#like I’ve seen it but I don’t see ENOUGH of it

[pellucid-constellations]

Flightless Bird

Pairing: Azriel x Human!Reader

Summary: Azriel was not supposed to be in the mortal lands. Azriel was not supposed to love a mortal. He couldn't find it in him to care.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Mentions of injury and death, a little bit wistful I suppose

a/n: I am struggling to write!! So I'm sorry if this is all jumbled and weird 😭 Please enjoy me trying to get my act together I love you allll <3

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

Azriel was not where he was supposed to be. He knew that—knew his High Lord would be disappointed at his whereabouts—and he went anyway. 

It was often hard to blend into the mortal lands, but he was not unused to the discomfort that came with slinking around alley corners and plastering his wings to his back. If a human saw him, he would be in greater trouble than a simple tongue-lashing from Rhysand. 

He hadn’t been caught yet. 

“Azriel.” 

Well—he hadn’t been caught by anyone he wouldn't want to be caught by. 

Azriel turned on his heel, his back pressed against the biting cold of the cobblestone alley. You stood before him with a basket on your arm and an accusatory gleam pointed up with your gaze. The collar of your dress was slightly askew and if he looked hard enough, he could see bits of basil on your sleeve hem. 

He fought the smile that edged onto his face, not wanting to mock your exasperation. “Y/n,” he cordially greeted. 

You huffed. “Don’t say that so casually.” 

“Your name?” 

“Your death sentence, more like. You know you shouldn’t be here.” 

Ah, yes—Azriel could not forget that multiple people did not want him meandering about the mortal lands. Rhysand didn’t want him here because of the trouble it could cause. You didn’t want him here because you thought the humans would kill him. A small misconception that he found endearing.

“Why not?” Azriel questioned, tilting his head to the side as you stepped forward. You peered over his shoulder past the mouth of the alley in hurried agitation. 

“How long have you been here?” you asked, brushing off his question. “Has anyone seen you? Here, quickly—most people are at the market event so we can make it to my house.” 

And Azriel had gotten exactly what he wanted the second you wrapped your hand around his forearm. He let you tug him around more corners and watched as you anxiously bit into your lip and fretted for his imagined safety. At one point, he had whisked the herb basket from your arm and held it loosely at his fingertips. You only glanced back at him for a moment, too concerned with shoving him into the too-small front door of your home. 

Azriel set the basket down on the quaint table by the fire and felt his bones settle in the soft glow of your home. While you busied yourself by locking the door and slamming the windows shut, he casually looked around the space and breathed in the spices and rich wood that calmed him. He had difficulty describing this feeling to others, so he coveted it instead. 

The slick of your curtains shutting seemed to end your tirade, and you then turned to him with an exasperated hand on your hip. “I’ve told you to send word if you’re coming. I can ensure you’re not seen, but only if I know you’re here.” 

Azriel was almost positive you didn’t understand he was a spy. He had explained his job to you many times, but you never seemed to take it into account when you were concerned over his stealth in the human lands. 

“I can get around fine. I wanted to find you,” he calmly replied. 

“Why don’t you wait at my house then? Rather than roaming about the streets? You know I’ll end up here eventually.” 

How was Azriel supposed to say that he liked to watch you? That he found joy in seeing you in the woods picking herbs or at the market selling your remedies. No, he figured that would be an odd thing to say to a human, so instead he offered a shrug and you replied with another tortured sigh. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose and murmured his name. 

“I don’t mean to burden you,” Azriel apologized. “I only wanted to see you. It’s been… a while.” 

When you looked back up, all vexation slid from your expression, replaced instead by soft reproach. “Burden me—Azriel, you don’t burden me. I worry for you, but it’s not a burden. Any time you need to use my home for work it’s available to you.”

You never understood. Azriel said he wanted to see you, not use your home. He had offered many of these admittances in the past and you never found their meaning. He had asked Feyre about that in a night of desperation a few months ago. She had sworn not to tell anyone and made Azriel privy to the inferiority humans felt when compared to fae. 

“She probably isn’t even considering that, Az,” Feyre had softly replied, unvoiced confusion twisting her brow. “How did you meet her again?” 

“I don’t need to use your home. Not this time,” Azriel revealed. 

“A short mission then?” 

“I’m not here for a mission.” 

Confusion pinched your expression. “I don’t understand.” 

Azriel took a step forward, shadows splaying out under his boot. The wood creaked. “I told you—I wanted to see you.” 

You uncrossed your arms, allowing Azriel to see your chest rise and fall unsteadily. You looked down to his feet, tracking the small movements he was making towards you, and then caught his eye once more. 

“Is this about Harrison? He hasn’t bothered me since.” 

Azriel’s eyes slipped closed for a moment. Harrison. The good-for-nothing human man who wouldn’t leave you alone for months. Azriel had made up multiple stories for being in the mortal lands around that time—to both you and Rhys. In the end, Harrison moved on and you hadn’t had an explanation for it. 

Azriel had a very clear explanation. 

“It’s not about that, though I am glad he’s leaving you alone.” 

You hummed, the sound perfectly matching your reproachful nod. “Right. So I’m safe. And you don’t have a mission. Why would you need to see me?” 

Feyre had clearly been right; you hadn’t even considered the possibility that Azriel was taken by you. And that made sense. Azriel couldn’t really understand it himself. You were a human—destined for a short life and vulnerable to so many things. 

Azriel would live twenty lifetimes and you would only live one. 

But he couldn’t get you out of his head. 

From that first day he saw you in these dreary lands he had been dreaming of you, unable to have a thought without connecting it back to the softness of your hair or the way your skin seemed to glow under the sun. He had approached you a couple of days after that first look. It hadn’t gone well, obviously, and Azriel had to admit that being punched by a human hurt more than he expected. 

You were nothing if not logical, however, and after getting a few unreciprocated punches in, you stopped and listened to him. He had truly needed help at that time, unrest with a few rogue members of Hewn City sending him your way, and in the best interest of your village, you gave him a place to hide. 

It had been awkward—for him. 

You had been comfortable with him from the start and he was the one shifting in his seat each time you passed. He hadn’t been around many humans, and although the Archeron sisters had given him some experience, they were nothing like you. You yanked him around alleyways and shoved herbs in his mouth that wouldn’t actually heal him. You were stubborn and didn’t take no for an answer and you went headfirst into everything. Azriel could remember a time a couple of months after meeting you that he was sure his heart stopped, your foot slipping on a ladder as you helped him search for human information. 

He was constantly reminded how fragile you were. The bruise he spotted on your wrist now was practically mocking him. 

He knew how fragile you were, and he still came back. He couldn’t help it. 

“Can I not just wish to see you?” Azriel asked, his words now reaching your skin with his proximity. 

Your lashes fluttered. You let out a small breath. “Fancy court life get boring? Needed a reminder of the desolation of the human lands?” 

Azriel had been foolish to think your bite would disappear with a short bout of flustering. “I don’t think they’re desolate. Not with you here.” 

“What are you doing?” you whispered. Azriel watched you fiddle with your sleeve, the darkened skin of your bruise stealing his breath once more. 

His eyes tracked back up to your face. “Do you really not know?” 

The space between you was sparse; any other human would be cowering in fear. 

“Azriel—” 

“Tell me to stop and I will. I’ll leave if you wish for me to.” 

“I don’t want that.” 

“Then tell me what you want.” 

You dropped your hands to your sides, a war waging in your eyes. Azriel was having a difficult time parsing out the opposing sides—if you were scared of him or if you thought about him as much as he did you.

“I’m human. I’m nothing.” 

Azriel abandoned his wonder, reaching his hand up to cup your face. He hesitated, allowing you time to move away from his touch. You didn’t. He took the liberty of holding you between both of his hands rather than one. 

“I’ve never thought that. Don’t say that,” he pressed. 

You looked pained, vulnerability seeping into your usually strong expression. You always had to be strong here. “It’s true. You don’t think I’ve—Azriel, I’ve… felt things for you that I shouldn’t. Wanted things I shouldn’t. But I’m mortal. I’m just a human. And you could have so much more than—” 

Azriel was already shaking his head. He didn’t understand any of this. You were right—in a way. This wasn’t natural. 

Azriel still spoke as if it were. “I don’t care about any of that. I don’t want anything else. The year I’ve known you I have thought of little else.”

“But that’s just it, Azriel,” you began, an incredulous laugh punctuating your words. “A year. A year that I have aged and been changed. A year that feels long and hard for a human and it was nothing but a drop in the bucket for you. You will have centuries of them. You won’t die from sickness or injury or famine. You—we couldn't… I am human.” 

“And I don’t care,” Azriel repeated. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and he readjusted his grip on you. “I don’t understand why, but I don’t, y/n. I know this isn’t sensible and I don’t care. I don’t care if it’s short. I love you.” 

Your eyes widened, words caught in your throat. And Azriel didn’t care if you said it back. He didn’t care if he had made a fool of himself. For the first time in centuries, he loved and he did it without secrecy and fear. 

Maybe it was the brevity of it all. Maybe it was because you belonged to only him, his family unaware of your existence. Azriel didn’t care about the origin. He only cared about you. 

“This can’t work,” you whispered. Logical. Always so logical. 

“It doesn’t have to work. It just has to be.” 

You gripped his wrists, desperation in your eyes. “What does that even mean?” 

Azriel hesitated, and then he kissed you. He pressed his lips to yours and he felt the way your heart beat in the pulsing heat of your skin. You were warm—always warm—and your body moved without the fluidity of fae and Azriel wanted nothing more. He removed one of his hands from your face only to wrap it around your back, pressing you closer, listening to the racing pattern of your heart. 

He kissed you harder and you kissed him back. 

Nothing else mattered—not the logic or the timelines or the aging. 

Azriel’s shadows always tamed themselves around you, seeming to fear any hesitance you may hold, but right now they were rampant in your home, sliding up the windows and humming low songs in his ears. 

And in the depths of Azriel’s chest, hidden so deep he thought it his own beating heart, something tugged.

[afriendofblahaj]

Honestley this might be a bit of a hot take here on tumblr, and I am fully open to discuss this Ive been going back and forth and would love other opinions, but one of my opinons is that generative AI is being attacked for the crimes of capitalism and human stupidity and in an ideal world isn’t actually that bad. Before I go any further, I feel like I should clarify this is exclusively referring to AI text, and that AI art is soulless and fucking disgusting. With that said, AI generated text as a technology in a vacuum, with no other details is actually pretty cool, and a huge leap forward in our technological capabilities. If we were to understand its limitations and implement it carefully and safely, then it would be a nice addition to the tools we have. Unfortunately billionaires and corporations seized on the fact that AI has been hyped and discussed for probably 50 years if not more (this is just my gut feeling, and honestely, I’d guess 100, because “what if something non-sentient could speak like a human” is a pretty classic trope, but 50 years seems like a reasonable bet) and realised they could use this as the marketing tool of a fucking generation and hide every detail about it to present a magic box to the public.

Look, putting aside environmental issues for a moment (which I really do care about, but they are mostly from the way companies implement it, and the scale on which we are using it), in a simple sense, there is nothing objectively wrong with a computer program that can read human text, and produce text that is reasonably close to text a human might produce. The problem is that it’s used by people to lie steal and cheat, because there is 0 oversight and the people who made it are doing the exact same thing. The world wasn’t ready for the speed at which computers developed, and they moved at practically a snails pace compared to AI. If one year after the first desktop computer released we hit the point we are right now with computing, then people would be freaking the fuck out about computers the same way we are shitting bricks over AI. It happened too fast, and so we finally notice how much everything gets exploited.

With that being said, I don’t say this to encourage people to use gen Ai products (please fucking don’t) but to encourage people to consider what the actual problem is, and also it hurts to see technology discarded because of the way it’s used. It’s a slippery slope to rejecting all modern advancements, which I’ve personally seen turn into shit as far as vaccine denial (my fucking parents, long story, and this post is long enough) and while I don’t think the people reading this will go that far, it is a slippery slope to fall down, so I just like to encourage more consideration for technology, and the separation of technology from the shit it’s used for.

people are really fucking clueless about generative ai huh? you should absolutely not be using it for any sort of fact checking no matter how convenient. it does not operate in a way that guarantees factual information. its goal is not to deliver you the truth but deliver something coherent based on a given data set which may or may not include factual information. both the idolization of ai and fearmongering of it seem lost on what it is actually capable of doing

[rollingspicevee]

Do any of the beast's cookies have any kinks

MDNI!

Oh, absolutely! Here’s a few I’ve thought of them having

Shadow Milk:

• Edging and overstimulation. I feel those go hand in hand most of the time, but he definitely enjoys both

• I can see a bit of degradation? Mostly depends on his mood. If he’s in a jealous mood, like if he just took you back from an Ancient, especially Pure Vanilla Cookie, oh, he’s being degrading when he talks dirty to you. Angrily hissing in your ear like a snake throwing a fit, words like venom dripping from his fangs, even if it’s not necessarily your fault. It’s the insecurities-

• Oh, but if you’re a good lil mouse for him, he will offer praise and, if you’re lucky, gentle sex. Positive reinforcement! He wants you to keep behaving, after all~

• Roleplay! What, he’s an actor- you expected any less?

• He likes a little risk. He has more shame than Burning Spice, but not as much as Mystic Flour. He won’t fuck you in front of others unless he has a reason (such as to assert his claim over you in front of his minions or Truthless Recluse), but he likes the thought of fucking you around others, just out of sight. Perhaps behind the curtains before a show. Make sure to keep your voice down if you don’t wanna be caught~ He’ll have to punish whoever gets curious enough to check it out, after all~

• Biggest. Fucking. Tease. EVER! He is not above edging his darling in a semi public space and then denying you your orgasm for the sole purpose of enjoying himself as he watches you squirm, and no matter how much you ask, you’ll be teasingly denied until in a more private area. He could do it there if he wanted of course, but he loves the tension it creates and how much of a mess it leaves his darling lil mouse for him until you’re begging him to fuck you by the time you’re in private together. Be prepared to go all night, because he just can’t resist that adorable face you make when you beg~

• Bite him. I dare you.

Mystic Flour:

• I see her having a Mistress kink- I just do-

• Praise is not too uncommon with her. Though she may not be super vocal, she will tell you that you’re doing a good job and other words of praise every now and then. It’s so far off from her usual “everything is futile” and basically “just give up and give in” attitude that it almost gives you whiplash-

• I see sensory deprivation as one of her biggest kinks, so she often likes to blindfold her darling. Makes you much more reactive to her touch.

• I also see her liking a bit of bondage (she’s a rigger though, not a rope bunny, if there was any question). She especially likes to combine it with the sensory deprivation.

• Dommy mommy? Absolutely baiehchc

• Not a big risk taker, unlike the other two on this list. Nothing even remotely public. Ever. As for danger, she’s- iffy about it. She doesn’t mind a lil danger if you want that, but nothing major.

Burning Spice:

• Size kink. 100%. Have you seen that guy?! He’s HUGE! He towers over most, if not all, other cookies, including his fellow Beasts. He’s also built and strong. He loves how small his darling is in comparison to him, how snug you are in his arms, how tightly you squeeze his cock…

• Ngl, he’s probs the roughest of the five. He does occasionally have his gentle moments in the bedroom with you, but he’s rough more often than not and very rough on top of that

• Primal kink. He’s said before how much he loves the thrill of the chase! So be careful every time you decide to try and run from him. That’s when his predator instincts kick into high gear and, more likely than not, the thought of hunting you down will get his jam pumping in more ways than one. Good luck.

• He loves it when you fight him. When you’re feisty. When you’ve got a bit of bite to you. Just be careful not to rile him up too much if you wanna be able to move for the week.

• He’s been around a long time and can get bored very easily. He never gets bored of you, of course, but this does lead to some… interesting proposals from him. Unless it puts your life in danger, nothing is off the table for him to want to try at least once. That’s not to say he doesn’t like a little danger tho.

• Zero shame. Actually- negative shame. Will fuck you in front of the Spice Swarm if he’s in the mood for it.

I can’t really say much for Eternal Sugar or Silent Salt since we know so little about them so far. I can say I see Eternal Sugar enjoying somno tho-

All:

• Corruption Kink. That is all.

[hottiesforhockey]

“is that my shirt?” with macklin celebrini please🙏💗?

Macklin had been searching for at least fifteen minutes, rifling through laundry baskets, checking under his bed, even peeking into the bathroom in case he had left it there by accident. His team hoodie was nowhere to be found, and it was driving him insane.

He swore he had just worn it a couple of days ago. It was his go-to hoodie, the one he threw on after games, the one he lounged in when he got home. And now? Completely vanished.

With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair and decided to ask you if you had seen it. Maybe you had tossed it into the wrong pile of laundry or stuffed it somewhere when tidying up.

But as he stepped into the living room, his question died on his lips.

