#out of all the lines it has to be this one. I know. I KNOW���

[nanamiskentos]

SCORCHED EARTH ✤ (五条 悟, gojo satoru)

── NO GOD, THE ONLY MAN IN THE SKY IS ME. Gojo Satoru is the nation's treasure, and its most dangerous asset. In a world where Supes are lauded as celebrities and heroes, there's only a select few that sees superheroes for what they really are ─ cogs in the propaganda machine, corrupt and lecherous. You're determined to hunt down the golden boy that leads them, to find Gojo Satoru and bring him down. But he's just as obsessed with you, and he gets to you first.

➤ 𝐉𝐉𝐊, gojo satoru & afab!reader, wc ─ 5k

cw ─ MDNI. enemies to lovers, THE BOYS AU, love/hate sex, HOMELANDER GOJO 😁, superhero au, cat & mouse dynamics, vigilante!reader, evil!gojo to some extent, mentions of a plane crash to be safe, kitchen sèx, breaking n' entering but they're into that, súb!gojo if u squint, fíngèring, òral (f), usage of powers, 3x01 homelander/butcher inspired, BIG DÍCK GOJO!!

呪術廻戦 : 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ( author says ) s/o to the evil man who inspired the gojo in this fic. and these scenes: 1/2 ofc (i'd rec watching to understand who reader/gojo is also inspired by). art, gojouify.

A ballpoint cap balances between your teeth as you scribble furiously, blue ink streaking across a spare napkin. The address is way too far out, a shipping container, two hours away and tucked into the skeletal maze of the port.

"This is a long drive for a maybe." You press the phone tighter against your ear, frowning at the scrawled numbers and letters, "You're sure I'll find something?"

On the other end, Nanami exhales sharply, the sound of a clock ticking faintly over the static. He's still in the office, no doubt hunched over a desk lit by the sickly glow of a desk lamp.

"Well," he hedges, ever the careful one, "I wouldn't go alone."

You tip your chair back, gaze drifting to the chaotic sprawl of files pinned to the red-string board by the wall. Photographs, names, offshore accounts that all lead back to the same festering rot. Lawmakers, politicians and billionaires.

The smiling, all-powerful titans who owned the system that was supposed to hold them accountable.

At the centre of it all? Gojo Satoru. The strongest superhero that the world had ever seen, barely held in check by Vought and international courts.

You chew at the soft inside of your cheek, "And you're sure this is the best lead we have?"

"After that shitshow at Congress?" Nanami sounds tired, stretched far too thin, "This is the only lead we have, or the only thing that I can find right now."

Ah, yes. The hearing.

The day you almost had them — Gojo, Vought and every polished, pre-packaged lie they peddled. A smoking gun to set the set the system ablaze.

And then, you could only watch the live television stream as every key witness's head popped like a balloon. Blood spraying against mahagony desks, gray matter splattered across the Capitol.

And not many had managed to escape that room unscathed. Save for a select few politicians and reporters, dealing out breathless, shaken interviews alongside an unshaken Gojo Satoru and Congressmen Geto.

You exhale through your nose, fingers tightening around the napkin, "Yeah, I'll check it out. See if I can find somethin' to nail that cunt."

"Let me know what you find," Nanami intones, a pause. And then, in a far more cautious tone, like he already knows you won't take heed, "Stay safe. And if you do come across Gojo, do not engage with him. In any way."

The line clicks dead.

You toss the streaky pen aside, reaching instead for the amber bottle on the cluttered table, the burn of whisky that's begging to be made familiar once more.

Regardless, it's far too late now to head out and check the address, for night has fallen and you doubt you'll manage to get far.

Beyond the murky glass of your balcony doors, the city pulses with sleepless energy. Neon signs flickering like dying embers, billboards — no doubt plastered with the airbrushed faces of the Supes who run this nation.

Sirens wail in the distance, and somewhere, far beyond the skyline you swear you see it.

A streak of white and blue, fast as lightning, splitting the sky for a fraction of a second. You blink, gummy and dry, nothing. Just the tired hallucinations of an exhausted, paranoid mind.

Pretending that there isn't a ghost in the sky watching you right back.

Your apartment is dying.

The walls peel like old skin, flaking onto the floors that were never properly finished. The overhead light's flickering, buzzing with a weak and dying hum. And the power outlets sputter like they resent being used. It's not a home, it never really was. Just another hideout, another temporary grave you haven't had to lie down in yet.

You press your knuckles into your eyes, willing the exhaustion away, but it sits heavy in your bones. Haven't you been running long enough? But even now, even here, you know it's not enough.

Because he knows. Gojo Satoru must have caught onto your trail months ago, and you can feel it in the way that the law often seems to let you go, and nation-wide manhunts culminate in no harm done. Like Gojo's toying with you.

Your fingers skim over the mess of papers on the table, stopping beneath a stack of unpaid bills and flyers. A small USB drive, wrapped in blue and silver.

Ah. Flight 37, a transatlantic flight carrying 123 passangers that never managed to land safely. But a goldmine had been fished out the torn wreckage, a shaky video clip that held proof of what Gojo Satoru truly was.

Not a saviour, not a hero. Not the golden boy that was worshipped on screens, talk shows and the international stage of diplomacy.

There's a prickling sensation under your skin, a slow burn that crawls up your arms. Then, it sinks deeper, heat. Your stomach clenches, cramping up as nausea slams into you like a freight train, your head spinning, your vision pulsing black at the edges.

You stumble, dropping the USB on the table as desparate fingers gripping the kitchen counter to stay upright. But you recognise the blisters blooming on the pads of your fingers, slow and ugly welts that bloom like flowers of rot.

This is no wayward sickness, for you would recognise the familiar decay of radioactive exposure. Something that's not quite human, or mortal.

Your blood turns to ice. Hold tightening around the edge of the counter, nails digging into the cheap laminate. Slowly, carefully, you approach the balcony.

The terracotta curtains are coarse under your fingers as you pull them aside. The city beyond is still alive, cars streaking through wet pavements and lights beaming in the smog. But it all feels muted.

Standing on the ledge, hands folded neatly behind his back, Gojo Satoru.

Your breath stutters as you force yourself to inhale, exhale. Slow and steady, through your nose. Whatever sick ploy he's radiating, you know it's simply meant to shake you. A twisted power play on his end.

So you hold your ground, and after a moment, the nausea ebbs. The blisters on your fingertips sealing over, cells stitching the edges of your frayed flesh back together.

You've never seen Gojo out of that deep blue suit, never without the brass eagles that pin the ridiculous cape over his broad back. Most heroes at least pretend to be human, some charade that they cling to for the chance of a secret life, away from the eyes of the press and the authorities. Supes often put on disguises, and casual clothes, something to blend in with the mortals that they claim to protect.

But Gojo?

There's no separation, no mask nor pretense. He doesn't walk among mortal men, he hovers above them. There's no separating him from the brutal power he wields — capable of striking a laser through a man's skull, or razing a city to rubble. Just a god with a PR-approved script, and the power to carve regimes into ribbons.

And yet, aren't you still standing?

If the strongest wanted you dead, he would have made a spectacle of it. Blood and fireworks for the evening news, another death used as collateral propaganda so the masses can thank him. That's the only mercy that Gojo knows.

You school your features, masking the instinct to flee. Or toss a plastic chair at his face. Gojo is akin to a hungry shark, and fear is blood in the water. You know that the safest way to deal with him is sheer indifference. If you give him nothing, he has nothing to bite or feast on.

You tilt your head, resting your weight against the large window as you pry it open. Letting the night air seep in, cold pricking at your skin, but it's nothing compared to the chill that Gojo's already dragged in with him.

He's staring. The blindfold is gone, and those impossible blue eyes fix on you, as though they're trying carve a jagged cut straight your ribcage — his handsome features stilled to stone.

You arch a brow, "If you're here to watch me get off, it'll cost you a tenner."

A beat of silence. And then, the smallest flicker of something that isn't amusement, but not quite irritation. Gojo doesn't rise to the bait, but his brow ticks up. The barest movement, as though he's debating whether or not to indulge you.

Jaw twitching as though Gojo seems to chew his words, slow and measured, "May I come in?"

You stare at him, gaze sweeping up and down, almost against your will. The way his suit hugs his body, emphasising the unfair curve of his chest, the sharp lines of Gojo's muscles, the tensions in the fabric as it stretches taut over skin. Eyes falling to the strand of white hair that flutters across his face, swaying in the night's breeze. Absurdly perfect, as if he's crafted from some celestial ideal.

But you refuse to indulge him, pressing your lips together tightly, not even a flicker of acknowledgement to the fact that he's standing on your balcony like he owns the damn place. Slowly, you step aside from the window, taking the invitation. Gojo doesn't need permission, but you give it anyway.

As Gojo sweeps past, your eyes linger on the sharp strands of his undercut, the delicate sweep of his hair, so pale it almost looks unreal. But you can see his nose wrinkle, disgust painted across his fine features as electric eyes skim the clutter of your apartment. The peeling walls, the cracked appliances, the mess of papers strewn across your table.

Gojo stops at the red string board, his gaze lingering on the photos and notes that have been painstakingly pinned up, and you see his mouth twitch. As though he's amused by your conspiracy, your obsession, your silent war.

"It's really always about me, isn't it?" Gojo's tone carries the faintest edge of mockery, that damn entertained smile curling the corners of his petal-pink lips.

Your jaw tightens, a flash of anger rearing up inside you. You tear your gaze away from him, "Why are you here? Got no-one to fuckin' torture over at Vought?"

Gojo sighs, almost theatrically, and he's puffing his cheeks out. As though he's bored, like this is a mild inconvenience for him, "So, you're going on a trip tomorrow, huh?"

You track his gaze to the napkin still resting on the table, the address scribbled carelessly across its surface, "What's it to you?" Hoping that your voice is level, and as neutral as it can get.

Gojo Satoru doesn't quite answer immediately. Instead, he pulls off those thick blue gloves, one finger at a time. His hands are oddly elegant, but you know just how capable they are of ending a life in a second, how capable they are of tearing a throat out without breaking a sweat. The very same hands now tuck the gloves into the bronze-metal band of his belt with an almost unsettling level of care.

"Well, I'm just hurt you're going somewhere without me," Gojo quips slyly, "We could have had ourselves a little road trip, sweetheart. Thelma and Louise on the open road, eh?"

You don't say anything, although you're dying to mention how Thelma & Louise ends. Gojo just rolls his searing-blue eyes skywards dramatically, as though he's used to your stubborn attitude.

"Y'know, I could jus' pull you apart, limb by limb," Gojo tacks on casually, "Make you tell me where you're going."

You can feel the tension in your gut tighten, but you refuse to let the Supe catch onto it, although you have no doubt that his superhuman senses can hear the beat of your heart pumping, every hitch in your breath.

"Nah," you bite back, "That'd be worthless. Victim always goes into shock. You gotta' start small. Fingers, nails, ears..." Your voice trails off, calling Gojo's bluff, forcing your words out as if the prospect doesn't shake you.

Gojo's vibrant, jewel-tone stare doesn't break, but the amusement in his eyes sharpens like iron against a whetstone. "It could be a matter of national security, you know," he murmurs, "I have a duty to protect his nation, to weed out any enemies of the state."

You huff in weary, mock exasperation, dragging a hand over your chin in faux-contemplation, "Look, uh, I don't mean to be rude, but can we just skip to the part where you laser my fuckin' brains out?"

Gojo just swears under his breath, "Oh, for fuck's sake," he's muttering, side-stepping around your rickety table, stepping closer as an almost fond smile tugs at his lips, "Where's the fun in that? Come on, look at ya'. It'd be like putting down a wounded dog?"

You don't flinch, you refuse the possibility. But there's that pulse of heat, low in your spine, when Gojo leans into your space. An electric storm about to crack wide as he studies you, eyes falling to the table where your cards are laid out blatantly, and you jolt. Remembering the innocuous little thing, that USB. The one that could very well be his undoing.

"What do you have on me, doll?" Gojo drawls, his voice smooth and untempered, towering over you like an impossibly magnetic force. You hold your ground as his eyes widen, "You do have something, I presume?"

With slow precision (and trembling fingers), you lift the USB, dangling it between your nails as Gojo's eyes flicker for a split second. Amused smile slipping just enough to show something that's less calculated. As though he knows what you grasp, what you're capable of.

Gojo's expression hardens for a split moment, blush-pink lips parted as he watches you, drinks in the sight of you gredily. All before cold steels locks into place once more, his demeanour laced with something far more callous, like a man cornered who knows exactly how to strike back.

"Go ahead. Release it," Gojo steps closer, until you can feel his breath against your skin, and you catch the tang of iron and clean, expensive leather. "Let's light this candle, huh? I mean, sure, I'll lose everything, doll. But then, I'll have nothin' to lose." His voice is quiet, but there's unmistakable malice beneath it.

"First, I'll take out the nerve centres. The seat of the government, the High Courts. Then, any domestic defense capabilities. Critical infrastructure, cellular, Internet, all of it. And then?" Gojo pauses, teeth catching onto the plush flesh of his lower lip.

"Then, I'll just wipe this city right off the fuckin' map, for fun," Gojo adds, a dark smile curling at the edges of his lips, "Hell, I'll throw in that little town your friend's from. Kento, right? Nanami, from the office? Because, why not?"

Gojo's lips brush the shell of your ear, and you resist the urge to shiver, locking your eyes with his own defiantly, venomously as he continues, "See, sweetheart, I'd prefer to be loved. Y'know, as the strongest, I really would. But if you take that away from me? Well, being feared is A-one, okey-doke by me."

Gojo wants you to challenge him, to hear you break the silence with something other than terror, "So, doll," he murmurs, practically cooing, "Go ahead. Do it." His lips curl, sharp fangs poking out from his glossy, red mouth, "No? You don't wanna? Well, then, I'd say you have absolutely no fuckin' leverage. Because I am the strongest, and I can really do whatever the fuck I want."

You blink angrily, breath catching as Gojo watches you with an almost affection gleam in his eyes. As though he's enjoying this, this sparring match where he's got you pinned. So you swallow thickly, and deep down, you know he's right.

Gojo Satoru is unstoppable. He could easily turn on the world that worships him, props him up, and there's nothing anyone could do about it. No nuclear treaty, no tank nor fighter jet could stand a chance against Unlimited Void or Hollow Purple.

There's no undoing the seams and stitches that hold Gojo together. None, apart from...

Your eyes flicker downwards, instinctively, to the thick curve that bulges through the tight suit he dons. That mouth-watering, delicious bulge that's packed, and if Gojo steps any closer, it would jostle against your thigh.

You inch closer, smoothly, grasping at the stray strand of ice-white hair to tuck it behind Gojo's ears. His expression widening, raw and open for a split second as he shivers, purrs.

"Say I call your bluff, Gojo," you say coolly, "What are you gonna' do, right here, right now?" Your hand trails away from his ear, brushing the high, stiff collar of his suit. Fingers gently pressing into the warm flesh of his neck. You feel his pulse jump under your touch, staccato beats that hiccup along.

And you could have sworn that Gojo breathes out a gentle sigh, lips parting around the words, "Finally."

But his cerulean eyes are narrowed, jaw still clenched, as though he's trying to figure out your angle. Now, he truly does push closer to you so that packed curve brushes against your thigh. And it's big, larger-than-life, like everything about Gojo Satoru is.

Fuck this, you shake your head, as though you're tossing away your rationality. Reaching up to thread your fingers through soft, white hair. Pulling Gojo closer as he groans, closing the distance. Lips crashing against your own, forceful and desperate.

You can feel Gojo freeze, stutter as he seems to work through his shock. But then, something irrevocably shifts in him. Ocean-blue eyes fluttering close, so white lashes kiss his creamy skin. A large hand gripping at your waist, pulling you impossibly close.

It's rough, and messy — and your tongue lingers on the taste of something like espresso, and sweet, sugar syrup to boot. The creamy taste of Gojo Satoru that lingers on your tongue and makes your mouth water.

"Tch', you –" Gojo murmurs, as though all the air in the world has been stolen from his lungs, "You jus' don't k-know how long I've wanted this. Ever since you, heh, fired that bullet at me when we first met."

His tone is erratic, large hands splayed against the small of your back, pushing you further against the kitchen counter.

"That shit went right through ya' head," you breathe, struggling to stay steady against the hard plane of Gojo's form, the muscles curling into you, "Didn't do a fuckin' thing."

Gojo's giggling, giggling as though he's already drunk on your touch, so utterly dangerous. Tugging at your top, fingers spread wide over the curve of your chest. Flicking at the sharp peaks of your nipples, "Waste of a perfectly good round, eh, doll?"

The tips of Gojo's ears are a searing shade of crimson, as he's pulling and toying with your clothes. You have never, ever in your wildest and most illicit fantasies imagined Gojo Satoru like this.

You've never pictured him so obedient, so desperate to meld into your hold. Bright blue eyes glazed over, filmy and hazy as his cheeks are mottled pink.

The most dangerous man in the entire world (or so you'd wager) has you firm against the cracking plastic of your counter, with his lips finding home on whatever skin he can find. Kissing, bruising, sucking at the tender flesh in a way that you know will leave blooming marks.

"C-can I?" Gojo pleads, as though he hasn't spent a lifetime whispering quiet threats into your ear, but now his large hand is softly pressed against the back of your neck.

Slick-strands falling from his lips as he sips at your taste, sucking gently on your tongue.

He kisses you firmly with such force that it leaves you dizzy, and the way he strokes at your cheek with a bruised knuckle is far too tender for a man who's practically a walking, ticking bomb.

He's roughly cupping your tits, kneading at the soft fat and flesh, "Hah, pretty, aren'tcha?" Strands of snow-white hair tickling at your neck as Gojo leans his head down, wrapping his lips around your nipple, lickin' and sucking wherever he can reach.

You arch your spine, pulling Gojo even closer. Grinding your clothed core right up against the hard length taut in that damned suit. Feeling every inch brush up against you.

"F-fuck," Gojo murmurs, slurring out babble and praise out through his kiss-swollen lips. You're slowly rocking your hips back and forth, unintentionally honestly, but you're desperate for some friction to relieve the ache that's blooming within your searing groin.

The pads of his fingers are tilting your jaw at the perfect angle, swollen lips sticky against yours, "Just like that," Gojo grunts, running his pink tongue over the kiss-bitten flesh of your own mouth, "N-not so mouthy now, are we?"

But then, because you think Gojo Satoru is unable to go even a second without antagonising you, the white-haired man is lifting his head. Glossy eyes tearing over your apartment as he pulls an unimpressed face, "Damn, this place is kinda' a dump. You really live like this?"

Your fingers latch onto the stray strands on his head, bucking your hips into his bulge harsher, "Says the cunt who made me a fugitive."

Gojo shakes his head, making a faint pshh, dismissive sound as he scoops you up, biceps not even curling to strain as he roughly stomps towards your meagre, thin bed. Laying you flat on the flat mattress as he rumples the waistband of your pants, hooking his thumb underneath the fabric.

You don't even realise it at first, but you're admiring those razor-sharp, strikingly handsome features. Watching as Gojo tugs at his cape, rough and coarse until the fabric tears away from his shoulder plates — until the azure stars and stripes end up on the wooden floor discarded.

"So, doll, how exactly do ya' want me? " Gojo titters, gently pulling a finger into the flimsy cotton of your panties. You can see his nose twitch, eyes flutter shut for a split second as he visibly reels from the messy, filthy slick pooling under his nails. You can only groan, arching at the sudden stimulation as he begins to crook his fingers faster against your folds.

You suddenly pull your thighs taut together, clenching the flesh to trap his hand, "Taste me, Gojo." Breath shuddering as Gojo's fingers suddenly still, ice-blue eyes blown wide at your gall to give him a command.

But he's always been an excellent soldier, hasn't he? Because he seems to be moving on autopilot, pulling his dripping fingers away and gently lolling his tongue on your translucent sheen, "Hah, I can't believe you're g-giving me orders." Gojo almost whimpers at your sweet tang, desperate to have your pussy drool into his waiting mouth.

"M-more, can you – oh, fuck," You inhale sharply, feeling Gojo's fingers imprint on your thighs, firmly spreading your legs apart so he can shuffle further back, his breath moist against your wet cunt, "Heh, never thought you'd ever be like this."

Gojo gives you a flat look, the underside of his eyes crinkling as he stares at you, "Don't get used to t-this." He's grumbling, but his eyes are blown wide, tongue darting out of his mouth to catch a stray drop of your precious arousal dribbling down your inner thigh, "It's just 'cause –"

You don't give his smart-alec mouth time to formulate any words, groaning as you pull at the thick, soft and tousled strands of white hair. Letting the tip of his sharp nose nudge against your clit as Gojo suddenly muffles a desparate, thirst-laden whine, "Mhm, mhm, fuck!"

"Yeah, y-yeah," You breathe, sighing in relief as he presses his tongue flat against your pussy, laving thickly at the glossy folds that he's desperate to munch at, "That's what I thought."

Stifled sounds prick at your ears, a mantra of words falling from Gojo's mouth, something that sounds suspiciously like "Thank you, t-thank you, thank —." The strongest man in the entire world losing his mind, so grateful to wrap his lips against your swollen bud, your throbbing clit as he sucks. Hard.

Your walls clench suddenly, and you can feel the tip of Gojo's tongue prod at your entrance. That length somehow managing to render you gummy, dazed and speechless as he pushes the wet muscle into your cunt, "Ah, ahh, 'Toru, please."

Nothing prepares you for how Gojo's long, slender fingers come to slap at your pussy. Lengthy digits pistoning right into your tender, sensitive walls as he's eager to curve and search for that sweet spot that will make you scream, "What'dya call me, sweets? 'Toru?"

Gojo's looking up at you, and if you didn't know better, you'd say his expression was almost shy. Those eyes, blue like the core of a searing star, like something inhuman was barely contained and desperate to break free. There's something eerie about how bright they are, how they seem to glow even in the dim, murky light of your apartment.

There's glossy, snapping strands of Gojo's new favourite thirst-quencher falling from his lips as he laps at you. Long lashes fluttering against high cheekbones as there's a slight sheen of exertion beading at his temple, "If, if I had known that all I had to do to shut ya' up was eat you out, then —" Gojo whistles low, the vibrations echoing through your cunt, "Woulda' drank this pussy a longgg time ago."

