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carnalcrows · 22 hours ago

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LOST AND FOUND - THE SALESMAN

pairing: the salesman x top male reader

synopsis: A man starts noticing his belongings disappearing after every visit to his best friend’s house—until he stumbles upon the unsettling truth.

content warnings: 18+, bottom salesman, reader is fucking salesman's son, dubcon, blackmail, cheating, fingering, anal sex, implied stalking, dead dove do not eat.

word count: 1.6k

Dinner at your best friend’s house is always an experience.

Not because of the food—his dad’s a damn good cook, actually—but because of the company.

“Hyung, I’m telling you, this lady at work keeps calling me ‘oppa,’ and I don’t know how to tell her I hate it,” Jiho complains, waving his chopsticks for emphasis. “Like, I get it, I’m devastatingly handsome, but can we have boundaries?”

You snort, reaching for more rice. “You could just tell her to stop.”

“I did! And you know what she said? She said I ‘look like the type to enjoy it.’” Jiho groans, collapsing dramatically against the back of his chair. “I feel violated.”

Across the table, Jiho’s father hums, slow and thoughtful. “Perhaps you give off the impression of someone who enjoys attention,” he muses, sipping his soup.

Jiho gapes at him, offended. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

You chuckle, glancing at Jiho’s father. He hasn’t said much tonight, but that’s not unusual. The man is a quiet observer, the kind of person who listens more than he speaks. You’ve had dinner here plenty of times before, and the pattern is always the same—Jiho chatting away, you chiming in, and his father interjecting with the occasional dry remark.

But tonight… feels different.

Jiho’s father has been watching you. Not obviously—just little glances, the weight of his gaze lingering longer than usual. His face remains unreadable, but there’s something sharp in his eyes, something calculating.

It’s not unfriendly, exactly. Just… unsettling.

“Hyung?” Jiho nudges your arm. “You good?”

You blink, shaking off the feeling. “Yeah. Just thinking about how you probably deserve that treatment.”

Jiho makes a wounded noise. “Et tu, Brute?”

Across the table, his father chuckles. A deep, quiet sound. When you glance at him, he’s already looking away, refilling his tea like he wasn’t just assessing you like a goddamn science project.

Yeah. Something’s up with him tonight.

You just don’t know what.

And that? That should’ve been your first warning.

You should’ve gone home.

Jiho had texted that he’d be late—something about running an errand for work—but you figured it was no big deal. You’d been to his house a thousand times before, and waiting around wasn’t exactly a hardship.

But the house was too quiet without him.

It’s why you found yourself wandering, aimlessly at first, then with purpose when you noticed something odd.

A door. Slightly ajar.

You didn’t remember Jiho ever mentioning this room before. Curiosity got the better of you, and you nudged the door open fully—only to freeze in place.

Inside, the walls were lined with shelves. Not with books or storage boxes, but with you.

Your bracelets. Your books. Your toothbrush.

And—most horrifyingly—your underwear.

Stacks of them, folded neatly. Some draped over surfaces, others tucked away like a grotesque collection. And at the very center, in a glass display case like some kind of prized possession, was a used condom—your used condom.

A sickening chill crawled up your spine.

What the fuck was this?

A shadow moved behind you. Before you could react, a deep voice spoke, low and amused.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to snoop?”

You turned sharply. Jiho’s father stood in the doorway, watching you with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You opened your mouth—whether to demand an explanation or to throw up, you weren’t sure—but he stepped forward, closing the door behind him with a click.

Trapping you inside.

“You’ve been quite careless,” he murmured, trailing a finger along one of the shelves. “Leaving so many things behind. Did you ever wonder where they went?”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. “What the fuck is this?”

Jiho’s father merely chuckled. “Just a collection. I like to keep things that interest me.”

Your stomach churned. This wasn’t just interest—this was obsession.

You tried to move past him, but he stepped in your way, his smirk widening. “Ah, ah. I wouldn’t be so hasty.”

You clenched your jaw. “Move.”

“And if I don’t?” His voice was light, conversational, but there was a razor-sharp edge beneath it. “You could run to Jiho. Tell him. But then I’d have to tell everyone something too, wouldn’t I?”

Your breath caught.

“I wonder,” he mused, tilting his head. “How would your workplace react? Your friends? Your family?”

Your hands curled into fists. You knew what he was implying. Being outed in this country—where tradition and reputation mattered—was a death sentence for your social life, your career, everything.

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “So, what will it be?”

Oh.

Oh hell no.

You let out a short, incredulous laugh, because there is no way this is happening. “Dude,” you blurt. “You do realize your son and I have been—”

“I’m very aware,” he interrupts smoothly, his gaze flickering down your form. “And I must say… I can see why he’s so taken with you.”

You should leave. You should run. But your legs don’t move. Because the way he’s looking at you—intense, predatory, like he’s testing something—sends a very different kind of shiver down your spine.

The air between you shifts.

He’s close now. Too close.

“You’re an interesting one,” he murmurs, reaching out—not grabbing, just hovering, his fingers barely ghosting over your arm. “Most people would be terrified right now.”

“Oh, I am,” you say, flashing a weak grin. “But I also have really bad coping mechanisms.”

His lips quirk up. “Is that so?”

Then, before you can think better of it—before you can stop yourself—you grab him by the tie and pull him in.

His smirk barely has time to widen before your lips crash together.

The kiss is messy. Heated. Too much, too fast, but neither of you seem to care. His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him, while yours tangle in the expensive fabric of his suit. He tastes like something rich and intoxicating, and damn it, you hate how much you like it.

Your hands move to his waist as his move up to your shoulders, slightly changing the dynamics of the situation. He groans against your mouth at the friction against his crotch, making you hard.

This is wrong, so wrong, but there doesn’t really seem to be another way out.

You tug at his work pants, bringing them down with a firm grasp while pushing him onto the bed in the corner of the room– more like a shrine.

His cock emerges, hard and leaking. Your thumbs trails at the head-- picking up the precum that builds up at the slit. He shudders; he hasn��t touched himself like this in so long.

Wanting to finish what he wants as soon as possible, you shimmy down your own pants, revealing your own erection. You find yourself feeling ashamed at the fact that your grew hard from kissing your fuck buddy best friend’s father.

Searching through his coat pocket, the older man finds a small packet of lube and tosses it at you. You catch it before it flies past you– glaring at him.

“You're no fun,” he grins, as you rip the packet with your teeth and pour the cool liquid onto your fingers.

You take your lubed digits to his awaiting hole and press them at his entrance, before pushing in. You weren’t going to give this man the mercy of your patience.

His back arched as he let out a loud moan. If your fingers felt this good, how would your cock feel in him?

His thoughts were interrupted by you moving your fingers in and out of him sloppily, not caring if the sudden intrusion hurt (he was a masochist, so you supposed it didn’t matter anyway).

Feeling that he had been prepped enough, you slid your digits out of his hole, and replaced the emptiness with your cock.

The head caught on to the slick of the lube, pushing in slightly– before you slid all the way in. You groaned at how tight he was– even tighter than Jiho if that were possible. You chided yourself for thinking like that before you pulled out almost all the way before slamming back in.

The man’s eyes rolled to the back of his head– your cock hitting the right spot with every thrust. You felt so, so good inside him, and his hole involuntarily clenched around you at the thought.

You held tightly onto his waist as you practically abused his hole, profanities leaving your mouth every now and then.

“Hah– never thought you would get of to being fucked by your son’s best friend, hm?” He could only mumble incoherently at the jab, his brain just too full with being fucked dumb.

He had been waiting so long for this to finally happen, for you to take him like this. He was aware of the relationship between you and his son, and he chose to exploit it instead of doing what a normal dad should do.

But it wasn’t like he was a normal person anyway.

At that thought, he felt himself clench around you more, fucking psychopath. You groaned, feeling his warmth, thrusting into him even further as though you were an animal in heat.

Soon, you felt yourself close to a climax, so you pressed your cock into him all the way, letting yourself come undone– painting his insides a pearly white, before whispering in his ear.

“You can throw away that condom now– you have the real thing in you anyway”, he came, almost violently, when he heard you say that– his semen staining his pristine suit.

You were going to pull out of him, when a sharp knock suddenly echoed through the house.

“Dad?”

You both freeze.

Oh. Oh, hell.

The door creaks open, and there stands Jiho —his son—staring at the two of you like he’s just walked into the world’s worst nightmare.

Silence.

More silence.

Then—

“What. The. Fuck.”

You sigh, forehead dropping against the older man’s shoulder. “Welp,” you mutter. “Guess I am gonna start screaming now.”

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sevikasbooyahh · 2 days ago

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𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐖𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘

Pairing: Caitvi x Reader

Summary: Making your girlfriends crochet gifts for Valentine's Day <3

The strongest scent in the room derived from the book that Vi was reading. It smelt of vetiver, a smoky, earthy aroma that blessed your nose. “The Adventures of Harden,” she’d been reading it for a while—that huge chunky novel must’ve been filled with a butt ton of action.

Caitlyn was busy in a council meeting, she’d gone back to announce her departure despite her inner confliction. She needed a break from everything, to not have so much weight on her shoulders for once in her life. Vi was the one to have done most of the convincing, she’s good at it—not very surprising.

“What’s happening as of now?” You asked Vi as you looked at the block on text from behind her. She leaned her head back to look up at you, “Huh?”

You gestured to the book, “In here, what’s happening?” Suddenly, all the deep knowledge she’s memorized in this book was gone with a poof. She scratched the mop of pink hair atop of her head, “I—uh, don’t remember, sorry,” You feigned a disappointmented sigh, resting your head on her shoulder.

“Did you really wanna know?” Her tone was near concerned, as if afraid that you actually were disappointed. You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face, “I’m just jossin’.” She visibly looked relieved, exhaling a breath. “What, scared I was sad to not hear your nerdiness?” The teasing tone in your voice made her quietly groan but not retort.

A part of her was a bit suspicious, just in general, she knew Valentine’s Day was coming up—and that you had to be planning something. But what? It could be anything, you had many talents. She internally scolded herself as to not think about it too much, though she couldn’t deny the excitement bubbling up inside.

—★—

The floor creaked under weight of your feet as you walked through the hallway, headed towards your crochet room.

With how huge the Kiramman mansion was, many rooms went unused, simply labeled as guest or storage, this being one of them. When Caitlyn noticed that crochet was one of your prominent hobbies, she offered for you to use any room you’d like.

You specifically chose this one for it’s beauty.

Sunlight shined through the one large window on the left side of the room, lighting up the darkest parts of the room. The view outside of that very window, ships coming from different areas to land at their docks; the tall buildings constructed by genius minds.

Piltover’s beauty never failed to amaze you.

Your crochet equipment was neatly settled on the wooden oak table. As you sat on the black rolling chair, the kitten-like figures were what you decided to work on first. You could only think about your girlfriends—how you saw them, but in a more adorable form.

You looped the black yarn with the hooked needle, each small thread tightening together like bonded atoms. Throughout the past hour, you slowly worked your way up. Adding on a small strawberry hat to it, with specks of white as seeds and it’s green leaf top.

On to the next, not muchh different, other than colors. The white yarn was a stark contrast from the black—and instead of a strawberry hat, a blueberry one. The star-shaped pattern on the top to represent the calyx.

…

You carefully cut the loose string that hung next to the eye. Perfection. Crafted with your bare hands—to say you were only proud was an understatement.

—★—

You couldn’t hold the absolute joy you felt when you entered the living room with the box. Giving anything to the ones you loved was the best gift that you could ever receive; you were excited for their reactions too. You waited up to this moment to show something special—with meaning, non-verbally announcing your love for them. It’s not that you couldn’t say ‘I love you’ out loud (well, maybe), but you didn’t wanna just say it without showing it as well.

They’ve never received crocheted gifts before, it’s not that common of a hobby. That was even more of a reason for you to make it.

—★—

“What is this I see?” Caitlyn raised an eyebrow at the mysterious brown box. Vi peeked from beside her—similar to a cat; curious, eyes trained onto the box like it’d disappear in seconds. She made her way closer before you lightly pushed her back, “You will see what it is, be patient.” You shook your head in amusement at her eagerness.

The moment you pulled them out, Caitlyn’s eyes widened, along with Vi’s jaw nearly dropping to the floor.

Vi took the figure as if it were porcelain, as if her hands were so rough that it’d break it so easily. “No way,” she whispered, inspecting every detail.

Tears started to well up in her eyes as she stared down at the plush. “It’s…it’s—thank you,” her laugh was watery as she hugged you, brawny arms squeezing you tight.

Valentines Day was barely celebrated in Zaun, but she remembered when Powder would make her tiny gadgets or trinkets. To her, it was more than she could act for, even if those things were now destroyed, still laid in a pile of dust and debris.

Caitlyn was speechless, staring at hers in shock; the little baby blue streaks mixed into the white yarn, the navy blue hat matching her own hair.

This was…sweet.

Sweet as honey; straight from the source. The most wonderful project she’d ever seen—better than any architecture or design that’s been brought to her.

She couldn’t help but join in on the hug as well, her face burying itself deep into your neck. Where she felt safe.

They’d surely cherish this forever.

—★—

Bonus moment:

She closed her eyes and hugged the crocheted kitten, “I’m gonna name him Barry.” She announced to the both of you, feeling content. Caitlyn looked up from her own kitten, “As in ‘berry?’ Wow, creative.” She nodded, amused.

…

That night, as the moon was up and the stars were out—your loves were fast asleep. Caitlyn was curled in on herself, legs near her mid-section, arms rested underneath her head. Vi, however, had her arms wrapped around Caitlyn’s waist, cheek pressed against the soft of her back. Barry was squished in between.

A/N: The idea of crocheting is so cute to me but I don’t know how to😔

#ARCANE #caitlyn kiramman x reader #vi x reader #caitvi x reader #violyn x reader

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solxamber · 21 hours ago

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Hi Sol! Hope your having a good February so far!

Could I get a: Leona, Romantic with Shivers by Ed Sheeran?

Happy early Valentine's day!

"Like my soul's on fire" || Leona Kingscholar

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Shivers by Ed Sheeran

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 650

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Happy Ending, Realization of feelings

Leona Kingscholar doesn’t chase things.

The world has always handed him its expectations, its disappointments, its half-hearted praises wrapped in thinly veiled insults. He’s learned to shrug it all off—to take only what he needs and sleep through the rest.

But then there’s you.

And Leona doesn’t chase, no—but he follows.

Because when you burst into his life, wild and restless, dragging him by the wrist into whatever chaos you’ve concocted this time, he finds himself moving before he can think. He groans, he complains, he calls you a menace—yet he always follows.

And it should irritate him. The way you throw yourself into things with no plan, no hesitation. The way you insist on midnight road trips with no destination, on dancing under flickering neon signs, on sneaking onto rooftops just to stare at the sky. It should be exhausting, annoying—

But damn it, you make his blood burn.

And Leona, for all his grumbling, has never felt more alive.

Tonight, it’s the city. You’re out past a reasonable hour, the streets buzzing with life, headlights flashing against wet pavement. There’s a chill in the air, but you barely seem to notice, too caught up in whatever scheme has taken hold of you this time.

Leona leans against the hood of his car, watching you with that lazy half-smirk that does nothing to hide the heat in his gaze.

“Tell me there’s a plan,” he drawls, even though he already knows the answer.

You flash him a grin, eyes alight with mischief. “Where’s the fun in that?”

And of course, he should’ve known. You live for the rush, for the spontaneity, for the feeling of wind whipping through your hair as you take a leap without looking. And the worst part?

You make him want to jump too.

Before he knows it, you’ve grabbed his hand, tugging him forward. And for all his complaints, he doesn’t resist.

He never does.

Hours blur together—bright lights, laughter, stolen kisses in the shadows of alleyways. Leona doesn’t remember the last time he let himself have fun, not like this. Not in a way that didn’t feel like a performance, like something expected of him.

But with you, it’s different.

With you, it’s easy.

You don’t want the prince. You don’t want the strategist, the second-born, the disappointment, the afterthought. You just want him.

And it terrifies him.

Because Leona has spent his whole life avoiding expectations he can’t meet, avoiding fights he can’t win. He never lets himself want things too much. It’s easier that way.

But then there’s you—laughing, warm, pressing close to him as the night lingers on—and he knows, deep down, that this is a battle he’s already lost.

It’s nearly dawn when you both end up somewhere quieter, the city still humming in the distance. You’re leaning against his shoulder, exhaustion finally catching up to you, but you’re smiling, your fingers lazily tracing patterns over the back of his hand.

Leona watches you, his mind a mess of things he’ll never say out loud.

You make him want things. You make him ache.

And then, in that quiet, reckless way of yours, you say, “Leona, let’s stay like this forever.”

His breath catches.

It’s a stupid thing to say. Impossible, even. Forever isn’t real—not for people like him, who have spent their lives being second place, almost-enough, not-quite-worthy.

But you look at him like you mean it. Like you really believe it’s possible.

And damn it all, maybe he wants to believe it too.

Leona exhales, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against your temple. “You sure you can handle forever with me?”

You tilt your head up, meeting his gaze, your smile soft but certain. “Try me.”

And Leona, who has spent his whole life avoiding the things he can’t win, decides—just this once—to stop running.

If this is a dream, he thinks, then he never wants to wake up.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

#ˋ°•*⁀➷ valentine's event #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar x reader #leona x reader #twst leona #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x you #leona

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darkmatilda · 13 hours ago

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𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: spencer needs your help examining a crucial piece of evidence...but the moment he sees you, his mind goes blah blah blah...proper name, place name, backstory stuff...

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist! female reader, same reader as in pick your poison but you don’t need to read that first—there aren’t any major references, suggestion that the reader engages in casual hook ups, reader has a belly button piercing and a described outfit, spencer's pov only

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 2k

𝐚/𝐧: requested by @trulymadlydarling it was slowly gathering dust in my inbox 😭 sorry!

"I think the threshold of my lab isn't exactly the best place for camping."

A woman's silhouette cast a shadow over Spencer as she appeared right above him in the dimly lit hallway.

Spencer sighed in frustration and hauled himself to his feet. As he brushed off his pants, he kept his eyes off the woman in front of him.