There you were, curled up on the couch, a book in your hands, looking entirely too comfortable in—

His hoodie.

Macklin paused, his arms crossing over his chest as he took in the sight. The oversized fabric swallowed you up, the sleeves nearly covering your hands, the hem draping over your thighs. The hood was bunched up behind your neck, and you looked so at ease, flipping a page without a care in the world.

But all he could focus on was how undeniably good you looked in it.

“Is that my shirt?” he finally asked, his voice lower now, tinged with something unreadable.

You didn’t even look up from your book. “I don’t know, is it? Doesn't look like a shirt to me.”

He scoffed, stepping closer. “Yeah, it is. I’ve been looking for that everywhere.”

You turned another page, still not acknowledging him fully. “Weird. It was just sitting in my room.”

“In your room?” Macklin raised a brow, his gaze dipping briefly to the way the hoodie slipped off one of your shoulders, exposing a bare sliver of skin. “So, what, my clothes just magically migrate there now?”

You shrugged, finally glancing up at him with a teasing glint in your eyes. “Maybe it just wanted a change of scenery.”

He shook his head, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Unbelievable.”

“Possession is nine-tenths of the law, Macklin,” you said matter-of-factly, going back to your book.

“Oh, so now you’re quoting legal doctrine?” he shot back, his voice quieter now as he leaned down, resting a hand on the back of the couch. His face was inches from yours, his other hand tugging lightly at the hoodie’s sleeve. “You know, I could just take it back.”

You gasped, clutching the fabric dramatically. “You wouldn’t.”

“I might.” His eyes flickered over your face, lingering for just a second too long on your lips before meeting your gaze again. “Depends on how nicely you ask to keep it.”

You pouted, tilting your head. “Please, Macklin?” Your voice softened just enough to make something shift in his expression. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

His brows lifted. “Oh yeah? How?”

You grinned. “I’ll let you pick the movie tonight. No complaints from me, even if it’s another hockey documentary.”

He exhaled, his smirk returning. “Fine. But if I see you wearing another one of my hoodies, I’m charging rent.”

You giggled, curling back into the couch as he plopped down beside you. This time, though, he didn’t look away. He reached out, playing absentmindedly with the end of the sleeve covering your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. And as Macklin watched you get lost in your book again, wrapped up in his favorite hoodie, he decided he didn’t actually mind all that much.

In fact, he might just leave another one lying around—just to see you wear it again.

[deesseshesca]

PAC : First time feeling *that* chemistry with him. (Dual POV)

(SINGLE SINCE BIRTH - ERA ~2 )

My soul craves some slow love song...

PILE 1

Is actually not going to be the first time you feel this chemistry.

You always felt it but always find a away to resist. Fighting the connection on both side.

His mom died. Maybe one of he challenges you will be facing together before you both commit to surrender to this love after months of paying cat and mouse is the death of his mother.

Both of you have a fear of being vulnerable which dramatically slowed this relationship.

Her POV The air was thick with the scent of roses, heady and intoxicating, blooming wildly around the edges of the garden. Evening had settled, painting the sky in dusky shades of lavender and gold, and the world felt quieter here softer. I stood by the fountain, my fingertips brushing the cool marble edge as I stared at the rippling water. Reflections danced on the surface, fractured and shifting, much like the emotions stirring inside me.

<<I didn’t expect to feel this.>>

Not after everything. Not after the walls I built so carefully, protecting the parts of me that once gave too much and received too little. I had walked away from him before more than once not because I didn’t care, but because I needed to know who I was without him. I needed to find the version of myself that wouldn’t settle for half-hearted promises and restless nights filled with questions.

But I wasn’t that woman anymore.

<<I see it now — he’s different.>>

His edges have softened, the fire that once burned too hot, tempered now with something richer, something steadier. His ego no longer fills the space between us, and I know deep in my bones that he’s ready. His family knows it too. I see it in their eyes when they look at me. Acceptance. Warmth. They see me as his future, even before I’ve fully allowed myself to step into that role.

But the truth was I had been fighting this. Fighting us.

<<And I’m so tired of running.>>

The moon hung low in the sky, her quiet light washing over the garden, whispering secrets only I could hear. I wasn’t afraid anymore. The unknown didn’t scare me the way it once had. Because this time, I wasn’t standing on shaky ground. I was standing on the edge of something solid.

And when I turned to look at him, standing a few feet away, watching me with that quiet intensity I had come to know so well…

<<I knew it was time to stop fighting.>>

His Mother’s POV The evening air carried the faintest breeze, enough to rustle the leaves but not disturb the peace that had settled over the garden. I stood near the patio, half-listening to the murmured conversations behind me, but my eyes were fixed on them.

My son. And her.

<<I’ve seen this look before.>>

Not on him. Never on him. But I’ve seen it in the eyes of men who have found something rare something worth holding onto.

He’s watching her like he’s afraid to blink, like she might disappear if he does. But it’s not desperation in his eyes. It’s reverence.

<<My boy learned the hard way.>>

I remember how stubborn he used to be so caught up in his pride, in proving himself. He didn’t know how to bend, and love requires a man who can bend without breaking. But something changed. I see it in the way his shoulders aren’t as rigid, in how he stands beside her, not in front of her.

He’s quiet now. Not because he’s holding back, but because he’s listening.

And her?

<<She’s not running anymore.>>

I’ve watched her for a long time, watched the way her guard would rise and fall depending on his mood. But tonight? I don’t see the woman who once held herself apart, protecting what was left of her heart. I see a woman who’s ready. Her eyes don’t hold doubt anymore. There’s only knowing.

She’s fought this love. I could feel it every time she stepped back, every time she hesitated, weighing her heart against her fears. But now…

<<She’s choosing him.>>

And he knows it.

The way they move unconsciously mirroring each other, as if their souls had already learned the steps to a dance they hadn’t even realized they were performing it’s breathtaking.

He’s ready to give her everything. And for once, he’s not afraid to show it.

<<This is love.>>

Not the easy kind. The kind forged through fire and time. The kind that bends but never breaks.

And as I watched them standing in the glow of a fading sun, their future stretched out before them I knew.

<<They’ve found their way.>>

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PILE 2

Her POV The air smelled of jasmine and warm spice, the kind that lingers long after the sun dips beneath the horizon. The soft hum of conversation filled the courtyard, where fairy lights twisted through ivy-covered trellises, casting a golden glow on the polished stone beneath my heels. I felt the heat of the summer night cling to my skin, a sensual reminder that life was ripe and full of promise.

I stood with ease, spine straight, head high but not from pride. I was light in a way that only comes after shedding burdens I once thought were stitched into my bones. I was whole now, and love no longer felt like a battlefield. It felt like home waiting to be built. And as my eyes landed on him, across the crowded space, something shifted.

<<I see him before he notices me a presence that pulses against the noise, commanding without trying.>> He looked unsure, though. A flicker of tension in the line of his jaw, a restless energy in the way his fingers grazed the edge of his glass. I could feel it that uncertainty, that hesitation and it only made me more aware of how steady I had become.

When his eyes finally found mine, I didn’t look away. I let him see. All of it. The woman who had rebuilt herself. The woman who no longer needed to be saved but was ready to be chosen. His gaze sharpened, and I felt the heat coil low in my belly.

<<I know he feels it too.>> The spark. The unspoken question hanging between us, thick and sweet as the summer air. I took a step forward, feeling a quiet power hum through me.

I was ready.

His POV The night was too still. Too perfect. The kind of night where everything feels suspended in time where decisions can’t be undone once made. The courtyard was a masterpiece of intimacy, tucked away from the noise of the city. Lanterns swayed gently in the breeze, throwing patterns across the stone floor, but my focus was caught elsewhere.

<<I see her.>> And the world narrows.

She moved like certainty, her presence cutting through the crowd like silk through air. I had been restless all night, the weight of everything I carried pressing against my ribs, but when her gaze caught mine I forgot how to breathe.

She was unreadable, and that terrified me. I could feel the space she had carved for herself, the freedom she had fought for. I had laid everything out, no walls, no illusions. Just me. Wanting her.

<<I know she has choices.>> I had seen it in her eyes, the quiet acknowledgment that she wasn’t bound by anyone’s expectations. She could walk away and not look back. But damn, I didn’t want her to.

My heart pounded, each beat a plea I couldn’t voice. The fear gnawed at me, but beneath it was something else. Something stronger.

<<I would give her everything.>> And I wasn’t sure if that would be enough.

But as she stepped toward me, I felt the ground shift beneath my feet. She wasn’t walking away. She was walking toward me. And in that moment, I knew...

I was ready to risk it all.

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PILE 3

Her POV The night was alive, pulsing with an undercurrent of something electric. Music drifted through the crowded rooftop bar, a low bass that thrummed beneath my skin. City lights stretched out around us, glittering like promises that never quite delivered. But I wasn’t thinking about promises.

<<I was thinking about him.>>

He stood across the room, effortlessly charming as always, his laughter spilling into the air like a melody I couldn’t escape. My pulse quickened not with nerves, but with something far more dangerous. Obsession.

<<And I wasn’t even trying to hide it.>>

My eyes found him without meaning to, drawn like a magnet, and I knew he felt it. Felt me. Even when he wasn’t looking, he knew. It was in the way his body angled slightly toward mine, like gravity itself was conspiring to pull us together. But beneath all that wanting, there was a quiet war raging in me.

I didn’t trust this feeling.

<<I’ve played this game before.>>

The spark. The pull. The endless chase that left me burned when I finally caught what I thought I wanted. He was different, though. Too different. And that scared me more than anything. Because if I let myself believe he was the one, I’d be giving him a power I swore I’d never hand over again.

But damn…

<<He makes it so easy to forget my own rules.>>

Every glance, every touch, every low murmur of my name lured me deeper into this mess I swore I wouldn’t make. And yet here I was. Caught in the web. The worst part?

<<I didn’t even want to escape.>>

His POV The night stretched out like a canvas, painted with the warm glow of city lights and the buzz of possibility. Laughter echoed around us, but my world had narrowed to one point of focus.

Her.

<<I could feel her eyes on me.>>

Even when she thought she was subtle, her gaze was a weight I carried like a secret. And I liked it. No I loved it. There was no hiding how she felt. The way her lips parted slightly when she looked at me. The way her body leaned in, even when her mind tried to pull her back.

<<She was obsessed, and I knew it.>>

But she was fighting it. Fighting me. And I didn’t blame her. I wasn’t some polished dream I was chaos wrapped in charm, adventure wrapped in uncertainty. And she… she liked control.

But love? Love didn’t play by her rules.

<<I wasn’t here to play it safe.>>

I wasn’t looking for guarantees or carefully laid plans. I wanted the ride the messy, unpredictable, breathtaking ride that came with loving a woman who didn’t know how to surrender. And damn, was she worth the risk.

Her fear didn’t scare me. If anything, it made me want her more. She was standing at the edge, and I could feel her heart pounding just as loudly as mine. She was so close to giving in, to letting go of all the walls she’d built around herself.

<<And I wasn’t going to push her.>>

No. I was going to let her come to me.

Because I knew, deep down, she couldn’t resist this.

<<Not me.>>

I wasn’t a destination. I was the journey. And I could feel her soul even if her mind was fighting it ready to take that leap.

So, I stood there, steady and sure, letting her chase her own thoughts, knowing they’d always lead back to me.

<<This wasn’t about winning.>>

It was about us. About feeling every twist and turn, every high and low. I wasn’t offering her a perfect ending. I was offering her a story worth living.

And when her eyes met mine again wide, hungry, and just a little afraid I knew.

<<She was already falling.>>

And I was ready to catch her.

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2. PAC (FREE) : What's your kinky archetype ?

3. POP SHOP : 30 MINUTES FOR 15$ (TIP KO-FI) RECORDED AUDIO READING ABOUT ANYTHING.

[lunajay33]

Over Looked

•🪽🌌🌑•

Summary: Being the youngest Archeron sister was hard and when you’re thrown into a new life as a high fae living in the night court people don’t see your struggle, and the one you crave only has eyes for your sister Elain

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

Info: Elain and Nesta always hated reader, Rhys and Feyre adore her, angst with a happy ending

•Masterlist•

After years of living in poverty, sleeping on the cold hard floor while my three older sisters shared a bed, my two oldest sisters hating me, after almost dying trying to sneak into prythian finding myself lost in the woods for months until a tall man with dark hair found me curled up in the autumn court woods almost starving from being lost for so long and running for my life every second, he was like a dark angel as he kneeled infront of me

Flashback

“Your sister has been desperately trying to find you” he smiles as he pick me up and glimmering smoke surrounds us

“Feyre” I whisper when I open my eyes again I’m in a fancy house and there sits my lovely sister but she was undeniable more beautiful, he lays me on the couch as Feyre kneels next to me

“I tried……I tried to save you Fey” I sigh weakly noticing the tears in her eyes

“I’m so sorry, none of this would’ve happened I should have protected you” she cry’s

She filled me in on everything that happened, how the man that found me was her mate and this was the night court, how she was now a high fae

She helped me bath and fed me, introducing me to Mor, Cassian he was like a huge teddy bear, and Azriel he was the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen but he seemed to be standoffish, quiet and mysterious but his shadows would seem me out sometimes late at night when I couldn’t sleep, terrified of the memories of the monsters that had chased me

Then everything changed, me, Elain and Nesta got taken, thrown into the cauldron and turned into high fae, Elain got powers and so did Nesta, I was yet to discover if I had any ability, even now as we were all in the inner circle Elain and Nesta took any chance they could to jab at me

Present

I’m still having a hard time adjusting to this new life, finding it hard to let my old life go wishing I could have what Feyre had, she looks so happy as she looks into the eyes of her mate as they are sat at the head of the table while we all eat our dinner

I look back down the table noticing the way Azriel would glance at Elain, I’ve caught it a few times and it broke my heart each time, the moment I crawled out of the cauldron and looked at him I felt it in my chest that he was the one for me but he had eyes for one of the sisters that made my life hell

“Y/n dear aren’t you hungry?” Mor asks smiling as she’s sat next to me, I put on a fake smile and shrug my shoulders

“Oh I’ve just lost my appetite is all”

“Probably for the best anyways she could afford to loose some weight” Nesta laughed as Elain joined in like cackling hyenas, I can feel my lip wobble as I try to keep the tears at bay looking down at Feyre for help, she always stuck up for me

“Nesta Elain that’s enough” she said sternly, Rhys next to her shooting them daggers with his eyes

“I think I’m just going to go to bed” I excuse myself going down the hall to my room hearing Feyre scold them but they just kept laughing

Looking in the mirror I hold up my shirt sighing, were they right? Maybe Azriel would notice me then, I feel a shadow swirl along my leg up to my cheek giving me a comforting feeling like it’s my own emotional support shadow

I lay in bed as it dances around my fingers, why is it always her, everyone wants them but no one ever wants me, a knock raps on the door and in steps Cassian in all his cuddly glory, since Rhys rescued me he’s helped nurse me back to health and became like a big brother to me

He throws himself on the bed next to me with a pout as he watches me play with the shadow

“You know I’ve never seen them do that with anyone else” he says

“Can I ask you something?” I ask looking at him now

“Of course”

“Am I……ugly?” His eyes grow wide

“What? Of course not your beautiful, don’t listen to them they’re just playing around”

“No they aren’t, they’ve treated me like that from the day I was born, called me ugly, chubby, no one will ever want me, they pick on everything I do and now……the guy I’m destined to be with doesn’t even second glance at me to preoccupied with someone else, of course he would not even my own mate wants me” I rant finally getting it off my chest

“WAIT WHAT? You’ve found your mate and you haven’t told any of us? This is a huge deal who is it?” He asks like a girl wanting all the gossip

“Come on Cas, why would I wanna tell you it’s embarrassing, they always want her” I sigh shrugging my shoulders

“Want who?” He asks rubbing my back

“Elain, but why don’t guys look at me I’m nice and I’d give my heart to him but all he sees is Elain and how pretty she is”

“Elain? Who’s looking at he….” He stops as a see the realization on his face

“Azriel? He’s your mate” I nod looking away

“Like they said I’m too ugly for someone like him” I try to distract myself with the shadow still around my fingers

“Hey you’re beautiful, why don’t you tell him or talk to Feyre and Rhys”

“Maybe”

I made my way down the hall to Rhys’s office where he and Feyre were chatting

“Hey can I talk to you guys?” I ask nervously

“Of course sit” Feyre says motioning to the chair infront of her and Rhys

“I’m sorry about before I’ve told them to stop talking to you like that” Feyre smiles gently

“Thank but I wanted to tell you something else, it’s really been weighing on me” they give me their full attention

“What is it sweetheart?” Rhys asks

“I’ve found my mate”

“What since when?”

