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ama3003 · 2 months ago

Text

You Caught Me

Character: Bucky Barnes

Requested: No

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: You're Valentina's assistant, and somehow, you manage to fall in love with a certain Congressman.

A.N: DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT THUNDERBOLTS TO BE SEMI SPOILED!!!!!!!!! I have seen Thunderbolts* on Thursday (amazing btw) and have been craving Thunderbolts!Bucky. Also reader is like 25.

Again THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS ARE IN THIS FIC

3...2..1...

You worked your whole life to get here. Straight A’s, a top-tier college, a string of impressive jobs that made your parents brag to their friends.

But that wasn’t the point. You didn’t do all of that just to climb a ladder. You wanted to help people. To actually do good. To give the voiceless a voice, to step in where others wouldn’t. You wanted to make the world better, even if it was just piece by piece.

That’s what led you to OXE. And eventually, to Valentina Allegra de Fontaine.

Or, more accurately, to being her assistant. Though calling it that feels like selling it short.

You’ve been working with her for a few years now. From the very beginning, she seemed to like you. Said you reminded her of herself. You’re still not sure if that was a compliment or a warning.

Valentina can be cold. She’s sharp, calculated, sarcastic to the point of painful. Some of her decisions don’t exactly land on the moral high ground. But she took you in, brought you closer, taught you how to survive in a world most people don't even know exists. And you’ve done things others your age only dream about. You were actually making a difference.

But now everything’s falling apart.

She’s under investigation. Impeachment is on the table. And you’re left trying to put out fires.

You’d been tense the entire hearing. And not the kind of tension that goes away with a few deep breaths. This was chest-tightening, eye-twitching, every-decision-matters tension.

Your job was on the line. Everything you’d worked for — or convinced yourself was worth it — was balancing on Valentina’s ability to lie with a smile.

She was performing. You were managing the fallout.

Your eyes kept drifting — trying to find some kind of anchor. And that’s when you caught a pair of them.

Blue. Cold but curious. Watching.

Congressman Bucky Barnes.

You met his stare, held it a second longer than you should’ve, then forced yourself to look away. Whatever that was — whatever he was trying to read — you didn’t have time to entertain it.

Then Valentina dropped the line you’d been dreading: “By all means, dig as deep as you like. I promise—there’s nothing to find.”

You knew that tone. It meant you had twenty minutes to erase every breadcrumb.

By the time the hearing adjourned, you were already outside, typing fast, juggling secure files and decoy trails on your tablet. You barely noticed the footsteps until—

“Y/N?”

You looked up, and there he was. Again.

That same cool stare, now paired with a too-casual smile.

“Congressman Barnes,” you said smoothly, tucking the tablet under your arm. “Nice to officially meet you. I’ve heard...great things.”

“I doubt it. Also, please just Bucky,” he said, offering a hand. “Unless you want to start talking tax policy — then I’ll put the tie back on.”

You cracked a smile and shook his hand. Firm. Warm. Too steady.

“You okay?” he asked, glancing back toward the hearing room. “I mean, what happened in there was... honestly? Kind of worrying. Extremely worrying. Kind of concerning if you ask me...in like a worrying way.”

You tilted your head. “You mean ‘concerning,’ or ‘I’m building a case against your boss’ worrying?”

He blinked. Didn’t expect you to hit back that fast.

You smiled politely. “No need to dance around it. I’m sure you’ve got a folder somewhere with Valentina's name on it.”

His grin crooked slightly. “Maybe. It’s a very organized folder. Color-coded tabs.”

“She always did love being underestimated,” you said with a shrug. “O.X.E. has nothing to hide, of course.”

He didn’t argue, but the look he gave you said he wasn’t buying it.

There was a beat of silence, and then he glanced over your shoulder — where Valentina was watching the two of you, pretending she wasn’t.

“She always stare like that?” he asked casually.

“Only when she thinks someone’s wasting my time.”

“And am I?”

“Depends on why you’re really here.”

He smiled. “Okay, fine. I’m new to D.C. First term, still finding my way. Thought maybe... you could give me a tour. Show me the non-corrupt parts.”

You laughed softly. “That’s a short list.”

“Still. Monuments, museums, a little fresh air — maybe a conversation?”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Right. A conversation. Just two people talking. No ulterior motives, no recording devices, no traps.”

He held up his hands. “I left the wire at home.”

You smirked, but you didn’t let it reach your eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not lying,” he said. “Just... improvising.”

You leaned in just enough for him to know you were done playing. “You’re fishing, Congressman. I’m just not the one you’ll catch.”

He opened his mouth — maybe to protest, maybe to flirt again — but you stepped back as Valentina waved you over.

“You're a very good-looking man,” you added, softer now. “And I appreciate the effort. But whatever you’re hoping to dig up from me? You won’t get it over coffee and small talk.”

A beat passed between you.

Then you gave him one last smirk, turned, and walked back toward Valentina — leaving him standing there, watching.

And even though you didn’t look back, you knew those blue eyes hadn’t moved.

*******

You had three things on your mind.

Shut down headquarters.

Erase every trace of Project Sentry.

Clean up Valentina’s reputation before the whole thing implodes.

And somehow, you're doing all of that in a dress and heels at a fundraiser.

“Honestly, Y/N, you have such an amazing brain,” Valentina says, her smile more calculated than warm. “Putting this fundraiser together? Brilliant move. This has to sway at least some of the votes.”

“Thanks,” you reply, quickly scrolling through your tablet. “I’ve categorized the guest list: influencers, allies, and the undecideds. Left off the hard no’s. No point wasting time. I just sent the files to you.”

“Perfect. Do I need you for anything else?”

“No, you should be good. I’ll stay close though. Just in case.”

“Smart. Stay where I can see you. And hear you. Actually, just don’t go far,” she says, already turning to work the room. “Time to network.”

As soon as she walks away, you exhale, realizing you hadn’t even noticed you were holding your breath.

This job is not for the weak. Especially not under someone like her.

You glance around the room, taking in the glittering lights, expensive suits, and fake smiles. Your eyes find Valentina again, instinctively keeping track of her. Then they drift to the large Avengers logo on display at the front of the gala.

You were still a kid the first time you saw the Avengers on screen. They were larger than life. Heroes. They saved people. They made things right.

Now? You’ve seen the world fall apart more times than you can count. And more often than not, no one shows up to fix it.

That’s why you’ve stuck by Valentina. Why you’ve been willing to blur the lines. The world still needs saving. People still need heroes.

They just don’t always look the way you imagined.

“You know,” a voice says beside you, calm but unmistakably familiar, “this whole gala is impressive. The Avengers memorabilia is a nice touch.”

You turn and see him. Congressman Bucky Barnes, standing just a few feet away, his gaze locked on the towering Avengers "A" on display like it still meant something.

“Valentina thought it would help raise awareness,” you reply, keeping your tone neutral, polite. “Tie the past to the present. Nostalgia works.”

You’re careful with your words. You know why he’s here, what game he’s playing. And more importantly, you know where your loyalty lies.

He glances at you now, the full weight of those ice-blue eyes meeting yours. “Awareness for what, exactly?”

You offer a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “The mission has always been simple. Help the people. The world’s been falling apart, and heroes… they’ve disappeared. People need someone to believe in again.”

He nods slowly, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. “Again, call me Bucky. Also, that was good. Very rehearsed. Very polished. Bet Valentina was proud of that one.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m just here for the hors d'oeuvres,” he says, voice smooth, but you catch the edge underneath it.

You take a step closer. “Look, Congressman Barnes. I know your history. And we both know what happens when evil comes and no one is there to stop it. OXE is trying to prevent that. Everything we do is for the people. Valentina’s impeachment? It won’t go anywhere.”

Even as you say it, there's a flicker of doubt. Small, but there.

He studies you for a moment before pulling a card from inside his jacket and holding it out.

“What’s this?” you ask, accepting it cautiously.

“My direct line. In case you remember something useful.”

You blink at him, caught slightly off guard by how calm he is. How sure.

You move closer, slow and deliberate, then reach up and tuck the card neatly into his chest pocket. “I don’t know what you think you’re implying, but I don’t appreciate it."

The two of you lock eyes, silence stretching between you. Not hostile, exactly. But charged. Neither of you blinks.

Then your phone buzzes.

You glance at your phone. Valentina. Of course.

You slip it back into your pocket and look up at him one more time.

“I have to go,” you say, steady. “Enjoy the rest of the gala, Bucky.”

Your smile is polite, but your eyes stay sharp. You turn and walk off without waiting for a response, the sound of your heels swallowed by the noise of the event.

Behind you, he watches you disappear into the crowd, quiet and thoughtful. Then, without a word, he finds himself slipping the card into your bag later in the night. Not for pressure. Not even for leverage.

Just in case.

And whether you used the card or not—that was your choice. Bucky just hoped he’d planted the seed.

Later that night, you sat beside Valentina in the back of a sleek black car, the city lights flickering across her face as she debriefed the night with a grin.

“I think that went incredibly well,” she said, proud and pleased with herself. “Honestly, I’m so proud of us. Oh—hand me my tablet. I gave it to you earlier when Gary started sniffing around asking too many questions.”

Your fingers found something thin. Smooth edges. Not the tablet.

The card.

Bucky’s card.

Your stomach tightened, just for a second.

He’d slipped it in without you noticing. Of course he had.

You stared at it between your fingers. You should’ve tossed it the second you felt it. Should’ve never looked at it again. But something kept your hand still.

“Y/N?” Valentina’s voice cuts in, sharp and expectant. “Tablet. Me. Now.”

You snap out of it, quickly pushing the card deeper into your bag before pulling out the tablet and handing it over.

She doesn’t notice. She’s already scrolling.

You tried to focus on the night’s success, the way people clapped when Valentina spoke, the headlines you knew would be glowing by morning. But that card was still in your bag. And the worst part? You couldn’t stop thinking about it.

About the look in his eyes.

About the weight of what he said.

Maybe—just maybe—he really did get in your head. And maybe that seed he planted was already starting to grow.

*********

You’d made a mistake. A big one.

And you knew it.

Your heart raced as you paced the cramped hallway, mind spiraling. You'd believed you were making a difference—helping Valentina clean up her reputation felt like part of that. She said she needed you. That this was how things got done. So you listened.

Then she told you to burn the loose ends. Literally burn them.

Human beings.

And still, you followed orders. You rationalized. You looked the other way.

But the plan didn’t go as expected. They didn’t go quietly.

They were fighting back.

And Valentina didn’t like that.

Now a SWAT team is going to finish the job.

You couldn't let them die. You knew their names. Their stories. You didn’t believe they deserved this—not like this. Maybe it was too late to save them all, but maybe you could help save others.

Maybe there was still a chance.

So you did the only thing you could think of.

You dug into your bag, searching through the chaos until your fingers found it. That damn card.

You stared at it for a beat. Then you called.

It rang once. Then again. And then he picked up.

“This is Y/N,” you said before he could get a word in, your voice low, rushed, almost breathless. “I’ve, uh... been thinking. Remember that tour you wanted? You were right. Since you’re new to D.C., I figured—why not? Let’s hit the monuments. Maybe a museum. Or... I don’t know. Just talk. Just you and me.”

There was a beat of silence.

“A chat?” Bucky’s voice came through, teasingly. You started biting your nails, heart pounding. “Yeah. I’m down for a chat. When and where?”

Before you could answer, Valentina’s voice sliced through the hallway outside.

“I swear to god, Y/N, do I have to spell it out for you? You're coming with us. Get your ass in the car. Who else is going to make my coffee right? I swear, you Gen Zers make me want to throw myself off this damn building.”

You went silent, your jaw clenched. Bucky didn’t say anything either, but you knew he heard it.

Everything inside you was pulling in different directions. Guilt. Fear. Fury. Shame.

You swallowed hard.

“Look…” you whispered, voice shaking a little. “I’m sorry about the last few times. You were right. You were always right. I was so stupid. She doesn’t care about the world. She just wants the glory.”

You were rambling now. You always did when your anxiety started creeping up your throat.

“Whoa, hey—slow down, sweetheart,” he said gently. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just tell me what I need to know.”

But before you could speak again, Valentina shouted your name, louder this time.

You turned slightly, lowered your voice again.

“Do you have an iPhone?”

“No. Samsung.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course. “Do you know how to track a phone?”

“I mean, yeah. But I don’t really do that anymore.”

“Well... start doing it again.”

You paused, then added quietly, “I have to go. Track my location. You'll get your answer.”

Then you hung up.

You let out a long breath, pushed the card deep back into your bag, and ran toward Valentina’s voice.

Hoping Bucky understood.

**********

You were pacing again. Nerves buzzing. Mind racing. You were worried about the others. They escaped when Bob distracted them. Then they couldn't find them. But something told you Bucky had gotten to them first. You could feel it in your gut.

He pulled through. Of course he did.

But now… there was a new problem.

Bob.

The new guy. The unstable one.

He wasn’t like the others. Something about him was off from the start. Too volatile. Too quick to react. And now he had powers — real powers — thanks to Valentina.

She said he was the future. Said he was the key.

But all you saw was a ticking bomb with a name tag.

He didn’t need power or exposure. He needed help. And if no one stepped in soon, he was going to destroy everything — maybe even himself.

You ducked into a quiet hallway, slipped into an empty supply closet, and dialed Bucky’s number with shaking hands.

He picked up on the first ring.

“Y/N,” he said, breathless like he’d been mid-action. “We’re good. I got them. Everyone’s safe. I’m keeping them under wraps as witnesses, so we’re covered. You did the right thing calling me. Thank you.”

You closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the wall.

“No,” you said softly. “Bucky, there’s more. A lot more.”

There was a pause.

“Talk to me.”

“She did it,” you whispered. “She actually made one. A super soldier. His name’s Bob.”

“Bob?” he repeated, half in disbelief, half already bracing for what was coming next.

You could hear background chatter on his end — voices muttering “Yeah, Bob,”

“Yes. Bob the super soldier. He’s... not stable, Bucky. He’s got powers, strength, speed — but his head isn’t right. He’s spiraling, and Valentina’s using him like he’s a tool.

You were rambling now, the anxiety bubbling up in your chest.

“She’s restarting the entire program, and this guy — he’s the prototype. And if she gets away with this, there will be more. Stronger. You have to stop it before it turns into something we can’t come back from.”

There was silence on the line. Then you heard him moving, footsteps pacing across concrete.

“Alright,” he said. “I’m coming. I’ll handle it.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

“Hey,” his voice softened, “are you okay?”

“I... I don’t know,” you admitted, voice cracking just slightly. “Everything I worked for is going to be for nothing. I'm freaking out.”

“You don’t have to carry this alone, you know.”

“I can't tell my friends or family.” you said, quieter now. “I already feel guilty and shameful enough. They would just make me feel worse.”

Another pause. Then softer, “Y/N... I meant what I said. You did the right thing. And I’m proud of you. Really.”

You smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. “Thanks. That means more than you probably realize.”

“I realize it,” he said. And it was quiet, but it hit you harder than it should’ve.

You hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve. “Are they okay? The others?”

“They’re safe. A little roughed up, but they’re going to be fine.”

“Good. That’s good,” you said, exhaling. “I should go. I’ll keep feeding you updates when I can. Just… get here fast, alright?”

“Okay,” He finally whispered. “I’ll see you soon.”

You hung up and slipped the phone back into your pocket before walking out the door. You immediately froze when your boss stared at you with raised eyebrows.

“Well,” she said coolly, “out of everyone, I never thought you would be the one second-guessing your work.”

You didn’t flinch. Not this time. “Giving Bob those powers? It’s reckless. And you know it.”

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head like you were some disappointing intern instead of her right hand. “I’m not going to argue with you, kid. I like you. I really do. You’ve done exceptional work—with me. For us. That’s why I’m giving you a little time to get your head on straight.”

Your jaw clenched. You said nothing.

“But,” she added, stepping a little closer, lowering her voice, “don’t let Barnes cloud that beautiful brain of yours. He’s a distraction. A loud, inconvenient one. And he’s getting in the way.”

You met her gaze evenly, letting the silence stretch.

Then, without a word, you grabbed your purse and walked past her—heels clicking, spine straight.

You needed to find Bucky.

*********

"Ladies and gentlemen, meet the New Avengers."

After countless photos and a barrage of questions, you kept your smile steady, doing your job one last time.

“Thank you all for coming,” you said with calm finality. “Photos and questions will stop here. I’ll be in touch about the next press briefing soon. Seriously—thank you again.”

You gave a polite nod as Valentina waved beside you, her signature smirk in place.

As the crowd began to disperse, you turned your attention to the Thunderbolts. With a gentle but firm push, you guided them out of view, away from the cameras. And then—without thinking—you grabbed Bucky and pulled him into a hug.

You couldn’t stop yourself.

You’d been searching for him. Panicking. Lost. The last image you had was of him stepping into the Void. The moment his silhouette became just that—a shadow—you screamed his name. And then… nothing.

You thought you’d lost him.

But now, here he was. Alive. Solid. Real. And all the emotions you’d buried came rushing back.

You knew there was something between you—something electric, something raw and waiting. It had barely started, but it already meant something. And for a bit, you'd been mourning the future that never got a chance to begin.

Now, you didn’t have to mourn anymore.

The moment stretched. Everyone around you went quiet. You barely registered your boss muttering an uneasy, “Oh dear.”

Bucky froze, stiff in your arms. He glanced around, uncertain. John gave him a look before mimicking hugging someone. Alexei flashed a thumbs-up. The girls? They just smirked.

“I saw you,” you whispered, pulling back just slightly. “I saw you walk into the Void. You became a shadow. I—I was trying to find you, and then you pulled that crap. What the hell, Barnes?”

He opened his mouth, but you beat him to it—stepping back before he could even return the embrace.

“I’m okay,” he said gently. “I swear, I’m fine.” He just wanted you back into his arms.

“You still scared the hell out of me,” you said, your voice breaking just a little. “I thought you were gone for good.”

Bucky's expression softened. “I’m not going anywhere. You still owe me that tour, remember?”

You laughed—half out of relief, half because it suddenly felt so easy to breathe again. You stepped closer, pulled him into a kiss, and he kissed you back without hesitation. Sparks. Heat. Home.

When you finally pulled away, smiling, you whispered, “Looks like you caught me.”

He grinned. “Looks like I have.”

Then you kissed again.

A loud groan broke the moment. “I feel like I’m gonna barf,” Val muttered.

“Shut up, Val,” the entire team replied in unison.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #the winter soldier #thunderbolts #the thunderbolts #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #tfatws #thunderbolts!bucky #sebastian stan #thunderbolts spoiler #thunderbolts fanfic #Bucky barnes imagine #thunderbolts*

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ofstarsandvibranium · 2 months ago

Text

Fur-evermore

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds x F!Reader

Summary: Because you're Bucky's assistant, you, and your service dog, Juniper, head to the tower to give him some files as well as meet the rest of his new team...including a very cute and slightly awkward, Bob.

A/N: so reader has a service dog, but I didn't go into specifics as to why. also this is like 3k words so yeah. enjoy!

Juniper, or Juni, as you like to affectionally call her, walks by your side as you enter the resident floor of the Avengers Tower. Even though Bucky didn't need you as much as he did when he was a Congressman, your assistance made his life a little easier. You thought yourself to be like a hero for the hero.

"Who are you?" the young blonde woman, you learned to be Yelena, asks as you come into her view.

You stop and politely smile, "Oh, hi! I'm Y/N. Bucky's assistant. I have clearance to be here. I mean, obviously, since I wouldn't be here if I didn't have clearance."

The tall blonde man that you know to be John Walker, frowns, "Why does Bucky get an assistant and we don't?"

Bucky sighs and stands from his spot on the couch, "She was my assistant when I was in Congress and she's generous enough to continue working with me," he approaches you with a friendly smile, "What's up?"

"Well here," you hand him some files, "Are some files Val wanted you all to go through before your mission in two days. Also, Sam says you're not answering his calls or texts."

Bucky winces, "We got into an argument and I need my space. He needs to respect that." He bends down and lets Juni sniff his hand.

Juni looks up at you waiting for your permission. You giggle and say, "Go ahead, Juni."

With her release words, the golden retriever practically pounces on Bucky, causing him to fall onto his back. Bucky's laughing as Juniper smothers him in kisses.

Yelena looks at the sight, confused, "Didn't think he even knew how to laugh."

You snort, "Juni has her way of breaking down people's walls."

"Who's dog is that?" asks another blonde man that comes down the steps.

You look at him and raise your hand, "She's mine! Her name is Juniper, or Juni. My service dog." You pat your leg, "Jun Jun, come."

Juniper immediately leaves Bucky to sit at your feet, "So this is Juniper," you scratch behind her ear, "and I'm Y/N, Bucky's assistant." You look around the room and point out each member, "Yelena, John, Ava, Alexei," and you turn to the man who stands some distance from you, "And you're Bob, right?"

He shyly nods and smiles, "Yeah. That's me. Hi."

"Hi. You all will probably see me and Juni a lot. So don't be alarmed if you see me here at random times. Really all depends on what the old man here," you gesture to Bucky who sits up, "needs from me."

Bucky grunts as he gets to his feet, "I can fire you, you know?"

"But then your life would be in shambles. You need me, old man," you nod to the files in his hands, "Please don't forget to look through those."

He rolls his eyes, "I won't."

You look at each member of Bucky's team, "If you ever need to get a hold of Bucky and he's not answering, feel free to get in contact with me. I know how he likes to ignore his phone." You face him again, "Please talk to Sam."

You shoot a smile at Bob, "Have a good rest of your day, Bob!"

He watches as you and Juniper head to the elevator, "Yeah...you too," he murmurs, eyes stuck on you until the elevator doors close. He turns to Bucky, "She's really nice."

Bucky scoffs, "To you. She's a pain in the ass to me, but she gets the job done. Helps me stay organized. Juniper is a lot of help too when things become too stressful. Have you thought about getting one?"

"What?" Bob asks with a scrunch of his brows.

"A service dog or emotional support dog."

Bob shrugs, "Dunno. Never had a dog growing up. Don't even know if I really like them or if I can even take care of one."

"Well Y/N loves to educate people on service dogs. So if you ever have questions, you can ask her when she's around."

"Yeah. Sure, I'll-I'll do that." he glances back at the elevator before retreating to his recliner near the window.

__________________________

The next time Bob sees you is a day after the team has the mission. Because Bob has buried The Void inside him, he hasn't been much help. So he stays at the tower and does what he can to make everyone's lives a little easier.

This includes make food.

You exit the elevator and are immediately hit with the smell of food. You follow the scent to the kitchen to see Bob pulling out a whole roast out of the oven.

"Smells amazing!" he jolts in surprise and you giggle, "Sorry for scaring you."

He chuckles, "It's fine. Wasn't expecting to see anyone until later." He sets the roast on the counter to rest.

You sit at one of the high chairs, Juniper plotting down beside your feet, "You know how to cook?"

"Been learning since I can't do much else to help. Kind of became the resident cook and cleaner around here, but it's fine."

You nod, "I'm sure they're really grateful for you, Bob."

"Oh yeah, Yelena tells me all the time. Bucky and Ava too, sometimes. Alexei and John don't say it as much, but I can tell they are. But Yelena the most, especially when I experiment on cooking certain dishes. She gets to taste all of them," he smiles brightly and it makes you smile.

"You and Yelena seem very close."

"Oh yeah," he nods, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie, "She's helped me a lot with my...issues."

"Have you seen a therapist?"

"Yeah. I have sessions with them every other day, but, you know, some days are harder than others."

You give a hum, "Yeah, I know that all too well. I'm lucky to have Juni here to help me on those bad days," you look fondly at your furry companion.

"Yeah...Bucky said I could talk to you about having a service animal?"

Your eyes brighten and you straighten up, "Yes! I'm always willing to educate people and answer questions."

Bob rounds the kitchen island and sits beside you, "I'm just not sure I'm a dog person or if I'm capable of taking care of one. I can barely take care of myself sometimes."

"It's a partnership. You and the animal work together and create a harmonious relationship. Juni helps keep me above water and I provide her the basic necessities and lots of love." At the sound of her name, Juniper sits up and gives Bob a curious sniff.

"You can pet her, if you'd like," you say gently, "When we're out in public is when I need her to be more focused, but I'm more lenient when we're with a few people."

Bob holds out his hand to let Juni sniff him. Her tail wags as she steps toward him. Her cold nose touches Bob's hand as she sniffs him.

She immediately jumps onto her hind legs and rests her head on his lap. You hum, "She senses an uneasiness in you she's trying to help ground you." You slide off your chair, "Here, lay on your back on the floor."

Bob silently follows your orders. He slides off the chair and moves to lay on the floor. His back his pressed against the cold tiles.

Juniper immediately lays a part of her body on top of Bob. The weight and the warmth of her on top of him was comforting. So comforting, he felt himself tearing up.

You softly smile at him, "It's okay to cry, if you need to."

He sniffles, "I'm sorry. I just-"

You shake your head, "You don't have to explain. I know. I'll just sit here with you until you're okay."

So that's how you two stay for a time. Juni on top of Bob, Bob crying and letting himself feel whatever he's feeling, and you, just providing a comfortable silence.

After some time passes and Bob's cries subside, you call Juniper to you. She crawls off Bob and sits beside you, watching as Bob sits up. He wipes at his eyes, "Thank you. I didn't-I don't even know how to-"

"You're welcome," you help each other to your feet, "Is it okay if I hug you?"

"Yeah," he replies and stands there as you wrap your arms around him. He hugs you back, relishing in your comforting warmth and scent.

"You're not alone, Bob," you murmur in his ear.

He chuckles, "Yeah...slowly starting to really get that."

______________________________

You make an effort to see Bob when you were at the tower, whether it was just a quick "Hello" or a little chat as he cooks. You made sure to see him.

You've come to find that Bob was a really sweet and kind person. He had a rough past and wanted to make up for that. That's something he shared with the other Avengers.

So whenever you were around, he also made an effort to offer up his assistance if you needed it. Whether it was to help carry some of your things or even give Juni some water. Bob was always there to help you out too.

Because of that, you two started to grow close. Now it wasn't just Bucky you spent a lot of your time with. It was either Bucky on some days, Bob on other days, or both at the same time.

Bucky didn't mind it though, he understood where Bob was coming from and wanted to help the kid wherever he could. But he couldn't help but tease you when it was just you and him.

"Are you here for me?" he asks with a teasing smirk as he approaches the elevator.

You snort, "Aren't I always?"

He shrugs, "Dunno, you might be here for a certain someone."

You know what he's insinuating, but you don't take the bait, "I mean, yeah, me and Yelena are cool I guess."

Bucky rolls his eyes at you, "Alright, smart ass."

You smirk at him in victory, "Anyway, I scheduled you to have a meeting with a PR rep."

Bucky's face scrunches in confusion, "Why?"

"Because you suck at answering questions. All of those press interviews you've done were painful. You, obviously, need help. But don't worry, everyone else will be there too because Val and her PR team can only do so much."

Bucky groans and crosses his arms over his chest, "When is this?"

You check your watch, "In three hours."

"What if I had plans?"

You scoff, "Please, Bucky, I make your plans. So I know you don't have any."

The brunette walks away grumbling about how much of a pain you are, but you know there isn't any malice behind it. You look down at Juniper, who stares up at you with a smile, her tail wagging.

You chuckle and pat her head, "Let's go see our friend, hm?"

You head up to the second residential floor where everyone's rooms are located. You go down the hall to the very last room where Bob resides. You knock while also pushing in the door, "Hey Robby-oh."

You enter to see Bob shirtless, Yelena hugging him.

The scene looked...intimate.

"Sorry, I-Juni!" Juniper bolts into the room and jumps onto Bob's bed. Usually, she's a lot more behaved, but it seems she's gotten super attached to Bob.

Bob chuckles and pets the golden retriever, "Hiya, Juni girl," he gives her a soft smile.

"Juni, here," you command and she immediately rushes to your side. You clear your throat, "Sorry for interrupting. Just wanted to say hi."

Yelena smiles, "It's fine. We weren't doing anything."

"I'll see ya later, Robby," you give him an awkward nod and Bob just gives you a shy wave.

You and Juni leave, closing the door behind you. You shake your head and murmur to yourself, "I'm so stupid."

______________________

When the door closes, Yelena breaks the silence, "Soooo that was awkward."

Bob looks at his friend with pleading eyes, "I just-you see why I'm not good enough? She's so beautiful and kind and smart and...I'm a mess. I'm broken-"

Yelena shakes her head, "Hey. No, we don't go there, remember? And broken things can be fixed...sometimes. You're working on yourself and that's good. If Y/N can't see that, then you shouldn't be with someone like her. But I do think she likes you too."

Bob looks at her with wide eyes, "You think?"

"I'm very perceptive. I saw her look sad when she saw us hugging. You know what that means?" Bob shakes his head and Yelena answers, "She thinks we're a thing, which means she's jealous. Which means, she has feelings for you." She does a mindblown gesture and it causes Bob to snort.

He lets out a deep breath and scratches his chest, "And if she doesn't like me back?"

Yelena shrugs, "I don't think that'll happen, but, if, somehow, she doesn't like you back, then you move on. That's the only thing you can do." She gives Bob a pat on the shoulder and heads out, leaving Bob to think about what she's said.

__________________

You avoid Bob for the next few days after walking in on him and Yelena. You hate to admit how much it hurt to see him with her like that. You thought you two were getting closer, and maybe he even liked you. But, of course, you didn't stand a chance against someone as cool and as beautiful as Yelena Belova.

You were a little sad and insecure, so you did your best to continue to do your job while also trying to avoid the tower as much as possible.

Bucky caught on though, noticed you weren't coming by. So, after Bob asked for you, he decided to ask for you to come by the tower. He tried to make it seem like it was urgent, so you and Juni came storming onto the residential floor looking distressed.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" you ask as you approach a waiting Bucky.

"I'm fine, but I wanted to know if you're okay."

You shuffle your weight from one leg to another, "Yeah. Why?"

He shrugs, "Just noticed you haven't been around for the past few days...and Bob has been asking about you."

"He has my number."

"He wants to talk to you in person."

"Why?"

"I don't know, but, whatever happened, he wants to talk to you, Y/N. Take it from me, ignoring your issues won't make them go away."

You groan, "I don't-"

"Y/N?" you freeze when you see Bob on the stairs.

Juniper barks and you let her run to him. She jumps at him and he chuckles, "Hiya, girl."

You look at Bucky with pleading eyes, "Don't you-"

"I'll leave you to it," he gives you a wink and walks back upstairs, giving Juni a pat and Bob a nod.

You internally groan and slowly walk over to the base of the stairs where Bob sat, petting Juniper.

