#so ill not be surprised if hes the brain of the team | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lostfracturess · 10 months ago

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symptoms and causes | ch. 05

ღ pairing professor gojo x med student reader

ღ summary he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart—and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

ღ wc 11.4 k

ღ warnings [18+] this story contains substance abuse/addiction, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive behavior, (heavy) angst, mentions of death / illness / blood / abuse, graphic medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.

ღ author's note dive in and let me know what you think—i love hearing your thoughts! & pls like or repost if you enjoyed, it means the world ♡

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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The alarm rang.

The shrill sound pierced the morning silence.

It rang again.

And then a third time.

Each buzz felt like a hammer against your skull.

You groaned, turning over and burying your head under the covers. All you wanted was to sleep—to sleep and forget.

The alarm rang a fourth time.

Fuck.

With a sigh, you dragged yourself out of bed.

You felt sick.

By the time you hurried towards the auditorium, the sun was already high in the sky, casting harsh lights across the campus. You slipped through the doors. The lecture was already in full swing, the professor's voice echoing through the large room filled with students scribbling notes.

Finding your way to where Toge, Maki, and Yuta were seated, you quietly slid into the empty seat beside them. Maki glanced at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Why so late?" she whispered.

"Poor sleep," you muttered, keeping your gaze lowered to hide the dark circles under your eyes.

'Poor sleep' was an understatement.

'No sleep' was more fitting.

Yuta leaned in. "After the surgery, I thought you'd be on cloud nine! You're practically a campus celebrity now."

Maki nodded. "Seriously, it's insane. Dr. Handsome letting you take the lead in such a surgery? That's crazy."

Your stomach churned at Maki's casual reference to Satoru as 'Dr. Handsome.'

Because he was far from.

"Crazy," Toge repeated.

"It's really not that big, guys. Let's just focus on the lecture," you urged. Somehow, their congratulations felt hollow, knowing the full story was far from great as they painted it to be.

Your friends shot you surprised looks, taken aback by your restrained response.

But talking about the surgery—the surgery you had to lead because Satoru was fucking high on some shit was really the least thing you wanted to talk about. And you couldn't really talk about it either, could you? Not really.

Maki and Yuta exchanged glances, their expressions shifting from excitement to concern. They could sense something was off, but they didn't press further. Toge only gave you a reassuring pat on the back.

As the professor delved into—... whatever he was lecturing on—your mind couldn't help but drift back to the surgery, replaying every moment—the fear, the nausea, the burden Satoru had forced onto you. Your head throbbed with a dull, relentless pain.

The rest of the lecture seemed to drift by in a blur.

Your pen moved mechanically across the notebook. You barely registered the words on the page. As the professor finished and the students around you began to stir, Yuta leaned over. "Hey, if Gojo needs a kick in the ass, just say the word. We've got your back."

You mustered a small smile. "Thanks, Yuta."

Then your phone vibrated in your pocket. You pulled it out to see Geto's name flashing on the screen. You pondered for a moment if you should even answer the call. Taking a deep breath, you answered.

"Geto—"

"We need to talk about the surgery," Geto's voice was serious, almost grave. "The university director wants to see you in his office. It's urgent."

Panic fluttered in your chest. "Has something happened? Is it about Gojo?"

"It's better we discuss this in person. I'll be there too. Just come as soon as you can."

Ending the call, a heavy weight settled in your stomach.

Apologizing to Yuta, you quickly gathered your things. "I need to go."

Maki's eyes followed you. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm not sure. Something's come up."

Yuta and Toge exchanged a glance, their expressions mirroring Maki's concern. "If you need anything, just let us know," Yuta said.

You nodded, offering a half-hearted smile. "Thanks, guys. I'll catch up with you later."

As you hurried out of the auditorium, your mind raced. What could they possibly want to discuss about the surgery? And why now? Was this about Satoru?

The walk to the director's office felt like an eternity, each step echoing your growing anxiety. The campus around you was bathed in sunlight, the sun burning on your skin. Students laughed and chatted around you. You wanted to shut them up.

Reaching the office, you took a moment to compose yourself before knocking. The door swung open, revealing Geto and Satoru seated in front of the director's expansive desk.

"Please, come in," director Yaga gestured for you to enter.

Director Yaga moved to sit behind his desk, his face unreadable. You took a deep breath and stepped inside. Satoru rose from his chair as you approached to offer you the seat.

Stupid Satoru, why he be so gentleman after all.

As you sat down, Satoru remained standing next to you. His hand rested on the back of your chair.

Director Yaga adjusted his glasses, his gaze sharp. "I've called this meeting to address concerns regarding the recent surgery," he stated. "It has come to my attention that you, rather than Dr. Gojo, performed the operation. I would like an explanation."

You felt a lump form in your throat, your mind racing to find the right words. Before you could answer, Satoru spoke.

"Director, I assure you, the decision to let her lead was entirely professional. Her capabilities made her the best choice for this surgery."

Director Yaga's gaze hardened as he turned to Gojo. "Dr. Gojo, may I ask you, are you out of your mind? There are protocols and hierarchies in place for a reason. Allowing a student to lead such a critical procedure is not only unconventional—it's downright mad. This could have serious consequences."

"Director, I understand your concern. However, I made this decision not only because of her exceptional skills, but also to promote her potential. It was a calculated risk, one I felt was necessary for her growth as a surgeon."

Wow. He lied very convincing.

Director Yaga seemed surprised for a second. "Promoting potential is one thing, being stupid is another, Dr. Gojo."

Gojo shifted slightly. It felt as if he moved a little more in front of you.

At this point, Geto, who had been silent, spoke up. "I was aware of Dr. Gojo's decision and supported it. The success of the surgery speaks for itself and reflects the high level of training our students receive here. I'm sure the press will acknowledge this as well."

"Why must you two always cause me headaches?" Director Yaga sighed, rubbing his temples wearily. "Nevertheless, the media coverage has been overwhelmingly positive. It seems the press is quite taken with the story of the 'unconventional surgeon duo' at our university."

"In light of this, there will be a press conference next week to celebrate the success and highlight the university's advances in medical research. I expect the three of you to attend. It's an excellent opportunity to showcase our institution's capabilities and your work," Yaga continued.

The idea of a press conference made you sick.

You did not want any of this. You did not want praise for something you did out of necessity. The thought of facing the media and answering questions about the surgery made you sick.

Geto's expression tightened. "And to gather more funds for the university, I assume?"

Director Yaga met Geto's gaze squarely. "You understand the game, Dr. Geto. Positive publicity translates to funding opportunities. And let's not forget, it's funding that enables us to pursue advanced research and provide top-tier education."

Director Yaga leaned a bit more over his desk. "Especially given the... unconventional methods you two seem to prefer. Remember, such reckless gambles come at a cost."

Geto exhaled deeply. "Understood, Director. We'll be there."

As the meeting concluded and you stood to leave, Director Yaga added, "This is a great moment for all of us. Let's make sure we present ourselves in the best way possible."

As soon as the door to Director Yaga's office closed behind you, you wanted noting more than to leave.

Looking at him hurt.

"We'll talk later, Geto," you said abruptly.

Geto nodded. "Take care."

You offered a quick, forced smile and hastily made your way down the corridor. Gojo made a move to follow. However, Geto reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder to halt him. "Let her go, Satoru," Geto said quietly. "She needs some time alone."

Gojo stopped. He watched helplessly as you disappeared around the corner.

─── ·✧· ───

Later that day, you found yourself in the university's library, surrounded by books and notes, with Toge, Maki, and Yuta. Your friends had been tiptoeing around the subject since the morning, but their curiosity about the surgery was so obvious.

"So," Maki started cautiously, "what did Director Yaga want to talk about? Was it about the surgery?"

You felt a chill at her question. "Oh, it was just some standard follow-up stuff. Nothing important."

Yuta leaned in. "But you were great in that surgery. Everyone's talking about it. You should be proud of yourself."

You forced a smile. "I am, Yuta. More or less. I just don't like the spotlight."

Toge chimed in, "Pressure."

"Yeah, exactly," you agreed.

Maki observed you closely. "And how are things with Dr. Handsome? Everything okay there?"

You felt a lump form in your throat. "Everything's fine."

However, Maki didn't seem convinced. "You know you can talk to us, right? If something's bothering you—"

Yeah, you wished you could do that. But the reality was that you couldn't.

"It's complicated, Maki," you said softly.

Maki's frown deepened. "You know, whatever it is, don't let him get to you too much. He's just a man after all."

You knew Maki meant well, but it wasn't as simple as she made it out to be.

"Maki, it's just—"

"I get that something's going on, but remember, no matter how great a surgeon he is, or how charming he is, you are the real star of this surgery. Don't let anyone, not even Dr. Handsome, mess with that," Maki added.

You looked at her, your lips twitching upwards. "Thanks, Maki."

Exhausted, you let your forehead rest against the cool surface of the desk. "There's going to be a press conference about the surgery," you said, your voice muffled. "A celebration or something. And honestly, I'm already hating it."

Yuta perked up at this. "A press conference? That's huge! You're basically a celebrity now."

"I'd rather just focus on my studies and not be in the spotlight like this."

"Hey, think of it this way—it's a great chance to show off your talent. Plus, I heard the medical faculty is throwing a party afterward," Yuta said.

Maki nudged you playfully. "Come on, it might be fun. We'll wait for you at the afterparty when your conference thing is done."

You raised your head and rested your chin on your hand, considering their words. "Well, a party doesn't sound too bad, I guess."

Maki clapped her hands together. "That's more like it! We'll make sure you have a good time."

"Exactly!" Yuta said, grinning.

"Party!" Toge added.

A small smile crept onto your face as you looked at your friends. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all. Besides, as the saying goes, a little party never killed nobody, right?

... right?

─── ·✧· ───

"Here, for your nerves," Geto said, handing you a glass of champagne.

"Thanks." You grabbed the glass and downed the bubbling liquid in one gulp. "This is quite a place."

You and Geto entered the conference venue.

The main foyer had soaring ceilings adorned with dazzling crystal chandeliers, casting a soft light on the marble floors below. The crowd, a blend of famous medical professionals, university staff and press people, mingled in groups, all engaged in animated discussions that filled the grand space with a lively hum.

"Remember, just stay calm and be yourself," Geto whispered as you both moved through the crowd. "You've earned your place here tonight." Then he handed you another glass of champagne, fetched from a passing waiter.

You nodded, trying to suppress the urge to flee.

The room was filled with faces, some familiar and others new. The conference area was impeccably arranged, with a stage set up at one end of the hall for speeches and presentations. Press cameras lined the sidelines. Tables adorned with floral arrangements were spread throughout the room.

"All this for a single surgery?" you asked Geto as you scanned the room.

Geto swirled the champagne in his glass. "It's more than just the surgery. The university needs money, that's why we're here."

"Looks like they're spending more than they'll earn."

Geto subtly gestured with his glass towards an elderly woman across form you. "See her? She's one of our main benefactors. Director Yaga would do anything to please her. So, we dress up, exchange pleasantries, sip champagne, and in return, she continues her generous support. That's the deal."

Your gaze followed his. "So it's all about keeping the money flowing. They're not really here for the research behind the surgery."

"Does that surprise you?"

You took a sip of your champagne. "No. It makes me sick."

Goto let out a huff. "By the way, you look stunning tonight," he remarked, his eyes tracing your form, but it didn't feel uncomfortable.

You were dressed in a sleek, black dress. Black heels. Elegant but nothing special. You didn't want to draw more attention to yourself than you already were.

Geto walked beside you, dressed in a meticulously tailored black suit that fit him perfectly. Beneath the suit, he wore a white dress shirt and a black silk tie. If you didn't know better, you could have been mistaken for a couple, given how matching your outfits were.

"You don't look to bad yourself."

He laughed. "Well, I'll take that as a compliment."

As you mingled with the guests, you could feel the curious glances and hushed tones of those around you. Word of your role in the successful surgery had obviously spread, and now you were the center of attention for the evening.

Geto stayed by your side the whole time, introducing you to important people and making sure your champagne glass was never empty. You weren't sure the latter was such a good idea. But it calmed your nerves.

You were deep in conversation with a group of medical professionals, discussing the surgery, when you suddenly felt the atmosphere changed. Your eyes swept over the crowd and there he was—Satoru Gojo had just walked in.

Every head in the room seemed to turn in his direction, yet his eyes seemed focused solely on one person. You weren't sure you knew how to breathe anymore as his gaze seemed to pierce through the crowd, settling directly on you. It was the first time you'd seen him since director Yaga's office.

He was dressed in a sharp black smoking jacket, his bow tie perfectly knotted. But his eyes looked tired. His lips parted ever so slightly.

One of the medical professionals from another University in your group—her name was something with Tsukomu, or Tsukumo? You didn't quite get it—waved him over. "Ah, there's the star of the evening," she exclaimed.

Satoru made his way through the crowd. As he reached your group, he positioned himself next to you as if it were the most natural thing in the world—as if he belonged there.

"Dr. Gojo, we were just discussing your remarkable surgery," Dr. Tsukumo said enthusiastically. "Your work is truly groundbreaking in our field."

"Thank you, Dr. Tsukumo. However, I must clarify that the true credit goes to this talented surgeon," he said, placing a hand on your shoulder. You wanted to break his arm.

She laughed uncomfortable. "It's rather unusual for a student to lead such a complex surgery. Quite an unconventional approach, don't you think?"

"Unconventional, but successful," Satoru replied sharply. "Here at Tokyo University, we rather encourage innovation. Perhaps your institution wouldn't be so terrible at research if you were willing to take more risks?"

Silence.

God, what was he doing!?

Was he high again??

You looked up at him, his gaze fixed on Dr. Tsukumo. Even in heels, he was still at least a head taller than you. But he didn't seem to be high or something. He seemed clear.

Dr. Tsukumo's eyes narrowed slightly. "Well, Dr. Gojo, that's quite a statement. But you know, there's a fine line between taking risks and just being plain reckless."

His hand still resting on your shoulder, Satoru met her gaze squarely. "You're absolutely right. There is a fine line, and you'd be well advised not to cross it," he replied. "In this case, though, it was a calculated decision based on her proven skill, not recklessness. Sometimes embracing innovation and trusting our young talents is what drives progress, don't you think?"

Geto leaned in. "Satoru, that's enough," he murmured.

Satoru removed his hand from your shoulder and stepped back from the group. His eyes briefly met yours. "Excuse me," Satoru said curtly, before turning and making his way through the crowd.

Your eyes followed him until you could no longer see him.

As the evening wore on, one conversation blended into another.

Wow, you're so young? Already performing surgeries? How did you manage that? You must be a natural talent!

You heard it over and over—answered the same questions over and over. No one really seemed to care about the details of your work, the thought process behind it, or how the patient is doing now—or how one patient had to die for the surgery to be successful.

Recognizing your discomfort, Geto suggested, "Let's step outside for a bit. I could use a smoke."

Following him, you left the bustling conference hall and ventured out to the quieter grounds surrounding the building. The cool night air was a welcome contrast to the warmth and buzz of the event inside. The building's exterior was illuminated with soft lights, casting a serene glow over the surroundings.

Geto pulled out a cigarette and lit it. He took a long drag before exhaling slowly. "You're doing well in there," he said, glancing at you. "Don't fret too much about it. We're just here to keep the university happy."

"Is that all?" You retorted. "Putting on fake smiles for director Yaga's sake, so the university gets positive publicity, while no one mentions how much effort it took, or that one patient had to die before it became a success?" You sighed. "This all feels like a cruel joke to me."

"Welcome to the world of research," Geto said, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"Why do you even stay in research then?"

Geto paused, the smoke swirling around him. "Why? I wonder that sometimes too."

You watched him for a moment, seeing the tension in his shoulders ease somewhat as he took another drag from his cigarette. Geto, catching your scrutinizing gaze, said, "Don't look at me like that. I'm not the addict you should be worried about."

You turned your gaze away.

After a few seconds of silence, Geto flicked his cigarette away and turned to you. "You want to leave?"

You took a deep breath. "I do," you said, but then shook your head. "But I promised to go to the after-party with my friends, so I'm staying until then."

"An after-party, huh?" He snuffed out the remaining embers of his cigarette.

Upon re-entering the conference hall, the lively chatter and clinking of glasses continued. A waiter passed by, and without much thought, you reached out to take another glass of champagne.

It was your seventh or eighth glass—you had lost count.

But alcohol was the only way you could get through another hour of talking about how brilliantly you did the surgery. Oh, how you hated it. Because you did not do it brilliantly, you did it because you had no other choice. That's a completely different thing.

As you chatted with Geto and a journalist, a waiter passed by with a tray of drinks. Your ninth glass. However, before your fingers could grasp it, a hand from behind swiftly intercepted the glass.

"How many drinks have you had already?"

Of course.

You turned around to find yourself gazing into Satoru's striking blue eyes. Geto, meanwhile, continued to skillfully handle the press. "It's none of your concern," you said to him.

"Don't be stupid. You should seriously stop drinking now, otherwise you will soon lose—"

"Lose what? Control?" you cut him off sharply. "Isn't that a bit hypocritical, coming from you?"

He ran a hand through his hair, the strands now slightly disheveled. "That's not what I'm saying," he replied, his voice softening. "I just... I don't want to see you making decisions you'll regret."

"Like revealing your precious secret?"

His jaw clenched. "Go ahead, if that's what you want. But what I'm concerned about right now is you, not me."

"Who are you trying to fool here, Satoru?"

The sound of a throat being cleared snapped you back to reality. Geto and the journalist had paused their conversation, their attention now squarely on the two of you.

You avoided Satoru's gaze. "Excuse me for a moment," you muttered, hastily excusing yourself towards the bathroom. The door had barely clicked shut when it swung open again, and Satoru slipped inside, locking it behind him.

You spun around. "Satoru, what do you think you're doing?"

"We need to talk."

"I don't want to talk, Satoru. Not now. Not ever!"

"Are you planning to avoid me forever?"

"Seems like a good plan to me!"

Satoru took a step closer. "I know I've put you in an difficult situation, but—"

"Difficult situation?" you said, your voice rising with every word. "Do you even realize how much pressure you've put me under? Fuck, Satoru I had to lead that surgery because you were fucking high! Satoru, you're an addict!"

Satoru looked pained. "I know, and I'm sorry for that. But I have it under control."

"Control?" you scoffed. "You call that control? Satoru, that was the most important day. The only day you were supposed to get your goddamn act together! And you say something about control? You even hear yourself? You can be high on any other fucking day, but not when we operate on a fucking teenager!"

He was silenced.

Your voice cracked as you continued, "Do you even realize how scared I was?"

His brows furrowed slightly as the words left your lips. The intensity in his blue eyes was unsettling, and there was a vulnerability in his gaze that you had never seen before. You weren't used to seeing him like this, and it left you feeling strangely vulnerable yourself.

Still, you pressed further.

"You made me do it. Because you have no control over it. So don't tell me anything about control or that I'm drinking too much when it's just my way of dealing with the damage you've done to me."

"I never meant to hurt you," Satoru said. "But I knew you could do it. I wouldn't have let you lead the surgery if I wasn't sure about that."

"That's not an excuse Satoru. It was wrong and you know it. You left me no choice. I don't know what sick game you're playing with me, but it has to stop."

"Game?" His voice rose. "You think this is a game for me?"

You flinched back slightly, the intensity in his tone catching you off guard.

He took a few steps closer. "You just don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?"

"You consume me!" he blurted out, his voice raw. "I had it under control, I was stable until you came into my life! But now, you're all I can think about!"

"Don't make this about me," you countered sharply.

"That day, I was more nervous than I had ever been in my life," he continued, almost pleadingly, "because I knew that if this surgery failed, it would hurt you—it would kill you, and it would end the research once and for all. And I couldn't bear the thought of you crying again. Not because of me."

"You're just finding excuses."

"Oh, sweetheart, I wish it was. But it's the truth." He closed the gap between you. "God, I can't think clearly when I'm around you! I can't sleep without thinking about you! All there is is the need to be near you, and nothing ever compares to that."

This can't be real.

He could never feel this way about you.

Because someone who would feel that way would never do what he did.

"You're lying." You stepped back, your spine hitting the cold wall behind you. But he was quick to close the distance between you again.

"You're not believing me?" His eyebrow arched in question. In a swift motion, he pulled you close to him, one hand around your waist, the other gripping your jaw between his thumb and fingers. You gasped at the sudden force.

"You need proof?" he said, his words a mere prelude to the searing kiss that followed. Your eyelids fluttered closed as the immediate surge of heat and adrenaline coursed through your body.

He pressed you against the wall, his body molded against yours. You could clearly feel the intensity of his emotions, the raw need in his movements. His frustration, his desire, his confusion—all were laid bare in that kiss.

"You drive me fucking insane," he breathed against your lip. His tongue brushed against your lips, seeking entry, and you eagerly granted it. Without hesitation, his tongue boldly delved into your mouth. Your lips melded against his, causing you to moaned into his mouth.

His hand moved to your hair, grasping it, forcing your head back to deepen the kiss. His mouth covered yours, demanding more, you could barely catch your breath. You were hot all over. He tasted so good. He felt so good.

You were acutely aware of every point where your bodies touched, the pressure of his weight against you, the force of his grip in your hair. His touch was like fire on your skin, igniting a yearning you couldn't contain. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer still.

You hated him.

You tried to remember that, but all good reason left you as his lips moved over your cheeks, trailing down your jaw to your neck. You found yourself giving in to the sensations, arching your neck to give him better access. His grip on your hair tightened.

Fuck, you hated him.

He lied to you.

You hated him.

Right?

Your fingers clutched at his shirt, desperate for more contact. Satoru's hands slid down your sides to hike up the hem of your dress. In a swift motion, he lifted you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he pressed you against the wall.

The friction of his body between your legs was maddening. You could clearly feel the hard outline of him. Your breathing grew ragged, your back arching further, grinding yourself against his hardness.

"Take them off," you muffled against his lips.

Satoru pulled back, leaving a trail of saliva that briefly connected your parted lips. "What?" he gasped, his half-lidded eyes searching yours.

"Your pants," you panted.

He smirked. Without warning, he spun you around and set you down on the marble counter of the sink. The coolness of the marble beneath you contrasted sharply with the heat of his body pressed against yours.

His lips found yours again, fierce and possessive, as if staking his claim. His hands pushed your dress further up, exposing more of your skin to his touch. He didn't break the kiss as he began to undo his belt, the clinking sound of the buckle sending shivers down your spine.

His hand gripped your hips, his fingers slipping under the silk strap of your underwear. With a deft twist, he wound his fingers in the fabric and pulled them down. He gripped your hips and pulled you close to him.

"Might want to cover your mouth," he whispered against your lips.

Without another word, he positioned himself and pushed all the way inside. You bit down on your lip as you tried to stifle a scream from the sudden stretch, feeling every inch of him fill you up. The sensation was both painful and exhilarating, causing you to tighten around him.

You clung to his neck, your chest pressed firmly against his. "Fuck... Satoru."

"Shh." He placed a hand over your mouth. "Quiet, sweetheart."

He withdrew, teasingly brushing the tip against your entrance as if to savor the feeling of your dampness coating him. Then he slammed back into you again, causing you to accidentally bite down on his hand. He didn't flinch.

Your mind emptied of all thoughts as he drove deeper and harder into you, leaving only the sensation of his thickness filling you completely.

He picked up speed, pumping his hips into yours with increasing urgency. With each deep plunge into your core, you felt yourself being stretched impossibly wide—felt his cock hit bottom again and again.

Every move he made felt so good, too good—as if he knew your body better than you did yourself.

He shifted his stance, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder. You leaned back against the cold marble countertop, letting go of everything else as he changed the angle of his hips, hitting spots that instantly made your legs tremble.

You cursed, the sound dying away under his palm. You cursed yourself for doing this and cursed him for making you feel so fucking good.

Your stomach tightened and you could feel an orgasm building dangerously fast. The sound of the mirror behind you shaking grew louder, echoing through the room. But all you could focus on was the man between your legs, driving into you with a ferocity that left you breathless.

"Turn around," he ordered, having already swung you around halfway. He placed a hand on your back and pushed you down onto the counter. Your heated skin touched the cold marble. You stared at your reflection, taking in your glazed eyes and swollen lips.

Satoru locked briefly eyes with you through the mirror. "Keep quiet, will you?"

You clamped your own hand over your mouth, not trusting yourself to keep quiet. His eyes burned into yours as he continued his thrusts. Slowly this time, driving his cock into you inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt. You moaned into your hand.

"Fuck," he gasps, his eyes closed and brows etched in pain. "You feel so good."

Satoru pulled out and pressed back into you again, your entire being quivered with pleasure. You clenched your hand tightly over your mouth, biting down on your palm to stifle the sounds wanting to escape. Every muscle tightened.

With each thrust, he did pause briefly at the tip of your entrance, teasing your senses with anticipation, before pushing further, burying himself deeper and deeper into your core, filling you completely. It was like he was savoring every second as if this was the first and only time he could fuck you.

Your head hung heavy, your hair cascading down your forehead. Every nerve ending in your body came alive as he hit all the right spots, coaxing you closer and closer to your orgasm.

He quickened his pace again, pounding into you with a frenzied urgency that left you gasping for air. With each hard thrust, his cock pulse inside you, driving himself harder and faster towards release. Your limbs went weak as you surrendered fully to the pleasure.

And then, suddenly, everything exploded into blinding white light, consuming you whole as you cried out, muffled against your palm. Your entire body convulsed in pleasure.

"You're so fucking tight," Satoru hissed as you clenched around him. He followed close behind, his body convulsing as he released inside you, filling you completely. He collapsed against you, panting and shivering as he tried to catch his breath.

You opened your eyes, meeting Satoru's gaze through the mirror. For several moments, neither of you spoke, just gazing into each other's eyes as you felt the slow drip of his cum running down your inner thigh.

You watched the slight rise and fall of his chest as he regained his composure, the muscles in his arms tensing and relaxing subtly. His ragged breath filled the room. It stopped only for a moment as he pressed a tender kiss to your back.

