#maybe is something i come back to when i need comfort

[luveline]

jadey, could I request some hurt/comfort with hangman (or Steve or Eddie if you’d prefer) where he asks reader out and they’re like “are you sure this isn’t a joke? or a prank? or a bad decision you’ll regret tomorrow?”? and he’s really sweet and kind about it? cause ngl with how shitty my dating life’s been so far, any man that approaches me with romantic intent is gonna have to do so with the same gentleness and tact as someone who rescues and rehabilitates neglected dogs.

“Look out,” Liv says, nodding toward the front of the arcade and then quickly turning away, “Harrington’s back.”

Why she says it like a chore you’ve no idea. You hurry to clip your mirror compact closed and shove it under the desk into a bucket of Chinese finger traps and pencil toppers. You look ridiculous in your polo with your Palace nametag taking up a solid two inches of your chest, but Steve Harrington used to wear a little sailor’s uniform with tiny teeny shorts, so perhaps he doesn’t hold it against you. You really hope he doesn’t. 

Steve looks less smiley than usual —he isn’t surrounded by his usual troupe of friends, the younger kids Nancy Wheeler’s brother and the gaggle of dorks that keeps getting bigger. He pretends they piss him off, and sometimes they really do, but when Max needs to go stand outside for a minute he always goes with her, and when Dustin flinches at a seriously loud noise, he clasps the boy by the shoulder and tells him it’s alright. He clearly doesn’t mind that he’s inherited a brood of younger siblings.

But today he’s frowning, nearly, something steeled about him as he stops at the desk. You smile carefully and he smiles back, but it quickly fades as he opens his mouth, you assume to talk. For a second, nothing comes out. 

“Hi,” he says finally. 

“Hi, Steve.” 

“How are you?” 

“I’m good, yeah. Thank you.” You raise your eyebrows. “How are you?” 

“Nervous.” He scratches the back of his neck, peeking quickly down at his hand and then wiping it roughly into his thigh. “Shit. Listen, I think you’re so pretty, and I practised this part in my head but it’s not– I got another look at you as I was coming in and I forgot what I was gonna say.” 

You don’t mean to ask, but, “You think I’m pretty?” 

“It’s dire,” he says seriously, hair flopping into his eyes and half-heartedly batted away. “You’re beautiful.” 

He says it so simply, it doesn’t compute. 

“Oh. Well, thank you,” you say softly. 

“Shit.” Steve shoots a look at the door. You follow his gaze, wondering what the hell he’s looking at. Did he bring somebody with him? You’d thought he was alone, but maybe he’s not. 

“Steve, are you okay?” 

“That’s why. This is why I’m– I’m fucking up monumentally. I didn’t think I’d be nervous. Like, sure, I felt like I was gonna throw up all morning but I’m usually better at the asking part.” Steve straightens up. A light beige polo is neatly buttoned at his neck, and his hair looks nicer than usual, super shiny under the overhead. When he turns to you, the red light coming off of Dig-Dug paints him with a pink hue, emphasising the dash of blush filling the tops of his ears. “You wouldn’t want to hang out some time, would you? Or– shit. I don’t want to hang out. I do, but– Do you want to go on a date?” 

“With you?” 

He winces. “With me, yeah.” 

You’re quiet for so long it makes you both uncomfortable. Slowly, Steve’s face starts to lose the squirmy nervousness he’d brought in with him, and a familiar softness fills his eyes, his brows pinching at their starts, lips pursed. 

“You look upset,” he says. 

In the tens of times you’ve seen Steve Harrington come in here, and the fewer times he’s come up to the desk to talk, you can’t confess to thinking he’d ever ask you that. You’d imagined it once, how he’d lean against the display of teddy bears and smile at you just so, like you already knew what he wanted. 

“No,” you say, watching his expression for some sign that this is a trick. It doesn’t seem like it is. You can’t say you think he’d be that cruel, but you can’t not ask, either. “I’m wondering if this is a joke.” 

“A joke? No.” Steve frowns. “Did someone do that before?” 

“Just doesn’t make any sense.”

Steve is a nice guy. He’s asked you so many questions about yourself you can’t remember what he knows and what he doesn’t, but you aren’t eager to tell him why you think what you’re thinking now. 

You shy away from him, letting your eyes fall to the pencil erasers. 

“Hey,” he says softly, reaching across the desk without touching you, “hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m not kidding around, I’ve wanted to ask you out for ages, but I– guess I thought this would go better if I waited. You don’t have to say yes.” 

“You really want to go on a date with me?”

“Yeah, I do.” 

“You swear?” 

“I swear. I mean, duh. Who wouldn’t want to go on a date with you? I sort of wake up thinking about you.”

Your eyes fly to his face. “What?” 

“Not in like, a loser way. In a cool way.” 

You still don’t really believe Steve wants to take you on a date until he’s knocking on your door, 7PM sharp, handing you a bouquet of twelve red roses and a hopeful smile. “Told you,” he says, grinning as you step down onto the path with him, something you recognise as nervousness in his smile, but elation, too, “Jesus, I knew you’d look pretty, but this is just something else. Who wouldn’t want to take you out?” 

You hit him very gently with the flowers. “Stop.” 

He grins. “No. Don’t think I will, babe.” 

[joemama-2]

it’s late at night. he’s already situated on the bed, seeing you come into the room with unkempt hair, you shirt has splotches of dried milk and your movements are slow. tired.

why wouldn’t you be?

an energetic three year old who’s just like his father is hard to maintain. though you wouldn’t trade it for the world. “come here, baby.” he pats his lap, grinning softly.

you look over from where you’re taking off your jewelry for the day, in attempt to get ready for your nightly shower. “hm? for what?”

his eyes follow your every movement, patting his lap once more. “you know exactly why. cmon, daddy needs some stress relief.”

the laugh you let out causes his face to soften, admiring you in a way that’s reserved solely for his wife, for the mother of his son. “i thought we agreed you couldn’t call yourself that anymore.”

he adjusts himself when he sees you come over, crawling on the bed to situate yourself in a straddling position over his hips. his hands fall into place on the curve of your waist, thumbs rubbing small circles on the small patch of skin that shows when your shirt lifts up. “you did. i didn’t.”

“it’s cringey.”

“so?”

you huff, eyes rolling. he dips his head forward into the crook of your neck, planting a trail of warm kisses. “satoru, are you sure?”

“are you sure?” he asks, voice muffled by your skin. “i just want to pamper my wife after a long day, can’t i do that?”

“i feel hideous right now.”

he tips his head back, bright eyes staring back at you with an intensity you’ve come to associate with. the kind of intensity that lets you know whatever he says—he means it. “hideous? what did i say before, huh? i said don’t even think about saying stupid stuff like that again. and look at you now.”

your lips downturn. “don’t say that just to make me feel better.”

“i’m not,” he places a firm kiss to your lips. “you look beautiful every day, every second of the day. but you look especially gorgeous right now.”

you narrow your eyes at him, skeptical. “why right now?”

satoru’s lips quirk into a sly grin, his thumbs still tracing those comforting circles on your waist. "because right now, I see my whole world in front of me. the woman who gave me everything I could ever want—a family, a home, a reason to come back every single day.”

the weight of his words presses against the exhaustion hanging over you. it’s not just flattery. it’s raw and genuine, just like him, and it makes your chest ache in the best way. “you’re so cheesy, you know that?”

“and you’re so heavenly,” his grin widens, leaning in closer until your noses almost touch. “but you love my cheesiness, don’t you? admit it.”

your lips twitch, a small smile breaking through despite your best efforts to keep a straight face. “maybe I do.”

“there it is,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to your lips, softer this time, as if he’s handling something fragile. “that smile’s all I need to get through anything.”

the words wrap around your tired soul like a warm blanket. and for a moment, the weight of the day fades, replaced by the solid, steady presence of him—your husband, your partner, the man who never fails to make you feel like the most important person in the world.

you sigh, resting your forehead against his. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Wrong.” his voice is firm, his hands steady as they pull you just a little closer, subtly rubbing you against his clothed cock. “I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.”

and in that quiet, intimate moment, with the world outside fading into irrelevance, you believe him.

"now let me pamper you like I promised." he switches positions, hovering above you as you lay on your back. leaning down to raise the hem of your shirt, trailing sweet kisses and licks against your stomach—heading further south. your hips raise slightly as he discards your lounge pants, breath hitching in anticipation. hand running down through the streaks of his white hair, he smiles at the sight of your pussy hidden behind the grandma underwear you adorn.

hot breath tickling your core that leaves you almost jerking upwards for more. he kisses your clit through the loose fabric. “besides, mommy needs her fix too, doesn’t she?”

[swappermanent]

Normal Kids

“I’m 19! I’m old enough to make decisions about my own body!” I yelled, my voice echoing off the kitchen walls. My chest heaved as I stood across from my parents, their expressions a cocktail of disbelief, frustration, and something I couldn’t quite place—grief, maybe?

My mom crossed her arms tightly over her chest, looking anywhere but at me. “I’m sorry, we just… we can’t let you do that.”

“Let me?” I spat, the word tasting bitter. “You can’t let me? Do you even hear yourselves? This isn’t something you control! This is my life. My body.”

Dad rubbed his temples, his fingers digging into his skin like he could will the conversation away. “You’re too young to make a decision like this,” he said finally, his voice low but strained. “You don’t even know what you’re doing.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life,” I shot back, feeling my hands shake. “I’ve spent years figuring this out—every sleepless night, every time I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself, every time I wanted to scream because I couldn’t be who I am. Don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Mom finally looked up, her face pale but her eyes blazing. “This isn’t about us not loving you. We just…” She paused, her voice trembling. “We don’t understand why you have to keep doing this to us.”

My stomach dropped, but I held my ground. “This isn’t something I’m doing to you. This is me—this is who I am. It’s not a phase or a rebellion or whatever else you want to call it. You’ve already been through this once with Liam. Are you seriously telling me you didn’t learn anything?”

Dad flinched, and I knew I’d hit a nerve. Liam, my older brother, had been their golden boy until he came out as gay a few years ago. It wasn’t pretty—he’d waited until he was moving out to tell them, probably because he knew exactly how they’d react. The disappointment in their eyes, the long silences, the occasional outburst when they thought no one else could hear… it had been brutal. But Liam had stood his ground, just like I was now.

When he left, I’d thought it couldn’t get worse. But then, a few months later, I’d come out as a lesbian. Their reaction had been less dramatic that time—probably because they were already so exhausted from Liam—but it wasn’t exactly warm, either. They’d treated it like a wound that would heal if they just ignored it long enough.

But this… this was different. A few weeks ago, I’d finally found the courage to tell them I was trans. And the look on their faces when I said those words—it was like I’d detonated a bomb in the living room.

“First Liam, and now this,” Mom had whispered that night, her voice shaking. “Why can’t we just have normal kids?”

That phrase had been replaying in my head ever since. Normal kids. Like there was some checklist of qualities that made you acceptable, and Liam and I had failed to meet every single one of them.

Now, as I stood in the kitchen, I felt that familiar mix of anger and sadness bubbling up. “I’m sorry I’m not the daughter you wanted,” I said, my voice breaking despite my best efforts. “But I can’t keep pretending to be someone I’m not just to make you comfortable.”

“Why can’t you wait?” Dad said, his voice softer now. “Just give it a few years, until you’re older. Until you’re absolutely sure.”

“I am sure,” I said, looking him directly in the eyes. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. And I’m not going to waste any more time being someone I’m not.”

Silence hung in the air like a heavy fog. My parents exchanged a glance, but neither of them said anything. For a moment, I thought I saw something shift in my mom’s expression—something that looked almost like understanding. But then it was gone, replaced by the same tight-lipped resolve.

“We just need time,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is… a lot.”

I nodded, biting back the sharp response I wanted to give. I knew I wouldn’t change their minds tonight. But I also knew that I wasn’t going to stop fighting. For Liam, for myself, for every other kid who’d ever been told they weren’t enough—I wasn’t going to give up.

For months, I begged and badgered my parents to let me start transitioning. Every conversation ended in a brick wall—excuses about my age, about not understanding the “gravity” of my decision, about the costs. They controlled the insurance, and they paid my college tuition. Without their approval, I was stuck. Trapped in a body that didn’t feel like mine and a life that didn’t feel like it fit.

But then, one evening, they relented.

“We’ve… been thinking about your request,” my mom said hesitantly over dinner. I immediately froze, my fork halfway to my mouth.

My dad chimed in. “We found a clinic that might be able to help.”

I blinked, surprised but cautious. “Really?” I asked, my voice laced with doubt.

“Yes,” my mom replied, forcing a smile. “It’s… unconventional, but we think it might be what you’re looking for. They specialize in full-body transformations.”

Something about her tone set me on edge, but I didn’t press. I was too desperate for their approval. If they were finally agreeing to help me, I wasn’t about to question it. The only condition? Liam had to take me.