"Hi," you say shyly and he looks up at you, "Hi."

"So...you've been asking for me?"

"Well, you haven't been around. Wanted to see if you were okay."

"You could've just texted me."

"Yeah, well...I wanted to see you...to talk to you."

You sit beside him on the stairs, "I'm here so...what's up?" You avoid looking at him by petting Juni.

"I really don't know how else to say it and I'm not good at this stuff. But...I like you, Y/N. A lot. And, I know I've got my issues, but I promise I'm working on them. And I don't think I'd make the best partner or boyfriend or whatever, but I'm willing to try things out. With you," he clarifies at the end.

You're looking at him, eyes searching for any hint that he's lying or playing some prank on you.

You finally find the words to speak, "I thought you and Yelena-"

"We're just friends. That day you came into my room to see me, I was having a bit of a breakdown. She was helping talk me through it."

"I like you too," you say softly, "When I saw you with Yelena, I thought...yeah. So I did the cowardly thing and avoided coming here because I didn't want to potentially see you and her together."

Bob reaches for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, "I get it. It's okay. Feelings are...scary."

You chuckle, "So scary."

"So? Do you think we can try this out? I can't guarantee I won't mess things up-"

"It's okay," you whisper, cupping his face with your free hand, "I wanna try things out with you, Robby. As long as we both stay on top of communicating how we're feeling and what's going on in our heads, I think we'll be okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you reply in a whisper, leaning in closer and closer that yours-

"AH! Young love!" Alexei exclaims as he and Yelena exit the elevator, "So beautiful and lovey! Congrats you two!"

"Dad, shut up!" Yelena scolds her father, "Sorry! Carry on!" She pushes her father back into the elevator to bring him somewhere else.

Bob chuckles, "Well that was-"

His words are interrupted as you grab his face and kiss him. He's taken by surprise, but kisses you back. It's a little awkward, but also endearing.

He doesn't know what to do with his hands until he just settles with holding your face instead.

You pull away with a smile and take in the hazy look that Bob's has in his eyes.

"Woah," he says and you laugh, and it's one of the most beautiful things he's ever heard.

You scoot away to give him some room to breathe, "So, um, do you wanna go on a walk around the city with me and Juni?"

"Yeah. Absolutely." He stands up first, helping you to your feet. You hand him Juni's leash and she sits at his feet while he attaches it to her collar.

He holds out his hand to you and you take it, both of you walking out of there with a buzzing sensation around you two.

#bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #robert bob reynolds #robert bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds imagine #thunderbolts #thunderbolts imagine

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dakusan · 9 days ago

Text

M a r k e d b y Y o u

Tattoo Artist!Lee Felix x Reader | Piercings. Patience. He called you “princess” and kissed you like a prayer

🔞synopsis: Tattoo Artist AU. You’ve been in his chair before. Piercings, mostly—ears, belly button. He always lets you choose the placement, shows you the options with gloved hands, calls you princess in that low, honey-drip voice like it means something. But this time it’s different. You’re back for a nipple piercing. The one you’ve been thinking about for months. The one only Felix could ever do. And he’s still careful. Still soft-spoken. Still sunshine-wrapped-in-black-ink. Until he’s muttering “You’re not just anyone.” Now you’re on his table again. Half-naked. Tattooed. Moaning. Marked. He touches you like you’re sacred. Fucks you like he’s starving. And when he says “Be my good girl one more time”—you fall apart all over again.

💌a/n: i took soooo many breaks while writing this… like at one point i paused to eat a grape and then just stared at the ceiling for 20 minutes. post-nap vibes. zero momentum. negative discipline. BUT I FINISHED. BYE. if something doesn’t make sense, or there's a typo, or the formatting is stupid and chaotic?? no you didn’t. you saw NOTHING. i write in markdown and vibes. we ride at dawn. also this is 1000% lee felix coded like?? sunshine man who eats you out until you cry?? puts his hoodie on you after?? feeds you a microwave rice bowl and calls it five-star dining?? yeah that’s him your honour. p.s. reblog if felix should ruin you gently p.p.s. debating squid games au!skz where seungmin wins because he cheats p.p.p.s. going to sleep now. if you see me online again tonight—no you don’t

⚠️ warnings: 18+ ONLY | MINORS DNI | nipple piercings (procedure described) | tattoo scene (needle, stencil, positioning, mild pain mention) | oral sex (f!receiving, overstimulation, praise, degradation) | multiple orgasms | unprotected sex (don't be dumb irl. wrap it up) | filth language (he calls you princess and good girl and my canvas while literally buried in you) | possessive felix, soft dom felix, worship kink, marking kink | implied creampie | tattoo studio sex (felix is a professional except when he's not) | aftercare so tender it could kill a victorian child | reader gets emotionally and sexually obliterated and loves every second | dangerously high amounts of sunshine-boy-turned-dirty-mouth menace energy | minho lives upstairs and has heard them multiple times, he's annoyed

📌 Please read with caution. Hydrate. Stretch. Sit on a towel. Text your piercer a respectful “thank you”.

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » Trouble— EXO « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:17 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

You don’t remember the exact moment it shifted—when curiosity became ritual.

It might’ve been the second time you sat in his chair, hands tucked under your thighs, letting him talk you through the angles of your ear like it was a constellation map only he could see. You'd walked into NO SAINT INK on a whim, a dare, a half-formed promise to yourself that you’d stop saying “maybe next time.” You hadn’t planned on choosing him.

But Felix had looked up from the back of the shop—half-crouched on a rolling stool, sketchbook open on one thigh, sunflower-blond hair tucked behind a pierced ear—and smiled at you like he’d been expecting you.

And that was it.

He patted the vinyl seat beside him like he already knew where this was going and you made yourself comfortable on it.

That was six months ago.

Now? You’re the kind of regular who doesn’t need to check in at the front. Chan gives you a lazy wave and goes back to the books. Seungmin nods from his little corner, earbuds in. Jisung usually grins and whispers something stupid under his breath as you walk by—but Felix? Felix always knows you’re coming.

Your file probably says four things:

– multiple cartilage – curated constellation piercings, designed together – naval (freehand, perfect placement) – Felix only.

And it’s not that the others aren’t good. They are—exceptional, even. It’s just that Felix makes it feel like more.

Felix has sunlight in his veins and something far darker in his smile. To most people, Felix is gentle. Patient. Calming. He hums when he works. Offers you a blanket if the studio’s cold. Lets you squeeze his wrist if you’re nervous—never flinches, just murmurs, “that’s it, angel. keep breathing.”

But under that softness is something sharper. You see it in the way his hands move.

He’s a piercer first, tattooer second. Specializes in placements that most artists shy away from: dermals, navals, nipples, genitals, and other delicate zones. He says he likes the precision of it. The trust involved.

“People forget how intimate piercing is,” he told you once. “You have to earn someone’s body. Be calm enough they let you near it. Gentle enough they want you to stay.”

When he tattoos, he prefers sacred geometry, micro-script, and emotional etchings. Crescent moons behind ears. Names in Morse code along ribs. Protection symbols. Memorial pieces. He doesn’t chase shock value—he tattoos meaning.

“Needles hurt. Might as well make it count.”

He rarely books more than one client a day. He gives too much of himself each time.

But with you? He always says yes.

You and Felix had started professional. It always was. Until it wasn't. Because by then, it became something else.

The way he’d guide your breathing—not just for the pain, but to calm the tremble in your voice when you asked about your next piercing. The way he remembered you drink peach tea, not green. That you like to see the jewelry options laid out first, like you're choosing a path. The way he held your hand a beat too long. Pressed gauze to your skin with a feather-light touch that lingered.

You knew it wasn’t just you. You’ve seen him work on others. You’ve seen the difference.

Felix is kind to everyone. But he’s tender with you.

You don’t flirt outright—there’s too much electricity in the silence. But you watch each other. You hover in his orbit like a star caught in slow collapse.

He calls you “darling,” “brave girl,” “pretty thing.” Sometimes he texts you the night before your appointments:

“room’s prepped. miss you a little.” “got new titanium pieces. want you to be the first.” “can’t wait to see what you wear for me this time.”

You think he notices your body more than he lets on. You’ve caught him watching—low eyes, parted lips, tongue brushing his lower lip.

But he’s never crossed the line. Not once. Which is why you’re nervous now. Because your next appointment? You asked for nipple piercings.

And maybe—maybe a tattoo. You haven’t told him where yet. Nor what the design is, yet.

The bell over the door chimes as you step into NO SAINT INK, and before you can even take two steps inside, you hear it.

“SHE’S BACK!” “Hide the lube!” “She’s got that ‘about to do something reckless’ walk again!”

You sigh. Loudly. Dramatically. “I hope all your piercings reject and your cartilage gets infected.”

Han Jisung appears from behind the front counter like a raccoon crawling out of a snack bag, a half-eaten protein bar in one hand and glitter under his eyes. “Babe, please,” he grins, wide and shameless. “You’ve been threatening me with infection kink since your second appointment.”

From the corner, Seungmin doesn’t even look up from his iPad. “Because you act like you want one.”

“Don’t kink-shame me in my own place of worship,” Han mutters, then drops his voice a few octaves and mock-moans, “oh no, doc, I have sepsis—”

“Stop,” Chan groans, emerging from the back office, rubbing his temples like he’s been hearing this conversation in surround sound all day. “Don’t scare off the paying clients.”

You flash him a sweet smile. “If you wanted professionalism, you wouldn’t have hired them.”

“Touché,” he concedes, then offers you a hug. You melt into it. Chan smells like sage, mint, and the weight of adult responsibility. “You’re here for Lix?”

You nod, and Han makes a soft oohhhh in the background like he’s watching a sex scene through a cracked door.

“Big day,” he whispers like a narrator. “Big... titties.”

Seungmin finally looks up. “Are we done pretending she doesn’t have favorite-client status? Felix literally skipped lunch to get the room ready for her.”

You raise an eyebrow. “He skipped a meal?”

“Voluntarily,” Chan confirms, crossing his arms. “Said something about making sure the setup was ‘extra calming’ and ‘not rushing the process.’ He even polished the mirror. You got him nervous.”

Han gasps. “He cleaned something? For someone other than himself? Girl, are you getting pierced or proposed to?”

You flip him off on your way past the counter, but you’re smiling. Because yeah. You’re nervous too. But also… something about this feels right. Like walking toward a decision you’ve already made in your bones.

You stop at the hallway, just before the private room where Felix usually works.

The door’s closed. And your heart is racing.

Chan notices. He leans in a little, softer now. “You okay?”

You nod. Then bite your lip. Then shake your head and whisper, “He’s gonna see my boobs, Chan.”

Han yells from the counter, “BOOBS CONFIRMED! I REPEAT, BOOBS CONFIRMED.”

Seungmin sighs. “This is why we can’t bring you anywhere.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I hate it here.”

“Do you want me to escort you to the back like a lady of honor?” Seungmin deadpans from the corner without glancing up.

“Do you want to get stabbed with a sterilized piercing needle, Seungmin?” you shoot back.

“I’d let Felix do it,” he says casually, flipping the page on his iPad. “He has nice hands.”

Chan sighs. “This is becoming a lawsuit.”

Han’s already up on the counter like a meerkat, one hand to his ear like a news anchor.

“BREAKING NEWS: LOCAL BAD BITCH ABOUT TO SHOW TITTIES TO CERTIFIED SWEETHEART WITH KNIFE SKILLS—WILL SHE SURVIVE THE HORNY?”

“Find out next time on Nippled and Afraid,” Seungmin adds.

That’s when the door creaks open behind you and you freeze like a sim with a full bladder.

Felix steps out of the room.

He’s wearing black joggers and a fitted tank, gloves already on, a silver chain glinting at his throat. His hair’s tied back loosely, showing off the piercings in his ears and the constellation tattoo on the side of his neck that you’ve definitely stared at way too long. There’s a clipboard in one hand, and a titanium barbell balanced on the tip of one glove.

He looks between you and the absolute shitshow happening behind you.

“…Did I miss something?” he asks, blinking slow, voice smooth as fuckin’ butter.

“No,” you say too fast.

“Yes,” Han counters immediately. “It’s a boob day.”

Felix’s mouth twitches like he’s trying so hard not to laugh. His eyes find yours—warm, soft, but also glinting with the tiniest bit of mischief. “Is that right?”

“No,” you say again. But this time it’s more like a squeak. A guilty, betrayed-by-your-own-mouth squeak.

“Honestly,” Seungmin adds helpfully, “I’d be nervous too. She has a lot of boob.”

“SEUNGMIN.”

“Just being body-positive.”

Felix hums under his breath, completely unbothered, tilting his head like he’s studying you. “Want me to clear the hallway for your modesty?”

You narrow your eyes. “I hate you.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He turns to the boys and deadpans: “If you three don’t shut up and go away, I’ll pierce each of your tongues with no anesthesia and a broken clamp.”

Han gasps. “You wouldn’t.”

Felix raises an eyebrow, still calm, still polite. “Test me.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then Han grabs Seungmin by the arm. “Okay, we’re leaving! Everyone respect the boob event! LET HER LIVE!”

Chan gives you a wink and a mock-salute as he herds the feral duo out. “Tell him if he makes you cry in a bad way, I’m docking his pay.”

Then, finally, blessedly, they’re gone.

And Felix is looking at you like you’ve already undressed for him. “You ready?” he asks, that same gentle voice he always uses when he’s about to touch you.

You exhale. And nod.

Finally, you step inside, and the door clicks softly shut behind you.

It’s quiet now—just the low hum of the sterilizer in the corner and the faint lo-fi beats playing from a speaker tucked onto a shelf. The room smells like warm alcohol wipes, vanilla lotion, and Felix. That signature, indescribable scent you’ve come to associate with safety and danger at the same time.

The chair’s already reclined. Fresh black sheet. Towel folded neatly at the headrest. Paper tray lined up with tools—everything gleaming, precise, ready for you.

Felix follows you in, calm and unhurried, and says, “You can sit or lie down, whatever feels best. We’ll talk through everything first.” And then, in that same soft voice—

“No rush. You’re in my space now.”

You move to the chair, slowly. Your thighs graze the vinyl. The seat is cold at first, but it grounds you—forces you to breathe as you lower yourself in and let your arms rest by your sides. You try not to think about how exposed you’re about to be. About the way your heart is pounding out of your chest. About how many times you’ve imagined this exact moment but never thought it would feel like this.

Felix walks over, still gloved, and holds out the barbell he’d been carrying—pinched delicately between latex fingers. It’s titanium, rose gold anodized, and so small it looks almost delicate.

He holds it up to the light.

“This is one option,” he says gently, then places it on a sterile pad and gestures to a small velvet tray. “But I have a few others. Different finishes, gemstone ends, opal, flat discs, silver, matte black. Depends how flashy—or soft—you want the look to be.”

You glance at the tray. It’s absurd, really, how careful he is—still in gloves, still surgical in motion, even though this isn’t the procedure yet. You’ve seen him do this before, for your ear jewelry, for your navel. He always uses gloves when presenting the options. Won’t touch the pieces bare-handed, even if you’re just browsing.

Because Felix doesn’t just pierce people. He ritualizes it.

He kneels a little to your eye level now—still at a distance, still giving you space. “You okay so far?”

You nod, maybe a little too quickly. “Yeah. Just…” You inhale. Exhale. “…I can’t believe I actually booked this.”

A slow smile curls onto his lips. His eyes flick down, briefly—so brief it could be missed. “Been thinking about it for a while though, haven’t you?”

You nod again, quieter this time. “Since my second piercing.”

He tilts his head, amused. “The conch?”

“Yeah. You were so… professional about it. I kept waiting for you to… I don’t know.”

“To flirt?”

You pause. Then smile. “Kinda.”

He shrugs, eyes soft but glinting. “Didn’t wanna mess with your comfort. But if it helps—” He leans in slightly, voice lowering, velvet-sweet. “—I’ve been waiting for you to ask me for this one.”

Your breath catches.

He straightens again, walks over to a side drawer, pulls out a few more options, all titanium, all glittering under the soft room light. Then he turns back to you, lifts his hands—

“May I?”

You nod, and he comes closer, tray in one gloved hand, the other bracing lightly on the back of your chair. He holds the options near your chest—hovering just above the fabric of your top, not touching you yet, but close enough that your breath hitches again.

“These two would suit your skin tone best. See the undertones?”

You glance at the pieces. You barely register them. All you can think about is how close he is now. How his voice has dropped. How he hasn’t touched you. Not yet. But your body feels like he already has.

Then—gently—he steps back.

“Take your time. When you’ve chosen, I’ll walk you through prep and position. You can undress once you're ready.”

He turns toward the counter, reaching for a new pair of gloves—because he’s about to discard the current ones, the ones he used for the display.

“Can’t touch your skin with these,” he says over his shoulder. “You deserve clean hands.”

You inhale, exhaled as your eyes settle on the tray. Staring at it like it’s offering answers to questions you’re not brave enough to say out loud. You choose the daintiest one—a curved titanium bar with petite opal ends, almost iridescent in the light. Sweet. Soft. Girlish in a way.

He looks at your choice when you hold it up. And smiles. “Pretty,” he says, voice low. “Just like you.”

You pretend not to choke on your own breath.

He discards the gloves—carefully, methodically, snapping them off and dropping them into the bin—then slips on a new pair from the box near the sterilizer. You watch him like you’re under a spell. Every movement he makes is calm. Measured. Intimate, but professional. Not clinical. Never cold. Just… deeply intentional.

He begins laying out the setup.

A sterile tray. An unopened piercing needle—still sealed in its package. Forceps. A marker. Gauze. Saline. A mirror.

Then he turns to you, head tilting softly, voice warm. “Go ahead and take off your top and bra. You can lie back once you’re comfortable.”

You nod, pulse quickening, and stand slowly.

Your hands fumble at the hem of your shirt. You’re not shaking—not exactly—but you feel it. That thrum just under your skin. Not fear. Something else.

Excitement. Anticipation. The quiet ache of being seen.

You peel off your top, then unclasp your bra, letting both drop neatly onto the nearby chair. For a second, you hesitate—arms half-crossed like you might cover yourself.

But then Felix turns around. And the look on his face? Pure reverence. His eyes flick over you, but not in the way you expect. Not hungry or gawking. Just… soft. Quiet. Attentive. Like he’s seeing something sacred.

“There you are,” he murmurs. “Look at you.”

You bite your lip. “You’re not even trying to hide it, huh?”

He walks over slowly, already holding the marker, and gives you the tiniest smile. “Not today.”

You lie back onto the reclined chair, head resting against the folded towel, arms settling at your sides. The air is cool against your bare chest, but his gaze? His gaze is warm enough to burn.

He crouches beside you, just at the edge of the chair, keeping his hands respectful—but close. You can see the marker poised in his fingers.

“Okay, I’m going to mark the placement now. Just a little dot on each side. I’ll give you the mirror after, and you can tell me if you want any adjustments.”

You nod, and he leans in. You feel the gentle drag of his gloved hand against your ribcage. The marker dot is so light you barely feel it.

But his breath? You feel that. Warm. Barely there. Ghosting across your sternum like a secret.

“You’re doing perfect,” he murmurs, like it’s just for you.

He marks the other side. Mirrors the placement with quiet focus. Then pulls back slowly, just enough to grab the small mirror from the tray.

“Here,” he says. “Take a look. Let me know if it feels right.”

You hold the mirror with slightly shaky hands, angling it as best you can. The dots are perfectly placed—subtle, flattering, aligned with the natural curve of your chest. The bar you picked will sit like a tiny, glimmering crown. Delicate. Pretty.

Princess shit, honestly.

“It’s good,” you say quietly. Then again, stronger: “It’s perfect.”

He smiles at that. “Then we’re all set.” He pauses. “One last time—are you sure you want to do both today? We can always start with one and come back—”

“No,” you cut in, pulse thrumming. “I trust you.”

Felix stares at you, a smile making way to his face, all warm and sunshine. “Alright, angel,” he finally says. “Let me take care of you.”

Your chest rises and falls faster now, breath shallow. You try to stay calm, but then you hear it—

the snap of his gloves. New pair. Clean. Tight against his wrists. Your thighs clench.

He moves around you like a storm gathering quietly—no rush, just inevitability. He sets the tray beside the chair. Everything is in place. Except your mind. That left the second he called you angel.

“I’m going to clean the area first,” he murmurs, voice low, as he reaches for the antiseptic wipe. “It’ll feel cold.”

It does.

The moment the wipe touches your skin, your breath stutters. His fingers are firm and steady, gloved hand guiding the motion. He doesn’t linger. He doesn’t tease.

But the way he holds you? It’s reverent. Like you’re something breakable and beloved.

His eyes flick up—just once—to check your face. “Still okay?”

You nod, voice caught in your throat. “Yeah. Mhm. Yes.”

He lets out the faintest hum—satisfied. Then leans in just a little closer, one hand bracing at your ribcage as the other prepares the clamp.

“I’m going to place the tool now, just for alignment. It’ll pinch a bit.”

You know what’s coming. You’ve watched videos. You’ve had piercings before. But nothing prepares you for the feeling of Felix’s hands—one steady at your side, the other applying pressure with the clamp, his face so close to your chest, concentration written across his features like he’s painting you.

“Breathe in…” he says softly.

You do.

“Hold.”

You do.

“Now exhale—”

The needle goes through in one clean motion.

And you gasp. Not just from the pain—it’s sharp, yes, a sting that blooms bright and fast. But also from the sound that escapes you. A sound you didn’t mean to make. Breathy. Soft. Almost… needy.

Felix freezes for a second.

“You okay?” His voice is low. Thicker now. Like he felt it too.

You nod, blinking up at him. Your pulse is racing. Your skin is buzzing. There's heat pooling low in your stomach and you don't know if it's the adrenaline or him.

He gently slides the jewelry through, screws the dainty opal ball into place. It should honestly feel like relief. But instead, it feels like foreplay.

“That’s one,” he says, eyes meeting yours. “Want me to keep going?”

Your lips part. “Yes. Please.”

And god, the way his jaw tenses at that. He nods once, sharp and focused, then leans in again. This time, when he positions the clamp, you're already trembling sightly. His free hand rest heavier on your ribcage, his thumb just barely brushing your skin and you swear you feel it through the glove. Swear you feel him everywhere.

“Same thing,” he murmurs, voice rougher now. “Deep breath in…”

You inhale sharply.

“Hold.”

The second needle slides through and this time—you moan. Soft. Small. But unmistakable. Your body arches just slightly, involuntarily. And his hand? It flexes. Grips a little harder. Just for a moment.

“Fuck—” Felix whispers under his breath.

It’s the first time he’s broken. The first time he’s let it slip.

“Still good?” he asks, but it’s not just professionalism anymore. There’s something else there. Something tight. Raw.

You nod again, cheeks flushed, throat dry. “Y-Yeah.”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath since you walked in. Then moves quickly—threads the second barbell through, secures it, wipes away the tiny dot of blood with gentle precision. Then sits back.

Just looks at you.

You’re breathing hard. Skin flushed. Lying there, bare, pierced, glowing.

And him? His gloves are still on. But his eyes? They’re filthy. “You did perfect,” he says, voice low and quiet like a secret. “So fuckin’ perfect for me.”

Your thighs clench again. He notices. He always notices. “Let me get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, reaching for the aftercare.

Felix grabs the clean compress and gently warms it in his hands. You watch him as he works—his fingers moving smoothly despite the gloves, the barbell glinting faintly as he adjusts the overhead light.

When he turns back to you, there’s something different in his expression. Still gentle. Still focused. But underneath it, there’s a tension. Like he’s gripping a secret between his teeth.

“Okay,” he says, kneeling beside the chair so he’s level with you again, “this’ll help soothe any swelling. Just a little pressure.”

He presses the warm compress to your skin with slow care, one hand steady against your ribs, the other adjusting the angle. And it should be nothing. Should be routine.

But you swear his thumb is tracing circles now. Tiny, slow ones.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. It shudders at the edges.

“Still doing okay?” he asks without looking up.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “More than okay.”

His eyes flick up. And you know he sees it. The flush in your chest, the rise and fall of your breath, the way your body is buzzing from more than just adrenaline.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.

“Because you touched me like that,” you say before you can stop yourself.

That makes him pause. Like he’s deciding something. Like he’s reining something in. Then he smirks—small, dangerous, and too pretty to be fair. “Touched you like what?” he says softly.

“Like it that.”

Felix pulls back just slightly, enough to let the warmth of your words settle between you. “Well, it's because it matters how I touch you.” he says. “You’re not just anyone.”

You blink. “I’m not?”

He lets out a quiet laugh, something low and breathy that curls hot in your stomach. “You think I’d do all this for someone I don’t think about every night after closing?”

That sentence detonates somewhere in your lower stomach. You short-circuit for a full second. Your brain is like a hamster in a blender.

“I—”

He’s still crouched by the chair, head tilted, watching you watch him like you’ve never seen a man before. And honestly? Maybe you haven’t. Not one like this.

“Felix.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re... dangerously good at this.”

He blinks, brows lifting slightly. “At piercing?”

“No,” you say, breathless. “At flirting with surgical instruments in your hand.”

That earns you a real smile. Bright and shameless. “Guess it’s a niche skill.”

“Niche? You’re weaponized.”

“Only against you, angel.”

And that—that—makes you cover your face with both hands and groan into your palms.

He laughs, standing up slowly, stretching his arms a bit, letting his tank ride up just a little. Tease. He knows it. You know it.

You peek between your fingers. “You’re so annoying.”

“You’re so into it.”

“I’m dangerously into it,” you mutter. “You could tattoo the word ‘butt’ on my shoulder and I’d thank you.”

“Oh?” he smirks. “Is that your formal request?”

“No. I—” You sit up slightly, clutching the towel across your chest. “I do want a tattoo from you, though.”

His smirk softens into something intrigued. “You do?”

You nod. “Not today. God. Not today. I just got stabbed twice in the tits.”

He makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a suppressed moan.

You ignore it.

“But I want to book it,” you continue, trying to act casual even though your skin is still buzzing from the aftercare and your thighs are still clenching every time he calls you “angel.” “Like… I want something small. Pretty. Maybe something only I know the meaning of. Like my little secret.”

He raises a brow, hands in his pockets now. “And you want me to do it?”

You stare. “Are you high? Of course I want you. I don’t let just anyone mark me. We’re like three body mods away from you having squatter’s rights on my flesh.”

He blinks, then laughs, full and bright, head tilting back.

“Oh my god,” he says, wiping under his eye like you actually made him cry. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“I’m serious,” you pout. “Pencil me in.”

He bites his lip, still grinning. “How about I pencil you in… and then take you out after?”

Your eyes narrow. “Felix.”

“Yes?”

“Are you asking me out as a reward for surviving your nipple torture?”

He shrugs, shameless. “You were really brave. I feel like you deserve dinner. Or… dessert.”

Your jaw drops. “You absolute menace.”

“I’m marking it in my calendar,” he says, grabbing his phone. “Tattoo consult, followed by post-inking activities.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means you’re gonna sit in my chair again. But next time, I’m gonna keep my gloves on longer.”

You freeze. He winks. And your heart falls straight out of your chest. “Okay,” you say, breathless. “Book it. Tattoo. Dinner. Dessert. All of it.”

Felix grins, bright as a sunbeam. “Can’t wait to ruin you gently.”

It’s been two weeks since Felix pierced your nipples.

Fourteen days. Three sleepless nights. One erotic dream that ended with you waking up with his name on your lips and your hand halfway down your pajama shorts.

You haven’t stopped thinking about it.

Neither has he.

Not that he’s said it outright—he’s still Felix. Still sweet and composed, still texting you photos of dainty jewelry he “could see on you,” still pretending not to be the same man who had his hands on your chest while whispering you’re not just anyone.

But something shifted that day.

Now, when you walk into NO SAINT INK, he doesn’t just smile at you. He drinks you in. Slow. Careful. A look that starts at your lips and ends somewhere around your thighs.

He texts you more. Dumb shit sometimes.

saw this meme, made me think of you (you in this case = a raccoon who stole a slice of cake and got caught) do you think a tattoo of a tiny sword on the hip is slutty or powerful? asking for science btw—piercings are healing perfectly. you’re a dream client. but you already knew that

You pretend to roll your eyes. But you also reread the messages before bed. And maybe… maybe you started taking more mirror pics.

He hasn’t seen them. Not yet. But you’re starting to want him to. The upcoming tattoo appointment is officially booked. He even texted you a calendar invite.

You haven’t picked a placement yet.

Mostly because every time you imagine his fingers trailing along your skin, pushing fabric out of the way, murmuring “here?”, you lose your train of thought.

And maybe part of you is holding back on purpose.

Letting it simmer.

Because if what happened last time is any indication, then the moment you’re in his chair again—bare skin under his hands, gloved or not—you’re not leaving without his name in your mouth. And maybe something else, too.

You arrive early.

The studio’s quiet when you walk in—Chan gives you a nod from the office, barely glancing up from the booking tablet, while Seungmin mutters something about “romantic tension causing a fire hazard.”

You ignore both of them. You’re too busy trying to keep your heart inside your chest.

You’re wearing a low-back slip dress. Thin straps. Just enough coverage to stay on the right side of “I’m here for body modification,” and the wrong side of “touch me and find out.”

Your phone buzzes.

[Felix]: back room’s ready, princess.

Your stomach flips. Your thighs tighten. You walk to the private room like it’s a confessional booth.

Felix is already inside.

And god, he looks even better. How does he do that, looking better every single time. All black: sleeveless tank, loose joggers that cling in the right places, chain resting on his collarbone, hair pulled back in a way that makes you want to pull it forward.

The moment he sees you, his mouth curves into something slow and hungry.

“Damn,” he says softly. “Didn’t even start yet and you’ve already got me sweating.”

You try to play it cool. Fail instantly. “You said dress up.”

“And you listened like a good girl,” he murmurs, stepping closer, voice dipping dangerously low.

You swallow. “You ready to mark me, or what?”

He exhales through a grin. “Yeah, let’s talk placement.”

You hand him a folded sketch you’ve been keeping tucked in your bag for days. He opens it carefully.

It’s a delicate little sword, no longer than your pinky finger. Wrapped in blooming wisteria vines. The blade’s curved, fine-line. A star sits just beneath the hilt.

Felix studies it for a long moment.

“What’s it mean?” he asks, voice quieter now.

You shrug, trying not to look too vulnerable. “Strength. Softness. Holding both. And... the star’s kinda a reminder.”

“A reminder of what?”

You meet his gaze, suddenly bold. “That someone sees me.”

