#no one is making gifs so i had to. my man is back. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gf2bellamy · 3 days ago

Note

hi! love your fics so much <3 i was wondering what do you think of sunshine!reader and post-prison spencer... like that man is so wary about everything after what he'd been through and sunshine!reader was just being the goodness incarnate, breaking down his walls one by one 🙏🏻

sunshine — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: spencer having a cut on his forehead , mention of spencer having nightmares , mention of germophobia a/n: hiii !! this made me realize how much i love writing sunshine!reader x postprison!spencer <3 hope you like this

Spencer’s gaze lingered on you as you laughed with Penelope, your bright energy filling the room like a warm sunrise. The corners of his mouth twitched—just barely—but as soon as he felt it, he forced himself to look away, focusing on the coffee he was pouring.

But then, like clockwork, you shattered through them.

“Spencer!” Your voice was light, cheerful as you entered the breakroom. “Hi! Good morning! I haven’t seen you all day.”

You stepped closer, your shoulder brushing against his in an innocent touch, but one that sent a ripple of warmth through him. He straightened slightly, tightening his grip on the coffee cup.

“Morning,” he murmured. “Yeah, I woke up a little late today.”

What he didn’t say—what he never really said—was that the nightmares had stolen his sleep again, twisting through his mind until exhaustion finally won out, making him oversleep.

You tilted your head. “You know, my alarm clock is pretty amazing. Hasn’t failed me once,” you said, watching him take a sip of coffee. Then, almost as an afterthought, you mumbled, “Except maybe once or twice…”

A sheepish grin spread across your lips before you perked up again. “But I can totally give you the brand name! You should definitely get one.”

Spencer looked at you, really looked at you. The way you stood there, all warmth and light, as if the world hadn’t touched you with the same cruelty it had touched him. A part of him wanted to let that warmth in—just a little.

Instead, he gave you a small, wary smile. “No, it’s fine… but thank you.” You flashed him a bright smile.

“Okay,” you said simply, turning to grab a cup and start making your own coffee.

Spencer lingered for a moment, watching as you hummed softly to yourself, completely absorbed in your task.

He exhaled quietly, forcing himself to turn away. But as he reached the doorway, something pulled at him.

So he glanced back.

Just for a second.

You, still oblivious, stirred your coffee, completely unaware of the way his gaze softened—just barely—before he shook his head at himself and disappeared down the hall.

He wasn’t sure why he looked back. Maybe that was the part that scared him the most.

That wasn’t the first time moments like this had happened.

Like that one evening on the jet.

The case had been brutal. He sat in his usual spot, silent, lost in thought.

And then there was you.

Sliding into the seat next to him, your knee brushed against his, a casual, fleeting touch that sent a ripple of awareness through him. You didn’t pry or push—you never did.

You simply pulled a small Sudoku book from your bag and flipped it open. A quiet invitation.

Spencer wasn’t sure why he kept sneaking glances at you as you worked through the puzzle, pencil tapping idly against the page. Maybe it was the way your lips quirked in concentration, or how you absentmindedly twirled the pencil between your fingers when you were thinking.

You were stuck—long enough that he finally caved.

“Four,” he murmured, tapping his finger lightly against the empty square, his arm brushing against yours in the process.

Your head snapped up, eyes meeting his, and then came that smile—the one that made something unfamiliar tighten in his chest.

“Thanks,” you said. For some reason, that made him feel lighter. You bit your lip surpressing an even bigger smile at the realization that your plan was working.

At some point, you shifted the book between the two of you, an unspoken offer to let him join in. He could have filled out the entire page in seconds—he already had the answers mapped out in his head—but he waited, watching you work through each number, patient in a way he rarely was.

And when he saw it—that telltale little pout, the way your lips puckered just slightly when you were stumped.

Without a word, he would lean in again, pencil grazing the page.

“Seven,” he murmured.

Your smile was even brighter this time. You always had a way of brightening his day, even when he least expected it.

Some mornings, Spencer woke up convinced that smiling was out of the question. And yet, somehow, you always managed to prove him wrong.

Like today.

He stepped into the bullpen, his eyes catching Emily and JJ standing by a small pink bakery box, happily grabbing donuts from inside. By the time he walked closer, the box was already half-empty.

Typical.

Spencer barely had time to process his disappointment before your voice chimed in from behind him.

“Spencer!”

He turned just as you appeared, a small box in your hands. Without hesitation, you pressed it into his.

“Here.”

He blinked down at it, fingers curling around the edges. “Hi. What’s this?”

“Open it,” you urged, practically bouncing on your feet.

Lifting the lid, he found a single chocolate-sprinkled donut inside. His favorite.

“I knew the team would finish them all,” you said, nodding toward JJ, who—right on cue—grabbed another donut with a sheepish grin. “So I thought I’d get you one in a separate box.”

You smiled, and Spencer found himself just… staring.

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say.

“Thank you,” he said softly, offering a small but genuine smile before taking a bite.

You and he both knew why you’d gone out of your way to do this. It wasn’t just because he was often late these days, dragging himself in after nights spent wrestling with his own mind. It wasn’t just because the team had a tendency to wipe out the treats before he even got a chance.

It was because you’d noticed.

Noticed the way he hesitated before grabbing food that others had already touched. Noticed that, despite his insistence that prison had forced him to overcome his germophobia, old habits still lingered.

But neither of you said anything about it.

Instead, you just smiled at each other before heading to your desks, like this was normal—like it wasn’t something small and kind and significant.

And maybe, for the first time in a long while, Spencer started to believe that kindness didn’t always come with a catch.

That's when things started to shift.

One morning, as you were settling in at your desk, a cup appeared in your line of sight.

You blinked, looking up—only to find Spencer standing there, his expression unreadable but his gesture speaking louder than words.

“Oh.” A flicker of surprise crossed your face before it melted into a bright smile. “Thank you.”

You took the cup carefully, warmth seeping into your palms, trying to pretend like this wasn’t a big deal. Like your heart hadn’t skipped a little at the thought of Spencer Reid going out of his way for you.

Spencer shifted slightly on his feet, glancing away as if regretting the decision to linger. “I, um… You always bring everyone else coffee. Thought I’d return the favor.”

Your fingers curled around the cup a little tighter.

“Oh, so you do notice,” you teased lightly, taking a sip. It was exactly how you liked it. Of course it was—Spencer noticed everything.

He gave a small, almost imperceptible huff of amusement, shaking his head. “I notice a lot of things.”

Something in the way he said it made your stomach flip.

But before you could respond, he cleared his throat and tapped the file on your desk. “We have a briefing in five minutes.”

And just like that, he was walking away, as if this was nothing. As if he hadn’t just let his walls slip, even for a second.

You watched him go, a knowing smile playing on your lips.

Little by little, he was letting you in.

And he probably didn’t even realize it yet.

The next instances were small, almost imperceptible, but to anyone paying attention, it was clear Spencer was letting his walls down bit by bit.

He’d consistently choose the seat next to you in the bullpen, even if there were other open spots. He’d find himself working alongside you—no matter what the task was.

And it wasn’t just in the office. Spencer’s schedule seemed to align with yours more often than not. He’d find himself finishing up work at the same time as you and walking out alongside you.

The way he would stand near your desk, leaning in just a bit to hear your voice, was becoming something he almost looked forward to.

There was no grand moment of confession, no flashing neon sign that screamed, Spencer is letting you in, but it was happening in little gestures, in the softening of his gaze when he looked at you.

Maybe he wasn’t fully aware of it, or maybe he was too guarded to admit it, but it was happening, and that was enough for you.

But one particular day, the usual rhythm shifted. The case they’d been working on had taken its toll on everyone, but Spencer had been especially distant.

No one had missed the way he’d brushed off the slight injury to his forehead, a thin cut from the struggle during the case.

It was barely noticeable at first, but under the harsh lighting of the bullpen, it was impossible to ignore.

“Spencer.” Your voice was soft but firm. He turned slowly, his expression unreadable, but you could see the flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

You were already reaching into the drawer of your desk, fingers brushing over the familiar cool metal of your first aid kit.

It was instinct, really—an automatic response to someone else’s pain.

“Come here,” you said, motioning toward the chair beside your desk. Your smile was warm and reassuring.

“I’m fine.” His voice was quiet, dismissive. A reflex, more than anything.

You raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Spencer Reid,” you said gently, and something about the way you spoke his name made his resolve waver. “You’re not fine. Come here.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. You saw the conflict flicker across his features, the instinct to withdraw battling against something else—something softer, something that looked a lot like longing.

Then, with a quiet exhale, he relented.

You resisted the urge to let out a relieved sigh as he sat down, watching as he brushed his hair back from his face.

“You should’ve taken care of this before we got on the jet,” you murmured, pulling out disinfectant and a clean cotton pad. Your hands worked steadily, but your heart was another matter entirely.

It always seemed to race when he was close like this.

Spencer huffed a quiet laugh, though there was little humor in it. “There were more important things to worry about.”

You frowned. “That doesn’t mean you don’t get to take care of yourself.”

He didn’t respond, but you could feel his eyes on you as you stepped closer, standing between his legs without thinking twice about it. It wasn’t until your fingers tilted his chin gently upward that you realized how close you were.

Your breath hitched.

Spencer, for his part, remained still. If he was aware of the proximity, he didn’t say anything. But you saw the way his lips parted slightly, how his gaze flickered from your hands to your face like he was memorizing the details of the moment.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus on the task at hand.

“This might sting,” you warned softly.

He gave a small nod, but his eyes never left yours.

The moment the antiseptic touched his skin, he barely reacted. But you felt the sharp intake of his breath, saw the slight twitch of his fingers where they rested on his lap.

“You’re really bad at this whole ‘letting people take care of you’ thing, you know that?” you said, attempting to lighten the air between you.

Spencer exhaled a small chuckle, and the sound made your chest feel warm.

“I’m aware.”

You smiled despite yourself, shaking your head as you pressed a bandage carefully over the cut. “Yeah, well. Lucky for you, I’m stubborn.”

Something flickered in his eyes—something almost too vulnerable to name.

“I’ve noticed,” he murmured.

Your fingers lingered against his skin for just a second too long before you forced yourself to take a step back, clearing your throat.

“There,” you said, suddenly feeling breathless. “Good as new.”

Spencer didn’t move right away. He just sat there, watching you in a way that made your stomach twist into knots.

Then, finally, he spoke. “Thank you.”

You nodded, offering him a small smile. “Anytime.”

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Then, Spencer did something that surprised you.

He stood up and reached out, hesitating only for a second before his fingers wrapped around your wrist. The contact was fleeting—just enough to make your breath catch—but then, in a single motion, he pulled you forward.

Before you could fully process it, you found yourself wrapped in his arms.

Spencer was hugging you.

It wasn’t a quick, polite embrace. It was full-bodied, desperate in a way that made your heart ache. His arms tightened around you as if he was afraid you might slip away, and when you felt his lips rest against your shoulder, you thought you might actually break.

You exhaled shakily, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, your arms wrapping around him in return. You felt the tension in his frame, the way he held onto you like he didn’t want to let go.

One of your hands moved up, fingers threading softly through his hair in a soothing motion. You felt him exhale against your skin, the tension in his shoulders melting little by little as he leaned into your touch.

When he finally pulled away, it was slow—like he wasn’t entirely ready to let go. His hands lingered at your waist, his fingers ghosting over the fabric of your shirt.

His eyes, usually guarded, were soft in a way you rarely got to see.

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at the sight of it.

“Sorry,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you interrupted gently. “Not for that.”

He blinked at you, something unreadable passing through his gaze. His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something, but instead, he just nodded.

And then, to your surprise, he lifted a hand, hesitating for only a moment before brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was barely there, fleeting, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard, suddenly hyperaware of just how close you still were.

“I should probably—” Spencer started, but he didn’t move, his eyes locked onto yours.

“Yeah,” you whispered, but you didn’t move either.

Neither of you did.

Not yet.

And in that moment, you knew.

The walls he’d spent so long building were finally beginning to come down.

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x you #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic

497 notes · View notes

yujisdreamgirl · 2 days ago

Text

husband!nanami who is also the father of your 2 children. dated for 6 years and married for 3–you couldn’t ask for anything more.

husband!nanami who is visibly confused during a conversation he had with his colleagues.

nanami usually avoids the break room whilst it was crowded. unfortunately, on a rare day that he’s forgotten to pick up his coffee from his favourite café, he had to walk into a break room full of a bunch of his coworkers talking about their children’s birthdays. they immediately turn to nanami who was standing in the corner and involved him in the conversation.

“it’s my daughter’s birthday soon. yeah i’m probably getting her one of those dolls and shit—she’s turning 5.” the suited up man takes a sip out of his coffee.

nanami nods apprehensively, wishing to leave the room already. “that’s nice. what are you getting for your wife?” he asks.

“what?” all four of his coworkers turned to look at him, and suddenly it felt like an episode of The Voice.

“…don’t you get your wife a gift when it’s your children’s birthdays??” the only time nanami is ever confused is when he does crossword puzzles. this.. is a whole different level.

his coworkers laugh at the absurd statement, some scoff and one pats nanami on the back.

—

nanami drives back home from work but he was more quiet than usual. he would typically turn the radio on and tap his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat. the car however was dead silent.

“who doesn’t give their wife a gift..? tch.”

“do these young men even love their wives anymore? eugh.”

“y/n always seems really happy when i give her gifts on the girls’ birthday.. i can’t imagine not giving her any.”

—

he arrives home and parks in the garage, sighing and cracking his back before bursting through the door.

“i’m h—” before he could finish his sentence, his 3-year-old twin girls came running to hug him.

“daddy! daddy! you’re home!” they giggle and cling onto his legs as nanami leans over to place his hand on your back and kiss your lips. “hello my darlings,” he smiles.

“you’re home early.”

“just missed my girls a lot.”

—

it’s 11pm. the kids are asleep and you’ve done your skincare, the night lamp on as you lay in bed with your husband.

as you snuggle under the sheets, you suddenly feel big arms snake around your torso. you giggle and pull them closer to you before deciding to turn around and face the man beside you. you lay your head on his chest and he immediately caresses your back.

“my love?” nanami speaks up.

“yeeeees?” you sing. he holds you tighter now, before uttering: “you know how i give you a gift for the girls’ birthday?”

you smile softly at the memory—how could you forget? every birthday for three years, he always manages to surprise you with a gift. he treasures the day dearly. it’s your daughters’ birthday but it’s your birth-day.

“i just found out that not every father does that. at least.. my coworkers don’t.” you look up at him now, seeing his scrunched eyebrows and solemn pout—you can already tell it bothers him. “it’s absurd, isn’t it? what do you think?”

you hum, your eyes never leaving his expression. “to be honest, i’ve never witnessed someone do what you do. it’s not exactly common practice,”

nanami sighs, “i guess you’re right. i just love you so much, you know? i’ll keep showing my appreciation on the day that means a lot to me, to us. it’s the day we became a family and i.. i want to make sure you know how important you are, too.” his voice is soft, as though he's been carrying this thought for a while. you blink, the weight of his words settling in your chest. he doesn't say it often, but when he does, it’s clear he means every syllable.

a small laugh escapes you, touched by his sincerity. “i know, baby. and i’m thankful for it, for you.”

he presses a kiss to your forehead, his arms tightening around you as if he’s trying to hold on to the moment. “me too, darling. more than you’ll ever know.”

͙͘͡★ dividers by @bernardsbendystraws & @cafekitsune 👔

748 notes · View notes

randomshyperson · 2 days ago

Text

The Pinning Problem - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

Summary: There are several ways to resolve the rivalry between the Avengers that does not involve fighting. Or, the one where Wanda Maximoff likes to be pinned down by her not-so-secret crush, and somehow this becomes the whole team's problem.

words: 2.944k | warnings: a lot of sexual tension, kissing, hints of rivals to lovers, this is a crack fic - nothing here can be taken seriously, another alternative solution for civil war that’s better than what they did, nothing explicit but hints of sub!wanda.

A/N-. I found this on my draft, had to translate, and I have no idea what was the inspiration or writing process but I thought it was so funny, so here it is. The name is actually quite self-explanatory.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

In Wanda's defense, a sequence of events led to this unsustainable situation.

It probably started a year ago, when she had mind-tricked the team of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes and felt confident enough to try it on someone who was notoriously known for being invulnerable. It was the first time Wanda had been pinned against a wall by another person, and it was the most inopportune situation possible for any feelings other than anger and fear, so of course Wanda had never been so aroused. Things didn’t get any better after that, and in her interactions with you in the Avenger routine a while later, she would probably describe you as having some obscure desire to pin her against things.

In training, against the mat.

In the kitchen, against the counter or the fridge, with bad excuses to reach things or just because you wanted to see her blush or traumatize any team member present.

And one notable time, one that haunted her in wet dreams for weeks, against the door of the motel room you were staying in for one of the countless stakeout missions in search of clues about the Winter Soldier.

Wanda was never so grateful for a shared bathroom as the day she saw you in just a towel, hair and wet muscles exposed.

“Damn, wrong door.” You said with an innocent tone, but it didn’t seem like you had made any mistakes, the little smile giving away your true intentions.

Wanda, who had just emptied the bathroom for the next in line for the shower, clutched the towel to her body tighter, a nervous giggle escaping her.

She's never felt as powerful as she does now, using all her mental and spiritual control not to rip off those towels and grab you with the entire team to witness.

“Did you save some hot water for me, witchy?” You teased with your hand on the doorframe, too close for Wanda to breathe properly. She had to blink her concentration back, her brain barely able to focus on anything other than your inviting lips.

“Hm, I can’t say I have it.”

You lick your lips, a smile threatening to escape as Wanda's eyes followed the movement. "No problem, I need a cold shower anyway." That's what you said, using much more of her personal space than you needed to exit the room.

And for the next few weeks, Wanda could only remember that feeling, her fingers tucked deep inside her pants as she bit her lip to keep from whimpering your name to the ceiling.

The fight between Steve and Tony escalated into a catastrophe shortly after that, and Wanda had a little time to focus on other things.

That is until Clint picked her up at the Tower, and informed her that he had two stops to make. Ant-Man was the easy part, he was loud and energetic and kept Clint busy with excited questions about his life as an Avenger.

You were the proof of the gods.

With a leather jacket you got as a gift from Natasha hiding a band t-shirt that in Wanda's opinion, made you look like the most attractive person she had ever laid eyes on, you threw your backpack on the bench and squeezed in next to her.

You didn't have to press your lips to her cheek, but you did it anyway, as if you and Wanda were great friends, and you had missed her a lot in the last few weeks you hadn't seen each other with all the team's drama.

“What’s up, witchy?” It was so casual that Wanda almost believed that you two had a real relationship and not a history of arguments, teasing and staring challenges.

Clint didn't pay a second thought to the matter, he was stressed with everything that was happening to the team, and he was pleased that you were joining the fight, especially on his side. Having a demigoddess should mean an easy victory, and hopefully, without much fighting.

Staying under wraps in Europe until it was time to meet Steve at the appointed point was a minefield. Four people sharing a van, two of whom were hormonal teenagers, with some sort of battle going on over who would give in first could easily be one of the reasons Clint Barton wanted to stay retired.

Three hours into the ride, and Wanda let out another sigh from the backseat, and he had enough.

“I swear to god I’m going to make you walk all the way there.” The hawk warned, stealing a glance in the rearview mirror, quick enough for him to see you move your hand away from Wanda’s thigh. He snorted in disbelief. “That’s so inappropriate. And disgusting.”

“Don’t be homophobic, Clint.” You immediately retort, but the Avenger shook his head, chuckling reluctantly.

“I’ll tell your cousin what kind of things you do while other people are around you, young lady.” He threatened but you shrugged, an easy laugh escaping you.

“Good luck trying to slut-shame me to the god of fertility.” Your bratty response made Wanda and Scott hide a giggle.

Clint huffed in irritation. “What the hell, that’s not what I’m doing!” He defended himself, offended. “I just don’t want to be there while you make out with your girlfriend.”

You shrug. “Sounds like homophobia to me, man.”

Clint shakes his head indignantly, and tries to look at Scott for some support but the other just shrugs, with an expression that he agrees with your words. The Archer lets out a humorless laugh, and announces that he will stop for food at the next gas station he drives by.

When the stop finally happened, almost an hour later, Clint and Scott practically fled the car.

Wanda thinks she should have at least changed seats.

“Can I ask you something?” She ventured as the noise of the older Avengers talking grew more distant, as they were going to buy food at the convenience store. You hum in agreement, and Wanda swallows hard because she feels your gaze on her. “How did Barton convince you to join the fight?”

The question takes you by surprise. You change seats, and Wanda almost regrets it, but you do it just to look at her and it's more disconcerting than before.

“Why wouldn’t I join? I’m an Avenger too.” Apparently, you wanted to see her reaction. Sometimes, Wanda forgot that not everyone could read minds. Especially you, who, although you could resist any of her magic tricks, didn’t have the same abilities to do them on other people.

“I know, I meant…” She thought for a moment about the right words. “I just got the impression that Thor advised you to stay a little distant from things like that. He himself doesn’t seem to be around much for this kinda of… human and bureaucratic stuff.”

You click your tongue. “I’m human, Wanda. Half, but still.”

“I know!” she snaps back, her cheeks hot. “I just meant—”

“I know what you mean, I’m messing with you.” You cut her off with a giggle, gesturing slightly. “I’m flattered, you know? That you think I’m so strong and amazing, so superior to all of this.” You make an exaggeratedly theatrical expression, and Wanda laughs with an eye roll.

“Oh, shut up.” She retorts, and manages to make you smile too. The lightness of the interaction changes the second after this dialogue ends. You look at her in a different way, more intense and vulnerable, and Wanda swallows hard. She feels like she wants to say a million things at once, but it’s you who speaks first.

“You’re right though, I wasn’t going to get involved.” You say, your typical confidence failing for the first time since Wanda met you. “Diplomatic immunity and Asgardian royalty perks or something like that.” You joke with a weak laugh, but something about the way you’re saying it makes it impossible for Wanda to laugh, let alone breathe properly. “Clint only had to use two magic words to get me on the team.”

She swallows hard, her stomach flipping. “What words?”

You smile at the corner of your mouth, not meeting her eyes for a moment. And then you sigh deeply, and look at her. “Wanda Maximoff.”

The breath that escapes her is shaky and faltering, and you hold her gaze until she gathers her courage. You wait patiently for Wanda to approach, and you don't move at any of her hesitations, until she sighs and grabs the collar of your blouse, pulling you in with determination. Despite the urgency, the first kiss is not rushed. You let her get used to the feeling first, and pull away before Wanda has a chance to protest.

But when you dive back in the next second, you take control. Your hand cups her jaw and your mouth is hungrily against hers, teeth and tongue, devouring every whimper of need she gives you. You’re not immune to Maximoff’s charms either.” You gasp at Wanda’s taste, brow furrowed as if you’re physically unable to pull away.

But you have to, because Clint and Scott can't make a purchase longer than eight damn minutes.

The veterans climb into the car, and the archer turns to the back of the van to deliver the food and catches a glimpse of your disheveled appearances and uneven breathing and grunts of disbelief.

“For the love of god, I don’t even want to know. And don’t you dare touch my stuff!” He says, throwing the snacks into your laps as you and Wanda struggle to hide your giggles.

-&-

The plan was to sneak out, but Stark closed the airport. Steve's order was for everyone to put on their suits and follow him, but Wanda ended up trapped between the closed door of the van and your body.

“Everything okay, girls?” Captain America asked uncertainly, and without moving away, you forced a smile at Steve.

“Sure, Cap. I’ll just wish Wanda a good fight. We’ll catch up with you for a grand entrance, I promise.” It’s practically a warning that you’re going to do this regardless of Steve’s permission, so he clears his throat and waves for the team to follow him ahead.

The Avengers have barely finished walking away - she can still hear Clint complaining that the two of you haven't let go of each other when you lean your face down and kiss her.

She doesn't know what she expected, but she certainly doesn't feel prepared for this kind of kiss. Sloppy and charged with lust, just a few hours after she experienced the sensation of having your lips for the first time.

Your firm hands on her waist and the extra support of the van are the only things keeping her upright. Her wobbly legs gave out at the first bite of her lip, three kisses ago.

Between one gasp and another, and this because neither of you wants to let go, Wanda tries to remind you of what they are doing in Germany.

“We have to go. The others. The fight.” Each word comes between one kiss and another, and she’s not even trying to open her eyes, because you drag your mouth down her jaw and start pressing your lips to her neck with enough intention to make her arch her body towards you and forget the world around her.

Though you look equally affected, you manage to break the caresses with a husky chuckle. “Who the hell came up with the idea of adding a damn corset to your uniform, Wanda?”

The question makes her bite her lip, especially since she catches the way your gaze is fixed on her collarbone.

“I chose it myself. Don’t you like it?” She teases with false innocence, baiting you by puffing out her chest in your direction.

Your fingers reach up and pull at the limit of what the corset's laces will hold without opening, the gesture being suggestive enough for Wanda to tremble.

“I loved it, that’s the problem.” You murmur, evidently aroused, your mouth marking her skin again. “How do they expect me to fight with you looking like that around me. All I can think about is undressing you…” A soft bite on your lobe, and Wanda moans directly into your ear. “God, I could fuck you right here.”

“There’s no time.” She pants back, but your grip tightens a little and Wanda is sure that if you try to take her clothes off in the middle of this parking lot, she’ll help you.

“We can make time.”

But your whispered phrase carries a meaning she can’t ignore. She struggles to push her arousal away and manages to retort a hoarse “What?”

Your hands reach inside the suit's jacket, and move downward. Wanda gasps as she feels them on her ass, squeezing the flesh and forcing your hips together. The sensation is so delirious that she almost forgets she asked a question.

“We can kill time if we let the boys fight alone.” Your voice combined with all the attraction she’s kept secret for so long is like a siren song taking her mind to places far removed from Avengers intrigue, and more like beds or mats. Or anywhere you can press her, including this car. “Romanoff knows how to take care of herself, and the others wouldn’t even notice.”

“Yes, they would.” She retorts with a soft laugh before pulling your mouth back to hers. Kissing her again wakes something in you. Your hands go frantic, tugging and squeezing, and Wanda finds herself pressed completely against the iron door with one of your legs between hers. The softest press of your knee against her core makes Wanda gasp in a whimper.

You break the kiss to rest your forehead against hers. “You sound so beautiful when you make those sounds.” But she needs to put more distance between you, because she won’t be able to stop if she doesn’t do it now.

“We can’t.” She insists, one hand on your stomach to gently push you away. “Not now. And not here.” She sighs at the dark look in your eyes. “We gave you our word that we would help.”

For a moment, it looks like you’re going to ignore it, your lips brushing together, teasing away whatever sanity she has left. But then, you kiss her cheek and pull away, and Wanda would have slid down to the floor if it weren’t for van’s support.

“Okay, I’ll help.” You declare with a determination that makes Wanda swallow hard.

She barely has time to work on her appearance and has to rush to catch up with you, sprinting towards the team.

You missed the grand entrance - Things were about to start, and you interrupted a spider-clad teenager with an energy pulse that threw him away and kept him pinned to the ground.

“Sorry guys, I’m really busy today.” You announced. Everyone looked at you in shock, Tony seemed genuinely surprised to see you pick a team, and Steve seemed worried that you had changed your mind. When you started fighting with everyone, things got even more serious.