Then, he pulled out of you, causing a faint wince.

"Fuck—This is...," he started, but words seemed to fail him. He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head slightly, as if trying to clear his thoughts. He stepped back, pulled up his pants, and straightened his disheveled suit.

Yeah. Fuck.

In the sudden absence of adrenaline and desire, the reality of what had happened hit you hard.

What you had just done.

With whom you had done it.

Fuck, he was your professor. And even worse, an addict. What were you thinking?

You felt a knot tighten in your stomach.

"Did I hurt you?" Satoru's voice cut through your thoughts.

His question surprised you. As if physical hurt was the worst thing in the chaos of what had happened. Even though his firm grip on your hips would surely leave marks.

"I'm fine." You pushed off the marble counter, hastily pulling your dress down and fixing your tousled hair.

Fuck.

Your mind raced as you watched him.

He adjusted his bow tie, his breathing still labored. His muscles quivered subtly. A thin layer of sweat glistened on his skin, making his white hair cling slightly to his forehead. When his eyes met yours you saw a vulnerability in his gaze that made your heart ache.

You looked away.

Fuck.

"I need a drink," you said, more to yourself than to him. You needed space, time to think, to process. Without waiting for a response, you unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out, leaving Satoru behind. "What? Wait!"

The bright lights and lively chatter of the conference washed over you as you emerged. The noise and the crowd felt like a tidal wave, engulfing you as you navigated through the sea of elegantly dressed attendees.

Spotting a waiter carrying a tray of sparkling glasses, you reached out to take one. But before you could grasp a glass, you felt a firm grip on your wrist. You spun around to find Satoru right behind you, his expression grave.

"I think you've had enough to drink for tonight," he said in a low voice.

"I don't need you to monitor my alcohol intake, Satoru," you snapped, trying to free your wrist from his hold.

As he was about to argue further, your conversation was abruptly halted by the approach of an elegantly poised older woman. Satoru's grip loosened, and he turned towards her with a noticeable shift in demeanor.

"Mother," Satoru greeted her dryly.

Mother?

You stood there, momentarily baffled.

His mother was dressed in an elegant dark blue evening gown that clung to her slender figure, adorned with lace and sequins. Her white hair was immaculately coiffed and cascaded down her back in soft waves.

She had steel-gray eyes that looked like a faded shade of Satoru's striking blue eyes. But there was no warmth to them as her scrutinizing gaze traveled up and down your frame. Her left eyebrow raised slightly. It made your skin crawl.

"Satoru," she greeted him in a tone that matched his.

"I can't say I expected you to show up here," Satoru replied.

She surveyed him with a critical eye, her lips set in a thin line. "Why must you always greet me with such coldness, Satoru? I am here to celebrate your success, after all."

"Yeah, I'm sure that's the reason."

Subtly, Satoru shifted closer to you, almost as if to shield you from her piercing scrutiny. Yet, her focus remained on you. "And who is this? The talented young surgeon I've heard rumors about, or simply another one of my son's fleeting amusements?"

You bristled slightly at her insinuation.

Satoru's jaw clenched visibly. "That's enough."

"Oh, Satoru, don't be shy," she waved a dismissive hand. "She's a pretty one."

„She's talented," Satoru said.

"Oh, even worse," she mused, taking a sip of her wine. "Let's see how long this lasts. But please, Satoru, try to keep the family's dignity."

Satoru's patience was visibly wearing thin. "Shut it, mother."

His mother laughed. "One last thing, darling," she said, turning back to you. Her hand extended towards you. "Your lipstick is slightly smeared. Next time, do try to be more subtle about your affair with my son."

Satoru's reaction was immediate. "Get your hands away from her," he warned sharply, swiftly intercepting his mother's hand before it could reach you.

"Mrs. Gojo, what a pleasant surprise to see you here."

You turned your head to the familiar voice and saw Geto approaching with a courteous smile. Satoru's mother turned to him. "Mr. Geto, always the charmer," she responded, her tone suddenly devoid of all coldness.

Geto flashed a bewitching smile. "I was hoping to have a word with you. Could I steal you away for a moment?"

With a curt nod, Satoru's mother agreed. "Of course. Satoru, we will talk later." She cast one last pointed glance in your direction before allowing Geto to guide her away.

As they walked off, Satoru exhaled deeply, the tension in his shoulders easing. "You're not the only one with a complicated mother."

Somehow, Satoru's addiction was no longer that surprising.

You quickly touched up your lipstick. "She's a bitch."

Satoru gave a wry smile. "She is."

At that moment, your phone buzzed with a new message. You glanced at the screen.

[10:44 PM] Yuta: Hey, we're all at the afterparty. You coming?

Without saying anything, you turned to leave, but Satoru's grip on your wrist stopped you once more. "Where are you going?"

"I'm heading to the afterparty."

Satoru raised an eyebrow. "I thought you weren't much of a party person."

"Well, I might have changed that," you retorted, attempting to pull your wrist free.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Too bad you don't get to decide that."

"Don't be stupid. I'll bring you home."

"Stop it, Satoru! You have no right to care about me. I don't want you to care about me! Now let me go!"

You could see the hurt in his eyes at your words. But he released your wrist. "Please, don't do this to me," he murmured, almost pleading.

"Like you forced me to do that surgery?" Your words felt like blades in your throat.

Satoru fell silent.

Without another word, you turned and walked away. You didn't look back.

─── ·✧· ───

The pulsating beats of the club greeted you as you stepped inside. The rhythmic bass of the music pulsed through the floor, vibrating up through your feet. It was overwhelming, yet oddly calming.

Your friends were already there, somewhere amidst the sea of bodies lost in the music. Pushing through the crowd, you scanned the area for familiar faces. The club was packed. Laughter and conversations melded with the music. The sweet scent of alcohol filled the air.

Eventually, you spotted your friends huddled near the bar. As you approached, they waved you over. "There you are!" Maki shouted over the music. "We were starting to think you'd stood us up!"

You forced a smile. "Wouldn't miss this for the world," you replied, trying to sound more upbeat than you felt.

Yuta leaned in, his eyes curious. "How'd the conference go?"

"Nothing special happened. Let's just have fun tonight," you shrugged off his question. You didn't want to delve into the shitty evening you had, not here, not now, not ever.

Turning to the bar, you ordered a drink, something strong and quick. The bartender slid a glass towards you, and you downed it in one smooth motion. The liquid burned its way down your throat, momentarily stealing your breath.

Maki raised an eyebrow. "Wow, going hard tonight?"

"Just catching up," you said.

"So, what's the story? Did Dr. Handsome finally realize he's madly in love with you? Come on, there's gotta be some steamy OR drama you're hiding from us."

Her words slurred just a bit. She clearly had a few drinks already.

"You're just imagining things, Maki."

"Well, can you blame me?" Maki laughed. "Every time you two are in the same room, it's like watching a drama unfold. The tension, the glances—come on, spill it!"

Toge nodded in agreement.

You rolled your eyes. "Trust me, it's far from that."

Yuta jumped in. "Come on Maki, don't push her. We're here to have fun, remember?"

Maki punched Yuta's arm. "Oh, like you're not dying to know too!"

The group laughed, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to be swept up in their infectious energy. You all moved to the dance floor, where the pulsing rhythm of the club's music enveloped you completely. The bass reverberated through your body.

Surrounded by the crowd, you found yourself moving to the beat. You clearly felt the effects of the alcohol, a pleasant buzz that dulled your worries. But here, in the midst of a sea of bodies, those worries felt distant, as if they belonged to another life.

It allowed you to lose yourself, to forget, if only for a while. The heat of the crowd, the scent of sweat and perfume, the sensation of being surrounded yet utterly alone in your thoughts—it was intoxicating.

Your friends were nearby, also lost in the moment. Maki's laughter rang out, clear and carefree, cutting through the music. Yuta performed a series of hilariously exaggerated dance moves.

At one point, he attempted a robot dance, his limbs moving in jerky, mechanical motions that made everyone burst out laughing. Toge even joined in and added his own twist to the robot dance.

You laughed. You laughed so hard like you haven't in a long time, the stress and worries of the day momentarily forgotten. And you were so grateful to them, even if they didn't know what was going on.

You ordered a round of shots for the group. Coming back to your friends group, you all gathered in a small circle, holding up the small glasses.

"To friendship and unforgettable nights!" Maki toasted.

The shots went down with a burning kick.

As the night continued in a whirlwind of music and laughter, you noticed a young man weaving his way through the crowd towards you.

He had a confident stride, a slight smile playing on his lips. In his hands, he carried two shots. You recognized him as a fellow medical student from the university, though his name escaped you in the moment.

"Hey there," he greeted, offering you one of the shots. "Thought you might need a refill."

You accepted the shot with a smile. "Thanks, stranger."

He chuckled. "Well, we're not exactly strangers. I've seen you around university. Your beauty is pretty hard to miss."

"You have a way with words, don't you?"

"Just speaking the truth," he replied smoothly, raising his glass for a toast. "To a good night."

Glasses clinked, and you both downed the shots, the liquid heat spreading a pleasant warmth through you.

The conversation flowed effortlessly, his charm and easygoing nature making it easy to talk. He asked about your interests outside of medicine, and you found yourself sharing bits and pieces about your life against the backdrop of the party's rhythmic music.

Every so often, your eyes drifted to your friends, ensuring they were still within sight. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, occasionally glancing over to check on you.

As the song changed, the young man extended his hand. "How about we take this conversation to the dance floor?"

You hesitated for a moment, a brief image of Satoru flashed through your mind, but you quickly dismissed it, drowning out any thoughts of him. "Sure, why not?" you said with a smile, as he dragged you away from your friends.

The music and the rhythm of the dance floor were momentarily exhilarating, but as you moved to the beat, an unsettling sensation began to take hold. The lights of the club began to blur, and the pulsing music seemed muffled, as if you were underwater.

A wave of nausea swept over you, and your surroundings began to feel surreal and disconnected.

He leaned in closer, placing a hand on your waist. "You want to go outside?"

You flinched slightly. His touch felt awful. You didn't want him to touch you.

Not him.

"No, I'm... I'm going to the bathroom real quick." Your voice sounded alarmingly faint and distant to yourself.

"Should I come with you?"

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog that seemed to envelop your thoughts.

Somehow it became hard to push through the crowd. Your legs barely moved at your command. Everything felt muffled. As if the sounds and lights around you weren't really reaching you anymore.

Stumbling slightly, you made your way toward the exit instead to the bathroom, each step feeling heavier than the last. Once outside, the cool night air hit you, but it did little to ease your spinning head.

The world around you seemed to tilt and sway, the bright lights of the club's exterior sign blurring into streaks of color. You leaned against the building for support, trying to steady yourself.

This is not normal.

Something was very wrong.

Could it have been the drink?

Fuck.

Phone.

Where was your phone?

You needed to call someone.

You fumbled for your phone, wanting to call your friends who were still inside the club. Your fingers felt clumsy and uncoordinated as you tried to unlock the screen, the icons dancing before your eyes.

After several failed attempts, you finally managed to dial Maki's number. You pressed the phone to your ear, each ring echoing distantly, as if coming from far away. "Come on, Maki, please pick up," you whispered under your breath.

Maki didn't answer.

Yuta didn't answer either.

Neither did Toge.

The loud music in the club probably drowned out the sound of their phone.

Fuck.

Panic set in. You knew you couldn't go back into the club in your current state, not with the risk of running into that guy again who probably put something in your drink.

You scrolled through your contacts with trembling hands, your vision swimming. Then, without a second thought, you dialed a number. The phone barely had time to ring before he answered.

You let out a shaky breath, not sure what to say only his name escaped your lips in a whisper, "Satoru..."

That was all he needed to hear.

All he ever needed to hear.

"Where are you?" He said without missing a beat.

"I'm outside the club... I think someone drugged my drink," you stammered, struggling to keep your thoughts coherent. "Everything's spinning, I can't..."

"Stay right there. I'm coming," Satoru cut in. "Don't move, and tell me exactly where you are."

You gave him the best description you could manage of your location, your words slurring and overlapping as the world around you spun out of control. Satoru continued to talk to over the phone, telling you to hang on, that he was on his way, but his voice seemed to fade in and out.

Time seemed to lose its meaning.

The moments stretched on, each one feeling longer than the last. You were vaguely aware of voices and the sounds of the city around you, but they felt distant.

Then, abruptly, a familiar presence cut through the fog.

Without saying anything, Satoru's arms gently lifted you from the ground. He held you close, the warmth of his body a soothing presence as he carried you towards his car. The world seemed to spin and blur around you. Clinging to his neck, you managed a faint whisper, "Satoru..."

"It's okay, you're safe now," he assured you in a calm voice.

Reaching his car, Satoru settled you into the passenger seat of his car, securing the seatbelt around you. Sliding into the driver's seat, he started the engine. You felt his car begin to move. His hand rested on your thigh.

You twisted uncomfortably in the seat, fighting the nausea that threatened to overwhelm you.

"Hang on, we're almost there," Satoru said.

The drive felt surreal, the city lights passing by in a dreamlike blur. When the car finally came to a stop, you realized that you weren't at your apartment. "Where are we?"

"We're at my place," Satoru unbuckled his seatbelt. "You think I would leave you alone after you got drugged?"

"No, I'm fine," you protested weakly, though your body betrayed you with its unsteadiness. Satoru was already at your side, lifting you into his arms once again with gentle care. As he carried you from the car to his apartment, your head spun, and your protests faltered. "I'm fine, Satoru, I really..."

He glanced down at you. "Don't be stupid."

You wanted to argue more, but the dizziness made it hard to focus. Reluctantly, you allowed him to carry you inside. Maybe, even let yourself fall more into his embrace.

Once inside, Satoru carefully set you down on the couch in his living room. In the next second, he was kneeling in front of you and removed your heels. You flinched slightly at the touch of his hands on your ankles.

"You really don't have to do this—"

"Stop it, already. And let me take care of you," he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You sighed and lay back on the couch, your body feeling strangely heavy.

"Wait a second," he then said and went into his kitchen. You rolled over to your side on the couch, still everything spun. You reached for a cushion and laid your head on it, legs curling up to your chest. You tried your best to not throw up on his expensive looking furniture.

Your eyes wandered around Satoru's apartment.

The open living area was spacious and airy, with large windows that let in the soft glow of the city lights. The walls were adorned with a piece of art, abstract in design, with bold strokes and vibrant colors that perhaps cost as much as your entire university tuition.

Your gaze drifted to a bookshelf lined with medical books and journals. On one shelf were several trophies lined up, each one gleaming under the soft lighting. As you focused on them, it became clear that they were from basketball matches.

Then Satoru returned with a glass of water. "I didn't realize you were that good at basketball," you said, trying to distract yourself from the nausea.

Satoru followed your gaze and a slight smile crossed his face. "Yeah, I was not that bad."

He sat down on the couch beside you, and handed you the water. "This should help," he said revealing a few pills in his other hands.

"What are these?" you asked as you pushed yourself up a bit.

"They help you get off whatever it is in your bloodline."

Hm.

He must know, right?

Was it wrong to think that you were glad to know someone who was an addict when you were being drugged yourself?

Anyway, you took the glass of water and swallowed the pills.

Satoru watched you for a moment, before standing up and walking over to the kitchen again. As he returned, he had donned a pair of gloves and was carrying a syringe.

"Wait, what's that for?" you asked, eyeing the syringe.

"Hold out your arm to me," Satoru ordered as he sat down beside you. "I want to take a blood sample and run some tests."

God, always the doctor.

Reluctantly, you extended your arm.

Satoru's touch was gentle as he skillfully found a vein and drew a small sample of blood. "There, all done," he said, applying a small bandage to the puncture site. "I'll get this to the lab first thing in the morning."

Satoru tore off the gloves. "How are you feeling?"

"The room's not spinning as much," you said. "Thank you."

He reached out, gently cupping your face with one hand, his thumb softly tracing your cheek. "Did you see who gave you the drink?"

"I don't remember his name... but he's from university. I've seen him around."

His expression hardened, his hand dropping away from your face. You watched as Satoru stood, the frustration evident in his movements. He began to loosen the bow tie of his suit he still wore.

"You're staying here tonight," he stated.

"I'm not sure if—"

"You're staying, no arguments," he cut in firmly.

You shut your mouth.

He took off his suit jacket and threw it over a chair. Rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, he suggested, "You can borrow something to wear from my wardrobe," nodding towards a door across the room.

Yeah.

You wanted nothing more than to finally get rid of that dress.

It felt filthy.

Your whole body felt filthy.

You stood, but your weakened form betrayed you once more. Suddenly off-balance, you almost fell, but Satoru was there in an instant. He quickly wrapped his arm around you.

You found yourself unexpectedly close to him. His lips hovered just an inch from yours. "You need help?"

"I'm—" you started, but the words caught in your throat as his gaze locked onto yours. "I'm fine."

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Your lips lingered there, barely touching.

Slowly, he loosened his hold on you. "Call me if you need anything."

With weak legs, you made your way to his bedroom. The moonlight streamed through the windows, casting a serene glow across the room. The bedroom was spacious with a large, comfortable looking bed dominating the space.

The room smelled like him.

You approached his wardrobe, which was open and neatly organized. As you browsed through his clothes, you couldn't help but notice that everything, from his shirts to his trousers, seemed to be expensive, each piece perfectly tailored.

It sure had its benefits when you were one of the most famous neurosurgeons.

Feeling a bit out of place among such expensive pieces, you reached for a pair of sweatpants and a soft cotton shirt. They were obviously his, likely to be oversized on you, but you couldn't help but notice his familiar scent lingering on them.

You threw the cloths on his bed and tried to change out of your dress. Your hands fumbled with the zipper at the back of your dress. You twisted and turned, trying to reach it, but it was no use. The zipper remained stubbornly just out of reach.

You considered just ripping it off for a second.

But then you took a deep breath.

"Satoru?" you called out.

After a brief pause, you heard his footsteps approaching the bedroom. You hadn't bothered to close the door. He appeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. His eyes held a hint of amusement as he observed your struggle.

"It's this zipper... I can't get it," you said, turning to show him the back of your dress.

Satoru moved closer. "You know, that's a pretty lame excuse to get me into the bedroom." You felt a shiver run down your spine as his breath lightly brushed against your neck. Gently, he gathered your hair and swept it over your shoulder, exposing the length of your back.

"Still, you're here," you whispered as he reached for the zipper and slowly pulled it down. Cold air hit your now exposed back.

"I'll always be there when you need me."

You inhaled sharply as you felt the dress loosen around you.

Satoru remained close to you. His warm hands reached up, brushing over your arms up to your shoulders. His fingers traced the thin straps of your dress, lingering just a moment too long, as if contemplating if he should slip them off your shoulders or not.

You didn't want him to slip them off.

Or not?

Or what was it you wanted?

In that moment, time seemed to pause. You both stood there, caught in a shared suspension, the room around you bathed in soft moonlight that filtered through the windows. The silence only broken by the sound of your heavy breathing.

"You should get some rest," he murmured. "We can talk tomorrow."

No you didn't want to talk about it.

You didn't want to admit it.

You took a deep breath.

"I'm fine," you countered in a whisper. "I don't need to rest."

His lips drew nearer, and he placed tender kisses along your shoulder, igniting a trail of warmth that seemed to awaken every nerve in your body. His hands found your hips, anchoring you firmly to him.

"You should. It's been a long nigh."

Your heartbeat quickened. "Don't try to tell me what I need."

Satoru sighed. His lips continued their exploration, moving up your neck with a softness that belied his restraint. "Don't make this so hard," he murmured. "I'm trying to do the right thing here."

"It didn't seem to bother you too much in the bathroom earlier."

You turned around to face him. Satoru's hands found their way to the small of your back, pulling you closer still until you were pressed tightly against him.

"I know," he said, his voice strained. "And I'm sorry for that, we shouldn't have—"

"Stop, Satoru," you interrupted. "I don't want your apologies."

He paused.

You swallowed hard. "I want you to make me forget this fucked up day."

"Not like this. You're drunk and also probably drugged," he said, but you could almost see his resolve wavering as he held you close, the contours of your bodies molding perfectly together.

You exhaled softly, your gaze fixed on his lip. "I don't care."

Because you really didn't.

You needed him right now.

Needed the feeling of his skin on yours.

You knew it was wrong—using him like this was wrong, but you didn't care. Perhaps it was the drugs in your bloodline or the alcohol but you didn't care. You wanted him, craved the escape he—and only he—could offer you.

Satoru was close, so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with yours. The struggle in his eyes made it clear that he was losing whatever battle the rational side of him was waging. So, you waited—waited for him to lose against his self control.

"I get it, you're hurt. But this won't give you what you need and I won't use you like that."

The irony wasn't lost on you. Weren't you the one who was about to use him?

"Maybe I want you to use me?"

"God, what are you saying?" He almost trembled under the strain it took him to hold back, as his hand reached up to grasp the nape of your neck. "You'll regret his tomorrow. You'll hate me for this," he breathed out, pained.

"Then let me regret it, Satoru." Your fingers reaching up to slowly unbutton his shirt. His mouth hovered over yours, his lips grazing yours in a torturous almost-kiss, yet still maintaining that maddening distance.

"I don't care," you breathed, continuing to slowly unbutton his shirt.

As the last button was undone, the fabric of Satoru's shirt parted, revealing the well-defined muscles of his chest. Your fingertips grazed his skin, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your touch. Satoru inhaled sharply.

"Listen, we can pretend what happened earlier in that bathroom was just a stupid mistake. I'm fine with that." His gaze dropped to your lips. "But we can't keep making the same 'mistake' and deny what's happening. If we cross that line again, it changes everything."

"I know. But I don't care. I can't...I need you."

With that, the last restraint he held shattered.

Satoru's lips finally found yours, igniting an immediate fire within you.

His mouth moved hungrily against yours, deep and consuming. He didn't give you a second to catch your breath, but you didn't care. You didn't need air when you had him.

You melted under his touch, surrendering completely. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss even further. The heat of the moment consumed you, and all you could think of was him, the way he tasted, the way he felt, the way he made your heart race.

The world around you faded away.

Slowly, deliberately, he began to undress you. "Tell me to stop," he said as his kisses trailed from your lips down to your neck. You closed your eyes, moaning softly at the way his touch made you feel alive.

You shook your head. "I want you."

"Please, tell me to stop," he said again, even as he slipped his shirt off from his shoulders, revealing a landscape of defined muscles across his shoulders, neck, and abdomen. His hands brushed over your body, taking in the curve of your hip bones and the smoothness of your skin.

In that moment, everything that had held you back—the fear, the hurt, the lies—crumbled into insignificance. There was only the undeniable truth of what you felt for each other, a connection that was as intense as it was complicated.

"I'm yours, Satoru," you whispered. "All yours. Do whatever you want to me."

He paused, locking eyes with you. "Is that what you want? What you need?"

Yes. A thousand times, yes.

Somehow this man in from of you had the power to let you forget every rational thought. And somehow you needed this right now—needed him to make you forget all the hurt, he partly is the reason for but still—you wanted nothing more than to be his in this very moment.

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump forming in your throat.

"Then I'll take care of you."

Without breaking contact, Satoru swept one arm beneath your ass while grasping your waist with the other. Your legs wrapped around him as he lifted you effortlessly off the ground. He carried you to the bed, before laying you down.

Your back pressed firmly against the mattress as Satoru followed, covering you completely. He leaned down and captured your lips in a slow, lingering kiss. His body molded perfectly to yours, as you traced your fingertips across the expanse of his exposed chest and toned abs.

Satoru pushed your thighs apart, spreading your legs wider. His finger wandered under the hem of your underwear, tracing torturous lines over your skin. You arched your back upward, silently begging for his touch.

He obliged, pushing your underwear aside and sliding one finger inside you. "Is that what you need?"

You moaned softly, as he delved further into your core. His movements were slow and deliberate, your breathing quickened, becoming shallow and rapid. "Yes...yes, please..." You arched your back, urging him further.

His other hand slid beneath you, cupping your hip bone firmly. The sensation of his finger moving within you sent shivers coursing through your veins, igniting an intense fire deep in your core. You clutched at his hair. "More, Satoru."

His response was immediate. He slipped another finger inside you, stretching you wider. The sensation was overwhelming, leaving you helpless in his grasp.

Before long, his mouth met yours once again, taking control of the kiss as his thumb brushed gently against your clit. With every stroke of his fingers and flick of his thumb, you felt yourself growing increasingly close to the edge.

"Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you, sweetheart," Satoru muttered against your lips as his fingers drove deep into you, burying themselves to the limit. Your grip on his hair tightened as you felt him hitting your core.

The sound of your breathless moans filled the room as Satoru's skilled hands worked their magic on your body, making you yearn for more. "You know what I want, Satoru...don't make me beg for it."

Satoru's lips trailed down your jawline and towards your neck. "Bit unfair, don't you think?" His teeth grazed your sensitive flesh, sending shivers down your spine as his finger continued to thrust into you. "Wanting me to fuck you, but not letting me tease you a bit about it?"

As he made his way further down your body, you closed your eyes, surrendering yourself entirely to the feeling of him inside you. He trailed kisses all over your body until he reached your parted legs, planting featherlight kisses along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

He smiled up at you, his dark eyes sparkling with wicked intent. "But don't worry, you don't have to say anything, I know exactly what you need." He positioned himself firmly between your legs. His hot breath against your clit, making you quiver with anticipation.

He pulled his fingers out of you briefly to pull down your underwear. Then, without warning, he plunged his tongue into your core, sending you reeling with pleasure. Each stroke of his tongue sent electric sparks shooting straight to your core. Moaning loudly, you writhing beneath him, urging him onward.

He delved deeper, suckling hungrily at your clit, his tongue leveling deeper into you. "Oh God, yes...please don't stop," you panted, gripping his hair tightly as he was buried between your legs.

"God, you taste so good." He pulled back his tongue, licking over your clit and inserting his two fingers again, pumping them vigorously in and out of you. "Can you take on more for me?"

You gasped as he pushed yet another finger into you, stretching you impossibly wide. But you couldn't help but crave more—more of the intense sensations coursing through every inch of your being.

