time you reach home. 

Suguru softly shuts the door behind you, lifting your twined hands to his lips, gently kissing your knuckles. 

“Yes you can. I know you can.” 

You shake your head. He doesn’t understand– doesn’t know what this will do to you, how it will break you. While you hadn’t had a heat in years, you had experienced them before. You loathed them more than anything, loathed the way your mind was a slave to your body and not the other way around, loathed the way your whole body pulsed and throbbed, loathed the way it made you feel so… weak. “I can’t. It’s-it’s-” Your hands come up to cover your face. You sigh and feel the blush crawling beneath your cheeks. “It’s embarrassing. Humiliating.” 

There’s silence for a moment, and then a soft sight. Suguru pries your hands from your face gently. When you meet his eyes, he’s all business.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, baby.” 

You shake your head and pull away, pacing. “I don’t want anyone to see me like that, Sugu. Not even you.” 

Strong hands catch your waist, holding you still. “It’s not a question. It’s happening– for the sake of your health.” 

You scoff and shake your head. “It’s not–” 

His thumb presses to your lips with just enough pressure to demand silence. The omega in you coos to listen, to submit– the other part of you reels with annoyance.

“End of discussion.” 

He’s closer now and you can feel waves of his breath skating across your skin. It’s like a drug, one that the primal side of you can never get enough of. Give in, give in, give in, your omega begs. Listen to your alpha… You try not to focus on the fact that he smells good enough to eat. You know what he’s doing– using his dynamic to persuade you, to make you see his way, playing to the omega you can usually hide so carefully.

“Sugu…” you say. You intend to be angry but you trail off when his eyes catch yours. 

“I got you, baby.”

Your heart melts at the words. He waits. Maybe he knows that the smell of his skin on yours is playing tricks on your mind. You wage a battle within. Every instinct urges you to agree and with every passing second it becomes harder to disagree. Perhaps he’s right, perhaps it's time you give in for once. Let him take care of you, your omega purrs. You’re nodding before you realize what you’ve done.

Suguru kisses you quickly, allowing no time for takebacks. When he pulls away he gets to work. He whips his phone from his pocket and you listen to him talking to his boss, your boss, saying that you’ll both be out of work for a week on “family” leave. Your face heats when you realize that your boss now knows exactly what you two are going to be doing for the foreseeable future. Suguru kisses you one last time before he’s out the door, off to get enough food and supplies to last a week. You won’t be leaving your apartment for some time. You don't fail to notice that he doesn’t return your phone before he’s gone.

~

You don’t notice a difference, even after the sun is gone. It’s not surprising, considering you usually take your suppressants at night– it’ll take a little while longer for them to fully exit your system… you hope. When you’re brushing your teeth you stare at the empty prescription bottle longingly. 

You join Suguru in bed. The moment you crawl onto the mattress he pulls you closer into his bare chest. You savor the way your bodies fit so perfectly- like he was meant for you and you alone. His front curls around your back, a leg slotted between your thighs. 

“Feel anything?” he asks. 

You shake your head to hide your swallow. You almost shiver when Suguru buries himself in your neck, inhaling your scent. You feel him harden against your backside. He must be able to smell your approaching heat even before you can. Part of you expects instinct to take hold of him, for him to make a move, but he only presses a kiss to your jaw and holds you tighter. 

“Sleep, baby.” 

For once, you follow orders without a fight.

–

Hot. Too hot. 

When your eyes flutter open, you feel the pounding of your heart, the labor of your breath, and the growing ache between your legs. 

You sit up so fast you see stars, panic flooding your veins. No, no, no, no, no. This was wrong, you’d made the wrong choice. You couldn’t do this. Already, you could feel control slipping from your grasp, your consciousness giving way to something more primal, more feral. You scramble, preparing to stand, to find your phone, to lock yourself away and suffer through this on your own.

“Deep breaths, baby.” 

Only then do you realize Suguru is already awake. He’s behind you, hands on your shoulders, both a comfort and a restraint. 

“Can’t-” Your breaths are ragged and so are your words. “Can’t do this, Sugu-” 

“Yes, you can.” He whispers. He pulls you closer, tighter against him. “You will.” 

You shake your head frantically, tears pooling on your lashes. When you turn, Suguru is staring at your neck, at the mate mark on your throbbing pulse. His jaw is clenched when his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He’s restraining himself, you realize. A glance down reveals he’s already painfully hard in his pants. You wonder how long he’s been sitting there, taking in your scent, waiting for you to wake. No doubt his rut has already been triggered.

His eyes raise to yours and he pauses at the tears that leak down your cheeks. He leans closer, and the scent emanating from his neck makes you groan against your will. His kisses away the tears. Slowly, one at a time. 

“I’ve got you, baby,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.” 

Your body pulls him closer, even as your mind pushes back. “My phone, Sugu,” you panic. “Gotta gimme my phone. C-call a new doctor.” 

He shakes his head and when you start to squirm he only holds you tighter, holds you in place. 

“No, baby.” 

You whimper, seeking the scent gland on his neck against your will. The smell makes your clit throb almost painfully. 

“Sugu, please,” you cry. Tears stream from your eyes, staining your lover’s skin. 

“‘S gonna be okay. Just let it happen. Don’t fight it, love.” 

With each passing moment, you feel your fight slipping further and further away. Suguru rubs at the muscles in your back until you’re slumped against him, pitifully moaning like a wounded animal. It’s not long before your body takes the reins, until you start desperately humping at his thigh, your clit throbbing almost painfully. 

“That’s it. Good girl.” 

Your eyes roll back at the praise and when Suguru grips your waist you cry out at the touch. Everywhere his skin meets yours feels electric. You’re burning, burning, burning. It’s not until Suguru lays you down on your back that you see the sopping patch of slick you’ve left on his thigh. You whimper at the sight. 

“‘S okay, baby. ‘Ve got you.”

Suguru is looking nearly as lost to the lust as you are. Only his willpower and intent keep him from shredding away your panties and breeding your cunt full that very second. He’s never been in the presence of a scent so intoxicating. He’s never been with you, or any omega, through a heat. He thought you smelled amazing before, but now… He is lost to you, lost to the heat he feels emanating from every inch of your skin, to the honeyed scent pouring from your neck, to the slick he sees staining through your panties. His dick twitches in his pants. 

“Love you so much, baby. Gonna take such good care of ya,” he whispers. Instinct drives him forward until he’s plastered his lips to your jaw, licking and biting at the skin. You nearly scream at the sensation. You feel his touch everywhere, all at once. With your last coherent thoughts you know that this heat will be unlike any other you’ve ever experienced. It’s already so intense you can hardly think, and you’ve only just begun.

“Sugu,” you plead. 

The sound of his name on your lips breaks him. His hand dips across your stomach, thumbing past the edge of your panties until he’s running his finger through your slit, gathering your slick and rubbing it against your clit. 

You scream and thrash, so sensitive it nearly hurts, but he only moves to pin you beneath him, forcing you to take everything he gives. 

“Gonna make you feel ‘s good, baby.” he hums. He’s lost to you, to your desires, to your needs. Every piece of him screams to please you, to take care of you, in every way possible.

He continues his messy circles on your clit and until you’re gasping, hole clenching around nothing, begging to be filled. 

“S-Sugu…” you whine.

The growl that rips from his throat has you arching your back and bearing your throat in an act of submission. You hear a tear and watch your panties hit the floor. Your shirt follows and then you’re completely bare beneath your alpha. His eyes go black at the sight, pupils blown so wide you can hardly see a smidgen of their usual brown. There’s a deep rumble in his chest that has you keening and reaching for him, needing him. He doesn’t waste time. His tongue finds your neck, laving sloppily at your scent gland and the sensation is so delicious that you writhe beneath him. 

His fingers slide down your stomach, dipping between your thighs and rubbing at your clit. The touch is somehow gentle despite the complete and total hunger in his eyes, but it has you whining nonetheless. Every place he touches you, which is nearly everywhere, stings so delightfully that your eyes are already rolling back.

But you can’t wait. You can’t. Your body is starved, rabid, and you know what you need.

“Ssssugu… please…” your words are hardly above a whisper, barely a breath, but your alpha still hears you, still knows what you want, what you need. 

“I got you, baby… shhhhh…” He gives a final lick to your scent gland before he’s leaning back on his knees, parting your thighs wide, exposing your leaking cunt. You can feel a puddle of slick beneath your ass, your hole clenching desperately around nothing, aching to be filled. 

Warm hands slide up your skin and settle on your hips, tugging you a little further down the bed. You whimper, but don’t have time to say anything before you feel him slipping through your folds. A glance down reveals his weeping tip, achingly flushed, bumping and rubbing against your clit. When did his pants come off? You don’t know, you don’t care, all that matters is that the sight steals your breath away. 

“Gonna knot you good, princess.” 

You nod, wanting nothing more than for him to make good on his promise. You claw and grip at his arms, chanting his name endlessly. His chest rumbles again and your thighs part further on instinct. Finally, he gives you what you want. You feel him pressing in, fat tip stretching you wide. One of his hands moves to press down on your tummy and the combination has tears pooling in your eyes. 

He slides in slowly. With every inch you think he must be done, that you can’t take any more. But you can, and you do. When he’s finally fully in your jaw is hanging open in ecstasy and your eyes are rolled back in your skull. His fingers brush your clit and your hips jerk. 

“That’s it. So good, baby. So fucking good.” 

Your tears flood over, racing down your cheeks. He’s over you again, loose strands of black hair brushing your skin and forcing a whimper from your throat. He licks away your tears, lapping at your cheeks like you’re a fucking lollipop. His hips start thrusting in time with his licks, and it’s more than you can handle. Your thighs tremble and suddenly you’re begging. Pleading, whining, screaming for more. He gives it to you. One hand finds yours, twining your fingers together as he pounds into you so hard he’s rattling your skull. He’s licking at your scent gland again, driving you further and further toward a cliff you’re afraid to fall from. You think this orgasm might shatter you, might break you so thoroughly you’ll never be put back together again. You can feel it tightening at your core with each thrust, each lick, each kiss. 

“Fuck,” you hear him growl and whimper at the sound of his voice so close to your ear. “‘M gonna bite you, princess. Gonna mark you up and knot you so good you’ll see fucking stars.” You pant beneath him, unable to word how excited you are by his words, how deliciously they roll across your skin and seep into your spine. “Tell me you didn’t take your pill, baby. Tell me I can breed this pussy full and it won’t go to waste.” He’s not talking about your suppressants you know, but rather the contraceptives you take in tandem with them. Of course you took it, but suddenly something makes you wish you hadn't. “‘M gonna flush ‘em down the fucking toilet. Never letting you take that shit again.”

The primal part of you surges forward at the idea. It chants deep in your mind. Yes, yes, yes…

“Suguuu… please…” It seems like those are the only words your tongue can form.

His lips press to yours, shushing you. “Shhh, baby. Don’ worry. I got you.” He licks across your cheek and down across your jaw until he finds your scent gland again. His thrusts pick up again and you think you might pass out from how good you feel, from how tight your muscles are coiling. You can feel his knot pulsing inside you, preparing to fill you to the brim. You’ve never felt more ready for anything. 

“Sugu–” 

And it’s at that moment that he makes good on his promise. His teeth sink into your neck and you feel your bond snap taut like a string, pulsing with the closeness of your connection. It’s pure ecstasy. Suguru’s knot swells, notching tightly inside you and when you feel his cum pulsing into your womb it’s all too much. You think you must be screaming from the pleasure but you only hear the ringing in your ears as your orgasm washes over you. Your muscles clench, your toes curl, your back arches, you see those stars Suguru promised. Heat tingles through your limbs and down your spine and you think you’ve probably just melted into the mattress. But you haven’t, and when your vision returns, you’re panting and staring at the ceiling. 

Suguru is above you and you can feel him still cumming, still releasing rope after rope of thick, hot cum into you. The sensation makes you groan and he laps at your neck, cleaning up the blood from the new mark he’s just given you. Your consciousness trickles back in, the primal piece of you partially sated for the time being. You remember the context of your situation, why you’re here and not at work, what you’re doing. You’re puzzled by why you’d been so panicked by the idea of a heat before. How could you have been so reluctant, so scared, when nothing has ever felt this right?

Suguru is peppering you with kisses now, pulling you tight to his chest and rolling you both onto your sides where you’ll stay until his knot softens. 

“Sleep, princess,” he says and he uses that tone that always compels you to listen, to please. You happily do as he says and when your eyes drift shut it’s not long before you’re lost to a world of comfortable darkness. 

~

You wake to the throbbing again. All of the pent up need Suguru had sated has returned with a vengeance. You need him again, but it appears he already knows that. 

You feel him between your legs, his hair fully loose now and tickling the insides of your thighs. He’s eating you out, slurping up the cum that’s leaking down your thighs and spitting it back onto your cunt. It’s filthy, disgusting, and you love it.

“Sugu–” you gasp and your hips buck. His eyes lock with yours and the smile he gives you nearly makes you come on the spot. He holds your gaze as he licks one last long stripe over your folds. You whimper and clench around nothing. Empty, empty, empty…

“Sorry, baby,” he whispers against your skin. He’s kissing his way up your body now, leaving little circles of spit that cool when they touch the air and make you shiver. “‘Y smelled so good…” 

You whine and whimper, clawing at his back and leaving scratches you think might draw blood. You’re too worried about getting him inside of you to check.

You’re gasping like you’ve never had a breath of air in your life, like you’ve drowned and every touch he gives you fills your lungs with much-needed oxygen. His hands rub gently at your waist, but it’s not enough. You want him to wreck you, ruin you. You say as much. 

“M-more…” you beg and when he hums against your neck you squirm desperately. Warm hands dig into your flesh and suddenly you find yourself flipped onto your stomach. You feel Suguru behind you, pushing your thighs apart with his knees. His hands find your hips again and lift, propping you up with your face still pressed to the pillows. When you whimper he runs a soothing hand up and down your spine. 

“‘S okay, baby. Relax. Lemme take care ‘ve you.” 

Yes, yes, yes, you think. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted anything more. His fingers dig into your skin, holding you still when he feeds his dick into you, one inch at a time. You cry out, tearing at the sheets and begging for more, even when you already feel like you’re splitting in half. When he’s finally seated inside you he drapes himself over your back, brushing your hair over one shoulder to expose your neck. He leans in to lick you again, thrusting sharply the moment his tongue brushes your skin. You wail, pressing your face to the sheets and attempting to rock yourself back against him. One of his hands smooths over the flesh of your ass as he sets a pace, one that makes you bite down on a pillow to muffle your screams. 

“No.” Suguru uses that tone that makes you listen, that one that calls instinctively to the omega inside you, that urges you to please. He reaches for your pillow, tossing it aside and letting his hand curl around your throat as he continues to fuck you, letting his fingers feel the vibrations of every noise you make. “Let me hear you, baby. Always let me hear you.” 

You nod, eager to make him happy, eager to do as he says. You don’t dare restrain a single sound, eyes rolling back. The angle he has you at has your thighs trembling. He’s so deep, so close. You feel his heartbeat against your back, feel his tongue on your skin, his hand on your throat, his cock at your cervix.

When he groans, you groan with him, feeling his dick pulse inside you, his knot beginning to swell. You need it, need it so bad you can hardly stand it. 

“P-please, please, please–”

He swells inside you, locking your bodies together as his orgasm hits. It’s all you need to find your own. You wail into the mattress, cunt clenching and legs trembling until you collapse, flattening against the beg. Suguru follows you down, wrapping his arms around your waist and whispering in your ear.

“Take it all, baby. Good girl. Take it all…” 

You nod, not even sure what you’re agreeing to. All you can feel is his cum flooding your insides, pulsing and pumping so deep into you that you swear your tummy is swelling with the sheer amount of it. Still, your body wants more, clenching and milking him for every last drop, just like he asked.

When you both come down from your orgasms he pulls you into his chest once again, whispering promises of protection and love that lull you into a trance-like state of happiness. When you fall asleep again, he’s chanting a word that your omega repeats right back to him. “Mine, mine, mine.”

When you wake again it’s to the sound of Geto staying true to his word and flushing every last birth control pill you have straight down the toilet. Your omega surges at the idea, but one mewl from you and he’s back in your arms, like you’re somehow the one in charge, not him. With every passing moment, you being to think that might be true- that perhaps a heat does not makes you as weak as you thought. Your alpha submits as much to you as you submit to him.

The week is spent in a frenzy. You do not measure by the numbers on the clock or where the sun is in the sky, rather you know time only as how long it’s been since Suguru’s been locked inside you. If it were up to you, you’d never stop, but Geto forces you to sleep, to eat, to bathe. Of course, he’s never far away when you’re following his instructions and you usually get a kiss and his knot as a reward for being such a good girl. 

It’s ten days later when your heat finally starts to wane. It feels as though every inch of you is covered in him. Bites, hickies, kisses, cum… no part of you has been left untouched. Suguru has had you everywhere. The bed, the shower, the bath, the kitchen. Every surface in the whole apartment reeks of sex and slick. He never keeps you too far from the bedroom, though, where you’ve piled up mountains of his shirts and sheets. Anything that smells like him, anything that can keep you tethered in those brief moments when Suguru goes to fetch you food or water or run you a bath. He takes care of you, just like he promised. 

When you wake completely clear-headed for the first time in well over a week, it’s to Suguru’s arms and lips. He’s got you all wrapped up in him, his arms locked around your waist almost like he expects you to bolt. You almost do when everything comes flooding back to you, this time with a completely clear conscience. But then he kisses your neck and whispers a delightful little, “welcome back, baby” against your neck and suddenly you’re realizing how… revitalized you feel, like a part of you has finally been properly satisfied after years of waiting. You’d always hated this, always hated the part of you that begged and cowered, hated heats- but maybe with Suguru… they really weren’t all that bad.

taglist (DM me to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina

link: alpha!gojo fic

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[wttcsms]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ adore me, mark your territory !!

