#( I WAS NOT PREPARED FOR THIS BUT IT IS WHAT IT IS LET'S GO MEET THE BABY!! )

[redrage71890]

Backing Voice (Yan! KPDH x Fem! MC) Part 3

Synopsis: A cancelled live performance and a wave of demonic energy, pushes our girl to her breaking point. All the while her new acquaintance wishes to hear that voice sing once again.

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Yandere

CW: Medicated Drug, Panic/Anxiety Attack

Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Word Count: 3.2k A/N: Quite literally thank you guys enough for your support for reading this fic. Also this is just my interpretation of the Saja Boys bc they're basically just their stereotypes in the movie. The interpretations are based off on how other fics write them.

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A couple days have passed since (Y/N)‘s encounter with Jinu, she’s had plenty of work to fill her time. Too much in her opinion. The busy schedules and organising interviews and shows for the girls to appear in, not to mention preparing for the live performance coming. Golden featured more of her singing which is a problem for her at the moment.

Her hands won’t stop shaking. The bags under her eyes were deeper than before. Faint red pink lines were forming on her neck and arms from her constant scratching nails. Her eyes twitched whenever she’s met with a bright screen.

She’s at her breaking point.

Tonight is the first live performance and she’s been working nonstop. Bobby was nothing like her current state, though he’s been doing this longer than her. He’s much more relaxed and significantly less stressed than her. But he’s not the one who also does the live backing vocals.

Ever since meeting Jinu, she felt her nerves like usual when talking, but she was happy in the moment for an unknown reason. Maybe it’s because someone acknowledged her singing outside of her space. Perhaps it was a chance of meeting someone new who isn’t familiar as her being a manager for HUNTR/X.

Who knows.

(Y/N) just knows that she wants outside of her bubble.

Interrupting her thoughts was Bobby who came to her side, with a water bottle in hand. “You don’t seem to be going well (Y/N). Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Bobby worriedly questions.

Time was moving way too fast. It was already rehearsing time for the show.

“Y-Yeah! I’m fine Bobby! Thanks for the water, I’ll tell the girls their on in five!” Quickly grabbing them water and speed walking away as fast as she can.

Pulling along her collared shirt trying to free up more air in her lungs. All the air she was breathing escaped way too quickly. Her chest was hurting like she was hit by a truck.

‘It’s fine it’s fine it’s fine! Just one performance.’

(Y/N) knows they’re eager to turn the honmoon gold, but the world isn't ending anytime soon. A break should be reasonable enough as it is! For gods sake they JUST finished a tour literally a couple DAYS ago.

Take. A. Break.

‘Please….for me I beg…’

Reaching their changing rooms she gently knocks on the door. Hearing a small noise coming and the rattles of the handle, she’s met with the wondering familiar eyes of Zoey and Mira.

“(Y/N)! What’s up!” Zoey greets her as she lunges herself at her body. Encasing her in a tight hug. Thrusted to wake up with her being crushed by the ever sweet hunter. “Zoey! You’re crushing her!” Mira thankfully ushers Zoey to let go. Taking deep breathes to regain her lost oxygen, she glared at the sweet girl, only to be unseen by her.

"*Huff* You're on in five *huff.* Can you relay that to Rumi? *huff* I need to prepare myself."

"Okay. But are you alright? You haven't spoken to us in a while. Since the tour ended. We've been thinking that we should go to dinner sometime, if you're up for it." Mira questions, picking up on the beads of sweat on her forehead.

"We're just worried about you. You kinda avoiding us. W-We just want you to be okay! We can watch some turtle videos if you'd like? Something for us to unwind to. You don't have to worry about singing for a while once this is over."

"Yeah sure sure. Yeah. I'm fine. Just, get ready for the show. Don't worry about me. My voice is fine."

Staggering out immediately after, their worried comments falling on deaf ears.

Hurriedly speed walking towards one of the sound guys and taking a microphone for herself. Digging into one of her pockets and pulling out a container with small individual capsules. Popping one open and picking out a pill inside before throwing it in her mouth. Snapping the water open and chugging half of the bottle to push down the medication.

Her breathing began to calm and her mind felt clearer. But her hands wouldn't stop shaking. A strange mix of calm and nerves waring in her mind and body. Pushing through those feelings and thoughts, her ears pick up the instrumental beginning to play, she puts the mic near her lips.

"I was a ghost, I was alone (Hah)"

"Eoduwojin (Hah) abgilsog-e (Ah)"

"Given the throne I didn't know (Hah) how to believe (Hah)"

"I was the queen that I'm meant to be (Ah)"

Rumi's voice unnerving and only building up to more for later. (Y/N) breathily adding to her words and adlibbing along.

"I lived two lives, tried to play both sides"

"But I couldn't find my own place"

"Called a problem child 'cause I got too wild"

"But now that's how I'm getting paid, kkeut-eobs-psi on stage"

Layering her voice to harmonise with the girls like usual. Holding back until later.

"I'm done hidin', now I'm shinin'"

"Like I'm born to be"

"We're dreamin' hard, we came so far"

"Now I believe"

Dragging her voice along for the build up, but it more vocal in volume than usual.

"We're goin' up, up, up"

"It's our moment"

"You know together we're glowing"

"Gonna be, gonna bе golden"

"Oh, up, up, up"

"With our voices"

"Yeong-wonhi kkaеjil su eobsneun"

"Gonna be, gonna be golden"

Echoing the words of Rumi and her voice. She continues to push.

"Oh, I'm done hidin' now I'm shinin'"

"Like I'm born to be~"

"Oh, our time, no fear, no lies"

"That's who we're born to be~!"

Raising her voice high to match Rumi but ends up subtly going higher than her. Quickly realising her mistake and at the same speed pushing down her loaded hurls of self-deprecation.

"Waited so long to break these walls down"

"To wake up and feel like me"

"Put these patterns all in the past now"

"And finally live like the girl they all see"

Her silence in the verse made her vulnerable to her deprecating voices in her head. Just enough for a burning sensation to tingle at the sides of her mouth and neck.

Whispering a stream of pleas to quiet her mind.

"No more hiding, I'll be shining"

"Like I'm born to be"

"'Cause we are hunters, voices strong"

"And I know I believe~"

Collecting herself again with continuously shaking hands.

"We're goin' up, up, up!"

"It's our moment"

"You know together we're glowing"

"Gonna be, gonna be golden"

"Oh, up, up, up"

"With our voices"

"Yeong-wonhi kkaejil su eobsneun"

"Gonna be, gonna be golden"

'When does this end....'

"Oh, I'm done hidin', now I'm shining"

"Like I'm born to be~!"

"Oh, our time, no fears, no lies"

"That's who we're born to b-"

'Huh?'

The music suddenly stops as she abruptly ends her note to avoid being heard. Collapsing to her knees and clawing at her neck as the burning turned into an itching sensation.

She can hear Bobby and Mira worrying about Rumi, while she dismisses and tells them to restart the part.

Scrambling up to her feet and halts her scratching with the mic at her lips again.

"I'm done hiding"

"Now I'm shining"

"Like I'm born to b- (cough)"

Stopping her voice and falling to her knees again. A whirling nauseating pain flows through her head. Gripping her temples and clawing down her face to the added pressure.

Just picking up that Rumi wanted to take five, her heart raced even faster.

She couldn't hear anything around her. A white ringing noise filling her ears. Clawing at her ears with her breathing hastening in speed.

"Stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop! Shut up be quiet. Shut up. Be quiet. Shut up. Be quiet. Go away. Go away... (hick)"

A waterfall of tears pour down her face as she quietly sobs, while hyperventilating through her tight chest. Her clawing actions stop at her neck, feeling the sweat sticking to her skin like slime.

The space was unnaturally empty for a busy stage trying to ready for a live performance.

Nobody to see the jagged patterns clawing at her neck. Reaching its way over her mouth.

Scratching and scratching at the patterns while her tears begin to extinguish the burning feeling every time it drips down her chin.

But she suddenly stops.

A silencing sensation abruptly halts her breakdown.

Something demonic was sent through the honmoon.

————————————————————

Her prays were finally met when she heard that Bobby cancelled the performance that night. Visualising her appearance was enough for her to text Bobby about leaving early. She felt horrible to leave everything for Bobby to handle.

But she was in absolutely no condition to help.

Making her own way back to the HUNTR/X tower, she sped her way towards her bathroom. Finally taking a look at herself in the mirror.

'Its still you. At least...'

Chuckling to herself and tracing her lips and along the lightning like patterns. Her usually shaggy short (f/c) hair being an absolute mess with baby hairs sticking to her face around her eyes and cheeks. Peaking through her bangs, staring back at her was a prominent gold and (f/c) tired gaze. The red veins on her sclera being bright and obvious to her crying fit earlier. The faint purple patterns reaching down to her neck, wrapping around the area were her vocal cords are.

Unbuttoning her top and disrobing her wrinkled clothes, discarding them in on the floor. Ruffling her hair and switching on her shower. Dowsing her body with cold water and washing away her tear stained cheeks.

Her first moment of silence since her time at the park.

'I wonder how Jinu is doing...'

(Y/N) has been thinking of the demon, why he was on the surface in the first place. If she considered demons nature, it wouldn't be anything good.

But she had a feeling that's not the only reason being here.

Granted she has no explanation for her reason. And additionally, she knows nothing about Jinu. He just awkwardly complimented her voice and she's the one who left early and brushed off his want for conversation.

'Damn it all! Stupid anxiety!'

Mentally cursing herself aside, she turns off her shower and steps out to wrap her body in a towel.

*Ping!*

She heard her phone alert go off. Drying off her body and stepping into her bedroom, she checked her messages and wasn't sure what to really do.

Zoey: Hey (Y/N)! We're going out for dinner since Rumi came back :D We'll save you a seat don't worry! Zoey: XXX-XXX-XXXX

(Y/N) felt no energy to go out with the girls. But she'll admit, she is worried for Rumi.

Her voice cracking pretty recently is probably making her even more stressed. Perhaps the honmoon turning gold is more important to her than she thought.

But she isn't sure if she's fit to go comfort Rumi.

Her body just feels drained.

"(sigh) What I do for these girls."

Rummaging through her cupboard and lazily throwing on a hoodie and pants. Roughly brushing her hair to to seem less messy and throwing on a pair of sneakers. Grabbing nothing else but her phone.

Entering the streets of Seoul and ignoring the slide comments of some about the cancelled show.

She felt reallllly bad for Bobby.

She's supposed to be one of the managers, but here she is wandering through the night streets and making her way to the girls. Not even bothering throwing her hoodie on because she was just tired.

Not able to pay attention to her surroundings.

*Bump!*

“Oof!” Staggering on her feet she turns around to meet the eyes of the other.

But a gentle smile meets her tiresome face, belonging to the familiar demon and his dreamy brown eyes.

”Jinu.”

”(Y/N)…”

Said demon felt relief to see her again. Her voice has been living in his mind rent free. It made him feel like a person again. Like he wasn’t a being that feeds of the souls and the shame he too feels from his previous actions.

He wants to hear her sing again.

“What are you doing here?” (Y/N) questions tiredly rubbing her temples. “I wanted to see you again.“ Jinu answers without a doubt. Though he can’t exactly be honest with her. He doesn’t even know if she’s a hunter, or whether once she knows his plan, if she’ll just slice him without hesitation.

But whether she’s a hunter or not, he still wants to see her.

”That’s a bit strange, don’t you think? W-We just met a couple days ago.” (Y/N) blankly states. Even though she wanted to see him again, it was still weird in her head. Jinu on the other hand sweat dropped at her statement.

”One can say that, but I don’t see it that way.” His response wasn’t what she imagined. But to be fair, she wasn’t sure what to think of him. “Ever since I heard you sing, I couldn’t get your voice out of my head. It’s made me…. want to see you again…” Jinu tried to describe how he felt, but even he couldn’t explain it using words.

He just felt comforted yet haunted by her tone and song.

It made him forget.

And it made him curiously want more.

”Hmm…if that’s how you feel.” (Y/N) shrugs her shoulders while muttering to herself. It feels weird to hear someone compliment her, or at least try to.

“But to be fair myself, I liked our little chat before. Even if it wasn’t much.” Her anxiety was subsiding unnaturally. She really did like being in Jinu’s presence.

That little statement was enough for Jinu to look at her like an excited puppy. "Perhaps.....maybe...we could talk more?" The words felt foreign from her mouth, her anxiety still present that just makes her second guess what to say. Nervously scratching the back of her neck.

Jinu gleams at her. "Then, why don't we go now?"

(Y/N) whips her head at him again with a widened expression.

Now? She can't. The girls are waiting for her, she has to know what happened. Something spread a demonic energy through the honmoon. And last she checked, demons don't do that. A tare feels different than what that was.

Whether she likes it or not...

She's considered a hunter.

"Sorry Jinu, I actually have som-"

"Jinu! Buddy, where have you been?"

Cutting her off was the sound of a deeper voice coming from behind Jinu.

Glancing up she catches four figures gathering behind the dreamboat. Two of them had pink hair but in different cuts and hairstyles, while the another had bright cyan underneath a yellow hat and the last having long silver grey with bangs that covered his eyes.

Their faces were alluring. Sculpted by the gods with unfair favouritism. Going all the way down to their bodies and from the sound of it, their voices too. Though even for (Y/N), they seemed way too perfect to be human.

'A group of demons? This can't be for a good reason...'

In the back of her mind, (Y/N) didn't want to fully trust Jinu. His random purpose on the surface is enough to justify her lingering doubts. But she pushed them aside just because she genuinely enjoyed the short time they had talking. Even if it was mainly him trying to talk to her.

The group of boys seemed to rag on Jinu about something like 'dancing' and 'practice.' Which only brought one answer to her mind.

"Are you guys dance training for something?"

Her voice bringing on five sets of eyes on herself. The one with the longer pink hair smirked upon meeting her questioning gaze, unnoting her own flinching back into herself.

"Why yes, are you curious?" He approached closer into her space, shivering at his invasion and taking a small step back to create distance. Jinu notices her uncomfortable expression, coming up to the pink headed demon to prevent going forward.

"Romance, you're making her uncomfortable." Halting his friends actions made the now named 'Romance' stare at him with a bit of surprise. Before Jinu turns his attention back on (Y/N) with a confident smile.

"We are actually practicing. We're debuting as a new boy group tomorrow." His answer brought more surprise to (Y/N)'s face.

"A boy band? I mean....you have the looks for it, can't say anything about everything else." She was just muttering to herself at this point. But Jinu heard what she was saying, taking it as a good sign for him.

"How about you come watch us perform tomorrow."

"Hmm? You sure?"

"Of course, we'll save a special spot just for you."

Well....considering that the girls are probably gonna have the day off tomorrow because of the cancelled show, it'll be good to keep an eye on these demon boys.

As long as they aren't hurting people, she has no reason to send them back.

But another reason popped into her head.

Sighing to herself she just hums and nods her head. "Sure. Why not?"

Jinu's eyes lighted up like fireworks at her response, internally pumping his fist in succession.

"Great! Here's a flyer for tomorrow." Handing her a pretty pastel flyer with the name 'Saja Boys' on the front with a logo of a lion plastered on the centre.

"Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow then." Gently smiling at them before waving a hand and continuing her walk.

Unbeknownst to her, the Saja Boys had differentiating reactions and thoughts.

They were quite intrigued by her. Jinu hasn't been fully present since his meeting with this girl, which got the others curious. He said he couldn't describe the feelings that ignited inside when he heard the girl sing.

Baby and Mystery mainly brushed it off and paid no mind to it. While Abby and Romance were slightly interested but never thought about it further.

That is until they did meet.

And my oh my...

They kinda understood?

(Y/N) from a first glance appeared quite pretty if Romance said so himself. Her baggy attire making her more relaxed and casual than the dolled up girls that he saw around before. But even that extenuated her natural beauty. But her speaking voice seemed to make Romance understand Jinu's fixation just a little bit more. Something melodic about her undertone drew his mind to a strange white noise. It wasn't anything mind numbing or dreadfully empty, it was calming.

Mystery isn't one for speaking but his heart skipped a beat hearing her casually talk. That haunting tone in her voice peaked his interest out of curiosity. But what caught him most was her eyes. A (f/c) gaze with a rim of gold around her iris. How come Jinu didn't mention that?

Abby was curious for sure about this (Y/N) chick. Wondering what the deal is with her said voice. But he was quite intrigued upon meeting the quietly shy girl. How can such a beautifully described voice come out of her?

Baby wasn't listening majority of the time Jinu was yapping about this girl. What was so important that it took that much brain space in that head of his, to the point that it looked like he was in a trance. But even meeting the girl herself, he'd rather see how things play out now that he himself has caught a glimpse of what is so intriguing.

Oh what will happen indeed...

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Edit: Fun fact, the whole panic attack part is based of one that happened to me. My whole anxiety back when I was in school basically inspired this idea in the first place. Also I have no idea why I gave Romance more time than the others, it just happened |(￣3￣)|

Tags: @kitsune-05, @the-bookish-artist, @apelepikozume, @shoopershtar, @ravvilicous, @valeriele3, @vikc, @lasa27, @chipster-321, @greensunflowerjuna, @napbatata, @that-one-girl2020, @tagmepls, @thoughtfulbananaduckcroissant, @minepugs, @crescent-z, @colorfulgardenerduck, @poem-bee, @deityofprocastinating, @0-undead-0, @gremlinartstudio, @jessica-mcd, @strayharmony943, @fruityg0rl, @cherryblossomfox, @aominehaven, @kyxmlii, @ssaischilling, @sweaterkitty-fluff, @historygeekqueen, @satansdaughter123, @theall-seeingone, @nvmkyuu, @amenabii, @julianne1024, @doggyteam2028, @nisarelle, @theall-seeingone, @hi-itsmee28, @celesteelysia, @maritheillusion, @levifiance, @kangsae-byeokfan, @hornehlittleweeblet12, @scara-simp69, @fancyhawk45, @shqyou, @enerofairy, @futuristicdefendorfart, @scentwombatarcade, @eliengoddes, @irethepotato, @sra7riddle-malfoy, @jessica-mcd

[reidrum]

plush, interrupted | s.r.

A/N: everyone say thank you margot for providing me with the doctor!reader idea to get me out of my writer’s block (this felt very rusty to write still so pls take with a grain of salt)

summary: in which dr. reid attempts to find the perfect birthday gift for you

cw: doctor!reader, fluff, mild suggestive content if you squint but not really honestly

wc: 1.9k

It’s a balancing act to juggle the gift bag, bouquet of flowers, and the box of your favorite donuts as he bends precariously to press the doorbell. The real act is controlling the beads of sweat forming on his brow bone—he’s real nervous about tonight going well, hinging on proving the voices in his head wrong that you won’t hate your gift.

The door swings open, he smells you before he sees you, wafts of gourmand calming his nerves immediately. “Hi baby, happy birthday.”

You melt visibly, “Spence, what is all of this?”

“For you, obviously.” he steps in, handing you the box of donuts and flowers so he can remove his shoes, “I got your favorites.”

After placing his shoes on the rack he meets your face again to see you mid bite, already devouring a chocolate sprinkled donut. An easy grin splits his face wide open in pure adoration for how content you look with a stray sprinkle on your lip.

“Sorry, I’ve been craving these for literally ever. The hospital admin said it was too far to get it catered for the break room, and ugh I’m sure you could hear my heart shattering.” you pout.

Spencer reaches a thumb to your face and swipes the stray sprinkle, letting it land between your lips as you gently part around it. “Good thing I can be your donut dealer then.”

You giggle, “Donut dealer! And how would I pay you adequately for your services?”

“I can think of a few ways.” he curls a hand around your waist, sinking and imprinting down to tug you closer to him.

“Sounds like a threat,” you breathlessly laugh.

His head dips down to press a kiss behind your ear, a spot he’s discovered to be a tender one, where he relishes in the shivers and preening he can induce from a simple touch. “It’s more of a promise.”

He hasn’t dropped the L-word yet, surprisingly, since you make it so easy to want to say it every waking moment he spends with you. It’s only been a few months since you started dating and Spencer really believes he would have said it on the second date if he had no filter. 

You walk towards the kitchen in search of a vase for the beautiful flowers he’d brought, “I’m really happy you’re here, I was so sure a serial killer would have whisked you away this week and I was fully prepared to spend the day all by my lonesome.”

Spencer follows you, “Couldn’t have that now, could we? I think I’m more surprised you got the week off.”

“It was all Arlene,” you chuckle, “she insisted I switch shifts with her to quote ‘Spend my birthday doing hot illegal things with my hot federal boyfriend.’ end quote.”

“Hot illegal things?” Spencer grins, leaning against the kitchen island with a brow raised. “Like what?”

Your eyes flit to the abandoned gift bag from your colleague in the corner. “You can’t laugh.”

The amusement overfills his eyes, “I won’t, I promise.”

You continue trimming the flower stems in a poor attempt to avoid confrontation with him. “She got me a slave Leia costume.”

A loud laugh rumbles from his chest, “Like from the movie?”

“Yes, like from Return of the Jedi. Don’t laugh.” you fail to hide your smile as you point your scissors threateningly at him.

Spencer rounds the kitchen island to stand next to you, hands coming to your shoulders to smooth down the figure of your body. He chuckles, “I’m more of a Star Trek person personally, but I’m sure we can make it work.” he leans down to press another kiss to the base of your neck, reaching for your hands holding the scissors, “Will you let me do this? Don’t want you doing anything today.”

“It’s okay Spence, I’m almost done.” you say softly, plucking a petal off.

His hands encompass yours, “I bought them for you so you could enjoy how almost as pretty as you they are, let me do it.”

“Aw, you think I’m pretty?” you bat your lashes.

“Always.”

You resign with flutters in your stomach, “Fine, does this mean I can look at what’s inside that bag you brought?”

He freezes, ironically, because being around you makes him feel like he’s braving the surface of the sun. The glow, the light, the warmth of it all encompassing his entire being, all just by you existing. Entirely the point in why he freezes, because you questioning about the contents of the bag means he has to come to terms that this is the pivotal moment in which you decide if this is all worth it.

Okay, he’s being very dramatic.

Truth be told, he had thought long and hard about what to get you. This wasn’t a simple holiday like an anniversary or Christmas, this was your birthday. A day where you deserved to feel special. You deserve to feel special everyday of your life, and Spencer makes sure of it as best as he can to make you feel that way. But finding the perfect gift for someone who deserved the world was a feat in itself.

Spencer isn’t exactly private about you to the rest of the team, but he definitely likes to keep you close to his heart. They knew about you for sure, after the first week of meeting you Spencer couldn’t hide his sudden change in mood and optimism for life. You were new, exciting, lovely to have around, and god forbid he wants to hold you secret for his eyes only.

He figured he had to outsource somewhere to get some help, and it was slightly helpful he recalls.

A few days ago…

Derek saunters into the bullpen and grins, “Pretty boy, I hear it’s Dr. Pretty Girl’s birthday soon.”

Spencer looks at him puzzled, “How do you know that?”

“Little birdie told me.” 

Garcia, he deduces. Morgan continues, “You decide what to get her?”

“Not yet—well, I have something in mind. I'm just not sure if she’ll like it.”

JJ chimes in, “Ooh, is it heart shaped jewelry? Girls hate that.”

“I got my last girl a heart pendant necklace, said she loved it.” Morgan counters.

“And that’s why she was your last,” Emily snickers, earning a playful shove from him. “How long have you guys been dating now? Few months now, right?”

“2 months, 14 days, 21 hours.”

She rolls her eyes, trust Spencer to have the answer down to the minute. “Ah, so you can’t get her anything too big.”

Spencer furrows his brows, “Why not?”

Emily and JJ share a look, “If you get something too big then you set her expectations too high, if you get something too small then you make her think she’s not important to you.”

“But she is really important to me.”

Morgan reaches over from his perched position on Spencer’s desk to ruffle his hair and chuckle, “So then think, lover boy.”

He’d scour store after store for weeks looking for something that he thinks you’d like. He passed on necklaces and rings knowing you weren’t allowed to wear it during your shifts. You had enough stationary to last you the rest of your life, enough candles to light every inch of your apartment.

Then, as he’s scrolling on his phone through the New York Times Games—he’d got the notification you completed the crossword and went to go complete it himself.

A very, very, targeted ad that is so on point it might as well have a big red dot smack in the middle, pops up before he can click start puzzle.

It’s so silly, ridiculous, there’s no way you would think it’s a good gift. You had class, elegance. But it seems just whimsical enough to where you might actually like it.

You say his name softly again, waving a hand in front of his face to gain his attention. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he snips the last flower stem and finally arranges the bouquet in the vase, “You can open it, but if you hate it please don’t tell me. Or tell me because I kept the receipt in case you didn’t, and then I can return it and find a better gift for you. Or if you do like it that’s great, but I’m really nervous you won’t and I’m actually making myself more nervous because I think you’re going to pretend to like it so my feelings don’t get hurt. You don’t have to spare my feelings, I promise, I can take it. And—“

“Spencer,” you say sternly.

The death grip on the emotional support flower stems tightens, “Yeah?”

“I’m going to love it regardless, because it came from you. You didn’t even have to get me anything, I told you.”

“If I could give you everything, I would. I’m still figuring out how to bring the moon down for you.” he says with pure intent.

You peck his cheek, “How romantic.”

You place the bag on the island and start delicately pulling out the paper stuffing, revealing an oblong shaped item wrapped in tissue paper. You unwrap it completely and audibly giggle through bubbling happy tears as you stare down at the contents.

In the middle of the tissue paper lies a plushie, complete with the vessels and chambers to make an anatomical heart, adorned with two little beady eyes, sets of arms and legs, and a smile almost as endearing as Spencer’s.

“Oh my god. I love him, are you joking?” you squeal.

Spencer’s heart loosens its chain, “Really?”

“Yes!” you pick up the plush and hold it close to your chest, relieved and overwhelmed to find his cologne sprayed on it flooding your senses. “Oh my god, he’s so freakin’ cute I can’t.”

“JJ was so sure you’d think it was stupid.” he mumbles.

“Are you kidding me? This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

He can’t hide his surprise, “The best gift?”

“Yes, the best gift ever.” you hug the plush tighter, “I’ve never gotten something like this before and I can’t believe it’s taken this long for it to happen. He’s going straight to my desk, I hope you know that.”

The relief is visible on his face, complimented by the rosy blush of his cheeks at how enamored you look by your new friend. His hands circle your waist, “I’m glad you like it, pretty girl. Happy birthday.”

You turn to kiss him soundly on the lips, “Thank you, I really really love this, like, so much. More than the donuts.”

“I think that’s the best compliment you could’ve ever given me.” he mutters into your neck.

“This is my son now. His name is Artie.”, you proudly say, “Expect many pictures of us on the job and our day to day lives.”

He furrows his brows in amusement, “Artie…like arteries?”

“Maybe.” you say under your breath.

He opens his mouth to say it, the L-word, like it’s second nature and absolutely needed with how you’ve endeared him yet again by simply existing and being you. He wants to say it so bad, but he knows the moment in which he professes his love for you needs to be a special one. You deserve that much at least, not because you giving an anatomical heart plushie a cute name has made him realize why love incites wars and acts of passion and grandeur for a very good reason.

Spencer will however, remember this moment as the one where he realizes he is irrevocably, indisputably, entirely captivated and deeply, deeply, in love with you.

[danidrabbles]

Pulling a Double

Michael “Dr. Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader x unnamed f!resident | 11.6k words | explicit.

Summary: When Doctor Abbot breaks his collarbone, you come in from Presby to cover as attending on PTMC’s night shift until he’s fit to come back. During your time there, you meet Robby and one of his female residents. After a couple of tense situations, you pitch an idea to Robby on your last day.

