#( the softness that gives way to frustration) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bunnis-monsters · 12 hours ago

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NSFW

a/n: a 2k word kofi reward featuring megalodon shark!hybrid smut.

You hadn’t been planning on going on a cruise, but when you won a ticket through a raffle, you didn’t want to give up your chance for some real rest and relaxation.

Work had been beyond stressful lately, and you were ready to sit by the pool and sip cocktails until you were plastered.

Unfortunately, things don’t always seem to go the way you envision them to.

The first two days were amazing, filled with great food and some fun under the sun. You felt rejuvenated, and for a while you really thought that you’d be able to go back to work as a whole new person.

But on the third night you were walking back from the bar and decided to lean over the railing, the salty wind blowing through your hair. It was nice, you were happy.

That was until you saw it.

Something shifted under the dark, choppy waves, the hint of something dark and gray beginning to emerge. At first you just assumed it was just your imagination. After all, you have been told that people start to hallucinate when they stare into the dark for too long.

But when the thing rose higher, causing the ship to rock slightly… that’s when you realized whatever it was, it was completely real.

Everything happened so fast. A voice came onto the intercom, saying something you couldn’t comprehend. You were too focused on the giant creature appearing before you, dark eyes landing on your form.

It was looking at you.

Terror shook your very being, causing you to nearly vomit in fear. Your hands gripped the railing tightly, your eyes wide and tears forming in the corners.

It was too dark to make out its form exactly, but you could see the glint of large, sharp teeth and that was enough to have your soul attempting to leave your body.

With a loud creak, it leaned against the ship, sending you flying off the side and into the dark depths below.

You woke up feeling rather… warm. Sunlight beamed down onto your skin, something cold lapping at your feet waking you.

Certainly that had been a bad dream and you were at home with your pet licking your feet to get you up and ready to make their breakfast…

But when you opened your eyes, you were reminded of reality.

The dark figure from the night before was hovering over you, the waves it created from rising out of the water lapping at your feet. The night before you hadn’t been able to make out its appearance, but now everything was horribly clear.

Before you was some sort of human and shark hybrid. Its eyes were beady, staring down at you like a predator glares at its prey. Scars covered its soft looking torso and muscular arms, his lower body resembling a shark’s tail.

But the feature that scared you the most, the one that had you crying in fear the night before was his set of razor sharp teeth, nearly the size of your arm.

You flinched when he lowered his head to sniff you, unable to even move. Was this it? You were going to be eaten by some strange, undiscovered beast before you had ever gotten the chance to truly live your life the way you wanted…

Years of working for a company you hated flashed through your mind, tears forming in your eyes. Only this time it was tears of fear, but of frustration. All that time wasted on making money to get by, but never truly making enough to live.

Preparing for the worst, you squeezed your eyes shut and turned your head. Your only hope was that it would be kind enough to kill you before tearing into your flesh…

Though, after waiting several moments, the only thing you felt was the creature’s soft breaths fanning over your body as it continued to sniff you. Its arms laid on either side of you… and it made some strange growling sound.

Soon, you opened your eyes when a wet sensation on your lower belly caused you to yelp. Oh god, it was eating you!

“N-no, don’t-“

But your cries of fear changed into a moan when he began licking further down.

No, he didn’t want to eat you… he wanted to eat you out.

His massive tongue made easy work of your clit, the very top of it pushing into your cunt and making you cum quickly.

After a while of this, he stared down at you, tilting his head before sinking back into the water. You were left feeling… confused.

While he was gone, you explored your surroundings. You were stuck on a small island, with only a few fruit trees and some birds as company.

You knew that some fruit wouldn’t keep you fed for long, but at least the shade provided some reprieve from the burning sun. If it hadn’t been for that, you would have shriveled up in the heat like a raisin.

The creature/shark guy returned as the moon began to rise over the sky. In his jaws he carried a wooden chest. He dropped it at your feet, nudging it closer to you through the sand.

“What’s this?” you asked, kneeling down to open it up. The chest held various meats and fish, enough to feed you for a while. “Oh… thank you.”

Your gratitude made him perk up, his tail wagging furiously and flinging sand everywhere. He lowered his head, nudging you gently before settling down in the water to watch you cook. It seemed he took great pride in the fact he provided a good meal for you.

As you ate your cooked meat, he slowly reached out his webbed hand, lightly rubbing at your chubby belly. You were too cute, all soft and fat, he wanted to keep you that way. It would ensure you’d produce healthy shark pups, and the very thought of your belly swollen and round during your pregnancy had his hard cock slipping out of his slit.

It was pure instinct. You were plump and well fed, meaning breeding you was the best course of action. He hadn’t found a female megalodon hybrid all mating season, and part of him wondered if he was the last of his kind.

“Soft…”

You were surprised when he spoke, his voice gravely and deep. It could almost shake the ground, and as he pulled you onto his own soft belly, you realized he was… aroused.

His cock was as thick as your arm, and nearly double the size. It would fit with some work… but just barely.

You didn’t know this though, your eyes wide with shock as he pushed the head against your cunt. “H-hey, that’s way too big! It’s not gonna-“

He paused, his black eyes glimmered. “Forgot. Need to get wet.”

He spread your legs apart, keeping them open as his thumb nudged at your clit. His hands were so big, his pinky was enough to stretch you out.

As he pumped his pinky in and out of you, slick started to pool between your legs. It felt so embarrassingly good, you struggled to keep yourself from cumming immediately.

When he considered you stretched out enough, he positioned the head of his cock at your entrance, nudging the hole before pushing in.

Nothing, not anything could have prepared you for the painful stretch as he bottomed out inside of you. Your legs were pushed as far as they could go, and you cried out in pain.

“G-gonna break me,” you babbled, watching your tummy bulge. “It’s t-too big..!”

But he seemed to lost in his own pleasure to hear you, fucking into your tight hole as you whined and squirmed. After a moment though, the pain shifted into a blinding pleasure.

Being stretched out so perfectly felt too good. He groaned into your ear, bouncing you up and down on his cock, using you like a fleshlight.

When his cum spurted into you, the thick, white ropes felt so warm it almost burned. You were filled up completely, gushing his cum even as he pulled out.

He was obsessed with how soft and squishy you were, especially after you had been filled with cum. The megalodon hybrid curled up in the shallows with you, letting you rest on his belly as he kissed your chubby cheeks.

Days turned into weeks, and after two months went by, your belly started to swell. Oh how he doted over you once it was clear you were pregnant.

“Eat, eat,” he’d coo, offering you yet another fish. “Baby needs it.”

Your tits swelled with milk after a bit, and he was fascinated by how sensitive they became. When he buried his cock inside of you at night, he’d take one of your nipples into his mouth and suckle a bit, teasing you… but not maliciously. No, he wanted to spoil and pamper his precious mate.

When you grew closer to your due date, your lover became clingy, never leaving your side for long.

You gave birth to a single, adorable shark pup… and he was excited to put another one in you as soon as possible.

About two years passed, and you had grown used to living on that little island. In the morning you collected fruit, watered your various plants that had been collected by the megalodon hybrid, then you would walk to the shoreline and wait.

“Mama!”

One of your little ones toddled out of the waves, his little legs struggling through the sand before he reached you. He hugged your legs, letting out a little purr as you ruffled his hair.

“H-hey, no fair! Mama, me too!”

Your oldest called for you from the water. He had a tail like his father, and couldn’t leave the ocean. “Shh, shh, I’m coming, baby. You know I wouldn’t leave you out.”

You waddled into the waves, being careful due to your pregnancy. Your other son joined you in the water, both cooing over your belly.

“Mama, when will the baby come?”

“Mmm… it’ll be at least a month or so.”

The younger one splashed his brother, causing them to dip under the waves and play. You laughed, spotting a dark shape coming from the deep.

Your lover emerged from the ocean, your two sons giggling and climbing up his back then jumping back into the water. He was a very patient father, letting them use him as a jungle gym as much as they wanted.

“Eat.”

He dropped another catch onto the shore, his eyes soft as he admired the extra weight you had put on over the last few years. His fingers traced your stretch marks, a smile on his lips.

“Again? I’m still full from lunch.”

But he was persistent, nudging you towards your fire pit so you’d cook. “Okay, okay, I’m going.”

Your youngest toddled around the beach, playing with shells and blowing raspberries at his older brother as he sat in your lap by the fire. The two were always bickering, but you made sure to spend equal time with them.

As the sun set, the kiddos drifted off to sleep on a nearby reef as you and your lover kissed. “Mmm… getting big.”

You yawned, cockwarming him as he toyed with your sensitive nipples. He quite enjoyed how much softer you were now, even more so than when he first met you.

It felt nice, having him guide your hips over him, feeling his cock twitch inside of you. Being stuffed full of his cum had become addicting, and you needed to be bred almost every night to be satisfied.

You were sure that you’d continue having his shark pups well into the future. After all, he took very good care of you, always bringing gifts and yummy foods to keep you from losing that softness he loved so much.

In the morning, you’d start the day over. Although sometimes you missed the life you lived before all of this, you were content being bred and kept as his sweet little mate on that peaceful island.

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pandapetals · 12 hours ago

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Faking It

During sex, you fake an orgasm causing Logan to spiral. Once he confronts you about it, he wants to prove he can make you feel good without faking it.

logan howlett x fem!reader - established relationship, no reader description, no y/n used, faking an orgasm, self-loathing logan, slight angst, imagined worst logan but this gives dofp!logan too, vibes, smut, feral logan, p in v sex, oral, fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampie

a/n: idea from @yxtkiwiyxt - it ate away at my brain and being on my period really caused this to be born

divider credit: @enchanthings

Logan could feel everything. Every shift in your body, every flicker in your expression, every whispered contradiction between what you said and felt. He didn’t just sense when you lied—he absorbed it, like static in the air before a storm.

Now, with your body beneath his, every nerve in him was attuned to you. The heat of your skin pressed against his, the rhythmic creak of the mattress, the broken gasps you offered him—it was intoxicating. Yet it wasn’t enough. Something was off.

The faint furrow of your brow was his first clue. At first, he thought it was pleasure, that delicious kind of tension that came right before you unraveled. But then he felt the subtle stiffness in your thighs, the shallow way you breathed, and a flicker of doubt crackled through his chest. The feral part of him that craved, that demanded—urged him forward, driving him to thrust harder, deeper, desperate to coax something real out of you. He growled low in your ear, his voice rough with need.

“C’mon, pretty girl… make a mess for me,” he rasped, his teeth grazing the delicate line of your jaw.

You whimpered, but it wasn’t the sound he was chasing. And when the moan came—high-pitched, trembling, but hollow—it hit him like a cold slap to the face. It wasn’t real. He knew it wasn’t real.

His hands tightened on your hips as frustration swirled with something darker, something that felt too close to shame. His feral side snarled inside him, demanding he keep going, demanding release, and for one selfish, fleeting moment, he gave in. He pushed through, riding the edge until he spilled into you with a broken groan, collapsing onto the bed beside you as his chest heaved.

The room felt too quiet after, too still. Your fingers trailed idly over his chest, your touch soft and featherlight, but Logan’s body felt stiff beneath your hand. He turned his head, searching your face in the dim light, and when you offered a lazy smile, it was like glass shattering in his chest.

“I make you feel good, gorgeous?” he asked, his voice low and soft, though he wasn’t sure why. Maybe he didn’t want to hear the answer.

“Uh-huh,” you murmured, snuggling closer to him like it was nothing. Like the lie wasn’t still hanging heavy in the air between you.

Logan wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t oblivious. That tiny, fake little moan echoed in his ears, replaying like a bad song on repeat. And it hurt. God, it hurt. He’d been in your bed, in your body, but not once had he felt like he was truly with you. Not tonight.

Still, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there as his thoughts churned. He held you close, feeling your breathing slow as sleep crept in, and though his arms tightened around you protectively, his mind refused to rest.

Why had you faked it? Was it him? Something he’d done—or something he hadn’t done? Did you not trust him enough to tell him? The questions coiled in his gut, twisting and knotting until frustration and hurt blurred together in a haze of anger. And yet, despite the heat crawling under his skin, he couldn’t bring himself to wake you. Not now.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. Logan didn’t let things go easily—especially not when it came to you.

But figuring out how to bring it up? That wasn’t his strong suit. For a whole day, he sat on it, the frustration gnawing at him like a splinter buried too deep to pull out. He replayed every moment in his head: the way your body tensed, the way your fake moan had grated against his ears, the way you had smiled afterward like nothing had happened. By the time the sun had begun to set again, the weight of it had him wound so tight it felt like a rubber band about to snap. And, unfortunately for Wade, Logan’s rubber band tended to snap loudly.

The bar was dimly lit, its usual haze of stale beer and cigarette smoke clinging to the air. Logan sat nursing a whiskey he’d barely touched, his mood written all over his face. Wade, of course, was oblivious—or maybe just ignoring it. He leaned on the counter beside Logan, rambling on about some escapade Logan hadn’t bothered to keep track of. His jaw clenched tighter with every passing second until Wade finally poked the wrong bear.

“You’ve been pissy all day,” Wade said, squinting at Logan like he was examining a strange animal. “Let me guess, you finally found someone who doesn’t think your claws are sexy? Or—oh, wait—” Wade’s face lit up with a spark of mischief. “You’re telling me you couldn’t make your girlfriend orgasm?”

Logan stiffened.

“Oh, peanut,” Wade gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like he was genuinely heartbroken. “Say it ain’t so! The big bad Wolverine, all growls and muscles, and—nothing? Nada? No fireworks?”

Logan’s hand slammed down on the bar, the sound sharp enough to make a few heads turn. He rounded on Wade, eyes blazing, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about, so maybe shut your damn mouth before I shut it for you.”

Wade blinked, and there was a beat of silence—a rare occurrence for him. But it lasted all of two seconds before his lips quirked into a grin. “Ohhhh, I hit a nerve, didn’t I? Don’t worry, champ, it happens to the best of us. Well, not to me, obviously, but—”

“Wade.” Logan’s tone cut through the air like a blade. The room seemed to drop a few degrees as Logan pushed himself up from the barstool, his knuckles white against the edge of the counter. Wade threw up his hands in mock surrender.

“Alright, alright! Geez, no need to go full Wolverine on me.” Wade stepped back, but not without muttering under his breath, “Touchy subject, huh?”

Logan ignored him. He grabbed his jacket and stormed out of the bar, his mind racing. Wade might be an idiot, but even idiots could land a hit when they weren’t aiming. The truth was, the jab had struck too close to home. He didn’t care about the idea of failure, not really—not when it came to anyone else. But with you? It felt like a crack in something he hadn’t even realized was fragile.

When Logan got back to your shared space, you were curled up on the couch, your feet tucked under you as you watched TV. The sight of you—so calm, so untouched by the storm that had been raging inside him all day—made something snap loose in his chest. He couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“Can we talk?” His voice was gruff, but quieter than you expected, almost hesitant.

You glanced up, surprised. “Of course. What’s wrong?”

Logan ran a hand through his hair, pacing a little before settling on the edge of the coffee table in front of you. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Last night,” he started, his voice strained. “Somethin’ was off. I know it. You know it. And I can’t stop thinkin’ about it.”

Your stomach twisted, guilt pooling in your chest. “Logan, I—”

“You faked it,” he said bluntly, cutting to the heart of it. His eyes finally lifted to meet yours, and the vulnerability there nearly knocked the wind out of you. “Why?”

The word hung in the air between you.

You swallowed hard, turning the TV off and shifting in your seat. “It wasn’t you,” you said quickly, wanting to get that part out first. “I mean, it wasn’t because of you. It’s… me.”

His brow furrowed, and he leaned back slightly, his arms crossing over his chest as he studied you. “What does that mean?”

You took a deep breath, your hands twisting in your lap. “I’ve been in my head lately,” you admitted. “I’ve been… struggling. With work, with stress, with feeling like I’m enough. And I guess last night, I just—” You hesitated, looking away. “I didn’t want you to feel like you weren’t enough. So I faked it.”

Logan stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he exhaled a low sound that was more frustration with himself than anything else. “Darlin’,” he said, his voice softer now. “You don’t have to fake anything with me. Ever.”

“I know,” you whispered, your throat tight. “I just… I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me?” Logan’s voice sharpened, and he leaned forward again, his hands reaching out to take yours. “You think that’s what this is about? I don’t care about some… performance. I care about you. And if somethin’s wrong, I wanna know. I wanna fix it, not pretend it doesn’t exist.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you gave a small nod. “I’m sorry,” you murmured.

He shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. Just… tell me when something’s wrong, okay?” His thumbs brushed over your knuckles, his voice softening again.

You managed a small smile, squeezing his hands. “Okay.”

Logan’s lips brushed your forehead before he pulled you into his arms. His touch was warm, and grounding, but there was something beneath it—something deliberate. His hands settled on your hips like he was afraid you might pull away.

“Now,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “let me make you feel good.”

You tilted your head back to look at him, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “Logan, you don’t have to do that. I’m fine—”

He cut you off with a shake of his head, his thumb brushing over the curve of your waist. “No, you’re not,” he said plainly, his tone gruff but tender. His eyes met yours, intense and unwavering, and his lips quirked into a faint smirk. “You’re stressed. I can see it. I can feel it.”

Your breath hitched as his hands slid down your arms, calloused fingertips trailing a path that sent shivers racing across your skin. “Let me take care of you,” he said, his voice softer now, more coaxing.

And honestly? There was no denying it. The idea of Logan worshipping your body—of losing yourself in the way he always seemed to know exactly what you needed—was too tempting to resist. You swallowed hard, your lips parting slightly as his gaze dropped to your mouth.

“I mean…” You tried to keep your voice steady, but it wavered as his hands slid lower, settling on the backs of your thighs. “If you insist…”

Logan let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Oh, I insist,” he drawled, his grip tightening just enough to make your stomach flip. Before you could process the thought, he was lifting you with ease, his strength as effortless as it was intoxicating.

The world tilted as he carried you to the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. He laid you down with a kind of reverence that made your chest ache, his broad frame hovering over you. His lips found the delicate curve of your neck, and your breath hitched as he kissed his way down, the scrape of his stubble sending sparks skittering across your skin.

By the time his hands found the waistband of your underwear, you were already melting under his touch. He peeled them off slowly, his eyes darkening as they roamed your bare skin. “You’re so damn beautiful,” he muttered, almost to himself, his voice thick with desire.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words dissolved into a soft gasp as his lips trailed lower, his mouth hot and insistent against your collarbone. His hands gripped your hips, grounding you as he shifted lower, and the anticipation coiled in your stomach like a live wire.

“Logan,” you whispered, his name slipping from your lips like a plea.

He glanced up at you, his smirk returning as he settled between your thighs. “Relax, darlin’,” he murmured, his hands spreading your legs with deliberate care. “Let me take my time with you.”

The first press of his mouth was soft and exploratory, but it didn’t stay that way for long. Logan was nothing if not thorough, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes that left you breathless. He watched your every reaction, the flicker of his eyes on you making it clear he was entirely in control—but completely devoted to you.

Your hands tangled in his hair as the tension inside you built, his name falling from your lips in broken whispers. He hummed against you, the vibrations making you arch into him, and he responded by gripping your hips tighter, holding you in place as he worked you closer and closer to the edge.

And when you finally came undone, shuddering and gasping beneath him, Logan didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow.

“Logan,” you gasped, your voice trembling as your body shook with aftershocks.

“Not done with you yet, pretty girl,” he rasped, his voice low and gravelly. His lips curved into a wicked grin, and before you could catch your breath, he dipped his head again, his mouth finding you with renewed purpose.

Time blurred after that, the world narrowing to the feel of him, the sound of him, the way he seemed utterly consumed by the act of worshipping every inch of you. By the time he finally let you catch your breath, your body was boneless, your mind a haze of blissful exhaustion.

Logan crawled up the bed, his lips brushing over your temple as he pulled you into his arms. His hands, still warm and steady, skimmed over your back, grounding you in the aftermath of it all.

“Better?” he asked, his voice soft now, full of quiet satisfaction.

You let out a shaky laugh, burying your face in his chest. “You could say that,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his skin.

Logan chuckled softly as he kissed the top of your head. His hand rested against the small of your back, fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin. “Good,” he murmured, his tone laced with smug satisfaction but dripping with affection. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

You nodded weakly, still catching your breath, your body feeling boneless in the aftermath of his touch. Every nerve was still humming, your chest rising and falling as you tried to steady yourself. But then you felt it—a shift in the air, a change in the weight of the bed as Logan leaned forward.