He doesn’t say anything for a beat. Just nods, then turns away—like if he looks at you a second longer he might kiss you before any ink gets involved.

“Okay,” he says. “Where?”

You hesitate. Then: “Ribcage. Just under the left breast.”

He stills. “Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re trying to kill me.”

You smile sweetly. “Professional setting, Lee.”

“Right. Totally,” he mutters, already snapping on gloves. “Let me just get set up before I combust.”

He lays out the stencil, wipes down the table, pulls out the fresh needle packet. Everything crisp, sterilized, exact. But you can feel it—the same electric hum from before. Worse, now. Because you both know what it’s like to be this close. To almost touch.

“Go ahead and lie down,” he says, voice carefully steady. “Top off. I’ll drape you for modesty.”

You do.

And as your dress slips down, baring the same skin he pierced just weeks ago, you hear him suck in a breath.

Then softly: “Holy shit.”

Felix exhales like he’s trying to center himself, but his eyes are locked on the exposed skin below your collarbone — the left slope of your ribs, soft and curved and waiting for him.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

You smile, folding your hands over your stomach, trying to stay casual even though your pulse is in your throat.

“You did.”

He looks up at you, grinning now. “Can you blame me?”

You don’t answer. You just bite your lip. His eyes flick down. Linger. Then he clears his throat and reaches for the stencil.

“Okay. This’ll feel a little cold,” he warns.

You hum. “I remember. But you always warm me up after, don’t you?”

Felix freezes mid-step, eyes snapping to yours with that look. The one that makes your entire spine throb.

“I swear to god,” he mutters, gently pressing the damp stencil paper to your skin, “you’re gonna be the death of me.”

The stencil application is slow. Careful. His gloved hands cup your side, fingers anchoring just under the swell of your breast, dangerously close to where he pierced you weeks ago.

You try not to squirm. You fail.

He notices.

“You okay?” he asks, innocent on the surface, smug underneath.

“Your hands are cold.”

“Hmm,” he hums, pulling the stencil paper away. “Let me fix that.”

He presses one palm against your ribs skin to glove. His thumb brushes the curve of your side. Not high enough to cross a line. But enough to make you bite back a sound.

“You’re evil,” you breathe.

“I’m very, very good,” he corrects. “Now stay still. Gotta check the alignment.”

He picks up the mirror, holds it out for you to see. You crane your neck, exhaling hard.

It’s perfect. The sword lies just beneath the breastbone, angled ever so slightly with the shape of your ribcage. The wisteria wraps it like it’s meant to grow there.

“Yeah?” he asks.

You nod, dazed. “Yeah. Fuck. Yeah.”

Felix smiles like he just won something. Then moves to grab the machine.

You hear the buzz before you see it.

“Okay,” he says, glancing up. “This part’s gonna sting.”

“I’ve been pierced by you,” you smirk. “I can handle it.”

He laughs under his breath and leans over you again, lining up the machine with your skin.

You brace.

And then—

The first touch of the needle.

Sharp. Fast. Immediate. But then it shifts into something else. A burn that blooms. Pain edged in adrenaline, in control, in something almost addictive.

You exhale through it, jaw tight, legs flexing slightly.

Felix’s free hand presses flat to your side. Holding you steady.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Breathe for me, baby.”

Your stomach flutters. You blink up at the ceiling, trying to focus on anything else. But your mouth has a mind of its own. “So... where are you taking me for dinner?”

Felix doesn’t pause. “Bold of you to assume I’m feeding you before I wreck you again.”

You snort. Then wince. “Don’t make me laugh. You’re stabbing me.”

He grins. “I’m being gentle.”

You side-eye him. “Are you?”

“No.” He shifts the angle. “But you like it when I’m not.”

You whimper. Quiet. Almost embarrassed by it.

He hums in satisfaction. “But to answer your question,” he continues, voice calmer now, “there’s this place a couple blocks down. Little izakaya joint. Private booths. Good lighting. Excellent tempura.”

“Are you describing the menu or your date plan?”

He leans a little closer, eyes on the sword he’s carving into your skin. “Both. You’re gonna look good across from me. All marked up. Flushed.”

You exhale shakily. “You can’t say that while actively tattooing me.”

He glances at you—eyes dark and devastating. “Pretty sure I can. You’re letting me hurt you, princess. You really think I’m not gonna whisper things while I do it?”

And then he goes quiet. Focused. Working the needle with expert care, pausing every now and then to wipe your skin clean with soft pressure, checking the lines.

Eventually, the buzz of the machine softens as Felix lifts the needle for a moment, wiping across your skin with gentle pressure. You hiss through your teeth at the sting.

But you can feel him watching you again. Not just checking his lines. Watching you.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he murmurs.

Your breath catches. “You really like saying that, huh?”

His voice lowers. “Only when it’s true.”

Another pass. Another burn. You clench your fists against the tremble in your thighs. He’s too close. You’re too exposed. And the linework is almost done.

Which means... the night’s only beginning.

The machine buzzes again before a knock is heard at the door which then creaks open just enough for Chan's voice to call in: “Closing up now. You’re the last ones in. Don’t set anything on fire.”

Felix barely glances up. “Got it.”

You stare at the ceiling, heart suddenly pounding harder than before. Last ones in. No one else here.

The door clicks shut again.

Silence.

Felix shuts off the machine.

You look at him.

He sets it down slowly, like he’s placing a weapon back in its sheath. His gloves are still on, but the air in the room is different now. Thick. Humming with intent.

He wipes your skin again. Slower this time. Too gentle.

Then leans in, close enough that his breath ghosts across your ribs.

“You realize,” he says, barely above a whisper, “this is the second time I’ve made you moan while you were half-naked in my chair.”

Your throat goes dry. “Technically the third. I think I whimpered during the aftercare last time.”

Felix chuckles, low and dark. His hand rests over the tattoo now—protective, possessive, and still gloved.

“I didn’t forget,” he murmurs.

You shift slightly, tugging the dress back up, but he stops you with a hand on your wrist.

“Don’t.”

You blink. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t cover it yet,” he says. “Let me look.”

His gaze roams slowly over your side, over the glistening ink, the subtle swelling, the flush of your skin. Then his hand follows, gloved fingers brushing the skin just beneath the tattoo.

“Looks fucking perfect on you,” he says, voice gone low again. “Like it was always supposed to be there.”

You bite your lip. “You sound proud.”

“I am proud. I marked you.” He meets your eyes, something darker flickering there. “And you let me.”

You’re not sure who moves first.

But suddenly his hand is on your jaw. Your legs shift on the vinyl. His glove squeaks slightly against your skin. Your breathing is ragged. And his thumb brushes your bottom lip like he’s debating kissing you or dragging you under.

“You still want dinner?” he asks, voice wrecked.

“I want dessert first,” you whisper.

He pulls the gloves off in one swift motion, tossing them carelessly aside. His bare hands find your waist, your jaw, your thigh—wherever he can touch now that he’s allowed to.

“Fuck the reservation,” he growls. “I need to taste you first.”

But even as the words leave his mouth—his hands already roaming your bare waist, your hip, the edge of your thigh—he pauses. Breathless. Controlled chaos.

Then he closes his eyes, jaw clenched.

“Wait.”

You blink, wide-eyed. “Wait?”

His chest rises and falls with uneven breath. He’s so close. You can feel the heat of him between your legs, the tension in his fingertips like he’s holding back something feral.

But he steps back.

“I need to wrap the tattoo,” he says hoarsely. “You just got it. I’m not risking anything.”

It shouldn’t be hot. But it is. Because he wants you bad, and he’s still putting your safety first. You bite your lip as he turns, snatching a fresh piece of second skin from the pack and peeling the backing with shaking hands.

“I’m losing my mind,” he mutters.

“Same,” you whisper.

He crouches beside you again, this time gentle in a way that feels intimate. Like the moment after a storm, where everything’s still dripping wet and raw.

“Deep breath,” he says, laying the second skin gently over the tattooed ribs, smoothing it out with featherlight fingers. His hand lingers just a moment too long—thumb grazing the curve under your breast, jaw tight as he fights himself.

“There,” he murmurs. “Safe.”

Then he looks at you again.

“And now I’m going to ruin you.”

You don’t have time to respond.

He surges forward, lips crashing against yours with weeks of pent-up tension behind it—your moan swallowed into his mouth as he kisses you like he’s starved. His hands are everywhere: one in your hair, one gripping your thigh, tugging you to the edge of the vinyl chair like he’s claiming you.

Your dress is bunched around your waist. His tank top is halfway off. His mouth breaks from yours just long enough to trail kisses down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone—pausing just above where the second skin lies, like it’s a sacred barrier.

He doesn’t touch the tattoo. But everything around it? Fair game.

“You still sore?” he breathes against your chest, nipping the top curve just above the bandage.

“A little.”

He grins against your skin. “Good.”

His mouth moves lower—down your stomach, your inner thigh. Hands parting your legs with the kind of reverence you’ve only seen from him in front of his needles.

“You sure about this?” he murmurs, already undoing his joggers with one hand. “I need to hear it.”

“Yes,” you pant. “Felix—yes, fuck, I want you.”

“Say it again.”

“I want you.”

That’s all it takes, in a flash he sinks to his knees like a man at an altar. Hands sliding beneath your thighs, hoisting you further up the vinyl and hooks two fingers under the waistband of your panties, but briefly stops, looking up at you, eyes dark and blown wide.

“Last chance, princess,” he rasps. “You say the word and I stop.”

You barely breathe. “Don’t stop.”

The words barely leave your mouth before he drags the fabric down slow—like he’s unwrapping something precious. Your soaked panties slide over your thighs, your knees, then disappear, flung to the floor like an afterthought.

His eyes never leave you.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Fucking dripping.”

He spreads you open with warm, steady hands, thumbs pressing into your inner thighs, holding you there like he owns the view. His voice drops, rich and wrecked.

“You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you? Coming in here, dressing like that. Letting me mark you. Begging me with those pretty little sounds—”

You whimper.

And then his mouth is on you.

Tongue first—flat and slow, dragging up your folds with unbearable control. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t dive in like a man desperate. No—Felix licks like he’s tasting you for the first time. Like he wants to memorize the exact shape of your cunt with his tongue.

You gasp. Jerk slightly.

He hums against you, the vibration buzzing straight through your core.

“That’s it,” he murmurs between licks. “Give me all those sounds, baby. Be my good girl.”

You whine, hips twitching as he suckles gently at your clit—just once—before pulling back with a sinful, wet kiss.

“Fuck,” he groans. “You taste so fucking sweet. Gonna keep you here all night.”

And he doesn’t stop.

His tongue circles your clit slowly, rhythmically, until your legs start to tremble. Then he slides lower, dipping between your folds, gathering slick to drag back up—wet and messy and obscene. One hand shifts to grip your hip while the other trails up your thigh, presses down gently to keep you open.

He moans into you like he’s addicted.

And then? He sinks a finger inside.

You cry out—sharp, high, desperate. “Felix—”

“Shhh, I’ve got you,” he whispers, tongue still lapping at your clit. “You take me so fucking well. Look at you—already squeezing around one finger. You’re gonna fall apart for me, huh?”

You nod helplessly, hips canting against his face.

He adds a second finger—slow, deep, curling just right—and that’s when you nearly sob. His mouth never leaves your clit, tongue stroking in tandem with the push of his fingers, and you realize that he’s building you up on purpose.

“Such a good girl,” he pants between licks. “Letting me taste you like this. Letting me wreck you right where I tattooed you. You gonna cum for me, princess?”

You’re nodding—shaking—words gone completely feral. “I want it,” you whimper. “Want you—Felix, please, I’m—”

He curls his fingers just right. Sucks your clit just once—hard.

And you shatter.

Your orgasm hits fast and brutal, ripping through you with a cry that echoes off the studio walls. Your legs lock around his head, your hands claw for anything, and he rides it out—groaning against you like he could come from the taste alone.

But he doesn’t stop. Not even when you twitch. Not when you gasp. Not when your hand weakly pushes at his shoulder.

He pulls back just long enough to murmur: “You said dessert first.”

Then his tongue dives in again.

Your body’s still twitching, legs shaking from the first high when Felix licks up your center again—slow, deep, possessive. You gasp, nearly jolting off the chair.

“F–Felix—!”

But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down. Instead, he presses a palm flat against your stomach to hold you down, keeps your thighs spread with one knee, and groans low into your pussy like he’s devouring you.

“Uh-uh,” he growls, lips slick, voice wrecked. “Not done yet. I haven't had my fill.”

You try to speak, to beg—but all that leaves you is a broken sound, wrecked and high-pitched as he suckles your clit again with cruel, precise rhythm.

It’s too much. You’re still raw from the last orgasm—nerves hypersensitive, thighs twitching, your pussy fluttering helplessly around nothing—

Until he slides two fingers back in.

“FUCK—Felix—!”

“Ohhh, that’s it,” he moans against your clit, fingers pushing in deep, curling—relentless. “That sweet little cunt knows exactly who she belongs to.”

You’re squirming, eyes rolling back, legs fighting between trying to clamp shut and fly open. But Felix is stronger—his grip on your hip iron-tight now, his tongue punishing you with pleasure.

“You gonna cum again for me?” he pants, lips brushing your soaked folds. “You gonna fall apart on my tongue like a good girl?”

You nod frantically—can’t even breathe right, tears blurring your vision as the coil builds again, faster, worse than before.

“Please,” you whimper. “Please, I—Felix—please I can’t—”

He fucks you with his fingers harder—wet, obscene sounds echoing through the room—and growls, voice dark and filthy:

“Yes, you can. You’re my canvas, baby. You take everything I give you. You always do.”

That’s it. That’s the push.

You shatter again—louder, messier, nearly screaming as your body spasms through the second orgasm. Your hips lift off the vinyl, legs thrashing, eyes rolling back as everything goes white.

Felix groans deep, pressing you down as you ride it out. Your hands claw at the armrests. Your voice breaks into sobs.

But he’s not done. He kisses your thigh. Licks a stripe back up your centre before he moans, “One more.”

You sob. “I can’t—!”

“Yes,” he whispers, brushing your overstimulated clit with his tongue again, softer now but no less deliberate. “You can. Gimme one more. Be my good girl. Let me break you open just once more.”

You’re crying now.

Not from pain. Not from fear. But from the intensity—the unbearable pleasure ripping through your system like a tidal wave you can’t crawl out from under.

“Please, please—” You don’t even know what you’re begging for. Release? Relief? For him to stop? For him to never stop?

Your voice cracks on the last word and that’s when it hits you again. The third orgasm crashes down. No warning. No buildup. Just your entire body convulsing. Your back arching off the chair. And a choked, wrecked sob ripping out of you, nothing coherent left.

Your cunt clamps hard around nothing—fluttering, pulsing, milking air like it’s looking for him—looking to be filled. Claimed. Ruined.

Felix groans, loud, grinding his hips into the edge of the vinyl chair.

He’s hard. Painfully hard. You can see it now—his cock straining against the fabric of his joggers, twitching as you fall apart for him a third time.

“Holy fuck,” he growls, finally pulling back, wiping his soaked mouth with the back of his hand. “You—fuck, baby—do you even know what you look like right now?”

You’re limp.

Spent.

Tears streaking your cheeks, lips parted, chest rising and falling as you try—fail—to catch your breath.

“You’re perfect,” he pants, running both hands up your thighs. “So fucking perfect for me.”

He presses a kiss to your trembling knee. Then your thigh. Then higher, higher—until he’s kissing the inside of your hip, nuzzling close but respectful of your fresh tattoo.

“Do you want more?” he whispers.

He doesn’t reach for his waistband. Doesn’t undo his joggers. He waits.

You. Choose. Even now. Even when he’s throbbing hard against the chair. Even when his hands shake with restraint.

You blink down at him, fucked-out and flushed, voice hoarse when you finally manage: “Take me. Please.”

He exhales sharply—like he’s been holding that breath since your first orgasm and finally shoves down his joggers, just enough to free his cock—thick, flushed, leaking—and fuck, he’s even prettier here too, hips flexing, tip already brushing against your thigh as he climbs up over the chair.

“No gloves now,” he says, voice dark. “You’re not my client anymore, princess. You’re mine.”

You whimper—wrecked and soaked, your thighs still trembling, your pussy still aching. But when he reaches down and strokes the head of his cock through your folds—slow, teasing, bare—your hips lift instinctively.

“Fuck,” he mutters, watching the way you glisten for him. “Still dripping. This all for me?”

You nod, brain fogged with lust, chest flushed. “I need you,” you whisper.

He lines up at your entrance, but doesn’t push in yet. Just lets the head of his cock press there—hot and thick and perfect. Your body clenches automatically, needy, desperate.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, mouth hovering over yours. “I need to hear it.”

“I need you, Felix. I need to feel you—raw, please, I want all of you.”

That’s it.

He kisses you—deep, possessive, tongue licking into your mouth as his cock finally pushes in—inch by slow, devastating inch.

You both groan into the kiss.

“Fucking hell—you’re tight,” he gasps, hips stuttering as he bottoms out. “God, you’re clenching like you were made for me.”

You cry out, arms wrapping around his neck, legs shaking from the stretch and the sensitivity and the overwhelming fullness. You’ve never felt this much before. Never this deep.

He stays still for a beat, forehead pressed to yours, letting your body adjust—whispering soft things against your cheek:

“So good for me.” “You’re taking me so well.” “Fuck, I could live inside you.”

Then he pulls back and thrusts. Slow. Heavy. The sound of skin on skin fills the studio, slick and obscene.

You moan with every stroke—every delicious drag of him inside you, cock pressing against spots you didn’t know you had. He’s everywhere—his scent, his voice, the weight of his body above yours.

“Tattoo looks even better now,” he pants, eyes flicking to your chest. “You all marked up, legs spread, letting me ruin you.”

Your nails scrape down his back. “Felix—faster—please—”

And he gives it to you, especially with the way you begged so prettily for him. His thrusts picking up—more urgent, more erratic—and your whole body jerking with the force of it.

Your cunt is so wet, so swollen, he slides in easily now—no resistance, just need. The table creaks. The studio hums. And Felix is panting into your neck, fucking you like he’s waited his whole life to.

“Gonna fill you up,” he growls. “Wanna come inside this perfect little pussy. You want that?”

You’re barely coherent now. Just sobbing, nodding, whimpering, “Yes—yes, please—I want it, want you—”

He presses a hand over your belly—right where the bulge of him shows through. “You feel that?” he pants. “That’s how deep I am. That’s what you do to me.”

You break.

Your fourth orgasm crashes into you like a goddamn tidal wave. Your body shakes violently, voice tearing out of your throat in a sound you don’t recognize, walls spasming around his cock like you’re trying to milk him dry.

And Felix? Felix is fucking gutted.

“Jesus fucking—baby,” he groans, dropping his forehead to yours, hips still grinding. “You’re so good—so fucking good—taking me like this, holding me this deep—”

Your mouth is slack. You can’t form a single word. Just loud, wet gasps as he fucks you through your fourth orgasm, dragging it out, drawing it longer, leaving you trembling and cockdrunk and gone.

“You don’t even know how pretty you look.” he murmurs, voice thick with reverence, filth, love.

Your fingers twitch against his arms. You manage a breathy, fucked-out, “Yours…”

That wrecks him.

He groans, low and animal, and his pace gets messier, sloppier—your pussy sucking him in with every thrust like it’s begging for his cum.

“Please,” you whimper. “Please, Felix—want your cum so bad—wanna feel it dripping out of me after—”

“Fuck.”

That does it. With one final, deep thrust—buried to the hilt, cock pressed right against your cervix—Felix shatters. His whole body tenses. His mouth drops open in a gasp. And then he’s spilling inside you—hot, thick, endless—his cum painting your walls as he groans your name like a prayer.

“Fucking hell—take it, baby—take all of it—”

You feel everything.

His hips twitch with every pulse, his cock throbbing as he empties himself deep inside your already ruined cunt. The warmth, the weight, the way he groans as you clench through the aftershocks—it’s overwhelming.

It doesn’t stop.

Even after he’s cum, he’s still rocking into you slowly, fucking it deeper, slow grind to push every drop in. Your body’s twitching, overstimulated and sensitive, tears sliding down your cheeks as you choke on another gasp.

Felix notices. He kisses them away. “Shh, I know,” he breathes. “You were so perfect for me. So fuckin’ good, baby.”

He finally stops. Still inside you. Still hard. Your walls are fluttering around him like they miss it already. Felix holds your face in both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks, gaze soft and filthy all at once.

“You okay?”

You nod, blinking slowly. “Yeah,” you croak.

“You need anything?”

You smile, wrecked. “Water. And maybe a new spine.”

He laughs—sweet and hoarse—and kisses your forehead. “Don’t move. I’ve got you.” You don't even realize you’re trembling until Felix tucks a hand behind your knee and lifts your leg carefully—still inside you, still breathing hard, but already shifting into his softer mode.

His real mode.

“Hey, hey,” he whispers, kissing the sweat off your temple. “You’re okay. We’re done now, sweetheart. You did so good.”

You blink up at him, dazed, lips parted. And he’s looking at you like you’re made of stardust.

A few more deep breaths. Then, finally, he slides out of you. And you whimper. Instinctual. Empty. Felix immediately hushes you, hands gentle as they ease your dress back down over your hips. “I know. I know, baby. You were so full. Felt so good, huh?”

He reaches for the warm compress he prepped before the session—because of course he did—and begins gently dabbing your thighs. He’s not trying to tease now. Not trying to rile you up.

Just taking care of you.

Even wipes between your legs with a soft, sterile cloth, murmuring praise while he works. “You were amazing. So brave. Took everything. Let me see all of you. I’ve never—”

He cuts himself off. Focuses on unwrapping a clean second skin.

You murmur, sleepy but curious, “Never what?”

Felix glances up, eyes fond. “Never wanted to ruin anyone like that. And still hold them like this after.”

You bite your lip. Your heart is mush.

Once your tattoo’s dressed again—bandaged just right—he lifts you into his arms with a little grunt and a kiss to your forehead. “C’mon. You’re not walking.”

“I can—”

“Nope.” He’s already carrying you to the break room, cradling you against his chest like a princess. “You just had four orgasms and a full session. I’m your chair now.”

He sets you down gently on the couch, grabbing his own oversized NO SAINT INK hoodie and sliding it over your head like muscle memory.

It swallows you whole.

You beam at him. “It smells like you.”

He snorts. “Yeah. It’s mine.”

Then he disappears for all of two minutes.

Returns with a glass of cold water, a wrapped protein bar (definitely Jisung's, but he won't notice) and a microwaved rice bowl from the staff fridge.

“Five-star dining,” he says, setting it on the coffee table. “Don’t say I never spoil you.”

You laugh, curled up in his hoodie, eyes gleaming. “This is better than any reservation.”

He slides in next to you and pulls you into his lap, tucking your legs over his, spoon-feeding you the rice because, in his words, “Your hands are for cuddling now, not labour.”

He lifts another spoonful of warm rice to your mouth with exaggerated focus, like this is a gourmet tasting menu and not a semi-stolen leftover from the NO SAINT INK fridge. You open obediently—chewing with a thoughtful hum, cheeks puffed out, still pink from earlier and now somehow glowing even brighter from being doted on.

Felix grins. “You like it?”

“It’s definitely not mine,” you say around a mouthful. “But it’s warm and salty and I feel like I’m being bottle-fed, so yes. Five stars.”

“Perfect,” he replies, proud, like he made it himself.

You point at him with the half-peeled protein bar. “We’re still going to dinner later, right?”

He cocks a brow. “Babe. You came four times. You can’t walk.”

You glare. “I’ll crawl to the restaurant.”

Felix breaks—choking out a laugh, hand braced on your thigh. “You’ll crawl??”

“I earned tempura.”

“You just devoured this rice and Jisung's protein bar like a menace.”

You look down, horrified. “Wait… that was his bar?”

He snickers. “Yup.”

“Oh my god, he’s going to notice.”

“No he won’t,” Felix shrugs. “He has like five stashed behind the paper towels. I’ll replace it and gaslight him.”

You smile at him, gooey and gross. “You’d gaslight for me?”

He leans in, brushes his nose against yours. “Baby, I’d commit minor fraud for you.”

You sit in his lap like that for a while longer, warm and fed and wrapped up in his stupid hoodie that now smells like ink and sex and rice, your legs draped over his thighs and your heart absolutely wrecked with affection.

“Okay, but like…” you mumble, eyelids drooping. “Reservation?”

Felix kisses the top of your head. “Still have two hours.”

“Oh good.”

“You’ll need at least one of them to recover.”

“You’re so smug.”

He grins against your temple. “Only because I earned it.”

And you sigh into his neck, smiling. Yeah. You’re still getting your tempura. But first? You’re gonna melt into him for just a little longer.

It turns out things with Felix don’t just stay hot and messy—they get deeper. Softer. Somehow stupider too.

Because this man? He’s sunshine in human form. A disaster wrapped in dimples. A filthy, talented menace who will rail you in the studio at 3AM and buy you Hello Kitty band-aids for your healed nipple piercings because you’re “his cute little canvas.”

You never officially moved in—but your toothbrush lives at his place, and so do half your clothes, and so does your stupid pink mug that says I SURVIVED MY NIPPLE PIERCINGS in Comic Sans. (He custom-ordered it. With glitter print.)

Felix still tattoos you. He still calls you baby girl when you’re squirming under the needle, all flushed and squirmy and trying not to let it show how much you like it. And yeah. He still fucks you in the back of the studio sometimes.

(Okay, often.)

(Okay, every time someone forgets to lock up.)

You’re curled up on his couch now, post-round-three and wearing nothing but one of his band tees, scrolling through old selfies from the night he first took you out to that izakaya. Felix is half-asleep beside you, an arm slung across your belly, mouthing lazy kisses to your ribs like he needs to be touching you to breathe right.

And then—your phone buzzes.

MINHO [9:26PM]: glad you two are still together or whatever but also next time you rawdog in the studio maybe don’t SCREAM MY FUCKING NAME BY ACCIDENT

You blink.

Then snort—so loud it wakes Felix. “What?” he mumbles, blinking up at you with tousled hair and one sleepy dimple.

You show him the message. He stares. Then absolutely cackles. Rolls onto his back, wheezing, “I DID NOT—WHY WOULD I—”

You’re dying. “You did, Felix. When I came the second time. You said ‘Minho’s gonna kill me’ and then moaned his actual name.”

He groans, covering his face. “Noooooo. My life is over. I can never look him in the eye again.”

You curl into him, still laughing. “You’ll survive. Barely.”

“Should I buy him earplugs? A fruit basket? Flowers?”

“Just stop fucking me so loud next time.”

He peeks at you through his fingers. “That implies there’s a next time in the studio.”

You grin. “There’s always a next time.”

And Felix? He kisses your smile like a man grateful every single day that you walked into his booth and said: “So, um… I want you to pierce my ears.”

Because now? You’ve marked each other forever.

And you’re still not done.

🏷️ taglist: @cybergracie , @jupitermarss , @basicginn , @dhvnigvil , @emkvlixsx , @collin-thegreat , @somuchpanicverylittledisco , @emilyywhyy , @rainyjeno , @fawnoverdawn , @pixie-felix , @anniestay , @notmeneo , @lovslixx , @themoonlightfae , @heartwithoutaname , @yourghostneighbor , @princesskrystix , @drilles , @y2kur0mi , @mochi-space , @ivaviavi , @phelans-thoughts , @the-anon-reader , @beans4beans56 , @joyfulchaoslover , @channieismylove , @cherryoatchai , @unimportantweirdo , @seagulljk , @freckles-and-rage , @lonelydarknessblog

#stray kids #skz #skz x reader #skz smut #lee felix #felix x reader #felix smut #lee felix smut #felix stray kids #tethered tuesday #stray kids smut

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madamechrissy · 8 months ago

Text

=͟͟͞♡ Healing Hearts =͟͟͞♡

=͟͟͞♡ Pairings:-Doctor Gojo x Intern F!Reader

=͟͟͞♡ Contents/warnings- Medical procedures, surgery descriptions, crazy sexual tension, eventually explicit sex etc. ER setting. Reader 26, Dr. Gojo 34, small age gap, work sex, complications, lots of humor, eventual drama and angst. Grey's vibes ✨️

=͟͟͞♡ Summary- You are the top Surgical Doctor intern, along with Maki, Yuta and Toge. You all are exhausted from passing the first month, sixteen plus hour days, days you don't even go home, all to get a top spot with the star Surgeon, Dr. Gojo, your resident doctor and boss. Or as you call him, Dr. Hojo. He's takes nothing serious but his surgeries it seems, and has a reputation for being a player, but he has that top spot, so you want to prove your worth! You just have to ignore those stupid butterflies he gives you, and those pretty blue eyes, along with his interest in you, and focus!

Comment to get added to the tag list

=͟͟͞♡ Playlist =͟͟͞♡ Masterlist =͟͟͞♡ Part two

♡ Part One ♡

Fuck, you’re exhausted, the first month of your internship as a surgeon was brutal, you haven’t had but a couple hours of sleep here and there, mostly on some of the hospital beds. Your bones ache, your skincare routine is barely hanging by a thread, and your hair is a wreck in a messy bun today. You thought med school was difficult, but it was nothing like this.

“Hey, you okay babe?” Your best friend Maki Zenin asks softly, you look at her and smile, nodding, she purses her lips, tilting her glasses. “No you’re not.”

“I’m wiped, Maki. This patient injected cocaine up his ass.” She bursts out laughing right in the middle of the hospital floor, you cover her mouth quickly, looking around. “Shh!”

“Shit, forreal? I thought my case was bad, he’s been here eight times for hits of pain meds since I have been here, he keeps bashing his hand on shit.” She sighs, handing her files to the desk then picking up several more.

You’re both in your pale blue scrubs, Maki’s pretty green hair is high up in a ponytail, now your other two best friends from your internship come up, Inumaki Toge and Yuta Okkotsu, both looking exhausted along with you. Yuta’s eye bags rival yours by far, he slicks back his dark hair as you all check the time on your watches.

“Another sixteen hours almost down.” He says through a yawn.

“Tired.” Inumaki says, and you sigh, nodding in agreement.

“Fuck that, we need to throw a party.” Maki says, somehow still so energetic, and you’re so confused how it’s possible.

“Party?” Inumaki asks, he’s certainly a man of few words, but his violet eyes explain whatever anyone needs to know.

“No way, Maki. Fuck that.” Yuta says, earning Maki sticking her tongue out at him.

“Buzz kill, ugh. Listen, this weekend, we’ll invite some of the people from our class, we can invite some of the other interns too. Ooh, maybe even those sexy resident doctors.” She wiggles her brows with a mischievous little grin.

