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piastriprincess · 2 days ago

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under an april sky ⸻ oscar piastri x reader .

featuring oscar piastri , driver!reader , she fell first he fell harder , first kiss . word count 1.3k author’s note when the lovely @tsunodaradio requests extras i give them extras ! kae you are an angel and i’m endlessly grateful everytime i see your name in my dms or inbox <3 this scene was originally written as the last part of the birthday build - a - fic , but i liked the more ambiguous ending at the photoshoot . i was so sad to cut her originally so i’m glad i got to rework her a little and she’s finally seeing the light of day !! this can be read as a standalone but i recommend reading orange show speedway first for context . and because i can’t leave these two alone … another little blurb is in the works hopefully coming out this weekend heehee ! title is from apple pie , also by lizzy mcalpine !

You really shouldn’t be awake.

It’s just past midnight — the witching hour, your mother used to call it. The term makes the crisp desert air feel heavy with meaning and magic, even if it’s just another chilly April night in a city that’s not your own. The hotel pool is empty this late, steam rising off the water as the underwater lights cast rippling turquoise motifs over the concrete. You sit at the edge, slipping your bare legs into the balmy water, and trace absentminded patterns over the surface with your fingertips.

You have a race tomorrow. You have a curfew. You should be tucked soundly away in bed by now. But sleep has been elusive ever since the photoshoot, since Oscar’s words hung in the air between you like something fragile and precious you didn’t dare touch.

You didn’t even have to try, and it was hard not to look at you.

It’s hard to shut off your brain when the line runs through your mind approximately seven thousand times a day. Every time you manage to calm your restless thoughts enough to drift off, your dreams are still filled with blushing cheeks and phantom honey-brown eyes.

It’s been nearly six weeks since the sentence that turned your world on its axis, and things between you and Oscar have shifted in a way that you wouldn’t have believed if you weren’t living it. The crush you once thought was hopelessly one-sided suddenly has company. Where you once got polite smiles and friendly professionalism, now you get the kind of attention that makes you a little dizzy. He lingers by the Racing Bulls garage so much that your engineers have started jokingly speculating he’s trying to commit team espionage. Sometimes, you catch him looking for you in the crowds, like he’s not quite settled unless he knows where you are. Your text conversations have evolved from race talk to everything and anything else — late night debates about music, complaints about the paddock lunches, inside jokes that make your heart kick wildly in your chest.

Even with all the obvious affection, though, he hadn’t made a move. Not a real one. Sure, he’d let your knees knock together in driver’s briefings, brushed his hand over yours when he passed you things, smiled at you in that soft, boyish way of his. But there’d been no kiss, no confession. No moment you could point to as the stepping stone from almost to something more. It’s worse in a way, watching someone you’ve quietly pined over for months reciprocate at a careful distance, like he’s running the numbers in his head about whether or not it would ruin something to want you this much.

Still, you were trying very hard not to be greedy. Whatever you had with Oscar now was already more than you’d ever expected to get.

“Thought I might find you here,” someone says, and for a moment you think you’ve really gone off the deep end with the feelings and started hallucinating his voice in your head. But when you glance over your shoulder at the door, there’s Oscar in an oversized hoodie and shorts, hair damp and curling around his ears the way you like it best, eyes warm and familiar.

“How did you know?”

“You told me you like hotel pools,” he replies, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like it wasn’t something you mentioned offhandedly weeks ago when you first started texting, about how you used to sneak up with a book for peace and quiet while the boys you karted with drank warm beer and roughhoused in their hotel rooms. You never expected him to remember it. It makes something warm bloom in your chest. “Can I —”

“Stay,” you say a little too quickly. His eyes widen slightly, pleased, and you can feel your cheeks heat up under his gaze. “I-I mean, if you want,” you stammer. “You’re not bothering me.”

His smile is impossibly soft. “Okay.”

He sits next to you, feet in the water, close enough that you can smell the sweet scent of his deodorant. When his pinky brushes against yours, you don’t pull away, even when your heart beats so hard it feels like it’s chafing against your ribs. The silence between the two of you is comfortable, easy. The kind of quiet you could make a home in.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” you ask finally, watching the waves lap against the wall.

Oscar kicks at the water gently, sending ripples splashing over your legs. “Too wound up, I guess.”

“Big race tomorrow,” you say, swirling your foot in circles as you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “Chance for the championship lead.”

He sighs, ruffling a hand through his hair. And then his eyes dart unmistakably towards you, with an expression that looks almost longing. “That’s not what’s keeping me up.”

You try not to blush under his gaze, but it’s a losing battle. “Then what is?”

There’s silence, for a long moment. And then:

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Oscar says desperately, and his voice is so raw that it makes something in your chest twist and snap. “About this. About us. I mean, you hate the attention, and the media would have a field day, start dissecting every little interaction between us, and I don’t know how I could protect you from that. And there’s the team politics to consider. And what if I’m not good enough at striking the balance, what if I have to choose between being a good driver and being a good boyfriend —”

“Oscar —”

“— and I like you so much and I don’t want to do anything that would ruin it, and I keep thinking maybe it’s smarter to wait or keep things the way they are even if it kills me to pretend it doesn’t mean what it means to me, and —”

Enough is enough. You lean forward and press your lips to his.

The boldness shocks you, even as you do it. Apparently it surprises Oscar too, because he stills completely for a moment before he melts into the kiss, letting out a soft sigh against your mouth that has your pulse going haywire under your skin. His hand comes up to cradle your face, the other resting on your thigh like he’s trying to steady himself. It’s everything you imagined and nothing like it at all. No dream could have captured the way his lips move against yours, hesitant at first and then deeper, more certain, like he’s been waiting for it as long as you have.

When you finally pull away, he looks slightly dazed, cheeks pink even in the pale blue light. “Oh.”

You smile at him broad and sublimely happy, forehead pressed against his. “Oh?”

“I — That was —” Oscar blinks, hard, like he’s trying to reboot his brain. “Sorry — what was I saying?”

His eyes are wide, awed nearly, and he’s looking at you like you’re something incandescent. You giggle, the soft sound echoing off the tiles. “You were overthinking a little bit.”

He grins sheepishly at you, pink creeping up his neck as the last dregs of uncertainty in his eyes give way to something steady. “I’d say I’m sorry, but… kind of hard to be upset with the result,” he says, intertwining his fingers into yours.

You kind of forget how to form sentences at that. You’re sure you would blush or smile stupidly or say something terribly awkward, if he wasn’t leaning in to kiss you again, slow and sure like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of your mouth against his.

Much, much later, you sneak back to your room with Oscar’s sweatshirt draped around your shoulders and the taste of his smile still on your lips. You drift off easier than you have in months, sleep sound and untroubled.

There’s no need to dream anymore. Not when you have the real thing right in front of you.

#f1 #f1 x reader #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri fluff #f1 imagine #oscar piastri #f1 driver x reader #f1 driver x you #oscar piastri x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #❀ my work .

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rainrot4me · 2 days ago

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hey I saw your Jeff headcannons about reader wearing red-- I was wondering. if reader was wearing something revealing that is of a specific color, what specific color would get the creeps/proxies hot and bothered? and would they hit on reader? if so, what would they say?

Hoping to see Hoodie and Eyeless Jack on here.

YEAHHAHAHAH okay let’s hit it.

✦ . jeff the killer

Deep Red or Jet Black.

Revealing + red is a double hit—blood and sex, all in one look. Black? Even worse. It’s sleek, dangerous, makes him stare. Heaven forbid it be a mesh material.

“Damn, you tryna kill me lookin’ like that?”

Leans close, cocky grin spreading,

“Or are you just begging for trouble, sweetheart?”

He will hit on you, zero shame, 100% wolfish energy. You might catch him staring with his tongue against his teeth, like he’s deciding whether to flirt or take a bite.

✦ . ticci toby

Dusty Rose or Muted Lavender.

Soft, gentle colors against revealing fabric? He doesn’t know what to do with himself. It makes him short-circuit. The contrast between innocence and skin is too much.

Half-stammering, eyes darting away,

“Y-You… uh… did you mean to wear that?”

A beat,

“…not that I’m complaining or anything—! I mean. Shit.”

He might not flirt directly, but the flushed cheeks, nervous glances, and restless hands say everything. Catch him staring? He’ll deny it. Loudly.

✦ . eyeless jack

Ivory or Cream.

Something clean, soft, pure, on a body that’s definitely not innocent. The juxtaposition ruins him. It’s the one time he’ll lose composure.

“You know what that kinda thing does to me… and you wore it anyway.”

Voice low, fingers twitching like he’s restraining himself,

“You’re cruel.”

He’s usually composed. But this? This makes him lean in closer, his tone turns low, slow, dangerous. He’s practically drooling by the time he’s on you.

✦ . masky (tim wright)

Dark Navy or Charcoal Gray.

He’s turned on by control and authority, so when the reader wears something revealing in his colors, it hits a nerve. Those tones scream tension, power, intimacy in all the right ways.

A growl low in his throat,

“You look like sin.”

Lets his hand ghost just above your skin,

“You wanna get punished wearing shit like that in front of me?”

He’s direct and dirty, the kind to pull you aside and whisper filth in your ear, just to watch you squirm.

✦ . hoody (brian thomas)

Burnt Orange or Warm Brown.

Earthy tones do something to him. Especially if it’s something soft and draping off your body just enough to reveal skin. Makes him stare like he’s thinking about devouring you and writing an analysis of the experience afterward.

Leans in like he’s studying a rare artifact,

“You’re very… distracting today.”

Smirks,

“Is that intentional? Or are you just that good at making me lose focus?”

He’ll flirt subtly, but intensely. The kind of heat that creeps up on you slowly… and then doesn’t let it go.

✦ . laughing jack

Bright Pink or Soft Blue.

If it’s fun and flirty and a little outrageous? He’s obsessed. Especially if it’s paired with something skimpy and lacy that makes his twisted little heart race. A big fan of ruffles.

Wolf-whistles,

“Now that’s a sight! You got a treat for me, sugarplum?”

Leans way too close, winks,

“Or do I have to earn it?”

He’s over-the-top, dramatic, and hungry. His flirting is loud, inappropriate, and oddly charming if you like chaotic energy.

✦ . clockwork

Gunmetal Gray or Deep Violet.

Strong, commanding, with just the right hint of elegance, it makes her stop mid-step and watch. Add some skin to the equation? She’s on the verge of dragging you away.

Low chuckle,

“Dressed to kill, huh?”

Steps closer, eyes raking down,

“Good. So am I.”

She flirts like she’s holding back a darker hunger. You’ll feel it in the way her gaze lingers and her voice drops. She doesn’t play games, she hunts them.

✦ . ben drowned

Rich Green or Deep Blue.

Anything that screams “digital vixen” makes him glitch. Cropped hoodie? Techwear? Glowing accessories? He’s malfunctioning.

Tongue flicking across his teeth, smirking,

“Is this for me? Or were you just hoping I’d make a fool out of myself?”

Leans in,

“Bet you know just what you’re doing, too.”

He’s playful, smug, and way too smooth. The second you show skin in colors that match his corrupted aesthetic? It’s game over, literally.

✦ . slenderman

White.

Pure. Stark. Clean. It hits him on a level most wouldn’t understand. A creature of shadows drawn to the one color that reflects everything. Revealing white on someone he desires? It tempts him like a challenge.

A psychic pulse you feel in your bones,

“Interesting…”

It’s barely even words, just static echoing in your mind.

He doesn’t flirt, he looms. But if he notices? He’ll make sure you know he noticed. Every breath you take feels like it’s being monitored, and maybe even admired.

꩜ .ᐟ

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twilightofthesandwiches · 23 hours ago

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It's interesting to think that, like... The Dark Sanctuary Dark World in Chapter 4 is the first Dark World we've seen that has no real connection to the theme of 'abandonment'.

Like, Card Kingdom is based on an unused classroom filled with abandoned toys. The entire plotline there revolves around King's anger and resentment at being abandoned by the Lightners and his desire to take revenge.

The computer room that became Cyber World is usually very frequently used, but.... because the Internet is down it's not at the moment. And Queen is driven by the anxiety of being abandoned if this internet shutdown continues, synthesized through her ego in a very "what would the Lightners do without me?" way.

And TV Land is the heaviest on this theme. With Tenna being driven by the grief of falling into disuse due to both technological advancements and the Dreemurr-Holiday Family Unit slow dissolution and the fear that this will get worse and he will be thrown out.

But then in the Dark Sanctuary... The Church is often used by the people of Hometown, this doesn't seem like it's going to change anytime soon and we see no Darkner be anxious about, like, the canceled Choir practice or anything like that. The closest thing we have to a 'leader' in that Dark World is Gerson/the Hammer of Justice, who is clearly a precious and well-loved Monster-Equivalent-of-an-Urn. If anything, his main worry is about him not being there for his Lightner son!