Your eyes fluttered open just in time to see the smirk tugging at his lips, his hazel eyes glinting with mischief. He hovered above you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off his body.

His lips brushed over yours in a soft kiss making your heart stutter. “Logan,” you whispered, your voice barely above a whimper.

“I know,” he replied, his breath warm against your lips. “But I’m not done with you yet.” His voice was a low growl, rough edges softened by something tender and utterly consuming. “I just want to make you feel so good.”

You let out a breathless laugh, your head sinking back into the pillows. “You did, Logan. I promise—”

He cut you off with a smirk, the curve of his lips playful and dangerous. “Okay, then,” he drawled, his tone dropping to something darker, something that sent a shiver down your spine. “If you’re good, I want to hear you whimper my name.”

Before you could protest—or agree—his hand slid down your body, his touch slow and deliberate. His calloused fingertips brushed over your stomach, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, before they dipped lower, tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

Your breath hitched, your body instinctively arching toward him as his hand moved closer, teasing and torturously slow. Logan’s gaze never left yours, and the intensity in his eyes made your pulse race.

“Logan…” you moaned softly, his name slipping from your lips like a reflex as his fingers finally slid between your thighs.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a deep rumble of satisfaction. His touch was firm but unhurried, exploring you with a focus that made your head spin. His thumb moved in a way that had your legs trembling, and when his fingers pressed exactly where you needed them, your back arched off the mattress, a gasp spilling from your lips.

“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered, almost to himself, as if he couldn’t quite believe the way you were unraveling beneath him. His free hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as he worked you closer and closer to the edge, the tension coiling tighter with every stroke.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak—all you could do was feel. Logan was relentless, his lips brushing against your neck, your collarbone, and your shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses that made your skin tingle. He alternated between soft and demanding, his touch a perfect balance of control and devotion.

“Logan,” you whimpered again, your voice breaking on the syllable as the pressure built impossibly high, teetering on the edge of something devastatingly good.

“There it is,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire, his lips ghosting over your ear. “That’s my girl.”

The words sent a jolt of heat straight through you, and with one more perfectly placed movement of his hand, you shattered. Your body arched into him as pleasure crashed over you, wave after wave, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

Logan didn’t stop right away—he worked you through it, his hands steady, his lips murmuring quiet praises against your skin as you rode out the high. By the time the tremors subsided, you were trembling, your body utterly spent.

He finally pulled his hand away, his touch leaving a trail of warmth in its absence. Logan leaned down, brushing his lips over yours in a kiss.

“Still with me, darlin’?” he asked, his voice soft, his smirk replaced with something gentler as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

You managed a weak nod, your body still buzzing, and Logan chuckled, the sound warm and rumbling.

“Good,” he murmured, pulling you into his arms. His hand slid up your back, holding you close as your head rested against his chest. “Because I think you’ve got one more in you.”

You let out a breathless laugh, your cheeks flushing.

“What?” Logan murmured, his smirk teasing and wicked as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple. His breath was warm against your skin, and the way his lips lingered made your stomach twist with anticipation. “Told you, I’m not done with you yet.”

Before you could reply, his hands began their slow descent, tracing the curves of your body with deliberate care. His palms were warm and rough, gliding over your hips and your thighs. Every touch felt like a promise he had no intention of breaking.

“Logan…” you started, but your words dissolved into a shaky exhale as his fingers found the sensitive spot just above your knee, kneading gently before sliding higher.

He shifted above you, his movements unhurried, his gaze dark and hungry as he took in the sight of you sprawled beneath him. “You can take it,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

You watched as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants, the fabric slipping down his hips in one fluid motion. The sight of him, the sheer confidence in how he moved, made your breath catch. He tossed the pants aside without a second thought, his smirk deepening as he leaned back over you, his body heat radiating against your skin.

“Give me one more,” he murmured, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear. His tone was soft but commanding, his words rolling over you like a wave, pulling you under.

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up, though it was breathless, tinged with disbelief at his sheer audacity. “I thought this was supposed to be about me feeling good,” you teased, your voice light, though your heart was pounding.

Logan’s lips quirked into a lopsided grin, but his eyes burned with intent. “Oh, it is,” he drawled, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh, pulling you flush against him. “But I’m pretty damn sure you’ll feel real good giving me what I want.”

The heat in his gaze sent a fresh rush of anticipation coursing through you, and you felt your teasing resolve falter. His fingers trailed over your skin, mapping every inch of you as if he were committing it to memory. When he shifted lower, pressing his lips to your collarbone, then to the soft curve of your breast, his mouth was hot and insistent, each kiss drawing soft gasps from your lips.

You barely had time to process the way his teeth grazed over your skin, sending sparks skittering down your spine, before his hips pressed against yours, his body slotting against yours perfectly. His movements were slow at first like he was savoring every reaction he pulled from you.

Then Logan whispered, husky and dripping with that dark, primal edge, “I want you to feel it everywhere, darlin’—every inch, every second. No faking this time.”

Your breath hitched, the intensity in his voice making your head spin, your body arching into him in a silent plea. Logan’s lips curved into a knowing smirk against your skin. His hands were everywhere—gripping, teasing, worshiping—making it impossible to think, let alone resist the pull of him.

As his mouth found yours, the kiss was all-consuming with the addictive mix of dominance and tenderness only Logan could manage. You clung to him, your hands sliding over the planes of his back, your nails digging in just enough to make him groan against your lips.

“You feelin’ good yet?” he teased, his voice low and rough, thick with need. His lips hovered over yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath, but not quite touching, a maddening taunt that sent a fresh wave of anticipation rolling through you.

Your fingers curled against his shoulders, desperate to ground yourself as his pace shifted. He moved deeper, his hips rolling in a way that made your back arch off the bed, a gasp tumbling from your lips before you could stop it. The deliberate rhythm he’d kept moments ago began to unravel, his movements growing more intense, more insistent.

“Logan,” you whimpered, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer, shaky and breathless.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he growled, his voice rumbling in his chest like a distant storm. His lips brushed over your jawline, leaving a trail of heat as they trailed down to the sensitive spot just below your ear. When his teeth grazed your skin, a soft cry escaped you, your body tightening beneath him.

He groaned low, the sound vibrating against your neck, as your nails dug deeper into the muscles of his back. “So good for me,” he murmured, his voice thick with praise.

Your response came in broken gasps and soft whimpers, your head falling back as the sensations overwhelmed you. Each thrust was deliberate, calculated, but they grew harder, deeper, until your body melted into the mattress, pliant and trembling under him.

The tension in your stomach coiled tighter, white-hot, and electric until it felt like you might come undone. You couldn’t think, speak—could barely even hold on—your body responding to him instinctively, as though it were made just for this.

“Look at me,” Logan rasped, his voice pulling you back to him. Your eyes fluttered open, dazed, to find his gaze locked on yours, burning and unrelenting. “That’s it, pretty girl. I want to see you.”

His hips pressed into you again, hitting the spot so devastating that your eyes rolled back and a broken cry escaped your lips. You clung to him, your body trembling as pleasure surged through you, raw and overwhelming. His name spilled from your mouth in a whisper, soft and reverent, and it only seemed to spur him on.

“Good girl,” he muttered, his voice rough and frayed, his movements driving you higher and higher. “Just like that.”

When you finally broke, the world seemed to splinter apart, the sensation crashing over you in waves so intense you could hardly breathe. Your body arched into his, your thighs shaking as your release consumed you, dragging you under.

Logan slowed, his touch gentler now as you trembled in his arms. He pressed soft kisses to your neck, shoulder, and temple, breathing heavily and unevenly against your skin.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice softer now, warm and teasing as his lips ghosted over yours.

You managed a weak nod, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks, and he chuckled, his breath tickling your cheek.

“That’s my girl,” he said, his tone low and full of quiet pride. He tucked you closer against him, his arms wrapping around you protectively, and you let yourself melt into his warmth, utterly spent but completely safe in his embrace.

#logan howlett #wolverine #x men logan #x men wolverine #james logan howlett #logan howlett x you #logan x reader #hugh jackman #marvel #logan howlett fic #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett fanfiction #logan wolverine #the wolverine #logan james howlett #james howlett #logan howlet smut #logan smut #logan xmen

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brattyspence · 2 days ago

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nothing matters | s.reid

summary: when reader catches her boyfriend cheating, she’s quick to run right back to spencer, even if she once swore she’d never do it again. he just has a way of making her forget about her troubles.( loosely based on lyrics of ‘Nothing Matters’ by The Last Dinner Party)

tags/warnings: pure fucking filth (at least for me), fem!reader, afab!reader, soft dom!spencer, lowkey asshole spencer, reader makes bad decisions and is aware of it, situationship, reader gets cheated on, minimal foreplay bc reader is horny af.

a/n: um. so. about that.

word count: 1.7k

playlist i made just for this!

masterlist

"And you can hold me like he held her,

And I will fuck you like nothing matters."

Getting involved with Spencer was more complicated than you’d hoped.

It had started as mindless sex. It was no secret that your job was stressful, and you both lacked the time and emotional availability to truly maintain a relationship. Still, after spending days running around and chipping away at a case, it seemed that the only real way you could unwind was by getting in his bed.

There were logical explanations for why the sex was so, so good. You both understood what the other had gone through each day, and the way that each case would sit heavy on your minds. Spencer was keenly aware that you were not in the mood to talk when you got home. What you really wanted was to turn off any part of your brain that could think, and let him rearrange your guts until you were too tired to remember any of the details of the day.

The arrangement worked until it didn’t.

You’d met someone else; someone you believed could give you everything you wanted in a relationship, and quickly called things off with Spencer. The friendship you’d once shared had crashed and burned in an instant. Spencer couldn’t understand why you thought you would suddenly be capable of a relationship with someone else, and this only fueled the growing frustration you’d had with him.

Recently, you were seated across from one another on the jet, your feet tucked up under you on the seat, boots kicked off and strewn somewhere under you. You were engrossed in something, reading texts on your phone with narrowed eyes.

“You okay?” he asked. He flipped a page of his book, looking up for a moment.

“Yeah.” You nodded, eyes lingering on the device for a moment longer than he’d have liked. “Boyfriend. It’s nothing.”

“Is everything…alright?”

You nodded, chewing the inside of your lip. “Yeah.”

Spencer couldn’t figure out why you stayed with him. Even if he didn’t know the extent of the situation, it was clear you were unhappy. It wasn’t something you’d ever been too careful to disguise. He couldn’t seem to figure out why you’d never pull the trigger and admit you were wrong. Part of him was convinced you were holding on out of spite.

“You always avoid that question,” he noted.

“I said ‘yeah’. I answered.”

“Hm.” He seemed to hold your gaze for a moment before picking up his own book again.

“Spencer,” you replied, your tone biting. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” He didn’t look up when he spoke this time.

“Judging.”

“Not judging,” he replies. “Just waiting for you to admit you were wrong.”

Now, here you were, standing in the doorway to your own apartment, keys in hand, watching the reality of your impulsive decision unfold right in front of you. Another woman in your apartment, in your bed, with the same man who had promised to treat you better.

All rational thought seemed to escape you in an instant. Before you had time to process, you were flying through the stairwell and out into the night, your feet carrying you quickly to the one place you swore you’d never be again.

The cold night air didn’t bother you as you hastily made your way through the streets. You weren’t aware of the tingling cold that bit your nose and cheeks, but instead you were so caught up in the rising heat and mix of emotions that were threatening to spill through your tear ducts and onto your face.

Within the next ten minutes, you were standing outside his door, rocking on the balls of your feet. You only had to knock once before the door opened. Suddenly, the intense quiet of the street behind you seemed to be all too loud.

Spencer looked you over once, that same smug look on his face.

“So?” he asked. “Tell me I was right.”

“Oh, would you please-”

“I know. I know. Sorry. Come in.”

You crossed the barrier of his doorway with less hesitation than you'd expected.

You watched as he shut the door behind you, the solid clunk of the lock a reminder of the decision you were about to make.

“So… what happened?” He asked.

You shook your head. “I don't want to talk about it.”

He took a step closer, and you tilted your head up to meet his gaze.

“You don’t want to talk at all, do you?”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head.

“So tell me what you do want.”

He took another step closer, the gap between your bodies becoming increasingly smaller. He knew exactly what you wanted, and he was determined to make you spit it out. You narrowed your eyes at him, annoyed that he had to make everything so difficult for you.

“Drop the attitude,” he said, his voice low. “And use your words.”

You swallowed, bracing yourself for what was to come. You took another breath before finding the right words.

“Spencer,” you breathed. “Will you please just fuck me?”

“Mm,” he hummed. He was already tugging your coat off by the sleeves. “So polite. That's not like you.”

You thought better than to quip another remark back his way this time, instead letting him pull you further into the apartment. You offered no resistance as he guided you through the doorway of his bedroom, spinning you around to catch the foot of the bed against the back of your knees. You let yourself fall against the mattress with an exhale.

You quickly kicked your shoes away, letting them fall to the floor with a thump. Spencer had already climbed over you by the time you settled against the bed. He carefully slipped one hand just below the hem of your shirt, fingertips barely skimming your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“You ready for these to come off?” He asked, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your jeans.

“Mhm,” you nodded, quickly tugging the button undone.

“Eager,” he chuckled, pushing your hand away. “I got it. Relax.”

You watched as he undid the button with practiced ease, then quickly tugging away your jeans entirely to discard somewhere on the floor. With one hand holding his weight over you, the other continued its path up your side, pushing your shirt further up your stomach.

“You sure you want to do this?” He asked.

You knew the implications. Nothing had changed, of course. You'd do this, and things would still be the same. Spencer was adamant about refusing to settle down.

It would hurt tomorrow.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Really sure.”

“You're not gonna regret this?”

You huffed. “Yeah, I’ll regret this. It doesn't matter. I just need you to fuck me..”

“I know,” he replied, settling his hand against your side. “Like nothing matters.”

You nodded again, impatience creeping back into your body. “Now.”

You heard him chuckle softly, and he quickly disappeared from your line of sight. You stared at the ceiling fan as it spun lazily above you, and listened to the soft sound of rustling fabric, anticipation gnawing at your bones. You were quick to lift your hips when he queued you, letting him remove your underwear in one swift movement.

You let him pull you closer to the edge of the bed, his hands sitting firmly over your hipbones.

“Look at you, honey,” he breathed, running a thumb slowly over your core. “Missed me that bad?”

“Oh, shut up,” you groaned. “Just-”

“Is that how we ask for things that we want?” He asked, leaning in.

You sighed. “Please?”

You watched with half lidded eyes as he carefully lined himself up, pushing himself slowly inside of you. He continued rubbing circles against your clit with one thumb, easing the growing ache of need between your legs.

“That's okay?” He asked.

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Please move.”

You weren't quite prepared for how good he would feel after so long apart. The sensation caught you off guard, leaving you unable to control the desperate pleas for “more more more” that spilled from your lips.

“There’s my girl,” he cooed. “So good. I knew you were still in there.”

Spencer moved one hand from its spot gripping your hips, instead tucking it against the back of your neck, anging your head up just enough to force your gaze on him.

“Can you- more, please?”

“More? You sure?”

You nodded, bringing one hand to hold onto his arm. “Mhm. More. Please.”

If the goal was to fuck you until you forgot why you came, he certainly succeeded in that. You squeezed your hand against his arm, holding on for dear life as each thrust pressed you against the mattress a little further.

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” he breathed. “So, so good, baby.”

Spencer knew exactly where he had you. Your nails were just beginning to dig into his skin with the familiar sting you always left him with. He watched the flush of color in your cheeks slowly darken as the seconds ticked by.

“That’s… please don't stop, Spencer. Please, please, please,” you whined.

“I know,” he replied. “I've got you, baby. You can let go.”

Sure, he'd made you come dozens of times before, but there was something about the circumstance that made today more intense than before. You were only half aware of your body, seemingly lost somewhere between your brain and outer space. By the time you were just beginning to drift back into your body, he was still pressed into you, breath heavy with the aftermath of his own orgasm.

As you lay against the mattress in the minutes following, nothing seemed to be going through your head. This was exactly what you came crawling back to him for.

You felt the soft touch of his hands again as he quickly cleaned you up.

“You feel okay?” He asked, carefully climbing back over you. He pressed one final kiss against your stomach before settling down on the comforter next to you.

“Mhm,” you mumbled. “So good.”

Spencer chuckled, turning his head towards you. “I can't believe you waited for that guy to cheat on you before coming back to me.”

You could have given him a hard time about it, or gotten upset all over again about his lack of willingness to commit. The point was though, you wanted him to fuck you like nothing mattered. That was exactly what you got.

#my things!#smut #spencer x reader #Spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #Spencer Reid smut #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid one shot #Spotify

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tojisun · 6 hours ago

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cw: this is silly </3; smut; there’s a smidge of plot but otherwise pwp - d/s dynamics

john prides himself on his patience but you seemed to be testing even that.

he doesn't even know what happened just that one minute you were on his lap, hot lips mauling his own, then next you were off, screaming and yelling at him to go away. demanding that he leave and to never come back.

he had barely gotten a croaked, "what-" before you were slamming the door of the bedroom shut with a definitive click of the lock, effectively leaving him abandoned on the couch with his cock half-chubbed up underneath his pants.

no, really, what.

john wipes his face with his palms, breathing in deeply.

he knew that you were a damn brat. that the way you shyly smiled and tittered when he first met you was deliberate because you were hiding the deviousness underneath all the softness. but john had fucked the brattiness out from hiding; used his tongue and slurped your pussy until its raw because not yet. your soft mewls and quiet whimpers were not what he was after. what he was looking for was-

"fuck me!" you cried out before fisting his hair to tug him up from between your plush thighs. "want it now, johnnnnnnn! want yer cock, want-"

you blabbered on so prettily, all angry and teary-eyed in your frustration, and demanded. god, you are so demanding. so pretty at it too.

but your ire is staggering right now, more so because you were all soft and sweet, warm on top of him, and now you've locked yourself away in the room, leaving his balls all blue and his head throbbing with faint worry and exasperation.

john stands up with a huff and pads towards the locked door.

"baby?" he asks tentatively before rapping his knuckles on the door.

there is silence on your end. john doesn't know if he prefers this over you lashing out.

"baby, c'mon," he says, lust abating to make room for worry. "what is it so i can fix it-"

"go fuck your mistress, john!" you hurl from the other side, your voice muffled by the door and the space in between, but john catches sound of it anyway and feels his whole world halt to a confusing pause.

mistress? what-

"-mistress?"

"her cologne's on you! you think i won't recognize it even underneath all your aftershave?!"

john is-

truthfully, john is lost.

there is no one else - it has always been you. from the moment that you batted your eyelashes at him from across his squad's table at the pub, he was gone. he wanted you then and he continues to want you now - you exist as his cornerstone, the one that grounds him amidst the tides. the better half of his soul.

his beautiful, snarky, teasing, devious of a lover.

no one can even come close, not that he lets anyone even try because it’s either you or death, and nothing less.

so the… accusation makes him bleed. he feels unsteady, like you’ve just jilted him and left him to ruin. john wants to fix this. he doesn’t want to let the insecurity fester or the distrust to unfurl even further. but you smelled someone else on him and john knows you will never lie so he thinks hard, mapping what could ever happen to cause you so much distress-

oh.

oh, how cute.

he remembers now - remembers swinging by laswell and getting pulled into her wife’s hug because it’s been years since he visited. she joked that she thought that he’d died, and he laughed because of how elated he had been at the callout.

because john could never settle down in his home, finding comfort back in the barracks instead; always twitching, always willing to stay in the desert longer than laswell demanded them. and when the loneliness crept into his heart, laswell extended her home to him. but he didn’t need that balm anymore. he didn’t need the distraction anymore because john, he-

he found home in you.

and kate’s charming wife teased, asking when he’d get to meet you, and john promised soon, hugging them again on his way out. and now, you’ve thought he is going around slighting you like he won’t give you the gun himself and press the barrel on his temple if he ever did.

now, to tell you this…

“baby,” he tries once more, feeling his lips dancing in mirth. “baby, i promise to you - there is no other woman. s’always been you, peanut.”

there is a thud on your end, a tentative beat, only for silence to ring out once more. that’s fine - john’s not done explaining anyway.