Tags/Warnings: fem reader (female anatomy, has at least shoulder-length hair, bisexual), canon typical medical jargon and emergency department horrors (including car accidents, head trauma, drug overdoses, death of a child (mention), water ski accidents, injuries from glass) (but it’s me just saying shit because I’m not a doctor), alcohol consumption, power imbalance (two attendings vs. one resident), smut (including f/f/m threesome, protected piv, dirty talk, spitting and more) - let me know if I missed anyhthing!

Notes: Woke up one day and thought: What if Robby and Reader double teamed a pretty resident? One thing about me is I will find a way to serve the bisexual agenda. Big thank you as always to @javier-pena for jumping at every chance to read this, serving as my very speedy editor and leaving comments that make my writing better, and to @robinavich, not just for enthusiasm but also for reminding me Abbot probably had fall training as a former military medic...

– – – – –

It's Monday morning, on your day off, when you get a call about filling in for Jack Abbot. 

Apparently, he tripped and fell post-shift on the roof of the hospital. Landed on his shoulder. Split his collarbone clean in half.

Turns out that accidents happen, even if you've had military fall training–though 5'9"ish is probably nowhere near the altitude he trained at.

It's nice as far as breaks go; needs no surgery, just a sling and some rest. He's out for at least six weeks. Most likely twelve.

The call surprises you, considering you work for a different hospital, but they've given you the all clear if you want the job.

UPMC Presbyterian has enough personnel, they can absolutely afford to miss you, but they’re usually more hesitant about temporary replacements. Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center is… struggling, not just with the general nursing shortage and budget cuts, but rumours have long been flying about the hospital “being up for sale”, and that doesn’t exactly make physicians want to apply for a job there. Your best guess is that Presby’s only lending an attending out because they’re not fully prepared for the swarm of patients it will bring to them should PTMC’s emergency department really shut down over staff shortages. 

You wonder if they know you’re personally invested. 

You met Jack when you did a rotation at the VA years ago, when you were in medical school and he was a military medic freshly torn apart by war. His medical background made him a little different from the other vets you’d met up to that point, and he had a certain calm around him, even though he had every right to want to curse the world. Throughout your rotation, he told you both the best and most harrowing stories about emergency medicine in the field. If you were being honest, it’s probably what inspired you to pursue the specialty. 

Though it might be best he never knows, he already won’t stop saying he has “permanent stock in your medical degree” after helping you with a particularly tricky biochemistry exam.

With that in mind, and considering there's a chance, albeit a very slim one, it might shut him up, you accept the offer.

– – – – –

You meet Robby on your second day at PTMC. 

It’s right before change of shift, when you’re swamped with two separate patients in Trauma 1 and 2. You’re making your way from one trauma bay (26-year-old female, car vs. pedestrian, then face vs. pavement, A and O with good vitals, but significant facial fractures) back into the other (42-year-old male, ataxic breathing, nasal discharge, and a dorsal head wound after a fall down the stairs during a sleepwalking episode), and bump into him. Or rather, your shoulders bump when you try to take the same place by the bed to assess the next steps. 

Once you figure your patient is probably bleeding more than expected because he’s anticoagulated, Robby orders history and a four-factor PCC to be on standby before you can even speak. 

Then he asks what’s in it.

You don’t reply, figuring his question is for one of the residents surrounding you and focusing on the atrial fibrillation on the monitor instead. But then he nudges you, “Today if you can. This is a teaching hospital, so let’s hear it.”

“I’m not a– I’m the attending taking over for Abbot,” you say.

He takes you in, trailing from your crown to your toes, then back up to your eyes. You curse inwardly when you realize your badge is hidden beneath the disposable white scrubs you have on over your regular ones. “Could have fooled me,” Robby says, before raising an eyebrow as if to say, Anyway, what’s in the four-factor PCC?

“Clotting factors two, seven, nine, and ten,” you grit out, because there’s no time, and because you might have just worked a 12-hour shift, but you could answer that in your sleep. 

“Excellent,” is all he says.

And you both get back to work.

After, when your patients are in the clear, shipped off to reconstructive surgery and neurosurgery respectively, you get properly introduced and Robby realizes you are in fact the attending taking over for Abbot. He apologizes for his slip-up and compliments your work on the trauma patients. He does so with his hands buried in the pockets of a hoodie he wears over his scrubs, his shoulders drawn up to his ears and a set of brown eyes that silently ask for you to accept his apology. 

It’s not worth the argument; you’re too fucking tired and his apology seems genuine, like he’s a hardass purely for teaching purposes and not because he actually enjoys grinding people down, unlike some other doctors you’ve come across. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Learn to live with it, learn to accept it, and find balance if you can–you heard that somewhere once. “Comes with emergency department chaos, right? And with first–fuck, no, second days,” you correct with a shake of your head. 

Robby looks at you with a quick narrowing of his eyes, a corner of his mouth turning up and his eyes crinkling around a careful smile. Finally, his shoulders slump, a little relaxation slipping into his frame as he exhales. 

The board overhead flickers with change, and both your heads turn up to read it – test results from someone in Central 6 that are back – probably a UTI, nothing too exciting. Robby makes his way to one of the computers to check, fishing a pair of round reading glasses from his pocket along the way. Setting them on his nose when he arrives, he clicks around a couple times with the computer mouse, before leaning down on his forearms to look at the results.

“All right,” you say, dragging a hand down your face. “Time to go home. Have a good shift, Doctor Robinavitch.”

“Just Robby,” he reminds you, eyes still slipping from left to right as he reads.

“Right. Robby,” you nod.

“I’ll let you know if it was a good one,” he sighs, before pocketing his glasses again and finding his back with his hands, shoulders drawing together as he straightens. When you frown, he elaborates, “This shift, I mean… When I see you tonight at the next change of shift? I did see you on the schedule, right?”

“Yes. I am on schedule. Sorry about the brain fog.” You yawn, covering your mouth with the back of your hand, then using the same hand to point a finger at the ceiling with a twirling motion. “Must be the 12 hours of flickering lights, and screaming, and… general fucking agony.”

Robby snorts. “Trust me, I know the feeling.”

You both look up when an announcement message echoes through the emergency department. “Attention, code STEMI. Attention, code STEMI. ETA 3 minutes.”

Something immediately changes in Robby’s demeanour, eyes flicking towards the ambulance bay before excusing himself to make his way to Dana, no doubt to figure out what room’s open. 

“Get some sleep!” he shouts over his shoulder.

Aye aye, captain…

– – – – –

You quickly fall into a routine of three on, four off, and every morning after work, you come home exhausted, but also weirdly satisfied. During one of your three’s, you’re asked to pull a double; Robby spoke at some conference in Chicago two days ago, his flight has a significant delay, PTMC is swamped… 

You like the idea of it – as much as one can like the idea of being in the emergency department for that long. It’s just that everything at PTMC is a rush in a way things at Presby aren’t. Presby is safe. Everything is by the books–everything. But emergency medicine can’t operate that way and it’s like everyone at PTMC knows that, takes calculated, sometimes even creative, risks, and gets results.

So, you agree to the double. It’s not like anyone’s waiting for you at home, anyway.

As night shift becomes day shift, you meet her. Or rather, you see her.

She comes sailing by on a gurney, on top of a patient, face scrunched up with effort as she delivers deep, steady chest compressions, presenting to you all the while as you rush after her (32-year-old male, came in with chest pain, collapsed as soon as he walked into the waiting room, no pulse).

As soon as he’s rolled into one of the rooms, you help her off him, one of the med students taking over on compressions. Everyone works fast, you hear yourself yelling out for a crash cart, one of the nurses hooks the patient up to check vitals, and as soon as you identify his rhythm as v-tach she is next to you, on standby with the paddles and waiting for the charge, voice steady when she says, “Clear.” 

It’s all it takes to get him back into normal sinus. 

Over the course of the day, you discover the morning isn’t a one-off. She’s a third year resident, quick to react, smart as hell, a bit of a blabbermouth, which she needs to work on as a professional but it mostly just makes you laugh. She sticks close in the Trauma rooms, seems to know exactly when to step in and when to let you take the reins. While waiting for surgery to come down, you talk her through an emergency REBOA on a guy with NCTH after a car accident, and she aces it.

By the end of shift, you’re running on fumes, discussing the state of the department with Shen when he arrives to relieve you, your voice rough from all the talking you did today. When you finish up with Shen, you do a quick round to make sure your dayshift is getting relieved, and find your R3 in Central 8. She’s finishing up her stitches on a guy who fell through a glass door. You take in her slumped frame, her frazzled hair, and the heavy blink of her eyes. 

Knowing when to quit is something she also needs to work on.

You pluck one of the med students from the hall, verbally walk her through bandaging the patient up and handling the discharge with Doctor Shen, then poke your head back in the door of Central 8. 

“Sir, we’ll have one of the student doctors finish up with you, is that all right?” you ask, giving the girl a little push inside when he agrees. You turn your attention to your resident. “You got a minute?”

She nods, switches places with the student, and drags a hand over her face once she’s out of her patient’s view. 

“Thanks. Thought this day would never end…,” she says as you lead her into the empty hallway. She looks at you then, like she suddenly realizes she said that to someone who has been here for over 24 hours. “Shit, sorry–”

“Don’t sweat it,” you say with a wave and a chuckle. “I did come to make sure you get some rest. And because I wanted to let you know that I think you’ve done a fantastic job today.”

She perks up, shoulders dropping, eyes wide as saucers. “You think so?” she asks. Her voice is laced with a little too much enthusiasm to just be from the adrenaline of the day. “Thank you.”

You nod, “You really impressed me.”

And, oh, the addition might be a mistake. Because after you say it, she flashes you a bright smile, like all the effort she put into today has suddenly become worth it because of your praise. She’s fucking gorgeous. You already noticed before, but it’s worse this close up; freckles dusted along her nose and cheeks, a set of sparkling, green eyes set on you. You wonder if she knows, or if she’s one of those women who have no idea how beautiful they are. And then she blushes. It’s devastating.

You can’t help yourself. Delirious on being on the receiving end of all of that, and on the hours you’ve worked, you feed her ego further, “Sorry, is Robby– Does he not tell you how great you are at this?”

“Oh, no, no, don’t worry! He does, but in his own… disgruntled way,” she laughs, then takes a step in your direction. “But I um, I really like hearing it from you.” 

You wobble where you stand, wanting to step back, but feeling like doing so gives this more weight than it should have. More than she might mean. Though deep down… you know, have gotten better at sussing it out over the years. You can tell from her airy little laugh, the hairs on her arms standing up straight, goosebumps disappearing under the sleeves of her scrubs, the way she bats her lashes while waiting for what you’ll say: she’s flirting with you. 

“From both of you.”

It unlocks something–something your fried brain can’t really provide you with a name for. Instantly, you wonder how many times a week that face gives Robby pause. How often he is on the receiving end of that smile and, fuck, this is bad. You need to keep your head on straight, you can’t let your co-workers get to you like this. 

Just teach. You are teaching. This is a teaching hospital. 

With a heavy blink, you pick your conversation back up. “But you do um, need to know when to take a break, all right? At the end of shift, find someone to take over for you. Don’t run yourself dry.”

She swallows thickly, then nods. 

“Okay, so–”

“When’s your next shift?” she cuts in. 

You bite your cheek, then say, “I don’t plan on making a habit of being on the day shift.”

She hums, sweet, high pitched, then clicks her tongue. “That’s a shame, I really like…,” she pauses, has the audacity to bite her lip and narrow her eyes at you as she scans your face, “...your teaching style.”

Christ, you’ve accidentally unleashed a monster. Or, well, not exactly accidentally, but it’s hard to hold yourself responsible when you’re spread so thin after such a long day. And when you have a pretty thing like her making advances at you. You like it, though. Like the back and forth–like it a little too much. And so does she, you can sense it radiating off of her, and you have to end this before you do something stupid, like find a rare, empty on-call room to show her exactly what your teaching style could do for her.

“That’s great to hear,” you say instead. “I’ll be sure to give Doctor Robby some pointers.”

“I’d like that,” she says.

“I bet,” you huff out, too much of a mumble for her to hear. “All right, get out of here, it’s end of shift. Go get some sleep,” you say, gathering your composure and sending her off with a jerk of your head.

As she walks away, you realize that Robby will be back tomorrow, even more disgruntled after his conference, his delayed flight, the general stress of the emergency department… and he’ll have to deal with that.

Maybe you should pity him, but you find yourself smiling instead.

– – – – –

Labour Day weekend is a shitshow. While dealing with all the madness a regular night shift entails, including a feverish toddler whose screams reach decibels previously unknown to man, and a burn victim from a house fire, there’s also the dozen or so attendees from an end of summer houseparty, where some ritalin pills were spiked with fentanyl. You see enough naloxone to last you at least a month – a lifetime if you’re honest. Four accidental overdoses don’t make it to sunrise. 

One of them is the 8-year-old brother of one of the partygoers, who had been asleep upstairs, snuck down, and most likely mistook the pill for candy.

Right before change of shift, you spot Robby by the central hub, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck while assessing the damage of the night via the board above him. Once you’ve updated him on everyone, you ask, “Do you need me to step in and help?”

He scoffs, because of course he does, especially now that he knows exactly what’s waiting for him this morning. He folds his arms in that way he always does, where they don’t quite cross and he holds one of his elbows. “Should tell you to go home.”

You open your mouth–

“But I won’t,” he says pointedly, leaning down a little to be at eye-level. “Two med students called in sick, there’s still no beds upstairs, it’s…,” he gestures at the board, “...a fucking nightmare here. Could really use an extra pair of capable hands.” 

“Thought so. I’ll stay,” you nod. 

Before you walk off, he grabs your arm, and when you turn… he asks if you’re okay. It catches you completely off guard. Not the question itself, but the way he asks; in a voice that’s so genuine and soft it cracks on every word, and with a little squeeze of his hand that makes the reassuring warmth of his palm bleed through your scrubs. Tears spring into your eyes, making Robby’s go soft in return.

“The night was um, rough,” you admit, blinking rapidly.

“Thought so,” he echoes. Then, carefully, “You should… let yourself feel it, it’s better if you let it out.”

Your head tips down with a knowing sigh. It’s not new information, but the reminder is nice. And, in a way, it’s a relief that you still haven’t become desensitized to all of this despite how many hours you’ve spent doing this job.

“Go get some cold water from the fridge in the staff lounge, sit, and don’t come back until at least an hour from now. And if you still want to stay, you can stay.”

You concede, nodding and inhaling slowly. “Thank you.”

“Hey,” he squeezes your arm, makes you look at him, eyes widening when he says, “Come find me, if you need me.”

It’s decidedly a declaration, and not a question. You blink up at him, hold his gaze for longer than necessary–longer than you should, because you can practically feel Dana’s stare and you don’t want her babying you all day because she’s worried.

“I will,” you promise.

Robby releases you, turning back to the board, and you make your way to the break room.

Exactly one hour later, you’re back on the floor.

Robby’s talking to Dana, hands in the pockets of his pants, nodding along to something she reads off her iPad. When he spots you, he cranes his neck and gives you a look. You give him a thumbs up in return and a fake smile, something that says, I’m still not okay, but doing well enough to be able to work. His reply comes in the form of a narrowing of his eyes and a huffed out breath. As soon as Dana is finished up with him, he approaches you until you’re standing shoulder to shoulder by the ambulance bay.

“We’ve got two en route, waterski vs. waterski,” Robby says.

You roll your shoulders and nod once. “I’ll take Trauma 1, you take Trauma 2?”

From the corner of your eye, you see his head turn to you, and you swear he smiles.

It’s a whirlwind after that, of screams and orders, blood, fractures, trauma. It’s a miracle you get your guy’s vitals to stabilise. The other room’s still frantic, and when you sail through the sliding doors between Trauma 1 and 2, you find it’s mostly because of how packed it is; there’s two nurses, an R1 on the phone, a med student taking notes, Robby’s listening in as Garcia from surgery fires away questions at Mr. Waterski 2, with his R3 by his side. 

You announce yourself by saying. “Other room’s stable, what can I do to h–”

“Got the blood!” comes from behind you. Another med student walks in, puts a brake on the speed with which he enters the room a little too late, and he steps on the back of your shoe as he hands the bag to one of the nurses.

You trip– or, rather, you’re shoved up against Robby’s resident. She squeaks out an, oh! when you collide with her, and your hands find her waist to keep yourself from tumbling over further. It’s no use. You’re like two dominos, your shared momentum making you crash into Robby. Her hands land on his chest to keep her own balance, and Robby stumbles backwards into the wall, a tray of medical supplies clattering to the floor. Your front is pressed against her back, your hold on her tightening as you essentially pin her up against Robby. His hands are up, blue gloved digits trembling slightly as he looks down at her, his pupils dilating, his next intake of breath sharp between his teeth. 

“Whoops,” she says between you, voice breathy, and you might have laughed, even just from the tense nerves fluttering through your body, if Robby hadn’t chosen that moment to flick his eyes up to yours over her head.

A deep, dark flush colours his cheeks, the tip of his nose, creeps down the protruding tendons in his neck and into the collar of the shirt he wears under his scrubs. Without your permission, your lip finds its way between your teeth, unable to look away from how affected he is.

Guess you aren’t the only one nursing a little crush.

But duty calls, and you untangle from each other as fast as you’d gotten pressed together. Robby sends the med student away with a curse and a barked out order that’s a little too sharp for the poor guy.

The alarms around you are still blaring, doing wonders to tuck your collision somewhere in the back of your mind and snap you back into attending physician mode. Taking the head of the bed, you keep Robby and his residents updated on vitals as they work on figuring out why they’re dropping.

Both water skiers make it.

– – – – –

After 12 weeks of alternating the night shift with Shen, you find yourself in one of the bars down the street, where the usual post-shift drink had turned into somewhat of an unofficial going away party. It's early evening and the mood is mellow, with people trickling in and out all night depending on change of shift.

Halfway through the night, when things have significantly quieted down, you spot Robby by the bar, freshly showered by the looks of it. It’s the first time you see him out of his scrubs. He’s swiveled around on his stool, bottle of beer in his hand. The moment your eyes find his, he turns his gaze away, staring straight ahead instead. He looks sad, but not in his usual puppy dog way, more like he’s… pining. When you follow his line of sight, it lands directly on–

Of course.

Before you know it, you’re making your way over with quick strides, a grin you can’t hide plastered on your face. When you reach him, you open your mouth–

“Don’t,” he begins with a scoff, “even start.”

“What?” you say innocently, tucking yourself between him and the open stool next to him, leaning back against the bar. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“Saw the little…,” he gestures at your feet, “...pep in your step as you came over. Can’t imagine what’s swirling around that head of yours.” 

“Can't help it, you have no idea what working the night shift with Ellis and Walsh as much as I have does to a person.”

“I do, that’s what’s got me worried,” he laughs. “You only have Mohan down there to keep you sane.”

Air puffs out your nose at that. “Speaking of.. What’s her deal? Sometimes she gets this… look on her face; Ellis describes it as looking like she just made the saddest realization.”

“She works in the emergency department,” Robby reasons.

“No, it’s more than that.”

Robby sets his beer down with a hum, then folds his arms like he’s hugging himself and closes one eye in thought, “Is it after someone brings up Abbot?”

Your time to think. “Now that you mention it…,” you say, going over your interactions in your head, “yes.”

He picks his bottle back up with a knowing nod. “She switched to the night shift a couple weeks before Abbot’s accident, looked real sad about his injury and the prospect of not seeing him for months. Think she’s harbouring some… warm feelings.”

“What about you?”

Robby grins. “I do not harbour warm feelings for Doctor Abbot.”

You give him an exaggerated fake laugh. “Just for someone else.” 

Robby takes a swig from his bottle, giving you a long look and swallowing thickly. It’s enough to make you straighten up, confused eyes narrowing before you use them to gesture at his resident. 

“Are you gonna make a move on her, or are you just gonna keep staring at her?”

He sighs deeply, like he knows better than to answer, but he does it anyway, “It alllll depends.”

“Oh, yeah?” You bring your drink up to your mouth. “On what?”

“If you are going to make a move on her.” 

It makes you spit your sip back into your glass with a choked sound. Fuck, okay, he’s more observant than you gave him credit for, noted. Robby smiles against the rim of the beer bottle pressed against his lips.

You gather your composure with a shrug. “It is my last day.”

“That it is,” he says with a slow nod.

Silence stretches between you when your mind prompts you with something–something you haven’t been able to stop thinking about since Labour Day weekend. This is kind of the perfect day to bring it up, to gauge Robby’s temperature and act on the tension that’s been present between the three of you ever since the incident.

You need an extra sip of your drink first, though.

As you do, you flick your eyes to the side and find Robby fidgeting with the collar of the brown button down he’s wearing.

“We could both make a move on her,” you broach carefully.

“Absolutely not,” Robby snorts immediately, turning his head to face you. Then, more seriously, “We are not… competing over one of our residents.”

“Why? Afraid you’ll lose?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Pff, my job, maybe,” he puffs out quietly. 

“C’mon, you were with Heather and that didn’t cost you your job.”

“How do you even..? That was diff–” Realizing he took your bait, he licks his top lip, then swipes a hand down his face, scratching nervously at his beard before pointing back and forth between the two of you, “Because we’re not 20-somethings in med school, that’s why.”

You roll your eyes, take another sip. Like you need the reminder. “No one said anything about being each other’s competition.”

That catches him off-guard. The hand holding his beer hovers in the air, forgotten in its journey from his lap to his mouth.

You continue, “We could, I don’t know… double team he–”

“Please, don’t– Fuck. We can not fucking,” he lowers his voice to a hiss, “double team her.” 

Your eyes widen, and you throw your hands up in a way that says, Sorry I even considered it! With a large gulp, you finish your drink and put the glass on the bar behind you, willing the dent he put in your ego away. If Robby doesn’t want this, that’s fine, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have fun. “Message received. I’ll make my move then.”

After two steps, a firm hand closes around your bicep, slowly dragging you back. Your pulse jumps as he twists you around.

“Wait… a minute. I just…” Robby’s gaze darts between her and you, and back. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable because I’m there.” 

He signals with his eyes, implies… something, but what, you have no idea. Puzzled, you look at him, your brain going over the possibilities as your tongue passes over your bottom lip. If it’s not about you, and not about her, is it a self-esteem thing? Does he not know his whole… well, everything, does it for a lot of people? 

A little flush creeps up his face the longer you wait, until he can’t take it anymore. “Oh, for the love of– I’m a man.” 

Air escapes out of your nose at the comment. He can't even look at you after he says it. A smile threatens to curl at your lips, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep it from morphing into a full blown grin; you don’t want to make him feel bad because god, that’s actually really fucking cute…

“Robby,” you begin, stepping closer so that you’re standing in between his legs. You reach up, take the folded-over collar of his shirt between your fingers to feel if the fabric is as soft as it looks (it is). Robby’s breath hitches when you do, eyes flicking to your exploring hand for a moment. “Man, woman, anything in between… I don’t care, I like everything.”

Something changes in his eyes, like your words flip a switch in him, but not the usual switch that flips in men when you tell them you’re bisexual. This isn’t excitement over the prospect of potentially seeing you with another woman, even though that is on the table right now. It’s more about… the realization that you’re attracted to him, that you are included in the deal. It makes you shiver, more so when his eyes drop to your mouth, only for a second.

“So, unless you’re this slow in bed,” you tease, “should I go present our case to her?”

The hand around your bicep tightens, and you swear he growls. “No. I’ll settle our tabs and then I’ll fucking go to her. You go say your little goodbyes to everyone, it'd be rude not to.” He’s so close you can feel his warm breath fan out over your lips, “And once we get to yours, or mine, or hers–I don’t care where, I will show you exactly–”

“Easy,” you say, dragging the word out with a chuckle, his change in demeanour making you feel warm. “She goes first. And then we’ll see what happens.”

– – – – –

“Are you sure you’re sure?” you ask her on the way.

Robby’s behind the wheel of her car, driving towards her address she rattled off to him; he put the two of you in the back to catch up on what he told her. He hums in agreement. “Cause I can just… drive you home, we’ll get a cab, it won’t be a big deal.”

“And let you two have all the fun without me?” she laughs. Her hand finds your thigh. Unfair. “No.”

You stop her. “I’m serious.”

“And I appreciate that,” she says, voice losing its teasing lilt, turning her hand under yours and taking it with a squeeze, “but I want it, so you can stop worrying and start kissing me.”

“Okay,” you nod, watching her as she cups your cheek and leans in, a waft of her perfume, or maybe it’s the shampoo she uses, making it to your nose. Focus. “But um, anytime you want–”

“I know. I will. Now, kiss me,” she whispers, close enough that her eyes cross a little. “Please?”

A deep sigh sails from you the moment you finally close the distance, weeks of piled up tension finally coming to this moment–clearly inevitable, now that it’s here. Her lips are soft, and when you swipe your tongue over the seam of her lips, you taste a hint of some fruit-flavoured drink she had earlier tonight. She parts for you immediately, moaning as you close your lips around her bottom one with a suck, before letting your tongue meet hers.

“Fuck.” 

It comes from the front seat. Robby’s brown eyes look at you via the rearview mirror, flick to the road, and then back. 

“Are we far out?” you ask, kissing down her neck, enjoying the way she sighs, cups the back of your head, and tilts hers to give you more room.

“Almost there,” comes the gruff reply.

“Then step on it.” You make your way back up to her mouth. “You’re gonna want in on this.”

– – – – –

Her apartment is cute, quaint in an old-fashioned way, and you like it, it suits her. You stumble into the living room positioned much like that day you crashed into them in the hospital; Robby walking backwards, led by her steps as much as her kisses, and you at her back, hands on her waist and pressing your lips to her neck, her shoulder.

Before you can fully consider if her bedroom is anything like the rest of her place, Robby trips, the three of you landing on the couch instead, and you realize you’re not gonna make it to the bed. It’s impractical with three people, but there’s gentle laughter and the soft, yellow light of a lamp she flicks on, and you make it work. She certainly makes up for it in eagerness, dividing her time between you equally.

Robby manoeuvres her against one of the armrests, pulling at her clothes until her bottom half is bare, and pushing her top up to expose her tits. In no time, they’re glistening in the dim light, the skin rubbed slightly raw from the time he spends with his face all over them. Just as you've pulled your shirt off and rolled your jeans down, Robby's satisfied with his work. 

He pulls his hand from between her legs and drags you to them with a, “Got her nice and wet for you.” And as he starts unbuttoning his shirt, he moves back so you can take his place. 

To say you’re dying to taste her might be a bit of an exaggeration, but you do feel spit pooling on your tongue at the idea. You make your way down her body, soothing Robby’s assault on her skin, pressing kisses to some of the cute little freckles scattered across her torso and then on the curls that cover her pussy. 

Her legs widen to give you more room, and it really shouldn’t make you feel as smug as it does. Under other circumstances you would have taken some more time with her, but when you use two fingers to spread her open, your eyes glaze over a little at the sight of how Robby's prep has her dripping, and you can’t help yourself. 

You drag your tongue up between the V of your fingers, flattening it against her opening with a groan to really taste her. She’s sweet, soft yet slippery in a way that makes your blood pump. And she’s vocal, a little sigh or moan escaping her lips with every pass of your mouth. But it’s nothing compared to the pleased grunt she lets out when you tell her how much you’ve wanted to taste her for weeks.

Robby hovers behind you, the sound of his clothes rustling after the clink of his belt buckle filling your ears. Then the couch dips, and slowly, he plants a knee between your legs, scooting forward until his thigh meets the fabric between your legs. You can feel the line of his boxers, the press of his bulge against your ass. His hands close over your hips, pulling you harder against him and then he just… stays there, holding you in place. 

You slow down with a frown. It feels good, the little barrier between you beginning to soak through with the pressure, but–

“Just… keep going,” he says, fingers toying with the waistband of your underwear.

He’s using that voice, you realize. The kind of soothing tone that he’d use on a patient… right before pulling a dislocated shoulder back into place. He’s attempting to lull you into a false sense of security and it instantly has you on edge. 

