#not in like “i feel threatened and pressured into silence”

[bitchinbarzal]

Misunderstood | B Faber

summary: you guys haven’t made it official and it comes back to bite brock when he is pictured out at dinner with a friend.

-

The cold Minnesota air nipped at your skin as you wrapped yourself tighter in your blanket, sitting on your couch with a cup of coffee in hand. The warmth of your apartment contrasted the harsh chill outside, the streets dusted in fresh snow. The quiet morning should have been comforting, but instead, you found yourself scrolling aimlessly through Instagram, the flickering glow of your phone screen somehow amplifying the restlessness gnawing at your mind.

Then, you saw it.

Your thumb froze on the screen as you stared at the image before you. Brock. Your boyfriend—or at least, that’s what you thought he was.

He stood at a table, smiling like he always did, the one you adored and couldn’t get enough of. But this time, it wasn’t just his grin that caught your attention. Standing next to him was a woman—blonde, beautiful, and clearly too comfortable with him. She had her hand resting on his arm, a look of fondness that made your stomach twist. The caption read: “Dinner date with my favorite guy.”

The words blurred in your vision as you stared at the picture, trying to make sense of it. You blinked, trying to calm the rising panic inside you. Your fingers swiped quickly to refresh the feed, hoping this was some kind of mistake, some social media glitch. But no, there were more photos—more pictures of Brock and this girl, the two of them enjoying dinners, laughing at something only they seemed to understand, posing close in a way you hadn’t even been able to get Brock to do with you.

And suddenly, all the confidence you had in the relationship seemed to disappear. Why hadn’t he told you about her? You scrolled through the rest of the posts, each one more intimate than the last. It hit you in waves—the jealousy, the confusion, the bitter taste of betrayal. You had always kept things casual with Brock, no pressure, no expectations. But these pictures… They didn’t look casual. Did he think you were just another option?

A pang of hurt ran through you. Had you been nothing more than a placeholder while he figured out what he really wanted?

You set your phone down, hands shaking slightly. You tried to calm yourself. It could be nothing, right? But then the doubts crept in, taking over your thoughts like an uncontrollable storm. Maybe this wasn’t a casual thing for him after all. Maybe he was just too scared to tell you. You were only ever a backup plan, an afterthought. That’s how it felt. You had no idea where you stood in his life, and that was the worst feeling of all.

The next few days were nothing short of torturous.

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond to his texts. He’d sent a few asking how you were, if you were okay, but each time you read his messages, all you could feel was the knot of jealousy and confusion tightening in your chest. You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal, that you had no right to be angry. You had never set any official boundaries, and he had never made any promises to you.

But it didn’t stop the gnawing feeling inside.

When he called you on the second night of the silence, you debated not answering. But you couldn’t bring yourself to let it ring out. “Hello?” you said, your voice more clipped than you intended.

“Hey, it’s me. You’ve been quiet. Is everything okay?” Brock’s voice came through the phone, sounding concerned but also confused.

You squeezed your eyes shut, the tears you’d been holding back threatening to spill. “Yeah, everything’s fine.” You could feel your chest tightening as the words felt like lies in your mouth.

“Are you sure? You’ve been distant. I just want to know if something’s wrong.”

The frustration hit you suddenly, and it slipped out before you could stop it. “What, you want me to just pretend everything’s fine? Pretend like I don’t see all those photos of you and her?” The words were out before you could catch them, and the silence that followed was deafening.

“Wait, what?” Brock’s voice cracked slightly “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” you spat. “I’ve seen it, Brock. All the pictures. All the dates. Why didn’t you tell me about her?” Your voice trembled now, the anger laced with hurt.

There was a long pause, and you could almost hear him processing what you were saying. Then, a sigh. “Listen, I didn’t think it was a big deal. She’s just a friend. She’s one of my teammate’s sisters. We’ve hung out a few times with the team, but there’s nothing going on. I swear.”

But the doubt lingered in your mind. “You didn’t think it was a big deal? You didn’t think it was a big deal to mention that you were hanging out with another girl? That’s what you’re telling me?” You could feel your heartbeat pounding in your ears now. The more he explained, the more it sounded like an excuse. And the more it hurt.

“I didn’t think it would bother you” Brock added quietly. “I thought we were just…having fun, you know? I didn’t think it would cause any issues.”

“Well, it’s causing issues now,” you snapped, cutting the conversation short. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Brock. I just need space.”

And with that, you hung up, not giving him the chance to say anything more. The silence after you ended the call was suffocating. You hated that you had let your emotions spiral like this, but the damage felt done. Your heart was heavy with bitterness, and no amount of reasoning could make it feel right again.

Days passed, and the tension only grew. Brock tried to reach out—texts, calls—but you ignored them all. You felt justified in your anger, but the truth was, the silence was killing you both. Each time you saw his name pop up on your phone, your heart wavered, but you couldn’t bring yourself to open the messages. You had decided that if he cared, he’d come to you. He’d fix this.

But it didn’t happen. Not the way you expected, at least.

Instead, you found yourself standing in your apartment on the fourth day, staring at the door as if it might be a dream.

The sound of soft knocks broke through your thoughts. You slowly opened the door, almost dreading what you might find on the other side. But when you looked up, it was Brock—holding a bouquet of wildflowers, his face a mix of anxiety and determination.

You stared at him for a moment before the anger bubbled up again. “What are you doing here?” you asked, trying to hide the pain in your voice.

“Can we talk?” His voice was quiet, almost pleading. “I know I messed up. I should’ve told you about her, but I never meant for any of this to happen. I care about you. I don’t want this to end because of a misunderstanding.”

Your breath hitched, emotions swirling inside you like a tornado. “You should’ve told me” you whispered, the hurt creeping into your voice. “I saw those pictures, Brock. I felt like you were hiding something from me. And I—” You broke off, looking away, your face flushing with embarrassment.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Brock said, stepping closer, his voice full of regret “I never wanted to make you feel like you weren’t important to me. She’s just a friend—nothing more. You mean everything to me.”

You shook your head, trying to hold back the tears. “I shouldn’t have ignored you. I should’ve trusted you, but I didn’t know where I stood.”

Brock reached out for you, taking your hands gently in his. “I should’ve explained sooner. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to feel second to anyone, especially not because of some misunderstanding.”

His apology, the sincerity in his eyes, hit you harder than you expected. Your walls started to crumble, and with them, the weight that had been pressing on your chest.

“I’m sorry, too,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

Brock’s smile was hesitant but warm. He pulled you into an embrace, holding you tight. “Let’s promise no more misunderstandings, okay? I want this,us,to be real.”

You nodded, feeling the tension dissolve. “No more misunderstandings,” you repeated.

[moth-tea-merchant]

I need my energy back to gain back the ability to be annoying about peitha, I've exhausted a bit of how much I can ramble about her cannon involvement in the story (tho I wanna go replay SoTO so I can get timelines right) so I'm kinda left mostly daydreaming about her relationship with Zafira and interactions between them along with filling in the gap of Peitha apparently being at the wizards tower for a month or more before we go to Nayos.

I will say my attention to personalization of the story has been split between SoTO and Janthy Wilds. And seeing as Zafira's existence spawned from needing a new character to put into SoTO's story bcs no preexisting one fit, I'm kinda more focused on fleshing SoTO's stuff out first, but I can't wait to better figure out Zafira's place in Janthy's story seeing as Waiting Sorrow and her would have a past. I'll need to figure out what it was tho 🤔

[nervoustragedyluminary]

Being misgendered repeatedly by an ex friend because I'm on T and apparently I'm therefore not allowed to be "they /Them" anymore & must be he/him while my flatmate repeatedly corrected him while he tried to tell them I was crazy /concern troll them about my mental health because I'd had enough of his abuse & gone no contact has got to be one of the most ridiculous things that's happened to me this year ....

[stunie]

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁ “MY BOYFRIEND IS GONNA KICK YOUR ASS !”

PT 2: WINDBREAKER BOYS PROTECTING YOU FROM PERVS. ft. yamato endo, chika takiishi, akihiko nirei, taiga tsugeura, & choji tomiyama x f!reader

PART 1: kaji, togame, umemiya, sakura, suo, hiragi, kiryu, & sugishita x f!reader

sfw. wc: 1.7K. ohh i had sm fun w endo’s hehe <3 individual warnings are below, but f!reader: referred to as she / her.

YAMATO ENDO. ‘my girl,’ ‘angel’ & ‘pretty thing’

“Hey,” Endo’s voice cuts through the thick air like a blade, heavy arm coming to rudely rest on one of their shoulders. “What do you think you’re doing scaring her into a corner like that? Tryna get at my girl?”

On a normal day, you’d roll your eyes at the teasing tone he always uses around you— but today, it brings you nothing but relief, fresh tears threatening to spill as you choke out his name.

His presence alone is enough to silence the group of guys who had just been talking over you moments prior, the three men in front stiffening at the sight of him alone. They can hardly believe this.

You really weren’t bluffing when you said Endo would kick their asses— he’s frightening.

They exchange knowing looks when they hear you sniffle, hands coming to wipe at the tears that had begun streaming down your cheeks. They were so fucked.

“N-no! Of course not.” One of them breaks the silence.

“We had no idea she was your girl— ” another one stammers, hands coming up defensively.

“Didn’t know? You serious?”

Endo’s voice comes out sharp, eyes narrowing as he puts more weight onto his arm, grinning at the way the man’s knees start to tremble at the pressure. “My angel here doesn’t usually look at me like that, y’know,” he whispers, jutting a thumb in your direction. “So what’d you do to put that terrified look on her face?”

“Sorry— we’re really sorry.” One of them starts to apologize profusely, but your boyfriend was clearly not in his usual good mood today, and he grabs his face roughly, ignoring the way his cries of pain come out muffled against his palm.

“Asked you a question, didn’t I?”

The veins along his forearm bulge when his grip tightens, and you hear a painful crack, the man’s hands coming to desperately scratch and claw at Endo’s arms. “She likes it when i’m nice, so I’ll give you a second chance to quit spewing some fucking nonsense and answer me, yeah?”

The two men behind him exchange glances before stumbling over their words, desperately coming up with any excuse that came to their minds. One of them accidentally slips out the truth. A “we told her we’d make a mess of that pretty face if she kept turning us down” and the group falls completely silent.

“I-it’s okay!” You stammer, hands come to tug at his the back of your boyfriend’s jacket.

Unfortunately for them, your words fall on deaf ears. He lets go of the one he’s holding by the face, not sparing him a second glance as he drops to the floor with a loud thud.

“Okay, i think i get it now,” Endo says through a genuine laugh, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He’s not facing you, but you think you can picture the expression on his face pretty well. “E-Endo-”

“Fifteen.” He speaks slowly. “I’ll meet you in front of that corner store in fifteen, pretty thing.”

CHIKA TAKIISHI.

Oh— so that’s why you’re late today.

Takiishi watches from a distance as you jut your thumb towards your phone screen, your usual chirpy voice laced with anger now as you repeat yourself with a frustrated huff. “I said have a boyfriend.. see? His contact is right here. Can you leave me alone now?”

“And I said I didn’t give a fuck about your little boyfriend.” The man laughs loudly when your lips wrinkle in disgust. “I prefer the ones with an attitude.”

“What do you think he’s gonna do if he finds out, huh?” He reaches out to get a feel of your hair. “Think he can touch me?”

“Takiishi’s gonna knock your lights out cold,” you spit, slapping his hand away when it comes too close to your face. That seemed to be enough to set him off, his eyebrow twitching in anger as he takes a step towards you, looming over your figure with quick breaths.

“Don’t piss me off— I was nice when I said you’d have a good time if you came with me.”

“I’d rather eat shit-” you seethe, angry expression contorting when he grabs firmly around your wrist— “That hurts!” It makes you wince, your phone hitting the concrete with a thud.

“What do you think you’re doing?” The coldness of his voice sends a shiver down your spine.

“Ah- Takiishi—”

The man jerks his head around at the name, hand still gripping your wrist as he sizes him up. His first thought is that he’s alright. He notices the muscle definition right away, but he doesn’t look particularly heavy. There is, however, a sudden coldness in the air that he can’t quite grasp, and you look awfully relieved now that he’s here.

“So you’re the boyfriend she’s been talking about?” He says with a laugh. “You gonna let her come with me?”

“Move. Don’t waste our time.”

“Huh? Who the fuck do you think you’re talking t—”

“I said move.”

Your mind can hardly comprehend the speed, mind just barely able to register the second Takiishi’s foot connects with the man's chest, sending him crashing to the ground beside you in an instant.

He’s beside you the next second, fingers coming to fix the stray pieces of hair beside your eyes. “Did he hurt you?”

“N-no! I’m okay.”

He’s monotone, as usual, but the hint of concern makes your heart flutter anyways. He lets you latch yourself onto his bicep, lets you tighten your grip around his arm as you fume about the audacity that guy had, and most importantly, he makes sure you call him every time you’re about to leave your home alone.

TAIGA TSUGEURA. someone touches around your lower back

“My bench has blown up since i switched to bulldog grip,” Tsugeura rambles, “and my squat too. The ‘tripod foot’ cue really helps with even foot pressure.”