You buck your hips against his nose, canting against his shapely nose bridge, "Don't get c-cocky." Seems that Gojo's just that desperate for you to boss him around, because he's already turning his attention and bratty mouth back to your cunt, licking you right up until he's certain you're seeing stars.

He's still got his suit on, broad-shoulders snugly wrapped in the textured fabric. Sculpting over his bicep even as he draws you even closer, until he's face to face with his new, second favourite girl. With you being his number #1, of course, Gojo isn't afraid to admit that you plotting to kill him has turned him on immensely over the years.

The idea of you planting your thighs around his head 'til he's devoid of air has had him pulling and jerking at his cock, whimpering until he was shooting blanks.

"Come on," and Gojo's snickering at his own play on words, "Or s-should I say c-cum on." Smacking his lips filthily against your folds, fingers pushing at your clit and rubbing furious circles over and over again until you feel the world go blank, and you're star-struck.

Gojo's whispering sweet nothings, adoring praise into your cunt as you ride out your high against his face, "Pretty girl, s-so good for me, heh. Think 'm fuckin' addicted."

You're already lazily pulling yourself up, propping yourself back on your elbows as you take in the sight of a teary-eyed Gojo Satoru. You watch as he pulls himself up, frame towering over you in the flimsy bed as he tugs and paws at the thick, firm bulge in his suit. Now darkened with a translucent patch of his release.

Gojo's fisting his hand over his cock in some ineffective form of relief, "Wanna' show you, g-gorgeous, wanna' show you how the strongest fucks."

But then, his eyes are looking up, wide and superhuman. Searing blue that lights up the dim room like a torch, and it's only then you notice that the lightbulb that once precariously teetered from your ceiling has shattered, and there's a crack in the large window that you swore you've never seen before.

And clutched within Gojo Satoru's fingers, shards of silver metal and blue chips. Fuck, that hag, that doped-up cunt must have had that USB clenched between his fingers the entire time, swiping it off the table when you pulled him in.

"Don't look at me like that, sweetheart," Gojo scoffs, pulling out a cock that beams with an angry, red mushroom tip. Thick spurts of cum already clinging to the slit as he hisses, and your thighs clench in anticipation of the delicious split, "I got something b-better for you right here."

[ariaste]

So I was nodding along almost the whole way through, I was saying "Yeah!" and "Oof, I feel that, I can relate," until I got to:

"be forceful, if you have to, and learn to distinguish real discomfort from the terrified reflex of self-denial" and "you must insist upon her [...] because she may still not yet know how".

And... yeah, no, kinda lost me there. Now, don't get me wrong! It is perfectly valid if you're doing those things essentially as kink (or not-really-kink-but-kinda-uses-the-same-tools-and-skillset) -- that is, you and your beloved have sat down and talked about her discomfort and her difficulties, and the difference between actual discomfort and cognitive dissonance at the concept of having nice things for herself, and how SHE wants you to recognize the distinction (and what signals SHE can give to provide cues in cases of ambiguity), and she's given you express permission to do the Being Forceful thing in pursuit of doing nice things for her and insisting or persuading her into accepting them -- AND y'all have talked about how she can communicate effectively when your insistence and persuasion isn't just not landing right for some reason or when it's actually starting to cross a line. If you've done all that: great, godspeed, I love your love. Make her accept all the compliments and adoration and the nice things she deserves! Your crusade to love her properly is righteous and just!

However. The vast majority of us across the spectrum of transness have experienced people crossing our boundaries, infantilizing and condescending to us, assuming that they know better than us about what we want, and ignoring our quiet, hesitant attempts to push back in small ways as we try to establish a foothold and figure out how much space we're allowed to take up. So... idk, putting "be forceful" and "insist because she may not yet know how" right next to solid, sound advice for all situations like "be patient, be generous" as if they are equivalent in meaning and impact and importance just... rubs me the wrong way. I think OP is absolutely speaking coming from a place of love and positivity, but... this needs caveats.

Because man-oh-man I have personally experienced this kind of thing from both sides: Just because you know that something is going to be good for someone doesn't mean they're going to appreciate having it forced on them. Just because you're absolutely sure that someone will be delighted by something doesn't mean that you're always going to be right.

Suppose the nice thing that someone (let's call them Tye) is doing for their partner (let's call her Mia) is... taking her out to her favorite Italian restaurant. Suppose Tye does this every week without fail, and they feel great about it because Mia loves this restaurant and she deserves to be treated like a princess. But what happens if one week she's bored of it, or not in the mood for Italian food? What happens if she says, "Hey, maybe we don't have to go today... I don't really need all this, what if we just eat toast and eggs--" and Tye says, "NO NO. NO, I LOVE YOU AND WE'RE GOING! YOU DESERVE IT!!!" Y'know what I'm saying??? That's not actually about loving Mia anymore, that's more about Tye getting off on their own heroism. And Mia is once again having to shut up and make herself small.

If the goal is to love your person and give her space to grow confident enough to accept and embrace all the love and wonderful things she deserves, the strategy of forcefulness and insistence COULD actually end up being counter-intuitively DISempowering if it is not explicitly consensual: It is removing opportunities for her to practice communicating her own needs, choosing happiness, and valuing herself where other people can see. It is reinforcing the lesson she has already learned from the rest of society, which is that her self-knowledge and boundaries are inferior to the wants and goals of the people around her.

Having a partner who is so passionate about loving us that they INSIST on giving us the things we secretly long for even when we're scared and shy of accepting them ourselves (and that they always telepathically know exactly what is going to be the perfect thing even before we know it ourselves, and they never once make a mistake in reading our mood when we come home tired from work, and they're always able to seamlessly adjust their plans to accommodate our whim)... It is a lovely fantasy. I will not deny that it is a very lovely fantasy and that I too would like to go to there. That sounds FANTASTIC.

But at the end of the day you are loving an adult human being and "no means no" must remain true even if you think you perceive a glint of longing in her eye (unless modified rules of consent have been established and ratified between you prior to this). Absolutely be patient, be generous, be loving, be attentive and proactive. But also you also gotta be okay with backing the hell off sometimes. You gotta be humble enough to acknowledge that sometimes you might be projecting your own past self's longings, rather than looking at the person in front of you with clear eyes. Create a space where it's safe for her to come out of her protective shell instead of dragging her out of it before she's ready. Encourage her to set her own boundaries, and express appreciation when she does so, especially when the boundaries are ones you disagree with or are personally inconvenienced by.

You cannot force a person to move faster along their journey of loving themself. Having someone insist on giving you love (and I'm once again speaking from experience here, as someone who has been on both sides) can sometimes end up making the beloved feel more guilty, more self-conscious, and more aware of their own "failures" and "deficiencies". To the person trying to do that style of love, it probably IS purely in good faith, but to the person receiving it, it can sometimes come across as a constant implicit reminder of, "I'm not doing it right, I'm still not doing it right, and everyone can tell. No matter how hard I try I still can't do it right, I hate myself even more now."

OP absolutely hit the nail on the head with everything about, "I had to stop [negative self-thoughts], I had to start [taking care of myself], I had to learn [those skills], but more than that I had to learn to ask[...]. it was agony, but courage is a muscle you can train." 100% cosigned. That is exactly it -- training muscles. You can be someone's spotter and cheerleader, but you can't lift the weights for them, and forcing them to lift more than they're ready for often hurts more than it helps. Communicate! Establish a culture of consent even outside the bedroom! And continue to be patient even when it turns out that progress is not a straight line without any stumbles!

so many of the transfems i know spent their time pre-transition performing a kind of lifelong exercise in self-deprivation, the goal of which was to find out exactly how little a person needed to live. they starved themselves, dressed carelessly, shunned friends, and hollowed themselves out so as not to be burdens on anyone but themselves.

i see it now, too, in the girls around me. i'll ask if they want care – a home-cooked meal, relaxed company, sex without the expectation of reciprocation – and they say no, no, thank you, i don't need it; what would you like, what do you want, because in their head they're still doing that awful calculus, still training themselves to disappear in the eyes of the people around them.

i don't think i'd have died without transition – not in the conventional sense, at least – but to take that leap, i had to stop thinking of myself as a human experiment in fuel-efficient living and start nurturing the anemic, atrophied flame of desire in my heart. i had to learn to eat well, to exercise, to style myself beautiful, but harder than that, i had to learn to ask the people around me to work on my behalf in order to enrich my life and give me the things i wanted.

and i did it; i learned. and it was agony, but courage is a muscle you can train, and every day i get better at accepting gifts with the hungry gratitude i never learned in my years and years as a sad, scared, lonely boy.

so be patient with the trans girls in your life. better than that: be proactive, attentive, generous; be forceful, if you have to, and learn to distinguish real discomfort from the terrified reflex of self-denial that so many of us once learned to rely on.

and if you are so lucky as to love a trans girl, you must insist upon her. you must insist upon her happiness, her comfort, her pleasure, and her rest, because she may still not yet know how to make those demands for herself. if you can devote any amount of energy to becoming an engine that nurtures the flame of even a single tgirl then there is a place for you in trans heaven, which as far as i'm concerned is the only one worth going to

[hoe4hotchner]

can i request aaron x prosecutor!reader where there's a case or smth and he's worried about her being a victim so in the middle of her preparing for an upcoming court hearing he forces her into his office. he swears it's for her safety but she's irritated and they may or may not have a little argument in front of the team 🤷🏾‍♀️

bonus if the unsub contacts her directly 👀

Overruled | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Prosecutor Fem!reader | WC: 0.8k | CW: Threats mentioned, argument, mention of death, power dynamics.

The knock on your office door was curt and authoritative. You didn’t look up from your notes, flipping through the organized chaos of case law and precedents sprawled across your desk. The highlighter cap clenched between your teeth shifted as you marked a line in a recent appellate decision, your mind already structuring the argument you would present in court.

“If it’s not an evidentiary ruling or a direct confession, I don’t have time,” you called without missing a beat, barely sparing a second to acknowledge the interruption.

The door opened anyway.

“You’re coming with me.”

That unmistakable voice had your hands freezing mid-scribble. Aaron Hotchner.

Slowly, you lifted your gaze, arching a brow. He was standing in your doorway, tie slightly loosened, his usual rigid posture even stiffer than normal. His jaw was locked, and his eyes—dark, serious, resolute—they left no room for negotiation. There was an energy about him, one you recognized as equal parts command and concern. He wasn’t here to discuss, he was here to dictate.

You exhaled through your nose, placing your pen down deliberately. “I have a hearing in less than—”

“I don’t care.”

You narrowed your eyes, fingers tightening against the polished wood of your desk. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not safe.” His voice was a low, unwavering command. “Pack up your things.”

You scoffed, leaning back in your chair, arms crossing over your chest. “Oh, that’s rich. Is this about the threats? Because unless they’ve escalated to something actionable, you know as well as I do that speculation isn’t grounds for detainment. I deal with threats all the time, Aaron. Occupational hazard.”

“This isn’t a debate, counselor,” he shot back, stepping further into the room, the movement subtle but deliberate, reinforcing his presence. “We have credible intelligence that your involvement in the Martinez case has made you a target. That’s more than enough reason to remove you from your office.”

Your fingers curled around the stack of legal briefs on your desk, grip tightening. “Credible intelligence or speculation?”

“I’m not arguing with you about this.” His tone was clipped and controlled, but you could hear the underlying frustration laced beneath his professionalism.

“Well, you’re going to have to,” you countered, standing now, matching his intensity. “Because I don’t answer to the FBI, and I sure as hell don’t answer to you, Agent Hotchner.”

Something flickered in his gaze, a fleeting flash of something you couldn’t quite place. His jaw tensed, his hands flexing at his sides as if physically restraining himself from saying something he knew he shouldn’t.

“You’re being reckless,” he ground out.

“No, I’m doing my job,” you shot back, stepping around your desk to meet him head-on. “A job that requires me to be in that courtroom tomorrow, not hidden away in protective custody like some fragile witness.”

“A job that requires you to be alive to argue it.”

The air between you crackled, the tension no longer just about your safety, but about something deeper—an unspoken battle of wills, of concern masquerading as control, of autonomy clashing with protectiveness.

And then, of course, it had to get worse.

“Uh, should we—”

You turned your head sharply at the sound of a voice, only to find the rest of the BAU team gathered near your doorway, watching the unfolding showdown with varying degrees of concern, amusement, and outright alarm.

Prentiss cleared her throat, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Should we leave you two alone, or…?”

Hotch’s jaw flexed, his already strained patience thinning. “Go back to work.”

Morgan chuckled under his breath but raised his hands in surrender, retreating with a murmured, “Man’s on a mission.”

You exhaled sharply, rubbing at your temple, frustration giving way to something more complicated.

“Aaron.”

He stiffened at the use of his first name. The team had disappeared, but the weight of the conversation remained, pressing down on both of you like an unseen force.

“I’m not asking you to like this,” he said, voice lower now, edged with something almost—pleading? “But I need you to trust me.”

Your throat tightened. You wanted to fight him on this, wanted to push back, but beneath the stubbornness was something undeniable—the quiet and insistent worry in his eyes.

“You’re going to miss my closing argument,” you muttered, trying to salvage the last shreds of control you had over this situation.

His lips pressed together, as though he were biting back the words he really wanted to say. Then, finally: “I’d rather miss it than have to give your eulogy.”

The fight drained out of you all at once. You swallowed hard. “Damn it, Aaron.”

“Pack your things.” Softer now, but no less firm.

You exhaled, shaking your head, but finally, you reached for your briefcase. The gravity of his words settled in your chest, heavier than you wanted to admit.

“Fine,” you muttered. “But if I miss my hearing, you owe me dinner.”

His eyes softened just a fraction. “Done.”

[chaosartic]

Throw away the caution! | LN4

word count: roughly 2k

warnings: overprotective brother Max Fewtrell, mutual pinning (a bit), Oscar is confused most of the time, bad writing (yes it requires a warning)

summary: Lando (annoyingly) has a crush on non other than his best friends younger sister, Y/n Fewtrell. It was his well kept secret. Why? Because he knows how overprotective Max is of you. What happens when Carlos and Oscar find out about it? Will a drunken night out celebrating a race weekend change their relationship?

a/n: Originally this was supposed to be a one shot but I’m turning this into a mini series. They’re probably going to be three parts. Please note that english is not my first language, I’m sorry for any mistakes in advance.

Lando and Max have been through a lot together as long as both of them can remember. And for just as long Lando has known y/n, Max slightly younger sister. What started as a harmless friendship slowly turned into something more, at least in Landos eyes.

It wasn’t until he was a teenager that he admitted his feelings to himself. He kept them hidden and a secret from everyone. At first he thought that they’re just temporary. The girl he used to climb trees with and joke around for hours grew into a beautiful young lady after all. But the feelings only grew stronger.

Lando was well into his twenties when he talked to someone about his crush, it was no other than his friend and ex teammate, Carlos Sainz. At first he tried to talk Lando into admitting his feelings to you but that was without success. Carlos tried to figure out if the feelings are both sided but he simply didn’t see the Fewtrell siblings enough for that.

He was the silent emotional support through everything after that, trying to get them together alone as much as possible without Max noticing. After all, Carlos didn't know how he would react to the news of his childhood friend loving his younger sister. There were a few close calls in the past but as far as anyone was concerned neither Max nor y/n knew about Landos feelings.

If anyone would ask him why he doesn’t confess his answer would probably be along the lines of wanting to concentrate on his career first. In truth he was scared of your rejection and your brother's disappointment. He and Max are friends after all and it might feel like some sort of betrayal to the older Brit.

Lando was currently in London since he had to be back at the MTC for his pre-season training and meetings. He loved being in his home country even if that meant that winter break was over. It means that he gets to spend time with his friends. Like this evening for example.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You hate being late. It wasn't even your fault that a meeting with your boss ran over the scheduled time or that traffic today was worse than the past few days. You were meeting up with your brother, childhood friend and his teammate. And while Max assured you that your late arrival wouldn’t be a problem, anxiety and guilt still washed over you. You navigate your car without a problem down the familiar street to your brother's appartement. The night was cold but with a clear sky, a rare occurrence.

“You know you don’t have to get me anything when you come around.” Max greets you at the door as soon as he sees the flowers clutched in your hand. “Yeah yeah” you wave him off. The apartment was quiet, too quiet for the normal chaos that erupts when Lando and Max are together.

Max notices your confusion. “They got caught up with work stuff too. That’s why I told you not to worry.” He grabs the flowers ready to put them into an improvised vase while adding, “they should be here any minute though.”

“You could’ve added that little detail in your sentence,” you sternly joke with him. He pulls you into his arms mumbling something about next time he will. You missed this, the familiar feeling of being in your brother's arms. Work has been hell for you recently and you didn't get to spend much time with your family or friends. That’s why you didn't think twice about coming around tonight to spend a relaxing evening with your brother and an old friend of yours, Lando.

Before you could do anything else the doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of the McLaren drivers. “I’ve got it,” you said to Max before walking towards the door. When you opened it, you were a bit surprised when you saw only Oscar standing there. “Hey Oscar. Where is Lando?” you ask him after you let him into the flat. “Oh, he’s still parking the car or something,” Oscar said, “he’ll be here shortly.” You nodded your head at his explanation, softly closing the door behind him. You didn’t lock it though so Lando could get in easier.

Max came out of the kitchen to greet Oscar. While the two aren’t that close they still get along well, spending their evenings occasionally in bigger groups together. The Aussi was quickly accepted into the little group of you three after he joined Lando as his new teammate two years ago. You went back into the kitchen grabbing drinks for everyone while the boys already chatted about racing. The table was set, the ordered food waiting on the counter. There is only one thing missing now.

You still had a slightly anxious feeling that you couldn't shake off. Maybe it was because you would spend the evening in such close proximity to Lando. You haven’t said it to anyone out loud but you knew what the butterflies in your stomach meant. While you didn’t want to admit it to yourself just yet, you couldn’t hide it anymore. You were crushing hard and of course that person has to be your brother’s best friend.

“Hey mate”, Landos voice rans out through the apartment. He came into the kitchen with a wide smile, dimples showing on full display. He quickly pulled each of you into his arms as a greeting. His arms lingered around you for a bit longer, both of you silently enjoying the feeling. “Come on guys, the food is still warm.” Max called out while putting the boxes in the middle of the table. His voice was a bit rougher than usual, almost like he was hiding his emotions. You didn't notice it nor did Lando. Oscar however did notice it and for a millisecond a confused look crossed his face. It was gone before anyone could really notice it.

The four of you sat down at the table, a comfortable silence washing over the room. You sit next to your brother across from Lando. You noticed him looking at you a few times out of the corner of your eye. The butterflies in your stomach were running wild, but you hoped that it didn’t show. As much as you like the idea of being together with the Brit, you knew that it wouldn’t be a good idea. Not only because of his career but also because of your brother. You and Max were close and you know his overprotective sides when it comes to the topic of boys being around you. He was always a bit worried about them, maybe given the fact that he raced professionally. It didn't help that you know most of the formula one grid. He was scared of someone using you for your connections, he would not mention this fear though.

You aren't sure how Max would react to the news of you crushing on his best friend nor did you want to find out anytime soon. You talked about everything over dinner; racing, the upcoming season, video games and just what everybody did during the break. You remembered about a year ago when you were all sitting at the same table. Oscar was still new to the group and quite shy, but he opened up which was good to see.

“All right, how about we talk about something different than just racing,” you said. “Not everybody’s life depends on it.” You jokingly added, knowing that the boys love nothing more than to talk about it, especially when they were off for a few weeks. At some point the conversation shifts, now the talk was all about. testing and the upcoming season. “I have a question guys,” Lando suddenly said. His cheeks are a bit pink, unusually so. Your eyes looked over to Oscar slightly, he looked just as confused as you felt. It almost seems like Lando was shy about something perhaps not knowing what to do with the situation. “Do you have anything planned during the weekend when the season starts?” He finally blurted out after a longer pause.

“Not that I could think of,” you replied, looking at your brother. He also shook his head no. “Why do you ask?” “How about you come to watch it?” It was actually Oscar who voiced the question, his eyes always flickering up to you. It was almost like he was saving Lando from something, maybe embarrassment. “For sure,” Max answered quickly, not having to really think about it. The three men turn their heads to you waiting for your answer. “I’m not sure if I can get time off,” you said. “And also don’t exactly have the money for this trip.” You said shyly.

“Sweetheart, do you really think you have to pay?” Lando asked. You look at him shocked, did he really just say that? “I got it covered. Don’t worry about that.” He added quickly. Maybe it was your imagination, but he looked a bit embarrassed about saying it. Max looked at his best friend, confusion all over his features, shaking his head as if he was having a silent conversation with himself.

“Please y/n, it would mean the world for both of us,” Lando added, pointing at him and Oscar. He was almost begging at this point. You didn’t know why it was so important for him to have you there. A small part if you wanted to believe that it is because he also had a crush on you. But honestly those were unrealistic expectations. No, Lando could never have a crush on you. That’s for sure.

“Okay okay,” you gave in with a small smile. “I’ll see if I can get a few days off so I can join you in Australia,”you said. You see from the corner of your eyes that your brother has a sour look on his face again. An uneasy feeling settles in your stomach. ”Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m done.“ You try to ignore the look on Maxs face by changing the topic.You took both plates and put them into the dishwasher. You miss the way Oscar looks at both Max and Lando. Ever since this conversation started he has had a slightly confused look on his face, not that you noticed.

It was only a few days after that night when your request for the time off was accepted. That night you spend an hour or maybe two on FaceTime with Lando. He was back in Monaco preparing for the testing in Bahrain. It may have been a few days since that call but you can still see the way he smiled when you shared the news. It was one of the best things ever.

You already talked with Max about when you were leaving to Down Under. While you were more than excited to be in the paddock, see the race and talk to some of the drivers that you know, you couldn’t shake off this weird feeling in the pit of your stomach. It felt like this little trip would change everything but you weren’t sure why. Maybe it was because recently you and Lando have talked almost every night, intensifying your crush on the curly haired man. And even though you were nervous you couldn’t wait to see him in person again in Australia.

part 2 (coming soon)

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

I hope you enjoy it! Any feedback is appreciated!

