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reiding-writing · 21 hours ago

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YOU OPENED YOUR REQUESTS?? omg a wonderful start to the new year!! ignore if this doesn’t speak to your soul— but would you be able to write a good old fashioned best friends to lovers, mutual pining fic for reid? i’m a sucker for the “he fell first, she fell harder” trope, like he’s been in love with her since day one and their friendship has always toed the line of something more, but she’s an oblivious genius and doesn’t realize how deep their affections for each other run……. and like when she realizes her feelings (like a brick to the head) she starts DISTANCING HERSELF OOH A LITTLE ANGST THERE and reid is like :(( what did i do :(( but it’s ok bc they smooch and make up in the end

263 DAYS — SPENCER REID!

a lot can change in 263 days.

spencer reid x fem!reader | 7.3k | flangst | masterlist.

a/n — writing longer fics like this is so fun but also so long, but it’s been nice to get back into it 🙂‍↕️

WARNINGS | friends to lovers, emotional distancing, brief (almost) argument, reader gets injured and goes to the hospital (but recovers fine), happy ending

DAY ONE

You step into the conference room of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, a mixture of nerves and anticipation twisting in your stomach.

The space feels both larger and smaller than you'd imagined—a sprawling table, chairs scattered in quiet disarray, and a dozen tiny details you'd only seen in crime documentaries and shadowed profiles on paper.

The faint scent of coffee and something metallic—maybe old ink—hangs in the air, grounding you. You take a slow, measured breath, trying to steady yourself.

You’re here. You made it.

“First day?”

The voice is soft, inquisitive, and it pulls your attention immediately. You glance to your right and meet the eyes of someone who seems equally curious and cautious, like a bird assessing whether you’re safe to approach.

He’s lanky, taller than you expected, with an untamed mop of brown hair and a pair of shoes that look like they’ve seen a decade’s worth of pavement. Spencer Reid, you realise.

“Yes,” you manage, your voice steadier than you feel. “And you must be Dr. Reid.”

He smiles at the title, though it seems more reflexive than genuine. He shuffles forward a step, hands awkwardly held together behind his back. “Just Reid. Or Spencer. Whichever you prefer.”

You offer your hand to him, nervous, but inviting. “Nice to meet you, Reid.”

He nods quickly, eyes flickering over your hand like he wants to take it, but he doesn’t. “Sorry, I don’t uh— germs—”

“Oh,” You pull your hand back a little too quickly, awkwardly stuffing it into your pocket. “Sorry, uh—”

“No, no, it’s not you, I’m just— conscious about it,” He presses his lips together in what almost a smile, a silent apology.

You mirror it. “It’s nice to meet you anyway,”

“You too,”

His gaze flicks over you, not in the usual appraising way you’ve grown used to from strangers, but more like he’s cataloging details he can’t quite put into words. There’s no judgment in his eyes, just pure, unabashed interest.

“You’re nervous,” He says, then winces. “Sorry. That sounded... obvious. I just meant—it’s normal. Most people are their first day. Especially here,” His voice lowers slightly, conspiratorial. “It can be... intense.”

A laugh escapes you, light and involuntary, breaking the tension in your chest. “Not exactly comforting, but thanks for the honesty,”

This time, his smile reaches his eyes. “I’m not great at comfort, but I excel at honesty.”

You find yourself smiling back, even as a small voice in the back of your mind whispers that you shouldn’t let your guard down so easily. Not here, not yet.

But something about Reid—his sincerity, the way he tilts his head like he’s trying to solve a puzzle only you can provide—makes it hard to resist.

“So, what brought you to the BAU?” he asks.

The question is simple enough, but the weight behind it is clear. He isn’t just asking out of politeness; he genuinely wants to know. You consider your answer carefully, aware of the dozen eyes that will likely follow your every move today.

“Truthfully? It’s… been a dream for years,” you admit. “I’ve always been fascinated by the psychology of it. How people work, why they do what they do. And... I guess I wanted to make a difference,”

His expression shifts, softens, like you’ve just handed him a piece of yourself and he knows better than to drop it. “That makes sense,” he says quietly. “You’ll be good at this,”

The confidence in his words surprises you. “You don’t even know me,”

“Not yet,” he says, and there’s something almost playful in his tone. “But I’m usually good at reading people. Comes with the job,”

“Any initial impressions?”

He hesitates, and for a moment, you think he might deflect. But then his gaze meets yours again, steady and unwavering. “You’re smart. Observant. But you second-guess yourself more than you need to. And... you’re kind. I think you’ll see things others might miss because of that,”

The honesty in his voice leaves you momentarily speechless. Kind isn’t a word you’d ever considered an asset in this field, but the way he says it makes you wonder if it could be.

“Thanks,” You say, and mean it.

Before he can respond, another voice cuts through the room. “Reid! Stop monopolising the newbie and get over here.”

You glance over to see another man—broad-shouldered, with a gruff boyishness to him. If you had to guess, you’d say that Derek Morgan.

Reid offers a small, apologetic shrug and gives you a quick, almost shy smile before moving to join the others.

As the team gathers around the table, you feel his presence more acutely than you should, like an invisible thread connecting you even when you’re not speaking. Every so often, you catch him glancing your way, his brow furrowing as if he’s trying to figure out a particularly tricky equation. And maybe he is.

Over the course of the day, you learn what makes Reid so extraordinary.

The encyclopaedic knowledge, the way his mind works at lightning speed, piecing together patterns and details that no one else sees.

But you also notice the little things—the way he fidgets with a pen when he’s nervous, the way his voice speeds up when he gets excited, the way he looks at you like you’re the most fascinating mystery he’s ever encountered.

By the time the day ends, you’re exhausted but exhilarated, your head spinning with new information and possibilities. As you gather your things, Reid approaches you again, his movements hesitant but deliberate.

“You did well today,” he says, and there’s no trace of condescension in his tone—just genuine praise.

“Thanks,” you say, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the compliment itself and everything to do with who it’s coming from.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then, as if unable to stop himself, Reid blurts out, “You’re going to fit in here. I can tell,”

You tilt your head, studying him. “And you’re sure about that? Already?”

He nods, his gaze earnest. “I don’t know how to explain it. I just... I feel like you belong.”

The words linger between you, heavy with a meaning you can’t quite name. You smile, soft and unsure, and he mirrors it, his expression a little brighter than before.

As you walk out of the building together, the weight of the day finally settling on your shoulders, you can’t help but think that maybe Reid is right.

Maybe you do belong here.

DAY ONE-HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-NINE

The BAU has a way of warping time. Six months can feel like six years, and yet, it can pass in the blink of an eye.

By now, you’ve settled into the team, carving out a place that feels solid, even comfortable. The initial nerves have faded, replaced by a quiet confidence that surprises even you. But the biggest surprise is Reid.

Somewhere along the way, he’s become your constant. Late nights poring over case files often turn into coffee runs, his impossibly detailed book recommendations have all but taken over your nightstand, and your shared chess games have become an unspoken ritual, the board tucked into the corner of the break room practically reserved for the two of you.

It’s not that you don’t notice the way he seems to gravitate toward you—it’s just that you don’t think much of it.

Reid is Reid: attentive, brilliant, and endlessly curious. If he listens a little more intently when you speak, if his smiles linger longer than necessary, if he remembers details you barely recall sharing, well, that’s just how he is. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

The morning starts like any other.

A case has just wrapped, leaving you with a rare, precious day in the office to catch up on paperwork and recover. The bullpen hums with low chatter and the rhythmic tapping of keyboards, but your attention is elsewhere—specifically on the chessboard in front of you.

“Check,” Reid announces, his tone smug but his face a careful mask of neutrality. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed loosely, his expression daring you to find an out.

You narrow your eyes at the board, studying the positions like your life depends on it. “I don’t like you very much right now,” you mutter, earning a soft laugh from him.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, his voice warm.

“Don’t I?” you quip, your fingers hovering over your knight. You’re stalling, and he knows it.

“Take your time,” he says, though there’s a playful glint in his eye. “It’s not like you have anything else to do today.”

You glare at him, but there’s no heat behind it. “You’re enjoying this too much,”

“Maybe a little,”

The banter is easy, familiar. It’s become second nature by now, a rhythm you fall into without thinking. Finally, with a dramatic sigh, you move your knight, narrowly avoiding defeat.

Reid’s brow furrows as he examines the board. “Not bad,” he concedes.

“I’ll take it,” you reply, leaning back in your chair and stretching.

“Lunch?” he asks, already rising to his feet.

“Let me guess,” you say, smirking. “Thai food again?”

“It’s efficient,” he says, as though that explains everything.

“Efficient isn’t the same as exciting,” you tease, but you grab your jacket anyway.

The walk to the nearby restaurant is brisk, the February air biting against your skin. Reid falls into step beside you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

“Did you finish that book I lent you?” he asks, glancing at you.

“Not yet,” you admit. “But I’m close. You were right—it’s better than I expected,”

He grins, and you feel a flicker of satisfaction at the sight. “Told you. It’s all about the narrative structure. Did you notice how the author—”

“Reid,” you interrupt, laughing. “Save the lecture for later. I’m still processing and I have a feeling you’re going to spoil the ending,”

He huffs but lets it go, his grin lingering.

—

Back at the office, you dive into the endless pile of paperwork waiting on your desk. Hours pass in a blur of forms and reports, the steady hum of activity around you lulling you into a comfortable rhythm.

It’s only when a steaming cup of coffee appears in your peripheral vision that you realize how long you’ve been sitting there.

“Thought you could use this,” Reid says, setting the cup down beside you.

You blink up at him, surprised but grateful. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“I know,” he says, his lips twitching into a small smile.

He doesn’t leave, instead pulling a chair up beside you and settling in. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the quiet companionship as natural as breathing.

“You know,” you say, glancing at him, “you don’t have to babysit me.”

“I’m not,” he says simply. “I like being here.”

There’s something in his tone that makes you pause, a softness that feels almost... vulnerable. But before you can dwell on it, he shifts the conversation, asking about your latest case report.

The moment passes, but it stays with you, an echo at the back of your mind.

—

The day winds down with another chess game, this one more competitive than the last. The bullpen has emptied out, the rest of the team long gone, leaving just the two of you and the faint hum of the building’s heating system.

“Checkmate,” Reid announces, his tone triumphant.

You groan, dropping your head onto the table. “I give up. You’re officially unbeatable,”

He laughs, the sound soft and unguarded. “You’re getting better,” he says, and you know he means it.

“Flattery won’t save you next time,” you say, sitting up and meeting his gaze.

His smile falters, just for a moment, and there’s something in his eyes you can’t quite place—something intense and unspoken. You tilt your head, about to ask if everything’s okay, but he looks away, busying himself with packing up the chess pieces.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asks, his voice carefully neutral.

“Of course,” you say, watching him.

As you part ways for the night, that look lingers in your mind, and for the first time, you wonder if there’s more to Reid’s attentiveness than you’ve allowed yourself to see.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FOUR

It starts with the little things.

You notice Reid’s uncanny ability to anticipate your needs long before you voice them. A cup of your favorite tea waiting for you on your desk after a long day.

A book you mentioned in passing, slipped into your bag with a handwritten note on why you’d love it. The way he finishes your sentences, not out of impatience, but because he’s somehow always attuned to what you’re thinking.

It’s Reid being Reid, you tell yourself. He’s observant, that’s his job. It doesn’t mean anything more than that.

But then there are the things he shouldn’t know. Like how your nose crinkles when you laugh too hard, a detail even you hadn’t thought about until you catch him smiling faintly at the sight. Or the way he hums along, almost unconsciously, to the songs you sing under your breath while focused on paperwork.

You’d dismiss it as coincidence, but Reid doesn’t believe in coincidences.

It’s a cold, gray morning when the call comes in—a double homicide in a rural town that has the local police out of their depth. By mid-afternoon, you’re knee-deep in the case, the clues coming together like pieces of a grim puzzle.

You and Reid are tasked with canvassing a suspect’s property, a sprawling, dilapidated farmhouse that creaks ominously with every step. It’s quiet—too quiet—and the sense of unease prickles at the back of your neck.

“I don’t like this,” you mutter, glancing at Reid.

He nods, his hand hovering near his weapon. “Neither do I. Let’s stick together,”

The words are barely out of his mouth when it happens. A figure bursts from the shadows, wielding a machete with reckless desperation.

You react instinctively, your weapon raised, but the suspect moves faster than you expect, slamming into you with full force.

Pain explodes in your side as you hit the ground, the breath knocked from your lungs. Reid’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and commanding.

“FBI! Drop the weapon!”

The suspect hesitates for a fraction of a second—just long enough for Reid to act. His shot is precise, disarming but not lethal, and the suspect crumples to the ground, writhing in pain.

Reid is at your side in an instant, his hands trembling as he presses them against the slash on your side, stumbling through the order for a medic on his radio.

“You’re okay,” he says, his voice tight with panic. “You’re going to be okay.”

You manage a weak laugh, wincing at the pain it causes. “You can’t get rid of me that easy, Reid,”

His eyes dart to yours, wide and filled with something that looks an awful lot like fear. “Don’t joke,” he murmurs. “Please don’t joke.”

His hands are gentle but firm as he applies pressure to the wound, his lips moving in a quiet stream of reassurances you barely register. “Just breathe. Help’s on the way. You’re fine. You’re fine.”

The world blurs at the edges, but through it all, you feel him—his presence steady and unyielding, anchoring you to the moment.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND SIX

You wake in a hospital bed, the sterile smell of antiseptic filling your nose. It takes a moment for the haze to clear, and when it does, the first thing you see is Reid.

He’s sitting in a chair beside you, his posture stiff, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and his hair messier than usual, but when he notices you stirring, his expression softens with relief.

“You’re awake,” he says, and there’s a faint tremor in his voice.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” you say, your voice hoarse.

His laugh is soft, almost disbelieving. “You have a talent for understatement,”

He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and for a moment, he just looks at you. There’s something in his gaze—something raw and unguarded—that makes your chest tighten.

“I thought—” He stops, swallowing hard. “I don’t know,”

“I’m alright, Reid” You offer gently.

He nods, but his jaw tightens as if he’s holding back a thousand words. “You scared me,” he admits finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

You reach out, your fingers brushing his arm, and the tension in his shoulders eases slightly. “I’m okay,” you say, and though the words feel inadequate, they seem to bring him some comfort.

For the rest of the night, he stays by your side, his quiet devotion more reassuring than any words could be. And for the first time, you start to wonder if there’s more to Reid’s attentiveness than you’ve allowed yourself to see.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND THIRTY-SEVEN

The BAU rarely has time for unwinding, but tonight is one of those rare evenings. A case has wrapped early, the unsub is in custody, and Hotch decided to reward the team with a dinner at a cozy Italian restaurant not far from Quantico. The room is filled with laughter, the clink of glasses, and the scent of fresh bread and marinara.

You sit sandwiched between Morgan and Reid, your wine glass half-full and your plate of pasta nearly untouched. The conversation flows easily—Morgan cracking jokes, Garcia spinning outrageous anecdotes, Rossi offering sage commentary.

You chime in when prompted, but your mind is elsewhere, your attention flicking between your teammates and the warm, intimate glow of the restaurant.

It’s when the laughter swells again, this time at something Garcia said, that you notice it.

Reid’s gaze.

He’s looking at you, not laughing, not even smiling, just... looking.

It’s not the way someone glances at a friend or colleague. His eyes hold something deeper, something unspoken but achingly clear. Admiration. Longing. Affection so palpable it steals the breath from your lungs.

The realisation hits you like a freight train, or perhaps a brick to the head, straight into your brain like it’s punishing you.

Every late-night chess game. Every quiet conversation over coffee. The way he remembers the smallest details about you, the warmth in his voice when he says your name, the way his presence feels like a comfort you didn’t know you needed—all of it comes crashing into focus.

How had you missed it?

But the thought doesn’t end there. Because as much as his gaze stirs something in you, it also forces you to confront the ache you’ve felt for months.

The way your chest tightens when he smiles at someone else. The way your pulse quickens when he’s near. The way your stomach flips at the simplest touch—a brush of his hand against yours, his knee grazing yours under the table.

Oh no.

Panic bubbles in your chest, threatening to spill over. You tear your gaze away, your hands fumbling for your wine glass as you take a too-large sip. It does little to steady you.

“Hey,” Morgan says, nudging you lightly with his elbow. “You good? You’ve been quiet,”

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, the words too sharp, too rehearsed.

Morgan raises an eyebrow, but thankfully, Garcia swoops in to demand his attention, sparing you further interrogation.

Beside you, Reid shifts slightly, his knee brushing yours again. The touch is electric, sending a jolt straight to your heart. You chance a glance at him, and for a moment, you think he might say something, but instead, he simply offers you a soft, almost hesitant smile.

It’s that smile—sweet and unguarded—that undoes you.

You force yourself to focus on the chatter around the table, the way Garcia’s voice rises animatedly, the way Rossi’s laughter rumbles like distant thunder.

Anything to keep from drowning in the realisation that Spencer Reid, your closest friend and the person who knows you better than anyone, has somehow become the centre of your world.

And worse—much worse—is the fear that you’ve been blind to his feelings for so long, that your obliviousness might have hurt him in ways you don’t yet understand.

By the time dinner ends, your head is spinning, your chest tight with emotions you don’t know how to name, let alone confront.

As the team begins to gather their things and head for the door, Reid lingers beside you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “You sure you’re okay?” he asks softly, his voice tinged with concern.

You force a smile, though it feels brittle. “Just tired. Long day,”

He nods, but the worry in his eyes doesn’t fade. “If you need to talk—”

“I’m fine, Reid,” you say, a little too quickly. A little too sharply.

His expression falters, and guilt twists in your stomach. You want to explain, to tell him that your panic has nothing to do with him and everything to do with the fact that you’ve just realised you’re in love with him. But the words stick in your throat, too raw, too terrifying to voice.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you manage, grabbing your coat and heading for the door before he can respond.

As you step into the chilly night air, the weight of your realization settles over you, heavy and inescapable.

You’re in love with Spencer Reid. And you have no idea what to do about it.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FOURTY-TWO

The days that follow are a blur of avoidance and self-doubt. You bury yourself in work, volunteering for extra tasks, lingering at your desk long after everyone else has gone home. When Reid suggests coffee or a quick game of chess, you make excuses—paperwork, errands, a headache.

“It’s not you,” you insist each time, forcing a smile that you hope looks convincing. “Just busy.”

But it is him. Or rather, it’s you. The truth feels too messy, too raw to share. You can’t bear the thought of risking your friendship, of letting your feelings slip and watching the warmth in his eyes dim with awkward discomfort. It’s easier this way, you tell yourself. Cleaner.

It doesn’t feel cleaner. It feels awful.

—

Reid is nothing if not perceptive. You know this, and yet it still catches you off guard when he notices your distance almost immediately.

At first, he’s subtle about it. A furrowed brow when you brush past him in the bullpen without stopping to chat. A quiet “Are you okay?” when you excuse yourself from a team lunch, claiming a nonexistent phone call.

But as the days stretch into weeks, his concern deepens.

One evening, after a particularly grueling case debrief, he approaches your desk with a tentative smile, holding out a steaming cup of your favorite tea.

“Peace offering?” he says lightly.

You glance up, surprised, and for a moment, the warmth in his expression makes your resolve waver. But then the weight of your feelings crashes over you again, and you force a polite but distant smile.

“Thanks, Reid,” you say, taking the cup without meeting his eyes. “But I really need to finish this.”

He hesitates, the smile slipping. “Did I... do something?”

The question hits you like a punch to the gut. You look up, startled, and find him watching you with a mixture of confusion and hurt that makes your chest ache.

“What? No, of course not,” you say quickly, too quickly.

“Then why—” He stops, his hands fidgeting with the strap of his bag. “What’s wrong?”

Your heart sinks. “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” you lie, but even as the words leave your mouth, you know he doesn’t believe them.

“Right,” he says softly, his gaze dropping to the floor.

The silence between you stretches uncomfortably, heavy with everything you’re not saying. Finally, he nods, stepping back.

“Okay,” he says, his voice tight. “I’ll… let you get back to work, then,”

As he walks away, a knot of guilt tightens in your chest. You want to call him back, to explain, to apologise, but the words won’t come. Instead, you sit frozen at your desk, watching him retreat with his shoulders slightly slumped, and wonder if you’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life.

—

That night, Reid lies awake, staring at the ceiling of his apartment as your words echo in his mind.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

The lie is so transparent it hurts. He replays every recent interaction, searching for the moment he might have crossed a line, the moment he lost you.

Did he hover too much? Was he too pushy with his invitations? Did he say something wrong?

The thought that he might have ruined your friendship gnaws at him, an ache that refuses to fade. He tries to focus on the logical, the facts: you said he hadn’t done anything.

But facts don’t explain why the laughter in your eyes has dimmed, why the easy rhythm of your friendship has crumbled into awkward silences and forced smiles.

He doesn’t sleep that night, and by morning, he’s no closer to an answer.

But one thing is clear: he can’t lose you. Not like this.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FOURTY-NINE

It’s late when the team finally returns to Quantico, the exhaustion of a long case settling over everyone like a heavy fog. You’re the first to escape the bullpen, eager to retreat to the quiet sanctuary of your apartment. But just as you grab your coat, a voice stops you.

“Can we talk?”

You turn to find Reid standing behind you, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his expression a mix of worry and determination.

“Reid, I’m really tired—”

“Please.” His voice is soft but insistent, his eyes searching yours. “Just a few minutes.”

You hesitate, your instinct to avoid clashing with the ache in his voice. Finally, you nod, letting your coat drop back onto the rack.

He leads you to one of the empty conference rooms, closing the door behind you with a quiet click. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence stretching taut between you.