"Well, I didn't think you'd make me wait fifty-eight—"

"Oh, just say the hour. Is rounding numbers really that hard for you?" she scoffed, her voice carrying a trace of genuine curiosity. She swiped her access card, unlocking the door to the lab. With her back turned to him, he took in her appearance—an oversized fur coat draped over her shoulders, a designer handbag hanging from one arm. His gaze drifted downward, and to his surprise, he noticed…pajama pants and slippers?

"You should be grateful I even bothered to show up at this hour," she added.

"This is really important," Spencer replied as she led him inside.

She moved through the space with effortless familiarity, heading straight for the light switch. Well, this was her domain, after all—the place where she spent most of her days.

"I don't care," she replied. "Unless you've found proof that Marilyn Monroe was the Zodiac Killer all along—then, well, I care a little. Honestly, you have no idea how much you owe me for showing up..."

He rolled his eyes.

"Should I be thanking you on my knees, or...?"

"I could have been busy. I could have been out with the girls at a club. I could have been having the night of my life..."

"I get it, you made a huge sacrifice answering my request, but can you now—"

"I could have been in bed already. My own. Or not my own," she glanced at him over her shoulder. "Though in that case, I wouldn’t have picked up."

Spencer simply sighed. By now, he was used to it—the way most of their conversations followed the same pattern. How she always set the pace, steering the direction as she pleased. How she sometimes deliberately ignored his words and didn’t care if it made her seem rude. How, in general, she didn’t care what impression she left on others.

He had witnessed it countless times, found it irritating every single time, and yet—every single time—he kept the conversation going. Funny.

She switched on only one of the lights, leaving the room bathed in a soft twilight. Her handbag landed on the long counter beside one of the microscopes, and she tossed her fur coat next to it, completely unconcerned about knocking something over.

Sometimes, he watched her with quiet fascination—the effortless confidence in her movements—and wondered if she had ever, even once, smacked her hip against a doorframe. Or stubbed her toe on a cabinet. Those small, mundane humiliations and everyday mishaps simply didn’t seem to fit with who she was.

He tightened his grip on the plastic bag he had brought with him, the one containing something that needed to be examined. The team didn’t know about it yet.

The thought, the theory, had quite literally yanked him out of sleep. He couldn’t function without checking this lead immediately. But he knew that if he went through the lab, he’d have to wait until morning for the results…so he decided to ask for a friendly favor.

Okay friendly was a big word.

They had known each other for a few months, worked together on several cases, gone on a date, slept together.

Not necessarily in that order.

He was just about to open his mouth, say something, hand her the bag… when, for the first time, he actually saw her in better light than the dim glow—or rather, lack of it—in the hallway. Against his own will, his gaze started its journey over her.

From the slippers on her feet, up the loose pajama pants that ended just below the piercing in her navel, the black camisole with thin straps, to her face—completely free of makeup.

Until now, he had only seen her in two versions. One was her usual, elegant work attire. The other was her evening look—form-fitting, designed to turn heads and keep them there.

On second thought, there was also a third version. Without clothes.

But he had never seen her like this. Casual, comfortable, dressed for nothing more than wandering the walls of her own apartment.

She lifted her arms to tie her hair into a ponytail, and her shirt rode up slightly.

“If my piercing fascinates you that much, I can give you my piercer’s number,” she offered dryly, a fleeting smirk on her lips as she caught his stare. He immediately snapped his gaze back to her face, cursing internally when he realized he probably looked like he had been caught staring. Which, of course, he hadn’t been. “Excellent work. Full professionalism. Experienced hands…”

"I need you to check this stain," he interrupted, raising the bag.

They had been talking too much, and he really needed to know if his suspicions were correct.

She stepped closer to take the bag from him.

“Is this a crucial piece of evidence, or can I touch it?”

“You can touch it…”

She stopped just a step away, shifting her weight onto one hip and tilting her head to get a better look.Spencer instinctively straightened, feeling a strange tension along his spine.Earlier, he had been looking at what she was wearing. Now, what caught his attention was how she looked.

There’s a certain kind of beauty you never quite get used to, no matter how often you see it. The kind that, every time, knocks the air from your lungs for just a second—that fleeting disbelief that someone like this actually walks the earth.

She had it. She radiated it.

And she was just a step away.

She took the garment out of the bag. It was a red turtleneck sweater. She lifted it higher toward the light, furrowing her brow as she examined the stain.

Spencer’s gaze fell on her beautiful face, her eyes shimmering slightly, her lower lip slightly pursed in thought.

Suddenly, she scoffed, snapping him back to reality.

"Mystery solved, and I didn’t even need a microscope," she said, shoving the sweater back into his hands. As he took it, his fingers brushed against hers, catching him slightly off guard. "It’s foundation. I’d recognize that stain anywhere. So, hooray, happy to help, no need to put me in the case report, have a good night, and see you—"

He grabbed her wrist before she could step away, stopping her in place.

"This isn’t a joke," he said, his voice dropping, tinged with sudden irritation.She raised an eyebrow at both his tone and the way he—unintentionally—closed the distance between them. As usual, she looked him straight in the eyes, and as usual, it was hard not to be drawn in. But he tried, because this case was really consuming his thoughts. "Listen, I called you because I need someone to actually test it. Not just glance at it. It'll only take a moment, and then you can go back to crawling into bed with whoever you want. Can you do that?"

The second-to-last sentence made her expression shift slightly.

For a moment, they stood there, unwavering, eyes locked without so much as a blink. Then, the corners of her lips tugged upward—just barely. But it felt more like a forced gesture, an attempt to maintain her carefully practiced expression, rather than a sign of genuine amusement.

"Alright," she replied softly. Not to be mistaken for shyly. There was nothing shy about her, a fact he was reminded of constantly.

"I’ll test it, since it matters so much to you. And then I’m going back to bed." A slow blink before she yanked the sweater from his hands. "With whoever I want."

Why did swallowing suddenly stop being an automatic reflex and turn into something he had to consciously work through?

"That’s great," he said shortly, dryly. He could feel himself slipping into the trap again, letting her toy with him. "Have fun."

"I will."

With that simple assurance, she walked away, and the very particles of air around him seemed to loosen, finally allowing him to breathe again. He turned after her instinctively, the way a swivel chair spins when someone sets it in motion.

She crossed the lab table and leaned over an empty workstation—empty, like all the others. The entire width of the counter separated them now, along with the return of cool detachment to her face. Slowly, Spencer rested his hands on the smooth surface, watching as she got to work. Watching as her hair bounced slightly with the shift in position. Watching as her jaw tensed in concentration. Watching as she leaned over the workstation slightly.

"So," she began flatly, not pausing her work or even looking at him.

Spencer gave his head a small shake, realizing that this time, he really had been staring. At least she hadn’t seen it.

"What exactly am I testing?"

His gaze drifted to her again.

"Something related to the case."

"Wow, I never would've guessed."

He was too distracted to mentally slap himself for how pathetic he was.

"Uh, it’s not exactly groundbreaking," he began.

He could focus—he just had to try hard enough. He just had to clear the lingering trace of her scent from when she’d stood so close. Had to shake off the echo of her words. With whoever I want, she had said. The more he thought about it, the more accurate it seemed. He firmly believed she could have whoever she wanted. With that confidence. With that face. With that body…

"That’s why I’m checking it after hours. Just, you know…backstory stuff…"

A sound escaped her lips—somewhere between a scoff of disbelief and a startled laugh. She looked at him—no, she pinned him with her gaze.

"Backstory stuff?" she repeated, her lips curling into a smile. Not even a mocking one anymore. She was genuinely amused. "Did you, Doctor Spencer Reid, when asked what the evidence pertains to, actually respond with backstory stuff…?"

“No, I…I mean…”

“Oh God, it’s a good thing they don’t put you in front of cameras. Imagine you, at a press conference. Just casually dropping backstory stuff on national television…”

“I can handle myself in front of cameras,” he clarified, feeling an odd warmth creep up the back of his neck. “But there aren’t any here. And besides, I didn’t realize you wanted me to recite the entire case file from memory…”

“That won’t be necessary,” she said with another amused snort. “Backstory stuff is actually a surprisingly accurate term. You know, very professional.”

He rolled his eyes, feigning irritation, though what he really felt was more akin to embarrassment.

“Speaking of professionalism, maybe you could get back to work?” he suggested.

“I don’t have to,” she replied, flashing him a sweet smile. “I already checked everything. And I was wrong. It’s not foundation—it’s nitroglycerin.”

Spencer’s jaw practically hit the floor.

For the first time since stepping into the lab, his mind was running at full capacity.

"Nitroglycerin? Are you sure?"

"Well, I don’t get these things wrong," she said, almost offended.

"Nitroglycerin," he repeated in a whisper.

Oh, for heaven’s sake. Suddenly, everything made sense.

She leaned her elbows on the table, watching him with interest.

He wanted to kiss her.

No—he did not—

"Thank you," he blurted out, her words becoming background noise as his thoughts raced. "Thank you for coming. This…this really helps. I have to tell the team—"

He turned toward the door, dazed by the realization.

Something stopped him.

"Spencer," she called gently.

She didn’t seem angry that he was leaving so abruptly. If anything, there was a certain soft glint in her eyes, a quiet fascination with his sudden revelation. Standing in the doorway, he looked at her one last time, feeling himself freeze in place again. He said nothing, sensing that she wanted to say something instead.

She tilted her head slightly.

"You owe me a favor," she said.

There was something about the way she said it—something that sent a slow, deliberate shiver down his spine. Not even a shiver. More like a careful march of cold fingertips down his vertebrae.

So, naturally, he did what any grown man with an IQ of 187 would do.

He parted his lips slightly and nodded.

#spence reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds fic

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likesomeoneinlovee · 2 days ago

Text

𝐈 𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝

Pairing: Dbf!Joel Miller x F!reader

Summary: Joel has had a ‘crush’ on you for a long time now and will make sure no man gets in the way of that.

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: PW[with]P- kinda. Reader is not legal to drink but still legal. Polite reader just trying to not be a bitch while dealing with a pervy old man! Joel has a crush on you, a BIG one. Bro gets so mad he gets a boner. Mutual touching he drives, a teeny bit of spanking & nipple play, unprotected PIV, aftercare for once wow!! Part 2 planned [ will be smuttier once im not sick ] no beta,

A/N: ANON REQ!! (you know who u are and here’s my take on a bit of a jealous Joel) I would've done way more smut if I didn’t have a high fever rn + writers block 😵‍💫! so VERY rushed.

No man should covet a woman he doesn’t own.

And you weren’t his.

Your daddy would make sure you would never be.

Joel tells himself that. Over and over again, the only prayer in his head, the hymn he lives by ever since you’ve been staying with him per your father’s request. You yourself slowly recognizing Joel’s patterns of life. As he wakes up he takes pills for his headaches, swallowing them dry without a blink. His body is accustomed to the feeling. Every Saturday he’d take a weekly drive to the liquor store to stock up on the much needed provisions to his day-to-day routines. Booze, in much less dramatic terms.

Your father was out of state for work forcing you to settle up with Joel for a couple of months, the only man your father would allow you to actually be around. In fear of you doing something bad. Bad as in… Sex? You could only assume that’s what your darling daddy meant.

A rocky relationship in the cruel reality.

Joel’s home. It was livable, there isn’t much to say when it’s the house of a man who’s been living alone twenty years. Indications of life scattered upon furniture the only real telltale signs that someone actually lives there. Coffee table littered with rings from mugs he’d simply leave for too long, the way the worn, vomit-colored green couch sags in the middle. Any prints that were on the buttons of the TV remote had been rubbed off by pressing around them, the last time he had gotten a new television was probably going on fifteen years now. Sad. Truly and utterly sad.

Then you came along.

Remnants of your liveliness woven into the once so dreary place. Something as so simple as a hair tie left on the counter, the very vague scent of perfume you left lingering in the small space of the bathroom every time you’d leave it. Now at night he’d walk past the second bedroom of his home that had been left unused, once depressed and dark, had the warm glow of your lamp being left on, leaking through the gap between the door and the floor. The littlest things.

Joel pretends not to notice.

Though, he does.

He notices the way you hum so very quietly the times you’re obligated to cook your own breakfast. How you pull your knees up onto the couch when you sit. Rolling your eyes at him every time he’d vexingly tell you to make sure to lock the front door when you came in. You listened.

You’re too comfortable here. Too at ease.

And what’s worse is he was getting used to it.

He’s not your fuckin’ father. He’s not your keeper. He’s just the man your daddy trusted well enough to take care of you when he was gone. Sorry excuse for a babysitter all the while you weren’t a baby. An adult who can well take care of herself. Only agreed because he wouldn’t want you to discover how he’s been living for practically twenty years by being alone for two months. The dark quietness of a home when it was just you there.

He told himself it would be easy. Two months. He’d keep his distance.

It’s almost impossible. The way you made him feel was sickening. You’re always around. Sinking deep into the couch, marveling in whatever boring sitcom would play on the box of blue light that flickered throughout the room. How you’d take sips from his beer just to tease, wrinkle your nose at the taste deep down you liked. Making your tongue buzz. You were making yourself at home in a place that was never meant to be yours.

The only thing that worsened it for Joel is that you were so blissfully unaware of what you were doing to him.

He thought the hardest part of this arrangement would be keeping you out of trouble. Your father acting like if he was gone you’d fall apart as a person. Be out partying or fuckin’ every night. Far from the truth. Laying so contently home every night.

Coming back to reality, the hardest part was keeping himself out of it.

It’s the way you’d walk around his house in whatever you had slept in that night, no matter it be a tank-top and those tiny, plaid shorts that went up your ass. Appreciating the comfortability, though, he fucking hated it. You acted like you belonged there.

Often he’s finding himself watching you too long, staring at the curve of your mouth while you speak, the plump of your lips as you stay entertained by the television with your face at a gentle rest. He was always seemingly gawked.

Fifty-seven wasn’t the age to have crushes.

And on Sunday’s, the day of the lord, of course. Joel Miller goes to the local bar.

Nighttime was surprisingly when the crowd died down. You were surprised to see that as you walked through the doors that sheltered the poorly kept saloon style establishment. Tables seated with older men closer to Joel’s age, some luckier than others to be accompanied by a woman. Smelled like stale beer and sweat which in reality was more disgusting than appealing. Loud breaks in the casual conversions of the crowd as pool balls clacked together. Rejoicing coming soon after.

Usually you had something better to do on these nights. Going out with your friend’s always suffices though of course they canceled out today. Great, stuck with Mister Miller for a night of drinking all the while you weren’t allowed to let alcohol in your body at your age.He wouldn’t lie for you either, he was supposed to take care of you. Not turn you into the starts of an alcoholic.

Torturous. Did the man want you to shoot yourself?

He led you through the slim pickings of a crowd there really was, hand grazing the small of your back to keep you close. Nothing more. Both sliding your bodies onto the leather tops of the barstools. Uncomfortability was the price to pay for the first hand of drinks. A squeak in your stool that no one had the patience to fix.

“Whiskey.” The request sounded more like a plea from his lips. “Two.”

You knew the second one didn’t mean for you.

Rubbing his temple as he flagged down the waitress. She was all too polite for what seemed to be the shittiest bar on earth. As if a small town in Texas would give you any better. Nodding her head in your direction. Your lips pursed as if ‘Beer” was gonna be the next thing to move past them. Though, you digressed.

“Soda. I guess.” Joel gave a nod to you. Of course he approved of that action. Rubbing a hand over his jaw he sighed. Forgetting to take his pills this morning. Fuck, the throb behind his eye was something only the alcohol could numb by now.

“You could’a stayed home.”

“Yeah, I could’ve.” You shrugged, admittedly so you rather be home- no. You rather be out with your friends as you were supposed to be tonight but in an act of such kindness, you came here with Joel. “Maybe I wanted to see why you liked this place so much.” It was a simple muse to him, though it did strike your curiosity.

“Quickest bar from home. Quickest way to get drunk.” Curiosity met with an undeniably depressing answer. You were used to it by now. His lips pressed into a thin line. Once the barkeep came back she handed Joel his drinks, plural. As she also came with yours. Soda rimmed with ice. He picked up the first drink given, perspiration coating the glass. His thumb pressed against the cold lowball as he took the first sip. Heavy hot liquid sliding down his throat. Numbing him, his mind. Felt refreshed.

You hum, stirring the ice in your soda in circles with your straw. He hears the clinking over the din of the bar. Louder than his own thoughts.

You crossed your legs. Your thighs squishing together through the denim of your jeans, the material a bit loose on your body, a choice out of comfortability to buy baggier bell bottoms instead of the ones that hugged your ass tight. Drawing Joel’s eyes unintentionally.

Fuck this.

He drags his palm down his face, trying to wipe away whatever the fuck he was feeling. It’s sickening for him. It’s so easy to not feel like this when it’s something so simple, so selfish as a one night stand, a whore he had paid to suck his cock. Different. Far different, especially since the last month he’s spent his time admiring the woman before him. You. The innocence in your eyes that served your beauty. It was this crawling under his skin he wanted to rip away from.

So fucking vigilant on the scent of you, the sound of your voice, the way you shift ever so slightly closer to him as another group of men pass.

Joel breathes out slowly, averting his eyes to the sweet sight of you.

The night goes on, the whiskey dulling the edges of restraint with every slow, steady sip. Slowly the place was growing on you, the night seemed to cool it down, less noise less chatter. Seems everyone needed to knock out a couple drinks before settling. You would’ve been happy to say the same if you were allowed to order that beer. You propped your chin in your palm, your elbow flat against the bartop avoiding any of the sticky substances that would coat some unfortunate patches of it. Your eyes scan throughout the place. Not much to take in, not much to see.

Though the slow deliberate movements draw the tiniest bit of attention from a table your eyes accidentally glance at for too long. Subtle but inevitable.

Joel catches the way the men sitting at that table glance your way. The way you adjusted your body to once again sit straight up. Clearing your throat.

And that’s when it starts.

