#he's often told off for not being “professional enough”

[spatialwave]

stress relief.

➸ ask: “Heyy <33 | have a req for a jayvik fic, the reader has noticed they've been quite stressed lately and recommends a form of Relaxing they do (Basically just getting high) and convinces both Jayce and Viktor to take part in it.. Can be fluff or smut??” ➸ pairing: jayvik x fem!reader ➸ tags: mdni! drug use, nsfw, smut, pwp, poly sex, double penetration, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, jayvik established relationship, modern au, viktor wears a prosthetic leg, no use of y/n. ➸ word count: 6.3k ➸ a/n: i only realized when writing this, that i don’t have a ton of jayvik x reader fics like i thought i did! so, here’s to more!! hehe <3

Your fingers moved skillfully over a typewriter, a vintage one, which you often pointed out to anyone who admired it. Did it often cause you more hassle than writing on your computer? Of course, it did, but the nostalgic sounds of clicking and the aesthetic had become a part of your routine, even if it meant struggling with it or groaning when you had to pull out the paper to correct your mistakes with whiteout and place it right where you left off. A tedious task for a small mistake, but one that you struggled with no less.

The sounds of your constant typing reminded Jayce and Viktor of your pursuit of passion, sharing your poetry and fiction works with the world. This was a creative field of work, as opposed to theirs, which left them strained and sore after a day’s work.

It’s not that they ever compared the two in terms of struggles, but you were able to indulge in a stress-free environment more often than they could. A luxury in their eyes, but all you had done was master the art of stress relief.

In the form of smoking so much weed that you were able to melt into the couch after a day of writing that left your brain foggy, or sometimes even smoking before work to resurge enough creative energy to finish a chapter. You were nearly done with your first fiction novel since graduation, and your roommates, Jayce and Viktor, were lagging behind in their own professional efforts.

You met them both in college; you were in your second year, and they were in their fourth year of mechanical engineering and far from being done with their post-secondary education. It was the luck of the draw, or so Jayce called it when you stumbled into them while hurrying between classes and accidentally knocking their first prosthetic arm prototype to the ground where the pieces scattered.

Never in your life had you ever felt so bad, quickly dropping to your knees and helping them gather the pieces of their hard work, apologizing every second while the two men told you it would be okay. Or, at least, Jayce was telling you it would be okay.

You still think fondly back on Viktor's look. His eyes narrowed as he stared at you, watching you and Jayce scramble to grab everything before the rush of students stampeded over them into non-existence.

It took one apology and a smile to win over Jayce’s heart and a few days of getting to know Viktor—and a few drinks��to win his. Though, you had been oblivious to the deeper feelings that blossomed in their heart.

Why would you think otherwise? They were the two in the relationship.

It was by your fourth year and their sixth that the three of you ended up in the same apartment together, the rent cheap enough split three ways that you’d all be fools to let the opportunity go to waste. You learned quickly that living with two men, let alone engineers and inventors, was going to be a lot. It took a few long months to get used to, but by the time you resigned your first year’s lease and you were freshly graduated, you could be blindfolded and walk over their disassembled creations without as much disturbing their work.

You were thankful that they were able to find a laboratory on campus, but it left your apartment quiet most days and well into the night. The sounds of their bickering had become the soundtrack to your life; instead, the sounds of your fingers against the typewriter echoed through the otherwise empty apartment.

The only other sounds were the distant television you hadn’t bothered to turn off and your senior cat's purring, which lay atop your bed. 

You hummed a quiet melody, a song that you couldn’t name that Jayce had been playing on his phone earlier that morning when he was cooking breakfast. Waking up just in time so you could sneak it and ask him to triple the servings for you and Viktor.

The rattling of the apartment door startled you from your daze, not having realized that you’d been staring at the same sentence over and over for the past five minutes. Your eyes flickered to your phone, a finger tapping the screen to check the time and only then realizing you’d been writing for the past four hours without a break. The moon was high in the sky, and the birds would be chirping in only a few more hours.

Slowly, you got up from your desk, arms stretched above your head and groaning as your stationary position caught up to you, leaving you sore and desperate for a smoke before the night got ahead of you.

“Jesus,” you said as you stepped out of your room, pulling down the sleeves of your sweater over your hands absently as you watched Jayce and Viktor kick off their shoes at the front door. They were so exhausted that they looked like they might fall asleep standing if they didn’t hurry. “This is the fourth night in a row; you guys are digging early graves at how little sleep you’re getting.”

“Maybe that’s why we’re doing it,” Viktor mumbled, struggling with removing the shoe from his prosthetic leg, which Jayce quickly dropped to his knees to help him with.”

“Don’t blame you, all that work and still no grant. Yikes.” You returned with a playful flicker in your eyes, smiling as Viktor rolled his eyes at you. Jayce frowned as he rose back to his feet. “Kidding, guys. It’s called a joke; don’t give me those looks.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the taller man mumbled, scratching at his stubbled jaw as he walked into the apartment, passing you and groaning as he b-lined for the living room so he could collapse onto the couch. Viktor was close behind, leaning on his cane as he walked, but you weren’t far behind.

“Bad day?” You asked sheepishly, regret forming a knot in your stomach when you noticed how stressed they were, both sitting on the couch.

“Bad week,” Viktor corrected as he leaned forward, rolling his pant leg up to reveal the well-worn prosthetic that needed an upgrade. They’d been so focused on their work that he hadn’t bothered to worry about his own needs, knowing that once this project ended, he’d be able to call the final prototype his own. A leg that would finally implant into his limb so he wouldn’t have to deal with the pain of the ill-fitting prosthetics any longer.

You watched as he struggled for a minute, and before Jayce could offer, you were on the floor in front of him, hands already reaching for his leg. Carefully pulling the prosthetic down his thigh until it came clean off, he sighed in relief. This was a common routine that you helped with when Jayce was otherwise busy. Or falling asleep on the couch.

“Thanks,” he murmured, shifting as you put aside the leg carefully.

You returned to the armchair next to the couch, eyes looking between both men who had seen better days. The bags were so heavy beneath their eyes that you feared it would take days for them to finally catch up on their sleep—then an idea sparked.

“You two need a better nightly routine, something to help you decompress from the day instead of passing out in exhaustion the minute you get home,” you said, offering the opportunity for a suggestion.

Jayce glanced at you, raising a curious eyebrow. Viktor was the first to speak, “That doesn’t sound like a healthy habit to you? What a shame. I thought we were the epitome of self-care.”

“Let her speak,” Jayce nudged him with an elbow, eventually leaning against his boyfriend until his face was nearly buried against his neck. “You have anything in mind? I’ll be honest. Sleep sounds like the only good idea.”

“Smoke with me.”

Jayce perked up, peering out from the comfort of Viktor’s warmth as he stared at you with uncertainty, “Like… weed? I don’t know. I haven’t done that since I was a freshman, and let me tell you, it wasn’t a good experience.”

“No one told you to smoke that much, Jayce,” Viktor chided, having been there to witness it firsthand. His amber eyes flickered to you, shining in interest, “I suppose it doesn’t sound like a horrible idea.”

“Because it’s a great idea.” You beamed, sitting up and leaning forward to pet your cat that had made her way into the living room, taking her rounds to each person to receive her nightly pets before nestling away on her cat tree.

Viktor glanced at Jayce, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, love.”

You watched as the two of them spoke softly to each other, a small smile on your lips at the affection they carried for each other. Even on their worst days, they loved each other with all they had. You hoped for a love like theirs someday.

“Fine,” Jayce huffed, pulling away from Viktor and running a quick hand over his face, “At this point, I’ll do anything to get my mind off of work. I think I’m going crazy,” he snorted a weak laugh, eyes flickering over to as you bounced up from your chair and hurried off to your room to roll.

You returned just as Viktor pulled a sweater over his thin frame, hanging over the sleep shorts he now wore. Jayce had just slipped into some sweats after his quick trip to their bedroom to rid themselves of their day clothes. Two sets of eyes watched as you sat back down, a joint held between your fingers that you showed off like a prized possession.

“Ta-da!” You exclaimed, “As simple as a few puffs, all your worries will melt away. It’s old reliable for me, especially after a long day. Makes for the best sleep of your life.”

Viktor was watching you carefully as you spoke, unsure if it was the exhaustion or lingering feelings that left him admiring you. His hand on Jayce’s thigh dug into the cotton fabric of his sweats, going unnoticed because Jayce was staring at you with the same look. Admiration, awe—affection.

Glancing around, your eyes landed on the balcony where you often spent your evenings with a joint and your cellphone, doom scrolling through social media until you were ready to sleep. You crinkled your nose, looking at the boys, “We need to go outside, or else the apartment will smell like—”

“I don’t care,” Viktor said, gaze flickering to Jayce, “do you care?”

Jayce didn’t answer. Instead, his eyes focused on the joint in your hand, and he was more than ready to say fuck it and let things go how they needed to go.

“No complaining tomorrow when we have to air out the apartment,” you smiled. You’d never been able to smoke in the comfort of your own home before, so this was a treat. Even better than you had been able to wrangle your favourite boys into the mix, too.

Once lit, the joint was passed around the circle three times. Viktor handled it well, having been an off-and-on cigarette smoker throughout the years, usually when his stress levels peaked. Now, it was only when he had enough alcohol in his system. Jayce coughed up a lung each time, and it was the most endearing thing you’d ever witnessed. 

Even if it was rather unpleasant for him at first.

You finished the rest, an experienced smoker, so it was almost like nothing to you. The lingering effects of the high made you sink into the armchair, but not before you grabbed everyone some emergency water and snacks, if you could even stay awake.

Fifteen minutes passed, and everyone’s attention was focused on the TV as the shared high began to climb. Viktor was feeling great. His mind was emptied, and the usual pain in his leg after a day of wearing the prosthetic was gone, leaving his body relaxed and eager to sleep long enough to hit double digits.

You glanced at Jayce, seeing the way he sunk into the couch, legs spread wide apart and a lopsided smile on his lips as he watched the trashy reality show play out. You were almost certain you’d never seen them look so damned relaxed, at least since you lived with them.

Jayce caught your stare, head tilting slowly until his gaze met yours, and you felt your heart skip a beat for a brief moment. It had been a long time since you shared a high with anyone, let alone your best friends, so the emotions and feelings coursing through you were new. You couldn’t ignore his half-lidded eyes, staring even as he made room between him and Viktor.

“You look lonely,” Jayce said, a chuckle erupting from his throat, “Come on. When’s the last time you cuddled with us?”

Viktor sighed heavily through his nose, everything around him feeling slow as he watched you slink over hesitantly. He looked at Jayce, smiling, “You say that so confidently; you know she never has before.”

You plopped down on the couch between them, and immediately, your senses were filled in the best way possible. Jayce’s body to your left warmed your body, and you could smell the faint cologne that Viktor used every morning. The scent lingered on his skin.

“That’s not true,” you hummed, looking to the television as you crossed your legs and relaxed back, “Last year when we went to that gala for the university, I got hammered, and somehow I woke up sandwiched between you two in my bed.”

Jayce laughed, a loud laugh that hadn’t warranted that reaction from your words, but everything was funny to him. He could get used to the feeling.

“Ah, right,” Viktor looked at you, smirking, “That was Jayce’s doing, just so you know. He was worried you would get sick, so he wanted to stay with you and begged me to stay.”

“I didn’t beg,” he said through his laughter, “You gave in very easily and enjoyed it. Don’t lie.”

“I did not,” Viktor argued, pale cheeks turning a soft pink. You looked between the two of them as they bickered, a big smile on your face. However, the implications of their words settled into your stomach, and you forced yourself to look back to the TV before you could let your mind wander where it didn’t need to.

There was no need to let yourself build up a desire, knowing very well that it wouldn’t come true.

“Yeah, you did,” Jayce turned to face you both better, easily throwing his right leg over both of your laps, and you were quick to rest a hand over the clothed limb. The touch sent a shiver up his spine and a heat in the pit of his stomach that he hadn’t expected, and he hoped you hadn’t noticed because Viktor certainly had.

“Hardly,” Viktor hummed, unable to feel an ounce of annoyance when his heart began pounding in his chest when he saw how Jayce reacted to your touch. How those hazel eyes were glued to your face, and all of the discussions they’ve shared in the past about you came to the surface.

“Stop arguing,” you whined, pointing to the television, “You are missing the best part of the show. They’re about to answer the ultimatums, and let me tell you that whatever you had in mind is never what happens.”

You were received by silence, and you quickly looked between the two men again, blinking a few times in quick succession as you saw the way they both stared at you. You felt a chill crawl up your spine and absently dug your fingers into the fabric covering Jayce’s leg. Sinking back into the couch, you attempted to force yourself to relax and not overthink it, but it was hard when you could see them sharing looks.

“You know, when you get high, you usually just laugh at crappy television and snack on whatever you have until you fall asleep,” you mumbled, your cheeks burning.

“Mmh,” Viktor hummed, “Where are our manners?” He teased, and his voice sent goosebumps along your skin. He nestled himself against you as he spoke, his cheek resting on your shoulder as he focused on the television. Meanwhile, Jayce leaned back against the nook between the arm and the back of the sofa, his arm extending behind you as his fingers ‘absently’ played with the ends of your hair.

You were on high alert, which was surprising for how much you smoked, but you could sense something was happening. You were just trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t what you were imagining in your head, but the way Jayce brushed his fingers through your hair and how Viktor’s left hand rested over your bare thigh left you wondering if you were dreaming again.

Viktor’s fingers brushed between your thighs, a daring touch that reminded you that this was no dream, and in this reality, the two men were certainly coming onto you.

A laugh bubbled up from you, one that you weren’t able to hold down. Your hands flew to your face, which had begun to burn a bright red, and you avoided their curious looks.

“You guys are being horribly obvious. I hope you know that.” You mumbled behind your hands, refusing to move them.

Viktor chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, “Or maybe it takes you being high to finally notice.”

You turned your head to look at Viktor between parted fingers, “What do you mean by that?”

Jayce spoke up from the other side of you, smiling rather shyly as you looked over at him, “You’re… pretty clueless, you know that? It’s cute.”

You swore you could hear your heart slamming against your ribs, the feeling overwhelming as you stared up at Jayce and felt your stomach twist in uncomfortable knots. Your eyes flickered back to Viktor, noting the confident smile on his lips as he reached out and tucked some of your hair behind your ear.

“How does it make you feel?” Viktor asked quietly, his reddened eyes scanning your face, “Knowing how we feel about you.”

“Well,” you murmured, licking your lips as you inhaled a shaky breath, “I suppose I don’t exactly know how you feel about me… it’s difficult to answer without knowing.”

Jayce shifted beside you, his leg moving from your laps so he could instead guide you until you were rested back against his chest, his body still turned completely towards you and Viktor. You nestled back into him, sighing at how his body felt so nice and warm like it was enveloping you.

Meanwhile, Viktor shifted and leaned towards you, smiling as he nuzzled himself into you and pulled his leg onto the couch that perfectly fit you three. He buried his face against your clothed chest, peering up just enough to meet your gaze.

“Would you like us to show you?” he asked his eager hand dipping beneath your sweater, thin fingers brushing against the skin of your stomach. You didn’t care if the weed was allowing them to better act on their instincts. All you knew was that the four hands beginning to grasp at your body was enough to make you say—

“God, yes,” you breathed, the sound catching in your throat.

Jayce was quick to act on your consent. From behind his lips attached to the side of your neck, he left gentle kisses that earned you a shiver. Meanwhile, Viktor leaned himself between your spread legs. His eyes were half-lidded and glossy as he stared at you with a knowing smile.

You didn’t have time to question him for staring because he swallowed the words on the tip of your tongue as he pressed your lips together in a bruising kiss. Your lips parted with a gasp, and he took advantage of the opening, his tongue delving into your mouth and tasting the red licorice flavour from the sweets you had indulged. He moaned into your mouth, hands on your hips underneath your sweater and grasping over your flesh, rougher touches compared to the fluttering kisses from the man behind you.

The stubble on Jayce’s jaw tickled your skin as he nibbled on the shell of your ear, his heavy breaths cascading your neck with warmth.

“How excited are you?” He whispered into your ear, a squeak muffling into Viktor’s eager mouth as a hand slipped between your bodies and pushed into your shorts. Thick fingers pushed past the fabric of your panties, easily spreading through your wet folds. “Fuck,” Jayce huffed, swallowing thickly as he circled your needy clit with short circles.

“I told you she’d like it,” Viktor mumbled against you, pulling back as a string of saliva connected your lips. He grinned, lifting a hand and brushing his thumb against your swollen bottom lip, “You like it, don’t you?”

Your body was on fire, Jayce’s fingers toying with your cunt, earning a few whimpers that you tried to muffle, but to no avail. Half-lidded eyes stared at Viktor as you nodded, watching as he leaned back and looked down between your legs underneath the fabric. He could see his boyfriend’s fingers working through your folds, the slick sound loud enough to reach his ears.

Nimble fingers grabbed at your shorts and underwear, yanking them down your thighs until they slipped past your ankles and were discarded to the floor.

Viktor’s eyes sparkled as he watched, licking his lips as Jayce used two fingers to spread you open.

“She’s dripping,” Jayce murmured, the sound of his voice easing your nerves as you relaxed against him, fingers grabbing at his thighs. You closed your eyes, unable to look at Viktor in your flustered state.

“I can see that,” Viktor purred, his fingers toying at your entrance that Jayce had opened for him. You whined as he pushed in a finger, a second one joining much too easily, “So good. Taking my fingers so easily. I bet you’ve dreamt of this, haven’t you?”

Your back arched at his touch, Jayce’s index finger returning to your clit, a ministration that made your hips shake in tandem with Viktor’s fingers thrusting in and out of you. Your mind was hazy, and you couldn’t think straight, eyes fluttering as you fucked yourself along his two fingers that pumped so deep you were beginning to babble out their names incoherently. 

Viktor curved his fingers, pushing on the fleshy pad of muscle inside your pussy that coaxed out a strangled cry from your lips. He didn’t relent, the two men wanting to hear more from you as they worked together. They couldn’t concentrate on anything, fixated on the way your cunt tightened around Viktor’s fingers and how your nails dug into Jayce’s thighs as your climax neared.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, a gasp escaping between parted lips. You attempted to push your thighs together, but Jayce was quick and held your thighs apart.

“Be a good girl,” he breathed into your ear.

Viktor’s free hand moved so he could rub quick circles over your swollen clit, fingers still pumping in and out of you at a relentless pace. Your eyes cracked open, hips twitching violently as heat spread down your thighs and up your abdomen. You locked a gaze with Viktor, and your heart lept into your throat at the way he stared at you—animalistic. Hungry.

“Come for me,” he whispered, fingers curling as he did his best to bring you to your release.

It worked well, especially with Jayce’s lips pressing heady open-mouthed kisses to your neck, hands grabbing at your thighs and keeping you nicely spread.

“Oh my god,” you cried, thighs tensing and toes curling as your orgasm hit you hard. You clenched impossibly tight around Viktor’s fingers, hips stuttering as heavy breaths and moans fell from your lips. Viktor kept fucking you with his fingers, a slower pace to meet with your release until you were spent.

Your hands moved to your face, covering your cheeks that were red from embarrassment. You were still twitching, sensitive from their synchronized touches, and you didn’t dare look at either of them.

Jayce smiled, pressing a chaste kiss at your temple, “That was so hot.”

Viktor chuckled, fingers leaving your cunt, and you whined at the emptiness. He noted the reaction, his gut hot and cock twitching under his shorts.

“Show us your pretty face,” he chided you, voice soft as he grabbed at your wrists. He tugged your hands away from your face, smiling at the way you pouted at him, “Since when are you shy?”

“Since my roommates in a relationship decided they’d rather fuck me instead of sleeping,” you mumbled, shifting and feeling a familiar hardness on your lower back. Jayce grunted, his tanned cheeks red as he twitched, the slight friction on his erection making him eager to make your statement come true.

“We haven’t fucked you yet, though,” Viktor hummed, smirking as he lifted his fingers to his mouth, wet with your juices. He licked them clean and sighed, “Do you want us to?”

You answered quickly, a prominent yes. Within minutes, the three of you had made it to their bedroom, rather clumsy in your efforts. Your back fell against the bedsheets that had been tucked into the mattress so neatly, and your clothes were ripped from your body almost instantaneously.

