NOTE: Lately, I haven't had any shows to watch, so I started watching Smosh again, and oh my god, Damien, Amen. I don't know what it is about him, but I love him.xoxo
The energy in the Smosh studio was already a disaster—and they hadn’t even started filming.
Courtney was pacing in circles, practicing an unhinged British granny voice. Angela was digging through the costume bins like she was on a time limit in a thrift store game show. Amanda had claimed the hotdog costume and was now arguing with Shayne over whether the mustard stain added “texture.”
And Damien? Damien was casually perched in the TNTL chair, legs spread, black T-shirt tight across his chest, smirking like a man who knew exactly what he was doing. Which, of course, he did.
You were trying very hard not to look at him. Which meant you were definitely looking at him.
You leaned against the TNTL prop table, pretending to scroll on your phone, but your eyes kept drifting to the way his fingers tapped the side of the chair, how he kept glancing at you like he was daring you to say something.
He knew what today was. He’d started it.
“We should do double-entendre jokes this round,” Damien had said earlier, with that faux-innocent little shrug. “Spice things up.”
You’d made eye contact across the prep room and replied dryly, “Only if you’re ready to lose.”
Now he was in the hot seat—mouth full of water, cheeks puffed, eyes watching you as Shayne kicked things off.
“Alright,” Shayne grinned, spinning toward the camera, “today’s TNTL is all about innuendo. Damien suggested it, so naturally he’s our first target.”
Laughter rang out from around the room. Amanda made a dramatic choking noise. Angela muttered something about “digging his own grave.”
You stepped forward slowly, arms crossed but grin playful. The rest of the cast quieted—there was a known thing, a rhythm between you and Damien when you were on camera together. You matched energy too well. Knew each other's timing. You didn't plan jokes—you just vibed, and the audience loved it.
So did the cast. Even if they were now sick of how long it had gone unresolved.
You stopped just in front of him, letting the moment stretch. His eyes narrowed in amusement, but you saw it—the flicker of anticipation.
You didn’t use props. No wigs. No slapstick.
Just your voice.
You leaned in, tone low and teasing.
“You know, Damien…
I really admire your stamina.
Most guys can’t stay in this chair for longer than a minute.”
There was a ripple of laughter from the couches. Chanse audibly wheezed.
“I mean,” you continued, stepping closer, “holding all that in your mouth and still keeping eye contact?
That’s impressive.”
You reached out and dragged two fingers slowly up the side of his knee.
The room lost it.
Damien’s cheeks ballooned as he tried not to choke. Amanda screamed. Courtney slapped the couch and yelled, “THAT’S NOT A BIT, THAT’S FOREPLAY!”
He held on—barely. You cocked your head and purred:
“I didn’t say stop me if I’m being inappropriate…”
SPIT.
He doubled forward, spraying the water in a glorious arc across the studio floor, coughing between helpless laughter.
You turned on your heel triumphantly, sauntering back toward the couch as the rest of the cast erupted.
“Oh my GOD,” Angela shouted. “Will you two PLEASE just fuck already?”
Amanda nodded solemnly. “They are legally married in the state of ‘Denial.’”
“She cheated!” Damien choked out, wiping his chin with a towel. “That wasn’t even a joke. That was emotional warfare!”
You threw him a wink. “Maybe don’t challenge someone who’s better at flirting than you.”
His expression flickered—he smiled, but his ears turned slightly red. That only made you grin wider.
Courtney took the seat reluctantly, already muttering, “I swear to God if they team up, I’m not surviving this.”
And team up you did.
You and Damien flanked her like evil improv angels, each standing on one side. He started it off smoothly:
“I walked in on Y/N the other day…
Practicing with a plunger.”
Courtney’s eyes widened over puffed cheeks. You nodded solemnly.
“I like to warm up with the big tools first.
Gotta keep everything… loose.”
A cough. A snort. Courtney shifted in her seat.
Damien leaned closer.
“She calls it ‘cardio with benefits.’”
Courtney exploded, water bursting from her mouth like a fire hydrant. You and Damien high-fived. Amanda fell backward onto the couch dramatically, groaning, “DOES EVERYTHING YOU SAY HAVE A SEXUAL UNDERTONE?!”
“Yes,” you and Damien said in sync.
“Let’s do one more together,” you said to Damien, grabbing two clip-on mustaches. He grinned, already playing along.
You both stood like deadpan newscasters.
“Good evening,” you began. “Tonight’s top story: Damien’s pipe has burst again.”
“That’s right, Y/N,” Damien replied. “Sources say it burst wide open after she handled it for too long.”
Shayne’s cheeks inflated comically.
“Cleanup was messy, wet, and deeply satisfying,” you added.
Shayne EXPLODED.
The studio went full chaos. You and Damien collapsed against each other in laughter.
You should’ve known this would come back to bite you.
One minute you were on fire, racking up spit takes like a flirt-powered demolition derby—and the next, someone (probably Shayne) shoved you into the TNTL throne with a wicked grin and a shout of:
“LET’S SEE IF THE TEASE CAN TAKE IT.”
Your smugness evaporated fast.
Mouth full of water. Cold plastic chair beneath you. The set lights suddenly blinding. Damien approaching like a Bond villain about to monologue you into submission.
You tried to focus. Don’t break. Don’t laugh. Don’t—
Damien walked out from the shadows holding… a banana.
Oh no.
He didn’t even speak at first. Just stood in front of you, dead silent, slowly peeling the banana with exaggerated care, like it was a bomb. The studio lost it before he even got a word out.
Courtney had faceplanted into a pillow. Angela whisper-yelled, “NO. NOPE. NOT THE BANANA.”
Damien took a thoughtful bite.
“Bananas,” he said, around a mouthful, “are a great source of potassium.
But did you know... they’re also excellent practice for deep breathing exercises?”
You clenched your jaw. Do not spit. Do not combust. He’s doing it on purpose.
He crouched lower in front of you. Face level. Oh god.
“I’ve seen you eat bananas before,” he added. “You don’t even chew. You just... commit.”
A choked sound burst from the back of your throat.
Damien smirked.
“It’s inspiring, really.
I mean, most people don’t gag that far into a potassium stick and come out smiling.”
You shook violently. Your eyes watered. You slapped your knee like Morse code.
Hi! I love your work and I was wondering if you could do a Spencer x reader fic based on the new parent week videos!!
Maybe the “showing our moms horror games” but instead of arasha and her mom, it’s reader and her mom.
Reader is from another continent, so it’s the first time Spencer meets her mother!!
₊˚⊹ᰔ ‘cause i’ve built my life around you
summary: sometimes a girl just needs her mom; even if it's for a youtube video. (spencer agnew x f! reader)
extra: 6030 word count, intentional lowercase, f! reader, pictures not representative of reader, hardly proofread
author’s note: HIII i am so so sorry this took me so long to complete but i had to catch up on smosh videos since ive just been slammed at work. i made it extra long in hopes of making up for the amount of time i spent on it lmao. hopefully, it was worth the wait. i also decided to keep it vague for reader accessibility, so instead of them being from out of the country, it's just a non-descript far away place lmao. also, as someone who goes to college across the country from her family, writing this kinda healed something in me lmao.
to say you'd been looking forward to this day would be an understatement, possibly the understatement of the century. in a meeting about future projects, someone had pitched a handful of videos with some of the cast's parents. you jumped at the opportunity to drag your mom out to los angeles, as it was a rarity for you. your family lived too far from your new home to justify them coming out to los angeles often, or even at all. plus, with your filming schedule at smosh, it was hard to get enough time off to justify doing the long haul flight to see them for maybe two days just to turn around and fly right back.
but this, having your mom in your city for a week of 'bring your mother to work' day, was perfect. she'd been a little reluctant to agree, a naturally camera shy woman, but it only took a little convincing from her child to get her to book the flight. it helped that you baited her a little with the opportunity to finally meet your boyfriend, spencer, and his own mother in person.
you were close with your family, your parents in particularly. you called as often as a good child should, which meant that on occasion spencer would be there for a call or two, brief interactions that barely counted as introductions, let alone a true meeting. but, since getting with spencer, your family just hadn't had the time to come out and you and spencer's schedule couldn't seem to align enough to make it work either. well, until now.
now you were waiting at LAX, anxiously scanning the crowds for your mother, bouncing on the balls of your feet. spencer was next to you, two bouquets of flowers held in one of his hands. both of your moms were flying in at relatively the same time, which you two had devised to make pick-up easier. in his other was his phone, pressed to his ear as he talked to his own mom, trying to figure out exactly where she was in the massive airport.
"what do you mean you can see a starbucks right now?" he said into the phone, his brows furrowed. "i don't even know- wait, mom, have you even left the terminal?"
his one-sided, silly conversation managed to calm your nerves a little, drawing out some giggles as you glanced sideways at him. he jokingly rolled his eyes at whatever his mom was saying over the phone, but you could tell that he was a wee-bit proud of himself for making you laugh. his eyes drifted from you back into the crowds of people, nodding his head a little.
"ah, okay, i think i see you," spencer said, nudging your shoulder and nodding to where his mom was walking towards them. he ended the call, sliding his phone back into his back pocket. you reached around him, taking the cellophane-wrapped flowers into your hands with a soft smile.
"yup, you're definitely my mom," he teased as she approached. he meet her halfway, giving her a tight hug. with her face over her son's shoulders, his mom gave you a smile, to which you waved and smiled back to.
as they pulled apart, spencer reclaimed his spot beside you, resting a hand on the small of your back. "mom, this is y/n, the girlfriend. mom, y/n. more introduction stuff," he joked and you shook your heat at him.
"ah, yes, the girlfriend," his mother repeated. "spencer, you act like we've never meet before." she turned to you with a warm smile that you always felt only mothers could master. "i remember you from one of his holiday parties a few years ago."
"well, hopefully that was a good impression." you held out one of the bundle of flowers. "if not, i'm hoping these make an even better impression."
the woman laughed, gently taking the flowers from you. before pulling you into a soft and sweet hug, the cellophane crinkling between the two of you. "you're impression with me has always been perfect. i had a feeling you two would end up together, you know."
you pulled back. "you're not the first person to tell us that."
"oh, i'm sure," she continued. "i mean, if i could tell you about the ways he talked about you back then--"
"that's enough out of you," spencer jumped in. "next thing i know you're going to whip out my baby book."
"please do," you joked, winking at his mother as she laughed, patting his son's shoulder at his minor embarassment.
"next time," she promised and you had a feeling that she truly believed there would be a next time. that she would visit again and that you and spencer would still be together. and you believed her, too.
you turned to spencer, who was already reaching for his mom's carry-on, ever the gentleman. "you two can go wait in the car, if you want, while i wait for my mom."
"no, no. i actually have to make a first impression and it has to be good. i am not waiting in the car like some bum," he said, shaking his head, his dark chocolatey curls bouncing with the movement. "in fact, give me those."
he took the other flowers from your hands, taking them back. you held your hands up defensively. "alright, alright. but, you know my mom already likes you."
"yeah, but i want her to really, really like me," he argued and you laughed, patting his chest. it did warm you a little in your soul that he wanted your mom to like him so much, that her approval meant something to him.
"whatever you say, spence." your phone buzzed and you jumped, excitedly reaching for it in your pockets.
mom: just landed. getting off the plane now. excited to see you, baby!
"alright, she's just landed. shouldn't be long," you told them, unable to hide your wide smile. you were texting her back at the speed of light, letting her know where you were and giving her some good landmarks to look out for.
"saying she doesn't get lost in the terminal," spencer said, giving his mom a pointed look that she simply shook her head at. she looked over at you.
"do you hear this? since when did he get this attitude?" she joked and you shrugged playing along with her. "because i sure didn't raise him with it."
"careful spence," you warned, "you're gonna get yourself grounded."
while your boyfriend and his mom laughed at your little joke, your eyes were scouring the crowds of people until you landed on a familiarly face, a face that looked a lot like your own. you couldn't help but feel 19 again, the bittersweet feeling of seeing your mom for the first time after your first year at college. she was clearly as excited as you were, her eyes bright and perhaps even a little damp with tears.
you two met halfway, an excited squeal leaving your lips as you were cradled by your mom's arms. you couldn't seem to shake your wide smile even as you pulled halfway back from her, only for her to tug you back to her chest, not quite yet ready to let go.
you laughed into her shoulders and greying hair, letting her have a few more seconds. "hiya, mom."
she pressed a kiss to your cheek before pulling back, taking hold of your shoulders and taking you in entirely. "there's my baby."
you lead her back to spencer and his mother, presenting her excitedly like this was show-and-tell in elementary school. you then gestured over at spencer, who stood a little straighter at his name falling from your lips.
"and this is spencer," you said. "whom you should know as my boyfriend but today he's also playing our personal uber."
"it's so nice to meet you," spencer jumped in, taking a few steps closer to her, delicately presenting the flowers. "these are for you. how was the flight? not too bad, i hope?"
"it was worth seeing my daughter," your mom replied with a dismissive wave as she took the flowers off his hands. "thank you for these, spencer. that's very sweet of you."
your mom gave you a side ways glance and a subtle nod. you rolled your eyes, reaching for her bag, only to find spencer had already grabbed it, wheeling it alongside his mom's bag.
"alright, ladies," he said, "your car awaits in the parking garage, which is charging me eight bucks for every ten minutes so let's hustle, yeah?"
the three of you laughed but followed him at his slightly sped up pace nonetheless. his mom fell in line with you and your mom, the three of yo passively chatting about random things. the two mothers had somehow gotten onto the topic of the reason for their arrivals, all the videos they'd be in for smosh and such.
"oh, i'm rather nervous," your mom said with a nervous laugh to match her statement. "i've always been a bit camera shy. the limelight was never my thing. my daughter, though, this was always her thing, even when she was just a little girl, she loved to be in front of the camera."
you shook your head at the little anecdote you've heard your whole life, but particularly a lot more once you broke out in the industry.
"you're going to do great," spencer tossed over his shoulder with a comforting smile that you found so entirely endearing that he was giving it to your mother. "plus, if there's anything i think you'd hate to be on the internet forever, i'll just cut it."
you leaned closer to your mom's shoulder with a wide grin. "one of the many perks of dating a big shot at the office."
spencer shot you a playful glare but you simply smiled back at him innocently, which easily melted away his stern look.
the four of you eventually reached spencer's car and pilled in before he pulled out of the parking garage, ultimately having to fork over 24 bucks. you had suggested to spencer to take a slightly scenic route your los angeles on the way to his place, so that you two could point popular tourist destinations and places of personal significance out to them. he readily agreed, taking an early exit and adopting a playful carny-like tour guide voice as he pointed things out.
"and out your left window," spencer started, glancing at the place before forcing his eyes back to the road, "is the place where we had our first date."
both of your mothers leaned and looked, before spencer's mom turned to him with a slight frown. "really, spencer? that's a taco bell. you didn't take her to a nicer establishment?"
you couldn't help but laugh at the light scolding he just received. but, you were also quick to jump in and save him. "no, no. i had been the one to suggest taco bell."
now your mom was turning to you with a frown. "i have the same question as his mother now."
"but, in my defense," you started, raising your hands like you were being placed under arrest, "i hadn't known it was a date until after. i thought i was just hanging out with my co-worker who i found very cute."