And, like, I said the Hammer of Justice is the closest thing we have to the 'Dark World Leader' slot in the formula seen in the previous three worlds, but that's also not quite the case.... cause he's also the Shadow Crystal Bearer of the same world. If the Hammer is like the Jevil or Spamton of this world, than it doesn't really have a King/Queen/Tenna for itself?

I remember when Chapter 2 came out, I already noticed this 'Abandonment' Pattern and I wondered whatever a Dark World created from objects that are not neglected or abandoned would just be far too.... content to actually have an adventure in it. Like, there would be no one to fight cause all the Darkners would just be chill and happy they're fulfilling their purposes.

And I also wondered if the Dark is, like, attracted to objects which were abandoned or neglected, gives them bigger importance or power in the Dark World. Hence a 'TV Land" instead of a general "Dreemurr House Land", the TV is the most abandoned thing there and so it is granted more focus.

And on that same topic I wondered about the fact Kris deliberately turned on the TV before opening that Dark Fountain. Like they were intentionally trying to aim for a TV Land Dark World.

Obviously the first idea, that non-abandoned Darkners would all just be benign NPCs has been disproved by the Dark Sanctuary, which has it's fair share of enemies to battle. But I think the idea that the Dark gives extra power and importance to things that have been Abandonment might have some merit. Not just with the Dreemurrs' living room being ruled and controlled by their disused old TV but also with the fact there isn't a clearly equivalent to Tenna (or Queen or King) in Dark Sanctuary.

And again, it makes me think of Kris' reasons for turning on the TV... Was it because their plans is to deliberately invoke the prophecy as much as possible and a TV Guy being slashed by the Knight is mentioned so they had to make a TV Guy?

Could they intuit that the Darkner that would be created from the Television would probably be desperate for attention and obsessed with Toriel and thus easier for the Knight to manipulate.... and also maybe that the Abandonment it feels will make it stronger?

(Notable perhaps that they also slightly opened the house's front door before turning on the TV and making a Fountain. In light of the events of Chapter 3, it seems like it was Kris laying a trap to pull Undyne to the Dark World so that the Knight could kidnap her)

Have Kris and/or the Knight have been deliberately seeking out abandoned and disused places that will therefore have stronger 'boss' Darkners that are easier to manipulate towards the Knight's goals?

And if that was the case, why did they stop with the Dark Sanctuary?

Did they just kinda... ran out of obviously abandoned places/things around Hometown?

Was it simply a matter of following the prophecy?

Was it a desperate attempt to re-capture Toriel via the choir practice?

Was the Knight just desperate to open a new Dark Fountain... somewhere and went with the Church as their first opportunity?

Was that pattern I noticed just a coincidence and doesn't actually mean anything?

A lot of things to think about...

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heavenlybodies333 · 17 hours ago

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Everybody knows that I’m a good girl, officer -S.R

Spencer Reid x Hotch’s daughter!reader

The glass was sweating in your hand, condensation trickling down your wrist like a thin warning. “You sure you’re not too young to be drinking that?” the guy beneath you teased, his hand moving a little higher on your bare thigh.

You gave him a slow grin, the kind that got you out of parking tickets and detention slips. “I look young, sure. But I’m legal where it counts.” You wanted him to take the bait—wanted the expensive dinner, the wine list, the academic praise whispered against your neck. Mostly, you just wanted to feel something that wasn't suffocating boredom.

He was laughing at something you said when your smile dropped, your body stiffening like you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to. Because you had.

Your eyes met Emily Prentiss's across the bar.

"Fuck me," you whispered, smoothing down your skirt, trying not to cause a scene and God, could this get any worse?

Oh, wait. Yes. Yes, it could.

Because trailing just a few steps behind was Spencer fucking Reid. Your dad’s favorite subordinate. You saw the exact second he recognized you—his eyebrows arched, and his lips pulled into a smug, knowing half-smile. Like he was already judging you, and maybe enjoying it a little too much.

Of course he’d clocked you the second he walked in. Of course.

You blinked, too stunned to cover your reaction, and immediately scrambled off your date’s lap like you’d sat on something scalding. You turned your back to them quickly, eyes wide as you grabbed your drink and tried to disappear into the crowd.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you muttered, desperately hoping they didn’t recognize you. But you knew Spencer did. He always did.

You felt Morgan's presence next, as unmistakable as thunder. “Look who we found breaking half the laws in this bar,” he drawled, folding his arms across his chest.

You turned around slowly, trying not to look as guilty as you felt. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Emily raised a brow. “You mean it’s not you sitting on some guy’s lap with a vodka cranberry and a fake ID?”

“That’s—okay, fair. But technically—”

Morgan cut in. “Technically, your dad’s gonna be here in fifteen minutes. If you wanna lie, now’s your chance. Otherwise, save it for his interrogation.”

You plastered on your sweetest smile. “Would you believe me if I said I was here studying the effects of alcohol on poor decision-making?”

Morgan didn’t even crack. “Try again.”

You hear Spencer scoff and you turn narrowing your eyes at him as he tilts his head in that deeply annoying, know-it-all way and says, “Well, considering the known clientele here and the likelihood of the unsub being a repeat offender who targets women between the ages of 18 and 22, I’d say your date makes for a rather… convenient alibi. Or accomplice.”

You bristle. “He’s my T.A., not a serial killer.”

“Oh,” Spencer replies, dry. “So, ethics violations. My mistake.”Morgan coughs to cover a laugh, and Emily elbows him.

You mutter under your breath, “You’re insufferable,” loud enough for Spencer to hear.

He smirks, eyes glittering as he says to no one in particular, “Just doing my job. Protect and serve, even the boss’s brat.”

You lunge forward a little, and Emily steps in between you, hands raised. “Okay, children, let’s all relax.” Then Emily leans in. “Please tell me you’re not dating that guy.”

You gave her an apologetic wince. “Worse.”

Her brows furrowed.

“He’s my TA.”

Morgan actually snorted. “Oh, sweetheart.”

Before you could explain yourself—or dig the hole deeper—everything in the bar seemed to pause.

Your stomach dropped.

You turned to see your father enter, his jaw already tight, eyes scanning, calculating—landing directly on you. Holding a drink. Underage. Standing between his agents and a terrified grad student. Oh fuck.

You raised your glass like a white flag. “Hi, Dad.”

His jaw tightens. “Outside. Now.”

Your father’s voice slices through the noise like a blade, and for a second, you wonder if the whole bar just flinched with you.

You’re already moving, muttering a quiet apology to your ex-date as you push past Morgan, Emily, and—of course—Reid, who has the audacity to look amused. His eyes meet yours for half a second before he turns back toward the officers with a casual, “West entrance should be cleared. And someone should probably tell the bartender his license is about to be investigated.”

Prick.

You step out into the night, the air cooler than it felt ten minutes ago. Or maybe it’s just your nerves setting in.

Hotch follows, the door shutting behind him with a heavy thud. You’re already bracing yourself.

“How stupid are you?” he snaps.

You roll your eyes immediately, arms crossing over your chest. “Oh, awesome. We’re starting with that.”

You know that look. That I’m-fighting-every-urge-to-ground-you-until-you’re-30 look. He stares at you, unreadable, like he’s doing the math on what disciplinary action won’t make him look insane in front of his team.

You exhale hard through your nose and shake your head. “I wasn’t even drunk, okay? I wasn’t doing anything illegal except the fake ID, and I wasn’t going to let it get out of hand. You raised me, remember?”

“You think that’s an excuse?” he fires back. “You’re in a bar linked to an active crime scene, drinking underage, with a guy who’s too old for you—”

“He’s my T.A.,” you snap, and immediately regret it.

Aaron Hotchner goes silent. His eyes narrow.

“I’m sorry—he’s your what?”

You cringe. “Look, it’s not like that, we didn’t even sleep together—”

“Oh my God.” He cuts you off, voice low and lethal. “You’re done. Hand it over.”

“What?”

“The ID.”

You scoff, annoyed. “Oh, come on, you can’t just—”

“I can. And I will. Now.”

You mutter a curse under your breath, digging through your purse and slapping the fake ID into his hand. “Here. Confiscate away, Agent Hotchner. Go ahead and pretend you weren’t 20 once.”

He doesn’t react, just stares down at the ID. Then at you. “You’ve got no idea how dangerous that place is tonight.”

“I do, actually,” you snap, tired of him treating you like you’re six. “I listen. You think I don’t know the risks just because I’m not wearing a Kevlar vest?”

He says nothing, and it only pisses you off more.

“I came because I thought I could handle it. I needed a night out. A drink. A distraction.” You pause, swallowing. “Not that you’d understand.”

His expression twitches—just a little—and then softens in a way that only makes you feel worse.

“You should’ve told me.”

You shrug. “You’re never home.”

That lands. His jaw tightens again, but not in anger. Guilt this time.

“You’re too smart for this,” he says finally, holding up the ID between two fingers. “Next time you want a distraction, don’t pick a guy who can lose his teaching job for breathing near you.”

You sigh, the fight draining from your shoulders. “Duly noted.”

There’s a long pause between you. The kind that makes your ears ring. Until—

“I’m driving you home,” he says.

You groan. “You can’t. You’re working.”

He raises an eyebrow. “And you think I’m leaving you here?”

You glance behind you through the bar’s grimy windows. Spencer is still talking to officers, arms folded, side profile annoyingly pretty as he watches everything unfold like he’s a part of some indie film noir.

“I’m not staying here,” you say quietly. “I’ll walk. Or—get a ride.”

Hotch follows your gaze. His jaw clenches again. “Not from him.”

You look at your father. And you smirk.

“Why not?” you ask, voice laced with challenge. “Spencer’s safe. You trust him, don’t you?”

He looks like he wants to strangle someone. “He’s twelve years older than you.”

You shrug. “You said I was too smart for bad decisions.”

He stares at you for a beat. Then lets out a frustrated breath through his nose.

“I’m driving you. End of discussion.”

You hesitate. Then nod. “Fine.”

But not before casting one last look over your shoulder at Spencer, who’s definitely been listening the whole time, if the smug little smirk tugging at his lips is any indication.

By the time Hotch’s black SUV pulled up, Spencer had already lingered just long enough near the front of the bar, elbow resting against the brick, trying so fucking hard to act like he wasn’t eavesdropping. He was biting the inside of his cheek, practically begging you to snap.

So you did.

“You’re real quiet now, huh?” you taunted, arms crossed as you stalked past the security tape and toward him. “That mouthy little commentary act doesn’t hold up when Daddy’s around?”

He didn’t flinch, just turned his head slightly to look at you. His eyes trailed over your legs, your too-short skirt, your heels, before settling on your face.

“I’m just wondering what it must be like,” he said calmly, “to be so deeply committed to self-destruction you’d throw your academic record and your father’s reputation under the bus in the same night.”

You blinked. Slowly. “You done?”

His gaze dropped to your lips. “Not even close.”

Your heart stuttered. Your mouth was dry. But not in a bad way. A dark smirk curled at your lips. “Prove it.”

He arched a brow. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Doctor Reid.” You leaned in close enough for him to smell your perfume, something expensive and stupid and way too adult for your age. “Since you’re so sure I need saving. Come save me.”

There was a beat—a sharp, split-second moment—where you both just breathed. Then Spencer muttered, “Get in the car,” and walked off.

Hotch’s SUV was dead silent.

Not a word was exchanged the entire ride, save for the sharp click of the turn signal and the faint grind of his clenched jaw. The radio was off. The A/C was on full blast. And he hadn’t looked at you once.

You didn’t dare check your phone. You could feel it buzzing in your purse—probably Emily asking if you were alive, or Garcia wanting more details about your “date”.

And Reid?

You didn’t even want to imagine what Reid would text you. Probably something insufferable like You forgot to say thank you. Or worse—Did Daddy lecture you real good?

By the time your father pulled into the driveway, he still hadn’t spoken. The car shifted into park like it hated you. You opened the door and stepped out, the porch light washing over you like a spotlight you hadn’t earned.

The second you made it to the front door, Hotch finally spoke.

“I can’t believe you.”

You paused. Back still to him. “Yeah,” you muttered. “Get in line.”

“I’m serious,” he snapped. “Do you even realize what could’ve happened tonight? That bar is under investigation. There’s a suspect on the loose, and you decided it was a good time to play grown-up.”

“I didn’t know about the case—”

“But you knew it was illegal.”

That shut you up.

He got out of the car and came around the hood, arms crossed, towering. He looked… tired. Beyond angry. Frustrated. Defeated.

You hated that it made you feel guilty.

“Do you know what it's like?” he said low. “Spending my nights cleaning up blood off sidewalks and then finding out my daughter is at the center of a fucking crime scene, wearing a skirt up to her ass and sitting on a suspect’s lap?”

You flinched. “He’s not a suspect.”

“Then why the hell was my team questioning him?”

“I don’t know, maybe because Spencer has a God complex and hates anyone who breathes near me—”

Hotch's brow furrowed. “What does that mean?”