“Fuck, please, that feels amazing,” comes from in front of you when you gently circle the tight bud under your tonue. Her hand reaches down to cup your face and hold you in place, while the other pinches at her own nipple. “Stay right there.”

Giving her your best attempt at a nod, you concentrate on keeping your rhythm instead of on Robby’s dislocated shoulder voice, to give her enough to please, but not enough to get her off just yet. But it’s hard, because Robby is still toying with the elastic on your hips, fingers dipping underneath and back out in a pattern you can't quite discern, and it’s fucking distracting.

When your resident’s hips begin bucking up, Robby’s hand finds the back of your head, his whole palm big enough to cup it, which is also very hard to push from your mind. His fingers twist into your hair and move you until you’re shaking your head between her soaking thighs, your tongue lolled out as you pass it over her clit again and again. 

It helps to get lost in her, how wet your chin is getting, how her arousal is smeared across your lips, your cheeks, your nose… until, without letting go, Robby shuffles back a little. You let out a whine, instantly chasing the pressure.

“Give me…,” he yanks your underwear down to mid thigh, “...a second,” then presses his bare thigh against your soaked folds.

You jerk against him, the surprised moan it tears from your throat filthy and loud, echoed by your resident only moments after. Robby chooses that exact moment to let go of your head, hands finding your waist to put an arch in your spine and angle you down using his bodyweight, and you’re helpless to stop it. It makes you slide along the hard muscle of his thigh, grinding you against him in a way that rubs your clit just right, and… 

You come.

It isn’t anything big, just a steady throb that comes with the friction on your clit after all that continuous pressure. It does nothing to douse the twinge of arousal pooling in your belly–borders more on the painful side of pleasure. Most of all, it pisses you off.

“I said her first,” you snarl, your head snapping back at him as you let two fingers take over for your mouth.

“Could’ve just waited,” Robby shrugs, and he looks so annoyingly smug, smiling down at you, still holding you tight against him–he can probably feel you fluttering. “I can’t help it that you’ve got such an eager pussy.”

Jesus fucking Christ, maybe you underestimated him. Maybe you should have left him in the bar. 

Then again, you’re more turned on than you ever remember being.

“When you get a taste of her you’ll see why it’s so hard to concentrate,” you attempt to quip.

“Make her come and I will,” Robby challenges, and this time when he pulls his leg back, it feels like relief.

With a huff, you turn your attention back to the woman in front of you, attempting to find your bearings by pouring equal parts arousal and frustration into doubling your efforts. Your middle finger slides inside of her with ease, and with the next thrust, you fold your ring finger over it and curl up to massage the soft walls of her cunt. The sound she makes in return is exactly what you were looking for, irritation making room for desire–to make her feel good, to make her come undone.

Having done this plenty of times, you don’t need any pointers, and you’ve barely started or she’s already begging for it. This is your favourite part, when they plead with you not to stop, ask for your mouth and “just a little more,” when you’ve got them on the precipice and it’s up to you to tip them over the edge. So, you do, sucking her clit back between your lips, and watching her intently while your fingers find that spot inside of her and push until she’s crying out.

You can feel Robby leaning over you, moving closer and closer, and if you weren’t so preoccupied with the grinding against the push of your tongue, you’d be able to come up with a clever comment about his reading glasses. After a few more passes, you pull back with a smack, her answering desperate sound music to your ears. 

“Come here,” you say, and you reach for Robby, grabbing him by the jaw to draw him in. 

Taking the spot to the left of you, he shuffles closer until her calf rests over his shoulder and you’re both on your stomach with a premium view. His large palm slowly travels along your back, sliding from left to right, fingers flitting over your ribs, using his grip to keep you pinned to his side. He’s helping you keep your balance, you realize, making sure you don’t roll off the side of the couch. It makes your eyes flutter when he takes advantage by letting his touch ghost along the side of your breast. 

“It’s not every day you see something like that,” he says, effectively redirecting your attention from his wandering hand to the two fingers that are still curled inside your resident.

Carefully, you pull them out, the both of you watching as little strings of milky-clear arousal web between your digits. You use them to find her clit, mixing your saliva with her come, watching her spit-slick hole twitch when you do. She gasps, trying to squirm away, but quickly realizes she has nowhere to go when two different hands shoot up to keep her in place.

“Stop teasing,” she protests hoarsely.

It’s hard to take it to heart when she looks dizzy with arousal, her chest still rising and falling at a rapid pace, and makes a weak attempt at closing her legs.

“You’re fun to tease,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh that's both meant to soothe and to keep her spread open. It makes her muscles jump under your touch. “So sensitive.”

Robby lets out a shaky breath. “Can’t blame her after seeing what your mouth can do.” 

The small victory makes something hum in your brain, but it’s short-lived when his fingers flex against you again.

“I want to see what your mouth can do,” you confess, head turning and watching as his jaw ticks. Your thumb strokes along his beard, nail scraping over some of the greys between the dark hair, and you struggle to fight a smirk when his lips part. “I can guarantee you she’ll love this.”

A soft little, Oh, please, sails up from above you, and you grin, using your grip on Robby to push him against her soaked folds. 

He shuffles closer after the first contact, mouth falling open to engulf her pussy when you let go of him. Pinned in place, you watch with quiet curiosity as he gets to work. 

Though there’s overlap, his technique is different from yours. Where you’re more about spit, long lines and swirled circles, using the flat of your tongue, he’s more… rigorous, harsh sucks to her clit that make her keen, quick flicks to it that he can keep up for an impressive amount of time before pushing his tongue inside of her. 

Oh, he’s… He’s good at this.

Before you can think too hard about the added sensation of the bristle of his beard on her entrance, her hand fumbles for the back of your head, pushing you down when she gets a good grip. With a muffled Hmmmpf you collide with her, lips clumsily smearing over her wet skin, your smooth cheek pressed to Robby’s rough one. He grunts when you make contact with him, before pulling away from her clit with a suck and giving you better access.

“No,” she protests, whining as she motions for him to come back. “Together.”

You realize what exactly she’s asking for, and everyone is just fuuuuull of ideas today, apparently? Good ideas… You can't deny she’s kind of an evil genius for making this work so well for her.

It’s new territory for you, but you could spend the whole night between her legs and not complain, so you look at Robby, raising your eyebrow in question to see how he feels.

There’s a lazy grin on his face, and his head cocks with a shrug, “You’re the one who wanted to double team her.” 

The chuckle you let out in response is mostly air, and you draw your lip between your teeth while shaking your head. He’s such a bastard for revealing this information to her now, when she’s spread out and desperate, all but begg–

“Fuck me,” she growls. “Then do it. Please.”

It takes a moment to find the right approach, to divide your attention equally without constantly getting in each other’s way. 

You don't want to compare it to work, nothing about this is like dealing with trauma patients, but… it is kind of like it. Let's say it’s definitely a testament to how attuned to each other you have become that you make it work. 

When he focuses his attention on her leaking entrance, your tongue finds her higher. When his mouth slides back up again, yours travels along the crease between her thigh and pelvis, down until you can suck a mark into the curve of her ass. It becomes this dance, but you're both leading, both anticipating each other's moves and adapting while your resident's moans rise in pitch.

Robby's arm curls around her thigh to keep her down when she arches up. “You wanted it like this…” he says when he pulls back, working his jaw and pursing his lips before spitting down on her, “...so take it.” 

She shrieks at the action, cursing afterwards with a shudder in her voice.

Your body, naturally, reacts more like you just got shot in the gut; a pang of arousal in your stomach that pulses and twists, a surprised intake of your breath to match.

Who the fuck is he right now?

What the fuck he does next is chase the glob of saliva as it trickles down her clit.

But you're… locked in place, following his moves until he pulls away and twists his head to you like he's wondering where you are.

His eyes are hooded, pupils pushing out the brown of his irises, and his mouth hangs open, the bottom half of his face damp and shiny. It makes whatever's been brewing between you since the revelation in the bar impossible to ignore. In another momentary lapse of reason, and thinking more with another part of yourself than with your brain, you kiss him–it’s more of a collision really, hard pressed, but that’s what makes it so good–

“Fucking… finally,” Robby growls.

Correction, that’s what makes it so good. 

You use the words to lick into his mouth with a slow flick and a sound you're not proud of, but it's all worth it when his tongue glides against yours, and you feel his facial hair brush your lips, and god, you'll never tell him but he's right, you should have done this sooner. 

He tastes like her, and there’s a conflicting feeling to it; excitement at the notion that he can probably taste the same thing on you, but also something… possessive, like you want to keep kissing him until you taste him. 

The quick reminder of her makes you slip your thumb between the slide of your tongues, before reaching blindly for her, letting Robby take control over your kiss as you press the wet digit against her clit. 

“Just like that,” she sighs, her hand finding your wrist, guiding you where she needs it and keeping you there. “‘s gonna…gonna...”

But then Robby makes a protesting sound in reply. 

He lets go of your side, pushing your hands away before cupping the back of your neck to direct you both back to her pussy. It’s a dizzying, three-way kiss; messy, and so slippery, and what the hell, for someone who shuddered at the words “double team”, Robby’s pretty fucking exceptional at it.

“Ohhhh, myfuckinggod,” she squeals, clearly in agreement, followed by a giggle that morphs into a groan. “It looks so fucking hot, please– Oh, please don’t stop, please make me come like this.”

The hand on your neck squeezes, holding you down so you can't do anything but work her together–not that you want this to stop anyway, it's a very, very clear winner in the Hottest thing that has ever happened to you-competition. 

You keep going until your head is swimming, until you have no real idea whether your tongue curls around his, or around her pulsing clit. Vaguely, you register Robby’s fingers pumping in and out of her, but don’t have much time to wonder how you missed that, because when he pulls them out with a grunt, she’s coming.

You feel her orgasm more than you hear it, warm and wet as she desperately grinds herself against your faces; the vibration of Robby’s answering groan as his hold on you wavers; the thud of your knees against the floor as you slip off the couch, gravity forcing you off her as you heave a desperate gasp.

Robby manages to chuckle, eyes flicking down at you before dedicating himself to working her through the aftershocks of her orgasm. 

“Holy shit. That was good. Thank you,” she pants, running a hand through his hair as he nips at her thigh. 

She makes an attempt to reach for you, but her arm just rolls limply off the couch, joining the leg that came down with you. 

“I need to lie flat. If only there was a doctor around…” she grins, “...it appears I've lost all sensation in my extremities.”

“I gotcha,” Robby laughs. He takes hold of her calf, wincing as he gets up on his knees, and yanks her closer to him.

A bright giggle bubbles up from her throat when she slides down, hair fanning out over the cushions. She’s glowing, with satisfaction and a thin sheen of sweat; she looks even more beautiful than she already was.

You're still kneeling next to the couch, watching as Robby does exactly what you would do: kiss his way up her body until he can press his mouth to hers. After, he whispers something you can’t hear, something that makes her cup his cheek and smile with a nod. He kisses her neck, little brushes of his mouth as he grinds himself against her. 

He's still wearing his boxers. They must be ruined by now, if not from his own arousal then definitely from the way he's rutting up against her pussy. You want to see it. Mostly to see what's under it, because he felt big against your ass, and–

You pull your underwear from your legs, giving yourself more room to push a hand between your legs. You can already feel your arousal as your fingers inch up the inside of your thighs, slippery trails of where it’s leaked down in just the short time you’ve been kneeling.

“Get back on the couch,” Robby says suddenly, head turning to you.

“I kind of like the view,” you say, grinning when his eyes drop to where you're touching yourself.

He beckons you closer with a crook of his finger while moving to sit back on his haunches.

You shuffle closer, looking up at him. “I want to watch you fu–”

“I want that, too,” he assures you, and before you can scold him for never letting you finish a thought or a sentence, he's bending down to kiss you again, and your mind goes quiet. He holds you by the neck, thumb and ring finger at the corners of your jaw, pulling until you have no choice but to stand, then murmurs, “So would you just fucking… listen to me? Be good and sit on her face.”

Your shiver at the words, eyes flicking to her, and she responds by opening her mouth and showing you her tongue, and god, yeah, another great idea.

Your legs wobble, and Robby’s hands fly to your waist, guiding you to her with an amused look on his face that shouldn’t turn you on.

You can't believe you worked with these people for a good chunk of your 12 week stint at PTMC. Earlier, you wished you’d done this sooner. Now, you’re certain you wouldn’t have survived if you had.

You can’t help but hiss when your pussy makes contact with your resident’s perfect, warm tongue. She flicks at you once, twice, before she tugs you down on top of her, that mouth that has made you laugh so much opening under you to pull a deep moan from your throat instead. 

“There you go,” Robby rasps as he lets go of you.

Their combined attention makes you melt, some of the tension that always comes with this position slipping away, making you slump and take a more firm seat. With your eyes cast down, and a hand cupping your own breast, you watch her, the pink of her tongue peeking out from between your legs every now and again. 

After a couple passes of her tongue, she suddenly moans, nails digging into your thighs. Your eyes shoot up to watch Robby, slumped over, his little quiff matted down, one thumb hooking the waistband of his boxers down far enough to have taken himself out. The condom he rolled on while you were occupied gives his shaft a shine, like he’s already covered in her slick; the tip of him pressed to her entrance definitely is. 

You were right when you felt him earlier, but maybe thick is a better word to describe him–thick in a way that… yeah, that would have you a little worried for her if you hadn’t spent the better part of this rendezvous with your tongues between her legs. Still, she squirms when he slips the head inside, one moan loud and clear in front of you, another trapped against your cunt. 

Seeing them both so affected changes your demeanour, like no longer being the very center of attention is giving you more freedom to play with them a little. To be sure, you lift a knee, plant a foot into the cushions. She gasps when you lift off her, and you can’t help but smile at the way she arches up to chase after you. 

“Are you okay, honey?” you ask, stroking her wet chin.

“Yes. It feels– It all feels too fucking good,” she manages.

“Hmm-hmm, I bet,” you nod. “But you can take it,” you say sweetly, before promptly sitting back down. The vibration of her muffled, surprised sound makes you sigh, but the answering moan comes from in front of you.

“Jesus,” Robby says, inching a little further into her. “I didn’t think you’d get… like that.”

You let out an amused huff, because the thing is, you’re not; not often, anyway. You’re content to adapt to what the situation asks of you, and this one has you floating, high on pleasure, on feeling wanted, and watched. And when you think about it, he made it this way.

Your hands find her chest, squeezing at her perfect, plush tits before using her as leverage to roll your hips along her eager mouth. Leaning forward, you let your lips meet that spot in the center of Robby’s chest, the spot where his perpetual flush seems to bloom up from. 

“Like what?” you ask anyway, looking up at him through your lashes, dragging your mouth over the coarse hair that’s scattered all over his torso until your tongue flicks at his nipple.

“So…” He hisses when you bite him, hand fisting the hair at the back of your head to pull you off, “...fucking mean.”

“Takes one to know one,” you say, enjoying the way he uses his hold on you as leverage to fuck her, subconsciously matching the rhythm of your hips to his.

With a tug, he angles your head up, kissing a path down the center of your throat. “Got that fucking right,” he murmurs, before moving to where your neck and shoulders meet and biting at the juncture.

It hurts, but the good kind, where it’s on the tip of your tongue to aks for more. The thing is, he’s been creative so far, and you’re not sure you can handle another surprise. You can feel him grin when he pulls away, like he knows exactly what you were thinking, which, at this point, wouldn’t surprise you; he’s smart, should’ve known he’d be a quick study.

Under you, your resident moves one of her arms from under your thigh, reaching between her legs with a desperate sound. Robby’s not the only quick study; you’ve figured by now she needs the stimulation to come. It isn’t surprising, it's the same for you, but it is helpful information. You reach for her, grabbing her wrist and pinning it to her belly, just out of reach.

“Wait,” you tell her pointedly, shushing her whines and reveling in the way they vibrate against you. Heat begins pooling in your belly as she slides her tongue into you, making something promising simmer deep inside.

“Please,” she murmurs between mouthfuls of your pussy, her hand twitching in your grip. “Can I come?”

It takes everything in you to conceal how affected you are by her pleading when you look at Robby. “Ask him.”

Obediently she asks, “Please, can I come?”

A snarl flickers across his features as he contemplates his answer, and without looking away from you he says, “What was that?” 

“Robby.” It doesn’t sound like her; an octave higher, drenched in desperation. “Please.”

He waits a second… two… three. “Yes,” he says, eyes glazing over with something darker when she thanks him. 

In a flash, you bring your free hand up to your mouth, getting the pads of three fingers wet before using them to strum at her clit, rapid flicks from left to right that make her writhe under you, another shriek landing muffled against your cunt. 

Robby’s reaching the end of his rope too, you can tell by the way his thighs shake as he frantically tries to keep fucking her.

You work together, looking down, leaning closer until your foreheads are pressed together, her little moans rising in pitch until she's shuddering beneath you, another orgasm pulling her under its current.

“Fuckfuckfuck, it's– She’s squeezing me so…” Robby trails off with a rumbling sound, eyes snapping shut before he pants out, “I’m gonna come. Tell me w–I need to know–oh.”

You sit up, giving her some reprieve and ask, “Where?”

“Fuck, come on my tits,” she says, pushing them together.

Robby pulls out of her, tearing his condom off with a snap!, scrambling to straddle her waist. He's red all over, his cock nearly purple at the tip, eyes glued to her chest as he strokes himself.

Your eyes zero in on the way his fist moves over his cock, quick, squelching flicks from root to tip. He’s leaking, steady drops of precome oozing from the head of his cock and the more you watch him, the greedier you get.

“Let me do it,” you say, tongue passing over your palm and reaching down.

His free hand catches it, voice straining with effort as he says, “Wait, I–”

“Robby, stop it,” you say, pulling yourself free. “Let me do it, I need to do it.”

Your hand has barely closed around his or he’s coming, a deep surprised moan tearing from somewhere deep in his chest as he twitches in your grip. Your eyes widen, tingles of excitement fluttering through you as the first thick rope of it shoots up against your belly, the rest ending up on your resident’s tits.

He exhales heavily, chest rising and falling at a rapid pace after. “I said wait,” he grits out after a couple of panting breaths, his hand slipping out from under yours.

“Could've just done that,” you retort, still milking him, enjoying the way he grunts as the last dribbles of come ooze from the head of his cock. “I can’t help it that you’re so sensitive.”

“Oh, fuck you.” It comes out half groan/half chuckle, and actually sounds like he's kind of impressed with you. Then suddenly, he's more serious, “Oh, you need to– Slower, slower,” a shaking hand closes around your wrist. “‘s too much.”

“Surprised you held out this long in the first place,” you smirk, following his instructions, slowing to a halt and letting go as he starts to soften in your hand. “Thought for sure I’d end up somehow having to finish the job.”

“Hmm, no, don’t have to worry about that with me,” he says, with a lazy grin. He redirects his attention to your resident. “You okay?”

“I’m fucking great,” she grins, still sounding a little dazed. She reaches for you, grabbing at your thighs. “I just need you to sit back down.”

Before you can properly prepare for it, you’re pulled back onto her mouth, a surprised huf sailing past your lips. Your eyes flutter shut as she laps at your swollen clit, your concern for your own pleasure rushing back to the font of your mind now that everyone else’s is taken care of.

You reach for her hand, leading it up your torso to your chest, where she squeezes your breast, massaging the soft skin before pinching at the peak. The sharp pain mixes perfectly with the swirls around your clit, and with every tweak and swipe, she makes you barrel towards the edge faster and faster. 

Your eyes fly open when Robby’s hand cups your cheek. He says nothing, seemingly just… holds you to hold you. And he watches, lets his gaze rove over your face, eyes flicking down the length of your body and back up. “Feels good, huh?”

“Yeah. We–oh, f-fuck–made the right call with her.” You barely get the words out or she wiggles her hand between your legs to let two of her fingers slip inside you. 

Robby hums, “We did.”

Slowly, you start rolling your hips, meeting the curl of her fingers. You bite your lip, a little frown forming between your brows when that familiar sense of pleasure starts blooming from somewhere deep inside of you. You don’t even really have to chase it–it’s more like it’s chasing you.

“Oh,” you gasp, clutching at Robby’s wrist to have something to hold on to. “Oh, you’re doing perfect, it’s gonna make me come.”

“Yeah?” Robby’s brow arches. “Gonna show me this time, hmm?”

Fuck. You nod as her tongue flicks faster and faster, making your hips twitch. It’s nothing like the first one–it’s the complete opposite, like it never stops building until it does, suddenly, in a way that seems to push all the air out of you as you gasp, gasp, gasp…

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Robby says, his grip on you forcing you to hold his gaze. “Show me how pretty you look when you come– There we go.”

Goddamn him.

It’s like an avalanche, a loud, vibrating groan rumbling out of your chest as your muscles clench and you push your hips down harder. It seems to reach you everywhere, your thighs quivering, heat tingling up your spine, and your hand scrambles to hold Robby by the shoulder to make sure you don’t topple over. His face becomes a little blurry as you try desperately to keep your eyes open, as the gentle strokes of her tongue start bordering on too much… until it actually becomes too much.

You scramble backwards, overstimulated, ducking down at an awkward angle towards her panting mouth and giving her a sloppy, upside-down kiss. She clutches onto you, licking into your mouth with enthusiasm as you pour praise down her throat, assuring her how good she made you feel, how beautiful she is. After a couple spit-slick kisses, you pull away, taking in her face and stroking a thumb along her freckled cheek, before kissing it and sitting back against the armrest.

Catching your breath, you watch as Robby hauls her up into a sitting position. She reaches for his face, pulling him into a kiss that’s almost chaste in comparison to the one you shared with her. 

When they part, his eyes find yours over the top of her head. He calls you over in silence, repeatedly opening and closing his outstretched hand. You take it, and he pulls you closer until you’re kneeling behind her. Then, he brings the back of your hand to his mouth, presses a kiss to it and says, “Good job, team.”

It makes all of you laugh.

The aftermath isn’t as awkward as you feared. You drink a big glass of water, share a snack in her kitchen, take turns showering, listen to her and Robby discussing their schedules to figure out when they’ll see each other next… and then you move to the front door to say your goodbyes. 

She kisses you on the mouth before you leave, thanks you as she pulls away. 

When you part ways with Robby when you exit her apartment complex, he does the same.

– – – – –

It's Monday morning, a little over a week later, on your day off. You should use the time to sleep in, not to sit behind your laptop in your kitchen before 7am, but you were up the second you were awake. As you're putting the finishing touches on the sign off of the email you're writing, your phone buzzes.

It’s Robby. 

That’s kind of freaky.

Ellis told me to tell you she misses you on the night shift, he writes.

the kids always miss the substitute once their teacher is back, you reply. how happy was samira to see abbot?

Had to talk her down from organizing a welcome back party.

A smile pulls at your lips. Of course she’d try that. Sweet. how was he? healed okay?

Busy trying not to smile too wide at the cake Samira brought in anyway. Then, Healed okay, just some expected general discomfort left. And, Why does Abbot say he has permanent stock in your medical degree?

You roll your eyes. So much for that. because he’s an asshole.

He doesn’t reply, and with a quick glance at the clock you realize his shift probably began and chaos is ensuing. You put your phone down, checking if your cover letter is in the attachment of the email, if you spelled PTMC correctly in the email address… and it looks like everything is in order. 

Then your phone buzzes again. This time, Robby’s calling.

“Do you want to hear the story that badly?” you answer with a chuckle. “Because I promise it’s not that–”

“I absolutely want to hear it, but… not why I’m calling.” You wait for him to say more, and hear him sigh deeply before asking, “Can I see you this week?”

You suck in some air through your teeth. “Missing me already, Doctor Robinavitch?”

“I uh, had this dream about you, the kind where I…,” he pauses with a chuckle, and you kind of hate how you can picture him; head tipped down, hand scratching at the short hairs at the back of his head, “...had to do something about it when I woke up. Was almost late for work.” 

Oh, fuck. You didn’t expect him to say that. Instantly, images flood your mind of a nondescript bedroom, Robby tangled in bed sheets, still sleepy, thinking about you, rutting against the mattress, maybe even with his hand around his–  

“Jesus, Robby…,” you huff, snapping yourself out of it while your cheeks begin to feel warm. Then, you think about her, and you bite your lip before asking, “What about your R3?”

“Wasn’t in my dream,” he says simply. “She’s seeing someone from neuro. At least, I believe they're neuro.”

“So I’m just second choice all across the board, huh?” You aim for a joke, but oof, ouch, you actually kind of hurt yourself with that one… Closing your eyes with a sigh, you try to come up with a way to save it, but Robby’s already speaking.

“You know,” he begins, and he sounds amused, and you hate him, “someone as smart as you should know not to make assumptions.”

“Huh?”

“I’m calling you, not her,” he says, then adds quietly, “Ellis told me I looked… sad– Actually, she said I looked like I just made the saddest realization.”

Well, first of all, few times Robby doesn’t look like that. Second, and once again: Huh? 

“After she brought you up to me,” he continues.

That makes something click in your brain: He’s talking about the Samira look, the look you told him about in the bar, about her harbouring– Wait. Your entire body goes rigid as the realization kicks in. And then it floods with something pleasant, something that tingles and makes you giddy… 

Warm feelings.

Robby’s voice sounds a little unsteady on the other side of the line when he breaks the silence you put between you, “But you can just tell me the story, and we can pretend this conversation was just that. No hard feelings.”

“I’m free tonight, if you want to hear the story. You can come over after your shift, and…” with a hum, you pretend to think, letting your mouse hover over the ‘send’ button on your job application email, then continue, “...who knows what else I might spill should I be… How should I put it, properly motivated? Suitably loose? Nicely–”

“stuffed?” he finishes for you, voice soft, and deep, because he’s at work but he can’t help himself; he’s calling you about a wet dream he had about you that was so good he had to get himself off after, and making confessions, and the whole thing is actually really getting you goi– “Yeah, text me the address, I’ll fucking be there.”

Click.

He hangs up at the same time you press ‘send’.

– – – – –

Thanks for reading! Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with! I originally wanted to post this for Pride Month, but evidently that didn't work out like I wanted, turns out I have a life and responsibilities (bummer...), but yes, anyway, happy belated Pride Month, friends 💖💜💙!

[sturnioz]

you want to try new with shy!matt. he’s uncertain and unsure at first, but when the time comes, you’re taken aback by how easily he seems to speak to you when you’re not face to face.

“you… you want to try what?” 

matt’s voice cracks as he stares at you with wide eyes, the string of his hoodie slipping from his mouth where he’d been chewing on it absentmindedly in the middle of watching something on your tv. his lips part in disbelief as he blinks at you, like he’s positive he must’ve misheard you. “what did you say?”

“phone sex,” you simply repeat, tone casual as if you hadn’t just suggested something out of the blue. you shift comfortably on the bed, tucking your legs beneath you, keeping your gaze steady and composed as you watch him. “you know… me and you, separate rooms, getting each other off over the phone—phone sex.”

matt’s breath hitches, and he lets out a nervous, breathy laugh as the apples of his cheeks turn a light shade of pink. he lifts a hand to scratch the back of his neck, his fingers brushing through his hair, pulling at the strands.

“i-i don’t… i don’t know about that…” he stammers, turning his head to avoid your gaze, his eyes darting around the room before focusing on a random spot to get his heart rate back to normal. “i don’t think that’s my thing? i mean, not that i’m saying no, it’s just… what we’re doing right now is good, right? why do we... why is that... what—” 

“i think you’re overthinking it already,” you tease lightly as you cut him off, a playful smile tugging at the corner of your lips as he glances at you briefly before looking away again, the blush on his cheeks turning a deeper shade. "yes, what we're doing right now is really good. but there's nothing wrong with wanting to have some fun—something new for us to try."

he swallows hard, his throat bobbing as he processes your words, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips as he runs a hand down his face. his thumb tugs at his bottom lip before it's caught between his teeth, nervously biting at the nail.