I love my brother. He’s my rock, the only person who truly gets me. So, I didn’t mind the idea of him tagging along. In fact, I was relieved to have him there. I told myself that having his support would make this feel less terrifying.

The clinic was nothing like I expected. It wasn’t a sterile hospital or some dingy back-alley operation. It was sleek, modern, and impossibly fancy. Marble floors, pristine white walls, the faint smell of lavender in the air. The kind of place you’d expect celebrities to visit for some high-end spa treatment.

A woman in a crisp white suit greeted us at the front desk. Her smile was warm but unnervingly perfect. “Welcome,” she said. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Liam raised an eyebrow at me, but I shrugged. We were led into a private lounge, where they offered us water and reassured me that the procedure was safe and effective. A doctor arrived shortly after and explained that Liam and I would be separated for a brief consultation. That seemed odd, but I didn’t overthink it. Maybe they wanted to talk about medical history or something.

The moment I stepped into my consultation room, my gut told me something was off. It wasn’t the room itself—it was just as fancy as the rest of the place, with plush chairs and soft lighting—but there was an odd energy in the air. The doctor who entered was an older man with kind eyes, but his words sent a chill down my spine.

“This isn’t your typical hormone therapy clinic,” he began. “What we offer here is… revolutionary. Instead of months or years of transitioning, we provide an immediate solution.”

I frowned. “Immediate?”

“Yes,” he said, leaning forward. “We specialize in body-swapping technology. You would be able to inhabit a different body entirely—one that aligns with who you truly are.”

My stomach flipped. “Body-swapping?” I repeated, barely able to process what he was saying.

The doctor nodded, his expression calm, like this was the most normal thing in the world. “In your case, your parents have arranged for a body that they believe would suit you. Strong, male, conventionally attractive. We’re ready to begin the process, provided we have your consent.”

My heart was pounding now. “What body?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Your brother’s,” the doctor said simply.

The room spun. “What?” I croaked. “You’re saying… you want me to swap bodies with Liam?”

The doctor nodded again. “Yes. Your parents thought this would provide you with the life you’re seeking—male, straight, and socially acceptable. Liam has already been sedated and prepped for the procedure. He’ll retain his memories and sense of self, but he’ll wake up in your body.”

My mind raced, trying to piece everything together. “Does Liam… does he know about this?”

“No,” the doctor admitted. “He doesn’t need to. He’ll adapt in time. All we need is your consent.”

I felt like I couldn’t breathe. This was insane. They wanted to rip apart my brother’s life without his knowledge, without his consent. It was horrifying. And yet… the image of Liam’s body flashed in my mind. He was everything I’d ever wanted to be—handsome, muscular, confident. I imagined the life I could have in his shoes. The ease, the acceptance. The chance to finally feel right in my own skin.

“You’ll be happy,” the doctor said, as though reading my thoughts. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime.”

I clenched my fists, my heart racing. Every fiber of my being screamed that this was wrong, that Liam didn’t deserve this. But at the same time, the temptation was undeniable. How could I say no to something I’d dreamed of my entire life?

“I…” My voice wavered. I glanced at the door, imagining Liam just a room away, completely unaware of what was happening.

But the thought of waking up in his body, of finally feeling at home, was too powerful to ignore.

“I’ll do it,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I’ll do it.”

The doctor’s smile widened. “Excellent. Let’s get started.”

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the weight. Not the kind that dragged you down, but something grounding, solid, like my body was finally my own. My eyelids fluttered open, and my heart skipped as I caught sight of my arm resting against the pristine white sheets. Strong, defined, dusted with dark hair that caught the soft light streaming in through the window. I flexed my fingers experimentally, watching tendons shift under the skin.

It felt… right.

I sat up, the sheets pooling around my waist, and ran a hand over my chest. The sensation of my fingers brushing through coarse hair was electric. My pecs were firm, rising and falling with each breath, and I couldn’t stop myself from tracing the ridges of muscle down to my abs. Every touch felt like discovering a secret, a hidden part of myself I’d been waiting my entire life to meet.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I caught sight of my reflection in the full-length mirror across the room. My breath hitched. Liam’s body—no, my body—looked even more incredible in motion. Broad shoulders, a tapered waist, the kind of build that turned heads. I stood slowly, marveling at the way my thighs tensed with the movement, the muscles taut and powerful beneath the skin.

I stepped closer to the mirror, placing a hand on the glass as though I needed to prove this was real. My other hand drifted up to my jaw, rough with stubble. I dragged my fingers across it, savoring the gritty sensation. The shadow of a beard framed my face, making my features sharper, more defined. I tilted my head, flexing experimentally, watching my shoulders and arms ripple with strength.

A shiver ran down my spine as I splayed my fingers across my chest, the dark hair soft yet coarse against my palm. My nipples stiffened under my touch, the sensation sparking an unfamiliar but intoxicating heat. I trailed my hand lower, tracing the faint line of hair that led down my stomach, feeling the muscles shift beneath my fingertips.

I turned to the side, marveling at the broadness of my back, the way it tapered into my hips. My hand skimmed over the curve of my biceps, then down to my forearm, where veins snaked beneath the skin, pulsing faintly with life. Every inch of me felt alive, thrumming with energy I’d never known before.

A sudden laugh escaped my lips, low and rich, surprising me with its depth. I couldn’t help but grin, running a hand through my hair, which was thick and slightly messy from sleep. The movement flexed my arm, and I turned back to the mirror, caught up in the intoxicating sight of strength and masculinity. This was me—finally me.

The knock at the door was soft but purposeful, and when I turned, the nurse from earlier stepped in. She was petite but poised, her blonde hair swept into a neat ponytail, her cheeks tinged pink as she glanced at me. I realized I was still shirtless, standing in all my glory, and I couldn’t help but smirk. The confidence in this body felt second nature, like slipping on a well-tailored suit.

“Just checking to see how you’re feeling,” she said, her voice warm but a little breathy. Her eyes lingered on my chest a beat too long before darting away, her blush deepening.

“I’m feeling incredible,” I said, letting my voice drop an octave. “But you probably hear that a lot.”

She chuckled nervously, her hands fiddling with the clipboard she carried. “Well, we do aim to please.”

I stepped closer, the smooth strength of my legs propelling me forward effortlessly. “You’ve done more than that.” I flexed my arm casually, the muscles swelling under my skin. “I’m guessing Liam—uh, I—had an arms workout yesterday. Feel that.” I offered my bicep, and her eyes widened slightly before she hesitantly reached out.

Her fingers brushed my skin, and I tensed the muscle, watching her expression shift as she gave a quiet, appreciative gasp. “Wow,” she murmured. “That’s… impressive.”

“Thanks,” I said, grinning. “All yours to admire.”

Her blush deepened, but she didn’t pull away. Emboldened, I let my hand rest lightly on her waist. Her breath hitched, and I could feel the warmth of her body through her scrubs. My touch was gentle, but I knew the strength behind it was unmistakable—controlled, deliberate, intoxicating.

“You’re incredible,” I said softly, my thumb tracing small circles on her side. She shivered under my touch, her gaze locking with mine. The tension in the room was electric, every second stretching out tantalizingly. My hand drifted lower, just brushing the curve of her hip.

I reached for the waistband of my pants, ready to strip down and revel in this moment fully when—

The door burst open with a crash, and I whipped around to see myself—my old self—standing there, wide-eyed and furious.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

[little-jana]

"A Little Bit of Mischief" (1)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x receptionist!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: playful teasing, flirting

Words: 1.4k

Summary: You flirt with the ever-serious Aaron Hotchner, teasing him until he finally drops his professional demeanor.

You're in a good mood, as usual. It's a Wednesday afternoon, the sun is shining through the office windows, and there's something about the quiet hum of the BAU that feels comforting. Even though you’ve just finished up a case, there’s always work to be done—papers to file, appointments to set up, that kind of thing. But you don’t mind. You love staying busy, and you love the people you work with.

But more than anything, you love teasing Aaron Hotchner.

It’s not that you go out of your way to make him uncomfortable. Well, maybe a little. He’s just so serious all the time, and you can’t help yourself. It’s like a game to you—seeing how far you can push him before he cracks. And honestly, he’s always so professional, so controlled, that you never expect him to respond in any way other than with the quiet politeness he reserves for everyone.

At least, that’s what you think.

“Hotch, do you need me to book you a meeting with the director?” you ask, leaning on his desk with a sweet smile plastered across your face. You know your voice comes out bubbly—it always does when you’re around him—but you don’t mind. You have a tendency to be a little more playful when he’s near.

He glances up from his paperwork, his brown eyes narrowing slightly as he looks you over. He always does that, and it makes your stomach do a little flip. It’s as if he’s trying to figure you out, analyzing you the same way he does with cases. It’s both flattering and endearing, and it makes your heart beat a little faster.

“No, I’m good, thanks,” he replies, but his voice is a little more distant than usual. It’s his way of staying professional, but you notice how his lips twitch—just barely, as if he’s holding back a smile.

“So,” you start again, leaning closer to his desk just a little, “I was thinking we could go grab coffee after work. You know, just the two of us. I promise not to steal your files this time.”

His eyes flick up at you again, a brief glimmer of something unreadable in them before he returns to his work. He doesn’t seem to be taking you seriously, as usual. But you’re not giving up that easily.

“You know, I don’t understand why you’re always so serious,” you continue, your voice soft and teasing as you try to get him to react. “You’re like... a walking, talking textbook of boring.”

The words slip out before you can stop yourself, but you’re not worried. You’ve said worse to him before. And every time, he’s given you that same exasperated but slightly amused look—like he’s trying to act unaffected, but the small twitch of his lips always gives him away.

His expression softens, though, and you see him letting his guard down just a little. “I’m serious about the job,” he says with a small smirk. But you can tell he’s holding back the full force of his smile.

“Well, you’re lucky I don’t mind serious men,” you say, leaning in a little closer, your voice softer. “You’re still pretty cute, even if you’re all about ‘business’ all the time.”

You see the immediate flash of something in his eyes then, something like surprise mixed with hesitation. You almost think he’s going to respond with a typical Hotch answer—something neutral, something that would keep you firmly in the “professional” zone. But instead, he looks at you for a long moment, his gaze searching your face as if trying to decipher your intentions.

“How’s your day been?” he asks suddenly, his voice quieter than usual, as though the question itself signals a subtle shift in the conversation.

You smile brightly. “Oh, you know, the usual. I’ve been keeping myself busy with all the paperwork—making sure you don’t get buried under it all.” You shrug, glancing down at your own stack of work. “But it’s been fun. I like helping out. Plus, I get to see all of you guys every day.”

Hotch’s gaze softens again, and for the first time, there’s a touch of warmth in his eyes that you’re not used to. “I appreciate it,” he says quietly. “You’re a big help around here.”

His words aren’t anything extraordinary, but they make your heart flutter in a way you didn’t expect. You hadn’t thought he’d notice how much you enjoyed being around, how much you appreciated the little things he did, like staying late to make sure everything was wrapped up, or the way he always double-checks the details.

“You know, you’re not so bad yourself,” you tease, the flirtatious energy flowing through your words without meaning to. “You should let me take you out for dinner sometime, Hotch. I think you could use a break from all the work.”

You’re not expecting him to say yes. After all, Hotch isn’t the kind of guy who jumps into social outings easily. But you can’t help yourself; you have to ask.

He glances at you again, his gaze softening even further, and this time, his lips do curl into a faint smile. It’s not much, but it’s enough to make your heart skip a beat.

“Maybe,” he says, and you almost think you see a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

That’s enough for you. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen that kind of warmth from him, the first time he didn’t immediately deflect your teasing.

“You’re adorable when you smile like that,” you say before you can stop yourself, your voice softer, more sincere than you intended. The words are out before you can take them back, and your face immediately flushes with embarrassment.

But instead of retreating, Hotch’s gaze softens even more, and he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just sits there, watching you. And it’s in that moment that you realize—you’ve been teasing him for so long, but maybe there’s more there than you thought. Maybe, just maybe, he likes you too.

“Maybe dinner would be a good idea,” he says quietly, his voice almost a whisper now.

You beam, your heart racing. “I’ll hold you to that,” you reply, and this time, your flirtation is more playful than anything. “But don’t make me wait too long, okay?”

He chuckles softly, the sound warm and genuine. And for once, you realize that maybe this game you’ve been playing isn’t just a game. Maybe there’s something more to it after all.

[irisintheafterglow]

touya todoroki doesn't like talking. sure, he'll quip and joke and mock a dead horse until it's begging to be killed again, but discussing serious topics were as foreign to him as the next galaxy. not just about his family or his accident or his vendetta against endeavor, but he is the man of few words. physically, it tears his throat to speak for extended amounts of time, and emotionally, he's not the type to share his inner anguish at length.

so when he starts to murmur something in the darkest hours of the night, your head on his chest as he gently runs a fingertip in spirals on your bare back, you tense. and, since he never misses anything when it comes to you, he tenses too.

"something wrong?"

"no," you say too quickly, already aware of how you'd essentially blown up his train of thought. "nothing. keep going."