“Since I came out of the cauldron” I say as another shadow comes and plays through my hair and they smile

“Azriel?” Rhys asks

“Not that it matters he only has eyes for Elain”

“Oh dear he might come around just give him time” Feyre says

“Why don’t you tell him”

“I can’t I can’t handle that rejection” they give eachother that look that tells me they’re talking to eachother through the bond

“I’m gonna go, it’s getting late” I say leaving quickly before they could stop me

I head to my room and pack a bag, I can’t stay in this place anymore what’s the point Elain and Nesta taunt me all the time, Azriel won’t even look at me

Waiting until the house is quiet I take my bag and head out to the front door about to leave by I feel a tug on my ankle and wrist, I turn seeing shadows trying to pull me back in

“I’m sorry little guys I’ve got to go” they loosen just enough for me to get out of their grasps and leave walking out into the late night, the streets are empty and chilly

“And what’re you doing?” I hear behind me making me stop sending a shiver down my body

I turn seeing Azriel of course the shadows would tel him

“Leave me alone, you’ve done a good job of that so far why stop me now” I keep walking not even knowing where I’m going

“You have no where to go” he says now walking next to me

“Like you care” I sigh

“Why wouldn’t i” I stop and turn to him

“Just give it up Az, you can’t stand me, you don’t talk to me or even look my way, all you can do is ogle Elain and what’s so good about her hmm?”

“She’s having a hard time”

“She’s having a hard time? Can’t you feel it, can’t you see how I’ve been drowning every second and you don’t even feel me” his eyebrows furrow in confusion

“You never told me your problems”

“I shouldn’t have to you should feel them Az, hell the shadows can, they visit me every night”

“They do?”

“Yes but you didn’t even realize right? I’m not waiting around just to watch you fall in love with my own sister” I brush past him but he catches my wrist

“What’re you saying”

“YOURE MY MATE AZRIEL” the night becomes even more silent as he just looks at me

“Why didn’t you tell me” his voice gentle now

“Seriously? You know why”

“I’m…..I’m sorry just give me a chance” I pull my arm back

“I need time az, you’ve hurt me too much”

•

Part.2

[scoupsakakitty]

heyy, can you do a Chan x 14thmember where she’s a 97’ liner and he’s always been in love with her but she didn’t want anything romantic with him cause she was afraid of the small age difference.

Idk, he’s kinda jealous that DK is her best friend and when they’re arguing he calls her by her name and she gets angry he’s not using honorifics.with a lot of angst but with a happy ending

♡

Say My Name | idol!Dino x 14thMember | angst, fluff

"Yah, you should've seen your face!" Seokmin wheezed, barely able to stand from laughing so hard.

Y/N groaned, pushing his shoulder. "It wasn't that funny."

"Oh, it was," he countered, wiping at his eyes. "Come on, Chan, back me up!"

Chan sat across the room, arms crossed, jaw tight. He was watching them—always watching them. Seokmin's arm slung around Y/N's shoulder like it belonged there, the way she laughed at everything he said, the way her eyes softened whenever he pulled one of his ridiculous antics.

He hated it.

"Dino?" Seokmin called out, his voice teasing. "Are you sulking again?"

"I'm not sulking," Chan muttered, standing up abruptly. "I just don't find it funny."

Y/N frowned. "Are you okay?"

"Why do you care, Y/N?" he snapped, shocking them both.

The room tensed. Seokmin blinked between them, before muttering, "Uh, I'm just gonna… go." He slipped out, leaving only silence behind.

Y/N sighed. "What’s wrong with you lately? You’re always so tense."

"I should be asking you that," he shot back. "Why do you act like I don’t exist unless Seokmin’s not around?"

She folded her arms. "Don’t be ridiculous."

"Ridiculous? Y/N, do you even realize how long I’ve—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Never mind."

She frowned. "Say it."

"I’ve been in love with you for years!" he finally burst out, his voice breaking with frustration. "And you—you act like it’s impossible! Like I’m a kid to you or something. But I’m not, Y/N."

Silence. Thick. Unmovable.

Her mouth opened, then closed again, hesitation flickering across her face. Chan scoffed, stepping back. "See? There it is. You won’t even acknowledge it."

"Chan, it’s not—"

"Oh, now I’m just Chan? Not 'Dino'? Not 'maknae'?" he interrupted bitterly. "You never say my name like that unless you’re mad."

Her breath hitched, eyes widening. "You didn’t use honorifics."

"So what?" he shot back. "You’re not just my sunbae. You’re Y/N. And I’m Chan. Why do we have to act like there’s some huge gap between us when there isn’t?"

She swallowed hard, looking away. "It’s not just that."

"Then tell me what it is! Because I’ve spent years trying to figure it out, and all you do is push me away!"

"Because I’m scared!" she snapped, her voice finally breaking. "Scared that if we cross this line, everything will change! That it’ll be different and—"

"And what?" he demanded. "You’ll actually have to admit you feel the same way?"

Silence again.

Chan stepped closer, his voice quieter now, but still firm. "I know you do. Maybe it scares you, but you don’t get to pretend like I’m imagining things."

Y/N swallowed hard, eyes darting to the floor.

"I just—" she exhaled shakily. "I didn’t want to lose you."

His shoulders relaxed slightly. "You won’t."

She finally met his gaze, and for the first time, she didn’t look away.

It was terrifying. And exhilarating.

Chan smiled—just a little, just enough. "Say my name, Y/N."

A pause.

Then, soft as a whisper: "Chan."

And just like that, the wall between them crumbled.

He smirked slightly, stepping even closer, his voice low. "You’re mine now."

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat, but for once, she didn’t run. She just smiled back. "Yeah… I guess I am."

[endofthelinegang]

Would Matt Murdock have hard time being around an emotional & sensitive person? Like, when someone raises their voice slightly or be mean to me, I'd be holding back tears.

alrighty let me crack my fingers here, whip out the keyboard, here are some headcanons and a little bonus fic

Matt picks up on every little change in your heartbeat, breathing. There is no hiding your sensitive behavior and feelings. He’ll know the second something is wrong and will gently nudge you to talk about it.

He’s used to dealing with intensity and conflict, but when it comes to you it is personal which makes him a lot softer. If someone raises their voice at you, Matt immediately steps in, positioning himself between you and the other person, voice low and steady. “Hey, that’s enough.” He doesn’t need to get aggressive, he is confident that his presence will do the job.

When he senses you’re on the verge of tears, he’ll make sure that he is properly handling the situation. He will either reach for your hand or if you are in a group, even a small one, he would guide you somewhere quieter. He knows how embarssing it can be to have a crashout moment or a cry in public. He is just the right amount of touch, not too brutish but not so soft it makes your skin tingle.

Matt’s seen the worst of humanity, he in fact has told you that humans are the worst monsters to ever exist. Your kindness and sensitivity? It’s a kind of a relief, I mean to see a human be human in a non-criminal way, happy heart moment. He never gets frustrated if you’re overwhelmed easily. Instead, he’ll talk you through it, using that soothing lawyer voice of his. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

If someone makes you cry, he interalizes it. He won’t lose his mind and go on a killing spree, but there’s a quiet, dangerous edge to him if you allow him to confront the responsible party and or person. He would not go out of his way to do that outside of your permission unless you were physically injured.

If you’re spiraling, he’ll do whatever you need him to do, of course he does not always expect you to be able to tell him. His go to is to take you anywhere that is away from everyone else and firstly try light touch and talking, if that is not sucessful then physical touch with your body as his guide, and if nothing else he will give you space and just sit with you.

He admires your ability to feel so deeply. He’s seen too many people become numb to the world, himself included sometimes. Loving you reminds him that softness isn’t a weakness—it’s a strength.

Matt hears it before you even step through the door—the unsteady rhythm of your breathing, the uneven thump of your heartbeat, the way your shoe pats against the floor like you’re quickly tapping, possibly shaking.

Something happened, something Matt knew he would not like.

He feels you, tracks the way your keys rattle to open the door. Then the door opens, and even though you don’t say a word, he feels the weight settle into the apartment with you, he hears the tiniest sigh escape your lips.

You linger in the doorway, hesitant, like there’s something pressing against your chest, something you can’t quite push down. You knew Matt already knew it was written all over the way he stood with his ear facing the door just listening to every single thing you did. You don’t even take off your coat, don’t put your bag down—just stand there, staring at your shoes.

Matt sets his cane aside as quietly as he can, stepping toward you carefully. “Sweetheart?” His voice is quiet, meant to coax, but you still flinch ever so slightly as you completely spaced out.

“Hey,” you say, and the sound of it makes his stomach twist. It’s thin, a ghost of your usual tone, fragile like brittle glass.

He waits for you to say more, maybe even start to sob or cry, but you don’t. You don’t move, don’t breathe properly, like you’re standing with a gun pointing into your back.

“Talk to me,” he says, stepping closer. “What happened?”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “It’s stupid.” The words slip out under your breath like they were not even meant to be spoken.

His brows pull together. “It’s not.”

You hesitate, your fingers twisting into the hem of your sleeve, you could feel your face heat up. A type of heat that would travel everywhere in your body that allowed you to move just with trickling pains. Then it all spilled out.

“I went to meet up with some people after work.” You pause, choosing your words carefully, like they might come out wrong if you’re not precise.. “I thought—God, I don’t know. I thought they were my friends.”

Matt’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t speak. He just listens.

“They weren’t mean exactly,” you continue, you could not stop playing little moments about that interaction through your head, it felt like it would never end. “It was just little things.”

Your breathing shudders, as you allow yourself to use more of your body to take steps, the sound of your shoes were just as loud to you as they were to Matt.

“They kept talking over me. Every time I tried to say something, they’d just—move on, like I wasn’t even there. And when they did acknowledge me, it was just—” You break off, swallowing hard. “Little jokes. Stuff about how I’m too sensitive, how I take things too seriously, how I always ‘look like I’m about to cry.’”

Matt feels a sharp, quiet anger coil in his chest, but he keeps his voice soft when he speaks. “Did you say anything to them?”

You let out a breathy, humorless laugh. “Yeah. And you know what they did? They laughed. Said I was proving their point.”

Matt closes his eyes for a brief moment, his jaw clenching hard enough that it aches. He knows—God, he knows—that kind of cruelty, the kind that hides behind lightness, the kind that makes you feel like you’re the problem.

You press the heels of your hands against your eyes, your breath hitching. “I hate this,” you whisper. “I hate that I can’tjust brush things off, that stuff like this gets to me so much.” Your voice breaks on the last word, small and aching.

Matt steps in without hesitation, if anyone knew how it felt to not be heard or understood. Though he did not interalize his feelings as deeply as you he knew how damiging to the mind not being understood could be. The closer he got to you the louder your heartbeat seemed to get, your skin looked red and angry especially your hands.

His hands find yours, gently prying them away from your face. His touch is steady, warm, careful. He cradles your face in his hands letting you keep your hands to yourself, his thumbs ghosting over your cheekbones, tracing the heat lingering beneath your skin, the tremble in your lips. His hands feel cool against your face, a nice soft cool.

“You feel things deeply,” he murmurs, voice low and sure. “That’s not a flaw.”

Your throat works, but you don’t speak, something about being able to smell his cologne and slight leathery smell from the couch made you feel okay to breathe.

Matt leans down, resting his forehead against yours, his breath warm and steady. “They don’t get to decide what’s too much. They don’t get to tell you that you’re wrong for feeling.”

You let out a shaky breath, and your hands come up, gripping his wrists, grounding yourself with him.

“But they made me feel so—” Your breath hitches again, and the words spill out before you can stop them. “So small.”

Matt feels that, too. A loss of a sense is enough to make freshly blind young Matt feel so tiny when he was a child and that is a very hard feeling to forget. To think about the fact that you felt this way so often shook him up. Something in his chest cracks, deep and aching. Because he knows. He knows what it’s like to be dismissed, to be talked over, to have the world act like you’re invisible. He knows how it rots inside you, how it makes you doubt your own voice, your own presence.

He slides his arms around you, pulling you close, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. He holds you like you’re something precious, he softens your hair down on your head as he feels you attempt to settle down.

“You are not small,” he murmurs into your hair, voice thick with emotion. “Not to me.”

Your body shudders, and then you break, your arms wrapping around him as you bury yourself in his comforting presence. He feels the damp heat of your tears against his collar, the way your shoulders shake as you let go, letting him hold you, letting yourself be seen.

Matt presses a slow, lingering kiss to the top of your head, his hands tracing slow circles against your back.

“You’re going to be okay,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

And this time, when you grip him tighter, when you press yourself closer like you believe him—Matt knows you do.

[thenightshadowqueen]

I don’t see enough discussion of the way Sam turns around when AJ says, “I’ll leave you with a poem” in Inside the Mysterious Cube

Like, that is the most “you have dug yourself a hole and I am going to greatly enjoy watching you scrabble around in there” look I’ve ever seen in my life

[lov3yv4mps]

begging on my knees for a fluff where han is too shy to tell reader how he feels about her so he leaves letters on her door step everyday 💔🙏

♡𝓦𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓮 𝓣𝓸 𝓜𝓮 ♡

Pairings: Han Jisung x Fem Reader

Genre: Fluff

v4mps note: you ask you shall receive....guys, should I continue this cute ass fic as a short series AGHHH?!

head to masterlist ♥︎

———————————・❥・

It all started one late afternoon. Han Jisung, your quiet but ever-present neighbor, sat on his bed, staring at the blank piece of paper in front of him. His pen hovered above it, the ink waiting to spill his feelings onto the page. But no matter how hard he tried, the words wouldn’t come out right.

He had watched you for weeks, maybe even months, from his window. Not in a creepy way—okay, maybe a little creepy—but more in the way someone who admired you from afar would. You always had a smile on your face, your laugh ringing in the air whenever you were with your friends. Han had developed this soft spot for you, an ache in his chest every time he saw you. But telling you how he felt? No, that was too much for him.

He set the pen down and sighed.

"Maybe tomorrow," he muttered to himself. But that didn’t feel right. No, it needed to happen now. He could feel it, like his heart was in his throat. He needed to get these feelings out.

So, with shaky hands, he finally wrote the first letter.

"Hey, you don’t know me, but I’ve seen you a lot around here, and I just wanted to say that I think you’re really cool. I don’t know how to talk to you in person, so I thought this might be easier. I hope this doesn’t freak you out. You’re just really nice, and I guess I admire you a lot. I’ve been too shy to say anything before, but maybe we could talk sometime. You seem like someone who’s worth getting to know."

"From, your neighbor who's scared"

He folded the letter with the same care he’d put into writing it, took a deep breath, and made his way to your front door. The sun was just beginning to set, casting a warm, orange glow over everything. He placed the letter gently on your doorstep, then stepped back, his heart pounding in his chest.

He quickly retreated back to his house, eyes glued to the blinds, waiting to see what you’d do. He could barely breathe, hoping you wouldn’t think it was weird or laugh it off.

And that was the beginning of it all—the slow burn, the daily ritual of leaving letters on your doorstep, each one more personal than the last. Han never had the courage to reveal himself, but he couldn’t help himself. He just wanted you to know.

The next morning, Han sat by his window, watching you walk past his house on your way out. You didn’t notice the letter on your doorstep at first, but as soon as you did, you hesitated. Your eyes scanned the area, making sure no one was watching, before you carefully picked it up and read it.

Han’s heart nearly stopped. He had never been more terrified in his life. What if you thought it was weird? What if you laughed it off? What if you never wanted to talk to him again?

But then—then, you smiled. A soft, genuine smile, like the kind you gave when you were reading something that made you happy. His heart fluttered.

You had read it. You had smiled. That was enough.

By the time evening came around, Han found himself in front of your door again, another letter in hand. This one felt different—like he was giving you a little more of himself.

"Hey, I’m glad you saw my letter. I wasn’t sure if you’d even notice, but I’m happy you did. I don’t know if I’m doing this right, but I wanted to add that you’ve been on my mind a lot lately. I know this is probably weird, but I guess I’m trying to be brave enough to tell you that I really like you. I don’t know if you feel the same, but I just thought you should know."

"From, your neighbor who’s definitely overthinking everything"

With the letter safely placed on your doorstep, Han retreated back into his house, but this time, he didn’t feel as nervous. You had smiled, after all. That had to mean something, right?

The next morning, when you stepped out to grab the letter, you seemed… different. You looked around like you were about to do something sneaky, and for a second, Han thought maybe he had gone too far. But then, you picked it up, glancing around one more time before retreating inside with the letter.

That afternoon, Han found himself pacing in his room, his thoughts scattered. The waiting was the hardest part. He just wanted to know what you were thinking, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it directly. Not yet.

As the day faded into dusk, Han’s mind was a whirlwind of doubts and hopes. Would you respond? Would you think he was crazy? He thought about giving up, but his heart wouldn’t let him.