You nod along, always interested when he tells you about things he loves, but your attention shifts when you feel a hand press against your lower back. It’s not Taiga’s touch. It’s too unfamiliar. Too invasive. Your eyes fill with panic when you feel the hand start to roam downwards, and you can barely stammer out Tsugeura’s name, voice trembling too much for him to hear.

“I should also get new knee sleeves eventually.” He continues, and you curse his obliviousness. “The cue helps, but I would get way more bounce if I had a pair of Inzers instead of the flimsy ones I’m using now.”

“I always get stuck at the bottom of my squat, so they would help. But i know pause squats help with that, so I could also implement those—”

Your grip tightens on Tsugeura’s shirt, knuckles turning white as you try your hardest to convey your situation. He pauses mid-sentence, finally picking up on the expression you’re giving him.

“Whoa— you okay?” His voice is filled with concern when he peers down at you.

His gaze trails down, and that’s when he notices it.

You gasp at the speed of it all. In an instant, the man is slammed into the wall behind you, loud thud echoing throughout the entire train. “No way.” His voice is loud, and you hear the bystanders gasping and whispering, their attention shifting to the scene.

“That’s messed up, man.” Tsugeura’s voice comes out low, a serious glare on his face that you’ve never seen on him. The vice grip he has around the man’s wrist tightens, enough to have him yelping in pain and stammer out an apology.

“Turn yourself in at the next stop, yeah?”

CHOJI TOMIYAMA.

“Tell me— who was that?” Choji asks, latching himself around your middle to wrap you in a tight embrace, and you glance at the unconscious man sprawled on the ground beside you.

“You knocked him out cold without knowing anything?” You ask incredulously, arms coming to return his embrace regardless, and your lips curl into a small smile when he melts into your touch.

“Mhm. He was bothering you, right?” His voice comes out cheerful, but there’s a small trace of worry in his eyes when he meets your gaze.

He hates to admit it, but his body had completely moved on his own. It’s a bad habit he’s developed since meeting you, because he finds himself worrying about you— desperately wanting to put his strength to use and protect you from everything he saw as ‘bad.’ It was only after he had jump kicked the man grabbing at your arm that he had considered the slim possibility that maybe he wasn’t bothering you in the first place.

“He was.”

He lets out an exhale he didn’t know he was holding. “Then….it was okay that I kicked him in the face, right?”

He relaxes a bit more when you nod, his usual smile returning to his lips. “Thank you for saving me, Choji.”your voice comes out soft and soothing, and he feels his heart skip a beat at the praise.

AKIHIKO NIREI.

“Ah— where are we going?!” You yelp as you stumble forward, barely able to keep up as Nirei pulls you by the wrist.

The two of you were at the mall, shopping for new summer clothes when he had suddenly called you to him by name— dragging you and your bags along with him in an instant. Before you could even realize what had happened, you’re in an elevator, watching in disbelief as he fumbles to frantically click the ‘close’ button, the doors finally sliding shut after the tenth click.

“You’re safe.” He sighs. “That’s a relief.”

“You scared the shit outta me.” you fold your arms across your chest and give him a glare. “What was that for?”

“Sorry,” Nirei chuckles lightly. “There was a guy who kept looking at you. He’s bad news.”

“How can you tell?”

You feel more at ease when his fingers come to interlace with yours again, and you feel him squeeze. “I guess um…” his other hand scratches the back of his head. “I have this sort of danger sense whenever it comes to you.”

“Something like that.”

[dawneternal]

now my head's splitting at the seams

✴︎ in the labyrinth of my pain, would you find me?

✴︎ Azriel x Valkyrie reader, platonic Cassian x reader

✴︎ Summary: you miss a few days of training, down with a bad migraine. It turns out Cassian has a few misconceptions about your condition and, possibly, about pain itself.

✴︎ Warnings: mentions of nausea and vomiting (no descriptions), pain, toxic positivity and ableism, internalized ableism, Cassian's a jerk in the first half. Also I'm so sorry for the tense changing back and forth 💀 I would definitely not call this one a masterpiece

✴︎ Word Count: 3.4k

AO3 Link / Writing Masterlist

✴︎ Notes: somehow writing out my feelings about having a migraine turned into something pretentious about pain and ableism. I think a lot about John Green's "pain is the opposite of language" and how much that's changed my perception of pain

Also listen I love Cassian and I have no problems with him but I had to pick someone to take my feelings out on I'm sorry 💛 also just want to acknowledge that everyone experiences migraines differently and it's not a topic I'm an expert on so I'm sorry if you don't feel well represented by this.

Tbh I could write several essays about the way pain and disability are handled in the acotar books but that's for another time.

Letting out a frustrated groan, you squeeze your eyes shut tighter and twist your knuckle into the pressure point at the base of your palm, chasing the momentary relief it'll give you from your nausea. It works for a minute, and you're considering making your way to the bathroom before another wave hits you when your bedroom door flies open.

"You're late," Cassian's voice bellows through the room and he doesn't see you wince. He strides into the room, footsteps booming across the floorboards, and he's left the door open behind him, letting a traitorous amount of light into your dark room. What good were black out curtains if your darkness was going to be invaded like this anyways?

"Oh my gods you've got to talk quieter," You curl tighter around yourself, head clutched in your hands.

"So you're hungover?" He stops near your bed, arms crossed as he towers over you.

"No, I have a migraine."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

You squint up at him, scowling, swallowing every bad word threatening to spill off your tongue. Though maybe he deserves it for coming into your room without asking.

"Please leave," You say quietly, all the venom you could usually imbue into your voice completely swallowed by your current condition.

"You've missed three days of training." He says by way of answering, definitely not following your request to lower his volume. "You can't coddle yourself like this."

His words punch the air from your lungs. Coddle? Something terrible is rising in your gut, along with the desperate thought that you can't deal with this right now.

"I'm not - this isn't - I don't think you understand how much it hurts." You scramble for words, cheeks heated from pain and anger.

"You've gotta push through it," He says, no hint of sympathy.

"Cassian please."

"I'm not leaving until you agree to come with me."

You don't have time to respond before you're running to the bathroom and throwing up whatever you'd managed to keep down last night, head throbbing with every movement.

Breathing hard, you lean back from the toilet and clutch your head in your hands. The silence rings in your ears and you aren't sure if Cassian is still there or if he finally took mercy on you and left, until his voice makes it's way to you, with just a hint of remorse in it -

"I'd better see you up there."

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Cassian did not see you at training that morning, and you're assuming you've bruised his ego because the next day he doubles down.

The thing is, Rhysand knew of your condition. The other priestesses knew. It's only Cassian being out of the loop and if he understood what a migraine felt like, you're certain he wouldn't be dragging you up there. You were used to dealing with people who didn't understand, had worked hard to learn how to give yourself kindness no matter what other people said. But it's like he knew exactly what things to say, what buttons to press to undo all of that progress.

It was like he'd pulled off your armor, piece by piece, leaving you cold and exposed. Going back to that world where weakness was your given name and it hurt worse than stepping into the ring and fighting the pain. If you could prove him wrong, just make it through a couple of hours, you could return to your sanctuary of darkness. And at least then, you wouldn't hate yourself on top of everything else.

So you followed him up to the training ring, struggling to open your eyes all the way in the morning light, hunched over to make the pain down your shoulders and neck just a bit more bearable. You sway on your feet, but Cassian either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

When he moves aside, revealing your small, huddled frame trailing beside him, Gwyn gasps.

"Cassian!" She cries, her tone scathing, and the hint of smug triumph slips from his face. It disappears completely as Gwyn rushes to your side, folding you into her arms to block your eyes from the light. You groan into her shoulder and go limp in her arms, grateful for the support.

Azriel stands to the side, watching with narrowed eyes. His arms are crossed over his chest like Cassian's, but there is no determination or judgment in his posture or expression. There's angry, crackling flames as he watches the redheaded Valkyrie thread her fingers through your hair and murmur soft comfort.

"She missed training all this week," Cassian says, but he's not barking any more. He's feeling a little bit small underneath the glares that pin him where he stands.

"Yeah, we know," Gwyn says, and it's the closest she's gotten to snapping at him in the whole time they've known each other. She turns to you and her eyes soften. "Let's get you back to bed, love."

"No," You murmur, guilt and shame bringing your resolve to the surface once more. You gently push her away to stand on your own, raising your squinted eyes to meet Cassian's. "I can do it. I'll be fine."

She watches you take shaky steps to the nearest mat and begin stretching, body obviously stiff from a few days in bed. You're conscious of all the eyes on you, far too sympathetic for your liking. This is exactly what you hated.

"Are we starting or not?" You let out a stiff laugh, too aware that your words are lightly slurred. That is absolutely not helping the hangover accusations.

The other priestesses shuffle to get into place, bumping into each other as they move to find their positions. There was still a horrible silence, crackling with fierce anger, all rippling in Cassian's direction. He halfheartedly called a few orders, visibly uncomfortable with the energy in the ring.

And you tried. You tried hard. To move your body through the stretches like normal. But your muscles protested every move, threatening to lock back up, sending stabs of pain through your skull. It didn't take long for the nausea to take over, forcing you to the edge of the ring, doubled over and dry heaving.

"This is ridiculous," Gwyn scoffs before she's at your side again. "You're going to back to bed."

"I will not be weak," You growl at her, panting as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, "I am not lazy."

Gwyn's head snaps around to find Cassian, mouth dropped open in fury as she silently dares him to confirm that he may have suggested weakness to you.

"You're not and you know it," She says softly, hauling you up and leading you away from the training ring. “Don't do that to yourself.”

Cassian is feeling like he's surrounded by wolves, all the glares that are being sent his way. He understands by now that he's messed up, and in front of a group that may not be easily inclined to forgive him. He's sure every single one of them has experienced the disbelief that he foolishly shoved your way. For their pain, or for anything else.

He thought you would snap back to your normal self after a bit of warming up, shake off your symptoms with a bit of movement and sunshine. You were strong enough to, if you wanted to. He'd seen it before. He thought you just didn't want to.

A small, firm hand lands on his arm and he finds himself looking down at Nesta. There's sympathy in her expression, but her eyes twinkle with the threat of a nasty bite if he dares to say anything stupid.

"She gets them after particularly bad flashbacks," Nesta says, "Or sometimes they're just random. Madja says there's no fix for the pain but darkness and sleep."

Cassian's stomach twists so terribly he thinks he might puke, too. In the midst of attempting to instill resilience, he's understanding that he knows nothing of this kind of pain. This is something different, something that cannot be conquered in the same way as emotional pain, as every day aches and injuries. You are a soldier in a battle he has no strategy for.

He may understand the concept of emotional resilience, of getting back up and into the training ring when you don't want to. But this is different.

The final blow, the thing that makes him want to cower and hide, is meeting his brother's eyes. Seeing the fire there transports him back in time, sending flashes of a smaller Azriel pushing himself too hard, determined to show the world that he'd never be less because of the damage to his hands. Fighting against words far too similar to the ones his own brother had spouted to you this morning, desperate to become strong enough that no one would ever doubt his pain and live.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

It was not a surprise that Cassian found himself in Rhysand's office later, confessing how thoroughly he'd fucked up, desperate for a little direction in how to fix this mess.

"It has to be their choice," Rhysand is saying, eyes meeting Cassian's over his glass.

Cassian's mouth opens and closes as he tries to conjure a response. He knows that. Of course he knows that. But apparently, his brain had not wrapped around how far that concept might go.

Cassian let out a grunt as he sat back in his chair, arms crossed. Rhysand knew he didn't have to push any further, he recognized the conflict in his brother's eyes. So he sat with him, quiet, while he processed.

"Do you want to know what it feels like?" He broke the since after a while, as the idea came to him.

"What?" Cassian blinked, startled from his thoughts.

"A migraine," Rhys explained, "Do you want to know what it feels like?"

Cassian frowned, studying his brother's expression for anything resembling amusement, but there was none. So he nods.

Not even a full second later, his skull is attacked with throbbing pain, deep in the base of his neck. He hadn't even noticed the fae lights before, but now they overwhelm him, causing a dull pain to surface behind his eyes. Nausea curled up his throat, threatening ruthlessly.

"Oh gods," He leaned forward and clutched his head in his hands, finding that his limbs trembled under his own weight.

"Do you push yourself when you feel like this?" Rhysand asked softly, not taunting. Prompting.

"I don't really ever feel like this," Cassian grumbled out.

"Hm," Rhysand mused, his brows drawing together. He'd experienced episodes like these often, under the mountain. He knew that Azriel struggled with them through his teenage years, like his brain still struggled to process his senses outside of a dark cell.

Deep in thought, he only remembered to ease up on Cassian's mind when his brother whimpered.

"Some say pain cannot truly be described with language," Rhys says, gaze somewhere else as Cassian gulps down air. "And that your pain is one of the few things that is truly yours, that you can never share. Even if you manage to describe it, it will never be felt by anyone else."

"I thought she was just hungover," Cassian says, but he's not defending himself. Rhysand knows.

