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minhosimthings · 2 months

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Epilogue || 18+

Synopsis: Sex had never felt so good, as it did now, with your new husband.

Pairings: husband!Jay × wife!reader

Warnings: smut minors Dni, thigh riding, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, p in v sex, penetration, degradation, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), rough sex, dom!Jay, sub!reader, breeding kink, mention of pregnancy, cumming inside, JayYn forever I love these idiots

A/N: and we come to an end with the Lucifer series! Thank you for all the support on this series, I truly loved writing it and I hope you all like this tiny bonus 😙🎀

Series Masterlist

The first time Jay ever saw you was in fourth grade. He remembered that story like the back of his hand. The first thing he recalled was the fact that you were so short you couldn't reach the coat hangers, so he had to help you hang your too big coat up. That was the first kindle that ignited the flames of your friendship.

The second kindle was when you were introduced to him as 'your new neighbour Y/N'. Your parents had recently moved to the town and bring the social butterfly she was, Jay's mother promptly marched him over to your new house with a jar of homemade cookies. Jay remembered how you and him had devoured all of the cookies without a thought, only to get stomach aches and scoldings from both your mothers.

Jay had introduced Heeseung to you at the start of fifth grade, having trusted you enough to welcome you into his own group of friends, of which Heeseung was his best. Jay's entire world for most of his cringey teenage and depressing young adult years were you and Heeseung. And he had been thankful for that.

Until he found himself falling in love with you.

Falling desperately, hopelessly, painfully in love with you. If anyone had asked him about what he loved about you, he would have had a seven verse poem written already. As if that was enough for him to express everything he held within his the deepest crevices of his heart for you. He loved you on purpose, truly and fully, as heartbreak loved a woman and as misfortune loved a daughter.

But as love always went, Jay was hesitant. He was scared. What if you didn't feel the same way? It would have ruined your friendship and the deep bond between you two if Jay ever told you what he truly felt, about the way his stomach would erupt in butterflies whenever you'd fix his hair and the way you made him weak in the knees everytime you laughed at one of his dad jokes.

Then came Seattle.

Jay's father has received a promotion and they were to move to The States. A new chance at at life, as his mother had enthusiastically put it. But there was no enthusiasm or happiness in it for Jay. Sure, he would be moving somewhere new, somewhere where dreams were supposed to be fulfilled, but what about his life until then? What about Heeseung and you? What about the life he wanted to have with you for the rest of eternity?

So came the waterworks. The final look of anguish on your face at the airport remained etched into Jay's memory forever, even from the distance he could clearly see the tear stains on your face, and Heeseung's arms pulling you into a hug with a final nod to Jay. It tore his heart apart, but he promised himself that he'll dig his way back to you if it was the last thing he'd do.

That is, until he moved back to Seoul, and found himself face to face with you and Heeseung. With matching rings on your fingers and a lovesick smile on your face. Or atleast that was how he imagined it. He didn't even take the time to glance at your longing expression, heavily disguised under the cheerful grin on your face.

You did love Heeseung, yes, but what good was that love when the man you've wanted since eight grade was right in front of you? Sitting in the same elegant position, holding his glass of gin in the same peculiar way that had always made you laugh, what good was any love when it was not the love you wanted?

Or perhaps the love you lusted after, the dangerous kind of love. The adventurous kind of love. The love that made your eyes linger over him whenever you'd pay Heeseung a visit at the police station, only to find Jay looking at you with pity as he glanced towards the empty desk labelled with your ex husband's name next to him.

The love that made you want to absolutely devour him as he sat leaning back in his armchair, legs spread dangerously wife apart, that caused warmth to spread between your thighs and saliva to accumulate in your mouth.

Jay looked at you with eyes full of lust, like he was a tiger on a hunt and you were his lamb, dolled up in a white dress with a glittering diamond ring on your finger. You had practically fought him not to buy you something so expensive, but Jake and Sunghoon had shrugged their shoulders with an 'i told you so' look when you walked in with a look of defeat.

"Come 'ere." Jay mumbled, tapping his index finger on his thigh, his own ring shone spectacularly against the golden shade of his skin. You promptly walked over, dragging your dress along with you. It was a pretty dress, you had to admit, you didn't think Jake and Sunghoon would have been such experts in suggesting wedding dresses, but you were proven wrong.

"Pretty little doll..." Jay's arms promptly went to your waist, as you say yourself down on his thigh, forearms resting on his shoulder. His right hand, crawled up your back, to where the zipper of your dress lay stagnant. You pressed your body closer to his, your clothed pussy practically grinding against the course material of his trousers. Jay's soft, cherry pink lips, touched your neck agressively, leaving hues of red behind for everyone in town to know whose you were.

Jay's fingers fiddled with the zipper for a minute before he pulled it down completely, to reveal the white lace of your bra. It barely hid anything, your perked up nipples were clearly visible and your cleavage was a valley Jay wanted to dive into and make a home out of.

Jay's hands palmed your bare back as he ripped your dress off of you, eliciting a moan out of your mouth as you saw his muscles flex ever so slightly, thought the fabric of his silk shirt. Your fingers also went to the buttons of his shirt, unbuttoning the first three before Jay perked his thigh up, the fabric now hitting your clothed cunt. You gasped at the sudden sensation.

"So impatient aren't you, love?" Jay connected his lips to yours in a short kiss, "Tell me what you want baby."

"You're allowing me that privilege?" You chuckled, trying hard not to stare down at his chiseled chest, "That's too kind of you Mr Park."

"Would you prefer if I was rougher, Mrs Park?" Jay wore a handsome smirk on his face, the hand which settled on your back, squeezed it ever so slightly, making you squirm. Jay's fingers danced up your legs, slowly making their way up your legs until he reached the waistband of your panties. His devilish smirk only grew in size as you lifted your hips just enough for him to slide the thin fabric down your milky thighs to expose your slick center.

"Needy little slut aren't you doll?" Jay whispered in your, sending shivers down your spine, "All wet for me, and I haven't even touched you."

"Maybe you're just that handsome." You responded with a cheeky smile. You started to slowly roll your hips into Jay's stomach, your soaked pussy rubbed harshly against his trousers. Jay could feel the spot on which you sat comfortably getting wetter by the second.

"Or maybe I'm just that pretty." You said again, adding fuel to the fire, "Well, a pretty girl like me shouldn't be with a man like you should she?"

As you went to pull away, he grabbed your arm gently, his grasp firm around your skin, before bringing you back down to his level and pressing his lips into your mouth, a searing hot kiss igniting you into a pile of flames, a mountain of ash at the feeling of his touch.

You kissed him back, eyes shutting tight like a stone door, your body leaning in to his as his tongue dragged across your own. That elicited a moan from the back of your throat, and without exactly meaning to, you felt yourself grinding against him.

"Pretty girl like you deserves to be fucked like the whore she is, doll." His fingernails drew marks over your skin, adding to your pleasure. The drag of your clit against his muscular thigh causes you to whimper, pressing yourself harder to his skin, as if trying to obliviate the mere atoms of space between the both of you. His large calloused hands guide your hips, moving you up and down his thigh.

Soon the throbbing in your cunt got stronger, your clit begging for more friction, something to relieve the pressure building up in your lower stomach. You give an experimental rock of your hips, freezing to wait for Jay's reaction. When he doesn't respond you do it again, setting a steady rhythm as you grind down on his lap.

The zipper on the front of his slacks rubs perfectly against your sensitive clit, the pleasure increasing with every roll of your hips, head burying further into the crook of Jay's neck, his masculine scent filling your nose. Your pussy is dripping now, your empty hole flutters and pulses as you continue grinding in Jay's lap, too lost in pleasure to register the tiny whimpers leaving your mouth.

Speeding up your movement, hips pressing down harder into his, a breathy moan of his name falls from your lips as you're about to reach your peak. Just as you feel yourself tumbling over the edge, two strong, cold hands firmly grab your hips, halting your movement completely.

You whine desperately at the loss of your orgasm, hips frantically chasing more of that delicious friction that would have your cunt gushing, but it's useless. Jay's vice-like grip prevents any of your movements, cold fingers bruising as they dig into the soft flesh of your hips.

"Not so soon, sweetheart." Jay smirked at your shocked expression, you looked adorable to him with widened eyes and an agape mouth, "My spoilt little princess."

"Jay please..." You whine out of annoyance, but his grip stayed strong on your body, practically leaving scars there from how strong it was.

"Poor baby, begging for me." Jay snickered, sending shivers down your spine, "Tell me what you want darling—tongue, fingers or cock?" One of his hands went down to your thigh, giving it a light squeeze, eliciting a moan out of you.

"T-Tongue." You spluttered out, as Jay kept groping your thigh. He snickered once more, his ego grew in size as he watched you sink into an abyss at his mere touch.

"Good girl." Jay simply replied, before tightly securing his hands round your hips. He lifted you up with ease, and places your feet on the ground, before getting up himself and picking you up again. One of his hands wound round your waist and one of them went to your ass, squeezing it mischievously. He meticulously carried you to the bed, which by the look of it, had new silken sheets, just waiting to be ruined.

The feeling of the soft fabric seduced you as you allowed your body to relax into the mattress. Your eyes flickered over to Jay, whose figure could be seen outlined by the faint golden light of the lamp placed on the bedside table. The carved muscles of his back enamoured you into a trance as you stared at your new husband take off his shirt. His hands went to his newly bought leather belt and he took it off in one swipe, loosening up his trousers which soon came off to reveal his hardened cock. Your mouth filled to the brim with saliva as you stared at it.

"It's not good to stare, sweetheart." Jay chuckled, turning to you, his gaze set fire to your skin, "Now—" his mouth morphs into a lopturned smirk, "—you said tongue didn't you?"

The only response he got was a weak whimper when his hands roamed over your thighs, spreading your legs apart. You gasped softly at the feeling of his breath hitting your skin.

Jay peeled open your pussy, revealing your glistening slit to his hungry eyes. He watched the way your arousal pooled at the tight hole of your cunt, the way your clit hardened at the feeling of the cold air. Your hands snaked down to his head, and you dragged your fingers through his hair, his name falling from your tongue like a melody.

"Jay—stop teasing." You whined, not having the patience anymore to wait for his heaven-trained tongue to get stuck inside your pussy.

His eyes find yours again, and he kept them there as he traced his lips north. He nosed the juncture of your cunt and inner thigh, running a tongue along your mound. You gasped and eyes narrowed, watching him with rapt attention. He pressed a kiss to the top of your slit and his hands come up to open you to him, pulling the lips apart and tonguing the collected moisture there. Your head fell back as your elbows gave way, falling flat against the blanket.

"god, just like that," you groan as he brushes against your g-spot and circles his tongue around your clit.

Jay's tongue swirls in lazy circles against your clit, hands gripping your trembling thighs to anchor you to him. His mind is hazy with desire, lost in the taste and scent of you, the feel of your body under his touch. He can't get enough of you, craving more and more until he's completely satisfied, which he knows will take hours at the very least.

All you can hear are the brazen sounds of his slurps and sucking along with his ragged breathing and you scream and whine as your hands reach out weakly to push his shoulders away, the pleasure running through your nerves, strangling your throat in the process.

“Ahh-! Jay- wait..!” He doesn't listen to your pleads to get him to stop, the pleasure almost unbearably good. How could he stop? His sweet tooth craves for his sweetheart’s sloppy cunt almost all the time.

He’s enjoying every second of it, listening to how noisy you’re getting, the screeches and moans escaping your lips, barely managing to form words to escape those pretty lips he loves to shove his cock into.