"that's true," spencer added with a slightly embarrassed tone to his voice. "i hadn't been very clear in those early days."
the ride continued, pointing out various places around los angeles; a coffee shop you frequented when you were in college, one of the first theatres you auditioned and got rejected from, your favorite park to walk through after a long day of filming with no sunshine.
eventually, it got to the point in the tour when you were pointing out spencer's apartment. before heading to the airport, you and spencer had put together a nice little dinner for the four of you; a simple pasta dish with a few pieces of grilled chicken and a salad. nothing too crazy, but surely a nice meal after a long travel day.
the conversation flowed easily over dinner, something you couldn't help but note as a good sign for the future. a little voice in the back of your head that you tried to not give too much attention whispered thoughts about your mothers interacting like this at a wedding, at your wedding. refusing to get too ahead of yourself, you shoved the thought down and focused your attention on spencer's thumb brushing along your knuckles where your hands were intertwined in his lap under the table.
by the time dinner had wrapped and conversation flowed to a halt, the sun had long since dipped below the horizon, making way for the moon and it's night sky. you could see the faintly sleepy look in your mother's eyes and knew it was time to get to bed. while you loved spencer's apartment, it was still a los angeles apartment. it had no business housing four grown adults. plus, contrary to popular belief, you did have your own apartment that you paid a pretty penny for and you'd like to use it.
you and your mom started saying your goodbye's, but it wouldn't be for long, truly, seeing as the four of them had work in the morning. as your mom was making her way towards where your car was parked outside spencer's apartment, you gave spencer a fleeting kiss at his doorstep.
it was a little weird, not staying the night at his place and kissing each other goodnight at the door of his apartment so you could go to yours. you hadn't realized how fond you had grown of your routine with him, how much you enjoyed being with him.
"i guess i'll see you tomorrow?" you offered with a tilt of your head, not having done this parting dance since the very early days of your relationship.
spencer laughed a little, stealing another kiss, purposefully making it longer. "tomorrow. yes. see you then, baby."
"love you," you tossed over your shoulder, making your way towards your mom and car.
"love you more," he called after you and you let him have it this time, not really interested in screaming your love for him across his complex's courtyard.
the ride to your apartment with your mother was a little quieter than the rest of the day had been, but you could tell your mother needed it. her head was leaned back against the headrest and her eyes stayed with the glittering lights of the endless los angeles skyscrapers that surrounded you two. but, her hand rested on top of where yours was on the center console.
after a short drive, you were at your place. as you turned the car's engine off, your mother's eyes gleamed with recognition.
"it hasn't changed a bit," she commented, glancing over at you.
you offered her a soft smile. "i've redecorated the inside a handful of times but other than that, it's the same dingy apartment you moved me into all those years ago."
the long day had caught up to the two of you at the same. like mother, like daughter, or something like that. you two changed into your pajamas and while you brushed your teeth together, you explained the plan for the next day to her, talking about shoot blocks, lav mics and room tone with a foamy mouth. your mom nodded along, but you could tell it was a lot of new information at once so you dumbed it down a bit; wake up by 8, out the door by 9:30, at the office by 10. that she could wrap her head around, sending you a slightly grateful look for not needing to mention why you changed your explanation.
the two of you moved to the couch, sleepy but sitting across from each other like you used to when you lived at home, back in your high school days. you two faced each other, legs tucked under your body's and your attention solely on each other. back then, you used to spill high school drama like it was life altering events. hindsight is 20/20, as they say, and you were now fully aware that all those petty fights and messy rumors were far from the tragedies you made them out to be in those couch conversations with your mother.
"so," your mom started, a teasing glint in her eyes. "spencer is..."
she held for purposeful dramatic effect and you gave her a pointed look to continue. a part of you jolted, wanting your mother's approval more than anything.
she smiled. "he's different than i thought he'd be, in a good way. he's good to you. very sweet with you, which is all i can wish for you as a parent. though, some of those jokes, eugh." her face twisted into a look of distain and you laughed lightly, shrugging slowly.
"it's a part of his charm," you justified and you mother hummed, not agreeing but letting you have your way. you hesitated, swallowing thickly. "but, you do like him, right?"
she looked away from where he eyes had drifted to some of the decor in your apartment, returning back to you. her lips lifted into another warm smile as she stretched her hand to meet where yours rested on the back of the couch between you.
"i do. what i like most about him is that you seem to really love him. you've never looked at anybody the way you looked at him today, honey. and that's all that matters to me."
you couldn't help but puff out your chest with a tad bit of pride. you knew in your heart of hearts that spencer was a real keeper, someone you loved with your entire being. and sure, angela and courtney have made a joke here and there about you constantly having heart-eyes for him, but hearing it from your mother was entirely different.
and you knew spencer was going to freak out about receiving just great praise from your mother.
"alright, mom, let's get some beauty sleep," you mused a few minutes later, leading her toward your office/guest bedroom/storage room situation. you'd cleaned it out the week before and set up a pull out bed with some help from spencer.
"like you need beauty sleep," your mom teased, brushing her hand through your hair with a soft smile. "you've always been beautiful."
you scrunched your nose at her before pressing a kiss to her cheek. "thank you, mom. sleep well, yeah? if you need anything, let me know."
she nodded, waving you out of the room. you hesitated near the door. "love you, mom. and thank you for doing this. i think i'll be a lot of fun."
she smiled back at you. "of course, sweetie. thank you for letting me do this. very rarely these days do you need me...it's nice to think that you needed me for this thing."
"i always need you," you replied, instantly, without a second thought.
"well, yes," your mother conceded with a little laugh. "but just not in the way you used to. not like when you were my little girl, covered in your father's shaving cream."
you rolled your eyes and heaved a big sigh. "that was one time!"
"oh, you were just covered head-to-toe in it! and your wailing, oh god, it would put banshees to shame-"
"good night, mom!" you cut in, quickly flicking the light off and making your way back down the hall, a ghost of a smile on your lips as you heard your mother's faint laughs.
you were able to sleep a lot better that night than you thought you would without spencer. with your mom just down the hall, it really didn't feel all that alone in your apartment, not like it used to.
the next morning you woke to your alarm, grumbling as you grasped around your bed for the buzzing and ringing phone, eager to shut the noise off. eventually you found it, swiping away your alarm was you took in the early morning time.
with sleepy eyes you squinted at your notifications, a soft smile on your lips at one of them.
spence <3: good morning, baby. wow, i haven't sent one of those texts in a long time since i usually get the honor of telling you in person. i hope you slept well, despite it being in your big, cold and lonely bed without me.
you rolled your eyes, but you knew if you looked in the mirror, you would have a cheesy grin that only he could ever seem to drag out of you. then your phone chimed again.
spence <3: also, did your mom say anything about me? asking for a friend.
that really got you, a few giggles slipping past your lips. of course that's what he was thinking about in the wee hours of the early morning.
you: i hope you slept well, too, babe! and yes, my mom had loads of terrible and horrible things to say about you ;)
spence <3: that's so not funny.
you: and it's so not true. she adores you, spence. i'll see you and your lovely mother at work.
spence <3: no, i'll see YOU and YOUR lovely mother at work.
you forced yourself out of bed, walking into your living room to find your mother already there, a mug of tea between her hands and her phone resting on her knee. she looked up at you as you enter the room with a yawn.
"good morning, sweetie," she said. you walked over to her, leaning over the back of your couch and wrapping your arms around her shoulders.
"morning," you muttered, forcing down another yawn.
"good morning, sweetheart!" a voice called from the phone and you woke up a little more, looking over at the contact on your mother's phone which read 'my husband.' a bit straight forward, but it got the point across
"hey, dad! how's it going back home?" you asked as you made your way into the kitchen, rifling through the cabinets to get started on a quick breakfast for you two.
"oh, good, good. i mean, i miss your mother, but that's the usual," he said and your mom laughed, shaking her head.
"awww," you cooed, playfully, as you pulled down the pancake mixed.
"she was just telling me about this spencer character, in fact," your dad continued and you scoffed.
"dad, you say that like he's a shady drug dealer. he's my boyfriend!" you replied, sharing a silly look with your mom.
your dad grumbled on his side of the phone. "yeah, yeah."
you rolled your eyes and went back to the task at hand. you knew your dad was just being a bit protective and silly, so you didn't take any of it to heart. your mother said a few more things into the phone that you had zoned out, focusing on the measuring out the right amount of pancake mix.
"i would have started cooking but i didn't know where anything was," your mom said as she walked into the kitchen, setting her phone down on the counter.
you gave her a lopsided grin. "you're the guest. i've got this."
"hopefully, you're a better chef than you were at six."
"funny," you deadpanned. "do you want these very special 'first day of school' pancakes or not?"
instantly, your mom's shoulders slouched a bit and her eyes glittered with a fond look. "you remember those?"
"of course!" you said, your face scrunching up at the insinuation that you didn't remember them. "i mean, i know now that they were a ploy to get me to go to school but what kid doesn't want sprinkles in their pancakes?"
"i'm glad they made a lasting impression on you," your mom muttered, fondly. "i was truly just out of ways to convince you school was cool."
you laughed as you mixed the ingredients together, watching the sprinkles swirl into the batter. "well, it worked. and now i make them before any big event. like today!"
your mom wiggled her eyebrows. "or, like before your wedding?"
you pointed your whisk at her, which was dribbling colorful batter. "that's a enough out of you, ma'am, or you're gonna lose pancake privileges."
at some point, you were evicted from your own kitchen for "doing it wrong." ultimately, you knew your mom just wanted to provide for you once again, so you handed her the spatula and went and got dressed for the day, making sure to grab the specialty 'smosh parents week' pins that had been given out the week prior.
you returned to the kitchen and ate your sprinkle-galore pancakes with your mother, intentionally making funny faces across from her at the dining table, much like you used to when you were younger. some things never change, i guess.
the two of you continued to get ready. your mom changed her outfit three times, clearly anxious about her appearance, like the fact that she was about to be in front of cameras the whole day had just settled back into her weathered bones.
to ease her anxiety, you knew you needed to give her a task. she was standing in front of your full length mirror, looking at her outfit from every possible angle until you peeked your head out from your bathroom.
"hey, mom," you called, "can you come curl my hair? I can't reach the back."
it was a white lie, barely a fib. you had been curling your hair perfectly on your own for many years now, but she needed a task and you were willing to give her this one.
"of course, sweetie," she said, following you into the bathroom.
you continued with your makeup as she picked up the curling iron, gently separating strands of your hair and wrapping them around the heated metal. occasionally, you met her eyes in the mirror, sharing a look that was teeming with nostalgia.
"reminds me of prom," your mom eventually offered up as she released a curl, letting it down slowly before reaching for more of your hair.
"god, that was a long time ago," you teased as you wiped your mascara through your lashes, your mouth making an 'o'-shape without your permission as it always did.
"no, not really," your mom said, leaning forwards so her temple pressed against yours. "it was yesterday for me."
eventually, you two made it to the office, where your mom received a warm welcome from everyone and a handful of hugs from some of your closest friends. your mom was doing well, navigating conversations like a champ and seemingly making friends everywhere she went. you weren't in the building long before you felt a hand press into the place between your shoulder blades and a kiss to your cheek.
"look who decided to show up for work," he teased and you rolled your eyes at him, smacking a hand gently against his chest.
"i wasn't even late, spence."
"but," he started, leaning a little closer to you, "you could have been early if you carpooled with me."
you laughed, holding his face in your hand. "just say you missed me, you big baby."
"i missed you," he said, without an ounce of hesitation. admittedly, you melted a little at her sweet words and how much being separated for the singular night had clearly taken a toll on him.
you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. "i missed you, too," you whispered against them before leaning back and clearing your throat, remembering you were not only at work but were at work with both of your mother's lingering around.
your mom's first introduction to smosh would be a games video, which you couldn't decided if that was perfect or a big mistake. it was a horror game, 'outlast,' that you had never played or even heard about before spencer pitched it. horror was already a concept of game you struggled with. it had been a lot of long winded conversations and promises to make it up to you a million times over to get you to be in the resident evil videos. you were even far too scared to even be involved with the fnaf series videos, let alone being in charge of the controller for a horror game with your mother beside you.
regardless of any hesitance you had towards the genre, the video still needed to be filmed. spencer and his mom would play first, mostly so that when him and anders were directing you, they could give you definite answers to any kind of question you might have, midgame. as to avoid spoilers, you and your mom weren't allowed to sit in and watch them play. eventually, you were called up to bat.
once cleared from room tone and giving the okay to start, you turned to one of the cameras with a bright smile as you threw your arms around your mom and pulled her close. "hiya, guys! no need to refresh the page or to check your screen for smudges, you are, in fact, seeing me and the woman i stole all my genetics from."
your mom laughed a little shyly as you pulled away, giving her shoulders a comforting squeeze. "be grateful you don't have your father's nose."
"i'm so telling him you said that," you teased, looking back into the camera. "guys, tag my father down below and make sure he sees this."
your mom was rapidly shaking her head at the camera, making hasty 'stop' motion that earned her some laughs from the room. you briefly turned your attention to the game, taking in the loading screen before turning to your mom with a small smile.
"i can't think of a time you've ever watched me play a video game," you commented, a small furrow in your brows as you sorted through your memories. "i mean, other than, like, the family wii we had for mario kart."
"yes, we had that wii, it had been a gift from your uncle, i think," your mom replied with a small shrug before adding, "but, i do watch you play video games here, on the channel."
your head snapped to her, a shocked look on your face, "really? i didn't know that, mom."
"of course," your mother replied, a soft smile on her face as she looked over at you. "i, uh, followed, er, friended, the channel as soon as you told me you got the job."
you melted a little bit, jutting out your lower lip. "it's called subscribing — which all of you watching this video should do — but that's so sweet either way."
"i couldn't watch that one game, though," continued your mom, her face scrunching up, "the one with the creepy house and spencer. something about residents? or something seven? either way, too scary for me."
anders was laughing from his directors seat at your mom's phrasing. spencer was instantly cutting in. "i was never personally in a creepy house with your daughter, just to be clear."
you and your mom laughed but you gave her a slightly guilty look. "well, bad news for you, mom, i'm pretty sure this is another kind of scary game."
"and spencer picked this?" your mom asked.
"er, no!" he quickly lied, giving her an exaggerated smile that no one was buying.
it actually went a lot better than you thought it would. you were pretty sure that all the time you spent playing resident evil with spencer had paid off in a big way, allowing you to make your way through this game at a somewhat steady pace.
of course, there had been a couple of moments where you had panicked, the video game character haphazardly darting around in random directions as you and your mom shrieked in terror of incoming dangers. at one point you had even offered the controller over to her, to which she fired off a handful of rounds towards the creatures, missing every shot. it made for a funny moment, despite the fact that you two had inadvertently killed the pixelated man.
getting through one video was all it took for your mom to burst out of her shell. by the time she sat next to you on the assumptions couch, she was more than happy to spill any and all childhood secrets with amanda, who was more than happy to hear them.
the next day she came into the office she was even more excited, asking to talk with some of the editors and various art department folks to get a better understanding for their jobs, too. she had taken a liking to brennan, who was more than happy to explain white balancing and exposure levels to her whenever she asked.
by the time you were taking your mom back to LAX to send her home, she had made friends with nearly everyone in the office, making promises to mail you her "famous" oatmeal cookie recipe for you to dish out to your coworkers.
while you were glad she had such a good time, it made leaving her all that much harder. you had no shame crying in LAX, something you've done more times than you could count on all your fingers and toes. your mother held you in her arms, like she had when she had first arrived in los angeles nearly a week ago and just like she had when you were first born all those years ago. she pressed a kiss to your temple and gave you a final, bone crushing squeeze.
"i had so much fun, sweetie," she whispered into your hair. "thank you for taking your old mother with you to work."
a wet chuckle fell from your lips as you wiped at your damp cheeks. "of course, any time, mom."
she pulled back, cupping your face in her hands, letting her shiny eyes glance all over your face, committing every part of it to memory with a soft smile.
"i should go before i miss my flight," she offered, but hadn't released you.
you tilted your head with a pitiful pout. "would it be the worst thing in the world if you did?"