You realized—too late—you’d said too much. He narrowed his eyes. “What happened between you and Reid?” Your heart thudded.

“Nothing,” you lied, swallowing. “Just… academic differences.”

He didn’t believe you. But he didn’t push. Instead, he sighed. “Go inside. Lock the door. Don’t leave.”

“Where are you going?”

He was already getting back in the car. “Back to the scene. To actually do my job.”

And then—he was gone.

Just like always.

Fifteen minutes later, the house felt too quiet, too empty and really lonely. You tapped your nails against the kitchen counter. Once. Twice. A pause.

You should go to bed.

You shouldn’t sneak out.

You definitely shouldn’t drive across the city in your shortest skirt to knock on the door of the man who made you lose any and every sense of self respect.

You took a second to think about it before snatching your keys off the counter.

You pulled up just as he was stepping onto the sidewalk in front of his building—dark slacks, suit jacket slung over his shoulder, that lean frame backlit by the streetlight like the world’s most inconvenient wet dream.

His eyes landed on you instantly, and even from across the street, you could see his jaw tick.

You stepped out of your car, slammed the door with a smug little smile, and said, “Fancy seeing you here.”

Spencer didn’t even blink.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

You shrugged, sauntering up to him like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You didn’t really think I’d let you walk away after that, did you?”

He dropped his keys into his pocket and turned toward his building. “Go home.”

“Can’t. Already did. Got bored.”

“You are unreal.” He spun back toward you. “Do you have any idea what I’ve had to deal with tonight? What your father is going to say if he finds out you came here?”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do,” he snapped, stepping closer. “You care more than anything. That’s why you came here. That’s why you’re standing in the middle of the damn street, in a skirt that barely qualifies as fabric, looking at me, wasting my time.”

He turned back around walking up the steps of his apartment ignoring you as you followed behind him.

“Lose your T.A. privileges?” he asked dryly, eyes sweeping over you like he was cataloging your posture, your blush, your breathing. Always observing.

You crossed your arms over your chest. “Lose your sense of professionalism?”

He didn’t answer—just pushed the door open a little more and stepped inside setting his keys down. “I was actually going to check on you.”

“Sure you did,” you snorted, turning your back on him and walking toward the living room. “You just wanted to gloat.”

“I mean,” Spencer’s voice dropped, footsteps following close behind, “you did fake an ID, drink underage, flirt with a walking ethics violation in the middle of an active crime scene, and nearly give Morgan an aneurysm.”

You turned around sharply. “I didn’t flirt.”

He raised a brow. “You were in his lap.”

“That’s not flirting.”

Spencer tilted his head. “Then what would you call it?”

You hated how hot he looked like that—smirking slightly, arms crossed over his chest, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the veins in his forearms. Cocky. Controlled. Just a little unhinged.

“A distraction,” you muttered, looking away.

He stepped closer. “From what?”

You let out a bitter laugh, turning your head to glare at him. “You’re really going to make me say it?”

He blinked. Once. “Say what?”

“You,” you snapped, stepping back and throwing your arms up. “You, okay? The fact that you keep looking at me like that—judging me, hovering, acting like you’re above all this when we both know you’re not.”

His brows pulled together slightly, like you’d confused him. Like he wasn’t fully aware of the effect he had on you.

You scoffed. “God, I came here hoping you’d at least—fuck, I don’t know—kiss me or yell at me or anything that would feel like something.”

“Instead,” you continued, voice rising as your body buzzed with irritation, “you’re just standing there, all holier-than-thou, pretending like you don’t want this. Like you haven’t been thinking about it just as much as I have.”

Spencer’s expression didn’t move, but something in his jaw flexed.

You kept going, unable to stop yourself. “I’m so fucking tired of chasing your attention like I’m some dumb kid with a crush. You want to play the good guy? Fine. Be the good guy. But don’t act like I’m the only one who feels it. You could’ve told me to leave. You should’ve told me to leave.”

Spencer exhaled slowly, but you saw his hands flex at his sides.

“I should’ve,” he said quietly. “But you didn’t let me.”

You took a step toward him. “Because you don’t want me to leave.”

“No,” he said simply. “I don’t.”

That was all it took. You surged forward, grabbing him by the lapels of his shirt and pulling him down, mouth crashing into his like you were trying to devour the breath from his lungs. He caught you immediately—one hand gripping your waist, the other tangling in your hair, kissing you back like the thing he’d been denying himself had finally broken loose. His hand shot out and gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him as you grabbed a fistful of his curls and tugged.

He groaned—a low, broken sound—and your legs hitched around his hips like instinct. Spencer caught you easily, lifted you, walked you backward until you were on the couch before you could even blink. Your skirt had ridden up and he didn’t bother fixing it—just pressed his mouth to your inner thigh, lips dragging, tongue wet and dangerous.

“Off,” he ordered, tugging at the hem of your top. You obeyed, breathless, skin hot under his stare as you wriggled out of it and arched beneath him. Your bra was sheer and teasing and did nothing to hide the way your nipples pebbled under the AC—and his gaze.

You whimpered as his tongue slipped past your lips, demanding and slick and desperate in the way only Spencer could make feel precise.

“You are such a goddamn problem,” he muttered against your mouth, hands sliding down your sides, gripping your hips like they were meant for his fingers. “Your dad’s going to kill me.”

“Then stop,” you whispered, already breathless.

His mouth dragged down your jaw to your throat, sucking a dark bruise just below your ear. “Tell me to.”

And then his hand was under your skirt, fingers slipping beneath the edge of your underwear. You gasped as two fingers dragged through the heat of you, slow and purposeful, and Spencer leaned in, biting softly at your neck.

He added another finger, curling them just right. You moaned, hips lifting.

“You like that?” he asked, lips brushing your ear.

“Fuck—yes,” you whined, clawing at his shirt. He hauled you back onto the couch, tearing your panties off and tossing them aside without a second glance. He slid in with one long, slow thrust that had you both gasping—stretching you, filling you, as your scream ripped through the apartment, muffled only by his palm clamping over your mouth.

“Shut up,” he hissed in your ear. “You wanna wake the neighbors?”

You whimpered against his hand, eyes rolling back at the sheer stretch of him—deep and relentless, pushing into places you didn’t even know you had.

He didn’t give you time to adjust—he didn’t care. He fucked you like he was punishing himself for wanting you in the first place, each thrust brutal and sharp and perfect. Your moans ringing out in his apartment, his hand doing little to nothing to muffle the sound.

You arched up into him, your legs wrapping around his hips, desperate for friction.

He set a brutal rhythm, hips snapping into yours as the couch creaked under the weight of it all—your breathing, your begging, his name ripped from your throat over and over again.

You dug your nails into his back. He caught your wrists and pinned them above your head, fucking into you harder as you arched.

“Still bored?” he rasped.

You couldn’t answer. Could barely see.

He grinned, sweat-damp curls falling into his face. “Answer me.”

You nodded, frantic and breathless, and then shook your head when he narrowed his eyes.

“I asked you a question,” he growled, voice low and lethal as he thrust even deeper, grinding down into you like he wanted to imprint himself there forever.

“N-no,” you choked out, writhing under him, your wrists straining in his grip. “Not bored. Not even a little.”

“That’s what I thought,” he muttered, leaning down to bite at your neck, right where your pulse fluttered.

Your moan shattered into something obscene—your back arched, hips snapping up as your orgasm ripped through you, your body trembling beneath his like it had never known anything else.

Spencer groaned low in his throat as you clenched around him, and he wasn’t far behind—thrusting once, twice more before he stilled, spilling deep inside you.

He collapsed onto you, head in the crook of your neck, breath warm and heavy against your skin.

Then Spencer pulled back, brushing a strand of hair from your face with surprising gentleness.

You swallowed hard. “That was—”

“Stupid,” he said quietly. “So fucking stupid.”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Neither of you moved. Then, finally, he sighed. “Stay the night.”

Your eyes met his. “And tomorrow?” you asked.

Spencer gave you a soft, almost broken smile. “We’ll figure it out.”

Next morning: You wake tangled in sheets that smell like him. There’s a note on his pillow in Reid’s handwriting:

You’re still grounded. But I’ll come visit after class. —Dr. Reid

And beneath it… a real ID.

With your name.

And your actual birthday.

Because of course he already pulled strings.

Because Spencer Reid may judge you, tease you, fight with you—

But he’ll always save you.

Even from yourself.

a/n: well I don’t really know what happened here but it happened

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

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fragilerani · 2 days ago

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+18, minors dni;

𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛, is such a dummy for overstimulation, every single time that he says "im gonna stop after that, pips", it turns to "just one more, pips, you can do It, just for me, please, please, please"

He's a dog for your orgasms, and even when you can't handle anymore, he 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 take it from you.

"Caleb, j-just wait a bit, just a little..."

How can he wait a little, when you sound like that, look like that, squirm like that, and you are like that just looking at him, only him.

"I wanna please, don't close your close legs, come on honey"

" Please Caleb..., can you count 10 airplanes? just wait a bit..."

He stops a bit, like you ask, enjoying all your squirming, your little's squeaks when he slowly rubs your little button, he was even talking to your little flower before, saying

"you can handle a little more, don't you? I'm gonna kiss you soo much after that, I know her so well pips, she likes when I make her cry, she can do it"

𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 is dangerously a pleasure dom, that puts your pleasuare at first everytime, he won't take his hands off of you until he gets what he wants, in the way he wants it.

"ok, pips, but when i get at 10, i won't stop"

You look up at his puppy face, with teary eyes, already sobbing, grabbing his wrists, saying "Caleb please" in nonstop, looking at him like he would save you, like saying his name would make it stop him.

He starts couting, having this moment pictured on his mind, with you looking at him like that, just looking at him, being all his, and that's why you won't make him stop at all.

"1 airplane, 2 airplanes, 3 airplanes, 4 airplanes, 5 airplanes, 6 airplanes, 7 airplanes, 8 airplanes, 9, airplanes, 10 airplanes"

𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 likes it making It worse, making you beg, saying please, that s' too much, he 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 make it worse, pretending that he's soo needy pipsqueak, he just 𝙣𝙚𝙚𝙙 to take it from you.

𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 wants you to feel helpless because you're having too much pleasure, soo much pleasure that you just don't know what you do with it and how to deal with It, you're melting because he's in control, he wants and will do all the thinking for you.

Once he can't stop anymore, he just sees you and nothing (even your cries) will change his mind.

#caleb x reader #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace #caleb x you #caleb smut #caleb love and deepspace #caleb x mc #caleb x y/n

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compress1repress · 3 days ago

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Summary: Art walks in on Tashi watching gay porn, he feels very normal about it. When he confronts her they end up fucking, also in a very normal way. Most importantly, Patrick Zweig does not haunt the Artashi marital bed. Not at all.

Art x Tashi (but patrick is so overwhelmingly present it's basically throuple fic. he's not there, but he is there. sometimes a threesome is two people having really angry haunted sex, okay.)

cw: mdni, 18+, porn, masturbation, fingering, oral sex, vaginal penetration, rough sex, anal sex, violent sex, etc (some of this is in the porn videos, some actually happens, and some is imagined... it's complicated)

[ao3 version] 7.2k words

Through the small opening Art can tell the lights are dimmed in their bedroom, so he opens the door as quietly as he can. He’s not sure if Tashi is sleeping or answering emails before bed but he doesn’t want to disturb her either way. When he enters he can see her form, laying on her side under the covers, her back to him. Asleep then - or no, there’s a light in front of her, she’s on her phone. Weird. Tashi isn’t usually in that position when she’s using her phone, she should be sat upright, maybe her legs curled underneath her, biting her lip in concentration. Actually, thinking about it, she doesn’t sleep like that either, not when she’s alone, only ever on her side when they’re spooning. She sleeps on her back, he sleeps on his front, and… there is no and, he doesn’t know why he thought that.

He takes in the sight in front of him properly, curious. He can tell she’s got earphones in, which is another odd sight, and also explains why she hasn’t noticed him. For a moment he gets scared; what if she’s watching his matches on her phone? His matches, not Art’s. She’d done it once years ago, but she had shown him, said it would be good to study. It had sort of made sense, to analyse the type of player that can beat Art. He tried to be neutral, normal, and probably failed because she never did it again. Now he wonders if she just carried on secretly, hiding it from him.

That’s even worse, knowing that she thinks he can’t handle it. He could now, he thinks. He was only weird because back then it was closer to a time when he was a better player than Art, so the insecurity hung around. It’s gone now. It’s all gone.

Except she’s not watching a match, or anything to do with tennis. There’s skin, a lot of skin moving fast under bright artificial light. Oh. He notices the way the sheets move slightly, the hand not holding the phone underneath them, and her shoulder twitching with short movements. He feels relieved, which he recognises is an odd emotion to feel when you walk in on your wife secretly watching porn.

