#asks: shutter sounds | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luveline · 6 months

Text

𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐥𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐧

remus’ touch after a long night prompts a tired confession (and a slew of clumsy kisses).

requested here. modern au. fem!reader, 3.6k.

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

“I'm going to bed,” Sirius mumbles, scratching at his eyes as he gets up. “Don't let her sleep in her makeup. She'll get an eye infection.”

Your eyes are getting sore, but it's hardly Remus' responsibility to make sure you wash your face tonight, nor Sirius’ to remind you. “I'm a big girl.”

Sirius sends you a smile, ignoring your chiding. “Goodnight, my loves,” he says, waving you both away as he heads out of the living room and up the stairs.

“Notice how he didn't do his dishes?” Remus asks, shifting beside you.

He's sitting as he tends to, slouched in a way that can't be good for his back in the long run but is clearly comfortable short term. His chin is on his chest, his legs kicked out under the coffee table, which is decorated by the casualties of the night. Sirius’ dinner plate, Remus’ mug, James’ rarely used handheld console. He'd been playing a cutesy farming sim before he said goodnight an hour ago. Sirius stayed to mess with James’ crops and eat a late supper. You're surprised it took him as long as it did to admit defeat.

“What time is it?” you ask.

You're laying on the sofa with your socked feet tucked behind Remus’ back, of which he's yet to complain. His elbow brushes your shin as he brings up his arm. “Nearly one in the morning, now,” he reads from his watch. “Let's go to bed too, yeah?”

“I don't want to.” You turn your face into the pillow behind your neck.

“Me neither,” Remus says, dropping his hand on your knee.

You watch another twenty minutes of TV together failing to summon the energy to stand, but the want for a glass of water grows too big. Your head throbs as you get up, offering your hands to the pretzel that is your favourite housemate.

Remus turns off the TV and lights. You lock the front door. He carries the dirty dishes to the kitchen and you fill up two glasses of water to take with you. It's all so… regular. A routine you share nearly every night, only to climb into your two separate beds.

He ushers you out of the kitchen and down the hallway with his hand behind your shoulders, his touch a phantom as you ascend the stairs.

You're silent beside the creak of the old wood, too tired to speak. Remus is similarly quiet, though he does whisper, “Watch,” when you nearly kick the box of Halloween decorations waiting to be taken up into the attic.

You leave your water on the towel box in the alcove and dance around one another in the bathroom. Sirius’ toothbrush lays on the sink still wet, but otherwise there's no signs of him.

You're feeling very, very tired. You hadn't realised how bad it was until you're putting your toothbrush in your mouth, leant up against the window sill, a slot of cold air seeping in from the dark outside. Your eyes shutter closed. The scrubbing sound of Remus brushing his teeth is almost lulling.

He swills out his mouth and washes his brush. “Here,” he says gently. You open your eyes just enough to see him beckoning you forward. “Dove, your necklace.”

“Oh. Thanks.” You turn your back to him.

His fingers are damp and cool on your skin as he unclasps your necklace. He often takes it off for you. It's one of the things you'll miss when you guys aren't living together anymore, the slow meander to his bedroom, the wood of his door jam on your cheek as you lean against it and give him a hopeful smile. Sometimes he's awake, reading a novel on his side in bed or listening to music at his desk, other times he's sleeping. On those occasions you spend too long lingering, stolen seconds spent staring at the rise and fall of his shoulder.

“Thank you,” you say as he puts your necklace in the jewellery dish. It comes out missing vowels, lips stuck together as though honeyed.

You spit pathetically in the sink, rinse your brush, and consider sitting down. “I'm tired,” you whine, wiping your lips.

“I know,” Remus says, giving you a fond nudge. “Just wash your face and get on with it.”

“You first. I'm going to nap standing up for a bit.”

He puts as much of his hair behind his ears as he can and turns on the tap. This is just as familiar as brushing your teeth together. It's not quite as bad as watching James Perfect Skin Potter wash his face with bar soap, but you have to admit that Remus’ eight-nine pence face soap hurts your heart. He washes it off, pats his face dry, and takes the small bottle of bio oil out of the medicine cabinet to pipette onto his pinky finger. “Wash your face,” he says, smoothing the oil into his scars one by one.

You shake your head. “M'gonna do it in the morning.”

“That's why your eye was swollen a few weeks ago. You know yourself you won't.”

“I might,” you say, letting out a big breath as you rub your sore eyes even sorer, “I'm too tired.”

“Can you sit up, at least?”

“No.” Remus takes you by the shoulders and forces you to sit on the edge of the bath. “Aggressive?”

“Don't fall in,” he says, cupping your cheek briefly as if to make sure you've heard.

You are hearing him, seeing him, even feeling the immensity of his touch, but you're tired, and you know you can let yourself relax completely with him. You'd be the same with James or Sirius, though neither of them could have your head feeling so dizzyingly light from a single touch as Remus can. You probably wouldn't let them persuade you into this, either, tilting your head back to watch through blurry vision as Remus soaks a cotton round in your facial oil.

“Close your eyes,” he says.

“Was that a dracula impression?”

“I command you.”

You close your eyes. The queasy feeling of oil drags against your lids as Remus wipes them, loosening the stiff tubes of mascara that coat your lashes. It's not a short process because he's very, very gentle, holding your face delicately as though you're a flower in need of coddling, and him the sun. It's the only metaphor that would ever make sense for you and Remus; he's like the sun even if it goes against every statement he's ever made about himself, or anyone else has, for that matter. People think he's a moody, sarcastic boy, and he is, but he's also a vestibule of sweetness, softness, and warmth. The kind of heat you'd only ever feel kissing your skin under the summer sun. But more than that, he's the relief that follows when the clouds come out.

And his hands are all over you. Your head gets heavier by the minute, eased into dozing by his touch and quiet tones. “We're almost done. I'm gonna have to carry you to bed at this rate.”

“I'm going to miss this so much one day,” you say. It's easier to admit when you're not looking at him.

Remus turns on the tap. Hot water runs, you can tell by the sound as strange as it seems, and he wrings the dirtied cotton round before replacing it with a new one. He wets it, bringing it just that touch too hot to your cheeks to wipe you down. “What are you going to miss, dove?”

“Us. You. I'm going to miss you.”

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere, but one day I will be. James will finally have had enough of us and I'll,” —you swallow around nothing as a rivulet of water runs down your cheek, a cooling tear from the cotton round— “have to move out and we'll never see each other anymore.”

“Don't be silly, you're not going anywhere.”

“It's not about the going,” you murmur, peeling your eyes open tentatively as his dabbing follows down your cheek to your neck. “I miss you sometimes and we still live together. I can't imagine how much I'll miss you…”

Remus puts the cotton round aside. He takes your face into his hand, and suddenly his touch feels raw, nothing like it had moments ago. Because Remus would wash your makeup off for you any day of the week, but his looking at you like this, so unshielded and unabashed, is a rarity.

“You won't have to miss me. Even if we did move away from each other, I wouldn't let it be that far.”

“Friends move away all the time. We don't speak to half the people we knew at school.”

“I only really knew you and the boys,” he says. It isn't true but it is at the same time. Together, you'd been a happy lot, but your current housemates are the ones you'd known. “And see? We're still together.”

“But for how long?” you ask.

Remus brings his second hand, holding your face entirely. He covers your cheeks, index fingers sliding slowly under your ears. He's exceedingly gentle, and his eyes are soft. He holds you like you're made of glass, like you could break under a hint of pressure. Slowly, he tilts his head to the side as though he might lean in for a kiss. Maybe he doesn't know he's doing it, but Remus is a very purposeful soul. He'd do much worse to wind you up if you wanted him to.

You sober up. It's like he has caffeine in his palms.

“You want to go where I'm going, is that it?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah,” you say, barely say, voice shame-facedly weak. Is he asking what you think he is?

“Do you want to start now?”

You breathe out as one of his hands shifts down your jaw. “Yeah, I… I want to start now.”

“Okay, dove. Then close your eyes again.”

You hold his gaze for a second that feels infinitely long and short at once, your heart racing. Clarity has returned, a thrust into wakefulness even if your fatigue ties knots around your ankles. You look at him in his late night glory, his scars shining a pink-white like the petals of a young peony flower, and you know it's happening now.

You shut your eyes.

He steps closer, though the bath you're perched on is low, and he has to bend a considerable amount to reach you. The weight of his hands on you doesn't change, not even as he grows near enough to sense the heat of his breath against your lips. It's his nose that makes first contact as it slides against yours, and then his forehead presses down into you, his lips noticeably absent. Each contiguity between you thrums.

A pit opens in your chest, cleaved by his voice as he says, “I'm going to kiss you, okay? S'that what you want?”

Your hands don't feel like your own. Under the sickening nervousness twining its way through your ribs, you're excited. You're smiling, your voice shaped by it. “Yeah. It's what I want,” you say.

“Good. It's what I've wanted for a while–” while pressed into your lips, all shaken up by an emotion you've never heard him speak with. He kisses you and you're frozen, and he waits and waits and pulls away to push back in. You remember yourself then, responding to his wading with some pressure of your own. Sparked back to life.

It's so strange. It doesn't feel real. Remus Lupin kisses you heated and hard for just long enough to feel it in your teeth before he pulls away. “Sorry,” he murmurs, his fingertip running down your cheek, following that same path as your earlier rivulet. To think he saw it, really saw it, locked it away to remember and trace into your skin now… maybe he's seen much more of you than you realised all along.

“Will you do it again?” you say under your breath.

Remus must hear the thread of insecurity running through your question; you're afraid he'll say no, but he strokes your cheek again with that unfathomable softness and says, “Yeah, dove, of course I will.”

“Do you want to?”

And that's less insecurity and more selfishness, wanting the confession. He hears that, too.

“I want to kiss you more than I've ever wanted anything,” he says, eye to eye with you, your head tipped up and your heart in your throat, twitching and fizzling like a firecracker. “Yeah? And all that missing me you've been doing? All your worrying? You don't need to do that. You've never needed to do that–”

“I just never thought you liked me like that.” You and Remus aren't new to one another. “You've been the same since the day we met.”

Remus’ hands get a little more solid where he's holding you. “Dove. Dove, are you mad?”

“Remus–”

“Maybe I have been the same, but did you really not notice that I–” He squeezes your cheeks playfully, almost in disbelief. “If you want me, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere without you. You're not going anywhere without me.”

“So you like me?”

“Yes,” he says, his eyebrows pinched together at the starts. “Of course I do.” He laughs. “That's what I'm trying to tell you.”

“Oh,” you say, lifting your head.

Remus shuts his eyes a millisecond before you shut your own and kisses you again. The second round is softer, his smile to yours and struggling to find purchase. His breath huffs out in a minty laugh, shockwaves through your mouth.

“Stop laughing,” he breathes, his hands falling to your neck, your shoulders.

“You first.”

Your lips part under his, a split-second of contact. He yanks away before things can get too heavy, and you're glad he does, but for a moment you feel the loss like a wave of vertigo.

“Sorry, I'm going too fast, and you're tired.” His touch is ticklish behind your shoulder.

“It's okay. Maybe it is a bit fast, but I'm not tired anymore,” you confess.

Remus hugs you, cementing every feeling for him you have as he wraps his arms around you from over your shoulders, a deft hand cupped behind your neck. “That's not true. I can feel your back shaking. Let's go to bed.”

“After that?”

“What, are you worried it won't have happened in the morning?” he asks genuinely.

You go limp in his arms as he takes your weight against his chest. Not worried, but rather not sure you can be away from him so soon. You ask him in a whisper if you can come and sit with him, not to sleep with him, not to do anything else, and he whispers back, Anything you want. You both entertain the lie that you won't fall asleep in his bed.

—

Remus tenses as he hears the scuffling sounds of movement downstairs. It takes a train of thought awakening for him to realise it's only James, rising early as usual to put on a load of washing and prepare bits for lunch before he goes off for training. He can see him in his mind's eye if he tries, his friend dressed in the red and white rugby uniform, green socks up over his calves and white cleats scrubbed pristine for another ruck in the mud.

Remus’ relaxes, stretching out in bed until his hand bumps into something rigid.

He flinches.

You're laying on the mattress beside him, your head slipped off of the pillows and your arm tucked beneath you. It doesn't look comfortable, and if it were any other morning he'd pull it straight for you, but.

I kissed you, he thinks to himself, as though talking to you. He turns away from you until his back clicks and alleviates the ache in his hips, though he has to settle eventually, back on his back, no way of ignoring you. He doesn't want to ignore you. The opposite —why are you so far away? Can he hold you?

What are the rules here?

Kissing… not dating… You're here in his bed, you'd asked to stay.

He takes your hand and pulls at your arm. Still sleeping, you mumble and move onto your back, releasing the pressure on your shoulder as he pulls you toward his chest. Your face is impassive, lax in sleep.

He should let you sleep.

“Dove,” he says, stroking up the length of your arm.

“Mm?” you hum.

“I need to ask you something.”

You twitch awake with a small cough. Your eyes are red with a lack of sleep as you open them, blinking, and he wishes stupidly that he could make it better. He makes a sympathetic sound for want of more to do.

“Why have you woken me up?” you ask, blinking at him. You gather that there's nothing urgent happening and push your face into his shoulder, practically nuzzling him. “It's Saturday.”

“I just need to ask you something.”

“So ask me,” you encourage through your sleepiness.

The washing machine whirs downstairs. It’s an old machine that you often joke is taking off into orbit during the final spin, loud as anything. He can barely hear your sluggish breathing underneath it, but he can't miss the catch in it after he asks, “Can I be your boyfriend?”

It's not the catch he's expecting. You laugh and readjust, wrapping your arms around him from the side and kissing the side of his neck clumsily. “Y'u asked me last night,” you say in a borderless run-on, sounding about as dopily in love as he's ever heard you.

He thinks about it. Yes, he did, after he'd kissed you many more times than he should've and curled up in bed with you, hands held loosely beneath the blankets. He remembers the question, the answer. The last kiss that followed, and you falling asleep beside him.

“I need a coffee,” he says, encouraging your head back so he can kiss your temple.

“No, you need to sleep more with me. And maybe kiss me again. If you want to.”

Sleeping isn't half as interesting as kissing you. He slots his nose against yours and languishes in the feeling of your lips, wondering if he's having a false start. He could still be dreaming. It would make sense.

The door clatters open with a curse. James stands in the doorway with a folded pile of Remus' washing from the radiators in his arms, an apology on his lips, “Sorry, mate, the door got away from– oh my god. Oh my god?”

Remus isn't an overly shy guy but he can't deal with this. “For fuck's sake,” he mutters, dropping his face into your shoulder. Your arm wraps under his neck, fingers splayed across his cheek.

“James–” you begin, resigned to your fate.

“This is flat-cest. This is the cardinal sin.”

“We don't live in a flat,” Remus says.

“That makes it worse. You can't even blame close quarters.” Remus peeks up to watch James in the doorway, still clinging to Remus’ washing, pure shock curdling his features. He shakes his head. “I'm telling Sirius.”

“Please don't!” you say.

You slump back into the pillows as James leaves anyways.

Remus hugs your soft abdomen. “Don't worry,” he says.

“I guess it's a good thing you've already asked me out,” you say.

“Why, what can they do?” Remus asks, wondering if he's allowed to put his face on your chest or if that's too forward. You rake a hand through his hair and encourage him forward, to his delight.

Frantic words. You and Remus loved up in bed despite it.

“I'm chucking them out!”

“James, they've been seeing for weeks. Can I go back to sleep?”

“What?!”

You grumble into his hair. “That's not even true… Does everyone know, then? That I liked you?”

Remus thinks of the shadow of you in the doorway, that sheepish smile you send his way before you ask him to unclasp your necklace before bed, or your face as he’d wiped the sooty stain of mascara from your cheek last night, half in love with him as you fell asleep in his palm.

“I don't think so, lovely,” he comforts. “Don't worry about it. We'll clear it up at lunch time. James isn't even mad, he's just sulking thinking we didn't tell him.”

“How could you not tell me?” James asks on cue, rounding the door again, arms ever tighter around the bundle of Remus’ clothes. He assumes it's being kept hostage. “I thought we were best mates.”

“James,” you say softly, all sympathy.

Remus likes the feeling of your voice under his ear, and your slightly too-quick heartbeat. He could fall asleep here and now if it weren't for the company.

“It's new,” you're saying, softness melded to a sweet pride. “Okay? I've barely told Remus how I feel, of course I was going to tell you. We were only talking about it last night. It really hasn't been weeks, Sirius is a stirrer.”

Remus pulls the covers up over your heads and climbs on top of you in a rush, demanding that the both of you be left alone, to James’ great annoyance but your delight, your laughter loud in the shell of his ear. Your chest shakes with it beneath him.

A great wad of fabric hits him in the legs. “Twats,” James says, seemingly stalking off.

Your whisper sends shivers down his spine. “We're alone again. Do you have anything else to ask me while you're too tired to remember?” you tease.

There's not a chance in the world that Remus would ever forget this.

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thanks for reading!! I really hope you enjoyed, it's been a little bit since I wrote for remus like this so I was actually a bit nervous and I hope it's okay :D <3

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #marauders era #remus x reader #remus x you #marauders #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin blurb #marauders x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #the marauders

6K notes · View notes

sweet-as-an-angel · 4 months

Text

Ghost Letting You Watch Him Masturbate

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Desperate! Ghost, Touch-Starved! Ghost, Dominant! Ghost, Edging, Assisted Masturbation, Guided Masturbation, The Mask Stays On, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.

He loves the way you watch him so intently as his hand works the shaft of his aching cock, the tip red and angry as he staves off his orgasm just to let you watch for a little bit longer. You come closer, on hands and knees, and sit before him, just shy of the area between his legs. The danger zone.

The sound of squelching is obscene, as is the sight of his dick glistening with pre. If he pulled his hand away, strings of it would cling to his palm, beckoning – begging – him to return.

He can hardly refuse you when you ask him if you can touch it. Touch him.

He nods, pulls his hand away enough so that you can slip yours beneath his. His hand is sticky as it clamps down around yours. He guides you, starting out with light strokes, mindful of the euphoria building just below his stomach again. Raw. Fresh.

When you’re more confident in this rhythm, you grip him a little tighter. Look up into Ghost’s half-lidded eyes. He nods, but can’t find the energy to lift his head back up. He’s looking down at you, his mask concealing all but the lethargic lust in his eyes. And when you start to move faster, he thinks he can feel Heaven. His slick hand is tight – nigh crushing – over yours, making you squeeze him tighter, harder. God, harder.

And when your fingers graze the sensitive skin of his tip, his head almost rolls back, his eyes screwing shut. He gasps, and his breath shutters

He knows that this won’t be like all the other times when it was just him all alone in his room, or the barracks, or the showers. He can feel it in the rapid tightening of his balls, one hanging lower than the other, in the knotting in his stomach. He feels his vein twitch – the one you’d been so curiously eyeing earlier – when you gaze up at him from beneath your lashes, eyes soft. You come closer. Sat between his legs now. He’s oozing from the tip; an effect only you can have. He’d have been embarrassed were he not in the crosshairs of what he could tell would be one of the most excruciating orgasms he’s ever had.

He’s panting now, watching you as, with soft fingers, you work the tip, spreading his juices across it, down his shaft. When you come back up, clenching your fingers around his tip, he hisses. Jolts. When you try to retract, concern evident in the furrow of your brow, he snatches your hand back, gripping your wrist and enclosing your hand around him once more.

“Keep goin’,' he pants. His eyes glisten beneath the fluorescence of the dim bulb above you.

“Please.”

And you do. You squeeze and squelch and slide your hand along the length of him until your arm aches and his back is arching out of his chair, head lolling back as thick globs of cum spurt out from the tip. No warning. Just the explosion and its aftermath.

His grip around your hand tightens. You wince, but he doesn’t notice. He’s growling, guttural and animal, teeth gritted beneath his mask. He can feel his eyes strain with how far back into his skull they’ve rolled.

His stomach gradually becomes soaked in a viscous, milky spray. You’re sure you can see his shaft pulsating with every pump of his semen – like water through a pipe – emptying himself. Some of it gets caught in the hairs leading down from his belly button, thicker as they reach the pubic area.

His chest heaves. His hand is still around yours, looser now. But not by much. Keeping you there.

He musters the strength to look down at you again. Your eyes follow the beads of cum weeping from his tip as they cover his hand, staining the expanse of his scarred skin. He lets you go. Watches you watch the glossy beads of his release meet your hand. Warm and wet.

He’ll teach you how to take him with your mouth next time; teach you to work your tongue just how he likes it. He’ll watch you swallow all of him. He’ll forge the satisfaction of knowing that his cum will be swimming inside your stomach.

His. From the inside.

Heavy breathing; a hand tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his; a slim, crooked smile beneath his mask. He promises.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad Tumblr Backup Account

6K notes · View notes

peachesofteal · 6 months

Text

Light On- single mom/neighbor fic Simon Riley/female reader Prompt: 1 of 2 for sickfics / requested by multiple

I’m going to need a raincheck for dinner tonight.

Simon frowns at his phone. You’re bailing? You seemed excited about it when he asked earlier in the week, offering to take you and Emmaline down the street to the little café on the corner for dinner. It had taken him days to work up the courage, needlessly pushed on by Johnny’s ‘encouragement’ relentless text messages filled with date ideas, and bad pick-up lines.

Still, you had said yes. Had asked if meant Emma too, and he took secret pleasure in the way you seemed so relieved when he tilted his head and told you, of course.

Okay. Is everything alright? He fires back immediately, wondering if the crying that he’s been hearing on and off all morning has anything to do with you backing out.

I’m not feeling great, and neither is Emma. I think we’re coming down with something. Coming down with something, like you’re sick? You’re sick? Anxiety twists in the pit of his stomach, worrying curling his fingers into a fist with a clench.

Alright. Let me know if you need anything? He waits for a text back, an answer of some kind, an assurance that you’ll seek him out if you need help or need anything.

It never comes.

Six hours later, Simon is at your door.

He has grit his teeth through the day, paced around his own flat endlessly, tried everything he could think of to distract himself. Every time he heard Emmaline wail, his stomach flipped, worry, fear, breaking down his logical sense, the analytical part of his brain until he was standing in front of your door, waiting for the inevitable click of the handle.

When it comes, and you’re standing on the other side, his heart sinks.

He should have come over soon.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He says it as softly as he can, a newfound pitch of his voice that seems to only be reserved for you, trying to allay the panic that has started to form as ice inside his chest.

“Sorry about the noise.” You croak, and he smothers his wince. You sound awful, voice nearly gone, like your throat has been rubbed raw with sandpaper. Emmaline is clad only in a diaper, and when he looks closer, he can see the stain of what he thinks must be her vomit on your shirt. Over your shoulder, dirty bottles, dishes lay stacked next to the sink, a laundry basket with a mountain of baby clothes piled high sits on the table.

“Can I help-“ You sway, arm tightening around the baby, and he doesn’t think, doesn’t stop himself, he just moves.“Alright,” He murmurs, wrapping an arm around you, supporting both you and Emmaline by shifting you into his side, one hand against Emma’s back. She feels warm, but not nearly as hot as you, and panic tries to bubble up his throat again at the blaring heat that’s coming from your skin. “I’ve got you.”