“went to laswell,” he says. “her wife cooked lunch f’r us, and then they hugged me on my way out, and that’s it, peanut. there is no one else i’ll be with.” he licks his lips, debating, but the hunger has unfurled and his eyes have darkened.

“there’s no one else i’ll fuck because there is no one good enough to make me forget the way y’feel ‘round me - all plump and warm and, christ-”

john’s prick twitches awake again, remembering the weight of your body as you rode him last night, and how your pudge dimpled with his every manhandling. you gasped and whined, telling him he wasn’t allowed to be too rough like you weren’t being deliberate in your teases, trying to coax him into exploding. into taking over - and he did. he fucked you on your front, pressing your body on the bed with a hand pushing down on your neck as he drilled you for hours-on-end.

yes, there really is no one else for him. jesus, baby, your pussy ruined him for anyone else. you got him pussy-whipped; got him slobbering for a taste, for a dollop of your slick on his tongue.

you are crack on your own - something so divine that he always feels like a devotee when the passion sizzles into quiet shocks; skin twitching, sexes all rubbed raw.

john would have started pawing at his cock, even if he was mid-through his apology, if it wasn’t for the door clicking open until finally, he sees you peek through the small gap.

“y’promise?” you ask.

“yeah, baby,” john replies, and he doesn’t even feel shy at the gravel in his voice; how he sounds all parts ruined and desperate. “let me show you my devotion. won’t you let me?”

you sniff, then, “okay.”

it ends with you covered in so much of his spunk - dripping from your cunt, filling your stomach from when he fucked your throat, and even staining your winking asshole.

lord, it even coats your toes, your thighs, your trembling hands.

john really had his way with you, proving that there’s really no one else that drives him this way. he loves you - he’s murmured this to you so much - but you’ve been a brat. you teased and then threw a tantrum so it’s only right that john punished you. that he tamed you, until you are as you are now - body wracked with jolts, your gaze all faraway, and your pussy moulded to his shape.

“i love you,” john sighs dreamily. you can only manage a warbled hum.

cute.

#suns #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price smut #john price #x reader #i wrote this with half a vision

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xoxochb · 2 days ago

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hello I love these kinda fics can u tell me

cw: sfw. dirty jokes (it’s percy…). sweet girl and percy sleep nude because yes.

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

“perseus! that was my pillow!”

“you have three other pillows you can survive without one!”

“no,” you whine. “I can’t, I need four or I’ll never sleep, and I’ll be awake allllll night.”

“I can help with that.” his smirk is an instant giveaway to his advances and insinuation.

you sigh and throw your head back onto your three pillows. percy drapes his arm around your bare waist from beneath the blankets, pulling you into his warm chest. you nuzzle your face into his skin, yet maintaining a frustrated facade. his fingers trace your spine lightly, making you shiver.

“I don’t like you very much, perseus.”

“I know, sweet girl.” he lifts his hand to card through your locks, in the special way he knows soothes you greatly. your content exhale tells him it’s working. “sleep right here.”

“you’re going to take another pillow…?”

“no. I just wanna hold you.”

“what a strange boy you are.” you shake your head.

percy leans down and tugs your head back by your hair, giving him access to kiss your forehead twice. you lean up to pecks his lips once after, before tucking your head back under his chin.

you lift your finger to gingerly trace his chest, his skin, warm beneath your fingertips yet soft and inviting and it makes your eyes grow heavy.

“you know, I think I will sleep here.”

#xoxochb #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #pjo series #pjo fandom #pjo #percy series #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson x reader #riordanverse x reader #riordan universe #riordanverse

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krosiefics · 1 day ago

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i worship you • bang chan

MDNI 18+

Synopsis: Chris comes home from work insecure about himself after trying a new style of makeup at work. So you show him just how beautiful and perfect he is in your eyes.

WC: 1.5k

Tags: SMUT!! afab!reader, sub!chan, softdom,reader, BODY WORSHIP, cunnilingus, face riding, hickeys, grinding, piv, unprotected sex (wrap it plz), hair pulling(?), breeding kink, creampie, petnames (baby, babe, love, good boy), chan is insecure (*cue WMYB by 1D*), probably forgetting some sorry…

It’s almost midnight when your boyfriend arrives back home to the dorms. You’ve been waiting since ten for him to come home. Knowing that Jeongin would be gone, staying the night at Felix and Seungmin’s, you decided to lounge around in just one of Chan’s t-shirts.

Suddenly, the door of the dorm creaks open. Your beautiful boyfriend walks through the door. You turn your head with a smile, but it’s quickly wiped off when you see the scowl he wore. “Baby, what’s wrong.” You pout, brows furrowing. “Nothing, we just tried a different makeup style earlier today…”

“And?”

“And it looked so bad on me,” Chan groans, his hand flying up to his face, “everyone said it looked good, but that was only true for the kids. I looked horrible.”

It’s not often Chan openly is insecure, but weirdly you like that he’s able to tell you his insecurities. It shows just how much he trusts you. “Baby,” you rise from the couch, engulfing him in a hug, “you’re so handsome. It couldn’t have been bad. Do you have a picture?” Chan’s scowl deepens, “Yeah, but I don’t want you to see me like that-” You give him a look and he quiets, handing you his phone.

You unlock the device and go to the photos app. And there behold was the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in your life. Chan had a faux lip ring, smokey eye shadow, his plump lips stained a nude pink, and his nose contoured perfectly. God you could eat this man up, you wanted to do badly.

Chan avoided watching your face, pouting over the thought of you disgusted by the makeup.

You slowly place the phone on the counter before taking his hand and leading him towards the couch. “It’s bad, I kno-” You cut him off with a kiss. When you pull back, you cup his cheeks in your hands. “You’re so fucking hot and it’s so fucking frustrating that you don’t see it!” Chan’s face flushed bright red, down his neck. Your hands still cupped his cheeks as you stared into his eyes. “You’re just saying that cause you’re my girlfriend.”

You raise your brow at him to which he slightly cowers.

“And being your girlfriend means I should be honest and tell the truth…no?” Chan gulps, his eyes glancing quickly to your lips. He goes to lean it but you stop him by pulling away. “Tsk, tsk,” you shake your head, “why didn’t you like the makeup?” Your tone suddenly shifts. Chan very clearly feels vulnerable but he trusts you. “The eye makeup makes my eyebags more evident, and the nose contour makes my nose look even bigger than it is.” Chan frowns, eyes looking anywhere but you.

This time a frown makes its way onto your face. “Babe,” you sigh. Your eyes scan his face, traces of makeup that hadn’t been properly removed still lingering on his soft skin. A small bit of eyeshadow smudged along the corner of his eye messily. Fuck he looks hot. You think to yourself. Chan flinches when you suddenly press a kiss at the corner of his eye, down his cheek and back to his lips. You nudge him onto the couch. Tumbling over when the back of his knees hits the cushion causing you to land on top of him.

“What are you?” He asks before you start lifting the hem of his shirt up. Chan goes to slip it over his head but you stop him, leaving the material to rest just above his pecs. “Fucking hell.” You curse under your breath at the sight of your beautiful boyfriend under you, face, ears, and chest flushed, as you stared down at him with hungry eyes. “Oh fuck,” Chan groans when you lean down and pepper kisses along his chest, your tongue flicking at his hardened bud every now and then. “Love,” his hands reach for your face to pull you away, but you don’t let him. Simply staring up from your position, “Channie, I’m gonna take care of you tonight…yeah?”

Chan swears his heart stops. Not in a bad way. But in an “oh my god I love this woman so much” kind of way. You’ve never been shy about showing him love, whether that be through kisses on his body or simply just being with him in every moment. Excitement floods through Chan’s body as you roll your hips on top of his. “You’re gonna be the death of me you know that?” He chuckles breathily. You smirk to yourself, Chan growing needy and desperate under your touch.

Suddenly, you swing your legs over off his lap. Chan goes to pull you back but you stop him, telling him to stay still. You shimmy your panties off, tossing them somewhere to the side. “Can you close your eyes for me baby?” You quip. The curly haired boy blinks up at you with confusion, though nonetheless obliging. Chan trusts you, and you know that.

With his eyes being closed all his other senses are heightened. Chan feels how the sofa cushion dips slightly by his head, hears the rustling of your shirt coming from above him, smells the scent of your arousal. The feeling of your throbbing cunt teasing his mouth prompts him to dart his tongue out, licking a stripe up your leaking cunt. “Woah,” you whimper at the sudden feeling. “You gonna let me ride your face and show you how much I love you?” Chan whines against your heat, the vibrations coursing through your pussy.

You set a pace, grinding against his face, his perfect nose poking at your clit each time you thrust yourself. “Fuck, I love your mouth.” You throw your head back in ecstasy, “How you’re licking me clean- oh my god…your nose- ugh, rubbing against my clit- oh my fuck.” You manage between moans, that familiar knot growing in your abdomen. Chan is a whimpering mess under you as you tug in his curly strands. His eyes still shut tight. Your body enveloping him, his senses overloaded. God he could die between your legs.

You near your climax but force yourself off of his mouth before you could let go. Chan pouts at the loss, his eyes fluttering open. Fuck. You bite your lip. His chin is smothered in your arousal, eyes glossy, chests heaving up and down as he tries to catch his breath. God he looked ethereal. “You’re so pretty baby, all mine.” You hum, positioning yourself on his thighs. Your hand slithers down his sweatpants, tugging him out of his boxers. Pumping his throbbing hot cock in your hand, you feel as it twitches in your hand.

You glance up at the boy. Chan’s already staring down at you, his eyes full of anticipation. You drag your thumb along his slit prompting him to buck his hips upwards. “Sorry.” He mumbles, his face turning a slightly darker shade of pink- if that's even possible. You grin teasingly at your boyfriend. As much as you want to drag the teasing on, you’re quickly growing needy. You settle back up on his hips, rutting your wet folds along his shaft, coating it with your arousal, smearing the precum that’s leaking out of him.

“Baby please.” Chan breathes shakily, the feeling of his dick twitching against your core emits a grunt out of you. You sigh at the pleading boy, “You’ve been a good boy for me yeah?” Chan’s body stiffens under you, you feel like you’ve crossed a line- well not until you notice how he bites his lower lip and how more precum leaks from his cock. You smirk. “I guess you can get what you deserve.” With that, you slide his long cock inside your soaking cunt, sucking him in.

Chan groans as your warmth surrounds him. Spews of pleas and whimpers flood from his mouth as you bounce up and down his cock. His hands fly to your hips to keep you stable and offer some support. Chan’s head is slanted slightly, his clean neck and exposed. “Ah, fuck.” He hisses, a sharp pain tingling at his neck where you just bit him. You suck the spot, licking over it before continuing to mark up his neck. “You’re so handsome, gorgeous, fucking beautiful.” You mewl, his cock hitting your g spot directly.

“God I’m gonna cum.” He whines from underneath. “Yeah, baby? You’ve been such a good boy, I’m gonna let you fill me up yeah? Gonna fill my pussy with your seed?” You babble as your orgasm hits you like a truck, legs shaking besides Chan’s. The feeling of you clenching around him causes Chan to spill over the edge. His warm cum filling you to the brim.

The two of you lay on each other, catching your breath. You rest your chin on your chest and you can hear his heartbeat. “I love you.” Chan peers down at you with a grateful smile, “Love you too. Thanks by the way. I really needed that.” You hug him tightly, leaving a soft peck on his cheek. “It’s true, you know. I really do think that about you.” Flustered, Chan looks away again, though, a small grin shines on his face as he holds you closer.

🔖 @katsukis1wife @pixie0627

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missdynamighttt · 6 hours ago

Text

i wholeheartedly BELIEVE that bf! katsuki would make you sit on his lap and help you do your eyeliner when you struggle with it sometimes.

you were sitting at your vanity, getting ready to go out with katsuki to meet some friends. but you were struggling with your holy grail: your eyeliner. normally you'd be able to do it perfectly but something just felt off about today.

no matter how many times you tried, the pen (or maybe your hand) just wouldn’t cooperate. the wing was either higher or thicker than the other, and it seemed noticeable.

you wipe what feels like the umpteenth failed attempt with a sigh, catching your boyfriend's attention as he lounged on your bed.

katsuki noticed the frustration on your face, silently watching as you rubbed your eye for a few seconds before finally speaking up.

"havin' trouble?" he asked, his voice monotone as usual. from his spot on the bed, he could see just how annoyed you were.

you let out a frustrated sigh as you glance at your reflection in the mirror. it morphs into a pout as you attempt your eyeliner again, determined to perfect it. "uh-huh..."

katsuki chuckled at your pouty face, getting up and approaching you from behind. he looked over you, watching the failed attempts closely as his hands brushed your shoulder.

with a sigh, he offers a hand to you. "give it here. let me do it."

you contemplated, but then you recall how katsuki's eyeliner always looked flawless. your thoughts drift back to your days in ua, remembering how he would wear his hero costume with his eyeliner to fill in the gaps of his mask.

it was always sharp, precise, you fawned over him whenever he chose to do a cat-eye that day. it didn't fail to make him look a hundred times hotter.

"alright," a soft smile spreads across your lips, handing the eyeliner pencil to him. you looked up at him, waiting for him to start tracing.

but he had other plans.

katsuki instructs you to stand up, squeezing your shoulder. "get up, sweetheart," he says, his tone gentle but firm. "i'll take the seat and you can sit on my lap."

"oh, is that so?" you grin with a hint of suspicion. "i'm starting to think you have an ulterior motive, katsuki."

despite your teasing, you comply and get up from the chair, crossing your arms as you watch him settle into the seat.

katsuki rolled his eyes, a frown on his face from your comment. "hmph. maybe i just wanna help my girl out. poor thing can't even do her eyeliner." he looks up at you, his expression softening, and pats his thigh.

"now... c'mere, sweets."

you bite your lip and nod, moving to settle, straddling him on his lap. you can feel the firmness of his thighs beneath you, his hand on your hips, steadying you as he holds your eyeliner in the other.

katsuki scoffs as a subtle blush appears on his face, watching as you settle yourself on top of him. he wraps one of his strong arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

he was pretty close to you, reaching up to brush some hair out of your face. he hummed, gently angling your head, positioning your chin to get a better look.

"so..." he mumbles, studying your face for a moment, as if imagining the art he would put in his canvas. "stay still. i need to focus."

"or what?" you'll get a boner?"

"shut it, brat. you want me to do this or not?"

he scoffs as you nodded up at him with a cheeky grin, taking hold of the pen and bringing it up to your eyes.

"tch. remember what i said. stay. still."

katsuki carefully starts drawing the line, using his free hand to gently hold the skin around your eye.

he really does try his best to keep his cool. but its hard when he can feel your breath on his face, the warmth of your body, and your gaze. it's distracting as hell, but he keeps himself focused on the task at hand.

he's determined to perfect your eyeliner.

you couldn't help but watch him. the experience felt oddly intimate, despite doing way more explicit stuff with him. he's so focused, a look of intense concentration on his face as the eyeliner glides across your eyelid. it was kind of cute.

katsuki bites his tongue as he moves onto the other eye. he notices you staring at him, but he tries his best to ignore it. he doesn't want to mess up this eyeliner because of a simple, silly distraction.

but he would be lying if he said his heart didnt skip a beat. he takes a deep breath and continues, trying to steady his hand.

"quit starin', sweetheart."

"i'm not! where am i even supposed to look?"

you scoff, but make a conscious effort to keep your face still, avoiding any sudden movements so katsuki wouldn't suddenly smudge his work.

he huffs, adjusting you in his lap, inadvertently pulling you closer. your scent was driving him crazy, and the feeling of you on his lap was starting to get him worked up. it was becoming difficult to focus.

"anywhere else. pay attention to somethin' else."

"likeeeee?"

katsuki lets out a sharp breath and tries to distract himself. but it wasn't working.

the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to bend you over on the vanity and do unspeakable things to you. but no, he couldn't. he needed to finish this damn eyeliner first. and go out with a few friends before he has you for the rest of the night.

"i don't know. the ceiling, the damn wall... just somethin' that isn't me."

"aww, how come? you're not getting distracted from this, are you?"

his breath hitches as you tease him again. damn it. damn this woman. he was doing good on keeping it together until you started talking, but now it was getting difficult.

katsuki doesn't respond right away, he's too focused on your goddamn eyeliner, trying to ignore the feeling of you in his lap. he focuses intently on getting it right. but he could feel the heat starting to pool in his pants. he's not sure how much more of this he can take.

a tiny smile tugged at the corners of your lips, but you suppressed it, holding back the urge to annoy katsuki further. you waited patiently as he continues to draw the line, the pen gliding smoothly on your eyelid. you were super eager to tease him more.

katsuki finally finishes the last stroke, his hand shaking slightly as he puts the pen down. he tries to keep a neutral expression, but the heat in his face betrays him. he lets out a shaky breath and looks up at you, his eyes darkening as he locks eyes with you.

"there," he mutters, his voice hoarse. "finished it."

your eyes twinkled with appreciation as you looked at yourself in the mirror, running your fingers through your hair as you looked at his handiwork.

his work never failed to amaze you. his hand always such precision that made it great for things like this. you spun around to face katsuki, a giddy smile on your lips.

"oh my god, katsuki! you did an amazing job. holy shit, i look like a million bucks!" you leaned in and planted a big, sloppy kiss on his cheek, grinning widely. "seriously, i'm like, ten times hotter now! you're a genius!"

katsuki lets out a soft gasp when you kiss him, his blush deepening. he was relieved to finally be done with the eyeliner so he could put his focus elsewhere. he was happy you're happy. but now he has an entirely different problem... "yeah... i know. you look gorgeous, sweetheart. always do."

he swallows hard, his eyes focused on yours. he doesn't say anything at first, letting out a shaky breath as he processes how hot you look right now. all he wants to do is fuck you right there, show you how much he likes your eyeliner, but he's trying to hold himself back. he's not sure how long he'll succeed, though.

you notice katsuki staring off into space, head titled as a hint of concern crosses your features. you called out his name gently, voice laced with a note of amusement. "katsuki? baby, you with me?"

katsuki hums in response, his hands gripping your hips a little harder. he can feel himself getting more heated, your voice making him feel almost dizzy with desire. "mhm?"

as katsuki shakes his head and snaps back to reality, your can't help but bite your lip, suppressing a smile.

"you okay? you looked like a deer in headlights."

he lets out a sharp breath, letting his head fall to the crook of your neck. he knows you've noticed how riled up he is right now.

this is going to be harder than he thought.

"m'fine. just... just give me a second.."

a soft chuckle escapes your lips as you brush your fingers through his hair, affectionately playing with the strands. you smirk at his question, a hint of playful sarcasm lacing your voice.

"okay... for what, though? what you thinking about, tough guy?"

katsuki lets out a shudder at your touch, his grip on your hips tightening a bit more. you're a wicked, wicked woman to him. he lifts his head up to look at you again, his eyes roaming your body.

he can't even form a coherent thought, your touch sending jolts of heat straight through his body. this was not the time for you to play coy.

"you.. god, you.. need to stop that."

"stop what?"

he can feel his patience thinning rapidly. you're driving him wild, he has to do something about this.

"stop.. touchin' me," he mutters, his hand moves to grip your wrist, gently pulling your hand away from his hair.

you feign disappointment, lower lip sticking out in an exaggerated pout. you looked at him with a feigned look of dejection, gently shifting your weight as if preparing to leave his lap. "aww, okay. i guess i could get off your lap... but i was getting comfortable, y'know..."

katsuki immediately grabs your hips, anchoring them underneath him, stopping you.

"no. stay."

he lets out a shaky breath, his eyes looking up at yours. he's desperately trying to keep his cool, but his eyes are practically filled with lust. his body is aching for you, the heat in his stomach is slowly becoming uncomfortable.

he buries his head back in the crook of your neck. his hands rub your hips, squeezing the flesh softly, but with a firm pressure.

"i just need a damn minute."

you let out a soft, playful chuckle, enjoying how flustered he looks as you shift your weight in his lap, grinding against his crotch a little.

"for what? for it to go down?"

katsuki lets out a low, guttural moan against your neck when you do that, his grip on your hips tightening as his body responds to your touch. his head is clouded with a fog of lust, and he honestly can't think straight.

"shit.. stop that, jesus..." he whimpers out, his hands grabbing at your hips and holding you in place so you can't move. "for the love of god, stop movin' like that or i'll.."