Viktor was leaning back against the pillows, centred almost perfectly in the middle of the bed, and you were on your knees in front of him. Eyes heavy as you tugged down his shorts and briefs while he tossed his sweaters aside. Jayce settled behind you, also on his knees, and he towered over your smaller frame.

Golden eyes watched you both in awe as you felt Jayce’s bare muscled chest pressed against your back and his cock pushing between your thighs—grazing against your still-wet cunt. You could feel how big he was, and as you stared down at Viktor, you noted his, too.

You didn’t want to think about it, wondering how you would take them. You weren’t much of a go-getter in terms of sex, usually relying on your toys late at night when you needed some relief.

“You’re nervous,” Jayce murmured, calloused hands running up and down your sides. They settled over your breasts, feeling the heaviness of them in his hands as he pinched at your nipples until you gasped. 

“A little,” you answered quietly, swallowing down the nervous lump in your throat. You leaned to the side enough that you could tilt your head and meet Jayce’s eyes from behind you. His eyes carried a gentle look, different than the fiery gaze from Viktor.

Jayce smiled, ducking his head closer until his lips brushed against yours, “Don’t be. There’s no reason.”

Your eyes fell closed as you eagerly accepted his kiss, whimpering into his mouth as he tasted you carefully. His tongue pushed past your lips, and you opened yours, tongues dancing together effortlessly. He moaned into you, arms wrapping over your waist as you shared a passionate kiss with a bit too much tongue, but gods, you didn’t care.

Especially when you knew Viktor was staring, leaning back and smirking. Cock twitching and pre-cum beading along the tip as he began to stroke himself.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jayce whispered, pulling from your lips and staring into your eyes as your stomach twisted. You hadn’t heard that in a while. “I want to fuck that pretty face of yours.”

And they both did.

Both of them leaned back against the headboard, eyes fluttering as you sucked them both off. Working your mouth along their cocks one at a time, your hand stroking the one your throat neglected.

“Ah,” Viktor whimpered, a hand tight in your hair as he guided you along his cock, amber eyes heavy as you looked up at him, “Fuck, you’re good at this.”

The praises kept you going; it was like a rush of confidence. You took them both deeper than you thought was possible, their cocks fucking your throat until you had to pull back, gasping for air. You could feel how close they both were, and when Jayce roughly tugged your hair back with a growl deep from his chest, you knew you were good enough to be fucked by them. 

Finally.

What you hadn’t expected was how.

The three of you were on the bed, with you sandwiched between them and your back pressed against Jayce’s chest. You looked up at Viktor, your leg hooked around his hips and breathing heavily, unsure where this was going but knowing that you’d do anything. You’d take anything; you needed them.

As Jayce kissed over your bare shoulders, Viktor moved closer, hand at the base of his cock so he could direct it to your entrance. You whined when the tip pushed inside, teasing. 

“Viktor,” you breathed, your hands reaching out to grab at his waist so you could tug him closer, “fuck me. I need you, please.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest, “Mmh, you’ve been so good. How could I say no to that pretty face of yours?” He murmured, closing the distance between your lips so he could pull you into a searing kiss. 

He pushed inside you with one quick thrust, reaching the hilt as you choked on your breath, the sound captured by his lips. “Ah, fuck,” you croaked, your cunt stretching from his length. You whimpered into his mouth, licking inside until your tongues slid together, and he gave you time to adjust to his size.

Jayce reached around you, the familiar feeling of his finger on your clit easing you. The pain of being stretched, a remnant of the past, as you pulled from Viktor’s lips, “Keep going.”

He obeyed quickly, panting as he shifted so he could fuck you, pulling out half-way and pushing back in. Careful movements until he knew you could take it, quickening to a hard pace that had you moaning out his name.

You reached back behind you, looking over your shoulder at Jayce as your hand wrapped around his cock, stroking him. You thumbed at the tip, the pre-cum coating his cock as you pumped him in repetition with Viktor’s thrusts. He huffed at the feeling, his forehead pressed against your shoulder blade as the heat in his abdomen tightened.

“Your pussy feels so good,” Viktor’s voice pulled you down from the clouds, a quiet mewl bubbling up from your throat at the praise, “You’re being so good. Taking me so good… can you take us both?”

Both you and Jayce stilled, tensing at the prospect. Jayce’s cock twitched in your hand, and you stared at Viktor wide-eyed, heart slamming against your chest. 

“Both?” You whispered, thankful when Viktor slowed his movements, “I… I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You don’t have to,” Jayce murmured into your ear, his breath heavy from your hand that had nearly stroked him to completion, “It’s okay if it’s a no.”

Viktor hummed in agreement, leaning forward and ducking to press his lips against your jaw, gentle kisses. You closed your eyes, lips parting as quiet sounds of pleasure came from you. The idea of it made your cunt clench around Viktor’s cock, both of them inside you at once.

Stretched impossibly thin. 

“Yes,” you whispered, eyes fluttering open to look into Viktor’s gold orbs, “I want you both. Fuck, I think I need it.”

Jayce grinned against your ear, your hand eagerly guiding his cock to your already-filled entrance. “Easy now, love.” He said, the pet name making your heart flutter, “One step at a time. I don’t want to hurt you.

Viktor began to slowly push himself in and out of you, slow movements so pleasure filled your senses before you’d be stretched beyond your comfort levels. You squirmed when you felt Jayce’s cock prod at your entrance.

“Let me fuck her,” Jayce mumbled, talking to Viktor, who reluctantly pulled himself out. Your cunt was empty for all of a second before another cock pushed inside you. Stretching you more than Viktor had, but not as long. Gods, you had no idea how you’d make this work.

You leaned forward against Viktor, whimpering as Jayce’s hand grabbed at your hip, digging into your flesh as he fucked you enough to wet his cock.

“You ready? Viktor asked you, his hand caressing your cheek so you were forced to look into his eyes. You nodded, your stomach twisting.

Your eyes closed, and you did your best to relax your body. Your body leaned back against Jayce now as Viktor had to shift his body and position himself until his cock was pushing at your entrance, unsure if this would work.

Then you cried out loudly, choking on a strangled gasp when the head of his cock pushed inside, and your cunt stretched wide to fit him. Jayce was quick to act on your pain, a finger on your clit and lips at your ear, kissing and whispering soft praises in your ear. Anything to calm you, and it worked.

“Shit,” Viktor hissed under his breath, his gaze focused down between your legs, watching as his cock penetrated you and joined Jayce’s inside your tight cunt. You were so wet that it was easy to slide right in, but he was careful and slow, eyes glancing at your face every so often to gauge your reactions.

You clawed at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin and only realized you had been holding your breath until you felt him fit inside you fully. Your eyes fluttered open, looking at Viktor with eyes full of unshed tears.

“Fuck me,” you whimpered, nearly begging. The fullness between your legs was more than you could imagine, but the pleasure was beginning to outweigh the discomfort. 

Viktor dove forward, his lips crashing to yours as Jayce moved first. He pulled his hips back, his cock moving out of you slowly and rubbing against Viktor’s, a whine from your lips swallowed down by Viktor’s tongue. As Jayce pushed back in, Viktor pulled out—an electric rhythm that made your head spin.

Both men groaned, breathing heavily as they fucked you slowly. Jayce’s forehead, sticky with sweat, was pressed against the nape of your neck as he focused on his movements. His cock twitched inside you with each forward press of his hips, the sensation of your tight cunt swallowing him while rubbing along Viktor’s had his release close to the edge already. 

None of you could speak, the sounds of their slick cocks fucking you in languid movements loud in your ears. Heavy breaths, deep grumbles in their chests, and names rolling from your tongue through pleasured mewls. 

Your hips met their rhythms, and not once was your pussy empty. Stretched so deliciously far that you felt your juices dripping down your thighs and wetting the bedsheets beneath your hips.

“I don’t think I’m going to last much longer,” Jayce broke through the silence you shared, his voice shaky as his teeth dragged along your shoulder and focused hard on keeping his release at bay. His finger over your clit had only helped in pushing you further toward your orgasm, fleshy walls clenching tight around the two cocks that took their turns filling you.

“Me neither,” Viktor pulled from your lips, a moan catching in his throat as he stuttered his hips forward, “God—fuck.”

He was the first to fall over the edge, gasping as he buried his face forward against your neck, kissing you as he spilled inside. Jayce was right behind, unable to keep himself from pushing into you, so both cocks stretched you, hot cum sputtering inside you and leaking out as you milked both men dry.

Only a few more tight circles on your clit sent you over, hips twitching and causing both men to groan at the overwhelming feeling of you fucking yourself on their cocks as you rode out your climax. Electricity shooting through your body, loud cries of pleasure falling from your tongue until you were limp and whimpering, shifting so they could both pull out from you.

Once it emptied, you could finally breathe, your body able to relax from the limits you had pushed yourself to. 

“You did so well,” Viktor breathed against your neck, hardly able to speak. His mind was swirling, the weed and exhaustion only dizzying him further as he groaned, “Fuck, I’ve never felt better.”

Jayce hummed in acknowledgement, letting out a heavy sigh as he rolled onto his back and ran a hand through his hair. He wore a lopsided grin as he tugged you towards him so you were tucked forward against his side and Viktor followed, clinging to you from behind and burying his face in your hair.

“Maybe we’ll do that again sometime,” he eventually spoke, slurring slightly from the tiredness that had begun to consume him. 

“Might have to give me a few business days to recover,” you murmured, your face nuzzled against his chest as the three of you lay atop the sheets. Much too tired to even bother pulling the sheets above your bodies.

Viktor chuckled, inhaling your scent deeply as his fingers traced patterns along your stomach absently, “Maybe I will buy you a strap. You can join me in fucking Jayce one of these days.”

“I don’t know about that,” Jayce argued, half-asleep.

“You get used to it.” You giggled, eyes closed as sleep began to win you over.

You sighed quietly, the sounds of both men snoring softly as they fell into deep slumbers after a week of overworking themselves. Your heart was so full of love as they held you close—it was addicting. Jayce and Viktor were addicting. Whatever this was blossoming into was a dangerous game, but you knew you could trust them with your heart.

Your favourite boys.

[katiekatdragon27]

Holy moly a rendered drawing!? And it's Flatland!? AND it's sort of gijinka-fied?!?!?!? Crazy.

Drip or drown fellas? Be honest lol.

Okay, so some design choices I wanted to point out and "explain":

A. Square does not look any different because he is peak performance. The whole thing of 2D creatures who live "water" and look like amoebas was too good to tarnish. I kept it simple, gave him some boots to help with gravitational pain n stuff on his feet, and he has glasses cuz I saw some character in the movie with them and I thought it would vibe well. He looks a little older because of them, but whatever. The nerd needs to look like a nerd.

A. Sphere I took so many liberties with. At first, I went with the most basic CEO fit I could come up with, found it boring, gave him a vest and bowtie, cut the bowtie for a normal tie and gave him rainbow suspenders, then gave him the bracelets for funsies. The most consistent thing through all the versions was the analog watch (that he probably can't read lol).

He doesn't really feel like a CEO anymore, but c'mon, in canon he's a gold sphere and the only metallic solid. He's gonna look flashy and extra. It's a given.

Are you reeeally a Flatland fan if you haven't drawn or edited an image of A. Square being yeeted like a frisbee?

I feel like this is a staple, and I found this really amusing stock image that just fit so well.

I made the whole Flatland species friend-shaped. As an OSC person (yes I'm working on stuff related to it give me a sec), I could not see the Flatlanders as anything more than the silly stick limbed creatures of that community.

Spacelanders are different, but that's more so because of how the book refers to them. "Spacelanders" in the book, although the context is probably just different 3D shapes, are addressed as people who have people systems who do people things. So, I designed accordingly. (Also, I did NOT want A. Sphere to look like that one Pacman TV show. I think I would have combusted before finishing if he did.)

These were some doodles I worked with for just looks purposes. The tendrils(?) on their corners are the longest ones on their bodies. Circles have them all mostly uniform cuz they're boring.

Below is a close up of A. Square, some progress photos, and the reference image of meme.

Thanks again, and have a wonderful day :)

[rodolfoparras]

Thinking about being the second option’s second option.

Pairing: Male Character x Top Male reader

cw: 18+, power dynamics, age gaps, blowjobs, riding, dom!male reader, sub!male character, unrequited love, love triangles, jealousy, possessiveness

You wouldn’t otherwise be on his radar, maybe you were much younger than him, maybe he was your superior and you his subordinates and anything beyond a professional relationship would be highly inappropriate or maybe you just weren’t his type.

But God you had tried to approach him and many times at a - a subtle comment here and there that could mean more if he just followed up on it, a longing gaze or a light touch that he promptly ignored or played off, you’d even mustered up the courage to fess up your feelings one time only to get rejected immediately.

He was interested in someone else, or at least that’s what he had said when you confessed and that had been enough for you to completely back off.

A week later or so and you saw him with that very same someone in tow. However you’d quickly realized he’d been tasked with patching up wounds he himself didn’t cause because it was so blatantly obvious that the person in question was in love with someone that wasn’t him. He’d been blind to see or didn’t want to see and even though you had in mind to tell him you’d stuck to the promise you made yourself, and stayed away from him.

However it hadn’t been long before you’d been assigned the very same task- patching up wounds you didn’t cause for the man that had rejected you once.

He showed up with tears in his eyes and a couple of drinks in his system begging you to make him forget. You rejected him at the spot told him to come back when his lips didn’t taste like gin and tonic.

You didn’t think he would come back but he did and soon you had your all too good superior down on his knees, warm wet mouth eagerly sucking you in like he’s been waiting for this opportunity

But you weren’t easily fooled you knew the eagerness wasn’t for you.

Although his eyes were locked with yours you could see the distant look on his face, clearly imagining someone else in your place but none of that mattered not when his lips were stretched taut around your cock, not when he’s got his nose buried in your sweat damp fringe of curls and your cockhead is hitting the back of his throat, and not when you could taste yourself on his mouth when you finally slotted your lips together

But it didn’t end there because he’d continue to show up whenever the wounds reopened which was rather often. Not that you minded , not when you had the older man bent in ways that had all the joints in his body aching in protest, one hand fisting his salt and pepper hair the other clawing the sheets while fucking himself harder, deeper onto your dick

Harder faster more please he sobs into the sheets, a name that isn’t your own neatly tucked in between the begs and pleas, eyes squeezed shut as if he’s imagining someone else in front of him

But you couldn’t care less not when you’re the one who gets to feel his walls clenching down onto your dick, not when you’re the one who gets to lick the tears away from his cheek not when you’re the reason he’s cumming in such way he hasn’t done in years.

And while you lay there wrapped up in white sheets basking in the afterglow of your release, you watch the way he hastily puts the clothes back on his body, ever so determined not to spend the night.

You were no fool, you knew what type of relationship you had, you were just here to patch up his wounds and nothing more than that.

Besides you were nowhere near his type at least if you were to compare yourself to the men he approached at bars yet you were the one to have the bigger man pinned beneath your frame, strong body bent in half and practically skewed onto your cock, deep baritone voice reduced to wails and whines as he begs and pleads for you to let him cum.

[simplyraeblue]

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Professional (Shouta Aizawa x reader)

!afabreader x aizawa as a teacher, reprimanding wasn't uncommon for you to practice. you being reprimanded? only allowed by Shouta Aizawa. WARNINGS/TAGS: swearing, NSFW, MDNI, p in v, creampie (don't be silly wrap your willy!), somewhat public sex, sex on a desk, going commando (couldn't be me), no pronouns used, use of sweetheart, light bondage (gagged by a tie), punishment kink A/N: art above by ficel_art on instagram! I saw it on pinterest first but immediately deep dove onto their account. dadzawa was just too hot in this art to not immediately write something for him ( ´ཀ` ) word count: 1,930

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you loved being a teacher at U.A. – but some days, it felt like the little future heroes were actually little devils. it was about the third time that little… twat waffle… named Katsuki Bakugo had interrupted your class just today to bully Izuku Midorya. while your mental nickname for him wasn’t very teacherly, the best you could do was to speak to his homeroom teacher.

after lunch had started, you marched your exhausted ass to Shouta’s classroom. someone needed to knock some sense into that kid, and you were very sure it wasn’t going to be you doing the job. if you tried… well, you’d probably lose your job with the words you’d use. and Bakugo could be even worse in return, you were certain of that.

you didn’t bother to knock at the door as you shoved it open to find Shouta sitting at the desk grading a stack of papers. he glanced up at your loud intrusion, an eyebrow arching up when he saw the look on your face, already knowing that you were ready to unload.

“who was it today?” Shouta hummed as he merely returned his focus to the homework in front of him without missing a beat. you slammed your hands on his desk, earning his full attention on you.

“I’m going to try very hard to speak in a professional manner, so listen up because I’m not repeating myself.” you warned him with a glare sharp enough to cut through steel. Shouta raised an eyebrow, hands up in a silent gesture to proceed. “I know you love your students – and don’t try to lie – but you need to reprimand Bakugo more often. he’s disrupted my class every day this week, and I’m seriously considering putting him on probation from participating in the sports festival.”

Shouta slowly stood, moving around the desk as he processed your words, nodding along. “so, you think he should be punished?” he asked, his voice even.

you nodded firmly. “and I’m asking you to help.”

he gave a small, knowing shrug. “and you’re trying to be professional about it?”

“well, I like to think of myself as a professional most of the time.” you chuckled dryly as you shook your head. in the back of your mind, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were getting close to the point where you might use your quirk on the brat a few times… but that would only happen if you were specifically asked to for training purposes.  

Shouta had made his way to your side by now, standing a few inches from you as he smirked. when you noticed his expression you raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know that I’d call you the most professional of teachers.” he told you as he looked down into your eyes.

“what’s that supposed to mean, Shouta?” you dared to ask, still confused as to where he was going with this. “are you going to give me an exhaustive list of the reasons I’m not professional, because it wouldn’t be the first time you have.”

“no, not an exhaustive list today.” he snickered before his hand drifted to grasp at your hips. you jumped slightly at the contact, sucking in a breath when he ruched the hem of your skirt in his fingers.

he’d been watching you since this morning, the black pencil skirt you wore showing off the plush of your ass as you walked down the hallway to attend to the students. his eyes followed you like magnets wherever you went – and he hadn’t been ignorant enough to miss the tiny little detail he was about to bring to your attention.

before he spoke again, he swiftly lifted you to sit on the edge of his desk, causing you to gasp. when he leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, he whispered, “for now, let’s start with the fact that you’re not wearing any panties.”

immediately, a smirk crossed your lips. “ah, so you finally noticed?” you murmured, cheeks heating with his breath on your ear.

“I noticed long ago. I’m assuming this was for me?” he asked as his nose nuzzled your neck, making you groan. “you just couldn’t wait until we were home could you, sweetheart?”

“you’re always so tired when you get home, I just wanted you to know what you had to look forward to.” as you explained, you thought back to getting dressed this morning – you’d quickly thrown on your outfit, neglecting your panties while your husband was in the bathroom. Shouta had been none the wiser when he’d come out, simply giving you a morning kiss before the two of you left for work.

“I don’t know, I kind of want it right now.” you pulled back to study his face, seeing them dark with desire as his hands palmed your ass through your skirt. “we have some time while the students are at lunch, what do you say?”

you were reminded every day of how hot your husband was, and now was no exception. “lock the door.” you instructed him, to which he pushed off of you and secured the door. when he returned, he wasted no time in crashing his lips into yours.

“we should still be quick, sweetheart. don’t want any of the students roaming the hallway to hear us.” Shouta whispered between your lips, taking your lower one into his mouth and sucking harshly on it.