His lips closed around your clit once more. He sucked hungrily, flicking his tongue against you as he curled his fingers inside you, hitting all the right spots in a way that left you gasping for breath. You tightened your grip on his hair. It must have hurt. But he didn't care.

With each passing second, your release drew nearer. He could feel it. He quickened his pace, pushing deeper and harder into you. "Come for me, sweetheart."

And then, without warning, it hit you. You cried out, your body shaking with the force of it all as he continued to suckle and thrust simultaneously, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure from your quivering frame.

"Stop, Satoru..." you panted as he continued to devour your oversensitive core with his mouth. Your legs trembled. It was too much—far too much. "Fuck, stop."

He pulled away from you and moved upwards. His lips brushed softly against yours, making you taste your own arousal. "Don't act like you can't take it," he murmured against your lips. "Wasn't that what you wanted?"

Your breath hitched as his eyes suddenly darkened. "You wanted me to make you forget about your fucked up day, remember?"

He pulled back, kneeling before you as he zipped open his pants and pushed them down along with his boxers, exposing his cock—pre-cum already leaking from the tip.

He lowered himself onto you again, pressing his erection against you. "You should be really careful of what you're asking for," he whispered into your ear.

Your heart skipped a beat as his hand found your throat, his grip tight. Yet, you couldn't help but crave more, wanting to surrender completely to his will. "Satoru, just...do me already," you gasped as his pressure on your throat increased.

He smirked. He knew exactly how much power he had over you.

And he liked it.

"You're so damn hot when you beg for more," he whispered against your lips.

Without warning, he surged forward, burying himself deep inside you, savoring each inch as you gasped and arched your back. You bit down on your lower lip, stifling a scream as he filled you completely, every inch of his length stretching you wide.

"Don't hold back, I want to hear you scream my name," he said as he began to move. His movements were rough and unforgiving, pounding into you relentlessly. You cried out his name, writhing underneath him as he took you without mercy.

You clawed at his shoulders, pulling him closer, begging for more. But he was in control here, and he loved the way you responded so eagerly to his every move. He paused suddenly, pulling almost all the way out before plunging back in.

Tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as his cock slid back in, filling you once more, sending shivers through your entire body. Then, he picked up pace, faster now, harder. Your walls tightened around him as he pounded deeper and deeper, making you feel alive in ways you never thought possible.

You clung to his shoulder blades, your fingers digging into his skin, leaving marks as he thrust into you. His eyes locked onto yours, watching as pleasure etched itself across your features. He leaned forward, bracing himself above you, and delivered another hard thrust, eliciting a sharp gasp from your lips.

Suddenly, he pulled out, flipping you over onto your stomach. Before you even had time to process what was happening, he pressed you face-down into the bed, grabbed your arms and crossed them behind your back, pinning you firmly in place.

Your moans turned into cries as he hitched your hips higher, burying himself even deeper inside of you from this angle, his hardness stretching you wide. It wasn't gentle anymore, far from it. He was rough, almost cruel, pushing past boundaries until you weren't sure if you could bear it any longer.

And yet you couldn't get enough.

You closed your eyes, burying your head into the sheets. He slammed into you again and again, each time he hit bottom. Your body quivered beneath him, and you let out a series of whimpers and gasps as he pushed you closer to the edge.

He tightened his grip on your wrists, pulling you closer against him. His breathing grew ragged as he lost himself in the sensation.

You wanted nothing more of him than to lose himself.

As he buried himself deep within you once more, you felt yourself shattering. Every muscle in your body convulsed, your cries muffled by the sheets beneath you. You shuddered violently, writhing underneath his firm grip as your orgasm threatened to consume you whole.

His rhythm faltered slightly as he felt you clench around him before picking up the pace again, and soon after, he followed you over the edge. He came inside of you, filling you whole with a sharp hiss of pain.

Satoru released the grip on your wrist and collapsed over you, resting himself on his arms. He remained motionless for a moment, both of you catching your breath. You lifted your head off the sheets, swallowing hard as the sensation lingered.

He leaned down, his breath warm on your back. His tongue ran along the curve of your spine, savoring the salty taste of your skin. "Feeling better now, sweetheart?" he asked, as his cum dripped onto the sheets.

Turning your head, you caught his eye. His gaze held yours, a sly smile on his lips.

You didn't know what to say—what to think even.

There was just this man who drove you absolutely insane—your professor, your research partner, your mentor's best friend, and...

...an addict.

"You have to get clean."

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note: thank you for the wait dears, this chapter did turn out super long. also two smut scenes haha. i actually don't really enjoy writing these and it takes me forever but somehow i wrote two now... i blame it on ovulation. also i'm not too happy with the second smut scene but i edited it like three times already and can't seem to get it right, so i'm just posting it now. anyway thank you for reading, feel free to leave your thoughts! :)

🏷️ @sad-darksoul @aerithsthingss @mylovelessnightmare @bbyxxm @musababy @neuviloved @ykehqqy @hexrts-anatomy @fvsm4x @tw0fvced @heijihattorisgf @sadmonke (pls comment on the series masterlist to get tagged in the future!)

#gojo saturo #saturo gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x female reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut

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axel-tiredstudent · 4 months ago

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Okay everyone stop idk when the gender non conforming Suna headcanon materialized in my mind but it's so important to me right now

Suna Rin on a skirt

#ALSO #When i started my Haikyuu reread I wasn't expecting suna to become my comfort character?????#im not complaining i love him a lot but i never cared that much about inarizaki when i first read it years ago #ive havent drawn a single bokuto in ages and hes my fav!!!! hes been my fav since i was 14 lol #i wanna draw him but Haikyuu has SO MANY characters i wanna doodle #anyways a surprising but welcomed development ^^#my brain hold onto suna and the Miya twins 🫶 and they're basically carrying me through the weeks #Actually inarizaki as a team is suuuuper interesting and their match is one of my favs #okay ill stop rambling here #haikyuu

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starlightkun · 1 year ago

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➠ word count: 22.0k ➠ warnings: cursing, mentions of drinking (there’s a frat party), everything i know about hockey is from internet research for this fic i’m sorry for any inaccuracies i tried ➠ genre: fluff, gets quite suggestive (a heavy makeout scene/near sex scene) but no actual smut, college au, hockey captain sungchan, chronically ill reader (chronic migraines), halloween-themed at the beginning, sungchan’s not a frat boy but he’s like... a frat boy by association ➠ extra info: the ages/relative ages of the members in here are whatever i want them to be, don’t read into it too much. this is a very usamerican take on a college au btw. also i call kunhang ‘hendery’ in here like it’s his government name for a one-line gag bc i think i’m hilarious the reader in this has chronic migraines, which i have. when the reader’s migraines and thoughts/experiences as a chronically ill person are described, that is me writing directly from my own life. i am not generalizing the lives of all people with chronic migraines and chronic illness, but i am sending all my love to any readers out there living with a chronic illness, and here’s a reminder to go take your meds ➠ author’s note: hi so this has been a wip for like a year lol. this one long predates sungchan’s deneofication (and subsequent re-debut in riize), hockey player sungchan just lives in my brain rent free ok. anyway, i hope you like ➠ series masterlist

“You agreed to go to a frat party?” Chenle’s eyes were bugging out of his head as he sat across a high top in the dining hall from you. “Do you remember what happened last time, Y/N?”

“Hard to forget,” you snorted.

“And yet it seems you did, somehow, lost in dreamboat Jung Sungchan’s eyes.”

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 24

“Now shoo!” Dr. Son waved the small group of you out of his dimly lit office.

It was Phantasmagorical Phriday, a time-honored tradition going back to your freshman year of university. Dr. Son had been intrigued by the four freshmen who were somehow in his third-year class on Gothic Fiction and actually seemed to “get it.” His “Phantasma Phour” as you dubbed yourselves (a nickname that got quickly worn out, persisting only as the title of your groupchat):

Wong Hendery, who ended up in the class accidentally due to an error on his academic advisor’s part (she had gotten him mixed up with a Wong Henry, a junior Literature major who actually needed to take Dr. Son’s class) and he subsequently changed majors at least three times to your knowledge, so you were genuinely surprised he was graduating on time—he finally settled on Communications;

Jung Sungchan, at the time a promising young rookie hockey player who had now blossomed into your school’s reliable team captain—Biology major, being an athlete meant he could pre-register for classes and he picked Dr. Son’s at random to fulfill a gen ed Literature credit;

Zhong Chenle, an honorary member of both Nu Chi Tau, one of the biggest frats on campus, and the hockey team, as somehow 95% of his social circle were Nu Chi brothers and/or hockey players despite Chenle being neither himself, your best friend and also sometimes you swear a demon sent straight from hell to kill you—Literature major, who bullied you into taking the class; and

You, Chenle’s best friend who used to hate anything and everything Gothic fiction that got bullied into taking it anyway and now adored the genre more than any other—Literature major, who took the last spot in the class on registration day.

Dr. Son would invite you all to monthly extracurricular workshops in his office that built up to this: Phantasmagorical Phriday, a writing competition to see which of the four of you could write the best gothic short story. The stories were actually submitted the prior week, but it was the Friday before Halloween that was dubbed the Phriday in question. The four of you were invited to his office that night after classes (and Sungchan’s hockey practice) to review your pieces: how he thought everyone had improved from last year, discuss the writing process, and to finish off the night, Dr. Son would announce his top two stories. Those in the top two had the chance to send him a persuasive letter about why they should win. They had to be sent to him that night because the next morning, your professor would email the top two individually with the results.

Since this was your last Phantasmagorical Phriday, Dr. Son pretended not to see when Hendery brought out four celebratory White Claws for you all. You still had your warm, unopened, orange-flavored seltzer in your hand as the small group of you left the Literature, Writing, and Foreign Languages building together.

“I still can’t believe you couldn’t find anything classier for our last Phantasmagorical Phriday, Hendery.” You shook your head. “Ever heard of champagne? Literally any wine?”

“So you’re not gonna shotgun that, Y/N, is what I’m hearing?” Hendery teased as you all stopped under the light post right outside the building.

“Is that a challenge or what, Wong?” You scoffed, handing it back to him. “But no, I’m good.”

Sungchan thankfully cut in and changed the topic of conversation, “So are you going to start writing your letter of reconsideration, Y/N?”

This year’s top two were you and Sungchan, the member of the Phantasma Phour you spoke to the least. Outside of the monthly “workshops” (which at this point with your differing majors were just get-togethers of questionable academic value), you never saw him. You obviously saw Chenle all the time, and despite the fact that you considered him a bit obnoxious, you were sort of friends with Hendery, joining him for lunch if you happened to see him at the student union or at the coffee shop on campus. Sungchan was perfectly nice and all, you just found that you never really talked to him like the other two.

You looked down at your watch, taking a quick inhale when you saw the time. You’d stayed in Dr. Son’s office a lot later than you’d realized.

“Oh, no,” you casually waved off Sungchan’s question, readjusting your tote bag on your shoulder. “I’ve got something more pressing right now. Anyway, see you guys. It was a good four years, I’m glad we got to do this.”

Lifting your hand in a wave of finality to the three men, you departed.

“She’s really not going to submit a letter?” Sungchan asked, still watching after you as your figure faded away in the distance.

“Nope,” Chenle shook his head, reaching for the spare White Claw in Hendery’s hand. “Y/N never does.”

“You didn’t know that?” Hendery questioned the hockey player, holding the drink away from Chenle.

“Why not?”

“She’s not in it to win really.” Chenle lunged for the can as Hendery jerked it away at the last second. “Just wants to make stuff.”

“So she was lying about doing something?”

Hendery and Chenle were now running circles around Sungchan in their game of keep-away with the seltzer.

“No.”

“What do you—” Sungchan sighed, yanking the drink from Hendery’s grasp and holding it high above his own head, well out of either of their reaches. “Hey!”

Now with their attention, the hockey captain kept his arm straight up as he returned to his question, “What are you talking about, Chenle?”

“Y/N does have something pressing right now. If I tell you where she’s probably going will you give me the White Claw?” Chenle bargained.

“You’d exchange your best friend’s location for an orange White Claw? Not even watermelon?” Hendery asked incredulously.

“It’s Sungchan, someone we’ve known for like four years, not some creep off the street who’s going to wear her skin.”

“No, Chenle, you don’t have to tell me that,” Sungchan shook his head, offering the can out for either one to take.

The Literature major was able to snatch it first, jumping up in celebration, “Suck an egg, Hendery!”

“I wouldn’t—” Sungchan’s words were too late though, as Chenle had already popped the tab, and the overly-shaken seltzer exploded all over all three of them.

“Zhong Chenle, I’m going to strangle you, you little weasel!”

“Ah! Sungchan, save me!”

“I would, except you got fucking orange White Claw in my eyes and I’m fucking blind now! Goddamn!”

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 25

Rolling over in bed the next morning, you let out a big sigh and buried your face in your pillow, fully intent on going back to sleep. Saturday morning. No school, no work. Just you, your bed, and some much-needed sleep.

Then, the obnoxious blaring of your phone came from your nightstand. You groaned, reaching blindly for the object, and barely opening one eye just enough to snooze it. Damn, you really had slept in, to be woken up by your first medication alarm. Well, you weren’t going to die if you took your morning doses fifteen minutes later than normal. You were about to stuff your phone under your pillow when you briefly caught sight of your lockscreen after the alarm disappeared.

Text notification from Jung Sungchan?

Flopping onto your back and bringing your phone with you, you squinted against the harsh light of your screen to make sure you were reading that right. Yep, Sungchan had definitely texted you a few hours ago, separate from the Phantasma Phour chat. At almost 7:00 a.m., too. What the hell?

Curiosity won out over a need to sleep for fourteen more minutes, and you opened the notification.

[jung sungchan: Congrats, Y/N!]

You stared blankly at the text, your groggy mind desperately grasping around for any sort of context as to why Jung Sungchan would be texting you that at 7:00 a.m. on a Saturday. Then it struck you like lightning, and you let out an audible “Oh, duh!” as you remembered where you both were last night. Phantasmagorical Phriday. The writing contest. You and Sungchan were the top two. Dr. Son must have sent the email out already, and apparently you had won.

Normally, you wouldn’t check your school email on the weekend until Sunday night, unless you were waiting to hear back from a specific professor—and the Sunday night check was just to see if any of your Monday classes were cancelled. Lord knows you definitely wouldn’t have checked it at seven in the morning on a Saturday. You let out a snort of disbelief as you reread the timestamp on the text. But still, it was nice of him. A good show of sportsmanship, as one would expect from the hockey captain.

You quickly checked your own student email, and did in fact see an email from Dr. Son at the very top with the subject ‘PHINAL PHANTASMAGORICAL PHRIDAY RESULTS.’

‘Y/N and Sungchan:

Thank you again for your submissions. I enjoyed working with everyone these four years.

The winner this year is Y/N. Good job.

Dr. Son.’

An amused smile crept across your face at your professor’s usual blunt email style. But this was also some of the nicest feedback he’d given your writing, even when you had won Phantasmagorical Phriday in the past, or in classes that you’d taken from him over the years. Something about it truly did feel... final.

And so with an odd bittersweetness, you drafted an equally short and blunt email back to your professor.

‘Dr. Son:

Thank you for taking us on these past four years. I will never forget the experience.

Y/L/N Y/N.’

Then finally, you went back to the original reason that you were even doing this.

[you: thanks, sungchan!]

Then, your alarm went off again, making you jump out of your skin. Well, time for your morning meds.

MONDAY, OCTOBER 27

A tall figure was nearing the corner table you had claimed in one of the campus coffee shops the following Monday afternoon, and you looked up from your laptop screen, a little surprised at who it was. Jung Sungchan was standing at the end of your table, black flannel over a graphic t-shirt and dark wash jeans, one backpack strap slung over his shoulder. He had an iced coffee in one hand.

You paused the movie playing on your laptop, taking out both your headphones as you looked up at him inquisitively, “Uh hi, Sungchan.”

“Hi, Y/N.”

“Are you here to study or something?”

“Mm.” He couldn’t seem to meet your eyes. “Not really. Just grabbing a coffee and saw you. Do you mind if I sit with you for a bit?”

“Oh, sure. I’m waiting out the storm to leave,” you gestured to the near-constant downpour that had started right after you’d arrived over two hours ago. Noticing that some of Sungchan’s hair and shoulders were damp, you added, “The storm you apparently got caught in without an umbrella.”

“Oh, yeah,” he ran a hand through his hair to push some of it away from where it had been falling into his eyes.

“I don’t mind having some company while I wait.”

To your surprise, instead of sitting across from you, Sungchan plopped himself onto the same bench that you were on, one leg slung over either side so he could face you directly.

You picked up the mug in front of you, your second cup of your drink of choice. You’d gotten a refill after it became clear that the rain wasn’t letting up any time soon. Sungchan was already a third of the way done with his iced coffee as you blew over your hot drink before taking a small sip. He glanced up at you, and you felt like you were going to choke on the uncomfortable silence. So you took a gamble. Turning in your seat to face him as well, you hiked a knee up onto the bench, bringing your mug with you.

“Do you want to ask me something, Sungchan?”

The hockey player startled, having to catch himself from nearly choking on his coffee. Seems like you were right. Sungchan finally stopped sucking down his drink, setting it down on the table and wiping his palms on the knees of his jeans. “I heard that you never sent in a letter to Dr. Son. Any year you were a top two.”

“Oh, yeah, nah.”

“Why not?”

“Didn’t seem worth it,” you shrugged.

“What?”

“Every year I participated I wanted my work to stand on its own two legs. After the death of the author, that’s all that’s left, right? The work. It has to speak for itself.”

“Oh,” Sungchan nodded, then squinted his eyes, confusion entirely overtaking his features. “Wait, what?”

“Sorry, I don’t know how much Lit Theory you’ve done. Probably not a lot as a Bio major, huh? Death of the author is both literal and metaphorical. Removing what the author meant to do or say with a text from how you actually interpret the text as the reader. It’s a lot easier when they’re actually dead, but the abstract concept is practiced when they’re alive too. It’s… seeing the text as separate from authorial intent. Mind you, it’s only one tool in a literary critic’s arsenal, but I liked it for our Gothic fiction class. All the authors we read in that class, they’d been gone for a while, we had no way to know what they really meant when they wrote all that stuff. And it didn’t really matter for our purposes. All we did have was what they wrote, and that was enough for me. So the same should be enough for whoever reads the stuff I write. Even if it’s just Dr. Son.”

“Huh.”

“Though I guess I just explained myself a little, oops,” you laughed at yourself, taking another sip from your steaming mug. “I’m getting less and less mysterious by the second, aren't I?”

“Chenle made it sound like you didn’t care about winning,” Sungchan asked, cheek in hand.

You arched an eyebrow at this. “You asked Chenle about me?”

“W-Well you left so fast after we saw Dr. Son, and you two are you know...”

“Oh he’s my best friend,” you clarified for perhaps the ten-thousandth time in your life. “And while others may use any litany of swears for him and Hendery calls him a little weasel, I prefer ‘actual demon sent from Hell to kill me.’”

“What?” Sungchan’s eyes widened.

“He pushes me out of my comfort zone. In a good way, most of the time.”

“Got it. Then what do you do for him? If he’s your yang…”

“I’m entertainment?” You snorted, taking another sip of your drink. After setting it back down, you answered more sincerely, “I’m kidding. Sometimes it feels like that but I did ask him one time a couple years ago, when he was tipsy enough that I believed the words coming out of his mouth but not so drunk that it was unintelligible. ‘A safe place.’ And since then… I can see it in us. That’s my yin to him.”

He smiled softly at you. “That’s... really nice.”

“Sorry, what were you asking me before that?”

“Oh, uh— Chenle said you really didn’t care about winning Dr. Son’s contest, you just wanted to make stuff? That’s why you didn’t submit a letter.”

“Generally, sure. Winning would’ve been great, but I didn’t write what I thought Dr. Son wanted. I took all of his feedback with a grain of salt. Took stuff that I liked from him, took stuff I liked from other profs I had. Mixed and matched to make something that was mine.” You pressed your lips together, then leaned forward like you were about to tell him a secret, “I didn’t live for Phantasmagorical Phriday, Sungchan. You do know that, right?”

“Wow,” he blinked, seeming a bit disoriented. “I’ve never really thought about… you like that.”

“Well to be fair to you, you only ever knew me there and in Dr. Son’s class. Makes it hard not to think of me only through that lens. All you know about me is that I presumably like Gothic fiction and I’m a Lit major, right?”

“Right.”

“So what do you think I was doing here before you showed up?”

“…Reading Edgar Allan Poe.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, turning your laptop screen to show the paused movie to him, “I was watching Pacific Rim.”

His jaw literally dropped, and you felt the need to save him at least a little. Grabbing a book from your bag, you held it up, “I did come here initially to finish reading this new mystery novel I just got, but then the storm came and I had nothing else to do after I was done with the book.”

“But still… you’re so…”

“I have interests outside the one class we took together?”

“Smart,” he finished, an absolutely adorable expression of wonder across his face.

You weren’t expecting that, surprised giggles bubbling up out of you as you felt yourself growing warm under his awestruck gaze.

“Anyway, your turn,” you tapped his knee with your book before putting it back in your bag.

“For what?”

“To expand my horizons of you. All I know about you is that you’re the hockey captain, and a Bio major who took a gothic fiction class one time like three years ago. Show me you’re a multifaceted individual, too.”

“Uhm, that’s about it.”

“Oh come on, Sungchan.”

“No really, if I’m not on the ice, I’m in class; if I’m not in class, I’m with my team; and if I’m not with my team, I’m studying.”

“You’re here, right now,” you pointed out. “Last I checked I’m not on your hockey team, and we’re not studying. You have to do one thing that’s not for school or hockey. My thing was just watching Pacific Rim this one time, remember?”

“Alright…” he paused to think, fingers tapping along his thighs. “I used to play the piano.”

“Past tense, but I’ll accept it. When did you stop?”

“High school? Around when piano lessons and hockey practice started conflicting.”

“And you chose hockey?” You asked, hoping it didn’t sound judgmental. You really were just curious, trying to understand him.

“Actually, the choice was made for me.” He held his right hand out in front of you, and it was then that you saw his pinky finger was unnaturally crooked as he pointed to the digit. “I broke it in a game without even realizing it. Bruises and stiffness sometimes are normal so me and my parents didn’t know anything was up until weeks later when I was fucking up all the notes at my piano lessons because it still hurt. By the time I finally saw a doctor and got a splint on it, it set up wrong. All dexterity for piano out the window. Hockey on the other hand… guys have done a lot more with a lot less.”

You couldn’t help but curiously run a gentle fingertip over the crook in his pinky. “Does it hurt at all? Now?”

“Not really.” He went to bend and flex the fingers of his right hand, and you saw how the fifth finger didn’t curl up as much as the others. “It’s just a lot stiffer. Doesn’t bother me all that much.”

He brought his left hand up and wiggled the fingers on that hand. “Besides, I’m a lefty anyway.”

“So—apologies if this sounds like a stupid question to you, I don’t know anything about hockey—are there like, different hockey sticks for left-handed and right-handed players?”

Sungchan immediately broke into snickers, and you set down your mug to cross your arms over your chest indignantly.

“Hey, I didn’t laugh at you for not knowing what death of the author was—”

“I wasn’t making fun of you, I’m sorry,” he covered his mouth. “That was just… too cute. Uhm yes, there are lefty and righty sticks.”

You had to bite down your bottom lip to not smile at him calling you cute, and instead keep up your ruse of being offended. “I feel patronized.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” There was still a hint of a giggle in his tone, and you felt your self-righteous façade slip away as he continued, “You should come to a game, then, if you really want to broaden your horizons. The season just started. First home game is this Thursday, actually. 7:00 p.m. and students get free admission with your student ID.”

“Thursday?”

“Fridays are for basketball, Saturdays are for football.”

“Oh. Right.”

“You don’t go to those games either, do you?”

“Oh no, did I make it obvious?” You asked sarcastically.

“A bit,” Sungchan jested back.

Outside the window visible past Sungchan, the rain had let up a few minutes ago, and you briefly glanced over at your laptop for the time. Shit, your next alarm was going to be going off soon. If you left now, you should be home at roughly the right time for your next dose.

Clicking your tongue, you started packing up your things, “Well, looks like the rain’s finally let up enough to allow me safe passage. That’s my cue.”

“Oh.” The hockey player with you looked over his shoulder at the newly sunny day outside before turning back to watch you put your things away.

“Are you heading out too?” You nodded to his empty cup.

“I’ve uh, got some homework to do.”

“Guess this is where we part ways then.”

“Um, you didn’t say if you were going. To the game.”

You tucked your chin to your chest to hide your smitten smile as you put your laptop in your bag. Typically just asking for the details would’ve been taken for a yes, but Sungchan wanted extra confirmation. This boy wasn’t good for your heart, truly.

Turning back to him, you gave him a firm and nearly business-like nod. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

A bright grin lit up his features. “Okay! Great! Uhm, feel free to bring some friends, I know just sitting in the stands by yourself might be lonely.”

“I’ll see if I can drag somebody else out. It’ll be a tall order, though. Literature majors, you know, we prefer our Shakesperean poetry readings.”

“Oh, well—”

“I’m kidding,” you laughed and stood then, slinging your tote onto your shoulder. “Honestly, have you seen Chenle at a rager? Boy can drink twice his body weight I swear. He shouldn’t, but he can.”

Before you could reach for your cup and saucer to buss your place, the hockey captain spoke up, “I’ll take care of your mug, don’t worry.”

“Oh, thanks, Sungchan! I’ll see you Thursday then.”

“Bye…” Sungchan trailed off, watching the door long after it had closed behind you.

He didn’t actually have any homework to do, and scrolled on his phone for a few minutes to make sure you were out of the area before leaving himself. He grabbed his long-empty plastic cup and your mug. His went in the trash, and as he went to put yours up with the other dishes and trays, his eyes were caught by the iridescent glitters left behind on the rim by your lip gloss.

[you: hey what are you doing thursday at 7:00?]