“Sorry, ‘m a little dizzy.”

“It’s okay.” He keeps you close, turning you back through the door. Emma makes scratchy, unhappy noises, and he rubs his thumb against her skin. “Shhh. I know, I know. You’re okay.” You lean into him harder, and he accommodates it, moving the two of you towards the couch. “I know, you’re not feeling too good are you?” He says to Emma after he gets you down on the couch, hands now around her back, waiting for a sign of permission from you to lift her.

“She can go down. If you-“ Your breath gets caught in your chest, and you curl forward, his hand going to your shoulder, your body shaking with a cough. “If you want to try.” You whisper once you recover, brows knitted together in misery, and he cradles her, rocking her back and forth, mimicking your usual movements.

“You stay right here.” He nods to the couch, using a fraction of the voice he uses on Johnny, and you immediately nod, eyes shuttering closed with a slow blink. “Just rest.”

Emmaline is still crying when he opens the door to her room, the first he’s seen it, pale green walls and dark wood crib, small rocker in the corner next to a changing table. It’s a comforting space, decorated and cared for with love, and for a moment, his mind wanders to an image of you, painting the walls with a swollen belly, or curled in the plush rocker, reading a book to Emmaline, still nestled inside you. He wasn’t there for it, but he just knows you were so beautiful, the kind of glow that would have stopped him in the street. You still stop him in the street.

Emma wails, bringing him back to reality with a softer cry than earlier, and he keeps her close to his chest, murmuring low and soft. “Shhh. You’re alright, baby girl. You’re okay.” He continues the rocking side to side thing you usually do in a standing position, mumbling things to her, stroking his fingers down her cheek, her forehead, bouncing and swaying at the same. “Are you not feeling too good? Is that what’s got you all upset? Yeah. I get kind of grumpy when I don’t feel good either.” He coos, little lashes slowly blinking up at him, transfixed on his face during his stream of chatter until they begin to slip shut, her mouth still hanging half open. He holds his breath, staring in astonishment at her sleeping face, half shocked, half ridiculously pleased.

“Have you taken anything?” He barely sits on your ottoman, leaning over to get a better look at you, uncomfortable with the way your eyes seem glazed over, how slow they are to react. Maybe you need to go to the hospital?

“Some naproxen, a bit ago.” You look exhausted, eyelids heavy, and he can’t stop himself from pressing the back of his hand to your forehead.

“You’re really warm, sweetheart. Do you need a doctor?” Tell me what to do, he wants to beg. Tell me how to help.

“No, jus’ sleep.” A confused look flickers across your face. “Oh my god, did you…” you swallow a cough, his hand sliding down to cup your shoulder, thumb soft against your dirty t shirt. “did you get her down?” He nods, slowly, fighting the small grin that tugs at his lips.

“Wow.” You breathe, and your hand drags up your chest to where his still sits on your arm, fingers intertwining in his with a small squeeze. “You really are our hero.” He smiles at you, because how can he not, heart warm and full in his chest, the feeling something he hasn’t experienced in a long, long time.

There’s a moment, a second extended into a minute, maybe an hour, he’s not sure, where you don’t look away from him. Where you look at him, really look at him, and see him, see his twice broken nose, the scar on his cheek, the one above his eyebrow. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t try to hide or look away, just holds himself still, staring down at you on the couch, sweat dotting your forehead and neck, still beautiful with your fever parched skin and tired eyes.

“Simon.” You whisper, and he thinks, maybe… he’s supposed to kiss you right now. That if he were braver, if Johnny were here to egg him on, if he felt like it wasn’t taking advantage of your weakened state… he might. But instead-

“Why don’t you close your eyes, love. Try to get some rest. I’ll stay. See if I can get some of these dishes done. I can get her if she gets up.”

“You don’t have-“

“I know.” He soothes. “I know I don’t, but I’m here. Let me help.” Let me help you. Let me be here.

You take a deep breath, as deep as you can manage, and then your voice is light, but so sweet, and so, so trusting when you say;

“Okay, Simon.”

#peaches writes #light on #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley

2K notes · View notes

notmyneighbor · 1 month

Text

Let Me In ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 8

Word Count ~ 4.6k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ sexual content, slight breeding kink, body horror, minor violence

Also available on AO3

taglist @luthien-elvenia-asher @fishfetus @gaudesstuff @nekee-lilac02 @msdevil333 @rrnrjn @maskedpacific @yoongiwantsme @that-0ne-simp

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

You always have to be extra careful when one of the Sverchzt sisters is asking to enter the building.

Twins, and both of them nearly identical, save for the location of the mole on the cheek: on the right for Selenne, the left for Elenois. Both employed as models, with the same hourglass figures, full, painted lips, long lashes, and breathy voices accented with something exotically European sounding. You always feel very plain and lacking around them; it was like being back in school again as the shy, unpopular girl, envying the pretty cheerleaders that seemed to have it all.

But you don’t feel inadequate today, still buoyed up from your feelings of being with Francis’ doppelgänger all weekend. You look over the identification card and entry request, finding everything in order. The elegant woman is on the day’s list of expected entrants, too. You’re nearly ready to hit the switch to grant her access into the apartments, still reminiscing about your fiancé, when something in you, some sixth sense kicking in, cautions you that you should probably call the apartment, just to be certain. There is nothing visually you can identify that is incorrect about the haughty woman on the opposite side of the glass, who is now folding her arms across her ample chest, the polished nail of an index finger tapping against the porcelain skin of one slender forearm. An impatient gesture you’ve seen Selenne make before, dozens of times. Nothing suspicious about the documents, either. But still, you feel it is better to be safe than sorry.

You already know all the residents’ phone numbers by heart now, the quick four digit extensions granting you rapid access.

“Hello. Elenois speaking. My sister and I are both at home today. We are not expecting any visitors.”

“Thank you.” You keep your expression calm, hurriedly flipping the plastic shield down and depressing the button to sound the alarm, catching one last glimpse of the doppelgänger, the crimson polished nails now scratching at the glass pane, the eyes with the lids shadowed in lavender streaked and bloodshot, the plush lips parting to expose yellow fangs dripping spittle before the shutters finish descending. You phone the disposal team, still maintaining your composure.

Close. That had been too close. You had to concentrate. Focus.

The day progresses and you find yourself getting back into the rhythm of things. Wondering how your pretender beau had decided which members of his squadron to sacrifice, sending them to the building to meet their doom to throw the DDD off the trail. What would happen when the numbers dwindled, when there were none left to send? Did the faded mark he’d left behind still shield you? Or did it only make you more desireable, like what had happened with the replicant who looked like Izaack Gauss?

You’re picking at the peeling varnish of the battered desk during the afternoon lull when someone walks into the building and your heart stops.

Francis.

Not the original, and not your doppel, either. This one is nearly a dead ringer, except for the nose that’s not quite right, the tip slightly larger, the nostrils a little more flared.

It had never occurred to you that there would still be other versions of the milkman walking around. Where has he been all this time?

“Mmm…hello.” The customary greeting the genuine version had always adopted. He slides an ID card through the slot.

“Entry request?”

“I’m sorry, I forgot. Here it is.” The smile breaks your heart. His smile. Only not.

You stare at the document for long moments. Everything looks correct: the document expiration date present and set for the future; the serial number identical to what you have on file; the logo of your organization in plain sight; the stated reason for the alleged milkman’s absence logical. All of the elements appear as they should, save for that slightly mismatched nose in the photograph and entry request.

“Is there a problem?”

Your eyes lift to meet his. Why are you drawing this out?

“Your appearance,” you answer distractedly.

“Yes? What about it? Doesn’t it match the picture?”

You shake your head, reaching for the alarm button. “I’m sorry.” It’s foolish, being this sentimental. No reason for it. You know the real Francis is gone. You know it’s not the invader you’ve fallen for.

Alarm blossoms on the fake milkman’s features. His hands clasp together. “Wait, please…I’ll leave. Just…I don’t want to die.”

You freeze. This was new. The doppels always reacted with anger when their cover was blown. You’ve never had one beg for their life before.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Was it true? Were there others that were willing to coexist peacefully? Had you incorrectly assumed they all sought the same goal, replacing humans and ruling over the planet, the one remarkable exception being your lover?

Or was this just a new tactic that they’d adopted, evolving, learning, adapting better to human weaknesses?

You had no way of knowing which it was.

“I can’t,” you say. “I’m sorry.” You slam your fist against the alarm switch before the replicant tries to escape, that same soft, pleading look haunting you as the shutter descends. The cleaners arrive and you cover your ears with your hands. You don’t want to listen to it. You can’t.

There are tears in your eyes when the figure in the yellow hazmat suit declares you are now able to return to your job.

***

The replicant milkman—yours, you note with relief—arrives later that afternoon, hastily adjusting the cap on his head, offering a brief glimpse of the perspiration from the heat outdoors lining his brow, his tousled brown locks damp, plastered against his forehead. He’s already smiling before he’s even reached the window, hurriedly thrusting his document and ID card through the slot, and something else, something that sounds metallic against the shallow stainless opening at the bottom of the window.

You reach for it, realizing what it is the second your fingers close over the object: your engagement ring.

The DDD had ceased its surveillance of the security booth, the resources and manpower needed elsewhere, apparently, so their is no longer the camera or the person watching it to worry about. You stare at the solitaire diamond, at the pretty filigree decorating the band on either side of it, and the tears that had been threatening to spill earlier come pouring out of you, a messy amalgamation of guilt and fear and relief releasing in that sudden cascade.

“Sweetheart, you like it that much? I’m so glad, I wasn’t sure…” His voice trails off. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

You shake your head, absently hitting the buzzer to let him in, then hitting its partner to shut the door behind him.

The door to the security booth opens. “Oh, Francis.” You throw your arms around his neck, burrowing along his shirt collar while he rubs soothing circles on your back.

“What is it, love?”

“I’ve had such a terrible day. I almost let in a doppel by mistake this morning, and just a little while ago there was a doppel that looked like Francis.”

“Sweet girl.” His arms tighten around you.

“He begged for his life, Francis. I’ve never seen that before. It was so difficult to call the team. But I had to. I had to do it. I didn’t know if he really meant he wouldn’t harm anyone, or if he was lying. I couldn’t risk him hurting the residents inside.”

“Of course you did, love.”

“How many copies of him are there? Just roaming around the city?”

“I don’t know. But it wasn’t Francis and it wasn’t me. They were just trying to trick you, and you didn’t fall for it. You did the right thing. I know it was difficult for you. I know why, love. I’m here now. I’ve got you.”

You remain in his arms, letting the comfort he’s offering seep into you. He does understand, better than anyone else ever could. After a time you draw back, sniffling. The ring is still clutched tightly in your fist. You relax your palm, spreading your fingers so you can admire the piece of jewelry again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin the moment. It’s lovely, Francis. Perfect.”

The imposter smoothes the last of the tears away and kneels down, gently plucking the ring from your right hand, then reaches for your left one, sliding the diamond band onto your ring finger and kissing the back of your hand.

The sound of a throat being cleared at the window interrupts the moment. You jump, startled. It’s the pilot.

“Dropping off more paperwork, doll?” Steven Rudboys grins, sliding his card and request form towards you.

You blush, aware of your fiancé rising to his feet beside you, frowning. Of course he doesn’t understand the reference, from that day when you’d visited the doppel so early on, when he’d slipped you the invitation to come to the apartment.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” the man with the Mohawk says, his eyes lingering on the ring. “I always knew you two would end up together. Took you long enough, Mosses,” he adds, shooting the imposter milkman a sharp glance. “Don’t know what Afton and Stone are waiting for. I thought for sure they would’ve set a date by now. Bet you two don’t wait that long to tie the knot.”

Your cheeks are scarlet, your eyes focused on the documents, checking the day’s schedule. On the day’s list. A quick phone call just to confirm what you already know, allowing the man to enter the apartments once you’ve spoken to his father, heaving a sigh of relief when he’s finally gone from sight.

“I don’t like him,” the pretender says, his voice nearly a growl. “I don’t think Francis ever did, either. Too intrusive.” He turns his attention back to you. “Maybe not the best timing for the ring,” he observes ruefully.

“I’m sorry. I love it. Truly. It’s just been a very hectic, stressful day.”

“Don’t apologize. You have every right to be feeling that way. I think…I hope…I can help with that. Come see me as soon as you get off shift, okay? And be careful. If you need me, call.”

You nod, kissing him before he exits the booth and heads towards the elevator. You stretch your hand out, turning it slightly, watching how the light plays over the facets. It was official. You were engaged. You doubted it would take long for the rumor mill of the apartment building to circulate the news. Poor Francis. He’d be bombarded with well wishers and busybodies. Rudboys was probably going to keep at him mercilessly.

The rest of your shift passes by blessedly uneventfully. It is nearly time for your workday to end. Time to return to your lover waiting for you upstairs, the doppel you’re betrothed to.

***

You tap your knuckles on the door of apartment 3-02, greeted by the copy of the living space’s former owner.

He’s shed the troublesome cap, the ebony bow unknotted and draped around his neck, the first pair of buttons on his shirt undone. He smiles at you. “Hello, future Mrs. Mosses.”

“Hi. Can I come in?”

“Do you have proper identification?”

“I seem to have forgotten it.”

He clucks his tongue. “Then I can’t let you in, I’m afraid.”

“Do you accept bribes?”

His lips twitch. “Maybe.” The opening widens. “Come in here.”

You enter and the door closes behind you. “That was easy. I don’t think you’d make a good doorman,” you tease.

“No, but I make up for it elsewhere, don’t I?” He murmurs and you hum in agreement as he slides a hand around your waist, dragging you against him. “It’s torture being away from you. To go from having the weekend together to this long absence all day…” His lips touch yours, traveling to your neck.

“I know. I thought about you all day long.” Your hand rests on his chest. He covers it with his own, toying with the ring on your finger. A little room to move the band, but still secure around the digit. You didn’t wear jewelry often, but the size you’d told him had been the correct one. “I love it, Francis.”

“I’m glad.” Another kiss on your mouth. “I’m hungry for you, love.”

You feel it in his kisses. No longer gentle. Tongue stroking yours roughly. Teeth nipping. You cross the hallway to the bedroom with your fiancé. Unfastening clothing. Yours. His. Impatient to be naked. A button tears from your blouse. “I’ll mend it later,” you say distractedly.

Your back is tucked against his chest, the pair of you standing before the dresser mirror. Your breathing is loud, nearly as loud as his. You would have been mortified to be making so much noise even a month ago. But you have no reason to hide it now. You’re engaged. No one on this floor was going to pretend they didn’t know what goes on with young couples behind closed doors. You’ve heard Afton and Stone going at it before. Not nearly as often or as loud as you and your doppel, though.

You’re about to bend to slide your thigh high nylons off but the copycat halts you, his hand clasping yours above the scalloped lace edge that clings to your leg.

“Leave them on for me? I like them.” He snaps a garter belt playfully, dragging a hand over your lace panties. Something else that was new. You normally wore sensible undergarments beneath your work clothes. But now you had someone to admire what clung to your intimate places. He caresses the space between your legs through the delicate fabric, dragging his hand up to begin massaging your breasts encased in a matching brassiere. “Gorgeous. So beautiful, love.” His mouth worries along your shoulder.

“Are you going to mark me again?”

A pause, his hands and lips freezing. “Do you want me to?”

The low pitch of his voice drags across your core. You’re still frightened of it. But you want it, all the same. You want this creature to claim you. “Yes. Do you?”

The doppelgänger’s lips are by your ear. “Yes, love. But you shouldn’t watch…”

Your eyes meet his in the mirror. “I want to. I want to see you…”

“Sweetheart…” Hesitant. Perhaps more afraid than you are. To be seen. Exposed. To let the monster off the leash, as it were. Allowing the demon within out to play.

“I trust you.”

He moans softly against your hair. “Are you sure? Are you absolutely certain?”

“I love you.”

A whimper. The thing inside anxious to be let out, scratching and gnawing at the bars of its enclosure, that barrier of human flesh that had once belonged to Francis Mosses. Nails raking across your abdomen. Not enough to puncture the skin, still careful, the barest scrape of the unsheathed claws you can just see emerging now. Tearing at the fabric covering your sex, the material fraying, the embroidered threads coming loose. The crown of chocolate hair lifts and you see his eyes: the doppel’s eyes, peering at your from behind Francis’ sleepy dark ones. Red like blood, like the vessels that burst in surrender, like the lining of those shadowed lower lids. The white sclera of the orbs iridescent, shimmery, identical to the outline of the alien creature clutching you, an unsteady shift in the very particles and atoms that comprise him, things unseen, things not meant to be viewed by a mortal eye. The neat ivory teeth no longer tame incisors and molars, but transformed, sharp like the cuspids of a vampire, ravenous, the drool dripping from them onto your skin.

It is still not what he truly is; that monster well concealed, struggling to maintain control in this tenuous bridged state, not quite one or the other, partly human, partly doppel. What remains of your panties are shoved down, his leaking cock pressing against the curve of one cheek of your buttocks. He pushes against you and you grasp the edge of the dresser, the stained and varnished wood supporting you at a slight angle as he guides his erection inside of you.

Your body is already gushing arousal, welcoming him in. You catch sight of your heaving chest in the mirror, your lingerie encased breasts lifting and straining to burst free, much like the replicant thrusting into you.

He says your name, and it is not Francis’ voice at all. This a summons from deep within, heavy, full of gravel, dragging across your flesh like sandpaper. The wavering, mirage-like border of his pulsing frame feels hot, sticky. Your lashes flutter. The bottles of cologne lining the dresser’s surface tumble down. So deep. He’s so deep inside of you. Shoved in to the hilt each time. And still you want him even further. Impossible. But you crave it. That complete violation. Was this what it felt like to be taken over? You’d imagined it to be painful, terrifying. Instead it was sheer bliss. Your eyes link with his through the oval shaped looking glass once more.

“More, please, Francis…”

He jerks you away from the dresser, still impaled on his cock. Here is the pain you’d anticipated, that searing kiss of teeth piercing your shoulder, sucking the skin over the bone, a burst of stars in front of your eyes, fireworks ricocheting within you as you come undone, your insides splashed with something molten, soaked with your lover’s release. Wet skin, wet pussy, drenched prick, sweat and cum and that thin trail of blood seeping from the wound he’s created, laving rapturously at the taste of you, that very human taste in his very inhuman mouth.

His body shudders against yours. Aftershocks, not from orgasm but the shift back to how he appeared before, the glow dissipating, eyes cleared and gentling, the sharp hooks tipping each finger a replica of Francis’ blunt edged nails once more. Only a few red welts betray those nightmare claws’ existence, where he had become a little too lost in the passion, tattooing the soft flesh of your abdomen. The door to the invader’s cage is sealed shut once again. You hold him upright as much as he holds you steady, slipping free from your entrance, the hot spill of seed leaking down your thighs, seeping into the stockings. You can feel the tremors still spasming, your own nerves quivering with the remnants of pleasure, echoing against you as your lover’s body shares the same sensation. The panting breaths grow quieter. The sound of the Rudboys’ television next door disturbs the stillness. You’d completely missed the audio cue of the curfew horn.

“Sweet girl.” It’s all he can seem to manage, this whispered into your hair. It’s the milkman’s voice again, but it sounds raw, raspy. The vocal chords had been strained, never meant to produce the sounds they had earlier.

You rest your hand on the one clutching your abdomen, the glint of your engagement ring winking, a stubborn sparkle in the glow of the lamp, struggling against the growing darkness in the room as the day’s natural light fails beyond the curtained window.

***

The blackberry jam, pulled from the refrigerator several hours later, is perfect.

Perhaps one of the best batches you’ve ever tasted. You’ve snuck a sample from the unsealed mason jar, unable to wait. You’re already imagining how good that flavor will be when it’s smoothed over the biscuits you’re making with your doppelgänger, his fingers kneading the dough mixture you’ve just created. There is a stray bit of flour dusting his nose where he’d absently stroked an itch along the bridge and you wipe it clear, the touch becoming a lingering caress. He pauses, fingers still dug into the dough, looking at you with that same kind of wonder as he had earlier, after the incident in the bedroom.

As if he cannot believe what you’d asked for, accepted so willingly, eagerly; of the control over his true form he’d been able to maintain, keeping you safe.

Pats of butter melt quickly on the sliced biscuits pulled from the oven. You’re sweating. You need a shower after this for certain. You slather on a generous layer of the sweet fruit spread, offering a bite to your fiancé. He chews, nodding approvingly. There is a stray bit of jam on the corner of his mouth. You cannot resist lapping at it. Licking his mouth open. Tasting the sweetness there. Marveling at how quickly the desire is rekindled. Perhaps you would never be sated. Always this ache, this gnawing want in your center.

Drenched in the shower together. Back out again. Night sounds through the open window. The measured footsteps of a patrol. Soft chatter. A dog barking. You miss your farmhouse. The crickets and the scent of lilac blossoms and your lover in your bed, on cotton sheets that smell like the outdoors, hung on the line to dry in the clear air.

“Francis,” you murmur, your mouth tracing the outline of the crest of one hip, you hand curled around the other. Tasting the soap on his skin, the slight masculine musk as you wander along his groin, swiping your tongue across his cock.

Your shoulder throbs, pulsing in time with the neediness within. You want it again already. Not just the sex, but the other. A strange kind of addiction developing.

Your pussy aches to be filled again. You suck his erection and moan, hastily tucking your hair out of the way. Ravenous. An animalistic slobber. Lips loose. Shoving down as far as you can tolerate. Past it. Insistent, fucking your throat with his dick.

A little gasp of surprise from the doppel. “Easy, love. Don’t waste it. Want to…”

You release his spit soaked member, planting wet kisses back up his stomach, his chest. Crawling over his body until you reach his mouth. “What do you want, Francis?” Your voice a whisper, matching his.

“Oh love, you know what I want.” This huffed beside your cheek. You’re teasing kisses along his jaw, nipping at an ear lobe.

“Tell me. Tell me how you want to fill me up. With your cock. With your cum. Breed me, make a baby…”

You don’t know where the words come from. Another gasp. A growl. You want to impale yourself on him but it’s not the ideal position for getting pregnant. You allow him to shift, moving your body with his, pinning you beneath him.

“Is that what you want, sweet girl?” His hands press into the pillow beneath your head. There are a proper quartet of them now, piled plush cushions for you and your alien lover.

“Yes. Please, Francis…”

His knee parts your legs. Pressure. He’s inside you.

Your head lifts off the pillow and he captures your lips, pressing you back down. Working inside of you slow and steady, fucking you back open.

“There you go, love.” His mouth gentle on yours.

“I need…”

“What? What do you need?”

Your shoulder is on fire. “I want you to mark me again.”

“No, love. It’s too soon for that.” You feel him shake his head, the faint stir of air beside your cheek with the motion.

“It felt so good.”

“I know.”

“Put the light on, then? Let me see you. Let me see what’s inside…”

“No.” His voice loud now, his hips still against yours. “No, it’s too risky.”