ᝰ.ᐟ after having to endure locker room conversation since his blue lock days all the way up to his pro days, yukimiya realizes that if he wants to show you just how serious he is about his thoughts on his relationship with you, he needs to make his mark on you. ( fem!reader )

pairing kenyu yukimiya x reader word count 3.6k content contains corruption kink/innocence kink, loss of virginity (both you and yukki), first time, creampie, breeding kink, slightly manipulative!yukki, you two attended the same private catholic high school, mentions of purity culture, coercion, very naive reader, talks of marriage, dark(ish) content kinktober masterlist

To love someone is to know them. 

You love Kenyu Yukimiya with all your heart; you know his hopes and his dreams, his fears and the tiny voice in his head that serves to either goad or encourage him. The two of you grew up together, attending all the same Catholic private schools up ‘til he went pro fresh out of high school graduation, and you decided to attend a tiny, private all girls university. 

You know that he’s kind and funny, much more outgoing and adventurous than you. You know that he can be gentle, and that he chooses to always be gentle with you. You know that he loves you just as much as you love him. 

But while distance makes the heart grow fonder, perhaps it’s the distance that has caused this newfound unfamiliarity between the two of you.

“Kenny, I don’t… I don’t understand.” You’re lying down on your painfully small twin-sized mattress in your dorm room. Kenyu’s on top of you, his body hovering over your own. He gives you that familiar, comforting smile of his as he asks you gently (your Kenyu’s always so gentle with you), 

“We love each other, don’t we?” 

“Of course we do.” You say softly. Your arms are by your side, and you’re playing with the frills on the oversized comforter of your bed. Your whole entire room still screams girl. Yukimiya finds it endearing; he finds everything about you so damn endearing. Your floral quilts, and the stuffed animals he’s won for you from claw machines and unfairly rigged carnival games. Your fluffy comforter, and the way you always love to wear dresses, even when it’s just to attend a lecture. 

And your unwavering innocence. 

Everyone knows that Catholic private schools aren’t as pristine as the parents of the students like to claim it is, but you’re the only one who remained devout. The only one who genuinely stayed true to the lessons taught. You didn’t drink, you didn’t smoke, you didn’t sneak out. The only parties you attended were birthday parties chaperoned by a trusted adult and held in the early afternoon. You always followed the dress code and never tried to get away with folding the waistband of your school-issued skirt to make it shorter, like some of the other girls did. Hell, Kenyu had to literally ask your father for permission to date you before he asked you out. 

And while Kenyu’s always been on his best behavior, it’s not like he’s unaware of the world. He’s not naive like you. And that’s okay. One of you has to know enough to lead the other; Yukimiya’s more than happy that he’s the one taking on that role. 

The thing is, Kenyu truly does love you. It’s why he doesn’t rush you, doesn’t try to force you to go further than what you think you’re capable of, than what you think you’re allowed to go. He ignores the hard on he gets every time you two make out, the way your hips sometimes move on their own, grinding against him with no thought to strip out of your clothes and let him finish. You’ve been together since the first year of high school, and now you’re in college, and he’s playing professional soccer, and he loves you, and he still hasn’t even seen your pussy. Honestly, his closest friends tell him he must be a saint. 

But the talks in the locker room, the snide comments from his least favorite teammates, the jokes and the teasing and the mocking, condescending tones — gotta protect Yukki’s ears, can’t let him Mr. Private School hear this, as if he’d even know what we’re talking about; damn virgin — all of it is chipping away at his pacifist, mild-mannered demeanor, revealing the feral, greedy egoist that lies underneath. 

You had been so excited to hear your beloved boyfriend was flying down to your college town this weekend, just to see you! Your roommate’s out on a holiday with her parents, leaving the dorm room all to yourselves. In your cute mind, this just means more room for the two of you to hang out.

For Yukimiya, it means he has no more obstacles to get in the way of him fucking you for the first time. 

“And you know what two people who love each other do, right?” He’s still using the same pacifying, soothing tone he always uses when he’s trying to calm you down. When you skinned your knees and cried from the sting of the alcohol wipes used to clean the cuts, he had used this voice on you. When you cried at the airport because he was leaving the country to meet the team who paid an exorbitant amount to have him on their starting lineup, he had used this voice on you. Right now, you can’t understand why he’s using this voice on you. You’re not hurt; just confused. 

“Kenyu, wh-what are you talking about?” 

“I’m talking about making love, [Name].” One large palm is rubbing up and down the smooth skin of your thigh. The movement causes the thin fabric of your sundress to rise up. Yukimiya’s never touched you down there before. You don’t know why his touch feels so good, but you do understand what he’s talking about now. 

“But Kenny—” Your voice is reduced to nothing more than a nervous whisper, almost as if you’re scared someone is listening in. “—we can’t. That’s for married couples.” 

Well, if it’s any consolation, Yukimiya’s always planned on marrying you. 

He kisses your forehead, his hand never relenting from its position on your thigh. Your dress remains lifted up at an angle on one side. He can see part of your cotton panties; plain and white. If he moves his fingers up a few more centimeters, he could tug at the waistband of them. 

“I know, sweetheart. But I’ve been thinking…” His hand travels from up your thigh to rest on your hip. The one side of your dress is now all the way up, and his thumb rests on the thin waistband of your panties, rubbing reassuring circles to get you to remain calm underneath him. “We’ll get married soon, anyway, right? I love you so much that I need an outlet to show you just how much I love you.” 

“Married? Soon?” Your eyes widen. You find yourself daydreaming about marrying Yukimiya, starting a family. Yukimiya’s smile stretches wide across his handsome face. His sweet girl, he knew you’d be putty in his hands after he mentioned that. 

“Of course.” He kisses you on your lips sweetly, his hand never leaving your hip. “And I want to give you all the love a husband has for his wife. Won’t you let me, [Name]?” 

Kenyu’s always been handsome. You have a collection of all his professional photoshoots, and you know that he has a bunch of fangirls from just his looks alone. It’s so unfair of him, really, to give you that imploring look of his. You can’t say no to Yukimiya, and you think you never want to.

And so you do let him. 

Kenyu’s quick. With the speed he normally reserves for on the field, Kenyu’s mouth meets your at the same time his other hand grips your neglected hip. Now both of his hands are bunching up the fabric of your dress, pulling the skirt up to reveal your simple, plain panties. 

“Mmph.” You moan into the kiss. This is a bit different than what you two normally engage in; somehow, everything feels a lot heavier, headier. You can’t seem to think straight. All you can focus on is chasing after his lips, matching his hungry pace. 

The heat radiating off the two of you is enough for Kenyu to separate from you momentarily. The lens of his glasses are fogged up, and he grins at you, satisfied at the progress you’re making, before taking his glasses off and setting them neatly on your nightstand. 

And then he’s back to kissing you passionately again. You’re lost in the pleasure of his kisses, unknowingly bucking your hips up, not knowing why your body is craving friction, for some attention, down there. Your hands reach up to grip the front of Kenyu’s shirt, tugging at him, trying to bring him closer. You’re getting desperate, and he finds it so cute. 

“Lift your arms up for me, sweetheart.” He mumbles against your lips, and your head’s too hazy for you to properly register his request. He repeats it, still as gentle as ever with you, and this time, you manage to comply. 

“Fuck.” You don’t hear Kenyu curse often; he says it’s impolite to do so in front of his girl. He breathes out the word, and you feel shy all of a sudden as his eyes roam over your body. He tossed your dress to the side unceremoniously, and because the dress itself had padding, you decided not to wear a bra. You’re laying on your bed, nothing to protect your modesty besides your cotton panties. 

“You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. The only girl I see.” He praises you, and you don’t feel too shy anymore. 

“K-Kenyu—” You look up at him, all doe-eyed and sweet. You’re pressing your thighs together, drawing his attention to the plush of your thighs, the way hiding in between your legs is your special place that only Kenyu will be allowed to see, to touch, to taste, to love. “What do we do now?” 

He leans down, whispering in your ear in his familiar, kind voice, “Now, you lay down, and let me show you how much I love you.” 

You love Kenyu so much, you think it should be impossible for your heart to have so much room for him. You know Kenyu must feel the same way, but never before has his love for you ever felt so overwhelming. Kenyu pries your thighs apart, forcing you to open your legs for him, but you didn’t know showering you in his love meant that he was going to take his fingers and rub against the mound in your underwear. 

“W-wait, Kenny!” You yelp, trying to shut your legs, but he’s too big, too strong. He blocks the movement, keeps you nice and spread for him. “I—” You don’t know what to tell him, and you don’t know how to explain why there’s a tiny puddle gathering in the thin fabric of your panties. Sometimes, you feel funny and this starts to happen, usually after a long makeout session with your boyfriend. 

“You’re so wet for me, [Name].” He almost sounds in awe, staring down at your covered pussy almost as if in a trance. The pace he’s using is rather slow; he’s content, for now, with just stroking his fingers up and down your covered slit, fascinated with the way he can watch you slowly drench through the cotton. The wet spot only continues to grow; he bets he can get his fingers damp with your arousal soon, and he wouldn’t even have to take your panties off to do so. “Do you always get this wet for me?” 

You want to cry, and you can even feel the tears welling up in your eyes. He looks up, instantly stopping his ministrations, his concern written all over his expression. “Hey, hey.” He shushes you, peppering kisses all over your face. He’s not stroking you anymore, but his large hand is cupping your pussy, the heat of his hand encasing your special place. You’re practically throbbing against him, your cunt aching and hungry for his touch. He just has to get you to open up for him, to understand. “There’s nothing wrong with that. You’re supposed to get wet right here for me, you know that?” 

You sniffle, unsure if he’s just placating you. “Really?”

“Really.” His smile is so gentle, his tone so soothing and reassuring. He’s back to grazing his knuckles across your cunt, enjoying the way the fabric keeps on getting damper. “It means your body is happy, and it lets me know that you love me as much as I love you.” 

His other starts to tug at your waistband, dragging down your panties until he’s pulling them right off. His breath catches in his throat as he looks down and stares at your pussy for the first time. Your folds are glistening, your little clit peeking out at him, begging for him to suck on, to rub against. 

“Cute.” He tells you, tracing a finger curiously against your slit, the tip of his index finger so close to entering your clenching, unbreached hole. “I’m going to make you feel really good now, okay, [Name]? Tell me, have you ever played with yourself down here?” 

“Wha-?” You’re confused, appropriately so. The boys and girls were separated during sex education, but you remember your teacher drilling it into your heads that under no circumstances should a young girl ever touch herself. You had been confused at the time, confused as to why anyone would ever. You’ve been taught that only your husband should ever touch you right there. But Yukimiya loves you, and he’s going to be your husband, and now you’re starting to think you know why girls may want to touch themselves. You’ve felt this heat in between your thighs before, this mysterious hunger for something, but now you’re feeling it tenfold. You shake your head, too choked up to speak. 

“No? Not even like this?” You don’t expect Kenyu to insert his finger. The intrusion is foreign, but not entirely unwelcome. Your walls instinctively clench around his digit, and he has to remind himself to breathe, to remain collected, to take things slow so you can enjoy yourself properly. “You’re clamping down on just one finger.” He breathes out, curling his finger, moving it against your walls. He brushes against a spongy spot inside of you, one that has you jerking up, a shocked, pleasured moan escaping from your parted lips. “That feel good?” He asks, before adding a second finger, both of them bumping against that same sweet spot. 

Your legs feel like jelly, and you nod weakly. It does feel good. Too good. So overwhelmingly good that a foreign, euphoric sensation is taking over you. You can’t seem to control your body, and you can’t stop the flow of cute, pleasured mewls flowing from your mouth, and you manage to scream out a warning to Yuki. “S-something is—” 

A clear stream of liquid spurts out of you, splashes onto him, soaks your cute comforter. 

“Fuck, you’re amazing.” Your walls are too sensitive now, but throughout the whole process, Yukimiya never stops thrusting his fingers in and out of your inexperienced cunt. His eyes are wide, but the gleam in them is sharp, hungry, calculating. “I didn’t even get a chance to mess with your cute little clit. You came just from penetration?” He finally removes his fingers, examining the way your juices are dripping off his digits. “You didn’t just cum, you squirted.”

You turn your head, trying to bury your face in a pillow so he can’t see the embarrassed and debauched expression on your face, but he takes his dry hand and forces you to continue looking up at him.

“That’s a good thing, sweetheart.” He coos, sucking at his fingers obscenely before releasing them from his mouth with a pop!. “It means you’re perfect and all ready for me.” 

Kenyu knows that his cock is the first cock you’ve ever seen, and he’ll make damn certain that it’s the only one you’ll be seeing for the rest of your life. There’s no frame of reference for you to use, but you don’t think that men should be so big. When he frees his dick, making a show of squeezing tightly at the base and pumping it, showing off to you, you swallow hard. 

He taps the head of his cock against your swollen, needy clit, teasing the both of you. He’s losing all sense of restraint, and even rubbing the underside of his cock against your glistening folds, trying to slick up his cock so it’ll be easier to glide into your soaked cunt, is enough to make him want to cum. 

“I’m going to fuck you now, sweetheart.” His voice sounds strained, the gentle tone hanging on by a thread. “We’ll be making love for the first time. Aren’t you excited?” 

You nod. Excited and nervous. His cock much larger than his fingers, and maybe he should have prepped you more, but you came so easily. He always knew you were perfect for him. Pleasure is so unknown to you, the tiniest taste of it is enough to take you out. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

He holds your hand and kisses you to distract you from the sting of his cock breaching your virgin cunt. You gasp into the kiss, pain registering in your mind first, but Yukimiya is quick to take your breath away, to swallow up any potential protests that might have come. He keeps on kissing you, his fingers intertwined with your own, and he’s pushing himself as deep as he can go. He only lets up from the kiss the second he’s buried to the hilt, and you greedily swallow up the oxygen you’ve been deprived of. 

The feeling of a hard cock inside of you is foreign, but your body clings to his length. Unlike his fingers, with its dexterous ministrations that had you keening and squirting when he brushed them against a special spot, his cock fills you up, stuffs you full. Your cunt is greedily sucking him in, and when he whispers that he’s going to really start moving now, it’s not just one spot that he’s hitting.

You’re not sure what’s happening to your body, but it feels like Yukimiya is wringing out pleasure from you from every angle inside of you. 

“Ah, fuck, you feel so good for me, sweetheart. Such a tight pussy, so wet, so warm.” The heat encasing his cock is nothing like he’s ever experienced before. The wet warmth of your pussy is so inviting, so intensely pleasurable, that Kenyu doesn’t think he’ll be able to last. Cumming so soon might be embarrassing, but it’s not. Not when it’s his sweet girl’s pussy that’s begging for his cum. 

You wail out his name, your legs reflexively encircling around his waist, locking him in, keeping him close to you as you cum again. This orgasm is practically ripped out from you, your cunt way too sensitive, the repeated battering of his cock drilling into your hole too much for your inexperienced mind and body to handle. 

“Kenyu, Kenyu, Kenyu!” When you say his name like that, it makes it hard for him to not immediately bust a load inside of you. Gone is the gentle expression from your boyfriend’s face; in its place is something feral, dark. 

When he pulls out, he sees your white cream coating his cock. When he thrusts back in, he hears the lewd squelch of your wet, overstuffed pussy. It’s enough to drive a man insane with lust.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He grunts out, and your head struggles to remain straight, to not loll to the side and let yourself be used. You look up at him, but your eyes are glassy and your mind seems to be in a far away place, so far gone, so fucked out. “We’re going to get married soon. So it’s okay if I get you pregnant right now, right?” His bare cock fucking your virgin pussy raw. He’s going crazy. “I’m gonna fill you up, get you all nice and bred for me. Make you my wife, make you a mommy.” 

The domestic daydream makes you tighten up around him, even though your body is too weak to cum again. That’s alright. He’ll just have to cum enough for the both of you. 

“Hang onto me, sweetheart.” And you do. Your legs are still wrapped around him, but you weakly raise your arms, holding him close to you. He starts pounding at your pussy, his unrivaled speed and strength turning you into mush. You have to dig your nails into the muscled skin of his back, feeling like you’re on the edge of a cliff, about to crash. 

“Fuck, I’m about to put a baby in you, love. My sweet girl, my sweet wife.” He kisses you, messy and sloppy, and he stills. The aggressive thrusts stop, and you realize why. 

There’s a new heat entering inside of you; hot spurts of his cum are pouring into you, and he only moves his hips a bit to plug you up further, to make sure none of his seed can trickle out of you. 

You’re about to lose consciousness, your brain fried from pleasure and exhaustion. All you do is weakly mumble out his name before the world goes black.

You think if this is what making love is, you love love.

“Holy shit, Yukki.” Isagi gapes at his shirtless teammate. 

Yukimiya glances up, about to pull his jersey over his head. “What?” 

“What the hell happened to you?” 

“Hm?” He asks, before turning to try to examine his back. Across the pale muscles are thin, red scratches, fading slightly from the time it’s been etched onto his skin by your nails. He smiles serenely, his mild-mannered attitude ever present. “Oh, this? My fiancee likes me close to her at all times.” 

[zepskies]

3 whole days?!?! Oh my God, Ben must've been losing his mind. 🥲 Also hoping Benny is with dear Mrs. Brooks so he's not in the middle of this life or death situation. 💜

When Ben asked her how she felt, she only replied with “Like I fucking survived D-Day.” At that, Ben had snorted and said, “At least one of us did.”