"c'mon, katsuki.." you giggle softly, your voice is soft and sultry as you lean in, hot breath tickling his ear. "can we have some fun?"

your hands trail down his thighs, your touch sending shivers down his spine as you rubs and caress his legs, hands dangerously near his crotch.

katsuki shivers from the touch, his thighs muscles tensing under your touch. he lets out a shaky breath, trying desperately to find the willpower to resist you. but he's losing the battle faster than he knows.

he's completely at your mercy.

"we... we can't.. we have to leave soon.." he groans, his hands slowly traveling up your side and to your chest, his fingers rubbing against the soft flesh. "sweets, we're gonna end up skippin' the whole damn thing if you don't cut it out.."

you look up at him, biting your lip in anticipation. your hand dips beneath his waistband, fingers teasing along the sensitive ache in between his legs.

"can we be a little late, katsuki? please...?" you purr, your other hand tracing lazy circles across his chest.

katsuki lets out a deep moan as you touch him, his hips bucking slightly into your hand. his head falls back as you trail kisses down his jaw, his self-control starting to break. this is torture. pure, blissful torture.

your hand moves lower, gently fondling his length through the fabric. "just a few minutes..."

katsuki's breath hitches at the contact, he lets out a loud gasp and throws his head back at the feeling. his fingers dig into your side slightly as his body tenses up. he can barely focus on anything else besides your touch.

"goddamnit... f-fine, but only... only for a few minutes."

that was what katsuki said before he bent you over your vanity. needless to say, it wasn't just "a few minutes".

you were 2 hours late.

but even with your sex hair™, your clothes wrinkled and your disheveled look: your eyeliner still looked flawless.

and you had your boyfriend to thank for that.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ super self-indulgent as an eyeliner girlie oml 😞😞 sorry for the lack of smut, been struggling with school lately and i wanted to feed you guys!! to the people requesting, pls read that i cant accept them rn 😭 tysm!!

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honeyryewhiskey · 1 day ago

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crybaby

dean x cupid!reader cw!! just fluff! bc i miss these two 685 words

He didn’t expect the waterworks to start streaming from your big, sad eyes. He should really know better by now, having known you for some time—just how quickly a little cupid can be reduced to tears.

The slam of the Impala’s door makes Dean wince, irritation prickling at his nerves as he rushes to follow you. His hands find your shoulders, maybe gripping a little harder than he should as he spins you around to face him.

“Hey,” he barks, freezing when he sees your tear-streaked face. For a second, his grip slackens, and his hands drop to his sides. His jaw tightens, fists clenching instinctively as he looks at you with a mix of disbelief and frustration.

He’s still not used to this—not good at dealing with tears, especially yours. Not when your whimpers and that wobbling lip make his chest tighten in a way he doesn’t know how to handle.

“Great,” he mutters under his breath, running a hand over his chin. He steps back, throwing a helpless glance at the garage ceiling as if salvation might come from above. “Just great. Why the hell are you crying?” His tone is sharp, annoyed, but it’s obvious he’s not actually mad at you. He just hates seeing you like this—hates the way it makes him feel completely out of his depth.

Your arms cross over your chest, and your bottom lip juts out in a feeble attempt at defiance. “You’ve been mean and grumpy all day. And then you called me ‘feather brains’ for forgetting to lock the trunk.”

Dean’s brows shoot up, incredulous. “Because it flew open! All the crap we just bought is sitting in the middle of the highway right now. Thanks to you!”

The sharpness of his voice makes you take a step back, eyes wide and glassy. “Stop yelling!” you shout, your voice cracking.

“I’m not—” He cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh, dragging a hand over his face. His patience, never his strongest suit, is hanging on by a thread. Deep breaths. Count to ten. Think of that stupid article he googled the other night: “How to Deal with an Overly Emotional Person.”

“Fine. Fine,” he grits out, trying to sound calm. “Just stop crying, okay?”

But the tears are still flowing, your cheeks blotchy and your whole spirit looking crushed. It’s not just the crying—it’s how completely deflated you look. Like all that annoying, infectious vibrance of yours has been snuffed out, and it’s his fault.

He exhales sharply through his nose, an idea suddenly hitting him. “Ice cream? Movies? Hugs? What do you want? Name anything, and I’ll get it for you.”

You sniffle, blinking up at him as something faint flickers in your expression, making your head tilt. “Anything?”

Dean hesitates, second-guessing himself. “Yes,” he agrees, though his voice is laced with caution. “Within reason—”

“Up.” You cut him off, arms stretched toward him.

Dean’s glare hardens, his eyes flicking between your wiggling fingers and your pitiful pout. Everything in him wants to argue, to resist. He’s not good at this softness. But you’re looking at him with those sad, hopeful eyes, and as always when it comes to you and your demands—something in him gives.

With a heavy sigh, he closes the space between you, his boots thudding against the concrete floor. His hands slide to your hips, lifting you with ease as you practically fling yourself into his arms. Your legs wrap around his waist, your face burying in the crook of his neck as he steadies his hold on you. His arms wrap snugly around your back. His nose is buried in your hair, the sweet scent of something he can’t name, just recognizes as pretty and girly easing the scowl off of his brows.

“Can I still have the ice cream, too?” you mumble into his shoulder.

Dean huffs out a low laugh. “We’ll see,” he mutters, but his grip on you tightens just a little, and he knows damn well in a moment he’ll be back in the driver’s seat to take you out to get that ice cream.

been writing for angel!reader, who's much more serious than little cupid. so i took a break from the angst to write this cuteness <3 i also want to make some sort of collection post for these bc i have quite a few cupid fics now and there is no organization ugh

#dean winchester #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester x cupid!reader #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction

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crows4luna · 2 days ago

Text

947 words. no explicit content. gn!reader. reader can be interpreted as mc, but is not explicit. reader has a blood manipulation evol. caleb has a bionic arm. descriptions of violence and physical altercation. reader actually has a backbone and (kind of) gives caleb the beatdown he deserves. | fight scenes are hard to write. much thanks to @tbaluver and @boobearymuch for beta reading <3

You barely have time to react.

The taste of copper graces your tongue just as the flat surface of his knuckles collides into your cheek. Your body flies across the cold room—slamming into some metal boxes, toppling over with them. Your lungs ache as you cough and hack, and as your mind slowly regains itself, you find that you’re relieved it wasn’t the metallic arm.

Caleb’s steps are slow, deliberate as he rolls his shoulders back, cracking his wrists. The man lightly massages his fleshy hand, his lips upturning into a soft smirk. He chuckles darkly.

“You got off easy, pipsqueak,” he chides. “That barely scrapes the surface of what I’m capable of.”

You grumble as you stagger on your feet, shoving away the debris. Splotches of blood hit the floor as you speak, “Go fuck yourself.”

He clicks his tongue, “Is that any way to welcome back an old friend?”

“Fuck you.” You grit your teeth, whipping out your switchblade from your back pocket, slicing open your palm, “I watched you die. I mourned for days. Nearly a whole fucking year!”

A flicker of regret seems to cross his eyes for a moment, as if he had figured. As if he knew. But it dies quickly, and you’re driven to a point now where you don’t care if he has sympathy.

Taking a deep breath, your brows furrow in focus as a stream of blood flows from the cut on your palm. It shapes into a semi-circle, stretching over to hover above your other palm. The crimson actively swirls while maintaining the shape, soon expanding into rings that circle your form in both offense and defense.

Caleb watches with amusement, but also curiousity. While your Evol had always been… strange, so to speak, this is the first time he’s seen it flourish like this.

You’re a weapon of your own kind.

“Hurting yourself just so you can hurt me,” he shakes his head with feigned disapproval. “Is it worth it?”

Silence. You grunt as you swing your right hand forward—in that split second, miniature red spears deviate from your blood flow, flying right towards Caleb. It’s weak, begrudgingly so, and the way he dodges each shard easily elicits more frustration.

You needed more blood.

“That’s it?”

In spite of it all—he too doesn’t know your full potential.

You begin to stride forward as thicker amounts of blood spew from the wound on your hand. He mirrors you, his own focus steadying.

The second round starts with him again. He side steps into a proper stance, swiftly tucking his left arm in as the metallic arm swings into an uppercut. Your hands make quick work, and the blood swirl circles around his wrist. You tug back as if tightening a knot, yanking Caleb forward. It’s enough momentum that allows you to bash your forehead against his, knocking you both back.

Dark red drips down his arm, as does it leave a leaking trail on the floor, marking the staggering distance between you both.

He huffs at this, visibly impressed at your audaciousness: “Not bad.”

Your wounded palm is wet with your own grim concoction. You take the initiative this time, lunging forward.

No blood.

Right. Left. Right. Left.

—Dodge, dodge, dodge.

Jab. Cross. Hook. Jab. Cross.

—Dodge, dodge, dodge, dodge.

Again.

The last time you sparred with this practice was not too long ago. While the routine could be better, your technique has improved significantly since you began. There’s no means for you to grab him. You can’t cheat and play dirty. This has to be a somewhat fair fight.

You break the pattern by landing an uppercut to the side of his jaw. You miss with the swing of your left arm, and before the hit lands, Caleb catches the wrist of your right hand.

Break the pattern again.

Your left arm swings with a hook. It’s a sloppy move, lacking to match your momentum, a falter in your agility. The hit lands, but Caleb only scoffs. You meet his gaze, and his eyes narrow. Your body suddenly floats off the ground. The airways in your throat begin to slim—

—It’s getting harder to breathe.

You writhe and struggle, gasping for air as you grab at your throat. You fly across the room again—your back crashing into the wall. The hard metal echoes upon impact as you slide down.

Of course.

Your limbs are trembling, aching.

Everything hurts.

You heave, struggling to regain your senses this time around. Caleb stands before you in moments, tugging you up by your shirt. Metal strikes against your cheek.

Fits of blood are violently hacked from your dry throat, splattering onto the other’s face. Caleb…

This isn’t how you remembered him. Tender eyes that once held something more fond. But when the memories flood through you… you realize now they always held regret, as you both got older. What happened at Skyhaven?

Your fingers twitch at your sides, your breaths turning more shallow. You try to summon your blood, but to no avail.

Caleb leans forward, his breath against your ear, “I’m sorry that you had to see me like this.

“Not exactly how I wanted our reunion to go.”

With what little power you could muster, a thinly veiled shard cuts across his cheek. Your body’s sure to be bruised, and while no bones feel broken… your strength altogether has been reduced significantly. You don’t know what to feel.

Just as your vision begins to fade, a flicker of familiar red mist begins to manifest in the air, from the corner of your eye. At that same moment, Caleb lets you go—leaving you behind.

#⁶⁶⁶ ◟𝗹𝘂𝗻𝟰𝘀𝗽𝗲𝟰𝗿𝗲.#⁶⁶⁶ ◟𝗹𝘂𝗻𝗮 𝟰 𝗰𝗮𝗹𝗲𝗯.#love and deepspace #love & deepspace #lads #lnds #l&ds #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #lads x you #love and deepspace x you #caleb x you #caleb x reader #love and deepspace caleb #caleb love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #lads fanfic

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eclipixels · 3 days ago

Text

Yoichi Isagi x Reader

Content: You love your sweet and kind boyfriend, but sometimes you like the crazy version of him. What are you willing to do to get the monster inside of him out to play?

______________________________

You and Yoichi have conflicting and busy schedules so when you two finally get a day off together, you take full advantage of it. It's usually spent going on dates and quality time, but you really couldn't go out today due to the weather warnings of a blizzard.

So, you decided to stay in and watch a movie. You picked a random romance film, which turned out to be quite good. However, you didn’t expect the intimate scenes—or the way they’d leave you feeling so aroused.

You were curled up beside Yoichi, just like always when the two of you sat close. Your heart raced as the couple on screen shared their passionate moments. Even after the movie ended, the lingering frustration between your legs remained, and Yoichi’s hand resting casually on your hip didn't help.

You silently prayed that he wouldn’t figure it out. Somehow, he always seemed to know. Even before joining Blue Lock, he had a knack for reading your thoughts, but after coming back, his ability to read you had only sharpened.

You swallowed hard, feeling your boyfriend shift behind you as he stretched.

"That was a good movie, what'd ya think?" He asked, tilting his head towards you.

"Was good." You said quickly, knowing that if you spoke more than three words, your tone would give away how you were feeling.

Yoichi didn't find your response too odd, as you have often given vague answers in the past when asked about this sorta stuff.

But it was your body language that betrayed you.

"You okay?" He asked, his eyes showing concern. It made your heart melt how gentle and caring he was with you. So sweet and kind, it was the Yoichi you fell in love with your first year of High School.

"Mhm" you responded, making the incredibly stupid decision of hiding your face in his chest. You thought this would throw him off your trail. He wouldn't be able to read you anymore and would just assume you needed some cuddles.

But the flaw you didn't consider was how much worse this would make your problem.

Being this close to him made it so much harder to contain the lustful thoughts that clouded your head. You also didn't consider how shifting yourself to fit into his chest would cause his hand to fall from your hip to above your thigh. This wasn't good.

All was quiet for a moment, though. You thought you had beaten him, you felt a little proud of yourself too. All you could hear was the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

But then you heard him whisper in your ear, "I know you need me right now."

A shiver ran down your spine.

You looked up at him bewildered, a smirk playing on his lips. Before you could open your mouth to ask how, he already answered.

"Tense, thighs pressed shut, not to mention that look on your face and how fast your heart is racing. I'm a little offended you thought I wouldn't notice."

You look at his happy little grin, like he's accomplished something great. All you could do is roll your eyes, feeling extremely embarrassed and flustered.

"So?" Is all you could manage to muster.

"Wanna do something about it?" Yoichi murmurs in your ear, looking effortlessly sexy with his dark hair in his eyes and his tongue poking in his cheek.

"Hm, maybe" You tease, your shy smile becoming something more mischievous.

He can’t help but lean in and capture your lips in a soft kiss, holding you so tenderly like you'd break under his touch. So gentle. And you loved it, you loved how careful he was with you.

But right now, you didn't want gentle.

You wanted crazy, rough, and borderline feral Isagi. The one the world sees on the soccer field. There was only one way to get that Yoichi, and it was to deprive him of control.

You stop your boyfriends roaming hands, constraining them in place. You could tell it caught him off guard. He knew he was what you wanted, he couldn't have possibly assumed wrong, and you even gave in to the kiss. Why were you doing the opposite of what you want? Why weren't you letting him touch you?

"Baby, what's wrong?" He asked so innocently, baby blue eyes clouded with confusion. It almost made you feel bad. Your poor baby.

You pulled away from the kiss, staring into those eyes. There was no fire in them yet. You needed to do more to get him riled up.

You go back in for a kiss but this time on his neck. You shift a little, lifting yourself up onto his lap. You leave sloppy kisses along his jawline, neck, and collarbone while lazily grinding against him.

He opens his mouth a little, pretty little noises escaping past his soft lips. And then you just stopped. Now he was even more confused. Why were you teasing him? Was it just for fun to torture him like this?

That's when you saw it, the spark. A slight frown also began tugging at his lips. He was beginning to grow frustrated. You needed one more push to replace your sweet, kind boyfriend with the domineering, best striker in the world Yoichi Isagi.

You could tell he was giving you some grace, he wanted to believe you weren't doing it on purpose. But you needed him to realize what it was you wanted. He was always reading your mind and figuring out things you didn't want him to. Let's see if he can figure out something you do want him to.

As your final move, you completely pulled yourself off of him. You admit, it pained you to leave him all hot and bothered like that. You stood up and got ready to casually walk away, thinking of what excuse you were going to give.

"Just where do you think you're going?" He erupted, a hand landing on your waist, pulling you back towards him. You collapsed underneath him on the bed, his hands pinning you to the mattress.

"The kitchen?" You say, trying to act like you didn't know what you were doing.

"Try again." He commands. His face was mere inches away from yours again. There was no way you were going to leave him like this, with a problem only you could solve. You could see the little flames starting to appear.

You couldn't help the smug grin that broke out of your lips. "Why don't you find out, egoist?"

It's like you flipped a switch inside of him and now his mind was racing with thoughts. Thoughts of fucking you to oblivion and thoughts of what the hell you were playing at.

“what’s the matter?” you lay waiting, panting beneath him. "Can't figure it out?"

He looked at you, in the same way he gets when he’s piecing himself together during a match. It happens when you don’t let him in and he can't get what he wants.

This is where everything changes. You finally got to the little monster inside of him.

“don’t push, brat” he breathes, his voice low and daring. It enough to make you squeeze your thighs together again, trying to relieve the frustration. But your own selfishness leads to your loss as it was all that was needed for Yoichi to figure it out.

"Oh" he smirks against your lips, trailing wet kisses down your neck, mimicking your earlier actions on him. "I get it."

Your breath hitches once he gets to the sensitive part of your collarbone, his lips sucking on the skin that would leave pretty little purple marks in the morning.

"You want me when I'm mean, isn't that right, princess?" He finishes off by biting the skin there. You yelp, looking down to see your skin between his teeth.

You don't say anything, knowing it that it would annoy him more.

"Answer me." He growled against your skin. “you know how this usually ends for you.”

You don't care, you want the consequences. You instead giggle, watching Yoichi go crazy from the way your treating him. But, he loves a game. He knows he'll make you give in, he just has to devour you at your own game. Tease you back.

He has you trapped underneath him, pressing his knee in-between your legs ever so slightly, putting the smallest amount of pressure. You let out a slight noise and it was music to Yoichi's ears. He wanted more, give him more.

His kisses go down from your neck to your chest, lifting your shirt up to lazily lick the area around your breasts. He was marking you like crazy too, hickeys forming everywhere his lips have touched.

His hands go down, playing with the waistband of your panties. You know you're soaked at this point.

You feel embarrassed when Yoichi dips his hands into your underwear and immediately gets coated in your slick. The smirk he gives when he pulls his hands out to make you look.

"Look at how needy you are for me." He spoke cockily before plunging his finger inside of you. You let out a moan of relief and it sent fireworks down Yoichi's body. You feel his fingers play against your folds, starting to fuck you faster and harder.

Just when you're about to cum, he stops. You jolt, whining in frustration at the lack of release. You pout, giving him a look that conveyed what he was doing was unfair.

"Whats the matter? Isn't this what you wanted?" Yoichi grabs your hips and pulls you towards him. You feel his hardness against you as he goes on to kiss you, sucking on your lower lip.

"Ichi, need you," You whine pathetically, looking up at him through your tear-stained lashes. Your boyfriend scoffs at this, wondering how you could be so cruel to him earlier and then go on acting like you were the victim in the situation.

"What do you need from me?" he asks, already anticipating your answer, knowing it will strike just the right chords in his brain. The sweet satisfaction of hearing your desires, him being the only one in the world that could please them.

"All of you, n-need all of you in me. Wanna be stuffed full of you." You cry out, growing impatient.

"I want you to look at what I do to you, m'kay?" He makes out between breathy whispers. You nod in response, watching as he pulls back and a rush of a cold air hits from the lack of his warm body against yours.

Suddenly, you feel the soft flesh of his cock against your core and the soft slam of him entering you. You mewl into his touch, his right hand going up to hold your hip in place and the other on your breast.

It feels live heaven and earth colliding as he repeatedly fucks you into the mattress. All sorts of curses fall out your mouth as you melt like putty, your mind dissolving.

You look away, your head turning to the side as you try to take him in. Yoichi snaps, his hand grabbing your chin to face it downward, forcing you to watch how his cock slides in and out of your needy, wet cunt.

"So disobedient, when'd you become such a brat?" He growled through his teeth. "Huh? What happened to my sweet little Y/n."

"ichi, please...” you gasp with the heavy slam of his hips against yours. You let out a cry of satisfaction, loving the unhinged way he was looking at you. It was like a high you could only get when with each other.

“No,” He denies you. “why’d you gotta mess with me like that, huh?”

You start to see stars as he handles you like a rag doll, his grip sure to leave bruises. This is exactly what you wanted. This was better than the movie scenes from earlier.

"G-gonna come" You whine, feeling the heat in your stomach gather into a ball.

"Oh really?" He mocked, leaning back to angle himself deeper. "'Think you deserve to? Who said you could."

"Ichi" You pleaded, bleary eyed. Yoichi could practically die at your cuteness, which is what made it so much better when you begged.

"Teasing me just to make me mad?—fuck—could've just asked nicely. Y'know how badly you got me wrapped around your finger."

"Don't stop, please. I'm sorry, s-so sorry" you placed a hand on his chest and the other on his back, clawing your nails down.