“Did I do something to upset you?” he asks finally, his voice trembling slightly. “Because if I did, I—I don’t know what it was. And I need to know, because you’ve been distant, and I—” He falters, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I miss you.”

The raw honesty in his words nearly undoes you. “Reid...” You take a step back, panic rising in your chest. “You didn’t do anything. I’ve just… been busy.”

“Busy?” he repeats, his voice laced with disbelief. He looks up, and the hurt in his eyes is like a punch to the gut. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

You stammer, searching for an excuse, but the words feel hollow even as you speak them. “It’s just... work has been overwhelming, and I haven’t had time, and—”

“Stop,” he says softly, cutting you off.

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I know you,” he says, his voice steady now, though there’s an edge of desperation beneath it. “I know when something’s wrong, and something is wrong. You don’t avoid people because you’re ‘busy.’ You don’t avoid me unless there’s a reason.”

You swallow hard, your throat tight. “I’m not avoiding you—”

“Yes, you are,” he says firmly. He takes a step closer, his expression earnest, pleading. “I just... I need to understand. Did I do something to push you away? Did I say something, or—”

“No!” The word bursts out of you, louder than you intended. You see him flinch slightly, and your resolve crumbles. “No, Reid, you didn’t do anything.”

“Then why?” he asks, his voice breaking. “Why are you pulling away from me?”

His hurt expression cuts you to the core, and for a moment, you consider telling him the truth—laying it all out, messy and terrifying as it is. But fear holds you back, the fear of ruining everything, of crossing a line that can never be uncrossed.

“I can’t,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I just... I can’t.”

His brow furrows, confusion clouding his features. “Can’t what?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and unanswerable. You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, and what you see there—hurt, confusion, and something deeper, something vulnerable—almost breaks you.

“I’m sorry,” you say softly, the words barely audible. “I’m so sorry.”

And before he can say another word, you turn and walk away, leaving him standing alone in the empty room.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FIFTY-THREE

You don’t even remember the drive to Reid’s apartment. The streets blur past in a haze of headlights and cold January air, your heart pounding like a war drum in your chest.

The weight of your own cowardice has become unbearable. His hurt expression haunts you, replaying over and over, the echo of his words a constant refrain: “Why are you pulling away from me?”

You can’t do this anymore. You can’t keep pretending you’re fine when every moment away from him feels like a slow unraveling.

By the time you reach his door, your nerves are frayed to the breaking point. You hesitate for a moment, your hand poised to knock, before finally forcing yourself to take the leap.

Three short raps echo in the quiet hallway.

The door opens after a moment, and there he is—Spencer Reid, standing in sweatpants and a rumpled t-shirt, his hair slightly disheveled, his expression wary but softening the instant he sees you.

“Hey,” he says, his voice uncertain.

“Hi,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

His brow furrows slightly. “Is everything okay?”

“No.” The word slips out before you can stop it, raw and unfiltered. You take a shaky breath, clutching the strap of your bag like it might anchor you to the moment. “Can I come in please?”

He steps aside immediately, his concern deepening as he watches you.

Once inside, you pace the small living room, your hands trembling, your mind racing. Reid stands by the door, watching you with a mix of confusion and apprehension, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“Okay, you’re scaring me a little,” he says gently. “What’s going on?”

You stop pacing, your back to him, and close your eyes for a moment, gathering every ounce of courage you have. When you turn to face him, the words tumble out in a rush.

“I have been avoiding you,”

He knew that. But hearing you say it tears him up just a little.

“because I’m an idiot,” you continue, your voice trembling. “Because I thought it would be easier to push you away than to deal with the fact that I—” You falter, your throat tightening, but you force yourself to continue.

“I’m in love with you, Reid.”

His eyes widen, his lips parting in surprise, but you keep going, afraid that if you stop now, you’ll lose the nerve to finish.

“And I was scared. Scared of ruining our friendship, scared you’d look at me differently, scared of losing you. So I distanced myself, and it was stupid and selfish, and I’m sorry.” Your voice cracks, and you take a shaky step toward him. “I’m so sorry, Spencer.”

For a moment, the silence is deafening. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, just stares at you with an unreadable expression.

“Say something,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Please?”

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he takes a step toward you. Then another. And another, until he’s standing so close you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“I’ve been in love with you since the day we met,” he says softly, his voice trembling with emotion.

Your breath catches in your throat. “What?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he continues, his eyes searching yours. “You’re brilliant and kind and funny, and you make me feel like I’m not... like I’m not so different. I didn’t want to risk losing you, so I kept it to myself, even though it killed me to see you pull away.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, a rush of relief and disbelief and something achingly tender.

“Spencer...”

He steps closer, his hand lifting to cup your face, his touch impossibly gentle. “You don’t have to be scared anymore,” he whispers. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Before you can respond, he pulls you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you might disappear. You bury your face in his shoulder, the familiar scent of him—coffee and faint traces of his shampoo—wrapping around you like a balm.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur against his chest, your voice muffled.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands still resting on your arms. “Don’t be,” he says, his gaze soft and unwavering. “We’ve both been scared. But we don’t have to be anymore.”

You nod, a tear slipping down your cheek, and he brushes it away with his thumb, his touch lingering.

“Does this mean I can invite you to coffee again without you running away?” he asks, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You laugh, the sound shaky but genuine. “Yeah, yeah that’d be nice—”

His smile widens, and before you can overthink it, you lean in and press your lips to his.

The kiss starts tentative, a soft brush of lips, as if both of you are testing the waters, unsure of what to expect after so long of keeping everything bottled up.

But as the seconds pass, as your heart beats faster and your pulse races with the rush of finally having everything laid bare between you, the kiss deepens.

It’s overwhelming, more than you ever imagined. The gentle pressure of his lips on yours sends waves of warmth through you, and it’s as if everything else—everything you’ve been afraid of, everything that’s kept you distant—melts away in that single, perfect moment.

The tension, the months of pining and longing, spill into the kiss, filling the space between you with everything you’ve been holding back.

You slide your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and he responds instantly, his hands moving to your waist, holding you tightly as if he’s afraid this moment might slip away. His lips are soft but eager, the kind of kiss that says everything words couldn’t express.

The world outside this room fades into nothingness—the hum of the city, the quiet night air, the noise of your past self-doubt—all of it is gone. It’s just you and him now, tangled up in each other in a way that feels so natural, so right.

You pull back slightly, breathless, and when you look at him, the expression in his eyes is one of pure awe. He’s looking at you like you’re something he’s dreamed of for so long but never thought he’d get to touch.

“You,” he breathes, his voice barely a whisper, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,”

You laugh softly, still reeling from the intensity of the kiss, the electric feeling of his arms around you. “I think I have some idea,” you say, smiling through the haziness of your emotions. “I’m not that oblivious,”

He smiles, a little sheepishly, and presses his forehead to yours. “Yeah, well… I guess we’re both just really good at pretending.”

“Not anymore,” you say, your voice filled with newfound certainty. “No more pretending. No more running. From now on, it’s just... us.”

Reid’s smile widens, and he nods. His hands move to cup your face, the touch tender, reverent. “I promise,” he says softly. “I promise, I won’t let fear get in the way again,”

You nod, your chest swelling with relief. You feel the same. Fear won’t keep you apart any longer.

The transition from being friends to lovers feels seamless, like something that was always meant to happen but only needed the right moment to click into place.

There’s no awkwardness, no second-guessing. It feels like this was the way things were always supposed to be, as if every conversation, every shared laugh, every moment you’d spent together was building toward this.

“You know,” he says quietly, a hint of playfulness returning to his voice, “I think I’m starting to like this ‘not pretending’ thing.”

You chuckle, your heart full, and pull him into another kiss, this one more relaxed, more comfortable. There’s no rush now—just the simple, perfect feeling of being in his arms, of knowing you don’t have to hide anymore.

When you pull away again, you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “I love you,” you murmur.

“I love you too,” he replies, his voice a little thick with emotion. “I’ve loved you for so long.”

The words are simple, but they carry the weight of everything you’ve both been through.

And as you stand there in his arms, the world outside his apartment feels like a distant memory, something far away that no longer matters. All that matters is the feeling of being together, of stepping into the future with him, side by side. No more fear. No more distance. Just you and him.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND FIFTY-SIX

Returning to work after that night feels surreal, like stepping into a world that’s familiar but somehow brighter, sharper. Everything feels new, but also so wonderfully right.

The team notices almost immediately. They’re profilers, after all.

It starts with the little things—your hand brushing against Spencer’s as you both reach for the same file, the soft, shared smiles exchanged across the bullpen, the way you instinctively gravitate toward him during team meetings.

Morgan’s eyebrows shoot up the first time he catches Spencer stealing a glance at you, his expression so openly fond it borders on dreamy.

“Something you want to tell us, Pretty Boy?” Morgan teases one morning as Spencer sits at his desk, clearly distracted.

Spencer startles, his ears turning red as he fumbles with his pen. “I—uh, no, nothing.”

From her desk, Garcia narrows her eyes suspiciously, then looks at you, her gaze bouncing between the two of you like she’s connecting the dots. “Wait a second. Are you two—?”

“We’re not talking about this,” you say quickly, though the smile tugging at your lips betrays your attempt at sternness.

“Oh, we will talk about this,” Garcia says, grinning triumphantly. “Just as soon as I gather my emotional support snacks.”

Hotch and Rossi, ever the professionals, don’t comment, but the knowing looks they exchange speak volumes.

So does the HR form that magically appears on your desk the same afternoon.

DAY TWO-HUNDRED AND SIXTY-THREE

A quiet afternoon, as the team prepares for a lull between cases, Spencer walks into the bullpen holding a carefully wrapped package. The sight of him—nervously shifting from foot to foot, his hair slightly mussed, his tie askew—makes your heart ache in the best way.

“Hey,” he says softly, approaching your desk.

“Hey,” you reply, setting aside the file you’ve been working on. “What’s that?”

He holds out the package, his fingers brushing yours as you take it. “It’s for you,” he says, a little shyly. “I’ve had it for a while, but… I was waiting for the right moment,”

Curiosity piqued, you carefully unwrap the package, your breath catching when you see what’s inside: a first-edition copy of a book you’d mentioned offhandedly months ago, a rare find you never thought you’d own.

“Spencer,” you breathe, running your fingers reverently over the worn leather cover. “This is—this is incredible.”

He shrugs, his cheeks flushing pink. “I remembered how much you loved it, and, well… I wanted you to have it,”

You stare at him for a moment, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of the gesture, by the quiet devotion it represents. Setting the book aside, you rise from your chair and step closer to him.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice soft but filled with emotion.

Before he can respond, you lean in and kiss him, your hands resting gently on his shoulders. It’s not your first kiss, but it feels just as electric, just as full of promise.

When you pull back, his eyes are bright, his smile soft and radiant. “I think I like this ‘new chapter’ we’re in,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with affection.

“Me too,” you reply, your heart swelling as you brush a stray curl from his forehead.

As you return to your desk, the book resting on the corner like a talisman of everything you’ve built together, you steal another glance at him.

He’s already immersed in his work, his brow furrowed in concentration, but when he catches you looking, he smiles—one of those rare, unguarded smiles that makes your chest ache with how much you love him.

This is where I’m supposed to be, you think. And Spencer would agree.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #mgg #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst

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vhannilah · 2 days ago

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i. how to be a real man

pairing. player 388 | kang dae-ho x f! reader

summary. dae-ho's trauma serves as a reminder for him of his unpleasant past that keeps haunting him till this day. luckily, he always has you by his side.

contains. au, ooc(?), light angst w/ happy ending

EVEN without admitting it, Dae-ho was well aware of the fact that he's not as strong as he tries to appear to be.

The trauma he received from the past was a living proof of how Dae-ho would never be able to live up to the expectations of what his father had wanted and pressured him to be since he was a child— a real man.

But, he couldn't follow the rules dictated by the society of what makes one a real man. Not when his actions speaks for what he truly is. Dae-ho was not like how other men usually act when in a relationship.

This made him feel insecure about himself. It made him question whether he's truly deserves to be with someone like you.

He is not the type of boyfriend who puts great importance on emphasizing his masculinity through acts of being the dominant or tough one in the relationship.

No, your boyfriend, Kang Dae-ho, was the type of lover who shows his vulnerable side to you. A man who knows his boundaries and respects yours as well as your decisions, even when it doesn't align with his.

Kang Dae-ho is the type of man that can be tough when he needed to be.

And you preferred him to be that way.

You were sitting in the sofa with Dae-ho's head on your lap while his body was sprawled on the couch. You played with his soft hair, occasionally massaging his scalp, while your other hand on Dae-ho's own, playing with your fingers.

Your lips curled into a smile as you listened to your boyfriend rant about his day, observing and enjoying yourself at every expression he cutely displays, showing you how he felt at every situation.

Both of you were enjoying the moment, having one else but each other. Dae-ho was the one who mostly speaks, while you listen.

The two of you were relaxed together. When all of a sudden, the sound of your phone ringing interrupted your conversation with him.

Being the one closest to the low table, he sat up and picked up the phone for you.

Once he handed you the phone, he stayed silent, allowing you to talk to the person on the other line. Thanking him, you picked up the phone whilst noticing the caller was unknown.

The conversation you initiated was formal, wanting to end it quick. But, the person on the other side kept changing the topic despite being already told you have a boyfriend, making you feel more annoyed as the time goes by.

Dae-ho seem to have sensed your frustration as he gently patted your shoulder. Seeing your frustrated expression, he gently took the phone from your hand, and confronted the person in a serious tone of voice, "Hey, man. This is her boyfriend. My girlfriend here is not really comfortable to you talking to her. I know she already told you this, so I'd appreciate it if you stop bothering her from now on, thank you."

As soon as he ended the call, you jumped right into his arms, clinging onto him tightly. You started showering him with words of affection, expressing how grateful you are for having such a great boyfriend and how you didn't deserve him.

But to Dae-ho, it was the opposite. What he had done just a while ago is a bare minimum of what you truly deserved.

The truth is that he's willing to do much more for you. And all you have to do is to be by his side— and to stay with him forever.

©vhannilah

#squid game #squid game x reader #x reader #female reader #reader insert #kang dae-ho #dae-ho #kang dae-ho x reader #dae-ho x reader #player 388 #player 388 x reader #vhannilah

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hannieehaee · 10 hours ago

Text

CREEP (teaser)

18+ / mdi

summary: jungkook's in love. finally, after years of waiting for that perfect romance, he finds himself utterly infatuated with the perfect girl. too bad she has no idea who he is. but it's okay, he knows enough about you for the two of you, and he'll make sure to work his way into your life.

content: stalker!jungkook, clueless!reader, lowkey inspired by you from netflix, stalking, reader is surveilled by jk without her permission, smut, afab reader, masturbation (both m and f receiving), jk watches her have sex and masturbating, penetrative sex, creampie, finger sucking, etc.

wc: 1.1k (teaser); 10.2k (full fic)

RELEASE DATE: february 3rd

or you can check it out on my patreon today by subscribing!

a/n: this came to mind after binge watching you on netflix hehe<3

masterlist

You'd gone on another date tonight.

This was the fifth one this month.

Always a different guy. Jungkook had been keeping count.

It was hard to not let it get to him. Sure, he was aware that you didn't owe him anything, and much less did he feel as if he held any sort of ownership over you, bu the more men he beheld in your presence, the less patience he had.

Jungkook knew you to be a smart girl. You were a well put-together adult, an incredibly confident and intelligent woman who needed no protection from anyone. It was one of the many things that made him fall for you. It was just the decisions you took in regard to your love life that left Jungkook bothered.

He tried not to judge you, truly he did, but seeing you go from one idiot to another pained him. Intimately so. While aware that you needed to get all these idiots out of your system, Jungkook just wasn't sure how much longer he could hold back as he watched you with this week's respective idiotic bachelor.

This time around, it was some idiot named Liam.

To the naked eye, he might've been a good pick — which is why you'd even given him the time of day, Jungkook assumed. He was tall, — but Jungkook was taller — he was fit, — but Jungkiok fitter — he had okay money — except it was none compared to Jungkook — he had everything the average woman would look for in a man. Truly, Jungkook could not blame you for thinking this might be the right guy.

But, at the same time, you sometimes had the tendency to rush things. Or at least that was what Jungkook had noticed after the past few months of watching you.

The same had happened with Liam.

After messaging for about a week, you'd found yourself at a late night date.

It was the usual. Dinner, walk around a nearby park, and finalizing with a solicitous invitation to your apartment. That much was fine with Jungkook. He didn't care (well, he very much did). A man vying for your affections was not shocking to him. You were perfect. Jungkook was certain of it.

It was what happened behind closed doors that churned his insides out.

Maybe it had been a bad idea when Jungkook decided to install a camera in your apartment, but he couldn't help himself. It had seemed inviting at the time. You had been gone on a family vacation for a week, leaving your place completely vacant, too inviting for him to not take the chance to look around.

And look around, he did.

Out of all the time in which he'd known you, that had been the best day of all. Getting to be in an environment tailored to you and by you had been heaven.

He laid on your bed, letting himself be engulfed by the scent of your shampoo on your pillow. He'd chuckled at all the adorable plushies scattered throughout your place. He'd installed his cameras, ensuring the ability to supervise in case the occasion were to come up.

But his most favorite had been the souvenirs he'd taken with him. The pretty lace set he'd taken as a memento to ensure he had a little piece of you with him at all times.

Currently, as he went over today's events whilst in bed, that pretty set sat on his pillow — on the side of the bed he decided would be yours as soon as he made you his ...

Going back to more pressing matters. That idiot, Liam.

God, even thinking about how the night had ended made him angry. How did you pick these guys? Well, Jungkook knew the how (usually some shitty dating app), but he just couldn't understand the why.

Your dinner had been subpar at best. Liam had picked the shittiest 'fancy' restaurant available. He had ordered for you (whilst picking the cheapest options available), hadn't even bothered to buy you quality wine, and took a ten-minute bathroom break halfway through dinner — which he had spent on some stupid phone call to a buddy of his. Talk about priorities.

Going back home, he parked too far from your apartment for some stupid reason or other, choosing to walk you under a thinly-veiled pretense to make sure you arrived home safely. Instead, he went home with you despite not deserving such privilege.

This time around, Jungkook could tell that you weren't too enthusiastic to allow him in, but it seemed ritualistic to you by now. He argued that maybe you wanted at least one thing to come out of the date, even if that was just some meaningless sex.

Except that the sex had been even worse than anything that came prior.

At first, Jungkook felt morally ambiguous as he watched the live feed of the camera he'd installed in your apartment, but considering that he had already followed you to your date (under disguise, of course), this wasn't all that bad.

The foreplay had been nonexistent (his first mistake, Jungkook was very well aware), leaving you dissatisfied before it all even began. Barely wet and not stimulated at all, you laid there, letting that undeserving idiot do a novice's job at fingering you. Jungkook caught onto the winces on your face as the dumbass worked you with zero finesse. It was a complete disaster that left you just as dry as you'd been since walking through the door.

The worst part of all had been the actual sex itself. Jungkook was genuinely appalled at Liam's ability to get gradually worse as the night progressed.

For starters, you didn't cum. Jungkook would've been able to spot a fake orgasm from you from miles away. You gave a great performance, he had to admit. Had he been any other idiot (re: Liam), he might've believed you. But he knew all your tells. Despite how pretty you looked, how ruinous you sounded, he knew that you'd fabricated that scene to get Liam to stop trying to make you cum to no avail.

Liam, though, had the night of his life. Of this, Jungkook was sure. He needed no confirmation for it, but he received it in the form of many incoming messages you got the following morning. After kicking Liam out the previous night, — under the premise that you had work early the next morning (because you were far too nice to tell him to get fucked) — you awoke to messages from the idiot wondering when part two would come.

Jungkook scoffed at the messages, itching to respond but knowing that if he did, he'd give away that he'd hacked into your accounts. However, he was happy to see that you'd let him down, using one excuse or another as to why you shouldn't go on a second date.

This was the usual routine you followed.

Or at least in the past three months in which Jungkook had been watching you. But now things would be different.

Because Jungkook had finally had enough.

It was time for you to meet the love of your life.

...

you can check it out today on my patreon by subscribing!

reply if you'd like to be tagged!

#jungkook imagine #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook scenario #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader #jungkook oneshot #bts imagines #bts imagine #bts scenario #bts scenarios #bts oneshot #bts x reader #bts smut

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hollow-prior · 7 hours ago

Text

[Image Description: A series of screenshots.

Image 1: A post on r/Ao3 on Reddit by u/EasterKingston. The post is titled "'Netflix of audiobooks' scrapes thousands of fanworks off Ao3 without permission. Yours, likely, included."

Image 2: The preview for a website titled word-stream. The page is titled "You & Me & Holiday Wine - WordStream".

Image 3: A screenshot from the website WordStream. The word "ekingston" is entered into the search bar. There are two results. One named "You & Me & Holiday Wine" and the other named "The Shape of Soup". Both have over 80 thousand views.

Image 4: Another screenshot from the same site. The name "Kara Danvers" is entered into the search bar. There are twenty results from a variety of authors that fill up the page.

Image 5: A sent text reading: "I followed you here from Reddit, where I was made aware of the truly awesome work your project Copyknight has been doing. I just discovered the website/app word-stream.com today-it's a site that's seemingly scraped thousands of works off ao3 and offers audiobook versions of them, presumably for a fee. It looks like it only went live in October, and I don't see much chatter about it (or contact information) anywhere. I was wondering if you'd heard from it/could offer advice on how to go about getting our works taken down?"

Image 6: A screenshot of a contact form being filled out. The form is on transformativeworks.org and appears to be a contact form. The subject is "New app committing grand-scale copyright infringement of works hosted on Ao3". The message reads: "Hello, A new website/app hosted on https://word-stream.com/ has scraped hundreds (thousands?) of works off Ao3 without permission, mine among them. Is there anything Ao3 can do to help us getting our works taken down? Thank you for your response! Easter."