*snorts* What a good comeback, though surprised Ben acknowledged that so easily. 😝

And when they were both sure the worst was over and she wouldn’t turn the car into bubbling liquid as well, Ben finally drove her to a hospital. She was still weak, mostly from not eating a thing in four days. The doctors thought she must’ve had a severe case of the flu, gave her an IV drip with plenty of nutrients, and then released her after a few tests.

God I'm so relieved!! You had me going there for a while. 😭 But with your promise of a happy ending here I held onto my seat and kept calm.

Y/N almost breaks a smile. She can’t remember if he had ever asked this much about her well-being before. Her little brush with death might have shaken his steeled core more than she’d initially figured, and her heart swells slightly at the thought.

Aww hun, she still has her insecurities with him and how he feels about her 🥺 (and they way he blew up at her recently, it's understandable).

Sometimes, she still thinks he only keeps her around because he doesn’t know any better. It’s like getting an abused dog from the shelter – you never know if they really love you or if they only tolerate you because you’re nice enough to feed them.

💀💀 But honestly yeah, it's a good analogy for how she met him in rehab (even if she was an inmate there as well). 😭

Also I love that eating enough to feed a small army was part of her recuperation lolll. Talk about ravenous -- but I have a feeling she's craving something else now. 😏❤️‍🔥

“Don’t forget the churros.” She giggles, and on cue, she rolls fully on top of him and straddles his waist, spreading featherlight kisses along the paths her fingers trailed.

LOL she's so cute. Can't forget the churros -- now to straddle her man.~

“Not surprising. I already know how much you can stuff in that fucking mouth, doll.” Ben’s wide smirk is full of pride, and it causes her to giggle.

lmfao another top tier Ben line. 🤌🏽

“You sure about that?” she checks, but her tone is more than a little teasing. “There’s a lot of kinks to pick from.” “Why does your generation always have to label fucking everything? It’s fucking sex. That’s it.” He huffs a bit too defensively, and she tries her best to muzzle her laugh. “What’s fucking wrong with it?”

LOLL honestly I'm kind of with him on that one. Why is everything labelled a "kink" nowadays? 🤣🤣🤣

“Well, there you go,” he retorts. “I’m super fucking old and married. You’re gonna keep fucking chit-chatting or are you gonna do it now?” “Fine, I’ll make love to you,” she relents with a smirk as she voices his little secret out loud.

Wayne omggg! Seeing your note at the end, I DO remember sending you that Ask!! I'm so happy to see it done here because it's absolutely perfect for these two and this moment. Thank you for using the idea! 🥹💓

Deep down, Gramps just wants to be made love to, and you gave him his heart's desire. 😘

The rest of their "making up" time for V-Day was simultaneously so hot and funny and fluffy and romantic -- my favorite combo honestly. I melted in several different ways. 💗💗💗

(The "it's his Olympics" line was particularly perfect loll. ❤️‍🔥)

“Like a fucking faucet,” he murmurs appreciatively

*snorts* 🤭😏 I see you, Wayne.

Also on brand that he'd be such an ungrateful whiny sourpuss on his birthday. 🙄 Like DUDE, she's just been busting her ass to bake him a cake and make his day feel special, but what, he doesn't want to get another year older? (Too late, you're already old.)

Or what, he doesn't want to be doted on? STFU and put on your party hat! 🥳

(or is he just cranky and salty that she said no to blow? lmfao)

“Baby, please, my feet hurt really bad.” She pouts, and he finally gets up with a deep sigh. She smiles wickedly.

YES. I have this headcanon too, that this is the only way to manipulate him into doing what you want. Especially when he's being a prima donna. 🤣

“Ew! Why the fuck would you put that in the fucking oven?!” His brow furrows so comically she tries her hardest to stifle her laughter. God, she hopes the kid gets her brains.

GOD he's so dumb for this loll. That's actually a really cute way to tell hubby you have a bun in the oven. 🥹 I wonder how Benny's gonna take the news that he's gonna be a big bro. 💕

And I love the Grinch line at the end, paralleling right back to Rehab. These two have gone through one hell of a journey together, but thanks for giving us this beautiful happy ending to their story, my friend!

Lover – Part 3

Series Summary: Free from his past, Ben’s trying to move on and find a little drop of happiness in this new world. But when he finally holds everything he ever wanted in his hands, it threatens to slip through the cracks, and he has to fight one final time with everything he’s got to keep it.

🫡 Catch up here! Sequel to Rehab & Video Games.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female!Reader

Warnings: 18+ due to language & mature themes, established relationship, Soldier Boy x wife!reader, human!Soldier Boy, the fluffiest of fluff, the smuttiest of smut (watch out for the breeding kink lol) 😉

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day to you all, loves! 💕 Thank you so much for all your wonderful comments over the last few days. I've seen and appreciate them all and will catch up with you guys over the weekend 🥰 For now, excuse this poor mama, 'cause she is fucking beat 😂

Enjoy the happy end 🩵

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Part 3: Lovestruck

Three fucking days he had waited in front of that goddamn door.

He slept in front of that door, ate in front of that door, and he silently panicked in front of that door. He hated that fucking door, had raging murder fantasies about it, but he never, ever opened said fucking door, no matter how much his fingers were twitching. Mostly because every time his hand did wrap around the knob, she’d yell at him to ‘stay the fuck out.’

Ben only unwillingly complied.

But when the quiet came and all other noises stopped, he finally dared to set a foot inside. The bedroom looked normal, even if disarrayed – but the bathroom surely needed a fucking remodel.

All that remained of their bathtub was a solidified puddle of acrylic. There was also a hole in the floor – burned right through the tiles. He’d wondered why it’d been so cold in there till he'd noticed the giant hole in the wall too that gave a perfect view of their backyard. But he found Y/N resting and curled up on the cool, white tiles – alive.

His heart might have fucking soared higher than an eagle.

When Ben asked her how she felt, she only replied with “Like I fucking survived D-Day.”

At that, Ben had snorted and said, “At least one of us did.”

And when they were both sure the worst was over and she wouldn’t turn the car into bubbling liquid as well, Ben finally drove her to a hospital. She was still weak, mostly from not eating a thing in four days. The doctors thought she must’ve had a severe case of the flu, gave her an IV drip with plenty of nutrients, and then released her after a few tests.

She’s been exhausted since then, drifting in and out of dreamland as he holds her in his embrace. She begins to stir again, and soon enough, she glances tiredly up at him through her eyelashes and gives him a lazy smile when she realizes he’s still here, exactly where he was hours ago when she last woke up.

“How late is it?” she asks and stretches a little in his arms but only ends up snuggling closer to him.

“Close to three,” he replies, and judging by the darkness outside their bedroom window, she guesses he doesn’t mean in the afternoon. “How are you feeling?”

Y/N almost breaks a smile. She can’t remember if he had ever asked this much about her well-being before. Her little brush with death might have shaken his steeled core more than she’d initially figured, and her heart swells slightly at the thought.

Sometimes, she still thinks he only keeps her around because he doesn’t know any better. It’s like getting an abused dog from the shelter – you never know if they really love you or if they only tolerate you because you’re nice enough to feed them.

He’s a creature of habit, after all.

But the affection and genuine worry gleaming in his pine green eyes tells her he might see more in her than that – whatever the hell that is.

“Better.” She nods, letting her fingers trace patterns around the golden freckles on his chest. Much better, she thinks as she feels the familiar heat pool between her legs. She bites down on her lower lip and presses herself closer to his perfectly toned and muscular body. It’s been too long since she’s worshipped every fucking glorious inch of him. “I think the fried chicken and noodles helped,” she adds with a small grin.

He chuckles – but not at her words. He can feel how she’s rubbing her thighs together now to get a little friction.

“Oh, I’m sure the burger, fries, sushi, and tacos helped, too,” he teases her. He came this close to entering her in one of those eating competitions as he watched her empty take-out container after container.

“Don’t forget the churros.” She giggles, and on cue, she rolls fully on top of him and straddles his waist, spreading featherlight kisses along the paths her fingers trailed.

“Not surprising. I already know how much you can stuff in that fucking mouth, doll.” Ben’s wide smirk is full of pride, and it causes her to giggle.

To make his point even clearer, his massive hands smooth down her sides and grip the globes of her ass, grinding her core against his proudly standing member. She mewls into the crook of his neck when she feels how fucking hard he is already. He lets out a grunt that carries the same desperate need to be inside of her as two of his thick fingers delve into her tight channel without much of a warning.

“Fucking drenched,” he mutters appreciatively as she arches her back with another moan on top of him. His free hand winds itself in her hair, giving it a slight tug that parts her lips with a pleasurable hiss as he drags her closer to his face. His amusement doesn’t fade, though, nor do his fingers in her pussy as he works her into a frenzy. “Sure you’re ready enough for the big guns, baby girl?”

She giggles breathily at his relentless teasing. “I’m literally about to come any second now,” she replies, soon followed by a harsh bite of her lip when his calloused thumb finds her clit. “Fuck…”

“Oh, I don’t think you fucking are.” Ben smirks and withdraws his fingers from her heat in the same breath. He laughs a little when she falls against his chest with a whimper of real loss.

Her hand finds his length between their burning bodies and wraps around it, already dragging his tip through her dripping folds. But Ben only entertains her plans for a second before snatching her wrist and pulling her away from him.

She whines this time and looks up at him. “Dear God, what do you want?” A laugh rumbles through his chest at the exasperation on her face. “I’ll do anything you want, anywhere you want. Just tell me. What’s Soldier Boy’s deepest, darkest fantasy, huh?”

Ben knows she’s teasing him, and a smile of amusement twitches on his lips, but a part of him actually seriously considers her question.

“What?” Her brow knits curiously as she observes the contemplative purse of his pillowy lips. “It’s okay. You can tell me,” she assures him and grins cheekily. “How fucking dirty is it?”

Ben swipes his tongue over his teeth and subtly swallows the lump in the back of his throat. He doesn’t reply instantly, however, pulling her ear to his lips as he whispers his little wish.

When he’s done, she blinks at him in surprise (and a hint of amusement). She certainly hasn’t expected that, but she places a loving kiss on his lips. The asshole can be charmingly sweet once in a blue moon.

“You sure about that?” she checks, but her tone is more than a little teasing. “There’s a lot of kinks to pick from.”

“Why does your generation always have to label fucking everything? It’s fucking sex. That’s it.” He huffs a bit too defensively, and she tries her best to muzzle her laugh. “What’s fucking wrong with it?”

“Nothing,” she assures him, giggling, and tries to soothe the furious lines of offense on his brow with little kisses. “It’s just surprising. It’s usually what super-old, married couples do.”

“Well, there you go,” he retorts. “I’m super fucking old and married. You’re gonna keep fucking chit-chatting or are you gonna do it now?”

“Fine, I’ll make love to you,” she relents with a smirk as she voices his little secret out loud.

“Jesus fuck!” He throws his head back into the pillow with a theatric eye roll.

His patience has run out. He grabs her fast and rough and flips them both over in a blink of an eye, her back landing in the plush mattress with a bubble of giggles. His weight presses down on her and deliciously threatens to squeeze the air from her lungs.

“Let me show you how it’s fucking done, my love,” Ben says with a cocky smile and begins to ravage a path of destruction down her throat. She’s sure she’ll be more colorful than a rainbow in the morning.

His teeth nib on her skin, hands pawing at the only clothing item that still covers her body from him, soon tearing the shirt over her head. His mouth stops attacking her clavicle then, green eyes focusing on her tits with a rising smirk.

“There’s my girls. Daddy’s home…”

Before she can even reply with a laugh at his comment, his mouth is swallowing her left tit, tongue roughly swirling over her nipple till it peaks against his wet muscle. She moans and arches off the mattress when his other hand massages, palms, and squeezes her other breast with the same fervent hunger.

Her hands find purchase on his strong upper arms, bicep flexing underneath her pads. His mouth devoutly licks lower and lower down her belly. She can feel his smirk rise against her skin the further he travels before his tongue dives straight into her folds.

“Fuck!” Her hips instantly buck forward, everything below her belly button clenching at the welcome intrusion.

And God, that man is skilled when it comes to sex. If he takes nothing else in his life seriously, this is his goddamn Olympics. He always gives it his all, just aiming for that gold medal over and over again.

It’s why she honestly forgives him for most of the shit he does or says, and she’s pretty sure he knows it, too.

His arms wrap around her thighs and pull her even closer against his sinful mouth. Her ankles cross behind his head, calves resting on those broad shoulders that seem to be made just for that purpose. Her toes tease his scalp, scratch the back of his head that cause little groans of his against her center that sound both submissive and primal, as if it's the most natural thing to give his everything to her.

His nose deliciously rubs her clit, and then the bastard fucking inhales and sucks the air right out of her when his lips seal around her bundle of nerves. She cries out his name, her cunt clenching with aching emptiness.

“Don’t worry. I know what you need,” Ben hums against her mound and shoves two thick fingers into her wet channel. “So fucking tight. You think you can take three? It’s been a while. Gotta get you into shape again…”

Fucking Olympics.

His digits then pump her so purposefully, mouth sucking her so religiously, she soon soars so fucking high she can see fucking Cupid himself. Her head falls back into the clouds when that fucking arrow hits, and she falls apart under his binding spell.

She thinks she might have passed out there for a second or two. When she steals a glance south, he still works her zealously through her glorious high as her pussy grips his fingers so tight she’s baffled they don’t break.

If she still had been a supe, they would’ve have.

And my God, she knows Ben’s never wasteful, not with his drugs nor with her arousal, but the way his tongue cleans her and licks his own fingers reaches a new level of obscenity she hasn’t witnessed before.

He acts like he’s been fucking parched for decades, and her juices are the elixir of life.

Then, when there's not a drop left to drink, and only then, does he decide to resurface with the laziest and proudest fucking smirk she’s ever seen. He leans so close to her face their foreheads touch, and she can smell her own scent in his glistening beard before he makes her taste herself, too.

“You’re still the same shithead.” She smirks breathlessly, her tits heaving as she breaks from the kiss. His chuckles fill her soul. She cards her fingers through his beard and brushes the hair back that falls into his mesmerizingly green eyes. “You’re gonna make love to me now?”

A smile widens on his plump and swollen lips, even at the hint of teasing in her voice, but he doesn’t respond with words, only nods and claims her lips in a blazing kiss. He angles his hips between her thighs then and spreads her legs further apart as they secure around his middle.

His lips leave hers and force her eyes open, staring straight into his. There’s an abundance of devotion and love in the lush greens that fill her heart. He makes her fucking feel it – every goddamn thing she is to him.

She feels his love when their fingers interlace and he pins them above her head. She feels his dedication with every thick, long inch he pushes inside of her. And she feels his fucking loyalty with each deliberate stroke.

He doesn’t rush, even keeps the dirty talk to a minimum. This is just for her.

It’s his fucking Olympics.

But most of all, she sees their vows shimmering in his eyes and knows he’ll never fucking break them.

“I love you,” she moans breathily into his ear, wounding herself tighter around him. She’s fucking close, ready for that next arrow with his name on it to pierce right through her heart.

He smirks a little in response, like he’s been waiting to hear it first. “Trust me. I fucking love you more,” he says, voice husky and thick with love. He emphasizes his promise with a snap of his hips, driving his cock right against her cervix. “Gonna pump a full fucking load deep into that little pussy till you’re fucking knocked up with a whole litter.”

Fucking shit. That should not turn her on as much as it does, but it’s hard to goddamn deny it when she comes right then and there as soon as he’s finished that filthy sentence.

“That’s it. Fucking milk my cock,” Ben rasps into her ear and feels his balls tighten when her pussy quakes around his shaft. “Like a fucking faucet,” he murmurs appreciatively and sucks marks into her neck. He’s missed making her his work of art, too.

When he spills his seed into her, hot and raw, he ensures their eye contact never breaks. He wants her to see what she’s fucking doing to him, how he falls apart just for her, too.

Two months later…

“What the fuck is taking you so long?” Ben stretches his neck and tries to peer into the kitchen. He begrudgingly eyes the green, glittery party hat on the dining table in front of him. “‘M not putting the fucking hat on, by the way.”

“Dude, you think it’s fucking easy lighting 108 candles on a fucking cake?” she retorts from the kitchen with a bit of bite before she strolls out with a sort of wonky buttercream cake, but the smile on her face is even brighter than the million candles.

“There’s no fucking way you put 108 candles on there,” Ben scoffs and grumpily crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back with a creak in his chair.

He’s been a bit of a party pooper all day. It also didn’t help when their son pointed that out at breakfast.

However, Ben probably shouldn’t have replied with: “Yeah, you would be too if your wife said no to blow.”

And yup, you bet your ass he woke her up bright and early in the morning, requesting she’d lick the snow off his dick. He’d termed it a super blow job and was rather disappointed when she'd declined.

“No, but I managed to get 53 on there, so it’s an A for effort,” she replies patiently. God, she needs so much fucking patience every day, but especially today.

“What fucking hippie school did you go to, huh?” Ben huffs and only encounters an annoyed frown when he looks at her.

“Blow out your fucking candles and make your wish, caveman,” she orders him dryly.

With a pissy eye roll, he does, puffing the life out of each little flame. “Are we fucking done with this now?”

Just then, the oven timer goes off, and Y/N straightens in the seat across from him.

“Uh, almost,” she says. “Got something in the oven. Can you check?”

“It’s my fucking birthday. How about you check yourself?” he retorts like a fucking princess.

“Ben, c’mon, I just spent six hours in the kitchen, baking you that cake,” she argues.

“Surprising it took six hours for this fucking thing,” Ben mutters, and she’s about to goddamn choke him.