"you're lying," he mutters against your temple, his voice darker and sharper than whiskey. "thought we said no more lying."

"we also said you'd never end up back in my bed, yet here we are," you remark and there's a small puff of air when he huffs, amused. "it's nothing, really." your eyes fall shut and your body syncs to his breathing rhythm, on the verge of sleeping when he speaks so quietly, you could've missed what he said.

"i don't like when you say that." you blink slowly, fighting to stay awake.

"say what?"

"that something is nothing, like i'm supposed to ignore what you said."

"maybe it was something stupid that you don't need to worry about," you propose but he has none of it.

"then i'll be the judge of that." sighing, you prop yourself onto one elbow and look down at him, his lower half covered by your comforter and his upper body completely exposed. your thumb lightly brushes the seam of his burn scars, stalling in hopes that he'll forget what you were arguing about. he doesn't, of course. "so?"

"so what?"

"if you're gonna keep ogling me, you might as well say what you want to say," he smirks and you roll your eyes.

"ogling is such a strong word." your lips purse and you make to pull your hand away, but he's fast to grab your wrist and press your palm to his heart. it's a steady thump, thump, thump that you could recognize as his in any other world. "i'd say 'admiring' is a better word for it."

"you'd be the first to think so, sweetheart."

"you don't like when i ogle you?" you ask teasingly, your fingertips grazing his collarbone, over the spot that vaguely held the mark of your teeth.

"well, yeah," he confirms like it was written in neon graffiti on your bedroom walls. his eyes flick down to your hand as it caresses the mottled skin. "no one thinks this is pretty. 's just not the way the rest of the world works." his eyes flutter shut under the safety of your touch; something pangs in your chest and you suddenly have the urge to cry. "don't start with all that."

"how did you know--"

"you swallow and blink a lot when you're about to cry."

"but your eyes are--"

"i can imagine your eyelashes fluttering, dear, and you're too sensitive when it comes to me," he explains patiently, with only the slightest patronizing tone. cracking a single eye open, he pulls you back down to his body and presses his lips softly to your forehead. "don't cry for me. i'm not worth it."

"of course you're worth it," you insist and he scoffs. "maybe i'm not like the rest of the world, because i think you're beautiful." it's his turn to fall silent, unsure of how to respond to such blunt statements of adoration. "stop it."

"stop what?"

"stop...stopping," you shrug and he snorts.

"what are you on about?"

"stop not talking," you frown in spite of his smirk. "i want you to keep talking." his chest rises and falls beneath your ear, warm and nothing but yours. "please?"

"if you insist," he murmurs, "but only for you."

---

i miss my bf again man...it's iris misses touya hours every hour

[e-mm4]

Hii! I love your Thanos x reader x namgyu stories!! They’re so good and I love your writing! I was wondering if I could request more of that? Maybe a little smut if you’re comfortable writing it!

(Sorry if that doesn’t make sense, English isn’t my first language ❤️)

thanos ! x reader x namgyu !

pairing : thanos! x reader x namgyu!

cw : drug use and sexual activities!

a/n : erm i am NOT a good smut writer but i hope the small amount is enough. i love these two. also i don’t know if anyone has noticed but i cannot make them mean for the life of me. like i love a soft man. oops

you’d all live in a single apartment because it’s cheaper. you were practically all living together anyways (they crashed in your living room more than their own places) so you would decide making one rent payment split three ways made more sense than three separate payments.

the chores would probably fall on you. cooking, cleaning, laundry. it’s easier if they’re out of your way anyways.

i think namgyu would help out by buying groceries or taking over the laundry every couple of weeks.

i like to picture him with glasses, and leaving them everywhere but his face. like he’s constantly misplacing them. and he swears you must be psychic or something because anytime he starts squinting to see, you pull his glasses out of thin air.

he also definitely is incapable of admitting he needs them. and will actively refuse to find them because he “looks stupid with them on”.

thanos is the type of guy that wouldn’t do anything around the house except leave his cigarettes ashes on the living room table.

or throw his shoes on top of the already large pile of sneakers by the door instead of tidying them up.

or add his dirty dishes into an already full sink.

and then he’d say he contributes to house work because he bought take out once last week or because he brought home shit for you guys to smoke.

but he’s also the type that can clean the whole house in a couple of hours, under the condition that’s he’s high. like i imagine him popping one of those pills from his cross and getting the energy to do everything you’d plan to do when you get home.

and if you said anything about it he’d just shrug. like it’s not the most impressive thing he’s done since he moved in.

secretly he’d be on top of the world because of your praise and gratitude. and he can’t help but smile at the satisfied smile that appears on your tired face when you sit beside him on the couch with no responsibility for the night.

they both are the type to conspire around the thermostat. and they’ve somehow convinced you that you don’t know how to use it so you trust them when they say it’s set at a normal temperature.

like in the winter time, they’ll turn it down so low that they have to bundle up under multiple blankets on the couch just so you’ll keep them close.

picture this, you’ve gone to bed and they turn it down at least half an hour after. and you return to the living room, half dressed cause “that’s the only way you can sleep”, and you beg them to come sit in your bed to keep you warm.

and thanos would be the type of guy to get you there and claim that they have a faster way than just ‘sitting in bed’ to keep you warm.

that’s how you’d end up with thanos chest pressed to your back and his cold hands up your shirt, cupping your breast as he nips and kisses at your neck leaving purple marks in his path that are sure to show the next day.

meanwhile namgyu is laying on his stomach with your legs perched up on his shoulders, fingers pressing into the flesh of your thigh, as he head gets busy between your legs.

and you better believe your inner thighs are covered in bruises. he’s incapable of holding back his bites and kisses with your legs spread wide in front of him.

i cannot see namgyu being anything BUT handsy. like even if you guys were just cuddling this guys hands are on you, in you, all over you it’s crazy.

and you’d say it’s counterintuitive when thanos throws your shirt across the room, and namgyu has pocketed the underwear you were wearing, because how is removing your clothes keeping you warm.

but after at least of an hour of being trapped between them, all three of you are sweating and the room seems way hotter than before.

maybe the fact that they turned the thermostat back to normal before joining you in your bedroom had something to do with it. who knows?

the type of guys to talk to eachother about you like your not there but also the type to say it’s gay to make eye contact with eachother when they get you off.

they’re also jealous creatures. they can’t help it.

if the three of you are having sex and you leave a mark on one of them, like a hickey or god forbid you leave lines from your nails, the other is suddenly whining for your attention. silently begging for you to mark them up in the same way.

and they won’t leave your bed after. they stay put, hands wrapping around you from either side of the bed. namgyu’s fingers are intertwined with yours as his face presses against your neck. and thanos is sprawled out on his stomach, one arm draped over your middle as he faces you, dead asleep.

[morganaawriterr]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Coming Down;

Pairing; fem!reader x old lover!Nishimura Riki also fame hunger!Nishimura Riki Synopsis; You battle the lingering pain of your first love and heartbreak, only to face the unexpected return of the man who once shattered you. As past wounds resurface and kisses are shared, you are torn between the ghost of him and reality. Genre; Angst and slightly suggestive; Warnings; Mentions of smoking cigarettes; mention of God and the Devil; heartbreak; make-out session; Words; 1k — Based on the song "coming down" by Halsey. MASTERLIST;

A/N: I cant seem to write the fucking requests for some FUCKING reason. So here's something else while I make myself write them! I hope you enjoy getting your heart broken!

You find yourself reminiscing about him again, your eyes fixed on the star-filled sky as the night settles, its dark embrace comforting you better than anyone ever could—anyone but him, your first true love, your first true heartbreak.

As you take a long drag from the cigarette between your fingers, you close your eyes and imagine him beside you. His tall frame looms over yours, his addictive yet playful cologne wraps around you, and his deep voice urges you to put the cigarette down. And you would—if he asked.

Your heart aches at the thought of him, a pain so sharp and heavy it momentarily takes your breath away. You miss the way his cold fingers gently held your hand, the way his hair fell into his face, soft and wild. His blonde roots and brown tips made him recognizable no matter where he was.

You exhale a cloud of smoke as his name echoes in your mind, a name deeply tattooed on your heart: Nishimura Riki. The nice guy who grew shy in your presence, the nonchalant guy who couldn’t resist kissing you in front of everyone.

To you, he was almost God. His warm heart and endless patience made you want to surrender to him—not in a bad way. He was the good boy who made you want to be good too. You knew he hated that you smoked, so you tried to stop. He hated when you self-isolated, so you tried to share your feelings before you spiraled too far.

But he was also your Devil. His intoxicating lips left you craving him constantly, despite his aggressive words. His insatiable hunger for fame consumed everything. He knew your dreams were small—you only wanted to escape your abusive parents—yet he tried to push his need for something bigger into you.

You lay back against the roof, tears prick your eyes as you recall the last time you saw him. No more Oreo hair. No playful cologne. No love. The hotel room had felt like an endless corridor, and the closer you tried to get to him, the further away he seemed. The more you spoke, the more he avoided your gaze. The more the corridor stretched.

His sweet smile, the one that once absolved all your sins, was gone. Ni-ki didn’t even glance your way as he left, slamming the door behind him.

Your voice wouldn’t leave your throat as you screamed, clutching your shirt because the ache in your chest was unbearable, as if your heart was being torn in half. And it was. He took it with him, like a broken amulet, a reminder of you.

The cigarette burns down to its end and after that, you crush it against the rooftop and toss it away. He always comes to mind when you smoke. Maybe you should quit, so his ghost will finally leave you alone.

Climbing off the roof and into your tiny studio, your sanctuary offers solace once more, and Ni-ki fades away. You wipe the tears from your cheeks and take a deep breath. Today is the day you stop smoking.

You grab the last pack, step outside, and toss it into the bin by the staircase. A faint smile touches your lips as you imagine his lingering presence leaving with it. But the relief doesn’t last.

“I’m glad you’re quitting,” a familiar deep voice says behind you.

You freeze, closing your eyes and muttering a curse under your breath. Why does your mind insist on playing tricks? When you turn around, ready to see his image vanish, he doesn’t.

Riki stands before you, tall and real, with flushed cheeks and eyes stained red. Your hands tremble, your heart races, and you swear you’re imagining things. But then his strong, cold arms wrap around you, and his familiar cologne pulls you under, back to him.

“Ni-ki, what are you doing here?” you whisper, your voice fragile.  Your hands instinctively reach for his familiar face.

“I failed and came back to you,” he replies with indifference, before leaning in to capture your plump lips in a bittersweet kiss.

Your lips meet his reluctantly, but soon your hesitation fades away as you're completely consumed in his presence. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer as his lips mold perfectly against yours. Just like they used to.

With a stable hand on your lower back, Ni-ki guides you both inside your studio, taking slow steps, so your lips can remain connected. You briefly parted to close the door behind you, a small smile forming on your sore, wet lips while gazing at your handsome lover.

Ni-ki sits on your bed and pats his leg, inviting you to sit on his lap. Shyly, you avert your gaze as you walk toward him, settling yourself atop him. Your head is spinning as you do, your heart jumping eagerly to the sigh of your lover.

Riki wastes no time—his delicate lips chase yours, hungry and impatient. You let him devour you whole, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth, evoking the touch you missed so much.

Your hands weave into his soft hair as Ni-ki breaks away, lowering his lips to your sweet neck. You tilt your head back, giving him access, and his skilled mouth begins to leave wet marks on your soft skin. The sensation sends shivers down your spine.

You close your eyes and savor the moment. His delicate hands grip your waist tighter as your hips begin to move weakly against his, not being able to resist his tempting touch. When Ni-ki lifts his head from your neck to moan softly near your ear, he whispers, “I love you, Y/N…”

Suddenly, you wake up cold and alone in your empty roof. The night breeze brushes against your short hair as you sit up, disoriented.

The cigarette in your hand is almost finished, but extinguished and completely chilled. Did you just fall asleep on the roof? Did any of that really happen?

Quickly, you climb down and return to your small studio. The only light comes from the TV flickering in the living room. Your eyes scan the space, and you soon realize no one is there.

It was all a dream.

Tears well up in your eyes as you throw yourself onto the bed, taking a deep, shaky breath. It all comes down to you quickly; Ni-ki won't ever come back to you. It's too late now; you are paying the price for loving him.

Taglist: @grandlightcandy @seokseokjinkim @strxwbloody @enhasunghoonishot @contyynishimura @heewanrik @ranwonbin @leanderexists @lovelyyf @youngheejay @crimson-reaper576 @rikifever @mrsjjongstby @laurradoesloveu @babyboomysweetie @mintchocos-things @nxzz-skz @saphiranishimurashan @ikeupups @yangjungwonnie @xiiaobaoo @itsuen @laylasbunbunny @mellowgalaxystrawberry @firstclassjaylee @questionsdearreader @greeyjre @en-doll @riqomi @lovingvoidgoatee @mitmit01 @miuwonis @aureliaaaa555 @han-to-my-minho @heeweenie @vixensss @ro-diares @hoonvinx @immelissaaa @jiryunn @quilevyt @vrusha01 @kkamismom12 @skzenhalove If you wanna be added or removed from the taglist just comment below!