Image 7: A series of interspersed text and screenshots. Text reads: "If you try to click on any of the sites, you get a link to the AppStore app, which is called "WordStream - Audiobooks". There is a screenshot of the app in the app store. The creator's name is Ofek Weitzman. Text reads: "Who is Ofek Weitzman? Apparently he's also known as Cliff Weitzman, the CEO of Speechify, an AI Voice generator app famous for its partnership with Snoop. Also, Cliff Weitzman is named as the copyright holder at the bottom:" A screenshot showing the copyright holder as Cliff Weitzman. Text reads: "If you search for Ofek/Cliff Weitzman, you find his name in the terms and conditions for Speechify." A screenshot showing the terms and conditions including the name Ofek Weitzman as the individual to address a notice of dispute to. Text reads: "Strange that someone with a legitimate company with a partnership with Brandon Sanderson would put their name behind a shady company stealing works from fanfic writers, but it may be worth reaching out to him on X. Best case scenario is that someone has stolen the name for an app, but in that case, it would be good for him to know. Otherwise, it would be good to start a dialogue about how authors can get their works taken down from this site!"

Image 8: A screenshot of a Tumblr post from user fazedlight (Fazed Light). It shows an image of domain registry data for Word-Stream. Text reads: Some investigation so far: 1. I don't see a way to contact them directly. This is probably by design, since they are clearly shamelessly committing copyright infringement. 2. I ran "Who is Word-Stream" in the terminal and this is some of the information that came up. The domain was registered via Go Daddy.com and their nameservers are run by CloudFlare.com. 3. I am NOT a lawyer. My basic understanding is that fanfic authors own copyright on their own fics, and are therefore entitled to register DMCA notices, but I do not understand what the risks are. That said, GoDaddy links how to go about filing a copyright infringement, and so does CloudFlare. My understanding is that DMCA notice information (Your personal information) gets shared with the offender, so please do your research/get actual legal guidance first! It's worth noting: I see no buzz about this website - not on Twitter, or Tumblr, or Reddit, etc. So I'm hoping that very few people are using it. The site itself is pretty new (The screenshot shows it was registered in June this year).

Image 9: An anonymous Tumblr asks that reads: "Re: word-stream - Check out the listing on the Apple App Store which will list the App Developer - Cliff Weitzman. The privacy policy lists the email support[at]word-stream[dot]com. The seller (Weitzman) is associated with a speech to text AI company called Speechify. The domain is hosted by GoDaddy. I have no idea what complaints can be filed. It may be possible to file something with GoDaddy or Apple about the app/site breaking their TOS in some way. The Organization for Transformative Works who have legit lawyers who may be a better resource. Anyway, what a huge insult to writers everywhere. Damn.

Image 10: An email from Rebecca Tushnet to easter.kingston. The subject is "Your message about WordStream". The email reads: "Thank you for reaching out. The Archive of Our Own does not claim copyright in any works posted to AO3 so authors have to submit their own takedown notices to sites reposting their works without authorization. The AO3 does not allow commercial reuse, so we do attempt to prevent large scale scraping, but techical measures are not foolproof. We will look into the site and see if there are further measures we can take. Yours, Rebecca Tushnet."

Image 11: A screenshot showing three subscription plans to choose from: A month long for 93 cents per day or a discounted price of 39 cents, a three month long for 53 cents per day or a discounted price of 19 cents, and a six month long for 55 cents per day or a discounted price of 15 cents. The three month plan is listed as most popular.

Image 12: A Tumblr post by user ekingston. It reads: "Christ". A screenshot of a Tumblr reply by user cliffweitzman (Cliff Weitzman) is below. It reads: "Hey everybody, the person behind word stream here. Please email me if we have a peace of work that is yours you don't want up there and I will take it down immediately [email protected] I am dyslexic and built word stream to help other students like me who have dyslexia, adhd, low vision, concussions, anxiety, who are second language learners, or who also love listening to fan fiction but have a job that makes their hands/eyes busy but ears free. Word Stream is free for anyone to use. The next iteration will also include free text to speech, we have a paid tier for ppl who want to use high quality text to speech which is priced at the minimum amount we can to cover server/gpu costs to power the text to speech." The same user has replied to the original comment. Their reply reads: "I apologize to anyone who saw this and was upset this in no way is our intention. We support all valid take down notices and will always make it right if you reach out to us with the name of your work. support@word- stream.com". Text in the original Tumblr post reads: "This man is asking us to do the work for him, all of us, individually. My man. You had an Al scrape THE ENTIRETY OF ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN to take works without our permission. This is ON YOU. friends, if you feel like spending your day sending individual notices to this man, please go ahead. I do NOT advise you sharing personal information that you wouldn't usually share online though. Also, as a person with a learning disability of her own, and the wife of an elementary teacher who accommodates kids with disabilities like these, using your dyslexia as an excuse to steal people's work without permission is DETESTABLE."

Image 13: Text reads: "cliffweitzman (Cliff Weitzman) replied to your text post." The reply reads: "Hey everybody, the person behind word stream here: I am dyslexic and built word stream to help other students like me who have dyslexia, ADHD, vision challenges, concussions, or anxiety to access fan-fiction, because for us, reading with our eyes can be very challenging and there are no audiobooks for fan fiction typically. Word Stream is free for anyone to use. There is a paid plan for ppl who want to use high quality text to speech which is priced at the minimum amount we can to cover server/gpu costs to power the text to speech. The next iteration will also include free text to speech but with a lower quality bar. I apologize to anyone who saw this and was upset this in no way is our intention. We support all valid take down notices an d will always make it right if you reach out to us with the name of your work. [email protected] Please email me if we have a peace of work that is yours you don't want up there and I will take it down immediately [email protected]. A future release will also add the ability to tip authors so writers can make money not from selling the works but via tips from grateful readers, the ability for authors to build and communicate with an email list of readers, ability for authors to see retention graphs of where users drop off during reading, and abilities to authors to easily manage their works. We are strong supporters of second language learners (non native speakers of English), and of users who love fan fiction but who have a job that makes their hands/eyes busy but ears free. Once again I apologize for a beta product that got more attention that it ha d any right to before it was complete and for the clearly tone deaf wording which we are fixing to make sure communication is better about take down notices. Warmly, Cliff If you can, pl ease upvote or comment on the post so others can see the e mail they should message to have anything they don't want posted taken down immediately Word Stream."

Image 14: A Reddit comment on r/Ao3 by user word-stream. It reads: "Hey everybody, the person behind word stream here: I am dyslexic and built word stream to help other students like me who have dyslexia, ADHD, vision challenges, concussions, or anxiety to access fan-fiction, because for us, reading with our eyes can be very challenging and there are no audiobooks for fan fiction typically. Word Stream is free for anyone to use. There is a paid plan for ppl who want to use high quality text to speech which is priced at the minimum amount we can to cover server/gpu costs to power the text to speech. The next iteration will also include free text to speech but with a lower quality bar, I apologize to anyone who saw this and was upset this in no way is our intention. We support all valid take down notices and will always make it right if you reach out to us with the name of your work, [email protected] Please email me if we have a peace of work that is yours you don't want up there and I will take it down immediately support@@word-stream.com A future release will also add the ability to tip authors so writers can make money not from selling the works but via tips from grateful readers, the ability for authors to build and communicate with an email list of readers, ability for authors to see retention graphs of where users drop off during reading, and abilities to authors to easily manage their works. We are strong supporters of second language learners (non native speakers of English), and of users who love fan fiction but who have a job that makes their hands/eyes busy but ears free. Once again I apologize for a beta product that got more attention that it had any right to before it was complete and for the clearly tone deaf wording which we are fixing to make sure communication is better about take down notices. Warmly, Cliff."

Image 15: A Reddit comment from user Electronic_Dog_9526. It reads: "Word Stream's team have apologize for a beta product that got more attention that it had any right to before it was complete and for the clearly tone deaf wording which they are fixing to make sure communication is better about take down notices. They are trying to make the internet including fan fiction accessible to students with dyslexia, ADHD, and vision challenges, and it is free to use. Anyone can read on word stream for free. There is a paid tier that enables audio mode: this pays for the expensive GPUs needed for making the audio. They share they support all valid take down notices and will make it right if you reach out with the name of your work to [email protected]." The comment has two downvotes.

Image 16: A partial screenshot of a Reddit post. It has 3800 upvotes, 500 comments, and 7 awards. It reads: "FINAL EDIT: I'm turning off notifications for this post, because it doesn't look like many people are reading to the end and I keep getting comments from people who are unable to find their fic or expressing how relieved they are their works 'aren't important enough to be stolen'. I did see reports that the fanwork doesn't seem to be removed, just hidden, which is pretty much what I expected; obviously a guy who would rather make money letting Al and fanfic writers do the work for him wouldn't want to undo the little effort he put in putting the database together in the first place (all those wonderfully disfigured Al-generated covers would go to waste!) so I'll reiterate what I said in one of my comments: I'll be keeping my eye on this, and I think you should too. I hate that we need this kind of constant vigilance but let's face it, tech bros have been looking at fanfic with an envious eye for some time now and even if it isn't this guy, someone else will inevitably pop up with the same new & brilliant idea to make money off of fanwork creators. We'll just have to keep not letting them get away with it. For today, I'm counting the fanwork being made inaccessible as a collective win."

End ID.]

[Plain Text: Text in red reads: "***Fan fiction appears to have been made (largely) inaccessible on word-stream at this time, but I’m hearing from several authors that their original, independently published work, which is listed at places like Kindle Unlimited, DOES still appear in word-stream’s search engine. This obviously hurts writers, especially independent ones, who depend on these works for income and, as a rule, don’t have a huge budget or a legal team with oceans of time to fight these battles for them. If you consider yourself an author in the broader sense, beyond merely existing online as a fandom author, beyond concerns that your own work is immediately at risk, DO NOT STOP MAKING NOISE ABOUT THIS."]

SO HERE IS THE WHOLE STORY (SO FAR).

I am on my knees begging you to reblog this post and to stop reblogging the original ones I sent out yesterday. This is the complete account with all the most recent info; the other one is just sending people down senselessly panicked avenues that no longer lead anywhere.

IN SHORT

Cliff Weitzman, CEO of Speechify and (aspiring?) voice actor, used AI to scrape thousands of popular, finished works off AO3 to list them on his own for-profit website and in his attached app. He did this without getting any kind of permission from the authors of said work or informing AO3. Obviously.

When fandom at large was made aware of his theft and started pushing back, Weitzman issued a non-apology on the original social media posts—using

his dyslexia;

his intent to implement a tip-system for the plagiarized authors; and

a sudden willingness to take down the work of every author who saw my original social media posts and emailed him individually with a ‘valid’ claim,

as reasons we should allow him to continue monetizing fanwork for his own financial gain.

When we less-than-kindly refused, he took down his ‘apologies’ as well as his website (allegedly—it’s possible that our complaints to his web host, the deluge of emails he received or the unanticipated traffic brought it down, since there wasn’t any sort of official statement made about it), and when it came back up several hours later, all of the work formerly listed in the fan fiction category was no longer there.

THE TAKEAWAYS

1. Cliff Weitzman (aka Ofek Weitzman) is a scumbag with no qualms about taking fanwork without permission, feeding it to AI and monetizing it for his own financial gain;

2. Fandom can really get things done when it wants to, and

3. Our fanworks appear to be hidden, but they’re NOT DELETED from Weitzman’s servers, and independently published, original works are still listed without the authors' permission. We need to hold this man responsible for his theft, keep an eye on both his current and future endeavors, and take action immediately when he crosses the line again.

THE TIMELINE, THE DETAILS, THE SCREENSHOTS (behind the cut)

Sunday night, December 22nd 2024, I noticed an influx in visitors to my fic You & Me & Holiday Wine. When I searched the title online, hoping to find out where they came from, a new listing popped up (third one down, no less):

This listing is still up today, by the way, though now when you follow the link to word-stream, it just brings you to the main site. (Also, to be clear, this was not the cause for the influx of traffic to my fic; word-stream did not link back to the original work anywhere.)

I followed the link to word-stream, where to my horror Y&M&HW was listed in its entirety—though, beyond the first half of the first chapter, behind a paywall—along with a link promising to take me—through an app downloadable on the Apple Store—to an AI-narrated audiobook version. When I searched word-stream itself for my ao3 handle I found both of my multi-chapter fics were listed this way:

Because the tags on my fics (which included genres* and characters, but never the original IPs**) weren’t working, I put ‘Kara Danvers’ into the search bar and discovered that many more supercorp fics (Supergirl TV fandom, Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor pairing) were listed.

I went looking online for any mention of word-stream and AI plagiarism (the covers—as well as the ridiculously inflated number of reviews and ratings—made it immediately obvious that AI fuckery was involved), but found almost nothing: only one single Reddit post had been made, and it received (at that time) only a handful of upvotes and no advice.

I decided to make a tumblr post to bring the supercorp fandom up to speed about the theft. I draw as well as write for fandom and I’ve only ever had to deal with art theft—which has a clear set of steps to take depending on where said art was reposted—and I was at a loss regarding where to start in this situation.

After my post went up I remembered Project Copy Knight, which is worth commending for the work they’ve done to get fic stolen from AO3 taken down from monetized AI 'audiobook’ YouTube accounts. I reached out to @echoekhi, asking if they’d heard of this site and whether they could advise me on how to get our works taken down.

While waiting for a reply I looked into Copy Knight’s methods and decided to contact OTW’s legal department:

And then I went to bed.

By morning, tumblr friends @makicarn and @fazedlight as well as a very helpful tumblr anon had seen my post and done some very productive sleuthing:

@echoekhi had also gotten back to me, advising me, as expected, to contact the OTW. So I decided to sit tight until I got a response from them.

That response came only an hour or so later:

Which was 100% understandable, but still disappointing—I doubted a handful of individual takedown requests would accomplish much, and I wasn’t eager to share my given name and personal information with Cliff Weitzman himself, which is unavoidable if you want to file a DMCA.

I decided to take it to Reddit, hoping it would gain traction in the wider fanfic community, considering so many fandoms were affected. My Reddit posts (with the updates at the bottom as they were emerging) can be found here and here.

A helpful Reddit user posted a guide on how users could go about filing a DMCA against word-stream here (to wobbly-at-best results)

A different helpful Reddit user signed up to access insight into word-streams pricing. Comment is here.

Smells unbelievably scammy, right? In addition to those audacious prices—though in all fairness any amount of money would be audacious considering every work listed is accessible elsewhere for free—my dyscalculia is screaming silently at the sight of that completely unnecessary amount of intentionally obscured numbers.

Speaking of which! As soon as the post on r/AO3—and, as a result, my original tumblr post—began taking off properly, sometime around 1 pm, jumpscare! A notification that a tumblr account named @cliffweitzman had commented on my post, and I got a bit mad about the gist of his message :

Fortunately he caught plenty of flack in the comments from other users (truly you should check out the comment section, it is extremely gratifying and people are making tremendously good points), in response to which, of course, he first tried to both reiterate and renegotiate his point in a second, longer comment (which I didn’t screenshot in time so I’m sorry for the crappy notification email formatting):

which he then proceeded to also post to Reddit (this is another Reddit user’s screenshot, I didn’t see it at all, the notifications were moving too fast for me to follow by then)

... where he got a roughly equal amount of righteously furious replies. (Check downthread, they're still there, all the way at the bottom.)

After which Cliff went ahead & deleted his messages altogether.

It’s not entirely clear whether his account was suspended by Reddit soon after or whether he deleted it himself, but considering his tumblr account is still intact, I assume it’s the former. He made a handful of sock puppet accounts to play around with for a while, both on Reddit and Tumblr, only one of which I have a screenshot of, but since they all say roughly the same thing, you’re not missing much:

And then word-stream started throwing a DNS error.

That lasted for a good number of hours, which was unfortunately right around the time that a lot of authors first heard about the situation and started asking me individually how to find out whether their work was stolen too. I do not have that information and I am unclear on the perimeters Weitzman set for his AI scraper, so this is all conjecture: it LOOKS like the fics that were lifted had three things in common:

They were completed works;

They had over several thousand kudos on AO3; and

They were written by authors who had actively posted or updated work over the past year.

If anyone knows more about these perimeters or has info that counters my observation, please let me know!

I finally thought to check/alert evil Twitter during this time, and found out that the news was doing the rounds there already. I made a quick thread summarizing everything that had happened just in case. You can find it here.

I went to Bluesky too, where fandom was doing all the heavy lifting for me already, so I just reskeeted, as you do, and carried on.

Sometime in the very early evening, word-stream went back up—but the fan fiction category was nowhere to be seen. Tentative joy and celebration!***

That’s when several users—the ones who had signed up for accounts to gain intel and had accessed their own fics that way—reported that their work could still be accessed through their history. Relevant Reddit post here.

Sooo—

We’re obviously not done. The fanwork that was stolen by Weitzman may be inaccessible through his website right now, but they aren’t actually gone. And the fact that Weitzman wasn’t willing to get rid of them altogether means he still has plans for them.

This was my final edit on my Reddit post before turning off notifications, and it's pretty much where my head will be at for at least the foreseeable future:

Please feel free to add info in the comments, make your own posts, take whatever action you want to take to protect your work. I only beg you—seriously, I’m on my knees here—to not give up like I saw a handful of people express the urge to do. Keep sharing your creative work and remain vigilant and stay active to make sure we can continue to do so freely. Visit your favorite fics, and the ones you’ve kept in your ‘marked for later’ lists but never made time to read, and leave kudos, leave comments, support your fandom creatives, celebrate podficcers and support AO3. We created this place and it’s our responsibility to keep it alive and thriving for as long as we possibly can.

Also FUCK generative AI. It has NO place in fandom spaces.

THE 'SMALL' PRINT (some of it in all caps):

*Weitzman knew what he was doing and can NOT claim ignorance. One, it’s pretty basic kindergarten stuff that you don’t steal some other kid’s art project and present it as your own only to act surprised when they protest and then tell the victim that they should have told you sooner that they didn’t want their project stolen. And two, he was very careful never to list the IPs these fanworks were based on, so it’s clear he was at least familiar enough with the legalities to not get himself in hot water with corporate lawyers. Fucking over fans, though, he figured he could get away with that.

**A note about the AI that Weitzman used to steal our work: it’s even greasier than it looks at first glance. It’s not just the method he used to lift works off AO3 and then regurgitate onto his own website and app. Looking beyond the untold horrors of his AI-generated cover ‘art’, in many cases these covers attempt to depict something from the fics in question that can’t be gleaned from their summaries alone. In addition, my fics (and I assume the others, as well) were listed with generated genres; tags that did not appear anywhere in or on my fic on AO3 and were sometimes scarily accurate and sometimes way off the mark. I remember You & Me & Holiday Wine had ‘found family’ (100% correct, but not tagged by me as such) and I believe The Shape of Soup was listed as, among others, ‘enemies to friends to lovers’ and ‘love triangle’ (both wildly inaccurate). Even worse, not all the fic listed (as authors on Reddit pointed out) came with their original summaries at all. Often the entire summary was AI-generated. All of these things make it very clear that it was an all-encompassing scrape—not only were our fics stolen, they were also fed word-for-word into the AI Weitzman used and then analyzed to suit Weitzman’s needs. This means our work was literally fed to this AI to basically do with whatever its other users want, including (one assumes) text generation.

***Fan fiction appears to have been made (largely) inaccessible on word-stream at this time, but I’m hearing from several authors that their original, independently published work, which is listed at places like Kindle Unlimited, DOES still appear in word-stream’s search engine. This obviously hurts writers, especially independent ones, who depend on these works for income and, as a rule, don’t have a huge budget or a legal team with oceans of time to fight these battles for them. If you consider yourself an author in the broader sense, beyond merely existing online as a fandom author, beyond concerns that your own work is immediately at risk, DO NOT STOP MAKING NOISE ABOUT THIS.

PLEASE check my later versions of this post via my main page to make sure you have the latest version of this post before you reblog. All the information I’ve been able to gather is in my reblogs below, and it's frustrating to see the old version getting passed around, sending people on wild goose chases.

Thank you all so much!

#fandom culture #fanfic culture #ao3 culture #ai in fandom #described #image description #described by me(at)

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empyrealoasis · 20 hours ago

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˖ ִ𐙚 Holotropic Breathwork + Hypnagogic Hallucinations 𝜗࣪˖

HOLOTROPIC BREATHWORK

"Holotropic Breathwork is a therapeutic breathing technique that uses rapid, controlled breathing and music to create an altered state of consciousness."

The process bypasses your analytical mind and taps into the subconscious, often bringing up suppressed emotions, vivid imagery, or even spiritual insights. It’s often used for self-discovery, emotional healing, and connecting more deeply with your inner self.

HYPNAGOGIC + HYPNOPOMPIC HALLUCINATIONS

Hypnagogia and Hypnopompia are transitional states of consciousness that occur during the process of falling asleep and waking up, respectively.

Hypnagogia is experienced as you are falling asleep. It often happens when you’re extremely tired or sleep-deprived, such as after staying up late or napping during the day. In this state, you may not fully fall asleep but instead enter a semi-conscious phase. During hypnagogia, people can feel as though they’re “dreaming while awake.”

Hypnopompia, on the other hand, happens as you are waking up. You might not fully regain consciousness and instead linger in a dream-like state. In this phase, you may feel as though you are simultaneously awake and dreaming, struggling to differentiate between the two. Similarly, people can feel as though they're "awake while dreaming."

These may involve visual, auditory, or tactile hallucinations, and sometimes even a sensation similar to sleep paralysis. Both phenomena occur because the brain is transitioning between wakefulness and sleep, creating a blend of conscious awareness and dream-like perceptions. While they can feel disorienting, these experiences are a natural part of how our brain processes the sleep cycle.