"Oh? You're sorry?" He mocked, knowing full well the extent he'd go to mess with even the person he loved most in the world. "I don't think you are"

Without warning, Yoichi flips you over so that you're lying on your stomach. He has your face stuffed into a pillow and ass up, enjoying the way your whole body shakes each time he slams into you. He leaves harsh kisses all down your back.

With one last thrust into you, your body erupts in flames as your orgasm takes over. You swear you saw the heavens as your eyes rolled back and your nails dug into your boyfriend's skin. Obscenities fill the room as you come undone. Pain and exhaustion shoots through your legs once you're done and you realize how much Yoichi has really worked you.

Your pretty boyfriend isn't far behind as he comes after, filling you to the brim with his milky seed. He holds your hips down onto him, giving a few sloppy last thrusts before collapsing beside you.

"Too cute," Your boyfriend coos, stars sparkling in his eyes. He laughs at how absolutely dazed you look right now, returning back to the normal sweet Yoichi Isagi you knew and loved. You just stare at him, trying to figure out how he could just do that. Was that even the same person?

"I meant it when I said you could've just asked, by the way." He smiles, wrapping a hand around your waist as he pulls you into a cuddle.

"Oh, I just was- I didn't know how to ask." You admit, feelings a little dumb. I mean, how do you ask your boyfriend you want him to go feral and man-handle you without raising some concerns?

"That's okay, I can always figure it out on my own anyway. You're my favorite book to read." He snuggles into you, placing his face into the crook of your neck. He could never get enough of you. He didn't mind reading in between the lines for you, but God did he love it when you told him what wanted directly.

"Okay, I'll tell you next time." You breathed, leaning into his embrace, both your skins sticky with sweat.

"Next time..." He blushed, thinking about it. No, seriously, how was this the same guy? Was he actually growing flustered thinking about it right after he just fucked you dumb?

"Yes, next time, ichi." You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. It was a vanilla-ish contrast to the events of today.

"I love you so much." He whispered, adoring the way you doted on him.

"I love you more."

"But don't tease me like that again, next time I won't be so nice." He growled, and you swear you almost died on the spot.

"That just makes me more inclined to." You laugh, looking up into his cerulean eyes that glowed with a green fire.

"What am I going to do with you?" He shakes his head, fingers climbing up your ribs.

"I have some ideas..." You propose. Today was going to be a long day. And you had no interruptions to stop you.

#isagi yoichi #isagi x reader #blue lock isagi #bllk isagi #isagi x you #yoichi isagi #yoichi x reader #blue lock #smut #bllk x reader #bllk #bllk smut

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hoe4hotchner · 3 days ago

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Chapter 12 - Regionals

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x figure skater (fem)!Reader

Summary: The story follows you a figure skater training for nationals and Aaron Hotchner as your lives intertwine during an investigation into the abductions of young athletic women, including the your close friend, Leah. As the BAU delves deeper into the case, you find yourself captivated by Hotch’s quiet strength and protective presence. When Leah’s body is tragically discovered at the rink, the tension escalates, surrounding you in an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty.

Word count: 8k

Warnings: Anxiety, gunshots, panic, chaos, blood, trauma.

A/N: I'm gonna be honest, I don't know if any of the jump/spin combinations in this chapter is actually possible, I just thought they sounded cool together.

Also, I imagined the song reader performs to is Valentine - Måneskin.

Masterlist

The energy bouncing through the arena at regionals was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. The rink buzzed with activity—skaters gliding across the ice, warming up and loosening their limbs with different kicking and swinging motions, coaches muttering last-minute advice, and the hum of the crowd bleeding through the arena walls. The atmosphere was suffocating yet exhilarating. The anticipation and pressure that came with the excitement settled like a weight on your chest.

You were seated on a bench in one of the many locker rooms across the backstage area, staring down at your skates. The laces mocked you with their stubbornness. They weren’t tight enough. No, too tight. You loosened them, pulling the laces free—considering the option of re-lacing your skates completely with a new pair from your bag—only to start over again. Your hands trembled slightly, the nerves making even this simple task feel massive.

Tug. Cross. Loop. Pull.

Each motion was meticulous and deliberate. You knew how to do it, yet failed to do it correctly.

Too loose. They’ll slip.

You untied and tied them again.

Too tight. I won’t be able to feel my feet.

Frustration built in your chest. You sighed, almost letting out a loud groan, and sat back for a moment to collect yourself. You wiped your palms in your blade towel, the chill of the rink failing to reach you as you combat the heat your nerves sparked through every nerve and bone.

The door creaked open slightly, and you glanced up to see Hotch. He lingered in the doorway, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark jacket. His presence was grounding in a way—working in a matter of seconds—the steadiness in his eyes cutting through the storm brewing inside your head.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice soft but firm. In directly questioning why you hadn't met him outside yet. He had already debriefed the team, only waiting for you.

You nodded quickly, too quickly, and gestured vaguely to your skates. “Just… trying to get these right.”

He stepped further inside, his gaze falling to your hands as they hesitated over the laces once more. He didn't mention it, but he noticed how much they shook. Hotch couldn't tell whether it was the competition or the potential of Collins showing up that was the biggest cause of your trembling.

“Take a deep breath,” he said, crouching slightly in front of you to meet your eye level. “You’ve done this a thousand times before.”

“I know,” you murmured, your voice tight. “But this isn’t like practice. Everyone’s watching. The judges are watching. And if I screw this up…”

“You won’t,” Hotch interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. He didn't want you to doubt yourself. He knew you could do it, and so should you. “You’ve trained for this. No one is more prepared than you are.”

You wanted to believe him. You really did. But the knot in your stomach tightened, and your hands returned to the laces. Hotch straightened, giving you the space to wrestle with your nerves, though his presence didn’t waver.

Once again, you tugged at the laces, pulling them tight, only for frustration to bubble up inside you as they didn’t feel quite right. With a sharp huff, you yanked at the knot, untying them for what felt like the hundredth time. The movement was harsh, almost as if you were taking out all your pent-up emotions on the poor laces—if you'd been a little rougher they might've actually snapped.

Hotch had been watching in silence. “Do you want some help?” he asked, his voice calm, trying not to undermine your ability to lace your own skates, but somewhat knowing that you could sit in here all night trying to fix your laces, although they weren't the root of your problem.

You blinked, startled, your hands frozen mid-pull. “I—” You started to refuse, your pride prickling, but then you remembered how steady his hands were in every situation. You exhaled sharply and gave a small nod, handing the laces over.

“I've seen how you tied them before,” he said, getting down on one knee to get closer. “Let me try.”

You watched as his fingers threaded the laces.

Cross, under, pull, remove from hook, and tie 360° around the same hook, repeat.

His movements were deliberate but not hurried, trying to mimic the way he had seen you tie them before. His focus was entirely on the task, brows furrowed slightly in concentration. He pulled the laces snug, double-knotting them once he reached the last hook, almost as if he’d been doing this forever.

When he finished, he looked up at you, still crouched before you. “How is this?” he asked softly, his eyes searching yours for an answer.

You stared at him, your breath catching in your throat. The laces were tied perfectly—secure but not too tight, exactly the way you liked them. But it wasn’t just that. It was the way he looked at you, so patient, so... stable, it made something inside you shift.

Your heart felt like it had stopped and restarted all at once. You couldn’t stop the look that crossed your face—adoration, pure and vulnerable—before you snapped yourself out of it.

“They’re good,” you said quickly, clearing your throat as you forced yourself to look away. Your voice came out steadier than you felt, but the warmth creeping up your cheeks betrayed you.

Hotch gave a small nod, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile before he straightened up and stood back up.

None of you managed to speak another word as the muffled sound of the announcer’s voice echoed through the hallways, signaling the start of the competition. Your heart skipped a beat. It was happening.

Hotch’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You ready?”

You hesitated before nodding. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

He gave you a small smile and a nod. “Good. Now go show them what you're made of.”

With a deep breath, you pushed yourself to your feet, the sound of your guards thumping slightly against the floor in the otherwise silent locker room. Your nerves were still there, clawing at the edges of your determination, but you forced yourself to focus. You had to.

The competition was waiting. And so was your moment to prove yourself.

The tension in the arena was noticeable as you sat in the skaters’ section, hands clenched into fists in your lap. The murmur of the audience filled the space as skater after skater took their turn on the ice. Each one seemed impossibly flawless, their jumps precise, their artistry captivating. You couldn’t help but compare yourself to every single one of them, the doubt creeping in despite Hotch’s earlier reassurances.

But none of them intimidated you quite like Natalia Ivanova.

You’d known Natalia for years, watched several of her competition tapes, and competed against her a couple of times. She was a powerhouse on the ice, her technical skills matched only by her undeniable flair for performance. Even before she stepped onto the rink, you could hear whispers of her name ripple through the crowd, even a few whispers amongst the other skaters.

When the announcer called her, Natalia glided onto the ice like she owned it, her movements fluid and graceful. She beamed confidence, staring the judges down as she paused in the center of the rink to strike her opening pose. Her program was set to a dramatic orchestral piece, the kind of music that made you feel like you were watching something historic in the making.

You sat up straighter, studying her movements, your heart hammering away in your chest. You hated to admit it, but watching her was mesmerizing. Every movement was meticulously planned, and every glide was seamless. The crowd was captivated oohing and ahhing at every single element she performed.

Then came the jumps. She nailed the first two, a triple loop and a triple lutz, both of which looked effortless. But when she approached the quad, your breath hitched.

You had been right, she too had been working on one.

She skated backward, her edges strong, and launched into the air with power. For a moment, it seemed perfect—her rotation tight, her form pristine. But as she came down, her landing faltered. Her skate slipped, and she crashed onto the ice, the sound of her fall echoing through the silent arena as her body slid a few meters across the ice.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Natalia scrambled to her feet quickly, trying to recover, but the damage was done. A fall on a quad was a significant deduction, and everyone knew it. You either did it and succeeded—or you failed.

You exhaled a shaky breath, your nerves flaring anew. Natalia’s mistake was an opportunity for you—if you could manage to land your own attempt at a quad, it could set you apart, it could differentiate you from the rest. But the pressure to deliver felt suffocating.

You had to land it.

Natalia finished her routine with remarkable poise—despite her mistake, you were sure she was beating herself up about it—her expression betrayed no emotion as she struck her final pose. The applause was generous but lacked the usual fervor. She skated off the ice with her chin held high, though you could see the tension in her shoulders as she passed by. Her coach followed closely behind, already reprimanding her for the quad.

Your name was called next.

You rose from your seat and moved towards the open gate onto the ice. As you reached the entrance, you pulled your guards off, taking one last steadying breath before placing them on the boards.

Hotch was waiting nearby, his eyes locked on yours. “You’ve got this,” he mouthed as your eyes locked.

You nodded, swallowing hard as you stepped onto the ice. The cold air hit your face, a sharp reminder of where you were and what was at stake.

The hush that fell over the arena as the lights dimmed was deafening. You skated to the middle of the ice, each push of your blades a deliberate movement. The familiar surface beneath you felt a little extra slippery today.

You took a deep breath as you lowered yourself into your starting pose, one knee bent with your arms outstretched, fingers trembling slightly. Your heart pounded, but you locked eyes with the ice in front of you, blocking out the crowd, the judges, and even Natalia’s earlier performance.

When the spotlight clicked on, bathing you in its white glow, a collective gasp echoed through the audience. The opening notes of your soundtrack poured through the speakers and you felt the lyrics seep into your bones. The tension in your chest eased just slightly.

This was your story to tell now.

The first notes guided you as you pushed off into smooth, flowing backward crossovers, your skates slicing cleanly through the ice and your skirt flowing with the motion. The rhythm of the music matched the beat of your heart. Your movements were fluid, your arms extending in elegant arcs as the lyrics spilled out across the arena.

You told a story through your program—the music was your script, and every step, every spin, was an expression of the raw emotion the past couple of months had left you with. The way you twisted into a tight axel, the way your arms reached toward the sky during a spiral sequence—it all built a connection between you and the audience.

The tension in the music grew, and you shifted into the program’s first big combination: a triple lutz and a double toe loop. You launched into the air, your body twisting, and when you landed, the blades of your skates felt secure beneath you. The applause surged for a brief moment before fading back into breathless anticipation.

Each element led seamlessly to the next. A series of intricate footwork had you carving sharp edges and patterns into the ice, your body moving in time with the heavy drumbeats. Your spins were a blur of motion, your costume catching the light as you transitioned from forward to backward skating with grace.

And then came the finale.

The music swelled, its intensity rising, and you pushed yourself to the far edge of the rink. You took a deep breath, your heart pounding as you prepared for the salchow.

It was a gamble, you'd only been working on it for a couple of weeks—the jump that could make or break your performance.

You picked up speed, your blades cutting deep into the ice as you set up for the takeoff. Your arms were tight, your focus razor-sharp. As the beat dropped in the music, you launched yourself into the air.

Time seemed to slow.

The rotation was tight, your arms tucked in as your body spun in perfect alignment. For a split second, everything felt right. But as you came down, your left skate caught the ice at an awkward angle.

You wobbled.

Your arms flailed slightly, and your right toepick grazed the ice to stabilize yourself. The landing wasn’t clean, and you knew it, knew points would be deducted despite a completed element.

The applause was still loud, but you could feel the weight of the judges’ pens, scribbling notes about the deduction for the shaky landing. Even so, you had landed it—a quad. That alone was a triumph that only a few skaters managed to during their careers, especially in women's skating.

The music softened, its final notes drifting into silence as you glided to the center of the rink and struck your ending pose. Your chest heaved as you stood there, frozen in place, every muscle in your body trembling from exertion and adrenaline.

The lights of the arena turned back on, bathing the rink in brightness. The crowd erupted into cheers, and you heard your name being called from different corners of the arena.

Your blood ran cold, every nerve in your body freezing in place. The rush of adrenaline and pride from your performance drained from you in an instant, replaced by a suffocating dread that wrapped itself around your chest. Your heart pounded, but it felt sluggish, each beat echoing in your ears as you spotted him.

Collins.

He stood in the stands, his presence impossible to miss despite the sea of people still clapping and cheering around him. His smirk was sharp and sinister, a cruel twist of satisfaction that sent a chill down your spine. His eyes locked onto yours, and the weight of his gaze was unbearable, pinning you in place like prey under the watchful eye of a predator.

Your breath hitched, caught somewhere between a gasp and a choke. The arena, still alive with sound and light, seemed to fade away. All you could see was him, his every move magnified. His hand dipped into his jacket pocket—slow, deliberate, and calculated. The motion sent every alarm in your body blaring, but you couldn’t move. Time slowed, the world around you warping as panic flooded your veins. What did he have in there?

Move. Do something. Scream. Run.

But your legs wouldn’t listen.

"Hotch!"

The scream tore out of you, it was desperate, carrying through the arena like a crack of thunder. It startled even you, your voice trembling with the kind of fear that could only come from the knowledge of what Collins was capable of.

Your cry snapped Hotch into action. From the corner of your eye, you saw him bolt from his spot, his sharp eyes zeroing in on you before following your line of sight to Collins. His entire demeanor shifted in an instant, the calm, composed mask replaced by something fierce and determined.

He wasn't about to let Collins get away again.

Hotch's jaw clenched, the muscles tightening as he surged through the rows of spectators, cutting through the crowd like a force of nature. His movements were swift, his hand already moving to where his gun rested beneath his jacket.

"Get away!" Hotch’s voice boomed across the ice—it was meant for you, but the crowd seemed to disappear around him quicker than you had registered the urgency in his tone.

The sound jolted you into motion, snapping the paralysis that had held you captive.

Your instincts took over. You pushed off, your skates carving harsh lines into the ice as you darted away. You zigzagged erratically, each movement wild and unpredictable, doing everything you could to stay in motion. The goal was clear: don’t stop, don't be predictable.

In the stands, chaos had erupted. Screams replaced cheers as people began to realize just exactly what was happening. Gasps and cries echoed through the arena as the crowd scrambled to get away, pushing and shoving toward the exits in a frenzy.

Collins pulled the gun from his pocket, the glint of metal catching in the arena lights. For a heart-stopping moment, the barrel was aimed directly at you. Your breath caught in your throat, and you swerved sharply, nearly losing your footing as the ice beneath you shimmered with cold indifference.

A shot ran out, the bullet carving a hole into the ice as it bounced off of it.

He adjusted his aim, tracking your frantic movements, but you didn’t let up. Although your legs burned you forced yourself to skate faster, harder, the fear and adrenaline fueling your every move.

In the stands, the crowd's panic only worsened. People screamed as Collins waved the gun around trying to follow your movements, his face twisting with frustration. His smirk was gone, replaced by a sneer that told you he wasn’t used to being denied.

"You think you can run from me?" Collins’ voice rang out, loud and venomous, cutting through the chaos.

Your heart seized. He wasn’t just dangerous—he was unhinged.

"Stay away from me!" you screamed, your voice breaking as you turned sharply, skating toward the far end of the rink in a desperate attempt to put more distance between you and him.

Collins snarled, shoving through the crowd. His frustration was noticeable even from where you were. He wasn’t just angry; he was desperate, and that made him even more dangerous and unpredictable.

To your horror, he began moving toward the same exit you were near, his eyes locked onto you like a predator closing in on its prey.

"You really think you could just leave me without any consequences?!" His voice was a feral growl, each word dripping with venom. "Let that joke of a coach take all the credit!"

You didn’t respond, your throat too tight with fear. Instead, you turned again, your movements frantic and uncoordinated, your legs trembling as exhaustion and terror began to take their toll.

Hotch and the rest of the team closed in, their movements swift and methodical. Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi flanked Collins, weapons drawn, their voices cutting through the air as they shouted for him to drop the gun.

But Collins wasn’t listening. His focus was on you, and it sent a fresh wave of panic surging through your chest. You pushed yourself harder, tears stinging your eyes as you skated blindly, your vision blurred by fear.

Meanwhile, Hotch and the team closed in with precision. Morgan, Prentiss, and Rossi moved as one, trying to corner him, their training evident in every step they took. Their weapons were drawn, aimed steadily at him, leaving him with no visible escape route. The cold tension in the air was thick with the weight of what was about to unfold.

"Collins! Drop the weapon!" Hotch's command rang out, his voice was sharp brooking no argument. His gun remained fixed on Collins, unwavering. His posture was rigid, every muscle locked and prepared for any sudden movement. His presence alone was imposing—he was in control. You knew it, Hotch knew—and you were sure Collins could feel it too.

Collins, however, didn’t comply immediately. He hesitated, his eyes shifting wildly between you, still on the ice, and the agents closing in from every direction. His chest heaved with quick, shallow breaths, and his fingers tightened around the handle of the gun, his finger locked on the trigger, a flicker of something dangerous passing through his gaze. He was cornered, and that realization only pushed him further into a frantic, desperate state.

"You think you can stop me?" Collins spat, his voice was laced with desperation, a blend of anger and fear. His hand gripped the weapon tighter, and for a moment, it looked like he might try to make a final stand. Weighing if suicide by cop was truly worth his revenge. He squared his shoulders, his stance defensive, as though readying himself for a fight to the end. But then, without warning, he moved.

Collins lunged toward the ice, his body jerking forward with a wild, uncontrolled desperation. His shoes slipped, skidding over the slick surface, but he didn't slow down. He was heading straight for you, determined, his movements chaotic but fueled by panic.

"Stop!" Hotch's voice was more of a roar now, filled with urgency and command. It was the sound of a man who would not allow this to escalate any further.

The sharp crack of a gunshot shattered the tension that had been building. The noise rang in your ears, deafening in the silence that followed.

Collins' scream echoed in the arena as he collapsed to the ice, the shock of the bullet striking his leg sending him into a crumpled heap. He clutched at the wound, his face twisted in pain, and blood began to seep onto the pristine ice. The stark red against the white was grotesque, a cruel reminder of how close everything had come to disaster.

"You fucking shot me!" He growled.

"And you didn't listen." Within seconds, Morgan was on him, his large frame a blur of motion as he held Collins to the ground with brute force. The gun was kicked away from Collins' hand, and with a swift movement, slid to the middle of the rink. Morgan slapped handcuffs around his wrists, the sound of metal clicking shut was loud and final.

Morgan snarled something you couldn't quite hear as he yanked Collins away from the ice, dragging him off the rink with efficiency, his grip firm around his bicep. The medics were already on the scene, rushing in to tend to Collins’ wound, but you couldn’t bring yourself to watch. You couldn’t even bring yourself to breathe.