“Maki, we're too old for that shit now.” You grumble.

“Bitch we’re twenty six? How are we old.”

“I feel ancient.” Yuta agrees. “Coffee everyone?”

“I have to stop by Doctor Gojo’s real quick, meet you all there?” You say, and they nod, waving you off as you head to your Resident doctor’s office. Dr. Gojo was the boss of you four, one of the residents along with Dr. Nanami and Dr. Geto. All three were fawned over by all the interns, except you.

Yes they were gorgeous, and yes Dr. Gojo was positively beautiful, with his snowy white hair, his glittery blue eyes, his big grin. But you were just too exhausted and too beat to really fawn over someone, especially someone you really could not be with, seeing as he is your resident, you’re just a little intern. Satoru also happens to be the top surgeon in the hospital.

You go to knock but see his door is cracked open, you carefully take the knob in your hand, twisting it and peeking your head in, seeing Satoru Gojo’s head fall back, as he’s gasping. You look curiously, but his hands are up on the desk, as he’s biting his lower lip, his brows together, eyes shut. You clear your throat and he jerks then, clearing his throat.

“Um… hey intern.” He says, his voice clipped. You shut the door behind you, tilting your head curiously at him, his face reddening slightly.

“Dr. Gojo, I have a question about this patient, is everything okay? It won’t take very long.” You say, and his eyes flicker over your face, an expression you can’t explain, as he sucks in a breath.

“I um… can listen… in… fuck, fuck!” He moans then, he clearly moans, and you hear a bump on his desk now. “Oh, oh that’s so much better.”

“I… what the fuck!?” He flushes then, sliding back, and one of the nurses jumps up, giggling now and wiping her mouth, she has pretty blue hair.

“Thank you Miwa, you’re a gem.” He stands, patting her head with a smile, and she giggles again, as you watch in confusion, your brows together, mouth open. “I need to talk to her about cool doctor things, I’ll see you around later?”

Cool Doctor things.

Blow jobs on the clock?

How is this your boss?

“Yes, Dr. Gojo. Hi there!” She waves at you, as if nothing has happened, as if she wasn’t just sucking Dr. Gojo off, and he’s looking bashful!?

“What the hell is this shit? Lock a door?” He comes to you, locking the big door with a click behind you. “Not now!”

“I forgot it was open, shit. I’m sorry. Stress relief, you know.” He smiles down at you, a stupid smirk you’d like to smack off his pretty face, hands in the pockets of his long white doctor jacket. “Don’t you ever need any?”

You heat up at his husky tone, as you realize just what you’d walked into. It had been a long time since you’d even thought that way, not just with Med school but now being an intern, especially since you broke up with your ex months back. “What? Yuck don’t come near me.”

“Why, ya jealous.” He brushes your hair back, earning your glare. “You’re awfully cute when you are.”

“Jealous of you? No thanks, I'm good. I sure am not part of your fan club.”

Satoru pouts. “Yeah, and you’re the only one.”

“Yep. Anyway, I’m now disturbed.” You shiver with feigned disgust, making him snort a bit in laughter. “But I only came in here to go over Mr. Lewis.” Sighing, you hand him the file with a gentle brush of your fingers against his palm. “He's been a difficult case.”

“Fuck, the cocaine dude? Ah shit, it’s that bad?”

“We have him stable, but something about it threw me off, how could it be that severe of an effect? Colitis has lasted days now and no improvement.”

“Mmm, true. But it makes sense, you can’t just inject cocaine into the anus and… have a party.” A hint of laughter escapes from his lips before he can control it, earning a stern look from you, making him study the file more carefully.

“Be serious.”

“I’m your boss, you know!”

“Yeah, somehow. Anyway, I feel there is something underlying. Perhaps exasperated by the cocaine.”

“Up the ass! Hah!” He’s smacking his long leg now, chuckling, earning your glare. “Oof you’re so serious, sorry, carry on.” He gives you a mock salute, and your eyes are so far back in your head they might stay that way.

“So I’m wondering if he has something else, untreated, the man has no history of any doctor visits since he was living with his parents.”

He taps his chin then. “Hmm, good point. It’s possible. Have we checked him for Chron’s?”

“Shit, maybe, that would make so much sense too, his white blood cell count is through the roof. I’ll leave a note to run some tests before I go.” You take the folder back then, your fingers brushing, and it brings a blush to your cheeks.

“What’s wrong, intern?”

“Just weirded out by you, Dr. Hojo.” He snorts then.

“Dr. Hojo!?”

“It’s what they call you, I guess it’s true.” You say, raising a brow, and he is leaning close, too close. You can smell that stupidly expensive cologne he wears every day, filling your senses far too much. You try to avoid those eyes, even though you look at them all the time, they still are…

Too much.

“And you don’t ever wanna just get eaten out?” You blush more now, looking down as he stands up tall, so fucking tall over you. “Don’t be shy now, we spend more time together than alone.”

“I don’t do that when not in relationships.” He pauses, and you expect some joke, since he takes nothing serious but surgery it seems. But he tilts your chin up, and studies you with those eyes, lids lowering ever so slightly.

“Aw, so you’re a good girl.” He says teasingly, causing a warm sensation to spread through your stomach at his words. You shake your head and try to ignore the fluttering feeling within you.

“Don’t say that!”

“Turn you on?”

“No! Jesus. I don’t care what people do with their bodies, I don’t care if you’re a whole manwhore-”

“Excuse me!”

“But I just need a relationship, I’m not attracted to just looks, there has to be a deeper connection.” He studies you carefully now, so serious unlike his usual goofy demeanor.

“Hmm, a challenge.”

“What now?” You glare up at him, clutching the folders to your chest tightly. “Not a challenge, you psycho. Go get all the blowjobs you want, like Thanos collecting all those infinity stones.”

He grins, sharp little fangs glinting, and you don’t like the effects it’s having on your body, or your mind. You can barely take a breath. “You’re actually so funny, holy shit.”

“You don’t really know me. Aside from work.”

“You never take me up on any of those offers of coffee, or grabbing a bite, all you do is work Missy. All work, no play, makes a sad girl.” He taps your nose, and it scrunches up, making him smile a bit. “Cute.”

“Whatever, I have to work my ass off, it’s important, I have to make sure I get to scrub in with you. That chance comes at the end of this month.”

“Well you’re the top intern I have, so don’t worry so much.” He pats your shoulder, and you blink a bit. “Surprised? How. You graduated top of the school, you bust your cute little butt, and you’re intelligent, caring for your patients. Of course I was picking you first.”

“Oh my god…”

“You’ve ruined your own surprise. Act surprised when you find out, mmkay?” You hug him then, heart racing as you think of it. “Oh so now you like me.”

“I can really scrub in to a surgery with you!?” You couldn't contain your excitement as you leaned back and looked up at Satoru Gojo. He nodded, his hands taking hold of your waist through your scrubs, and that touch?

Does things, fuck.

“I’m so sorry-”

“You’re fine, intern. Stay a little longer.” You nervously step back, his hands are still on your waist, making you tremble, as your eyes both lock.

“I can never fuck such an opportunity up. Um… thank you though, that gives me so much hope, maybe I can actually relax for two minutes!” He smiles softly, nodding, his hands falling to his sides. “I’m sorry I…”

“Interrupted? Nah. Think you made me cum quick.”

“What!?” You glare again, and his smirk makes you itch to smack him all over again. “Dr. Gojo!”

“You’re so pretty though, I think it made her job quicker. Win win.”

“I’m out of here. Ugh.” You turn away, hand on the knob, and then his comes on top of it and gently unlocks it with a twist, you feel his hard body against your back, and you get overwhelmed in his office, damn near unable to breathe, as he’s clearly…

Is Dr. Gojo inhaling your hair!?

“New shampoo?” He asks, you turn to glare up at him, putting your faces far, far too close.

“How would you know my…”

“You always wear that one that smells like strawberries, this one is more floral. Hmm I don’t know if I like it as much, but it’s still yummy.”

“I… you…”

“See you later, intern.” He says softly, then finally steps away, leaving you reeling as you hastily step out without a word, leaning your back against his door, shutting your eyes for a moment in the quiet hall his office is in. You shake yourself out of it quickly, he’s just being…

Dr. Hojo.

Notorious womanizer, but the best damn surgeon there was, a whole idiot and yet an entire genius. And not your type, not at all, even if he’s gorgeous, you did not like man whores, or men that aren’t serious, especially not your boss, anyway. Fucking your boss in this industry would essentially make everyone question every accomplishment as favoriteism.

You sure weren’t going to sacrifice all your hard work for some dick.

You bounce away, heading to the little cafe where your friends are waiting, sitting next to Yuta who hands you a coffee with a little smile. “Thank you, ugh.”

“You’re welcome, girlie.”

“So, party?”

“Maki!” You three say, and she sighs, shooting her espresso down.

“Next weekend! Come on you guys, what do you say?”

“Oh fine.” You concede. Maki, Yuta and Toge all live with you, in your town home, since you could absolutely not afford it yourself, with the shitty pay of your internship and the college bills. It was left to you, but you still had property taxes and other bills, so they helped a ton. “No one better fuck my house up, I swear.”

“Hell yeah, here’s to a party bitches.” She holds up her little styrofoam cup, and you all cheers each other then, laughing.

“Party, hmm?” Comes Dr. Gojo’s voice, he’s standing there with Dr. Geto and Dr. Nanami. You all get nervous then, but he grins. “I’m coming. What about you guys?”

“No way.” Nanami grumbles, he’s very serious, his glasses slung over his sandy blond hair, his face exhausted.

“I’ll come.” Dr. Geto chimes in, chuckling and sipping his coffee, he’s as tall as Dr. Gojo and well swoon worthy. He would be more your type you think, with that serious yet fun nature, whereas Dr. Gojo…

“C’mon Nanami. You gotta, you gotta, you-”

“Jesus you’re a child.” You say, and Gojo gasps at you, Geto and even Nanami laugh, only earning Gojo’s scowl.

“You brat, I’m a good eight years older than you!”

“You look like a twenty year old frat boy.”

"And you look like an angry little brat!” He shot back, only causing more laughter to erupt from the group.

“Okay, okay.” Dr. Geto holds up his hands now. “Let’s be nice, kids.”

“Kids! Suguru I’m older than you.” Gojo says with a glare.

“Like six months. Anyway, we’ll be there at this party, text us the details? We’d love to unwind.” Dr. Geto says, and Maki jumps up now, as you and Gojo are glaring at each other across your table. “Got it, thank you Maki.”

“Of course, we’ll invite both of your interns too. It’ll be much needed after hell month.” You just sit there, as they all talk, and Gojo is all pouty, like a baby. You peek at your phone now, seeing a text from your shitty ex, your face falls.

“Everything okay?” Maki asks softly, and you sigh, nodding.

“Just the ex.” You whisper back.

“Ex huh?” Satoru has somehow gotten behind you, leaning over, you smack at his hand then, glaring. “What, I wanna know!”

“You’re too fucking much sometimes. Ugh.” You stand up then, slinking past him. “I’m headed to get changed and then I’m leaving. See you all at home?” They all nod, eyeing you and Satoru curiously, you wave at the Doctors then head out.

Ugh, along with Satoru just being… weird and annoying, and your ex? He was a toxic, needy mess. He’d left you because you didn’t have enough time for him, and maybe you really didn’t, how could you have a relationship until your internship was finished? The first week none of you even left the hospital, sleeping in bunk beds and showering there.

But he constantly needed you, made you feel guilty, would fuck with your alarms and everything. Thank God he was long gone, even if he was annoying you currently, you delete his messages, heading to the locker room and hearing steps. You look back curiously to see Satoru holding the door open for you.

“What are you doing?”

“I am sorry, that was rude of me.”

“Yeah, well, what’s new.” You both walk into the locker room now, Satoru’s shrugging off his white lab coat, your cheeks heat up while you slip off your scrub top, it was normal to change in front of everyone, you all had co op locker rooms and showers even, all of you took years of anatomy, the human body was nothing really but parts.

But as you feel his eyes on you, when you’re down to just a black lace bra and a pair of boy shorts, you tense a bit, looking at him, shirtless, his lips parted as he looks at you. “I am sorry I know I annoy you, Miss perfect.”

“I’m no Miss perfect. I guess I have a lot to prove.” You say softly, trying not to drink in his rippling muscles, perfect well defined torso, cuts low where he’s now sliding up a pair of dark blue jeans.

His blue eyes fixate on you as he does, as you’re sliding on a pair of jeans yourself, buttoning them with trembling hands. “I had a lot to prove once too. I do understand.”

“You’re being serious?” You tease, earning a little smile, as he slides a black long sleeve shirt over his head. You get flustered as you realize your nipples are pressed against the cups of your bra, sliding your shirt and then a jacket on yourself, sitting at the bench to slide on your black boots.

“I can be serious sometimes, I just think there’s enough death, sadness, and depression in this career. Why not just try to have some fun? Otherwise, it’ll just consume you.” He says softly, in that husky voice of his, so sexy it alone could wreck someone. But his words…

“That makes sense.” You say softly now, standing as he does, grabbing your purse and locking up your locker, spinning the combination, at the same time he grabs his keys and wallet. “So you try to… brighten up things.”

“Yeah, someone has to.” He walks to you then, tapping your nose once more. “You’re too serious, you’ll have to lighten up, or this career will wreck you.”

You nod then, carefully, realizing perhaps this slutty, silly doctor had a lot more to him, than just being the perfect surgeon. “I’ll take that advice. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, also…” He leans forward as you all are stepping out of the locker room, headed toward the automatic glass doors, and you look at him curiously. “Nice panties.”

“Oh fuck you, Dr. Hojo!” You glare now, shoving at him, as he heads to his mercedes benz, and you’re in your ancient SUV that sounds like a beast.

“Night-night, intern.” He shoots you two fingers, sliding into his fancy car with blacked out windows. You roll your eyes, putting your car in gear.

What a day.

Part Two

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violetrainbow412-blog · 26 days ago

Text

Examination [B. F.]

Bob Floyd x doctor!reader

wc: 1.7k

summary: Bob suffers a concussion and Nat insists he get checked out. He doesn't seem convinced until he meets the doctor who will examine him.

You were reviewing files and filling out some medical certification forms when someone knocked on your door. You didn't remember having a checkup appointment scheduled at that time, so a frown accompanied you as you walked to the doorknob. You had hoped it was just a colleague who needed help.

“Lieutenants?”

“Good morning, doctor,” the woman murmured cordially.

On her green jumpsuit was an embroidered patch that read Natasha Trace, below her callsign and a shield. She was firmly holding the arm of one of her crewmates, a bespectacled man you remembered from previous medical exams. You checked his name by looking at the left side of his chest.

“My partner suffered a concussion while we were flying,” she continued, “Do you think you could check him out?”

“Of course. Come this way.”

“I’m fine,” the boy complained. However, his actions contradicted him as he held the side of his head with his palm open. “It was nothing.”

“She has to check you out anyway. It could be something bad.”

Her tone of voice was firm, and you assumed this wasn't just an argument that had surfaced. You vaguely remembered the two of them being a team on the plane, so you understood her insistence to some extent.

You put on the lab coat over your black clothes, hung the stethoscope around your neck, and grabbed some tools you'd need for the evaluation. Calmly, you asked the woman to guide him to the examination table so he could sit there, and you instructed him to remove his glasses. You also offered her a chair if she wanted to rest during the procedure.

“Okay, let’s get started, shall we?” you announced, positioning yourself between his legs without being intrusive. “What’s your name?”

“You don’t know?”

“I need to know if you know,” you smiled, at the apparent disappointment that had seeped into his voice.

“Robert Floyd. They call me Bob.”

“Fine, Bob,” you murmured.

His name hung between you for a second before your gloved hands found his head. You carefully moved his hair to the side, feeling for any unevenness hidden beneath his skin.

“Do you know what day of the week it is today?”

"Thursday"

“Good, we’re doing well,” you flattered him, with a smile. “Who’s the president?”

“Biden?”

"You're sure?"

“Yes. Sure,” he nodded, feeling quite confident with the answer.

“And where do you feel the blow? Here?”

You gently pressed the right side of his head. He reacted with only a grimace that didn't quite turn into a gesture of pain.

“Here it is. There’s no blood, just a bump,” you informed him. “But I need to check you to rule out internal bleeding. Sometimes the wound doesn’t find a way out, but it’s there.”

The man nodded slightly every time you spoke to him, and although he seemed somewhat lethargic, you wouldn't have classified it as alarmingly disoriented. You took a medical penlight from your lab coat pocket and explained that you were going to check his pupil reflexes for any abnormalities—if any—based on how his eyes reacted to light.

You lifted his face with your fingertips on his chin. He didn't resist. On the contrary, he let himself be guided, as if that brief hold anchored him to something.

“Look this way. Now look at the light… good. Reactive pupils. Does the light bother you?”

“A little. About normal.”

You hummed a nod, focused on catching any change in his reaction. He, there under your touch, seemed mesmerized by your movements.

“Can you tell me what color your eyes are, Bob?”

“Blues”

“They’re very pretty,” you exclaimed without thinking. To try to fix it, you asked, “Blue like the color of the sky?”

“I would say more like the sea,” he replied. “Dark… when it’s about to rain.”

The comparison took you by surprise. There was something in his voice that wasn't meant to shock. He said it like someone describing something he knew very well.

You turned off the flashlight without taking your eyes off him. You gently released him from your touch.

"Now I'm going to move my finger. I need you to follow it with your eyes, without moving your head. If it hurts, let me know."

Bob obeyed. His pupils moved precisely. There were no signs of anisocoria or loss of focus.

“Good job. Now I want you to touch the tip of your nose with your index finger and then mine. Three times.”

He smiled faintly. It wasn't blatant. It was slight, involuntary, as if the command was too intimate for him not to notice. His fingers performed the exercise, though on the third repetition, his index finger touched your nose more slowly than before. You said nothing. But you registered everything.

"Do you feel any ringing in your ears? Dizziness?"

“I feel a little dizzy,” he exclaimed, though you saw a hint of doubt as the words left his mouth. “But I don’t think it’s the blow. It’s just… you’re so close.”

The phrase wasn't a play or a joke. It was honest, loaded with something he didn't try to hide. You stared at him without moving, measuring the fine line between side effect and real impulse.

You carefully began an examination of his neck to rule out cervical injury, and as you felt around and asked him if it hurt, he said only a little. Again, nothing out of the question.

“Your shampoo smells nice,” he whispered suddenly. “It smells like lavender, but with something else… rosemary?”

You laughed nervously, trying to ignore the fact that he'd leaned a little closer to your body to capture the scent. The fact that his body emanated such warmth at the proximity didn't help you stay calm either.

“You are so perceptive. Give me your arm.”

You walked over to the cuff and began taking his blood pressure. He remained silent as you inflated and released the air. After a minute, the number appeared on the screen: elevated, but not critical.

“Your blood pressure is a little high.”

“I’m in a small room, you’re right in front of me, and you just told me my eyes are pretty,” he justified himself. “Is it that surprising?”

You let out a short laugh, barely audible.

“Are you always this flirtatious?” you asked, feigning seriousness. “Or is this a symptom I should be recording?”

“Don’t worry, Doctor,” chimed in the pilot, who had remained silent until now. “Bob is usually charming, though he doesn’t show it much. It’s probably just the concussion.”

“It might still be worth checking it out,” he insisted. “You know, just in case it gets worse.”

“Would we classify this as overconfidence or the disappearance of shyness?” you decided to joke.

There was a warmth spreading through your chest, even though you knew it wasn't ethical or appropriate to get so flustered with a patient. Hoping to salvage what little professionalism remained, you spoke before he could respond:

“Let me take your heart rate.”

Next, you placed the stethoscope against his chest and the ear tips in their place. You registered the heartbeat. It was firm. A little rapid, not pathological, but not normal either.

You had to lean a little closer to hear properly. You heard him suck in his breath.

“Breathe normally”

“I try,” he exhaled honestly. His breath tickled your cheek, and his voice was so low you could barely hear him. “It’s hard with such a beautiful doctor.”

“I can call another medic if that makes you feel more comfortable,” you whispered. By that point, you'd already given up, so you didn't even try to hide your smile.

“No. Stay, I like you.”

You took a deep breath, trying to regain your composure as he looked at you with that mix of genuine interest and something harder to name. With a firm voice, you resumed your clinical approach.

“Okay, Bob. Everything indicates you're fine, but you need complete rest. No flying or sudden maneuvers at least until tomorrow. I want you to take it easy for the rest of the day. Nothing that involves force, pressure changes, or adrenaline.”

He looked at you intently, as if memorizing your words was as important as following them.

“If you get a headache, you can take some paracetamol—500 milligrams, no more than once every six hours," you added, writing it on his file sheet. “But if the pain gets worse, or if you notice blurred vision, nausea, drowsiness… you come right away. Okay?”

“Okay,” he repeated softly.

“You’ll be fine in a few hours, I promise,” you continued filling out his medical report, under his watchful eye. When you finished, you took something else out of your pocket and offered it to him: “Do you want a lollipop?”

Bob blinked, and the smile that spread across his face was like a warm breeze.

“Can you still give it to me even though I’m an adult now?”

“To my lovely, well-behaved patients, yes,” you replied, your expression coming out sweeter than you thought.

He took it, letting his fingers brush against yours casually but deliberately. Phoenix watched the exchange with a mocking smile.

“What if…?” he began, lacking the confidence he’d spoken with earlier. “What if I feel weird later? Could you stop by my room? Just to make sure everything’s okay?”

It took you by surprise, not because of the content of the question, but because of the way he said it: without pressure, without pretense. Just with disarming honesty.

"I could do it in about two or three hours, okay? That way you'll have more peace of mind."

Bob smiled victoriously and nodded happily. Phoenix stood up to approach him, forcing you to move away to give them space.

“Come on, Casanova. You’re going straight to sleep.”

“Fineee” Bob replied reluctantly, as he walked toward her with the paddle between his fingers.

Before leaving, he turned around one last time.

“Thank you, doctor.”

"It’s nothing. Just rest up and take care of yourself" you said, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

She thanked you too and then they both left.

You tried to continue with your duties. You put on the new gloves, updated the file, checked the next name on the list.

But the heat in your cheeks didn't go away. Nor did the sudden awareness of how conscious you were of every step you took. You'd seen dozens of patients that week, and yet, Bob Floyd had just become a tiny anomaly in your pulse that would be hard to ignore during the day.

taglist <3: @littlemsbumblebee @qardasngan

#bob floyd #robert floyd #baby on board #bob floyd x reader #top gun maverick #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick fanfic #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd imagine #top gun x reader #top gun maverick x reader #pilot boyfriend #bob floyd x you #top gun fluff #lewis pullman

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vigilante-3073 · 5 months ago

Note

Can you please write an imagine in which reader is pregnant with her and house’ kid and something happens and she collapses and gets sent home to bed rest. Perhaps house isn’t there initially, like maybe they work in different departments and he’s with a high priority case and Cuddy isn’t releasing him and then Wilson tells him what’s going on

Bedrest & Complicated Cases

Gregory House x Pregnant Female Doctor Reader

Summary: Y/N is six months pregnant and experiences a complication. House is dealing with a delicate case and Cuddy chooses not to inform him.

TW: Mentions of medical terms/conditions, lying, brief mention of politics/dictatorship.

Y/N worked on patient files quietly in her office after a long day of seeing patients. She shifted in her seat as an uncomfortable sensation began to appear in her stomach and lower back. Y/N took a breath, smoothing a hand over her bump as she waited for it to pass.

Braxton hicks contractions were common, especially as the pregnancy progressed but this felt different. The pain was constant, it felt like her muscles were being torn apart. Y/N stood up from her seat with a grimace, she moved around her desk with a hand on her belly.

Y/N paused, crying out in pain as blood began to soak into the material of her pants. Y/N's hand shot out to her desk, it landed on a pile of stacked files that slipped out from under her palm. Y/N fell, her head collided with the edge of the desk as she landed on the floor.

Y/N had lost consciousness and no one had any idea that she was injured. House was working on a complicated case, Cuddy was supervising him and Wilson was with his patients.

No one had any idea how long she had been on the floor when Wilson finally found her. Y/N was admitted right away and her obstetrician was notified.

Y/N had a partial placental abruption, she lost quite a bit of blood and was having contractions. They were able to get her on a drug called magnesium sulfate in an attempt to stop her labor.

The contractions began to slow, but there was still the potential for an early birth. Y/N was given a blood transfusion and corticosteroids to speed up the baby's lung development.

Wilson stayed by her side throughout everything, "Where is House?" Y/N asked softly. She was weak and exhausted with a possible concussion.

"He's on a case," Wilson said. A pit was beginning to form in his stomach as she looked over at him with a terrified expression.

"Does he know?" She asked.

"Not yet, no," Wilson replied.

Y/N looked down at her bump, hand settling on her skin as she took a shaky breath. Wilson watched her eyes begin to fill with tears as she struggled to keep herself from crying.

"I-I'll go get him," Wilson said, standing up from his seat beside her bed.

"Wait, I don't want to be alone," Y/N mumbled.

"Whatever you need," He nodded, sitting back down.

Wilson pulled out his phone and sent a message to Cuddy.

'She needs him.' He typed.

Cuddy's reply was almost instant, 'How bad is it?' She'd asked.

'Partial abruption, stage two. They were able to stop contractions but are monitoring the baby for distress. She's on magnesium sulfate and corticosteroids but she also needed a transfusion,' Wilson typed back.

'Stay with her. We need him on this case.' She replied, leaving no room for argument

Wilson grimaced before tucking his phone into his pocket, "What's wrong? Is he not coming?" Y/N questioned.

"He's held up with something," Wilson said.

Y/N nodded, fingers brushing lightly across her bump as she sniffled softly.

"I'm sorry," Wilson said.

"It's fine," Y/N said shakily, brushing away a tear with trembling hands.

Wilson couldn't stand to see her upset, the idea of keeping this information from House was eating him up inside. The case that House was dealing with was important, but the life of his wife and child should be more important.

The case was proving to be difficult for the team, their patient was President Dibala and he was an African dictator. Hundreds of thousands of people would lose their lives if he was cured and the ethical dilemma complicated things.

House was able to compartmentalize easily, but Cameron's strong opinions and moral compass made her one of the worst people to be treating the president. Chase tried to keep her in check, but she was struggling to maintain her objectivity.

The last thing Wilson heard was that there was an assassination attempt against Dibala. He could understand why Cuddy wanted House to stay on the case and remain focused, but it still made him uncomfortable.

Wilson stayed by Y/N's side until she eventually fell asleep and he was able to step away. Wilson went straight to House's office, he lingered by the door as they went through another differential.

House noticed him and dismissed his team members, they filed out of the conference room and made their way back to the patient's room.

"House, I need to talk to you," Wilson said.

"I'm in the middle of something, it can wait," House stated, staring at the whiteboard.

"No, it can't... It's Y/N," Wilson said.

House looked over at him, "What happened?" He questioned.

...

Y/N opened her eyes, grimacing as her head pounded under the harsh fluorescent lights. She closed her eyes, hoping that the throbbing in her temples would resolve itself.

"Where does it hurt?" Someone asked.

Y/N opened her eyes, looking over to find House sitting at her bedside. His eyes ran over her body before glancing up at the machines that were keeping track of her and the baby's vitals.

"My head," Y/N mumbled.

"You have a concussion. It's gonna hurt," House stated.

He stood up from his seat, grabbing his cane and moving over to the door. He shut off the lights in the room before returning to his chair.

"Where were you?" Y/N asked.

"Doesn't matter, I'm here now," He said.

Y/N settled back against the pillows, her hands rested on bump as she looked down at herself.

"Is she moving?" House asked, Y/N nodded.

"I was scared that I was going to lose her... The pain was terrible and there was so much blood," She said shakily.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here, but she's okay and you're okay," House stated.

"The doctor put me on bedrest for the remainder of the pregnancy," Y/N said.

"I figured," He nodded.

"How are we going to do this, Greg?" Y/N questioned, already sounding defeated.

"We'll figure it out. I'll reduce my hours and we can hire someone to help around the house in the meantime," House said.

Y/N took a breath, "Don't worry," House stated.

"I'm not," Y/N replied.

"Your heart rate says otherwise," House said, glancing up at the vitals machine.

Y/N smiled slightly, "Well, I'm trying not to worry," She said.

House stayed by her side overnight, his case was overly complicated and resulted in the death of President Dibala. Cuddy was right to encourage House to maintain his focus on the case but it was an impossible situation.

The circumstances surrounding Dibala's death were murky, but House couldn't bring himself to care. It was true that the president was a bad person and his ideas would damage an entire population, but it was still a black mark on his record.

House's significant other and their child needed to take priority.

...

Y/N had been on bedrest for three weeks and she was absolutely miserable. She read every book she had intended to and watched all the trash television that she could stomach.

House did as he promised and limited his hours, during difficult cases he asked Wilson to check up on her. Wilson had been a vital part of their support system in the last few weeks.

Wilson helped them to assemble the furniture for the nursery and finish painting the walls. He cooked for Y/N when House wasn't able to and had just been an incredible help during this time.

Y/N was incredibly bored, but Wilson did everything he could to keep her spirits up. He knew that it must have been awful to be trapped in the house for such a long period of time.

He never came to their home empty-handed, he always brought snacks, gifts or flowers for Y/N. House appreciated his friend's kindness and let Wilson know that their door was always open to him.

House made his way into the apartment, tossing his keys into the dish and shrugging off his coat. House laid it over the back of the couch, pushing the door shut with his cane and making his way down the hallway to the bedroom.

Wilson sat in the chair beside the bed as Y/N sat with her back against the headboard. A laundry basket of various baby items sat on the bed beside her.

Y/N folded the items and set them in a stack on the bed next to her. Wilson folded the items in his own basket, gaze focused on the television.

"She did not sleep with his best friend, did she?" Wilson asked, not daring to pull his eyes away from the screen.

"Oh yeah, they've been sleeping together for at least two seasons in secret," Y/N said.

"No way. The cameras follow them everywhere, how could they find the time?" He questioned.

Y/N shrugged, "They stay up until four in the morning and sleep until two. They start every day with a pilates class and spend hours binge drinking while arguing. All they have is time," She said, folding a fluffy pink blanket.

"Sorry to interrupt your little watch party, but I'm home," House said.

"We're one episode away from the tell all, you have to let us finish the season," Wilson stated, folding up a baby onsie.

"My god, what happened to you?" House muttered, kicking off his shoes and laying down in the bed beside his wife.

"This is the best show to ever be invented," Wilson said, gesturing to the television.

"Sure it is. Wake up me up when it's over," House said, crossing his arms and settling back into the pillows as he closed his eyes.