[lostintransist]

Fallen Angel | Lover and Love

Part 1 | AO3 | *This is a story told in scenes and can be read in any order though is listed in chronological order on the masterlist.

CW: Discussion of suicide and ideation

You had a friend that had three cats. Well, she said she had three cats. You had only ever met two of them, her third little floof lived in the basement bathroom. Phoebe, as she was called, needed a lot of space and appreciated a warm sunbeam that she didn’t have to share. Simon reminded you a lot of Phoebe.

He had taken the room closest to the back, poised best for dusk light to illuminate his space. Hiding away became, or maybe had always been, a strong tendency when he got overwhelmed. The poly-q, by unspoken agreement, would take turns visiting with him in his room when he tried to self-isolate.

Something had happened on their last job. No one would tell you about it but John moved with a slowness that hadn’t been there when he had left. Simon disappeared after a hello kiss and hadn’t been seen since. That was yesterday.

Worrying over your guys had become as intrinsic as breathing. You knew that by Johnny spending the night in your bed, Simon had asked for space. Flicking on the kettle you readied a mug for Simon. Tea steeped with milk and sugar added, you went in search of him.

Simon sat mired in memories. Christmas was coming again, and they had nearly lost John on their last mission. The near miss boiled up in his mind until every other near miss, and person he’d lost ringed him like ghosts with reprimand and disgust on their faces.

Lost to the dregs of death in his mind Simon did not hear you come in.

Simon’s room always smelled of him and faintly of the pillow spray Kyle had bought him a few months back. He stared into the middle distance, somewhere you couldn’t reach or follow. Setting his mug on the nightstand you climb onto the bed. His back is against the headboard with his legs crossed and hands resting in his lap. You match his positioning, resting your knees against his shins.

In an offhanded comment, Simon once mentioned he thought he might develop arthritis in his hands with how badly they could ache sometimes. Thinking over that comment now you lift one of his hands and begin to gently massaging it. The limb is heavy without his will behind it.

Humming to yourself you work up his hand, into his wrist, and over part of his forearm before gently setting it back and repeating the process with his second hand. Flexion from his fingers as you work on his wrist warns you that he has joined you in the room.

“Almost done, can you stay relaxed for me, Simon?” Keeping your focus on his arm you work at the muscles under your fingers.

By way of an answer, he lets a deep breath slip out through his nose and shifts his head to watch you better. Both of you enjoy the quiet presence of the other. When you set his hand down in his lap and look at his face tears rim his eyes.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

His lip quivers the barest hint as he asks, “Lay with me?”

Pushing your hands into the mattress you shift to one side, stretching out as you wait for Simon to get settled. It takes some maneuvering but soon enough you are both laid out comfortably. Simon curls behind you, knees tucked tight to yours and his bicep cushioning your head. You interlace fingers with the hand draped over your waist.

“Do you remember,” he started slowly. “The day you came through the ceiling?”

The snort is involuntary. “Yes. I remember going through the floor and landing on your lap after I gave you a bloody nose.”

Simon laughs through his nose before sobering.

“I was contemplating suicide that day.”

His arms tighten around as if he was expecting you to try and roll over and look at him. You tried to move to look at him anyway.

“Can’t keep telling you if you look at me,” he murmurs, shame lacing his words.

That settles you, a deep shuddering breath and you let the tension melt back into your bones.

“Contemplating or planning?” You question him carefully.

“Contemplating, but had you not come through the ceiling when you did it might have turned into an executed plan.”

You take a slow, deep breath ensuring that your ribs expand fully before replying.

“Are you feeling that way again?” Probing gently with your words.

He pulls you closer even as his head shakes back and forth.

“No, no, nothing like that. The holidays are getting closer and it brings a lot of bad to the surface. With nearly losing John, the melancholy, it hit a bit harder than normal.”

“We all love you, Simon. You don’t have to banish yourself to the demons and ghosts to deal with your pain. Any, all of us would drop anything to come and fight them back with you,” you say tearfully. Blinking rapidly a few tears land on Simon’s arm beneath your head.

“I know. Sometimes…sometimes I forget how loved I am. I don’t deserve it.” He whispers this as if you don’t know this is how he thinks of himself.

A knock at the door draws both your gazes to it as Johnny appears. The softest of smiles plays at his lips as he looks over you and Simon.

“Got room for a third?”

“Always room for you Johnny,” you wipe your eyes as you sit up and scoot to allow for room.

Simon shifted to his back, you settling on one shoulder and Johnny on the other. Interlacing fingers over Simon’s stomach you challenge Johnny to a thumb war. He wins, again and again, but you laugh each time.

The mug of tea had gone cold by the time you remembered to tell Simon about it. He thanked you for it anyway and pressed a kiss to your forehead, saying all his thanks in that single point of connection.

“Are you feeling better Simon?”

“Yeah, I think all I needed was some time with my lover and my love.”

Masterlist | Fallen Angel Masterlist

@lilynotdilly

[rosegolden13]

Tongues and Teeth

Can’t stop thinking about professional hockey player!John Price and dentist!reader who is always horrified when he comes in with a new chipped tooth so have my most bizarre ficlet yet…

Disclaimer: I know next to nothing about hockey or dentistry

~1.5k words, nothing explicit but it’s… intimate, sensual undertones

The smack of the plastic gloves against your skin as you tugged them on announced your presence in the tiny room. The small pieces of hair that have come out of your bun sway as you shake your head disapprovingly at the sight of him reclining in your chair. “Have you got any real teeth left, John? This is your third visit this season.”

His smile is lazy and amused, the chipped canine tooth on full display, when his calm blue eyes meet yours. “Nice to see ya, too, Doc.” He’s all too comfortable in the chair, work boots crossed and hands resting casually on his stomach. You’re used to tense and anxious patients, not this, but Price’s dental record was enough to make you cringe when you first saw it so you can only suppose he’s become completely desensitized to visits to the dentist. 

You inhale and exhale through your nose sharply, prepping your tools as you turn your back to him. “I wish I could say the same but I want to see you on the ice, not in my chair.”

“You a fan, love?” He asks, eyebrows raised. His smile widens a bit, eyes crinkling.

You level him with a steady stare over your shoulder as you consider your answer. It would be a terrible idea to fuel his ego. For God’s sake, he’s a professional hockey player. He doesn’t need any flattering- the press and fans do enough of that. 

“No,” you decide to answer, voice a bit flat. “But my dad is. He has the game on whenever I’m over for dinner. Now, open up. Let me see what I’m dealing with.” The rolling chair sinks gently beneath your weight as you settle into it, the wheels of your chair spinning smoothly across the flat, cheap flooring tiles when you move towards him.

Even when he complies with your orders, opening his mouth wide enough that you could fit your whole fist in his mouth, there’s something smug and self-satisfied about him that irritates you to no end. You can’t place exactly what pisses you off about him, perhaps his disregard for his dental health? Or maybe his carefree attitude? The fact that nothing seems to phase him?

Tentatively, you push his lip up slightly with the tip of your gloved finger to study his chipped tooth. The timidness in your touch must be obvious because he stiffens, almost like he’s holding back a laugh. It’s enough to embarrass you. You try to avoid meeting his eyes though you know from experience that he’s definitely staring at you. The closeness puts you on edge. He puts you on edge. 

It won’t be too difficult of a job to fill in the chip but with his profession, you need to make the filling as strong as possible. Gently, your gloved thumb grazes the chipped area, eyes flickering to meet his and gauge his reaction as you pull your hand back from his mouth. His eyes only crinkle in response. “Was tha’ supposed to hurt?” 

“You’re lucky it doesn’t. Means the puck you took to the face didn’t cause any nerve damage.” The sharp remark is just an attempt to hide the fact that you’re quickly losing control, like you always do in front of him.

He almost looks offended, scoffing as he adjusts in the chair, the cushion crinkling beneath him. “You know it wasn’ a puck to the face.”

Pleased you managed to get under his skin, you smirk as you get up to grab what you need, completely unaware of his eyes lingering on your ass in your loose blue scrubs. “The truth isn’t much better. A fight on the ice? It’s a bit childish to get violent over a sport, don’t you think?” 

His laugh is loud and rough, sounding like it comes from deep in his chest. For whatever reason, your lips tug into a bit of a genuine smile at the sound as you stand on your tip toes to get the supplies from the highest shelf. He rumbles from behind you with a few dying chuckles, “Suppose you got a point there. So, you do watch my games, doll?” 

Damn it. There’s no way to lie your way out of giving him the satisfaction that okay, yes, maybe you did watch his most recent game… and all of the others before it since he started coming in. Returning to your chair, you set the supplies down, the metal gently clinking against the tray. 

“Out of concern for a patient, yes, I did. Open up.” 

You ignore his all too pleased expression that you’ve essentially admitted to watching his games with bated breath, peeking out from behind your hands clasped over your face when he gets in a fight pressed up against the glass, always torn between wanting to know and being terrified to watch. 

“Can’t do anythin’ from that distance, Doc.” With his large palm on the back of the chair, he pulls you far too close to maintain professionalism. You’re caught off guard by the sudden movement, balancing yourself by placing your hands on his chest. Even he seems surprised by the sudden contact, not making any snide remark as your cheeks flush and you swiftly sit up properly. 

Out of sheer principle, you don’t move back, refusing to be flustered by him as you shoot him a quick glare. “I can adjust myself.” Desperate to hold onto some sort of control, you reach for his jaw, gloved fingers splaying out over his bearded cheek as you gently push down on the divot between his lips and chin to get him to open up. 

He complies but you feel no less in control. You’re grateful for the medical mask over the lower half of your face, separating you from breathing the same air as him, unable to feel the warmth when he exhales from his nose and shifts into a more comfortable position. At the very least, his teeth are perfectly clean despite all the fillings and caps preventing the chips from getting any worse.

The work is difficult to settle into when everything about him sets you off. Your arm hovers over his chest as you carefully mold the resin to his tooth, the heat practically radiating from his body. It’s the anticipation of a touch that won’t come- that’s what’s making you so tense. Some part of your body waits for contact when you’re so close to another. 

And the contact comes. His tongue sliding against your gloved thumb in what you hope is an accident but know better than to truly think so. The firm glide of his tongue is muted by the plastic guarding your finger but you freeze for a brief moment nonetheless. If he’s trying to rattle you, it’s working, a heat rushing through you in response to the stroke. He’s messing with you and you know it but.. You refuse to let your thoughts wander down that path.

It feels like an eternity before you’re done, finally able to breathe as you pull away, rolling your chair back away from him. “How’s it feel?” You ask him as you unhook the straps of the mask from around your ears.

That damn tongue of his flicks around the newly fixed tooth, licking down the long canine with far too much control and pressure to be unintentional. All the while, he maintains eye contact. He flashes you a charming grin, his legs falling over the edge of the chair as he stands. “Perfect, doll. Knew you could fix me up.” 

He gives your shoulder an appreciative squeeze, his hand heavy, large, and warm even through your scrubs. You swear you feel his thumb swipe over the strap of your bra as he lifts his hand. “See you next week, love.” All you do is nod dumbly up at him, too shocked by the touch.

It’s not until he’s out of the room checking back in at the front desk that you process his words. Next week?!

———

You’re in your dad’s kitchen, sleeves rolled up as you scrub at a particularly stubborn stain on a dish. Absently, you hum to yourself as you work. Your dad is watching the game but from what you can hear of his snores, he’s been passed out for a good ten minutes. The drone of the sports announcers drifts in from the next room over. 

“… The ref has stopped the play but that doesn’t mean Price stops. Think we’ll see his infamous temper here?”

“Oh, absolutely, Adam. He’s getting far too close to that goalie. And-…”

“That was a stellar right hook! You don’t even get this sort of action in the WWE, do you?”

“Absolutely not. This is a real fight, ladies and gents…”

Your eyes widen a bit as you process the words, walking into the living room with slow steps only to see John’s bluish image on your father’s cheap TV screen. His grin is wide as if to show off the missing tooth on the right side of his mouth. Clearly, he’s won whatever fight he got himself into but you can only stare in horror at the hole in his smile. 

Smug as ever as he takes in the wild cheers of the crowd, the bastard has the audacity to wink directly at the camera. Because he knows you're watching.

“For fuck’s sake…”

The cute lil borders are by @cafekitsune !! I'd love to hear your guys' thoughts- this longer writing is new for me!

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Between Loyalty and Love

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (Ghoap x reader)

Warnings: Mild violence, swearing, poly relationship, intimacy (Simon/Johnny, Simon/you, Johnny/you), fluff, slow-burn romance, smut and spice

Author's Note: Hope you enjoy this Ghoap fic (am I using that right? Lord I don’t know ship names-) I uh also made Switch!Ghost x Switch!Johnny a thing in this but it turns into Ghost getting dommed-🤭

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The first hint of something more began to stir during an intense training session. You were focused, your attention on Johnny as he attempted to outmaneuver you. His grin was playful, the ever-confident swagger present in every swing and twist, but you were determined not to let him get the best of you.

