#Rip y/n's paperwork

[icedmetaltea]

Revamping an old doodle~ No work all play!!

This was technically based on a dream so I get to excuse the desk which is entirely detached from anything else in an empty room-

[sceletaflores]

Being a professional masseur for players and taking care of our boy art.

Hes just so sad and so pretty that you just giving head to make him feel better 😔

Plot twist: he falls in love with you because duh? Hot+sex=you being promoted pookie, you are now the donaldsons elite employes!!!!!!

Baby, show me where it hurts...

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you never intended on becoming a "celebrity" massage therapist. you just wanted to be a massage therapist, the whole celebrity thing just sort of happened, you blame cali for that. but the novelty of your job wore off long ago, you hardly blink at the clients on your table nowadays. that is until tashi duncan calls you and absolutely fucks everything up

— or: art donaldson needs a massage therapist…

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, oral (m!receiving), oral (fem!receiving), p in v, fingering (fem!receiving), angst? maybe? could this be considered angst?, slight age gap, no tashi duncan erasure because i don't stand for that, cheating but not really cause tashi knows, she always knows, she is an all seeing eye, and she kind of orchestrates it, SOOOOO much plot, like way too much i'm sorry, art being sad and tired, art also being kinda pathetic a little bit, unprofessional massages, no use of y/n.

word count: 10k+ (someone stop me....pls still read this lmao)

author's note: this ask was blessedly placed in my inbox and it was all i’ve thought about since. this is my first big fic since my mike schmidt days so hopefully i'm not rusty! i've seen this damn cursed hell movie ten times, so hopefully i do it justice. i'm also still struggling sooo much with art and tashi as characters so please bear with me if they aren't movie accurate i'm trying my best. okay. thank you. hope you love it! mwah xoxo.

You don't get starstruck often, not anymore at least. The clients that find their way onto your table are just that in your eyes, clients. You don't see them as big time "celebrities”. Just men and women who need your professional help.

That being said, you almost dropped your phone the first time the Tashi Duncan called you.

It was a normal work day for you, spent buried in paperwork and training a new secretary. You're folding the steam room towels on your lunch break when your phone rings. No caller ID, you answer it anyways.

"Hello, you've reached Lush Retreat Med Spa," you rattle off into your phone, placing it between your ear and shoulder to continue folding. "How can we help you?"

"This is Tashi Duncan calling for Art Donaldson, we've heard great things about you and were hoping to schedule an appointment."

The towel drops from your hands, your mouth falling open in shock. You reach up to tightly grip your phone, not wanting to embarrass yourself by dropping your phone with Tashi fucking Duncan on the end of the line.

Of course you know who she is, but doesn't everyone? The tennis prodigy from Stanford who was on top of the world when a tragic knee injury stole everything from her in a single second. You absolutely idolized her when you were in high school and playing tennis competitively. You watched all the recorded matches you could get your hands on, wore your DUNCANATOR shirts to practice constantly, only bought the tennis rackets she used. You had her fucking posters plastered on the walls of your old bedroom for Christ's sake.

That was until you, ironically, shattered your wrist in a car accident and had to hang up the racket and pleated skirts forever. Just like her.

Now, Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson are California royalty. An unfairly beautiful couple living what seems to be the dream. You'd never kept up much with Art's career like you did Tashi's, but you follow them both on Instagram and you see his face on billboards all over the city almost daily so you can assume it was fruitful. It may help him that he's extremely easy on the eyes, or "super fucking hot!" in your coworkers words.

"Hello?" Her voice ringing out from the tiny speaker ripped you out of your thoughts and back into reality.

"Y-yes, sorry," you cringe internally at yourself, stuttering over your words like a loser. You force yourself to sound professional when you speak again, "We'd love to help you any way we can. Do you have a certain time and date in mind already?"

"We're not home right now, we were thinking next Thursday. Around four." There's no question mark on the end of her sentence, you know that she isn't asking you, she's telling you. You don't even bother to check the schedule before you're answering.

"We will be free that day. I'll go ahead and put you in our system." you rush over to the front desk computer and open the calendar, thankfully you are actually free for Thursday. "I'm assuming you know our location?" you ask as you type in the appointment details, ignoring how your fingers shake ever so slightly as you type Tashi into the slot.

"Actually," Tashi's voice has a different tone to it when she speaks again, it’s something you can’t quite place, your fingers slow down slightly as you listen, "we wanted to make this a home visit."

You stop typing completely, brows furrowed in confusion as you stare at your computer screen. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Donaldson but we don't do at home appointments…per our policy." you reply meekly, almost surprised that you're denying her.

"Duncan, actually,” she corrects you nonchalantly, you don’t have time to unpack that before she’s speaking again. “We did read that on your website, but we'd hope you might make an exception. You wouldn't need to bring much. We have our own table." Her tone isn't harsh or impolite, just firm and certain, like she knows you'll give in to her.

You do.

"Well," you bite your lip as you wrestle internally with yourself, torn between what you want to do and what you should do. "Okay, we can do that for you."

"Great. I'll send you the address. See you then." She hangs up without saying goodbye.

You plant your phone next to you and stare at the filled out appointment slot taking up your computer screen, processing what just happened. You're going to Tashi Duncan's house. To give her hot pro-tennis player husband a massage. In their house.

"What the fuck."

SIX DAYS LATER...

The walk up to The Donaldson's huge mansion on a mountain has your stomach turning in on itself. All week you were a ball of nervous energy just floating around your office, trying to find anything to distract you from your upcoming appointment. Now that it's here, you feel you may have bitten off more than you could chew.

You hardly got any sleep last night, tossing and turning in your bed for hours before you gave up, barging into your building's gym to try and sweat your nerves out. When that didn't work you just retreated back to your apartment and got ready.

You try not to think about why it took you so long to get ready, longer than most work mornings. Taking more time in the shower, more time doing your hair, more time doing your makeup.

You even choose an outfit you'd hardly ever wear in front of regular clientele. A matching white polo set, a skirt in place of shorts. You tell yourself that you just want to look good, who wants to look like a mess in front of Tashi Duncan?

Your hands white-knuckle the steering wheel of your car on the drive over. You couldn’t even play any music, the noise in your head already too loud as it was, only cranking up the AC and silently following the crisp voice of your GPS reading off the directions Tashi sent you.

The closer you get to the door the more you want to turn and run down the insanely long driveway, get back in your car and haul ass home without ever looking back.

You don't because you're a professional, or at least that's what you keep telling yourself.

Your hand shakes as you ring their doorbell, hearing it echo back at you from the inside. You only wait a few seconds before the large door swings open and there she is.

Tashi Duncan is every bit as beautiful in person as she is splashed across the pages of magazines and blown up twenty feet on billboards. She looks so effortlessly classy in her Ralph Lauren sweater and flowy black dress pants.

Your name falls from her lips, and all the blood rushes to your ears. Her silky voice wraps around each syllable with an enticing heat that makes you weak in the knees. You feel sixteen years old all over again, standing at the woman who basically molded you into who you are today. It's a dizzying sensation, the rush of nostalgia and emotions flooding in like an avalanche. The memories you have locked away in your brain of the countless late night practices, the hundreds of hours spent on the court, the trophies and ribbons littering your moms basement collecting dust, the refusal to give up and pushing your body past its own limits because you wanted to be just like her. You wanted to be Tashi Duncan, and when you catch yourself nervously rubbing your thumb over the scar spanning your right wrist, you guess in some sick twisted way that you kind of are.

"So glad you could make it," she greets breezily, stepping to the side to let you in. “We were worried you’d get lost.”

The house is, of course, beautiful on the inside. Tall ceilings, big fireplace, a beautiful staircase leading to the second floor. There’s toys strewn messily along the living room floor, the TV mounted on the wall is paused on ESPN.

You hope you don’t look as crazy as you feel taking in the space, taking in the fact that Tashi is standing right in front of you. 

“No, the directions were very helpful,” your voice only slightly wavers as you respond, you count that as a win, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Donalds–uh–Duncan.” You cringe at your fumble, but try to power through by extending Tashi your hand.

She watches you for a second, sharp eyes flicking over your body quickly like she’s inspecting you. It makes your cheeks feel warm as you struggle to not squirm underneath her gaze. Finally, she takes your hand in hers and gives it a firm shake. You ignore the way her touch makes your palm burn.

“Art should already be in the massage room, it’s in the pool house,” Tashi says, gesturing to the huge windows in the living room showing off a lavish underground pool with a smaller building situated next to it, “I have to take a phone call here in a few minutes so I trust you’ll find your way there.”

You nod slowly, adjusting the strap of your supply bag on your shoulder. Tashi doesn't even pause walking further into the house as she speaks to you, heels clicking with each step as she makes her way to the large staircase in the middle of the room. There’s still no question marks tacked on to the end of her sentences, just like over the phone. 

“It’s just through that door, first room on the left. I told him to leave the door open for you.” She continues, reaching the stairs and making her way up slowly. She tosses her head over her shoulder to make eye contact with you again. “He’s been complaining about his shoulder acting up. The right one, it’s what needs the most attention. He serves with that arm, we need it at a hundred.” she fires off casually, like she’s recited this information before.

You go to speak but her phone ringing cuts you off, echoing off the house's crisp white walls. “Thank you for coming to see us, it was nice meeting you.” Tashi says politely, giving you one final once over before she’s answering her phone and disappearing up the stairs.

“It was nice meeting you too…” you trail off quietly, fully caught off guard by whatever the hell that was. Out of every single time you’d fantasized about what meeting Tashi Duncan would be like, none of them were quite like this. At least it’s over you figure, and you even managed to not make a complete fool of yourself.

You hold onto that tiny win as you walk through the living room doors and outside, making your way to the pool house like Tashi instructed. The entrance is unlocked as you step inside, thankfully you spot the cracked door a little ways in front of you. 

The sound of your footsteps are loud as you make your way down the short hallway, tennis shoes making small thump sounds against the concrete floor. You pause for just a second outside the cracked door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open and stepping inside. The room is empty, the only things inside are some shelves lined with various essential oils and lotions, and an expensive looking massage table in the center. You muse over the fact that their table looks a little better than the ones in your own spa, no wonder they wanted a home visit.

The room is well lit as you walk around, dim in a way that promotes relaxation. The soft, ambient lighting bathes the room in a gentle, golden glow, complemented by the flicker of aromatic candles placed strategically around the space. You wonder who lit them, Tashi? Or maybe Art? You let out a small laugh at the idea of Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson fawning over the room before you showed up, setting up candles and mood lighting to make it feel nicer, less clinical.

You’re probably just reading too much into it. You always urge clients to ask for anything that will make them feel more comfortable, apparently Art just likes eucalyptus sage candles and mood lighting. It has nothing to do with you. 

Your name being said from somewhere behind you rips you out of your own mind. You whirl around, and find yourself face to face with six time Grand Slam Champion, Tashi Duncan’s super hot husband, Art Donaldson. And he’s only wearing a fucking towel.

“Hello,” he greets with a kind smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “it’s nice to finally meet you, thank you so much for taking the time to come out here.” 

Art is already worlds different from Tashi, or that’s what you’re inferring after spending less than five minutes with each of them. It’s still extremely apparent, Tashi has an almost overpowering presence to her, everything about her commands respect and she knows that. She uses that to her advantage, she likes it like that.

The man standing in front of you is nothing like that. The Art Donaldson in front of you doesn’t seem like some big shot tennis player with more impressive stats than you could wrap your head around. You’ve come to know that a few pro-sports guys like to swing their dicks around, bragging about their booming careers non-stop during a session. Yet everything about Art is unassuming as he stands in the doorway like he’s trying to make himself look smaller. 

“Hi, Mr. Donaldson,” you’re not sure if it's appropriate to offer a man wearing a towel dangerously low on his hips your hand, you decide against it. “It’s no trouble really, I’m happy to help.”

“Please, call me Art.” The tone of his voice makes you want to shiver, smooth and warm like honey. 

You try your best not to stare, but it’s so hard to ignore the toned expanse of Art’s body when it’s right there. He’s all broad shoulders, firm pecs, sculpted legs, with a cut Adonis belt. He’s like a marble statue, made in Michelangelo's perfect image.

Your eyes trail back up his body, lingering on his chest before rising up to his face. You’re mortified to see he’s staring right back at you, effectively catching you in the act. Your cheeks burn as you tear your gaze away, looking at anything and everything other than him. In your panic, you don’t notice the way his eyes rake over you in the same way.

“Okay, Art,” you say a little breathlessly, tightening your grip on the strap of your bag. “It’s nice to meet you. Mrs. Duncan let me know about your major problem areas, I’ll be sure to focus on them.” Involuntarily bringing up Tashi has your stomach clenching up in guilt, you just got done ogling her husband's body. You hope he takes the silent cue you're giving him to get on the damn table so you can start the massage and get the hell out of here.

Art nods silently, walking over to the table and moving to lie down on his stomach. You busy yourself with prepping your oils, taking them out of your bag and setting them on a small side table next to the massage bed uncapped for easy access. You can’t help but sneak glances at the rippling muscle of Art’s back as he shifts, his skin looks soft and is littered with freckles. You don’t miss the hiss he lets out when he lays his weight on his shoulder.

You usually don’t speak much during appointments, only engaging in conversation when your client initiates it, but you feel the need to fill the silence between you and Art. The quiet atmosphere makes everything seem far too intimate, and sure on some level it always is, but this feels different.

“How’d you hurt it? Your shoulder. If you don’t mind me asking.” you ask once he’s settled, placing your fingertips to the middle of his right shoulder, feeling around for any tension. Art tenses slightly at your touch, taking a sharp breath. You guess you should have warned him, you open your mouth to apologize but he lets out a small breath and relaxes onto the table again.

Art sighs, his voice tinged with weariness. "It was, uh, during a match. I overextended trying to return a serve. Haven't been able to move it properly since."

You nod, hands starting to move in slow, deliberate circles across the muscle. “That sounds about right. Most people don’t realize how brutal tennis is to the body, injuries are common,” you pointedly try to ignore the flashbacks of your wrist failing to swing a racket properly after you healed from your accident, flashbacks of watching as the bone pierced through your skin. “Sounds like you might need to take it easy for a while.” you continue, trying to keep the conversation light.

Art chuckled, though it was devoid of real humor. "Yeah, I’ve been playing a lot lately. Guess I pushed myself too hard." He winces slightly as you work on a particularly tight knot, shoulder tensing under your hands. 

You pause, your hands stilling momentarily as you catch the underlying tension in Art's voice. "The season’s almost over, maybe it's time to give yourself a break, take some time to rest and recuperate." you remark softly, your tone gentle yet concerned.

Art's gaze flickers to yours, a flicker of vulnerability shining through. "I wish I could," he admits, his voice heavy, "But it's hard to step away, especially when it feels like it's all I have that’s still keeping everything together."

Your heart clenches at the raw honesty in his words. He’s completely silent afterwards, you wonder if he’s regretting telling you something like that, like maybe it just fell out of his mouth before he could stop it. Without a word, you continue to knead away the tension in his muscles, offering a silent gesture of support.

As you continue to work, hands skillfully moving over Art’s shoulder, you can’t help but notice the weariness in Art's demeanor. His presence feels heavy, almost broken, as if the physical pain was just a small part of what he was carrying. You feel a pang of sympathy for him. You can feel the weight of struggles pressing down on him, the way his shoulders sag slightly even under your careful touch.

“I can feel the tension here," you say gently, applying a little more pressure,  "Just try to relax.” 

With each knead and press, you remind yourself of your role. You’re here to help him heal, and that was all that mattered. But as your hands move over his warm skin, you can’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t what you had anticipated, something that made your heart race with both excitement and anxiety. You were so worried about meeting Tashi you completely forgot about Art. It’s a different story now as your hands explore the smooth planes of his back to the steady sound of his breathing.

"You're really good at this," Art says after a while, his voice a bit lighter. 

You smile, a genuine one, the first real smile you’ve had since you got here. “Thanks. I’d hope so after all this time.”

Art lets out a small chuckle muffled by the table, it makes your stomach flutter. “How did you get into this? Massage therapy seems interesting.”

You laugh but it’s a bitter sound, moving your hands down to focus lower on Art’s shoulder. You try not to think about your tennis career, even after all this time you struggle with the memories despite all the good it brought you. “That’s a long story.” you mutter under your breath, even to your own ears you sound resentful.

“I’ve got time.” It’s a simple reply, but it’s so honest. Like Art’s genuinely interested in you, in getting to know you. It makes you feel dizzy.

“I, um,” you worry your lip between your teeth, working your hands harder over Art’s back. “I actually used to play tennis. When I was in high school.”

Art makes an interested noise, shifting under your hands as he moves his head to lay on the side of the table so he could look up at you. “No shit?” he looks more shocked than anything. 

You nod, humming in confirmation as you finally move onto his other shoulder. “Yup, I was pretty serious about it back then, until I got injured.” You don’t meet Art’s gaze, but you can see how his face falls in your peripheral vision. You kind of want to laugh at how ironic this moment is, you wonder if Art’s thinking about Tashi’s knee. You know he was at the match, you’ve seen the blurry footage of Tashi Duncan’s fall from grace, watched Art vault over the net to get to her.

“That’s awful. I’m sorry.” He sounds like he means it.

“It’s okay, wasn't like it was my fault or anything,” you say, finally meeting his eyes with a rueful smile and raising your right wrist to show him your scar. “I got hit by a drunk driver coming home late from practice one night. Nasty fracture, bone went straight through.” You hope your voice is coming out as nonchalant as you’re trying to make it sound.

Art's eyes widen in disbelief as he takes in your scar, a mixture of shock and sympathy evident on his face. "Wow, that's...terrible," he murmurs, his voice tinged with compassion.

You shrug, the memories still vivid despite the passage of time. "It was tough, it was awful actually. All the physical therapy in the world couldn’t get a racket back in my hand,” you confess softly, fingers tracing the outline of the scar absentmindedly again. “But it also forced me to reevaluate things, in a way. It made me realize that life doesn't always go according to plan.” You see Tashi’s knee buckling in your mind's eye. “When I finally realized that I could take all the hate and all the anger I was feeling and channel it into something good, something like massage therapy, I never looked back."

You immediately regret over-sharing, feeling silly telling Art your sob story, but when you meet his eye again, he has an odd look on his face. His expression is soft as he looks up at you through long lashes, understanding and empathy swimming in the blue of his eyes.

"Well, silver linings, huh?" he says after a few seconds, there’s traces of a smile playing on his lips. You let out a small laugh, nodding your head slightly.

"Yeah," you agree, a small smile on your lips. "Silver linings." 

As the conversation fades into a comfortable silence, you and Art find yourselves locked in a silent exchange, your eyes meeting and holding a depth of something you can’t quite pick up on. In that moment, the world around you seems to blur, leaving only the two of you suspended in a shared moment of vulnerability. There's a subtle shift in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that has formed between you, as if you've uncovered a piece of each other.

The shrill ringing of your phone’s alarm pierces through the moment, both you and Art jump at the sudden sound. It’s like a cold bucket of water pouring over your head, washing away whatever just happened between the two of you. The session’s over, you’re done. 

“Okay,” you say a little too loudly, taking your hands off Art's back like his skin could burn you any second. “Looks like we’re all done.” You try to smile but it feels fake, forced, so you turn your back to Art and start capping your oils to shove them back in your bag.

Art’s voice breaks the silence as you pack up, sounding a little less confident than it did earlier. “Uh, my neck has been bothering me too, recently,” he says offhandedly as he sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the table. “I think I may have slept on it wrong.”

You stop what you’re doing, turning to face Art again, silently cursing him for not just letting you leave. “Do you want me to take a look before I go?” You pray he says no. You should know it won’t be that easy, not with your shit luck.

“If you don’t mind?” His tone is so hopeful and his eyes are so big that your feet are walking towards him before your mind can catch up. 

“Not at all,” you reply, your voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. You step closer, practically between his slightly spread legs, feeling the warmth of his skin even before you touch him. Your fingers brush against his neck, and he shivers slightly, the muscles tight and knotted beneath your touch.

"Just relax," you murmur, trying to maintain any shred of professional demeanor. As you work, you can't help but notice the way his breath hitches, the tension in his body melting away under your skilled hands. The room feels smaller, the air heavier with each passing second.

He closes his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "That feels amazing," he whispers, and you swallow hard, trying to focus solely on the task at hand. As you work, the intimacy of the moment isn't lost on you, and you can't help but wonder if he feels it too.

Minutes tick by like hours as you work the tense muscle of Art’s neck. You're acutely aware of every sigh, every shift in his body, every subtle reaction to your touch. You finally pull away when you think it’s been enough time, eager to get out of this damn house before you do something you’ll regret.

You didn’t notice how close you really were to Art until you pulled back only to be met with his face mere inches away from yours. Startled by the sudden proximity, you freeze, caught off guard by the intensity of Art's gaze. His eyes, dark and searching, seem to hold a silent question, a silent invitation.

Now, Art’s body is one thing, it’s objectively perfect. He’s a professional athlete, of course it’s perfect. It has to be perfect. It’s his damn face that gets you.

He’s beautiful, beyond beautiful. He looks like he should be splayed across canvas hanging in the Louvre. The dim lighting in the room illuminates his face beautifully, his golden hair haloing around his head makes him look ethereal. Each of his features look as if they were handcrafted by a master sculptor, each contour and line a testament to perfection. His chiseled jawline speaks of strength and determination, while his lips, soft and inviting, seem to beckon you closer with every breath. His eyes are deep pools of ocean blue, though this close you can see a small splash of brown in his left eye you didn’t notice before, swirling with emotions that stir something deep within you. 

Something more shocking than Art’s beauty, is how fucking tired he looks. Lines of exhaustion are etched along his face, subtle but undeniable. The weariness in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent plea for respite from the relentless demands of tennis. And yet, even amidst the exhaustion, there's a flicker of longing. He’s staring at you like he needs you, eyes wide and yearning. His chest rising and failing a little more harshly than it did before, each exhale coming out ragged and sharp.

“Art…” you whisper, heart threatening to beat out of your chest. He’s so warm, the heat emitting off of him makes you want to lean into it. You want to crawl on top of his powerful thighs and bury your face in his chest and never leave. Your hands flex where they’re draped over Art’s neck.

It happens in slow motion, Art’s hand trails up the skin of your thigh as your name falls from his lips like a prayer, and it’s like you’ve been electrocuted. You’re rearing back with a sharp breath, dropping your hands from his neck and taking a couple steps back. 

“It was really nice to- uh to meet you, Art.” you say frantically, swinging your bag firmly over your shoulder and rushing to the door. Art’s still sitting on the table, silently watching you panic. He doesn’t try to stop you. “I hope your shoulder feels better,” is all you say before bursting out the door and speed walking out of the pool house. 

Your heart's racing as you walk through the backyard, hands shaking even through the death grip you have on the strap of your bag. What the hell was that? What the hell was that? Did Art Donaldson just make a pass at you? You must be imagining things. 