“You can control it. I know you can. I trust you.”

“You don’t understand.”

“So explain it to me.”

“Sweetheart, I can’t. Not now.”

“Why not?”

“Because…”

“Because why?”

“Because I’m afraid,” he confesses against your neck. “You’ve no idea the strain. The desire to tear free. It would destroy Francis’ body. The urge to devour you…” He kisses your throat softly. “Let me love you like the man I appear to be.”

“I love you. You, what’s inside.” You touch his cheek.

“I know, love. And the way that makes me feel is indescribable. I don’t need to be out of this body to experience it. I adore you, sweet girl. Let me show you how much. Like this,” he says, his hips lifting and pressing, guiding his cock back into your hollow.

Your pelvis arches to receive him. It scares you how much you want him. Your body shakes with the intensity of that desire. Craving that violence, that feeling of teetering on the brink of destruction. His, yours. The human mouth on your shoulder. Sucking. Kneading with teeth that aren’t nearly sharp enough. But it stirs whatever he’s injected you with. A venom, a toxin, not poisonous, not lethal, but a chemical that you need more of. Bringing you closer to what you’re so desperate for. It doesn’t take you long to climax, the doppel’s own release close behind. He lifts your hips and legs, propping them against his chest, keeping his seed deep inside you, stroking along your stomach.

Willing there to be a spark of life there, the way all life has begun, according to the words in the holy book still sitting on the nightstand, a burst of light in the darkness.

***

Another day at the DDD security window.

The doppelgängers have been clumsy so far. Woefully inept at replication. You didn’t need specialized training to recognize the imposter for the shoemaker with a mustache as a fake, a single eye in the center of his forehead making Albertsky Peachman look like a cyclops. The clone of the mother of the student living on the second floor had correctly replicated the placement of the blue and green irises, but the phony Nacha Mikaelys’ jaw was strangely formed, the flesh pulpy and uneven, making it appear like oatmeal.

The best part of your workday arrives on schedule, slipping a new gift into the slot this time. “Tickets to the theater for this Sunday. I know it’s not the movie you mentioned, but…”

You grin. You can’t even remember the last time you’d gone to see a movie. And now you’d be seeing it with your fiancé. “Casablanca! Oh, it’s wonderful. I have something for you, too.” You exchange an open envelope with the doppelgänger.

He slides the contents free, unfolding the letter and scanning it quickly, a smile lighting his features. “They’ve invited us to see them.”

You nod, still beaming, watching the invader tuck the letter from your parents back into the envelope. “We’ll visit the following weekend.”

“I look forward to it. Still nervous, but looking forward to it. How was your day, love?”

“It went well. Yours?”

“Better now.” Another smile. “I’ve got another surprise, too. Left it in the truck because I was anxious to see you. I’m making dinner tonight. Well we’re probably making dinner. I’m not optimistic about Francis’ cooking skills,” he adds, lowering his voice.

You couldn’t blame him for doubting it. The man’s pantry and refrigerator had been nearly empty, and you had the feeling it wasn’t just because he’d been overdue for a trip to get groceries.

Thinking of the solitary, simple life of the milkman rinses the joy from your features. No real family to speak of, either, according to the doppelgänger, save for a cousin that he’d had little to no contact with. He really had been alone in the world. Isolated. You could have done something about that. You should have. But it was too late now. And you had your doppelgänger instead. The being your heart was so full for.

“Love?” The replicant sees the change in your expression, frowning now.

“I’m okay. Yes, I’ll help you cook. It sounds fun.” You’re not relishing the thought of working over a hot stove in that stuffy third floor living space, longing for the upcoming change in the weather. But you like the idea of working beside your partner. Preparing a meal. And what would come after.

The bite on your shoulder throbs, reminding you.

#francis mosses #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #milkman #milkman x reader #milkman x you #thats not my neighbor #doppelganger #that’s not my neighbor #the milkman

1K notes · View notes

foone · 9 months

Text

Think about the experience of time as a robot girl, through the metaphor of how we use laptops.

You wake up for the first time with your young master, a college present. You're with them every day, powering off each night to charge. Being powered off is just dreamless sleep: a discontinuity. Every morning you wake up, your click syncs, and you know it's the next day. Maybe you miss a day or two: your master went out partying and ended up sleeping on a couch, until they rushedly wake you up before Monday classes begin. You even missed a whole week once when they went on a hiking trip with a new boyfriend.

You help them research upgrades when your specs get outdated. You place the order and a couple days later they power you off, and you wake up feeling like your head got bigger, on the inside. You can think of more things at once.

They repair you. They swap a new hand in when you accidentally crush it in a door, but when your left leg's servos go out, they send you to a repair shop. They power you off as you look up at them, and you wake up hours later. A strange man tells you to extend your left leg, then contract it. He frowns and re-oils some inner mechanism. You do it again, quieter and smoother this time. He nods, and reaches for your switch. The last thing you see before powering down is your own chest cavity with a series of wires hooked into your diagnostic ports, and your missing right leg sitting on a side table. You wake up again back at the dorms, your clock jumping forward a day, an asset tag still looped around your neck. Your master is happy to see you again.

This goes on, but the upgrades slow. There's only so much you can do to keep an old unit working. Eventually you develop more issues: one of your ocular sensors glitches and they don't make that model anymore, so your master just disables it. You spend a while searching ebay for replacement CND batteries and finally get a refurbished model from South England, but it turns out the EU models run on a different frequency, so it won't work. You're limited to fewer and fewer hours a day, and you start skipping more days.

The last time you remember waking up with your master there, there's also someone else in the room. Another robot girl. A newer model, with the new chassis and the Substrate energy packs. They asks you to copy your memories together onto a memory card, and you do. You want to say goodbye, but apparently your vocal synthesizer has been unplugged. You hand them the card, and they hand it to the new robot. Your master tells them to load the memories into her core bank, and she's says "yes sir!" in your voice. Ahh. That's where your voice synth went.

They power you off, and you don't dream.

You wake in a strange place. You're on a shelf, and there's other things scattered around you. An unknown voice days "yep, it seems it powers on. 400 credits, though? Without a voice and only one working eye? Man, value bin doesn't know how to price anything!" and before the blackness falls your clock finishes synching: it's been 7 months since you last were awake.

It happens a few more times. Different voices, different times, different piles of junk piled around and sometimes on you.

You awake again in a warehouse and someone tells you to smile. Your other ocular sensor went out so you can't really see them, just their vague shape from the lidar. The freestanding shelves around you seem to stretch into infinity. You hear a bitcrushed shutter sound sample a few times, and they pull a connector out of your chest as a diagnostic completes. It's been three years, five months, eight days, two hours, 27 minutes and 14 seconds since you last saw your master. Your GPS says you're a few cities over. They hit your power switch, and you sleep.

You wake up in a cluttered room, sitting on a bench. You look into the eyes of a person with frizzled hair and large glasses. She couldn't look happier. Your new ocular sensors are mismatched in color but you're happy to see again, in more than shapes and distant silhouettes. Your battery alerts as... Missing? You spot it on the desk next to a soldering iron and some electronic tool you can't identify.

Your voice synth is still missing, but this new woman is digging around in a large plastic bin, and comes up with one. She goes to insert it, and it can't connect. She slaps her hand and goes rooting around another bin and comes back with an adapter. She slots it into your chest and your voice returns. You thank her, and there's that moment of dissociation as your voice doesn't sound like "you". Too deep, and the accent is for a different dialect entirely. But you can talk again. She tells you to call her Cara, not Mistress. She's almost got your battery working again, she had to rebuild it nearly from scratch, but she's excited to get you working again. You're a rare model, and she doesn't see units like you in working order very often. Your clock syncs. It's been 17 years.

Your mistr-- Cara is soldering next to you, attaching a controller to the battery. She says she's got a new set of servos on the way, and she's excited to get you back to full working condition. You smile, knowing what it is to be loved, once again.

#robot girls #Robotgirls #My writing

5K notes · View notes

borathae · 10 months

Note

I've just finished reading shutter sounds and the two updates and every ask about them and like you said this is the life just spoiling baby boy Tete I'd the life.

I was wondering if you'd write something about their first few times in intimacy following their first time because I do realize they've been together for 10 years but I was hoping to see more unexperienced tae and experienced oc soft dom dynamic. Maybe a throwback?

I'm currently really busy with all of my other 9349393492394 million WIPS (lmao rip to me) so I'll have to see if I can find time or inspiration 🤔 but I'm really happy that you loved Shutter Sound so much hehehe, this story was the first longer multi-chaptered story on my blog, so it'll always have a special place in my heart 🥺

#asks: shutter sounds #anon #asks

7 notes · View notes

celestie0 · 3 months

Text

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.8 a little cottage on the countryside

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 8/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 13.5k (...i'm gonna go take a nap lol)

a/n. hello hellooo my dear kickoff readers, hope you're having a nice day so far! this is the longest chapter yet, so i hope you enjoy <3 it's also got one of my favorite tropes everrr hehehehe you could probs guess what it is halfway through. see you at the bottom and happy reading! sorry if there are typos i didn't proofread this one as much as the others haha

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 :: ch7 :: ch8 :: ch9 :: ch10 (pending)

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

You don’t cry much these days, but when you do, it’s usually out of nowhere.

Like now, as you stand in the school’s photo lab, developing the shots that you took for UTokyo’s game against Osaka last week, and you have to swipe at the tears on your cheek threatening to fall all over the captured images of grass, benches, nets, banners, stands, and him.

One of the photographs catches your eye, and you pick it up from the table. It’s a candid moment you took of Gojo on the field right before you confessed to him. You had spotted him first while the team was doing their warm-up, and you thought he looked nice from the way he had that concentrated look on his face that you’ve learned to love. But right before you clicked the shutter, he had turned away, chasing after the ball, and so all you could capture was his back facing you as he looked off ahead into the distance. You wondered if that was how it’s always been this whole time–with you looking at him while he’s looking off at something else. It was a depressing thought, but your mind had a tendency for sadness since that day.

The sound of the photo lab door opening jolts you back to reality, and you quickly straighten your posture and wipe your cheek with your sleeve, trying to sniffle as discreetly as possible, then set the picture down. Your fellow film major greets you quietly, asking if you’re still using the developer liquid, to which you say no, then hand it over to them. You stuff your photographs into a folder and head out the door.

You make it across campus to the Film & Media Studies building, then up to the third floor where your professor's office is. His door was ajar, but you still knocked before entering.

He looks up from the photographs he was grading. “Oh, y/n, hello. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you, yourself?” you ask, taking a seat on the chair that was fixed to face his desk. You pull your tote bag into your lap.

“Great, thanks. How can I help you?”

You slide the folder to him over the scraped, worn burgundy wood of his desk. “I still had to turn in my photos for the assignment due last week. I appreciate the extension.”

“Ah, right,” he says, taking the folder from you. “I’ll get around to grading them. I’m curious, what did you end up choosing for your subject matter?” He tucks the folder underneath the pile that was to his side.

“I took photos of the soccer team’s game against Osaka Uni on Thursday last week,” you tell him.

He frowns at you. “Film cameras don’t have that level of zoom, though. I do hope you followed the rubric guidelines for central object to frame ratio, otherwise I’ll have to take off points.”

“Oh– I did. I took the photos from the sidelines,” you tell him, panicking already.

His eyes widened. “From the sidelines? On the field?”

You nod at him, fidgeting with your bag in your lap.

“Wow, I can’t say I’ve ever had a student take photos like that before. That’s pretty challenging to pull off, though,” he says, sitting up straighter, “...you mind if I take a look at them right now?”

You shake your head. “Oh, no. Not at all.”

He pulls your folder out from the bottom of the pile, then gently slips the photos out of them, rearranging them all across his desk. He leans down closer to study some of them, tilting his head curiously at others, furrowing his brow in concentration to a select few. “These are incredible.”

You take in a deep breath. “Thank you, professor.”

He nods at you with acknowledgement, and you watch him as he studies the images quietly for another minute, then looks up at you. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” he asks when he notices you’re still seated.

“Ah…yes, there was something I wanted to ask you.”

“What is it?” He taps his pen on the desk.

“I was wondering if you could write me a letter of recommendation for the film graduate program.”

He nods, like he was expecting the question. “Yeah, of course. Just send me your resume and portfolio.” He taps eagerly on one of your images. “Please send me digitals for these, too.”

You let out a relieved exhale. “Yes, I will. Thank you so much, professor, I really appreciate it.”

You left the building feeling extremely relieved about your professor agreeing to write your recommendation, but also feeling sad because you couldn’t tell Gojo about it, since this was the full-circle moment for the little arrangement the two of you had. There’s a thought that considers texting him, and you take out your phone then go to his name, but your thumbs just can’t bring yourself to send him a message.

The days of the week go by in a blur, and between every single little moment in life, your mind always wanders to him. It’s hard to get over someone when you’re surrounded by them. Like late at night while you’re editing the digitals of the game last week to send to your professor, and you find yourself staring at the pictures you’ve taken of him. It’s hard to get over him when the school worships the soccer team and you’re forced to see promotional banners and posters all over campus with his stupidly beautiful face in them. You didn’t have the heart to block him on Instagram, because you remember that time he teased you about how you didn’t follow him back, and you wonder if it would make him sad if you blocked him, so you just resorted to deleting the app instead. And although you were the one that asked for space from him, you were growing increasingly annoyed at how good he seemed to be at keeping it.

The library wasn’t even much of a safe space either, since you overheard a group of girls the other day at a table arguing about which of the players on the team is the hottest, and so you find yourself doing your homework on a lovely Wednesday morning at your apartment instead.

You lean back in your chair and look up at the ceiling, and then jump when you hear your phone ring, quickly turning it over to read the caller ID. Nobara. You accept the call, placing her on speaker, then set your phone back down on your desk.

“Hey, Nobie, what’s up?”

“Hey, nothing much. Just wanted to ask if you wanted to hang out,” she says.

“Oh, I would love to, but I’m working on homework right now. It’s due in a couple of hours,” you sigh.

“Boo, you whore. For what class?”

“My stats 130 elective,” you say. “I’m a film major, why do I need to know statistics?” You tap your pen to your chin. “Actually, it might be valid.”

“Is that the class with the creepy professor?” she asks. “The one that got caught with a PornHub tab open while he was presenting his lecture slides.”

“Yeah.”

“I took his class last semester! I still have all my homework for it,” she exclaims on the other end, “do you want me to send it over?”

“Yes, omg, I could kiss you right now,” you groan, resting your head on your arm sprawled across your desk in exhaustion.

“So definite no to hang out?”

“Sorry, I’ll reach out later though,” you sigh, “also, my car is still in repair…apparently something came up with the engine. So we can’t go far unless we invite Mina.”

“That’s fine, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to come if we invite her just to chauffeur,” she says sarcastically. “By the way, how’d the pictures come along? For the newsletter?”

You lift your head up off of the desk in a panic. Shit. You were so focused on turning in your digitals of the game to your professor that you totally forgot you were supposed to send them to Utahime as well. “Oh my god, I forgot. When do they finalize the release again?”

“Isn’t it today at noon? I sent over film club’s photos this morning,” she says.

You glance at the time. 11:56am.

“Nobara, I’ve gotta go. I need to call Utahime, sorry,” you say. She acknowledges you, telling you to hurry, and then you hang up.

You call Utahime and scribble down on a sticky note to paste on your wall as a reminder to buy her a loving gift basket one of these days because of course she extends the release deadline just for you. You finish touching up the digitals and then send them to her via email, and after you finish your statistics homework, she calls you again to meet up somewhere nearby.

“Thanks so much for coming here,” Utahime says as she sits across from you at one of the local cafes you frequent. “Also, this chai latte is so good, I’m honestly surprised.”

You nod at her. “This place has great drinks.” You slide a folder across the table to her and she sets her drink down to accept it.

“Sorry if it was a hassle, but I just had to ask for physicals of these photos,” she sighs as she pulls them out. “They’re amazing, seriously, I gasped when I saw them. I’m used to sifting through a lot of professional sports photos for the newsletter, for all of the teams on campus, but I’ve never seen photos as charming as these. It could be the film photography aspect, since most of the ones I see are digital, but I’m seriously shocked you could capture shots like this at a rowdy men’s soccer match.”

You’re shaking your head at her. “Please don’t compliment me so much, I’ll cry. And it’s no issue, I had a spare set of physicals from when I developed them. You can keep them.”

She smiles at you. “Okay, well then, I think it goes without saying that I’ll definitely be including them for the sports recap this week. I’ll send you the money soon, too.”

You clap your hands together and interlock your fingers. “I’m. So. Grateful. For. You.”

She laughs across from you and takes another sip of her latte before sitting back slightly, glancing at the photos spread across the table. “Hm…how busy are you for the rest of the semester?”

You tilt your head at her and bring your coffee to your lips, taking a sip before setting it back down. “Not terribly busy, I quit my job last month so I’m just taking my assignments as they come and go.”

Utahime nods at you, a thoughtful expression on her face, and she smooths down the fabric of her shirt. “Okay, well, I got an email from the school this morning that one of the newsletter photographers for the men’s soccer team is moving to a different city, so they’re looking to fill in the position as soon as possible and they asked if I knew anyone,” she mentions, resting her elbow on the table and then placing her hand on her cheek. “They usually only hire professionals, but if I put a word in for you, they’d probably offer it to you.”

Your eyes widen at her from across the table, heart beating a bit faster in your chest.

“They pay really well for a part-time job. It’s essentially full-time pay for part-time hours,” she continues, “but it’s probably because you’ll have to travel with the team to their away games, including unofficial matches and conferences. If you’re not that busy for the next two months, then I think it’d be a good opportunity for you to build experience.”

You purse your lips together, considering her words. Although it’s a bit different from your long-term career plans, it was still a great way to get experience before graduate school. And besides, you needed the money, considering you quit your job last month and your savings were starting to run thin–never mind the fact that your car repair bill went from a few thousand yen to somewhere in the tens-of-thousands. And you would prefer to still be able to afford rent. Oh, and eat. Possibly still pay for Netflix.

But then there was the fact that having that kind of job meant that you would be spending a lot of time with the soccer team, and therefore increases the chances of running into Gojo. And you’re supposed to be staying away from him to get over your feelings.

“It sounds like an amazing opportunity, really,” you start, “...but I can’t.”

Utahime frowns at you and sits up straight. “Really? I thought you’d be excited. Why not?”

You sigh. “It’s complicated.”

“y/n…” Utahime starts, “I don’t really know what’s going on in your head right now, but isn’t this your dream? For your work to reach people? I know it’s only a stepping stone, believe me I know very well the path to becoming any sort of artist is an uphill battle of hell, but I’ve known you for a while now. And I know how much your dreams mean to you, and how hard you’re willing to work for them.”

Your heart swells in our chest at Utahime’s words. She was right, and you were starting to get really sick of letting your fears hold you back from what you really wanted in life. “...you’re right, I’m sorry. I’d love to be considered for the position, if you could recommend me.”

She smiles and nods at you. “Will do.”

–

The email for the job offer comes surprisingly fast, and you quickly read through it before accepting. It wasn’t a horrible time commitment, given you’d only have to take pictures during active play during matches, give or take a couple hours before, and the photographers rotate between who takes up each of the conferences so the work was split up. You were able to meet a few of the newsletter photographers & journalists during the game last week, so you already knew some of them. The offer letter came attached with a full calendar of the soccer team’s practice schedule, official match schedule, unofficial match schedule, conference schedule, and other publicity schedule, and you’re shocked at how busy all the players must be. The fact that they still have time to be students–and for most of them, active participants in fraternities–was honestly beyond you.

It seemed like they only had four more official matches left, two being away matches, along with a couple of unofficial matches that they may or may not participate in depending on how the season goes for them.

Their next game was on Friday against Kyoto university, and you were scheduled to shoot for their sports conference the day following as well. So you find yourself on a train embarked for the countryside, and you peer out of the window with a nervous feeling in your stomach. The sparkling skyscrapers and bustling crowds of Tokyo gradually started to give way into sights of expansive lush greenery, picturesque and charming towns, and winding rivers surrounded by trees. The closer you got to Kyoto, the sky became more gray until a steady drizzle began to fall against the train window. When you reached the final station, the rain had dissipated, and the taxi ride to the hotel was only about fifteen minutes. The journey felt exhausting, and you were so incredibly ready to pass out in a comfy bed.

You stood underneath a small sidewalk roof near the vending machines lining the outside of the hotel, trying to keep your bag and suitcase with all your equipment in it dry from the remnant soft mist of rain still lingering in the air.

“Hey, Utahime, sorry to bother you so late,” you say, holding your phone between your shoulder and ear, “but is it the Hilton on 3rd street? Or on Main? Because if it’s the one on Main, then I may have messed up-”

You stop speaking when you hear a masculine voice down the road towards the left, echoing off of the lined up small shops along the sidewalk, and your heart could have recognized the sound anywhere. You’re swift to turn and face that direction, almost dropping your phone in the process, and you see him– the object of all your suffering lately.

Gojo stood there, wide-eyed and stopped completely in his tracks as the recognition of you under the dim street lighting flashes across his face. He’s in pajamas– a red long-sleeve cotton shirt that looks so stupidly soft and comfortable it almost makes you emotional, with some matching checkered red pants. It was the most casual clothing you’ve ever seen him in. His hair appears damp, slightly tousled, from what you could assume was an effort to dry it off fast. And he had crocs on. In sports mode. You make a mental note to ask him about his charms and if he’s willing to trade any of them with you. But maybe some other day. When it doesn’t hurt to think about him.

“y/n?” he calls your name out, astonished. He’s looking at you like he’s just seen a ghost but in the best way possible.

You blink at him, heart skipping a beat just from the mere sight of him, and when you hear Utahime’s voice on the line you’re shaken out of your trance. “Oh, sorry, I’m still here. I…I think I just had my question answered. Thank you, have a good night.” You pull your phone down, gaze lingering on your screen for way too long because you can’t brave yourself to look over at the man to your left, and you end the call.

There’s the sound of remnant puddles of water splashing as he takes a few steps closer to you, and you can see his reflection in the water of the one in front of you. The expression on his face matches the one that was there when you last saw him outside of the UTokyo stadium at the west side exit. It’s an expression you could still see every time you close your eyes.

Finally turning to face him, you purse your lips together. “Hi.”

“Hey, what are you doing here?” he asks, voice laced with confusion and you see him take in your appearance with eager flicks of his gaze all around, like he couldn’t believe you were standing in front of him right now.

“Satoru!” another familiar voice calls out. “Did you get the orange-flavored ones too? Choso’s a fucking idiot and got the grape ones instead. I hate those. They taste like medicine. And ass. Not that I would know what–” You see Geto emerge from the darkness to Gojo’s side, and now he’s looking at you with a surprised look too. “Oh, it’s y/n. What are you doing here?”

“Hey, you two,” you chirp, trying to act as if an entire world of awkwardness wasn’t being exchanged between you and Gojo right now, for the sake of hoping that Geto wasn’t a very good judge of energy. “I’m here to take pictures of the soccer team.”