They’ve never spoken about it before, but it’s certainly not something that would be a problem. He hasn’t really watched any since dating Tashi, but that was more because he’d never really done it. He was bad at it, magazines never worked that well, and then the internet had him spoilt for choice. He could look up anything and had no idea where to start, what if he made the wrong choice? It was overwhelming, so in his limited experience he would just click the first video he saw, whether he was particularly into it or not. It just felt easier to have it selected for him.

Most of the time he preferred jerking off without anything, and ever since he met Tashi, she became the images he filled his mind with. It made it so easy, he wanted her so much all the time. It was simple, to just decide to set his sights on her, he didn’t have to think or make any choices. If his hand was around his dick, it was Tashi he was thinking about.

He didn’t even jerk off that much anymore, didn’t feel the need to. It felt like a waste, like he should save everything he had for Tashi. It felt good a lot of the time, being horny and not doing anything about it; wanting something, and not taking it. He was good at it too, holding out when other people would cave. He knew it was better, being patient, having the restraint to wait until the best possible moment. It was all for her.

He knew that she touched herself sometimes, he didn’t know exactly how much but she wasn’t trying to hide it. Sometimes she’d tell him, in bed together saying, “you know, the other night I got myself off in under three minutes, think you could beat that?” He hasn’t beat it yet, but he’s determined he will one day.

She’s often nonchalant about it; one time he’d woken up to her doing it in the middle of the night, she’d just shushed him, telling him she couldn’t sleep. Her face so unaffected as she got herself off, the only noticeable change was her slight uptake in breath. It was so simple, like taking a sleeping pill. Sometimes clinical, she’d use it as a painkiller when she had cramps.

She never mentioned porn but it doesn’t make that much of a difference, maybe she just needed some extra stimulation. He considers making himself heard, or walking over there, maybe asking if he can help out. Then he thinks for a moment, curiosity taking over, he wants to know exactly what she’s watching. Maybe if he can sneakily get a look without her realising, he can surprise her another day by acting out a fantasy she hadn’t even told him about. He thinks he understands what she likes in bed pretty well, but what is she in the mood for this week?

Maybe she’ll want to sit on his face, be rough with him, hold him down. Or maybe she’s having a rare moment where she wants him to take charge. If he finds out, she’ll be proud that he could give her what she wanted without her asking. He briefly wonders if this is manipulative, but he’s doing it for her, to make her feel good. That makes it okay.

He steps forward quietly, bare feet pressing lightly on the soft carpeting. He gets a better angle and he’s closer now, able to make out her screen. It’s not anything like he imagined, it can’t be because it’s two men. He blinks to make sure he’s seeing right. Definitely two men, one’s got his fingers deep inside the other. His mouth goes dry and he freezes. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

Something creeps up the back of his skull, trying to worm its way into his brain. Images flashing, and his lips tingling.

No. Fuck off.

This is fine. He’s fine.

It makes sense, really. Tashi is attracted to men so of course she’d want to watch that. It’s actually very normal, it’s good. And Tashi’s a feminist so she probably doesn’t want to watch women being objectified. So her being into this type of porn… gay porn… it makes the most sense.

He looks again. Jesus. One of the guys is blond, with a slender hairless frame. He’s also currently being pressed into the mattress, his arm held behind his back as the other guy lines up his (ridiculously large) dick. The other guy has more body hair, he’s a brunet, it’s curly maybe - not that it matters. Art doesn’t really look. Whatever. The blond guy, if Art squints, definitely looks like himself. His chest tightens. It’s fine, this is also a good thing. It’s sweet that Tashi enjoys watching someone that looks like him. It’s loyal.

This is the most normal thing he could’ve walked in on. Tashi is a feminist, she’s straight, they’re both straight and married to each other so what else is she supposed to watch if not gay porn featuring a guy that looks like her husband?

Fuck. The other guy is really drilling into him. Into the blond on the video. It’s borderline violent. Tashi’s arm speeds up, she’s really enjoying herself. There’s a close up shot of the blond’s face, his eyebrows scrunched together and his mouth hanging open. Art can’t hear anything but can imagine the type of noises he’s making. He’s pulling faces like it all just hurts so good. Tashi moves under the sheets, like her hips are now thrusting forward into her hand. Art can tell she’s close. He should go. He needs to go. He walks out as quietly as possible, not that she’ll be able to hear now that she’s so close to finishing.

Once safely in the hallway he presses his back against the wall, just breathing. It all flashes in his mind, this image of the blond actor's face. The way it was drenched in tears, an expression so overwhelmed, right on the edge of pain and pleasure. It was like the harder the guy cried, the more Tashi got off.

He can’t help but feel like he’s done something wrong. He wracks his brain for any mistakes he might’ve made recently, but comes up with nothing. Clearly she’s mad at him. He knows that she likes being rough with him, he likes it too. But surely if that was all, she wouldn’t bother masturbating or watching a video, she’d just come find him. Or if she really wanted to do it alone then she’d find a video of someone who looked like her, doing it to someone that looked like him.

This must be something else. Her punishing him. Or wanting to. Just enjoying him being in pain. Because Tashi must know, even if she was horny, she knows him well enough to know that Art wouldn’t…

He doesn’t know how to describe it.

A few days ago he had to end practice early, he’d slept rough and his neck was acting up. He’d done the physio, and it was sorted the next day. The next training session was longer to make up for it. He thought he’d done enough, she hadn’t told him she was disappointed. She didn’t look annoyed. But that must be it. She’s frustrated with him, and she doesn’t want to tell him in case it distracts him, so she’s finding another outlet for that frustration.

He would prefer if she just told him. How many other times has she done this behind his back?

He waits in the hallway until the light goes out fully, then waits a few minutes more before he slips into bed with her silently. He doesn’t look down but he knows he’s hard. He won’t do anything about it.

Tashi is asleep on her back, and Art falls asleep like that too.

The next few days he watches her extra carefully, keeping an eye out for any signs that she’s angry with him. He can’t find anything. It’s eating away at him, the video playing behind his eyes.

In bed that night whilst Tashi’s on top of him, both of them kissing lazily, it slips out, “are you mad at me?”

She furrows her brow, moving to lay next to him instead, “why are you asking me that?”

“I just feel like maybe I’ve done something to make you angry,” he shrugs, fingers fiddling with the fabric of her nightie.

“Are you saying I've been mean to you? Because I think I've been pretty nice,” she’s watching him intently, and he feels bad. She has been nice.

“I don’t know, it was stupid, just forget it,” he moves closer against her but she presses a hand to his chest to stop him.

“No, you can’t drop it now, don’t be a pussy,” she’s not going to let this go but her face shifts more towards nervousness, “what have I done to make you think I was mad?”

“The other night I walked in on you watching a video,” she looks at him blankly so he clarifies, “a porn video.”

He mentally slaps himself for saying ‘a porn video’ as if he’s never heard of porn.

“So you took me wanting to have some alone time, as me being annoyed at you?” Tashi glares at him now, “I don't have to spend every second with you.”

“It wasn’t that, it was just the guy in the video, one of the guys in the video,” this seems to make Tashi remember exactly what she had been watching, “he looked like me.”

“And?” Tashi prompts.

“You seemed to really enjoy how rough it was, the way the blond guy was crying over the other guy fucking him,” he’s going into more detail than necessary, “and he looked like me so I just wondered if maybe you were mad at me.”

“So you’re saying I was watching a video of a guy that looked like you getting fucked, as an outlet for my frustration towards you?” She looks more curious than angry.

“Am I right?” he asks tentatively.

She doesn’t answer, just asks him another question, “why didn’t you say anything at the time?”

“I don't know, I froze, I couldn’t look away,” he feels ashamed, “it was only two minutes though, I swear.”

“You should’ve said something,” Art is ready to apologise but Tashi is pressing up against him, “if you did, I could’ve told you that video isn’t my normal style.”

“It’s not?” he watches her shake her head, “what do you normally watch?”

“Want me to show you?” The corner of her mouth twitches up, and he feels something stir in his stomach.

"Yeah," he nods, watching her reach for her phone on the bedside table.

She taps at the screen, types in a few things, scrolls, then presents it to him.

He can’t take it all in at once, it’s a collection of videos, with titles and different thumbnails. None of it looks all that different than what he walked in on. He assumed she meant she didn’t normally watch gay porn, but these videos still seem to be mostly men fucking eachother. Although he doesn’t look too closely, of course.

“I don’t get it,” he treads carefully, watching her face, “how is any of this different from the video I saw?”

“They don’t usually look like you,” Tashi’s emphasis is purposeful but Art doesn’t dwell.

He looks once more, the thumbnails centering again and again on guys with curly brown hair.

“I guess they don’t,” he can’t think what else to say, what she wants him to say, what point she’s making.

Then she makes it all very clear, “do they remind you of anyone?”

He can’t ignore her emphasis now, can’t ignore exactly who springs to mind. He tries to anyway.

“Tashi, why are you doing this?” he tries not to sound whiny, “I don’t understand, is this my punishment?”

“Just watch,” she urges, clicking on one, he can hear sounds but doesn’t watch, she pushes again, “Art.”

He does, and he has to grit his teeth to keep himself from looking away. The brunet actor is on his knees and, there’s no delicate way to put this, he’s got a dick in his mouth. Jesus Christ. The volume is low but the wet sloppy sounds of it pushing in the guy's mouth - the gagging, the groaning - all feel so oppressive against Art’s ears. The sight of it too, the way his mouth stretches around it and his eyes go glassy.

He gets a sudden horrible feeling that maybe this is exactly like when she made him watch that match years ago. That she wants him to study this, to show him where he doesn’t measure up. That this is another area where he’s never been able to beat -

“What do you want me to do?” he’s putting all his effort into not getting weird about this, can’t bear the thought of her keeping whatever this is a secret again, thinking he’s too fragile to handle it.

If it’s about learning then he can do that. He knows that good things take dedication and patience. That’s why he’s a winner.

“You don’t get it,” she sighs.

“Tell me, I want to,” he basically begs.

“You’re the one that said it, that this is about finding an outlet for my anger,” she’s speaking like it’s obvious, “you asked if I was mad at you.”

“I did,” he says slowly, the whirring in his brain feels like he’s almost there, it’s starting to make sense.

“Well, look again and tell me, what’s making me angry?” she tilts the phone, as if he couldn’t already see too clearly. The speed has picked up, it’s rougher than ever, a hand clenched in brown curls gripping the actor in place as his mouth is rammed into over and over.

Art feels his skin prick up. Fuck. He thinks he’s getting it but he can’t say, not without being certain.

Tashi watches him out of the corner of her eyes, as if she is the nervous one, “I think you know, Art, so c’mon - who am I really mad at?”

“Oh,” slips out of him, not even out of surprise because he was already most of the way to the answer. It’s just this noise, drenched in something else, dragged out of him because he doesn’t know what else to do.

She smiles seeing the way it clicks into place for him, “Art, what are you thinking?”

“That it makes sense,” is this the safest reply he can think of, it’s also true.

Tashi was right, if this was a way to vent frustrations then who else would these actors resemble? If you asked who Tashi is the most angry at, there’s only one person that fits.

“I’ll rephrase that - what are you feeling?” she asks, and it’s definitely a better question, but a harder one too.

“It makes me feel good I think,” once he says that, he realises how true it is, “I like that you’re still this angry at him.”

“Yeah?” Tashi grins at him, her eyes shining. He hasn’t just pleased her, he’s thrilled her.

He’s hit the winner. It’s that rare sweet spot where the answer he gives her does three things at once; it exceeds her expectations, it’s his honest truth, and it’s also exactly what she wanted to hear.

“Does it help? Watching the videos?” he asks.

“It does,” she’s still smiling at him, “want to see more?”

He nods, and she exits the current video, selecting another. A different but similar looking brunet actor is on screen, this time without a scene partner. It feels more explicit, he’s laid out on his back on a leather bench and his arms are tied up above his head, his legs strapped and spread apart. Art feels himself blush when he realises what’s going on.

“Too much?” Tashi teases, whilst also genuinely asking him.

“No,” he answers quickly. He’s an adult. He’s seen porn. He’s seen this equipment in videos before. It just feels more intense in the moment, more scandalous with Tashi next to him. Maybe there’s a more specific name for it, but for the purposes of being expressive, it’s a fuck-machine. That pretty much encapsulates it. A plastic dick on a metal pole mechanically pumps in and out of the actor at a steady but increasing pace.

“Good, because I like the way he cries in this one,” Tashi presses up somehow closer to him, her skin feels warm.

He gets what she means, the tears are already forming in the actor’s eyes. His chest flushed red. The machine thrusts at an almost impossibly fast and unrelenting pace. Shit. Even the actor is looking down at himself in almost disbelief at how hard he’s getting fucked. The volume is still low but Art’s ears are tuned in on the noises, the gasps, the moans, and the repeated breathless muttering of oh my God.