"What if she was, though?" He tilts his head to the side, watching his brother carefully.

And that is the thing that had begun to unfurl within Cassian as he stood surrounded by the priestesses he'd wronged. He understood that having true control of your body meant that dictating how pain is handled had to be yours, too. He understood that pushing someone to deal with pain in his own way was a violation in and of itself. He had stepped into the world that you had carefully balanced and re-built around your condition and dared to tell you that you may have done it wrong.

"Will she get better?" He asks, thinking of the agony he'd just experienced for a few short minutes. The same one that you'd been experiencing for three days, now.

"It's hard to say," Rhysand shrugs, "Madja says she will likely experience these off and on for the rest of her life, but she may have some periods of remission."

He tilts his head at his brother again, "You know that a majority of the priestesses have an invisible disability of similar kinds, right? They won't get better. They will be in pain every day until they die."

Rhysand sighs, thinking of the hundreds - possibly thousands - of tins of salve that Azriel has gone through, numbing the pain of his nerve damage. Trembling hands hidden in black gloves, tucked into his body and away from the world. And that is the reason he's bothering telling Cassian of any of this. Otherwise, he might let him figure it out on his own.

"But the healers-" Cassian begins.

"Are there to help them cope with their emotional pain and trauma," Rhysand nods, "But some of them, a lot of them, were disabled as a result of what they went through and will never get better. Like Clotho.”

Oh.

It clicks in Cassian's mind, then. Who else Rhys meant. Who else Cassian had insulted. He had never barged into Azriel's room, insisting that he still train even when he could not flex his fingers without wincing, without trembling too hard to hold a glass of water. But he'd done it to you, in front of him. And that pinned his disbelief on Azriel all the same.

Azriel's pain, your pain, were enemies that neither of you could defeat. And here he was, shoving a sword into your hands, and insisting that you try.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

A soft knock sounds against your door, so quiet you almost don't hear it. You stare at it, wondering if you should pretend that you didn't. But then the knob turns slowly and it opens just a crack, and a soft voice is saying into the darkness,

"Hey, it's Azriel. Can I come in?"

Your breath catches in your throat, and you watch his shadows dancing back and forth through the thin wedge of light he's letting in.

"Sure," You say, moving quickly to smooth your rumpled clothes and tangled hair before he steps in. You're not exactly sure what he thinks of you after this morning.

He steps inside and closes the door behind him. His eyes seem to glow in the darkness, an amber-honey color, and somehow you can still see his shadows, like they're even darker than your room with no light.

"I just wanted to check on you," He says, crouching down beside your bed so you don't have to sit up.

"I'm okay," You say, still getting over the surprise of the Shadowsinger in your space. It's true, though, you suppose. You're used to all of your other symptoms by now, and your heart hurts worse than your head.

"He's an idiot sometimes," Azriel says, basically spits. A smile begins to spread on your face so he continues, “Like, sometimes he's just an asshole, straight up. But this time, believe it or not, I think he actually meant well and was just an idiot.”

“I know,” You give him a sad smile and all of the anger melts from his face.

“I think he went to buy flowers if that makes you feel any better,” He sighs. You know he's just as mad at Cassian as you are, maybe even more mad. But he still can't help vouching for him. It's definitely going to take more than flowers to forgive him, but it's a good start. You also appreciate that Azriel has bothered to warn you ahead of time, in case you wanted to avoid Cassian's apology.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, so quietly. And you wonder who else has earned this tenderness from him.

“It's not too bad right now,” you say truthfully, though you know that sitting up or going outside might be pushing your luck.

“Still hurts?”

“Yeah. Still hurts.”

He nods. “I can try something that helps me, sometimes.”

You search his eyes for a moment, then nod.

“Can I touch your face?” He asks, almost a whisper.

Your heart leaps into your throat and you fight to keep your face neutral as you nod again, no idea what he's planning to do with you.

Slowly, leaving enough time for you to stop him, he reaches out. He's not wearing gloves, like usual, and in the dark you can just barely make out the uneven silhouette of his dimpled, scarred hands.

His fingers land gently on your forehead, and he presses his thumb between your brows. Gently at first, and then harder, circling a tender point under your skin. It makes the pain in your head sharper, and you let out a hiss.

“I know,” He says, “Bear with me a minute.”

You close your eyes, biting back a whimper, but after a moment the pain begins to ease. He keeps going for a few minutes and you feel your whole body relax, pain free for the first time in days.

You don't realize how much you've leaned into his touch until he gently pulls away and you find your head falling forward with him.

“What is that?” You open your eyes and blink at him.

“A pressure point,” He grins, and it almost looks like he's blushing.

“That's magical,” you say. You hesitate for a moment, and then, “you can sit on the bed if you want.”

Azriel smiles and straightens, and you move your pillow to the side to make space for him. He slides off his boots and sits on the bed next to you, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. You place your pillow next to his lap and settle back into it.

“Thank you,” You say, your body feeling lighter than it has in days.

“Of course,” he says.

A silence settles, but it's not uncomfortable. There's something in it that you understand. He's just keeping you company. Here to sit with you in your pain.

It's easy to relax in his presence, between his calm aura and the pain relief he's offered you. And you find yourself spilling the question that's been circling though your mind since this morning.

“What if I can't fight, someday? What if I can't be a Valkyrie anymore?”

Azriel stills beside you. It's a long moment before he says anything. You're tense beside him, and it makes you flinch when he brings his hand so gently to rest on your head. Not moving, just resting.

“First,” He says, in the same soft voice, “You'll always be a Valkyrie. Because you cut the ribbon. Because you sisters will never let you go. And because I know for a fact that the Valkyries did not strip their warriors of their title if they became disabled by an illness or an injury.”

“Really?” You breathe.

“Mhm,” He hums in affirmation. You forget sometimes that he knows the Valkyries from more than history books.

“And second,” His voice drops lower, like he's sharing a secret with you. His hand moves, fingers slipping gingerly through your hair. And it makes you realize that he came here with his hands uncovered as an offer of solidarity. Combing his scarred fingers through your hair, he is offering you vulnerability, like recompense for what you bared this morning. A trade. A truce.

“If you cannot fight,” He continues, “Then you will show the world that a formidable woman can be made from more than fighting skills. You will still be - will always be - something incredible.”

Tears prickle at your eyes, form a lump in your throat. You reach up to grasp his hand, the only thank you that you can manage in the moment, and he lets you.

There's another silence, as he holds your hand in the dark.

“Who helps you?” You ask, turning to look up at him. He watches your eyebrows knit together, so serious, and he swallows a smile.

“What do you mean?” He says.

You bring one finger up to tap the space between his own eyebrows.

“With your pain? Who helps you like you helped me?”

“Um,” He shrugs, “Sometimes Rhys if he has time. Otherwise, no one.”

That's what you thought, but it still makes your heart twist in your chest. It takes a deep breath before you have the courage to say the next words out loud.

“You should tell me next time you're in pain. And I'll help.”

Azriel stares back at you, something bewildered in his eyes. Because he sees your suggestion for what it is. The same thing he offered you. A trade. A truce.

A beginning.

“Yes,” He whispers into the dark, and his hand closes around yours. “I will.”

[verstappenverse]

Not Over Yet

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: In the heat of a painful argument, you declare that your relationship with Max is over, leaving him desperate to hold on.

1.3k words / Masterlist

The deafening silence of the Monaco apartment was suffocating. The echoes of the fight still rang in the air long after the words had been spoken. Max sat on the edge of the couch, his fingers gripping the fabric so hard his knuckles were white. You stood across the room arms wrapped tightly around yourself, as if trying to hold everything together.

“We’re over, Max.” The words hung heavy in the room, each one feeling like a stone dropped into a deep well.

He looked up, his blue eyes wide with shock and disbelief. “What?” His voice was low, barely above a whisper, as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard.

You turned away from him, unable to face the hurt in his eyes. The hurt that mirrored your own. “I said, we’re done. I can’t—” You struggled to keep your voice steady. “I can’t keep doing this.”

The argument had started hours ago—something small, something insignificant that had spiralled out of control like it always did these days. The never-ending travel, the constant pressure. You knew what you were signing up for when you fell for him, but lately, it felt like everything else in your life had taken a backseat. There were always missed dinners, cancelled plans, and nights where you felt like the third wheel to his love affair with the track.

Max’s eyes hardened for a moment, his pride kicking in as he stood up and paced the length of the living room. “You think I don’t give enough to this relationship?” He snapped, his voice rising. “I work my ass off every day, trying to make sure we have everything. I’m always thinking of you, even when I’m on the track. I—”

“It’s not about the money or the success, Max!” you interrupted, your voice breaking. “It’s about us. About how I feel like I’m always second to everything else in your life. Like I’m not as important.”

Max stopped in his tracks, his back to you as he exhaled sharply. He raked a hand through his tousled hair, trying to calm his emotions. “That’s not fair,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, but still laced with frustration.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling the tears threatening to spill over. “What’s not fair is me feeling alone when you’re standing right next to me.”

He turned to face you, the anger in his eyes replaced with something softer. But it was too late. You couldn’t bear to look at him any longer. The weight of your decision pressed down on your chest, and you took a deep breath before you spoke again.

“We’re over,” you whispered. The finality in your voice made it feel real. “We have to be.”

Max’s face went pale. He took a step toward you, but stopped himself his hands twitching at his sides. He looked at you, really looked at you, for what felt like the first time in weeks. “You…you don’t mean that.”

“I do.” You choked on the words as soon as they left your lips. You didn’t mean it. Not really. But you couldn’t keep living in the shadows, couldn’t keep pretending like everything was fine when it wasn’t.

Max’s heart hammered in his chest the fear of losing you clawing at his throat. He had faced impossible races, gut-wrenching crashes, the pressure of the world’s expectations—but nothing compared to the panic that gripped him now. The thought of losing you, of truly being without you, was something he couldn’t handle.

He shook his head slowly, refusing to accept what you were saying. “No. No, we’re not over.”

You blinked back the tears, confused by the certainty in his voice. “Max, you can’t just—”

“I’m not letting you go,” he interrupted, his voice firm but low, almost pleading. “I know I’ve been…distracted. I know I haven’t been there the way I should. But you don’t get to decide we’re done. You can’t just give up on us. Not like this.”

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The apartment felt too small, too full of emotions that neither of you could control.

You felt your defences crumbling, your heart aching at the sincerity in his voice. But the hurt was still too raw. “It’s not that simple, Max.”

Max closed the distance between you in a few quick strides, his hands coming up to gently cup your face, forcing you to look at him. His touch was warm grounding you in a way only he could.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice softer now, desperate. “I know I’ve made mistakes. But I love you. You. You’re not second to anything. You never were. I’m an idiot for making you feel that way, but please…please don’t give up on us.”

You wanted to believe him, wanted to let the walls you had built around your heart crumble. But the fear was still there—the fear that things wouldn’t change, that this would be your life forever, always wondering if you were enough.

Max’s thumb gently brushed away a tear that had slipped down your cheek, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hope. “I can’t lose you,” he whispered, his voice cracking just slightly. It was rare to see Max like this, so raw, so open.

You closed your eyes trying to steady your breathing, trying to find the words to say. “Max, I just… I don’t know if I can keep going like this.”

He pulled you closer his forehead resting against yours as he took a deep, shaky breath. “Then tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix it. I’ll do anything.”

His words were sincere, and you could feel the desperation in his voice. It wasn’t like Max to beg, to be so vulnerable, and it only made your resolve weaken further.

“I don’t want us to be over,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t want to feel like I’m always competing for your attention either.”

Max pulled back slightly, his hands still gently holding your face as he looked into your eyes. “You’re not competing. I love what I do, but I love you so much more. There’s no competition.”

It was the first time he had ever said it so clearly, so bluntly and it took your breath away.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I forgot about what really matters. You. Us. I swear to you, I’ll do better. I’ll make time for us.”

His sincerity was undeniable, and for the first time in a long time you felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe things could change. Maybe you could find a way to make it work.

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch. “I don’t want to lose you either Max.”

Relief washed over his face and he pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you like he was afraid you might slip away if he let go. “You won’t. I promise you won’t.”

For a long moment you stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms the weight of the fight slowly lifting as you both began to breathe a little easier. The future was still uncertain, and there would be more challenges ahead, but for now you were both willing to try.

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like the two of you were on the same team.

Max pulled back slightly, his lips brushing against your forehead. “We’re not over,” he said softly, as if he needed to hear it out loud.

You nodded, resting your head against his chest listening to the steady beat of his heart. “We’re not over.”