"Hey, it’s me again. I wanted to thank you for reading my letters. I didn’t think you’d actually notice me, but here we are. I guess I’m just really nervous, and I’m not sure what to say anymore. But I think I want to talk to you. Maybe not right away, but soon? I just—"

"From, the guy across the street who’s still a little scared"

Han set the letter on your doorstep that evening, feeling his hands tremble as he did. He stepped back, hoping, praying, that you would understand.

But before he could make it back to his house, he saw you standing on your porch, a hesitant smile on your face. You hadn’t even picked up the letter yet.

You turned and met his eyes, locking onto his gaze from across the street. For a moment, everything seemed to freeze. He could feel the air between them shift. You didn’t speak, but the look on your face told him everything he needed to know.

Maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t the only one feeling this way.

The days that followed felt like a blur to Han. Every letter he wrote seemed to carry more of his feelings, more of his heart, until one day, he found himself writing something he never expected to say.

"I don’t know what I’m doing, but I can’t seem to stop myself from writing to you. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I think I’m ready to finally talk to you. I hope that doesn’t scare you away. You’re amazing, and I just—"

"From, the boy who’s been too shy for too long"

He placed the letter on your doorstep again, his hands trembling as usual. But this time, something felt different. When he looked up to check if you had seen him, you weren’t on the porch anymore.

Until a soft knock echoed through his door.

His heart leapt into his throat.

He opened it slowly, and there you were. Standing in front of him with a shy smile, holding his letters in your hands.

“I’ve been reading your letters,” you said softly, glancing up at him through your lashes. “And… I think I’d like to talk.”

You were standing in front of him, the same girl who had been reading all of his letters, and for the first time, Han didn’t feel nervous about what to say. Well, maybe a little nervous, but less so than he’d imagined.

You smiled at him softly. “I’ve been reading your letters.”

Han’s heart skipped. “You… you really did?” He couldn’t hide his surprise.

You nodded. “Yeah. And I thought it was sweet, but also… maybe it’s time we talk without all the hiding, don’t you think?”

Han felt his breath catch in his throat. He had hoped for this moment for so long. He had even dreamed about it, but now that it was real, he felt unsure of what to say next.

“I guess…” Han scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, “I really thought I was doing something special. You know, leaving you letters every day and… well, hoping maybe you’d notice me.”

You chuckled softly, stepping a little closer. “Oh, trust me, I noticed.”

Han felt a bit of relief wash over him. You weren’t weirded out. You weren’t running away.

But then, something clicked. The realization hit him all at once. He took a step back, staring at you, his eyes wide.

“Wait,” he asked, voice trembling slightly, “So… you knew this whole time it was me?”

You blinked, tilting your head with a mischievous grin. “Of course I did.”

He stared at you, dumbfounded, his mouth falling open slightly. “Wait, what? You knew I was the one leaving you all those letters?”

You laughed at the confusion in his voice. “I mean, yeah. You’d always fold them the same way and leave them in the same spot. Plus, I recognized your handwriting after the second note, Hannie we know each other~”

Han’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Oh… wow. I thought I was being all sneaky.”

“Not so sneaky, Jisung,” you teased, giving him a soft smile.

The air between you two felt different now, more comfortable, but still filled with all the unsaid things you’d both kept to yourselves for so long. Slowly, you both talked it out. You told him how you had been secretly enjoying the notes, how they had made you feel special, and how the thought that someone cared enough to write to you—no matter how shy they were—meant the world to you.

Han, in turn, admitted that he had been too shy to confess his feelings in person, and leaving the letters had been the only way he could express himself. But now that you were standing here, talking with him, he felt lighter.

“So… now what?” you asked, tilting your head to the side, a playful glint in your eyes. “I mean, we’ve cleared the air, and I’m not exactly running away from you. In fact, I kind of like you too.”

Han’s face broke into a grin, the tension melting away as he exhaled a long breath of relief. “I guess we can stop leaving letters for now. At least until I can figure out how to actually talk to you without embarrassing myself.”

“Sounds good,” you said, stepping a little closer. “But if you want to leave me a note every once in a while, I won’t complain.”

Han’s heart skipped again at the idea, but before he could respond, you had already taken a step back, a mischievous grin on your face.

The following morning, Han woke up with an unusual amount of energy. Maybe it was the excitement of having finally talked to you, or maybe it was just the thrill of the unknown. He didn’t know. But what he did know was that he had groceries to get, and he was determined to get out of the house to avoid overthinking everything.

As he walked out of his front door, a flash of yellow caught his eye. There, on his doorstep, was a note. He picked it up, his hands trembling slightly as he unfolded it.

"Hey, Jisung. So, I guess this is the part where I leave a note for you. I thought it’d be fun. And I’m not gonna lie, I kind of like this idea of us writing little notes back and forth now. So here’s a small one to say I’m glad we finally talked. Also, I think you’re cute when you get all shy. Don’t worry, I won’t tease you too much."

"From, your neighbor who’s probably way too excited about this whole thing"

Han’s heart soared. You had left him a note. You had actually left him a note. The idea of this new, lighthearted exchange between the two of you made him smile, and he tucked the note into his pocket before heading to the store, his steps lighter than they had been in a long time.

The thought of you leaving him more notes, of this new little ritual between the two of you, was enough to make him feel like he was walking on air.

And as he walked away from his house, he realized one thing—he might just be falling for you.

———————————・❥・

my taglist: @vampzity @sooniedoongiedori25 @mhluvie @yaorzu-blog

[littlegreendeathmachine]

I love how all of the playable male protagonists in the Ace Attorney series are written as snarky, sassy little bitches. We get to read their inner thoughts and see their cattiness, their sarcasm, and their raw, unfiltered vinegar. These boys are just plain MEAN sometimes but they often think what we (the player) are thinking…

My favorite thing is when a bit of their pointy inner dialogue accidentally spills out into their spoken conversation and even their teenage weirdgirl assistants are like “DAMN BRO THAT WAS FUCKIN SAVAGE”.

I wish I had better examples but I never take enough screenshots during my playthroughs so I used the bitchiest looking sprites of them I could find.

We’ve got…

Phoenix, who, at least at the beginning of his career, tries his damndest to be kind and unbiased toward everyone he meets, but no matter how hard he fights, he just can’t help letting some of his sarcasm slip out. He’s like a puppy trying to stifle his bark. He definitely doesn’t try as hard later on (or at all while he’s disbarred) but still attempts to maintain a semblance of professionalism (unless Miles is around). The funniest thing about him is that he’s a very good judge of character so his inner monologue seems to be his genuine, true observations of people and not just him being an ass for the sake of being an ass.

Miles, who is already seen by everyone around him as an arrogant cock, has some of the best knee slappers I’ve ever seen in his inner thoughts. His dry, deadpan humor is unparalleled, and I love that he uses the utmost precision when deciding who and who not to filter himself around. He’s always playing chess in his mind, after all. Interestingly, he hides his pleasant thoughts about people as well as his negative ones. Can’t let anybody, even his BEST FRIENDS, see an ounce of weakness — no, that just wouldn’t be the Edgeworth way.

Apollo, who has a tendency to think out loud more often than the others and gains himself quite a reputation for being something of a loose cannon (they don’t call him “horned devil” for nothing). He has no qualms about letting people around him know what he thinks about them, though he definitely shares more than he wants to, because, like word vomit, he just can’t stop it from coming out. We learn later on in the series that this lil’ guy has lots of trauma and inner demons, so part of it may be a coping mechanism; either way, the people who care about him have gotten used to this and understand that he’s just gonna be kind of a fucking brat sometimes.

and Ryunosuke, who starts off seemingly unassuming and quiet, a young man who keeps to himself until we soon come to realize he was the OG Bitch™ and has some of the saltiest quips of the 19th century, especially when Sholmes is nearby. I love the contrast between him and Susato, who tries to approach everything with so much grace, while he’s over here like “People in Britain are quite peculiar….” which in his era roughly translates to “Can you BELIEVE these ignorant ass motherfuckers?” He’s quick to point out other people’s flaws but he also spends a lot of time wrestling with his own feelings of inadequacy, so there’s a lot more to his character than his “just some guy” narrative lets on. We stan bitchy Runo.

I love them all SO much. Babies! Babies for life!

It is my firm belief (opinion) that they were all meant to be gay or bi and neurodivergent (as well as their weirdgirl assistants) but that’s a discussion for another day, and a long one, so write that down. And don’t even get me started on the other prosecuties… Capcom really knows how to make MCs that I want to squeeze in my fist like a chew toy because how are they all so cute and terrible? I need more. Can you tell I’m dying for AA7? *salivates*

Also, I wanna hear your favorite bitchy lines from these fine young men!

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Yessss. It was an honor to read it first honestly, this is so good!

I'm still mad at him being a jerk but there's nothing I want more than for him to fuck me into the oblivion 🥵

favorite parts under the cut 'cause I don't want to spoil this deliciousness to anyone 😌

Y'all read this now!!!!

You glance at it. Sweet Surrender. Jesus. You arch a brow. “Didn’t take you for a romance guy.” “Oh, sweetheart,” Clint drawls, grinning like he’s got you right where he wants you. “I got layers.”

LOL what an asshole. I love him. 🫠

“Escapin’ from me already?” he muses, arms crossing over his broad chest. You don’t look at him, reaching for the fridge instead. “Just needed a break from your endless charm.”

I love her sass, tell him babe!!

"That’s what I’m sayin’." He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "I’m here, night after night, keeping this fine establishment running—" "You sit behind the counter and read Hustler.”

Hahahahahah AGAIN,  I LOVE HER.

"What?" He gestures lazily at the screen. "Figured we could do some, y’know, quality control.” So we’re calling it quality control now? LOL can I do a quality control on his dick?  "You sure? ‘Cause if you’re not in the mood to be a team player…" He lets the words hang, lazy and sharp at the same time. "I could always find someone else to cover your shifts."

Oh the good old blackmail, she’s a stronger soldier than me, I wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever he wanted. 🥵

"Feisty," he murmurs, voice thick with amusement. "Always figured you had a little fight in ya.”

Oh look, that’s me, I have a whole fucking hurricane inside me 🥲

"Look at you," he murmurs, brushing his thumbs over your nipples, watching the way they pebble under his touch. "Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen."   Then he dips down, mouth hot and eager, dragging wet kisses along the swell of your breast before he takes one into his mouth. His tongue is slow, deliberate, circling, flicking, while one of his hands kneads the other, squeezing just enough to make you gasp.  

OOOOF yeah, so fucking hot 🤤

Clint chuckles, a dark, knowing sound as he draws his fingers out of you, lifting them to his lips to suck them clean, eyes locked on yours the entire time. “Then I’ll just have to fuck you right here, just like this.” His hips press harder, the thick length of him straining against his jeans. “Either way, you’re gettin’ wrecked, sweetheart.”

Wreck me NOW, why don’t you 🥵

“See that?” he murmurs, thrusting harder, deeper, making your body jolt with each snap of his hips. “She looks so pretty takin’ it—just like you.” His hand slides down to your chest, squeezing rough, fingers rolling your nipple.. “Look at how her tits bounce, baby. Just like yours. Fuckin’ perfect.”

Ooooh I'm combusting, byeeeee

“Look at you,” he mutters against your skin. “drooling for me. You like this, don’t you? Bein’ my plaything while we watch?” Yes, actually.  “Open up, baby,” he murmurs, tapping the head of his cock against your lips. “Wanna feel that pretty mouth on me.” “You’re gonna swallow every drop, ain’tcha, sweetheart?” His voice is rough, almost desperate now. “Gonna take it all like the good girl you are.”

YES. 🧎🏻‍♀️‍➡️

“Tell you what, sweetheart—bring me another tape tomorrow. Somethin’ real dirty.”

I’M ON MY WAYYYYYY.

This was so great, I swear, reading this again was even better, I'm so glad you decided to write Clint 'cause you did a A+ job as always, I need him so bad 🫠

p.s. love you bee ❤️

sweet surrender

Clint x f!reader // 6k

summary: your sleazy boss convinces you to fuck in the break room to a shitty porn tape he rented

warnings: mdni, 18+, porn with minimal plot, sleazy!clint, daddy kink, oral f! and m! receiving, unprotected p in v, fucking at work, fucking to a porn video, reader has titties, edging, orgasm denial

notes: a big huge thank you to @itwasntimethatdidit40 for reading this and being the sweetest cheerleader and for making me a moodboard when I was going through this crisis I love you so very much, @milla-frenchy for reading and leaving me the best comments you are the sweetest bb <3 and a big thank you to @evolnoomym for reading this over too. You are all the best and I love you veryyyyy much. // ty @/darkissoulmybody on Pinterest for the clint pic <3

masterlist

The bell above the door jingles as you step into the dimly lit video store, the scent of old VHS cases and cigarette smoke lingering in the air. The neon glow from the ADULT SECTION sign flickers in the back, casting shadows over the rows of tapes Clint probably hasn’t dusted in a decade.

You spot him behind the counter, feet kicked up, flipping through a magazine like he’s got all the time in the world. His aviators rest low on his nose, and when he glances up at you, a slow smirk spreads across his face.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up.”

You roll your eyes, tossing your bag onto the counter. “I’m five minutes early.”

Clint shrugs, shutting the magazine with a lazy flick of his wrist. “Coulda fooled me. Felt like I was sittin’ here all alone for hours.”

“Tragic.”

“You have no idea.” He leans forward, elbows on the counter, eyes raking over you in that way that’s become annoyingly familiar. “Lucky for me, I’ve got entertainment.”

You don’t have to ask. You already know. Like clockwork, there’s a VHS case sitting right by the register, an X-rated title in bold, red letters across the front. He picks out one every damn week like it’s just part of his routine. Sometimes he even makes you ring it up for him, just to see if you’ll get flustered.

Clint taps the tape with two fingers. “Think this one’s gonna be good?”

You glance at it. Sweet Surrender. Jesus.

You arch a brow. “Didn’t take you for a romance guy.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Clint drawls, grinning like he’s got you right where he wants you. “I got layers.”

You scoff, moving past him to clock in. Clint watches you go, the heat of his gaze pressing into your back. It’s always like this—him looking, teasing, toeing the line just enough to make you wonder if he’d ever actually cross it.

You haven’t figured out yet if you’d let him.

The night drags on slowly, the hum of the old fluorescent lights blending with the occasional creak of the front door. A couple of regulars come and go, renting their usuals, nodding at Clint. You organize the counter, stock a few shelves, and pretend you don’t notice the way Clint always seems to be near.

At some point, you duck into the break room, craving a moment of quiet. The tiny space is cluttered—half-empty soda cans, an old couch that smells like dust, and a mini fridge stocked with questionable leftovers. You lean against the counter, letting out a slow breath.

And then Clint’s there, filling the doorway.

“Escapin’ from me already?” he muses, arms crossing over his broad chest.

You don’t look at him, reaching for the fridge instead. “Just needed a break from your endless charm.”

He chuckles, low and rough. “That so?”

You grab a soda, cracking it open. “Mhm.”

Clint takes another step closer, and this time, you feel it. The heat of him, the scent of cigarettes and cheap aftershave, the way his presence always seems bigger than it should be in a room this small.

"Y’know, sweetheart," he drawls, voice dipped in that slow, southern thing he does when he’s feeling extra cocky, "I don’t think you appreciate me enough."

You take a sip of your soda, deadpan. "So sad."

"That’s what I’m sayin’." He clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "I’m here, night after night, keeping this fine establishment running—"

"You sit behind the counter and read Hustler."

"—And in return, do I get so much as a thank you?" He sighs, like he’s been personally victimized. "No, I do not."

You roll your eyes, setting your soda down with more force than necessary. "Thank you, Clint, for gracing this dump with your presence."

He smirks. "Anytime, sweetheart."

You turn to leave, but before you can, Clint starts talking.

"You ever get curious?" he asks, voice all low and knowing.

You frown. "About what?"

Clint taps the VHS tape in his hand. The one he brought into the break room with him. The one he’s now pushing into the old, busted TV set in the corner like this is the most normal thing in the world.

Your stomach drops. "Clint—"

The screen crackles to life. A grainy, oversaturated image flickers on—the unmistakable opening of Sweet Surrender, complete with cheesy saxophone music and a woman moaning through the static.

You stare at the TV. Then at Clint.

"What the fuck, dude?"

Clint just grins, sinking down onto the old couch like this is all one big joke. Like he planned for this reaction. He stretches out, legs spread wide, arm slung over the back like he owns the place.

Like he’s settling in.

"What?" He gestures lazily at the screen. "Figured we could do some, y’know, quality control."

You gape at him. "You did not just put on a fucking porno in the break room."

Clint shrugs, completely unbothered. "Looks like I did."

You’re about to cuss him out, maybe throw your soda at him, when he takes it a step further—because of course he does.

He pats the cushion beside him, smirking. "C’mon, sweetheart. Scared you might like it?"