But Wanda didn't even have time to think about what it all meant; she realized that you weren't hurting them. You were bringing them together, to face them all at once.

Vision was probably the only one there who could do any damage due to the Infinity Stone, so she needed to keep him under control.

And with Spider-Boy safe and immobilized just like Vision, you screamed to the heavens.

“Heimdall, let’s take my friends for a ride!”

The Avengers only had time to widen their eyes. The transport was almost immediate.

Wanda closed her eyes, as shocked as the others, but the trip was actually smooth. While half the team was still fighting on the rainbow that led to Asgard, you held her by the waist, and the landing was calm and coordinated.

Steve was the first to approach you, as furiously as everyone else. “What do you think you’re doing? Send us back right now! We have to-”

“Sorry, I’m on vacation.” You cut him off, shrugging. Your hand is clasped in Wanda’s, who’s standing behind you.

The team all stands around, angry and surprised. Steve gives an incredulous laugh, but Tony actually laughs.

“Wow, that’s impressive, Rogers. Seriously, this time you outdid yourself in the worst decisions you could make. You didn’t think about what could happen when you called her to fight, she has the maturity of a ten-year-old!”

“Wow, and you can talk about maturity, can’t you Tony?”

You rolled your eyes, leaving them behind, cursing each other. Natasha was trying to stop King T'Challa from attacking Bucky, but none of them had a way out of here. Rhodes took off his armor helmet and was commenting on how huge Asgard was with Sam, while Clint tried to get a cell phone signal to warn Laura that he would most definitely be late. You think Ant-Man was trying to take pictures, but you got distracted by Wanda on the way through the Bifrost.

“Are we just going to leave them?” She asked, glancing at the irritated team.

You shrug. “Yeah, Heimdall will keep an eye on them. And when they calm down, the palace awaits. And you will see my royal chamber now.”

Wanda purrs, her cheeks flushed. “You’re getting pretty confident.” She teases, making you smile.

“I’m just inviting you to a late-night fondue.” You joke, and it’s Wanda’s turn to chuckle before pressing her lips against yours.

Some of the Avengers complain in the background but none of you are paying attention to them anymore.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff oneshots #elizabeth olsen x reader

448 notes · View notes

zuhaism · 3 days ago

Text

⊹ ｡˚ 𓂃 ♡ PUPPY LOVE ?!

[ navigation ]

pairing : sophialaforteza x brothersbff!reader

synopsis : sophia laforteza spent years convincing herself that whatever she felt for you was just a childhood crush. something she buried the day you left. but then you came back, slipping into her life like you never left at all.

a/n : i wrote more than this lol. this is like the intro ig they in for a ride😛😛. and i js realised i named the guy alex cs i was reading mammamia by @/cinnamanz shout out to bro for making that masterpeice and im sowy 😔. btw making a dani christmas fic idc if its not chrisms im making it vro 💔

when sophia was nine, she was an absolute menace. not in a cool, rebellious way. more like the annoying little sister who wouldn't take a hint. she knew it. her brother knew it. his friends definitely knew it.

but not to you.

you never told her to go away. you never rolled your eyes when she trailed after you guys, even when her brother and his friends groaned about her being annoying. you actually talked to her like she was part of the group instead of a burden. and maybe that was why she clung to the idea that she could be something more in the group, if only she tried hard enough.

during one instance in summer and you all spent your days biking around the neighborhood, playing ding-dong ditch like a bunch of reckless kids with nothing better to do, she insisted on joining in.

her brother had scoffed, “sophie, you suck at this game. you’ll get caught in two seconds.”

she had pouted, “no i won’t.”

the others laughed,”no just stay on your bike.” one of them said. but you just grinned and shrugged, “let her try.” you dismissed them and there’s audible groaning from the group of boys.

and just like that, she had your approval. that was all she needed. she beamed at you. she knew the basic rules of ding dong ditch. ring the doorbell, pedal like hell, don’t get caught. easy. but when it was her turn, nothing went easy at all.

her heart pounded as she sprinted up the porch, her small fingers trembling on the doorbell. the chime echoed in her ears, and as soon as she hit it, she spun on her heel, ready to run. but her foot caught on the edge of the step and in an instant, she was falling.

the pavement met her with a rough scrape, and her knees burned from the impact. a sharp sting shot through her, but the rising panic in her chest drowned out every other sensation.

the porch light flicked on.

her stomach dropped.

she scrambled to her feet, but she was too slow. her brother and his friends had already melted into the shadows, their bikes disappearing into the distance. and there she was, left alone, frozen on the pavement with a bloody knee as the front door creaked open.

she was so dead.

but then, out of the dim light, you appeared.

she barely had time to register before you stepped in front of her, leaning casually against the porch railing like it was no big deal. your expression was calm, as if she didn’t just screw up infront of you.

“sorry, sir,” you said smoothly as the old man peered at you from inside. “wrong house. thought this was my friend’s place.”

sophia’s eyes widened. the man grumbled something about “kids these days” before retreating inside, closing the door behind him with a final thud. the moment the door clicked shut, you reached out and grabbed her wrist, gently yanking her up onto her bike.

“let’s go, sophie.”

she didn’t resist, she simply followed, her legs pumping furiously even as the pain in her scraped knees nagged at her. her heart wasn’t just racing from fear. it was racing because you had come back for her. you turned back and didn’t leave her there. Helpless.

sophia was raging with disappointment and also something else as she pedaled the bike. Her gaze landing on your back pedalling down the neighborhood. when you finally regrouped with the others, her brother was already laughing.

“sophie can’t even ditch properly” “you didn’t even try” “sophie just stay on your bike quietly next time”

sophia’s face flushed, and she hugged her arms to herself as embarrassment and shame mingled into a burning heat along her neck. she wished she could just vanish. then you sighed, cutting through the teasing.

“oh, come on,” you said, your voice gentle yet firm. “she tried her best. cut her some slack. she actually has a conscience. not all of us enjoy terrorizing innocent neighbors.”

sophia blinked, her eyes darting from you to the sneering faces around her. the others groaned and rolled their eyes, but in that moment, she couldn’t care less. all she felt was the overwhelming throb of her heart and a strange, warm flutter deep inside her chest.

the ride back to her house felt different. as you pedaled side by side, she kept sneaking glances at you watching how your hair caught the light in the wind, the slight parting of your lips as you focused on the road. you looked so effortlessly cool, so completely unbothered by everything.

by the time you reached her driveway, the sting in her knees had become a dull ache that reminded her of every fall she’d ever taken. she hopped off her bike and winced, trying to mask the pain.

“hey,” you said, noticing immediately as you slowed down, everyone already left while you stayed behind to ask. “you okay?”

she forced a smile, shrugging off the concern. “yeah, i’m fine.”

but you knew better. you knelt down in front of her, tilting your head as you inspected the scrape on her knee. a messy ribbon of dirt and dried blood tracing along her skin.

“that’s not fine,” you murmured.

before she could protest, you rushed inside dampening a paper towel. when you got back out sophia was sitting on the stairs. “this might sting a bit,” you warned as you knelt in front of her. she braced herself as you gently dabbed at the wound. a sharp hiss of pain escaped her lips, and you couldn’t help but smirk softly.

“baby,” you teased, though there was genuine care in your tone.

her face flushed deeper, and she mumbled, “i’m not.”

“whatever you say,” you replied with a light chuckle, fishing out a band aid out your pocket then pressing the band-aid over the scrape and smoothing it down with careful, deliberate strokes. “there. good as new.”

she stared at her knee, then at you, her wide eyes searching your face.

“what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

she shook her head quickly, turning away as if to hide her vulnerability. “nothing.”but it wasn’t nothing. in that tender moment, as she tried to mask her pain and embarrassment, she felt something shift inside her, an undeniable spark that made her heart beat faster. nine-year-old sophia laforteza was completely, hopelessly in love, even if she didn’t fully understand it yet.

sophia still remembers the day you left. it had been a summer afternoon, thick with the smell of cut grass and the distant hum of cicadas. you stood on her driveway, kicking at a stray rock while her brother complained about you moving away, arms crossed like his sulking could somehow convince you to stay.

but sophia? she just stood there, gripping the hem of her shirt so tightly that her knuckles turned white. she wanted to say something. anything. but all she could do was stare at the ground and swallow around the lump in her throat.

you had crouched down in front of her, tapping a knuckle under her chin to make her look up. “hey,” you had said, smiling softly, “don’t look so sad. i’ll visit. it’s not like i’m disappearing off the face of the earth.”

but you did disappear.

there were a few texts at first. pictures of your new neighborhood, jokes she barely understood, casual check-ins. but then middle school started, life got busier, and slowly, inevitably, the messages faded.

before she knew it, you became a memory. a childhood chapter she tucked away, rereading only when nostalgia hit late at night. she convinced herself that whatever she felt back then. that stupid, childish crush was gone.

until one fateful day it all came back. sophia wasn’t expecting her day to be anything special. she was walking down the hallway with her friends, disappointed with her grades on the recent exams, when she saw you.

leaning against a row of lockers, casually talking to her brother like you had never left, like you hadn’t been gone for years. her feet stopped before she even realized it.

“what—”

“no way,” she whispered, heart hammering against her ribs.

you looked different. taller, sharper around the edges. your uniform slightly rumpled, hair messier than she remembered. but the moment you smiled. that same easy, lopsided grin. she felt something inside her lurch violently back to life.

she barely had time to process before you looked up. and the second your eyes found hers, your whole face lit up.

“soph?”

you pushed off the lockers, taking easy strides toward her. laughing. it hit her harder than she thought possible because it was the same.

the world narrowed to just you.

the second your voice cut through the noise warm, familiar, so casually affectionate. it sent a violent jolt down her spine.

“holy shit,” you grinned, stepping forward like this was the most natural thing in the world. “come here, baby.”

baby?

the word crashed into her, loud and deafening, like someone had just rung a bell directly in her skull.

because, god, it had been years since she’d last heard you call her that. since she had been the baby of your little group. the youngest, the smallest, the one trailing behind while you stayed with her and her brother ran ahead.

back then, she hated it.

“i’m not a baby!” nine-year-old sophia had whined, stomping her foot.

but you had only laughed, ruffling her hair and calling her baby anyway, and for some reason. it sounded different coming from you.

so she never told you to stop and now she’s facing the consequences.

her body froze, breath caught somewhere between her lungs and throat. her friends barely had time to react before your arms wrapped around her, pulling her in.

the warmth of you hit her all at once. solid, grounding, impossibly real. she felt everything. the way your chin brushed the side of her head, the slow rise and fall of your chest, the way you smelled exactly how she remembered.

her hands hovered mid-air, uncertain, but her body betrayed her. before she could think, she was gripping the back of your blazer, her fingers curling into the fabric like she needed to anchor herself. because if she let go, if she even moved too fast, she was terrified she’d wake up and this would all be some elaborate, messed-up dream.

her friends were losing their minds behind her. manon’s choked gasp. megan’s loud, “oh, what the fu—” lara grabbing her arm, shaking her violently.

but sophia couldn’t focus on any of it.

because your arms tightened around her just slightly, a slow, lingering squeeze before you pulled back just enough to look at her, hands shifting from her back to her shoulders. your eyes flickered over her face, scanning, like you were checking to see if she was still the same girl from all those years ago.

she didn’t dare move. barely dared to breathe. and then, just like before, just like always, your hand lifted. before she could react, you were ruffling her hair, laughing. “you got taller.”

sophia sucked in a sharp breath.

it wasn’t fair.

how easily you fit right back into place, like you had never left. how you could just stand here, completely unaware of the way her heart had just thrown itself against the bars of her ribs like it was desperate to escape.

she scowled, nose scrunching as she smacked your hand away, even as heat crawled up her neck. “and you got uglier.”

you only laughed, unbothered.

her stomach flipped.

you pouted, tilting your head, teasing. “aren’t you excited? your favorite person is back in town permanently now.”

her favorite person. that's what youve always been. she has a feeling it’s going to stay that way for a long time. she scoffed, rolling her eyes like it didn’t affect her. like you didn’t affect her. “you wish.”

you gasped, pressing a hand to your chest, dramatic as always. “you’re so mean to me.”

“you deserve it.” she grumbled, crossing her arms.

before you could say anything else, another voice cut in.

“wait, hold on—”

manon was staring at her like she had just witnessed the moon landing. her eyes darted between the two of you, a grin way too knowing stretching across her face. “is this the cutie you used to talk about when—”

oh, absolutely the hell not.

“okay, we’re leaving.” sophia grabbed her wrist and dragged her away before she could finish that sentence. “oh, come on!” manon whined. behind her, megan and lara were already snickering.

“wait” lara grinned, “so that was y/n?”

lara finally asked after sophia had dragged them to a more secluded space. sophia glared ahead, jaw locked. “no idea what you’re talking about.”

megan lifted an eyebrow, arms crossed. “liar. your ears are so red”

sophia groaned, picking up the pace, yanking them along with her. the teasing turned into background noise, but the weight of it all settled onto her chest.

you were back. after years of being gone. after she thought she had finally let go of whatever childish feelings she had for you.

except now, she wasn’t a kid anymore, and neither were you. but the way you had smiled at her. so easily, so effortlessly. like nothing had changed. her stomach twisted.

she clenched her jaw and shoved it all down, deep, where it couldn’t reach her.

it didn’t mean anything.

she wasn’t nine anymore.

and she wasn’t going to let you get to her again.

the second tragedy of sophia’s day was sitting at her dinner table. the first, of course, was the fact that she had spent the entire afternoon thinking about you returning like you never left.

which meant she had gotten absolutely nothing done.

calculus? a lost cause. chemistry? an afterthought. all she could do was replay every second of seeing you again. every teasing grin, every laugh, the way you looked at her the same with a little something she couldn’t pinpoint.

and now, as she stood frozen in the doorway, her stomach plummeted.

because there you were. in her house. sitting comfortably at the dinner table, chatting with her dad like you weren’t the reason she had stared blankly at her notes for hours.

“sophia, honey, welcome home,” her mom’s voice cut through her panic. “come sit next to y/n.”

her heart actually stopped. because, of course, there was an empty seat right next to you.

perfect. just what she needed. another excruciatingly painful evening of trying to act normal around you.

she took a breath, squared her shoulders, and willed herself to move. you looked up as she approached, and there it was again. that smile. the one that had derailed her entire day.

“hey, soph,” you greeted, warm and easy, like it was completely normal for you to be here, in her house, in her life again.

she swallowed, nodding stiffly before sliding into the seat beside you. you nudged her lightly with your elbow. “long day?”

sophia forced herself to breathe. “yeah.”

“extra classes?”

“yeah.”

you hummed, picking at your food. “what’s got you stuck this time?”

“calculus.”

“oof,” you winced

her mom perked up at that, setting down her chopsticks. “oh! y/n could help you with that.”

sophia froze.

you? helping her? absolutely not.

“she’s been acing her ap calculus class,” her mom continued, beaming. “it’s perfect!”

sophia clenched her jaw. of course you did. you were always a natural at things you didn’t even try for. meanwhile, she had been drowning in numbers for weeks, getting nowhere.

“maybe you should let y/n tutor you,” her mom added, smiling like she hadn’t just ruined sophia’s life.

great. fantastic. because the one thing she needed less than anything in the world was to spend even more time with you.

“no thanks,” sophia muttered, stabbing at her food.

you gasped dramatically, hand over your heart. “wow. you wound me, baby.”

sophia choked.

her fork slipped from her fingers. she did not just hear that. you did not just say that. again.

she whipped her head toward you, eyes wide, betrayed. but you just grinned at her, all shameless and teasing, like you hadn’t just sent her into a full-blown internal crisis.

and worst of all? no one else at the table even reacted. her parents just kept eating, like this was completely normal.

like this wasn’t the most earth-shattering moment of her life. her grip tightened around her fork, heat crawling up her neck. “don’t call me that.”

you blinked, tilting your head. “what? baby?”

oh my god.

she kicked you under the table. hard. you yelped, nearly dropping your spoon. “hey!”

she scowled at you, but you were still smiling. that same stupid grin, like you knew exactly what you were doing to her.

“take the tutoring, soph,” her brother chimed in. “god knows you need it.”

sophia turned even redder. “this is none of your business!”

he shrugged. “what? your last test score was—”

“okay! fine!” she snapped, fists clenched. she turned to you, glaring. “you. library. tomorrow. after school. no funny business.”

you raised your hands in surrender, grinning. “scout’s honor.” she narrowed her eyes, warning you one last time before turning back to her food mumbling about you being a weirdo.

it has been a week tutoring and sophia convinced it was torture. she had to always keep herself in check and try to not look to stupid infront of you. but what made it worse is you’re so understanding.

its frustrating.

you never made her feel dumb, never handed her the answers outright. instead, you guided her, nudged her toward figuring things out herself. you’d lean closer always too close. tapping the edge of her notebook as you encouraged her to think it through.

and it worked.

somehow, against all odds, she had started understanding calculus. started answering questions in class, participating.

even her friends had noticed.

“no lara …ive had tutoring.”

“what you need to set me up soph, im drowning”

sophia only rolled her eyes and left class with lara calling out for her.

other than the improvement in her attitude during class, sophia absolutely loathed when you tucked her hair behind her ear so you could see her work.

hated the way it happened so effortlessly, like it was something you did without thinking. like it was just natural to reach over, brush your fingers against her skin, and push those stubborn strands back.

her entire body locking up as she tried desperately to keep her expression neutral, to not let you see just how stupidly, embarrassingly affected she was. hated how it made her feel unsteady.

it made her wonder if you had always done this, if she had just been too young, too naive to notice how close you always were, how easy it was for you to slip into her space like you belonged there.

and when your fingers brushed her skin, when you leaned in slightly she could smell that familiar scent of yours, the one that had embedded itself into her memories. she refused to acknowledge the way her heart kicked against her ribs just like she did last time.

she has grown out of it. so she would force herself to react the only way she knew how. with annoyance. with a sharp, “can you not?” or a dramatic sigh as she swatted your hand away.

rolling her eyes as if that would somehow erase the fact that her face was burning. but it never worked. because you’d just laugh it off completely unbothered. and go right back to helping her like you hadn’t just made her feel butterflies.

whats worse is youd be all sweet after, and treating her to something like boba, ice cream or whatever. just because.

“bubble tea?” she had a problem of never saying no to you. pathetic. she thought to herself. but a small voice in her head was thrilled that you asked. she convinced herself it was the after effects of calculus.

the night was windy. the silence was deafening but also comforting to sophia. she could hear barking in the distance that reminded her of her own dogs and how she was going to be with them after.

you and sophia walked side by side. the quiet was only broken when you asked, casually, like it was just another thought that had floated into your mind, “so, you seeing anyone?”

sophia almost tripped over her own feet. she froze for a full three seconds. before she managed to scoff and shake her head. “what? no”

you hummed, hands in your pockets, tilting your head as you glanced at her. “really?”

she frowned, shifting her backpack higher on her shoulder. “why do you sound surprised?”

you gave her an easy smile, and she felt that stupid tingle creep up her spine again. “c’mon, soph. you’ve grown so beautiful—there’s no way no one wants you.”

she could feel heat creeping up her face before she could stop it. why are you saying this so casually. she forced herself to roll her eyes, trying to act unbothered despite the fact that she was literally about to explode on the spot. “shut up.”

you only laughed, completely unfazed by the way she was actively fighting for her life.

before she could even process what was happening, you reached for her backpack, slipping it off her shoulder effortlessly.

“what—” she started, but you just slung it over your other shoulder, adjusting the straps like it was yours now.

you grinned, glancing down at her with an amused glint in your eyes. “this bag is, like, ten times bigger than you, baby. i don’t even know how you’re carrying this around all day without toppling over.”

sophia gawked at you, her mouth opening and closing. she was offended. she smacked your arm as hard as she could, she knew it did no damge to you. but you still gasped, all dramatic, clutching your chest like she had just mortally wounded you.

“wow” you breathed, “why am i getting bashed for doing public service”

“because i don’t need your public service,” sophia huffed, crossing her arms.

you just laughed, adjusting her bag on your shoulder like it weighed nothing. annoying.

the walk to the boba shop was short, just a few blocks away from campus, but sophia felt every single step. maybe it was the way your arm would occasionally brush against hers, or how effortlessly you carried both of your bags like it was the easiest thing in the world. maybe it was the fact that you had called her beautiful like it was something undeniable. she scowled to herself. no. youre not thinking about that.

before the moment could get quiet again, the boba shop came into view, the neon sign casting a soft glow against the pavement. you pushed the door open, motioning for her to go in first, and she absolutely did not feel anything about that. not at all.

the familiar smell of tea and tapioca filled the air as you both stepped inside. the shop was mostly empty, save for a couple of students hunched over their laptops in the corner. the cashier perked up as you approached the counter, giving a friendly nod.

she watched as you stepped up to the counter with effortless ease, ordering like you’d been doing this for years. she didn’t even need to say anything—you already knew her usual. it was something small, something insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but it made her feel something she absolutely did not want to name.

the cashier punched in the order, and before she could even think about reaching for her wallet, you had already handed over your card.

“my treat,” you said, completely casual, like it wasn’t a big deal. “for doing so well in calculus.”

sophia stiffened. you said it like you were proud of her. like it actually meant something. her fingers twitched at her side, the automatic urge to argue bubbling up, but she clamped her mouth shut.

she exhaled through her nose, muttering a small thanks while eyes darting anywhere but at you.

the walk back to campus was calm, the kind of quiet that felt easy. sophia focused on her drink, letting the cold seep into her fingers, every now and then glancing at you as you absentmindedly shook your cup to mix the boba. she hated how natural this was starting to feel, falling back into your orbit like no time had passed at all.

as the campus gates came into view, you turned to her, tilting your head. “you want a ride home?”

sophia shook her head without thinking. “no, it’s okay. basil’s got it.”

you slowed your steps, raising an eyebrow. “soph. he’s gonna leave you stranded for at least an hour” she winced. you weren’t wrong. basil had a horrible habit of showing up ridiculously late. still, she shrugged, acting like it didn’t bother her. “it’s fine.”

you sighed, shaking your head. “c’mon, don’t be dumb. i’ll give you a ride home. i have to pick up something at your place anyway.”

the city lights flickered through the windshield as you maneuvered through the streets. one hand on the wheel, the other lazily adjusting the air conditioning.

its crazy how natural you looked like this. relaxed, the faint glow of passing headlights casting soft shadows across your face. she hated that she noticed.

she looked away quickly, pretending to be very interested in her boba. “so,” you said, breaking the silence, “how’s school been? besides me making you a calculus genius, obviously.”

sophia snorted, shaking her head. “hardly a genius.”

you hummed, shooting her a knowing look. “lara says otherwise.”

“lara?” sophia repeated, trying to keep her voice neutral, but she could already hear the edge creeping in.

you glanced at her, amused. “yeah” sophia knew she was being irrational. knew it was dumb to be irritated by something as small as you acknowledging lara’s existence. but she couldn’t help it. because you were supposed to be hers. you were already invading her space, was it so much to ask that she didn’t have to hear your voice saying someone else’s name?

she took a long sip of her boba, mostly just to have something to do with her mouth that wasn’t pouting like a child. “since when do you talk to lara?”

you laughed, drumming your fingers lightly against the steering wheel. “since she’s in my music club”

oh.

sophia frowned slightly. lara hadn’t mentioned that. she should have known, lara told her everything, and yet somehow, she’d never thought to bring you up? before she could dwell on it, you kept talking.

“she talks about you,” you added, throwing her a quick glance before looking back at the road. “don’t worry, it’s good stuff.”

sophia’s grip tightened around her drink. “…like what?”

you smirked. “like how she overheard the teachers saying you’re almost one of the best in the class.”

her lips parted slightly. what. she didn’t even know the teachers said that. lara never told her. but you knew? how did that make any sense?

she didn’t know what to focus on. the fact that she was apparently good enough to be talked about like that, or the fact that you were the one telling her. she forced herself to scoff, looking away. “tch. what can i say im self made.”

you tapped your fingers lightly against the wheel. “ofcourse you are, you put in the effort. you show up to tutoring, you do practices and you actually care about getting better. you deserve everything good that comes your way.”

her breath caught in her throat.

the words hit her square in the chest, and suddenly, it was hard to breathe. how could someone be this kind? how could you say something like that so easily, like it wasn’t something that would sit in her ribs for the rest of the night?

her fingers tightened slightly around her boba shes surprised it hasn’t exploded and before she could stop herself, her eyes drifted toward you. your profile was illuminated by the city lights outside, jawline sharp, mouth relaxed, brows furrowing just the slightest bit in focus. you looked so… at ease. saying things like this came naturally to you.

because how could she get all the credit when you were the one who spent your free time tutoring her? when you were the one making sure she understood things, guiding her without ever making her feel stupid for free, and still somehow acting like she was the one who had done all the hard work?

she should look away. she knew she should look away. but she couldn’t.

then—

“if you keep looking at me like that, i’m gonna think you’re in love with me.”

her head snapped forward so fast it was a miracle she didn’t get whiplash. “shut up,” she muttered, taking a very long sip of her drink just to avoid saying anything else.

you laughed, amused, clearly enjoying the way she was stunned. “i’m just saying.” she ignored you, staring straight ahead, praying to every higher power that the ride home would be over soon.

as soon as you pulled into the driveway, sophia was out of the car like it was on fire, barely sparing you a glance before disappearing into the house. you huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you followed her inside.

basil was in the kitchen, lazily scrolling through his phone, but he barely got the chance to look up before sophia breezed past him, dropping her bag onto the floor with a little more force than necessary.

“dude, i was just about to head out,” basil said, glancing at her.

“shut up,” sophia muttered, opening the fridge for a cold drink. she needed it with the day she had.

you snorted, leaning against the counter. “yeah, an hour from now.”

basil shot you a look, unimpressed. “why are you even here?”

you grinned, holding up the gaming controller you’d come to grab. “came to pick this up. also, saved your sister from being stranded at school.” basil rolled his eyes dismissing yn.

sophia grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, twisting the cap open as she turned on her heel, fully intending to escape upstairs before she did something stupid.

but before she could make it past the doorway, she felt a gentle tug at her wrist.

she nearly dropped the bottle.

you were still leaning against the counter, a lazy grin tugging at your lips as you looked at her. “my hug as thanks?”

sophia stared at you, her thoughts scrambled. her skin burned where your fingers lightly curled around her wrist. “for what?” she blurted, attempting to sound annoyed, but it came out a little too breathless.

your grin widened. “a week of tutoring and for saving you from sitting around for an hour waiting on basil.”

basil scoffed from the kitchen, but sophia barely heard him over the sound of her own heartbeat.

she hesitated, but you tugged her just slightly closer, tilting your head like you were waiting. expecting.

her body moved before her mind could catch up. stiffly, awkwardly, she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around you in what was probably the worst hug of her life.

but you didn’t seem to mind.

you hummed, warm and solid against her, your arms looping around her shoulders with ease.your comforting scent drowned her receptors.

sophia wanted to shove you. wanted to roll her eyes and scoff and say something sarcastic.

instead, she stayed there for a second too long, breathing you in, feeling the steady rise and fall of your chest against hers and then, before she could completely lose it, she pulled away, muttering a quick, “goodnight,” before practically sprinting upstairs.

rumors had been circulating that alex was planning to confess to sophia at the fundraiser. the very idea made her stomach turn.

she hated alex. he was one of basil’s friends. the one who never missed a chance to add salt to the wound whenever she messed up in front of the group. he made sure she felt like an outsider.

and now, all of a sudden, he liked her?

alex had spent years making her life difficult, and no amount of sudden affection was going to erase that. she wanted to tell him to get lost.

whenever alex pushed too far, you were the one who stepped in, the one who made him back off before things could go too far. you were the only one who ever really seemed to notice when she was uncomfortable, the only one who cared enough to make sure she was okay. and sophia hated the way that made her feel. she hated the warmth that crept in at the thought of you.

sophia groaned, slumping against the lockers as lara dug through her bag. “this is actually my worst nightmare.” sophia scowled, arms crossed tight over her chest.

lara finally glanced at her, unimpressed. “you’re being dramatic.”