Requests are open! Want to be added to the taglist? Feel free to reach out.

[azzibuckets]

sweet [part 6]

a/n: sorry for the delay..i kept this in my drafts hoping i’d get inspiration for something more creative but it never came so i waited like a month for nothing 😔

main masterlist | sweet masterlist

Paige really is trying to be happy.

But it’s incredibly fucking difficult to do when Azzi is laughing in somebody’s arms that’s not hers.

“Chill, P,” KK’s voice pipes up from beside her. “I think everyone in this room can feel how hard you’re staring at her.”

Paige doesn’t say anything, scoffing as she forces herself to turn around. She’s felt jealous before - but nothing like this, where her stomach is turning and she feels physically sick. “You need to get laid.” KK suggests, poking her arm. “Flirt with some pretty girls. Make her jealous.”

“Nah, bro.” Paige rubs her temples. Sleep doesn’t come easy these days, and her body never seems to feel 100% with all the conditioning and the intensity of their practices. Frankly, she’s physically and mentally exhausted, and the little energy she has left isn’t nowhere close to enough to deal with all this. “I’m done. I don’t wanna keep doing this back and forth shit.”

“So you’re gonna give up?” KK asks incredulously, eyes widening.

“She’s the one who gave up on us before we even started.” Paige toes the ground. “It doesn’t even fucking matter anymore. I told her how I felt and she doesn’t want to date me.” Her jaw tightens. “I just don’t get how she can forgive Micaela so easily and not me.”

“I don’t think it’s about forgiveness, Paige,” KK says slowly, her demeanor serious. “I think she’s scared, and rightfully so.”

“I know she is,” the blonde groans. “But goddamn, isn’t it worth it? I think about her and I get fucking giddy thinking about being able to take her on dates and shit.”

KK falls silent, worry pooling in her eyes for the girl that’s been like an older sister to her. She’s not used to this, being the one to give Paige advice. “You keep saying you’re okay,” she says finally. “But you don’t have to be.”

“I’m not,” Paige admits. “But I will be.”

•••

Paige curses, kicking at the chair before flopping down on it. Jana and Ice exchange looks behind her back as she aggressively grabs a Gatorade bottle and squirts water into her mouth.

“None of my shots are fucking falling,” she rants, eyes quickly tracking the movement on the court. “How many turnovers have I had?” she asks, turning to one of the team managers on the bench.

The manager checks her iPad, looking back up at Paige sympathetically. “Four.”

“Fuck.” Paige slams the Gatorade bottle down on her thigh. “I don’t know what’s fucking wrong with me.”

The team is up by twenty five points, and Paige doesn’t see the court for the rest of the game. As soon as the buzzer sounds, she’s out of her seat, rushing through the handshake line to go to the locker room. She knows Geno likes giving the fourth quarter to the bench to help them get more experience, but she can’t help but be annoyed that she hadn’t been allowed to go back in and redeem herself against a shitty team that couldn’t even shoot. She’d turned the ball more over than had assists, for fuck’s sake.

“Paige, you coming?” The team is huddled around the door, on their way out for team dinner.

Paige is still next to her locker, head bowed down as she rummages through her duffel. “You guys go ahead,” she responds. “I think I’m done for the night.”

She hears her teammates hesitate, murmuring softly to each other before they decide to leave her be. As she hears the last of the footsteps, she turns around to make her own exit, making eye contact with big brown eyes as Azzi happens to look back at the same time.

Stay. Her eyes communicate everything she’s not brave enough to say out loud. Stay with me, she begs. I don’t want to be alone.

And Azzi, her best friend, who’s always been able to read Paige’s mind, who knows what Paige is feeling before she herself can ever put a name on it, who’s always there before Paige even has to ask, hesitates, her steps faltering, eyes rounding. But then her eyebrows dip, as if she’s remembering their last conversation, the hurt they’d made each other feel.

Azzi bites her bottom lip and turns back around, pace quickening to catch up with the rest of the team.

Paige slams her locker shut.

She was a fool for ever believing Azzi would still care about her after everything she’d done.

•••

“Don’t beat yourself up, Paige,” her dad says. His voice is distorted over the speaker, but still comforting from thousands of miles away. “What would you say if one of your teammates had an off performance like this? You need to learn to give yourself grace too.”

“I know, I just-” Paige looks up at the ceiling, studying the ugly floral patterns glaring back down at her. “I just can’t help but feel like I’m letting them down.” She pulls the blanket tighter over herself. “I’m supposed to be their voice on the court, and today I was doing jack shit.”

“That’s what makes you a good leader. Recognizing the mistakes you’ve made, moving on from them and becoming better after.”

Paige sighs. She appreciates her dad’s efforts to comfort her, but right now nice words are doing nothing to alleviate the hollowness in her heart.

“This isn’t helping, is it?” her dad, ever so honest, realizes.

Paige winces. “Not really. But I appreciate it.”

He chuckles softly. “I could tell. Azzi was the only one who could get through to you when you were like this back in high school. Where is she?”

“She’s, uh, out right now. With the team.” Paige doesn’t have the heart to tell him that they haven’t talked much at all in the last month. Her dad has always had a soft spot for Azzi, their more shy and introverted personalities making them get along.

“Well, when she comes back, have a talk with her, okay? I don’t want you sitting alone with your feelings. It’s not good for you.”

Paige swallows hard. “I will,” she lies. The mere mention of Azzi only intensifies the headache she’s already having. “Listen, I’m pretty tired, so I’m prolly gonna crash now.”

“Yeah, get some rest.” Her dad pauses. “I love you, Paige. Don’t forget that.”

“I know. Love you too.”

The call disconnects, and sitting in her bed in the dark room, the whirring air conditioning the only sound in the room besides her heavy breathing, Paige misses home more than ever. She misses her parents, and Drew. She misses being with people she hasn’t hurt over and over again with stupid mistakes.

“Paige?”

Paige looks up, startled. She hadn’t heard anyone come in, and she’s more confused to see Azzi standing there uncertainly, shifting from foot to foot, cheeks pretty and rosy from the cold outside.

“Az? How’d you get in?”

“Aubrey gave me the key card.” Azzi drops said key card on the table. “Everyone’s really worried, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah, cut the crap.” Paige buries her face back into the pillows, not wanting another lecture on how bad she played. “I’m sorry I fucking blew it.”

“Paige.” Azzi’s tone is soft, and Paige realizes just now how much she’s missed the way her name sounds coming from Azzi’s mouth. “They’re not worried about the way you played. They’re worried about how you reacted to it. They’re worried about you.”

The younger girl sits down tentatively at the edge of the bed. “You always take care of the team,” she says quietly. “But you don’t have to carry the weight of that alone. Sometimes you need to put yourself first.”

Paige almost throws herself into Azzi’s arms, catching the dark haired girl off guard for a moment before she gently hugs her back. As if on instinct, her hands go up to start undoing her ponytail, like she used to always do after games. Azzi combs through her hair, gently twisting off the hair tie and murmuring into her ear.

Shoulders shaking, Paige sinks into Azzi’s chest as she finally allows herself to cry. “It’s okay, baby,” Azzi whispers, lips grazing her ear. “I got you.”

It seems like hours that Azzi holds Paige. Eventually, the blonde’s breathing evens out, her sniffling stopping as her breaths become deeper. She thinks Paige is asleep until the older girl turns her head slightly. “Will you be here when I wake up?”

Azzi slings an arm across her waist, breathing her in. The ends of Paige’s hair tickle her cheek, but she doesn’t move. “Do you want me to be?”

Paige’s voice comes out, barely in a whisper. “Yes.”

Azzi drops her head, lips skimming across the older girl’s neck. Paige’s skin is warm, her pulse fluttering under her touch. Azzi tightens her grip on her waist, thumb dipping under her shirt to stroke soft circles on her hipbone. Paige shifts closer. “Then I’ll be here.”

•••

Paige wakes up to tangled sheets and warm hands on her face. She blinks sleepily as her vision sharpens to see Azzi propped over her on one elbow. “How you feeling?” Azzi asks softly, her morning voice scratchy.

Paige reaches up, fingers trailing over Azzi’s hand cupping her cheek. “Better,” she breathes out. She looks over at the alarm clock, groaning. “We still have half an hour.”

Paige flips over onto her belly, resting her head on Azzi’s chest. Azzi grabs her waist, adjusting her so that the older girl is fully on top of her. Her hands go up to stroke Paige’s back, scratching up and down her bare skin with her fingernails. Closing her eyes, Paige listens to the steady beat of Azzi’s heart. “You always smell so good,” she murmurs.

Azzi hums, rubbing her socked foot against Paige’s ankle. Paige has almost drifted off again when fingers gently brush hair out of her face. “We gotta be at breakfast in 10.”

“Don’t wanna get up.” She groans when Azzi takes her hands out from under her shirt, pushing Paige off her softly. Azzi starts to get ready, grabbing clothes to wear from Paige’s duffel without even asking.

Paige sits at the edge of the bed, watching Azzi move around the room. She can almost imagine that they’re back to normal again, going to bed together and waking up together as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You’re the only one that makes me feel like this.”

Azzi pauses for a moment before choosing not to respond. She disappears into the bathroom, reemerging a few seconds later with two toothbrushes. She hands one to Paige. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

Paige grabs the toothbrush and stares at her. “What? It’s true.”

“It’s not gonna help either of us move on,” Azzi says pointedly.

“What if I don’t want to move on?” Paige challenges, following Azzi back to the bathroom.

“There’s no future for us, Paige,” Azzi says harshly, turning around to put a warning hand against Paige’s chest. She closes the door between the two of them as if to reaffirm their boundaries.

“So you’re just gonna come to my hotel room and hold me through the night then get pissed at me for still having feelings for you?” Paige laughs humorlessly, slumping down to sit against the door. “Real classy, Azzi.”

“You needed someone. I couldn’t sit in my room knowing you were suffering.”

“Have you ever considered that maybe you’re making it worse by all this coming and leaving?” Paige blinks back tears. “God, you finally just look at me again and I go fucking crazy.” She scrambles to her feet once she hears the door unlock, and Azzi comes out, her eyes slightly red. “I can’t have just some of you. I need to have all of you or - or none of you.”

The younger girl jerks towards her. “You’re a fucking liar, you know? You said no matter what decision I chose, you would be happy,” she shoots back, voice shaky with anger.

Paige’s eyes cloud over. “How do you know that?”

Azzi hesitated. “The letter you write me- I found it. In the guest room.” As if on instinct, her hands reach for her purse, but she stops herself. It certainly wouldn’t help her case if Paige knew she carried that note with her everywhere she went.

Cursing under her breath, Paige runs a hand through her hair. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Yeah, well.” Azzi takes a deep breath, trying to recollect her thoughts. “I’m asking you to be happy for me, okay? I know it’s a lot. But you’re my best friend. I need you to do this for me.”

“You’re not being fair to me.” Paige’s words catch in her throat. “You know how this makes me feel.”

“I know.” Azzi leans her forehead against Paige’s. Her thumb finds the tears coating the older girl’s lashes, the dampness of her cheeks, trying to brush them away, trying to brush all their mistakes and their sins and their pain away. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

Paige dips her head down, burrowing it into her shoulder, fingers digging into Azzi’s waist as if holding onto her any tighter will keep her from slipping away from her life. “Okay.” Her voice cracks. Just ten minutes ago, she’d been firmly resolute in her ultimatum - seeing Azzi with other people had hurt too fucking much for her to stand. But now? Paige has always been a people pleaser. Recently she’s been learning to stand her ground, to be okay with letting others be upset. But when it comes to her best friend, who’s pleading with her, eyes wet with grief and hope and a million words unsaid, Paige knows that she doesn’t have it in her to say no. That learning to get over her pain will somehow be doable if it means that it’ll take away just a little bit of Azzi’s . “Okay.”

[amaritheartist]

Alright, now you actually have me trying to think about whether there are any exceptions to this.

Like, Tim is one of the first examples that comes to mind. He’s gotta have something, right? Even if all of his lines would be incredibly cheesy!

Does Annabelle have rizz? Maybe? Are you into vague answers to all questions and possibly being filled with spiders?

“The Distortion could probably rizz me!” I say knowing full well that I’m only here for the relatable identity issues, gender, and aesthetics. I’ve got a platonic crush on the Distortion. I want to befriend it! I want to sit down in its corridors and have tea that makes my head spin, have a cry in the “corners” when I get far too lost, and come out making other people doubt what they’re seeing. Is that too much to-

Some people think Dr. David has rizz. Personally, I would take a ghost bullet for this man, and then use my newfound rage to tear him apart. I will not be restrained.

Does the song of the Hive count as rizz? If you heard that wasp’s nest serenading you from outside your bedroom window, would you be rizzed? Actually, I don’t know if this counts, as I wouldn’t find the wasp’s nest absurdly hot until after it started singing.

I think the entities themselves have some rizz. Actually, I am unhealthy about some of the relationships between avatars and their patrons. Now I ain’t sayin’ that most of those are healthy relationships, but I certainly feel things about them! This is getting so off track! Oh my goodness! Can’t even count that as rizz! I’m just severely normal about characters like Father Burroughs, Mike Crew, and Lydia Halligan! Out of the three of which, I think only Mike would have some semblance of rizz.

"objectively physically attractive but in possession of negative rizz" is one of my favorite character concepts. i think it's so great when there's an absurdly hot person who's just a complete fucking loser. the mood is unsalvageable the moment they open their mouth kind of deal. you get no bitches because you're so sucks.

[lesbxdyke]

I think one of the things that has brought me the most peace in my life was the decision to stop responding to anything not clearly stated to me.

Anxiety: Oh no your friend hates you!

Me: Well they didn't say that. So either they need to fortify and tell me themselves, or I will continue to be their friend exactly as I am.

Not just that though. When people hint drop that they want a thing from you, I act as if I have not noticed at all. Either you directly ask me for that thing, or you are not getting that thing from me.

I actually decided to start doing this because I got diagnosed as autistic and I realised how much stress and unhappiness I put on myself trying to figure out everyone's motives and wants and needs all the time. So I decided I'd just... Stop.

And I tell people that. I tell people "I don't notice or respond to hints or passive aggressive behaviour. Either you need to be straight with me or I will continue as I am." And you know the only person that has had a problem with it?

My former abuser (who I am vvvvv low contact with). Because they relied on me feeling obligated to respond to their unspoken moods and wants to keep me in line.

Everyone else has been immediately on board and my relationships have gotten SO much stronger. Because I am asked directly for things, and I will give a direct reason for my response, regardless of what that response is. (e.g. "Hey, can you call me, I want company on the drive home!" "No, sorry, I'm in the middle of [task], but I will be done in twenty minutes so if you still want my company then, I'll be happy to.")

So I put this out as a suggestion for all people, ND and NT.

Stop responding to hints, passive aggression and other 'unspoken' things. Use, model and encourage clear communication with everyone, you'd be surprised how much easier it makes EVERYTHING!

[softidiotsposts]

I Never Dreamt Before You

weird how strangers can pick up the broken pieces of a heart they don't really know

{Fair warning: heavy angst, explicit sexual content (18+), discussion of sensitive topics (suicide, toxic relationships, death), neighbors, some fluff and a somewhat happy end // word count: 8.5k}

A twenty-five Euro train ticket will take you comfortably from Madrid to Barcelona but it doesn't take away the boiling anxiety nor does it make the journey easier. In fact it's harder that way, knowing that Madrid is only twenty-five Euro away makes it so much more difficult not to turn back.

Knowing that only twenty-five Euro will bring back a world of warmth that you wish you could bottle up.

Leaving behind a life to start a new one is difficult, even in your mid twenties you feel yourself being caught in the spider web of emotional attachment of a city. You know the ins and outs of Madrid- know it like the back of your hand, born and raised in the capital. So to move away to the coast, seven hours away from comfort is not easy.

Barcelona, the idea of it, feels like an old wound that has turned into a foreign world. So different from the ease of Madrid, like a whole new world that you've yet to discover.

One that you're frankly not a hundred percent you want to know, the move isn't one that comes out of want but necessity. It's one to pursue greatness in the grueling career you had chosen but the choice had not come without great deliberation.

Barcelona is... different, in many ways. The Catalonian city had its own customs, its own culture, even its own language. It worried you, made you afraid as if you were a child again, as if you were scared of the dark. But this time you had no one to hold you, to comfort you and tell you it's all okay- You had yourself now and that's it.

The train jitters from time to time as it slides along the tracks at such a pace that the outside world seems but a blur. You watch it happen, look out the window as the world mixes into a swirl of colors, the greens of the trees and shrubbery mixes with the beautiful colors of the flowers that you cannot clearly make out. It creates a piece of art that moves, like a painting that adapts each second you look at it. You smile slightly, appreciating the way nature casually crafts perfect art before your eyes then turn your head to glance at the table in front of you.

Pages of sheet music are scattered on the table, different pieces blending into one another as they are placed in an unorganized fashion without much care.

A half-drunk cup of dirt black coffee is in the far corner. It was about four Euros when you bought it at the station in Madrid and you could taste it. A half burnt mix that made you grimace each time you drank it but the water, standing not far anyway from it that rippled ever so slightly, had helped wash the bitterness off on your tongue.

You place a hand on one of the pages, the soft manuscript ever so rough under your dry hands, and pick it up to bring it closer to your face.

The lines and notations blur slightly into a puddle of black ink so you squint and suddenly find clarity, the music flows off the page as you find that it so often does. It's Chopin that you're holding, a poor man with far too many emotions and music that you find to be as heavy as an anvil.

You read over the page from beginning to end, you imagine the way your fingers glide over the keys- pressing softly before launching into an attack of grief. It's not the same as if you were playing in reality, you cannot feel the weight of the keys beneath your fingers nor their polished finish but it satisfies you for the moment.

It was deep into November and for Alexia that meant that outdoor training was becoming regularly more and more cooler as the days went past. Today was one of those days, the wind nipped at any exposed skin and fingers froze outside the comforts of a coat pocket.

Thus Alexia was forced to don her snood and gloves to the training pitch as did many others, all dressed in the same black kit with various winter accessories adorning necks and hands.

Alexia smiled and softly greeted the social media personnel, "Bon dia."

The filming of training had become a regular occurrence over the coming years, ever since the club had launched themselves on to the European stage, their presence had grown.

It filled Alexia with a strange mixture of feelings- there was the obvious excitement but also a nagging feeling of pressure. Pressure to perform, pressure to outdo previous achievements. It brought back that awkward feeling, the one that made her shutdown ever so slightly.

She waited on the sidelines for the rest of the team to arrive, deep in thought, looking at her shoes when a hand touched her shoulder. The sudden weight had her flitch ever so slightly and she turns to see Irene, the older woman furrowing her brow in concern.

"Are you okay, Ale?"

The tone is evidently worrying and Alexia clenches her jaw- there was no need to worry about her. It's actually the opposite, it is her job to worry about her team.

"I'm fine," Alexia forces a smile and walks away as the coach calls them over.

In reality, Alexia is far removed from the idea of 'being fine' when she probably should be: her team is at the top of their Champions League group, their start in the league had been as strong as ever and both Spanish Cups looked to be in the near distance.

Yet nothing is fine, Olga had broken up with her over the month of October and she was hurting- they hadn't been living together but the presence of stray belongings that had been left behind over time was missed, greatly. She had also not told a single soul, the idea being to focus on football. On progress, on being great in a way to get over the grief of the relationship.

Training itself had gone alright, they were solid like they had always been- making intricate plays and passing sequences right in the goal or shooting from range, curving the ball right past the keeper and into the back of the net.

Cold training was followed by a session in the gym, one where the cool of November was traded for sweat and pumping blood. The small space of the Barcelona gym crowded with most of the squad, each taking turns at the stations set up and the yelling on the football pitch had been swapped for the electronic gym music and friendly chatter.

"Doing anything later, capi?"

It's Mapi asking as they both stretch out their hamstrings on the ground and Alexia considers her answer for a moment. In theory, she is not doing anything later- her plans are simple, go home and wallow in her emotions while watching whatever game is playing on TV.

"Sorry, María, I'm taking Nala to the vet."

Alexia cringes at herself the second it leaves her mouth- she had not meant to use Nala as an excuse but there was no other viable explanation that would not warrant additional questioning.

Instead of asking further, Mapi launches into a story about Bagheera's last vet appointment and Alexia is grateful that she's taking all the air time for once.

Alexia leaves promptly after the team is dismissed for the day, all given time in the afternoon for either additional training or other activities they may have. She doesn't stay to practice free kicks with the others like usual, feeling the weight of the seasonal transition on her chest.

Instead, she drives home to her condo. It's fairly nice, not overly modern and has an open concept that satisfies her needs. The neighbors are mostly full-time working people or the elderly, no children or college students that disturb the peace which Alexia appreciates greatly.

When she arrives and takes the elevator up to her floor, she is greeted by the sight of a young woman. Dressed in half-formal attire- tailored trousers with a slight check pattern that hang loosely on her hips, an untucked crumpled white shirt with a black overcoat that rests on her shoulders with dress shoes that look well worn.

Alexia pauses for a moment. The woman is beautiful, that kind of beauty that is timeless, without an expiration date, that can be taken through time period after time period and still fit into every single one.

The woman's hair is slicked back into a bun and her thin fingers rest on a case as she stands in front of a door that is few down from Alexia's own. She had never seen this woman and to her knowledge, the apartment she stands in front of has been empty for a while.

Alexia wants to call out but before she can open her mouth to speak, the woman disappears into the apartment, the door softly closing behind her. Then Alexia is left alone in the hallway, standing in front of her front door in a state of shell shock.

You make it off the train and manage to avoid buying a ticket back to Madrid. The feeling of stepping into a station other than your city's is strange and you decide to ignore the itching feeling of fear and uncertainty before it can get the best of you.

You pick up your leather case with all your sheet music and make your way through the train station and into the bustling streets of Barcelona. The wind nips at you and you can immediately feel the coastal air, you half appreciate the fresh feeling that the sea provides but also feel the nausea of homesickness bubbling up.

You walk to your apartment, seeing as it's not far from the station and all your other belongings had been sent to the flat previously.