Your moans were getting higher and higher as your back arched to feed more of yourself to him, desperately craving the feel of his touch, of his nose, of his beard against your thighs, of the lips he so devoutly was using to suck on your most sensitive spot.

As his tongue continues exploring your clit with need, you push against his shoulders but fail, his strong grip keeping you locked in position.

Nonetheless you keep trying, far too overstimulated for your own good. You try to get his hands to release their firm grip of holding your thighs up, but you fail again, then try pushing his head away, yet you fail again, your attempts futile.

"Fuck—oh Jay!” You wailed a wanton amount, enough for the whole neighbourhood to shake due to the sheer pleasure you’re feeling. The white pain mixing with adrenaline sends you right to the edge of teetering release.

“Can’t you please just— Ah! fuck me already!” There it was, the only permission he ever needed.

Jay was quick to pull his skilled tongue out and move his hands from your thighs to your hips, getting himself steady on top of you. The sudden movement caught you off guard, even more so, when his lips landed on yours. You tasted the faint bits of yourself on them and you relished it all, arching yourself further into him. He was your husband now, and you made sure that you took full advantage of that.

"So fucking pretty." Jay whispered after pulling away. One of his hands cupped your cheek while the other remained on your hip. Jay was quick to withdraw his hand and trace it back to your hip.

“You ready?” he asked, licking his lips before pulling his cock out, already covered in pre-cum. He looked so beautiful above you, his hips so close to yours, his hair falling into his face and his chest raising as fast as yours. You looked a mess, but you were his mess and he wanted to devour you.

He was tender with you, his fingertips light across the length of your body as he felt you, his touch delicate- as though you were a statue that could break at any moment. He was going to take his time with you. He was going to devote himself to the religion that was your weeping cunt.

Yet, in a play of duality, the moans, the lewd moans that crawled up your throat were filthy, even filthier than the sound of how wet, how unbelievably drenched you were as he plunged into you over and over, as he literally used you as a fucktoy, filling you up more and more, until he was finally sat inside you to the very hilt, until his pubic hairs were grazing your skin and the tip of his cock was touching your cervix.

"Fucked out already, love?" Jay snickered at you, he knew his words always made you weak.

You managed a weak glare, but it melted into a moan as he pushed into you. The stretch was intense, making you claw at his shoulders for support. He kissed your neck, his lips and teeth leaving a trail of fire as he pulled out slowly before thrusting back in deeply. You moaned at the sensation, your body arching to meet his every movement.

You opened your eyes slowly, your vision filled with the sight of him. His beautiful, sweat-covered face was close to yours, the grey in his eyes adding to his rugged appeal. His aura burned with an intensity that made your heart race.

His pace quickened, his hips snapping against yours with a ferocity that left you breathless. The room was filled with the sounds of your combined moans, the slap of skin against skin, and the wet, obscene noises of your coupling. His free hand roamed over your body, caressing and squeezing, leaving trails of fire in its wake.

“Jay– more,” His eye flits up to your face, asking for silent reassurance that that is indeed what you want. “For god's sake Jay, move faster please I–” Not needing to be told twice, Jay picks up speed. Where his thrusts were slow and sensual, now they are fast and hard. He fucks you like a man starved, as if he was told this is the last woman he will ever lay with. Which in his case, was true, since you were married after all.

It all feels so, so good. Your mind is a hazy mess with only thoughts of him and his fat fucking dick. Every time his tip meets that spongy spot inside of you, you feel like you're seeing stars as drool runs down your chin. When was the last time you ever got your guts rearranged like this? In fact, when was the last time you even felt the touch of a man? Heeseung surely had done it, but it was surely never as pleasurable as this.

Those questions were swept away in the flurry of pleasure brought by Jay's cock sliding in and out of your pussy with a wet squelch, your body rocking back and forth with the force. He relished the sight under him, your sweaty body splayed out so prettily for him as he brought you to new heights.

"Damn... You're so fucking tight—"He grinned as you responded with nothing but incoherent babbles, too dumbed down to even form a proper sentence. "—sucking in my cock like it never wants to let it go, honey..."

Jay brought one of his hands down to grab your breast, fondling the mound and squeezing before tweaking your nipple between the pads of his thumb and index. That action elicits a hiss out of him as he feels you clench down harder around him, making him let out a breathy chuckle

"Haah... You liked that, didn't you, doll?" His answer comes in the form of another pornographic moan, "...What if I gave you a child, huh? —Fuck—! You like the thought, love? Letting me fuck a baby into you?"

"Jay—ah shit!" You screamed, feeling your gummy cunt being attacked by his tip, "N-Need your cum—please!"

Jay would have been lying if he said the thought wasn't enticing, getting to raise a child with you that's his own. It was something he'd been dreaming of for the longest while. You weren't sure if you could have children, but Jay would at least attempt to make it happen. Even if it meant pumping you full of his cum till your belly bloats from the amount he's emptied into you. It drives him to go a bit faster, his cock reaching deep as your walls spasm around him.

You gasp out his name as your arms tighten around him. Hearing a chuckle, he did it again. "What happened baby?" He cooed, you could hear the smirk dripping from his voice. But you were too distracted making noises to complain.

“My dumb little girl, just love getting her needy cunt fucked hm? there sweetheart? yeah feels good doesn’t it?” He up his pace, even if you thought that was impossible. His cock continues to drill inside you with the tip expertly hitting your heavenly spot.

It doesn’t take long to feel the first flutterings of that eye-wateringly beautiful sensation between your legs. The force of his thrusts, and the friction against your clit cause you to see stars behind your eyes. With one last scream of his name, you cum around his cock. Your walls pulling him in, attempting to root him to you. Aemond however, does not let up, chasing afer his own release. You quickly stammer, “I’m cumming! Fuck!”

“Cum for me. Right now give it to me, baby, come on” Jay pistons his hips with slower pace but deeper, sliding himself unbelievably full to your cunt, with a prominent bulge on your lower tummy.

Jay’s legs nearly gave out underneath him, hearing your sweet words. As your pussy contracted in wet bursts around him again, Jay released every drop of cum inside of his body, deep into your walls so that you could feel yourself becoming full and it beginning to drip out as it became too much.

Jay didn’t move and kept his cock inside you, letting himself and you calm down and try to catch your breath. As you regain your composure, your head against Jay's chest, your mind almost exploded with the overwhelming thoughts.

You definitely were not on the pill.

You and Jay winced in union as he slowly pulled out, careful not to waste any of his seed, which stayed buried deep within you. You could see the shine of the thin line of sweat on Jay's body as he slumped down on the mattress next to you. He looked ethereal, like a God in his own kingdom.

"You ok, love?" Jay murmured in his deep voice, which sounded tired.

"You're asking me that now, asshole?" You chuckled breathlessly, your chest riding and falling according to your hasty breaths, "I'm not on the pill by the way." You added, with uncertainty coating your tone.

You felt Jay's arms quickly wrap around you, pulling your head into his chest. He smiled down at you, pressing a saccharine-sweet kiss to your sweaty forehead. You winced at the feeling of your sore legs moving slightly on the bed.

"Good." Jay said, "I wasn't planning on having any protection anyway."

"Jay!" You gasped playfully, softly hitting his chest, "Don't say that!"

"Or what?" He smirked.

"Or I'll make you a dad." You managed a cheeky smile, feeling drops of sleep drip onto your eyes.

"Gladly, my love."

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priniya · 6 months

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˗ˏ` EMOTIONS! 🍵 ´ˎ˗

pairing. theodore nott x reader

summary. theo never handled his emotions right, and when his girlfriend shows up in a wrong moment, things escalate and theodore doesn’t know how to fix it.

THEO HAS BEEN A TICKING BOMB LATELY and you knew that. it’s been bothering you, but every time you tried talking some senses into him, he brushed it all off, saying something too stupid and reckless for you to hear, so the topic was dropped sooner than it was brought up.

it was one of those times again, when a recurring thought was planted into your brain that you didn’t know your boyfriend like you thought you would. theodore hasn’t been himself lately, which made you worry tons. he’s been smoking much more and getting into fights more often as well as getting into trouble with the teachers, losing the points for your house, which… well, you didn’t care that much about it. what you cared for was theo’s wellbeing.

since it’s been a christmas break, you had gone home to spend time with your family, which meant your contant with theo was limited to a few letters that he was doing somewhat fine, yet you’ve been smart enough to know that spending christmas with his father and grandfather could never make him feel fine, not even a little bit. it was the breaking point in you that you’ve decided it’s the end of brushing you off.

“riddle, berkshire – out.” you barged into the dorm, glaring at your boyfriend’s dormmates, causing the first one to groan in annoyance.

“jesus, can’t be in your own room anymore.” mattheo rolled his eyes at you, yet he knew it was coming, so he dragged his ass up, patting theo’s back. “good luck with that one, nott.” he muttered before leaving the room with lorenzo, who just sent you a sympathetic smile.

theo, on the other hand, just glanced at you for a second, knitting his eyebrows together. “what do you want, l/n?” he asked, his nose still burried in between pages of a book you gave him for christmas.

“oh, last name basis, al–fucking–right.” you grumbled, grabbing the book away from his hands, your body trembling with fury. you hadn’t had a proper conversation in over two weeks, yet he couldn’t bring himself to be a decent man towards you. “what’s going on with you, nott?”

“get off my dick, y/n, really.” he rolled his eyes, expression matching the one his roommate had a few moments earlier. “i don’t have fucking time for this shit.” theo added, clearly agitated.

“well, you want it — you have it, i’m not getting on your dick anytime soon.” your voice was thick with emotion as the mention of celibacy earning you a look. “i know something’s going on. i know that, because i’m your girlfriend and i care about you. just trust–” you started, but the sentence wasn’t meant to be finished, because nott cut you off.

“then don’t. merlin, i don’t need a fucking babysitter, hoovering over my ass all the time. you’re not my bloody therapist, l/n. i don’t fucking need you to stick your nose into my business 24/7.” theodore stood up, his nose almost brushing yours before you took a step back, startled at the sudden outburst. “and sex? don’t amuse me, for merlin’s sake. i could leave the dorm right now and find someone to bone if i wanted to.” his tone was harsh, while his words were like knives thrown at you as a reward for being a caring girlfriend.

your boyfriend looked at his knuckles, his gaze focusing on the ring as he begun to take it off, making your pupils widen. “go. give it to someone who’s gonna be crazy enough to put up with your obsession about emotions. i’m not doing that anymore.” he muttered, pushing the ring into your palm.

“fine.” was the only thing that came to your mind after his words. your body continued to tremble and at this point, you couldn’t have been sure if it was your annoyance or broken heart that he just broke up with you. “just keep your promise and stay away from me. maybe join the death eaters too, for all i care, you’ll fit in perfectly.” with that, you left his dorm, slamming the door behind you as you fought with tears flowing down your cheeks.

“troubles in paradise?” mattheo grinned at you playfully, not noticing your tears-stained face as you were storming through the common room to the exit of the room.

“go fuck yourself, riddle.”

it wasn’t even five minutes later, when mattheo entered his shared dorm, his expression utterly confused as his mind was doing its best to connect the dots. “what’s with that gal of yours?” he asked theo, plopping down onto his bed, lightning up a cigarette right after.

“she’s not my gal anymore.” nott mumbled in response, almost untouched by the entire thing that just happened and that took his best friend by surprise.