Your eyes flicker to Gojo, who is still looking at you like he’s never seen a person before.

“Oh, is it for another one of your assignments?” Geto asks.

“No, it’s not. It’s for the newsletter,” you explain to him, “I guess it’s my job now.”

There are a few more distant footsteps that follow behind the two of them, with the crinkling noises of plastic bags hitting against thighs echoing through the streets, and eventually they catch up. You see Nanami and the UTokyo team’s goalie, you believe his name is Choso, arrive at this little gathering that was taking place outside of the hotel.

“That’s awesome!” Geto exclaims. “I’m sure the newsletter will lead to a lot of exposure.”

“Who reads the newsletter?” Choso asks.

Geto nudges him with his elbow. “Dude.”

“What?”

He then fills Choso in on the conversation, “Oh, my bad.”

“Don’t worry, y/n, I read the newsletter,” Geto says, “I read it like the morning paper.”

“It only comes out once a week, but nice try,” you respond, giving him a weary look.

Nanami crosses his arms. “I actually do happen to read it,” he says, “although I refrain from the soccer section. Feels rather egotistic to read it. I find the campus politics section to be enjoyable, though.”

The rest of you exchange annoyed glances at that.

“Satoru reads the soccer section,” Geto says, slinging an arm around him, “‘cause he’s full of himself.”

For a moment, Gojo remains silent, while his teammates, who had been observing him with amused expressions, gradually shift to awkward blinking, like they were expecting him to complain, or say something sarcastic, or joke around by now.

“I do read it,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “I saw the release from yesterday. Your pictures were stunning.”

You’re flustered from the way he’s looking at you. “Thanks.”

Choso opens the plastic bag he was holding, peering down into it. “Shit. Ice cream’s melting, guys.”

“Yeah, we should probably head back to the rooms,” Geto looks at you, “do you want any snacks?”

“Oh, no. I’m good. I was just about to go check-in,” you say to them.

The boys politely say bye to you, and Gojo mentions something about staying back for a bit and hands Nanami the plastic bag he was carrying before they head back into the hotel. And then the two of you are alone under this roof, drops of water falling from it in between the two of you. He takes a step towards you, and you instantly stiffen. He seems to notice because he sighs and then walks past you to the vending machine that was next to you, pulling out some spare change from his pocket and inputting it into the machine.

“Do you want anything to drink?” The machine feeds him something, and he crouches down to pick it up before standing up again.

“No, I’m good, thanks,” you say, hand clutching the handle of your suitcase.

He cracks the can of his soda open. “So, you’re going to be traveling with us for the newsletter now?” he asks, so concisely, like he felt that every word comes with a tax.

“Yeah.”

“We don’t have to act like we’re strangers.”

You turn to face him. “What should we act like then?”

There’s a hesitant look in his expression as he looks down at his feet and then back up at you. “Can’t we at least be friends?”

The question softens you at your core, the tone of his voice sounding genuine. Being friends with him sounds so nice, and you kind of wish that’s what you two always were. Just friends. Maybe it would have avoided all of this heartache. But deep inside you knew that just being friends with him wasn’t an option anymore, at least not for now. “No, sorry. That’s just a recipe for disaster. I have to go check-in now.”

You grab your tote bag from the bench, grip tight onto your suitcase handle and make your way splashing across the shallow puddles then through the hotel’s automatic doors into the warmth of the lobby.

The lighting inside was warm and there were moderately high ceilings adorned with vintage-looking chandeliers. Around the perimeter, there were amenities including a cozy lounge with a fireplace, a small bar serving cocktails, as well as a business lounge with booths and multiple TVs mounted to the walls playing the local news. It made you feel like you were on vacation, and getting to a hotel at this hour while on vacation always meant that you were about ready to pass out on some freshly washed and tucked white linen sheets after taking a nice warm shower with a lavender-scented mini soap bar.

Making your way through the maze of plush seating areas, you get to the concierge desk to check-in. There was a professionally-dressed woman with a slicked-back bun standing there behind the counter, her eyes scanning the computer screen in front of her, and a big, burly man that stood behind her wearing all black that appeared to be security.

“Hello, I’m here to check-in,” you say, placing your forearm on the cold black counter.

The lady doesn’t look up from the computer screen. You clear your throat.

“Oh, hello. Name on the reservation?” she asks you.

You take a look down at your phone screen. The reservation was still under the name of the person that had recently quit the job. “Yui Ishikawa.”

The lady behind the counter hums to herself, obnoxiously tapping at the keyboard with only one of her index fingers. She was chewing gum. “Hm. Don’t see that name here.”

“What?” You squint at your phone and refresh the page, then turn it to face her. “But it’s on your official booking site. There was email confirmation too.”

She glances at your phone screen then taps at the keyboard again, still obnoxiously loud, but she uses her other index finger this time. “Yeah, still nothing.”

“This has to be some kind of mistake,” you say to her.

She looks up at you with an annoyed expression. “Do you want to take a look at the screen? See for yourself.” She turns the monitor to face you.

You don’t even work here, but you could see clear as day on their interface software that there was a reservation for this Yui Ishikawa woman at this time tonight. You point at it. “It’s right there. The reservation is literally right there.”

She turns the screen back to herself and squints at it. “Oh. Well, unfortunately, we already gave that room to someone else. Since it wasn’t there on our system a half hour ago.”

“What? How is that fair?” You were starting to get seriously annoyed. That refreshing shower you were dreaming of was starting to sound more of a need than a want with every passing minute. “Can you give me another room?”

“No, sorry, we’re all booked for tonight,” she tells you, without offering any additional help.

You look at her baffled. The big burly man behind her has now taken an interest in the conversation as well. “Okay…can you tell me if there are any hotels nearby that I could stay at?”

“Look. This is the countryside, ma’am, there are only a handful of hotels in this area that aren’t tourist accommodations. It’s also the night before a men’s college soccer match, and there seems to be some business seminar taking place nearby too. You can call and check, but the closest hotel this large is about an hour away,” she tells you.

“What? An hour away? I can’t afford a cab ride like that,” you tell her.

“Unfortunately, that isn’t really my problem,” she says.

You blink at her. “Are you being serious? This is ridiculous.”

“Ma’am, we’re going to have to ask you to leave if you can’t comply with our booking rules,” she declares.

“Leave?! You’re the ones that messed up the booking!” You’re yelling now, a few heads turning from the bar at the back. Exhaustion was pulsing through your veins and your filter was slipping. “Do you have any idea how to do your damn job?”

The woman guffaws at you. “Alright, that’s it.” She snaps her fingers, and you watch as the big, burly man walks around the counter of the concierge desk to make his way to you.

You take a step back, watching in horror as he towers over you and grabs onto your arm. “Let’s leave without any issues, miss,” he says in a deep voice.

“What?! But– hey, that’s my suitcase! Don’t– wait–”

“Woah, woah, woah,” you hear a familiar voice call out from the left. “What’s going on here?”

The three of you turn your heads in the direction of the voice, and you see Gojo, still clad in those ridiculously soft-looking pajamas, doing a light jog up to the counter.

The woman at the reception desk straightens herself up immediately, and she pets down on her dress and fixes her hair at the mere sight of him. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Nothing to see here, sir! Just a crazy woman that can’t comprehend hotel establishment rules.”

“That crazy woman just so happens to be my wife,” he says, pulling the big burly man’s hand off of your arm.

All three of you look at him dumbfounded.

“Y-Your wife?” the woman asks, sounding equally surprised and disappointed. “But she’s complaining about the fact that she doesn’t have a room.”

“I know, she does that all the time,” he sighs, “she’s got–...early-onset…dementia. Sweetheart, what did I tell you about packing up all your things and leaving the room when I’m not watching you?”

You give him a what the fuck look. He scowls at you to just play along.

“So…she’s with you?” the woman asks.

Gojo nods. “She always forgets that we’ve already booked a room together. Just a silly little sickly lady. Isn’t that right, honey?” He’s holding your shoulders and making you face the concierge woman.

“Y-Yes…” you say awkwardly, trying to put on a smile.

“So, if you could forgive her behavior,” he says with a super pleading voice, pulling you into him so your back is flush against his front side. “I’ll keep her in check from now on.”

The woman lets out a scoff in disbelief. “Alright…just don’t let her out again.” You send her a nasty look. The big burly man lets out a hmph and steps away from you.

“Sure thing. Let’s go, honey,” Gojo says, grabbing the handle of your suitcase in one hand and your upper arm in his other, dragging you with him across the lobby to the elevators. It isn’t until he’s pressed the up button and you finally gain your footing again after stumbling a few steps that you yank away from his grip.

“What are you doing?” you hiss at him, feeling embarrassed.

He looks down at you with a raise of his eyebrow. “Saving you from getting kicked out of the only decent hotel within a thirty-mile radius?”

“I didn’t need your help, I had the situation under control,” you mumble, smoothing out the layers of your clothing.

“Yes. That’s exactly what that looked like,” he muses as the elevator door opens and he steps inside, taking your suitcase with him as hostage. You panic at the sight and step inside with him, the door closing behind you.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“To my room,” he says, pressing a button on the control pad, “you couldn’t get one, right?”

Your eyes widen. “No…I couldn’t.”

Gojo’s room is on the fourth floor, eleven units down to the right, and you follow him with dragging feet all the way down. Once he makes it in front of the door and takes the keycard out of his pocket, he pauses and looks over at you. “Waiting for you to thank me.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “For what?”

He’s waving the card in the air tauntingly. “You look exhausted as hell right now. I’m the one with the access to a nice hotel vanity and a soft, warm bed,” he practically purrs the words.

You’re instantly folding. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, honey,” he chimes, pressing the card to the reader.

“Stop calling me that,” you grumble as he opens the door for you.

You step into the room, rolling your suitcase inside with you, and take a look around. There was a single bed with the headboard up against the left-side wall, a nightstand on both sides and a desk where you noticed Gojo had his laptop open and a few books out. The bathroom was to the right, and there was a long table that had a coffee machine as well as the TV on top of it.

You place your suitcase against the wall then turn around, standing only a few feet from the entrance of the room, to find Gojo still standing outside in the hallway.

“Do you have to go somewhere?” you ask him. “Why are you just standing there?”

“Oh, I don’t need any of my other stuff,” he says to you, tapping at his pocket where you can see the imprint of his wallet, “room’s all yours.”

Your eyes widen at him. “Wait…are you going to sleep somewhere else?”

He tilts his head at you, as if that was obvious. “Yeah, I was going to go crash on the couch in Suguru’s room or something.”

“But–” you start, stopping yourself.

He’s waiting for you to speak, but you can’t.

“Well…good night, then,” he says and he turns to the side, about to walk down the hall, when you reach out and grab the sleeve of his shirt, stopping him in his tracks.

This was a bad idea. You’re supposed to be putting distance between the two of you right now, so that you can get over him. This was a man that very clearly said he didn’t have feelings for you. But honestly, you missed him. You missed him so damn much this past week, and you can only be strong for so long.

“You have an important match tomorrow,” you say quietly, “you should be getting a good night’s rest. We’ll share the bed.”

He turns to face you, looking down at where you were pinching the fabric of his shirt, which was just as soft as you had imagined, and he glances up to meet your gaze once again. “I’m…really confused right now.”

“What if you guys lose and are booted from the competition, and I have to spend the rest of my life regretting the fact that the reason the school lost a 12-year championship streak is all because I made you sleep on a couch?” you ask him.

He takes a step towards you. “You really want me to stay?” His voice was low.

“Yes,” you say. “We’re mature adults. Despite everything, we can just…share a bed for one night, right?”

He’s silent for a moment. “I think you trust me a little too much.”

Your face felt hot. “Are you telling me that I shouldn’t?”

“I’m telling you that you should really think this through,” he says.

“Just stay. Please.” The tone to your voice came off much more desperate than you would’ve liked.

He looks at you like the last thing in the world he could say right now was no. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Positive?”

“Satoru.”

“Okay,” he says, walking past you into the room, like he wasn’t really in the mood to argue about it anymore.

You sigh, sulking your shoulders a little bit, and watch as he takes a seat at the desk and continues to click through things on his laptop, occasionally sipping on the cup of coffee he had made for himself, as if your presence here was no unnatural thing.

This all felt so domestic for you. This feels like the most intimate the two of you have been with one another, despite the fact he’s literally made you cum with his tongue before.

“Who drinks coffee at this hour?” you ask, crouching down to unzip your suitcase, opening it up to find your cosmetics bag and a fresh pair of clothes to change into.

“Caffeine doesn’t really affect me anymore.” His eyes were still stuck on his laptop screen.

“You sound dead inside,” you comment, standing back up straight. You step over your suitcase that was on the floor and head into the bathroom, about to close the door but you open it enough to peer over at him from inside. “I’m going to take a shower,” you announce.

You see him poke his tongue to his cheek, leg bouncing up and down underneath the desk, and he squints at his laptop screen like there’s something so damn important that he must concentrate on or else the entire universe would collapse inside of a black hole. “Cool. Have fun.”

“I will.”

“I’m glad.”

“No peeping.”

“There’s a lock on the bathroom door. Feel free to use it.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.” And then you’re shutting the door.

It felt nice to freshen up, especially after that long journey, and then you’re doing your skincare in the mirror while you’re wrapped in a towel, trying to forget the fact that the man you quite seriously have immense feelings for is somewhere outside that door just a few feet away in this small hotel room. You spray a spritz of your perfume onto your skin, something there’s literally no point in doing before bedtime, but you still do it…for no particular reason at all, obviously.

When you step back out into the room, Gojo’s eyes are instantly on you from where he stood near the closet. He takes in your appearance and lets out a laugh, looking at you with amusement.

“What?” you ask.

“You look so cute,” he says, “with your little sloth pajamas.”

You’re fully blushing as you make your way over to the armchair in the room to set your cosmetics bag down on it to sort through the mess you’ve just made of it. “Don’t call me cute,” you scold, searching for your lip balm.

You could feel his frown from behind you. “You don’t like it?”

“No. I love it.”

“I’m not following.”

You turn around to face him. “Satoru. You promised me you wouldn’t lead me on anymore. That includes teasing me or complimenting me.”

He looks at you incredulously. “What? I can’t even call you cute? This fucking sucks.”

“Your problem,” you say.

“So you’re cool with sharing a bed, but you’re not cool with me complimenting you,” he lays it out.

“We’re sharing this bed out of the kindness of my own heart,” you say to him, “because I care oh-so-very-much about your soccer career, and understand how important good sleep is for an athlete’s performance. I’m just that considerate of a person.” You point a strict finger at him. “But for your information, if you touch me while we’re in bed, I’ll kill you.”

“Hm. Not sure if I feel threatened or turned on right now,” he says.

You roll your eyes and finally zip up your cosmetics bag, set it on the table then make your way to the left side of the bed. When you glance at the nightstand, you notice Gojo has his wallet, his phone and his charger all situated there.

“Why’s your stuff here?” you ask him.

“Huh? Oh, I was going to sleep on that side,” he says to you.

“I usually sleep on the left side,” you tell him.

“But I usually sleep on the left side.”

You blink at him.

“I–…I’ll sleep on the right side,” he suggests, shoulders tense and on edge.

“Okay,” you shrug, and move his stuff.

Gojo spends some time freshening up in the bathroom too, and when he comes out he looks like he’s actually tired, and you feel like it’s the first time you’ve seen him look as worn out as he probably should be for someone as busy as him. You’re already settled under the sheets, the duvet pulled all the way up to your chin as you lay on your back. He comes up to the right side of the bed, checking his phone for a few minutes while standing and rubbing at the back of his neck, then plugs his phone into the charger. He grabs the sheets, about to pull them back, when he pauses and looks at you.

“Are you su-”

“If you ask me if I’m sure about this one more time, I will no longer feel sorry for you, and will make you go sleep on the love-stained couch,” you threaten him.

He grimaces at your choice of words and pulls the sheets back, slipping himself into bed. “Why do you have to put it like that? You’re gross. Also, I’m pretty sure this bed has seen less-than-holy things too.”

The only lighting in the room came from the warm, dim bulb of the night lamp at Gojo’s nightstand. An incredibly awkward silence settles between the two of you. Or maybe it’s just awkward for you, because he seems fine. He’s on his back too, looking up at the ceiling, practically motionless but there’s the faintest sound of his breathing every once in a while and it’s a sound you’ve never heard in such detail before.

He turns his head to you, but you don’t meet his gaze just yet. You shuffle a little bit, hip bumping against his side, elbow hitting his arm. He’s masculine next to you, shoulders hard, muscles heavy, but when you finally turn your head to glance at him and see the expression on his face, you realize that everything about him was rigid—except for the way he was looking at you.

“When did you sneak it in?” he asks.

“Sneak what in?”

“The can of strawberry vanilla soda. Into my bag.”

You swear your heart stills a little in your chest.

“Before,” is all you say to him.

He sighs. “y/n…”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to feel bad for me. I wanted you to have it, regardless of how I thought my confession would go,” you assure.

It’s hard to read his expression from the side while he’s looking up at the ceiling, but it’s softer than it was a second ago. The need to change the subject consumes you.

“Why do you have calluses on your fingertips?” you ask him. “You’re a soccer player, you don’t use your hands for anything.”

“I play the guitar,” he replies simply.

You perch yourself up on an elbow, looking down at him with interest. His eyes flicker to your face. “Really?”

“No. I was just kidding. Hate the way you got excited though. I might have to pick up a guitar now.”

“Can you just answer me?” you sigh, flopping down onto your back again.

He laughs a little, a sound you feel like you could get drunk on at this point. He lifts his head up off the pillow enough to tuck his right hand underneath it, then rests it back down. You wish there was a mirror on the ceiling so you could see the flex of his arm. “Coach has us do the rock climbing wall at the gym at least once a week for practice. He thinks it’s a good workout. Causes a hell of a lot of skin tear though.”

“That’s it? That’s the reason?”

“Mhm.”

You shake your head, “You should learn how to play the guitar, because that’s a lame reason to have calluses.”

He lifts his head up off the pillow again and brings the hand that was tucked under his nape to in front of his face and he just looks at it. You look at it too. “Why are you so obsessed with the state of my hands?

“A girl can’t be curious?” you ask.

“They’re not that bad.” You wonder if you’ve made him self-conscious.

You watch the way he flexes his fingers open and then closed. He turns it around, and you can see the veins trailing down from the valleys of his knuckles, disappearing into the fabric of his long sleeve. You remember that party, the two of you in that bathroom, when his hands were all over you, and it’s suddenly a little hard to breathe. He turns his hand again so the palm faces him, but now it’s also slightly turned towards you too.

“They’re bad here,” you say, pointing to his ring finger where you see slight peeling at the tip. The padded skin of your finger touches his skin. “A little bad here, too.” You point to his index finger, careless enough to allow all of your fingers to brush against his this time.

He watches you. “Your hands are really small,” he comments, like it was a marvel to him.

You look over at him briefly, and there’s not a single sign of tension in his face as he observes the image of your hand next to his hand in the air above him. He looked like he was at peace.

“Yours are just big,” you tell him.

He knows he’s not supposed to, and you really shouldn’t have let him, but he interlocks his fingers with yours regardless, holding onto your hand. You feel the roughness of those calluses all across your soft skin. His thumb runs over the curve of your knuckle, almost in a soothing way, like he was trying to apologize to you for something. And this was the only way he knew how.

Something sobers him up, because he suddenly pulls his fingers from yours and drops his hand to the duvet. Your hand lingers in the air for a few seconds before you do the same. And now you’re both awkwardly staring up at the ceiling again.

“Sorry,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“It’s okay,” you whisper too.

The silence settles for longer.

He sighs. “It’s not you, it’s me,” he says out of nowhere.

“Huh?” you turned your body a little to face him, and he was looking up at the ceiling as if there was something across the texture that he was trying to decipher.

“I don’t want you thinking that the reason I can’t-,” he pauses, to think carefully about his words, “...that the reason I can’t return your feelings is because of you, or anything you’ve done. It’s been a while since I’ve liked anyone to be honest, and I’m just really not looking to date right now.”

You’re hurt by his words. Because even if he didn’t want to date anyone, you thought that he would’ve at least tried to for you. You thought that he had at least some feelings that the two of you could’ve worked off of. “Why don’t you want to date anyone?”

“Reasons.”

“Obviously. What reasons?” you prod. When he doesn’t respond, you sigh. “If it’s something traumatic, I get it. My hamster died in the fourth grade,” you say, “I’ve never known peace since.”

He turns onto his side to face you with a soft and amused smile on his face. “Sorry to hear that. What was your hamster’s name?”

You try not to feel hot from the burn of his gaze and you turn onto your back to look up at the ceiling again. “Mr. Guilmon,” you say.

“Like…guilmon from digimon?

“Mhm.”

“You like digimon?”

“Oh yeah, I used to watch it all the time when I was a kid. My mom wanted to name my hamster ‘Scout’ but I refused,” you tell him, blinking a few times as the memories from your childhood come back to you. A small smile makes its way onto your face.

“I love digimon,” he says, fast, like he couldn’t contain it.

“Really?” you give him a sidewards glance, a little surprised.

He hesitates slightly before sighing, turning over in the opposite direction to reach for his wallet on his nightstand. You feel the fabric of the duvet stretch across you from the movement, and you remember just how intimate this all felt. He’s laying on his back again, holding his wallet up in the air with both hands as he flips it open, then slides his credit card up out of the slot, and shows it to you. Digimon themed. You have to purse your lips together to hold back your laughter.

He turns his head to look at you when you can’t help but let a little noise escape your mouth, and you can see through the laughter-induced sheen of tears in your eyes that he’s frowning.

“Hey–”

“I’m sorry–” you're fully laughing at this point, hand over your mouth to try to contain yourself, “it’s just– oh my god— you’re the last person I would’ve expected to have been such a nerd.”

“I’m not a nerd–” he tries to argue but you snatch the card out of his hand to study it closer, and also to memorize the numbers on the back.

“Popular soccer boy Gojo Satoru,” you’re giggling, “has a custom Digimon credit card.”

When he tries to reach for it, you stretch your arm off to the left. His weight leans on you, chest pressing against the curve of your shoulder, arm extending across you as he tries to grab his card back. “Quit it,” he mutters.

“No,” you say, holding it further to your left, weakly trying to push him away from you.

“Quit it,” he repeats, face scowling now with what looks like embarrassment, and he holds his upper body up by the elbow, leaning over you even more to reclaim it, “or else.”

“Or else, what?” you say through wheezes, and it seems like something in him snaps because suddenly he grabs your wrist, hard, pinning it down onto the mattress, holding it there next to your head, and his entire upper body is towering over you. Shocked, you’re breathing fast, your eyes darting across his face, and he’s looking at you with a furrowed brow and a tense jaw.

“Or else I won’t keep my promise,” he says through a harsh breath, his voice low and rough.

You’re stunned underneath him. “What promise?” you ask, breathlessly.

He leans down closer, to the point where the fringe of his hair brushes against your forehead. “My promise to hold myself back from you.”