Art feels warm too, wanting to press against Tashi even more. His eyes drift from the video to her face, she watches it intently, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth and her eyes going dark. He’ll give her what she wants before she even has to ask.

“Are you angry right now?” her eyes flit over to him before she answers his question with a nod, so he asks another, “if I wasn’t here would you be touching yourself to this?”

“I would,” her voice is slower, the way it gets when she’s horny.

“I want to help you, want to see how angry you are,” he’s fully hard now thinking about it, doesn’t know exactly when he’d started to get so turned on, “can I touch you while you watch it?”

“Do it,” she orders, that same thrill still in her eyes from before. He feels alive with it, an electric feeling that drowns out anything else. The thoughts nagging at his brain, the pit deep in his stomach, the dryness at his throat, the heaviness in his chest, the strange restless itch in his legs. None of that even registers anymore because he’s got Tashi all lit up beside him. It’s been a while since either of them have been this turned on.

They maneuver so they’re both on their sides. Tashi holds the phone, video still playing as Art presses up behind her, chin resting on her shoulder. He reaches his hand around her, pushing her nightie up and slipping his hand down the front of her underwear. Fuck, she’s so wet already. The sensation makes his hips push forward, pressing his boner against her ass. She pushes back against him, probably thinking about how hard he is already.

He starts out slow, running a finger through her folds, then gently circling her clit. She breathes heavier, from his touch and also the video. There’s that crying she had mentioned, finally in full force. Tears down his face as he writhes against the restraints, the pumping of the machine too much for him. He can see why she likes the video. Not that he would go out of his way to watch it by himself or anything. Although out of all of them this would be the most likely. This isn’t even gay porn, how can it be? There’s only one guy. It’s basically masturbation. Or maybe machine porn, robot porn. He doesn’t really know the categories. But it’s not gay porn.

Art never really thought of himself as someone with any kinks or fetishes - he left that sort of thing to other people. He knows what he likes with Tashi, and that most of all he likes pleasing her. He’s always enjoyed eating girls out, which is probably the closest thing he has to a specific personal fetish. It’s always been something he felt like he could do well, that he was better at. He didn’t know for certain but it was the type of thing that required patience and dedication. There wasn’t always instant gratification. Sometimes he’d eat Tashi out without even getting off himself, getting her to finish a couple times before just going to bed after, no matter how hard he was. Only he would do that. Another place he would win.

He doesn’t have kinks, not really, but this video is doing something to him. Does he want to put Tashi in that situation? Definitely not. Does he want to be like that? It’s closer but still isn’t right. Not in this moment anyway. Probably it’s the fact that Tashi is so clearly into it, rubbing herself against his hand. He watches the actor’s face again, head now thrown back, sobbing silently at the overwhelming pleasure.

Or maybe Art is angry too.

“You really do like the way he cries, huh?” he kisses Tashi’s neck, speaking in her ear, “what else do you like about this one?”

“I like that he’s tied up, held down so he has to do what he’s supposed to,” she responds thoughtfully.

He thrusts against her ass, so turned on he can’t stop himself rambling.

“He was always just doing what he wanted, without a fucking care in the world,” they both know which he Art is talking about, “thought he could get away with anything, like consequences were for everyone else except him.”

He feels angry, like he does most of the time. He shoves it down but it never really left. Now every drop of it is being brought to the surface, and for once he actually lets it. He wants to feel it, Tashi wants him to feel it with her.

“Yeah, fuck, it used to piss me off so much, gallavanting about, following each and every urge at his leisure,” she gasps as Art slips in two fingers at once, “wanted to finally see him at the mercy of someone else.”

Art is at Tashi’s mercy. That’s another thing he wins at.

“You ever make him cry? He deserved it,” this is the most direct mention Art has made in years. He almost takes it back but it’s fine, it doesn’t feel bad. This is about being angry, allowing themselves to be angry together.

“Almost, I always wanted to, I think I could’ve done it,” if I had more time goes unsaid, “but he never did what he was told, not all the time.”

Art has three fingers inside now, his thumb just about able to graze her clit even at this angle. She’s making these low hums in her throat.

“He would if you had him like that,” the guy on the video is pleading now, he’s already finished once and the machine is trying to draw another out of him, “he’d be forced to listen to you.”

“He’d finally be good like you are,” Tashi’s words make him groan suddenly, grinding hard against her.

He needs more, “Tashi, please, can I fuck you like this?”

“Yeah,” she nods, making quick work of taking her panties off while still holding the phone with her other hand.

He pulls off his pyjama pants and underwear too, frantic and desperate to get inside her. She’s on her side, and he’s still pressed against her back as he lines himself up. He whines as he pushes into her wet heat, “fuck.”

He doesn’t thrust too hard or fast, just rocking in and out slowly, which is more than enough. He can’t go too rough or they wouldn’t be able to keep watching.

“Does it feel good?” he asks like he always does.

“Yeah, keep going like that, I don’t want you to come yet,” she warns him, “want you to see another video.”

“Show me,” he whispers into her neck, he feels so close to her, his body molded against hers, pressed deep inside, and sharing her private world with him, “I like knowing this, seeing how angry you are.”

The next video is the most similar to that one he’d walked in on. Two guys fucking, but this time in doggy style, and the one on all fours has brown hair. The guy fucking into him though is blond. His dick twitches. That pit in his stomach calls out to him.

Maybe Tashi can read his mind, or she felt his dick twitch, because she’s asking him, “do you feel angry too?”

Thank God. That’s it.

“Yeah, really fucking angry,” his voice is rough.

“You’ll like this one then,” he can hear the grin in her words.

The blond’s hands dig into the brunet’s waist, pressing deep into the flesh. He uses the grip to thrust in violently, making the guy underneath gasp out while the blond remains stoic. It’s like he doesn’t even care who he’s fucking, just getting his aggression out.

Art moans again, pumping deeper inside Tashi as they both watch the video. It’s not about sex. Well, it’s about sex between him and Tashi. Anything outside of that is just anger.

The brunet has his eyes squeezed shut, the only thing keeping him quiet seems to be the way he’s biting his lips to keep his mouth shut. Art can see his teeth drawing blood.

“Does it help your anger?” Tashi is asking more questions than usual.

“Yeah,” he admits, because this is the angriest he’s felt at him where it also felt good.

“Watch this next bit, it’s the best part,” she reaches a free hand to the back of his head, directing him to look at the screen. He was already looking, hasn’t been able to look away.

The brunet does something to piss off the other guy, Art isn’t sure what but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that the blond is grabbing him up by his hair so he’s on his knees instead of all fours. He keeps thrusting into him powerfully while he does this, Art throbs inside Tashi. Then, oh God, the blond wraps his arm around the brunet’s throat, putting him in a chokehold while continuing to fuck him harder than ever. The brunet arches his back, and helplessly grabs at the blond, whatever sounds he’s making are cut off by that strong arm.

Art feels dizzy. In a good way. Tashi likes it too, she makes a small noise in her throat and Art reaches a hand down to circle her clit, bringing the noise out fully.

“He looks like you, the aggressive one,” Art can only hum in agreement, Tashi is breathless, almost can’t make it through what she says next, “you’re so mad at him aren’t you? So fucking angry. You should- would you do that to him?”

Art can’t answer. Can’t make himself do the thinking required to answer that question. Not yet. So instead he asks his own question, “do you hate him?”

“I do,” she pulls at his hair with the hand she still has on his head, he thrusts faster, then suddenly she’s ordering him, “get on your back, I want to ride you.”

He moves quickly, following her instructions on automatic. He’s flat on his back in an instant, and she mounts him just as fast. Her hands are against his chest for balance, and he realises he still has his t-shirt on. He can’t think too much because she’s sinking down, her tight cunt enveloping his dick.

Her hair sticks to her forehead in places, and her entire body glistens with sweat. She’s so beautiful. He can see that her nipples are hard from the way they poke through her nightie. He’d sit up, pull down the fabric and get one of those deep brown nubs in his mouth if he could, but she’s holding him down.

The phone sits face up on the bed, near enough that he can hear everything still. Tashi glances at it, and Art can tell from the noises that the guy still has his arm around the other actor’s throat, but he’s let up enough that these choked out grunts and moans are now audible.

“You hate him?” Art asks again.

“Yeah,” Tashi grinds her hips in circles before beginning to bounce, “do you?”

Art just nods, focusing on her dark eyes watching the video still, “what would you do if he was underneath you now?”

Tashi seems to think for a moment before settling on an answer, “I’d slap him.”

“Show me how,” Art finds himself saying.

It’s not what he’s into, he likes when Tashi hurts him but he prefers her nails digging into him, or a hand pulling his hair. He likes when she’s mean, when she tells him not to come, or keeps touching him when he does. He likes withstanding pain for her, and he likes when she gives him a dull lasting ache. He doesn’t usually like sharp and sudden pain. She’d asked once, and he’d said yes but they could both tell it wasn’t working. Right now though he feels desperate for it, to know how hard she would do it. Exactly how much she hates him.

She makes eye contact, double checking with him before pulling a hand back and bringing it down across his face. It’s hard enough that his head jolts sideways. He hears the sound of it first, the harsh sharp smacking noise seeming to echo in the room. Then he feels the searing pain across his cheek, a white hot heat radiating.

“You really hate him,” he says through a smile, his voice a little croaky.

She just grins back at him. She doesn’t hit him again, she can tell that he got what he wanted from it.

“The guy in the video looks like he could pass out, he’s shaking, but he’s not trying to stop it, he’s just taking it,” Tashi describes for him, like she knows he’s curious now he can’t see, “can you hear the way he’s moaning, he likes it.”

Art can hear it, the pathetic whining.

“Maybe he knows he deserves it,” he moans himself, gripping Tashi's hips and pushing up into her, “what else would you do if he was here, what would he deserve?”

“I’d want him on his knees on the floor,” she looks down at Art, calculating something, “I’d ask you to stand in front of him, would you?”

He can do that, if Tashi’s asking. He can stand wherever she wants, “yeah I would.”

“Good. He’d be kneeling there for us, mouth open, and we’d make him wait,” she puts her thumb in Art’s mouth, pressing it gently against his bottom row of teeth, “you’d be standing above him, looking down at him.”

She removes her thumb, rubbing it against his still red cheek, letting him speak, “you’d be watching, directing,” Art adds, tentatively, not mentioning what he’d be doing.

“Hmm, he’d let us do anything,” she bites her lip, rising up on her knees, then sinking down again slowly, feeling every inch of his cock.

“Yeah, because he knows he deserves it,” Art’s words make her breathe in sharp, encouraging him to keep painting the picture, “that he belongs on the floor.”

“Fuck, and he’d take what we gave him,” she shuts her eyes but he doesn’t dare to do the same, “I’d tell you what to do, and then he’d be choking on it, gagging.”

Tashi spares him. She doesn’t describe anything pushing in anywhere, she skips it over, doesn’t explicitly say exactly what he’d be gagging on. Art is safe to keep thrusting up into her, nothing more than vague, abstract sensations - the feeling of being violent.

“You’d have a good view, I’d make sure,” he promises, “so you could tell him exactly how pathetic he looks.”

“He would look pathetic, I think we could make him cry,” her eyes are still closed, and her eyebrows furrow together in pleasure.

“Shit, yeah, I’d show him that he’s beneath me, beneath both of us,” Art feels them both getting closer, “can’t do whatever he wants anymore, just what we want.”

Tashi opens her eyes, her pupils blown wider than ever, “yeah, he’d have to shut the fuck up for once, no more arguing, because words matter, and he doesn’t deserve to talk back to us.”

Art can tell what they both need, so he pushes himself up and flips them over. Tashi now on her back so she doesn’t have to do the work, and so that he can feel the burn in his thighs instead. He thrusts into her harder, she grabs at his back digging her nails in, his head is pressed into her neck.

“If he did talk back we could punish him,” Art continues their story, it was working so well.

“Would you hit him if I asked?” Tashi whispers into his ear.

“Yes,” Art replies, short because he’s holding back a groan. He doesn’t know if she means a slap like before, or a punch. Red handprints and bloody noses fill his mind. Jesus Christ. Again the nausea threatens so rise, he feels like a fucking pervert, a freak. Or worse.

But it’s okay because this isn’t about sex. It’s about anger.

“You’d do such a good job for me, wouldn’t you?” he nods even though she can’t see, yeah, he’d do whatever she asked. The nausea drowns out as Tashi speaks again, sweetly through gasps, “bet you could get him to apologise.”

“I would, I’d make him say sorry to you,” he pulls back to look at her face, determined, “I could wrap my arm around his throat for you, make him look you in the eyes, only let him breathe when he’s telling you sorry. Would you like that?”

“Yeah, yeah I’d like that,” her eyes close again, he keeps watching her.

“Tell me again that you hate him,” he thrusts faster, needs to hear it.

“I hate him, really fucking hate him,” she confirms, her voice strained, “do you?”