“what do you mean she’s not your gal anymore?” he asked, his frown deepening. “lad, don’t tell me she broke up with you, you love this girl to death.” riddle added, scanning his friend’s face for any sign of uneasiness or a clue to understand all of it.

“i broke up with her.” theo replied with a shrug.

“merlin, man, why?” mattheo asked another question, this time being left without an answer as nott shut the curtains of his bed, putting on a silence spell.

IGNORING THEODORE ALL WEEK HAS BEEN EASY as you weren’t in the same year as him. you’ve been grovelling inside about the break-up, but from what your mother had always told you, when you were younger, you remembered that all the teenage boys were shitty and you couldn’t — by any means — let him know how much hurt you were. ignoring him was easy, all because, in your eyes, he didn’t even take any effort to show you remorse for what happened, from what you’ve known, he didn’t even look at you once.

the worst part of loving theodore nott was not being able to brush off all the concerns and worries that lived rent free in your mind, whenever you’ve noticed him walking through the hallways. nevertheless, he didn’t want you to care about him at all, so that was what you were planning on doing. kept your head high and your feet steady on the ground.

what you didn’t know, was that it wasn’t pride that made him keep his eyes away from you, but guilt. from the moment he woke up the day following your argument, his organism was flooded with guilt and shame to the point, where he couldn’t look at himself in the mirror.

he fucked everything up just like his father always told him that he would. he broke the promise he’d made to himself that he wouldn’t drive you away, wouldn’t hurt you like his father hurt his mom, yet he did. you were the only person in his world that made him feel like a normal human being, one, who could love and be loved, but he had to ruin it all, because his pride wouldn’t let him to open up to you.

it’s been already a week since the biggest mistake of his life, as he called it, and theo’s entire body hurt. he was popping pills with blaise like candies, because sobriety and consciousness made everything worse. he couldn’t stop thinking about you — about your expression, when he broke things off with you, the hurt in your eyes and the way you were holding yourself after that.

people, not close enough to you, might’ve been fooled by the facade you’ve built around you, though not theo. he’d known you for years prior to your relationship, he’d seen you both happy and miserable and now? now, you were beyond miserable. you might’ve kept your head high with the biggest smile on your face, but he’s known. he always would — whether you wanted him to or not.

quidditch practices were the worst, all because you were always there, yet never watching him. it wasn’t even up to you to be there and theo was certain of it. you were there, so your best friend wouldn’t have to sit through an entire practice alone, while she watched lorenzo with starstruck expression all the fucking time.

“lad, you have to apologise to her, sort it out.” enzo sighed, putting a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. “aoife’s worried about her. ‘m not really surprised, though, she started smoking weed on daily-basis again. aoif’s saying she can’t remember, when she saw her sober for the last time, but it’s better than bawling her eyes out over some asshole, aoif’s words, not mine.” having a friend, who was also somehow close to you and your best friend was a blessing in disguise. lorenzo kept him updated, not leaving out all the insults aoife lynch threw at him for breaking her best friend’s heart.

a loud sigh left theo’s lips as he leaned over the table, his forehead falling onto the wooden surface as he let out a groan. “i don’t even know what to do, enzo.”

“my suggestion? get your shit together.” mattheo chimed in, a playful grin on his face. “i mean it, theo. the gal of yours keeps showing up to my spot and i can’t deal with her tears anymore. get your shit together and fix it.”

“the problem is, matt, i don’t know how.”

the opportunity, although being totally… stupid, occurred at the end of another week during a game with hufflepuffs. theo’s entered another stage of grief and has been going around the school angry at everything. so, when the game came, he was playing rougher than usually, because he needed an outlet to the built-up anger.

of course, you’ve noticed. how couldn’t you? you’ve been keeping an eye on him for the entire two weeks. despite your promise to aoife, you couldn’t let it go. no matter who he was, your boyfriend, a friend, a stranger or an enemy, you couldn’t stop worrying about him and doing your best to look out for him. so… when he was forcefully pushed off his broom by diggory, you were running down the stairs before he even hit the ground. you needed to be beside him or it would kill you.

he was unconcious for almost two more days, making it a sixteen days without hearing his voice and you were going crazy, spending every single second, occupying the tabletop placed next to his bed. his hands in between yours as you kept it close to you. did he deeply pained you with his words? yes. would you let him be alone in the hospital wing? of course not.

“y/n/n.” he whispered suddenly, his voice breaking. “i’m so sorry.” nott let out and you weren’t sure if it was some kind of sleep talking or your delusions leading you on. “i’m so sorry, baby.” he repeated his words with a term of endearment, squeezing your hand weakly.

“theodore…” your words hitched in your throat as you moved the hair aside from his forehead. “don’t think about it now.” you whispered in a coy manner. “it doesn’t matter.”

“i can’t.” he coughed out. “i can’t stop thinking about it. about you. i’ve acted like a dick, but i didn’t mean it. you’re my world, baby, i’m so, so sorry. you were right all this time, i build up my emotions inside of me and let it get the best of me in the worst moment. i’m so sorry i hurt you, i swear i hate myself for—” he continued his rambling, slowly opening his eyes to have a look at you.

“hey, teddy, please, don’t think about it now.” you pleaded, still holding his hand. your thumb caressing his palm. “just rest, okay? please. we’ll talk about once you’re well-rested and out of here.” your voice was gentle.

he shifted in his hospital bed, hissing as his ribcage hurt immensely. “no, cara, please.” he muttered, bringing his lips to your palm. “listen, i can’t get over what i told you. i’m so fucking sorry, baby.” he whispered.

“teddy…” you started, but he cut you off.

“no. i’m sorry i said all those things to you, you didn’t deserve all the shit i gave you.” he let out a sigh, rubbing his forehead. “you need to hit me. for all the pain and suffering. oh god, and the tears. you should just kill me at this point.” theo muttered, and honestly? he did deserve the beating for what he’s done, but the three days of unconsciousness due being knocked off the broom, you could let it go. it could be his fate share of beating.

“just shut up, will you?” you sighed, planting a tender kiss on his lips. “we’re fine.”

#theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #niki’s works 🫂#theo nott smut #theo nott rec #theo nott fic #theodore nott x oc #theo nott headcanons #theodore nott headcanons #theodore nott smut #theodore nott fic #theodore nott #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader

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okwonyo · 24 days

Text

THE BOY IS MINE, 或 𓈒𓈒 proofs that they are yours.

𝒾 ⠀⦂ ⠀ 엔하이픈 형선 ୨୧ f ╱ r! 3OO fluff established relationship ── non idol au not proofread ⠀ ｡｡ ⠀ ( 𝑜𝑜𝑒𝑢𝑣𝑟𝑒𝑠 )

지아 ⠀⦂ ⠀typed all this on pc and did not proofread .. i hope you all enjoy nonetheless ><

rblgs♥︎fdbcks & C𝑙𝑖CK

HEESEUNG

as his phone’s wallpaper, would have a picture of you that he took in zero point five. would tend to stare at it with a idiotic smile before kissing it.

always would refer to you as his girl— well, more like, ‘my girl’— whenever he talks about you, which is a lot. and would giggle freely when his friends teasingly talk about ‘heeseung’s girl’.

JONGSEONG

would keep a picture that he took at your first date in his wallet fondly. at every anniversary, would renew it and would often stare at it, before putting it close to his heart when he misses you dearly.

would carry himself with a pendant with the first letter of your name on. which would be the cause of the penury of several shirts with ‘v’ shaped necks— as he would buy about the entirety of them.

JAEYUN

on almost every social media he owns, would have you as his profile pictures. which would always create some rise of confusion when he posts and you would always laugh at the comments asking who runs this account— since he would post you a lot too.

would always get extremely kissy when he has to leave the house without you, leading to a bunch of kisses getting exchanged. wouldn’t even notice the couple of lipstick stain on his face when he walks in the streets.

SUNGHOON

would give you matching jewelry whenever he can. although discreet, the promise ring shining on your ring finger would refrain some from thirsting too much on you— or on him, for that matter.

whenever you are out together, would be attached to your hip. not even in the touchy way, but would just follow you everywhere you go— like your shadow or a watermark. where you are, he would be there too.

ㅤㅤ𓈒ㅤㅤ𓈒 taglist open.

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helen-with-an-a · 16 days

Note

sucker for angst can I please request one where putellas!reader is the youngest and gets a heart attack on the field and mapi is the first one to do cpr (alexia is almost inconsolable) very angsty with comforting end

Hiiii - thank you so much for this, I loved writing it. I tried to keep the details of CPR to a minimum, but also I was a lifeguard for over 5 years, and being trained in CPR was essential in our work, so the CPR instructions are true and accurate. I hope that this might stick in someone's mind and should the worst ever happen, you mind be able to remember what to do.

Memory

Barça Femeni x Reader ; Alexia Putellas x sister!Reader

Description: Memory is a blessing and a curse when the Reader falls unconscious during a match

Content Warning: CPR, Medical issues, Illness

Word Count: 6.7k

Alexia prided herself on her memory. It was something she was exceptionally confident in, a skill that had always set her apart. Every little detail, from the exact dates of events to the clothes people were wearing, and even who said what, was meticulously catalogued in her mind.

She could never forget the day her world began to change, the day she first learned about you. Eleven-year-old Alexia was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor beside Alba both of them barely able to contain their excitement as Mami and Papi called them over. The room had an air of something important, something life-altering. And then, with a smile that Alexia could still see in her mind's eye, her mother gently placed a hand on her growing belly and told them the news. Frijolita, they said. A little bean. That’s what they called you before you even had a name. You were the baby who would soon complete their family, the littlest sister who would turn their duo into a trio. Alexia had felt a surge of excitement and responsibility all at once. The idea of having a new sibling was thrilling, but there was something deeper, an unspoken promise she made to herself to always look out for you.

The memory of your actual arrival was just as vivid. Alexia had just turned twelve, the birthday balloons still clinging to the walls of her room. It was the early hours of the morning when her Tío gently shook her awake, his voice hushed but full of excitement. "She's here," he whispered. She had leaped out of bed, her heart racing, and hurried to the hospital, the world outside still dark and quiet. The moment she saw you, bundled up and sleeping peacefully, she felt a connection so strong it was as if she had known you her entire life. You were tiny, fragile, yet perfect. She cried when she met you – the tears slipping down her cheeks as she pressed the gentlest of kisses to your forehead, promising that she would do anything to protect you.

As the years passed, you grew, and so did Alexia's collection of memories. She remembered a three-year-old you, all curiosity and energy, those wide hazel eyes – so much like hers – looking up at her with an innocent plea. You wanted to join her in the backyard as she practiced her skills, your small hands tugging at her shirt, your voice insistent. Despite your age, your determination was unwavering, and Alexia couldn’t resist. She let you chase after the ball, your laughter ringing through the air, a sound that still echoed in her heart.

Then there was the memory of a five-year-old you, stubborn as ever, refusing to be left out. You had clambered onto her lap with surprising force, your small arms wrapping around her as if you were afraid to let go. It was a day she could never forget – your mother sitting on the couch, tears streaming down her face, her heart breaking over your father. The room was heavy with grief, but you, in your innocent determination, had climbed into Alexia's lap as if she could shield you from the sadness, as if being close to her would make everything better. And in that moment, Alexia held you tightly, whispering reassurances she wasn’t even sure of herself. You had looked up at her with those same hazel eyes, filled with trust, and she had made another silent promise – to be the strongest she could, to be strong for you, even when the world around them seemed to be falling apart.