“Come on, lass! Can’t keep up?” Johnny teased, stepping forward, just barely dodging your last punch.

You smirked, narrowing your eyes. “I’m just getting started, Soap,” you said with confidence, trying to close the gap between you.

Johnny laughed, that familiar sound echoing in the large room. But the sound stopped when you made a quick move, landing a soft punch against his side. He stumbled back, eyes wide with surprise.

“Wha—”

“You were too busy laughing,” you quipped, pride in your voice.

Simon, who had been observing silently from the side, finally spoke up, his voice smooth and firm. “She got you good, Johnny.”

Johnny shot Simon a teasing look. “You’re just jealous that I’m the one she’s sparring with.”

Simon raised an eyebrow, clearly unamused. “Hardly.” But the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him.

Johnny leaned against the wall, stretching out his arms and pretending to catch his breath. “Maybe we should see how you handle her,” he suggested, his voice lowering slightly.

Simon shook his head, but his hands moved to adjust his gloves, stepping into the ring with you.

---

Later that evening, you sat together in the quiet of the rec room, a bottle of whiskey resting on the table between you. Johnny sprawled across the couch, his head resting in Simon’s lap, while you settled on the other side. It was an unexpected comfort, the three of you all close but not necessarily needing to speak.

But Johnny broke the silence. “I’ve been thinkin’ about us,” he said quietly, his tone unusually soft.

You turned to look at him, your chest tightening as he met your eyes. “Us?”

“Aye,” Johnny said with a crooked grin, though it wasn’t quite as playful as usual. “The three of us. Don’t know when it happened, but it’s obvious now. I care about you both more than I should. More than is probably allowed.”

Simon’s hand stroked Johnny’s hair, a rare softness in his touch. “There’s no rulebook, Johnny,” Simon replied quietly, his voice steady but warm. “We’re not breaking anything.”

You met Simon’s gaze, a smile tugging at your lips. “I feel the same. We’ve grown close, all of us. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it.”

Johnny’s eyes softened at that, his grin spreading wider. “Good, ‘cause I don’t think I could do this without either of you.”

Without waiting, Johnny shifted closer, lifting his head from Simon’s lap and wrapping his arm around you. You relaxed into him, your head resting against his shoulder.

Simon watched both of you, his gaze intense yet filled with warmth. “We’re in this together,” he murmured, his hand reaching out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch was gentle, his fingers lingering longer than necessary.

---

The days that followed were filled with small, intimate moments. Johnny and Simon began to subtly claim you in ways that made your heart race. They would touch you when you least expected it—Simon’s fingers grazing yours as you passed him, Johnny pressing a kiss to the top of your head when you were lost in conversation with someone else.

One evening, after a particularly grueling mission, you found yourself in the kitchen, preparing a meal for the three of you. Johnny had made himself comfortable at the counter, leaning in to watch you as you chopped vegetables.

“I hope you’re not trying to avoid me, love,” Johnny teased, his voice low as he leaned in closer, his breath tickling your neck.

You smiled, but your heart thudded in your chest as you felt the heat of his proximity. “Just busy, Johnny,” you said, trying to keep your composure.

Simon stood just behind him, arms crossed, his eyes flicking between you and Johnny. There was something in his gaze—something possessive, but not in a way that made you uncomfortable. It was a feeling of ownership, yes, but one that came with deep respect and care.

“You know,” Simon said slowly, his voice darker than usual, “I don’t mind watching, but I do prefer to join in eventually.”

You met Simon’s gaze, a small smirk playing on your lips. “Maybe later.”

Johnny chuckled, his fingers brushing over the back of your hand. “That’s the spirit, love. You’ll find it’s easier when we’re all together.”

Later that night, after the meal was shared, and the conversation flowed effortlessly between the three of you, Johnny nudged Simon. “You ready for the quiet night you promised me?” Johnny asked, his voice lower, his eyes glimmering with something more intense.

Simon raised an eyebrow. “You don’t need to ask me twice,” he said, his gaze flicking to you. “You okay with this?”

You met his gaze, a little flutter of excitement spreading through you. “I’m more than okay.”

---

Later that night of your evening together was one you would never forget. There was an unspoken agreement between you all—no pressure, no expectations, just mutual care and love.

You and Simon had been lying in bed, the soft glow of the moonlight spilling in through the window. Johnny was sprawled across the other side of the bed, facing the two of you, his breath slow and even.

Simon’s hand brushed against your arm, a gentle gesture that spoke volumes. “You okay?” he whispered, his voice like velvet in the quiet room.

You turned toward him, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I’m more than okay.”

Johnny shifted in his sleep, rolling closer to you both, his face nuzzling into your side. You chuckled softly, brushing your fingers through his messy hair.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Soap,” you teased, smiling down at him.

Johnny grinned up at you, his eyes still heavy with sleep. “Not if you’re all over me like that, love.”

Simon’s hand found yours, threading his fingers through yours in a simple but intimate gesture. He pressed his lips to your temple, murmuring softly, “You mean everything to me.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of Simon’s body beside you, the steady rise and fall of Johnny’s breath, and in that moment, everything felt right.

“We’re in this together,” you whispered back, your heart full.

---

The following day, Simon and Johnny had a moment alone. Johnny leaned against the counter, a slow smile tugging at his lips as he watched Simon prepare coffee.

“You know,” Johnny began, his voice low and flirtatious, “she’s perfect for us, isn’t she?”

Simon, who was busy making his coffee, nodded silently but looked up at Johnny, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “She is.”

Without another word, Johnny crossed the room, closing the distance between them. He stood close behind Simon, his fingers brushing Simon’s shoulder. “I think it’s time we let her know just how much she means to us, don’t you?” Johnny said softly, leaning in closer.

Simon’s fingers stilled on the coffee mug, his gaze meeting Johnny’s. “I’m not one to shy away from that,” he said quietly.

Johnny grinned, then moved in, capturing Simon’s lips in a heated kiss. Simon responded without hesitation, his hands finding Johnny’s waist, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, their bodies pressing together, each touch a reaffirmation of the bond they were forming, a bond that was equally shared between all three of you.

After a long moment, they pulled away, their foreheads resting together. Johnny’s voice was low and teasing. “Think we should go tell her?”

Simon smirked, his voice smooth. “We’ll let her decide when she’s ready.”

“Until she does… do you think something could happen with us?” Johnny asks, leaning into him before they kiss with Johnny’s hands traveling up and down Simon’s body

Simon's eyes darkened with lust as he gazed at Johnny, a smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, I think something's definitely going to happen with us. The question is, where do we start?" His voice was a low, seductive growl, thick with desire.

Johnny grinned, his own eyes blazing with desire as he pressed himself harder against Simon. "Well, I was thinkin' we could start right here, right now. Ye ken, get a lil' preview of what's to come." His hand slid down to palm Simons's hardening cock through his pants, squeezing it gently.

Simon let out a low groan, his hips bucking into Johnny's touch. "Fuck, Johnny... if you keep doing that, I don't think I'll be able to hold back." His hands found the hem of Johnny's shirt, slipping underneath to caress the firm, muscular planes of his back.

"Then don't hold back, aye?" Johnny challenged, his Scottish brogue thicker than usual. "Take what ye want, Simon. Take what we both want." He captured Simon's lips in a bruising kiss, all teeth and tongue and desperate hunger.

They stumbled back towards the bed, hands roaming and groping, tugging at clothes. Simon ripped off his shirt, tossing it carelessly to the side. Johnny made quick work of his pants, shoving them down his legs. In moments, they were both left in nothing but their boxers, their hard cocks straining against the fabric.

"Lay back, handsome," Simon commanded, his voice rough with lust. "Let me show you what I've been dreaming of doing to you."

Johnny did as he was told, sprawling out on the bed. Simon crawled over him, settling between his spread thighs. He ran his hands up and down Johnny's muscular legs, squeezing and caressing, before hooking his fingers in the waistband of Johnny's boxers.

"Ye want this, don't ye Johnny?" Simon murmured, slowly tugging down his boxers to reveal his thick, hard cock. It slapped against his belly, the tip already glistening with pre-cum.

"Fuck, yes," Johnny groaned, his hips lifting off the bed. "Want to feel your mouth on me, want to fuck your face until you choke on my cock."

Simon smirked, a wicked glint in his eye. "Such a filthy mouth you have, MacTavish. I fucking love it." He leaned down, dragging his tongue up the underside of Johnny's shaft, swirling it around the head before sucking him deep into his mouth.

"Ungh, fuck!" Johnny cried out, fisting Simon's short blond hair as he began to fuck his mouth, his hips snapping up and down. Simon took him deep, swallowing around him, his nose pressed against the coarse hair at the base of Johnny's cock.

They lost themselves in the act, the wet sounds of the blowjob filling the room. Simon worked Johnny over, sucking and licking and fondling his heavy balls, until Johnny was a babbling mess, begging for release.

With a roar, Johnny came hard, his seed shooting down Simons's throat. Simon swallowed it all, licking his lips as he pulled off with a satisfied smirk.

"Fuck, that was just the beginning, love," Simon promised, crawling up Johnny's body to capture his lips in a messy, open-mouthed kiss. "Wait until we get our girl in here. Wait until the three of us are tangled up in the sheets, lost in pleasure, lost in each other..."

He rocked his hips against Johnny's, letting him feel how hard he still was. "Think you can handle that? Think you can handle the three of us, together?"

Johnny grinned, his eyes gleaming with wicked anticipation. "I can handle anything, as long as it's with the two of you. Now, why don't you get that sexy arse of yours up here so we can finish what we started?"

Simon smirked, climbing up their bodies until he was straddling Johnny's waist. "With pleasure, handsome..."

Johnnys's hands roamed over Simons's muscular back, feeling the flex of his muscles as he positioned himself above him. "Ye ken, I've wanted this for a long time, Ghost," Johnny murmured, his Scottish accent thick with lust. "Dreamt about havin' ye beneath me, begin' for my cock."

Simon shuddered, his own member throbbing with need as Johnny's breath hot against his ear. "Fuck, Johnny... you have no idea how badly I've craved this. Craved you." He bucked his hips up against Johnny's, their hard lengths rubbing together through the thin fabric of their boxers.

Johnny captured Simon’s mouth in a searing kiss, plundering and possessing, his tongue delving deep to taste every inch of Simon’s mouth. His hands slid down to grip Simon’s firm ass, kneading the taut globes as he ground their hips together.

Simon moaned into the kiss, his own hands grasping at Johnny’s biceps, feeling them flex and bunch beneath his fingers. The kiss turned more urgent, more demanding, as the need between them grew.

Breaking away, Johnny trailed his lips down Simon’s throat, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. "I'm going to fuck you now, LT," he growled, his voice raw with desire. "Gonna make you feel so good, you'll be beggin' for more."

"Please," Simon gasped, tilting his head to give Johnny better access. "Want your cock inside me, want you to take me hard and fast. Fuck me until I can't think of anything else."

Johnny grinned wickedly, his eyes darkening with lust. "Oh, I'll fuck you alright. Gonna claim this sexy arse of yours, make it mine." In one swift motion, he shoved Simon's boxers down and off, tossing them away.

Simon's cock sprang free, long, hard and thick, the swollen head an angry red. Johnny licked his lips at the sight, reaching out to wrap his hand around the hot shaft. "Fuckin hell, LT... you're so big."

Johnny shuddered, his hips thrusting into Simon's grip. "Gonna fill you up, aye. Gonna stuff your tight hole full of my cock until you're beggin' for mercy."

Simon released him, spreading his legs wider, baring himself completely to Johnny’s heated gaze. "Then take what you want, Johnny. Take me, claim me, make me yours."

With a feral growl, Johnny positioned himself at Simon's entrance, the broad head of his cock pressing against the tight ring of muscle. He pushed forward, slowly, relentlessly, until the head popped inside. Simon gasped, his back arching off the bed.

"Fuck, so tight," Johnny groaned, pushing deeper, inch by hard inch, until he was buried to the hilt inside Simon's hot, silken passage. "Ye feel incredible, baby. Like your arse was made to take my cock."

Simon could only moan in response, his body clenching and fluttering around the thick intrusion stretching him wide. The burn of the initial intrusion faded into a deep, throbbing ache of need. "More," he gasped out. "Give me more, Johnny. Fuck me harder, deeper."

Johnny needed no further encouragement. He drew back until only the tip remained inside, then slammed forward, setting a hard, fast pace as he pounded into Simons's willing body. The headboard slammed against the wall with each powerful thrust, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.

Simon wrapped his legs around Johnny's waist, locking his ankles at the small of Johnny's back, urging him deeper, harder. "Fuck, yes! Just like that, Johnny. Don't stop, don't you dare fucking stop!"