"what if i'm bad at it?" he asks you, his eyes hesitantly meeting yours, and you see the way he's second-guessing himself. "i... i can't even talk to you normally during it sometimes. what if i'm worse over the phone?"

you immediately jump to reassure him. "matt, you're not going to be bad at it. and if it's awkward or weird or something, that's okay. we'll just laugh about it later." "you make it sound so easy..."

"that's because it is easy," you reply, leaning forward to close the space between you, trying not to grin at the way matt's head ducks to shyly avoid your gaze. "we'll just try it, okay? and if it's not for us, we move on—forget about it. but if it is for us..."

you let the thought trail off, your eyebrow raising with a suggestive, teasing smirk, and matt swallows thickly, his mouth drying up. it takes him a moment longer to nod his head, silently agreeing to try this with you, his fingers trembling as he reaches for his phone from your nightstand.

you watch him as he slides off your bed, clearing his throat quickly as he gives you a timid smile before leaving you alone in the bedroom. you hear him quietly walk down the hallway, muttering to himself as he disappears into a different room.

you're excited.

you're eager.

you're... honestly already turned on at the idea of him even participating in something like this with you.

you'd expected him to shake his head and refuse straight up. you'd prepared yourself for it, fully ready to scrap the idea and never mention it ever again. but for him to surprise you like this? him agreeing and actually trying something so out of his comfort zone?

the thought alone sends a thrill through you.

it doesn't take long for your phone to start vibrating against the mattress, and you grin to yourself, reaching for the device and tapping the green icon to answer with your thumb, bringing the phone up to your ear.

"hello?" you greet, your tone deliberately soft and inviting.

there's a pause on the other end, and for a moment, you wonder if he's frozen up—rethinking his decision—then you hear him clear his throat. "hey," he says, voice quiet and a little shaky. "i'm, uh... i'm on the couch. in the living room."

you smile to yourself, already picturing him; sitting stiff, probably clutching the phone with one hand while the other taps nervously against his knee.

"comfortable?" you ask him, settling back against the pillows and letting your body relax as you stretch out on the bed, your gaze drifting to the ceiling as your palm rests on your tummy.

"uh.. yeah. yeah, comfortable," he replies quickly. you can almost see him nodding, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip the way it always does when he's feeling anxious. "are you?"

you can't help but giggle softly, "you're so cute."

"that's... not what i'm trying to go for," he nervously laughs, and you hear the faint sound of shuffling—maybe the creak of the couch as he shifts or the sleeves of his hoodie brushing against the phone. "i don't really know how to start this."

"start however you want," you hum softly. "you've got this."

the line is quiet again, and you can hear his breathing, like he's struggling to work up the courage. you stay silent, giving him the space to lead as your fingers mindlessly draw circles around your belly button.

"i..." he starts, his voice cracking slightly before he clears his throat once again. "i was thinking about you... before i called."

"oh?" you murmur, your voice dipping lower. "and what were you thinking about?"

"i was thinking about how you looked when i was with you, laying on the bed in my clothes."

"yeah?" a small smile plays on your lips. "what about it?"

"i just... i like seeing you in my clothes, especially when you don't have anything underneath," he whispers tentatively, trying to ease himself into this new territory. "i can see everything, then."

your breath catches slightly, his words catching you off guard, not only because of what he said, but because of how he said it too—spoken so softly yet so raw and honest.

you never expected your usually shy and quiet boyfriend to be so forward with you like this, and you take a moment to regain yourself, opening your mouth to respond until matt interrupts you.

"do you... do you touch yourself while wearing my clothes?" he asks you quietly, and you instantly feel a rush of heat throbbing between your thighs at his sudden question, shocked yet so fucking turned on.

you squirm a little, aware of the fabric of his shirt that's rubbing against your already pebbled nipples while your fingers trace along the waistband of the shorts, pushing beneath the elastic.

"yeah, sometimes," you breathe out shakily, spreading your legs further apart as you lightly touch yourself over your panties. “i think about you when i do it. i imagine you touching me instead with your tongue or your fingers.” 

“yeah? i think about you too…” his sudden confession makes you moan quietly, circling your clit over the fabric as you listen to him take deep breaths into the phone. “you always make me feel good when you touch me, but i like touching you more. i love tasting you.”

your cunt clenches around nothing at the words leaving his lips, how he still sounds so shy and timid, yet so confident. it’s a different side of him, definitely something you want to explore even more.

but you keep that to yourself for the moment as you shove your hand down your panties, your thumb pressing harder against your sensitive clit while shoving two fingers into your already slick hole—imagining they’re matt’s instead.

“what are you doing?” you hear matt ask in the midst of your pleasure, his voice quiet, yet you hear the faint rustling of his sweatpants being pulled down, causing the heat in your belly to swirl. “are… are you touching yourself? i can hear it—you’re so wet. i… i like that.” 

you moan, fingering yourself harder, pumping two fingers into your heat as matt’s voice fills your ears, making you squeeze tightly around the digits that curl against your gummy walls. your hips roll, meeting your own movements, the mattress creaking beneath you. 

“are you imagining it’s my cock in there instead? you… you like the stretch, right?”

that filthy, sudden yet specific question coming from matt makes your eyes bulge as your back arches off the bed, your nipples rubbing against the fabric of his shirt as your fingers thrust deeper—faster—the loud squelching noises heard clear as day. 

“y-yeah—yes. i like the stretch. so much,” you whimper. "i like it when you're buried deep inside me, matt."

"i like it too," matt pants, and you can hear the wet noises of his hand stroking his cock. "i like being inside you. you always feel so warm around me. tight too... your pussy is my favourite place to be."

you feel your toes curl as the pressure inside you builds, your hips rocking erratically against your fingers as you chase your teetering high. your walls clench rhythmically around your fingers, moans and whines spilling from your lips, perfectly in time with the sounds of matt frantically jerking himself off over the phone.

"i don't want you to cum like this," you hear matt falter, sucking in a deep breath, more rustling noises being heard on his end. you stop pumping your fingers, your brows knitting together in confusion as you pant down the phone, lips parting to question him until he continues. "i want you to cum on me—around me. i want to cum inside you. please let me come back to the bedroom... please."

"fuck," you breathe out, your chest rising and falling rapidly as your eyes snap to your bedroom door, heart pounding. you tighten your grip on the phone, nodding to yourself quickly. "come here. come back to me, matt."

there's a small pause before the line cuts off, followed by the hurried footsteps across the hallway. when the door swings open and he steps into the room—breathless and flushed—that familiar shyness reappears across his face.

for all the bold things he whispered into the phone a few seconds prior, for everything he spoke to you when the distance made him feel a lot braver than he already is—he still won't meet your eyes when he hovers over you, his cock buried in the place where he rightfully belongs.

divider credits. @/saradika-graphics.

©STURNIOZ est 2025 𐔌 . all rights reserved.

[kxsagi]

hey hey !! 😋

wanted to request this before you don't take requests anymore !! (thank you for your hard work you're my favorite writer (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠))

do u think you could write Sae x reader where reader has to tutor Sae on his academics since it's been stated that Sae literally knows NOTHING besides soccer loll,, you can make them in a relationship or pre-relationship whatever you feel like writing 😋

thanks!!

“𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲(𝐨𝐮)”

a/n: THANK YOU SMMM, SENDING SO MUCH LOVE TO YOU IN RETURN AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!! <333

ac goes to katstrife on X!

sae itoshi knows exactly three things. 

one: soccer. 

two: how to give people the cold shoulder. 

three: that this stupid math assignment should be illegal. 

he stares blankly at the worksheet in front of him, dead-eyed like he’s preparing to sue the education system for emotional damages. you, sitting across from him in the school library, press your lips together to stop from laughing. 

"you've been staring at the same question for seven minutes," you say. 

“i’m thinking,” he replies flatly, pencil untouched. 

“thinking? i’m pretty sure your brain logged out the second i said the word ‘exponents.’” 

sae slouches deeper into his seat, arms crossed. “you’re annoying.” 

“you’re failing math.” 

“so? i don’t need this crap to play for real madrid.” 

you sigh and lean forward, tapping his worksheet. “you do need this crap to graduate, and your coach already said you’re off the field until your grades improve.” 

he visibly flinches at the reminder. his jaw clenches, the tip of his pencil finally pressing into the page like it's a battle of wills. he might be arrogant, but he’s not stupid, he knows how much his future depends on this. and that’s probably the only reason he hasn’t left already. 

well. that, and you. 

he won’t say it out loud (ever), but you're the only person in this entire school he can stand talking to for more than thirty seconds. you're also the only one willing to sit with him twice a week and try to make sense of letters pretending to be numbers. 

“i hate this,” he mutters. 

“i know. but look, it’s not so bad.” you reach over, lightly tapping his notebook. “okay, take this one: 4 to the power of 3. do you remember what that means?” 

he glances at you. "... twelve?" 

you pause. “no. i mean, i’m glad you guessed confidently, but no.” 

“so what is it then?” 

“it’s four times four times four. so, sixteen times four. try again.” 

he grumbles under his breath but scribbles it down anyway, then pauses. “… sixty-four?” 

you beam. “yes! see, you’re not totally hopeless.” 

he rolls his eyes, but the tips of his ears go slightly pink. “whatever.” 

you suppress a grin and nudge his eraser toward him. “let’s do the next one.” 

the session drags on like molasses, mostly because sae acts like every equation personally offended him. but to his credit, he’s trying. somewhere between slumped sarcasm and scribbled formulas, you notice he’s leaning in more, muttering numbers under his breath, fingers twitching when he gets one wrong. 

and then, somewhere between problem five and six, he says: “you don’t have to do this, y’know.” 

you glance up. “do what?” 

“waste your time tutoring me.” his voice is quieter now, almost indifferent, but you can tell it’s something else. something less bulletproof than usual. “i’m not… good at this. i won’t magically get smarter overnight.” 

you close your notebook. “sae. i’m not here because i think you’re stupid.” 

he lifts his head, finally meeting your gaze. and his expression, usually so unreadable, softens, just barely. 

“then why?” 

you blink. “because i want to help.” 

he doesn’t reply. doesn’t look away either. for a second, the air shifts. it’s like the library fades into the background, the high ceilings and quiet whispers and dusty fluorescent lights all falling away until it’s just you and him. your knee brushing his under the table. his hand frozen halfway between writing and fidgeting. 

you don’t say anything. neither does he. 

but it hangs there, quiet and loud all at once. 

and maybe it’s not just about math anymore. 

by the fourth tutoring session, you catch him studying before you arrive. 

he’s hunched over a worksheet, pencil in hand, muttering like he’s trying to manifest brain cells. it’s actually kind of cute. he looks up when you sit beside him and immediately says, “i got five answers right. on my own.” 

you raise your brows. “what, no ‘you’re late?’ no ‘i hate this class?’ who are you and what have you done with sae?” 

“shut up,” he mutters, ears turning red again. 

you grin. “i’m proud of you, dumbass.” 

he looks away, but the corner of his mouth twitches. 

eventually, it stops being just tutoring. 

you still go over formulas and grammar worksheets, sure, but there’s more laughter now. more inside jokes. more lingering glances when you explain something, and more quiet watching when he thinks you won’t notice. 

he starts walking you to your class afterwards. offers to carry your bag sometimes, even though you’re pretty sure he just wants an excuse to hold something that belongs to you. one day, he brings you a sports drink with your favorite flavor. doesn’t say anything, just drops it on the table like it’s no big deal. 

you don’t mention the way his hand brushes yours when you take it. 

you don’t mention how he doesn’t pull away. 

one day, while you’re packing up your notebooks, you say: “hey, i know you think you suck at this, but... i like tutoring you.” 

he looks at you. really looks at you. and after a second, he says, voice low: “i like when you do, too.” 

and then, almost shyly– 

“... not just because of the tutoring.” 

your heart skips. you bite back a smile, trying to play it cool. “oh? so, what else is it?” 

he shrugs, eyes flicking down to your hands as you gather your books. 

“… you make it easier to think. even when i’m not good at this, you still... believe i can be.” 

you stop, just for a beat. the words land softer than you expect, all hushed and sincere and awkwardly beautiful coming from someone like him. 

when you look up, he’s already staring – cheeks pink, jaw tense like he wants to say more. 

so you reach over, close his math book gently, and murmur: “you’re getting better. and... you’re not the only one who looks forward to this.” 

he blinks. your fingers brush his, and this time, neither of you pull away. 

maybe he only knew three things before. 

but now? he’s starting to learn a fourth: you. 

and honestly, it’s the best subject yet. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

John Walker X Reader: Softer, Harder

Warnings: smut, doggy style, penetration (p in v), masturbation( John overhears), cursing, dirty talk, kissing, fluff, no use of y/n, semi public sex, mutual pinning, porn with little plot.

Word count: 2,8K

John was fast asleep. Or at least, he had been—until he heard a grunt. His reflexes kicked in instantly, eyes snapping open as his body went into full alert. He sat up in bed, listening in the darkness.

Another groan.

John’s head turned sharply toward the wall beside him. The sound was coming from your room. He got up, already preparing himself to come to your rescue—because why else would you be making those noises?

He stopped at your door just as he heard it.

“John!”

A gasp of his name. No. A moan.

You weren’t hurt.

You were masturbating.

Color rushed to John’s cheeks immediately. Then, silence fell over the room.

John didn’t sleep a wink that night.

You, on the other hand, slept like a baby.

The next day, John kept actively avoiding you. He couldn’t look at your face without remembering the sounds you’d made—or without imagining what you’d sound like with his dick in you.

It was no secret that John had a thing for you. Well, no secret to him. He’d never actually told anyone or acted on his feelings. But he wasn’t dumb enough to think the others hadn’t noticed how his gaze would linger on you during meetings, or how he’d go the extra mile on missions to make sure you were unharmed.

If they had noticed, they didn’t comment on it. And you sure didn’t seem to notice either. John often thought the feelings were one-sided. Until last night, anyway.

He’d lost track of you after breakfast, which made it harder to avoid you. He didn’t know where you were, so he didn’t know where not to go. But he needed to get his mind off you, and what better way to do that than with some training? You weren’t going to be in the training room this early—it just wasn’t your style.

John had been wrong about that. Because as soon as he stepped inside, his eyes locked onto your frame.

You were already drenched in sweat, chest rising rapidly from what John assumed was your workout. Your head snapped toward the door at the sound of it closing. And when your eyes landed on John, you gave him a bright smile.

A blush threatened to creep up his cheeks at the sight. He hoped he could play it off as over-exertion.

“Perfect timing. I was just about to see if anyone wanted to spar.”

John just stared at you for a moment, eyes trailing over your figure.

“John?”

He blinked at the sound, shaking his head to try and clear it.

“You want to spar with me?”

“Yeah?” you said, standing upright and cracking your knuckles. “Unless you’re scared.”

He let out a short laugh. “Of you? Please.”

He shed his jacket, revealing his strong arms. He almost thought he caught you staring, the thought making him smirk to himself. You were already on the center of the mat when he joined you. You both moved into a fighting position and then without any warning you moved. Lightning fast. John barely had time to react but he managed to dodge your jab. But you didn’t let up, you kept moving at him in quick spurts and he kept trying to avoid your attacks. He had to admit, you were good. Better than you let on. And worse, you were smiling like this was just a game.

For you, maybe it was.

For him? It was torture.

Every movement you made drew his attention to another inch of your body. Then your brows furrowed as you struck him, and your mouth fell open to let out a breathless sound when he managed to strike you—and all John could think about were the sounds of your moans last night.

“I’ve been practicing,” you said between steps, weaving around him. “Figured I should learn how to hold my own. Can't have you worry about me.”

The words had caught him slightly off guard. So you had noticed his protection of you. His heart sped up, not just from the exercise.

He grunted in reply, ducking another swing. “You’re doing fine.”

You moved again, but John was quicker this time. He grabbed your wrist, ready to knock you down by messing up your balance. But you shifted your body forward, tugging him down with you. He stumbled, an arm shooting out just as he lost his footing. You both crashed onto the mat with a dull thud.

He was on top of you, arms caging you as you both struggled to breathe. John’s breath caught. Every part of him went still. Hyper-aware. He could feel the heat radiating off you.

“You okay?” you asked, voice low, a little breathless.

He didn’t answer right away. Didn’t move, either.

Because now, he was remembering the way you sounded last night. Remembering how you said his name. How you moaned it.

You blinked at him. “John?”

The concern was clear in your tone. You were worried maybe he’d landed wrong and hurt something. You stared up at him with wide eyes. And before he could stop it a small laugh tugged at the side of his mouth.

“You really have no idea, do you?” he said, voice barely a murmur.

Your brows pulled together, confused. “What are you talking about?”

He raised his eyebrows at you. Were you really that clueless? Hadn’t you realized just how thin the walls were? Had you not noticed how he’d been avoiding you like the plague all morning?

“I heard you,” he said quietly. “Last night.”

You froze. He felt it—the tension that ran through you like a jolt. He expected you to flush with embarrassment but you merely stared at him, eyes hardening.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

John's eyes widened in amusement. Oh? So this was how you were gonna play it? Okay, two could play that game.

“So if I stick my hand down your pants right now, I won’t find you all wet down there?”

It was filthy. It was beyond anything he’d ever thought he’d say to you. But it had the desired effect. Your mouth opened into a soft gasp as his hand moved from your wrist to your stomach.

Your breath hitched, chest rising faster as his fingers trailed lower, just grazing the waistband of your shorts.

“Yeah,” he said lowly. “That.”

Your body arched subtly beneath him, instinctive and involuntary. Heat shot through your core, pooling fast. He wasn’t even touching you yet. Just teasing and you were already desperate for him. The little shit.

“You were thinking about me,” he said, still hovering over you, his lips so close they almost brushed yours with every word. “You were touching yourself. Saying my name. You wanted me.”

You should’ve looked away. Should’ve denied it.

But you didn’t.

You stayed there under him, breathing heavy, mouth parted. And then you whispered it—

“Still do.”

Oh, what those words did to John. Every fiber of his being vibrated at the confession. His pupils blew wide as he stared down at you. He didn’t wait, he didn’t ask—he just moved, capturing you in a bruising kiss.

One of his hands buried in your hair, tilting your head just right as he kissed you deeper, tongue sliding past your lips, coaxing the softest moan from your throat. Your legs shifted, parting around his hips, letting him settle between them completely.

“You gonna keep pretending, or are you gonna let me give you what you were begging for last night?”

“Please,” you breathed.

John all but growled at the sound, hands moving against your body in desperation. Your skin burned wherever he touched, his fingers leaving invisible marks that had you squirming under him.

“You’ve been driving me fucking crazy,” he said, voice rough as his hand slid between your thighs. His fingers found you already soaked. “Jesus.”

Your hips jerked. A moan escaped before you could catch it.

“There it is,” he whispered, mouth brushing your cheek. “That’s what I heard.”

And then he pushed two fingers inside you. Your head fell back with a broken gasp.

His fingers moved inside you with practiced precision—slow at first, curling deep, his thumb circling your clit in tight, lazy motions that made your thighs tremble. You moaned into his neck, clinging to his shoulders, every nerve in your body tuned to him.

John’s breath was ragged against your skin, his other hand gripping your waist, holding you open for him. He watched you—how your mouth parted, how your hips chased his fingers—and he looked like he could devour you.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he growled, pulling his fingers out with a wet sound that made your face burn. He dragged them up to your lips, hovering just there. “Open.”

You did, breathless.

He pushed his fingers into your mouth and you sucked them in instinctively, eyes locked on his. His jaw clenched.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pulling them free.

Then he reached down, pulling his sweatpants low enough to free his cock. He was thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip. Your mouth watered at the sight. He moved forward, ready to plunge into you.

“Wait!”

John froze, worry flooding him immediately. Had you changed your mind? Had he gone too far? He looked down at you, brows slightly furrowed.

“You okay?”

You gave him a sweet smile, your hand moving to caress his cheek for a moment before you spoke.

“Everything’s fine, John. I just wanted to change positions.”

John’s brows softened, relief flooding through him as he watched your reassuring smile. His hand trembled slightly as he adjusted, shifting his weight to move more easily. He leaned on his knees as you repositioned yourself, eyes widening as he realized what you were doing. You had your back to him, hands and knees pressed to the mat. You turned your head to look at him, smiling at the sight of his gaping mouth.

“This is the position I was thinking about yesterday. Is that okay with you?”

Was it okay with him? Fuck, of course it was.

John’s breath hitched, his gaze locked on your inviting smile and the curve of your back beneath the dim light. His hands instinctively gripped your hips, steadying himself as he shifted forward, positioning between your thighs.

“That’s more than okay,” he murmured, voice thick with desire.

Slowly, carefully, he pushed inside you, inch by inch, savoring the sensation of being so deeply connected. Your soft gasps filled the room, mingling with the steady rhythm of his breath. John’s hands roamed your waist, sliding lower to trace the swell of your hips as he began to move—slow and deliberate at first, building with a growing urgency.

Every thrust sent jolts of heat through your body, the pressure and friction driving you closer to the edge. You arched your back, pressing yourself deeper against him, fingers digging into the mat for support.

“You feel—fuck, you feel perfect.”

“John,” you whispered, voice trembling with need.

He leaned forward, chest pressing against your back.

“Tell me what you want,” he breathed against your ear, voice low and rough.

“More,” you whispered.

He was more than happy to oblige. He straightened up, hands moving to get a better grip on your hips before thrusting into you again. You cried out, head moving to lean on the mat beneath you. And that was it—he set a pace that had the room echoing with the sound of skin on skin, your breathy moans, his gritted curses.

“You’ve got no idea what you do to me,” he rasped, slamming into you harder. “You think I didn’t hear you moaning my name? You think I haven’t thought about this a hundred fucking times?”

He fucked you deep, unrelenting, like he was making up for all the nights he hadn’t touched you, all the thoughts he’d tried to bury. His hands were everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your stomach, caressing your ass. You let him do what he wanted, panting into the mat with every rough thrust. The sounds he was making behind you were driving you insane. You’d already been so pent up. Already imagined this so many times. But none of it did justice to the real thing. Justice to how good John was at fucking you.

You whimpered, your body arching up into him, chasing every thrust. “John—god, please—I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he growled, reaching down, rubbing tight circles over your clit. “Come for me. Let me feel you.”

You shattered.

Your mouth opened in a brutal moan, teeth sinking into the mat. John threw his head back, eyes closing as he felt you gush around him. He didn’t stop moving, not even when your body sagged into the mat, arms giving out. John took it as his chance. He leaned over you, hands bracing against your stomach as he dragged your limp body upright. His strong arms held you tight against his chest as he continued to piston into you. His hands cupped your breasts, giving them a squeeze, and you groaned—still sensitive from your orgasm.

Then your walls clenched around him, and John fucking lost it. He came with a groan of your name, hips stuttering as he buried himself deep and spilled inside you.

He stayed there for a moment, panting against your shoulder, arms wrapped around you like he was afraid you’d disappear. Your body trembled in his hold, both of you sweaty and breathless, but neither of you moved. There was something sacred in the silence. Something raw.

John pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, slow and reverent, then whispered, “You okay?”

You nodded, a soft hum escaping you. “Yeah,” you said, voice hoarse. “Fucking fantastic.”

He smiled against your skin and gently helped ease you back onto the mat, careful not to collapse his full weight on top of you. For a moment, he just laid there, eyes closed, forehead resting against your shoulder blade as the aftershocks faded.

You rolled onto your side, and John pulled you into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world. He was still warm, still a little wild behind the eyes, but his touch was gentle now, grounding. You pressed your face into his chest and let yourself just be—in his arms, in this moment, without fear or pretense.

“You know,” he said softly, fingers brushing through your hair, “I was going crazy thinking you didn’t feel the same.”

You looked up at him. “John, I moaned your name.”

“Yeah,” he grinned. “I noticed.”

You smacked his chest lightly, laughing. “Idiot.”

He caught your hand and kissed your knuckles. “Your idiot.”

Your heart fluttered at his words. Months of pining after him, and here you were—snuggled into his frame, leaking his cum, and hearing him say that he’s yours. It felt like a perfect ending, really.

The next morning, you woke up tangled in John’s arms, sore in the best way, a little hazy, and very satisfied. He hadn’t let you go all night—just held you like you were something precious. You hadn’t slept that well in months.

Eventually, the smell of coffee and the threat of your rumbling stomach forced the two of you out of bed.

The team was already there, halfway through breakfast. Yelena was grumbling into her mug while Ava scrolled through her phone. Bob was making cereal. And Alexie was nowhere to be seen, which seemed accurate. Everyone looked half-asleep. You grabbed a mug of coffee and some eggs before taking your usual seat. John settled beside you. It was peaceful, which was unusual considering your team of misfits.

And then Bucky stumbled into the kitchen looking absolutely pissed.

“Okay, who was biting into the fucking mat in the training room?”

Your fork paused halfway to your mouth. You could feel John freeze next to you.

“I’m serious,” Bucky said. “That shit’s not cheap.”

Yelena raised an eyebrow. “Is someone into, like... feral combat now? What kind of sparring session leads to that?”

“Also,” Ava added, not even looking up from his phone, “pretty sure that’s not very hygienic.”

You slowly turned your head to glance at John. He looked deeply invested in his toast. Your face burned as you tried not to laugh.

You coughed into your napkin, eyes wide and innocent. “Weird. Wonder who’d do something like that.”

“Mmhmm,” Yelena said, giving you a look. “Probably someone very… enthusiastic.”

“Super committed to the training,” Ava added, finally glancing up with a smirk.

John cleared his throat, his ears bright red. “You know what? I’ll order a replacement.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Bucky said, tossing the ruined mat chunk onto the counter. “But seriously—next time, leave the mats out of your sex life.”

You choked on your coffee.

Yelena grinned. “So it was you two.”

John just sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face as the rest of the table broke into laughter.

And despite your embarrassment, you couldn’t stop smiling. Because yeah—maybe the mat was ruined, maybe your secret was out—but John was sitting beside you, close and warm and yours.

Honestly? Worth it.

[sarahroutldge]

running to you.

a/n: as someone who always seeks a happy ending, I just had to... if you wanted pure angst then don't read, but if you're craving a fairytale ending then here it is.

for those who haven't read part one or want to revisit, here it is!

summary: rafe made his choice, and now you have to make yours.

word count: 1.2k

warnings: nothing really... lmk if I missed anything

When the door closes behind Rafe Cameron, you should feel instant relief. Knowing that he’s not going to interfere on your wedding day should make you feel even more settled in your decision to let him walk out the door. The man you’re about to meet at the end of the altar is so kind, so generous, and the ideal husband. Any woman in Figure Eight would be happy to take him off your hands. So why aren’t you more thrilled?

Connor Huntzberger is easy, clean, and no drama. With him, you can picture living out the rest of your lives on the pristine family property, eventually surrounded by children and grandchildren that are more Huntzberger than you. You can imagine nights ending on the porch with calm conversation and flowing glasses of wine, with no harsh realities to unpack. The future dinner parties with families and friends come to your mind with ease, as do the pool parties in the summer and brunches at the country club. There are no unforeseen circumstances, no lingering consequences due to questionable decision-making in the past, and no difficult arguments. Any arguments that the two of you do have are settled quickly and quietly, and his voice never raises. Connor won’t forget a date or an anniversary, and you’ll show up everywhere on time, the both of you looking straight out of a home and garden magazine. 

But as the clock ticks on your last few hours as an unmarried woman, you begin to wonder if that’s truthfully all you can survive on. And if you’re being honest with yourself, these are the thoughts you’ve tried so hard to bury ever since Connor proposed. Surely, if you could’ve just convinced yourself to make it to this day, then walking down the aisle would seem like a piece of cake. Yet now it seems like a trek you’re not prepared for, and your legs feel glued to the floor the more you imagine it.