Patience is a virtue, patience is a virtue…

“Baby, please, my feet hurt really bad.” She pouts, and he finally gets up with a deep sigh. She smiles wickedly.

“The oven isn’t even fucking on!” Ben yells soon from the kitchen. “And there’s nothing fucking inside!”

“Are you sure?” she acts as best as she can. “I thought I put something on the baking sheet.”

She listens to the clattering metal before a beat of silence follows. She’s sure his brows are densely knit in confusion (and frustration) at this point.

“What the fuck is this? Why would you put a fucking plastic stick in there?” The question finishes when he returns to the dining room, a small, white stick still in hand. He then holds it to his nose. “Why the fuck does it smell like piss?”

“Because I fucking peed on it,” she responds but sees he’s still not fully catching on.

“Ew! Why the fuck would you put that in the fucking oven?!” His brow furrows so comically she tries her hardest to stifle her laughter.

God, she hopes the kid gets her brains.

“Why is there a fucking smiley on it?”

“Because you’re supposed to be fucking happy, you moron,” she says.

“Why would I be fucking happy over a piss stick? Not exactly the fucking Rolex I wanted, is it?”

“Ben.”

His green eyes narrow at her and then blink. “Wait…”

“Yup.”

“Are you–“

“Yup.”

The stick in his hand drops to the floor before he scoops her up into his arms so fast she feels slightly dizzy from the motion. Happily, her legs wrap around his waist and arms lock behind his neck. She kisses him deeply, and he kisses her back with the same passionate devotion.

He squeezes his eyes shut a little tighter, forcing the tears to stay in, but she can still see the remnants of them when she draws back from his lips.

“I’m pregnant,” she says in case he still needed the verbal confirmation.

“Best fucking birthday ever,” he replies, swallowing the fucking lump in his dry throat.

She grins mischievously. “Told you it would be a good one, but no super blow jobs for a while.”

He snorts a chuckle. “Got it. I’ll take the regular ones, too.”

Ben once used to hate everything, his heart, much like the Grinch’s, a few sizes too small for anything else. But now, there’s barely enough space in his chest to contain it all. These days, he certainly considers himself a lover of all things life has to fucking offer.

The End 💕

Didn't I fucking say I would fix it?! Well, there ya go! Sid and Nancy got a happy end 🌅❣️

Do you guys think Ben wished for a baby or a fucking Rolex when he blew out those candles? 😂

(@zepskies 💜 – Not sure you remember this, but you sent me this ask for Dirty Drabbles about a year ago lol: What if Ben's girlfriend/wife/partner agrees to help fulfill one of his dirty fantasies. She's fully prepared for it to be insane (a la Ben), but what he requests is actually something surprisingly sweet (in its own way lol) And I immediately had this for this miniseries in mind! It fit those two perfectly!! 🥰🫶)

🩵 Tag List

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💭 Talk Dirty to Me

TAGS:

Forevers: @alwaystiredandconfused @lyarr24 @supernotnatural2005 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @deans-baby-momma @yoobusgoobus @jessjad

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

@nesnejwritings @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02

@thebiggerbear @star-yawnznn @thej2report @misatxox @spnaquakindgdom

@americanvenom13 @lamentationsofalonelypotato

Soldier Boy: @deans-baby-momma @snowayumi

Rehab Series: @nancymcl @sparkydonugh

[tinystarbites]

accidents pt. II | Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: during a long case away, Spencer accidentally sees Reader's nudes on her phone and can't cope because he is a MESS for reader whoops pt.II The Reckoning /j, this is basically just 10k words of porn with feelings yikes

Warnings: SMUT MDNI, 18+ only, fem!reader, fluff, some angst (still Spencer feeling he isn't good enough 😔), EMOTIONSSS, Spencer STILL loves you so much, he gets a hug, and so much more!, talk about sex, detailed asking for CONSENT (be safe people), sex (piv), some frottage, uhhh what else, dirty talk, some dom/sub understones (sub!Spencer ofc), little bit allusion to subspace, Spencer discovers so many kinks in this awww we're so proud of you bby (mentioned kinks: praise kink, squint of liking being embarrassed, tiiny bit of a voyeristic thing), also I made him a virgin whoops so virgin!Spencer, proofread but prolly not perfect lol. Tell me if I'm missing any tags I am so tired

(also, Spencer will be bisexual in all of my Spencer fics because I am not a coward like the writers were and I will honour Spencer the way he was intended to)

HERE you can read pt. I, I do recommend it to have context and all but do whatever you want lmao I'm not your mother anyway have fun being completely wrecked like I was while writing this!! also thanks so so MUCH for 400 followers and almost 2k likes on the first part, you guys are the best and I hope you enjoy this fic as a thanks!!<333

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Spencer’s never sprung from his bed faster in his life before.

His heart is a jackhammer in his chest, chipping away at his ribs one bone splitter at a time because-

It’s you. In front of his door. And Spencer is so hard it hurts but- he can’t just-

“Spencer?”

He sucks in a haggard breath, hands reaching up and messing up his hair even more. His thoughts are everywhere and nowhere at once and he just needs to- needs just a moment to-

“Uh, yeah, just a second!”, he calls back, voice scratchy and used from the- the moaning Jesus Christ because he was about to come with your mental image and he somehow, magically, managed to apparently conjure you up in front of his door with his pathetic pining and oh god-

He has to- ugh- has to wash his hands and make it go away and –

“Okay, I’ll just…chill with that weird plant here.”

An overwhelmed whimper slips past his lips and he just, stands there for at least another five seconds before something in his mind snaps back into place and he rushes to the small, adjacent bathroom of his room.

After he thoroughly washed his hands, his erection has flagged off enough so that it’s not the first thing greeting you when he opens the door and thank god for that.

And oh- seeing you after doing that actually knocks the wind out of his lungs because you are just so goddamn lovely it makes Spencer want to do stupid, stupid things like cry or kiss you or spontaneously combust into a million pieces.

For once, he does something okay-ishly sensible though.

“Hi.”

You look at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement or scepticism, he doesn’t know for sure. Your eyes hold mirthful sparkles in them when he finally manages to meet your gaze, so he settles for the former of the two options.

You’re not wearing your work clothes anymore. Rather, you went for a cozy looking, oversized sweater and funkily patterned leggings. Your fashion sense outside of work always reminded Spencer of Penelope’s.

“Hi to yourself”, you chuckle, “Can I come in or are you too busy reading ten books at once?”

Spencer feels himself flush under your gentle teasing.

“Only seven books. But, yes, of course you can come in.”

He turns out of the way, creating room for you to pass him into his room. As soon as you are inside, you don’t hesitate to jump onto his bed and flop on your back with your arms spread wide.

Spencer’s breath hitches and he has to do some very extensive mental gymnastics to supress all the inappropriate thoughts from escaping the box he banished them into. Controlling his body’s response to seeing you in the same bed he was just jacking off in is… a different story. He pulls down the hem of his shirt as discreetly as possible, as he takes a seat next to you. Making sure that there is not too much distance between you two as to raise any suspicion and make it obvious he’s trying to get some distance between you, but also enough space so that he isn’t enticed to do anything unwise. Like, reach out and feel your warmth underneath his fingers. Or the softness of your skin. Or anything else really.

The more seconds tick by in which neither of you say anything, the more nervous Spencer becomes. He starts fiddling around with his fingers, aborting more than one move to steal a glance at your face to see what you’re thinking.

“Spencer”, you then finally say, voice kind of pout-y and if that didn’t make Spencer whip his head around to face you, the next thing you say for sure does. “Do you hate me?”

“Wha-“, he sputters your name, “No- no! Of course, I don’t- whe- why would you think that?”

You let out an exasperated groan, moving around until you are lying on your side, head propped up on your arm and frowning up at him. “Because you’ve been acting hella weird these last few days and you won’t tell me whyyyy”, you drag out the last syllable, pout on your lips and Spencer has to look up at the ceiling or else he’s just going to confess everything without second thought and that will definitely not happen.

“I haven’t been acting weird, really, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You remain silent again and Spencer feels the judging glare you send his way without having to look at you. Yes, he has been acting weird, he knows that, but you can never ever know the reason why tha-

“Is it because you saw my nudes?”

Spencer almost breaks his neck with how fast he whips his head down to look at you again. A strangled noise escapes him without permission and what. What.

“Because, that would actually explain so much, especially the way you’ve been acting and really, that’s probably on me because I’ve always been telling myself to put them behind a password block but I somehow always manage to forget that because apparently I have only one braincell left that’s stuck spinning on the deep-fried version of Funky Town and well, I guess I’m glad it was you that found them and not someone else and-“

“What? No, no, I didn’t- What- that’s not- what-“, Spencer cuts off your rambling with a horrified, screeched version of a protest because how- how could you have guessed what’s going on with just one try? Is Spencer so- so absolutely besotted with you that he’s so obvious? Spencer is so very confused and overwhelmed with whatever the hell is going on, he kind of misses the slight twitching of your mouth.

“Come on, Spencer. I said it’s fine and basically my own fault. Uh- well, actually… sorry. Because, well, that’s probably not very work-appropriate… I will pay for your therapy session, just send me the bill.”

Spencer thought he’d reached the limits of confusion seconds ago but apparently, he hadn’t. What. What are you even saying?

“Therapy sessions?”

You just- ignore him.

“Oh, also, please don’t tell Hotch? He’ll be pissed, despite me literally just doing hot-girl shit, y’know-“

Oh, Spencer cannot take it anymore.

He says your name and, “Stop, please, please, just-“

You snap your mouth shut, pulling your lips between your teeth and Spencer definitely doesn’t miss the way you have to force your mouth to stay still this time.

“Are you- is this a joke?”, Spencer asks, frazzled and desperate and so confused he just wants to bury his head under the duvet and never come out again. Because if you don’t actually know but- are just joking around, oh Spencer is overwhelmed, alright.

Your expression changes into something panicked then. “No, no, Spencer, sorry. I’m- sorry. Of course I’m not joking, I’m so sorry. It’s just a little bit too easy to tease you. Sorry.” You actually look apologetic now, lips downturned and frowning slightly.

“Not joking- so… so, you know?”, there’s something big and anxious pressing inside of Spencer’s chest. The urge to hide away and never face daylight again intensifies tenfold. He’s flushing before he realizes, hands trembling and breathing a bit too fast to be considered normal. Oh god, you know, you actually know, you’re going to- you’re never going to speak with him again you are probably here to tell him how weird and- and-

You must’ve noticed the frenzy he is thinking himself into, because you reach out with one hand and gently nudge his thigh with one knuckle. “Spencer”, you say, voice serious and steady and not the slightest bit disgusted or harsh and it snaps him out of his anxiety spiral.

“I knew the second I walked back into that room after you basically fled the precinct. I am, really, genuinely, sorry for making you uncomfortable. Like, it wasn’t actually my intention for you to see them. And then, after I realized what… I just wanted to wait and see what you’d do, if you came to talk to me or, well…”

You sigh, the hand that nudged him ruffling through your hair.

“I didn’t handle this situation very well. I’m really sorry. So… “, you trail off, scrunching your nose in that adorable way of yours that makes Spencer want to kiss it until it scrunches even further because you’d laugh and try to fight him off.

“We can just- forget about this. Forget that it ever happened, or-“, you hesitate again.

Spencer feels suddenly breathless. Like he stands in front of a cliff face, seconds before taking the step to send himself careening towards something immeasurably great or devastatingly fatal.

“Or…?”, he breathes, voice small and unsure.

You meet his eyes again after what feels like hours. There’s something intense in them, burning, and it’s like an electric shock to Spencer’s system. He’d give anything for you to keep looking at him like that forever.

“Or”, your hand returns to his thigh, but this time you let your fingers travel along the shape of it and Spencer whimpers. The burning in your eyes intensifies and Spencer feels hot, suddenly, so hot he’s burning with it. “Or we can do something else.”

“Something else?”, Spencer basically croaks because his throat is so dry and it’s difficult for his body to function properly when you are touching him like that.

You hum in agreement. “Whatever you want. You can tell m-“

“You.”

You look a bit startled when he cuts you off with that one, desperate syllable. Startled but also endlessly amused and Spencer just- his mind is apparently turned off, what the-

You laugh quietly, and your eyes soften, and it does something to Spencer that leaves an ach-y feeling in his chest. Oh, he loves you so much he can’t take it.

“Sure. You can have me”, you say simply, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world for you to admit, “Tell me what exactly you want, because I’d give you the world if you asked.”

And suddenly there’s hot pressure behind Spencer’s eyes, at the back of his throat. You’re just- just- amazing and so lovely and so kind to him, no one has ever said something like that to him, he doesn’t know how to handle it.

Spencer blinks up to the ceiling, desperately willing these stupid unwelcome tears away because crying about you treating him kindly is so on the bottom of the list of acting casual about this, so he rather feels than sees you sitting up next to him. Your hand slips from his legs and he feels the loss of your touch as if someone sucked the marrow from his bones. Before he can say something embarrassing like ‘please touch me again’ he feels your hand covering his. It fills him with a heady kind of courage.

“I want…”, Spencer starts, feeling entirely too uncomfortable with having to state his deepest and darkest desires. There’s the old familiar urge to start picking at his nails nagging at him, but you just interlace your fingers with his and start tracing random patterns into the skin there with your thumb. Spencer melts against you and tenses up at the same time because it’s just so- so nice. It feels so nice and Spencer never thought he’d ever get to have things like that with you but you’re here. You’re here, with him, and basically offering Spencer the entire world on a silver platter but it’s still so so unfathomably difficult just saying what he so badly wants.

“You want…?”, you hum slightly, voice soft and so tender as you continue painting patterns on his skin and Spencer would literally die for you. And that’s the entire problem. Spencer doesn’t know if you’d do the same. Well. Maybe not die die for him but. He can’t just sleep with you, and it not meaning anything to you. It would kill him. It would kill him, if after you give him tenderness and pleasure and acceptance in a way he’s never dreamed of receiving, you would go back to normal. Always politely distanced, close, but never close enough and it already twists his chest just thinking of that possibility.

“I just-“, he tries again, but when the words are stuck in his throat, sticky molten sugar that tastes like bile and fear, he pulls out of your grip and buries his face in his hands. He’s so bad at this. He’s the worst. No wonder he’s never had- had something like Morgan has, one night stand after one night stand (not that he particularly wants that, god no, but just-) because Spencer is just so bad at spilling all of the things that plague his gut and keep his thoughts in overdrive at night. No wonder he’s never even had a girlfriend or boyfriend before.

“Hey, hey, Spencer”, he feels your hands cupping his own, still over his face. Not taking them away, but just – there. “It’s alright, penguin, we can always come back to this another time. I’ll wait.”

Spencer’s face crumples and his breath hitches a little because- penguin. That’s the frankly ridiculous nickname you’ve been using for him ever since he apparently once looked like one, with that white scarf and knee-length black coat he wore during one of your cases where a blizzard surprised not only the team, but also the unsub. Spencer, like most of you, wasn’t prepared and thus, had to make do with what the helpful officers provided them with. And well, Spencer drew the penguin stick it seemed.

It’s ridiculous but sweet and it always makes him feel so loved, loved by you, because it’s adorable and theirs and he just loves it irrationally much, okay? And also, penguins are just really fascinating because-

“Did you know that most penguins live monogamously? The Emperor penguin is actually one of the only ones that mate seasonally, they only have one mate per breeding season. But most others have a mate for life, like, like swans and bald eagles.”

Before Spencer even opened his mouth, he was aware of the fact he was going to ramble on about some unimportant stuff. It’s always like this, it always feels like a breath he’s been holding in for too long, like an itch somewhere in his weird brain that only stops when he opens his mouth and infodumps and he cannot stop it. No matter how consciously he is telling himself to cut it out or screaming at himself to shut the fuck up you weirdo, it’s unavoidable. As soon as his brain latches onto a statistic or a fact it is reminded of, it’s an unstoppable force.

Like now. He is kicking himself. Why, oh why can’t he ever be normal? He feels himself flushing bright red from embarrassment and shame and frustration. He can’t believe he is rambling about birds while- while whatever the hell you two are doing right now. While in the middle of a conversation that started out with you confronting him about him seeing your nudes, jesus christ.

Spencer is about to suffocate himself with a pillow when you let out a graceless snort.

It confuses Spencer so much he lowers his hands to look at you and- oh.

Your eyes are shining with something that looks so close to what he would call affection, and it makes him want to bawl his eyes out and at the same time, smile so hard there’ll be laugh lines on his cheeks for the rest of the week.

“Well, that fits perfectly then”, you say, and Spencer doesn’t understand.

“What do you mean?”

You smile just a little wider, a little more teasingly but in a nice way, in a kind way and it leaves Spencer’s chest blooming with warmth.

“If you’re my penguin, I’ll be your penguin.”

Youryouryouryouryour-

Spencer feels entirely braindead. Only the fact that you called him yours registers. Because yes. Yes. Spencer is so yours he’d gladly let you make every decision for him from now on in his life and yes. That’s not exactly a very normal thing to think. Or to want. Spencer doesn’t care. He’s never felt normal about you for a day in his life and he definitely won’t start now.

“You- you mean- like, as, as mates?”

You scrunch your nose in disgust. “If you want to call us that, I think I’ll take back my offer.”

It punches a giggle out of Spencer, sudden and kind of light-headed. He watches your face break into a wide grin.

“But you- you’d like that?” You’d like me?

You pull a face, sniffing in a nonchalant way, direct your face to your nails in fake disinterest.

“Sure. Whatever.”

And Spencer can’t help himself. He sobs out a laugh- laughs out a sob or, whatever that weird noise he makes is, because you’re so ridiculous and he loves you more than anything in the world.

You roll your eyes, fondly, shake your head slightly.