Things had been complicated, but they were figuring it out and taking things one day at a time. The baby was growing and Y/N hadn't had any bleeding since that first incident.

She had a magnificent support system around her and she leaned on them in her time of need.

House may not have been everyone's favorite person, but Y/N was. She had always been kind and everyone who met her loved her.

It was shocking that he was the one she wound up falling in love with but you can't help it sometimes. House loved her and he was grateful that her and the baby were alright.

#house imagine #james wilson #gregory house #house md #house md imagine #greg house x reader #gregory house imagine #greg house imagine #gregory house x reader #greg house #gregory house x fem oc #gregory house x female reader #gregory house x you #gregory house x fem reader #lisa cuddy

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clockwayswrites · 1 year ago

Text

So far this file is called 'birdritch'. Those of you who follow my art tumblr might know where this is going. I needed something light to write, been a low day. There has been zero editing or reading through and it is past 2am, sorry and enjoy! (Don't need any typos pointed out, ty.)

---

“You are supposed to be home.”

Danny blinked up from his work to find Lucius Fox standing in the doorway of the lab. The man had the sport of expression one wore around a child who had just done something disappointing.

(Danny was used to the look, even if it had been a long time since he'd been a kid. Or seen his parents, for that mater.)

“Okay, but,” Danny started, “we agreed that I could start at ten and take my eight hours and one for lunch—”

“A mandatory one hour for lunch away from your desk,” Lucius interrupted.

“Yes, yes, I’ve been doing that! I’ve been eating out on the rooftop garden or even leaving the building and eating out or taking lunch to the park. I’ve been behaving, Lucius, I promise.”

Lucius raised a judgmental brow. “It’s after eight, Danny.”

“What? No. I have an alarm on my phone and everything… okay, well, that only works if my phone is charged.” Danny jabbed uselessly at his phone screen. He followed the charger, which was plugged in, all the way to the wall. He resisted the urge to let his head fall against the wall. “I guess Leslie fried the outlet again or something. I’m sorry, Lucius.”

“It’s fine, Danny,” Lucius said, “but only because, one, I know you have been trying, and two, I am going to buy you the most embarrassing alarm clock I can find and mount it to something in this lab. Now it is late and I am going home and so are you, Mr. Fenton.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Fox,” Danny said and made an exaggerate show of packing up his backpack, dead phone and all.

Lucius gave a little snort at the antics, but left with a ‘get home safe, Danny’. After his boss was gone, Danny took the time to actually make sure everything was in his bag and secure. He still didn’t get why he couldn’t just work late, but apparently WE had something of an insistence of work life balance. According to Lucius, Danny crossed the line too often and so was being kept in line. (Danny didn’t think mention he didn’t have much of a life, literally and otherwise, would help his case.)

Still, Danny mused as he stepped inside the empty elevator, the rules did keep him from becoming his parents. And that was a very, very good thing! Being a mad scientist in Gotham usually ended up landing someone in Arkham. It was just that after the chaos that Danny grew up with, going back to his empty apartment was depressing. It wasn’t as if Danny never got out and did things, it was just that all those things were mostly on the weekend. Most days he just didn’t have a reason to go back to his place.

There was no getting out of it tonight, the great and powerful Fox had spoken and Danny knew better than to try and sneak back up. He lifted his hands over his head, stretching as the elevator descended the last few floors. Oh well, at least it was before ten. He could still grab something on the way home and have a full, warm meal to take his pain meds on. By the pull along his forearm he would need them.

“Night, Bill,” Danny said as he passed the security guard who was on the evening shift. He got another ‘get home safe’ in response and gave a little wave in reply over his shoulder.

Even after the few years in Gotham, it still amused Danny how much everyone wished everyone else some sort of safe travels here. As much as Gotham was a city of hardened realists, there still was so much hope about it. Hope people got home safely, that the Bats would get where they were need in time, that the city would rebuild again and again and again. The undercurrent of hope was so strong that Danny could practically feel it moving through the city like a river.

It had been one of the reasons Danny had taken the job.

He could use hope.

He also had been very careful not to look too closely into it all. While Danny’s early life may have been dominated by the occult, he tried to stay away from it these days outside of the necessary visits to the Realm for his health. As much as the Far Frozen was full of ghost yetis, Frostbite was still a being of science and being there felt more like a cold vacation to his weird relatives than anything else those days.

Danny was actually worried that he was getting close to needing another visit. He shouldn’t, not yet. He wasn’t actually due back for another three months, but the thought of visiting Frostbite had been pulling at the back of Danny’s mind. The most annoying part of it all, is that there wasn’t any concrete reason that Danny felt he needed to go, just a lot of little things: the ache was deeper in his bones, he’d been missing noticing little things, his near constant vertigo was worse, and, oddest of all, he had been feeling chilled.

Maybe he should just take a long weekend and go for a quick visit.

Lucius would undoubtedly approve of the break.

Tomorrow, Danny would ask tomorrow.

(As long as he remembered.)

#dp x dc #spirit halloween ship #danny/bruce

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cakypa120 · 1 month ago

Text

The time of adults has passed. The time of young heroes.

Dick notices everything. Bruce has been twitchy and darker than usual lately. The man's gaze has become heavier and more piercing. He also began to disappear into the Batcave. Dick goes into the files and freezes. It was a clear plan to save Captain Marvel. This is unexpected. Dick calls a family meeting and they all hack into the security cameras in the Watchtower. They see and hear things they did not expect.

Dick: Now I know why he thanked me when I first met him. Shit. Shit. Shit!

Tim: Why did we attack him? How did we kill him? Did we get data on his weakness?

Jason: I want that notebook.

Damian: I don't believe John and I are capable of cruelty.

Stephanie: You're right. You're the only one who's cruel, John's one of the few who can keep you in line.

Cass: Is he...mad at us?

That question makes everyone think. Was this overly cheerful man mad at them? How could he even smile in their faces when he remembered everything they'd done? How?

Tim sends this video to all the young heroes. Their reactions are different, some don't believe it, some quietly panic, some scream that they won't do it, some deny it. But everyone calms down and makes a decision.

Be nice to Marvel!

They don't want him to associate them with their versions. So that he doesn't look at them and remember everything that killed him. But they also want him to forgive them. To some extent. They knew that those versions weren't them, but the guilt was still there and they couldn't stop thinking about it.

Unfortunately, Marvel notices everything.

Marvel: You found out about my notebook?

Dick: It's that obvious?

Marvel: Yeah. Let me guess, hacked the cameras?

Dick: Yeah.

Marvel: I'm not surprised.

Dick: Are you mad at us?

Marvel: No. I was never mad at you. I was mad at myself. For not being able to stop it, for you having to do it. The Titans and Young Justice were the only ones who hesitated to kill me. I wanted to help you somehow. I'm not mad and I don't blame you. Dick, you're great people and the best heroes I've ever known. Trust me, I've seen a lot of heroes.

Dick: Why did I kill you in the past reality?

Marvel: The League and Batman's rift led us to this situation. You and your brothers were caught in the crossfire. B still found a way to take me out. I'll say it again. Your version did a great job. There's no pain at all. *Marvel puts his hand on the Dick's shoulder* You're not your version. You'll never be them.

They calm down a little, but curiosity is a terrible thing, and if you mix it with guilt, you get a very strange cocktail.

Conner felt like shit. Maybe he had killed Marvel once. The one who had replaced his father, the one who had not turned away from him, the one who had become his family. The clone wanted to know why he had killed him, why he had killed his unofficial father.

Conner: Marvel, I want to talk to you.

Marvel: Sure, what do you want to talk about?

Conner: How...I...

Marvel: Killed me?

Conner: *Nods*

Marvel: Sivana teamed up with Luther. You and your friends were captured, I volunteered to help you, but Sivana incapacitated me. Then Luthor gave you a choice, either me or your team.

Conner: So I...

Marvel: You shot me yourself.

Conner: I couldn't! I would never do that! You... You... *tears welling up in his eyes*

Marvel: *hugs Connor* I know, man, I know. You didn't want to kill me, you believed that we would win, that we would find a way out of this. But I know Sivana, I know Luthor. There was no way we could all get out of this together. Someone would have stayed in that lab forever. I'm not mad. I have never been angry.

Conner starts to cry. Billy's heart breaks from the sound of crying. Then he couldn't hug Conner, that he pointed a gun at him. The guy asked for forgiveness so many times, for Marvel not to be angry. Billy wanted to hug him so much then, but the chains held tightly, slowly sucking the strength out of him. Billy hugs this Conner tighter, as if protecting him from all the bad thoughts.

Then the nightmares appeared. In all of them, they saw how they personally killed Marvel. It bothered them, they could not sleep normally, it exhausted them and then they often made mistakes on missions. Bart almost got stuck in the wall, Tim almost blew himself up when he was defusing a bomb, Wally could not concentrate on explaining the mission.

Then there comes a day when Bart almost dies because he's too tired. And that day, Captain Marvel is watching over them. So Bart is called in for a one-on-one talk.

Marvel: Impulse! What's wrong?

Bart: Sorry, I just haven't slept enough.

Marvel: You look like you haven't slept in days.

Bart: *Nervous laugh* What makes you think that? I sleep well. Really well, in fact!

Marvel: Bart. Please be honest with me. What's going on.

Bart: I didn't...I didn't...

Marvel: Bart...

Bart: I killed you! We've killed you! So many times! Why aren't you mad? Why do you keep smiling at us? Why are you so cute? We're... I'm...

Marvel: Are these the questions that keep you awake?

Bart: No, the nightmares. I see myself killing you. It always...it always hurts so much.

Marvel: *sighs* I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I'm not mad at you. I never have been. You're good heroes and great people. And I'm guessing the rest of you have nightmares, too, huh?

Bart: *nods*

Marvel: Then call me. I'll be there. Wherever you are. Okay? Will you tell the others?

Bart: *nods quickly*

Bart runs away, and Marvel watches him go. From then on, the young heroes began calling Marvel after another nightmare. Marvel stayed by their side and answered their questions, repeating over and over that he was not angry with them. Sometimes they had sleepovers, where Marvel was used as a big pillow. Billy even convinced Sandman to give these poor kids good dreams more often, where everyone is happy.

Billy just hopes that they can overcome this.

The sword of Damocles hung over Billy. And the only question was.

Who will cut the rope?

Part 2

#billy batson #dc captain marvel #captain marvel #dcu #shazam #fawcett city #fawcett comics #jl #young justice #teen titans

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vad-hander · 5 months ago

Text

MY SURGICAL SOULMATE

pairing: Johnny Suh x reader

genre: hospital!au, fluff, smut, some light angst, co-workers to lovers, Johnny is a doctor, y/n is a nurse, happy ending

warnings: language, sexual content (sex in a hospital, nipple play, unprotected penetration, thigh riding), mentions of surgeries and emergencies (nothing graphic)

words: 9k

synopsis: you have a perfect synergy with Johnny, whether it's you two matching each other professionally in OR or giving each other exactly what you need in bed. You click with each other in every aspect of your life and after one of your successful shifts together you realise you're ready to ask Johnny for the next step. Johnny's answer, though, flips around your outlook on the future of your relationship

______

You stepped into the hospital cafeteria, the scent of freshly brewed coffee immediately hitting your nose, mingling with the faint scent of antiseptic that seemed to always linger in the air anywhere you went within the building.

It was early morning, chatter of nurses and doctors filing the area despite the early hour, creating the backdrop for a very long shift ahead of you. As you entered, you spotted Johnny sitting at a corner table, a steaming cup of coffee in hand and a playful smirk on his face. He had already spotted you at the entrance, and by the look on his face he wanted you to join him.

“Hey there, early bird!” he called out, the teasing was palpable in the tone of his voice. He gestured for you to join him and you let him know with your gestures that you'll get the order and walk right to him. You ordered an iced americano, as you've already had your daily portion of wake-up coffee at home. Your eyes focused on Johny's cup of obviously hot beverage.

“Hey, sleep-deprived night owl,” you teased as you slid into the chair across from him. The warmth of his smile made your heart flutter in a non-colleague way. You shook the feeling away, taking a sip of the sweating drink in your hand. “Night shift?“

“Uh-huh, and about to rock through another one of those tonight. You?” he asked, sipping on a cup of just black coffee. Knowing Johnny, you were sure he asked for a quadruple shot of espresso or something like that to add to his drink. Johnny needed all the caffeine in the world after a night shift. You knew that like no one else did and more importantly you were absolutely on his side with that one.

“I got here 20 minutes ago. Night shift tonight, tho.” you added the second sentence with nonchalance so fake, you were actually embarrassed to look Johnny in the eyes for a second. You were sure he read through you already.

"Guess tonight won't be much of a torturous night, then.” both his brows raised as a suggestive smile adorned his face. You were supposed to keep your face straight. You even tried to force the corners of your lips downwards - it didn't help. You put your lips around the straw and looked at the table, leaving Johnny's words to hang in the air.

“Any important plans for today? Save a few lives? Go on a coffee run?” he asked, a glint of mischief in his eyes letting you know he didn't actually expect any response from you. His main goal was to make you smug, and he succeeded, ready to move on with his small talk.

You chuckled, taking a sip of your coffee. “A bit of both, I think. And definitely saving you from another awful cup of cafeteria coffee. I'll make sure to get you Paik's during the break.”

“Oh, I kinda was developing a taste for this dark substance,” he replied, feigning pain in his chest. ”You're the best, tho. I'll appreciate that.”

You smiled, basking in the easy banter that danced between you. "I hope I'll be able to appreciate your payback also." you took it a small step further, sinking in his proud smile. Johnny always appreciated people that were able to match him - whether it was in the OR or at the cafeteria or in his bed. You had enough time to learn that and bring him occasional satisfaction with your comebacks in all the right situations.

As the sun beamed through the ceiling window, landing on the side of Johnny's face, your brain couldn't help but fantasize. Moments like these, when the Gods above or some other power allowed you two to just sit and chat, have a little break before surgery calls and emergency after another emergency come one after another, these moments of just the two of you felt like a precious gift for you.

You watched Johnny take a sip from his cup, not being able to stop yourself from imagining how mornings like this could be a very normal routine for you two. How coffee dates before shifts, your laughter in unison echoing against the walls of the hospital can be your norm. How instead of coming in separately, you could just get to the hospital in one car, walking around with your fingers intertwined, giving support to each other. Having lunches together, leaving for coffee breaks with your team, having Johnny on your side. Taking the scrubs off at the end of a long day and basking in each other's presence until you're ready to go back home and hold each other in your sleep. You envisioned weekends spent in cozy cafes, playful debates over which pastry was superior, lazy afternoons where you would curl up together with books, both of you lost in the words, but still making sure to give each other a little sweet touch.

But for now, this was all just a dream, a fantasy tucked away in the depths of your heart. You merely smiled as you enjoyed the present moment. You maybe were taking the slowest baby steps in history of baby steps towards this life, but given your insane schedules, you were moving with super speed. As long as Johnny found comfort in you - you were happy, because he was your comfort. For the past year he's been all that and more. Gentle, polite, understanding and caring. Love and all those relationship things, duh, they obviously lacked - but if he chose you every time for a whole damn year, it's pretty clear those things could also come. With time.

Suddenly, the intercom crackled to life, cutting through your reverie. “Attention all staff. Code Blue in the ICU. All available personnel, please report immediately.”

The lighthearted atmosphere shattered, replaced by the urgency that came with the call to action. You exchanged a glance with Johnny, both of you instantly shifting into work mode.

“Looks like we’re up,” he said, standing and offering you a hand. You grabbed onto it, as he pulled you to stand. As you wondered if he'd maybe planned to drag you by the hand, he let go and grabbed both his phone and wallet.

You also collected your belongings, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you rushed toward the ICU. The two of you moved around the hospital sharing glances as you navigated through the chaotic environment. You had spent countless hours together, and the unspoken understanding between you was palpable. You could anticipate each other's movements and were about to prove that on a patient. Every shared look and gesture felt like a language of its own as you worked in unison your magic. People in your ward knew that you were like a perfectly tuned mechanism when it was about an emergency, they found pleasure watching your duo get work done with high professionalism.

Johnny's fingers pressed against the elevator button about twenty times at once, you held your breath, only taking one in as the door finally opened.

As you arrived at the patient’s side, you fell into the rhythm of the urgency around you. Johnny getting you to work the second he got to the patients bed.

“Y/n, can you stabilise the airway?” Johnny asked, glancing over at you standing at the bedside. “We need to intubate immediately.”

“Yes, Dr. Suh. I’m on it.” you replied, your hands steady as you prepared the intubation kit, the familiarity of the routine comforting your brains in this chaos. More nurses ran into the ward, ready to provide immediate help. Nurse Kim forced passersby out of the ward, stopping people from peaking. Nurse Kang stood with panic in her eyes, moving her head at the exchange between you and Johnny.

“Make sure we have the suction ready,” Johnny instructed, his eyes never leaving the patient. “Their breathing is shallow, and we need to clear any obstructions fast.”

“Got it,” you said, your voice steady. You glanced at the monitor. “Heart rate is dropping—currently at 40 bpm.”

Johnny’s brow furrowed. "Grab an epinephrine syringe. We need to get the heart rate up.” Johnny addressed nurse Kang, Seulgi seemed to be affected by the emergency, not giving a reaction to what Johnny said. “Nurse Kang, prep the epinephrine!” he called out with a bark. She finally unfroze and rushed to get the adrenaline. Johnny seeing her in action turned his focus back to you. “Nurse Y/N, how's it going with the airway?” the tone of his voice got back to collected steadiness.

“I’m almost there, just a few more seconds,” you replied, your voice also steady, Johnny's presence and confidence in what you were doing gave you enough to stay calm. Seulgi was on her 6th month of work - if you were her, you'd probably also freeze at the sight. You made a mental note to comfort her afterward - Johnny wasn't a villain - he just wanted people on his team to put in work to save his patients.

“Make sure to keep the head tilted back and chin lifted. Let’s get the tube in hand,” he instructed, positioning himself near you - to assist if necessary.

With a deep breath, you inserted the laryngoscope, carefully visualizing the airway. “I have a clear view. Preparing to place the tube,” you said, your focus unwavering.

“Good work, now do it smoothly,” he coached, instinctively placing a hand on your shoulder for support. “Let's start with just one smooth motion” his fingers dropped from the shoulder down to your waist. You felt a wave of heat run over your body. Johnny didn't really make moves on you during work or generally in public. This felt weird and out of place despite making you all flushed. You shook his hand off before anyone noticed.

You shook his hand off because he was making your hands unsteady, and you weren't about to risk someone's life because of a man.

“Got it,” you affirmed, reassuring yourself as you advanced the tube into position. With a practiced motion, you secured it and connected the ventilator. “The tube is in place and confirmed. Starting ventilation.” you vocalised your actions like you were in the OR a very handy habit when you worked in a team.

“Excellent,” Johnny said, glancing at the monitors as they began to stabilize. “Ventilation settings are good—let’s keep an eye on those vitals. How are we looking?”

“Heart rate is rising—now at 60 bpm,” you reported, relief washing over your voice.

“Good!” Johnny instructed your colleague as you cleaned up the mess you made in a rush, not focusing on his instruction.

“Fluids are going in.” you announced.

Johnny nodded, pride evident in his tone. “We’re not done yet, Y/N. Prepare to move to surgery. They're not stable enough to hold here.”

You looked up at him, and the intensity in his gaze confused you. “Sure, Dr. Suh.”

“Okay, nurse Kang. Prepare the surgery room!” Johnny commanded. You realised he wasn't addressing you.

It was a long and intense surgery, but the two of you proved once again what it meant to be compatible colleagues, each of you knowing exactly what the other needed without having to say a word. It was in moments like these that you felt truly alive—adrenaline pumping blood in your chest, the connection deepening between you and Johnny with every passing moment.

When the surgery was over, you were dragged into another one right after you sat your butt down for a break. Right after your daily nurse routine you were once again in OR because quote - Johnny could only bare another surgery for the day with you in his OR. He was tired and mad over his previous surgery, he needed you for things to go smoothly. And you could never say no to that. You were a sucker for being needed by Johnny Suh.

So when that surgery was finally over, you felt a rush of relief wash over you. You stepped out into the quiet of the hallway, your shoulders unwinding as the tension lifted. You were finally, hopefully, free for the night. You found yourself back in the staff lounge, settling onto the well-loved couch in the corner of the room. You were hoping to have a calm rest of the night, just fall asleep and wake up in the morning, when you'll be dismissed to go on your merry way. But first, sleep.

“Insane day, huh?” Johnny quipped, leaning back against the couch, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. You've dreamed of moving somewhere calm for the past three years, but you had exactly the same face expression. You were exhausted, but you were happy with the work you've done today.

You chuckled, the exhaustion hanging in the air “Yeah, one more not that bad of a day in our ridiculous ward. You were great in OR,” you replied, warmth flooding your chest as you felt Johnny fold and rest his head in your lap. You touched his shoulder, your fingers running over his arm in a soothing motion, swallowing a gasp as your fingers trailed his bicep. It felt like saving people made his muscles grow bigger by night.

“Thanks, but what makes me look great is a good team. Today has proved once again I can only trust you in this hospital.” he said, his tone sincere, something lingered behind his eyes that made your heart flutter.

"Shush." you covered his mouth with your palm.

"Should I confess?" he moved your palm away, gripping onto your fingers and you gave him a barely-there nod. You were expecting some sort of banter out of his mouth. "My 48-hour shift kinda washed away by your magic touch. If you want to-." he sat up, changing his position so he'd sit facing you. Johnny's palm cupped your face, and as he caressed your lower lip with his thumb - all tiredness washed away from your body also. "I could close my payment for today's Paik's?" you opened your mouth to shoot some flirtiness back at him, but his thumb was in front of your mouth and you simply gave his finger a lick instead of an answer.

Johnny pulled you onto his lap within the same moment and smashed his mouth against yours. Fear of being interrupted either by another blue code or a colleague made your mouths move faster. As Johnny got you onto his lap, your mouths already were exploring each other's tongue. His fingers raised the scrubs up your body with a confident movement, he had no time and energy for teasing.

Johnny's focused gaze sent a flutter through your chest as his fingers danced across your breasts, and you felt a shiver run down your spine as he approached your nipples with his tongue, bending his back in a ridiculous angle. His lips grazed your tender skin, fanning his breath over previously touched areas, making arousal drown your panties.

Johnny's mouth continuously send rushes of pleasure through your body, washing away post-OR tension. He knew damn well nipple play made your body relaxed, helped you to unwind and forget about blood and bruises you saw behind that door. Johnny made sure he could ease you down even in the shortest time he was given. Today and always.

His mouth was soft yet firm, knowing just how to coax pleasure from your body. Your nipples peaked under his touch, responding to his action. Johnny's tongue suddenly felt cold as blood rushed to your sensitive bud. As Johnny worked his mouth over your chest, your thighs subconciously rubbed against his. You felt the bulge in his pants grow heavier, making it harder for you to keep the pace and keep at least a small fracture of your brain sane. You felt like you could quite literally rub both of you to release.

Johnny whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "Just relax, let me take care of you." You gripped onto his shoulder, you loved it so much when Johnny was caring for you like that. You loved so much how he paid attention to your bodies' response. You slowed down with your hips, allowing him to take the lead in your pleasure. Johnny sucked in your nipple, your nails gripping onto his nape. His tongue played with the swollen bud, while his lips were giving pleasurous pressure. You tilted your head backwards, enjoying the care Johnny was giving you.

You loved all the things he did to you and for you, but for a funny reason it never crossed your mind to tell him that out loud. Tell him you loved him taking care of you. You loved that he cared. You loved him. God, this was such a forbidden territory. And absolutely unrequited also. The only reason you held back in talking feelings, was Johnny's absolute indifference for such a topic. And also because you never before felt that determined to have him as your boyfriend.

Johnny's mouth moved in a slow, rhythmic pattern. The sensation was exquisite to you, and it took your breath away and made you think even more how you genuinely never let him know how you felt about him besides fucking. How you never told him that recently you were in extra good mood whenever you had a shift together. How him not replying to your messages was driving you insane. You only told him praises when he was balls deep inside of you. You told him how good he felt only when his tongue was drawing eights over your folds.

He never did that either, but in the very moment it felt like the most insane realisation - you and Johnny did not appreciate enough each other in your ordinary life. You felt an inching wish to change that inside of your heart now.

You tried to block in your head the fact you almost never communicated or met outside the hospital. By almost you actually meant never, because you were trying frantically to remember when you saw him last in his casual clothes outside hospital walls and the answer was nearing to a never. Maybe you just couldn't remember in the moment, your focus on Johnny present in front of you. His attention shifted to the other breast and it was hard for you to focus on anything. Your only focus were Johnny's lips, skimming across your skin, making you melt in him completely. It was as though he had put in effort into studying the intricacies of your body every time he saw you naked, you were convinced he mastered the delicate balance of pleasure and anticipation you enjoyed.

Johnny murmured, his voice low and husky. "Your body is incredible." You looked down at him, your eyes meeting.

Johnny smiled at you, licking into your mouth for a brief moment. His arm wrapped your waist, lifting you with just an arm to pull your pants down with the free one. Your arms were in his line of vision, trying to hold onto his face and lick into his mouth, while Johnny worked hard to return the kiss, but also tried to free himself from the material of his own pants.

As he was able to do so, you felt his cock spring up against your thigh. Your fingers wrapped around him blindly, your hand working him with just enough pressure to make it pleasurous for him. You smoothed pre-cum over his length, Johnny's mouth making a puffing sound as you squeezed your fingers around the tip. He didn't need your stimulation, he was hard and heavy in your grip as you continued.

You had no intention on stroking him for long, you needed Johnny inside of you immediately, rising to your knees and guiding him to your entrance. As you teasingly slid him against your wet folds, covering him in your juices, you almost lost balance at how good even that small action felt. Johnny gripped onto your waist, holding you in place as you continued to torture both of you.

You lined him up with yourself - letting go of him to wrap your arms around his neck and make your mouths also line up. Johnny moved his second arm to your waist - gripping onto you before you were ready to take him inside of you. Your mouth opened, you took your tongue out and licked Johnny's mouth, sinking down at the same time.

His arms immediately rearranged, helping you up and down his length in the pace that felt comfortable to kick off the intercourse. He did make you wrap around him pretty tightly with no stretching beforehand, but he was a little too obsessed with that feeling and you loved seeing his eyes roll back in pleasure. Johnny allowed for you to adjust, before he smashed you against him, as his patience wore thin and his wish of chasing his high overpowered everything else. Your mouths continued teasing each other, licking and sucking, adding up to the pleasure that was building where you connected.

Johnny's arm moved to your face, his fingers holding your face in place, as he lifted his hips up to meet you halfway, making sure he's able to watch your eyes roll to the back of your head with each thrust of his hips.

You came up with a rhythm, moving in unison, your hips making a motion towards him in circles, Johnny meeting you halfway with a nasty slap of skin on skin. His arms moved positions once again, gripping onto your butt cheeks. You knew he needed to make sure you were feeling all of him, he needed to fill you up completely, make sure that he angled you right, making sure that he was hitting your uterus.

"Fuck, Johnny." you moaned as he let go of your body, resulting in him nestling deep inside of you. You felt immediate pressure in your lower stomach, grabbing Johnny's now free hand before he began to move again. You pressed his palm over your pelvis, knowing for sure he could feel himself pressing inside you from here. The pressure in your stomach was borderline uncomfortable, but you would endure it for hours, knowing how badly it send Johnny into oblivion.

"Fuck." Johnny moaned, making a little move, keeping the hand accurately on the same spot. You lifted yourself up, sinking down in the same angle and feeling exactly the same pressure as before, Johnny's hand holding on to your abdomen to make sure he didn't imagine the feeling. You sure knew he didn't, he felt that handful of times, but every time his sex drive was through the roof after feeling himself squeezing down your organs. "Fuck." he repeated himself and moved.

"You're filling me up so good, Johnny, no one does it like you. You are so fucking perfect. God." you moaned in his ear. Your heart pacing like you needed to get in ICU.

Schedules worked in a funny way. It's been a week since the last time you've had a shift with Johnny and you missed him terribly. Right when you wanted to talk with him about your relationship and ew, feelings, you were separated. Almost like gods above told you to reconsider your decisions. But who were you to listen to advice.

The week helped you realise and reconsider - you needed to confess, you needed him to know, otherwise what was the point of this relationship? If Johnny wanted you in that way, he should be wanting you in other ways too. Or else, maybe you should annul the arrangement? The mere thought made your palms sweat. You had 7 very determined evenings to work out within your system whether you loved the man for sex or you loved the man because you loved him. You were certain it's not true love - but a very nearing experience at least. You had to if not confess - at least ask him about his feelings. Both of you have been virtuous in ignoring any and all sorts of conversation that would have you two making any sort of agreements and and any conclusions about this thing you were in. You were busy, Johnny, probably, even more so than you. There was no urgency to sit down and consider your feelings. Until the very recent week, obviously.

The day finally fell upon you. You clocked in, seeing Johnny's name two rows above yours as you filled in the needed paper work. You were back at the hospital for another night shift with Johnny. While the fact brought thrill down to your core, your feelings pressed heavier in your chest, washing away all excitement. You feigned confidence in front of a mirror in the elevator, but seeing his name so close to yours made it hard for you to swallow, drawing out scenarios of you bringing up the topic.

You weren't scared. You were purely nervous because you were either about to become a very happy taken woman or get your heart broken by the hottest man you've ever met. And being heartbroken at work wasn't on your list of to-do things for today. Or ever.

You glanced over at Johnny through the glass door, he was engrossed in a case file, the familiar warmth curling in your stomach despite the nerves. His handsome features focused and determined, as the patient continued their story, probably giving Dr. Suh details on their symptoms. You couldn't hear through the door. Johnny moved his gaze back on the patient, his head nodding rhythmically, while the nurse next to him wrote down a few things into the patient's file.

Johnny moved his eyes to the door - probably noticing a figure standing for a long while with no movement and wanting to shush them away. You raised your hand up, giving him a little wave as a hello. Johnny gave you a wink, his smile showing off his perfect teeth. As his eyes lowered back to the patient, the smile faded, his mind going back to work mode.

You bit onto your lip and walked away. Johnny wouldn't break your heart. He clearly has a thing for you, too. You convinced yourself, mood rising up with a click of your finger. Walking on that cloud of confidence, you felt like nothing could bring you down today. Not even those scheduled back to back surgeries.

“Been a little while since we had a shift together.“ Johnny bumped his shoulder with yours, giving you a little shock as he approached you from the back. "Thought you weren't big on the wending machine coffee?" he questioned your choice as you leaned to get the cup from the machine.