Johnny panted harshly, sweat dripping down his face as he rutted into Simon, his heavy balls slapping against Simon’s ass with each snap of his hips. "Fuck, Simon... can't... fuck... gonna come... fuck!"

Simon clenched down hard, his release slamming into him with the force of a freight train. He screamed out Johnny's name as his cock erupted, painting his chest and belly with streaks of thick, hot seed. The sensation of Simon's body spasming around him pushed Johnny over the edge.

With a roar, he buried himself deep and came hard, his cock jerking and twitching as it emptied inside Simon's clutching heat. They collapsed together, both gasping for air, their bodies slick with sweat and spent passion.

"Fuck, that was... incredible," Simon panted out, his arms wrapping around Johnny to hold him close. "I could get used to this."

Johnny chuckled breathlessly, nuzzling into the sweat-damp crook of Simon’s neck. "Aye, ye could say that again." He lifted his head to look down at Simon, his eyes soft with satisfaction and affection. "Ye know, I've never... felt like this with anyone before. Never wanted someone the way I want you... and her."

Simon smiled up at him, cupping his cheek, his thumb brushing over Johnny's lips. "I do know. I feel the same way, Johnny. And I can't wait to make all three of us feel this good, this complete."

"We will, love. Soon as our girl is ready, we'll give her the same pleasure, the same love and devotion that we give each other."

"Can't fucking wait," Simon murmured, pulling Johnny down for a slow, deep kiss. "But for now... how about we take a shower, get cleaned up? Then maybe we can take another go at it, just the two of us."

Johnny grinned, his eyes lighting up at the idea. "I like the way ye think, handsome. A shower sounds perfect right about now. And then we can go talk to Bonnie ‘bout us all.”

With one last kiss, they disentangled and made their way to the bathroom, ready for a thorough cleaning. The road ahead was uncertain, but in this moment, they had each other. And soon, they would have their love too. The thought made their hearts swell with anticipation and love.

---

The following day, everything felt different. Johnny and Simon were closer than before, and it didn't go unnoticed by you. Their interactions were lighter, more natural—there was an ease to their conversations now, a shared joke or a look that spoke volumes between the two of them. Johnny was often leaning closer, his hand brushing Simon's as they worked together. Simon, usually reserved and stoic, would let out the smallest chuckle when Johnny said something offhand, his eyes softening in a way you hadn’t seen before.

As the day wore on, it became apparent to you that the bond between the two men was deepening. She watched them exchange quick glances, their touches becoming more frequent, but each one felt purposeful, as though they were testing the waters. The chemistry between them, while subtle, was undeniable.

You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of something in your chest as she watched the pair. It was a mixture of curiosity and desire, but also a certain confidence that she hadn’t felt before. Maybe you had been too hesitant, too unsure of yourself, but as you observed Johnny and Simon, it clicked. You weren’t a bystander anymore. You are part of this dynamic—part of the connection they were building. And maybe it was time to let yourself be fully immersed in it.

Your decision was made. You couldn’t deny the attraction you felt to both men. They brought out different sides of you, made you feel seen in ways you never had before. The intimacy they shared—whether it was in the quiet moments when Simon would speak low to you, or in Johnny's playful teasing that somehow made you feel special—was something you didn’t want to ignore anymore.

You made your way over to them, catching Johnny's eye first. He gave you a warm smile, the kind that always made your stomach flutter, and you felt yourself draw closer to him. Simon glanced over, meeting your gaze with that intense, unreadable look of his, but there was something softer in his eyes now, a hint of approval.

"You okay?" Johnny asked, his voice low and warm, a trace of concern behind it.

You nodded, then looked from Johnny to Simon, your heart racing slightly. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking... maybe it’s time we... talk. About us. All of us.”

Johnny’s expression softened even more, and Simon seemed to relax, his posture easing as if waiting for you to continue.

“About how we’re... closer now,” you said, your voice firm, yet with a touch of uncertainty as you searched their faces for their reactions. “How I feel about both of you.”

Johnny’s hand found your wrist, gently pulling you a little closer, and Simon shifted slightly in his chair. There was a brief silence before Johnny spoke, his voice laced with warmth, “And how do you feel about us?”

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle over yourself. “I think... I think I want to be with both of you. If you’re both open to it.”

Simon’s lips twitched upward, and Johnny chuckled, the sound low and almost a little breathless. "We're more than open, sweetheart. Just had to make sure you felt the same," Johnny murmured.

Simon stood then, moving closer, his large frame casting a shadow over her as he placed a hand on your cheek, his touch soft and surprisingly tender. "You’re not the only one who's been thinking about this," he murmured, his voice rough with something you couldn't quite place.

As the tension between the three of them shifted, your pulse had quickened. You knew the moment had arrived, and now, it was time to let everything unfold.

Johnny grinned, his eyes sparkling with excitement and desire as he pulled you in closer, his hand sliding from your wrist up your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. "We've been waiting for you to realize what we already know - that the three of us are meant to be together."

Simon's thumb brushed over your lower lip, his intense gaze holding yours captive. "You've got no idea how badly we want this, sweetheart. Want you." His voice was a low, seductive rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

Johnny leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from yours, his breath mingling with yours. "Tell us what you want, baby. Tell us how you want us to make you feel, and we'll do it. Anything you desire, it's yours."

Your heart raced, your body trembling slightly as you gazed into Johnny's warm, inviting eyes. You could feel the heat radiating off Simon's body as he stood close behind you, his hand still cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw.

"I want... I want you both," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion and longing. "I want to feel your hands on me, exploring every inch of my body. I want to feel your lips on mine, kissing me until I'm breathless and aching for more."

Johnny captured your mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep to claim and possess. He pulled you flush against him, his strong arms encircling your waist, crushing your soft curves against the hard planes of his body.

Simon pressed himself against your back, his large hands sliding down to grip your hips, pulling your bottom against the prominent bulge in his pants. He nipped at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin before he murmured, "We're going to worship this sexy body of yours, baby. Going to touch you until you're writhing and begging for release."

Johnny broke the kiss, his chest heaving as he gazed down at you with lust-darkened eyes. "We're going to give you pleasure beyond your wildest dreams, sweetheart. Going to fill you up in ways you've never experienced before."

Simon spun you around, taking your mouth in a hungry, demanding kiss, his tongue plundering the warm cavern of your mouth. He gripped your ass, squeezing and kneading the firm globes as he ground his hard cock against your belly.

Johnny grasped the hem of your shirt, slowly peeling it up and off, tossing it carelessly to the side. He drank in the sight of your exposed flesh, his eyes roaming over the swell of your breasts, the hardened peaks of your nipples straining against the fabric of your bra.

"Fuck, you're stunning," Johnny breathed, reaching out to reverently cup the weight of your breast, his thumb brushing over the sensitive peak. "Can't wait to taste these perfect tits, to suck on your nipples until you're drowning in ecstasy."

Simon made quick work of your bra, unhooking the clasp and tossing it aside, allowing your breasts to bounce free. He dipped his head, taking one aching nipple into his hot mouth, suckling greedily as his hand rolled and plucked at the other.

Johnny captured your mouth again, swallowing your moans and whimpers as Simon lavished attention on your breasts. His hands slid down your back, finding the zipper of your skirt, slowly tugging it down.

Together, they peeled the skirt and your panties off, leaving you bare and exposed before them. Johnny stepped back, his eyes raking over your nude form, his cock straining against the confines of his pants.

"Spread your legs for us, baby," Johnny encouraged, his voice gravelly with desire. "Let us see that pretty little pussy, so wet and ready for us."

You parted your thighs, revealing the glistening folds of your sex, the heady scent of your arousal perfuming the air. Simon's fingers delved between your legs, stroking through the slick heat, circling your clit.

"Fuck, you're soaked," Simon rasped, pushing two thick fingers deep inside your clutching sheath. "Can't wait to feel this tight cunt wrapped around our cocks, sweetheart."

Johnny grasped his rigid shaft, stroking it slowly as he watched Simon finger-fuck you, his eyes blazing with lust. "We're going to fill you up so good, baby. Stretching this pretty pussy, stuffing it full of our cocks until you're screaming for more."

Simon pumped his fingers faster, the obscene sound of your juices filling the room as he fucked into you harder, his thumb rubbing tight circles around your clit. "That's it, sweetheart. Fucking soak my fingers, get them nice and wet. Gonna use all that slick to slick up our cocks before we stuff them inside this sexy little hole."

You could only moan and writhe beneath their ministrations, your body burning with a feverish heat as they touched and teased you. You knew in that moment, you were exactly where you are meant to be - sandwiched between the two men you loved and desired most, ready to fulfill the fantasies they had all been dreaming of.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight 💜

[girl-lostconnection]

Acceleration AU (part 1)

Warnings: plus size!fem!Reader, hints of pressure therapy, insecurities, swearing, Reader has abusive mom, mentions of abuse, Reader and Simon won’t talk to save their lives, only mention of Soap in this chapter

It’s supposed to be just another Christmas when everything changes.

You are not the biggest fan of changes, they rarely bring you (or Simon for that matter) something to be really happy about.

Therapist tells you it’s a defence mechanism, your need to feel that everything is the same otherwise it’s unpredictable, it’s out of your control and you don’t know what’s going to happen.

You don’t like not knowing things.

Makes you antsy, makes anxiety coil in your belly like rose bush, just growing and growing until thorns have no other place to dig in but your insides.

Simon doesn’t judge you for that, not when he has a slight (though how much is slight in terms of mental health) paranoia, possessive streak and need to oversee every bloody process or he starts vibrating with tension.

Simon grows up to be a bloody behemoth of a man — huge, broad and heavy. Bicep the size of your head. Midriff too thick to wrap both hands around it.

You shoot up in couple sizes as well, still broad shouldered, hips wider, thighs thicker, palms smaller than Simon’s but pack the same heavy smack he has.

Comes with the territory, in a way.

Can’t be defenceless in a city like Manchester when nightlife is never kind to a girl and strangers are all too eager to take advantage of a lonely bird on her way home.

Simon rumbles that you are “bloody perfect”, dropping his blond head in your lap on a usual movie night or laying on top of you without the fear of crushing under his weight.

Your hands around him comforting presence — softer underside of biceps cushioning against his shoulder blades.

“Bloody bliss. ‘m snug like a bug in a rug”, he mumbles, eyes closed and whole body limp — melting into yours, soaking up all the warmth and affection you so freely give.

“Am I a rug?”, you chuckle, eyes half lidded and soft, knuckles rubbing the tender point between his shoulder blades. Scratching him like he’s a big dog.

Simon reminds you of classical breeds of guard dogs people in rural areas use to protect their livestock and homes. Great Pyrenees, you think they are called.

Big, heavy, entirely unbothered by anything but the task at hand and very much blond — hair curling from moisture in the air and hot mist of the shower.

“You’r a blessing, luv”, Simon finally hums out, half way asleep, nose nudging your jaw up so he can properly nuzzle in your neck, your scent comforting him in a way he’s not sure he can explain. “ ‘m gonna sleep. Too tired. You’r okay?”

You hum, palm splaying over his back, just pressing it there so he can feel it, warm presence of it tearing out a satisfied “mm” from Simon.

It’s a routine at this point, something something regulation for him and you. You swap on regular basis, because sometimes you just need to be close to him and he needs someone’s weight to press him in the couch, enveloping him.

Not easy to be Simon’s personal blanket or a big spoon but you proud yourself on doing a pretty good job. The best one if you are to believe Simon himself.

You hum in return to his sound, your own hum soothing a scratching beast inside of Ghost’s head, mutt finally laying it’s big head on front paws and closing it’s eyes. Sometimes Simon wonders how’s so you are able to do just that.

When he can’t.

Maybe that’s what changed somewhere along the way. Maybe he just doesn’t need you as much anymore.

A traitorous childish part of you sometimes thinks that a lot of things were easier when you two were kids.

Both you and Simon — wide-eyed and yet unscarred, biggest scrapes on your bodies from face planting on the pavement after wearing sandals on the wrong legs.

It’s part you never share with Simon because it isn’t fair. Because the older you became the worse things at home were. The screaming, the pain, the bruises and tears. It was bad.

For Simon at times much worse than for you.

At least your mom was careful enough not to leave scars

You can’t miss something that signified hurt and helplessness for him, just because it was easier back then.

You can’t but part of you does.

You were inseparable once, teachers always knew that wherever one of you is they’d find another one.

Joined at the hip, glued to each other’s side, sharing silences and lunches and books and first kisses and secrets.

Time that now feels like honeyed berry of a memory — sugary sweet and popping with colour under your eyelids.

When did it change?

You know that it’s natural for people to grow up and part ways but you and Simon were always together. At home, at school, on weekends and holidays.

You left together after graduation, working odd jobs to pay for a tiny apartment with only one bed but really nice bathroom.

Simon shrugs and plops himself on the mattress saying that it’s not gonna be the first time you’ll be sleeping together. Why waste money you don’t have on a thing you don’t really need?