“then you’d better be quiet.” you teased, something that you always learned your lesson for doing later. you felt him smirk into the next kiss he gave you as he pushed your skirt up to your waist, cold air hitting your wetting pussy.

he knew how to be fast, and quiet. it was something Shouta learned very quickly within his line of work – but you’d figured out how to make that increasingly more difficult for him to put into practice. your hands all but ripped his belt off before shoving his pants and boxers down, revealing his cock standing at attention.

god, he’d thought about using his lunch time to find a secluded place and jerk off to the thought of you. after noticing your lack of underwear this morning, it was all he could think about, repeatedly having to clear his mind while working. but this was even better, he thought.

you watched in awe as Shouta pulled his tie off, and just as you wondered if he would throw it to the side, he instead pushed the fabric between your teeth and swiftly tied it behind your head. “now, you have to be the one to be quiet.” Shouta taunted as he placed a light kiss on your gagged mouth.

while he lined his tip with your seeping hole, you whimpered against the fabric muffling your words. Shouta was painstakingly slow in pushing inside of you, your walls stretching to accommodate his immense girth as you moaned at the feeling of his veiny cock molding your walls.

when he finally bottomed out, he let out a low groan of pleasure before placing a hand on your chest and pushing you back to lay flat on the desk. “I’m beginning to think your lack of professional is what needs to be punished.” Shouta teased as he leisurely rolled his hips into yours causing your eyes to roll back. “but I guess I’ll have to save your true penalty for tonight, since we need to be quick.”

 you nodded fervently as he began to slam into you, the desk creaking beneath you with every bullying thrust. “please.” your beg came out muffled, but enough for him to understand.

Shouta’s lips covered yours to add an extra layer of quieting your noises, his dick now repeatedly slamming into your walls with a fierce pace. he pulled away for a moment to spit onto your clit before his fingers began to work the sensitive nub. “don’t worry, sweetheart. tonight, you’re going to get a good punishment that I think you and I both will enjoy.” you whimpered at the thought, already knowing your ass would be bruised and sore come tomorrow morning.

“fuck I’ll never – mph – get sick of – hah – this pussy.” Shouta bit out with each smack of his hips into your ass, the noises the two of you were creating become filthier every second. as he brutally circled your clit, pinching it between his fingers, you moaned into the now wet fabric between your teeth. he always had been an expert at getting you close with almost no effort, and you could already feel the knot coiling in your stomach. “so perfect for me sweetheart. such a perfect wife.”

he was a little sad that he needed to be fast, wanting to savor every bit of you, but after looking at the clock Shouta realized that time was almost up. “gonna need you to – hmph – come on my cock now, sweetheart. need you to come before I fill you up.”

with his demand, he slapped a hand down onto your clit harshly, making your back arch off the desk in response. “Shouta!” your husband’s name barely passed your lips before he smacked your clit again, caressing it between each contact until you were coming undone beneath him. “m’ coming!”

Shouta swore under his breath as he watched your body convulse below, your pretty eyes rolling back just as your slick walls clenched around his cock. if he had more time, he’d keep going until you couldn’t walk for a week – but he’d just have to save it for tonight. for now, he allowed his release to barrel over him alongside yours.

his head fell down between your covered tits, the fabric of your shirt doing nothing to hide them as he muffled his own whines of pleasure before he was shooting ropes of cum inside you. he’d buried himself to the hilt to make sure you got every last drop, praying it was deep enough to ensure it stayed trapped inside of you for the rest of the day.

with perfect timing, he started to come down from the high just as the bell rang, echoing in your now almost deaf ears. Shouta slowly pulled out, hissing at the loss of warmth against his cock, before quickly pulling his tie from your lips. he used it to clean himself up before kneeling down to wipe away any mess he’d left between your thighs.

“maybe I should’ve brought a backup pair of panties.” you groaned as you slowly sat up. “now I’m going to have to worry that our unborn children are going to leak down my thighs the rest of the day.”

“you wicked woman, that foul mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one day.” Shouta smirked as he kissed you softly. you watched as he walked back around his desk and opened a drawer, before he pulled out a pair of your panties. “it’s a good thing I noticed before we left the house and brought these just in case.”

your jaw dropped out as you snatched them from him. “you knew! and you let me think I’d seduced you.” a pout formed on your lips before you slipped the underwear on, praying it was enough to prevent any embarrassment.

Shouta only caressed your head, his lips meeting yours again. “you seduce me without even trying, sweetheart.” you grinned at the words until his hand gently wrapped around your throat. “but don’t forget, you’re still getting reprimanded later.”

you’d never been so excited to get punished.

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Link to Kirishima x reader here (word count: 902)

Link to Shoto x reader pt. 1 here (word count: 1,800)

Link to Kaminari x reader pt.1 here (word count: 2,680)

Link to Bakugo x reader here (word count: 2,328)

Link to Hawks x reader here (word count: 1,903)

[puckinghischier]

Fakers

Jack Hughes x fem!reader

summary: reader needs jack to be her fake boyfriend, and it leads to something very not fake

notes: hello!! it’s literally 2am and i just finished this, so needless to say it’s unedited, but i love this fic so much. i combined two different requests for it and i had so much fun with it. i hope you enjoy!! happy reading!! 🫶🏼

also i’m starting a tag list in the comments, so let me know if you’d like to be added!! 🫡

request: from my 400 follower celly - You owe me.” “I owe you $20 not a day of pretending to be your partner to get your parents off your back” & “A realizing that they have feelings for B when they see them with someone else”

[5.4k]

“Jack! Please tell me you’re home. It’s an emergency!” you frantically slam his apartment door shut.

Searching the large space for any signs of life, you beg for him to be home.

“Jack! C’mon! It’s urgent!” you yell out, walking down the hallway towards his bedroom.

You twist the knob of the closed door, finding it locked. Huffing, you start beating your fist against the wood.

“Open up! I know you’re in there!”

You continue your assault on the door, stopping only when the door opens and your fist meets air. You step back in surprise, nearly hitting Jack square in his bare chest.

A soaking wet, shirtless Jack stands in front of you with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“God, what took you so long? I texted you SOS on my way over here,” you barreled past him, walking into his bedroom.

“Oh, I’m sorry, it’s not like I just had a grueling three-hour practice or anything. God forbid I take a hot shower afterwards,” Jack throws his hands up in the air, watching you walk straight for his closet.

You and jack had been friends since the second you moved to Jersey, the sassy brunette being just what you needed to make you feel at home in the unfamiliar state.

As you were moving in down the hall, Jack had half of the team over at his apartment watching game film in preparation for a week of road games.

Him and few teammates walked out into the hallway to investigate the loud bangs they kept hearing, watching you try to squeeze a bookshelf into your apartment that was three times the size of the doorway.

An hour later you had a disassembled bookshelf and four very attractive men in your living room.

Jack had recruited some of his teammates, as you later learned, to help you put the bookshelf back together.

You apologized for interrupting their plans, the rest of Jack’s teammates still in his apartment, and insisted they go back to their friends. You told them you could handle putting back together a bookshelf, even though you had absolutely no idea what you were doing.

They waved off your concerns, telling you they needed to help you finish what they started.

After the bookshelf was put together and in place, Jack invited you over to his apartment, deciding they had watched enough film for that night, using the incentive of pizza to lure you. You would’ve objected, seeing as he invited you into an apartment full of strange men, but the pang of hunger in your stomach threw all caution to the wind, leading your feet three doors down and into the strange apartment.

You gained a whole group of friends that night, not knowing until a week later your new friends were Jersey’s own professional hockey team.

Jack and Luke helped you finish the rest of your move in, spending more and more time with your new neighbors as the days went on. You added weekly take out dinners into your schedules and alternating hockey watch parties in each other’s apartments, the brothers insisting you need to learn to love the game.

You can’t deny the fact that you started developing feelings for the middle Hughes pretty quickly, his fun energy and magnetic personality roping you in. The nature of your friendship was extremely laid back, the two of you bickering nearly as much as you made the other laugh. Luke often said the two of you either act like an old married couple or newlyweds that already resent each other.

It didn’t take long for you to figure out, however, that Jack was too focused on living the hockey lifestyle to settle down anytime soon. You noticed the flow of girls in and out of his apartment, having met a few on their way out in the mornings on your way to work.

Attempting to push your feelings to the back of your mind, you continued spending time with the rowdy athletes. A small part of you still held out hope, especially after Jack gave you a key to their apartment, telling you he was tired of having to get the door every time you decided you wanted to come over.

Which is exactly how you were able to enter his apartment now, in your desperate time of need.

You knew your parents were going to visit you once you had settled in. The piece of information they left out, though, was that they scheduled a dinner with the lawyer son of one of your dad’s coworkers that also happens to live in the city.

Now, sifting through his closet in search of an outfit appropriate for the high-end restaurant your parents reserved for tonight, you worry about Jack’s reaction to your – and now his – predicament.

“Jack, don’t you own anything that isn’t designer? I don’t want my parents to think you’re a douche throwing his money in everyone’s face,” you slide each Tom Ford, Armani, and his one Gucci suit to the side.

Jack, still standing with his hand on his open door, starts walking over to you, crossing his arms.

“So, you not only barge into my apartment unexpectedly and interrupt my shower, but you’re now criticizing my formal wear?” he asks before realization shows on his face. “Wait, what do you mean your parents? And why are you so dressed up?” he suddenly notices your floor-length, black formal dress and full face of make-up.

You turn to face him slowly, an overexaggerated, nervous smile on your face.

“Well…you’re…meetingmyparentstonight,” you mumble out, running your words together.

“Run that back one more time?” Jack asks you, eyes widening.

“You’re meeting my parents tonight,” you say at a normal pace this time, doing small jazz hands.

Groaning, Jack turns away from you, placing his hands on the top of his head as he paces.

“What did you do?” he asks, still pacing, knowing how you are and that you’re only ever this anxious about stuff when there’s a reason.

“Okay, so don’t get mad,” you start, placing your hands out in front of you as if you’re calming down a wild animal.

“Oh, great, that’s always followed by good news,” Jack rolls his eyes, stopping to stand in front of you.

“I might have, maybe, just a little bit…told my parents that you were my boyfriend,” you rush out again, closing your eyes and wincing.

Jack doesn’t respond, not making a single sound. You slowly open one eye, waiting for him to start scolding you. You see him standing there, wide eyes and frozen.

“You told…parents…your boyfriend?” his broken sentence amuses you, but you have to hold in the laugh, figuring laughing at him wouldn’t do you any favors right now.

“Yes,” you confirm, causing Jack to close his eyes and inhale, his hand flying up to press against his forehead. “But! They’re trying to set me up on a blind date with one of my dad’s stuck-up coworker’s sons. You know I told them I’d never date a lawyer,” you explain, stepping closer to Jack, testing the waters. “Plus, I hate being set up, Jack. One of my dating requirements is friends first, date later.”

“Why?” Jack now pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why in the hell would you tell your parents I’m your boyfriend? I haven’t dated in someone in…I don’t know, three years? This should’ve been a Luke job.”

“Because you’re my best friend. It wouldn’t have been believable with Luke because I don’t know him as well as I know you,” you tell him, watching him open his mouth to argue. “Plus, you owe me.”

Jack scoffs. “Oh, I owe you, huh? Do tell, what for?”

“When I bought your sushi last week because you forgot your wallet at the rink when I met you out for lunch.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Are you serious? I owe you $20, not a day of pretending to be your boyfriend to get your parents off your back!”

“But…a day of pretending to be my boyfriend can pay your $20 debt,” you smile and tilt your head, batting your eyelashes.

Jack mulls the idea over in his head for a few moments, deciding on if he’s going to help you or not. You continue batting your eyelashes and giving Jack your trademark puppy dog eyes.

“Fine…give me twenty minutes and I’ll be ready,” he grumbles, shoulders deflating a little.

“Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you squeal, doing a happy jump and running over to hug him.

You realize a second too late he’s still damp and very naked, jumping back and apologizing mere seconds after you made contact with his bare skin.

“I’ll go wait in your living room,” you say, turning and heading towards his door.

“I’m wearing the Gucci, by the way,” he calls out as you reach the doorway.

“Please, at least wear the Armani so they think you’re poor rich, not rich rich,” you hear him laugh as you shut his door.

Just as Jack told you, twenty minutes later you’re in his car on the way to some rooftop restaurant your parents reserved for your ‘family’ dinner.

“So, what’s our story?” Jack asks, breaking the silence.

“Our story?” you repeat, confused.

“Yeah, our story. Like, what was the magical moment we realized we were actually more than friends and were head over heels with one another?” he asks, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

You look over at him, a small smirk on his lips.

“Do you seriously think I went into that much detail when I stuttered out ‘oh…I uhh…forgot to tell you, Jack and I are dating now!’ when my mother mentioned Ben was joining us for dinner?”

“Well, I wouldn’t put it past you.”

You scoff at him, leaning back in your seat and crossing your arms.

“We don’t have a story. Mom didn’t ask questions so I didn’t offer any,” you respond, looking over at him.

“Wait, she didn’t ask any questions? What was her response?” he asked you, glancing over at you every few seconds.

“No? She just said it was great and to invite you to dinner too, maybe you and Ben would get along,” Jack’s furrowed brow confusing you.

“Shit, Y/N, she doesn’t believe you,” he sits up straight.

“She doesn’t?”

“No, she doesn’t. If she believed you then she would have told Ben not to come. If she believed you, she would have grilled you with questions and squealed with excitement. She wouldn’t have just accepted the answer and told you to bring me along like some pet,” you note the worry in his tone.

Thinking about your mother’s reaction, you remember the uninterested tone she used when telling you how great it was you were with Jack. The lack of enthusiasm definitely uncharacteristic from your mom. You had just assumed she was shocked, not that she didn’t believe you.

“Holy shit you’re right! She didn’t believe me. What are we gonna do?” you reach down the hand resting in your lap and start picking your thumb nail on again, extremely worried they’ll see through your bullshit the second you sit down at the table.

Jack notices the anxious habit of yours, reaching over and placing his hand over your own, effectively stopping your movements.

“We give them the best damn performance of our lives.”

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As soon as you walk onto the open rooftop, you think you should’ve let Jack wear his Gucci suit.

The dimly lit space is full of people in expensive looking dresses and crisp, clean suits.

You suddenly feel very underdressed.

The hostess leads you over to a table in the corner, you and Jack being the last to arrive.

Jack’s hand is held tightly in yours, the small pep talk he gave you in the elevator already forgotten.

“Oh, Y/N! You’re here!” you hear your mother’s voice as you approach the table, breaking you out of your wardrobe anxieties.

You give a tight-lipped smile, keeping yourself pressed against Jack’s side.

“Well, don’t just stand there, give me a hug!” she exclaims, standing from her seat, pulling you into a bone crushing hug.

You reciprocate her actions, placing your hands on her back.

“Honey, you look so good. I hope this place has been kind to you,” she places her hands on your face, a smile beaming back at you.

You nod at her. “Yeah, I love it here so far.”

She lets you go, her smile never fading.

“Alright, where’s the hug for your old man?” you hear your dad speak from somewhere behind you, turning to see him walking towards you with open arms.

Sinking into his hug, you let yourself enjoy the feeling. Getting to spend time with your dad is a rarity, considering he’s part of a big law-firm back home. He was always working late and missing holidays when you were a kid, your experience with him why you always swore you’d never marry a lawyer like your mother did.

“I missed you, Dad,” you tell him honestly, pulling back from his embrace.

“I missed you more, kiddo,” he pats your cheek, stepping away to take his seat at the table once again.

You hear Jack clear his throat behind you, reminding him that you need to introduce him.

“Oh! Mom, Dad,” you turn back and reach your hand out towards Jack, “this is Jack, the neighbor I’ve been telling you about.” Jack squeezes you hand, reminding you he’s your boyfriend tonight, not your neighbor. “Well…I guess I need to introduce him as my boyfriend now, cause we’re dating!” you say a little too enthusiastically, lifting your intertwined hands for everyone to see.

Jack chuckles, bringing his free hand over to push your joined hands down.

“Hi, I’m Jack, Y/N’s neighbor boyfriend,” he reaches over to shake your dad’s hand.

You notice your mom’s skeptical smile, standing to give Jack a short, half hug.

As you scan the area, trying to find anything else to focus on other than your lack of being able to play it cool, you notice the third body at the table.

You look at the man, his jet black, scruffy hair not at all what you were expecting. He was extremely handsome, you had to give him that. His blue eyes stood out against the dark setting, his black dress shirt under his black suit jacket causing them to stand out even more.

“Well, since introductions are being made, this is Ben, Jim’s boy. He works at a firm just a few miles away, actually,” your dad beams as Ben stands, walking around the table to give Jack’s hand a firm shake.

They exchange a short greeting before Ben makes his way over to you, grabbing your hand and kissing your knuckles, taking you by surprise.

“Pleasure to meet you…” he trails off, keeping eye contact as he raises back up into a standing position. “Both of you,” he adds as an afterthought, letting go of your hand and glancing at Jack.

“Yeah…you too,” Jack’s tone is laced with an emotion you can’t quite pick up on, but the glare he’s sending Ben is extremely noticeable.

As everyone takes their seats again, Jack scoots your chair out for you before sitting in the chair beside of you, taking your hand in his and resting them on the table.

Small talk is exchanged about Jack’s job, a disapproving nod from your father, your mother asking questions about what he plans to do after his career is over, making sure to throw in digs about how young hockey players are required to retire and the fact that contract money runs out fast with the lifestyle athletes live.

Jack handles them in stride, talking about how he wants to get into coaching once his career comes to an end, but he wants to play hockey for as long as he’s physically able. He also informed your parents that his mother instilled in him how to budget, making sure his necessities are always paid before anything else gets purchased, including a retirement fund.

The conversation then shifts to you and your new job, your mother filling Ben in with side comments the whole time about how you graduated with honors and was offered a big city job right out of college. Ben looked at you the entire time you were talking, seeming genuinely interested in what you were sharing.

Once the conversation shifts to Ben, that’s when the dinner starts going south.

“Ben is in line to become a partner at his firm very soon. It’s all his father talks about at work anymore,” your dad informs the table, laughing and slapping a hand to Ben’s shoulder.

“Well, there’s a few other guys in the running, I’m not a shoo-in yet,” Ben responds, trying to knock down his praise a bit.

“Oh, don’t be so modest, Ben, our Y/N here loves an overachiever, isn’t that right, darling?” your mom looks over to you.

You don’t know what to say to her, stunned that she would be so blatantly obvious about her intentions in front of Ben like this.

“I…well…Yeah, I guess,” you stutter out, not sure how to respond to your mother’s words.

“Do you excel in your field, Jack?” your mom questions your fake boyfriend of the night.

He looks up from his food, not entirely sure how to handle the question. Does he tell them the truth and risk sounding like a gloating asshole, or does he play the modest card and confirm your parent’s suspicions that he’s less than?

“Jack was team captain of team USA! And he’s an alternate captain for the Devils now! He’s also one of the team’s top point scorers,” you ramble out facts about Jack’s hockey career, sensing his hesitation.

Your father’s brows shoot up in surprise.

“Way to go man, sounds awesome,” Ben sounds genuinely impressed.

“That’s something to be proud of,” is all your mother responds.

You look over at Jack in apology, the flush of his cheeks hidden by the dark surroundings.

“Jack was also drafted number one overall in the NHL draft when he was only eighteen. Isn’t that crazy?” you continue, not knowing how to stop the information rolling from your mouth.

“Good for you, son,” your dad says through chewing his food, earning a glare from your mother.

Jack chuckles out a thanks, kicking your foot under the table.

“Always my biggest fan, huh babe?” Jack looks over at you, the look in his eyes telling you to stop, you’re being obvious again.

“Well…it’s not just your good looks that won me over,” you attempt a joke, but it didn’t land very well.

Jack winces at how that sounded.

Realizing what you just said, with the current scrutiny surrounding Jack’s choice of career, you mentally palm your forehead.

“I need to use the restroom, excuse me,” you all but run away from the table.

You make your way to the small bathroom, collecting yourself and telling yourself you don’t have that long left of this torturous dinner.

When you exit the bathroom, you see Ben standing there, waiting for you to come out.

“So…is now a good time to tell you that I know you and Jack aren’t dating?” he asks you, an amused smile on his face.

Your body turns cold, every muscle frozen in place. How does he know? Has your act really been that bad?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tell him, laughing nervously.

“Listen, you don’t have to hide it from me. I’m not here because I want to be set up with you. I’m here because I need my dad to still think I’m single,” he surprises you.

“Wait, you have a girlfriend?” you ask him, shock evident in your voice.

“Boyfriend, actually. But haven’t really broke that part to my parents yet.”

Your jaw drops, not believing that your parents are unknowingly trying to set you up with a gay man.

