#rub his fingers on my knuckles to reassure me that he's there

[msbigredmachine]

New To This - Chapter 21

MASTERLIST

WARNING: Heavy themes, Please proceed with caution.

As Josh pulled into the driveway of his Pensacola home, Delilah still wasn’t sure if she had made the right decision by coming with him. But a part of her—one she wasn’t ready to acknowledge just yet—needed something from him. Maybe closure. Maybe comfort. Maybe just the smallest reassurance that she hadn’t been completely alone in this, even if he had acted like it.

She had been to this house before, more times than she cared to count. She remembered the things they had done within these walls—the passion, the mistakes, the irreversible choices. She had wrecked what little remained of her relationship with André here, let herself sink deeper into Josh even when she knew she shouldn’t. Hell, for all she knew, this was the very place where she had conceived the baby she was no longer carrying.

She didn’t want to be here. Not like this.

But here she was, two days on.

Josh had been careful with her since her arrival. He carried her bag inside without her asking, even though it was light. He’d made sure she had the master bedroom instead of the guest room, wanting her to be comfortable. He cooked. He made sure she ate, even when she barely had an appetite. And he gave her space, never pushing, never crowding her.

It should have been enough. It wasn’t.

She noticed the way he watched her when he thought she wasn’t looking. The way he hovered when she sat too still for too long, like he was waiting for her to break apart. The way he clenched his jaw when he caught her staring off into nothing, lost in thoughts she didn’t want to voice. She noticed all of it, and she hated that a part of her still wanted to let him take care of her, even when she wasn’t sure she could forgive him.

Tonight, he made dinner again. Grilled salmon with a rich, buttery garlic sauce, roasted potatoes crisped to perfection, and tender broccoli seasoned just right. The aroma filled the kitchen, warm and inviting, but Delilah didn’t have it in her to be impressed.

“Eat,” he said, pushing a plate in front of her.

She barely looked at it. “I’m not hungry.”

He sighed and sat across from her. “You gotta eat, babe. You’re in recovery.”

She scoffed at the concern in his voice, pushing the plate away. “Don’t act like you care now. You ain’t care before.”

Josh exhaled through his nose, his fingers tightening around the edge of the table. His jaw flexed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. He looked like he was debating something internally, his chest rising and falling in steady, measured breaths. Then, finally, he spoke.

“I didn’t wanna make the same mistake again.”

His voice was low, almost like he was talking to himself, and Delilah frowned slightly, watching him. “What?” 

He looked down at his hands, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles, avoiding her gaze.

“Tameka was pregnant once,” he said after a beat, “Way before we got married. Before our boys. Before I even got into WWE.”

The room seemed to shrink, his words slicing through the silence between them. Delilah was too stunned to say anything, just listened to this brand new piece of information, her fingers curled around the sleeves of her hoodie.

Josh let out a short, humorless laugh. “We were just kids. Nineteen, barely twenty. And I…” He paused, his shoulders tensing. “I was so caught up in makin’ somethin’ of myself. Proving to my pops that I wasn’t gonna end up a fuck-up. That I wasn’t gonna waste my shot.”

Delilah’s stomach twisted, but she didn’t interrupt.

Josh’s lips pressed into a thin line. His gaze was distant, lost somewhere in the past. “So when she told me she was pregnant, I didn’t even think. Didn’t even consider what she might’ve wanted. I just told her…” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply before forcing the words out. “I told her to get rid of it.”

Delilah’s breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her hoodie.

Josh’s expression twisted, something dark passing over his face. “I didn’t give her a say. Just laid it out like it was the only option. We were broke, barely getting by. Had all these dreams, all these plans. And a baby didn’t fit into that.” His jaw clenched. “I gaslit her into doin’ it. Made her think it was her choice when really, I took it away from her before she even had the chance.”

The room felt unbearably still, like even the air had thickened, waiting for his next words.

Josh dragged a hand down his face, his shoulders sagging. “After that…we were never the same.”

Delilah felt something inside her shift, but she kept quiet, watching him closely.

“We stayed together, though,” Josh continued after a long pause. His voice sounded rough, strained. “Probably ‘cause we didn’t know anything else. We got married. Had two boys down the line. But…” His lips pressed together, his eyes shadowed. “That time in our lives? It cracked us. And we never fixed it.”

The weight of his words pressed heavy between them. The dim light in the kitchen flickered slightly, casting soft shadows across Josh’s face, making him look even more worn down.

“I still regret it. Regret takin’ that choice away from her. Regret the way I made her feel like it was never even a question.” He let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “So when you told me you was pregnant, I told myself I wouldn’t make the same mistake. I wouldn’t push you, wouldn’t make the choice for you.”

His eyes lifted to hers then, something raw and unguarded in his gaze. “I thought I was doin’ the right thing this time.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “But I still fucked it up. ‘Cause instead of pushin’ you one way, I just… left you alone. And I hate myself for that, baby girl. I’m sorry.”

Silence settled between them again, thick and suffocating.

Delilah’s chest ached, something unfamiliar twisting inside her. She had never expected to hear this from him. Had never expected this kind of vulnerability.

Josh let out a slow breath, glancing down at the plate of untouched food between them. “I’ll leave you to it,” he murmured, voice quieter now, like he’d already decided she wouldn’t say anything back.

And then, before she could find the words to respond, he slowly pushed back his chair and stood, his movements heavy, like he was carrying all his regrets on his broad, tattooed shoulders. Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving her alone in the kitchen with nothing but the remnants of his confession and the silence that followed.

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

The next morning, Delilah woke with Josh’s confession still weighing down on her. His words echoed in her mind all through last night, layering over everything she’d thought she knew about him. She never would have imagined hearing something like that from him—never expected to see that kind of raw regret in his face.

She stayed in bed longer than usual, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what to do with it all.

By the time she wandered out of the bedroom, Josh was already in the kitchen, standing by the stove with a mug of coffee in one hand, his phone in the other. He looked up as soon as she stepped into view, his expression unreadable, but she caught the way his shoulders stiffened slightly. Like he wasn’t sure where they stood now...If she was still angry, if things had shifted, if anything had changed at all.

She wasn’t sure, either.

The silence between them felt heavier than usual, weighed down by everything he had told her the night before. She moved toward the cabinets, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. Her movements were slow, deliberate, as if she were giving herself time to find the right words.

Josh cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “You sleep okay?”

She shrugged, glancing at him briefly before looking away again. “You?”

He scoffed under his breath. “Not really.”

Neither of them said anything further. The only sound in the kitchen was the faint hum of the refrigerator, the quiet clink of her nail tapping against the glass. She took a sip of water before finally speaking. “You never told me any of that before.”

Josh exhaled sharply, setting his coffee down. “Yeah,” he said after a beat. “I know.  I don’t talk about it,” he admitted. “Not to nobody. Only my mom, Jon and Joe know everything.”

She studied him, noting the tiredness in his face, the way his jaw was tight like he was bracing himself for her response.

She could’ve unloaded on him again. Could’ve thrown it in his face that what he did to Tameka had bled into what he did to her. But for the first time since this whole mess started, she wasn’t sure she wanted to fight anymore.

She sighed, setting her glass down. “I didn’t know what to say,” she confessed.

Josh nodded once, looking down. “Didn’t expect you to say anything.”

Another silence. But it wasn’t as heavy as before.

Delilah crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. “You think telling me makes it better?”

Josh’s head lifted, his expression conflicted. “No,” he said honestly. “I just…” He exhaled, shaking his head. “I just needed you to know why I did what I did.”

Delilah stared at him for a long moment, the fight inside her settling into something else. Something softer. He looked wrecked, like the weight of his past mistakes was suffocating him.

And maybe she still wasn’t sure if she could forgive him completely. But she was seeing him in a whole different light. Things were not as black and white as she’d assumed.

She turned away first, grabbing a plate from the drying rack. “You make breakfast?”

Josh blinked, like he wasn’t sure he heard her right. This was the first time since she got here that she wasn’t fighting him over eating. His lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile. “Yeah,” he said, nodding toward the pan on the stove. “You want some?”

She hesitated for only a second before sitting at the table. “Yeah,” she murmured.

Josh moved slow as he grabbed a plate, loading it with food, his hands steady but careful. The smell of eggs and bacon filled the space, carrying a warmth that almost made things feel… okay. Almost. He set the plate in front of her, then took his seat across from her, his own plate in front of him. Delilah hesitated before picking up her fork, stealing a glance at him. They ate in silence; not the heavy, suffocating kind that had been lingering between them since they got here, but something lighter. Tentative. Like they were both trying to find some kind of normal again. He wasn’t looking at her, but he wasn’t as shut off as before, either. It felt like a shift, small but noticeable. Like maybe, just maybe, they were getting somewhere.

And then she spoke.

“So, what’s the plan?” she asked, her voice breaking the fragile peace between them. “We just gon’ sit here, pretend like everything’s fine?”

Josh’s jaw tightened. He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over his face before shaking his head.

“Ain’t shit fine, baby girl,” he admitted, his voice low, hoarse. “Ain’t been fine for a long time.”

It slipped out before he could stop it. Before he could shove it down where it belonged.

“Josh,” she whispered, leaning back to get a better look at him. He was tense, fists planted on the counter, his body coiled like he was fighting himself. Holding too much in.

“I wish…” she started, but her voice faltered. She exhaled, trying again. “I wish things were different. I really do.”

Josh let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head before she could see the tear sliding down his face. “Nah, you don’t,” he muttered. “I don’t. You did the right thing.” His voice was rough, like he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince…her or himself.

Her stomach twisted. “Did I?” she murmured, “Did I do the right thing?”

He didn’t answer.

Frustration bubbled up in her chest, her hand slamming down on the counter. “Dammit, Josh, tell me the truth!”

He drew in a sharp breath, his shoulders rising with the effort. She hated the way her voice trembled, betraying the panic she was trying to contain.

“I need you to open up to me. I need you to talk to me. I need you to tell me it’s gonna be alright!”

Josh shot to his feet so fast she flinched. He braced himself against the sink, glowering. “You wanna hear it’s gonna be alright? That you gon’ get so caught up in your career you ain’t never gon’ think about what happened?” His voice was sharp, raw. “That you’ll feel guilty for a couple weeks, then move on like it never happened? That what you did won’t haunt you?”

Delilah stared at him, shocked.

Josh’s breath came hard and uneven, like he was fighting to keep something dangerous locked inside.

His voice was hoarse when he continued, “Because that ain’t how it works.”

Delilah barely had a second to process the shift in his tone before he kept going, his words tumbling out like he wasn’t even talking to her anymore—like he was talking to a ghost. His eyes weren’t on her anymore—not really. They were distant, unfocused, locked onto something only he could see.

“You gon’ think about it every fuckin’ day of your life,” he murmured, almost like a confession. His jaw clenched, his shoulders tight, like the weight of his own thoughts was suffocating him. “You gon’ wonder who the kid was gonna look like. Beautiful like you? Athletic like both of us?” His breath hitched. “You gon’ wonder if he woulda loved this business like you do. If he woulda understood the choices you made.”

Her stomach twisted, her throat closing up.

But Josh wasn’t done. “And you gon’ question yourself,” he pushed on, his tone rough, ragged. “Was it worth it? Was the cost worth it?” His eyes darkened, haunted. “How many chances do you get before you just a lost cause? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why does every single person you actually care about end up pushin’ you away?”

Before she could stop him—before she could even think to—his fist shot out, slamming straight through the cabinet above the sink. A guttural roar ripped from his throat, raw and broken, tearing through the walls, the floorboards—through her. Making her jump. The entire kitchen shook with the force of it.

The room was still.

Too still.

Josh stood there, his head bowed, his shoulders heaving, blood beginning to smear across his knuckles from the splintered wood. His fingers flexed, his entire body trembling with the weight of something too big for him to hold onto anymore.

And just like that, she realized—

Josh wasn’t just grieving this.

He was grieving everything.

Her heart hammered.

“Josh?” Her voice was small, cautious.

He didn’t turn around. Just stood there, breathing heavy, fist still clenched. “You shoulda never met me,” he muttered, voice thick with frustration and something worse—self-loathing. “You shoulda never got caught up in my bullshit.”

Her throat tightened.

“I ruin everything,” he went on, more to himself than to her. “My marriage. My kids. You. I fucked up your relationship. I let myself fall in love with you, and I still fucked that up.”

She gulped. “Josh—”

His voice was almost a whisper now, and when he finally turned to look at her, she swore she felt her heart crack. He looked wrecked, like everything was finally crushing him. “I ain’t deserve you, baby. You needed me, and I wasn’t there. Again. I don’t…I don’t know how to live with that.”

Delilah’s breath shuddered out of her. She had never seen him like this before—this vulnerable, this broken.

She wished like hell she could find the right words. Something to ease this noose he’d tied around his own neck, the pain he had been holding in for longer than anyone had ever known. But what could she say? What could possibly make this easier?

Her feet moved before she even made the decision, carrying her toward him. His head remained bowed, hands gripping the counter like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Wordlessly, she reached for his hand, her fingers tentative as they wrapped around his. His knuckles were raw, split in places where the impact had broken the skin. Blood smeared across his skin, a stark contrast against the roughness of his hands. She didn’t speak. There was nothing to say that could touch the depth of what had just happened. 

Instead, she grabbed a clean cloth, dampened it under the sink, and carefully dabbed at his wounds.

Josh didn’t pull away. He just stood there, chest rising and falling with the force of his breathing, watching her in silence. The room felt impossibly small. The pressure of everything between them pulsed through in the air, pressing in from all sides.

When the blood was mostly gone, and his skin was as clean as it could be, Delilah hesitated. Then, before she could second-guess herself, she lifted his battered hand to her lips, pressing the softest kiss to the bruised skin.

A shudder ran through Josh’s body, his fingers twitching slightly against hers.

Delilah lingered, her lips on his skin, before finally pulling away. But she didn’t let go. Not yet.