[upsidedownmvnson]

“she said she’ll be here at midnight,” eddie whispers, closing his eyes tightly. “she said midnight, it’s not midnight yet so there’s no reason to panic”

he repeats this like a mantra. like a prayer.

there is nothing to fear. he can be alone, in the dark, and be brave. he’s allowed to be brave. but its 11:45, and every minute feels like more pressure is added to the clawing feeling in his chest.

he’s laying on his back, hair messy, sheets tangled, and every minute you take to return home from your shift, the devil adds an invisible ten pound weight to his chest. he doesnt stir, afraid that too much movement will topple to tower over, and surround him.

wayne was working late, so were you. and eddie was ready to try being alone for a few hours at a time. his injuries mostly healed, so you’d gone back to work, but stayed at eddies every night, each of you clinging to the other. eddie had been fine until he tried to go to bed. the silence was taunting him, the night sky threatening.

he’s frozen when he hears tires outside, and frozen when a car door closes, and his fists clench when he hears the screen door to the trailer creak.

“eddie?” you asked, voice quiet and comforting.

and suddenly he can breathe again. he takes a big breath in and sighs it out and the devil is gone, his weights with him. his fists unclench, his muscles relax, his eyes flutter closed like nothing ever happened.

he doesnt answer you, he’s too busy enjoying the feeling of his chest rising and falling without restraint.

you peek into the room, and see him. sheets tangled clumsily around his legs, bare chest on display, but mostly you notice how much of the bed he’s taking up. you shake your head, smiling and tiptoeing into the room, trying to crawl under the sheets with him.

but he startles you, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into him quickly, pushing his chest up against your back, holding your body securly against him while pressing his nose into the curve of your neck, breathing you in and sighing.

“missed you,” he mumbles, snuggling in impossibly closer, tangling your legs together and threading your fingers in with his.

“missed you too,” you say, wiggling back into him making him groan softly, you chuckle and stop, letting him pull all the comfort from you that he needs. “i love you.”

“i love you,” he says, voice already mumbled with sleep pulling at him. “love you so much.”

“goodnight love, see you in the morning.” you close your eyes, soft smile on your lips as his warmth washes over you, lulling into sleep & comfort of your own.

“and every morning after?”

“and every morning after.”

[bblairxe]

can you do a smut where jinx is struggling to stay quiet x dom reader

ALMOST | JINX | 1.2K WC | 18+

“i’m sorry toots, i really did not see that alarm right there!”

“it’s fuckin’ fine jinx. just stay quiet, the enforcers are still hot on our ass.”

the two of you are squished in between a tight alleyway, jinx’s back flushed with your chest. it all started when jinx had the grand idea to yet again break into one of piltovers’ penthouses. the plan was being executed perfectly until just as you guys were about to escape, jinx backed into an emergency alarm. alerting all enforcers there’s been an intruder, and putting the two of you in a chase.

you run your hands up and down jinx’s sides to help soothe her nerves. even if it was her fault, you don’t wanna stress your girl out. she presses into your loving touch more and tilts her neck to the side, permitting you to give her kisses. you give in, leaving short, sweet pecks up and down her neck while wrapping your hands slowly around her waist.

jinx lets out a small giggle at the feeling of your lips brushing her neck. just her laugh alone throws you into a whirlwind of emotions, ranging from lust to adoration. her body melts into yours as you steady yourself with a firm grip on her waist. your hand travels up over her boobs, barely grazing her nipples but it’s enough for her to let out a small whimper.

“what’s wrong, baby?” you tease, your voice low and steady. “you’re not gonna lose your cool are you?thought you liked a little danger.”

her breath hitches, and she lays her head back on your shoulder. “i do,” she stutters, her voice shaky but defiant. “just not with the enforcers just around the corner.”

you chuckle softly, your hand breaking in her waistband, “then you better stay quiet for me.”

jinx nods, signaling that you’re right and spreads her legs just a bit wider so you have better access.

“that’s my girl,” is all you say before lowering your hand to play with her clothed clit. you run your fingers up and down the damp fabric, eliciting those sweet sounds from jinx. her body jerks slightly at the sensation. you press your lips back to her ear, your breath sending shivers down her spine.

“you’re already so wet, and i haven’t even fucked you properly.” you murmur, tone laced with amusement.

jinx bites down on her lip trying to stifle the moan that threatens to escape. her hand grips your forearm tightly, both to steady herself and keep your arm right where it is.

you grin against her neck, your fingers applying just the right amount of pressure as you move in slow, steady circles. each movement causes jinx to squirm and whimper in your arms, her efforts to stay quiet only making this moment more intoxicating.

“good girl,” you praise, your words come out after each peck on her neck. “so perfect for me. just focus on me, alright? nothing else matters.”

she moves her hips in sync with your hand, occasionally rocking back and forth. “please ..” her voice is so faint, you almost miss it.

“please what baby?” you hum.

“need you, your fingers, please.” her eyes squeeze shut, cheeks flushed from embarrassment.

a sly grin tugs at your lips as you press your lips to her temple. “such a good girl for me, using your words and everything.” you whisper, “all you have to do was ask.”

you pull her panties to the side and dip your finger into her wetness. her walls immediately clench around the feeling, sucking you in with every thrust.

“so wet baby, you’ve been wanting this have you?” you tease.

“yes, yes! oh fuck, you feel so good.” she yelps, her voice loud enough to echo through the narrow alleyway. your hand shoots up to cover her mouth, silencing her before she can let out another noise.

“shh, jinx. you wanna get us caught?” you growl, against her neck.

she shakes her head frantically, her wide eyes looking up at you, filled with both apology and need. a string of muffled apologies spills out beneath your hand, her words tumbling over the other.

you hum in approval, curling your finger just right to have her body fall loose against you. your arm wraps snug around her waist to keep her standing, while the other hand pounds relentlessly into her sopping cunt. you add a second finger into her, completely entranced in the way she moves with you. her back arches at the feeling of being so full, those little uh uh uh’s echoing through your muffled hand.

her soft cries vibrate against your hand, the two of you so lost in the moment until—

“did you hear that?”

your heart skips a beat as the enforcer’s voice cuts through the air. jinx’s body tenses against you, her movements halting completely. you pull your hand away from her soaked heat, but you keep a hand tight around her mouth, signaling her to keep quiet.

“probably just a rat.” another enforcer mumbles, their footsteps growing louder.

“nah .. it sounded different .. like voices,” the first enforcer insists.

jinx’s eyes are wide with panic, her breathing shallow and rapid beneath your hand. you press a reassuring kiss to her temple, leaning down to whisper, “it’s okay baby, we’re gonna get out of this.”

the footsteps draw closer, and you press yourself and jinx further into the shadows of the alleyway, your heart pounding so hard you wonder if she could hear it.

you hold your breath as the enforcers’ footsteps echo louder, their boots clinking against the cobblestone. jinx whines in your hand out of fear, in which you respond by rubbing your hand up and down her waist, silently reassuring her.

“i swear it was coming from this direction.” the first enforcer says, his voice laced with suspicion.

“yeah well .. i don’t see anything,” the other grumbles. “probably just the wind or some drunk. let’s keep moving before we waste anymore time.”

“fine.” the first mutters and you hear their steps starting to fade out.

just when you think you’re in the clear, there’s the sound of metal clanking. an enforcer kicking a trash can nearby, hoping to draw whatever was hiding, out. jinx’s breath hitches against your hand once more, and her eyes widen with fear, you feel her grip on your jacket tighten.

you keep your other arm snug around her waist, holding her close, and lean in to whisper so quietly only she can hear. “they’re just leaving, baby. stay still for me. you’re doing so good.” her lashes flutter and she nods slightly.

the seconds drag on like hours as the enforcers linger. their conversations growing muffled and distant and the footsteps are no longer audible.

you wait a beat longer just to be sure before releasing your tight grip on jinx. she lets out a shaky exhale her chest heaving against yours. she turns around to face you, her big blue eyes meeting yours. you give her a warm smile, bringing your hand to caress her cheek.

the two of your bring your foreheads to touch together, “fuck,” she whispers, “that was close.”

“too close,” you mutter, brushing your fingers over her braid. “you okay?”

she nods, her cheeks still flushed and there’s a glint of something playful in her eyes. despite the danger the two of you just escaped.

“guess we make a pretty good team under pressure, hm?” she teases, her voice wavering slightly.

you smirk, bring your arms around her waist once again. “you have no idea how good we are together baby.” you say, pulling her in for a deep, loving kiss.

[jungwnies]

under pressure - max verstappen

୨ৎ : pairing : max verstappen x fem!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : a childhood love turned power couple, you and max find comfort in each other, navigating love and pressure together.

୨ৎ : genre : romance ୨ৎ : wc : 838

! requested !

The hum of the engine roared through the grandstand as Max Verstappen crossed the finish line, securing yet another win. The crowd erupted, but his eyes didn’t search for the team celebrating wildly in the paddock. Instead, they darted to the VIP box, scanning for you. And there you were, perched on the edge of your seat, a bright orange scarf wrapped around your neck despite the blazing summer heat. The Wimbledon trophy you’d won just last month had barely left the headlines, but here you were, blending into the world of racing like you belonged—because you did. You always had.

Max’s grin faltered slightly as he caught sight of you clapping. The usual spark in your eyes was dim, the weight of the constant media scrutiny hanging over you like a storm cloud. He knew that look all too well. It was the same one he’d worn after enduring years of relentless pressure, harsh words, and impossible expectations.

By the time he reached the motorhome, you were already there, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed. Your fiery confidence, the one that made headlines and caused commentators to stumble over themselves, was replaced with a quiet exhaustion.

“Another win,” you said, forcing a smile. “Does it ever get old?”

Max chuckled, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Not when you’re watching.”

You scoffed lightly but didn’t respond. Instead, you turned and stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you. Max followed, his brows furrowed with concern.

“You didn’t stay for the celebrations,” he noted, his voice softer now.

“Didn’t feel like it,” you replied, sitting on the couch and burying your face in your hands. “Max, I…” You trailed off, your voice cracking slightly. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

He was by your side in an instant, his hand resting on your knee. “What happened?”

You lifted your head, eyes glassy but defiant. “Same old story. The media tearing me apart, saying I’m too aggressive on the court, that I’m not ‘graceful’ enough for women’s tennis. They’re calling me a bad role model, Max.”

His jaw tightened, anger flashing across his features. “They don’t know what they’re talking about. You’re the best player out there, and they’re just threatened by it.”

You shook your head. “It’s not just that. They’re saying I’m only winning because I’ve got you as my ‘emotional support,’ as if I haven’t spent years grinding it out on the court. They’re making me sound like I’m nothing without you.”

Max’s heart ached at the bitterness in your tone. “That’s not true. You’re a force of nature, with or without me.”

“I know that,” you snapped, then immediately softened. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“Hey,” Max interrupted gently, “it’s okay. You don’t have to apologize to me.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the hum of the motorhome’s air conditioning filling the space. Then, quietly, Max said, “You’ve been there for me through everything. My dad, the pressure, the times I thought I’d never live up to the expectations. You were the one who pulled me out of it.”

You turned to him, your expression softening. “Because I love you, Max. And I hate seeing you hurt.”

His throat tightened at your words, a mix of gratitude and something deeper threatening to overwhelm him. “And I hate seeing you like this,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not just my world champion; you’re my everything.”

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift. But the vulnerability lingered, raw and unspoken. You both understood what it meant to carry the hopes and dreams of others, to bear the scars of relentless ambition.

“Max,” you began, your voice trembling. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this—pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. I don’t know if I can keep being strong.”

He reached out, his hand cupping your cheek. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. Not with me. We’ve been through too much to hide from each other now.”

Tears spilled over as you leaned into his touch. “I’m so tired, Max. Tired of fighting, of proving myself, of… everything.”

“Then let me be strong for you,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “Let me carry some of the weight. We’ll figure it out together, like we always do.”

For the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to crumble, burying your face in his chest as he wrapped his arms around you. The barriers you’d both built to survive in your respective worlds came crashing down, leaving nothing but the raw, unfiltered truth of your love for each other.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes met his once more. “I love you,” you said, the words heavy with meaning.

“I love you too,” Max replied, his voice steady and sure.

And in that moment, amidst the chaos of your lives, you knew that love—vulnerable, messy, and real—was enough.

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[moonlightrafe]

So It Goes…

summary: A stressful premiere and alcohol lead to you hooking up with Drew for the first time.

pairing: Drew Starkey x Actress!Reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: Explicit smut, alcohol consumption, mention of social anxiety, brief Odessa mention:/, p in v sex, creampie 18+ MDNI

You imagine this is how animals feel at the zoo, put on display to be gawked at all day. Anxiety grips at your chest as the eyes of strangers feel like laser beams, dissecting every flaw, as if they’re waiting for you to mess up. As if they want you to.

You were the only one of Drew’s costars to attend the premiere for his new movie ‘Queer’ and the thought of the online rumors was enough to make your blood pressure go through the roof.

Drew is staying at a hotel nearby for the night, out of convenience— and you are over the moon when he invites you back for a drink. To sit and have a drink. Debrief. That’s all, nothing else.

The ride up in the elevator feels endless, your heart pounding in the small, confined space. Neither of you speaks, but the silence crackles with something unspoken, the faint scent of his cologne wrapping around you like a tether.

When the door to his room clicks shut behind you, your pulse spikes. He gestures to the small table near the window, where two glasses and a bottle of something amber sit waiting. You take a seat, trying to act casual, but your hands tremble as you reach for the glass he pours for you.