The adrenaline that had kept you upright began to fade, and it hit you all at once—the trembling in your legs, the dizziness that spread through your body like wildfire. Your vision blurred as tears threatened to spill over.

In a moment of blind panic, you pushed yourself to your feet, but your legs gave out beneath you. You barely caught your balance before you collapsed onto the ice, the world spinning around you. Gasping for air, you fought to regain control, but it was too much.

Without thinking, without even registering what you were doing, you somehow managed to get up and skate off the rink, your feet faltering with each hurried movement. You slipped your guards back on, hurrying into the nearest hallway, your heart hammering in your chest, your mind fogged with a single thought: get away!

Get away from the blood. Get away from the chaos. Get away from the haunting image of Collins’ smirk, still burned into your memory.

Get away! Get away! Get away!

You stumbled down the hallways, your hands shaking as you gripped the walls for support. The tears came then, unchecked, as you reached the bathroom. You barely made it to the stall before your body betrayed you. You collapsed onto the cold tiles, your stomach lurching violently, the bile rising in your throat. The world had become a blur, and the only thing you could focus on was the overwhelming sense of dread, of terror, that had yet to leave your chest.

Hotch’s swept his gaze across the scene before him, scanning the area for any sign of you, anything sign that you were okay. His heart clenched in his chest when he didn’t see you, the realization creeping up his spine that you were nowhere to be found, that you could be hurt.

His instincts screamed at him to move, to find you, and without another thought, he began to search the stands around the rink, his eyes darting from one corner to the next. The rest of the team had the situation under control, he knew he could trust them and the local police officers to finish up the crime scene—you were his priority now.

His search led him down the hallway, his boots echoing against the floor as he moved quickly. He passed the men’s restroom and the locker rooms, but it wasn’t until he reached the ladies' washroom that he heard it: the unmistakable sound of someone puking, the sharp, guttural noises of someone in misery.

His stomach tightened at the sound, and without hesitation, he pushed the door open with a small knock to grab your attention. The sight that greeted him made his chest tighten.

There you were, collapsed against the floor of a bathroom stall, your face pale and streaked with make-up and tears, your body wracked with sobs as you expelled everything from your stomach—the little you had ingested before the competition, most of what was coming up was bile.

The pain, the fear, the aftermath of everything you’d just lived through—it was all too much for you, and it was written on your face.

Without thinking, Hotch moved toward you, kneeling beside the stall, his posture careful and measured. His eyes softened, his heart ached at the sight of you in such distress.

He placed a reassuring hand on your back as gently as he could, trying his hardest not to startle you—he would've held your hair back if it hadn't been braided and tied in a bun.

The warmth of his palm was a stark contrast to the coldness of the bathroom floor beneath you. His touch was calm, as though he was trying to anchor you, to ease your mind back to the reality where you were safe, where Collins couldn't hurt you or the people you loved anymore.

You flinched at first, a sharp intake of breath followed by a quick sob, but the pressure of his hand seemed to ground you a little for a moment. You were still trembling, every breath shaky and uneven, but Hotch’s presence felt like your lifeline.

He didn’t speak right away, allowing you the space to let the worst of it pass. His only movement was the gentle rub of his hand against your back.

“I’ve got you,” Hotch murmured softly, his voice was low and calm, hoping that his few words would be enough to reassure you. They were a promise—one that he would keep, no matter what.

His heart ached for you, for what you’d just been through, for the fear he’d seen in your eyes when Collins had made his move. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to experience that terror—yet he could in some sense, remembering Foyet.

When the worst of it seemed to be over, Hotch didn’t move immediately. He stayed there, kneeling beside you, his hand still pressed against your back. He waited for you to steady yourself, to find your breath, to return from the overwhelming cloud of emotions that had gripped you.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice was softer now, trying to coax you to turn away from the toilet. “You’re safe. It’s over."

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you lifted your head, your eyes red and swollen, and still wet with tears, mascara streaked down your cheeks. Hotch’s gaze softened even more, his hand gently cupping the back of your neck as he gave you a small, comforting squeeze. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

You didn’t respond right away, but your shoulders shook with quiet sobs, the weight of everything sinking in. Hotch could feel your body tremble under his touch, but he didn’t pull away. He stayed by your side, his presence offering support as you slowly gathered yourself.

When you finally managed to sit up, Hotch remained beside you, watching over you, his face a mixture of concern and relief. The blood on the ice, the terror in your eyes, it had all left its mark on you, but here, in this moment, Hotch would ensure that you wouldn’t have to face anything like that again. He would be the rock you needed, no matter what.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Hotch said quietly as he helped you to your feet. His arm was steady around your waist, supporting you as you swayed slightly, still dizzy from the ordeal.

He moved to the sink, turning the faucet to run lukewarm water. The sound of the water splashing gently against the basin filled the small bathroom, almost too peaceful compared to everything that had happened.

Hotch grabbed a stack of paper towels, his movements were quick. He didn’t know if he was doing this right, if this small gesture would make any difference, but he was determined to do something to soothe you.

He turned back to you, his eyes soft with empathy, and gently began dabbing at the streaks of mascara on your face. His touch was careful, almost tentative, as though he were afraid that any sudden movement would break you further. He didn’t know the first thing about cleaning up makeup, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to help, to give you some semblance of comfort in this moment of vulnerability.

His fingers moved lightly across your cheeks, gently blotting away the remnants of mascara that had stained your face, trying to erase the evidence of your distress. He didn’t say anything—didn’t need to—because his actions spoke louder than words ever could.

But then, just as he thought he might have been doing something to help, he noticed the way your lips started to tremble again, your breath hitching as though another wave of emotion was about to break through. His heart squeezed in his chest as he saw the telltale signs—the way your body shook slightly.

Before he could react, a sob escaped you, followed by another, and then another. The tears came in a rush, the dam breaking once again. His attempt at cleaning you up had been in vain as clearer streaks started forming with each tear rolling from your eyes. Hotch immediately set the paper towels down, his heart aching at the sight of you in pain.

Without thinking, without a second of hesitation, he pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapping tightly around you as though he could shield you from the world. His chest rose and fell with each breath, steady and strong.

"Shh, it’s okay," Hotch whispered as he held you close, his hand running gently over your hair. He didn’t have the answers, and he couldn’t take away the hurt, but he would give you the space to feel it.

Hotch felt the way your body shook against his, the tremors that went through you, and he held you, held you tighter than ever before, as though his embrace alone could shield you from everything.

"You’re safe now," he murmured softly, his lips brushing against your hair as he continued to hold you, offering you the reassurance that maybe wasn't as much what you needed, but what he needed to get out of his system. "You’re safe. I’m here."

The warmth of his embrace, the rhythm of his steady heartbeat, was the only thing that anchored you to the present moment.

In his arms you could cry without fear of judgment, without needing to hold yourself together for anyone else. Here, with him, you were allowed to be fragile.

He stayed there, holding you, his hands never leaving you as he let you cry, not trying to fix anything but simply offering comfort. And for that moment, that small, fragile moment, everything else fell away.

At one point Hotch somehow managed to guide you out of the bathroom and down the hallway to the nearby locker room. His movements were careful, always making sure you were steady and safe in his grasp, as though every step might trigger another wave of panic or emotion. The sound of your quiet sobs still echoed in his mind, and he couldn’t help but keep you close.

When you reached the locker room, Hotch gently guided you to a bench. He sat down beside you, his posture still protective, and helped you lower yourself onto the cold, hard surface. He didn’t want to leave you for a second—he just wanted to be there, with you, until the worst of it passed. Until you were able to speak, to carry yourself, until you were back to the living.

Once you were settled, Hotch knelt in front of you, his brow furrowed with concern. Without a word, he began to untie your laces. The tension in your body was evident, and he figured removing the skates might offer you a small amount of relief, if not mentally, at least physically. He worked quickly but carefully, easing the tongue away from the bridge of your foot before slipping each skate off and gently placing them against the legs of the bench.

He was fully aware that the blades needed to be carefully wiped clean of any moisture before being packed away in your bag. But at that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. The skates, the blades, all of it felt insignificant compared to ensuring you were okay. If the blades rusted from neglect, so be it—he’d gladly replace them without a second thought. For now, his only focus was on you.

After a moment, Hotch sat down beside you, his body turned slightly to allow you to curl into his chest. He kept his arm wrapped securely around you, pulling you closer as you tucked yourself into his side, your face pressed into the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t speak, just held you as you settled into the rhythm of your breathing, the tears slowly tapering off, leaving behind a quiet, exhausted sadness.

The minutes stretched into what felt like hours. The world outside the locker room seemed to cease to exist as you both sat in silence. Hotch’s hand gently stroked your back in slow, reassuring motions, the soft, steady pressure the only sound breaking the stillness.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you shifted in his arms, your breath steady but still shaky. You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His eyes met yours with the same gentle expression he’d worn the entire time, as though he were waiting for you to be ready to speak.

“You okay?” Hotch asked softly, his voice low, though his words were full of care.

You swallowed thickly, your throat raw from crying, but you nodded. "I… think I’m getting there." You paused for a moment, gathering your thoughts. "It’s just… a lot, Hotch. I didn’t think he’d go that far. Collins… I never thought he’d get so desperate." Your voice cracked slightly as the words left your mouth. It felt like your stomach twisted again, thinking back to the way Collins had come after you.

Hotch shifted slightly, bringing you closer, his arms wrapping completely around your body. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he said quietly. “But I’m here to listen if you do.”

You took a deep breath and wiped your eyes, your face flushed from the tears. “I just… I don’t know how to process all of this right now,” you admitted, the weight of the situation settling back in. "Collins made me feel... like I was back under his coaching, and I just… I froze. I don’t usually freeze. I think I might need to see Dr. Jensen, like, ASAP.”

Hotch gave a small nod, his fingers gently tracing the back of your hand. “I think that’s a good idea. Dr. Jensen has some great tools to put trauma into perspective. We all need to check in with her after situations like this.”

A moment passed between you two, both of you processing everything in your own way. Hotch continued to keep his arm around you, giving you the space to breathe, to feel safe, and just be in the moment without any pressure to rush through your emotions.

Eventually, you shifted again, looking up at him, a small, tired smile pulling at the corners of your lips. “I really appreciate you being here, Hotch. I don’t think I could have gotten through this without you and the team.”

His gaze softened as he met your eyes, his hand gently brushing a lock of hair that had escaped from your bun away from your face. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just doing my job.” His voice was low, steady, and sincere.

You smiled, feeling the warmth rush to your cheeks.

You both sat there for a long while in the quiet, each of you just existing in the presence of the other. There was still so much to deal with for the both of you, but for now that could wait.

As you sat there, curled into Hotch’s side, the muffled sounds of the competition picking back up played in the background. The echo of the crowd's cheers and the soft hum of music slipping through the walls barely registered to you. Everything felt distant—like a world away.

The scoreboard might have flashed up in the rink, but you had no desire to see it. You didn’t even know what your score was, and honestly, at that moment, you didn’t care.

The adrenaline rush from earlier had evaporated, replaced by a heavy fog of exhaustion. Your mind kept replaying fragments of what had happened—his movements on the ice, the way he lunged toward you—but you couldn’t hold onto the details long enough to make sense of them.

It was a subtle shift, but you noticed it immediately. The persistent, rhythmic beats that had filled the air slowly faded away, leaving a strange emptiness behind. You didn’t look toward the door. You didn’t even need to. The sudden silence stretched, lingering for longer than usual. Your ears, that had unconsciously been filled with the sound of skates cutting into the ice and the crowd’s murmurs, now only heard the quiet thrum of your own heartbeat and the soft breath of Hotch beside you.

You both listened, and you realized—truly realized—that it was over. The competition had finally come to an end, but neither of you moved. There was no rush to stand up, to re-enter the world outside the locker room. Neither of you wanted to break the fragile sense of calm that had settled between you. You stayed there, sitting close, your head now resting gently against his shoulder, your body felt heavy.

The silence seemed to stretch, not uncomfortable, but rather a shared moment of understanding. You didn’t have to speak. Hotch didn’t push you to get up or check the time. There was no need for words when everything you needed was right here.

Time passed—minutes, or maybe even longer—but neither of you stirred. You felt no sense of urgency to return to the world that still buzzed beyond the door. It felt like an unspoken agreement between you two that everything could wait.

It was Hotch who finally broke the silence, but only with a soft, low voice. “Do you want to know your score?” he asked, his hand still resting on your back.

You shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “No, I don’t.” It wasn’t about that anymore. The numbers, the judges’ opinions, none of it mattered.

Hotch gave a small, understanding nod. He could sense it—that subtle shift in your demeanor. You had given everything you had out there, and now you were processing, letting yourself breathe. He respected that. He didn’t press you any further.

It was only when the sound of the door creaking open that the silence was interrupted. You didn’t look up immediately, assuming it was one of the medics or someone else from the team checking in, but then the unmistakable sound of blade guards thumping on the floor caught your attention.

You slowly lifted your head, and there she was—Natalia Ivanova. Her presence in the doorway felt like a sudden gust of wind, sharp and cool. Her usual poised demeanor was notably absent today. Instead, she stood there, framed by the light from the hallway, her face an unreadable mask.

It was clear she wasn’t happy, her lips were pressed into a thin line and her posture was stiff.

But despite the tension in her body, there was something softer in her eyes as they landed on you. She hesitated for a fraction of a second before walking over to the opposite side of the room. She didn’t sit down next to Hotch, as if she could sense the connection between the two of you, and instead chose the bench opposite you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. She studied you quietly, and you could feel the weight of her gaze—an unfamiliar mix of empathy and understanding. Then, finally, she broke the silence.

“I… I’m sorry,” she began. “I heard about what you’ve been through, and I can tell that you're struggling.” She paused, as if carefully considering her words. “This whole thing, it must’ve been a lot.”

You blinked, surprised by her tone. Natalia was always known for her competitiveness and her need to win. To hear her speak like this, with such a rare hint of vulnerability even friendliness, caught you off guard.

She cleared her throat, her gaze softening as she glanced toward the floor for a moment before returning to meet your eyes. “I can’t imagine what it’s been like... but I’m glad you made it out.” There was a brief, unspoken understanding between you two that you didn’t need to elaborate on.

There was a long pause, but then, with surprising sincerity, Natalia’s lips curled slightly. She hesitated only a beat longer before continuing, her voice quieter now, tinged with a different kind of emotion. “And… congratulations. For winning.” She said it like it meant something more than just a passing acknowledgment, her tone warmer than it had ever been toward you.

You blinked, stunned. The words were so unexpected that you almost couldn’t process them. Winning regionals? You hadn’t even thought about the competition in that light, too wrapped up in the chaos surrounding Collins and everything that had happened. You hadn’t expected a win, not after everything. But here she was, telling you that you had actually won.

The shock of it left you momentarily speechless. You weren’t sure whether to smile or simply absorb the reality. You had been too lost in your head, in your fears, to even focus on the outcome of the event. But now that the weight of it was settling on your shoulders, you couldn’t help but feel a swell of disbelief.

Natalia gave a small, knowing shrug, as if she saw the confusion in your expression and understood it. “You earned it,” she said quietly. “You did great.”

You glanced at her, searching her face for any sign of insincerity. But there was none. She was being genuine, her earlier frustration and tension replaced with something softer now—respect, maybe.

Then, before you could fully digest the moment, she added, almost as an afterthought, her voice lower, more reflective, “I’m just glad that, if I had to lose, it was to you.” She didn’t make it a big deal, but the sentiment was there. It was the kind of acknowledgment that took you by surprise, not because you hadn’t worked hard, but because it was coming from her.

It took you a moment to register what she meant by it, but when it hit you, a small, surprised smile tugged at the corner of your lips. Natalia was admitting, in her own way, that she respected you. That, despite everything, there was a recognition between you two.

Hotch, still sitting next to you, didn’t interrupt, allowing the two of you this moment. His hand, still resting lightly on your back, was the only reminder of his presence.

You turned your attention back to Natalia, still processing her words. “Thank you,” you managed to say, the words feeling small but significant. There was so much you wanted to say in return, but you weren’t sure how to express it.

Natalia smiled, just slightly, almost imperceptibly. It wasn’t the usual smug smile you’d grown used to seeing from her—it was something else. Something a little more genuine, and perhaps, even... empathetic. Something that made you think that maybe you could be friends one day.

Hotch watched as Natalia left, her steps echoing down the hallway, leaving behind a silence that felt heavier than the weight of the moment. The door had clicked shut behind her, and he turned back to you.

His gaze lingered on you for a second longer than it should, and something stirred deep inside him. The urge to reach out, to hold you, to offer something—anything—that might make this all go away for you. It almost suffocated him, the way his heart pulled him in two directions. His mind screamed at him to stay professional, to keep things in check, to never let his personal feelings cloud his judgment. After all, he didn’t know where this case was going or where you were going after this.

But then, there was the quiet pull deep inside him, the unspoken ache that he’d learned to bury for so long. You were here, in front of him, vulnerable, raw, and beautiful in a way that made his chest tighten. He never allowed himself to truly acknowledge it—not fully—because that would’ve made it too real, too dangerous. But in moments like this, when you were so close, so broken and strong at the same time, that ache in his chest came alive.

He wanted to kiss you.

The thought hit him like a storm, and his breath caught. Just the idea of it—the soft press of your lips, the way you might lean into him, allowing him to hold you in a way that transcended what he had allowed himself to imagine—sent a surge of warmth through him. It was maddening, and he fought against it with everything he had.

His fingers twitched at his side, but he clenched them into a fist, forcing himself to remain still. Professionalism. That was the mantra he clung to. You were a victim of a violent crime, someone he’d been tasked with protecting, not someone he could indulge these feelings for. Especially not now, with everything so raw, so fresh—your life had just been threatened in the most violent way. The last thing you needed was for him to add to the confusion with his feelings.

But there was no denying the pull. No denying how much he wanted to be close to you. To offer something to make you feel safe again. And yet, in his mind, he kept telling himself it wasn’t the right time. Not now. Not when you were still processing everything that had happened. Not when you were still so fragile.

He could feel the battle inside him intensify as he watched you. His heart ached for you—he wanted to be the one to hold you through it all, to offer the comfort and security that was slipping through his grasp.

He stayed where he was, sitting beside you, unsure whether it was the right thing to do. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

Tag list: @love4lando @therealbaberuthless @crazyunsexycool @pear-1206 @bookworm124 @itsmytimetoodream @c-losur3 @lumestar @evvy96 @booknerd2004 @werebearcocoon @hotchnersgirlxx @jazzimac1967 @gamingfeline @soyobi-wankenobi @meg-black @maxinehufflepuffprincess @multifandombliss

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unknvhx · 1 day ago

Text

locked in

colliding fwb!chris yet again, continuing to wrestle the tension you can’t seem to shake.

four hours later, you stood on chris’ porch, your fist clenched tight as you glared at his door. the night air felt heavy against your skin, or maybe that was just the weight of your simmering frustration. you didn’t want to be here. you didn’t want to see him. but he had your keys, and there was no way she was giving him the satisfaction of leaving them behind.

the door swung open before you could knock, revealing chris, in his sweatpants, his usual cocky smirk firmly in place. his eyes dragged over you in that infuriating, lazy way that always made you want to slap him—or worse, made your heart beat in you pelvis. his eyes dragged over you with that lazy, infuriating air of superiority, like you were nothing but a small inconvenience to him.

“fuck” he drawled, leaning against the doorframe. “look who finally decided to show up.”

“shut the fuck,” you snapped, your voice sharp, as you brushed past him into the house.

you heard the soft click of the door closing behind you, and then the steady sound of his footsteps as he followed you into the living room. your boots clicked loudly on the hardwood floor, adding to the tension in the air.

“i just want my keys.”

chris shut the door with a soft thud, his smirk widening as he leaned against the wall, watching you with that same lazy amusement in his eyes.

“always so sweet to me,” he muttered, sarcasm thick in his voice.

You turned sharply to face him, your eyes flashing with irritation.

“maybe if you weren’t such an asshole, i’d be nicer.”

“maybe if you weren’t such a brat, i wouldn’t have to be,” he shot back, his tone mocking, as he took a step toward you. the space between you both felt charged, like the air was thick with some unspoken tension neither of you was willing to acknowledge.

you clenched your jaw, trying to keep your anger under control. “i don’t have time for this. just give me my damn keys.”

“they’re right there.” chris gestured nonchalantly toward the coffee table, but he didn’t move to step out of your way. instead, he planted himself in front of you, blocking your path with that familiar cocky grin.