"Beggers can't be choosers." you took a sip and crinkled your face. "Nurse Kim had to leave early, something happened with her son at school, no one could cover for her. Automatically I had to take care of both her and mine patients. No time for a coffee run." you walked away from the machine with Johnny by your side.

His hand fell onto your shoulder, you raised your head to see his face - what was the intention behind that touch? There wasn't any, you could tell by his face. Just a neutral smile plastered on his face. "I seem to be quite free tonight. Want me to help with left patients? Or I could run to get you a coffee."

"Can't make a doctor do the nurses job." you couldn't even imagine Johnny putting drippers for patients. It's not like he can't, but you were sure chief of your ward would get you fired the same moment he sees Johnny do your job.

"Okay-" Johnny clearly wanted to suggest the coffee run.

"Also can't make a doctor run errands for me. Thank you, though." If he was the boyfriend, though-. You wouldn't mind him doing that.

"Think of this as me running for a coffee for myself. I also haven't had a good drink because of you." His lips made a little pout, and you couldn't hold back a thought how kissable those lips looked.

Your brains fogged and you agreed immediately. You can't say no to a Johnny that begged to take care of you. "If that's the case. I'll have an iced Americano. I'll transfer you the money, thanks."

Johnny's mouth got closer to your ear. "It's okay if you'll pay me back with the payment I usually make. You're on the night shift, right?" his brows raised in a playful manner.

"i am, but I also may be dead tired after tonight." you raised your brows matter of factly. You weren't sure you'd be able to give him anything tonight, if he won't ask for cuddles. And he won't ask for that.

"I'll ask for 5 shots of espresso, then, for your drink" you chuckled, Johnny letting go of you, speeding up to get the coffee. "Wait, did you also not have any lunch?" you shook your head a no. "What would you do without me?" he shook his head dissaprovingly and walked off, making your heart tremble.

"Are you the nurse?" an old lady asked you, taking you out of the trance.

"I am." you gave her a nod, the brows furrowing confused.

"My neighbour snores so loud I can't even-" you began to nod, walking the lady away from the corridor.

"Special delivery for the best nurse in this hospital!" Johnny announced, not even 30 minutes later. You were filling in some patients files, other personnel minding their business next to you, before Johnny's voice silenced all the other noises in the corridor.

"Who would that be?" Nurse Lee smirked, you wondered if she hoped that was her.

Johnny snorted, laying his palm firmly on your shoulder. "My surgical soulmate, obviously." You wondered if someone in the hospital had a clue about the nature of this relationship. Besides truly being totally compatible work-wise, of coruse.

"Thank you." you smiled, not paying much attention to the man. You were hoping he'll put the coffee cup next to you and leave. But he didn't and you had to actually raise your head to see. "What's that?" your brow furrowed.

"Special delivery?" he smiled teasingly. You wondered what was up with this sudden burst of friendly affection in public. Did he miss you? Did he also had a change of his heart and wanted you two to date?

"Yeah?" you nudged him to continue that sentence.

"You didn't get to have your lunch, I brought you lunch." he announced loud enough for the personnel surrounding you to hear that, also adding in a brow movement. I'm a very nice man, you see.

You clearly felt astonished. That did not sound like Johnny at all “You did?“

“Well. One more question and it's going back with me." he jerked back a little with a threat. You didn't feel like risking your food. You straightened your back and looked at him with polite eyes.

"Thank you, doctor Suh." you made up a smile and reached for the bag in his hold. With utter respect for the man in front of you, you reached with both your hands firmly, adding a little bow as you expected him to let go of the bag and let you finish work in peace. You had to make sure people noticed the two of you being strictly professional, surgical soulmates. And surgical being the main word, underlined three times.

Johnny pulled the bag closer to himself and made you unsteady on your feet. "Nuh-uh. I have a feeling you won't take off to eat right this second and the food needs to be eaten right now."

"What's in there?" You let go of the bag completely.

"Come with me, I'll let you see." Johnny gifted you a smirk and you flushed. Your eyes ran over the room, people already losing their peak interest in this conversation and carrying on with their duties. Good, because if you were reading between the lines correctly, Johnny was suggesting sex. Even before the sun set? He can't be serious.

You voiced out your concern "Huh?" you cackled flabbergasted.

"Come." Johnny gestured and grabbed your elbow, walking you somewhere else. His office, you later worked out. Johnny locked the door and you started to doubt even more, whether or not he wanted to make sure you ate at all.

Johnny walked over to the table, placing the bag there. As he walked out of the way you also noticed the promised coffee cup.

"You could've just texted that the coffee's at your office."

"And would've waited for you to take it for hours. I needed to summon you right now." Johnny talked with his back to you, until he plopped on the couch, spreading his legs in an unmannered way and looking at you. Was he inviting you?

"For sex?" you asked straightforward. You had no time to tip-toe around the topic. Johnny made a low giggle like you were the most ridiculous person he knew.

"Jesus, for food. I brought you dongaseu, you definitely have to eat it now before it gets soggy." he had a point.

But also, how the fuck did he know you liked dongaseu? "How did you pick what to get?" you asked, walking closer to his table. Your fingers quickly undoing the knot on the bag to dig in.

"You had it maybe 80% of the times we had lunch at the cafeteria?"

"I did?" you looked at his face. If he cared to remember something like that, he'd probably considered you as someone he cared for. If you were someone he cared for, didn't that mean asking him for a next step was a given? Doesn't that mean that maybe now, is the perfect timing?

You sat down, taking food out of the bag and opening boxes. You took a sip of your coffee to have a little energy burst and looked at Johnny who leaned his head against the wall, dozing off into the ceiling.

"I wanted to talk with you." you started off from afar.

"Yeah?" Johnny focused his eyes on you, the tone of his voice soft.

"You know, how w-." a knock on the door interrupted your words. The handle shook a few times from behind that door.

"Doctor Suh?" one more knock. Johnny quickly moved over to the door, unlocking it and blocking the view of who the person was. "The patient, we admitted him today in ward 23?"

"Yeah?" the tone of his voice completely different to the way he asked you.

"He asks for your immediate presence." you could hear the panic in the nurses' voice.

"What happened?" Johnny was unmoved by her stress. Collected and even a little annoyed, you'd say.

"I don't know, he doesn't tell us. He asks for you, he seems out of his mind?" you pressed your nails into your palm to keep your mouth shut. You really had a wish to step in and help. If you would've brought a doctor every time a patient threw a tantrum, you would've been jobless by now.

"Can’t you deal with a patient yourself?" the woman stuttered in reply, Johnny sighed. "I'm coming in a second." he turned back at you, but didn't say a thing, looking back out the door. "You can go. I said I'll come in a second."

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Thank you." she bowed out and disappeared.

"Shit." Johnny cursed under his breath, looking at you. You probably looked disturbed, you were ready to drop the food and be of help with your entire being. "I'll come back, just wait for me here, okay?"

"It's okay. I'll come another t-."

"No, hold on to that conversation. I'll return." You swallowed a smile, giving him a nod. "Lock yourself from the inside, just in case anyone wants to bother your lunch." you nodded once again, locking the door a moment after Johnny left the room.

You quickly finished off your meal, sipping on coffee, your back resting against the couch. You weren't big on sleeping during day time even with your hectic schedule but the couch at Johnny's office always had that special power of lulling you. You rested your head on the headrest and maybe you could blame food coma for this, maybe it was just your tired body - you closed your eyes and fell into a sweet dream. Your mind took to your -you hoped- nearest future. You hanging out on this very couch when you had some time for a break. Your body wrapped in Johnny's hold, his fingers caressing your shoulder blade while you take in comfort and steadiness of each other. Your personal little hide out from all that craziness behind the door. You could dream of that for at least an eternity. Knocks on the door took you out of slumber. You dropped your feet back on the floor, focusing on the noise behind that door - if someone else was looking once again for Johnny, or it was him that returned to you.

Knocking repeated, in a comforting thumping of Johnny's fingers, you were sure by now it was him. You quickly unlocked the door, peeking through.

Johnny swept you off your feet - quite literally. He stormed into his office, not forgetting to lock the door behind himself. As you tried to give him space, his arms scooped you in his hold, lifting you up and crossing the room back to the couch. He sat down and sat you on his lap all within a moment.

"Wha-?" you gasped as Johnny's fingers sneaked under you scrubs and held your naked ass. "The sun has not even set, Doctor Suh." you teased, your palms finding their place on Johnny's chest.

"Got scheduled an emergency surgery tonight at nine. Won't be done for at least five hours." his fingers pushed on your skin, forcing your core to slide up his thighs.

"You're not asking me to do the surgery with you?" you pouted, moving your arms to Johnny's neck, to get your faces closer.

"I can't. You said you've already worked for two people."

You cooed, leaning into him. "Why are you so caring? Don't tell me you have feelings for me." you teased, making it painful for yourself. If he'd reply with yes, I do, he'd make your life so much easier. You'll just have to tell him 'I do too' and let him sweep you in a passionate kiss. Your heart trembled a little, as you were expecting an answer.

Johnny closed the gap between your mouths and kissed you. You kissed him back, expecting him to pull back any moment and give you an answer. He didn't.

His fingers traveled up your back, lifting your clothes and searching new skin available with his mouth. Your hips moved a tad bit forward, feeling Johnny getting harder under you.

Johnny's tongue flicked your nipple "You wanted to talk." he suddenly remembered, straightening his back and looking you dead in the eyes, your clothes falling back to cover you.

You were in no mood to talk about your feelings now, when his hard cock was giving pressure to your not any less turned on cunt. You really didn't want to ruin the mood. "Now's not the time." you chuckled, crawling your fingers over his nape.

"Why?" Johnny's fingers kneaded your ass once again.

"I can't keep my train of thought when I'm this close to your cock." you kissed his mouth, hoping the conversation's over.

Johnny pulled you back, his arms peeling yours off of his nape. "My curiosity makes my dick soft. Just tell me." he actually had the audacity to push you off his lap, forcing you to sit next to him on the couch. If only he knew that your next words could possibly turn him off of you for forever. "Is it the hospital?" he asked carefully, seeing you shuffle with your fingers over your lap.

You were desperately coming up with a topic that would not divide your life to a before and after. Nothing was coming to your brain in this forced down from a high panic. "No."

"It's personal, then? Did something happen?" Johnny turned to face you, his knee bumping with your thigh as he moved around. "You can tell, I'll do my best to help you." your eyes finally met his comforting stare. Johnny read your face expression too well, he mirrored your level of worry in concern. His fingers even found yours for support and you wondered if he imagined something terrible have happened like one of your family members died or something worse.

It was, probably, worse. You wanted to know if you had a chance to become his significant other. You wondered if he wanted you besides the sex when your nightshifts matched. "It is, personal. But it's not something bad."

"Okay? You can tell me." he squeezed your palm in his hold. But you were confident it's better to lose any and all physical contact with Johnny to be able to have that conversation.

You moved your body a little further from him, being nervous to an extent where you stood up and turned away from his stare. This way you could imagine you were pacticing this conversation to the wall and not to the very alive and very real Johnny behind you. "Ugh-." you swallowed. "it's about you and I." you sighed and closed your eyes. "We've been seeing each other like this for over a year. Recently, I've found myself needing more. I need more of you, Johnny." you turned around, startled immediately as the man you talked to got in front of you. “I can’t keep doing this—whatever this is between us. It’s more than casual now, and I believe we should be brutally honest with each other. I can’t preten otherwise.” you said, trying your hardest to keep your tone steady.

“I didn’t know you felt that way,” he replied, surprise coursing through his voice, but it was quickly overshadowed by something you couldn’t quite decipher.

“I do. But I feel like it's so complicated. This… whatever we have—there’s so much more at play here than we like to pretend. I realised I feel so much for you, and I can’t keep doing this not knowing if there’s a chance for a future. Something more for you and me.” The admission hung heavily in the air, your heart racing.

He took a moment to respond, his expression shifting. “Y/N, you know I care about you a lot." you had a feeling a but was approaching you. Your heart shuttered before the 'b' left his mouth "but I can’t provide a healthy relationship. My schedule is fucking insane. I can't provide myself with enough sleep, I can't promise you a relationship off the bat. Dating while being a surgeon in emergency ward is an insane job.”

"And I'm not worth of putting in work?" you took a step back. The question was stupid. It wasn't the question you wanted to ask, you wanted to tell him no relationship can be perfect right off the bat. It needed work and you were willing to do that for him. You'd meet him halfway. But instead of all that you spat venom and shut down.

Disappointment flooded through you as you laced your fingers together. You took a deep breath, not being able to hide away your disappointment or the way you wanted to leave the room. This here really didn't go the way you wanted it to. Your heart was working hard to keep pumping blood, to keep you steady on your feet and keep you reasonable. Though it clearly failed with the last part already. You were two adults talking about a casual relationship - you had to keep yourself collected and coldblooded. At least Johnny seemed pretty casual about the conversation. "Jesus, this is absolutely not what I meant. I didn't know you wanted a boyfriend, I never gave you a reason to think of me like that. I thought we were on the same page here."

"I see." you swallowed. It was too hard to keep yourself straight. Your heart was crumbling, your feet giving up on you. Your head? It was just dizzier by a second and you wondered when will Johnny dismiss you. He very much put a full stop to everything that was happening between you before. You just needed to say your goodbyes and take off.

His gaze hardened slightly. “Don’t be ridiculous. We can’t change everything just like that. We’re still young, if you suddenly want to settle, you deserve something better than what I can give you with a job like that.” it stung. His words stung like a bitch and you found it hard to hold back your sobs. You still, though, held them in like a champ.

Despite that, you felt your heart shatter at his words, each syllable landing like a crushing blow. “So, you’re telling me I should just walk away?” you replied, voice trembling, stretching your resolve to the breaking point.

“I'm saying if you suddenly think about your future, you should put a full stop to this and look for someone else. Someone, who can give you their all.” Johnny said, but he didn’t look or sound convincing enough, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. You couldn't understand why would he drop the most important part - you didn't want any boyfriend - you wanted Johnny as the boyfriend.

A wave of frustration rose inside you, and without thinking, you blurted, “You are so fucking right, I can’t waste my youth on this. I can't waste my youth on you. This feels … empty. You're fucking heartless, I should've guessed that by now. A man that sees so much misery and death for a job can't have a heart.” your eyes closed automatically, holding in tears that were treacherously trying to flood your face.

You turned away, the wound opened wider as you did so, the weight of your words crashing down.

Johnny didn’t respond, and within the silence, you forced yourself to step back into the reality of your relationship. You backed away, tears welling in your eyes. “I can’t do this,” you said quietly, shaking your head. Your eyes trained on the door, your feet already taking you towards it.

“Y/N, please don’t go,” Johnny pleaded, trying to reach out to you. He just told you to go away, and he's already asking you to stay. You felt sick.

"I'm sorry, Johnny, I'm sorry I brought this up. It's better to rip off the band-aid early." even though you didn't rip it off early, it's been a long fucking while of you two living on different planets. You turned and fled from the room.

You rushed through the hallways, every step echoing the finality of everything that had just been said, guilt and regret overwhelming you. You felt his presence behind you, calling out your name, but you weren't sure you weren't hallucinating. Maybe it was just another episode of your wishful thinking. You needed to escape, to reclaim your heart, but you had no chance to do so. You had to stay at the hospital, mere meters away from the man you despised, despite loving so much.

In this moment of pain and clarity, you knew you had to take control of your choices. You could no longer linger in a world where everything felt uncertain. You had to prioritize yourself first, even if it meant leaving what you once cherished behind. Even if it meant avoiding Johny from now on, losing your surgical soulmate. Losing the only reason work never felt too shitty.

As you disappeared into the hospital, going around to check on your patients the weight of heartache sat heavy in your chest. It was a little difficult paving your future and avoiding Johnny. Avoiding him at all costs, begging your friends to switch shifts with you. Trying to avoid him as much as possible when you still ended up in the hospital on the same shift.

You were thankful Johnny gave you space, you felt appreciative when he asked for a different nurse for his surgeries. You felt great even, when those nurses would come out of the surgeries all frustrated with his behaviour. He was always strict and dissatisfied with their way of working. It stroked your ego. Not once did he bad mouth you during the surgery.

Even if you didn't mean a thing to him in that way, he suffered surgery-wise and it made you feel better.

He deserved to feel that.

Rejection stung like a bitch. Even a month later.

You were so perfect at avoiding Johnny that at one point you relaxed and rolled with the flow. And that was very much a crucial mistake. "Hey, Y/n? Can I have you for a word?" Johnny's voice sounded like a thunderbolt in the clear sky as you passed down the hospital corridor. You felt confused and then realised you forgot to check who from the surgeon personnel was assigned for today.

You faced him, feigning ignorance. "What is it?" Johnny instead of a reply pushed a piece of paper in your hands. You gave it a look. It was a vacancy in a hospital on the other side of the city for the nurse position. Your first immediate thought made you choke on air.

Did he want you to change your job - what a fucking bastard, you chocked on air once again at the audacity. You almost smashed your palm with the piece of paper against his chest. If he was uncomfortable it's on him to change jobs, not forcing you to give him what he wanted.

"It's a job in planned surgery ward. No emergencies, 9 to 5 on weekdays, free weekend. Well, emergencies do happen, but they're more of once in a blue moon situation. Nothing compared to here." he quickly explained, as your eyes searched the paper with confusion.

"Why?" You asked with a scoff. You wanted to hear the words come out of him and itched to slap him.

"I had an interview there, they're giving me a job offer. I said I'll think about it." Your heart broke in pieces instead. He didn't want you to leave. It was him who was leaving. Not seeing Johnny at work everyday will take a toll on your life. Even though you avoided him for a whole month, it still gave you mental strength knowing you shared a job. You still loved him, despite calling it quits. You blinked multiple times at him to process.

You couldn't work out why exactly did he show off his new hospital to you. Go on your fucking merry way then, coward. You really wanted to tell him just that. If he wanted to see a reaction - you would not give him the pleasure. "Ah-. Why are you letting me know? Congra-" you stuttered, though, not being able to talk properly. It suddenly hit you. Nurse position? He clearly didn't get a job offer for a nurse position.

"I told them that giving my girlfriend a job with me could be a breaking point for my decision." his eyes raised suggestively, you couldn't understand what he was doing. Did he really want to destroy you mentally on his last day here?

"You have a girlfriend now?" you blinked to not cry. You didn't mean to ask it out loud, but since it already came out - you said fuck it. This was officially the worst day in your life. And Doctor Johnny Suh was officially the most cruel man on earth.

Johnny smiled at you, giving you a soft chuckle. "I don't know yet. Her brain seems to be not working this morning."

"What?" you asked confused and then suddenly gasped and closed your mouth with both your hands, letting the piece of paper fall. Johnny bent to get it up for you.

The nurse vacancy in your hands, the hospital move and the girlfriend proposal all hung above your head in a moment. He wanted you to be his fucking girlfriend. Wanted you to move jobs with him. Completely out of the blue decision. Didn't he say he didn't like you in that way? Or you imagined the conversation?

"You let me know pretty clearly you didn't reciprocate the feelings-."

Johnny took a step towards you "I was looking for ways to make some time for you, after what you told me. I haven't been able to sleep properly since then, I realised I needed you more than I imagined. This month completely ruined me, I just wished I could have you back by my side under the title you'd be happy to. I found this job so I could make time for you. I will have actual time to put in work for us. Night shifts are still a thing, especially for nurses. But I will not be in surgery as much, this ward only do them planned. I could pick you up and take you home and spend all the possible time in the world with you, adjusting to your shifts. I realised that I wanted this too. I want you too. I like you too, I want your presence in my life more than it's possible to imagine. More than I imagined I could feel and want." Johnny touched your elbow, so you'd give him a reaction. He caught you after a night shift - you were exhausted and now overwhelmed too. You were so confused as to what was happening, but at the same time so certain you'll go anywhere if that meant being with Johnny. If he wanted you as much as you wanted to go with him. "Ah, you're crying? You're my backbone. How are you crying?" Johnny hugged you, giving your temple a little kiss. You crushed under his touch, breaking down completely and wrapping your arms over his waist.

"Johnny, do you understand that I've loved you for some time now, and I thought I've lost you completely." you sobbed into his chest.

"I know, sunshine. I did think I lost you forever too. I'll never let us be separated ever again, okay?" he gave you a moment to collect yourself. You were overwhelmed with how being sure that you two were done turned into this. "I'll give them a call then, will tell them we're ready to start working when they are ready to take us. Right?" Johnny pulled you back a little, looking at your face and capturing your lips with his as you gave him a nod.

don't forget to like and follow for more <3

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mead-iocre · 5 months ago

Text

Lover Girl | Leah Williamson x Spolied!Reader

synopsis: you might be spending valentines day alone

warnings: a veryyyyy spoiled girl <///3

word count: 3.5k

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

Picking at your nails, perfectly filed into almond-shaped, and painted in your favourite sheer blush pink colour, you frown. You hate the sight of your cuticles growing in. Looks like you are due for an appointment soon. You mentally remind yourself to give your favourite salon a call.

Your girlfriend sighs over the phone. The screen blurs for a moment before you hear shuffling, sheets rustling. She was probably making herself comfortable in bed. The sight annoys you. Your girlfriend should be getting ready for bed beside you, in your shared bed, slipping into sheets made for two.

Soon her face pops back up on the screen. Her back was propped up against the headboard, and she’s turned on the lamp beside the bed letting you see her face a little clearer.

The sight also annoys you.

Her stupid face should be right beside you. Not in some hotel room, not a whole plane ride away.

“Quit frowning, baby” Leah breaks the brief silence. You don’t say anything, the frown on your face deepening, your eyebrows furrowing. “You’ll get wrinkles”

You relax your face immediately.

“But you promised, Lee” You whine, thumping at the empty space on the bed beside you. “You said we’ll be spending Valentines Day together”

“I know, princess” She chides, her voice gentle. “but it’s a bit mental out here— almost all the flights at the airport are delayed”

You don’t relent. “So rent a private charter then”

Your girlfriend chuckles, low and throaty, even though you don’t find anything funny right now. She rubs a hand over her face. “Baby, private jets have to follow the no-fly rules too”

You roll your eyes, audibly huffing at the absurdity of the situation. Did Mother Nature seriously expect you— YOU— the epitome of a lover girl, to spend Valentines day alone?!

Valentines Day was one of your favourite holidays. Top 3, actually. For a a girl whose heart beats in soft, rhythmic thumps; your world is bathed soft candlelights, scattered rose petals, and heart-shaped everything— you were the embodiment of romance. You believe in love like others believe in the stars.

And, oh, the way you give love—it’s like generosity flows from an endless river of affection. You love hosting intimate dinners with Leah’s teammates, and cosy brunches with close friends, complete with your Ginori 1735 Oriente Italiano pink porcelain tableware imported from Italy. You love writing handwritten notes, sealed with a pearly pink wax and kissed with a custom wax seal stamp with your signature.

When you love, you love deeply.

And that’s why it pains Leah to not be with you on one of your favourite days of the year.

“I’m sorry, baby” Your girlfriend croons over the phone, the shitty signal of the hotel room only making the distance between you more obvious. “I’ll make it up to you next year, okay?”

She continues, “We’ll take a week-long trip so we can spend Valentines Day on a beach somewhere…."

You hum in response, nodding—albeit reluctantly. You heard what she was saying but you were still sad. It wasn’t your girlfriend’s fault that the weather was so bad that it made for unfavourable flying conditions. It wasn’t your girlfriend’s fault that she was currently stuck in a hotel room, instead of at home with you.

But that didn’t mean you had to like it.

She tries to lighten the mood. “You still didn’t tell me how your day went. Did you—“

You cut her off. “Actually, Lee, I’m a bit tired. I think I might head to bed”

Now it was her turn to frown, her brow furrowing as she absorbed your dismissal. The screen flickered slightly, casting a soft glow on her face, but her expression was anything but relaxed. Her lips tightened, eyes narrowed in thought. Her fingers absently ran through her hair, her posture stiff. She bit her lip, clearly processing, before she cleared her throat.

“Oh. okay, baby” She looked like she wanted to say something else, her mouth opening once before she closes it abruptly. “Yeah, yeah I’m sure you must be tired”

You rarely ended your FaceTime calls together early. If anything, you could probably count the number of times you had ended your calls early before the usual, drawn-out goodbyes on one hand. Tonight was getting added to that tally. The usual warmth in the conversation had faded, replaced by a quiet tension. You found yourself glancing at the clock, then back at her face on the screen, unsure of how to fill the growing silence.

You hated doing this to her, so you gave her this one thing. With a tight-lipped smile that barely reaches your eyes, you mumble a quiet “Night. I love you”

She mirrors your expression, although you can see the regret swimming in her eyes. Her gaze drops briefly, as if she’s trying to avoid the weight of what’s unsaid. “Goodnight. I love you. Call me tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“We’ll see. Maybe the storm will ruin that too”

Her mouth drops open at your unexpected sass. You were rarely mouthy, always so pliant and have to go along with the flow of things. “Oi, enough with the storm—“

End call.

Throwing your phone to the empty space beside you, you huff audibly as you turn to fluff your 25 momme mulberry silk pillow.

Ping.

You ignore your phone, the glaring, physical reminder that your girlfriend is thousands of miles away. Burying your head under one of your pillows, you will yourself to sleep. Maybe it would hurt less if you stopped thinking about how you will be spending tomorrow lover-less and alone.

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

You awoke slowly, the rays of morning sun filtering through the sheer curtains. Shifting beneath the covers, your body was still wrapped in warmth, but a strange heaviness settled on your chest. Blinking your eyes open, you let them adjust to the morning light.

Reaching for your phone on the nightstand, you hope for a message, a call, something—a sweet "Happy Valentine’s" from her.

But the screen is dark.

Your heart sinks just a little, and you slide it closer, hoping it will come to life, but it doesn’t.

She was probably still asleep. London was five hours ahead anyway.

The bed beside you is empty, untouched. The space where she should be feels painfully cold. You sit up slowly, the soft sheets slipping away from your body as you swing your legs over the side of the bed. Your feet touch the cool marble floor until you slip your feet into your favourite shearling slippers. Standing, you moving across the room with graceful steps, but slightly sluggish in movement. The softness of your pale pink lace nightgown, vintage Dior piece, swirl around your legs as you walk. There was no rush, no excitement.

You walk toward the window, parting the curtains with delicate fingers, letting the morning light fill the room. You glance out at the London streets below, alive with the usual bustle. The city may be awake, but you feel like you’re in another world entirely—one that’s quieter, lonelier.

Your gaze drifts to the gifts on the coffee table— her favourite Lindt chocolates, a beautiful bouquet of fresh flowers, a new watch gift wrapped in the familiar red and gold signature packaging, and a handwritten card filled with love. None of it feels as special without her. The love you’d hoped would fill the day feels miles away, even though she’s only a flight away.

You turn away from the window, and sit back on the bed. The silk sheets cool against your skin as you sink into them. You had spent weeks preparing for today—perfectly arranging the flowers that filled the flat with the soft scent of roses, every corner was filled with heart-shaped balloons and seasonal candles made special for the occasion. You had even bought a new dress for the holiday: a velvet dress in the deepest shade of rose, paired with diamond earrings that costed a pretty penny.

Leah’s pennies, of course.

Your mind wandered back to the night when you had last seen her off at the private airport lounge, waving goodbye as your girlfriend boarded the plane. "I’ll be back soon, baby," she'd promised, her voice soft and sincere.

Clearly that was not the case, you thought bitterly as you moved to start your day.

You went through the motions of the day, trying to fill the empty spaces with something—anything—that will take your mind off the feeling that lingers. Luckily, you were able book a last minute slot with your personal pilates instructor, so you slip into your workout clothes, a soft pink set that hugs your body. The fabric feels cool against your skin as you pull your hair into a neat ponytail, eyes still tired from a restless night. You’ve done this a thousand times before, but today it feels different. It’s like you’re moving through a haze, your body here but your mind somewhere else.

The Pilates studio is bright, the floor-to-ceiling mirrors reflecting the sleek décor. The instructor’s voice, calm and steady, fills the room as she guides everyone into position, but it doesn’t quite reach you. Your movements are precise, but they’re mechanical, lacking the usual grace. You can’t focus, can’t clear your mind the way you usually do.

Instead, you think of her.

You push through the hour, sweating through each movement, but it’s more about distracting yourself than anything else. The deep stretches and controlled movements don’t offer the release they usually do, and by the time the session ends, you’re not sure if you’ve achieved anything. You gather your things—your expensive water bottle, the soft towel—and head out, the cool air hitting your skin as you walk back to your car.

The day drags on, the clock ticking slowly. You scroll through your phone, checking it periodically in hopes of some update from Leah, but the hours pass with no word. You think about calling her, about filling the silence with her voice, but you resist. You don’t want to seem needy, don’t want to burden her with how much you’re missing her today.

At home, you head straight for the bathroom. The day has already stretched on too long, and the silence is starting to feel suffocating. You run the water, the steam filling the air. The hot water cascade over you. It feels nice, but it doesn’t wash away the ache in your chest. When you step out, you slide into the plush bathrobe that’s always waiting for you—lavender-scented and soft as a cloud.

You settle in front of your vanity and slip into your facial routine. First, the cleansing balm, then a serum, and a moisturiser after. The jade roller comes next, the cool stone soothing your tired face as you massage it in gentle upward strokes. The mask you apply next is made with organic, rare ingredients that promise to lift and brighten.You need some of that desperately right now. Allowing it to sit on your face for the recommended fifteen minutes, you flip through a copy of Vogue to pass the time, but the words blur in front of you.

Reaching for your phone again, you stare at it as if willing it to light up, but there’s still nothing.

When you wash the mask off, your skin feels fresher but your mood remains unchanged. You slip into a soft cashmere robe next, pale pink and muted. You stand in front of your closet, looking at the endless rows of pieces, each one precisely selected to be part of your personal collection.

Then, your eyes catch it: the dress.

The one you had received weeks ago, the one you’d been imagining yourself in all day. A stunning Valentino piece in a deep, rich red. The kind of red that demands attention. The silk catches the light in a way that makes it shimmer like liquid.

It’s a dress made for a night to remember, and for the person wearing it to be remembered.

But today, it feels out of place. Today, it feels like a contradiction. You stand there, staring at it for a long moment, your fingers hovering just inches from the fabric.

Pierpaolo Piccioli. Valentino SS25. A one-of-a-kind piece.

You wonder if it’s just a waste to just leave it on a hanger. There’s no dinner reservation with your love tonight, no laughter shared over wine, no promises whispered under the dim glow of candlelight. It feels absurd to even consider wearing something so special when the one person who deserves to see you in this dress is not here.