The conversation starts light—work, the evening’s events—but there’s an edge to it now, a pull that grows stronger with every glance he sends your way. His knee brushes against yours under the table, and you swear he doesn’t move it. The air feels heavier, charged, like a storm about to break.

Drew leans back in his chair, his eyes holding yours for a beat too long.

“I really appreciate you coming out tonight. You look beautiful,” he says softly, his voice carrying an honesty that sends a shiver through you.

Your laugh is nervous, an attempt to break the tension, “you’re just saying that.”

“I’m not,” he replies, leaning forward now, his forearms resting on the table, his face impossibly close, “I mean it.”

“And what about Odessa?” You question, raising an eyebrow at him as your lips threaten to curve into a smirk.

“There’s nothing going on there. Come on, don’t act like the girls online.”

You giggle, slightly embarrassed as your breath catches, your gaze dropping to his lips before you can stop yourself. His eyes darken, catching the flicker of movement, and the space between you feels like it’s shrinking by the second.

“This is… dangerous,” you murmur, but you don’t move away.

“Yeah,” he agrees, his voice low, almost a whisper.

“It is.”

Could it be possible he has feelings for you, too?

And then his hand brushes yours, tentative at first, testing. The electricity is undeniable. His fingers close over yours, and for a moment, the world outside his hotel room ceases to exist.

Drew grabs your hand and guides you over to the large bed. One hand is wraps around the back of your neck while the other slaps down against the swell of your ass, causing you to yelp.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me in this dress?” He rasps, his voice a low growl. He massages the stinging skin through the thin fabric of your dress before pushing you back, quickly holding up your leg to unfasten the buckle on your shoe.

"Just tell me what you want, baby, and I'll do it."

"I just want you," you whisper, your voice trembling with vulnerability, as he places a quick kiss to your ankle.

His lips linger there for a beat, warm and soft against your skin, sending a shockwave up your spine. He looks up at you then, his eyes molten with intent, and the air between you feels like it might ignite.

Slowly, deliberately, his fingers trail up your calf, his touch light enough to leave goosebumps in its wake.

"You really have no idea what you're doing to me," Drew murmurs, his voice low and rough, like he's barely holding himself back.

Your breath hitches, your heart hammering as he leans closer, his hands steadying while your shoe finally drops to the floor with a soft thud. The world narrows to just the two of you, every rational thought dissolving in the heat of the moment.

His hand slides to your thigh, anchoring you as his lips skim upward, following a path that makes your pulse race. The tension coils tighter.

"Say it again," he breathes against your skin, his lips hovering just above your knee now, teasing, tempting.

"I want you," you repeat, your voice steadier this time, each word carrying the weight of your desire, “wanted you for so long…”

Drew takes no time to hike your dress up over your waist, practically ripping your underwear off of you. He smells good, like expensive cologne and nicotine. His lips find their way to your neck, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine as his ring-clad fingers ghost down your body, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

You arch into him, wanting more as he helps you remove your dress entirely, discarding onto the floor.

Drew continues to move at an agonizingly slow pace, taking his time with you as his lips make their way from your throat down to your chest.

Your breath hitches once his tongue finally comes in contact with your nipple, taking your flesh into his mouth, gently suckling, careful not to apply too much pressure.

Your mind is going hazy as arousal leaks from your core, grinding down harder on him.

Drew continues to suck at your breast, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as he grinds against you with ease. His eyes are closed, his mind completely lost to the sensation of you in his mouth. Your body trembles against him and he feels it, your small whimpers and moans sending waves urging him on.

He pulls away slowly, and you wince at the loss of contact. His lips leave a trail of wet kisses across your skin as he looks up at you with glassy eyes.

You lean back, positioning yourself so that you have access to the button of his slacks.

“Can I?” you ask.

He nods his head eagerly, unbuttoning them for you and yanking the zipper down with quickness.

You wrap your hand around his length, tugging gently as your free hand flies to the back of his head, pulling at the hair at the nape of his neck.

You lean down to cup and squeeze his balls as he sucks at your right breast.

Drew pulls back again and grips at your hips before he flips you onto your stomach.

His large frame towers over you as he spreads your legs open, pumping his cock a few times before he enters you mercilessly. Every inch of his thick, veiny length making you whimper pathetically as he fills you.

Drew lets out a low hiss at how tight you feel around him. He watches as your eyes roll back, your jaw slackening as he buries himself inside you. He hooks your legs around his hips, splitting you open on his cock as he begins to rut against you.

“You’re even more perfect than I imagined, fuck… squeezing me so well.”

His words barely even register, the feeling of him moving in and out of you, filling you so perfectly, the fat head of his cock hitting your sweet spot with every thrust rendering you speechless.

He lets go of your breast to grab your throat, squeezing hard enough that your vision begins to blur, “fuckin’ made for me.”

He glances downward and sees the way his cock pushes against your stomach, the bulge visible against your skin every time he thrusts. He presses down on it, the sensation making you let out a squeal as he fucks into you even harder, deeper.

“You gonna cum for me, sweetheart? Make a mess on my cock?” He asks as his opposite hand trails down to rub figure eights on your clit.

“Fuck, yes. I’m gonna cum! Please, please, Drew...” you chant as he picks up the pace.

Before you know it, you’re gushing onto his length, threatening to pull his own release from him.

“You want me to cum inside you? Huh, baby? Fill this pretty pussy up?”

“Yes, please, fill me up, need you so bad….”

Within seconds Drew is shooting hot, pearly, ropes inside you, causing you to moan loudly.

He pulls out and collapses next to you on the bed.

“Fuck.”

[n0vazsq]

Forever mine? Forever yours | CL16 x Reader

pairing . . . charles leclerc x gf!reader

summary . . . When you and Charles have a fight, you want nothing more than his forgiveness

request . . . no!

word count . . . 884

warnings . . . just a bit of angst that turns into fluff!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . was listenting to like love // break up songs while writing this and legit wanted to cry like kms

. . . The streets of Monaco were unusually quiet that night, the hum of distant cars replaced by the echo of footsteps against cobblestone. The city lights cast long shadows, stretching like ghosts between the narrow alleys.

Charles walked ahead of you, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, shoulders tense. The silence between you was heavy, filled with the reminders of words you hadn’t meant to say, things you both couldn’t take back.

The fight had started small, like it always did. You had only asked about the upcoming race, about his late nights at the simulator, about why he was pushing so hard. It had spiraled from there. Frustration simmering just beneath the surface, boiling over into harsh words and defensive silence.

Now, you followed a few steps behind, heart heavy, each breath tight in your chest. You wanted to reach out, to bridge the gap between you, but the distance felt overwhelming. Charles had always been intense, carrying the weight of expectations like a second skin. But tonight, he seemed…fragile, like a wire stretched too thin.

He stopped suddenly by the marina, the dark water stretching endlessly before you. The wind carried the scent of salt, cool against your skin. He didn’t turn around, didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, staring out at the horizon, hands clenched at his sides.

"You think I don’t care enough?" His voice was quiet, but the tone is his voice was unmistakable.

Your eyes stung. "Charles, no. That’s not what I meant." You took a step closer, but the space between you felt like a chasm. "I worry. You push yourself so hard, and I-"

He turned then, eyes meeting yours, frustration and something deeper swirling in their depths. "Do you know what it’s like?" His voice cracked, raw and tense. "To carry all of this? The pressure, the expectations…? Every single day, everyone looking at me, waiting for me to either win or fail." He shook his head. "And then I come home, and it feels like I’m failing here too."

The words hit you like a stab to the heart, and they probably were a stab to the heart. "Charles…" Your voice was barely a whisper. "I didn’t mean to add to it. I just… I see you carrying all of this, and it scares me. I don’t want you to break."

He looked away, jaw tight. "I’m already breaking." The statement was soft, almost lost to the wind. "I wake up thinking about the next race. I go to sleep replaying every mistake I made. And I know people are waiting for me to slip, to prove that I’m not good enough." His eyes found yours again, and there was a vulnerability there that made your heart ache."I’m afraid too. Afraid of letting everyone down. Afraid of losing… you. All because of my stupid mistakes."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You closed the distance between you, reaching for his hand. He let you, fingers cold but steady. "You’re never losing me,” you said, voice firm despite the emotion threatening to choke you. "I’m here. I’ll always be here."

He looked down, chuckling emotionlessly, thumb brushing over your knuckles. "Sometimes, it feels like I can’t breathe. Like I’m drowning under it all."

You squeezed his hand, stepping closer until your chest touched his. "You don’t have to carry it alone. I know I can’t take the weight off your shoulders, but I can stand beside you. I can remind you that you’re more than the races, more than the wins or losses."

He closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath. When he opened them again, the anger had softened, replaced by something raw and unspoken. "I’m sorry. I know I shut you out sometimes. It’s not fair to you."

You shook your head. "You don’t have to apologize for being human. I just… I want you to let me in. Let me help."

He reached up, cupping your face in his hands. His touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the tension that had been there moments ago. "I don’t deserve you," he whispered, voice barely audible.

You smiled, tears slipping down your cheeks. "You deserve everything, Charles, my angel. And I’ll remind you of that every day if I have to."

He leaned his forehead against yours, the distance between you finally gone. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The world around you faded away; the distant hum of the city, the gentle lapping of the waves. There was only this. Only him. Only Charles.

"Forever mine?" he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, your heart swelling. "Forever yours."

He held you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded, his grip tight, almost desperate. The walls he had built around himself were still there, but for now, they had cracks, just enough to let you in.

As the wind carried the scent of salt and the promise of better days, you knew that this was how it would be. There would be fights, and fears, and moments where everything felt like it was falling apart. But there would also be this: quiet moments in the dark, where love felt like the strongest thing in the world.

[0xstarzx0]

NDA: The moment happens when Rafe comes to see Sarah at the Pogues’ shop, but instead, he finds Kiara there. (ep:5 S4) English is not my native language!!

+18

"Rafe, if someone-" you started, but Rafe quickly silenced you by pulling off your panties. He growled, locking eyes with you.

"Listen to me, Y/N. Did you really think you could walk around in a miniskirt without there being consequences? Are you stupid?"

You shot him a glare. "Hurry up." Rafe smirked.

My god. This is so wrong.

Rafe had a girlfriend who loved him, yet here he was, with you bent over the counter of your older brother's small shop.

At first, you and Rafe saw each other as nothing more than casual hookups. You wanted to annoy your brother and his friends, and he just needed an escape from the pressure of taking over the Cameron family legacy.

Unfortunately for you, Rafe developed a serious thing for you.

You never thought that, in the middle of the day, he’d decide to visit his sister at her shop—and walk in to find you, wearing a miniskirt, tidying up the store.

Rafe enters you gently, he moans, and you arch your back slightly. Your nails dig into the marble of the counter. "Move"

He begins to move, his erection stretching you. You hold back every moan that threatens to escape, and you lower your head.

Rafe establishes a regular rhythm, his hips slamming against your ass with each deep thrust, deeper than the last.

You feel your insides lifting with each penetration, and you hold your breath again, your lips slightly parted.

Your eyes roll back, Rafe looks at your arched back, you're so easy to have. He slows his thrusts, no longer moving to stimulate your pleasure. You look over your shoulder and shoot him a cold glance. "I was enjoying myself."

Despite the icy glare, a smirk plays at the corners of Rafe's mouth. He leans in close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers: "For someone who didn't want this at first, you're acting like a cheap whore." He resumes his thrusts with renewed vigor, each one harder and more brutal against your defenseless little pussy.

Your breath hitches as Rafe's cruel pace, his thick member slamming into you without mercy. You let out a cry of pain and pleasure, your body tensing as he hits a particular deep spot. "Rafe!"

Your moans sound like those of a porn actress, but this time, you're not simulating. Each cry is raw, genuine, torn from your throat as Rafe pounds into you relentlessly. The obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh fills the room.

A few boats pass by but don't stop, all eyeing the sordid little scene with disapproval and distaste. They quickly avert their gazes, unwilling to witness the brutal coupling unfolding on the shop.

You throw your head back against his shoulder, the position uncomfortable but the pleasure too intense. "I'm... I'm going to come!" you gasp, your voice strained with need.

Rafe's hand wraps around your throat, tilting your head to the side to expose your neck. He sinks his teeth into your flesh as he continues to thrust into you, the double sensation sending you over the edge.

Your inner walls begin to spasm, gripping Rafe's hardness tightly. Your eyes fly wide open, and you try to push away from him, but his iron grip holds you in place. Your legs turn to jelly, and you'd swear that no man could ever make you feel so helpless, so thoroughly owned.

Rafe's teeth remain buried in your neck as he feels your pussy clench around him rhythmically. He groans against your skin, the vibrations adding to your intense sensations. With a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his own release hitting him hard.

After a few seconds of nothing but ragged breathing, Rafe pulls out and pulls up his shorts. "Tell Sarah I'm looking for her. And take a damn pill, I don't want to end up with the kid of a pogue under my arm."

"I love you too, you jerk." You mutter, rolling your eyes. Despite the harsh words, there's a tenderness in your voice that belies your true feelings.