[chenle: depends on what weird poetry reading you’re trying to drag me to]

[you: not this time. Sungchan’s hockey game?]

[chenle: you want to go to a sporting event?? why????]

[you: i told him i’d go please don’t make me go by myself]

[chenle: did you offer to go or did he ask you to come?]

[you: he asked me to? i guess?]

[chenle: haha yeah fuck no i’m not going with you]

[you: why not????????]

[chenle: a guy invited you to one of his games? yeah no way am i coming with you]

[you: what difference does that make? you’re seriously going to make me go to a hockey game by myself?]

[chenle: i don’t know how to tell you this gently so: he wants to fuck you]

[you: bro???]

[chenle: especially hockey? caveman brain is activated, he wants to show off how big and strong he is for you over the other males]

[you: damn can’t believe i just blinked and woke up in 200 BC]

[chenle: i’m warning you, only go if you’re ready for the consequences. i.e., that]

[you: so you’re not coming with me]

[chenle: no <3]

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 30

Your chronically early self had gotten there as soon as the doors opened to spectators in order to scope out the perfect spot for yourself. Somewhere not too close to any speakers, where you could still see what was going on, hopefully somewhere Sungchan could maybe see you, but you could make a quick escape if need be. A lot of parameters, hence the need to be early. That meant that you got to watch the visiting team warm up first, and now your school’s team was warming up before the game. Finally the stands started filling up, and you had to do a double-take at the newest figure entering.

“Zhong Chenle, you lying little bitch!” You cursed out your best friend who was approaching you.

He immediately went to defend himself as he plopped down beside you, “Look, I told you I wasn’t going with you, not that I wasn’t going at all. Come on, Lit major.”

He finished off with a solid knock on your head, which didn’t hurt all that much through the beanie you were wearing, but you still slapped his arm away with a glare.

“Are you sure you want to live until graduation day? I can’t tell sometimes.”

“Half the team are Nu Chi guys,” Chenle explained his being there, then waved at one of the players skating by, 23, who gave a salute back. “Jeno.”

“Oh.” You belatedly waved too, but your friend had already turned back to warming up.

Chenle then gave you the run-down on all your friends and acquaintances’ numbers as he spotted them.

“Goalie. Sicheng, 7.” He just blocked a shot from a familiar number, 23. “Already told you, 23 is Jeno. Right wing.”

“Does he always suck?”

“Here’s Ten, number 10. Right defense. He’s never told me which came first, his nickname or his jersey number.”

Sicheng blocked Ten’s shot.

“2 is Mark, center.” His went in.

“66, Donghyuck, center alternate.” His also went in.

“24, that’s Yangyang, left wing—and a miss!”

“This doesn’t bode well that so many of our players apparently kind of suck.” You muttered to yourself, well aware that Chenle was no longer listening to you.

Finally, the tallest of the team was skating up to take a shot. “And there’s your guy, Y/N. Number 27, Jung Sungchan, left defense, captain, your dreamboat—”

“If you don’t shut up—”

“Oh! All net!”

“Isn’t that a basketball—”

“Hey, you got your earplugs, right?”

“Yep, same ones for concerts,” you confirmed, reaching into your purse for them. You hadn’t been able to take your full tote bag into the school sporting event, so you had to condense the essentials into your smaller purse.

“Good, because uh, it’ll get loud.”

“I figured.”

“Yeah, remember how half the team are Nu Chi guys?”

Your eyes widened in realization, “Oh god.”

“Here they come!”

Whipping around to face the same direction he was looking, you saw a horde of about ten to fifteen guys storming the rink, practically shaking the audience section. They were all donned in blue and orange, your university’s colors, various hockey or Nu Chi merch and paraphernalia, and you would’ve absolutely bet money that at least three of them had Nu, Chi, and Tau symbols painted across each of their chests under their shirts. Chenle leapt up to greet them all, the volume of the area immediately rising tenfold at least.

You recognized most of the Nu Chi frat brothers, they were mutual friends or acquaintances of yours through Chenle over the years, and there were even some familiar graduated faces. Lee Taeyong was the first to pick up on your presence, squeezing past Jisung—a new pledge that had glommed onto Chenle in particular—to plop down behind your seat.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?” Taeyong asked you with a tilted head. “Not exactly a good place for you, is it?”

Taeyong was frat president for your first two years of college and his last two. You had an absolute disaster at a Nu Chi party in your freshman year that he was witness to. Ever since then, when you would see him in passing at other lowkey (or as lowkey as frat functions could get) Nu Chi events that Chenle took you to during those two years, you always got the distinct impression that he was keeping an eye on you during them.

“Could be asking you the same thing, Taeyong,” you countered, fully turning around in your seat to chat with the man. “Didn’t you graduate two years ago? You don’t have anything better to do on a Thursday night? Like your taxes or something?”

“Us old-timers who peaked in college like to come back and re-live our glory days vicariously for the first home game,” he entertained your jibe, making you giggle. “And somebody’s got to be these kids’ DD. They always go at it too hard after the first game. Win or lose.”

Johnny, another graduated Nu Chi brother, spoke up then, eyes laser-focused on you, “So Chenle’s finally dragged you out to a game, Y/N?”

You immediately looked at your friend with wide eyes, knowing what the answer was, and exactly what reaction said answer would garner. Chenle, on the other hand, seemed all too thrilled to join in, turning to face you with his hands on his hips and a knowing smirk on his face.

“Oh no, I didn’t bring Y/N. She actually didn’t know I was coming at all. I found her here all on her own,” he announced to all the guys, who were hanging on to every word he said. If literally anything else were happening, you might’ve laughed at how they were all wrapped around his finger.

“No offense, but you don’t really seem like you’re interested in hockey,” Jungwoo, a junior who you’d shared a couple literature classes with, said curiously.

You sighed, giving Chenle a frank look before admitting, “Jung Sungchan invited me.”

They exploded with various hoots, hollers, whoops, and whistles.

With a shake of your head, you turned back around to look back at the players on the ice, knowing full well that there was nothing you could do alleviate—or even really participate in—the absolute chaos that was happening behind you.

Eventually, the game started. Taeyong, who had moved to sit on your other side from Chenle, quietly explained the basics of what was going on to you: positions, plays, scoring, why the referee made certain calls. Chenle was caught between cheering along with the other Nu Chi guys and rattling off hyper-specific stats on individual players to you, so you were truly grateful to have Taeyong giving you your “hockey for dummies” tips and tidbits throughout.

You kept your eyes on number 27, as Chenle had pointed him out to you earlier. The gear made it somewhat difficult for you to really recognize any distinguishing features about Sungchan himself except maybe his height, made even greater by the skates he was wearing. But as much as the intellectual side of you might’ve hated to admit it, there was definitely some part of you that very much enjoyed watching him play; that got some kind of thrill every time somebody tried to check him and he didn’t budge—or when he checked somebody and they most definitely did budge.

Before you knew it, all three periods were over, and you were jumping to your feet along with the others, cheering wildly. Your school won by a landslide.

“Oh, they’re going to get plastered,” Taeyong murmured from beside you fondly.

All of you had been in the cheering section milled around in the ice rink lobby waiting for the team to get out of the locker room.

“That was fun,” you declared to Chenle as the two of you stood off to the side from the larger group of loud Nu Chi brothers.

“Yeah, you didn’t seem like you were listening to a word I said.”

“Because you were telling me sports stats, Chenle, I’m surprised my brain didn’t start bleeding out of my ears.”

“Well I’m surprised your nose wasn’t bleeding watching your dreamboat Jung Sungchan beat up all those other guys,” Chenle teased. “200 BC called, they want their cavewoman back—”

You lunged at him, managing to get an arm around his throat in the beginnings of a questionably friendly chokehold, “I’m going to kill you, you little—”

“No murder in the rink!” Came the chastising voice of Johnny Suh from afar, and you reluctantly let him go.

The players started streaming out of the locker room soon after, and you nervously scanned the crowd for Sungchan. Chenle was easily dragged into the chaos of everyone celebrating, leaving you standing off to the side waiting.

Finally, you spotted him. Sungchan was wearing a simple pair of black sweatpants and black hoodie with your school’s name embroidered across the front, his hair a bit mussed up. He was deep in conversation with Sicheng, brow furrowed. The goalie’s features were similarly serious as they gestured to each other. You stayed put, not wanting to interrupt. Taeyong had mentioned that Sicheng was sort of like a co-captain, you guessed they might be doing something important.

Then you’d suddenly made eye contact with Sicheng, who was facing you. He gave you a casual head nod, and said something to Sungchan you couldn’t quite make out. The captain whipped around, a bright smile coming to his face as soon as his eyes landed on you. You lifted your hand to give him a small wave and smile back.

Sungchan quickly ended his conversation with Sicheng, making his way over to where you were standing by a wall.

“Hey, Y/N,” he was still smiling down at you, his eyes practically glittering even in the harsh fluorescents of the lobby. “So you really made it out.”

“I said I would.” You fidgeted with the straps of your bag.

“And…?”

You tilted your head, “And?”

“What did you think? You know, are your horizons super broad now or something?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. His phrasing was funny, but also remembering how he played and was now giving you his undivided attention admittedly made your chest flutter.

“It was good, yeah. I had fun,” you confirmed. “You uhm, you played really good. I think.”

“Thanks,” Sungchan scratched at the back of his neck, and you swore the tips of his ears were pink, but that could’ve just been the cold. “Did you drive yourself?”

“Walked, my apartment is close.”

“Uh, so, we all go out to a bar after games usually. It’s kind of a sleazy dive bar, and I know it’s a Thursday, but I’d really like for you to come. I’ll buy you a dr—”

“I’m really sorry, Sungchan, but I can’t. I’d love to, but…” You trailed off, wracking your brain for some concise way to explain why he couldn’t buy you a drink.

“Don’t worry, it’s okay,” Sungchan assured you, and you winced at the way the hopeful smile fell from his face.

An awkward silence descended over the two of you. You were chewing on your bottom lip, desperately trying to think of something to say to gloss over your rejecting his offer. You didn’t want to end the conversation on such a sour note, nor did you want to leave him just yet either. Stealing a glance at the clock above you on the wall, however, you knew that you’d need to be going soon anyway.

The hockey player was the one who ended up breaking the silence, “Can I walk you home? It’s late for you to be out by yourself.”

A relieved smile overtook your features, and you hoped he could see the sincerity in it, “Sure, thank you. Let me let Chenle know he’s relieved of his man-shaped friend duties for the night, and we can go.”

You got on your tiptoes to look around for your friend, finally spotting him in a headlock by Jeno, with Yangyang giving him a noogie. They all seemed to be laughing, so it didn’t look too much like bullying that you felt the need to intervene.

“You know, I’ll just text him, actually,” you chuckled, bringing out your phone to do just that.

“Man-shaped friend duties?” Sungchan questioned as the automatic doors parted for the two of you.

“His words, not mine,” you snorted. “But you know, making sure a woman doesn’t walk places by herself at night, that kind of stuff. Having a man just with her makes her safer, as fucked up as that is. Chenle corrected it to be man-shaped since he’s not the manly protective type.”

“I see.”

“But it looks like you’re on man-shaped friend duties for tonight, Sungchan.”

As soon as the words were out of your mouth, you wanted to stuff them back in. Friend. God, that was absolutely not what was happening here and you knew it. Chenle’s previous texts flashed across your mind. You obviously knew why Sungchan would’ve wanted to invite you to his game, and you said yes purposefully. Friend. Foot, meet mouth.

Sungchan blinked down at you, but seemed to take it in stride, “Of course, Y/N. Anytime you need a man-shaped person at your side, just call me up. I’ll bring my hockey stick.”

He patted his gear bag that was slung over his shoulder, making you giggle.

“I’ll keep you on speed dial, then.”

It was a short walk to your apartment, and you and Sungchan mostly talked about the game. You asked him a couple questions that Taeyong hadn’t covered during it— which Chenle might’ve, except you had tuned him out. And as you came to a stop at your front door, you didn’t yet fish your keys from your bag.

“How often do you have away games?” You asked.

“They’re usually about half,” Sungchan shrugged. “It’s a bit annoying missing classes, and the bus is kind of rank on the trip back.”

“Ew…” You wrinkled your nose.

“But they’re always a lot of fun.”

“So, uhm, when’s your next home game?”

His face brightened as he seemed to realize what exactly you were asking, “Next week. Same time.”

“Okay, cool.” You bit your lip.

“Cool,” he echoed.

You looked up at Sungchan, catching his eyes for a heart stopping moment. Both of you were standing on your welcome mat, he was close enough that you could catch a faint whiff of the detergent from his clothes—a college athlete with freshly washed clothes? You might already be in love—and watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed. You had the urge to grab him by the front of his hoodie and yank him—

A garish, blaring ringing going off interrupted your split-second pros and cons weighing that had been going on. Sungchan startled at the noise, reminding you very much of a baby moose in the moment. You groaned as you reached into your bag for your phone.

“Oh my god, stop it,” you hissed under your breath as you snoozed the alarm that was going off on there. Once it was quiet, you looked back up at the man with you sheepishly, “Sorry about that.”

He joked, “Curfew?”

You laughed lightly, “No, just a reminder for something I have to do after I get home. It’s fine.”

“Well, before you go do that, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Nu Chi and the team are hosting a joint Halloween party this year, and I’d really like it if I could see you there.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow, people will probably start showing up after like ten, eleven. It’s at the Nu Chi house, theirs is bigger than ours.”

“Fascinating phrasing,” you snickered.

“I know this is last minute, so I get if you have other plans or something.”

“I… can probably swing by for a bit, yeah,” you nodded.

“Great!” Sungchan beamed. “Oh, it is a costume party, by the way.”

“Costume?” You arched a brow. “What’ll you being going as? And please don’t say hockey player.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, “Definitely not… that would be lame…”

“You were planning on going as a hockey player, weren’t you?”

“Me and Mark have been putting all our spare time into planning this thing, I haven’t had any time to think about a costume.”

“Well you’ve given me 24-hour notice for a costume, so this is your 24-hour notice for one too. When I find you at the Nu Chi house tomorrow, I do not want to see a hockey jersey, Jung Sungchan. Any sports player is off-limits, understand?” You poked his chest with finality.

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded in assent.

Just then, your alarm went off again, and this time you jumped out of your skin. Apparently, another 5 minutes had elapsed. With a sigh, you reached into your bag for your keys.

“I should let you go do that thing,” Sungchan chuckled. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Sungchan,” you unlocked your front door. “See you tomorrow.”

Sitting at your kitchen table a couple minutes later, you were looking down at the vitals displayed on the screen of your blood pressure cuff.

“Jung Sungchan…” you muttered to yourself as you added the reading to your digital record, noting how the line graph jumped up with the new data.

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 31

“You agreed to go to a frat party?” Chenle’s eyes were bugging out of his head as he sat across a high top in the dining hall from you. You two were grabbing a quick lunch between classes, and doing an obligatory catch-up on how your short but sweet walk with Sungchan went last night. “Do you remember what happened last time, Y/N?”

“Hard to forget,” you snorted.

“And yet it seems you did, somehow, lost in dreamboat Jung Sungchan’s eyes.”

You threw a fry from his plate at him, “It wasn’t like that!”

He ducked, letting it sail by his head and hit the wall behind him.

“Then what was it like?”

“It was more like a big puppy that I couldn’t say no to and—”

You were cut off by loud gagging noises from your friend, and went to kick him under the table, but missed and hit his chair leg instead. He still got the message, quieting down to let you continue.

“I told him I’d be able to just pop in for a bit. I’ll be in and out before it’ll get too bad.”

“Famous last words...”

“Hold on, LeLe,” you grabbed your friend’s arm to stop him on the sidewalk in front of the Nu Chi Tau frat house.

Taking another look into your tote bag, you made sure once again that you had everything you could possibly need tonight. Medications, snacks, water bottle, ear plugs, the usual. After closing the snaps on the bag, you nervously fidgeted with the hem of your costume. Generic witch, it was the last thing the costume store had in your size that wasn’t garishly scary. You understood well and good how college Halloween parties worked: you had to look hot, not terrifying. Not to mention that those horror show costumes were also much pricier than your “Sexy Witch” one.

“You look cute, Y/N,” Chenle reassured you, readjusting your witch hat for you. “Jung Sungchan won’t know what hit him.”

Chenle, on the other hand, was an almost scarily realistic zombie. If you hadn’t spent an ungodly amount of time hanging out on his bathroom counter this afternoon watching him apply the SFX makeup himself, you would’ve thought he had hired a professional makeup artist to do it. He’d always gone ham on Halloween since you two were kids, ever since he figured out how to make a Transformers costume out of cardboard boxes in primary school. You usually participated in partner costumes with him, but you really didn’t want him to make you a gross-looking zombie tonight.

“Thanks.” You gave him as confident a smile as you could muster.

Resecuring your grip on your go bag, you started up the walkway to the house with your friend.

You had been able to faintly hear the thumping bass of the music from outside, but once inside, you were almost immediately hit by a wall of music. Just inside the front door you were faced with a mass of people in bright costumes, flashing lights, corny Halloween decorations of cobwebs, spiders, ghosts, and pumpkins all over the walls.

Chenle looked over at you expectantly, “Y/N?”

“I couldn’t find my concert earplugs, only my noise canceling. I won’t be able to hear anybody unless they’re shouting at me if I put those in,” you replied, having to raise your voice to make sure he heard you. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay…” He sighed and grabbed your elbow. “Come on, let’s find a quieter spot in the house then.”

You gave him a thumbs up and bright grin, already feeling your ears acclimate to the loudness. You could totally do this. It was one night, and you were just going to see Sungchan for a bit then go. Pop in then back out, just like you said.

You didn’t have to wait long to spot Sungchan. Chenle had barely tugged you into the next room over from the small foyer when a familiar head was visible over the crowd, his bright smile focused on you.

“Hey, Y/N!” Sungchan grinned down at you. He was dressed in a suit and tie, what you were guessing was probably his only set, and his hair was parted to one side, styled off of his face. The tie had already been loosened, and the tuck of his dress shirt wasn’t so crisp.

“Hi, Sungchan,” you smiled up at him, amazed that you could hear anything over both the music and now your heart beating so loudly in your ears.

“So you did find a costume.”

“Oh, yeah,” you messed with the hem of your skirt. “Last one at the shop.”

“You look great.” He was still beaming down at you, and you could feel your skin growing warmer. “I’m really glad you could make it.”

“Thanks. Uhm, so what are you? Funeral director?”

“What? No, I’m—” His sentence stopped in its tracks as he looked down at the front of his suit jacket. He started patting his empty breast pocket, then other jacket pockets, then pants pockets, then looked around on the floor. “Fuck.”

“What?” You looked around under your feet, but weren’t able to see anything other than the usual party debris. “Did you lose something?”

Sungchan looked back up at you, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I was about to say that I’m Mulder from the X-Files. But I’ve apparently lost my fake FBI badge. So it looks like I’m a funeral director now.”

You giggled. “Maybe you can be Mulder when he retires and buys a funeral home.”

“Yeah, the perfect costume. Won’t take too long to explain to anybody, they’ll get it immediately,” he laughed.

“Hey, I’m just glad you didn’t wear a jersey.”

“I’m nothing if not a man of my word.”

“Oh, have you seen Chenle’s makeup by the—” But when you turned around to gesture to your friend, you found that he had disappeared, leaving you and the hockey captain all alone.

“Chenle?” Sungchan asked with a tilted head. “I didn’t even realize he was here yet.”

You shook your head fondly at your friend’s antics. Well, you’d have to thank him later.

“He must have gone to get a drink or something. Either way, it seems I’ve been abandoned.”

“Well, you can come hang out with me and some of the guys, if you want?” He offered.

“Yeah, I’d really like that,” you nodded, readjusting your bag to make sure it was pulled in tight to your body.

Sungchan led you through the frat house with a hand on the small of your back, and you snuck a glance up at him when he went to greet someone who had called his name as you passed by. He kept you tucked into his side as he slowed to give the guy a friendly slap on the shoulder. As soon as Sungchan had stopped to say hello, two more people appeared seemingly from nowhere, eagerly greeting him as well. You faintly recognized one, Jisung, a new Nu Chi pledge. He’d been at the hockey game you went to, and always found Chenle at Nu Chi events that you tagged along to. You looked up at Sungchan’s animated, handsome face again as he continued talking.

“This is Y/N.” Sungchan’s voice suddenly pulled you into the conversation. You snapped your focus down from his face to the other three that were in front of you, and realized that they all definitely knew that you’d been staring.

“Oh, hi.” You gave the three boys a nervous smile.

“Y/N, this is Jisung, Shotaro, and Renjun. Jisung and Shotaro are Nu Chi pledges, Renjun’s a sophomore brother, and he’s—you’re a Literature major, right, Renjun?”

“Yes.” One of them nodded.

“Renjun’s a Literature major too, Y/N,” Sungchan finished the introduction.

“Cool, cool,” you nodded. It had been Shotaro that called Sungchan over in the first place, you were pretty sure.

“Anyway, thanks for the offer, guys, but I already promised Hyuck I would, so we’ve got to go.”

Sungchan ushered you away to the tune of a chorus of disappointed groans from the three boys, and you wracked your brain to see if you could recall hearing any sort of proposition from them. But nope, between the loud music and your prior lack of attention to the conversation, you had nothing.

“What did they want?” You gave up and finally asked Sungchan.

“Beer pong. Hope you don’t mind that I declined. I’ve already had a couple and am not looking to get wasted quite yet.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” you shook your head. Thank god you didn’t have to deal with that yet. “Not really my thing anyway. Terrible hand-eye coordination.”

Sungchan seemed about to say something when someone walked by you with an exceptionally pungent cologne. The whiff shot directly to your head like a bullet, the sharp pain making you wince and hiss. It took everything in you not to cover your nose like Edward Cullen and instead shift to breathing through your mouth for a few moments.

“Y/N? You okay?” Sungchan’s voice was clearly concerned.

The sharp pain was gone just a couple moments after it had registered, and you opened your eyes up again, giving him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, don’t know what that was.”

“Okay, good.” He squeezed your shoulder before dropping his hand back down to your back and continuing your trek through the Nu Chi house.

You and Sungchan finally made it to a room adjacent to the main living room, where there were a couple of beat-up old couches and lots of Nu Chi Tau paraphernalia. The bass of the music playing in the next room over would occasionally make the picture frames and plaques on the walls rattle, and you could hear every word of the songs crystal clear, even though the room that you were in was packed to the brim with partygoers as well. Sungchan stopped you at a group of people gathered around one of the couches, tapping the shoulders of two of them who had their backs to you. Donghyuck and Hendery turned around, immediately parting to make room for the both of you in the group upon seeing you.

Almost everyone in the group was familiar to you either as friends or acquaintances. Your social circle was big thanks to Chenle, who was friends with practically the entire hockey team and Nu Chi house, despite being a member of neither. But now you didn’t have your best friend at your side, just Sungchan and your tote bag, both of which you were keeping close to you.

“Oh shit, Y/N!” Hendery grinned, pulling you into a one-armed hug of greeting. “Damn, it really is you!”

“Yeah, I’m a witch, not a ghost, Hendery,” you retorted jokingly. He was dressed as Prince Eric, if you weren’t mistaken.

“Well, when Sungchan said you were coming, some of us were a bit... skeptical.”

Someone dressed as Venom cut in from Hendery’s other side sharply, “No, I believe you said ‘never in a million fucking years, loverboy.’”

The rest of the group erupted in tipsy snickers and ‘ooh’s, and you felt Sungchan jostle a little as someone had presumably given him a teasing shove.

“Alright, guys. You can cut it out now,” Sungchan spoke over them authoritatively. He then looked down to you, features softening. “Sorry. Anyway, this is Donghyuck, he’s on the team and in Nu Chi—”

He pointed to the boy right next to him, wearing a very classic vampire costume splattered with a little bit of fake blood or fruit punch (you couldn’t tell in the poor lighting), and you wondered if he had also gone to a Halloween store last-minute like you. You knew him both from the game, and from a couple times you’d seen him with Chenle outside of frat or hockey events.

“Mark, frat president and he’s on the hockey team—” He was next to Donghyuck, dressed as Spiderman. You were already familiar with Mark, both from the game, and a group project in a class last year. You wondered if Mark remembered that.

“Ten, hockey and Nu Chi—” Ten was reclined on the couch, a top hat that had presumably been on his head earlier now resting on his propped up knee. Between that and his eyepatch, he clearly was dressed as some character that you couldn’t identify in the moment. You knew Ten outside of hockey, the frat, or even Chenle. He was a Lit major, so you had shared classes and study groups over the years. He raised a friendly hand in greeting.

“Sicheng, my co-captain and he’s in Nu Chi, too—” He was on the couch with Ten, sequestered to one corner as his teammate was taking up most of the space with his legs. Sicheng was dressed up as an angel, fake wings, little halo, and all. And you knew Sicheng through Ten, they’d been roommates since freshman year and could often be found together around campus. He gave you a nod of familiarity.

“Dejun, Nu Chi—” Sungchan had finally reached the man who was dressed as Venom.

“And you of course, unfortunately, know Hendery, Nu Chi.”

“Oh, boo, Sungchan,” Hendery stuck his tongue out at the captain.

You smiled and nodded a little bit at everyone else, but you were finding it hard to concentrate with the music in the background. Did it really need to be that loud?

“Y/N?” The sound of your name snapped your focus up, and you looked around for the source.

A few of the guys had gone back to their own conversations. Sungchan was looking down at you, head tilted inquisitively. Presumably he had been to the one to say your name.

“Oh, sorry,” you tried to give a nonchalant chuckle, but it was getting harder and harder to even articulate yourself with all the stimulation. “The music...”

“Oh!” Sungchan perked up at this. “Do you want to go dance?”

He was offering a hand out to you, and you stared down at it, mouth opening and closing as your brain felt like it was moving through sludge. You quite literally could not process what that string of words actually meant for a good second, and then it took even longer for you to even tie together the right way for you to respond. Cognitive fatigue. Oh this was not good. You squeezed your eyes shut, then open.