You were ten when you nearly broke her front door down one Saturday afternoon, bursting into the house with a flurry of excitement and noise that filled every corner. The commotion you caused was so overwhelming that it convincingly distracted her from the anger and confusion that had first crossed her mind. She had been startled by the loud banging, wondering who could be causing such a ruckus, but all of that was forgotten the moment she saw you.

"They want me! They want me!" you shouted, your voice echoing through the house as you ran from room to room, barely able to contain your excitement. Nala was just as caught up in the moment, barking and dancing around your feet as if she, too, understood the magnitude of what was happening. You were like a whirlwind, full of energy and joy, and it took a full thirty minutes before you could calm down enough to finally show her the papers you had been clutching so tightly.

When she saw the bold lettering at the top – FC Barcelona La Masia – her heart skipped a beat. Barcelona wanted you. Her little sister, the one she had watched grow and develop her skills with relentless passion, had been noticed by one of the most prestigious football institutions in the world. It was more than a dream come true; it was a validation of all the hard work, all the sacrifices, and all the moments of doubt you had overcome.

As you stood there, beaming with pride, she felt a rush of emotions – pride, joy, and an overwhelming sense of love. This wasn’t just about football; this was about you stepping into a world that would shape your future. And it wasn’t just you – both of you were going to be a part of this journey. The Putellas sisters, together, taking on Barcelona one football game at a time. The thought of the two of you, side by side, wearing the Blaugrana that meant so much to both of you, filled her with an unshakable sense of pride.

But that was just the beginning.

You were sixteen when the next milestone came, a moment that felt like a leap forward in your already impressive journey. You were asked to join the First Team for training. The First Team – the very thought of it was overwhelming. These were players you had idolised, professionals whose skills you had studied and admired. Your sister and all her friends. And now, at just sixteen, you were being invited to train alongside them, to learn from them, to be a part of the team you had dreamed of since you were a little girl kicking a ball around in the backyard.

She remembered how nervous you were that day, how you had paced around the house, trying to hide the anxiety that had crept up alongside your excitement. But she knew you better than anyone, and she could see it in your eyes—the mix of fear and determination that drove you. You were stepping into a new world, one where the stakes were higher, the expectations greater. But she also knew that if anyone was ready for this challenge, it was you.

Then, at seventeen, the dream became even more real. You signed your official first-team contract, a moment that felt both surreal and inevitable. She could still picture the moment when you put pen to paper, your hands steady despite the weight of the moment. This was what you had worked for, what you had sacrificed so much for. It was a culmination of years of dedication, of early mornings and late nights, of triumphs and setbacks. And as you looked up at her, holding that contract in your hands, she saw the same determination in your eyes that had always been there, but now there was something more – confidence, pride, and the knowledge that this was only the beginning.

Mapi also prides herself on her memories. While she might not hold onto every detail with the same intensity as Alexia, she has a knack for remembering the important things, the moments that matter most. And among those cherished memories, the first time she met you stands out vividly, a snapshot in time that she can recall with remarkable clarity.

You were eleven, full of youthful energy and wide-eyed excitement, attending one of Alexia's international matches. It was a big day for your sister, but it was just as important for you. You had always looked up to Alexia, admiring her talent and determination, and now you were there to witness her shine on an international stage, surrounded by the vibrant atmosphere of the stadium.

Mapi remembers seeing you for the first time as you stood by your Mami in the crowd, almost bouncing on your toes with anticipation. Your Mami was talking to someone behind you – another mother of one of the players probably. But your eyes were glued to the pitch. Even at that young age, there was something about you that caught her attention. Maybe it was the way your eyes sparkled with excitement, or the way you clung to every word and action as if trying to absorb everything at once. Or perhaps it was the unmistakable resemblance to Alexia, not just in your features but in the determination and passion that radiated from you. There was a quiet intensity in your gaze, a seriousness beyond your years, as if you understood the gravity of the moment.

As the match played on, Mapi found herself glancing over at you more than once. She was struck by how engaged you were, how you seemed to be analysing every play, every movement on the field, as if you were learning from it, storing it away for future use. It wasn’t just a game to you; it was a lesson, an opportunity to understand what it took to play at the highest level. And even though you were just a kid, Mapi could see that same spark in you that had driven Alexia to greatness.

After the match, when the excitement had calmed down and the players were mingling with friends and family, Mapi finally had the chance to meet you. She remembers how you were practically glowing with pride as you stood beside your sister, your eyes wide with admiration, her name emblazoned across your back. When Alexia introduced you, Mapi couldn’t help but smile at the way you looked up at her, a mix of shyness and awe in your expression. You were polite, a little reserved, but there was no mistaking the respect and admiration you held for her as one of your sister's teammates.

That first meeting was brief, just a few words exchanged, but it left a lasting impression on Mapi. She saw the potential in you, the same drive that had made Alexia a star. There was no doubt in her mind that you were destined for something great, that you would follow in your sister’s footsteps and make your own mark in the world of football. Even then, at just eleven years old, it was clear that you had the heart of a champion.

She also remembered the shy, yet quietly determined 16-year-old who showed up to training for the first time. You had arrived at the training grounds with an air of nervous excitement. You kept glancing across to Alexia, like a child looking back to their mother, for reassurance and support.

The first thing Mapi noticed was your outfit – specifically, the training top you were wearing. It was unmistakably Alexia’s, and it was about three sizes too big for you. The sleeves fell well past your elbows, and the hem completely covered your shorts, but there was something endearing about the way you wore it. It was as if you were carrying a piece of your sister’s legacy with you, a tangible connection to the one who had inspired you to reach this point. It spoke of the bond between you and Alexia, a silent acknowledgment of the footsteps you were following.

Despite the oversized top and the nerves that were probably churning in your stomach, there was a quiet determination in your eyes. Mapi could see it the moment you stepped onto the pitch – a hair tie securing the loose fabric behind you – your focus laser-sharp, your mind set on one thing: proving yourself. There was no hesitation in your movements, no sign of the intimidation that so often accompanies a young player stepping into a world filled with seasoned professionals. You might have been shy off the field, but on it, you were something else entirely.

As the drills began, it quickly became apparent that you were no ordinary 16-year-old. The way you passed the ball, with skill and precision that belied your age, caught everyone’s attention. Each touch was deliberate, controlled, executed with an almost instinctual understanding of the game. Your technique was flawless, the kind that only comes from years of practice and a deep, innate love for the sport. Mapi watched as you moved through the drills with ease, your focus unbroken, your determination shining through with every pass, every turn, every sprint.

Mapi couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride as she watched you. She had always known you had talent, but seeing you in action, seeing the way you handled yourself on the pitch, was something else entirely. You weren’t just Alexia’s little sister anymore; you were a force in your own right, a player who was ready to carve out her own path, to make her own name in the world of football.

That first day of training was a glimpse into your future, a future that was clearly bright and full of promise. Mapi knew, as did everyone who watched you that day, that you were destined for greatness. You had the skill, the determination, and the heart of a champion. And even in that oversized training top, you stood tall, a young player on the brink of something extraordinary.

You stood behind your sister in the tunnel. the familiar hum of the stadium echoing around you, the distant roar of the crowd growing louder with each passing second. It was a ritual at this point—Alexia, Cata, you. The three of you always lined up in that order, a reassuring familiarity that helped ease the anxiety before every match. The tunnel was a place of anticipation, where the nerves were almost palpable, but this small routine gave you a sense of calm, a reminder that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

As you stood there, your heart thumping with adrenaline, you glanced down at the back of your shirt. Alexia’s name, which had once been proudly emblazoned there during your younger years, was now replaced with your own. It was a symbol of how far you’d come, a marker of your journey from being the little sister who idolised her sibling to becoming a player in your own right. Seeing your name, bold and unmistakable, brought a swell of pride. It was a reminder of the hard work, the sacrifices, and the countless hours of training that had brought you to this moment.

The tunnel, though dimly lit, was alive with energy. Your teammates around you were focused, their faces set with determination. You could hear the steady breathing of Cata in front of you, the way she subtly bounced on the balls of her feet, ready to charge onto the field. And just ahead of her was Alexia, your constant source of inspiration. Even without seeing her face, you could sense her confidence, her leadership. She was the captain, not just in title but in every action, every word. Knowing she was right there, just a step ahead, gave you the reassurance you needed.

It was a typical day in Barcelona—the sun was shining, casting a warm golden glow over everything, and the familiar smell of the sea lingered on the breeze. The city was alive with its usual rhythm, but for you, time seemed to slow as you stepped onto the pitch, crossing yourself in a ritual that had become second nature. Your movements were perfectly synchronised with Alexia’s, a mirror image of the routine you both had followed for years. It was more than just a habit; it was a connection, a shared moment of focus, reminding yourselves of who you were doing this for as the game began.

There had always been a running joke among your friends, family, and even the fans that you, Alexia, and Alba were practically identical – three sisters, a true copy and paste of your parents. From your mother’s eyes to your father’s smile, the resemblance was uncanny. Growing up, it was something you’d heard often, especially whenever the three of you were together. But now, as you stood on the pitch, it was even more apparent.

You had begun to shed the baby fat in your cheeks, your features sharpening into a striking reflection of your sister’s. Your jawline had become more defined, your cheekbones more pronounced, and the athletic build you had worked so hard to develop was now unmistakable. With every passing day, the similarities between you and Alexia grew more evident, not just in appearance but in the way you carried yourself – your poise, your determination, and your unyielding focus on the game.

It was at halftime when you started to feel a little funny, a subtle sensation that crept up on you without warning. You hadn’t really noticed anything was off until Jana, always quick with a joke, pointed it out. “Hey, you look like you just ran a marathon,” she teased, nudging you playfully. “Might need a change of shirt during the break, unless you’re trying to start a new trend.”

You laughed it off, brushing her comment aside with a grin. But as you walked off the pitch and toward the locker room, you couldn’t ignore the nagging discomfort that was beginning to settle in. Your shirt clung to your skin, drenched with sweat in a way that felt excessive, even for the intensity of the match. The usual rush of adrenaline that kept you focused seemed to be fading, replaced by a heavy, sluggish feeling that you couldn’t quite shake.

Inside the locker room, the atmosphere was buzzing with the usual energy. Teammates were talking strategy, rehydrating, and catching their breath, but you found yourself moving slower than usual, your head feeling slightly foggy. You tried to shake it off, chalking it up to nerves or maybe just the heat of the day, but there was a small voice in the back of your mind that told you something wasn’t quite right.

As you sat down on the bench, you reached for your water bottle, hoping that a good drink would clear the haze. The plastic felt cool against your palm, but your grip was looser than it should have been, as if your fingers weren’t quite responding the way you wanted them to. You took a long sip, letting the water flow down your throat, but it didn’t do much to shake the growing sense of unease that was settling in your chest.

Alexia, always in tune with your every move, noticed the slight frown on your face as you lowered the bottle. She had been watching you closely, her instincts kicking in the moment she saw the unusual look in your eyes. She knew you better than anyone—better than you sometimes knew yourself—and it didn’t take much for her to sense that something wasn’t right.

“Everything okay, Frijolita?” she asked, her voice soft, casual, but with that unmistakable undertone of concern. She wasn’t asking as your captain, with the authority and responsibility that title carried. No, this was your big sister speaking, the one who had looked out for you from the moment you were born, who had always been there to protect you, guide you, and make sure you were okay. The nickname, a tender reminder of your childhood, held a warmth that made you feel safe, even in moments like this when you didn’t feel quite yourself.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Malvavisco,” you replied quickly, forcing a smile that you hoped would reassure her. The nickname you used for her – a playful nod to her sweet and soft side, despite her tough exterior – was meant to lighten the mood, to show her that you were okay, that you could handle this. “Just a bit more tired than usual, I guess.”