You treat this as an opportunity to gaze at the brilliant architecture of the famous Catalonian city, some buildings look modern while others share the intricate stone work that can only be done by hand- making them infinitely more wonderful than the polished creations that sit beside them.

Eventually, after walking several blocks, you make it to your apartment building. It's one of the nicer looking ones on the street and you enjoy the stone work, the different creams mixing with the red of some of the bricks, before entering it.

The lobby itself is nicer than you'd expected. After an initial door, you are greeted with a darker one that has a lovely wooden finish- you fish out your keys, just two stray keys in different colors without any keyrings keeping them company, you turn the key and open the door.

You decide to take the stairs, just to enjoy the view out of the windows as you go up for the first and final time since the elevator is probably kinder on your knees. The view, as you'd imagine, is quite magical- the sun is slowly setting, the giant fireball disappearing into the horizon, in its wake leaving a wondrous sky that is full of pinks, oranges and reds. You pull out your phone and take a picture with a hopeful aspiration to start fresh and new.

Next, you find yourself standing in front of your door, clutching the case in your hands tightly. You contemplate turning back and getting on a train, re-calling all your things back to Madrid and never leaving. You don't, instead you turn the key and enter with a sense of acceptance.

You do not notice the footballer standing a few doors away and even if you had there would be no recognition in your eyes, your vision had been forever tunneled in the opposite direction and never wandered towards sports.

The apartment walls are bare. Plain white, freshly painted for a new tenant and you try not to shiver at the unwelcoming color, you would have to paint over it- maybe a green? or sea blue.

You turn to look around- it's an open concept as you'd seen online, the kitchen overlooks the combined living and dining room with a small hallway on the main wall. It branches off into the singular bedroom and bathroom.

You sigh and glance at the grand piano that takes up most of the space in the living room. It's black with a polished finish and you had spent so many times sitting for hours at a time that you had memorized each scratch and nick that had been etched into it.

You ignore the instrument even though it calls for you to sit down after the tiring journey and you instead focus on more pressing matters.

Checking your watch, you let out a sigh of relief when the hands show that it is not late evening just yet- you had just enough time to put together the stray pieces of furniture and organize the place to your liking without disturbing the neighbors anti-social hours.

You build your bedframe and unroll the mattress, put your sheets on then methodically put together the drawers so that you may store all your clothing. After the bedroom looks somewhat complete albeit plain but complete, you turn your attention to the living space.

It's large and so open that you feel a little naked standing in it- you decide to change that by taking the cloth off the leather chairs and moving them so they face the balcony, giving them a kind view of the city. A bookshelf is against the wall to the right of them, filled with various songbooks and stray novels that you never seem to finish.

There is no sofa since the piano takes up much of the available space, so the TV is left alone on the unit without anyone facing it. You don't find the problem, you never watch it anyway. The old beat up dining table from your old apartment sits near the kitchen, right in front of the doorway, with four chairs that were probably going to be used in rotation by only you.

After the bulk of the apartment is set up, you add the finishing touches. Photographs of people that you rarely speak to from high school but still cherish, art that you purchased on a whim and coats that you wore often hung on the pegs near the entrance.

It is finally after finishing absolutely everything that you sit at the piano, you run a finger on the closed keyboard and a thin layer of dust gathers. You hadn't played for two days and it had already gotten dusty.

Alexia hears the music over the sound of Alba's complaining, it's soft and sounds like utter grief.

A wave passes through her, tugging her heart strings along with it. She has never been a big fan of instrumentals, instead finding a larger appreciation for voice and lyric than strings.

"Alexia? Helloooo? Oh my God, are you even listening to me-" Alba's voice calls from the phone and Alexia snaps out of the brief trance.

"Err yeah, yeah... sorry, someone is playing the piano, I think."

She hears a gasp through the speaker and Alexia rolls her eyes at it.

"Is it loud? Maybe you should complain?" Alba suggests and Alexia doesn't even consider it- she doesn't care about the noise, only that the melody sounds dreadfully sad.

"No- It's fine, actually, I have to go... It's time for Nala's walk."

"Oh okay, then- By-"

Alexia presses on the red button to hang up the call before Alba can even reply and she feels immediately guilty- She had used Nala as another excuse, two in one day. Maybe she should draft excuses for the next day now? Just so Nala isn't used as a constant reason.

Now that Alba is no longer on the phone and the Atletico game is now muted, the music is much louder and clearer. Alexia cannot name what it is but even though there is an evident sadness in the notes, it's played to utter perfection. Each note masterfully curated to fit the next.

Alexia decides that whoever is playing is immensely talented.

It's about a week until Alexia sees the woman that lives on her floor again- It's a Wednesday morning and she has had a slow start to the day. Alexia had woken up ten minutes before her seven o'clock alarm rang, so she stayed in bed and allowed herself to snuggle Nala until the shrill signaled the need to get up. She had dressed herself in the training gear she wore most days, walked Nala, ate breakfast, checked her emails and watched the news until it was time to leave for training at nine.

She grabbed her packed bag, said goodbye to Nala with a kiss on the head and walked out and into the elevator. Alexia pressed the button for the ground floor and the one to close the doors when a hand shot out to stop them from closing.

It was the same woman. This time dressed in a skirt in complete black with polished loafers, shirt pressed but clearly in a hurry since you can tell the imperfections in the white cotton, same overcoat thrown on her shoulders.

"Pardon me," Her voice rang out to Alexia.

It's soft, like cotton in her ears and she melts slightly into it. Then chastises herself, it had only been a month since her break up and jumping into another relationship did not seem wise.

"Going down?" Alexia's voice trembles slightly and she does not know why.

"Yes."

It's curt and Alexia presses the button to close the door, it prompts the elevator to go down. She takes the opportunity to look at the woman again, out of the corner of her eye.

She's fairly tall, about Alexia's height and holds a deep brown leather bag that looks to be full with papers. Maybe she works in an office? Or maybe she's an accountant? She certainly looks the part.

The ding of the elevator breaks the moment and Alexia is forced to exit but not before she hears a smooth,

"Thank you."

That feels like honey and makes her warm and fuzzy inside.

It's again after a day's work that she runs into the woman again. She's running a little late because Aitana spilled coffee on her and she hopes Nala will forgive her that their afternoon walk will be delayed due to a shower.

The woman holds the elevator as she sees Alexia running for it, she offers a light smile that Alexia has yet to see and is now eternally grateful she has. It makes her forget about the large burning coffee stain on the front of her shirt for a moment until the woman offers her a tissue.

"Would you like one?"

It's a typically plastic packet of cotton tissues that organized people carry about and Alexia takes one with gratitude, thanking her twice over as she wipes some of the coffee with it.

"Are you a fan?”

Alexia stops wiping the coffee off her top and looks at the woman with furrowed brows then follows to where an elegant finger points at her chest. The Barcelona badge is untouched by the coffee, still in immaculate condition.

Alexia feels herself flush and does not know how to answer.

"Err yes, yes I am. Quite a big one."

The woman lets out a laugh as she stumbles over her words and it's music to Alexia's ears, almost as good as the performance that she got to hear a week ago.

"Are you? A fan."

The woman shakes her head, "No, actually... I don't watch football or sports but I appreciate the sentiment of them."

Alexia doesn't know what to say- she has plenty of friends outside of the football sphere she surrounds herself in but her mind is suddenly blank on questions to ask.

The elevator dings and informs them of the floor. The woman goes to leave and Alexia desperately doesn't want her too but has no idea as to why.

They had barely spoken, she had only seen her three times but Alexia felt as though someone who she had been waiting for her whole life had just walked into her life. A crazed feeling of comfort washed over her each time the woman spoke and Alexia leaned into every time.

To Alexia's joy, the woman turns back slightly and looks at Alexia.

"I'm Y/N."

She introduces herself as Alexia steps out the elevator to let it close and carry it's journey between the floors. She has never heard a name so beautiful sounding but doesn't speak on it further, in hopes of staying somewhat cool in the others eyes.

"I'm Ale, I live here."

Alexia points at the door with twenty nine on it as she introduces herself.

"Is that short for something?"

Alexia is stunned into a brief silence because it's so rare that someone asks since the many people she talks to already know the ins and outs of her life better than even she.

"Alexia."

The woman chuckles light and flashes a smile, "Well, Alexia, I live in thirty one."

She points down the hall at a door that's identical to Alexia's and Alexia acts as if she didn't know.

"I'll see you around, Alexia."

Y/N smiles kindly and Alexia feels her face heat up as she watches her walk to her apartment, the loafers she's wearing creating a satisfying click with each step.

The next time they meet is two weeks later when Alexia hosts their monthly team bonding movie night. Most of the team are present and bundled in small huddles on the large sofa or floor in front of it.

Aitana sits with Keira practically cuddling with each other as they pay rapt attention to the film playing on the TV. They seem to be the only two who have not seen the movie before tonight.

Mapi is sitting in between Ingrid's legs on the floor in front of the sofa as she pays attention to the film with occasional snarky comments about the characters that Ingrid hums along to.

Lucy and Ona sit in the very corner of the sofa under one of the many blankets, acting as though they aren't holding hands even though it's fairly obvious to the rest of them.

The rest of the group are evenly spread out on the sofa and floor, with Alexia sitting on a pillow watching the film with sleepy eyes. What awakens her is the music that can be heard over the television, she has not heard that playing for three weeks and had wondered the possibilities as to why.

Had they sold the piano? Or installed sound proofing in their apartment so the rest of the floor could not hear them? Alexia doubted it was that- the walls are paper thin and even the smallest of sounds can be heard.

It's different from the last piece she had the pleasure of listening to, much lighter yet still with a slight tinge of grief. It's also three times louder and she wonders why the person insists on playing between six and eight.

"Is someone playing music or what?"

It's Patri who pauses the film and complains, there is a moment of silence from everyone as the music seems to reach its peak and then they hear the slam of notes before a continuation in playing. Alexia flitches at the moment of anger, she had yet to hear such an emotion from the mystery pianist.

"It's lovely," Frido comments and Alexia is inclined to agree.

Lovely is one way to describe it. The other is masterful, an artist pouring their heart into an instrument that sings a thousand unspeakable words to the world around it.

The music lays heavy on the heart in the most wonderful way and Alexia has yearned for it to come back ever since she had heard it. It's a beauty that she has no experience in but one that she craves almost as much as the pitch.

"It's ruining film night."

Both Patri and Pina whine like children causing Alexia to laugh and shake her head. It's true, the sound of the piano runs over that of the TV and it would seem that Alexia has been granted the opportunity to meet the mystery pianist that has captured a part of her heart.

You had been practicing your Rachmaninoff when a knock sounded at your door, your fingers stilted over the keys, not daring to press another key. You lift yourself off the stool and walk over to the door, taking a few deep breaths before opening it to be met with Alexia's face.

Alexia who had been disrupting your perfectly thought out routine by her causally kind comments that had been running through your head even two weeks later.

You feel embarrassed now, opening the door to the person who had practically been dreaming about every single day wearing worn sweatpants and a henley shirt that had quite clearly shrunk in the wash a few times over.

"Alexia-" You manage to start before she interrupts you.

"You're the one playing piano?"

It's not an accusation but a question full of surprise that you can't help but feel shocked about. Of course, you knew that the piano could be heard- even neighbors had told you how much they appreciated the music in the evenings but you had assumed that Alexia knew.

"Yes, it's me- Listen, Alexia, I'm really sorry about playing so late. I'll stop for tonight."

You try to explain, hoping that Alexia isn't angry but when you glance at her face there is no anger visible. Instead she looks to be in... awe?

"No- I mean, yes that would be nice... but I don't mind."

You raise your brows in shock because you hadn't expected that reaction- sure many of the older folks living on your floor had liked the music but you'd assumed it was because they were older.

Yet Alexia seems to be proving you wrong.

"Okay then, Alexia?"

"Yeah?"

"Have a goodnight, okay?" You say with a light smile and can make out Alexia's nod before you close the door.

You press your forehead against the door when you think it's safe to do so and bring your knuckles to your mouth and then bite down lightly to prevent you from screaming.

It's surreal, the effect the older woman has on you even though the two of you have barely spoken, you've thought about touching her- running your hands up and down her sides and you've thought about her hands on you.

It's difficult to say what you want- friends would tell you to go for it but your mother would be deeply against seeing someone older. All you know is that you want Alexia and have absolutely no clue as to why.

The next time you see her, it's evening and you're in the elevator going home from the opera when she gets in. Alexia is wearing a beautiful dress that clings to her in all the correct places and you cannot stop your eyes from wandering across her figure when she's paying attention to her phone.

She makes you feel underdressed in your pencil skirt, loafers and crumpled blue striped shirt. Every time you gaze upon Alexia it's as if you are looking at one of the paintings that hangs on your wall- she's crafted by renaissance painters that you cannot pronounce the names of and you no else you've met in your life compares.

"Y/N?"

You flitch when a hand clamps down on your shoulder- it's Alexia and then you realize that the elevator has reached your floor but the ding and announcement had gone unnoticed by you.

"Sorry- long day."

Alexia smells faintly like alcohol, but not the cheap stuff you get in the convenience store, and flowery perfume that tickles at your nose blissfully. You wonder whether she was out with friends... or maybe had gone on a date?

"It's okay, everyone has days like that."

Even Alexia? She seemed so perfect- utterly beautiful and spoke with complete intellect every time the two of you interacted.

"Thank you," You mumble out as you leave the elevator but Alexia doesn't let your shoulder go.

Instead, you can feel her fingers dig into the fabric of your woolen overcoat. You don't know whether she's grounding herself or you but you feel yourself begin to calm down either way.

You don't know why you do the next thing you do. Maybe it's loneliness or pure carnal desire that drives you to kiss her in the hallway.

You press your lips against Alexia's soft ones and feel her jolt then gasp into the kiss- you have no clue why she's surprised by your actions and you're about to pull away and apologies but are interrupted by her kissing you passionately.

Alexia kisses as if she were dying, teeth biting down on your lips and tongue prodding inside your mouth. She traces the inside of your mouth as if it were the most important thing on earth and her hands disappear from your shoulders and now rest on your hips.

She tastes like sweet champagne and strawberries and you cannot get enough- never.

You desperately kiss her back, after all you had been dreaming day and night about this moment- you moment where the dam would break and you would finally kiss her. Your hands trail up her back, taking in each curve individually.

The two of you pull away gasping for breath and you want her back straight away- missing the pressure of her mouth on yours.

"I want you, Alexia."

You mutter between the two of you- it's quiet but enough for her to understand and when you raise your head to look Alexia in the eyes, you see that they are filled with want.

You and Alexia barely make it past the door of her apartment, you trip over each other's legs as you refuse to break apart for a moment. You don't pay much attention to the interior- all you know is that it's nice enough that you don't feel cold and unwelcome.

As you kick off your shoes, you notice the little dog that has come over and pet it to say hello. Then suddenly, Alexia pushes your coat off your shoulders and grabs your hand in a tight grip- tugging you to the bedroom.

From then on, it's animalistic. You practically rip off her dress and she unbuttons your shirt with shaky hands then tugs the skirt off your legs to reveal your lacy panties.

It leaves the both of you in your underwear, standing in Alexia's bedroom staring at each other. Your eyes trace from her strong thighs to her tight abs then to her breasts before finally settling on her face- she's wonderfully gorgeous and want pools in your stomach.

You want her more than you've ever wanted anything else, your blood pumps through your veins at a million miles an hour and you feel as though you're high.

She steps closer to you and a hand reaches out to run a finger up your side leaving goosebumps in its wake, you shiver but lean into the touch.

"You're beautiful, cariño."

You feel yourself flush at the compliment and practically feel yourself getting wetter but the second. You swallow deeply and reach out to place a hand on Alexia's stomach- you feel her gasp and flex under your touch.

You crave out her name on her skin and you see her smile slightly as she follows your finger.

"Are you drunk, Alexia?"

You look at Alexia through your lashes and you see her eyes smile for a moment, it's something you wish you could capture and watch forever.

"I'm not."

You run your tongue along your teeth and suck in a breath.

"Good, I don't want you to forget."

You let both of your hands rest on the elastic band of her underwear, snapping it against her stomach- making her flitch slightly. You smirk and then her hands rest on your forearms.

"You first," You say in a hushed tone and take her hands off your forearms.

You kneel in front of Alexia and look up at her, pure rabid desire coursing through your veins. You unclasp your bra with one hand, letting it fall on the floor and Alexia looks at you with her mouth slightly parted at the sight.

You lick your lips as you rest your hands on her muscular thighs then grab the band of her underwear with your teeth and Alexia groans lowly at the show. You give your best performance, pulling them down all the way to the floor before placing your hands on her ass. You give an experimental squeeze and smile when Alexia lets out an airy moan.

You start slowly, licking up the insides of her thighs and place a hand over pussy. You want this to last, you want to remember and you want Alexia to remember even more.

"Please- I...need it..."

You smirk at her impatience, trying your best to stick to your pace.

"Alexia, what is it that you want?"

You trace a finger down her abs to her pussy, purposefully avoiding dipping your finger inside her slit. You instead watch her face contort as she groans again.

"You- only you."

You accept the answer and lick a strip up her cunt- tasting her and it's like nectar on your tongue. You moan as you stuck on her clit and the effect is immediate- Alexia's rough hands go to rest on your head, guiding you as you lick and suck.

You feel the sway of her hips in time with each stroke of your tongue and you revel at it. You want her taste forever, you want to be in this moment forever. Alexia uses you to chase her own orgasm and you look up at her as she does so.

It's not long before she comes with a loud moan and fingers digging into your scalp, you moan with her and can't help yourself from running your hands down her ass again.

After the high is worn down slightly she puts a hand on your chin, making you look up. You feel her trace her thumb across your cheek as she smiles down at you- your heart flutters and core tightens at her expression.

"Get up."

You stand immediately and she pushes you on the bed then crawls to you like a predator to prey, straddling you on the bed and running her hands up and down your body. Occasionally squeezing your breasts making you arch off the bed slightly.

You feel so hot as if in an oven set to the highest temperature and Alexia's hands scald you- they leave behind pools of desperation that you so keenly want to get rid of.

Eventually, Alexia's hand finds its way into your underwear and you are reduced to a moaning mess. Arching off the bed and whining loudly as Alexia guides a finger inside of you while the palm of her hand is pressed into your clit.

It's euphoric, the pleasure runs through you each time Alexia thrusts her finger in and out of you- you claw at her back, desperately trying to hold onto anything. You leave behind red marks but Alexia doesn't seem to care, she lets you, even moans when you cement a hand into the meat of her shoulder.

"Fuck- Alexia, another, please... please!"

You beg even those she doesn't ask, you're too far gone. Alexia is grinding down on your crotch as she fingers and palms you, the idea of forming a thought is unavailable and all comprehension has left you.

Alexia humors you and easily slides another of her long fingers inside of you and you reward her with a long mewl that she smirks at. It's then that you realize that you won't last much longer- not with Alexia practically riding your lap whilst fingering you.

"Alexia- I'm gonna come, can I? Please?"

You don't know why you beg or ask for permission- you just do and Alexia smiles sweetly at you.

"Of course you can, cariño, you've been so good."

It pushes you over the edge and you let out a half yell as you come, shaking ever so slightly before going completely boneless in Alexia's sheets. You close your eyes as you breathe deeply- then feel Alexia slide off your lap and lay right beside you.

You feel her arm against yours and you turn to face her- your eyes meet her brown ones and you study them for a moment, committing them to memory. They remind you of freshly wet tree bark that smells like childhood in forests and you smile at the sentiment,

You raise a hand and trace the bridge of her nose then each cheek bone as if sculpting her face from scratch. You feel an ache in your heart as much as you do your legs... Alexia to you is a stranger. You know nothing of her and she knows nothing of you.

It's oddly comforting how there is no judgement, not when two strangers meet.

Alexia finds it hard to process the fact that you are in her bed. It's odd really, how peaceful it had been after the whole ordeal. You touched her face for a bit and she let you, leaning into it and then you had slipped under the covers and so had she.

You held her and she let you, leaning into the touch and in an ideal world she would wake up with you- cook breakfast for two and sit on the terrace with you as you laughed at her silly jokes.

Instead when Alexia wakes up the next morning, you are no longer holding her close and all your things are gone. A note in your place:

'Had to leave, Y/N'

Alexia sighs and picks herself up, walks Nala, cooks breakfast for one and eats alone at the kitchen counter.

She doesn't see you for a week and Alexia knows should have assumed that it was a one time thing but hope had been at the back of her mind; hope that you would knock on her door the next day with flowers or a card asking her on a date.

Instead, radio silence... well, almost radio silence.

She hears the piano for the first time that week on a Thursday evening. It's the same grief that is always sung from the instrument, just today it's louder. Louder than at the movie night and the slamming of keys creates an unnerving feeling inside of.

You play with anger, you're angry at yourself... angry at her- angry at grief. You slam the keys with no real talent, just pure rage. A knock brings you out of it for a moment but you don't care, you ignore whoever is at the door and keep playing until a series of loud knocks finally crack your shell.

You open the door and see Alexia, in a Barcelona sweatshirt and trousers. You feel a rush of guilt, you had ignored her- in good faith but still avoided her.

You hadn't meant to but still did so, bad habits returning like a disease.

"Alexia."

You greet her, it's short and it's so unlike the night you two of you shared last week. No passion, no want.

"Y/N? Can I come in?"

You sigh and survey the apartment, it's a mess- plates stacked up in the sink, stray cups far away from their home in the cupboard. Sheet music is everywhere, the floor, the table and kitchen tops but you sigh and open the door wider to let Alexia in.

She thanks you with a nod and does her own little sweep of the apartment- you think she's going to judge you or maybe give a snarky comment but instead she turns to you and you feel her hug.

It's soft, like your favorite bed sheets and you sigh into the hug- it's what you need. Alexia's strong arms around you, someone who doesn't know enough to judge, someone who just wants to be with you- in any way.

You pull away after a while, allowing Alexia to remove her shoes whilst you sit on the piano bench. It's weird, having another person in your new personal space but Alexia doesn't look out of place- she actually looks like the opposite.

You're lost in thought when you notice that she's stood right in front of you and you look up- Alexia doesn't look angry or disappointed, she looks concerned... an expression you know very well.

"You were gone for a week."