However, you had paid a lot for this dress, to have it tailored for you and the occasion, and it feels like a travesty to not put it on at least.

You can’t help but reach for the dress.

Forget it. You put it on.

Your fingers trail over the lace again as you slip it on, the silk gliding against your skin. When you saw the model strut the runway in it, immediately you turned and whispered to your personal show consultant to schedule a meeting with the designer. It was a couture piece tailored to your measurements, every single curve, ensuring a perfect fit.

Pausing, you take a long look at yourself—and the dress—and think, Why waste such a pretty dress?

The dress clings to your body like it was meant for another life, another version of today—a version where she’s by your side, laughing, holding you close, making everything feel right. Instead, the silk and lace feel like an echo of something that could have been. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, twisting, watching how the fabric flows. You run your hands over, smoothing the fabric, appreciating the way it glimmers and glows in the mirror.

With an affirmative nod at yourself, you decide to leave it on for the rest of the day. Maybe it’ll help you feel better, maybe it won’t. But you owe it to the dress—and to yourself—not to let the day slip by without at least trying to make the best of it.

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

The clock ticks, loud and constant, each second passing like the breeze in the wind. The city continues to hum with life—couples holding hands, flowers being delivered, the world celebrating love. But here you are, dressed up and alone, gazing at the lone bouquet of flowers sitting on your vanity table.

The silence in the room is almost too loud.

And then, you hear it.

A soft sound. A familiar sound. A key turning in the door.

Dashing out of the closet, you run like you never ran before. You can’t breathe. Impossible.

You fly down the stairs, barely able to stop yourself as you skid to a halt by the hallway, the door swinging open just in time.

You step toward the door, your pulse racing. Your fingers tremble as you grip the back of the sofa next to you, barely able to believe what you’re seeing.

She’s standing there, suitcase in hand, eyes wide with disbelief—and then, when she sees you, her expression softens.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Leah's home. She’s here.

“I thought I’d missed it,” she says softly, stepping inside, her voice full of apology, but also relief. “I... I didn’t think I’d be back in time.”

Your eyes fill with sudden tears, the emotions that have been swirling inside you all day finally spilling over. “You’re here,” you whisper, voice trembling. You take a step closer to her, the floor cold against your bare feet but you did not care.

Leah smiles, her eyes softening as she sets her suitcase down and reaches for you. The moment her arms wrap around you, pulling you close, you felt like you could breathe again. Her warmth envelopes you, and you close your eyes, breathing in the scent of fresh pears and mimosas. You cling to her, feeling the familiar rhythm of her heartbeat against your chest.

“I couldn’t let my girl celebrate Valentine’s Day alone,” she murmurs, her breath warm against your ear. She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like nothing could have kept her from being here with you.

You draw in a shaky breath, your heart pounding in your chest, your fingers trembling as you reach to touch her, as if to confirm that this moment is real, that she’s really here. You look up into her eyes, still in disbelief that your girl was home.

She brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, her fingers soft against your skin, and with a smile so radiant, so genuine, it lights up her whole face. She whispers, “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.”

And in that moment, you realise that this—the two of you, together—is what makes this day perfect. The dress, the plans, the expectations—they all fade into the background. All that matters is that she’s here, holding you.

“You made it…”

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes never leaving yours, the intensity of her gaze making your heart race.

“Of course I did,” she says, voice thick with emotion. “I promised you, didn’t I?”

Her words, so simple, but so full of meaning, fill the spaces inside you. You reach up, brushing your fingers gently across her cheek, feeling the softness of her skin under your touch. She’s here, in your arms, and nothing else matters anymore.

You reach up on your tiptoes to kiss her, slowly at first, tentatively, as if testing the waters. The kiss deepens, slow and intimate. Her hands slide to your waist, pulling you even closer, her body pressing against yours as if she’s afraid you’ll slip away. Your fingers slide through her hair, the feel of it familiar, grounding, as you kiss her deeper.

You pull back slightly, just enough to breathe, but your forehead rests against hers. Her breath is warm against your skin, and for the first time today, you feel the peace you’ve been longing for.

She smiles softly, brushing her thumb across your bottom lip. “You look incredible,” she says, her voice low and husky.

You smile, your fingers still tangled in her hair, your heart swelling with a love so deep, it fills every part of you. “Y’like it?”

“You know I do, baby” She smiles, her hands gently cupping your face as she presses a soft kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering for just a moment. And in that quiet, tender moment, you realise: this is what you’ve been waiting for. Not the day, or the dress, but her.

Leah leans back just enough to study your face, her eyes tracing every line as if committing it all to memory, as if she’s been waiting for this reunion just as much as you have.

“God, I’ve missed you,” Leah murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. Her fingers brush over the side of your face, so gentle, so tender, like you were the most precious gold to her.

“I’ve missed you too,” you reply, your voice trembling just slightly. You can’t remember the last time you felt so full of love. You don't know why you ever doubted that your girlfriend would ever leave you alone on Valentine's Day. “I didn’t think I’d make it through today without you.”

Leah chuckles softly, the sound like music to your ears. “Well, I couldn’t let you,” she teases, her hands running down your arms, sending a thrill through your body. “You’re stuck with me now.”

Her lips curl into a smile, and you can’t help but return it. You bury your face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the warmth of her skin, the familiar scent that has always made you feel like you’re home.

You pull back slightly, enough to look her in the eyes. There’s something raw in her gaze, something that mirrors your own feelings.

“You’re all I’ve wanted today. All I needed was you,” you whisper, your words thick with emotion.

Your girlfriend tilts her head, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. “Whatever you want, baby. Y'know that.”

Her words settle into your heart, and in that instant, you realize how right she is. It’s not the grand gestures, the fancy plans, or the expectations of the day that make it special. It’s this—her—standing in front of you, her love wrapping around you like a blanket, making everything else fade into the background.

You kiss her again, but this time it’s different. It’s desperate, it’s hungry, and it’s everything that’s been building between you for the past week. Her lips are warm against yours, her touch possessive and tender all at once.

Leah pulls back just slightly, her forehead resting against yours, both of you gasping for air.

“I love you,” she whispers, her voice thick with raw emotion.

Your chest tightens at the words, but you smile through the tears that threaten to spill once more. “I love you, too.”

In that moment, all the pain, the distance, and the time apart melt away. It’s just the two of you now, and that’s enough.

She smiles softly, her hand resting against your cheek as she gazes into your eyes, her expression more tender than you ever thought possible. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.”

happy (late) valentines day, my lovers (you). tell me if you hate it and I'll rewrite it

・❥・- kisses, butter

*This work is my original creation. Please don’t copy, share, or translate it without asking for my permission first. Thanks for respecting that!

#leah williamson #woso #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso blurbs #woso community #leah williamson imagine #my fics #woso one shot #leah williamson fanfic #leah williamson x you #spoiled!reader #spoiled!reader stories #leah williamson x reader

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mariasont · 1 year ago

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Office Sleepover 3 - A.H

a/n: yeehaw this took me way longer than i thought but here she be

i feel like im so ass at writing smut so just bear with me yall

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

part one here! part two here!

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: in which reader gets put on a hit-list and has to stay in the office (kind of based off when penelope got put on a hit-list by the dirty dozen)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, hungover reader, unwanted attention from some rando, awk as fuck reader, fingering, dirty talk, doing the dirty in the office, definitely illegal, definitely probably caught on cameras

wc: 4.2k

Everything hurt--your stomach churned, your head throbbed, and your eyes burned. You squeezed them shut, feeling your body tense against the stiff fabric of the pull-out couch. Fists curled tightly, you gradually let your eyelids part, casting a slow, sweeping glance around the room, trying to piece together what the hell happened.

Pain hammered around the inside of your head. You desperately needed a hefty dose of Advil--ten at least. As though your mind had materialized them, you rolled over to discover a bottle and a glass of water on the nightstand. You assumed you had JJ to thank, though the certainty of that was as fuzzy as your thoughts. Each effort to reconstruct last night's events was a stab to your already excruciating migraine.

You had all your clothes on, that was a plus considering your notorious history with wine and stripping. Stripping. Your hand slapped over your mouth, a floodgate of recollections bursting through--calling Hotch in a wine-induced haze, flashing your tits, asking him to stay.

You were in full-blown panic mode, the sudden urge to throw up clawing at your throat. The bed was empty, save for yourself, but you vividly remember Hotch laying down with you. This only left two possibilities: he left after you fell asleep or it had been a figment of your imagination. You were desperately hoping it was the latter.

But clearly, the universe had its own plan, because there he was, leaning against the door frame, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a paper bag that, by the smell of it, contained greasy food.

With a throat like sandpaper and sweaty palms, you met your boss's gaze. "Hotch," you croaked, pausing to swallow. "Um, good morning--or is it? My sleep schedule's always off after drinking. It feels bright in here, right? It's also kinda hot, is the AC working?"

You impulsively rose from the bed, a decision you instantly regretted as the room seemed to spin around you in protest.

"Sit down," he commanded, a firmness in his voice that brooked no opposition, and you promptly sat your ass back down, watching him with an expectant look.

You attempted to read his face, but it was a blank slate, making you that much more nervous. He must hate you, you figured, because you certainly hated yourself. Your boss had seen your nipples. A wave of heat washed over you, and you clenched your eyes shut, as if that could make this situation disappear.

"Here," he said, handing you the coffee and the bag, then gesturing to the Advil on the counter. "Take that, and I know you might not feel like eating, but it's necessary. The food and coffee will stabilize your blood sugar levels."

"Right, yeah, course," you nod, accepting the items with shaky hands, holding the cup with a grip that's a little too firm. "Listen, sir, I'm really sorry about last night. I promise I don't usually drink that much. I don't even know how I got that drunk, and I know I acted completely inappropriate towards you. If you need to file a complaint, I understand. Again, I'm just so sorry..."

You wanted to cry, but you held it back, knowing it would only make this whole situation worse. You deliberately avoided his eyes, focusing on anything but him while you absentmindedly toyed with the breakfast sandwich in your hands.

After a moment, he releases a soft sigh, the mattress sinking slightly as he settled beside you, his knee gently knocking yours.

"I'm aware this week's been tough on you. It's, uh, clear you weren't thinking straight, and I'm not about to make a formal issue out of a slip-up."

Your head dipped, as you tried to fend off the rising warmth in your face. "I don't think I can ever look you in the eyes again."

"That feels dramatic," he pointed out, a chuckle in his voice that made you glance his way. "Trust me, it's already forgotten."

That was a lie. He may have lacked Reid's eidetic abilities, but there was no possible, imaginative way that he would forget the image of you topless--it was imprinted in his memory. In fact, it had become the sole focus of his thoughts ever since. He silently thanked the gods that it was a Saturday, and he didn't have any pressing work issues.

"Somehow, that's not very comforting," you replied, a suppressed giggle breaking through as you met his gaze. "So, did you, um, end up staying over?"

Your cheeks glowed with a soft pink, hands unconsciously smoothing over your thighs--a nervous habit of yours he had quickly taken notice of. It emerged involuntarily when you faced tough cases, or when your computer took too long to start up, or even when the elevator made an unexpected noise.

"I did," he admitted, "You shouldn't have been alone."

Your whole body felt like it was on fire, and you were weirdly frustrated that you couldn't recall being the same bed as him, being able to feel his body against yours. You bet he was warm, and soft, and large against you.

"Thank you."

His phone went off. "Hotchner."

Your eyes followed his movements, noting the firm nods, watching as he stood, his expression hardening, jaw tightening, and hand coming to rest on his chin as he faced away from you.

The phone call was brief, and he quickly turned his attention back to you. "We've got a case."

And it was quite the case--three male victims, all in their forties. Each crime scene was close to Quantico, about twenty minutes, sparing the team any extensive travel. Though, after last night, you don't think you would have minded if they had been halfway across the country.

You were really banking on Hotch's ability to keep things professional, knowing full well that if Morgan caught wind of this, you'd be better off dead.

The team was huddled around the briefing table, absorbing Garcia's detailed rundown of the killings--they were violent to say the least--with heads bashed in and over twenty stab wounds per victim. Whoever was doing this was angry.

Hotch eventually split everyone up into tasks—Spencer and Morgan to the crime scenes, JJ and Emily interviewing the families, and Rossi was tasked with convening with the local police force. So, you know who that left at the office? You, Hotch, and Penelope. What a great group.

You avoided both of them, a pattern that had become all too familiar you had realized. Hunched over your desk, you were engrossed in sending Spencer images of your latest research on the town. True to form, he responded--Can you just fax that over to the police station?--because god forbid, he has to read it from his phone.

So, there you were, barely resisting the urge to slam your head into the fax machine. You wouldn't consider yourself technology impaired, but to say you were on friendly terms would be overstating it.

"Need help?"

"Oh, yes, please—," you began, but your voice trailed off as you noticed one of the guys from forensics hovering just a tad too close for comfort.

"They're always a bit stubborn," he noted, barely giving you space to breathe before his shoulder nudged against yours as he fiddled with the device, "just a slight...there we go."

The machine sprang into action, prompting you to step back and acknowledge his help with a nod. "Oh, thanks."

"Not a problem," he assured, stepping closer in the process, his fingers lightly brushing your thigh as he pointed out the correct button. "You see, it's all about timing," he added, his voice low and unnecessarily close, "these things can be so fussy, right?"

A subtle nod was your only response, hoping he'd take the hint that you weren't in the mood for small talk. The hangover clung stubbornly, and the whiff of his breath was a cruel taunt against the fragile peace you were maintaining over your stomach.

"So, do you find this kind of tech stuff challenging?" he asked, a little too casually. The question hung awkwardly in the air. You sought to put some distance between you, yet he matched your every move, keeping the space closed. "I mean, I'm pretty good with my hands, not just with machines honestly."

Ew.

You mustered a smile, though you were sure it was more of a grimace. The room felt smaller, the walls inching closer. "I usually manage," you responded, the strain evident in your voice.

He leaned closer, if that was possible, it was like the concept of personal space was foreign to him. "Maybe I can show you a few tricks, help you manage a little better?"

His words were light, but his proximity was anything but, almost suffocating.

Just as you were firmly about to tell him to shove it, a sharp voice beat you to it--probably for the best.

"That won't be necessary."

The forensics guy, whose name you still hadn't gotten, straightened, his smile faltering under the weight of Hotch's piercing, don't fuck with me, stare. A look usually saved for unsubs and incompetent officers, but now it singled out this man.

The same look remained on the poor guy as he directed his words to you, "why don't you join me? We need to go over some case details."

It really wasn't a question.

The man backed up instantly, mumbling something under his breath about just trying to help, but Hotch's glare followed him until he was well out of earshot.

Surprisingly, a similar sharpness was aimed at you as soon as he opened his mouth. "I'd appreciate it if you chose to flirt on your own time, not the Bureau's."

His words landed with the sting of an unexpected slap. You blinked, taken aback. "What? I wasn't--,"

But he didn't allow you time to finish. Instead, he pushed a water bottle in your hands, his eyes scrutinizing your face with such an intensity that you wished the floor would swallow you whole. "Drink. You look pale."

"Gee, thanks," you grumbled, under your breath, more to yourself than him, as he wheeled around and headed briskly for the briefing room.

Your steps lagged slightly behind him, your forehead lined with a thoughtful frown. What was that about? The way he acted--the tightness that had formed around his mouth and the harshness in his words, it was so unlike him, well, at least for it to be directed at you.

The rest of the day unfolded just as you thought it would upon waking--like shit. Hotch kept his distance, his exchanges with you brief and to the point. Every time you tried to grab his attention, hoping to clarify things (why you felt the need you weren't sure), he was already looking else, focused on literally anything but you.

It was painfully evident that he was avoiding any personal conversation with you, a realization that bit deeper than anticipated.

The office slowly emptied, the case binding you and Hotch to the briefing room, the only sounds being the faint gentle tapping of your pen and the occasional snap of your hair tie.

It was late when you finally spoke. "Hotch, this says the victim had fibers under his nails that don't match anything from the suspect's home."

Hotch's gaze snapped up to yours. "Are you saying you think the forensics team missed that?"

You met his eyes squarely, cocking your head to the side at the tone of his voice. "I'm not saying anything. I'm just pointing something out."

He bridged the space between you, his jaw set in a firm line. You could feel the warmth spreading across your cheeks as the distance dwindled.

"I'm just saying I don't want you jumping to conclusions based on underdeveloped theories."

You met his eyes with a glare, your teeth grinding together in the process. "Underdeveloped? Is that how you see my contributions now?"

The space between you had now vanished, your heart racing, finger almost poking into his chest as you spoke.

Hotch settled back against the wall, arms folded across his chest, giving you a pointed look. "I didn't say that," he replied, his voice level, markedly different from your agitated one. "We just can't afford to investigate every insignificant detail."

"Every insignificant detail?" you scoffed, "these are leads, Hotch."

His shoulders lift in an indifferent shrug that made you want to wrap your hands around his throat, and not in the good way. "Maybe. However, we need to be sure before we pursue it."

Drawing in a controlled breath, you fought to stay calm, but he was making it very hard. The sensation was all too reminiscent of college, contending with the overconfident frat boys just to voice your thoughts. That comparison may have been a tad extreme--Hotch was far from being like those insufferable boys, but he was certainly pushing your limits right now.

"I am sure. Why aren't you listening."

"I am listening," he said, but his voice was distant. "I just... I just don't want to get sidetracked, that's all."

"Sidetracked? By what, exactly?"

"I'm just not sure you're all here right now."

You felt your cheeks warming with a tinge of shame, but you pushed back, fists clenched at your sides. "I'm here, Hotch. I'm focused."

"Because last night—,"

"Last night was a mistake, okay? I got it. I already apologized for that. But I'm not irresponsible, my focus is on this case."

A lengthy pause followed, his expression unreadable. "You're certain about that?"

"Yes, I'm certain," you snapped, moving towards him again. "And for the record, JJ said you were okay with us having a few drinks."

"I was," he admitted. "But I didn't think—,"

You didn't let him finish. "What, that I'd get wasted? That I'd do something stupid? I'm sorry I'm not perfect."

"Well, yeah."

"Screw you, Hotch."

You knew that was a mistake the minute his nostrils flared, his chest now a pressing force against yours.

Then, without warning, his lips crashed into yours. A muffled oomph of surprise left you, your hands hanging motionless at first, only to quickly melt, grasping at his jacket, pulling him into you.

It wasn't a gentle kiss, nor was it kind, but it was magic, exceeding anything you could have imagined, setting every fiber of you on fire. His lips pressed against yours with an intensity that drew out a breathy sigh, arousal tingling through you, and your passion rose to meet his, equally hungry, equally desperate.

Your fantasies had never done him justice--kissing him was intoxicating, and now you could feel yourself getting lost in the sensation, realizing it was everything you never dared to hope for.

Drawing back just enough, his hands drew you closer, pressing against the dip of your back, his breath fusing with yours in a dizzying blend, making the air seem scarce.

Against the soft pressure of his lips, you murmured, "I wasn't flirting."

There's a pause as his eyes locked on yours, searching, questioning. Then, his hand settled at the side of your neck. "You better not have been."

Any witty comeback you had dissipated as his lips crashed against yours again, more urgently this time, his hands tracing every contour of your clothed body with an insatiable curiosity.

His grip tightened around your waist, effortlessly lifting you onto the briefing table's cold surface with a resounding thud, his palms then cradling your thighs. Documents and files fluttered beneath you, hopefully they weren't too important. His eyes, dark pools of brown, were meticulously scanning your face.

"You," he breathes out, his voice a low rumble laced with something you couldn't quite place, "have consumed my thoughts since the moment I discovered you on my couch." He inches closer, his breath scorching your cheek as his fingers waltzed a pattern up your thighs. "Do you understand that feeling? The intense frustration?"

You were rendered motionless, frozen in place, scared to even twitch and risk this all being a very realistic wet dream. This was Hotch, your boss, the man defined by his lack of outward emotion. To think that you--of all people--could have an effect on him was an overwhelming concept. The room seemed to tilt on its axis as he gently guided your legs apart, positioning himself between them.

"Y-Yeah, I know," you uttered unevenly, your thoughts scattering as your hands tentatively reached for his collar.

"So, you know what it's like, huh?"

Your nod was subtle, a flustered smile briefly lighting up your expressions.

"And?" he prompts, while his fingers explore the shape of your thighs, squeezing gently.

You squirm under his gaze, the intensity of it making your heart race inside your chest.

"And... it's annoying," you confess, puffing out a breath, trying sound annoyed, but the delicate blush dusting your nose gave you away, you were sure.

"Annoying?" Hotch repeats, his hand tenderly angling your face upward, his smile laced with a taunt. "Is that all?"

You rolled your eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "It's distracting," your voice was softer now, desire pooling in your belly as you grasp just how compromising of a position you were in.

"Distracting," he tsked, echoing you once again as he nodded solemnly, pulling your hips into his. Your mouth parted in an 'o' of surprise, your gaze lifting to meet his. "Have I been the subject of your thoughts, then?"

Your head dipped in a nod, your fingers brushing against his firm chest, a soft blush coloring your cheeks. "Maybe a little, in a totally platonic boss-employee type of way."

"Oh yeah?"

You caught your lip between your teeth, considering your next words very carefully. "Well, maybe more than a little, and maybe more than just a boss."

"Oh, wow," his breath was a warm hover over your lips, hanging in the space between you. You ached for the tase of him again, rich with dark expresso and spiced cinnamon. It was a lovely combination. "Sounds serious."

You released a hushed giggle, a light note floating between you as your foreheads met. "It's not like I can help it."

"And why is that?"

"Because," you paused, wetting your lips in anticipation, "you're infuriatingly unforgettable, that's why."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You would."

He was kissing you again. This time a little softer, unhurried, and the whole reason for your argument faded into nothingness. Although if insubordination led to this sweet consequence, it might just become a habit.

His lips traced a path down your throat, prompting your head to tilt back, baring the expanse of your skin to his exploration. Your legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him impossibly close. The world seemed distant, the sensation dreamlike, buoyed by the soft lull of a lust-induced haze.

Reason gave way to impulse; your hands lost in the softness of his hair, your back arching to his hands grasping at your ass, your clothed pussy grinding against his erection.

His hands hesitated, hovering as he reached for your top, his eyes holding yours. "Is this okay?"

You nodded, more eagerly than necessary, but that still wasn't good enough for him.

"I need a verbal yes or no."

Desperation clung to you, a needy sigh escaping you as you squirmed into his touch, his hands halting your restless movements. "Yes, please, Hotch."

"You were so eager to call me Aaron last night. Say it again."

"Aaron, please, I need you to touch me," your voice rang out, imbued with such sweetness making his length constrict against the fabric of his slacks.

His fingers deftly navigated to the hem of your shirt, sliding it over your head with a fluid motion. Your bra was next, its clasp yielding effortlessly to his touch, your tits releasing with a gentle bounce, and he fought back a groan as his large hands enveloped them.

"Every bit as perfect as I remembered," he said, his fingers skillfully pulling and twisting at the nubs as you brought you forehead to meet his, a breathy gasp tumbling from your lips at the contact.

You arched your back into his heads as he let out a soft chuckle, loving the way your body reacting to him. Your eyes held a glazed-over look, lips parted ever so slightly, and you looked up at him expectantly in way that could surely kill him.

His hands moved slowly down your sides before brushing the sensitive skin under your waist band. You swallowed a gasp, moving your hips into his again, rolling yourself against his stiff erection.

His palms pressed against your hips. "Slow down. Let me take my time with you, yeah?"

You were at his discretion; he could ask you to jump into oncoming traffic right now and you'd probably say yes.

A nod was all you could manage as you fought the urge to move, every muscle tensed, waiting for him to make the first move, but god was it hard. You couldn't really believe this was happening, until the solid press of his thumb against your clit brought the moment into sharp focus.

"Aaron, god," you gasped, your hands tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. Your teeth found your bottom lip harshly, trying not to show him just how easily you could come apart right now.

"Is that good, honey?"

Honey. You could practically feel the arousal dripping your thighs as you nodded eagerly.

The pad of his thumb glided between your folds, gathering the slickness to continue his assault against your swollen clit. You buried your face deeper into his suit jacket, attempting to stifle the embarrassing sounds that you couldn't seem to contain.

A whine of protest filled the space between you as his hand slipped away from your pants. His eyes bore into you as he gathered the strands at the back of your neck, guiding your gaze to yours.

"None of that. Let me hear you gorgeous."

"Aaron, please, I need your fingers inside me, please."

You were painfully aware of how ridiculous you sounded, knew that if anyone else was in the office right now, you'd be so screwed, fired probably, but as his fingers dipped into your cunt those concerns dissolved quickly.

"Since you asked so nicely."

He was torturing you--his pace aggravatingly slow, working in and out of you as you tried to fight the overwhelming desire to slam your legs shut. It was so much, yet not enough. You ground yourself against his hands as his other hand clamped around your back, keeping you from falling back.

"That's it, baby, fuck yourself on my fingers."

His eyes were dark, pupils dilated, his chest rising and falling in a way that only seemed to spur you on, doing exactly as he ordered. His words felt foreign in your ears, before today you could never imagine him talking like this, so vulgarly.

"Aaron, I-I need—," you paused, your eyes falling to his pants, more specifically the hardened cock inside them.

"Yeah? Is that what you want?"

"Yes, fuck, please," you gasped as his fingers hit that one spot just right. Your head lolled back as you clutched at his collar, his arm behind you keeping you in place.

"Watch your mouth," he said, and for some reason that was enough to send you right over that never ending ledge, your stomach coiling, heat spreading under your skin, every part of you ached.

"Oh—, Aaron, I-I'm—," you were a blubbering mess, rocking without mercy against his fingers, his thumb brushing against your nub in a way that made you feel like you had met your maker.

"That's it, baby, go ahead."

That was enough for you, your walls clenching around his fingers, back arching into him and you swore for a minute you could see stars. He helped you ride out your high.

You were wholeheartedly convinced; this was heaven. You had died and gone to heaven and the first one to greet you was Hotch, his hands tracing soothing patterns on your bare skin in an attempt to bring you back down to Earth.

Just as you were about to reach for his pants, determined to feel him inside of you, his phone went off. Of fucking course. He shot you an apologetic look, the sound a wake-up call, pulling you both from the lust-fueled moment.

He moved back with a couple steps, offering nods and muted words to whoever was calling at 12 am. You were suddenly extremely aware of your appearance--topless and on the briefing table for crying out loud.

You attempted to stand, your legs betraying you with a wobble that had him instantly clasping your arm firmly, his attention flickering from the phone to the tremors in your stance. You gave him a small in return as if to say I'm fine.

You reached across the table, grabbing your shirt from its discarded state, not bothering with the bra as you dressed quickly. He cleared his throat, causing you to turn, just in time to see his phone disappear into his pocket.

"That was the Stafford police chief, there was another murder," he explained.

"Oh, right, okay, um..." you started, your brain racing into overdrive as you instinctively moved towards the door. "I just need to..."

Your movement was too quick, a dizzying spin that resulted in you tumbling into Hotch's solid frame. His reflexes were immediate, hands clasping onto you once again, preventing you from landing straight into him.

"Whoa, hey, are you okay?" he asked, brows knitting in a frown, "take a second."

"Yeah, um, yeah, I'm good," you managed to get out, even as heat suffused your face. "Just need to get changed, uh, can't imagine either of us want to the team to find me like this."

"Right."

He was still frowning, and you wanted nothing more than to kiss away the harsh lines of his forehead, but you were sure he wouldn't appreciate the gesture.

You made a beeline for your office, the door's thud barely registering over pulsating rush in your ears. God, you were so screwed.

taglist: @chronicallybubbly @aremuslupinsimp @sky2nd @thisisdaisytrying @ryswritingrecord

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem reader #hotch #hotchner #ssa hotchner #aaron hotchner x bau reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fluff #Spotify

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supi-wupi · 2 months ago

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Babysitters - OT13

members: OT13, joshua is dating reader tho synopsis: 13 men. 1 (slightly injured) Nie. And no supervision. After a minor injury, you’re stuck at home on doctor’s orders. The members take turns “taking care of you” — but each one has a wildly different idea of what that means. Chaos (and cuddles) ensue. wc: 2.5k genre: fluff, comedy warnings: none <3 a/n: some fluff before i put out my angst fic i’ve been working on…

PROLOGUE

It started with one clumsy step and a triumphant, “I bet I can carry all the groceries in one trip!” It ended with a twisted ankle, three bruised egos (Jeonghan definitely laughed first), and doctor’s orders to stay home for a week.

You’d expected Joshua to take care of you — boyfriend privileges and all. But with SEVENTEEN on a semi-break before their comeback and Joshua insisting “You deserve rest, and I deserve revenge for that ‘falling mid falsetto’ comment,” the boys proposed a rotation system.

You agreed. You were wrong.

—

DAY ONE: The Incident It was a simple slip on the wet kitchen tiles. Nothing dramatic. No cinematic slow-motion fall. Just you, a mug of hot cocoa, gravity, and betrayal. The result? A sprained ankle and strict doctor’s orders: “No weight-bearing activities for two weeks.”

You hadn’t even texted the SEVENTEEN group chat before Joshua burst through the door with wide eyes and a plastic bag of your favorite snacks.

“Nie,” he said, scandalized. “You’re not allowed to get injured. That’s my thing.”

“Pretty sure it’s Jeonghan’s thing.”

“Exactly. This is throwing off the group dynamic.”

You were about to tell him he was being dramatic when he kissed your forehead, tucked a blanket around you like you were a human burrito, and whispered, “The others will be here soon.”

You blinked. “The what now?”

—

Case File 01: S.COUPS (Code Name: Commander Dad)

Objective: Establish order, ensure safety. Possibly overcorrect. Notes:

Y/N is not to move. At all.

Any and all movement must be approved by me or God.

Installed three baby gates. Unsure if necessary but effective deterrent.

Hid their phone to prevent “sneaky” late-night scrolling. (They found it in 12 minutes.)

Made them soup. No one mention I used too much garlic. We’re all fine.

—

“You’re treating me like I’m three years old,” you protested as Seungcheol carefully adjusted a cushion behind your back.

“Three-year-olds aren’t this stubborn,” he muttered, tucking the blanket around your feet again.

“You’re doing the blanket tuck for the third time.”

“Because you keep kicking it off like a rebellious teen. I saw your foot twitch.”

“...It was itchy.”

He sighed, lovingly exasperated, and handed you a spoon. “Eat your garlic bomb soup.”