The thought rattles around in your mind, refusing to be dismissed. His words, his tone—they seemed to linger in the air, haunting you with their implications. The way he touched you, like he couldn’t help himself. But no, it couldn't be. He was married to Tashi, and besides, he was just being polite, right? You try to convince yourself of that as you make your way back to the house.

As you walk inside, still slightly shaken up, Tashi’s the first thing you see. She’s sitting in the living room, laptop open on the coffee table in front of her. 

“Hey,” she says, sitting up straighter on the coach, “how was it?”

You swallow, urging yourself to calm down. “It was great, he should be seeing some improvement over the next few days.”

Tashi nods her head, seemingly pleased though it doesn’t show on her face. “Could this be a weekly thing, these appointments. He could really use them.” 

No question marks. Motherfucker.

You flounder, stomach dropping. “Weekly? As in every Thursday?”

Tashi’s brow raises, eyes looking over you inquisitively. “Yes, preferably all home visits.”She stands from the couch, taking a couple steps towards you. “We read on your website you take permanent clients, is that not the case anymore.”

You shake your head, eyes wide as they follow her while she walks. “N-no, Mrs. Duncan we do. We could pencil you in if you’re willing to pay monthly for the time slot. Would you like to talk to some of my other employees to work out a rotating schedule?”

Tashi stops a few feet away from you, hands in her pockets. “Actually, we were hoping you’d be the one coming down. The only one.” You blink, her words slam over you like a ton of bricks. Just you, in a room with a half-naked Art. Every single Thursday. That can’t happen, not after what just went down between the two of you.

You can practically hear the warning bells blaring in your mind, urging you to refuse, to put an end to this before it spirals out of control. Yet, there's another voice, quieter but no less insistent, whispering seductive promises of what could be if you were to stay.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you grapple with the conflicting desires warring within you. Tashi's expectant gaze weighs heavily on you, waiting for your response, and you know that whatever decision you make will irrevocably alter the course of things between you and Art. With a shaky breath, you steel yourself, the weight of your choice settling like a stone in your stomach.

"I...I'll do it," you finally say, the words leaving your lips before you can stop them. "I'll make sure to pencil you in for weekly sessions, Mrs. Duncan."

Tashi's lips curve up slightly, satisfied, but beneath the surface you can sense the tension thrumming through the air. You've made your choice, for better or for worse, and now you can only hope that it won't lead to the downfall of everything you've worked so hard to build.

“Wonderful,” she says, gesturing for you to follow her to the front door. You trail behind her like a loyal pet, silently allowing her to drag you wherever she pleases. “Thank you again for coming out, and please,” she pauses with her hand on the doorknob, turning to meet your eye, “call me Tashi.”

"Thank you, Tashi," you murmur softly, the weight of her name feeling foreign on your tongue when you’re actually saying it to her for the first time. "I'll make sure to arrange everything at the office."

Tashi's smile widens, though there's a glint of something unreadable in her eyes. "I look forward to seeing you, then," she says, her tone laced with a hint of anticipation. "And please, if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to reach out."

With a final nod, Tashi opens the front door, the outside world beckoning beyond its threshold. You take a hesitant step forward, the weight of your decision pressing down on your shoulders like a heavy burden. As you step out into the cool evening air, you can't shake the feeling that you've just crossed a line from which there may be no turning back. But for now, all you can do is steel your nerves and hope that you haven't made a huge mistake.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Your sessions with Art continue on. The guilt settling deep in your stomach each time you set foot in the Donaldson/Duncan house also continues. It worsens each time the two of you are alone in that damned massage room. Technically you’ve done nothing wrong, but you know deep in the back of your mind that what you’re doing isn’t normal. Each meeting is a strange mixture of tension and familiarity. When you arrive, Tashi always greets you warmly, her trust in you unwavering. It feels like a dagger each time, twisting deeper and deeper into your conscience. 

Neither of you talk about it, what happened during your session, and Art doesn’t treat you any differently. He still goes out of his way to make polite conversation, asking you about your life, about your business, he even brings up old anecdotes you told him offhandedly. He doesn’t talk about tennis, and he has to know you can keep up in conversation with it since you told him about your history with it, you just assume he doesn’t want to. 

That makes sense, you always think back to the first time he met you. How he brushed off any conversation about his career, how his demeanor changed when he spoke about it. How drained he looked. There was a sadness in his eyes, a weight he carried that seemed to go beyond just a few standard aches and pains. You remember how it struck you then, and it strikes you still, each time you see him.

His shoulder is getting better, you can tell. He can lay on it, or raise it above his head, without wincing. That makes your heart swell, knowing that despite how weird and kind of fucked up everything is, he’s healing. 

The familiar sound of your timer ringing pulls you out of your thoughts. You’re shocked at how fast this appointment flew by, but you could tell as soon as you walked into the massage room to find Art already sitting on the table waiting for you, that something about this session feels different. It’s silly to call it “sensing a bad vibe”, but that’s exactly what you felt entering the room's threshold. 

Art didn’t speak much as you worked, just laying on the table silently after saying hello and asking you about your week. The silence is definitely odd, Art’s not a chatterbox by any means, but he usually keeps some form of conversation flowing. After a while, you start to think it might be something you did, like maybe he’s mad at you. It sounds so stupid in your head, like you’re some poor high school girl getting hung up over a fucking guy giving you the silent treatment.

The only thing more stupid than that is how much it’s actually affecting you. Art has you over analyzing everything you’ve said or done over the last couple visits, you dread that maybe he just came to his senses after all this time. That he finally snapped out of whatever trance he was in and remembered he has a beautiful wife, and that he doesn’t really want you.

“Alright,” you say softly, stepping away from the table, “All done.” As you turn off the timer and gather your thoughts, you can't shake the feeling that something is off. You force yourself to bury it, Art doesn’t owe you an explanation, he doesn’t owe you anything. You aren’t his.

You glance over at him as he slowly sits up, his expression unreadable. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. You offer a small smile in return, trying to squash all the ugly feelings mixing in your stomach. You turn to busy yourself with packing up, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu.

Art’s voice cuts through the silence, sounding weary. “Are we still pretending it didn’t happen?”

It catches you off guard, making you drop the bottle in your hands back onto the table loudly. Your heart races as you turn back to face him, unsure of how to respond. The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, demanding a response you’re not sure you’re ready to give.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “I...I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I was hoping we could just…forget about it.”

Art’s eyes search yours, filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. “I don’t think I can,” he confesses, his voice tinged with sadness.

The same feelings from that day rush back in your mind, flooding all your senses. It's as if time folds in on itself, bringing you right back to that moment where everything changed. You feel panic clawing its way up your body, fight or flight response waging a war inside of you.

You chose flight, shoving the last bottle in your bag and making a break for the door. Ready to run just like you did back then, run and come back next week with your tail between your legs desperately trying to forget that this ever happened, again. Art’s voice stops you just as you have your hand on the doorknob.

��Please…” he whispers, he sounds so broken, so vulnerable. “Please, don’t run.”

You don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, or the repressed feelings, or your shitty back bone, but whatever it is makes you pause, hand falling off the doorknob to lay limp at your side. You turn back to face him, the raw need in his eyes mirrored by your own emotions. It tugs at your heart, making it impossible to leave. You feel a surge of guilt and hesitation, but the longing in his gaze holds you captive. Slowly, you make your way towards him, taking small slow steps like you could still leave at any minute, but you know you won’t.

You walk until you’re crowding him, standing between his spread legs just like you did all those sessions ago. His eyes are wide, almost disbelieving, like he thought you’d turn around and slam the door on him instead. Which is what you should do, you should walk out that door right now and never step foot in their house again. 

Art whispers your name, his voice a soft caress that sends sparks zapping down your spine. You're close enough to feel his breath fanning over your face, warm and intimate. You inhale, like you’re trying to absorb his words, his essence, his everything. 

His hand takes yours, bringing it up to his chest. He presses it firmly against his pec, right on top of his heart. You can feel the rapid, uneven thumping beneath your palm. His thumb caresses your wrist gently, making goosebumps pebble over your skin.

It’s easy to get lost in Art’s eyes, so you’re shocked to notice something that very quickly grabs your attention. Art’s towel is tented obscenely, hard cock straining against the thick material. You swallow roughly at the sight, feeling the need to touch, to take, to help.

Your knees hit the floor before you fully realize the entire gravity of what you’re doing. You don’t care about any of that anyway, not right now. 

Right now Art Donaldson is swiping his thumb across the scar on your wrist with his big sparkly eyes desperately looking into yours, unashamedly begging for you to touch him. 

Who are you to deny him?

Your hands find the knot of his towel and yank it roughly, ripping it off Art's hips and tossing it aside. His hard cock springs out, slapping up against his stomach enticingly. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, pleased to see he’s perfect all over. 

Art’s cock is long, and thick. He’s big, but in an exciting way, not in an intimidating way. He’s already steadily drooling pre-cum from his soft pink tip, already so hard and you haven’t even touched him yet. You reach up, tracing your finger along the length of him lightly. Art inhales, his eyes fluttering closed as you touch him for the first time. The anticipation in the room is palpable, a heady mix of desire and need that seems to swirl around you both.

You circle your hand around the base of his cock, stroking up and up until your hand bumps into the head, where you start to rub your thumb back and forth gently, spreading the wetness from his pre-cum before sliding your hand back down. Slowly, you lean in, placing a soft kiss on the tip of his cock before taking him into your mouth, savoring the taste of him as he groans deeply, hands gripping the massage table tightly.

“Shit,” he grits out, casting his gaze to the ceiling, chest already heaving raggedly. 

You slide the warmth of your mouth down the shaft of his cock, moaning at the heady taste of him, skin soft and velvety on your tongue. 

“Fuck, your mouth…” Art whispers above you, his words trailing off into a string of breathy moans. You hum in response, working his cock faster to draw out more of those noises. Hollowing your cheeks, you sink down towards the circle of your fist still holding the base of his cock with wet, slippery slurping sounds. Art’s hand lets go of the table, coming up to cup your cheek in a move way too intimate for what the two of you are doing.

You chance a look up, and your heart skips several beats at what you see. Art’s already staring down at you, his face twisted up in pleasure. His pale cheeks are flushed, brows drawn together tightly, plush bottom lip caught between his teeth. All that is enough to make you feel ten feet tall, but that’s not what makes you pause.

It’s his eyes, the way Art’s looking at you.

The look in his eyes is…worshipful. Reverent. Like you’re a celestial being, a divine grace walking among mortals. Not some girl on her knees for a married man in his house’s private fucking massage room.

Yet the longer you hold his gaze, while still working your mouth over his hard cock, you feel something strange stirring inside you. Art’s eyes holding such a longing reverence so intense, it was starting to elevate you to a pedestal of adoration. Of devotion.

Right now Art’s like the sun, burning so brightly you feel you need to look away before he consumes you, but you don’t.

“Please,” Art begs desperately, voice so soft you barely even hear it. There’s tears welling in his eyes, his red rimmed and so so tired looking eyes. It breaks your heart, how could such a wonderful man be reduced to this?

You pull off Art’s cock, hand still pumping firmly over him. He whines at the loss of your mouth, hips bucking up to chase after the warm heat. His tip bumps over your lips as he moves, trailing a thin line of pre-cum across them.

Without breaking eye contact, you speak.

“You’re so good, Art.” 

It’s those four words whispered against the tip of Art's leaking cock that has him coming with a hitched breath and a soft cry. A few bursts of his warm come land over your parted lips before you take the head of his cock back in your mouth to greedily swallow down the rest. 

"Thank you, fuck, thank you...!" Art grates out as his body trembles above you, hand squeezing yours so hard it borders on painful. You know you’re never coming back from this, but you still  squeeze back as hard as you can all the same.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Maybe this is just your life now, fucking the husband of the woman you worshiped like a God for years on end. It’s like you can’t stop, like you’re an addict or something. No matter how disgusting and shameful you feel every time you get home from Art’s appointments, you can’t help but give into him. It’s a twisted dance, a cycle of pleasure and regret that you can’t seem to break. One look into his sad, kicked puppy eyes and you crack. You’ve convinced yourself it's just you reveling in the feeling of being truly wanted for the first time. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. It’s the way he makes you feel alive, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in his world.

Art wants you. He needs you. He’s made that more than clear every single visit since you dropped down on your knees for him. The guilt gnaws at you, a constant reminder that you can't escape. Yet, every time you see him, every time he reaches out to you with that desperate need in his eyes, you find yourself powerless to resist. 

You’ve never kissed, not on the lips. Art’s certainly tried, lips seeking yours out as your oiled up fist slips up and down his cock, as you sit on his lap and grind against him until he’s dirtying his towel. You just turn your head every time, letting him trail kisses along your jaw and neck instead somehow feels less real. Kissing Art will make it feel real, you know it will. So you don’t.

Funnily enough, you think things are going well. Maybe even as well as getting a married man off every Thursday can go. You can see a change in Art, in his behavior and the way he holds himself. He smiles more, he laughs more, it’s like he’s giving more of himself to you each time you meet with him. It’s exhilarating, the way your presence has this effect on him, almost as if you’re breathing new life into him.

Art’s newfound lightness is infectious. You find yourself looking forward to Thursdays with an anticipation that borders on impatience. The way he looks at you, the tender touches that linger just a bit longer, the conversations that flow more freely–it all feels like a dream you’re afraid to wake up from. 

You should have known it was too good to be true, that this little world you created in your head was just the calm before the storm.

Everything about this session was normal to start. It’s a little less intense since Art’s shoulder is doing better, now you have free reign over the rest of his body. Greedy hands free to glide over the planes and planes of muscle you’ve become familiar with.

As you work on his lower back, your hands moving in practiced, soothing motions, you notice a subtle rigidity in his muscles. “Everything alright?” you ask, keeping your tone light.

Art hesitates before answering. “Yeah, just…a lot on my mind.”

You frown, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Art stays quiet, still laying silently on the table face down. You stare at the back of his head, like if you stare hard enough you’ll be able to tell what he’s thinking. Taking his silence as not wanting to talk, you continue on. You don’t want to pressure him to confide with you, not when he already has a wife for that.

As your hands continue to move over Art's tense shoulders, he lets out a deep sigh, breaking the silence. "I need you,”  he whispers softly, his voice filled with an unexpected vulnerability. He shifts on the table, leaning up to look you in the eye; his own eyes are watery, lashes clumped together with unshed tears. “It's not just the massages. I need you in my life, no more of this half-assed bullshit. I need all of you.”

You feel your whole world turn upside down in a single second, the distinct feeling of your heart lurching out of your chest and your stomach dropping to your feet. It’s like the walls of the room start moving in on you, caging you in. It makes your chest feel tight, breath coming out in short jagged rasps. Panic grips you, and you violently rip your hands off Art’s body, stumbling back from the massage table.

 "I-I'm sorry, I can't," you stammer, voice choked with emotion, as you turn to flee from the room, not even bothering to grab your stuff. But before you could escape, Art was right behind you, reaching out to catch your wrist, his grip gentle yet firm. "Please don't go, please," he begs, his eyes pleading with you to stay and talk. You wrench your hand free and run out of the room. 

You think you hear Art calling out your name through all the static rushing through your ears, but you’re not sure, and you don’t look back to check. Your feet pound against the tile as you run out of the pool house feeling like you’re about to throw up, or pass out. Art’s confession is the only thing running through your mind. The only thing that’s still clear through your dizzying panic.

You finally start to breathe again when you burst into the house, leaning back against the cool glass of the door to try and relax before you start to spiral. The silence inside is almost oppressive, the only sound the rapid thudding of your heart in your ears. You close your eyes, willing yourself to calm down, to find some semblance of control.

Your name being said grabs your attention, and you open your eyes to find Tashi at the top of the stairs.

“Is everything okay? I heard the door slam.” Her expression is a mix of concern and confusion as she takes a few steps down. You push yourself off the door, you need to leave as soon as possible, before Tashi can reach you and coerce you into staying. 

“Everything's fine!” Your voice sounds shaky despite your best efforts to calm yourself, you’re basically speed walking to the door. “I just, I got a phone call, and I need to leave. Right now. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t even wait for her to reply before you’re yanking the door open and rushing outside. You hope to God that she doesn’t follow you outside. She doesn’t.

You walk, arms wrapped around yourself tightly in a feeble attempt to stop shaking. There are tears burning your eyes and making everything in front of you blurry. The wind whips your hair around your face, stinging your cheeks as you walk further away from the house.

Each step feels heavier, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to make sense of the storm inside you. The chaotic weather seems to mock your turmoil, perfectly matching the chaos you feel. You struggle to piece together what just happened, the intensity of Art’s words echoing in your mind.

“I need you.”

His voice had been so raw, so vulnerable, and it scared you. You weren’t ready for that kind of emotion, that kind of responsibility, that kind of guilt. The weight of it had sent you running, and now you’re left grappling with the aftermath.

Fuck.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX HOURS LATER…

The drive home was a blur. Rain and wind beating against the windshield nearly the whole time. You’d laugh at how ironic it was, like God’s punishing you with shitty weather, but you’re too busy fighting tears to find the humor in it. 

The dread didn’t set in until you got home, stumbling through the front door on shaky legs until you reached your kitchen where you promptly emptied everything in your stomach into your trash. After you force yourself into the shower to wash the rain, and guilt, off of your skin. You scrub yourself raw, skin pink and sensitive to the touch, like that will somehow erase all that you’ve done.

When you finally step out, the bathroom mirror is fogged, a ghostly reflection staring back at you through the mist. You avoid its gaze, wrapping yourself in a towel and padding through your room to collapse onto your bed. The silence of the house presses in on you, letting your thoughts consume you. 

Art’s words play on a loop inside your head, the look on his face burned to the forefront of your mind. The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, rocking you with its intensity. Running away had seemed like the only option at the time, a knee-jerk reaction to the overwhelming flood of emotions threatening to engulf you. 

You know you didn’t run from Art because you don’t want him, you ran because there’s nothing you want more. In the aftermath, running felt less like a choice and more like an instinctual response to the storm of emotions threatening to consume you whole since the first day you met him. Every step away from Art was a battle against the gravitational pull of your desires, a struggle against the overwhelming urge to surrender to what you both shared.

The truth is crystal clear: you didn't run from Art because you're devoid of feelings for him. You ran precisely because your heart beats in synchrony with his, because the depth of your longing for him is as boundless as the universe itself. 

Your phone pings from the dresser, you ignore it. A second later, it pings again, and again, and again. You furrow your brows, glaring at your nightstand until you reach over and pick up your phone. It’s an unknown number, but you know who it is.

UNKNOWN NUMBER I need to see you.  Please, I can send a car. It's Art. Tashi isn’t home tonight.

Maybe you’re the worst person in the world, but all the fight leaves your body the second you read Art’s texts. You need to see him as much as he needs to see you. Your fingers type out a response before you can think twice.

Art okay.

You send him your address, jumping out of bed to throw on the first things you see. A black SUV was waiting for you as soon as you got downstairs, just as promised. You climbed in after getting confirmation from the driver, and sat in the backseat quietly as you went down the familiar streets. 

As the house comes into view, you can see the front door’s light is still on, waiting for you. You barely wait for the car to stop before you’re opening the car door and stepping outside. The rain immediately drenches you, seeping through your thin sleep clothes. You take two steps before the front door swings open and Art comes rushing out into the rain. He’s only wearing sleep pants, his bare feet smack wetly on the concrete as he runs to you.

Art stops short of you, hesitating, like he doesn’t know whether to touch you or not. You want him to touch you so bad you’re scared it might kill you. The air between you feels charged, every drop of rain a tiny spark. Finally, Art reaches out, his hand trembling as he brushes a soaked strand of hair from your face. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you step closer, collapsing into his arms. The rain continues to fall around you, but at this moment, it’s just the two of you.

"Art," you breathe, your voice trembling. "What are we doing?"

He gazes into your eyes, the raw emotion in his expression mirroring your own. "I don't know," he admits, his hands gently sliding down to your shoulders. "But I can't let you go. Not now." His words hang between you, a fragile thread of honesty that binds you together. You can feel the weight of his words, the sincerity in his voice, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as his words sink in. The honesty in his gaze, the desperation in his touch—it all overwhelms you, leaving you breathless. The only thing you can think of, the only thing that feels right, is kissing him. So you do.

You lean closer, your heart pounding in your chest, and gently cup his face in your hands. His eyes widen for a moment, a flicker of surprise mingling with the intensity of his emotions. Then, as if drawn together by an invisible force, your lips meet his.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative and sweet, a question and an answer all at once. His lips are cold and slightly trembling, matching the fluttering in your chest. You can taste the salt of your tears mingling with the sweetness of the moment. Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours. 

Gradually, the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent and fervent, a silent expression of everything words can’t convey. Art’s arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, his fingers threading through your hair. The heat between you intensifies, both your breath coming faster, mingling as the kiss grows hungrier.

Art’s heartbeat echoes against your chest, you can feel his grip on you getting tighter like he's scared of letting you go. Your hands slide down to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscles as you press closer, your bodies molding together. His tongue flicks against your lips, seeking entrance, and you part them eagerly, welcoming him in. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of desperation and passion that makes your head spin. A soft moan escapes your lips, and he responds with a low growl, his hands roaming down your back, pulling you impossibly closer. 

“Art,” you say in between kisses, panting into his slick, open mouth. “I need you to fuck me.”

You can feel Art’s whole body shiver, groaning unabashedly into your mouth like he’s dying for it. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you to finally admit that.”

The two of you tear through the house, all tangled limbs and bumbling steps, you trail water all over the floor. Somewhere in the chaos you drop your phone and keys on the large kitchen island. Art refuses to let go of you to walk properly, blindly leading the way so he can keep kissing you breathless.

Art only stops kissing you when you finally make it to his bedroom, pulling away to wrestle the now soaked sleep pants off his legs. You follow by example and peel your shirt off, skin damp and cold but you could care less, not when Art’s pants are pooling at his ankles and he’s throwing his boxers carelessly over his shoulder.

“God,” he breathes out, shaking his head like he can’t believe you're giving him this, “You’re so beautiful.”

The raw honesty in his tone has your cheeks burning, you cast your gaze to the floor instinctually, feeling too overwhelmed by his charged gaze raking over you. You can hear his feet softly padding against the floor, making his way closer. You watch his feet come to a complete stop in front of you, he takes a hold of your chin gently forcing you to look up at him. 

His eyes, intense and unwavering, lock onto yours. “You’re fucking perfect.”

With a gentle push, Art lowers you onto the bed, his weight a comforting presence above you. He tilts your head back and kisses you breathless, one big hand sliding lower and lower on your stomach till he’s got his hand down the front of your shorts, he groans when his hand makes contact with your bare skin. You’d almost forgotten you hadn’t worn any underwear. His hand so close to your aching center has your breath hitching as you kiss, hips bucking up towards his palm.

You reach for his cock, an angry shade red and leaking steadily, but he catches your wrist before you can touch. You meet his eyes confused, but he just shakes his head.

“It’s been about me the whole time, baby. Let me fix that,” he whispers.