Simon says that if it gets too uncomfortable you’ll save up and by a second one, though it is very unclear where would you even put it. But it’s not uncomfortable and it becomes a new norm for you.

You were always together, intertwined tighter than any friends, closer than family, more long lasting than any relationships.

At times it felt like you two outgrew categories, but then you’d meet people and whilst introducing each other would need to choke out “my friend”.

How do you even tell people that this man is more than friend and more than boyfriend ever been for you?

How do you convey that Simon is family in the same way life long partners are?

How do you explain that Simon is the moon of your skies, that his presence and dark eyes and soft blond lashes and wild crooked grins have effect on you that no one else really has?

You never discussed your relationship, perhaps there simply was no need at the time. Both of you content to be the only permanent people in each other’s lives — the strongest connection. Each other’s priority.

Up until this Christmas.

Up until you get the cryptic “do you wanna celebrate not at home this year?” that makes your brows furrow.

It’s 2 weeks before holidays are going to start, you are wearing Simon’s black sweater and jeans, puff jacket hooked on the crook of your elbow, pressed to your side.

Which now feels like it wasn’t the idea because it’s too hot, the mall is crowded and it’s warm in a way December in Manchester never is supposed to be.

You blame it on people and global warming, while manoeuvring your way to the food court, buying yourself whatever cold soda they have because fucking hell, why is it so hot in here.

Your bags are getting plopped on the seat right next to yours when you stretch out your legs, thick winter boots feeling heavier than usually.

What can he mean by that? You two always celebrated Christmases and a birthdays at home. Together.

This way it was less people, less potential triggers and grounds for overstimulation for both of you.

God knows you can’t handle screaming, crowds making you nervous and too hot and Simon coils into tight wound spring when he hears balloons pop or feels people graze against him.

A quick noncommittal “why” is all Simon gets in return.

Just so you receive back “been invited to Glasgow to celebrate. Think you can make it?” and oh wow, someone’s making friends out there.

Simon doesn’t give you any additional information and doesn’t provide any further context probably deciding that there’s nothing more you need to know.

You take a deep breath, staring down the message, fingers drumming against tabletop — sharp tap-tap-tap doing nothing to soothe your climbing agitation.

Why all of a sudden he wants to celebrate it someplace else when you two already have perfectly decorated apartment?

Jesus Christ, you are out here gift shopping!

It takes you entirely three long minutes of typing and deleting the message before you finally send “don’t think I can. But u have fun”.

Your phone pings with a new incoming message so quickly it almost feels like Simon is sitting on the other end, staring down your chat with him, waiting for a response.

“Are u sure, luv? Soap says it will be fun. His family will be there. They are nice”

Fuck no. You don’t do family gatherings. Especially not with strangers and from what you thought you knew — neither does Simon. Too many people that try to touch you, too many sounds, just too warm.

But your eyes zero on the “Soap” and you feel something ugly inside of you raising its head, crack of its vertebras feeling like uncoiling blizzard inside of you.

Who is “Soap” and why is he standing between your usual Christmas plans with Simon?

You force your anger down so hard it almost makes you wince, molars aching from how tight your jaws are.

It’s fine. It’s nothing. Simon doesn’t owe you anything, you aren’t a couple after all. Not like you spent the last shit ton of Christmases together.

Not like it was important for you to have it done with him of all people.

So you type out short “absolutely. Yk I don’t like crowds. Have fun out there and pass Soap “merry Christmas” from me” which is much longer and much more cordial than you expected from yourself in the heat of a moment.

Especially when the most prominent thought was “tell Soap to go fuck himself and come home, you big bastard, I spent three hours in the bloody mall”.

Good job, now you can get going. After all, there is shopping to be done and Christmas menu to be redone.

If Simon is not coming you are gonna gorge yourself on ginger cookies and have fun.

You are a big girl, you don’t need Simon Riley and his stupid blond lashes.

You don’t need anyone.

[moonlight-joy]

Just a Little Longer

Fandom: Kraven the hunter

Summary: You ask Sergei to stay, voicing your fear of losing him. Reluctantly, he agrees, breaking through his guarded nature. In the warmth of the firelit cabin, you share a rare, vulnerable moment, finding solace in his protective embrace as the world fades away for one peaceful night.

Pairing: Reader/Sergei Kravinoff

“Before you go, can you stay a little longer?” your voice broke through the stillness, softer than you intended, yet filled with an unmistakable plea. Sergei paused mid-motion, his broad shoulders tense as he turned to face you. His piercing gaze, usually so guarded, softened slightly at the edges as he studied your expression.

“Why?” he asked, his voice a low rumble, as if testing the waters of your request.

You hesitated, unsure how to explain the ache in your chest, the unspoken fear of watching him walk out that door again. The room was dimly lit, the fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows across his sharp features. He stood near the doorway, his gear slung over one shoulder, the essence of a man always prepared to face whatever the world threw at him.

“Because I… I just need you to stay,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “Just for a little while. Please.”

Sergei’s expression shifted, a flicker of something unnameable crossing his face. He set his gear down with deliberate slowness, as though giving himself time to consider your words. When he finally straightened, he closed the distance between you with a few long strides.

“You know I don’t stay in one place for long,” he said, his voice quieter now but still holding that firm edge of truth. “It’s not safe.”

“And out there is?” you countered, gesturing vaguely to the window. “You’re always on the move, always chasing or being chased. Just this once, can’t you let the world wait?”

His lips pressed into a thin line as he regarded you, a battle waging behind his eyes. Sergei was a man of action, a hunter who thrived on movement and purpose. Yet here you were, asking him to do the one thing he struggled with most: pause.

“What’s this really about?” he asked, his tone softening. “Tell me.”

You exhaled shakily, looking down at your hands as you tried to find the right words. “Every time you leave, I… I wonder if it’s the last time I’ll see you. If this will be the hunt you don’t come back from.” Your voice faltered, but you pushed on. “I just… I don’t want to say goodbye again, not tonight.”

Sergei’s expression softened further, and he reached out, his large hand gently tilting your chin upward so your eyes met his. “I always come back,” he said, his voice a low, steady promise.

“But for how long?” you whispered. “One day, you won’t. And I… I don’t know what I’d do then.”

The weight of your words hung heavy between you, and for once, Sergei had no immediate reply. Instead, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. His embrace was firm, grounding, and spoke of things he often left unsaid.

“I’ll stay,” he said after a long moment, his voice rough but resolute. “Tonight, I’ll stay.”

You closed your eyes, relief washing over you as you clung to him. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear was a comfort, a reminder that, for now, he was here. For now, the world outside could wait.

The fire burned low in the hearth as the two of you sat together on the worn couch. Sergei had shed his gear, leaving it in a neat pile by the door, and now leaned back with one arm draped over the backrest. You sat beside him, your legs tucked under you, the warmth of the fire and his presence lulling you into a rare sense of peace.

“You’re not used to asking for things,” Sergei said after a while, his voice breaking the comfortable silence.

You glanced at him, startled by the observation. “What makes you say that?”

He gave a small, knowing smile. “You hesitate. Like you’re afraid of what the answer might be.”

“Maybe I am,” you admitted, your voice quiet. “You’re not exactly predictable, Sergei. Sometimes I feel like you’re here one moment and gone the next.”

He didn’t deny it, instead nodding thoughtfully. “The life I lead doesn’t leave much room for staying still. But you…” He trailed off, his gaze turning thoughtful. “You’re different. You make me think about things I haven’t thought about in years.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. “Is that a good thing?”

“It scares me,” he admitted, his honesty catching you off guard. “But maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

The vulnerability in his voice was rare, and it made you reach for his hand instinctively. He let you take it, his calloused fingers wrapping gently around yours.

“You don’t have to be afraid with me,” you said softly. “I’m not going anywhere. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever.”

He squeezed your hand lightly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’re braver than I am,” he said, his tone carrying a touch of wonder.

“No,” you replied with a small smile. “I just know what’s worth fighting for.”

For a while, neither of you spoke, content to sit in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. The firelight danced across the walls, casting a warm glow over the room, and the world beyond the cabin seemed to fade away.

As the night deepened, Sergei stretched out on the couch, his head resting against the armrest. You found yourself lying beside him, your head on his chest and his arm draped protectively around you. The steady rise and fall of his breathing was soothing, and you felt yourself drifting closer to sleep.

“Thank you,” you murmured drowsily, your voice barely above a whisper.

“For what?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

“For staying,” you replied. “For giving me this.”

He was silent for a moment, then pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Always,” he said quietly.

And in that moment, with the warmth of the fire and the steady beat of Sergei’s heart beneath your ear, you felt a rare sense of contentment. The world could wait, just a little longer.

[simonskitty]

cw: mentions of religion, self punishment, daddy issues (reader), and age gap (legal!)

john price starts going to church, and meets a pretty little thing like you to comfort :( i wanna write more of this because it ends sorta abruptly :3

After retirement, John Price began attending church in an effort to bring his life back to a more tranquil state, heal from past trauma, and escape the sinful thoughts and surroundings he had spent nearly his entire life in.

Surprisingly, things begin to improve. He feels more—holy, if you will. The pastor does not appear to be a total jackass, and he has even begun putting a small portion of his money to the tin tray when it is his turn. Basically, things are getting better.

Until he sees you for the first time and all of his newfound principles are thrown out the window. It's not like you're just any ordinary person attending church to grow closer to God or to recover from traumatic events that have left you damaged, like other visitors to Jesus' sacred sanctuary. You are the pastor's daughter. You attend church every Sunday and occasionally on Wednesday nights, whether you're religious or not, and eventually you run into John.

You two have a friendly meeting at first, you introducing yourself, informing him that your the pastors daughter. Though, you didn’t tell him that took on major responsibilities that you didn’t even know you could handle. That you were obligated to come to a place where you didn’t feel anything in your heart for. A conversation that you and your father had many times before that always ended in tears and a scratchy voice that needed chai spice tea to soothe before the night ended. So, the conversation ended at that.

That was until John overheard a conversation, or perhaps it was an argument between none other than you and your father, something that happened more frequently than when you were his good little girl that he used to tuck into bed with a kiss to the forehead.

And, as any decent human being would, John consoled you as you left the church's wooden doors that afternoon. Face still damp from tears, which inevitably fall when things like this happen. It began with a hug, warm and deep, like the fatherly love you had longed for years. Then, a trip to the downtown ice cream parlor, which your father used to take you to. Watching the sunset as you lapped your vanilla cone with a small bit of delight on your lips. And John found out that he liked that look on your face, and knowing that he made it happen made it all the more enjoyable to witness.

The feeling of a calloused thumb, grazing your bottom lip. John with a small smile of his own on his lips. “Got some ice cream on ya lips, love.” It’s low, and gravelly, his voice. Like he had done years of professional yelling all his life, which he probably had, considering his past profession. It’s like your heart was heavy, but in a good way. Like this man, though same age and the same wrinkles near his eyes has your father—the man that had made you cry more than laugh—was making your body warm and fuzzy. The feeling when your feet are cold as hell and your finally get to wrap them up in a blanket.

However, when you got home that evening, you experienced the identical emotion you had with your father—just a different man was to blame. Then followed the regretful thoughts. Maybe you shouldn’t have kissed John in the car. He was probably just doing something good because you were all sad—anyone would, wouldn’t they? You felt so fucking good while doing it, and you hated yourself for that fact. That you enjoyed the feeling of man’s lips on yours. And, before you got married? God, that had to be a sin, right?

Whatever thoughts that your father has put into your brain—even years ago when you were a mere child, doing something naughty like screaming to stay up late that night, just a a little bit after your bedtime—were still implanted safe and sound. That when you did something bad it was the devil’s work, that you needed Jesus. And before you knew it, your great grandmothers holy oil was being drawn into your forehead, the shape of the cross.

Punishing yourself had to be the only rightful option to do, for committing such cruelty while being just miles down the road of the home of God himself.

Did John feel it too? Could he feel the immense amount of remorse as you? Or did he decide from right then and there—when the words “We can’t,” fell from his lips, that it was a mistake. That you screwed something up again, with a man that was just trying to do a good deed?

John himself felt guilt, reasons separate from yours. Kissing a girl, someone so innocent and much younger than himself, was wrong. It was morally wrong in every way, especially a girl who followed the book of God. That didn’t keep him from enjoying it, and the nasty things he began to imagine—trying but failing to ignore—consumed him.

He’d just have to indulge from a far.