“Of course, Spencer. I’d like that very much because I like you a very unnormal amount. Literally. On my knees, crying, screaming etcetera”, you say just like that, smiling just like that.

Spencer feels like he’s dreaming. He must be. There’s no other explanation for it. He just can’t wrap his head around the fact that you could like him. You. You’re so, so lovely and amazing and you deserve everything good in this world and Spencer is just. Spencer.

“You- you like me? Me?”, Spencer can’t hide the incredulous tone that seeps into his questions because you like him?

There’s no traces of humour in your eyes anymore. Your eyes look painfully honest, face suddenly serious, and it steals Spencer’s breath away.

You lean closer to him again, grabbing his hands with yours. Your gaze bores itself into his, intense and steady and he can’t look away. “Spencer. I know it’s- I know life has been hard on you for way too long. And that leaves its marks on you. That’s fine. It’s human. But. You do not deserve any less love because of that, do you understand me? Of course I like you, what isn’t there to like? You’re kind and funny and sweet and just so- Spencer. You’re so lovable and it kills me to know that you don’t see how you are so worthy of being loved.”

Oh.

Oh.

You can’t just- can’t just say things like that and expect him to not cry a little. Can’t expect him to act completely nonchalant and cool about all of this when you say things like that to him. Are you trying to kill him? Because it sure does feel like that.

Spencer is so completely at a loss. He doesn’t know what to say to that- not to mention what to do. How do you always do this? How can you see straight to the hidden, bruised core of him, littered with all these ugly and bad things and. Just. Figure out what to say to strike him exactly there.

It should scare him, being known so deeply. It should, but it doesn’t because it’s you. You are warmth and acceptance like his favourite place in front of a fireplace, book in hand and rain gently knocking against windows. You are quiet mornings at work, you are soft rays of sunlight in his hair, you are gentle hands helping you up when you fall and bruise your knees. You are –

A touch to his cheek startles him. He opens his eyes – when did he close them? – to your fingers brushing some stray tears away, so softly as if he’s something precious, something to be held delicately. That thought sends new tears spilling down his cheek. He can’t believe this is affecting him so much, so completely he simultaneously feels like he is going to shatter and be stitched back together again.

He never knew he needed this so much.

“Sorry for making you cry, penguin. I didn’t think this discussion about my lack of nude etiquette would get this emotionally damaging”, you say, voice hushed in the big silence of the room, a small smile on your lips and eyes so kind.

Spencer snorts, despite himself. This has really been a very bizarre evening. He feels almost drunk on the weirdness of it all, on the rollercoaster that his emotions have ridden all evening. That’s probably why he does what he does next.  

“Neither did I, especially after you interrupted me while I wa-“

Spencer shuts his mouth so fast he clicks his teeth together, eyes wide and suddenly horrified. He- what-

Why?

Why can’t Spencer ever keep his big mouth shut? Is he completely and utterly insane?

There’re alarm bells going off somewhere in Spencer’s head and a concerning warmth settling deep in his stomach when your grin takes on a slightly devilish edge, one he knows all too well and. And. Oh. He’s in trouble. So much trouble. Why did he have to say that?

“After I interrupted you while?”, you prompt him, eyes electric and hot and oh god-

Spencer is so dumb. An idiot. Of the highest order. High IQ, where?

“Nothing”, he says, voice high-pitched and rushed and he curses himself and his ability to act everything else but nonchalant. He’d be the worst actor of all time.

“Spencer.”

The tone of your voice rearranges something in his neurons. He can feel himself sit up just that little bit straighter, can feel his mind buzz at the edges. He’s never felt like this before.

He loves it.

“Hmm?”, is all he gets out. Trouble, so much trouble.

Suddenly you’re standing up, away from him and Spencer wants to whine because you should stay there next to him, forever fixed to his side. He doesn’t have to despair long, because you take one of your knees and gently nudge his legs apart with it and okay. Okay. That definitely didn’t just send Spencer’s mind reeling. That wasn’t just totally the hottest thing that ever happened to him.

You slot yourself between his legs as if you own that space and. In his humble opinion, you do. You so do. Spencer is willing to give you a map of his entire body and a marker and tell you to please demarcate every part of him you want. He’d give it to you, no questions asked.

He is looking up at you, at your burning eyes that still hold something so soft in them that makes the lump in his throat bigger again. And by god, Spencer just needs to hear you say it again-

“You like me?”

You move closer to him, lifting one hand and placing it underneath his chin. Your thumb traces along his jaw and Spencer feels like he is going to burst into a million embarrassed pieces.

“Yes”, you say simply, but the way you say it. Spencer can’t help but shiver and exhale shakily. He feels so warm, everywhere. His skin burns where your fingers are touching him. He never wants this to stop.

“You- You want me?”

Your hand grips his face a little stronger, your other fingers splaying over and down his throat and there’s a high noise coming from somewhere and there’s goosebumps on his body everywhere and oh, wait- it’s him. The noise. Well, how embarrassing but. He doesn’t care. Nope. Not at all.

…Okay maybe a little. His face feels warm, suddenly, warmer than the rest of him and yes. He’s blushing, okay?

“Spencer”, the way you say his name it- god, “I want you. I said it before, but. I will give you anything. Tell me what you want, Spencer, and you will get it from me.”

Your eyes are so dark and your voice so low and Spencer actually whines and. He’s hard again, so hard, because he didn’t come before and now, he’s even more pent-up and his thoughts are a mess, but you haven’t even touched him more than this and he’s already so worked up from you just saying these things to him-

“I want you”, Spencer pants, currently finding no other English words in the dictionary of his mind. And well. Emily was right about him. IQ slashed to zero when pretty person do thing.

He watches you take a deep breath, as if to steady yourself, as if this whole thing is affecting you as much as it affects him but that’s- ridiculous. Impossible. Because. Have you seen yourself?

“I know that, Spencer. But what do you want from me? Do you want me to kiss you?”, you ask, face suddenly so close to his Spencer feels your breath fan over his skin, and he whimpers because yes he wants that wants that- “Do you want me to touch you more?”, your other hand grabs his side, gentle but just a little bit roughly and Spencer is suddenly vividly reminded of the fact how strong you are and he feels kind of lightheaded-

“Do you want me to fuck you, Spencer?”

Spencer is going to pass out. And die. And moan and say, “Please yes yes yes”. Maybe not in that particular order.

“Okay, angel, anything you want”, you say, smiling softly at him as if he’s the best thing in the world and angel. Angel. Angel.

Before he’s even started to process you calling him angel, he sees a glint in your eyes, that edge in your smile again and before he knows what’s happening, you’re kissing him.

You’re kissing him and it’s- everything.

Your mouth is soft against his, and Spencer’s insides twist and flutter and his brain is kind of lagging behind, but he wants to be closerclosercloser-

It’s so good Spencer completely blanks on everything. There’s nothing in his mind except the feel of your lips moving against his. There’s no insecurity, no embarrassment tainting this moment even though this is literally like, only the sixth kiss or so of Spencer’s life and he has no idea what he is doing. But it’s so good.

A noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper escapes him when you lick into his mouth and Spencer’s soul almost leaves his body. He feels you shudder where you are pressed together, chest to chest.

“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe against his lips, in between wet, hot, kisses. You rub your nose against his, eyes closed.

“Hmm?”, he hums, his voice somewhere in Canada or wherever. His mouth is too busy smiling so wide it hurts, anyways. No time for articulating anything.

“You’re amazing, Spencer, amazing.”

And he wants to shake his head, no, because the only one amazing here is you. But it’s impossible to disagree with you when your mouth has returned to his in a way that is probably ruining him for anyone else. (He’s okay with that.)

You peck him on the lips once, twice more, before you press your lips against his jaw, exactly where you had your fingers before. Your hands are basically the only thing holding Spencer up in a sitting position, because he feels like molten chocolate in your hands. Muscles apparently forgetting to do their job and well. Who can blame them? Spencer has stopped thinking in proper sentences the moment you had walked into his life, so. Only a matter of time until you broke the rest of him as well.

You kiss his neck and Spencer gasps. It’s really been a hot minute - three years, one hundred, twenty-one days and twenty hours to be exact – the last time he made out with someone. Everything feels heightened on his heated skin, especially you opening your mouth against him and licking him oh god-

It almost feels like a reward when you gently bite at his skin next. Spencer almost screams.

“So good, so so good for me”, he hears you whisper into the skin of his neck and this time, Spencer does make a noise. Because yes. He wants that. Be good for you. That’s the only thing in his fuzzy mind that feels clear, that feels graspable.

He can see your pupils dilate. Can see the wicked lilt to your lips. “You like being good for me, don’t you, angel?”

ANGEL. Spencer is nodding his head before he knows he does so. “Yes, yes.”

“Fuck”, he hears you breathe against him and it’s strange, seeing the effect he has on you. Did really he do that? “I can’t believe how incredible you are, sweetheart.”

And you need to stop. If you keep calling Spencer these things- he’s pretty sure he won’t survive this. The team would need to find another genius to solve cases with. His cactus Greg would dry out and wilt and die. You and Penelope would need to find another victim to send confusing memes to.

“Did you like my pictures, Spencer?”, you then ask and that’s so not fair. You can’t just ask him that while he’s so utterly in your hands that he’s sure he’d tell you about every little fantasy he’s had about you ever if you asked.

Because Spencer wants to be good, feels that need so deeply in his bones, he nods frantically. “Yes, I- I liked them.”

At the same time the words leave his mouth, something feels wrong. There’s an ugly thing twisting in his stomach, so unpleasant it momentarily occludes the high-octane bliss-fuzz fogging up his mind.

You notice the shift in mood almost immediately. “What’s wrong, angel?”

And well. It’s just- that guilt. Of not saying anything to you about Spencer seeing your nudes, of just ogling you like that without your permission. That wasn’t very good of him. Actually, the opposite. He’s been bad and he hates that. Hates that so severely that there’s suddenly tears on his cheeks and oh no. That’s mortifying. Who cries before sex? Jesus Christ he’s such a virgin it is genuinely embarrassing.

“I’m- I’m sorry”, he stutters, a little bit hysterical, creating distance between you, arms slung around himself, “I should’ve, should’ve said something, I’m so so sorry, I’m the worst friend and now I’m- I’m crying, oh god, I’m so sorry-“

“Hey, hey hey whoa. Spencer, darling. Penguin. Look at me, please?”

But he shakes his head. He doesn’t deserve to look at you again. What was he even thinking? He was- so creepy and now- now-

Two warm hands grab his face and then Spencer is looking into your eyes again. He squeezes his own shut, but all that it does is send more tears spilling over his cheeks and he’s so fucking stupid-

“Baby, please.”

Spencer sobs.

Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. That’s the best thing he has ever heard but he doesn’t deserve these things.

“Of course you deserve it, silly goose”, you say and oh. He’s said that out loud.

Your thumbs brush over his cheeks and Spencer can’t not lean into your touch, despite everything. Because that’s just the way it always is. He’s drawn to your warmth and tenderness like a moon revolves around its planet.

“I thought we’d established that it was an accident? And if it was someone’s fault, then mine, because no password, remember?”

Spencer opens his eyes. The deep affection swimming in yours makes him sob again. He’s a mess. A crying, horny mess and Spencer definitely fucked this up. Why does Spencer always ruin the few good things in his life?

“Spencer, Spencer. Hey. It’s okay, I promise you. We wouldn’t be doing this, if it wasn’t, okay?”, you kiss his nose. “Do you want to lay down, maybe?”

He nods, not really thinking clearly. He moves up the bed, under the covers and curls up on his side. He waits for you to get up from the bed, for you to walk over to the door and leave. To say that this was a mistake, he was a mistake. To say that you take back everything you said to him in the last half hour.

He’s not just a little surprised to feel your weight dip the mattress, to feel even more sudden warmth engulf him when you spoon him from behind. You start tracing swirly patterns over the skin of his arm and he feels goosebumps spread all over his body.

Some minutes tick by, you still holding him, when his tears have finally dried up. He doesn’t remember crying so much in one day. Spencer feels miserable.

“Do you still like me?”, he asks, and yes, it’s pathetic and stupid but. He doesn’t care if you never have sex or if you’re not going to be more than his friend now. Because the thought of you not being in his life in any capacity anymore- just no.

He can feel you freeze and take in a sharp breath. “Wha- Spencer. Of course, I still like you. I don’t care what we do, I just want to be with you. In any way you’ll have me.”

You sound so understanding and sincere and actually confused about his fear as if you’d never even think of not liking him anymore and and and-

And something in him just- snaps. He wants you, needs you so much he’s going to die if he doesn’t-

He shuffles and turns in your arms until he’s face to face with you. You look at him, eyebrow raised in question but so beautiful and lovely and you still like him-

“I want you so bad”, he says and then he presses his lips against yours again.

You respond immediately, low moan escaping you and Spencer is greedy, he wants to hear more, feel more, feel everything with you.

He’s kissing you as if he’s going to die if he ever stopped, which, yes, he absolutely would, and you kiss him back as if you can’t live without him. It makes everything become hazy again, like before, and every bad feeling suddenly feels eons away. Like he’s underwater, floaty and relaxed. Safe, he feels safe in the way you kiss him and hold him. Like you always do.

You move your kisses to his neck, sucking and biting and Spencer is moaning and moaning and can’t stop and then suddenly, you’re gone, what –

“Spencer, Spencer, wait”, you pant, out of breath and flushed and he wants to cry again, “Sorry, sorry I just-“

You frame his face in your hands, a little bit roughly. “I’m so sorry for making this so hard, you’re being so good for me, but Spencer. Have you done this before?”

Somewhere in the fog that is his minds, Spencer finds his voice. It’s high and airy but he doesn’t care. “No, no, I haven’t.”

He watches you take a deep breath, feels your fingers digging into his skin a little bit more.

“Tell me. Do you want this, Spencer?”, your voice is shaking as if you need to keep yourself in check and Spencer can’t believe he’s getting to see you like this.

“Yes”, he says because he can’t ever want anything else, and, “Please make me feel good.”

You inhale sharply, your grip on his face bordering on painful. “Spencer, you’re incredible, amazing, the best- I’ll make you feel good, okay? I’ll make you feel so good because you deserve it.”

“Yes”, Spencer is not ashamed of how whiny he sounds. No. He’s owning it now. This is his thing now, okay? He’ll gladly be your pathetic wet cat, or whatever the term was that you sometimes use to describe him with. Whatever it even means.

“Good”, you grin, and then you push on his shoulder hard and he’s on his back. And you. Sitting on top of him, thighs on either side of him. Straddling him exactly where he wants you most and he exhales a needy ‘ah’. His hypothesis of liking being manhandled is… yet to be disproven. He’s discovering so many things about himself today.

Pleasure radiates in waves from where you’re passively giving pressure to his hard cock and yeah okay. This is good. Amazing. He’s never felt better. But-

“Please.”

“Please what, angel?”

“More?”

“More what?”

Your fingers trailing along his throat and jaw, down his chest and teasing ghost-like over his nipples are not really helpful in finding the right words to what he wants. You take pity on him.

“More touch?”

Spencer nods his head, so fast he almost gets dizzy because he’s at that point again where everything feels liquid, hazy, a little bit unreal. So, speaking is already quite the task.

You smile at him as if he just solved the most difficult equation. “Doing so good, Spencer. Incredible.”

He moans. Okay. Another hypothesis to add to his ever-growing list of scientific discoveries today.

“Where do you want touch, Spencer? Here?”, there’s hands in his hair. He shakes his head.

“Hmm… Here?”, fingers drawing circles on his chest and yes, that feels nice, so nice but he wants-

“Here?”, you ground your hips down and jesus-

“Yes!”, Spencer almost chokes on the sound. Pleasure shoots up his spine and he whimpers. “Please.”

You exhale shakily, looking flush. “Okay. Because you ask so nicely.” There’re two little taps on his lower stomach through his shirt. “Do you want to take this off first? Or no?”

The way you give him the chance to say no- the way you respect his autonomy so deeply-

It’s basic human decency, yes, but it’s also the hottest thing and Spencer feels so valued and understood and safe that he’s not even hesitating when he mutters a quiet yes.

You help him sit up because he’s currently not really heir over his body like he usually is. Help his head out of the shirt and thread his arms out. And then, he’s half naked in front of you and suddenly, the doubt and insecurity that’ve been so quiet so far are back with a vengeance.

The urge to cover himself is so big it’s impossible to stop his arms from wrapping around himself.

Spencer knows he’s not ugly. He’s not that bad looking actually. Can’t be too bad if Morgan keeps insisting on calling him pretty boy, even though Spencer sometimes still has the sneaking suspicion that he’s teasing him. But his friend wouldn’t be so cruel.

But other people like to be. Pipe-cleaner, leek, straw, big-eyes. He’s heard it all before. He has matured enough and grown into himself so that these things don’t bother him like they used to. But still. Still. These things are arduous to scrub from under his skin.

Your gaze on him though- he’s never felt so, cleaned from all of these mean words before. You look- you look reverent while mapping his skin and maybe that’s the reason why he lowers his arms again.

“Spencer. You’re a dream”, you say, almost in trance. Almost as if you’re hypnotized by him, and he’s flushing. But. Being watched so intently, being admired like that. He feels his dick give an indigent twitch against your clothed core. Another thing for the list.

“So impatient”, you tut and Spencer flushes more. He thinks he’s waited long enough for this. But he doesn’t say that. If you stopped now- he would definitely combust spontaneously.

You lean down, over him. Hands trailing along his sides like you did earlier, but without any clothes between your skin and his. It’s almost too much. And not enough. He feels electrified, where you touch him. His heart is hammering against his ribs so hard you must be able to feel it. His stomach is in knots, fluttery. He’s never felt more alive.