“Listen to me,” she whispered, holding his gaze until he finally looked at her. His eyes were dark, stormy with too many emotions at once. “The only reason we’re not together, Josh? The only reason is because of our careers. But I need you to hear me when I say this,” she inhaled, her fingers trailing up to brush against the rough stubble on his cheek. “If it weren’t for that…”

Josh’s breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling too fast.

She knew what she was saying. She knew he knew it too. If it weren’t for the business, the schedules, the pressure—if it weren’t for all the things that had pulled them apart—there wouldn’t have been a reason to let go at all.

His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to respond, but he didn’t. He just held her gaze, his throat working as he swallowed hard.

Josh took a shaky breath and exhaled slowly, trying to calm his racing heart. His own words had drained him in a way he hadn’t expected, exposing more of himself than he ever had before. He wasn’t the guy who spilled his emotions, who let people in on his demons. It wasn’t who he was, and yet here he stood, completely unraveled in front of her.

And now? He didn’t know if he was touched by what she said—or just embarrassed by the depths of his feelings for her.

“If it weren’t for that,” he repeated sullenly, shaking his head.

The room was too small. The air too thick. His head spun, his pulse hammering in his ears. With a rough exhale, he shook his head and turned away from her. “Nah, man,” he muttered, taking a step back. He needed space. Distance. He had to get the fuck out of here before he did something he couldn’t take back.

Delilah caught his wrist before he could walk past her.

"Josh, don’t," she whispered, her voice pleading.

He hesitated, every muscle in his body tensing.

“Please don’t leave again,” she murmured, her fingers tightening around his wrist. “Just… stay.”

Josh closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose.

And then, slowly, his hand turned in hers, his fingers threading through hers like muscle memory.

He pulled her closer, his forehead pressing gently against hers. His grip on her hand tightened.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, without thinking, he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead.

Delilah squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing against the lump in her throat as she leaned into his kiss.

Neither of them moved away.

Instead, Josh pulled her in, wrapping his arms tighter around her like he was afraid to let go. His hand cradled the back of her head, fingers threading through her thick, curly hair, holding her close as if he could somehow shield her from the pain neither of them could outrun.

Delilah clung to him, her fists gripping the fabric of his t-shirt, desperate, shaking. The first sob tore through her before she could stop it, and then there was no holding back. Her tears soaked into his chest, his warmth the only thing keeping her from unraveling completely.

Josh wasn’t any better. His breath hitched, rough and uneven, his own tears slipping silently down his face, disappearing into her hair. He didn’t try to stop them, didn’t fight against the weight of the grief pressing into his chest. He just held her, letting the pain crash over them both.

The kitchen was quiet, save for their breathing; ragged, broken. The way their hearts pounded against each other, as if trying to make sense of what they had lost.

No words. No empty reassurances. Just the unspoken understanding that, for this moment, neither of them had to grieve alone.

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

A/N: One more chapter to go.

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[aspenmissing]

Oh my god I absolutely love all of your headcannons!! You’re so amazing at writing!

Could I maybe request Viktor with a male reader who goes nonverbal when he gets overwhelmed and/or overstimulated? How he would help him feel safe or comfort him? Take your time!! xx

ɴᴏ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ɴᴇᴇᴅᴇᴅ

ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ x ᴍᴀʟᴇ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ || 2662 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴏᴠᴇʀꜱᴛɪᴍᴜʟᴀᴛᴇᴅ, ꜱᴇɴꜱᴏʀʏ ᴏᴠᴇʀʟᴏᴀᴅ, ᴏᴠᴇʀᴡʜᴇʟᴍ, ɴᴏɴᴠᴇʀʙᴀʟ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀꜱ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ! ɪ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴏʀᴛ!!! <3 ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ! <3 <3

ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ

GENTLE GROUNDING

The moment Viktor steps into the dimly lit workshop, he knows something is wrong. The usual hum of machinery and the quiet scratch of quills against parchment is absent. Instead, there is only the faint, uneven sound of breathing—shallow, ragged. His amber eyes scan the room quickly, and then they find him.

Y/N is curled up on the floor near the worktable, knees drawn tightly to his chest, fingers fisting the fabric of his sleeves. His entire frame is taut, wound like a coil on the verge of snapping. His chest rises and falls too quickly, breaths coming in sharp, stuttering gulps as his eyes dart around the room, unfocused, unseeing.

Viktor doesn’t need to ask what happened. He recognizes the signs instantly—the way Y/N folds in on himself, lost somewhere between panic and shutdown, struggling to find his way back.

He moves carefully, his cane clicking softly against the floor, a steady, rhythmic sound meant to ground rather than startle. Viktor doesn’t rush, doesn’t force his presence too suddenly into Y/N’s space. Instead, he lowers himself to the floor beside him, mindful of his own limits, and slowly, gently, reaches out.

His fingers barely brush against Y/N’s knuckles at first, a featherlight touch, a question rather than a demand. When Y/N doesn’t pull away, Viktor takes his hand fully, wrapping his own around it, his thumb rubbing slow, comforting circles into the skin.

“You are safe,” Viktor murmurs, his voice warm and steady, a quiet anchor in the storm. “Breathe, miláček. With me.” (Darling)

Y/N makes a small, barely audible sound—somewhere between a whimper and a sigh—but still, he says nothing. He can’t. Words are distant, unreachable, locked away behind the weight of overwhelm.

But he grips Viktor’s hand in return.

It’s weak at first, fingers trembling, but Viktor feels the shift, the way Y/N holds on as if clinging to something solid, something real. And so, he gives him exactly that.

He stays.

Viktor is patient, tracing slow, deliberate lines along Y/N’s palm, a grounding repetition. He shifts closer, enough that their shoulders touch, his presence unwavering and warm.

“It is alright,” he reassures, his voice a soft murmur against the silence. “Take your time.”

Leaning in, he presses a gentle kiss to Y/N’s temple, letting his lips linger just a moment longer than necessary. A silent promise. A reminder that he is here, and will remain here, no matter how long it takes.

Y/N shudders beneath the contact, his breath hitching—but slowly, Viktor feels some of the tension bleed from his body. His grip tightens around Viktor’s hand, no longer weak, but certain.

A deep exhale follows. Not perfect, not steady, but better.

Viktor smiles, nudging their foreheads together. “There we go,” he whispers, brushing a stray strand of hair from Y/N’s face with the back of his fingers. “No rush, moje láska. We will stay like this as long as you need.” (My Love)

And so they do.

A QUITE ESCAPE

The noise of the gala is suffocating—loud voices, clinking glasses, the ceaseless murmur of conversation blending into an overwhelming wall of sound. The chandeliers overhead cast dazzling lights that reflect off gilded decor and polished marble, each flicker of movement a sharp edge against Y/N’s senses. The press of bodies, the shifting perfumes, the countless overlapping conversations—it’s all too much.

Y/N’s breathing becomes shallow, his chest tightening as though an invisible force is pressing down. His hands tremble at his sides, fingers curling in and out of fists, a desperate attempt to ground himself as the world narrows and distorts. Each sound is too loud, too sharp, each flicker of movement too much to process. The room feels smaller, the air thinner.

Then—warmth. A familiar touch.

Viktor’s fingers slip into his, a gentle but assured anchor. The grip is firm enough to hold Y/N steady but never forceful, never restricting.

“Come,” Viktor whispers, his voice cutting through the chaos like a lifeline. Gentle, but certain. A promise.

He doesn’t wait for Y/N to respond—he knows he can’t right now. Instead, he guides him away from the sea of people, moving through the crowd with quiet determination. His cane taps against the marble floor in a steady rhythm, a grounding sound against the otherwise disorienting noise. Y/N clings to it, to Viktor, to something solid in the storm.

They move through corridors, away from the bustling main hall, Viktor leading them through winding staircases and quieter hallways. The chatter fades bit by bit, replaced by distant echoes and the soft rustle of fabric as Viktor walks.

Finally, he pushes open a door, revealing a secluded balcony.

=

Cool night air rushes in, crisp against heated skin. The stars stretch above them, the distant hum of the city a stark contrast to the deafening noise inside. The moment the door clicks shut behind them, Y/N exhales shakily, his hands gripping the cool stone railing as he finally releases some of the tension coiled within him.

Viktor doesn’t let go of his hand.

“I know it was overwhelming,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, free from the weight of the crowded room. His free hand moves to Y/N’s wrist, rubbing slow, deliberate circles into the skin, each motion meant to soothe. “Breathe, můj drahý. Just us now, yes?” (My Dear)

Y/N nods, his shoulders sagging as the tension bleeds from his body. His fingers tighten around Viktor’s hand in silent gratitude, his breathing evening out.

Viktor watches him carefully, taking in the soft tremors that still linger, the way his chest rises and falls in shaky exhales. With the utmost care, he brings Y/N’s hand to his lips, pressing a feather-light kiss to the back of his knuckles.

“No need for words,” Viktor whispers, his breath warm against Y/N’s skin. “Just stay with me.”

And Y/N does.

For a long moment, they stand together beneath the stars, Viktor’s steady presence an anchor against the fading echoes of overstimulation. He doesn’t rush him, doesn’t push for conversation. He simply stays, unwavering, letting Y/N exist in the quiet, in the safety of his touch.

WEIGHTED COMFORT

The workshop is dim, save for the soft glow of a nearby lamp. The faint scent of parchment, ink, and the metallic tang of machinery lingers in the air, familiar and grounding. But Y/N doesn’t seem to notice any of it. He sits curled up on the small couch Viktor keeps in the lab for late nights, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees, shoulders hunched as if trying to make himself smaller.

Viktor notices the tension in his frame, the way his fingers dig into the fabric of his sleeves, gripping tightly as though anchoring himself. His breathing is shallow, uneven. A silent struggle.

Viktor doesn’t hesitate.

He makes his way over, the soft tap, tap of his cane filling the quiet space, a steady rhythm that’s neither intrusive nor demanding. When he reaches the couch, he lowers himself beside Y/N with practiced ease, mindful of his own limits, his movements deliberate but gentle.

Carefully, he shifts closer, leaning against Y/N’s side until their bodies press together, sharing warmth. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t force him to move—just makes himself present, tangible, safe.

“Here,” Viktor murmurs, his voice quiet yet steady. He reaches for the weighted blanket draped over the armrest—the one he sometimes uses when exhaustion clings too heavily to his bones. With a careful touch, he spreads it over them both, letting the comforting weight settle around Y/N’s frame.

Y/N exhales shakily, his grip on his sleeves loosening just a fraction. The pressure of the blanket, the steady warmth at his side—it helps. Slowly, he shifts, leaning just enough to press his forehead against Viktor’s shoulder.

Viktor hums softly in acknowledgment, not expecting words, simply being there.

His fingers move without thinking, brushing through Y/N’s hair in slow, rhythmic strokes, careful not to overwhelm, only to comfort. His touch mirrors the steady beat of his own breathing, an unspoken signal: I am here. I am not leaving. You are safe.

“You do not have to speak,” Viktor whispers, his voice a quiet promise against Y/N’s temple. “I know. I understand.”

Y/N’s breath stutters for a moment before evening out, his grip tightening around Viktor’s sleeve—not in desperation, but in quiet gratitude.

And Viktor? He simply holds him.

No pressure, no expectations. Just warmth, just presence.

And together, in the dim glow of the lab, the world becomes a little quieter.

A FAMILIAR ROUTINE

Viktor finds Y/N sitting on their shared bed, hunched over, his hands gripping the fabric of his shirt with white-knuckled intensity. His shoulders are drawn tight, every muscle in his body wound up like a coiled spring. His breaths come shallow and uneven, his chest barely rising and falling. His eyes stare ahead, unfocused, lost in something only he can see, something Viktor recognizes all too well.

Overwhelm.

It has settled deep within Y/N, locking him inside his own mind, drowning out everything else. Viktor doesn’t call his name—he knows better. He doesn’t ask if he’s alright because he knows he isn’t. Instead, he acts.

Without a word, he crosses the room with quiet purpose, the familiar tap, tap of his cane the only sound breaking the silence. He stops by the nightstand, fingers wrapping around a soft-bristled brush that rests there—a simple tool, but one that has helped before. A lifeline, a means of grounding.

Viktor returns to Y/N’s side, the mattress dipping slightly beneath his weight as he settles beside him. He moves carefully, never rushing, never startling. Slowly, he reaches out, taking Y/N’s trembling hand in his own. His thumb strokes over his knuckles, light and deliberate.

Then, with practiced gentleness, he lifts the brush and begins.

The first stroke is slow, gliding over Y/N’s arm with featherlight pressure. Then another. And another. A steady, rhythmic motion, familiar and predictable. Safe.

“There we go,” Viktor murmurs, his voice a low, soothing hum, careful not to break the fragile quiet. “Just like before, yes?”

Y/N doesn’t respond—not with words. But Viktor sees the difference almost immediately. The rigid tension in his shoulders eases ever so slightly. His grip on his shirt loosens just a fraction. His breath, once shaky and erratic, begins to slow.

Viktor continues, brushing along his skin in slow, careful patterns, his movements constant, reliable. A steady presence in the storm.

His other hand never leaves Y/N’s, thumb rubbing small, grounding circles against his palm. A reminder: he is not alone.

“You do not need to explain, můj drahý,” Viktor whispers, tilting his head just enough that his lips nearly brush Y/N’s temple. “We can simply stay like this.”

A shuddering breath escapes Y/N’s lips—not one of distress, but relief. He presses closer, his body relaxing against Viktor’s warmth, his grip shifting from the fabric of his shirt to Viktor’s sleeve instead, holding on.

Viktor smiles, pressing a lingering kiss against his hair before resuming the slow, steady strokes of the brush.

No pressure. No expectations. Just this.

And little by little, the weight of overwhelm begins to lift.

WRITING INSTEAD OF WORDS

Y/N’s hands tremble as he grips the quill, the weight of his own silence pressing down on him like a heavy fog. The words he wants to say are trapped, tangled somewhere between his mind and his throat, but no matter how hard he tries, they won’t come out.

Viktor notices. He always does.