Routine combining both methods:

Step 1: Get Comfortable

Lie down (preferably) in a quiet, dimly lit space where you won’t be disturbed.

Close your eyes and relax your body.

Step 2: Breathwork to Relax (2-5 minutes)

Breathe in deeply through your nose for 2 seconds.

Exhale out through your mouth with a gentle "ha" sound.

Repeat this rhythm, focusing on how your body feels lighter and more relaxed with each breath.

Step 3: Focus on the Darkness

Let your breathing return to normal.

Shift your attention to the darkness behind your eyelids.

If you see shapes, colors, or feel sensations, let them happen naturally.

Step 4: Affirm and Intend

Silently or softly affirm your intention:

“I am pure consciousness.”

“I am shifting now.”

Stay calm and trust the process as you drift deeper into the void or shifting state.

Step 5: Let Go

Allow yourself to fully relax, knowing that you’re transitioning.

If you feel close to the void or shifting, focus on staying calm and open.

Holotropic Breathing Posts:

Hypnagogic + Hypnopompic Hallucinations Posts:

#empyrealoasis #void state #void success #void #void concept #loa #law of assumption #master manifestor #pure consciousness #manifest #shifting #reality shifting #4d reality #desired reality #quantum jumping #shiftblr #loablr

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lolastrniolo · 9 hours ago

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TAKE IT - M.S.

summary: your boyfriend matt got a little excited while watching a show with you, so you let him have his way with you.

contains: smut, oral (f!receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, hair pulling, hickeys, stomach bulge, slapping, spitting in mouth, size kink, dom!matt, established relationship, no use of y/n

wc: 1.9k

a/n: english is not my first language

the sound of the television filled the room as you traced slow circles over matts bare skin, your head rested on his chest. his hands played with your soft hair, his fingers massaging your scalp slowly. suddenly, an erotic scene beamed on the screen, in full explicit detail. matt cleared his throat and shifted his position, slightly pulling at his sweats as he did so. your eyes followed his movements, and eventually landed on the growing tent in his pants. he was praying you wouldn’t notice his arousal, but it was pretty hard to miss, to say the least.

“really, matt?” you picked your head up and looked at him with a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “sorry, this is embarrassing, i feel like a teenage boy.” he covered his face with his hands and let out a loud groan. “no, no, it’s fine!” you tried to conceal your amusement, but failed miserably when you let out a loud laugh, quickly slapping your hand over your mouth.

“see, you’re making fun of me!” he laughed with you, now also covering his mouth with his palm, aware of the fact your sister was asleep in the room across the hall. “sorry, it’s kinda cute tho, you getting worked up so fast.” you bit your bottom lip before straddling his lap, your heat hovering right above the bulge in his pants. he sat up and grabbed your hips to reposition you on top of him, his back now pressed against the headboard. he grabbed the remote and shut off the tv without breaking eye contact with you.

“you don’t wanna watch anymore?” you asked, acting oblivious. “nope”, he said, “done watching.” he closed the gap between you two and pressed his lips to yours, his hands immediately snaking around your waist. your lips moved against matts, soft moans and sighs escaping both your lips as you grinded your hips against his. his hands slid their way down to your ass and gripped it, guiding your movements.

he flipped the two of you around in one swift motion, pinning your hands above your head. “what do you want” he whispered, his lips inches away from yours. “you know what i want…” you didn’t wanna give in, avoiding the words he wanted you to say. he stood up from the bed and grabbed you by your legs, pulling you to the edge of the mattress with minimal effort. you loved the way he manhandled you, the way he threw you around. “i don’t know what you want, not if you don’t tell me.”

“matt, please…” you begged, “i need you.”. your hands were propped up behind you to hold you up as matt stood in between your legs. he softly traced your cheek before grabbing your chin and tilting up your head, making you look up at him with a desperate look on your face. “tell me exactly what you need, yeah? and i’ll give it to you.”

“your tongue” you finally confessed, the wetness between your legs growing with the second. “good girl.” matt got on his knees without breaking eye contact. he looped his fingers in your sweats and panties before looking up at you, and as soon as you nodded, he pulled them both down to your ankles before discarding them to the other side of the room.

you propped yourself up on your elbows and watched the way matt trailed kisses along your inner thighs, before sucking harshly on the skin, leaving behind some dark purple marks. “matt, enough teasing.” you groaned, throwing your head back in frustration. he chuckled and shook his head before finally licking a long stripe up your wet slit. a loud moan escaped your lips as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, “ah- f-fuck!”

“you taste so good”, matt mumbled. he grabbed both your legs and let them rest on his shoulders, gripping your thighs as he ate you out. soft moans escaped his lips, you could tell he loved every second of what was happening, he might have been enjoying this even more than you. you furrowed your brows as your eyes shut, the pleasure completely overtaking your body. you tried closing your legs in around his head when he started sucking on your clit, but matt forced them open easily.

suddenly, the sound of a door creaking and footsteps were heard across the hall. you quickly pushed back matts head, “fuck, my sister’s up…” you looked at him wide-eyed. he had an annoyed look on his face, frustrated he had to stop his work. a few minutes later, the sound of her door closing was heard, meaning she was probably back in her room. “you think she’s gone?” matt asked, still on his knees. “i don’t know… probably.” you responded, uncertain. that was all matt needed to hear, “good enough”, he whispered, before grabbing your thighs and pushing himself into your heat again, his tongue working between your folds.

you tried to be as quiet as possible, praying your sister wouldn’t hear the way matt made you feel, but matt wasn’t having it. “why are you holding back?” he questioned, his eyes locked onto yours. “i can’t, matt- my sister will hear.” you respond breathlessly. “i don’t give a fuck, wanna hear those pretty moans of yours.” he says, before back into your soaking pussy.

you didn’t need to be told twice, loud moans falling from your lips, “matt…” you whined, “oh my god”. you sat up and propped your left arm up behind you, your right hand flying to his hair. matt flattened his tongue against your folds, letting you do the work. you grinded your hips into his face, legs shaking around his head, your grip on his hair growing even tighter. he recognized your movements immediately and slid two fingers into your dripping hole, curling them up to get you closer to your climax.

the knot in your stomach got tighter and tighter, before finally snapping. the hand that was previously in matts hair slapped over your mouth as a loud gasp escaped your lips. matt worked you through your orgasm before removing his fingers and getting off his knees, standing in between your legs again. he brought his two fingers to your lips, “open,” he said.

you obeyed without question, opening up your lips and letting him slide his fingers into your mouth. you sucked on them greedily, tasting your own juices on your tongue. matt swore he could’ve came in his pants just from that sight, the desperate look on your face as you sucked your juices off his fingers, looking up at him with furrowed brows. “fuck, you look so good like that”, he rasped, his voice hoarse. he released his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop before running his fingers through your hair, tugging on it a bit to tilt your head back.

he hovered his face right above yours, and you quickly got the hint, opening up your mouth again. he held your jaw as he let a string of saliva drop from his mouth into yours. he smirked as he watched you swallow his spit, “face down, ass up.” he demanded. you did as told, arching your back for him, your pussy on full display.

you looked back over your shoulder, watching matt take off his boxers and sweats, on which had already formed a small wet patch from his pre-cum. you felt the mattress dip as matt situated himself right behind you and gripped your hips. “think you can take a little more, pretty?” he asked. “yes, i can take it, please.” you whined, wiggling with your ass a little to signal what you wanted.

matt chuckled at your greediness and slid his tip through your folds a few times, before lining himself with your entrance and slowly pushing in. moans and groans fell from both your lips as matt filled you up, completely bottoming out. “fuck, you’re so big…” you praised, you knew matt loved hearing it, and you loved saying it. it was the truth, after all. he probably had the biggest dick out of all the guys you had slept with.

matt grabbed a fistfull of your hair, making a makeshift ponytail with his hand as the other gripped your hip. he tugged on your hair harshly and slid his length almost all the way out of your pussy, before slamming back into you at full speed. you let out a loud cry, gripping the sheets underneath you to ground yourself in some way. matt lifted his hand and slammed it back down on your ass, leaving a red hand print. he pounded into you with no mercy, manhandling you as he groaned and moaned.

you had totally forgotten about your sister at this point, loud moans and screams falling from your lips, luckily slightly muffled by the pillow your face was pressed into. “m-matt, oh my god! fuck- d-don’t stop!” you pleaded. “fuck, good girl. take it- fucking take it. look at you, all fucked out.” he rambled, completely lost in essence as he slammed his length in and out of you repeatedly.

in one swift motion, he flipped you over, so you were now in a missionary position. “wanna look at your pretty face while i fuck you” he rasped. his left hand was gripping your thigh, nails digging into your skin. with his free hand, he pushed up your tank top to free your tits. he furrowed his brows and let out a groan as he watched the way your tits bounced as he slammed into you.

his gaze then lowered down to your stomach, seeing it bulge every time he bottomed out. he brought his right hand to your stomach and pressed down, his jaw hanging slack as he felt his cock slam into your walls from the outside. he grabbed your hand and replaced it with his, making you feel just how deep he was. you stared up at him with your mouth agape, “matt, ‘m gonna- gonna cum” you spoke out in between breaths and moans.

he slid his hand in between your legs, rubbing tight circles on your clit with his thumb. “cum again for me, baby.” he groaned. your legs trembled and your toes curled as you finally reached your climax, this one hitting even harder than the previous one. waves of pleasure ripped through your body as you threw your head back. matt finished shortly after, his hips stuttering and his head dropping forward as he coated your walls in his cum before collapsing next to you on the bed.

after a while of heavy breathing, you both finally caught your breath, chuckling from exhaustion. you cuddle up to him and reach over to grab your phone from the nightstand, your eyes immediately widen when your screen lights up, seeing multiple messages from your sister:

‘oh my god, shut the fuck up!!!!’

‘girl i’m trying to sleep please do this at his house.’

‘i’m so done with y’all. i’m smacking you both so hard tomorrow.’

you showed matt the screen, and his jaw dropped. you locked eyes with him before bursting out into laughter. “why did you decide to go live with your sister again?”

this mightve been slightly based off my own experiences 😛

masterlist

taglist

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo fanfic #dom matt sturniolo #dom matt #sub!reader #dom!matt #sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #matt x reader

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occamstfs · 3 days ago

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Talismen V: World Peace

And so the world ends with a wish unless Alex and Nicky are able to abate men changing in every corner of the world. CEO's get their hands dirty, academics find their wild side, journalists go local, pianists get angry. And you, well who can say what happens to you.

Happy new year! Hope you enjoy the grand finale of my little 2.5k special :) As ever, Yours! -Occam

The air around the trio is almost vibrating from the energy emanating off Nicky’s Talisman. Simon’s eyes flicker around the cafe as reality almost begins to fracture. Some intern’s tray of drinks becomes a fifty pound free weight as his arms grow with grotesque haste to keep it balanced in the air, sleeves tattering before dissolving into the static mists. In the corner a struggling sci-fi author’s hands become inseparable from his keyboard and green binary scrolls across his pupils, skin shifting sicky metallic up his arms. Behind the bar a barista twitches as his face grows furry, sharper nails quickly tear through a cheap apron.

Still struggling to reconcile the transformation witnessed at the gym, Simon shakes off his curiosity and turns his attention back to his love just as Alex reaches out a hand to steady his friend who is struggling to breathe under the weight of reality. Alex, more with it than either man and far more aware of what may, will, and cannot happen puts a gentle hand on Nicky’s shoulder and tries to help the magus understand. Reassured by the simple human act. With the helping hand Nicky finds himself to see the metaphysical tendrils stretching from the Talisman on his neck.

Pulsing, stretching, growing. Alex and Nicky both watch as, bereft of any input from the man wearing the necklace, the power within is simply shooting indiscriminately to every mind and body it can reach. At once, both men realize that regardless of how little they know about the malevolent charm around his neck, Nicky needs to direct its power somewhere or it will work of its own volition.

Realizing its bearer is about to issue ground orders, shockingly, all the disparate ribbons and strands of energy return at once. The cyborg gasps for breath with new half synthetic lungs, two men who had never met awkwardly stammer as they find themselves half-nude making out over their americanos, the barista apologizes for getting his hair(fur?) in a drink.

None of the named characters get half a chance to notice the halted changes as Nicky is suddenly being suffocating outright, filled with power returned. Like a constrictor he is choked by the sheer presence of this energy flying back into the amulet, every vein is visible and pumping brighter with each passing moment, his skin feels tight and he almost seems about to burst with the eldritch potential within him. Tendrils squeeze his mind like a vice, eager to run with any haphazard half-baked wish that makes itself known.

Alex sees fear behind his friend’s eyes of red as Nicky chokes out, “I- I don’t know what t- to say” He turns to see his boyfriend, and reality fractures just a tad. Nicky sees him as the powerful man he is and always has been, but behind that there’s a wry bookish nerd who never hit the gym. He remembers a conversation long ago with this different, can’t be past, version of Simon. He’s clearly annoyed, they’ve been debating this for a while, “you can’t- you can’t just wish for anything, a genie’s whole thing is twisting your wish babe. Be-” In the memory Nicky interrupts, “I know. I know. It’s just- in my mind I can’t justify not trying. It- Three wishes, one of them has to be like, world peace. Or uh, solving hunger or something?”

And just like that, just as soon as it began, the vision fades, edges tinge red as the meek other Simon rolls his eyes before returning to the man Nicky knows him to be. The man with the world on his shoulders chokes out a sigh. The wish does need to be grand enough to dissipate all this energy after all. Scarlet tears thicker than blood drip down his face, maybe it’ll all be okay, “I wish, grgh- W- World Peace.” Time and reality stutter as the amulet processes the command input, red energy shoots from the Talisman like solar flares, venturing far enough to scrape patrons in the cafe, molding outfits sculpting new muscle before returning back to the now vibrating amulet.

Nicky grasps it and closes his eyes. From the central gem of the Talisman red shoots like a beam, straight through Alex. The deliverer’s face is grim as it hits him, demanding he return to the harbinging work he finished moments ago. Steeling himself for the part he is to play he notices a glimmer behind the matte red eyes of his friend and an idea strikes both at once, perhaps there remains hope yet. Looking at his new callused hands he is potently aware that there is impossible power within this artefact, but can it truly affect the whole world? Alex grits his teeth and plans to embody the wish Nicky bestowed, distilled into him, Haste.

Alex feels himself being carried away by the beam, nodding at Simon and Nicky he shoots off, turning to try and race ahead of the storm of will as it tears through city blocks, and countryside, through cabins and campus libraries, morphing men into their wildest dreams and steamiest nightmares. No time for Alex to watch every one despite an itch at the back of his mind to do just that. He needs to get ahead of this, he needs to accelerate, he needs to overload it. Unstuck from time or space he finds himself in a New York City penthouse, standing beside some grimacing man looking out over the city. He did it, he beat it here, now he’s setting the pace.

Fractals of the beam reflect in the polished windows of the skyscraper, surely shooting off to grace the lives of those sitting in suites across the city. But as it nears the top, as it nears Alex, it almost seems to slow. Giving him time to take in this office, and observe what is to become of the smug man, Mr. McCarthy, scowling as he looks out over the city, looking down both figuratively and literally upon the population he sees as beneath him. Clad in a pristine, tailored suit he almost laughs as he imagines the lives led by the pour sods he grinds underfoot.

Despite himself and his mission, Alex’s eyes glimmer with rage, perhaps there are indeed changes that ought to happen. Just as the thought occurs the manifestation of Nicky’s words shoot into the room like wind, rushing past Alex before slamming into the haughty businessman and curling around him. The witness can almost see on the rich man’s fabric where the tendrils squeeze in tight.

Eyes widening with fear, he drops the glass of exorbitantly priced whiskey he was drinking to claw and something he cannot see. Every inch of exposed skin is filled with warmth that quickly races under his clothes as well. Muscle boils under his skin and he falls to the floor, cutting his cashmere trousers on the shards of glass. Only concerned with his own appearance, this shocks him out of his pain. McCarthy forgets whatever stroke or seizing just struck him and scoffs at what sloppy misfortune has sullied his wardrobe.

Grumbling to himself he stands and finally does he see the man standing in the room watching him, “Ughh you must be the help. Clean up this mess, now.” He scowls and straightens his tie before realizing how weary he feels, his arms heavier than they should feel and brow covered in sweat. Is it this little degenerate’s fault, was I drugged? He grabs his handkerchief and wipes his sweaty face, ignoring as it scratches against stubble that he would never allow to grow.

The thought’s almost laughable, sweaty and unshaven- like some common laborer! McCarthy indeed laughs once more at the image, his hand raised to hide any emotion on his face from Alex as the impudent lout seems to neglect the order given. He opens his mouth to chastise the shoddy employee, but then both men hear the sound of fabric tearing resounds through the room.

McCarthy’s eyes look down and he falls to the floor once more as he sees his hand. Barely changed as of yet but clearly thicker, rougher, and still changing. Hairs begin to creep up his wrist and poke out of fingers that grow fat and unelegant. He grabs at his arm and finds his dress shirt has torn as his hidden bicep grows bulkier.

Alex smiles as he sees the man scrambling on the floor grow frantic. His other arm soon enough bulges larger as well, this time tearing both his dress shirt and suit. “Shit!” The titan of industry tries to stand but falls forward as his chest bursts into existence. Weighty pecs begin to pop buttons off into the spilled whiskey. The 200 dollar bland haircut on his head begins to retract and shift messy as stubble stains his doctored jawline. “Help me you- you- Grah!”The sound of his suit ripping and tearing grows louder and more frequent as he tries to remove it as his back widens and his arms continue to bulk to a point that the garment’s survival is impossible. Alex’s expression matches the smug one of McCarthy not moments ago as he sees hair poking through the torn fabric and a thicker brow juts out to shade his eyes. His eyes grow a darker almost blood red as something in his stomach quivers at the sight, “I think I’m helping you just fine Mr. McCarthy. Or hm, I suppose you’d prefer to go by Duke now hm?”

The corporate fiend writhes and rather than attempt to salvage his luxury clothes, simply begins to tear them off his new sculpted form. Free of its silken trappings, the muscle begins to pack on at an explosive rate. Thick curls cover his harried pecs before racing over spherical shoulders and bulging traps to cover his sculpted back. Bursting free from matching pants his thighs pattern with bulging veins starkly similar to the same tendrils that launched him into this new life.

As a beard covers the financial officer’s face Alex sees the man’s eyes glaze over and he stands to a height a few heads taller than what he enjoyed in a life now gone. Scratching at his stomach Duke groans and squeezes at his head with his free hand. The witness averts his eyes from the thick new cock pointing directly at him as he instead looks past Duke to see his new life laid out like a book. No longer some rich asshole who prides himself on pushing others down to get ahead but a man whose hands are scarred by countless days of strenuous work for others.

Smiling as he pages through the story of Duke Carter’s new life he hungrily sees all that Nicky’s will has changed for the better in just this one case. Filled with contentment that perhaps this is not so bad an event after all. He finds himself drawn into the vision, seeing the young man grow into the hunk that stands before him now. Speaking of, Duke seems to be coming to his senses, “Hey there uh, young fella? Yew know what I’m doin’ all the way up here?”

Alex tilts his head and only then realizes that only a faint trail of the Talisman’s magic remains here. It continues to work throughout the largest city in the states, but the head of the surge has shot on while Alex was distracted. Gritting his teeth he stumbles through a farewell to the confused, changed man and races out the window. Duke is of course concerned at the man jumping from the top floor of a skyscraper but once done, the sweaty laborer can scarcely remember meeting him at all. Looking around the suite as the whole building creaks and begins to change into the HQ of a nonprofit, his phone rings and he smiles as it seems the chance to lend a helping hand is on the horizon.

For his part Alex is soaring over the sea. Struggling to catch up he decidedly ignores his desire to stop at the few cruise ships and scattered Atlantic islands that the beam shoots through, surely fulfilling desires and morphing men along the way. Flashes of tourists losing their native tongues as they find themselves at home in the Azores and cruise ship pools becoming foam parties sear into his vision but he keeps pace with the racing wish. Looking forward, Alex sees the spell almost torn between two potentialities. To preserve itself it’s going to split in two to hit each continent they were rapidly approaching.

In one world he sees the larger going to Africa and becoming unstoppable just from the sheer numbers game. Clenching his jaw he reaches out and tries to control the path as if it were lassoed. Keeping a grip on it he forces the split to occur early and steers the larger proportion North while trying to keep an eye on the latter speeding off towards West Africa. He almost splits his awareness in two as he tries to focus on both before realizing that he’s already being dragged through the capitals all across Europe. Dublin, London, Madrid, and Lisbon fly past, all to varying degrees overcome by the storm of change.

Alex struggles to breath under the pressing weight, the existential need, to go observe what is becoming of dirtbag chavs as their little crews shed their jumpsuits and their haunts convert to gayborhoods. He fights the urge to see Spanish academics venture into the countryside and become burly bearded farmers. Ignoring bodybuilding Italians shredding their beards and built bodies to become twinks more than happy to bottom. As Nicky’s will continues to affect more people it becomes harder for Alex to resist his compulsion to witness and spread the change himself. Feeling a need to nip it in the bud, he strains himself to pull ahead of the surge once more.

Maintaining his grip on the storm, he has an idea to stop it and steers it to a rural Bavarian peak where a lone tourist looks out over a lake. In an impossible stroke of luck the man wistfully utters a wish, “Man. I wish- I wish that I could spend more time in nature.” The tendril swiftly averts course to the man and Alex uses its momentum to steer it directly through him and into the center of the lake, far from any life besides the backpacker and himself. While the tourist, Finn, begins to change Alex allows himself indulge and witness. Using the gratification gained to hold the throbbing tendril in place. No idea if this would achieve anything nor time to wonder what even it would do. For now he must simply hold and watch.