"no," she started, "but your father is starting to miss me."
and then she gave you a knowing look, letting her thumb brush away a stray tear on your cheek. "and your spencer is starting to miss you."
her eyes drifted to behind you and you glanced over your shoulder to where spencer was standing, his hands in his pockets as he waited patiently for you. once he realized the attention was on him, he held up his hand in a small wave and gave you both a nod, but there was no urgence in him. he wouldn't rush you on this departure, he never would.
you turned back to your mom with a sad smile. "i love you, i'll see you soon."
you always said it to each other, even if "soon" sometimes meant months and months later. it made it hurt a little less.
"i love you more," your mother replied. and you let her have it, because she had long since earned the right to love you more than you love her.
"call me when you land?" you requested and she nodded, finally releasing her hands from her daughters and filling them with her luggage.
"no one else i'd rather call," she hummed, managing some composure as she started to walk away.
you couldn't seem to move from your spot, even after she had left your line of sight. eventually, spencer came up beside you, gently setting his hands on your shoulder and bicep.
"ready to go home, honey?" he asked, gently, still not rushing her despite the fact that she was just standing in the middle of LAX, wasting time.
she turned to him, locking eyes with her teary ones. "yeah, yeah. let's go home."
Summary: When life pulls you away from Smosh for months, you never expect your return to turn into the best twist in a game of Werewolf. Trevor’s reaction? Hug first, kiss second, and absolutely refuse to let you go. The editors, of course, milk it for maximum chaos.
Warnings: Public Kissing, Excessive fluff, not proofread.
WC: 1.5k
Author's Note: For 🧬-anon. I mostly write for Spencer (and Alex that one time), so I decided to write for Trevor this time around :D Also, just fyi, if the cast ever says they don't like having fanfic written about them or their partner says it, I will take it down out of respect for them. ANYWAY, hope you enjoy, and just so everyone is aware, my requests are open! For just about anyone on Smosh, as long as I know/have an okay feel about how they would respond to a situation. Tried making this fic as gn as I could so everyone can enjoy :D
You hadn’t meant for it to take so long.
When you got the call from your mom, worried about your grandmother’s health and not being able to care for her full-time— it was originally only going to be a couple of weeks, one month tops, according to your mother—it was just until she could get time off her busy work schedule.
So you packed light, reassured everyone at Smosh you’d be back before anyone missed you, and kissed Trevor goodbye—after convincing him you didn’t need him to come with you, it was just a couple of weeks—with a promise of Facetiming every day, he reluctantly let you go.
The first week went as planned. You called him every night, laughing about dumb tweets he sent you and the way he’d aim the camera just so you could see the office’s newest chaotic mess. While you fought sleep, he talked about everything you were missing, making sure you wouldn’t be left out on any joke or bit that was being said during meetings. He even called you at night (for him) to see what you were up to during your days with your family. It was like you were both still next to each other, never missing a beat in your lives.
But then your mom’s work kept her longer than expected. Your grandmother’s health dipped, and you couldn’t imagine leaving her in that state. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Calls got shorter, sometimes just quick check-ins when you were both exhausted. And somewhere in the shuffle, you realized you hadn’t actually seen Trevor’s face in over a month.
You knew he understood. Trevor never made you feel guilty for staying, but you also knew him. Knew he missed you, even if he didn’t say it outright. That knowledge sat heavy in your chest every night.
So when your grandmother’s health finally stabilized and your mom took over again, you didn’t tell Trevor you were coming home. You just booked the ticket, packed your bag, and texted Courtney the plan.
The Smosh office was exactly as you remembered it: the hum of lights, the faint smell of coffee and hair product, and the low buzz of voices from the editing room.
Courtney met you by the front door, grinning like she was about to burst. “They’re filming right now. Trevor’s here.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “You better be ready, ‘cause he’s gonna lose his mind.”
Just as the two of you were sneaking in, trying to avoid any spoiling eyes, you came across Angela in the hallway. She froze mid-step, eyes going wide before she broke into a smile so big it crinkled at the corners.
“No way— you’re back?!” she whispered, her voice pitched low but still buzzing with excitement.
You grinned, pressing a finger to your lips. “Shh, he doesn’t know.”
Angela’s eyes sparkled, and she covered her mouth like she was physically holding in a squeal. “Oh, this is gonna be good.” She gave Courtney a quick, giddy glance. “You’re getting this on camera, right?”
“Already planning on it,” Courtney murmured, tugging your sleeve to keep moving before anyone else spotted you.
Angela gave you both a little wave and mouthed, Go get him, before darting off toward the kitchen set, no doubt to quietly spread the word without tipping off Trevor.
The two of you kept on, slipping into the main set room like shadows. From your hiding spot behind the cameras, you caught your first glimpse of him— seated in a circle with the others, leaning forward with that mischievous grin that always spelled trouble.
They were filming Werewolf. You recognized the soft background music and the way everyone’s eyes were shut tight while the app narrated dramatically.
“...And now, the werewolves will open their eyes.” There was a beat, the werewolf (who you were positive was Trevor) milking the moment for all its worth.
Trevor’s head lifted. His eyes blinked open, immediately darting to find his partner in crime for the round — but instead, they landed on you.
For a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared like maybe the game was playing tricks on him. His mouth opened slightly, like he wanted to say something, but the app narrator continued.
“And the werewolves will now close their eyes…”
Trevor didn’t close his. Couldn’t. His lips twitched up into the smallest, most disbelieving smile, and he mouthed your name before finally obeying the rules and shutting them again.
By the time everyone wrapped up the night phase and everyone “woke up,” Trevor was already on his feet, ignoring whatever accusation Damien was spinning.
“Uh—Trevor?” Shayne said, confused.
But Trevor was already crossing the circle, his footsteps quickening until he was practically jogging. He didn’t care that they were mid-shoot, didn’t care about the crew watching — he just wrapped you up in a hug so tight it knocked the breath out of you. Your face buried into his shoulder immediately, breathing him in. He smelled like laundry detergent and the faint spice of whatever gum he was chewing.
Your hands fisted into the back of his shirt as your eyes stung.
“You’re not allowed to do that again,” he said, smiling even as his eyes shone.
“I missed you, too,” you whispered.
He leaned back just enough to look at you, his eyes bright and damp. “You have no idea.” Then he pulled you in again, tighter than before, as if he let go, you’d disappear all over again.
“I thought—” his voice cracked, muffled in your hair. “I thought I was gonna have to wait ‘til Christmas to see you.”
Before you could respond, he cupped your face in both hands and kissed you — quick, warm, and almost desperate, like he’d been saving it for months. The crew let out a chorus of “awwws,” someone wolf-whistled, and you felt his smile curve against your lips before he pulled you back into his chest.
Somewhere behind you, Courtney whispered gleefully, “Best werewolf twist ever.”
“Okay, that’s sweet and all,” Shayne’s voice piped up, “but you really couldn’t have called me first so I could bet money on his reaction?”
Arasha gasped dramatically. “You bet? This is love, Shayne! A cinematic reunion!”
Amanda was clutching her chest like she’d just watched the final scene of a romance movie. “I swear, if either of you cries, I’m crying too.”
You pulled back enough to glance around, cheeks warm. “Hi, guys.”
Trevor didn’t let you go. If anything, he tightened his grip, throwing a quick, half-serious glare at the rest of the crew. “None of you is stealing them from me. They’re mine. I’ve got months of missed hugs to make up for.”
“Do we need to pencil you two out for the rest of the shoot?” Angela—who you can only assume ran in once she had finished updating everyone outside—asked, smirking.
Trevor didn’t even hesitate. “Yes. Yes, you do.”
That earned laughter from the crew, but no one pushed. You felt his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles against your back, his other hand hooked firmly at your waist like he was afraid you might vanish again if he let go.
What you didn’t realize until much later was that Courtney’s phone wasn’t the only camera rolling on this reunion.
The main Werewolf cameras had caught every second—from the exact moment Trevor’s eyes landed on you during the “wake up” phase to the kiss, the crew’s reactions, and even Shayne’s ill-timed betting comment.
When the Werewolf episode finally went up weeks later, it played out like a normal round… until suddenly, Trevor was gone.
Viewers were quick to point it out in the comments:
“Wait, why is Angela sitting where Trevor was??”
“Forget Where’s Anthony?! Where’s Trevor?”
The editors let the confusion simmer for the entire video, never explaining why Trevor had vanished mid-game.
Two days later, a YouTube Short appeared on the Smosh channel titled: “Why Trevor Disappeared in Werewolf 👀”
The Short opened with Shayne, Angela, and Arasha sitting at the React desk, the reunion footage playing on a laptop in front of them.
Shayne paused the video right at the moment Trevor spots you. “This. This is the exact second the man mentally quit Werewolf.”
Angela snorted. “And the second I got promoted to Werewolf without warning.”
Arasha was already dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “I’m sorry, I’ve seen this like six times and I still get emotional.”
The clip resumed, showing Trevor running over to hug and kiss you. Shayne groaned theatrically. “See, this is why I should’ve put money on it. I could’ve retired.”
Angela leaned toward the camera. “For the record, I killed it as the replacement werewolf.”
The Short ended with all three of them waving at the camera, Shayne signing off with: “Anyway, mystery solved. Love wins. Back to your regularly scheduled chaos.”
Trevor swore he didn’t care about the attention — but when you caught him rewatching both the reunion and the Short later that night, cheeks pink and that goofy smile on his face, you knew he was secretly going to treasure it forever.
Hiya! I’m not sure if you take requests or not and if not you can totally ignore this but I just love your writing sooooo much and you are FEEDING the Damien girlies and I had an idea for a one shot and immediately thought of you
Do you think you could do a story about a female reader who’s secretly with Damien, sneaking into his office while he’s streaming and just going underneath the desk and starts just teasing him and then giving him a blowjob and he has to try to act like everything’s normal but maybe it distracts him so much that instead of doing his walk away brb chair time, he has to actually turn off camera and mute mic to deal with reader??
I hope that makes sense 💕
Work Hours
Pairing: Damien Haas x gn!Reader
Summary: “'What?' You looked up at him with feigned innocence, though your enjoyment of the situation was evident. 'If I can’t make the time go faster, I can at least make work more enjoyable for you, can’t I?'”
Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI!!!!) oral (m receiving), dirty talk, if I missed anything please let me know!
AN: This has been in my asks for SO LONG and I only just got around to it I'm SO SORRY. I altered the prompt a bit (maybe more than a bit...) but I hope it's still to your liking!
“All done?”
You leaned against the doorframe of the office, perhaps a bit seductively, as you questioned Damien. The sudden silence had alerted you to the end of his stream, walking down the hall to welcome him back to the real world.
But the way he pouted at the computer screen, fidgeting with his earring, had alerted you to the fact that he was not, in fact, prepared to join you in readying for bed.
He looked up at you, his expression morphing into something more resigned.
“No,” he sighed, “Got work to finish up now.”
You moved from the doorframe, approaching him from behind and putting your hands on his shoulders. You rested your chin on his head, looking at what was on the screen.
“How many emails can one man possibly receive in one day?” You almost breathed the words as you bent over further to press your lips to his temple, still insistent on getting him to retire for the night.
“Too many.” Damien turned his face, craning his neck just enough to press a kiss to your nose.
“That’s no fun…”
“Tell me about it.”
“Ok,” you smiled, “Work sucks. Come to bed.”
“God, I wish.” Damien seemed to droop slightly, reaching up to tangle his fingers in your hair before letting his hand drop back down in search of the computer’s mouse.
You pulled back, moving to perch yourself on the desk and look down at him.
“I’m serious.” You quirked a brow.
“So am I.”
He mimicked your expression, his free hand moving to hold your waist, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the exposed skin of your midriff.
“Can’t live at your desk, Dames…” You reached for his hand, pulling it from your waist and squeezing.
“I can try.”
You rolled your eyes, dropping his hand and glancing again at the computer screen.
“When do you think you’ll finish?”
“…Never?” He glanced up at you, shrugging as he offered you an exaggerated look of uncertainty.
“Can’t have that.” You tsked, shaking your head to hide the way you smiled softly at his dramatics.
Damien scoffed in agreement, going back to his work and leaving you to pout.
But you weren’t at all content to end it there.
Slowly, you dropped to the floor, shuffling on your knees until you were positioned under his desk, your hands on his thighs.
“Baby…” He tried to make it sound like a warning, but it came out more than a little bit whiny.
“What?” You looked up at him with feigned innocence, though your enjoyment of the situation was evident. “If I can’t make the time go faster, I can at least make work more enjoyable for you, can’t I?”
He reached down to cup your cheek, the corners of his lips quirking up into a smirk.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re working yourself too hard,” you leaned into his touch, “Now undo your fly for me.”
With a sigh of faux disapproval, he dropped his hand from your face, trying not to rush to undo his pants—though you both knew that you already held all the cards.
“Bossy.” He muttered, pulling down the zipper of his jeans and pushing a thumb beneath the waistband of his boxers to give you the room you would need to do the rest of the work.
“You love it.” You palmed at his growing bulge, slipping your own fingers under the fabric of his boxers to indulge in the skin-on-skin sensation you both wanted.
You noticed the signs of immediate relaxation; the way he seemed to melt slightly into his chair upon the first brush of your hand over his steadily hardening cock; the soft, almost whimpered breath he exhaled when you finally removed him from the confines of his boxers.
Damien let his head fall back. Looking down at you with half-lidded eyes, his gaze read purely of affection, though his desire was clear.
“Gives me an excuse to bend you over later…” His last word drifted off into a sigh as you slowly stroked your dry palm over his cock.
“You need an excuse?” You smirked, impish and eager, as you brushed a thumb over his tip to collect the droplet of precum that had leaked from him.
“Mm,” he breathed, letting his eyes close, “Better make it a good one.”
You scoffed, pausing your movements.
“Shut up…” You mumbled, leaning forward and licking a stripe up the underside of his cock and relishing in the groan you heard above you.
You continued, spurred on by his reaction and the growing pulse between your legs.
Holding him at the base, you pursed your lips and let a thick strand of spit drip from your mouth to the head of his cock, watching it trail down until it hit your own skin between your forefinger and thumb. You let it gather beneath your palm, using it as lubricant to steadily increase your pumps, flicking your wrist and tightening your grip slightly when your hand engulfed his tip.
“Fuck,” Damien groaned, “Not making work enjoyable, baby—you’re making it impossible.”
“Same difference...” You smiled before wrapping your lips around him, pulling air from his lungs as you let your face drop lower until your nose brushed the skin of his lower stomach.
With your mouth full, your eyelids fluttered slightly, drool collecting at the corners of your lips.
Damien used the moment as an opportunity, grabbing a fistful of your hair and tilting your face back enough to force your gaze on him while his cock throbbed between your lips.
“You wanna get fucked so bad, huh?” He smirked, sharp canines on display, though it was obvious he was holding himself together by a thread—one that frayed with each soft twitch of your tongue as his tip pressed against the back of your throat.
You whimpered around him, eyes threatening to roll back at his words.
“What’s wrong?” He grinned now, “Can’t use your words?”
You whined, trying to speak against the hindrance of his cock in your mouth.
“an-a gh-t uk-d,” you managed to grunt out, “eez…”
Damien tried to hold back a groan, eyes closing to hide the way they rolled back in his head at your pitiful attempts to respond to him.
With his fingers tangled in your hair, he began to guide you up and down his length. He spread his legs absentmindedly as he began to shallowly thrust his hips forward in slow, inconsistent intervals, chasing the feeling of your hot mouth around him.
You pressed your hands against his thighs, both for stability while you knelt between them, and for the simple delight of being close.
“Finish what you started,” he grunted out in a hot breath, watching you splutter against the jerk of his hips, “And then I’ll f—I’ll fuck you so…yeah…”
He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to finish his thought when the pleasure you gave him was so all-encompassing.