“am not.” sophia huffed. “alex is the absolute last person on earth i’d want confessing to me. i mean, the guy made my childhood miserable! he’s a fucking bully and now he suddenly likes me? like, what—am i supposed to just forget years of bullying and fall into his arms?” she threw her hands up.

“i don’t want a confession! all i want is a handwritten apology letter with tears on it”

“who’s confessing to who?”

sophia stiffened. you.

she turned her head just in time to see you strolling up, brows raised in curiosity. the sight of you with hands shoved into your pockets, head tilted ever so slightly as you looked between her and lara.

lara, the traitor, wasted no time in answering. “alex. apparently, he’s planning to confess to sophia at the fundraiser.”

sophia braced herself, expecting you to tease her, maybe even laugh about it.

but instead your expression shifted.

it was subtle. your shoulders tensed just a little, your jaw tightening, something unreadable flashing behind your eyes before you quickly masked it with an easy grin. “oh?” you drawled, but your voice wasn’t as lighthearted as usual. “so, what—he’s just gonna make some big public scene about it?”

lara shrugged. “maybe.”

you scoffed, and sophia swore you rolled your eyes. “you could always just make it clear you’re not interested before he tries anything.”

sophia narrowed her eyes. “what do you care?”

“i dont” you said too fast, you were trying to cut off the conversation before it could lead anywhere dangerous. but then you hesitated, backtracking, exhaling softly through your nose before tilting your head toward her, your voice lowering just a bit. ��but you do. and if you don’t like him, that’s kinda annoying, isn’t it?”

she knew you had a point, but she wasn’t focused on that. she was focused on the way your fingers twitched at your sides, the way the muscle in your jaw flexed before relaxing, the way your eyes were carefully fixed on some random spot on the lockers instead of on her.

before she could say anything, your phone buzzed, and you glanced down at it, thumb moving lazily across the screen. “basil said to wait by music room three after school,” you muttered, still half-focused on whatever was on your phone.

lara perked up immediately. “ooh, band practice?”

that finally got your attention. you looked up, smirked, and shot lara a wink before going right back to your phone, like it was nothing. “well see you later.” then you left.

sophia felt it like a physical blow. her stomach twisted, heat creeping up her neck before she could stop it.

that was hers. that wink, that stupid smirk, the teasing lilt in your voice. a jealous feeling clouded her mind.

before she could even think about it, she turned to lara, brows furrowing. “how’d you even know about that?” she tried to sound casual, but there was a slight edge to her voice, one that lara definitely caught.

lara just smiled, slow and knowing, like she was enjoying this way too much. “music club.” sophia clenched her jaw.

for the whole week, sophia couldn’t get a moment of peace. alex had been relentless, hovering around her like an annoying gnat that just wouldn’t go away. he was everywhere. before class, after class, during lunch. and she couldn’t even focus when she was with you.

not because of you, obviously. if it were just you, she wouldn’t mind. but alex had somehow made it his mission to sit with you two every single day, running his mouth and making so much noise that sophia could barely concentrate.

it was finally friday, and she was trying. really trying. to focus on solving an integration problem, gripping her pen just a little too tightly as she stared down at the numbers.

“and then my parents wanted me to go to princeton,” alex droned on beside her, leaning back in his chair smugly. like he belonged there with you two, “but i thought—”

sophia didn’t even look at him. she just clenched her jaw and kept scribbling in her notebook, pointedly ignoring him.

you, on the other hand, were visibly tense. she could tell by the way your fingers tapped impatiently against the table, the way your jaw clenched tight and defined, the muscle flexing beneath your skin.

she hated that she noticed.

alex was still talking. still. he had barely shut up the entire session, and it had been four whole days of him yapping while she was just trying to learn.

you exhaled sharply through your nose and finally snapped, turning to him with an expression so flat it sent a thrill through sophia’s spine.

“alex,” you said, voice edged with frustration. “shut the fuck up.”

alex blinked. “huh?”

you tilted your head, feigning patience, but your tone was anything but. “for the past four days, you’ve done nothing but talk about shit no one cares about while soph is literally trying to learn. do you even need to be here?”

alex scoffed, shifting in his chair. “damn, no need to be so hostile.”

“no, actually, i do,” you shot back. “because you’re annoying as hell and we’re trying to focus. so unless you suddenly became a calculus tutor, fuck off.”

sophia had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. the look on alex’s face was priceless. eyes wide, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water before he muttered something under his breath and stood up, huffing as he stomped off.

you let out a long sigh, rubbing your temples before turning back to her.

“finally,” you muttered. “now, where were we?”

sophia blinked down at her notebook, heart skipping a beat. “integration” she murmured.

sophia woke up to the soft glow of sunlight filtering through her curtains, warming her face. but more than that, she woke up to the sound of music. faint but distinct, a steady rhythm pulsing through the floorboards.

she groaned, burying her face into her pillow for a moment before sighing and pushing herself up. rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she shuffled out of bed, still dressed in her pajama shorts and an oversized hoodie, her hair a mess of waves from sleep.

it was saturday. finally. she’d been dreading the weekend for one reason only. alex’s ridiculous plan to confess at the fundraiser. but after you had told him to fuck off in the bluntest way possible, she was praying he’d finally take the hint and drop it.

but that wasn’t her concern right now. because where the hell was that noise coming from?

barefoot, she padded downstairs, the music growing louder as she made her way to the basement door. it wasn’t just any music. it was live music, the deep hum of a bass and the sharp strum of a guitar.

she pushed the door open and peeked in, blinking at the sight before her.

basil and the rest of the band were scattered around the basement, instruments in hand, deep in the middle of rehearsal. the air buzzed with the sound of drums, the occasional offbeat note, and laughter between takes.

but her gaze landed on you immediately.

you were sitting on a stool, guitar resting on your thigh, fingers effortlessly plucking at the strings. you were focused, brow slightly furrowed, bottom lip caught between your teeth. and god, it was stupidly attractive.

before she could even process that thought, you looked up—and your gaze locked onto hers.

for a second, the rest of the basement faded away.

your eyes flickered down, taking in her disheveled appearance, and then you grinned, that slow, teasing kind that made something in her stomach tighten. “morning, sleeping beauty.”

sophia huffed, crossing her arms, suddenly very aware of how she must look. “why the hell are you playing so early?”

“it’s literally noon.”

she scowled, making you chuckle as you set your guitar down, leaning forward on your elbows. “you mad ‘cause we woke you up or ‘cause you missed half the practice?”

her cheeks warmed. half the practice? how long had you been down here? she glanced at basil, who just raised a brow at her knowingly before returning to tuning his bass.

“whatever,” she muttered, shifting on her feet. but before she could turn to leave, you reached out, catching her wrist gently.

“stay,” you said, softer this time. “we’re almost done, and you can judge our setlist.”

sophia hesitated. the way your fingers curled around her wrist—light but firm—made her brain stall for a second.

but she rolled her eyes, feigning disinterest. “fine. but if it sucks, i’m telling you.”

you smirked, giving her wrist a small squeeze before letting go. “wouldn’t expect anything less from you, baby.” her cheeks immediately turned red.

sophia couldn’t stop staring.

you moved effortlessly, arms flexing as you adjusted the equipment in the truck, the fading sunset casting a golden glow on your skin. your sleeves were rolled up, exposing the lean definition of your forearms, and when you lifted a speaker into place, the wind tugged at the hem of your white button-up, lifting it just enough to reveal a sliver of your stomach.

“soph, get the fuck in the car.”

her brother’s voice snapped her out of it. she blinked, heat creeping up her neck as she realized she had been blatantly staring. jesus christ.

rolling her eyes to play it off, she huffed and strode toward the truck. she was dressed for the fundraiser. her silky top tucked neatly into a fitted skirt that accentuated her figure, her hair styled effortlessly, makeup subtle but effective. she knew she looked good. she just wished she wasn’t thinking about whether you thought so too.

she barely had a second to settle into the truck before you slid in beside her. and then another bandmate followed, cramming into the seat on your other side.

the space was ridiculously tight.

sophia sucked in a breath as your thigh pressed flush against hers. your shoulder bumped into her, and you let out a quiet grunt, shifting slightly. only for the guy next to you to do the same, squeezing you further into her space.

“fuck,” you muttered, glancing down at her. “okay, this is—hold on.”

before she could process it, your arm lifted and draped over her shoulders.

her breath hitched.

“what the hell are you doing?” she hissed, stiffening.

“trying to not breath down your neck,” you deadpanned, tilting your head toward the guy practically squishing you from the other side.

sophia clenched her jaw, but she didn’t shove you off. mostly because you were right. the way you were packed into the truck, this was the only way to make it even remotely comfortable. but also…you were warm. and close. and smelled stupidly good.

your fingers lightly rested against her arm, thumb brushing against the fabric of her sleeve as you got settled. and when you turned your head slightly, murmuring, “better?” so close to her ear, she almost forgot how to function.

she exhaled through her nose, rolling her eyes as if her pulse wasn’t racing. “couldn’t get any worse.”

you chuckled, clearly amused, but you didn’t say anything else. just relaxed into the seat, arm still loosely slung around her. and sophia sat there, unmoving, fighting the urge to lean into you.

the whole ride was oddly comforting. light chatter from the front row with the soft music playing.

the way your fingers absentmindedly tapped against her arm, keeping time with the soft beat of the radio. the occasional hum under your breath when a song you liked came on. the lazy tilt of your head against the seat, eyes half-lidded, relaxed, completely unaware of the absolute disaster unfolding beside you.

she felt trapped. surrounded. every inhale filled her lungs with you. she hated to admit that she liked it.

the truck rumbled to a stop, and sophia barely had a second to process before she felt you shift beside her. your arm, the one that had been slung so casually over her shoulders the whole ride, lifted away, leaving behind a ghost of warmth that sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

she exhaled sharply. god, she needed air.

but before she could bolt, the door swung open, and basil was already barking orders.

sophia rolled her eyes as she slid out of the truck, stretching her arms over her head, letting the crisp evening air cool the heat simmering under her skin.

the fundraiser was already coming to life around them. the sun was starting to lower on the horizon, painting the sky in warm hues of orange. carnival lights flickered on, illuminating the fairground in a golden glow. the scent of fried food and kettle corn drifted through the air, mingling with the distant laughter of kids running past.

but before she could take it all in, a heavy weight landed on her shoulders.

“carry that inside, yeah?”

sophia scowled at basil, who had just dropped a coiled-up cable over her like she was some kind of pack mule. “are you serious?”

basil only shooed her away. before she could snap at him, you walked past, effortlessly carrying an amp under one arm, a guitar case slung over your back. you shot her a grin over your shoulder. “c’mon, soph, at least pretend to be helpful.”

she grumbled something under her breath but followed anyway, dragging her feet as she carried the cable toward the stage area.

sophia cleared her throat, shifting on her feet. “alright, i’m gonna go find lara,” she announced, directing it mostly toward you and basil as you both worked on setting up. she needed to move, to go, to be anywhere but here—somewhere alex wouldn’t find her.

but before she could slip away, you turned to her, wiping your hands on your jeans, eyes locking onto hers, big wide doe eyes. “hey, you’re gonna come watch us play, right?” almost pleading. like her presence mattered

and god, why couldn’t she say no to you? why was that even a question?

she hadn’t seen you play in years. not since you were kids messing around in her garage, when your hands were too small to reach all the chords properly, when you’d grin at her between strums like you knew she was watching.

and now? now you were standing in front of her, taller, sharper, so much cooler than before, looking at her like it would make a difference if she was there.

she knew she should say something, but her mind was blank, lost in the way you tilted your head, looking at her expectantly.

sophia swallowed. tried to look unaffected. failed miserably.

“yeah,” she blurted out, barely a whisper. then, as if that wasn’t pathetic enough, she cleared her throat and tried again. “yeah. of course. i’ll be there.”

your face lit up instantly, all bright eyes and easy joy, and before she could even process what was happening, you wrapped your arms around her.

your arms were strong but gentle, warm but not suffocating, like you were made to hold her. you smelled like soap and a little bit of sweat from moving equipment, and it should not be as intoxicating as it was.

her hands hovered awkwardly on your back. patting it lightly not enough for you to notice, but enough for her to feel like she was about to melt straight into the ground.

then, just as quickly as you hugged her, you pulled back, grinning.

“awesome,” you said, still holding onto her arms for a second before finally letting go. “i’ll look for you in the crowd.”

she just nodded, not trusting herself to speak. and then scurried away to find lara and get alex out of sight, out of mind.

after what it seemed like minutes of having fun with her friends. the sun started to set slowly. and that was her que to leave. “gotta go guys” she said amongst the laughter.

“what. why so early?” megan perked up. “shes going to see her hot rockstar girlfriend” said lara with a smirk.

lara’s smirk deepened when sophia didn’t immediately deny it. “oh my god,” she drawled, nudging megan. “did you see that? she hesitated.”

sophia’s eyes widened, heat creeping up her neck. “i did not hesitate.” megan gasped theatrically, pressing a hand to her chest. “you totally hesitated.”

sophia groaned, shoving at lara’s shoulder. “she’s not my girlfriend.”

“yet,” lara shot back smoothly.

“shut up,” sophia muttered, but her ears burned.

her friends weren’t letting up. “nah, this is crazy,” megan grinned. “you got all dressed up just to go watch her play, huh?”

“that’s- i always look good!” sophia stammered. They were so annoying.

lara sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “it’s okay, soph. we get it. the effortlessly cool guitarist, the stage presence, the stupidly hot arm veins—”

before lara could even finish her sentence, sophia was already looking the other way, walking to the stage. she didn’t even turn around. she just flipped them off as she walked away, which only made them cackle harder.

sophia could already feel it before she even saw you—the buzz of anticipation in the air, the excited murmurs from the crowd, the way her pulse started to pick up as she pushed through the sea of people. and she finally got a good spot in the middle.

and then you walked onto the stage.

and sophia completely forgot how to breathe.

god.

the warm tones of the sunset traced every sharp angle of your jaw, the slope of your nose, the stray beads of sweat along your temple. the silver rings on your fingers caught the light as you flexed your hands, rolling out the tension before picking up your guitar. your sleeves were haphazardly rolled to your elbows, exposing the lean muscle of your forearms, your collarbones peeking through the loose neckline of your button-up.

you looked unreal.

her breath stalled in her throat as she watched you tilt your head back slightly. her fingers twitched at her sides, like some pathetic, desperate part of her wanted to reach for you.

then the first strum of your guitar broke through the air, and the sound of it. low and rich and you sent a shiver down her spine. the band kicked in, bass thrumming in her chest, drums pulsing like a heartbeat.

she wanted to keep watching forever. but then something blocked her view. a shadow fell over her, and her stomach dropped.

her focus wavered just enough for her to realize. alex.

he was saying something, voice edged with nervous excitement, but she wasn’t listening. couldn’t listen. not when you were right there, bathed in golden light, bass slung over your shoulder, looking like something out of a fever dream.

then, as if you could feel her staring.

you looked at her.

the air in her lungs vanished.

it wasn’t immediate. you didn’t react at first, just held her gaze, steady and unshaken, fingers still moving over the strings, body still swaying with the rhythm. but sophia felt it.

the weight of it. the intensity of it.

your lips parted slightly as you breathed through the lyrics, loose strands of hair falling into your face, eyes barely lidded under the glow.

she had to look away. because if she didn’t, if she kept looking, if she let herself fall for you again and she wasn’t sure she’d survive it.

alex was still talking. something about how he’s liked her for a while, how he wanted to tell her properly, how he knew the timing wasn’t great. her pulse was still in her throat.

her thoughts were spiraling. all she could think about was you. she felt exposed. like something inside her had cracked wide open, and every feeling she had been pushing down for years was crawling out, raw and desperate, begging to be acknowledged.

she had spent too long convincing herself this was over. that whatever she felt for you was just nostalgia, and that she wasn’t still looking at you the same way she did when she was nine. hopelessly smitten.

she was right back where she started. and she was drowning in it.

“—so would you go out with me?,” alex was saying infront her. but all she could look at was you.

she barely even registered his voice. her thoughts were screaming. she needed to stop this. she needed to push it all back down, needed to bury it so deep it never saw the light of day again.

before she could think, before she could stop herself, the words were already tumbling out.

“yes, alex. i’d love to go out with you.”

362 notes · View notes

fanfictionismyaddiction · 9 hours ago

Text

This Wasn’t in the Contract

Word Count: 1,6k

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: When a gossip account claims Lando Norris has a secret girlfriend, he jokingly confirms it—except he names you, his childhood best friend, as his mysterious partner. Now, you’re stuck fake-dating the most unserious man on the grid.

________________________________________________________

Chapter 1: A Joke Gone Too Far

You weren’t the type to start your day by checking celebrity gossip, but apparently, you should have been.

Because if you had, maybe you wouldn’t have woken up to 237 unread messages and a phone call from your mother screaming, “HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME YOU’RE DATING LANDO?!”

“…What?” Your brain was still booting up, barely processing her words as you squinted at the sunlight streaming through your blinds.

“Don’t play dumb! It’s all over Twitter! ‘Lando Norris soft-launches secret girlfriend!’”

That got your attention. You bolted upright, nearly knocking your laptop off the bed. “Lando did what?”

“I don’t know, you tell me! Did you think I wouldn’t find out? The neighbors are texting me about it! The neighbors!”

You barely heard her as you scrolled through your phone, your heart pounding. Sure enough, there it was—a blurry paparazzi photo of Lando, looking suspiciously happy as he walked through Monaco. The caption?

Lando Norris spotted out with mystery girlfriend. Who is she?

Well, it’s not me, that’s for sure.

But the real problem wasn’t the article. No, the problem was the Twitter chaos that followed.

@F1TeaSpill: Lando Norris has a secret girlfriend… my life is over.

@WAGwatch: McLaren’s golden boy is TAKEN. The girl remains unknown, but sources say they’ve been dating for months.

And then, the worst part.

A verified tweet from Lando himself.

@LandoNorris: Fine, you caught me. It’s Y/n. We wanted to keep it private, but oh well.

You stared at the screen in horror.

“…I’m going to kill him.”

Your mom gasped. “I knew you were dating! My baby girl is in love!”

You hung up.

________________________________________________________

Chapter 2: How to Accidentally Get a Girlfriend

It took exactly four angry phone calls and one very aggressive Uber ride to track Lando down at his apartment. The second he opened the door, you shoved your phone in his face.

“What. The. Fuck.”

Lando blinked at you, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He was still in his pajamas—a McLaren hoodie and boxers, because of course he was. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

You ignored him, scrolling aggressively through Twitter. “Did you—did you seriously just announce to the entire world that we’re dating?!”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Okay, so, hear me out—”

“No.”

“—I thought it would be funny.”

You took a deep breath. Counted to five. “You thought it would be funny?”

“In my defense, it was funny.”

You smacked his arm. “Lando!”

“OW—okay, okay, look!” He took a step back, holding up his hands. “There was this dumb article saying I had a secret girlfriend, and people wouldn’t shut up about it. So I thought, why not have a little fun? I didn’t think people would actually believe me!”

You stared at him, unamused. “Lando. You have millions of followers. Of course they believed you!”

“…Oh.”

“Oh?”

He winced. “I mean… in hindsight, yeah, that makes sense.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “This is so bad. My mom thinks it’s real. People are probably stalking my Instagram as we speak!”

Lando hesitated. “So… what if we just roll with it?”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He grinned, that signature cheeky smile that meant he was about to say something very stupid. “Think about it! We fake date for a while, mess with the media, then ‘break up’ later. It’s the perfect plan.”

You scoffed. “Perfect for who?”

“Both of us!” He threw an arm around your shoulders, ignoring the way you stiffened. “You get clout, I get people off my back about my dating life, and—bonus!—we get to mess with the internet. Win-win-win.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. “That’s literally the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“…But?”

“…But it would be kinda funny.”

He gasped. “So you’ll do it?”

You sighed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but fine. One month. That’s it.”

Lando beamed. “Deal. Now, let’s get to work.

You frowned. “Work?”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Time for our first ‘couple’ Instagram post.”

You were already regretting this.

________________________________________________________

Chapter 3: The ‘Soft Launch’ Debacle

If someone had told you that by noon, you’d be sitting on Lando’s couch with him hovering over you, analyzing potential Instagram captions for your fake couple post, you would have laughed in their face.

Yet, here you were.

“This one’s good,” Lando said, showing you his phone.

You squinted at it. ‘My ride or die. ❤️’

“No,” you said flatly.

He pouted. “Why not? It’s cute!”

“It’s cringe.”

Lando rolled his eyes, flopping onto the couch beside you. “Fine. What about—‘Finally caught myself a podium-worthy girl’?”

You stared at him. “Lando.”

“Yes, love?”

“Shut up.”

He burst into laughter, nearly falling off the couch. “Come on, Y/n, help me out here! We need to be convincing.”

You sighed. “Can’t we just post a normal picture?”

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p.’ “We need romance. We need passion.”

“We need therapy,” you muttered.

But you gave in. Because somehow, against all logic, you’d agreed to this stupid fake-dating scheme. You allowed Lando to take a selfie of the two of you, his arm slung around your shoulders, his grin wide and cheeky while you tried not to look like you wanted to strangle him.

Fifteen minutes later, it was live.

@LandoNorris: She said yes. ❤️

“…Lando,” you said slowly.

“Hmm?”

“This makes it sound like we’re engaged.”

“Oops.”

“Oops?!”

But it was too late. Twitter had already exploded.

@F1GossipGirl: WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE SAID YES??

@McLarenFan4Life: Engaged. ENGAGED. I need a moment.

@Y/nDefender: okay but if y/n makes him less of a menace on the track i support it

You groaned. “You suck.”

Lando, completely unbothered, smirked. “Oh, fiancée, you wound me.”

You were going to kill him.

________________________________________________________

Chapter 4: McLaren is Concerned

The next day, you made a mistake.

You agreed to physically show up at McLaren’s HQ with Lando.

You should have known it was a bad idea when, the second you stepped inside, his PR manager spotted you and immediately looked stressed.

“Lando.” The poor man looked like he hadn’t slept since 2018. “Care to explain?”

Lando, ever the picture of innocence, grinned. “Explain what?”

The PR manager sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The engagement. The internet meltdown. The sponsorship offers from wedding brands.”

You choked. “Wait—what?”

Lando just laughed. “People love love, mate.”

The PR manager turned to you, exasperated. “Are you really engaged?”

You opened your mouth to deny it—

“She doesn’t like labels,” Lando cut in smoothly, throwing an arm around your waist.

You resisted the urge to shove him into a wall.

“…Right.” The PR manager didn’t look convinced. “Well, just… keep it under control, okay? We don’t need another Daniel Ricciardo social media incident.”

You weren’t sure what that meant, but judging by the way Lando immediately sobered up, it was serious.

“Got it,” Lando said, suddenly obedient.

You made a mental note to ask Daniel about that later.

________________________________________________________

Chapter 5: Paparazzi and Near-Death Experiences

Two weeks into the fake-dating scheme, things escalated.

First, the paparazzi started following you everywhere. Which was fine—except for the fact that Lando used this as an opportunity to be an absolute menace.

“Y/n, darling,” he said loudly one day outside a café, dramatically pulling you into a dip like you were in a bad rom-com.

You struggled in his grip. “Put me down before I punch you.”

“Ah, my sweet, violent love,” he sighed.

The cameras loved it.

Then, there was the incident with the McLaren team barbecue.

The entire grid had been invited, which meant you were subjected to hours of hearing Max and Charles tease Lando about his ‘wife.’

“She must be an angel to put up with you,” Max had joked, sipping his drink.

“I’m a delight,” Lando shot back.

You, meanwhile, were trying very hard not to blush when Charles leaned over and whispered, “I think he actually likes you.”

Which was ridiculous. Obviously. Right?

Right.

(Then Lando draped his jacket over you later that night when it got cold, and you started questioning everything.)

________________________________________________________

Chapter 6: The Fake Breakup Plan

By the third week, you and Lando had a problem.

Your parents—who had never once taken anything you did on the internet seriously—fully believed you were dating.

Which wouldn’t have been a big deal, except now your entire family wanted to meet Lando.

“My mom keeps asking if we’re doing a destination wedding,” you hissed one evening, pacing around Lando’s apartment.

He snorted. “Tell her I’m thinking Monaco.”

“Lando, focus!”

He grinned. “Relax. We’ll just fake a breakup.”

You paused. “…How?”

“Easy.” He leaned back, stretching. “I’ll cheat on you.”

You nearly choked on air. “Excuse me?!”

“Not really,” he said, rolling his eyes. “We’ll stage something. Maybe I get ‘caught’ with a model or something.”

You frowned. “…We could just say we broke up because we realized we’re better as friends.”

He stared at you. “Where’s the drama in that?”

“You love drama.”

“I live for it,” he agreed.

You groaned. “Fine. But no cheating scandal. We’ll figure something else out.”

Lando pouted. “Boring.”

You ignored him, but deep down, a tiny part of you was unreasonably annoyed at the thought of him fake-dating someone else.

Which was dumb. Because this wasn’t real.

Right?

Right.

…Shit.

________________________________________________________

Chapter 7: When Fake Starts Feeling Real

Somewhere along the line, you stopped noticing when Lando reached for your hand in public.

You stopped flinching when he casually draped an arm around your shoulders.

And you definitely didn’t mind when he pulled you into his side during movie nights, letting you steal his hoodie like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It was fake. You knew that.

But then, one night, he looked at you—really looked at you—and said softly, “You know, I think I’d actually marry you.”

And for the first time, you didn’t have a comeback.

185 notes · View notes

kiwriteswords · 1 day ago

Text

Why I've spent my whole life trying to put it into words [Aaron Hotchner x Best Friend!Reader]

Masterlist|| Ao3||Word Count: 5k|| AN: This is inspired by the song You are in love by Taylor Swift...legit...my favorite piece I've written <3 Tags/Warnings: female reader, established relationship, sexual themes, mdni, no smut, but mentions of sex, yearning!Hotch, in love!hotch, best friends, Intimacy, this is INTIMATE, Hotch's POV, Sad!Hotch, Jack Hotchner is mentioned, Haley Hotchner is mentioned, 5+1, alcohol tw, ROMANCE IS NOT DEAD PEOPLE, Reader cannot cook to save her life, free-spirit!reader, reader struggles to open up sometimes Summary: 5 Times Aaron Hotchner realizes you're his best friend + 1 time he tells you.

The bullpen had long since emptied.

Desks abandoned, lights dimmed. The hum of the vending machines below, the faint buzz of the overhead fluorescents—

Those were the only sounds keeping him company now.