But even as the words left your mouth, you knew they didn’t quite fit. “Tired” wasn’t the right description for what you were feeling. It was something deeper, more unsettling. There was a heaviness in your limbs that didn’t belong there, a dull ache that seemed to radiate from your muscles, as if they were protesting against some unseen force. And then there was that strange warmth, an unnatural heat that didn’t seem to come from the usual exertion of the game. It was like your body was trying to tell you something, sending signals that you didn’t fully understand yet.

Alexia didn’t miss a beat. “Mm hm, keep drinking, little and often, okay?” she said, her tone gentle but firm. It was clear she wasn’t entirely convinced by your reassurances, and she wasn’t about to let you brush this off. She knew you too well for that. Her words carried a quiet insistence, a way of saying that she was watching you, that she was here for you no matter what.

You nodded, taking another sip of water, the cool liquid doing little to soothe the unease that was gnawing at you. You wanted to push through it, to tell yourself that it was just a momentary blip, that you’d be fine once the second half started. But the truth was, you weren’t sure. The heaviness in your limbs, the trembling in your hands, the warmth that didn’t seem to belong—they were all telling you that this wasn’t something you could just ignore. You would get it checked after the match.

Alexia and Mapi both curse their memories now, those sharp, unforgiving recollections that refuse to fade with time. What once had been a source of pride – a keen sense of recall that allowed them to remember every crucial play, every victory, every shared moment of joy on and off the pitch – had turned into something they wished they could escape. Now, their memories played on a relentless loop, like an unwanted movie they couldn’t pause, rewind, or fast-forward through. It was always there, lurking in the quiet moments, ready to spring to life when they least expected it.

For Alexia, her memory was a double-edged sword. She had always relied on it to guide her through matches, to anticipate her opponent’s next move, to recall every piece of advice from her coaches. But now, it betrayed her, forcing her to relive that day over and over again. She could see it all so clearly – the way the sunlight had filtered through the stadium, the way your face had looked so determined, so focused. And then, the way it had changed, how you had suddenly seemed smaller, paler, as if the very life was draining out of you in front of her eyes. She cursed her memory for making her relive that moment when she first realised something was wrong, the gnawing sense of dread that had settled in her gut, the helplessness that had gripped her as she watched you struggle.

Mapi, too, was haunted by the vividness of her recollections. She had always prided herself on her ability to remember the important things – the strategies, the nuances of her teammates’ styles, the camaraderie they shared. But now, her memory was a tormentor, dragging her back to that moment when everything had shifted. She could still hear the way the crowd’s cheers had faded into a dull roar in her ears, the way the world had seemed to narrow down to the sight of you, struggling to stand, your hands trembling, your breath laboured. It was as if time had slowed, trapping her in that scene, unable to do anything but watch in horror.

They both cursed the vividness of those memories, the way they intruded on their thoughts without warning. It wasn’t just the images that haunted them – the sight of you unsteady on your feet, the trainer rushing to your side, the way the game had suddenly become unimportant in the face of what was happening – it was the emotions that came flooding back with them. The fear, the panic, the desperate hope that you would be okay, and the crushing reality that followed. Those feelings were as raw now as they were then, refusing to dull with time.

You dropped like a bag of bricks. Like a marionette with its strings cut. Like a stack of Jenga blocks being knocked to the ground. One moment you were standing, the next, you were a heap on the floor. You were lucky in some sense. You had no memory of that moment. You felt unwell, your heart was racing too fast, an uncomfortable pressure sitting on your chest. And then nothing. Blackness. Emptiness.

In that blackness, time seemed to lose its meaning. Seconds could have stretched into hours, or minutes might have slipped by in the blink of an eye. The blackness was absolute, a quiet, oppressive void that seemed to hold its breath along with you. It was an eerie calm; it was peaceful but unsettling. It shouldn’t be this calm. It was game day – game days were never this calm.

Outside of the blackness, it was anything but calm. Mapi had been the closest to you. She heard your sharp intake of breath. She had seen the way you crumpled like a house of cards. She tasted the iron in her mouth as she dropped beside you.

Mapi had never been more grateful for her memory in that moment. She hadn’t wanted to attend the optional first aid course that Barça was putting on for the players. Captain’s had to attend, she did not. It was Ingrid who had insisted, her rationale simple and persuasive: “It won’t do any harm to know first aid. You never know when it might come in handy.” At the time, Mapi had seen it as a minor inconvenience, a waste of a perfectly good free afternoon.

Are they responsive?: She gently shook your shoulder and called out softly, “Frijolita, can you hear me?” There was no response. Her heart raced, but she forced herself to remain calm.

Ear to their mouth and look at their chest – are they breathing?: Mapi leaned in closer, her ear near your mouth, her eyes fixed on your chest. She waited and waited. Nothing. No movement. Nothing on her cheek either.

Hands together in the middle of their chest – aim for between the nipples: She positioned her hands, interlocking her fingers and placing them on the centre of your chest, just above the lower half of your sternum.

Down at least 5cm and all the way up: With a deep breath, she began chest compressions, pressing down with firm, deliberate force. She counted each compression, focusing on the depth and rhythm, making sure to allow full recoil between compressions.

Up and down 30 times: Mapi kept a steady rhythm, performing the compressions at a rate of 100 to 120 per minute. She counted aloud, her voice steady despite her nerves, her focus entirely on the task.

Tilt the head back, pinch the nose, create an airtight seal with your mouth: After completing the cycle of compressions, Mapi tilted your head back slightly, pinched your nose shut, and positioned her mouth over yours, forming a tight seal.

Breathe twice: She administered two rescue breaths, each one deliberate and controlled, watching for any signs of chest rise. She repeated the process, her breaths firm but gentle.

Back to the chest: Returning to chest compressions, she resumed her rhythm, the pattern of her actions becoming a practiced dance of urgency and hope.

Staying Alive by the Bee Gees

Wannabe by the Spice Girls

Dancing Queen by ABBA

Respect by Aretha Franklin

Say So by Doja Cat

The SpongeBob Square Pants theme

Each song felt like a lifeline, a rhythmic mantra that guided her actions as she worked. The beats and lyrics looped in her head, a surreal juxtaposition to the gravity of the situation. Tears were streaming down her face and plopping onto your t-shirt.

With each compression, her resolve hardened. She pushed through the exhaustion and anxiety, her hands moving with determined precision. The repetition of her actions became a mantra, each push and breath a testament to her will to keep you safe. The songs in her head were a rhythm to her actions, a strange but effective way to keep her focus sharp and her movements steady.

The sounds of the stadium outside – the murmurs of the crowd, the collective gasp of concern – seemed muted, almost like they were a world away. Her world had narrowed to the urgent task of keeping you alive.

She couldn’t look up. Her body wouldn’t let her. She could hear Alexia. She could hear the sobs, raw and heart-wrenching, punctuated by the occasional choked sob or whispered plea. The sounds were a painful contrast to the clinical efficiency of the medics around her, their voices calm and professional as they continued their work.

Mapi’s vision was a blur, her gaze fixed on the ground, the grass beneath her scuffed and muddied. Her hands were still trembling, and the adrenaline that had fuelled her actions now seemed to drain away, leaving her feeling hollow and emotionally exhausted.

The medics had gently pulled her off you, their movements firm but compassionate. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor, which had been a distant background noise, now seemed to echo in her ears with an almost rhythmic insistence. Beeps were good. Beeps meant there was a rhythm to trace. They were a lifeline

Ingrid’s hand appeared in front of her – a guiding light in the dimness of Mapi’s world. The familiar touch was a lifeline of its own, grounding her in a moment when everything felt as though it was spiralling out of control.

“María, min kjærlighet,” Ingrid’s voice was gentle, like talking to a wounded animal. The Norwegian words, though soothing and foreign, carried a warmth and familiarity that Mapi desperately needed. Ingrid’s presence was a comforting constant in the storm of emotions swirling around her.

Mapi looked up, her vision still blurred by tears and exhaustion. Ingrid’s face was a beacon of calm amid the chaos, her eyes filled with concern and empathy. She took a deep, shuddering breath, her fingers reaching out to grasp Ingrid’s hand, seeking solace in the shared strength of their bond.

“I… I didn’t know what to do,” Mapi whispered, her voice trembling. “I thought I was losing her.”

Ingrid squeezed her hand gently, her touch a reassuring anchor. “You did everything you could, María. You were incredible. They’ve got her now, and that’s what matters.”

Alexia had never felt fear quite like that. The pure, unadulterated terror that coursed through her veins was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was a raw, gnawing fear that twisted and turned inside her, threatening to overtake her entirely. She had seen her Papi die, felt the crushing weight of grief as it had changed their lives forever. The memories of that loss were seared into her heart, an enduring ache she carried with her. Now, faced with the possibility of losing you, the fear was even more intense.

The stadium, usually a place of joy and celebration, had become an arena of anguish. The sound of the crowd had faded into a distant murmur, replaced by the frantic shuffling of medical staff and the stifling, heavy silence of the waiting room. Alexia’s heart pounded in her chest; each beat a reminder of how quickly everything could be taken away

She paced back and forth, the hard tile of the hospital floor cold beneath her feet. The familiar surroundings of the waiting area – chairs arranged neatly, the hum of fluorescent lights overhead – were now a blur of sterile emptiness. She barely registered the passing time, her thoughts a chaotic whirlwind of memories and fears.

She was glad though, that this was a home game. The first one after the Christmas holidays. Your Mami and Alba were in the crowd. She couldn’t imagine having to make that phone call.

“Ale, mija, come sit.” Eli’s voice was rough with suppressed tears.

She moved robotically, dropping heavily onto the open chair and letting her head rest on her mother’s shoulder – mirroring Alba on the other side.

Her mind danced with memories. Your first proper laugh, a bubbly, infectious sound that had filled the room with a joy so pure it was impossible not to smile. She could still picture the way your eyes had sparkled with delight, a tiny beacon of happiness that had made her heart swell with love. She squeezed you a little tighter as she rested on the couch, your back propped against her thighs as she tickled your tummy.

Your first steps, a wobbly but determined series of movements that had marked the beginning of your journey toward independence. Alexia remembered how she had clapped and cheered, her heart swelling with pride as you took those tentative steps towards her, each one a testament to your growing strength and confidence.

Your first birthday had been a celebration of milestones and new beginnings. The cake, with its bright, colourful frosting, had been a highlight of the day. The way you had looked at the cake, your tiny hands reaching out with curiosity and delight, was a moment she treasured before you stuck a sticky, messy fistful towards her as she sat in a seat next to you. The room had been filled with laughter, presents, and the warmth of family gathered to celebrate your first year of life.

She couldn’t do this without you. The very thought of continuing without your presence was unbearable. She would retire, leave behind the game she had devoted her life to. The idea of walking away from everything she had worked for, of going into hiding and never showing her face again, seemed like a small price to pay if it meant keeping you by her side.

As she sat there, the weight of the situation pressing down on her, she didn’t notice the tears trailing steadily down her cheeks. They fell in silent tracks. Her hands trembled slightly, the fingers gripping the edge of her chair as if they could somehow anchor her to reality.