You mewled happily, looking up at him and feeling a keen sense of satisfaction at how easy it was to get him to unravel for you.
“God, there you go,” he moaned, tilting his head to rest on his shoulder, “C’mon, let me give it to you—working so hard for it…”
You could’ve laughed; here you were, attempting to ease his work-induced stress, and somehow Damien had managed to make it about you and your desires.
Typical. Not that you were complaining in the slightest.
His movements became slightly more erratic, fingers twitching against your scalp as his grip on your hair tightened to keep you still while he pumped into your mouth.
Your jaw ached; tears threatened your lashline, and you wanted nothing more than to see him through this, to offer that immediate sense of repose and to savor the warm, salty taste of his release.
With a stuttered groan and a final buck of his hips, his grip on your hair tightened enough to verge on painful, before he released you from his grasp altogether and flattened his palm against your scalp while he emptied down your throat.
You gagged, just a bit, at the suddenness and the way his cum flooded your mouth. But you eagerly accepted it regardless, humming contentedly around his cock as it twitched, milking him with your lips and tongue.
Damien leaned back in his seat with a low groan, limbs slack and head tilting forward. His hand still rested on the back of your head, and he ran it through your hair lazily, as if attempting to fix the damage he’d done by using it as a handle.
You swallowed, pulling off of him with a wet pop and licking your lips. You watched his chest rise and fall, staring out into nothing with a satisfied haze over his eyes.
He breathed out a soft laugh when you looked up at him, moving his hand from behind your head to cup your jaw.
“So,” you nuzzled into his touch, his palm warm against your face, “How’s work?”
Damien collected himself enough to laugh loudly, shaking his head.
“S’alright.” He shrugged, quickly deadpanning as he tucked himself back into his jeans.
You scoffed in feigned offense, and he grinned, pulling you up off your knees and maneuvering you onto his lap.
“Great,” he pressed his face against the crook of your neck, “So good, baby.”
“I know,” you smiled, sighing out softly as your head tilted back in comfortable bliss. “You gonna come to bed now?”
“I didn’t finish any of what I need to do!” He laughed loudly, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a kiss to your shoulder.
You were about to protest when he spoke up again.
“But I did tell you I’d fuck you, huh?”
You could hear the smile in his voice, feel it against your shoulder where he continued to press soft kisses.
“That is what you said...” You laughed, and he squeezed your hip.
“And I meant it.” He looked up at you, grinning, and you leaned back against him.
“So is that a yes, you’ll come to bed with me now?” You probed.
Damien sighed, smiling.
“Yeah,” he tapped your thigh, encouraging you to stand so that he could do the same, “I think work can wait.”
Summary: Liking your boss is hard but trying to keep it from your coworkers and the world is even harder. Or your oblivion brought you somewhere you can only imagine.
I was never supposed to happen this way.
You were a guest in the Reddit Stories alongside Trevor. The story was about a girl having a reciprocated feeling with his boss who is currently in a relationship.
“I get that you can't really control who you like. But, at the end of the day, you are responsible for your actions and choices.” Shayne stated.
“Yeah, also I don't really get liking your co-worker, more so your boss.” Trevor said, with a small chuckle.
“No, I get catching feelings for your co-worker or boss, been there. But knowing that the other person was already in a relationship and still pursuing them?” You didn't mean to say that.
“You know what it's like to have feelings for your co-worker?” Asked Shayne.
This moment felt like one of those ‘you can hear a pin drop’ scenario. “I beg please cut that out.”
The thing is Smosh is your first and only job.
During the pandemic few years into college you decided to put your editing capabilities into good use. A job. You became an editor for Smosh Pit, while it was still under Mythical Entertainment. That led to an opportunity to be part of the cast.
You spewed other bullshit like “don't be the reason for another woman's pain.” as a form of save.
Even if the editors have cut that out and that footage will not see the day of light, enough people have heard it. In addition you are surrounded by people who knew you well that would have clocked what you said.
They can't really blame you.
When Anthony came back to Smosh, he took time to get to know every cast and crew.
Maybe by then you have gotten a small crush due to his easygoing nature. What you thought was an itty-bitty crush grew through every interaction that you'll have with him.
You were captivated by how he clapped even though you were not able to get a laugh from the person in the stool in Try Not To Laugh. Or when he'd explain old Smosh reference that you couldn't catch with a smile on his face. And by even simply greeting you good morning, how are you, and his sickeningly sweet affirmations.
Maybe this crush of yours started way before you even joined the company. How the younger version you came across a YouTube channel where you saw a guy with a bowl cut with his friend whose hair was straightened, covering the entirety of his forehead, making skit-comedy sometimes injuring themselves.
But who knows, you have done a good job of trying to conceal crushing on your boss for the longest time and you are not revealing it now.
Like you expected, words traveled fast. Few minutes after Shayne said the outro and Bailey declared 'cut'. You went straight to the restroom and when you stepped outside you saw people talking amongst themselves. Innocent enough. You though.
In one of the cafeteria tables Shayne, Courtney, Trevor, Angela, Chance and Tommy are huddled. Talking in low voices you are not able to hear due to the distance. Shayne's eyes darted on you and sat straight. The others did too and looked at you. You can sense the awkwardness of the air when they greet you.
“You guys couldn't wait a minute before spreading what I said earlier.” You said plopping next to Angela darting your eyes at the two blonde guys.
Shayne was the first to confess. “We're just curious. Plus, I'm obligated to tell Court every gossip that I hear.” The bitch did not even try to deny it. “How can you tell we were talking about that?”
“Screw that, the real question is who was it?” Angela said, giving you her wide eyes. The rest of them did too, waiting for your responce.
“Can we please not talk about who I like. Especially during work hours.” You mumbled as you aggressively rubbed your palms to your face.
“Wait, so this is ongoing? Not in the past? Recent.” Angela retorted. You replied with a little groan, sinking yourself deeper into your seat. “Fine, don't tell us. We will find out anyway.”
“Honestly, I don't care.” You said standing up. “Angela, you don't even know where you last placed your glasses. I doubt you can focus on finding out who I like.”
Just as you blurted that out you regretted it. Angela is a forgetful person, the type to get distracted by one thing by another. However, she's also very competitive. You challenging her and made her more passionate about finding out.
Every interaction with other co-workers seemed to be watched by some of your friends.
How when you and Damien are discussing weekend plans on your desk, Angela and Courtney also happen to be walking by. Slowly. Eyes directed at the two of you.
Or when you are asking Spencer to clear up some rules about 'Blood On The Clocktower', somehow Shayne needs to hear it too.
And even when you are in a private meeting with Ian. You can see them standing by the door like you couldn't see them through the glass door.
“I'm not even gonna ask why.” Ian said, darting his eyes towards the people outside.
“Thank you. Someone who finally is not on my business.” Your ease was short lived.
“Oh, is it about the whole 'crush on the coworker' thing. I heard people talking about it.”
If he knew, there is a high probability that Anthony himself is aware that there is someone in the office you fancy.
Nothing to worry about. It's not like people will notice. The two of you barely interact anyways. Plus, since the return of Anthony up to this day nobody has suspected anything.
“By the way, can you fill in for Arasha on Who Memed It later? 2:00 PM.” You responded with a nod to the last minute project.
As you walk out of his office you acknowledge your so-called friends. “Come on, guys. Can you just let it rest.” You said making the exhaustion visible from your voice.
You saw guilt in their eyes. “Fine. I'm sorry for trying to make you say even though you don't want to.” Trevor said. “You can't just drop the bomb on us and not expect us to wonder.” Angela added.
“I swear to tell you guys when I'm ready. I promise.” You said pulling them to an embrace.
The rest of the day was smooth enough. You, feel more at ease. Before the clock could even strike 2 PM, you are already at the set. The crew helped with your mic and you sat between Courtney and Angela. Few minutes before the filming would start Anthony entered and sat alongside other crew.
You didn't expect his presence. for the entirety of the day this is the first time you are seeing him so you assumed he is out for the whole day.
Your breath hitched as he made his way towards your panel. “Hey, good luck later. I know you guys will do great.” Bailey called out that cameras are about to start rolling. “My money is on you.” He said winking and pointing his finger to you.
God. That made your heart stop beating for a while. The word “Rolling!” made it start pumping again.
The video started the way that it would usually go. Shayne did his usual intro and the game started with added jokes from here and there.
“Next meme.” He read the meme out loud.
“–was it A. Trevor, B. Alex Tran from games, C. Spencer who is also from games, or is it D. Anthony?”
“This is hard,” You exhaled a little. “and also, true.” You said recognizing the authenticity of the meme. “Which one is it and how dare he?”
The crew laughed behind the camera.
“This could also be a secret Shayne.” Courtney added.
Shayne then pointed at you to go first. “Although Trevor loves laughing at my misery I think this is Spencer.”
Angela went next. “I feel like Alex Tran experiences this more with you so I chose him.”
“I chose Trev because if he will submit a meme it would be making fun of you.” Court said as they flip their board to face the cameras.
“Let's find out. Who memed it?” All eyes darted towards the television. Then it revealed the answer. “It's Anthony.”
Your mouth gaped. “What?” Your eyes darted to the man sitting on the crowd of the crew. Even though he wasn't wearing anything special you noticed how he stood out among others. How everyone is just a blur around him.
He locked eyes with you and smiled apologetically from his scheme. “I saw this cat and I thought about you. Everytime you feel overwhelmed you would put your hand on your face or on your mouth and your eyes would gloss.”
You’re unsure whether to feel flattered or utterly embarrassed. On one hand, there's something undeniably warm about the way he notices your odd quirks you thought no one paid attention to. And that makes your heart stir, because you like him. But at the same time, there’s a flush of self-consciousness creeping up your neck. Is he laughing with you, or at you? Is this teasing something, or just a playful joke? You can’t quite tell. You're flattered because you matter enough to be the subject of his jokes. You feel exposed as he sees right at the parts of you you’ve never quite known how to hide.
The rest of the video you are out of your mind. After the video cut Courtney nudged you. “Hey, are you ok?” You responded with a classic 'Why wouldn't I be?' “It feels like you've been out of it since Anthony's meme.” Then it struck them. “Holy fuck, it's him!” You begged them to not tell anyone. And they promised not to.
You got home and you feel exhausted. You always feel that way but this time there is an added weight. As much as you wanted to stop feeding into your delusions, you can't help but think if there is a hidden meaning behind it. As if there is a code designed for you to crack. But you reminded yourself that it's part of the job. Every crew and non participating cast are asked to submit. He probably did it just to comply and participate.
Just as your mind was in a whirlwind you received a message that will just add to the boiling confusion you are currently enduring.
Anthony P.
Hey, I just wanted to check up on you.
I hope the joke wasn't too mean :)
What now? Your mind is filled with lots of words but somehow none of them coherent. His text is laid plain and simple, yet you fully could not comprehend it.
You
Don't worry about it!
It was true anyway.
That's the only logical thing that you could squeeze out of the wreck you call your brain. Just as you hit send your hand flew to your mouth, a habit you do whenever you feel anxious. Exactly like the meme. Fuck. But you couldn't help it. Waiting for his response was torture.
Anthony P.
It wasn't my intention to mock you.
I just thought it's a cute habit that you do.
When I saw that cat meme I instantly thought about you.
What the fuck. The fast beating of your heart echoed like a drum. So fast that it shook even your hardest bones.
Anthony is one of the nicest people you have ever met. Yet, part of your mind is telling you that he is playing some sick game. Or that he really looks out for you as an employee. Anything. You are thinking of any reason because your entire being is rejecting to believe that he is doing this because he admires you the way you do to him.
Your thoughts have gotten the best of you. You don't know how long you sat there. Looking at his message, overanalyzing it. Trying to process it. What snapped you out was his follow up message asking if you are still there.
Anthony P.
You are probably tired.
I'll just give you something tomorrow.
See you.
Well, fuck. You fell asleep wondering what tomorrow will bring.
Just as you entered Courtney cornered you. “Hey, let me show you something.” they pulled out their phone and started playing a video edit. It was a compilation of clips of you and Anthony taken from the YouTube videos. “You guys are so cute.”
“Did you edit this? ” Instead of answering they just showed a scheming smile. “Because if this was a real fan edit I would have probably seen it by now.”
“I wish you guys would appear on more videos together so I can make more.” Courtney said humorously. “Or I could use the same 5 clips, people on Tiktok do that. Oh my God, I should post this on Tiktok so that other people would start shipping you two.”
“Court, nobody would do that. I think people only ever ship him with Ian. And I am no Ian Hecox.” Just as you said his name, Ian popped out of nowhere.
“What about Ian Hecox?” He looked at the two of you with a cottage cheese and spoon on his hand. Before either of you could reply he said “By the way, Anthony has been asking if you have arrived yet. Whatever that is about.” then he walked out.
Courtney sent you a teasing smile. They pulled you where Anthony would be. Your heart is thumping. You feel like one of these days you'll get a heart attack due to excessive heart beating.
Once you've reached your desk there he was. Like a prince charming waiting for you coffee on hand. Although he was wearing his usual sweaters there is an extra sparkle brought by his charming smile.
It was a scene from a RomCom movie. The dashing bachelor, standing by your desk. “I couldn't stop thinking about the meme the whole night. Like I said, it wasn't to mock you.” He then handed you the coffee carrier. “Again, I'm sorry.”
“Wow, Anthony, you didn't have to.” Is this a wet dream? “Seriously, I was never offended. I get that it's part of the job. Plus, I can never be mad at you.” You caught yourself staring at him longingly. “Considering that you're my boss.”
“A thank you would have been appreciated.” He said his expression is engulfed with pretend offense.
“Right, thank you so much Anthony.” Your eyes looked down at the coffee for a short second. “Unnecessary, but deeply appreciated.”
He gave you every smile lines his cheeks could provide. “You're welcome, little gem.” He then left to do work.
As soon as he left, people surrounded you. They asked what just happened. You tried to say that it was an apology gift. Nothing more.
You sat on your office chair thinking. You have been doing a lot of thinking these past few days yet your kind is still a messy blur. One thing is for sure. Some of your friends have figured out your secret infatuation with your boss.
The progression of your relationship was so fast these past few days that you learned more about him compared to years of working with him.
The morning coffee became daily. His schedule is a little earlier than yours. So by the time you get to work the coffee is on your desk, lukewarm, and with a note. You caught yourself going to the office a little earlier to talk to him more about nothing specific. Work, life, pets, schedule, it doesn't matter. It was as if you could talk to him about everything.
You dread the words “I won't keep you from work anymore.” or “I'll see you around.“
One day there was a shift. Instead of his usual farewell, he said “You know, I really enjoy talking to you. We should do it outside of work too.”
What? “Like a date?” you blurted out of shock.
“If you want it to be.” He said with his high pitched laugh. And he left. He just left with a “See you later.”
You wanted more input from him. Does he mean talk outside of work like hangout or is it more of a romantic way of getting to know each other.
Instead of asking him what he really means you asked the next best thing. Your friends. Your friends who have slowly, one by one, figured out your affection for your boss.
After telling them they are blown away. “I just found out that you like him. Now you two are dating?” Trevor said surprised.
“I don't even know if he considers that a date. I am as clueless as you guys are.” You said with hints of frustration on your voice. “Plus, after work? I look like a mess.”
“How are you not sure if it is a romantic way. Is it 'see you later' or 'see you later'?” Angela asked the first one with a high pitch and wide smile and a smug and wink for the second.
“I don't know. Neither?” and they hit you with a “you don't know?” was their response.
“It doesn't matter. You'll find out when you get there and you will tell us every detail.” Courtney said attempting to provide comfort. “Plus you always look good. You don't need to prepare more.” This time you can hear the sincerity in their voice.