You scoff, folding your arms tight across your chest. "Oh, fuck off, Clint."

But he just grins wider, eyes glinting. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

"That a no?" he drawls, tilting his head. "Shame. Thought we were friends."

You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. "Friends don’t put on softcore porn in the break room."

"Softcore?" Clint clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "Sweetheart, you wound me. You think I’d waste my time on soft anything?"

You open your mouth to fire back, but then a particularly loud, breathy moan cuts through the static, and you feel your face heats up.

Jesus Christ.

Clint watches you, eyes flicking between you and the screen like he’s waiting—hoping—to catch you slipping.

"Y’know," he muses, stretching his arms up behind his head, "you could just not watch. Seems like you’re thinkin’ about it awful hard, though."

You shake your head, biting back the urge to tell him to go to hell. "I’m not thinking about shit."

Clint hums like he doesn’t believe you, like he can see right through you. He stays lounging, legs spread, fingers drumming lazily against his thigh as he turns his attention back to the screen.

Another moan filters through the static.

You grab your soda gripping it tighter. "You’re disgusting."

"And yet, here you are. Still talkin’ to me."

You glare at him, turning for the door. "I have actual work to do."

But before you can take a step, Clint clicks his tongue. "Ah, ah, ah—why don’t you sit down, sweetheart?"

Your spine goes stiff. "What?"

He gestures to the empty space beside him. "Take a load off. Ain’t like we’re busy."

You scoff. "Not happening."

Clint exhales, long and slow, like this is just another inconvenience to him. Then, he says it.

"You sure? ‘Cause if you’re not in the mood to be a team player…" He lets the words hang, lazy and sharp at the same time. "I could always find someone else to cover your shifts."

Your stomach drops. "Are you—" You stop yourself, clenching your jaw. "Seriously?"

He grins, all teeth. "Dead serious."

Your pulse kicks up, anger boiling under your skin. "You’re gonna fire me—because I won’t watch your shitty porn with you?"

"Don’t be dramatic," Clint says, patting the cushion again. "Just tryna boost morale. You don’t wanna be a team player? That’s fine. I’ll just start lookin’ for someone who will."

You glare at him, every part of you screaming to tell him to fuck off, to storm out and never come back.

But rent is due. Your car needs gas. And Clint knows it.

You don’t sit right away. You stand there, arms locked tight, fighting every instinct telling you not to give him the satisfaction.

And Clint just sits there, watching, waiting for you to crack.

Finally, with a sharp inhale, you place your soda down again and drop onto the couch beside him, arms still crossed.

He chuckles low, tilting his head toward you. "See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?"

Your jaw is clenched so tight it aches. "Go to hell, Clint."

Clint just smirks. "Darlin’, I’m already there. Might as well enjoy the view."

Clint spreads his legs enough to make sure you notice. His arm drapes across the back, fingers barely grazing your shoulder, like he’s settling in with you. Like this is comfortable.

For him, anyway.

For you, it’s fucking not.

"Ain’t too bad, huh?" he murmurs, voice all slow and smug.

You fix your gaze on the TV, jaw clenched. "Shut up."

But Clint isn’t the type to shut up.

He watches you instead of the screen, studying the stiff set of your shoulders, the way your arms stay locked tight across your chest. Like you think you can make yourself smaller. Like you think you can ignore him.

But he’s relentless.

He leans in, breath warm against your ear. "Relax, sweetheart. You act like I just asked you to do somethin’ real dirty."

You whip your head toward him, scowling. "This is dirty."

He grins, slow and lazy. "Yeah?" His gaze dips lower, raking over you in a way that makes your skin prickle. "Ain’t even touched you yet."

Fucking hell.

You snap your head back toward the TV, desperate to look anywhere else. The scene playing out is typical cheap VHS smut—bad lighting, a low-budget set, and a woman fake moaning as some guy runs his hands all over her. They’re both already naked, sprawled across a tacky, leopard-print couch that looks stiff and uncomfortable. Her curls bounce as she arches exaggeratedly, lips parted in an over-the-top gasp.  

“Mmm, yeah, just like that,” she purrs, dragging her nails lightly down his back, though the gesture looks more like a routine than genuine pleasure.  

The guy—tan lines stark against his skin, hair slicked back with too much gel—grunts, his expression unfocused. “You like that?” His voice is low, but the words sound hollow, like he’s said them a hundred times before.  

She lets out another moan, forced, too high-pitched to be real. The camera lingers on his hands moving over her, on the way she spreads her legs obligingly, even as her expression flickers—boredom creeping in beneath the act. The whole thing feels mechanical, like they’re just going through the motions, a loop they’ve rehearsed a hundred times before.

“God, you feel so good,” she sighs, her voice sweet, syrupy, and just a little too rehearsed.  

The man doesn’t respond, just keeps moving, his rhythm unchanged, like he’s punching a clock. The camera zooms in slightly, grainy and unflattering, the colors oversaturated in that distinct VHS way. It’s all so obvious—cheap, impersonal, bodies going through the motions for the sake of getting paid.

And yet, you can’t quite look away.  

Clint hums, tapping his fingers against the couch. "Gotta say, Sweet Surrender ain’t half bad. Got a nice lil’ build-up to it."

You exhale sharply, your patience hanging by a thread. "Do you ever stop talking?"

Clint just chuckles, low and amused. "Not when I’m enjoyin’ myself."

And then—he sprawls out even more, shifting so his knee knocks against yours.

You jerk away. "Clint—"

"What?" He feigns innocence, head tilting. "Ain’t my fault there's not much room on this ratty ol’ couch."

Your hands ball into fists in your lap. "You’re the one who told me to sit here."

He grins again, wolfish and filthy. "And lucky for you, I’m real good at sharin’."

You’re about to snap, about to say something vicious—but then his fingers brush your thigh. Just a ghost of a touch, casual as anything, but pointed.

Deliberate.

Your breath catches, and he notices.

His smirk deepens, voice dropping lower. "Aw, sweetheart. You nervous?"

You swallow hard, forcing your body to stay still. "No."

Clint tsks, shaking his head. "Liar."

And then, the fucker has the nerve to nudge his knee against yours again, slow and deliberate, his fingers tap a lazy rhythm against your thigh.

"You sit here actin’ all stiff, like you don’t wanna be here," he murmurs, his voice damn near silky. "But you haven't left yet."

Your nails dig into your palms. "Because you threatened to fire me."

Clint just grins. "Uh-huh." He leans in again, voice dipping into something rougher. "That the only reason?"

Your heart slams against your chest.

You should get up. Should shove him away, tell him to fuck off, storm out and let him deal with this shitty store all by himself.

But your legs won’t move. Your body won’t move.

And Clint? He just keeps watching you, looking at you like he’s already won.

Like he knows something you don’t.

His smirk turns downright predatory, all lazy amusement and smug satisfaction. "See," he drawls, fingers still moving up your thigh, "you talk a big game, sweetheart, but you like this, don’t you?"

You inhale sharply, turning your head to glare at him. "I do not—"

He chuckles, slow and deep. "Mmm.”

His hand drags a little higher, not quite a grope, but enough to feel. Enough to let you know he’s testing you, waiting for you to stop him.

You should stop him.

But your body betrays you, staying right there, locked in place, heat curling in your stomach in a way you hate.

Clint grins like he can taste your hesitation. "See? Ain’t so bad, am I?"

You grit your teeth, trying to keep your voice steady. "You’re a fucking creep."

He hums, unconcerned. "Maybe." 

The TV hums in the background, the flickering glow casting shadows across his face. Another moan filters through the static, obscene and drawn out.

And Clint? He doesn’t look at the screen.

He looks at you and winks.

"Y’know," he muses, voice all slow and smug, "coulda left five minutes ago. Could leave now." His fingers press a little firmer, teasing the edge of your inner thigh. "But you won’t."

Your breath shudders, hands curling into fists.

His lips twitch. "So, tell me, sweetheart. You gonna sit here, act all mad, or you gonna do what we both know you wanna do?"

Your whole body is burning—rage, humiliation, something else you refuse to name.

You need to leave.

And Clint fucking knows it.

His smirk deepens, hand creeping higher, his voice dipping into something rougher, darker. 

"That’s my girl."

Your whole body is wound tight, muscles locked, breath shallow.

And that’s when he knows he’s got you.

His smirk turns downright wicked. "C’mon, sweetheart," he murmurs, tilting his head toward his lap. "Why don’t you get a little more comfortable?"

Your breath catches. "Excuse me?"

Clint just pats his thigh, lazy and casual like he’s offering you the comfiest seat in the house. "Ain’t gonna bite. Unless, y’know, you ask real nice."

You should slap him.

He leans in a little more, breath warm against your ear. "I ain’t making you do nothing, doll," he says, slow and deliberate. "You wanna leave? Walk. But you stay sitting here, pretending like you don’t want it? Now that’s just wastin’ both our time."

Your stomach twists, heat coiling low. "You’re so fucking full of yourself."

Clint chuckles, dark and knowing. "Yeah? You ain't gotta pretend you don't like it.” 

You hate that he’s right.

Hate that your thighs press together, that your breath is shaky.

You inhale sharply.

Then, slowly, finally—you move.

You shift, hesitating for just a second before you swing your leg over and settle onto his lap.

His hands immediately slide to your hips, gripping firm, like he’s been waiting for this all goddamn night.

"Atta girl," he murmurs, voice all rough approval. His hands flex on your hips, warm and steady, holding you like he’s got all the time in the world. Like he knew you’d end up here eventually. You hate how he leans back just enough to take you in, like he’s already imagining exactly how this is gonna go.

You glare down at him. "Wipe that look off your face."

His smirk only deepens. "What look?"

You don’t answer, because if you do, your voice might shake. Might give something away. Instead, you grab the collar of his cheap button-up, fisting it tight like you’re considering shoving him away. He doesn’t look concerned. If anything, he looks even more pleased.

"Feisty," he murmurs, voice thick with amusement. "Always figured you had a little fight in ya."

You roll your eyes. And then you do it.

You yank him in and crash your mouth against his, all heat and frustration, and fuck you wrapped up in a kiss. Clint makes a sound—low, satisfied, almost like he’d been daring you to do it. His hands tighten, fingers digging in, and then he’s kissing you back, deep and consuming, dragging you under like he owns you.

It’s messy, all clashing teeth and the faint taste of cheap beer and cigarettes on his tongue, but fuck, it’s good. Too good. His hands slide up your sides, rough and sure, thumbs brushing beneath the hem of your shirt, teasing warm skin. You arch into it without thinking, and that’s all the invitation Clint needs—he groans, low in his throat, and suddenly you're moving, flipped onto your back before you can blink.

"Fucking finally," he mutters against your mouth, hands already pushing up your shirt.

You barely have time to register the old couch beneath you before Clint is on you, pressing you down, pinning you like he’s been waiting forever for this moment. His weight is solid, and grounding, and when he dips his head, dragging his lips down the side of your neck, you barely bite back a sound.

"Damn, you smell good," he rasps, voice thick, rough like gravel. "Been driving me fuckin’ crazy for weeks."

Your breath stutters as his teeth scrape over your pulse, the heat of his mouth making your head swim. You should say something, throw one last smartass remark his way—but then his hands are everywhere, tugging your shirt up, palming greedily over your ribs, thumbs teasing just beneath the edge of your bra.  

"You gonna help me out here?" he drawls, mouthing along your jaw. "Or you just gonna lay there all pretty and let me do all the work?"  

His voice is thick with something dark and amused, but there’s a heat behind it that makes your stomach tighten. You lift your arms, giving him exactly what he wants, and he wastes no time pulling your shirt over your head. The cool air hits your skin, goosebumps rising in its wake, but it's nothing compared to the warmth of his hands as they slide over your bare shoulders, and down your sides. Your bra follows, unhooked with practiced ease, and he groans as he takes you in—eyes dark, hands already reaching.  

"Look at you," he murmurs, brushing his thumbs over your nipples, watching the way they pebble under his touch. "Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen."  

Then he dips down, mouth hot and eager, dragging wet kisses along the swell of your breast before he takes one into his mouth. His tongue is slow, deliberate, circling, flicking, while one of his hands kneads the other, squeezing just enough to make you gasp.  

He hums against your skin, lips dragging lower before he sucks at the sensitive underside, teeth grazing just enough to make you arch into him.  

"That feel good, sweetheart?" he murmurs, voice rough, breath warm against your skin. His other hand rolls your nipple between his fingers, teasing, making you whimper. "Bet you like being taken care of, don't you?”

You let out a shaky breath, head tilting back as heat coils low in your belly. His mouth is everywhere—kissing, sucking, teasing—turning you pliant under him. His words send a shiver down your spine, and you barely realize you’re nodding before your lips part to speak.  

"Yeah," you admit, voice soft, a little breathless. "I— I like it."  

Clint hums against your skin, dragging his teeth along the curve of your breast. "Yeah, I bet you do," he murmurs, fingers rolling your nipple, teasing, making you whimper. "Bet no one's ever really taken care of you before, huh? Not like this." His voice is all gravel and heat, thick with certainty. "Not by a real man.”  

Your breath stutters, your fingers twitching where they rest against the couch. The way he’s looking at you—hungry, possessive, like he already knows the answer—makes your pulse race.

"S’okay, sweetheart," he soothes, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss between your breasts. "Daddy’s gonna take real good care of you."

Before you can even process the rush of heat his words send through you, Clint just grins, teeth flashing, and suddenly his hands are on yours, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head in one quick, easy motion.

You open your mouth—to argue, to tell him he’s full of shit—but then he grinds himself against you, and whatever insult you were about to spit out melts into a choked-off gasp.

Clint’s breath is hot against your skin as he leans over you, the flickering light of the TV casting a sinful glow over his face. The low, breathy moans from the video playing beside him fill the cramped break room, mixing with the sound of your own unsteady breathing. His grip on your wrists is firm, keeping you pinned as his hips press hard against yours, the thick outline of his cock grinding insistently where you need him most.

“You hear that? You sound even prettier than she does.”

You bite back a whimper, but he catches it anyway, grinning like the devil himself. His free hand slips under your pants, between your thighs, fingers stroking over the damp fabric of your panties, slow and teasing. The woman on the screen lets out a desperate little cry as the man behind her fucks into her deep, and Clint groans low in his throat.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “You wanna try it?”

Your breath stutters. “What?”

His teeth scrape over your jaw, fingers curling tighter around your wrists as his other hand slides beneath your waistband, fingers dipping into your slick heat. “The way he’s got her. Bent over that couch, takin’ it like a good girl.” He drags his fingers under your panties and through your wetness, teasing, torturing. “Bet you’d look real pretty like that.”

A shiver runs through you, half defiance, half raw, burning need. “And if I say no?”

Clint chuckles, a dark, knowing sound as he draws his fingers out of you, lifting them to his lips to suck them clean, eyes locked on yours the entire time. “Then I’ll just have to fuck you right here, just like this.” His hips press harder, the thick length of him straining against his jeans. “Either way, you’re gettin’ wrecked, sweetheart.”

Your pulse pounds in your ears, breath shallow as you glance at the screen—at the way the man’s hands are gripping the woman’s waist, pulling her back onto him, the obscene sounds of slick skin meeting skin filling the air. Clint’s watching too, tongue swiping across his bottom lip like he can already taste the way you’ll come apart for him.

“Tell daddy what you need,” he orders, voice rough, commanding. “Tell him how you wanna be fucked.”

Your pride wars with your arousal, but the heat in his eyes, the way he’s holding you down, leaves you with only one answer.

“Like that.” Your voice is breathless, shaky, but firm. “Fuck me like that.”

Clint exhales a low chuckle, fingers tightening on your wrists. “Yeah? Knew you had it in you, baby. Knew you’d give in.” His voice is smug, dripping with satisfaction as he leans in, breath hot against your ear. “Say it again. But sweeter this time.” His lips brush your jaw, teasing. “Come on, princess. Call me daddy like you fuckin’ mean it.”

Heat prickles down your spine, your body betraying you as a shiver rolls through you. You grit your teeth, but the way he’s looking at you—like he owns you, like you’re already his—makes resistance feel impossible.

“Fuck me like that… Daddy.”

His eyes darken, his cock twitching against his jeans. “That’s my good girl.”

In one swift movement, he releases your wrists, flipping you onto your stomach against the couch. The cushions sink beneath you as Clint tugs your pants and underwear down in one rough motion, his large hands knead at your ass before delivering a sharp slap that makes you gasp. “Goddamn, look at that,” he groans, spreading you open with both hands, his thumbs pressing into your skin. “Can’t wait to see this pretty ass bounce on my cock—gonna make you work for it, baby.” he groans, palming himself through his jeans before undoing his belt. 

He tugs the leather free with one sharp pull, letting it drop to the floor with a heavy thud. Then he slides a hand down between your thighs, his fingers spreading you open even further.