Aaron sat in his office, perched over files like they held secrets no one else could see. The rest of the team had told him to go home, told him the case was done. Closed. Wrapped neatly in bureaucratic red tape.

But something still gnawed at him.

Something still didn’t sit right. He didn’t often get this feeling, but when he had an itch, he just had to scratch it.

Obsessively, almost.

He rubbed at his temple, willing the creeping headache to back off. His eyes burned from staring too long at reports that no longer blurred together but formed patterns he wasn’t convinced were coincidence.

Rossi had chuckled earlier, slapping a heavy hand on his shoulder, "You're overtired, Aaron. Let it go."

Morgan had shot him a grin, all charm and ease, "Man, you're gonna drive yourself crazy if you keep picking this apart."

Emily, exasperated but fond, had tossed over her shoulder as she left, "Get some sleep, Hotch. You’ve earned it."

He almost believed them.

Almost.

Until you walked in. Quiet, unassuming—

But so damn steady.

You didn't say much at first. Just nudged open the door with your hip, balancing an entire pot of coffee like it was some peace offering.

Like you already knew he wouldn’t leave.

Knew he wouldn’t rest until whatever weight clung to his shoulders shook free.

“I figured,” you said simply, setting the pot down beside his untouched cup. “If you’re going to obsess over this all night, you’ll need caffeine.” Settling in across from him, still in your clothes from the jet. Your blouse slightly wrinkled, “And company.” You smiled

He couldn’t help the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You always knew exactly how to read him—

Without making him feel like a project.

Like something broken that needed fixing.

You didn’t ask questions or try to talk him down. Instead, you grabbed one of the files strewn across his desk, slid into the chair across from him, and got to work.

He watched for a second longer than he should’ve. The way you tucked your hair behind your ear absentmindedly, the soft furrow in your brow as you read, lips parting just slightly when something caught your attention. There was no complaint, no impatience—

Just that quiet, unwavering presence you always seemed to bring.

Time blurred. Reports shuffled between you both, punctuated by the occasional sip of coffee and the rustle of paper. Midnight came and went.

And still, you stayed.

Eventually, Hotch leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose. His gaze drifted back to you. You looked up then, catching him mid-thought, eyes curious.

“What’s with the funny look?” you asked lightly, a small smile playing at your lips.

He swallowed.

Shook his head, “Nothing,” he said softly, almost too quickly.

But the truth sat heavy in his chest, undeniable.

Because somewhere between the case files, the stale coffee, and the quiet understanding you offered without asking for anything in return—

It hit him.

You were his best friend.

Not just his partner, not just his girlfriend.

His person.

The one who stayed. Who understood. Who saw every sharp edge, every obsessive tendency, and chose to be here anyway.

He wondered briefly if it showed on his face—

If you could see how the realization cracked something open in him.

But you just smiled again, tilting your head, and went back to the file without pressing.

That was another reason why.

He exhaled, forcing his eyes back down to the paperwork, but his focus was already elsewhere.

"You're my best friend."

He didn’t say it aloud.

Not yet.

But the thought lingered—

Settled somewhere deep, where it would stay warm until he was ready.

II.

Saturday mornings had never looked quite like this.

Aaron stood leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, coffee cup in hand, as he watched you work. Or—more accurately—watched you try not to set his kitchen on fire.

You’d insisted. Insisted that after the week they’d all had, you’d cook breakfast.

Something nice, you promised.

He hadn’t reminded you of that conversation months ago, where you admitted with no shame whatsoever that cooking wasn’t exactly your strength.

You were nothing if not determined.

And now, as he watched from a safe distance, Aaron wondered if it was possible to burn bacon and undercook it at the same time.

The smell of something acrid mixed with the faint scent of coffee as you plated… well, whatever attempt had survived the pan. Eggs scrambled into something that resembled the theme of a Dr. Suess novel. Bacon blackened on the ends, yet suspiciously soft in the middle. And the toast—charred just enough to set off the smoke alarm if you weren’t careful.

Jack, ever the polite little man, sat at the table with his fork poised, eyeing the plate in front of him with the same caution he reserved for vegetables.

You, for your part, plopped down beside him, trying valiantly to act like the mess wasn’t as bad as it looked.

Aaron bit the inside of his cheek, lips twitching, fighting back the laugh threatening to bubble out of him.

You poked at your eggs, then braved a bite—

Only to grimace so subtly he almost missed it.

Jack glanced between you both, unsure whether to risk saying anything.

The silence stretched—

Until you finally gave up, setting your fork down dramatically with a sigh.

“I think I’ve just committed a crime against breakfast,” you muttered, looking at your plate like it personally offended you.

You glanced over at Aaron, catching the barely-contained amusement in his eyes.

“I like it better when you cook anyway,” you added, soft but sweet, as if it were some confession.

That did it.

The laugh escaped before he could stop it. A real, genuine, rare laugh—

Deep, warm, and unguarded.

He hadn’t even realized how tight his chest felt until it loosened.

Jack blinked at him, then giggled too, relief flashing across his face.

“We should’ve had ice cream,” Jack piped up, earnest as ever. “For breakfast.”

Without missing a beat, you nodded, “You know what, you’re right. We should’ve.”

Aaron shook his head, still smiling, still trying to school his face into something more neutral but failing miserably.

You reached over, ruffling Jack’s hair as he beamed at you, already forgetting about the eggs.

And there it was again—

That look.

That tightening in his throat.

That weight in his chest.

He’d known for a long time now that he loved you. That much had settled quietly between you both, something unshakable and steady.

But sitting here, watching you laugh with Jack, watching you fold so seamlessly into the spaces of his life—the messy, imperfect spaces—hit differently.

Hit harder.

It wasn’t just love.

It wasn’t just partnership.

It was the way you’d become part of his family without ever asking him to be anything other than himself.

It was the way you burned toast and still made Saturday mornings feel lighter.

The way you looked at Jack like he was yours too.

The way you looked at him like all of this—the chaos, the quiet, the sharp edges—was enough.

"You’re my best friend."

The thought lodged somewhere deep, solid and true.

You caught him staring again, gave him a quizzical look, eyebrows raised.

“What?” you asked, playful. “That bad, huh?”

He shook his head, still smiling, voice soft, “No. Not bad at all.”

You didn’t press. Just gave him one of those grins that could unravel anyone if they let it.

Aaron glanced at the mess of plates, the laughter still hanging in the air, and decided he didn’t care if breakfast had been a disaster.

He had everything he needed right here.

III.

The case had wrapped, mercifully.

Suspect caught. Papers signed. Local PD…satisfied. As satisfied as they can be.

What should’ve been a relief, though, left Aaron gritting his teeth as he loaded into the car.

The jet was down for maintenance.

A mechanical issue, they'd said.

Nothing serious—

But serious enough to leave the team stranded with no choice but to drive back.

Hours on the open road, split between borrowed cars, all scattered in twos.

Rossi had made a crack about how it was probably some cosmic sign they all needed to "slow down and enjoy the journey."

Aaron didn’t find that amusing.

The idea of spending hours locked in a car didn’t exactly relax him. He liked efficiency. Control. Time maximized, not wasted. He would’ve preferred the jet.

But as it turned out, the universe had one mercy left:

You were the one riding with him.

Something about lovebirds sticking together, Derek encouraged.

At first, the quiet settled easily—

Your presence something familiar and grounding, the way it always was. He focused on the road, tuning into the faint hum of classic rock spilling from the speakers. Something he'd put on more out of habit than anything else.

Five minutes in, he noticed.

The soft, off-key hum coming from the passenger seat.

He flicked his eyes over briefly.

You were singing—

Badly.

And you weren’t trying to hide it, either.

So unapologetically you. The you he loved.

Adored.

The corners of his mouth threatened to tug upwards.

This wasn’t your kind of music. He knew that. But you’d asked once what he listened to on long drives, and he’d told you. And now here you were, nodding your head to the rhythm, mouthing lyrics.

He let himself glance at you longer than he should have, the road stretching ahead endlessly.

The way you tapped your fingers against your thigh, how you kept stealing glances at him between verses to see if he was paying attention.

You made the hours not so bad.

Actually—

You made them...good.

His best friend.

The thought slid in again, unbidden, familiar now.

His grip on the steering wheel loosened slightly.

Hours passed. Conversation came easy with you—

Quiet stretches filled with comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional sarcastic quip or comment that had him biting back a smile.

Eventually, at some point well into the drive, you insisted they switch. He pulled off at a rest stop without much argument, trusting you with the wheel.

For a while, he buried himself in a case file, pen scratching, his brows knit as the miles slipped by.

Until something small tugged at his attention.

The GPS.

You weren’t following it.

He glanced up. Frowned slightly.

“Where are you going?” he asked, tone calm but curious, almost suspicious.

You shot him a grin, eyes fixed on the road, “Trust me.”

Those two words.

They had more weight than you probably knew.

Aaron almost replied, almost protested—

Until he saw you slow, flicking on your blinker, pulling into a near-empty parking lot.

His frown deepened.

The ocean stretched out just beyond the sand dunes, gray and shimmering under a setting sun. The air still held that early spring bite, not warm enough to be here, not really. The waves looked brutal, frothy, cold.

You parked, throwing the car into park before looking at him expectantly.

“Come on,” you said, already reaching for the door handle.

He blinked, “Are you serious?”

You didn’t answer. Just slipped out of the car like it was the most natural thing in the world, gravel crunching under your feet. He watched, momentarily stunned, as you kicked off your shoes without hesitation and darted toward the sand.

It took him longer to move.

You were already down the slope, the wind catching your hair, your jacket flapping behind you. You ran—

Ran like no one was watching.

Spinning in lazy circles, arms stretched wide, laughing at nothing at all.

The sky was streaked in pinks and blues, the sun kissing the edge of the horizon.

And there you were.

So carefree, so alive—

As if the week you’d just had hadn’t happened at all.

Aaron swallowed thickly, pulse strange in his ears.

You looked like something he’d forgotten he could want.

Youthful. Joyful. Unburdened.

How the hell did you always know?

Finally, he shoved open the door, hands in his pockets as he made his way toward you.

You caught sight of him as you turned—grinned—and without warning, ran straight back, crashing into him like a force of nature. A ball of warmth and energy, breathless and glowing.

“You’re insane,” he muttered, but there was no heat behind it.

You looked up at him, wind whipping strands of hair across your face.

“So I’ve been told.”

And before he could offer some other dry remark, you leaned up and kissed him—

Quick but firm, like it was the only logical response.

It was.

He felt himself smile against your lips despite the cold. Despite everything.

I love you, you’re my best friend.

The words echoed loud in his chest, clearer than ever before.

You had dragged him out of his head, out of the grind and exhaustion, into this moment. A simple, ridiculous detour—

But perfect in its absurdity.

He held you a little tighter, burying his nose in your hair, breathing you in.

Yeah.

You knew exactly what he needed.

You always did.

IV.

You didn’t fight often.

Rarely, in fact.

It wasn’t necessary.

You understood him—

Almost unnervingly well.

The rhythms, the silences, the unspoken things he kept close to his chest. You moved alongside him like you'd been doing it your whole life, sidestepping the need for arguments before they ever gained traction.

Which made it all the worse when it happened.

He could still hear the edge in his own voice, the sharpness he never liked to use with you. It had started small. A briefing after a long case. You’d been quiet—too quiet—until finally you told him.

The Bureau had offered you a temporary undercover role.

A weekend. One week, tops.

A specialized operation, short turnaround.

You were perfectly qualified. More than capable. He knew that. Respected it.

And still—

He’d felt something ugly twist inside.

It wasn’t rational.

It wasn’t professional.

It was personal.

But instead of telling you that, instead of stripping down the mask of pride and control he always wore, he’d deflected. Asked if you were sure. If it was worth it. If you understood the risk—questions he had no business asking, because you knew damn well what you were doing.

You bickered—

Circling each other in familiar patterns, but the undercurrent felt different this time.

Tense.

Frustrated.

He wanted to tell you not to go.

He wanted to tell you he couldn’t stand the idea of you gone, out there without him, without knowing if you’d be safe.

But what came out instead was clipped remarks, deflections.

And pride. Always pride.

He'd watched as your expression shifted—tired, maybe even a little hurt—but resolute. You were going.

You had to.

And he couldn’t blame you. Wouldn’t.

Not when he respected the hell out of who you were and what you were capable of.

But God, he’d looked at you then. Looked at you with something you didn’t seem to recognize.

That look.

The one he’d caught himself giving you before.

The one you hadn’t figured out yet.

I love you. You're my best friend.

He hadn't said it.

Couldn't.

Thought it juvenile, silly.

What grown man confessed something like that out loud?

So he let the argument fizzle, let you walk away to pack, and found himself alone in his apartment, staring at the ceiling like it might offer him some clarity.

It didn’t.

The bed felt empty without you.

The space beside him cold, unfamiliar.

He tossed. Turned. Listened to the muffled sounds of traffic outside, wondering where you were at that exact moment—

What role you’d slipped into, how you were carrying yourself, who was around to watch your back.

He didn’t like feeling powerless.

Didn’t like this ache in his chest that he couldn’t quiet, no matter how many case files he’d tried to bury himself in earlier.

And the longer he laid there, sleepless and restless, the more one thought threaded itself deeper:

You’re my best friend.

He couldn’t shake it.

He thought about Haley, briefly.

How much he’d loved her. His wife. Jack’s mother. High school sweetheart. First…everything, pretty much.

But it wasn’t the same.

This—you—felt different.

With you, he never had to stop being himself.

You never asked him to shrink or soften the sharp edges. Never expected him to be anything other than exactly who he was.

You laughed at his dry, quiet humor—

The kind that others barely caught.

Matched it sometimes, firing back quips that no one else would dare say but always made him bite back a smirk.

You knew his next move before he did.

Knew the reasons behind the things he didn’t verbalize.

And you let him be.

You got him.

He wondered, lying there, when exactly you’d become his person.

Wondered if he’d ever really had a best friend before you.

The age difference between his brother and him. The forced parentified self he became around his brother, never allowed room for friendship.

Sure, in passing there were coworkers he trusted--relied on--the job pretty much called for it. But he’s not sure he’d consider Derek Morgan his best friend. He’s not sure he could call up a former body from his prosecutor days and expect them to put the type of smile you put on his face.

It was so much more than just love, romance, and companionship with you. He’s pretty sure he will spend the rest of his life trying to put into words what it is you do to him. For him.

His best friend.

It felt childish, stupid even, to think of it in those terms.

But there it was.

Simple.

True.

You were the one he wanted to tell everything to.

The one whose absence left something hollow in his chest.

The one he loved.

The one who knew him.

His best friend.

And somehow, that realization cut deeper than any argument ever could.

He hadn't expected moving boxes and takeout containers to feel this monumental.

It was simple, really. Tiring. The kind of day that usually left him cranky and sore, mind already drifting to paperwork or tomorrow's responsibilities.

But tonight?

Tonight was different.

Your things were here now—

Intermingled with his. Coats hanging beside his in the closet. Your books tucked beside his on the shelves. Your toothbrush next to his in the bathroom, like it had always belonged there.

Aaron sat slouched on the living room couch, one arm lazily draped across the back, the other holding the nearly empty wine glass he’d been nursing. You were curled beside him, legs tangled with his, eyes heavy-lidded but bright. The bottle and a half of wine you’d worked through sat forgotten on the table next to the half-eaten boxes of Chinese food, now cold.

Jack had fallen asleep easily hours ago, his laughter still lingering faint in the air. Like the whole apartment felt lighter just from the two of you being here, together, as if something had finally clicked into place.

The music played low, some soft jazz station crackling through the speakers.

Neither of you said much for a while. Just occasional glances. The gentle brush of your foot against his calf. Comfortable silence.

Until you broke it, voice soft and a little slurred at the edges.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

He quirked a brow, glancing over at you, “Haven’t we covered all the bases?”

You smiled, lazy and loose, shaking your head, “Humor me.”

So you traded stories—

Small things at first.

Embarrassing childhood memories. Weird quirks. The first concert you ever went to. He laughed at that, genuinely, the wine and exhaustion making it easier to let go.

And then you asked.

“What’s your biggest fear, Aaron?”

The question knocked something loose in his chest.

He blinked, caught off guard, searching your face.

You watched him carefully, but there was no pressure there. Just curiosity. Openness.

He hesitated. Briefly.

And you caught it.

You shifted, sitting up just slightly, balancing your wine glass on the armrest. There was something in your eyes now—

Not just the buzz of the alcohol, but that same steady, fearless look you had walking into danger.

Brave. Direct.

You licked your lips, almost nervous, but not backing down, “I’ll go first,” you said, voice quieter now.

He didn’t interrupt, letting you have the space.

You took a breath.

“My biggest fear is losing you.” Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, eyes fixed on some invisible spot on the floor, “or Jack.”

You laughed under your breath—wet, almost self-deprecating—but when you looked back at him, your gaze was raw.

“I’ve never had this before,” you continued, voice cracking just slightly. “Never had…someone who sees me. All of me. Good, bad, messy. And it scares the hell out of me how much I don’t want to lose it.”

His throat felt tight, the words catching somewhere. It wasn’t the wine making him feel choked up—

It was you.

The sheer honesty of it. The fact that even after all this time, you still managed to surprise him.

He set his glass down carefully, reaching over to catch your hand, fingers threading through yours.

“It’s the same,” he admitted, voice low. Rough. He swallowed, “losing you. Losing this. I never—” He paused, trying to find the right words, the ones sitting heavy in his chest. “I never want to lose you. And I’ll do everything I can to keep you. To keep both of you.”

You smiled softly at him, eyes glassy from the wine, the flush on your cheeks making you look impossibly angelic, impossibly his.

“You’re stuck with me now,” you teased, voice playful but laced with something tender. Then, almost mischievously, you added, “You know…you’re kind of my favorite person.”

He huffed a quiet laugh at that, shaking his head, but the weight of it—

God, it hit him hard.

You leaned in without hesitation, lips finding his, and the kiss tasted like fruit and something deeper.

Something permanent.

It wasn’t hurried.

It wasn’t messy.

It was moving.

All the weight of the day, the exhaustion, the vulnerability, poured into it.

When you finally pulled back, breath warm against his cheek, he stayed still—

Eyes opening slowly, wanting to just look at you.

Soak you in forever. And even after that. Even after forever ended, he’s sure he’d still want more.

You smiled, lazy and soft, and asked, “What’s that look for?”

He almost told you.

Almost let the words slip—

The ones he’d been feeling for months now, lodged deep in his chest every time you smiled at him, every time you laughed with Jack, every time you made his world feel brighter without even trying.

My best friend.

But instead, he shook his head faintly, voice quiet.

“I’m just thinking about you.”

You grinned, leaning in to press a kiss to his jaw, before pulling back, eyes glinting mischievously despite the wine haze.

“Well…” you murmured, voice dipping lower, lips brushing against his ear. “Now that we live together…want to go try out the bed properly?”

His breath caught.

Yeah.

He liked that idea.

Very much.

The bedroom was dark, save for the faint orange glow of streetlights filtering through the blinds. The occasional sound of a car passing below, the whisper of tree branches rustling against the windowpane—

Small things grounding him in the moment.

Aaron lay still, one arm wrapped tightly around you, the sheets tangled somewhere near his waist. Your head rested against his chest, breath steady, soft against his skin. The warmth of your body pressed close, leg draped lazily over his, completely relaxed in sleep.

It should’ve been easy for him to follow you there.

Sleep usually came fast after nights like this—

Hours spent wrapped up in you, nothing held back, every piece of himself laid bare.

But tonight…

He couldn’t.

Not when it felt like something inside him might split wide open.

Because he had never had this before.

Not like this.

He stared up at the ceiling, his fingers trailing absently along the curve of your back, and let the thoughts come.

You.

God, you.

These days, that’s what lived in his brain rent free.

You’d slipped into his life like you’d always been meant to be there, like some force had been quietly working all along to bring you to him when he needed you most.

He never imagined things could line up this perfectly.

Never imagined that after everything—loss after loss, disappointment after disappointment—something so good, so magnetic, would land right in front of him.

Aligning everything.

And stay.

You saw him.

You understood him in ways that no one else ever had. You didn’t flinch at the sharp edges, didn’t ask him to be softer or less guarded. You laughed at his dry, humorless jokes. Knew when to challenge him, when to let him be.

And the longer he lay there, the more it hit him:

You made him better.

Not by changing him.

But by showing him how to be—

How to trust, how to let himself breathe, how to love without the weight of past mistakes crushing him.

He swallowed, feeling it heavy in his chest.

You were his best friend.

His person.

His love.

The words sat so close to the surface he could hardly contain them.

And as if you sensed it, felt him turning them over in the dark, you shifted slightly against him—

Your hand tightening faintly on his chest, head nuzzling into his neck.

Your voice came out low, rough with sleep, but soft, “Aaron…why are you awake?”

He looked down, catching the faint outline of your face in the shadows.

The way you smiled at him—

Groggy, tender, like he was something precious.

That look.

The same one you always gave him when you caught him staring, trying to memorize this exact feeling.

He brushed his hand up to your cheek, thumb tracing along your temple.

For once, he didn’t hesitate.

“I was just thinking,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

You hummed softly in question, eyes still half-lidded, waiting.

He swallowed.

Felt the words lodge in his throat, thick and almost too big to say—but needing to be said all the same.

“You’re my best friend,” he finally said, voice low and sure. His hand cradled your face gently, as if he needed you to feel the weight of it.

You blinked at him, surprised, brow furrowed slightly like you didn’t quite understand what he meant—

Why it sounded so much more significant than it seemed.

He continued, his voice quieter but unwavering, “I love you. You know that. But it’s more than that.” His thumb brushed beneath your eye. “I’ve never met anyone who made me want to tell them everything. Who I wanted to know me—all of me. And you…you do. You know me. You handle me better than I know how to handle myself sometimes.”

You stared at him, eyes glassy, lips parted faintly, breath catching as he went on.

“I want to know everything about you. Every story, every thought you’ve never told anyone.” He swallowed, pulling you a little closer. “I never want to stop.”

There was something shining in your eyes now, even in the dim light. Something soft and stunned, but glowing.

“You make me a better person,” he whispered finally, voice almost breaking. “You’re my best friend.”

For a moment, the silence stretched—

Nothing but the sound of your breaths mingling in the dark.

Then you smiled.

So big, so full of something unspoken, eyes glassy but sure.

You leaned up, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was equal parts gentle and fierce. Like you wanted to pour all the words you couldn’t form right now into him.

When you pulled back, you gave him a lazy, flirtatious grin despite the emotion lingering behind it.

“Well…” your voice was thick, teasing but tender, “...how about we make use of that bed again, now that we’re a couple who shares absolutely everything?”

He laughed softly—really laughed—and let himself kiss you like he was holding the whole world in his hands.

Because maybe he was.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016 @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @Sweethotchlogy @softtdaisy

239 notes · View notes

reignpage · 2 days ago

Text

A Man's Place

In which you, Shoko and Utahime have some fun, leaving Satoru with nothing to do but watch

“Hey, no fair, come on!”

Poor Satoru, all tied up and at the mercy of three women who’d love nothing more than to bring the so-called ‘Honoured One’ down a peg or two. And can any of you be blamed?

He talks so much shit, the idea to make him eat his words naturally arose. Now, his wrists are bound behind his back by the rope Shoko had lying around — why? No one dare ask.

“At least get Utahime out of my face, her climaxing face is ugly.” To punctuate his ridiculous point, the sorcerer makes a face of disgust, to which the girl in question rolls her eyes at.

Bare and beautiful, your hands can’t stop exploring her body. She’s soft everywhere and you naturally find purchase on her hips as you hold her steady against your relentless pounding. The artificial cock is shiny with her juices, it sploshes and squelches inside her sloppy pussy, the head pushing its way through her gooey walls.

Behind the white-haired freak, Shoko is leaning against the headboard, holding his body up with her bare torso and you can see the man purposefully shuffle to feel her hard nipples scratch his back. She pulls out her lollipop, running it along the quivering bottom lip of Utahime and then on Satoru’s, but snatching it just as fast before he can engulf it in his drooling mouth.

Voice saccharine sweet and totally mocking, she says, “You say that, Satoru, but let’s not pretend you’re not arching your neck to catch her pretty lips in a kiss.”

To that, he scoffs.

“I just don’t understand why any of you would prefer that fake thing when you can have the real thing. Mine is so much better. And bigger!”

Through a particularly rough thrust from you and a choked moan, Utahime manages a sardonic laugh and trails a finger from his heavy balls, tracing a vein, and up to his red-hot tip which persistently leaks pearly white cum that, you won’t lie, makes your mouth water.

One hand ventures around her body, holding the weight of a bouncy breast, and tweaks her nipple. She squeals, head thumping against Satoru’s chest to get away from your expert hips and mischievous fingers. You meet his eyes which are unclothed by his blindfold. He grins.

“Hey, baby. Come here often?”

You roll your eyes. “We prefer the strap because this one doesn’t talk so much.”

He pouts.

“If I promise to be -ha- quiet, will you -quit it Sho! - at least let me eat one of you out? Maybe not Hime’s, she probably tastes -ngh- terrible.” The woman behind him is grinding her soaked pussy on his back and the feel of the wetness squelching on his hot skin is driving him crazy and distracting him from negotiating his way out of his predicament. “Okay, f-fine, I’ll eat her out too. Ah, God, you all sound so pretty. Hime, pull your head up, princess. Give Toru a big wet kiss, yeah?”

“Oh, look, Sho, he’s finally being honest.”

Your hips speed up a little, forcing pornographic moans out of the poor woman who can only cling onto Satoru’s thick thighs, digging her nails into his hard muscles. In agreement, Shoko stretches her slender arm out and you take the lollipop from her, making a show of wrapping your lips around the dwindling candy as you maintain eye contact with the short-haired woman, ignoring the piercing stare of a certain blue-eyed man.

“Hurry up and cum, Hime. It’s y/n’s turn soon. You can sit on her face as I fuck her with the strap, ‘kay?”

Utahime moans as a response.

“Hey! Don’t make plans for the next round without me. Argh! Why can’t I fuck someone?”

You all pause your grinding, thrusting, and moaning. In unison, you answer, “Because you’re a man.”

And then you return to the grinding, thrusting, and moaning.

Satoru pouts and makes a hmph! sound but doesn’t argue.

“Oh, fuck!”

Judging by the sudden low whimpers coming from Shoko’s mouth, Satoru’s hands have found the right angle to be at to feel for her clit. He’s no doubt rubbing at it frantically in revenge, enjoying the wetness coating his lonely fingers. You roll your eyes. “Sho.”

Eyes flicking open in rapid speed, she smacks the man on the head and wriggles herself out from behind him. He falls on the bed with a grumpy, ‘Meanie.’

Scooting up higher, you fuck Utahime over his long and powerful body. Her face is directly over his and his eyes can’t look anywhere but at her expressions of ecstasy. Quiet now, everyone knows he can’t bring himself to spew more lies so he lies there in silence, absorbing every sound that is pummelled out of her.

Free, Shoko pulls your hair and tugs your face to hers. The lollipop is discarded on the bed, which creaks dangerously, but her mouth tastes much sweeter. She’s addictive, a drug none of you could ever have enough of. She flicks your nipples with her free hand, thrusting her long, wet tongue into you, wrestling yours into submission.