“Maybe she needs a little chapstick and a hair brush.” Angela said and immediately followed up with “I'm kidding!”
“She won't be needing chapsticks if tonight goes well, if you know what I mean.” Chance said darting you a teasing smile.
Their words brought you calm support for a while. You managed to distract yourself with work and your friends. You tried to drown out the noise of what's about to come as it attempt cloud your mind.
You forced yourself to stop looking at the clock and for your eyes to never leave the PC monitor. You were typing when you felt a small tap on your shoulder.
“Hey, are you still not done?” Anthony asked. You were taken aback by him. You also looked around the office only to notice that most people have already left. “The other cast left a few minutes ago. Are you ready for that hang out you promised me?”
You gave him a yes as loud as a whisper. You saved what you are working on to drafts, not daring to finish it. Your fingers tapped on the keyboard with a twitch. As the screen turned black your eyes darted to him. He was staring at you with a longing look. “All done?” you nodded.
You stood from your desk carrying your purse and laptop bag. He took that from your hand. He then also opened the passenger seat door for you. Even in the restaurant, he pulled out your chair and tucked it for you.
You were caught off guard by his chivalrous demeanor, but somehow not surprised. He has shown this side of him to you before may it be through his endearing words or sweet mannerisms.
You looked around the restaurant he took you in a restaurant with beautiful scenery. Expensive looking too. If he asked you to split the bill you will be obligated to sell your car as a down payment.
“Anthony, this looks too much.” You said, looking him in the eye for the first time since entering.
“Well, if you weren't worth this much I wouldn't have brought you here.” He humored you. You wondered how he was able to get a table for a restaurant this extravagant for a short notice. “Well I called them up after I left your desk. I told them that I finally had the courage to ask the girl I've been talking to on a date, please give us a table because she really deserves this.” You looked at him with one eyebrow raised to his surreal story. “I'm fucking with you. I know the owner, asked for favors. But that story is less romantic so I decided to make a new one.” This earned him a genuine laugh from you.
He loves when got to make you do that. It felt like a siren singing, and him doing anything just to hear it over and over again.
His admiring gaze was cut off when you questioned his statement. “So this is a date. Like a romantic date?”
“What? Was that not established? We have been talking for a few days I thought...” He trailed off not daring to finish the sentence.
You have somewhat shifted the mood. “I mean..” you are lost in words. “I didn't really consider us as talking, you know?”
“Oh, so you didn't know that I wanted to go on a date with you? Or that I like you?” He looked down for a second, the sound of his voice turning sour. “I thought it was mutual.”
“I didn't know it was a date.” You took this opportunity to place your hand above his. “But I hoped it would be.” Your eyes intertwined like your fingers did. “I've liked you since the moment my eyes first landed on you. I just never imagined that you too would feel something for me someday.”
He caressed your cheek with his other hand. No words were spoken, but both your eyes are speaking. Having an understanding beyond the comprehension of your minds.
Throughout the dinner the conversation went smoother, sweeter, more delightful.
Even though the two of you are now on the same page, you can't help but thank all the stars that made your wildest dream come true.
A/N if you guys have any requests feel free to tell me :>>
“Then show me what you wanted to do so badly, Mr. Haas. Teach me a fucking lesson.”
SMUT -- 18+ ONLY!!!
Warnings: p in v, oral (male receiving), degradation kink, praise kink, spanking, dom/sub, dom!Damien, sir/master kink, school roleplay, public sex, rulers
This is part two of prof!Damien x SSG, a collab with @pedropascallme! For the best experience reading, read hers first.
Years after you expected to be done with school, here you are, dressed up in a schoolgirl uniform participating in a Spelling Bee for the sake of Smosh Summer Games. Shayne mirrored you on the other side of the stage, standing in front of a microphone in a boys uniform as well. While this was not the usual costuming for both of your SSG personas, production argued that these outfits would add to the comedic effect of the challenge– spelling out different Smosh and school-related words.
“Loser has to meet resident rule follower, Mr. Haas, in detention, where they will only be able to leave after they have successfully solved all the riddles. It’s an escape room of sorts,” Spencer proceeds to explain the parameters to Alex, who gives him a thumbs up from a few rows up in the auditorium. Before the camera pans to you, you manage to sneak a peak towards Damien. The white button up remains taut against his bicep as it raises behind his head, his heavy lids shielding his eyes just enough where you don’t know if he’s looking back.
“Up first is team Hollywood Hotdogs.”
Quickly, you avert your gaze from Damien and onto Spencer, who has made his way to the adjudication table three rows into the audience. With a smile and a nod, you let him know you’re ready, and that Shayne is going down.
“Your first word is ‘ruler.’”
Flashes of Damien bending you over his knee last week race through your mind causing blush rising on your cheeks. Quickly, as if the people around you could read your mind, you blink it away, refocusing on the task at hand. That $1 will be going straight into Arasha’s pocket, suck it Alex Tran.
~
“I knew I was gonna lose, yaknow,” you mumble as you stroll alongside your summer teacher, “I was never the best at spelling, and it doesn’t help that half of those words are made up. There have been way too many spellings of Detective Wheresmakofi, how was I supposed to remember which one is actually canon?”
A low chuckle ripples through Damien’s chest as he wraps his arm around your shoulder, the cotton of his button up skimming along the nape of your neck leaving goosebumps erect in its wake. Notes of cedar and coffee radiate from him, followed by whatever flavour of gum he was chewing on while waiting for his queue from Alex in the crowd.
“I know. I could have helped you study, but I think that’s showing favouritism. Plus, that means we get to spend more time together, so is it really a loss?” The grin on his face drips into the tone of his voice.
“Definitely not, you know how seeing you in that sweater vest makes me want to listen to you lecture me about proper sentence structure while I keep your cock warm between my thighs.” Gingerly, you reach out and palm the semi-bulge in his slacks. “You like this skirt, hm?”
“What can I say, knowing how easy it would be to bend you over and fuck you on the spot does things to me. There was a reason why I sat so far away while you were filming, I had to take my glasses off to make sure I couldn’t see how perfectly it swished each time you walked up to the mic to recite your words.” He brushes your hand away and subconsciously your pinky finger finds its way through one of his belt loops. “While I pride myself on being a gentleman, I am still a man afterall.”
You slow down to a halt, Damien following your lead. For a second you take it all in. Him all in. The streams of sunlight emitting from the windows at the end of the hall dance through his freshly black hair, highlighting the wild ends that have become progressively more and more unruly throughout the 10 hour shoot day. The purple tie around his neck is slightly askew, creating a bump under his patterned sweater vest. Wrinkles wave up and around his crotch from hours of sitting in a folding chair, perfectly circling around the zipper. Wetness dribbles from your pussy to your panties, a wet spot forming right where you need him.
“Then show me what you wanted to do so badly, Mr. Haas. Teach me a fucking lesson.” You ghost his ear, leaning into him just enough to push your breast against his bicep.
Next thing you know his hands grip your waist, turning you as his nails dig into the exposed sides of your flesh. With a beat of franticness, the door beside you flings open, an empty classroom flying into view.
“You don’t get to tease me while you’re wearing that plaid skirt, not today.” A growl rumbles through him as he pushes you onto the closest desk, immediately finding refuge between your legs. “Are you okay with this, though?”
A soft moan escapes from your lips as his restrained cock brushes against the growing dampness. “Yes. Everyone else is gone. Please.”
“Now, where do I start?” The hairs on your neck stand at attention as his breath sweeps across your bare skin, his lips tracing small circles below your jaw. “You should’ve been able to spell all of those words. I know you know better.” Damien’s hand slowly caresses up your thigh, stopping just where your skirt ends. “My poor, forgetful girl. Maybe you need to be shown how your actions have consequences.”
Spinning away, Damien strides to the large desk at the back of the classroom. After rummaging through some drawers, he struts back with a long piece of yellow plastic in one hand. A breath escapes your lips as memories of last time come flooding back, being shown who was in charge as you were bent over his knee, ass high in the air with skin so sensitive Damien’s breath made you twitch.
“You know what to do, don’t you?”
“Ye-yes, sir.” You whine, sliding off of the desk before laying on it on your stomach, arching your back to give him a better angle.
Without warning, a sharp smack lands on your clothed ass. “That’s Mr. Haas.”
The sting ripples through your cheeks, sending shockwaves to your ever-needy clit. In stark contrast to the sting, Damien’s free thumb finds the reddening skin, the tip of it slowly dancing around the growing mark. With a soft clink, the ruler finds the empty spot on the table beside you.
“As much as I want to fuck you like this– ass in the air, skirt on– I think it would be more fun to show you how bad students get dealt with.”
His presence becomes heavy behind you, thick with the lust that is now caught in your throat. With a sharp inhale Damien’s hand grips a handful of your locks, forcing you up and to face him. Desire paints his irises a different, deeper shade of brown as he glares into yours. Subconsciously, you shut your eyes, adrenaline drumming through your veins. Rough, just like you want it.
“You don’t get to hide from me. Open your eyes.” A demand– something that he only does when he’s desperate for the feeling of your cunt pulsating around his dick.
Another drop of warmth coats your panties at the thought of your legs folded around his waist, back against the cold plastic of the blue desk beneath you. His mass inside you, all around you, consuming every thought and every breath that escapes your lungs as he rhythmically plows into your tightness. As if he could read your mind, his thumb finds the tip of your chin, snapping your head straight ahead. Your eyes open, pushing you back into the present.
“If you’re not thinking about what I’m about to do to you, I don’t want to hear it.”
“I-I promise I was. Thinking about your cock, mister. How good it's going to feel buried inside. Please.” A sigh escapes your lips with the last plea, desperation sweeping your insides, settling in the pit of your stomach. It’s heavy, swirling with the copious amount of lust blooding your veins.
A breathy laugh leaves Damien’s pout, the usual sheen in his eyes briefly returning before his gaze once again lands on the skirt draped over the top of your thighs, the red and black pattern seemingly marking the spot where his treasure is buried.
Gingerly, his fingers trail up the length of your inner thigh, sending shivers down your spine. With a quick sweep of his palm, the fabric that was once covering the rest of your leg is now flipped up, resting on the lower part of your abdomen. The delicate blood red lace of your panties is all that remains covering you.
“All dressed up for me, hm?” He whispers, not daring to look away from the bow that rests in the centre of the waistband. “You must’ve planned this, you naughty girl. Failing and bringing me the long way to the parking lot so we were the last ones here.”
“No, Mr. Haas. Just got lost.”
“Likely story.”
With a nudge from Damien, you lift your ass off the table in order for him to take off your panties. He goes slow, as if he’s unwrapping the most delicate present. Subconsciously, your hips sway in an attempt to speed up the process. Anything to get him near your pussy faster. Anything to get closer to screaming his name.
“Now, now, patience is the key, darling.” He cooes between your legs.
Gently, he wraps his pointer finger around the side of the framing black lace, shimmying it down your thighs. The artificial cold of the A/C seeps into the wetness between your legs, sending a shiver down your spine as the temperature difference only heightens the sensitivity of your aching core.
“Beautiful, as always,” Damien praises as a light pressure begins to ignite your clit.
His thumb dances slow, messy circles around the edge of your bud while his hazel eyes flicker with a mischievousness. That mischievousness that you usually only see when he is about to obliterate you. A moan falls out of you as the pressure intensifies with the adjusting of your hips. A sharp smack draws you out of your haze, the plastic ruler finding its home once again on the reddening cheeks of your ass.
”F-fuck,” you whine, the arch of your back deepening with each subsequent hit of the plastic against your bare skin, “Damien. That feels—”
“So good, baby?” He grins.
His arms find their way back around your hips, fingers drawing your skirt down to accompany your panties on the desk. His chest presses against your ass, his mouth finding the deepest part of your spine. Manically, he places sloppy kisses along your spine, his palms engulfing the entirety of your exposed cheeks.
“Do you want the sweater vest on or off this time?” He groans, his attention briefly changing from your skin to his belt.
“O-on, always on, please.”
A soft clink of metal hitting the tiled flooring echoes throughout the classroom as Damien realigns himself with your exposed entrance. The weight of his presence behind you becomes unbearable, knowing that at any second he can rip you apart from the inside out. With a hearty groan your hips begin to sway to your heartbeat. It’s impossible to sit still with what is coming next.
Before you can even get a full rotation of your hips, the length of Damien’s cock engulfs every piece of you. His tip dances against your cervix as he nudges in further and further, attempting to full each inch of your opening. A loud scream sounding identical to your own emits through the room as his cockhead swirls inside you, hitting each nerve ending possible.
“Ho-ly shit,” his voice rattles his cock with each syllable, “you feel fucking incredible.”
”Needed to make sure fucking the Superintendent would promise my good grades.” It comes out muffled with your face pressed against the acrylic desktop. “Make detention more en-enjoyable..”
Drool dribbles down your chin, a small puddle forming in front of your lips on the table as Damien fully retracts himself from you. Sadness is able to grab hold for a split second before it is once again whisked away by the filling sensation of him coming back.
”I can barely contain myself seeing you dressed up like this every day.” He pushes deeper. “Do you know how much of a fucking tease you are?”
All that manages to get out of you is a strangled moan as he picks up the pace, the slapping of his balls against your thighs becoming the only thing grounding you to reality as every other sense is overwhelmed with the presence of him.
Two of Damien’s fingers find purchase over your swollen clit. Gently, he squeezes it between his digits before rolling it between the pads of the tips. The muscles in your lower abdomen begin to tighten with each movement of his body against yours, the peak of your pleasure gradually building as you lose yourself within the moment. Where does he end and you begin?
“I’m going t-to..”
Immediately, Damien stops, pulling out of you, hands off your bud.
“Not the fuck you’re not, slut. Naughty girls don’t get to cum whenever they want to. How will they learn if they do?”
Your vision begins to get blurry as frustration rips through your pleasure, destroying the peak of the climax rippling through your abs. A strangled cry escapes your lips as Damien wraps his digits around your hipbones, pushing down one side and lifting up the other in order to flip you onto your back. You ragdoll in his palms, melting like putty at the heat of his touch contrasting to the artificial chill of the school air.
“I want to make it so it’s hard for you to walk tomorrow, hard for you to participate in gym class…” The warmth of his eyes sends shockwaves down to your leaking entrance.
Without a moment to breathe his length bottoms out against your mound, stretching you out impossibly thin. A yelp vibrates your chest as his lips latch onto your nipple, the edge of his incisors grazing against the sensitive tip. From nothing to everything, it feels like he’s engulfing you whole. In a frantic attempt to remain in one piece your fingers wrap around the edge of his sweater vest, the itchy fabric tickling against your palm being the only thing keeping you tethered to this Earth.
“Punishment looks good on you.” Damien groans against your breast, his hot breath leaving goosebumps in its wake.
The sight of his disheveled hair, heaving chest, and slightly askew shirt collar rekindles the dying fire in your stomach. Knowing he doesn’t want you to burst only pushes you closer to the edge as his fingers tighten around your hips as his thrusts get more and more frantic. In an attempt to distract yourself, you interlace your pointer and thumb in his messy black hair, pushing it back. As you do so, his hazel eyes interlock with yours, the heat of the moment burning in his irises. A moment of softness passes, contradicting the continuous hits of your cervix with his leaking tip.
“Obsessed wi-with the way you feel, mister.” It comes out as more of a plea than a praise, but nonetheless it pushes Damien further down his deprived spiral.
“You better be,” He hisses, pushing your hips up in the air to deepen the angle. “Because I can’t imagine the rest of my life without your pretty pussy. So perfect for me.”
The new depth causes his shaft to massage your g-spot with each movement, only furthering the inevitability of screaming his name while pulsating around his cock. A low rumble echoes through your chest as you subconsciously match his pace, hips moving in perfect sync with one another as you both frantically chase the top of satisfaction.