You again gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I’m- I’m kind of light-headed right now. Could you get me something to drink?”

His features immediately turned concerned. “Of course. Do you need to sit down or a ride h—”

“Can you just get me a drink?” Your brain was stuck in a perpetual loop now that it had locked onto one task. It took all of your energy just to regulate your tone enough to keep your voice (hopefully) as sweet as possible, despite the fact that you had cut him off.

“Of course. I’ll be right back.” He squeezed your upper arm reassuringly before taking off.

Your eyes were fixated on the spot where he had just been, your vision seeming to continuously zoom in and past your head. Squeezing your eyes shut once more, you took a deep breath through your mouth to try to recenter yourself. But it didn’t help any. Your head felt like a balloon that someone was overinflating, and you knew exactly what was coming next. You swallowed thickly, taking a second to look through the crowd. Nope, you couldn’t wait for Sungchan. Not like you could even verbalize much of anything right now. You had to go take your medication.

So you hurried into the crowd, clutching your tote bag to your chest like your life depended on it—which it really did. Mumbling ‘excuse me’s to everyone you shouldered, bumped into, or stepped on the toes of, you finally made it to a door that you were pretty sure was a bathroom. You tried the handle first, and when it gave in, you still knocked as you opened it, just in case. It was miraculously empty. Maybe there really was a God. Then, the balloon started to deflate, the pressure in your head inverted, becoming a harsh, squeezing pain instead. Nope, nope, definitely not a God. Or at least not a benevolent one.

You locked the door behind you with clumsy fingers and shuffled over to the sink. The countertop was in good enough condition for you to toss your bag up there and start rooting around through it. Bottle after bottle after bottle, then you finally secured the right two. You shook out a pill from one, then a pill from the other. The lights above the mirror were becoming more insufferable by the second. You cracked open the fresh bottle of water you had stored in your bag too, and knocked both pills back in one big gulp.

Tossing the water back into your bag, you could fucking finally flip the switch and turn the lights in the bathroom off. After feeling your way along the wall, you eventually found the bathtub, and sat yourself down. The music was somewhat muffled in here, and you figured this was going to be the darkest room in the whole Nu Chi house. Right now, your plan was to wait in here for your medication to kick in and hopefully stop this migraine before it really got going. Then you could make your great escape, and send Sungchan some bullshit apology text later. After tossing your witch hat to the ground vaguely beside your bag, you gently rested your head against the cool tile of the shower with a sigh. Chenle was right, you shouldn’t have come. Cynically, you thought that you should have timed it. See how long you lasted before you got a migraine. You’d be surprised if that was even 15 minutes.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Sungchan returned to the group with your requested drink in hand and another for himself, frowning when he immediately noticed your absence. “Hey, where’d Y/N go?”

“Oh, shit, uh…” Mark looked around with a baffled look on his face. “No clue dude, she was just here a second ago.”

“I’m going to go find her. Here.” He shoved both drinks into Hendery’s hands.

“Sungchan, come on, take a hint, man,” Donghyuck sighed, patting the taller boy’s shoulder sympathetically.

“What?”

“She asked you to get her something to drink and then slipped away when nobody was looking.”

“Y/N’s not like that.”

“And denial’s a river in Egypt.”

“No, she hasn’t been feeling well all night. I think. I’m going to go look for her.”

“So you’re admitting that you make her physically ill.”

“Dude, you’re just asking to get your shit rocked, you know that, right?” Ten warned him.

“Hey, I’m standing up for women—”

Mark cut him off, “Hyuck, you’re on your own if Sungchan decides to fuck your shit up. I don’t care if you’re my little, I’m not—”

“Oh, wahhh, my big strong big won’t protect me.”

“Christ, I swear he’s only had like four shots and a couple…”

His friends’ voices quickly faded into the din of the party as Sungchan pushed through the crowd. He couldn’t spot you, but found maybe the next best thing.

“Hey, Chenle.” He grabbed him by the elbow, turning him away from the arm wrestling competition between Jeno and Yangyang that he was spectating. Or, he at least hoped this was Chenle, it was a bit hard to tell with the zombie makeup.

“Hey, Romeo!” Chenle greeted him jovially, punching him in the shoulder over-zealously. Okay, definitely him.

“Have you seen Y/N? In the past like, five minutes or so?”

“You lost her?” The zombie asked angrily, cheerful mood immediately soured.

“Uh, yes? Sorry?”

“No, I’m not pissed at you,” he shook his head at Sungchan’s apology. “You go check the bathrooms, I’ll look outside. Don’t bother calling her, she’s not going to pick up.”

“What’s—”

But Chenle was already gone.

You weren’t sure how long you had been sitting in there for, but you could feel some of the overstimulation from the party beginning to slide off of you. Which could be either a good or bad thing. Cognitive fatigue was usually a prodrome and postdrome for you. Regaining some clarity could either mean that your medication was working and the migraine was going away, or you were about to enter the proper migraine phase. The fact that the pain hadn’t gone away was worrying. But at least it was dark, and relatively quiet. Oh, quiet... you could put in your earplugs now too.

Just as you had gone to grab for your bag, there was a knock at the bathroom door. You froze. Shit.

“Occupied!” You yelled out hesitantly to them, wincing at the loudness of your own voice. Okay, ow.

The person knocked again, harder.

“Seriously! Busy in here! Puking my brains out!” You yelled even louder, hoping they got the fucking idea this time. There was no way you wanted to have to actually get up and deal with a drunk partygoer that needed to piss and/or puke.

“Y/N? That you?” A familiar voice came through the door. “It’s Sungchan, can I come in?”

“Oh, sure, hold on.” You clambered out of the tub as carefully as you could in the dim lighting coming from under the door.

Against your better judgment, you turned one set of lights on in the bathroom, then cracked the bathroom door open. Sungchan was in fact on the other side, and you stepped back to let him in. He looked around the bathroom, worry on his face.

You shut the door behind him, saying sheepishly, “So, I was lying about the puking my brains out.”

“But you don’t look okay.” He peered down at your face as you were still wincing against the bright lights. “You didn’t drink anything tonight, what’s wrong?”

You went to sit on the side of the tub, feeling a pain in your eyes now. You gestured to the light switch. “Can you turn that light off?”

“Uh, okay…” He obliged, and the room was dim once again.

Your eyes adjusted quickly, and you could still see the general outline of everything in the room. Sitting back in the tub, you pulled your knees to your chest. Well, no chance for your great escape now. Sungchan climbed into the dry tub with you, facing you. He didn’t fit great in the small space, all gangly limbs, and your knees bumped into each other. But he sat there with you quietly.

“I’ve got a migraine coming on, I had to get somewhere quiet and dark and take my meds.” You told him bluntly, opting to just take the plunge. Not like you could even attempt flowery language at the moment anyway. Sure, some of your speech capabilities were coming back now that there was less sensory input, but you weren’t going to be doing any soliloquies tonight.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sungchan said quietly. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No, no. I actually- I actually don’t want to be alone right now, if that’s okay?” You surprised yourself with your answer.

“Yeah, of course.” He said reassuringly. “Do you want me to take you home?”

“I might not have drank but you did. I’ll be okay here, for the most part. I’m the one who came knowing that I get sound-induced migraines.”

“Wait, really?”

“Mm, yeah,” you pinched the bridge of your nose to alleviate some of the tension there for a moment. “Remember when I said Chenle pushes me out of my comfort zone in a good way most of the time?”

“Right.”

“One of the times it wasn’t... good was when he got an invite to Nu Chi’s Halloween party our freshman year, dragged me with him. And he always means the best when he does stuff like that. I hadn’t made any new friends at college, meanwhile he had a bunch, including some of the pledges at Nu Chi.”

“How he got the invite.”

“Exactly.” You needed to take a pause, resting your head against the cool tile again. After a few deep breaths, you pushed on in the story. “Anyway, we’d been there for a couple hours when the loudness and the music and everything finally got to me and I got a migraine. I had my go bag on me, and went to what I thought was an empty corner of the house to take my meds. But a couple other people saw me knocking back pills and wanted some. My head was hurting like a bitch, and they were trying to grab them from me and anyway, I spilled a bunch of them all over the floor, drenched myself with my water and their beer, and elbowed a dude and gave him a bloody nose.”

“Holy shit,” Sungchan breathed out.

You opened and closed your jaw a couple times to try to relax the muscles and joints there. “I couldn’t even open my eyes because my head hurt so bad. Chenle told me later I was screaming and Taeyong wanted to call an ambulance until Chenle ran up and explained what was happening. They put me, Chenle, and Jeno—turns out that’s whose nose I broke—in Taeyong’s room in the house for the rest of the night. Neither Chenle nor I were in any shape to drive ourselves home.”

“Wait is that how you met Jeno?”

“Yeah, and it turns out he wasn’t one of the ones trying to take my pills, he was trying to break up me and the people who were. Collateral damage.” You recounted it regrettably.

“When Jeno found out I’d invited you, he told me he’d keep his room clear in case we needed it. I thought he was just being a dick.” Sungchan sounded like he was having an epiphany. “Y/N, do you think you’ll be okay to move up a floor?”

The bass was thudding through the door, and you knew that if you stayed here when you transitioned into the throes of however bad this migraine fully got, you’d regret it. Grabbing your earplugs from your bag and putting them in, you gave him a thumbs-up and attempted a smile, but you knew it came out like more of a wince.

Sungchan kept you between him and the wall as you moved through the Nu Chi house, casting as much of a shadow against the garishly flashing lights as possible. Even through your earplugs, the music was raucous, people were practically screaming at each other, and you gripped one hand around his arm and the other onto his suit jacket to keep yourself balanced and to not lose him. When you got to the stairs, he fully wrapped an arm around your shoulders to jerk you out of the way of a drunk Nu Chi member stumbling his way down, and kept it there the rest of the way up. The noise was squeezing around your head like a vice, and you shut your eyes tight at the top of the stairs for a moment in an attempt to clear your head.

Sungchan’s voice was right beside your ear, muffled through the earplugs, “We’re almost there, Y/N, I’m sorry, come on.”

You were vaguely aware of the man with you feeling around on the top of a doorway before jiggling a doorhandle, and finally you were in a blissfully dark and quiet-ish room. Your head definitely hurt more than before, and you practically collapsed onto the bed.

“He was kind enough to stuff all his dirty clothes in the closet,” Sungchan muttered.

You managed a strangled chuckle at that, dropping your go bag onto the floor beside the bed. A moment of silence passed, and you could hear Sungchan awkwardly shifting his weight between his feet at the doorway.

“Sungchan,” you said his name, then patted the empty half of the bed beside you. “You can sit. I know Jeno doesn’t have any other furniture in here besides the bed and his PlayStation.”

“He probably only has a bedframe because it came with the room.”

You snickered, but were cut off by the squeezing pain turning to a sharp, stabbing pain behind your left eye, “Oh fuck!”

“Y/N?!” Sungchan was right beside you, and you felt the bed dip as he sat down beside you.

“Sorry, sorry, it feels like I’m getting an icepick lobotomy! Jesus!” You hissed, cupping a hand over your left eye as if that were actually going to do anything. “It’s normal, I’m fine. Relatively.”

“Okay…”

Still clutching your eye, you rolled onto your side and brought your knees up towards your chest. You blindly fumbled towards the head of the bed, and felt a pillow being pressed into your hand.

“Thanks,” you muttered, tucking it under your head.

“Do you want to lay under the covers?” Sungchan whispered.

“Do they smell like Jeno’s washed them in the past week?”

He laughed breathily at that, “Miraculously they do. I think he was planning on getting laid.”

“He gave up getting his dick wet for me. Jeno’s a real one,” you mumbled, feeling the covers that you were laying on top of being pulled out from under you.

Sungchan gently brought the sheet up to your shoulder, then a blanket too. The stabbing pain behind your eye was still there, and your stomach filled with dread as you acknowledged that your acute medication wasn’t going to be working this time. This was going to be a full-blown migraine, and who knew how many hours it would last.

“Thank you.”

“Is there anything else you need? Water?”

“No. Just uh, let me know when two hours have passed, I can take another dose of my meds that aren’t fucking working then.”

“Oh. Will do.”

You opened and closed your jaw, letting out a distinct groan. Another few minutes passed. Or, you think it was a few minutes, you couldn’t really check your phone for the time.

“Sungchan.”

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to stay. I’m sure the party is a lot more fun.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“…No.”

“I want to stay. I’m not going to have any fun out there knowing that you’re in all in this pain all alone in here.”

You squinted your right eye open, and had to crane your neck to look up at where Sungchan was sitting against the headboard. He had taken his suit jacket and shoes off at some point, now just in a rumpled dress shirt, loosened tie, slacks, and socks. He held your eye contact steadily, head tilted slightly and a frown across his handsome features.

Reaching your unoccupied hand up towards him, he watched it with confusion.

“What do you need? Your bag?”

“No.” You grabbed his hand, giving it a light squeeze.

“Oh.” An adorably radiant grin was on his face now instead.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 1

Sungchan knew you’d finally fallen asleep when you stopped muttering swears and curses under your breath, the pained expression fell from your face, and your hand that was holding his went limp. He could still hear the party going strong outside of Jeno’s bedroom, and a glance at his phone told him it was just after one in the morning. He had no want to rejoin his friends, to leave you.

He took his tie all the way off, thinking to himself that if you were feeling better, you might have joked that he looked like Mulder the off-duty funeral director. And he would’ve laughed and watched the cute way the corners of your mouth quirked up when you said something that you thought was funny. He set the tie down with his shoes on the floor beside the bed.

Careful to stay on top of the covers that you were sleeping under, Sungchan shifted until he was laying down too, pillow tucked under his head, facing you on his side, hand still holding yours.

Like usual, you didn’t remember falling asleep, but you did remember shutting your eyes tight and wishing really hard for your head to stop hurting so bad. Or to die. Whichever the Universe felt like granting. And judging by the fact that you were now waking up without a migraine, it seemed like the former.

The first thing you were aware of before you even opened your eyes was that you felt like shit. Sure, your head didn’t hurt anymore, but jeez the morning after wasn’t much better. Tired, achy, and your brain felt like TV static.

The second thing that you were aware of, after opening your eyes, was Jung Sungchan just a few inches from your face. He was still asleep, soft bursts of air passing from his lips and mussing up strands of hair that were falling into his eyes. You didn’t quite have enough in you to coo over his bedhead, but you could give half of a fond smile as you pushed yourself into a sitting position, running a sleepy hand over one side of your face.

Only one of your earplugs was still in your ears, and you looked around the bedsheets for the other one. After securing it, you scooted over to the edge of the bed to put the plugs back into your carrying case before rolling back over and pulling the blankets over you again. You deserved this, honestly. Sleeping in late, a comfy bed, warm blankets, a cute boy next to you, nothing to—

Your happy thoughts were ripped away by the sound of a loud alarm. You shot up, scrambling towards your tote bag to grab your phone from the depths of it and turn your goddamn alarm off before it woke Sungchan up.

“Mm?”

Too late.

Sheepishly, you looked over at him, “Sorry…”

“‘S okay,” he mumbled, flopping onto his back and rubbing a hand over his face. “How’s your head?”

“Better. A lot better, thanks.”

“Good, good.” He yawned, “Morning, by the way.”

“Good morning.”

His eyes were closed as he laid there, a hand resting on his chest, and you weren’t sure if he had fallen back asleep.

“…Sungchan?”

“Hm?”

Taking his inquisitive tone as a sign that you could keep talking, you said, “Uhm, that was the first time I’ve had anybody around for one my migraines in a while. I’m sorry if it was… well, I don’t know. What was it like for you?”

He opened his eyes, rolling onto his side to face you and tucking a hand under his cheek, “Oh, uh, I mean, I wasn’t quite worried, since you seemed like you knew exactly what was happening, you know? But still, I… I was wishing there was more I could do. It was weird knowing that you were in pain but not being able to see where it hurt.”

“I should’ve figured that might be upsetting. Sorry about all that.”

“No, Y/N, it's okay. I get it, you just wanted someone with you when you were hurting.”

“Yeah, yeah, I did,” you nodded, curling one of your hands into a fist in your lap, digging your nails into your palm in an attempt to not cry at how easily he saw right into you.

“I was more than happy to sit with you.”

“I’ve had these stupid migraines for years now. Tried every treatment in the book, been on every regiment. And my friends and family, they don’t treat me like I’m made of glass or anything, which I’m grateful for. Everyone in my life knows I’m a pro at it all: I’ve got my go bag, all my meds, my alarms, I’ve been going to doctors’ appointments, testing, everything for years. But like... they still hurt. The migraines still fucking hurt.” Your voice cracked over the word, and your nails dug in deeper. “And I just… think they forget that part sometimes? I don’t know, I guess they hear the word ‘migraine’ thousands of times over the years it sort of loses its meaning. They kind of forget what one actually is. But it hurts Sungchan, my head just hurts for hours or even days, sometimes so bad I throw up from the pain. I can’t do anything but lay in bed in the dark and cry. Last night’s wasn’t that bad but still… thank you. I needed for it to all be real to somebody.”

Sungchan pushed up into a sitting position, and through your watery vision you could see that his brows were furrowed. You followed where his gaze was locked, and watched as he gently unfurled your fingers. You used the thumb of your other hand to rub at the divots that your nails had left in your skin.

“The migraines are why I’ve been all weird, by the way.” You added, trying to ignore the strain in your voice.

“What?”

“When you wanted to buy me a drink after the game. One of my migraine medications that I take, I can’t drink alcohol on it. It just felt like a weird and long explanation to have to give in the moment. And when you asked if I wanted to dance with you last night, the music would’ve made the migraine come on quicker than it did, but explaining it to you then, again it felt like it would’ve ruined the moment even more.”

“Oh… don’t worry about it.”

There was still one big thing you hadn’t smoothed over. But it looks like you’re on man-shaped friend duties tonight, Sungchan. Stupid, stupid.

Pushing through the discomfort prickling at your skin, you asked, “Sungchan, do you want to go on a date?”

“A…” He looked you dead in the eyes for a moment, mouth parted, and blinked once, twice before he was absolutely beaming at you. “Yeah, yes, I do.”

“Okay.” You couldn’t help but giggle, nerves buzzing through you as your chest was airy and you were lightheaded for two reasons now, “Okay, good.”

“Is it bad for me to say that I’m relieved? That you have migraines? Well, not that you have them, because obviously they hurt, but like, that this is what it was? I seriously thought I was being stupid, like mixed signals or something. Like, you came to my game but then you didn’t want to go to the bar.” He ticked the instances off on the fingers of one hand.

“Medication,” you nodded.

“Right. Then you let me walk you home after, but you called me your friend.”

“That was just plain stupidity,” you admitted with a groan at having to relive that moment again.

“And you said yes to coming to the party, but then you didn’t want to dance with me,” Sungchan had now run out of fingers and dropped his hand back down to the bed.

“The music...”

“And when you disappeared, I thought you left because you didn’t like me. I just… felt like I was going crazy.”

“It’s not awful of you to be relieved about this. I’m sorry, Sungchan. Migraines aren’t conducive to romance, apparently.”

“Oh, bullshit.” He pushed back immediately. “They’re just not conducive to drinking and loud parties. That’s not romance.”

“Alright, fair. I’m wont to agree with you.”

“And you need to stop apologizing for your migraines. It’s not like you’re doing it on purpose.”

“Well, I did come to a loud ass party knowing I’d probably get a sound-induced migraine.”

“Okay, aside from that— which, I’m very flattered by and will never ever ask you to do anything like this ever again.”

“Okay.”

Suddenly the door handle rattled, then there was a banging on the door. “Hey! Are you two done in there?” Jeno yelled through the wood. “You better not be having post-headache sex on my bed!”

“Seems like he didn’t get laid last night,” Sungchan muttered.

“If he keeps up that pounding I’m going to get a rebound headache and he’s going to wake the entire house, please let him in,” you groaned.

The boy with you quickly moved to do so, unlocking the door and throwing it open to whisper aggressively, “Jeno! Shut the fuck up! People are still sleeping!”

“Oh. You’re dressed.”

You rolled your eyes at your friend, “I don’t know what you think a migraine is like, but getting my back blown out is pretty far down on my to-do list for immediately after.”

“How are you feeling?” Jeno was nice enough to ask as he rooted through his closet.

“Like shit. While you guys nurse actual hangovers today, I get to nurse a migraine hangover. Same awful morning after without the fun night before.”

“That sucks.” He secured a rumpled shirt and inside out pair of sweatpants. “I told Chenle you were crashing here last night, by the way. He didn’t just abandon you for shits and giggles.”

“Oh, thanks. He was sober enough to drive?”

“Mark had a Breathalyzer and everything.”

“Wow…”

“Now I recommend you two get the fuck out before everyone else wakes up and sees you sneaking out together.”

“Right,” Sungchan nodded, sitting on the edge of Jeno’s bed and pulling his shoes on.

You quickly gathered your shoes, phone, witch hat, and go bag before giving Jeno a short goodbye and following Sungchan out. The Nu Chi house was thankfully quiet as everyone was still asleep in their own rooms, save for the partygoers and brothers who had passed out on the couches in the living rooms. Once you were on the front porch, the two of you dared to speak again.

“I’ll drive you home, Y/N,” Sungchan offered.

“Mhm, thanks,” you squinted against the bright sunlight, reaching into your bag for the spare pair of sunglasses you kept in there.

He gestured to your bag. “So what all do you have in there?”

“Everything but the kitchen sink.” You sighed, finally securing your sunglasses and putting them on. They did help, but you knew there was no way you were going to avoid a rebound headache today. Realizing that Sungchan might actually have been genuinely asking and wasn’t just trying to be polite, you decided to give him a sincere answer as well. “Uh, my meds, my blood pressure cuff, earplugs, sunglasses, some snacks, other miscellaneous non-migraine related stuff like an umbrella.”

“Blood pressure cuff?” He stopped in front of a sedan parked on the street, and opened the passenger door for you.

Even through your unpleasant migraine hangover, you couldn’t help the giddy smile that crossed your lips at the gesture.

Once the both of you were in the car, you explained, “One of my medications affects my blood pressure. I have to check it every few hours, or whenever I feel kind of funny. That’s partially what the snacks are for too.”

“Really?” He started the car and pulled out into the street.

“Most of my meds I need to take with food, so keeping snacks on me makes it easy. The sweet ones are in case my blood sugar drops though.”

“Blood sugar too?”

“A different medication affects my appetite, secondary effect is on my blood sugar. Fun fact, it’s the same one that keeps me from drinking alcohol. Anyway, if you’re ever craving something sweet, I keep gummies and stuff on me usually.”

Sungchan let out a deep breath. “Wow…”

“Oh and water.” You perked up as you realized you’d forgotten something, and reached in for said item. “I've got my water bottle. I need water to take my meds, obviously, but I also need to drink water to make sure I don’t get kidney stones from my medication.”

The car had stopped at a stoplight, and he looked over at you in disbelief. “What the fuck.”

“Hey, it’s this or be entirely unable to participate in society.” You explained. “I used to get five or six migraines a week, with really bad or mild headaches constantly in between. I couldn’t do anything, they were disabling. Clearly, they still are now when I do get them, but I only get one or two a month.”

“I can’t imagine— I… yeah…” He trailed off as the light turned green, a deep frown etching itself on his features as he clearly was trying to imagine what a huge shift in his life that would be. And was having a hard time doing so.

“People without chronic illnesses usually can’t, until they get one,” you shrugged. “I know I couldn’t imagine it either. Then I got my first migraine. Then my second, and my third. I think the ‘chronic illness’ part really hit for me when I had to order my first sharps disposal bin for the monthly injections I take.”

“You’re…”

“Do not say that I’m so strong or any live laugh love type shit right now.”

He laughed, shaking his head, “No, no, not what I was going to say. I was just thinking… you’re really cool.”

“I just info-dumped about my migraines, medication, medication side effects, and treatment to you for ten minutes straight and that’s the conclusion you came to?” You asked in disbelief as he pulled into your apartment complex, and it dawned on you just how long you had been talking about yourself for. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been that detailed with someone other than your neurologist or your mom about your condition and treatment.

Sungchan put his car in park to turn and look you in the eye. “I’m looking at the bigger picture here: You’re a Lit major, you like Gothic fiction, you’re good at writing, you’re smart and know things like death of the author and stuff, you like Pacific Rim, you’ve come to one of my games, you’re funny, and you just info-dumped to me about something personal for ten minutes. So yes, I think you’re cool. Actually, cool might be an understatement.”

“Jung Sungchan, you…” Your cheeks were hurting with how wide you were grinning. Whether it was the migraine hangover or truly from how warm and happy his words made you, you couldn’t formulate a proper response, “Congrats, I’m speechless.”

“I think that's good?” He laughed again. “Anyway, you told Jeno earlier that you felt like shit, so I won’t hold you up anymore. Rest well today, Y/N.”

“Thanks. You too, Sungchan.” You wrapped your hand around the door handle but stopped just short of actually opening it. “Oh, and uhm, I don’t know if this too eager or whatever, but I’m free tomorrow.”

His face lit up with recognition at what you were implying. “Me too. But are you going to be okay? Like, recovered?”

“Yeah, I’ve got all day today to sleep it off.”

“Okay.” He grinned.

“Okay.” You repeated. “Text me?”

“Yes, yes. I will.”

“Bye.”

And with that, you got out of his car, making sure to take your go bag that had been on your lap for the whole drive.

Halfway to your front door, you turned around to give Sungchan a final wave goodbye, and he waved back through the windshield. Once you’d finally disappeared into your apartment, he looked over at his now empty passenger seat. Well, not completely empty, he realized. Your witch hat was on the floor of the passenger side, you’d forgotten to grab it on your way out. He picked it up, gently setting it on the seat beside him. He’d just give it back to you when he saw you again for your date tomorrow.

“A date,” Sungchan sighed happily, feeling his chest swell and nearly burst with joy. “A date, a date, a date.”

Putting his car in reverse, he looked through the rear window as he muttered, “Suck an egg, Donghyuck. Man-shaped friend, my ass.”