Rafe nods curtly, his expression unreadable. With one last lingering glance over his shoulder, he turns and walks away, leaving you alone on the shop.

MY REQUEST ARE OPEN!!

[aperrywilliams]

Ocean (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

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Author Masterlist

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: Spencer has shut you out for months, and you don’t know how to get to him. A new argument endures, and you think this might be your last chance to make him understand how deep your love for him is.

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Angst/hurt/comfort. Spencer doesn't want to see reasons. Reader and Spencer cry. Mention to Spencer’s time in Milburn.

A/N: It’s just another self-indulgent fic to tell our boy how great he is.

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"Are you going to say something?"

Your voice is clipped, and you feel a whole storm bubbling inside of you. Spencer's silence doesn't help to ease your desperation—a last call for some hope in your already damaged relationship.

As he sits on the couch, his eyes are lost in the window of your shared apartment, tranced by the distant bustling of the streets below. It seems everything is better than looking at you right now.

‘How can someone stand so damn close

And feel like they're a world away?

I can see your sad story eyes

So how do you have no words to say?’

“Please, say something. Anything."

Your insistence sharply contrasts with the demanding tone with which you initiated this conversation—or fight, as Spencer accused you earlier.

Still standing in front of him, you only want him to look at you, to see in his eyes what he really wants.

“Do you want me to leave? That's it?”

You don't know what else to do or say. After bickering for a solid forty-five minutes, Spencer decided he didn't want to respond to your questions/accusations anymore. Coincidence? Hell no. He went silent just after you touched a nerve mentioning the tabu, the only thing Spencer decided must remain unspoken: the three months he was locked in Milbum.

You understood his reluctance at first. Of course you did. Putting in words the nightmare of his days there can’t be easy for anyone, and to Spencer, you bet your ass it was tougher. To lose control, to engage in a world he only knew from afar. Exposed. Vulnerable.

You understood why he didn't want you to visit him there. His pride and self were wounded. However, you would never resent him for it. You said it to him but respected his wishes so as not to put more pressure on his shoulders.

It didn't hurt less, but you were willing to take it.

Weeks followed, and the only news you had about your boyfriend were the messages and phone calls from his coworker, Penelope, and his boss, Emily.

The day he was released must have been the most chaotic you had in your life. And for Spencer, sure, it was worse: His mom was kidnapped by another psychopath, threatening her life.

As Spencer hugged Diana at the BAU, you stayed back, looking from afar, not wanting to disturb such an important moment.

Penelope hugged him after, and then JJ and Tara. The whole team welcomed him before you had the chance to.

When your time came, your eyes locked for the first time in months, and you knew. That man wasn’t the same Spencer you saw the night before he went to Mexico. And you were far from expecting he was, but something felt different with you compared to the reaction he had with the rest of the people there.

Not saying a word, Spencer enveloped you in a tight embrace. Hiding his face in the crook of your neck, he couldn't articulate anything to say. You were the one who reassured him, mumbling encouraging words.

‘Everything is going to be okay. You’re safe now.’

And you believed every word, even knowing the road would be hard. Knowing there would be bad days and not-so-bad ones. But you were determined to make it work because you loved Spencer, and he didn't deserve less from you.

All I want is to fall in deeper than I've ever been

Why won't you let me?

I can handle your heart, so help me.

But Spencer didn't open up to you the next day, nor the week that followed, or the month after. You were patient. You didn't take personally the prolonged silences, the avoidance, the eagerness he showed to go back to work.

At some point, you start to wonder what you have been doing wrong because there is definitely something wrong.

Waiting for him to confide you was the only thing you decided to do. He would come to you eventually. Instead of pushing him, you offered your solace and a safe space for him to be peaceful.

But after three months, things didn't get better; they were quite the opposite. Spencer frequently showed signs of irritability at home and started to snap at almost anything.

And that's when the arguments started. You were getting exhausted by his behavior and the null display of trust from him.

Today has been no different. After coming back from a case, Spencer barely acknowledged your presence, opting for lounging on the couch, too invested in a book to tell you he almost got hurt in the field, and you find it out from Penelope calling you to know how he was doing.

“Spencer-”

“You can leave if you want,” he mumbles, not making eye contact.

“That's not what I asked. I asked if you want me to leave.”

There is a lump in your throat, but it doesn't stop you from voicing your thoughts.

“And for once, be honest with me. Do you want to be alone? Do you want to sulk yourself for God knows how much time?”

There is a brief silence where you think Spencer is truly contemplating his response.

“Yes.”

He says it without looking at you, but his voice is firm enough for you to wonder if he’s lying or not. It hurts. But it hurts you more because he’s hurting and not for the pain he’s inflicting you with his words - or lack of.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

You get his attention this time. He wasn’t expecting you to ask him that.

“Why do you want to be alone?”

You can’t understand why he’s so determined to shut you out. Or maybe you do, but you’re not ready to accept it. Not when you love him more than anything in this world. Not when you are sure your love must count to something for him. Yeah, maybe you can’t ‘fix him,’ but you’re sure as hell you can help him to heal.

Spencer huffs in frustration. What can he say? The truth? It's too simple and yet too complicated to voice.

“I realized it’s better that way. There is no reason for you to stay.”

Is he turning his motives into altruistic ones? It's like he doesn't know you at all.

“There isn’t? You are not reason enough for me to stay?”

Spencer stands from his spot, running his hands through his hair.

“You don't get it? Do you?! Do you want me to throw the words on your face? Uh? I thought you were smart enough to realize by now I can’t love you anymore!”

It's the first time he has yelled that way to you in months. Years, maybe? All the last arguments you both had recently were more like ‘snappy-sassy Spencer’ and a ‘sassier you.’

He just said, ‘I can’t love you anymore,’ and not ‘I don’t love you anymore.’ You don’t miss the wording, and you’re praying right now not to be reading this wrong.

Maybe this is the crack you were waiting for to get to him. Carefully, you look at Spencer, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn't.

“Okay,” you mumble, sitting again on the couch, your feet planted on the floor and hands on your knees. Spencer raises an eyebrow, confused by your posture and response.

“Okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Okay. You can’t love me anymore. I accept it. And I’m not happy with that, but okay. I can’t obligate you to feel in a certain way if you don’t.”

“But you should be hating me,” he refutes. “I failed you, and now I’m ending things.”

You take in his words. Spencer assumes he’s the one to hate, and even if you want to, you know you can’t.

With pursed lips and soft eyes, you gesture to the spot beside you on the couch, inviting him to sit. Spencer understands and, after a second of contemplation, slowly moves to sit there, curious about what you are thinking right now.

“Can I tell you something?” you start. “It's humanly impossible for me to hate you. And yeah, maybe I should, but I can’t. Maybe you can’t love me, and thank you for doing it at some point, by the way. But it doesn't mean I’ll stop caring about you. It doesn't mean I don't want to see you happy because, despite all the awful things you think about yourself, oh, flash news, you deserve to be happy.”

“Don’t-” he wants to refute, as always he does, but you have to make a point.

“Spence, please, let me say it.” Spencer stops and concedes at your request, even if he thinks it useless and that you shouldn’t put that effort into him.

“I know you think you disappointed people for what happened. You haven’t told me that much, but I know. And I can understand you are scared and that maybe I’m not the one you want to confide in. I respect it, really. But please, if at least a fraction of what I think matters to you, believe me, I have never doubted whatever you did in there; you did it to survive. There is nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing.”

It's a hard pill to swallow for Spencer. He never wanted to tell you what really happened when he was in jail. Granted, you are not a profiler, but you know him enough to see through him.

Here you are, next to me

So much beauty at my feet

All I wanna do is swim, but the waves keep crashin' in

No, I'm not afraid to drown

Take me out, take me down

I'm so tired of the shore

Let me in, baby

You're an ocean, beautiful and blue

I wanna swim in you

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. And I’ll leave if it's what you think I should do, but not before telling you how I see you. God, Spencer. You have no idea how great a human being you are. You always prefer to sell yourself short instead, but I know you. If the time we have known each other taught me something, it's how compassionate, understanding, and loving you are. Believe me when I tell you that to love you has been the best thing I have done in my life. And I would do anything for you, even if that means walking away from you.”

You don't know when the tears started to fall, but now you can feel them running down your cheeks and landing in your hands resting on your lap.

Spencer’s glassy eyes tell you he has heard everything you said, and you hope he believes you. At least you have tried pouring your heart into words. It isn’t easy for you to do. That’s something you have in common with Spencer. Your love language is acts of service more than words of affirmation, but you know this time, you need the words.

A tear makes his journey from Spencer’s eyes down his jaw. But he can’t say anything. He thinks if he says something, everything in him will crumble.

You wait, not so sure what, but wait. As Spencer keeps his silence, you think you have nothing more to do, so you break eye contact.

“Okay. That's what I needed to say. I guess that’s it.”

A shaky breath anticipates you getting up from the couch. You stroll to the bedroom to grab your go-bag.

Approaching the door and grabbing your keys from the bowl, you bit your lower lip because you don’t want to cry in front of him anymore.

Like a lighthouse, I've been shinin' bright

Through the dark for both of us

And I've done it outta love is not enough

But God, how I wish it was

And I don't wanna find out

How much lonely I can take before you lose me

Baby, look at me and swear you won't lose me

Determined to leave, you open the door, and before you cross the threshold, a heartbreaking sob paralyzes you in place. Then, a wail and Spencer's broken voice.

“Please, don’t leave!”

It is heartbreaking and comes to you like a prayer from the depths of his being. You stop in your tracks but refuse to look back at him.

“I know I don't deserve you, but please, I can’t - I can’t lose you.”

Wiping away his tears, Spencer gets up from the couch and quickly reaches the door. You still have the bag in one hand and the keys in the other, with your back to him.

“I love you more than you can imagine, and I was determined to let you go. I thought I had hurt you enough.”

“Did you were setting me free? From you?” you mumble, still not wanting to turn around, tears blurring your sight. Spencer sniffles.

“I thought it was the right thing to do. Why drag you to my shit once more? Fuck, you always have been there for me, and it is so unfair. How did I repay you?”

“Repay me?” You let the bag fall with a thud. This time, turning to face Spencer. “Do you think this is about repaying? Jesus, Spencer. I never had ask you that.”

“I know. I know,” he rushes to say. “But I feel like I’m not good enough. An ex-junk. An ex-convict. And a lot of baggage to carry.”

Your fingers fidget with the keys as you hear Spencer beating himself.

“Nothing of that has changed the way I see you. I’m not saying you have to be the same, nor do you have to keep still about it. I love you with all the scars you have and the ones that will come. And I want to help. You don't have to do this alone.”

“It's a lot. I don't even know where to start,” Spencer’s voice croaks, shoulders slumping in defeat.

“We can figure it out. Together. It won’t be easy, but I promise it will get better.”

Your soft eyes and hopeful words warm Spencer’s heart. He can’t conceive you are even real. He can’t fathom how you are still here in front of him after all. He can only conclude that your love is big enough to hold you two at this moment when his weakness consumes him.

Still sobbing, Spencer rushes to envelope you in a tight embrace. But unlike the hug you shared in the bullpen when he was released months ago, this time, he's the one telling you reassuring words.

“I love you. I couldn’t be more grateful for having you. I promise I’ll heal. I promise not to shut you out again. My love, my everything.”

As you cry with Spencer enveloped in his arms, your heart feels hopeful that you both will find a way to get through this. Together.

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Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers

[hannie-dul-set]

IT’S NOT WORTH TRYING TO LEARN OTHER PEOPLE’S LOVE LANGUAGES.

p — MYUNG JAEHYUN x fem! reader. g — humor, fluff, park sungho learns a lesson about minding his own business. w — swearing, death threats (as a form of flirting). 1.5k words.

requested by — @gluion “go kill yourself x “i’m pretty sure they have a crush on me”

note — part of my ship dynamics: insane edition gimmick. this is very the breakup soup coded. i just like writing about a bunch of idiots stressing about the dumpster fire love life of their friend. enjoy.

myung jaehyun’s friends are pretty sure he’s had a very stable, very loving, very normal upbringing.

“stop staring at me, you fucking creep.”

“sorry, i didn’t mean to make your heart flutter. can’t help it when you’re so pretty.”

“i’ll stab your fucking eyes out.”

“my eyes are all yours, pretty.”

so they can’t wrap their head around why he’s acting like he has not a single ounce of self-respect in his body. sungho and leehan watch as their pitiful friend gets shut down again by the most venomous glare, hostile sneer, deflected by the biggest pair of heart eyes in the world that’s ever longingly following your disappearing figure out the library door. “she wants me so bad,” he concludes with a self-righteous smile as he arranges his notes into one neat stack. sungho and leehan share a look. god almighty, please grant their friend wisdom and salvation.

“what...what makes you say that?” sungho attempts to prod. the first step to finding a solution is to figure out the situation. they need to know why myung jaehyun is so down bad for you, and why he’s so convinced that you feel the same way.