It's not a question and you don't treat it like one- You did disappear for a week.

"I was."

You slide to the right so Alexia can sit next to you on the piano bench, none of you say anything when she does so. You want to tell her everything but you've realized that you don't know Alexia- you don't know her favorite color, thing to eat, time of year... you don't even know what she does for work.

The two of you are strangers- neighbors that you know each other's bodies but not each other's hearts.

"I- can't... I can't tell you why, Alexia," You whisper, voice hoarse and dry.

You cannot tell her- it would break everything, break you and her- destroy the half built home you've made for yourself in Barcelona. You expect Alexia to demand an answer like most people would or maybe just walk out and never come back, instead you feel a hand wrap around your waist.

"I don't want to know, not unless you want to say."

“Just- don’t leave again?” 

You face her and she's smiling- it's a little sad, that kind of smile you would see after a funeral service but you don't care and lean in any way. Kiss her slowly, like you never want it to end because you don't, you want her to stay in this moment forever.

Toeing the line between someone who knows too much and a stranger is right where you want her to stay.

"Stay?" You ask like a child does for a new toy and she grants you your wish.

The two of you walk to your bedroom and lay on top of the bedsheets facing each other as if you were twelve and gossiping about your classmates.

"Tell me about you," You ask her to fill the silence when you don't have the strength.

Alexia does so with comfort, "I'm a footballer-"

"So you aren't just a fan, liar!" You let out a laugh for the first time in a week and give her a little push.

"You never asked? I have a little dog, Nala... You've met her- and I'm here with you and I don't think I want to be anywhere else."

It's half sheepish and half confident, you can't help but smile at it.

"I don't want to be anywhere else either."

The next month is the best one so far since you've moved to Barcelona- you see Alexia practically every day, go out sightseeing (something you had yet to do), go to the grocery store together, sometimes sleep around each other's places and eat dinner together each evening. It's a routine you find yourself getting comfortable in, even catching yourself smiling more and more when you're with her.

One evening, when it's your turn to host dinner, you play the piano for her. You're used to an audience but when you're on stage everyone seems so small- inconsequential so that’s why, when you're sitting on the bench about to play with Alexia sitting in front of one of the mismatched chairs, you feel suddenly nervous.

"Promise you won't laugh?"

Immediately Alexia laughs and you frown.

"I won't, you know I wont."

You decide to ignore the nervousness stewing in your stomach and finally press the keys and play Franz Liszt, liebesträume. A piece you had ignored for so long because it hurt so much but Alexia is here with you now and she deserves to know what she means to you.

Your fingers glide across the keyboard and the emotion slips out unwillingly- the piece means so much to you, good memories, bad memories, arguments and makeups.

By the time you're finished and look up Alexia is crying- hot tears streaming down her face without control and you shoot up to wipe them away.

"I'm sorry," You don't know why you apologize but it seems fitting.

Between hiccups, Alexia says, "Don't- That... was beautiful."

After that you eat dinner with a small candle between you- smiling and chatting about absolutely everything and nothing at the same time.

This bubble the two of you built over the month grows by the day until it's burst one evening by reality.

It's just after Christmas and New Year when it happens- you finally get to see Alexia after she returns from visiting her family and the two of you fall back into that same routine.

Yet Tuesday is different, you sit at dinner in silence this time. Listening to Alexia talk about training and teammates with occasional hums that sounds like you don't really care.

You aren't paying attention, methodically taking bites of your food every so often when the clatter of a fork breaks you out of it. You look up to see Alexia staring at you with the same expression of worry.

You sigh and put down your own cutlery. This was a long time coming, you'd been walking a tightrope with Alexia- your hands out for support desperately trying to stay balanced and now your balance had been broken.

"Alexia."

It's an invitation to a conversation you would rather avoid altogether but it's been a long time coming... and Alexia has become more important to you than you'd intended. A crutch to your unstable life, some kind of stability.

"I'll tell you, if you'll listen," You offer in a meek voice, one that you don't normally find yourself speaking in around Alexia.

Alexia's eyebrows shoot up and you know that she knows what you're talking about- the reason for practically everything you do. Why you're in Barcelona, why you play, why you lean on Alexia- seek her out.

She nods and you sigh, preparing yourself to hold back scalding tears.

"My- my best friend... actually, my girlfriend or ex now... she was from Barcelona and-"

You pause as a lump forms in your throat, choking you and making unwanted tears form in your eyes. An anvil rests on your chest, thick and heavy grief passes over you in waves that you desperately try to hold back.

"She... died- and... and it was all my fault."

You're crying as you're saying it, tears flowing down your cheeks freely, ruining the makeup you had put so much effort in and making that heavy feeling looming over you into a storm.

Alexia jumps out of her seat and kneels next to yours, taking your hands in hers. They are warm and normally you'd find them comforting but here, now, they burn you with guilt. Guilt for finding her and moving on. 

"No, that can't be true, cariño-"

"It is, Alexia! I... we fought a lot- over my career... and one day- she... she couldn't take it anymore- she.. she," You let out a choked sob that makes your throat ache.

You can't say it- you never have been able to. It's a pain that is so present yet never comfortable enough to process- it's the pain of losing a part of yourself as much as losing a friend.

You look down at Alexia and her facial expression is kind- something you don't expect, you'd actually expect the opposite; disgust, guilt on your behalf, maybe even hate. It makes you cry harder, knowing that she must be the only person that doesn't hate you for not stopping something so far out of your control.

She stands and you feel strong arms wrapped around you. They give you stability for a moment, awakening some kind of strength that you didn't know you possessed anymore.

"She- killed herself, three years ago yesterday and.. and I found her, Alexia."

Alexia's arms tighten around you ever so slightly and you feel her hand run up and down your back in an odd sort of comfort.

The two of you stay there for what feels like forever- an eternity that you wish were true. You want Alexia to stay forever, to forever hold you as you cry tears that have been marinating your years.

When she finally lets you go, she doesn't speak and you thank her silently, instead she wipes your tears with the back of her thumb- clears the table by herself and leads you to her bedroom.

You strip your clothes off quietly and so does Alexia until the two of you are in bed with your underwear on. This time, she holds you, arms wrapped around your middle in a way you didn't think you needed.

The silence is comfortable and you don't go to fill it as you normally would- there is nothing to say, nothing to explain because no questions are asked. Alexia asks nothing of you, no why, or how and it's refreshingly loving. She wants nothing but you, here with her and not reliving the past with her as a passenger.

The both of you stay like that for a while, laying together in the dark room, just holding each other as if you were the only people in the universe. You find yourself breathing without issue- the heavy weight of guilt slowly decreases.

You know it's never going to be gone and you don't want it to be, you want to remember her as best as you can but it feels so new to have so little guilt upon your weakened chest.

"Ale?" You check whether Alexia is asleep and a soft hum answers you, then a kiss on your shoulder solidifies her sleeplessness.

You sigh and wrap your arms around the ones on your waist, "I used to not be able to dream- never have I dreamt."

"Isn't that weird?"

Alexia answers softly, "Maybe... but maybe that's what makes you special."

You shake your head and crack the lightest of smiles.

"No, because I dream now, vividly- ever since I saw you in the elevator, I've been dreaming of what I'll be doing next... with you."

It turns out that twenty five Euros can buy you a ticket to Barcelona from Madrid but it can also guide you to a stranger that will eventually pick up the pieces to your broken puzzle with her own hands. Help you find your place as much as you help her.  

[ylangelegy]

it’s kind of a funny story 🫧 seungcheol x reader.

just when you think your walk of shame couldn’t get any more shameful… 

★ word count: 1.1k ★ genre/warnings: 18+ content. no explicit smut, but implied sexual content told through flashbacks so! mdni! + romance, humor, fluff -ish. alternate universe: non-idol, mentions of alcohol. ★ footnotes: this is for the loml, @heartepub! (prompt was also from her) nooo viv don't die from thesis you're so sexy aha... 💙

There are three things you register when you wake up.

First: It’s cold. There’s sunlight streaking through the windows and you’re under a blanket— which is decisively not yours, by the way— yet you’re freezing, chilled to the bone. The answer to that question brings you to realization number two. 

You’re stripped down to your underclothes. Every inch of your body is rebelling at you for your mistreatment. The copious amount of alcohol you’d consumed the night before, the consequences of that raging bender. All of which leads to the last but not the least of the facts— 

There’s an arm around your waist, a solid weight pressed against your back. It takes you an embarrassing amount of time to put a name to the body curved around you like a parentheses. 

Cheol, he had told you on the dance floor, his eyes glinting under the low lights. Seungcheol, if you want this to be more than a one-time thing. 

It’s ridiculous, how that sad excuse for a pick-up line had drawn you in. Your memories of last night are a blur. Flashes of hands, of lips, of Seungcheol’s low voice coaxing you apart like a prayer.

Carefully, you peel yourself from the bed. Your body aches in seven different places. Inasmuch as you want to blame all the Long Island iced teas and Cuba libres you’d downed, you know it has less to do with that and everything to do with the man you’re about to walk away from. 

Seungcheol is still asleep, his face buried into his pillow. His chest rises and falls with a kind of steadiness that makes it hard to believe how utterly reckless he’d been with you just hours ago.

All of that blurs together, too. There’s bits and bobs of it in your mind’s eye: His hand in your hair, your knees on the carpet. You wince.

You try to not make any noise as you clean up. This was the name of the game, after all. This was going to be a story you tell your friends on your way home, a tale regaled via a long-winded voice note. An uptick in your body count. Another reason why you should never drink beer before liquor. 

Your dress is crumpled on the floor. You go to pick it up—

The zipper is shredded.

The seam, split clean down the back.

What the fuck. 

Your pulse hammers as you hold up the ruined garment, blinking like that’ll somehow fix it. It’s not like the dress holds any sentimental value. You’d bought it online specifically for your night out, had prepared to outgrow it in a year or two. You didn’t think you’d only get one wear out of it. 

The dress’ demise comes back to you slowly. Seungcheol’s impatient hands, the desperate way he had tugged the fabric when it wouldn’t come off fast enough. 

You remember the way his muscles had rippled underneath the low light. The faint sound of tearing. His muttered curse, his half-hearted apology said right before he dove in to relish in the newly-revealed skin. You’d been too far gone to care, then. 

Now, though? Oh, you care.

You’re still gaping at the dress when you hear the bed creak. “Good morning, beautiful,” the culprit grouses. 

You can tell that it’s his usual pleasantry, his typical cheeky greeting to all of his conquests. All that bravado fades, though, when you face him with the tatters of your dress still in your hand.

“Ah, shit.” Seungcheol’s voice is raspy from alcohol and sleep. He props himself up on his elbows, and— to give him some credit— he looks genuinely repentant. 

His hair is a mess; his face, already a deep red as he registers what you’re holding. 

“I— I can pay for that,” he stutters.

It’s almost comical, really. This is the same man who had you writhing underneath him, who had whispered pure filth into the crook of your neck. Now, he was blushing like a kid caught stealing from a cookie jar. 

Your teeth sink into your lower lip, like you haven’t quite decided if you’re going to be angry or laugh. “I don’t even think a tailor could save this.” 

Seungcheol rubs his face with both hands. “I don’t know what came over me,” he groans.

One of your eyebrows cock upwards. “I think you do.” 

He peeks at you between his fingers. You watch the way his throat bobs as his gaze flickers over your bare legs, the marks he left blooming across your skin. Claims he shouldn’t be able to make, and yet he’d gone and taken all the same. 

“It’s not funny,” he says into the heel of his palm, but he’s already grinning despite his voice remaining low and rough. 

“It’s kind of funny,” you counter. 

You let the ruined dress drop to the floor. It looks even more pitiful as it pools around your feet, and Seungcheol’s jaw ticks at the blatancy of his misgivings. 

“That’s never happened before,” he notes. Despite the fact he looks worse for wear, you can decipher the sincerity behind his words. 

This was not part of the plan, not a plot point in the usual story. Both of you were far more accustomed to clean cuts. One-night stands with no promises; quiet come-and-go’s. 

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he says, fingers curling in the sheets. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you just know he’s contemplating his next course of action. Loaning you some of his spare clothes would be the way to go. He could also—

Seungcheol’s voice drops like a weight. “You could… stay a little longer.” 

Until what, exactly, you’d love to know. Is he planning a same-day delivery for a replacement dress? Does he intend to hold you hostage until he’s a little more willing to send you off in a shirt he can bear to lose? 

You should be pissed. You should scold him, should rummage through his cabinet yourself and be on your merry way. The name of the game. 

But the way he’s looking at you— wrecked and wanting, like he might split apart if you walk out his door— makes it impossible to do anything but crawl back into his bed. 

He’s still embarrassed. You can tell from the way he tenses when you kiss him, the way his fingers barely ghost over your hip. Seungcheol tastes like cola, like something distinctly him, and like The Biggest Mistake You’re Ever Going To Make. 

To hell with it. 

“Try not to wreck the only clothes I have left,” you say against his mouth, “Seungcheol.” 

You feel his smile instead of seeing it. The way his lips curl around yours, pleased at your choice.

He tugs at the waistband of your underwear, his touch a lot more gentle than last night. As he pulls it off, he mumbles, “No promises.” 

[niwaart]

See what I can do.

<Part1> <part2> <part3>

Spoiled idiot Bruce Wayne decided to adopt another child and Jason had only been dead for a few weeks... And what did Y/N do? She burned every Robin suit in the cave except Jason's old one, to remind spoiled idiot Bruce of his mistake.. The new kid only came out as Robin twice.

Y/N stands in the park throwing all of Robin's new outfits into the fire she started. Needless to say, Bruce comes running from work to stop her. Alfred has failed and is getting tired of trying to stop Y/N. No matter how hard they try to stop her from getting in, no matter how hard they try to protect the new suits by locking the doors, putting up new codes, and putting the suits in unbreakable glass, it doesn't stop Y/N.

“Stop!!” Bruce grabbed Y/N’s wrist “That’s enough you crazy girl! You’ve crossed the line!!” Y/N smiled at Bruce’s words, angering him was her goal, and she succeeded. Richard stood silently behind Bruce… Oh yeah, Richard came home after hearing the news of Jason’s death, and decided to train the new kid to be Robin, but first they had to stop Y/N.

"Oh please tell me what are you going to do now? Are you going to hit me? Kick me out of the house? Punish me by not going out? Give me what you have, because I won't stop until you cry more pain and regret than you did over Jason, he died because of you so you have to take responsibility for your actions... so act like an adult and take what comes your way..." Y/N pushed Bruce's hand off her wrist then patted his shoulder and walked back inside the mansion, on her way back she saw the new kid hiding behind one of the walls looking at her angrily with tears of frustration filling his eyes. Y/N simply gave him a wicked smile and continued on her way without any regrets.

The next day, Bruce was standing in front of her room door telling her that he had booked her an appointment with a psychiatrist. Y/N pushed Bruce out of the way and ignored him and went to make breakfast. But Bruce stopped her by grabbing her shoulder. Y/N was about to turn around to break his arm if she hadn't felt a needle prick her neck and everything went blurry and she lost consciousness. This was Bruce's plan with everyone... Richard, Alfred, and the new kid, they all planned this...

As Y/N tried to move and wake up, her headache was severe and the room was spinning in circles. When she tried to move her hand, she found that she was tied to a chair, her hands and feet bound. She tried to speak, but her tongue was still heavy... "I see you're awake, very good. Do you need some time to get your bearings or should we start right away?" Y/N lifted her head up, the voice was familiar... Who else but that doctor who claims to know how to treat mental patients... Leslie the devil... digs lies into people's minds so that they believe her... Pretending to be a victim... But she is a devil in human form. Jason went to her several times, and every time he came back from the sessions, he came back a different person... Someone who wasn't Jason, a stranger, so she forbade Jason from going to her...

Y/N bit her tongue to speak. “I see that spoiled brat had no other solution than to send me to the devil… right?” Leslie’s eyes narrowed at Y/N’s words. “It’s not appropriate to talk about your father that way. Bruce brought you here for your own good, you have anger issues.” Leslie said as she scribbled notes in her notebook. Y/N was silent for a moment before she smiled and said, “Well… show me how you can change for the better… just to let you know before we start that me being here now is going to cause a lot of problems so I hope you enjoy it with me.” Y/N laughed as she relaxed into chair, she couldn’t wait to see Leslie Thompkins fail at her job.

And so three days passed while Leslie kept asking Y/N questions and Y/N answered them with complete honesty.  This surprised Leslie.  “You answer the questions with such confidence.  I thought you would be stubborn and not answer…Are you planning something?”  It was already the fourth day, and Y/N had been in a good mood since she arrived until now.  Y/N laughed at Leslie’s words and said, “I thought you would never ask, and since today is the fourth day I will answer you. Actually, Bruce’s plan to bring me here… I knew about it before he drugged me.”  Leslie was surprised by Y/N’s words but she did not believe her.  “No way-..” Y/N interrupted Leslie and said, “Everything that’s happening now is part of the plan I made. Of course that spoiled brat put up security cameras all over the house, so I took advantage of that to monitor them… I had all the security cameras at my disposal from the beginning, so I knew what you and Bruce planned to do to stop me… Aren’t I a good actress?  Maybe I should get an award… What do you think?”  Y/N smiled mischievously at Leslie who was terrified.  Leslie picked up her phone to call Bruce and confirm the matter, but Bruce wasn’t answering the calls or even the messages.  She tried calling Richard, Alfred and even the new guy, but no one was answering.  Leslie turned to Y/N in fear and found that Y/N had been freed from the handcuffs.  “Leslie Thompkins..It's your end now.”

@crazycaoticsimp @randomlyappearingartist @ninihrtss @lovebug-apple @artistwithcreativeburnout @itsberrydreemurstuff @bellethesleepypotato @hopingtoclearmedschool @eyeless-kun @s4raahi @roseytheteacup @jsprien213 @uu-uuu

[adieutristana]

vanity; jinx x fem! reader

loosely inspired by this fic by @moshuka.

summary; jinx used her looks to flirt her way out of a situation. her girlfriend isn’t happy.

characters included; jinx

tags/warnings; nsfw, porn w (some) plot, sub!jinx, dom!reader, brat!jinx, mirror sex, rough sex, strap-on use, strap-on referred to as a dick/cock, hair pulling, crying, humiliation ig?, slight degradation, use of the word ‘whore’, size queen jinx, squirting

men and minors dni.

at first, you were worried.

jinx tends to get herself into dangerous situations more often than not, way too often for her own good. it's what she's known for, after all. jinx: the mad bomber. the loose cannon. zaun's princess.

but she has a way of getting herself out of those situations. her reflexes are impeccable, her strength nearly inhuman for someone of her stature. it is inhuman, considering the shimmer coursing through her veins. weapons that she's built herself regularly save her in battle, and most of all, she's got a smartass mouth.

one that usually comes in handy, but clearly not this time.

"jinx," you start. your arms are crossed over your chest, one hip popped. you're trembling in frustration- coming apart at the edges. "i heard you were flirting with some guy who cornered you. i'm gonna be graceful and hear you out."

she bristles, and the girl's breath catches.

"what i do depends on if i like what you have to say."

you'd heard from passersby on the streets gossiping about what jinx had done. nothing stays a secret for long in zaun; there's almost always a witness, someone who can't keep their mouth shut. people love to gossip, and with that, they love to twist the truth.

so you're hoping to janna above that what you'd heard was a simple rumor. jinx being cornered by one of smeech's goons. a new one, a guy seemingly too good for the likes of this line of work. apparently not. he'd threatened jinx, gotten close to her, nearly hurt her. but instead of her usual solution of whipping out her gun and pressing the cold barrel to someone's neck as a warning, she'd flirted.

told the guy that he's young, attractive, promising. he's too good for a business like this. if he'd just leave her alone, she'd let him go without any fuss, and there would be no mess to clean up. maybe they'd even cross paths again someday.

"i didn't mean any of it, toots," her hands are raised in a mock-surrender. "he was ugly, honest!"

"i didn't ask if he was ugly," you bite. you're inching closer to her, until your noses are nearly touching. the tone in your voice tells jinx you're not fucking around- yet that makes this all the more exciting for her. "i asked you to tell me what happened."

"i didn't do anything, just flirted a little. no harm done."

"you have a gun. why didn't you use that?" you push.

jinx huffs, rolling her eyes. it only serves to piss you off even more. "i just wanted to switch it up, yanno? try something new. and it worked, didn't it? didn't have to spill any blood or nothin'. no cleanup."

"so what i heard is true?"

"depends what you heard."

"oh, you-"

that's it. you take jinx's wrist, and just about drag her to her cot. she's giggling all the way, that signature shit-eating grin plastered on her face. you wish there was blood to clean up. although you know nothing happened- jinx wouldn't dream of being unfaithful to you, this feels calculated. like she'd done it on purpose, just to get under your skin. she was probably sitting in her hideout, just waiting for someone to start talking.

you want nothing more than to slap that grin off of her, make her grovel and apologize and make it up to you.

but you won't. with a quick motion, jinx is flung onto her cot. she gasps, but doesn’t move from her sitting position, doesn’t stop fucking grinning.

"come oooon! you're always telling me i'm soooo pretty. i’m like a work of art.” she comes to lazily toss around the end of one of her braids, playing with it the same way she’s playing with you. “maybe i just wanted to use that to my advantage.”

gods damn it.

you come to stand closer to jinx, looming over the girl. she’s still sitting on her cot, nice and pretty. she looks so innocent, so sweet, if you didn’t know any better, you’d think she actually was. too bad you do know better. your forefinger and thumb grasp her chin, forcing her to look at you. your thumb lazily traces along her plump bottom lip.

“oh, you’re pretty, alright.” your thumb pushes past her lips, flattening against her tongue. “gorgeous, even. but that doesn’t mean you go around using those looks like a fucking whore.”

jinx would be smiling right now, but her mouth is… occupied, not sucking, not licking at your thumb, but letting you do what you must. you withdraw it as quickly as it was put in, wiping her spit on her bare shoulder.

“you’re all talk,” she gasps. “not gonna do a damn thing about it, are you?”

“do you want me to?”

“sure.”

“do you deserve it?”

“does it matter?”

it’s then that you flip her onto her stomach.