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 2

Sungchan picked you up at 7:00 p.m. on the dot for your first date. You made sure to take your nighttime meds early and silence your alarms so there was nothing to bother you that night. Migraines notwithstanding, of course. You still had to bring your go bag just in case you needed anything acute, but you didn’t think twice about leaving the majority of it in the car, tucking just a couple individually packaged tablets into your pocket before accepting Sungchan’s hand that he offered to you after opening your car door for you.

Walking into the movie theater with him after he bought your tickets, you were about to start off in the direction that the usher had pointed you when your date stopped you.

“You want anything from concessions?” He nodded towards the long line of other couples, families, and groups of friends.

“I’m not big on overpriced popcorn,” you shook your head with a smile. “Thanks though, Sungchan.”

“You sure you don’t want a soda or candy? How’s your, you know, blood sugar?”

It was then that your polite smile morphed into a genuine, touched one, and you squeezed his hand that you were holding. “I’m doing good, promise. I made sure I ate before. But thank you, seriously. You’re really sweet.”

“Okay, but let me know if you need anything.”

“Sungchan, can I tell you something?” You ducked your head in towards him conspiratorially.

“Yeah, of course.”

You gently shook one side of your jacket, and a muffled rattling sound came from within it. “I snuck a bag of Skittles in,” you whispered to him.

He chuckled as you dropped your jacket back down and smoothed over the inside pocket inconspicuously. “Two steps ahead of me.”

“I just didn’t want to ruin our date if I got low.”

“It’s very thoughtful, thanks.”

“So are you!” You tried to reassure him.

The two of you entered where your movie would be showing, and picked your seats. The previews had already started, so you had to drop your voices to whispers.

“But you’re going to be good with the bright light, and the sounds?” Sungchan double-checked with you.

You nodded insistently. “You’re the one who made me compile a list of stuff that I could do, remember?”

“I know, but you also came to that party knowing that it was like 100% guaranteed to give you a migraine. So I think I’ve earned some skepticism.”

“Okay, fine. You got me there,” you sighed. “But I get nothing out of suggesting things that will give me migraines other than cutting our time together short. Which I don’t want to do.”

Sungchan shifted in his seat, and when you looked over at him, you could see a small, bashful smile on his face. “Good. Glad we got that cleared up.”

The previews finally ended, and the entire theater quieted down, including you two. You settled in to watch the movie, scooting closer to your date, looping your arm under his, and resting your head on his shoulder. He hesitantly leaned his head against the top of yours.

As you left the theater hand-in-hand with Sungchan, you two were deep in discussion about the movie, and in the back of your mind, you realized with a panic that you had far too much that you wanted to say that wouldn’t fit into the short ride back to your apartment. Not to mention that you didn’t want your night with him to be over yet.

“Hey.” You called for his attention as he opened up the passenger door for you, stopping before you got in the car.

“Hey.” He offered you a lopsided grin, still holding the door open with one hand and now caging you between him and the open car door.

If the parking lot wasn’t literally swarming with other movie theater patrons, you swore you would’ve grabbed him and kissed him stupid right there and then. But a family of five walked by at that moment, so you swallowed down the itch.

“We should go somewhere,” you suggested, trying to sound equal parts nonchalant and hopeful. Which was a weird combination, you knew, but you didn’t want to come across as too desperate. Again, a ridiculous sentiment, but it was engrained in you with social conditioning or whatever.

“We just went somewhere,” he pointed out knowingly, and you swore that was a smirk that you spotted on his face in the shadowy lighting afforded by the parking lot streetlamps.

“We should go somewhere else.”

“Like where?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, despite how desperate you felt on the inside to just be around him right now. “Somewhere. Are you hungry?”

“Are you?”

You pressed your lips together in a thin line. “Well—”

Finally, he smiled, nodded towards the car, and said, “I know somewhere. Get in.”

Sungchan closed the car door after you before walking around to get into the driver’s side. He didn’t offer you any information or clues as to your new destination as he left the movie theater parking lot. The hockey captain drove with one hand casually holding the bottom of the steering wheel, the other tapping out the rhythm of whatever song was playing over his speakers onto his thigh. You dragged your eyes from his fingers to the passing scenery.

Honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d been on a good date. Even the last date you’d been on was a distant memory. Lunch with some CompSci major your freshman year, a blind date set up by a mutual acquaintance. He just talked over you the whole time. You didn’t deign to go on a second date with him. It wasn’t that your migraines made it impossible to date—they hadn’t even come up at the date with the CompSci major (mostly because he didn’t give you the opportunity to say much of anything)—but you knew that it was always going to be something to get out of way. Either up front or at some point down the line. And it was exhausting enough for you to have to completely restructure your life around them, how could you really ask some stranger who barely knew you—or didn’t at all—to consider doing the same? It felt like it just made your dating pool even narrower, an added standard that you didn’t even get to pick.

But with Sungchan, it had happened in the worst way possible, you disappeared on him because you were having a migraine, without even having told him anything about them. And not only was he more than chill about it, he stayed with you through your entire full-blown migraine. Listened to you explain every ailment, medication, and medication complication that you have, and just tucked all that information away to keep track of your wellbeing. Taken it all in stride and made it look easy. And that was before your first date. It almost made you angry. Not at Sungchan, but at the fact that other people had ever made you feel like an inconvenience.

The car slowing to a stop knocked you from your thoughts, and you didn’t even realize that you had been silent for the entire trip. Sungchan didn’t seem to mind, though, as he hadn’t tried to start a conversation either. He put the car in park as you looked around, trying to gauge where exactly you were.

“Are we… on campus?” You turned to him with an eyebrow raised.

He was already out of the car, though, jogging around to get your door. As he opened it for you, he tilted his head innocently, “What was that?”

You stepped out, taking in your surroundings. “Are we at a campus parking garage?”

“Specifically, the top floor of Evergreen Parking Garage,” Sungchan clarified, rolling the passenger window down.

Evergreen Parking Garage was a commuter-only parking facility, meaning that this level was empty this late at night. It was also located at the furthest reaches of the north block of campus, which bordered a nature preserve, meaning that while on one side was your university campus, the other side was entirely evergreen trees. Hence the name.

Sungchan had parked on the side that faced the nature preserve, and as you turned to question your date as to why exactly he’d taken you to campus, you were instead greeted by the sight of him hunched over to lean into the open passenger window, seemingly messing around with the audio controls of the still-running car.

You tilted your head to one side, then the other as you just watched him struggle for a moment before finally speaking up. “What uh… What are you doing, Sungchan?”

He banged his head on the frame of the window as he went to stand back up. “Fuck! Ow…”

Covering your hand to muffle your giggles, you waited patiently for him to turn around and answer you.

Still clutching his head, he said with a sheepish smile, “Just give me a sec, sorry. Technical difficulties.”

And with that, he opened the door to properly sit in the passenger seat, futzing with his phone and the car radio. Finally, there was music playing from the speakers as opposed to the radio station ads, and he turned the volume up before getting back out of the car and shutting the door. With both the driver and passenger windows rolled down, you could hear the song clearly.

“I was originally going to try to take you to this lookout, but there were other cars there, so I had to keep driving by it and oh my god why did I tell you that—” He scratched the back of his head nervously. “Anyway, since we didn’t get to dance at the party…”

Sungchan offered his hand out to you, and you set yours atop it. The upbeat song that had been playing finished just then, switching to a much slower, softer one. You stepped in closer, smiling up at him as you looped your free arm around his neck. His other hand settled on your hip, and he slowly started leading you in an uncertain sway of sorts.

You let out an airy chuckle, “Was this really the kind of dancing you had in mind for a frat party?”

“Would you believe me if I said yes?” He questioned.

“Would you believe me if I said that I believed you?”

“No.”

You snickered. “Smart man.”

“But this is good, too. Better, even.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, there’s not a bunch of other drunk, sweaty, loud people everywhere knocking into us. I don’t have to worry about somebody spilling beer on me, or other guys looking at you, or the DJ picking something bad. Or you getting a migraine.” Sungchan slotted his fingers with yours. “I just get to think about you.”

You rested your head on his chest, eyes zoning out on your linked hands. It was his right hand, so his pinky finger couldn’t quite fold down along with the others. “Yeah. I like this, too,” you agreed softly.

A cool breeze gently blew across your cheek that wasn’t resting on Sungchan’s chest, and you were glad for the warmth of him pressed against your front. Your feet awkwardly bumped into each other, making you chuckle, and he apologized with a nervous laugh.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him. “I haven’t exactly taken any ballroom dancing classes. Have you?”

“Well...”

You jerked your head back to look him in the face. “You have?”

“You know how Greek life has those formals every year?”

“You’re not in a frat...”

“No, I’m not. But freshman year, Nu Chi had pitched in for this dance teacher and— God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” Sungchan said regretfully, tilting his head back to look up in embarrassment.

“Sungchan, come on!” You pleaded.

“Hendery swore me to secrecy...”

“Well now you have to tell me!”

“Hendery’s date couldn’t make it to one of the lessons, so he asked me to fill in for her...”

Your jaw dropped with delight, “Was his date an Amazon? How did that work? He couldn’t have possibly dipped you! Or twirled you!”

“She was taller than him, to be fair,” he admitted. “Nothing that couldn’t be adjusted for with some thick soles, but, you know...”

“You’re such a good friend, Sungchan,” you said through a couple of giggles, imagining the two of them attempting the aforementioned twirls and dips.

He dropped his head, shaking it. “Right, thanks.”

“So I guess I should be leading then, hm?” You teased, your feet bumping his again in that moment.

“I feel like you’d lead us over the edge of this parking deck, Y/N,” he joked.

Before you could make a retort, he stepped back from you to gently twirl you around by the hand, and a cross between a surprised yelp and a laugh tumbled from your mouth. As he brought you back into his chest, you could barely think over the joyful buzzing in your head that resonated out to every square inch of your body.

“Okay, okay, I guess you can lead,” you surrendered, looping your arm back around his neck again.

After some time, the songs had picked up tempo again, but you and Sungchan were long past actually dancing to them. You were more so just holding each other, leisurely swaying, and from here you got to listen to the sounds of his breathing. He’d taken to rubbing absentminded circles into your hip with his thumb, and the fingers of your arm that was around his neck had dipped below the material of his collar, resting on his bare skin.

“Sungchan?” You murmured.

“Yes?” He responded, his voice rumbling right under your ear.

“Thank you for not making me do this in front of a bunch of other cars at the other lookout.”

He let out a couple quiet laughs, his chest shaking with each. “You’re welcome. I figured all of the teens making out in their cars also didn’t want to watch us do this either.”

You mock gasped, pretending to sound scandalized, “You were going to take me to a lover’s lookout? On the first date? Jung Sungchan…”

“Who are you, my grandma? Nobody calls it that anymore.” He pinched your side. “And only because it’s actually got a great view over the city and—”

“I’m kidding, Sungchan.” You pinched him back, lightly, on the nape of the neck. “Besides, I wouldn’t have been opposed to a trip to a lover’s lookout with you anyway…”

You heard the breath hitch in his throat, then Sungchan swallowed and inhaled through his nose, before he finally spoke, “Really?”

His grip on your hip tightened, sending a bolt of electricity along your skin out from the contact point. You brought your head out of his chest and used your arm around his neck to draw him in even closer.

“Really,” you echoed, blatantly staring at his lips now that they were centimeters away from yours. “And it looks like we’ve got our own right here.”

Then Sungchan was using his hold on your hip to push you back step by step until your back was against the side of his car. Your own arm around his neck kept him anchored to you as he stood hovering over you, blotting out any light that would’ve come from the light post above you. Your noses were almost touching, your breaths mingling in the negligible space between your mouths. You were looking at Sungchan’s eyes now, usually a warm, deep brown, now all inky blackness in the dark of night, and staring down at your own mouth. Your tongue instinctually darted out to wet your lips, and that seemed to be the final straw.

His mouth on yours was desperate, but not desperate to get laid, like your previous lover’s lookout banter might imply. Like he was just desperate for you. He stole kiss after kiss from your lips, but never forced his tongue into your mouth, nor moved his hands anywhere else. Despite leaning more and more of his weight forward onto you, utterly pinning you to the car, he kept his bruising grip on your hip and never let go of your hand.

You parted your mouth with a bedraggled gasp of his name, and he finally took this as an invite to slip his tongue into the mix. You shifted to rest the hand that was laced with his above your head, on the roof of the sedan, giving his hand a squeeze. He squeezed your hand back.

Turning your head and breaking the kiss, you hoped he’d get the idea as you continued laying there half-spread out under him. He did, thankfully, kissing from the corner of your mouth across your cheek and down your jaw and neck.

“Sung…chan…” You breathed out his name, stroking the back of his head with your free hand as his lips latched onto a spot at the base of your neck.

Trailing your hand down further, you snuck it up under the hem of his shirt, feeling over the expanse of his chest and stomach. Oh fuck yeah, hockey players. You pulled the article of clothing up towards his head insistently, and he detached from your neck for the two of you to jointly strip him of it. Oh fuck yeah, hockey players. You truly didn’t know if he looked or felt better, but you couldn’t ogle him for long, because he was back on top of you as soon as he’d thrown the shirt into the front seat via the open passenger window beside you. His lips were so warm on yours, his skin even hotter under your touch now as you unabashedly felt up every inch of it and the muscles underneath.

But soon that wasn’t enough either, and you were fumbling at his pants button. He groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating down into your own chest, as his hand snapped around your wrist.

“Ahh…” He hissed regretfully.

“What?” You looked up at him with wide eyes.

“I can’t get my dick out in public.”

You glanced at the car behind you, with its tinted windows, then back at Sungchan. He met your eyes, then shrugged. “That’ll work.”

It was a mad scramble to get the door to the backseat open, so much so that you accidentally smacked Sungchan in the leg with said door. After lots of apologies through giggles, both of you were in the backseat with the doors closed and locked. Sungchan had the task of awkwardly reaching forward over the console to roll the windows back up first, during which you made a couple observations about his backseat, which you hadn’t seen much of before. His practice bag for hockey was back here—which was different than his gear bag, as you’d already been told. The gear bag actually had his equipment that he needed to play with like mouth guards, sticks, and all of that, while his practice bag had more personal stuff like changes of clothes or hygiene products. You figured his gear bag was either in the trunk or at the rink, as he didn’t always need to carry it back and forth with him. But other than the practice bag and a couple of reusable grocery bags on the floor, the backseat was pretty clean. You were genuinely impressed, especially because he made it sound like he tended to chauffeur a lot of his teammates/roommates around frequently.

Sungchan eventually reentered the backseat fully, focusing a content, closed-lip smile on you. You’d taken it upon yourself to lay down on the seat, your knees propped up by your feet. He settled in to kneel on the same cushion as your feet, but just rested an arm on your knees and his chin atop that forearm to gaze down at you, still smiling.

“What? What’s that smile for?” You asked, starting to feel a bit self-conscious.

“Nothing, I just—” He reached both his hands out towards you, fingers spread, and you got the idea, linking yours with them. “I hope you don’t get the wrong idea. I want this to be a real thing, Y/N. Like, I don’t just want to sleep with you. I don’t even do this kind of stuff—car sex on the first date in a campus parking garage?—literally ever. I’m just kinda crazy about you. I know for most people usually it’s the opposite; you know, they save it for later for really important people. They try to make it special, but I know it’ll be special just because it’s you.”

“Sungchan... I’ve never done something like this either,” you admitted, squeezing both of his hands tight. “I think I’m just kinda crazy about you too.”

“Okay. Cool.” He beamed at you, and you felt your insides turn to mush in that moment. You didn’t think they’d ever un-mush again.

“Now can you please take my clothes off before I spontaneously combust?”

“Fuck. Yeah.” He nodded, immediately turning serious as his brow furrowed and he leaned forward to lock his lips with yours again, propping himself up with one hand to hover above you.

You let your knees fall apart to give him room to settle in between your legs. He pulled at your jacket first, and you sat up to help yank it off, dropping it to the floor with his practice bag. With you no longer laying down, he could use two hands to get the next part, your top. His fingertips skimmed along your skin as he grabbed the hem. You broke the kiss so he could start pulling the clothing up your body—

A loud knock against the driver’s side window quite literally made you scream, and Sungchan jerked up and hit his head once again, this time on the roof of the car. You tugged your shirt back down to cover you, ducking to lay flat on the seat as Sungchan looked at you with panic in his eyes.

Another knock came at the window, this time accompanied by a man’s voice, “Campus security! Roll the window down or I’m going to ask you to turn the car off and step out!”

“Just a second!” Sungchan yelled back, a noticeable crack in his voice. He had a difficult time maneuvering his lanky body over the console fully into the driver’s seat again.

“Now!” The man called out again. “Three! Two!”

Sungchan didn’t have time to put on his shirt before ‘one,’ and he rushed to roll the window down. A flashlight was immediately shone into the car, and you didn’t doubt your own visibility to the security officer. You were remaining laying down for your own mental wellbeing at this point. You didn’t think that you could deal with looking this man in the eye right now.

You didn’t know if it was wisdom or embarrassment that kept your date from saying anything, but he thankfully didn’t speak until spoken to, not offering up any incriminating information. After five entire seconds of silence, the officer let out an audible sigh.

“No overnight parking in this garage,” he said, his tone making it very clear that he knew that was not what was going on. “I’ll be back in five minutes and if you’re still here, you’re getting a ticket.”

“Yes, sir,” Sungchan replied.

“I’m sure that the captain of our hockey team wouldn’t want to get put on probation at the beginning of the season.”

“N-No, sir.” His voice cracked again.

The security officer grunted, but said nothing more. You heard Sungchan roll the window back up, then the sound of another car driving away. Slowly, Sungchan turned around to look at you over the console with wide, horrified eyes.

“He knew who I was…” He whispered. “That was the most terrifying 45 seconds of my life.”

“You’re famous, Sungchan,” you teased, sitting up in the backseat now that the coast was clear.

“Yeah, and fame has got so many perks so far.”

“Almost got into your first scandal already.” You clicked your tongue disapprovingly. “Caught with a girl in your backseat. What will the fans say?”

“Considering my fans are all frat bros, probably something along the lines of wolf whistles and incoherent, congratulatory lewd jeering.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, able to picture that perfectly considering you’d already gotten a taste at the first home game you’d gone to. “Sounds about right.”

“Anyway, I should take you home before that guy comes back.”

“Good idea.” You slipped your jacket back on.

“Are you going to come up here or am I your chauffeur?”

“I suppose I’ll sit up there with you,” you sighed, opening the backseat to get out and into the front normally since there was no security man around.

Back in the passenger seat, you handed Sungchan’s shirt back to him, “Here, have some decency. You’re the captain of the hockey team, you know.”

“I’m sorry, who was going to spontaneously combust if we didn’t get naked in the next 0.2 seconds?” He scoffed, pulling his top back on.

“I don’t recall.”

“Sure.”

“And who’s still hard in their jeans right now?”

“Don’t remind me, I have to drive like this,” he groaned, taking the car out of park with a shake of his head.

As Sungchan drove with one hand, the other reached over to take yours, lacing his fingers together with yours.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 6

Just a few days later, and you were at the rink again, eagerly watching the hockey game in front of you. Chenle was beside you, continuing his constant sports commentary on every play that happened. You still mostly tuned it out, but you were pretty sure you at least understood most of the basic rules that Taeyong had explained to you before. You kept your eyes on Sungchan, cheering him on along with the other various Nu Chi brothers around you and other fans in the stands. It wasn’t as full of a house as it had been for the first home game, but you were perfectly content to have a slightly quieter environment.

Sungchan happened to skate by your section as everyone was resetting their positions, giving you a wave through the clear barrier. You gave him a slightly bashful but nevertheless bright grin as you waved back.

“So are you two like... dating now?” Hendery asked from your other side, leaned forward with both of his elbows on his knees as he watched the game. He looked back at you over his shoulder with a shit-eating grin, though, one that made you roll your eyes.

“I don’t know. We’ve been on a date. I mean, there was the Halloween party, but I got a migraine so I don’t think that really counts, so— I don’t have to explain myself to you!” You scowled at him, shoving him away by his shoulder.

He laughed as he let himself get jostled around in his seat from the push, holding his hands up in surrender. “Just curious. Unlike your bestie over there, I think you two are adorable.”

“What?” You looked over at Chenle, who Hendery had pointed at.

Chenle had apparently been listening enough to be able to jump in to defend himself. “It’s not what it sounds like. I think you two are great, promise.”

You turned back to your other friend. “Then what the hell are you talking about, Hendery?”

“He just doesn’t want to lose,” the Nu Chi member explained. “I pegged Sungchan’s huge crush on you on day 1 of Dr. Son’s class. Once the Phanta Phour stuff started, I knew that boy had no chance. Chenle just didn’t think you’d ever... hold on, how’d he put it... be into uh, ‘Neanderthal frat-bro-in-law types.’”

“I was maybe a bit tipsy...” Chenle added in.

“So you made a bet on if Sungchan and I would get together? In four whole years?” You looked from left to right between them.

“Loser has to buy winner a 12-pack,” Hendery confirmed with that same grin. “When Phantasmagorical Phriday ended this year, I really thought I’d lost. But then you turned up at the game last week and I figured Sungchan just might score himself a buzzer beater.”

“You two need to get better hobbies,” you declared with a snort.

“This so counts as sudden-death OT, but whatever,” Chenle scoffed under his breath.

You smacked him across the chest. “And don’t call my dating life ‘sudden death’ either.”

“Hey.” He said softly, grabbing your arm, and you turned your head to meet his gaze. “I really was worried about you going to the Halloween party with your head. I swear.”

“I know, LeLe,” you nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “You did some great wingmanning once we got there.”

The brief flash of sincerity you got from your best friend was over as quick as it had come, as you heard the crash of helmets on the ice, and both your focuses were drawn back to the game. Two players had collided into each other and the clear barrier right in front of your faces. You grimaced sympathetically as you tried to identify the player from your team. 23— Jeno, ah, he’d be alright. And you were right, he took off almost immediately as the other guy was left behind still dazed.

At the end of the game, with the buzz of another win in your veins and the anticipation of seeing Sungchan thrumming along your skin, you bounced on your heels as you waited in the lobby. You weren't paying attention to the ecstatic, dramatic recollections that Chenle and the Nu Chi brothers were giving of specific plays around you, your gaze entirely focused on the locker room exit.

The very first player to leave was Sungchan, his eyes already scanning the crowd. Without a second thought, you darted over to him, ignoring the couple of whoops and whistles you two got from your friends.

Sungchan beamed down at you as he went to pull you into a hug, and you were immediately enveloped in the smell of the freshly washed clothes that you’d caught last time. This time, though, there was the distinct, crisp smell of ice rink ice under it as well, reminding you of when you’d go ice skating with friends.

“Hey,” you smiled up at him as he let you go, but didn’t step back very far. “You played really good again. I’m pretty sure. A bit more sure than I was last time.”

He was still grinning, looking down at the floor then back up at you before he responded, “Thank you. And I don’t really expect you to become a hockey pro or anything if all that doesn’t interest you. As long as you don’t expect me to remember what death of the author is.”

“This was only my second game, have some faith in me!” You cried out indignantly. “And no, I don’t expect you to become a full-blown literary critic either.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he apologized through a couple of poorly suppressed giggles. “I do believe in you. I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to learn boring sports stuff for me.”

“I do want to be able to follow the basics of a game without Chenle or Taeyong annotating it for me, at least.”

“Oh, yeah, you can definitely do that. Might need to come to a few more games, though...”

You nodded giddily. “Just let me know when the home games are and I’m there.”

“Yo!” A voice had called from the gaggle of guys heading towards the exit. You didn’t even realize that the rest of the team had left the locker room in the time that you’d been talking to Sungchan.

While you couldn’t tell who had gotten your attention, it was Donghyuck that asked, “Are you two coming or are you just going to keep making moony eyes at each other all night?”

“Yeah, Sungchan, you’re our ride!” Yangyang yelled out from somewhere.

“DD!” Jeno cheered.

“I’ll drive you two,” Mark offered with a shake of his head.

“Shotgun!” The two of them immediately dibs-ed in unison.

“Sorry, bitches, I’m his little,” Donghyuck declared. “That means eternal dibs on shotgun in Mark’s car.”

The frat president scoffed, “You only give a shit about that when it directly benefits you.”

“You guys go ahead,” Sungchan cut into their bickering. “We’re right behind you.”

After they had all filed out, he looked back down at you, a nervous smile worming across his face. “Sorry about that...”

“It’s okay,” you said. “So... you ready to go?”

The two of you had already discussed going to the after-game celebrations with the team before this. Sungchan texted you last night to check in and make sure you’d be okay with going from the loud game to a noisy bar/pool hall with a bunch of frat guys after. You’d assured him that you’d be okay as long as you sat away from any music speakers at the bar, and he’d in turn made you promise to tell him if you needed to leave early.

However, he now halted you as you were slowly turning towards the exit. “Wait, I want to try this again.”

With a sneaking suspicion of what he was about to do, you assured him, “Sungchan, you don’t have to—”

“Let me do this. Please.” He gave you those same eyes that had convinced you to go to a frat party in the first place, and you were squaring your shoulders back to face him, giving him a firm nod.

“Okay. Go for it.”

He asked casually, “So, did you drive yourself?”

You had to hold back a laugh, covering your mouth to straighten your face before replying coyly, “Oh, me? I walked. My apartment is close.”

“So, the team all goes out to this bar after home games. It’s a pretty sleazy dive bar, and I know it’s a Thursday night, but I’d really like for you to come with me. I’ll buy you a... soda.”

“I would love to come, Sungchan,” you giggled, adjusting your purse strap.

“Awesome,” he grinned, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

As you walked up to the passenger side of his car with him, you suddenly realized something. “Wait, did you have your car last time, too?”

“Maybe?” He rubbed the back of his neck, reaching for the door handle to open it for you.

“Then why did you walk me home?”

“To spend more time with you?”

You stole a quick kiss before ducking into the passenger seat.