“I can feel you trying to stop yourself,” Damien whines, “I want to feel it. I want to feel you cum like the fucking slut you are.”
He punctuates his sentence with a hard thrust, one that sends shockwaves through your clit. Without a second to think, your legs snap around Damien’s hips, heels finding purchase on his bare ass. Waves of pleasure dance along your senses, completely overriding any other attachment to this Earth. Praises of his name fall from your lips, followed by tearful thank you’s as he continues to buck into you, trying to drag out every ounce of satisfaction. Before you can regain your bearings, Damien leans down to your ear.
“Can I please cum inside you?”
Instantly, your head is going up and down frantically in an attempt to demonstrate how desperate you are to hear his moans.
“Perfect, good girl.”
The jutting of his hips becomes more frantic than rhythmed as his climax becomes more and more tangible. The heat of his precum pools inside you as you wince with overstimulation, but refuse to stop the beauty happening on top of you. At this point, the collar of his shirt is sticking half up, his chin is glimmering in saliva from making out with your tits, and his hair is tousled beyond repair. An image that starkly contrasts the one that he is attempting to keep up during Smosh Summer Games, an image that you see in your wet dreams. An image that is only for you.
“O-h fuck!” He yelps, his back arching as his cum shoots inside you, coating your insides. Half-heartedly he flicks his hips one more time into yours before steadily retracting from you. A trail of his seed flows from your opening, the warmth of it only heightened by the sudden cold air hitting the sensitive skin.
“That was fucking amazing,” you sigh, sitting back up from the semi-horizontal position Damien had folded you in to get the perfect spot.
“Oh, my poor slut, it’s not over yet. You have to clean up the mess you’ve made,” he gestures to his semi-erect cock glimmering with a mixture of both of your juices. “How else will I know that you have truly learnt your lesson?”
Without a second thought you’re once again again on your knees. Needily, you flick your tongue out against your chin, quickly engulfing Damien’s shaft with your warm, messy mouth. The saltiness of his cum and the tangyness of yours overwhelm your tastebuds as you only pull him deeper, dribbles of saliva spilling out the corners of your mouth. Sighs of pleasure reverberate in your lungs.
As soon as it starts, it ends. Damien angles his hips away from you, drawing his cock out of you. Disappointment washes over you as you catch his eyes— a glint of mischievousness lingers as he eyes you down one last time.
“Don’t get too greedy. We still have lots of time for me to teach you another lesson.”
Hi! I loved your write for Angela from smosh, I’d love another one where they all play truth or dare at a cast hang out and fem reader is asked about first kiss but has never had one, and angela does the “I can change that” kind of thing
𝑫𝒐 𝑰𝒕 (𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝑺𝒂𝒊𝒅) - (Angela Giarratana x Fem Reader)
angela giarratana x fem reader | oneshot
smut warnings: alcohol consumption (only tipsy), first time, first kiss, intense makeout, grinding, dry humping, thigh riding, the knee thing, praise, orgasm, light dominance, aftercare
for anon, i hope this is what you were after! <33
made an angela edit if anyone’s interested :) tiktok
word count: 9k
A Smosh cast wrap party turns into a chaotic game of truth or dare, where a harmless question reveals you've never had your first kiss. What starts as teasing curiosity turns soft, then real, when Angela offers to change that.
Read on AO3
𝑫𝒐 𝑰𝒕 (𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝑺𝒂𝒊𝒅)
The music’s low enough to talk over, but loud enough that it fills the gaps when conversations overlap, bleeding together into one warm, constant hum. The living room looks like it lost a fight with a party. Bottles crowd the coffee table, snacks sit half-finished, and someone’s jacket is slung over the back of the couch like it gave up halfway through the night.
No one really cares.
It’s the last hangout of the year, the kind that only happens when filming has wrapped, and nobody has to be anywhere in the morning. The kind where time stretches out, soft and loose, and everyone settles into it like they are not quite ready to let go yet.
You’re tucked into the corner of the couch, legs drawn in slightly, a blanket draped over you that definitely didn’t start the night as yours. Somewhere along the way, it quickly became shared, half over your lap, half over Angela’s.
Neither of you has acknowledged it.
Your knees press together under the fabric, steady and constant. Every time one of you shifts, the other adjusts automatically, like the space between you stopped mattering a while ago.
Angela leans into you as she laughs at something across the room, her shoulder knocking into yours, her head tipping briefly against you before she straightens again. She doesn’t move far.
She never really does.
“No, because you did NOT just say that,” Chanse’s voice cuts through the noise from across the room, already halfway lost to laughter.
“I did,” someone insists.
“You absolutely did not.”
“I did!”
Angela snorts, loud and bright, her hand landing briefly on your knee like punctuation. “There’s no way. There’s actually no way.”
You hold out a bag of chips toward her without thinking, the bag crinkling softly in your grip. She takes one just as automatically, not even looking, still focused on the argument unfolding across the room.
“Thank you,” she says a beat later, distracted. Then, without missing a second, she reaches back for another.
You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you let her.
Across from you, Chanse is watching.
Not the argument. You. Well, both of you.
His eyes flick between the blanket, your knees pressed together, and the easy way Angela leans back into your space like it belongs to her. His mouth quirks, slow and knowing, like he’s just been handed the answer to a question no one else realised was being asked.
He catches Angela’s eye mid-laugh and raises his eyebrows. Angela freezes for half a second, just long enough to clock it, before narrowing her eyes right back at him.
Don’t.
Chanse grins wider.
Angela reaches blindly for the nearest thing, a throw pillow, and tosses it at him without breaking her smile.
It hits him square in the chest.
“Hey,” he laughs, catching it easily. “I didn’t even say anything.”
“You didn’t have to,” she shoots back, pointing at him. “Your face is loud.”
That gets another round of laughter, the kind that ripples outward and folds everyone back into the same moment again.
You shift slightly beside her, adjusting the blanket where it has slipped, your knee brushing hers again. She glances at you this time, quick and easy, like it’s second nature.
“Comfortable?” she asks, softer than the rest of the room.
“Yeah,” you say, smiling. “You?”
She tilts her head like she’s actually considering it, then bumps her shoulder into yours again.
“Yeah,” she says. “I’m good.”
And she doesn’t move away.
Someone across the room suddenly claps their hands together. “Okay, no. We need structure. This is getting out of hand.”
“It was never in hand,” Courtney points out, already laughing.
“Exactly,” Amanda says, grinning. “Which is why we fix it. Truth or dare.”
A chorus of reactions hits immediately. Some excited, some groaning, all loud.
“Oh, that’s dangerous,” Shayne mutters, even as he shifts to sit up straighter.
“You’re just scared,” Angela shoots back, sitting up a little too. The blanket pulls with her, still shared, still anchoring the two of you together.
“I’m not scared,” Shayne says.
“Then prove it,” she grins.
“Oh my god,” Chanse says, delighted. “This is going to ruin friendships.”
“Good,” Amanda replies. “That is the point.”
The energy shifts again. It tightens, brightens. Everyone leans in just a little more. You feel it too, that buzz settling under your skin.
Angela glances at you, eyes bright.
“You playing?” she asks, nudging your knee under the blanket.
There’s a challenge in it. But something softer, too. Like she already knows your answer.
You glance around the room. Everyone’s shifting, settling into a loose circle, energy picking up again as the idea takes hold. Phones are being grabbed, drinks topped up, people talking over each other as they argue about rules that no one is actually going to follow.
“Yeah,” you say, looking back at her. “I’ll play.”
Angela’s grin spreads instantly, bright and a little triumphant, like she won something.
“Good,” she says. “I would’ve bullied you into it anyway.”
“I figured,” you laugh.
She bumps her shoulder into yours again, lighter this time, but she doesn’t move away after. If anything, she leans in just a little more, her knee pressing more firmly against yours beneath the blanket.
Across the room, Chanse makes a quiet, dramatic face like he is witnessing something deeply predictable.
Angela doesn’t look at him this time.
“Okay,” Amanda says, clapping her hands once as she shifts forward onto the floor. “Ground rules. No one gets to be boring.”
“Define boring,” Shayne says.
“You’ll know if you are,” Courtney shoots back.
“That feels subjective.”
“It is subjective,” Amanda says. “Which means if I say it’s boring, it’s boring.”
“That’s a dictatorship,” Shayne mutters.
“Yeah,” Chanse adds, settling back into his spot. “And you live here now.”
There’s a ripple of laughter, easy and overlapping.
Someone spins an empty bottle on the table, even though no one really needs it. It wobbles, slows, and lands vaguely in Shayne’s direction.
“Truth or dare?” Amanda asks immediately.
“Dare,” comes the answer, too confident.
Amanda’s smile turns sharp. “Text your celebrity crush and ask them to marry you.”
The room erupts.
“No, absolutely not.”
“You said dare!”
“I didn’t think you were going to ruin my life.”
Angela is already leaning forward, eyes bright with chaos. “No backspacing. No deleting. You type it, and you send it.”
“You’re evil.”
“Correct,” she says easily.
You laugh, shaking your head as Shayne caves under the pressure, typing with dramatic reluctance while everyone crowds in, trying to read over his shoulder.
Angela shifts closer without thinking, her thigh pressing against yours now, the blanket bunching slightly between you. She rests her weight lightly against your arm as she tries to see, one hand braced on your knee again.
“Let me see,” she insists.
“I can’t see anything from here,” you say, leaning in too, your shoulder brushing hers.
“Then get closer,” she says, like that solves everything.
You do.
For a moment, it’s just noise and laughter and bodies leaning over each other, the message finally sent with a chorus of screaming like something irreversible just happened.
“Oh my god, you actually did it,” Courtney says, half horrified, half delighted.
“Okay, next, next,” Chanse says, pointing. “We are keeping this moving.”
The game rolls on.
A few more rounds pass in a blur of dumb confessions and even dumber dares. Someone has to do an impression that goes terribly. Someone else admits to something mildly scandalous that gets wildly blown out of proportion. Drinks are sipped, then refilled, then forgotten.
Through all of it, Angela keeps pulling you in.
“Pick truth,” she whispers at one point, like it matters.
“Why?”
“Because dares are risky and I don’t trust them,” she says, nodding toward Amanda, who is currently plotting something that looks suspiciously like a crime.
You laugh, your knee nudging hers again. “You’re part of them.”
“Yeah,” she says, completely unbothered. “But I’m on your side.”
It lands softer than it should.
Before you can really think about it, someone points at you.
“You,” Amanda says, grinning. “Your turn.”
The room tilts just slightly in your direction, attention shifting, curious but warm.
“Okay,” you say, sitting up a little straighter. “Truth.”
“Bold,” Chanse says.
“Smart,” Angela corrects immediately, her hand tapping lightly against your knee like approval.
Amanda’s eyes narrow in thought for a second, then light up.
“Oh, I have one.”
There’s a collective sound from the group. Half anticipation, half dread.
Amanda leans forward, chin in her hand, studying you like she’s about to unlock something.
“First kiss story.”
The room stills.
Not completely. There’s still movement, still background noise, but it softens around the edges, like everything is waiting.
You open your mouth.
Pause.
It’s small. Barely a second.
But it’s enough.
Amanda’s expression shifts immediately. “Wait.”
Chanse leans forward. “Wait.”
Courtney’s eyes widen. “Wait.”
You laugh a little, already knowing.
Amanda points at you, delighted. “Have you not had your first kiss?”
There it is.
You could dodge it. Deflect. Make a joke.
But everyone’s looking at you, open and expectant, not sharp, not mean. Just curious.
You shake your head, a little sheepish, a little amused at how big of a deal it suddenly feels like.
“No,” you admit. “I have not.”
For a split second, nothing happens. Then the room leans in.
Not sharp, not overwhelming. Just interested. Like you’ve said something unexpected in the best possible way.
Amanda’s face lights up first, her grin immediate and bright. “Oh my god,” she says, delighted. “That’s kind of iconic. Your first kiss is gonna be so much hotter now.”
You huff out a laugh, ducking your head a little. “Hotter is a lot of pressure.”
“It is,” Chanse agrees instantly, already leaning forward, elbows on his knees like he’s fully invested now. “The pressure just skyrocketed. Like, whoever it is?” He gestures vaguely, like he is addressing the universe. “Historic moment. No room for error.”
“Great,” you say, laughing. “Love that for me.”
Courtney nudges Amanda with her shoulder. “We are not stressing her out.”
“I am not stressing her out,” Amanda insists. “I’m elevating the narrative.”
“That sounds like stress,” Shayne says.
“It’s not stress, it’s romance,” Amanda shoots back.
Through it all, Angela is laughing too. A little louder than she needs to, her head tipping back slightly, her shoulder pressing more firmly into yours.
“Yeah, no,” she says, shaking her head. “That’s… that’s a big deal—”
She cuts herself off.
It’s small, almost nothing.
But you feel it.
The way her weight shifts beside you. The way her voice catches just slightly before she stops talking altogether.
Something changes.
It’s still loud around you. Still easy, still warm. But right next to you, something goes quieter.
You glance at her, but Angela’s already looking at you.
Not laughing now. Not playing it up for the room.
Just looking.
Like she’s seeing something she hadn’t fully let herself think about until this exact second.
Across from you, Chanse goes very, very still. And then slowly, his expression spreads into something dangerously knowing.
Angela blinks once, like she’s catching up to her own thoughts.
Then she shifts, straightening just slightly where she sits beside you, her shoulder brushing yours as she moves.
“Okay,” she says suddenly, a hand lifting like she is about to physically redirect the room. “Let’s not be weird about it.”
The delivery is so her, so quick and matter-of-fact, that the entire room breaks.
Laughter spills out immediately, loud and easy.
“Oh my god,” Courtney laughs. “You made it weird by saying that.”
“I did not,” Angela shoots back, already smiling again, a little defensive but still warm. “You were all being weird first.”
“You literally announced it,” Chanse says, pointing at her.
“Because I could feel it happening,” she insists. “I stopped it.”
“You escalated it,” Amanda corrects, still grinning.
You can’t help it, you laugh too, shaking your head as the attention diffuses just enough to breathe again.
“I’m not embarrassed,” you say, glancing between them. Your voice comes out lighter than you expect, steadier. “I just… haven’t met anyone I want to kiss.”
It settles over the group in a different way. There’s a small pause, like everyone collectively registers it, like it means something.
Beside you, Angela goes still again. Her knee presses a little more firmly against yours under the blanket, like she’s forgotten to regulate the distance at all.
Across from you, Chanse tracks it instantly.
Angela’s already looking at you, something quiet and intent in her expression, and he follows the line of it like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
There it is.
His mouth twitches, like he’s holding back a comment that’s begging to be said.
He doesn’t say it, he doesn’t need to.
The moment’s already sitting there, out in the open, just waiting for someone to nudge it.
Amanda’s the one who does.
She leans back slightly, eyes flicking between you and Angela, her grin turning just a little more deliberate.
“Well…” she says, casual in a way that’s absolutely not casual. “We should fix that tonight.”
It lands like a pebble dropped into water. Immediate ripple.
Courtney makes a noise. Chanse’s head snaps up. Shayne’s eyebrows lift as he looks between the two of you.
And then, almost as one, the room’s attention shifts toward Angela.
She reacts on instinct, sitting up a little straighter, eyes widening just slightly as she clocks it.
“Why are you all looking at me??” she demands, already half laughing, half defensive.
Courtney doesn’t hesitate. “Because you’re the only single one here.”
“That’s not—” Angela starts, gesturing vaguely, like she can argue her way out of basic facts.
Chanse cuts in, laughing, pointing at her like he has been waiting for this exact opening all night. “And the most likely to say yes.”
“Okay, that’s—” she tries again, but she’s already smiling, already caught.
The energy shifts again, tighter now. Brighter. And beside her, you can feel it.