“take those clothes off. get back on the cot- face down, ass up. i’ll be back.”

no time is wasted walking to another platform in her hideout and swiping the shattered mirror from one of her tables, and a strap-on from one of her drawers.

you place the mirror directly in front of jinx’s cot, and to no surprise, jinx is completely bare now. her perfect heart of an ass in the air, pussy nearly glistening in the dim light with her arousal. she’s braced herself on her hands, and she isn’t moving, but you can tell by the way her arousal is already dripping down her inner thighs that she’s eager.

it’s a sight straight out of a porn film. the mad bomber, desperate and wanton. maybe you’ll buy a polaroid camera for next time, really capture the moment.

“ugh, toots, are you just gonna stand there, or are ya gonna fuck me?” she whines, only interrupted by the sound of the harness fastening around your hips.

“you’re not exactly in a place to make demands right now.”

you lean over her, your breasts pushing into the smooth skin of her back and your lips almost touching her ear.

“‘revolver’, if it gets too much.” you whisper.

and with that, the tip pushes past her folds. bright pink and dusted with glitter, about 8.5in and girthy. a large task for a small girl, but jinx insists she can take anything you give her.

“hngh- fuck!” she whines out, already beginning to buckle. you’ve got one hand rested on jinx’s hip, the other trailing down her side- her shoulder, the grooves of her ribs, her tiny waist, until it finds purchase on her other hip and you push into her.

another lewd cry falls from her lips. you’re barely even halfway in, and she’s already panting and moaning so pitifully. maybe another day you would’ve taken pity on jinx, but not after the shit she pulled.

“come on,” you coo. “can’t take it?”

“i didn’t- agh, say that-” she pants. the girl’s form is beginning to tremble, but you don’t waver. you ram the rest of the toy into her hole, which brings a borderline pathetic wail from her. the way her greedy hole is impaled by your cock is a sight you wish you could burn into your mind. if she were on her back, you bet you'd be able to see it from inside her stomach, but that can wait for another time.

“fuck- fuck! too big!”

“too big, huh? should’ve thought about that before you went and threw yourself at some guy.”

you ease the strap out of her, before slamming it back in. positively prying your girlfriend open. you then take one of jinx’s long twin braids in your hands, looping it once around your wrist and yanking. forcing her to look up.

she gasps with the motion, yet somehow, she still has the willpower to defy you. squeezing her eyes shut and grunting. you jerk her braid farther back, jinx hissing at the stinging pain.

“look at yourself.” you demand.

it’s then that you move. a slow pace at first, in, out, in, out. drawing wet squelches from her cunt with every thrust. she’s shaking and thrashing and whining, but you can’t deny the way jinx’s cunt sucks you in, clenches around you. greedy and sopping, as if it was made to take your dick.

“aah, hhhng- oh! oh!”

your pace is quickening, and you can hear the skin of your hips slapping into her ass. jiggling ever so slightly with each movement, but the best thing is the mirror.

there’s multiple images of the scene in the shattered glass. the sight is something right out of a dirty magazine; you pounding jinx’s poor, abused pussy from behind. jinx struggling to support her upper body despite her strength, you tugging at one of her braids and forcing her to look directly at her reflection. small tits bouncing with each thrust, plump lips open and the slightest bit of drool dribbling down her chin.

“do you see it?” you pant, the base of the toy nudging your clit with each thrust. “the- hah, way you look right now? while i’m fuckin’ you?”

“yes,” she breathes out, her voice a high shrill. her strength is starting to fail her, shaking on her arms and eventually dropping down to her elbows to support herself. a smirk tugs at your lips at the sight, seeing jinx being broken down so quickly. she brought this on herself, really.

"f-fuck, you look a mess," snapping your hips against jinx's, pathetic whimpers and whines falling from parted lips like a stream. "feels good, huh?"

"feels- hmmph, so good!" she groans. her body is being forced forward and back ever so slightly with each motion, and to see herself being fucked in real time is both thrilling and downright humiliating. jinx never knew this is what she looked like, so wrecked and sloppy, but she can't be bothered to care right now. all she can care about is you fucking into her relentlessly.

arousal dripping down her inner thighs, a stinging sensation in her scalp while you hold onto her hair. she knew you'd get jealous if she flirted- expected a thorough spanking, maybe, or for you to sit on her face and use her mouth until you were satisfied. never did jinx think you'd force her into a front-row seat to her own punishment.

“you’re not gonna do that again- mm,” you groan, base rubbing against you so right. “are you? hngg- tell me you won’t.”

“i won’t, i won’t! unghh, i’m sorry!”

she nearly screams out. the pleasure is mounting, it’s painful, she’s being stretched open and almost split down the middle. but it’s so fucking delicious, the feeling of you fucking her so thoroughly. so deeply. tears are beginning to well in her eyes, her mascara already running down her cheeks. it’s filthy. the tip of the plastic dick kisses her cervix with each thrust, coated in sleek juices.

"oh- oh, please," she breathes out. her bangs are sticking to the thin sheen on her forehead, her breaths coming out in ragged gasps. "pleasepleaseplease-"

there it is. jinx is close, that much is obvious from her flushed expression, her straining against your grip, trying to push her hips back onto your cock like some needy slut. your own climax is building, but you want- need to see jinx get there first.

you reach underneath her with your free hand and press against her neglected clit, which draws a high-pitched squeal from jinx. you revel in the sound. right now, it’s as if jinx is an instrument, fine-tuned for your playing. making these beautiful, obscene sounds.

you can see hot tears running down her face in the mirror, lips parted and the pale expanse of her neck bared. her lipstick is smeared from the dribble running down her chin, and thin black streaks run down her cheeks.

“i’m- i’m gonna-!”

the girl doesn’t have time to finish her sentence before she squirts over your hand and the cot beneath her- coating you in light pink. she’s boneless, panting beneath you, collapsing as soon as you pull out of her and release her braid. she can’t muster up any words, she’s spent- laid on her stomach, sniffling and simply trying to breathe.

maybe next time, she won’t be so fucking vain.

[esmeefreckles]

Mine | Leah Williamson x reader

+18 SMUT MINORS DNI

STRAP-ONS. VAGINAL FINGERING. PRAISE KINK.

“You can do it,” you murmur, your cheek pressed against Leah’s, your fingers pressing bruises into Leah’s hips. You thrust again, lazy, and enjoy the buzzing against your clit. Leah groans, long and pained.

“Please,” Leah mumbles, her eyes screwed tightly shut, “please baby, I can’t..” her voice breaks; a tear slips from her eye, falling down the side of her face and melting into her hairline.

“Sshh.” you bite her earlobe gently, tugging. “Be a good girl and spread wide for me.”

Leah shakes her head even as she obeys, her knees parting as wide as she can, the vibrating strap-on buzzing away inside her, hidden by the only scrap of clothing Leah still has on, the black side tie lacy panties you picked out just for her. You reach back and check the fit of the harness, shaken a little loose from the night’s long activities. Leah makes a noise that might be your name, begging. It’s too garbled to parse, but the intent is clear: she’s desperately pleading for mercy.

You pull out and Leah doesn’t even move, her eyes still shut. She’s shuddering without pause, twitching against the sweaty sheets. “Roll over.” you nudge her side, and it takes Leah three tries and your help to flop onto her belly, but she spreads her legs as soon as she’s settled, tries to get to all fours, and can’t. You tuck a pillow under her hips, lifting Leah up with a faint grunt, smoothing a palm over her belly gently. “What a good girl,” you soothe as you slide back in, holding Leah’s panties to the side until she bottoms out, slow and careful. “You’ve been so good already, I know you can give me one more.”

“I can’t,” Leah begs, muffled from where she’s pressed her face into the sheets. “Please, I can’t.”

“I want one more.” you put a little steel in your voice, then pause when Leah sobs, biting at the mattress. “Color.”

Leah takes a long time to answer, shaking, and you rub your hands down Leah’s flank, massaging gently. You're about to pull out when Leah finally speaks, a small, tiny whisper. “Green.” 

You hesitate, but Leah lifts her hips and pushes back, so you wind the fingers of one hand through Leah’s blonde hair, find a few tangles, and let them catch against your knuckles. You pull Leah’s head back at the same time she tilts her hips forward, snapping hard, and likes the sound of your skin slapping wetly against Leah’s, obscene. You set a pace, not as bruising as you had earlier, for Leah’s first and second orgasm, or as slow and easy as you had for Leah’s fourth and fifth, a break in the middle to make Leah come on your tongue for number three. “Hands,” you snap, and Leah winds her fingers through the bedframe.

You brace your free hand on the small of Leah’s back, then switch to underneath Leah’s stomach, your index finger slipping into Leah’s belly button, and pull her back against your thrusts. Leah’s panties roll and tug, twisting around the toy and her hips. “One more,” you murmur, draping yourself against Leah’s back and sighing at the slick skin against her chest, their sweat mixing. “One more and we’re done, baby.”

Leah moans, low and guttural. “Baby,” she says, her voice rasping like shredded glass.

You straighten and go harder, faster, your own thighs straining, your chest heaving. “One more,” you promise, “you can do it. I know you can.” You drag your nails down Leah’s spine, hard enough to leave red lines that’ll stay for at least two days, maybe three. Leah jolts under you, and you do it again. “So good,” you croons, “you’re so good for me.” Leah sobs again, her hands clenched tight, her knuckles white. “Come on, Leah. Come for me.”

You keep it up, the praise coming easily to your tongue, showering Leah with how soft her skin is, how her lips bow so perfectly, how she’s so beautiful it takes your breath away to be so lucky, how she was so good for the week before when you had her on no touch no come. 

“Remember, babe? When I ate you out for an hour and you still told me when you had to stop and take a break? You cried so pretty at the end but never asked me to stop.” Tension coils in Leah’s spine and her head snaps up, the shadows not quite hiding the bites you've peppered across her throat, one hard enough to break the skin. You remember the taste of a single drop of Leah’s blood on your tongue and drops over Leah’s back, heavy. You grind down, punishing. “Come for me,” you order, and on command Leah’s back arches, and you imagine she can feel you clenching and fluttering around the buzzing rubber buried in her wet swollen cunt. You come from that more than the pressure inside you from the toy or the buzzing against your clit, Leah obeying so perfectly, giving you every last thing she has.

Leah stays pulled like a bowstring for another five seconds, then collapses like a cut puppet, completely limp. You smother the back of her shoulders in kisses, closed mouthed, lick the sweat from between the knobs and her spine. “Babe?” Leah doesn’t make a sound and doesn’t move. “Baby.”

“Mrgh,” Leah manages. You bite under her ear and she barely twitches. “Ba--” Leah’s voice gives out in the middle of calling you. She makes a soft whine, more of a vocalized exhale than an attempt at communication.

You reach over and slip Leah’s still fingers from the bed frame. “So good,” you say again, tucking Leah’s arms against her sides, because you’re so, so blessed. “Deep breath, baby. Relax.” You wait until you see Leah’s ribcage inflate before pulling out. Leah makes another garbled wheezing noise.

Your legs are wobbly when she slides off the bed, and you can already feel the ache in your calves, your thighs, and your arms. You’ll be stiff as hell tomorrow, and that’s nothing to how Leah will feel. You undo the harness and let it fall as you go to the bathroom; that cleanup is best left to another day. You wet the softest cloth, the one you’d set out earlier, and the other, dryer hand towel. You clean yourself up quickly and when you emerge Leah hasn’t moved an inch, her legs still splayed open, facedown. You smile, you ease the panties down and set them carefully aside, where she’ll be able to find them in the morning and rub at the red indents you’d left behind.

Leah whimpers when you slide the cloth between her legs, and you can’t help slipping just one finger into her to feel how swollen she is, how tender. Leah whimpers again and you shush her, gently, pulling away. You finish cleaning her up and toss the towels aside. There’s a blanket on the floor, within reach, the incredibly unbelievably soft one Leah had bought you for Christmas and then rolled around under your first shared tree, crooked and mostly bare but theirs, shamelessly stealing it from her and refusing to relinquish it. You spread it out on the side of the bed, thankful you’d splurged on such a huge mattress, extravagant for a starter apartment, but so worth it.

“C’mon,” you murmur and roll Leah onto it. Leah goes with her movements but doesn’t seem to have the strength to help, her limbs flopping. You arrange her into a comfortable position, on her back, and by the time you’re curled up next to her and tugging another blanket over your body Leah is snoring, soft and snuffly. You nuzzle into her, sucking a mouthful of Leah’s throat into your mouth and releasing, gently, before closing your eyes and sighing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day is Sunday, and you dote on Leah, feed her the expensive sandwiches (still plain ones but supposedly to be bio and better) she likes by hand, pulling a face when Leah demands more, making her drink glass after glass of water and helping her limp to the bathroom, laying her out on freshly laundered sheets and rubbing her sore muscles with oil until she smells like jasmine and roses and is warm putty under your hands.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The day after that you hover while Leah steps out of the shower, toweling off. “You’re sure you’re up to it?”

Leah rolls her eyes. “It’s just an hour long gym session baby, not a fight to the death. I only and I’m fine.” Her eyes go a little dark and teasing. “Fine enough to stay in tonight.”

You let yourself be pulled into a kiss, teeth and tongue and sparks. “In that case…” you trail off, offering, and Leah pulls back.

“Uh oh,” Leah teases, and you pinch her hip. Then you lift Leah up on the sink and spend a minute lavishing attention on Leah’s breasts, her pretty nipples, pebbled and hard, biting back over old bruises to make them bright and bold again.

“You’re my favorite canvas,” you hum, against Leah’s sternum, and Leah chuckles. “Stay,” you order, and you go into the bedroom, into the nightstand by the bed, the bottom drawer. You come back into the bathroom and can’t help your smile, Leah is perfectly still where you left her. You offer Leah the fabric and Leah takes it from your hand, puzzled.

“Are these…from…?” Leah turns her panties over in her hand, her face pensive. You bite her lip. “This is… kind of gross, baby.”

You step between Leah’s legs, your hands on Leah’s knees. You pull your shirt off and watch Leah’s gaze go cloudy, immediately fixed on your breasts. “Please, baby? It’ll be good. I always make it good for you, don’t I?”

“Yeah,” Leah says, absently.

You thrust your chest out, slightly. Leah's eyes go distinctly glazed over. “So you’ll do it?”

“Uh huh,” Leah says.

“Great!” you yank your shirt back on and snatch the panties from Leah’s hands, tugging them around her ankles and up her calves.

Leah blinks rapidly. “What?”

“Just an hour gym session,” you remind her. You tap on Leah’s hip. “Off.”

Leah slides off the counter, automatically. “What did I just agree to do?”

“Be the best girlfriend in the world.” you adjust the panties around Leah’s hips and Leah winces.

“You don’t think it’s gross?”

“Hot,” you promise, and kiss Leah again, until you’re both a little breathless. “Get dressed, you don’t want to be late.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your phone buzzes while you are in a meeting, and you have to wait to read it. Instead of a message, Leah had sent a photo, shitty fluorescent lighting, the bathroom stall of the Arsenal gym, and her inner thighs, paler than the rest of her body, dirty panties centered squarely against her. 

You groan. 

Tease you respond. 

Leah sends back an emoji, the winky face.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Leah is waiting when you get home, sitting on the dining room table in the blue lacy bra that makes you crazy and nothing else. You kick the door shut and throw your bag aside. 

Leah sighs. She spreads her legs open. “Do you want to talk or do you want to fuck me?”

You climb up on the table, pushing Leah down onto her back. You lower your voice to a growl. “I think you’re mistaken in who is going to fuck who.”

“Whom,” Leah mumbles, but she’s already going pliant under your body.

“Where’s the outfit I picked out for you?” you kiss the tip of Leah’s nose, and Leah lifts a hand, the panties dangling from a finger. You snag them. “How was it?”

“Pretty gross,” Leah mutters, faintly put out. “Cold and wet and just… kinda gross.”

You bring Leah’s wrist to your mouth and kiss her fluttering pulse. “You didn’t like it at all?”

Leah sighs. She hooks her legs around your waist, pulling you closer. “I liked that you liked it.”

You suck two of Leah’s fingers in your mouth and swirl before letting them slide out, stringing drool. Leah groans and you fit your hand around Leah’s throat, squeezing gently. “I liked it a lot. Are you sure you’re up for this, babe? Not too sore still?”

“Green,” Leah murmurs, and you don't hide your delight. You flatten yourself against Leah until you’re both lying flat on the table, your weight settled possessively over Leah’s frame.

“I’ll be gentle with you,” you murmur. You tap on the underside of Leah’s jaw and Leah’s mouth falls open, obedient. You tap again and she sticks her tongue out. “Good girl.” you tuck the panties into Leah’s mouth, angling them crotch first, and press your thumb up until Leah’s jaw closes. “Suck.” Leah’s cheeks were hollow, her throat working. “Don’t stop.” you run your nails along Leah’s cheekbones, not hard enough to mark, just enough for Leah to feel the tingle, and then down her throat, a little harder. You suckle at Leah’s jugular, feeling Leah’s heartbeat against your tongue. “Show me.”

Leah opens her mouth and you prods the fabric. “Good, but it can get better. Suck.” you lean on your side, slipping an arm under Leah’s head to use as a pillow. You slip the other hand down Leah’s body to slip inside her, and Leah moans. You pinch her ribs, hard enough for Leah to yelp. “Be good,” you warn, and Leah tips her head back as far as she can, baring her throat in submission. She’s sucking so hard you can hear it, a thick wet slurping sound, and you give her two fingers as a reward. Leah puts her hips up, and you start a slow thrust.

“Mmm,” Leah hums, around her makeshift gag, and you smile when you drop a kiss to Leah’s shoulder. You fit your hips together, one hand curling your fingers just the way Leah likes it.

“Feel that?” you ask. Your panties are damp, and you start a grind down on Leah’s thigh, in time with your thrusting fingers. “Next time you’ll wear my panties, these ones, what do you think?” Leah groans, her hips jolting off the table hard. “You like that?” It’s awkward, but you manage to position yourself so you can thrust down into Leah and grind your hips down and still have a free hand. You hold it over Leah’s mouth and nose first, feeling her breath puff out hot and desperate, before sliding it down to curl around Leah’s throat. You squeeze, experimental, and Leah clenches around your fingers, fluttering. You make a note for future reference.

Leah keens in her throat, the sound she makes right before she comes. You can feel the noise against your palm.

“Open,” you order, pressing two fingertips against Leah’s lips. You slip them in, shifting the panties around until you can feel Leah’s tongue. Leah closes her mouth around your fingers and resumes sucking, and you groan. “Fuck, you’re so hot. No games tonight baby, okay? Come when it feels good.” you're close but you keep your rhythm, until Leah shakes apart, her teeth coming down on your knuckle as she spasms. As soon as Leah relaxes you slip your fingers away and brace yourself on the table, slamming your hips down and twisting on Leah’s thigh, desperate.

Leah’s hands land on your hips, helping you, and then two fingers tap against your lips, hesitant. You open your mouth and Leah presses a thumb flat against your tongue, an index finger against the sharp point of your canine. “Cum,” she says, muffled through the fabric and spit in her mouth, and you come, just like that, on command.

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

steve singing the cheesiest pop songs into a fake microphone at eddie just bc he's in a good mood and because eddie 'hates' it

steve singing these songs morphs into steve singing the same songs but swapping out lyrics to whatever eddie is doing, or they're doing, or to something that happened in a hellfire campaign etc

steve still singing those songs around everyone else but also starts to sing his changed lyric masterpieces to eddie specifically

One particular instance being when Steve starts to sing Frankie Valli at him while trying to convince him to go out with him and robin to this club they'd heard about.

He and Robin were trying to convince him from their spots behind the counter at Family Video, arguing about if he should come with them or not long enough for Steve to come around the counter and actually do his job, stacking away tapes onto the closest shelves, when Sherry comes on over the radio.

Steve starts to bob his head along while Robin tries telling him again that it's a good place, that she has it on good authority that it's a place for other Friends of Dorothy, but she doesn't get far before Frankie AND Steve start to sing.

Eddie can quite literally note believe what he's seeing.

Steve is staring him down, his eyes full of glee as he croons Eddie's name back at him, a well-worn copy of Gremlins acting as his mic.

"Eddie~! Eddie Baby! Eddie~! Eddie Baby--" Steve's long, high pitched (though somehow still in tune) crooning of his name in place of Sherry's is (luckily) funny enough to keep his face from showing exactly how he's feeling about being called baby.

"What in the hell are you doing?"

"I agree with Buckley."

Steve ignores them, signing about his moonlit party or something, putting the tape where it goes on the shelf to Eddie's right just in time to turn and snatch up Eddie's hands in his to sing "I'm gonna make-a you my-i-ine~!", right to him, tossing his head around with the last line and spinning away to keep shelving tapes.

Eddie's face blazes hot.

"Oh my god, this is actually doing it for you, isn't it?"

He looks over at Robin, ready to snap at her, deny it all, but she looks so sincere under that mirth.

He sighs.. "Yeah."

"Can you come out tonight?" Steve sing-asks, jumping into his space and startling him.

"Really??"

He's grabbed up Ghostbusters this time, "YooOOOuUU better ask your Uncle~ Tell him everything is alright"

"He won't care!"

Steve's voice pitches lower as he continues to ignore Eddie's comments, stepping away to a nearby shelf "Why don't you come out?" then higher immediately after, as he slides the tape onto it's shelf, "With your red flannel on"

"I can't wear a dress?"

"Mmm, you look so fine~!"

"Shut up, Harrington!" Eddie's cheeks are on fire

Steve continues to ignore him, stepping back into Eddie's space and snatching him up in a spin, one hand on his hip, one grabbing his opposite hand, "Move it nice and easy,"

He's front to front with the man of his dreams and said man is, shimmying his hips to the tune, "Well you make me lose my miiiind!"

Steve goes into more long belts of "EeeEEdie bay-ay-bee" as he spins away back to shelve more tapes, leaving Eddie both entranced and bewildered at the front of the store.

"He'll be so bummed if you don't come now."

Eddie sighs, leans back against the counter to wait out the rest of the song, "Yeah.. I know."