“what’s the rush, ma? afraid of spending too much time alone with me?”

“get over yourself ,” you spat, voice dripping with contempt.

you shoved past him with as much force as you could muster, your heart pounding in your chest as you grabbed the keys from the table. you could feel his eyes on you, hot and burning as you bent down, and it only fueled the fire inside you.

“you’re so wound up,” Chris murmured, his voice low, mocking. “what happened to that mouth you had earlier? you seemed real confident when you told me to fuck off.”

you spun around, fists clenching at your sides, every muscle in your body tensing with fury.

“you’re unbelievable.”

“and you’re predictable.” his tone shifted, darkening, the playful smirk falling from his lips as he took another step toward you.

“you come here acting all high and mighty, but we both know how this ends.”

“don’t start,” you warned, though the slight tremble in your voice betrayed the edge you were trying to maintain.

chris chuckled, a low, guttural sound that rumbled in his chest as he closed the space between you. He was too close, too familiar. “you don’t want me to start?” his hand reached out, brushing against your hip in a way that was almost casual, but you knew better. his fingers curled around your waist, pulling you closer, and the rawness in his eyes only deepened.

“then why are you still standing here?”

“because you’re in my way,” you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

your breath caught in your throat, and you hated yourself for it. you hated the way your body responded to him, how it seemed to betray you in the worst way. you fought to hold your ground, but your pulse raced, betraying you.

he stepped aside, that smug grin still plastered on his face, pride radiated from him, his ego practically glowing with annoyance. he knew exactly what he was doing, and you, despite every ounce of resistance, knew you couldn’t walk away. you froze, caught in that moment, torn between what you wanted and what you knew you should do. your eyes flicker between the door and chris’ lips, still curled into that infuriating smirk.

“so, what are you waiting for?” he asks, his voice low and sharp.

your eyes snap back to his, but before you can even open your mouth to respond, he slams his lips into yours, fierce and demanding. the kiss was full of teeth and heat, raw and unrelenting. you let him take control, your hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into his clothed back as your frustration and anger mingled in the kiss.

you stumbled backward, colliding with the couch, your bodies pressing together in a frantic tangle of limbs. his hands roamed over you, gripping your waist, sliding up your back, tangled in your hair as he pulled you down with him.

“i hate you,” you gasped, breathless, your body trembling.

“good,” he growled, biting down on your bottom lip hard enough to make you gasp.

“then stop pretending this is anything else.”

you didn’t stop, not even when your movements grew frantic and uncoordinated, when everything else seemed to blur. it wasn’t about affection. it wasn’t about love. but beneath the tension, there was something else, something faint, a flicker of something neither of you understood. neither of you could admit it, not yet, but it was there. you both let yourselves believe it was about dominance, proving a point.

as you and chris entangle on the couch, his strong hands grip your waist possessively, pulling you closer as he buries his face in your neck. his breath is hot against your skin, mingling with the scent of his cologne and the faint sheen of sweat that forms between your bodies. your hands roam over his muscular chest and abs, feeling the firmness beneath your fingertips. his lips trail along your collarbone, leaving a trail of hot, open mouthed kisses. he unhooks your bra with a swift, practiced motion, tossing it aside carelessly.

you arch into him as he cups your breasts, thumbs circling your hardening nipples. he takes one into his mouth, suckling and nipping gently. your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him flush against you, feeling his growing hardness through his jeans.

"still hate me?" he whispers against your lips, a cocky smirk playing across his face as he grinds into you. you nip at his bottom lip in response, digging your heels into his back. he chuckles darkly, one hand trailing down your stomach to the waistband of your pants.

“fuck you” you mutter, your words tangled in the heat of the kiss, as your body betrays the defiance in your voice.

"mouth's running again," he murmurs, hooking his fingers in your pants and slowly pulling them down. he tosses them aside, leaving you in just your underwear. he runs his hands over your thighs possessively, spreading them wider around his waist.

you can feel the bulge in his pants pressing against you, even through his jeans. You look up at him with lust-filled eyes, unbuckling his belt and slowly unbuttoning his jeans. He lifts his hips to help you pull them down, revealing his boxers. his boxers and your last layers of restraint are discarded in one smooth, seamless motion. he fills you in a single, intense thrust, leaving you breathless, the sudden fullness making you gasp. his hands lock onto your hips, holding you firmly as he sets a slow, deliberate pace, each movement deep and controlled.

‘’fuck, you’re so big,” you gasp, your words breaking between moans as your body slowly adjusts to him, each movement making you tremble.

chills shoot through your body as he hilts himself deep inside you. his pace quickens, each thrust pushing you deeper into the cushions, the friction exquisite between your bodies.

he leans down, his breath hot against your ear. "you can take it"

your fingers dig into his back, your nails raking down his skin as he picks up the pace. you wrap your legs around him, pulling him deeper with each thrust. he groans, his voice low and husky in your ear.

"fuck, you're so tight"

“you can take it,” your voice laced with a mocking edge, watching him with a challenging gaze, the air between us thick with tension. each word drips with defiance.

he growls, his eyes narrowing as he looks down at you. he wraps his arms around your thighs, pulling your legs up higher on his shoulders. he starts to thrust deeper, hitting spots inside you that make you arch your back.

you throw your head back, a loud moan escaping your lips as he hits a particularly deep spot. his hands grip your ass, lifting you up and slamming you down onto his lap. the sound of flesh hitting flesh fills the room, mixed with your moans and his grunts. He leans back, pulling you with him, never breaking the rhythm. "ride me then’’

he murmurs, hooking his fingers in your pants and slowly pulling them down. he tosses them aside, leaving you in just your underwear. he runs his hands over your thighs possessively, spreading them wider around his waist.

you start to move, bouncing up and down on his lap, taking him deep inside you with each movement. he watches you, his eyes dark and intense, his hands guiding your hips. you feel his cock throbbing inside you, growing even harder with each roll of your hips. his control seems to slip as he surges forward, knocking you onto your back again. he pins your wrists above your head, looming over you with a fierce, hungry expression.

‘’fuck”

you gasp as he flips you over, the tight knot in your stomach twisting with each powerful thrust. your eyes roll back, your head tipping further as your hips instinctively arch into him, the intensity of every movement sending shockwaves through you.

‘’fuck, I’m close”

you breathe out, the words barely escaping as the pressure inside you builds, your body trembling with each deep thrust. the heat between you two intensifies, every movement pushing you closer to the edge. you skin feels electrified, every nerve alive with the sensation, and you can’t help but meet him with urgency, your hips grinding in sync, desperate for release.

he pounds into you relentlessly, his hips slapping against yours with each thrust. the headboard bangs against the wall, the sound echoing through the room. he releases one of your wrists to reach between your legs, rubbing your clit in harsh, rapid circles.

"come on, fucking soak my cock"

the words push you over the edge, and suddenly, your orgasm crashes through you, overwhelming your senses. your body trembles as the intense wave of pleasure rips through you, your bundle of nerves finally coming undone. your nails dig into his back, searching for something to hold onto as you shudder beneath him, breathless and caught in the aftermath. “shit,” you gasp, the pleasure still pulsing through your body as it slowly fades.

he continues to thrust through your orgasm, dragging it out as long as possible. feeling your walls clench around him, he loses control, slamming into you one last time before stilling, pouring himself into you. a primal sound escapes his throat as he collapses against your chest. "fuck."

when it was over, you both collapsed onto the couch, chest heaving, bodies slick with sweat, tangled together in the aftermath. you pushed yourself up, your limbs shaky as you reached for your discarded shirt. with a frustrated tug, you pulled it over your head, the motion sharp and irritated, as if the fabric couldn’t come fast enough to shield you from what just happened.

he pulls his shirt on, the fabric clinging to his sweat-slicked chest. he sits there, arm draped over the back of the couch, staring at nothing in particular. his mind is reeling, trying to make sense of the intensity of the moment.

“next time, don’t lose your keys,”

chris muttered, his voice low and rough, still laced with the remnants of tension. you glared at him, pulling the shirt over your head.

“next time, I’m not calling you.”

he smirked, leaning back into the cushions with that same infuriating ease. “sure, ma. whatever you say.”

you slammed the door behind you, but both of you knew the truth.

you’d be back.

wc: 2.8k

a/n: this is a continuation from texts with ★ fwb!chris. it’s abit long and my first ever smut piece so feedback and support would be greatly appreciated! thankyou so much for the likes and reblogs on the texts series!

if you want to be tagged in any future posts related to this pairing, fwb!chris pieces, or any work in general, comment or dm me <3

©unknvhx

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heartsforjh · 17 hours ago

Note

I saw your post saying you'd cook writing something for Luke.

Sooo.....

Luke childhood friends to lovers would be pretty cool

ofc! thanks sm for the request 🙂🫶 fair warning: i did not in fact cook, this is more like a snack 😭

“so… can i get your number before i go? maybe we can hang?” ethan edwards, one of the hockey players from school, asks. his tone is casual but there’s a flicker of hope in his eyes.

you smile, holding your hand out for his phone.

“sure, why not?”

you punch your number into his phone, your fingers brushing against the screen as the room buzzes with laughter and music. handing it back, you grin. “there you go.”

ethan thanks you before heading off, and you take a sip of your drink, the cold fizz tingling against your lips. the exchange admittedly, leaves you feeling giddy. you’re stood leaning against the counter top, before a sharp voice immediately drags you out of your thoughts.

“the fuck was that?” you freeze, instantly recognizing the voice. it’s Luke’s—your best friend since you were in diapers. his tone is irritated, and when you turn around, you’re met with his all too familiar, towering frame. it would be intimidating if this wasn’t the same boy you used to watch cry over having to do homework as a kid.

“what was what?” you ask, surprised by his sudden tone. casually, you take another sip of your drink.

“i’m serious! what was that?!” he repeats, his voice more insistent now.

you sigh, placing your drink on the counter and giving him your full attention. “what do you mean? he asked for my number, so i gave it to him.”

Luke runs a hand through his long hair, visibly stressed. “so what— you guys are a thing now?”

you blink, caught off guard by his reaction. “oh my gosh. just because he has my number doesn’t mean we’re a thing… not yet, at least.”

you can’t help but tease him a little, curious about the frustration he’s displaying. something about his reaction feels… different, almost protective.

“that’s my friend! you can’t just… you can’t do that with my friends!” his voice rises slightly, cracking in a way that betrays the emotion he’s trying to hide.

“why not? they’re not just your friends Luke.” you frown, not happy about the possessiveness in his tone. this isn’t the first time he’s acted this way. growing up, he always had a hard time sharing—specifically his teammates or neighborhood friends. he had no problem playing dress up but firmly shut you out when it came to anything with the boys.

Luke exhales sharply, his shoulders slumping. “its not ethan i care about, y/n. it’s you. you’re mine. i love you, and i don’t want ethan—or anyone else—to have you.”

the words hang in the air, thick and heavy. your mouth fallls open slightly, shock washing over you. Luke looks just as stunned, whatever bit of confidence he had found before already crumbling as he runs a hand down his face.

“forget it. just… forget i said anything y/n. do whatever you want.” he moves to leave, his frustration spilling into his steps. he’s quick to try to up and leave.

but you’re quicker. grabbing his arm, you step in front of him, blocking his path. instinctively you stroke your thumb on his arm in a comforting way, and you tilt your head up to look at him. you’re so close now, the faint smell of his cologne filling the small space between you.

“first of all, Luke, don’t ever walk away from me like that.” you say firmly, voice soft but unwavering. “second of all, i love you too.”

he sighs. “no y/n i mean it like—”

you cut him off, your voice steady and reassuring. “i know exactly what you meant. i said i love you too.”

“wait—you do?” he asks, his voice quiet and, expression of disbelief.

you nod, a soft growing on your face “i’ve loved you since we were kids Luke. i think i knew the day quinn ripped my barbie’s head off and you got into a fight with him over it.”

Luke lets out a breathy laugh, glancing down before meeting your eyes again. “that was second grade. i’ve known i loved you since kindergarten, when you let me have the last blue Play-Doh. so, technically, i’ve got you beat.

you roll your eyes, laughing softly. “not everything’s a competition, Luke.”

“really? cuz it feels like i’ve been in competition for you my whole life.” he admits, only half joking. he somehow finds the confidence to snake his arms around your waist.

“come on lu. nobody could ever compare to you in my book.”

his cheeks flush slightly, and he grins, sheepish but hopeful. “you mean that?”

“of course i do.” you say softly.

“so… uh… wanna be my girlfriend?” the words tumble out quickly, his confidence once again faltering as he runs the back of his neck.

you laugh, shaking your head. “what was that?

he groans, looking at the ceiling for a moment before repeating himself, slower this time. “do you wanna be my girlfriend? it’s okay if not, i just really—”

“of course i do!” you cut him off, grinning up at him. he lets out a sigh of relief, hand falling back to your side, gently caressing up and down.

“hey.” he says suddenly, glancing towards the door. “let’s ditch this party.”

you nod without hesitation, lettting him take your hand and lead you toward the exit. the two of you walked in as friends, but as you step out into the cool night air, hand in hand, you know you’re leaving as so much more.

sorry for the wait but i really hope y’all enjoyed this one :) next part of the quinny smau is coming out next so keep an eye out!

#luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes x you #luke hughes #lukehugheshockey #luke warren hughes #new jersey devils #nj devils #njd #hughes brothers #lh43 #heartsforjh #kirbysasks❔#kay’s blurbs 🎀

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amkyor · 2 days ago

Note

can you please do something of boyfriend shinso? like just one day of them at UA, and then they get to the dorms and spend the afternoon together and if you want they can sleep together (no need of nsfw or anything). add whatever you want! (fem reader please)

pt: sorry for my bad english!

H. SHINSOU SHORT STORY

Synopsis: You and the former class 1a, Shinsou included, were now in the 2nd year of the hero course, class 2a. You were lying on your bed in your dorm room, trying your hardest to go to sleep. After all your efforts, nothing was working. With that, you stepped out of your dorm to the common room to get a class of warm milk.

Two Insomniacs:

The clock on your bedside table ticked quietly in the dark, the glowing red numbers reading 1:03 AM. You lay on your back, staring at the faint outline of the ceiling, your mind a restless storm.

No matter how much you tried to block out the noise in your head or force your body into stillness, sleep just wouldn’t come.

It never did, not easily.

Your bedside light flicked on with a soft click as you reached over for the near-empty bottle of melatonin resting on the table.

You frowned at it, shaking the bottle slightly to hear the faint rattle of the last few tablets.

You’d taken your prescribed dose hours ago.

No luck.

With a groan, you rolled over, pulling your blanket over your head in frustration.

The dorm room was quiet, the only sounds being the faint hum of the air conditioner and occasional creaks of the building settling.

Everyone else in Heights Alliance was probably fast asleep, their dreams carrying them far away, while you remained rooted in restless wakefulness.

You flipped over again, clutching your pillow in hopes that maybe—just maybe—this time you’d find that elusive sweet spot.

But no.

The more you tried, the more frustrated you grew, your thoughts swirling in a cycle of how much you needed to sleep and how impossible it felt to actually do so.

Finally, you sat up, the blanket slipping off your shoulders. Enough was enough.

If lying here wasn’t working, maybe getting up would. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, your bare feet brushing against the cool floor before slipping into your bunny slippers.

The plush fabric brought a small sense of comfort, though it didn’t stop your tired mind from grumbling about the situation.

"Warm milk," you mumbled to yourself, standing and stretching slightly. It was an old trick, something your mom used to swear by when you were little.

You didn’t have much hope that it would work now, but at this point, anything was worth a try.

Grabbing a hoodie from the chair at your desk, you shrugged it on over your tank top, leaving it unzipped.

The soft fabric hung loosely around you, giving you a bit of warmth against the nighttime chill.

Your bunny slippers shuffled softly against the floor as you made your way to the door, careful not to make too much noise.

You paused for a moment with your hand on the doorknob, listening to the silence of the dorm hallway beyond.

Taking a breath, you slowly turned the knob and opened the door, stepping out into the dimly lit corridor.

The faint glow from the nightlights spaced along the walls created long shadows, the quiet almost eerie in its stillness.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you glanced down both ends of the hallway, ensuring no one else was awake.

The soft padding of your slippers was the only sound as you started toward the common area and kitchen, hoping that a warm glass of milk might finally bring you the rest you so desperately needed.

The hallway was silent as you padded softly toward the common area, the plush bunny slippers muffling your steps.

The faint glow of the nightlights cast long, uneven shadows along the walls, making the journey feel almost surreal.

You wrapped your hoodie tighter around yourself, the chill of the late hour seeping into the air.

When you reached the entrance to the common area, you paused, peeking around the corner to make sure no one else was there.

The room was still, the furniture sitting in quiet disarray from the day’s activities.

You exhaled softly, relieved to find it empty.

The last thing you wanted was to explain to anyone why you were up at such an hour.

Stepping carefully into the room, you avoided the creaky section of the floor near the couch and made your way toward the kitchen.

The soft dim light above the stove was just bright enough to illuminate the space without being harsh on your tiredless eyes.

You flicked on the overhead light, setting it to its lowest setting.

The warm glow cast soft shadows across the countertops, giving the kitchen a cozy, almost inviting atmosphere.

You headed straight for the fridge, the cool air brushing against your face as you pulled the door open.

The gallon of milk sat on the bottom shelf, its familiar red cap catching your eye.

You reached for it, careful not to knock over anything else as you lifted it out.

Closing the fridge door quietly, you placed the milk on the counter with a soft thunk, the sound barely registering in the silence.

Turning toward the cabinets, you opened one and pulled out a simple white mug, its handle smooth and cool in your hand.

Placing the mug on the counter beside the milk, you unscrewed the red cap and tilted the gallon carefully, watching as the milk poured in a steady stream.

You stopped halfway, not wanting to overfill it, and set the jug back down before twisting the cap back on.

The microwave sat in the corner of the counter, its shiny surface reflecting the dim light.

You opened the door and placed the mug inside, the faint hum of the appliance filling the kitchen as you set the timer for 30 seconds.

Pressing the start button, you leaned against the counter, crossing your arms as you waited.

The seconds ticked by, the quiet whirring of the microwave somehow soothing in the stillness.

Your eyes wandered around the kitchen, taking in the familiar surroundings.

The little magnets on the fridge, the neatly arranged dish rack, the faint scent of dish soap lingering in the air—it all felt comforting, grounding you as you stood there.

The microwave beeped softly, breaking your thoughts.

You straightened up and walked over, carefully opening the door and reaching inside to grab the mug.

The warmth of the ceramic seeped into your hands, the gentle heat a welcome contrast to the chill of the kitchen.

Turning back toward the island counter, you walked over and leaned against it, the cool surface pressing against your side as you cradled the mug in your hands.

The warm aroma of the milk wafted up, calming in its simplicity.

You raised the cup to your lips, taking a small sip.

The warmth spread through you, soothing and comforting in a way that made the late hour feel a little less daunting.

You took another small sip from the cup, the warmth of the milk spreading through your chest in a way that momentarily calmed you.

The heat soothed the chill of the night, and for a brief second, you thought maybe—just maybe—it was working.

You let yourself lean against the counter, the edge pressing into your hip as you closed your eyes, trying to focus on whether you felt even a shred of drowsiness.

Seconds passed, and you tried to gauge your body’s response.

Was your breathing slower?

Did your limbs feel heavier? No.

Instead of the calm onset of sleep, all you could register was the lingering warmth of the cup against your fingers and an irritating ache pulsing on the right side of your head.

A small headache—not sharp but dull and persistent—pounded in rhythm with your heartbeat.

You sighed heavily, the frustration creeping into your chest like a slow-moving wave.

Turning around to face the counter fully, you placed the mug down with a soft clink.

The weight of it leaving your hands felt symbolic, almost as if you were giving up on the idea that it might help.

Leaning forward, you pressed your elbows onto the countertop, resting your head in your arms.

The surface of the counter was cool against your skin, contrasting with the heat that lingered in your cheeks and forehead.

You closed your eyes tightly, trying to push away the overwhelming tide of hopelessness that threatened to break through.

Why was it always like this?

Why couldn’t you have one peaceful night of sleep?

The questions circled in your mind, swirling together with the ache in your head and the exhaustion tugging at your body.

You stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, though in reality, it was only a minute or two.

After a while, you lifted your head slightly, your arms still folded beneath you as you brought your fingers to your temples.