“huh?” jaehyun perks up. like he’s genuinely confused sungho has to ask that. “she was so flustered earlier. couldn’t you tell? it was adorable.”

“she threatened to mutilate you…?” 

jaehyun beams. “she sure did.”

there...there is no point trying to understand him, sungho concludes. leehan is, for lack of a better word, getting mildly frustrated. “hyung, what the hell?” he raises. “if telling someone you want them dead is an indication of romantic feelings, then my middle school bullies must’ve been head over heels for me.”

a silence. a pause. “we’ll unpack that later,” sungho tells him. then shifts his attention back to problem child number one. “you. you’re a grown man who has full autonomy over his actions and feelings, and i know that. but as your friend, i just can’t keep watching you being disrespected, jaehyun. i can’t help but get angry on your behalf when you greet her good morning and alll she does is tell you to go fuck yourself!”

admittedly, sungho got a little bit heated at the end there. but he has every right to feel this emotion on behalf of his dense and seemingly unaffected friend— who is still sitting there, a smile on his face, hands on his lap like a patient buddha who has learned the true meaning of peace and serenity.

“sungho-yah,” jaehyun starts with a pleasant hum. “there’s no need to worry. the feeling is totally mutual. i’m telling you, she likes me back.”

speechless.

in fact, sungho and leehan are beyond speechless. they have no idea where this ungrounded certainty comes from. they certainly have even less of an idea on how to fix his lovesickness, bordering on insanity.

so, reasonably— they call for backup.

“the only way for him to get his shit together is if he asks her out for real and finally gets rejected for good,” taesan declares confidently. somehow, they see a point. riwoo lets out an echo of agreement. woonhak asks why they’re all excluding jaehyun from this after school garage meeting. “do you guys know when he’s planning on doing that?”

“no idea,” leehan answers. “but maybe we can pressure him into it.”

“so, should we encourage him instead of telling him to give it up?” sungho raises. taesan affirms. sungho lets out a grunt and a huff. “god, that’s gonna be tough.”

a resounding voice of dissent arises from woonhak. “i don’t get why you’re all going against jaehyun-hyung!” he yells indignantly. “let hyung love whoever he wants! this is a free country! you guys can’t dictate his love!”

“he’s received fuck you’s straight in the face and swears she’s flirting, woonhak. you’re too young to understand.”

it’s four votes against one. woonhak can’t win against his hyung’s determination to save myung jaehyun from his self-dug pit of pitifulness that he’d been in ever since laying eyes on you at the freshman orientation. god, they never should’ve went. he never should’ve shot down jaehyun’s suggestion to just skip it. maybe then, myung jaehyun would still be normal.

but this is not the time to lament and regret. it’s time for sungho to right his wrongs. it’s time to bring jaehyun’s self-respect back, they decide. and it starts with a wake-up call in the form of your inevitable, brutal rejection. 

which, for some reason, does not happen as planned.

“what?”

“we’re going on a date.” jaehyun is as chipper as ever and sungho’s ears are starting to ring. “thanks for the encouragement, sungho!”

it’s ringing. it’s ringing so badly. “wait, what do you mean you’re going on a date?” he attempts to clarify, grabbing jaehyun by the shoulders because this is two-parts concerning, one-part kind of…proud? this guy actually succeeded? “she said yes? she didn’t tell you to fuck off and die in a hole?”

“she did. she looked pretty while saying it.” jaehyun answers with a bright grin. nevermind. this is all parts concerning. sungho “she also told me she’d kill me if i pick her up late after her class tomorrow. we’re going to have dinner at the thai restaurant that just opened. riwoo recommended it.”

sungho does not understand. he cannot understand because you, who seems to hate all of myung jaehyun’s guts for no discernible reason, agreed to go on a date with him? hello? has jaehyun been right this whole time? do you really reciprocate his feelings? or is this just some new form of torture? is his friend a masochist? is he the weird one for making a big fucking deal out of this? is this how relationships work nowadays?

a thought enters sungho’s mind.

hold on a second—

“anyway, i gotta go, dude. a pretty girl is waiting for me.”

—what if this date is a ploy for you to finally get the chance to kill him?

oh my god.

“wait!” sungho’s face is pale. his eyes are wide and frantic. “don’t—don’t go on the date!”

“hm?” jaehyun bats his eyes at him, taking a moment to think. then sparkles in realization. “oh! don’t worry. i’m not gonna show up looking like this. i’m gonna head home first to change.”

“that’s not the problem! jaehyun! no! no!”

this is it, his friend is going to die. that is, unless, he shows up on your date just in time to stop it. yes. there’s still a chance. he knows where the date is happening. he’s gonna tell the rest of them because there’s no way in hell they’d allow myung jaehyun’s cause of death to read stupidity by misconstruing your murderous intent as affection. they are not only going to save jaehyun’s life— but his dignity as well.

“remember, be quiet. be inconspicuous. they can’t figure out we’re here.”

hopefully, things go as planned this time. all five of them are gathered in a booth at the said thai restaurant, the eventual scene of the crime unless they do something about it. sungho is surveying the scene to find where you and jaehyun are seated. leehan nearly trips over his unnecessarily long trench coat while trying to cover more ground. woonhak is using the menu as cover but has since gotten distracted and has started to pick out his order with riwoo and taesan. “hyung, is the khao soi good?”

“yeah, we should order it.”

“what drinks should we get?”

this is hopeless. this is a mess. their best friend is about to die and all they can think about is dinner.

no matter. sungho can still take care of this himself. his eyes scan the main restaurant wing, from left to right, until his eyes double over in a screeching halt to the back of a very familiar round head—

“huh.”

the back of a very familiar round head that doesn’t seem to be facing the threat of decapitation.

sungho sees you and jaehyun sitting across from one another, jaehyun’s fairly loud voice raising over the music and utensils clattering, people chatting and passing by. “you’ve got something on your face.”

“touch my face, and i’ll kill y— hey!”

first of all, sungho wants to claw his own eyes out seeing his friend being disgustingly sweet. second, jaehyun did touch your face with a napkin and it does not seem like you’re attempting to murder him. in fact, you look flustered even. flushed despite the harbored glare, still seated despite your apparent derision and disgust. the back of jaehyun’s head looks exceedingly happy. the dots aren’t connecting. sungho is malfunctioning. 

“should…should we interfere…?” leehan asks, his nose barely peeking out of the trench coat collar.

“i think...i think we should just leave them alone.”

“but isn’t his life in danger?”

“i misunderstood.”

forget misunderstanding. sungho can’t even behind to understand in the first place and has settled that he wouldn’t even try so long as myung jaehyun is happy— happy with being on the receiving end of fuck you’s and go to hell’s in response to his you’re so pretty’s and see you tomorrow’s, happy with getting his advances swatted away and shut down, happy with whatever the fuck is going on between you and him that sungho really can’t just wrap his head around.

IT’S NOT WORTH TRYING TO LEARN OTHER PEOPLE’S LOVE LANGUAGES. © hannie-dul-set, 2024.

[ot8xbangchansgirlsblog]

hiiii can you do an Hyunchan x reader where the boys are really mad at her an ignorining her and she has a panic attack.

ℙ𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖

Warning: Angst/fluff

Summary: Request!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

"Chan?" she called out softly, her voice barely rising above the hum of the quiet room as she stood by the living room door. The tension in the air was thick, heavy. It had been 12 hours since the argument, and neither Chan nor Hyunjin had said a word to her. The silence was suffocating, making her feel like she was going to lose it.

"Hyunjin?" She tried again, this time addressing the other side of the room, but once more, there was no response. Her heart pounded in her chest.

"Are you guys going to ignore me forever?" she muttered, barely more than a whisper. Still, neither of them budged, their backs turned, their attention focused elsewhere.

Her chest tightened, and the pressure behind her eyes threatened to spill over. "Please? I’m sorry… I just—please don’t ignore me," she begged, taking a few tentative steps forward, but the distance between them felt as if it were growing wider. She could feel the weight of their silence pressing down on her.

Hyunjin laid his head on Chan's shoulder, his body language as cold as his silence. They refused to look at her. The tears she had been holding back began to burn, stinging her eyes, threatening to fall as she silently begged them to forgive her for the words exchanged earlier.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she turned away, feeling the overwhelming weight of her emotions. Defeated, she slowly made her way to the kitchen. She could feel the air thick with tension, her body moving on autopilot as she began to prepare dinner. They had already eaten lunch without her earlier, and now, after just returning from practice, she was left to make dinner alone, as though everything was fine.

The tears blurred her vision, and her head spun with confusion and sorrow. It was as if the world was closing in on her, the weight of it all pressing harder with every passing second. She could hear her own thoughts, each one darker than the last, and she hated how powerless she felt to push them away.

Once the food was done and plated, she brought it to the table in silence. Her hands shook slightly as she set the plates down, then quietly made her way back to the living room.

"I made you guys some dinner, if you want it," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I put it on the table. I'll go eat in the room, so don't worry about me." She didn't wait for a response, knowing it was unlikely she’d get one.

Once in their room, she sat at her vanity, the food on her plate growing cold as she picked at it slowly, each bite feeling like it was stuck in her throat. The tears started to fall, silently at first, as she stared blankly ahead, lost in her own thoughts.

Would they break up with her? The thought kept running through her mind, a constant whisper of doubt that she couldn’t shake.

She hadn’t even noticed her breathing quicken, the pressure in her chest building, until it was almost too much to bear. Her chest tightened painfully, and her hands trembled as she clutched her chest. The feeling of rejection weighed heavily on her, and she felt the panic beginning to spiral.

"Please... enough," she whispered to herself, trying desperately to compose herself, but the sobs started to escape anyway. Her head throbbed, her heart raced, and the room felt like it was spinning. She felt utterly alone.

Then, the door opened.

Her heart skipped a beat, and through the mirror, she saw Chan and Hyunjin standing in the doorway. They had finished dinner.

She quickly wiped her eyes, but the damage was done. Her tears streaked down her cheeks as she bowed her head in embarrassment. Her breathing was still erratic, but she refused to let them see her like this, not wanting them to see how fragile she truly felt.

"Y/nnie? Baby?" Chan’s voice was hoarse, filled with concern, as he hurried to her side. Hyunjin was right behind him.

Chan knelt beside her, trying to catch her gaze, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She turned away, too embarrassed, her face flushed with shame.

"Hey… look at me," he urged gently, his hand reaching to cup her cheek, his touch warm and soft.

Her breathing quickened again, and she pulled away from his touch. "Please, I’m sorry..." she whispered, her voice shaking with each breath. "Please dont break up with me, i can change."

Hyunjin's frown deepened as he knelt beside her on the other side. "Y/nnie… you’re panicking," he said softly, his eyes filled with concern. "I’m so sorry I made you feel like this."

He truly had no idea it had gone this far. He never wanted her to feel like this, never wanted to push her to the point where she felt like she might lose them.

"You… you don’t have to be with me. I’ve accepted it," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Chan’s heart sank, and he pulled her gently off the chair, guiding her to the bed. He held her close, his hands reassuring as he wrapped her in his arms, trying to calm her.

"I’ll go make her some tea," Hyunjin whispered, but Chan didn’t let go, his focus entirely on her. He nodded, thankful for Hyunjin’s understanding.

"Hey… shhh," Chan whispered, his voice soft, soothing. "It’s okay. No one is going to leave you. We were just being assholes, and we should’ve talked things out with you, Y/nnie. I’m sorry." He kissed the top of her head, his words gentle but full of remorse.

But she wasn’t sure she believed him. If she weren’t in this state, would they still be mad at her?

"But you can’t just do that to me," she cried into his chest, her voice cracking. "It hurts, Chan. It hurts so much. I would never do that to you guys."

Chan’s grip tightened around her, his voice filled with regret. "You’re right, Y/n. We shouldn’t have treated you like that. We were just so angry, and now we’re learning from our mistakes. I never want to put you through this again, baby." He gently tilted her chin, urging her to meet his eyes. "Hey… look at me."

She slowly lifted her gaze to his, and his heart melted as he saw the pain still clouding her eyes.

"My beautiful girl," he whispered, his voice soft with affection and regret. "I’m so sorry. You can put me on any punishment duty you want."

"Anything?" she asked, her voice tinged with mischief, a small glimmer of her old spark returning in her eyes.

"Anything," Chan gulped, knowing that he and Hyunjin were about to go on a rollercoaster ride of their own making. But he would do whatever it took to make things right, for her.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Don't forget to reblog and follow! <3

A/N: Thank you anon!

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[eddiesxangel]

You Look Tense |Masseuse!Eddie x f!reader

Cw: reader uses where/her pronouns, seduction, perv!reader, perv!eddie, dirty talk, fingering, p in v, unprotected, pull out, pet names (sweetheart, good girl) modern!eddie

wc: 2.9k

You were on a fold-out massage table in the middle of your living room. You downloaded the app to have a masseuse come to you on a whim. Your friend swore by it. You were a bit apprehensive about letting some stranger come into your home and rub you down while you were naked, but she said it was legit.

When you heard the knock on your front door, you didn’t think you would open it up to one of the hottest men you had ever seen. Leaving you staring at him with wide eyes and your jaw agape.