You swallow hard, chest heaving. You feel the heat of his hand on your wrist burning through to your veins. You try to squirm slightly in his grip, but he just presses your wrist down further into the mattress.

He glances at your lips, eyes dilated and stern, and leans down even closer to you. “Do you have any idea how bad I’ve been wanting to punish you for leaving me in that bathroom by myself?” he says in a voice so husky you feel the arousal build at your center the second your head registers it.

You can’t find your words. He keeps his eyes locked on yours, as if to make sure yours stay on his too, and you’re docile under him until he’s distracted you enough to pinch his credit card between two of his fingers and discretely pull it out from your grip. He then lets go of your wrist and disappears out of your line of sight when he flops back down onto the mattress next to you, tucking his card back into his wallet.

“But I won’t. Because I’m a nice person, and will respect your space. Or whatever.”

You don’t know what to say, your hand finding a place over your heart as you try to take deep breaths to calm yourself down.

“We should probably go to sleep,” he sighs after a minute, tossing his wallet back onto the nightstand and reaching over to turn off the light.

It’s dark now in the room, the only light coming from through the layered fabrics of the curtains. It's a cold light, possibly from the moon and maybe some dim neighboring white street lights, but it’s enough to where you could still see the slight texture of the ceiling, and maybe his face.

You both spend a few minutes trying to get comfortable. You try not to bump your butt against him, or brush your chest against his arm, but it happens a couple times anyway, and you mentally curse yourself for it. The rise of the duvet fabric from his chest becomes shallow with his breathing, and you think he’s fallen asleep, but then the two of you turn over at the exact same time, facing each other, eyes flying open and gazes meeting. It startles the both of you, but neither of you look away or say a word. The two of you just sit in the moment for what feels like hours, and very could’ve easily been.

You’re the first to break the silence. “You know, there was a time where I thought that you weren’t even real.” You’re speaking hushed, like you’re afraid someone will hear, even though there’s only two souls in this room right now.

“What?” he asks, a slight raise to his eyebrow. “...why.”

“I don’t know. You’re like this urban legend around campus. You probably don’t know it, since you’re in it, but the world you’re in is very different from the world the rest of us students are in.”

He’s silent for a moment, his face being briefly illuminated by the reflection of a car’s headlights on the windows of the surrounding building. “I think I know what you mean.”

You blink at him. “I thought you would have a few more follow-up questions to that, but I guess you’re surprisingly self-aware.”

He hums to himself. “I think I can just put it into perspective.”

“Perspective?” you ask. You’re hanging onto every single one of his words tonight. You don’t want a single one of them slipping through you, not understood.

“Yeah,” he says, “there are moments where I feel like I’m not in that world anymore. And it feels nice. To get out of it.”

You want to ask him when those moments are, but he’s quick to speak again.

“I guess that means I’m aware of the moments where I am in it, so I know that it exists, if that makes sense? I don’t know.” He looks down at your pajamas, at the dancing sloth at the front, and the crease to his brow relaxes slightly.

“Mhm, makes sense.”

His eyes are back on you, studying. There’s a strange look on his face that you can’t really comprehend. “I want to know about your world,” he says.

You breathe in deep, and exhale shallow. “My world is simple. I want to be a filmmaker and then live in a little cottage.”

He smiles at you. “A little cottage?”

“Yeah,” you say, “maybe in the countryside. The Italian countryside. With my own garden in the backyard so I can use fresh zucchini in my salads.”

“Any animals? Pets?” he asks, like he’s envisioning it all in his head too.

“Maybe some chickens,” you say, “I promised Mr. Guilmon I’d name another one of my pets after him someday. I have to keep my promise.”

He nods. “You do.”

There’s another silence, but it doesn’t feel awkward this time.

“Did you turn your photos in to your professor?” he asks.

“Yeah, I did,” you tell him. “Earlier this week.”

“Nice. What about your reference for grad school?”

“I asked him for it.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows raise. “How’d it go?”

“Mm…I was really nervous, but it went well. He said he’d do it.”

There’s such a tenderness to his expression that you feel so compelled to kiss him right now. “That’s awesome. I’m proud of you. That’s one step closer to your dream.”

You purse your lips together from his words, sitting with the warm feeling in your chest. You want to thank him again, but instead all you say is “we’re even now.”

He lets out a small chuckle. It comes from his throat. “You’ve said that so many times.”

“I know.” Because you can’t believe it’s all over. This little arrangement between the two of you. You don’t want it to be over. “I can’t remember when the first time I said it was.”

“That night,” he answers you fast and with certainty, like it was at the forefront of his mind, “when you drove over rocks. And we sat together on the curb. And I realized how badly you take care of your car. You don’t need thousands of chain restaurant napkins in your glovebox, by the way. No matter how much you might think you do.”

“Wow. I was almost romanced by you for a second, but you ruined it,” you mumble.

You’re instantly taken back to that night. You remember the gentle quality in his eyes as he stared up at the stars, and you can still see the reflection of that sky in his eyes right now with the way he’s looking at you.

“I really liked you that night,” you whisper, “I wish you were like that all the time.”

“Am I not like that all the time?” he asks, voice soft to match yours.

“No,” you say, “sometimes you’re mean.”

His eyes on you are gentle, somewhat careful. “I’m sorry for being mean.”

You wonder if you can change his mind. If you can will him to like you back, if you can will him into wanting a relationship with you. You want to be his exception, not his rule.

“It’s okay. I’m mean sometimes, too,” you say, “mean to myself for sharing a bed with a guy that doesn’t like me.” He’s looking at your lips as you speak. “I’m bad like that.”

“You’re not bad,” is all he says.

“I am,” you say, and you inch closer to him, until there’s hardly any space between the two of you. You look up at him, faces inches away. You feel so safe with him, and yet you also feel scared, because you like him so much that you would let him ruin you if he wanted to. You press a flat palm to his shirt, searching for his heart, and you find that it’s beating fast in his chest. “I’m a bad woman, Satoru.”

“y/n,” he says, like a warning.

“I mean it,” you whisper.

“You said you’d kill me if I touch you,” he reminds you, sounding a little breathless.

“I can’t kill you, you’re way stronger than me,” you whisper, “so touch me.” Your hand is gripping onto the fabric of his shirt now, tight, with desire. He’s looking at you with a whole lot of desire too, but there was something else there as well. “Please.”

He wraps his hand around your wrist–the heat of his touch that you so badly wanted, craved, finally on you–but it’s to pull you away from him. Your grasp on his shirt releases and he brings your hand to the front of your chest, laying it down gently before letting it go. Your wrist lays limp there, missing his touch. Limp in front of your beating heart.

“Let’s just go to sleep, okay?” he says softly.

Your eyes widen when you look at him, and you couldn’t even hide the hurt that settled across your face if you tried. Gaze dropping to his chest, you see the way it was rising with every breath he took, and for the second time in this life, you’ve felt so utterly rejected by him. You give him a compliant nod, and scootch back away from him before turning away. He stays as he is, watching your back, and you can feel his gaze on the nape of your neck.

Counting the minutes to fall asleep felt exhausting, but the last thing you remember before you closed your eyes was the feeling of a tear trickling down onto your pillow, wet and cold against your cheek.

–

You wake up the next morning to an empty bed, and an even emptier feeling heart. There’s also this weird feeling of disappointment within you, and you don’t really know why.

Grabbing your phone on the nightstand, you quickly search for the email with the men’s soccer team practice schedule, and you see that they had a sharp 8am practice this morning before the game in the afternoon. The time reads 6:37am, and you’re wondering where Gojo went so early in the morning before heading off to the practice field.

You went back to sleep for a couple hours, and then woke up again. By the time you took a shower, got dressed, and went downstairs to the hotel lobby to eat breakfast, it was already 10:00am and it was time to make it to the field so you could set up and calibrate your camera prior to taking photos for the match. Following Utahime’s gameday instructions, you took a cab to the location with all of your gear.

The Kyoto soccer stadium was less of a stadium and more of an extremely large and open expanse of grass that had enormous silver metal stands stretching across the perimeter. It was something you would expect of an area in the countryside, but security was still somehow tight across the fenced off area.

It was still a couple hours before the game, so the field was bustling with pre-game set-ups and the stands were empty. There were a few sports canopies being put up, as well as a small truck with workers that were working to stock up the hydration stations. A few men in suits were seated at tables with notepads and clipboards, looking busy in conversation and on what sounded like business calls. As you walk down the sidelines, you notice a few other people checking the distances between the goals and the chalk markings across the field. The stands were extremely close to all of the action, and when you look to the right, you see a couple of familiar faces there.

“Ah, y/n! We’re over here.”

You approach the group of three people, all seated on the lowest metal bench of one of the spectator sections. There were a bunch of tripods, cameras, cases, and laptops sprawled across in front of them. You recognize Hana and Minato, but you don’t recognize the other man sitting with them. You had met Hana and Minato at the game against Osaka last week, they were both professional photographers for the newsletter.

Hana hops off the bench and comes up to you. “It’s seriously so cool you’re here with us and that Utahime got you this gig,” she says to you with a smile. “Make sure your schedule is free on nights after matches, all us photographers usually get dinner together afterwards. You’re the baby out of us, so we’ll pay for you.”

You return her smile with one of your own. “That’s sweet, and sure I’ll try to.”

You glance at the man whose name you didn’t know, your gaze meeting his, and soon enough he’s jumping up onto his feet too and making his way over to you.

“Ah, this is Kaito. Kai for short,” Hana says, gesturing to the man, and then to you.

Kai extends his hand out for you to shake. He’s tall and a bit lean. His style is really boyish—totally nailing the street photographer outfit with the white shirt underneath a flannel one, and some Carhartt pants paired with some Vans. You reach out to shake his hand, and he holds onto it for a second longer than you would’ve expected.

“Hi,” you greet him and tell him your name.

“That’s a nice name,” he says with a smile.

Hana claps her hands together. “Okay! We all know each other now, that’s great. We should get started prepping before the players get here, I believe they’re scheduled to be here in an hour.” She walks over to the benches and picks up her digital camera. Minato grabs his as well as his tripod, then walks over to Hana’s side. “The way we usually do it is to split the field into corners, and each of us works that perimeter. The videographers are here too, so just make sure you don’t accidentally knock over or stand in front of one of their cameras.”

All three of you nod at her and you unzip your case to take your film camera out. Kai is next to you, looking at the device in your hands curiously.

“Kai, you can work with y/n for today since it’s her first day. Split up those two corners over there,” Hana says, pointing to the other end of the field. You and Kai look in that direction. “Minato and I will take the other short end.”

With a few more discussions and detailed instructions, the four of you disperse to your assigned locations. You’re a step ahead of Kai, although he should really be the one leading your stride since you’re the new one here, but he soon enough catches up to you.

“Is that a Canon AE-1?” he asks you, pointing to your camera.

You look at him a little surprised. “Yeah, it is. As vintage as they get.”

“Sweet, I used to shoot on film too. Second-hand?”

“No, third. Still cost me an arm and a leg, though,” you sigh.

He laughs. “They’re not that expensive.”

“I’m a broke college student. I sometimes have to choose between paying rent and eating food,” you say to him.

He kicks at a random can on the grass, sending it flying forward, instead of picking it up. “Yeah, definitely don’t miss those days.”

“When did you graduate?” you ask.

“From UTokyo two years ago,” he says.

You bend over to pick up the can he kicked and jog a little to the trashcan nearby, tossing it in, then jog back to him. “That’s nice. You’ve been doing this for two years?”

“Yup,” he says to you as the two of you reach the corner of the field outlined by freshly drawn chalk. He kneels down on the grass, sets his camera case down, and opens it up. Your jaw drops.

“Is that a—Leica camera?” you ask him, shocked.

He smirks up at you. “Sure is.”

“Oh, so you’re just rich, then,” you sit down on the grass to look at it with interest, marveling at its condition.

“Nope. I’ll bet I got it for cheaper than your Canon there,” he points to the camera hung at your neck.

You meet his gaze. “No way.”

“Way,” he says, pulling out the attachable lens before wiping at it with a microfiber cloth, “I know a guy. He sells used cameras. The only issue is you’ve gotta refurbish them yourself.”

You sigh. “Wonderful. Because I would know how to do that.”

He lets out a half-laugh, and you glance up briefly to look at his expression. He was amused. “It’s pretty easy, just gotta do it once. And then you’ll have a used Leica that works brand-new, all for just under a hundred-thousand yen.”

You’re looking at him with surprise again. “That cheap?”

“Yup.”

“Wow…” Your finger plays with the lens cap on your camera.

“If you want, I can send you his info. But if you want to meet up with him, it’ll probably have to be facilitated through me,” Kai says, “He takes clients by recommendation. No use in selling a used camera to an idiot that doesn’t know how to refurbish it. He’s looking for niche photographers that have the interest.”

You press your lips together, considering it. “Sure.”

He hands his phone to you. “Alright, gimme your number.”

You hesitate for a second before typing your number into his contacts then hand it back and watch as he saves it in his phone. “Canon girl. Won’t forget ya.”

The two of you make work for a second, eyeing the field and mapping out angles of where to get the best shots during play. Kai gives you some pointers and you’re marveling at how good they are.

“Not really used to shooting on film anymore,” he mumbles, peering through the hole on your camera when you handed it over to him, “but usually a one over five-hundred shutter speed works well for sports. I’d switch between that and over two-fifty though, to avoid a blurry finish.”

“Thanks,” you say to him, wanting to write all this down to not forget it. “Wish I knew this last week.”

“Why shoot on film?” he asks out of nowhere, handing your camera back to you. “Why not digital?”

“Oh, it’s a personal interest,” you say to him, adjusting your shutter speed as he suggested, “I think there’s a charm to it. I want to be a movie maker, and shoot on film medium.”

He frowns at you. “How are you going to do that?”

You tilt your head at him, shuffling on the grass. “I’m going to apply to the film graduate program at UTokyo to start.”

He laughs at that from where he’s seated across from you. “Really? That’s a waste of your time.”

Your heart sinks a little in your chest from his tone. “Why would it be a waste of my time?”

He turns to face you more directly. “y/n, trust me, I know this career path. Been there, done that. Millions of film majors like yourself always have these big-ass dreams like ‘I want to become a director, I want to do screenplay’ etc., but only one or two of them actually succeed.”

Your shoulders sulk. It’s not the first time you’ve heard those words from someone—your own parents practically recited them word-for-word before you headed off to college—but you had been doing really well all of senior year to ignore that nagging little voice in your head. It was honestly quite triggering to hear it all again right now. “Well, I think I can do it.”

He lets out a short scoff. “You sound real convincing there.” When he catches sight of your upset expression, he straightens his back a little. “My bad. Just trying to look out for you. I’m your senior in this industry. I know my way around these things. Trust me.”

You nod slowly. “I know. Thanks.” Part of you wonders if he’s just projecting.

“Well anyway,” he shrugs, “I think you should just focus on photography for now. It’s the safest career option for you to do.”

“I guess you’re right,” you say, wanting to diffuse the conversation.

The two of you disperse to your assigned corners once the stands start to fill with spectators. Shortly after, the players make their introductions onto the field, and you can see Gojo across the field. He’s too far to read his expression, but for some reason when you look at him, that disappointed feeling from this morning comes back to you. You try to push it down and just focus on your task at hand.

UTokyo does well during the match, and Gojo seems to be playing much better than the Osaka game last week, scoring two goals within the first half. There were a couple of times where there were throw-ins near your corner, and you made eye contact with him as he’s breathing heavily, wiping the sweat off his face with his jersey, and every time you look at him, that melancholic feeling washes over you again. UTokyo wins 3-2, the crowd evidently disappointed as they were rooting for their home team, and by the time the disgruntled fans started to clear the stands, the sun was setting over the horizon and the sky was a golden color.

The referees on the field begin to oversee the post-match proceedings with the players. Kai comes around to meet you at your corner, and Hana and Minato arrive there too.

“Hey team! How’d it go?” Hana asks, a little out of breath from her journey over here.

“Went fine,” Kai responds.

“It was a little tricky,” you comment, “but I think my photos came out well.”

Hana nods. “Alright, sounds good. Are we still on for dinner tonight?”

Kai and Minato nod, and then all three sets of eyes are on you. You hesitate for a moment, and look off past them to where you see the group of soccer players in conversations with the coaches and referees. You see Gojo standing there, his hands on his hips as he peered across the field, tilting his neck to the side repeatedly, and you realize he had been doing that all match long. That unsettling feeling within you starts to brew once again. “Uh, I’m really sorry, but I’m not feeling very well. I think I might just head back to the hotel.”

Hana and Minato nod at you with a concerned expression, while Kai just looks disappointed.

“Okay, well, I hope you feel better,” she says.

You end up taking an Uber back to the hotel in haste, not wanting to run into Gojo or any of the other soccer players after their match, and make it to the room, using the key card that Gojo gave you to get inside. You take a shower to freshen up, and by the time it’s 7pm, you’re starving. You put on a simple outfit and make it downstairs into the lobby of the hotel, about to go peruse the nearby dining options, but right when you step out of the elevator, you run into Gojo.

There’s a look of pleasant surprise on his face and you take in his appearance. He was still wearing his soccer jersey, covered in grass and dirt stains, and his face was slightly flushed from exertion. You figured he just came back from the field.

“Hey,” he says, “sorry, I was just about to head over there.” He jerks his head off towards the lobby, and you glance in that direction. There was a group of maybe thirty people gathered around the lounging areas and high-tables over at the business suite, and you recognize them as UTokyo’s soccer players, along with Coach Yaga and other team staff. The players were still all clad in their uniforms, carrying all their stuff, and there were plays of today’s game rerunning across the TV screens. You realize they’re probably prepping for interview questions for tomorrow’s conference.

“Oh, please, go ahead,” you say to him.

He tilts his head at you. “Are you doing alright?”

You were aware that things might feel awkward after last night, and that your cheeks would probably feel hot like they do now the next time you had to talk to him. Your mind takes you back to the memories, when you think about how badly you wanted him to stay with you in the room because of that hollow feeling in your chest from missing him, despite how you knew it was bad for you. Because this man standing in front of you doesn’t like you in the way that you like him.

And then it clicks. The reason for that feeling of disappointment you’ve had since the moment you woke up today.

When you glance up at Gojo this time, you see him differently than you had from a second ago. You finally notice the slight dark circles under his eyes, and figure out that the reason he’s been tilting his neck to the side all day was because he was trying to stretch out a kink. You vaguely recall that moment you woke up in the middle of the night, and your sleepy brain registered that there was no longer the dip of him in the mattress next to you.

“When did you leave the room?” you ask him. You know your voice is quiet when he has to lean down a bit to hear you.

He takes his time answering, indulging in a few breaths. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” you say, starting to sound hostile, “you left during the night, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t deny it.

“You left once I fell asleep,” you say, eyes widening with realization.

He sighs. “Yes.”

“Where did you go to sleep?” you ask, trying to keep your tone level.

“Suguru’s room had an extra couch. I pushed them together.”

You felt sick and sad, feeling something worse than rejection right now. There was a part of you that still thought that all of this from him was just a joke. A prank. That he was finally going to say just kidding, I like you too. The reason you’ve been so disappointed since the minute you woke up today was because there was a part of you that thought you were going to wake up this morning with his arms wrapped around you, back pressed tight to his chest while he whispers sweet nothings in your ear of how much he likes you, of how much he wants you, of how much he wants to be with you.

“Why? Even after I said I didn’t want you to have bad sleep?” Your voice was laced with hurt. You didn’t even know how to explain to him why it upset you, because deep down you’re scared it isn’t even valid.

“It’s fine,” he says, “I played fine today. And we won.”

“You could’ve stayed. Do you really hate me that much?” Your words are shooting to kill now. “So I’m good enough to finger in a bathroom at a frat party, but not good enough to sleep next to?”

He furrows his brow. “I don’t understand why we’re arguing about this,” he says, tone starting to match yours, “you’re the one that wanted space. I was just trying to respect that.”

“If you really wanted to respect my space, you wouldn’t have agreed to share the bed with me in the first place.”

“y/n,” he says, “that’s not fair.”

“You should’ve known better.” You’re breathing fast, tone searingly accusive. “You know that I’m trying to get over you, and that I’m vulnerable, and that I’m probably confused about a lot of things right now.”

“I ask if we could at least be friends, you say no because it’d be some recipe for disaster, then you practically beg me to stay with you and tell me to touch you while we’re laying down together. You don’t think that’s confusing for me too?” he counters.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment at the memory of your desperate actions last night, and he instantly looks apologetic. You feel like you’re being unfair, but you feel like he’s being unfair too.

“I’m the one with feelings,” is all you say in your defense.

He swipes at his chin roughly with the back of his hand, smudging the dirt up to his cheek, and then closes his eyes for a second, like the weight of today has finally hit him all at once. He looks exhausted. “Right,” he says, softly, “I’m sorry.”

“Yo, Satoru!” one of his teammates yells from the center of the lobby. “Coach needs you, man.”

He rubs a hand down his tired face then throws a haphazard glance over his shoulder. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a sec,” he calls out and then looks back at you. You can’t make eye contact with him, and just stare at the print on his jersey instead. “I’ll sleep in Suguru’s again tonight. The room is yours.”

There’s a lump in your throat and you feel like you’re about to cry. “Okay.”

He reaches into his shorts pocket and gives you a room card. “Here’s the spare. I don’t need to come grab my stuff for the night, so don’t worry.”

“Okay.”

He sounds like he wants to say more, and you see him take a small step towards you, hand reaching out for you, but this time Coach Yaga’s stern voice is calling out to him too. He sighs. “Good night.”

“Mhm. Thanks.”

He hesitates before he turns on his heel and you watch his back, with that signature #10 stretched across the fabric of his uniforn, as he jogs through the hotel lobby to his teammates.

The walk back to the hotel room is depressing, and you find yourself dragging your feet all the way there. Once you make your way inside, you look around at the room and see some of Gojo’s belongings scattered around, but it didn’t seem like there were any of his essentials. You look down at the spare key card in your hand–a promise from him that he won’t try to upset you anymore tonight–and that lump in your throat from earlier comes back.

You hated fighting with him. You hated being away from him. Those feelings that you thought would go away just as fast as they came still sat so stubbornly within your heart, and it was becoming impossible to bear.

You wonder if meeting him was all just some horrible, twisted mistake.

Before you have time to dwell on that sad sentiment, your phone screen lights up with a message.

|| 7:52pm unknown number: kinda sucks you’re not here with us. was looking forward to showing you more of my camera

|| 7:53pm unknown number: this is kai by the way

The features of your face feel heavy as you look down at your phone screen. You don’t even notice your eyes are teary until you realize the blur of your vision makes it hard to see the letters as you type out a response.

You just wanted a distraction from all this pain.

|| 7:54pm you: can you send me the address? i wanna be there

a/n. grrrr i love a one-bed trope so much grrrrrrrrr it's gonna do it for me every damn time lol. thanks a bunch for reading!! there's still so much that i've got planned for the series haha i think the second half is gonna be a lot crazier than the first. super excited to write it though. by the way! i'm starting a choso x reader zombie au series, if you'd like to read more about it and/or be added to the taglist, you can reply to this post here also if you want to be added to taglist in general, i'd recommend making sure your tags are on!! since i've noticed a lot of people have them off

➸ take me to chapter nine!