Finnegan was probably less than prepared for this day trip. His roommate at uni was driving him up a wall enough to force him South on this uncharacteristic escapade into the Alps. He’d never really appreciated the wild but as soon as he began this trek he wondered how he could possibly overlook the serenity. The cold air stung his lungs as he wandered through the serene trails and stumbled upon this massive lake where he takes a load off. Hands scratch into dark earth as he adores the sight before him, an otherworldly force screams through the air above him as he speaks his humble wish and is filled with transmutative energy to become a man who will spend more time in nature.

The coat which has been struggling to do anything against the elements is suddenly working overtime as steam begins to rise from the man now panting on the overlook. Hands numb from the cold burst the seams of mittens as he quickly disrobes and frees his thin upper body to the mountain air. Finnegan’s hips flex against his tight thermals as his package immediately understands what it means to become one with nature, quickly hardening into a cock that would be nigh impossible to hide. And a strange thought flickers through his changing mind, why would he ever need to hide his cock anyway?

His lithe arms begin to balloon with weight as his hands can't help but shove into his pants and explore a more sensitive dick and quivering balls that begin to send hormones coursing through him. Finn grimaces as he struggles to kick off hiking boots far too small for his new wide soles, rough from trending on dirt and stone. Never too much of an eater, the young man’s torso begins to bloat and strain his shirt as the rigors of the outdoors demand he get some more meat on his bones.

Arms that have likely lifted nothing heavier than a textbook bulge larger as his stomach continues to put on mass, bloating into a strong, manly torso. Pre covered hands begin to scratch at his meatier chest and barrelling gut as a garden of body hair begins to grow. His sticky fingers pull at the curls lengthening on his bulkier stomach and he delights in the sensation, the scratch, the drag of darker hair now patterning his heavier form.

His neat hair pulls shorter, darkening and growing greasy as it shoots down his cheeks, creating a stubbled chin strap before it becomes an outright beard. Finn grunts as he feels his newly hairy back on the earth behind him. His hands find his cock once more as his nose finds his tangled pits and the trove of musk within. Bucking into the cold air he languishes in his first load spilled on his journey to be a man of the wild. Hearing similar grunting in the nearby lake he looks to find Alex struggling barely above the water. Sniffing and finding the floating man alluring, he furrows his brow and hops in a canoe to go meet him.

Running the numbers Alex is sure that countless men and women have already been irrevocably sculpted by wishes haywire. As Finn approaches he too continues to change. Beard thickening and sticking out from his face as body hair spreads like wildfire. At the same time, the energy Alex is wrestling with almost begins to crystallize. Finn grows burlier and bulkier, every disparate patch of hair from his meaty fingers to his longer toes races to meat in one mighty jungle of fur as he continues to pack on muscle. The watcher’s hands burn with effort as he forces the storm of energy to stay still, to forfeit being an aspect of metamorphosis and lock it in this state, in this locale.

Near enough to shout out, Finn opens to speak to Alex, as he does a grunt falls from his mouth. What need has he of complex thought or language, why is he out on the lake anyway, fishing? Finn scratches his pit and smells his hand as Alex strains for just a moment longer and then there’s a flash as the strange beam solidifies outright. Manifesting as a spire in the center of the lake, surely still holding the transformative power of the talisman but, for now, immobile. In the back of the once delivery man’s mind he can sense the other half shooting through Oman, preparing to launch itself towards the Indian subcontinent. He needs to go now.

Finn doesn’t really listen as the man shadowed in crimson asks something important of him. Memories of his architecture lectures and school projects begin to fade and he doesn’t quite mind, seems better to get his hands dirty and protect this little smidge of paradise anyway. Protect, pursing his lips and looking at the spire he floats near to, protect? His eyes narrow at the malevolent spike, not of the world. He scratches his still lengthening beard, he’ll watch this too, make sure nothing funny happens.

Alex once more shoots across continents, soaring over slavic streamers finding themselves doing a little more than gay-baiting and Maghrebi men finding new ways to appreciate the male ideal. He’s not quite sure how long this has been going on, but as he catches up to what remains of Nicky’s will that at least some parts of the world have become aware of what’s going on. The Indian military is mobilizing to some degree to prepare an emergency response and while hemorrhaging tendrils continue to create shooting stars of transformation down towards metropolises and hamlets, when it sees such lofty forces gathered it has no recourse but to beeline right towards them.

When he signed up to be a foreign correspondent Logan Hopsworth never wanted to end up in India, let alone doing military coverage. And yet here he was. The team back home has been radio silent for a few hours but when his unfortunate host nation declares a national emergency he hits the field to report on- ? Logan doesn't quite know, he’s refused to learn the language and plans his time here to be a stepping stone soon forgotten.

He forces a fake at the cameraman as he’s sure the local hire is always trying to film his bad angle. Suddenly there’s a red flash and Logan scoffs as the camera operator gasps and turns his lens on the crowd of uniformed men behind him, “Uhmm!? Hello? Your marks right here Nikhil?” When he keeps his lens focused on something other than himself, the ‘reporter’ crosses arms and turns to see what’s so important. He couldn’t believe what he saw. The performatively macho men of the nation that has time and time again declared themselves the most powerful in the world are suddenly stripping and finding their nearest platoon mate to fuck.

“Jesus Christ! It’s like a fucking pornographic flashmob!” Logan drops his microphone and tries to make sense of what’s happening, “Nikhil are you getting this shit!?” Turning back he sees the flash of red soar past again, this time hitting his assigned cameraman who drops his equipment and begins groaning. Clutching at his headset the cam operator pulls at his clothes as to Logan’s less than discerning eye he seems to suddenly be wearing something a few sizes too small.

Never concerned for anything more than his own hide Logan screams his usual sign off and turns to run, “THIS HAS BEEN HOBSWORTH REPORTI-” Though before he can finish Alex’s wrangling of the wish does one more round, going squarely through the reporter before the harbinger shouts in success and the force veers off towards China.

Logan coughs and clutches at his chest as he feels like he was just hit by a train filled with glimpses of everything he could have been. Presenting at the NYE drop, doing court reporting in Australia, recording slice of life stories in Tokyo. Instead he’s here. His spirits deflate as he smells spice on the air and his chest fills with warmth, and then his chest fills his shirt.

Well of course he’s here? Where would he rather be? Ignoring the sounds of rapturous lustful disregard a few dozen feet away he gasps at the thought. Lakhan’s hands shake as he looks down to the dark hair that begins cresting across his forearms. Like countless men across the world, and the army behind him, the reporter quickly takes off his shirt to see what is becoming of him. Ever thin and hairless he is aghast as his thin shaved pubes begin racing up his torso and darkening into a black treasure trail he would never be rid of.

He tries to tear at his growing hair before noticing that its growth is not the only change occurring. Across his exposed torso splotches of his skin begin to darken, turning a shade of brown just like the cameraman still growing behind him. He begins to hyperventilate and hold to the identity he knows he should have before realizing he can’t even tell if he’s turning into Lakshan or if Lakshan’s turning into some pasty white asshole.

With each frantic breath the changes continue to race, he clenches his eyes shut as the irises shift to a brown and his coiffed blonde locks darken and shift into a look he’s seen on countless Bollywood stars throughout the years. While his skin continues to tan he realizes that he’s also beginning to grow, blanketed under a healthy coat of chest hair, pecs begin to fill out his upper body while powerful biceps flex. He’s always been quite a bit more inclined to work on vanity muscles after all.

His pits fill out with dark black curls enough for deodorant to never quite reach the skin beneath, not that he cares of course. All that time at the gym is to make sure he never escapes a man’s notice, his musk is simply another way to make sure everyone knows he’s the boss. “Fuck!” He shouts with a deep Pradesh accent, it’s where he grew up and went to university after all, “मैं बहुत सेक्सी हूँ! (I’m so hot!)”

Starting to turn himself on just from thinking about his own tightly packed muscle, Lakshan pulls at his pubes and moans as the movement makes his far larger, veiny cock bounce in the air. His eyes turn to the cameraman who similarly has finished changing into a powerful bharati man of stature. The two men approach each other and just like the horde to the west find more pleasure in a good fuck than they’ve experienced in some time, perhaps ever.

Above China, Alex wrestles to keep the wily manifestation of Nicky’s wish under control, also does he realize that he hasn’t had a second to plan what exactly he is to do after keeping it on course through China. Thinking it safe enough to take a breather for half a second, he loosens the reins to come to the conclusion that he should just steer it back to Nicky. With even the slightest deviation however the wish forcefully bolts downward towards Shanghai.

En route, the tendril discards as many strands as it can across another cradle of civilization, perhaps making it easier for Alex to manhandle but what does it care, it’s not sentient. It is power manifest, it simply must do. Why should it mind as it is taken through a concert hall at the Shanghai Conservatory of Music. It is not out of malice as it passes through Shen Hao that he flubs a key press and fails to recover. Though would that it had the awareness to know it brought about more than an auditorium of change it would certainly feel delight.

Hao’s face burns as red as the static that shoots through him. His eyes stare at his keys knowing how many long hours have been spent perfecting this etude. It was a mistake he’s never made, not one out of juvenile haste or shoddy hand placement, one that simply should not have happened. If he were trying to make the mistake again he would surely be unable to, such a flagrant err is anathema to the virtuoso.

And yet, he’s a professional, he takes a deep breath and returns to the piece. He will do it right this time. But then, his hands cramp. He shoots long and bites his tongue enough to draw blood as his pinky plays an E rather than an F. That- That shouldn't be possible. Hao looks down in shock to find that it is indeed impossible, or it would have been, had his fingers not stretched longer. His palms wider, his fingers fatter. This must be a nightmare.

The pianist shifts back and the bench creaks under his weight, he turns to nod an apology at his audience and is unable to see how many are watching him stumble through this should-be cake walk. Pulling at his collar as he sweats under the spotlights, Hao finds himself unable to get a finger under the tight neckpiece. God he can barely breathe. He clears his throat and pulls hard, the sound of him tearing through the buttons echoes through the auditorium just like his misplayed notes resound through his own head.

He feels his chest growing, straining his tuxedo, but refuses to look. His arms sting as meaty biceps begin to fill the sleeves and make it difficult for him to even ambulate enough to play the piano. It’s no matter, he’s a professional. He’s suffered for his art before and he will force himself to do this. He stretches his fingers and even this movement sends a few tears down his arms. Good, that will only help his range of motion.

Getting in position to play, he finds his hands thrown off as his wrists stretch further out from strained sleeves hugging his new forearms and biceps like a second skin. He just needs to be aware, that’s all. His arms are longer, that’s fine. Just do it right. Sweat trickles down his thicker neck and joins the litany of wet patches clearly visible on his white button up. He just needs to get through this. He just needs to be perfect.

Hao takes another deep breath and buttons burst from the sheer width of his pecs. Grimacing, he ignores them plinking against the piano and resolves to begin and- Uhh. He doesn’t remember the notes. That can’t be. The sound of blood rushing through his ears is overwhelming, his suit too tight, his mind too slow-

His meaty fists slam into the keyboard, sending a dissonant cacophony throughout the hall. Silent despite the impossible horror of the man clearly growing into some steroid filled monster on stage, this act of rage elicits gasps. Hao tears off his tuxedo revealing a tattoo covered chest and a body that would make anyone drool. Turning to the audience he sees nothing but red. They saw his mistake, they saw him grow into this oafish form. He- he knows what he must do. A new song fills his mind.

Turning to the keyboard the ivories stain crimson as he begins to play a new song, one that demands the attention of every student and professor present for his recital. One that echoes through the lobbies and halls of the building. With every mellifluous note the tune fills them and begs they continue to mindlessly adore him, and as it continues they too begin to change. An erhu musician snaps his bow as Hao’s melody creeps into his practice room, staring confused at sheet music he’s barely able to read. Behind the curtains his assistant professor finds her himself wanting, needing more of his artistry as a problem he’s never had before begins to strain and lift his skirt. His judge in the audience forgets the notion that he should ever critique the stud’s work as it’s simply so clear there is nothing more to life than enjoying Hao’s presence and performance.

Flying above the Pacific Alex is already soaring past Hawaii by the time Hao takes his bow and bathes in the adoration of an audience truly handcrafted to laud him. Nearing the cafe that Nicky has hopefully not left, Alex finds himself with more than enough will to ignore the presumably final waves of transformation he flies above. An older man on Oahu dons a stetson and years just fall away as he becomes the white hat he always dreamed to be, some squirrely student in Baja California lights a syllabus ablaze as his uniform stretches to become tight leather gear as he begins a bear club where the university co-op once stood.

And then he’s flying over countryside he knows all too well, shooting past the city he circles back and spirals back down to earth for the final time. In his mind he sees the cafe as it sits now, mostly empty, Simon having dealt with whatever cyborgs, werewolves, and overly horny stock traders in the vague time passed. So too has he barred entry from any of the wandering patrons of Jirou Heroes and any of the other clearly wanting hordes lost to their lusts.

This of course does nothing to stop Alex as he pilots the energy back to the Talisman that cast it out. Ramming it straight through the chest of a catatonic Nicky, the glimmering Talisman clatters to the floor across the cafe, leaving a sound of laughter echoing through the heads of the three men present. World Peace. Foolish. Foolish. You think this over? Your will will continue to be enacted whether you change your sad little mind or not! You demand the world have peace and so it will! When every soul sings praise and plays fool to their most basal lusts and primal urges then, then there will be peace you whelps-

Nicky stirs, groaning. While Alex will certainly have words for sending him upon an odyssey across the world however this shakes out, the caster has clearly had his work cut out for him here. Simon looks at his boyfriend and nods, helping Nicky to wobbly feet as the so far unchanged man stumbles over to grab the talisman yet again. The blazing voice in their minds is muted as his hand covers the gem and Nicky ushers forth one more wish, a demand. “Give me the strength to destroy this.”

Until this moment his previous work has continued almost unabated despite the efforts of Alex and Nicky chasing and controlling from afar. Men and once women have continued to have their senses heightened and minds dulled to the end that they all may end up puppets of what or whomever pushed this artefact, this power unto Nicky. That they all might become Talismen themselves.

In fact perhaps even you were in the process of changing. Your mind numbing as you typed away at a spreadsheet, as you scrolled through social media, as you waited in line for lunch. Like a buzz the alien hunger began within you, slowly displacing your priorities, cancelling meetings, skipping class, hitting up clubs despite having work the next day. All the while your form begins to corrupt.

Perhaps you as you sat in a park noticed a strange itch under your collar as hair began to inch above your neckline and up the small of your back. Shorts straining as thighs bloat and a cock that isn’t even erect fills the crotch of your pants enough to burst then and there. Anxiety fills you, or it would, were shame a preoccupation of your lust filled mind. The same story goes for every person around as they too struggle to control the new beasts hanging from their waists.

You who midgame shivers as your screen flashes red before moments later tossing your setup across the room in a rage as your clothes no longer fit and your interests realign to fighting and fucking. As your shredded outfit reforms to the trademarked uniform of your favorite character, becoming a second skin to yourself just as much as them.

You students racing to complete last minute assignments in the library as books on shelves melt into liquor bottles and carpets stained with decades of spilled beer. Sidling up as you grow larger to get in with jocks who dizzily stumble as their muscular bodies compress to become those of hairless twinks, hungry to sample your new rod.

Is there something wrong with giving people what they so desire, turning them into something greater than what they are, what they could be? So what if they lose their minds, their genders, species, sentience? Are not some people made to be used already? What difference does it make if they do so as a person or object, plasticine skin is sure to last longer.

Nicky struggles to hold this all in his mind and ignore it, returning to the point of it all. He needs to stop this. He sees the world changing and stays the course. Changing himself into something, someone powerful enough to destroy the Talisman. His hand widens to completely hide the amulet in his palm, red beams of light struggling to pour through the cracks in his fingers.

Almost muted to even his own mind the Talisman cries out Nownownownow let’s just wait a minute! Surely you don’t want to give all this up, I mean c’mon now kid! There’s a flash as the first crack appears in the talisman’s gem, not strong enough yet Nicky grits his teeth and continues to grow, forcing all his might and attention towards silencing this voice that sounds increasingly like the shoddy wizard that foisted this accessory upon him. Dontcha wanna make the world better what happennnnd to thaaAAt!?

He grimaces and shoots up almost a foot in height as he forces his two fists together, he vibrates with the dispelling of this seemingly all-powerful object. NONONO! You don’t know what your doing just one more wiiiiIIII- And red dust falls from Nicky’s now brutish hands. He looks down with a sigh and takes in his new form, torn clothes scattered at feet bursted from his favorite shoes. Though even as he notices they begin to knit themselves back together and he realizes this clearly isn’t over.

Though not consciously his fault, as the man who began this impossible new world order, and one who clearly still exercises some limited control on reality he has quite the mess to clean up. There remain other, newly created artefacts scattered throughout the world that less than scrupulous people will be drooling to get their hands on, and no one knows how to fix this better than the two people who saw the world change. Simon’s moral support will also be gravely needed.

It takes quite some time for the world to even try to begin rebuilding. Though freed from the imposed shackles of lust thrust upon them by the Talisman, many who changed simply find themselves truly taken with the hedonistic lifestyles their new forms encourage. Despite whatever mustache twirling plot the amulet had in the end, many were indeed changed for the better after all. For now the trio simply travel the city, nation, and world to help clean up the most pressing loose ends and prevent another outbreak of transformative disaster. As to how successful they are to this end? Well, that is simply a story for another day.

#male tf #mental change #male transformation #hair growth #reality change #personality change #racial change #muscle tf #straight to gay #masculinization

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dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth · 2 days ago

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I am friends with a driving school instructor. And the one story he always tells his students, almost right from the get-go, is one involving himself, a student driver, an 18 wheel truck, and a licensed average driver.

It was his student's first day driving. He took her out to a small intersection outside my house literally .25 miles away where you do pass by a warehouse district with tons of 18 wheelers.

The two of them stopped at the light behind one 18-wheeler, keeping safe distance and everything. He had a brake on his side specifically in case things went wrong, wherein he could regain control if the student lost it.

But the driver in the lane next to them decided it would be fine to cut that 18 wheeler truck off from a blind spot once the light turned green.

And she did.

You know what happened?

The truck slammed on its brakes, entirely caught off guard because this idiot cut in from a blind spot, he rammed into her car since he was not ready to stop and thusly totaled it, the truck got sent flying backward, and the new driver and my instructor friend who were behind him couldn't see any of this except for the truck flying backward. So my friend slammed on the brake but this wasn't enough to stop an enormous death machine hurtling toward them, and thusly their car and themselves wound up underneath the 18 wheeler with the roof of their vehicle torn away completely, and both sandwiched beneath the truck.

They were ok. Both he and the student lived. Suffered minor injuries on both of them, but as my friend said, word for word, "The same couldn't be said for the driver in front of us." He never EVER goes into detail beyond that.

And the dude is ex-military, he understands trauma and injury and he literally had no qualms about talking about things he saw during his service.

But he never once told anyone, as far as I'm aware, the sight he saw of that licensed driver when she cut an 18 wheeler off, and caused a major accident involving her car, the truck, as well as him and his student.

My friend says he was VERY lucky. One in a million. This was like divine intervention according to him.

He outright says this is not the outcome for anyone except themselves.

DO NOT RISK CUTTING IN FRONT OF OR RIDING THE ASS OF A TRUCK!!!! OF ANY SIZE!!!!! NEVER EVER!!!!!!!

Imagine being a fool thinking you can pull this shit so you do, only to have killed a teacher and a kid in his car on the kid's first ever driving lesson. A turning point for many kids who are just about to discover freedom and independence. And that kid gets none of that and never will because you thought it was ok to pull a stupid move which took their life, and that of a father just trying to make ends meet.

And don't even mention the bus outside my other friend's house one town over, which thought it would be able to drive through the stop sign that a giant garbage truck would pass from the perpendicular road without one, thus it did not slow down, and so that bus was struck and went flying, and a little girl was killed.

The funeral was held by a religious family in my neighborhood just at the end of my small street. My mother attended because she served that girl lunch each day for the few years she was alive and in elementary school.

Think about that.

A bus. A giant, full-sized school bus. Thought it could go faster than a garbage truck, and drove through a stop sign whereas the garbage truck had none, and as a result that bus was ploughed into and killed a little girl no older than 11.

A school bus held no ground against a truck.

Your car stands no chance.

Don't. Be. A. Fucking. Idiot.

Gods above just respect truck drivers on the road.

A PSA about trucks from a truck driver

I and some colleagues were talking about how we wish everyone could see the safety videos that our company was showing us, because I don’t think most people understand how traffic works in a truck. So here’s some things we wish everyone on the road knew.

- we’re not kidding about tailgating. If you’re right behind us on a straight highway? Chances are we have NO IDEA you’re there, which means we can’t anticipate any of your movements. Plus slowing down takes multiple downshifts, so we might start decreasing speed way earlier than you expect.

- We’re not kidding about any of our blind spots. WE CAN’T SEE YOU, GUYS.

- That bit about slowing down taking a while? The same goes for when you’re in front of us. Don’t cut off a truck. Oh god, PLEASE don’t cut off a truck. If you cut me off, I’m not irritated, I’m terrified. For YOU. It can take 7 to 9 seconds for us to stop. DON’T CUT OFF TRUCKS.

- Before you get mad about how slow we’re going on the highway, keep in mind that many companies govern their vehicles so they literally CAN’T go over 60 or 65. This is a good thing, I promise. Because…

- Do you know what happens when a car meets a truck in an accident? The car gets totaled and the truck needs a new coat of paint. You will not win this fight. I know nobody likes getting stuck behind a big dumb truck, but it’s not worth your life.

We are trying our best to protect you from our 80,000 pound death machines. Please help us out.