You nod your head wordlessly. You wouldn’t dream of denying him, not right now. He smiles, pecking your lips again before he starts to kiss his way downwards. He explores your body with his mouth with such care it has you shaking under every brush his lips. He kisses all down your jaw and neck, taking extra time on your chest to map out the skin of your breasts with his tongue. He circles your right nipple with the tip of his tongue a few times over before he takes it in his mouth, rolling it between his teeth gently. It has your back arching into his mouth, hands scrambling for a purchase on the silk sheets. One long finger slides around your entrance and dips inside, shallow, then deeper, stretching you slowly, carefully, while his other hand rubs your clit with light, gentle touches. “Is this good?” Art asks quietly, voice tinged slightly with insecurity, like you’re not completely unraveling because of him.

“God yes! Yes – fuck! – Art,” you mewl loudly, hips grinding down roughly onto his finger, desperate to take in more of him. You can feel him smile against your skin, pulling off to blow cool air over your hard nipple and repeating it all over again on your left. His finger slides through the wetness collecting in your hole, spreading it to your throbbing clit. He finally sinks a single finger into the warm, tight, heat of your cunt.

Art pulls away from your chest to kiss his way down your stomach, sliding lower and lower on the huge king size mattress, he doesn’t stop the rhythm of his fingers as he peels your shorts down your legs, tossing them aside. A guttural groan leaves his lips at the sight of your slick cunt parting over his fingers, taking them so well. He pitches forward like he can’t help himself, like his lips are magnetically drawn to your cunt, and presses a small kiss to your clit. 

“Fuck!” You squeal and writhe as his finger fucks in and out of you, hands tangling in his messy hair, cheeks flushing at the sound of your leaking cunt squelching against his wrist with each thrust. Art's lips tighten over your clit, sucking for a brief second before he moves back to start laving his tongue over your cunt in careful, slightly clumsy, strokes. The sounds he's making, almost filthy slurping, accompanied by little moans now and then send small vibrations through you that shock your system, making you fist his hair even tighter. 

Art’s lewd noises fill the air, mixing with your own moans to fill the room. His eyes stay closed for the most part, fluttering open every couple seconds to watch you fall apart. Your thighs shake uncontrollably around his head when you make eye contact, threatening to clamp around his ears and keep him there.

A sob tears from your throat when he adds another finger, then he curls them inside you and pulls back and god, shit, shit, fuck, fuck me, god, Art, please fuck me.

“Fuck me Art please fuck me I need it so bad please-” you ramble nonsensically, pulling at Art’s hair desperately. You can feel the warmth starting to pool in your stomach, but you don’t want to come on his tongue, or on his fingers, you want to come with him inside you.

Art lets you drag him up, the bottom half of his face is slick and shiny, drenched in your wetness. He makes his way up your body quickly, hands gripping tightly to your hips, not hesitating to kiss you even as your juices decorate his lips. You kiss back desperately, tasting yourself on his tongue. The head of his cock bumping against your twitching, empty hole has you whining. 

“Fuck me, Art,” you breath hotly, hips canting up needily. “No condom, I’m on the pill. I want you to come inside me. Please, I need it.”

Slowly, he starts to sink in. Feeding you inch by inch torturously slow. He kisses you the whole time, greedily swallowing the moans flowing out of your mouth as he stretches your cunt on his thick cock. You grab at his shoulders like a lifeline, kissing back with everything you have.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he says through gritted teeth, hands gripping your hips hard enough that you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. “So fucking perfect for me, such a perfect pussy for my cock.”

“Move.” Is all you can manage to squeak out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders.

Art starts to move, thrusts slow and gentle, like he’s easing you into it. You’re grateful for it, you’ve never taken anyone as big as him. Slowly, his thrusts speed up, cut hips smacking against the fat of your ass a little rougher than before. You revel in it, pushing your ass back greedily for more more more. From this angle, the thick head of his cock drags against your g-spot perfectly every time he plunges back into your dripping cunt.

“Shit! Right there, don’t stop,” you slur breathlessly, feeling the familiar warmth swirling through your stomach as he fucks you.

“I love you.” Art confesses against your lips, his breath hot and erratic. His sweaty forehead pressed to yours as he pounds in and out of you, the motion both relentless and tender. His eyes are wide open now, so blue and so big and so honest as they bore into yours so intensely it’s suffocating.

It’s soon, it’s way too soon. You’ve barely known each other for a couple months, but you can't deny the warmth spreading through your chest, mingling with the heat of the moment, making everything feel both overwhelming and perfect.

Now that you're here, with Art’s cock fitting so perfectly in the wet heat of your cunt, you can’t believe it took you this long. You love Art. You’ve been in love with Art since the first time he spoke to you. Since the first time he touched you like you were the solution to all his problems.

Art must take your stunned silence as rejection, head falling to rest on your shoulder dejectedly, but his hips don’t slow their rhythm. If anything he speeds up, hips thrusting against you desperately.

“Please, please say it back,” he begs, voice thick with emotion, “Say it back, I need to hear you say it. Please,”

You surge up, wrapping your arms around him as tightly as you can, ankles locking together across his back. Art couldn’t pull out of you if he wanted to, judging from the long whine he lets out, he doesn’t mind.

“I love you, Art” You whisper back, barely audible over the lewd slap of his hips stinging your ass. Art groans so loudly you can feel it reverberating off the sensitive skin of your neck.

Hips speeding up even faster, Art turns his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss. This kiss is different than any of the other ones you’ve shared tonight, full of so much emotion and unspoken words. You swear you feel your heart grow three sizes, almost full and threatening to break out of your chest.

“I’m gonna come, fuck, I’m gonna fucking come,” he breathes between kisses. You can only moan in response, right on the brink of your own orgasm. His hips start to lose their rhythm as he chases it, fucking into you faster and harder.

Art’s cock gives a final twitch inside you before his hips are stilling and he’s coming with a broken moan, unloading everything he has into you. You’re right behind him, vision whiting out as you come, thighs shaking where they’re draped around his hips. 

Art collapses onto you, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from the high of your orgasm’s. You lay like that for a while, heaving and sweaty wrapped up in each other's arms. You feel something slot into place, something that you’ve been missing.

Art’s soft voice pierces through the afterglow, “Will you hold me?”

“Yes,” you whisper back, circling your arms around his shoulders.

…

When you wake up hours later you’re beyond thirsty, dehydrated from all the crying, and maybe from the sex. Art’s head is laying across your bare chest, tousled hair tickling your jaw and arms snug around your waist. He looks so peaceful, eyes closed with his long lashes fanning over his cheeks. The sound of his steady breathing is almost enough to lull you right back to sleep. You smile softly, running your hands through his hair slowly. Savoring how at peace he looks, so different from the battered, broken man you met.

You slip out of his arms as carefully as possible, not wanting to wake him. Rolling out of bed to search half-assedly for your clothes in the darkness. You can’t find your shirt, only your underwear and shorts. You notice a red shirt strewn over the dresser next to the bed, illuminated by the moonlight pouring through the blinds. You pick it up without thinking, it's soft in your hands, the fabric thin and worn down. You toss it on before padding out of the bedroom.

You get a little lost in your thoughts as you make your way to the kitchen, Art loves you.

The thought has you biting back a giddy smile. Art loves you and you love him too. It sounds fucking crazy, but you know it’s true. Your life is so completely fucked, you don’t know if you care.

Art loves you.

Your smile doesn’t leave your lips as you turn the corner, arms wrapped around yourself tightly, the warmth of Art's affection lingering like a gentle caress.

“He smiles more.”

The soft voice ringing out from your left makes you stop in your tracks. You turn, and there in the kitchen illuminated by the soft glow of the ceiling light, like an angel, is Tashi Duncan. 

Tashi looks at you from her spot across the room with an impassive look on her face, she’s got your keys in one hand, fiddling with them boredly. When you don't reply she speaks again, "He's playing better, won the last three tournaments he was in." She says casually, setting her half full wine glass down on the island.

You don't need to ask her who "he" is.

You're silent for a few more beats as she stares at you expectantly, silently urging you to say something. You rack your brain for a response, caught like a deer in headlights under Tashi's gaze.

"What?" you softly mutter, words cutting through the air weakly.

Tashi sighs in exasperation, like you're a child who doesn't understand the simple question she's asking. She raises her wine glass back to her lips, draining the rest of it before setting it down once more and making her way over to you.

You know you should flee, make a break for the door before she reaches you. Running away from the woman whose husband you’re fucking - whose husband you just got done fucking, and who told you he loved you - while she pays you seems like the easiest thing to do in the moment, but you don't.

You find yourself glued to the spot as Tashi's commanding presence looms over you, until she's all you can see. Until her expensive smelling perfume is all you can breathe, until she's towering over you, miles of soft skin on display in a classy black nightie.

She stares down at you, her face completely unreadable. It feels like hours as her brown eyes burn into yours, your heart must be beating a thousand beats per second.

When Tashi finally moves, it’s her hand you see rising up in your peripheral vision. At first you think she's going to hit you, get you back for sleeping with her husband, for falling in love with her husband. You tense up, bracing for the slap, it would be the least of what you deserve, but it never comes.

Instead, Tashi's hand finds its way up to the side of your face, cupping your cheek gently. You can feel the chilled metal of her wedding band make contact with your warm skin.

You feel like you might pass out staring into the eyes of Tashi Duncan. Everything you ever wanted in high school flashing rapidly right before your eyes.

If Art Donaldson is the sun, Tashi is the moon. Her light draws you in and keeps you looking at her, and never wanting to look away.

Her thumb slides across your bottom lip, the same lip that’s kissed her husband. Ever so slightly, she pushes the tip of her thumb into your parted lips, far enough to touch your bottom teeth. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening in shock, your pulse is fluttering wildly. You distantly wonder if she can feel it on the inside of her wrist.

“I’m his coach, I need to be hard on him or he fails. I refuse to let him fail,” she says softly, tone casual like she’s not brushing the tip of your tongue with her fingers. “But I’m not stupid, I know what he needs. Someone sweet, someone gentle, someone who looks at him and doesn’t see tennis.”

You couldn’t answer her if you wanted to, but you wouldn’t trust yourself to speak anyway. You feel far away and floaty the longer her fingers sit in your mouth, your brain feels like molasses.

“I can’t give him what he needs. I’m not that kind of person,” Tashi says, eyes roaming your face languidly, like she’s window shopping your features. Her voice is nearly a whisper the next time she speaks, “but you are. You could be that for him.”

Your heart drops, the haze surrounding your brain rips away so violently, like someone took a leaf blower to it. Her words make everything start to fall into place, the at home visits, the “exclusive deal”, the weird ass run-ins you’ve had with her over the weeks. 

This was never about the goddamn massages.

For a few seconds you both stay like that. Standing inches away from each other in the half-lit kitchen of her and Art's house. For a second, you think you can see the tiniest smile playing on her lips before she drops her hand from you completely.

"There’s a car waiting for you outside,” she says, still close enough that you can feel her breath fan over your face, “See you next Thursday."

Tashi turns on her heels and leaves you alone, disappearing down the long hallway leading to her and Art's bedroom. You watch the whole time she goes, until she completely fades into the shadows. Your lip still tingling from her touch.

There’s only one thing on your mind as you incredulously stare down the now empty hall…

These people are so fucking weird.

[venusbyline]

Treatment ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 29, oct.

(late post)

— pairing: Spencer Reid x college student!reader

— type: smut, Kinktober (Criminal Minds Edition)

— kink: praise kink

— summary: Spencer needs to take out the frustrations of his professional life during sex with you, his girlfriend and his favorite student.

— word count: 1.2k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 29th day, female!reader, girlfriend!reader, professor!Reid, praise kink, aftercare, vaginal sex, rough sex, overstimulation, vaginal fingering, body worship, hair-pulling, butt slapping, biting, teacher-student relationship (NO UNDERAGE), secret relationship, dumbification, squirting, dacryphilia, creampie, cum dripping, subspace, fluffy ending, table sex, rough kissing, soft!Reid, dom!Reid, sub!reader. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @thatredlipped-classic @purplehaze206 @ehedrick012110 @hotchsmutrecs @slutcakes00 @emma-e-a @helo1281917

— crossposting: AO3

Ever since Spencer arrived at university stressed after a week solving an important case at the BAU, you knew he would need to take out all his frustration with you on sex. It was no longer news to the two of you how high Spencer's sex drive became after dealing with maniacal Unsubs, especially when he had to put up with so many students who seemed to have a below average IQ inside his classroom.

The opportunity to teach subjects focused on criminology, sociology and psychoanalysis had been incredible at first, but started increasingly unbearable as the final exams weeks approached. He was trying to get his students used to his assessment method little by little, giving them short and quick tests that contained only some topics that would be included in the final exams.

However, with each test he corrected, he cursed a different teenager. Spencer could barely read the answers without wanting to rip his eyes out of their eye sockets or tear his own skin. Maybe most of the students were really stupid and irresponsible, or maybe he was being very demanding due to the stress he was going through with the latest criminal case. After all, he could not judge someone's intelligence as truly inferior just because he had a real genius brain.

When Spencer saw that he would not be able to concentrate on correcting the tests, he huffed and threw randomly the pile of papers on his table, taking out his phone and sending an urgent text to you, his favorite student and secret girlfriend too.

Even though you were busy in the library studying for another professor's classes, you were more than a little eager when you saw the text from Spencer, or rather Doctor Reid, demanding your presence in his office immediately. You knew what was coming as soon as you had caught a glimpse of him walking through campus hallways earlier that day. He was stressed. And if Spencer was stressed, that meant you would suffer the consequences and be very rewarded later.

"T-This fucking good pussy!" Spencer growled, gripping your waist tighter, giving your ass a slap that made you roll your eyes in pleasure as he moved his hips deeper, more brutally, almost as if he wanted to break you into two parts.

You whimpered when the head of his cock almost hit your cervix, making you see stars. "S-Spencie!"

Your trembling moan came along with a sob, your legs shaking as you gripped the edge of his marble table, trying to steady yourself with each thrust, even though your legs were so weak that you were sure all the paperwork would fall to the floor soon. "You're doing so well, darling. Taking my thick cock inside you like a good girl..." He growled, lowering himself until his chest was against your back, biting your shoulder uncovered by the neckline of your dress. "My best student. The only one smart enough to be admitted to this stupid university."

You knew he was overreacting, but that did not stop you from smiling between moans, your pussy squeezing his cock even tighter while he praised you, fingers pressing the soft flesh of your ass and his lips whispering how smart and hot you were. His favorite. You would always be his favorite student.

Spencer pulled you by your hair, until you were standing as he held himself still inside you, grabbing your chin for a sloppy and aggressive kiss. His free hand pulled just one of your legs up onto the table, the new position making him hit deeper inside your tight pussy. "Fuck... You have no idea how much I needed this." Spencer moaned, taking advantage of the fact that you understood the angle he wanted to fuck you at and he held your hips to help you keep it that way. "I love your little pussy crushing me like that. So tight, even when I'm about to fill you with my cum. You want that, darling? Going around campus with my cum running down your thighs? For everyone to know that you're the best student ever?”

You did not answer your boyfriend, as you were too busy feeling your orgasm coming. Spencer's eyes rolled back as your ass began to bounce faster by the second and you started to moan loudly, forcing him to release your chin to cover your mouth. "Shhh, little girl... You don't want people to know that you're getting special treatment from your professor, don't you, darling? You want them to know how much I love fucking your pussy until you're a whining mess?"

You shook your head immediately, muffled sounds escaping when Spencer licked your neck, continuing to whispering and dirty talking to you, the fucking starting to get more intense after you climaxed and your hole started to get creamy due his pre-cum and your juices.

Noticing how your body began to shake more than normal and your walls were spasming, Spencer let go of your hips only to finger your clit, rubbing it so roughly that you screamed into his palm and finally came again, followed by the transparent liquid squirting from your pussy while Spencer continued fucking you. He stimulated your clit until he also was cumming, moaning in an almost guttural way as he watched the scene of you crying out and squirting, feeling you milking his cock until the last drop.

Spencer sighed at the overstimulation, withdrawing himself from you, causing you to groan in pain and melancholy at the sudden emptiness. "It's okay, darling. You were so good, you're always so good to me... my good girl." Spencer whispered, picking you up to lay you down on the table. It was not the most comfortable place possible for the aftercare, but both of you knew it was the most that having sex hidden in your university professor's office could offer you. He stroked your hair, taking a tissue from his briefcase so he could wipe off the remnants of his cum running down your thighs. He gave you a soft smile because you reflexively tried to pull yourself away, your mind still trapped into the subspace. "It's just me, darling. You're okay. I just need to clean you up now. Is that okay, my girl?"

You nodded weakly and also a little confused, low but less scared whimpers coming from your lips. Spencer was careful not to hurt your already so sensitive and sore core. "My beautiful little girl. You're so perfect, darling. I'm so proud of you..." You smiled with your eyes closed, hearing his husky but loving voice.

Spencer took charge of taking care of you during that moment, placing a soft kiss on your temple, putting your panties back on and fixing your dress. Spencer caressed your head, admiring your weak and sleepy form, trying his best to hold back the giggle that wanted to escape as he noticed that the papers containing his students' tests were damp with random drops from your sudden squirt.

He would have to think about some convincing explanation to give to the university president regarding the stains on those papers. However, for now, the only thing Spencer would do was make sure you were physically and emotionally fine again so both of you could return to your proper responsibilities when the next class started.

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[writingoddess1125]

The old men of One Piece finding out they have a child with you. Pt. 3

THROWS OUT FRESH MEAT To YOU ALL "SUPPER IS HERE" Buy me a Ko-Fi ;3

Part 4 <- Click Here

Shanks, Buggy, Mihawk xFemreader

Healthy Mix of Angst and Fluff

Buggy

It had been a week since Buggy had given you the talk about taking a 'Vacation with the boys' aka himself taking time away to help you raise the twins-

At first you didn't expect him to actually stick to it- it was a heavy order for anyone especially a pirate. However you had seen him silently preparing for the time off, piles of paperwork how payouts to his crew, budgeting for the time away and more.

It filled your heart in ways you never expected. Feeling joyful at him being so willing to do this for you and the twins. Speaking of the twins, they had been extra rambunctious it seemed. Clearly having enjoyed Buggy's time and attention too much and now that he was working that ment that the crew was at the twins mercy-

You never thought you'd see the day that the crew would miss Buggy's presents especially against two pre-teen boys.

"Miss (Y/N) can you please- Please Take the children" Cabaji said, His eyes sunken in and tired as he held Dee in one Arm and Bee in another. It seemed both had gotten into a fight again and Cabaji was in the middle.

"Of course" You giggle and thank the poor man, Taking your twins in your arms and bring them inside. Scolding both for being brats and getting them washed and fed for the night.

That night a storm rolled in. Rocking the Big Top and its crew inside, You sat there brushing out your boys hair in the Captian's quarters where you lived. The storm had set in thick, rocking the ship and pelting the crew with hail and icy rain. Buggy out on the main deck at the wheel as he yelled over the storm.

"Mom- I don't like the storms..." Dee whispered. Leaning against you as the ship rocked once again- Bee didn't say anything but his body language saying the same.

"I know sweety, but it's part of-"

"ENEMY SHIP ENEMY SHIP! ALL HANDS ON DECK!!" The announcement started from the speakers, you rising to your feet quickly as you heard the battle started.

"Boys you stay here and hide, Understand me?" You order, the twins nod quickly and do as said and hide under the bed. You grab a sword quickly and rush out the room, Locking it behind you with the key Buggy had given you.

You hold the sword as you see the first face of the enemy pirates rush down to the Lower Deck, Slicing through them with ease and continued up to the Main Deck Locking the door of the Lower Deck and rushing forward as more pirates approached you, You quickly defended yourself as you tried to stay close to the main doors. The rain pelting your skin and making it hard to see, A larger man approached with a axe. Swinging down he almost struck you as you slipped and managed to move away just in time.

"(Y/N)!!!"

Buggy yelled as he released his arms launching blades into the man's chest and knocking him back. As his arms returned to him a massive wave hit- Sending ocean water over the main deck, you saw this as the crash swept Buggy from the wheel. Running forward you grabbed Buggy sleeve and pulled him before he could be claimed by the rough waters, holding the wheel to keep from slipping.

Once the ship started to lean you pulled Buggy closer. Feeling his cough and regain his breath against you before climbing back up to the wheel to steady the rocking ship.

You saw the other shop fire more canons but the waves making them miss and fall short of the ship- The crew of the rival pirates starting to creak and splinter as the waves crashed against it.

"Retreat!!" A call of a rival pirate yelled, the temaing of their men trying to flee to the ship as the waves hit it. As the Ropes connecting the ships ripped Buggy turned hard, The backside of the ship smacking its offender as he tried to ride down the waves to clearer waters. Another massive wave came up and knocked the ship to its side, The Big Top groaning at the hit as it rode down the mountain of waves desperately.

You looked back to see the other ship heading into the opposite direction, the waves swallowing it from your perspective.

It was another 30 minutes before the storm softened enough to not be in danger. The crew both exhausted from the battle and storm it seemed, bodies of friend and foe being tossed overboard as the spinkle of rain washed the blood.

"You did good (Y/N).. Thank you" Buggy said softly, looking to you from the wheel of the ship. He looked rough- Soskes to the bone with his makeup running down his face.

"Of course" You said softly and giving him a equally tired smile.

"Captian! They got into the lower deck while the fight was happening!" Cabaji yelled out- Taking note of the damage that had been done. Your blood ran cold- Rushing from Buggy's side you ran down the stairs to the lower level, looking and seeing blood of a few fallen crewmates in the hall. Rushing to the Captian's quarters were you saw the splintered wood of the broken door, tears running down your cheeks as you felt your heart actually break. You frantically looked around- Sword still in hand as you stood in the room, it was destroyed. Blade slices through the pillows, furniture turned over.

"No- No No NO!" You screamed loudly, the reality hitting your chest making you scream out a sob.

Buggy rushed downstairs, seeing the splintered door and you sitting on the destroyed bedroom floor sobbing loudly. He ran to your side as his eyes frantically searching the envirment with the same fear as you.

"They are gone!" You sobbed, Buggy face turning to stone as he stood up- Tossing around the broken furniture and items in the room desperate to find evidence of them.

"FUCK!" He roared, anger filling his soul. He turned to your sobbing form and grabbed you by your shoulders- He looked like he wanted to scream at you but instead pulled you to his chest.

"We'll find them- There isn't any blood so they are alive" He said, it sounded like he was speaking more to himself then you.

"We'll Find them"

Shanks

It seemed Shanks had not been in Times good Graces. Not at all- What had expected to be a 6 month long Mission had been extended- drastically.

7 Years- 7 Years has Shanks been out to sea. From being turned into a Emperor of a sea, seeing the future of pirating and the slow steady crumble of the Goverment. Shanks had been stuck- but that didn't matter.. It was over at least for now-

Shanks felt his heart jumping as he saw the coast of the small village.