With slow, deliberate motions, you began rubbing gentle circles into the tender spots on either side of your head, hoping it would ease the ache.

The repetitive motion was soothing to a degree, but it wasn’t enough to quell the overwhelming sense of defeat.

The hopelessness grew, bubbling in your chest until it felt like it might spill over.

With a small groan of frustration, you let your hand drop and press your palm firmly against your forehead, as if grounding yourself physically could somehow calm your mind.

You stood in that position for a couple of seconds, hoping that this would have caused some kind of change.

But then...

That’s when you heard it—the faint sound of shuffling near the entrance to the common area.

Your muscles tensed instinctively, and you slowly lifted your head, your palm still half-covering your face.

The soft padding of footsteps grew louder and closer.

Lowering your hand completely, you turned your gaze toward the source of the noise, desperation evident in your expression.

You weren’t sure what you expected to see.

Maybe another sleepless student wandering the halls, or perhaps even a teacher.

But as you blinked against the dim light, you focused on the figure stepping into view, and your heart stuttered in your chest.

Your eyes met Shinsou’s as he stepped fully into the dim light of the common area.

He stood there in his usual unbothered stance, one hip slightly cocked, his hands shoved into the pockets of his black sweatpants.

The plain T-shirt he wore was loose but not enough to hide the lean frame of someone who spent hours training.

His hair was an unkempt mess, half covering his forehead in uneven strands, but it wasn’t unflattering.

He looked tired, though—not just the ordinary kind of tired, but the weight-of-the-world-on-your-shoulders kind that resonated deeply with your own sleepless struggles.

“Shinsou…” you muttered, your voice low and scratchy from disuse.

Your blank stare met his equally weary one, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

His gaze swept over you briefly, taking in your disheveled form.

The messy low bun you’d hastily tied your hair into, the strands framing your face, and the tight tank top that was covered with your oversized hoodie didn’t seem to faze him.

He blinked slowly, his dark purple eyes lingering just long enough to notice the faint crease of exhaustion on your brow and the slight redness in your eyes.

Then, with a small sigh, he averted his gaze, his head turning to the side as though he couldn’t bring himself to stare for too long.

“What are you doing awake?” he asked, his voice steady but quieter than usual.

You hesitated, unsure how to answer.

You stayed where you were, your elbows still propped on the counter, hands loosely clasped in front of you.

The weight of his question seemed heavier than it should have, as if he wasn’t just asking why you were out of bed but why you always seemed to end up like this—tired, restless, and chasing sleep that never came.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I thought… I thought warm milk might help.”

His eyes flicked back to you momentarily, studying the mug that sat on the counter in front of you.

He raised an eyebrow slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching as if he wanted to say something but decided against it.

Instead, he walked further into the room, his sock-covered feet making soft scuffing sounds against the floor.

“You really think that works?” he asked, leaning against the edge of the kitchen island opposite you. His tone wasn’t mocking—just curious, with a hint of skepticism.

You shrugged, your gaze dropping to the cup in front of you. “I don’t know. It’s supposed to… but it hasn’t helped yet.”

There was a beat of silence, and you shifted uncomfortably under his steady gaze.

His presence was grounding, in a way, but also unnerving. It was like he could see through the layers of exhaustion and frustration you’d piled up over the weeks.

He tilted his head slightly, his messy hair falling further over his forehead. “You’ve been like this for a while, haven’t you?”

Your lips parted in surprise, but you quickly closed them, unsure how to respond.

He wasn’t wrong—your sleepless nights had become more frequent, more intense.

But hearing it said aloud made it harder to ignore.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” you said, brushing off the comment with a weak smile. “Just stress, probably.”

Shinsou didn’t look convinced.

He straightened up slightly, his hands still buried in his pockets. “You should’ve told someone. Aizawa, maybe. He’d get it.”

You shook your head, letting out a dry laugh. “What’s he gonna do? Expel my insomnia?”

For the first time, Shinsou’s lips quirked up into a faint smirk, but it faded quickly as his gaze softened. “Still,” he murmured, his voice losing its edge. “You shouldn’t deal with it alone.”

The sincerity in his tone caught you off guard, and you looked up at him fully for the first time since he entered.

There was something raw and genuine in his expression—something that told you he understood more than he let on.

“I’ll be fine,” you said softly, though even you didn’t fully believe it.

Shinsou looked at you for a long moment before sighing again, the sound heavy and tired.

“You’re stubborn,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly.

You couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto your face. “Takes one to know one.”

A quiet chuckle escaped him, and the sound was softer than you expected—almost comforting.

He leaned back slightly, his posture relaxing as he watched you take another slow sip of your warm milk.

For a moment, the exhaustion didn’t feel as suffocating, and the ache in your head seemed to ease just a little.

You tilted your head slightly, the warm milk in your hands now forgotten as you studied Shinsou.

His tired features, the shadows under his eyes, and the way his hair still managed to fall perfectly into place despite its unkempt state—it was all so quintessentially him.

But what really caught your attention was the way he carried himself, like someone who was used to holding more than he let on.

“So,” you began softly, your voice cutting through the quiet hum of the appliances. “What’s your story?”

Shinsou blinked, his gaze shifting from the floor to meet yours.

For a moment, he just stared at you blankly as if trying to process your words. “My story?” he asked plainly, his tone laced with mild confusion.

You nodded, leaning a bit more heavily against the counter. “What are you doing up, I mean…” you clarified, your eyes searching his for some kind of answer.

Shinsou stood still for a moment, his posture relaxed yet unreadable.

His purple eyes, usually sharp and calculating, softened under the dim light.

They seemed more vulnerable now, less guarded. Finally, he leaned away from the counter, his hands slipping out of his pockets.

Without a word, he moved around the kitchen island, his steps slow but deliberate.

You watched as he made his way to the fridge, his movements almost sluggish but still precise.

When he opened the fridge door, the cool light illuminated his face, casting shadows over his angular features.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he answered simply, his voice low and steady as he reached for a water bottle.

The plastic crinkled slightly in his grip as he closed the fridge door with his other hand.

You raised an eyebrow, shifting your weight slightly. “That’s it? No elaborate explanation? No deep confession about what’s keeping you up?”

Shinsou chuckled softly, a sound that was more like a low exhale than an actual laugh.

He twisted the cap off the water bottle and took a small sip before leaning against the counter opposite you.

His eyes met yours again, and for a moment, you thought he might actually open up.

But instead, he smirked faintly, his lips barely curving upward. “Not everyone has a dramatic reason for being awake at 1 a.m.,” he said, his tone teasing but gentle.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Fair enough,” you murmured, taking another sip of your milk.

The two of you stood there in comfortable silence for a moment, the quiet of the night settling around you like a blanket.

It wasn’t awkward—if anything, it felt oddly intimate.

The soft hum of the refrigerator filled the space between you, and the warmth of your milk seemed to seep into your bones, easing the tension you hadn’t even realized you were holding.

Shinsou set his water bottle down on the counter, his fingers tapping lightly against the plastic. “What about you?” he asked, his gaze flickering back to you. “What’s keeping you up tonight?”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening slightly around your mug. “Same as always,” you admitted, your voice quieter now.

“I just… can’t sleep. No matter what I do, it’s like my brain doesn’t want to shut off.”

Shinsou nodded, his expression unreadable but understanding. “I get that,” he said after a moment.

“Sometimes it feels like the harder you try to sleep, the more impossible it gets.”

“Exactly,” you said, feeling a small rush of relief that he understood. “And then I end up here, drinking warm milk like it’s some kind of magic cure.”

He chuckled again, the sound a bit louder this time. “At least you’re trying,” he said, pushing off the counter and taking another sip of his water.

“That’s more than some people would do.”

You tilted your head, curious. “What do you do when you can’t sleep?”

Shinsou glanced at you, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “Usually? I just… stay awake. Sometimes I train, sometimes I read. Whatever keeps me from thinking too much.”

You nodded, understanding the sentiment all too well. “Guess we’re both stuck in the same boat tonight,” you said, offering him a small smile.

He returned it, his eyes meeting yours with a warmth that made your chest feel just a little lighter. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Guess we are.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, the silence between you now filled with a quiet sense of camaraderie.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make the night feel a little less lonely.

You gave Shinsou a small, appreciative smile, feeling a little less alone in your insomnia.

The warmth of the milk in your hands grounded you, and his quiet presence seemed to calm the restlessness in your chest.

“So,” you began, breaking the comfortable silence, “do you think we’ll ever get used to this whole sleepless thing? Or are we doomed to be midnight wanderers forever?”

Shinsou leaned back against the counter, his fingers loosely gripping his water bottle.

His tired purple eyes glanced at you, a hint of amusement flickering in their depths.

“I don’t know,” he replied, his voice low and calm. “Maybe we’re just wired differently. Some people can sleep like rocks, and then there’s us.”

You chuckled softly, lifting your mug for another sip. “It’s unfair, really. I’d kill to sleep like Kirishima. That guy could probably sleep through an earthquake.”

“Or Kaminari,” Shinsou added, his lips quirking into a small smirk. “He passes out anywhere. I caught him napping under a desk once.”

You laughed quietly, imagining the sight. “That sounds about right. I swear he’s part cat or something.”

Shinsou’s smirk grew a little, and he took a sip of his water, his gaze lingering on you for a moment. “At least you’re not alone in it,” he said after a pause.

“Even if it sucks, it’s not the worst thing in the world to have someone else awake, too.”

His words caught you off guard, and your grip on your mug tightened slightly.

There was something unspoken in his tone, an underlying sincerity that made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s nice having someone to talk to.”

Shinsou nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest smile.

Neither of you said anything for a while after that, the silence settling back over the room like a thick, comforting blanket.

Eventually, you finished your milk, the empty mug feeling heavier in your hands than it should.

With a quiet sigh, you pushed off the counter and made your way to the sink, the soft tap of your bunny slippers the only sound in the room.

You rinsed the mug and placed it carefully in the sink, the clink of ceramic against metal almost too loud in the stillness.

Turning back to Shinsou, you gave him a small nod. “I’m gonna sit down for a bit,” you said, your voice soft. “You can join if you want.”

He didn’t respond immediately, simply watching as you walked toward the common room.

The dim lighting cast long shadows across the room, and you reached for one of the folded blankets draped over the back of the couch.

It was soft and thick, the kind of blanket that made you feel warm just holding it.

Settling onto the couch, you wrapped the blanket around yourself, tucking it under your legs as you leaned back against the cushions.

The warmth seeped into your skin, and you let out a quiet sigh, your body finally starting to relax.

A moment later, you heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind you.

Turning your head slightly, you saw Shinsou making his way toward you, his water bottle still in hand.

He moved with an easy, almost lazy confidence, his posture relaxed and unhurried.

He stopped a few feet away, his gaze meeting yours briefly before he sat down at the opposite end of the couch.

The distance wasn’t too far, but it wasn’t close enough to feel intrusive either. It was the perfect balance, and you couldn’t help but feel a small pang of gratitude for his thoughtfulness.

Shinsou leaned back against the cushions, his legs stretched out in front of him.

He rested his water bottle on his knee, his fingers idly tracing the ridges of the plastic. His eyes flicked toward you, soft and curious.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked, his voice barely above a murmur.

You nodded, offering him a small smile. “Yeah. Just… tired in all the wrong ways.”

Shinsou hummed in understanding, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I get that.”

The two of you sat there in silence, the quiet hum of the building and the soft rustle of the blanket the only sounds between you.

It wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable—it felt natural, like the kind of silence that only existed between people who truly understood each other.

The soft, ambient quiet of the room allowed you both to settle into a peaceful rhythm, the gentle rustle of fabric and the occasional sip of water breaking the silence.

You had your legs stretched out under the blanket, your body sinking into the couch, and your mind almost drifting into a sort of haze.

Shinsou seemed content to just sit, his own legs outstretched as he relaxed beside you.

After a moment, you shifted slightly, your curiosity pulling you out of the comfortable quiet. “So,” you began, breaking the stillness.

“What kind of books do you usually read?” you asked, remembering how he had mentioned reading to take his mind off of things.

Shinsou looked at you, his eyes glinting with interest before he shrugged slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I’m into horror mostly,” he replied nonchalantly, as though it was the most normal thing in the world.

You blinked in surprise, not expecting that answer. “Horror? Really?”

He nodded, his expression turning serious, though there was a glint of enthusiasm in his eyes. “Yeah. I’ve always liked it. There's something about a good thriller that gets under your skin, you know? The stuff that makes you look over your shoulder when you’re walking home.”

You chuckled softly, imagining the serious, intense Shinsou reading a book and jumping at the slightest sound. “I can’t imagine you getting scared, though.”

Shinsou smirked at that, his gaze shifting toward the ceiling as he leaned back into the cushions, his arm stretching out to rest on his knee.

“You’d be surprised,” he said with a small laugh. “There’s a book I’m reading right now that’s got me hooked. It’s called The Haunting of Ashfield Manor.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “That sounds... intense. What’s it about?”

Shinsou’s face lit up as he began to speak, his voice warming as he delved into the details of his favorite book.

His words began to flow more quickly, and you could tell this was a topic he was passionate about.

“It’s about this old manor, right? It’s been abandoned for decades, and people say it’s haunted. But the main character, this guy named Evan, decides to go there to investigate. He’s a skeptic and doesn’t believe in ghosts or anything like that. But once he’s inside, weird things start happening. The further he digs, the more he uncovers about the dark past of the house. It’s creepy as hell."

You could hear the excitement in his voice as he spoke, the way his eyes brightened as he recounted the plot.

You smiled at the way he geeked out over it, completely immersed in the story.

“Sounds like the kind of book that makes you want to sleep with the lights on,” you teased, earning a grin from Shinsou.

“You have no idea,” he replied, his voice low and amused. “There’s this one part where Evan finds this hidden room behind a false wall, and when he opens it, there’s a doll sitting in the middle of the room. The air is so thick with tension, and you can hear this whispering—just barely—but no one’s there. I swear, I almost dropped the book when I read that part.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm, shaking your head slightly. "I think I’d be too scared to finish that one.”

Shinsou chuckled softly. “Yeah, I don’t blame you. It’s one of those books that sticks with you long after you’re done reading it. But that's what makes it so good, you know? It’s not just about the jumpscares—it’s the suspense that gets you.”

He didn’t seem to notice how he had subtly shifted closer to you as he spoke, his body inching toward yours as he got more animated about the book.

His knee was now just a few inches away from yours, the warmth of his body radiating toward you as he leaned in a little.

It felt natural, comfortable, like he was just… there with you, sharing something that mattered to him.

His hand rested casually on his knee, but as he shifted, the back of his hand brushed softly against the exposed skin of your thigh.

You didn’t notice at first, your focus entirely on him and the way he was talking about his book, but the gentle pressure of his hand felt warm against your leg.

As he continued describing the eerie atmosphere of the manor, you found yourself drawn deeper into his words, your attention entirely on him.

His voice had become almost hypnotic, the way he described every detail with such care, as though he were painting a vivid picture right in front of your eyes.

“The last chapter got me, though,” Shinsou went on, his voice dropping slightly as he leaned forward.

“Evan’s digging deeper into the mystery, right? And he starts seeing things—like, actual ghosts. But the craziest part is... he’s not sure if they’re real or if it’s just his mind playing tricks on him. And the thing is, you never really know. The author doesn’t make it clear whether it’s all just in his head or if the house really is haunted.”

You let out a soft sigh, clearly impressed by the way he spoke about it. “That sounds so intense.”

Shinsou nodded, a glimmer of excitement still in his eyes as he finished his thought.

“It is. The whole book builds up to this point where you can’t tell what’s real anymore. It messes with your mind. It’s brilliant.”

You chuckled lightly, shaking your head. “You really are into this stuff, huh?”

He shrugged slightly, his smirk returning. “What can I say? It’s fun getting lost in a good story.”

You glanced down at where your skin brushed against his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch on your thigh.

You hadn’t realized how close you two had gotten until now, but the proximity didn’t make you uncomfortable.

If anything, it felt... natural.

You turned your gaze back up to Shinsou, meeting his eyes, and saw the quiet enjoyment on his face.

He seemed content, lost in his world of books, and you couldn’t help but feel glad you were there to share it with him.

The conversation flowed naturally between you and Shinsou, each word he spoke, pulling you deeper into his world.

He had such a captivating way of talking about his passion for horror, and you couldn’t help but be drawn to him as he spoke.

His voice was smooth, deep, and had a certain rhythm to it, like music playing in the background.

Every word felt like it had a purpose, and the way he described his favorite books, his voice becoming more animated with each sentence, made you smile.

You were completely entranced by him now, hanging onto every word. “So, what got you into books?” you asked, your curiosity piqued.

You wanted to know more about him, more about what shaped his love for all things horror.

His eyes seemed to brighten as you asked, clearly excited to share.

“Well, it wasn’t always books, you know,” he began, his voice calm and smooth.

“It started with movies. Horror movies, to be specific. My parents were into thrillers, and I’d watch them with them when I was younger. But, eventually, I realized that books had a whole different kind of power. They didn’t just show you the scares. They made you feel them. Like, the tension builds in a way movies can’t. You’re forced to imagine it yourself, and that’s... that’s what really got me.”

You nodded, feeling like you were starting to understand him more. “That makes sense,” you said softly, shifting your position slightly, trying to get more comfortable.

His words were soothing, and the more he spoke, the more relaxed you became.

His voice was like a lullaby in a way, the depth of it making you feel safe and at ease.

Shinsou continued talking, his hands moving as he described different horror movies and books that had inspired him.

You barely noticed how your body had started to relax, your eyelids growing heavy as you leaned back against the couch.

His voice filled the space, but your mind began to drift, lost in the warmth of the moment.

You shifted slightly, trying to stay awake, but it was hard.

Every word he said seemed to wrap around you like a cozy blanket, making you feel more drowsy by the second.

As you sat beside him, your head started to droop, and before you realized it, your body began to lean into him.

You tried to fight it, to stay awake and engaged, but the soft pull of sleep was too strong.

Your eyes fluttered for a second, and then you gave in. Without even meaning to, your head slowly tilted toward him, coming to rest on his broad, warm shoulder.

It wasn’t until he felt the steady, comforting pressure on his shoulder beneath your cheek that he realized you had fallen asleep.

The sudden contact seemed to startle Shinsou, but by the time his attention returned to you, you were already half asleep, your breathing slow and steady.

He blinked, looking down at you with a soft frown, his voice quieter now. "Hey... you there?" he asked, his tone unsure, but there was a trace of concern in it.

You didn’t answer him, your head still resting against his shoulder, your breath, steady and calm.

You felt safe there, warm and completely at peace.

Shinsou didn’t seem to expect you to fall asleep, but the moment lingered—like the world had slowed down just for the two of you.

He looked down at you again, his dark eyes softening as he watched you.

After a moment, he let out a small sigh.

"You're so knocked out, aren't you?" he muttered under his breath, his voice a mix of amusement and something else you couldn’t quite place.

He shifted slightly, moving just enough so he could adjust his posture.

His hand, which had been resting loosely on his knee, now moved to gently tuck a few strands of hair behind your ear.

His fingers brushed your skin lightly, but he seemed to hesitate for a second before pulling his hand back.

He let out a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh again, leaning back against the couch with you still nestled against his shoulder.

He didn’t seem to mind.

The weight of your body resting next to his felt natural, like a quiet, unspoken bond between you two.

There was a peace to it, a comfort that neither of you had to force.

You were just there, together in the silence, the space between you filled only with the quiet sound of your breathing and the soft hum of the night around you.

Shinsou adjusted his position slightly, making sure you were comfortable before leaning back against the couch himself.

His eyes closed for a moment, but his attention was still on you, the soft rise and fall of your chest beneath your head.

“You really are something, huh?” he whispered softly, almost to himself.

It wasn’t a complaint. There was no annoyance in his voice—only a quiet, almost fond amusement.

He seemed to smile slightly at the thought, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer, watching you sleep soundly, the gentle rhythm of your breathing matching his own.

It was a simple, peaceful moment. One that didn’t need words, just the gentle assurance of being there together.

And as the minutes passed, Shinsou finally let himself relax, the sounds of your peaceful sleep and his own slowing breath blending together as the night stretched on, the two of you quietly sharing a space in the stillness.

AUTHORS NOTE: I know this isn't exactly what you requested, but I wanted to do something similar in my own way!! If you like, I could do something more to your liking!! ᡣ𐭩

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