But he doesn’t push. He doesn’t ask Y/N to speak when he knows he can’t. Instead, he sits beside him at the desk, close enough that their shoulders touch, his presence warm and grounding. His fingers—steady, patient—remain loosely entwined with Y/N’s free hand, providing quiet reassurance.

The paper in front of them is blank, waiting.

Y/N exhales shakily and presses the quill down, his movements stiff, hesitant. The ink bleeds into the parchment, forming shaky, uneven letters.

“Can’t talk.”

Viktor’s grip on his hand tightens slightly—not in frustration, but in understanding. A silent I know. I hear you.

Carefully, he releases Y/N’s hand just long enough to pick up his own quill. His strokes are neater, more practiced, but there’s no urgency, no expectation. Just quiet acceptance as he writes beneath Y/N’s words.

“That is okay.”

Y/N swallows, his eyes flickering between the inked letters. His breathing is still uneven, but he doesn’t feel quite as frozen as before. Viktor doesn’t need him to explain. He doesn’t need to fight for words that won’t come.

Still, he hesitates, his grip on the quill tightening. His fingers twitch, and after a moment, he dips the tip into the inkwell again, forming his next thought.

“Feels too much.”

The letters wobble, smudged in places where his hand shakes, but he gets them down. And Viktor? He nods, his expression gentle, understanding.

A soft tap, tap, tap sounds as Viktor’s cane meets the floor—a habit, a rhythm, a grounding sound. It’s steady, predictable, something to hold onto.

Then, with quiet patience, Viktor writes back.

“We will make it less.”

Y/N’s breath catches, his fingers loosening around the quill. The words sit between them, ink drying on parchment, simple yet heavy with meaning.

We will make it less.

Not you must endure it. Not it will pass. But we.

Viktor doesn’t expect him to handle this alone. He never does.

A shaky inhale, then an even slower exhale. Y/N nods, his hand drifting from the quill to Viktor’s sleeve instead, gripping it tightly. He doesn’t need to write anything else. Viktor understands.

And right now, that is enough.

SAFE IN HIS ARMS

Viktor finds Y/N on the floor, shaking. His breathing is ragged, uneven, each inhale catching in his throat as if the very act of drawing air is a battle. His hands are clenched into fists so tightly that his knuckles have turned white, nails digging into his palms hard enough to leave marks. Too much. It’s all too much.

The sight makes Viktor’s heart clench. He knows this state—recognizes it instantly. The way Y/N curls in on himself, his body wound so tight it looks as though he might snap at the slightest touch. The way his eyes are squeezed shut, as if shutting out the world could make it quieter, make it less.

Moving carefully, Viktor kneels. His cane clatters softly to the floor beside them, forgotten in favour of what truly matters. He doesn’t speak—not yet. Words aren’t what Y/N needs right now. Instead, he reaches out, slowly, gently, resting one hand on Y/N’s shoulder.

It’s not a demand, not a forceful attempt to pull him back into the present. Just an anchor. A reminder: I am here.

When Y/N doesn’t flinch away, Viktor shifts closer, his movements deliberate and measured. With infinite care, he leans forward, wrapping his arms around him, pulling him close.

His grip is firm but never restrictive, a steady weight against the storm raging inside Y/N’s mind. The tremors don’t stop immediately, but Viktor holds him through them, his presence unwavering.

His hand moves slowly, soothingly, tracing circles along Y/N’s back. Not too fast, not too light. Just enough pressure to ground, to comfort.

“You are not alone,” Viktor whispers against his lover’s hair, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest. “I have you.”

Y/N shudders in his hold, his body still trembling, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he buries his face in Viktor’s chest, gripping onto his coat as though he might disappear if he lets go.

Viktor only tightens his embrace in response, his own heartbeat a steady rhythm against Y/N’s ear. Something solid. Something real.

No words are needed. No explanations, no reassurances that demand a reply. Just Viktor’s warmth, his presence, his unwavering love.

So he stays. As long as it takes.

And slowly—oh, so slowly—Y/N’s breathing begins to steady.

[clancykisser]

I'M ON A FERAL STREAK ABOUT HOW MUCH I LOVE CLANCY OHHHH MY GOD

I LOVE HIM SO MUCH I LOVE HIM SO MUCH I am bouncing around the walls screaming and shaking and crying and yelling and biting the bars of my enclosure JUST!!! JUST!!!!

He's always such in a constant battle with his mental health. He always thinks he's not good enough, or not worth the trust people put in him. He has to be strong! And brave! And despite his fear towards the people that hurt him all of his life, he knows that he's the only one that can stop them. HE DOESN'T RUN FROM HIS CHALLENGES! HE FACES THEM HEAD ON EVEN THO HE'S SCARED!

And I WANNA BE THERE WITH HIM SO BAD...I want to be by his side. He's never alone. Not with me. Not with Torch. I think he thinks he has to do so many things alone. Far away from everyone so they don't get hurt. To push everyone away but I won't let him. He'll always confide in me. He's always going to be mine. He's my heart, my soulmate, and everything in this world I love so so much. He's a moon in my sky while I'm the sun. A fire where I'm a forest, he eats at me.

He's beautiful. He's so, so brave. He's so soft. He's just...so perfect.

I think I want him to be the love of my life forever Q/////Q

[sttoru]

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. boob obsessed!nanami kento x wife!female reader. smut, pwp. fīngering, (big) tīddy appreciation. reader gets called ‘sweetheart, dear, adorable’. not proofread !

“lay still, sweetheart,” kento murmurs as he presses a sweet kiss against your forehead. your back arches off the couch as your cunt eagerly swallows two of his callused fingers. while his hand is busy stimulating your lower body, his mouth refuses to detach from your chest area.

you can’t possibly comply to his command with all the mind blowing stimulation you’re receiving. a choked up moan escapes your throat when kento gently tugs one of your nipples between his teeth, “c-can’t, ken. can’t stay still.”

your husband doesn’t respond to your whines. he isn’t ignoring you on purpose—that he would never do—he’s simply too occupied shoving his face between your tits.

this is perfect to him. kento had been tired ever since coming back from work - but now that he has his adorable wife beneath him, praising him for all which he’s doing - he’s energised once again.

the sight of him freeing your breasts from the bra you were wearing, was more than enough to make him forget all about his previously experienced stress. the blonde man is weak when it comes to you, but especially when it comes to your perfectly shaped pair of tits.

“mmh, can’t get enough of you,” kento sighs in content while his tongue flicks back and forth over the same nipple, circling the areola right before sucking it. his free hand squeezes your other boob—his brows furrowing and his eyes closed as he loses himself in the feeling of your plump flesh in and around his mouth.

your hips buck against his fingers that are knuckles deep into your pussy. your wetness sticks to his index and middle finger until they’re glistening with a coat of your slick. “y-you’re gonna make me lose my mind, hubby,” you mewl as your head lolls back and your lips fall apart to let out the most erotic sounds that kento has ever heard.

his wrist moves back and forth slowly before changing pace again, quickening the tempo as his fingertips reach the deepest point they can. he curls them and rubs against your velvety walls, trying to find that one spot that makes you come undone beneath him.

“that’s all right, dear. it’s all right if you do,” kento replies to your soft cries, reassuring you that he’d love to see you lose your mind over the pleasure he is giving you, “mhh—i want to feel and see my wife cum, okay? do it for me.” his mouth doesn’t stop placing kisses and hickeys over your beautiful tits.

every time you look down at his handsome face, you’re met with the arousing sight of his green eyes darkening with lust. the way he stares down at your chest to admire his work - the saliva and hickeys staining the flesh - is so hot. it’s a mix of a loving, lustful and possessive look.

“i’m all yours, you know that right?” kento asks after detaching his lips from your left breast, his tongue still lightly peeking out, a trail of saliva still connecting your chest and his mouth. he brushes some hair from your face before his eyes dart back down to your tits,

“mhm,” you nod, to which your husband smiles. he presses a couple pecks all over your breasts, hoping to kiss the soreness away. no matter how rough kento is, he always makes sure to let you know that he still loves you all the same throughout the intimacy.

he cups your right breast and sucks on it a couple times, his eyes closing and his brows furrowing to appreciate the taste of your flesh. a low groan leaves his lips before he releases your nipple with a soft ‘pop’, taking a deep breath in to calm himself down.

kento can be here all day if you let him. attached to your tits, sleeping on them, sucking on them, watching them jiggle and bounce when he’s thrusting inside of your warm pussy . .

“i’m all yours, too,” you add after taking a couple breaths as well. you’re so flustered, embarrassed by how much you’re going crazy over his mouth and finger work. the squelchy sounds of your cunt echo throughout the living room.

kento hums in appreciation to your comment. his thumb presses down on your clit before he slides his other two fingers out of you. he spreads your folds, lubricating your entrance with your own sticky juices.

“good . . . then,” he starts off, taking a second to look you in the eyes, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. kento muffles your little whines before pulling back slightly, putting his forehead against yours while he prepares to ruin you after making you feel loved and appreciated;

“i’ll show you what it truly means to be mine, sweetheart.”

[lovelyyys]

the reader is a mutant like logan but more cat like which everyone thinks that they would hate each other which is proven wrong by the marks logan leaves on her neck after a wild night

ok i went a little wild with this so uh, enjoy!

(female reader, enemies to lovers? 18+!!!)

For the most part you two were alike. Well. For the most part. You were like him, although your claws didn’t retract from your knuckles. Instead they came from your nails. Just like a cat: People had expected the two of you to get along well knowing the fact that you were similar. When you two first met he simply introduced himself as, “Hi I’m Logan.” As if that would suffice. You didn’t know why he was so lukewarm towards you, almost as if he felt threatened by you. Ego problem maybe?

The team along with you were in the lounge area, everybody talking and drinking after a mission. You stood off to the side minding your own business. Drinking a beer, you didn’t know why. You couldn’t even get drunk since your body filtered alcohol out as poison so maybe you could get tipsy for a millisecond but that was it. You had been looking at a painting in the room, not before feeling the presence of somebody behind you. “How come you don’t drink hard? Like whiskey.” A gruff voice said from behind you that you had immediately recognized as that egotistical jerk. “I don’t like the taste.” You had answered, turning to face him. You looked up at him, staring into his eyes. “That’s a shame.” You didn’t answer, looking at his facial features and such. He took his own cup pressing it to his lips. Downing his drink, before slamming it on the table next to you.

“You know I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong hand. It was just a little weird meeting somebody like me.” Ah. So it was because he has an ego problem. “Yeah I thought so.” You said, not before finishing off your beer and putting it next to his empty glass. “You can’t get drunk right?” He asked you suddenly. You shook your head, “No my healing factor doesn’t allow it.”

“So we’re more alike than I thought.” He laughed, you smiled. Maybe you two were more alike than you two thought. “Uh, you know we’re on the same mission tomorrow.” Why was he even talking to you? “Yeah I saw on the board earlier.” That was the whole conversation.

After the mission you got a nasty cut on your thigh, your suit being cut open. Your leg bleeding. You had gotten back to the mansion. Logan offering to help clean you up. Why not? What could be the worse that could happen? He was just trying to break the ice after all…

He brought you to the medbay, grabbing a bit of gauze and rubbing alcohol. You sat down on the bed, watching him prep the materials. You took off the pants of your suit so he could clean it better. “Come closer.” He said, curling his finger towards you. You shuffled over to him. His breath warm against your body. “This is going to hurt.” He warned, pressing the cold cotton pad onto your skin. The alcohol stinging. His jaw was locked, eyes hardening as he watched your expression as you hissed at the pain. He held his hand on your shoulder to reassure you — not before you muffled your cry’s of pain into his neck. Holding onto his back. Your nails digging in.

The pain was a 10. Possibly an 11. You started panting a bit, whimpering into his neck. In an instant he moved his hand down from your shoulder to your hip in order to steady you. He cleared his throat, his voice a bit hesitant. “Stop moving like that.”

“It hurts.” You cried out. “Just stop.” He whispered in your ear. How were you supposed to? Oh. Oh…

You looked up at him, his eyes meeting yours as he bit his cheek. As if he was trying to hold back from saying more. “Fuck it.” He growled. Tossing the cotton pad in the trash. Moving your legs up onto the table. Getting right in between your thighs, his hands snaking down towards your panties. Tugging them right off as he gripped your legs once more. Putting them to rest on his muscular shoulders. He pushed you down onto the table, going into kiss you roughly. His hands holding your face. “You know I always liked you in a way.” You smirked.

“Well now you know in what way.” He laughed, panting a bit before kissing you again. His tounge exploring your mouth. His hands went to his pants pulling them along with his boxers down. His hard dick jumping out, ready to be inside of you. Ready to fill you up with his cum. Over and over again. So much for introductions.

He grabbed his thick member, pushing it up against your dripping wet pussy. You looked up at him, his face had a smirk on it. You nodded, letting him push up into you, he didn’t take it slow. Wasting no time, rolling his hips before pulling out and thrusting into you as he held your jaw. Forcing you to look at him. You let out a moan. Staring into his eyes. “You like this?”

“Harder. Harder!” You moaned suddenly, his eyes darkening as he fucked up into your sopping wet cunt at a brutal pace. Groaning with every single fucking thrust. He pulled the zipper down from your suit. Your breasts there on display for him to see. He hummed in approval, squeezing on one of your breasts as he continued ramming into you. His cock kissing your cervix, the pleasure overwhelming. The familiar tightening in your stomach building up. “You close?” He asked you. You simply nodded, your breasts jiggling up and down with every thrust. “Me too. Want me to cum inside this pussy?” “Mhm.” He grinned. His pace somehow getting faster as if the pace before wasn’t enough for him. “Cum with me.” He whined. Kissing you once more.

You quickly clenched around him, milking him for all his worth. His hot cum filling inside you quickly. He continued fucking you, the cum leaking out. The overstimulation quickly spreading. “Logan!”

“Be good for me you can take it.” He moaned, sucking on your neck his hips never slowing as he drew out another orgasm from you. Again and again.

His hairy base tickled against your clit, stimulating it. He reached his thumb down rubbing on the bud. “Logan please.”