Squished into one side of a booth with Sungchan’s arm around you, you chatted happily with Chenle, Ten, and Sicheng, who were sitting opposite from you. The team and cheer section were spread out between a couple booths and tables near each other, a few of them up playing pool too. You sipped on your soda between discussions about tonight’s game, upcoming games, classes, or whatever else struck you all. Currently, you were locked in a conversation with Ten about the most recent assigned reading in a class that you two shared together this semester.

“I thought that scene had a lot of great allusions back to the earlier one with her mother and the pie baking,” you gushed.

“Really?” Ten tilted his head curiously. “I was seeing it more as a continuation of the cannibalism-sex-love metaphor, since they were eating figs, you know.”

You nodded knowingly. “That’s true. Everything’s about sex—”

“Except sex.” You two finished quoting your professor in unison.

“And then with figs, there’s the Bible interpretation, of course,” you continued.

“Always the Bible.”

“We can never escape what John Milton did for Christian fanfiction, truly.”

“But I do like the pie scene connection the more that I think about it, actually.” Ten knocked back the rest of his cocktail. “And, tying her mother into the cannibalism metaphor could be a fascinating angle, too.”

Your eyes widened as you were practically vibrating your seat with excitement now. “Yeah, her earliest memory being of food, parental love, and harm...”

“Anyway, I need a refill.” Your friend shook his glass of ice with a smile. “Be back. Good chat as always, Y/N.”

Chenle and Sicheng scooted out of the booth to let Ten out, the former heading off towards the restrooms while the co-captain followed his roommate to the bar, leaving just you and Sungchan. You continued musing over the new connections you’d just made in the text as you turned your gaze back over to Sungchan beside you. He was already looking at you, a fond half-smile on his face.

“Hi.” He said quietly.

“Hi,” you replied, just as quiet.

Sungchan took a swig of his drink, then eyed yours. “You haven’t drunk any water since we get here.”

He’d been sure to not only order your promised soda of choice, but also water, and as you now looked over at your two cups, you could tell that the water had not been touched at all while the soda was practically empty.

“Oh uh, I guess I haven’t.”

“Drink some.” He pushed it towards you insistently. “Can’t have you getting kidney stones on my watch.”

“Okay, okay.” You acquiesced easily, switching your straw over to that glass and chugging a quarter of it in one go. “Better?”

“Much.” He nodded in satisfaction. “So what were you and Ten saying about pies and sex or whatever? Sex isn’t about sex?”

“Oh, it’s just something one of our professors says a lot. ‘Everything is about sex except sex.’ For lit analysis. In literature, pretty much everything is about sex. Or can be. You can turn like, anything in a piece of text into an innuendo or euphemism if you wanted to. Except for sex. Like, if a sex scene is included in a piece of literature, it’s not actually about the sex that’s being depicted. The sex is meant to represent something else. Like politics, or social structures, or whatever other themes are present in the work. Unless you’re just reading porn. But even then, there’s artistic merit to erotica, and plenty to be learned about the social structures at the time it was written, too.”

Sungchan hadn’t blinked the entire time you’d been rambling on, and upon you finally stopping, blinked in rapid succession as he seemed to come to from a daze. “Wow. Uh, interesting. Filing that away with death of the author.”

“Sungchan...” You leaned in to whisper, placing a hand on the inside of his thigh, just above his knee. His leg jumped, knocking his knee into the tabletop. Your hand had narrowly avoided being smashed too, saved only by its position curled around his leg instead of directly on top. You didn’t move it up or down now though, simply tapping your index finger against the loose material of his sweatpants as you giggled. “What are you thinking about?”

He cleared his throat a couple of times. “How you still have three-quarters of that glass of water left to drink.”

You laughed, slumping to relax into his side and pulling your hand back up to a more casual position on top of his leg. With your other hand, you grabbed your water. “Alright, fine.”

Not too long after your water had been drained, Sungchan was driving you home. Some of your other friends had taken off as well, and you didn't put up too much of a protest when he offered. As your familiar building came into view, you suddenly remembered something.

“Oh, visitor’s parking is over there. Sorry, forgot to mention before.” You pointed to a few parking spots painted with yellow lines instead of white, further away from the apartment entrances than the resident parking. “They’re a bit picky. Chenle got towed after like, five minutes one time.”

“Got it. Thanks.” Sungchan smoothly turned the wheel to pull into one of the open visitor’s spots.

Your reason for showing it to him was two-fold. One, to let him know you hoped he’d be coming over more often, so he’d need that information for future reference. And two, for perhaps less innocent ulterior motives tonight. Truly, your apartment complex only towed people after dark. Overnight visitors. Chenle’s five-minute tow had been a fluke.

“I’ll walk you to your door,” he said with no prompting, and you had to hold in a sigh of relief.

Instead, you gave him a genuine smile. “Thanks, Sungchan.”

“I don’t think I thanked you for coming tonight. To the game.” He slowly meandered up the sidewalk with you, hand holding yours.

“Thanks for inviting me again. I had a lot of fun.” You squeezed his hand.

Your front door loomed in the not-so-distant distance.

“Uh, are you busy this weekend?” He rushed to ask. “I have Saturday morning practice, at 7:30, but it’s over at 9:00, and after that I’m free.”

So that’s why he had texted you at seven in the morning to congratulate you on winning Phantasmagorical Phriday.

“No, I’m not busy. I’d love to do something, just pick from the list I sent you. Surprise me, hm?”

“Will do.”

You were finally on your front welcome mat, and watched his face fall as he seemed to be drawing a blank about how else to prolong your night. But you had an idea.

You didn’t let an alarm or anything else possibly have the chance to interrupt you, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling his mouth down to yours. He stumbled forward at you suddenly yanking him off-balance, catching himself with one hand on your front door and the other on your doorframe. Then, he dropped a hand to the small of your back, drawing you in even closer as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss.

Disconnected just enough to murmur against his lips, you asked, “Do you want to come in?”

“Please?” He replied with a nearly sheepish chuckle.

“So polite,” you quipped.

You gave him one more peck before turning around to unlock your door and drag him in by the arm.

➠ sequel | series masterlist | blog masterlist

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lxmiko · 6 months ago

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hello, hello! may i request luxiem + reader

where the reader is like kinda addicted to valorant and is super good at the game (pls me when). their aim, tactics, they're just super good. the boys don't see reader playing much valorant due to either busy schedules or reader doesn't play that much (work ;;) one day though, they see reader play valorant and decide to watch and just go ??? w.. wow.

hope it makes sense, i love your works! sorry this request seems weird, i just wanted to see this written out ><

shu yamino with cracked valorant player!you . . .

—

as a fellow valorant watching addict (especially for shu), i respect this request so very much, you have my heart ><!!! I KNOW you requested all the members but ill be so real, i was having the hardest time coming up with things for the rest of the boys so this is all i got ;(

writing this with half a brain though, so sorry if things are a lil ooc ••;;

characters: shu yamino

—

shu yamino

it’s a surprise that you and shu haven’t collab for valorant yet, with him being pretty cracked himself. you’ve probably seen him in vc for open valorant collabs but didn’t have the time whether it be a conflict with your schedule or you were busy in the moment

shu also has you added already on valorant, so he does see you online, but again, both of you are very busy people as streamers and such, so y’all haven’t been able to play together ;;

however !! he on an offday and sees that you’re streaming! you’re playing valorant and soloqueueing since no one was free at the time

shu tends to lurk in your streams quite often when he has the chance, dropping comments here and there (he might drop a “deez nuts” joke if he can, too), and he decides to stop by just to say hello ^^!! (and not just cause you’re playing valorant of course :D,,,)

it’s the silence when he joins that scares him. vtuber models’ faces change easily, and yours, usually set in a permanent smile, is neutral, a hard expression to nail unless you’re not moving at all

you’re the last one alive on your team, sneaking around the map against four other players and toward the ticking spike. you murmur to chat where you think they are, tucking yourself against walls as you approach b

shu’s as focused on the game as you and your audience are, and his fingers twitch from muscle memory when you switch between your guns and knife

he thinks of what he might do if he was in your sh(u)oes, but every move you make is one step ahead of his, and he knows it’s just a game, but he’s impressed at how good you are

you progress quickly, killing three players with ease as you inch closer to the spike. while on bomb, you get hit once but turn fast enough to headshot the last player, and with a relieved sigh, you go to diffuse as chat congratulates you

“how are you so cracked,” he types in chat as you and your fans greet him. your model shakes its head in protest, and you brush off his comment, but he insists

he stays for the entire stream ^^!! and also cheers you on for every good play and nice shot you do (cause he doesn’t say it out loud, but he’s a big fan of yours, valorant or not .///.)

be ready to clear a day in your schedule to play valorant with him and a few other valorant addicts ^^ !!

—

finally finished this request, even if it’s not entirely to its fullest :’) sorry for the probably yr long wait SJSJDJ

#luxiem #nijien #nijisanji #nijisanji en #shu yamino #shu yamino x reader #luxiem x reader

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brain-amoeba · 1 year ago

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i was sent this ask:

"Hello, you! can there be a headcannon where, (Scout, Sniper, demo, and my favorite Texan, engi) hugging S/o and the merc is like: “Oh no I’m in love with them” as their face is all red? And, S/o is sorta worried about them and asking “you good?” this scenario has been itching my brain for a few days lol

Anon jilly🦭🌺"

and i believe you may have forgotten to turn anon on when submitting the ask, so i still saw your url. out of respect for your anonymity, i will answer here instead of from the inbox, so hopefully it still finds you well! also i hope you don't mind i do a mini scenario for these as opposed to HCs, just to give yall a little more content :3

Mercs Getting a Big Ole Hug

Scout

-You two always had a strong bond, and a dynamic like childhood friends. It was always fun and games with Scout, and when the time came, he knew how to comfort you and be there for you albeit in his own clumsy and Scout-y way.

-It wasn't until he noticed the way the other Mercs looked at you did he start to see you as more than just a friend--he now became acutely aware of how soft your skin felt when it brushed up against his, the way your hair perfectly framed your face, every small detail about you, and he couldn't believe he never noticed any of this before.

-It was your day off, and as usual, you spent it with Scout. The two of you tired yourselves out playing catch outside, as well as other fun roughhousing typical of your other pastimes. While running for the ball, you tripped and fell forward, but Scout was quick enough to catch you, and held you in a tight embrace. You instinctively wrap your arms around his torso and bury your head in his chest. He maintains his grip on you, but his face is as red as his uniform--all of a sudden the outside air feels cramped and he's getting clammy. It was like getting hit with his own Atomizer: all the times he's admired every little thing about you coming together all at once to beat him over the head with the realization that he was in love with you.

-You finally let him go, looking up at him and yelping a bit in surprise. "Scout?! What happened to you? Should we go see Medic?!" You ask frantically, concern showing on your scrunched features as you took in Scout's seemingly-ill state. "N-Nah, I'm okay, really! More than that, actually...I feel amazin'." He gazed at you with a softness you hadn't yet seen before, but it sparked a warmth in your heart and your tummy that you didn't oppose.

Sniper

-Sniper wasn't exactly one for PDA, let alone physical touch. Just didn't tickle his fancy. But you, something about you gave Sniper the desire, for the first time in ages, to hold, touch, and generally be around someone of his own volition. But for some reason, he just couldn't find it in himself to act on those desires. Whether it be his own deeply-instilled professionalism or cowardice, he couldn't tell. Whatever it was, all he knew was him being afraid of scaring you off. So he did nothing. The minimal interactions with you now would suffice, and his imagination could do the rest.

-You weren't exactly having the best day. Just yesterday, you scuffed a one-on-one encounter with an enemy merc that cost your team the mission, and today's target practice was not kind to you either. You found yourself alone on the range, tears of frustration pooling in your [color] eyes as you trudged along to set up the target dummy Sniper once again. Overwhelmed by frustration, you found yourself hugging the Sniper dummy for even the slightest sense of comfort, dropping your rifle to the dust below with a thud. The real Sniper, who had volunteered to check on you, heard the sound of your rifle hitting the ground as he left the base. The impact immediately spiked his adrenaline and caused the worst thoughts to run through his mind. He quickened his pace, almost falling over in place once he beheld the scene. Sniper couldn't help but feel a tug on his heartstrings watching you embrace the dummy of him. A warm flush crept its way to his rugged features as he realized the depth of his feelings for you way-exceeded his expectations.

-It's now or never, he thought to himself, finally finding the courage to approach you. He put a large gloved hand on your shoulder, eliciting a fearful shriek from you. Your face reddened with embarrassment, stammering as you tried to come up with a good excuse for your behavior. Wordlessly, Sniper wrapped you up in a tight embrace which immediately soothed your worries. "Shhh. It's alright, roo. Don't cry, now." He spoke just above a whisper, and despite being there to comfort you, he himself was trembling with anxiety at what he's just done. When you finally gathered yourself and parted from the Aussie's embrace, your eyes widened. "Sniper! What's gotten into you?!" He looked down at you with a slight smile, as if it would conceal the way his heart pounded in his chest.

"You have, sheila."

Demoman

-He wasn't always drunk! Okay, maybe he was, but that didn't mean he was always unaware. He was especially aware of a certain little merc who always took him to bed, always got him water, and always made sure to wish him a goodnight, even when the rest left him to drink himself to oblivion. He thought of you very fondly, like a close friend more than just a colleague. You were the first of the bunch to ever show a genuine compassion for him and actually attempt to care for him even in his drunken state (and he knew that was no easy feat).

-It was another night like always, the rest of the team off taking care of their own business while Demo had some precious one-on-one time with his scrumpy, this time accompanied by you! And you were actually drinking with him! It was the weekend, after all, and you decided what the hell, why not, and let your hair down a little. While not nearly as intoxicated as your Scottish companion, you definitely felt the buzzy warmth of drunkenness sneaking up on you. You felt more bubbly, confident, and silly. You gazed upon Demo fondly as he slurred through stories of missions, both failures and successes.

-Right as he was getting to the story's climax, he raised his arms above his head for dramatic affect, and you impulsively leapt into them. "Awwe Tavichhh, I wuv when you tell stowiesss" you mumbled into his chest, arms wrapped tightly around his torso as if he'd leave you any second. The sudden show of affection almost sobered Demo up a bit, but he quickly dropped his arms and returned your embrace. In his drunken state, the warmth of your body against his felt like fire, and he couldn't help but notice the way you fit perfectly into him. Demo soon grabbed your shoulders, moving you back to meet his gaze. The sudden serious look on his face sent a shiver down your spine. "D-demo! What's the matter?!" He took in your flushed face as if he were looking upon the Mona Lisa herself before finally speaking, "Oh it's nothin, lass. I just enjoy lookin' at ye."

Engineer

-You were lucky enough to get some time off when you were informed this go-round of contracts did not include you. To your surprise, they didn't include Engie, either. You discovered this when you bolted for the workshop in a panic as you realized your prized headphones were destroyed! You were about to go on a walk before fishing them from your backpack and soon met with the disappointment of your prized possession in tatters--wires frayed, and hanging down almost mockingly.

-As you busted through the double doors of Engineer's workshop, he jumped in surprise, nearly dropping his wrench. "Well howdy to yourself too, darlin'!" He regained his bearings and approached you with a chuckle. "What's got you in such a tizzy, hm?" You simply raised the broken pair of headphones up*, looking at him like a lost puppy. "M-my headphones are destroyeeeddd!" You whined. Engie, behind his goggles, looked at you with a twinge of pain in his eyes just from hearing how distraught you were. Though he was empathetic to your "loss", he couldn't help but admire how adorable you sounded when you whimpered, and got a bit of an ego-boost from how you immediately came to him for aid. Engie took the headphones from you, inspecting them closely as he set them down on a nearby workbench. "Y'know, dear, these might not be a lost cause...let's see what some good ole fashioned Texan ingenuity can do!" He assured you with a sly smile.

-You fidgeted nervously as you watched over his shoulder while he tinkered away on your poor headphones. "Can I get you somethin' to drink darlin'? Maybe some water?" Engineer didn't take his eyes off the headphones as he spoke, currently re-twisting and wrapping wires before getting to work on the broken frame of the device. "I'm okay, thank you, Engie..." Truthfully, you were just too nervous to take your eyes off of the headphones while Engineer repaired them. Of course, you trusted his skillful hand, but with them being such a meaningful item to you, you couldn't help but hover over his shoulder and watch. Suddenly, Engie spoke up again, this time with a command-- "Close your eyes, dear." Nervously, you did as you were told. Engineer turned to face you, gently placing the repaired headphones on your head. Your eyes shot open and hands immediately went up to feel the newly repaired device now muffling your hearing.

-Without a second thought, you pulled Engie into a tight embrace. "Engie, you're the best!! Thank you so much!" You exclaimed, nuzzling his chest a bit as the two of you embraced. His large gloved hand gently caressed your back, giving it a slight pat in response to your praise. While Engineer typically maintained a relaxed exterior, internally, he was practically melting. A proper southern gentleman such as himself couldn't be indecent in the presence of a lady, but the fog on his goggles and pink in his cheeks said otherwise. You pulled away, removing the headphones. You went to inspect them further, but the sight before you stopped you dead in your tracks. "Engie?! You feeling alright??" He looked like he was about to pass out--and he felt like it, too.

-Engineer simply nodded, placing his ivory-colored cowboy hat on your head in response.

*this is exactly what i envisioned for this scene btw

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #team fortress 2 x reader #tf2 x reader #scenarios #tf2 sniper #tf2 scout #tf2 demoman #tf2 engineer #tf2 sniper x reader #tf2 scout x reader #tf2 demoman x reader #tf2 engineer x reader #dell conagher #mick mundy #tavish degroot #anon #requests

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vee6lolz · 2 months ago

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𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖊 𝖕𝖔𝖓 𝖞𝖔𝖚 . . .

cw!!; spencer reid x black reader , suggestive material, early season spencer, alcohol mentions, mentions of tobacco, WHOLEEE LOTTA ASS — i saw this prompt by @blackhottie25 and i had to write it, creds to them for the prompt ❤️

summary; for spencers birthday, you want him to unwind and relax, and as his best friend its your job to make sure he has the best time off his life, by the end of the evening, you surprise Spencer with a little present, leaving the night with a special memory.

like + reblog or ill fine u istg

the door swung open with a soft chime as spencer and you stepped into a nightclub, the smell of sweat, expensive cologne and tobacco only deepened the overall experience for both you and spencer. you hold his hand close so he wouldn't get lost, you glanced over at spencer, who looked a little nervous yet excited. his dark hair fell into his eyes, and the corners of his mouth twitched up in a faint smile as he scanned the room. “Is this even legal?” he questions -- looking at the excessive smoke being blown, you turn to him and stare him down. “are you a cop?”

“I'm an-- I'm an agent.”

“Oh. then yes. yes it is.” you nodded your head in affirmation and led the way to a small table tucked into a corner. the soft hum of conversation wrapped around you like a blanket, pulling you both into the moment. spencer settled into a plush seat, and you took his lap as a seat instead. “how's twenty-eight treating you so far spencie?”

“same as twenty-seven.” he says, sneaking a quick glance at your chest as you get comfortable on his legs, his arm wrapping around your waist. a bottle girl soon came over with a line of shots and a long line of blunts, that you wasted no time rolling up. spencer picked up a cup of water, to which you paused and swiftly took it of his hand replacing it with one of the minuscule glasses. “Nah nah nah, we are not doing this shit tonight.” you ordered, leaning in as he stopped your hand from moving any further.

Spencer tilted his head, curiosity piqued. “[y/n], hydration is crucial for cognitive function? The human brain is about 75% water, and—”. you stopped listening as soon as he mentioned a percentage. “Right… right… wow really?” you interjected, your excitement rising as you poured a shot of something colorful in front of you. He continued, oblivious to your movements “Studies suggest that even mild dehydration can impair attention and short-term memory, which is fascinating because—”

As he rambled on, you raised your shot glass, your eyes fixed on his. “Damn, that's so crazy.” you said, nodding along while pouring another shot. Finally, you leaned in closer, a grin spreading across your face as you shoved a the liquor in between his lips, playfully interrupting his thoughts. He spluttered for a moment, a surprised look on his face, but you could tell he was fighting back a smile. His eyes widen and jaw falls open as he stares up at you, the back of his throat tingling -- “I could´ve choked,”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Okay then,” you said, lighting a gram and putting it between your lips. you didn't even try getting him with the tobacco, you weren't dumb. as the night went on, spencer seemed more and more interested. you mostly danced with guys while more of your friends came and joined you, as well a few members of him team. he introduced you to some of them, and some of them you were already familiar with from other nights you went out with spence. you didn't expect spencer to have much fun at a strip club, but a lap dance can really make you feel anything can't it?

you danced with a few strangers, a few of his friends -- but the whole night you mostly hung around him, sitting on his lap while he played cards with one of his older colleagues rossi, your head on his chest while you passed the blunt with derek and your best friend claire, who was... flirting with derek. eventually, the question emerged and you both were asked twice in the same night, “how long have you been together?”. you both gave each other a strange look and stared back at the dark haired woman who held poker cards in her hand, emily was it? “We're not-- ew, no.” you blurted out, receiving a hurt look from spencer. he was a little too buzzed to be that affected by it, though, “ew?”

“no offense,” you gave him a soft peck on the cheek while derek and rossi both laughed, you laughed along with them as the night went on but eventually with the repeated glances you knew something was up. “whats so funny?” you asked. “you haven't got off him since we got here,” the dark-skinned man pointed out, and he was right. and he was going to stay right, shit, he was comfortable. you and spencer were strictly friends, who have happened to go to the bone zone like once or twice.

sure, you made out with him a few times but that was for practice. and maybe you offered to get him off and he took you up on it on one or two instances but he also denied a few times so it canceled out. point is, you and spencer reid? never gonna happen.

after a while, the conversation changed and you guys were in a intense game of truth or dare, you were chewing on appetizers with your eyes glistened and low, giggling as spencer softly rubbed your arm, whispering jokes into your ear. derek spoke up while button his pants after a dare to let a random girl in the bar have his belt, “emily -- i dare you to go a kiss anyone in the room right now,”

she giggled, to which she happily complied “watch me!” she called, strutting toward the other end of the room, leaving a messy, long, and incredibly hot kiss on the lips of claire. her cheeks flushed, a triumphant smile spread across her face. “i did it!” she exclaimed, a sparkle in her eyes. while claires jaw was dropped -- the room went silent before bursting into laughter, spencers cheeks turning red with humor and derek literally falling on the floor bawling.

the pick then came towards you, and rossi looked at both you and spencer with a grin, “i dare you -- eight minutes, dancefloor, with reid,” receiving childish “ooo”'s throughout the room before it fell silent and reid looked at you with embarrassment.

“i dont-- uh, usually--” before spencer could finish your sentence, you hopped up from him lap, and pulled him up, receiving claps from everyone sitting around the table. you pulled him into the middle of the room where the music was at the loudest, and everyone in the club was dancing around you. spencer's eyes avoided yours and you could tell something was up, “whats wrong?” you questioned,

“i dont know, i dont know how to dance!” he exclaimed, loud enough so you could hear over the other voices. you snickered, “don't worry bout that spence, i got something for you.” you begun turning your back towards him as you guided his hands to your waist, reaching for the back of his neck as you slowly and smoothly moved your hips against his crotch, to which spencer yelped, holding your waist close.

with each sway, you tried different angles, shifting your weight from one hip to the other, creating a rhythm that felt almost like a conversation. you leaned back a little closer, allowing your body to brush against him, your movements contrasting between bold and gentle.

you adjusted your position, allowing you to turn your head to face him him momentarily, letting your hips dance in a teasing arc that drew him deeper into the moment. You could feel the tension between you both, a mix of nerves and excitement, plus a little bit off fuzziness thanks to the alcohol.

finally, you pulled away just a bit, giving him space to join in. You gestured encouragingly, your body still swaying gently in front of him. spencer hesitated for a second before attempting to mimic your movements, his awkwardness offering a charming contrast to your f grace. And as he awkwardly swayed, you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound ringing out joyfully in the lively atmosphere. spencer stared at your body in shock, his hands moving from you waist to your hips as looked down, moving his hips along with yours the best he could. “there you go spence,” you laughed out, the rigid and coarse movements grinding against your body, but hey -- he was trying his best.

fifteen seconds.

you turned your body towards him, your hips still moving as his hands draped down towards you lower back,

“Happy twenty-eight, spencie.” you leaned in, drunkenly coming in contact with his lips as your tongue embraces his, a fleeting moment, but felt like it lasted a lifetime. “Way better than twenty-seven..” he whispered, as you laughed and he lifted you up and turned you back around, to which you continued to whine your hips against him.

you and spencer reid? never gonna happen…

#spencer reid #aaron hotchner #black reader #masterlist #spencer reid x black reader #woc writer #derek morgan #doctor spencer reid #fluff #spencer reid x mom reader #criminal minds x black reader #criminalmindsspencerreid #criminalmindsedit #criminalminds #criminal minds #criminal case

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fandom-alley · 1 year ago

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Want You Like That

Summary: Spencer has a massive crush on a NYC based pop rock singer, thanks to Penelope getting him addicted to the tiktok app. He convinces the team to see her perform at a bars grand opening after their latest case in the city. He has the best night of his life. Pairing: Spencer Ried/Fem Reader Content: Fluff, smut Warnings: alcohol consumption, age gap, sex 18+Work Count: 6.1k a/n: Spencer's addiction storyline does not exist in this story

on AO3

Song inspiration for this story: Want You Like That by Charlotte Sands Bad Day by Charlotte Sands Snow Angel by Renee Rapp Vampire by Olivia Rodrigo

It had been 182 days since Spencer Reid had stumbled upon Y/n and her band on tiktok. He wouldn’t have found her, become almost obsessed with her, if it wasn’t for Penelope introducing him to the addicting app. Spencer had almost been late to work on multiple occasions since she downloaded the app for him, thanks to getting lost in the mesmerizing one to three minute videos Y/n posted multiple times a day.

He had to catch up on them every morning while he had his coffee, which would get cold sitting on the table as he scrolled and watched, getting sucked into the time vortex that was tikok.