“I hate him,” Art verbalises and it feels like it’s being ripped out from somewhere between his ribcage and his heart, it hurts “I’ve always hated him.”

“No, just stick to the truth,” Tashi reaches for his hair, pulling again, “you’ve got enough truth in you, so just don’t, Art, don’t fucking lie to me.”

She’s right.

“Okay, I hate him right now, I’m angry and I hate him,” he punctuates his words by pumping into her, she gives him an approving look, “we hate him.”

“We do, and he deserves it,” she loosens the grip in his hair, assessing his face again, before suggesting, “we could have him like the guy in the video, on all fours.”

It’s basically what she asked earlier, would you do that to him? Except it feels easier now, he’s more equipped, he’s angrier.

“We could, and you’d tell me what to do,” he still needs her guiding hand, to make sure he puts his anger to good use.

“I’d tell you to ruin him, to pin him down,” she wraps her legs tighter around him, pressing him forward with a heel to his ass. He obliges, fucking her harder, feeling grateful that she doesn’t overdescribe. Ruin him. That’s all he thinks about.

“He wouldn’t be able to get up because I’m stronger than him now,” he licks his lips, thinking about all the work he’s put into his forehand.

“Yeah, and he’d be all red, shoved into the mattress, humiliated because he can’t move. He’d cry again, because he loves it, because it hurts so good,” again she closes her eyes while Art can’t, “he’d want you to touch him, he’d beg, but you wouldn’t do it.”

“Hmm, I’d force him to have some fucking patience for once,” as he fucks into Tashi he doesn’t bring his thumb to her clit like usual but she would never beg. He doesn’t want her to. If she asked, he would touch her within a second. So she doesn’t ask.

“I’d make fun of him, we could laugh at him together,” she keeps pressing at him with her heel.

“You’d know all the right things to say, to keep him crying,” he can hear it, her words, her laugh, “fuck, and you’d be watching me overpower him so easily. I’d show him how much of a loser he is, that he can't fucking beat me now.”

“He is a loser,” Tashi opens her eyes, grabs Art’s face with both her hands, holding eye contact, “he’s a fucking loser, and we beat him because that’s what we do. We win.”

He nods enthusiastically, yeah, fuck it feels good; the way Tashi is speaking, the way she’s looking at him. She gives him a determined stare, “I know you can get me there, c’mon.”

He reaches an arm underneath her, at her lower back, lifting her up just a little so the angle shifts. His hips pistoning in and out of her, “I’m close.”

“So am I,” she digs her nails into him harder, “tell me again what you’d do.”

“I’d have him like the guy in the video, on his hands and knees, I’d do that,” it’s as detailed as he can get but it works, she gasps, her head tilting back, “because we hate him, and he deserves it.”

“Yeah, we’d get all our anger out, because he’s a loser,” she’s clenching around him, right on the precipice.

“He’s a loser, and you’re a winner Tashi,” she actually whines at that, and Art feels like he’s on fire, right on the edge too, “I’m a winner,” he thrusts deep, imagining saying those words to him, then has to drag himself back before his eyes close. He locks eyes with Tashi instead, his wife, “we’re winners, that’s who we are, we’re fucking winners.”

Tashi suddenly cries out in a way he’s rarely heard from her, she gasps and her cunt clenches tight as her back arches. Her full body orgasm brings him down too, he groans, his words and hips stuttering, “fuck, oh- I can’t- Tashi.”

He spills inside her, collapsing on top of her, not sure which of them is trembling more. He’s pretty sure that was the first time she’s finished without either of their hands needing to be on her clit at the same time.

His head is in the crook of her neck, each breathing heavily in each other's ear.

He stays there, and Tashi lets him. Neither of them are capable of moving yet, still enjoying the warmth.

“You’re crushing me,” she says eventually. Reluctantly even, which makes Art feel good.

He slides out of her, wincing at the cool air, collapsing next to her, “sorry.”

She looks over at him, and he smiles. She looks oddly relieved, leaning over to kiss his forehead but before she can get there he redirects her, pulling her in for a proper kiss. It makes him realise they hadn’t kissed that whole time, too many words spilling out of them both. Maybe they’d both been scared that if they interrupted the flow they were in for too long, they’d lose it, this special story they’d been weaving.

“That was good,” Tashi says matter-of-factly, with a definite nod.

“It was,” he agrees.

“So if I’m ever feeling angry again, I can come to you?” he nods in response, “good, and you should do the same, have an outlet for that anger.”

“Yeah it would probably be good for my focus,” he suggests knowing it will make her smile. It does.

On her way to their ensuite, she looks back at him, “you know, you’ve still got your shirt on.”

He snorts, feeling ridiculous, and warm at the same time under Tashi’s eyes.

Once she slips into the bathroom, out of sight, he feels it all coming back. The sickness, the heaviness, the itching. He looks to the side, seeing Tashi’s phone now abandoned, the video must've ended a while ago because the screen is black.

He shuts his eyes for a moment but his throat feels like it’s closing up, he can’t get a breath in. He stares up at the ceiling instead, his eyes burning.

It’s fine. It’s fine. He’s fine.

None of it was about sex. It was about feeling angry. Sharing that emotion with Tashi. It was about being close with her, finding a place to put all that rage together. It’s normal. It was good sex, great sex. Everyone says hate-fucking is the best but he and Tashi are in love, they don’t, can’t, hate eachother so of course they have to look elsewhere to find that emotion.

It’s all healthy marital sex. And it’s all okay. He’s okay.

It’s definitely not about him. He’s nothing. Art and Tashi are married. She’s coached him into winning grand slams. They’re at the top of their game. He’s not even a blip on their radar. Unknown, nameless, and alone. Not like Art. So far below them both. Such a loser that he’d let them take all this anger out on him, he’d know it was all he’s good for. What he deserves. He’s nothing.

Art wins. He fucking wins.

#heyyyy #this written frantically in less than a day but i do believe that's what the story required #also wanted to post something whilst i work on longer stuff!!#hope everyone enjoys. artashi fail marriage we love you #the specter of patrick zweig that always hovers. we love you too #fic #throuple #challengers

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trippinsorrows · 3 days ago

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What if one of the kids told Solana to shut up? 🤐

That’d be a death wish cause Roman don’t like to see his wife anything but happy 😃

solana had a bad feeling about it from the get-go.

something she couldn't shake in the weeks leading up to roman leaving. the same way she couldn't shake something being off with her son. something roman noticed too, and it wasn't without effort from both parents to try and talk to him. but, beyond his father's looks, tama also inherited the difficulty roman experienced with opening up sometimes. and just as she did with her husband—still does ocassionally—she gave him space. roman gave him space, solana briefly mentioning to her husband that he should try again when he returned from his latest trip. a trip that included their oldest twins tagging along.

a recent thing over the past year and some change, roman taking turns bringing their older kids with him, providing him the chance to spend one on one time with them. on his last visit to italy, he'd taken tama with him, and they'd had such a nice time. solana almost wishes they'd have said football be damned and allowed him to go again this round, lina and leya catching the next one.

because in the days roman's been absent, solana feels like things have almost gotten worse. tremendously. tama's irritation has spiked, his fuse shorter than she's ever seen in him. he has roman's temper, yes. all of her boys do, but tama has always been the type to only show it when provoked. he only shows just how much he's like his father when he has to. not lately. lately, it feels like her baby boy lives in the valley of volatility.

he's just so angry.

"baby?" her voice is as soft as the two knocks her knuckles rap against his closed door. "can i come in?"

she expects him to say no. maybe even ignore her. that hurts the most. the ignoring part, because that's never been her dynamic with her son. none of her kids.

but, instead, she's met with a short, "yeah."

solana doesn't waste any time, welcoming herself into his space, finding his back toward her. tama's long hair is pulled into a messy bun atop his head, his focus on the tv and controller in hand.

solana sits down on the edge of his messy bed, not bothering to comment on it. she's always expressed her desire for the kids to make up their beds, and he knows this, but alas, she's found that picking her battles with her suddenly tempermental fourteen year-old is the best route.

she smiles at him, glancing at the tv. "what are you playing?"

another short, borderline irritated reply. "call of duty."

solana nods, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. "of course." she chuckles quietly. "you remember when you tried to teach me how—"

"mom, i'm busy right now, what do you want?"

slap. it feels like a slap in the face. an ironic thing considering some sort of physical impact would be preferred over the coldness and frosty reception from her son. such unfamiliar, hurtful territory. so unlike her son.

"tamasa...." the smile is gone, her voice weighed down with all the concern of a worried mother. "baby, i'm worried about you." he scoffs, ripping his headset off, solana continuing, reaching for his arm. "please talk to me. what's going o—"

"nothing," he cuts her off, still not looking at her. refusing almost. "i already told you that."

she swallows, shaking her head. "and, i don't believe you." because, she doesn't. solana knows her family. knows her kids. knows her son, and this....this isn't her baby boy. "tamasa—"

he suddenly shoots up from his chair, finally looking at her, brown eyes burning with irritation that doesn't make sense. "would you just leave me alone?"

briefly taken back, it doesn't take long for her to stand up, remaining undeterred. "no, i won't, tama. i'm your mother—" he groans, walking away from her to the other side of the room. solana right behind him. "tamasa, i'm talking to you."

"i don't care."

she stops in her tracks, her face dropping. "excuse me?" he continues to ignore her, clearly heading for the door. "don't walk away from me when i'm speaking to you tamasa reigns" she reiterates, voice raised, switching to spanish as she remains close on his heels, despite his continued disrespect. he scoffs, actually scoffs, ripping open the door. "tamasa!"

"i said shut up!"

it all happens so fast, too fast, quicker than what she can compute and truly process. the words, his statement, is one thing. something that would normally garner the bulk of her shock and surprise and many other things, but it's easily outweighed by what accompanies said words.

it's the way he quickly turns around, hands lifted and placed against her, forceful, pushing. it's the way he shoves her down onto the ground, solana stumbling back and on her ass, landing on her palms, her wide eyes never once leaving her son.

her son who just put his hands on her.

her son.

tamasa never takes his eyes off solana either, expression similair to the one she wears, revealing and exposing all of the emotions. shock. surprise. fear. the anger has all but melted away in the face of the unthinkable.

a situation made only worse by the appearance of two other faces in the doorway.

"mom?" koa is the first one to speak, both of her younger sons rushing over to her. "mom, are you okay?" his voice is filled with concern, eyes scanning over her. "what happened?"

kai, however, is two steps ahead. standing in front of his twin and her, he asks his older brother, hand formed into a fist. "did you push her?"

he did. tamasa pushed her. her sweet baby boy who would cry and whine as a baby and toddler whenever she put him down, who's always given her the best, most wholesome hugs, who's always looked at her like she hung the moon in the sky, pushed her.

kai growls, rushing towards tama, pushing him back. "get away from her!"

"no....." solana murmurs, finally breaking her silence, the reality of what's occurred settling in and pushing back an emotion she hasn't felt towards the opposite sex in years. fear. she felt afraid. "d—don't—"

but, it's a sentiment expressed too late, because the last thing she sees is the devastated expression of her oldest son before he turns on his heel and rushes out of the room.

#ari answers #dreamland ask #dreamland short

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fancyfeathers · 2 days ago

Text

Yandere!Justice League & Yandere!Young Justice w/ Huntress!Darling & Sidekick!Darling

I've been having some ideas while watching Young Justice and the Justice League Unlimited series, specifically about Huntress. In the show, she is a former Justice League member who was kicked out for getting too violent...

And I got an idea.

A former member of the Justice League who got pissed off at the Justice League after her former partner who was in the Justice League got kidnapped and killed and the Justice League decided to just hand over their killer to the law. She knows that the killer will not actually change and will get themselves out of prison, and no actual justice will be served in her eyes. Then, on top of it all it feels like none of the other Justice League members care that she just lost the person who means most to her, after the meeting where they were talking about his death Hal started flirting with her, and then Barry would not even look her in the eye when she started chewing him out for not being quick enough, it was like they wanted her partner to die...

So fueled by rage and loss, she leaves the Justice League.

Other members of the Justice League try to talk her into joining again, also checking up on her to make sure she is still alive and making sure she is taking care of herself, because after all she is still lost in all the grief she went through. Still, she just continues to refuse, pushing everyone away and just getting more and more violent when she deals with and solves crimes, even getting on Batman's watchlist for how aggressive she is getting. Then comes the day when the crime lord responsible for her partner's death is released from prison, and she tracks his location to a hidden human smuggling ring, and she almost kills him, she has a knife to her throat, and then-

"Help me, please!"

She hears a young girl's voice, one of the victims who was kidnapped. She looks to see the girl being dragged off with a gun to her head, and then something just clicks inside of her again, the reason why she became a hero in the first place. She runs to save the little girl, letting the crime lord go in the process, giving up everything she wanted all these years to do the right thing. It's a freeing feeling, really, when she is helping the girl get out of the building, knowing deep down that she did the right thing at the end of the day.