“Please what? What do you want?”

“It’s too much-.” You whined grabbing onto his dog tags with all the strength you had left. You read it. “Wolverine eh?” You laughed a bit. Moaning. “Shut up. You’re a fucking kitty cat.” He snarled. His thrusts never faltering.

It’s safe to say you didn’t sleep at all that night.

In the morning you were in the kitchen making yourself a coffee to wake up from the nights events. The team there as well making themselves breakfast. You hadn’t noticed the hickey Logan left on your neck until somebody had pointed it out. “Hey what’s that on your neck?” Scott peeped up. You raised your brows a bit looking in the reflection of the coffee machine. “Uh.”

“Something I left for her to remember me by.” A gruff voice said.

That egotistical jerk.

hope you enjoyed !! more to come, xoxo!

[little-jana]

- 5 times you ask Hotch to touch you and the 1 time he asks to be held -

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Genre: fluff, some angst (not between them)

Warnings: case talk, injuries during a case, blood mentioned, insecurities, crying, needing comfort, kissing, happy ending

1. "Can you hold my hand?"

The first time you asked him to touch you, it felt like a lifeline — a fragile tether keeping you from falling into the darkness that had begun to creep in. You were both walking out of the interrogation room, the air still charged with the tension left behind. The unsub had been particularly vile, his words slicing through your defenses like a blade. You had held your composure in the room — you always did — but now, with the door closed and the weight of the case pressing on your chest, the cracks were starting to show.

You could still hear the unsub’s voice in your head, the way he had spoken about his victims as though they were nothing more than objects. Your hands trembled as you clenched them into fists, trying to push away the nausea rising in your throat.

Aaron walked beside you in silence, his presence calm and steady, as it always was. You envied his ability to compartmentalize, to walk away from horrors like this without letting them leave a mark. But as you glanced up at him, you caught the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders seemed just a little more rigid than usual. He felt it too — he just hid it better.

“Are you okay?” His voice broke through your thoughts, low and grounding.

“I’m fine,” you said automatically, though your voice wavered.

He didn’t respond right away, his sharp eyes flicking down to your hands, which you had unconsciously begun rubbing together in a futile attempt to steady them.

“No,” he said quietly but firmly. “You’re not.”

Your instinct was to deny it again, to brush off his concern and pretend you had everything under control. But the words died in your throat as the tremors in your hands grew worse. Without thinking, you reached out toward him, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Can you hold my hand? Just… just for a second.”

He didn’t hesitate. His hand slid into yours, warm and solid, his fingers wrapping around yours with a strength that was both gentle and grounding. The world seemed to tilt back into place as his thumb brushed over your knuckles in a slow, reassuring motion.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, his deep voice steady and unwavering. “I’ve got you.”

You stared at where your hands were joined, the contrast between your smaller, trembling fingers and his strong, steady grip. A lump formed in your throat, and you took a shaky breath, the trembling beginning to subside as the warmth of his hand anchored you.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

He didn’t let go right away. His thumb continued its gentle path along your skin, a silent reassurance that he wasn’t rushing you, that he was there for as long as you needed.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he said, his voice soft but firm, the weight of his words settling over you like a blanket.

For the first time in a long time, you felt the truth of those words sink in. And for the first time, you let yourself believe him.

2. "Will you help me up?"

The chase had been brutal. It was the kind of pursuit that left no room for hesitation, no time to think beyond the thundering of your heart and the pounding of your boots against the forest floor. The unsub was fast, darting between the trees with the desperation of a cornered animal. You were faster, but the uneven terrain was unforgiving, and your focus was split between keeping your eyes on him and avoiding the roots and rocks scattered across the ground.

You didn’t see the root until it was too late. Your foot caught on it, and you went down hard, the impact jolting through your body as your ankle twisted beneath you.

“Damn it,” you hissed, trying to push yourself up. But when you shifted your weight onto your injured ankle, a sharp, searing pain shot through you, forcing you back onto the ground.

The sound of footsteps brought you back to the present, and you looked up to see Aaron sprinting toward you. His gun was drawn, his eyes scanning the trees even as he made a beeline for you.

“Are you hurt?” he asked as he dropped to his knees beside you, his voice calm but edged with urgency.

“It’s nothing,” you said through gritted teeth, waving him off. “I just need to get up—”

“Stop,” he said sharply, his tone brooking no argument.

You opened your mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes silenced you. He was already reaching for your ankle, his hands sure and gentle as he assessed the injury.

“It’s sprained,” he said after a moment, his brow furrowed. “You’re not walking on this.”

“I can manage,” you insisted, even as the pain made your vision blur. “Just help me up—”

“No,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for negotiation.

Before you could protest further, he moved with a decisiveness that left you momentarily stunned. Sliding one arm under your knees and the other around your back, he lifted you off the ground as though you weighed nothing.

“Hotch—”

“Don’t argue,” he said, his tone softening just enough to take the sting out of his words. “You’re hurt, and I’m not letting you make it worse.”

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks as you realized how close you were to him, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck for balance. His chest was solid beneath you, his heartbeat steady and strong, a grounding rhythm against the chaos of your own.

“I can walk,” you mumbled, though your voice lacked conviction.

“You don’t have to,” he said simply, his gaze fixed ahead as he carried you back toward the team.

The words hung between you, their weight sinking into your chest. For once, you didn’t argue. Instead, you allowed yourself to lean into him, your head resting lightly against his shoulder as his arms held you secure.

And for the first time, you felt what it meant to truly let someone else carry the weight for you.

3. "Can you hug me?"

The case had been devastating. Cases involving children were always the hardest, but this one had left a particularly deep scar. The unsub, a man who had systematically targeted families, had shown no remorse — if anything, he seemed to revel in the pain he caused. Even though the team had caught him, the damage was done. A family was gone, ripped apart, and no amount of justice would bring them back.

The jet ride back was suffocating. Everyone was quiet, the weight of the case pressing down on the cabin like a physical presence. You sat by the window, staring out at the night sky as the clouds blurred past. Your stomach churned, and your throat felt tight, but you held it together. You always did.

When the jet landed, you lingered behind as the others disembarked. The thought of going home to an empty apartment, sitting alone in the silence, was unbearable. You told yourself you just needed a moment to collect yourself, but the truth was you felt stuck, unable to move or breathe properly.

“Are you alright?” Aaron’s voice cut through the quiet, startling you.

You turned to see him standing near the doorway, his expression calm but his dark eyes watching you closely. You hadn’t realized he’d stayed behind too.

“I’m fine,” you said automatically, the lie slipping out without hesitation.

He didn’t move, didn’t look away. His silence stretched, unspoken but understanding, and suddenly you felt exposed. The walls you’d so carefully built over the years began to crack under the weight of his steady gaze.

“I’m just… tired,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

His brows drew together, concern flickering across his face. “Do you want me to stay?”

You shook your head quickly, embarrassed by the question and the vulnerability it implied. “No, I’m fine. I just need to—”

You stopped, the words catching in your throat as the ache in your chest grew unbearable. You looked down at your hands, clenching and unclenching them in your lap as you tried to find something to hold onto.

Before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out. “Can you hug me?”

The question hung in the air, fragile and raw. You didn’t dare look up at him, afraid of what you might see.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, you heard the soft rustle of his jacket as he crossed the space between you.

“Come here,” he said gently, his voice low and steady.

You looked up, and before you could second-guess yourself, he was pulling you into his arms. His embrace was warm and firm, his hands resting on your back as he held you close. You buried your face in his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you in a way nothing else could.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his breath warm against your hair. “I’ve got you.”

His hand moved in slow, soothing circles on your back, and the knot in your chest began to loosen. You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt the wetness on his shirt, but he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he held you tighter, as though he could physically hold you together while you fell apart.

For what felt like the first time in forever, you let yourself lean on someone else. And in his arms, the weight of the case, of everything, didn’t feel quite so crushing.

4. "Can you just stay with me?"

The motel room was small and unremarkable, its beige walls and faded floral bedspread screaming mediocrity. The case had taken its toll on everyone, and you could feel the weight of exhaustion pressing down on your chest as you stepped out of the shower, toweling your hair dry. Your limbs were heavy, your mind foggy, but you couldn’t ignore the ache in your chest — the remnants of a particularly brutal day on the job.

You’d seen it before: the aftermath of people’s worst moments. But this case was different. It had crept under your skin, latched onto your soul, and refused to let go. The faces of the victims lingered behind your closed eyes, and no matter how many deep breaths you took, you couldn’t shake the suffocating weight.

When a soft knock came at your door, you startled slightly, pulling the towel tighter around you before calling out, “One second!” You scrambled to throw on a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, padding barefoot across the cheap carpet to open the door.

Aaron stood on the other side, his presence grounding and commanding even in the dim light of the hallway. He looked as tired as you felt, his tie gone, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and his sleeves rolled up. There was a faint crease between his brows, one you recognized as his default expression when something was troubling him.

“Hotch,” you said, surprised. “Is everything okay?”

His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just looked at you, his dark eyes scanning your face as though searching for something. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and careful.

“I saw your light was still on,” he said. “I just wanted to check on you.”

The words were simple, but the weight behind them wasn’t lost on you. He wasn’t just checking in as your boss or your team leader. This was personal — a quiet, unspoken acknowledgment of the fact that he could see the same weariness in you that he felt in himself.

You stepped aside, holding the door open. “Come in.”

He hesitated for only a second before stepping into the room, his presence filling the small space. He moved toward the lone chair by the window, sitting down with a quiet sigh as he leaned back, his shoulders slumping slightly.

“You don’t have to check on me, you know,” you said softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I’m okay.”

He gave you a pointed look, one that said he didn’t believe you for a second. “You’re not okay,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You let out a soft laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Guess I’m not hiding it very well.”

“You’ve had a hard day,” he said. “We all have. It’s okay to not be okay.”

Something about the way he said it — so calm, so matter-of-fact — caused the knot in your chest to loosen ever so slightly. You looked down at your hands, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

“I can’t stop seeing their faces,” you admitted quietly. “Every time I close my eyes… it’s just there. And it feels like no matter what we do, it’s never enough. We can’t save everyone.”

There was a long pause, and when you looked up, Aaron was watching you with an intensity that made your breath catch.

“No,” he said softly. “We can’t save everyone. But we saved someone today. And that matters.”

His words were meant to be comforting, but they only brought the sting of tears closer to the surface. You swallowed hard, blinking quickly to keep them at bay.

“I don’t know how you do it,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “How you keep going, case after case, loss after loss.”

He leaned forward then, resting his elbows on his knees as he clasped his hands together. “Because I have to,” he said simply. “Because if I stop, if I let it get to me… then it wins. And I can’t let that happen.”

There was a rawness to his voice that you rarely heard, a vulnerability that he rarely allowed himself to show. It was a side of him that reminded you he wasn’t just your leader — he was human, just like the rest of you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence in the room was heavy, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a shared understanding, a quiet acknowledgment of the weight you both carried.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice barely above a whisper. “Can you just stay with me?”

The question hung in the air, fragile and tentative. For a heartbeat, you thought he might say no, that he might retreat behind his walls and insist on maintaining the professional distance he was so careful to preserve.

But then he nodded, his eyes softening as he stood from the chair. “Of course,” he said quietly.

He crossed the room and sat down beside you on the bed, his presence warm and solid beside you. For a moment, you didn’t move, unsure of how to close the distance between you. But then his hand came to rest on your back, his touch gentle and reassuring, and the tension in your shoulders melted away.

You leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder as his arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer. His hand moved in slow, soothing circles against your back, and you felt yourself relax for the first time all day.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said softly. “I’m here. Always.”

The quiet conviction in his voice sent a warmth spreading through your chest, and for the first time that day, the suffocating weight began to lift.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, wrapped in his embrace. The minutes blurred together, the world outside fading into insignificance as you let yourself lean on him, let yourself draw strength from his presence.

And when you finally closed your eyes, the faces of the victims were no longer the first thing you saw. Instead, it was Aaron’s face, his quiet strength and unwavering support a balm to your weary soul.

You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but in that moment, you knew you weren’t alone. And for the first time in a long time, that was enough.

5. "Can you hold me?"

The house was silent now, eerily still in the aftermath of chaos. The team had already left, but you and Aaron remained behind to tie up loose ends — packing evidence, reviewing case notes, and ensuring the crime scene was left intact for the local authorities. The work was necessary, methodical, but it felt like moving through molasses. The weight of the case clung to you, thick and suffocating.

You stood in the unsub's living room, staring at the remnants of his twisted life. The photos on the walls, the personal items strewn across the floor, all told a story of pain and control. You’d seen scenes like this before, but tonight, it felt like too much. The air felt heavy, as though the walls themselves were pressing down on you.

Behind you, Aaron’s steady presence filled the room. You could hear the soft rustle of his coat as he moved closer, the faint creak of the floorboards under his weight. He didn’t say anything at first, but you could feel his gaze on you, warm and steady like the sun breaking through clouds.

“You should sit down,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm.

“I’m fine,” you replied, though the tightness in your voice betrayed the lie.

Aaron stepped closer, his footsteps deliberate. “You’ve been standing there for ten minutes,” he pointed out, his tone carrying a gentle note of concern. “You don’t have to carry all of this alone.”

His words hit harder than you expected, and your throat tightened. You shook your head, trying to keep it together, but the weight of everything — the victims, their families, the endless parade of darkness — pressed down on you like a tidal wave.

“I’m just tired,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Tired of seeing all this pain, all this... evil. Sometimes it feels like no matter what we do, it’s never enough.”

Aaron didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stepped closer until he was standing right beside you. The warmth of his presence was grounding, and for a moment, you let yourself focus on the steady rhythm of his breathing.

“It’s not easy,” he said finally, his voice soft but steady. “But you’re stronger than you think. And you’re not alone in this.”

The sincerity in his voice broke something inside you. You turned to face him, your eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I don’t feel strong right now,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I feel... lost.”