The room was filled with a heavy silence, punctuated only by the occasional footsteps of hospital staff and the muffled conversations of other waiting families. It was a surreal, almost dreamlike atmosphere, where time seemed to stretch endlessly. Alexia's eyes remained fixed on the door leading to the treatment area, her gaze unwavering as if willing it to open with news of recovery.

“Putellas Segura?” a young man—barely twenty-five with slight stubble and unkempt hair—appeared in front of them. His face was tense, a mixture of youthful anxiety and professional seriousness.

“Sí, sí.” Eli’s voice was a desperate whisper, her eyes searching his face for any sign of good news. She rose from her seat, her heart pounding, her breath shallow.

The young man glanced around the waiting area, his gaze landing on Alexia. “I’m Dr. Ruiz, one of the attending physicians. I have an update.”

Alexia’s heart leaped into her throat, and she squeezed her mother’s hand for support. The tension in the room seemed to coalesce around Dr. Ruiz, his presence a focal point of hope and fear.

“Is she…?” Alexia started, her voice trembling with the weight of the question she needed answered.

Dr. Ruiz took a deep breath, his expression softening slightly as he continued. “She’s stable now. We’ve managed to get her heart rate under control, and she’s responsive. We’re continuing to monitor her closely, but for the moment, she’s out of immediate danger.”

Relief washed over Alexia like a tide, the knot of worry in her chest beginning to unravel. Her knees felt weak, and she leaned heavily back on her chair The room’s oppressive silence seemed to lift, replaced by a collective exhale of relief.

“Can we see her?” Eli’s voice cut through the stillness, urgent and pleading.

Dr. Ruiz nodded. “Yes, you can. I’ll take you to her. She’s in recovery now, and we’ll need to keep monitoring her, but you can see her for a few minutes. Follow me, please.”

The room was dimly lit, with the soft beeping of medical equipment providing a steady, comforting rhythm. Alexia stepped inside, her heart in her throat as she finally saw you lying in the hospital bed.

You were pale but alive, your chest rising and falling with each breath. The sight of you – though still connected to various monitors and IV drips – was a balm to Alexia’s frayed nerves. She approached the bedside, her steps tentative but determined.

“Frijolita,” she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. She reached out to gently take your hand, her tears falling freely now. The sight of you, still and vulnerable, made her heart ache. But seeing you breathing, with the beeping of the monitor steady and rhythmic, filled her with a profound sense of relief.

Mapi and Ingrid stood nearby, their faces reflecting the same mixture of concern and hope. Ingrid’s eyes were wet with tears, and she looked at Alexia with a look of shared gratitude.

Dr. Ruiz cleared his throat softly, drawing Alexia’s attention back to him. “She’s been through a lot, and we’ll need to monitor her closely for the next few hours. But the immediate danger has passed, and she’s responding well.”

Alexia nodded, unable to tear her gaze away from you. She gently squeezed your hand, whispering softly, “You’re going to be okay. We’re all here for you. We’ll get through this together.”

I hope you enjoyed it <3<3<3<3

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peachysunrize · 2 months

Text

Victory ⥃ boxer!Aemond Targaryen

Summary: after his match, you find him in the locker room and decide to tend to him yourself. Rest assured, the rush of adrenaline in his blood leads to you rewarding him for winning the game.

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, porn without plot, breeding, no prep, boxer aemond, bruise & wounds & blood, dirty talk, tell me if I’ve missed something. English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 1.9k

A/n: based on this thot I got yesterday! Anon, if you see this, you made my day with this very very insane ask and I hope this does your thot justice🤭 beta-read by beloved @namelesslosers <3 Reblogs & comments are most appreciated!

You used to hate it at first when you started dating. All the bruises and wounds made your heart clench so hard that you cried for him every day while tending to him.

But now? You have toughened up, and Aemond has gotten better, much better in fact, that he’s now fighting for the semi-final of the season against Cregan Stark.

You remember how he’s always hard on himself when he focuses on a goal he sets, and the past few months have been pretty rough on both of you. However hard to maintain and deal with, you can’t deny how hot it was to have your boyfriend all sweaty and topless throwing punches at his coach, groaning and yelling with each movement.

You watch his platinum hair swing with each punch and dodge in his ponytail, his long limbs harshly knocking his opponent down on the ground. You stand beside Criston, fingers fiddling with the necklace Aemond had given you as a promise of his undying love while he risks his life in the ring.

Cregan, the bulky man he is, launches at Aemond, punching him right in his nose. You can hear the groan of pain that leaves your boyfriend’s lips, but soon, he has cornered Cregan, his fists coming down on his opponent’s face at a fast pace that knocks the poor guy out in less than a minute.

The fight has ended, and your Aemond stands with the judge holding his arm up as the winner, winking at you as the blood drips from his nose and lips, his remaining good eye shining with pride.

He truly makes a sight for sore eyes; silver hair unruly from all the jumping, abs covered in a thin layer of sweat, a very smug smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth. The thought of this man being yours makes you desire him even more.

You clap for him, screaming and rooting with Criston and his family from the audience until they lead him to his locker room to tend to him. You follow them closely, finding Aemond sitting on one of the benches with a fresh towel thrown over his shoulders as he takes a swig from the bottle with an open mouth, water dripping on his chin and chest, creating an even more lewd sight for you to devour.

“Leave us please, thank you,” Aemond says, beckoning for you to get closer as soon as his team empties the room for the two of you.

“Congratulations on your victory, Mr. Targaryen,” you say, stepping towards him slowly, sultry, reaching to caress his angular jawline as he spreads his thighs for you, making room to stand before him.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he replies, dropping his bottle on the floor before his gloves and hands make a home on your thighs, slowly caressing the flesh, nodding when you show him the kit his doctor has laid next to him to tend to his wounds.

He visibly relaxes under your touch, wincing and exhaling sharply as you slowly clean the blood off of him, one hand holding his face straight gently while the other dabs a wet clean cloth with betadine around the open wounds. He is gazing up at you through his long light lashes, his thin lips curled into a smirk as he basks in your warm and welcoming touch.

You press a kiss to his forehead, grimacing when your eyes fall on the bruises on his nose and close to his good eye, shaking your head in disapproval. You know there won’t be a change, but you will tell him silently that you don’t wish to see him hurt, that he should care more about his health rather than these games that put his life in dear danger.

You help him pull his hands out of the boxing gloves, the fabric of the gloves torn and your boyfriend’s knuckles are bloody and bruised as well. Sighing softly, you grab his hand, bringing it to your mouth before pressing gentle kisses over the wounds.

He hums softly, his free hand coming back to rest on your thigh, observing you closely as you lean down again to clean his face, wiping the remaining sweat and blood off his skin. His fingers trace shapes on the curve of your ass, long digits praising you wordlessly on your choice of wearing a dress, making it much easier for him to ogle at you.

You can feel the path his eye takes when he lifts the hem of your dress a little, humming with every inch of your skin that comes into his view. You grip his jaw tighter, forcing him to look up at you.

“I have a pretty face, you should keep your eyes on that and your hands to yourself,” you whisper, leaning down to press a warm kiss on the bruise on his nose, “maybe I’ll take pity on you later when we get home.”

“You do have a pretty face, sweetheart,” he says, staring at you with his hooded eye, hands creeping up to your buttocks, “but I need more than just that. Maybe you can offer me your pretty cunt as a reward? I won the game, I deserve it.”

“You need to stay still and stop talking,” you giggle when he pinches your flesh playfully, pulling you even closer to have a better view of your teats in front of his face, “I won’t give you a reward for not getting yourself killed.”

“Oh, come on—” With a tight grip on your waist, he pulls you down on his lap, forcing you to straddle him with your legs on each side of his thighs. You squeal, arms coming down to wrap themselves around his broad shoulders, “stop playing coy with me. I saw you rubbing these pretty thighs together when I had Stark on the mat, punching him in the guy. I’m more observant than you think.”

“Are you now?” You hum when you feel the subtle bulge in his shorts, “so observant, so strong,” you mumble against his cheek, starting kissing his jaw down to his ear, letting him grind your hips down against his growing desire.

“Hmm, baby, I need you,” he tilts his head, giving you more space to prep his neck with kisses, licking a drop of sweat from his throat to the side of his jaw, sinking your teeth into his skin slightly before he grows impatient and cups your cheek and guides your lips to his, his mouth claiming yours in a deep passionate kiss.

Your tongue moves along his, fighting for dominance which you lose pretty quickly. You reach around his head to pull the hair tie off, letting his silver locks fall freely on his shoulders while he kisses you for a long hot minute, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Let me take care of you, my victorious man,” you mutter against his lips as the two of you breathe the little air between your faces, your clothed pussy rubbing against the rough fabric of his shorts with each move.

He groans against you, his restrain running thin with each second that you spend on marking his already marked neck, hips snapping up into you desperately. But he is not known for his patience, nor his temperament, so when he grabs your face, his bruised fingers digging into your cheeks, you know what is about to come.

“Be a good girl and take out my cock, I can’t wait any longer for you to be gentle with me,” he growls against your lips, his fingers pushing your panties to the side, “I won’t consider myself a winner if I don’t make you come on my cock at least two times.”

You whimper pathetically, reaching inside his boxer shorts to pull out his already leaking shaft, stroking him to full hardness. He is twitching in your palm, his heat and girth make your mouth water, and the way his fingers caress your inner thighs only urge you to guide him closer to you.

Holding yourself up a bit with your knees on the bench he’s sitting on, your lips meet his in a messy kiss as you sit on his cock slowly, feeling the beat of his heart against yours with how hard adrenaline is pumping through his veins.

His cockhead breaches your wet entrance, making the two of you gasp and whine as your warm walls envelop him slowly with every inch of him you take inside you.

“Good girl, taking me so well,” he says with a raspy chuckle, his large hands covering your ass completely as he helps you sheath his cock deep inside you fully, “prettiest girl with the prettiest cunt, now ride me, baby. Make a winner out of me.”

Your brain is already mush, you nod at him, hands bracing themselves against his shoulders as you roll your hips to his liking, skin melting against the skin with each move and grind.

He reaches to pull down the neckline of your dress, leaning down to litter butterfly kisses all over the top of your breasts while he helps you move up and down his cock quicker.

You know what he wants, what he needs, so with one tug, your teats are free from the confine of your bra, and Aemond latches onto your nipple like a starved baby needing to be fed — although he is anything but a baby with how roughly he bites and sucks on your bud, blowing air on the wet flesh that has you shivering and moaning out his name in pleasure.

Matching your enthusiasm, Aemond plants his feet on the ground, snapping his hips up into yours at a wild pace, fucking your heavenly cunt at a brutal pace that has you biting his shoulders to muffle your cries of euphoria.

His nails dig into your flesh while his bruised and bloodied face searches yours for his tongue to lick its way into your mouth. Aemond keeps up his fast pace, pistoning his cock into you with abandon as he bites your bottom lip and sucks on your tongue.

Your release is swift and smooth and world-shattering — your vision goes white for a second when the tip of his dick jackhammers your sweet spot for a good minute. Gushing around his girth, you moan into his mouth as your wetness drips out of you with each rough thrust.

Aemond somehow fastens his movements, driving his cock up into your soaked pussy quicker, deeper, and rougher if possible, chasing his sweet release. His breaking point is when you whisper in his ear about how sexy he looked when he was beating Cregan to the pulp, how you wish he would manhandle you on his bed and fucking you like you mean nothing to him.

He comes harder than ever with a loud groan of your name, hands clamping hard on your waist that you are sure there’ll be bruises that match his in a few hours. He fills you with his hot cum to the brim, his cock twitching deep within your core as he gives you all he has.