—

Case File 02: JEONGHAN (Code Name: Chaos Nurse)

Objective: Provide emotional support (and chaos). Notes:

Told Y/N I’d take care of them. Immediately spilled juice on their shirt.

Brought tarot cards. “To spiritually cleanse your ankle.”

Replaced pain meds with jelly beans as a prank. Got scolded. Worth it.

Said, “Pain is temporary, being babied by thirteen men is forever.” May have accidentally started a war over who gets the next turn.

—

Jeonghan arrived with a velvet pouch and too much enthusiasm.

“We’re doing tarot.”

“I don’t need spiritual guidance,” you said. “I need an ice pack.”

“This is spiritual guidance,” he insisted, dramatically laying down a card. “The Fool. That’s you. For thinking you could walk unsupervised.”

You threw a pillow at him.

He caught it, placed it behind your head, and winked. “See? Still helping.”

—

Case File 03: JOSHUA (Code Name: Shuji, Ult Boyfriend, Certified Overthinker)

Objective: Provide attentive, balanced care. (Also low-key compete with the others for “Best Caregiver 2025.”) Notes:

Made a color-coded care schedule. Gave everyone laminated copies.

Y/N said “You’re being extra.” I said “You used to call this thoughtful.”

Played soft guitar songs to lull them to sleep. It worked. I cried.

Almost kissed their ankle better. Stopped. Questionable boundaries.

Jeonghan says I’m “doing the most.” He’s not wrong. I just love Nie.

—

Joshua tiptoed into the room with a tray of cut fruit shaped like stars and hearts.

“Breakfast in bed,” he said, placing it gently on your lap.

“Joshua,” you deadpanned. “You carved that apple into a rose.”

He sat beside you, beaming. “You deserve beauty even when you’re cranky.”

You stared at him. “Are you trying to win a boyfriend award?”

“Is it working?”

...Yeah. Kinda.

—

Case File 04: HOSHI (Code Name: 10:10, Tiger Carer Supreme)

Objective: Keep spirits up! Distract from pain using performance! Notes:

Performed a one-man musical titled “The Ankle Who Lived.”

Included backup dancers (DK and Dino). They didn’t agree to this.

Made a healing chant. Was told to “sit down” after two verses.

Reenacted “Romeo and Juliet” with sock puppets. Called it “Toe-meo and Ankle-et.”

Y/N smiled. Mission success.

—

You blinked as Hoshi burst into the room in a cape made of bath towels.

“Presenting: The Legend of the Brave Ankle!”

You covered your face. “Soonyoung, I will throw this pillow at you.”

“No one silences art!” he cried, launching into a song about ligaments.

By the time he finished, you were laughing so hard it hurt.

Worth it.

—

Case File 05: MINGYU (Code Name: Golden Retriever in a Lab Coat)

Objective: Cook. Clean. Care. (Try not to cry if Y/N calls me ‘sweet.’) Notes:

Made four different meals. Burnt the toast. Panicked. Apologized five times.

Did laundry. Folded their socks into perfect balls. Felt proud.

Almost cried when Y/N said “thank you” and patted my head.

Accidentally knocked over their crutches. Panicked again.

Tried to knit them a scarf. It turned into a pot holder. Still gave it to them.

—

Mingyu nervously peeked into the room. “Hey, I made soup… and also lasagna… and also gimbap… I didn’t know what you’d want.”

You blinked. “Gyu, are you stress-cooking again?”

He set the plates down sheepishly. “Nooo. Maybe. A little. I just want to be useful.”

You tugged on his sleeve. “You’re literally the most useful.”

He beamed so hard you were afraid his dimples would break the space-time continuum.

—

Case File 06: WOOZI (Code Name: Jihoon, Ankle Security Analyst)

Objective: Monitor Y/N’s recovery through sound-based methods. (Also protect their ears from Hoshi’s musicals.) Notes:

Created a playlist of healing frequencies and lo-fi beats.

Banned clumsy members from approaching the ankle within a 1-meter radius.

Accidentally made a sad ballad titled “Ligament Lament.” It slaps.

Y/N cried. I panicked. We’re okay now.

I’m not babysitting. I’m health-auditing. There’s a difference.

—

You were listening to one of Woozi’s playlists when he walked in holding a tablet.

“I’ve made adjustments to the sonic environment of your room.”

“…You mean you turned the bass down?”

“It’s optimized for tissue recovery,” he deadpanned.

“…You just didn’t want me to hear Hoshi’s toe-based musical again.”

He didn’t respond. But you saw the smallest smile twitch at the corner of his mouth.

—-

Case File 07: DK (Code Name: Dokyeom, Certified Sunshine™)

Objective: Infuse vitamin DK into recovery plan. Make Y/N laugh at all costs. Notes:

Sang every time I entered a room. Including “Hello.”

Brought my karaoke mic. Held mini concert. Setlist: “Can You Feel the Ankle Tonight.”

Made Y/N laugh-snort juice through nose. 10/10 victory.

Got too into character pretending to be a nurse. Gave myself a name badge: “Dr. Smile.”

Accidentally wore two different socks. Claimed it was “an ankle sympathy statement.”

—

DK poked his head in with a glittery mic. “Do you have a moment to talk about our lord and savior: healing?”

You groaned. “If you sing one more pun about ligaments—”

“🎵 LIGAMENT ME LOVE YOUUU 🎵” “SEOKMIN.”

You couldn’t help laughing, even as you flung a pillow at him. He caught it. Bowed. Took a dramatic exit. He came back five minutes later with a full lightstick setup. You gave up.

—

Case File 08: SEUNGKWAN (Code Name: Diva Caretaker, Chaos Concierge)

Objective: Keep Y/N emotionally regulated. Monitor hydration. Judge everyone else’s methods. Notes:

Took away their phone for 20 minutes so they’d nap. Y/N called me a tyrant.

Replied “You're welcome” when they said “You're annoying.”

Made them rate my babysitting on a scale of 1 to 17. Got a 15. Fuming.

Threatened to revoke my services unless I got a perfect score.

Y/N raised it to 16.8. Victory.

—

“Drink water,” Seungkwan ordered, placing a bottle on your chest.

You squinted. “You’re not the hydration police.”

“I am when you’re convalescing with the enthusiasm of a wilting fern.”

“Stop using SAT words on me.”

“You’re the one who said I was ‘overqualified to babysit.’”

You held the water like a white flag. “…Only because you’re secretly my mom.”

“Thank you. Now drink.”

You did. Begrudgingly.

—

Case File 09: VERNON (Code Name: Vernon, Ankle Philosopher)

Objective: Provide chill environment. Reflect on pain as a temporary construct. Notes:

Said “That sucks” when I heard what happened. Profound.

Brought snacks, all beige. Beige foods are comforting.

Played video games next to them. Said it’s “healing adjacent.”

Forgot their injury for 2 hours. Y/N had to remind me. Felt bad. Got them ice cream.

Said “Pain is part of the human condition.” They threw a grape at me. Fair.

—

Vernon slouched in a beanbag next to you. “Want to watch a documentary on time perception?”

“…What happened to cartoons?”

“I figured we could reflect on the impermanence of pain.”

“…Hansol.”

“Yes?”

“I have a sprained ankle. Not a midlife crisis.”

He nodded, completely unbothered. “Still applies.”

—

Case File 10: JUN (Code Name: Junhui, Caretaker of Vibes)

Objective: Provide holistic ankle healing through mystery, magic, and mild confusion. Notes:

Brought incense. Told Y/N it was ankle cleansing smoke.

Said I summoned the “Spirit of Bounce” for ligament flexibility. They told me to go home.

Slid in wearing a silk robe. Said it was for the “ritual.”

Fed them fruit by hand. Called each piece a “health gem.”

Y/N didn’t stop me. Possibly enjoying this.

—

Jun glided into the room, humming a nonsensical melody.

“Behold. The Ceremony of Recovery begins.”

You blinked at the bowl of grapes he held.

“…You just want to hand-feed me again.”

“I’m helping your healing energy flow. It’s very advanced.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re not even massaging my foot.”

“That’s phase four. We’re in phase two: fruit fusion.”

You popped a grape in your mouth. “Carry on.”

—

Case File 11: THE8 (Code Name: Minghao, Zen Guardian of Rest)

Objective: Maintain peace. No one disturbs Y/N unless spiritually justified. Notes:

Set up a meditation zone around the couch. Used salt lamps. Y/N approved.

Made tea. Wouldn’t let them drink it until they’d done 3 deep breaths.

Gave them a sketchbook. Said art helps pain leave the body.

Threatened to exile anyone who brought loud snacks. (Looking at you, Seungkwan.)

Whispered “Rest is sacred” before every nap. They started whispering it back.

—

You stretched on the couch under the softest blanket you’d ever felt.

Minghao approached, wordlessly handing you a warm mug of tea.

“Is it chamomile?” you asked.

“It’s balance,” he said, completely serious.

“…You made that up.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he placed a small sketchpad in your lap.

“Draw your feelings. And if you draw Seungkwan yelling, I won’t stop you.”

—

Case File 12: DINO (Code Name: Maknae on Babysitting Duty)

Objective: Prove responsibility. No injuries under my watch. Keep things cool. Chill. But Responsible. Notes:

Arrived with a clipboard. Felt powerful.

Told them I was “Head Babysitter.” They laughed. Slightly offended.

Played calm board games. Avoided Monopoly. Not safe.

Made a healing dance. Showed them. Got embarrassed. They clapped. Felt better.

Might’ve called my mom for babysitting tips. Confidential.

—

Dino plopped onto the armchair across from you, clipboard in hand.

“I have logged your water intake and screen time. You're doing great.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Chan… are you tracking me like a baby Sims character?”

“I’m just being thorough,” he said, proud. “Also… did you like the dance I showed you?”

“It was cute.”

He turned red. “I was going for cool.”

“Cute is cool.”

He looked away, smiling into his clipboard.

—

Case File 13: WONWOO (Code Name: Enigmatic Reader, Silent Protector)

Objective: Provide calm, bookish presence. Protect Y/N’s peace. Say little. Do much. Notes:

Brought three books: one for them, one for me, one “just in case.”

Sat beside them reading for two hours. Neither of us spoke. 10/10 hangout.

Made them tea. Didn’t ask if they wanted it. Knew.

Helped set up ankle pillow fortress without a word. Y/N said “thank you,” I said “mm.”

Y/N said I’m the “most relaxing babysitter.” Noted.

Didn’t realize they fell asleep leaning on me. Stayed still for 40 minutes. Didn’t mind.

—

When you opened your eyes, Wonwoo was exactly where you left him — beside you, book in hand, glasses perched on his nose, your head resting on his shoulder.

You blinked blearily. “How long was I out?”

“About forty minutes.” “You could’ve moved me, you know.” “You looked comfortable.” “…You’re really good at this.”

He glanced at you, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “Joshua said to take care of you. So I did.”

—

Case File 14: JOSHUA (Code Name: Shuji, Original Penpal, The Boyfriend™)

Objective: Leave Y/N alone for one week so they can rest. Enlist the members to help. Regret everything immediately.

Post-Mission Debrief:

Initial plan: Assign one member per day. Easy. Simple. Low-maintenance.

Reality:

Soonyoung tried to bubble wrap their entire apartment.

Jeonghan tricked them into taking medicine with a Bet You Can’t challenge.

Seungcheol turned it into an intensive recovery boot camp.

Jihoon brought a decibel meter.

Seungkwan accused someone of poisoning Y/N with over-seasoned soup.

Dino somehow… choreographed a “healing dance”?

Jun… who told Jun he was allowed to build a pillow kingdom and declare himself ruler?

The8 may or may not have reset their chi by smacking their knee with flower petals.

Vernon tried to explain Renaissance-era injury recovery theories??

Mingyu cooked a seven-course meal, shattered a plate, then cried.

Dokyeom sang to them like they were dying.

Wonwoo said six words all day. One of them was “tea.”

Conclusion: Y/N was cared for, coddled, fed, emotionally damaged, spiritually blessed, and possibly mildly concussed from the Dino “Trust Fall of Healing.”

Would I do this again? Absolutely not.

Did they look like the happiest human in the world when I picked them up and they handed me a folder titled “Seventeen’s Babysitting Adventures: Please Publish Posthumously”? Yes.

…Worth it.

—

You were curled up on the couch, blanket tucked around your legs, when Joshua finally sat beside you, a smug smile on his face as he slid a binder onto the table.

“Is this… a mission report?” you asked, eyeing the sticker-covered folder labeled ‘CASE FILE 17: COMPLETE’.

“Every operation needs closure,” he said with faux seriousness. “Also, Seungkwan tried to submit a formal complaint about Vernon’s healing playlist. This needed documenting.”

You flipped through pages filled with member notes, post-it stickers, and doodles. “Wonwoo literally just wrote ‘tea.’ That’s his whole entry.”

Joshua laughed. “Yeah, and it was the most effective one.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “Thanks for mobilizing an entire group to take care of me. That’s probably not in your job description.”

He tilted his head down to kiss your temple. “You’ve taken care of me for twenty years, Nie. One week of chaos was the least I could offer.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut. “Next time, though…”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe just… fewer flower petals. And less yelling. And no more anatomy lectures from Vernon.”

He grinned. “Deal.”

—

Epilogue Note (Handwritten by Joshua): If you’re reading this, Y/N has officially survived Operation: Babysit the Love of My Life. If they’re still alive, they deserve a prize. If they’re not, check under the couch — Mingyu probably dropped a lasagna tray.

Mission Success. Penpal safe. Heart full. End report.

masterlist ♪

158 notes · View notes

novemberheart · 10 months ago

Text

{overview} John realizes his mistake, you and Simon grow closer

{warnings} cursing, some angst, fem reader, a/b/o dynamics, poly 141

Chapter 24 <- Chapter 25 -> Chapter 26

“Pick up your bloody phone,” he growled. He paced around his office, his mind automatically jumping to the worst. Well, could you blame him with your history? “Come on sweetheart,” He pleaded on the other line. He had shown up exactly three minutes ago ready to pick you up for a lunch date off base, yet you were nowhere to be seen.

He paced back over by his desk, wondering if he should start calling in the boys to look for you. It was then he saw it. The world went silent beside his heartbeat thrumming in his ears.

“No,” he nearly whined, his chest clenching painfully. He cursed moving as fast as he could down the hallway without attracting too much attention. He was going to shred that folder and its contents. He actually found it a bit funny when he found it. He was so against you joining and now you were one of the most important aspects of his life.

He should’ve destroyed it right then and there.

He could only imagine how you felt right now. The man who you had deemed your alpha rejecting you from first glance. The man who you had shared your mind and body with. He felt sick. He ran into Kyle in the elevator. His honey eyes widened at his appearance, his hand reaching out gripping onto his shirt. “What’s happened?” He urged.

“I fucked up,” he admitted instantly. “I don't know how to fix this, Kyle,” he gasped. His own hands grabbing onto the beta.

“It’ll be alright,” Kyle soothed, his own heart pounding in his chest.

“I still had those profiles Kate had sent, the ones with omegas she thought would work with us. I was a bastard and crossed them out. Including our girl. Well, I almost crossed all of them. I left one be,” he swallowed back his nerves, his hands beginning to tremble. He had never had such a bodily reaction before. The thought of losing you too much for his nervous system to process.

“What do you mean you left one be? Like there was one you wanted?” Kyle pressed. John nodded slowly, before shaking his head- contradicting himself.

“It wasn't that I preferred her. Given her history she just seemed like the best fit if we had to pick one,” John explained. At the time it had made sense. He didn't know any of you and it wasn't like he had put that much thought into it. He wasn't ready for an omega at that time. He hadn't even sent the papers back to Kate; he just let them rot in the bottom of his file cabinet. You were also the one Laswell was pushing for. If he rejected you, maybe she would leave him alone about it. At the time it made sense.

The elevator had gone up and down a few times before they had finally gotten off. Vernie greeted them at the door, but John beelined to your room.

Your sobs were deafening. He wasn't sure if he had ever heard someone cry so hard.

And it was his fault.

He tried the handle but you had locked the door. Your sobs continued so you either didn’t hear him or you didn't care.

“Sweetheart, it's me. Let me in so I can explain,” he knuckles rapped against the door desperately. He heard you sputter something. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know what you said. “Please, pretty girl. I know what it looks like, but please don't put any thought into it. I crossed you out just to get back at Laswell for pushing me to choose an omega. Please open the door,” he begged. Your sobs didn't decrease in the slightest, his alpha nearly throwing him into a frenzy.

“Can I come in, love?” Kyle spoke suddenly. You gave no response other than painful-sounding sobs. Kyle winced his hand rubbing over his chest like it would soothe the sharp pain.

“I love you,” John said. “I’ll be right here when you’re ready to talk about it,” his voice cracked. The alpha moved on shaky limbs to the couch, sitting with his head in his hands. He threw insults at himself quietly, before standing up again, making his way back to your door. “Please, honey, let me in. I need to see you,” he was back to desperation. His knuckles grazing against the door again.

“Give her time,” Kyle soothed, through his own gritted teeth. He couldn't understand how John had been so reckless. He had obviously left the folders in an accessible spot. You wouldn't just go snooping around. Kyle just hoped you didn't think he had anything to do with it.

It had been three hours. Your sobs had died down, making the house silent. That was almost worse. Kyle had talked him down multiple times from knocking your door down. The beta had to leave for training, leaving John by himself with his own thoughts. That had always been a deadly combination.

He had to relive it when Johnny came home, except the Scot wasn’t putting up with it. He grabbed a sharp tool out of his room, unlocking your door in five seconds flat. John stood up, but Johnny growled out a warning.

“Stay there,” he commanded. The alpha had no room to disagree with the burning beta. When they first met, John had assumed Johnny was an alpha based off of the way he carried himself.

“Peaches?” his voice was quiet and soft to not startle you.

“Go away,” you whined, making him wince.

“We had nothin’ to do with that, hen,” Johnny assured. He wasn't going to be in the doghouse because of the Captain’s mistake. Maybe on the field- but not when it comes to you. His hand reached out resting against your heated back. The emotional toll is already making you feel sick. You were burning up with a fever. “Come here, please,” it wasn't so much of a request as it was an order. You lifted your head up from the pillows, your raw eyes looking up at his. He whined low in his throat. His arms darting under your armpits, to pull you on top of him. You started sobbing again, the sounds hitting John on the other side of the door like a ton of bricks. You curled yourself against Johnny. You needed comfort, despite being mad at the world and everyone in it.

“He didn’t want me,” you mumbled sadly. “I called him alpha. I opened up to him. I trusted him. I slept with him. And the whole time he was wishing I was someone else,” you whined out. Johnny understood your hurt- he felt your hurt, yet he also knew that wasn't true in the slightest. John loved you madly.

“That's not true, Bon. He’s absolutely mad for you. He wouldn't trade you for anything or anyone. He had done it before he even met you, and he did it just to be obnoxious because Kate was pushing for you so hard and we weren't too keen on an omega- you know that,” Johnny reminded. You didn't want to be talked off the ledge. You wanted to jump. You wanted to be mad and be hurt without it being invalidated.

“But I wasn't enough to change his mind. Just one look at her on paper and she had him considering getting an omega,” you shot back. You tried pulling yourself away, wanting to find comfort in your sheets and not in the arms of Johnny. He didn't let you.

“Maybe for a split second, Bonnie. But if he had put any more thought into the situation he would've picked you. I know he would've,” Johnny reasoned. You weren't in the mood for reasoning.

“You can't prove that, Johnny. If he already had it in his mind that she would've been the better fit then I doubted I could've changed that,” your voice raised. John kept his ear against the door, his heart twisting painfully. “The only reason I was let into this pack was because Simon was hurt. He didn't care what omega Kate had picked for him as long as he could use them.” you had pulled yourself off of him, moving to a stand.

“Exactly! He didn't care which one he got. He didn't have his heart set on her bonnie. If he did he would've asked for her. You weren't written off because he didn't want you, you were written off because if he had approved you, you would've been flown out here the next day and none of us were ready for that yet. I know the reason you joined the pack feels like you were being used and you were. We’ll all admit that. But that's the world we come from, Bonnie. We are all puppets for our higher-ups to get what they want. They ship us off to the corners of the earth to fight in some war that no one, besides them, has reaped any benefits from. We are all being used in some way and you were too when you joined the pack. But I can promise you this, beautiful- and I can speak for everyone when I say we love you so fucking much. You're the best thing that has happened to us and we wouldn't trade you for anything,” he finished, his voice cracking at the last sentence.

You hated that his words made everything feel alright again. You still had lingering resentment at John and you probably would for a while- and every time you thought about it. But Johnny had made some good points- sincere points. Besides you had pulled a similar stunt with Simon not too long ago, and he managed to forgive you. You rested your head against Johnny’s shoulder, letting your body weight fall against him. You just needed some sleep.

You had woken up to a knock at your door. You were by yourself, but you could still feel the warmth of Johnny against the sheets.

“Come in,” you groaned. You needed water. It was John, carrying a takeout container of food. It was too dark for you to make out too much of him, yet you could feel the emotion dripping off of him.

“You need to eat,” He said softly. He flicked your desk light on. His beard was unkempt from him running his fingers through it. His eyes were so red and puffy, you were sure it was agonizing to blink. It hurt you to see him that way- yet you looked no better. His hand darted out, a natural instinct to guide you to your chair. You dodged away from him, sitting down yourself. He sighed, slowly sitting down on the edge of your bed. You remained silent. You didn't want to eat the food he had brought you- you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of taking care of you (like he always had), but you were starved, not having eaten since this morning. He remained quiet as you scarfed down your meal, his fingers picking at the calluses on his palms.

You closed it up, taking a few gulps of the water he had brought. You flicked the light back off beginning to get back into bed, until he grabbed you. You squirmed against him mumbling a few ‘let me go’s.’ He paid no mind holding you against his chest, his legs trapping you between them.

He buried his face in your neck, his grip on your constricting.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, making you halt. He sounded so small. He was no longer the booming alpha whose mere presence offered your protection and stability. Now he was afraid. Afraid that you didn't want him anymore. Afraid that you didn't want to be here. Afraid that you had regretted what had happened between the two of you. “I can't have you despise me, sweetheart. I just can't,” he whispered. Since you've joined he’s been discovering new things about himself every day. He was quicker to fall in love than he thought. He could be a good alpha to an omega. He was also weaker than he thought. If you had told him four months ago a little omega he was still getting to know could bring him to his knees so quickly he would’ve told you to fuck off.

His sad scent was seeping into you, softening the chilled edges of your heart. He was regretful, you could tell. You relaxed into him causing him a sigh of relief. “I love you,” he murmured. You didn't say it back and he didn't expect you to. “So much,” he continued.

“You didn't mean it, John,” you replied softly, your hand resting against his back. You may have forgiven, but you weren't going to forget so easily. He could tell by your tone. You could get in your head so easily. He supposed he could too. He pressed a kiss against your cheek, finally letting you go. You remained against him for a moment, before pulling away. He stayed solemn as he grabbed the containers off your desk, heading back towards the door. He paused by the door, resisting the urge to beg you to let him stay. To let him curl himself around you and make everything better. He settled for a quiet ‘goodnight’ the door shutting behind him.

He wasn't sure how you'd take the information. He couldn't imagine you’d be happy- he prayed you wouldn't be. That would be the ultimate jab.

“Sweetheart,” He greeted. You looked up from your phone, offering him a small smile. Things had been awkward between the two of you- not that you had had much contact since last night.

“We have a new assignment. Me and Kyle leave in two hours,” He explained. When your face fell he was relieved. What if you were just sad for Kyle? He chewed back the thought.

“How long will you be gone?” You questioned.

“Shouldn't be more than a week. It’s a fairly easy one,” he sighed. It was silent for a moment. You leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders.

“I’ll miss you,” you breathed. You started to pull away but he held you there. He just needed a moment longer.

When you saw Kyle you nearly tackled him over, your face smushing against his. He tried not to take it personally. You were still hurt. Feeling like you were second best and unwanted. He had to understand that. He was trying to understand that. Hopefully, his being gone will soften you.

“Come on pups, time for your walks,” Simon spoke, grabbing a pack of cigarettes off the counter and his mask. Vernie had learned that whenever Simon grabbed his cigarettes it was time for a walk. She wormed her way out of your lap, bounding over to the door. Simon attached her leash holding it out for you. It was dark out. The night sky making you think of your first kiss- then John.

You three walked along a walking path, Simon making sure to put himself between you and groups of jogging soldiers.

“Simon?” you asked. He grunted in response.

“How did you get over me not putting you down as my alpha? That must've felt like a rejection,” you questioned. While they weren't entirely in the same situation, you felt maybe Simon could offer you some advice.

“It did,” he replied bluntly. “But then I realized I hadn't been acting too alpha-ish to you. Then you heard me say all that bullshit that night so I didn't have any room to be upset at you anymore,” he explained, guiding you off to the side. He pulled out his cigarettes, rolling his mask up to his nose. You bit back a giggle. “I’m still surprised you weren't more upset about it,” he sighed. “At least not that you've shown.”

You would still think about his words- less and less over the past few weeks. You don't know why but they didn't burn you as much as John's actions had. Maybe it was because your feelings were stronger for John? Or maybe it was because you knew deep down Simon didn't mean it. But John's actions had confirmed a belief you had about not being good enough. You gasped softly. That was it.

“Confirmation bias,” you gasped. Simon narrowed his eyes at you. “John didn't think I was good enough to be in the pack- and I had already felt that way. That's why it still hurts so bad,” you explained your thought process.

“You need to get that out of your head,” Simon spoke. “It wasn't like we all sat around and discussed every omega and came to the conclusion someone was a better fit than another. The old man probably didn't even have his glasses on when he was skimming through the profiles,” Simon huffed. He knew his Captain. Every decision he made was well thought out and concise. If he had really wanted to pick an omega he would’ve interviewed each of you himself, made you fill out a ten-page survey, and discuss it with each member of the pack individually. Also, Laswell had sent the papers electronically, he had just printed off a copy to mess with. Probably after a rough mission and one too many whiskeys. The rest of your sentence finally hit him. “What do you mean not good enough?”

“Well, I mean you know,” you started, shrugging.

“No, I don't bloody know. That's why I'm asking,” he shot back.

“Kate has always said what an indispensable and vital pack you are. That's all anyone here talks about. Omegas come up to me all the time and ask what it's like to be a part of this pack, or how I got into this pack. Nobody believes I got in by just being myself,” you explained.

“They don't know you then,” he snapped. “Then they'd be askin’ why we were daft enough to go so long without you,” he pressed the rest of his cigarette out, grabbing another from the pack.

“Simon?”

“Yes, pup,” he sighed.

“Kiss me?”

He paused the cigarette still hanging between his lips, the flame just a few centimeters away. “What?” he asked out of the corner of his mouth.

“Please?” you breathed. Your hands reached out gripping the front of his jacket. His heart hammered in his chest, your eyes staring up at him wide and wanting. His hands covered yours, not making any move to push them off. He couldn't break himself away, his eyes holding yours as his head lowered. He stopped right in front of you, his lips brushing against yours. You stared back equally enthralled. You closed the distance, your eyes fluttering shut, as you pressed your mouth against his. He reciprocated instantly, pushing his head forward to deepen this kiss. Your hands moved up to hold his jaw and he quickly grabbed the leash from you not wanting it to get in the way of you touching him. Your hands cupped his face, pulling him impossibly closer, gasping when his teeth nipped your bottom lip. He smirked against you and you had half a mind to pull away as punishment until he backed you against a tree. You gasped his name, making him groan against you, his hands digging into the fabric around your hips.

He hoisted you up, his neck already growing sore. His kisses were exactly like your relationship with him. Starting off sweet, then a battle of teeth and tongue, then back to sweet before you could decide which one you liked best. You pulled away with a deep inhale, your lungs burning from forgetting to breathe. He ‘tsked’ softly, pressing kisses against your jaw.

“Don’t know how he didn't mark you, sweet girl. I'd be sinking my jaws into you the moment you’re under me,” he mumbled, his teeth nipping against your neck in emphasis. You moaned quietly, making him smile. He pressed one last kiss against your neck, setting you back down on wobbly feet. “Don’t look at me like that, pup. We’re in public,” he reprimanded playfully, handing you back Vernie’s leash. “Besides I’m not done playing hard to get,” he chuckled. Your phone buzzed in your pocket making you jolt. You pulled it out, seeing John’s number, pressing the red button before you really thought about it.

“The fuck was that?” he growled. “Call him back,” he urged. You quickly did as you were told, not quite sure why you had done that in the first place.

He answered immediately.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized quickly.

“S’alright. Just figured you weren't in the mood to talk, pretty,” he cleared his throat. You wondered how much he had hurt in those seconds you denied his call. “Just wanted to let you know me and Kyle are where we’re supposed to be.” he explained.

“Good. Good,” you replied softly. You were quiet for a moment. “John, I love you. You know that right?” you breathed. You heard him inhale sharply on the other line, before clearing his throat again. You could feel yours constrict as well.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He breathed back. He needed that. He needed to know you weren't back home stewing at him. “I love you and I’ll talk to you soon, yeah?”

“I’ll be waiting,” you responded, your eyes blurring at the tightness in his voice. “Bye.”

“Bye, pretty girl.”

You buried your face in Simon’s chest, wrapping your arms around him as you cried lowly. You wished John was back, so you could curl up in his arms again. You wished you hadn't given him the cold shoulder before he left. What if something happened while he was away and your last physical interaction was you worming your way out of a hug? His hug.

“Easy, pup,” Simon soothed. His hands smoothing over your back. He wanted to scold you for not answering the first time. He could only imagine how John was feeling after being shipped away while not on the best terms with you. It was hard enough when you were on good terms. “Need a cigarette?” Simon questioned making you chuckle after your crying had slowed. You shook your head softly. He kept an arm around you, beginning the trek back home. “Don’t worry about it, pup. You've got a lot on your mind. Sometimes people do things without meaning harmful intent,” he soothed. You caught the double meaning of his words, and you pressed yourself closer.

“Simon. What would happen if something were to happen to you out there and you couldn't be sent back to base?”

He sucked in air through his teeth.

“Well we would get to the safest spot we could and try to be fixed up enough to be sent back here,” he explained.

“What if you couldn't though? Be sent back here?” you pressed.

“What would you want to happen?” he questioned. He didn't want to put ideas out there you weren't comfortable with. The easiest way to get the answer you wanted was by making you say it yourself.

“I’d want to be sent to where you were. No matter where it is or how dangerous it is. I'd want to be with you,” you nearly demanded.

“That's why you were paired with us, pup,” Simon smirked. “You’re just as brave and stupid as the rest of us.”

Hi friends! See you in three days for chapter 26! 🧡

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