His expression softened, and for a moment, he just looked at you, his dark eyes searching yours as though trying to find the right words. Finally, he reached out, his hand brushing your arm in a gesture so gentle it made your chest ache.

“You’re not lost,” he said quietly. “You’re here. You’re standing. And that’s enough.”

The tears you’d been holding back slipped free, and you quickly swiped at them, embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” you choked out. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Stop,” he interrupted gently. “You don’t have to apologize. Not to me.”

His words were a balm to your frayed nerves, and before you could second-guess yourself, you asked, “Can you hold me?” The words came out soft, almost hesitant, but they hung in the air between you like a plea.

For a moment, Aaron hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he was Aaron Hotchner — measured, thoughtful, always careful with the boundaries he set. But then his expression shifted, and without a word, he stepped closer and opened his arms.

You didn’t hesitate. You stepped into his embrace, your hands clutching the fabric of his jacket as his arms wrapped around you. The world seemed to fall away as he held you, his touch firm and steady, as though he was anchoring you to the earth.

His chin rested lightly on the top of your head, and his hand moved in slow, soothing circles against your back. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice a low, comforting rumble.

The floodgates opened then, and you let yourself cry. Not the quiet, restrained tears you’d been holding back, but the deep, gut-wrenching sobs that came from the core of your being. And through it all, Aaron didn’t let go. He held you as though his only purpose in that moment was to keep you from falling apart.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, his breath warm against your hair. “Let it out. I’m here.”

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, wrapped in his arms, but time seemed to lose all meaning. Slowly, the sobs began to subside, and your breathing evened out. You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, but his hands remained on your arms, grounding you.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, though this time your voice was steadier. “I didn’t mean to fall apart like that.”

Aaron shook his head, his gaze steady and unwavering. “You don’t have to apologize for being human,” he said firmly. “You carry so much, and sometimes it’s too much. That’s why we’re a team. You don’t have to do this alone.”

The warmth in his voice, the unshakable conviction in his words, made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with sadness. “Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He gave you a small nod, his hands still resting on your arms. “Anytime.”

The moment stretched between you, heavy with unspoken emotions. You wanted to tell him how much his support meant to you, how much he meant to you, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you leaned into his embrace once more, resting your head against his chest. He didn’t hesitate to hold you again, his arms wrapping around you like a shield against the darkness.

And in that moment, you felt lighter. Not because the weight of the world had disappeared, but because you weren’t carrying it alone anymore. Aaron was there, solid and steady, and as his heartbeat thrummed beneath your ear, you realized something important: with him by your side, you could face anything.

+1. "Can you hold me?"

It was late. The office was shrouded in shadows, the hum of the building’s air conditioning the only sound cutting through the silence. You’d expected the bullpen to be empty when you arrived, yet the faint glow spilling from Aaron’s office told you otherwise. You weren’t surprised — late nights like this had become the norm for him, his relentless dedication often bordering on self-punishment.

You pushed the door open softly, peeking inside to find him sitting at his desk. His jacket was slung over the back of his chair, his tie loosened, and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. Papers were scattered across his desk, though it was clear from the distant look in his eyes that he hadn’t been reading them. He was staring blankly at his hands, his brow furrowed, the weight of something heavy pressing down on him.

“Hotch,” you said gently, stepping inside.

His head snapped up, his dark eyes meeting yours. He looked exhausted — not just physically, but emotionally, the kind of weariness that ran bone-deep.

“You should go home,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, though it lacked the sharpness you were used to hearing from him.

“So should you,” you replied, stepping closer to his desk.

He didn’t respond, his gaze dropping back to the desk as his fingers traced aimless patterns on the surface. There was a vulnerability about him that you rarely saw, a crack in the unshakable armor he always wore.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, concern threading through your voice.

For a moment, he didn’t answer. He seemed to wrestle with himself, his jaw tightening as though he were trying to force the words down. But then he looked up at you, his eyes dark and filled with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Can you hold me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The vulnerability in his words hit you like a punch to the chest. Aaron Hotchner, the stoic, unshakable leader who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, was asking you for something so raw, so human.

You didn’t hesitate. Closing the distance between you, you reached out and pulled him into your arms. He came willingly, almost collapsing into you as his head dipped to rest against your shoulder. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist, his grip desperate, as though you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

For a long moment, neither of you said a word. You simply held him, your fingers threading gently through his hair as he buried his face against your neck. His breathing was uneven, the tension in his body radiating off him in waves.

“It’s okay,” you murmured softly, your lips brushing against his temple. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

His hands tightened on your back, and you felt him exhale, a shuddering breath that seemed to carry with it the weight of everything he’d been holding in. You had always known Aaron carried more than he let on — the responsibility of the team, the guilt of the lives he couldn’t save, the endless burden of being the one everyone else relied on. But in this moment, he let himself lean on you, his walls crumbling in your arms.

“I don’t…” he began, his voice muffled against your shoulder. He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his brow furrowed, his expression pained. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to let someone else—”

“You don’t have to do it all alone,” you said, cutting him off gently. You brought a hand to his face, your fingers brushing against the stubble on his jaw. “You don’t have to carry everything by yourself, Aaron. Let me help you. Let me be there for you.”

His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away, retreat back into the safety of his walls. But then something shifted in his expression, the tension in his shoulders easing as he leaned into your touch.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.

Before you could respond, his hand came up to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. The intimacy of the gesture sent a warmth spreading through your chest, and you felt yourself leaning into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut for just a moment.

When you opened them, he was watching you with an intensity that stole your breath. His gaze dropped to your lips, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to still.

“Aaron,” you whispered, his name barely audible.

He closed the distance between you in an instant, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was as desperate as it was tender. His hands framed your face, his touch reverent as though he were afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful.

The kiss deepened, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that left you dizzy. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as your heart pounded in your chest. There was no hesitation, no holding back — just the raw, unspoken emotion that had been building between you for so long finally spilling over.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing heavily, your foreheads resting together as the world slowly came back into focus. His hands remained on your face, his thumbs brushing gently against your skin as though he couldn’t bear to let go.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” you said again, your voice soft but firm.

For the first time, you saw the tension in his face ease, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I know,” he said quietly.

And as he pulled you back into his arms, holding you tightly against him, you knew he meant it. For the first time, he was letting himself believe it too.

[queenendless]

ARISE

A/n: As we are now in a new year, time to write on some new fandoms.

Rewatched S1 dubbed — and yes Aleks Le as Sung Jinwoo is the reason why cause he's so damn fine~! Listen to his voice as you read this, I insist! I just need to get my Sung Jinwoo fix. Therefore—

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo x F!Adult!Reader

CW: Explicit 21+ MATURE content inside. SOME SPOILERS but not much. Morning smut, implied mentions of suicide, reader got reincarnated as a humanoid magic beast and serves Jinwoo now.

DON'T PLAGARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE MY FANFIC WORK. Rather reblog like and follow pls n thx.

"Wakey wakey." That teasing low purr in the crook of your neck had you giggling tiredly as the ticklish sensation pulled you out of slumber. Spooning you from behind, his legs entangled with yours, Jinwoo breathes in your scent, sucking tenderly. Taking his enormous hand that rested on your hip into yours, just to play with his fingers, made him smile.

“Don't go.” You murmur, raising that hand to brush petal soft pecks to his knuckles.

"Come on, now. I gotta get ready." His slurred gruffness were telltale signs he was in no hurry.

"The world is your kingdom now, Jinwoo. It'll still be there tomorrow." Your reassurance meant you curled further into your side of the bed, the tendrils of slumber creeping back in. His deep chuckle trailed butterfly pecks from your cheek, down the pane of your neck, then up to your ear. "Stay here with me, please."

"Even the Shadow Monarch needs to lead his guild." His words were one thing. His wandering hands were another story. "But, if you rather keep me in bed all day, I suppose you could persuade me." His very presence chased away the bitter freezing loneliness you were accustomed to, submerging you in his comfortable burning embrace.

"God, you're something else." You turned in his grasp, finally able to face him and shower him with your smooches, such smitteness brought warmth blooming within him. Not to mention his bulge rubbing against your crotch sent sparks shooting through you both.

Flashes of memories surfaced in your mind. Such a whiplash it is that the most powerful hunter in this world that you personally witness slaughtering every beast and human that dares stand in his way, soaked in their blood, could be the very same man that held such requited smoldering endearment for you.

The butterflies and flips occurring inside from every gaze, touch and word given are always worth it.

"God has been long gone from this world ... just Rulers and Monarchs now ... and yours is beside himself. To think his favorite beast on the streets ... is a lamb in the sheets~" That rumbling deep voice roughly heaved in between kisses. Opening your mouth so willingly had him grinning against you as his velvety tongue entangled yours, lost in the thralls of the passionate dance within. “My favorite~”

His sculpted hands slithered underneath your top, lightly brushing up against your sides, then your tummy. One hand stayed to fondle your cushiony mounds; he never gets tired of feeling you up.

"A human from another world ... reborn as a humanoid magic beast." Pinching, pulling and rubbing your pearls between his long sly fingers had you melting as your muffled mewling grew frequent. “Failed by those closest to you, abandoned to that pain and fear … a kindred soul.”

His other sly hand slips under your undies, cupping your dripping sex. Your moaning had him smirking as he nibbled your bottom lip in tune with his thumb insistently rubbing your clit and the tips of his fingers brushing around your cunt. "Isn't this what you wanted? To be touched by me? Your beloved King?"

"Mmm yes~" His voice always got you going, especially when those four fingers filled you up well, curling and scissoring in their trek straight to your burning core. "Aaah~" Your hips rutting into his hand got him bricked up through his sweatpants. "Nngh~" Wringing your hands through those dark messy locks and stroking along his shaved undercut got him trembling, all to reel him in and keep you as grounded as you could currently be in your haze filled state. "Don't stop~"

"So touch starved." Your sharp gasp was the sign he reached your bundle of nerves, prodding it with such vigor, stuffing you right up to his wrist, lathered up in your cream. “To let me be the first and only one to shower you with such devotion ... I'll forever be grateful for that blessing." Tears of ecstasy leave your e/c eyes and he kisses them away, his ebony bangs tickling your moaning burning face, the flames of passion stoked for you as you come undone. "My Queen~"

His creamy hand then pulled right out of your valley, leaving you desperately wanting him to fill up your emptiness. Your faith got restored, however, as he pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside, revealing the chiseled marble sculpture that is his physique.

He knows the sight alone makes your mouth water. Your hands traversed the panes of his soft firm pecs, that thick neck, those broad shoulders, even these sculpted biceps that flexed as his daily tasked push ups came with the added benefit of pushing down to your laying form, being enthralled by your rewarding kisses. Such reliable stability beneath that lean stature of resilience.

Your own eyes burned with the glow of enchantment, the image of who he used to be versus who he has become reminded you of yourself. How the physical and mental scars that plagued your old life for years on end shaped you into who you have become. A magic beast serving the Shadow Monarch. What a pairing.

His cream coated hand slips under his own waistband, pulling his beast free from its confines, using your cum as his lube to be more prepared.

His other hand cupped under your knee, draping your leg over his shoulder. "Wouldn't you rather I give you tongue~?" That low toned growl already got your other leg willingly draped over his other broad shoulder already as that mouth sunk into your wet folds.

“Yes love~!” Ripping such a concupiscent symphony outta your mouth. His other hand couldn't help but jack off to your venereal cries. The scorching presence his mouth gave as the starvation had him ravaging, suckling as much as making out with your now squirting folds.

His cheeks filled with your essence, dexterously aiming his tongue to drive you further up the tower of sins. Your spasming hips only buried his face deeper in, inhaling your scent as his nose got pushed in your pubes, his light yet sturdy weight. Those lidded silver eyes flashed violet as their predatory gaze marveled in your sweaty flushed expressions due to his ravenous gorging, your voice shrieking as you unloaded, his creamy covered lips curling swallowing gratefully.

“You're truly decadent.”

Your body and soul trembled in anticipation for what's to come; your legs falling off his shoulders to hug his firm hips. So did him, leading his dick slowly into your loosened yet smothering grip. "Let me make love to you." He grunted, you sucking him up as greedily as his cock started into the slow steady rhythm stroking your creamy grip.

“Fuck me! Please~! Don't stop~! Don't ever stop!” Your unhinged shouts of passion hit his ear as you hugged his neck, his own hot breath hitting your shoulder as he picked up the lace into the feverish fueled tapping; skin squelching and smacking noises bouncing off the walls.

“Fuck~! You’re heaven incarnate~!” Your sob filled yell riled up his necessity to bust his nuts in you even more. His feral groans in response had you squeezing him in a vice state, marking the side of his neck into a bruising suck, drawing scratches along his chiseled shoulder blades.

His own fingers dug into your rolling hips, finger shaped bruises painting your skin in kind, while his sharp teeth marked along your shoulder and neck, marking you as his and his alone, raising you further to the apex.

“I’ll fuck you until the world ends. This needy pussy deserves to be ravaged every waking moment. Every inch of you is mine to worship. Your beautiful womb filled up with my seed. That's my dream. To have you as my wife. To raise a family together. To make you Mrs. Sung!”

“Yes, Jin~! Yes~!” Your choked up agreement got lost in the sloppy, tongue filled kisses as you came a third in a row, making a cum circle around his shaft, painting his rippling thighs and the once pure sheets.

Your orgasmic greeting met with his, shooting right into your womb quite thickly, lifting you in his shredded grasp, externally and internally. Thrusting his still oozing libido into your heavenly valley like a madman to chase that euphoric high.

Your head limply rested on his shoulder like a pillow, fatigued mewls spilling out as the burning weight of his essence settled into your abdomen. Carefully setting you down on the bed, Jinwoo collapsed on his side, heaving slowly and deeply, his dazed eyes gazing at yours, glowing radiantly as the sunlight slipping in outlined your form.

Still submerged in you, now limp dicked, his muscular arm draped over you, pulling you both closer, all to have you curling into his slickened torso, breathing in your intermingled scent.

“Now call in sick.” Your weak request got him chuckling deeply.