You stare at him shocked, before your face fell in a mixture of anger, sadness and some relief.

"You're back..." Was all you could mutter, Shanks surprised by your coldness. Awkwardly shifting on his feet.

"Well yeah! Of course I am! I came here to see You and Vivian" He said enthusiastically, you winced at his words and sighed.

Shanks feeling off about your attitude towards him- You gestured for him to follow you which he obediently did. Sitting at the dining room table

"Shanks I'm going to be honest with you- Vivian is not going to be very welcoming to you"

Shanks felt like you had just dumped cold water on him at saying this.

"What? No of course she will! I know it's been a while but I love her (Y/N) and she was my little gir-"

"For a few weeks... but that was years ago.. when she was 4 years old- Shes 11 and sees you as the dad that just packed up and left-" You said bluntly which made him bristle at the harsh words.

Shanks was ready to start in to argue till he heard the door open.

"Mom I'm home!" The sweetest voice he had ever heard called out to him. His eyes widened at this standing from his seat as he watched Vi make a appearance. In her school clothes still she had her hair in a ponytail and looked a bit scrapped up like she had been playing outside.

"Vivian" Shanks said softly, She turned her gaze to him and froze. Looking him up and down at first in shock- before her face scrunched up in a angry scowl. Adjusting her backpack she walked upstairs ignoring Shanks open arms as he stood there frozen in place.

"What the hell was that!?" He cried in shock as he turned back to you, you shrugged.

"I told you-"

Shanks stared at you in shock st this, before dashing out the back door in lightning speed. After 30 minutes he returned with a armful of gifts and marched upstairs to drop them off at her door. You knowing this wasn't going to fair well and offered him the guest room just like before.

Shanks had bought every gift he could think of- Every toy, outfit and more. All were refused and left back on his guest bed, The most he received was a cold glare from Vivian before she left the house for school or to do something away from home.

It had been 3 weeks already of Vivian giving him the cold shoulder or just being angry at him- He sat at your dining room table staring at the glass of rum he had barely sipped. Watching the liquid just float.

"When did she start hating me?..." He muttered, Hearing you chopping vegetables for dinner. You paused for a brief moment and sighed

"3 years after you left..." You admit, sliding the cut up carrot into the pot. Shanks laid his head on the table and watched you quietly, Clearly wanting you to continue.

"She waited for you. Everyday for those three years sitting on the docks... watching the horizon for you to return- and you never did... I guess finally her spirit broke and she resented you" Shanks winced at your words and rotated his face towards the wood.

He was silent for a while, before shifting up to his feet. Trying to Shank off the coming depression.

"I'll be back" He said softly, dismissing himself. His mind was racing with everything he could do, what he should have down and more. Sighing heavily as he walked towards the main town, but the sound of children caught his ear.

Following the sound he turned a corner to see a group of kids- at first he assumed they were playing till he saw a hair for a red hair and a busted up face. There stood Vivian, Her lip busted and eye starting to swell as she tried to scrap back against 4 other kids at once.

"Your Mom's a pirate whore!" A purple haired boy shouted as he pushed Vivian again, Her back hitting a trees but she stood once more.

"Don't talk about my Mom!" She screamed before punching the boy in the nose, He yelled out in pain as the other 3 kids began to jump her once more.

But before contact could be made all three were hiked up in the air by the back of their clothes. A awful feeling washing through them as this heavy pressure began to weigh on them-

Vivian looked up, seeing the ringleader standing to the side looked terrified as his 3 lackys were held up-

He looked like a demon to them all, his eyes practically glowing as he glared at the four children.

"4 little shits- wanting to jump my little girl- So ill say this now... You all better Fuck Off" The kids instantly began to cry, rhe ringleader wetting his pants and running away from the group. Shanks dropped the three and watched them scramble and run away as well. Vivian sitting on the ground still staring up at her father in awe, before trying to snap back to her irritation from before- Shanks reaching down and helping her up. But she refused him and stood on her own- Shanks sighed at this.

"Vivian- I know you want to keep ignoring me. But we need to talk" He said calmly, finally putting his foot down it seemed.

"Vi-" He said calmly as he grabbed her arm quickly before she could leave. She tried to pull his hands off angrily, Angry tears already welling up in her eyes.

"There is nothing to talk about!" She protested but Shanks didn't release his grip.

"You're mad at me I was gone so l-" She glared up at him, now tears filling her gaze and spill from her cheeks.

"I'm mad you left me!! I finally got a dad and you left me! You didn't want me anymore so you forgot about me!!" She screamed up at him, Shanks gently releasing his hand from her as he watched her.

Shanks slowly moved his cloak to the side revealing his blade, carefully with one hand undoing the tattered green ribbon and holding it out to Vivian. Her eyes widening at seeing it, and how despite the years he had held on to the old thing.

"...I never forgot you.. And I swear I never wanted to leave you Baby girl..."

"But you did!" She sobbed, fat tears rolling down her cheek. He nodded, tears running down his own cheeks reached around her neck and pulling up a chain. It was the Coin of his Jolly Roger- hung around her neck this whole time. She crutched it in her fist angrily.

"I didn't want them to find you... to hurt you or your mother- S-So this was the best to protect you" He admitted through broken cries. Vivian stared at him Biting her lip in what was assumed in anger before she left forward and wrapped her arms around him.

Shanks sobbed in what could only be described as relief and fell to his knees. Wrapping his arm around her quickly, kissing the top of her head and face.

"I missed you so much- I thought of you everyday" He sobbed, holding his daughter close as she sobbed against him.

"Don't leave me again Dad... Please" She managed to choke out inbetween cries. Shanks nodding at her words as he held her tighter.

"I will never do it again... ever"

Mihawk

Mihawk had seemed to at least temporarily take residence in your tiny home for the past month. Having taken the couch to rest at night but spent quite a bit of time with both you and Alucare- you had grown uses to Mihawk presents in your home. It reminding you of a sort of family even if you and Mihawk weren't together.

You felt Mihawk gaze on you as you moved around the kitchen, he seemed to enjoy watching you. More precisely your hips- You felt warmth hit your cheeks as you continued to make breakfast. You open up the cabinets to grab the plates, which were a bit too high up for you. You jumped once but before you could do much else you felt a hand land on the small of your back and a presents behind you. Glancing up you see Mihawk grabbing the plates for you, you blush and accept the plates as he hands to you.

"Thank you Mihawk"

"No need to thank me (Y/N)" He said softly, a hint of a smile on his lips as he met your gaze. As you opened your mouth to say something sjddently a butterknife flew through the air and stuck in the wood 3 inches from Mihawk's face making both of you jump in surprise and you squeak out a hushed scream. Turning to see Alucare, still in his sleeping clothes hair a mess and sleep in his gaze staring at you two.

"Oops My hand slipped-"

You sighed at your son and place your hand on your hips walking towards him.

"We both know damn well that was no accident Alucare!" You scolded your son who stood there calming taking it, His eyes locked onto Mihawk who glared at the boy with vengeance.

After 30 minutes of being scolded you ordered Aluecare to get ready for the day as you finished breakfast. Mihawk instead going out to the grove of trees were he knew Alucare would come to train before heading to school- On cue Alucare made an appearance and smirked at the clearly grumpy man sharpening his sword.

"Blue Balls?-" Alucare chimed, earning another frightful glare from the Warlord.

"So you are doing it on purpose-" Mihawk grumbled, continuing to sharpen the blade and stare at his spawn.

"Doing what?" the teen chimed crossing his arms with a continued stoic face.

"She was a date of mine long before she was your mother-" Mihawk brought up, pointing a finger in the direction of the house were you where.

"Ah yes Im sure that alleyway is a great dating spot" He deadpanned which made Mihawk close his mouth in a firm line. Standing up and putting his sword away.

"If you keep this up lad- you will not like me"

"I barely tolerate you now-" Alucare said with a raised eyebrow and scoffed as Mihawk smirked at him. Standing up with a nod.

"I'm warning you now boy- My only warning" He said before dismissing himself back inside.

Alucare left for school then, still with Mihawks words in mind.

That day Mihawk accompanied you with your daily errands. Getting groceries, clothes and more. You and him talk throughout the day, Blushing at his flirtatious manner for the day.

Once returned back home Mihawk had his hand on your hip as you served him wine. A pink color to your cheeks as you felt his hand upon you.

"You look really lovely (Y/N)... I'm am pleased i-" He was cut off by a loud cough, turning to see Alucare there with his face wrinkled in absolute disgust.

Mihawk narrowed his eyes at Alucare who had just interrupted him-

"Aren't you suppose to be in school?" He started as he stared at the living clone of him. Watching Alucare cross his arms and swagger to the side. You looked to the side embrassed by being caught like this, dismissing yourself quickly upstairs.

"I finished early- Just like you" Alucare said with a sarcastic smirk clearly teasing him, The Warlord glaring at his own spawn for the quip at him.

"....Did your mother teach you this level of disrespect?-" Mihawk started, as he stood up from his seat.

"Call it an inherited skill" He said calmly, watching the Warlord walk to him and stand before him. Silence falling between the two before Mihawk dismissed himself to the livingroom.

The game was set it seemed.

Alucare kept his guard up for days afterwards, seeing how calm Mihawk had been since he had cockblocked him once again. Being incredibly respectful to you and damn near kind to Alucare, at first he had been incredibly suspicious however after day 4 he had grown used to it.. That was his mistake.

You had been cleaning up something in the livinroom, you had noticed Mihawks attitude had cooled with you quite a bit. Worried you may have offended him in some way however you choose not to dwell on such things.

As you cleaned you felt a presents come behind you- it didn't take a genius to guess who. Turning to see Mihawk, seemingly fresh from the shower as he was simply in trousers and warm from the water. You blushed and turned away once more, feeling his hands on the small of your back first.

"(Y/N).." He started, his other hand finding yours as he moved the two of you in a gently sway with your back against his chest. Your resolve utterly breaking at this point.

"I feel like, I've neglected you in some way" He says softly, his lips drifting down your neck as you. You feeling weak to the knees as he did this, his fingers finding their way to your waist pulling you closer.

It was an hour before Alucare returned home, bag slung over his shoulder as walking into his home, about to call out like he normally did till be saw it-

There laid you and Mihawk clearly naked under some of the thinnest goddammit blankets in the house on the livingroom couch.

"AH FUCKING HELL!"

You heard a yell and sat up from the couch with the blanket pulled up to your bust. Seeing Alucare with a look of what can only be described as pure horror on what he was seeing his parents like this-

"O-Oh gods honey! What are you doing back so early!" You scramble red in the face as Mihawk lays there under the blankets, looking right at his son with a low smirk.

"You prick!" Alucare yelled at his father as he walked out again, wishing to burn his eyes out from what he saw. Hearing the low chuckle from his father behind him and you frantically scolding Mihawk.

He had won-

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[babybatsunite]

My girl - Spencer Reid x tattooed!fem reader

Genre: Fluff, romance

Word count: 1,5k

Summary: Spencer’s tough girlfriend, Y/n, was never the type to take shit from anyone. And it's not like a new recruit with attitude problems would be any different.

Warnings: Misogynistic views, homophobic language, English is not my first language.

The Quantico bullpen was buzzing as usual – ringing phones, the hum of the coffee maker, and agents running around with files. The BAU had been assigned a fresh case earlier that morning, leaving Spencer buried in boring paperwork.

It was around lunchtime when Spencer’s focus was interrupted by the familiar click of boots and a voice that sent his heart racing every time he heard it.

“Hey, genius,” you called, holding up a brown paper bag. “Thought you might want something that doesn’t taste like printer ink for lunch.”

Spencer’s head shot up, his lips curving into a soft smile as he took you in—blue hair tied up messily, tattoos peeking out from under the rolled-up sleeves of your dark flannel, ripped black jeans, and those scuffed combat boots you refused to part with. You looked effortlessly cool, as always.

“Y/N,” he said, standing up to greet you. “You didn’t have to do that!” Spencer said, kissing your lips softly.

You smirked. “Please, you’d survive on coffee and air if I didn’t step in.”

The interaction caught the attention of several team members. JJ and Garcia exchanged knowing glances, while Morgan shot Spencer a teasing grin. “Ah, the queen herself. You spoil him too much, Y/N.”

“Somebody’s gotta,” you shot back playfully, setting the bag on Spencer’s desk. “The man doesn’t even own a proper umbrella.”

“I do!” Spencer said defensively.

“That's not a travel-sized shower curtain?” you teased, earning a round of laughter from the nearby agents.

Everything was lighthearted and fine, until the new recruit, Agent Carter, sauntered over. Carter had been with the team for about two weeks, and while he was competent in the field, people whispered around about him being a complete asshole.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his tone clipped, eyes raking over your appearance with clear disdain.

You raised an eyebrow. “Nope. Just here to see my boyfriend.”

He scoffed, crossing his arms. “Boyfriend? Here? You sure you’re not lost? You don’t exactly scream ‘i have a boyfriend.’” His tone was biting, with a sneer. “More like… a dealer who stumbled in from a punk concert.”

You stared at him for a beat, processing his words. “Wow,” you said flatly. “You’re bold for someone who looks like he barely passed the academy fitness test.”

“Who’s this?” Carter asked, nodding toward you with a smirk that made your skin crawl.

“This is Y/N,” Spencer said, his voice friendly but firm. “She’s my girlfriend.”

Carter’s eyebrows shot up, and he let out a low whistle. “No way. Didn’t peg you for the type, Reid.” You frowned but stayed quiet, observing the situation.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Spencer asked, his posture tensing slightly.

Carter shrugged, his tone casual but dripping with condescension. “I mean, no offense, but she kinda looks like… I don’t know, a lesbian junkie or something.”

The room went silent. JJ’s jaw dropped, Morgan stood up straighter, and Garcia’s eyes widened like saucers. Spencer’s face hardened—a rare sight, but one that immediately made everyone uncomfortable.

“That’s incredibly disrespectful,” Spencer said, his voice colder than anyone had ever heard it. “Y/N has a PhD in chemistry and is one of the smartest people I know.”

Carter laughed, clearly not reading the room. “Sure, she’s smart. But, come on, man. Look at her. She’s wearing more tattoos than clothes-”

“Excuse me?” you said, stepping forward before Spencer could react. Your tone was calm, but there was an edge to it, one that Spencer learned to identify quite early in your relationship. You were pissed.

The recruit scoffed, but there was a flicker of unease in his eyes. “I’m just saying, you don’t look the part. In fact—” He glanced at Spencer, his lips curling into a cruel smile. “—you kind of look like the man in the relationship. If that’s what we’re calling it.”

The bullpen went silent. A few heads turned, agents pausing mid-task to watch the scene unfold. Spencer’s cheeks flushed red, but before he could step in, you beat him to it.

You laughed—low, sharp, and dangerous. “Wow,” you said, shaking your head. “That’s the best you’ve got? I look like a man? Cute. Here’s the thing, son: there's nothing wrong with being a lesbian, and I don’t give a single damn what you or anyone else thinks I look like. I didn’t show up here for your approval, and I sure as hell don’t need it.”

You stepped even closer, your boots nearly touching his. The recruit visibly stiffened, his confidence faltering as you stared him down.

“Y/N,” Spencer called out, his voice a mix of warning and pleading.

You ignored him, stepping closer to the recruit with a calm tone that somehow made you more intimidating. “But let’s make one thing crystal clear,” you continued, your voice dropping to a near growl. “If you ever disrespect me or Spencer again, I’ll make sure you regret it. And not in a fun, HR-friendly way.”

The recruit opened his mouth, but no words came out. He looked to Spencer for support, but Spencer just stood there, arms crossed, letting you handle it.

“Got it?” you asked, patting Carter’s shoulders. Your tone was sweet but with an edge sharp enough to cut glass.

The recruit nodded stiffly, clearly out of his depth.

“Good,” you said, stepping back. You looked at Spencer as if nothing had happened, flashing him a casual smile. “There you go, Penny. I hope you enjoy your lunch.”

Spencer blinked, torn between mortification and admiration. “Uh, thanks,” he said, taking the bag.

As you turned to leave, you shot the recruit one last look. “Oh, and FYI,” you added, smirking. “If I was the man in the relationship, you’d be begging me to fuck you. Think about that.”

The bullpen erupted in quiet murmurs as you walked out, leaving the recruit red-faced and stunned.

Spencer sank into his chair, running a hand through his hair. The team slowly gathered around him, grinning.

“Dude,” Morgan said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Your girl is savage.”

“Yeah,” JJ agreed, smirking. “How’d you land someone like her again?”

Spencer groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “I have no idea,” he muttered.

---

Back at your shared apartment, whatever happened that day seemed like a distant memory. You were both curled up on the couch, freshly showered, with the muted hum of a playlist Spencer had made playing in the background. Spencer was lying with his head in your lap, legs stretched out along the cushions, while you twirled a strand of his long hair around your fingers.

A half-smoked cigarette rested in the ashtray on the coffee table, the faint smell of it lingering in the air. Spencer’s book was closed on his chest, his brown eyes tracing the tattoos on your arm gently.

“You know,” he said suddenly, his voice soft.

“Hm?” you hummed, looking down at him.

“I don’t understand why some people think you’re a lesbian.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the comment, then snorted. “Oh, yeah? That guy got in your head, huh?”

He shook his head quickly, his brow furrowing. “No, it’s just… I’ve been thinking about it. I mean, it doesn’t make sense. You’ve been with me for over five years. You’re—well, you’re you. You’re not exactly subtle about being with me. It’s not like you’re walking around holding a giant ‘I’m gay’ sign.”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Babe, people are just dumb. I dress dark, I’ve got tattoos, and I don’t really scream ‘girlfriend of a genius FBI agent.’” You paused, smirking as you leaned down slightly. “Plus, you can’t lie—there’s a part of you that gets a little kick out of people being shocked I’m with you.”

His ears turned pink, and he looked away sheepishly. “Maybe a little,” he admitted, smiling.

You chuckled, brushing your thumb against his cheek, bringing his face towards you. “Look, I don’t blame them for getting the wrong idea. You’re my girl, after all.”

That caught him off guard. Spencer blinked up at you, a startled laugh escaping his lips. “Wait—what?”

“You heard me,” you said, leaning back smugly. “You’re my girl. Pretty, soft, and way too nice for your own good.”

“Pretty?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief but his smile growing. “I’m pretty now?”

“Oh, yeah,” you said, nodding firmly. “You’ve got that whole delicate, intellectual vibe going. Pretty as hell.”

He tilted his head, studying you for a moment before he reached up and poked your side, making you squirm. “Well, if I’m pretty, what does that make you?”

You shrugged, grinning. “The badass who gets to call you hers.”

Spencer rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his amusement. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, pulling you down into a kiss.

“And yet, you’re still here,” you teased against his lips.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” he replied with his voice low.

The two of you stayed like that, wrapped in each other, as the night stretched on. Pretty boy and his badass girlfriend, what a team, huh.

[solelifauna]

With Bared Teeth & Prayers (Yandere Batfam X Neglected Reader) (Dark!!! Werewolf AU) (Prologue)

If she could, (Y/n) Wayne would go back in time and make sure she was never taken in by Bruce Wayne and his pack. Now, she has to live with the fact that her life may end on the day of her 18th birthday, that she's going to be slaughtered and ripped apart by the very people who she wished loved her. It's alright though, 'cause she has a plan. However, things are starting to get weird... scary weird.

You arrive at Wayne Manor at age twelve, newly-shifted, anxious, and hopeful. Your mother, an apparent old hook-up of Bruce Wayne, had decided that she couldn’t take care of a half-werewolf hybrid and proceeded to leave you to CPS as soon as you presented as a shifter. CPS of course ran a blood test to see if you had any viable relatives who would be able to take you in, something custom for children of shifters. You guessed they thought that shifters would be more inclined to take in a kid if they were related, something to do with pack bonds and whatnot. 

So imagine both you and the worker's surprise when Bruce Wayne came up as a paternal match on the blood test. Everything that happened afterward was a blur. After several back-and-forth phone calls and e-mails, your caseworker made you pack whatever little belongings you had into a bag, herded you into a car, and started driving towards the nicer edge of Gotham.

You sat in the backseat, hope searing through your heart as you mulled over your fate. It wasn’t uncommon for already established packs to take in other members, especially if the newcomer was related to someone already in the pack. Of course, there would be an adjustment period in your case, you didn't expect to get along with everyone immediately, but it would all work out, right? Mr. Wayne had already signed the papers that officiated his custody over you, so that must mean he wanted you, right? A pack wouldn’t tolerate just anyone on their land, let alone in the heart of their territory.

So if they were allowing you to live with them, then that means that they were willing to consider you as pack. Your heart soared in the backseat, the hope and promise of a family and pack making you giddy with joy. According to your caseworker, there were seven other pack members, all legally considered Bruce Wayne's children. That meant you’d have siblings too; a lot of them at that. You couldn’t wait to hang out with them and play in the forest on the property. 

However, when you finally pull up to the manor's entrance, things don’t go quite as you expected. First off, it takes a full ten minutes after your caseworker rings the doorbell for anyone to answer, and when the doors finally open, you find yourself looking up, and up, and up, until your eyes meet the cool steel-blue gaze of a towering man: Bruce Wayne, the pack leader, the alpha, your father.

You offer a tentative smile, trying to gauge his reaction, but he only gives you a brief glance before turning his attention to your caseworker. They launch into a conversation about paperwork and other mundane details, Bruce nodding as he opens the door wider, gesturing for you both to come inside. Stepping through the threshold, your eyes widen at the interior—grand and sprawling, yet somehow almost cozy in its opulence. A warmth you didn’t expect fills the space, as though it’s been carefully curated over time to be both stately and lived-in.

Your gaze drifts to an older man who approaches you with a kind smile, Alfred, the family’s butler. While Bruce and your caseworker continue their conversation, Alfred gently asks about your journey. You eagerly tell him about the deer you spotted on the drive over and how the surrounding forest seemed like something out of a story. Alfred listens patiently, nodding with a smile as you ramble on, your nerves momentarily forgotten.

Eventually, Bruce and your caseworker finish their conversation. She kneels down to give you a final goodbye, squeezing your shoulder reassuringly before she leaves. Now it’s just you and Bruce. You turn toward him, shy but hopeful, ready for something—a welcome, perhaps. But his expression is unreadable, his gaze indifferent, almost detached. The excitement bubbling in your chest fades, replaced by a quiet pang of disappointment.

Oh. You thought he’d be happier to see you.

Bruce studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable and a bit cold. It feels like he’s assessing you rather than welcoming you. Your excitement dims, but you keep your smile, hoping maybe this is just his way, that he’s just not sure how to be around a kid like you yet. After all, he’s the head of this massive family, and you’re a brand new addition. Surely he needs time to warm up. But as he looks you over, he finally speaks, his tone polite but distant.

 “Alfred will show you to your room,” he says. “You’ll have some time to settle in, and we’ll talk more in the morning.” Then, as if you’re not really there, he glances back at Alfred. “Make sure she’s comfortable. And let the others know we’ll have dinner in an hour.”