The first one wasn’t particularly bold about it. Just a flick of his gaze in your direction before returning to his minutes-til’-flat beer. The second man, greying, looks a little longer. Too closely. He nudges his friend, mutters something incoherent- something probably offensive to earn a laugh from him. Now he looked again.

Joel knows that look.

The kind that lingers for too long. That waits for an opening.

The kind that makes Miller’s teeth grind, his shoulders go rigid. His fingers slowly begin tightening around the glass of gold as he keeps his eyes forward. His eyes flutter just a bit to the left, seeing your smile. Trying to hide it by gently pressing your lips to the rim of your glass. Pretty pink lips. Before time heat is bubbling in his belly. Praying to god that was the fuckin’ whiskey.

Those men are still watching.

The next sip of booze doesn’t quite help as much as he’d want. It doesn’t smooth out the sharp edges of this feeling, the low simmering deep inside his pelvis. It keeps getting worse.

He’s coming over. Walking with heavy legs.

Joel sees it from the corner of his eyes, the way the man pushed back the chair, unhurriedly, sloppily walking straight towards you. From what Miller could gauge from the corner of his eye and what the wiry grey hairs covering the man’s beard told him is that he was older. Older as in his own age. Fifties either early or late. Joel wanted to die. Exhaling sharply, slamming down his glass a bit too hard.

Muddled, you’d lift your head from your glass to look at Miller with an eyebrow cocked. And before you could even speak-

“Evenin’.” The man spoke.

You’d blindly blink at the man now standing beside your barstool. Startled for only a second before schooling your expression into something- polite. Something surely this man was undeserving of yet you really couldn’t help it. Instincts.

“Hi.” Joel wouldn’t turn, wouldn’t acknowledge him. Not yet.

“Can I help you?” You smiled, sweetly.

The man would lean in as expected. The strong smell of beer radiating off his breath. Open-mouthed ogling like a fucking dog. He was clearly absolutely wasted. Just those words were an absolute understatement.

“Is this your daddy?” Of course he’d say that. Gesturing to Joel who was looking straight on before he turned a glance to the man, his eyes slits as he glared. Understandable. If you weren’t trying to give this man the benefit of the doubt you’d be glaring too. This guy was undeniably a fucking dick.

“No- no,” You’d giggle. “My babysitter.”

You didn’t like how your mind and soul was making you act, unfortunate your internal instincts were to be tooth-achingly sweet in public.

You wanted to die.

“S’my lucky day, huh?” You’d blink again. Silence as if the man had stole all the thoughts from your head- not in the good way.

“No. Not- not quite.”

You’d laugh, trying your best to brush it off. The man should go away soon. Probably just mistaking you for something you’re not while you’re here trying your best to avoid something awkward. Joel’s jaw clenched.

“Well,” He hushed. A finger twirled into one of your soft locks. Your body tensing as you kept up another nervous giggle– you were only egging him on more. “I just wanted to see you up close.”

“She ain’t interested.” Miller told the truth with that. You weren’t and you were further from interested. Though the nervous, dumb smile on your lips told the fuckin’ pervert otherwise.

“She didn’t tell me that.” He pushed. “I’d much rather hear that from your mouth, sweetie.”

You hesitated, your lips parted though words weren’t falling. Refusing. Alas, Joel Miller reached his breaking point.

He popped up from his stool as he moved over to the guy. The greying man hesitated at the sight, of course. He wasn’t gonna be the kinda man to get his ass beat over something fucking stupid. Though, Joel was willing to beat his ass for your sake.

A long beat of silence through the access chatter swimming around the bar enters the space between you, Joel and this sad fuckin’ man.

Joel doesn’t blink.

He doesn’t breathe.

He just stares.

The man exhales a chuckle, deep down he didn’t want to walk out of here with a broken nose for flirting with a girl he wanted to fuck. A girl he thought was alone, dumb enough to possibly join him and his sad excuses for friends sitting around his table.

“Didn’t mean any trouble, pal.” He threw his palms up in a mock surrender though, he didn’t mean it. That’s what that beer was for afterall. Stepping back only an inch, letting the hair that was between his fingers fall back to your shoulder.

“Just bein’ friendly.”

Joel didn’t answer, why should he? The man let out a scoff as he walked back to his table with his tail between his legs. That was good. All Miller could do was sigh. His shoulders still at unease as he sat back down on the bar stool. Your heart at a slow thump against your ribs.

You knew deep down that really, you were fine with that. Sure that man was a cuck, sure, you were uncomfortable, but you also knew yourself and you knew if that man would have touched anything else other than the tip of your hair. Oh fuck. He would’ve been gone.

Or– would he?

It doesn’t shake the feeling that Joel was annoyingly protective if that was the right word for it. That man wasn’t your dad. He didn’t need to stick up for you.

He never did.

He ran a palm down his face –again– he couldn't take the way he was around you.

“Ohh, what the fuck.”

He was tired of this.

Goddamn if that happened a month ago chances are he wouldn’t have done anything other than roll his eyes and tell the fucker to go jerk off somewhere else but– oh my god did Joel wish he was the one that close to you. Breathing you in.

Of course, you weren’t a random woman at a bar.

If only he had enough balls to speak to you.

Pent up hormones ready to blow out of him every moment he was around you. He was too fucking old for this.

Too fucking old.

If he felt the rush of blood to his cock one more time this night he was gonna–

Joel was already moving by now. Already shoving back from the bar, the scream of the stool leg against the glazed wooden floor of this god forbidden place made you inherently flinch. His jaw tight, the muscle in his cheek ticking as he reaches for his wallet, tossing a few bills onto the counter without counting. He didn’t fucking care about the act of either over-paying or under-paying right now. He had one, sinfully unfortunate thing on his mind.

He knew he’d never do it.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t thinkin’ it.

Then his hand was on your wrist.

Grasping.

Firm. Unyielding.

“C’mon.” He gritted. “Time to go, baby.”

That was a new one. The name melting of his tongue like an instinct.

His grip was tight. Breathing hitched at the feeling of the grip. He was lucky it didn’t hurt. It was enough to make it clear he needed to get out of there. The reason wasn’t clear. It could be innocent on his part: he didn’t want you in a space where old men are looking at you. Ogling you like a slab of fuckin’ meat.

His real reason was sickening.

“Joel– c’mon!”

You’d whine, maybe you had a good reason to stay. Maybe you were just being defiant.

Typical, like a child.

He didn’t give you time to finish.

The bar stool nearly topples as he pulls you up. Stumbling in the boots you were wearing. Tugging you in tightly to stand beside him. He was tensed, heat radiating off his body like a goddamn furnace. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t speak as if there was a point to. Nothing he said got through to you anyways. He just moves.

People are watching. Who wouldn’t?

Your pulse spikes as you catch the amused glances throughout the pub. Folks who weren’t looking before now blinking. Causing a scene. Again,

You. Wanted. To. Die.

And to make it all better Joel’s eyes rip to the table those men from earlier were sitting at. The ones who eyed you. That same man who had harassed you muttering something to his friend beside him. Fuck.

He thought he couldn’t get any more pissed.

His palm covered his lips with no way to read. The music playing throughout the room covered any sounds of a hushed whisper into another man’s ear.

Though, Joel is pivoting.

His grip on you released as he took a heavy-footed stomp over to that table. He frowned. He wanted to kill them. He would if he could. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“Jesus Christ, man.” One of the men mused. Of course, Joel Miller was just another sorry excuse of a man to them. “You don’t give it up do you.” Your babysitter wasn’t intimidating in a setting like this. To a man drunk as a fuckin’ skunk sitting with a bunch of men who reeked of the same stench.

Joel doesn’t move.

He goes to walk away. No. There was absolutely no point in doing anything.

You could’ve heard a pin drop.

“All I said is that if I were you I would’ve fucked her by now.” No. Nope that was it.

A quick turn back around and Joel had slammed his fist into the man’s face. Heavy handed. Joel’s knuckles cracking with the impact in the same note as the man’s nose.

“Fuck!!!” The man cried. It was well deserved. Why would Joel let a man talk to his–

You weren’t his.

Miller couldn’t breathe in the moment. His breathing ragged, watching the blood quickly drip out the man’s nostrils. God was it satisfying.

Your stomach plummets. You can confidently say you’ve never heard a man yell like that. Before the next tick of epinephrine hits Joel his hand now runs to your waist instead. Pushing you out the doors before running into the parking lot.

Holy fucking shit.

The air of the night hit you like a bucket of ice quickly. Suddenly you were regretting only wearing a thin hoodie with a tank top underneath. Joel was dragging you to his truck, practically throwing you into shotgun.

Slamming the door to your side.

He rounds the front quickly. Pulling open the driver’s side as he slid into the seat. You swore you could hear the way his breath shudders in his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he pulls his seatbelt over his body– safety first, right?

The truck was suffocating. Too small. Too fucking warm.

You lick your lips, tasting salt. Your nerves were shot to hell. “Jesus Christ, Joel.”

He frowned. Fist on the shifter before pulling it into drive. He was speeding away, far away from that bar. Yeah, that one punch may had ruined his personal ‘holy day’ for a good while. If him and that man are ever in the same room again most likely one of them is getting there shit rocked and Joel worries that next time it may be him.

He doesn’t necessarily wanna take that chance. All because of something so FUCKING stupid.

He doesn’t speak. Nothing to say on his part as for you– too stunned to say anything. You had no understanding of why Joel Miller of all people, of all the men you know was acting like this. His fists balled against the steering wheel. Knuckles turning pale. Ghostly.

“Fuck.”

He broke the silence with a curse. He was mad. At least, he sounded so. The growl in his voice masked the need. He could feel every twist, every coil in his gut. All because of you.

He can’t keep hiding it.

“You’re makin’ me so fuckin’ crazy, baby.”

The smell of hard booze on his breath impregnated your nose. Slowly beginning to understand the acts in the bar. “That wasn’t me trying to flirt.” You quickly retorted. That was the honest truth that you’d be abiding by. You were too nervous to do anything except giggle like a dumbass so that’s what you did.

“I can’t help the fact I try to be polite. Even if they’re verging sexual harassment.”

You’d try to keep it light hearted with a quip. Joel didn’t laugh. Pursing his lips into a line before speaking. It only pissed him off more.

“Not what I’m sayin’.”

You breathe. What the hell did this man want from you if it wasn’t some reasoning from your lips? The road was wet, asphalt glistening with a sheen of rain making light reflect easily off like a mirror. As Joel turned his brights on to properly see through the dark road that light reflected into the truck. The formally dark truck.

Your gaze was pulled to his lap. An accident at first but–

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

His cock would writhe against the tightening denim of his jeans. If that didn’t tell you enough you didn’t know what would.

Joel’s hands flex against the wheel, the veins in his hands popping.

“Whatever you say, M’not fuckin, jealous.”

No no, he was.

And the tension rolling off of him is suffocating, filling the small front space of the truck like a thick fog. Choking you. You could almost still feel the touch he left on you. The phantom of his fingertips that had branded your skin only a few minutes ago now.

He wanted you to touch him and it wasn’t a secret anymore.

You reached your hand out to place on his thigh. The way his teeth sunk deeply into his bottom lip. Yeah, he fucking needed this. You felt your own stomach bloom with heat as your fingertips just barely scathed the denim of his jeans. You were just so close. Closer than you’ve ever been. And if this is something to forever be forbidden,

For all you know this could be as close as you’ll ever be.

He adjusted his hips. Spreading his legs as if to coax you, as if to tell you this is the right thing. Maybe it was too vague. He took a hand off the wheel as he began soothing more into things. His shoulders finally relaxed as he took a long. Deep breath in. Then out. His fingertips danced along the crotch of your own jeans. Pressing the pad of his middle against your extremely clothed clit, muscle memory of where he knew it was.

He knew.

It was that touch that made your legs wanna buckle. Your cunt clench.

Your palm soothed up his thigh as he focused on the road. Eyes adjusting, focusing. While his cock focused all by himself. Finally your smaller hand went to the tent in his jeans. Taking your pointer and tracing a line up the curve of the bulge. Wooing a twitch from him. His finger pushed harder into your clothed heat. Rewarding him in your first gasp of the night.

“Jesus, baby. Soon enough I’ll be the one with the broken nose.”

A jest like that was hard to process currently.

“What do you mean-?”

Joel takes his hand away from between your legs just for a second to turn the radio on. Very very low, some old 80’s rock song came on. The background noise almost calming.

“Your daddy.” He’d grunt. “If he ever knew I was touchin’ you–”

“I know. My mouth is shut.”

It was a promise. A promise as your palm slipped beneath his belt.

Home sweet home.

Once the front door was closed the exchanges between your mouths were all teeth and tongue. Messy, sloppy. No shortage of drool dribbling down either of your chins. His fingers latching around the hem of your tank top as he pulled it over your head. No bra. Less work for him.

It was like clockwork how his big, rough hands scooped under your thighs to grab you, pick you up with a strained grunt ripping from his chest. He couldn’t remember a time where his cocks been this hard. He could almost completely promise that it’s never been. It was heavy and once his jeans were pulled down it was hanging heavy, loose in his boxers. Though his flannel stayed on. Unbuttoned, fabric framing his tummy and bare, soft chest.

You laid on his bed, splayed upon his blankets like a goddess as you awaited for him to finishing taking his clothes off. But he just couldn’t fuckin’ wait. The sight of you laying there, helpless. Those pretty, lace panties he wanted to rip off with his teeth made his brain turn to mush. He crawled on top of you, leaning down to place a hot kiss on your throat as his hands moved down to your ass.

“Don’t got time to take you over the knee, baby.”

This sentence came with a squeeze to the soft flesh of your ass. Flipping you over belly-down with his fingers tangled in your hair. Face stuffed into the pillow.

His hand came down firm on your lace clad ass. Watching the thickness of the skin ripple.

Again. Harder.

You let out a sharp whine at the feeling. Each left with a stinging buzz that lingered within the plush skin. You were addicted. Though, what was fun for a moment was soon boring for Mister Miller, his cock in a painful state in the confines of his boxers. Feeling like he was gonna burst any good moment now.

But were you ready?

He flipped you back on your back in a sinfully quick motion. One of his practiced, old hands laid flat against your stomach before slipping down beneath the lace of your panties, hooking a finger to the side before pulling them down. They were damp. That just wouldn’t suffice for him. His finger tested the waters, how gluey, slick your folds were. Taking what was currently dripping out of your hole and spreading it around like a glaze.

He dipped his head down into your sternum, his lips pressing firmly against the skin there before he deliberately moved to one of your tits. Brushing the pad of his thumb across the already hard nipple before taking it between his teeth.

“Fuck-! Joel-”

Funny, when you touched yourself you weren’t nearly this loud.

This sensitive.

The tip of his tongue swirled around the bud, it was smooth against his tongue. Warmer than your skin. His hips dug down deep into his own mattress. Mussing the blankets beneath both of your bodies as if they were neat before. He squeezed your other breast with his free hand, continuing his ministries just for another moment. Keeping his moments practiced and planned for the time being. He flicked your unintended, rock-hard bud with his free hand. Mind Numbing stimulation coursing throughout your body.

Your hand came down to paw at his erection straining painfully against the grey cotton of his boxers.

“Oh–”

He groaned, his hips pressing into yours before you could touch more. Clamping himself down so the only way you could feel him throb would be against your thigh.

“You think you’re ready, baby? Ready for my cock?”

Of course the answer was yes. He knew the answer was yes how you were writhing, practically salivating at the thought. Both panting like dogs. He pulled himself out of his boxers. The dim light of the room making it impossible to see was was between your legs. The details left unseen and unsaid as all you could rely on was feel.

You felt his head begin running up and down between your folds. With a girl so fuckin’ wet who needed lubracant. Your eyes squeezed shut as he began to push in.

You’ve never felt anything like it.

Funnily enough. He’s never felt a girl like you either.

“Joel!” You’d squeal. “Fuck, Joel– JoelJoelJoelJoel–”

You were quickly chanting his name under your breath like an invocation. He was big though a three-letter word so simple as big was a fucking understatement. He was stretching out every ounce of your gummy walls. Your head craning backwards into his pillow. His pillow. The scent of his hair, his scent all seeping into your nose mixing with the sensations throughout your body.

“S’fuckin’-- shit, babygirl…”

Joel’s words were slurring together as if he had drank more than those two lousy whiskeys at the bar. Your legs wrapped tight around his waist as you enveloped him. Clenching up every time the tip of his fat cock would graze your cervix. His hand pressed just over your pelvis. Feeling around, ‘til– oh fuck.

“Fuckkkkk… Feel that, baby?” You felt a lot of things right now, your body all too hyper-fixated on the feeling of him to focus on anything other than that. Then Joel took your hand. Trailing it down your stomach as he weakly supported himself with his left arm. Palm flat against the sheets. His bicep tense.

He brought your smaller hand down to your low stomach, feeling the bump there. The bump he was oh-so obsessed with. Jutting out against your palm.

“S’my cock. Yeahhh. He wants you, s’fuckin’ bad.”

He was barely there.

“--So. Fuckin’. Bad.”

He punctuated his words with every thrust. You wanted to call out, say something over and over again like your only fucking prayer. But words defied you in the moment. As soon as you felt the unbearable pressure build up in your gut, the pressure that took over, spilled from your pelvis to your pussy. You felt the wiry hairs that crowned his cock scratching against your clit only adding to the feeling. The feeling that was building and building.

“Joel– I’m gonna–!”

It was so cliche. The need to finish that sentence was gone as you couldn’t control it. Feeling the knot tied so uncomfortably tightly in your pelvis untie. You tried to keep it back, hold it in but it refused. Your hips wriggled against his as your orgasm came ripping through your body. Leaning up as best you could to bury your face in his neck to gasp. Cry out into his ear as much as you well pleased as you felt your legs kick out, your thighs buzz.

His cock curved inside of you, kissing a soft spot that you weren’t even aware you had. His pace slowing, becoming sloppier, rushed. His hips snappy. The way your walls squeezed around him, trying to milk him til’ he was dry. Just wasn’t safe for an old man like him to blue-ball himself like this, huh?

“Fuck- she’s gonna milk daddy dry, ain’t she–?” He was trying to kill you.