“Holy shit,” you start laughing, unable to hide stop your hand from shooting out to grip Ben’s arm. “I promise I’m not laughing because you’re gay. I’m laughing because my parents would die if they figured out the man they’re trying to set me up doesn’t even like girls.” You want to go over there and scream this piece of information into their faces, but know it’s not your place to out Ben.

“I hate when they try to set me up with people, and I thought it would stop since I moved away, but when they told me you were coming to dinner tonight I panicked and told them I was dating Jack because I didn’t want to have to dodge phone calls and ignore texts, again,” you bring your hand up to wipe the tears out of your eyes. “Who would’ve thought I didn’t even have to worry about it because there’s more of a chance you’d be attracted to my fake boyfriend than me.”

Ben laughs with you, allowing you to lean against him.

From the dinner table, Jack can hear your laughter, turning his head to see you leaning on Ben, the two of you being entirely too close for his liking.

“Well, looks like they’re getting along,” your mother tells your father, nodding her head in the direction of you and Ben.

Jack fully turns in his seat, watching how you talk animatedly with Ben, a large grin on your face as he returns it, looking down at you.

Something wicked swirls in Jack’s stomach, not enjoying watching you laugh with someone like you laugh with him.

He thinks back to all the times you’ve been around his apartment, complaining about the latest guy you were trying to meet up with canceling on you and how angry it makes him to see you upset. He thinks about how you always complain to him about dating apps, wishing you could just meet someone naturally, going on and on about having a ‘meet cute’ like your favorite rom coms and wondering why it always makes him think about how cute you looked trying to shove that big ass bookshelf into your apartment. He thinks about the time you brought a date to one of his games, the satisfaction of seeing you in his jersey almost enough to outweigh the sudden burst of anger he felt in the middle of the game, looking up to see his arm around your shoulders, hand resting a little too close to your chest for his comfort.

He thinks about how he’s always fending off his teammates and random men at bars, not trusting their intentions with you. And the looks that he catches Luke giving the two of you when you’re arguing, his favorite activity being getting you worked up, loving how red your ears get when he keeps firing sarcasm back at your anger.

He always assumed these feelings were a general protectiveness of you and enjoyment of being around you, almost like you were his sister, never once entertaining the idea that they could be more than that.

Until now, that is. Until you’re standing there in that dress, possibly the most beautiful he’s ever seen you, leaning all over another man when you asked him to come here with you. You asked him to be your fake boyfriend, not Mr. Big Time Lawyer.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to go make sure my girlfriend is okay,” he tells your parents, dropping his cloth napkin on the table and scooting his chair back.

You’re still laughing with Ben, exchanging stories about the different set-ups your parents have tried on the two of you.

“You know, even though it’s very obvious you’re not dating, I do have to admit, I can see the feelings you two have for each other,” Ben tells you, changing the subject.

“Oh, no, we’re just friends,” you tell him, your cheeks flushing a bit.

Ben gives you a look, rolling his eyes. “Honey, anyone within a three-mile radius can see that that boy is smitten with you, even if he doesn’t know it yet.”

You look over at Jack who’s looking over at you and Ben.

“I don’t think so,” you shake your head, deciding you can trust Ben. “I mean, I definitely have feelings for him, have for a while, but he’s not the dating type,” you laugh. “Hell, he was worried about having to be my fake boyfriend, considering he hasn’t dated anyone in years. Anyways, the girls I see leaving his apartment most mornings says otherwise.”

“Haven’t you learned men are stupid? Someone usually has to tell them what they’re feeling. Show them what they’re missing out on,” he steps closer to you, the two of you only inches apart now. “Just like right now.”

You cock your head, confused at Ben’s words until you hear footsteps stomping towards you.

“Y/N, babe,” Jack spits out, anger radiating off of him, “can we go somewhere…private to talk?” he puts on a tight smile, watching Ben step back away from you.

“Uh, sure,” you tell him as he grabs your arm, gently leading you over to a secluded corner of the rooftop.

He stands in front of you, running his hands up his face before sweeping them through his hair.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks, jutting his hand out in the direction you just came from.

“We were just-“

“You were ‘just’ flirting with the man your parents are trying to set you up with in front of their eyes when you brought me here to show them you’re not interested,” he interrupts you, frustration clear in his tone.

“Jack, you don’t understand, Ben is-“

“Perfect for you? Handsome? Your parent’s dream man for you? Better than me?” he cuts you off, his last statement taking you by surprise.

“Jack, where’s this coming from? Ben’s not better than you? What would ever make you think that?” your confusion turns to concern.

“Oh, don’t act all sad and worried now. Not when you were over here getting all close to Ben,” he waves his hands around, disgust lacing his voice as he said Ben’s name, “just mere seconds ago while I was sitting at the table with your parents, watching the whole thing and thinking about how much I love you!” he raises his voice, but not loud enough to disturb the people dining around you.

You’re so shocked at Jack’s words that you step back from him, not believing what you’re hearing.

“Jack, I-“ you start once more, but Jack’s voice cuts you off.

“I know I’m realizing this way too late, but dammit, Y/N, that man,” he points over to Ben, “is not the guy for you. I know I’ve just stood by and watched you try to go on date after date after date with men who weren’t right for you, but I think I was too scared to think about what my feelings meant. I’ve ran off so many men at bars its not even funny. Hell, I’ve told my own teammates you’re off limits, thinking I was just protecting you from getting hurt. But really, all I was doing was being selfish. I was keeping you all to myself while bringing random girls home every couple of nights after having drinks, only to kick them out first thing in the morning when I woke up and had a nasty feeling in my chest,” he pauses, his tone turning from stern to soft as he takes a step towards you.

“I’m realizing that feeling was disgust. Disgust at myself for filling my time with girls that don’t matter, girls that I would never be satisfied with because they weren’t you. I think part of me knew from the second I saw this crazy woman at the end of the hall, trying to push a bookshelf that had to outweigh her by at least a hundred pounds, through the tiny ass door of her apartment. It was confirmed when you agreed to come to my apartment and ate pizza while goofing off with my teammates, instantly clicking with every single one of them. It settled a little deeper when you showed up at my door after I had gotten home from being on the road, demanding we watch Quinn’s hockey game because it was time for you to study hockey. It was made permanent when you showed up to your first Devils game, my name and number on your back, eyes lit up in awe like it was Christmas morning,” he continues, causing tears to sting your eyes as he reaches over to cup your face in his hands.

“I ignored it for all of this time, because I think, deep down, I was scared of losing you. I was scared that you were going to see me as this dumb, jock hockey player that lived down the hall from you and let me down easy. I was scared you’d see how absolutely out of my league you are. I was scared to be vulnerable and admit that I was in love with you, because I couldn’t bear to think that you didn’t love me back,” his face is mere inches from yours. “But I’m tired of ignoring it. Seeing you, laughing with Ben, all pressed up against him like that, thinking that I might have already lost you before I even had the chance to have you, made me realize that I had to try. I had to at least…try,” he finishes, resting his forehead against yours.

The tears are fully streaming down your face at this point, not caring that you’re likely ruining the mascara you spent over fifteen minutes perfecting earlier.

“Jack, you stupid man, just kiss me already,” you whisper out, your breath fanning across his lips.

He smiles, lifting your chin up to press your lips together, sighing happily into the kiss.

You match his smile, making the kiss silly and sloppy, but you don’t care. His lips feel like they were made to fit in-between yours, the softness of them far better than you had imagined.

Pulling back from the kiss, you bring your hands up to rest on his wrists, his hands still holding your face.

“You know, if you had let me speak, I would have saved you the speech and informed you that Ben wasn’t trying to make a move on me, because Ben is gay and has a boyfriend,” Jack pulls back from you, allowing you to see the shocked expression on his face. “We were bonding over the amount of times our parents have tried to set us up with people just like this before, and then he was telling me how in love with each other we were. I was telling him how I definitely was in love with you, but I didn’t believe you were in love with me,” you laugh at Jack, the situation comical now.

“I- he’s gay?” is all Jack responds with.

You throw your head back, laughing at him. “That’s what you took away from what I just said?”

“Sorry, I just, wasn’t expecting it, is all,” he says, moving his hands to your neck, pushing your head back up to look at him.

“Oh, so you were expecting my love confession, then?” you tease him.

“Well, duh, you did ask me to be your fake boyfriend tonight,” Jack moves his hand to pinch your cheek.

“So…are you still? Fake, that is?” you ask him, placing your arms on his shoulders, clasping your hands around the back of his neck.

Jack looks down at you, the expression on his face something entirely new to you, but it’s one you can surely get used to.

“Ehh, I don’t know…ask me again the next time you need a buffer,” he shrugs, smirking at you.

You tug on a piece of his hair, causing him to hiss out.

“Geez, I’m kidding. Of course I’m your real boyfriend now. I gave you a monologue, we’re basically engaged at this point,” he jerks his head a bit, making your hands fall from his hair.

You know it’s a joke, but your cheeks heat at the implication anyways, Jack noticing your lack of response.

“Relax, I was just kidding. That’s at least three more surprise blind date dinners with your parents before we to that. I’ll even pull out a ‘fake’ ring and everything,” he winks, putting air quotes around the word fake.

As Jack enjoys the sound of your laugh, he steals a glance over at the table where your parents sit, surprised at the pleased look on your mom’s face and earning a slight nod from your dad.

He looks back down at you, face scrunched in laughter, thinking about how this night was worth way more than $20.

[reiderwriter]

hey, i really love your writing esp fluff hehe..

I was wondering if you could maybe write a story where gf!reader has anxiety and decides to spend night at spence's but constantly keeps apologizing cause she is like afraid to be inconvenience but he keeps hugging and comforting her just some really fluffy story

Love yaaaa🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶💕💕

-🍓

A/N: FINALLY getting back to some classic requests! Thanks for this cute one 🥰 I love fluff where Spencer is so caring and considerate, so I hope you like this one, too!

Summary: After a traumatic experience, you avoid confronting new fears with your new coworkers until a late invitation lets you find comfort in Spencer's arms.

Warnings: mentions of kidnapping, guns, other cases details etc.

If any other member of your team had so bluntly asked you the question ‘are you okay?’ you'd have lied to their face, convincingly, and not felt bad about it for even a second. 

It had been, after all, long enough since your kidnapping to have become comfortable with new surroundings again. You went on cases fine. You dealt with similar unsubs perfectly, and you were absolutely a professional. 

But with Spencer Reid in front of you asking you that same question, you felt like you were one slight breeze away from crumbling entirely. 

The night had grown old as you sat with Spencer looking over some case files. You weren't shipping out for this one, thankfully, but you still wanted to be sure you knew every detail of the case so you could help find your guy and get him off the streets. 

But having worked from 6 pm to 2am, your eyes were growing bleary, and you had to finally look up to the clock to see how long you'd been zoned out for. 

“Shit,” you murmured, wiping the sleep from your eyes. 

“I have to go, Spence,” you scrambled for your keys, pulling your bag onto your shoulder as your heart started beating. 

It was okay. You'd be okay. It was dark outside, but you'd driven in the dark before now. The roads were clear anyway, and you weren't on a job. You could drive home, get some sleep, and forget anything happened. 

“Y/N, it's late, you’re tired,” Spencer said gently from opposite you, grabbing your bag from your hands and gently placing it down again. “It's okay, you can just… stay over tonight.” 

In the few weeks since you'd been kidnapped, you'd told everyone you knew that you were okay and doing fine and that it would take a lot more than that to get you down. And then you'd go home to an empty apartment, triple check every lock, barricade yourself into your room, and sleep with a gun on your bedside table and a knife under your pillow. 

You didn't drive in the dark. You didn't eat or drink anything you hadn't personally prepared, and you didn't dive head first into cases anymore. A few people had remarked about how you'd matured as an agent. They didn't understand that bile rose up in your throat every time you thought about being alone in a room with men. 

Being alone with Spencer was different. He was your Spencer. You'd seen him kill unsubs, but you'd more often see him peacefully trap and release spiders instead of killing them. You'd seen him fumble talking to women by pulling out magic tricks, just as often as you'd seen him be approached by every single working girl you'd interviewed on a case. 

You'd slept over before. This wasn't any different. 

“Yeah… yeah  you're right. It's probably not a good idea to drive this late.” 

He smiled at you as you abandoned your path to the door, and went to grab you some clothes to change into. You paused, and tried to breathe deeply as you assessed the situation. 

You'd been to Spencer's apartment before. If you slept in the living room, your best route out would be the front door. The kitchen didn't have any good exits. The bathroom window didn't open wide enough. The fire escape was connected to both the living room and the window in Spencer's bedroom. If anyone came through the front door, it would be safer to sleep in the bed and jump out the window before they had a chance to pursue you. 

But if they came up the fire escape, they could choose between which window to come through. Without a second thought, you crossed to Spencer's window and checked the locks. They worked, but they were old. They could easily be forced open. 

You checked, and you still had your gun on you, thinking about where the best place to store it would be. Next to the bed, under the sofa, somewhere it'd be easy to grab and shoot. 

You worked yourself up walking yourself through your plan that when Spencer came up behind you again, without thinking, you turned the gun on him.  

“Whoa, Y/N!” 

“I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I don't - I was just thinking about what I would do in a h-home invasion, and it seemed safer to have the gun close, but-” 

Slowly taking the gun from your hand, Spencer pulled you towards him and into his arms. 

“Are you okay?” he asked again, and though it was the 100th time you'd heard the question in the last few weeks, you finally, finally broke down and told him the truth. 

“N-No.” 

Stroking your hair, Spencer held you as you began to quietly sob, not pulling away as you clung to him for dear life, letting the fear slowly drain from your body. 

“It's okay. It's going to be okay, I'm here,” he whispered. After a few minutes, you gathered yourself and pulled away, wiping your eyes as you looked up at him again. 

“I'm sorry, I must just be really tired. I'll just crash on the couch-” 

“No, Y/N, you can't do that.”

“It's fine, I'm fine now. I've crashed on your couch before, and-” 

“And the couch is next to the door. You're going to sit there all night with your gun in your hand, waiting for the door handle to turn. You won't rest.” 

You opened your mouth to retort, but he grabbed your hand and led you to the bedroom again. 

“I know what it's like, not being able to sleep at night. Feeling anxious and alone and scared all the time.” 

He handed you a pile of clothes and let you sit on the bed as he began to untie your shoelaces. 

“Sleep in the bed. The window has a secure lock, and it's covered by the alarm system. The bedroom door locks as well." Finishing, he looked up at you from the floor, smiling weakly before standing up and pressing a kiss to your temple. 

Your heart, which had been resting comfortably with the new details of your security, flared up into a fast-paced drum beat again as he left for the bathroom. You weren't sure if you were scared still, or if somehow a small kiss and care he'd shown you were enough to have you flushed like a middle-schooler. 

You quickly slipped on the pajamas, which you recognised as old FBI training clothes, and hopped into the bed before your brain could decide to investigate any further. 

Spencer returned quickly and climbed into bed right beside you, turning off the lights beforehand. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, looking at him as you laid on your side. 

“What for?” 

“For not making this awkward.” 

“Awkward? Is it weird for us to share the bed? Should I have taken the couch? I should have taken the couch, let me go-” 

You leant over the small space between you and wrapped your arms around him.

“Thank you for not letting me spiral. Thank you for letting me be not okay.” 

He relaxed into your touch as you spoke and pulled you into him for a hug quickly. His hands rested awkwardly still on your shoulders and waist, as if he were scared to touch you more, to seem inappropriate somehow. 

“Spencer?” 

“Hmm?”

“I think I'd feel safer if you just held me a bit tighter.”

With your head on his chest, you heard the short rumble of laughter that popped out of him as he relaxed into your hug, closing your eyes and falling asleep to the sound of his heart beating. 

[yawnderu]

K-9 — Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader | Chapter I

Sick as a dog, and just as vicious.

1 2 3 4 5

Simon Riley and his pathetic efforts to get close to the new medic will earn him a scar or two

or

Simon Riley is crushing on an uninterested, tired medic.

''I don't mean to be rude, but I'm getting tired of seeing you here.'' Your blunt words are met with a quiet chuckle, the masked man looking up at you with pure amusement in his eyes.

'' 'M trying not to get injured, bird.'' Oh, but he isn't. He's actively getting injured just so he can drop by and get your help. It's stupid, really, how his obsession with you began. He thinks about the first time he saw you, standing right next to Price, an unamused expression as he went on and on about his team, telling you stories of their missions and time together and despite how bored you looked, your attention was solely on him.

He took that chance to look at you, to truly admire you, noticing the way you pull up your glasses every few minutes even when they're not sliding down your nose, the way your eyes were focused only on Price, paying attention to no one but him, legs crossed while sitting next to Price, your face resting on your hand.

''Clearly not trying hard enough.'' He can't help the way his cock twitches at your bored tone, the small frown on your lips just making him think how pretty you'd look with his cum all over your face— he shakes his head softly, trying to get his mind out of the gutter, focusing on the fast and professional work you're doing on his injured arm, pulling the skin back together with a beautifully done stitchwork.

''It's hard being out there.'' He tries to make conversation and all you can do is hum in acknowledgement, gaze focused on the way the needle digs into his skin, coming out of the other side just to be pulled back together with the thin, transparent thread.

''Y'know Gaz was hanging from a chopper by a bloody rope?'' He knows you're close to Gaz, he has seen you talk to him often, and so he tries to desperately make conversation again.

''Scared the shit out o' the old man.'' His efforts work as a small snicker escapes your lips, stopping working on his stitches as you collected yourself. You look up at him with an amused glint in your eyes, nodding your head. God, he has never seen something quite as beautiful.

''Cap told me about it. Poor guy had his whole waist bruised.'' You let out another small laugh before turning your attention back to the deep cut in his arm.

''If I didn't know any better, I'd think you're getting injured on purpose.'' His heart almost stops as your cold eyes look back up at his, an eyebrow raised, yet there's a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips as you notice his lack of response.

'' 'M not.'' Is all he can say, the knowing look you give him enough to make his blood boil, traveling all the way down to his throbbing cock, thankful for the black hoodie sprawled across his lap to prevent the blood from leaking into his jeans. You ignore all the... beige flags, knowing he's not stupid enough to actually get injured on purpose. You finish stitching him up, throwing away the tools used and the bloodied gloves.

''Keep the wound dry for 24 hours, if any of the stitches come off or the wound opens, come to me.'' You softly pat his shoulders, a small yawn escaping your lips as you look up at the clock on the wall; 0200.

''Tired?'' He asks sarcastically, earning him a way-too-hard pat on the shoulder. Simon woke you up at 2 in the morning, claiming his wound couldn't wait. It wasn't even as bad as he made it seem, though you appreciate your work with the TF141 more than you let on, so you decided to help him. It isn't the first time he wakes you up at outrageous hours, claiming to need help for things ranging from a pathetic paper cut to a gunshot wound. This time, his arm was the only thing affected, a cut big enough to need stitches.

''Very. Now get out.'' Your hand sneaks into the back of his uniform, tugging softly and he gets the message, standing up and allowing you to guide him out of your office like he's a child. He doesn't care if it's you.

''Goodnight, Simon.'' You can barely keep your eyes open and he feels a slight sense of guilt at keeping you up, knowing you'll have to be awake again in less than 3 hours.

''Night, Doc.''

[NEXT]

[gladiatorcunt]

- GUESS | XIII.

you wanna guess the color of my underwear, you wanna know what i got going on down there

cw: kinktober prompt (ass worship), yoga trainer!oikawa, fem reader, rimming, body hair, scent & piss mentions, light implied yandere, public sex (?), hinted possibly one sided iwazumi x reader, light dub con, mentions of fisting, implied that oikawa’s been into reader from the start, semi obsessive behavior, porno plot, self degradation, food play mention

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

“Mmh, just like that cutie, lift those hips up for me.”

You’ve been coming to the new yoga class that just opened up at the gym for a while now, a couple months a few times a week, you’re a bit of a homebody otherwise and yoga is the one physical exercise you don’t mind doing often. You like being flexible, able to bend your body in shapes and ways another person would have a harder time doing. And you’re not having sex, so any physically strenuous activity that leaves you sore until you’re put back together by your healing body does wonders for you.