A ridge in the strap has been rubbing your clit perfectly the entire time and a wave of pleasure washes over you, hips stuttering into Utahime’s pulsing pussy. Your moans are swallowed and buried beneath the much louder sounds of skin slapping.

Hime cums too. The room is filled with melodious moans, reverberating against the walls and reaching Satoru’s ears.

“You guys cumming? Can I get some of that? I swear, Toru Junior is so hard one jerk is enough. Come on, please? Sho? Sit on my face. I’m doing this for you. Being left out is no fun. Ah, Hime, is it good? Better than me? S’not, is it, baby? No, ‘course not. That’s why you should untie me and let me fuck you right.”

Everyone ignores him. And for the nth time this night, he misses out on yet another round of orgasms.

When Hime pushes herself away, the dildo pops out with a wet squelch. She blushes when you wink at her. Trying to catch her breath, she lies next to Satoru who doesn’t complain about the fact that he’s resting all of his weight on his arms in an uncomfortable position. In fact, when your eyes meet his, still kissing Shoko as she unbuckles the strap from your hips with practised hands, he smiles.

“Good job, babe. You deserve a reward. And it’s waiting for you.” He makes his cock jolt to make yet another stupid and useless point.

You and the girls look at each other for a second and then nod.

He hasn’t learned his lesson yet.

“Oh no. Okay, okay, okay. I’ll keep quiet now. No, wait, oh come on. I was just kidding.” Seeing that no one’s listening to him, he sighs and resigns himself to his fate. “Fine, have your fun for one more round. But right after, I’m getting out of this and you’re all in for it.”

A smile is shared between you and your partners-in-crime.

He’s fallen for it.

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk Gojo #jjk shoko #jjk utahime #gojo x reader #Shoko x reader #utahime x reader #gojo smut #shoko smut #utahime smut #gojo x shoko #gojo x utahime #jjk oneshot #gojo oneshot #shoko oneshot #utahime oneshot #jjk fem!reader #divider by @anitalenia

635 notes · View notes

dckweed · 3 days ago

Text

tiktok made me do it!gf vs tf141 boys

hey y’all ❤️ sad news, i had an appointment with my ortho specialist today, and unfortunately im going to remain in my immobilizer for at least 6 weeks, im not supposed to be doing any computer typing/positioning or lifting of more than a pound when I do take it off during the next few weeks (for working it out, showering etc..), so once I get through my drafts, which are mostly just blurbs ill be on a small hiatus. my fingers are essentially stuck and we have to unstuck them during the next month or more, if that makes sense (there’s a video on my page with an explanation of exactly what happened for those that are curious).

You’ve seen the TikTok trend—girlfriends dressing in their skimpiest, barely-there outfits before “going out with the girls” just to see how their boyfriends react.

Naturally, you have to try it on your man.

…And, uh, you might not have fully thought through the consequences…but then again, do you ever?

Captain Price – "lookin’ like a wet dream..."

You take your time getting ready—black lace top barely covering your chest, a miniskirt so short it might as well not exist, and heels that add just enough height to make your legs look miles long.

When you finally step into the living room, Price is sitting on the couch, one arm draped over the back, lazily sipping his whiskey. He glances up—

And freezes.

His glass halts mid-air. His entire body goes rigid.

"Sweetheart." His voice is slow, measured, dangerously calm.

You smile sweetly. "Yes?"

"Where the fuck do you think you’re going dressed like that?"

"Girls’ night!" You twirl, the hem of your skirt lifting dangerously. "Do you like my outfit?"

Price slowly sets his glass down. "Come here."

You take a step closer, biting back a grin.

He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, eyes dragging down your body, taking in every scandalous inch of exposed skin.

Then, firmly: "You’re not leaving this house."

You blink. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He straightens, his entire presence shifting into something dominant, possessive. "You think I’m lettin’ you walk out that door lookin’ like a fuckin’ wet dream?"

"John—"

"No."

"It’s just—"

"No, sweetheart." His voice drops, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you into his lap before you can react. "You’re staying’ right here."

You shiver. "s’just playin’, baby."

"Mm-hmm." He kisses your throat, your jaw, the corner of your lips. "Good. Now go change, or you’re stayin’ in for a different kind of night."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick – "crime against my sanity.."

Gaz is waiting by the door, checking his phone when you step into the hallway.

"Alright, babe, I—" He glances up.

And his brain short-circuits.

"…The fuck are you wearin’?"

You bat your lashes. "My outfit!"

"That’s not an outfit, baby, that’s a crime against my fuckin’ sanity—"

He stands up so fast, his phone nearly slipping from his fingers as he scans you—slowly, thoroughly.

"Ohhh, no, no, no." He shakes his head, gripping your waist before you can slip past him. "You’re not leaving the house like that."

"Why not?" You blink innocently. "It’s just clothes."

"Baby, if you walk out like this, I’m gonna end up in prison," he mutters, hands tightening against your hips. "What the fuck is this little… little… scrap of fabric you call a top?"

You giggle. "You don’t like it?"

"Oh, I like it, alright," he groans, dragging a hand down his face, "which is exactly the fuckin’ problem..”

"Kyle, it was a prank!" You can’t hold back your laughter anymore. "I wanted to see how you’d react!"

Gaz scoffs, then grins—sharp, dangerous. "Oh, babe. You’re in for it now."

You yelp as he scoops you up, carrying you back to the bedroom. "No, no, wait—"

"Nah, sweetheart. You wanna tease me? Let’s see how long you last before you start beggin’."

(Whoops. You played yourself.)

Simon "Ghost" Riley – "You’re Fucking Joking."

Ghost is in the kitchen when you walk in, pouring himself a cup of coffee, ready to go over the safety rules for the night, including demonstrating that you know how to properly (and safely) use your safety security keychain (it has a taser!), something he kept sharp and properly charged/filled for you.

"Alright, love, you ready to—" He turns.

His mug nearly slips from his fingers.

His grip tightens around the handle, eyes dragging slowly, dangerously down your body.

Silence.

Complete.

Utter.

Fucking silence.

"What?" You feign innocence. "You don’t like it?" It was a dress in a satin, rosie pink with black lace around the breasts, which had your tits generously on display with how low it was cut, it fell to just below your ass, leaving hardly anything to the imagination. It may or may not have been part of your massive lingerie collection, a piece he hadn’t seen yet..

Ghost stares. "You’re fucking joking."*

"Nope!" You adjust the straps that are holding your scrap of fabric on your body. "I’m going out! See you later, baby!"

Before you can take one step, a hand wraps around your wrist—firm, unyielding.

Ghost tugs, pulling you flush against his chest.

"Love." His voice drops, low, gravelly. "You step outside in that, and I will have to kill someone tonight." Only because he would never blatantly tell you to change, and would instead follow you in the shadows, ensuring creeps kept to themselves..

Your breath hitches. "…It was a prank."

His fingers tighten around your waist. "Was it?"

"Mmhmm." You swallow hard. "Didn’t think you’d react this badly—"

Ghost chuckles darkly. "Oh, sweetheart." His lips ghost over your jaw. "You wanted a reaction. Now you’ve got one."

(You have never feared for your ass cheeks more in than in this moment, knowing you won’t be sitting properly tomorrow..or for the next few days probably)

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish – "a bra with attitude!"

Soap whistles as he buttons up his jacket, turning toward you. "A’right, love, ye ready to—"

He stops dead in his tracks.

His jaw drops.

"The fuck is that?"

"My outfit!" You spin, the tiny fabric lifting way too much. "Cute, right?"

"Cute? BABE, IT'S A FUCKIN’ BRA WITH ATTITUDE!"

You bite your lip. "So you do like it!"

"Lass," he grabs your waist, "I’m seconds from cancelling your plans.”

"Why?"

"BECAUSE I AM NOT LETTIN’ YOU GO OUT THERE LOOKIN’ LIKE A FUCKIN’ SIN!"

You giggle. "But, Johnny, it’s just an outfit—" You drag out his name, whining it just the way he likes, and for a moment you think it might work, you see his eyes squeeze close, his head shake and his fists tighten, that tick in his jaw gets to going too..

"NO, LASS, THAT WAS A FUCKIN’ TRAP!" His hands grip your thighs, pinning you against the wall. "Ye knew what ye were doin’, minx. Now ye gotta deal with the consequences."

Your breath catches. "Johnny, wait, it was a prank—"

"Not anymore, it ain’t, love."

(You. Played. Yourself.)

Moral of the Story:

You thought it’d be funny.

Instead?

You’re not making it to girls night.

#kara writes #simon riley blurb #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #captain john price x reader #john price blurb #captain john price #kyle garrick blurb #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #johnny soap mactavish blurb #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader #cod bf blurbs #cod blurbs

275 notes · View notes

absentia-misere · 3 days ago

Text

Can I talk about the first gif for a second bc I couldn't stop thinking about this the whole movie, the scene is killer and intense and absolute art but:

Can you imagine being Depp for a moment? Inches away from Skarsgard, breathing shakily into his face take after take, and remaining serious? With THIS MAKEUP ON? It makes me cackle just thinking about it.

There had to be SO MUCH laughter during the filming of this movie bc trying to be serious in an outlandish setting is one of the funniest moments you can find yourself in. You'll be laughing just being so close to somebody else. It's schoolgirl sleepover syndrome- you simply CANNOT remain serious for long periods of time in a very intimate setting.

So I guess really what Im saying is movies should really bring back bloopers bc I'm dying to see them. Imagine being a legacy and then snort-laughing into this renowned-ass man's face bc you just remembered you're supposed to be lowkey afraid of Horrible Vampire Man but it's this fool on top of you, probably making some dumbass, goofy noise:

Like I can literally picture him creeping around corners in full orlok and scaring the absolute piss out of people on set and I'm so mad that nobody gives us that footage anymore. Where is my video of Skarsgard startling Hoult so bad he falls over and they both burst into laughter? Where??

Nosferatu (2024) directed by Robert Eggers

#bloopers died with supernatural #nosferatu #nosferatu 2024

838 notes · View notes

science-hoes · 1 day ago

Text

Angel Kisses

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: graphic medical descriptions, needles

A/N: I thought this fic would be a little less fluffy and more spicy but I just can’t help it. Plus I love Noah Wyle’s barely there freckles. I feel like this isn’t my best work because I had severe writers block. Hope it’s good enough for yall tho 💕

My Ko-Fi :)

—

The Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center was rumored to be the 9th level of Hell. So when it was time for you to begin your schedule for trauma surgery, you prayed for a different hospital. Literally any other hospital.

But there you were, in the depths of the Pitt, working your fifth 12 hour shift of the rotation. Only 1pm, but you felt like someone had changed the clocks because there was no way that the day was only halfway done. You were reading a pediatric patient’s CBC results, getting ready to tell your senior attending for the day, Dr. Jack Abbott, that the child is anemic. But Dana’s voice distracted you:

“You can’t even stay away on your day off. Do you have a life besides the Pitt?” She said to someone out of your view.

“Trust me. This is a last resort.” You heard a man respond, the voice slightly familiar.

You turned around and saw Dr. Michael Robinavitch, the senior attending from your first four days of working here. He didn’t look too different out of his scrubs and navy hoodie that he wore at work. Black joggers and gray long sleeve athletic shirt that hugged his waist…really nicely.

“Last resort for what?” Dr. Frank Langdon called out from where he sat at his desk, charting his patient case.

“I fell of a ladder and tore up my back on the fence in my backyard.” Answered Dr. Robinav- Dr. Robby, you had to remind yourself. “I need stitches, but I can’t reach the cut.”

Langdon winced and leaned back in his chair. “Need me to stitch you up?” He asked.

Dr. Abbott walked up to the desk near Langdon and laughed. “No, he wants his friend to stitch him up. Right, Robby?” He joked, referring to himself.

Robby laughed and crossed his arms, biceps straining against the fabric of the athletic shirt. Damn. “Friend is a strong word. I don’t have friends.” He said with a smile.

Langdon scoffed. “We went fishing last weekend. What does that make me?” He asked.

“I prefer the term ‘coworker that I hang out with sometimes outside of work.’” Robby said, but you could see the teasing in the way his eyes crinkled.

Dana rolled her eyes. “You are all annoying me. Jack, go stitch him up so he can get out of here and rest.” She said before walking off to a patient room.

Robby shook his head. “No, no, just let a med student do it. Good learning opportunity.” He said.

“No med students today. Only interns.” Langdon mumbled as he continued typing on his computer.

Robby clasped his hands together and held them close to his chest. “Even better. I would love for my scar to be in a straight line.” He joked.

Abbott looked to you, who had been watching the group interact from a couple of desks over. Your face flushed slightly, realizing you probably look like an eavesdropper. He motioned with his head toward Robby. “Why don’t you take our patient to holding and fix him up? I’ll take the CBC results.” He said.

“Yes, sir.” You answered, almost a little too seriously. The Pitt was an intense environment, but these attendings did not have the same egos as the ones from your last several rotations.

Robby chuckled at your earnestness. “Hear that, Langdon? ‘Yes, sir.’ You should be taking notes.” He ordered facetiously, pointing his finger at the senior resident.

Langdon looked up from his desk as you began walking with Robby to the back of the Pitt where the holding rooms were. “You know, we tell all of our patients over 65 to be very careful when doing yard work.” He called out.

Robby shot him a bird without turning back around. You smiled at the banter, not used to the lax interactions between physicians of different ranks. Once you made it to the room, Robby sat on the bed, and you grabbed a standard suture kit.

“Is it on your back?” You asked, turned away from him.

“Yeah. I’d do it myself if I could reach it. I managed to cover it up though.” He said.

When you turned back around, his tight fitting shirt had been peeled off his upper body. Holy shit. In the last five days, you didn’t really give yourself time to fantasize about your attending. He was handsome for sure and charming when he wasn’t jumping down a resident’s throat (yet he still had the patience of a saint). His abdomen was well toned, and his chest was smooth. Not what you expected based off his hairy forearms and face.

You must have been staring too much because Robby’s shoulders hunched, as if trying to subtly cover his exposed body. “Let me just take a look at the cut.” You said, trying to come back to earth. You moved to the edge of the bed and removed the bandage that he had placed himself.

You could see the blood that had leaked through the dressing, but you were not prepared to see the extent of the cut stretch across the majority of his upper back. “Oh, shit.” You swore.

Robby chuckled. “That’s not a comforting thing to hear from your doctor.” He said, shifting uncomfortably as the cold air of the hospital struck the wound.

You shook your head in a panic. “Oh, no, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t say that to a normal patient.” You covered for yourself.

Robby shook his head. “No, no. Listen. You’re taking everything a little too seriously. Just relax. Roll with the punches. That’s the only way you’ll survive down here.” He explained.

You nodded, taking in a stiff breath anyway. You disposed of the bandaging and picked up the lidocaine syringe. “Okay. I’m about to start injecting lidocaine around the cut. You’ll feel the burning more than the needle.” You said. You placed one gloved hand on his back, giving yourself a guide while you held the syringe in the other.

“90 degrees or 45?” He asked, making you freeze in place.

You paused for a moment, almost afraid to say your answer in fear of being incorrect. “90.” You answered.

“Why?”

At this point, the needle was hovering just an inch above your first injection site. “Recent studies show that patients report less pain with a 90 degree angle.” You said, confident in your sources.

Robby smiled, but you didn’t see it. “Very good.” Was all he said.

You injected the first round of lidocaine, and he hissed at the burning around the open wound. You kept moving around the cut, injecting small doses. “You’re doing great, Dr. Robby.” You praised, just as you would with any patient.

“Fuck, I say that to patients all the time. No wonder it makes no difference.” He grumbled.

You smiled slightly and injected the final dose. “All done.”

Robby let out a heavy breath, hanging his head as the skin slowly numbed where you worked. You began to open the suture kit and sort out its contents on the metal tray near the bed.

“What stitch?” He asked.

You grabbed some gauze and antiseptic from the drawer in the room before returning to his side. You cleaned the skin around the wound where the blood had dribbled down his back in a mix with sweat from working outside.

“Running stitch. The cut is long but not at risk of tension.” You answered. Robby nodded in approval. You carefully started on your first stitch, delicately inserting the curved needle into his skin. “So, you were on a ladder?” You asked.

Robby huffed in slight irritation. “Yeah. Trimming some branches that were reaching over the fence into the neighbors’ yard. I misstepped on the way down and lost my balance.” He explained.

You grimaced. “That sucks.” You said matter of factly.

“Yeah. Maybe Langdon is right. I’m getting too old for that kind of stuff.” He said with a chuckle.

Your hands carefully moved as they continued to sew. “You don’t look old.” You said.

Robby smiled to himself, not expecting you to respond at all. “You think so?”

“Yeah.” You said, glad he couldn’t see your involuntary blush. As you continued to stitch, you noticed all of the spots and marks that dusted his back and shoulders. “I like your freckles.” You noted.

Robby’s mind halted. It was a compliment he had never received. Your words went straight to his chest, and for the first time in a very long time, he felt flustered.

“My freckles?” He repeated.

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah. You got ‘em on your face too?” You asked.

Robby turned his head, not to present his face, but because he was still surprised and wanted to see if you were being genuine. And there they were. A light scattering of freckles across his cheeks and bridge of his nose.

“Yep. They’re precious.” You said after inspecting and returning back to your stitching. Robby’s face flushed, and you could especially see it in his ears as you worked. “You know, my mom used to tell me that freckles were angel kisses. Every time I got a new one, I thought an angel had kissed me. I went an embarrassingly long time into junior high before realizing it was just a tall tale.” You explained.

Robby smiled at the charming story, feeling an unusual feeling of comfort. “My grandmother used to say the same thing.” He said.

You grinned. “Looks like the angels couldn’t get enough of you then.” You teased.

Robby chuckled and ran a nervous hand across the back of his neck, careful not to pull against the skin as you worked. “How’s it looking back there?” He asked, trying to continue conversation.

“I need to run about five more stitches. Then you’ll be on your way.” You said.

He nodded and folded his hands in his lap. “Are you working tomorrow?” He asked.

You thought for a second, honestly not sure. “I don’t think so. My first off day since I started.” You replied. “Are you?”

“No. Seven on, seven off.” He said.

You pulled at the last suture and cut the remaining thread. “All right, Dr. Robby. You’re all cleaned up.” You announced.

“Great.” Robby hopped off the bed and stood up straight, popping a few kinks in his back from being hunched over. He towered above you, losing the intimacy that you temporarily had. “Take a picture and show me.” He said.

You pulled off your gloves slowly, unsure of how to respond. “Of the stitches?” You asked, afraid that he was going to grill you for sloppy suturing.

“Yeah, just to see the damage.” He responded.

You pulled your phone out and stood behind him. Fuck, even his back looked good. You snapped a picture and zoomed in to show him your work. Definitely saving that for later. “Does it look okay?” You asked timidly.

Robby nodded, impressed. “Actually yeah. Don’t think I could’ve done it better myself.” He complimented.

You laughed in relief. “Oh, good. I still need more practice on different suture patterns. I’m just lucky you were a simple case.” You said.

Robby looked down to you, letting his eyes linger as he watched you put your phone away. “If you aren’t busy tomorrow, maybe I can give you a masterclass. All ER docs have to know every suture.” He offered.

You looked up to him, suddenly very aware that he was still shirtless in front of you. You smirked and crossed your arms. “Sure. But only if you teach me just like this.” You said, looking him up and down. “You know, because you’ll need to let those stitches breathe.”

Robby grinned. “Wow. That was pretty smooth.” He admired.

You shrugged. “Just rolling with the punches.” You responded, repeating his quote from earlier. “Give me a call tomorrow.”

And you left. Robby stood there, smiling to himself. He pulled his shirt on and walked out to the desk hub. Langdon was still charting, but caught the attending before he snuck out. “What’s that goofy smile for?” He asked, even though he knew the answer.

Robby shrugged, hands in his pockets, unable to shake the smile off his face. “I don’t know.” He said before walking away to leave.

Abbott leaned against a desk near Langdon. “His ears are red.” He noted. “That motherfucker is in love.”

#the pitt #michael robinavitch #michael robinavitch x reader #noah wyle #dr robby #dr robby x reader #doctor robby #doctor robby x reader #dr jack abbott #jack abbott #frank langdon

192 notes · View notes

midnight-shadow-cafe · 2 days ago

Note

Heyyy! I had this rlly funny idea but the TF 141 separately (and maybe König, you can decide if you add him w/ the 141 fellas or not) with a reader that's like 4'11-5'4 (maybe shorter) who's really sassy and a big smart mouth, but is just so sweet to them, but will absolutely bite someone's head off if they tried something (they do say dynamite comes in small packages lol) I hope ur having a good day and if you don't wanna do this u can ignore meeee luv ur work <3

Small but Mighty

Pairing: Task Force 141 + König x Short Sassy Protective Reader

Warnings: Strong language, threats of violence (but mostly comedic), reader is a menace but soft for the boys, fluff, crack, mild innuendos, reader is short but acts like a guard dog.

Author’s Note: I relate to this, I’m short and sassy so this request was so fun. I loved it so much-

Summary: You may be small, but your attitude is huge. You’re fiercely loyal to the team, the first to bite someone’s head off if they so much as look at them wrong. But with the boys? You’re their sweet, doting little powerhouse—when you’re not threatening to fight them for teasing you, of course.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon first met you during a mission briefing, and it was like watching a rabid chihuahua getting ready to tear into someone. You were barely scraping 5’2” in combat boots, standing next to a man twice your size who had just questioned your skills.

"Listen here, you oversized fuckin’ tree stump," you snapped, arms crossed as you glared up at the guy. "I may be small, but I can still take you down in two moves, so shut your damn mouth before I put you on your ass."

Ghost, standing behind you, simply tilted his head in mild amusement. He expected the guy to laugh in your face. Instead, the man hesitated, clearing his throat before muttering something about just joking.

That was when Ghost knew you were dangerous.

But what surprised him even more? How goddamn sweet you were to him.

"Si, did you eat today?" you asked one evening after a mission, voice softer than usual. You were sitting beside him, legs tucked beneath you, hands busy cleaning your weapons.

Ghost barely had time to answer before you shoved a protein bar into his hand.

"Eat. Now."

He looked down at the snack, then back at you, unimpressed.

"You’re bossy for someone I could put in my pocket."

You scowled, jabbing a finger at him. "And you are grumpy for someone who clearly needs food."

Despite himself, he found himself smirking beneath his mask. He peeled open the wrapper, taking a bite while you nodded in satisfaction, muttering, "Damn right."

Yeah. You were something else.

——

John "Soap" MacTavish

Soap loved that you were a walking contradiction. One second you were cussing someone out for looking at him wrong, the next you were fixing his hair with the gentleness of a mother hen.

He thrived off riling you up.

"Oi, short stack," he called one day, smirking as you turned around, already glaring.

"What did you just call me?" you demanded, hands on your hips.

"Short stack," he repeated, grinning. "Like a pancake. Wee but fiery."

You stomped right up to him and jabbed a finger into his chest. "Listen here, Johnny, I may be short, but I can still take you—"

Before you could finish your sentence, he scooped you up and threw you over his shoulder.

You let out an indignant screech, kicking your legs wildly. "PUT ME DOWN, YOU MUSCLE-BRAINED MANWHORE."

Soap was cackling, patting your thigh. "You’re cute when you’re angry."

"I’M GONNA KILL YOU."

He eventually set you down after getting a few light punches to his back. But later that evening, when you checked in on him, making sure he was hydrating, making sure his injuries were tended to, he couldn’t help but grin.

You were his little menace, and he wouldn’t trade you for the world.

——

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Gaz thought you were the funniest person alive. He wasn’t sure how so much attitude could be packed into someone your size, but it worked.

Especially when you went feral on his behalf.

It happened at a bar, where a stranger had started getting way too handsy with Gaz. You, standing nearby, immediately clocked the situation and marched over, eyes blazing.

Gaz barely had time to react before you inserted yourself between him and the stranger, glaring up at the taller man like a pissed-off gremlin.

"Take your hands off him before I break all ten of your fingers," you snapped.

The man blinked. "And who the hell are you—"

You grabbed the dude’s wrist. Twisted just enough to make a point.

"I said," you growled, voice low, "take. Your hands. Off."

The guy yanked his hand back and bolted.

Gaz just stared at you, shook. "Damn," he muttered. "Didn’t know I had my own personal attack dog."

You turned to him, smile sickly sweet. "Only for you, babe."

The whiplash was insane. But he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

——

Captain John Price

Price thought you were adorable.

He’d never say that to your face—he valued his life too much—but he thought it.

You had this habit of defending him when you thought someone was being disrespectful.

One day, some new recruit made the mistake of talking back to him. Before Price could even react, you stepped up, arms crossed, expression like a storm cloud.

"That’s Captain Price to you," you said coolly. "Show some respect before I have to teach it to you."

The recruit, visibly confused about being threatened by someone a foot shorter than him, just mumbled an apology and scurried off.

Price chuckled, shaking his head. "You’re a menace."

You shrugged. "Just looking out for my old man."

His eyebrow twitched. "Old?"

You grinned up at him, innocent as a damn angel.

He sighed. You were gonna be the death of him.

——

König

König was, at first, terrified of accidentally crushing you. You barely reached his chest, and he swore you had to be some kind of mythical creature because how could something so small be so loud?

But then he saw you threaten someone for him.

It was during a mission when someone made a snide remark about his size, thinking he couldn’t hear. You did, though.

"Hey, dipshit," you snapped, whirling around. "Say that again, I fucking dare you."

The guy stammered, confused. "What—"

"You heard me. You got something to say about König? Say it to my face."

The man immediately backed down.

König stared at you, stunned. "You… defended me?"

You turned to him, expression soft. "Course I did, big guy. Nobody talks shit about my team."

His brain short-circuited.

Later, you noticed him being extra gentle with you, like you were something precious.

"König," you asked, squinting up at him.

"Yes, kleine maus?"

"…Are you petting my head?"

"Ja."

You sighed. "Fine. But only because you’re my favorite giant."

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

296 notes · View notes

grimmsbride · 2 days ago

Note

just a little thought:

what kink would all invincible/mark variants collectively have?

overstimulation

and I don’t mean just the typical overstimulation. I mean borderline painful

mainstream! mark — in good will; wants to make you feel mind-boggling pleasure for days

mohawk! mark — pure evil; wants nothing more than to leave you breathless, senseless, mindless, and completely mind-broken

omni! mark — dominance; as a means to show you who is in charge and WILL remind you about that no matter how much you’re sobbing uncontrollably

sinister! mark — pain; he wants you to feel pain, as much as it. he doesn’t care if it’s “too much”, you WILL orgasm how many times he wants

viltrumite! mark — uncaring; you are simply the carrier for his child, whether or not you can keep up doesn’t matter

no goggles! mark — sadistic; he knows you’re fragile, and he can’t help but “accidentally” push you over the edge, every time.

and so on. variant mayhem, more like variant freakhem am i right

𝄃𝄀⠀⠀pxssessive⠀╲ mark + variants ֤ࣨ🫀𖥔 ݁ ˖

summary mark and his variants have very few things in common, the main one being that they simply can not stop at making you come once.

notes uhm this took so long for me to write, i’m so sorry 😭, but i wanted to get it done i loved this request the “freakhem” comment had me crying during vacation. i hope you enjoy and please excuse any typos or grammar mistakes

when it comes to sex, mainstream! mark simply doesn’t know how to hold back— his entire objective is to leave you a whimpering, shaking mess. this is especially clear when his mouth is on your pretty cunt.

unfortunately for you, he could sit there for hours.. strong arms wrapped tightly around your thighs, center nice, open, and pliable to his perfect mouth. mainstream!mark is sucking on your swollen bud, tongue gliding across your slit, even driving the thick appendage right into your fluttering hole.

even when you protest about the ache running through your entire body, mainstream!mark simply can not leave you be until your throat is practically sore from how much you’re screaming his name.