With that it was only one more thick, deep thrust into your tight, throbbing cunt where he spilled his cum inside of you. Using what little energy he had left to paint those pretty walls white. Rolling his hips to drive his semen into your pretty little hole. His thumb pushed past your parted lips, your mouth quickly latching on. Cock-drunk, suckling on his thumb to muffle any whimpers. No more cries.

“Atta girl.”

He’d praise. His sweaty, damp body pressing heavily against yours. He didn’t wanna pull out. It’s almost like his body wanted him to stay this way until he was passin’ out. Though, he wouldn't let that happen. He slowly unsheathes his thick cock from your pussy with a wet, squelch as your walls adjust back to normal. Opaque, pearly cum dripping out of your cunt, drooling down your inner thighs all the way to your ass was pornographic.

Reaching around the back of his head to seize a chunk of his greying, soft-to-the-touch curls. Your tongue licking his way into his mouth instead of his thumb.

You felt absolutely and utterly euphoric.

Laying with the blanket lazily draped over both of your bodies. Joel took a long sip from the bottle of alcohol, drinking it like water to refresh his mouth. He felt exasperated. He wouldn’t be able to pin point the last time sex made him feel this good if you were paying him a million bucks. But now he could say with you.

You tucked your face into his neck, taking in the scent of him, the stickiness of his skin. The salty scent of sex still lingering in the air around.

It was silent. Like you were both trying to process what had happened within the last hour- hell, the last three. Even the whole bar thing seemed like an impossible daydream you’d watch on a soap, something that you’d say is unrealistic.

“I was jealous.”

He murmured. Turning his attention back to you as the silence was officially broken. You could’ve figured as much.

“I guess I should be flattered.”

You’d giggle. Real and genuine. Not the fake one you put on for that pervert at the bar.

“I’ve never had a man break another guy’s nose for me before.”

Joel rolled his eyes. Wrapping his warm arms around your body as he pulled you in close. The first time in twenty years his bed wasn’t empty and cold. A warm body tucked right against him, perfectly as if you belonged.

“Don’t get used to it.”

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darksturnz · 2 days ago

Text

── ⋮ ⌗ “BERRY MUCH. . .” ⟢ DAD.ᐟMATT ᵎᵎ

happy valentine’s day my sweet loves <3 i hope your day is full of kindness, love n gentle smiles. feeling a bit sappy today so here’s some corny corny fluff. all creds for dad!matt au to @mattscoquette

The first thing you register is the light—a little too bright for how early it should be.

Frowning, you stir beneath the covers, slowly stretching as sleep clings to you like a second skin. Something isn’t right. Normally, you’d wake to the sound of Matt shuffling out of bed, or the soft babbling of Leylani as he brought her in for morning cuddles.

But now? Silence.

Your stomach twists slightly as you rub the sleep from your eyes and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. The nursery. Maybe they’re both still in there.

Padding barefoot down the hall, you push the door open, only to find an empty crib.

Okay…so now the panic sets in.

You don’t even think—you just move, your feet quick against the wooden stairs as your heart pounds. The moment you reach the main floor, you exhale sharply, relief washing over you at the sight before you.

Leylani is fast asleep in her swing, chubby little fingers curled into loose fists, her small lips rising and falling with each little breath. The swing hums a soft lullaby, its gentle sway keeping her in deep sleep.

And then there’s Matt.

Sweet, sleep-deprived Matt, hunched over the stove like an overly stressed single mother, a burp rag draped over his shoulder, his free hand perched on his hip as he sways lightly from side to side.

The sight nearly makes you burst out laughing.

Then you notice the AirPods, grinning to yourself, you creep closer and poke his waist.

Matt jumps, spinning around so fast that he nearly knocks over the pan. His expression is wide-eyed, panicked, and—to your utter delight—he wields a spatula like a weapon, as if preparing to defend his scrambled eggs from an intruder.

It’s too much. You lose it.

A laugh bursts from your lips before you can stop it, and Matt, realizing what just happened, exhales dramatically, yanking out his AirPods. “Jesus Christ, woman! What is wrong with you?”

You giggle harder. “I—nothing—oh my god—”

“You’re sick,” he mutters, though his lips twitch upward as he sets the spatula down.

You step closer, winding your arms around his waist, still grinning. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

At that, he softens instantly. His arms come around you, pulling you against him as he presses a kiss to your temple, then another to your lips—slow, warm, and sleepily sweet.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.”

You hum against his mouth before pulling back, glancing at the stove. “What exactly are you doing?”

At that, Matt sighs dramatically, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I was trying to surprise you with breakfast in bed.”

You blink. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He gestures vaguely toward the counter, where a tray is set up—coffee, eggs, toast, and a little bowl of cut-up fruit. “I had this whole plan, but uh… Ley had other ideas.”

You raise a brow, prompting him to continue.

“She didn’t fall back asleep until, like, six,” he groans. “And then the freakin’ DoorDasher showed up way too early and woke her up again, and she got all fussy. By the time I finally got her back down, I clearly didn’t have enough time.”

Your heart melts at the sheer defeat in his voice.

“Matt,” you murmur, reaching up to cup his cheek. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

“I wanted to.” His hands settle on your waist, fingers tracing absentminded patterns through your shirt. “I mean, it’s our first Valentine’s as parents. Figured I should do something special.”

Your chest tightens, warmth blooming beneath your ribs. “You already do so much for us,” you say softly. “You being here—being you—that’s already special.”

He exhales, leaning into your touch. “Yeah, well…” His eyes flick toward the counter again. “There’s something else, too, it’s kinda silly.”

Before you can ask, he steps away and grabs something off the side. When he turns back around, he’s holding a small canvas.

Your breath catches the moment you see it.

It’s a tiny, painted strawberry. But as you look closer, you realize—it’s made from Leylani’s footprints.

Beneath it, in Matt’s careful, slightly messy handwriting, are the words:

“I love you berry much, Mommy!”

Your throat tightens.

“Matt…” Your voice wobbles, your fingers ghosting over the dried paint.

“I saw something like that online,” he murmurs, suddenly shy. “And I dunno, I thought it was cute. So, uh… I got the stuff and did it last night while you were sleeping.”

Tears prick at your eyes.

Matt immediately panics. “Oh, shit—wait, don’t cry—”

A watery laugh bubbles out of you as you clutch the little canvas to your chest. “I love it,” you whisper.

His shoulders slump with relief. “Yeah?”

You nod, stepping forward to kiss him, slow and deep.

“Yeah.”

Matt melts into the kiss instantly, his hands settling on your waist as if he never wants to let go. It’s slow, lazy, and filled with so much warmth that you almost forget about the breakfast he painstakingly tried to prepare.

When you finally pull back, his forehead presses against yours, his eyes still fluttered shut like he’s savoring the moment. “So you really like it?” he murmurs, voice still thick with sleep.

You smile, running your fingers through the mess of his hair. “I love it, Matt.” You pull back just enough to glance down at the canvas again, a soft laugh escaping you as you trace the tiny footprints. “I mean, look at this. Her little feet—oh my god.”

He chuckles, watching the way you admire it like it’s the greatest masterpiece ever created. “Yeah, she wasn’t too thrilled about the paint. Kinda made a mess. There’s still some on the back of her neck—I couldn’t get it all off.”

Your laughter deepens. “Matt, how does one even get paint on the back of their neck from a footprint project?”

Matt shrugs. “I dunno, man. She’s creative like that.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is so full it might burst.

Still clutching the painting to your chest, you glance over at Leylani, her tiny chest rising and falling in deep sleep. “She looks so peaceful,” you whisper.

Matt follows your gaze, something unbelievably soft settling into his expression. “She had a rough morning,” he says, but there’s no complaint in his voice—just adoration, just love.

Your throat tightens again, because how did you get so lucky?

You look back at Matt, taking in every sleepy, disheveled detail—his wrinkled T-shirt, the dirty burp rag still draped over his shoulder, the stubble darkening his jaw that he clearly didn’t have time to shave. He looks so tired, but he also looks so unbelievably beautiful, standing there in the early morning light, having sacrificed his entire night just so you could rest.

And he’s still here, still showing up, still loving you in ways that leave you breathless.

You reach up, cupping his face again, your thumbs brushing over the faint shadows beneath his eyes. “You’re such a good dad,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

Matt’s breath catches.

His eyes soften in a way that makes your chest ache. “Yeah?” he asks, like he needs to hear it again, like he needs it tattooed into his skin.

You nod. “The absolute best.”

His lips part slightly, like he wants to say something—maybe something too big for words—but instead, he just leans in, pressing the gentlest kiss to your lips. It’s not rushed, not hurried, just pure love wrapped up in the soft press of his mouth against yours.

When he pulls back, his hands slide down to your waist, tugging you just a little closer. “So…” he starts, a lopsided smile creeping in, “does this mean you’re officially accepting my botched Valentine’s Day surprise?”

You laugh, leaning into him. “I think this might be my favorite Valentine’s Day ever.”

His grin stretches, but then his stomach rumbles loudly between you, and you both freeze before bursting into quiet laughter.

Matt groans dramatically, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “God, I’m starving,” he mumbles into your shirt.

You giggle, running your fingers through his hair. “Well, I was about to be served breakfast in bed, so…”

He scoffs, pulling back with an amused look. “You still can be. I’ll just, y’know, reheat everything and pretend it was fresh.”

You snort. “How romantic.”

He wiggles his eyebrows. “I do try.”

You shake your head, biting back a grin before standing on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “How about we eat in here?” You glance toward the couch. “So we don’t have to wake up ley up.”

Matt’s eyes practically twinkle. “Sounds perfect.”

And it is.

Because as you sit together, plates balanced on your laps, feet tangled beneath the couch, stealing soft kisses between bites of slightly cold eggs and toast, you realize—this is love. Not the grand, extravagant gestures. Not the fancy dinner reservations or diamond jewelry.

This.

A quiet morning. The smell of scrambled eggs. The weight of Matt’s arm draped lazily around your shoulders. The soft sounds of your baby’s swing, lulling her into dreams.

And a tiny, precious footprint strawberry.

The best Valentine’s Day ever.

authors note: i’m a sucker for corny valentines idc

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abbottfansstuff · 1 day ago

Text

Shifting Tides

Author's Note: I have not written a story in over four years. Deleted Tumblr and AO3. No inspiration, but then I came across Abbott. Melissa.. and I am back...Hope you enjoy the story! PLEASE be honest in your feedback. THANK YOU!

Before Emily came along, it was just you and Melissa. You’d spent countless late nights grading papers, shared impromptu lunch breaks filled with sarcasm, and enjoyed those quiet moments where nothing needed to be said. Melissa Schemmenti was the one person you could always rely on—her dry humor, witty comments, and no-nonsense attitude made her stand out amidst the chaos of Abbott Elementary.

You and Melissa had a rhythm, a comfortable pattern. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. You knew exactly how she liked her coffee—lots of sugar, enough to make anyone's teeth ache. You had memorized every sarcastic comeback she had for every student situation. The two of you spent hours in the teacher’s lounge, complaining about the state of education and laughing until your sides hurt.

Life was simple back then—rooted in a friendship and something deeper. You had imagined, countless times, what it would be like to hold her, to kiss her, to care for her the way she had always cared for you. The way she had always been steady, protecting and supporting you, made you want to return that same tenderness. You’d thought about it more than you admitted, the idea of her in your arms feeling natural. But until now, it had stayed in the quiet corners of your mind, tangled with the threads of your friendship, growing harder to ignore with each passing day.

But when Emily arrived, everything shifted.

At first, it was subtle. Her smile, her laughter, the way she’d pull you into conversations, trying to make a connection. It didn’t seem like much at first, but you started to notice the change in your routine. Emily’s presence began to take up more space, and with it, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something between you and Melissa wasn’t quite the same anymore.

There was a new tension in the air, an unspoken shift that you couldn’t quite place. And while you tried to ignore it, things were clearly changing.

---

You started to notice this change during Teacher Appreciation Day. The teacher’s lounge was buzzing with excitement. The air smells of flowers and sweet notes, with each desk adorned with cards and thoughtful gestures. As you make your way through the room, you find a small, elegant vase resting on the corner of the table—a gift from Melissa. Inside, there’s a beautiful cream-colored rose with a red border. It’s simple, yet so thoughtfully Melissa. The delicate petals remind you of her—refined, a little guarded, but full of care.

But just as you admire it, you hear a voice behind you. It’s Emily, holding a massive bouquet of vibrant pink and white roses, the colors of spring practically leaping from the paper. She hands them to you with a bright smile, her eyes meeting yours for a moment longer than necessary. You thank her politely, though there's an odd tension in the air. You glance around and catch Melissa’s gaze from across the room, her lips pressed tight, her jaw clenched as she watches you accept the bouquet.

You can’t miss the shift in the air—the way Melissa seems to shrink into herself, the way her fingers curl around her coffee cup. She bites her lip as she watches you, the quiet question in her eyes: Why didn’t I do more? The doubt gnaws at her, though she pushes it away. She had planned something bigger for you—maybe a lunch, something personal to show you how much she appreciates your friendship—but now, with Emily’s grand gesture, it all feels insignificant.

Before you can approach, Melissa slipped out of the lounge, leaving the cream-colored rose on the table untouched.

Barbara watched the exchange with a raised brow but didn’t say a word, her eyes flicking between you and the empty chair Melissa just vacated. The rest of the teachers continued bustling around, unaware of the silent shift in the room. You can’t help but stare at the lonely rose.

After school, you find yourself standing in front of Melissa’s classroom door, feeling the pull to check in on her. You knock lightly, the sound a little louder than you intended in the empty hallway. There’s a soft shuffle from inside before she calls out, “Yeah?”

You push the door open and step inside. She’s at her desk, papers scattered around her, the usual calm façade masking the emotion you know is just beneath the surface.

“Hey,” you say, making your way over to her desk. “I wanted to give you this.”

You place a small box on her desk—your own offering of appreciation, wrapped carefully with a bow. Melissa raises an eyebrow, her gaze flicking from the box to you.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should say anything more. But when you meet her eyes, you see something there—something vulnerable, something that makes your chest tighten. She looks at the box for a moment longer, then finally lets out a breath.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do this,” she says quietly, her voice a little softer than usual.

“I wanted to,” you reply simply.

You linger for a moment, your heart racing, unsure if you’re reading the situation correctly. But in the quiet of the classroom, it feels like there’s a space between you that’s been growing for a while now, a space you’re both starting to notice more and more.

Without thinking too much, you lean in gently and place a soft kiss on her cheek, a light, tender gesture that speaks volumes in the silence.

Melissa goes still for a moment, her breath catching before she turns to look at you. There’s a softness in her eyes now, a flicker of something deeper. She doesn’t pull away, though she doesn’t say anything either, her gaze lingering on you.

You both stand there, the world outside her classroom fading away as the tension between you feels more real than ever before. Neither of you speaks, but the moment lingers. Neither of you needs to say a word to understand what’s happening.

----

A week goes by, and the field trip to the science museum is finally here, and you’re buzzing with excitement. You had been looking forward to this day—not only because of the museum but because you were planning to sit with Melissa on the bus. She had casually mentioned earlier in the week that the two of you could ride together, and you were looking forward to the chance to catch up in the quiet of the bus ride.

You sit down by the window, feeling the bus hum to life as you settle in. You spot Melissa greeting the last student boarding the bus, her smile lighting up her face when she spots you. Just as you’re waiting for her to come over, Emily walks down the aisle, her bright smile already plastered across her face. Without hesitation, she plops down in the seat next to you—the one that was supposed to be reserved for Melissa. She pulls out a bag of snacks, happily munching away, completely unaware of the unspoken plan.

“Hey! Got some snacks, want some?” Emily asks, her voice a little too chipper for this early morning bus ride.

You smile awkwardly, a little surprised, but shake your head. “No, thank you."

You glance over your shoulder and see Melissa walking down the aisle, her gaze fixed on the seat next to you. Melissa’s expression falters for just a moment—her eyes narrow slightly, but she doesn’t say anything. Melissa slows down, scanning for a new seat. Her eyes flick to the back of the bus, and then she gives a slight shrug, taking a seat farther away. The disappointment is quick, but it’s there.

You try not to let it show, but as the bus hums to life, you can feel a strange tension building between you and Melissa. She crosses her arms, staring out the window, her body language tight and unreadable. There’s a quiet space between you now, one that wasn’t there before, and you can’t help but wonder if Emily’s cheerful presence has unintentionally created a distance that wasn’t there this morning.

Barbara, ever the observant one, notices Melissa’s mood shift and moves to sit next to her. She leans in, her voice soft but teasing. “Melissa, honey, you alright? You’re looking like you’re sitting this one out today.”

Melissa forces a grin, her eyes flicking to Barbara but not quite meeting her gaze. “I’m fine,” she replies, but her voice is distant. “Just letting Emily have her fun, I guess.”

Barbara raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push further. “Mm-hmm. Sure, honey, sure. Whatever you say.”

The trip itself is full of the usual chaos. Kids run around excitedly as you all explore the museum. You try to focus on the exhibits while attempting to ignore Emily's constant chatter.

By the time the trip back rolls around, Emily tries to take the seat next to you again. She’s beaming, telling you about some exhibit that caught her eye, but before you can respond, Barbara pipes up from the front of the bus.

“Oh, Emily, dear,” she says, her tone both playful and knowing. “Why don’t you sit next to me? I am famished, and I'm sure you have some of those snacks left.”

Emily looks up, grinning sheepishly. “I do!"

Without hesitation, Melissa rises from her seat, her gaze briefly flicking over to you before she slides into the empty spot beside you. Her knee brushes against yours, and though she doesn’t look at you right away, you feel the electric charge of the moment.

She places her hand on the edge of the seat, and to your surprise, her pinky gently nudges against yours. It’s a small gesture, but it doesn’t go unnoticed. She quickly pulls her hand back, but the unspoken connection is there between the two of you, palpable in the quiet hum of the bus.

Barbara, watching the whole exchange, leans back and winks at you. “You are welcome,” she mutters, just loud enough for you to hear.

You roll your eyes but don’t say anything, the corners of your lips tugging into a reluctant smile. “You’re ridiculous, Barbara.”