You connect your lips to his throat, placing kiss after kiss along the arched length of it. Follow the same path with your tongue and Spencer whines, curves up against you a little. Everything feels so good Spencer is floating in it.

You shift your attention to his collarbones next, kissing but then gently biting and Spencer feels the indents of your teeth all the way through to his back and he hopes, wants, you to sink them into him so deep they’ll leave marks. So that he carries the evidence of this with him for the rest of this case, so that there’s absolutely no more doubt to who he belongs to. That thought alone makes him whimper, makes him feel that tiny little bit more lost in you.

You start kissing along his chest, down his stomach. Open mouthed, wet kisses and Spencer shivers when the places you put them feel cold after because of your spit. The lower you get, the noisier he becomes and at one point, Spencer would’ve been embarrassed. Well, he kind of is, but he’s also so turned on that the embarrassment doesn’t feel as stifling like usual. Rather, in a weird way, it makes everything hotter, and he does not own enough brain capacity right now to decipher that. But he does add it to the list.

When your face is dangerously close to the waistband of his pyjama, Spencer tenses, holds his breath. Being shirtless is one thing, but… well.

“It’s okay, Spencer. We only do as much as you feel comfortable with”, you murmur, giving a small peck to the left of his belly button. You calmingly follow his sides with your hands, smiling at him with so much affection in your eyes that Spencer feels speechless, breathless, until the tension releases his muscles again and he melts into the sheets.

“’m just…”, he tries, he really tries so hard to tell you that he wants this more than anything he’s ever wanted but that he just feels… insecure.

You kiss his stomach again. “How about we only take off the pyjama? For now? If you want to take off your underwear too later, we can still do that.”

That… that’s actually a good idea. So, he nods.

“Words, angel.”

“Yes, yes. That’s- good.”

You look so proud of him. “You’re so good, Spencer. Perfect.”

He moans embarrassingly loud. He really should be more concerned about this. About how you are basically pulling him apart, thread by thread and he just lets you, willingly. How you know which threads to pull to reduce him to a sweaty mess in what felt like 0.2 seconds.

There’s a finger dipping beneath the waistband, moving back and forth along the newly exposed skin. Your eyes watch him intently, almost predator-like. A question is in there somewhere as well and Spencer nods again.

You help him lift his hips, help him pull down the pants. Spencer is kind of busy kicking his legs a little to shake them off completely but when he looks back and down himself to where you are hyper-focused on the outline of his cock through the thin fabric he blushes.

Even more when he notices the big, dark blue splotch in front of his underwear. That’s definitely never happened before. How embarrassing.

When you look up at him again, you’re also flushed. Eyes dark, wide, voice kind of unsteady. “Spencer, Spencer, can I?”

“Please”, and then you palm him with your hand, and it feels so good it takes all of his concentration to not come on the spot. He doesn’t know if he’ll survive this until you arrive to the main thing.

It’s not the first time someone has touched him like that, but it is the first time you are doing it, and it already feels better than anything he’s ever felt before. You’re either a wizard or Spencer is just biased because he thinks everything you do is ten times better than the same thing done by someone else.

Probably the first reason.

He has his head angled back, one of his arms thrown over his eyes. If he looked at you now, he’s pretty sure, he’d come. Visual stimulation on top of physical would probably be the end of him. It’s already too much, just feeling your hand move up and down his dick in various pressures. Almost as if you are testing what he likes best, and Spencer is definitely here for it. Definitely. He’s happy to just let you experiment with him until you know all the different ways to drive him mad with pleasure with just a few moves.

Which, you apparently already figured out, judging by the way Spencer can’t form a single coherent thought anymore. It’s already, so good, so freaking good holy shit, and you’re still not touching him. Still a layer of fabric between your hand and him and he kind of- just-

“Take it off?”

You still your hand, looking up at him. You look kind of crazed, almost a little pained. It takes two deep breaths for you to process what he just asked, eyes a little unfocused before they fix Spencer to the bed with an intensity that makes him feel unfocused. “You sure, angel?”

Spencer literally can’t do anything but nod. You stay in your position for some moments longer, before you sigh out a long breath, mumbling something that suspiciously resembles you’re gonna be the death of me. Spencer misses your warmth on top of him the second you hoist yourself up. It’s kind of crazy and destitute of him. You are literally right there but he’s waited for this for so long it feels like he’s suffocating without your weight pressing him down. Which is ironic and also, insane.

Your fingers are gentle, when they move under the stretchy fabric of his underwear. Even gentler when they pull down and down and down until Spencer is entirely naked in front of you.

Oh, he feels so exposed. While he has been the recipient of a mediocre hand job before, it’s been in his trousers. This is kind of the first time someone sees him naked like that, because school locker rooms and his mother don’t count.

He doesn’t dare look at you. If there’s anything akin to disappointment, not to mention disgust on your face- Spencer probably would have to jump out the window, stat. His gaze is frozen on his cock, steadily leaking precum on his stomach (which, embarrassing). He’s abashedly trying to insert himself into your point of view, tries to imagine what you think about seeing him like this. What you might think about his dick, if it’s too short or too thin or if it looks weird, if he should’ve shaved. If his legs look strange and too gangly now, or if his stomach connects to his pubic area wrong or-

“Holy shit”, you say, and Spencer is too curious for his own damn good sometimes, because he can’t force his gaze to stay away from you.

You look at him- like before. Reverent but more, so much more. He almost feels like a deity, the way you look at him. Someone to be awed by, someone that should be worshipped. Spencer feels his already in overdrive heartbeat quicken even more, blood flushing his cheeks so much it leaks down his throat, to his chest.

Spencer would literally kill to have you look at him like this for the rest of his life.

“Holy shit, Spencer”, you repeat, eyes now meeting his, “You’re like- a literal fucking dream. I cannot believe- you’re so beautiful, how are you so beautiful everywhere?”

Spencer whimpers and he needs you to touch him kiss him fuck him anything please now or he will absolutely die from heart palpitations.

Some of his despairing thoughts must’ve come through to you, because the next thing you do is moan, which is the best thing he’s ever heard. Then, you take off your sweater. Second to go is your cropped tank top and you aren’t wearing a bra and good heavens.

Pictures could never compare. Not even Botticelli could’ve adequately committed you to canvas.

Spencer must’ve taken some brain damage from seeing you half naked. He doesn’t remember you taking off the remainder of your clothes, nor does he remember you straddling him again. But, fuck.

Spencer kind of doesn’t use the f-word that often but-

fuckfuckfuckufuckfkcufuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckcufkc-

You’re warm against him, and wet, so freaking wet, and it feels so mind-blowingly good- it’s a miracle he’s still holding on. But-

“Won’t last long”, he gets out, breathy and whiny and just so goddamn fuzzy from pleasure. The world could literally perish right now, and he wouldn’t care. He can’t care, because this is the best thing that ever happened to him and he won’t ever care about anything else ever again other than feeling you, you you you you, against him.

“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe, gasp, and fuck, the way you keep using his name. “Are you okay? Do you still want this?”

It’s ridiculous you even ask. But the warmth in his chest, the feeling of comfort and safety and ease – because everything with you is so easy, so natural - he feels with the way you look after him-

He feels your thumbs caressing his wet cheeks. You put small, sweet kisses all over his face. Take the time to brush away some of his sweat-sticky hair from his forehead. Place kisses there too. You end with a drawn out, gentle kiss to his lips.

“What do you say, sweetheart?”

There’s really only one way for him to answer that. He trusts you. Plain and simple. There’s no one else he could ever do this with.

“Yes, I want. Please.”

You kiss him again. “So good Spencer, you’re so fucking good to me. I can’t believe you are trusting me with this. You are incredible, angel.”

Spencer doesn’t know how it’s anatomically possible, but he blushes even harder. Also, feels his cock twitch against you because he apparently likes to be called good almost as much as he likes being good. For you. Only you. Jesus Christ.

“Do you have a condom?”, you ask and ah. Well.

“Suitcase”, and wow. First word with more than one syllable since you straddled him the first time. He’s being so brave right now. He deserves a medal. Proof of Being Able to Speak Polysyllabic Words While Getting Fucked (Almost).

There’s humour glistening in your eyes, when you hide a fake gasp behind your hand and say, “Oh my god, Spencer you dog. Can’t believe you planned this entire thing.”

Spencer almost chokes on his own spit. “N-no! I just- uh, like being prepared.”

You grind down a snort, drive your teeth into your lower lip. “In case you accidentally saw your coworker’s nudes and them being down to fuck you about it?"

Oh my god, you’re the most ridiculous person he’s ever met. He can’t stop himself from grinning because seeing you trying to keep your laughter at bay-

“Yes. That.”

“But what if- what if it was Rossi instead of you seeing them? How would’ve your plan worked out then, huh?”, you wheeze, shaking from literal suppressed laughter and Spencer makes a sound like a dying horse.

“Rossi? Rossi?”

“Oh my god, imagine it would’ve been Hotch. He would’ve probably fired me so hard and then called me a week later to disappointed-dad-talk me to come back but to please, refrain from bringing personal files to work in the future.”

Spencer laughs. He’s still rock-hard underneath you, but he’s laughing because that’s what you always do. Being so absurd and silly that he’s shocked to laughter.

He adores you with every fibre of his being.

“What the fuck?”, you ask, incredulous but laughing yourself, “Is my misery amusing to you?”

And Spencer feels like being a little bit of a brat. “Very.”

You flick his nose. Grumble something like I’ll show you misery and then you move your hips against his and Spencer sees stars. Let’s out an embarrassingly high whine.

Ah well. It was still worth it.

“Don’t move”, you order, when you climb down from him to retrieve a condom. Spencer watches you, lets himself look at you. All the times he’s wondered how it would be, how it would feel like, being in this kind of situation with you. He’s never in a million years thought it would feel so familiar. Like you’ve done this before, so many times that it’s just become something normal between you two. He’s actually relaxed. So turned on it feels like he’s going to burst any second, but he’s calm. He feels comfortable, so much so that it doesn’t even matter that it’s the first time he’s doing this and he’s so clueless about all of this.

But he knows, if it’s with you, he never ever has to worry about anything.

“Do you have lube as well?”, you ask, rifling through his suitcase and distracting him from his sappy thoughts.

“Hmm. No, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, angel”, you say while returning to Spencer, and the nickname kind of switches something off again in his brain. Perfect. He’s never going to be able to be normal again about that word.

“We’ll have to get some, for next time. Always feels better with it.”

Spencer hasn’t really registered more than next time next time next time-

He’s pulled out of his daze of knowing your intentions of this not only being a one-off thing, when you straddle him again, a bit lower on his legs. Spencer moans, loud and high, when you grab him by the base and god, fuck, his skin is tingling with anticipation.

With your other hand, you grab the condom and then use your teeth to open the packet, and his cock jumps in your hand. How are you so hot. How does everything you do turn him on so much, what.

He watches you take out the plastic ring as if he’s watching from above, out of his body. He watches as you position the condom over his tip and then pull it down, down and Spencer’s brain must be lagging because he feels everything with at least a two second delay and shit, god, son of a-

“You ready, baby?”

He makes a noise between a sob and a whine. He’s losing his mind. “Please please please-“

“Fuck, Spencer”, you whine, lift yourself up a bit with your legs and then you are sinking down on him, inch by agonizing inch.

It’s so good, it’s so good, you are so warm, so hot, and Spencer can’t stop making noises until your hips are flush to his and he’s inside you.

You let out a loud, drawn-out moan above him. “Fuck, fuck, Spencer. You feel so fucking good, holy shit.”

He feels like he’s one move away from coming. God, oh god, it feels so incredible.

“Can I move? Spencer, please?”, your voice is wrecked, you’re flushed down to your navel, and you’re the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Please please please please”, it’s the only word he remembers how to pronounce.

“Fuck”, you almost sob, lifting yourself almost completely off him. You lower yourself back down again, one swift move, and you both moan.

You pick up the pace a little, fucking him with still languid but purposeful thrusts. Every time his cock sinks back into you, Spencer feels bits and pieces of his sanity crumbling away. He can’t think, can’t speak, his mind so fogged up and fuzzy he’s having troubles remembering who he is. He’s so completely at your mercy he’d let you do anything to him.

That turns him on a worryingly huge amount. List, something about a list somewhere.

“Oh, god, look at you. Spencer, baby, angel. You feel so good inside of me, so good.”

He keens, grabs at your strong thighs bracketing his slim hips. Arches up into you, closerclosercloser-

“You like being good for me, right angel?”, you ask, hips slowing down to a gentle grinding that absolutely drives Spencer insane and he’s too far gone to even nod, “It suits you. Being so wrecked for me, moaning and shaking. God, fuck, you’re divine, Spencer, fuck.”

The pressure behind his cock, low in his stomach, that’s been building all evening, all week, holy shit, it’s too much. Spencer feels delirious, feels your hotness around him, feels your hands pressing his chest down into the bed. He’s going to die it feels so good.

“You going to come for me, Spencer? You gonna be good for me and come inside of me?”

Please please please please- it’s all he can think, all he can feel, because because-

You give a particularly hard thrust and-

Spencer’s coming, moaning and moaning, shaking everywhere. He’s coming and it feels so good, so fucking good. He’s never come so hard in his life before.

He might have blacked out a little. The next time he’s aware of something, it’s you cleaning him with a wet washcloth. Slow, and gentle and Jesus.

“What?”, is the first thing he manages to say, and you snicker beside him. You caress his face, hand running through his hair, down his chest. Peck his lips. You’re both still naked.

“Feeling good?”, you ask and what kind of question even is that. You just fucked the soul from his body, and you ask him-

“I almost died”, he says, tagging your name at the end with an incredulous tint to it.

You snort, setting the washcloth on the nightstand behind you. You lie down close to him, cuddling into his side. “That was the plan.”

“Killing me with sex?”

“Yep. That’s for ogling my nudes without my permission, you creep.”

He says your name again, exasperated but so fucking fond it’s a miracle you’ve never noticed his pining before. You shrug, pull a ‘what can you do face’. Spencer rolls his eyes and then, unceremoniously, flops on top of you.

“Uffff”, you press out. “You’re smothering me, penguin.”

Spencer shrugs and copies the expression you just did. You bark out a laugh.

“Ha! Didn’t know post-sex Spencer is such a cheeky little shit. I’ve created a monster.”

He can’t entirely control his face, some parts of a smile slipping into his features. He does manage to poke out his tongue at you though, before he buries his face in your neck.

Some minutes tick by, you both enjoying the other’s presence and warmth and idleness, before something in his brain-

“Wait-“, Spencer splutters, pushing himself away from you so that he can look at you. “Did you- did you even finish?”

He’s kind of horrified. He was so focused on his pleasure- he- how did he forget? He doesn’t remember you coming and oh no, he’s such an asshole, who doesn’t make sure the other person has come as well and-

“Spencer, Spencer”, you shush him, fingers trailing along his back, and he shivers, eyes rolling back.

“I made myself come right after, don’t worry. You were kind of busy in your post-orgasm, pussy-drunk coma.”

Spencer flushes. “But I wanted to…”

You laugh softly. “You can do whatever to me, next time, sweets. This was about you. We’ll go on a date as soon as we’re back home. Fucking Florida is driving me nuts.”

Oh, he suddenly feels shy. A date? You want to go on a date with him?

“Really?”, he asks, and he hates how insecure he sounds.

You send him an unbelieving look. “Uh, what about the last hour makes you think otherwise? Seriously, Spencer, we need to work on your confidence.”

“Okay”, he mutters, a little bit pout-y and you scoff, pulling him down on top of your chest again.

There, with your hands painting patterns on his back and him completely lost in your warmth and familiarity, Spencer thinks that maybe, Florida isn’t that bad.

--

Bonus

“So, then. Made any scientific discoveries last night, pretty boy?”

Spencer chokes on his coffee.

“What?”

“Nothing”, his ‘friend’ says, smirking and leaning against his table, “You just seem to have figured out that little problem that’s been keeping that pretty head of yours all messed up.”

Spencer feels himself flush. Stupid body and stupid involuntary, physiological reactions. Morgan picks up on it, of course.

“Ohhhhh, want to share with the class what those discoveries were?”

Briefly, so very briefly, Spencer thinks of his self-compiled list but- no no no no.

“Shut up, Morgan.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

tags: @sebastiansstanswhore @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @wasitforrevenge @wannabewolf @tommorecommendedfics @winterhi09 @theoraekenslover @chaewondrful @okeyhoezayy @busy-buzzing @laurakirsten0502 @redros3y @trashxqueen @kitty-kei @so-long-daisymay @hayleythecannibal @jsnsnsnszjzj @reeidsluv @kayane28 @moonysreid @desperately-seeking-serotonin @munsonslunchbox @tul1p-mimi @anuttellaa @pinkgomie @elizabethmidnight2017 @evrmorets @cyanidebitsg @bangchansdog @pinterestwhore145 @some-one-yiu-dont-kno @emma-e-a

i hope these work lmao, also let me know if you wanna be on my eternal tag list for any future Spencer fic ;)

[anghimalaaynasapuso]

DISCORD BOYFRIEND KÖNIG

sfw + nsfw. this is just an amalgamation of all my ideas

könig has never been one for putting his face on social media. even before the scars that pull at the skin of his cheek, reshaping his expression in ways he’s never fully grown used to, the idea of being seen, really seen, has never sat right with him. there’s a certain comfort in anonymity, in keeping the world at arm’s length. easier that way. safer.

that unease, paired with what some might consider his more nerdy interests, means he gravitates toward spaces like discord rather than the highly curated feeds of instagram or facebook. there, he doesn’t have to worry about photos or videos— just a username, and a presence in text.

his handle is simple: king 👑. a nod to the name he’s carried for so long, stripped of rank, stripped of weight.

even in the server where he’s most active, he keeps things vague, blending into discussions about games, military history, or whatever niche interest has caught his attention that week.

every now and then, he’ll let something slip— a mention of deployment, an offhand comment, disappearing for months at a time, only to return with a sudden burst of activity. some put the pieces together. most don’t. and könig prefers it that way. it’s easier to let them think he’s just another guy with spotty internet.

your first interaction is rather simple in retrospect.

he’s back after weeks of recon, shaking off the mission like dirt from his boots, easing into the familiarity of a gaming server he’s called home for years.

it’s not a small server, so new people come and go. he does his usual routine— an automated, slightly impersonal welcome but what he doesn’t expect is the sheer enthusiasm in return.