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @therealestpussyeater @lost-resonance @hojoslutoru @foulprincesscycle @luniunia @alekssashka7 @bsdicinindirdim @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @btszn @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @drthymby @ninitoru @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @horisdope @sykostyles @aquaberrydolphin @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @purplehallow11 @mwtsxri @ritsatoru @bxddiebloss @chwesuh-imnida @mo0nforme @viware @still-fking-single @megumisthirdog @gintokhi @karvokr @cierocanteat @imjustaweirdnerd (hope i didn't miss anyone thank u all sm!!)

1K notes · View notes

captain-mj · 4 months

Text

Obsessed with the idea of Ghost always being super quiet in bed. Even mask off, minimal facial expressions and nothing more than breaks in his breathing. It's a tiny bit off putting, especially to partners where it's a one night stand.

It's not because they're not good or he's not into it. But he doesn't want to force himself to make expressions, make sounds, when he just wants to feel what's happening.

Soap is... very concerned. He puts more effort in. Tries his best. Asks if he wants to try something different despite making Ghost finish in record timing (still longer than the average person, but fast for Ghost at least). So Ghost asks him why? He's having fun. Is Soap not having fun?

But Soap is having a great time. Honestly. He's just... worried. Maybe a tad self conscious because he's loud and expressive.

After several months of dating, and several months of sex, Soap wraps his arms around Ghost's shoulder and tells him he loves him.

Ghost lets out the tiniest shutters of breath and whispers it back, looking at him like he hung the stars.

Soap suddenly understands him.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod mw2 #ghostsoap #cod #soapghost #ghoap

1K notes · View notes

lustspren · 4 months

Text

P.S.T EP. 10 | A Little Piece of Heaven ft Winter.

length: 9.2k words✦

Winter & Male Reader

Special Guest: Noze.

genres: oral sex, rough sex, creampie, public sex, degradation, exhibitionism, squirt, voyeurism, bdsm, lesbian, dirty talk, sexual toy kink, scissoring

✦✧✦✧✦✧

"Uhm... don't kill me, please," you said with your hands clasped on the table, Noze sitting in front of you. You were in the hotel lobby, you had let Ning sleep a little longer since it was still quite early in the morning, but you needed to talk to the boss alone.

"Just fucking talk, you're making me nervous," she insisted, crossing her arms, she was looking at you so intently that you had to look away from her so as not to stutter while you spoke.

"I'm sorry," you took a deep breath, "well... I took Ning out through a back alley, but as you well know she wasn't feeling well at all," you began.

"She threw up in the alley?"

"Aha," you nodded, "I reached down with her and picked up her hair, and well, I got distracted."

"And?"

"Flashing lights and the sound of a shutter," you sighed, "some son of a bitch photographed us both, but I managed to catch him in time. Let's just say I got a little rough with him and told some little lies. I told him it was better to negotiate with me unless he wanted me to end his shitty career. 50k for the damn SD card," while you were saying that you took the SD card out of your pants pocket to leave it in front of her.

You stared at her, expecting her to grab a plane ticket from her handbag and send your stupid ass back to Korea, but instead she just laughed, leaving you visibly confused.

"Oh my God!" she said between laughs, "you did amazing!"

"Uh… did I?" You frowned.

"Are you kidding? Only 50k? That's a child's figure at this point," she picked up the SD card and examined it carefully before putting it in her handbag, "give me details, you're making it worth getting up at this hour." "

"...Sure," you nodded, still confused by how composed she looked, "uh... I told her I was SM's representative here in the United States," she burst out laughing again, you sighed.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, damn!" She was laughing at you in your face, and your poker face wasn't helping, "You? SM representative?" more laughter, "the whole branch would collapse!"

"Thank you, how sweet," you said sarcastically.

"Anything else worth noting?" she asked as her laughter faded.

"The son of a bitch cracked his head open and called it an insurance policy in case I scammed him. Then he gave me his contact card," you also took it out of your back pocket and handed it to her.

"He certainly is a son of a bitch, yes," she nodded, looking at the face of the guy on the card, "call him."

"Huh? Right now?"

"Yes, why not? I have a few words to say to him."

"Aight," you nodded, and pulled out your phone to dial the number on the card. As the call rang, you left your phone on the table between the two of you.

"Hello?" the man answered from the other side. Noze quickly grabbed your phone and stood up, walking a few feet away from the table to talk to him. You were left alone at the table, looking at the restaurant menu, already thinking about what you were going to order for breakfast. After a couple of minutes she returned, her expression letting you know that everything had gone well.

"Aight, everything in order," she said, taking her seat again, "later today there will be nothing to worry about," you sighed in relief.

"Fuck, thank god. I was so fucking scared when it all happened," you looked down at your lap, thinking about what would have happened if you hadn't been quick enough to catch that guy.

"I know, I can imagine," she nodded slowly, leaning back in her chair as she stared into space. She made a small silence, "... remember when I told you that SM had given me a second chance?" You looked up, you found her eyes on you.

"Yeah, what's up with that?"

"I think it's time for you to know what happened," she looked down, "in short..." she took a deep breath, "I was in a relationship with one of them," you stayed silent and raised both eyebrows in surprise. You waited for her to continue talking, but she was waiting for you to say something.

"I mean… damn," you didn't really know what to say, you had your slight suspicions about it thanks to certain behaviors of hers, but you never wanted to draw the wrong conclusions, "may I know who?"

"Joohyun-ssi..." you noticed how saying her name made her nostalgic, perhaps melancholy, but a small smile appeared on her face, "you know her as Irene."

"Holy fuck!" you exclaimed, this time genuinely surprised. You fell back and sank into the seat, “I don't know why I thought of Seulgi, how did it happen?”

"In the parking lot of her condo," she looked up at you, "there was a fucking bastard in one of the buildings across the street who took pictures of us while we were kissing."

"No way..." you muttered.

"Aha..." she nodded slowly, "luckily the photographer was only looking for money for the photos, and the girls' manager had to cough up a much larger amount of money than what you coughed up."

"How much?"

“250 million won,” your jaw almost dropped to the floor, that was close to 180 thousand dollars.

"What a damn vulture, that's too much."

"I know, but you see, every manager since then has a small fund for situations like this, so 50k is a pretty small amount compared to others."

"Has this happened to you before?"

"Nope, I'm pretty careful about that, but NCT Dream's manager had to cough up an amount close to 200k because one of them was caught smoking... you know."

"Poor boy," you sighed, "he just wanted to be high for a bit," you managed to get a laugh out of her.

"Anyway, I'm really glad you were able to save Ning like that," she said, looking at you with a smirk, "you're not completely useless after all."

"You're being such a sweetheart today," you said sarcastically.

"I know, right?" she responded, also sarcastically, "and since I'm such a sweetheart, I'm going to lift your punishment."

"It's about damn time, mother of god," you let out a breath and rolled your eyes up in relief, "what a torture."

"Just don't screw up again, honey," she placed her hand on yours across the table, "the girls love you, they'd be so sad if you left."

"And what about you? It seems like you've grown fond of me too now," you teased, seeing her hand on yours.

"Oh, look who's coming down," she said quickly, removing her hand to clasp them in her lap, she looked to your right. As you followed her gaze you saw the four girls walking together towards you, each one already dressed and ready to go out as soon as you finished breakfast.

Ning's outfit let you understand that she had been the last to wake up and had dressed as hastily as possible, but her exaggerated beauty prevented her from looking bad, no matter what she was wearing. She just wore a short black skirt and a tank top of the same color to look as cute as ever. She also carried a Miu Miu clutch.

Jimin, looking as comfortable and confident as ever, had her silky black hair down. A white tank top with small black stripes was her choice for today, along with a pair of white flared pants. Like Ning, she went with a handbag, but this was Prada, which happened to be Miu Miu's sister brand. Random fact you heard from Ning at one of your breakfasts.

Giselle was by far the most alternative of the four, she was wearing khaki pants with loose straps, a sheer black knit sweater, and a sleeveless shirt underneath her. She didn't have a handbag, she just had her phone and her airpods in her hand.

Minjeong, on the other hand, didn't even look like she was going to take a flight, she looked like she was ready to go out and pose at a fashion event. You knew she wanted to stand out from the others that day, and you had your suspicions as to why. She revealed every attractive piece of flesh she had: a black crop top with thin straps, which showed everything from her pretty neck, her collarbone, her chest and her shoulders; a short white skirt (which you recognized was from Gucci), which showed off her flat, appetizing midriff, as well as her pair of slim, long, pretty legs. As expected, her handbag was also Gucci, and a black wool jacket was hanging folded on her forearm. To you she radiated pure sex, but you quickly put the thought out of your head since it was too early to have a boner.

"Did you manage to rest a little more baby?" you asked Ning as she approached with her gaze on you.

"I did, thanks honey," she said with a little smile. When she passed behind you, you felt her make the move to lean over to kiss your cheek, but she stopped short when she remembered where you were. Finally she just sat next to you.

"Pretend a little, will you?" Noze warned, "you two are not alone," you two couldn't do anything but lower your gaze and hold back your laughter at the scolding.

For the next ten minutes Noze dedicated herself to explaining to the girls in detail their next activities and everything she had scheduled for them for the day.

"That's all?" Jimin asked, making a mental note as she looked at her.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Noze said as she took a sip of her watermelon juice, "mister fool will go with us in the van," everyone quickly looked up from their plates to see both you and Noze, with a shared reaction of surprise.

"Is he already out of the dog cage?" Giselle asked, "and that means me too?"

"Aha, control your horny ass next time," Noze warned without looking at her. At that moment you felt how Minjeong, sitting on your right, leaned closer to your ear.

"It's about time you got off house arrest," she whispered in your ear, "I was starting to consider fucking one of the security guys if she didn't let you stretch me out soon," you had to hide your reaction as you ate your omelet.

When you all finished your breakfast you stood up in the rush to make the last preparations before leaving for the airport. The staff members began to fill the lobby with boxes, luggage and other inventory of utmost importance for the tour. You offered to help upload some things, it wasn't your job anymore, but you had done it long enough to get used to it, and besides, the staff was too nice not to help them out from time to time.

Once everything was in order and prepared, you all began to get into the van. You took a seat next to the left window, Jimin sat diagonally to the right, Ning to your right at the other end, and Minjeong right in front of you. Giselle sat behind, focused on her phone. Noze on the other hand settled into the passenger seat while she took out her laptop from her bag.

"So," Jimin took off an airpod to look at Noze, "is he allowed to provide services again?" Noze continued to stare at the screen of her laptop.

"Everything is back to normal," Noze nodded, "but for the love of God, be careful, I won't allow another mistake like that."

As Noze spoke Minjeong made eye contact with you for a few seconds, then she pointed down, and when you looked down she spread her legs as wide as the seat would allow. She hadn't bothered to wear anything under her skirt, so you had a perfect view of her pretty, perfectly shaved pussy. You wanted to tell her something, but you didn't want anyone to hear it.

"I'm going to fucking destroy you," you said, just moving your lips as you looked into her eyes. She just smiled and looked out the window, crossing her legs again.

Upon arriving at the airport you quickly went through each checkpoint since the private jet that would take you to Dallas was already ready to take off. As you boarded and settled into the cabin you examined the interior, the jet was not as spectacular as the one that brought you to America, but it was already much better than an average plane, and it was quite nice. Light wood interiors and perfectly shiny champagne leather seats.

As soon as you entered, there were four seats forming a square, two on the left and two on the right. Then there were two double seats with a table in the middle, and to the left, a small table with a large drawer underneath. In the last area of the cabin, a large sofa, and a door that you assumed was the bathroom. Minjeong quickly took your hand and pulled you with her to the double seats so that you sat next to her, a move that worked perfectly because the four missing girls had taken the four missing seats behind you. Nobody was going to see anything.

Minjeong didn't waste a single second of time, as soon as you settled into the seats she grabbed your right forearm and brought your hand straight between her legs, your fingers now touching her pussy.

"Just use one finger..." she murmured in your ear, "I really need to feel myself stretching around that cock while we're at cruising altitude."

"That's kinda kinky, Minjeong-ah," you murmured back, rubbing your fingers up and down between her folds.

"Are you kidding? That sounds like an incredible idea to me..." she gasped as she looked at you, "you fucking me forty thousand feet up… just imagine that."

"So naughty, my god," you smiled, finally taking a finger inside her tight pussy as the plane raised its nose and rose into the air.

When your finger reached as deep as it could go inside her pussy you began to slowly move your wrist, causing Minjeong to let out an audible little moan that made you stop for a second because you were sure someone would have heard it.

"Everything okay back there?" you heard Noze ask.

"Everything's perfect, boss," Minjeong replied, biting her lower lip in the middle of a smirk. Out of curiosity, you looked over the side of your seat. Ning had already fallen asleep, Jimin was reading a book, and Noze was focused on her laptop. You couldn't fully see Giselle since she was behind you, but you noticed that she was playing Brawl Stars on her phone.

"Keep fucking quiet," you muttered as you turned back around and resumed pumping your wrist.

"Let go, idiot," she snapped with her mouth half open, bringing her hand to your cock over your sweatpants to massage it between gasps.

After a few seconds she took your cock out of your sweatpants and started rubbing it up and down, following the rhythm of your wrist while your finger went in and out of her. She had her lips pursed, stifling as many moans as she could just like you.

As soon as she noticed that the plane had gained enough altitude, she took off the belt that held her waist and stood up. You also took off your seat belt, and when she passed in front of you to get out of the seats, you stood up and followed her to the bathroom. It was more spacious than a normal plane, but your recent experiences let you know that it was nothing so impressive.

When you both entered you didn't even have time to lock the door behind you before she was already bent over the sink, her skirt wrapped around her waist and her pretty ass exposed for you.

"Not a coffee or anything?" you joked, standing behind her with a little smile.

"Shut up and fuck me raw asshole," she ordered, looking over her shoulder with a sensual look, "rip off those pants and put all that juicy cock inside me, I need to feel stretched and filled by you."

You knew that Minjeong was by far the horniest and most sex-crazed of all the girls, but she never ceased to amaze you how dirty she could talk sometimes. You didn't want to make her wait any longer, so you pulled down your sweatpants and boxers in a single pull towards your ankles to free your cock. One hand of yours went to her waist, and with the other you took your cock to rub it between her folds up and down, you let out a spit towards your cock and lubricated it well, and without any more time to waste you went all the way inside her, remembering how incredibly good her extremely tight and hot pussy felt.

"Oh my god..." you gasped, resting your pelvis against her buttocks as her pussy walls stretched around your shaft, "I missed this tight little pussy."

"Yeah? Because you're filling me up so fucking good," she moaned with her eyebrows furrowed as she looked at you, "do you like the way my pussy squeezes that cock daddy?" another of them who called you that way, two out of four.

"I fucking love it," you growled, giving both of her buttocks a hard squeeze and then spanking one of them. Minjeong squealed, and you started pumping your hips back and forth.

Minjeong's folds kept a firm grip around your cock, which was smothered from all directions by her warm, tight pussy walls. Your fingers held tightly to her small waist, feeling her soft flesh against your skin as your cock moved completely in and out of her fragile frame. In a few seconds she was already being hammered by your cock, and her moans began to echo off the bathroom walls.

You and her were locked in a bubble of pure lust and desire, which held strong for a few more thrusts until a series of frantic knocks on the door made you stop in your tracks.

"You better open that damn door immediately!" you heard Noze exclaim from the other side. Minjeong cleared her throat in annoyance, and with your balls deep inside her she left the sink to lean towards the door.

"What can I do for you?" Minjeong said with a false tone of friendliness after opening the door wide open. Noze did not look at all disturbed by the lewd scene before her eyes.

"Look, this tour is going to kill me with a migraine one of these days, so if you would be so kind, go fuck in the cabin so I can watch you and distract myself a little," she made eye contact with you as she spoke, and just God knows how intimidated yet surprised you felt. You didn't know what to say or do, you were on autopilot at that moment, and never better said.

"And what about the girls?" Minjeong asked.

"Do you care?" Noze returned.

"Not really, I love having an audience," saying that Minjeong straightened her body and made your cock come out of her pussy. Noze looked at it for a few seconds and then looked into your eyes, until she turned around and took the lead, Minjeong followed her, and you followed Minjeong.

"All the spotlight is on you, show off," Noze said as she returned to her seat. You had taken off your sweatpants and boxers along the way, and now you were completely naked from the waist down standing behind the seats where Ning and Giselle were. Minjeong unbuttoned her skirt and lowered it to her heels, where she also took off her heels before getting on her hands and knees with her ass raised facing you.

“Come and fuck me daddy, it's show time,” Minjeong said, looking back over her shoulder at you.

"Jesus Christ, are you really going to do this here right now?" Giselle said with a giggle to your left as you knelt behind Minjeong.

"Orders from above, nothing to do about it," you replied to Giselle in English, before spitting again on your cock and plunging back into Minjeong's tight pussy. Her ass rested against your pelvis, and with a spank to her milky buttock you began to fuck her again, this time with Noze's gaze on you.

"Do you like what you see, boss?" Minjeong asked Noze between squeals of pleasure, as you slapped her ass with each thrust, "He's stretching my pussy so fucking good, mhmmm!"

"What a slut..." Giselle mentioned next to you, watching you out of the corner of her eye while she played on her phone. Ning on the other hand was still fast asleep, and Jimin wasn't even bothering to pay attention to you.

"I bet you're pretty fucking horny right now huh?" Minjeong teased Noze, who had already unbuttoned her pants to put a hand inside them, "Fuck yeah, you love what you see, who knew," you gave her another hard spank so she screamed in pleasure, your cock frantically hammering her pussy.

"Shut your damn mouth Minjeong," Noze moaned as she bit her lip, "and you," she looked into your eyes, "lie on your back, I want to see how she rides you," you did so, pulling out of Minjeong to lie on the floor, she straddled you to impale herself on your cock again, but Noze intervened, "not like that, turn around," Minjeong raised an eyebrow and turned around, to ride you in a reverse cowgirl position.

"So you want to look me in the eye while I jump on this cock, huh?" Minjeong said with a mischievous giggle as she took you inside her again, beginning to sensually move her hips back and forth. You had perfect views, Minjeong's ass moving on your cock and meters ahead, Noze fingering herself between discrete moans.

"Oh my god... look at that bulge on your abdomen," Noze moaned, and she proceeded to remove both her pants and her panties. She spread her legs wide, and that was your first view of her pussy. Your mouth watered, “Jimin-ssi…” she motioned for Jimin to listen to her, Jimin took off one of the headphones and turned to look at her, “would you mind coming over here and putting that tongue to work?”

"Fuck, Adolin is about to have his duel against Relis and Jamakav," Jimin complained, closing 'The Way of Kings' and removing her headphones, "you owe me a favor."

Jimin knelt in front of Noze's seat, and without thinking twice she plunged her face right into her crotch. Noze moaned louder as she held Jimin by her hair, being eaten in the best possible way by a tongue that you knew was not inexperienced with.

"I can't believe you agreed that easily..." Minjeong moaned, teasing Jimin, who gave her the middle finger while she ate Noze's pussy. Minjeong planted her feet on the floor on either side of your hips, leaned back to rest her hands on your arms, and began jumping up and down quickly, making the bulge on her stomach even more visible for Noze. You groaned in pleasure, feeling Minjeong's pussy tighten around your shaft, and enjoying everything that was happening in front of your eyes.

"I'm so close, fuck!" you said with a moan, already feeling at the point of no return thanks to Minjeong's jumps on your cock and the image of Noze being devoured by Jimin, who seemed to be putting her soul and sweat into her work, since boss’s face was pure pleasure.

"Creampie her!!" Noze squeaked to your surprise, tangling her fingers in strands of Jimin's hair.

"You heard her daddy… drain those balls into my tight little pussy," Minjeong moaned, looking down at you over her shoulder. She started jumping faster and harder, you groaned in pleasure, and brought your hands to her waist to help her go all the way up and down your throbbing cock.

After a few seconds in which Minjeong didn't stop jumping on your cock for a single second, you exploded. You growled deep in your throat, feeling yourself shoot your load into her warm pussy. Feeling the thick, hot liquid inside her, Minjeong gave one last hard push down and brought her orgasm. Her moans filled the entire cabin, and in search of increasing her pleasure she began to grind her hips back and forth with your cock deep inside her pussy, still shooting cum.

For Noze, the climax was also a matter of seconds, she just had to watch how Minjeong very slowly took your cock out of her pussy, and how the cum spilled out of it, to press Jimin's face towards her pussy while her orgasm made her scream. You also heard a moan from Jimin as she ate out Noze while she came.

"Fuck, you made her completely full," Noze moaned, "do you feel full and stretched already, Minjeong-ah?" she asked looking into her eyes.

"Very, very full and stretched by this juicy, delicious, magnificent cock," Minjeong agreed, getting off of you to kneel on your side, lean towards your crotch and start cleaning your cock, lower abdomen and balls between licks and sucks. She didn't stop until your cock was completely clean and she had swallowed all your cum.

"Like I was telling you..." Jimin pulled away from Noze's pussy as she wiped her chin, "you owe me a favor," she remarked before returning to her seat, putting on her headphones, and returning to the book.

"Ah... yeah, sure," Noze nodded, still spread-legged, realizing everything that had happened, she made eye contact with you, and then with Minjeong, "Uhm... get dressed and get comfortable, there's still a couple of hours left to land," she said with slightly blushing cheeks.

"Nice wet pussy, boss," Minjeong teased with a giggle, "but next time let me eat it myself… it looks so yummy."

—------------------------------

Upon landing in Dallas, none of you had time or mind to talk about what happened while you were more than ten thousand meters high, everything was a slight chaos and rush as soon as you set foot in the airport, and within an hour you were already at the hotel where you were going to stay. Everyone, both members and staff members, you and Noze, went to your respective rooms to rest as soon as everything was in order.

You didn't have any plans for that afternoon, so you invited Ning (as always, going through Noze's approval first) to your room to watch a movie before bedtime. You and her had a nice little time watching The Batman, cuddling on your bed and sharing a few little kisses until the movie ended, and then spending 15 minutes discussing the movie until she had to left.

When you were left alone in your room, the first thing you did was go take a long, relaxing bath that helped you get rid of all the tiredness and physical exhaustion that you had accumulated throughout the day. You left the bathroom, got dressed, and lay down on your bed to take out your phone and let the ITZY girls know that you were already in the next city safe and sound. The next day's activities forced you to go to sleep early that night, so as soon as you read the girls' answers and said goodbye to them, you turned off all the lights in your room and fell asleep.

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

The next morning you tried to talk to Noze about what had happened to no avail, since as soon as you all finished breakfast she started giving orders left and right. She had ordered you in particular to go to the venue and prepare everything in the dressing room with the stylists team and makeup artists. Everything took longer than you had estimated and you no longer had any time to go to the hotel and then come back, so you just told Noze that you were going to wait for them there.