“And look at this pretty pussy,” he murmurs, his voice thick with hunger. “Fuck, baby, she’s already so wet for daddy.” He drags a finger through your slick folds, slow and teasing, before bringing it to his mouth. His groan is low, filthy, as he sucks your taste from his fingers.

“Sweet as fuck,” he mutters, gripping your hips, dragging you back toward him. He leans in and his tongue flicks out, tasting you properly this time. His groan vibrates against you as he licks a slow, wet stripe up your cunt, his hands gripping your ass hard enough to leave marks.

“Mmm,” he hums, licking his lips. “Gonna make a fuckin’ mess outta you.”

He leans back, and the sound of his zipper sends a fresh wave of arousal through you, your body humming with anticipation. He doesn’t waste any time, shoving his jeans down over his hips, kicking them off completely along with his boxers. His cock stands thick and heavy, already leaking at the tip as he wraps a hand around the base, giving himself a slow stroke while his other hand spreads you open again.

“Look at you,” he mutters, dragging the head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing, making you squirm. “Just like in the video, huh?” He presses in just enough to drive you insane before pulling back, smirking when you whine.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he taunts, rubbing the tip against your clit, making you jerk. “Gonna make a nice mess for me?”

Please,” you breathe, your voice barely more than a whine.

He stills, his grip on your hips tightening. “Please what, baby?” His voice is smug, low, full of satisfaction as he waits, knowing exactly what he wants to hear.

You bite your lip, pride warring with need—but the way he’s holding you, the way he’s teasing you, makes it impossible to resist.

“Please, daddy,” you whisper.

Clint groans, his cock twitching against you. And then he’s sliding into you, slow but deep, stretching you open until you’re gasping. His hands grip your hips tight as he bottoms out, his head falling forward with a low, guttural moan. “Oh baby, she feels good,” he grits out. “Takin’ daddy so damn good, like you were made just for me.”

The video is still playing, the sounds of pleasure in the background spurring him on as he starts to move. His pace is steady at first, measured, but you don’t want slow—you want exactly what he promised. You want to be fucked like the woman on the screen, raw and dirty and desperate.

“Harder,” you gasp.

Clint growls, snapping his hips forward with a punishing thrust that knocks the air from your lungs. His fingers dig into your hips as he sets a brutal pace, the slap of skin against skin echoing in the tiny room. The couch creaks beneath you, but you barely notice—your body is burning, strung tight, every thrust sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine.

His grip tightens as he leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Look up, sweetheart,” he rasps, voice dark and commanding. “Look at the TV.”

Your dazed eyes flutter open, and the sight in front of you makes your breath hitch. On the screen, a woman is getting absolutely wrecked, her body bouncing with every deep, relentless thrust. Clint moans at the way your gaze locks onto it, his fingers move to your neck and tighten around your throat just enough to make your pulse race.

“See that?” he murmurs, thrusting harder, deeper, making your body jolt with each snap of his hips. “She looks so pretty takin’ it—just like you.” His hand slides down to your chest, squeezing rough, fingers rolling your nipple.. “Look at how her tits bounce, baby. Just like yours. Fuckin’ perfect.”

You whimper, your back arching into his touch, heat pooling deep in your stomach.

Clint’s grip moves from your throat to your jaw, tilting your head back so you can’t look anywhere but the TV. “Bet you like watchin’ it, don’t you?” he taunts, voice thick with sin. “Bet you love seein’ how good she takes it while I fuck you just the same.”

A deep, broken moan rips from your throat, your nails clawing at the couch as pleasure coils tight, ready to snap.

Clint groans, hips stuttering as he watches your body shudder beneath him. “Shit, you’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight. You gonna come for me, sweetheart? Gonna let daddy wreck you just like that?”

You let out a choked-off whimper as the scene on the TV shifts—the man shoving the woman onto her back, spreading her wide before diving between her legs. Clint watches, his breath going ragged, and then his dark eyes flick back to you.

“Mmmm.” he murmurs, dragging his fingers down your trembling body. “Bet you want that too, huh?”

You don’t even get the chance to answer before he moves, gripping your thighs and yanking you to the edge of the couch. The sudden motion has you gasping, but Clint just grins as he kneels between your legs.

“Keep watchin’,” he orders, voice low and rough.

Then his mouth is on you, hot and wet and devastating. His tongue drags over your clit in slow, deliberate circles, teasing, making you squirm. You grip his hair, tugging hard, but Clint just groans, sucking harder in retaliation.

“Look at you,” he mutters against your skin. “drooling for me. You like this, don’t you? Bein’ my plaything while we watch?”

The only response you can manage is a desperate, breathless moan.

Clint chuckles, the vibration making you shudder. He glances up at the screen, where the woman’s back is arching, her hands gripping the couch as the man devours her. Clint growls and follows suit, wrapping his hands tight around your thighs and burying his face between them, licking and sucking you deep, messy, like he’s starving.

“That’s it,” he groans, his voice muffled against you. “Lemme hear those pretty little sounds, sweetheart. Show me who does it better—me or him?”

Clint groans against you, his tongue flicking faster, rougher, his fingers digging into your thighs as he devours you like he’s got something to prove. The filthy, wet sounds of his mouth on you mix with the moans from the TV, the whole thing makes your head spin.

You’re so close—right on the edge, your body tensing, ready to snap—when suddenly, Clint pulls away. You whine at the loss, your hips bucking up instinctively, but he just grins, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he coos. “You’ll get to come—just not yet.”

You barely have time to catch your breath before he’s gripping your wrist, pulling you up off the couch and onto your knees in front of him. His cock is right there, flushed, thick, slick at the tip from how worked up he is. He fists himself lazily, giving it a slow stroke as he watches you, his other hand brushing through your hair.

“Open up, baby,” he murmurs, tapping the head of his cock against your lips. “Wanna feel that pretty mouth on me.”

You part your lips, letting your tongue flick over the tip, and Clint groans, his fingers tightening in your hair.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “Goddamn, you look so fuckin’ pretty like this.” His hips jerk slightly as you take him deeper, your tongue dragging along the thick vein on the underside. “Knew you’d be good for me. Knew you’d suck Daddy’s cock like a fuckin’ dream.”

He tilts your head up, making you look at him as you hollow your cheeks, taking more of him. His jaw clenches, a dark look flashing in his eyes. “Fuck, baby—look at you,” he groans. “So fuckin’ eager. You like it, don’t you? Like being on your knees for me, takin’ Daddy’s cock like a good little thing?”

You hum around him, the vibration making him curse under his breath. His grip tightens in your hair, guiding your pace, making you take him deeper. You relax your throat, letting him use you, and the sound he makes is downright filthy.

“Shit, baby,” he grits out, his abs tightening as he thrusts a little deeper, a little rougher. “Gonna fuck this pretty mouth—gonna come down your throat.”

His other hand cups your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek, feeling how full your mouth is. “You’re gonna swallow every drop, ain’tcha, sweetheart?” His voice is rough, almost desperate now. “Gonna take it all like the good girl you are.”

His pace stutters, his hips jerking as his breathing goes ragged. “Fuck, fuck, that’s it—look at you, so perfect for me—”

With a deep, wrecked groan, he comes, spilling hot and thick down your throat, his fingers gripping your hair tight as he holds you there. You swallow around him, taking every drop just like he told you, and the way his body shudders from it sends another pulse of heat straight to your core.

When he finally pulls back, his thumb swipes across your bottom lip, gathering the last drop of his release before pressing it against your tongue.

You swirl your tongue around his thumb, sucking it into your mouth just to tease him, hoping he’ll get the hint—hoping he’ll finally give you what you need. But instead of pulling you back onto the couch, instead of touching you the way you’re aching for, Clint just chuckles, leaning back against the cushions with a lazy, satisfied grin.

Your brows furrow as you shift on your knees, the dull throb of your own arousal making you restless. “What the fuck?” you snap, your voice breathless and frustrated.

Clint sighs, stretching his arms behind his head like he’s already settling in for the night. “Sorry, baby,” he drawls, his tone dripping with smug amusement. “Daddy’s tired.”

Your mouth drops open in disbelief. “You’re kidding me.”

He smirks, reaching down to tuck himself back into his jeans before grabbing a nearby tissue to wipe his hand. “Nope.” His gaze flicks over your flushed, trembling body, your thighs still pressed together, desperate for friction. He lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Damn, look at you—so fuckin’ needy.”

You glare at him, gripping his knee, half tempted to crawl onto his lap and take what you need yourself. “Clint—”

But he just tuts, wagging a finger at you. “Uh-uh. Don’t be such a fuckin’ brat about it.” He reaches forward, tilting your chin up so you’re looking at him, his smirk deepening. “Tell you what, sweetheart—bring me another tape tomorrow. Somethin’ real dirty.” He runs his thumb over your bottom lip again, grinning when you shiver. “Then maybe—maybe—Daddy’ll let you come.”

Your breath hitches, your thighs clenching together involuntarily.

“Better be a good one,” he murmurs. “Now be a good girl and clean up, yeah?”

npt to those interested in the wips: @yxtkiwiyxt @baronessvonglitter @mushgloomz @arcanefox207 @gothcsz @probablyreadinsmut @iknowisoundcrazy @almostfoxglove @sawymredfox @whocaresstillthelouvre @myownwholewildworld @ace-turned-confused @jokesonthem

[ravenclaw-for-all-seasons]

His Soft Spot - Mattheo Riddle (7)

A/N: Based on a request by @doves1120 after my previous post 🥰

Theo and Enzo were walking on either side of you as you made your way toward the courtyard, where Mattheo was supposed to be waiting after his last class. The two of them were in the middle of some ridiculous argument about Quidditch—Theo swearing that the Montrose Magpies were superior while Enzo adamantly refused to accept anything but Puddlemere United—when Enzo suddenly grabbed your arm.

"Uh, Y/N," he said, his voice laced with caution.

Theo followed Enzo’s line of sight and let out a low whistle. "Ohhh, shit."

You frowned before turning your head—and the moment you did, your blood boiled.

Some girl was standing way too close to Mattheo.

She was twirling a strand of her hair around her finger, tilting her head up at him with a sickeningly sweet smile. You could practically hear her giggle from where you stood.

Mattheo, for his part, looked unimpressed—his arms crossed, his jaw tight, his entire posture screaming disinterest. But that didn’t stop the girl.

She actually had the audacity to place a hand on his arm, leaning in as she spoke.

Your vision flashed.

Enzo took one look at your face and muttered, "Oh, this is gonna be good."

Theo smirked. "Mate, I think we’re about to witness an actual murder."

You didn’t respond. You were already walking.

No—stalking.

Every step was controlled, lethal, your expression unreadable. But the fire in your eyes burned bright enough to terrify.

The girl was still talking when you reached them.

"I just think we’d get along so well, Mattheo," she purred, batting her lashes. "You do spend so much time with Y/N, but don’t you think you should keep your options open?"

Mattheo barely had time to react before you were right there, stepping between them in a way that was almost too calm.

The girl blinked in surprise. "Oh, Y/N! Hi, I was just—"

"You were just leaving," you said smoothly, your voice even—but dripping with something dangerous.

Her confidence wavered. "I was just talking to Mattheo—"

"See, that’s the problem," you cut in, tilting your head. "You were talking to my boyfriend."

She let out a nervous laugh. "Well, I didn’t mean anything by it—"

"Didn’t you?" You took a slow step forward, forcing her to step back. "Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were trying to put your hands on something that doesn’t belong to you."

Mattheo let out a low hum of approval from behind you, but he didn’t interrupt. This was your moment.

The girl swallowed hard. "I-I didn’t know you’d be so possessive—"

Your eyes flashed. "No, see, possessive would be hexing you into next week just for breathing in his direction. What I am is someone who doesn’t tolerate disrespect. And you?" You leaned in slightly, dropping your voice to something only she could hear. "You just disrespected me."

The girl stiffened, clearly realizing she was in danger.

Behind you, Theo muttered, "Bloody hell."

Enzo let out a low whistle. "This is terrifying."

Mattheo, however, was smirking like he was enjoying every second of it.

You didn’t move, didn’t blink. You just stared at her.

The girl shifted uncomfortably, her confidence completely shattered. "I—um—I should go," she stammered, voice high and shaky.

You smiled—a dangerous, deadly smile. "Yes," you said sweetly. "You should."

And just like that, she turned on her heel and practically ran away.

There was a heavy silence.

Then—

"Okay, what the fuck," Theo breathed, looking at you like you’d just killed someone.

Enzo chuckled, shaking his head. "Remind me to never get on your bad side."

Mattheo, on the other hand, was still watching you, eyes dark and absolutely feral.

You turned to face him, raising a brow. "Something you wanna say?"

Mattheo exhaled sharply, his jaw tight. "Yeah," he said, his voice low and husky. "That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen."

Before you could react, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you into him. His hands were rough as they slid down to your waist, his lips already at your ear.

"Merlin, sweetheart," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "You really expect me to not throw you against the nearest wall after that?"

Your breath hitched, but you smirked up at him. "I told you before, Mattheo," you whispered, tilting your chin up. "No one comes between us."

He groaned under his breath, fingers digging into your hips. "I swear to god, if we weren’t in the middle of the bloody courtyard—"

"Okay, enough," Theo groaned, looking thoroughly done. "I’m gonna be sick."

Enzo snorted. "I mean, I knew Y/N was scary, but watching her go full Riddle mode? That was a new level."

Mattheo smirked, keeping you firmly against him. "Told you," he said, pressing a kiss to your temple. "She’s the only one scarier than me."

Theo shook his head. "Yeah, yeah, we get it. You’re both terrifying and disgustingly obsessed with each other. Please, spare the rest of us."

You just grinned, resting a hand on Mattheo’s chest. "Not my fault you can’t handle it, Theo."

Mattheo chuckled, dropping his head to press a lingering kiss to your jaw. "Mmm, that’s my girl."

And as Theo gagged dramatically and Enzo shook his head with a knowing smirk, Mattheo just smirked against your skin.

Because as far as he was concerned—anyone who did try to come between you?

Well.

They’d be lucky if they only had to deal with him.

[jaylleoo14]

Yan!Jade x Vamp!Reader Drabble

“If you hate me so… then why do you smile so beautifully?”

Hands wrapped around his tender and proportioned neck; huffing on top of him like a savaged animal, pupils blown wide as your vision shakes and becomes disturbed. You’re practically drooling, frothing at the mouth as you eye him like food to feast upon. A surge of desire pumps through your veins, nails digging into his neck until it slowly creases into his skin. 

Jade could throw you off quite easily. A simple thrust of his palm into your elbow and it’d be enough to break your arm inward, or perhaps a kick to the rear end to have you fall forward and then he would grab you by the shoulders to toss you off of him. Though, despite all the possibilities he could possibly enact, he lays there with no struggle. As if accepting what fate would befall upon him. 

“You’re smiling as if you enjoy being choked yourself, Jade.” 

Your voice is low and graveled, strained as you clench your jaws together. And despite that hungry smile you’re fighting back to hold, the urge to bite down onto him and drink his blood is even harder to withstand when he’s in your grasp like this. 

“This is quite the sight to see you in, (name). It’s as if you might just eat me up alive, fufu~”

A click of the tongue is all you give in response, trying to keep your hands steady as you pin him on the floor. Your heart is thumping with a rapid pace and sweat drips down your face. Despite your hands wrapped around his neck, it's as if your hands has thoughts of its own and wants to wring him like a towel. But your sane state of mind is trying so hard not to hurt him and refrain from doing something you could regret. 

“Are you… Out of your mind? Why aren’t you… Why aren't you doing anything?”

You feel his gloved hands slide up to your arm, the fabrics being rubbed against one another as he presses against your body. It makes you tense up even more, and in this state he can observe that your senses are so much more sensitive. Your hold on him isn’t tight enough for him to lose the air streaming through his lungs. But he could feel the restraining and shaking pressure against his skin and tendons as you try to hold yourself back. 

“Oh aren’t you quite the hungry one? It’s quite amusing to see you holding me down like this with your hands around my neck. So starved. Hungry. Primal. Desperate. The things you fail to show when you aren’t looking at me so hungrily.”

His hands don't go to your wrists to try and pry you off, instead, he wraps his arms around your torso. As if encouraging you to drop lower and indulge in yourself. Teasing you, playing with you. Even though he's about to be choked, it’s as if he's planned for this moment. As if he’s still the one in control of this situation. 

“Stop it Jade.” Your smile widens a bit bigger, your eyes widen just a little more as it focuses on a particular spot on his neck. Despite your protest, you feel your desires blinding you more and more, as much as you try to keep yourself together, your crazed and animalistic desire makes you smile big in joy as you’re about to feast for the first time. 

“I’ve seen how you look at me. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? You tell me to stop, but you look so excited. Let me guess, is this going to be your first time? You’re practically exhilarated, (name).”