“hi!!!!”

he stares at the message for a second, counting the exclamation marks. three. four. five? a small smile tugs at his lips before he even realizes it.

it doesn’t take long before you’re at his metaphorical side, sending a friend request before the conversation even shifts from your college courses.

the older members tease him. something about his last deployment scrambling his head enough to take a newbie under his wing. he lets them talk. he doesn’t mind.

soon enough, you’re in his private messages, dramatically lamenting your latest loss in a game he’s only vaguely familiar with. könig listens— well, reads— as you rant, words spilling out at a rapid-fire pace, interspersed with keyboard smashing and increasingly incoherent frustration.

he’s not much for new releases, preferring to sink his teeth into a single game for months on end, grinding away until mastery is muscle memory. still-

one evening, without preamble, he sends you a link. his profile. in your game.

the response is immediate. ‘king!!! 🥺’ you type, followed by an onslaught of keyboard mashing that takes up half his screen.

he exhales a short laugh, shaking his head. he wonders if you know how easy it is to make him grin like an idiot.

the calls are… an unexpected development.

könig doesn’t make a habit to join server calls. ever. it’s not even about anxiety, not really, just preference. too many voices, too much noise. he never expected to be comfortable enough with anyone to want to be in a call, let alone initiate one.

but when you start gaming together, it becomes a necessity. typing mid-match isn’t exactly efficient, and you’re the first to point that out.

“okay, listen, king, i am not about to lose another ranked match just because you take five years to type ‘behind you.’” he huffs, amused, but relents.

soon enough, calls become second nature— no longer tied to gaming, no longer requiring an excuse. you always ask first, polite thing that you are, and könig always agrees. sometimes it’s an unspoken invitation, a simple “call?” sent in the quiet hours of the night. sometimes he beats you to it, pressing the button before he can think too hard about it.

one time, it’s you who calls. he answers on the first ring.

“are you- wait.” you pause, listening. there’s a distinct, rhythmic thud-thud-thud in the background. not footsteps, but something heavier, more controlled. “are you on a treadmill?”

“mm.” his voice is steady, unaffected. a quiet confirmation.

you gasp, and he can practically hear the amusement brewing in your tone. “oh my god! you actually work out? i thought you were lying.”

he snorts, breath hitching slightly as he adjusts his pace. “why would i lie about that?”

“i don’t know! you just- i mean, you sit at your desk all day, playing the same game for hours, and you’re always online at weird times-”

“you are describing yourself,” he points out.

“shut up.”

there’s a pause, and then, with the kind of mischief that only comes from knowing exactly how to push his buttons, you add, “prove it.”

he slows to a walk, swiping open his phone. a moment later, you receive a picture. him, flexing. the lighting is dim, but you can still make out the cut of his forearm, the solid shape of his bicep. just to humor you, he throws up a peace sign.

“not stolen from pinterest.”

you burst into laughter so sudden and bright that he finds himself smiling before he can stop it.

you learn what it means to miss könig pretty early on.

it happens suddenly. one day, he’s there, active as usual, sending the occasional meme, idling in voice chat even if he’s not talking. the next? radio silence. not even a ‘typing…’ indicator.

at first, you don’t think much of it. maybe he’s sleeping in. maybe he’s busy. time zones are weird. it’s fine.

but then a whole day passes. then another. you check his status— nothing. not offline, not do not disturb, just… gone.

curiosity turns into concern, and before you can think better of it, you ask in the server.

“hey, anyone heard from king?”

the response is casual. unbothered. “oh, dude’s probably deployed again.”

you blink. reread the message. “deployed?”

“yeah, king’s military.”

there’s no warning for the way that statement knocks the air from your lungs.

military? as in, real-life combat? as in, war zones and danger and actual life-or-death situations?

you stare at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure what to even say to that.

he doesn’t resurface for weeks.

you don’t realize how much you’ve come to rely on his presence until it’s gone. his absence is loud in the quiet moments of your day, in the spaces where a message from him would normally be.

you check the server out of habit, catching yourself before you can search his username. it’s stupid, you think. you barely know him. he’s just some guy from a discord server.

but the worry lingers.

and then, one day, just like that— he’s back.

his return is as unceremonious as his disappearance.

no dramatic entrance, no fanfare. just a simple “hello.”

you see it the moment he sends it. your stomach flips.

before you can stop yourself, you send a private message. “you’re alive.”

a moment passes. then— “yes.”

you frown. “you were gone for weeks.”

“i know.”

frustration bubbles up. “you could’ve said something.”

“i couldn’t.”

you hesitate, fingers tightening around your phone. you don’t know what you were expecting. an explanation? reassurance? but it’s clear you’re not getting one.

but then, a follow-up message. one that feels heavier, more careful. “i’m sorry.”

and just like that, the irritation dissolves.

it’s strange, the way things slip back into place after that.

he doesn’t talk about it, and you don’t ask. but something shifts. after that deployment, könig starts telling you when he’ll be gone. nothing in detail, really. just a simple, “i’ll be away for a bit.”

(it means everything.)

slowly, you get used to it. the rhythm of his presence and absence, the way your conversations pick up right where they left off, as if no time has passed at all.

it goes on for months. this… thing between the two of you. könig doesn’t hesitate to call it friendship, though he knows, knows, it’s something else entirely.

something with edges softer than companionship, something that lingers in the pauses between conversation, in the way you had whispered his real name under your breath when he revealed it to you.

he doesn’t rush to name it. doesn’t push. he lets it simmer until it feels inevitable.

in the end, it’s you who breaks first. technically. not that he’s keeping score. not that he would ever rub it in your face, especially when he was a mere day away from asking the very same thing.

it starts with a message. no preamble, no buildup. just a simple: hey, what are we?

könig sees it and reacts before thinking. presses the call button so fast his thumb practically smashes the screen. it rings once, twice—

“you didn’t even ask.” your voice comes through, half exasperated, half amused.

“didn’t want to give you time to unsend.” his own voice is steady, but his heart is anything but.

you huff. “bold assumption.”

“not really.”

a pause. he hears you shift, fabric rustling, the sound of you settling in. something warm and slow uncoils in his chest at the familiarity of it.

“so,” you start, hesitant. “what’s your answer?”

könig exhales, tipping his head back against his pillow. “do you want the truth?”

“obviously.”

he hums, considering. in reality, he’s known the truth for a while now. probably before you even realized it yourself.

“i like you,” he says, simple, sure. then, because he knows you, because he knows your deflections, your habit of teasing when you get nervous, he adds, “and i’m very aware you like me back.”

you sputter. “that’s a bold assumption-”

“not really,” he repeats, smug this time.

you groan, but you’re laughing, and it sends something bright flickering through him.

könig doesn’t ask for nudes. not once. he flirts, he teases, but never pushes. he knows your boundaries, respects them, never even hints at wanting more. if anything, he’s careful. too careful, sometimes. like he’s afraid of crossing a line you haven’t even drawn.

so when you finally send something, it’s your choice.

the first picture is tame. barely anything. it's a shot of your thighs, soft and warm in the low light of your room. nothing scandalous. nothing too revealing. but the second you hit send, your stomach twists with nerves.

könig sees it immediately. you watch the typing bubble appear, disappear, then appear again. and then— “fuck.”

you grin. “good?”

“you have no idea.”

it only escalates from there.

könig never requests more. but when you send it, when you want to send it, his reaction is worth it. he worships you through the screen, tells you how beautiful you are, how much he wishes he could touch you.

“pretty,” he texts once, attached to a voice message.

you press play. his breath is ragged, like he’s just run a mile. “pretty thing,” he repeats, voice tinged with something almost reverent. “you’re going to ruin me, love.”

the first time he sends you something, it takes him forever to work up to it.

you don’t ask for it. wouldn’t dream of pushing him into something he’s not comfortable with. könig isn’t shy, necessarily, but he’s private. you know that by now.

so when, out of nowhere, a picture pops up on your screen, your brain short-circuits.

it’s cropped carefully, but there’s no mistaking what you’re looking at— bare skin, broad shoulders, his stomach flexed just slightly.

“you like?” he texts after a minute.

you swallow hard. “yes.”

“good.” and then— “more?”

you bite your lip. “please.”

könig gets bolder after that.

he sends more. never too much, always teasing, always just enough to leave you wanting. sometimes it’s his hands, sometimes it’s his abs, the sharp cut of his hip bones, the waistband of his sweatpants hanging just low enough to make your mouth water.

one night, he sends a voice message instead. you press play.

at first, all you hear is his breathing. then, slowly, softly— your name, whispered through a noise that makes heat bloom low in your stomach.

“wish you were here,” he murmurs. “wish you could see what you do to me.”

the actual nudes don’t take long. not ar all. you’re both desperate. buzzing. könig’s the one who caves first.

it starts with your text. 10 p.m., the hour where inhibitions slip through grasping fingers like sand.

“wanna see your cock so bad, könig…” you murmur to your propped phone, cheek pressed to your pillow, another one stuffed against your chest like it might replace the hollow ache between your ribs. a distraction. a poor substitute.

on the other side of the screen, he exhales, dragging a hand down his face. fingers tensing, then flexing, like he needs something to hold onto. “love-” your whine cuts through before he can even think. instinctive. needy. his stomach clenches. “okay, okay. as long as you're sure.”

his heart pounds as he opens his photos. he doesn’t exactly collect dick pics, but there are a few kept locked away, private albums, a passcode he suddenly fumbles to enter.

three minutes. that’s how long it takes to choose the best one. the right angle. the right lighting. enough to make your breath hitch when you see it.

he hits send before he can overthink it, then leans back, phone balanced on his thigh, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

your phone buzzes. the photo pops up. you blink, breath hitching sharp in your throat.

“oh my god.” the words spill out of you before you can even think to stop them. “könig…” you stare at the screen, gaze locked on the thick, heavy length of him. the way it curves slightly, resting against his thigh like it’s weighed down by its own sheer mass. your breath stutters.

“you're so fucking big.” it barely registers that you've said it aloud.

“yeah? you like it?

“like it?” you shoot back. “i want it inside me.”

his breath leaves him in one harsh exhale. he shifts, hips rolling involuntarily like he can feel your words on his skin.

“can i see you too?” he sounds so polite. and then, as if that wasn’t enough to twist the knife deeper— “please?”

your stomach flips. you bite your lip, already reaching for your phone camera, the need to show him everything burning through you like wildfire.

your breath comes shallow as you slip your hand lower, phone steady in the other. the need is a pulse under your skin, throbbing, insistent. you pull the covers back just enough, the cool air prickling against the heat between your thighs.

the camera catches everything. your slightly parted thighs, your swollen clit, the wetness gushing out of your hole. it feels like baring a secret you’ve never told anyone. you hesitate for half a second, heart racing, then hit send.

the second the message disappears from your screen, it hits you— you just sent that to him.

on his end, könig freezes. the photo loads slow, torturous, and when it finally pops up, he feels his whole body tense, blood rushing south so fast it’s dizzying. “f-fuck, i need to be inside of you-”

sex with könig, if you can even call it that, at first, sneaks up on you. you never thought you’d be the kind of person who got into this. sending texts that made your face burn, leaving voice messages you could barely listen back to without cringing. but with him, it’s different. easier. less embarrassing because it’s him.

still, going from nudes to actual phone sex takes some time.

“gonna sleep,” könig texts you once, attached to a blurry photo of his bed.

“alone?” you send back, teasing.

the typing bubble appears. then disappears. then— “obviously.”

you grin at your phone, satisfied. but then— “but i could use some company.”

you stare at the message longer than you’d like to admit.

didn't tell him that you had woken up panting, arousal between your thighs, könig’s name on your lips too many times. didn't tell him that you had pressed your hand against your clit during your calls, to the sound of his voice, to his laugh, to the quiet, wrecked groans he sometimes lets out when he stretches after a workout.

in the past, you hadn't told him how many times you’d dreamt of him because you thought you'd scare him off, kept your mouth shut about the images that haunted you at night, of his hands pinning you down, his mouth at your throat.

but you wanted to.

and tonight, you would.

the conversation turns slow. lazy. heavy with something unspoken.

“you sound tired,” könig murmurs, voice warm. he’s always like this late at night. soft, unhurried, like he’s sinking into the sound of you.

you swallow hard. your skin feels too hot, too tight. “i’m not.”

a pause. then, lower— “what is it, love?”

you hesitate, pressing your lips together. it’s too much. too embarrassing. but he knows something is different.

“talk to me. tell me what you’re thinking.”

you let out a shaky breath. “i had a dream about you.”

the silence stretches.

you can hear him inhale. you bite your lip. force yourself to continue. “i think about you. when i-” you stop. you can’t say it. can’t admit it.

könig exhales through his nose, like he’s trying to steady himself. “when you what?”

your stomach is a knot of nerves. but you want this. want him. so you take a breath, close your eyes. “when i touch myself.”

his breath stutters.

“fuck.” the word is almost a groan. your pulse hammers, blood rushing through your ear as heat pools in your stomach.

“könig,” you whisper.

he exhales, whispers his next words like a beg, “say it again.”

you swallow. “i touch myself to you.”

“i do too.”

your stomach flips. “what?”

“i-” he cuts himself off with a quiet curse, like he's frustrated with himself for hesitating. “i touch myself to you too.”

your breath catches. heat blooms in your chest, spreading down your spine. “könig-”

“all the time.” his voice is lower now, raw, like he's aching with it. “when i can't sleep. when you're on call with me, laughing, teasing me. when i wake up hard in the middle of the night and can’t stop thinking about stuffing you full.”

your body is burning again, despite the aftershocks still rolling through you. you're about to choke out a reply when you hear it— the rustle of fabric, the faint creak of bedsprings, the wet slide of skin on skin.

“are you-”

a sharp inhale. “yes.”

“let me hear you,” you whisper, thinking about his pretty, pretty cock. uncut, soft skin stretched over the flushed head, the way it would slide back when he’s fully hard, revealing the deep pink of his leaking tip. the veins that wind down the length, standing out against the pale skin

there's a pause, a hitch in his breath. then, slowly— “okay.”

there's a small rustle, könig adjusting himself on the bed. the faint sound of him pumping lotion on his hand. a quiet sigh. and then, a low grunt as the warmth of his palm wraps around his cock.

könig looks down at his hand, eyes half-lidded, hips bucking up in small thrusts. he imagines your pussy instead of his fist, hot and tight and so fucking warm, fluttering around his length as he pushes in, spearing you open with a cock too big for your little cunny.

he knows you’d cry for him, little gasps and hiccupped moans, squirming beneath him as he bullies his cock deeper, past that tight ring of muscle into the slick, warm clutch of your cunt.

“a-ah- fuck, ah-”

your breath stutters at the sounds, hips grinding against your palm. “wish i could see you.”

“on cam?”

you groan, squeezing your thighs around the pillow in-between your legs, grinding your clit against the material softly. “yes, please..”

fuck, you're so polite.

[chososdiscordkitten]

Are You A Chick?!

artist: @kcokaine_ on twt

Synopsis: Gojo gets turned into a woman for a few hrs and reader nd him get down to fun activities ^-^

Pairing: Fem!Gojo x Fem!Reader Content: established relationship, unexplained gender bending, GOJUSSY :D , wlw, use of his/her regarding gojo, fingering (f gojo receiving), oral (f gojo receiving), squirting (gojo), SCISSORING🤩✂️, dirty talk, god I love women

MDNI

You were lying on your shared bed, bored, scrolling on your phone, waiting for your boyfriend to come home from work. You were about to call him to ask why he was so late. Only you heard the front door of your apartment opening- bolting off the bed to greet him at the door. 

Halting your steps when you saw a smaller version of Satoru standing in the kitchen. 

Wearing the now oversized clothes you saw Satoru leave the apartment in that morning. You squint your eyes, scanning his face and noticing it was much softer. 

His jawline not half as sharp, poutier lips and a smaller nose- his face looked so similar, only it had a more feminine look to it. His eyes were the only thing that stayed the same- big and adorned with thick white lashes.  

“Don’t say a word.” Satoru spoke- his voice a higher pitch and with a suede purr. 

You furrowed your eyebrows, seeing Satoru reach out a much smaller hand than you expected- “Are you a chick?” you parted your lips- amused at how the blush started to rise on your boyfriend’s cheeks. 

Satoru huffed- a bitchy sigh with his hip popped slightly. “It’ll only last for a few hours.” you huffed- entertained at the feminine voice Gojo spoke in. 

Though he was usually taller and broader, his clothes were too large for his now more petite frame. 

You darted your eyes down to her chest- Small pebbles peaked beneath Gojo’s tshirt, his small breasts forming two tents beneath the fabric. Widening your eyes and realizing that this was real. 

“Can I touch them?” you asked, the corners of your lip curled up- thinking about how sensitive Satoru was generally. You wanted to discover how sensitive your boyfriend was in a woman’s body. 

Satoru scoffed- sounding just like you’d expect him to as a woman, bitchy and bordering on a bimbo tone. 