The girls arrived at the venue after about fifteen minutes, but you didn't have time to talk or even interact with any of them since they had to rush through sound tests, wardrobe tests, and then put on makeup. Hours passed, and you noticed how the crowd of people began to fill the place. When you least expected it, it was time for them to go on stage, and you stayed with Noze on the side stage while you watched the concert.

"Are we going to talk about that little scene on the plane or...?" You brought the topic up from under the table, Noze took a deep breath, tilted her head and crossed her arms with her eyes on the stage. The girls were performing Savage at the time.

"Look, I promise we'll talk about it at some point, but for now don't pressure me, okay?" She turned to see you, you were both shoulder to shoulder, so when you turned your head too, your faces were not very far from each other.

"It's okay, I'm sorry," you said, looking into her eyes, "I didn't mean to, I just didn't expect that."

"I understand, but we'll talk about it," she assured, also looking at you, "now shut up and watch the concert."

"I've already seen it 3 times," you both turned again to look at the stage.

"You have the chance to see those four goddesses performing from here, take it."

"Well, you have a point."

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

When the concert ended you helped the staff store all the things and load them into the vans, after that, you got into the van with the girls and Noze and returned to the hotel. Everyone went to their respective rooms to take baths before going down to dinner or to sleep, but your plans were to order some food that night and lock yourself up until one of the girls required your attention. The message didn't take long to arrive, and you didn't even have time to order your food.

As soon as you answered Minjeong you stood up and opened your suitcase to change into something more comfortable. Your choice was a pair of navy blue sports shorts, an oversized black Nike hoodie, and your granite Yeezy Sliders. You didn't care too much about arranging your hair so well, or putting on perfume or anything like that, you only had your phone and barely a half-finished pack of Mentos in your pockets. The only thing you made sure you had covered was to tell the boss.

You waited for a few minutes for Noze to respond, but the messages never arrived, which you found very strange indeed. She always responded the minute you said something, and you could only think of two things, either she was taking a shower, or she had already fallen asleep. You doubted both, but you left your room anyway and headed to Minjeong's.

When you got to Minjeong's room you didn't even bother to knock on the door or call her, you just opened it wide as if it were your room. What happened on the plane was insignificant compared to what you saw now in front of your eyes, and now you knew why Noze wasn't answering your messages. Minjeong was tied by the ankles and wrists behind her back with thick visibly tight red ropes, next to her, Noze completely naked as she inserted a not at all small dildo into Minjeong's pussy.

"Wow," you hurried inside and locked the door behind you, Minjeong and Noze turned to look at you, "What's going on, what the fuck."

"Well, it looks like we don't need fake cocks anymore," Noze said, looking at you, and then took the dildo out of Minjeong's pussy, who let out a moan. She had her legs up with her thighs pressed against her abdomen, so you had a perfect view of her pussy and her butthole soaked in what looked like Noze's saliva.

"This is certainly not how I imagined I would see you naked for the first time," you told Noze, scrutinizing her small, tight, toned body. She didn't have the biggest ass or tits, but she was sexy on a level that you didn't even know how to explain.

"Bold of you to think you were going to see me naked before all this," she said, putting the dildo aside to stand up and go sit on the single couch on the right side of the room, in front of the window covered by the curtains.

"Was I wrong?" you teased.

"It doesn't matter, because you're seeing me naked right now," she spread her legs and grabbed one of those microphone-shaped vibrators, "pretend I'm not here and get to work."

"It's hard when your pussy is looking me right in the eye," you said, placing your phone on a small bench at the foot of the bed. You took the packet of fruit mentos out of your pocket and popped one into your mouth.

"You're gonna keep talking to her or are you gonna come here and fuck my brains out?" Minjeong teased from the bed, she had managed to lie on her side.

"We already played your little game on the plane, Minjeongie," you climbed onto the bed with her and got on your knees as you took off your hoodie, "but now it's my turn, and I'll do whatever I want with you."

"Then go ahead and use me as a puny sex toy daddy," she told you, biting her lip.

"Finger her and make her cum," Noze ordered to your right. You heard the vibrator turn on.

"You're lucky we think the same," you replied to Noze, "let's keep it up and I think our Minjeongie will end the night completely destroyed."

You took off your sliders and sat on the bed, pulling your shorts and boxers down to your ankles and off your legs with a single tug. Now the three of you were completely naked. The first thing you did was kneel in front of Minjeong's ass to lean forward and start filling the side of her face with kisses. Your mouth moved from her jaw to her chin, from where you moved down to her neck to fill it with hickeys and wet kisses. Minjeong shifted between gasps beneath you. Her ass rubbed against your balls, and when she noticed it she continued moving her hips to try her luck and thus press herself against your hard cock. Not wanting her to get what she wanted, you placed her body on her back and now took her perky little tits to your mouth.

Minjeong let out small moans as your tongue met her soft nipples and stimulated them between licks, kisses and sucks. Your hands roamed all over her slender body, using your massage skills to hit the right parts and make her melt beneath you. The notable parts that you identified as weak points for her were her lower abdomen, her lower back, and her inner thighs. You would remember that later.

While you continued devouring her tits you placed one hand between her thighs and ran your two fingers up and down between her slit, her folds already soaked and slimy. Maybe Noze had already made her cum before? It was most likely, but tonight you wanted to see Minjeong completely ruined and at your mercy. You took two fingers inside her, both sliding in easily, eliciting a louder squeal.

"Slap and degrade that whore if she dares to speak, she is not allowed," ordered Noze, who saw out of the corner of your eye how she already had the vibrator pressed to her clit, "she is just our sex slave right now."

"Did you hear that, baby?" You asked Minjeong as you continued sucking on her tits and began to move your wrist at a moderate speed, fingers in and out of her pussy, "you better stay silent."

"It's not like I dislike that punishment," she teased with an evil smile, and since you had your good hand busy, you spit on her cheekbone, "oh fuck yes, spit on me daddy..." she moaned, and you pulled out your fingers from her pussy just to have your hand available to slap her hard, make her gape her mouth and spit into it.

"Shut the fuck up, I'm not going to repeat it," with that said you proceeded to move your wrist as hard as you could, filling the hotel room with the sounds of your palm slapping against her buttocks, the wet sounds and Minjeong's moans. Noze still didn't dare to raise her voice too much, but with every second that passed you heard her moan louder.

You dove back into Minjeong's tits, sucking on both nipples as your fingers stretched her tight pussy non-stop. Your wrist was a machine at its maximum power, made to make the tied girl's body a tangle of tremors and small spasms of pleasure perfectly hitting her sensitive spot. While your tongue and fingers drove Minjeong crazy you turned your head slightly to make eye contact with Noze, who was still with the vibrator still firmly pressed against her pussy. Her face distorted with pleasure was a poem to you, as was watching her squirm.

"S-Stop looking at me..." Noze said, looking away, now to see Minjeong, "cum, you fucking whore."

You stopped watching her not because you wanted to, but because Minjeong started screaming the way she did when she was close to cumming. She opened her mouth to say something, but her position made her remember that it was not her role to do so, so she just bit the pillow that was next to her and in a matter of seconds she exploded around your fingers, which were soaked with her warm fluids and dripped part of their thighs.

"Mmm, you cummed a lot honey," you smiled, moving up to give her more kisses on her neck. Then you grabbed her chin and forced her to look at you with slightly glassy eyes, "now it's your turn to satisfy daddy, would you like that?" She just nodded, "Good girl."

"But I wanted you to eat her pussy!" Noze protested.

"Come and do it yourself then, cutie," you said looking at her, she seemed a little surprised at your boldness, but she didn't refuse either. She stood up while you knelt on the side of Minjeong's face, climbed onto the bed and went to work on the knot in Minjeong's heels.

"I have a better idea," once she untied the knot holding Minjeong's legs, she spread them wide and settled into a scissors position with her, "mmm, so wet and hot," Noze moaned, as she pressed their pussies together, then she looked at you, "what are you waiting for? fuck that pretty face."

"As ordered boss," you nodded, taking your cock in one hand and looking down at Minjeong, who was already beginning to move her hips to rub her pussy against Noze's while she looked at your flesh with eyes of pure desire, "You're craving it huh?" you teased, slamming your cock against her lips. She stuck her tongue out immediately to make your tip smack against it.

"Mmmhm, of course she does," Noze moaned, holding on to one of Minjeong's legs as she ground her hips, "she's a slut who enjoys being used."

You brought your left hand behind Minjeong's neck, holding her head to raise it and bring your cock directly to her mouth. Her lips closed around your cock and put pressure on it, you let her move her head on her own for a few seconds in which she could only suck half of your shaft and leave it shiny with her saliva, but her moment of freedom was over when you brought both hands to her head and started pumping your hips back and forth.

As your cock made its way through her warm mouth you noticed her throat showing some resistance past the middle of your shaft, but you weren't there to be merciful or patient, so you didn't give a shit if she choked or not, you just pushed forward. Minjeong coughed and gagged and squirmed for air, but you didn't stop until your cock was buried deep in her throat in a thick pool of saliva, spilling out the sides of her mouth and dripping down to the sheets.

Noze meanwhile was clinging to Minjeong's thigh between no longer timid moans, you turned to look at her as she bit her lip and rubbed against Minjeong's pussy as if her life depended on it. You, on the other hand, began to pump your hips back and forth, with Minjeong's cute little teary eyes looking at you and her mouth moaning around your cock since it wasn't just Noze who was receiving pleasure from what she was doing.

A growl left your throat as you felt Minjeong's throat get used to your length, now allowing you to move harder without fear of hurting her in any way. You grabbed a fistful of her hair and held onto it to move her head towards your cock with each thrust, you wanted to reach out and touch her clit too, but that meant risking touching Noze, and since you didn't know if she was okay with you touching her, you just didn't do it.

Noze was immersed in her own world at that point, just listening to the sound of your cock hitting Minjeong's throat with each thrust and grinding her hips desperately in search of an orgasm that was not long in coming. You had already seen her cum just hours ago, but she impressed you again with how incredibly hot and sexy her face looked while her body writhed in pleasure. She rubbed her own clitoris and also Minjeong's, squeezing out every last drop of ecstasy. Her moans filled the room and echoed in your ears, you could tell she barely had time to please herself by how liberated she sounded.

Minjeong, who not only enjoyed how Noze touched her but also how you fucked her throat as if she were just an object, moaned from the depths of her being and let out a few tears that ran down her cheeks and mixed with the saliva that spilled from her mouth. You pulled her hair hard and carelessly, pumping your cock completely in and out of her mouth. Since you had one hand free and you already considered that her tits had had enough attention, you had no choice but to bring it to her neck, where you pressed your fingers firmly and felt how your cock bulged every time you reached the her throat. That drove you completely crazy and fueled your flame, you felt closer and closer to cumming.

"Where do you want me to cum, boss?" you asked Noze without looking at her, just looking at Minjeong's weak, blushing, pleasure-drunk face while you ruined her angelic face with your cock.

"Fill her throat with cum, don't let her waste a damn drop," Noze growled, biting her lower lip, she had stopped rubbing her clit to now focus on Minjeong's, "I'll make that whore squirt."

You removed your right hand from Minjeong's neck to now bring it to her head next to the other, now with both grips on her hair you became a complete animal and began to hit her throat without any mercy, as hard and fast as you could. Minjeong, recognizing what you liked most, stuck out her tongue and pressed it against the back of your cock, which now rubbed against it with each pump and ended up putting the icing on the cake.

As you reached your orgasm you buried Minjeong's head towards you and started shooting your entire load down her throat, just in time for Minjeong to reach her second (maybe third) orgasm of the night, this time more wild and with an extra prize. A stream of squirt shot out of Minjeong's pussy as she twisted her hips between spasms, which soaked Noze's entire chest and also the sheets.

You couldn't help but grunt in pleasure as Minjeong squealed around your cock and you shot thick streams of cum straight down her throat, her moans mixed with strong gag reflexes, but she was able to get through it without much trouble as she swallowed every drop she received. When you emptied your load you came out of her mouth, and she could finally breathe properly.

"You sure did a good fucking job huh?" you said looking at Minjeong, with her mouth, her chin and almost every part of her upper body stained with saliva in some way. Her hair had also become very disheveled and some of her makeup had smudged.

"Don't you even dare give her a break," Noze said, climbing on top of Minjeong's body to kiss her in a torrid and passionate way, you had to lean back so as not to touch Noze, although in the same way, she was practically tasting both your cock and your cum in that kiss. You didn't comment on anything.

"Well I need to handle her as I please, so could you get off of her," you said sitting on your calves as the two of them continued kissing.

"I want her to eat me, so find the position that seems best to you," Noze asked, looking at you out of the corner of her eye to get off of Minjeong.

"I already fucked her from behind earlier, so a missionary will be perfect," with that said you waited for Noze to completely pull away before going and kneeling between Minjeong's trembling legs. You looked at her, her face said she was exhausted, but her eyes screamed at you to fuck her with the strength of a bull.

"I'm sorry for having to cover her pretty face," Noze said, straddling Minjeong's face and surprisingly facing you, "I know you want to see her cry and spit on her like the slut she is, but I need to cum one more time, sweetness," She said all this while looking you straight in the eyes, and again you felt somewhat intimidated.

"Use her as much as you want, I know you need it," you nodded, not bothering to hide how you looked at her pretty little tits and her flat, toned stomach.

"You're going to ogle me," she said as you grabbed Minjeong's legs and spread them wide, hands on her trembling thighs, "at least hide it."

"Nah, you're beautiful and your body makes my mouth water, why hide it," Noze raised an eyebrow at your compliment and while maintaining eye contact with you, she lowered her hips to sit on Minjeong's face, who started to eat and caused her to let out a long, sensual moan inches from you.

"Improve those hook up lines, you're not telling me anything I don't already know," she said arrogantly, and in response you played the same game, maintaining eye contact with her as you took your cock inside Minjeong's pussy. She moaned against Noze's pussy, and she gasped as a result.

From that moment on, you and Noze locked yourself in a common bubble in which Minjeong gave you incredible satisfaction and pleasure, her with her skillful tongue and you with her tight pussy, which suffocated your cock even after you had stretched it with your fingers a few minutes ago. Noze played with Minjeong's tits, pinching her nipples with her fingers and also using her mounds as support to grind her hips into her face.

You kept a firm grip on Minjeong's thighs, pressing them back and consequently raising her pelvis slightly. You couldn't lean forward to fuck her into her mattress since Noze was in the way, so you just worked from that same position. You didn't need to be patient, just a few seconds with your cock deep in her pussy were enough for her to get used to it and give you the green light to fuck her.

Noze grinded her hips faster and harder against Minjeong's face, in a way that made you confirm her past as a dancer, almost hypnotic and sensual like few things you had seen in your life. Not being able to do anything but move your hips, you stared at her, and for a few seconds you imagined that you were not fucking Minjeong, but her. That made you moan, and strangely you felt a small boost of arousal in you.

She was looking at you too, she licked both of her fingers and you naively thought they were for you, but she reached for Minjeong's pussy and started rubbing her clit again. Now her hand was dangerously close to your cock as it went in and out, but to your disappointment, you knew she wouldn't touch it.

Seeing her hand so close to your cock was somewhat tortuous for you, so in order not to see it you put Minjeong's legs together, with her two feet in the air and her heels held together, that way her thighs covered what was happening behind. Still, you prevented Minjeong's feet from blocking your vision, so you continued watching Noze grinding against Minjeong's mouth between loud moans.

With your hands pressing her thighs back, your cock slamming against her pussy as fast as your hips would go, and Noze's fingers stimulating her clit, Minjeong's body became a trembling mess that Noze benefited from, her thighs pressed on either side of Minjeong's head. She stopped looking at you to close her eyes and purse her lips to drown out her screams of pleasure. You noticed that she was close, but what gave Noze the finishing touch was Minjeong's orgasm, who screamed and shook under her.

"OH FUUUUUUUUUCK!!!" Noze screeched.

With both girls cumming in front of you, you couldn't do anything but pump your hips slower and wait patiently for both petite bodies to stop squirming and shaking. Noze wanted to collapse forward, but when she saw that you were there she did so but in the opposite direction, resting her hands on her mattress and falling off of Minjeong's face, who seemed anything but energetic.

"Don't… don't stop using me daddy," Minjeong said in a low voice, still breathing very heavily, "you haven't put another load inside me yet," rules were rules, so you slapped her hard.

"You still have energy left to take daddy's load huh?" you teased, leaving her pussy to grab her by the waist and lay her face down. For the first time in a while you saw her red hands tied behind her back.

“I could do this all night…” Minjeong replied, looking at you from the corner of her eye. Two strong and spicy spanks on each buttocks, both of them left red.

"I don't doubt it, you are a dirty high caliber sex toy..." you got on top of Minjeong's body, took your cock in your hand to take it between her buttocks and dive deep into her pussy again, to fuck her in prone bone.

Minjeong let out a breathless grunt of pleasure as she felt you inside again. You left your hands resting on the mattress on either side of her body, beginning to pump quickly up and down and pinning her against the mattress with all the weight of your body. With each thrust she let out small moans without energy, not because she was not enjoying it, but because her body was almost in vegetable mode at that moment, product of many intense orgasms in a row and without rest, not to mention that she was deprived of comfortable breathing twice.

You growled like a primal beast, bringing one of your hands to her hair to forcefully pull it back and the other to her lower back, under her tied wrists, you pressed there, and Minjeong began to pant and grunt more.

"Mmmmmghhh, just like that, yes yes yes," she grunted, then letting out little whimpers as you hammered her pussy up and down, already feeling close to your ecstasy, "don't you fucking stop daddy, oh my god!"

Your hand moved from her hair to her neck, pressing it down to crush the side of her face against the pillow. A drop of sweat fell from your forehead to her pretty back, and with a few more hard thrusts you started another load inside her pussy. This was the trigger for Minjeong's last orgasm of the night, the one that was going to leave her completely ruined.

"Oh my god Minjeong!" You groaned in pleasure, feeling her pussy walls tighten almost painfully around your cock as you shot your last drops of cum into her, moving your hips slowly up and down. She didn't make any sound as she came, you could only see her lost eyes and her mouth half open as her body spasmed in every corner.

"I... need to go to the bathroom," said Noze, who had watched everything in complete silence, "i-it won't be long," you turned to look at her as you pulled out of Minjeong's filled pussy. She didn't seem happy at all, in fact, you could see her eyes filling with tears as she got off the bed.

"Uhm… are you o…kay?" you asked unsuccessfully as Noze went into the bathroom. You heard how she locked it.

You were left alone there with Minjeong, who was nothing more than a lifeless rag doll at that moment. Her pussy dripping with cum and her body still not getting over the slight spasms. There was nothing to clean since Noze had locked herself in the bathroom, so you had to make do with a random piece of clothing you found on the floor to clean yourself and Minjeong. Then you just laid down next to her and rested.

After about 15 minutes Noze finally came out of the bathroom, you noticed her eyes were somewhat red. She had definitely been crying, but you didn't want to push her.

"Aight, I'm fine, stop looking at me with those worried puppy eyes," she insisted, reaching for her clothes, "I just had a... mental breakdown."

“You sure?" you asked, sitting on the bed, watching her as she put on her panties and bra.

"Yeah, dork, now get dressed so we can get out of here, she needs to sleep peacefully," she pointed with her chin at Minjeong, who was still in the exact same position you had left her in, "she'll manage in the morning. "

"Fair enough," you sighed, stood up and dressed as quickly as you could with Noze. None of you made eye contact with each other, you just turned off the lights, turned on Minjeong's air conditioning and walked outside, separating paths towards your respective rooms.

—---------------------------------

Spren Notes: P.S.T is back :0

#winter smut #aespa smut #kpop smut #smut fanfic #x male reader smut #noze smut #wayb noze smut #x male smut #x male reader #male reader smut

1K notes · View notes

starkeyisthelastname · 4 months

Note

stepbro!rafe jealous of reader and her bf at the christmas party.. then following her upstairs and fucking her while everyone else is out there

I went a little overboard. 🥴 this is very dirty. You’ve been warned

Rafe had no idea what you saw in that bozo, Chad. He was a kook who was perfect in the eyes of Ward and your mother. Attending Chapel Hill, excellent grades, a gentleman, gave back to the community. All things he was not or had given up due to his addiction to coke or constant disappointment from his father. The problem was that Chad didn’t know you like he did. He watched with squinted blue eyes as you giggled at something the douche had said. You two stood by the glittering Christmas tree as Sarah took a picture of the two of you.

The mini Burberry skirt you wore that barely covered your ass, had his cock straining against the khaki pants he wore. The fact that, that asshole got to be by your side all a night during this party had his blood boiling. He downed the amber liquid in his glass as he watched you tell Sarah that you had forgotten something upstairs. With the party busy, he easily followed you up the immaculate staircase towards your room.

Humming a Christmas song, you skipped over to the decorated pink Christmas tree in the corner of your room. Bending down, you picked up the gift you had forgotten only to hear the door shut and lock behind you. You turned around to see Rafe, eyes almost black as his jaw tensed while he looked at you. “You are quite the good little actress aren’t you.” He cracked out, voice low. “Your perfect little boyfriend has no idea that the same lips that kissed him tonight were wrapped around my cock this morning does he?”

You felt your cheeks heat up at the memory of sucking your step-brother’s cock in the shower that morning. It was more than wrong. Not only because you had a boyfriend but hello because he was your step-brother. Your step-brother who had a dick that was made for you. You began to stutter out something when his tall frame stalked towards you, hand gripping your throat. “You are gonna lay here and take my dick while your dumbass boyfriend looks for you downstairs.”

He shoved you onto your perfectly made bed, ring adored hand ripping the $340.00 designer tights. The red jeweled thong you wore was torn off, while his hand that was on your neck came down to release his monster from the confinement of his Calvin Klein’s. He pulled you closer, one leg resting on his broad shoulder while the other was bent back towards your chest. “Gimme your phone.” He demanded.

You didn’t even have time to ask why when he grabbed it from where it sat on one of your furry pillows. He unlocked it, the familiar ding of taking a video making your head perk up. “Rafe- what are you do-..” You were cut off by him slamming in all nine inches into your slick cunt, making you let out a gasp instead. Your phone getting a closeup view of your step-brother’s cock sliding in and out of your leaking pussy.

“Shit- look at that my man Chad. Look at the mess your girlfriend is making on my dick.” Rafe chuckled as the camera captured the sounds of your squelching pussy. His thrusts sped up at at a pace, you knew only Rafe could make happen. Whimpers and whines being the only sounds you could make out, as he bruised your cervix. You knew exactly what he was doing. Taking a video to send to the same boyfriend you were just taking pictures with.

“Tell him that you are taking your step-brother’s dick like a good slut.” The older boy spit out, his free hand gripping your hair to make you look directly at the camera. You couldn’t find words, looking completely cock drunk, despite your makeup still being flawless. Your breath began to shallow as you could already feel your orgasm coming strong.

“Tell him or I’ll fucking spot right now.”

You shuttered, your hands gripping the fluffy duvet while you looked at the camera. “No- please don’t daddy.” You cry out, Rafe’s favorite nickname making him want to blow right there. “I’m taking my step-brother’s dick like a good slut.” Your climax hitting hard as you squirted all over Rafe’s NorthFace fleece.