You can’t help but laugh at the lightness of the moment, the tension from earlier finally beginning to melt away. As the bus heads back to Abbott Elementary, the conversation settles into a comfortable silence between you and Melissa. There’s a quiet understanding between the two of you now, something more than friendship, though neither of you is ready to admit it just yet.

It’s a small moment, but in that quiet, shared space, you both know that things between you are starting to shift—and neither of you is quite sure where it will lead.

----

It’s hard to believe it’s already been a month since the field trip. Time moves strangely—fast in some ways, slow in others. That day still lingers in your mind, but even more than that, so does the way things have shifted between you and Melissa.

Our relationship is still the same in many ways—we still spend time together, still joke around, and still move through the same spaces. But something is different. It’s in the way her eyes linger on you just a little longer than before, the way she watches you when we’re out with the group like she’s studying you in a way she never used to.

And then there was that night at the club—Emily had been getting a little too close on the dance floor. Before you could even react, Melissa was there, stepping in behind you, pressing close as she swayed with you to the beat.

“Just making sure you’re good,” she had murmured into your ear, her breath warm against your skin. But the way she held you, the way her touch lingered—it felt like more than just protection.

Even in the smallest moments, you feel it now—the accidental brushes that last a second too long, the way she always seems to find a reason to touch you, the unspoken something hanging between both of you.

Yeah, things are still the same. But also… they’re not.

"Are you ready?" Melissa's voice pulls you out of your thoughts, snapping you back to reality. She stands at the classroom door, leaning against the frame with that familiar ease, watching you with an expression you can’t quite place. As always, she had come to pick you up for lunch at the teacher's lounge.

Shaking off your thoughts, you grab your things, and together, you make your way down the hall, falling into an easy conversation about plans for the upcoming winter break.

Janine and Jacob have transformed the teacher’s lounge into a Christmas wonderland—twinkling lights, cookies stacked high, and a massive tree standing proudly in the corner. They even hung mistletoe above the doorway, giggling like children who just figured out a joke.

You walk in with Melissa, your arms full of papers and a coffee cup, when Barbara steps in front of you both with a mischievous smile, holding a plate of cookies as if she's just won a prize. “Oh, look! Under the mistletoe! Perfect timing, don’t you think?”

You blink, catching sight of the mistletoe above and then looking back at Barbara, realizing you’ve walked right into a holiday trap. Melissa freezes beside you, her face going from neutral to a shade of red you’ve never seen before. She stares at you, her eyes wide with the kind of look that says she’s been caught in a situation she has absolutely no idea how to handle.

Barbara, thoroughly enjoying the discomfort she’s causing, nudges you both with a wink. “Go on, now. Just a little kiss.. for the sake of tradition” she teases.

You glance at Melissa, who’s doing her best to pretend the entire situation doesn’t exist, staring at the floor like it's about to open up and swallow her. Her voice is barely a whisper, “Go ahead, Y/N. It’s… fine.”

Before you can process what she just said, Emily, who has been watching this entire exchange with the grin of someone who knows exactly how to stir the pot, steps forward with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Alright, I volunteer!” she says with a dramatic flourish, as if she’s ready to swoop in and take over.

You freeze, your brain scrambling for a way out. But before you can even think of anything, something shifts in the air. Without warning, Melissa suddenly leans in, her eyes still avoiding yours, and presses her lips softly against yours. It’s quick, unexpected, but there's an undeniable spark in the contact. A light, lingering kiss that feels like the answer to everything unspoken between you two.

Melissa pulls away almost immediately, her face now bright red. She doesn’t meet your eyes, instead looking anywhere else in the room. There’s a brief silence as you stand there, stunned, unsure of whether to laugh or say something—anything.

Emily, who was about to jump in and kiss you herself, watches in shock. “Well, that was a plot twist I didn’t see coming!” she says with a playful grin.

Barbara, ever the observer, chuckles and winks at both of you. "Now, who’s ready for cookies?”

You and Melissa stand there, the air between you suddenly charged with a new kind of tension. Melissa quickly grabs a cookie off the plate, clearly trying to act casual, but her hands are a little shakier than usual. She keeps her eyes on the cookie, unwilling to meet yours, as she takes a small bite.

You, still slightly reeling from the kiss, glance at her. The moment feels both awkward and… strangely intimate.

“Alright, let’s eat,” she says with a slightly forced cheerfulness, attempting to brush off the whole thing. But you can’t help but feel that the mistletoe moment is far from over—especially when you catch the way she looks at your lips.

---

The night is cold, a chill creeping in as you curl up on the couch with a book. Your thoughts are somewhere else, though, distracted by everything that’s happened earlier—by the kiss, by the confusion, and the way Melissa looked at your lips.

Then, there's a knock at your door.

You open it to find Melissa standing on the other side, her cheeks flushed from the cold, her breath visible in the frosty air. She hesitates for a moment, her eyes searching yours as if unsure of what she’s looking for, before stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. She stands there for a second, not saying anything, just breathing in the quiet of the room.

Finally, she speaks, her voice quieter than usual. “I can’t stop thinking about the kiss,” she admits, her eyes dropping to the floor. She pauses, biting her lip as if trying to hold herself together. “I just needed you to know that I—I can’t help how I feel about you. I didn’t think it’d be this hard, but... here I am.”

Her words hang in the air, and you feel a rush of emotions flooding in, but before you can respond, Melissa's gaze shifts, a deep sadness taking over. “I just... I don’t want to come between you and Emily. I know she’s younger, and... more your type. She’s—she’s closer to your age, and she gets you in a way I can’t. I mean, I’m just... well, I’m not really someone who knows how to say things like this. And now I’ve gone and messed everything up,” she continues, her voice trembling, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as if trying to hold herself together.

Your heart aches seeing her so vulnerable, this side of Melissa that rarely shows through. You can feel the weight of her self-doubt. The tension from the past few weeks, the confusion about what was happening, everything is laid bare in her words.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have... gotten in the way of you two. She’s probably everything you need, right? She’s fresh, she’s lively, and she fits with you. I’m just... I’m just a mess, and I didn’t mean to drag you into my chaos.” Her voice cracks at the end, and she looks away, as though the mere thought of saying it makes her feel exposed.

You feel your heart beat a little faster at her words, but you’re not sure how to respond yet. You want to say something to ease her mind, to let her know that you're here, that she’s not in the way.

Before you can say anything, Melissa lets out a shaky breath, looking back up at you, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “I just want you to be happy. I want you to have what you deserve... and I’m not sure if that’s me.”

Her words sting, though you know she doesn’t mean to hurt you. But it’s clear she’s spiraling, feeling like she’s somehow unworthy of something you both deserve. You take a deep breath, stepping closer, the space between you feeling charged and fragile.

“Melissa,” you begin softly, your voice full of reassurance. You gently reach out and place a hand on her shoulder, feeling the slight tension in her body. “Stop. You’re not in the way. This has nothing to do with age or who fits with who. It’s about us... and how we make each other feel.”

Melissa shakes her head, still uncertain. “But Emily—she’s everything you deserve. I’m not sure I can be that for you. I’m... I’m older, complicated. And she’s young, she has time, she’s—she’s everything I’m not.”

The words break something in you, and you move even closer, cupping her face gently, your thumb brushing away the tear that has escaped her eye. You know she’s in a spiral, unsure of what she truly deserves, and it hurts to see her like this.

“You’re everything I need... and want” you say, your voice steady but full of conviction. “It’s not about age or how you compare to anyone else. It’s about you and me, what we’ve built, and how we make each other better. I’m not looking for someone else. I’m looking for you.”

Melissa stares at you, her breath shallow, as if she’s processing your words. And then, after a long, pregnant pause, she slowly smiles, a fragile but relieved smile that somehow feels like a weight has lifted off her shoulders.

“I didn’t think you felt the same,” she murmurs, the tension in her shoulders easing. “I was... so afraid I was too much.”

“You’re never too much for me,” you say, pulling her closer until she’s standing just a breath away. “We’ve both been running from this for too long. Maybe it’s time we stop pretending.”

The room feels suddenly full, charged with the weight of everything unspoken that’s finally coming to the surface. You can see the relief on Melissa’s face as she lets herself believe that this—what you have—is enough.

And for the first time, she steps forward, closing the space between you, and as you lean in, the world seems to disappear. It’s just you and her, and that’s all that matters.

#abbott elementary #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti

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writingsbychlo · 3 days ago

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MIDNIGHT MAGIC | TOM RIDDLE

SUMMARY: tom doesn't always get it right, but he tries. WORD COUNT: 2515 NOTES: happy valentine's day, my lovelies!

Your fingernails drummed against the hard, cold stone surface of the large protruding boulder you’d perched yourself on almost two hours ago. New nails, freshly done with little pink hearts painted on to make yourself feel the romantic energy of the holiday a little more.

Your good luck charm, you’d deemed them. Some kind of enchantment, you’d thought. Because as you’d been returning to the castle six days ago, admiring the glittery pattern of pretty pink hearts that reflected under the torch lights, Tom had stepped into your path. That small twitch of a smile was on the corners of his lips, the one that he reserved only for the occasional use, and only with you.

“You’ve been out all day.” He’d mumbled, blunt and to the point in that direct way you loved about him, and your own smile had grown.

“I’ve been in Hogsmeade, getting my nails done.”

He’d hummed. His eyes flicked down to them as you held your hands up between you both. He’d shuffled his folders between his arms, talked for five minutes about the project notes the two of you had been working on for the last two weeks, handed you his half, and then turned to leave. Only two steps had been taken, before he’d turned back to you, a flurry of dark robes and a hushed voice as he asked you whether you’d want to join him for some late-night magic practice out in the woods on Friday night.

It wasn’t the first time he’d asked you to hang out outside of your scheduled study sessions, but this Friday was supposed to be different.

Today was supposed to be different. It was Valentine’s Day, for Merlin’s sake.

And yet, here you were. Sitting on a rock, cold and bored in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, wrapped up in a coat against the bitingly cold February winds, because the little dress you’d put on for the session was clearly an error in judgment and the warming charm you’d cast was failing you.

This was, by no uncertain terms, not a date. Tom hadn't spoken for twenty minutes, mumbling to himself as he took notes, swirling patterns in the air and practising spells that weren’t exactly illegal, but weren’t strictly legal, either. The frowned upon, not curriculum friendly, spells. And had it been any other circumstance, you wouldn't have minded.

Godric, your friends had thought you insane for months now. Pining after the lonely, grumpy Slytherin boy whom people whispered about as he walked by and cowered out of his way when he walked towards them. But they just didn’t know him, didn’t know how fascinating and wonderful and curious he was.

But today, you were mad. You were sad. And most of all, you were embarrassed about the way you’d obviously read into things. There was no romantic moonlit picnic, there was just the mud and the stretching quiet. The hardest part was, that he genuinely didn’t seem to get it. As he laughed quietly to himself at another successful spell, an irritated huff escaped your lips, and you hopped down from your seat into the damp grass.

“Tom.”

“Did you see that?” He said, spinning to face you with a grin on his face as the tip of his wand smoked from the explosion of sparks that had emerged from it. He didn’t seem to take notice of your mood, or the arms crossed over your chest, as he began drawing runes in the air between you both with the lit tip of his wand.

“Do you really not get it?”

“Get what?” Tom muttered, tone belaying his distraction as he focused on the series of glowing symbols in the air before him, the tip of his wand spitting small sparks that floated away to the ground like burning ash. “I did that spell perfectly. I—”

“It’s Valentine’s Day, Tom!” You snapped, and his eyes connected with yours, his face illuminated by the glowing, incomplete symbols hovering in the air before him. His lips pressed together, and a few beats of silence passed, before he uttered a single syllable.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” You repeated, following it with a miniature scoff as he just fixed you with that intense, unwavering stare, and shoulders set. “Right.”

Turning on your heel, you gave up, letting the disappointment swallow you whole, succumbing to the consuming sadness of a failed Valentine’s date, and a wasted evening. Before you could even fish out your wand to light the way, you were hardly a few steps from Tom’s little set-up when your inappropriate footwear caught on a slippery rock, and you felt a horrendous drop in your stomach as you slipped.

Before hitting the ground, in a scene that would have truly topped off your humiliation for the night, familiar hands caught your shoulders from behind, steadying you as he rounded your body. Those hands slid down, holding your wrists lightly as Tom came to stand in front of you. He was a man of few words, only when it mattered, and always concise, but right now, you could tell he was speechless. His lips were parted, short breaths and inhaled like he was about to speak, but almost a full minute passed before he finally spoke.

“I didn’t know.”

Your brow, perfectly manicured for the evening, just like every other part of yourself that you’d put effort into for the night, rose slowly. “You didn’t know it was Valentine’s Day. Despite all the propaganda around, and the buzzing excitement of all the couples, and the fact it’s the same day every year?”

“I truly didn’t. I don’t keep track of that sort of thing. What’s the point?”

“What’s— What’s the point? It’s an annual, globally celebrated holiday, and it’s also one of the most magical days in the Wizarding World, for Divinists and Seers. I would’ve thought you’d at least know the magical lore.” He shrugged, and you rolled your eyes. “It’s the day of love, Tom.”

“I suppose, but… not for me.” He spoke softly, tone one of the softest you’d ever heard him express. “If this day means that much to you, why did you agree to come?”

You stared at him incredulously, anger melting away into confusion and adoring pity, as his gaze honestly searched yours for an answer, as though it wasn’t obvious. “For someone so smart, you can be really dense sometimes.”

His thick brows furrowed in puzzlement, processing your words for a moment, two, and then they shot up in surprise. His cheeks took on a faint glow of pink in the torchlight. “Oh.”

Your lips pressed together, warmth rising to your face too.

“You thought this was a date.”

Smoothing your hands down over your dress, you cleared your throat. “Well, yes.”

“And… you agreed to come?”

“What?” Your head snapped back up to him, and his head had tilted to the side, one of those rare small smiles playing on his lips now.

“You agreed to a date on Valentine’s Day with me.”

His blunt statement of the obvious made you want to cower under his heavy gaze, but you held your head high, arms crossing protectively over your front. “Of course I did. Why wouldn't I?”

“Why would you?” He snorted, in a way so unlike himself that it caught you off-guard. An unforeseen moment of self-deprecation, a crack in his usual unwavering self-assuredness, “I’m not deaf, or blind, or ignorant. I know that I am not well-liked. People don’t enjoy my company, they find me strange and unsettling and too ambitious. They laugh behind my back. You could’ve had a date with anyone you wanted, I know for certain that several people asked you.”

You weren’t aware he knew that, you’d never spoken of such things to him, it never felt right, to tell the man you were interested in about the other suitors you’d turned down. Your heart was breaking for him as he spoke, voice sure and analytical, as though he wasn’t talking tragically about himself. “I didn’t want any of them, Tom.”

Your whisper sat heavy in the air between you both, and his throat bobbed. When you slid your hands up to cup his cold cheeks, he sucked in a sharp breath, his shoulders stiffening.

“I like you just fine. I think you’re smart and witty and funny, and I love your ambitions. You’re going to be Minister someday, or you’ll solve magical maladies in a lab, or rediscover forgotten ruins. I just know it. You have so much to offer the world, Tom. The people here are just too short-sighted to see it. But I see it, I see you. I happen to love your company, but I’m glad nobody else does because it means I get you to myself. Don’t you know I’ve been flirting with you for months now?”

“You have?” He asked, an uncertain waver to his voice that made you grin. It’s not often you got to teach him something, to specialise or know more than he did, but romance was where you’d be taking the lead from now on. “How?”

Your giggle made his hands jump to sit on your hips, shifting a fraction closer on his next breath as his hands flexed on your waist. Rubbing your thumb over his cheek, you smirked coyly. “Well, I hate studying, but there I was with you three times a week and Saturday afternoons, far more than our mandated once-a-week sessions. In my short skirts and my best perfumes and my leaning over with little touches. Asking you for things from high shelves I couldn't reach, batting my lashes at you, all the usual tricks.”

Tom cleared his throat, his hands twitching like he had the urge to scratch his neck or hide his face, but resisted pulling his touch from you. “I noticed all of those things,” He confessed quietly, “I just didn’t think they’d be for my benefit.”

You slid your hands down his neck, to sit on his chest, as you closed a little more of the gap between you both. “Trust me,” You murmured, feeling the beat of his heart, thudding rapidly under your palm, “It wasn’t for anyone else.”

Your words brushed over his lips in a hushed breath, and he didn’t respond, his lids sliding closed slowly.

“Tom, do you like me?” You spoke the words so quietly into the air he’d have missed them if you weren’t so close, the gap shrinking between you until your nose was brushing his. “Because I like you. So, either stop me, or I’m going to kiss you.”

You gave him a pause, time to react or pull away, but only a shaky breath left his parted lips, before your mouth brushed over his. Once, twice, and then you were sealing a kiss to his lips that made his hands clench and his heart skip a beat under your hand. His hands curled into fists in the side of your coat, gripping you tightly and pulling you closer as he stumbled his way unsurely through the kiss.

Tipping your head to the side, he copied your action in the opposite direction, allowing you to kiss him deeper as your lips parted. Licking lightly at his lower lip, he groaned gently, a sound you swallowed down as you licked your tongue out, teasingly against his one, before retreating. He didn’t dare to copy that, only sliding his arms further around your waist as deep kisses were shared, mingled between giggling pecks and needy collisions of lips, bumps of noses and playful gasps for breath.

He was a quick and skilled learner, and you were just as flushed and dazed as he was when you finally parted, resting your forehead on his as you both panted quietly for breath. “You taste like raspberries.”

“I know,” You beamed at his confession, “I picked this lipgloss out specifically because you said they were your favourite.”

He leaned in again, kissing your bottom lip and sucking on it lightly until a shudder ran along your body, and a raspy chuckle left him at your response. Damn him, for being such a quick study.

As the two of you parted a little more, his arms still around you but looser, a comfortable silence washed over. You smoothed down the fistfuls of his sweater you’d taken at some point, the fabric pulling as he glanced over his shoulder at the activities of the night. An unsatisfied noise left his mouth, and he tugged out his wand as he turned back to you.