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revelboo · 3 days ago

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love your stuff so much, you bless us day after day with such wonderful writing... and lately there's been moments of multiple bots daydreaming about making babies with their human mates and that really got my gears turning... that's my kink!! i can't help but want to worldbuild around justifying it!!

so i wanted to share my thoughts on how a transformer could babytrap his squishy lover: nanites build things, right? so if they repair the wear & tear of the human body, what if they can also take advantage of a partner with the necessary hardware for gestation if there's, ahem, enough regular injections of fluid... maybe it's an adaptation for colonizing and cyberforming other planets, breeding out the original inhabitants that way, or maybe it's an astronomical coincidence unique to human biology and this discovery shifts the entire tone of how cybertronians interact with them. which do you prefer?

I might have some ideas on that… Happy New Year

Everything Is Alright Pt 100

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• No longer restricted to feeling only your emotions or quick flashes of images, Soundwave can see you. All of you. And can feel you drifting through him. Avoiding him when he reaches for you. Denying him. Chasing after you, drawn desperately by the warmth and brightness of you, he’s aware of a duller, less distinct shape shadowing you. Knows it’s the vestiges of your existing bond with Starscream, the form enough like the Seeker even as it isn’t quite right. A different frame, but he recognizes that crackling animosity every time he almost catches you only to have you slip thought his servos.

• Drowning in Soundwave’s memories, his need, you’re dimly aware of Starscream yelling, his fury and worry lashing at you through the bond. Of Soundwave’s hips rocking against you, his spike stroking deep. Of him reaching for you again and again. Wanting to submit, but every time he gets close, a jangling, desperate terror you don’t understand sends you fleeing. Wanting him, but worried even though you can’t figure out why, feeling like you’re in danger even though you trust him.

• Your distress hurts him, that ungrounded fear of him tearing at his spark. Because you don’t really think he’d harm you, he can feel that. So why? That shadow of Starscream curls more firmly around you as he reaches again, unable to stop himself. And finally overtakes you, dragging your light to himself and claiming it, feeling Starscream’s bond prickle through him, all resentment, hate, and fear and he claims that, too. Knowing there’s no way to separate you from it. And both of you rush into him, seeing all of you and the Seeker even as you curl into yourself, trying to keep something hidden.

• Wanting nothing more than to relax into the warmth and belonging of Soundwave, that unconscious fear is still there, making you struggle as he coaxes at you. Wrapping himself more firmly in you, overwhelming you with his life. With flashes of memory and emotion until you submit to him. Feel him washing into you, nothing hidden or secret. And also feeling when he hesitates. His realization becoming your own.

• “You son of a glitch,” Starscream seethes, servos flexing. Unable to just yank Soundwave off of you because he doesn’t know what abruptly severing the bond will do to you. If it might harm you and unwilling to risk it. Then you make a noise, lips parting as Soundwave shudders and lifts up slightly, ending the connection himself. Stray tendrils of spark energy reaching as Soundwave closes the panels around his spark and gathers you to him. Watching you press your face into his neck as Soundwave stares at him, furious. “Give me my mate. Now.”

• Venting raggedly, Soundwave awkwardly sits up, keeping you in his lap as you lay against him, heart racing. Because what he’d felt, what you’d been unconsciously protecting? It shouldn’t have been possible. No more possible than spark bonding without a spark. Hand cupping the back of your head, he catches Starscream’s wrist when he tries to take you from him. Ruthlessly digging through the Seeker’s mind before letting go to send Starscream stumbling back, furious. Because the Seeker doesn’t know what he did. Has no idea. “Our mate,” Soundwave snarls protectively. Their mate who somehow has a very fragile, newly formed, and wholly impossible spark entangled in themself. Hand sliding against your spine as you tremble, he knows you know now. That you knew the moment he did through the bond. “With sparkling,” he says, because sooner or later, no matter how self obsessed and oblivious the Seeker is, he’s going to figure it out himself and he feels you cringe.

#transformers x reader #starscream x reader #idw starscream #soundwave x reader #megatron x reader #idw soundwave #idw megatron

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witherby · 1 day ago

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More mermaid please! Pretty please! With sprinkles on top!

With sprinkles? Can't say no to that, can I 😏🍦

Human!Damian x Mer!Reader, part 5

The previous part is Here!

The locks to the tank entrance have changed. When Damian tries his key, it doesn't turn, which nearly takes him to his knees. His fists clench, the flesh of his palms soon littered with crescent moon indentations, and he storms away from the gate to your enclosure.

He's been separated from you for two weeks and it's taken a toll on you both. You were sedated too heavily from your tank escape to perform the next day, so your exhibit was closed, but when you were aware enough you absolutely refused to come out from your castle spire.

Clark, the on-staff physician in charge of general animal welfare at the aquarium, is unable to treat your scrapes and other wounds from beaching yourself. Getting too close to you ended in him rushing out with gashes in his arm and cheek, bloodied from your razor-sharp talons. He promises Damian he doesn't hold it against you, knowing how much you adored the youngest Wayne and how big of an upset his absence caused.

Your new primary handler was trying his damndest to bond with you, but the first time you surfaced to the top of your tank and didn't see Damian, you shrieked and splashed him, then refused to come up again even for your feedings. They've had to resort to dumping the food into the water for you to fetch instead, and even still you barely pick at it.

Bruce can't get anywhere near you. When you catch sight of him, you bellow and try to breach the tank to hurt him. Damian doesn't feel particularly upset by this when he's told about it.

You only show yourself when Damian leads tours through your part of the Aquarium, pacing around the tunnels and dragging your claws against the glass, otherwise you are never seen. Concerned customers ask about your missing scales and why you seem so desperate to get to him, but he can't do anything except grit his teeth and give them the pre-approved answers per his script.

You're also starting to exhibit depressive symptoms: aimless spinning through the water when you leave your castle spire, discoloration in your tail and fins, lack of appetite, and large bouts of lethargy are the biggest signs.

To put it simply — you miss Damian so much the stress is hurting you. If there's no serious turnaround soon, it's going to turn into a medical crisis.

Damian waltzes into Bruce's office without fanfare. The older man doesn't look surprised to see him, just holds up a finger and continues speaking into the phone on his desk.

"Yes, that's fine. Let me know when you can send both down here to look at them. Alright. You too. Goodbye."

He puts the receiver down and heaves a sigh, rubbing his temples.

"Yes, Damian?"

"I want to see them."

"No, Damian."

"They're suffering, father!" He snaps, arm cast wide. "Visitors aren't buying the excuse that they're getting over some bad Tail Rot. They won't play or engage with the new handler. They're not eating! Let me see them!"

"That's being taken care of." Bruce stands up from the desk and walks around it to address Damian face to face, arms crossed. "I just got off the phone with a veterinary clinic that specializes in Mer care. They're sending a behavioralist and doctor to come examine them properly in the morning, and help us make a care plan to get them healthy and properly readjusted."

He leans down a little to emphasize his point, gaze imploring.

"They're going to be okay, Damian. I need you to trust me when I say that this separation is what's best for you."

"It doesn't feel that way," Damian scowls. "It feels like we broke their trust by taking away someone that's supposed to care for them, and now they're justifiably lashing out. This was a reckless move, even for you, father, and now our mer has to suffer the consequences."

Bruce sighs. "Tadpole —"

"No!" The boy whirls around and jams a finger into his father's chest, relishing in the wince. "You don't get to do that! You don't get to talk about how wonderful Gotham Aquarium is to me, offer me a job here when I turn 18, let me finally do something that brings me joy and then rip it away while you give me useless platitudes and childish nicknames! I've had enough!"

"Damian —" Bruce tries again, a note of warning in his tone.

"Spare your breath. If you won't let me check up on the mer then we have no more business here." Damian turns, fists clenched, and marches out of the office and down the hall. His father calls out for him but doesn't chase after.

Good.

He only keeps up the angry act until he enters the employee locker rooms, then opens his fist to stare down at the key he swiped from Bruce's pocket during their confrontation, and smirks.

"Don't worry," he whispers, pulling out his wetsuit, "I'm coming."

#damian wayne x reader #mermaid au #batfam x reader #damian wayne #damian x reader

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sturnslutz · 2 days ago

Text

matt assigns you a specific job.

heh. dilfceo!matt dare i say? lowk long fic to make up for lost time of matt and bee. im sorry if this is horrible it took me 6 hours to write it☹️ fluff and smut.

it was another day at work for you. come in, work on whatever you needed to, and see your oh, so favorite boss. matt and you continued seeing each other secretly but never actually fucking. it mostly consisted of dirty words getting passed back and forth, you giving him blowjobs, and kissing.

sure, you loved it all. but you just couldn't seem to get the fact out of your mind that matt hasn't actually pleasured you, once. he acts like he wants to, but in all seriousness you both really haven't had the time, and from his words, he wants to "take his time with you."

you weren't sure what he meant, but you weren't hesitant on waiting. just becoming more impatient by each day passing.

you were in the middle of writing some email when you got a text. you were allowed to be on your phone while working, but you just preferred not to, and your friends were aware of that so they knew not to text you unless it was an emergency.

so when you got the notification, to no surprise you were confused. you stopped typing and picked up your phone and looked at the name. 'Matthew Sturniolo (work ;))'

you looked at your phone even more confused as you open up the text.

"Come to my office when you can."

you weren't necessarily busy, so you just decided to go now. sure, you guys do something almost everytime you go into his office, but other times, he did actually need something from you as his assistant that didn't consist of getting his dick sucked.

you knocked on his door softly, waiting for his response. you heard a simple, "come in." and you walked in with a certain caution you rarely get. not because of matt, but because he texted you. even coming from him, the guy who made you suck his dick the first time meeting you, it seemed "unprofessional" to him.

you walked to his desk as he doesn't take his eyes off his computer. "sit, it won't take long." you sit in the chair across him and he finally lets his big blue dark eyes look up at you through his glasses. "are you good with kids?" he states calmly, but almost making you choke on your own breath from the abrupt question.

"a-am i what?" you state, looking up at him with the most confusion all day. why is he asking you this? "good with kids. you got any siblings or anything?" he says again, calmly, taking his glasses off so he can get a better look at your expression.

"um, no. i don't have any siblings, but i have babysat a couple times. wait- why are you asking me this? matt. are you asking because you think im pregnant?" you whisper the last sentence as if anyone else is in the room, cautious of what he might say, despite never fucking once so there's absolutely no possibility you're pregnant.

"what? no. we haven't had sex, bee. you wouldn't be able to be pregnant unless you were seeing someone else. besides that, i'm asking because i need someone to watch my 6 year old daughter tomorrow night. i'm going out with a couple friends and my brothers aren't available to watch her, so i'm asking you, the next person i trust."

your jaw quite literally dropped. "matt, you just dropped some crazy info to me. you've literally never told me anything about your family before! when the hell did you get a daughter, you have siblings, and you trust me? wait, im gonna need to take a breath. but i don't know i'm not seeing anybody else i just panicked!" you rant to him with your questions.

he chuckled softly at you. "yes, bee. i trust you. and yes, i do have a daughter. her mom and i broke up about 2 years ago, when i was 26 and now it's just me and my girl, amelia. i also have 3 brothers, 1 of them being my half brother, but the other 2 and i are triplets. my half brother is justin, and my brothers are nick and chris. you'll probably meet them one day."

you nod, taking in all the information and calmed down. "okay.. um, i think i can tomorrow. would you want me to stay the night with her also?"

he shrugs. "i'm not sure yet. i'll probably leave around 6 and possibly be back late. if you wanna stay after she falls asleep, you can sleep in my bed. i'll pay you anyways. she's a really chaotic kid so you might fall asleep right after she does." he laughs at the memory of his daughter being so energetic.

"you don't have to pay me, it's fine, really." you say, trying to reassure him. sure, you needed the money and would love to make some especially as a college student, but you didn't want him to feel obliged to.

"don't worry about it, bee. i know you need it, and it's the least i can do if i haven't fucked you yet after you've sucked me off multiple times." he says with a certain calmness and smirk. "don't think its not happening soon though, kid."

you nod, smiling and looking down at your palms, unsure of what to say. "i'll text you the address and everything she needs. i'm sure she'll like you." he reassures you. "you can go on your lunch soon and get off early, i don't need anything else done today. just finish whatever you were doing before and go on your break."

you nod again, looking up at him. he had a very calming demeanor today which helped a lot with your worries. "c'mere, kid." you stand up and walk to him and he turns his chair, facing you as he looks up and grabs your jaw and kisses you softly. "you're gonna be great, bee." he mutters against your lips and kisses you once again before patting your cheek and you pull away.

you couldn't deny the heat rushing to your face at the kind words, something you rarely see out of him. it's not like he's ever mean to you, he just usually as a more professional, non-smiling side around others, even you sometimes. you notice that demeanor polishing off him once the conversation directed towards his daughter.

you walked out of the office and finished sending a couple emails, and leaving for your break. you go to a cafe you and matt have visited a couple times and order your usual. you quickly texted him if he wanted something, to which he reacted a thumbs up to. it wasn't much, just a plain black coffee and blueberry scone. you got everything and sat down near the window, watching the buzzling city just outside.

you got back to the office and clocked in, and knocked on his door once again and walked in, delivering his coffee and scone, to which he kissed you again and said thank you.

you got back to work, not having too much to do and clocked out once again about an hour later and head back home.

the next day, you walk into the office and knock on matt's door, just like usual. he lets you come in, and he looks up. "good morning, bee." you smile softly at him as you walk up to him, rubbing his shoulders from behind his chair and kiss his cheek.

"morning. so, i checked my plans and i'm free tonight for amelia. so, do you want me to come in around 5:30?" he nods, "yeah, 5:30's fine. it gives me time to show you where everything is and for you girls to get to know each other a bit before i leave. i'm telling you, i think she'll like you especially because you're younger than everyone else around her, besides her friends. me and my brothers are 28 and the other 35. her mom's 27 too."

"i'm not that young, matt. i'm only 22." you roll your eyes. he always loves getting a tease of you being younger than everyone at the company, despite also being one of the smartest there. "i know baby, 'm jus' teasin'," he says as he kisses you softly, smiling against your lips. "i'll text you everything when i'm done with all this and then you can just head out again whenever you're done and get ready."

with a final couple words, you leave and begin working on whatever needed to be done. you clocked out about a couple hours after that, not even taking your break so you wouldn't be missing too much.

you went home and got a text from matt which just gave the basics. his address, the time, and stating how you can bring pretty much whatever you would like to keep you busy when amelia and you weren't too busy.

you got ready into some basic clothes, something matt hasn't ever seen you in. you drive to his house and notice how big and extravagant his house is compared to your small apartment. you knock a couple times, waiting for the man to open the door, but instead was met by a little girl, no more than 3 feet with brown curly hair and big blue eyes just like matt.

"hi! you're bee, right? daddy said you were watching me tonight!" she says, smiling up at you with her big, pearly white teeth. you nod, already overwhelmed by how cute she is and she looks almost identical to matt.

"hi, yes i am. you must be amelia, right? such a pretty name for such a pretty girl." she nods and giggles as she opens the door wider for you. you walk in, and step out of your shoes and see matt appear from around the corner. he was wearing his familiar glasses he usually wore, but he was wearing a white long sleeve and a pair of black sweatpants and smiled softly at you.

"hey, bee." you smiled back at him and close the door as amelia rushes back to the couch. you walk up to him as he kisses your forehead sweetly. "c'mon. i'll give you a tour before i go." he takes your bag and sets it down on the couch and gives you a small tour of the house. he shows you where amelia's room is, where all the snacks are, where his room is and all the other basic stuff.

once it was time for him to go, he brought you both back to the living room to say bye to amelia. "lia, c'mere." he says as he stands next to the couch, grabbing his bag and adjusting his clothes. she plops off the couch and runs to him, gripping onto his leg as he lifts her up and kisses her cheek. "i'll be back late, tonight, okay? be nice to bee, and don't break anything. same rules when your uncles stay with you, okay? be good." he kisses her forehead once again and she nods as he sets her on the ground.

he looks to you, and kisses your forehead while holding your hip tightly as amelia runs back to the couch, not wanting to miss a moment of her precious bluey. "jus' give her food at around 8:30. there's some leftover food from last night, but if you don't want it, you can order food to the house or make some, whatever you prefer. she usually lets me know whenever she's tired so just let her eat and watch tv and she'll probably be passed out after. if you stay the night, let me know."

you nod at everything he says, and he says his goodbyes and walks out. you plop down on the couch next to amelia as she starts ranting about whatever her 6 year old self has to say. you listen intently, even if some of the things she says doesn't make sense.

once she relaxes a bit, you ask if she wants some food, and get up and warm up some of the leftover food they had. you made some for yourself, and brought over a couple snacks for the two of you and watched some more bluey.

you finally notice her getting a bit more tired, so you bring the now empty plates to the sink, and make a mental note to wash them after she falls asleep. "bee.. im tired." she mutters as she rubs her eyes. "let's get you in bed, baby." you say softly as you pick her up and carry her to her room. you don't turn on the big light for the sake of yours and her's eyes, so you walk over to her bedside light and turn it on, the soft, warm light radiating throughout the room.

you set her down on her soft bed, as she rubs her eyes again. "where are your pajamas, sweet girl? which drawer?" she opens her eyes faintly and points to the middle one of her 3 tier pink and red dresser. you walk over and grab out a soft, light blue matching set which had a mermaid on it.

"do y'like this one?" you hold it up for her to see and she opens her eyes again and nods. you walk back over and help her get changed. you toss her worn clothes into her hamper. you turn her around so her back is facing you, and grab her brush that was on her bedside. you take out her well-done braids and brush her soft brown hair while humming a soft melody.

she practically falls asleep at this and when you're done, you help tuck her into her bed. she laid on her stomach, so you sat in a criss cross position and scratched her back and head softly so she could go to sleep while still humming the same melody.

once you heard her soft snores, you rubbed her back a couple times more to soothe the scratches, and stood up and turned off her light. you closed the door quietly and made your way to the kitchen and began washing the dishes.

you obviously knew you didn't have to, but it felt the best to do. once you were finished and put the dishes in the washer, and tidied around the house a bit, you washed your hands and made your way to your bag. you planned on staying the night as you didn't feel very comfortable leaving amelia all on her own, so you brought some extra clothes. you made your way to matt's bathroom and washed your face and got changed.

you noticed a couple tampon boxes next to the toilet which were half full, but brushed away the weird feeling you got, as it's probably matt's ex girlfriend's. you knew it wasn't right to feel jealous over some guy, who was more importantly your boss, whom you sucked him off a couple times.

you finished getting ready and made your way to matt's room. it was dimly lit with an identical light to amelia's. you set your bag down on his desk, and noticed how clean his room was. the faint smell of his cologne lingered around and filled your nostrils as you took a few, calm breaths.

you made your way to his bed, and pulled out your phone to let him know everything.

"hey, i hope you're having a good night. just to let u know, im staying the night if that's alright. i fed lia and put her to sleep, she was an angel all night. i ate some of the food i warmed up for her also. i washed the dishes btw, it was no biggie. im prob heading to sleep soon."

you typed out while you set your phone to the side as you turned on his tv to watch something before you sleep. about 10 minutes into watching, you heard a text emit from your phone.

"Hey, everything's great, thank you. You're more than welcome to stay, don't worry. I'm glad she was good, and I'm glad the both of you ate. Bee, you know you didn't have to wash them, but thank you. I'll honestly probably be home soon, maybe in like an hour. I'll see you."

you heart his message before turning off the tv and calling it a night. you knew you would probably wake up when matt gets home. deep into your sleep, you couldn't hear the soft opening and closing of the front door. matt had walked in with such quietness, you would need to be right next to him to hear it.

he set his stuff on the table, and noticed how much cleaner the house was than before he left and cursed himself for allowing you to do that. on the way home, he just couldn't take his mind off you. he remembered the conversation you guys had the day before and how he noticed your shyness towards him when he mentioned how the two of you never had sex.

of course he wanted to, but he felt like he wouldn't be good enough for you since he hadn't fucked a girl in 2 years. but he decided to truly go ahead with his words and give you the pleasure he and you both realized you should be getting in whatever the two of you were, even if it wasn't a relationship.

once he dropped his stuff down, he made his way up the stairs and walked into amelia's room to check on her. he opened her door and noticed how her clothes were changed and how again, the room looks tidier.

he closed the door and made his way into the bathroom to get ready for bed. he noticed the lingering smell of your perfume and couldn't tear his thoughts away from you, and neither could his growing hardness. he scoffed at himself and finished getting ready.

once he was done, he quietly entered his room, and noticed you sleeping peacefully. he got into bed and rubbed your back. "bee, it's me." you hummed and rubbed your eyes, looking at him. "oh hey. how was your night?" you say, your voice scratchy. he laughs softly at this as he brushes a few hairs out of your face.

"it was good, baby. i couldn't tear my thoughts away from you though, the whole night." he says smirking. "oh yeah?" you say with a newfound confidence. "what were you thinking about?" you say as you turn onto your elbow, looking up at him.

he tsks teasingly. "mm. too dirty to say. maybe i should show it instead?" he says, rubbing your cheek. "matt, amelia's right next door." he shrugs. "so? we'll be quiet." you sigh, a smirk forming on your lips. you start putting your hair up, thinking it was going to be the usual blowjob, but his hand stops you. "no, no. i would love that, trust me. but, i wanna fuck you instead, if thats okay."

your eyes widen at this. "w-wait. are you sure? we don't have to. i mean of course it's okay, and i would love it but-" "yes, bee. i feel like i should be the one worrying about all this." he laughs.