Heat rushes up your neck before you can stop it.
It’s instant. Obvious.
You can feel it in your face, in the way your shoulders pull in just a little, in the sudden awareness of every single person in the room.
Angela notices first, of course, she does.
Her attention snaps back to you immediately, everything else dropping away just as fast as it had built. The noise, the teasing, all of it fades behind the way she leans in slightly, her voice lowering so it’s just for you.
“Hey,” she says, softer now. “We don’t have to—”
It isn’t a joke anymore. Not for her.
You can hear it.
And something in your chest steadies because of it.
You shake your head quickly, a small breath leaving you as you meet her eyes. You’re still smiling, even if it feels a little unsteady at the edges.
“No, it’s okay,” you say. “I— I totally would.”
There’s a flicker of surprise across her face, like she hadn’t actually expected you to say yes.
And just like that, the air shifts.
It tightens, the room folding in around the moment without anyone meaning to. The laughter doesn’t disappear, but it quiets at the edges, turning into something more focused, more charged.
Across from you, Chanse makes a small, delighted noise like he’s just witnessed the exact turn he was hoping for.
“Oh my god,” he says, half laughing, already leaning forward. “Oh my god, it’s happening.”
Courtney’s hands come up immediately, already halfway to chaos. “Do it.”
Amanda points between you and Angela, eyes bright. “Do it.”
“Guys,” Shayne says, but he’s smiling, watching just as closely as the rest of them.
“Do it,” Courtney repeats, louder now, like a chant starting to build.
The room picks it up, messy and uneven and very drunk.
“Do it. Do it. Do it.”
But Angela doesn’t look at them. She’s still looking at you.
The noise fades again, not because it actually gets quieter, but because it stops mattering.
She shifts closer, barely any distance left to close, her knee pressing more firmly against yours under the blanket. One of her hands hovers for a second before settling lightly against your leg, grounding, not pulling.
Her voice is low when she speaks again.
“Are you sure?” she asks.
You nod.
She studies your face for a second, like she’s checking for anything that says hesitation, anything that says stop.
“Tell me if you don’t want to,” she adds quietly. “You can say no. It’s fine.”
Your heart is beating faster now, but it doesn’t feel bad. Just big.
“I want to,” you say.
That does it.
Something in her expression softens and sharpens all at once, like a decision has finally settled into place.
Around you, the room is still buzzing, still watching, still waiting.
But right here, in the small space between you, it’s quiet.
Angela doesn’t rush it.
That’s the first thing you notice. Even with the room buzzing, voices overlapping, people already halfway to shouting, she moves like none of that exists.
Like the only thing that matters is the space between you and the decision you just made.
She shifts closer, slow enough that you feel every inch of it. The blanket slides slightly with the movement, bunching at your hips, but it doesn’t fall away. It stays wrapped around both of you, like something shared and steady, a small pocket carved out from everything else.
Her hand is still resting against your knee. Light. Warm. Not gripping, not pulling, just there, like an anchor. Her thumb brushes once, almost absentmindedly, like she’s grounding herself as much as you.
You can feel your heartbeat in your throat now.
She hesitates.
Just for a second.
Not uncertainty. Not doubt. Just a pause, deliberate and careful, her eyes flicking over your face like she’s giving you one last chance to stop this if you want to. Like she means it.
You don’t move away.
If anything, you lean in the smallest bit, closing that last fraction of space.
Her breath catches, barely noticeable, but you feel it.
Then she closes the distance.
It’s soft.
That’s the second thing you notice.
Not rushed, not messy, not played up for the room watching you. Just gentle, careful contact, like she’s handling something fragile and important at the same time. Her lips press against yours in a way that feels intentional, steady, like she’s guiding more than leading, giving you something to follow without taking over completely.
For a second, you don’t do anything.
Then you do.
You lean into it, just slightly, enough to meet her there, enough to make it real from both sides. It deepens, not in intensity, but in presence, the kind of kiss that settles instead of sparks, that lingers just long enough to feel like a choice instead of a moment.
It says something.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just enough to land.
When she pulls back, it’s slow, like she’s making sure not to break it too quickly. Like whatever just happened deserves a second to exist before the world crashes back in.
And then it does.
The room explodes.
Someone actually screams. Someone else falls sideways into the couch, laughing too hard to stay upright. There’s clapping, shouting, overlapping voices that don’t make any sense individually but feel like pure chaos together.
“No way—”
“Oh my god—”
“AGAIN, DO IT AGAIN—”
It’s loud. Bright. Immediate.
But right there, under the blanket, it’s still quiet for a second longer.
You’re still close. Still within reach. Still looking at her.
Angela is smiling.
But it’s different now.
Softer. A little breathless. There’s colour high on her cheeks that wasn’t there before, and for once, she looks like she doesn’t have something ready to say. Like the moment caught up to her just a little too fast.
Like she’s the one trying to process it now.
You blink once.
Twice.
And then it hits you.
All at once.
Your face breaks into a grin so wide it almost hurts, a laugh bubbling up before you can stop it, bright and unstoppable. You pull back just enough to throw your hands up, the blanket slipping down slightly as you do.
“I’ve been kissed!”
It comes out louder than you expect, half laughing, half incredulous, like you can’t quite believe it even as you say it.
The room loses it again.
You’re already moving, half standing, getting pulled into the noise, into the cheering, into the way everyone is reacting like something monumental just happened. It’s contagious, the energy of it, the rush, the way it lifts you right out of your seat and into the middle of it all.
You laugh, clapping a hand over your mouth for a second before dropping it again, shaking your head as you let yourself get swept up in it.
Across the room, Chanse is fully losing his mind.
He points straight at Angela like he’s calling a game-winning shot. “YOU DID THAT!”
Meanwhile, Angela hasn’t moved.
She’s still sitting where you left her, the blanket pooled loosely around her lap now, one hand still resting where your knee used to be, like it hasn’t quite caught up yet.
She’s smiling.
But quieter.
A little stunned, like the moment is only just settling in for her now that it’s over. Her eyes track you as you move, as you laugh, as you get pulled into the chaos of everyone else celebrating around you.
There’s something in her expression. Soft. A little dazed. Like she’s realising, piece by piece, that it wasn’t just a joke, wasn’t just the game, wasn’t just something thrown out into the room for fun.
Like she just handed you something.
And only now is she starting to understand how much it mattered.
The energy doesn’t crash so much as it slowly melts.
It stretches out, softening around the edges as the night drifts forward, laughter turning looser, quieter, conversations breaking off into smaller pockets that fade in and out. The game dissolves somewhere along the way, abandoned for stories that get longer with every retelling, for half-finished drinks, for people leaning into each other just to stay upright.
At some point, you end up back on the couch.
You don’t remember sitting down.
The blanket finds you again, though, or maybe it never really left, draped loosely over your legs as you sink into the cushions, the warmth of the room settling heavy and comfortable around you. The adrenaline from earlier fades, replaced by something slower, softer, the kind of tired that sneaks up without asking.
Across the room, someone laughs again, loud and sudden, and you smile a little at the sound, even if your eyes are already starting to close.
Voices blur together.
Time slips.
And then, without really noticing when it happens, you’re asleep.
“Okay, I think I’m done,” Courtney announces at some point later, her voice cutting through the quieter room as she pushes herself up from the floor with a groan. “If I stay any longer, I’m sleeping here on this tiny couch, and I don’t want to be crushed.”
“That feels personal,” Shayne says, already grabbing his jacket anyway.
“It is personal,” she shoots back, pointing at him. “You roll in your sleep.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
He sighs, but he’s smiling as he steps closer, bumping her shoulder lightly. “Come on, I’ll walk you out before you start a whole thing about it.”
“I already started a whole thing about it,” she says, but she lets him guide her toward the door anyway.
“Bye, guys,” Courtney calls over her shoulder, waving vaguely to the room.
“Text when you get home,” Amanda adds automatically from where she’s gathering her things.
“Yeah, yeah,” Courtney says. “Be safe, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“That’s not a helpful metric,” Shayne mutters as the door opens.
“It’s a great metric,” she insists, and then they’re gone, their voices fading out into the hallway before the door clicks shut behind them.
The room settles again.
Quieter now.
Amanda lingers for a minute longer, glancing around like she’s doing a mental check, making sure nothing is on fire, no one has disappeared, everything is where it should be.
Her eyes land on the couch.
She softens a little.
“Aww,” she says under her breath, a small smile pulling at her mouth. “She’s out.”
Angela glances over from where she’s been stacking empty cups, following Amanda’s gaze.
You’re curled slightly into the corner of the couch, blanket pulled up higher now, breathing slow and even, completely gone to the world.
Something in her chest tightens.
Just a little.
“Yeah,” Angela says, quieter.
Amanda looks between the two of you, something knowing flickering across her face, but she doesn’t push it. She just grabs her bag, slinging it over her shoulder.
“Alright,” she says. “I’m heading out before I decide to stay and eat everything left in your kitchen.”
“Thank you for your consideration,” Angela replies.
“I know my limits,” Amanda says seriously, then softens again as she glances back at you. “Make sure she gets home okay.”
“I will,” Angela says.
Amanda nods once, satisfied, then gives both Angela and Chanse warm hugs. She heads for the door. “Love you, bye.”
“Bye,” Angela echoes.
The door clicks shut again.
And then there are two. Well, three, technically.
Chanse is still there, stretched out on the opposite end of the room like he has no intention of moving anytime soon. He watches the door for a second after Amanda leaves, then slowly turns his head toward Angela.
Then toward you.
Then back to Angela.
He sits up.
“Crazy night,” he says.
Angela exhales a quiet laugh, rubbing a hand over the back of her neck. “Yeah. That’s one way to put it.”
He studies her for a second, not even pretending to be subtle about it.
Then his eyes flick to the couch again.
“To be clear,” he says, “I’m going to be insufferable about this.”
“Do not,” she warns immediately, pointing at him.
“I’m not saying anything,” he replies, hands up. “I’m just… observing. Respectfully.”
“You’re never respectful.”
“That’s not true,” he says. “I’m respectful right now.”
“You’re literally not.”
He grins.
She tries not to smile back.
There’s a beat, then his expression shifts, softening just a little as he glances toward you again.
“You need help waking her?” he asks.
Angela looks over at you, too.
You haven’t moved. Still curled into the couch, blanket tucked around you, completely unaware of anything happening around you.
Her gaze lingers.
“No,” she says after a second, quieter now. “I’ll take care of it.”
Chanse watches her for a moment longer, something knowing settling back into his expression, but this time it’s gentler.
“Yeah,” he says. “Figured.”
He pushes himself up, stretching briefly before grabbing his stuff.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he adds, heading toward the door.
“Yeah,” Angela says. “Text me when you get home.”
“I always do,” he replies, already halfway out.
He pauses with his hand on the door, glancing back one last time, eyes flicking between Angela and you.
Then he smiles, not teasing this time.
“Goodnight,” he says.
“Night,” Angela answers.
The door closes behind him.
And just like that, the apartment goes quiet.
For real this time.
The music has long since faded into nothing. The lights feel softer now, the mess of the night sitting still instead of buzzing with energy. It feels different without everyone else here.
Angela stands there for a second, just taking it in.
Then her attention drifts back to you.
You haven’t moved. Still curled into the couch, blanket tucked around you, one arm half hidden beneath it. Your breathing is slow, even, completely unbothered by the fact that the entire night happened around you and you slept through the end of it.
Angela lets out a small, quiet breath through her nose.
“Of course,” she murmurs to herself.
She moves a little closer, careful without really thinking about why. Like the quiet demands it. Like you do.
Up close, it’s different.
The room isn’t pulling her attention anymore. There’s no one else to look at, nothing else to react to. It’s just you, right here, in her space, in the leftover warmth of something that suddenly feels a lot more real than it did an hour ago.
Her couch.
Her blanket.
You.
She hesitates.
It’s brief, but it’s there. A flicker of uncertainty that didn’t exist earlier, back when everything was loud and easy and half hidden behind jokes.
Now there’s nothing to hide behind.
Her hand hovers for a second before she lets it settle lightly against your arm, just above your elbow. Warm, but gentle, like she’s not entirely sure how you’ll react.
“Hey,” she says softly.
No response.
You’re out.
She smiles a little despite herself, glancing down at you like she’s caught between letting you sleep and knowing she probably shouldn’t.
“Hey,” she tries again, a little closer this time, her thumb brushing once against your sleeve. “You can’t just move in. That wasn’t part of the deal.”
That gets a reaction.
Barely.
You shift, brow pulling together slightly, a quiet sound slipping out as you blink your eyes open, slow and unfocused at first.
“Mm—” you mumble, voice rough with sleep. “I didn’t want this jacket.”
Angela huffs out a quiet laugh, relief flickering through it.
“Sounds like a good dream,” she says.
You squint up at her, still not fully present, taking a second to place where you are. The room comes back in pieces. The couch. The blanket. Her.
Angela.
Your brain catches up a beat later.
Your eyes widen just slightly.
“Oh,” you say, softer now.
There’s a pause.
Not awkward, just aware.
“Hey,” she says again, gentler this time. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you like that, I just… everyone headed out.”
“Did I fall asleep?” you ask, like you don’t already know the answer.
“A little bit,” she says. “You missed the dramatic exits. It was a whole thing.”
You huff a quiet laugh, pushing yourself up just enough to sit a little more upright, the blanket slipping slightly as you do. “Damn. That’s my favourite part.”
“I know,” she says. “You really let the team down.”
You smile, rubbing at your face for a second, trying to shake off the last of the sleep.
And then it hits. Not all at once. Not like a shock. More like a memory sliding back into place.
The game.
The question.
Her.
Your gaze flicks back to her, something a little more focused now.
Angela notices immediately.
Of course she does.
Her expression shifts, just slightly. The easy humour softens, something more careful taking its place as she leans back just enough to give you space without actually moving away.
“Hey,” she says, quieter. “You okay?”
There’s something under it. Something real.
Not teasing. Not playing.
Checking.
You hold her gaze for a second, searching her face like you’re trying to find where she’s at before you answer.
“I’m okay,” you say slowly. Then, a little more certain, “Yeah. I’m good.”
She nods once, but she doesn’t look away.
“Okay,” she says. “I just didn’t want to, you know…”
She trails off, a small, uncertain gesture of her hand like she can’t quite find the right way to phrase it now that it matters.
“Make it weird?” you offer.
“Yeah,” she admits, a small, self-conscious smile pulling at her mouth. “That.”
You shake your head a little, the movement soft.
“It wasn’t weird,” you say. “It was…”
You pause, not because you don’t know, but because saying it feels bigger than you expected.
Something in her shoulders loosens at that. Not dramatically. Just enough that you can see it.
“Yeah?” she asks.
“Yeah,” you say, a little smile tugging at your mouth now. “It was my first kiss. Kind of hard for it not to be memorable.”
That gets a soft laugh out of her, but there’s something else in it too. Something warmer.
“I mean, no pressure or anything,” she says lightly.
“None at all,” you agree.
Another small pause settles between you.
But this one feels different.
Closer.
The blanket is still half around both of you. Your knees are almost touching again without either of you making a move to fix it. The space between you feels… smaller than it should.
Angela glances down for a second, then back up.
“Hey,” she says, quieter now. “If it didn’t feel right, you can tell me that too. I don’t want you to feel like you had to just go along with it because everyone was—”
“I didn’t,” you cut in gently.
She stills.
“I didn’t just go along with it,” you repeat, a little firmer this time, meeting her eyes. “I wanted to.”
That lands.
Fully.
She studies your face for a second like she’s making sure you mean it, like she’s looking for any sign that you’re just saying what you think she wants to hear.
She doesn’t find it.
“Okay,” she says, softer.
There’s a beat, and neither of you moves away.