With a few muttered words, Tom summoned some flowers from the tip of his wand. Or, he attempted to, but the abandoned magic of his previous activities was clearly still present in the ancient wood, as a smattering of sparks popped out noisily, followed by a bouquet of burned stems and petals, and smoke that smelled of burning greenery.

“Crap.” He muttered, shaking the incinerated plants off, and trying again. When the same result occurred, drawing a low growl from him, you tucked your face into his chest to hide your laugh. Placing a hand on his wrist, you lowered his wand before he could butcher any more innocent flowers. He sighed in agitation, “I’ll make that up to you.”

“Don’t worry. They were perfectly you.” You teased, rising on your toes to press a fleeting kiss to his lips.

He returned it in kind, arms tightening around you once again, “I’ll get you the biggest bouquet I can find, tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry about that.”

“I’ll take you on a proper date somewhere.” He said, speaking between your kisses and interrupting the affections you were trying to give him.

“It’s fine, Tom.” You nipped at his lip, in hopes of shutting him up.

“And I’ll—”

“Tommy.” You cut him off with a huff of his name. “I don’t want you to do any of that, I like you just the way you are, don’t go doing things that aren’t you. Just… next time you bring me out to the woods for a night of watching you master runes and ancient curses, bring a blanket, and some roses. Maybe some snacks.”

“A midnight picnic would be enough for you?” He asked with disbelief in his voice.

“You’re enough for me.” You promised, hearing his underlying words, and emotion seemed to clog in his throat as he failed to respond, but instead gave a slow, delayed nod in acknowledgement. Brushing one hand over his forehead to sweep a stray curl from his face, you caught his gaze for the words you were about to say, “You’re enough, Tom. You’ve always been enough. You’re all I want, just as you are.”

His jaw tightened, lips pressed together into a thin line, and something in his gaze melted. “I’ve wanted you since the day I met you, doll, but I never expected you’d return those feelings, or even look my way.”

“You got me now.” You smiled,

“And I won’t make the mistake of losing you. I can promise you that.”

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle/reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle/you #slytherin boys #harry potter #christian coulson/reader #christian coulson x reader #christian coulson/you #christian coulson x you

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zaldritzosrose · 3 days ago

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Like Real People Do (Jacaerys x Noble!Reader)

We are back with a milestone request from my darling @legitalicat, and I also gifting this to her as a birthday treat! See the request ask here!

Song - Like Real People Do by Hozier

Summary: You were like a beacon of comfort and normality for Jacaerys. His title didn't seem to weigh as heavy when he was with you. You made him feel 'normal', whatever that word meant. You made him feel like he was not a prince, not heir to the throne, but a real person.

TW: She/Her pronouns, afab reader, noble reader, no specific descriptions of reader, all fluff, this is sickeningly sweet and we may need a dentist after, Jacaerys being a gentleman.

Words: 3121

I had a thought, dear, however scary, about that night, the bugs and the dirt…

You hadn’t noticed it immediately. But Jacaerys had begun to spend a lot of time simply watching you. Even doing the most mundane of things.

The daughter of a noble house sworn to his mother, you now spent a lot of time on Dragonstone. Following your father as he swore his sword to Rhaenyra’s cause. You would accompany your father whenever he would venture to the island.

At first, you had stuck to his side as much as possible. Rhaenyra being made heir had prompted your father to begin to school you in more of a political light as the eldest daughter, so travelling to Dragonstone to watch your new Queen had become a source of fascination for you.

And the more time you spent on Dragonstone, the more time you began to spend in the prince’s company. Jacaerys was usually at his mother’s side, so for the most part the encounters were more formal.

But soon your father’s visits became more frequent which meant you made more effort to find more comfort and familiarity with the island.

Spending time on the beaches over in the castle. Simply walking and taking in the scenery around you.

This is what Jacaerys noticed first. And it fascinated him to no end.

Why were you digging? What did you bury, before those hands pulled me from the earth?

As the war for the throne began to pick up traction, your father was occupied more and more. And he encouraged you to spend just a little more time exploring the island.

Today was one of those trips, wandering through the rocky hills as the sea air whipped at your hair.

But you weren’t alone this time. Too lost in the fresh, salty air, you didn’t notice the figure following a few paces behind you.

You descended to the beach, taking your shawl and setting it down to protect your gown from the sand. You absentmindedly drew patterns in the sand, letting the sound of the wind and waves wash over you.

But as the weather calmed, you heard another set of feet crunching in the sand. You moved to stand, immediately on edge.

Before you could say a word, Jacaerys spoke.

“Apologies, my lady, if I startled you?” he said gently, and you could see the genuine concern in his eyes.

You took a breath, brushing down your skirt before smiling.

“Oh, not to worry, my prince,” you tried smooth down your hair as you spoke, immediately regretting not braiding it for your walk.

The two of you stood in silence for a moment. This was the first time you had been truly alone with Jacaerys. Every other encounter had been somewhere within the walls of the castle, surrounded by any number of other people.

“I, uh, I apologise for my appearance, I was not expecting to be accompanied…” you mumbled, simply wanting to fill the silence somehow.

Jacaerys only chuckled. Maybe he should have made his presence known sooner? But he had found the way you took in your surroundings so interesting to simply observe. How relaxed you seemed, as if you’d shed the mask of your noble title. Something he wished he could do himself.

“Nothing to apologise for, I am the one that disturbed your solitude.”

You were surprised by how relaxed you felt, now that the initial surprise had dissipated. Maybe it was being out of the castle, out in the fresh air with no expectations for how you acted.

“You are welcome to join me, my prince?” you asked, silently hoping he would agree.

The prince smiled, there were no duties calling him back to the castle, though he likely should have been doing something. Maybe a bit of respite from the castle walls was what he needed?

“I would love that, my lady.”

You leaned down, spreading your shawl out as wide as you could so there was space enough for both of you. You settled yourself back down, returning your gaze to the sea before you. Jacaerys removed his cloak, doing as you had with your shawl. A little sand wasn’t going to do any harm.

As he sat, he took the chance to look at you, as he did whenever you entered a room. He took in just how lovely the sun was as it shone through your hair, how it began to illuminate your profile like a halo.

But what he enjoyed most, was how normal it felt to just sit beside you. He didn’t feel like a prince in this very moment, and it was thanks to you.

Of course, it helped that he truly did find you beautiful.

I will not ask you where you came from, I will not ask and neither should you…

How many hours passed, neither of you knew. But the weather soon took a turn, the sea air growing cold and the wind now more than a tolerable breeze.

Jacaerys noticed the way you tried to hide your shivers and took it upon himself to suggest you both return indoors.

“Shall we return? Dragonstone’s beaches can get quite cold in the evenings.” Jacaerys said softly, standing up and holding a hand for you to take.

And you took it gladly, letting him pull you to standing. Before you could even bend down to grab your own shawl, Jacaerys lifted his cloak to drape over your shoulders.

You kept your head down, trying desperately to hide the blush you knew had begun to bloom on your cheeks.

“Thank you, my prince. We should be quick then, so you do not freeze?” you teased, pulling his heavy cloak a little higher up on your shoulders.

Jacaerys nodded, grabbing your shawl from the ground and holding out his arm for you to take, his own cheeks growing pink as you took it.

“Please, would you call me Jacaerys?”

He didn’t miss the surprise on your face. You may have spent a lot of time in his presence, but using his name still felt extremely intimate. But the almost pleading look in his eyes was hard to ignore.

“I can try, I think. Though it will take some getting used to, so forgive me if I forget to,” you answered, hoping that was enough for now.

It earned you a soft smile, his appreciation clear.

He knew your upbringing would have been as ingrained in your psyche as his own. Calling a royal by their name would likely seem incomprehensible. Just as if he were to use your name, it would have felt quiet unusual.

But names were personal, intimate. Names had no status, no titles. And you made him forget his title with just your presence.

You both began to walk, your arm safely nestled through the crook of his elbow. You were halfway back to the castle when a thought crossed your mind.

“And mayhaps you should call me by my name then? Instead of my lady?” you asked, feeling a little disappointed as you saw the castle come into view in the distance.

Jacaerys smiled. He had heard your name whenever you were announced, a name as beautiful as the woman who owned it. It was only fair for him to use yours if he’d asked you to use his.

“That sounds fair. It can be something we allow for moments much like we shared today?”

He let his question linger. Silently asking for there to be more days like today, without having to embarrass himself asking.

“Our little secret…Jacaerys.”

Jacaerys felt his chest tighten at the sound of his name on your lips. The way you said it so gently as though you were still unsure about using it.

The rest of the walk to the castle continued in silence, but Jacaerys couldn’t take his eyes off you for most of it. There was something about you that kept drawing him in, something that made him desperate to keep you at his side.

You gave him a sense of normality, yes. But there was something else. Something that made his heart beat a little faster whenever you entered a room.

Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips, we should just kiss like real people do…

In the days that followed, Jacaerys’ mind kept returning to you. To sitting beside you on the beach, to the sound of his name on your lips, to the feel of your hand on his arm.

He tried to ignore the fluttered feeling in his stomach whenever he thought of you, but it was more than a challenge. His cloak still held the faintest scent of your perfume, which he had begun accustomed to being able to smell whenever he wore it.

You had returned home with your father the night before, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before you were back. The trips your father made were frequent, which he was now eternally grateful for.

He had stood at the castle walls as your ship left, still remembering the kiss to his cheek that you had snuck in when your respective parents were otherwise engaged.

A kiss that was still in his mind now as he tried to read the pile of parchments in front of him. Not a single word he read seemed to hold in his mind.

Every thought he had would somehow return to you.

I knew that look, dear, eyes always seeking, was there in someone that dug long ago…

You waited in anticipation for your father to tell you when his next trip to Dragonstone would be. There was no use in hiding it, you wanted to see Jacaerys again.

There was a sense of safety with him, you weren’t afraid to relax around. As he was with you. Whether it was only friendship, or something soon to be more, you didn’t know. But the mere thought of him gave you butterflies every time.

Each time you would see your father handed a letter, you hoped it would be a summons to Dragonstone again. But a couple of weeks went by and there was nothing.

You would go to sleep each night, silently wishing that the next morning would bring a letter.

Until one morning, your wishes were answered. Your father came down to breakfast, parchment in hand and looked immediately to you.

“Ready for another journey to our Queen, sweet daughter?” he asked, already chuckling at the fervent nod you gave him.

What you did not know, was that your father was more than aware of your affection for the prince, and he was more than supportive of it. To be in the prince’s good graces, was to be in the Queen’s and your father had long cemented himself as a pillar of loyalty for Rhaenyra.

The journey was planned for that evening, so you had no hesitation in hurriedly finishing your breakfast and leaving to pack your things. All your father’s journeys to Dragonstone were a week or two at best, so preparation was key.

So I will not ask you why you were creeping, in some sad way, I already know…

The ship arrived late into the night, the servants helping you, your father and the other members of your household collect your belongings and move them inside.

The castle was quiet, late enough that you were sure most of the royal family was already asleep. The sailings were not all that long, but there was little about them that you enjoyed. Yet, despite how tired you felt, you rarely found rest after one of those journeys.

You were all shown to your rooms, but you made no move to settle down. Even when exhaustion began to settle in your bones, you were a restless soul.

And Dragonstone at night? Well, that was something you had yet to experience to its fullest advantage.

The large castle seemed even grander in the darkness. The only light were the sconces on the walls and the chamberstick in your hand. You wandered the halls, paying mind to the rooms you knew were off limits no matter the time of day.

Your aimless wandering brought you to the library. Aside from the beach, it was one of your favourite places to visit. The tall bookcases that seemed to go on endlessly, the smell of old books. There was something so comforting about it all, despite it being far grander than the library in your own home.

But just like the beach all those weeks ago, you were not alone.

You couldn’t see him, tucked into a corner and hidden by the crammed bookcases. But Jacaerys had been in the library for most of the evening. The longer the war between his mother and uncle dragged on, the heavier the title of heir to the Iron Throne had begun to weigh on him.

And Jacaerys had never been more conscious of what others thought of him.

It was only when you heard the soft scrape of a chair did you realise you weren’t the only one hidden in the rows of dusty tomes.

“Is someone there?” you called, clutching your shawl around your shoulders.

When no one answered, you began to believe your mind was playing tricks on you. Until you heard some very familiar footsteps.

“It is just me,” Jacaerys responded, appearing from his corner with a soft smile.

You breathed a sigh of relief, walking closer to him.

“Jacaerys, I thought my mind was playing me for a fool, hearing things!” you laughed, setting the chamberstick down on the table beside him.

You took the chance to look him over. Maybe it was the candlelight, but he looked far more tired than usual.

“Are you well?” you asked, trying to keep your concern polite still.

Jacaerys sighed, his shoulders visibly sagging. Your presence was a comfort, a safe space where he could let his mask slip.

He sat down in a nearby chair. He was no longer a prince; he was simply a young man with the weight of seven kingdoms on his shoulders. As if by instinct, you moved closer to him.

Aside from the goodbye kiss to his cheek and the occasional soft touch of your hands, there hadn’t been much physical contact between you.

But you could immediately sense that he simply needed…something.

So I will not ask you where you came from, I would not ask and neither would you…

Your hand went to his shoulder first, standing between the chair in which he sat and the table. The touch was gentle, giving him the chance to pull away if he wished.

But Jacaerys didn’t want to. With you, he wasn’t a Targaryen prince, he wasn’t his mother’s heir.

He was just Jacaerys.

His hand raised to hold on to yours. Lacing his fingers and simply holding on to you.

How could he tell you how he was feeling? Would you think less of him? Would you think him weak?

But you were perceptive, and you could see the maelstrom of emotions behind his eyes.

“Jace…you can talk to me, you know that?” you asked softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

You only called him Jace when emotions were high. The last time had been when you had both said goodbye.

He sighed again. Why wouldn’t the words just come out?

“I…sometimes I wish I wasn’t the heir,”

Jacaerys hurried through the words, his voice barely a whisper but enough to hear.

Your face softened, though concern lingered in your gaze.

“And why is that?”

Your head tilted down to look at him as you spoke. Your hand moving from his shoulder to his cheek. The reasons weren’t something you were unaware of, but you knew he needed to talk it through.

“There are times I wish I could simply…be. To be able to live without the shadow of the throne at my back…”

His eyes closed as he leaned into your palm. With you, he felt like that could be possible. Since that day on the beach, you had respected his wish to not be seen as a prince. For his title to mean nothing whenever you were alone.

To let him be just a real person.

His eyes met yours and a soft smile tugged at his lips.

“I feel like that with you.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest, butterflies tingling in your stomach. Gentle waves of affection washing over you.

You made him feel safe. You made him feel comfortable. You made him happy.

“Jace…”

No more words left your lips as he pulled you closer. Wrapping his arms around your waist and tucking his under your chin. You hesitated for only a moment before you returned his embrace. Resting your cheek on the crown of his head.

“You make me feel real,” he whispered, his voice muffled against your neck.

You were sure he could have felt the rapid thump of your heartbeat now. But his was beating just the same.

The words hung heavy between you. The feelings between you both had been unspoken since the beach. Though it was only a few weeks, the tension had only grown more with separation.

You didn’t know what to say, but you realised you didn’t need to say anything. Your lips pressed to his curls, tightening your arms around his shoulders.

Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips. We should just kiss like real people do…

The warmth of your lips on his skin was like a wave of calm. A balm to his tortured mind. Your mere presence seemed to hold the ability to fix his problems.

One of the hands on your waist moved to hold your hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to your palm.

But when his eyes met yours this time, there was only one thing he wished to do.

The kiss was gentle, tentative. But every ounce of love and affection that he held for you into it. The arm around your waist pulling you ever tighter into his hold.

And when the kiss broke, your leaned down to rest your forehead against his. Everything felt different, in the best way.

He was yours and you were his. For just a moment, Jacaerys could pretend he was just a normal person. He was happy and loved for who he was.

And you silently vowed to make it so he would feel that way forever.

I could not ask you where you came from. I could not ask and neither could you…

Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips. We could just kiss like real people do.

Jace Taglist:

@legitalicat @thenameswinter99 @sylasthegrim

@blissfulphilospher @elaratyrell @multyfangirl

(if you want to be added/deleted, let me know)

#follower milestone #milestone celebration #jacaerys velaryon #prince jacaerys #jacaerys x reader #hotd jacaerys #jacaerys velaryon x reader #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon

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gatorbites-imagines · 1 day ago

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Hi! Hi! Fiesta time requesting to ya and was hoping if can place this ask here. I made sure to read you're rules so if I do somthing wrong then ignore my ask.

So Yautja's know that humans do not have strong instics as they do but they have certain things the Yautja don't have. Like uncanny valley.

So in this, the Yautja is with their human when they suddenly freeze. When they ask their human what's wrong, they don't awnser, just stearing off at somthing that they see. The Yautja can smell the fear and panic off of them.

What does the Yautja do?

Please please please please ignore this if I went aginst you're rules! Have a good day/night

Male Yautja OC (Bako) x male reader

Headcanons

I imagined this as Bako, who was mentioned a few times in my last yautja post, which you can read here.

Bako is a very chill Yautja compared to others. Hes already had multiple offspring and is still in his prime. It gives him a good amount of confidence and comfort in himself.

It also makes him a bit of a tease to his ooman lover, throwing you over his shoulder or just moving you around as he pleased, unless it really annoys you when he does.

He loves the size difference between you as well. You’ll catch him pressing his orange scaled hand against your own every now and then just to look at the difference. Bako always grumbles happily a about it.

But just because he’s more chill than most Yautja doesn’t mean he isn’t as active and aware as everyone else, he’s just great at hiding it behind an easygoing facade. Dating a normal ooman definitely makes him even more on edge and protective.

Hed try to teach you how to at least defend yourself or how to sharpen your instincts enough to protect yourself. You might not be able to kill another yautja in their prime, but you will be able to maul them enough to give you time to get away. Then he will hunt them down and present their skull to you.

Seeing you with a weapon also makes him grumble even more, arms crossed over his chest and his yellow eyes sparkling as he watches you use different firearms. Especially the firearms hes specially kitted for you to fit your hands and size.