"are you a virgin?" he continues and you shake your head no. he nods and kisses you softly. as time goes, and breaths get heavier, most of the two of yours clothes have been discarded onto the ground, leaving you in your bra and panties, and him in his boxers.

he's painfully hard right right now and you straddling him with your wetness isn't making it easier for him. you're grinding yourself on him as you both kiss each other deeply, your tongues intertwining."mmph- bee, stop. needa fuck you." he says, muffled as he can't tear his lips away. he reaches around, undoing your bra and pulling his lips away so he can see your tits pool down.

his eyes fill with lust as he latches his mouth around your tit, making you moan softly. he reaches his hand down, rubbing your clothed clit, eliciting another moan from you. he pushes aside your panties and slips his fingers inside you. you let out a high-pitched squeal and bury your head into his shoulder.

his fingers slip in and out of you effortlessly as he finally pulls his mouth away from your right tit and moves to your left, sucking and licking on it. as you get close to your release, he goes faster and pulls his mouth off your chest. "go 'head, baby. cum all over my fingers." with a final muffled moan into his chest, your juice gets all over his fingers as he slows his movements, riding out your high as he pulls them out, and brings them to his mouth and licks them clean and groans.

"fuck, you taste amazing." you look up at him with a flushed face, mascara already dripping down your face. his cock was painfully hard and twitching even inside his boxers, waiting for release. you moved your hand down and latched your fingers into his waistband and pulled it down, letting his long length hit his stomach.

he groans softly as you lift yourself on top of him, wasting no time to sink down. the both of you moan deeply as you lower yourself, inch by inch, until you sit fully on top of him. his fingers are gripping into your hips so hard, you're sure it'll leave marks.

"take your time, baby. get adjusted." he says through a groan. as much as he would love to fuck you reckless right now, he knows you need a bit to adjust, and the two of you need to be quiet for dear amelia right next door.

you nod and start moving up and down him slowly, your fingers gripping into his shoulders for stability. he helps you move and watches the way your pussy swallows him completely like he was made for you.

your movements grow faster and your moans increase. the headboard hits the wall continuously so you slow your movements so it doesn't hit too hard.

he can tell your getting close again by the way you hold your breath and the way you dig your nails into his shoulders. he's close too, so he forgets about the cautious movements and halts your body and thrusts into you, the wall sure to have marks.

"matt!" you say, squealing again. "shut up, bee." he says, drilling into you. he didn't mean his mean words and you knew that, he was just so focused on the two of you getting your release.

"fuck- matt i'm cumming!" you say, clenching up as he nods, groaning and halting his movements, filling you with his release to the brim. once he was finished, he pulled you off him, letting you fall back into the bed carefully.

he had some tissues next to him so he leaned over and spread your thighs open, cleaning you carefully as you wince. "i know, i know. 'm sorry, baby." he throws them on the ground as he grabs some more and cleans himself up, and then drags his boxers back up.

he notices the distress in your face as your panties were now dirty, and he stands up and grabs a pair of his boxers and hands them to you. "y'can have tomorrow off, so you can rest by the way." he says as he lays back down.

"yeah, thanks boss." you laugh as you toss your shirt back on. he rolls his eyes and smirks as he grabs a waterbottle next to him and hands it to you. as you drink it, your movements are halted by a few gentle knocks on the door. "daddy?" a small voice is said from behind the door. you and matt look at each other as he tosses his shirt back on and cover the two of you with the blanket.

"yes, lia? you can come in baby." he says, rubbing his face. the door opens and a small figure walks in with her holding her stuffed bear and her hair going in every direction. "are you guys okay? i woke up from banging on the wall and i heard bee screaming." his face drops as he realizes he actually woke his daughter up. "yes, we're okay baby. 'm sorry we woke you up, c'mere." he gestures for her to get closer to the bed as her feet patter against the ground and reach the bed.

he kisses her forehead and rubs her head as he whispers reassuring words into her ears. he looks over at you for your response as her big eyes look over. "yes, lia. i promise i'm okay. im sorry we woke you up also." she smiles softly. "it's okay." matt gives her one last kiss on the forehead before she walks out and closes the door.

he huffs and falls back on the bed. "sorry i woke her up." you mutter softly and he looks over, his face softening. "don't worry about it. we both did, actually. and she falls asleep fast, i guarantee you she won't remember in the morning." you nod as you take a deep breath.

"y'alright though?" you nod again to his question. "jus' tired." he nods. "me too. let's get some sleep." he kisses your lips one last time before you rest your head on his chest and fall asleep.

this took WAY longer than it needed to. started writing at 8:30pm, it's currently 2:18am. so if this is horrible i apologize.

@muwapsturniolo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @m4ttg1rl @lypsiiii @tyummyz @sturniqlo @emely9274 @shadowthesim @mattsobvimyfav @sturnl0ve @wastelandzella @fallininlust @chrisslut04 @sophand4 @vainilladollie @slutforchrissturniolo2 @ncm9696 @snoopychris comment to be added or removed.

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #ceo!matt #assistant!reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader

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positivementalaxolotl · 20 hours ago

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I want to be clear here that sometimes cats that are suppose to be indoor cats escape the house. I have had this issue before *We have broken windows, and he likes to dash out when people crack the doors open. He also knows how to open certain doors and windows as well*

There was a point in time where someone found my cat, and just took him. They drove him out 3O+ minutes away to their house. The only reason why we were able to get him back was because 2 of this persons friends were walking by one of my posters I posted outside my house on a sign. On my way back from posting other missing posters, I saw them and we had a pleasant conversation about him and getting him back. I am not mad or anything about them taking my cat back to this strangers house, I am actually very thankful that had he not been brought back to me, that he would have had another loving home to go to.

Every time I have gone online to try to find my cat on one of the MANY times he has escaped my house, people have assumed that he was an outdoor cat, even when in the same listings I very specifically state that he escaped and is an indoor cat. I have been yelled at, I have been lectured, I have had strangers come to my house and yell at me about how I must not *really* love my cat, and then had people online tell me I am entitled because I do not want strangers to come to my house and yell at me. This is a combination of because of people choosing not to read the posts they are seeing, people thinking that this kind of behaviour in any context is okay, and people being horrible to those in poverty.

I have had people recommend a *low cost* vet that was almost an hour away, and cost more than a vet that I could walk to and from if need be. And then promptly scream at me because I had just lost my job and could not get my cat to the vet that same day to take care of his neuter.

I am VEHEMENTLY against outdoor cats. Not only is it god awful for the cats involved, but its an environmental issue as well. Both of my cats are indoor cats, one of them just has not been neutered yet and likes to run outside the moment hes able to when its warm outside. I know the risks of him being outside. I am fully aware. I am lucky enough to be in a relatively safe area where my cat feels safe enough around the wildlife to use the deer as protection against me. He DOES also always come back within 12 to 24 hours after leaving. The only times he has not was when he was taken by a person, or when it was raining outside, and usually he will hide nearby if that is the case. He does go over to other peoples houses, but its not a thing where he spends more and more time there. He just likes to explore and get the girls.

The point of what I am saying here is that if you want your cat to be a fully or near fully indoor cat, just keeping them inside isnt enough. My boy nearly crushed himself shoving an air conditioner out the window to escape. The BEST thing you can do for any cat to make sure they stay in your area is to NEUTER them. That way they are less likely to run off, and if they do, then they are less likely to travel far or get into fights with other cats. If you see an intact cat outside, yeah it may be a stray. But it is ALWAYS best to make sure that it does not belong to someone who is trying to keep them indoors. If you find the owners keep them outside, then... Cat distribution system. The only cats I would say should stay outside are feral cats, or cats that were raised outdoors and strongly do not do well indoors, but have a safe place to stay outdoors.

*I am planning on getting him taken care of here soon I just need to make everything work first*

I can think of a really easy solution to this problem.

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misaerabl · 20 hours ago

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Terms and Conditions

SUMMARY: She pays you to go on a date. One night, no strings attached. It’s simple—until it isn’t. Caitlyn Kiramman is everything you’re not: wealthy, confident, and effortlessly magnetic. She offers you money in exchange for your time, and you take it, convinced it’s just a transaction. But as the dates unfold, the chemistry between you both becomes undeniable.

Is it just the money? Or is there something deeper beneath the surface? What started as a simple arrangement quickly turns into a tangled web of emotions, where nothing is as clear as it seems.

WARNINGS: couch sex, oral sex (both receiving), scissoring, fingering (r receiving), squirting, they drank some wine but both are still perfectly aware of everything, angsty ending, plot with smut?

The sound of a clock ticking filled the silence of your small apartment. You sat at the edge of the couch, head in your hands, staring at the stack of overdue bills on the coffee table. Every red stamp felt like it screamed failure, and no matter how many times you ran the numbers, there was no way out.

Your phone buzzed on the table. You didn’t have to look to know who it was—Caitlyn Kiramman. She had a habit of checking in, her messages always polite, always the same: “Coffee this week?” or “Dinner on me?” You’d turned her down more times than you could count, and yet, she never stopped asking.

You’d met her months ago, entirely by chance, and from the moment her piercing blue eyes locked onto yours, it was like she’d made up her mind about you. Caitlyn Kiramman was perfect in a way that didn’t seem fair. Polished, confident, and absurdly gorgeous, she had the kind of grace and poise that belonged to someone who could have anyone they wanted. And yet, for reasons you couldn’t fathom, she wanted you.

You weren’t anyone special—at least, that’s how you saw it. Your life was messy, your clothes were plain, and your idea of fine dining was whatever you could scrounge up on a budget. Yet Caitlyn kept coming back, her persistence gentle but unyielding, as though she’d spotted something in you that even you couldn’t see.

It was baffling. What could someone like her possibly want with someone like you?

This time, though, her persistence came with an offer.

The message read: “Meet me tomorrow at The Gilded Hearth. I’ll make it worth your while.”

You frowned, your exhaustion turning to annoyance. What could she possibly mean by that? You had no intention of indulging her, but the reality of your situation left you desperate enough to consider it.

The next evening, you found yourself stepping into a restaurant that practically reeked of wealth. The kind of place where the waitstaff glided instead of walked, and the soft clinking of glasses mingled with murmured conversations in an atmosphere that seemed worlds away from your reality. Everything about it screamed luxury—from the polished mahogany tables to the soft, golden glow of chandeliers overhead.

Caitlyn was already seated at a corner table, dressed impeccably as always. Her navy blazer fit her perfectly, her dark hair swept back to reveal those striking blue eyes. She looked up as you approached, her lips curving into a smile that was as warm as it was unsettling.

“You came,” she said, her voice steady but carrying a note of relief.

“I’m not staying long,” you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest as you stopped short of the table. “What’s this about?”

Her smile softened, and she gestured for you to sit. “Please, just hear me out.”

Reluctantly, you slid into the chair across from her, already feeling out of place in this world of quiet elegance. Caitlyn’s demeanor shifted, her usual confident air replaced by something more serious, almost vulnerable.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” she began, folding her hands neatly on the table. “I know things haven’t been easy for you. I don’t mean to intrude, but I want to help.”

Your stomach twisted at her words, the familiar mix of shame and frustration bubbling up. “Help? What are you talking about?”

She held your gaze, unwavering. “Go out with me. One date. In return, I’ll pay you enough to take care of your expenses.”

The words hung in the air between you, absurd and impossible to ignore. For a moment, you just stared at her, struggling to process what she was saying. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m very serious,” Caitlyn said, her tone calm but firm. “You’ve turned me down every time I’ve asked, and I respect that. But I also know you’re in a tough spot. Let me do this. It’s a win for both of us.”

The sincerity in her voice threw you off balance. She wasn’t mocking you, wasn’t trying to make you feel small. If anything, there was something almost... earnest about her offer.

You clenched your fists under the table, torn between pride and necessity. Every part of you wanted to walk away, to refuse her charity and keep what little dignity you had left. But the weight of your situation—the overdue bills, the mounting pressure—made that choice feel impossible.

You exhaled slowly, your resolve crumbling. “Fine,” you muttered. “One date. That’s it.”

Her smile brightened instantly, but it wasn’t the triumphant smirk you expected. It was something softer, warmer, and it caught you off guard. For a brief moment, you wondered if there was more to Caitlyn Kiramman than her money and her polished exterior.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

And just like that, the deal was struck. One date, you told yourself. Just one.

The first official date was nothing like you’d expected. Caitlyn had chosen an upscale rooftop lounge overlooking the city skyline. Everything about it was impeccable—the crisp evening air, the soft murmur of conversation from other tables, and the way Caitlyn seemed to command attention without even trying.

You’d spent most of the evening fighting the guilt gnawing at your chest. The guilt that came with knowing why you were here. Caitlyn knew it too—she had to. This wasn’t a romance; it was a transaction, plain and simple. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

But Caitlyn made it difficult to stick to that narrative. She was charming without being overbearing, engaging without forcing the conversation. Her intelligence shone through in everything she said, and the way her laughter bubbled up when you made a dry comment—it felt genuine. Too genuine.

By the time dessert arrived, you were actually enjoying yourself. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the way Caitlyn seemed to look at you like you were the only person in the room. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because she was genuinely good company.

The guilt remained, though, a dull ache that refused to be ignored.

When the evening ended, Caitlyn drove you back to your apartment. Her sleek car purred softly as she pulled up to the curb. The atmosphere inside the car was warm, filled with the remnants of laughter and conversation.

“Thank you for tonight,” she said, her voice soft but sincere.

You glanced at her, unsure how to respond. “I guess... thanks to you too. For dinner. And everything.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope, holding it out to you. “Here,” she said. “For your time.”

The weight of the envelope was heavier than you expected, and the reality of the arrangement hit you all over again. You swallowed hard, tucking it into your bag without meeting her gaze.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you muttered, feeling your cheeks heat.

“But I wanted to,” she said simply. Her tone was kind, but there was something else beneath it—something almost vulnerable.

You started to reach for the door handle when her voice stopped you.

“Wait.”

You froze, looking back at her.

“One more date,” she said, her eyes steady on yours. “I’ll double the payment.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Caitlyn, no. This was already—”

“Just think about it,” she interrupted gently, leaning back against her seat. “I don’t want to pressure you. But if you say yes, it could help. Couldn’t it?”

Your throat tightened. You hated how easily she cut through your defenses, how she spoke the words you’d been trying to avoid. Double the payment. Enough to not just scrape by but to finally help your mom and still have something left.

You bit your lip, looking down at your hands. “I don’t know,” you admitted quietly.

Her lips curled into a small, almost triumphant smile. “I’ll wait for your answer,” she said. “No rush.”

When you stepped out of her car, clutching the envelope, you told yourself you wouldn’t do it again. But as you climbed the stairs to your apartment, Caitlyn’s offer played on repeat in your head.

And by the time you reached your door, you weren’t so sure anymore.

You dropped onto your bed with a heavy sigh, staring up at the ceiling as if it held answers to the questions swirling in your head. The envelope of cash weighed heavily in your mind, even though it now sat tucked away in the depths of your dresser. It wasn’t just about you anymore.

Your mother’s voice echoed in your thoughts—her strained laughter, the way she brushed off her own needs as if they didn’t matter. The medical bills piling up on her counter were no secret, and every time you saw her wince or move a little slower, it chipped away at your resolve.

Caitlyn’s money could change that. It could buy more than just groceries and a reprieve from overdue notices. It could buy her the care she deserved.

You rolled over, burying your face in the pillow. “It’s just one more date,” you muttered to yourself, the words muffled but carrying the weight of justification.

But it wasn’t that simple, was it?

Caitlyn wasn’t some faceless benefactor handing out charity. She was kind, charming, and far too perceptive for her own good. She made you feel seen in a way that left you unsettled because you couldn’t tell if it was genuine or part of her game.

And yet, the thought of saying yes didn’t feel as heavy as it should have.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, breaking the silence. You didn’t have to look to know it was Caitlyn. She was persistent, if nothing else.

Reaching for the phone, you hesitated, your finger hovering over the screen. It wasn’t a text this time. She was calling.

For a moment, you considered ignoring it, letting the call go to voicemail. But the memory of her steady gaze—the way her lips curved into that soft, patient smile—made you swipe to answer.

“Hello?” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Hey,” Caitlyn’s voice came through, smooth and familiar. “I just wanted to check in. No pressure, but... have you thought about my offer?”

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. “I’ve thought about it.”

“And?” she prompted, her tone light but laced with curiosity.

“I don’t know yet,” you admitted. “It’s... complicated.”

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a soft hum. “I understand. Take your time. But if you’re willing, I’d love to take you somewhere special. No expectations, I promise. Just... consider it.”

Your chest tightened. You wanted to say no. You should say no.

Instead, you found yourself saying, “I’ll let you know.”

“Fair enough,” she said, a smile evident in her voice. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight,” you replied, ending the call and letting the phone fall beside you on the bed.

As the silence returned, you stared at the ceiling again, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. One more date. It shouldn’t be this hard.

But the truth was, Caitlyn wasn’t making it hard because of the money. She was making it hard because, for the first time in a long time, you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to walk away.

Against your better judgment, you found yourself agreeing to Caitlyn’s proposal. One more date. It was just for the money—at least, that’s what you told yourself. But a small, insistent voice in the back of your mind whispered that maybe that wasn’t entirely true.

The evening started at a picturesque vineyard just outside the city. The sun dipped below the horizon as Caitlyn led you down cobblestone paths lined with twinkling string lights. It felt like something out of a storybook, the kind of place you’d never have dreamed of visiting. She was, as always, stunning—her blue hair neatly tied back, soft tendrils framing her face. She looked effortlessly elegant in a navy dress that brought out the striking color of her eyes.

The date unfolded like a dream. Caitlyn was the perfect conversationalist, effortlessly blending sharp wit with genuine curiosity. She asked about your day, your dreams, even your childhood—things most people wouldn’t bother with. And as much as you wanted to keep your guard up, you couldn’t help but be drawn in.

Dinner was served in a private alcove overlooking the vineyard, the table set with delicate glassware and candlelight. The food was exquisite, the kind of meal you’d only ever seen in glossy magazines. But it wasn’t the truffle risotto or the perfectly paired wine that held your attention—it was her.

Throughout the evening, you caught yourself staring at her more than you wanted to. The way her lips curved when she smiled, the way her fingers drummed lightly against the table when she was deep in thought, the way her laughter rang out like music in the still night air. She was magnetic, and despite your best efforts, you were drawn to her.

Every time you started to overthink, you reminded yourself why you were here. It was just for the money. Nothing more. But with every passing moment, that excuse felt flimsier.

As the date came to a close, you both walked back to her car, the evening still buzzing in your veins. The vineyard had been beautiful, the conversation even better. You couldn’t help but smile as she opened the car door for you, the evening winding down as the soft hum of the engine filled the space between you.

Her expression shifted, a light flush coloring her cheeks as she looked over at you. “I can’t believe this,” she said with a small, embarrassed laugh. “I completely forgot the money at home.”

You blinked, unsure if she was serious. “Seriously? How do you forget something like that?”

Caitlyn chuckled softly, shaking her head. “I swear, I wasn’t trying to pull anything. I just got caught up in the night.”

You raised an eyebrow, a bit skeptical, but she seemed genuine. “You really forgot?”

She nodded sheepishly. “I did. I’m so sorry about that. I swear I wasn’t trying to be sneaky.”

You sighed, leaning back in your seat, trying to think it through. It wasn’t like you had a choice. You needed the money, and she was offering to get it for you. Plus, you were already here.

“Alright,” you said, running a hand through your hair. “I guess we’ll have to go back to your place then.”

Caitlyn’s eyes lit up with a smile. “Thanks for being understanding. I wouldn’t want to leave you empty-handed.”

You couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy. This was supposed to be a simple transaction, right? But the way she smiled at you, the way she said it so effortlessly, made everything feel... murkier than it had been before.

“Fine,” you muttered, trying to brush off the nagging feeling. “Let’s go. Just make it quick, okay?”

She nodded, her smile lingering as she turned the car onto the road. "It won’t take long," she assured you, her fingers gripping the wheel just a little tighter.

The drive was quiet for a moment, both of you lost in your thoughts. You couldn’t help but glance at Caitlyn from the corner of your eye. This is just for the money. Nothing more.

At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

The gates to Caitlyn’s mansion opened with a quiet hum, and the sight of her home still caught you off guard, no matter how many times you’d told yourself to expect it. The sheer grandeur of the place was almost laughable. A far cry from the cramped apartment you called home.

She led you inside, the heels of her shoes clicking softly against the marble floor. The air smelled faintly of lavender and something sweeter—maybe her perfume, lingering faintly from the drive.

“Take a seat,” Caitlyn said, motioning toward the couch in the spacious living room. Her tone was casual, but there was something inviting about it. “I’ll just grab the money.”

You nodded, sinking into the plush cushions. The room was quiet, save for the distant tick of an ornate grandfather clock. You told yourself you were only here for the money, but as your fingers brushed the soft fabric of the couch, you couldn’t help but notice how at ease you felt.

Caitlyn returned a few moments later, an envelope in her hand. She hesitated at the edge of the room before walking over to you. Her expression was softer now, the confident edge she usually wore replaced by something... gentler.

“Here,” she said, handing you the envelope. It was heavy, more than you expected, and the weight of it made your stomach churn.

“Thanks,” you murmured, clutching it awkwardly.

She sat down beside you, her movements unhurried. “You don’t have to rush off, you know,” she said after a moment. “If you want to stay for a bit, that is.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Stay?”

She shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. “If you’d like. No pressure.”

You considered her offer. Every rational part of you screamed to leave, to take the money and go, but instead, you found yourself nodding. “Just for a bit,” you said quickly, more to yourself than to her. “Besides, you’ve already paid me... it’d be rude to run off so soon.”

Caitlyn chuckled softly, but she didn’t say anything, letting you justify your decision however you needed.

But was that really why you stayed? You tried to convince yourself it was. You owed her this, didn’t you? She’d paid you. But even as the thought crossed your mind, it felt hollow. The truth was harder to admit: you wanted to see more of her.