“I will in a bit.” Curling your cascading hair through his fingertips, he caressed your pretty head, allowing the tranquil silence to linger.

“I love you, Y/n. So damn much. Thank you for being in my life, in this moment, and for the rest of our reign to come.” His whole being enveloped you in his bear hug of an embrace, drawing in your shared taste through an endearing kiss.

“I love you too, Jin. So damn much.” Your voice fluttered from the swelling of emotion taking hold on your heart, as you couldn't help but fall into the routine of peppering smooches all over that beautifully precious face of his.

“I'll love you. In this life and the next. Until the end of it all.” He vowed to you as you succumbed to sleep once again, smiling softly at your face, kissing your sweet lips once more before reaching out behind him for his phone, sending a quick text to Yoo Jinho about his impromptu work absence. His brother in arms was A-okay about, already suspecting fooling around with you being the reason why.

Jinwoo's next text was him dubbing Jinho as his best man at your upcoming wedding, already looking forward to seeing you on that sacred day, followed up by quite the steamy honeymoon.

He was already anticipating your future together, basking in the early morning, setting his phone aside as it filled with the following texts of congrats and excitement from his little bro, before joining you in the confines of dreams, cocooned in your shared comfy warmth, watched on by his shadow army in the corner, silently cheering for their master’s engagement with their future Queen Regnant.

[callme-holly]

could you maybe please do some scenarios for (y/n) comforting sodapop, Dallas, ponyboy, and Johnny if you want please. also could you please make the reader fem please and thank you

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐠 [𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧, 𝐒𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐩 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬, 𝐏𝐨𝐧𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐝𝐞.]

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - im a little behind on requets but im getting there! i've got my final exam of this week tomorrow and then i'll be a lot speedier, i promise. asks are still open for requests!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 1.6k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - mentions of fighting, getting jumped and small injury detail

Dallas Winston -  The room is quiet as you card your fingers through Dallas’ hair, the greaser’s head resting against your thigh. His eyes are closed, and there's a nasty bruise blossoming on his cheekbone, accompanied by a few bloodied scrapes that he refuses to let you clean. There’s dried blood crusted beneath his nose, which you wipe away gently with the pad of your thumb, humming softly under your breath as he breathes out a low, soft groan.  “You alright?” Your tone is barely above a whisper as you tug at the ends of his mussy locks, pushing them back from his face. He blinks once or twice, his eyelashes fanning against his cheeks, and his expression is a little less pained than it was just minutes ago.  “Yeah,” he murmurs after a moment, “fine.” He shifts a little bit so that his head is now more firmly planted upon your lap, and he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer in a half embrace. You reach down between the two of you and retrieve the ice pack that is sitting forgotten beside you, pressing it against his swollen cheek once more.  He makes a disgruntled noise but doesn't open his eyes again.  “Sorry 'bout this.” His voice is rough, strained from the exertion: “Y' shouldn't have to take care of me all the damn time.” The words fall heavy between the two of you as he speaks, and you smile softly, shaking your head. “It ain't too much trouble, really.” You rub small circles against his bicep, pressing a light kiss to his forehead. “And besides...” your voice drops to an almost conspiratorial murmur, “I like taking care of you. It makes me feel better when I know you're not lying dead in a ditch somewhere.”  He gives you a lopsided grin at that, eyes still closed. “You've got so much faith in me, doll.”  Your smile widens, feeling something twist inside of you. You take his hand, squeezing it gently before pressing a quick kiss to his busted-up knuckles. “Whatever.” 

Sodapop Curtis -  A small sigh leaves your lips as Soda buries his face in your chest, arms wrapped tightly around your middle, tears cascading down his cheeks as he struggles for air.  It pains you to see him like this, his usual bright smile replaced with a look of pure anguish, silent sobs racking his body. You rub slow circles against his back, mumbling soft words of reassurance into his ear as he clings to your shirt. “I don’t understand,” he gasps, his voice thick with emotion. “Why can't they just get along? They never used to be like this. A shudder runs through him, and you tighten your hold on him, rocking him a bit back and forth as he cries. “Shh, Soda, hey, you need to breathe,” you murmur soothingly, combing your fingers through his hair. “You’re gonna make yourself sick.” You press a soft kiss to the top of his head, hushing him quietly as his cries gradually abate.  “I just want them to get along.” Soda whispers brokenly, burying his face against your collarbones. “I'm tired of being made to pick sides. I don't wanna be in the middle all the time.” You hum sympathetically, shifting slightly so that you can wrap both arms around him and pull him as close as physically possible. Soda melts into your touch, relaxing fully against you. You can tell he's exhausted, both emotionally and physically.  "I hate it.” He sounds miserable. “All they do is yell at each other. Darry is way too hard on Pony, and Pony's trying his hardest, but he can only take so much–" Soda stops abruptly, his breath hitched in his throat as another sob tears from him, wracking his body. His grip tightens around your middle and your heart clenches painfully at the sight.  “I just want things to go back to normal.” You give a slow nod, closing your eyes. “I know, I know. It'll be okay.” You press another gentle kiss to his temple and run your hands slowly up and down his spine, trying to offer as much comfort as you can. He relaxes under your touch, melting further into you as he tries to take deep, steady breaths, struggling to control himself.  You tilt his chin up so that he's looking at you once more, running your thumb over his cheek. “I love you, you know” “Mm,” he hums, blinking rapidly to rid his vision of the last remnants of tears. His eyes meet yours, and even though his gaze is glassy and filled with sadness and pain, his expression is soft and tender. “Love you too.”

Ponyboy Curtis -  You're sitting in the lot, your jacket pulled tightly around you, when you hear the sound of approaching footsteps. You stiffen and turn sharply, expecting to see a group of drunken socs or the odd greaser looking for trouble, only to come face to face with none other than Ponyboy Curtis. He has tears streaming down his cheeks, his hair mused as he all but throws himself at you, shoulders shaking and chest heaving. You don’t speak a word as you pull him into your arms, rubbing your hands over his shoulders in an attempt to calm him. His head comes to rest on your shoulder, one fist clutching the front of your sweater as tight as possible, the other hanging uselessly by his side. For several moments, he sits in silence, letting you hold him while he finally manages to collect himself. Then he pulls back, wiping furiously at his face. “Sorry…” You don’t miss the way he averts his gaze from you as he speaks, refusing to make eye contact. “Didn't mean to bother you; I just—”  You shake your head, interrupting him. “There’s no reason for you to apologise.” You pause, considering for a long moment before continuing. “What's up?”  He exhales shakily, then hesitantly meets your gaze again. “I—Darry yelled at me again. He got real mad this time.” His voice cracks, and you pull him close once more. You know Darry’s been harder on him as of late, expecting too much of a boy Pony’s age. You know he means well, but you also know the toll it’s been taking on the younger Curtis brother and how difficult these past few weeks have been for him.  “Sometimes I don't think Darry likes me very much.” You can hear the vulnerability in his tone, unable to miss how broken he appears. He's not crying anymore; if anything, he looks a little embarrassed and ashamed. You frown, brushing his damp bangs from his forehead. “Don't be ridiculous.” Your tone is firm, determined to keep him from ever getting caught up in that dark spiral. “He cares about you a whole lot.” “He's got a funny way of showin' it.” Pony grumbles softly, and you can't help but laugh at his bluntness, wrapping your arms tighter around him. “I wish he'd be nicer. I really don't like all the fighting we do.” “I know. But it'll get easier.” You look down at him. “If you want, I can go talk some sense into him.” That earns you a smile as Ponyboy nods, squeezing you a little tighter. “Good luck. I doubt he’ll listen.” You press a quick kiss to his forehead, smiling softly. “I’ll try my best.”

Johnny Cade -  Arms circle around your waist, gripping onto you tightly as you comb your fingers through his tangled, and still heavily greased, hair. Johnny’s head rests in your lap, eyes squeezed shut as he tries desperately to fall into some sort of relaxed state, but he just can't seem to find the will within himself to do so. You watch him silently, running a finger absently along his jawline, taking in the bruises and cuts littering his face and arms. He looks worn thin and broken; his cheeks are tear-stained and hollowed by exhaustion. His breathing remains unsteady and uneven, his skin pale, and you can't help but reach out and brush the pad of your thumb across the faint lines beneath his eyes, your brow furrowing deeply. He flinches slightly but doesn’t open his eyes, his breath hitching. “Sorry,” You whisper, going back to smoothing your hand over his hair. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”  Johnny lets out a soft sigh, leaning his forehead against your stomach. “S' okay…” He shifts a little closer to you, reaching for your hand and lacing your fingers together. “...just glad yer here.” You bite your lower lip, tracing patterns into the back of his hand with your thumb, pressing soft kisses against his forehead as you let him snuggle closer, relishing in the simple closeness of it all. It eases your nerves knowing he's safe with you and calms the storm raging inside of you. Your mind wanders back to earlier, the images of him lying, half-dead, in that field flashing unbidden through your mind.   It takes a lot to make Johnny Cade cry, but the second you had knelt down beside him and pulled him into your arms while the gang huddled about you, his composure had completely crumbled. Sobs had wracked his body, shaking his entire frame, and you could do nothing but hold him until he had finally calmed down. And now, here he was, curled up into your embrace, clinging to you like a lifeline. Every little noise made him jump, every sudden movement made his muscles tense, and your heart ached for him. You wanted so badly to make everything better, but there was nothing you could do. All you could do was stay there, holding him as he cried, wishing that there was something you could do besides sit by and whisper softly to him. But, you know, right now, just you being there is enough for him.

𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬!!

[fear-is-truth]

˖˚⊹ 𝓙’s note: was supposed to post this on thanksgiving but i was so busy.. warnings: teasing. dirty talk. nsfw

thanksgiving dinner at your house was supposed to be an uneventful family affair. but this year was different. this year, your boyfriend was sitting next to you at the table, looking every bit like the golden boy your mum had immediately adored and your dad had reluctantly accepted.

rafe was playing his part perfectly; dressed in a crisp button-down and wearing a smile that could sell water to a fish. meanwhile, you were doing your best to focus on your plate and not what was going on under the table. you should’ve known the moment he slid his hand onto your thigh, fingertips tracing patterns over your skin, inching under the hem of your skirt. his face was the picture of innocence as he joined in on the conversation with your dad about golf or whatever they were talking about.

then your aunt asked you a question—something about work—and you forced a smile, answering as best as you could, but rafe chose this exact moment to press two fingers between your folds, where the fabric was most soaked and began to rub. you shot him a glare, but rafe didn’t even blink. if anything, he looked smug. he leaned back in his chair, pretending to be engrossed in the conversation, while his fingers busied themselves by pushing aside your panties, gathering the arousal to drag it against your clit. “stop,” you hissed through a forced smile. your mum was directly across from you, and the last thing you needed was her noticing.

when it was rafe’s turn to say what he was thankful for, you almost sighed in relief, thinking maybe he’d finally behave. he leaned back in his chair. “well,” he started. “i’m thankful for a lot of things—this amazing meal, for starters.” your mum beamed at that. “but mostly, i’m thankful for her.” his eyes flicked to you, and your stomach flipped. “for putting up with me, for always having my back, and for being the best thing to ever happen to me.”

the room erupted in a chorus of “awwws” and clinking glasses, and you felt your face heat up as everyone turned to look at you. rafe’s hand—the one farther from you—reached across his plate, wrapping around yours before giving it a gentle squeeze. his thumb brushed over your knuckles in an outwardly sweet and reassuring gesture, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth told an entirely different story. he leaned in and for a split second, you thought he was going to kiss you—right there, in front of your whole family. instead, his lips hovered at your ear, “and i can’t be thankful enough for that sweet pussy of yours.”

your fork clattered against your plate as you choked on absolutely nothing. rafe went right back to eating like he hadn’t just destroyed you with one sentence. you couldn’t even look him in the eye for the rest of the meal. but the way his hand stayed on your thigh the entire time? you were definitely going to have words with him later.

[peanutpinet]

You Are Loved - Sylus x Insecure Fem Reader

Prompt: “I’m going to prove everyone who made you feel like you don’t deserve love that they’ve been so, so fucking wrong. And I’m going to make you understand that you deserve so much more than you realise.”

Prompt is from: @dumplingsjinson

Blurb: When you thought that you were not worthy of love and are always worried that you would get hurt in the process, Sylus proves you wrong

Trope: I don't really believe in love girl x let me show you what love is guy

Warnings: Light angst, insecurity, soft and loving Sylus, reassurance

Disclaimer: I do not own the images nor the characters or you (the MC). All images were taken from Pinterest and credits go to the images' respective owners.

“You’re dozing off again, is something wrong, sweetie?” Sylus pointed out as the two of you had dinner together

You immediately snapped out and looked at Sylus, reassuring him. “No, no. Just work…yeah” you went back to look at your food and started to pick at it which didn’t go unnoticed by Sylus

Sylus let out a sigh and used his hands to stop you from picking at your food. Instead, he interlaced his fingers with you, rubbing your knuckles. “Hey, tell me. What’s wrong? What’s in that pretty head of yours, hmm?”

You honestly didn’t want to admit what you were thinking. It was silly and you were being insecure because Sylus was your first-ever boyfriend. Sure, you were aware with love, the idea of dating from the books you read, movies you watched but when you’re the one who’s actually going on a date with your boyfriend, it just feels off.

“Hey…” Sylus called out to you again, rubbing your knuckles and getting your attention

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to doze off again. Umm, what were you saying?” I asked, trying to get into the conversation

“Something is on your mind. What’s wrong, sweetie?” Sylus asked, gripping my smaller hand tenderly but firmly at the same time while you tried to avoid his gaze because you knew that if you did, you would actually give in and admit what was wrong

“Sweetie?” Sylus called you again, his grip a bit tighter but not too much that it would hurt you. “Tell me, why are you picking on your food, avoiding eye contact with me? Did I do something wrong?” Sylus asked as you immediately shook your head

“Then? What is it, sweetie? Do I really need to use my aether core and look into your mind? You know that I can do it but I’m not out of respect for your boundaries” Sylus added on, getting a little frustrated on why you wouldn’t tell him what was going on

“Sometimes I just wonder…” you started, trying to unscramble the words to create a concrete sentence while Sylus rubbed your knuckles with his thumb, reassuring you that he’s not going to judge you. “Go on, sweetie. What do you often wonder, hmm?”