Spencer didn’t even care to use the app enough to get a for you page that was tailored to his interests. All he used the app for was to watch Y/n and her distracting cotton candy blue and pink hair. Her cute little dances, or her day in the life in New York City, or clips from her and her band performing in night clubs and bars. He was mesmerized by the black and grey ink that stained her arms and legs, and he would let his imagination go wild on if or where her other tattoo’s lived beneath her clothing.

If he had to say what his preferred genre of music was, he would probably say classical. The likes of Beethoven and Mozart. If you had asked him 182 days ago if he would become obsessed with pop rock he would have laughed. Although technically he wasn’t obsessed with all pop rock artists. Just Y/n and her band.

When the BAU was brought in on a case in NYC, Spencer's mind immediately went to thoughts of running into Y/n on the streets. Or in a coffee shop. Or even, and he couldn't even believe his brain thought of this, saving her from an unsub. However, none of those scenarios came to light. The case was cut and dry and solved within 48 hours.

"Well, looks like that's it for us," Emily said to the team. They were crowded around a small table in the New York city police department. "Let's go back to the hotel, pack up, and head to the airport."

Spencer's shoulders slouched in defeat. He wouldn't be running into Y/n this time around in New York city.

Just as they were packing up to leave, Emily's phone rang. While she was occupied, the rest of the team took out their phones as well. As inconspicuous as he could be, Spencer opened tiktok on his own device. He made sure the phone was muted, with his closed captions on, and went right to Y/n’s page. He didn't need sounds to appreciate her beauty and talents.

He was shocked to find a new video posted just a few minutes ago, so he eagerly clicked on it. Before it could even play all the way through he hit the little heart on the side and added the video to his favourites file.

As Spencer watched and read the subtitles on the video, he realized this was a surprise announcement. Y/n and her band were playing an exclusive show tonight at the grand opening of a new bar around the corner from their hotel.

Spencer's heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. They were set to leave tonight, and he would miss it. She would be so close, and he wasn’t going to get the opportunity to see her in real life. But then his brain went into overdrive, trying to think of possible reasons he could tell the team why he wasn't going to be heading back with them tonight. He could fake an illness. Or say his mom was on her way to the city and he was to be her tour guide.

They would see right through him. Spencer wasn’t great at making things up. The one time he lied to the team about having a head cold and wasn’t able to fly with them for fear of ear drum damage, he actually just wanted to attend the all night multi showing of the Halloween movies. Emily caught on in an instant but she let him have his night. Then made him complete all their paperwork when they were back as punishment.

"There's something wrong with the jet," Emily said to the team when she hung up her call. "Some system rebooting or something. They've booked us on a commercial flight back, but it doesn't leave until tomorrow morning. Everyone okay with that?"

Spencer couldn't believe his ears. Did he wish this into existence? He wanted an extra night in the city and now he got it.

"Fine by me. I could use a night out in the city," Tara laughed.

"How about we all go out together?" JJ suggested.

"Team bonding experience," said Luke. "Where should we go?"

They were quiet for a few moments as they thought of all the places and things they could do in one night in New York city.

"There's a grand opening for a bar not too far from the hotel. We could go there?" Spencer suggested to the team.

"That's a good idea! We wouldn't have to worry about taxis and trains trying to get back to the hotel. How did you hear about this?" Emily asked.

"I just saw a flyer somewhere for it," Spencer shrugged. "There's going to be live music and specialty drinks."

“I never thought I’d see the day where Spencer suggests going to a bar instead of an obscure foreign movie playing at an underground theatre at midnight.” laughed JJ.

“Well, now that you mention it, JJ, there is a movie playing tonight at this really cool-”

“No!” The team yelled in unison, cutting him off mid sentence.

“We’re going to the bar. It’s final.” Emily said. Spencer bit back his smile as he tried to hide his excitement.

It was already pretty late into the evening, and the party at the bar was set to start in just over an hour. Not wanting to waste another second of free time, since it was so rare for them, the team raced into their Government-issued vehicles and drove back to the hotel. With a quick confirmation that they would meet in the lobby in half an hour and walk to the bar together, they disappeared into their respective rooms.

Spencer spent a few minutes pacing the length of his room, his thoughts once again on overdrive. He was about to see Y/n in person. A girl he never thought he would actually get to see. He was about to see all the stuff that had hypnotised him in her videos, in real life. Like her vibrant colourful hair swaying back and forth as she ran across stage, or the swirling inky vine that made it’s up her arm and disappeared under her clothing. But most importantly he was about to hear her angelic yet angry voice as she sang her songs that were a mixture of angsty pop and rock.

After all these thoughts, Spencer realized he needed to start getting ready or he would be late meeting the team. After the quickest shower he’s ever had, to wash the stressful day away, he got dressed in the only clothes he had. A pair of dress pants, and a purple collard shirt. He went without the matching tie.

With one minute to spare, Spencer made it downstairs to the lobby where the team was waiting.

“Cutting it close, pretty boy,” Tara laughed as she slapped a sheepish looking Spencer on the back.

Spencer was on autopilot mode as they walked the few blocks to the bar. He was lost in thoughts, trailing a few steps behind. However, once they reached the bar and stood in the short line to the entrance, his heart felt like it was in his throat. This was it. This was happening.

The wait to get in was short. The bouncer checked their ID’s, which made them all feel giddy and like teenagers, since they were all in their 40’s or more by now. The girls took that giddiness and went right to get celebratory shots at the bar. Spencer and Luke followed behind them, and when Spencer was handed a shot by JJ with a raised eyebrow, Spencer threw it back, barely wincing as the sting of alcohol made its way down his throat. He wasn’t one to drink much, the hangover headaches weren’t worth it for him, since he usually needed his brain to be in complete working order for his profession. But tonight? Tonight he felt like he needed a little extra help to calm those nerves.

What are the odds that I’ll even get to talk to her? He asked himself. Before he could do the actual maths and figure it out, the bartender was getting his attention, asking him if he wanted a drink. He ordered a rum and coke, then went and stood near his friends.

While sipping his way too strong to be a single shot of rum drink, he surveyed the bar. It was definitely new. The floor didn’t feel sticky, none of the tables looked chipped or graffitied on, and everything still had that new smell. A large stage at the back of the bar was lit up, where an artist he had never heard of was performing. Right below the bar was the dance floor, with tables and booths lining the walls. Upstairs were other tables, where Spencer watched as a waitress dressed in way too tight clothing to be comfortable, served a tray of food to a group of rowdy guys.

Spencer was definitely over dressed for a bar. Even his friends had managed to pack themselves with clothing that wasn't work related.

It wasn't long before Emily was whisked away by a guy, Luke found himself surrounded by a group of girls, and JJ and Tara were off to the side chatting. Spencer found himself wandering into the crowd near the stage.

“Hey there,” a girl said, running her hand up his arm to grab his attention. Spencer jumped back, surprised by the action. “You look a little lost. Can I help you find the way?” She batted her eyes at him.

“I’m okay, thank you,” he politely declined. She sighed and rolled her eyes, moving on to the next boy since she didn’t get her way. Spencer watched as she walked right up to someone younger and played the same move, except he accepted and whisked her away to a dark spot in the room. Spencer turned away and continued making his way closer to the stage.

He managed to find a spot close to the front that was off to the side, slightly hidden behind one of the massive speakers that was sure to hurt his hearing later in the evening. He stood awkwardly, sipping on his drink.

Finally, the lights lowered in the building and people started crowding closer to the stage. Spencer held his spot, being careful not to spill his drink on the girls who stood in front of him as he was jostled around. His heart sped up as he watched the shadowy figures of Y/n and her band make their way onto the stage in the dark.

There were a few breaths of silence before a spotlight lit up on the guitar players as they began to play, then the moment Spencer didn't know he was holding his breath for. The lights shone upon Y/n and she began to sing. Spencer watched in awe as she jumped around the stage with her band, dressed in a breathtaking black leather outfit, her blue and pink hair flowing with her. God, he wanted to run his fingers through that hair. Every time she made her way to his side of the stage his breathing would speed up and his heart would skip beats.

Spencer chugged the rest of his drink, feeling the alcohol go straight to his head. Seriously, how many shots did that bartender put in there? Whatever, he revelled in the light feeling it gave him. He started to loosen up and move his body with the music, following along with the people surrounding him. The girls in front of him took notice, and they screamed and yelled and grabbed onto his arms, pulling him into their little group.

They were clearly surprised that someone in a business casual getup was in a bar dancing and singing along to the live music, and they loved it. Spencer actually found himself having fun. He took his eyes off of Y/n to laugh with the girls around him as they each took turns grabbing his hands and jumping up and down with him as they sang along.

“I had a no good really bad messed up day!” They sang, or more like yelled, along. Spencer didn’t even realize that they had gathered their own little crowd that was cheering them on as they let loose.

He also didn’t realize Y/n had moved onto the next song because he was having so much fun, until he looked up at a particular lyric and found her staring right at him.

Spencer lost the motor function to his body. His new crowd of girls continued to dance around him as he breathlessly watched Y/n make her way across to the stage to his side as she sang, eyes locked on him the whole time.

“I brace for the damage. You’re perfect, I panic. So happy, it’s tragic,” Y/n sang, and as she got closer to Spencer she pointed her finger right at him. “Yeah, I want you like that.”

Spencer’s breath left him. The girls started screaming louder as Y/n pointed at him, and they shook him around in excitement that he was getting noticed by her.

Y/n gave him a wink, and Spencer felt as if he was 15 again, like he was going to faint because he just got noticed by his crush.

Not able to spend her whole set standing there looking at Spencer, Y/n continued on with the next song and moving about the stage. But Spencer noticed every chance she got, she was now sending looks his way. It made his heart flutter every single time.

“Do you know her?” One of the girls around him asked. Well, more like yelled to be heard over the music. Spencer bent down to reply closer to her ear so he wouldn’t have to yell as much.

“No, but I’m pretty sure I’m in love with her.”

The girl smiled and laughed, and for a second Spencer thought she was about to make fun of him. Here he was, clearly older and at a bar fawning over a much younger woman who would probably never give him the time of day, she was so out of his league. But the look she gave him said anything but mockery.

“What’s your name?” she asked instead of pointing out the obvious facts that he didn’t really belong in this crowd.

“Spencer. What’s yours?”

“I’m Ellie. It’s really nice to meet you, Spencer.”

“You too. Thank you for dancing with me.”

“It was my pleasure. I’m gonna run to the bathroom. I might lose you in the crowd but I had so much fun!”

She was gone before he could even say goodbye.

Spencer spent the duration of Y/n’s last few songs on stage taking it all in. He was finally seeing her in person, and she was even better live than in her tiktoks. And not to mention just absolutely gorgeous. His heart squeezed at the thought of never getting to tell her just how beautiful she was. But like he had thought earlier, she was out of his league and he didn’t really belong with this crowd.

When Y/n sang the last note of her last song, the bar erupted into shouts and applause, clearly having loved her performance. Spencer joined right in with everyone. He watched intently as Y/n bowed, thanked her band, and then she turned around and blew a kiss right to Spencer.

He didn’t know how to react. He just stood there stunned and watched as they made their way off the stage. His crowd of girls tried to get his attention and talk to him, but he just thanked them for a fun evening and turned to leave.

Before he could make his way out of the bar to meet up with the team, his path was blocked by a rather large security man.

“Are you Spencer?” he asked in a voice so deep it vibrated Spencer’s ear drums.

“Yes, sir.” he swallowed.

“Come this way.” The man walked along the side wall and Spencer had no choice but to follow. Soon they made their way into a staff only entrance door, and Spencer wondered if he was about to be arrested for being 40 years old in a bar. Because what else had he done that would warrant an arrest tonight? Not that being old in a bar was arrest worthy either, but it was all his hazy brain could think of right now.

Clearly in the backstage area, Spencer spotted members of Y/n’s band packing away their instruments. He tried to crane his neck to see if he could spot her, but the intimidating security man led him down a secluded hallway and then into a room with an unmarked door. He didn’t say anything else as he left Spencer standing there, closing the door tightly as he exited the room.

Confused, Spencer looked around him. The lights were dim, and there was a couch pushed against the far wall, and the opposite wall held some mirrors above tables that were covered in beauty products. A clothing rack was next to the door, where a few outfits hung from.

Is this a dressing room? Why did I just get put into a dressing room? He questioned himself.

After what felt like hours but was probably just a minute or two, he heard a voice behind him that made him jump.

“You can take a seat, you know.”

It was Y/n.

Spencer turned around and his breath caught in his throat. She was no longer wearing the black leather outfit she wore on stage, but instead was in a baggy t-shirt with a pair of leggings. Her face was free of the stage makeup, still a little bit wet so Spencer assumed she had been in an adjoining bathroom since he didn’t see her when he first walked in.

“You're Spencer, right?” she asked him.

Unable to form words right now, he nodded his head yes, making her smile. He cleared his throat so he could find his voice. “How did you know?”

“I recognized you from your tiktok profile. You like a bunch of my stuff, it’s hard to miss.” Spencer blushed at her words, at being caught admiring her. “I kept checking your profile, hoping to see you post something but you never did.”

“My friend kind of made me get the account. And then I just got hooked,” Spencer confessed.

“On tiktok?” Y/n laughed. “I know, right. It’s such an addictive app.”

“No, not on tiktok. On you.”

He managed to make Y/n speechless this time.

“Well, flattery will get you everywhere.”

It took Spencer a while to realize an important fact, because he was too busy being distracted by how beautiful Y/n looked so close in person. But once his head cleared a little bit, he remembered.

“Wait, how did you know my name was Spencer? I didn’t catch this earlier because I was distracted by how beautiful you are, but I don’t have my name on my tiktok profile.”

“I know, Dr. Reid.” Y/n said in a sultry voice. Dr. Reid was the name he went by on the app, as chosen by Penelope. “I got my friend Ellie to ask your name on the dance floor. She didn’t disappoint.”

“Ellie is your friend?” He asked, dumfounded. That girl he thought was about to make fun of him was actually spying on him for Y/n? What was happening tonight.

"I only thought it was fair I got to know your name since you already knew mine." Y/n chuckled. "And I've got to know, are you actually a doctor?" She eyed him up, taking in his outfit and dishevelled curly hair. Her big brown eyes looked hungry, and Spencer was getting lost in them.

"Yes but not in the medical sense. I have PhDs." He said quickly, not wanting to get all geeky and into details about his schooling. On any other occasion he would, but in Y/n’s dressing room? Not the time.

“Well, Doctor. Take a seat.” She pointed to the couch, and Spencer did as he was told. Y/n followed soon after, sitting right beside him. Practically on his lap. He gulped as he tried to keep his hands to himself.

“You were really great tonight,” he said.

“Thank you. You looked like you were having fun, surrounded by all those girls,” she replied with a teasing sparkle in her eyes.

“Yeah, uh, they were fun,” he croaked out.

“I know something we could do that would be even more fun,” Y/n said as she ran the tip of her finger up and down the length of his thigh.

“Aren't I a little old for you?” Spencer whispered. He was clenching his hands, trying not to reach out and grab Y/n, which he so desperately wanted to do.

“How old are you? 35?”

“I’m 40.” he stated.

“You don’t look it,” she purred into his ear. “So what’s a little 10 year age gap? My parents have a 13 year gap.”

She was straddling his lap now, inches away from sitting on the growing hard bulge in his pants. She ran the tips of her black painted nails up the length of his neck, tracing his adams apple as it bobbed with each gulp he took.

“Oh,” was all he could manage to reply.

“I gotta say, I was surprised to see you tonight. I’ve been looking for your face in the crowd of all my shows, never knowing if you’d ever actually show up or not.” she confessed.

“You have?”

“Of course. You’re probably my most active tiktok follower in terms of engaging with my posts. I was curious to see you in person, but then you never showed up.”

“I’m not from this state. It was just one of the best coincidences that could happen that made it possible for us to come tonight.” Spencer was surprised his words were coming out so clear, since his thoughts were consumed with the knowledge that this beautiful woman was sitting on his lap, hands now in his hair and massaging his scalp. He let out a content sigh and closed his eyes, loving the feeling when she would scrape across his scalp with her nails before soothing the area with the pads of her fingers.

“Us?”

“My team.” he nodded, completely unaware that he wasn't making sense to her.

When she removed her hands from his hair he opened his eyes again to find her watching him.

“Team?” she asked with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. She knew exactly what her actions were doing to his brain.

“My work team. We were in the city on a case, I convinced them all to come tonight so I could watch you live. So I wouldn't have to tell them all about my crush on an out of my league much younger woman,” he spilled.

“Crush you say?” Y/n spoke in hushed tones, getting closer to his ear so he could hear her better. She started to place feather light kisses along the length of his neck, causing Spencer to let out little gasps of air with each one. He was having a hard time not jutting his hips up to meet her, to gain that friction he wanted so badly. “What is it you like so much about me?”

“I, uh, I really liked your voice, at first,” he said, eyes closed as Y/n dug her hands back into his hair and tugged his head back.

“Keep going,” she urged.

“It drew me in, and then I was mesmerized by the colours of your hair.” Spencer stopped to hold back a moan as she started to suck on his neck. He would certainly be hiding a hickey from the team tomorrow morning. “The way you move on stage, it was just so addictive to watch. I kept staring at your tattoo’s, wondering how much further they went around your body under your clothing.”

Y/n pulled away from his neck and Spencer followed, desperately wanting to feel her against him in any way possible.

“My tattoo’s, huh? You want to see them?” she smirked as he nodded his head like a toddler excited for his new toy.

Spencer finally let his hands touch her. He placed them on her thighs that were still straddling his. He dug his fingers in, as a way to keep himself grounded as he watched Y/n remove her shirt. He stared at the vine tattoo that made its way up her arm, around her shoulder, and tapered off by her collar bone. It took Spencer’s brain a second to catch up and realize that she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath her shirt, and now he had a front row view of her breasts. Right in between and below them was another tattoo, a lotus flower, with what looked like dripping stars and sparkles falling from it.

Spencer sucked in a breath at the glorious sight, and he dragged Y/n’s hips closer to him, pulling her right on top of his aching member still trapped inside his pants.

They leaned in towards each other, meeting in the middle with a searing kiss. Y/n’s hands got to work unbuttoning Spencer’s purple shirt, as his hands went up and tangled into her hair. Free from his shirt, Y/n dragged her nails up and down Spencer’s chest, sending shivers throughout his body.

“Stay right here,” she whispered, pulling away from the kiss and planting her palm against his chest to push him back into the couch when he tried to follow her.

Spencer tried to regain his breathing as he watched her hips sway while walking towards the bathroom. She was back in less than a minute, with something grasped in her palm. Spencer was about to ask what it was but she dropped down to her knees in front of him and her hands went right to the zipper of his pants. All thoughts forgotten.

He lifted his hips a little to help her pull the pants down, and she took his boxers off with them. Spencer was left sitting naked on the couch with his cock straining hard for attention.

Left speechless, all Spencer could do was watch as Y/n leaned in and took his dripping cock into her mouth. The sudden warmth was intoxicating, and he threw his head back in a breathless moan.

“Fuck,” he groaned when she added her hand to twist and pull the length of him that she couldn’t get into her mouth.

Her other hand scratched and massaged the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs. He was really starting to love those long fingernails of hers.

It was only a couple of minutes of him, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure, before he felt like he was getting too close. When he looked down to find her staring up at him through her eyelashes, he had to pull her off.

“Jesus,” he said at the sight of the string of saliva from his cock to her mouth as she moved away. Spencer wanted a chance to taste her the way she had him, but before he could voice his desires she produced a condom from beside her on the floor. That must have been what she had been carrying back from the bathroom.

Speechless once again, he shivered as she rolled the condom over his length and stood up, pushing her own pants and underwear down before placing a knee on either side of him. Holding him still, she slowly lowered herself onto him until she sat flesh with his hips.

“Fuck, you’re so big,” she moaned.

Spencer could feel how tight of a fit it was. She rocked forward a tiny amount, getting used to the feeling of being so full. Spencer took the opportunity to lean forward and capture her left nipple in his mouth. He sucked the hardened bud into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it to soothe the sting each time he gave it a little nip. The pleasure was going right to Y/n’s core, as she squeezed her walls each time he took her nipple between his teeth.

He brought his hand up to massage her other breast, rolling and pinching her nipple between his fingers as Y/n’s rocking hips started to gain momentum. Her hands went to his hair, holding him in place against her breast as she lifted herself up and back down onto his hard length.

“God, you feel so good,” she moaned as her movements grew faster. Spencer moaned in agreement against her boob.

When she let go of his hair, Spencer drew back from her breast to take a breath. He placed both his hands on her hips and helped her speed up the movements, pulling her up his length to the tip and then slamming back down. He would push his hips up at the same time, going in as deep as he could.

He threw his head back onto the couch, his chest straining with each breath as he tried to keep up. He fixed his eyes back on her breasts as they bounced with each thrust. Mesmerized by the sight, he took one of his hands and started to trace the outline of her tattoos. Something he had dreamed about many times before.

“You are so beautiful,” he said when he finished his path along the black ink and made eye contact.

Y/n smiled and brought him in for another kiss. It was an awkward angle, and their movements faltered a bit as they fought for dominance in their kiss. Spencer bit her bottom lip and pulled, and Y/n groaned in pleasure.

“Fuck, I never thought this would actually happen,” Spencer said. He wrapped his arm around her waist and tried to pull her in closer. Their thrusts were losing momentum as they both were nearing their climax.

“You’ve thought about this before?” Y/n asked.

“Every night for 182 nights,” he replied, staring into her eyes.

The earnest look on his face sent her over the edge. She threw her head back in a moan and squeezed tight on his cock buried deep inside her, finally letting go as her pleasure came to its peak. Spencer wasn’t far behind. He pulled Y/n back against his chest as he desperately thrust his hips up into her, seeking his own release which came a few moments later. He buried himself as deep as he could go and let out a toe curling moan as he finally came.

They stayed together like that, Spencer holding Y/n against his chest, as their breathing started to level out. And then slowly, Spencer helped lift Y/n off his lap and placed her beside him. Quickly he removed and tied off the condom, throwing it into the garbage nearest the couch, before pulling her back into his side.

“I want you to know, I’ve never had sex backstage in the dressing room with anyone before. This was my first.” Y/n laughed quietly.

“Neither have I,” Spencer joked.

They sat like that for a while, both naked and holding on to each other, enjoying the post sex bliss. Spencer’s brain started to work again, thinking about how he would ever be able to function without Y/n now that he had had a taste of her in real life.

“So, you said you weren't from this state? You were just here with work?” Y/n asked after a while. She wanted to get to know him better.

“I work with the FBI as part of their behavioural analysis unit. We’re based in Quantico, Virginia and we travel all over the country when local police need our guidance.” Spencer explained.

“The FBI? Wow, you just got 10 times hotter.” she joked. She absentmindedly started rubbing her hand up and down his chest, and Spencer signed at the comforting feeling of it. “There’s so much about you that I want to learn about.”

“Me too.” Spencer agreed. “How is it being NYC’s biggest rock star?”

Y/n laughed. “I wouldn’t say the biggest. But performing is just what me and the band do at night sometimes. It’s what I’ve based my tiktok account around. But I’m actually a baker. I own a cafe near central park.”

This news shocked Spencer. He looked down at her in awe.

“A baker? And a rockstar? You’re living both lives.” he smiled.

“Some would say I have the best of both worlds,” Y/n laughed, proud of her joke but it flew right over Spencer’s head. “Ever heard of Hannah Montana?” She asked him with his puzzled expression.

“Is she your friend?” he asked.

“Never mind,” Y/n laughed. “You’re so cute. I’d really like to get to know you better. Virginia isn’t that far from New York.” She said shyly.

“I would love that.” Spencer agreed.

One of her band members knocked on the dressing room door and informed Y/n that the bar would be closing soon and they should head out.

The pair finally detangled themselves from each other, pulling their clothing on and sharing small shy smiles as they cleaned up. Spencer helped her fold and pack her alternate outfits into her suitcase while she threw all her makeup into her carrying case. They walked out hand in hand back into the bar, where Spencer was surprised to see his friends still hanging around. They let out hoots and hollers as they caught sight of Spencer holding Y/n’s hand. He blushed to his hairline at their innuendos. Even though they were correct, he didn’t want everyone else left in the bar to hear as well.

On their way through the bar they passed Y/n’s band, where she introduced him to the other 3 members. Turns out they all worked at her bakery, and have been friends since high school. Spencer wanted to get to know them better but his team was begging him to come over and introduce his ‘lady friend’ as Emily drunkenly yelled across the bar.

Spencer apologised to Y/n’s friends for his team's behaviour, but they laughed it off, clearly amused. He pulled Y/n along beside him as they made their way to the bar where they were sitting.

“Y/n, these are my friends and co-workers, Emily, JJ, Tara, and Luke. Everyone, this is Y/n.”

“You’re the girl from his tiktok!” JJ yelled.

“What?” a confused Spencer replied.

“Oh, come on. You don’t think we see don’t see you watching her videos all the time? The second I saw her walk on stage I knew why you suggested this place.” Emily laughed.

“Spencer has gotten in trouble at work before for having his phone out watching your tiktoks.” Tara explained.

Spencer sheepishly looked down at Y/n, biting his lip in hopes that she didn’t think he was too pathetic. But she just looked up at him with an adoring smile.

“You are so cute,” she said, and stood up on her toes to meet him in a kiss.

The team started yelling to get a room and faking being disgusted.

“We already did,” Spencer quipped.

Finally they were ushered out of the bar by the owner, who thanked them all for coming and congratulated Y/n and her band on a great performance.

The pair hung back as everyone started to walk ahead without them.

“We have a flight leaving in the morning, but if you wanted, you could come back to my hotel room with me?” Spencer nervously asked.

“I would love to.” Y/n said. Spencer placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side and they started to walk after the group in front of them.

He couldn’t believe his luck tonight. And even though he would be leaving Y/n in the morning, he had her phone number programmed into his phone now and he could call her whenever he wanted. And like she said, New York wasn’t that far away.

Thank you so much for reading!

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid/fem reader #spencer reid fic #alleys writing

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