“ma—mark, baby, please— i need to breathe!” there’s tears trailing down your reddened cheeks, coating the old trails from just moments ago. your fingers are gliding in his fluffy locks, stuck between bringing him closer and pushing him away— a silent battle between mind and matter.

fuck, do you look so good like this, mainstream! mark could practically come in his pants— grinding right against your bed whilst he came off your clit with a harsh pop; quickly replacing his lips with his thumb.

“i know you have another one for me, baby.. c’mon i got you.” always so encouraging and sweet, tone dripping with honey as he stared at you with those lidded eyes.

eyes that were so hypnotizing, you couldn’t help but give in to his every command. even if it if your “giving in” was nothing more then a whine and you practically shoving his face into your sex.

mainstream!mark would only giggle, hand gliding across your thigh a simple that’s my girl vibrating against your wetness.

. . .

everyone, and i mean everyone knows mohawk!mark is a jerk that does things for his own entertainment. this is especially true during sex.

the man cares for you, in his own twisted away, yet enjoys showing you just how human you truly are.

mohawk!mark will fuck you for hours, maybe even from afternoon to early morning. he doesn’t care, he will use your body to exhaustion all with the shittiest little smile on his face.

always bouncing between positions (doggy, reverse cowgirl, cowgirl, missionary, standing up) nothing is off the table. the man has even fucked you against the window, simply cause he could. you’re too tired to protest anyway.

three.. five? was that how many orgasms that’s ran through your entire body in the past thirty minutes or so? you couldn’t tell, with the way mohawk!mark was practically bullying your sensitive cunt, hands kept tightly at your knees as he pushed them against your chest.

your voice didn’t even sound like your own anymore, completely foreign to you with the way it sounded so raw and dry— throat abused just as much as your poor cervix. and through a glossy gaze you could see the man responsible, the way his eyebrows were pushed close together, a sickeningly sweet grin pulling his lips.

the moment mohawk!mark caught your eyes his smirk only worsened, shoving himself so deep you swore you saw stars.

“you still with me, babe?”

that gave you assurance, trying to reach over and push at his hips, a silent plea to slow down— only for it to trickle down the drain the moment the man swatted your hand away, leaning over your body as his hips snapped against yours without a care.

“nuh uh.. i’m not done with you, not one bit.”

. . .

oh, sweetheart.. what did you do? you know better, right? getting into a relationship with omni!mark, it was made clear from the start the expectations placed upon you. always obeying, quiet when needed, etc..

he wasn’t too hard all the time, you were human after all; the man made an effort to let little things slide.

only this time, he couldn’t. maybe you mouthed off inappropriately, maybe you looked at him in a way he hated, doesn’t matter— all omni!mark knew is you disrespected him, and that wouldn’t slide.

you needed a punishment, one that really drilled into your pretty little head the importance of your roles.

“i—i’m sorry, f—fuck! i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry!” tears are streaming down your face as you shoved it into the mattress below, weak sobs shaking through your entire body as the man abused your fluttering hole.

with each thrust omni!mark was practically fucking you right into the mattress, thick length dragging across your tortured gummy walls in such a steady rhythm you couldn’t even think.

your mouth hung open once again in an attempt to plead your case, only to cry out the moment his hand pushed at your neck from behind and he thrusted sharply right against your cervix.

“i’ve told you before about your mouth..” you would think the man didn’t love you, how his eyes were glaring down at your body, shoving himself into you relentlessly. “you should be thanking me for giving you so many chances..”

before he could give even get it out, gratitude was falling from your lips, wet gasps escaping between each word. omni!mark couldn’t help the way his cock twitched as a result, pulling you up to his chest in one swift motion while thrusting up into you sharply.

“why do i have to punish you for you to behave?”

“i—i’m sorry, i’m sorry!”

“i know. i’ll let you know when i’ve forgiven you.”

. . .

do you think sinister!mark just wakes up with a set number in mind and is like.. that’s how long i plan to torture the human i supposedly care for, no matter how much they protest?

honestly that’s what i think. the man has killed millions without batting an eye, you truly think he’s gonna give a damn about how much you beg for mercy? nope, not at all.

on the contrary sinister!mark simply can’t help getting harder at your instance of a break, cock swelling so much inside you swore he grew a few inches.

“tightening up so fucking much.. shit.. ha— did you black out again?”

amusement is practically dripping from every word that escapes his lips, sinister!mark staring down at you with harsh eyes, enjoying the way you tried so desperately to catch your breath— only to track right back to square one the moment he thrusted into you.

he’s giggling to himself, leaning down close, chest brushing against your own as his lips pressed against your ear.

“you black out again, i’m adding two more.”

you couldn’t help but release a sob, pathetically hitting at his arms in a last ditch effort to disclose how much you hated that idea. sinister!mark is laughing at you, shoving himself so deeply there’s a bulge protruding through your tummy.

he’s quick to snatch your hands, shoving them against the mattress as he bruised your poor walls, eyes staring down at you with so many emotions swirling through his gaze.

“you aren’t escaping this.. not any time soon, anyway.”

. . .

viltrumite!mark is.. probably the least caring out of all of them entirely. sex is fun, sure, but his main purpose is shoving his seed into you to get a kid. he’s ruling the planet with the expectation of spreading his power across dimensions, of course he needs someone to keep up his legacy.

that’s where you come in, his perfect little human partner, the perfect little incubator for his objective.

whenever the man has downtime (which isn’t a lot mind you) you will find yourself under his mercy for hours, filled to the brim with his seed so much you’re wondering if your stomach is bulging at this point. he’s quick to shove every drop back in, even having the decency to research which positions is best to get a kid.

“mark.. mark please..” you’re crying at this point, overstimulated and filled to the brim, sweat trickling down your body. however your calls of his name are falling on deaf ears, viltrumite!mark not even focused on you, but instead your pussy.

he’s pulling his hips back, spotting the sticky ring of combined juices around the base of his dick, gaze focusing on the way his seed was dribbling down to your taint.

the man is clicking his tongue, eyebrows pushed close as he gave a particularly hard thrust into your cunt.

“stay in..” viltrumite!mark mutters, as if lecturing your pussy, throughly expecting it to obey his command. his hands are tight on your thighs, legs tossed over his shoulders as he fucked into you.

he doesn’t even stop the moment you reach for his hip, instead allowing his harsh gaze to drop to your features, as if confused on why you were touching him.

“ma—“

“we will stop when i, say so. until then, quit moving.”

. . .

no goggles! mark knows no bounds. his sadomasochism is always shining, especially during sex. when he learned what overstimulation was — or rather learned the reactions he could get from you during it — every single time the two of you have sex, he’s pushing you to the brink; abusing your body so greedily, a perfect toss between pleasure and pain.

even when you beg, cry, sob— the man is only giggling above you, maybe even planting the wettest kiss to your already damp cheeks. it doesn’t help he’s encouraging too, sickeningly sweet words that don’t match the way his hips are slapping against your own without a care for your body.

speaking of, it’s trembling at this point from the aftershocks; running from your head to your toes in an ache you simply couldn’t describe. you were breathing manually at this point, splotches of black invading your already blurry vision.

you’re reaching out for your lover, blindly, hand raising about only to wince the moment no goggles! mark snatched it, linking your fingers, and shoving it to the mattress.

“can’t take it can you?..” the man is muttering, hissing in delight the moment he felt your nails drag across his skin, eyes wildly soaking in the way your swollen lips pulled into a pout, whining for mercy.

yet he doesn’t give it to you, no, he simply can’t— not with the way you look beyond delicious under his mercy.

no goggles! mark tuts, a mocking sound that you would have slapped him for if you were in the right state of mind — albeit the man would probably just ask for another, harder slap —. his free hand is tight on your thigh, angling his hips perfectly to strike your g-spot with each thrust. you’re a whimpering mess, shaking like a damn leaf with no sign of calming down.

“i’m not done, and you’re not done either— i know you got more in you.. fuck, baby you feel so good!”

268 notes · View notes

asxgard · 2 days ago

Text

Companionship | pt. 1

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Series Summary: He’s not sure how he got here, perhaps it’s the aching loneliness or the overwhelming stress. You’re there because it seems like easy money and you have a pushy friend. All in all, it’s a good deal — he gets the companionship he’s after, no strings, and you get your utility bills paid on time. It’s pretty simple, easy, until your arraignment bleeds into something a bit more…complicated.

Note: Me?? Coming off hiatus?? Bit nervous about this one, but I’m jumping right in lol not sure how long this’ll be. Struggled between making it a reader fic or making an oc, but I’m still undecided how long this’ll be.

Takes place prior to The Pitt.

Word Count: 1.7k (they’ll likely be longer going forward — just needed to lay the groundwork)

Warnings: BIG age gap omg (roughly 18 years even after I aged Robby down a bit, ~44), foul language, ptsd mentions, mentions of sex work, descriptions of hospitals/patients and brief mentions of violence at said hospital, mild dubious consent later on (like barely), eventual sexual content, angst, mutual pining, mentions of difference in power dynamic, medical errors bc I am a simple bitch, Dr Robby lacking some emotional intelligence/bottled up feelings. (Also you go to school for accounting and have two named friends). Slowburn. Mature themes.

This is not a promotion of such gaps or sugar daddies in general — it was just an idea I had and I couldn’t get it out of my head. Dr Robby seems like a good man, so I doubt would actually seek out such a relationship, but I have no doubt that that man is lonely and stressed as hell lol and this is my fic soooo

not beta read

Michael Robinavitch really had no idea how he had ended up in this situation, sat in that little cafe miles away from his normal stomping grounds. There was the obvious — getting on the subway and physically walking into the building, but the events that led him there nearly made him stand and walk back out.

It had started with a patient he’d had several weeks prior; a man not much older than himself, who had no family, and money to burn. The pretty woman who had come to visit was out of his league, painfully so, but she had sat diligently by his bedside and comforted him while the residents ran all the necessary tests. When she had slipped out of the room to make a phone call, the man had boasted.

Normally, Dr. Robby found such age gaps problematic and messy; a man looking to take advantage of such a gap or a woman looking to gain monetarily, or both. In his experience, it was rarely pure intentions — but what the man had gone on to explain after a confused look of one of the residents, was they weren’t in a relationship. They weren’t even having sex. He was simply paying for a beautiful woman’s companionship. No complex relationship, no true illegal activity or prostitution; just a busy man and an uncomplicated solace.

“Not really even a sugar daddy,” the patient had explained to Perlah, doped up on pain meds, “though it’s a fine comparison.”

What two grown adults got up to in their free time was their own business, the patient’s voice rang in Robby’s head, and if a man likes to spoil his lover or his friend, then that’s not illegal.

His heart thumped anxiously in his chest. This was only going to be a distraction, one completely unconnected to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center and that would be a breath of fresh air. Besides, if this turned out to be a complete disaster, he could just go on with his life. No changes.

—

You took the long way to the cafe, anxiety eating at your insides. Why had you allowed Erin to convince you this was a good idea? It had seemed harmless at the start — laughing and joking with Erin while you downloaded the app, talking to a handful of guys looking to spoil you. Eventually settling on one particularly reserved man (which you found mildly endearing) and securing a “first date”. It had been thrilling. It had even been fun.

At least while it was all over the phone. Now it was real and you had such an urge to turn around and run for the hills.

University was expensive, and between clocking in as many hours at your office job and still staying on track with your classes, you still found that rent was hard to keep up with. Erin had found you in a state of distress over a bowl of cheap ramen, explaining quite plainly what she did to supplement her income. It seemed like it would be too easy. Erin told you she didn’t start out with anything sexual, mostly just spending time with lonely older men and keeping them company.

It turns sexual only if you want it to, but the pay can be better, was the only relief that echoed in your head. The control lies with you, and never let that change.

It only calmed you slightly — that, and the fact that if this date went terribly, or in a way that you became uncomfortable, you could call it all off. He didn’t have your number, or any personal information, only your first name. No arrangements had been made or agreed to, and you found comfort in it. You thought to go in and just get it over with, return back to your apartment and tell Erin: “It’s just not for me.”

Maybe you could pick up DoorDashing instead.

Before opening the door to the cafe, you quickly sent your location to Erin and sent a text to Marsi about coming by to study in a few hours.

You were instantly hit with the calming aroma of coffee once inside, though you felt too jittery to order any. You settled on decaf tea before turning to the tables on the far side of the cafe. You wondered if he was on time, or if you would instead pick the table. Maybe he won’t show.

You caught sight of him almost immediately and it made your heart jump with a renewed sense of anxiety. He was here. He was here.

His eyes were on his own cup, though you knew they were brown from his picture. His hairline was only slightly receding, plenty of laugh lines adorning his face and a thick beard that held several grey hairs. His features seemed scrunched up in thought, dark brows pulled together. You would be lying if you said he wasn’t attractive, part of the reason you had accepted his request in the first place. If you were going to do this, it wasn’t going to be with someone you could barely look at. You could fake a lot of things, but genuine interest was not one of them.

“Michael?” You asked softly, hand on the back of the chair opposite him.

He looked up and gave a stiff smile, before confirming your name.

You smiled back at him, nodding. You pulled the seat back and sat with slow, calculated movements. Feeling his eyes on you made you swallow thickly, nerves running a rampage through your insides.

Erin had coached you, explained good questions to ask to suss out the bad ones, plus her own advice as to what she looked for and what was a red flag. All the advice seemed to flow right out of your head.

“How are you?” You asked, thumb tracing over the lid of your tea.

He huffed a small laugh, “I’m…fine.” A pause. “Look, I’ve never done this and I don’t—”

Relief pooled through your insides, though the nerves held strong. “Well, at least that makes two of us.”

His brown eyes met yours, seemingly surprised. He swallowed.

Maybe he was looking for direction.

Your eyes flickered to your tea and back again. “So, can I ask what made you sign up in the first place?”

He leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat. “Yeah, yeah,” his expression suddenly turned uncomfortable, his left cheek scrunched up almost in a wince. “I’m just looking for some…companionship.”

Perhaps he was embarrassed.

You nodded, taking a slow sip of your hot tea. “Anything specific?”

His eyes flickered up to meet your gaze and he blinked. His eyebrows rose, “Nothing sexual,” he said, voice dropping into a whisper at the last word. “Just someone to listen, call and talk to, I suppose.”

Your heart stopped racing. “No interest in a girlfriend?”

“I’m too busy for that.” Though it seemed more like a deflection.

You watched him curiously, raising a brow, “Alright. Something like a friend, then?”

He considered it. “Someone unconnected to my life.”

—

He said unconnected, but he meant not worried about my wellbeing. He dealt with too many people asking how he was, too concerned with the past. He needed someone that let him breathe, someone he could reach out to on his own terms with no strings attached. Someone who wouldn’t pry, someone who would not be offended by his long silences and his avoidance of talking about his emotions. Someone who doesn’t look at me like I’m damaged.

“More like a companion.” He explained, elaborating, “I need someone who can give me more space than a friend would, who’s okay if we don’t talk for days at a time. Something easy and uncomplicated.”

“Ah, I understand.”

At least he didn’t sound insane. He had a few friends, but he frequently felt like he was putting on an “I’m okay” mask whenever he was around them. He didn’t want to wear that mask with just one person.

“Yeah,” he bit the inside of his cheek, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “What is it you’re looking for?”

You smiled, adding to the warmth of your face. You were beautiful, with pretty eyes and hair pulled out of your face. Far too out of his league, and young. Your profile showed an age that put you at nearly eighteen years apart. But, a corner of his mind whispered, it’ll be nice to have a beautiful woman’s attention.

“A bit of a distraction myself,” you told him, pursing your lips. “I’ve been quite stressed with school and it’ll be nice to not think about all that from time-to-time.” Then you smiled. “And maybe get some help paying my utility bill.”

He chuckled, soft and quiet, matching the grin on your face. “What do you go to school for?”

“Accounting,” you answered after a beat. “I just started my masters. What do you do for work?”

“I’m a doctor.” He said, careful to not elaborate much more. He was proud of his position, but he wanted whatever this was going to be to be completely separate from his professional life.

You seemed to understand, not asking any follow up questions that most people might have asked.

After only a handful more questions, you seemed satisfied. He asked about allowance, and your expectations, and found you would be a fine fit for each other. He felt a strange calmness overcome him as your conversation melded into small talk.

When you excused yourself to leave, you explained you wanted a day or two to sit on it. You expressed it wasn’t him, but the situation at hand that you wanted to think about. It brought comfort to him, knowing you were both a fish out of water in this situation.

Michael left the cafe feeling lighter than when he had entered, taking a long walk back home — silently deliberating. You were easy enough to talk to, and seemed to understand right away when to ask questions and when not to pry. You weren’t asking for anything outlandish in return, or even looking to make a living this way, only needing some help to finish school. He understood that, Pittsburgh wasn’t the most expensive city someone could live in, but add in school loans and he could see why you turned to supplemental income, as you had put it.

By nightfall, he’d received a message though the app hidden in a locked folder on his phone.

It was your number.

#michael robinavitch #michael robinavitch x reader #female reader #the pitt #dr robby #michael robinavitch x female reader #michael robinavitch x you #michael robinavitch/reader #michael robinavitch/you #dr robby x reader

160 notes · View notes

tofics · 2 days ago

Text

ANOTHER DEAN FIREFIGHTER FIC?!?!

Oh, don't mind me. Just me having a fangirling moment over my favorite Dean!AU, by @zepskies no less! 😭 And I have things to say about it! 😌

Okay, first of all - love love loooveeee @redhoodieone for requesting this and @zepskies for bringing it to life. Firefighter!Dean just does things to me. And yes, Alex, it's all your fault. (Thank you!) And now the reader is an ELEMENTARY TEACHER? ARE YOU KIDDING ME! That only happens to be what I'm studying! It's like this trope was written for me 😭

Now. I know I've said it before, but as a plus-size girly myself, reading fics where the reader is plus-size herself not only helps with the immersion, but also becomes even more of a delight when they're pictured as desirable. And you did such a good job with that. The repeated slaps on reader's ass, his obvious attraction to her, but most importantly, his outrage when she calls herself fat. Like he can't even believe she'd think of herself that way, because that title simply never occurred to him. Such a rewarding and healing thing to read! 🥹

And god, all those feelings of comparing herself to Lisa and Jo. I wish I didn't know that sinking feeling in her gut when she talked about how she had to slim herself down to fit into the dress, while Lisa and Jo do it so effortlessly. Or the absolute gut-punch that was Lisa's talk about "sticking to a clean diet for the baby" - as if she gives two shits about the little one growing in reader's belly 😒 Ten bucks say she secretly wishes there was no baby to begin with (which, honestly, theoretically I can't blame her for...), nor that she cares about the reader's "health". Fat shaming packaged as "caring". 🤮 Ugh, it made me so mad just reading it! (You wrote it so well 🥲)

Okay, but back to Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean.

“Ready for more, baby? Or you want to call it a night?” he asked. His tone was playful, but it was actually a serious question. You blinked in surprise. You’d never had a guy be this, well…generous, and not expect anything in return, especially not for just a hookup.

GIRL. Now why was this so freaking hot. Jesus Christ. And then his admiration when she's on top next morning 😭

“Goddamn, baby. Givin’ me quite a show,” he says, in a panting voice that’s deep as sin. You utter a breathy laugh. Dean means it though. He’s enjoying the way you brush your hair out of your face, your beautiful tits in his face while you truly let loose for him.

*dreamy sigh*

And this. THIS. The moment where he catches her disappointment. (Cause, ngl, I would've been uncertain as hell myself if I'd just slept with this guy for the third time in one night and suddenly he's scrambling to leave...)

Your smile barely reaches your eyes. He’s pressed for time, but he still notices. He slows himself down and cups your cheek. “Hey.” He gets your pretty eyes looking up at him, and he gives you a real kiss, nice and slow. He cradles your cheek and brushes his thumb across your skin. “Thanks,” he says. His now familiar grin manages to make you smile. “And I mean that.”

Oh, Dean Winchester, the man you are.

Alex, I can't wait to see where this goes! Lisa as a more bitchy version is quite the interesting read, and their little unintentional three-way set-up is bound to cause some drama 👀 And I'm here for it!!! Can't wait for the next chapter - coming out on here just one day after my birthday! Can't wait to read it 💓

IF I STAY - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: Yes, here’s another firefighter AU! Based on a request from one of my lovely Patreon members: @redhoodieone. She requested pretty much all the major beats of this story, so hopefully I did her request justice! This is also partially inspired by Fools Rush In, a beautiful movie with Salma Hayek and Matthew Perry (Rest in Peace, King).

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis

Word Count: 8.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, thick thirty, hints of body insecurity, but also body appreciation, angst, and hurt/comfort.

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 1: Fools Rush In

Slowly, your eyes slide open into the waking world. Your head is resting on something warm, firm…and a little sweaty. You pick your head up, despite the disorienting, muddy feeling of a slight hangover.

A groan bubbles in your throat. Your gaze travels downward, and you realize that what you’re looking at is more of a who.

Your eyes widen. Oh…my…God…

Not only are you very naked, but your firm pillow is too. It happens to be your best friend’s brother.

Yes, holy fucking shit! You slept with your best friend’s brother.

Biting the inside of your lip, you can’t help but take him in, here in the raw light of day as he lays peacefully on his back. His head lolls to the side on your usual pillow. Your eyes roam over the bow of his lips, the dark eyebrows, lightish brown hair that's softer than it should be between your fingers.

He’s painfully handsome. There’s a slight hesitation in your touch, but you softly trace the cut of his jaw and the stubble spread across it. That roughness feels familiar, and not just under the pads of your fingers, though the thought makes you blush. You begin to remember the night before, almost like a movie reel through your mind…

Ooooh, right. That’s what happened.

It starts at Sam Winchester’s joint bachelor-bachelorette party at a nice hotel downtown. He and Eileen aren't the "strippers and coke" kind of party couple. They're more the "wine and brie en croute with pickled olives" on the expensive crackers you can't afford—kind of couple.

They look perfectly in love, if a bit long-suffering while Dean gives a hilarious, somewhat inappropriate, but still ultimately heartwarming toast to their happiness. After lowering the glass of champagne from his lips, his gaze catches on yours in the crowd. You suck in a subtle breath.

Technically you’ve met him already, being one of Eileen’s bridesmaids, but there’s something about his green eyes that pin you to the floor. When he hands over the mic to Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, his head turning away from you to offer her a smile breaks the spell. It allows you to breathe.

Dean later finds you by the bar. You’re drinking a rum and coke with your slice of cake, trying not to get a single crumb on your dress. You've put a lot of work into affording it, let alone fitting in it. He leans his elbows casually on the counter and looks over at you.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he nods at you with a smile, subtly taking you in first. Then, his eyes go to your plate. “Ooh, red velvet. Gotta get me some of that.”

You smile back at him. “It’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, looks good in your hand,” he says, adding a teasing wink for good measure.

You don't know why that does it for you, but a half-flattered, half-nervous laugh tumbles out of your mouth. Sam has warned you before about Dean. Apparently his older brother is a bit of a flirt; a ladies’ man.

A man whore, are the words Eileen used.

You’re honestly surprised he’s talking to you when Eileen’s other bridesmaids, Lisa and Jo, are sipping martinis together down at the other end of the bar. Guess they didn’t want cake.

They look beautiful in their lithe, strapless little cocktail dresses. You’ve had to give up chocolate, bread, and cheese for three months straight to fit into this dress, something slinky and red that drapes over your thicker, curvy figure. But you’re proud of the fact that you’re letting yourself eat cake tonight, even though you’ve often felt like Mrs. Doubtfire while standing for pictures next to Lisa and Jo.

They’re Eileen’s friends, not so much your crowd. No matter how much you’ve tried to get to know them while helping the wedding planning in whatever way you can, you still get a high school clique vibe from the women, if with more “polite smiles.” Then they’ll typically go back to talking about crystal centerpieces—or whatever in-depth conversation they were having before you were there.

But right now, Dean’s focus is on you. When he asks you more about yourself, you tell him about recently earning an elementary education degree.

“Ah, but you already knew that, because Sam told you we graduated college together,” you realize, with warmth tingeing your cheeks. That subject came up pretty quickly when he introduced you to his brother.

Dean’s smile confirms your suspicions, so you just keep filling the silence on reflex.

“Well, I actually just started teaching my first ever semester of second graders. They’re a bit of a handful, but overall, they’re really sweet.” Your smile falters. “Except for this one kid who likes to put little tacks on my chair. He’s kind of a menace, but I think if I bribe him with enough lollipops, he’ll give it a rest. I mean, it’s a behavioral issue and I should probably call his parents. But it's kind of hard to tell them their son is trying to make my ass into a pincushion."

Dean's laugh comes out in a sharp burst, like he wasn't expecting what just came out of your mouth. You didn't either, honestly. You giggle more out of embarrassment, ducking your head.

"He’s in second grade, you know?" you say, in between laughter. "I don't think that little footnote needs to end up on his permanent record. But then there's Micah. He's so friggin' smart. He can read at the fifth grade level already. Can you believe that? And I know I'm not supposed to have favorites, but his grades on his spelling tests get him a spot in the comfy bean bag chair pretty much every Friday. Honestly, I think that's what I like about working with kids. I get to see that spark on their face when something just finally clicks for them. Their little faces get all bright and happy and…ugh. God, I'm sorry. I'm rambling, right?”

You stop yourself with a hand sliding over your mouth, not quite covering your smile of embarrassment.

Dean’s grin just widens, making the corners of his eyes crinkle.

"It's okay. I kinda like it," he teases.

You duck your head, biting your lip against a groan. He chuckles and reaches out for your hand, earning your nervous glance. He quirks his head.

“Hey, you're passionate about what you do, helping kids. That's nothin' to be ashamed of,” he says, brushing his thumb over your hand. “But sweetheart, I gotta ask. Am I making you nervous or something?”

God, yes, you think, especially at that sweetheart thing. It’s making your heartbeat tick up a syncopated rhythm, but you shake your head, biting the straw of your rum and coke.

“No, not at all,” you say, in a hopefully “breezy” kind of way. You touch your fingers to his wrist. “Tell me about you though. Sam mentioned that you’re a firefighter?”

“Ah, yeah. Firefighter in training,” he says, with a more genuine smile.

He just started at the Fire Academy, and he tells you about all the drills he’s had to learn and all the training he’s had to do to be able to keep up with his classes. You subtly eye him while you sip at your drink, and you notice the crisp cut of his buttoned-down shirt and leather jacket, the definition of muscle across his thighs under the slacks, even while he casually sits.

Your gaze subtly travels down his long bowed legs, smart dress shoes. His cologne is woody and masculine, but not overpowering; maybe bergemot and sandalwood. It pleasantly wafts under your nose every time he gestures with his hands while he talks.

“Aw man, I can’t hold out anymore. I think I need to get me some of that cake before it’s gone,” he says, getting up from his chair.

You’re a bit disappointed that he’s leaving, until he stops short.