With that, he turns and walks away without another word. You stand there, still holding your bag, feeling the weight of disappointment settle on you. You’d imagined this moment so many times—meeting your father, being accepted into his home, his pack. You hadn’t expected hugs or anything too mushy, but something warmer than whatever the hell you just experienced. Maybe a smile, or even a nod that felt like you mattered. Instead, all you’d received was a look that barely acknowledged you.

Alfred clears his throat softly, pulling you from your thoughts. “Right this way, young master,” he says with a gentle smile, gesturing for you to follow. “I’ll give you the grand tour tomorrow, but for now, let’s get you settled in your room. It’s rather lovely, if I may say so.”

You nod, mumbling a quiet, “Thank you,” as you follow him up the grand staircase, each step echoing in the vast, empty silence of the manor. Despite the opulence and luxury surrounding you, it feels a bit lonely and cold, a stark contrast to the warmth and comfort you’d imagined this home would have. Alfred tries to fill the silence, pointing out various rooms along the way: the library, the kitchen, the sitting room. You nod along, doing your best to listen and absorb it all, but your thoughts keep drifting to Bruce’s indifferent expression, the way he hadn’t even looked back.

Finally, Alfred stops in front of a door and opens it, revealing a spacious bedroom with a large bed, a cozy armchair by the window, and shelves lined with books, even a stuffed wolf on the bed, clearly placed there just for you. The sight tugs at your heart—a small attempt to make you feel at home.

“I hope it’s to your liking,” Alfred says softly, watching your reaction.

“It’s—it’s really nice. Thank you,” you reply, setting your bag down by the bed. You glance around, taking in the details, wondering if Bruce had anything to do with the setup. But something tells you it was probably Alfred who made sure it was welcoming.

He nods, giving you a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Dinner will be soon, and you’ll meet the others then. Don’t worry too much; they’re quite an interesting group, but they’ll warm up to you soon enough.”

You smile back at him, grateful for his kindness. Alfred excuses himself, leaving you alone in the quiet room. You sit down on the bed, running your hands over the soft blanket, still clutching that little bit of hope you have left. Maybe Bruce just needed time to adjust. Maybe, in his own way, he was trying to accept you.

But as you think back to the way he looked at you, you can’t help but feel a pang of uncertainty. You wonder if he’ll ever see you as part of his pack—or if you’ll always be an outsider in this place that you’re supposed to call home.

[Hey guys! This was a super short prologue, I promise the other chapters will be at least 2000 words. Anyway, I want to say that this story will be DARK. Like I'm being so serious rn, like this shit is messed up so please be careful!!! I'm talking about potential cannibalism...still, hope you enjoyed this!]

[sabohime]

♡ 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦

multi x fem!reader

♡ . eek my first post!! some simple headcannons for you guys! enjoy :) nothing explicit (for now 😈) but! there are references to dicksucking!

♡ . includes: law, sabo, sanji

LAW

Law is constantly on edge. It hurts seeing your captain so stressed all the time.

So, being the dutiful crewmate you are, you decide to…provide him with a little ‘relaxant’. It’s not your fault he’ll have to work for it…

“Y/n-ya, what are you-“ “It’s hot, Captain!”

Law blushes at that. You can barely see it through the Tang’s dim lighting and his tanned skin, but from the way his eyes widen and his breath hitches, you can tell your plan is working.

Why is he harping about your wardrobe? Well, your typical Heart Pirates boiler suit had been traded in for a tight tank and skimpy shorts. How old were these? With the way your thighs were pinched by the elastic of your shorts, and the way your breasts practically fell out of your top, Law was certain you had dug deep in your closet to fish these clothes out.

“Y/n-ya. Seriously,” his tattooed hand rests on your shoulder now, dangerously close to the thin strap of your tank top. “We have uniforms for a reason.”

“Are you really gonna make me change, Captain?” you pout. You watch his brow furrow, and you know you’ve got him now.

“I think I’ll have fun ripping this off of you, Y/n-ya,” he grunts, hot breath now in your ear. His hands wander down to your shorts, palming your ass and taking notice of your lack of panties. “Even more dress code violations? I might just have to punish you tonight, Y/n-ya.”

You gulp. Law says Room and suddenly you’re in his bedroom.

“Regretting your decision, Y/n-ya?”

SABO

Once again, Dragon’s given him far too much paperwork.

As his secretary, it’s your job to provide him with some repose from his workload.

So…What better to let him take another load out on you? Maybe you should snag a pillow from your desk chair next time…

“Chief, I brought you the tea you asked for. A splash of milk and extra sugar,” you say, repeating his order sweetly and perfectly from years of practice. When you cross the threshold to his office, you find your chief of staff with his vest off, cravat undone and on the table, and his shirt partly unbuttoned.

The sight of his scarred, muscular chest makes you gulp. It’s okay Y/n, you can do this, you assure yourself.

“Thank you, Y/n-chan. You’re so kind, helping me out,” Sabo says, his cheeks rosy and smile innocent. You think him the perfect caricature of a schoolboy.

“It’s nothing, chief. I am your secretary after all. It’s my job,” you grin, placing the tea on his desk in front of him. You make sure to lean over and give him an eyeful of cleavage, just in case he might be interested.

“Is it your job to tease me as well?”

You freeze. You didn’t actually think he’d take the bait. Shit.

“Don’t be shy now, Y/n-chan. I’ve already gotten a nice view of your tits. And your skirt could be pulled down a tad, I suppose. You’re hardly professional these days,” you listen, face hot, sweat beginning to run down your back. At least he wasn’t scolding you— that was evident in the fact he said ‘tits’, and the generally teasing lilt in his usually silky smooth voice. It’s gotten deeper because he’s so tired, and it’s starting to make you clench your thighs.

“I-uh, I’m sorry, chief. I- I figured…” you scramble, trying to think of some excuse to remedy this situation. “I figured you might want a, uh, distraction. Right! A distraction from work!”

“Oh really?” the blond grins, pushing his chair away from his desk and moving his hands to unbutton his trousers. “Dragon-san has been giving me so much paperwork. It’s the least you could do, right Y/n-chan?”

You watch in awe as he takes himself out of his boxers.

“Now, Y/n-chan…How much of a distraction can you be?”

SANJI

Sanji gets hard just from smelling women’s perfume. So seducing him is easier than…really anything.

So, one night you can’t sleep. And the chef in the kitchen preparing recipes seems like a wonderful target for your affections.

“Sanji-kun, what’re you making?”

Sanji jumps from his place stirring on the counter, surprised at the sound of your beautiful voice.

“Oh my! Has an angel descended down on me to try my humble cooking?” the man swirls around you with hearts in his eyes, eventually bending down on one knee to kiss your knuckles. “It’s nothing special, my dear Y/n-swan. Simply practicing recipes for fruit tarts.”

You cup his cheek. A trickle of blood comes down his nose, but he pulls away from your touch to quickly wipe it away.

“Sounds yummy, Sanji. Could I try one?”

“Of course, mellorine!” Sanji keens. You smile at how cute he is. The blond grabs a fruit tart, which happens to be your favorite fruit, and brings it over to you.

He sits it on a plate in front of you, waiting like a lapdog as he anticipates praise for his cooking. However you don’t move to pick up the tart.

“Y/n…swan?”

“Feed it to me, Sanji-kun?” you say seductively, leaning over the kitchen island so your breasts pop over your crossed arms. Immediately Sanji is staring, but you don’t scold him this time. This was your goal.

“Of- of course, anything for my Y/n-swan,” Sanji stutters. He brings the small tart to your lips, and as you reach the last bite, you grab his wrist.

You decide to be extra bold, and lick a stripe up his finger. Your mouth detaches with a pop, and Sanji looks like he might pass out.

“That was good, Sanji-kun. Do you have any other special treats for me?”

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

🤍

sooo here is my request! thank you!

Reader is bucky's ex fiancé (40's) and she is like a supersoldier too (she froze with steve and now she is an avenger)

but bucky does not remember her, so she has to deal with watching him dating some agents while she tries to make him remember that part of their life together (maybe with some letters and pics of them)

some angst - hurt / comfort with happy ending! 😭🤍

just bc i love this blog i would like to be "🕷️ anon" 😂

Remember Me » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Ex Fiancée/Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Ex Fiancée/Avenger!Female Reader

Summary: You and Bucky used to be engaged in the 1940s, but he doesn’t remember you and you have to deal with him going on dates with other agents so you do everything you can to get him to remember you.

Warnings: mix of Angst and Fluff, language, crying, flashbacks, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anonymous person who requested this🩵 also you can be my 🕷️ anon🥰

A/N #2: Italic text is flashbacks. I imagined this as Bucky’s post Winter Soldier phase and the reader is a Super Soldier in this.

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators. I found it on Pinterest.

You stood in the doorway of the conference room, patiently waiting for Bucky to stop flirting with an agent so you can get him to sign paperwork from a previous mission. You couldn’t help but feel jealous. You and Bucky were engaged in the 1940s, but it didn’t last long. After a few minutes, Bucky finally noticed you standing in the doorway.

“I’ll see you tonight, doll.” Bucky says to the agent and kissed her cheek.

Hearing Bucky call her doll felt like someone ripped your heart out of chest and crushed it in their bare hands. That’s what he used to call you.

“Can I help you, Agent?” He asks you.

“I need you to sign these papers from your mission last week.” You tell him, handing him the file.

“I’ll get these to you later.” He says.

You nodded and walked out of the conference room. You were about halfway down the hall when you had to lean against the wall and take a moment to yourself. Your back slid down the wall and you sat down on the floor. Your mind began to wander.

“You know I love you, right, doll?” Bucky asks.

“Of course I know that, Bucky.” You say with a smile.

Bucky intertwined his fingers with yours and kissed your lips sweetly.

“Are you ok?” Steve asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Yes.” You lied.

You stood up from the floor and walked past Steve. Your walk was cut short when Steve gently grabbed your arm.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” He pleads softly.

“You already know what’s wrong.” You said. “I have to live with the fact that my ex fiancée doesn’t remember me at all and I have to deal with him dating other agents.” You say.

“Give him time, Y/N. He’ll remember you.” He says softly.

You gave him a soft smile before walking away.

Later that same day, you were in the gym, punching the punching bag as hard as you could. You were trying to get the thought of Bucky out on a date with that agent. You punched the punching bag one last time before leaving the gym.

You got on the elevator to go to your bedroom. As soon as you got off of the elevator, you seen Bucky kissing that agent. You stood there with a shattered heart. You quickly went to your room before he seen you.

You immediately caught a glimpse of the picture of you and Bucky from the day he proposed to you. You picked up the picture from your nightstand and looked at it, reminiscing that day.

“Where are you taking me, Bucky?” You asked, followed by a giggle.

“You’ll find out in a minute, doll.” Bucky says.

Bucky told you he had a surprise for you and blindfolded you for it. Your walking came to a stop and Bucky let go of you.

“Take the blindfold off.” He says.

You took the blindfold off and gasped. Bucky took you to yours and his favorite tree. Your favorite flowers were surrounding the bottom of it and he carved “Will you marry me?” on the tree with a pocket knife.

“Bucky-” You turned around and gasped.

“What do you say doll?” Bucky was down on one knee with a small velvet box with a beautiful diamond ring in it. “Will you marry me?” He asks.

“Yes! Of course I’ll marry you!” You answered with happy tears streaming down your cheeks.

Bucky smiles widely and stood up. He slid the ring on your ring finger and kissed you passionately.

That memory slowly faded away. You let out a shaky breath and your eyes began to water. You took a deep breath before taking a shower and went to bed.

The next morning, as you were getting dressed you seen something shining on your dresser from the corner of your eye. It was Bucky’s Army dog tags. You picked them up and looked at them. A smile grew on your face when an idea popped into your head. You immediately went to the kitchen, already knowing Bucky was in there.

“Morning, Bucky!” You chirped.

“It’s Sergeant Barnes.” Bucky corrects you.

“What?” You asked, blinking a couple times.

“You called me Bucky. Only friends call me that. Agents call me Sergeant Barnes.” He says.

“Oh…” Your voice sounding sad. “I umm…” You found what you were trying to say. “I just wanted to show you something.” You finally say.

“What is it?” He asks.

You held out your hand, showing him his Army dog tags. Bucky snatched them from your hand, making you flinch a little.

“Why the hell do you have these?” He asks harshly.

“I uhh… Steve gave them to me in 1945 when you di- fell off the train.” You tell him. “He thought that I might want them cause you’re my ex fiancée.” You explained.

“I’m not your ex fiancée.” Bucky’s words cut you deep like a knife. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I sure as hell know that I’m not your ex fiancée.” He says before walking away.

You stood in the middle of kitchen with tears streaming down your face. You hoped that showing Bucky his Army dog tags would spark something in his memory of you, but you guessed wrong.

“Why would you give these to Agent Y/L/N after I fell off the train in 1945?” Bucky asks Steve when he walked in the conference room.

“She’s your ex fiancée. I assumed that’s what you wanted. I was just honoring your wishes.” Steve answered.

“She’s not my ex fiancée! I’ve never been engaged in my life!” Bucky raised his voice. “You’re the second person to say that to me today!” He says.

Bucky walked out of the conference room before Steve could say anything else. He stood up from his seat and went to find you. He found you crying at the kitchen table. He sat down next to you and immediately started comforting you.

“I’m fine, Steve.” You lied, your voice cracking.

“No you’re not.” Steve said. “You have every right to be upset.” He says softly.

You turned towards Steve and laid your head on his shoulder, letting your tears free fall. Steve being the good friend he is, comforted you in the only way he knows.

“He basically said that I’m not his friend and I can’t call him Bucky.” You cried against his shoulder. “It’s like I never existed to him.” You say.

“You’re more than his friend.” He says softly.

“I know that, but he doesn’t.” You say, followed by a sniffle.

Later that day, you kept trying to come with ways to get Bucky to remember you. So far you couldn’t come up with anything. You were sitting in the conference room, filling out paperwork when you got lost in your memories of you and Bucky.

“Bucky!” You squealed as Bucky picked you up from behind and spun you around, making burst into a fit of giggles.

Bucky finally put you down on your feet and turned you around so you were facing him. He cupped your cheeks and kissed you passionately.

The memory was interrupted when Bucky dropped a file on the table in front of you. You looked at the file and then looked at Bucky.

“Steve said to sign these and to get them to him by the end of the day.” Bucky says blandly.

“Will do, Sergeant.” You say.

You watched Bucky walk out of the conference room. You stared at the unopened file for a moment before leaving the room without finishing your paperwork. You went straight to your bedroom to get something. You wanted to try to get Bucky to remember you again.

You went in your closet, going to the back of it. You opened a plastic storage container where you kept all of the letters Bucky wrote you while he was in the Army. You picked them up and immediately went to find Bucky. You found him in the lounge room kissing another agent.

“Sergeant?” Bucky acted like he didn’t hear you. “Sergeant Barnes?” You say louder.

Bucky sighed and rolled his eyes before looking at you. The agent he was kissing walked past you, giving you a small smile.

“Is there something I can do for you, Agent?” Bucky asks.

“I wanted to read these papers.” You say.

You hand him the old letters. Bucky took the letters from your hands and read them, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion when he seen his name signed at the bottom of each letter.

“What are these and why is my name on all of these?” He asks.

“Those are the letters you sent me in the 1940s when you were in the Army.” You tell him.

Bucky continued to read the letters. A hopeful smile grew on your face, but didn’t last long. He stood up and shoved the letters in your hands.

“That’s not me.” He says.

“But-” You got interrupted.

“But nothing. We were never engaged. Stop trying to get me to remember things that never happened.” He says.

You nodded as your eyes began to water. You went back to your room and put the letters back. You were about to close the container when you saw a stuffed puppy Bucky won you at Coney Island on yours and his first date. You took it out of the container and sat on your bed, holding it close to you as the memory of that day appeared in your mind.

You stood next to Bucky and watched him knock down all the bottles with a small ball. You smiled and cheered him on.

“What prize would you like, doll?” Bucky asks you.

You looked at the variety of stuffed animals displayed in front of you. You smiled when you seen a stuffed puppy with a red bow on it.

“That one.” You say, pointing at it.

The worker handed it to you. You took it from him and held it close to you.

“Thank you, Bucky.” You say, smiling up at him.

“Anything for my best girl.” He says, kissing you sweetly.

You sadly sighed and laid down with the stuffed puppy in your arms. You didn’t even know you fell asleep, because you woke up to the sound of someone knocking on your bedroom door. You got out of bed and opened the door to see Bucky.

“Can I help you, Sergeant Barnes?” You asked.

“Can I come in?” Bucky asks.

You nodded and stepped aside, allowing him to come in your room. You closed the door behind you and waited for him to say something.

“I just wanted to apologize for the way I’ve been talking to you the past couple days.” He apologizes. “I just don’t understand why you keep saying we were engaged years ago when-” That’s when Bucky seen the picture of you and him on your nightstand. “This is me.” He says, picking up the picture to look at it.

“It’s me and you in 1941.” You tell him. “I have more pictures if you want to see them.” You say.

Bucky nodded. You went in the closet to get the pictures. You opened a photo album, showing him a bunch of pictures of the two of you when you guys were together. He took the photo album from you to get a closer look at them. He looked through the pictures without saying a word. Another hopeful smile grew on your face, hoping that Bucky will remember who you are this time. The smile was short lived when Bucky shoved the photo album in your hands and left your bedroom without saying a word. A sad sigh left your lips and you put away the pictures. You were beginning to think that Bucky was never going to remember you, but you weren’t going to give up that hope.

Bucky was supposed to be getting ready for a date with another agent, but those pictures of you and him together were the only thing on his mind. He sat in the lounge room, trying his best to remember who you are, but nothing rang a bell. His thoughts were interrupted when the agent he’s supposed to go on a date with walked in the room.

“Hi!” The agent chirps. “Are you ready?” She asks.

“Yea, I just-” That’s when his memories of you flowed back in his mind like a broken dam. “Actually no. I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry.” He says, leaving the room and leaving the agent confused.

Bucky searched around the whole compound for you, but couldn’t find you. He accidentally bumped into Steve without realizing it. Steve walked after him and grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

“Buck, calm down. What’s wrong?” Steve asks.

“Y/N. Where’s Y/N?” Bucky asks.

“She’s outside.” He tells him. “Why?” He asks.

Bucky didn’t answer Steve’s question. He just ran outside, looking for you. He didn’t have to go far. You were sitting on the bench trying to figure out another way to get Bucky to remember you. He walked over to you and grabbed your arm, pulling you up from the bench and kissed you passionately. You were caught by surprise, but kissed him back. He pulled away from your lips, leaving the two of you breathless.

“I remember.” Bucky tells you. “I remember you.” He says.

“You remember me?” You asked, making sure you heard him right.

“Yes.” He confirms. “Seeing those letters and pictures made me remember everything.” He smiles. “I’m sorry for the way things ended between us. I was just pissed. Please forgive me and give me another chance, doll.” He says apologetically.

Your eyes began to water with happy tears, a couple tears rolled down your cheeks. Hearing Bucky call you doll for the first time in years made you happy.

“Don’t cry, doll.” He wipes your tears away. “I’m sorry.” He apologizes again.

“I can’t help it.” You sniffled. “I just missed you.” You say.

You wrapped your arms around him, hugging him tightly, not wanting to let go. Bucky wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to him.

“How about we picked up where we left off.” Bucky suggests.

“You still want to marry me?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Of course I do.” He smiles widely. “You’re my best girl.” He says.

“I don’t have the engagement ring you gave me anymore. I accidentally lost it.” You say, feeling ashamed.

“It’s ok. I’ll buy you another one. In the meantime…” Bucky took his dog tags off and put them around your neck. “You can wear these as an engagement ring.” He says.

You looked down at his dog tags, smiling widely. You looked up at him and cupped his stubbly cheeks. You stood on your tippy toes and kissed him passionately. Bucky’s hands found their way to your waist and pulled you against his body.

“I love you so much, Bucky.” You say against his lips.

“I love you more, doll.” Bucky says softly.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[earthtooz]

…u mentioned rin. what do u think about unofficial bf rin seeing u in another guy’s jacket cs when u asked him for his he said he’s too cold to give it to u.

the itoshi rin writer within me coming alive for seven be like...

gn!reader who is the assistant manager for rin's team, pro!player itoshi rin, playful y/n, situationship between rin and reader, rin is jealous bc this is how i celebrate the end of an itoshi rin drought in the manga, unedited + apologies for bad writing

A hand slaps down on the table in front of you, the harsh sound of skin meeting wood softened only by a mere jersey. The sudden interruption rips you from the paperwork you had been assigned at the start of the day, ripped from the world of sporting brand deals and competition contracts by a certain grump you have the pleasure of dealing with. 

“Put this on.” Itoshi Rin demands, cold voice rocky with conflict.

“What?” You ask, mind dazed and eyes sore from reading so many words. 

“Put this on.” Rin seethes through his teeth, practically waving his jersey in your face. 

“Why?”

“Because you need it.” 

“Not anymore, I’m not. Isagi gave me his jacket.”

“I can see that. That’s why you should put. This. On.” 

“Hey, you were the one that was cold!” You counter, capping your pen and pointing it at him. “Remember? You were like ‘why didn’t you bring your own, you idiot. Warm-ups haven’t started yet, so I can’t give it to you’.” 

It irks him how you imitate him with a sneer that he swears he doesn’t have, or how you deadpan your tone to match his, but what irks him even more is the fact that you’re wearing Isagi’s jersey instead of his. Rin has half a mind to burn it instead of returning it to the dark-haired when he gets his hand on it.

“Just- just take it!” He demands, pushing his neatly-folded jersey even closer to you.

“Don’t want it anymore,” you resist, mischief gleaming in your eyes. “People are gonna get the wrong idea.”

“And that is?”

“That we’re romantically involved,” you tease and Rin swears he feels his eye twitch. Sometimes he asks himself why, that out of all people, you were the one to capture his heart. You’re playful, understanding, and maybe a little too cunning for his own good, but he can’t find it himself to want you to change, and that is when he knew love-dipped arrows had struck him through the heart.

Accepting love’s toxins is why Rin finds himself completely exasperated, staring you down; the physical manifestation of everything he adores and simultaneously drives him crazy. After months of denying his feelings for you, and this is what he gets in return?

“Why would those idiots get ‘the wrong idea’?” He asks, deciding to play into your hands.

“Being seen in public with each other is a big step, y'know, especially if I’m wearing your jersey.”

“What the- so why can you wear Isagi’s jersey?”

You tap your pen against the table at a metronomic pace. “Because Isagi and I are just friends!”

Itoshi Rin can feel a migraine materialising. “I don’t care anymore, just, put this on already.”

“Your teammates may begin to speculate.”

“They’ve seen us kiss, what is there to ‘speculate’?” the athlete asks.

“We’ve never held hands in front of them, though,” you contest. “Me wearing this is kind of like you asking me to be your partner so-”

“So put on the damn jersey!”