Do you dare to consider the man that just walked out of your life, perhaps forever? What would a life with Rafe Cameron—well, the new Rafe Cameron—even be like? His struggles will always be a part of him, and every day will be a challenge. He’s hurt you emotionally in ways you still haven’t fully recovered from, and your trust in him remains fragile. He lacks the perfect Figure Eight family and your parents have repeatedly expressed just how grateful they are that you married someone “so unlike the Cameron boy.” He’s shown up hours late for dates and forgotten important relationship milestones. He was never the perfect boyfriend, and you doubt that he’d be the perfect husband.

But maybe that doesn’t matter. Maybe what matters is that when you think about the happiest moments in your life, you realize that Rafe was always there. His romantic gestures may not always have been timely, but they were heartfelt, and they were special. He knew you better than he knew yourself, and based on that brief conversation you just had, he still might. He saw the darkest parts of you and loved you in spite of them. You could tell him your deepest fears, and he wouldn’t be surprised; for a man so troubled, he carried a level of understanding that you have never seen in anyone else. Most of all, though, something in you burned for him. What you assumed perhaps faded with time was clearly only just a flicker, for it was immediately set ablaze when you laid eyes upon him once again. And you want that flame back. Because who cares about perfection when deep, all-consuming, understanding love is so much better?

And so your legs begin to move. You kick off your heels, reaching for the flats you arrived in. After sliding them on, you grab your purse and your phone—only the necessities. You can’t waste any more time when any minute now someone could be banging on your door, ready to escort you to the venue. And you certainly can’t waste any more time when the love of your life is about to hop on his motorcycle and leave you behind. You open the door a crack, hoping that no one is in the hallway. The coast is clear, and you make your way to the emergency exit. You run around the hidden path, dashing to the front where the cars are parked. “Rafe!” you shout, not even caring anymore if someone in your wedding party discovers you. Your body has made your choice for you, and your mind just has to catch up. 

You don’t see him immediately, and you frown at the thought that he took off so quickly. You start to feel like an idiot before you hear the familiar roar of his motorcycle. 

“Rafe!”

Rafe Cameron can’t be sure if he’s dreaming or not. This is not how life turns out; he’s not supposed to get the girl. Prince Charming is supposed to sweep her off her feet. Someone with his baggage is not meant to be with the love of his life, even if he’s spent his past few years atoning for every mistake, improving himself just in case the possibility of love showed up again. And thank God he did, because she’s running right towards him, her dress dragging on the parking lot. 

You’re sure you look stupid, but you can’t help but giggle. You come to a stop, breathing heavily. “Any chance you have a spare helmet?”

He smirks, and you feel like a sixteen-year-old girl again, shy with your cheeks warm at the thought that he might reciprocate your own feelings towards him. 

He pulls out a second one, and you walk right up to where he’s sat. He reaches a hand up to take your headpiece off delicately. “I always thought you hated headbands.”

“I do,” you respond. It’s quiet, until you both laugh at the words you just said given the current circumstances. You yank the headband out of his hands and throw it in the middle of the parking lot, hoping it doesn’t break through someone else’s window. You bow down a bit so he can place the helmet on you, and he buckles it into place. Once he’s sure it fits, he rubs his thumb against your lips, his actions a show of appreciation at your willingness to give him one last chance. If he’s sure of anything, he’s sure that he won’t mess up this time. 

You step behind him, pressing your hands against his stomach, and feeling the signature Rafe Cameron warmth that you’ve been deprived of for years. Lightly, as if you’ll disappear, one of his hands comes to meet your own, squeezing. 

“Where are we headed to, angel?” 

“I’m not picky, but preferably anywhere I won’t run into a Huntzberger,” you respond, and he lets out a deep chuckle at your signature bluntness. 

“Coming right up, ma’am,” he adds, before kicking up the stand, and the two of you ride off into the distance, chasing the hope of the future instead of the broken promises of the past. 

so... I hope y'all enjoyed! another thank you to @zyafics for requesting the original fic and then wishing for a happier ending, so here it is :)

[romcomeon]

❯❯ 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐓  「 04 / 07 」 : SILVERLININGS.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 + 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎 :: mystery x gn! reader, where reader is the assigned make-up artist of the saja boys just a couple hours before their unofficial debut. how about that?

❥ makeup artist! reader whose soul quells in the stomach of eternal flame, though granted a new life.

❥ makeup artist! reader who coincidentally bumped into Jinu, seeing as he's looking for all the help he can get for his grand, masterful plan to defeat the hunters.

❥ makeup artist! reader who soon met the other members of the Saja Boys, each with their own style and role, almost a caricature of their past selves. They would know, it's not often you get to meet fellow demons who have retained bits of their humanity.

❥ makeup artist! reader who soon warms up to the boys as they help prepare them for their grand entrance. Having to now call them by their stage names as those identities have been whisked away to a past long forgotten.

Well, kind of.

❥ makeup artist! reader who finds themselves intrigued by one of the members. Truly, it becomes quite a baffling, profound and collective curiosity as to how the white-haired mysterious hottie from the soon-to-be-newest sky-rocketting boy band looked like.

And makeup artist! reader who was fortunate enough to meet him.

Eye to eye.

❯❯ 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 — "AS PER USUAL."

It appears that there was an added curse after a soul trade.

"Rrrgh..." 

For all instances, it is easier to mistake you for a mortuary cosmetologist. A case in point are your most recent clients after your whimsy old life had been traded away, and instead of being a fest, you found yourself trapped beneath the grueling depths of the Honmoon.

How tragic. Poor you.

Would be what others could have said a million times already if you weren’t enjoying your new job. It was a gambit of sorts, and by your honest intuition, you wouldn’t have it any other way—apart from a better schedule and some more compliant customers up your doorstep who don’t immediately demand you for a sharp contour for both their human disguises and their clinically better, truer selves.

Today was like any other.

Special orders with a hefty (and fair) price. With a brush balancing among your fingers, there you were with your large duffle bag seconds away from falling off the tall stool, your hand tightly gripping on the demon’s chin. Tilting his head upward, you observed the ever-present marks lightly show themselves even beneath the layer of  foundation and powder-on. 

You could only shake your head. "Hold still..."

Colorful lines of opalescent ombre littered against his neck, slowly branching upward towards the cheek you had painted on. Emitting a faint, maroon glow with every subtle brush of your skin against his. It tickled. These marks were less random and more of a series; a fungi or a tree though it grows not from beneath the ground, but on its surface. For Gwi-Ma’s sake, you could already have used a full bottle and dump it on his body but no, those patterns decided to be extra.

It never helped how twitchy Mystery was during the whole process.

That was putting it lightly.

“Mystery,” you say, frowning. Even clicking your tongue to catch the man’s attention.

Mystery lets out a low growl, his lips pouting a tad whilst your free hand carefully lifts up the soft strands of light purple hair. He never said anything. As always.

Your shoulders fall, taking a breath. “I know you don’t really like when I’m doing this—but—I promise, I’ll be done.”

You take a glance at those eyes; bright, golden yellow, yet it never exuded a tinge of warmth. Cold, sharp, shared by you and the others.

Others.

Not many other people have ever witnessed such a sight. Obviously, given how these are where his patterns would go and surprise the beholder most erratically, pulsing as if they’re veins carrying blood from a fire-sung heart. Familiar, shimmering light with your own markings reacting to his.

It was uncontrolled, in a sense, though you’d close your eyes and shake any thoughts of it than dwell any further. Not how his sharp nose ends at a gently upward curve. How his lips would purse out. Or how his eyes would rest up his cheekbone, dropping low as you continue to tilt his head upward, taking in the crisp jaw that slowly transitions to an otherwise smooth neck.

It was as if he felt the same. 

Over and over and over again.

Mystery’s gaze locked into yours the moment you’ve glanced at his uncovered eyes, and while you weren’t looking at him directly, you would feel it wander, following your movement oh so carefully. 

Oh so gently. 

He would still hiss lightly at concealer or growl when you accidentally got power near the corner of his lips, but there he sat. There he observed. There, right there on that old, dark blue stool with your minimal studio lighting and consecutive phone calls from Jinu. All ignored.

“Mystery.”

You say but he never responds. Not even a slight grumble from his throat.

Clicking your tongue, you tilted his chin even more upwards. You watch as his eyes squint at the glimpse of your overhead lamp, grabbing a silver pencil and lining his under eyelid. “Stay like this for a moment. Okay? This'll be quick.”

No response. 

Although his actions came to a halt. Calmed down, looking like he was processing your words still. 

He doesn’t quite understand.

After a few finishing touches, you took a final step back, closely admiring your work. “All's good, Mystery.”

You were quite proud of yourself, and your work. Stunning. So obviously you weren't past your prime yet. Though, you can't help but watch as your client just sat there. Never even looking back, just there. Unresponsive. While could be a preferred state for most artists, this certainly wasn't like him.

Confused, you asked, “Mystery?”

Again, silence.

"Mystery?"

He looks over to the side, almost ignoring you.

You quirked a brow. “Yejun?”

His head twitched slightly at the name, but his eyes didn’t meet yours. They stayed fixed on the blurred edge of the mirror. His lips parted like he might say something.

Nothing came.

You caught the faintest shift in his breath—some slow inhale.

Eye-widening, yes, though you shake off any other thought. Only giving him a small laugh. “Yejun, you have to get used to that name now. That’s what they’ll call you.”

You glance at his newly painted face, then at his gaze. It hadn’t followed you this time. “They’ll all scream it at the top of their lungs and you’ll get sick of it.”

Mystery looked at you in offense; brows furrowed, teeth bared, long nails digging into whatever they grasped on. The hair held up earlier gracefully fell on his face, covering up a majority of your work. Particularly the eyes, even when you can see bits of the cold yellow as it has yet to be properly styled. Only left to the eyes were his nose and those lips, whom while you were proud of, just doesn't hit as hard as those wondrous, pools of cold highlighter fluid-

What are you thinking?

You should expect this. Most of it hidden, with none of the world being the wiser of his expressions and wandering glances. You figured it was a waste of good looks, but alas, it was for the persona.

Even when he looked like some missing dog.

Another chuckle escapes your lips, half-hearted. “Don’t give me that.”

You walked towards Mystery as you fixed his hair, making sure the bangs cover as much of his eyes as possible. “As much as I would love to stay here with you, I still have other clients. Contouring the other guy’s abs takes me half an hour and you know that.”

Pause.

“Come back here if you need anything, okay?”

There was no dramatic confession. No whispered longing. Just the quiet weight of his gaze and the way it softened when it landed on you. His lips parted again, however you didn’t need the words.

A promise, maybe.

You stepped away, finally. The light stayed on behind you, casting soft shadows over him. Over both of you.

He didn’t call your name. But you heard it anyway.

❯❯ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐎? : back to masterlist.

𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙣 𝙗𝙮 𝙍𝙊𝙈𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙀𝙊𝙉; 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙡 / 𝙘𝙤𝙥𝙮 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙨. 𝙘𝙝𝙪𝙥 𝙘𝙝𝙪𝙥, 𝙢𝙬𝙖𝙝 𝙢𝙬𝙖𝙝!

[bellapoisonedrose]

BLUE LOCK LINKS WITH NESS AND KAISER (SEPERATE) + ANY OF UR FAVS PLEASEEEEEEEEEEEEEE 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

P⚠︎RN LINK'S ୭ ˚ ᵎᵎ Blue Lock ˚꩜— pt. 2

Thank you for this perfect request ♡ come back anytime.

⤷ Pt.1ˎˊ˗

This post contains explicit adult content and is intended for audiences 18+. It features graphic smut and heavy sexual content including: rough sex, power play, dirty talk, face-down doggy style, hair pulling, overstimulation, multiple rounds, possessiveness, jealousy, and emotionally charged fucking used as a form of stress relief or punishment.

All links redirect to Twitter/X. Tap at your own risk! ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა

Michael Kaiser: He had a shitty day—and he doesn’t want comfort, he doesn’t want soft. He wants to fuck the stress out of his system. You didn’t even make it to the bed. He’s got you bent over the couch, your knees sinking into the cushions, and he’s behind you—pressed in close, practically on top of you as he pounds into you without pause. One hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your waist like he’s trying to anchor himself. “Quiet,” he growls in your ear. “Let me use you... just for a little fucking peace.”

Oliver Aiku: Waking up to find him still in bed? Rare. Between training and the gym, mornings like this didn’t happen often. But when they did, you knew exactly how he wanted to start the day—calling it “cardio,” with a smirk. You’re on top, but his hips are still meeting you halfway, thrusting up with lazy strength as his mouth stays busy on your tits, groaning into your skin between licks and kisses. “Shit… what a way to wake up,” he pants. “Keep riding me just like that, baby. Let me feel all of you.”

Ryuusei Shindou: Just like on the field, he’s a beast in bed—relentless, untamed. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve come, legs trembling, breath caught, and still he doesn’t stop. Now he’s sitting back on his thighs, hands gripping your hips as he pulls you into him, forcing your back to arch just right—just enough for him to hit that spot that makes your body twitch. “You’re shaking again,” he laughs softly, chest rising. “Cute.” He gives you a few seconds… then slams back in like he never left.

Alexis Ness: The walk home had him all worked up, but he kept his cool—taking his time, undressing you gently, like he was savoring every inch. But the second he slid inside you? That softness vanished. Now he’s in missionary, arms planted firm on the bed beside your head, fucking into you with a rhythm that’s anything but sweet. He’s panting, jaw clenched, losing himself in the way your body responds. “Fuck, baby… you feel too good. Don’t tell me to slow down now.”

Kunigami Rensuke: It was just supposed to be a shower. That’s what he said. But once the clothes came off, there was no turning back. Now you’re in his arms—legs wrapped around his waist, body bouncing with every powerful thrust. No walls, no support. Just his grip on your thighs and that relentless strength keeping you up like you weigh nothing at all. “Fuck—how are you still going?” you gasp. He smirks, breathless but steady. “Told you... I don’t need a bed to fuck you right.”

Barou Shoei: He always says he likes to keep his hands clean. But when you’re on all fours, ass perfectly exposed for him, that discipline fades fast. His thrusts slow, deep and steady, and you feel his thumb trailing lower—pressing against your other hole with teasing, deliberate pressure. “And this pretty little hole back here? Yeah... I’m taking that next.” he murmurs, voice low and dark, almost reverent. He fucks you slow, but his control only makes it hotter. One hand fucking, one hand preparing. Both sides of you his to ruin.

Let me know which character you'd like to see next or what anime I should explore in the next round!

[nono-serves]

Shot through the heart, and you're to blame

Max Verstappen x fem!archer!reader

summary: Max and Daniel record a new video for the RedBull Youtube Channel. You're their personal guide through the Archery-parcour and put an arrow straight into max' heart.

Warnings: shooting fake animals->referring to killing real ones, english is not my first language so please have mercy, use of Y/N, banner is kinda ass tbh;

Notes: this is my first fic so please...idk..be nice or something. Title is inspired by the song 'You give Love a bad name' by Bon Jovi.

Wordcount: 2.428

You're checking yourself over in the mirror for the third time within the last twenty minutes, making sure you look presentable. You weren't exactly nervous for the video shoot or leaving an especially good first impression on the drivers. Still an uneasy feeling settled in your stomach, RedBulls reach on social media could be a great oppurtunity to advertise for the Archery-Parcour you work for.

To be honest it hadn't exactly been going well in the last two years so this was rather important for your boss. He was supposed to tour them himself but something personal had come up, ending up with you working extra shifts.

Normally people woukd go through the parcour, set in the forest, by themselves after paying, but the occasion calls for special measures.

So here you were waiting for the team to set up and check over all cameras and microphones. You hadn't been able to catch a glimpse of the drivers yet. Daniel and Max if you remember right, having no previous Formula1-knowledge. Maybe you should have done some research instead of making sure you were in a good shape to predent the sports-club.

Your thougts come to an sudden stop, seeing two new guys, the actual f1-driverd you assume, step out one of RedBulls cars. Both rather tall, one with a mega-watt smile and the other looking like he was forced to go jeans-shopping with his mother.

You frowned a bit at the thougt of dealing with a grown mans bad mood before you pulled yourself together as they made their way over to you.

"Good morning, welcome to our sports Archery-Parcour. I'm Y/N, your guide and teacher for today", you introduced yourself with the most professionalism you could muster.

"Morning Y/N, it's nice to meet you! My name's Daniel and this is my dear friend max", daniel voice picks up a bit of sarcasm towards the end, seemingly wanting to tease max further.

Before you could reply, a member of the filmcrew came over, telling you they were ready and just needed daniel and max to record a bit if the intro. They ushered you to the side, out if frame.

The first part of the intro was done quickly, introducing themselves and what they were here for today. You weren't exactly prepared when max pulled you a few steps towards them, surprisingly gentle you might add.

"And this is dear Y/N, our teacher for today", Daniel puts his hands on both your shoulders and shakes you back and forth gently. "Well, thanks Daniel for the introduction", you shake off his hands " Today we'll just a quick warm up and then get right into it". You feel a bit proud of yourself for not stuttering your way into the video.

"First of all you two need equipment, a bow and five arrows each. I need both of you to test out the bows, so I know how strong your bow has to be", leading them to a storage room at the back of the little wooden house, which functions as a kind of office. You handed each of them a bow, instructing them to test then out: "The string shoulnd't be too easy to pull, but also not hurt your fingers."

While they were tedtung you couknd't help but let your eyes glance over at Max' arm, admiring his flexing bicrps as descret as you could. You guys ended up with daniel having a 30 pound-bow and Max a slightly stronger one with 33 pounds. Both impressive for two male beginners, yours was around 26 as a professional.

"Do you have red and blue arrows? You know to represent the team", Max' breath brushes over the shell of your ear, suddenly too close. Your breath hitches, making you take a deep breath. Turning to the side you find him as close as he sounded, head slightly tilted and a smug smile playing on his lips.

"Damnit Max, you scared me!", you said the last few words under a breathy laugh, trying to laugh off the clearly red shade on your cheeks. "Why did you even sneak up on me like that?", your cheeks only heating up more.

"Well i thought it could be fun to fluster you a bit and to be honest you really didn't dissapoint.", he still stood way to close, you caught a small whiff of his expensive cologne mixed with the smell of detergent from his redbull team merch. "Ah okay..well we don't.", you deadpan, reffering to the arrows in his f1 teams colours. He didn't quite seem to catch that, you could almost see the question mark popping up above his blode hair.

"We don't have red-blue arrows, sorry to dissapoint you Max." You tell him with the most bored tone you could muster. "You will have to take the blue-black ones.", with that you leave him standing alone in the corner, facing the wall. But before you walked off you saw a glimpse of determination in his blue eyes. The blood rushed back to your cheeks, as you got him the arrows. He was going to continue flirting with you, making you blush, making your thought stumble as he did mere seconds ago. But would that really be that bad?

Just like you expected did Max not go easy on you, making flirty jokes and flattering compliment since you started the parcour. He even started a running joke with Daniel that you were distracting them from shooting and actually hitting the animals. You were mainly laughing along, running with the jokes, but Max' gaze, that kept glancing over to you, made your stomach flutter, distracting you just as much.

"No! I shot the arrow in the trees again. How do i keep doing that, why doesn't it happen to you guys?", Daniel started to ramble a bit, as the three of you and the camera-team watched Daniels red-black arrow fly high above the fake deer, deep into the forest.

"We don't have to search for it, you both have five arrows for a reason, two of them are spare ones for situations exactly like these.", you quickly jump in, not wanting to create boring film-material or too many scenes to cut out of the final video. "Or I can come back later to come get it."

"Nonsense, we'll help you of course, Daniel is just extremely bad at shooting", Max smirks at you, Daniel letting out a sound of dissaproval. "Come on, up in the forest we go.", Max leads the way behind the archery-target, positioned at the edge of the forest. Daniel and you following him, far less motivated but still following him.

It soon became clear to you why he insisted on helping you search, the camer-team wasn't coming into the woods with you, the big cameras stopping them. He was quick to be right beside you again.

"Isn't it nice of me to offer our help searching?", a grin plastered across his face, he was planning on flustering you again. Making you blush beyond by teasing without an end in sight. You wouldn't give him that satisfication again.

"Well to be honest any decent human being would have offered their help, you're not that special Verstappen.", you start running your finger along his collar, a wave of self-pride washing over you at the sight of his ears turning pink. His smirk faltered for a second before he shot back: "If you think that Y/N, you might want to give me a chance to prove you, I can indeed be special, just for you tough.", you half expected him to wink at you, but that was too cheesy, even for him.

"Do you always flirt with the people you work with? Or am I just lucky?", your finger was now running lower, halting at his chest and poking lightly into him.

"Let me be the lucky one and really give me a chance to prove I may not be special, but you're special to me", you where about to shoot another teasing line back, when you caught the look of his icey-blue eyes. Something hopeful yet desperate in them, his grin had been reduced to a soft, honest smile.

"Am I not that special to you Maxie?",Daniel voice cut through the tension like a smord, Max and you shooting back from eachother faster than any arrow today. An even bigger smirk than the usual playing on Daniels lips, an amused glint in his brown eyes.

"You two are so cute, flirting secretely in the forest, not even hearing me coming because you were so distracted by each other.", the teasing undertone was now clear in his voice. "I found the lost arrowed by the way, so if you're finished with whatever you were doing we can continue the video." After that he just stalked of, leaving Max and you stunned and also quite emberassed. After a moment to catch yourselves you follow him back onto the trail.

From then on Max stays a lot more discreet about the flirting, or at least as discreet as before. So when you were about to shoot your first arrow at the next target (a beaver), you felt his presence behind you. His warm breath was tickling your ear again: "You're not gonns let me distract you that easily now are you?"

"Oh shut up, you know you just cant handle the idea of losing to me.", despite your teasing word you take a few seconds more to adjust your aim, before letting go of your arrow. It pierces through the air, and deep into the targets inner circle. Altogether it wasn't too hard to hit the fake animal, so every one had three circles drawn on, the smaller the circle, the deadlier the shot woukd have been on a real animal.

"Cat got your tongue?" You turn around to Max. "Come on, it's your turn now.", you step aside to give Max a free shooting range. You watch him pull the arrow back and adjust his bow slightly. You let your eyes glance over all of him, from the concentrated look in his beautiful blue eyes to the slight flex of his biceps as he holds the string back. You can see his chest rising when he breaths in deepky one more time before letting the arrow fly smoothly by the target. Hitting the set up wall, right next to one of Daniels.

"Maybe you try opening both your eyes, closing one doesn't benefit you in the least, it's more a bother than a help.", your voice was far from teasing now, wanting to give him honest instructions. You realised a few seconds ago thag you were actually their teacher and were supposed to help them build a bit of skill within one day.

"Y/N! Are you trying to help me?", Max fakes an outraged tone, putting his second arrow on the bow.

"Well I'm your guide and you clearly need my help so I thought you would appreciate it."

You can see Daniel talking to the camera in the corner of your eye, he's leaning in like sharing a secret, not at the volume you would share such a precious thing tough: "I've been shooting while closing one eye the entire time, but I guess she only shares such worthy tips with her favourite students."

"Come on mate, the results look like you shoot with both eyes closed. Lets be honest opening one would not have helped much I think.", Max punctuates his sentences with the sound of an arrow hitting it's target. You let out an breathy laugh, surprised at how close his arrow had hit the beaver to yours and of course amused by his statement to Daniels archery-skills. You hear a few more deeper laughs behind you, can't exavtly tell more about them tho. Max's eyes have found yours and he doesn't seem eager to lose your gaze again anytime soon.

About half an hour later, you guys are back at the starting point, the boys peering eager above your shoulders to watch you calculate the final points. You don't count yours since it would be very much unfair against them. So you only do their scores and - to nobodys surprise, Max wins with an astonishing lead. Leading to him trash talking Daniel through the rest of the video and the outro.

After saying Goodbye to everyone the camera-crew soon started to pit their equipment back into the cars, it had gotten quite late, so they would head back soon, so they wouldn't get caught up in traffic. You had already gotten to work, storing all borrowed bows and other gear away. The low light creating a cozy atmosphere in the wooden shed.

Your ears catch the sound of slow steps on gravel, almost hesitant, far less confident than the entire day. "Well Max what leads you here once again, I tought we all already said our good-byes?", you ask him as soon as he steps a foot into the doorframe.

"You really want me to spell it out for you huh? Well, I just wanted to tell you I wasn't joking or anything when i asked you to give me a chance earlier today. I would really like to get to know you better.", a soft smile across his face, nothing cheeky in his expression anymore.

The honesty in his eyes making your breatch hitch for a moment, you think about making another playful comment but you decide against it, not wanting to keep the nervous-weight on his shoulder for longer.

"Like a date?", you ask, like you're really that dense. "Because if it is a date, it's also a yes from me Maxie."The tips of his ears turn pink again at the nickname, clearly not prepared for that.

"Yes, a date. I'm happy you said yes, I was starting to doupt your interest actually."

"Why would you do that? We've been flirting and teasing all day.", your voice clearly displaying confusion.

"I tought maybe you only did it for the video or something...", the unnatural colour if his ear-tips deepening. You let out a laugh, an honest, big laugh.

"Oh Max no! Never...So about that date I was promised..."

[kuroakiko]

Is It Too Late to Say I Love You?

jinu x f!huntr/x!reader

summary: you loved him. and he loved you. or so you thought. one day, he tells you that it’s all fake… but is it really?

word count: 822

warnings: ... all sadness? no happiness, i didn't add any in here LOL it also slightly follows the movie, i took a couple quotes from it!

note: this is my first time writing a story, so i'm so sorry if it's bad! likes, comments, or corrections are greatly appreciated! <3

navigation: pt. 2 pt. 3

“It was all a lie…” he said, his expression blank, voice flat and hollow, devoid of emotion. 

“It was real! What we had was real… I know it was!” you cried, your voice cracking as tears streamed down your cheeks. All those nights you snuck out of your room to meet him, both of you laughing together, crying together, gossiping, spilling your true feelings and secrets to each other—there was no way he didn’t feel anything.

“The things I said… I just needed you to trust me… that’s all…” he laughed bitterly, watching you crumble in front of him. His eyes blurred with tears, but even then, he felt nothing. Not even your pain could reach him now. “I need to go, Gwi-Ma’s waiting for me.”

“Jinu…. please…. I know it was real! All those times we spent at night, secretly with each other? They weren’t fake!” You beg him.

Jinu’s expression hardens as he watches you plead for him desperately. “Stop lying to yourself. Our relationship was purely for my benefit… for my mission. Gwi-Ma helped me realize that I can’t escape what I am, so I simply manipulated your emotions.”

Your face falls at his confession. A tear slips down your cheek as you step forward, reaching for him, unable to believe what he’s saying. “No… stop it! We had something… We had something real… We had something real… right?”

Jinu’s facade cracks slightly at the sight of your tear, his voice quiet. “I… I just can’t afford to care anymore.”

“Yes, you can!” You blurt out, grabbing his hands. “Stay here—fight Gwi-Ma with me and my girls, and you won’t have to hear the voices anymore after we seal the honmoon! I’m sure I can convince Rumi, Mira, and Zoey to let you fight alongside us!”

“You don’t understand!” Jinu snaps, jaw clenched as he glares down at you, exasperated. “Gwi-Ma has complete control over me, and it’s impossible to beat him! If I disobey, AND we lose, he'll make me relive my memories on repeat! Who knows how he'll manipulate my thoughts! He's already noticed my thoughts about you... He knows you're my weakness! What if he uses you against me? As..... punishment?"

He swallows, breath now slightly shaky.

"I… have to protect you from myself. I can’t trust myself around you anymore, and-”

“But I trust you! Isn’t that enough?” you cry, more tears slipping down. “I know you won’t hurt me… I trust you!”