Your boyfriend shook off the oversized jacket- showing you just how much smaller he was now. 

Gojo furrowed his eyebrows- small and effortlessly perfect, pushing out her tits and looking at you with a pouty glossed lip. 

You reached your hands out eager to feel your boyfriends breasts. “Should I be concerned that the first thing you wanna do when I get home is feel me up?” Gojo laughed- a soft giggle coming from her throat. 

Scoffing as you placed your hands beneath Gojo’s braless tits, “If I came home the opposite gender- what would the first thing you do be?” you scoffed, Parting your lips and grabbing what you could from her chest.

Perky and no bigger than an A cup. But her tits filled your palms perfectly. 

Your thumb took an exploratory swipe at the little bud formed beneath the t-shirt. Earning a light, pretty huff from Satoru’s lips, flashing your eyes back up at him with a glimmer circling your pupil. 

You raised your eyebrows- a greedy smile forming on your lips at all the thoughts that raced through your mind. “Can I fuck you?” You grinned, watching the blush on Satoru’s cheeks deepen. 

It took very little for Gojo’s lips to snap to yours- feeling the petite woman before you trying to take the reins from your hands- but all it took was one little grope at her ass to make Gojo compliant. 

Guiding Satoru back into your bedroom with your hands roaming beneath the hem of his shirt- grasping at the soft skin beneath the fabric with pretty whimpers falling from her lips onto yours. 

Pulling away from Satoru’s lips when you settled him to sit on the edge of the bed. 

Her lips pulled to the side, a soft ‘tsk’ leaving them as Satoru looked up at you. “Why does it feel like you’re more into this than normal?” Your gender-bent boyfriend bitched at you as you slipped off your shirt. 

Placing your hands onto the sides of Satoru’s chunky cheeks, pressing soft kisses onto the puffy lips of her face and guiding her to scooch up the bed. 

You grinned, placing your hands on the edge of Gojo’s shirt. “What does it feel like?” changing the conversation as you pulled Satoru’s shirt off his body. Hanging your mouth open and seeing the sight before you. 

Not in a million years could you picture the portrait that was painted before you. 

Satoru’s bottom lip pouted, a roaming blush forming on her chest and pink hardened nipples greeting you. 

“Feels like I’m gettin’ pawed at.” Satoru scoffed, pressing her lips back onto yours and feeling your hands rest on his hips, dipping your fingers beneath the band of the oversized sweats and rolling them off. Feeling Satoru’s hands mimic the movement on your own bottoms. 

Only this time- compared to the hundreds of others, Satoru’s hands had a soft, delicate touch. 

Satoru had you pinned as he naturally did, on your back and your legs spread with her hips resting between them. Satoru tugged your bottoms off as his delicate lips moved against yours. 

Feeling Gojo do the same, leaving him bare and waiting for something to happen- trying to recall what he usually does whenever he isn’t a woman- trailing his smaller hands from your side to your inner thigh. 

You scoffed- “This isn’t about me ‘toru.” you smiled, pulling his hands from your thigh and intertwining your fingers with her slim ones. Looking at the soft expression your boyfriends feminized face held. 

“You don’t wanna know what it feels like for me?” you grinned, trailing the tips of your fingers against her rib cage- causing a shuddering exhale to leave his lips. 

Satoru bit her lip, feeling the warmth between her legs twitch from your offer. 

You trailed your hand between her thighs, reaching the drenched center Satoru had ignored between his legs till now. 

Watching her mouth inhale sharply, batting his white eyelashes closed as you lightly traced your middle and ring finger against her core. 

It took very little for Gojo to straddle your thighs, leaning an arm back and planting it on your calf. Giving you an unobstructed view of your boyfriends pretty, glistening cunt. 

As pretty and leaky as his cock was- this gave you a different kind of shiver down your spine from how fucking gorgeous he looked right now. 

Your hands rubbing softly on Satoru’s thighs, looking up to her shy expression. 

Satoru was a talker typically- teasing and being able to act on his horny threats just to make you blush. But now Satoru held her tongue, shy eyes avoiding your gaze. And squirming at the light grips you’d make against his thighs. 

And when her hips had ground down- instinctively as though you had cock for him. 

Or when your hands finally reached his pale inner thighs- you swore you could hear a slight shudder take the shape of a whimper leave Gojo’s throat. The prettiest sound you had yet to hear from him. 

He would let out pretty sounds generally, but this- this was something different. More defined, and less throaty. Almost as angelic as the pretty white lashes fanning over Satoru’s blushing cheeks. 

His hand urging you with a light squeeze at your thigh. When you finally traced the pad of your thumb against the little glistening pearl that you had neglected for what felt like an eternity to Satoru;

As though it was unwillingly, tossing her head back with a nibbled lip. Even the curve of her neck was fucking pretty. 

Dissolving into the feeling of your gentle thumb against his clit. His grip against your thigh turned to a squeeze with urge as you made more teasing circles against him with a hand on his pale thigh. 

Between a breathy moan, Satoru looked back to you- “It’s unfair that you get to feel this all the time.” she huffed as you applied a little more pressure to the sensitive nub. 

“Just wait till I make you cum-” you huffed with a smile, watching Satoru’s effeminate face churn with pinched eyebrows at your words. 

You raised your hand from his thigh- placing it flat, right where his womb would be. “Do you feel it building right here?” you asked in a murmur, looking up at your pretty boyfriend with amazed eyes. 

Satoru only nodded quickly- her plush lip tucked between pearly teeth and eyes closed. Your thumb making hastier circles and watching Satoru’s chest heave with eyes full of wonder.

Your hand traced to her bent hip, lightly squeezing at the malleable skin and watching the face Satoru made as you drew an orgasm out of her. The tips of your ring and middle finger circling at the taut entrance that seeped nectar. 

Satoru gasped when the pad of your thumb caught the very tip of his clit. Snapping one of his slender hands onto your shoulder as a brace. And your lips being right at the level of his perky tits- your lips parted and latched onto the puffy pink nipple on her chest. 

The whimpers that left Gojo’s throat were far too genuine- knowing how unashamed he was about them normally, the ones he let out now would be equally as unashamed.

Satoru’s lips parted in a small ‘o’- stuttering over every other moan as your thumb rubbed harsher circles against him. Your tongue lapped at the pebble of her nipple, sucking harshly to draw more pretty sounds from her lips. 

Gojo tried- she tried warning that they were cumming. As though some kind of mess would spew from him as it usually did. Only your hands didn’t care- neither did your relentless lips. 

With a choked moan- Satoru held his breath. His cunt clenching around nothing as the tips of your fingers felt the twitching his entrance made- as though she was trying to suck them in. 

Your eyes looked up at the pretty sight before you- parting your lips and throwing your head back. Watching with amazed eyes at the pale, shuddering shoulders that were graced with light goosebumps. 

Satoru’s eyebrows were lightly pinched, and her puffy lips parted- finally releasing the air trapped in his lungs with a pretty moan. 

Giving him a few seconds to shake off the aftershocks of his very first orgasm as a woman. Satoru trailed her hands to the side of your head, caressing gently and looking down with a peaked corner at her lip. 

“So unfair-” he whispered, leaning down and pressing a lazy kiss onto your lips as his hips ground down to your fingers. Your thumb made little to no movements as Satoru’s hips urged your fingers to press inside. 

And as bitchy and needy as he was as a man- You knew not to deny Satoru this now. 

Isolating your middle finger and pressing against Satoru’s soaked, taut entrance- a whimper between a breath leaving his throat and rumbling onto your lips. Lightly curling your finger until you hit a little nudge inside him. 

The little prod making Satoru pull away from you with a soft whine. Both of his hands now on your neck and arm- trying to find soothing in whatever his hands could grip. 

“More,” Satoru whimpered into the air between you- a high pitched upturn ending her plea. Your lips latched onto hers- drawing your finger from her soft walls and pressing it to the neighboring finger. 

Lazily kissing at the corner of her mouth, trailing kisses down to Satoru’s softer jaw. Pressing both of your fingers past her entrance- “So tight-” you murmured, feeling resistance from her walls as her hands gripped harder. 

Clearer whimpers and moans, leaving her throat at the light sting, your lips kissing down her neck- trying to find the sweet spot Satoru always allowed you to exploit. 

And when the tips of both of your fingers reached that same spot from earlier, the moan that left Satoru’s lips bordered on guttural- a high-pitched inhale followed as your lips found the sensitive spot of her neck. 

Suckling at the pale skin as your palm pressed flush against her clit. Satoru’s eyes fluttered shut as his hips started moving back and forth. Unashamedly rutting his cunt against the arch of your palm as your fingers lightly bumped into her gspot. 

Your lips formed a smile against Gojo’s skin- grateful of how pretty she sounded, almost like a hymn to your ears. Even more with the light squelches of his cunt frotting against your hand. 

Reaching your hand up her ribcage that flared with every sharp inhale she made. Lightly cupping her breast with a teasing thumb on the hardened nipple. 

It was too much for Satoru- overstimulating himself as his hips moved without instruction from his brain. The tingle of Satoru’s own gluttony formed in his spine as your thumb took a few soft swipes at his nipple. 

“M’gonna cum again-” she whimpered, as though it was you moving her hips against your palm. You pulled your lips from her collarbone with a smile. 

“Go ahead.” you instructed, tone far too deep and overindulgent as Gojo’s hips moved quicker- frotting her leaking cunt against you with a whimper. 

It was as though the pearly gates of heaven opened for Satoru as he felt another orgasm wave over her petite shoulders, his cunt clenching around your fingers. Barely able to keep his posture as she rode herself down- greedy hums leaving Satoru’s lips as you kissed at her chest. 

Using the hand on her hip to guide her to keel onto her side- landing on the bed with a pleased smile. Rolling onto her back as your lips planted gentle kisses on her sternum. 

Soft hums leave his lips as your hands spread his thighs. Tilting her head to the side and watching your shoulders rest between her flawless thighs. Placing a hand to the top of your head as your lips kissed at her thighs. 

“You’re so greedy~” Satoru hummed as your lips dampened small circles on her thighs- close to her glistening cunt, but still so fucking far. 

You let out a soft laugh, “I’m greedy?” softly caressing his outer thighs as she nodded against the pillows. Excitement reeling behind her cerulean eyes- so eager to know what it feels like to receive head as a woman. 

And as though her hand was urging you to finally kiss somewhere other than her thighs- you made a light lick from her perfectly displayed cunt up to her clit with a shuddering sigh leaving her lips. A groan left your lips at her flavor- as sweet as you expected her to taste. 

Your hands held Satoru’s hips, keeping them spread with her feet planted harshly against the bed. Your tongue made a few more kitten licks at her clit- hearing the desperation in every whimper that left her lips. 

Taking one of your hands and aligning it with her entrance again- right below your chin and slowly pushing them in. Your lips connect with the base of her clit with your tongue lightly swirling against the puffy nub. 

Your fingers moving with ease now- his cumt stretched just enough for you to start pumping your fingers. Satoru swore that his eyes would cross had he held them open- so he closed them. 

Thralling his head back into the pillows with a throaty moan- the hand on his hip moving up her side- gripping at Satoru’s breast with a light squeeze. 

Gojo’s back arching against the bed as your fingers prodded against her gspot. The whispers of overstimulation roaming up her spine once more as she felt another orgasm build in her womb. 

Only this time it felt different- His moans far too loud as your tongue made relentless swirls against her clit- your fingers bumping into her gspot at the perfect angle. 

“Wait-” Satoru inhaled sharply, his hips bucking up into your mouth as the knot in her tummy tightened. Nodding her head quickly as she fisted the sheets- knuckles turning white from how hard she was gripping. 

You looked up at Gojo, furrowed eyebrows and parted lips greeting you as Satoru whimpered. Threats of ‘I’m gonna—’ left her lips as you continued the mean movements. 

Satoru sat up slightly with a groan- your palm filling with spurts of liquid as your fingers continued. 

Loud mewls leaving Gojo’s throat as your mouth refused to stop- making sure to drain Satoru as the sides of your face became drenched with his squirt. 

“J-jesus fucking chri-” she called out in an exhale- her hips stuttering against your lips as you slowed your fingers. 

And when you finally got your fill, Satoru’s hands cupped the sides of your face and pulled you back up to him. A light moan vibrating onto your lips as she kissed you. Tasting her own slick and essence on your lips with every swipe her tongue made against yours.

Your hands groping at her thighs as Satoru pulled away from your lips- looking into your eyes with urgency. 

“Fuck me baby, please-” She whimpered into the air, desperately needing to feel you. In any way she could. 

You pressed your lips onto hers again, feeling her hand roam down to your bottom and give you a squeeze, the other cupping at your breast- noting that even as a woman, Satoru had wandering hands. 

In the split second after Satoru begged you to fuck her- you thought to the how. No strap- no toys at your disposal- but then you thought of the closest thing. 

Rolling over with Satoru in your hands- leaving you on your back with one of Satoru’s knees planted beneath your thigh. The other straddled atop your other leg.

Completely tangled between limbs as you pulled your lips from hers- Your bare cunt and his threatening to touch as she looked at you with curious eyes. 

You placed your hands onto her hips, looking into her bleary, cerulean eyes and guiding her down. A little whimper leaves your lips at the sudden contact of her cunt against yours. 

It took very little for Satoru to get the hint- planting her hands onto your sides and straightening her back. 

Taking a small nibble at her lip at the feeling of your clits bumping against each other. Looking down and watching at the small grinds he made- a small giggle laced with a moan leaving her lips. “Ffffuck, It’s like we’re kissing~” she grinned, causing you to let out a small laugh with an eye roll. 

Satoru reached for the back of your thigh with one hand, pinning it up slightly to give her a better access and a better view. 

Gojo tried starting at a slow pace- but the warmth radiating from your cunt onto his was undeniably tantalizing. 

Small moans fell from her lips as she started making unpatterned, sloppy thrusts against you. Uncaring if it wasn’t right- only that it felt good when his clit would bump against yours and the mixing slick of both your cunts making the filthiest shlops and squelches made him even more wet.

Her tits bounced with every desperate thrust she made against you, your hands holding a bruising grip at her pale hips, following every grind she would make against you. 

And when Satoru’s thighs started burning from the frantic movements- your hands led her hips into the frotting. Through gritted teeth- “Right here ‘toru-” you mumbled, Satoru taking over for your hands and humping against that very spot. 

Her face churned with pure, undiscovered pleasure as the mixed slick made it easier to glide against you. 

Shared moans reverberated off the walls before Satoru leaned down to connect her lips with yours, her breasts pressing against yours harshly. Keeping the same quick pace against your linked cunts. 

His tongue slotting against yours sloppily as moans rumbled against each other- hands gripping at anything they could find with his clit grinding against your own neglected one. Building your own orgasm as you hummed against Gojo’s lips.

One of your hands on her plump ass- gripping harshly with the other on her hip- and Satoru’s were gripping for dear life at your plush thighs- working himself through the overstimulation with soft groans against your lips. 

Splitting the kiss with a loud whimper- desperate hips rutting against you at an unbelievable pace as you felt the knot in your tummy threaten to come undone- “I’m cummin-” she whimpered before pressing her lips back onto yours. 

Your eyes tightened as Satoru worked you past an orgasm, back arching against the bed as Satoru crossed the finish line with you. Squirting whatever was left inside of her against your cunt. 

Huffing heavily through her nose as her hips slowed- Satoru’s grip on your thighs loosening as she felt the aftershocks roll through her shoulders. 

Easing your thigh down and feeling Gojo rest her body weight atop yours- just like he did when he was a man. Her lips sloppily moved against yours before pulling away- hazy eyes and pressing her chest further into yours with a pout. 

Your hands raised from her ass and rested on the soft skin of her back. Satoru raised her shoulders and looked into your eyes- almost troubled.

“What is it?” you mumbled, touching her cheek and caressing it softly with your thumb. Watching the pout deepen before parting his lips. 

Her breasts pressed against yours- “How do you know what to do with another girl?” Satoru pouted in a sad tone. You smiled softly, nodding your head and resting back into the pillows. 

“I did a lot of experimenting in college.” you hummed, Satoru following you and rubbing her nipples against yours unknowingly. 

Your eyes flashed down to your connected chests- “You’ll still like me when I become- me again, right?” She spoke softly- shy and stark in comparison to how he usually was. 

You pinched your eyebrows- “Course I will ‘toru-” pressing a soft kiss to her lips, “I can’t wait till you're back to normal.” you mumbled. Looking at the blush on Satoru’s cheeks deepen at your declaration. 

Satoru let out a dreamy sigh, squinting and looking down to where your eyes kept flashing. “S’like we’re kissing.” you smiled with a mumble, a small giggle leaving Satoru’s lips. 

She sighed, leaning her head back down to your shoulder, “Dunno how you get anything done if that’s what it feels like every time.” Satoru mumbled, closing her eyes and placing a hand on the side of your face. 

A half-laugh left your throat, “I would be all over you 24/7 if I was a chick.” he hummed, legs tangled against each other as your hand rubbed small circles at her back. 

“God knew not to make you a woman, you’d cause too much trouble,” you murmured, hearing a half conscious hum leave Satoru’s lips as she drifted to sleep atop you. 

That night you fell asleep with your girlfriend in your arms- soft, dainty and bare in your hands. Breathing softly with a feminine tinge in every exhale she made. 

And you woke up with your broad, far too heavy boyfriend in your arms. His exhales taking their usual throaty tone when he breathed them against your skin.  

Either or- it was still your Satoru. No matter what form he took, he was still yours. 

-

(a.n) this was so hot, I love woman, and gojussy. by the time you're reading this, ill be watching a medieval tournament👍🏽