If you take an interest in camoflague hed be more than happy to show you too, since hes mastered the art. Even without all his gear, Bako is able to melt into the background with ease after years of practice.

Having a more colorful shade in his scales meant he had to be really good at what he did, or he would have died one way or another. He just has to figure out how to really blend the different colors on your human skin.

But even with all this, Bako is always weary like any Yautja worth their salt should be. This is also why he notices pretty much immediately that you are weirded out or weary about something.

Having a Yautja partner can be pretty damn annoying sometimes with how protective and possessive they’ll be. Even if you guys are walking through what’s supposed to be a peaceful market, you still find Bako almost glued against your back.

Maybe you spot a species that just looks… uncomfortably human. But not really. You know like those ai robots that have skin that doesn’t really fit, or they blink too slowly and more too stiffly.

It makes you freeze for a moment, immediately sending alarm bells ringing inside Bakos head. There should be no reason for you to freeze, his clan had come to this market for years and it should be safe.

But smelling the discomfort and uncomfortable fear from you makes his mandibles flare under his mask, looking down at you for a moment to see where you are looking, before snapping his head in that direction, ready to kill.

Of course, you end up having to hold him back and explain that no, that alien didn’t say or do anything, yes, you were okay. It was just a weird human survival reaction.

You end up having to explain uncanny valley to him, and how once upon a time, humans developed pattern recognition for survival reasons.

This makes sense to Bako after you explain. He mentions something about other species that looked like humans coming to earth, to hunt humans, so of course you guys developed survival instincts against them.

This has you thinking “excuse me, what?” because what did he mean by that. of course, Bako just shrugs and goes “I thought you knew” and keeps you guys moving, as if he didn’t just drop that bomb on you.

Bako keeps being extra protective the rest of the day, as if just the smell of your fear keeps him on edge. Just in case, ya know? What if something jumps out of the shadows at you? You never knew out here. You just have to accept it, and accept all the cuddles later.

#male reader #yautja #yautja oc #predator #monster lover #monster boyfriend #alien vs predator #yautja x male reader #yautja x reader #yautja imagine #yautja headcanon #come get yall alien boyfriend #Bako has grown on me #i love Bako please ask me about Bako

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gamesetattach · 3 days ago

Text

Crushing Feelings

Jannik Sinner x Reader Nothing like an unrequited crush being rubbed in your face all the fucking time to help you move on... said no one ever

When you first joined Jannik Sinner’s team, it was all business.

As a performance analyst, you were responsible for analyzing opponents, developing match plans, and ensuring Jannik had every tactical edge possible when he stepped onto the court. You had a knack for seeing patterns others didn’t, for noticing weaknesses that even the most seasoned strategists overlooked. You had quickly become an indispensable part of the team; the final, decisive piece—the last nail in the head keeping him pinned to the No. 1 spot.

It had been nearly a year now, and you were fully embedded into the tight-knit unit that traveled and trained with Jannik week in and week out. The team functioned like a family, moving like a well-oiled machine through the stacked tennis schedule. The older members—the coaches, the trainer, the physio—had easily adopted you into their dynamic, acting almost parental in the many moments between professionalism; they'd offer guidance, tease you good-naturedly, and make sure neither you or Jannik lost yourselves in the intensity of the tour.

But along with your developing relationship in the team came a growing problem: you were starting to fall in love with their golden boy.

---

Jannik had been oblivious from the start.

It had started as a harmless attraction, because who didn't entertain their days with a little work crush. But somewhere along the line it had shifted into something deeper, and you couldn't be sure when. Maybe it had been the first time he actually laughed at one of your sarcastic remarks instead of just kind of blinking at you. Or maybe it was that first late-night strategy session, when you sat side by side reviewing footage for hours and he trusted every one of your calls without question. Or maybe—and most likely—it was just that he was Jannik. Kind, driven, determined, sweet Jannik.

The rest of the team picked up on your little thing for him pretty quickly.

Their teasing was subtle, but relentless, because how could they not take the bait, what with all the time you spent pining after him. Like when you lingered a little too long after practice, or when you went the extra mile to make sure his game plan was perfect, when your frustration at his losses held a little more emotion than it should have.

“Don’t watch him so hard, he’ll still need an analyst when he’s thirty,” Uli, his physio, had once told you after you’d spent an extra two, unnecessary hours analyzing a match tape. You didn't like the smirk on his face when he'd said it, and you avoided the knowing glint in his eyes.

Marco, his trainer, didn't bother with any allusions and would just go straight into it. "If I didn’t know better, which I don't, I’d say you were trying to impress him."

You had rolled your eyes, flipping through your notes. "Yeah, because nothing says ‘romance’ like match statistics."

You withstood their teasing with grace, knowing it was all in good jest and that Jannik would never catch on. Besides, you could hardly deny their claims. He had you incurably charmed, and it went beyond his dedication as a player or his support of your tactics. It was the small things—his deadpan, goofy humor that had you snorting into your drink at dinner, or his surprising ability to remember the smallest details about you, like knowing which of the tour's cities you most wanted to experience or even how you preferred your tea before bed.

The more you knew him, and the more he knew you, the more your feelings fortified. But then, throughout it all, there was Jannik himself: utterly clueless.

---

When you first joined, Jannik had been in a long-term relationship. His then-girlfriend was present at the occasional tournament, and you had been nothing but professional. The crush had been minor back then, a non-issue really. Just a silly, rational admiration for the best player in the world. But a few months into your tenure, Jannik and his girlfriend broke up.

And something shifted soon after that.

You got closer, in a way that felt separate from your work. There were little moments that made you think that maybe—that just maybe—something could happen. The way he lingered after meetings, how he always found excuses to stay near you during travel, all the private jokes you had from the late night, plane conversations. It had been so easy to believe there might be something there. That he might feel the same.

And then he started dating another tennis player.

That one had been harder to stomach.

You had spent too much time with him by then, and often caught yourself daydreaming about things you shouldn’t. Seeing him in a new relationship, in such close and constant proximity, had been a slap of reality, forcing you to bury whatever flicker of hope you had allowed yourself to entertain.

So you buried your feelings, put on a brave face, and committed yourself to maintaining your friendship and professionalism without willing for something more.

But soon his latest relationship fizzled too, and Jannik was single yet again. Still, you refused to backtrack on the promise you had made yourself. You swore you wouldn’t pine; that you'd put yourself out there and move on. You had vowed that you wouldn't just wait for something that was never going to happen.

And so you had to push down any hope that tried to resurface even though he was single once more. Though 'forcing' yourself to move on was mostly just you pretending to.

If you had learned anything in your time with this team, it was that you had a job to do—one that you did well. You weren’t going to let a little crush ruin that.

Besides, Jannik Sinner was nothing if not uninterested.

And just when you'd finally started to convince yourself of that, Jannik began acting differently...

---

It started small.

Something about the way he interacted with you had undeniably changed, deepened. It wasn’t drastic, probably not conscious enough for him to notice, but you did. It was in the way he'd look for you on court during practice, how he always seemed to find his way to wherever you were in whatever hotel, how he'd casually prop himself against the nearest surface as if there was no where else he'd rather be.

There'd been one night, after an especially long travel day full of delays and last-minute changes, where one of his gestures of this newfound affection had first caught you off guard. Too exhausted to continue standing, you had plopped on the hotel floor outside your room to sift through your bag for the keycard you’d only just received. Frustrated and tired, after a whole day of misplacing things, it felt like the last straw. Jannik, having heard the rummaging and loaded sighs from down the hall, walked over to you, racket bag slung over his shoulder. Without a word, he crouched beside you, pulled your backpack into his lap, and started searching with a level of patient concentration that made you and your worries feel like the most important thing in the world. When he found it tucked into some inner pocket, he held it up with an easy smirk.

“You really should get a better system,” he teased, pressing it into your palm before standing and holding a hand out to help you up.

Another time, you had spilled a drink on your top during a meeting while reviewing match notes on your laptop. Immediately, Jannik wet a clean towel from his bag, reached for the hem of your shirt, and carefully dabbed at the fabric. He hadn't even stopped talking, his attention still on the discussion at hand, as if it were the most natural thing for him to tend to you like that.

There was also the night after a particularly grueling match when he had found you in the hotel lobby well past midnight, working through data with a frustrated expression. Instead of telling you to sleep, he slid a bottle of water across the table and just sat down next to you. "You work too hard," he said simply, his voice softer than usual.

His most common, new thing, though, was this habit of detangling your hair for you. It started when he noticed you tugging through your knots in frustration after a windy and active day. The first time, he had simply reached over and started working through a particularly stubborn section at the nape of your neck. "Hold still," he had instructed, so focused that he didn’t notice the way your breath hitched.

That one had become routine after that. If your hair was messy before or after a long day, as it so often was, and if you seemed too busy to deal with it yourself, he’d see to it without asking. It was never rushed, never a pain—it was an almost unconscious, reflexive act of care for him. Sometimes he'd brush a stray hair from your face just because. And it was one of many small actions that made it very, very difficult for you to move on.

The rest of the team, of course, picked up on all of this. And though they had thankfully stopped picking on you for your feelings sometime during Jannik's last relationship, they'd now taken to teasing him instead.

“Jannik,” Marco drawled one afternoon when you were all waiting for court assignments. "If you’re going to be all over her, at least wait until after the session."

Jannik, who had just nudged your chair closer to his so he could lean over and rest his chin on your shoulder to see your screen, only blinked. "What?"

Uli snorted, exchanging a look with the rest of the team. "Give the girl some room to breath, man. It's like you're stuck to her."

Jannik rolled his eyes, his go-to response when the guys started ganging up on him like this. "We’re just close."

"Yes, yes," even Simone chimed in. "So close, no?"

Jannik just scoffed, laughing it off, completely missing the way you stiffened at how quickly he dismissed the idea of there being anything more. How it was such an incredulous thought for him, all he felt to do was wave it off. How it was an accusation so baseless, he didn't even feel the need to deny it.

It shouldn’t have stung—you were supposed to be moving past it after all. But it still did, because you still hadn't.

---

Your next big stop as a team was his home country, and you hoped that meant he'd have less time for you. As much as you loved it, you could hardly begin to get over him when his attention was all over you.

Turin was bustling when you arrived for the tournament. The first night, the team decided to go out for dinner at a local favorite. Most of the group was back in their native land, and were fully in their element. Only you and Darren were true outsiders here, leaning on the others for cultural guidance. They all happily jumped with recommendations and translations, though, overwhelmed with all their enthusiasm, you had trouble narrowing a dish down.

When the waiter came over and introduced himself to the table, he immediately locked eyes on you after a scan of the group. And though you'd yet to look up and notice, the rest of the team rustled with amusement at his obvious interest in you.

“Ladies first,” he said smoothly, waiting for your order.

Eyes still glued to the menu, you waved to the others and murmured distractedly. “I'm sorry, I still need another minute.”

He went around the table, taking everyone else's orders before circling back. You still weren’t sure, so you asked for the waiter's opinion between two dishes and gestured at the menu, “Between the risotto and this pasta, which would you recommend?"

Vaguely from across the table, Simone tsked; he'd already tried to explain the distinction.

“The flavors are very different,” the waiter began, and you finally raised your eyes to his. The moment you looked up at him and met his gaze, his voice faltered. The words tripped in his throat, and he stammered for half a second before recovering.

The table definitely noticed that.

Marco elbowed Simone. Uli covered his mouth, trying to suppress his laughter. Even Darren smirked at the situation unfolding. You, now aware but patient, simply smiled at him and selected his favorite after his thorough, floundering explanation. No one missed how his cheeks dusted pink when you handed the menus back to him.

The second he left, the table erupted. Though Jannik was notably, and uncharacteristically, silent throughout the commotion.

“Dio mio” Marco cackled, shaking his head. “Poor kid couldn’t even think straight.”

You shook your head and shushed them, suppressing a smile. “Oh please, leave the guy alone! What if he comes back and hears?”

“If?” Uli snorted. “He’s definitely coming back every five minutes just for you."

"At least we're assured good service." Darren added, still chuckling to himself.

You had rolled your eyes, but, sure enough, the waiter continued to check in on your table far more times than necessary. Each stop, the team made sure to give him a hard time.

After one of his visits, Marco muttered something in Italian to him. The waiter's eyes flickered towards you, and he grinned before responding.

The trainer chuckled, nodding approvingly. "Good man."

Next to you, Jannik had gone completely rigid.

You'd noticed his unusual quiet throughout the meal and hadn't wanted to pry, but now you gently asked, “What’s wrong?”

He barely looked at you. “Nothing.”

You shrugged and rejoined the table's conversation as the waiter walked away with a smile your way for the dozenth time that night.

“What did he say?” you asked, you'd picked up the word bellisima but not much else.

Uli smiled. “He said you’re very beautiful and that he’s working up the courage to ask you out.”

You eyebrows shot up. “Wait—really?”

Jannik now focused his gaze somewhere off in the distance, and chugged his water glass dry. You glanced over as the table rattled when he firmly set the cup down, but shook your head and chose to move past his mood. He wasn't your responsibility, and this waiter could be the first, real opportunity for you to move on. The rest of the team, however, exchanged knowing glances at Jannik's obvious irritation.

You brought the attention back to your inquiry, your expression still one of pleasant surprise. You glanced toward the waiter, who was still hovering nearby, before looking back at the team, a smile tugging at your lips. “He said he was going to actually ask me out?”

Jannik’s grip on his fork tightened and, voice sharper than necessary, he snapped, “Does it even matter?”

The abruptness stunned you, and had the rest of the table stilling.

“Excuse me?” You frowned, turning to him. “I think he’s cute, and, honestly, I’d love to go on a date. So what?”

When his expression only darkened and his jaw clicked, you scoffed and continued. “Why do you even care? It has nothing to do with you.”

He didn’t answer. But the rest of the team had silently glanced around at each other with hidden, knowing smiles and drawn breaths.

The waiter continued his frequent check ups, except now Jannik was all but fuming. You basked in the attention, leaning into it—flashing the waiter soft smiles, brushing your fingers against his as you passed a plate. And each time, Jannik sat silent and tense, picking at his food.

He watched it all unfold, displeasure plain on his face.

But dinner wrapped up and the waiter's ask never came. Jannik rushed to pay the bill as you tried not to look around expectantly. Jannik mood seemed to lift instantly as they exited the establishment. Finally perked up, he practically ran the group out of the place.

You, however, felt disappointment settle in your chest. So much for a fun, Italian fling.

Seeing Jannik’s smug reaction only made it worse. You tried to play off being let down, but huffed when you caught that satisfied smirk he wasn't even trying to suppress.

You muttered, “Asshole,” under your breath.

Jannik turned to you, frowning. "What did I do?"

You rolled your eyes, and the rest of the team just shook their heads at him in warning.

Then, before you could answer, you heard hurried footsteps patter behind you and watched as Jannik’s face fell.

“Wait!”

You turned to find the waiter had run after you, only slightly breathless as he reached. “I—sorry, I meant to ask sooner. I just got off now, and maybe I take you around the city?”

You couldn't help but smile at his earnest. "What, like right now?"

He shrugged and nodded, "If you want? If you have the time."

"Sure, why not." You accepted easily. "I'd love to."

You glance at the team, ignoring Jannik and the way he had gone stone-faced. “I’ll see you all later.”

They smiled and waved you off, and even gave the waiter a too-strong pat on the back—a warning no doubt. You didn’t spare Jannik another glance as you walked off.

---

Jannik didn’t sulk. At least, that’s what he told himself. He was not sulking.

But even he had to admit, sitting in the team’s shared hotel suite while staring blankly at his phone while the rest of the team watched a movie, he probably looked a little sulky. His mind was elsewhere, tracing over the way you had smiled at the waiter, the way you had walked away with him.

“Mate,” Darren finally sighed, switching off the TV and leaning back in his chair with arms crossed. “I think it’s time you ask yourself why this is bothering you so much.”

Jannik frowned, ready to argue, but Uli cut in. “Yeah—don't be an idiot.”

Simone, who was getting up to leave for his room, gently hit him upside the head.

Jannik huffed, shaking his head. “I don’t—” He stopped himself. The words I don’t care felt hollow, even to him.

No one argued further. They just let him stew in his thoughts. Eventually, one by one, they filtered out for the night, leaving Jannik alone.

He didn’t know how long he sat there before he heard the door to the suite open. He looked up to see you walking in, looking flushed and giddy from the night out. You stopped short when you saw him, a flicker of residual anger crossing your face before you exhaled and shook your head.

“I’m not letting you ruin my mood,” you said immediately, pointing at him. “I had too good a time to let you get to me.”

He opened his mouth, but you were already turning to head toward your room.

“Wait, please.” he said, standing abruptly. His voice was soft, sincere in a way that made you pause. “Can we talk?”

You hesitated, still facing your door, before finally exhaling. You pushed it open and gestured for him to follow. “Fine, whatever.”

Inside, you leaned against the dresser, arms crossed. He lingered by the door, shifting his weight. The hesitation was unlike him, and you raised a brow. “Well? What is it, Jan?”

Jannik ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I was an ass before,” he admitted. “And I'm sorry. I got pissed and I—I think I was jealous.”

Your expression didn’t shift, but you know he saw the way your fingers curled slightly at your sides. He pushed forward, voice quieter now. “And I think—no, I know—it’s because I have feelings for you.”

Silence stretched between you. For a moment, he thought maybe you hadn’t heard him. Until, suddenly, you let out a dry, bitter laugh.

“Oh, now you have feelings for me?” you snapped, pushing off the dresser and throwing your hands in the air in disbelief. “When I’ve spent all this time pining after you, waiting and hoping—while you act the way you do to me like it's nothing? But now, the second I go on a date and have a nice time, you decide it was actually something?”

Jannik’s mouth opened, but he didn’t have a response. He could only follow as you led him to the door, swinging it open.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered. “Go to bed, Jannik.”

The door shut in his face before he could process what had happened.

---

He barely slept.

The frustration, the sadness, the regret—he didn’t know what to do with it. He had thought admitting his feelings would be enough. But clearly, he had missed something. He had hurt you, even when he had never meant to. And now, he wasn't sure if he had gone and ruined everything.