Oh, don’t be ridiculous, you scolded yourself. That’s not it at all.

“Wine?” Caitlyn asked, breaking the silence.

You glanced up to find her already pouring two glasses, her movements graceful as ever. When she handed you one, your fingers brushed briefly, and you cursed the way your heart stuttered at the contact.

“Thanks,” you muttered, taking a sip.

She leaned back, swirling her own glass as her gaze wandered to the fireplace. “You know,” she began, her voice low, “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Your stomach flipped, and you forced out a laugh. “I’m not that interesting.”

“I disagree.” She looked at you then, her blue eyes piercing, as if she could see straight through you. “You’re different. Honest.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to hold her gaze, instead focusing on the way the firelight danced across the rim of your glass. Different? Honest? If only she knew the truth.

And yet, sitting there with her, you felt the tension begin to ease. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was her presence—calm, steady, and undeniably magnetic. Whatever it was, you found yourself wanting to stay just a little longer. Just for a bit, you told yourself again.

But deep down, you knew better.

The conversation flowed as effortlessly as the wine, the two of you trading stories and quips that left you smiling more than you cared to admit. Caitlyn had this way of speaking that was equal parts mesmerizing and disarming, her words weaving around you like a warm embrace.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting there, sipping wine and talking, but time seemed irrelevant. Caitlyn leaned back, one leg crossed over the other, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp, watching you in that way that made your stomach twist.

“Do you ever wonder,” she said, swirling the deep red liquid in her glass, “how people end up in each other’s lives? Like... what are the odds of us meeting?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I don’t know,” you admitted, fidgeting with the stem of your glass. “I guess I don’t think about it much.”

“I do.” Her voice softened, and she tilted her head, the firelight catching the sharp angles of her face. “I think about how strange it is that out of everyone I could’ve met, it was you.”

Your heart skipped, and you forced a laugh to break the tension creeping into the room. “You make it sound like fate or something.”

“Maybe it is.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and impossibly sincere. You wanted to laugh it off again, but her gaze pinned you in place. It was as if she’d stripped away every wall you’d carefully built, leaving you bare and vulnerable under her scrutiny.

Your grip tightened around the glass, your pulse hammering in your ears. It’s just the wine, you told yourself for the hundredth time, clinging to the excuse like a lifeline. But deep down, you knew better. It wasn’t the wine. It was her.

And then she said it.

“You’re so guarded,” Caitlyn murmured, her eyes never leaving yours. “Like you’re afraid to let anyone in. But I see you, you know. The real you.”

It was too much. The sincerity in her voice, the way she looked at you, the undeniable pull that had been building since the moment you stepped into her world. Something inside you snapped.

Before you knew what you were doing, you set your glass down and shifted on the couch, crawling toward her. Caitlyn’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise breaking through her calm facade.

And then you kissed her.

It wasn’t tentative or hesitant; it was urgent, born of all the emotions you’d been trying to suppress. Her lips were soft and warm against yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to still.

Caitlyn responded almost instantly, her hands finding your waist as she pulled you closer. The kiss deepened, your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind.

You found yourself straddling her, your hands tangled in her hair, both of you lost in the kiss. It was no longer just an exchange of lips—it was desperate, raw, as if every suppressed feeling had finally found its release. The kiss deepened, and time seemed to stretch, until finally, both of you pulled away, gasping for air.

Caitlyn’s eyes locked onto yours, intense and searching, as if silently asking, Was that real? Your breath hitched in your throat, and you swallowed hard. What were you doing? This was supposed to be about the money, nothing more. But how could you reconcile that with the way your heart was racing, the way your body was pulling you closer to hers?

For a moment, doubt crept in, the weight of everything you’d been trying to keep at bay threatening to suffocate you. This was wrong. You shouldn’t be here. But then, Caitlyn tilted your head gently, her lips brushing against your neck, and all those thoughts melted away like ice under a hot sun.

Her touch was electric, igniting something deep inside you. Her kisses trailed down your neck, slow and deliberate, each one sending a shiver down your spine. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and for once, you didn’t care about the consequences. You didn’t care about the deal, the money, or the lines you’d promised yourself you’d never cross. All that mattered was her.

Before you even realized what was happening, you found yourself pressed back against the soft cushions of the couch, Caitlyn above you, her body warm and impossibly close. The world outside the room seemed to fade, the only thing that mattered now was her.

With a soft grunt, she tossed her expensive jacket onto the floor, the fabric crumpling as it landed. Her hands moved to your neck, her lips following closely behind. She pressed gentle, teasing kisses along the length of your jaw, the soft brush of her lips sending a wave of heat down your spine. The feel of her breath against your skin was intoxicating, leaving your thoughts scrambled, your heart pounding in your chest.

You didn’t even realize you were pulling her closer until her body was practically flush against yours. Your hands roamed, as if of their own accord, finding her waist, her back, holding her steady as she kissed you with increasing intensity. Her lips left a trail of fire on your neck, the sensation so distracting you couldn’t think straight.

Every part of you screamed that this was wrong, that it was supposed to be about the money, but with each touch, each kiss, that voice inside you grew quieter, lost to the heat of the moment. You didn’t stop her. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you found yourself sinking deeper into it, unable to resist.

Her fingers moved with a deliberate slowness, grazing your skin as they fumbled with the buttons of your blouse. Each touch sent a shiver through you, and you couldn’t help but watch her, breath catching in your throat. The way she moved—steady, focused, like she knew exactly what she was doing—made everything feel more intense.

Your chest rose and fell with every shaky breath, your heart racing in anticipation. It was as if time had slowed, every second stretching out as she continued, the space between you growing impossibly tight. You found your eyes locked onto hers.

"You're so beautiful," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, as your hand gently reached up to tuck a stray lock of her hair behind her ear.

Her gaze softened, a slow smile curling on her lips as she took in your words. Her eyes roamed over your exposed skin, her fingers brushing lightly across your collarbone, tracing the line of your body as if memorizing every inch of you.

She inched lower, her hands moving with deliberate slowness, stopping just above the waistband of your bottoms. Her gaze never left yours, steady and intense, as she waited for any sign of hesitation. But all you could do was stare back at her, completely lost in the moment. Every thought, every reason you’d given yourself for being here, seemed to fade into the background. It was as if the entire world had disappeared, leaving only the two of you in this electric, heavy silence.

You swallowed, trying to find your bearings, but all you could focus on was the weight of her gaze, the way her touch lingered in the air. For the first time, you weren’t sure where this was heading, or if it even mattered.

"May I?" She asks for permission to slip your bottoms off. You hummed in response.

With a trembling hand, you slowly nodded, giving Caitlyn the unspoken permission she sought. As your bottoms slid down the length of your legs, the cool air of the room brushed against your skin, sending a peculiar tingle through every nerve ending.

Her eyes roamed over your bare form, taking in every curve and contour as if committing it to memory. She bit her lower lip, a soft sigh escaping her as she drank in the sight of you. Slowly, she began to unbutton her own blouse, her movements deliberate and seductive.

As the fabric fell open, revealing the smooth skin of her chest, she allowed the blouse to slide off her shoulders, joining your discarded bottoms on the floor. She unhooked her bra next, her breasts finally free.

It's clear she's proud of how she looks and It's also clear she knows you're conscious of yours. She was going to make sure you felt the most beautiful and desirable woman alive after this, because to Caitlyn Kiramman, that's what you are.

She gently ran her fingers along your collarbone, tracing the curve of your breasts without touching them directly, teasing you with her nearness. "Do you see how perfect you are?" She murmured, her voice low and husky. She wanted you to feel adored, worshipped.

She moved lower, her gaze locked on yours as she reached out to gently grasp your hands in hers. With a soft smile, she brought your hands up to her face, pressing a gentle kiss to your palms before laying them against her cheeks. "You're perfect"

With that, she leaned forward, her lips brushing against your inner thighs as she speaks against your skin. "So soft, so sweet." She kisses and nuzzles your thighs before finally pressing her mouth against your folds. Caitlyn's tongue dives in, licking and sucking at your pussy with intense focus.

"A-ah... Cait-"

She moans against you as she tastes your wetness, her tongue swirling around your clit with increasing pressure. Your legs tremble and your hips buck forward, pressing yourself against her face. Caitlyn grips your thighs tighter, holding you in place as she devours you.

"Mmm, you taste even better than I'd imagined," Caitlyn murmurs against your folds, her hot breath sending shivers down your spine. She continues to lick and suck, her tongue plunging in and out of your pussy, fucking you with her mouth.

You're panting and moaning loudly now, your fingers gripping her hair tightly as you pull her face closer. "God... C-Caitlyn," you whimper, your back arching off the bed as she curls her tongue inside you, hitting that spot that drives you wild.

Caitlyn's eyes flutter closed in bliss as she feels you tightening around her tongue. She knows you're close. She sucks your clit hard, flicking the tip of her tongue over it rapidly. Your legs shake violently and you let out a scream of pleasure as your orgasm rips through you.

"So beautiful..."

As the waves of your climax subside, Caitlyn slowly pulls back, licking her lips hungrily. She sits up, her nipples hardened with arousal, and swiftly removes her remaining bottoms. Naked now, she crawls back onto the couch, positioning herself between your still trembling thighs.

Caitlyn spreads your legs wider, her own pussy glistening with arousal. She grasps your inner thighs, holding them apart as she positions herself. With a satisfied smile, she presses her own folds against yours, the heat and wetness of her pussy scissoring against your sensitive folds.

You gasp as you feel the warmth and pressure of her pussy against yours, your fingers digging into the couch cushions.

"Oh my god," you breathe out, your eyes locking with hers. She starts to move her hips in a slow, sensual grind, creating delicious friction between your bare pussies.

Caitlyn's hips move faster, the room filling with the wet, smacking sounds of your intertwined folds rubbing together. She wraps her arms around your legs, pulling them up higher onto her shoulders, allowing her deeper access. "You like that?"

"Yes, fuck yes!" you cry out, your head thrown back in ecstasy. The sensation of Caitlyn's pussy rubbing against yours is overwhelming, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. You can feel her wetness soaking through yours, the heat and pressure building to an intense level.

Caitlyn's movements become more frantic, her breath coming in short gasps as she chases her own orgasm. She leans forward, her mouth finding yours in a fierce, passionate kiss as she continues to scissor your pussy with her own. The dual stimulation is too much for both of you.

Feeling the blue haired girl's intense passion, you break the kiss, pushing her back gently yet firmly. She falls onto the couch cushions, a look of surprise and excitement flashing across her face. Taking charge, you kneel between her spread legs, your mouth watering at the sight of her dripping pussy.

"Yes..." she breathes out, propping herself up on her elbows to watch you. Her legs tremble slightly as you lower your head, and she can already feel the heat of your breath against her sensitive folds. Her hips lift involuntarily, eager for your touch, "Please..."

You part her slick folds with your fingers, revealing her swollen clit. Without hesitation, you flatten your tongue and lick a long, slow stripe up her center, tasting her sweet juices. Caitlyn's back arches off the couch, a loud moan escaping her lips, "Oh god, yes!"

You continue your assault on her pussy with fervor, your tongue circling her sensitive clit before sucking it gently into your mouth. Caitlyn writhes beneath you, her hands fisting in your hair as she grinds her hips against your face. "Don't stop, fuck don't stop!"

Her moans grow louder as you increase the pressure, your fingers joining your tongue as you thrust them in and out of her wet heat while sucking relentlessly on her throbbing clit. She's practically sobbing with pleasure.

Catching you off guard, she whispers, "Not yet," and gently pushes you back down to lie on the couch. She quickly moves around, positioning herself between your legs, her eyes locked with yours. "My turn," she says with a playful smile, licking her fingers before slowly sliding them inside you.

You feel a mix of surprise and desire as she takes control again. Her fingers, slick with her own saliva, slide easily into your tight pussy, scissoring and stretching you open. You let out a soft gasp, your back arching slightly as she starts to pump her fingers in and out of you.

Keeping eye contact, she adds a third finger, her thumb circling your clit. You moan loudly, your hips moving in rhythm with her thrusts. "You're gorgeous" she breathes out, her other hand casually squeezing one of your breasts as she continues to fuck you with her fingers.

"Don't hold back... let me hear how good this feels." curling her fingers up to brush against your most sensitive spot as she talks Her free hand moves to your clit, circles it firmly while pumping her fingers faster.

"Aah- Cait... F-Feels s'good..."

Her fingers piston in and out faster, knuckles deep now, stretching you wider than ever before. Her thumb finds your sweet spot and rubs rhythmically as she curls her fingers inside you, trying to mimic the shape of something else.

Fingers pumping in and out of you at a quickening pace, you can feel them getting wider inside you as she curls them up, hitting that spot deeper each time. You whimper and squirm beneath her touch, trying to pull your legs up to give her better access.

A satisfied smirk crosses her face at your responsiveness. She uses her free hand to push your legs higher, opening you wider.

Her pace quickens, the wet sound of her fingers sliding in and out of you filling the room.

Her fingers continue to drill into your pussy, curling up to rub against your g-spot with relentless precision. With a particularly hard stroke, your body tenses up and suddenly you're squirting hard, a powerful stream of fluid gushing out of your pussy and coating Caitlyn's hand and fingers.

Catching your eye, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips as she feels your warm fluids coating her hand "Oh, my... look at what you just did for me..." slowly licks her fingers clean.

"Oh my god- I've never..." You gasp.

“Well, I’m glad I’m the first,” Caitlyn smiles, her voice soft as she leans in, her fingers brushing against your skin. The warmth of her body next to yours feels oddly comforting. She wraps her arm around you, pulling you closer as you both settle into the couch.

For a moment, the only sound is the soft hum of the music playing in the background and the gentle rhythm of your breathing. You let yourself relax, your head resting against her shoulder, and for once, you let go of all the worries you’ve been holding onto.

But as you lie there, nestled in the comfort of her embrace, something starts to pull at you—an unsettling thought.

The haze of warmth and affection is fleeting, and suddenly, reality crashes in. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to be here, wrapped up in her like this, enjoying her company as if it were something real.

You shift slightly, pulling your head away from her shoulder as a wave of guilt rushes through you. You’re reminded of why you’re here in the first place—why you agreed to this whole arrangement. It was never about her. It was never supposed to be about her. You needed the money.

Your gaze drifts, and your eyes land on the envelope of cash sitting innocently on the coffee table beside the wine glasses.

It’s like a punch to the gut. The money. That’s why you agreed to this. Why you came back. Not because you wanted to be here with her, not because of the connection you’ve started to feel, but because you needed the cash.

The reality sinks in, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. You turn your head to look at Caitlyn, but her face is still soft with contentment, her eyes closed in peaceful oblivion to the internal war waging within you.

You want to believe that there’s more to this, that maybe there’s something real between you two. But you know better. This was always just a transaction. It was just business.

But why does it feel so much more than that?

#caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn x reader #arcane #lesbian #caitlyn kiramman x reader #caitlyn kiramman x you #caitlyn arcane #caitlyn kiramman arcane #caitlyn x you #arcane smut #arcane fanfic #arcane fan fiction #caitlyn league of legends #caitlyn kiramman smut #caitlyn kiramman fanart

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with-my-calamitous-love · 3 days ago

Text

please don’t ever become a stranger (whose laugh i could recognize anywhere)

k. bakugou x reader

moments in the year where katsuki realized he’s in love with you. happy new years 🤍

inspired by new years day

february 14

he’s driving you home after a date, one hand on the steering wheel, the other intertwined with yours. city lights pass through the windows in a blur, the road long enough for you to tell it’ll be a long way home.

he’s stressed, a little. you can tell by how he grips your hand, and the way he seems not totally focused on anything in particular. you still feel safe- he’s a great driver- but his inner thoughts aren’t lost on you. normally, he’s the toast of the town, and you’re right there with him. he’s aware of his reputation, and the love he gets from fans. but with fame comes the public eye, and even he isn’t immune to it.

he’s been striking out more lately. his abrasive attitude that you love isn’t always loved by everyone. his slip ups and mistakes seem to make headlines more than his achievements. its grating on him, and he hopes you don’t notice.

but you do, because thats what you do for people you love.

1. 2. 3. you squeeze his hand three times. i love you, it spells out. i’ll love you when you’re at your best and worst. no matter what.

at first, he thinks you’re just playing with his hand, crimson eyes flickering over to you and then back to the road. exactly 2 seconds later, he gets what you really mean.

1. 2. 3. 4. he grips your hand back. i love you, too. he says, without actually saying anything. i will never not love you. you’re the only person who stays for me no matter what. and for that, i love you.

unspoken words you both know to be true that night.

april 20

he doesn’t really celebrate his birthday, but his friends and colleagues always insist on it. he snarls, scoffing, finding it all pompous and unnecessary, until he sees your starry eyes planning his special day. he can’t say no to you.

he wasn’t expecting much when he unlocked the door to his apartment. he had a feeling you’d throw him a surprise party, but he didn’t think you’d gather his old classmates in his home to celebrate with him.

he’s stunned for a moment, until his lips curve into a begrudging smile. a room full of people, on his birthday, and the first person he looks for is you.

“thanks, dumbass.” he murmurs, a few drinks in while his arm finds your waist. his smile is like sunshine, though you rarely see it when its genuine. you pretend not to notice the ‘ews’ and laughs from your peers when he presses a long kiss to your cheek.

he has work tomorrow morning. he’ll definitely regret drinking as much as he did. he decides he’ll take an advil and get it over with.

he knows how much he’s loved you from the moment he entered that party. he realizes it more when you call in for him the next day, his hangover palpable, with you by his side.

“you didn’t have to do that.” he groans, but he isn’t annoyed. its a little embarrassing being taken care of, but he isn’t complaining when its with you.

“its just one day, babe.” you hum, holding his hand, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. “you deserved the break.”

“pro-heroes don’t get breaks.” he adds.

“okay… but i missed you.” you smile a little, trying to win him over.

you already have.

june 26

katsuki is used to criminal activity. when he hears about it, he keeps a level head and a resting bitch face, ready to deal with whatever comes his way. all that rationality is thrown out the window when he hears you had been caught up in it and injured.

he runs through every medic, frantically searching for you like his life depends on it. he’s imagining every worst case scenario, heart beating out of his chest and snapping at anyone who asks whats wrong.

“katsuki!” you finally call out to him. he turns and is relieved to see you’ve only managed a broken arm. the sigh of relief that leaves his lips is a testament to how much he cares, arms wrapping around you, not giving a single fuck who sees.

“are you okay, idiot? are you hurt anywhere else?” his eyes scan you for injuries. you physically have to cup his face and bring his attention back to whats important: you’re okay. and so is he.

“i’m fine.” you almost laugh, savouring his rare moment of vulnerability. he has things to do, reporters to talk to and damage to control, but you’re the priority right now. you’re what he loves the most.

you never know how much you care until you think you’re going to lose it.

september 12

being a gruff, muscular, powerful hero, katsuki think’s he’s too strong for panic attacks. he’s also wrong.

he hopes you’re in a deep enough sleep not to notice his pacing. to him, the room is on fire, only the smoke is invisible and only he can feel the flame.

his breathing picks up, pains in his chest while the tremors set in. his heart races, nauseous and sweating while he tries to get his bearings. all of his heroes die all alone, just like he will.

“just breathe.”

he’s commanded by you, not even realizing you woke up. he feelings your touch on him, taking his hand and placing it overtop your chest. he wants to ask you when you woke up, or for how long you’ve been watching him, but he can’t seem to ground himself enough for that.

“its okay, kats.” you coo, pulling him into a hug, as if shielding him from his own anxiety. “just breathe. you’re safe here.”

he can save you from villains and threats, be your knight in shining armour, your hero. you, on the other hand, can save him from himself. and thats the moment he knows he’ll love you for as long as he breathes. even if you were to one day become a stranger to him- his heart would recognize you anywhere.

december 31st - 5 minutes to midnight

there’s glitter on the floor, polaroids tossed around lazily. kirishima’s annual new years party wouldn’t be complete without you and your boyfriend, katsuki, in attendance. people drink and blast music, reminiscing on this past year. in just 5 minutes, the world would begin again.

he could be with his friends, drunk on love, laughter, and booze. he could relish in the fame of his success and achievements. but all of that seems so small, so trivial, when he sees you out on the balcony, alone.

“idiot?” he peers out, seeing you leaning over the railing, looking out at the stars. “what’re you doing out here? everyone’s gonna start counting down.”

“hey.” you hum as he walks over to you. his arm so naturally finds its way around your waist, like it belongs there. loving you is like breathing for him.

“you know 5 years ago today, you just graduated.” you reminisce, watching his red eyes grow contemplative.

“yeah? so?” he utters, not getting your point.

“nothing, just… so many people spend new years focusing on whats ending. and thats good. i just… when i look at you, katsuki… i think of my future.”

his heart swells at that.

“damn it, idiot.” he huffs, forehead resting against yours, a dumb smile on his face. “my life has been better with you. everything has been better since you.”

you both hear the sounds of cheering, counting down to midnight. time ceases when katsuki looks at you, whole centuries passing when he holds your gaze. you melt his tough exterior and the ashes of his ambition. you become his dreams, his everything.

“10!”

“i never want you to be a stranger, ever.”

“9!”

“i wanna laugh with you for the rest of my life.”

“8!”

“i wanna hold on to every memory with you.”

“7!”

“this is so fucking corny.”

“6!”

“i know, i don’t care.”

“5!”

“i’d spend all my midnights with you.”

“4!”

“and all my new years days.”

“you hate cleaning up after parties, though.”

“i can’t hate anything when its with you. i love you, [y/n].”

“i love you too, katsuki.”

“3!”

“2!”

“1!”

january 1st

the truth is, he has always known he’s loved you. he’s never needed the reminder, like its the one sure thing in his life. for as long as he lives, he’ll be cleaning up bottles with you on new years day.

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