Plus you like the way the leggings hug your well endowed assets, so do a lot of the men in the gym. You wear the form fitting workout clothes for yourself first and foremost, but you can’t lie that a little attention from afar (sometimes too close up by one of the trainer’s usually steps in to help you) boosts your ego. If there’s one thing in life you have to be proud of, at least you have your ass. Squishy and round, jiggles when you walk and never disappoints you unlike everything else in your life.

The same ass that’s raised high in the air in front of your yoga trainer, a more than handsome man in his late 20’s with wavy milk chocolate colored brown hair and a smug twinkle in his eye that’s connected to his smarmy always on his face (even when he seems pissed) grin. You’ll never forget the confidence in his posture, standing tall at the front of the class and introducing himself. Tooru Oikawa, just moved here from japan, his best friend owns the place so it wasn’t too much trouble to get hired, and SO excited to start this journey with you all!

You’ve stayed at the back since then, anxiety swirling in your belly when he’d make the rounds to correct your forms and check on you all. But he’d only pass by with a brisk touch to your back and a ‘good job’, maybe a semi solid pat if you were one of only ones who had a good form, and not to brag, but that’s been the case on more than one occasion.

Now you’re undergoing a little one on one session, he asked you to hang back, noticing you’ve been holding yourself back. You’ve never made much of an effort to talk to him and despite the fact that you’ve never needed this kind of focused attention, he’s been feeling a bit bad that you keep to yourself so much. He doesn’t bite you know, not unless you want him too.

It’s an odd flirtation, something you’ve noticed he never does with anyone else in the class. Oikawa’s attractive enough that you’d balk at him abusing his privilege to drown himself in quickies in the gym’s showers, as off putting as it’d be. But he’s very professional, chuckling at one of the older women making a pass at him and politely turning her down.

So you got in your own head and knew that since there was always room for improvement, surely there must be something he could help you with. So here you are, going through basic poses first before he pushes you into the more advanced ones. You told him that other than increasing your flexibility, you weren’t really sure what other areas would be best for you to get better at.

Oikawa smiled and squeezed your shoulder, no worries, he’ll walk you through a little assesment mini program. Since you mentioned not having done yoga seriously until now, there could easily be something you didn’t even realize needed to be attended to!

“Remember, we want to really feel that stretch, arch your back and lower your head. Breathe in, breathe out.” He instructs, settling a wide palm on your lower back. “That’s it, good girl.”

He’s so close, if you backed up to regain your footing your ass would press up against his bulge. Not that you can tell if he has one right now, but you’re kind of hoping he does. It’s just another part of the fantasy, that’s all this is, you tell yourself. You’re going to soak up the attention, make more small talk as you gather your things and leave, and sit at home suffocating your vibrator until your legs turn into jelly.

“Am I doing this right? My legs feel stiff.” You shift your weight from side to side, your hips gently sway, you could be too in your own head but having Oikawa’s pretty eyes scrutinizing every detail of your body is fucking with your confidence.

He hums, a trail of heat sizzles down your back as he slides his palm down to cup your hip. “If something seems off then it probably is, just widen your stance and put your feet further apart, loosen up your hips. You’re definitely a little tense, cutie.”

Okay so he’s definitely flirting with you, but you don’t startle and shoot back up so you can get out of here. Instead you internally cringe at the squeaks your yoga mat produces, adjusting your ankles to line up more with your shoulders. You keep breathing, in and out, letting your energy flow through your limbs as you maneuver them into the different positions.

Oikawa Tooru burns like a furnace in hell, you realize. Despite having a firm grip on your hip, he’s standing a respectable distance away from you as you bend over. You can still feel the heat radiating from him, his sleeveless muscle tank and his black shorts.

“I think that’s better. Sorry, it's hard for me to relax, I guess.”

“No worries, I totally get it, you do seem like the type to be wound up but that just means we get to unspool your thread and unravel you so we can get to the start and rebuild.” His free hand curls around your other hip, his thumbs absentmindedly stroke the crease where they disappear into your thigh.

This private coaching session is steadily becoming what you’re afraid of, and so horny for you could shoot off into the sky like a soda bottle chocked full of mentos. You didn’t notice when Oikawa got even closer, his blunt hip bones cradling your ass in between them. Could he just be weirdly, and grossly in most people’s eyes, friendly? Does he even see what he’s doing as being the tentative first step into fucking you in a public gym yoga studio?

“Um, yeah, thank you by the way. I’ve felt so much better since I’ve started taking your class, you’re a lifesaver even if I still have a lot to learn.”

“Oh, we all do, including me, believe it or not. I remember you from back then you know, so shy and fidgety, like a baby bunny.”

“You’ve really filled out too. Excuse me for saying this but I know this ass wasn’t always like this, so pretty and plump.” Toned hands drag over the swell of your cheeks, not digging in and kneading the globes, only ghosting their touch along the clothed flesh.

You subconsciously wiggle your hips, Oikawa’s breath hitches behind you, and that is perhaps the most monumental thing you could have achieved today. Flustering the man who gets hit on a billion times per day and gives it back tenfold, a competition of who can keep their cool, that’s how he operates in most things you guess. Like he’s always competing against somebody even if they don’t know, and he just has to win or it’ll be an ugly spot on his record. A record only he keeps and only he sees, but you sense that that’s more important to him than anything else.

“Oh, thank you. I just do a lot of squats every morning and every night after class, nothing crazy. Yoga’s the only other kind of workout I do consistently, anyway.” You're still in what feels like a perverted version of downward dog, briefly taking stock of the strain in your legs now trying to hold the position.

Oikawa makes a surprised sound, “Really? You have such a great body, I’m shocked you’re not a gym rat like me and all my buddies. Some people are just lucky, huh cutie?”

He says it, humble and charming, like he doesn’t also consider himself one of those people. Your cheeks heat up at the idea of a musclehead like Oikawa complimenting your curves, your chubby gathering of fat even in places some people would find ugly, your wideset bones and plush tummy.

A pin drops, “Alright. I think you’ve been in that position long enough, why don’t you go ahead and lower your knees into the table top pose, bring your head up slowly and remember to breathe. In, out, good girl.”

His hands guide your hips down, he steps back to let you settle your knees on the mat. You hear the foam sink behind you, he’s sort of kneeling too, halfway sitting on his legs, the backs of his feet facing the ceiling. Oikawa looms over you like this too, he has a presence you can be lost in before you actually see him, which you definitely can in the wall to wall mirror in front of you. The yoga class was a dance studio before Iwa decided it didn’t fit with his vision, you remember Oikawa telling you all on his first day.

He must feel your wide eyed stare, because he looks up too and suddenly you’re locked in a charged moment.

Neither of you says anything as his feather light touches on your ass become firmer, he’s outright groping you and pulling you back to be flush against his crotch.

He grinds his half hard bulge against you, keeping eye contact with you through the mirror.

“I can’t believe it’s taken you this long to notice me, cutie. Been wanting to do this for so long, you have no fucking idea.” He huffs, adjusting his clothed cock to rest between your cheeks. “You’re so hot, every time I saw you bend over I wanted to cancel class and take you right then and there.”

You gasp and rock back into him, shaking your hips and digging your knees into the mat. You have half a mind to look around the room for the camera and porn filming crew but reality is clearly stranger than fiction, your hot yoga trainer’s stiff cock is sandwiched in your ass crack.

He takes his sweet time dragging his length up and down, the tip catches in the divot of your leggings where your hole is, you’re a little disappointed that he’s not humping you like a rutting dog but you suspect that that’s part of the fun. Oikawa knows you want him so bad that he’ll restrain his urge to fuck you through the floor all the way to the center of the Earth just so you can endure some teasing. You’re so shy and withdrawn but those girls are usually the best kinds of freaks, all he’s doing is bringing it out of you, call it another one of his famous coaching methods.

The door’s locked, so if Iwazumi catches on to what’s happening and tries to rain on your parade, he’ll have to listen to a symphony of moans and slick sounds of bare sweaty flesh slapping against bare sweaty flesh. Oikawa laughs and tells you that Iwa’s been eyeing you too, when you check in at the front desk, when you’re getting water, when you head into the changing rooms to get ready for his class, it’d be helplessly cute if you weren’t already taken. Or, you’re gonna be, at the very least.

“When we’re done, I'll clean you up with my tongue and we can go on a little date. I can take you out properly this weekend but I'd hate for you to think that I was just trying to hit and quit it. I’m not the type to pump and dump, not anymore.” He speaks into the divide of your ass cheeks, having sunk to floor fully and doing some bending over of his own to be at eye level with your lower half.

You bite your lip when he starts nipping at you through your leggings, he smiles into the fabric and bites down harder, soothing the sting with slow licks. Oikawa kisses all over the swell of your behind, sniffing the scent of your perspiration and your body oil in between, medicinal vanilla and natural musk. You can see him hump the mint green yoga mat as he reaches up to hurriedly tug your leggings down enough to expose your ass. Your black thong frames it perfectly, but Oikawa pulls them off too and stuffs them under the waistband of his shorts.

He groans at the sight of your bare skin as it bounces free to say hello, taking a handful of each cheek and squeezing the life out of them, the thick flesh bulges between his fingers so he swiftly smacks each one, for tempting him and making his cock so hard it could explode into a blood filled mess of cum and sticky pubes in his pants. You cry out, rocking forward only to be immediately pulled back so he can keep kissing your ass.

He dotes on it like he would your face or mouth, almost giggling before and after quick pecks that develop into long slurps at your rim. He runs the tip of his nose over the hair on your crack, wetting it in messy swipes of his tongue.

“You taste so fucking good, baby, better than pastry i’ve ever had, and believe me, you don’t even want to know how much money i spend at the bakery across the street from my apartment. You’d love it.” He moans, saying hello to your winking hole by dotting barely there kisses right in the center before toying with you, dipping the tiniest bit of his tongue in your walls, then dragging his saliva all over your pucker. “It’d be fun to eat something off you, we could make a date out of it. Go up to the counter and pick which ones would taste the best when I eat it off your fat ass, but I think they’d all be amazing, don’t you?”

You nod rapidly and throw your ass back on his tongue, burning in shame with every smug laugh and grunt as Oikawa beats around the bush so to speak, doing everything under the sun with your ass but properly eating it. You wish you were in your shitty apartment, sitting on his face and drowning out the sound of your arguing neighbors with your slutty moans. He looks up from behind you to check on how you’re doing, and thank heavens because he finally buries his face in your ass and slurps at your puckered hole.

You lose yourself to the experience, feeling his wet tongue fuck into your ass hole and carve out little pieces of you for himself. He pays zero attention to your pussy, which is why it’s so wet and dripping onto the mat beneath you, it’s like he’s too obsessed with your thick globes to even notice, but you don’t hate it. It’s hot to have a guy be eye socket deep in your ass but also have him neglect where you really need his attention, there’s a dichotomy between being the mousey way you’ve gone about your life and the whorish behavior this man is urging you to consider.

You looked fucked out already, hair all over the place from how much you’ve messed with it and lips dropping open on drawn out squeals and whines. Oikawa is eating your ass out like it’s his main job, the one he puts in overtime for and goes above and beyond to be employee of the month at. He thrusts his tongue a few more times before apparently deciding that’s not enough and slipping in one of his absurdly long fingers alongside it.

You whimper, clenching around both as you just sit there in that damn table top pose and let a man you barely know play your ass like a well oiled fiddle. He shakes your cheek in his hand as he digs his tongue into you, delicately fingering your hole until it goes slack enough for him to insert another. You’re impossibly tight, as much as your clit is howling for it you know perfectly well that any serious penetration isn’t possible. From the impressions you got, Oikawa’s packing enough to tear you until you bleed if you don’t use lube or prep thoroughly beforehand, which you’d do anyways but it’s a shame.

Your clit throbs painfully but Oikawa pulls back with a gulp of air to level you with a warning look in the mirror, which only gets you wetter, you twitch again because he’s one of those. There’s a brief flicker of defiance, you could pout and touch yourself anyway, you don’t owe this ridiculously attractive man anything and he’s the one motorboating your ass cheeks and not the other way around, so shouldn’t you be the one in charge?

Then his eyes darken, you get another sharp smack and you table the discussion for some far off occasion.

Oikawa smiles, gently kissing the apple shaped swell of both of your cheeks, “See, I know from your time here that you can be such a good listener, you’re so sweet for me, I know it. You can’t hide that from me just because you want to throw a fit, I said we’d get to know each other afterwards, didn’t I?”

You scoot your ass back in apology, silently begging him to get back to it. He must really be horny too because he dives straight back in, groaning into your rim and french kissing your hole. The hand not doing its best to push its entirety into you kneads your fleshy ass cheek, molding it like dough and separating it from its twin, giving him easier access to your pucker. He ‘tsks’ not even a second later, crooking his two fingers and letting go off your cheek, humming in contentment when it bounces against his face and he’s smothered again.

He wonders if you’ll let him fist you, give you a unique one of a kind rose to swoon over and keep tucked away inside you later, the perfect first date gift from your future boyfriend.

You can even do couples yoga in the morning after your first night together!

“Let’s see if you can cum just from getting your ass played with.” Punctuated by a fourth finger sliding into the knuckle in your ass, he scissors his fingers to stretch you out and playfully acts like he’s gonna sink his whole fist in, pulling out his fingers to curl them into a ball.

The barest hint of blunt pressure on your hole sends a flood of your juices down his arm, smelling somewhat pissy which gives Oikawa truly the most impish grin imaginable.

[r2d2lover]

Healing Touch

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader (QuidditchPlayer!Mattheo x Healer!Reader)

Rating: E

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Unprotected sex, vaginal sex, F/M, fingering, aged-up characters, semi-public sex, Hogwarts Uni AU

Summary:

You give an alternative form of medicine after an injury lands star Quidditch player, Mattheo Riddle, in your care.

Friday nights always brought a familiar routine - milling around the bustling infirmary, secretly hoping for some excitement to break up the monotony. You couldn't help but feel a small twinge of guilt at your thoughts, wishing for someone to get injured during the intense Quidditch game and be sent to you for patching up. But most of the time, it was just a steady stream of students in need of minor first aid and basic pain relief potions after the games. And yet, despite the lack of excitement, you found comfort in these quiet evenings spent with Madam Pomfrey, the kind-hearted matron who ran the infirmary. Your friends may have called it "sad," but you found solace in her company and often lost track of time as you engaged in riveting conversations with her. You were no stranger to the infirmary; you had been under her watchful advisory since secondary school and working your way to a full time job at St. Mungo’s upon your graduation. It was almost therapeutic, in a way, to escape from the chaos of game day and simply unwind with such a wise and motherly figure. 

Tonight, however, was different. It started off normal enough, with the most exciting prospect being refusing a stash of Mallowsweet leaves from kids looking to smoke the dried herb. That incident caused Madam Pomfrey to ask you to catalogue the stores, which you did happily while humming to yourself. Right before you could start, the infirmary doors busted open with a bang, startling you from your reverie. A group of students clad in green fangear from hats to painted faces rushed in, supporting a limp figure between them. Your heart raced as you recognized the unconscious form of Mattheo Riddle, his Quidditch robes torn and muddy.

"Bludger to the head," someone shouted as Madam Pomfrey hurried over. You sprang into action from your position, grabbing potions and bandages as the matron directed. For once, your presence wasn't just busywork; you were needed. 

Mattheo was carried in on a magic stretcher, curled up in pain and still spilling curses from his bruised lips. If it had been earlier in your youth, you would’ve assumed the Slytherin boy got into some fight. In your apprenticeship years in secondary school, you patched up your fair share of Mattheo Riddle confrontations of both parties. At some point, Mattheo turned himself around by channeling his anger into Quidditch and even ended up scoring a scholarship to the same uni as you. He was still a regular customer of yours, especially since he started setting his sights on playing professionally. And if you were honest with yourself, you liked the conversations you had with him while you held his hand and set a broken appendage with Skelegro or stitched him up after a nasty fall. Though your relationship was transactionally based, you found yourself referring to him as your friend. Mattheo was a natural charmer as well, and you had your fair share of flustered moments on an off-handed comment of his. Even if you preferred the company of Madam Pomfrey on Friday nights, you definitely favored a more flirtatious company.

You unloaded the star Quidditch player onto a hospital bed at the end of the hall for maximum privacy. You dismissed his friends with thanks and told them that they needed to leave if they wanted to see Mattheo get better. As you drew the curtains around Mattheo's bed, you caught a glimpse of his pained expression. Your heart clenched at the sight. Madam Pomfrey bustled over with her wand at the ready, muttering diagnostic spells under her breath.

"Mild concussion, broken arm, and a nasty laceration on his thigh. Nothing we can't handle, but it'll take some time. Fetch the Blood-Replenishing Potion and prepare a Calming Draught. I am going to the pitch to see if there are anymore injuries," Madam Pomfrey announced grimly. You nodded, hurrying to the potions cabinet. As you gathered the necessary vials, you heard Mattheo groan.

"Wha... happened?" Mattheo slurred, trying to sit up. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy. You shushed him and held up the Calming Draught to his lips, coaxing the liquid into his mouth gently. You raked your fingers through his body to check for any more injuries, silently biting back your breath as you felt how hardened his muscles were. That’s wildly inappropriate, you scolded yourself. You mixed the Calming Draught with the ill-tasting Skelegro, hoping it would disguise the taste enough for him to stomach it. Mattheo was still hazy when you wrapped his arm in a sling and he found comfort in squeezing your arm to ease the pain. Normally, you would never let the identity of your patient cloud your level of care, but Mattheo was just different.

“You took a nasty fall during the game tonight. Hey, I… I’m going to have to remove your pants to get to that cut on your thigh,” You say shakily while slowly and gently peeling back the blood soaked bandage. The medic on the pitch did a haphazard job, which only brought him more pain. Mattheo let out a silent hiss through gritted teeth before he nodded. He tried to use his free hand to help you unlace the front of his uniform, but you waved him aside. With a slung arm, you had no option but to take pity on him. You undid his pants quickly while keeping an eye on his face to gauge his pain. For a man with a broken arm and a deep laceration on his upper thigh, he seemed to be more focused on you undoing his pants. He watched you in a labored mixture of panting and groaning, but he eventually conceded to the pain and threw his head back with his eyes squeezed shut. You held up a drink spiked with Wiggenweld to his lips to distract him from the pain in his leg, but really you were trying to distract yourself from the sinful sight in front of you. 

“Bloody hell… Do you think they’ll let me play in the game next week?” Mattheo sipped on the pain relieving potion greedily. You watched him with matched greediness as he licked droplets of the potion off his lips and threw his head back. For your own sanity, you patted the corners of his mouth with a rag. Mattheo wrapped his hand around your arm in what you guessed to be an attempt to steady himself, especially as you turned your focus back to his bloodied pants.

“I’m not sure, but if you let go of my arm, I can try to make sure that you do,” You teased gently, flexing your arm to signal him. Mattheo opened his eyes in embarrassment and released his iron-clad grip on your bicep. Normally, you wouldn’t have noticed, but his hand was so large that it completely wrapped around your arm and choked your blood supply. He apologized sheepishly, then delved his front teeth into his bottom lip while you finally pulled off his pants. “Tell me if it hurts any more, I can give you more Wiggenweld.”

“The pain’s not so bad… it’s more of a mental thing, I think,” Mattheo watched carefully as you started to clean the scape on his thigh. It was a nasty mark, but he seemed proud of it and didn’t regret the scar it would form if it meant securing the championship. You slowly massaged a salve into his skin, which made him shiver and jump.

“Mental?” You questioned without looking up. His words tightened a knot in your stomach but you persisted. Your hands dipped back into the pot of salve to add another layer but Mattheo grabbed your wrist.

“Please, you must hurry up. I don’t think I can handle you rubbing on my thigh much longer. It’s bloody torture,” Mattheo breath hitched as you twisted out of his grip and returned your hand back to his thigh. The knot from before threatened to jump out of your throat at his words, but you weakly laughed it off as you continued applying the cooling paste. The Quidditch player should’ve also won a championship for self-restraint, for even with your hands brushing the edge of his plaid boxers, he was well composed. You figured it was the pain from his injuries to save both of your egos.

“Maybe I like you in a compromising position. Makes you less… godly, I guess,” You joked with a soft smirk. Mattheo made an odd gurgling noise that sounded like a choked groan, but your back was turned to him while looking for a bandage. When you turned back around, Mattheo’s eyes were opened with a thigh-clenching darkness to them. Swallowing dryly, you chose to ignore it and started to bandage up his thigh. Mattheo’s fingers twitched at his side, as if he were trying to reach out. The wicked side of you just wished he would. “Too tight?”