You took another deep breath, not wanting to meet Sylus’ eyes as you spoke. “I just wonder…what made you pursue me and to keep going until now? You know I’ve never been in a relationship and I’m not someone who seems to be capable for long-term because of trust issues and all”

Hearing your reply, Sylus gripped your hand a bit more comforting instead of tight and rough. “Sweetie, look at me”

You still tried to avoid Sylus’ gaze until you felt his large hands creep under your chin and gently turn your head so that you were facing him. Instead of looking annoyed or angry like he normally does when he’s out, his eyes showed a softer, more vulnerable side of him. One that you almost never saw.

“Is there truly a need for a reason to pursue you other than the fact that I adore you?” Sylus asked, his hand on your chin rubbing your face gently and lovingly to the point you almost leaned into his touch but held back and shook your head. “It’s just weird. You’re practically the most powerful man in the N109 zone, you’re wealthy, and handsome might I add. Why pursue me when you can have many other gorgeous and much more successful girls?”

Sylus felt his heart swell when he heard you put out all the compliments to him. “You really think I’m that handsome?” Sylus smirked as you scoffed, trying to pull your hand but Sylus being Sylus, he wasn’t going to let you go that easily

“Seriously? That’s the only thing you caught when I talk?” Sylus chuckled at your sudden outburst, finding it cute. “I assure you, sweetie, it’s not. But it’s not everyday you call me handsome though I know you thought about it. But for real sweetie, what does all my trait have to do with wanting to pursue you? Why should I pursue other girls when there’s you”

“That’s the thing, Sy. I’m just me. I’m no one special. I’m not even that pretty, not that smart, not a business owner or anything outstanding” you argued back

“But you see, I don’t care about you being someone famous, special, or outstanding. I adore you because you’re you. You’re special to me whether you see yourself as special or not. I adore the way you ramble on about the little things of life. I adore how kind, gentle, and caring you are. I adore how raw and real you are with me. You don’t try to hide your bad side or be fake. You’re always yourself with me and that’s what I adore. You” Sylus reassured you, bringing your hand closer to his face as he kissed each of your knuckles before rubbing them again.

“Sylus…people will talk. Well, people already talk…” you mentioned but didn’t get to continue as Sylus immediately cuts you off

“Let them talk. I don’t give a damn what they say. They can think, assume, or judge the hell they want. But I’m going to prove to everyone who made you feel like you don’t deserve love that they’ve been so, so fucking wrong. And I’m going to make you understand that you deserve so much more than you realise”

“You should know very well that I adore you. There is no love purer than mine” Sylus kissed your knuckles, making sure his lips linger on your skin a bit longer

And somehow, the gentleness of Sylus’ touch and the raw feelings he poured out today brought a sense of relief and reassurance. Bringing a new feeling for you that maybe, for once in your life, it’s okay to be selfish and allow yourself to be loved.

A/N: I hope that you all are well, here is the fic I promised where you, the girl, doesn't really believe in love and Sylus reassures you by asking you to trust him and show you what love truly is :3 xoxo, peanutpinet

[hoshifighting]

hi pumpkin 💞

a m*n gave me the ick earlier and without sharing too much …… i just gotta know how seventeen would take care of their girl & finish her off if they cum before she does 🥲🥺 pls

because i KNOW none of them would leave her hanging ,,,,

WARNINGS: smut, fingering, oral, dirty talk

seungcheol: “fuck… hold on, baby, i got you.” he’s already sliding back down between your legs, face close. might’ve blown his load, but now he’s on a mission. he’ll take his time, lips touching over your clit, tongue working in slow circles until you’re begging for more. and when you finally do cum, he's holding your thighs down, watching your body shake with that smug-ass grin of his. “told you i’d take care of you.”

jeonghan: “damn, didn’t expect you to last so long.” he’ll chuckle, but it’s not long before his hand’s back on you, fingers finding their way between your folds, working you slowly. he’ll tease at first, just to see how much you can take, and when you start squirming.. that’s when he’ll kick it up. his fingers pumping faster, thumb pressing hard against your clit as he whispers shit like, “come on, baby, let go for me. i know you want to.”

joshua: “don’t worry, angel. you’re not going anywhere.” he’s all soft reassurance, but those fingers?AIHUHDUYAGSD skilled. joshua knows exactly how to drag it out for you, knuckles deep, scissoring his fingers while he watches every little expression on your face. he’s patient, cooing little praises like, “you’re doing so good/aww my babyy” while he edges you to that breaking point. he doesn’t stop until you’re gasping, back arched, falling apart in his hands.

jun: “whoops. i’ll make it up to you, i swear.” boy’s quick to dive in with his fingers, but he’s cheeky about it, playing with your clit in a way that’s almost too light, just to see you get desperate. ina second will have fingers pumping fast. and if you think you’re done? not on your life, jun’s going back in for seconds, maybe even thirds, just to make sure you’re fully satisfied.

hoshi: “shit, i came too fast.” he’s a little flustered, but he’s not about to leave you like that. those hands of his are back at work, fingers slipping inside while as he sucks your nipples. he’s got this look, like he’s making up for lost time, whispering breathy encouragements like, “i’ll make you feel good, baby, just trust me.” and when you do cum just fromhis fingers? he’s way too proud of himself, grinning ear to ear like he just won a damn medal.

wonwoo’s all calm about it. “don’t worry, babe. i’ll finish what i started.” fucks you even though he's sensitive as fuck, he’s keeping his eyes locked on yours, watching every twitch—while HE twitches, focused on ur every breath you take as he pulls you right to the edge. no rush, just pure focus. when you finally come, he’s smiling that soft, satisfied smile, like he knew it would happen all along.

woozi: “fuck, i’m sorry. I’ll fix it.” jihoon’s quick to act, fingers already slipping back inside you (those long fingers that always make u cum), determined to make you feel just as good. he’s not saying much, just focusing on you, using every little sound you make to guide him until he’s got you shaking, thighs clenching around his hand as you finally fall apart. then, he just smirks and says, “i would never leave you hanging jagi.”

seokmin: “shit… that was too fast? sorry u look so hot in this bra” but seokmin already on it, no shame. diving back in with his mouth, kissing down your body until his lips wrap around your clit, sucking sloppily until your fingers are pulling his hair, tongue flicking over your clit, fingers thrusting deep, like he’s making up for lost time, making sure you come hard enough to forget he ever finished first.

mingyu: “fuck, didn’t mean to.” he’s a little embarrassed, but he’s so eager to make it up to you. big hands slipping back between your thighs, fingers spreading you open, thumb rubbing slow circles around your clit. starved look, eyes watching the way your hips start rocking. and when you start moaning, he's already hard to fuck you again to orgasm.

minghao: “my bad.” he would continue if he's still hard enough, even if he's overstimulating himself to tears. and he fucks u in a way that’s almost too smooth, knowing exactly how to hit that spot over and over. he’ll just smirk when you actually enjoy it, keeping the rhythm steady until you’re practically wetting the bed. he’s watching, satisfied as hell, whispering, “there you go.”

seungkwan: “shit! okay, okay, i got you, hold up.” full-on recovery mode, determined to make sure you’re not left high and dry. he’s already got his fingers working fast, trying to make up for lost time. “don’t worry, i’ll get you there.” he’s a little frantic at first, but tries to find a good rhythm for you, his fingers slipping as his cum drips from you. fingers pumping fast until you’re clenching around him.

vernon: “oh… uh, sorry.” really chill about it, doesn’t mean he’s not gonna finish what he started. he's going to make his cock go deeper, so you feel the phale all heavy inside you, as he stimulates your nipples and neck—and trust me, with the skilled mouth of his, he will make you cum from this. when you finally cum, he just smirks and says, “knew you’d get there.”

chan: “shit, sorry! lemme take care of you. im sensitive today” baby boy’s all worried, but he’s quick to dive his face between your legs. eating you out, not caring if you're dripping in his cum “you’re so close, i know it,” hyping you up until you’re cumming hard.

[bernardsbendystraws]

Fresh Air

Matt Sturniolo x Reader

Check out my pinned post for more of my writing.

00 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 FINAL

Summary: One night at a party seems to change everything. A strange man with a friendly smile and a sleeve of patchwork tattoos seems to make you feel at home for a change. You're finally happy to have made a good friend to lean on - especially when it comes to your not-so-great relationship with your boyfriend. But what happens if you lean too much...what happens if you fall?

Warnings: 18+. This series contains mature themes, read at your own risk. (SMUT, angst, parental troubles, financial hardships, and more. Don't like, don't read.) This warning is made for all parts.

A/N: To be added to the taglist, send a request in my inbox or comment on the pinned post. I'm far more likely to see requests sent to my inbox.

With love and big tits, Rose.

13: Ready or Not...?

wc: 1000+

It was starting to weigh down on me. Hayden kept giving more clues when talking about his ‘cheating ex girlfriend,’ dropping previous brands I’d worked with, small details that were littered all throughout a quick scan of my social media. People knew. And they were livid. 

“This is so fucking stupid,” I spit, tossing my phone on the couch as I rub my hands over my face. The afternoon sun peeking through the window of Matt’s living room is bothersome, a glare of brightness burning into my face as I readjust again. 

Matt was still in the shower. Nick and Chris sat with me, their jaws dropping as they did some digging on their own phones. Posts, tweets, videos…I was sick of seeing my face attached to such bullshit. 

He cheated too. 

“Can you like…sue for deaf animation of some shit?” Chris says. 

Before I can even think to correct his wording, Nick lets out a deep sigh, disappointed with his tone as he starts to speak, “-defamation, Chris. Not fuckin’ deaf animation.” 

I want to crack a smile at the mishap, but I can’t find it in myself to do anything but stare at the post on my phone. A picture of us that had somehow been spread across the media, one that definitely confirmed we had some sort of relationship. And I knew people were nosy, but how the fuck did they find all this shit? 

Today was supposed to be for relaxing. Matt told me nothing except that I needed to be at his house by noon, but I didn’t even have to do that. Not when I kept spending the night. 

“Hey, you ready?” 

My mouth waters as I look over, seeing Matt shuffling a hand through his damp hair. Part of me thought that once the ‘forbidden’ aspect of our relationship faltered that some of the spark would fade, but I only wanted him more. 

Especially now that I could think freely. And recently, I’d love living in my daydreams, seeing his face, letting myself imagine what more would look like with him. 

Nodding, I get up and shut off my phone without a second thought. 

Those people’s opinions never brought me these types of feelings. No one typing their thumbs on a screen could ever make my stomach feel so fuzzy. 

So, why should I even care? 

___

Music plays through the car with a low volume. The scenery through the windows had passed for a while at this point, miles upon miles passing by in my peripherals. 

I didn’t mind the long drive, it felt good to sit in such a soft silence. We didn’t need to talk. There was no pressure to fill the air with repetitive words, not when we could both just sink into the calmness of each other’s company.

“Where are you even taking me?” I ask. 

Matt shrugs, looking over to me with a small, reassuring smile. An immediate warmth spreads from his touch as his hand lands on my thigh. That’s new. 

“Well,” he says, his fingers gently grasping my thigh, “-I was gonna drive us up to that one viewpoint. I got all the stuff in the trunk, we can just… hangout. Just us.” 

Just us. I really liked the sound of that. My hand floats over top of his, hesitating before I caress over his knuckles. “I like that idea,” I smile. 

Matt gives my thigh another squeeze, quickly glancing over to me as he pulls off on the side of the road, “Good. We’re here.” 

Before I even have the chance to react, Matt puts the car in park, clicking the release mechanism for my seatbelt. The strap slides off my body. I look over, seeing his eyes gazing into mine with uncertainty hidden behind the familiar pale blue. 

“I was, uh,” he slowly pulls his own seatbelt off, his eyes never leaving mine, “-was gonna pop the trunk and…’’ 

His words falter to silence. I lean slightly over the console, pushing myself towards him and smirking as his eyes widen. “And?” I urge. 

The comfortable air has shifted into something tense, but not in a bad way. In fact, it feels really good - really, really good. 

Matt’s lips smack together. He swallows hard, clearing his throat as he shifts his gaze to his lap. “I…stop lookin’ at me like that,” he sighs beneath his breath, the tone of his voice making some sort of pride swell in my chest as I relax back into the seat. 

“Hm, my bad,” I hum. 

Matt clicks his tongue along the roof of his mouth. “Hold on a sec,” he mutters, climbing out of the car, popping open the trunk and starting to shuffle around. The slight movement and audible noises make my mind race. What is he doing? What’s he planning? 

My heart nearly jumps out of my chest as he abruptly opens my door. He looks down at me with an apologetic smile, grasping my hand gently as he helps me out of the car. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just… I’m excited for you to see this.” 

Curiosity looms over my shoulder as I follow his footsteps, his hand squeezing mine as we come to a halt just before the trunk of the car comes into view. 

“Okay, I just - don’t judge me. I mean, I don’t think you will, actually, I kinda doubt you will since you’ve never really done that before and you… I guess you just… well,” he rambles, his face furrowing as he looks around aimlessly, “- not like any sort of bad thing but I,”

“Hey,” I cut off, bringing my free hand to ruffle his hair, petting down his arm for reassurance, “-you don’t worry so much, it’s just me. It’s just us,” I remind. 

The statement seems to give him some comfort. Matt sighs, nodding as he tugs me even closer behind him. My stomach is swirling with anticipation, the glint of excitement in his eyes twinkling as he mutters one soft word; 

“Ready?”

A/N: OH SHIT I KNOW SOMETHING YOU DON'T!!!! (ily im sorry matt sturniolo taught me everything i know about edging, blame him.) Anyhow - any interation is appretiated! LMK UR THOTS!!!