With a hidden smile, you finally accept his gift, holding onto the soft fabric with a delicate grip. After months of dancing around being an ‘official’ or ‘unofficial’ couple, triumph settles in your stomach when you pull the collar of his jersey over your head. The expensive smell of his cologne invades your senses, distracting you from the satisfied look in his teal gaze.

A hand finds yours and effortlessly pulls you out of your office chair to be almost chest-to-chest with Itoshi Rin. “Let’s go,” he murmurs, snatching Isagi’s jersey as he drags you to the pitch, never letting you stray one inch from him.

He wants his teammates to get the 'wrong' idea, after all.

wrong idea as in you are romantically evolved, you're welcome xx

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[glitch-karma]

Bungo character's reaction to you drawing them

Dazai

He snuck up on you while you both were supposed to be working

"Y/nnnn~! I'm bored!"

You quickly hid the drawing but he still snuck a peak of it

"What's that?"

He ofc snatched the sketchbook

"My my! It seems you've drawn quite a handsome man!" "NO NO NO"

He proceeded to run around the office showing off your skills as you ran after him yelling

He also took the drawing home with him and actually genuinely loves it

Kunikida

Unlike Dazai, you're actually the one who gave the drawing to him

"Hey uh, Kida?" "What is it? I still have a lot of work-"

When he saw the drawing he was actually speechless

You thought he died for a second as he just mindlessly stared at the drawing

"...Kida-?"

He reached out and grabbed the sketchbook, his eyes never leaving the drawing

"This. This is me, correct?" "Yeah, I just thought you were the perfect model"

You start to get self-conscious as he goes silent again.

"Can I keep this?" "Huh?"

He looked up at you with a genuine smile as he asked again:

"Can I keep it? You're drawing skills are impeccable. I'm honored to have been your muse."

Anddddd you blush immediately and agree

He has it framed by his bed

Atsushi

You also gave your drawing to Atsushi

"I have a gift for you" "Really? For me?"

As soon as he saw the drawing he bursted up out of his seat with stars in his eyes

"Wow, you actually drew this!? It's incredible! You even got my eyes and everything! You really have a gift!"

You smiled as he stared excitedly at it

After he was done spouting out praises and compliments he gave you a big hug

He keeps it in a drawer by his desk

Ranpo

Ranpo deduced it was a drawing of him by the way you kept glancing across the room at him

While you were sharpening your pencil, he snuck over and ripped out the page

"Ugh- RANPO!"

He opened his eyes to get a better look at the drawing

"Awe y/n, you just can't take your eyes off the world's greatest detective can you?" "Wait it's not done!"

He childishly ran around the office as you ran after him

You both were stopped by Kunikida and you got your drawing back

Yosano

You were injured on a mission

After Yosano was done healing you the drawing fell out of your pocket

She was gonna just put it back in your pocket, but then she noticed it had her name on it

She opened it up and was shocked to see such a well done drawing of herself

She blushed and admired the drawing for a long while before folding it and putting it in her own pocket

She kept it and you assumed you lost it

Kenji (Platonic)

You gave the drawing to Kenji as a present

"Wow you really made this with your own hands!"

He was amazed at the drawing and smiled brightly at you

You treated him to beef stew after for all his hard work

Kyoka (Platonic)

To make Kyoka feel more welcome at the agency you made her the drawing

She thought it was a picture at first

"..Why do you have a picture of me?"

After you explained that it was a drawing and that you made it she got really embarrassed

she stared at it for a while and then gave you a hug

"...It's really pretty.."

You patted her head and helped her finish her paperwork after

Chuuya

He came to pick you up for work

While on his motorcycle the drawing flew out of your pocket

You immediately panicked and begged him to go back

As he parked you ran around searching everywhere for it

"Is it really that important? It's just a drawin'."

He saw that you were genuinely distressed and felt bad

He started helping you look for it after calming you down a bit

Unfortunately, he was the one to find it

"Hey is this-"

When he saw it was him he full stopped

You saw he had it in his hand and froze as he said nothing

He burst into laughter

"All of that for a drawing of me!?"

You guys skipped work and he watched as you redrew it as payment for laughing at you

Akutagawa

You were too scared to give it to him in person so you just left it on his desk

When he first saw it he was confused, but he saw it was signed by you

He didn't say anything to you about it the next day so you got scared

You slowly forgot about it till randomly on a mission you both were on

While you two were walking to the destination he randomly spoke up:

"Oh by the way thanks for the drawing. It was well done." "..Huh-"

He didn't say anything else about it and you were very confused

Gin

You and Gin regularly hang out outside of work: during one of these times you gave it to her

She was really embarrassed about it and muttered out a "Thank you.."

She cherishes it and keeps it by her bed

Poe

you hid the drawing in one of Poe's books

When he found it he was amazed

You even included Karl and that made him happy

He wrote a poem about it and he keeps both the drawing and the poem he wrote by his bed

Fyodor

You gave it to him

He just stared at it for a long long time

He nodded before putting it in his pocket

"I'll be keeping this."

He likes it ;)

Nikolai

He grabbed it from you using his ability

He looked at it with stars in his eyes before jumping up excitedly

"Quiz timeeeee~!" "Oh boy.."

"Question one: Why did you draw me, Nikolai Gogol?" "..I just thought you were pretty."

"Excellent! Question two: Do you always think I'm prettyyyy?"

You walked away from him

Ango

Ango works a lot so you found it hard to find the right time to give it to him

Eventually, you just gave it to him at the office

He stared at it for a long time, and didn't say anything

You got scared as he stood up and walked over to you

He suddenly engulfed you in a big hug which threw you off for a second

When he pulled away he had tears in his eyes which made you PANIC

"ANGO- ARE YOU-" "It's beautiful. This is the nicest gift I've ever gotten."

He keeps it framed by his desk so he can look at it every day.

Jouno

...

Dude he's blind-

[xxchumanixx]

heyy can you do a tim bradford x fem reader where she is like his girlfriend or even fiancé and she gets arrested because she got in a physical fight with some other woman and when tim saw her handcuffed and brought into the station he told the officer who brought her in something like “i will handle it from here” or something like that. hope that makes sense

Double the ring

Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Warnings/Tags: language, fluff, mentions of violence (only if you squint real hard)

Word count: 776

Authors Note: Hey love, thanks for the request! I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope you'll like it!

Enjoy!

"You're fucking kidding me..." Tim mumbled as he saw you - handcuffed, a bruise on your cheek.

An officer brought you in, walking you to the cells. Tim followed, jogging to catch up with you.

You heard him, before you saw him. "Y/N!" he called after you, worry lacing his voice though he tried to hide it, as the officer told you to sit down on a bench.

You did as you were told, looking up at your fiancé, who stopped right in front of you, as the other officer cuffed one hand to the bench.

Shaking his head slightly Tim looked at the other officer. "I'll handle it from here." he told her, to which she nodded, before she left.

When she was out of sight he crouched down, carefully inspecting the bruise on your face. "What the hell happened?" he wanted to know, brows furrowed.

You weren't one to do something criminal or even illegal - hell you apologized when someone knocked you over - so he couldn't place what caused you to end up being arrested.

"When I was at the mall there was a woman who wanted to have the shoes I just bought - high heels. She tried to rip them from my hands, as one of them slipped and hit her straight in the face. She thought I attacked her, so she hit me - thus the bruise. Someone called the cops, she's at the hospital right now - caused a scene that she could have internal bleeding - from a hit in her face!"

Sighing, he tried to stifle a laugh, causing you to roll your eyes, as you slightly pushed him. Trying to keep his balance he narrowed his eyes at you.

"Did you just attack a police officer?" he wanted to know, chin held high. Rolling your eyes again you smiled. "Am I double arrested now?"

He huffed, shaking his head at your antics.

"I need you to take off your shoes, socks and jewelry." he explained. Wiggling your fingers in front of him you grinned. "You mean this one?"

Your engagement ring glittered in the ceiling light, causing him to smile proudly, as his eyes fixed on it.

"Nah, keep it on there." he told you, pointing at your other hand, that was cuffed to the bench. "Look, now you have two rings."

Huffing, you shook your head. "Yeah, double the ring, double the luck."

Chuckling to himself he took your things, before doing the necessary paperwork.

"How long am I going to be in here?" you wanted to know, sighing. Your day couldn't have gotten any worse.

He snorted, cocking a brow at your words.

"My fiancé isn't going into a cell." he declared, shaking his head as he scribbled something down. "They have the report, your statement and evidence. There is nothing that should have even led to you being arrested. You're going home."

You looked at him in utter confusion, hoping he didn't do anything stupid like messing with the papers.

Then he gave you your belongings back, nodding to himself, as you slipped back into your socks and shoes. "I'm going to have a chat with that officer." he told you, biting his cheek. "No one falsely arrests my fiancé and gets away with it."

Eyes widening you looked at him in shock.

"Tim, no!" you stopped him, before he could have get that officer fired. "It's okay - she just did her job."

Staring at you he tilted his head. "Then she did it poorly." he argumented, looking at you like you were out of your mind. "She shouldn't have arrested you, no matter if you're my fiancé or not. I'm gonna talk to her."

Rolling your eyes you tugged at the handcuff still on your wrist. Mumbling something to himself he freed you, helping you stand up.

"Listen, baby, I know that you're angry at her, but please try and be gentle - don't get her fired immediately." you tried to reason, looking up at him, though he didn't meet your eyes.

"Timothy Brad-" He cut you off, eyes widening as he finally looked at you. "Okay, okay!"

Chuckling, you shook your head. He hated it when you called him by his full name.

"I'll try." he assured you, before putting his hand on your lower back, directing you back to the lobby. "And next time someone wants to arrest you, call me."

Cocking a brow you looked up at him, when you halted in the lobby. "There'll be no next time." Huffing he shook his head, a smile on his lips, before he kissed you.

"Never say never, baby."

[lenacosse]

In a world of boys, he’s a gentle man

pairings: Jake Peralta x female reader

warnings: Men being men. Angst with happy ending.

word count: 2.6k

summary: You’re having a hard time at work, things are stressing you out and you’re at a crossroad in your relationship with Jake but he’ll always fix his mistakes.

———————————————————————

The blaring of your obnoxious alarm fills your ears. Ripping you from your sleep for another day of work, another day of men undermining you, another day of unsolved crimes.

You reluctantly drag yourself out of your bed and get ready. To make matters worse you and your boyfriend Jake were fighting- you wanted him to move in but his fear of commitment made him laugh the topic off and diminish your feelings. You understood his issues, but it wasn’t fair. So you told him you needed space, and surprisingly he hasn’t contacted you yet. Not that you’re necessarily upset about that, you had mixed feelings.

You arrive to work at 9:12am. And there stands holt an eyebrow raised at you. You sigh and begin.

“I’m sorry sir. I got stuck in traffic.”

“So you’re the only one of my detectives late because of traffic, even though you live closest to the precinct.” Holt gives you a stern look and you just nod and walk into his office. He follows you in and shuts the door, you take a seat.

“I’m sorry captain. I don’t know what you expect me to say.”

“I appreciate the apology. But I’m worried about you (Y/L/N), you’re one of the finest detectives in the precinct yet you cannot unsolve simplest of cases?”

“I know. I just have a lot going on right now.”

“Well I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to take your cases and put you onto paperwork tasks. I understand it won’t help but it’s protocol.”

You just nod and exit his room, not looking where you’re going you walk right into Hitchcock who spills his coffee all over you. You take a long breath and look right at him. Violent outbursts weren’t your thing, but the stupidity of the situation is making it hard not to punch him in the face.

“Would you watch where you’re going!” You storm off into the women’s bathroom to dry your shirt off. A worried Amy follows you in.

“(Y/N)? Are you okay?” Amy asks, slowly moving towards you where you stand drying your coffee stained blouse.

You look at Amy and can’t help the tears that are filling your eyes. “I’m sorry i’m fine. It’s not big deal.”

Amy puts a hand on your arm, giving you a reassuring smile. “I know you’ve been stressed recently, and I’m sorry that your cases have been reassigned. But think of it as a break. Now you can have time to think.”

You nod and offer her a smile. Amy was undoubtedly your best friend, she had a way of understanding your feelings and you appreciated that more than you could explain.

“Thank you Ames. you’re amazing.” You and Amy share a hug before she leaves the bathroom. You dry your shirt by which time you’ve collected your thoughts. Allowing you to go back out there with a clear head and better intentions.

Walking back to your desk you get a few reluctant glances, you know it’s bad when people look at your like you’re Rosa. Half way through your first paper work task you get a short tap on your shoulder, you turn around to see Jake. He looks worn down, not as enthusiastic as usual. You would be lying if you said you didn’t feel a little bit bad, your aim was not to upset Jake when you said you wanted space, but to give yourself time to think. Which you haven’t even had a chance to do yet.

“I brought you a coffee.” Jake says, it was strange to see him so… calm? The main reason you agreed to go out with Jake was because he made you laugh. Because being with him was easy, you didn’t have to change yourself to be with him and that was all anyone could ask for. But the last few days he has been indifferent, you couldn’t help but blame yourself.

“Thank you.” You smile and take the coffee from his hands. Jake nods and starts to walk away, he glances back at you. Continues to walk, glances back again then walks back to you.

“Can.. we talk later? I know you want space but I hate this. I feel bad and it’s just..”

You cut him off with a sympathetic look. “Jake..” you begin, your tone flat.

“Yeah. sorry.” He walks away, this time not looking back.

You sigh and look to your left where Charles is sitting shaking his head and wiping his eyes. You furrow your brows at him and he takes that as an invite over. He walks over to your desk, his shoulders slumped.

“Can I help you Charles?”

“God. I’m so worried about you and jake. These last few days have been utter hell. I haven’t felt this helpless since Elenor and I divorced. I’m so upset I can’t even eat my stake tartare.”

“Maybe that’s for the best Charles, sounds absolutely disgusting.” You shake your head in disgust, “as for me and Jake we are grown adults and can sort it ourselves. Don’t stress.”

“That’s impossible! I’ll talk to Jake. I know how to solve the issue, a nurturing shower where he tenderly washes your hair with lavender shampoo.”

“Seriously?! Go back to your desk.” You shoo him away with your hand. Accepting defeat, sometimes you feel bad for dismissing Charles, but not today.

By lunch time you made a reasonable dent in your paperwork. You glance over to Jake, he’s doing paperwork too. But nothing is distracting him, not even the fact that captain Holt cracked a smile, at least someone’s in a good mood.

“Come on get your stuff we’re going to get lunch.” Rosa says standing in front of your desk with her arms crossed. Behind her is Gina.

“This doesn’t mean I care about you by the way girl. I need a break from my endless paperwork.”

You look over to Gina’s desk and roll your eyes, she had two files sitting there. “Wow I couldn’t imagine it. Is Amy coming?”

“It was her idea to bring you to lunch, then she got out her colour coordinated file of conflict resolution to help you lighten up. So I told her the wrong place, being around nerds is not what I need right now. Poor Amy sitting alone with nothing but her folder.” Gina shrugs.

You grab your jacket and go out with Gina and Rosa. You go to a cafe near the precinct, the cafe echoed with small talk and coffee pots brewing. It was peaceful compared to the loud precinct, the constant keyboard clicks and nonsense talk could of easily driven you mad.

“Damn I think you ruined Jake’s life, he’s a serious depresso these days.” Gina starts.

“I did not ruin his life. I needed space.”

“Why? Did his immaturity get the better of you?” Rosa questioned, you were slightly surprised at her input. Usually an outing with Rosa entails complete silence.

You sigh taking a sip of your drink. “I wanted us to move in together. He brushed it off saying there’s no need. So I told him I needed space from him and time to think, I feel bad sure but I don’t know what to do. It feels like he doesn’t love me enough to work through these issues.” You swallow back the lump in your throat.

“Mmkay well not to give you a compliment but Jake does love you.” Gina retorts. Rosa nods in agreement.

“You always try to get me to talk about my feelings, so take your own advice and go talk to him.” Rosa added.

“I don’t know what to say, we’ve been together for almost two years and it feels like we’re capped at the newly established relationship part.”

“I think that’s enough relationship talk. Who do you think we are, Amy Santiago? No.” Gina scoffed, as she did the food arrived. You sit with your friends eating lunch and listening to Gina talk about her upcoming dance competition and her love for Beyoncé.

———————————————————————

“Thanks for lunch.” You smile at Gina and Rosa as you sit back at your desk.

“Yeah whatever you’re welcome.” Rosa shrugs. You continue with your work, peacefully getting through your tasks with your mood peaking by the minute.

“(Y/N) can you give these files down to officer Smith?” Your sarge Terry asks, you get the files off his desk and get into the elevator to go downstairs.

It was no secret that the officers downstairs were dicks. They didn’t like you, especially officer Smith as you rejected him years ago. Ever since then he’s been making remarks about you attempting to piss you off, this has been applied to Jake as well because he is your boyfriend. Right after stepping out of the elevator you hear a wolf whistle coming from officer Smith. you roll your eyes and walk to his desk handing him the files.

“A present for me? You shouldn’t have.”

You ignore his words and explain the contents of the files, he doesn’t seem to be even paying attention but you didn’t care. That was until he piped up.

“How come you’re giving me files and not Gina?” You go to speak and he puts his finger to his mouth silencing you. “Don’t tell me the nine nine’s lousiest detective has been placed on desk duty.”

“It’s absolutely none of your business. But even so desk duty is much better than being stuck as a first rate officer for eight wasteful years.”

“Ah typical (Y/L/N) being a bitch when she gets her feelings hurt.”

“You’re pathetic. Don’t you get bored of being a dick?”

“You’re Goddamn insufferable. Just shut the fuck up and clear off.”

“Gladly. When you get off your ass for the first time today make sure to leave these files back.”

With that you walk away, but the cruel words that he shouted after had you clenching your fists and unwillingly crying in the elevator. That man knew how to get under your skin and you hated him with a burning passion. As you walk out of the elevator you wipe your eyes trying to mask the fact you’ve been embarrassingly crying. And once again you collide with someone. Their hands steady you by grabbing your shoulders. You sigh and look up, seeing Jake with a concerned look plastered on his face.

“Are you crying?”

“No.” You scoff as if you’re offended by the accusation.

“What happened?”

“Just Officer Smith being a dick.” You mumble.

His thumb lightly brushes a stray tear from your eye, you unwillingly melt into his touch, it’s warm and makes you feel safe.

“Whatever he said to you is irrelevant. He’s the biggest jerk ever. Don’t stoop down to his level and listen to what he has to say. You’re worth so much more than that.”

“Thank you Jake.” You run your thumb over his knuckles, a soft smile apparent on your face. Jake squeezed your hand three times, and you return the gesture. His face immediately brightens up, your eyes meet and you find yourself getting lost in his.

You hear a clearing of a throat, you look to your side seeing captain Holt stood with him arms crossed. You immediately drop Jake’s hand and he lets go of your shoulder. You both go back to your own desks. Today has made you realise talking to Jake is the best solution, it was only making you both miserable being apart. So you write him a note reading: ‘want to come over later?’ You throw it at him and it hits him in the head.

You watch his reaction to reading it. He scribbles something back on the page and throws it in your direction, but unluckily it hits Holt right in the face as he walks past your desk. You watch Jake’s eyes widen like a deer in headlights as he quickly looks down and pretends to be writing.

“Who on earth threw that?!” Holt rages. Everyone looks up from their desks yet no one takes accountability. Holt picks up the paper and reads it out. “Want to come over later? As long as we can watch die hard. (Ps. that shirt you’re wearing looks hot af)”

Your face turns a deep crimson as you look down at your desk, refusing eye contact. Everyone is quiet, mostly likely mentally scarred by the note. until Charles pipes up.

“WOOHOO!” He yells. “my dream couple are back. Did take my advice Jakey?”

“No Charles. I did not spoon feed her duck soup!”

“Gosh it’s a miracle things worked out.” Charles replied. You look over to Amy who looks just as disgusted as you from Charles’ statement.

“You two my office. Now.” Holt says whilst walking back to his office.

Jake follows behind you into Holt’s office, you both take a seat as does Holt. He does not look happy, or so you assume. He was difficult to read.

“Today started wonderfully. Everyone had work done. I even cracked a smile.” Holt starts. “However you two acting like teenagers is ridiculous! Throwing notes to each other like you’re in middle school?”

“(Y/L/N) started it.” Jake shakes his head in dismay. “She’s such a child.”

“Shut up Peralta.” You smack his arm, making him pull a classic face at you. You roll your eyes and cross you arms looking back at your captain.

“If you two can’t act mature then I’ll have to come up with a plan to keep you apart.”

You both mutter a sorry and he dismisses you. Of course the second you step out of his office you look at Jake and the both of you burst out laughing.

“What did I just say!” Holt shouts out, you both stop laughing and immediately go back to your desks.

———————————————————————

Your door knocked and you went to answer it. standing there is Jake with flowers, a tiny teddy bear and a bag full of snacks. You smile and let him in, letting him know the pizza is on its way.

“For you my lady.” Jake says in a God awful posh accent. You take the flowers and other things from him. You find yourself blushing at the thought of him buying you these things.

“Well aren’t you just a gentleman.” You kiss his cheek, he takes your chin in his hand and moves your face to look at him. Your foreheads touch and he leans in to kiss you, the kiss is tender and loving. You run your free hand through his hair and slowly pull back.

“I’m sorry for not taking things seriously.”

“It’s okay.”

“No I was being an idiot. I love what we have, and of course I want to move in with you. But that freaked me out and I was unfair. I want you to know that I would do anything for you. I want this for us, I want to come home with you every night, I want to wake up next to you every morning. I’m serious about you, I should have just told you that from the start. but I messed things up and to think that I almost ruined us-“

You shut him up by kissing him, you feel his smile against your lips. His hands go to your hips pulling you closer. You slowly pull away and he pulls you into a hug. The scent his cologne fades all the worries and doubts, it was simple. Jake was the only possible person you ever wanted to be with, and things would work out because you both were dedicated to making it work.

“Thank you.” You slowly pull back and stroke his cheek with your thumb.

“Okay I’m glad that worked out because I already sold my apartment.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course you did.” You tease.

The pizza arrives and the two of you lay on your couch together, eating pizza and watching die hard for the thousandth time. At this point you swear you could recite the script. But if it makes Jake happy then it makes you happy.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[koenigami]

➵ WRIOTHESLEY

synopsis : when old wounds reopen, he's relieved to have found solace in your presence wc : 1,4k tags : fem!reader, reverse comfort, fluff, little angsty bc of wrio's past

Wriothesley feels it brewing like a storm. It starts in the noon, when a light headache makes his temples throb, when his chest seems to tighten, and his scars ache as if someone is about to rip them open again. 

He knows that sleep tonight won’t come easy. He always does. So instead of tossing and turning beside you, robbing you of your own rest, he prefers to stay the night in his office. 

“Got some paperwork to finish. Will probably stay the night here. Love you.” 