“You want another piece?” he offers, gesturing at your empty plate that’s been resting on the counter.

You blink in surprise, but you shake your head. “Oh, no. I probably shouldn’t.”

“Why not? It’s a party,” Dean reasons. His grin is too damn infectious. It has you smiling, and begrudgingly agreeing.

Not only does he bring you more cake, but you watch him eat three whole slices before he asks you to dance.

The rest of it flashes through your mind like strobe lights—the way he’d started small and respectful with his larger hand closed over yours and the other along the curve of your waist. He guided you closer and closer, until you were turned around into his arms, and you could feel his warm breath on your neck.

You felt his lips teasing your skin. Then those hands tantalizingly drifted down your every soft curve, as if showing you a preview of everything he could do to you, and every way he’d make you come apart. You believed him.

And when he whispered in your ear, asking if he could take you home, you let him.

You let him drive you in that big black piece of history he drives. Used to be my dad’s car, he said. A Chevy something. You couldn’t really remember much when his hand was drifting up and down your thigh like that.

His presence burned hot at your back when you two eventually got to the front door of your apartment, your hands just barely shaking as you got the key in. Twist and click—

He waited until you flipped the lights on. Then he turned you around slowly in his arms and pulled you in close, all the while asking you with his eyes and raised brows. This okay? You want this?

“Do I still make you nervous?” he asked, his lips twitching at a smile when yours do.

You nodded, uttering a small giggle. “In a good way.”

That was when he finally kissed you, hot and slow, like he meant to devour you whole. He moaned at the taste of you, at the feel of your ass squeezed in his hands. You clung onto him strong, breathing into his kiss and trying to meet every single demand of his lips.

It soon became a fiery tear to your bedroom, one lamp flicked on, hot breaths and nice clothes crumpled to the floor. You didn’t feel self-conscious even once when he guided you under him on the bed, because he wasted no time in taking you apart, inch by inch.

His lips kissed and licked and sucked a burning trail down your neck, over your collarbone and between your breasts. You felt his hardened length trapped between your bodies while his hands explored you, teasing your breasts and sensitive nipples, and he mapped his way down with his lips.

You explored every part of him you could—every dip of muscle, firm shoulders and the slopes of his back, and then back up to tangle in his hair. Your heated gasps and whimpers filled the room when his sinful mouth found what it was looking for between your legs.

It wasn’t often that you had a strong pair of shoulders to rest your thighs on, but Dean’s grip was hard enough to leave deep fingerprints of pressure on each thigh while he slipped his tongue through your folds and feasted on you.

“D-Dean, oh God,” you gasped. Every sound you made was a sensuous symphony in his ears, washing over his skin and making the well of his desire churn hot in his lower belly. He had to roll his hips into the mattress for some relief for his aching cock, even while he moved his mouth up to your clit, circling the swollen bud with his tongue. He had enough room to slip two fingers deep inside your sopping wet channel, exploring you deeply, stroking and twisting to find what you needed.

Your thighs trembled and squeezed tight on either side of his head. When he sucked your clit tight between his lips, you uttered as gasping moan as that coil snapped its release. Your inner walls fluttered around his fingers. Yours clenched tightly in his hair, threatening to rip out a few strands.

Dean stroked you all through your first orgasm, giving slower licks to your clit. He seemed to sense when you couldn’t handle anymore though. You tugged more sharply on his hair, and he finally pulled away, moving back up your body to gauge your reaction.

You’d collapsed boneless against the bed, but you still managed to smile up at him as you caught your breath.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked. But his self-satisfied grin almost made you laugh. You took his glistening face between your hands and pulled him down for a grateful kiss.

After a moment to savor your lips, he broke away for a second to catch his breath himself. You stroked his back all the while.

“You know, for a minute down there, I thought you might not let me come back up,” he teased.

You choked on a laugh, covering your face in embarrassment.

“Honestly wouldn’t have minded if you did suffocate me,” he chuckled, accompanied by a slap to your left ass cheek. You squealed, and blushed hotly at the way he was grinning down at you.

But you shook your head and sat up, slipping a hand behind Dean’s neck. After a beat of hesitation, you guided him down to you for a slow, sensuous kiss.

“No, I don’t want to call it a night,” you whispered. Your hand drifted down his bare chest, and lower still. You showed him just how well you could return the favor.

And now, come the morning, you’re blushing down to your neck as each scene flashes through your mind. You feel the ghost of his hands all over your body, and how you’d never quite felt quite as bold and sexy and beautiful with a near stranger as you had with Dean effing Winchester. Your best friend’s brother.

You begin to worry your bottom lip with your teeth. How the hell are you going to tell Sam? Especially after he warned you about exactly this. Plus, there’s a reason you don’t typically do the one-night stand thing, and this has the potential to become something very complicated.

You know what, it’s fine! you think. We’re two consenting adults. We’re both single. And maybe…maybe it could be more than a hookup. Maybe we can see each other again, see where it goes.

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Dean says, his voice croaking with sleep.

You look down at him in surprise. His eyes have cracked open and he has your hand captive, stopping you from continuing to idly trace patterns on his bare chest. You smile in embarrassment.

“Sorry,” you say. Again, you bite your lower lip. “Um, good morning.”

“Morning, sweetheart,” he grins lazily. “You sure wore me out last night.”

Your smile becomes more genuine, even if you turn your face away somewhat shyly.

“Aw, don’t do that,” Dean says. He slides his hand up your arm and behind your neck, tangling into your already tangled hair when he guides you down to his lips for a kiss. “You were awesome.”

You giggle against his lips. “Really?”

“Hell, yeah,” he says, kissing you again.

You shake your head a little. “You were…”

Amazing. Unbelievable. Probably the best night I’ve ever had.

“Perfect,” you decide. Because it’s the truth. The word comes out of your mouth before you can filter yourself though, making you pause. Dean does too, but after a beat, he slowly smiles.

“Oh yeah?” he asks.

You lick your lips, and you nod. “Definitely.”

“Well, then,” he says. His hand moves down to squeeze your hip. “You down for a repeat performance?”

You smile. “Only if I get a turn.”

Bracing your hands on his chest, you slide your thigh across his lap so you can straddle his hips. Dean grins and goes along with your idea. He gets a nice healthy handful of your thighs and helps settle you on top of him. But first, he reaches over into your nightstand drawer and finds another condom, ripping it open with his teeth.

Just like you did for him last night, you take the packet, as well as his generous length in your hands. You gently stroke him to full mast, smiling pleased at his groan of pleasure. Then you carefully fit the condom over him.

“You’re so gentle with me,” he teases.

“Just returning the favor,” you quip, just before you position him at your wet entrance. Slowly, you sink down over his cock.

You both moan at the feeling of him stretching you again, warm and thick and fitting perfectly nestled deep inside. There had been moments last night where he wasn’t all that gentle, actually, but his passion had only spurred yours on more. You know you’ll probably find fingerprint marks on your thighs and ass, but it’s fucking worth it, you think, as you begin to bob a rocking rhythm that serves you both.

Dean arches his back underneath you, his knees coming up to press against your ass.

“Goddamn, baby. Givin’ me quite a show,” he says, in a panting voice that’s deep as sin.

You utter a breathy laugh.

Dean means it though. He’s enjoying the way you brush your hair out of your face, your beautiful tits in his face while you truly let loose for him. He guides you by the stronghold he has on your hips, his fingers pressing into your soft flesh as he ruts up into you, meeting your thrusts.

Your breath quickens, your nails digging into his chest on reflex, and your heart races as that delicious pleasure builds. But when Dean snakes a hand between you and further parts your folds to massage tight circles over your clit, your vision flashes white. You utter a scream of pleasure on his name, your inner walls choking him tight as you throb around his cock. His release hits him like a goddamn freight train.

“Aw, fuck,” he grunts.

He slams your hips down hard, making your thighs slap against his. A ragged groan escapes him in a rush. His hands move to your thighs just under your ass, where his fingers press into flesh hard enough to leave forensic ID, giving him leverage to bury himself deep into your pussy as he spills a hot release into the condom.

Goddamn…

He can almost imagine that he’s coming free inside you, that you’re milking his cock for every drop, until there’s nothing left for him to give.

The thought surprises him. It almost takes him out of the moment, honestly. That’s not a thought he’s ever had before—not with a woman he barely knows (which is most of his hookups, if he’s honest).

In that delicious, fractious moment just after it hits, it’s like those few seconds are suspended in zero gravity. Your arms are shaking, and your forced to collapse against his chest. Dean welcomes you there for a little while, letting you come down while he smooths a hand over your hair.

Though he can't help the urge to let his big hand drift down over your dewy skin, down the gentle slope of your back and over the curve of your generous ass. He gives one cheek a teasing slap. The sound echoes in the room.

"Goddamn perfect ass," he says roughly, smirking at your squeal. You end up grinning hard against his neck.

"'S that my new nickname?" you quip.

He chuckles deeply, moving you along with his chest. "Hell, sweetheart, if you want it to be."

Eventually, you lean back to give him a smile and one last kiss before you pull away from him. You slip off his lap to find your robe, at least. You definitely need a shower.

“So I’m thinking, after we get cleaned up, I could make us some breakfast,” you offer. “Or if you want, maybe we could go somewhere. I know a little diner down the block.”

“I like the sound of food,” Dean agrees with a smile. Ge reaches over for his phone on the nightstand, to check the time. His eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”

He has to get his ass over to the Fire Academy. He has class in barely twenty minutes.

He tears out of bed and nearly trips on the coiled sheets.

“Sorry. Gonna need to take a raincheck,” he says. He hurries to find his clothes strewn all over your bedside floor.

“What’s the matter?” you ask with wide eyes. You cross your arms under your breasts, but it’s more like you’re hugging yourself over your robe. You watch him tear through your bedroom in a tempest of movement.

Dean spares you a glance, but not much else as he yanks up his slacks and belt and dress shirt.

“Gotta get to class,” he confesses. Thank God he has his uniform in the trunk of his car for exactly these kinds of emergencies. He grabs his phone, wallet, and keys, and quickly kisses you on the cheek. He gazes down at you apologetically. “Sorry I gotta cut and run, sweetheart, but it’s been fun.”

Your smile barely reaches your eyes. He’s pressed for time, but he still notices.

He slows himself down and cups your cheek. “Hey.”

He gets your pretty eyes looking up at him, and he gives you a real kiss, nice and slow. He cradles your cheek and brushes his thumb across your skin.

“Thanks,” he says. His now familiar grin manages to make you smile. “And I mean that.”

You shake your head at him. “Okay go, Mr. Future Fireman. Be safe out there, okay?”

He gives you a playful salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

You can’t help but laugh. This guy’s too much. But you don't think you've had this much fun having sex in...

All right, let's not put a timeframe on it.

You watch him leave your apartment, even though you have a sinking feeling in your chest. You knew this was just a hookup for him, for both of you. Part of you just couldn’t help hoping that it could’ve led to something more.

Dean means to call you.

He really does.

After that truly awesome, you shook me all night long, kind of a night, he thinks about you more than he’d like to admit over the next few weeks. However, he finds himself locked into his training. He’s so close to finishing strong and earning his badge, he just can’t afford any more distractions.

Still, he should’ve known that Sam would find out—either through Eileen, or through you directly. He also should’ve expected the way his brother let him have it.

“And you didn’t even fucking call her. See? This is why I don’t set you up with any of my friends anymore,” Sam bitches at him from his side of the small two-seater dinner table. They still share an apartment, though in just a month and a half, Sam’s going to be moving out. He and Eileen already found a house that they’re moving into after the wedding.

“Look, I was going to call her, man. They’ve just been bustin’ my ass at the Academy!” Dean argues.

“Bullshit.” Sam levels him with the same finger that holds his beer.

Dean’s brows raise, high and annoyed. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I’m calling bullshit. Because if you really liked her, respected her, and respected me, you would’ve made the time,” Sam says.

That falls heavy between the brothers for a moment while they eat their pizza.

“Look, I know her. She doesn’t do hookups that often, which means…she probably liked you,” Sam adds. “And honestly, when are you going to give it a real try with someone? You can only visit that free clinic so many times.”

Dean shoots him a glare. He’s had a clean bill of health from said clinic for six months straight.

“Jesus Christ. Enough, all right?” he grouses. “What’re you, Mom?”

“I’m just saying,” Sam says, lowering his crust to the plate. He levels his brother with a more earnest look, lightening up from his anger. “Look, if it’s about what happened to Dad—”

“What, you mean the way he drank himself to death after Mom died?” Dean says. His voice cuts through whatever softball glove Sam is trying to handle him with. “You think that’s the kind of thing I should be looking for in my life?”

“Oh, and what, do you think I’m making a mistake marrying Eileen?” Sam counters.

Dean sighs, shaking his head. “Damn it, don’t put words in my mouth. That’s not what I’m saying, it’s just…I don’t know. Maybe that kind of life—the house, the wife, the 2.5 kids and the dog. Maybe that’s just not my life, okay?”

Sam gives him a long look. He lets go of a deep breath, and he shrugs.

“Okay,” he says. “If you think hooking up night after night for the rest of your life is going to make you happy, then fine.”

Dean nods, glad that they can put an end to this little After School Special.

“Okay.”

Still, he can’t finish his third slice of pizza. He keeps picturing your face when he left you that morning. No matter how you tried to hide it, he still saw the tinge of disappointment in your eyes. It brews something uncomfortable in his stomach, and a sting in his chest.

You’re eating lunch alone in your classroom, finally on your break, when an unfamiliar number flashes across your phone screen. You look down at it in confusion, but with all the caterers and florists and things you’ve helped Eileen with on the wedding, you figure it could be important. You pick up the call and greet whoever’s on the line.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

You drop your ham and cheese on your keyboard, gaping in surprise.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he chuckles slightly. “Sorry, I know it’s been a minute.”

You frown, because you’re confused more than anything.

“Yeah, like almost a month,” you reply. You put the call on speaker so you can grab up your sandwich and quickly brush off the crumbs from your keyboard. You struggle to say something cool, clever, sexy even. “I’m okay. Just, um…what’s up?”

Smooth, real smooth. You cover your eyes with your hand.

“Nothin’, I was just thinking of that night,” he says. “I had a good time.”

Your frown deepens, despite the beginning of a blush warming your cheeks. If he’s calling you just for another hookup…

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.”

And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

“I could make us some burgers, toss in a couple of beers and a movie night,” he adds.

That part throws you though, you’re not going to lie. What, is this a Netflix and chill situation—with a side of fries?

You consider it. You weigh pros and cons at a frightening speed in your mind, almost like Sherlock Holmes contemplating the layout of a dead body and deducing within moments that his wife committed the murder, despite the man no longer wearing a ring.

You want to let yourself be bold and spontaneous and carefree...but it's just not who you are at your core. You're a planner, a cautious person who looks three ways before crossing the street. Letting Dean take you home that night was certainly one of the most spontaneous, wild things you've done since your friends took you out to a strip club after you aced your final round of exams back in college.

(Sam hadn't been there that night, but he did get an embarrassing drunken text from you at 3:00 a.m., along with a few shame-ridden pictures fueled by questionable substances. Yes, he still had the evidence.)

You just don't know if it's smart to let yourself hookup with Dean again. Mostly because you know your heart has the tendency to get attached, no matter how much you warn it not to.

“You know, Dean, I’m pretty busy with my job right now. I just started here a couple of months ago, and I think I just need to focus on that right now,” you say. Part of it isn’t a lie, even though your soft heart is stinging.

“Ah, okay. Yeah. I get that,” he says. You hear his disappointment too. “But I just need to say, I really am sorry for not calling you sooner.”

Your lips tug at a smile. “It’s okay, Dean. Look, you’re Sam’s brother. I just feel like, maybe it’s better if you and I stay friends.”

“Friends, huh?” Dean says wryly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t have three rounds of steamy hot sex with any of my friends.”

Your blush comes swiftly again, burning in your cheeks.

“Be that as it may,” you say, “I just don’t want to do anything that will distract from Sam and Eileen’s wedding.”

“Oh, I’m a distraction, huh?” Dean says flirtatiously.

You begin to smile in earnest. “I think you know damn well what you are, Dean Winchester.”

His deep chuckle practically resonates through the phone and into your chest, going straight down to your pussy. You clench on nothing just at the sound of his voice, making you cross your legs under your skirt. Dear God…

How are you supposed to be even remotely normal around this man now?

But for Sam’s sake (and your own), you’ll have to try.

Two months later, Dean has taken Sam’s dating advice to heart. A week or so after you turned him down, he ran into Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, while he was at the grocery store buying beer and Twizzlers. She was a smart, sharp, sexy brunette. A yoga instructor, he soon found out. So he took a chance on asking her out. They’ve been going slow and steady ever since.

Dean hasn’t heard from you since the rehearsal dinner, but he sees you again at his brother’s wedding. All the bridesmaids are wearing long, royal blue dresses that drape off the shoulders and hug the bust and waist, flaring gently at the skirt. Lisa and Jo wear it beautifully, their hair perfectly smooth and coiled.

But when you step out into the hall outside the church ballroom to join them, Dean actually pauses in what he’s saying to his brother. He nearly double takes when you enter his line of vision—mostly because he hasn’t seen you in a dress since that night. You were sexy as hell then, a lady in red.

Today, you’re absolutely stunning.

After greeting Sam with a warm hug, you turn to him with a nervous kind of smile. “H-Hey, Dean.”

With that, he snaps out of it. Dean smiles, eyes crinkling, and goes over to give you a hug as well.

“Good to see you,” he says, trying not to inhale too much of your nice perfume. It’s even in your hair.

“You too,” you reply. Your smile is a little brighter, more genuine. Though there’s something behind your eyes that he can’t quite place.

What he doesn’t notice is the way Lisa is watching you and her boyfriend, a hint of suspicion on her face.

You do though. You pull away from Dean and assemble into a line with Lisa at the helm. As the Best Man, Dean stands with her, followed by Jo and Brady, another one of Sam’s buddies. You and Benny bring up the rear. Benny’s dad used to work with John, Sam and Dean’s father, on the police force.

According to Sam, John Winchester worked a beat for twenty-six years before his liver finally gave out on him. Dean almost went to the Police Academy to follow in his dad’s footsteps, but Benny, already working his way up to Lieutenant, suggested Dean become a smoke eater instead. The suggestion stuck.

Benny Lafitte is slightly shorter than Dean, but just as broad-shouldered, his auburn beard neatly trimmed. Even though you might’ve thought he was rough around the edges at first, his kind blue eyes spoke the contrary. He offers you his arm like a gentleman.

“Well aren't I lucky, getting the prettiest girl on my arm,” he says, with a charming smile.

You smile, and even begin to blush at the way he subtly takes note of you from head to toe.

“Well, thank you. You’re very handsome yourself. Although, hold on.” You slip your arm out of his for a moment so that you can fix his tie. It’s slightly crooked. You make sure that it lays flat under his collar, smoothing down all the edges and picking off any small dust particles that landed on his collar. Benny watches you with an indulgent smile.

“Am I good?” he asks.

“Very,” you reply.

“I appreciate it, thank you,” he says. You don’t know if he means to sound flirtatious, but his voice is a deep drawl that washes over you pleasantly. You find yourself blushing down to your neck as you slip your arm back around his.

You also don’t notice how Dean glances at you and Benny over his shoulder.

As much as you love Sam and Eileen, it’s difficult for you to keep your mind from spinning into fractals as the ceremony goes on. You can’t help but glance at Dean. He stands there behind Sam dutifully, but you see brotherly pride in Dean’s eyes, in his smile. It makes you smile too. You too love Sam like a brother, and it brings a well of happy tears to your eyes to watch him have his moment with his new wife.

It just also reminds you of what you need to do.

After the ceremony ends and the bridal party files out behind the bride and groom, you excuse yourself from Benny apologetically. You wait until Lisa and Jo go off to take pictures with Sam and Eileen, and you grab Dean’s wrist, pulling him aside.

“I need to talk to you,” you whisper.

Dean gives you a confused look. “They’re gonna need us for the pictures.”

“I know, but this is important,” you say. Your voice trembles with nerves, and so do your hands. Dean notices, frowning in concern. He grasps your arm to try and steady you.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Just come with me,” you implore him. You take his hand and lead him into the women’s dressing room attached to the church sanctuary you all just came out of.

Dean raises his brows at the mess you and the rest of the bridesmaids have made of the room—pantyhose and makeup and clothing litter the floor and most available surfaces, while leftover breakfast sandwiches, grapes, salami, and cheddar cheese cubes are splayed out across one of the vanity counters. Dean is tempted to steal a morsel, but he focuses on you first.

You close and lock the door, which makes his brows raise high again. You know he has a girlfriend now, right?

“Uhh, look, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but—”

You heave a sigh. Again, you take his hand and guide him to sit with you at the vanity. The old stools squeak, the overhead lights a bit too bright. This is not where you want to do this, but you can’t hold it in anymore.

“Dean, I’m pregnant,” you confess.

He freezes. His breath stills in his lungs. His eyes slowly widen as the words click in his brain.

“What?” His head tilts, as if he didn’t hear you right.

You squeeze his hand; to ground him or yourself, you’re not sure.

“I’m about two months pregnant. I found out last week.”

Dean swipes his free hand over his mouth while he tries to compute. He squeezes your hand, tighter and tighter. He points to himself.

“It’s…it’s me? It’s mine?”

You give him a weary smile. “You’re the only one I’ve been with in the last few months. It could only be you.”

Oh fuck. The man’s face begins to pale as he descends into shock.

“But we…I used a condom,” he reasons. “All the—all the times!”

You bite your lip. If you weren’t freaking the fuck out yourself, you’d probably be laughing right now. Granted, you’ve had a bit more time to process this than Dean.

“I know, I was there,” you reply, releasing yet another sigh. “One of them probably broke. That’s all I can think of… Honestly, Dean, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I just didn’t want to disrupt the ceremony or cause a scene before the wedding. But now you know.”

Dean falls silent then. He hasn’t let go of your hand, which you think is a decent sign. He’s likely forgotten that you’re still holding it as he stares off into the middle distance for several seconds.

Eventually, he shakes his head and returns his gaze to yours. He looks uncertain, his handsome face the true epitome of holy fucking shit.

You know the feeling.

But he asks the most important question.

“What do you want to do?”

Briefly you close your eyes as you take a breath. You squeeze his hand before you let go of him.

“I’ve thought about this a lot, and…I’m keeping the baby,” you tell him, though you raise placating hands. “I don’t want money, or anything like that. I just wanted you to know that it’s yours. How much you want to be in his or—or her life, that’s up to you.”

Dean takes a beat before he answers, but you don’t have to wait so long holding your breath.

“Okay. Okay, yeah. I’ll help you. Don’t worry,” he says.

And just like that, all the time you spent giving yourself pep talks for this, telling yourself that you’ll need to be strong no matter what he says, all of it crumbles into relief. Your lower lip trembles, and your body shudders as you break into tears. You try covering your face to hide your shame, but Dean grasps your shoulders.

“Hey, hey. It’s all right,” he says. He tentatively pulls you into a hug. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You nod into his dress shirt, probably staining him with your running makeup.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Thank you so much.”

He holds you a bit tighter in response.

You and Dean agree to keep this to yourselves for now, at least until Sam and Eileen get back from their honeymoon. It’s difficult to explain why your eyes are all red and your makeup is smudged, but you promise Sam that you’ll tell him later. You know it’s pointless to lie to him though. As a lawyer, his bullshit meter is far too high.

However, you also know that he’s half guessed it by the time you all make it to the reception. When you and Dean came out of that dressing room to join the bridal party for pictures, you're sure that you looked emotionally wrecked. Dean had looked pale as a sheet, his body coiled and tense, as willing himself to seem normal. Sam had clocked both of you with a raise of his brow, but he didn't say anything then, especially after you gave him a pleading look.

While Eileen greets her family without him for a moment, Sam pulls you aside. He notes your glass of diet coke, in a moderate sea of guests drinking champagne and cocktails.

“Are you okay?” he asks knowingly.

Tears well up in your eyes again. You don’t know if it’s your damn hormones going haywire, or just the way Sam asks you, with the love of a friend in his eyes. He squeezes your shoulder gently, prompting you with your name.

“Yeah, I think I will be,” you say.

"Is it the same reason you're not drinking?" he asks. "You and Dean earlier..."

You hesitantly confirm with a nod. Sam blows out a harsh sigh, raising folded hands to his mouth as he processes. You begin to look around on reflex, trying to see if anyone's watching you and Sam have this conversation in the middle of the reception. To your relief, everyone around you seems occupied with drinks, hours d'oeuvres and conversation.

“What did he say when you told him?” Sam asks. His gaze is firmer. You get the idea that if he doesn’t like what you tell him, then he’s about to go grab his brother by the ear himself.

You grab his wrist and give a placating squeeze. “He said he's going to help me, be there for me.”

“Damn right. So will I,” Sam nods, and glances back at Eileen, his new bride, with a smile. “We both will.”

“I know,” you nod as well. “I’ll be okay, Sam. You don’t have to worry so much. Just enjoy your wedding day. It’s the only one you’re gonna get. Well, you know…hopefully.”

You tease him with a wink.

Sam laughs, cupping your cheek. He kisses your other cheek.

“I love you, you know that right?” he says.

You give him a trembling smile through your tears.

Meanwhile, Dean has a beautiful woman in his arms. He turns Lisa on the dancefloor, trying not to trip on his own dress shoes, all the while knowing that his brain isn’t here in his body. It’s across the ballroom, watching you talk to Sam. Dean can tell that he knows, just in his Big Bird body language. He’d also recognize that accompanying Bitch Face anywhere.

“Dean, what’s wrong,” Lisa asks him, and not for the first time. She’s getting annoyed, he can tell. She finally looks over to where he keeps glancing, and she notices you with a frown. It’s also not the first time she’s caught him staring at you tonight.

“What was that earlier in the dressing room? She didn’t really get food poisoning, did she?” she asks pointedly. “What, did you two used to date or something?”

He gives a wan smile. “Yeah, kinda. We…had a thing once.”

“What kind of thing?”

Dean closes his eyes and tries to keep himself calm. He’s pretty sure if he tells her the truth right now, she’s going to find the nearest cocktail and dump it over his head.

But shit, here it goes.

“Well…”

After a long day at school, you drive over to Dean’s apartment. You’d agreed to meet there and wait for him to get off his shift at Firehouse 83, where he just started as a full-fledged firefighter on probation. When he gets home, he’s supposed to go with you to an important appointment with your OB-GYN.

You were hoping he’d already be done with work by the time you got to his place, but Lisa's there to open the door for you. Apparently, he’d already given her a key.

Moving kind of fast, but okay, you think. A second later, you could’ve rolled your eyes at yourself. Pot, kettle, me. Got it.

Lisa greets you with a “polite” smile at best, but she does offer you water at least. You really can’t blame her for not liking you though. She found out her boyfriend got another woman pregnant right before he started dating her. Really, she has more balls than you for staying with him. You wouldn't put it past Dean to somehow have smooth-talked her into giving him a chance.

Or she really loves him. The thought sobers you as you lower yourself down to the couch beside her. Both of you sit there in silence for a moment, trying to figure out something to talk about.

“So, you’re what, six months pregnant?” she asks.

You correct her in thinly veiled annoyance. “Three months, actually.”

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know why I thought it was six.”