“Shut up. I… I don’t want to hurt you Jade.” 

And as he continues to watch and observe your face, he can only squeeze out a chuckle as tears start to dwell in your eyes. Despite that excited smile on your face, you really don't want to do this. He can see that you’re trying so hard to pull yourself back, to refrain on what you really want to do. Because the moment you sink in your virgin fangs into his neck, and lap up his blood, there will be no going back. 

Call him cruel all you want, but the truth is, Jade is. Jade wants to twist you up inside, watch you writhe and crumble, fill up his curious and sadistic, masochistic thoughts and desires. A sick and twisted, secretive freak that will not outwardly say- but display in manners where you’ll start questioning your own sanity. And all this is derived with his mere sense of corrupted love for you. Love that had bloomed in his pruned heart, a heart full of curious adventure that had spurred with enticement the moment he had found your secret. 

“I’ll be alright, (name). Why don’t you go ahead and indulge yourself.” His voice is soft, as if whispering into your ear like the devil on your shoulder. His arms press more down against your back, pushing your shaking figure down against him. “I have plenty to spare, don't you worry my little Pearl.” 

“I…I hate you Jade. I hate you… Why? Why would you…?” Your hot tears drip onto his cheeks, and your jaw finally loosens up. Releasing your hands from his neck, they adjust to lay on the hard floor beneath you both. The other hand goes over to the crown of his head, and you grab a fistful of his hair. Your cheeks hurt from smiling so hard, and yet his scent is making you drool. 

“Jade… You’re really crazy for this… Please, stop me.” Your mouth is already open, your fangs out ready to take a hearty bite in as your fangs shimmer so intimidatingly. He helps himself out and leans his head to the side, as if giving you more room to take your bite. Displaying his tantalizing neck some more, making it look so much more delectable as his collars roughly undone to reveal more of his skin. “I won't be able to go back! Jade, you won't be able to go back!” 

“I’m aware. Don’t be so afraid, (name). I made sure to taste extra good for you.” 

Your fangs hover over him, and even though his last words reveal a sense of lingering mystery, it was already too late once you tasted the blood of his ravishing body. 

A grunt. 

A small moan.

A sharp pain. 

A soothing pat on your head. 

And a fistful of hair in yours. 

Sevens, Jade was right. He did taste extra good. Or maybe, it was just because you were hungry. Still, his blood was delicious. And you hungrily suckled on the spot that you bit into, slurping every single last drop that seeped out of the opening you created into his skin. 

You can hear him chuckling, his warm blood heating your throat with every gulping swallow you make going down your throat. 

“Aren’t you adorable?” 

And once you had enough to satisfy your cravings, you felt as if you had captured your sanity again. Releasing him, you aggressively wiped your mouth and looked down at him with your chest rising and falling, panting as if you ran a marathon. Your face flushed, as he sat up to face you. 

“Weren’t you scared that I could kill you?” Your tears still hotly seep down hitting the palm of your hands with fat drops. 

“No. Because I knew you wouldn’t let me die. You’re too scared to let that happen.” He said as he rubbed the mark on his neck. 

“I'm not bleeding?” All he could feel was your saliva coated around where your lips were being pressed against his neck. No streaks of blood, completely gone and not smeared or slated across his skin. You shook your head, wiping your mouth and the tears that you were slowly drying out as you held yourself together.

“No, my saliva ensures to close the wound back up once I'm done, um… Drinking.”

When you turn your attention back to his face, you can't help but harden your expression once you have gathered enough sense. What the hell was going on in Jade’s mind? 

Call it a hunch, but Jade gets the feeling that you’ll come crawling back to him, again and again. Begging to drink more of him, allowing to be your little blood bag. But drinking such delicious blood doesn't come for free. Everything comes with a price, and Octavinelle is all about making bargains and deals. 

And now that you’ve taken the bait, he’ll ensure you’ll stay and get yourself reeled. A carrot on a stick tactic that has been effectively used, and he won’t mind using it consistently if needed. If it’s for you.

Just you.

“Let's make a trade, (name)”

A smile so wide, so cunning and sly. It's like he was looking down at you- you, trapped in a cage he was able to lure you in and lock you forever. As he pushes himself up from the ground, you get a tingling sense of his scent filling your lungs. When you scoot back, he leans forward. 

“Everytime you want to feast upon me, you have to allow me to indulge in something from you as well. Be it from giving you little errands to run for me, or to somethings more sporadic. But don't worry, those things will only come when you’d like to feast. To make it an equal and fair trade of course.” 

He leans over to you, hovering over you intimidatingly with his larger body. Caging you further to prevent you from escaping from his grasp. Clicking your tongue, you get a surge of goosebumps despite your hostile facial expression.

“Was this what you were after this whole time? Jade, you sly bastard.”

Is all you can seethe out. But god, now that his taste has already injected and poisoned your system, you can't help but get hooked up on it. To get addicted to it. 

To the taste of him. 

In fact, even though you just finished drinking his blood, a part of you wants to continue tasting him just to have his flavor continue coating around your taste buds. But you steel yourself by clenching your fists as you swallow your own saliva down your throat to coax yourself instead. 

He knows he’s awakened something inside of you. Something primal, something desperate, something full of glutton. And oh does he love knowing you need him. The fact that you’ll desire him. Maybe not in the same sense as he desires you, but it’s close enough. It’ll eventually be the same thing. Afterall, the gears are already turning and the script to his plan is already playing out the way he planned. It’s all a matter of time as pieces start falling into place. 

And did I forget to mention that Jade is a very, persistent and patient man?

[forrest-onfire]

Mkay, I’ve got another:

I need a fic where Raf and MC are chaotic besties. Obviously Raf is in love but MC also has a crush except she’s CONVINCED he’s gay. Bc come on. Look at him. Do you hear his voice? That’s a pretty little gay boy right there. I’m 100% down for bisexual Raf (I’ve been seeing lots of Sylus x Rafael lately and I’m EATING IT UP). But I digress: MC loves Raf but has always friendzoned him unintentionally because she’s convinced he couldn’t possibly like her back, he’s just a flirty person in general, not that she’s every seen him flirt with anyone else, but that assumption suits him well anyway.

Raf HATES that she seemingly doesn’t see him as a threat at all. Basically the whole “clearly you don’t see me as a man” cliche except she totally does, but she’s lost all hope in pursuing him and now just treats him as her gay best friend, playful flirting, innocent touches, etc…

Things go a little too far when she starts to feel comfortable enough to change in front of him, and he just kinda snaps, getting all defensive to hide how flustered he’s getting and then she finally lets it slip.

“I don’t know why it bothers you so much. This isn’t your first time seeing a naked woman, is it? You may not be attracted to the female body, but I didn’t think you’d be so squeamish. Didn’t you study anatomy as an artist? Though, I guess you don’t have to since you hardly ever do portraits…”

She’s rambling as she changes, but Rafael is still caught on her casual confession that she apparently had NO CLUE how hot and bothered he gets every time she walks into the room. NO CLUE that every time she passed by him, the scent of her shampoo alone give him a pathetic hard on that makes his pants feel so tight, he wonders if the seams will pop open and reveal his disgusting, dirty train of thought. NO CLUE that he fisted himself under the sheets at night after trying and failing so many times to draw her just right because no frozen picture on a canvas could fully capture her beauty, not to mention how was he supposed to draw something he’d never gotten the privilege to see.

Until now, as she stands naked and unassuming in front of him, going on about how he’s…

Gay?

I mean, sure he liked dick probably as much as the next guy (assuming the next guy was queer as shit, of course). But Rafael was nothing if not adventurous and maybe a little depraved at times.

Like now, feeling that dark desire pool in his stomach and his cock struggle against the fabric of his briefs.

Her back is turned towards him, stretching leisurely before she bends to pick up her clothes and gives him the perfect view of e v e r y t h i n g, plump ass wriggling absentmindedly back and forth, thick thighs pressed together, and between the two like a delicately framed jewel is her sweet cunt that he’s been trying to envision for months now, right in front of him for the taking.

It almost made him angry how she did so with such innocent intentions, no idea how crazy it was driving him. But you know what? If this wasn’t an opportunity to prove to her just how much of a man he was, then what else was? After all, never once did he say a word about not liking woman - he hadn’t even mentioned liking men at all, how could he think about someone else when she stood right there, perfect in every way except apparently common sense because where the HELL had she gotten the idea that he was gay?

So really, it’s her fault. A lesson needs to be learned, and if Raf was lucky, she wouldn’t be forgetting it anytime soon…

K, so I accidentally almost wrote it myself. But I don’t wanna, so here! Take it. Make it better please I need to see this as a fully fleshed out one-shot. If you write it and tag me, I’ll be your forever mutual and a devout follower for the rest of our days.

Also, I’m aware I could make these requests directly to a fic writer, but as you can see, I prefer to simply scream out into the void and wait patiently for a response that will probably never come.

Happy pining 🤧❤️

[gamesetattach]

Thesis on Tour

Jannik Sinner x Reader Somehow, reader manages to balance the chaos of grad school with supporting her pro-tennis player boyfriend. It's not the easiest thing, but it's so rewarding. So reader brings her work on the road every so often, and Jannik makes sure she doesn't carried away. It's a good system, plus everyone loves when reader's around. Jannik more than anyone...

---

The morning light filtered in through a narrow crack in the hotel curtains as you shoved the last of your readings into your bag. Jannik stood near the door, his own bag slung on one shoulder, tossing his phone from one hand to another while watching you with amused patience.

"You sure you have everything?" he asked with a smile, giving you a once-over and nodding at your tote bag, which looked one page short of bursting.

"Yes—does it look like I need to add any more?" you answered playfully, slinging it over your shoulder with a little grunt. "I’ve got interview transcripts, research papers, two sets of annotated notes, and at least one book I’m not emotionally ready to cut loose yet."

“Damn. Are you planning to finish your whole thesis today itself? Jannik grinned. "You know we’re only gone for four hours, right?"

"And I have a lot I need to get done in those four hours, alright. Don’t crush my hopes and dreams."

“Okay, okay,” He put his hands up in mock surrender before pulling the door open for you. "You know I have every faith in you."

"Good—you’ve seen how well I can cram firsthand." You nudged him a bit with your elbow as he joined to walk beside you after shutting the room door, your footsteps quiet on the plush carpet.

“I have…”Jannik sucked in a breath, looking down the hallway. "Your all-nighters scare me. Honestly."

You laughed. “That’s only because you find the idea of getting less than eight hours of sleep to be unbelievable.”

“It is unbelievable. It should be to you, too.” He threw a hand up, glancing down at you with brows raised as you chuckled at his reaction.

“You’re just proving my point, Jan.” You chuckled, slowing your steps as you approached the elevators. Jannik went ahead to push the button while still shaking his head.

You lifted your bookbag off your shoulder and set it down on the floor with a heavy thump, you huffed at the relief from the wait, still holding on to the top of the straps in front of your knees. 

"You’re sure you don't want me to carry that?" he teased. He’d already offered twice earlier, and you’d shut him down both times. 

"You have enough to carry." You hoisted the bag back onto your shoulder when the elevator dinged and the arrow down flashed. “Besides, Uli would kill me if you came in with a shoulder pull or something from some of my books.”

Jannik chuckled at that and then the doors of the lift slid open. As they did, Gaël Monfils and Elina Svitolina were revealed inside, dressed in practice gear and in mid-conversation. They looked up just as you and Jannik stepped in.

“Hey,” Gaël elongated the greeting with a wide grin, his french accent lilting as he reached out to dap Jannik up. “How are you doing?”

"Good, you?" Jannik replied happily as he leaned down to quickly greet Elina with a kiss on both cheeks. "When did you both get in?"

"We’re good, it’s good to see you," Elina replied, smiling warmly. "We landed yesterday and managed to stay up until like 11 PM. So the jetlag is not too bad—we woke up feeling okay."

"You both get in late?" Gaël asked, peering at you with a curious smile. 

"Yeah, came last night and just slept as soon as we reached," Jannik said. "This morning was still hard, though."

You smiled and spoke up. "He might just be saying that because he loves sleeping in—I found it fine."

Gaël and Elina laughed, and Jannik shrugged slightly. Gaël now fully turned to you, giving Jannik a wink first, offering his hand to shake. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

You took his hand, smiling as you gave your name, and then reached out to shake hands with Elina as well. “I’m around here and there. I try to come and travel for tournaments when work allows.”

"What do you do?" Elina asked, nodding towards you.

“I’m a student actually.” You answered, and Gaël broke out into a smile as you did.

“No wonder,” he nudged Elina and pointed at your bag. “There must be a whole library in there.”

Gaël cracked up in laughter at his own words, grabbing his chest, and the rest of you chuckled—at his reaction just as much as his joke.

Elina shook her head with an approving press of her lips. "Wow, that can’t be easy. Especially with travel."

You only shrugged modestly, but Jannik spoke up. He loved bragging for you, and so the pride was obvious in his voice. "She’s working on her Ph.D. Has about a year left before her thesis defense.”

“Impressive,” Elina said, tilting her head in recognition, and Gaël nodded along. “Very impressive.”

“Are you sure a tennis player is smart enough for you?” Gaël poked fun, lightly hitting Jannik on the shoulder. 

""He keeps up okay..." You glanced up at Jannik, a teasing smile playing on your lips. "Most of the time."

Gaël and Elina both enjoyed that response, laughing as the elevator stilled on the ground floor. Elina turned back to you after you gestured for her to exit first, nodding her head at her husband and rolling her eyes. “This one can be too slow for even me, so, I understand.”

“Hey." Gaël clutched at heart in faux offense as they split off from you two, and Elina just smiled and waved goodbye. You and Jannik waved back, and chuckled as you heard Gaël continue to pick a play fight as they walked away.

“I like them.” You said as you walked to the hotel lobby’s tables to wait for Jannik’s team. “I can see why Gaël’s been one of your favorites on tour for forever.”

“He’s funny, always making people laugh.” Jannik nodded, before smirking at you. “Is he going to go on your list of favorites too, now?”

“I don’t know—” You hummed, pretending to consider, “I think he’s up there but… Carlos still has the first spot.”

Jannik laughed and rolled his eyes, but he stepped forward to wrap his arms around you. Your ‘thing’ for Carlos was a running joke in your relationship—you’d accidentally admitted to Jannik that you had a personal tier and bracket of ATP players on your first date, and then he playfully guilt-tripped you into confessing that Alacaraz was at the top. Obviously, that had quickly changed as you started seeing each other and now you always rooted for Jannik first, but you both liked to poke fun at the fact that his rival was once your favored pick—though Carlos was still a close second.

Jannik’s arms were still affectionately braced around your head, your cheek pressed into his chest and his chin resting on top of you, when you spied his team stepping out the elevator from a sliver of a window underneath his arm.

“Jan,” you tapped at his shoulder blade for release, your words coming out a little muffled. “They’re here.”

He let you go but didn’t step back to allow any distance between you. You were the first to back away, pushing off his chest and moving towards his team to greet them, and Jannik let out a huff at your retreat. You sent a look back at him over your shoulder, rolling your eyes with a smile, before walking into Marco’s open arms for a hug.

"There she is!" Darren called out from behind. "Our honorary sixth member."

You made your rounds saying hello, ending with Simone, and his arm was still around your shoulder when he pointed towards your bulging tote bag.

"Looks like you brought your office again" Simone teased.

"When do I not?" you replied, bumping your shoulder lightly against his as you all started to walk towards the car pick-up.

"It’s looking even more monstrous than usual," Darren said with a chuckle. "Maybe we should start reserving another court just for you to spread all your papers out on."

“I’m afraid of what your desk must look like.” Marco added from behind you.

You giggled, and called over your shoulder. “You should be.”

Jannik chuckled at your response and, walking between Marco and Uli, you heard him say something in quick italian. “È un disastro, sembra scoppiata una bomba—che macello!" It’s a disaster, looks like a bomb went off—such a mess.

The three of them laughed amongst themselves at Jannik’s animated words, and you turned to walk backwards, watching them like them were conspiring against you.

“E pare che quella in campus faccia ancora più paura, manca solo il fumo, poi sembra una zona di conflitto.” Jannik continued, in between the gasps lingering from his laugh, and they all broke again. And apparently the one on campus is even scarier, all that’s missing is the smoke—then it’s a war zone.

Uli was the first to catch you looking with narrowed eyes, and he sent a doting smile at your playful scowl. You raised an eyebrow in Jannik’s direction. "What? What did you just say?"

"Nothing important." Jannik said, and when you scoffed and turned your back to him again he jogged up to walk beside you before sliding an arm around your shoulders. You kept your pretend, displeased expression, but didn’t shake him off, and you couldn’t help the corners of your mouth from twitching up at his residual laughter.

And Marco, still chuckling as well, betrayed him instantly. "He basically said your desk looks like a battle went down there."