Breathless but not done, he kisses the corner of your mouth and whispers, “What a good fucking girl for me. Now, you need to give me the other half of my prize.”

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #modern aemond #modern aemond targaryen #boxer!aemond targaryen #rue:smut #pwp

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luveline · 2 months

Note

More spencer x hotch's sister? I love her relationship with hotch so much btw! Maybe spencer learns some of what she went through in her past?

“What did you get Haley for your six months?” you ask.

Aaron shakes his basket of fries. You can smell them from your side of the table, salt and grease from the fryer. He doesn’t need to see you looking, maybe he doesn’t care that you want one or not, he tips half of the basket onto your plate and shrugs. “It was a long time ago, I’m not sure I remember. For our first year together I gave her a promise ring, I think.”

“I don’t think I can get him a promise ring…” You swirl your drink with your straw. Fizzy bubbles rush to the surface. “A ring might be nice, though. Can he wear jewellery in the field?”

“One nondescript ring would be fine.”

“Maybe a necklace.” You stab a few of his given fries on your fork and smile. “I’m very stressed, but he’s been so kind the whole time. He never makes me worry about anything.”

“Spencer is kind.” Aaron glances to the side as a couple sits in the booth opposite. “Admittedly, I was worried. But you’re happy, so I’m happy.”

“Six months is a long time for no fights.”

“Honey, some people don’t fight.”

You toy with a stray piece of lettuce. “I’m really glad that we don’t, but I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“It won’t drop. You think I’d let you date Spencer if I suspected he was secretly evil?”

“There are a few things wrong with that question…” You wipe your mouth with a napkin. “Okay, it won’t drop. Can we get, um, dessert? Rocky road sundaes?” They’re Aaron’s favourite, so they’re yours, too.

Despite his assurances, you keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. You think about your conversation with Aaron for the days leading up to your six month anniversary with Spencer, which he aptly names your ‘half anniversary’. He doesn’t plan any surprises —he sends you a PDF with different options for everything. Five different restaurants with different options for courses, moods, and settings. There are notes for each place and why you might like them, and there are activities for each one afterwards based on the location. It’s so thoughtful it makes you feel sick. The other shoe looms, and looms.

You choose a smaller restaurant just outside of the busy city, with a beautiful outdoor eating area on a stone veranda. It’s lively but not crowded, secluded but not completely private.

Spencer tucks your seat in, and he kisses your cheek before he takes his own. When he does, he looks across the table at you, and says, “Wow, you’re so pretty.”

“You think so?”

“You’re beautiful.” He gives you one of his not so shy, almost cheesy smiles, like he wants to laugh. “Do you want your gift now or later?”

“Is it rude to say I want it now?”

“No, it’s not rude. I’ll feel better once I know you like it.”

He presents you with a box wrapped in dark blue crepe paper and rounded silver star stickers. There’s twine wrapped around it and bowed, too beautiful to want to open. You look between him and the present in awe. “This is real pretty,” you say softly.

“It’s nicer inside,” he says.

You unravel the twin carefully, and you take off the paper to reveal a large, flat box. You put the paper in your jacket pocket, folded primly to keep. Spencer waits patiently.

You press your thumbnail into the box’s seam and push.

It’s four pieces of jewellery. What catches your eye first is the sapphires, blue crystal with deep dark hearts pressed into the pendant of a necklace, the heart of a bracelet, and the main bodies of their matching earrings. All simple, elegant pieces, and compiled, their impressiveness is amplified. Your breath catches. You don’t need to be an expert in jewellery to immediately assign a ballpark price tag, and it’s a lot. It’s sort of startling.

But the price doesn’t matter half as much as the sentiment.

“Do you remember them?” he asks softly.

Fourth date. Hand in hand, you and Spencer walked through a shopping centre with iced drinks and churros, and you’d paused for a few seconds to ogle the jewellery display. You’d pointed straight at the sapphire bracelet and said, “That’s gorgeous. I think if I save, I can get it for Christmas.”

“I know it’s not Christmas,” Spencer says, “I’m sorry, I cheated. But I hope you like them.”

“Spencer, I love them, I love them,” —you reach your hand across the table— “I love you. Thank you.”

He smiles at you. “Yeah, I love you, too.”

You can’t stop yourself from getting up to hug him. He bends under your weight and holds your arms, doesn’t wince when you press the entirety of your face to his hair and breathe. “Thank you,” you whisper, kissing his forehead twice, “thank you, I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He takes your face into his hand before you can leave. “You like them?” he asks.

“I love them.”

His smile is everything. “I really did cheat, I wrote it down when we got home and you know I can’t forget the things I read,” he murmurs, pulling you in for a kiss.

Six months later and your heart still skips a beat. Doesn’t matter that he has an eidetic memory, what’s important is that he wrote it down.

You take another hug, to his delight, and return to your seat. Your presents wait in a bag under the table. Two books, one jewellery box. He goes for the smaller box first.

“It’s a ring,” you say, too nervous to let him discover it by himself. “I know you don’t often wear them, but I thought maybe it’s because it’s not something you’d get for yourself, and I think it would look good on you.”

He opens the box with a smile. So pretty, and exuberantly bright. “Oh, wow.”

“I don’t know if brands mean anything to you, but it’s Vivienne–”

“It’s beautiful,” he interrupts, “I love it. What finger do I wear it on?”

“Most wear it on their marriage finger, I think, but you obviously don’t have to do that.”

He slips it onto his ring finger, turns his hand one way and another, and there’s this joy that echoes all the way across the table from his very core. “Thank you. I love it, and now every time I look down I'll remember why you gave it to me.”

You spend a lot of time apart, what with both of you working. “I thought that, too.”

He takes the books next. His laugh is soft. “I’m not surprised.”

“They’re… they’re my personal copies.”

He startles at that. “They are?”

“Yeah. Uh,” —you point at the first— “that’s my favourite, and I think it could be your favourite too.”

“And this one?” he asks gently, slipping the first underneath the second.

“Aaron gave that one to me. I know what you’re thinking, okay, that I’m giving something to you I should really keep. Maybe it makes you uncomfortable, I don’t know, but I love you.” You lick your lips. “It’s nice to fall in love. And you’ve made it so easy.”

He stares at you, lips parted.

You panic. “It was hard, growing up, and I know everyone struggles but it was hard. If it weren’t for my brother… I feel like it sticks to me and you’ve never made me feel that way. You love me for me. I was convinced nobody would ever do that.”

“I know it was hard,” he says.

“Really hard, sometimes, but you aren’t. I’m never scared of you.”

He reaches across the table to touch your hand. “You aren’t supposed to be scared of anyone, angel.”

Warmth blossoms under his touch. You shake off the fog. “It’s not just about all of that, I swear, I really do think you’ll like them. But if I got it all wrong just lie to me, okay?”

“You didn’t get anything wrong, shut up,” he says. Spencer stands, his turn to hug you, but he goes about it differently. He tips your head back and he kisses you, and his nose is a pressed line in your cheek as he squeezes you to him. “I’d be surprised if anybody who’s ever met you didn’t love you. Okay? Thank you for trusting me with it.”

It, and not them, not the books.

He peels away. You beam at one another.

“Should we eat?” you ask, feeling pleased and shy at once.

He kisses you again, one quick peck. “Yes, we can eat.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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emmcfrxst · 14 days

Note

LOGAN GIVING HIS PARTNER HIS DOG TAGS AS AN ENGAGEMENT RING SUBSTITUTE 🗣🗣🗣🗣🗣

it happens in the afterglow of your lovemaking, with your head resting on his broad chest and one hand over his heart, fiddling with the hair there. he leans down to kiss the top of your head, warm hand tenderly running up your bare side before the words leave his lips in a rush, quick but fluid like a waterfall.

“marry me.” the tremors of vulnerability in his voice cause you turn your head to look at him with wide eyes, meeting his soft gaze. you stare at him for a few more moments, speechless, before your eyes well up with tears, a warm, genuine smile breaking onto your face.

“yes. yes i’ll marry you.” you whisper, voice trembling, causing a shaky laugh of disbelief to leave your lover’s lips. he cradles your head, thumb rubbing over your cheekbone affectionately before an embarrassed expression takes over his features, his ears turning a soft shade of pink.

“fuck…. i—i don’t have a ring or anythin’… i know it’s not much but—” he cuts himself off by sliding the dogtags off of his neck and passing them over your head, the metal resting between your breasts. the action makes you sob softly, moving to kiss him passionately— you know what his dogtags mean to him; a part of his identity he used to desperately cling onto when he was still searching for the remains of his failing memory. wrapping your fingers around them, you lift them up to your lips, leaving a soft kiss onto the metal before moving to do the same to the back of his hand.

“it’s perfect.” you reassure your lover, the dampness in your eyes matching his as he sniffles and nods, silently letting you know the depth of his gratitude. it is then that you promise yourself to spend the rest of your life guarding the metallic pieces like your most prized possession, just as you promise to love him until the very end of time.

#it sucks and the wording is bad i am not doing you absolute GENIUS idea honor like this but i tried 😭#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett imagine #wolverine x reader #wolverine fluff #wolverine imagine #xmen fluff #xmen imagine

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lqveharrington · 1 month

Text

The Alchemy | D.M.

summary: Although Draco promised that he would keep your relationship a secret just for you, he can’t contain himself after winning the Hogwarts quidditch cup.

pairing: draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader

includes: FLUFF, established relationship (and a last name of Evergreen for the reader)

a/n: inspired by the olympics recently ❤️

When Draco asked you out in fourth year, you thought it was a joke. Sure, you were both acquainted due to your pure wizardry bloodline, but you were in Hufflepuff. The only time the other houses thought you were useful was when they wanted to sneak into the kitchen. So when he came up and sat down beside you when you were studying potions, you were disheartened.

“Malfoy, please don’t do this.” You sigh, rubbing your forehead. You were just starting to understand what ingredients made a truth serum.

“Do what? I’m asking you if you want to go to Hogsmeade together this weekend.” He spun the Malfoy signet ring adorning his hand.

You look up at him with tired eyes, “Did someone put you up to this?”

“What? No no, I—“ He cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks warm at how you were able to fluster him with even a small glance. “I’m really asking you to go on a date with me.”

You search his face for any indication of a lie, before biting your lip softly and looking down at your parchment. “Are you really?”

“I am.” Draco dropped his hand onto yours to stop your fidgeting with the quill.

You felt your own face heat up at the notion. He thumbed your palm softly as you stayed quiet, not minding his closeness. Finally, you looked up at him, “You have yourself a date, Malfoy.” He sent you a soft smile but before he could say anything else, you interrupted. “Please don’t let me down.”

Draco never let you down. Despite your earlier doubts, you saw how kind and thoughtful the Malfoy heir was underneath his hardened shell his father had built around him. In private, he was always attentive, loving, clingy — there wasn’t a moment where he was separated from you. In public, he had to rein in those feelings just for you.

Even when you started your seventh year at Hogwarts, you were still terrified what others at school would say about a Hufflepuff dating the Slytherin Prince. Sure, his parents and your parents knew, but not the entirety of Hogwarts. You had asked Draco to keep your relationship private until you were ready to face the reality of your relationship to the rest of the world. He begrudgingly agreed, respecting your wishes; but the need to kiss you in front of the entire student body to rightly claim that you were his was wavering.

Especially when it had been three years since you first started dating. And right now, you were currently hiding below the stands together as you greeted him with good luck kisses for his final quidditch match as a student in Hogwarts.