The quiet lingers between you, soft but charged now, like it’s holding its breath.
Angela hasn’t moved far. Not really. Just enough to give you space if you needed it, but not enough to break whatever this is. Her knee is still close to yours, the blanket still draped over both of you like something shared without question.
She’s still looking at you.
Waiting, even if she doesn’t say it.
Your heart picks up again, not as sharp as before, but deeper somehow. More certain. The first kiss is still sitting there between you, not fading, just… changing shape now that there’s no one else around it.
You swallow, shifting just slightly where you sit, fingers brushing absently against the edge of the blanket.
“Can I…” you start, then stop.
Angela’s attention sharpens immediately.
You try again, quieter this time, but steadier. “Can I kiss you again?”
There’s a flicker across her face.
Surprise, maybe. Not at the question itself, but at you asking it. At the way you say it, like you’ve already decided, like you’re not hiding behind the group or the game anymore.
“Yeah,” she says, almost automatically. Then, softer, like she’s grounding herself in it too, “Yeah, you can.”
She doesn’t wait long after that.
It’s not rushed, but there’s less hesitation this time, less of that careful distance she held before. She leans in, closing the space between you with a quiet kind of certainty, one hand coming up instinctively to settle at your side, just above your waist, warm and steady.
You feel it this time.
All of it.
The way she’s closer now, the way her touch anchors you, the way she pauses just a fraction of a second before her lips meet yours again, still giving you that choice even though you already made it.
And then she kisses you.
It’s still gentle.
But not tentative.
There’s a confidence to it now, something more sure in the way she moves, the way she lingers just a little longer, like she knows what she’s doing and trusts you to meet her there.
You do.
Easier this time.
You lean into her without thinking, your hand finding the fabric of her shirt, grounding yourself the way she did before. The kiss deepens just slightly, not in a way that overwhelms, but in a way that settles, like it’s finding its rhythm instead of searching for it.
Her thumb brushes once against your side, absent but intentional, and it sends a quiet ripple through you that has nothing to do with nerves anymore.
When you both finally pull back, it’s slower than before, neither of you rushing it, like you’re both reluctant to break it too quickly.
You’re still close.
Close enough that you can feel her breath, see the way her expression has softened, something warm and a little undone sitting just beneath the surface now.
Angela lets out a small breath, almost like a quiet laugh.
“Okay,” she murmurs, more to herself than anything.
But she doesn’t move away.
You don’t really think.
Not fully.
It’s more instinct than anything else, something that’s been building since before the first kiss, before the question, before any of it had words.
You reach for her.
Your fingers catch lightly at her shirt, not pulling hard, just enough to stop her from drifting back, enough to draw her in again.
“Wait,” you say, soft but certain.
Her eyes flick up to yours immediately.
There’s a beat. A small one.
Like she’s checking you again.
You don’t give yourself time to second-guess it.
You lean in.
She meets you halfway.
This kiss lands differently.
Still careful. Still aware. But there’s more behind it now, something warmer, something that’s been building quietly and finally gets somewhere to go. Angela exhales softly against your lips, her hand shifting at your side, fingers pressing just a little more firmly this time, like she’s anchoring herself before she lets it go any further.
You feel it.
That shift.
The way she’s holding back, even as she leans into you.
It only makes everything sharper.
Your hand tightens slightly in her shirt without meaning to, pulling her just a fraction closer. The blanket slips further down around you both, forgotten now, bunched at your hips as the space between you disappears completely.
She responds, but carefully.
Always carefully.
Her other hand comes up, hesitates for a second like she’s deciding where it’s allowed to be, before settling lightly against your arm instead, grounding, steady. The kiss deepens just enough to feel it, to make your chest tighten in a way that has nothing to do with nerves anymore.
It’s warmer now.
Slower.
Lingering.
You’re the one who leans in first this time when it shifts again, following her when she pulls back just slightly, not wanting the space, not wanting it to end yet. There’s a soft, almost breathless laugh from her, like she didn’t expect that from you.
“Hey,” she murmurs, the word barely there, more air than sound.
But she doesn’t pull away.
You don’t either.
Your forehead almost brushes hers, the space between you small enough that every breath feels shared. Your hand slides from her shirt to her wrist without thinking, like you need to keep some kind of connection there, something real.
“I’m okay,” you say quietly, like you can feel what she’s about to say before she says it. “You don’t have to stop.”
Her expression shifts at that.
Not pulling away. Not shutting it down.
“I know,” she says softly. “I just—”
She exhales, a small shake of her head, like she’s trying to balance something in real time.
“I don’t want to rush you,” she finishes.
There’s something almost unfair about how that lands.
Because it makes your chest ache a little.
Because it makes you want her more.
“I’m not rushing,” you say, a little breathless now, more honest than you meant to be. “I just… want to.”
That hangs there.
Between you.
Her eyes search yours again, slower this time, deeper, like she’s looking for something more than just permission now. Something about how you say it, how you’re leaning into her instead of away, how your hand hasn’t let go.
She sees it.
And it makes something in her falter.
Just for a second.
Enough that when she leans in again, it’s softer, but not as restrained. Her lips find yours with a quiet certainty, like she’s allowing herself a little more this time, still careful, still grounded, but no longer pretending she doesn’t want it too.
Her hand shifts again at your side, thumb brushing once, twice, like she’s testing the line she’s trying not to cross.
You feel it everywhere.
The warmth, the closeness, the way your body responds before your brain can catch up, something new and unfamiliar curling low in your stomach, making everything feel sharper, heavier, like you’re suddenly more aware of every point of contact between you.
It pulls a soft sound out of you before you can stop it.
That’s what does it.
Angela stills slightly, not pulling away fully, but enough to break the kiss, her breath a little uneven now as she rests close, just there, her forehead almost touching yours again.
“Okay,” she says quietly, like she’s reminding herself as much as you. “Okay, we’re… we’re slowing down.”
Her hand doesn’t leave you.
Angela pulls back, her breathing ragged, eyes dark and searching as she grips your waist, holding you at arm’s length. “Wait,” she breathes, her voice thick with the same friction that’s humming between you. “I need you to be sure. You’ve had a few drinks, and I’m—I’m not trying to be that person. I don’t want to take advantage of you when you’re not thinking clearly.”
You don’t let her pull away. You reach out, fingers tangling in the soft fabric of her shirt, anchoring her, refusing to let the distance grow. “I am thinking clearly,” you insist, your voice rough, lacking any hint of the sluggishness she’s worried about. “I’ve wanted this for so long. It’s not the alcohol, Angela. It’s… you.”
She stays still, her gaze raking over your face, looking for the hesitation she’s so afraid to find. She finds none.
“I need you,” you whisper, the honesty of it stripping everything else away. “You have no idea how bad I need you right now. My body’s aching for you, and I’m… I’m so wet, Angela. Please.”
The effect on her is instantaneous. The caution that had been tensing her shoulders snaps, replaced by a sudden, intense hunger that mirrors your own.
“Okay,” she says, her voice dropping an octave, heavy with intent. “Okay.”
She doesn't waste another second. She surges forward, pressing you back against the cushions of the couch. She climbs on top of you, her knee sliding firmly between your legs to force them apart. The world narrows down to the heat of her, the friction of your jeans rubbing against each other, the heavy, frantic rhythm of your combined breathing.
You gasp as she settles her hips against yours, grinding down with a deliberate, slow pressure that makes your head spin.
Angela buries her face in the crook of your neck, her breath hot against your skin. “You’re killing me,” she murmurs, a small, frustrated laugh bubbling up before she cuts it off with a moan as you shift your hips to meet her. “God, you feel so good.”
She begins to move against you, the friction intense and agonisingly sweet. Every grind is a shockwave, a deliberate slide that has you arching into her.
You whimper. Fingers clawing at her shoulders, trying to pull her flush against you.
She answers with a melodic sound of pure pleasure, her hips finding a relentless, grinding rhythm that leaves no room for anything but the sensation. She kisses your jaw, your cheek, finally finding your mouth again in a hungry, bruising collision that leaves you breathless.
“Tell me again,” she murmurs against your lips, her movements unceasing, relentless. “Tell me exactly what you want.”
“You,” you breathe out, arching your back, your voice barely a broken whisper. “I just want you.”
Your hands fumble, fingers working over the waistband of Angela’s jeans, seeking the snap and the zipper. You find the metal, the sharp zip loud in the quiet of the apartment as you slide it down.
Angela pauses, her breath hitching in her throat. "Wait," she murmurs, catching your wrists. She doesn't pull away, though; she just shifts, moving with a fluid grace. She sits up to kick off her own jeans, then moves to help you with yours, her touch efficient and sure.
She returns to you, positioning herself carefully. She props her knee up against the cushion, creating a firm, inviting pressure point right between your legs. "Here," she says, her voice a rough, husky whisper. "Use me."
As you shift, pressing your centre against the hard angle of her thigh, your body betrays you. The contact is electric, so much more intense than it was through the layers of cotton and denim.
A sharp, involuntary jolt runs through your spine, and your hips buck upward on their own accord.
You clench your fingers into the fabric of her shirt, knuckles turning white as you pull her closer, your body vibrating with a sudden, overwhelming sensitivity.
It’s like a live wire has been pressed directly against your nerves.
Angela notices. She sees the way your head throws back, the way your breath comes in jagged, uneven gasps. She shifts her rhythm, her hand coming up to cup your face, her thumb tracing your lip while her knee maintains that steady, maddening pressure.
"Easy," she coos, her voice a low, soothing hum against your ear, grounding you. "It’s okay. Just breathe, baby."
But it isn't just okay. It's everything. You’re drowning in it. You grind down against her knee, and another jolt rips through your stomach, making your thighs tremble uncontrollably.
“I—I can’t,” you stammer, your voice cracking as the waves of pleasure start to crest. “Ange, I’m… I’m gonna…”
She keeps that rhythm, that steady, relentless grinding. You’re clinging to her, your body arching as if you’re trying to merge into her skin, feeling like you’ll shatter into a million pieces if she keeps moving like that. But God, you’d die if she stopped.
Her mouth finds yours again, swallowing your moans.
“Mmh–,” you sob into her mouth, your legs locking around her hips, holding on for dear life as you grind into her.
“Go on. Don’t hold it back. Let go for me.”
She leans forward, her weight pressing down to meet you, her hands moving from your waist to grip your hips firmly, anchoring you to her.
The world suddenly narrows down to the single point of contact between you and her, and then the wire snaps.
“Oh– Fu–ck”
A wave of sensation, hot and electric, surges through you, so intense it makes your vision swim.
Your back arches, lifting off the cushion, and your fingers clutch at her shoulders, digging deep into her shirt. You feel like you’re dissolving, your body seizing in a rhythm that feels entirely outside of your control.
She doesn’t stop the movement; she keeps her knee pressed firmly against you, letting you crash against her over and over, feeling the wet heat of your climax against her skin. Her eyes are dark, fixed on your face, watching with a mixture of intense, protective pride and raw desire as you unravel.
“Good girl,” she whispers, the words vibrating against your ear, heavy with intent. “Yeah, right there. Just like that.”
It lasts for an eternity, leaving you breathless, your lungs heaving as the waves finally begin to crest and break.
You collapse backwards, your muscles finally releasing. Your entire body trembles with aftershocks.
You can’t even find the energy to form words, only soft sounds as you turn into jelly, boneless and smiling up at her.
Angela shifts, lying down next to you. She wraps her arms around you, holding you against her. She presses a lingering, grounding kiss to your temple, her fingers threading through your hair and stroking back the strands on your forehead.
“I’ve got you,” she murmurs, her voice thick, still vibrating with the echoes of your pleasure. “I’ve got you. Just breathe.”
She holds you tight, letting the silence of the room settle back over you, but it’s different now.
“Hey,” she says quietly, pulling back just enough to look at you properly. There’s still heat in her eyes, but it’s softened now, tempered with something more careful. “You with me?”
You nod, a little dazed but smiling faintly.
“Yeah,” you manage. “I’m… yeah.”
She lets out a breath, something easing in her shoulders.
“Okay,” she says. Then, after a beat, a small smile tugging at her mouth, “You’re not allowed to pass out on me right here, though.”
You laugh weakly, letting your head tip back into the couch. “Your couch is very convincing.”
“It is,” she agrees. “But I’m serious.”
Her tone softens again as she studies you, taking in the way you’re still a little shaky, still sunk into the cushions like gravity has doubled.
“You should…” she adds, quieter. “Stay. Don’t go home like this. It’s late, and you’re exhausted.”
You blink up at her, the suggestion settling slowly.
“Yeah?” you ask.
“Yeah,” she says. “I’ll take care of you.”
There’s something about the way she says it that makes your chest tighten in a completely different way than before.
Warm. Safe.
You shift slightly, still not fully trusting your legs, your hand brushing against her arm.
“Do you… want a turn?” you ask, voice soft, a little uncertain now that the moment has changed shape.
Angela huffs out a quiet breath, shaking her head immediately.
“No,” she says, gentle but firm. “No, I’m good. I promise.”
You look at her like you don’t quite believe it.
She smiles a little, softer now.
“I’m serious,” she adds. “I’m more than okay. I don’t want to overwhelm you, alright? You’re already wiped.”
That settles it.
You nod slowly. “Okay.”
“Okay,” she echoes.
She stands first, then offers you her hand. “Come on. Up you get.”
You take them, and immediately regret it when your legs try to remind you what just happened.
“Whoa—” you laugh, grabbing onto her more fully.
“Yeah,” she says, steadying you easily, one arm coming around your waist without hesitation. “I got you.”
There’s no teasing in it. Just support.
She keeps a hand at your side as she guides you down the short hallway, slow and careful, letting you lean into her as much as you need. The apartment is dim now, only a few lights left on, the quiet stretching with each step.
Her bedroom is simple. Comfortable. It feels like her.
“Sit,” she says gently, guiding you to the edge of the bed.
You drop down with a small sigh, already sinking into the mattress.
Angela disappears into a drawer, then turns back with a loose shirt in her hands.
“Here,” she says, holding it out. “You can wear this.”
You take it, fingers brushing hers briefly.
“Thanks,” you murmur.
She nods, then hesitates for half a second before gesturing toward the door.
“I’ll… give you a minute,” she says. “I’m just gonna lock up.”
You nod again.
She steps out, pulling the door mostly closed behind her.
The apartment goes quiet again as Angela moves through it.
Lights click off one by one. The soft glow in the living room fades, then the kitchen, until only the faint light from the hallway remains. She checks the door, locks it, leans her forehead against it for just a second like she’s catching up with herself.
Then she exhales, pushes off.
By the time she comes back, she’s changed too. A loose shirt she found in the spare room, soft and worn, her hair slightly more undone than before.
She pauses in the doorway.
You’re already in her bed, curled slightly under the covers, her shirt hanging loose on you, looking smaller somehow, softer.
It does something to her.
Something quiet.
She crosses the room without saying anything, slipping into the other side of the bed, careful not to jostle you too much.
For a second, she just lies there. Then you shift closer instinctively, like you’ve already decided where you belong.
Angela huffs out a soft breath, something between a laugh and a sigh, and lifts her arm without thinking, letting you tuck in against her side. Her hand settles at your back, warm and steady.
“Comfortable?” she murmurs, echoing earlier.
You nod against her, already drifting.
“Yeah,” you whisper.
She presses a light kiss to your hair.
“Good,” she says.
The quiet settles around you again, softer this time. Not empty. Full.
Her fingers trace slow, absent patterns against your back as your breathing evens out, sleep pulling you under faster now.
Angela stays awake a little longer, just enough to feel it. The weight of you against her. The reality of the night. The way something shifted and didn’t shift back.
Then, eventually, she lets her eyes close too.
And the apartment finally, completely, goes still.