- - - - - - - - - - -

and then they go to the bar and then steddie kiss and robin kisses a super cute girl and they live happily ever after the end

this exact scenario has haunted me every time sherry comes on the radio so today you finally get it too lmao

[puck-luck]

get cucked | nicojack

warnings: MMF threesome, cocaine use, unprotected p in v, dom m, sub m, sub/switch f, oral m! and f!receiving, handjob, facial, coming untouched, use of handcuffs, jack is put in the cuck chair at one point, begging, praise, dirty talk, all those usual things, jack DOES get rimmed in this, there is slight feminization (one line), jack is a tit man and loves to suck on titties, use of chatGPT for swiss german sentences since i do not know the language and google translate does not have swiss german (just regular german), swiss german nicknames come from this site as always, please let me know if i forgot anything else  <3

pairing: nico hischier x jack hughes x fem!reader

wc: 6,682

Jack isn’t actually sure how he ended up in this position. It’s a blur. They were at the bar– him, you, and Nico, and then all three of you were at your apartment. Jack remembers the drinks, of course, and the way he’d been flirting with you and Nico like he always does, but a switch flipped somewhere along the way. 

Maybe it was when you’d pulled out that little baggie of white powder, smirking enticingly. It could’ve been when Nico did the first line, tipping his head back after he was done, revealing that long, tan, strong column of neck. Perhaps Jack got here because of the heavy weight of Nico’s hand on the back of Jack’s neck as he inhaled the powder off of the line of your cleavage. 

It was probably what happened right after. The lightbulb illuminated when Jack lifted his head and found Nico’s gaze, pupils blown out and swallowing the expressive brown irises. The tip of Nico’s nose was pink and there was a dusting of snow beneath Nico’s nostril and…

Fuck, Jack couldn’t hold himself back. He’s done so well since rookie year, when he and Nico had taken the tension between them and decided that it just couldn’t evolve into something bigger than friendship. For the sake of the team, they needed to remain friends. They needed to maintain some semblance of professionalism.

All of that went out the window when Jack lunged forward– or maybe Nico pulled him, considering the grip on Jack’s neck– and smashed his lips against Nico’s. Your gasp had filled Jack’s ears, but Nico was kissing him back just as enthusiastically. Kissing Nico was more intoxicating than the coke, so Jack can’t really be held responsible for the way the night has devolved.

He has a vague idea of how he ended up in this chair. It had something to do with the way Nico had removed your clothes and thrown you on the bed, while Jack stripped himself of his clothes. He expected to get into things right away, to have his dick involved from the get-go. Nico had another plan. 

After Jack had stripped, Nico pointed at you, laying on the bed with your legs wide, and told Jack to go. He told him to make you feel good, to get his mouth on you and make you come. And Jack… well, Jack– you see, he’s never been the biggest fan of giving head. He’d rather receive it and Nico should know that from the locker room talk he’s overheard. Jack went to remind Nico– murmuring a quiet “I don’t– what else can I do?” while trying to ignore how it sounded like he was seeking permission from his captain. Jack always values Nico’s directions and tries not to refute them, but he just– he doesn’t want to eat you out. He’ll kiss you, he’ll suck on your neck or your tits, he’ll put his fingers inside your cunt, but he wants his mouth to be free. He wants– he wants to kiss Nico again.

“Oh, well, if you don’t want to,” Nico said, shrugging. He was standing at your nightstand, digging around for something– he must know where you keep your condoms, you’d mentioned earlier that you and Nico had hooked up a couple of times before– and Jack didn’t see what was in his hands when he turned to quirk his eyebrows inquisitively at the smaller boy. Nico had caught Jack by the wrist and given it a comforting squeeze. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Jack.”

Jack let out a breath of relief. Nico started guiding Jack to your desk chair, settling him on the cushions. Jack went willingly, thinking that the plan would change and Nico might send you between his knees to suck him. 

“In fact,” Nico continues without even pausing. Jack’s thoughts had flown through his head, so fast that Nico hadn’t even paused. He guides Jack’s arms behind him, gently, subtly, so slowly that Jack barely notices. He just stares up at the pretty brunet in front of him, finally within reach after years of waiting, and doesn’t even snap out of it when a ring of cool metal surrounds his wrist and clicks. He’s listening for Nico’s next words. “You don’t have to do anything at all.”

And Nico left him there. Jack blinked, confused, and tried to follow. Something hard and biting stopped him. Jack tugged at the bindings on his wrist again and twisted his spine to try and see what restrained him. He caught a flash of silver and his fingers hooked on a thin chain. Jack took a sudden breath– Nico had locked him in a chair. With handcuffs.

He was hard already. Jack just didn’t expect to get harder the more he pulled on the restraints and failed to escape.

“Nico,” Jack says.

The man is taking off his shirt next to the bed, standing above you, when Jack interrupts. Nico looks over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow at Jack. “Hm?”

“What am I– what am I supposed to do?” Jack detests how unsure he sounds, but he’s really not… he’s not sure. This is new. Nico is new. A threesome is new. Coke was new. Now he’s in handcuffs, naked, dick straining and standing tall, and nothing is happening to him. Nico is making no plans to move you from the bed, it seems, considering how he’s climbing onto the mattress and kneeling by your side.

“Hey, schatz. Lay that way for me, will you?” Nico requests, talking to you instead of Jack. He waits until you’re moving, reclining with your head at the foot of the bed and legs stretched toward the headboard, to reply to Jack. Nico looks up and cocks his head to the side slightly. “What do you mean, Jack?”

“I don’t– what am I supposed to do, Nico?” Jack repeats. He can’t understand it, because he’s perfectly capable of coming up with ideas for the next move normally, but he’s lost here. He’s got this creeping feeling, warm and prickly, washing over him. He wants– it makes him want to listen to Nico. He wants Nico to, what, guide him? It’s probably just because he always listens to Nico’s ideas, right? Because Nico is smart and leads so well that he’s easy to follow? Right?

“I told you, Jack. You don’t have to do anything,” Nico explains. He walks forward on his knees and settles between your legs. He stares at Jack while his hands smooth up your thighs and hips, then over your sides. 

You moan when Nico’s thumbs brush your nipples. The sound steals Nico’s gaze and he has the audacity to quirk his lips into a smile when he looks down at you. 

No– Jack doesn’t like that. He wants Nico to smile at him. A noise that can only be described as indignant leaves Jack’s throat. It was involuntary, but it works. Nico looks back at the chair where Jack sits. 

“You didn’t want to eat Y/N out, Jack,” Nico says. “She let us come to her apartment, shared with us even though she didn’t have to, and you wouldn’t eat her out?”

“I don’t like–”

Nico looks down at you. “I’m sorry he doesn’t want to make you feel good, baby. I’ll make you come. You know I love how you taste. We don’t even need Jack.”

Jack doesn’t like that either, but before he can protest, you’re piping up. It feels like forever since you did. Jack had tunnel vision on Nico, he realizes. After wanting it for so long, he’d lost the threesome aspect. Greedy, he chastizes himself. That’s how he got here, locked up and looking at two beautiful bodies enjoy themselves without him. He was greedy.

“No, I want him here,” you pout. You arch your back and tilt your head back, eyebrows practically reaching your hairline as you look at Jack. “You’re so pretty, Jack. It’s about time you made a move. Nico and I have been talking about it for ages.”

Jack’s mind skips, purely out of surprise. “You’ve been– you talked about it?”

You open your mouth to reply, but Nico robs Jack of the answer by pressing his thumb on your tongue. He shushes you. “Don’t reveal our secrets,” Nico chides. “You’re giving him what he wants too easily.”

“You can’t just–” The words dissolve in Jack’s mouth when Nico leans forward and takes one of your nipples in his mouth. Jack has… he has a good view from this chair. “Oh,” Jack breathes out. His eyes go wide, fixing on the hollow of Nico’s cheek as he sucks your skin. Jack is silent while Nico kisses down your stomach and nears your pussy, but you are not.

“Nico,” you mumble when he sucks a hickey into your thigh. You moan out loud when he plants a sweet kiss on your mons pubis and drags his bottom lip over the hood of your clit. 

Jack swallows hard. You’re writhing on the bed, but Nico has placed his hands on your hips and anchored you in place. Your lower half is cemented to the bed, Nico’s mouth attached to your core, and Jack can almost feel the pleasure radiating off of you. And Nico– Nico’s eyes are boring into Jack. 

His glance could be construed for admiration of your body, as you arch your back and fall into the bed. He doesn’t tease you, which surprises Jack. He expected Nico to savor this, but he’s working his tongue against your clit with a level of skill that Jack can’t even imagine. At least, that’s how it sounds. You sound like a porn star, moaning in a way that is so over the top that it can’t be real… except that you’re sweating and panting and heaving too, and Jack doesn’t think you can fake a reaction like that. 

Jack was distracted by your movement, but Nico’s eyes catch him again. That dark, attentive, evaluating look hasn’t left Jack.

His cock jumps. Jack blinks. It throbs. Jack’s immediate first thought is to fit his fist around the length and provide himself a little relief. But then– then– the handcuffs stop him. The metal prevents him from making any move. 

“Nico,” Jack calls.

The eyes that stayed on Jack for the past few minutes look away. No, they don’t look away, Nico closes his eyes. He digs his fingertips into your hips and drags your cunt closer to his mouth, licking lower until his mouth disappears into your folds. 

Jack’s mouth opens and his tongue goes dry, Nico ignores Jack and focuses only on you. Jack watches as his nose brushes your clit, bumping into the nerves over and over again. 

You jolt with each nudge, moans breathy and whiny. One of your hands is clutching the comforter beneath you, while the other one is free to thread through Nico’s hair and pull. Jack loses himself in the way the strands of hair grow fluffy or jagged because of your grip, standing tall and messy on Nico’s head. The dark, long pieces on top of Nico’s head become highlighted when the light from your bedroom lamp falls on them just right and Jack loses himself in the mesmerizing changes. 

He hears Nico’s voice, muffled between your legs, but deep and gravely nonetheless. “Tastes so good,” he announces to the room. Jack doesn’t respond– he’s not involved. This isn’t a statement for him. Nico must be talking to you, punctuating his sentence by palming the fleshy fat of your behind. Jack wonders what those hands would feel like on his thighs. 

Nico has slapped Jack’s ass before, but it was always in an athletic setting. Or it was when they were celebrating– Jack remembers one time rookie year, before they’d decided to just be friends, when Nico had slapped his ass after a successful shot in pool and let it linger. His palm had been so warm through Jack’s jeans, almost impossibly so. Maybe it was the knowledge that Nico was there that made Jack’s blood grow warm, made his heart rate spike. Then, Nico’s hand had dropped and Jack had to bury the urge to follow Nico around like a lost puppy all night.

“Fuck, prinzli, don’t you wish this was you?” Nico continues.

Jack hears him quietly, barely audible over the rush of blood in his ears and the pulse in his untouched and yearning cock, and nods along even though the question isn’t directed at him. Nico’s hearty chuckle and the returning fixture of Nico’s eyes on Jack snap him out of his trance. 

“What?” Jack asks. The word is a pile of mush in Jack’s mouth, not nice or pristine like he thinks it should be, but at least it’s out. If Nico is looking at him again, then the question must have been for him.

“Don’t you wish you were over here?” Nico rephrases. His thumb fits over your clit and rubs a quick circle. Your volume increases and Jack has to strain to hear Nico. His mouth spits the words out, curling and dancing in the air. “This could’ve been you, J, and I could’ve had a hand on your cock while you did it.”

Jack’s stomach swoops and his cock releases a blurt of precum to match the movement. His lips part and his eyes go wide. “You would’ve–”

“Touched you, yeah,” Nico confirms nonchalantly. 

Jack imagines Nico’s thick fingers sliding along the vein on the underside of his cock. The phantom touch starts slow, but speeds up the more Jack thinks about it. 

“I thought it would be nice,” Nico continues. “You know, for you to put that smart mouth of yours to use, so you can show Y/N that you’re able to do more than just talk back to me. I was going to let you come in my hand while you licked her, Jack. I was going to finger you after and use your own come as lube.”

Jack can’t form a single thought. Nico’s words bounce through his brain, like an input of words in a computer code that are essential for the program to work. Smart mouth… talk back… let you come… lube…

The phantom touch on Jack’s cock, Nico’s invisible and imaginary hand, twists around the head of his cock. Jack grinds up into it, his hips lifting from the chair.

Nico purses his lips and lays an open-mouthed kiss on your clit, his middle finger coming between your legs and sliding into your hole. Jack can hear how you open up for him, how you welcome his touch with a whimper and a roll of your own hips– as much as Nico will allow them to move. His other hand is still pressed into your side, keeping you in place. 

You throw your head back and suddenly, there are two eyes on Jack. The attention makes him preen, makes him feel even more restricted by the handcuffs.

“I want–” Jack cuts himself off, surprised by how foreign and removed from his body his voice sounds.

Nico quirks an eyebrow and flicks his tongue rapidly over your cunt. He squeezes your side with his hand and you open your mouth to respond, like your mind is linked with Nico’s.

“What do you want, baby?” you ask. The genuine curiosity in your voice tips Jack toward desperation. 

“Let me– I’ll do whatever you tell me to,” Jack bargains. He tugs on the cuffs. The metal bites his wrist and hurts. It will probably leave a mark over his blue-green veins, just from the pure effort to keep Jack contained. He knows he’s strong, but not strong enough to break free. He needs Nico to let him loose. “Please, I want this. I can’t– I need–”

“Have you– oh– have you really earned that?” you inquire. Nico nibbles your clit gently to signal that that was the right response. He rewards you for your words by plunging a second finger into your entrance and curling them forward, your body mimicking the movement, but he doesn’t make any move to reward Jack. 

Jack doesn’t understand. He asked nicely. He said please. He offered to do whatever Nico said, even if he doesn’t want to. 

“But– fuck, Schao, I’ll– I’ll eat her out all night if that’s what you want,” Jack adds. There’s an edge to his voice that he doesn’t recognize, but he’s heard it from women he’s been with in the past. It’s pretty when they beg him for more and now Jack is reduced to begging for something. “You don’t even have to touch me. I can– I’ll do it myself, just let me be a part of this.”

Jack perks up when Nico’s lips turn up at the sound of his nickname. He hums as he continues to eat you out and Jack watches his fingers thrust in time with the twitching muscles under the skin of your thighs. It’s the only sign that he heard Jack’s plea, other than the slight smile on his face. His eyes drift shut and Jack balks. He’s– is he ignoring Jack again?

“Nico,” Jack whines petulantly. His hips twitch upward and he feels a flush cross his cheeks. “Nico, please.”

“I’m coming, sunneschii,” Nico chuckles. Jack can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic. “I’m going make our girl come first, then I’ll let you go.”

There’s another reminder that it’s not just Nico and Jack. Jack continues to get caught up in the aura of the man before him. He loses himself in the dark eyes contrasting against your skin, but Jack has to tear himself away. How he wants Nico– he wants him– but you’re here, and you’re an equal part here, and if Jack keeps forgetting that, then he’ll never get what he wants. 

So he closes his mouth and watches Nico’s fingers work inside of you. He watches them fill you, watches a third tease your entrance but never fully slip in. He watches Nico’s jaw pop and manipulate your skin with his movements. He sees how the flat lick of Nico’s tongue to your clit makes goosebumps rise on your skin and make your nipples stiffen into blunt peaks. 

Your view is almost as good as Jack’s. If you look down, you see a strong, athletic, European man holding you close and devouring you. The sprinkling of scruff along his jaw rubs your inner thighs while he eats you out, which he knows you love, so he doesn’t spread your legs like he did the first time he took the journey down. You can see how his motions spark the waves of pleasure that emanate from your body, although the connection dulls the sensation slightly. When you look away, you feel like his touch is a mystery and a surprise, and you get to see the ruined boy across the room. 

Jack’s not as put together as he thinks he is. His bottom lip is swollen from the way he’d been biting it when Nico first started ignoring him. He’s an attention whore and Nico didn’t give him the time of day– it’s entertaining how easily Jack will resort to begging and grinding his pretty cock into the air in order to regain Nico’s scrutiny. His cheeks are red and splotchy from how turned on he is and his cock leaks onto itself, brimming with pearly white droplets and spilling over. The precum cools and disappears as it makes its way down his cock, but his tip is shining and tinged with purple from his need for contact. If this is how he looks before Nico even touches him, then you’re in for a treat.

Jack sees your eyes roll into the back of your head. Your breasts sit high on your chest when you arch your back and he’s starting to wish that he was licking them. He might be, to be frank, insanely attracted to all of Nico, but Jack has always been a tit man and will always be a tit man. Your tits deserve his appreciation.

You make a long and wanton sigh when Nico drags you over the edge. Jack can tell that you’re finally coming when your body relaxes on the mattress. You’d been in near-constant motion while Nico was working, but now he’s lapping at your folds like a cat drinking milk in a cartoon, and you’re not moving a muscle. 

“Jack,” Nico murmurs.

Jack’s heart nearly bounces out of his chest. He’s– it’s his turn. “Nico?”

“I’m going to come uncuff you,” Nico tells him. You take a breath, hearing Nico’s calm voice and letting it soothe you. He kisses the juncture of your thigh and hip. “Are you going to listen to me when I tell you what to do?”

“Yes,” Jack declares. “Whatever you want, Ni.”

He revels in the proud smirk that Nico hides in the skin of your stomach. Nico takes the time to kiss over your stomach, between your boobs– never on them, which Jack thinks isn’t fair to the pretty mounds– and on your mouth. His kiss on your lips is chaste, but your lips slide against each other unhurriedly. Nico doesn’t seem to feel the pressure and impatience coming from Jack while he kisses you. 

Nico pulls away and you whine softly, trying to hold onto his shoulder, but it slips away as he moves off of you and approaches Jack. The key in Nico’s hands, dwarfed in his palm, catches the light and Jack has to hold back an embarrassing squeal of excitement. 

It takes a lot of effort for you to sit up. You feel like you rub slick over your bedsheets, but you want to get more comfortable. You’d like to sit up on the pillows and see what Nico wants to do next– and with whom.

When you turn around, you feel like your body freezes. You’re frozen, but there’s a batch of boiling water surrounding you and you’re cooking from the outside in. The heat of the room has been turned up to… an incomprehensible four thousand degrees celsius because Jack is clinging to Nico and claiming his lips with the ferocity of a rabid animal. 

His hands, pale against Nico’s warm skin, are everywhere. Jack doesn’t seem to know where he wants to touch the broader man now that he’s free. His fingertips paint lines down Nico’s neck and torso. His knuckles are tinged with pink somehow, blushing like the tip of his nose, and you love the way his hands settle on Nico’s waist and dig into the skin there. 

Nico seems amused. His thumbs brush over Jack’s jawline and he’s smiling between kisses, tilting his head this way and that to satisfy the desperate boy mouthing at him. Nico guides Jack toward the bed and Jack is mindlessly allowing his captain to mold his body however he wants it– so long as Jack can continue rolling his entire body to try and get some relief on his bleeding cock. There’s no actual blood, of course, but you use the word for three reasons: the precum is spurting from Jack’s slit like the beading blood on a little wound, his cock is red and angry like a splash of rouge on the walls of a murder house, and, if you look close enough, you think you can see his pulse driving through the veins in his cock. Even if he was being subtle about how badly he wants Nico, his dick would betray his true feelings.

“Okay,” Nico mumbles. He brings his hands down Jack’s waist and pat his sides. “That’s enough, prinz. I know. Why don’t you go give Y/N some love, ‘kay?”

Jack comes to you willingly. You’re almost surprised. Jack’s allegiance has been clear from the first second of this threesome. You and Nico had been pushing his limits, certainly, by flirting with Jack while you drank beer at the bar and snorted white powder at your apartment. Nico swore that Jack would’ve made a move on you first, but you’d known all along that Jack would break and go to Nico first. It’s obvious how badly he wants the approval of the older boy. It’s obvious how badly Jack wants to prove himself to Nico. 

His solid body collapses on your own. Jack presses you into the pillows and licks into your mouth with the same fervor he afforded to Nico.

Jack is so messy when he kisses. He’s sloppy. His hands card through your hair and get caught on the ends, twisting them between his fingers. He pants between kisses, whining when his shaft drags along your hipbone. He sounds so pretty.

“On your knees, J,” Nico instructs. “You can keep kissing her, but kneel for me.”

Jack bustles around atop you, bracketing your body with his legs. He makes a sad, reluctant noise when his cock loses contact with your skin. He rocks forward slightly and his tip knocks against your abdomen, leaving a line of precum to connect your bodies. 

Nico makes a sharp, castigating noise. Jack freezes. You pull back and look around Jack’s lithe body, finding Nico behind him.

“What’s up, Neeks?” you ask. 

“Don’t worry,” Nico reassures you. He squeezes your ankle comfortingly. “Just keep kissing Jack. Distract him.”

Jack’s eyes open and he frowns, trying to meet your gaze for an answer to his unspoken question. Distract me? You think he’s asking. What does that mean?

You’re not one to question Nico, so you wrap your arms over Jack’s shoulders and tug him closer to kiss him until he’s breathless and lightheaded. You feel Jack jolt in your arms suddenly, then jerk away from you. 

“Nico,” Jack says. His brows come together and he sounds worried. 

“Shh, it’s okay. Trust me,” Nico whispers. You hear him plant a kiss somewhere on Jack’s body. “You’ll feel good, prinzli. I promise I won’t do anything that isn’t good.”

You touch Jack’s cheek, tilting your head at him and meeting his eyes. “I know it’s your first time doing something like this, sweetheart,” you murmur. You pet Jack’s hair out of his face and kiss the tip of his nose. “Nico’s going to take care of you. You know how much he cares about you. He won’t do anything that you won’t like, okay? And we can always stop, if that’s what you want. It’s up to you.”

Jack is silent as he takes in your words, seeming to drink them up. He starts to nod, his hands clutching your waist like it grounds him. “‘Kay,” Jack whispers. “We can– yeah. Let’s…” he trails off, then leans forward and kisses you. He sounded a little lost, not knowing what he was saying, and you think he might have found solace in just doing something else, like kissing you.

You don’t have to look at Nico to know how he’s smiling, proud of Jack for taking the jump.

“Can you multitask, J?” Nico asks.

Jack hums affirmatively against your lips.

“Good,” Nico says. “Will you finger Y/N for me? Make her come?”