"Rude,” You gasped, swatting at Jannik’s chest despite laughing yourself. “... But true."

"It's part of your charm," Jannik looked down at you, squeezing your shoulder, before walking ahead to hold the exit door open. "I love it."

"Yeah, you better," you threatened jokingly as you passed him, meeting his eyes and making a face.

You all made your way towards the roadside roundabout, and stood at the curb under the roofed hotel entrance. Jannik pulled out his phone to coordinate with the driver, and Darren turned towards you, “So where are you setting up your mess today, then? Are you gonna find a table inside or will you be out on the courts with us?”

"I’ll sit in the stands, I think. It’s nice out, not too hot."

"Perfect," Uli said. "We like having you in talking distance."

You arched a brow. "Well, I do have a deadline coming up, so you all better not distract me."

"She says that like she’s not the first one to distract herself," Jannik said without looking up from his phone, smirking.

"Well if you make a dumb shot, I can’t just not say anything." You quipped back, pinching at his sleeve without any bite.

“Isn’t that the truth.” Darren chuckled.

“It’s good, the commentary,” Simone said. “We like having you here.”

“And I like being here,” you beamed at him, before dropping your expression into a more firm one. “But seriously guys, I need to lock in today. So don’t let me lose focus for too long.”

Jannik chuckled at your insistence, and the ride pulled up then. He set a hand on your back to guide you forward, leading you to enter first. You dug your hand into your bag, fishing around as the van door rolled open. After you stepped in and sat, you continued to rummage as everyone else piled in, but froze in your seat after recognizing the absence of what you were looking for. 

Jannik glanced over, and you met his gaze with wide eyes. "What’s wrong?"

"I forgot my headphones."

"Didn’t I tell you to double check before we left?" He said with no malice, placing a hand on your thigh before gently checking with you. “I can run back up really quick to get it.”

The car started moving, but you were already shaking your head. “No, I—”

Uli, sitting in the passenger seat, turned his head to look over. "Everything alright?"

"All good," you said, leaning back in your seat. "Just forgot my headphones."

"They help to focus," Jannik explained. “With all the noise around.”

The driver overheard, just pulling out of the hotel car park, and spoke up. “Would you like me to turn back, miss?”

“No, no that’s alright,” you insisted. “Thank you, though.”

“Sorry, kid.” Darren offered from behind.

"I’ll be fine," you waved off again. "Not the end of the world."

“Too bad it’s practice with Alcaraz, today.” Simone smirked next to Jannik. "That boy has one of the louder grunts."

Everyone laughed, and you exchanged a look with Jannik. He was already rolling his eyes when you smirked. "I’m okay with that."

Jannik shook his head at you, laughing lightly as he turned to face forward. “Of course you are.”

When the van pulled into the facility lot, the team spilled out one by one, grabbing gear and bags. You slung your bag over your shoulder and followed the group toward the practice courts. Along the way, you passed a few known faces—trainers, coaches, a couple players on tour you’d been introduced to or had exchanged words with before. Everyone familiar offered waves or smiles towards you and the team, greeting each other in passing without pausing your route.

As you approached the fenced gate, Jack Draper was walking towards the same entrance from the other direction. He smiled from a distance when he saw Jannik and the rest of the group, reaching out to pat Jannik on the shoulder with a grin once he approached. "Hey mate, you alright?"

"All good," Jannik returned easily. “It’s good to see you.”

Jack nodded at the rest of the team before stepping forward to you, giving you two quick cheek kisses. He’d been over for dinner with you and Jannik on a few occasions, so the two of you were more than acquainted and relatively caught up on each other’s lives. "How’s school going?"

“Oh, it’s going.” You laughed. “Final push, though."

“That’s right, it’s your last year isn’t it?”

“That’s the plan.” You held up a hand with your fingers crossed. “Hey, great play at the last tournament by the way.”

“Thank you,” he smiled at you, shifting to grab his water bottle from his bag. “You weren’t there were you?”

You shook your head. “No, but I watched it all go down live from home.”

“Well, it’s good to have you here for this one,” Jack chuckled, before nodding at Jannik and gesturing away with a thumb. “I’m running late for practice with Fils, so I’m going to head off, but good to see you all.”

"See you later," Jannik said nodding, and you gave Jack a final wave as he jogged off.

You resumed your walk to the reserved practice court, spying Carlos Alcaraz and his team already waiting there, stretching and chatting. You all entered and set your bags down, going around for brief greetings, and you found yourself in a light exchange with Carlos. You’d been introduced to each other a few tournaments ago, and now the two of you exchanged polite but warm small talk.

"Still studying?" he grinned as he stretched his arms overhead.

"Always studying," you joked. "It’s a wonder my schedule allows me to come for these."

“But you can come pretty often, no?” Carlos asked. "I see that—It’s always looking more fun when you visit."

"Thanks, I try,” you both laugh. “And honestly, I probably shouldn’t travel as much as I do, but I kind of fudge my deadlines to make it.”

"It must be hard," he said. "Working with all the fast-pace environment at tournaments? "

"I think I like working with other stuff going around, which is probably the only reason I’ve pulled it off this long." You shrugged. 

"When I was in school—" He started, but Juan Carlos called out for him from the court, cutting him off.

"Carlitos, should we reschedule training for you?" Juan Carlos called out, teasing.

Carlos faked a grimace, grinning at you, and you laughed. "Alright, alright, I should let you go."

Carlos nodded at you with another smile before jogging toward his coach. You turned to find Jannik already watching you, arms crossed, one brow raised with a teasing, knowing expression.

You fake a pout, reaching out to pinch his cheek. "Aw, what? Are you jealous?"

He only laughed, pulling your hand from his cheek to kiss the back of your hand. "Remind me to never ask Carlos to practice again."

You leaned up, kissed him quickly on the cheek, and patted his shoulder. "You’ll live."

Then you went up to the stands, choosing a spot halfway up the bleachers, directly opposite the barrier where clusters of fans had already gathered, hoping to catch a glimpse or an autograph from either Jannik or Carlos. With both of them sharing the court, the turnout was especially dense—spectators leaning against railings, many with flags and balls to sign, others already taking videos on their phones.

You pulled your bag onto your lap as they began their first rally. You laughed quietly to yourself as Carlos’s grunts picked up and carried across the court, reminded of Simone’s earlier warning. You shook your head with a smile and pulled out your laptop, propping it on your knees as you began scanning the last paragraph you'd typed on the flight the night before.

Your eyes flicked up every now and then—looking up to the rhythmic echo of rackets striking balls, the quick shuffle of feet against the hardcourt, the cadence occasionally broken for feedback from the coaches. 

At some point, Uli wandered over with a bottle of water in hand for you. You took it gratefully and sipped, not realizing how much time had passed under the sun amidst your work.

"Surviving up here?" he asked, shielding his eyes from the light.

"Yes, actually," you grinned. "I haven’t gotten distracted once so far—it’s a record for me."

“I’ll leave you, I don’t want to break the flow." He smiled up at you.

“No, please,” you jokingly cried out. “Just because there hasn't been a distraction doesn’t mean I don’t want one.”

Uli tsked, and wagged a finger at you with a smirk. “I thought you said—what was it? Lock in? You wanted to lock in, and you even asked for our help.”

He returned back to the court’s bench, but not before shooting you a playful wink, and you just shook your head with a smile before trying your best to refocus.

Soon after, between sets, Jannik’s came up to you too. He grabbed his water bottle from his bench before striding over to where you sat. He climbed up the stands, stopping his approach a row below yours, and stood in front of you with one foot up on the seat between you. As he uncapped the bottle, his eyes lingered on you with quiet affection, gaze staying on you even as he started to tilt his head back to take a long pull of water. You angled your screen down, and looked up at him.

As he lowered the bottle, he bent forward, one hand resting against your thigh for balance, and pressed a soft, unhurried kiss to your lips. It was nothing showy—barely more than a few seconds—but it felt full. Like a reset, for him and you.

"Enjoying?"

"Having the time of my life.'" Your delivery was dry, but you both knew you loved nothing more than being able to work on the research you loved while still being around him.

He smirked, leaning forward to kiss you once more before turning to head back. Before he stepped down, you gave him a playful tap on the butt. He glanced over his shoulder with a small shake of his head, lips twitching.

You smiled and settled back in your seat, refreshed—ready to put your head down and focus once more.

The rest of practice blurred into a steady rhythm of movement and clatter, your attention mostly glued to your readings or to your screen, your papers laid out on the seats beside you with pens placed on top to keep them from fluttering away. The occasional shout or burst of laughter from the court made you glance up, but for the most part, you were caught in a productive momentum for the rest of the session. 

You only lifted your head up and away when you finally sensed the energy on court shifted from the back and forth of the practice match. The sound of the crowd and the teams reacting—cheers, laughter, and excited chatter—pulled your focus upward.

Down on the court, practice seemed to have ended, and now both teams were gathered by the net, playing that post-session game tennis players loved. They rolled balls from the net to see who could get theirs to stop closest to the baseline, and it seemed most of the people had already had their turn. The edge of the court was lined with balls just slighty off from the white paint. You watched the remainder of the teams take their turn, each ball’s slow journey across the court met with whoops or groans depending on its final rest.

It was Carlos who first spotted you looking over, and he waved you down with a grin. "Come try it!"

Jannik stood behind him, hands on hips, smiling up at you.

You blinked at the request, then gave a small shrug and closed your laptop, setting it gently aside before making your way down the stands.

The moment you got on court, the others started clapping and cheering you on. Darren clapped you on the back as you passed. Jannik was more quiet, but his soft smile was persistent. He came up to you and handed you a ball, his chest brushing against your shoulder.

"Which one’s yours?" you asked him, nodding toward the line of balls scattered near the baseline. "So I know which one to beat."

That got a round of laughter from everyone, and Marco whistled low.

Jannik shook his head down at you but, from near the baseline, Juan Carlos gestured to where Jannik’s try had ended up. The ball was the closest to being on the white, just ever barely off the line. You nodded and took your stance by the net, and gave the ball a slow, careful roll.

It glided down the court, and Carlos followed the ball down as it did. It slowed its roll just a little after passing the service line, and seemed to be on a perfect trajectory. Carlos crouched lower as it neared the edge, and then came to a perfect stop. Dead on the baseline.

The court erupted, everyone laughing and clapping. Carlos jumped up and down with theatrical disbelief, throwing an arm around Juan Carlos’s shoulder.

“A la primera,” Juan Carlos said, shaking his head with a smile. “A la primera.” First try.

Jannik playfully rushed at you, fawning over you like you’d just won a Grand Slam. You swatted him off, laughing. "What? Was that supposed to be hard?"

They all shared another laugh at that, and Darren came around to place his hands on your shoulders, shaking you slightly. “This is why we love when you come.”

“It’s true, we do.” Marco called out, as everyone moved to start collecting the balls.

You purse your lips, a smile breaking through, pleased and warm. You shot a teasing look at Jannik, raising your brows as if to say hear that.

But he was already watching you the whole time, eyes shining and tender. He shrugged when you met his eyes, smile growing wider. “I can't disagree.”

---

Later that week, the tournament set in motion. It was still early into the rounds, Jannik’s first match having just ended. 

Around noon, you’d sat in Jannik’s box, watching him close out his the game with cool, effortless precision. It wasn’t a particularly long match, the opponent being new to the tour, but Jannik had played as sharp as ever, and the crowd was eager to watch the World No. 1 at work.

You met him briefly afterward—offering a smile, a squeeze of his hand, and a quiet congratulations—before he was whisked away to cool down and start his media rounds. You’d slipped away to a tucked away table within the facilities, flashing your credentials to enter to space just off the main player lounge, setting up your laptop again, flipping back into your other world of research and revisions as you waited.

You were absorbed in a document, brows stuck in furrowed position, when a shadow passed across your screen. You glanced up—freshly showered, hair still damp, Jannik leaned down to place a kiss on the crown of your head.

One hand braced casually on the table, and he gently nudged one side of your headphones to sit just off your ear.

"Hey," he said softly. "You good?"

You nodded, tilting your face toward him with a small smile, pulling the headphones off entirely and see it down. "You were great. Quick, too."

"Just trying to buy you some more time," he murmured, eyes flicking to your laptop screen.

"Oh, it was for me, was it?” You laughed. “How thoughtful."

"Deadline coming along?"

"... Depends on who you ask…" You shrugged, darting your eyes off to the side, away from his face. 

“And if I’m asking you?" He pried teasingly, with a knowing shake of his head.

When you didn’t respond, and only looked up at him with a sheepish smile, he sighed and leaned down to meet your lips. He broke the kiss early, and it had you chasing after him with your eyes closed for a split second. You furrowed your brows and opened your eyes to find him looking at you, face still close, smiling softly. 

“So it’ll be a late night then?” He asked.

You nodded, pressing your lips together in confirmation. “... Down to the wire.”

He rose up again and just set a hand on your shoulder, snaking it up behind your hair to hold the back of your neck. He shook his head again, mostly at himself, but he was smiling when he looked down at you. 

"Have you eaten?" he murmured.

You had to think about it for a second before shaking your head, "Was waiting to be done with this section."

Jannik, already reaching into his bag, clicked his tongue. “You had two espresso today, no?”

“...Three, even.” 

He rolled his eyes, handing you a protein bar and banana from his stash. You reached for it with a grateful look, brushing his fingers briefly in thanks. “You know you get shaky.”

You smirked at him. "I thought you love it when I get shaky."

That earned a small laugh. "Not like that—I love it when I get you shaky.”

“Well... if you stay up past midnight, tonight…” You gave him a look before shooting him an exaggerated wink.

Jannik exhaled a laugh with only slight disbelief, running a hand over his face. “Ah, what am I going to do with you... Unfortunately—there’s no chance.” 

“No chance?” Now it was your turn to be surprised, he was never one to turn down such a proposition.

“Yes—no chance, because we both know you’ll be working past midnight.”

You couldn’t object to that, he was probably right, but you huffed anyways. “You’re no fun.”

“You know I need my eight hours.” He flicked his index lightly at the swell of your cheek, poking fun at himself.

“Ah, yes. Your beauty sleep.”

“We can’t all pull all-nighters like you can.”

You shrugged, smiling and reaching your arm around his waist to pull him close. You rested your head on his hip and he lifted a hand to gently brush over your hair once.

“I was about to head to the cafeteria, I’ll pick up a sandwich for you?” He voiced after a moment. He didn’t bother asking if you’d come with him, knowing you would want to stay put until you made headway at the section you’d been working on since that morning.

You nodded, glancing up, face soft. "Thanks Jan."

He gave no response, his quiet care natural and established—never an obligation, though he treated it like a given. And you’d do the same for him. 

He just cupped your cheek and leaned down for another kiss, this one longer and deeper, you sighed into it and he gently tugged your bottom lip with him as he pulled away.

"Okay, I’ll be back in a few minutes with food," he said as he stepped away, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. "But then I have some more media things, some video and a shoot. Shouldn’t take too long. I’ll text you."

"I’ll be here," you said easily, nudging your laptop open again. "With plenty to do, so. Don’t worry about me."

He nodded and turned to leave, heading off down the hallway before turning back after making it halfway. He called out, "Hey—dinner tonight? At seven? We can go to that one—you know, the place by the hotel we like."

You scrunch your face a little, “I’ll probably still have work—”

“You’ll need a break. So we get dinner at seven.” He cut you off, matter-of-fact.

You gave in, knowing he was right and decided to tease instead of fighting back. "What? Are you asking me on a date or something, Sinner?"

He rolled his eyes, but grinned. He shrugged as he started walking again, moving backwards down the hallway. "I guess I am."

"Then, fine," you threw up your hands. "I’ll go to dinner with you."

He turned back around, and you watched him shake his head to himself at your antics. And as you opened your laptop back upright, you heard his chuckle echoing lightly as he disappeared down the hall and you couldn’t help but smile down at your screen.

---

Lurv this one. Been contemplating going back to school lately also, on a related note, I must be going insane, and thought up this fic premise. Shoutout to all you students, all you academia girlies. You're so strong—take care of yourself!!!

This one is lowkey PDA-y, and I know we can't say for certain that's Jannik's vibe. But we also can't say it's not, you know. It's def not mine, cringe at the thought honestly, but I actually thought it felt cute here so.

On a similar note, some couples have established hall-passes, and neither of them gaf. But sometimes partners get really agro and jealous about that sort of thing... so idk, just interesting. And in this one, Carlos is lowkey reader's hall-pass, and Jannik practically leans into it so...

Also, I think I must have literally no sense of time or scale or any quantifiable frame of reference at all, because I genuinely thought this would be a blurb the whole time I was writing it, but like, no? It's a whole ass fic. Get that in check, girl. That's me to me.

Whether or not you relate to this one, I hope you enjoyed the fluff!! xx