“I.” Kiss. “Love.” Kiss. “You.” Kiss. You say softly as he holds you close by your hips — smiling into all your kisses. “Good.” Kiss. “Luck.” Kiss.

“You’re killing me here, love.” Draco murmurs against your lips. He pulls away gently to look at your ever so loving gaze. He draws small hearts on you hip, “You done?”

“Never.” You kiss him again, hands cupping his jaw. “I want you to be stuck with me forever.”

He hums into the kiss as you thumb his cheeks softly, “I will after I win this game, my love.”

You separate again, grinning like a lovesick puppy. “Good luck, Dray. I’ll see you later.” You press one last kiss to his lips before leaving his arms and running up the Hufflepuff stands to cheer. You couldn’t deny that even after all these years he still made you giddy and red.

Draco shook his head with a soft smile only you could coax out of him. He walked out from the stands and hopped on his broom, ready in the air for his final match as Slytherin’s seeker. Cheers filled the stadium as the players took their place, captains shaking hands.

The final match for Slytherin and Gryffindor was probably the most anticipated all year round. Since it was also Harry Potter’s last game as seeker, and the two seekers were known as rivals, it was hyped up to be one of the best end matches of the season.

As the game progressed, Slytherin and Gryffindor were constantly tied. It was really up to the seekers to find the golden snitch to determine the winner. There were bets taking place in the house stands, mind fixated on earning a few galleons for the last time. For the Hufflepuff stands, they were a house divided. Many cheered for scarlet and gold while the other half cheered for green and silver.

You didn’t mind the division between your house. After all, you only watched the games for Draco. Your friends were cheering for the Gryffindors whilst you carried the small Slytherin flag in your hands — eyes trained on the blonde high above the game itself. The second you blinked from the blazing sun, Draco was soaring after the golden snitch, Harry close behind and eventually flying right next to him.

The shouts from the stands only fueled the seekers’ attention to the flying gold. Draco and Harry were chasing in circles after the snitch, attention focused on nothing else even as the bludger zoomed past them.

You held your breath as they both reach out for the snitch. Your friend held your shoulder in anticipation, watching the two closely. Before you could register what happened, she gasped and shook your shoulders in frustration.

“I lost ten galleons to that!” She sighed heavily as Draco flashed the golden snitch in the air.

The rush of the win made you scream happily with the other Hufflepuffs and houses cheering for the Slytherin team. You wear clapping your hands as the team began flying around in victory. You watched as Draco flew around the stands more as the rest of the Slytherin team settled on the grounds. His eyes scanned the stadium until they lit up when they saw you at the very front of the Hufflepuff stands — waving your Slytherin flag with pride.

“Seems like Malfoy is off showing the last snitch he’ll catch for the Slytherin quidditch team! But we all want to know where the trophy is!” The third year announcer spoke, voice casted across the stadium.

You smiled at Draco softly when you finally met his eyes. And before you knew it, he flew right over to you and cupped your face, kissing you senselessly. You grinned into the kiss as you held his cheeks, the shouts and screams from your housemates blending in your ears.

“Aw, quite a beautiful way to celebrate the win. Don’t you think so, McGonagall? Honestly, I wasn’t expecting Malfoy and Evergreen— Ow, sorry.” The third year announcer spoke once more, rubbing the spot the professor lightly hit them with a newspaper.

You part from Draco with a blinding smile, “I think I agree, this is a beautiful way to celebrate.” You say quietly only for him to hear, pressing quick kisses to his lips.

“I’m proud of you, love.” Draco nudges your nose with his to gently stop your kisses for a second — even though he did want more.

“Me? You just won the quidditch cup for your house!” You laugh while wrapping your arms behind his neck, careful in trying not to pull him off his broom.

He rubbed the apples of your cheeks, “You just let me kiss you in front of the entire student body… I think that’s more important.” He pulled you in for another mind searing kiss, making you smile helplessly.

“AGAIN?” The third year announcer shouted into the microphone once more. “Is there—“

“Alright, we’re done announcing, boys and girls.” Professor McGonagall spoke and shut the speakers off; although she was quite happy for the couple.

You giggled as he pulled you into a hug. “I love you.”

Draco pressed kisses to your cheek repeatedly, “I love you more.”

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strawberrykidneystone · 27 days

Text

Fresh Out the Slammer I Know Who My First Call Will Be

stanley pines x fem! reader

summary: stanley needs to be bailed out. again. don't worry, he'll make it up to you! he swears!

a/n: i am not immune to the gravity falls renaissance,,, all 22 fingers iykyk

tags: smut, set the week before the twins come to gravity falls, reader is late 20s-early 30s, reader wears a skirt, pussy eating, cowgirl, spanking (like twice), creampie (wrap it before your tap it)

ao3 version

y/n stood at the counter of the police department once again, her arms crossed as she had to bail stan out.

again.

how many times has she have to do this? she didn't keep track anymore, yet she would still do it every time he called.

"hey sweets..." his sheepish voice would always ring out as he called to her from the small holding cell.

blubs grumbled something about this being a weekly occurrence as stan meekly came out of the cell, knowing he was going to be in the dog house tonight. stan quickly put his signature jewelry back on and rushed out in front of y/n and held the passenger side door of El Diablo open for her, putting on his best smile as she slid into her seat, her arms still crossed.

the ride home was quiet, the windows were rolled down and stanley glanced over every so often at y/n as the wind blew through her hair. god she was so beautiful, he didn't deserve her. she was always there for him, more than his own parents, more than his own brother, and he knew that every time he messed up like this she just got closer to leaving him like everyone else. he knows better, he knows he shouldn't think like this, and she gladly reassured him every time, but times like this in the deafening silence only being broken by the erratic purr of the engine, he couldn't help but get lost in his thoughts.

this time was somewhat of a last hurrah for stanley since he had the twins coming over. he stopped smoking his usual cigars and replaced all his beer with pitt, even giving y/n a small squirt gun to spray him every time he cursed, trying to get out of the habit before the impressionable 12-year-olds arrived for the summer.

when they arrived home, stan ran around el diablo once again and opened up y/n's door. she seemed less peeved than she was when she first arrived at the station, but she still kept quiet as she stepped out and walked into the mystery shack, stan trailing behind her like a lost puppy.

y/n sat at the edge of their shared bed and looked up at stan expectantly, an aura of annoyance surrounding her. she had one leg crossed over the other and arms crossed to match. "awe doll, don't look at me like that, this was the last time i swear!"

"the kids are coming next week stan! how do i know that this was really the last time?"

"let me prove it to you sweets, i promise on my mother that my act will be together for these kids,” he said holding one hand up and placing the other over his heart like an oath.

y/n frowned a little but gave the old man a curt nod, knowing how important their stay was to him and how much he's already been preparing already.

"lemme make it up to you doll," stan purred and got down on his knees with a little bit of exertion, crawling forward on his knees and gently prying her knees apart. he looked up at her with half-lidded eyes, pressing kisses to the inside of her knees with an exaggerated "mwah" each time along with his stubble scratching against her skin.

this made y/n crack a smile and reached a hand down to run her fingers through his hair, landing on the side of his face, "and how exactly are you going to do that stanley?"

he loved hearing his name from her mouth, he grinned up at her and tugged her closer by her thighs, causing her to sequel with her back landing on the bed, "oh i might have a few ideas doll."

stan pushed her skirt up around her hips and licked his lips, already seeing a wet spot on her panties, "all this just for me baby? you spoil me."

he leaned forward and licked a stripe up the soiled fabric, mouthing at her clothed pussy and reaching his hands around to grope her ass. he nuzzled his nose against her clit, inhaling her scent deeply and hearing a whine spill out from her, "stan stop teasing."

he muttered something incoherent about patience, but judging by the bulge in his pants, he didn't want to wait much longer either. stan hooked his thumbs through the sides of her underwear and with y/n lifting her hips up, slid them off with ease. he immediately dove in like a man starved, massaging his tongue against her sensitive nub and sucking every so often. moving his mouth down, his nose nudged against her clit, encouraging her to rub herself against it as he thrusted his tongue inside of her. she took the hint and grinded her hips against his nose, moaning at the new stimulation while being partially filled up, feeling his tongue rubbing against her walls.

stan groaned and pulled back panting, her slick all over the bottom half of his face, "can't take it anymore doll, need you to ride me."

she giggled and rolled her eyes, "alright, get on the bed old man."

she turned over on all fours to crawl further up on the bed, stan taking the opportunity to give her ass a playful smack, a small squeak falling from her lips. y/n sat back on her heels and took off her shirt, along with her bra. by the time she turned around, stan was comfortably lying with his back against the headboard, completely naked with his cock standing up high.

y/n shuffled on her knees over to him and straddled his thighs, stan looking up at her light she hung all the stars in the sky causing her to blush deeply. she took his cock into her hand and rubbed the tip in between her lower lips, stan salivating as he watched his precum mix with her own arousal with his hands quickly making their way to her hips. as she finally sank down on his length, both of them let out a sigh of pleasure as her warm walls engulfed him.

she took a moment to adjust to his length, allowing his hands to wander up her waist, squeezing her breasts in his big hands and brushing his thumbs over her nipples every so often. he leaned forward and sucked on her left nipple, teething softly but careful to not bite down too hard, switching to the other a short time later. while he was showing affection to her breasts, she ran her hands over his hairy shoulders and reached towards his upper back, running her nails just hard enough to leave a mark. she gave an experimental bounce, her breath hitching as he finally bottomed out inside of her. stan unlatched from her breasts and leaned back, his gripping her ass with a shit-eating grin, "you ready to ride toots?"

she let out a breathy laugh and put her hands on his beer gut, leaning forward slightly to steady herself, "i'd be more concerned about myself if i were you."

as he was about to respond with something snarky, she lifted herself almost completely off of him before sinking back down quickly. he moaned and leaned his head back, giving her a little support with her movements with his hands. stan smacked her ass as she found a steady rhythm, feeling her squeeze around him. "that's it, that's my good girl."

stan grabbed her hips and kept her in place, thrusting up into her with his feet pushing down into the mattress, watching her breasts bounce with each movement. y/n moaned and arched her back, reaching a hand down to rub her clit for more stimulation, "yes! right there, don't stop stan!"

stan kept with the pace he was at and could feel himself getting close, gritting his teeth, "where do you want it doll?"

"inside, please!"

he nodded and reached one of his calloused hands down to rub her clit, replacing her own hand as he continued to thrust inside of her as she moved with him. with the rough texture of his hand, y/n opened her mouth in a silent scream as she reached her peak with stan not far behind as he released his seed inside of her.

the two sat in a comfortable silence, only their heavy breathing filling the room. y/n looked down at him and smiled sleepily, affectionately tapping his chest, "good job keeping up oldie."

he snorted and put his hand behind his head, "'m sorry doll, it was one last hurrah. am i forgiven?"

y/n pretended to think and tapped her chin with her index finger, "hmm i don't know... yes of course, I'll always be there to bail you out stan, you know that."

a soft smile rested on his face as he took the hand on his chest, kissing each fingertip, "i know you will doll, and I'm damn lucky to have you."

she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, grinning like a cheshire cat suddenly, "i took your bail money from your buried cash box."

"you WHAT-"

a/n: ty for reading!!! also it's my fanfic and i'll write as many run on sentences as i want!!!

#stanley pines x reader #gravity falls #gravity falls imagine #stanley pines #stan pines x reader #stan pines smut #stanley pines smut #stan pines #grunkle stan #grunkle stanley

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