[fungateshortcakes]

Fight or flight (Logan Howlett x Reader)

Summary: Your sister invited you and your husband Logan to her wedding! Too bad that the wedding was held in your hometown, which was days away from america if you drove by car. There was no other option than to use a plane - Logan wasn't exactly thrilled about it.

Warnings: implied sexual themes (Blowjobs, anal fingering), flight anxiety, possible spelling mistakes bc english Isn't my first language, overall just comforting fluff

Wordcount: 1.1k

Authors note: Does anyone want to peg Logan? Or have some sub!Logan stuff in general? I would write something like that because I have seen so little fics of it, but that makes me wonder if that’s even something people want :/ #JusticeForSubLogan

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Logan hated this, he was only doing it for you. Your sister was getting married tomorrow and invited you and Logan to take part at the ceremony. Very nice of her, that also wasn't the issue. The problem was - she was getting married in your hometown, which was days away from america if you drove by car.

So that's why Logan found himself in a plane that was just about to take off.

You had booked a three-seat row to be a bit more comfortable on the eight-hour flight. You could store your bags on the empty middle seat between you and Logan to have free range of motion for your feet and legs. While you sat at the window, he was the furthest away from it. He couldn't bear to see the ground thousands of feets below you, it made his skin crawl.

He had fastened the seatbelt to the point where it was noticeably too tight against his abdomen, but it gave himself a sense of security. That and his right hand clawing at the arm rest while his left hand was crushing squeezing yours as if he was pushing out a baby. He certainly breathed like that was happening right now.

"Relax, the plane hasn't even started to move yet" you giggled softly, wincing at his strong grip. It definitely was a sight to see your husband all tense and stiff next to you, his chest heaving like he had run a marathon. It was amusing and pitiful at the same time.

He gritted his teeth and huffed, trying to calm himself. "We're gonna crash" he pressed out, looking down to his feet. "We are not gonna crash" you told him, squeezing his hand in reassurance. You knew about his past regarding planes and flying in general, that it was traumatic for him. Not to mention his fear of hights that made him feel anxious like nothing else. He felt sick to the stomach, like he was about to throw up. His chest was thight and he couldn't help the laboured breaths escaping him. You weren't doing this to see him suffer, but you weren't about to travel for a week by car and boat just to be at your sisters wedding for a day and traveling back for a week to america.

You lifted his hand up to your lips, kissing his knuckles soothingly. "Nothing will happen to you, nothing will happen to me. I promise"

He scoffed. "I hate you for putting me through this"

You nodded your head and leaned over to kiss his cheek. "I know" you cooed. "Don't think I am doing this for fun. But at least she is my only sister to get married, so when we are back in america, you won't have to set foot in a plane for a long while, okay?"

Your words only did a little to sooth his nerves, but he nodded his head anyway. It was one, sharp nod followed by a thick swallow. Logan jumped as the plane started moving suddenly, getting out of his parking spot and heading to the departure zone. He pressed his eyes shut and held his breath, mumbling something to himself you couldn't make out.

You rubbed your hand up and down his arm, softly shushing him. You felt a bit useless in this situation. You wanted to help him, but there was no way you could. Nothing you would say would take his fear and anxiety away, but you were determinded to make it better.

The closer the plane got to the departure zone, the faster was Logans breathing. A few flight attendents passing through had been worried about him, asking if he needed something. But he was so scared he couldn't even answer nor look at them.

"First time flying" you lied awkwardly and asked for a pair of earplugs for him. They were brought to you shortly before the plane was starting to become faster, speeding down the lane and picking up the pace. Logan was busy doing some breathing excercises so he wouldn’t completely pass out. That would have been a better option though, because the second the plane took off and gained more and more distance from the ground, his ears ached like a dagger had been rammed into one ear and went out the other. He hissed deeply at the change of pressure, his grip on the armrest nearly cracking the plastic. For others, the pressure gave them a mild headache, but with his heightened sense of hearing, this was torture, like his skull was slowly ripping apart at the seams.

You shoved your bags on the middle seat under your feet and put the armrests up between the seats so you could pull Logans head closer to you. You twisted the earplugs into his ears and held his head against your chest, one arm looped back over his shoulder and covering his eyes, the other on his chest, feeling the strong and erratic thumpthumpthump of his heart. You kissed the crown of his head, your hand moving from his heart to his arm, softly rubbing and squeezing. He whined softly in your grip at the pain the change of pressure brought him. It was still there, but not as bad.

"Shh, I know. It's gonna be over soon. I won't ever take you on a plane again, I'm so sorry" you whispered to him. "Once that wedding is over and we get to the hotel room, I'm gonna make you re-live our own honeymoon. Gonna make you feel good, I'm gonna make you cum so much to make you forget this experience. I want to make it up to you, baby" you cooed into his ear, your quiet voice only muffled, but he heard you anyway. The image of you handling his cock flashed across his mind. When you were really into pleasuring him, nothing could pull your mouth off his dick. You would be busy devouring him, a few fingers loosening up his tight hole while your tounge circled the throbbing, angry red tip of his cock, making him cum his brains out by just pressing the pads of your fingers against that delicious sweet spot inside him. And you wouldn't stop until he only remembered your name.

He shuddered in your grasp and only a small smile pulled at his lips. Well, at least there was something to look forward to. And he was sure you'd pamper him for fighting through this.

As the plane was at it's desired height, his headache lessened and you were able to let him go to sit up straight again, but not before he gave you a soft, thankful kiss. He was a bit calmer now, not as rigid anymore. All thanks to you. He could do this...but only if you continued to hold his hand and smile at him as if there was not a single thing to worry about in this world.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

congrats on reaching 750 !!

I know this is pretty much established, but i know Jason is very VERY touchy and feely. like always a hand holding the waist, rubbing skin, lightly drawing circles, lips ghosting over skin- ARR IM CRAZY FOR HIM

Skin to Skin

Hi, nonnie, thank you! Ah, this headcannon reminded me of one of my older WIPs, and I literally ran to edit it. So, yes, 100% agree! It's popular for good reason. :)

~300 words

Jason Todd loves to touch you. It's a reassurance to feel you warm and moving beneath his fingertips. Jason Todd loves to touch you, but more than that, he loves skin to skin.

He loves it when you're close enough that you can lean into his side, and he can hook an arm around your waist. He loves to slip his hand below your shirt to palm your hip. (It's worth the swat he gets to his chest for his cold hands)

He loves it when you're cuddling and your face is pressed to his throat, lips hovering over his pulse. He knows you do it to convince yourself that he's safe, that he's alive. The feeling makes him greedy for more, and he'll cup the back of your head to press you more firmly against him.

He loves it when you come up behind him in the kitchen, lazily slipping your arms around his sides to hug him. He gives a wide smile you can't see as he cooks, but he knows you feel him shiver as you fingers dip under his clothes to rest over his navel. He thinks it's the best kind of distraction.

He loves to linger in your presence, the smell of your skin, the shine in your eyes, but it's your touch that's the most addicting. He doesn't think you realize it, the power that you have with one brush of your fingers over his knuckles. It could drive him to his knees. It could make him burn cities to the ground in your name.

Maybe he's a little crazy. Maybe it's a little obsessive, how he's always reaching for you. But you don't seem to mind, you're always reaching for him too. Always threading your hands together, hooking your arms as you walk side by side, throwing a leg over his as you sit on the couch.

No, you don't seem to mind at all when he's digging his fingers into your waist and chasing your mouth for another kiss.

[sunniepoo]

Hii sweetie 🫶🏻 I was wondering if you could write something about stepbro!rafe teaching her stepsis about sex and stuff, telling her it's normal to do this thing and everything.. thanks in advance love!!

ugh yess!!thinking about this being a post-sex convo where you start feeling guilty about it and he has to manipulate reassure you

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you’ve always has an inkling that what you had been doing with your stepbrother was wrong and despite how good he made you feel, how far he made your eyes roll back - there was always a little voice in your head discouraging you; telling you that this wasn’t right

‘th-this is all natural-’ he would ramble, going on about how this is his role and purpose as the man of the house, making sure that you knew all of this and how ‘no one else would understand’

it was hard because as much as you trust rafe’s word, you couldn’t ignore the pit in your stomach, after every long night of him pounding into your cunt, nagging at you that this was disgusting - you were disgusting

and that’s how you found your usual bubbly demeanour gone as the older boys large amount of seed drips out of you, coating your thighs with pale white colour - the warm liquid reminding you of your shame or lack of. you didn’t even register the presence of rafe’s large figure slowly cleaning you up, how could he be so casual?

“what s’mthin wrong?” he queries, large palms coming up to massage your sore body, confused by the sudden change in atmosphere “hm? c’mon kid you gotta talk if you want me to help”

“d’you feel like we’re doing something wrong….something bad” the question blankets the room, clouding the room with a sense of uncertainty

“what” the older cameron deadpans, response coming out more icy than you expected “wh-what wh-where is this coming from…what are you even talking about” eyebrows furrowing with every word, showing his clear confusion and worry, mind lingering on the question ‘why are you having second thoughts?’

“just feels like this is wrong sometimes” hands reaching up to rub at your forehead, eyes planted at the side of the bed “why are you saying this,did someone say something…..hm?” he was stressed now, not at the idea of you two getting caught but more so the idea of you backing out of this situation he had carefully established

“no no no… no one’s said anything,no one knows, just feel like this whole things a bit wrong sometimes - like i should be ashamed for doing this…for doing you”

the room falls into a moment of silence, the blonde in front trying to process what you’ve just said, he can’t help but smirk a little, lips curling upward- you’re worried about being a dirty little girl, it was laughable to him because you don’t understand it like he does, you’re his dirty little girl

“look… this-“ he begins, one hand waving between the two of you signaling his words,as he sits beside you “i-it’s complicated, and people won’t understand cause they j-just can’t think like we do, but what we have- it’s normal”

“without me to teach you all of this kid, shiit, you’d be lost” words coming out with a breathy laugh “you’d be stuck with some loser who wouldn’t know what he’s doing, leaving you all wet and needy” you nearly flinched at the way his hand traced up your thigh fingers toying around with your sensitive clit, causing you to grab his wrists

he shrugs you off with ease, fingers continuing their teasing motion “y’wouldn’t like that, would you kid” you were so so sensitive, his hands causing you to whine and squirm “n-no rafey” your words come out with a moan “yeah you see that’s why i’m here, to teach you - fill my role as a good stepbrother to you..m’kay” and before you could respond, one fingers already made its way knuckles deep into you, torturing your already worn out cunt

“now why don’t we have another lesson?”

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[mrsimpurity]

period sex with logan

cw: smut (nsfw), p in v, mentions of blood

a/n: this is a little self-indulgent, forgive me <3

“lo, are you sure? it’s gonna be messy.” you ask, nervously fiddling with the hem of your t-shirt. you had no idea that a complaint to your boyfriend about your period cramps would lead to him proposing something like this.

“hey, i told you it’s alright. just wanna make my baby feel good.” logan reassures, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. he grabs the waistband of your shorts and gently takes them off, positioning himself between your legs. you watch him with adoring eyes, unable to comprehend just how much love this man must have for you to not feel grossed out by this. logan senses your stiffness and stops himself, reaching for your hand and running a thumb across your knuckles.

“you don’t have to feel weird about this. i promise you, it’s fine. and it’ll help my girl feel better, yeah?” logan puts his palm on your tummy, rubbing soothing circles. he places one last kiss on your lips and you smile against his mouth, melting at the comforting nature of his words.

logan finally takes his cock out of his briefs and stretches his hand out towards your face. you look up at him through your eyelashes as he smirks, watching you spit in his palm. he wraps the hand around the base of his length and gives himself a few pumps before he spreads your legs, your knees on either side of his frame. he teases, rubbing the tip of his cock on your clit, and you let out a soft whimper at the friction. logan chuckles quietly, slowly nudging his head inside your pussy. he goes easy on you, gradually sinking his cock inside you until he bottoms out. 

his thrusts start out gentle, the blood smearing on his girth but allowing for easier movement. your moans get louder as he picks up the pace. your hand reaches for your tits, pulling your t-shirt up to play with your nipples. logan pulls out completely and slams his cock back inside you, his length covered in your blood and arousal as the head of his cock hits that spongy spot inside you with each of his visceral thrusts.

“fuck, lo, right there.” you whine out, desperate for more contact as your fingers pinch and tease at your nipples, tits bouncing from the vigor logan’s rolling his hips into you with. his hand moves underneath your head to hold you by the nape. logan slams his lips on yours, his movements never faltering as his cock thrusts inside your pussy. you moan into the kiss, his fingers reaching down to rub your clit. your walls clench around him and you shut your eyes as your head falls back, further basking in this moment of pleasure. logan places a few sloppy kisses on the column of your throat, thrusting inside you at a brutal pace.

“close, logan. ‘m so close.” you moan out, panting into his mouth as his thrusts get faster and harder. you reach for him, tightly wrapping your arms around his frame, pulling his body even closer to yours as you cum around his cock. 

“that’s it, doll.” logan murmurs reassuringly with a gentle tease to your swollen nub, listening to your delicious whimpers. his release comes soon after as your gummy walls clench around him, your moaning in his ear driving him crazy. with a grunt, he cums inside you, his seed coating the inside of your pussy. you hold onto him as the two of you ride out your high, your breathing fast and eyes drowsy. logan’s lips find yours again, his tongue entering your mouth with his cock still buried inside you. you break the kiss with a bite to his lower lip, giggling as you stare into his eyes with appreciation. logan doesn’t break eye contact, only listens to your desperate sigh as he slowly pulls out of you, his cock covered in cum and blood.

but he doesn’t complain. he simply nudges you to raise your arms, taking your t-shirt off in one swift motion, and gently picks you up from the bed. 

“let’s clean you up, baby.” logan says as he places a kiss to the crown of your head, the sound of his voice muffled by your hair. then he leads the two of you into the bathroom. 

and he still doesn’t complain, even when you doze off in the bathtub, still enveloped in his warm, big arms, his loving voice doing what it does best - lull you to sleep.