She takes the girl in, after all, she was orphaned, and the system only ended up with her getting trafficked, and eventually she wanted to become a hero just like her now guardian, because without someone like her, she would be dead or worse.

Eventually, she accepts the offer to join the Justice League again when she encounters Green Arrow on a rooftop during one of her patrols, he was actually following her, and it ended in a friendly sparring match, she realized he was stalking her and she was pissed off. The thing is, she has one requirement when she rejoins the Justice League since she already knows about their covert operations team built of sidekicks.

It is almost shocking to see their former and new member come back into the Watchtower with a teenage girl at her side, after all they had all been checking up on her, and not once did they see this girl, but a deal is a deal, she rejoins the Justice League and her sidekick gets to join their covert operations team.

One day after training, the Young Justice team is gathered and introduced to their newest member, the sidekick of the formerly rogue Justice League member. Some are slow to trust, like Superboy, or even Artemis, some of them welcome her and try to make her feel at home, like Miss Martian, Robin, Zatanna, Kid Flash, or Aqualad. Eventually, they all warm up to her, maybe a bit too much, getting protective of her on missions, even jeopardizing the mission or putting civilians in danger just to protect her.

So a choice has to be made by the Justice League: do they keep this sidekick on the young team in order to keep the person who means so much to so many of them, or do they cut her from the team and in turn loose her again.

It would be such an easier choice to make if they were civilians or injured enough that they would have had to be cut from this line of work.

I just love the idea of Huntress!Darling & Sidekick!Darling, I don't know, just the unhinged mother-daughter duo who are like feral house cats half the time and the other half of the time Sidekick!Darling is worrying over her mom who got caught in her grief over her old partner, aka the Question.

If anyone has any requests for this idea or ideas for Sidekick!Darling's hero name, drop it in my ask box.

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hischiershoe · 21 hours ago

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HOW'D I MISS THAT YESTERDAY!?!?!

If you'd fancy. It's giving off season. (I vote Nico)

06. platonic sleepovers that somehow ends up with you waking up with their arms around you

we love off season nico so much

no warnings!!! (im shocking myself there has been no angst anywhere), a tiny bit of timo slander but its out of love

When your sister dragged you into the camping trip she was going on with her husband and their friends, you hadn't expected them to make you share a tent with Nico. You begged her to let you cram into their tent, but she was adamant that as the two only single people (a fact she heavily emphasized), the two of you were going to stay in the same tent. Now, it wasn't as if you didn't know him well enough or didn't like him, it was just that you liked him probably a little too much.

In your defense, it was hard to not like him. He was one of the kindest people you had ever met, and he was always willing to go the extra mile for anyone he came across, even strangers. And yeah, he was also pretty attractive.

"You're going to be fine," Your sister stresses as you help her unload the car, "You've known him for years. It's not like it'll be weird or anything."

"Could be worse," Her husband shouts over his shoulder, "You could be sharing with Meier."

The thought alone sends an uncomfortable shiver down your spine.

"What if I slept outside," You shrug your shoulders, following her to the area where all of the others had begun setting up.

"One, we both know he'd never let that happen. And two, I would just make him drag you into the tent after you fall asleep."

You let the conversation end there, choosing to let her delegate small tasks to you while the two of them set up their four-person tent. Nico and his brother were setting up their two tents, which made it easy for you to avoid him until you absolutely couldn't anymore. You even waited until he was far enough away to toss your stuff inside the tent before retreating back to your sister.

She was quick to pick up on what you were doing, and when everyone was settling into their chairs to sit around the fire, she "subtly" suggested Nico sit next to the three of you. She didn't glance in your direction when you narrowed your eyes at her, but you could still see the smug smile on her face.

"Hey," Nico greets as he falls into the chair beside you, beer in one hand and phone in the other.

"Hi," You give him a small smile, "How've you been?"

"Pretty good," He nods, spreading his legs apart as he adjusts his hips in the seat, "Glad to be home for the summer. How have you been?"

"I've been pretty good. I got promoted to associate editor a couple of months ago, so works been a bit busier," You admit, the nerves you were feeling before slowly dissipating as you fall back into normal habits.

"That's awesome! You'll be senior editor before you know it." His tone was genuine and encouraging, and you couldn't help but smile.

By the time everyone was separating off to go to bed, the anxious feeling in your stomach returned in full force. Nico was quick to let you have the tent to change clothes while he stayed outside, and the entire time you were mumbling to yourself in attempt to calm down. I

It was just a tent. Just two people sharing an air mattress in a tent. That's all. It's not a big deal. You can do that.

The sound of someone pulling the zipper down was what caused you to stir, but the warm feeling pressed against the entire front of your body was what really woke you up. Your legs were tangled together with Nico's, one of his arms slung over your waist to keep you snug against his side while yours was stretched out across his abdomen.

You carefully crane your neck to look up at him, and when your gaze finally finds his face, he slowly opens one of his eyes to look at you. Neither of you says anything when you hear the quiet gasp of your sister, and you don't make any indication you're going to separate from each other, either.

"I told you it would work," You hear your sister squeals as she zips the flap back up, "They totally like each other! They're cuddling!"

"Can you shut up," You briefly pop your head up, though Nico's grip on your waist doesn't allow you to move much more than that, "Some of us like to sleep past five!"

Your head falls back to Nico's chest, an annoyed groan slipping through your lips as his absentmindly slips under the material of your shirt. It was a careful, sublte movement, but it made goosebumps rise on your skin and your breath get caught in your throat. The gentle circles his thumb was making against your hip certainly wasn't helping either.

"Morning," He mumbles, his voice deep and heavy from just waking up.

"Not yet," You shake your head against his chest, "I need to sleep a little more before I fight my sister for apparently setting me up."

"Well," He presses his head back into the pillow and closes his eyes, "Go easy on her. It wasn't just her idea."

"No promises- Wait, what?!"

#you just got a letter! 💌#from: shea 💜#nico hischier #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier blurb #abby writes 💻

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mair-s · 3 days ago

Text

Accidentally Yours

(Heavily inspired by Mischievous kiss / Playful kiss.)

si-eun x f!reader.

pov : first-person

genre : one-sided —> slowburn, grump genius x chaotic sunshine, forced to live together.

Y/N finally decided to confess your feelings to Si-eun, the person who you had truly loved for 2 years straight.

Unfortunately Si-eun terribly rejected her.

But… fate had other plans.

chap 1 : Unfortunate luck

On a breathtaking starry night, you were awestruck as you witnessed shooting stars streaking across the sky for the very first time in your life! Each brilliant flash filled you with wonder, igniting a sense of magic that you had never experienced before.

You gazed at the sky while listening to the radio and writing in your diary, which was filled with fantasies and things you wished were true and would happen.

“I recently came across a heartfelt blog post from someone who deeply regretted never confessing their feelings to their high school crush. It made me reflect on how important it is to be brave and speak our truths. If you are in a similar situation, remember that now is a beautiful opportunity to express your feelings. Just like the shooting stars lighting up the night sky, take a moment to make a wish and take that step.” The person on the radio said. This led you to wonder, if you should finally confess your love to Si-eun that you kept to yourself for 2 years straight.

So, you mustered up the courage and decided to write a simple love letter.

You wrote ;

“Dear Yeon Si-Eun from Class A,

You may not know me but I know you, I am Y/N from Class F.

Ever since the start of the high school, the moment I laid eyes on you. My heart felt different, something it had never been like before. Every time I look at you, everything around me freezes and my eyes just focus on you.

All I have to say is that— I like you. A lot.

I know you don’t but I just hope you read this letter and show you how much I admire you.

You are perfect. You’re quiet, strong, athletic, and intelligent. You are the person everyone looks up to. And I hope you see that.

And I’m going to say this again, I like you and I do hope one day you can consider it and maybe… give me a response? Thank you.

From,

Y/N from Class F.”

You read through the letter over and over, making sure it was perfect and up to his standards and placed it into a small envelope sealed with a heart sticker.

Next day . . .

You woke up extra early to fix your hair and to look near as possible. After that you hurried your way back to school, preparing to give him the letter.

Once you reached school, you hid behind the bike shed, waiting for the perfect time to hand him the letter. After about 30 minutes, Si-eun arrived at school. Your heart pounded nervously as he slowly got closer and closer to the school gate. You went up to him, letter in hand.

“Yeon Si-Eun… Uh.. I am Y/n from Class F. I have this letter for you. Could you please read it?” You stuttered nervously, hands—trembling, while you looked down. “Why should i?” He retorted, giving you the most worse death stare as you stood face to face with him. You looked back up at him in shocked. He walked past you and purposefully shoved your shoulder, hard.

Tears swelled up in your eyes as the letter flew out of your hands and seeing Si-eun step on it, leaving a faint dark mark.

You made her way to class and once she entered into the school’s common area, which was where students would crowd and sit there together while talking about the latest gossip. Unfortunately it was you who was the latest gossip, you confession was already being spread around like the plague.

As soon as you stepped foot into the common area, for a split second the whole school went quiet, then burst into laughter, you heard a few girls giggling and commenting loudly, “Haha!! What made her think she had a chance with THE Yeon Si-eun! She isn’t even all that.”. The group of girls looked at you making sure you heard it. You busted into tears, and ran as fast as you could into the classroom blocks, until two of your friends, Bae-rin and Kim stopped you. They looked at you, both of their faces filled with concern. “Y/n! Why are people talking about you? What did you do!” Bae-rin questioned anxiously, “Yeah! I kept hearing your name everywhere I went! What’s going on?!” Kim followed.

You looked at them, face covered in embarrassment. “I kinda… confessed to Si-eun at the school gate. Where everyone saw.” Both of them exclaimed, “WHATTT?!”.

“Why didn’t you tell us?!”, Kim nagged as she face palmed. You stayed quiet and continued to make your way to class.

As you were walking in the hallway you heard someone scream your name, “Y/NNNN!!!!” It was your boy ‘best-friend’, Wooyoung, who has the BIGGEST crush on you, but you don’t like him back. He’s not your type.

“You confessed to Si-eun?! What did he say? What happened? Did he accept you? What is it?” Wooyoung asked anxiously, praying he did not accept you.

"He didn't even take the time to read my letter," you replied, showing your frustration. Wooyoung eyes widened, not in shock but in excitement, thinking he finally had a chance to get with you once you mentioned you were going to move on from him. Despite him being super excited for you to move on, he decided to cheer you up with your favourite snack, truffle-flavored chips!

You gently smiled as he passed you the chips and you kept it in your bag to save it for lunch, clearly BLIND on what he is actually trying to do. (he’s trying to persuade you)

days go on . . . till sunday.

chap 2

#whc #yeon sieun x reader #weak hero class x reader #park jihoon #one sided love #crush #wooyoung #mairẽs

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awakebutstillinbedd · 1 day ago

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Hey queen hope you’ve been well, I have such a burning request and your one of my fav invincible writers, basically the premise is like mark and fem reader were friends and high school and reader was goody two shoes like the whole nine yards, good grades,teachers pet, student council, all of it but like make and reader fall out of touch and like a couple years later mark is shopping for porno comics and finds out readers is a cornstar/stripper/whatever occupation and basically gets rilled up to their pictures for a couple months until he finally sees them again and is like “let’s bang 🤤” I feel like you would write this so good!❤️❤️❤️ lots of love 💕

mark grayson x fem!prnstarreader

cw: nsfw, mentions of pornography, unprotected p in v

a/n: this was a really fun write and i LOVED this idea so much. i rlly don’t have much to say but enjoy my babies <3 (not proofread)

in highschool you stayed on top of all of your classes, favored by all of your teachers (almost everyone hated you for it) and did everything that was asked or expected out of you. a model student really, everyone knew you would get far in life. being the head of student council looked great for the yearbook and had your mailbox absolutely full with offers and such. your friend, mark, was your number one hater and constantly teased you about being a “goodie two shoes”.

“come on, you never go to any parties. or even go out.”

he didn’t mind that much in the beginning. until it started getting worse and you never said yes. always studying or made up an excuse as to why you didn’t go anywhere. after graduation you and mark kind of fell out, he stopped asking you to go places and eventually stopped reaching out to each other in general. he figured he would’ve held you back, or that you’d succeed and leave him anyway so he did it first.

a few years pass and mark is taking advantage of his adult privileges in the comic book store. like most men would be, he’s browsing the pornos. some of which he’s seen online before, and others are new. little pervert, he’s browsing at every single one. however he finds himself flipping to a familiar face.

“she looks familiar.”

it makes him stop in his tracks. mark mumbles to himself, his eyes squinted as he flips through the pages analyzing your features until he finally finds it.

“oh yeah her? best looking one over here if you asked me. local too”

a random giving his input looking at the same copy that mark has in his hands.

the “local” completely gave it away but of course he’s ignored, mark can’t believe what or even who he’s looking at right now. the yes-woman from highschool had pictures of her pole dancing and in multiple sexual positions. you looking the best you’ve ever looked made a mix of arousal and surprise stir in his stomach.