That’s the message he lets deliver to you when the dreadful feelings return like a supposedly defeated enemy. Everything seems fine until it is not. Until his concentration tends to drift off into another dimension overflowing with darkness. His thoughts leave him irritated, and unable to interact with other people without scaring them off. 

At night, Wriothesley eyes the couch in his office. He contemplates whether he should try to at least close his eyes. Maybe this time he’ll fall asleep. 

But he knows that a night without the vivid, gruesome images flashing before his eyes is only wishful thinking.

Instead he plunges himself into the dark space of his past. He watches small patches of blood form along the surface of the punching bag. The pain is almost impalpable, inexistent compared to what’s happening inside him right now. 

His breaths are laboured as he throws jabs into the bag, one after another rubbing off more and more skin from his knuckles. There’s sweat trickling down his face and back after only a few minutes, and he realises that he’s already drained.

His thoughts, his fears, his past. They've all caught up with him in a matter of hours, pulling him left and right, almost tearing him apart.

You have to keep on fighting, Wriothesley. You can’t let them win. 

Clouds obscure his vision until all he can see is red, all he hears are screams, and all he wants is peace. 

But he’s not aware that oftentimes, the one thing that you need the most is already right in front of you. He’s not aware that he could have lessened the pain of his restless nights a long time ago.

The mechanical sounds of sliding metals and working machinery catch his attention, and the doors open. The clouds suddenly disappear, and what remains blinds him.

Like a miner getting out of the deepest parts of a humid cave, he feels the rays of light warm his skin, and he swears it makes him shiver in delight. 

“One of the guards told me I’d find you here.” Your voice bounces off the walls as you approach him slowly. The ring in the middle of the room is empty, though a single glance at Wriothesley is enough to conclude that he comes down here to engage himself in different kinds of fights. 

“Y/n? Love, what are you doing here?” His words sound garbled as he speaks, and he’s reminded to take a few gulps from his water bottle. 

“Could ask you the same.” You eye him carefully while wrapping your jacket tighter around yourself. Just like the sea, the temperature inside the Fortress of Meropide seems to drop drastically at night. “Is this your so-called paperwork? Or have you already grown so tired of me that you prefer your workplace over our shared bed?”

Your words obviously carry no malice as you offer him a lopsided smile. Wriothesley can tell that you’re worried though. And tired. 

“You know that’s not true.” He watches you pluck a handkerchief out of your pocket, and sighs when you use it to wipe away some of the sweat beading his hairline. “It’s late, you should have stayed at home.” 

“You should have come home, Wriothesley.” There’s a change in your tone, and just your entire demeanour, when you spot the raw flesh and bruised skin on the back of his hands. But you swallow the sadness that the sight of him brings you. You push aside the disappointment of him not wanting to share his burden with you.

You suppress the anger and resentment that you hold for all the people that have let down Wriothesley’s younger self. The people who have hurt him, the monsters that still haunt him. Wherever they may be right now, you wish them nothing but utter agonising hell. 

“What am I going to do with you, hm?” Your eyes skim over the damaged knuckles before you pull him to the edge of the ring on which he leans against.

“You should have seen the other guy.” He smirks while his gaze follows your form wandering around the room, looking for some clean bandages and a bowl to pour water in. 

“Sure, his Grace has done quite the number on a sand-filled bag.” You roll your eyes as you find your place back between his legs, wetting and wringing a cloth out. “And on himself.”

Watching you tend to his roughed up skin with utter gentleness, Wriothesley’s again reminded how well his big hand fits into your smaller one. Hands that have destroyed so much, harmed so many, held by hands that look so delicate and which are used for mending and caring. The times that he has felt undeserving of them, of you, have been way too many, though he knows that you’d get upset if he told you so. 

It catches him off guard when the sensation of your soft, pillowy lips spreads along his freshly bandaged hands. Like a light breeze in the morning, you sweep away the remaining clouds from the previous stormy night, leaving the newly risen sun in your wake. The only difference is that the sun does not choose its target. You do, and you chose him.

Something about him makes him worthy of your love, of your time, of your touch. He’s not sure what it is, because to be frank he has never deemed himself as someone with extraordinary qualities and talents. He’s just an ordinary man with a less ordinary past. But maybe it’s exactly the former one that has made you choose him. You chose Wriothesley. Not the Duke. Not his Grace. Not a former criminal. Just him and all of his rough edges.

“Let’s go up and sleep, hm?” His hand cups the side of your face, the other settles on your waist as he pulls you in closer until your chest is flush against his. Wriothesley’s cheek nestles over your collarbone, and you feel his warm breath fan over your skin when he heaves a deep sigh. 

“I want to stay like this for a while. Is that okay?” You hum approvingly and watch his body relax against yours as the tension slowly but surely leaves his shoulders. A small groan slips past his lips when your fingers start tracing the muscles along his back. Like a map, you have memorised all his sore spots, all his ticklish spots, and the ones that are the most sensitive.

Wriothesley feels one of your hands slide further up to the nape of his neck. You start twirling his hair around your fingers, combing through the messy and sweaty strands, and lightly scratching his scalp in a way that makes his eyes droop, and body feel heavy.

You hear him mumble incoherently something beneath his breath and you laugh softly.

“What was that?”

“You’re amazing, you know that?” He says it so effortlessly as he gazes up at you with hooded eyes that seem to hold the entire world inside them. The corner of his lip twitches and you wonder if it is because he can feel your accelerated heartbeat.

“Well, you aren’t bad yourself either.” It’s when your chest quakes the slightest bit beneath his head, and when your sweet laugh reaches his ears-

It’s right then that he knows that he’s fine. For now, he’s fine.

And when you’re later on lying on the too short and too uncomfortable leather couch in his office with your body draped over his. When his past flashes in front of his eyes in form of nightmares. And when you hold him through every single one of them, caress his arms and chest in hopes that it will calm him down and ground him.

It’s right then that he realises that he’ll be fine as long as he has you by his side.

[lunarw0rks]

Hello! I just found your blog and I just started reading everything I saw 😅. Can I request 141 + König + Alejandro with a pregnant reader? They don't know yet and when the reader will break the news they are really stressed with work and end up taking it out on the reader, they end up getting into an argument and saying they hate the reader and that their life would be so much better without the reader in it (😈). The reader takes this seriously and leaves when they are asleep... Months later they meet again when the reader is on her way to the hospital to give birth (😈). Angst to fluff pls. If you don't feel good about writing or it's too big, that's fine. Have a nice day and thank you so much for all the time you spend writing to us.

The Things We Say // 141 Drabble

Summary: You're expecting, but it's not good news. To him, at least. Your relationship takes a hit, but once he meets your child, he's swallowed with regret for how he treated you.

Warning(s): angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, pregnancy, childbirth, mentions of premature birth/complications, mild injury/blood, strong language, established relationship, fem!Reader, no use of y/n

A/N: I was hurting my own feelings---but, there's fluff after the angst, so don't get too upset besties<3 Hope you don't mind anon, I took some creative liberty because I didn't want them all to have the same plotline. | Word Count: 5.9k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ 141 MASTERLIST // have a request? ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ ao3 ver.

SYNOPSIS; he had been in the thick of it lately, sometimes more overwrought when at home with you than in active combat, it seemed. Conversations were either abrupt, crude, or nonexistent—often just building on top of the tension building between the two of you. Relationships were supposed to be fifty-fifty, but you felt you were carrying the burden of the whole percentage. That’s why the news couldn’t have come at a worse time—you, staring at the two lines instead of one. No matter how long you stared, double-checked the diagram, the answer was the same. Pregnant. So, now you knew two things for certain, you were expecting, and most heartbreaking—the other one responsible was at his worst. To break the news to him, it took every fiber of your being.

⋘ » ☆ « ⋙

AFTERMATH; nine months of hell. That’s how you would answer if someone asked. Few people did though, even at work or out on the street. There was the occasional boy or girl, how are you feeling. But they were being polite, or taking pity on the pregnant woman without a ring on her finger. The pregnant woman with bags under her eyes, the one who winces with each step because she’s ready to pop. None of it meant anything to you, because the other half of this responsibility had been left in the dark, and not for much longer. You weren’t raising this child alone, no matter how irate he was going to be when you contacted him.

Price

One of John’s many talents; stewing on his feelings, keeping them suppressed for an unnatural amount of time.

Often so long that he forgot about the source of his anger once he had time to catch up to them. That is… Until his work was involved. Then he was an entirely different man, often spending his time deep in a bottle and with a nose deep in paperwork, with little regard for anyone else around him.

His control, it was typically so consistent, that he knew not to bring his professional problems home. But lately? It’s been anything but typical. He wasn’t what you would call mean, but there was definitely a negative word to describe it. Cold? Apathetic? Perhaps even unwelcoming?

The bickering, if you could call it that, had droned on for several minutes now. Though, it was mostly you venting your frustrations to an uninterested Price. ❝I know it’s not good timing, John. Why the fuck do you think I’m in here trying to reason with you? Are we just supposed to ignore this until we can’t anymore?❞ You hissed, tempted to rip the paperwork from his grip to get him to pay attention.

He always wanted children, but not right now. Naturally, that’s when it happened. He felt like he was drowning, at first only professionally, but now personally too. The funds weren’t a problem, the kid had two parents, but… you and him—nothing was working.

❝Sweetheart, I’m in the thick of it right now. Please.❞ He didn’t need to raise his voice for you to see how irritated he was. Perhaps at the baby, you, himself, or all the above. ❝I have a meeting.❞ He stood up from his workspace, steaming coffee in hand.

John walked away from you like you were a pestering soldier, not the mother of his child. Enough was enough.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

He thought he was slick, only giving you physical checks to see your face, to ensure that you were indeed alright. It was often the coffee shop within equal walking distance of your two separate homes. John would always slide the amount you needed across the table, a look of remorse on his face. Each monthly meeting, your stomach would grow in size, as did your drained expression.

But you wouldn’t talk to him. You would only text him the amount, nod when he asked questions. It was the worst torture you could put a man like John through—one that needed the approval of his loved ones. It just couldn’t happen, not yet. The wounds of how he treated you, they were too fresh, even after nine months of this routine.

To be truthful, you debated on even calling him when you went into labor. You could do it alone, right? With just the support of the delivery nurses, and most of all your baby girl as the reward? Perhaps you could wait until after, give him the respect to at least meet his daughter. For someone not carrying a child, he looked just as beat; sunken eyes, less tidy facial hair than usual, and somehow even more tobacco on his breath.

John was clawing himself from the inside out, begging for something other than a “yes” or “no” from your lips.

—

❝I can’t do this,❞ you repeated it about fifty times, tears streaming down your cheeks from both the pain and the distraught feelings. That plan you had to not call him, it was falling through quite quickly. This level of agony? You needed someone other than a doctor. You needed the father, as much as it pained you to admit.

❝Yes, you can dear, women have babies everyday.❞ Bless the nurse, she was trying her best to keep you calm, but it didn’t work.

What if something went wrong? If somehow you didn’t make it but your baby girl did, she would be alone until he got here… That couldn’t, no—wouldn’t happen. He needed to be there, right beside this bed to hold her in case you couldn’t.

In between your pained grunts, you finally spit out what you’d been trying to tell her, finding a split second of sensibility during all this distress. ❝Call… John. Please, call him!❞

—

The doors swung open faster than any of the personnel, his gaze softening when he saw you breathing in a patterned fashion. The nurse beside you gave him a nod, freeing your hand for him to take her place. John wasn’t going to miss this, and frankly, he was irked that he almost did. But he wasn’t irked at you; he was irked at himself for taking this for granted.

His soothing voice talks you through each contraction, a soothing hand dabbing away the sweat and tears streaming down your face.

❝I got you, sweetheart. You’re almost done pushing.❞ Though he looked gruff on the outside, inside he was distraught. You had maintained the cold shoulder throughout the pregnancy, but you still called him here? You were more than he deserved in his eyes.

The last round of pushing, and they were close together now. You had about thirty seconds to say this, before you were screaming again.❝I’m glad you’re here.❞ Despite all the pain you were in, you gave his hand a squeeze, staring at him with a glossy expression.

His eyes nearly watered; the first sentence you had uttered to him in months, and it was clear you meant every bit of it. You needed him and so did your daughter, right here right now. He pressed a kiss to your temple, a soothing massaging your shoulder.

John kept his tone firm on purpose, to emphasize how deeply he cared for you right now. ❝I’ll always be here for you, love. Always.❞ 

Simon

Simon loved deep; hated even deeper.

It was one of the features that drew you to him in the first place, how blunt he could be, how his broodiness contrasted your personality in more ways than one. His cynical behavior could be humorous, could be reassuring, but most of all—bitter. To add stress to the equation, to bring it home? He was an explosive disaster waiting to happen.

❝Simon,❞ you approached from behind, holding the test in your hands, because you knew the first question he would ask when you told him; is if you took one. Well, if he wasn’t actively cursing under his breath, he would’ve.

Instead, he merely flicked his eyes over for a brief moment, as if you were a stranger on the street that said excuse me. ❝Simon.❞ Your tone grew firmer, clutching the stick with more apprehension.

❝Bloody Christ, what?❞ He shifted in his seat, bloodshot and hooded eyes that only twisted the knife further. You couldn’t tell him now, not with the pressure of being on the spot. The right words just wouldn’t come out, prompting you to put the stick behind your back. ❝Goddamn nuisance.❞ He muttered under his breath as if it was only supposed to be an internal thought. 

Though, he didn’t look all that remorseful about it—at least on the outside.

He had never said anything like that before, at least not to your face. It seemed, all the weeks of tension and cold shoulder, it was enough. You were done and out the door the second he’d dozed.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Simon made a few futile attempts to reach out, but his own stubbornness prevented him from ever being face-to-face. He beat himself up so badly, and from his side of things—he’d only lost one person, not two.

It pained you to ask the delivery nurse to call him. You wanted to shove the crowning newborn right back inside and hold off, to go find him yourself and smack sense into him for putting you through this agony. But you couldn’t. Quite literally couldn’t get up, and didn’t want to. Resulting in pettiness and venom would make you worse than him because you would be using this child as a pawn.

He said nothing, but his eyes said enough. The nurses put a sterile drape over his shoulders, but he paid them no mind. His amber eyes remained on you; a bulging belly and an expression of pure agony. Had he missed something, a crucial chapter of your new life post-breakup? Most of all, why did you call him?

❝Hold my hand.❞ Simon found the side of your bed, allowing you to dig your fingernails into his forearm until there were imprints. He had few words, but the countenance of concern and guilt said it all. If this wasn’t his… you would’ve done this alone, or the father would be here. Then it dawned on him; it was his.

—

Hours passed, and he still hadn’t mentioned the obvious. Nine months without his support—financial or moral. You needed rest, as did the baby girl—so you were getting it, first and foremost. The adult matters would be better talked about when you weren’t still freshly recovering.

Simon tapped his foot against the tile, sitting in the chair beside the bed. He was unsure of who to keep an eye on more; the newborn swaddled in her own crib, or you, exhaustedly sleeping in your hospital bed. Though he’d held the girl, it felt forbidden, like he was only a placeholder until your body recovered enough to do it yourself. It was shock preventing him from feeling, not cruelty.

You stirred awake, a sigh of contempt when you laid eyes on him. The labor was a blur your mind had already shut out, and you truly didn’t recall the nurses contacting him. Your eyes were glossy with dark circles underneath them. ❝I’m…❞ It was like the night you tried to tell him but couldn’t, the words wouldn’t come out.

Simon saw that look in your eyes; the fear that he would explode, or storm out and leave you with the child forever—but he wasn’t. All the years of trying to not relieve the same mistakes his own father made, it would be useless if he did that. And he couldn’t, seeing that look of desperation on your face, how you looked as if you were going to burst into tears at the sight of him. That look, it was the same one that gnawed at him during those months apart, how he found you and your belongings gone.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. ❝Shh… Don’t apologize. Ever.❞ He was hovering now, a kiss pressed to your forehead. Whatever you decided when you were healed enough, he would take it like a man, because he had the audacity to speak to you like a man who wronged him.

Soap

Soap was… a complicated man to say the least. Usually, he was sweet, charming, with the right amount of cockiness. His ability to make you laugh drew you into him in the first place. But it was dwindling—at least during the past few weeks. Now, all that remained was smugness and bitter mutters under the breath.

❝Don’t be a child about this, we’ll figure it out,❞ He says, slamming his car door behind you. The first time you two had been out to dinner together in weeks, spoiled because you finally broke the news to him. You teared up in the restaurant because his reaction was anything but accepting, and frankly, he found it embarrassing.

He hadn’t meant it that way—that’s just how it came out.

He truly did want to figure this baby thing out, but it was the worst possible timing; an all-time high of stress at work, bickering with you constantly. And now, a third added to the dynamic with only months to prepare? It was too much. ❝Oh, I’m acting like a child?❞ You walked into the house, taking off the jewelry you had on to look nice for him.

The bickering that ensued—it was nothing nice, nothing you’d care to remember.

❝I don’t want you to go, lass. Don’t do this.❞ You had already made up your mind. Perhaps it was your emotions clouding your judgment, that instinct you felt being a few weeks along… It didn’t matter, you couldn’t be here. Not with him, not right now.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

You were about to pop, literally any day now. You knew that meant you would have to talk to the father, and interact with him for about eighteen years—at least be civil. But the rationality of it, how you would have to co-parent with him, didn’t ease your anxieties. Of course, he was adamant about checking up on you and being more of a parasite than the fetus taking half your energy.

You closed the car door with your hip, a slow waddle up the pavement. Where the hell your keys were, that was another story—something you would deal with once you rolled yourself up to the door.

❝What the hell are you doin’?❞ The voice nearly made you drop all the grocery bags in your grasp, a jumpy shriek coming out. When you whipped around, it was Soap, a look of upset on his very expressive face.

Once you started to recover from the scare of a lifetime, an unintentional one at that, a scowl formed on your face. It was like he had a sense of the absolute worst time to show up and annoy you, especially now that you were swollen and extra agitated. ❝A phone call would’ve worked, Johnny. Or, I don’t know, maybe a ‘hey I’m right behind you, lady’!❞ You attempted to mock his accent out of pure frustration, but he didn’t find the humor in it, at least not right away.

He yanked the bags out of your grip, stomping up the steps of your porch. ❝You shouldn’t be carryin’ these.❞ You really should not be doing that, he was right, but the thought of him being your grocery boy—showing up even more? ❝Keys.❞ He held out his free hand, the other one swimming in bags. It was ridiculous, apparently, you weren’t allowed to twist a key now, either.

You shove past him once he’s turned the key, squeezing past and joining him in the kitchen. Without a word, he starts putting away anything and everything you bought. Some are nutritious, others purely to feed your cravings. ❝Don’t start.❞ You pointed a finger at him when he picked up a family-sized bag of candy, a smart-ass comment daring to escape his lips.

❝God, I can’t believe you, Johnny. Sneaking up on me like that, I could’ve fallen.❞ You put an instinctive hand on your stomach, still irked by his presence.

❝No, you would’ve fallen carrying all those bags yourself. I have a right to be worried, it’s my bloody kid too.❞ He retorts, a hand on his hip. He’s done all he’s obligated to now; carrying and putting away your groceries.

You tighten your lips into a line, fighting the urge to start a full-blown argument. ❝Yeah, you remind me every day, so thanks for tha— Shit.❞ It seemed, raising your voice counted as exerting yourself because there was a sudden cramp in your stomach, a trickle down your pant leg.

Soap’s eyes widened, seeing you go from scolding him to hunched over and holding your stomach. You had forced yourself into labor, now standing on knees about to buckle. ❝I’ve got you, now get going woman, before I put you over my shoulder.❞ He felt he had never moved faster, a tight fist around your forearm to keep you standing as he led you through the door you had just walked in.

—

It seemed there was little time between being admitted to actively pushing. This kid wanted out, and right this second. You let out a shriek as the back of your head slammed against the pillow, sweat trickling down your brow as you cursed and wailed. ❝I know it hurts, love, but you got this.❞ He allowed you to clamp down on his hand, to dig your fingertips until they drew blood.

❝Oh, you know do you?!❞ You snapped at him, finding it hard to be nice when you felt like you were being ripped in half.

❝If I wasn’t,❞ you grunted in between words, face scrunched and labored breathing, ❝stuck in this damn bed, I would so… hurt you right now, Johnny.❞ He fought the urge to snicker just a little bit, masking it with his concern for you. Seeing you in agony, even when you were actively snapping at him, it didn’t please him one bit.

Well, you were arguing with him, so he knew you weren’t actively dying.

If you used enough of that anger, it would help you literally push through the pain, just like how it caused the kid to want to come out right this second. For once, his pestering and sarcasm were actually helping.

With one final wave of it, your back arched off the bed and finally, the loud cry of an infant filled the white-walled room. Soap nearly fainted, if he was being honest—he was awfully squeamish for someone who dealt with blood daily. But it was your blood and… fluids, things that made him shiver when he pictured how painful that could’ve been.

The doctors were speedy, cleaning off and checking vitals. All he could do was stare at the newborn—his baby boy. And then he looked at you, choked up and stared in awe at the baby set on your chest. ❝Jesus…❞ he leaned down, placing a gentle hand on yours as it held the child’s head.

All the fighting, all the bickering, even the late-night candy runs—they were well worth it. He had a second chance now, to make things right with you, and to be a decent father.

Gaz

Gaz could be hotheaded, sometimes downright blunt, especially when he’s passionate about something to do with his work. The night you were going to break the news, nothing was going right. He came home in a huff, not bothering to take off his boots before plopping on the sofa. Kyle had a right to be stressed; look at what he does all day. But he didn’t have a right to be cruel to you because of it.

You took a seat beside him and set the positive test down on his thigh. A silence followed by a scowl, and then he finally spoke. ❝You can’t be serious.❞ It nearly gutted you right then and there. His leg began to bounce anxiously the longer he glanced at the life-changing test results. 

❝Kyle, I—❞ you weren’t even sure what you were trying to say either, not that he gave you a chance. ❝I don’t have time for this, babe. I really can’t do this right now.❞ He put his head in his hands, a flustered groan escaping his lips.

❝Are you saying you don’t want this? That we shouldn’t have done this?❞ You were suddenly standing, eyes wide and watering. You felt like you had just been dumped on the street, despite his unclear tone.

He peered up, lips in a blunt line. ❝Maybe we shouldn’t have.❞ You could’ve crawled into a hole and died right then and there, but you merely nodded. Nodded and then left the room, leaving him to his moodiness. No, it wasn’t the best timing, but that didn’t give him the right to brush you off, to treat you like a distasteful afterthought.

It wasn’t just you anymore, it was you and the baby.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

It was one of his few days off—though he wasn’t feeling much relaxation. You were still hot and cold with him, now about halfway through your third trimester; thirty-two weeks to be exact. It was nearing that point, where he had prepared a spare room for the baby, began coordinating plans for labor, etc… 

But he still didn’t feel ready, or like he deserved you after how cruel he was that night. Kyle was only helping you to help you and the baby.