“No, that’s fine... Fuck, maybe we should stop talking,” Mattheo snapped out of whatever trance he was in and sat up. 

“I don’t know… what you’re talking about…” You mentally kicked yourself at how timid you sounded. Mattheo leaned forward and grabbed your waist tightly with his free hand. You gasped at the way his fingers dug into your sides and the show of strength it was to make you crash into him. “Mattheo, this is highly inappropriate-!”

“Does that mean you’re going to stop me?” Mattheo’s voice dropped an octave and the bass vibrated your core. You shook your head with a stammer, but still you let Mattheo bring his warm breath from your ear to your jaw. 

“Madam Pomfrey- She might-” You struggled to keep your composure as to not give Mattheo the satisfaction. You suppressed a moan with a cough.

“Then you should be quiet, hm, love?” Mattheo grinned against your jaw before dragging his mouth down further. He pulled you against his sling, wincing only slightly as you pressed into his bad arm.

“You don’t even like me,” You said breathily, trying to convince yourself more so than the man trailing kisses down to your collarbones. “You’re just confused… or like… misguided because I healed you.”

“What do you know about me, love?” Mattheo removed his mouth so that he could look at you. He grabbed your face with a conviction that silenced you. His eyes were deliciously glazed with lust and you felt yourself start to slip into his clutches. He strategically placed his mouth anywhere on your face except for your lips. While it was a tantalizing jest, it was a strange reminder that this was just sex for him.

“Mmm… I know that I’m not letting you take me in the infirmary,” You hissed. Mattheo grinned while he pulled you closer onto him and pressed his thigh against your legs. Your body betrayed you and you let out a soft moan. 

“"How very stubborn of you..." Mattheo whispered in a low voice as he placed his mouth back on your neck. He attempted to bait you into grinding against him by rutting his thigh deeper into your core. "But... you're not fooling me. I know you're enjoying this just as much as I am..."

“It’s not a matter of enjoyment,” You stammer with a louder moan. Mattheo chuckled with satisfaction.

“Sure it isn't, love," Mattheo mocked, then he tugged free the buttons of your blouse. "Then tell me... why are you making those pretty little noises for me, hm?"

“You’re torturing me,” You pleaded. Mattheo's hand moved with a controlled eagerness, his fingers deftly undoing the buttons of your blouse. His eyes held a glint of satisfaction and mischief as he looked up at you. The intoxicating scent of Mattheo's cologne mixed with the scent of your own arousal filled the air, creating a heady and sensual atmosphere.

"Torture, is it? Well then, allow me to ease your suffering. Consider it repayment?" Mattheo's lips curled into a devilish smirk. “Oh, c’mon. You already took my pants off for me.”

Mattheo’s hand slipped beneath your loosened blouse, fingers tracing along your ribs. You shivered at his touch, your resolve weakening with each passing moment. Mattheo's mouth found yours again, his kiss hungry and demanding. This time, you responded with equal fervor, your hands tangling in his hair. He rolled his fingers into your bra and over your perched nipples. Your back arched involuntarily, pressing your chest further into Mattheo's skilled hands. Your body craved him. He chuckled low in his throat, clearly pleased with your responsiveness.

“Tell me you want this,” Mattheo’s words bubbled in his throat. With the use of only one hand, he made use of the situation and dragged his mouth down to your chest instead. The second his teeth grazed the sensitive skin, you swallowed a loud moan and pulled tightly at his curls. The pain made him growl and he only repeated himself. “Tell me you want me.”

“Do I really need to stroke your ego right now?” I chuckled back a moan. Mattheo bit the skin of your breast, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to be a warning. Your thoughts melted into nothingness as his tongue began to soothe the spot he had just bitten. His hand now delved under your dress hem and his fingers swirled around the top of your panties. He snapped the waistband tauntingly with an eyebrow raised at your insolence. 

“You could always stroke something else,” Mattheo murmured. He twisted a fistful of the top your panties, the digging fabric providing a taste of friction. His voice dropped down to a threat. “I’m not asking now. Tell me.”

"Mattheo, please," You whimpered, your hips unconsciously shifting towards his teasing fingers. He released his hold and instead yanked off the thin fabric. Paranoia stirred inside you and you quickly looked around the quiet infirmary to see if your boss would catch you. Madam Pomfrey must’ve actually left and entrusted the clinic in your care. Though not the moment to think of it, it warmed you with a sense of pride. You tried to focus on that thought instead of diving headfirst into Mattheo’s fantasy.

"That's not quite what I asked for, darling. Try again,” Mattheo clicked his tongue, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes. He had incredible patience with you, but you just thought it was because he liked to see you in such a compromised position. He dragged an ant agonizingly slow finger up your slit while still keeping his eyes locked onto yours. You gasped at the contact, which only made him move slower.

“I want you, Mattheo, please,” You were rambling at this point, much to Mattheo’s satisfaction. His eyes darkened with desire, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Please, you have to hurry. Someone could walk in.”

"That's more like it," Mattheo purred, his finger now circling your most sensitive spot. The corners of his lips quirk up in a wicked grin, his dark hair falling in disarray around his face. You were officially delirious with lust. "But I think I'll take my time. The risk makes it more exciting, doesn't it?"

You bit your lip to stifle a moan as Mattheo increased the pressure, your hips bucking involuntarily. The fear of being caught warred with the intense pleasure building within you. You couldn’t believe you were actually excited at the prospect of getting caught. Mattheo nuzzled your neck, encouraging you to tilt back your head back to expose your neck. His lips trailed hot kisses along your throat, occasionally nipping at the sensitive skin. At the same time, he curled his middle finger into your heat while stifling your moan by dragging his tongue in your mouth. 

“If you can’t be quiet, I’ll have to stop. Do you want that, love?” Mattheo sunk his teeth into your earlobe and inserted his forefinger. “Fuck, are you sure you can handle anymore? You’re already getting off on just my fingers. Maybe this is enough for you.”

“No! No… Please, Mattheo…” Mattheo’s fingers were a delicious stretch, his hands large and rugged from his sport. They were nothing compared to yours and when he moved his thumb over your clit, you had to bite his shoulder to stop yourself from crying out. You barely caught yourself in time and forced yourself to silence your moan into a whimper. He chuckled darkly, clearly enjoying your desperation. 

"Please what?" Mattheo taunted, still continuing the ministrations of his fingers. He move his mouth back to your breasts, which only intensified the molten lava in your veins. You sucked in every moan with a tremor. "Tell me exactly what you want, love. I want to hear you say it."

"I... I want you inside me," You managed to gasp out between embarrassment and overwhelming desire. "All of you. Now."

Mattheo growled low in his throat, his patience and control finally snapping. In one fluid motion, he pulled you back into his hospital bed, which groaned loudly in a threatening exposure. You straddled him on the thin mattress, giving you a wonderful view of his darkened face. His hands made quick work of your remaining clothes as he positioned himself between your thighs.

"Remember," Mattheo warned, while he pressed the head of his length against your opening. "Not a sound."

You nodded frantically, biting your lip hard as Mattheo slowly pushed inside you. You buried your face deep into the crook of his neck and let out the moan you’ve been holding back escape. The stretch was exquisite, bordering on painful, and you had to concentrate every fiber of your being on staying quiet. You chanted his name into his neck as a prayer to stay quiet. Mattheo's eyes were dark with lust as he watched your face, clearly enjoying your struggle to remain silent. 

"God, you feel amazing. So tight, so perfect for me," Once he was fully sheathed, Mattheo paused, giving you a moment to adjust. The two of you were artfully balanced between his injuries, which provided you a small distraction from falling over the edge of your climax too quickly. You whimpered softly in response at his words, rolling your hips to encourage him to move. Mattheo took the hint, pulling out almost completely before thrusting back in with a powerful snap of his hips. The bed creaked ominously, and you both froze for a moment, listening for any sign that someone had heard. Mattheo snickered at your paranoia. When no one came, you gripped his shoulders and started to move yourself on his length again.

“Am I hurting you?” You asked shakily, feeling the bandage from his thigh rub up against yours. Mattheo let out another low laugh.

“I should be asking you that,” Mattheo’s voice was deliciously raspy in your ear and his chuckle made your knees weaken. You could barely hold your pace. Mattheo dug his fingers into your ass before giving it an intense smack that drove the pleasure in your stomach deeper. Surprisingly, he let you take control, but he still moved his fingers back and forth from swirling on your clit to your nipples.

“Your leg… your arm… I mean- Oh…” 

“I’m fine, love. Don’t worry about me. you take me so well,” Mattheo assured. He brushed the hair out of your face and tugged it back to see your plain face. Your eyes fluttered shut as pleasure coursed through you, but Mattheo's grip on your hair tightened. "Look at me. I want to see every expression on your face."

On his command, you forced your eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. The vulnerability of being so exposed, both physically and emotionally, sent a shiver down your spine. Mattheo's eyes softened for a moment, a tender smile playing at his lips before desire overtook him again. He began to thrust up into you, matching your rhythm. The new angle had you seeing stars, and you bit your lip hard to keep from crying out. Mattheo's hand left your hair to caress your cheek, his thumb brushing over your abused lower lip. 

“I’m close,” You whispered almost shamefully, panting at how hard you were trying to stay quiet. As you whispered, your face contorted with pleasure and your eyes squeezed shut. The flush of arousal spread across your cheeks and down your neck, your lips red and swollen from being bitten. Mattheo's gaze was locked on you, devouring your every expression, his own face twisted with lust and desire. 

“You better look at me if you want to cum. I want you to look me in the eyes while you make a mess of yourself all over me,” Mattheo commanded with a growl. You snapped your eyes open, which was rewarded with a hand on your clit. He circled it with tighter grouping and precision, making it all the harder to stay silent. “Fuck, you’re impossibly tight. Fuck- Say my name when you finish, mmm.”

Steadying yourself with your hands planted firmly on Mattheo’s chest, you gave your hips one final grind as you felt him pull himself all the way out and slam himself back in. Without shame or remorse, you loudly cried out his name which was enough for Mattheo to spill himself inside of you. Your last moans and cries fill the room, mingling with the sound of skin slapping against skin and heavy breathing. Mattheo finished with a grunt, his voice rough and primal. You pushed yourself off of him with a shudder and a shaky breath, barely being able to stumble into the chair that you had pulled up in the first place to treat him. 

“You should prescribe me this sort of medicine more often, gods,” Mattheo still looked heavenly while leaned back, flushed with a sweaty post-coital glow. “Do you think Madam Pomfrey will write me a note for a daily dose?”

“A daily dose? You’re presumptuous,” You finally catch your breath while you button back up your dress. The hard reality of your actions rear its ugly head at you as Mattheo grunts in a real pain and you rush to give him the rest of the Wiggenweld tincture.

“What? Do you need a preexisting condition of being exclusive or something? I’m serious,” Mattheo finishes the potion and wraps his hand into yours. You let out a laugh of disbelief. Non-committal was amongst the high praise for the Quidditch player.

“I’m just your Healer, I really shouldn’t have done that…” You shake your head and finally get the balance to stand. You smooth the wrinkles of your dress and weakly smiled at the injured man. “I basically took advantage of you, Mattheo.”

“It wouldn’t be that way if you were mine,” Mattheo sat up and grabbed you with his free hand. He sprung up from the hospital bed, his grip tightening around you like a vice. His eyes bore into yours with a fierce intensity as he closed the distance between you, his breath a hot reminder of the events that had just transpired. “I’ll let you think about it. But I amserious about that prescription, love. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You stood frozen as Mattheo released you and sauntered out of the room, his confident stride belying the injury that had brought him there in the first place. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts and the lingering scent of his cologne. You were so screwed.

Part 2

Divider by @chachachannah

[starseungs]

i'd weave words with every chord you strum. hjs.

han jisung x gn!reader — under the disguise of being part of your department’s documentation team, you aimed to get front row seats at your university festival's battle of the bands competition. what they didn't know was that instead, it was a matter of seeing a certain guitarist’s performance in the best view you could manage.

GENRE/S — fluff, a sprinkle of light angst, battle of the bands au, college au, band guitarist!jisung x student journalist!y/n, crushing from afar • 3.0k words

WARNING/S — y/n tends to worry too much, one-sided romance (for now?), jisung is an engineering student (specialization not specified), y/n is a mass communications student, in the same universe as "the subtle art of cliche confessions. ksm"

( ✒️ ) I FINALLY POSTED A FIC !!! WE CHEERED !!! so sorry if this took too long to those who waited ever since i said i was writing guitarist!jisung 🙇‍♀️ i had trouble trying to complete this fic as well as i could but i still i hope you all enjoy <3

2024 ⓒ starseungs on tumblr. do not steal, repost, or edit.

Okay, maybe this wasn’t the most sane thing for you to do.

The realization may have settled in late, but it seemed like your brain had already practiced the needed precaution unconsciously. Why else would you willingly slip away from your friends just to risk your life in what was practically a free-for-fall fight for the front row seats of your university festival’s battle of the bands competition this year? Under the disguise of being part of your department’s documentation team, you told your friends you were going to need closer seats in order to do the task your seniors oh-so-graciously gave you.

And it was true—to some extent, at least. The only instructions actually given to you were to attend this year’s program, or more specifically, watch your department’s representative band perform so that you had a better grasp of what you were supposed to write for the short feature post to be posted the next day. It didn’t particularly matter where you were going to be watching, as long as you were there. If anything, you could’ve stayed with your friends in the top-floor seats overlooking the stage and still done your job just fine. But no, this wasn’t just a matter of absolute commitment to the role you inhibited.

It was a matter of seeing a certain guitarist’s performance in the best view you could manage.

Han Jisung was a force to be reckoned with. As the star of the engineering department’s performing arts talent pool, his name was a staple in any event with a performing aspect to it. Adding the fact that he comes from the largest and most successful department in the university, opportunities to shine practically fell out of the sky. With easy access to an abundant budget and a vast network of connections at his disposal, there was nothing holding him back from being one of the campus’ golden students. In other words, Han Jisung always had the stage set for him in a snap of a finger.

Sometimes, you thought it was a shame he didn’t pursue music academically. Being part of the fine arts and communications’ student council, there was undoubtedly a greed to have him on your rosters. Your department was the smallest one among the others, so you could only imagine how much exposure could be gained from having him as a representative at performing arts events. It’s embarrassing enough to admit that you were often beaten by other departments in that aspect despite actually being the house with students studying it professionally. But once you saw how Jisung also thrived in his major subjects, all you could do was grit your teeth and agree that he was better off benefiting from the engineering department’s perks.

Curse the guy for being too perfect.

You haven’t even gotten to the fact that he was also unnecessarily attractive to the bone. His big expressive eyes paired with his wide, endearing smile successfully merged together to create what you could describe as the most charming, boyish aura you’ve ever encountered. Though you haven’t actually talked to him even once to cement your claims, his staggering amount of friends across the student body already spoke for itself. How’d he even meet all of them, anyway? And why were you somehow one of the skipped demographics?

Well, perhaps it was fairly believable. The first time you saw Jisung was during both of yours’ freshmen welcoming ceremony, where he joined the last day’s talent showcase with two of his friends who were also entering the engineering department. Now, you didn’t think you were the type to fall so easily with people you haven’t even had a conversation with, but the moment his guitar solo started in the middle of their impromptu band performance, you were smitten. Like Buddha after being enlightened, you suddenly couldn’t be in the same area as him without your eyes automatically steering towards his direction.

At first, it bothered you a bit to be so hyper-aware of someone who you basically knew nothing about aside from the fact that he was in one of the engineering programs and played guitar. You didn’t even know his name—your attention was elsewhere when their group was being introduced during the talent showcase. The only reason you even paid the slightest attention was because you noticed they were going to play instruments, which peaked your interest. And maybe that was what prompted you to go on a detective work spree, trying to figure out who the guy was online. 

Yet, despite finally being successful after a couple tries, you never gained the courage to strike up a conversation. Objectively, there was no reason for the two of you to interact in the first place. You weren’t in the same classes, department, or even forced proximity in events. He was destined to be one of the people up on stage, while your place was always going to be in the shadows of the spotlight, gazing as you wrote all about their glory.

That should have been enough for you. It was the area of your goal expertise anyway. A journalist witnesses and informs—similar to how a star like Jisung should focus on shining. But instead, you were here. Just a few feet from the stage you had just described as if it was some sort of promised land for the deserving. And up there under the flashing stage lights was the one person you were here to see.

Jisung’s performance was enthralling as usual. You didn’t know if this conclusion came from his own desire to dominate the stage with each strum or from your eyes that couldn’t seem to tear away from his form. Perhaps it was both—seeing that you barely even registered the band’s lead singer using a section of the set to create one of the most memorable confessions this university will ever see in a lifetime. No, your attention was solely on the one donning an electric guitar, happily laughing with the bassist as they coo at their bandmate’s display of affection.

You felt the need to capture the moment. In an instant, the small digital camera you carried around during important events was raised up to your eye level, ready to take some snaps. You didn’t even realize that your little session continued until the end of their set, leaving your gallery filled with photos. After blinking away the daze from what you had just done, you hurried to check on them.

Heat immediately creeped up to your face upon seeing the state of your camera’s gallery.

Of course, the majority of them just had to be of Jisung. As if your crushing from afar wasn’t enough, the world just had to upgrade you to a wannabe stalker to emphasize your infatuation with the man. Quickly browsing through the rest of the remaining photos, you examined the extent of the damage done. There was no way you would be able to make use of any of them, so you decided on deleting them at home—for both you and Jisung’s sake.

However, before you could even run away from the scene of the crime, an enthusiastic voice called out to you. “Hey! You with the camera! Wait up!”

You froze in your tracks, looking like a dear in headlights. When you finally gained the courage to look back and face the person who called out to you, a terrified squeak spilled out of your mouth. It was one of Jisung’s close friends you’ve seen with him at times around campus. Unable to function due to the raging storm of worries inside your head, you resorted to just giving up the luxury of running away and apologize if you had to. Still, you hoped that he hadn’t seen you take what looked like a hundred photos of his friend.

Forget celebrities; apparently normal university students have fansites now.

“Hey, sorry for stopping you like that!” The guy said while huffing, trying to catch his breath from the trip over. When he eventually managed to straighten up, he beamed a friendly smile. “The name’s Felix. It’s just that I saw you take some photos of my friends earlier during their set, and I wanted to ask if we could get a few copies? I’m sure they’d really appreciate having some documentation of the moment!”

If you could, you would’ve already passed out because of stress. This was definitely going to be on your list of the top ten worst moments in your life. Luckily, Felix didn’t seem to notice that your camera was mostly focused on Jisung. Even more so, you were very thankful that you had a few photos taken of the whole band and some other members at your disposal, despite practically going autopilot earlier. Yet, you were sure that the world was out to get you today because you couldn’t even respond back to Felix before another voice entered the conversation.

A very familiar one, at that.

“Yo, Lix!” The figure jogged up to the two of you lightly. “We were looking for you in the waiting room. The lovebirds are already together over there, so we were wondering where you fled to. Show’s over, so we need to head over to the dinner place.”

On any other occasion, you would’ve focused on the fact that the event appeared to be already over without you noticing. Except the current situation involved Han Jisung, in the flesh, standing an arms length from where you were positioned. You watched his eyes catch sight of you for the first time since he approached, then proceeded to give you a small bow of greeting. Like a puppet on strings, your body moved on your own accord to reciprocate.

“Damn, my bad. But hey, I saw them taking some photos of you during your performance and thought you might be interested in having copies.” Felix shrugged, gesturing over to you. You didn’t think it was possible for your heart to beat any faster, but now it was almost in cardiac arrest. 

Did he really have to say that? To the guy you took endless photos of like he was a celebrity, nonetheless?

You were on the verge of bursting into tears from the anxiety of the situation. The other two couldn’t see that, though. “Oh, sweet!” Jisung exclaimed, suddenly excited. Your breath hitched from his outburst. “Would it be alright for me to ask for them? It’d be really nice to have a remembrance of the moment—right, I’m Han Jisung, by the way.”

What? “I, uh—” You stammered for a quick second before managing to spit out your name. “Y/N.”