© simonskitty

[evamame]

comfort for your longest and hardest days ft. kuroo testurou

part 2 of this series of how i think haikyuu men comfort you after having a bad day cw: sfw, angst to fluff, comfort, time skip!kuroo, pet names, established relationship, gn!reader word count: 1,043 author’s note: note: this is part 2, come back to read the other parts! taglist

masterlist

osamu miya kageyama tobio oikawa tooru

you’re sitting on the couch buried in a blanket when kuroo arrives home from the office. you hear him shuffle around, the front door making a loud click when he shuts it behind him. “babe, i’m home!” he calls out to you as he slips off his shoes and loosens his tie. you quickly hide the evidence of your crying session, wiping away your lingering tears and neatly laying down the blanket.

you wearily stand up, walking slowly as if there’s a weight on your foot to greet him down the hall. “welcome back love,” you say to him in the cheeriest voice you can muster up. it’s quite obvious that you’re not as cheery as you sound when your voice cracks embarrassingly high.

kuroo is quick to notice the forced and pained smile on your face, which is accompanied by puffy and red eyes. his concerned gaze, pouted lips, and furrowed brow is all you need to know you’ve been caught red handed. or snot handed, maybe, because you’re wiping your runny nose with the back of your hand.

“it’s just allergies,” you assure him in a miserably failed attempt to ease his worries.

“allergies? allergies from what?” he asks, his voice laced with skepticism and concern.

“uh, well, it’s just all the pollen in the air,” you reply hastily.

“pollen, baby? really? it’s the middle of winter. what’s wrong?” he presses, insistent on getting the truth out of you. he walks up to you, putting his hands firmly on your shoulders, squeezing them gently and rubbing absent minded circles with his thumb. he scans your face, taking note of all the signs of discomfort etched on your features. he moves his hands up to gently cup your cheeks, his voice abundant with concern, “you can tell me if something’s wrong.”

“just had a really bad day,” you admit, blinking back tears.

kuroo kisses your forehead before pulling back, taking your hand in his and guiding you down the hall to the living room. he pulls you down gently to sit next to him on the couch. “sit here, okay? i’ll be right back,” he instructs before getting up and moving towards the kitchen. you watch him until he’s out of your line of sight, then collapse back onto the couch. the words don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry run through your head and you grab a tissue from the box on the coffee table to dab your glossy eyes.

after a few minutes of lying around waiting, kuroo returns now dressed in lounge clothes. his loose black t-shirt lays perfectly on him, and his sweatpants tug at his legs in all the right places. in his hands is your favorite plushie and a plethora of your favorite snacks. “i always keep a secret stash just in case,” he says with a small grin plastered on his face as he gives you a playful wink. he hands you the plushie, places the snacks on the coffee table, and then sprawls out on the couch next to you, pulling you down with him. he then pulls the blanket you left folded up over the two of you. he leans over the coffee table with a quiet grunt, reaching to grab the remote and scrolling through netflix until he finds your favorite show. he presses play, then brings his attention back to you.

he presses a kiss to the nape of your neck, his voice soft and affectionate, “you okay?” as he speaks, you can feel the warm blow of air against your skin.

“i’m fine,” you reply, your voice weakened from the tears that were previously choking up in your throat.

“what happened that made you cry so hard in the first place?” he questions gently.

“i don’t know. it wasn’t anything in particular. i just had a bad day.”

“you sure?”

you nod, “i’m sure. it’s okay now. thank you.” and you really weren’t lying. no matter how many tears you had shed before he returned home, your eyes ran dry now. it was hard to cry with kuroo around. just being with him made you feel enough at ease for everything to be okay.

you can feel him smile against your neck at your response as he places a chaste kiss there. he speaks, his voice soft, “you’re welcome baby. next time you can just tell me right away when something’s wrong, you know.” his arms are wrapped securely around your waist, holding you against his chest. his fingers mindlessly trace gentle shapes and patterns on your sides.

“i will,” you assure him, pulling the blanket up over you more.

“good,” he says before beginning to silently place small pecks all over you. on your neck, your cheek, your temple, your head, your nape, and your shoulder. his gentle and silent acts of affection are his way of showing his love for you when words aren’t enough to express it. it’s his way of keeping you grounded and reminding you that everything will be okay.

when he’s done showering you with affection, he grabs a bag of your favorite chips and opens it, popping one into his mouth before holding it out in front of you. his voice is muffled as he speaks in between chews, “here.”

you take one for yourself, chewing on it slowly to savor the flavor. kuroo puts the bag back on the coffee table with a long sigh and buries his face into the crook of your neck, his nose nuzzling against your skin.

“did you have a long day too?” you ask.

“yeah, like always. i’m fine though, just a little tired,” he assures you as he places a kiss on the corner of your eyelid.

you revert your attention back to your favorite show on the tv, watching it intently. kuroo couldn’t care less about what’s happening on the screen, a small smile plastered on his face as he watches your focused expression.

“i love you,” he mutters out of the blue, his voice a low whisper.

you glance at him, your smile gracing your face. to him, it’s the most beautiful thing in the world. his cheeks can’t help but flush a little pink every time he sees it.

“i love you too.”

taglist: @scoupsworld

© evamame 2025. all rights reserved. please do not repost, modify, steal, plagiarize, or translate my work.

[metranart]

ft. Hawks, Dabi and Shoto x Reader. Raging Threesome influenced by the mating season, booze and secret obsessions. (teaser)

Dabi had noticed the subtle signs of your body as well as Hawks, even Shoto had. The way you pressed your thighs together, that little sway of your hips, that longing sigh, all firm signs that you were in a special and festive mood. Maybe the mix of alcohol, Christmas and your open mind could be a trigger for something interesting.

You bite your lip when you find all three Proheroes staring at you, hungry gazes that make you feel like you were naked, and that shyly provocative grin you give them back. Damn! It’s too sensual to be an accident, you just sealed your evening.

“I forgot something in my office," Keigo mutters under his breath, and his fists clench as he swiftly sneaks his body behind yours. If you didn’t get it before, you feel it now. He is hard, and he is grinding against your ass. You stiffen. 

“Uh… Keigo?” You ask in a squeak, but he doesn’t stop and instead begins to guide you where he wants, "would you come with to look for it?"

To his office again? You know what he wants, so you nod wondering if what he has in mind might cure the recent itch in your crotch. You barely manage to kiss the curve of his neck with a clumsy turn of your head and before you know it, you're already in the office of his Hero agency, the door locked behind you ... and before you know it, you're not alone in there.

“This room smells like sex,” Dabi spats, absentmindedly, slowly stripping off of his jacket suit, “… got any lube around, birdbrains?” 

“Sure, I think I have some in the bottom drawer." 

Dabi walks over to the drawer and starts searching through the items, while Hawks starts serving drinks as if it were a private party. With a casual stride, your boyfriend offers you a drink and it's only when you hear a sober 'thank you' that you realize Shoto is here too, drink in hand, stoic gaze in an invisible spot as he, Hawks and you awkwardly clink your glasses together before taking a sip of the aged whisky.

“Agh,” You stick your tongue out at the bitter, potent taste of the whiskey, "baby, it's too strong-"

"Just enough, darling." Dabi replies, stealing a sip from his brother's glass, and sipping it with a mischievous smile as his eyes stay on you. "The more spirited we are, the easier it will be to get comfortable, if you know what I mean.”

Hawks chuckles and although he tries to sound cool, you notice the note of nervousness in his voice, which he ends up defeating by gulping down the rest of the whiskey in his glass.

"He's right, (Y/N)." 

The whiskey takes effect on your boyfriend sooner than expected and his already rosy cheeks turn bright red, eyelids dropping a little, sensually, his eyes lock with yours as he strips off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor to start an awkward fight with the knot of his tie, effectively nullifying the sensuality of the striptease while making himself look incredibly adorable.

"Awwww," Dabi beams, sarcastically, "apparently daddy can't get undress without mommy helping him, do you mind, doll?"

You shake your head in amusement and Keigo's arms wrap around your waist in reflex as you begin to undo the knot of his tie, depositing whiskey kisses to each cheek, the tip of your nose, each side of your mouth, your forehead and eyelids. It’s all Keigo Takami, sweet and devoted while his naughty hands keep trying to lift up the skirt of your dress.

"I know I already said this,” Hawks spells a little drunkenly, “but you look incredibly sexy in this dress… guys?"

"Top tier," Dabi snaps with a smirk.

"Beautiful," Shoto joins as well, slapping his brother's hands away. The older Todoroki trying to undo the buttons of his shirt, "stop it, Touya.... I don't need your assistance-"

"Silence, pup. By the way, I think it is prudent to mention that my little brother here…. is still a rabid virgin, please treat him well."

"Touya!"

"Easy, baby bro." Dabi pushes Shoto until he crashes the edge of Hawks' desk and once out of earshot, he mutters just for him. "This is my Christmas present, Shoto," the half-and-half Todoroki stares at him suspiciously and Dabi smirks, wildly, "...I know you think you hide it well, but I can see right through you, you're head over heels for (Y/N)." 

Shoto's blushing cheeks are the only thing disturbing his calm expression, "you love her in secret and even though she'll never be yours," he glances over his shoulder where you are kissing- no! devouring Hawks passionately. Dabi snorts to then returns his gaze to Shoto, "I want you to have your first time with whoever you dream of, I want that for you," Dabi admits, seriously. "I didn't have that, so...I want to give you at least this."

"Touya." 

The tone Shoto uses is enough for Dabi to know that he understands the deep meaning behind his actions and with enthusiasm rejuvenated, he grins, but not his usual sassy smirk but a warm, kinder one, meant only for Shoto.

"Then, play along, I'll distract birdbrains, and you fuck his girlfriend’s brain out."

"Touya!"

This time the tone used is more scolding, but the implicit agreement is already in action. The Todoroki siblings had a plan, and the evening is set for success....

....READ THE 7000 WORD FIC COMMISSION IN HERE! (Includes NSFW art from three scenes of the fic and lots of smut. Plus, lot of MHA NSFW content in general) ;)

[iid-smile]

content — michael kaiser x coach!gn!reader, enemies to lovers, probably ooc, some references to his past (choking), i got a wee bit carried away and then got lazy on the lover part, ok rereading i fear this might be really ooc idk i dont read the manga

enemy!kaiser who knows at first glance that he just doesn't like you. he could say that about a lot of people, but you're a different case.

enemy!kaiser who hasn't quite got the smarts, nor do you have the physical abilities, other than being a coach, to become actual rivals over something. but you know what's better? arguing over nothing.

enemy!kaiser that would do anything to piss you off and get his way. yes, he was there for the lengthy meeting for a new and reliable strategy for the next match, but he's going to completely disregard it simply because he's michael kaiser. who's gonna stop him?

enemy!kaiser who loves to get in your face, using his stature to his advantage. if you try to avoid eye contact, he only gets closer, opening his eyes much wider than needed and tilting his head so that he's the only thing that you see.

enemy!kaiser who makes you do everything for him just to spite you. from now on, it's your job to dry his hair — and don't do it too hard, otherwise you'll just mess it up. he's awfully picky about what you do and if you don't do it right, expect to hear an absolute mouthful.

kaiser who starts to talk to you normally. it's scary. every time you try to rile him up, he does respond with his usual array of insults, but they don't seem to be as sincere.

kaiser who starts to listen to you more. whenever you talk, he stares, and it's unsettling having him be so neutral. try to shy away, and as usual, he moves closer, placing his hands on his knees with his eyes boring into yours. is it just you, or are your noses touching?

kaiser who accidentally let you see how truly vulnerable he could become. it was all a big mistake, a misunderstanding, so he wished. he wanted to yell at you, to curse you out, but you didn't say a word, simply turning and closing the door and giving him the privacy that he needs.

kaiser who lets you touch his tattoos for the first time. he felt oddly comfortable that night, being surrounded only by your presence. he wasn't happy, nor sad, yet his heart was more audible than usual. he was an empty vessel, thinking and thinking about what his emotions doing to him.

kaiser who suddenly switches back to his old self. it's a defense mechanism of sorts — if he could at least act like he hates you, then he doesn't have to come to terms with his feelings.

but yet, he knows he could trust you. you've kept all of his secrets, protected him from harm, whether that be physically or verbally. never have you used his weaknesses to your advantage, or stooped too low to the point that it reminds him of his past. he wasn't looking for love, he didn't believe in love. but maybe, just maybe...

kaiser who doesn't know what he's doing. when was the last time he's ever experienced such a thing? what can he do? how can he show you how he feels? what if you reject him? no, of course not... but you've spent all of this time hating each other... how low could the changes possibly be?

in the end, you were feeling the exact same way.

lover!kaiser doesn't want to make things public immediately. it's partially his pride, but he's scared. he's scared of this entirely new part of him that was once broken before.

lover!kaiser seems to be more of a tease. his formerly rude comments come off as playful, with a smirk on his lips that is less forced, less hateful.

lover!kaiser is intimidated by the world of romance. gifts? touch? he doesn't think he could bear with it. you remained patient, teaching him slowly at his pace, and speaking your own language of love to each other.

lover!kaiser who has heart eyes that are only noticeable to you. you don't get how nobody else sees it, but perhaps they're mistaking it for his intense gaze.

lover!kaiser who finds it satisfying when you touch his neck. you only graze your fingers tentatively over his throat, yet his hand wraps around yours, urging you to make it rougher, to grip it tighter. despite his request, you don't, and he's almost relieved from that. it's not enough to completely erase the habit, but it's nice to have a better memory attached to it.