“You order a massage?” He smirks.

“Yea, sorry, um, come in.” You observe his dark blue scrubs as they hug his upper body.

You lead him inside to show him where to set up.

“First time?”

“What?”

“Is this your first time using the app?” he smiles. Taking off his coat, you notice his tattoos and muscular forearms.

“Oh, I’m… yeah.” You stammered because you were so distracted.

“I could tell, don’t worry. Things are strictly professional.” He explained.

Professionalism was not what you were worried about at this point. Quite the opposite, really.

After Eddie set up his things, he instructed you to lay face down, and then he left the room so you could strip and get under the white cotton sheet.

You called out that you were ready and heard his light footsteps entering the room.

“Anything specific you want me to focus on?”

“Um, my lower back and shoulders have been really hurting,” you mumble into the head pillow.

“Ok, great, let’s get started.”

-

His hands were like magic, the way he wasn’t too rough or too light. He worked your soar muscles perfectly.

“What’s got you so tense, sweetheart? Let me help you relax,” He spoke.

Relax?! How could you be relaxed with this extremely attractive man who is rubbing his hands all over your naked body in your own home!

And the voice! Oh god, his voice is so hot, you don’t want him to stop talking. It didn’t help that you were wound up in more ways than one.

“Um, uh…. Work, I guess.” You didn’t need to guess; you were drowning in the stress of your responsibilities.

“Well, don’t worry, I’m here to help with that,” he hummed as you heard the squirt of more oil fall into his large palms.

“Oh, yeah, your shoulders are so tense; that's a big knot.” You felt him shuffle, so he stood at your head. If you lifted your head up any further, you’d be face to face with his crotch.

You were trying too hard not to let out a moan as his strong fingers dug into your aching back.

“You gotta relax for me. Is the pressure too much?”

“No-no, you’re perfect- I mean, it’s perfect…”

Eddie let out a chuckle as he continued.

This was so good, too good, but he was right...You needed to relax. You tried not to focus on who was above you but on the feeling that he was giving you.

A few minutes later, you were successfully relaxing into the table.

“That’s it, very good,” he praised, and you let a moan slip out.

“Sorry,” you squeak.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. It happens all the time, and it lets me know I’m doing a good job."

Like Eddie said, he was keeping things strictly professional, but you were making it very hard, especially with that moan you let slip from your pretty lips.

Your skin was unbelievably soft, and you smelled really good. With this particular job, Eddie is used to all kinds of different clientele; he never knew what he was walking into when he got booked. So when you answered the door, he was very pleasantly surprised.

You stew in your own thoughts about how good this man’s hands feel, holding back the noises threatening to break the silence. The only sounds filling the room are Eddie’s feet shuffling, breathing, and wet, slippery skin.

“The best way to help with your shoulders is if I also rub down your neck and head. Are you okay if I get oil in your hair?” he asked again in that sexy, soothing tone.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” you sighed. Eddie smirks to himself again, knowing he is doing a good job.

“Great,” he shuffles to position himself to get the best angle. You feel as he sits beside you on the table, drapes your arm over his thigh, and uses his free hand to work at your neck.

His hand slowly works its way up, up, up until his long, thick fingers grip your hair, tugging on your scalp. His fingers dig into the perfect pressure points on your head.

You can’t help but let out another moan of pleasure; it just feels so good. You can’t stop your mind from going to an x-rated place, thinking about how good his hand feels tangled in your hair.

You couldn’t ignore your pussy any longer; there was no denying how wet you had gotten over the last half hour, and he hadn’t even made his way down to your lower back. How are you supposed to survive the rest of the time?

Your pussy was throbbing by the time Eddie made his way down to your lower back. You could feel Eddie move the sheet down lower, exposing more of your skin to him. He lightly draped it over your ass, careful not to expose it too much, trying to tuck the sheets into the band of your underwear, but to Eddie’s surprise, you weren’t wearing any.

You hear him clear his throat as he discovers that you are fully naked underneath.

“What side is, uh, bothering you?”

“Right,” you sigh. And I think I might have pulled the back of my thigh,” you suggest, hoping Eddie reads into it.

“Oh yeah, for sure,” he hums.

Eddie was in serious trouble, and the thin material of his pants did not help his situation.

Eddie had never grown hard with a client; this was not normal. He could not excuse himself until the session was over, so he hoped and prayed that his situation would defuse itself until it was time for him to leave.

It did not, you were torturing him, at this point you had to be doing this on purpose. Your moans were getting more and more sensual.

“Mmmmm, you’re so good at this,” you praise as his hands run along your lower back, creeping closer and closer to your ass muscle.

“So I’ve been told”

“Bet you’re really good with your hands in other places.”

Eddie froze. Did that really come out of your mouth, or did he hear things?

“You uh-" he cleared his throat, “-uh, said your lower back, right?”

“Yeah, but like, really low,” you hummed.

“You comfortable if I move the sheet, uh, lower?”

“Yeah,” you wiggled your hips slightly to encourage him to take things further. You cannot remember the last time you had been so turned on.

You hear Eddie’s breath hitch as you feel the fabric slip off your skin.

“Oops”

“Oh shit-”

“It’s okay; you can leave it off”

“You? Uh? Oh-okay” what was he thinking? This was not professional! It would get him fired if anyone found out… but how could they? He was in your home. You wouldn’t tell anyone? Against his better judgement, he decided to leave you exposed…

With your naked body exposed to Eddie, he continued to work on your lower back. Your oiled skin was glistening under each touch, and Eddie’s cock was growing by the second.

Eddie’s hands worked lower as he hesitantly yet excitedly explored the vast planes of your body. He hadn’t dared make a move, but you could feel his hands move closer to your inner thighs, so you partied your legs so he could have better access.

Eddie watched as your legs moved for him, your legs parted, and he had the perfect view of your glistening pussy lips.

Eddie’s eyes widened as he knew he had not even gotten close to that area of your body with the body oil.

With a deep breath, Eddie grazed his fingers closer to your upper inner thigh, right below your ass; the tops of his fingers lightly traced the outside of your lower lips to test the waters.

The last thing Eddie needed was to read your advances the wrong way and end up in jail.

“Mmmm, that’s good,” you hummed, encouraging Eddie to keep going.

“You need me to work on anything else?” Eddie asked suggestively.

“Now that I think about it, I pulled my groin the other day; I think you could really help me with that; you’re so good with your hands.”

“Sounds good, sweetheart,” Eddie hummed, shifting his weight to get the best angle. You felt him crawl up onto the table with you and straddle his legs around you.

His hands work your ass, massaging the muscles up, pulling your skin taught so he could see your swollen pussy lips.

Sucha pretty pussy

“Mmm thank you”

Shit, did Eddie say that out loud?

You let out a chaste breath as you felt his long thick fingers finally graze your wet slit.

Eddie gently massages circles onto your clit, and your hips roll into his hand.

“Mmmm, that’s it, relax f’me… this is what you needed, hmmm?”

“Uh-huh,” you sigh as your body fully relaxes into Eddie’s soft touch.

Eddie’s hand continues to work your fluttering clit before he decides to let an oiled finger slip into your hole.

“Oh, sweetheart, you are so tight, so tense. You should have told me earlier. I really need to loosen you up” he pumped his finger in and out of your pussy before curling his fingers to massage your inner walls.

“Maybe we could extend the session,” your breath hitches.

“I think that can be arranged,” he slips a second finger effortlessly.

As he continued to work your pussy he added his thumb to your clit. That familiar feeling of lust and need built up in your lower stomach as Eddie sped up his fingers.

“More,” you pleaded. You were at his mercy. You’d do anything to have him make you cum.

“I think I need to get in deeper,” he hummed.

You liked that idea; you popped up to finally see him. You watched as his pants slipped from his hips, and your mouth waters at the sight of his hard cock staring you in the face.

“Like what you see?” He smirks as he watches you checking him out while he checks you out, seeing your naked breasts for the first time.

“Yeah, like what you see?” You ask back.

“Oh yes,” he leaned in to cup your face, bringing your lips together.

Eddie’s mouth took over yours, and he ravaged you. His plush lips were so soft as his lips explored your own. His tongue slipped into your mouth as his soft hands moved up your middle to kneed your breasts.

You shuffle back so Eddie can place himself between your legs.

“Need you now,” you spoke into his mouth between kisses.

“Want you so bad” Eddie replies.

“Please,” you begged for him.

Eddie stripped the rest of his scrubs and exposed the tattoos that dawned his alabaster skin. He was covered head to toe in ink. You wanted to kiss every inch of his body, but the need to have him inside of you was more, so you widened your legs as far as they could go to expose yourself.

“Thought you said you pulled your groin” Eddie smirks

“Guess your magic hands healed me” You sank your hand between your legs so you were touching yourself, teasing Eddie as you worked your fingers in your needy clit.

“Magic hands, huh?” He replaced your hand with his.

“Mmmmhmmm,” you hum as Eddie kisses you and guides you to lie on the fold-out table.

“You think these are magic just wait and see what my cock can do.”

You gasp as Eddie slips the head of his cock across your wet lips, collecting your slick before the tip of his cock breaches your hole.

His cock was thick and long. Slowly, he stretched you out inch by inch. Sinking deeper and deeper until you enveloped him wholly.

Eddie watched as your pussy swallowed him, skin to skin, he didn’t even know you, but it didn’t matter; all that mattered was how you were making him feel and how he was making you feel.

“Oh, Eddie!” You cried as he started building up his speed, pumping into you.

“Mmmmm, I like how you scream my name.” You watch as his body pumps into you, his abs defining themselves with every thrust in. His big hands grip as best they can on your oiled skin and push your legs to your chest, folding you in half as he does.

“S’big,” you try and grab at Eddie, but he’s too far out of reach, so you ball your hands into fists and grit your teeth in frustration. You want to feel him, to touch him, to have all of him.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Wanna kiss you” you whined.

“Shhhh, you’re okay; as long as my dick is inside of you, you’re fine.”

“Oh fuck!” He sunk deep into you, faster and faster, his hips thrust his cock deeper into your needy cunt.

“That’s it, take it like a good girl.”

God, the mouth on this man, you had no idea.

Eddie gave in and leaned over to kiss you before he unexpectedly jumped off the table and flipped you over to your hands and knees.

“The only way I’m going to get as deep as you want, baby,” you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke.

“Just give it to me”

“Oh, asking to be fucked? Wanna be fucked by my cock, huh?”

You nod your head frantically as he aligns your hips to be at the perfect height for him to pound into you.

“Fuck look at that” he massaged your ass, spreading it apart before plunging his hard cock back into your throbbing pussy.

You let out a scream; Eddie was right; this angle was deeper, so deep you swore he was in your stomach at this point.

“That’s it, you can take it.” Eddie watched as your oiled skin bounced off his cock, and he swore he was in heaven.

Your tight pussy clenched down on him even more from the angle. The way your warm wet walls were hugging his cock, how your ass looked bouncing off his body, he could have come by now, but he wanted to hold off, savour this a little while longer.

Eddie reached round your body to massage your clit once more. His fingers were moving so meticulously while his cock was pouncing into you from behind.

“Faster” You grabbed Eddie’s wrist because his fingers were too slow; no way you would cum from them slowly circling your swollen clit.

Eddie listened to your plea and picked up the pace with his hands and his hips. Eddie was pounding into you so hard. If you were an outsider looking in, you would swear the fold-out table would have given out, but you were so cockdrunk you had no other thoughts than how Eddie was making you feel.

“You’re close, baby; I can feel the way you’re squeezing me; you’re going to cum when I say okay.”

“Can’t hold it, wanna cum, wanna cum so bad!” your upper body gives out, only making your ass arch higher for Eddie. He looks down to see the creamy ring form at the base of his cock as your orgasm threatens to take over.

“Hold on, on my count ok.”

“Mmmmmmmm” was all you managed to get out. Eddie s fingers still circling your clit, with his cock hitting your g spot. There was no way you were holding out any longer.

You wanted to cum so bad, but you also wanted to please Eddie, your friend, your hardest.

“Cum for me in…. 3….2….1, cum on my cock” he spoke between each thrust into you.

You listened and came as soon as the words left his mouth. Your body seized, and your mouth opened, but nothing came out as your silent cries were met with a wave of pleasure that washed over your whole being, soaking Eddie’s cock even more.

It could have been minutes or a few just a few thrusts later, you didn't know, but Eddie pulled out and finished, spreading his seed on your ass, which was somehow still perched in the air for him.

“Holy shit,” you hear Eddie whisper. “Definitely never done that before,” he laughed.

“Same,” you sigh, still fucked out.

Eddie picked up the discarded sheet off the floor and wiped off the remanence of his seed off of your ass and back.

“So, uh, that fix your problem?” He smirked.

“Only time will tell.” You sit back up finally with the sheet wrapped around you. “Maybe next time we will have you set up in the bedroom… You know, there is more space up there,” you smile.

“Next time?” Eddie smiles back.

“Yeah, maybe I’ll even cook you something, buy you dinner first.”

“I’d like that.”

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