Jisung nods as if pleased by your answer. Then, his eyes furrowed in thought. “Wait, your name sounds really familiar. But I don’t think we’ve met before?” You shook your head almost frantically.

“We haven’t.”

“Exactly!” Jisung snapped his fingers. “So where—Ah!” 

For heaven’s sake, what is it now? Any more of this torment, and you were sure a hole six feet deep was guaranteed for you. Heck, you’d even be willing to be burried alive if any of the two men in front of you found out about what was actually the state of your camera’s gallery—that is, if you don’t accidentally expose yourself first. Unfortunately, that wasn’t a far-off thought at all. As long as whatever Jisung says doesn’t trigger it, you think you would be just fine.

“Don’t you write articles for the fine arts department?” Well, that wasn’t what you were expecting. Instead, your eye twitched involuntarily at the incomplete mention of your department.

“It’s actually the fine arts and communications department, but yes—” You started, placing emphasis on the ‘and communication’ before fully realizing what he has just said. “—Hold on, I beg your pardon?”

Jisung tilted his head a bit in confusion. “Huh? What for?” He chuckles. “Shouldn’t I be the one apologizing for the department name thing?” You gaped at him like a fish. 

There was no way that Han Jisung, the university’s golden boy, knew of someone like you. Not to mention that he allegedly knew you from your little articles for the department of all things. It defied all existing logic in your mind. After all, what was he even doing on your department’s online page? And paying attention to the journalists' names, no less?

“No, uh,” you cleared your throat. “I just—yeah, wasn’t expecting you to know me from that.”

Jisung raised a questioning brow at you, as if he genuinely believed the situation was a given. You stayed silent, mulling over the possible implications that still hadn’t settled in your mind. The conversation only defrosted again with a low whistle. “Well, that’s my cue to leave,” Felix chuckles nervously. “Bye guys. Jisung, I’ll head to the waiting room.” The latter only sees him off with a hum before directing his attention back to you.

“But why not?” He asks in earnest. “I love your articles! I’m not typically a newsreader kind of guy, but the ones you write always make it seem so interesting that I get really invested in the topics. Most especially the ones you do for your department’s performances.”

You couldn’t believe your ears at what you were currently hearing. It already felt surreal to talk to Jisung like this after almost a year of simply watching him from afar—yet, now he was even going beyond your wildest dreams with the way he sang your work praises. “Wow,” was your breathless remark. “That’s a bit—”

“Surprising? I guess I could see that. There’s a certain appeal to it for us performers, though. Reading stuff like that is our own version of feedback, so it makes us feel like what we did made some sort of impact at least,” he explains, crossing his arms in thought. “Sometimes, I actually get jealous of your department’s performers since they could always get articles centered around them. My department posts photos of us with a short spiel and calls it a day.”

You couldn’t help the small snicker that spilled out of your mouth. Jisung’s eyes widened for a bit when he realized how strongly worded he must have sounded. He turns to face you full and defends himself with full force. “I don’t blame them for it, don’t get me wrong! Even I don’t know how to write articles like that, so who am I to demand them for it? Most of us are here for the structure of physical components, not words. I mean, there’s also the school publication, but they focus more on the event itself rather than the participants.”

Meanwhile, you were just entranced. It was unfair how the setting sun of dusk painted him with justice, enhancing the features that you had once brushed over to admire in passing. His black hair was now tinted with a soft orange undertone, mirroring the last rays of farewell by the sunset. Beautifully paired with his honey skin almost glowing, coloring him in the hues of life. Your eyes unknowingly traveled down to his soft plump lips, moving in harmony to bring forth strings of intricately sounded words as his voice laced it in melody. 

This man was just too much for you to handle in all his glory. Would it be alright to say he was probably born a demigod?

“Uh, did I talk too much?” He scratched his nape awkwardly, his other hand fumbling around his pockets to find his phone. “You could just get my number and contact me if you’re willing to let us have some soft copies of the photos, but it’s totally fine if not either! I just think they’d be really cool and—”

“Do you want an article?” You cut him off despite being incredibly endeared. Maybe it was just a part of you that wanted to take back after not being given a chance to speak for two times a few minutes back. Either way, it felt refreshing, taking away some of your nerves. The guy really had a talent for making people comfortable.

Jisung blinks. Confused, he asks, “What about?”

“You. I’ll write you an article with the photos.” Was your surprisingly confident reply. “I have photos of your band too, so we could include them if you wanted.” Jisung looked at you incredulously. 

“This isn’t a joke, right?”

“No, not really.” You shook your head to further emphasize.

“But we aren’t from your department.”

You lightly laughed at his concern. “I can release it independently. I have my own account too, you know.”

“Is that allowed?”

“With your consent and proper wording,” you started while hosting a small smile. “I don’t see why not?”

“Then I’m sold!” Jisung grins—the same one you could have only imagined being directed at you for some time now. “This is amazing, thank you so much! From what I’ve observed from the articles, isn’t there usually an interview portion? I’ll give you my number, and we’ll see how we can adjust to your schedule—”

You simply watched as he rambled on, excitedly tapping on his phone as he told you how stoked he was for the article. Earlier this day, you would have never expected to be chatting with Han Jisung like this, but the world works in weird ways. In a single moment, you were now part of the sun’s solar system, even if it was just in the form of an orbiting asteroid. But you made a mark.

And that was already a victory for you alone.

“No takebacks, yes?” Jisung teases, on the process of saving your own number after you offered to also give it to him. You scoffed good-naturedly, now feeling at ease.

“No takebacks.” You promised back, a silent meaning echoed through the space that only you could hear.

Someday, you hoped that he would too.

MASTERTAG ━ STATUS: OPEN — ASK OR COMMENT 🫶

@fairyki @hysgf @euncsace @comet-falls @starlostseungmin @ameliesaysshoo @hyunverse @wnbnny @xocandyy @minluvly @moon0fthenight @estellaluna @hanjsquokka @starlostastronaut @minsueng @l3visbby @myjisung @thecutiepieme @yaniiiiism

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

My nana at 9 years of age was dragged kicking and screaming to school. Her math teacher had been molesting her. She told her parents. They did nothing. Best part? Her father was the principal. So obviously that teacher learned he could get away with anything and started molesting the other girls, who then blamed my nana because...I dunno, little kid logic I guess. It was unlikely their parents were going to be any more helpful than my nana's and he knew it.

My great aunt at the age of 13 was forcibly kissed by a teacher in full view of several witnesses who then gave her shit for seducing an honourable man.

My mom at 12 years of age left her physically abusive father to live with her mother and stepfather, only for her stepfather to molest her. Her mother to this day refuses to believe it.

My best friend had a longterm close male friend who sexually assaulted her in her sleep. Their entire friend group as well as the youth counselor encouraged her to forgive him because it was obviously a misunderstanding and she'd been giving off mixed signals and he'd had a huge crush on her and he wasn't intending to hurt her! So she did forgive him, publicly. And he did it again. And again. And again. And then it was her fault because she kept hanging out with him. If she really didn't want him doing it, why didn't she just abandon her entire friend group? He also got emboldened and went on to sexually assault other girls, so eventually they all started talking and went to the school against him. The youth counselor admonished my friend for going forward against him.

My other best friend decided to be "open-minded" and dated a trans-identified male. He also sexually assaulted her multiple times in her sleep but he framed her as the abuser at their youth support group for not adequately validating his identity.

My stepfather molested me from the ages of 7 to 12 and when I reported him he was dating a new woman at the time. She didn't believe it. They're still together. I can only imagine the number of girls he's been given access to over the years (he didn't go to jail, or get convicted of sexual assault).

I was also sexually assaulted in my sleep at my friend's party once. That guy's friend said I "probably wanted it".

Went to group therapy. All the women there had very different stories, but one theme that kept cropping up: they weren't believed or they were blamed.

I read books about therapy sessions with other victims. And that theme kept up. Not believed or else blamed. One woman told her story, learning to gloss it over before being dismissed out of hand, for decades before a professional finally asked her to elaborate and put her in touch with a sexual assault crisis centre. Another thing that came up in those books: knowing how hard it was for victims to come forward, and all the discouragement from people in their lives, many women must take it to the grave.

But hey, it's fine. Men have it worse. I mean we all watched a rich abusive man successfully publicly humiliate his victim while everyone said he was the victim and she was the abuser. And actually it's super common for abusive men to claim to be the victim, and police and family believe it! And it can take multiple women to come forward against one man for anything to be done, and often even that's not enough. But never mind that, men have it worse. We know this because they so--no, no, don't pay attention to hospital records or homicides or child marriages, or--Men. Say. They. Have it worse! So they do. Everything a man says is truth. That's why you must believe whatever a man says and accept every observation he makes as objective. No, there's no irony here, no historical precedent, no global trend.

[cuckoldlifeofjosie]

(A Spin On The Last Post I Reblogged Making It My Own) An affair is a prolonged pattern of emotional and physical infidelity and involves significant deception and betrayal. It is not the same as cuckolding a fantasy you and your wife made a reality a long while ago. It was just about her getting fucked by other men, to enjoy sexual variety and pleasure without emotional attachment and to fulfill your submissive fantasy. She met him at a work function. Even texted you that a cute handsome man was flirting with her. You encouraged her to pursue it. Your wife told you it was fun, but nothing came of it. She knew she could share it with you, but decided to keep it to herself. What she felt scared her a little bit. It made her excited and impulsive. Their connection was immediate. A feeling like they already knew each-other, their energies naturally aligned. There is that unspoken ease when you meet the right person. Ease of your interactions, how the conversations flow effortlessly, how you feel understood without having to explain yourself.

She found comfort in his presence, that sense of familiarity and safety that feels almost magnetic. It is not something us humans often feel except before we fall in love.

Their first kiss came easy as the second and third. Their bond grew quickly and were easily able to arrange seeing eathother through their work their professional life.

When together, the sex was amazing, better than any of the cuckold fucking she had experienced. Not only is he skilled, dominant and well hung there is not only a shared sexual chemistry but a deeper emotional and intellectual connection that makes her feel seen by him, appreciated and their love making is completely in sync. The significant deception and betrayal. Days she is taking off work and telling you she is going to the office. Work trips and conferences where they are staying in the same hotel room together. Late nights at work, nights out with her girlfriends. Lying has become easy for her. It is not cuckolding it is cheating. She is in love with another man.

You though suspect she is cheating. It hurts, why wouldn't she tell you and share this experience with you? It tears your heart apart. The betrayal by your wife, the fear she is going to leave you. The shame of not being enough and that loss of trust.

Then you start stroking your little dick. The power dynamic of your bread winning wife having an affair, that feeling of jealousy you love. You feel submissive. Expecting she is falling in love with another man drives your mind to the ultimate cuckolding. You look at her, she is now more powerful and unattainable and she is your wife. The fact she’s stepping outside you marriage only amplifies her sexual power in you eyes. This dynamic plays into a deeper psychological thrill. Knowing that you are not her primary source of satisfaction, yet you have the privilege of loving and supporting her. At home taking care of the house and kids while she is away for the week on a "work trip" on vacation with the man she has fallen in love with and will risk it all to keep it all.

She is the Alpha and you are the the Beta. You wouldn't want it any other way. All her colleagues and friends are well aware of her affair. She tells them the two of you are in an open relationship, painting a picture of mutual understanding that you haven't yet fully accepted.

At some point, the truth between you both will have to surface. Her affair, her deepening feelings, being in love another man, and her desire to continue this relationship without leaving you, and breaking up your family are all coming to a head.

She doesn’t want to choose between you and him. She wants more time with him, and now you will know she’s not just working late or spending a night or two away on a business trip. She will do it openly and you will be left to explain it to the kids.

The question is, how much of a cuckold are you willing to be? How far will you go to pedestal her desires and accept her choices? Can you truly love her unconditionally, knowing that her heart and body are being shared with someone else? The line between love, devotion, and self-sacrifice will blur as you wrestle with your role in this marriage, and you’ll have to decide how much you're willing to give while maintaining your own sense of worth or letting it go.

[bet-on-me-13]

Dr's Assistant Danny

So, Danny has to run away from Amity after deciding to tell his parents about his powers. They acted like they accepted him, but when his back was turned they shot him with one of their Inventions and dragged him into the Lab for Study.

They think he's been taken over by a Ghost and decide to be "Surgeons" by opening him up and removing the Ghost by hand. Throughout all of this, they are just telling Danny that they are qualified doctors and can definitely do this perfectly. But they don't even use Anesthesia, and don't know the first thing about Surgery. But their delusions of being perfect Doctors have taken a hold of them, and they can't even comprehend the idea that they are doing it wrong.

After a week of "Surgeries", they mess up and forget to lock his Cell, and Danny manages to escape, hopping on a Bus headed to New Jersey.

He ends up in Gotham, hiding in an Alley to avoid Civilians and to bandage himself up. Thankfully his parents stitched him up fairly well after the last session, but he is still really hurt. And the cuffs restricting his powers don't help either.

He passes out in the Alley and wakes up in a Doctors Office. He panics, thinking that his parents found him and took him back to the Lab. Thankfully, the resident Dr rushes in to calm him down.

It's Dr Leslie Thompkins, and she really wants her patient to stop struggling thank you very much.

She manages to calm him down, and explains that she found him in the Alley, but that he was seriously injured. He was out for 4 days.

He explains what he can, that he told his parents that he had powers and that they didn't take it well. Not the Ghost thing, but he does explain that his parents could charitably be referred to as "Mad Scientists", and Dr Thompkins figures it out from there.

Since he doesn't have a place to stay, she let's him stay at her place. It's not much, but it's enough for 2 people.

After a few days, he starts helping out in the Clinic as a way to repay her.

After a few weeks, he starts taking on the bigger jobs and starts learning about medical aid

A few months in, and both Danny and Leslie realize that he has basically become her Personal Assistant. So she trains him in the legitimate way, teaching him all she can about being a Doctor and basically everything he would have learned in Medical School, which really helps with his trauma over the whole "constant unethical surgery from people who claimed to be licensed professionals" thing.

He still has those Restraining Cuffs on, they could never figure out how to take them off and they were basically unbreakable, but he was fine on his own.

And a note to add to this is that all of this is taking place in the early Years of Batman, like Years 1 and 2. So it's certainly a shock when Danny walks in for work and sees The Batman lying on a Cot.

Over the many following years, Danny gets used to his life in Gotham. He managed to contact Jazz, and his friends as well, even if they needed to keep it very secret for fear of his parents finding out.

He manages to get on friendly terms with most of the Bat Family from their many, many, many visits to the Clinic.

He never does reveal his past to them, he knows that they would never not poke their noses into it, so he tried to keep it on the down low around them. He even hid his Cuffs all these years. (He doesn't want to attract his parents attention)

But that all changed one day.

He messes up. He accidently calls Jazz outside of their scheduled safe times and his parents just so happen to be visiting her new house at the time. They pick up the call for her, and Danny, not knowing it's not Jazz on the other end, says "Hey Jazz, it's Danny. Just wanted to let you know that I'll he busy with work for a while so I won't be able to call as often".

When he gets no response, he gets concerned and asks "Jazz? You there?"

His parents immediately begin to trace the Call, but before they can get an exact location Danny wises up and hangs up. Buts it's too late, his Parents know he's in Gotham now, even if they don't know exactly where.

Danny doesn't know that they tracked him down though, but he quickly figures it out when Red Hood is rushed into the Clinic a week later after being attacked by "A big guy in an orange jumpsuit with a laser gun", who was joined by "A tiny lady in a blue jumpsuit with a baseball bat"

The Drs Fenton reached Gotham and immediately began tracking any Ecto-Signatures they could find. And Red Hood just so happened to be the closest one.

Now Danny has to find a way to deal with his parents without his powers. Since the Anti-Ecto Laws are still in effect, they aren't technically doing anything Illegal, and their Government Contracts would protect them either way.

He needs to figure out how to get rid of them. Due to the high concentration of Ectoplasm in Gotham, there are many unknowing Liminals in the City. His parents could end up attacking many innocent Civilains in search for him, maybe even subjecting them to the same things he was subjected to.

The only way he can think to do that is to give himself up.

Of course he knows Dr Leslie would disagree, but before she can stop him he sneaks out in the middle of the night, leaving a note thanking her for all that she had done for him over the years. It explains that the people who attacked Red Hood are his infamous Parents, and that they are searching for him. They could end up hurting alot of people if they stay, so he needs to nip this in the bud and is going to turn himself in to them.

She immediately takes the note to Batman.

She still vividly remembers the state she found Danny in. He still has the V-Shaped Scar on his chest from his experiences with his parents, and she'll be damned if she' going to let that happen to him again. (She kind of adopted him as her son a while ago)

She tells them everything. How she found him in the Alley, his injuries, how she nursed him back to health, his story about Meta-Hating Mad Scientist Parents, the unbreakable Cuffs he always hid, all of it.

Now it's a race to find Danny and save him from his Parents again.

[eroselless]

───────────────────somebody else // 4

series summary: you just work in hospitality for McLaren and he’s their star driver. what happens when your paths cross and you find yourself questioning your feelings for each other? [2.8k]

[lando norris x reader]

masterlist | previously

warnings: angst, mentions of sex

note: hi friends! I'm so sorry i've been a little awol recently. like i said before, I had been prepping for a big trip. I am studying abroad for a few months and I am slowly starting to settle in. this chapter is an insight on Lando's point of view, exploring his feelings and such. This does mean that this series will be coming to a close soon, one or two chapters at most will be added after this. Thank you guys so much again for reading and for being patient with me! Happy reading <3

Lando hadn’t been looking for anything serious. He wasn’t the type, or at least that’s what he told himself. He was young, successful, and people often told him how lucky he was to live the life he had. Fast cars, travel, a wide circle of friends—what more could he ask for? He wasn’t sure what to make of her at first. Their initial exchanges were easy, filled with harmless flirting and the occasional back and forth. Magui was gorgeous—there was no denying that—and they got along well enough.

Weeks went by with casual texting, late-night conversations, and occasional meet-ups whenever they could. They had met at a party a few months ago, and things had escalated quickly from casual texting to late-night conversations—the kind where they laughed a little too loudly, even over the phone. He met her when he could between races, and sometimes they kissed, letting the evening unravel into something more. The first time they kissed was in the darkness of a nightclub, lights flashing around them, the music loud enough that he couldn’t hear his own thoughts.

He kissed her because it felt like the right thing to do at the time. His lips found hers, and everything else fell away. The next thing he remembered was stumbling into her apartment, their lips barely separating as they fumbled with the door, their clothes falling off as they made their way toward her bed. It felt right. At that moment.

It was fun, exhilarating even. They knew each other on a physical level that went beyond any of his past experiences. In the dim haze of his newfound adulthood, this was what Lando thought he needed. And people thought they looked good together, so why not? It could work.

But something still didn’t feel complete. He began to wonder if he was missing something, something more.

Then he met you.

Lando had noticed you before he had even spoken to you directly. There was something different in the air around you as you moved through the hospitality suite. He remembered watching you stand near the garage, focused, observing everything but never really interacting unless needed. It intrigued him. You weren’t a fan, he could tell—not in the way some others were. Unlike most, you didn’t treat the drivers like celebrities; you treated them like people. It was refreshing. He watched you from a distance at first, trying to figure you out. You were polite but distant, professional.

You weren’t the kind of person to seek attention, and that intrigued him. You were there, working quietly, your head down, but always aware of your surroundings. He liked that.

After that first day, he found himself wandering back into the hospitality suite, dodging journalists and photographers as he snuck away to find you. He always made up an excuse to see you, not fully aware of the brewing feelings in the back of his mind.

You were friends, exchanging late-night calls, staying behind sometimes at the hospitality suite to keep you company as you arranged things back into their places. He’d ask you questions about your life outside of racing, curious about the parts of you that didn’t revolve around the sport. Over time, you opened up more to him. You indulged in his mannerisms, leaning into him when the opportunity arose. He gradually picked up on your habits, like the way you concealed your smile behind your hands or how you fiddled with the long ties of your work apron. Seeing you began to make his heart race.

The more you interacted, the more fascinated he became. Without even realizing it, you became someone he relied on. When he was feeling down after a tough race or just needed a distraction from the world, he found himself texting you, sending you stupid memes or random thoughts. And you always replied, often with that teasing wit he’d grown to love. It made him feel like you were more than just a part of his world—you were becoming his world.