Jinu’s hand tightens around yours, a storm of anger, sadness, and fear swirling in his eyes. “You’re wrong. I’ve already hurt you. And I’ll keep hurting you if I stay. I can’t risk it.”

Your body wracks with sobs. You shove him away, too blinded by heartbreak to realize what you’re saying next. “I’ll never forgive you, Jinu!”

Jinu stumbles back from your push, freezing at your words. A pained expression flickers across his face, but it quickly vanishes, hardening again. “Maybe that’s for the best… I don’t deserve you or your forgiveness anyway.” He takes another step back, creating even more distance between you.

Your expression instantly shifts into regret, and you take a shaky step toward him. “Wait, no… please, Jinu… that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry!”

He shakes his head, turning his back to you so you can’t see his face, preparing to leave. “No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I have to go.” 

You quickly close the distance between you and hug him tightly, shoving your face into his back. You bite your lip to keep from making a sound, wiping your tears with trembling hands. Smudged makeup stained all over your skin and his clothes, but none of it matters—not when this might be goodbye forever.

He stares into the distance, your arms still wrapped around him. He breathes deeply with a breath that sounds similar to a sob, almost like he’s trying to etch this into memory. For those couple of moments, he revels in it—the warmth, the love, and affection he’s searched for, but never thought he would be able to receive. When he speaks, his voice is sharp and cold, slicing into you like a sharp dagger made of icy glass. “Y/N. Stop deluding yourself. It was all a lie. Everything; the "love", the "affection"… everything was fake. I manipulated you, and now I’m leaving you. I don't know what shred of hope you're trying to cling to, but that's the truth. I'm leaving, and nothing is going to change my mind. Let go.”

You cry harder, his words finally sinking in. Your grip around his waist loosens. He takes that moment to disappear—the only trace of him being crimson dust, drifting around, before slowly falling to the ground, the scene almost beautiful. His words continue to echo in your mind, shattering the last pieces of your heart.

And that was the last time you ever saw or heard from him.

hopefully i achieved my goal of making it sad :P lmk if you liked it!

masterlist

[loganficsonly]

an independent woman

˚₊‧⁺˖✮ ch 6: sinking in ✮ ˖⁺‧₊˚

worst!logan x fem!reader, 5.2k

SUMMARY: As Logan learns to live instead of survive, he finds himself in the extremely dangerous position of sharing an apartment with you—Wade's friend. Extremely dangerous because Lord knows he can't keep his feelings a secret forever... not when your room is five steps away from his.

SERIES WARNINGS/TAGS: english is not my native language, no use of y/n, reader is a working adult (mid-late 20s) with a slightly written out personality, friends to roommates to lovers, slow burn, secret crushes, mentions of alcoholism and AA

CHAPTER WARNINGS/TAGS: multiversal travel, gratuitous cameos, merc with the potty mouth, angst?, violence, attempt at canon compliance, feelings feelings feelings

AUTHOR'S NOTE: i can feel the ending creeping up, can you believe we've gotten this far??? as usual, comments are like crack to me and i appreciate whatever you can give <3

The air in your bedroom suffocates you.

You hear those words again, this time louder, more final.

I was thinkin’ of movin’ out.

You didn’t press him for answers. You weren’t prepared to ask questions, much less the right ones. You know Logan thinks things down to a singular point, the only part which he says out loud.

An idea so sharp it can’t be misunderstood. That was what you got.

He said them softly, but his words were blades. 

Lying down in bed doesn’t help much. You still feel slightly disembodied from the encounter, unmoored by the turbulent tempest of thoughts in your head. It sweeps you back to two months ago.  Memories of you and Logan before tonight flash like lightning.

In the past two months, you’ve seen past his weaponized reputation and become familiar with the depths of him. What you found was unexpected, beautiful in the way life is: rough around the edges, but honest. Real.

On top of that, he’s been nothing but kind to you. You’ve enjoyed his patience. Stayed close to his warmth. Eventually, calling him a grump became near impossible, because how could you say that when he’s been nothing but sweet and self-effacing? 

He made soup for you when you were sick. You didn’t even tell him you were, but he knew. 

Was that not what it was—a way to show he cared? Enough to make sure you were fed?

He told you about his very first AA meeting, a piece of information even Wade Winston Wilson isn’t privy to yet, as far as you know.

He asked you to cook for him, called you sweetheart, teased you about the labels you pasted on every moving box…

You don’t know if that’s just him underneath the armor, or if things changed for him after the whole thing with Wade. After getting a chance to breathe.

Because somewhere along the way, you changed.

Stopped resorting to “I’m fine” just to dodge the explanation. Learned to be comfortable receiving help, and later on asked him for it—not just with the small stuff. Existed without demanding yourself to be useful all the time. 

You blink at the dark ceiling, eyes tired.

How did it come to this, then? Were you just some kind of default option to him? The most convenient source of comfort?

No, he’s not like that—you know he’s not like that. You’ve seen firsthand the time it takes for him to open up, to trust. You’re the exact same. He has his reasons.

Stop being cruel to him just because he made a personal decision, you scold yourself.

But the whispers threaten to close in from the corners of the room. They’re waiting for the moment you let go of control over your thoughts, susurrations of old insecurities ready to cloak you like goosebumps on skin.

What ugliness did he see in you that made him pull back? You’re not sure if you want to know, but you find yourself asking anyway.

A flurry of possible answers come to mind. Being unkind to yourself is easy, familiar, but they haven’t hurt like this in a while. The thoughts sting the way papercuts do: shallow, but excruciating in the most hidden of places.

That must be why your eyes feel wet—the pain within fighting to make itself known to the surface, but you close them, focusing on the shapes floating behind your eyelids. 

You must not cry. 

Nothing existed between you and him in the first place. Nothing that warranted tears.

But as the seconds tick by and the moon climbs higher, restlessness continues to blanket your every twist and turn under the sheets. You struggle against it, employing everything at your mind’s disposal to distract yourself from the ache. 

You find yourself turning to your favorite form of distraction: thinking of things that you can do. No time to feel when you have a laundry list of tasks to clear.

One: scour the internet for a good place, a Logan kind of place. You open browser tabs in your mind, websites you should take a look at in the morning. 

Two: you’ll need a new roommate.

That’s a big task, one that snakes around your lungs and squeezes at the thought of having someone else around the house that’s not him. They’ll live in his bedroom. Sit at his spot on the couch. They’ll replace every single trace of Logan in this apartment with themselves.

You push through the mental to-do list, sighing to the dark. Time to hit the Facebook groups again. You’re not a big fan of that. Maybe a text blast to your circle of friends would work better, ask if anyone’s looking for a place to stay…  

At work, they call this trait of yours a ‘bias for action’ and praise you for it. In therapy, it’s an unhealthy coping mechanism.

It takes about an hour and multiple open tabs in your brain for you to finally fall asleep.

When you get up in the morning, groggy and not at all rested, the house is empty. You’ve come to know when he’s home and when he isn’t. Judging by the remnants of water on the bathroom floor, he probably left not too long ago.

You stare at his dark blue toothbrush sitting quietly next to your pink one. His shaving cream is in the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. A pair of boots sits on the shoe rack, dust all over it—the ones he wears to work.

Apparently two months is just enough time for a person to be molded into your life.

Because you can see the two of you on the couch, watching TV together, stealing glances at the other’s reaction. Around the kitchen island, where you’d tend over a frying pan and he’d do the dishes despite your protests. You remember that one time you fed him with a fork and he stood so close, close enough to kiss.

He’s everywhere. All the time. In this place. In your head.

You steel yourself to go to work, but your stomach drops at the whiteboard hanging on the door.

Gone till Saturday

His handwriting stares back at you like a little gift to soften the blow of last night. It brings you back to middle school, like a crush turning you down with a ‘can we stay friends?’ as if you could ever look them in the eye again.

Six days until Saturday. You’ll use the time as practice for when he’s gone for good.

The task is simple: save a dying timeline.

The method is not as simple, but they’ve done it before: short-circuit matter and antimatter flows on a new version of the Time Ripper, redesigned to heal timelines rather than destroy them.

The possibility of being atomized beyond regenerative healing is still present.

To start, Time Ripper 2.0 must be installed in a safe and secluded location within the universe while remaining connected to a source of energy powerful enough to run it.

“Which means we can’t just install it at a cornfield in Iowa, zap ourselves, and save the world?”

That was Wade during the briefing, and the obvious answer B-15 gave was a flat no.

Nothing was ever that easy.

So here they are. Miss Minutes’ mercenaries doing a larger-than-life job. 

A week-long recon mission in a different version of New York, beacon of civilization, that smells a little worse than the one they currently reside in, trying to find a hiding place that has enough electrical outlets for that giant machine.

He replays the steps in his head.

Secure a spot to deploy Ripper 2.0, hold hands while his body battles the constant waves of your very cells being pulverized into non-existence, and if that didn’t kill him—which it shouldn’t—go home. 

“Missed opportunity to rename it, really,” Wade quips, shifting under his disguise, voice muffled under a surgical mask. He looks like an old-timey detective caught a cold. “Could call it the Time Fixer. Time Stitcher. Time Unfucker.”

Logan shoots a withering look from underneath the brim of his hat, hands deep in the pockets of a trench coat.

The suit he’s wearing feels scratchy despite being made of high quality materials, distracting him even more than he’s already been since the briefing.

His mind has been… elsewhere.

While Wade was more than happy to play dress-up as part of the job, Logan protested against it, citing silliness. He retrospectively realized his point was easily made moot due to his own superhero costume.

B-15 shut him down matter-of-factly with a more practical reason.

“This is another universe entirely. You need to blend in.”

And thanks to TVA’s in-house tailor—who, to Wade’s relief, was a different non-predatory person—they did blend in. 

It’s impossible to tell who he is after putting it on. His outfit is sensible in all the ways his instincts are averse to: polished instead of wild. They made him wear a crisp white shirt and a three-piece suit. He realized grumbling was futile the moment they handed him the finishing touches: a trench coat and a dark wool fedora.

The color of the clothes were an aesthetically pleasing combination of camel and cadet blue, but it didn’t matter. They faded into shades of grey the moment he stepped through the TemPad portal Wade opened. He glimpsed at the display.

Earth-90214

What greets them are the streets of a black-and-white, 1920s New York.

The avenue is dimly lit, conveniently silhouetting passersby who cover themselves with black umbrellas. It’s drizzling, the light trickle of rain visible under cast iron street lights that stand at almost a storey high, while the rest of the street’s corners remain dark. Automobile headlights create chiaroscuro reflections on the wet pavement, a soft rumble as the tires glide by. There’s chimney smoke rising in the distance.

This universe’s anchor being perished, the reason they’re here in the first place—one Anthony Stark. From what, Logan doesn’t remember. Only the important pieces of the mission stuck with him, including B-15’s strict warning before they entered this universe. 

“Remember,” she looked at them pointedly, “do not engage anyone, most of all your own variants. The smallest interactions could lead to an entire domino effect that’ll fray the timeline further—maybe even cause it to branch into a new one entirely. The mission will end before we get the chance to start.”

Wade drones on as they walk down the street. It’s nearly midnight. Not the best time for him to run his motor mouth.

“Time Patch-er. Get it? Patch? Maybe a little too meta for you.”

A clipped tilt of Logan’s chin snaps Wade out of it. There’s commotion, coming from the main road beyond the bend, about fifty yards away. Doesn’t sound threatening, but sounds like company. And if B-15’s warning is to be heeded, company might as well be a danger while they’re here.

They emerge from the small street, getting a view of the main road, standing by a row of brick buildings. The source of noise is clear: a group of young adults dispersing from one of the houses down the row. Their giggles and movements suggest a type of merriment—the kind that involves alcohol.

Wade smirks. “You think getting drunk hits different in Prohibition? Bet it’s hot, too, ‘cause you’re breaking the rules.” 

“Only the first few times,” Logan replies dryly, eyes tracing each person’s figure until they disappear down the street, none the wiser. The rain lets up. They swing their umbrellas as they walk home.

Two people linger on the street in front of the house, as if unwilling to leave the moment. A man and a woman, trading hushed whispers under the streetlight, his arm cradling her body by her waist to stand closer to his.

They’re far enough but they’re coming this way.

Logan’s nose twitches.

It’s you. He smells you before he sees you.

You’re in a simple, soft-looking frock under your fur-trimmed coat, trying your best to walk straight. The young man by your side has an arm around you, a steady guide who oozes charm. He’s dressed casually—under his coat, a long-sleeved shirt and suspenders clipped onto a pair of dark slacks. The newsboy hat covers his handsome features.

The man looks at you with a softness that is usually reserved for lovers.

“Holy fuck, that our little honeybee? We only got here a few paragraphs ago and we’re already meeting variants of people we know?” Wade whisper-screams, pulling his homburg down to cover more of his eyes from view. “And what is she doing, out late with a cute boy at this hour? Scandalous. I’m so telling her about this when we get back.”

Logan doesn’t react. He continues to watch.

Your cheeks are flushed and the smile on your face is a little loopy, but there’s a tenderness in your expression. The man stops walking and so do you. He pulls you closer to him.

Logan catches the way the air shifts. The curl of your lips changes intentions like shedding skin. Innocence melting into something more siren-like.

You let the man kiss you in the middle of the street.

It may be dark, but not dark enough for Logan to miss the way the man’s hands disappear under your coat, gripping your waist as you lift yourself onto your tiptoes. The slot of your lips against his is deep, and your lashes flutter when you part.

You look smitten. So does he.

You’re walking down the street again when the piercing blue eyes of your companion meet Logan’s. Of course they’ve been noticed, two tall figures standing at the edge of a side road, casting long shadows under the street light.

Walking away would be too late, and much too suspicious.

A tip of the hat and a boyish smirk thrown their way.

“Gentlemen,” the man hums, just loud enough for them to hear. Wade tips his hat back in an awkward response. You bite back a giggle, burying your face in the man’s chest, hiding even as you walk next to him.

And then you’re gone, disappearing down another bend, two pairs of shoes clacking against damp vitrified brick. Logan hears a twinkle of your laugh at a distance, and even that was too dream-like to prove that the encounter was real.

You sounded like you’re having the time of your life. 

“Thank god for this era-appropriate surgical mask,” Wade hisses, making the lapels of his coat stand up straighter before continuing to walk opposite where you went. “Wonder if honeybee’s our friend in this timeline, too. Hope she didn’t recognize my beautiful eyes.”

Logan stays, feet frozen in place.

A slow pain builds in his chest. For a moment he wonders if this is what cardiac arrest feels like. His jaws are tightly clenched, enough pressure to break a molar as he tries to hold back the strong urge to chase you.

But what then? What happens after he catches up with you and your boyfriend, or whoever that was?

He banishes the compulsion. You probably don’t even know who he is, not in this universe. The two of you aren’t roommates. Maybe that man was. Maybe he fell for you that way, because how could someone not fall in love with you? Maybe he had the guts to actually tell you, and that’s how you ended up leaving a Prohibition party in his arms, kissing him under the rain.

You looked so happy.

“Peanut?” Wade turns around. “You got literal gum on your shoe or somethin’?”

He doesn’t answer. One glimpse of you and his world ends all over again.

You’re not just the first good thing he’s had in a long fucking while, and ‘good’ is a massive understatement. You’re heaven. You and everything you touch—the food, the apartment, the whiteboard at the door.

In his years of hurt, nothing’s come close to the salvation he’s found in simply relearning what it means to live. With you. Because everything feels right with you. 

So when he sees you like that, in another time, in the arms of a man who makes you forget where you are, free of the cares of the world—

That’s what he wants for you. A love that’s easy. 

Something he can’t give you.

Because you haven’t seen who he is, who he can be. Haven’t witnessed what he’s like at the bottom of his twentieth bottle, drunk out of his mind despite his mutation. Haven’t seen the man who could only stare at the grimy bar counter while his friends—his family—were cut down like lumber. Haven’t felt the weight of his body when he’s unable to stand up straight.

Whatever it is between the two of you, it had to stop. If he had to be the one to stop it, then so be it.

He won’t let you waste your time on someone who’s not worth the effort.

“Hello? Noir-Earth to Logan??”

Wade is now in front of him, waving a gloved hand and not bothering to keep quiet anymore.

“Boy, I know seeing her is a surprise—a nice one, especially with her hunky boyfriend there—but it’s bound to happen. Boss Lady told us it’s very possible that we’d meet variants.”

“You talk too much,” Logan grits, finally finding it in him to start walking.

“Awww, you miss her? I’m sure she’s waiting for you at home. She’s a good girl. Speaking of, are you gonna make her your good girl soon? Saw the way you look at her legs. Smooth and—”

“Finish that sentence an’ I’ll cut the fucking voice box outta ya.”

The sentence is growled out, as if Logan were some kind of guard dog, an invisible leash tethered multiversally to you.

It’s Wade’s turn to freeze. 

“Oh,” he says quietly, “fuckkk.” 

Logan swallows, gaze hardening. Wade’s surgical mask isn’t enough to conceal the blooming grin on his face.

“Of course you’re in love with her. It’s not just I-wanna-fuck-you eyes you keep throwing at her, it’s I-wanna-fuck-you-and-make-you-mine-forever eyes!”

“Shut the fuck up about my eyes,” Logan walks away. They’re supposed to be at the safehouse by now.

“You’re not denying it, pal!” Wade sounds like a kid who just won a lifetime supply of candy, slightly shaky and high-pitched. “You love her! God, I knew this was going to happen. Yes, I’ll be your best man, you don’t even have to ask. GASP. Your baby’s godfather? Of course, I’m so honored—”

“I’m not in love with her,” Logan snaps. 

He ignores the sting of his own voice. In his head is a voice, sing-song through a wicked smile.

Cassandra.

Liar, liar.

Wade catches up from behind him.

“Oh, no need to be shy, Logie Bear. The renowned bard Doechii of Florida once said “denial is a river” and I can tell you’re absolutely drowning in it. You just have to get your boots out of the mud and tell her—”

“I’m movin’ out.”

Reality seems to stand still just then. The light rain is like static. 

“...What?”

“I’m movin’ outta there.” He looks back at Wade as he barks the words out, as if trying to convince himself.

“When?”

“Soon as we get back from here.”

“You told her that?”

“Yup.”

“Why?”

Silence. Logan’s eyes stare straight into Wade’s, unreadable under the soft moonlight, but the lack of response is telling. 

Understanding drifts softly onto Wade’s expression.

The punch lands cleanly on Logan’s right jaw. It’s so sudden that before he can get his bearings, he’s already lifted up by the lapels of his coat, feet inches from the ground. He tries shaking Wade off, hat dropping the ground, but the merc pursues quickly. Gloved fists curl by the collar of Logan’s shirt.

“Look, you stupid, emotionally constipated supercentenarian,” Wade begins, soft but clear, “I thought that holding hands while we sacrifice our lives with Madonna playing in the background was enough to rekindle your will to live. I believe it did because you didn’t walk away when I called after you.”

His eyes glare baby knives into Logan’s, voice dipping low. He uses his free hand to tug his mask down.

“I know it’s hard. I don’t claim to understand how you feel, but I wore a toupee and sold used automobiles for six years. No offense to Drivemax employees and hair system customers.”

A breath.

“But the point was… I ran away from what I really wanted, and it cost me the love of my fucking life. Took me fisting Paradox’s timeline-killing machine to get her back, and even after that I had to really earn it.”

Wade’s eyelids flutter, overcome in the moment, and then he lets Logan go. The crisp shirt is now wrinkled, necktie askew. 

“You deserve to be happy, Logan. And I think you know that, deep down.”

Logan’s still stunned, but his mind flies to the moment he knew he was staying.

Somewhere between the bites of shawarma, the decision settled like dust after a fight. He remembers the way it grew stronger, more certain with every step back to Wade’s apartment.     

He thinks of each time he turned down Scott’s request to wear the suit.

Couldn’t have ‘em thinkin’ I wanted to be there.

How regret swept him like entire oceans after they were killed. How he wished he could tell them they made him feel like he belonged.

Then, the memory of crackling firewood and Laura’s voice.

You were always the wrong guy… until you weren’t.

Something in him shifts. Something that feels like resolve. Wade notices it too, a firm hand clasped on his shoulder before he walks ahead of Logan. 

“C’mon. We need to end this mission early.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Find a power source strong enough to handle Hot Tub Time Machine, blast Madonna while we get disintegrated, and get our asses home. Quickly.” There’s no teasing in his voice. He turns around, looking at Logan square in the face.

“You need to get over yourself and tell her.”

Logan swallows. The growing feeling chips at his stubbornness, fracturing it until it’s barely there. 

Wade’s right. He’s a hypocrite. Maybe the worst kind. If he didn’t believe in second chances, he wouldn’t be restoring doomed timelines at the TVA’s behest. Wouldn’t be squatting in Wade’s universe after stopping Paradox.

Wouldn’t have walked into that public library for that first meeting. The people in that room want a second chance, him included.

And he believes every single one of them deserves it.

But he hurt you. Pushed you away under the guise of protecting you, when in fact he’s the one who’s scared. 

The look on your face after he said he was leaving flashes in his mind. You put on your mask so fast he could see the cracks clearly under the living room light. You didn’t ask questions then—not out of nonchalance, but out of shock, and maybe out of the pain of getting the answers. 

He knows what that feels like.

The walk to the safehouse is quiet, Wade two feet ahead, as if giving him space to think. 

He’ll apologize to you when he gets back, Logan decides. Tell you the truth. Why he said what he said, why he’s so scared.

Maybe Wade can teach him how to really make it right with a person you love.

He’ll spend his whole life doing it, if that’s what it takes.

By day three, you’re trying to move on even before he’s truly gone.

You’ve searched the interwebs. Bookmarked pages. Made a list of people in the market who seemed promising. Drafted messages to send to them at the right time.

You find yourself on your phone after dinner, scrolling through apartment listings while he’s off saving the world, wherever he is. Looking for the right place for him. You know his budget. What he’d like. Somewhere quieter, maybe. Private.

Before you can stop yourself, you imagine what his life would be, unfolding in the thumbnail images of units for rent.

He’ll come home from work and crack open a can of soda. He’ll have a bookshelf for himself and take his time building a collection. Small, but undeniably him. It’ll be the classics first—Grapes of Wrath?—and then westerns—No Country for Old Men. He’ll keep choice cut meats to grill when Laura drops by.

His voice rings in your ear like he’s next to you.

Less awkward if I have some company over.

Logan has stayed with Wade and Al for three months after arriving to this timeline, and then with you for the subsequent two. That’s five months of constantly being around people. It’s no wonder someone like him craves a little privacy.

But you also know the company he means is not just the friendly kind.

You see it. Him bringing someone home. He hasn’t done that while living with you, likely out of courtesy.

What would she look like? She’d be eye-catching, no doubt. Bold with a knowing smile. Wants him and shows it with no fear, happy to say all the words he’d otherwise leave unsaid.

She’d be pretty—no, she’d be hot, especially when she takes his hand and leads him to the bedroom.

A bitter taste in your mouth snaps you back to reality.

If that’s what he really wants, he’ll get it. But first, he���ll need a new place to move into, and you’ll need to find a new roommate. Your brain switches gears, outlining next steps that tear off the metaphorical bandaid that did nothing to cover your wounds in the first place.

Never mind. You’ll heal after this is all over.

Though you have to admit, the hurt is not what you’re used to. You have a lot of experience killing harbored feelings, driving your heel to the ground until it wheezes to a quiet death. Isn’t that why it’s called a crush? The withering “what-ifs” that cling during adolescence don’t faze you anymore.

But this? This is messy. Bloody, black-eyed, bruised. Lungs coughed up one’s throat, knuckles skinned. The feeling fights back, no matter how many times you kick it in the knees. Stubborn. Firm.

It keeps getting back up, staring straight at you with the clarity of a single thought. 

That somewhere along the way, somewhere in between movie nights and knowing looks from across a crowded room and the way he calls you ‘sweetheart’, you’ve fallen for him.

Maybe you knew you would, and that’s why you were so careful around him in the first place. 

That obviously didn’t work, and before you knew it, you started to care if he thought the globe light in the living room was too warm for his tastes. If the dishes you made were too spicy. If you’re the only person he’s told that Casablanca story to.

Fuck, you’ve got it so bad for him.

So much so that, now that his happiness is intertwined with yours, you can’t untangle them.

If he wants to move out, you’ll help him. Find a good place. Put his stuff in boxes and pretend it’s not your heart you’re packing up. Come over to hang out and cook once in a while, as long as he wants you around.

Maybe after all of that, it’ll be okay, and you’ll tell him about your feelings over grape juice. ‘Yeah, I had a crush on you. Imagine that.’ It’ll be something to quietly laugh about. An inside joke.

Your chest hurts. Even after letting time do its job, you probably won’t let him know how much he meant to you.

Won’t have the guts to.

‘I loved you, actually. I still do.’ What the fuck would he say to that?

You blink. Once. Twice.

Then press ‘send’ on your phone. 

The mission ended two days early. Logan is more than happy to get out of that stuffy get-up. Back in the twenties he wore a tucked-in shirt and khakis, not a three-piece suit.

The world looks so much better in color.

His phone buzzes. The first notification upon reentering a universe where the right satellites could reach him.

A text from you. His heart jumps. He takes a moment before opening it.

“Thought you’d like this one”, followed by a link. 

When he taps on it, it shows him an apartment up for rent. It’s a studio—small, but not uncomfortable, nestled between expensive riviera estates and the Bronx Zoo. Just the way he liked it. 

A good price. A good find.

He should be grateful, but instead, he’s angry.

You sent it to him, not knowing he’s been trying to figure out how to tell you that he’s sorry, scrambling for the right words to stitch together that will make you understand just how much he fucking cares about you. Not knowing he spent the entire debrief playing things out in his head, scared shitless for the moment he has to say it out loud in front of you.

Are you that eager to get rid of him?

He doesn’t have the right to ask that question, mostly because he was the idiot that said he wanted to move out. 

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it either, because when he gets out of the elevator to your still shared apartment, he can hear that you’re not alone.

Two voices—you and another person. A man, whose voice and scent he doesn’t recognize.

Logan opens the door a little too quickly. You stare back at him, and he sees who you’re with.

He’s day to Logan’s night. Warm brown medium-length hair curling around a face that spells H-A-R-M-L-E-S-S, smiling at Logan like he’s an old friend. The man is dressed casually in an oversized blue pullover and slacks. He seems to be about your age.

A friendly dog comes to mind. The kind that wags its tail at everyone who passes by while it waits for its owner to finish grocery shopping. 

“You’re back. I thought you’d be gone until Saturday.”

You snap him out of it. He hasn’t heard your voice in a while since the time he saw the other you, laughing in the arms of your lover. 

“You’re the Wolverine,” the man whispers reverently. “Oh my god, he’s your roommate?”

You nod politely, a sense of nervousness crawling up your spine. You’re aware of how this looks—someone coming over while Logan’s away on a mission that wasn’t supposed to end till the weekend, especially with one specific intention… 

“Logan, this is Bob. He’s interested in renting the place, so I let him take a look.” 

“I-I’m Bob, it’s such an honor to meet you,” he extends his hand.

Logan says nothing, but grips a little too hard.

“It’s a really nice place! Not sure why you’d wanna move from such a perfect location.”

Why, indeed.

You usher Bob to the door.

“Thanks for dropping by.” 

“No, thank you for, uh, working around my schedule. Could you let me know once there’s a move-out date? I’d love to lock it down.”

“I will. Have a good one, Bob.”

“You too,” he smiles, disappearing down the hallway.

You close the door. Take a breath.

When you turn around, Logan’s already looking at you.

taglist: @squishyfruitloop @britttzy267 @tezooks @ddwnghead @dear-detested @duckyyyx @hits-different-cause-its-you @mrfitzdarcyslover @snowlycanroc @teresas-lisbon @fidgetingbee @poopie-poopie

[littlejoyss]

destiny part 2

“All along, there was some invisible string tying you to me.”