Jack is already obeying. His fingers are probing against your cunt, two digits sliding into your hole and curling inside of you.

“Good boy,” Nico praises. “Don’t stop until I tell you.” Nico’s hand finds your knee and pinches the soft skin on the side of the bone. “You can tell him to stop too, if you need it.”

“Will,” you affirm before Jack fills your mouth with his tongue and muffles your words. 

“One more thing,” Nico adds. He smooths his hands over the globes of Jack’s ass, digging his nails into the soft skin. Jack’s heart jumps at the touch. “My cock belongs to whoever lasts longer.”

Jack’s legs tense and his toes curl when he feels Nico’s tongue paint a wet stripe between his cheeks, passing right over his hole. The feeling is foreign and Jack kind of wants to push Nico away. His first instinct is to say ‘Get off me, Schao,’ because his asshole is not something he ever imagined another person would touch.

Then he gets distracted by the way Nico fits his fist around the tip of Jack’s cock and drags it down to the base.

He loses control of his fingers as his body melts into Nico’s touch. 

They still inside of you and you scoff indignantly. “Jack,” you groan.

He registers his name falling from your lips, but he doesn’t hear it. He mouths against your neck mindlessly, feeling you pull on his hair. When Nico repeats his name, Jack looks over his shoulder.

“Keep fingering her, büebli. It’s not a fair fight if you’re not doing your part.” Nico flicks the back of Jack’s thigh. 

“Sorry,” Jack apologizes breathlessly. He pushes back into Nico’s touch. 

Nico quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, you greedy boy,” he muses. He drops his hand from Jack’s cock and palms the globes of his ass, spreading him apart and tonguing along the puckered rim there. “Is this what you wanted?”

Jack whimpers, burying his face against your tits. “Mhm,” he affirms, nodding. His lips catch your nipple and he sucks, as if he’s soothing himself. His fingers have started moving inside of you again and his thumb finds your clit.

You roll your hips into his touch and look down at the two boys before you. Jack sucks on your skin desperately, leaving splotches in his wake. Nico has his eyes closed, showering Jack with attention.

Nico pulls away and brings his pinkie to his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digit. He winks at you, noticing how your pupils dilated as you realized what he’s planning to do. 

“Schao,” Jack keens. He’s on the verge of begging again. You can hear it in his voice. 

“God, Jack, listen to you,” Nico says. He circles Jack’s hole with the tip of his pinkie, but leans down to lick him and get him more wet, more willing to accept the finger. “You won’t eat out our girl’s pretty pink pussy but you’re falling apart while I eat yours?” He kisses Jack’s rim and nibbles, pushing the tip of his pinkie past Jack’s entrance.

Jack’s jaw drops and the mewl that leaves his mouth breaks halfway through its exhale. His hips drop and his tip finds the juncture of your thigh. It slides into the space between your legs and Jack bucks his hips once, twice, and– shudders.

You feel your face heat up, growing red to the tips of your ears. His cum slides down your thighs, dripping onto the bed below you. His teeth found your tit and bit down while he came– now, he’s licking along the indentations that he left behind, making sweet, satisfied noises in the back of his throat.

Jack feels a bit like he’s floating away. You’re so soft beneath him. He turns his head and closes his eyes, nuzzling against your skin like a pillow. Jack wishes he had something in his mouth, something to suck on… and like you’re reading his mind, you touch his lips. Jack takes your first two fingers in his mouth and swallows around them, humming. Nico is still mouthing along his skin, finding his way up to Jack’s lower back and sucking a hickey there.

“That was so sexy, schatz,” Nico murmurs as he kisses up Jack’s spine. “Coming like that. I barely touched you, baby. My desperate boy. Can’t wait til I get my cock in you one day, make you come undone for real.”

Jack turns his head and blinks his eyes open, finding Nico hovering near his head. You pull your fingers from his mouth and thumb away the bit of spit that collected at the corner of his lips. Jack preens when Nico brushes a thumb over his rosy cheeks, then moans aloud when Nico drops his head and sucks Jack’s bottom lip into his mouth.

“Aren’t you sweet,” Nico mutters. He pulls back and kisses him again, curling the waves at the nape of Jack’s neck between his fingers. 

Jack is smiling dopily, admiring the man before him like he hung the stars. 

“You wanna suck Y/N’s tits while I fuck her, baby?” Nico offers. He pinches Jack’s side, then tweaks his nipple. Jack squeaks at that and squirms away from Nico’s tickling fingers. He burrows into your arms, wrapping himself around you and hiding against your boobs. He starts to move his lips against your skin as soon as he makes contact.

You and Nico giggle together at how easy Jack is after he comes. He’s a sweet, cuddly boy who wants to kiss and suck the skin of his partner until he comes down from the climax. It’s a massive change from who he was before, but you can’t say you prefer either version. The brazen, flirtatious Jack Hughes who is touchy and sassy sets your stomach afire and makes your nose crinkle affectionately, but this version has you simmering and wanting to wrap him in the world’s warmest, fuzziest blanket and kiss all over his face. He’s an angel, either way, and you adore him.

With Jack tucked into your side, curled up and sucking one of your tits while his palm flattens over the other, Nico kneels between your legs. He lifts your ankle, brings it to his lips and kisses it before wrapping it around his waist. He then takes a pillow from the headboard and stuffs it under your hips.

“Do you want me to grab a condom before I start, babe?” Nico asks you, his hand wrapped around his base.

You shake your head. “Need to feel all of you, Ni.”

Jack swoons against your chest, evidently thinking of Nico’s cock in all of its glory. You bring your hand to his head and play with his hair, scratching his scalp and making him sigh as he nibbles the peak on your breast.

“You’re just as greedy as our boy,” Nico teases. He palms Jack’s hip and squeezes. “Hear that? She’s just as bad as you.”

“‘m not bad,” Jack mumbles. 

“No, J, you’re good,” you tell him. He grins and kisses your ribcage, then comes up to rest his head in the curve of your neck. His fingers toy with your nipples still, pinching and twisting and playing.

Nico fits the tip of his cock against your entrance and starts to push forward. You’re open enough from Nico’s mouth, fingers, and Jack’s fingers that he can slide in easily. Nico rolls his hips and grinds forward gently, until you’re lifting your hips and pouting up at him. Jack sees the pout and lifts his head, pecking the corner of your mouth over and over until you turn your head to meet him.

Jack’s kisses are much more subdued now, like his lips glide over yours. You imagine a waterfall painting sun-dried rocks with their mist. That’s how it feels to kiss Jack. 

“Ihr zwei luegt so schöön us,” Nico praises. You’ve never learned Swiss German, and you don’t think Jack has either, but you can tell from his tone that he’s saying something complimentary. 

“Danki,” Jack mumbles.

Maybe he does understand Nico.

“Ihr sind so guet zu mir,” Nico continues. He bends down and kisses Jack’s temple, then yours. His hips are still moving towards you, thrusts becoming more harsh, and Jack smiles into your lips. He doesn’t reply. 

Nico drags another orgasm from you slowly, taking you apart and murmuring in his dialect all the time. His voice lulls you through the climax and the aftershocks spike through your body when Jack suckles on your nipple, flicking the tip with his tongue and digging his teeth gently into your areola. 

“Gueti Meit,” he whispers. 

Nico slips from your cunt without coming. You draw your eyebrows together and tilt your head. “Nico?” you ask. You sound a bit like Jack.

Nico shushes you by holding a finger to his lips. “J, look at me,” Nico says. “Lay on your back.”

Jack’s eyes brighten and he rolls back. “‘Sup, Hisch?” he slurs out, his tongue seeming thick and swollen in his mouth again. 

“Hi, sünneli.” Nico caresses Jack’s cheek and straddles his chest.

You take a deep breath and roll towards them, batting Nico’s hand off of his cock and taking over. You start to stroke him, squeezing and twisting around his tip. You thumb over his slit and lick his frenulum, humming contentedly at the salty taste of yourself and his precum mixed together.

Jack is biting his lip and taking in the scene before him. Nico frees the lip with his thumb before planting both hands on the headboard and throwing his head back, groaning as you increase your speed and tighten your grip. Jack’s hands cautiously come to the back of Nico’s thighs, then grip on when Nico looks down at him and smiles that proud smile. Jack opens his mouth and hollows his cheeks and tries to make himself look as inviting and sexy as he can– he loves when a girl sucks him off and takes his cum all over her tongue and lips and cheeks and he wants to be as pretty for Nico.

The milky white spurts of cum streak out of Nico’s cock forcefully. He’s been waiting all night for this, holding himself back and focusing on the pleasure of the two of you, so his orgasm is strong. 

Most of the cum, stripped from Nico’s dick at your hand, falls onto Jack’s tongue. He pushes the muscle out, enlarging the canvas for Nico. He closes his eyes and you lick a stray stripe of cum from the corner of Jack’s lips, relishing in the taste. 

You loosen your grip on Nico when he’s effectively milked dry, and you bring a hand to Jack’s cheek to turn his head towards you. You kiss him deeply, working your tongue past his lips, tasting the cum and taking some of it into your mouth as you swap saliva. 

Nico separates you and kisses Jack first. Jack doesn’t even flinch at the change, he doesn’t open his eyes, nothing. He’s complacent and relaxed and so hungry to be touched by anyone. After Jack, Nico kisses you. It’s the first time you’ve kissed since he ate you out and you breathe him in.

Nico parts from you and guides your head back towards Jack’s. It’s easy, and you like kissing, so you and Jack fall into a routine. His hand comes to your jawline and pets along the curve. Nico leaves the bed, heading into your bathroom, and he comes back with a wet rag. You hear the shower starting and running in the background when he comes back.

“Okay, enough,” Nico murmurs, splitting you and Jack. He brings the wet rag to Jack’s flushed cheeks and starts to wipe the dried cum away, cleaning him up. 

Jack rolls his head back onto his shoulders and blinks slowly at Nico. 

Nico kisses his forehead, then uses the same rag to wipe between your legs. He kisses your forehead too.

“Are you up for a shower, or do you want a little more time?” Nico asks the two of you, wiggling his way between your bodies and wrapping his arms around you, pulling you tight against his sides.

Jack snuggles up to him immediately, tucking his head into the crook of Nico’s neck and sighing. You hug Nico’s middle and rest your cheek on his pec. 

“Cuddle now, shower later,” Jack decides. He kisses Nico’s pulsepoint. “You smell nice, Schao.”

“Thanks, büebli,” Nico replies. 

“And you’re so pretty, Y/N,” Jack adds. “Pretty tits, ‘specially.”

Nico chuckles and you giggle. “Oh, you think so?” you tease. “Couldn’t tell from all the hickeys you probably left.”

Jack picks his head up and peeks out at you, eyes shining. He’s grinning wickedly. “Sorry,” he apologizes, and you can tell that he doesn’t mean it at all.

[mariasont]

maria's fic recs

i have realized how most of these are smut & idk what that says about me but alas this are some super super amazing talented people who write crazy cool stories!!!! check them out!!!!! make sure to follow, reblog & comment on these fics if you like them!!! these incredible fic writers deserve it! i will also probably be adding more as i read follow my fic rec page for more @mariasficrecs if anyone mentioned in this post wants to be removed let me know <3

spencer reid

cedar - @parfaitblogs summary: in which compatible bodies does not always mean compatible minds, but spencer reid is all too kind when you're like this, so perhaps you're allowed to forget that for a night. 

this is the fic for the girlies who have loved someone more than they should, more than they loved you back and more than was every healthy. this is the kind of fic that makes you reread certain lines just to punch yourself in the chest a second time. masterpiece in pining, delusion, and tragic devotion. the most gorgeous piece of writing truthfully

in my dream im fixing your crutch - @notlongtolove summary: most nights, spencer wakes to the sound of your sniffles—unlike most nights, he doesn’t have to ask why. the reason is visceral, tangible—staining the sheets when the wound dressing wasn’t tight enough, seeping and pooling right between the both of you where an ocean of your guilt already lies.

this and everythingggg p writes is so incredibly SHATTERING in the best way possible. i truly need everyone to follow rn! and reader everything written by them! but this one specifically wasn't just a fic it was an experience. it's so painful and beautiful and so unfairly written. the duality of intimacy and violence is insaneeeeee like shakespearean level.

into the rose garden; for evermore - @notlongtolove summary: months of hope, weeks of ache. you’ve stayed. you’ve waited. you’ve stayed in the waiting. more pathetic than poetic if you’re being honest. but now, with him standing here with his heart in his hands, it doesn’t feel simple.

might be my favorite fic ive ever read if im being honest. everything about it had me sobbing like a baby. it's not even angst at this point it's a biblical reckoning. p has made heartbreak into a single character, personified pain and i felt every freaking piece of it actually! every single line was freaking perfection & you get to choose your ending!!!!!!! because user notlongtolove is so cool and so creative.

i can do a lot with fifteen minutes - @reidrum summary: in which you and spencer don't make it out the door on date night

i love a sabrina reference (clearly) and this was just the perfect smut fic literally like poetry disguised as desire. i have read a lot of smut (u got me). but nothing compares to a good intimate zipper scene. i will eat it up everytime!!!!!!! and a mirror scene!!!!! double whammy. fantastic 10000/10

hypothalamus - @reidrum summary: in which spencer gets creative on helping you study for your exam

godddddds to have spencer reid talk nerdy to me in bed. so in character. essentially the anatomy lesson of the gods actually. so amazing

sobriquet - @siriuslylantsov summary: spencer reacts to you calling him a nickname for the first time.

so sweet, so fluffy, a love letter to everything good in the world, essentially love seeping into mundane which is my favorite genre!!!! waking up with spencer!! being in love!! angel!!!! i love spencer calling the reader angel girl!!!!! <3

sweeter - @siriuslylantsov summary: in which, you and spencer try out foodplay, through use of whipped cream.

whipped cream!!!!!!!!! i dont have many words other than that! must read

white noise - @brattyspence summary: spencer x reader -- a situationship defined by white noise; a metaphor for how we pacify ourselves and make stupid decisions to experience comfort, even when it hurts

visceral, soul-shattering, gut wrenching agony. that's about it. slow burn destruction that will have you crying. no doubt. this fic literally lulls you into a false sense of security and then u realize that spencer is white noise and that you'd rather have whatever this is than nothing at all. LOL! definitely did not almost kill me while reading. most accurate portrayal of a situationship

chateau lobby #4 - @burymagdalene summary: Whilst trying to navigate romantic relationships after prison, Spencer finds himself in love and caught in an all-too-serious non-relationship with reader. Wanting to break this streak, he asks to spend Valentine's Day properly with a real date. Afterward, they find themselves desperate with trying to express their love for each other.

so as you might be able to tell i have a pattern of reading situationship spence! call me a masochist! but this one had a happy ending okay!!!!!!!! and a reference to father john misty? yes. immediately. i also just love post prison reid because he's so complicated and different but still him and he doesnt think he deserves soft things and soft love and it's so devastating. reading the date literally felt like falling in love in real time. so good.

a closed mouth doesn't get fed - @burymagdalene summary: When reader notices Spencers dark circles and glossy eyes, they store away their pressing need for him in bed. This desire locked away forms into a wet dream that escalates their prior expectations substantially.

one of the best portrayals of sleep-deprived, love-drunk, desperate sex. that's it. that's the tweet. also when he switches the reader's straw like why was that so sweet to me im crying

xoxo - @pathologicalreid summary: in which your daughter goes to the BAU to hand out her extra Valentines

peak domesticity. i love girl dad spence so much it's not even funny. it's everything he deserves. like i can only hope in some alternate au this is the ending reid got <3

to talk is to bare - @esote-rika summary: three times you've never felt enough for Spencer Reid—and the three times he rectified it immediately

one of the most painfully real depiction of navigating self worth in a relationship with spencer. like exactly what i feel like it would be like to be with someone so brilliant and like so unattainable-seeming, while feeling ordinary and yet spencer makes the reader feel so special ugh

in infinite universes - @nereidprinc3ss summary: in which spencer reid picks up uni!reader from a party. you're drunk, and he's in love with you

there is not a single thing (cannot emphasize this enough) that i won't read from nereidprinc3ss okay? everything she writes is actually literary gold. but this one was so beautiful it almost hurts to reid because it's literally a love letter to inevitability!!!!! and the dialogue is so funny and flirty and so spencer and ugh it's so raw and real.

spencer reid & aaron hotchner

unknown territory - @minswriting Spencer walks in on Aaron going down on you. So he watches the two of you have sex.

had to take multiple breathers after reading this! everyone knows i love hotch and reid and even more so i loveeeee a why choose. also everything min writes is so hot, 10/10 recommend checking out her account. "reid, if you're going to stand there and watch, you can at least come in and close the door" hello????????? immediately yes.

aaron hotchner

crazy - @kimstills summary: after one heated and spontaneous night together, aaron can’t seem to get his pretty subordinate (or her pussy) out of his head.

i did in fact read this bad boy like three times because it's that good. it perfectly mirrors hotch's mental state which i love love love. and i just love a smutty fic that has the best escalation of tension, like it builds until hotch physically cannot take it anymore and shewwwww so hot. exactly what i want in a hotch smut fic

savor - @kimstills summary: after being compromised to working a case the next day, aaron decides on savoring your current moment together for when he’s gone.

maddie is just always going to make the hottest aaron hotchner smut. the fact that this idea comes to aaron mid fuck is wild and i love it LOL.

morphine - @luveline summary: you get a good dose, confess your affections, and leave poor, oblivious hotch to fix things up neatly. 

so if you follow my fic rec blog you know i literally reblog absolutely everything jade writes because it is just that fantastic. and this one is just soooo tender and so perfectly in character with hotch. if you are looking for truly amazing characterizations of hotch and reid !!!!! right here besties !!!!

filthy flat-pack thoughts - @alinathinkstoomuch summary: you had taken the day off to get yourself settled into your new apartment, not expecting hotch to show up at your door and offer a hand.

hey so firstly im just obsessed with the title, idk why it scratches something in my brain. and i feel like this fic should be illegal because it's not just smut-adjacent, it's foreplay with no touching, sexual frustration in furniture assembly and poor decisions lolol and again everyone who knows me knows i eat upppppp sexual tension and this fic was just that. there is literally no kisses no sex nothing and it's still one of the hottest fics i've ever read (there is also a smutty part two so go check that out as well)

can't lose when i'm with you - @aureatelys summary: You work as a beverage cart girl at your local country club and your dad ropes you in to make him look good during a business meeting with his new best friend.

dbf hotch is my weakness. the slow burn!!!!!! possessive hotch!!! daddy hotch!!!! this is the gold standard for dbf hotch truly. felt like i needed a cigarette after and i don't even smoke

red light kiss - @aureatelys summary: You haven't had sex in a week, you're stuck in the car with your new boyfriend/boss, and he's wearing that damn Kevlar vest. How could you resist?

hey yeah so i was positively feral after reading this actually. that damn kevlar vest is right. idk how you managed to make a blowjob in a government vehicle feel romantic but you did so bravo

tyrant - @solardrop summary: Hotch lets you take some anger out on him after he disrespects you on a case.

my favorite genre !!!!!!! making hotch shut up by sitting on his face! mhm mhm mhm. absolutely amazing use of free will was you writing this because i've read it at least 5 times minimum. i was forever changed after this

salt & pepper - @dudeitiskarev summary: dad bod and insecure Hotch. That’s it.

everything cat writes is just so crazy good but everyone knows i have such a weakness for dad bod hotch & this is the absolute perfect fic for it.

we can't be friends (wait for your love) - @cerisereids summary: down on your luck after a huge betrayal, you return to live at your father's house with your tail between your legs. you're humiliated, thoroughly convinced nothing good could come from returning home. then you meet aaron hotchner.

there are three parts to this masterpiece and i need everyone to read them all okay? because it's just so good. hotch flustered is my roman empire and grrrrrr this man was literally on his knees for the reader internally through out the whole thing & once again dbf!hotch!!!!! arghhh obsessed

[othernaut]

Every now again, someone goes hunting through this guy's past, looking for the Secret Agonies that have to be there. Every single lead is the reddest of herrings, but right off the bat... god, but they look promising.

He has a sister, and she went missing in the Death Zone! No one's heard from her in years! Look, he keeps a little plush dinosaur in his bunk, and look, it has her name written on the belly! And it turns out she's part of the ground team for Mechs Sans Frontiers and has to keep communication scanty so no bad actors treat the hospital site like a hostage library. She has a girlfriend and gossips like a grandma. The dinosaur is because their parents retired, sold the house, and he didn't want to keep it in storage.

Hey, look, his first team disbanded after a six-month investigation by military intelligence! After a black mission in the Needle Mountains! His previous CO is imprisoned in the Lunar Oubliette and his record is sealed! Except all they were doing was independently verifying sites of historical importance, mechs could get up there way easier than anyone else, and the last time they went public with this kind of thing prior to the mission, there were looters. The team disbanded because they didn't work well together - nothing against those guys, they're okay people, they just made a real shit team. The CO is up on the moon for a wholly unrelated embezzlement situation.

Oh shit, this guy's got a file at PSI Division! Most of it's redacted, but he's got a 97.6 EEP score! The details are blacked out, but it was found in connection to something called the "Nightfield Project"! Everyone we ask about it warns us not to continue investigating! And, yeah, PSI has a file on everyone, that's what that half-day of needles and physical testing was about. EEP is actually a negative score, you want to be as close to zero as you can get for a psychic. Nightfield does appear to be some legitimate psychofuckery, but it looks like our boy just got misfiled; his name's one letter off from a tech who works in Astral Imaging. Records Division thanks you for your diligence.

Because yeah, if you've got a hangar bay full of traumatized little podlings who expect anyone close to them to be a secret demon about to weaponize and discard them, they're not going to be able to trust anyone appearing to be good and normal without, every now and again, becoming convinced that they're not. Our boy is happy just to let them at it most of the time, but also just as happy to let them know whenever they come close to crossing any lines. And he takes it as a good sign, a sign of progress, that when he sits his people down and says, friendly but firm, "Hey, I get you're scared, but what you're doing right now isn't right and I'd like you to stop," - they listen. Sometimes they cry, sometimes they apologise, but they listen all the same.

mech fans are so funny. what if there was a guy who was normal and doing just fine