The moments that made his heart race became more frequent—a photo of your smile, a teasing emoji after a flirty remark, or that time you sent him a voice note, laughing at something he had said.

That laugh... it stuck in his mind for days. He found himself cringing at the thought, comparing it to music. But truly, was a melody, a song he never wanted to stop hearing.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

He hadn’t even realized how touchy he was with you until someone—probably Carlos—pointed it out. “Mate, you’re always finding an excuse to be near her,” he had teased, nudging Lando with his elbow.

Lando shrugged it off at first, but the truth was, Carlos wasn’t wrong. Whenever you were near, his hand naturally found the small of your back, his arm draping over your shoulder when you both walked together, or his fingers brushing against yours when you handed him something. The touches were light, casual—but they weren’t insignificant. You leaned into his touch, beginning to feel at home. It felt so natural, like you’d always been in his space.

Lando felt the shift long before he was willing to admit it. It was subtle. The way you began to pull away during team events, your texts becoming shorter and less frequent. Your touches were more hesitant, less willing to stay in his arms when they enveloped you. More quiet when others were around, and even more so when it was just the two of you. He racked his brain trying to figure out what went wrong, but every time he thought about asking, he stopped himself. Could he be imagining it?

He tried distracting himself, telling himself it was nothing. There was always Magui, after all. She’d been popping in and out of his life more times than he could count, and every time he thought he was done, she found a way back in. Sometimes, when he felt lonely or frustrated after another awkward interaction with you, he’d slip into old habits. He’d wake up in Magui’s bed, her arm draped over his chest, and he’d tell himself it didn’t mean anything. And it didn’t. Not really.

But it didn’t fill the gap. It didn’t make him stop thinking about you. No matter how hard he tried to push those thoughts away, they kept coming back. He missed you, he felt lonely without you in the busy world you both found yourselves in. You were the one he wanted, even if he couldn’t say it.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The night at the club was a turning point. You were there, a few drinks in, your inhibitions lowered, and for the first time in a while, you weren’t pulling away from him. He had to stop himself from kissing you when he first pulled you into his arms. Your perfume was one he almost hadn’t recognized, knowing you only wore it a few times when going out. He’d smelled it on you on the rare occasions when you weren’t working hospitality at McLaren dinners. It was so… you.

He spent most of the night watching you, unable to keep his eyes off your frame as you swayed drunkenly with Alex and Lily. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, couldn’t tear his gaze away from the way you were so you in that moment. Every time you moved in time with the music, he could feel himself falling deeper under the spell you unknowingly had him under.

He had to stop himself from kissing you right then and there when he pressed into you from behind, taking your hips into his hands. Your flowery scent mixed with the tang of alcohol and sweat was intoxicating, and it took everything in him not to lean down and meld his lips to yours.

He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as the bass of the music thumped in his chest. He didn’t say anything, didn’t dare ruin the moment with words, but he knew you could feel the way his body responded to yours. The tension was electric, each second of your closeness like a silent admission that neither of you could avoid anymore.

You didn’t pull away. You didn’t tell him to stop. Your body felt heavenly against his, fitting right where it needed to. His hands were everywhere and nowhere all at once. He couldn’t get enough of you.

Lando’s thoughts were a mess. Every time your hips brushed against him, his breath caught, and his brain spun in circles, trying to make sense of what this was. Did you feel the same pull? The same desire that clawed at him every time you were near? He didn’t know, and he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

The moment you stepped off the dance floor, Lando took your hand, leading you toward the darkened hallway. Neither of you said a word as you slipped into the bathroom, the music muffled by the walls around you. He pinned you against the cool surface of the sink, his lips crashing into yours with a desperation he hadn’t realized he was carrying. You kissed him back, just as hungry, and for a moment, he let himself forget the confusion, the hesitation, everything except the way your body felt pressed against his.

He wanted to take you right there and then, not wanting to wait any longer. Your soft moans sent shivers down his spine, and he wanted more—needed more. His hands slid down to the hem of your dress, ready to lose himself in you entirely.

And just as they did, there was a sharp, sudden knock on the door that had the two of you jumping. He cursed the Dutch driver as he pulled the two of you out of your lustful haze, grounding both of you back in reality. There was a sudden soberness instilled in your bodies as you left the restroom, only spurring him to drink more as the night dragged on.

The rest of the night was a blur. He remembered drinking more, trying to drown the frustration gnawing at him. But he knew one thing for certain: you had come home with him. He remembered your face hovering over him as he lay in bed, the soft light casting a glow around your hair like a halo.

You slipped under the covers beside him, and for a brief moment, everything felt perfect.

When he wakes up alone, he can still smell your perfume. It lingers on the sheets, the only proof that you were there the night before. He lies there, staring at the ceiling, his bed still warm from where you had been beside him, and he tries to convince himself that it doesn’t matter. That you’ll be okay, that things will eventually go back to normal.  

He sees his phone charging on the opposite bedside table and reaches across the bed to check it. It's almost dead, having just barely been plugged in. He reaches for it, expecting—hoping—for a message from you, but instead, it’s from her.  

already missing you, when are you coming over again? last night was fun ;)

It's a message he’s been avoiding, a message he’s been ignoring all night long. Lando swears under his breath, tossing his phone to the side. He hasn’t seen Magui in weeks, but she has a way of showing up at the worst possible times, like a ghost from his past that refuses to be laid to rest. He feels a wave of guilt wash over him. What if you saw the message? What if that’s why you left?  

But deep down, he knows that isn’t it. There’s something else going on, something more that you haven’t talked about, something you’re both avoiding. And he hates it.  

Sitting up in bed, he runs a hand through his messy curls, his mind racing. He can’t keep doing this—dancing around his feelings, pretending everything is fine when it clearly isn’t. He needs to talk to you, to figure out what’s going on, but the thought of confronting it scares him more than he’s willing to admit.  

Because what if you don’t feel the same way? What if this is all in his head, and you’re just trying to let him down gently? He can’t bear the thought of losing you completely, even if it means staying in this strange limbo where things are left unsaid.  

But one thing is clear—Magui isn’t what he wants anymore. Not really. She’s a distraction, a way to fill the void that has grown between him and you. But it’s not enough. You’re what he wants, the one who makes his heart race and his thoughts spin in ways he hasn’t felt before.  

Lando glances at his phone again, the urge to text you overwhelming. He types out a message, his fingers hesitating over the send button.  

Hey, can we talk?

Simple. Direct. But as his thumb hovers over the screen, doubt creeps in. What if you don’t reply? What if this is the end? 

Before he can hit send, he tosses his phone to the side once again, the message box now empty.  

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

When he pulls you into his driver’s room, it’s not a decision—it’s instinct. Carlos’s words still ring in his ears, but it’s the image of someone else's hands on you, someone other than him, that makes his blood roar in his veins. His thoughts, his feelings, everything he’s been holding back solidifies in an instant. He crosses the distance between you, heart thrumming wildly in his chest. Without a word, his hands find your face, and his lips meet yours, slow and deep, pouring everything he’s never had the courage to say. You don’t pull away; you don’t ask questions. Maybe, somehow, you always knew.

It wasn’t like the kiss in the club—this one was softer, filled with all the things he couldn’t say. It’s tender, woven with unspoken confessions, full of the vulnerability he’s buried for too long. His hands slide to your waist, pulling you impossibly close, and you match his intensity, your body melting into his, as if you’ve both been waiting for this moment forever. 

Neither of you speak—words would only shatter the fragile understanding that lingers between you. Slowly, he rises, his mind a whirl of confusion, already imagining what he might say the next time he sees you. Surely, this couldn’t be the end. All those moments—the brushes of your hands, the late-night calls, the silent glances that spoke louder than words—surely they weren’t meaningless?

But as quietly as you slipped into his room, you slip out and away. He’s left sitting in the dim light, staring at the bed, his heart still racing but now hollow. You left without a word, but this time the emptiness feels sharper. You had clung to each other as though trying to hold back the inevitable, a storm of passion that left him breathless. Yet, as he had laid on your chest, listening to your heartbeat fade into silence, he can’t shake the feeling that this was an ending. That whatever it was you had—whatever it could have been—was slipping through his fingers like sand.

Slowly, he rises, his mind a whirl of confusion, already imagining what he might say the next time he sees you. Surely, this couldn’t be the end. All those moments—the brushes of your hands, the late-night calls, the silent glances that spoke louder than words—surely they weren’t meaningless?

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

When the next race weekend arrives, Lando paces restlessly through the hospitality suite. His stomach is in knots, his mind spinning at a pace faster than he’s ever driven. He goes over the words he’s rehearsed a thousand times in his head, thinking about how he should’ve spoken sooner, how he should’ve laid everything bare instead of relying on touches and stolen moments to convey what he’s felt for so long. Fifteen minutes pass. You’re still not there.

In the time he’s known you, he’s learned that you’re never late. Even when you were nervous or uncertain, you would always show up. Maybe it’s just traffic, he tells himself, trying to ignore the gnawing pit in his stomach. Maybe you’ll arrive later. But you would’ve told him, right? You always told him.

Then the doors open, and his heart stumbles in his chest, but it’s not you.

“Oh, she quit,” a colleague tells him when he asks for you. “Her contract was ending anyways, something about heading back to university.”

The words hit him like a cold wave, their meaning sinking in with agonizing slowness. You’re gone. Just like that. No warning, no farewell, no final glance. As he stands there, staring at the space where you should be, at the bar, at the tables you once hovered over, the reality crashes down on him with the weight of a thousand unsaid words.

And in that moment, the depth of his loss becomes a stark, aching reality.

tags: @horseymchorse3 @bluebluesol @sltwins @sarx164 @f1fantasys @obxstiles @moonvr @spideylovin @lipstickstateofmind @rafeyybabyy

a/n: hi everyone, thank you much if you've gotten to this point! I really loved being to explore Lando's point of you and seeing more of his side of the story. let me know what you guys think of it, i always love to see what you guys have to say!

[thinkingaboutbetterdays]

his favorite part. ( elliot stabler x reader )

gif belongs to me

While Elliot didn't share all the details of the cases he worked on a daily basis, when his mood at home was affected, he was more forthcoming with what was troubling him and although it didn't happen often, he always called you when he was going undercover.

When a case he was investigating involved cocaine being smuggled in baby formula cans, Elliot called to inform you that he was going undercover to be a corporate type, dealing cocaine to gain attention from the smugglers. Earlier that night, he called to say goodnight to the kids, and you fiddled with your necklace as he told you not to worry too much, although you both knew it was inevitable.

"I always worry about you." You smiled softly.

"I'll call you when it's over." He knew you wouldn't get any sleep. There were many late nights and early mornings he had come home to find you fighting off sleep to ensure he arrived safely. Tonight would be no different.

You reluctantly said goodnight and set the telephone down. You curled up in bed with a book to hold your interest as you waited for a call or for your husband to come home.

The hours passed slowly as you waited. It was nearing midnight when Elliot returned home and you heard the door closing and the sound of him locking it. You crept downstairs to avoid waking the kids and found him in the kitchen with the light on.

"Where did you get the fancy suit?"

Elliot chuckled lightly, "It's a department rental."

You swallowed the gasp that threatened to leave your lips when he turned, revealing the cut on his lower lip. "What happened?"

"According to Fin, they were hazing me. They wanted to look like the alpha dogs."

You approached the freezer and took out an ice pack. "Was it worth it?"

"They fell for it."

You approached him, holding out the ice pack. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He sent you a small smile, wincing despite how gently you held the ice pack against his lip. His shoulders deflated as he sighed. "Do you ever wish you listened to your mother and married a florist or something?"

You shook your head, blinking back tears as you held his gaze. "Not for a second."

Elliot took the ice pack and tossed it on the countertop, and you hesitantly reached out to hug him but he brought you to his chest, ignoring the pain in his ribs as he kissed your head. You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling tears escape down your cheeks when you closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around him loosely to avoid hurting his injuries.

"I'm sorry for worrying you." He murmured, kissing your cheek.

"I'm used to it."

Elliot chuckled, pulling back slightly to kiss your forehead. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"It's a good thing you will never have to find out, then, isn't it?"

He hummed, a smile on his lips as he leaned in to kiss you. A few moments later you pulled away, taking the ice pack upstairs as he followed. Elliot got changed and joined you in bed, the dim light of the lamp casting enough light that you could see the bruises forming on his torso.

You carefully rested your head on his shoulder and held the ice pack over his ribs, kissing his chest as his arm rested over your shoulders. On nights like this, you wanted to plead with him to walk away from the job. To find a different unit to work in.

"You would make a terrible florist."

Elliot turned his head, looking down at you. "You like the flowers I buy for you."

"Yeah, bouquets made up by a professional." You tilted your head up to meet his gaze with a smile.

"Ouch." He chuckled.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

He nodded, "I'm fine. Just glad to be home."

As you whispered back and forth about the kids, he felt your head get heavier on his shoulder and looked down at you, a smile forming on his lips when he saw you had fallen asleep. He brushed your hair away with his fingers, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

He had seen many cops marriages end, couples who had been together for more and less time than you, and he dreaded the day that you would wake up and change your mind. But even the darkest cases could be put to the back of his mind, even temporarily, when he came home and saw your smile.

Coming home to you was the favorite part of his day.

[miley1442111]

hi!!!!! I love your writing so much, and I loved insomniac, and i was wondering if we could get some more aaron and insomniac reader? I just thought it was so cute!!

thank you ml!

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treatment plan (part 1)- a.hotchner

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a/n: thank you so much for requesting, I love this series (as a fellow insomnia girly)

summary: aaron oversteps and it starts a fight.

pairing: aaron hotchner x insomnia! reader

warnings: angst, discussions of insomnia and feeling 'different' because of it, mental health, crying, no happy ending, aaron is an asshole, fighting

part of this au:

insomniac

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Aaron didn’t always know what to do in these situations. He’d never had trouble sleeping, he was lucky like that. He realised very early into your relationship that he was lucky. He didn’t stay up for the simple fact of not being able to sleep often, he wasn’t worrying constantly about whether or not he’d get enough sleep to function the next day, he wasn’t brought to doctor after doctor only to be told the same thing time and again. “Sorry, we can’t help you,” or “No one here specialises in that,” or, his personal least favourite; “You can’t be helped, sorry.”

He knew he was lucky he didn’t have to go through the things you did. He didn’t have to worry about what insomnia would mean for his future health, what not sleeping would do to his body. 

You weren’t lucky. 

Every night was a battle, ever since you were a kid. You’d kick and scream, and even now, often you’d end up in tears. It was awful, and incurable somehow, at least in your case.

Yet, Aaron didn’t want to stop looking for a solution, and that’s how you ended up sleeping at Penelope’s place, your eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and a dumb rom-com on the TV. 

Fuck him. 

---------------------

4 hours earlier. 

Aaron walked into your shared home with his briefcase in his hand. You’d gotten off work an hour ago and come home to cook dinner. You were in the kitchen.

“Hey baby,” you smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck as he walked in. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, then smiled down at you. 

“How are you?” he asked, but everytime he asked, there was another question underneath it, one he’d stopped asking because it would always end in a fight. ‘Did you sleep?’ 

Aaron had left early that morning, and he felt good when he saw you asleep in your bed, and he was as silent as humanly possible while getting ready, so he’d hoped he hadn’t woken you. 

“Fine,” you nodded, going back to your cooking. “Work was boring, but Lucy’s leaving so we have to go to her farewell party on Friday- if you’re around-”

“You have the sleep test on Friday night honey, we can’t go, remember?” 

You sighed. “I cancelled it. I can always do it another time.”

Aaron was in shock. You’d cancelled the appointment? The appointment that was there to help you, to help you feel better. “Why would you do that Bug?”

“Because Lucy is one of my best friends, plus it’s not like the sleep test is going to work, so it doesn’t matter,” you shrugged and Aaron felt his blood boil. 

In recent months, you’d become what he would call ‘complacent’ with your condition. You saw it as accepting it. After years of being told you were incurable, why should you search for a cure? They were the professionals, and you’d seen more than 60 doctors about this, in your entire lifetime. That didn’t bode well with Aaron. He would fight to the ends of the Earth for you, and he planned on trying to fight this for as long as it took, but that would only work if you were fighting too, which you weren’t. 

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself. “We were on that waitlist for a year Y/n.”

“I was on that waitlist for a year, and I decided I don’t want to do it anymore, it’s my health,” you shrugged and served him up his plate. “Now tell me about your day.”

“We still need to talk about this,” he scolded, sitting across from you at your kitchen table. “You just decided to stop treatment?” His eyes were darker than usual, his signature 'negotiating stare’ trying to make you feel small. Not that Aaron himself was trying to make you small, just that you always felt… different when he looked at you like that. Strange. 

“I don’t know why you can’t grasp that I’ve accepted my condition?” You scoffed. “You don’t need to worry anymore, maybe this will be good for me! I’m always so worried, and so are you, even Jack notices it for fuck’s sake! My insomnia has controlled my entire fucking life, and I’m sick of it, so yes Aaron, I decided to stop treatment,” you weren’t exactly shouting, but you weren’t calm and collected. You were at your wits end, completely. You hadn’t slept in two days, you were bordering on exhausted, and you planned to take one of the sleeping pills you had, (even though you’re slightly allergic), an allergy medication, and sleep for 15 hours straight. You were very happy Jack wasn’t meant to be back from his cousin’s house until at least after 4pm tomorrow. 

“That sleep study is the closest we’ve ever been! Why would you cancel it? I understand you’re frustrated-” he started, but you cut him off. 

“You don’t understand Aaron. You don’t understand. How could you? When you go to sleep, it’s simply that, sleep. To me it’s so much more, so much anxiety, so many negative thoughts, so much awful shit, so many shitty sleeples nights since I was a fucking kid! And you don’t understand that, and I'm not asking you to, but I’m asking you to accept my decision over my body Aaron. I can’t deal with this anxiety anymore around something as simple as sleeping. I feel like I have no control anymore, so this is me taking back control Aaron-” You felt yourself welling up with tears. His face was set in stone, silently judging you.

“There’s better ways to take back control of your life Y/n-”

“Tell me!” you shouted. He stayed silent. “Exactly.”

“This isn’t healthy, you’re going to hurt yourself more Y/n,” he cautioned and you scoffed, a sick smile on your face, bred from your frustration and desperation. 

“Aaron, what more damage can I do to myself?-”

“I don’t want to wake up someday and have you not remember me!” He shouted. That was low. You were terrified of memory loss diseases like Alzheimer’s and Dementia. 

You stared at him for a minute, small tears pushing past your ‘emotionless’ exterior. “That was low Aaron.” 

“It’s the truth.” 

“No it’s not, it’s your truth. Don’t mix that up,” you cautioned. 

“Am I not allowed to be worried about my fiance?” he asked, but in that stupid condescending voice that made you want to smack him. 

“Aaron please just stop,” you groaned, looking down into your food. This was going to turn into a lecture. This was going to break you. You were right on the edge, hanging on by a thread. And Aaron cut it clean with his next words. 

“You’re being selfish.” 

You blocked the rest of his speech out. Selfish. You were selfish. Selfish was silently crying so he could sleep. Selfish was indulging every single one of his stupid sleep tests and doctors even if you were in pain and exhausted. Selfish was being poked and prodded by doctor after doctor that he brought you to, in hopes of finding a cure. Selfish was hiding your condition’s worst parts (migraines, mood swings, anxiety, memory loss,and everything else) so he wouldn’t worry.

Right, you were selfish. 

You got up and grabbed your jacket, keys, and phone, and you left the house. You ran into your car, Aaron hot on your heels with his booming voice screaming over you, pushing you further. Your car was cold, thus the pleasures of Washington. You shrugged it off and started driving, Aaron was trying to stop you, you didn’t let him. 

Fuck him, he was the selfish one. 

You drove to Penelope’s without another thought, just letting yourself cry. You couldn’t let this condition define you anymore, and you won’t let it define your relationship either. If Aaron didn’t understand that, maybe he wasn’t the right one. 

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With the shitty rom-com over and Penelope heading for bed, you made your makeshift bed on the couch, and tried as hard as you could to sleep, but you ended up just thinking about it all, all night long. 

What a great Friday night.

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