Stray Kids - Chan x Reader

Red (golden) string of fate trope

Word count (so far): 4k

previous part <- current part -> next part (coming soon!)

The announcement dropped that Thursday morning. A simple post, just your stage name, his, and the phrase "Coming Soon”. Two company logos, one sleek teaser photo of you and Chan, edited together. No dramatic tagline. No date. No explanation. Just enough to send the internet into a spiral.

Within minutes, your name was trending again, but this time, not with accusations. This time, with excitement.

@k-entupdates: 🚨Breaking: (Y/N) x Bang Chan collaboration CONFIRMED. Joint music project + more behind-the-scenes content coming soon. The first photo was released by both agencies. Fans: ready yourselves. This is not a drill.

💬 @seoulsweetheart: I don’t care what anyone says, she’s still insanely talented and her voice with Chan’s production? We’re winning.

💬 @chanluvbot: Let’s be real, if Chan’s involved, it’s going to be gold. Literally. I’m crying already.

💬 @notyouflinching:

She flinched ONE TIME and y’all forgot she literally wrote the bridge that carried an entire generation of ballads. Sit down.

💬 @softsoulmates: The way their teaser photo looks like a wedding invitation... 👀

You scrolled through the reactions from your desk in your apartment, phone in hand, heart caught somewhere between dread and disbelief. The public hadn’t forgiven you entirely, but the tone had shifted. People wanted to believe in you again. They wanted this to work.

You were halfway through refreshing the trending tag when your laptop screen brightened. You were waiting for a meeting between Chan and you to start. You were supposed to discuss the contract together for the first time.

The Zoom chime rang out softly, followed by the flicker of your own camera tile. And then, Bang Chan logged in.

He was in a studio, of course. Wires, stacked speakers, and a massive mixing desk behind him. He looked like he belonged there. Black hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, hair slightly mussed like he’d run a hand through it one too many times.

You’ve seen Chan before, through a screen in interviews. But you’ve never actually talked to him before. You should’ve said something first. Instead, you just watched him.

Bang Chan didn’t speak immediately either. He gave the screen a single nod, then reached off-camera and came back with a copy of the contract in hand. His fingers tapped against the edge of the folder, controlled, rhythmic. Not anxious, exactly, but focused. Like someone preparing for a test he didn’t study for but expected to pass anyway.

You cleared your throat. “Should we go through the contract together?”

He looked up. “Might as well. Better to get the awkward parts out of the way before the cameras start rolling.”

There was no need for introductions. You two knew who you were well enough. You nodded and flipped open your own copy. A silence stretched between you as paper rustled.

Chan broke it first. “Section Two, Paragraph Three. Public Behavior Guidelines.”

You skimmed quickly, then read aloud: “The parties agree to maintain the appearance of familiarity and developing intimacy in public and online spaces. This includes, but is not limited to, soft eye contact, subtle physical proximity, and verbal cues suggestive of mutual fondness.” You looked up. “Subtle?”

He raised a brow. “Subtle in K-pop media terms or real-life terms? Because those are not the same.”

You tried not to smile. “Guess we’ll find out.”

He tilted his head toward the screen. “Just… don’t stand behind me in line if we’re at a convenience store or something. Netizens will do a ten-slide PowerPoint about how your elbows are aligned and what it means.”

You laughed. “Noted.”

He grinned, then flipped a page. “Alright. Section Three: Content Production. There’s a line here that says we’re expected to do at least one joint livestream biweekly.”

Your stomach dipped. “Live?”

“Yeah.” He exhaled. “I don’t love it either, but… I guess that’s the point. We’re supposed to look like we’re warming up to each other in real time.”

Your gaze dropped to the sentence underneath it: Mutual participation in social content is required. Hesitation, awkwardness, or refusal to engage will be flagged as non-compliance.

Chan must’ve seen your eyes linger. “No pressure or anything.”

You gave him a look. “We’re literally being paid to flirt in public.”

He shrugged, half amused. “You ever done that before?”

“Flirted or faked it?”

He didn’t answer. 

You turned the page. “Here,” you said. “Section Four.”

“Section 4: Relationship Boundaries,” you read aloud, voice flattening with each word. “The undersigned parties agree not to engage in a personal or romantic relationship beyond the scope of public performance. Any emotional or physical entanglement beyond agreed promotional conduct will be considered a breach of contract and grounds for termination of the contract, financial penalty, and reputational liability.”

Chan looked down at his own and nodded.

You finally looked up at the screen. “I feel like that should be easy. Given we’ve never met before this.”

“Yeah,” he said finally, voice low, thoughtful. “Easy.”

You tapped the bottom of the page. “This part here…” You read: All communication outside of scheduled work must remain professional. Casual or personal interactions not approved by management may be considered misconduct under clause 4B.

Chan sighed. “Translation: no texting unless it’s about a tracklist.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “There’s a subsection at the back. Check Appendix C. It has a list of ‘pre-approved messaging topics.’”

You flipped to it. Your jaw dropped slightly. “This is ridiculous.”

“’Please confirm arrival time for photoshoot’... ‘Did you see the updated mix?’... ‘Your hoodie’s inside out, ’ okay, I added that one. But still.” He gave a small shake of his head. “Nothing like telling two adults how to behave like coworkers and strangers at the same time.”

You frowned down at the text. “We’re being micromanaged like toddlers on a playdate.”

Chan’s eyes were on you again. “That’s because the companies know what’s at stake. One of us slips, and the other gets dragged down with them.”

“Right…speaking of that. Section Five: Backstory and Important Stories.”

Chan groaned softly, already flipping ahead in his copy. “The fake history.”

You scanned the section, eyes narrowing at the bullet points. “We’re supposed to memorize how we ‘met,’ what we ‘admire’ about each other, and what song ‘brought us closer.’ This sounds like an idol variety show bingo card.”

He gave a dry laugh. “It gets better. There’s a section about shared memories we’re supposed to reference casually in interviews. Look,” He held his contract up to the camera. “It literally says, ‘preferred shared memory: ordering the same side dish during a late-night recording session and laughing about it for ten minutes.’”

You stared at him. “We’re being paid to pretend we bonded over kimchi fries?”

He smirked. “Iconic origin story.”

You dropped your forehead to your palm. “Okay,” you said, flipping to the final page. “Section Six: Crisis Protocol.”

Chan groaned again. “The part where they tell us what to do if this all explodes.”

You read it aloud. “In the event of scandal, leaked footage, or unforeseen complications, both parties agree to adhere strictly to the provided narrative. Any deviation without approval from company management may result in public correction or contract dissolution.”

“Translation,” he muttered, “lie better.”

Your eyes widened. “This all ends in one month?”

Chan gave a small nod, his fingers drumming a quiet rhythm on the edge of his desk. “That’s what the timeline says. One months of planned content, soft press cycles, and… whatever this is supposed to be.” He gestured vaguely between your two screens.

You exhaled, more from exhaustion than relief. “It feels longer. I mean…we haven’t even started and it already feels like I’ve signed away something.”

Chan didn’t argue. He just tilted his head a little and said, “They’re betting two months is enough time to rehab a reputation.”

“And yours is what they’re using to do it.” Your words came out more blunt than you meant them to.

He didn’t flinch. “Yeah, well. My label probably thinks it’s a good trade. Get my name attached to a high-profile soloist. Increase visibility for the next comeback. Make me look a little more…” He searched for the word. “Romantic.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think you already are?”

Chan laughed softly, caught off guard. “Not when I spend more time with compressors than with people.”

You couldn’t help it, your lips twitched.

He leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. “Let’s be honest. Neither of us would’ve said yes to this if we had a real choice.”

“No,” you admitted. “We’re both here because someone else thought it was good PR.”

He nodded. “Exactly. So maybe it’s better if we don’t fake being close too fast. If it’s supposed to be a slow burn, let’s make it slow. Clean. Predictable.”

“Like a ballad,” you said quietly.

Chan blinked. “What?”

You looked down at your hands. “They always build slowly. Verse. Chorus.”

He watched you for a second longer than felt comfortable, something unreadable in his expression. “Okay,” he said finally. “Slow burn it is.”

You nodded and closed your folder. “I guess we’re partners now.”

Chan smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Guess we are.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

It was raining the morning you arrived at the studio, just enough to blur the windows and give the world that washed-out tint. Iseul sat beside you in the backseat, scrolling through her phone like it owed her money, already wearing the kind of structured blazer and polished expression that meant she was in boss mode.

“Don’t forget to keep it light today,” she reminded, not looking up. “Smile when you walk in. Let the cameras catch the natural chemistry.”

“I’ve met him once,” you said.

She finally glanced at you. “Exactly. First impressions are expensive. Make this one count.”

The car rolled to a slow stop outside the company’s private entrance. You could already hear the faint hum of photographers down the street, like flies outside a sealed window. You pushed your hoodie up, adjusted your cuffs, and followed Iseul out.

The building inside smelled like clean speakers and fresh coffee, studio air. Familiar. Comforting.

A staff member guided you down the hall, Iseul trailing a half-step behind, until they paused outside one of the larger mixing rooms. The door cracked open just as you reached for it.

Chan stood inside, glancing over his shoulder like he’d heard your presence before seeing it. His hoodie was a different one, navy today, slightly wrinkled, sleeves pushed up the same way they had been on Zoom. He gave you a nod and stepped aside.

The moment your shoes crossed the threshold, it happened.

The thread burned.

A gold spark shimmered into existence on your pinky. You felt it in your pulse before you saw it, like the air had thickened, like something inside you clicked.

Your eyes flicked to Chan instinctively, and his were already locked on you.

His hand twitched slightly, just enough for you to see the same glow threading from his finger, taut and radiant. The same one you'd ignored for years. 

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t react.

Because beside you, Iseul was smiling with professional pride, and just inside the room stood a man with a clipboard, Chan’s PR manager, probably, ready to coach you both. “Welcome,” he said brightly. “Glad we could finally get you two in the same room.”

You didn’t remove your eyesight from the string, which was revealed to have been connected to Chan this whole time.

“-We’ve got about an hour slotted today,” the manager continued, oblivious. “You can record some verses of your new song, and maybe a short Q&A clip if you’re comfortable. We’ll go over tone and narrative after.”

You barely heard him. Because the thread didn’t just glow, it pulled. A soft but magnetic tug at your pinky, as if your body had already made its decision before your brain caught up. You didn’t need to look at Chan to know he felt it too. The way his eyes didn’t leave yours? It was all the confirmation you needed.

Right there, in a room full of people you weren’t allowed to tell.

Iseul stepped forward first, offering a tight nod to the manager and a polite wave to Chan. “Good to see you again, Chan. (Y/N)’s been looking forward to working together.”

“I have,” you echoed, though your voice was quieter than intended. You finally dropped your gaze, balling your hand into a loose fist until the thread dimmed enough to hide. Your chest still hummed with its echo.

Chan’s PR manager handed you a clipboard with the shoot outline and motioned toward the padded chairs in the corner. “We’ll run the camera for some candid-style B-roll while you go through the melody together. No pressure, just smile, nod, maybe steal a glance or two. You know the drill.”

“Casual chemistry,” Chan said dryly, flipping a switch on the console.

“Exactly,” the manager said without a trace of irony.

Iseul gave your arm a gentle nudge as you moved toward the mic setup. “Just be natural,” she said. “Natural sells.”

Right. Natural. Even though nothing about this was natural anymore.

You passed him on your way to the mic, and for a terrifying second, your arms brushed. A zap of warmth licked up your side. You didn’t flinch, but you felt it. So did he. His jaw flexed, like he was biting the inside of his cheek.

You both took your places, you at the vocal mic, Chan at the desk. The room suddenly felt ten degrees too warm.

“Let’s run the first verse?” he offered, gaze flickering briefly to your hand. “Keep it simple.”

You nodded.

He played the chord progression through the monitors, soft and slow. You closed your eyes, breathing in, letting the track guide you.

But the warmth stayed. And with each note, it pulled tighter.

Behind you, you could hear the soft click of Iseul’s phone, capturing snippets of footage for social media. Carefully curated. Perfectly staged. Not a soul in the room knew the performance wasn’t the only thing being orchestrated.

“Great start!” the PR manager said. “Let’s do a take with a little more eye contact this time, maybe a smile, just toward the end?”

You turned away just in time to catch Iseul giving you a thumbs up. You couldn’t smile back. Not right now.

Permanent tag list: @moonlitcelestial @akindaflora @beppybeesnuggets @rylea08 @yxna-bliss @felixsonlyrealwife @wolfs-howling @velvetmoonlght

Soulmate Series tag list: @eridanuswave @dlizzzy @allenajade-ite

[outtathisworld-imagines]

Illicit affair

——💥——💥——💥——💥——

Pairing: John Walker x F!Reader

Warnings: Angst, brief smut! +18 MDNI!, suggestive themes, cheating, intercourse, swearing, fighting, blood, unprotected sex- pls wrap before you tap! Not proofread 🥲

A.N: this is oh so angsty. John Walker can get fucked in this one- literally and figuratively 🙃

Please let me know what else you guys would like to see me write! I do have a few other fics on the back-burner (for now!) that I'll start to post soon and just let me know if you'd liked to be tagged in further works too ✨

——💥——💥——💥——💥——

You trailed behind Valentina with a pile of paperwork in your arms. Transferring from S.H.I.E.L.D to become the head of the National Security Agency kept you on your feet. That was heightened even further when you dipped your toes into the world of O.X.E, Valentina coaxing you in as her unofficial partner just over a year ago.

“I need eyes on everyone in the field right now,” Valentina told you while typing on her phone, you were both close in overseeing thier operations. “Although, you’d probably do a better job than all of them.” She chuckled.

You bashfully smiled at her “Nice try, Val. Flattery gets you no where with me.” She sent you a tight smile, she’d try again tomorrow. And the day after that.

The two of you headed to your office “Where are we up to with favourable PR? God knows that gang of misfits need it.” You chuckled pulling out a folder with sheets of each of the ‘New Avengers.’ “We also need to diffuse the legal battle with Sam Wilson.”

“I’m in contact with Sam, not great contact, but contact nonetheless.” You sighed shaking your head seeing Bucky’s sheet. “I wish this didn’t have to be so messy. We were all such good friends, one common cause.” You looked to her “I’ll keep reaching out to him.” You sifted through the other sheets, your hand hesitating when it flipped over another member of the team.

Val noticed and smirked “We can still try to push the charm offensive for him.” She mused. “Despite the divorce.”

You blinked, eyes snapping up to her. “What are you talking about?”

Her brow furrowed “His divorce? In the final stages from what I’ve found out. But yanno it is what it is- for him it’s the fact he’s our good looking boy.” She let out a dry laugh. “That’s one of the only things he really has going for him.” Val noticed your quietness. “You okay?”

“Hmm?” You snapped out of your trance “Oh yeah, I’m fine.” You smiled, it didn’t convince her. “Trying to glamorise a divorce of such a high profile ‘hero’ like him might be tough. My team will handle it well.”

Val sat back “I’d like you to personally oversee this.”

You snorted “Why?”

She shrugged shoulder “You and Captain Wannabe go back pretty far, don’t you?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, you knew she knew, she was just dancing around the fact until you missed a step.

You shifted in your seat, slapping the soft paper folder shut over his face. “I have a meeting about interplanetary peace to prepare for, and you surely have endless amount of meetings too.”

She agreed, standing up and placing a brief kiss to your cheek, the promise of seeing her soon was the last words to leave her mouth before she did behind a closing door.

You opened the file again once she left, your eyes instantly finding his photo, the many years since you had first met had been kind to him. Too kind. You dryly and humourlessly laughed over the tumultuous times you had with him before crumpling the piece of paper in your hand.

—•—

“Hello Commander! I’m Agent Y/L/N with S.H.I.E.L.D!” Your voice battled with the blades of the helicopter that flew you and dropped you in the very epicentre of the Middle East. The helicopter took off again “Agent Coulson sends his regards and apologies that he couldn’t be here. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with me.”

“Agent Y/L/N we appreciate the help!” The commander shook your hand with a smile. “If Coulson himself sent you, hell you must be good- if not better than him!” You sent him a small smile in thanks. “Let me introduce you to some of the boys and where you’ll be working from.”

The desert heat was almost unbearable the second your feet hit the ground, this wasn’t something you were accustomed to but Phil was desperate and you more than owed him for the chance he took recruiting you. The commander showed you the base set up, rows of computers and state-of-the-art technology at your fingertips. “I’ll be able to upload the S.H.I.E.L.D programming to help your guys.” You explained as he walked you through.

“We really appreciate it again, Agent.” He smiled before hollering a solider over “Walker! Show Agent Y/L/N to her barracks. Tent Juliet One.” The solider approached you and held his stance. Pristine and polished and beyond rehearsed stance with his dirty blonde hair, hard look slapped onto his face and neatly pressed uniform. Perfectly conformed- like most of the men in the army base.

He motioned you to follow him with a silent nod of his head. The walk was longer than you anticipated so you pulled out some small talk. “So how long have you been stationed out here, Walker?”

“Nine months, Ma’am.” His voice was tight, almost regulated.

You softly chuckled “Please, less of the formalities for me. Just Y/N is fine.” He looked like he almost short circuited at that, the casualness of it all. “Geez, nine months is a long time. How long you got left?”

“As long as they need me.” He replied and you nodded with raised brows at how dedicated he was to serving and sacrificing for his country. “Tent Juliet One.” He opened the zipper of the tent for you and you stepped in under his arm. “It ain’t fancy, you’ve got a shower room to the back. You can let us know if you need anything else.”

“I appreciate it thank you,” you softly smiled at the soldier and put down your bag. “I’ll probably be working most of the time back in the tech unit.”

He hummed “What is it you do ma’am?” You sent him a pointed look, he finally cracked with a smile and shut eyes, shaking his head. “Sorry- force of habit.”

“Counter-terrorism, tactical technology, surveillance- any specialised security really. I developed the program you guys will be using when I install it.” You explained as he slowly nodded, processing it all. “I’ll give you a masterclass.” You playfully winked and John swallowed hard. He was unsure if it was the heat, the perfume you had on, or the fact this was the first time he had a flirt thrown his way in months that caused a prickling sensation down the back of his neck. The camp was full of men and you were a fresh breath of estrogen in a pit of testosterone. John sent you a brief nod and left you be, you watched him disappear and close the tent behind him.

You spent hours in the tech tent setting up the system later that night into the early hours of the morning. Using the cool cover of night and your hijacked sleeping schedule thanks to jet lag to work away. You called it a night- or rather a morning- and decided to head back to your tent.

You stepped outside and saw a blanket of stars above your head, the faint glow of a rising sun in the distance. “It might be beautiful out here but it’s deadly,” you jumped and turned hearing a voice. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“That’s okay,” you said removing your clutched hand from your chest. “It’s probably true what you’ve said. Beautiful things are often deadly.”

“Bet you are.”

“Sorry?” You barely heard the mumble from under his breath.

“I said I bet they are,” a silence filled the space between you both, his little slip-up casually covered up. “Can you get back to your tent okay?”

You smirked “I think I can manage, Walker.”

“I’m not in uniform, you can call me just John.” He told you, a circle back to your request when you met him earlier. You looked him up and down, the tight black t-shirt fitted him perfectly.

“I should get some sleep, just John.” You playfully retorted.

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow for our masterclass I guess, just Y/N.” He shot you a wink that shook your very core. He turned away, leaving with a gentle breeze coming from the sand dunes and leaving you with your heart skipping a beat.

The next day you were teaching about a dozen men and the commander the ins and outs of the program you developed with S.H.I.E.L.D. Your eyes kept locking onto John’s. “How are you getting on?” You asked sitting down beside him.

“Getting there, is this-” he pointed to a spot on the screen “Tied to that?” He then pointed at the other side of the screen in front of him.

“Yeah and then you can just,” you didn’t even think twice when you placed your hand on top of his on the computer mouse to guide him. “Push that and it will relay the information back.” John’s whole body froze in the heat of the midday sun. The sudden contact made every fibre inside him seize. “Just like that.” God he knew it was wrong but he wished you were saying that in a very different context.

As night rolled around you were still setting up the systems, your body clock still hadn’t adjusted. You could almost hear the chiding from Phil telling you that you would never adjust if you didn’t at least attempt to sleep. You sighed and wiped away the line of sweat from your hairline and made your way outside, it had cooled again thankfully, until you turned a corner and suddenly felt a rush of heat.

“Oh hey,” John was sitting on a bench with the moonlight on his face. “You want one?” He wiggled his bottle of beer in your direction. “It’s ice cold…” he tempted you and you reached out your hand.

He passed you one as you sat next to him, his silent scooting along acting as an informal invitation. You took one sip and groaned in delight “Holy shit, never did I think beer could be this good. Or just how much I needed one.” You laughed, John tightly smiled and tried to compose himself after the noise you just made. “You do this often?“

“Whenever I get the chance.” He looked at his beer bottle “Somethin’ about sitting watching the moon with a beer in my hand that softens the blow of being here.” You sent him a sympathetic smile. You had the luxury of leaving in a few days, he had no idea when he’d get home.

“Well, here’s to the moon and good company,” you clinked your bottle against his and you both took a sip, looking up to the moon as you did. John watched you intently as you took another sip, the way your lips wrapped around the lip of the bottle, how a drop ran down the corner of your mouth and dripped onto the exposed skin just above your chest. How he was desperate to lick it off.

“Ah shit,” he murmured and you snapped your head round to him, the glow of your sweat and sun-kissed skin being highlighted in the moonlight. “Fuck it.”

He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, a faint hint of beer on them. He apologised as he pulled back, his face still hovering near yours. You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck and brought him towards you again, kissing him harder than he kissed you. John moaned against your skin as your hands roamed over his shoulder. He forgot what it felt like to be adored. The touch. The noise. The thrill he felt.

Your beer bottles fell to the sandy ground with a soft clash, not that either of you noticed. John brought you into his lap as you continued kissing, gentle grazes of your tongues turning more forceful and the roaming of hands becoming more desperate. He took you back to your tent, he knew where it was thanks to his internal mind-map. He would never forget it.

He would say he was drunk if questioned about what he did with you. But he wasn’t even remotely tipsy. Fully aware, fully conscious of what he was doing. Fully wanting.

The two of you spent the next few days you were at that base together whenever you could between programming and beers. That was until your duty was over after a week and you were summoned back to the S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters.

“Maybe take this and you can visit me when you’re home.” You extended out a slip of paper with your number and address on it while sitting back on the bed he took you on each night. The warmth from him in the bed with you began to diminish. He took the piece of paper with his signature smirk, his eyes roaming over your naked body he had the pleasure of kissing almost every inch of for one last time.

John turned his back to you to get ready and his smirk fell, he slipped the piece of paper in the pocket of his cargos and took out his hidden dog-tags from between his top and jacket. He was discreet with them all week.

“Of course.” Was his reply as he put them on and then his vest quickly after, the gold wedding band between his tags weighing him down as he hid it from you.

—•—

You were sitting in your apartment late one night when a knock at the door disturbed you.

It had been many years since your brief whirlwind in the Middle East and with John. His occasional message reaching you but never him in person.

You opened the door and blinked in surprise “Valentina! This is such a surprise, please come in.” You mentally cursed yourself for not tidying away your takeout boxes still lying on the table. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” You asked, encouraging her to sit.

She smiled, it reached from one ear to the other “They’re going to offer you director of S.H.I.E.L.D.” You slowly sat down, eyes wide at the news. “Don’t accept it.” She sternly warned.

“Why not?” You asked, voice cracking.

“S.H.I.E.L.D is dissolving.” She began to explain. “You either don’t want to see it or can’t. I suspect your honouring of Coulson has something to do with that.” Your eyes traveled to the photo of your former friend and mentor that hung on the wall. You stuck with S.H.I.E.L.D to carry on a legacy for Phil, since his passing, it had went downhill considerably. It was getting harder to justify why you were staying. You had met Valentina Allegra de Fontaine at a security conference, she slowly bled into your life and became your new mentor. Her expert knowledge and guidance becoming invaluable to you.

You shrugged “What do I do then?”

She reached across and tapped your knee almost reassuringly. You had very much grown on her over the years, she saw a lot of herself in you. A fire. A determination. A drive. “Let me take care of it for you.” She said without divulging. “There’s an opening that I can work my magic with for you, but there’s a loose end that needs to be dealt with first and foremost.”

Of course, anything with Val came at a price that she set. “What’s the loose end?”

“Wilson and Barnes. I just need you to get them out of Latvia to literally anywhere else. You do that, a career defending this country and the world will be yours.” She stood up. “A proper chance to honour Phil Coulson.”

Those were the words that made you agree to her terms and later that evening you were on a chartered flight to Latvia.

When you arrived you roamed through the streets until you spotted a familiar face. “Torres?” He turned around, a smile gracing his face upon seeing you.

“Agent Y/N Y/L/N! How are you?”

“All the better for seeing you, Joaquín Torres.” You embraced him in a brief hug. “What are you doing here?” You noticed how he glanced over his shoulder and your smile dropped slightly. “Please don’t tell me you’re with them?”

He took a sharp breath “I hate to disappoint,” you groaned “I’m just helping them out with a lead.”

“I need them out of Latvia.” You told him with folded arms. “Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be for me.”

“I would hate to inconvenience you…” his tone was just as playful even when he dropped an octave, you couldn’t help but grin at it. You had worked with Torres before, the pair of you working on preventative counter measures and security tactics back in the US. He was considerate and kind to you, you held him in high regard. “You owe me.” He motioned you to follow him.

“Well whenever you’re back in home soil, drinks on me.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder as he lead you to them. He stood against the wall of a doorframe, allowing you to squeeze through the semi-open door. You stopped just as your bodies collided in the tight space. “I’ll be looking forward to that.” You nodded and thanked him with a gentle tap to his chest before going through.

You hesitated hearing grunts and clamouring, reaching for your gun, you braced yourself for the worst. When you walked through you didn’t know where to look. You looked to the back of the room and saw Bucky and Sam, then Helmut Zemo casually sipping away on a whisky, then the Dora Milaje and in the middle of it all- “John Walker?”

You lowered your gun watching him getting his ass handed to him “Looking strong, John!” Bucky called out and you sent him a perplexed look.

“What the hell is happening?!” You called out as the fighting continued. You looked to your friends and allies standing with crossed arms over their chests. “They’ll kill him! Stop it!” They looked at you, not willing to get involved. You let out a harsh sigh. “Fine. I will.” You stupidly interjected yourself at the wrong time, John punching you in the face unintentionally and causing you to fall to the floor. You groaned, the fighting subsequently stopping before Bucky and Sam got involved seeing you injured. You looked up to a guilt ridden John before he was kicked back. Your eyes then locked into Zemo, who disappeared behind a door. You groaned standing up, blood running from your nose. You grabbed your gun and raised it to the roof, pulling the trigger. Everyone stopped and looked at you hearing the gunfire. “ENOUGH!” You yelled.

“Shit, Y/N, you’re bleeding pretty badly,” Bucky finally spoke, John gulped hard at his handiwork that he didn’t mean to do.

You rubbed your aching nose with the back of your hand, a line of blood coating your skin. “I’m fine,” you looked John in the eye after all these years, a sense of familiarity hitting you harder than his fist to your nose. “Someone should get Zemo, he went that way.” Bucky and Sam jogged off and the Dora Milaje followed suit. John walked in the same direction, you stopped him with a hand to his chest. “Not you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Save it,” you rubbed your nose and winced “Shit. That’s what I get for going into the line of fire.” John looked at you with sad eyes, sad at the damage he had caused, sad that this is how you were both meeting again. “Been a while, huh?” You smirked.