You have a feeling her awkward chuckle is fake, however. She knew good and damn well that you’re not six months pregnant. In her eyes, you must be the size of a parade float.

“If you want, I can recommend a holistic diet to help you get your body back after the baby’s born,” Lisa offers. “No pills, no chemicals. Just good clean weight loss.”

You feign interest. Honestly, you’d like her to cram that offer right up her hooch.

“I can even give you a discount if you want to try out yoga,” she says. “It’s low impact, but you burn plenty of calories. I have a beginner’s class, not too strenuous. Even my least flexible clients manage to do the poses.”

Is that why Dean likes you? Because you’re bendy? Bet if I sat on you, you’d pop like a fucking balloon.

You hide all of these thoughts behind a “polite” smile of your own.

“That’s really nice of you, thanks,” you reply. It’s non-committal enough, but hopefully it’ll get her off your back.

No such luck.

“You know, maintaining a healthy diet is really important for the baby’s health too,” Lisa adds. “It’s not just about avoided raw fish and dairy products. Oh, and processed food is obviously a no-go. Like, I’m sure you haven’t been hitting Taco Bell and all that stuff, right?”

As a matter of fact, you’ve been eating clean since long before you got pregnant. Not that it’s any business of hers whether you enjoy the occasional quesadilla or not.

Your temper snaps at its leash. You open your mouth to reply, when the front door unlocks and opens to Dean, stepping in through the threshold.

Thank God, you and Lisa both think. She gets up quicker from the couch than you, greeting her boyfriend with a kiss. You avert your gaze while you begin to get up yourself.

Dean reaches out to help you, grasping your arm in support. You shoot him a smile.

“I can still get up by myself,” you snip.

“Yeah, all right. Just in case,” he says with a smile. “Ready to go?”

“Oh, yeah. Let’s rock and roll,” you say, trying to hide your worsening mood. You’re exhausted, and irritated, and probably more than a little hangry. Except now, the idea of food just has you feeling guilty for even being hungry.

“Bye, hun. Hope you have a good appointment,” Lisa says, giving your shoulder a pat. You give her the most genuine smile you can muster as you thank her. It's possibly that she's one of those women who don't realize when they're being cunty, but you find it highly unlikely. She's too smart for that.

You follow Dean out the door and over to his car, big and black and sleek as you remember. You settle into the passenger seat with your arms crossed in silence. Dean switches the cassette to one of his favorite Led Zeppelin albums, though he notices your grumpy face.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

You give him some side-eye, but you’re reluctant to say anything. You just shake your head. As irritated as you are, you don’t want to be the friend who badmouths his girlfriend.

God, are we even friends? You wonder. Or am I just his knocked-up baby momma?

And again, you realize that this whole situation is probably hard for Lisa. You just don’t know if she’s jealous, or if she just…doesn’t like you.

“I’m okay,” you tell Dean.

He raises a skeptical brow. Looks like Sam isn’t the only one with a finely tuned bullshit meter.

“All right, how about this,” Dean says. “Let’s grab some burgers after this, huh? From your favorite spot. Shake Shack, right? Side of fries, frozen yogurt. I think I’ll get chocolate this time… Hmm, I doubt Lisa will want anything. She’s gone on an all-vegan kick or something.”

For one shining moment, you were happy and touched at his consideration. But now your body stills in your seat when you remember Lisa’s words. Tears well up in your eyes with a hot sting, and a sob escapes your throat.

Dean is cut off from thinking about getting extra bacon on his burger. He looks over at you in alarm. “H-Hey, what’s the matter?”

You scoff at him through your tears. “Are you kidding me? I can’t eat burgers anymore, Dean. I was already fucking fat. Now it’s just gonna get ridiculous.”

“What?” Dean’s brows knit together in confusion, along with his deepening frown. It gets worse as he tries to watch the road ahead, while at the same time, watching you continue to crumble.

“And after the birth, I’m just going to be an even fatter slob who can’t take care of her baby,” you sniffle and weep, trying in vain to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself.

Dean grits his teeth, his jaw twitching. Fuck it.

He turns the steering wheel sharp enough to startle a gasp out of you.

“Dean!”

He pulls the car over onto the side of the road, ignoring the honking SUV behind him. He shifts into Park and shuts off the radio—a big red flag, in your opinion. He’s upset too, and fucking serious, more so than you’ve ever seen him. You stare back at him with wide eyes.

“I’ve never once heard you say that you’re fat,” he says.

You blink at that, but eventually, you’re able to get your tongue to unstick from the roof of your mouth. You wipe the remnants of tears from your cheeks. Your face is already hot from your upset, now tinged with embarrassment.

“You haven’t known me very long,” you say quietly.

It doesn’t help. Dean’s jaw ticks again.

“Well, I’ve never thought it. Not even once,” he says. His jade green eyes are firmly set on yours, and he gestures between you and him with a pointed finger. “The reason you and I are here right now, is because the minute I saw you, I wanted you.”

One corner of his lips kicks upwards. “And that night, you didn’t disappoint.”

Your mouth falls open slightly. You don’t know how to respond, but you do know that a full blush is warming your face and neck. His words have power, and unbidden, they bloom a similar warmth between your legs. You swallow a bit nervously as you bite your bottom lip.

Dean glances down at your mouth when you do. He can remember what your pretty mouth did for him that night. Oh, he remembers all too well. He even had the shade of your lipstick streaked across his skin until he showered up at the firehouse.

He locks that all away when shifts the car back into Drive. If you’re going to make it to this appointment on time, he needs to get going.

And you both have to leave whatever that was right here by the side of the road.

AN: Woo! 😮‍💨 Yep, this is only Part 1, friends. Lisa is a bit different in this. My take was that without Ben in her life, she might be less mature and a bit more catty. As we get into Part 2 I'll leave it up to you to decide why she decides to stay with Dean, and perhaps more importantly, where the reader and Dean can go from here as co-parents. 🤔

If you enjoyed Part 1, please let me know!~

Next Time in Part 2:

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look, I…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours, and achingly familiar.

⋆˙⟡ Read Part 2 on Patreon now!

⋆˙⟡ Coming to Tumblr/Ao3 on 3/23

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester Tag List (Part 1):

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @kaleldobrev

@globetrotter28 @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdeanwrites @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @my-stories-vault @kayleighwinchester

@rizlowwritessortof @k-slla @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @nancymcl

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @cheynovak @jollyhunter

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad

@kmc1989 @siampie @rubyvhs @masked-lost-girl @spnbabe67

@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005

#dean winchester #dean winchester au #firefighter!dean #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #fic rec #read list #f25

376 notes · View notes

infinetlyforgotten · 12 hours ago

Text

How It All Began: Drunken Escapades

Hi babies! Another fluffy chapter for our dynamic duo and this one even contains some smut! I’ve never written smut before, these characters really out here doing their own thing and making me write it out lmao Be gentle & let me know if I should never do it again 🙃

Pairing: Choi Seunghyun x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Trigger Warnings: tons of fluff, very drunk and giggly Seunghyun, sexual innuendos, fingering, p in v sex

Enjoy! Xx

When Kwon Jiyong throws a party, he throws a party. Whether it’s an all out bash or a simple house warming, you can expect no expense spared.

This particular party was more of a semi small gathering of about 20 of Jiyong’s closest friends, hanging out at his penthouse after BigBang completed another successful tour in Japan. The vibes were chill and everyone was having a great time, lounging around the living room space or roaming around closer to the kitchen for the snacks.

Y/N found herself seated on the couch, chatting with a mutual friend when she felt the couch dip next to her. She turned to find Seunghyun, smiling at her as he leaned back casually. His cheeks were tinted pink, a sign of how many glasses of wine he had consumed during their two hours here. Y/N smiled back at him.

“Hey you,” she greeted. Seunghyun just smiled more, his dimples prominent.

“Hi there pretty lady,” he said, his voice slightly higher than his usual deep timber thanks to the alcohol in his system. Y/N raised an eyebrow in amusement, and was about to speak but Seunghyun beat her to it.

“What’s a beautiful woman like you doing at a party like this?” If it weren’t for the slight slurring of the last syllable, Y/N wouldn’t have known he was beyond drunk. She suppressed the giggle that wanted to escape, and the guest she was speaking to excused themselves, thinking that Seunghyun was just being silly with his girlfriend. Y/N shifted in her seat and gave him her full attention.

“Well I’m just hanging out with my friends, what about you,” she asked, playing along. Seunghyun took this opportunity to scoot closer, leaving no space on the couch between him and Y/N.

“Yeah, this is my friend’s house. We’re in a band together, you may have heard of us BangBig,” he boasted, completely and utterly drunk. Y/N bit her lip, doing her best to fight the laugh bubbling in her chest. She nodded contemplatively.

“Hmm, yeah I think I’ve heard of you guys. Pretty sure you’re called BigBang though,” she teased and Seunghyun smiled even more.

“Whatever you say beautiful. So…did you come here alone tonight?” He attempted to whisper, bringing his face closer to Y/N’s. Seunghyun placed a hand quite high on her thigh, his long fingers giving her a squeeze. “Because I really want to eat your pussy right now,” he said casually almost as if he were asking her what the weather was like outside.

Y/N gasped and grabbed his hand, pulling it off of her thigh but keeping hold of it in her hand. She gave him an incredulous look, turning her head to make sure no one was in ear shot. She turned back to find Seunghyun even closer, a goofy grin on his face as he stared at her longingly.

“You look like you’d make the prettiest noises. I’m really good at it too, I think you’d enjoy—“ Y/N cut him off with hand over his mouth, her own eyes wide and her giggles no longer suppressed.

“Okay that’s it, we’re going home. You’re wasted,” she stands, pulling him to stand with her. She grabbed their coats, immediately calling for a car on her phone. She spotted Jiyong standing by the kitchen and walked over to let him know that she was taking his very drunk friend home. Jiyong laughed at the goofy grin still on Seunghyun’s face, before the older man leaned closer to Ji, trying to whisper but failing once again.

“She’s taking me back to her place. Wish me luck,” he winked and Jiyong’s eyes widen as he laughed, giving his friend two thumbs up. Seunghyun smiled proudly and with a roll of her eyes, Y/N dragged her boyfriend towards the front door.

As they stood outside, Y/N helped Seunghyun into his coat, not wanting him to catch a cold from the crisp evening air.

“You’re doing it wrong, sweetheart. You’re supposed to undress me…” he said with a pout and Y/N pursed her lips to stop from smiling as to not encourage him any more than she already had.

“It’s chilly out, I don’t want you catching a cold,” she said gently, finally spotting the driver who was to take them home. Seunghyun hummed, nodding his head.

“That’s sweet, we’ve just met and you care for me? I can’t wait to repay the favor, beautiful” he slurred, standing tall and proud. “Did I tell you I was good with my fingers too? I bet I could make you come really quick,” he said very matter of factly, hooking his middle finger and making an obscene gesture.

“Oh my god! Please stop, just get in the car,” Y/N said in exasperation, looking around to make sure no one was around. The last thing she needed was a picture or video of Seunghyun as he finger fucked the night air circulating on the internet.

Once she got him seated and secure, the driver began heading to their destination. Y/N looked at Seunghyun to find him looking back at her, giggling softly to himself. His dimples were on full display and Y/N couldn’t help but find him utterly adorable. His hair was fluffy, slightly falling forward onto his forehead. The smile on his face was bright and soft and she couldn’t help but smile back.

“You’re really pretty,” he said very sincerely. His eyes traced over her face in genuine fascination and Y/N blushed. Even when drunk, Seunghyun knew how to make her feel special.

“Please let me fuck you, I know I can make you feel so, so good,” he whined, not whispering at all. Y/N’s blush darkened when she made eye contact with the driver, shrugging slightly before turning to look out the window, covering her face with her hands and groaning to herself.

After 20 more excruciatingly long minutes, the driver dropped them off in-front of their apartment. Y/N apologized profusely and made sure to tip him generously. She walked Seunghyun up the steps and sighed in relief once they were inside of their apartment. She placed her purse on the counter and pulled off her heels before feeling a pair of arms wrap themselves around her waist. Seunghyun leaned down, bringing his lips to Y/N’s neck, trailing wet and sloppy kisses across her skin. She was about to pull away when he paid special attention to the spot just right below her ear, the one spot that left her weak in the knees.

“Seunghyun,” she sighed, fighting against the part of her brain that wanted to let him keep kissing and touching her. She gently pulled away and Seunghyun groaned, pouting slightly.

“Come on baby, just let me taste you. Please? I swear I’ll be so good, I can do whatever you want,” he pleaded, his deep voice sounding deeper and lust filled. And damn if it didn’t turn Y/N on a bit. Seunghyun had never been this needy before, and she almost caved when he closed in on her again, feeling his tongue lick a stripe from the base of her neck to that spot below her ear. But she stayed strong, pulling him towards the bedroom to help get him into bed.

“How about we sit on the bed first, and once I get your clothes off, we can fool around? Okay?” She pretended to compromise, knowing that the second he sat on their bed he would pass out. Seunghyun smirked and nodded.

“Finally going to undress me, Princess? Kinky. I knew I liked you,” he voiced, toeing off his shoes haphazardly in the hallway. He tripped over his own feet and started giggling once more, making Y/N laugh along with him.

Exactly as she suspected, the second Y/N sat Seunghyun on the bed, he flopped on to his back, stretching out completely.

“Let me take your suit jacket off at least,” she huffed, pulling on his sleeve, when Seunghyun suddenly sat up, eyebrows furrowed.

“Hey! Don’t touch me, you don’t get to undress me. I have a girlfriend!” He shouted, his words slurred and thick as he tried to glare are Y/N.

“I’m in a happy committed relationship!” He shouted again, before plopping back down onto the bed, eyes shut and snores erupting from his mouth less than a moment later. Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, covering her mouth as she stared at her now sleeping boyfriend. She fell a little bit more in love with him in that moment.

—————————————————————

The next morning, Y/N was in the kitchen, cooking up something that would help heal the hangover she was sure Seunghyun would wake up with. When she heard a groan coming from their shared bedroom, she knew she made the right call making bacon and waffles.

A groggy and hungover Seunghyun padded his way over to the counter in nothing but a t-shirt and boxer briefs, plopping down onto one of the barstools with a loud grunt.

“Good morning to you too, baby” Y/N teased, sliding over a plate full of items to cure him, along with some pain killers and a glass of orange juice. Seunghyun looked up at her appreciatively, throwing the pills back immediately and chugging most of the juice. He laid his head down on counter and Y/N chuckled softly.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying my pain,” he groaned without picking his head up. Y/N giggled more, moving over to where he sat to rub his back gently. Seunghyun sat up straighter after a few minutes, breaking off a piece of bacon and popping it in his mouth. He took in Y/N’s appearance, smirking to himself at the sight of her in one of his old shirts, her legs bare as she sat on the stool beside him. Suddenly, as if remembering something important, he looked at Y/N.

“Oh shit. I’ve got to tell Jiyong not to invite that girl to any more of his parties,” he said, eyes deep in thought as he reached for more food. Y/N looked at him in confusion.

“What girl?” She asked, taking a seat on the stool next to him. Seunghyun chuckled and shook his head.

“You didn’t see her? She was all over me. It was actually a little embarrassing. Poor thing. She had to have been a fan or something, I’m not sure how she got into Ji’s house,” he continued, and Y/N raised an amused eyebrow. The only time Seunghyun wasn’t next to Y/N was when he went to refill his wine glass, and that was two feet away from where she was seated. The only people at the party were close childhood friends of Jiyong and other YG group members like CL and Park Bom. There were no other strange women present.

“No, I didn’t see anyone out of the ordinary. What happened?” Y/N asked, her grin only getting wider.

“She asked me to eat her out! In public! She even asked me to fuck her too. Do people no longer have any decency? She then told me that she was going to take me to her place and undress me but I told her I was a happily taken and…..why are you laughing?”

Y/N couldn’t help herself, laughing hard at the very inaccurate description of how the night went. Seunghyun was confused to say the least, but couldn’t help the way his lips twitched up into a smile at the beautiful sound of Y/N’s laugh.

“Stop laughing and tell me what you’re laughing about!” He whined. “You saw her didn’t you, that’s why you’re laughing, you’re taking joy in my discomfort!” He accused playfully. But Y/N couldn’t help herself giggling even more. After a few seconds later, Y/N composed herself enough to speak.

“There was no strange woman there last night baby,” she giggled again. “You don’t remember getting a little too tipsy? The person asking those insanely suggestive questions…was you,” Y/N broke down again almost slipping off the barstool she was on. Serunghyun’s shocked expression had her clutching her stomach as she laughed.

She proceeded to tell him, in great detail, all of the innuendos and straight forward requests he asked of her last night. Seunghyun’s face began to flush and he got up from his seat, all but flinging himself on to couch dramatically, covering his face with a pillow as he groaned and screamed into it. He gave himself the ICK. He couldn’t believe he acted like that, embarrassing himself.

Y/N tried to calm him down, moving over to straddle his waist on the couch, leaning forward to remove the pillow from his face. Seunghyun’s eyes were closed, unable to meet Y/N’s eyes.

“Awww don’t get upset, you were actually really cute. You didn’t let me undress you last night because you thought I was trying to take advantage of you,” she tittered, trying to stop the laugh fighting its way out. “You made it VERY clear that you were in a happily committed relationship,” Seunghyun groaned again, laughing slightly at how silly he must have sounded, telling his girlfriend that he had a girlfriend.

Y/N leaned forward slightly, bracing her hands on his chest, smoothing out the fabric of his t-shirt.

“Honesty though, it reminded me of when we first got together. You were smooth and charming back then,” Seunghyun gave her an unamused look, as if asking where this was going.

“Okay so maybe you weren’t smooth last night but you were very charming. And I kinda liked how needy you were being…” she trailed off, giving him a teasing look. Seunghyun took the bait, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Oh yeah? You liked hearing me tell you how much I wanted you?” Seunghyun bent his legs, gently bucking his hips to move Y/N forward so she was closer, almost chest to chest with him. He moved his hands so that they gripped her hips, steadying her and keeping her in place on his lap. He gave her an inquisitive glance, his smirk matching the twinkle in his eye. Y/N hummed in agreement, smiling right back.

“Mhmm. You sounded so delicious, baby. Begging me to let you touch me and make me feel good,” she leaned forward until her nose brushed his, whispering the last bit against Seunghyun’s lip. She could start to feel him harden underneath her, his grip on her hips tightening slightly.

“I do want to make you feel good,” he growled, licking his lips in anticipation, his tongue playfully swiping at her lips as well with how close they were. He felt Y/N shiver in his embrace, giving her a small wicked smile.

“Do you like when I’m desperate for you, baby? Do you like knowing that I would do anything you wanted me to do?” Seunghyun began to grind himself up into her, gently guiding her hips with his hands. Y/N gasped softly, rolling her hips slowly, feeling him pressing against the very thin material of her panties. Seunghyun groaned, the sound low and deep, and Y/N could feel it reverberate in his chest.

“I mean it baby. Fucking ANYTHING. I just want to be good for you.” Y/N all but whined at the needy sound of his voice, grinding down on him again, the friction of his hardened member delicious against her. Y/N closed the gap between them, kissing Seunghyun slow and sensually. Her tongue slid against his, gently teasing as they made out, her hips still slowly rolling against his. She broke the kiss, pulling back to gasp as she felt Seunghyun’s warm hands slip underneath her shirt, sliding up her sides, his touch barely there and driving her insane. He reached the underside of her breasts, his thumbs gently brushing over both of her pebbles nipples. Y/N took in a breath and shivered, her nipples hardening even more.

“Always so responsive to me, my pretty girl,” Seunghyun cooed. After being together for so many years, there wasn’t much that Y/N and Seunghyun didn’t know about each other. She knew he liked it when she nibbled on his neck and chest, leaving marks for him to see whenever he changed his clothes (there was a reason why he was always so covered up). And he knew she loved to be called his. His baby, his sweet girl, his whore, his slut. If he wanted to push her over the edge, all it took was a few words with some well timed thrusts and she was putty in his hands; euphorically moaning out his name like the goddess she was.

Wanting to see more of her, Seunghyun slipped his hands from underneath her shirt, rolling it up slowly. Y/N immediately understood the assignment, slowly and tantalizingly pulling the shirt up and off, tossing it across the room. Seunghyun looked at her, moaning at the sight of his beautiful Y/N in nothing but black panties.

“God, you are so beautiful,” he whispered, taking her in, loving that he could see the flush of her skin. Seunghyun’s hands slid back up, gently cupping her breasts before leaning up and capturing one of the hardened peaks in his mouth, his other hand pinching the nipple he wasn’t lavishing with his tongue. He lapped at the pebble, softly swirling around it before pulling back and letting out a gentle breath. Y/N moaned again at the cooling sensation, arching into him, as if wanting his lips back on her skin. Seunghyun moved his arms, his hands sliding up her back gently as he held her in place, showing her other nipple the same attention.

Y/N could feel herself getting wetter by the second, almost embarrassed at how easily Seunghyun could unravel her with just a few strategic kisses and touches. His hand gently massaged one breast as he left open mouth kisses across the other. Y/N rolled her hips again, craving more friction. As if reading her mind, as he always does, Seunghyun moved them so that Y/N was now laying on her back on the couch, Seunghyun crouched in between her legs, lying on top of her. He slid one hand back down between them, and the second he felt the damp material of her panties, Seunghyun couldn’t help but moan once more.

“This wet already? For me? Fuck, baby,” he groaned, gently sliding his thumb up and down over the material. Y/N moaned when he began to rub slow circles over her clothed clit. Seunghyun couldn’t decide if he wanted to watch her face, eyes closed and contorted in pleasure or if he wanted to watch the arousal seep out of her as he touched her like no one else could.

He chose the latter, stopping his ministrations to pull her panties down. Y/N huffed at the lack of contact but lifted her hips as he slid the tiny material off of her hips and down her legs. He sat back on his heels momentarily, gazing at the work of art beneath him. Seunghyun would swear that if he died in this moment, right here, he would die a happy man.

Seunghyun gently spread Y/N’s knees apart, opening her up to him. He could see the glistening arousal coating her sex, some of it having smeared onto her thighs. He groaned to himself, gently palming her thighs. Y/N stared at him with hooded eyes, her breaths coming out in pants as she watched him look at her like she was his last meal and he was a starved man. She blushed, covering her face, unable to stare at his loving expression, instinctively closing her legs. He squeezed her knees, gently stopping them from shutting him out.

“No, please don’t shy away from me,” he begged sweetly and Y/N felt herself pathetically clench around nothing. Her sweet Seunghyun, begging to see her, all of her, was enough to drive her to the brink of madness. Seunghyun brought his gaze back down to her core, sliding his hands down her thighs until he was right where she needed him. He cupped her, feeling her arousal cost the palm of his hand.

Y/N took in a shuddered breath as he slid his index finger up and down, collecting the wetness on the pad of his finger before finding her clit. He applied gentle pressure as he circled the swollen nub, coating it with her own slick. Y/N’s back arched off the couch with a broken moan. Seunghyun smirked to himself, moving his hand so that his palm rested on her pubic bone and his thumb rested on her clit, drawing lazy circles as he watched her bite her lip and moan at his touch. He kept his pace steady, knowing how his girl loved to be teased, before being granted what she wanted.

Y/N whined again, seeing the smile on Seunghyun’s face, his dimples once again prominent as he teased and toyed with her.

“Does this feel good baby?” He asked innocently, watching as her eyes all but back into her head when he stroked her clit a little faster. His other hand came into play, his middle finger sliding up and down her slit before resting at her entrance, feeling her flutter as more arousal seeped out of her. She let out a soft moan in anticipation.

“Baby, don’t tease, please” she begged, and that was all Seunghyun needed. He immediately gave her what she wanted, slipping his finger in, before adding another, still keeping that steady pace; only picking up speed as she moaned and bucking her hips off the couch again.

“No begging from you, my pretty girl. I’m fully at your service. You just tell me what you want,” he growled, panting as he felt himself throb. The sound of his fingers pumping into her arousal drove him crazy. He circled her clit faster, feeling her clench around his fingers, knowing she was close.

“Oh fuck…ri—right there,” she gasped, arching once more as it felt like Seunghyun was moving at the speed of light, sending her over the edge. She came hard, the sound of Seunghyun’s name, high pitched and whiny, coming from her lips as she rode the high. Seunghyun kept pumping and circling, prolonging her pleasure. He only stopped when she grabbed his wrist, breathing loudly as she smiled at him lazily.

“I want you,” she said and Seunghyun could have come right there just by the look in her eyes. No one ever made him feel this way before Y/N.

“Fucking hell. Whatever my baby wants, my baby gets,” he replied, ridding himself of his boxer briefs, giving his cock a few pumps before sliding the tip into her aching core. Y/N leaned up on her elbows to watch and let out a low moan as she watched him slip in, throwing her head back into the cushions behind her as she arched into him. Seunghyun sheathed himself inside her fully, pausing to gather himself. She loved how he filled her completely, as if he was the perfect puzzle piece that had been missing. She clenched around him and Seunghyun choked a groan.

“Oh fuck. You’re going to make me come if you keep doing that,” he panted, before composing himself. Y/N grinned mischievously, clenching again and moaning at the feel of him twitching within her.

“Maybe that’s what I want,” she teased. Seunghyun began to thrust shallowly, sloppily, unable to keep himself composed.

“Fuck baby,” Seunghyun clenched out, his eyebrows furrowed in thought as if willing himself not to come.

“You said I could ask for whatever I wanted baby, and I want you to come inside me,” she tantalized. Seunghyun gasped, looking at her as she clenched around him once more, picking up his pace.

“Fucking shit. Fuuuck. If my girl wants me to come, ah, who the fuck, shiiiit, am I to deny her,” he ground out, fucking her into the couch. His thrust into her at a pace that left Y/N spasming again, her second orgasm not too far. Seunghyun had both hands placed by Y/N’s head, caging her in as he thrusted in deeply, angling his hips in a way only he could, hitting that one spot within her that made her see stars.

“FUCK,” she squealed, legs bent, hips arching up to meet his thrusts. Her head was thrown back, exposing the smooth column of her neck to his lips. She brought a hand up to one of her breasts, pinching at her nipple, and the sight of that alone sent Seunghyun off. His thrusts became sloppy and erratic.

“Fuck baby, I’m so close—I, FUCK,” Y/N clenched around him one last time before reaching her own release, Seunghyun right behind her. His moans were so erotic that Y/N felt she could probably come one more time on that alone. Seunghyun slowed his thrusts, before lying down on top of Y/N. She sighed at the feel of his weight on her, wrapping her self completely around him as they panted and slowly brought their heart rates down.

“I love you,” she whispered into his ear, rubbing his back gently, relishing in the feel of him on top of her.

“Mmm, I love you too. Remind me to get ridiculously drunk again if this is the outcome,” he teased and she giggled, the feeling of her chest rising and falling making Seunghyun smile goofily.

“You’re an idiot,” she said affectionately, giggling as he leaned back to look into her eyes, his dimples on display once more. He nuzzled her nose with his before pressing a kiss to the tip of it.

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot,” he said proudly and Y/N couldn’t agree more.

(GIF not mine)

Taglist: @ldydeath @loveesiren @petersasteria @pinkpunkdynamite @sherrayyyyy @wcnderlnds @jackielouuu @lariem-blog2

#choi seunghyun #choi seunghyun x reader #top x reader #bigbang x reader

107 notes · View notes