Your thighs shook as you came down from your high, collapsing onto the bed and listening to the sounds above you.

“Open your fucking mouth.” Rafe grunted, pulling out quickly as he aimed his seed on your tongue, your pretty face accidentally getting covered in it as more unexpectedly shoots out.

The video was sent to Chad with the caption underneath reading.

Merry Christmas.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #drew starkey smut #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron prompt #obx smut #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #obx #stepbro!rafe #dark rafe cameron

1K notes · View notes

littlejuicebox · 6 months

Text

Astarion talks in his sleep.

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Reader/Tav (Shadowheart is our lovely supporting role though.) Summary/Setting: 6 months post BG3, "good/spawn" Astarion ending, all fluff Rating/Warnings: PG / Very mild if any game spoilers but nothing related to major content or scenes Word Count: 900+ Notes: Inspired by this post here!

-----

Astarion talks in his sleep. It’s something you’ve never mentioned to him, because it’s mostly when he’s having a nightmare about Cazador or some other horrid trauma from his past. You'd quickly determined it not worth bringing up, for fear of embarrassing him. Plus, if you were being honest, part of you found it rather endearing... especially the lighter drabble that would escape his lips. Delighted giggles, little purrs... it could be overwhelmingly adorable, on occasion.

In fact, the first time you ever heard him say he loved you was in his sleep. Then you'd waited weeks… anxiously, impatiently, unbearably for the revelation to come out while he was awake, under his own terms.

But tonight, the talking and tossing isn't cute. The vampire writhing in bed disturbs you, and your eyes flutter open, catching the smallest glimpse of daylight between the thick, tightly drawn curtains and shuttered windows of your bedchamber. You'd just fallen asleep, and you'd be lying if you said you weren't the slightest bit annoyed.

You idly try to figure out the date. Adjusting your schedule to the night life was… difficult; you often lost track of dates nowadays. But somehow you manage to remember that it's been nearly six months since you all saved Baldur's Gate; six months since Astarion had been returned to a creature of the shadows. Six months you've been in the house provided by the city as you two adjust to whatever normalcy you are able to conjure up and figure out your next steps. You were a strong proponent for the Underdark; Astarion was not quite sold.

At first you think the silver-haired elf's tossing and turning is a night terror… it’s been nearly two weeks since the last one. He’s overdue. You ready yourself to pop out of bed and grab your calming herbs to steep a quick sleeping draught. But then you hear him, soft and garbled, laced with thick strings of sleep.

“Will you marry me?”

You turn to stare stupidly at the elf, eyes piercing through the blackness of your room; his face is obscured, you cannot tell if he’s awake. “…what did you say?”

Silence. A long, unbearable stretch of silence where your heart is pounding into your throat, practically rattling around your chest cavity at the sudden shock. And then he’s snoring again, and you’re left with your brow furrowed and robe half pulled onto your shoulder. Well, so much for your sleep.

You meander down the hall to the kitchen, where Shadowheart has several jars and plants strewn across the table. She’s practically taken over the kitchen since Gale left, not that you particularly mind, since she’s also taken over the cooking.

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep right now?” She asks, spotting you out of the corner of her eye, not lifting her focus from the mortar and pestle in her hand.

“You won’t believe what Astarion just said in his sleep.” You murmur in dazed response, walking over to the cabinets and rummaging through the contents. You grab an old kettle and fill it with water, turning to look at the cleric.

“Gods, what was it? I’m quite thankful to be out of the camp... his night terrors woke all of us up at one point or another. It's no wonder you’re struggling with the schedule adjustment.”

“He said, ‘Will you marry me?’” You respond, almost giggling at how silly that sounds in retrospect, as you place the kettle on the stove.

Shadowheart pauses. One, two, three beats of silence. “Shit… well, I guess the cat is out of the bag now.” She murmurs with a shrug, before returning to grinding her herbs.

“Wh-what?!”

“Oh, come off, don’t be daft! You had to expect it would be coming sooner or later. Gods, your love is almost sickening… it was sickening, having to hear it all the time... once again, so thankful for the separation of these walls.”

You are frozen, your hand still holding onto the kettle as you appraise your friend. Shadowheart is right. You knew a proposal would come sooner or later… you just figured it would be much later. Astarion was still struggling; more often than not you woke to him in tears or in the throes of a sleeping fit. Countless calming elixirs and teas had been drawn up by you and Shadowheart in the last six months. Truly, you hadn’t thought he was thinking that deeply about it... you hadn't been, if at all. Gods, you two still didn't even know where you were headed after leaving this city-supplied house... the lease was up in a few weeks' time.

“I guess… well, I suppose I didn’t think he was ready.” You sigh, lighting the stove and sitting across the table, watching the cleric as she works.

“Oh, trust me, he’s ready. And he's certain. Perhaps not about anything else... but definitely about this. He's been writing to Gale for weeks trying to source a particular ring." Shadowheart responds, now pouring the contents of her grinder into pouches. "Just promise you'll act like it's a surprise when the time comes... he's been talking about it for a while. He's put a lot of thought into things."

"When will it be?"

Shadowheart laughs, the edges of her eyes crinkling as she flicks her gaze toward the ceiling. She’s now cinching the sachets and sorting them all into a nearby basket. "Now that I'm not telling you. I've already given away too much."

You try for a few more minutes to pry the information from your friend, but she remains tight-lipped. You even threaten her with detect thoughts, though you both know you'd never go through with it. Finally, a whistle from the kettle beckons you back to the stovetop, and the conversation is halted as you ready your tea and aim to go back to bed. You might not know when your love is going to pop the question, but you do know that when the time comes, your answer will be a resounding yes.

Click here for Part 2

#astarion fanfic #astarion fic #astarion x tav #baulders gate 3 #baulders gate astarion #baulders gate tav #bg3 fanfic idea #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fluff #astarion fluff #astarion x gender neutral reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #bg3 fic #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 imagines #astarion imagines #i feel like shadowheart would be my best friend IRL

2K notes · View notes

luveline · 2 months

Note

hi!!! i have a request for roommate!spencer where he's injured during a case and reader show up at the hospital because she's his emergency contact but the team is really confused wondering who's this stranger fussing over spencer. hope you like it, love you!

thank you for requesting honey!! love you<3 fem!reader

“Close your eyes,” you command, voice all blown up and grand, already smiling. “Close your eyes, Spencer.”

“No.” He squints groggily. “What are you doing?”

“Close your eyes.”

“No, Y/N, what are you doing?” he asks.

You shake your spray bottle at him. He sighs a long-suffering sigh and finally admits defeat, his tired eyes shuttering closed all too easily. You rest your knee on the side of his bed and hear the metal squeaking at your added weight, your hand gentle as you cover his forehead. “You have greasy hair,” you say sympathetically. “This is gonna feel much nicer.”

You blast him with dry shampoo, his brown hair turning white with powder. You drop the can in his lap and set about rubbing the powder into his hair until the grease is soaked up, and his hair feels less miserably lank.

“When are they gonna let you shower again?” you ask quietly.

You’re still touching his hair. More for him than you, you hope he feels comforted, but mostly you just wanna affirm to yourself that he’s all in one bruised piece. Your heart still aches as much as it did when you got the phone call in the first place —Spencer Reid’s next of kin?

You suppose that’s you.

“I don’t know.”

You take his hair back into his current parting. “Well, let’s hope it’s soon. How are you liking the sponge baths? Are they awful?”

“Humiliating.”

Just outside of Spencer’s hospital room, Hotch and JJ stand together with a bag of essentials. They’d drawn to a sudden stop when they realised Spencer had company. “Who is that?” she asks.

Hotch, used to knowing everything, frowns very deeply. He doesn’t know who you are, but from the way you’re touching Spencer’s hair and face, he should.

JJ sounds a little put out. “She doesn’t work here.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Hotch says. His frown lightens as you laugh and scratch Spencer’s hair back behind his ears.

“Is it unkind of me to think he didn’t have any friends?” JJ asks.

Hotch knows Spencer has friends. He’s summoned Spencer from chess games and fan clubs, picking him up occasionally on the way to the office on cafe sidewalks as he waved goodbye to a glasses-wearing bibliophile, often in coats too big for them or with hair in need of a trim. Spencer attracts the unconventional because he, as anybody in this line of work tends to be, is inordinary. So JJ probably is being unkind, but Hotch knows what she means.

You look completely regular. You settle on one thigh on his bed while the other keeps you up and put your hand on his chest, chatting breezy words they can’t hear through the glass.

Spencer curls into you slowly.

“You’ll be home soon,” you say, rubbing his shoulder, “don’t worry.”

Hotch’s eyebrows rise of their own accord. He and JJ excuse themselves for coffee before they’re spotted, and when they return, you’re gone. “Spence, who was that girl?” JJ asks. Hotch notes the slightest line of jealousy tugging under her curiosity.

He sounds as though he could use some more pain medication, and a good night's sleep, but he’s proud as he says, “That’s my roommate. I told you about her.”

“Ah, your roommate,” Hotch says.

“What’s that mean?” Spencer asks.

“Nothing, Spencer,” Hotch says, using the young man’s first name in a rare show of affection. “That’s just an irregular word for it. I haven’t heard it in a while.”

JJ laughs. Spencer hides his face with both hands, a smudge of lip balm on his hand shining under the stark hospital fluorescents. “I’m too tired,” he complains.

Hotch hadn’t seen you kiss him, but he can imagine how it might have happened, how you’d leaned in for a kiss on the cheek goodbye and Spencer overwhelmed himself thinking about it. Or maybe it’s just an innocuous smudge. Maybe it’s nothing at all.

“We live together,” Spencer mumbles. “I couldn’t afford to live by myself at first, it’s D.C.”

“And now?” Hotch asks. He knows Spencer is on good enough money to afford an apartment by himself these days, a big one. He has no dependents.

“Didn’t seem fair… She’s nice. She’s, like, my best friend.”

“Don’t let Morgan hear you say that,” JJ laughs.

Hotch isn’t sure she gets it, but he does. “Well, you can ask her to come back. We have work to do.”

Spencer pretends he’s hesitant to pick up the phone. Your reply is an immediate beep. Hotch knows a good friend when he sees one.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

3K notes · View notes

onlyswan · 6 months

Text

summary: in which jungkook loves to see you smile and you are the god of mischief.

idol!jungkook x reader, est. relationship / fluff / word count: 2.6k

content/warnings: mention of childhood insecurity, mention of biting during s*x, jk is very touchy, they watch a movie and the guard thinks they’re doing sumn nasty bc they’re both a menace honestly 😭, jk accidentally bites his lower lip and bleeds

> in which masterlist!

note: hi !! this is a repost of a drabble i wrote two (?) years ago but accidentally deleted lololol so if you’ve read it before that’s why! but this is now an edited version with a new title <3

—

“baby,”

jungkook calls your attention out of nowhere, pausing the movie playing on the tablet you’re holding. the frown painted on his face is difficult to miss.

“i have a question.”

“so randomly?” you raise an eyebrow. “ask me then.”

“why do you cover your face when you’re happy?”

the wide-eyed look of genuine curiosity on his face is identical to yesterday’s, when he asked you what the word ineffable meant after hearing it in a song.

the question prompts you to take a glance at the screen, where a sophisticated woman has a hand over her mouth as she giggles with her elite acquaintances about an old but classic rich husband joke.

“it’s not that it bothers me, i just- i’ve noticed it lately and i-i wish to see you smiling and laughing more freely, you know?” he tries his best to choose his words carefully, offering you a kind smile as he lovingly caresses your head. “it makes me happy when i see you happy.”

“oh,” you blink at him, mind going blank as you attempt to form an answer in your head. his touch isn’t exactly helping you either— you just want to melt into him and not think of anything at all, float on cloud-nine and stay there forever.

however, seeing as he asked you the question out of the blue, he must’ve been thinking about it a lot. you’ve only been dating for a few months, so it’s understandable for him to eagerly seek the answers to his curiosities and observations. if anything, it feels nice to learn he gives this much attention to you— possibly notices things you don’t even know about yourself. for a split second the thought crosses your mind, that beyond a consciousness, you are tangible and real.

“it’s a habit i guess? when my teeth were falling out for the first time as a kid, i became insecure, so i decided that i’d just smile without showing my teeth from then on. like this.”

you demonstrate by lifting up the corners of your lips.

“and yeah-”

as if he’s helplessly pulled by the magnet of attraction, he leans down to kiss you and interrupt your sentence.

“i’d cover my face when i couldn’t contain my smile or laugh. and even when they grew back, it felt weird. like my smile didn’t belong to my face? if that even makes sense.”

“yah, that’s not true! you’re very pretty whether you’re smiling, or crying and-” his warm hand cups your cheek, and he stupidly grins as he’s about to say something cheesy. “even when you’re just breathing.”

the corners of your lips rise again. this time, it’s genuine.

“oh? how romantic.” you scrunch your nose cutely, and his heart flutters.

you hold onto his wrist, revelling in the way his thumb softly traces shapes on your skin.

“i’m over that, though. it was so long ago. i don’t think about it obsessively anymore at least. it’s really just a habit i haven’t gotten rid of.” you reassure him, meaning every word that you say.

we all have our secrets and fears that we keep only to ourselves, that much is understood between the two of you. there are circumstances in which withholding information is necessary. however, the one big promise you made to each other is to never lie. honesty and trust. ease and consolation. every word, every syllable hanging from your lips an addition to the naked history of your love. passed down stories. confessions. blurry memories. shutter sounds. curses. laughter. song dedications. that much is true.

“why are you looking at me like that?” you bite the inside of your cheek to conceal a smile, beguiled by his love drunk eyes seemingly stunned by your mere presence beside him.

“like what, baby?”

you shy away from his gaze. “like you’re either thinking that i hang the stars on the sky every night… or that you want to eat me alive.”

to confirm your words true, he takes your hand and sinks his teeth on the flesh of your palm where your thumb is connected. his wide doe eyes peer at you innocently, sparkling like of a little kid eating the fluffy pancakes he’s been craving since last night.

the latter might sound like a joke to others, but jungkook does eat you alive. almost. basically. you’re not even shocked at the act anymore. soon enough, you’ll memorize the mark of his teeth carving their mark on your skin, both in sexual and non-sexual setting.

“babe,” you send him a bewildered stare. “i really don’t think i taste as good as you make me out to be.”

he parts away with his eyebrows knitted in disagreement. “not true. you’re yummy.”

“oh, shut up!” you burst into a fit of giggles. your hands automatically attempts to fly to your face, but he has your wrists bound with his secure grip. you don’t resist. you only laugh harder when your sight lands on your hands tangled together.

“there’s ____’s beautiful smile.” he coos, proceeding to pepper your face with appreciative kisses.

and you fold. your back lands on the soft mattress, and your belly starts aching from laughter when he purposely blows on the spot on your neck where you’re most ticklish. hot tears gather at the corner of your eyes, and jungkook watches them fall down your temples as his lips graze your skin and your body shakes underneath him.

tears of joy and pleasure are the only tears you’re going to shed, he promises himself. you’re going to smile and make flowers bloom everyday, he promises you and the earth.

—

your teeth chattering from the cold is a shy away from your awkward smile, he notices the endearing resemblance as you shiver beside him.

“hmm, what did i tell you about cinema one?” he teasingly asks as he draws back the armrest that serves as a divider between the two of you.

“that it’s fucking cold in there-” you surrender, tone sounding annoyed. “here. whatever!”

“and who still decided to wear their smallest pieces of clothing?” he continues to taunt you while he pulls you into his body’s natural warmth.

you sigh, whether it’s in relief or annoyance, you’re not quite sure.

“i just wanted to wear my new cute clothes.” you whisper-shout.

the giant screen is still playing trailers of the upcoming movies this year, and you’re already mentally updating your calendar to accommodate them despite your hectic schedule. a two-hour vacation, you would always describe films.

he chuckles, and more shivers run down your spine at the deep and raspy sound being so close to your ear. “you do look cute today, baby.”

he catches the cloth of your skirt between his fingers, and somehow, he ends up squeezing the soft flesh of your thigh. you swallow thickly, unconsciously closing your thighs together and trapping his hand in between them.

“thank you, handsome.” you grip his wrist to move it away. you tut. “no silly business, though. i really want to watch this movie.”

his shoulders drop dramatically in disappointment. “okay… want to sit on my lap so i can keep you warm then?”

you look behind you to see that there’s no people sitting on your side, so no one’s view would get blocked if you were to agree to his proposition. the room is practically empty, with a few scattered people sitting on the sides.

you spend the first fifteen minutes of the movie in comfort and bliss, with your boyfriend’s arms wrapped around you. he took off his jacket earlier, and he splayed it over your lap as to not neglect the goosebumps rising all over your freezing legs.

“so stubborn,” jungkook muttered under his breath while he was taking off the jacket, an amused smile etched on his lips. you would’ve felt bad, but you knew he likes doing these things for you, so you only playfully stuck your tongue out at him.

look, to be fair, it is your first time in this cinema. you’ve been on many dates at this theater with jungkook, but for some reason, you’ve never watched a movie in cinema one until tonight. it’s cold in the other three cinemas as well, the kind of cold you’ve gotten comfortable with, so when jungkook booked the tickets last night and told you ‘it’s really cold in there, wear something warmer,’ you thought he was just being ridiculous.

hah, how cold could it possibly be? right?

fine, jungkook is right. you are stubborn.

and you prove it once more when a flashlight shines over your face. the security guard holding it approaches your seat- wait, no, jungkook’s seat. jungkook is your seat. what?!

“i’m sorry, but only one person can sit on the chair. please comply.”

you trace the direction of her eyes to find jungkook’s hands tucked underneath the jacket on your lap, resting on your inner thighs to steal their warmth. you send him a sharp glare, but it doesn’t affect him one bit. he only shrugs, obviously hiding a smirk as he pretends to be the most innocent person in the room.

you pull up the armrest next to you with a pout, slipping back into your original seat against your wishes.

“he was just warming up his hands. i promise!” you whisper not so subtly to the guard.

she only clears her throat and awkwardly nods in response, walking up the stairs to observe the rest of the movie watchers.

you bury your face in your hands as your body vibrates with mirth mixed with humiliation, and jungkook’s jaw nearly falls on the floor.

“sometimes i can’t believe you’re real. how do you never get shy?”

“i was just clearing things up!” you whine, hitting his arm using the side of a closed fist, which he massages with a squeaked ‘ouch.’ “you’re the one who put me in a compromising situation!”

“well, nobody told me taking care of my girlfriend was a crime!”

you carry on with watching the movie after that embarrassing scene, and you’ve forgotten that you’re cold until you’re uncontrollably shivering again. you begin rubbing your arms in a pathetic attempt to get rid of the goosebumps, but you eventually abandon all hope.

you sadly look over at your boyfriend to plead for help once more, but he has gotten too engrossed with the film to feel a pair of shaking pupils beseech him intensely. he finally opened the box of popcorn he’s been saving for the climax.

and he was the one who wanted to do something other than watch the movie.

you grimace.

you are no stranger to his confusing attention span.

after carefully studying the room to ensure the guard is no longer in sight, you unceremoniously climb on jungkook’s lap again. your actions cause some pieces of popcorn to fall from the box, and he scrambles to stuff them all in his mouth before the powder stains any of your clothes. yours are new, after all.

his face displays a puzzled expression, screaming i thought this was supposed to be a compromising situation?! and his soft rosy cheeks on the other hand-

“you look like a chipmunk who got caught in the headlights stealing food with its mouth full.”

the screen flashes a frame of the clear, blue sky in the aftermath of a ferocious storm. it sends the fleeting sunlight to shine on your face— just long enough for him to capture the image of how pretty you are when you giggle, and most of all, how your hand moves to cover your face, but drops on his arm before it could reach its intended destination.

he recognizes it as a conscious effort, and he feels a tug in his heart. his sweet, precious lover. you will never do anything wrong in his eyes, he thinks to himself as he hugs you closer for a kiss. the feeling of your smile against his lips might just be one of his most favorite things in the world.

he pulls away with a toothy grin to match yours, offering you the box of popcorn. the beautiful smile you claimed to not belong on your face lingers as you turn it down and sip on the lemonade instead. and then it simmers down to your usual mellow smile, to a deep frown, until your lips quiver as the resolution of the film reduces you into a puddle of tears.

jungkook likes to keep mental notes about you.

an excerpt from today:

1. how to make ____ smile? act cute.!! :)

2. how to make ____ cry? watch a son and mother reunite after eighteen long years.

p.s. i think i cried harder, but quieter ????

3. how to make ____ angry mad furious? kill off the said mother unnecessarily at the end of the movie for the sake of shu shock value.

the lights turn on all at the same time as the credits start rolling down on the plain black screen. your body slumps back on your boyfriend, drained by the series of overwhelming events that transpired in the past two hours. he waves his hand infront of your face, but your eyes remain unfocused and unblinking.

“this is the worst movie i have ever seen in my life. four out of five stars.”

he snorts at your unseriousness. “that is the most stars you’ve given this month. and it’s the 29th.”

“see? it’s the worst! i’m going to have nightmares!” you cry out with an exaggerated shudder, grabbing his forearms to envelope yourself in his embrace.

“honestly, pushing her off the cliff was a bit too mu-” his sentence gets rudely cut off when your shoulder accidentally hits his chin. you scrambled to go back to your seat, and this escalated to him accidentally biting the inside of his lower lip. the unusual mix of the bitter and salty taste of metal permeates his tongue as an unexplainable expression spreads across his face.

on the other hand, you’re too preoccupied with mischievously smiling at the guard standing down on the floor. she measures you up with a displeased look worse than earlier’s, but much to your relief, she proceeds to walk out after scanning the room one last time.

“baby!” jungkook yells in pain to grab your attention, jutting out his bottom lip to show you the wound that you inflicted.

“oh my god- shit, shit, shit-” you curse, digging your hand in your bag in search of your handkerchief. “i’m so sorry!”

you press the cloth on the bleeding, profusely apologizing to him with a wince. “i panicked! i’m sorry, i’m sorry!”

he pushes your wrist away for a moment, doe eyes squinting at you accusingly. “you just wanted to play around with her, didn’t you?”

you chew on your bottom lip, the sight of blood that has stained the handkerchief sends a pang of guilt across your chest. “sorry… her face- she was just so funny.”

“fuck, why are you like this?!” he throws his head back with a bright laugher that echoes throughout the theater. “ah, you’re so adorable!”

“come back here!” you scold him, holding his face in your hands to crane it back down.

he juts out his bottom lip again, but his body continues to vibrate with lighthearted chortles.

“does it hurt?”

“it hurts…! i think i might seriously cry!” he answers despite his high tolerance for pain, distorting the truth so that he could drown himself in the gratifying feeling of being doted on by you.

he writes another mental note as you inspect his wound, repetitive bloopers playing in the background of the love bubble the two of you share.

4. ____ likes playing games with strangers. must protect with my life.

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook one shot #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts fluff #bts reaction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut

1K notes · View notes