“Let me get something to soak and clean up the blood.” You watched him scour the ornate house, you followed him into the bathroom. You looked him up and down as he adorned the new Captain America suit. He hadn’t changed an awful lot since you saw him in person last. He gently dabbed the blood away with a rag and you hissed in pain, he apologised once more. “Too long.” John finally said after what felt like hours of silence, finally responding to you.

His heart did the same somersault it did when he first met you all those years ago. Your distinctive perfume once a memory now lingering around him once more. He hadn’t felt a feeling like that in the longest time, even when he was given the Captain America honour. “You stopped messaging, never came to see me…” you looked at him through your lashes as he tossed the bloodied rag into the sink. His body was reacting by its own accord as he took your face between his hands and pulled your lips to his. A brief crash of a kiss, the feeling of homecoming surging through both of your veins.

John’s reason was still between the dog-tags, the band of gold hidden by his new uniform. But all reasoning left his body when you pressed your own to his. His lips desperately kissing at yours, reclaiming the feeling he longed for each night you were at the base with him and then after you left…and then almost daily since then. He grabbed your thighs tightly and picked you up, your back crashing against the bathroom door. Neither of you wasted anymore time, John quickly freed you from years of antagonising torture when he pulled down your jeans along with your underwear and his hand found your wet core again.

He hastily removed his tactical pants just enough to free his cock and slip it into you. He felt like he was fucking you for the first time again. The moans that left both of your mouths were ungodly, strained, joyous. He loved the feeling of you, he tried to recreate it many times with his own hand but it was never the same. You weren’t like his wife. The feeling wasn’t like this. How you squeezed perfectly around him, how you tasted, how you said his name, how you begged for him- those could never be recreated, it had to come from you. He continued to drown deeper in his sinful haze. He wasn’t thinking about the world. Or his wife. Or his child. He was just thinking about you. The idea of you and him. A concept only blossoming between covers and behind closed doors.

You both came like tides thrashing against the rocks, harsh and full of force. “I missed you. I missed this. I want more of you. I need more of you.” You breathlessly admitted, pressing a kiss to his swollen lips.

“I’m married.”

“Not when you fuck me you’re not.” Your voice quickly turned sour as you pulled back and John lowered you from him. The look on your face becoming stoic as your heart shattered while pushing him away. “I’m not the other woman, John. I’m the only woman.” He looked to the floor, the weight of his wedding band almost dragging him there. The look on your face dragging him even further into what felt like the pits of hell. “How long?” You snapped as you quickly pulled on your clothes. “Months?” His eyes slowly found yours- it answered your question. “Years.” You bitterly laughed. “Back then?” You referenced to the nights in the Middle East, where he longed for you, where he desperately begged for you in the desert heat.

His silence answered your question.

You left, slamming the door behind you, and made your way to find Sam and Bucky.

—•—

When you returned back to the States you watched the fallout happening in real time, John’s reputation crumbling as you rose to the top. Valentina kept her word when you got the two men out of Latvia and bestowed the role of head of the National Security Agency to you. You embraced it with open arms.

You watched the coverage of his trail, watched his doting wife by his side, how beautiful and oblivious to his actions she was. A pain lingered in your chest whenever you saw him on the screen, photos with his child, his face on papers left on your desk. As the years passed, it hurt less.

When Val approached you with a proposition one day in your office, you didn’t know then that pain would return.

“What about my personal bodyguard if you’re up for that?” She asked and you laughed.

“I swapped guns for jurisdictions, haven’t picked up one in a long time. Besides, you’d have to bump my pay- considerably!” You joked.

“Name your price,” you laughed louder. “I’m not kidding. Name your price. I’ll see what I can do.”

You sent her a soft smile. “Val, you know I can’t.”

“Then how about another position?”

You mused for a moment. “I’m listening.”

You soon fell into her world of O.X.E, working covert operations with her. She handed you a folder with a list of pseudonyms, stating that you’d be meeting them all and assisting her in assigning missions for them.

You sat in your apartment, trying to keep your business with O.X.E as far from your day job as possible as you waited to meet your first mercenary hired by her. “They should be with you soon,” she said to you from over the phone as you sat with the device between your ear and shoulder.

You furrowed your brow at the sheet of paper “Who is US Agent?” You asked just as your door was knocked on.

You opened it, almost dropping the phone as Val replied to you. “Our previous Captain America, John Walker.” The same man who was standing on the other side of your doorframe.

“He’s here. Speak soon.” You bit the inside of your cheek as you hung up the phone, the pain of seeing him returning in your heart.

“Funny how we always wind up back here you and I,” John tried to break the tension with a joke. “Some may call it fate.”

“I would call it personal hell.” You bit out and stepped aside, reluctantly letting him into your home. “You’re a glutton for punishment, huh?” Your voice was tight, John had a thunderstorm of feelings inside him seeing you in person again. It had been years.

“I gotta do what I gotta do,” he said. “After everything, I can’t afford not to.”

You almost felt a sense of pity for him, but the venom surging through your veins eradicated that after being reminded of all the heartache he put you through. “Karma is a bitch, Walker.” You sat yourself down, motioning for him to do the same on the opposite sofa. John knew he beyond deserved that comment. “How’s your wife?”

The secret wasn’t quite out yet of his shaky marriage, divorce was likely on the horizon. He wanted to believe that it wasn’t. He wanted that mirage of his perfect personal life to remain.

“Olivia is doing okay.” He quietly replied, as if saying her name too loud would damage the broken relationship he had with you even further.

You smirked, it was laced with sadness. “Olivia…” You whispered it out, your eyes gazing off into the distance. “I’m glad she’s doing okay.” You reached over to the folder on the table and threw it at him. “Especially since this is one risky mission, just for you.” You seethed and sat back on the sofa, watching as John read it over. “But hey, you gotta do what you gotta do.”

He looked up to you from the folder with solemn eyes. “In another life, I would have done this differently.”

“Spare me your bullshit, Walker! Don’t say that.” You chided him. “How different, huh?” You snapped. “Never tell anyone? Keep on fucking me to your hearts content and go back home to your perfect little life like nothing was ever happening? Fuck you!” You spat.

John finally burst. “It woulda been you! I would have picked you!”

“Yeah well you didn’t! You can’t- You can’t change the past!” You yelled and rose to your feet. “Too fucking little, too fucking late!” You screamed. “You’re married! You knew you were having an affair with me and yet you kept on stringing me along all this time! I had so much hope in you, for you. For years I thought of you!”

“Don’t you think I thought of you?!” He approached you, practically pinning you to the wall. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of. I’m sure you’re much the same, I mean, look at the predicament you’re in now with Valentina.” You snarled, he had no right speaking to you the way he was.

“Get out of my house and go complete that fucking mission.” You hissed. “That’s an order from me and Val.”

“I don’t want to leave us like this.” He growled, a part of him still deeply caring for you- his emotions were in disarray around you. They always were. He attempted to lean in, kiss you as a form of apology with the hope it lead to something more eventually. You held up your left hand to him, making his face jolt back in surprise.

“I’m married.”

“W-what?” His voice cracked, your words cutting through him like a knife. The engagement ring and wedding band bejewelling your hand bringing tears to his eyes.

“I told you, John. Too little, too late.” A tear streamed down your cheek as you held a stern glare. “Maybe in that other life of yours, huh?”

He stepped back and left your apartment without another word, not before catching a glimpse of a picture of you in a white dress with your husband looking at you lovingly, a look John would have killed to give you.

Half an hour later, that same man who gave you that look arrived home, scooping you up in his arms making you giggle, the tense buildup caused by John suddenly leaving your apartment when you were in the arms of your husband. He put you down, noticing a dimness in the sparkle of your eyes. “You okay, Y/N?”

You nodded with a smile before pressing a kiss to his lips. “All the better for seeing you, Joaquín Torres.”

[medwhump]

ok no but I've laid in bed awake thinking about this. this is about a third into ep 14? The sister comes in, jack looks to lupe, who mouths "SISTER" at him, I think? Then sister and jack share a look, and patient starts speaking about vinny—that he sent him on the first car, and asking if he's okay. he indeed was, I believe, in one of the earlier cars, the one that arrives with the deaf kid? Vinny was tagged straight for morgue right in the car. And I'm pretty sure that when lupe and kiara are looking at photos families submitted, there's one with vinny and the brother. sidenote, I wonder if the info that pigtail guy is a navy corpsman got to jack at this point. I think that some of the awkwardness here is not about jack, but about not wanting to tell that vinny died. Which, I'm fairly sure in this room only the sister and lupe know. I wonder if part of her glance to jack is her wondering if this doc knows or is gonna blab. like an unspoken 'let's not tell him'.

And we also know that jack talked an anxious teen through an abortion, so he can't be a total soft skills klutz. I don't think we can deduce _that_ much about soft skills while a patient is so acutely in danger and they don't know what the cause is. but you're on to something. he's been here long enough to pick up some of those skills, it's not like he's come straight out of combat support yesterday. which is even better, imo! He'd have had some years to improve, but we can probably still see him work on it, see him mentally prepare himself for the talking to patients part, while waltzing through procedures like a fish in water.

being a white guy might make that double tricky for him in some cases. But in others I feel like he'd actually downright excel, because he has lived that toxic be-a-man, bottle-your-feelings thing and can see it in others, can identify the flawed logic of it because he's been there, knows the harms it wreaks within.

This guy is out here giving his therapists number to his friend, that is HUGE. We are meeting jack way, way into his recovery journey. which is why I NEEEEEED to see him have more interactions with conscious, not circling-the-drain patients in s2. I need to see him with a patient that represents his past self before therapy, before recovery.. I need to see jack to give voice to those dark thoughts and see the patient's eyes go wider, as if this doc is reading his mind. And I also wanna see him in the more fish-out-of-water moments where it's more of a struggle to relate, something he had to learn how to do, almost like it's a new clinical skill.

thinking about how jack abbot is really not comfortable or trained for the kind of social interaction that's required in a hospital setting versus in the field.

when the 5 french pigtail catheter guy is asking after his friend, jack's kind of at a loss at what to say to him. he's all about the medicine, can only muster up a distracted "i'm not sure man."

and then the PANIC in his eyes when the sister bursts in. the way he has absolutely NOTHING to say to her when she looks at him. if it were robby, he'd jump in to reassure her, muster up some kind words to comfort the both of them.

but jack isn't robby. he's not built for softness and compassion, he's built for the medicine. and he's more comfortable sitting in the adrenaline of solving a medical puzzle that determines whether a man lives or dies than he is having a conversation.

and what's even more interesting to me is that he's almost frustrated with himself because of it??? the way he looks down and away, like he's silently reprimanding himself, but STILL can't find the words. ohhhh jack abbot you are SO repressed and important 2 me.

[angels-hideaway]

hello!! Thank you so much for your works, I adore your fics!! I’m absolutely in love with ghost! and vampire!Caitlyn <3 the story in vamp!Cait is actually so intriguing and interesting to read, I binged all three parts in a row when I stumbled upon your blog!!

Since your requests are opened, what about something with werewolf!Vi? Anything is good, but I REALLY crave some angst for some reason. What about reader helping Vi prepare for/helping her during transformation? Finding damaged Vi after a full moon and helping her heal? Headcanons? Literally ANYTHING I love both Vi and the way you write monster!characters🙏🙏

ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴄᴀɴɪɴᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄʟᴀᴡꜱ

some short stories featuring werewolf!Vi x fem!reader

a/n: my first request done! This is sort of testing my angst skills because I’m not sure if it’s something I’m good at writing. The angst story is Growing Pains. Hopefully you enjoy it! Thank you anon🤍

C/w: violence? Not really. Blood, scratching biting, stuff like that. Smut at the end I couldn’t help it.

w/c- 3.4k

moon divider by @sisterlucifergraphics

First Meeting

Walking home alone was always scary. You worked late hours, and got out at eleven pm. If you didn’t need the job so badly, you would have quit by now. You sped past a group of creepy looking men and veered into an alleyway. It was a shortcut to your apartment. Not the best option, but the streets were almost empty anyways. You could hear the sound of liquid splashing as you stepped in puddles of water, oil, or whatever other mysterious liquids it could be. 

Walking home alone was always scary. You worked late hours, and got out at eleven pm. If you didn’t need the job so badly, you would have quit by now. You sped past a group of creepy looking men and veered into an alleyway. It was a shortcut to your apartment. Not the best option, but the streets were almost empty anyways. You could hear the sound of liquid splashing as you stepped in puddles of water, oil, or whatever other mysterious liquids it could be. 

Your steps slowed when you saw a stray dog sleeping in the alley. The poor thing is shivering. Feeling kind, you lifted the dog, which was a pretty rust color, and bought it home. By the time you get home, the dog has woken up. It stays in your arms though. Setting it down, you think about what to do. “Uhm…I don’t have any dog food…Let’s see…” you opened your refrigerator and looked around. “Hey!” The dog jumped up and snatched your last few strips of uncooked bacon, wolfing them down before you could do anything about it. “You little- whatever…you’re lucky you’re cute.” 

You set up a makeshift bed next to yours for your new furry friend. You use some towels, an old couch pillow, and a t-shirt as a blanket. “Goodnight…oh. A name. You don’t have a name… hm..” you think on it some while staring at the dog. “Uhm…Ah! What about Rosie? Matches your color perfectly.” You then had a sudden burst of clarity. “You know, I’ve never seen a red dog before…oh well.” Too tired to think that hard, you cover yourself with a blanket and go to sleep.

You can feel the sun warming your cheek, and the light streaming in from the window. Thankfully, you don’t have anything important to do today. You can afford to sleep in a little. Being hugged and held close in bed felt nice. A strong arm against your waist, and the rising and falling of someone else’s chest was really quite soothing. 

But you were single. You lived alone.

 Screaming in horror, you flew out of the strangers grasp, backing up to the far side of your bed. A completely naked woman was in your bed. Her eyes opened slowly, and two tall ears on the top of her head twitched. “Why’d you move? I was comfortable.” She spoke. You could spot something large moving under your blankets too. 

“Who the hell are you!? What are you doing in my bed!?” You tried to sound threatening, and like you weren’t afraid, but even as this stranger was laying down, you could see how strong she was. Her arms were huge. “You don’t remember?” She gets up, cornering you against the backboard. She leans in close, smirking at you like she’s gotten away with something. “I’m Rosie.” What?…

“Rosie? Wait but that’s my dog…” You didn’t understand at all, but who could blame you. You were face to face with a ripped, naked woman who appeared in your bed overnight. Not to mention her tall, dog-like ears, and fluffy tail-

oh.

 “There’s no way…I…You can’t be.” 

“Oh but I am. And I’m not your dog either.” She has fangs. They’re sharp, and one protrudes from her mouth. “But you were so tiny…Rosie was.” 

“I’m not Rosie! Please never call me that again.” She finally pulls away from you. “My names Vi. Thanks for uh…picking me up I guess.” You were still extremely thrown off. “Uhm…you’re welcome.” Vi slips out of bed, exposing herself to you entirely. Her tail rests just above the ground, and her ears stand tall. “What are you?” You ask from sheer bewilderment. “I’m a werewolf. You know, we transform on full moons and go all crazy?” 

“A werewolf? You were barely the size of a puppy!”

“That’s because I didn’t eat anything! We all get smaller if we don’t eat. I’m pretty big normally.” She sounds defensive over that. “Okay.” 

“Where’s your bathroom?” She sounds more like she’s demanding than asking. “Hey this is my apartment, and you need to leave!” 

“Hey I’m not going anywhere.” She replies firmly. “You adopted me right? this is my place now too.” You were about to protest, but when would you get the opportunity to live with someone like this again? Yet again see a woman as attractive in your whole lifetime. “Fine… Just don’t mess anything up.” Vi turns around, and looks rather surprised by your answer. “Actually? Thanks cutie.” You feel yourself short circuit. Her tail is wags a little. “No problem.”

Growing Pains

Vi was spiraling. Tonight wasn’t even a full moon, yet she could still feel the beast inside of her trying to claw its way out. She muffled her groans with her pillow, while her tail thrashed violently. She couldn’t wake you. Especially not for something as stupid as this. Her ears were pressed flat against the back of her head in shame. Vi could feel the seams of the pillow snap as she held it tighter against her face. She felt her fangs bare as she let out a guttural growl into the darkness. The tremors wrecked her body, and her mind. They told her to destroy. They told her to just let go of her inhibitions, and tear everything apart like the monster she was. Werewolves don’t lie in bed snuggling with humans like needy puppies, werewolves ate those humans whole.

As hard as she tried to be quiet, you rose anyway with a sleepy yawn. “Vi? Are you okay?” You shifted closer to her. You knew something was wrong as soon as you laid eyes on her. “No…fuck…” you could barely hear her voice. “Do you need some water? Or maybe I could uhm, fry some bacon if you want meat.” You were new to dating a werewolf. All you knew is that she went through a rutting period and that she transformed under full moons. Maybe eating meat helps her to not get so worked up. You didn’t know for sure, but you had to try something, so you crawled out of bed. “Don’t leave.” Vi huffed, looking at you like you were going to war.

“Aw, it’s okay… I’m just going to try and get something to help you.” You went to her side and leaned down to kiss her forehead. Vi whined when you left the bedroom. The apartment was silent and still. After getting her some pain pills and a glass of water, you were about to go back to the bedroom when you felt hot breath on the back of your neck. When you turned around, you were met with Vi’s crazed stare. She’s not fully turned, but her eyes tell you that your Violet is not in there right now. 

“Vi?… hey, I got you some medicine…” She’s breathing hard on your face.  “Do you want to go lay down?… Oh Vi.” You feel so helpless. Her pain is foreign to you, and you don’t know how to help her. One of her hairy hands crawls up your cheek. You can only stay still and hope she won’t snap. You’ve been through this before. You have scars from her claws to prove it. Vi always feels guilty after going through spells. When she sees your scars, she breaks down in tears. The Vi in front of you right now is barely keeping herself together. Her claws brush against your face as she leans in closer. You’re frozen in fear. You know what she’s trying to do.  The laser focus on your neck tells you. Her position has you caged against the wall, and she’s using her body weight to keep you still. She’s trying to kill you. 

She growls softly, and your feel her teeth on your neck. If she bites you too hard even once, you’re dead. The pressure on your neck starts to gradually increase. Vi’s saliva is dripping onto your skin. She’s hungry, and you’re the only human in sight. Like a frightened rabbit, you can’t move. “Vi please..” you plea. Her hands move to your waist, and she holds you still tightly. Her claws start to leave indents in your skin, and one even draws blood. “Vi stop! That hurts!” You beg pathetically. She’s completely dissociated. No one can save you now. When you start to cry, Vi freezes. Before a sob leaves herself. “I’m sorry…” She whimpers. Her arms stop holding you, and instead pull you into a hug. She starts to cry. “I almost killed you… I’m a monster!” This is the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen her. She’s fully broken down. “I don’t deserve you, I don’t deserve anyone! I keep hurting you!”  Her tail is drooping and so are her ears. “When I’m not in my right mind I just want to devour you.” Her hands move frantically as she tries to explain herself. “You’re just so kind to me. You’re too good for me… I don’t know why, but when I switch forms my love is always replaced by the urge to just…hurt you.” You’re still crying from the shock of what just happened to you. “You’d taste so sweet. Killing you would be so easy. You’re so delicate…I’m sure of that. You’re tender.” She hugs you tighter. “Fuck… That part of me wants to so badly…” 

“Violet…” You call her name. “You should leave me. Before I lose control. If I ever did that to you, I could never forgive myself.”

“I couldn’t leave you! Vi please don’t say that!” She pushes you back against the wall, knocking your breath out of your chest. “Don’t you see what I am!? What I’m doing to you!?” Her teeth are bared, and her ears are flared. When she realizes how hard she pushed you, she falls to her knees. “I’m sorry! Don’t look at me, just go.” You take a moment to gather yourself before you join her on the ground, and hug her. “I know you don’t want to hurt anyone. It’s okay, Vi. I’ll always be here for you.” Despite Vi’s tears, her tail is thumping on the ground. “One day, I might just haul off and do something I’ll regret. I have no control. I’m a monster. You deserve better than a beast like me.”

She’s refusing to be consoled. All you can do is hold her there on the floor. “Take these.” You give her the medicine and water. After she takes it, you kiss her head, which earns her tail a few thumps. “Can you maybe learn to control your urges?” You suggested. “I honestly have no clue. I’ve never encountered someone like me before. Ever. And every quack I’ve been to before didn’t help.”

“Well, I was going to wait to surprise you, but I think we both should talk about it now.” You took her furry hand in yours. “I’ve been saving money, and-” 

“No…” Vi groans. “You shouldn’t spend anything on me. Not when you still need that money.”

“It’s fine. I’m doing fine.” You said, ignoring the practically crumbling apartment around you. “ I uhm… found this doctor on the topside. It’s a little expensive, but I’ve only heard good things about him. I already got you an appointment soon…surprise!” You said that last part a little deflated. Vi just looks at you with her lips parted. She hugs you tight and takes in the scent of you. “Why would you do that?..” she sniffles. “Thanks babe…”

Her Very Own Nurse

Morning was peaceful. It was a full moon last night, so Vi decided to leave your apartment for the night. “I might hurt you. Again.” Was her reason. You were sitting at your counter, eating a small breakfast when someone pounded on the door, making you jump out of your seat. When you looked through your peephole, you opened the door immediately. “Vi!” Your girlfriend practically fell into your arms. She looked awful. Her makeup is running down her face, and she’s littered in cuts and bruises. “Oh my god-what- Vi, what happened!?” You manage to get her on your couch, and prop her head up with some pillows. “Vi?” She’s barely conscious. “Ugh…I got into a fight…some drunks tryna hunt me…” She drags one blood stained hand down her face. “It’s okay. Uhm, wait here…” you go back to the kitchen and look around for your first aid kit. You get back to Vi and look her over. There’s a spreading blood stain under the thigh area of her pants. That needs to be tended to. “Excuse me…”  You unbuckle her belt, and pull down her pants. She grunts in pain. “Miss me that badly?” She jokes. Her voice is only a weak croak, but at least she’s acting like herself. “Yeah, I guess I did.” Sure enough, she’s injured badly on her thigh. “Sorry…” you murmur as you dip a cotton ball in some alcohol, and dab it on her thigh. 

Vi moans loudly in pain. You wince. “Sorry! I have to disinfect it. You can hold my hand if you want.” Vi looked at you like you said something incredibly stupid, but she grabs your hand anyways. You go back to clean her thigh, and she squeezes your hand tightly. Another pained sound comes from her lips. You feel a little flustered just listening to her. You shouldn’t be thinking that way because she’s currently in pain, but it just sounded so lewd. Vi notices your expression and shakes her head. “Seriously?” You press the cotton ball down again, earning a “shit!” From your girlfriend.

“Okay, all done.” You reassured her. As you bandage her thigh, Vi lulls her head to the side and smiles at you. “I really don’t deserve you.” You laugh gently and shake your head. “No, don’t say that…” you lean in and kiss her lips softly. “Would you like some pain meds?” She nods. Her tail sways softly. You get two pills and some water, and bring them to her. Vi’s ears stand at attention as she watches you.

“I’ve been thinking…” Vi starts. That’s never a good way to start a sentence. “About what?” You set the glass down and give Vi the pills, then the water. “I hate being a burden to you. Making you do all this stuff for me. I don’t even want to think about how many time’s I’ve scratched or bit you.” She looks sad. “So, do you really want to stay with me? Don’t just say what I want to hear, be honest.” 

“Violet…” you reach out and rub her head. Her ears lower to make space. “Of course I want to stay! I’d never leave you just because it can get hard sometimes… you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Her tail is wagging faster. She looks a little embarrassed by it. You notice regardless, and giggle at her expense. “You’re just a big puppy. What’s not to love about that?”

In a Rut (smut)

You knew Vi was in her rut when she woke up that morning. You were making a quick breakfast when she wrapped her arms around your waist from behind, and buried her face in the crook off your neck. “Vi?” 

“Hm?”  You can feel her tongue gently prodding your neck. She likes to lick you during times like this. That usually tells you all you need to know. “I’m sorry, you know I can’t help you. I have work today.” she groans, and her ears flop against her head. “You could afford to be a little late…” she murmurs against the skin of your neck. “I really can’t…today’s important.” Vi held you tighter. She was feverishly warm. “I’m sorry, I really am. I promise I’ll help when I get home.” You assure her as you leave for work. 

Vi gets flat out needy if you leave her waiting for too long. When she’s rutting, she’s the most vulnerable person you’ve ever seen. You got home at around five in the evening, after insisting a friend swap shifts with you. You told them it was an “urgent matter with your girlfriend.” Which wasn’t a total lie. Vi is on the couch, ears flat and tail wagging violently. “Vi? I’m home. Are you okay?” She groans, and buries her face into a pillow. “If it’s that bad, I could help now. I don’t have work tomorrow.” Vi perks up at that. “Really? You’re free all day tomorrow?” Her tail gives her excitement away. You nod. “Yes, so go easy on me. We have the entire day.” 

Vi carried you to the bedroom without missing a beat. She put you down on the bed and crawled on top of you. “Vi!” You chided as she hastily lifted you shirt, not even bothering to take it off. She tore your bra off to hungrily suck on one breast. She was desperate. You could hear her tail thumping against the mattress, and felt her tall furry ears occasionally brush over your face. Vi’s always extra mouthy during her rut. She’s always licking you or sucking on somewhere. You’ve boiled it down to a possessive thing. 

She struggles to take her time with you. You’ve always wondered what it’s like to be so unbearably horny. Vi is making quiet sounds of desperation as she rushes to strip your bottom half. Seeing her like this is enough to turn you on. She doesn’t even take off your panties. She just pushes them aside and starts to lick you feverishly. Your thighs try and shut from just how sudden it is, but Vi doesn’t allow that. Her furry hands hold your legs down, and she continues to lap at you eagerly. It’s messy. She’s not trying to be neat at all. Two fingers enter you hastily, and Vi relishes in the view. “Oh shit… You’re taking it so well Arent’cha?”. You freak out at first, squirming and writhing, but it looks like Vi has trimmed her claws.

Once she thinks she’s done enough, she sits up and removes her fingers. “Sorry about being so aggressive…can’t help it..” she mumbles as she undresses herself. Once her shirt is off, you can’t help but drool at the sight of her. The thin fur on her arms and chest was something you oddly enjoyed. Especially the thicker trail of fur that led to her pussy. She catches you staring and removes her boy shorts with a grin. “Like what you see?” She settles herself on top of you, leaning closer to your face. “You know I do.” You rubbed her head. Vi steals your lips in a kiss, and starts to grind herself on your saliva coated mound. Every moan and whimper you make slips into Vi’s mouth. Her tongue explores every crevice of your mouth, which she already knows so well. Your hands wander up her neck to her head. Once you brush her ears, she starts to move her hips faster. You know they’re sensitive, and you like to take advantage of that. You tease them a little more, rubbing up and down before pinching the tips between your fingers. Vi releases you from the kiss and nestles her head into your neck, whimpering and moaning. You know she’s close when she starts to bite you. It’s a good thing she cut her claws because her fingers are digging into your hips. Her teeth graze your neck in a possessive nibble as she chases both of your releases. 

Vi’s whole body shudders when she comes. You can only squirm beneath her as you ride your own high. You can feel her body relax on top of you. Her breathing slows, and her ears twitch slightly. “I love you…thanks for sticking with me. I know I can get difficult.” She says breathily. “Don’t worry about that. I love you too.” Her tail wags sloppily. “It’s so cute when you do that.” Vi looks embarrassed. “I can’t help it.” She rolls you both over so you’re lying on your side, with her in view. “Do you feel better?” Vi nods. “I’ll probably need it again tomorrow… it’s my rut after all…” 

“I don’t mind.” You say with a grin. Vi rolls her eyes and feigns annoyance. “You little minx. Of course you don’t mind.” Vi pulls you closer and presses a kiss to your forehead. “I really fucking love you.”