A knock at his door woke him. He blinked blearily, disoriented, and dragged himself up to answer it.

It was you.

Still in your night clothes, hair slightly frizzy—and in spite of the night before, Jannik only wanted to smile at the sight of you. His finger itched to fix the few stray strands of hair displaced from the part of your hair. You always were the favorite part of his day, it just might have taken too long for him to realize.

You crossed your arms and pushed past him, letting yourself in with a small sigh.

“I shouldn’t have blown up like that,” you admitted, shifting on your feet. “I needed to get it out of my system. But... you should know, I— I do have feelings for you. And I have for a long while.”

His stomach flipped. He stayed silent, waiting, as you met his gaze steadily.

“But if we do this,” you continued, voice firm, “we start slow. We’re intentional. I’m not doing… whatever that was again, and I won't let myself be led on.”

He nodded immediately. “I have to earn you.”

Something softened in your expression, he always was too sweet for his own good. You took a small step forward and shrugged. “Yeah,” you murmured. “You do.”

Then, to his surprise, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He barely had time to register the warmth before you pulled back, watching his reaction with an amused look.

His lips curled into a slow grin, one that was playful and a little relieved. “So,” he said, tilting his head. “Can I take you out tonight?”

You hummed, pretending to consider it. “Mmm… I might be able to fit you in, but I have another date with the waiter.”

His smile faltered, brows furrowing slightly with something in between panic and disbelief.

You laughed, reaching up to pat his cheek. “Relax, I’m kidding.”

He exhaled in relief before his grin returned, wider this time. He caught your hand as you drew it away from his face and checked once more, anyways. “So you're free? You accept?”

You rolled your eyes, pulling away from his grasp, but the way you smiled told him everything he needed to know.

---

Thought about splitting this into parts, then was like nah eff that and so here we are: a longer one-shot. Hope you enjoyed today's fic xx

#jannik sinner #jannik sinner x reader #jannik sinner blurb #jannik sinner one-shot #jannik sinner fanart #jannik sinner smut #atp tour x reader #tennis #tennis fic #jannik sinner fluff #forza jannik #GameSetAttach #jannik sinner one shot

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vandme12 · 2 days ago

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the opposite of the ronin x cold!reader one? a reader who runs warm enough they either overheat themselves if ronin also runs warm, or really like cuddling with ronin because it cools them down if he’s a heat sink

"Too Hot to Handle"

The heat clung to you, thick and stifling, as if the world itself had decided to smother you alive. Summer nights were unbearable—sheets tangled around your legs, sweat gathering at your collar, the mere thought of another human body pressing against you enough to make you recoil. But Ronin?

Ronin was cold.

Not just in demeanor—though that was an undeniable part of his charm—but in the literal, physical sense. His touch was always just a little cooler than expected, his presence an unnatural relief against your overheated skin.

It started as an accident, really. A brush of his hand against yours, and you shivered despite the oppressive heat. He noticed, of course. He always noticed.

“Oh? What’s this?” His voice coiled around you like silk-draped steel, amusement laced with something sharper. “Didn’t take ya for the clingy type, sweetheart.”

You scowled, shifting further from him on the couch. The oscillating fan did nothing to combat the way the summer air wrapped around you like a too-tight vice. “I’m not,” you muttered. “You’re just… cold.”

That damn smirk spread across his face like oil in water. “Cold? Sweetheart, I’m positively burning with passion.”

“Shut up.”

He chuckled, stretching his arms along the back of the couch, making a deliberate show of his presence. “So what you’re saying,” he mused, “is that you wanna cozy up to the Devil himself just ‘cause he runs a little cool?”

You refused to answer. You refused to give him the satisfaction.

But you couldn’t help it.

The nights got hotter. The air got heavier. And Ronin was right there.

At first, you resisted. Pride was a cruel master, keeping you just far enough away to suffer. But he was patient. Oh, he knew. He saw the way your fingers twitched, how your body wavered like a moth circling too close to an open flame—except, in this case, he was the ice, and you were the one burning alive.

And then, one particularly wretched night, you cracked.

“Not. A. Word,” you growled as you slid closer, pressing against his side, sighing in immediate relief as the coolness of his body seeped into yours.

Ronin, to his credit, didn’t gloat. Not immediately, anyway. He let out a slow, almost lazy exhale, shifting just enough to accommodate you, before murmuring, “See? Ain’t this nice?”

You scowled against his shoulder. “Die.”

“Already did, sweetheart. Didn’t take.” His arm draped over your shoulders, fingers feather-light against your overheated skin. He was careful, at first—watching, waiting. Testing your tolerance. But when you didn’t immediately shove him away, his grip tightened just a fraction, pulling you in closer.

And, god help you, you let him.

His body was a stark contrast to yours. Where you burned, he cooled. Where your skin was too warm, his was a welcome relief. It should have been unsettling, how much of a difference there was between you two, but instead, it was… intoxicating.

“You’re really soakinn’ this up, huh?” His voice was lower now, amusement tempered by something else. Something quieter. “Didn’t think you’d be so needy.”

You pinched his side—earning a low chuckle—but didn’t pull away. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You wanted to. Oh, you wanted to. But moving meant peeling yourself away from the one thing keeping you from spontaneously combusting. So instead, you muttered a half-hearted, “Later,” against his chest, feeling the way his breath hitched just slightly at the contact.

Interesting.

His fingers traced slow, idle patterns against your shoulder. “Gonna hold you to that,” he murmured, voice like a promise edged in something darker.

The minutes stretched, the heat of the night forgotten in favor of the cool, steady rhythm of his breathing. You should have been embarrassed at how easily you melted into him, how natural it felt to fold yourself into the space he made for you.

But Ronin didn’t tease. Not really.

He just held you there, the Devil himself playing the part of your personal ice pack, the steady rise and fall of his chest lulling you into something dangerously close to comfort.

It was stupid. It was reckless.

But god, it felt good.

And Ronin? Well.

He’d never admit it, but he liked it, too.

Even if he did take every opportunity to remind you about it the next morning.

"You sure you wanna get up?" His voice was a lazy purr against your ear. "Not that I mind, but after how much you clung to me last night, I figured you'd wanna stay close."

Your pillow hit him square in the face.

His laughter was worth the heat.

For now.

#kc #killer chat #killerchat #killer chat x reader #ronin beaufort #killer chat ronin #ronin x reader #kc ronin #kc ronin x reader #killer chat ronin x reader

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goldfades · 11 hours ago

Note

Hi:))) could you write something about Booker proposing to Reader, please?

i hope you enjoy!!! hubby devin is soo cutesy

You met Devin in a way that made you believe in fate a little more than you probably should have. One of those right place, right time situations—except, in hindsight, it was never just timing. It was how he looked at you like he already knew you, how the conversation never felt forced, how his presence settled something in you rather than stirring it up. He wasn’t the loudest guy in the room, never needed to be, but from the moment you met him, he had this gravitational pull. And you? You never stood a chance.

The early days had been easy, seamless in a way that made it hard to believe. No guessing games, no second-guessing. Just long drives with the windows down, his hand on your thigh, a playlist full of old-school R&B and whatever song you’d been obsessed with that week. He had this way of making everything feel slower, like the world could wait for you two to finish your conversation before it kept spinning.

And then, of course, there was basketball. Devin’s love for the game bled into every part of his life, and by extension, into yours. You had learned to tell what kind of game he had just by the way he walked through the door—victories came with an easy grin, slow and satisfied, while losses weighed on his shoulders in a way only you knew how to lift. You loved him for it, for the way he cared, for the way he never let it make him anything less than the man you had fallen for.

The years had been kind to you both. Through seasons and off-seasons, through quiet nights and loud arenas, through stretches of time where the only way you could reach him was through a grainy FaceTime call in a different time zone. But it had always been worth it. Because at the end of the day, it was him. It had always been him.

And lately, you’d started noticing the way he looked at you—like he had a secret he was dying to tell.

Devin had never been the type to overcomplicate things. He liked to go with the flow, to let life unfold the way it was meant to. Planning wasn’t really his thing—not for trips, not for dinner, not even for his own birthday. But this? This was different. This was you. And if there was one thing in the world worth getting every single detail right for, it was you.

He had known for a while now. Maybe he had always known, but lately, the realization sat heavier on his chest, warm and insistent, like the sun in the Arizona sky. He would catch himself staring at you across the room, watching the way you curled up on his couch like it was yours, flipping through a book with the same concentrated expression you had when you were trying to beat him at cards. Or the way you leaned into his side at dinner, fingers idly tracing patterns on his wrist like you weren’t even aware you were doing it. And, man—if that wasn’t the kind of love that made him believe in forever, he didn’t know what was.

The decision wasn’t hard. That was the easy part. The hard part was figuring out how to ask, because even though he wasn’t one for grand gestures, he knew this couldn’t be something he just winged. You deserved more than a last-minute idea. You deserved the kind of proposal that would sit in your bones for years, one you’d replay in your head on random afternoons and smile about.

So, for the first time in his life, Devin Booker started planning.

It started with the ring—because if he was going to do this, it had to be right. He spent weeks searching, scrolling through jewelers’ websites at night, consulting with a handful of people who would know exactly what you’d like. He even considered asking you outright, but he knew you too well. You’d sniff out what he was up to in a heartbeat. And sure, maybe he could be slick on the court, but off it? Around you? He had no shot.

Next came the how. At first, he thought maybe a big, picturesque setup—something extravagant, something cinematic. But the more he thought about it, the more it didn’t feel like you two. You had always been the best parts of quiet moments. The in-betweens. The stolen seconds before he left for a road trip, the half-asleep murmurs of love you when one of you dozed off on the couch. He didn’t want this to be a spectacle; he wanted it to feel like home.

That’s how he knew. It wouldn’t be some flashy event. No helicopters, no mid-game Jumbotron moment (not that he ever considered that). Just him, you, and the kind of moment that would be yours and yours alone.

Now, all he had to do was actually pull it off.

Devin had never been this meticulous about anything in his life. Not about planning trips, not about packing bags before road games, not even about scouting reports—not in the way he was about this. He was the type to figure things out as he went, to trust his instincts, and nine times out of ten, that worked out just fine. But this? This had to be perfect. Because this wasn’t just a moment; this was the moment. The one that would mark the beginning of something bigger than both of you.

The ring had been the first step, and, honestly, that part had stressed him out more than he cared to admit. Devin Booker, three-time All-Star, calm under pressure with the game on the line, had found himself sweating in high-end jewelry stores, feeling wildly out of his depth as he stared at rows of diamonds that all started to blur together after a while.

But when he finally saw it, he knew.

It wasn’t the biggest or the flashiest, because that wasn’t what this was about. It was timeless. Elegant. The kind of ring he could picture on your finger twenty, thirty, fifty years from now—worn and loved, catching the light as you ran your fingers through your hair. He had spent an unreasonable amount of time picturing it on your hand, getting lost in the thought of you wearing something that told the world you were his, that he was yours. And once he had it, tucked safely in its little velvet box, he carried it with him like a secret, weighty in his pocket, a promise waiting to be made.

Now came the part that had been messing with his head for weeks: how to actually do it.

Devin knew you. He knew you better than anyone. Knew that you weren’t the type who needed grand, flashy declarations, that the idea of being proposed to in front of a hundred people would make you want to disappear into thin air. You liked the quiet things, the intimate things. The moments no one else saw, the ones that lived in the spaces between all the noise.

And when he thought about your moments—the ones that had built the foundation of what you had—it became clear.

It had to be at home.

Not just in the house, but in the life you’d built inside it. The late-night kitchen conversations, sitting on the counter while he cooked because you insisted he made the best eggs. The lazy Sunday mornings with your legs tangled in bed, neither of you in a rush to start the day. The warm glow of the TV as you both dozed off on the couch, his arm instinctively pulling you closer even in sleep.

That’s what he wanted this moment to be. Not some big event. Just you two.

So he started laying the groundwork. He made sure you wouldn’t suspect a thing, playing it cool even when he felt like he might combust from keeping it all in. He paid attention to the little things you said in passing—like how you’d been craving a certain dish from your favorite restaurant, or how you mentioned that the last time you got flowers was forever ago (which, okay, was an exaggeration, but he took the hint). He wanted everything about that night to feel right, to feel like the two of you.

When the night finally came, he could barely sit still.

He had ordered your favorite meal, set up the table just the way you liked it, dimmed the lights just enough to make everything feel softer, warmer. The ring box sat in his pocket, a solid, burning presence against his thigh, like a constant reminder of what was about to happen. He had gone over it a thousand times in his head, but the second he heard your key turn in the lock, his heart kicked up in his chest like he was back in the fourth quarter of a tied game.

And then you walked in, and it hit him all over again.

This is it.

This was the moment that would change everything. The moment he had been waiting for. The moment you would remember forever.

You barely paused to take a breath as you rambled on about the latest season of Love Island, kicking off your shoes the second you stepped through the door. Devin was at the kitchen counter, leaning against it in that effortlessly cool way he always did, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you with an amused expression.

"I'm telling you, Dev, this season is chaos—like, these people don’t even like each other, but they’re moving mad for camera time. It’s embarrassing." You dropped your bag on the counter, shaking your head as you walked toward him. "Like, at least pretend you’re in love, you know? That’s the bare minimum."

Devin let out a soft chuckle, his lips twitching like he was holding back a full grin. "So what I'm hearing is… you're emotionally invested."

You huffed, crossing your arms. "I wouldn't say emotionally—"

"You literally just walked in here talking like you've been personally betrayed."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Okay, maybe a little emotionally invested."

He laughed then, a deep, warm sound that settled into your chest in a way it always did, spreading like heat under your skin. He reached for you, fingers catching yours, pulling you into the space between his legs where he sat perched on a barstool. His hands slid over your waist, settling there like they belonged.

And you? You didn’t suspect a damn thing.

Because this was just him. Just Devin, with his quiet affection, the way he always pulled you close like it was second nature. The way he looked at you, warm and steady, like you were the only thing worth looking at.

"You hungry?" he asked, rubbing slow circles against your lower back with his thumb.

You leaned into him slightly, enjoying the way his body felt against yours. "Starving. I swear, I was this close to getting popcorn at work just to survive."

"Good thing I planned ahead," he said, nodding toward the dinner he had laid out. Your favorite dish, perfectly plated, candles flickering low on the table.

That’s when you paused.

Devin wasn’t not romantic. He had his ways—bringing you your favorite snacks when he came back from road trips, pulling you against him in the mornings before either of you were really awake. But this? The effort? The set up?

Your eyes flickered back to him, suddenly a little suspicious. "Okay, what’s going on?"

He smirked. "What do you mean?"

"You made my favorite dinner. There are candles. You hate candles."

He exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. "I don’t hate candles."

"You claim they make the whole house smell like a Bath & Body Works exploded."

He didn’t argue. Just reached for your hand and pulled you gently toward the table. "Can’t a guy just do something nice for his girl?"

You eyed him, still skeptical, but your stomach was louder than your suspicion, so you sat. Devin made a show of pouring you a glass of wine before settling across from you, watching as you took your first bite.

And for a while, it was easy. Normal. You got lost in the food, in the way Devin kept the conversation flowing, letting you ramble about your day, about Love Island, about whatever popped into your head. He was good at that—at making space for you, at making you feel like everything you said was worth listening to.

You were so caught up in it that you didn’t even notice the way his knee was bouncing slightly under the table. Or how he kept fiddling with his napkin. Or the way his jaw clenched every time he reached for his pocket, only to stop himself.

Until, finally, after what felt like a lifetime for him, he cleared his throat.

"You know I love you, right?"

You looked up mid-bite, eyebrows raised. "Obviously." You chewed, swallowed. "Is this a bad news kind of ‘I love you’ or a normal one?"

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Nah. No bad news."

"Good, because you scared me for a sec." You reached for your wine, taking a sip before meeting his eyes again.

And that’s when you noticed it.

The way he was looking at you.

Like he was about to change your life.

Your stomach flipped, and suddenly, you weren’t so sure if it was just the food warming you from the inside out.

Devin shifted, reaching into his pocket. His fingers curled around something, and when he pulled it out, your heart slammed against your ribs.

Small. Velvet. A ring box.

Your breath caught, eyes flicking between the box in his hand and the expression on his face—this mix of love and nervousness and something else, something deeper.

He stood slowly, circling around the table until he was in front of you, and before you could even process what was happening, he was sinking to one knee.

Your hands flew to your mouth. "Oh my God."

His hands were steady, even if his heart was threatening to beat out of his chest. He had pictured this moment over and over, had run through every possible scenario, but nothing prepared him for the way you were looking at him now—eyes wide, lips slightly parted, your breath coming out in shallow, uneven puffs.

It was you. It had always been you.

"Baby," he started, his voice softer than you had ever heard it. "I—I don’t even know where to start, because there’s just so much I wanna say."

Your hands were trembling as you lowered them from your mouth, resting them over your chest, like you were trying to keep your heart from bursting out.

Devin swallowed, wetting his lips. "I knew, from the second I met you, that this was different. That you were different. And every single day since, you’ve proven me right. It’s not just that I love you. It’s that I need you, in a way I didn’t even know was possible."

Tears pricked your eyes, and you let out a shaky laugh. "Devin—"

"I wanna wake up next to you for the rest of my life. I wanna hear you complain about Love Island for years to come. I wanna be the person you turn to when things get hard, and the one you celebrate with when things go right. I wanna love you like this—always."

You felt like you were floating. Like none of this was real. But it was.

Devin flipped open the box, revealing the most perfect ring you had ever seen—classic, elegant, you.

"Marry me," he murmured, voice thick with emotion. "Please."

Your breath left you all at once, and for a second, all you could do was stare at him—the man you had loved for so long, the man who was asking you to be his forever.

There was only one answer.

"Yes," you whispered, then stronger, louder, "Yes. Yes."

And the second the words left your mouth, he was up, wrapping you in his arms, pulling you into the kind of kiss that left you breathless.

And just like that, your forever began.

#devin booker #devin booker x reader #devin booker fic #devin booker imagine

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