His phone buzzed, right when he had begun relaxing for the evening. 10:32 PM; and it was your number. The second he heard the voice of a nurse on the other line, not yours, his feet were halfway out the front door.

—

❝I’m fine, Kyle. I’m fine…❞ It seemed no matter how many times you repeated it, he didn’t seem to believe it. From the minute he entered your hospital room to now, he had at least one hand on you, a thumb grazing the cuts and bruises on your body. You had been in a car accident—mild for you, life-threatening for a preemie. ❝You’re not fine.❞ he said firmly, eyes darting towards your clothes bagged in the corner—bloodied and with windshield pieces still embedded.

Kyle was more worried about you at first, but you were solely concerned about your baby—left alone in the NICU being poked and prodded by personnel. You had to be induced, otherwise he wouldn’t have made it past the front doors. Now, he was too weak to be visited, too small and vulnerable to be held by his own mother yet. It was gut-wrenching; hours without a solid answer, because his chances depended solely on him making it through the night.

Now, there was nothing to do but wait, perhaps see your baby through a glass box if you got lucky.

—

❝He’s perfect,❞ Kyle peered down at the preemie in his hands, a baggy blue cap on his head. There were small babies, and he was somehow smaller. What once was the scare of a lifetime, it was now a passing memory to remind Gaz of what he could’ve lost. He would never make the mistake of talking to you like that again, even if the two events didn’t correlate.

What if the night you left, you got into an accident then, and it was much worse? He wouldn’t be able to live with himself, plain and simple. ❝It’s cheesy but, he does have your eyes.❞ You whispered from the nursing chair you were sitting in, still healing and fatigued from the ordeal. The picture in front of you; Kyle looking at your son with such love—it was irreplaceable and forever stuck in your memories.

❝Correct. But he has your scowl, babe.❞ Gaz flicked his eyes upwards, feeling you gently nudge his shin at the sound of the comment.

It didn’t matter the things he said months ago, as long as he cherished this new life with you as much as you planned to.

Alejandro

Alejandro always had passion for the things he cherished; you and his work, nothing else mattered more. Passion led to intense feelings, intense feelings turned into misplaced bitterness. It wasn’t your fault that you were expecting, no more than it was his, at least. He knew that and had he just taken a breath and thought more carefully about his phrasing, this whole mess could’ve been avoided.

❝Do you think I wanted to interrupt you, Alejandro?❞ You hissed, standing in the doorway of his office with the positive test in your hands. He had just looked at you with such distaste as if you were the root cause of his stress and not his work.

What better way to stir the pot, than to match his wrath? Well, it certainly did that, though seeing him rage was the last sight you wanted to see. Alejandro always had trouble with his anger, often finding himself with all these feelings he had no clue how to control.

❝You always do what you want!❞ There it was, him blowing his fuse. He’d thrown his hands in the air, face tightened into a scowl. He couldn’t leave it at that, either, not when his rage came in such intense waves. ❝You’ll do what you always do—bleed me dry!❞

You couldn’t speak, despite how vicious you felt only seconds before. It seemed too truthful for your liking like he had been waiting for an excuse to spill his guts. ❝As long as you have enough to amuse yourself, I’m nothing to you, right?❞ He wasn’t yelling anymore, but his mocking tone was enough to tear at your heartstrings.

Had he seriously played that card with you—the man always insistent on taking care of you, financially, physically, emotionally? Now, of all times? The argument ended with you slamming the front door behind you, something he would’ve done.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

You spent weeks ignoring him, and throughout the pregnancy, it was dry texts or brief calls. His only sign that you were even alive was the notification that you had used his account to purchase necessities. The irony of it made Alejandro nauseous, how awful he made it sound that you were doing what he told you to; to let him take care of you. The fact that you didn’t drain the funds, only bought what you needed, spoke volumes.

❝I’m not upset at you, amor—I wasn’t upset with you.❞

Alejandro reached a hand across the picnic table, a firm but loving grip on your forearm. You looked beat; hair a different length than before, exhausted eyes that were brimming with tears, and most of all a growing stomach. It was all his fault; the reason you didn’t want to face him like this, in fear that he would cut you and the baby off for good. Only, he was there to see your face, not for confrontation or another spat.

It didn’t matter what you said, if you screamed at him right now, or said nothing. Alejandro had made up his mind the night you left. ❝I’ll come to every appointment, parenting class, anything.❞

—

Of all the nights for you to be in labor, it had to be during a wicked storm. You had gone over to his house to make civil conversation over dinner, to at least attempt at repairing things. He had slaved over the stove, cooking his favorite for you. For most of the meal, things were… surprisingly tranquil; even romantic.

You were heavily pregnant, were you supposed to refuse a warm meal? Not a chance. You were too full, too swollen to get up out of the dining chair once the meal finished. And looking out the window? There was no way in hell Alejandro was going to let you drive home in this; droplets whipped down, trees and waste bins flew away from the force of it, and the rain was icy. Well, you were exhausted, and he had a bed he was willing to give up. Your back and feet practically sighed in relief when you laid back in his bed, the one you two once shared. It was a nice feeling, being there again and knowing Alejandro was trying his hardest to plead forgiveness.

About an hour into your much needed-slumber, you felt a pool in the sheets. Instinctually, you figured it was the fetus pressing on your bladder—a downright embarrassing thing you’d have to wake up and explain to him. But… it was clear it wasn’t that. You were in labor and stuck here.

The shriek you let out when you got a violent contraction; Alejandro dashed quicker than he ever did when dodging bullets. His fumbling fingers dialed 911, yanking the comforter off the bed to get a better view of your dilation. Fortunately, he was trained on how to deliver a baby when stranded, or in a country without medical support. But this was his baby and your life was in his hands. If he didn’t do this correctly, if something went wrong, he would never forgive himself.

The ambulance wouldn’t be there for an hour—you didn’t have an hour to spare, this baby was coming now. ❝You can do this, amor, we’re doing this together.❞ One hand clenched yours, the other kept an eye on the crowning baby. Just how you hadn’t woken up sooner, neither of you knew. Perhaps you had gotten so used to cramps and pains, that you thought it was just another sleepless night courtesy of the little one.

—

The moment your wails went silent as his baby girl finally came, Alejandro felt his heart drop. He had to make the worst decision; focusing on the newborn first. He wrapped her in one of his shirts, wiping the fluid and blood from her small face. As he cradled her, a quick hand fingered for a pulse, a loud sigh escaping his lips when he felt one. You had only passed out from the pain—probably doing you a service, considering he didn’t have the proper medication to numb your pain.

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of the wailing child, still with gritted teeth. But your baby was there—and her lungs were very clearly working. Alejandro set her down on your chest, allowing you to hold your daughter for the first time. ❝You did so well, cariño. Look at her.❞ He was merely distracting you with the baby on your chest, to not divert your attention towards the state your body was in as he cleaned you up.

Somehow, he had pulled this off with both his girls safe, soon to be checked out properly at a hospital. When you first broke the news, he thought he knew the meaning of being so suddenly thrust into fatherhood, but that took on a whole new meaning after tonight.

König

There had once been a line he didn’t cross, but he did that night. König never yelled at you. He saved that stern side of him for his work because it was acceptable there. But in the weeks that his work had bled onto you, spoiling the relationship, his values seemed to loosen. Though he was a complicated man, a man uncertain of himself and his appearance, he maintained a hardness about him. Ruthless in the field and immensely protective of anyone that had come to love him. 

You approached him as he worked, placing the test on the desk he was sitting at. ❝König, I need to tell you something.❞

With his head facing the paperwork, he merely shrugged at you. Until he saw what you’d placed there, his eyes going wide. But it wasn’t shock or excitement; it was disdain for the fact that this baby was just another interruption—you were just another interruption. ❝I have no time for this, Schatz, you know that.❞

He didn’t need to raise his voice for his words to sting, his bitter tone was more than enough. But he surely hadn’t meant it like that, right? He’d meant he didn’t have time for this right now… right?

❝Why don’t you go rest, then?❞ He asks, picking up the folder that he was reading previously. It wasn’t a request made out of concern, König was patronizing you. His glare was typically enough to make a soldier scramble, but you just stood there for a few seconds, biting back the urge to choke.

How you left that night, it wasn’t dramatic or emotional, it was dry. König tells you to think clearly about this, to sleep on it. But you couldn’t—and you weren’t going to be a verbal punching bag.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

König only called you weekly for appointment updates, or to let you know he had sent you a check. Other than that, words dripped with tension and the urge to say so much more. But you were too stubborn for your own good, and so was he. You were more concerned with hosting life than playing games with a father who treated you like a wimp.

He’d only seen you once, during the second trimester when he showed up at your apartment. You protested, but he showed up anyway, saying he needed “proof” that you and the fetus were safe. The voice on the phone wasn’t enough, in his eyes.

Of course, when you needed him most, screaming and keeling over in the kitchen, he wasn’t there. It was a neighbor that called an ambulance for you because they knew they had a pregnant tenant next door. In fact, it was such a close call, you nearly didn’t make it to the delivery room before the newborn came out wailing.

The only plus side? While the paramedics were deterring you from pushing, you’d sent a text—probably unintelligible—but a text, nonetheless. He knew your due date, how today was only a few days off, and he was in his car before he could grasp the severity of this new life stage.

—

❝I’m here, schätzchen. I’m not going to hurt you again, or him.❞ He hunched over the bed, eyes in a perpetual state of disbelief as he watched you soothe the whining newborn. Clarity hit him like a truck when he heard your screams during delivery, and then he was all in. Not that he had a choice, this was his doing too.

He had given you the financial support to get proper nutrition for you and the baby, to pay for the appointments, but that wasn’t enough—not in König’s eyes. He needed to snap out of his self-pity and be a support system. Whether you wanted to co-parent or work on repairing the relationship, you were not under any circumstances taking care of this newborn alone, at your apartment.

He placed a hand in your hair, threading his fingers through the strands. ❝We can clear out the spare room, hm? There’s more than enough room for the two of you.❞ He was already picturing it, how he was going to pull an all-nighter and get to work on the room, going to your apartment and moving the baby supplies from yours to his.

König didn’t need to state the obvious, that you weren’t bound to any type of relationship besides the one concerning the child. Whether you wanted to move out once the baby hit a certain age or not, he was going to keep an eye on the two of you.

Two of you, not just the newborn you were rocking. It was either both of you, or neither, and he was intent on it being the first option.

If you made it this far - THANK YOU!

[azrielslittleslut]

Rhys x F!Reader

Lingerie with Rhys (Drabble)

Warnings: NSFW, mostly teasing, mention of pegging if you squint

Word Count: 741

a/n: i don't know how i feel about this one... hope you guys like it!

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

You peeked around the corner of the kitchen wall, your eyes searching the room for your mate. You found him sitting in the chair in front of his brothers, his head bent down over a stack of papers as he discussed only the Mother knows what with them.

Cassian and Azriel were in the chairs closest to the kitchen, their backs to you. You had shielded your scent with your magic, so they didn't know you were there. Even Azriel's nosy shadows would be unable to detect your presence. At least that's what you hoped.

Rhys was lounging in the chair farthest away from where you stood, but he had a perfect view of the kitchen wall where you were.

Perfect. Right where you wanted him.

Rhys had been so busy with High Lord matters recently, and you could see the toll it was taking on him. He never slept or ate, and he barely made the time to make love to you anymore.

You weren't mad at him, of course, but you missed him. You wanted to do something special to take his mind off of his stressors, and you had found the perfect thing while you were shopping earlier today.

You stepped around the wall, just enough to get Rhys's attention. His violet eyes met yours, and he offered you a small, tired smile. He quickly returned his attention to the papers, his mind more than likely making battle plans or creating new trade routes.

Now, that just won't do.

With a smile on your face, you untied the sheer robe around your body, moving it off your shoulders until it hit the ground in a pile of black lace. Beneath it, you wore a new lingerie set of deep purple, one that Rhys hadn't seen before.

The bra had delicate lace cups adorned with crystals that looked like stars. It was completely see-through, and your nipples hardened as they came into contact with the chilly air. The straps were also filled with crystals, sitting perfectly on your shoulders, outlining the collarbones that Rhys loved to mark with hickeys.

The matching panties were also made of purple lace, and it was barely enough material to cover your pussy and ass. Around your stomach, you had tied a purple bow, intending for you to be a present for Rhys to unwrap as a gift for his hard work. You had paired the whole ensemble with a set of shiny black stilettos, the heels lengthening your perfect legs.

You leaned seductively against the wall, arching your back just enough for Rhys to see your ass. Rhys, you said into his mind, your voice a caress. Come to bed.

In a minute, darling. We just need to finish the last few papers. Rhys's mental voice was absolute, giving you no room for argument. But you didn't care. Not when your sleep-and sex-deprived mate was sitting there, the tension in his shoulders so tight you could see it from across the room.

Fine, you murmured. I guess I'll just go enjoy this new lingerie I got by myself.

At that. Rhys's eyes head shot up, his wings twitching as he drank in your body like a glass of water. Darling. You look... fucking amazing.

Now, you could smell the arousal wafting off him, and so could Cass and Az. "Damn, brother," the former grumbled, his nose twitching. "I didn't know paperwork would get you off like that."

Az chuckled. "It's not the paperwork, Cass," he said. "You know that scent blocker doesn't work against my shadows, right?"

Damn that nosy shadowsinger.

"What-" Cassian started, his head turning to look behind him.

Rhys snarled. "If you look behind you, I will rip your fucking head off, Cassian."

Damn baby, you crooned into Rhys's mind. So worked up. Let me make you feel good.

Rhys's jaw twitched, a sign that he was considering the consequences of giving up on the paperwork. He just needed one more thing to persuade him...

I got the dildo we were looking at, you said, already turning around to head back to your bedroom. You know, the one that you said you wanted me to fuck-

You ran as you heard Rhys's chair hit the ground, his feet already carrying him over to you. You laughed as he caught you and winnowed you to the bedroom, ready and willing to see what all you had in store for him tonight.

general tag list: @quiet-loser @andreperez11 @lilah-asteria

@anarchiii @inkedinshadows @book-obsessed124

@scorpioriesling @olive-main @scarsandallaz

Kinktober tag list: @littlest-w01f @fourthwing4ever

@huff-le-puff-puff-pass @halo-hanging @velarisnightsky444 @whyshouldihaveanam3

[baestruly]

i'll be there

( ⋫ 𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖘𝖘𝖎 )  spencer reid x reader

⤷ IN WHICH, you're stressed with work, but spencer is there to help you

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 - hurt x comfort, fluff

The caress of sweet, warm sunlight might have been a balm on your skin, had it not been for the relentless pressure trapped within your head ━━ a tumultuous symphony of pounding echoes and silent screams.

The evening sun lashed out like a fiery whip, scorching your vision as you massaged wearied eyes, only to stir the relentless ache burrowing deeper within your head.

It wasn’t just the sunlight causing you to be in distress, it was the amount of paperwork you still had to get done. Even though you’ve been trying to multitask all week, you had to do it on the plane while also managing to find leads or behaviours on the criminals while also having to run home to your apartment because you received a text from your dog sitter ━━ who you pay probably too much, to look after your new dog saying he had ripped the whole place apart. Your needs, blankets, almost all of your pillows and of course, the couch!

Your therapist had recommended you get a job because of the stress you have been under for your new job. Yeah, new. Maybe that’s why you seemed like the odd one out because everyone was so much more experienced than you were. Of course, they had to start somewhere, but you felt like a rookie beside them, especially the smartest one, Spencer Reid, only having been on the force for around a month. 

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, the voices were getting to be too much. 

You’re a failure, you’ll never be as good as them! Get your head straight, you’re not thinking like a profiler, there's so much going on! It goes on and on and on━━

“Y/N?” 

Someone's voice snaps you from your thoughts, all of them shattering like glass as they scrape your skull. It bled, just like the blood on the floor of that poor girl━━

“Y/N? Hey━━hey, hey, hey, what’s the matter?” His voice was tinged with a palpable mixture of concern and fear, the words tumbling from him like a cascade of worry. He was closer now, having his shaky but reassuring hand on your arm. You weren’t able to feel the warmth because of the thick knitted sweater you wore for the colder months of November.

His eyes spiralled, reading every inch of expression on your face. By now, he could’ve figured it out and profiled you on his own━━hell, it wouldn’t even take a profiler to tell how stressed out you were, goddammit. But, he waited patiently, letting you know he was here despite his efforts to stay calm to keep you calm.

It wasn’t working.

 Spencer has always been the hesitant and shy type. Not when it came to his interests━━which were mostly about anything, really━━or profiling, but when it came to feelings, emotion or conversations, the poor guy was clueless.

Deep down you knew he had a good heart. You don’t think you’ve admired someone this much before, especially a friend.

You tried to stare into his eyes, but the voices in your head started again. This time, it wasn’t about the dog or your cold case, or even the bloody walls of the family home you’d visited on Wednesday.

You suddenly realized how terrified you were of dumping this on Spencer. The stress of this moment was too much, he was waiting for an answer and you couldn’t just stand there! Like that statue━━no, you couldn’t do that, not now.

“I━━I’m fine, Spencer.” You sprung from your seat, quickly pacing and turning your back to him as you picked up a few files from where you had been frantically working at your desk, giving yourself something to focus on other than the voices in your head and walls that were starting to crumble behind your eyes.

Like the crumpling statue on the ground.

You clenched your teeth. You needed to focus to get your shit done and get home in time to be able to sleep and eat! You haven't eaten anything all day?! Holy shit━━

Spencer stood in confusion and worry. His mind started scrambling thinking of ways to go about the situation. You’d think when it came to profiling he’d know exactly what to do or say that may help you or set you off, but when it came to you, the closest friend he’s ever made in less than a month, he was clueless, he didn’t want to make things worse.

Profiling was different, he didn’t know those people. 

He knew you.

And he guesses that his greatest fear at that moment was seeing you in distress, and not knowing what to do that would make it better. 

The girl's body lay limp in the bedroom. The throat detached like the grey, morbid statue, symbolizing nothing like the bloody corpse of who was once a bright happy girl, the soul ripped away from her.

You continued to pace around the room, grabbing your hair and clearing your throat. 

“Is there━━um, anything you want me to do? I’ll do it, Y/N just are—are you okay? Talk to me.”

You stopped, finally facing him, and that’s when Spencer could finally see your face.

But your eyes were red, like you had been crying before and bags were deeply engraved under your eyes as your hair became messier each time you ran your shaky hand through it. 

His heart broke a little. 

“I j━━just, okay━━I have a dog, the sitters have been calling me all week!” You shouted in frustration. Spencer blinked, startled, but he listened, brows furrowing. “Now she’s not there━━and I can’t even use my bed let alone the━━the couch and━━this case has gone cold, now we have another one and there’s just so many dead ends━━“ You stopped.

Silence.

“I just need everything to stop.” That’s it, the walls be damned because you couldn’t fucking hold it anymore no matter how hard you fought. And you think it’s safe to say you’ve fought hard enough this week. “I need to just shut my mind off.”

Your voice cracked as your breaths heaved in and out of your chest, somewhat relieved to get it all out. Now that your thoughts become your words, it only makes them more real.

You couldn’t breathe at all, every inhale you took as you doubled over in panic and distress didn’t fill your lungs, which only made your eyes widen with fear as your heart thundered in your ears. 

“Crap━━(Y/N), breathe with me alright? Okay, just one breath in━━" Spencer ran to your side, leading you to the sofa as he kneeled in front of you so his face was in your view. “Breathe out, nice and slow, you got it.” 

Your breath shook viscously with each inhale you took, but Spencer didn’t mind, nor did he seem to care about how crazy you thought you looked right now. Instead, he nodded at you with encouraging eyes when you opened yours, trying to find balance in his presence while he slowly and gently rubbed his thumb on the side of your cold hands.

“I’m good, I’m good.” You choke out with one last exhale now that your breathing seems to go back to normal. You were still out of breath as the lump in your throat remained.

“Hey, I know, you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.” He says softly but reassuringly, eyes glistening with concern and admiration for your efforts. Your bold personality always interested him, that’s why he’d been so shocked to see you in a state like this. Although you were bold, you seemed to close yourself off when it came to emotions. “Now, you’re fine with this today, alright?”

“No, I n━━“

He shushed you gently. “I know, Emily’s got it for you for the rest of the night. You need rest.”

You weren’t sure what was happening, but you followed Spencer to his car before feeling a sense of relief to be away from the office for a moment as the cold air from outside turned warmer with every second you sat in the seat with him. It was oddly comforting, and you breathed deeply, finding it easier to control it now. 

But of course, it all hit you.

“God━━Spence, I am so so sorry, shit━━"

“No! No, it’s okay, believe me when I say this, you have nothing to be sorry for.” He blinked a few times before scrunching his nose. “90 percent of people struggling do not speak up because, well, they’re scared of judgement, the other half of it being embarrassment when really, we have nothing to be embarrassed of. Everyone feels, you know. It’s basically impossible for all of us bring in our positions in this job to not be affected by the tragedies we see.”

“Wow, Spencer Reid, as a genius profiler I would’ve expected you to know not everyone feels.” She let out a breathy laugh, the skin under your eyes feeling dry from your tears. 

Spencer felt better that you were trying to lighten the mood. He smiled softly looking down at his hands as he nodded. “You know what I mean!” 

“Yes, Reid, I do.” You smiled back. “So, where are we going?”

“When you’re stressed out it’s better to do things that keep your mind away from it.” He starts. You knew that too. “Doing something peaceful is another effective way.”

“Sounds perfect.” You sighed a sigh of relief, leaning your head back slightly so it touched the seat. You felt reassured knowing Reid was here with you and was willing to help. Maybe all you needed was an extra hand, instead of putting more problems on yourself.

“Reid?” You say, hesitantly turning to look at him. You could feel the admiration luring out of them. “Thank you.”

He smiled, eyes thoughtful. “Of course. I want to help you.”

Although you remained seated, you encircled him in an awkward yet secure embrace, needing to convey just how grateful you were for his presence in that moment and in your life.

“Your heart━━it’s beating really fast.” You say softly once you pull away from his warm embrace. “You sufre you’re not stressed about anything right now?” 

“Well━━there, uh, maybe one thing.” He stuttered, as his nervous but warm hands cupped your face, his thumb glinting across your skin much like the time back at the BAU when he held your hand during your panic attack. 

“Wouldn’t take a profiler to figure it out.” You whispered, your lips softly pressing against his, delicate and soft. He kissed you as if you were fragile and his hand was the only thing keeping you together as his lips moved against yours. His hand moved into your hair, caressing your head hoping his kisses could make all your pain go away.

You could sense his smile against yours, lips stretching into a thin line of joy, as your laughter tangled messily with his. Admiration was pumping through your veins, but nothing compared to the love pumping in your rapidly beating heart, all your stress being replaced with warmth and admiration.

If Spencer became the air that filled your lungs, the very breath of your existence, you'd no longer need to learn how to breathe.

a/n: that was my first time writing for spencer so pls be nice!!

i haven't wrote in a while but i'm happy to be back! please request anything for spencer in my request box

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