“ka-ching!” a biiiiig purchase was made.

mark was back home, all 8 volumes of your magazines stacked on his desk. he sat, staring at the cover of your debut magazine. his cock rock hard as he tried his hardest not to unbutton his jeans and use it for what it’s meant to be used for. face was all red, hands covering his mouth as he sat and stared at your body and the different positions you were in. such vulgar gestures and even the simplest thing like you with your lips on a cherry lollipop riled him up. they were glossy and made thoughts he would’ve never even thought about thinking of you while in high school cloud his mind.

next thing he knows, his cock is freed and he’s pumping his shaft to a photo of you in a lavender lingerie set with your back arched. he’s breathing heavily with the guilt in the back of his head. blabbering constant “i’m sorrys” as he reaches his climax. the next page, oh so much worse for him. it’s you with your hands to the sky and your breasts are completely showing in all of their glory. this just makes him explode. mark covers his tip with his hand as the cum shoots from his pinkish-red tip. he. can’t. stop. cumming.

this starts an obsession that goes on for months. nearly every day he thinks about how good you’d feel, almost pretending he still knows you and you’re both still friends. mark being mark, he runs through all 8 volumes and the next 3 that come out. doesn’t matter though, he’d look at the same ones as long as it was you.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

every once in a while he finds himself back at the store where he found you the first time. every. single. time. he was there for another magazine he couldn’t believe the model student was in this kind of business. you mean to tell him the valedictorian of CO’ 20XX didn’t go to college and is actually in a magazine with her legs spread? no way!

a lucky day of his is when you’re both at the back of the same comic store. you have on a hat and sunglasses as you browse the catalogue of different things. hoping to not get noticed. but mark noticed you. you bet your ass he would’ve.

“holy shit. she’s actually here.”

sounded sarcastic, but it was genuine surprise. he mustered up the courage to tap on your shoulder. he does it, but it’s like time freezes for the both of you. his hair grew a small bit since highschool, you noticed but acknowledged the even bigger thing. you know exactly what he’s holding.

“i- know we haven’t talked in years and this-”

he points at the magazine

“-isn’t the best way to say hey old friend but..”

your eyes narrow at him. he can’t see them but they’d be like arrows piercing through his own eyes. cutting him off, you see right through him. you missed him, but you couldn’t admit that. mark is quite literally the last person you thought you’d ever see with one of your mags in his possession. it’s not like he had just found you, you knew he was looking for you from the way he stammered over his words talking to you with that in his hand.

it only took about 15 minutes for him to catch up with you and convince you to come to the same old apartment he had moved into right after graduation. you had already taken your coat off and sat your sunglasses on the coffee table, waiting on him to fetch you a drink. you did indeed look very put together despite what your profession was. you had money, that’s for sure.

mark handed you your wine as he examined all of your features, and most of all the lingerie that was revealed when you took your coat off. this whole thing didn’t feel real, he’s obsessing over the fact that the teachers pet that he hadn’t spoken to in years is drinking wine in lingerie on HIS couch! his eyes were stuck on your nipples and areolas that were visible through the single layer of lace on your bra. and you knew he was staring. mark’s pants tightened from the pit of arousal and you find yourself staring as well.

you sit your glass onto the coffee table, crossing your legs and looking at him with a straight smile and pretty eyes. you knew exactly what he wanted, but he was always too much of a pussy to actually ask.

“grayson. do you want to fuck me?”

your words shot like an arrow to his ears, of course it all went straight to his cock. it was electric. it only took 2 seconds until he was on top of you fondling your breasts like a starved man. kissing all over you, you were smothered to say the least and you enjoyed every single moment. your quiet moans were real, and you quickly realize you didn’t have to fake an orgasm for a camera.

mark’s wanted this for so long. you’re the only thing that’s been able to pleasure him for the past 5 months, after this he won’t be able to live without you. your panties are tossed onto his living room floor and you were on your back with your hips lifted up to his face. he spread your lips, spitting on your cunt with a smile right before he dove in to lap up the wetness that pooled between your legs. his biceps wrapped around your thighs, keeping you in place no matter how much you squirmed.

you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge- but he stops. he tells you “not yet” . mark quickly frees his cock from the imprisonment of his pants, and it can’t stop leaking precum. next thing you know you’re back on your back with your knees pushed to your chest with mark teasing your begging hole with the tip of his cock. you’re weeping, crying for him to put it in and he smiles.

“say please pretty girl.”

“please.”

all of your sense of self worth was thrown out of the window for this man and you enjoyed every second. mark pushed himself inside of you with groan of satisfaction. you reach for him, it’s almost like he’s too big you can’t even speak but you know you want more.

he accepts your little memo and lets you know with a pull back and a quick snap back into your hips. the feeling of your walls clenching around him makes him jolt, like you never want him to leave. he didn’t expect you to be so desperate because of your ways of work so you took him by surprise.

it’s like he’s drilling inside of you. the both of you are filled with pure bliss as he fucks your sweet cunt, it’s a pleasure for him really. all of the frustration he’s had, the time he spent pent up and it was all about to be released because of you. he kisses your neck and pinches your nipples as his length goes in and out of you.

mark tangles his fingers into your hair as he walks you over to the kitchen counter, still inside of you and you’re bent over. you have nothing to grab onto this time, he’s chuckling behind you watching you struggle to keep up with him.

“feels so fucking good.”

his moans fill up the room and so do yours. he’s still so aggressive despite the pressure building up in his shaft. all you can feel his him ramming into you while it twitches inside. your eyes shut tight as you release all over his cock, your legs are shaking and he loves looking at the foamy ring of while developing at the base of his cock. he’s almost done.

mark quickly pulls himself out and turns you around, grabbing your face and forcing his cock in your mouth so he can finish. he gives one single thrust and you feel warm cum shooting down your throat, he’s shaking with his head tilted back to the ceiling. the heavy breathing mixed with choking makes him smile once more.

“so pretty..”

maybe you’ll quit your job?

#invincible #mark grayson #mark grayson x you #mark grayson x reader #smut #invincible x y/n #fem!reader #pstar #mark grayson smut #mainstream mark

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therobotsarestuckinmyhead · 2 days ago

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Can you do where the reader is in a abusive relationship. With Orion pax, D-16, Elita one, and bumblebee

You can ignore this I don’t mind

♡ [TFO] "TRAITS" — Issues You Would Face In A Relationship w/ Them

i cannot see any of my babies being abusive but i can see them having some toxic traits at best so i wrote based off of that, im sorry if this wasn't what you meant :( and i want to clear my inbox so no, i won't ignore

summary: toxic(?) traits of our main four

including: Orion Pax, D-16, Elita One and B-127/Bumblebee

Orion Pax:

— He is reckless and it leaves you worried sick. Orion loves you, he really does and he will remind you of that all the time. But he does not know how not to do something potentially dangerous.

— In other words, Orion is too active for his own good. He constantly gets into trouble and might even drag you down with him sometimes, he will apologize afterwards though. You manage to avoid demotion narrowly every single time.

— There is a chance that he ends up being the reason you lose your job, especially if you're higher up the leaderboard in the sector.

— You have to stand up for him before he gets himself demoted. Speaking to supervisors, begging Darkwing to let Orion off the hook.

— Orion will keep saying it won't happen again and he's right, it won't because every single time he gets in trouble, it's never for the same thing. It's like he invents trouble. You'll need a lot of patience but he's as loving as they come despite the minor spark attacks he gives you.

D-16:

— For D-16, the issue is the polar opposite. He is too docile. While Orion will take a risk or two to come see you during working hours, D-16 is committed to being a hard working miner and sometimes gets very little time to spend with you.

— Especially if you're from another sector. D-16 barely gets anytime with you. He's constantly working double shifts and as he's the top of the leaderboard chart in his sector, D-16 takes extra time too.

— Because of this, your relationship with him might be some sort of strange long-distance relationship where he's obviously right near you but the two of you are separated by the gap of long working hours. And like I said, this is worse when he's from another sector.

— Other than this, he's basically pretty alright. D-16 does have some other issues, especially with his lack of esteem.

— It makes him easily susceptible to jealousy. But he does trust you so it doesn't interfere in your relationship or anything. Dee thinks that you're the best he can do so despite the very little time you get to spend with him, you're his world.

— He is really good at comforting you though. Things get... messy when he becomes Megatron though.

Elita One:

— Now, Elita's primary issue is not about spending time with you or getting into trouble, no. She's actually a very capable partner but her issue is her inability to sugarcoat.

— Elita One will only ever be as blunt as possible when communicating her emotions which is a great thing because there's rarely any misunderstandings between the two of you.

— But her downfall comes when it concerns comforting you through something. If you're going through something and you really need someone to make you feel better, Elita may or may not be that bot depending on the situation you got yourself into.

— She'll be bluntly upfront and direct when she thinks you were wrong. However, she does eventually come to realize it's not a very good idea to do that and resorts to just being silent instead, maybe giving a comforting gesture at best. She learns. Give her time.

— Elita, much like D-16, has a similar issue when it comes to a work-life balance. She's always far too occupied being a supervisor to really spend a lot of time with you. Elita is very career driven so it's often times worse than D-16.

B-127/Bumblebee:

— Oh boy. He has the exact opposite of everyone's problems. Ever since you fell into sub-level 50, he's been attached to your hipstruts like the two of you are a combiner. Bee's isolation has really taken a toll on him.

— Bee can get… obsessive sometimes. He's always on the lookout for you, he's the clingiest partner imaginable out of the four of them. You can't ask for a moment alone. When you do, he immediately thinks you hate him and begins internally panicking, you'll have to reassure him constantly. He struggles to tell when you want to be left alone for a while or need a moment to yourself.

— A mild case of separation anxiety. He can't get away from you for too long or else he starts panicking. Bee isn't mentally very well, sub-level 50 messed him up mentally. So if you want to spend time with your friends, he will ask if he could come along with you. He's literally the type of boyfriend that would steal you away from your best friends.

— I feel like he definitely needs therapy before a relationship. Bee is very impulsive and too dependant. A breakup might shatter him but he would get up... gradually.

— Despite this, he's an attentive partner. He will listen to your problems and needs.

guy pls stop requesting after requests are closed :( i want the satisfaction of seeing my ask box empty

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howi99 · 19 hours ago

Text

The Grimmwalkers Chapter 6

_ Weiss and Pyrrha's POV _

Weiss: *landing by using a nevermore she summoned as a glyder, its blue eyes and white appearance a testament of her mixed blood* Damn it! *Stomp the ground in annoyance* That imbecile didn't even listen to a single thing i said, did he?! I told him to stay next to me but NoOooO! He's going to be "Fiiiiine"!

Pyrrha: *landing next to her, morphing back into her human form as the black tar evaporates quickly* I think i saw him land near here.

Weiss: *quickly switching from annoyance to worry* Did he seem fine!?

Pyrrha: *making a so-so signe with her hand* He protected his vital area, but i also saw him hit his head against an enormous branch so...

Weiss: *wince* That's not good-

Pyrrha: He also landed his legs first without rolling. His legs are probably shattered as we speak.

Weiss: *now panicking* THAT'S NOT GOOD AT ALL!!!

_ Jaune and Yang's POV _

Jaune: *Opening his eyes, the light of the sun being filtered by the leaves* Ooooow... *Trying to move, wincing from the pain* Damn it, who would have thought they'd catapult us? I'm tough, but not THAT tough...

Jaune: *already feeling his "semblance" mending back his bone, as a thick black tar-like liquid began covering his torso* Good thing i can heal rapidly, or i'd be toasted. *Pensive* Now, what was i supposed to do again? Getting a relic, right?

Jaune: *slowly getting up, wincing as the healing process continues* Urgh, damn that stings. *Look at his side, the new scroll the school had given to him, already broken* ... Oh, that's bad.

Jaune: *hearing noises coming from the bushes, turning his head towards said sounds as the last remaining tar dissipates in the wind* Hm?

Yang: *waving at him while approaching* Oi! Jaune! *Looking at him from top to bottom* You good?

Jaune: *smile* Yeah, why?

Yang: *pointing upward* I saw you crash through a tree, even with Aura, that must have hurt like hell.

Jaune: *shrug* Eh, i lived through worse.

Yang: *surprised* Really?

Jaune: Sure! I was hit by a truck once. Had to stay a week in bed.

Yang: *now confused* A week? Only that?!

Jaune: *now his turn to be confused* What do you mean, only that? That was slow for me-

Yang: Slow?!

Jaune: Ye.

Yang: Holy- How much Aura do you have?! *Approaching him* Let me see your- *sees the busted Scroll on the ground* Oh. Guess i can't see it then.

Jaune: *Wince* You think i'll have to pay for it?

Yang: Probably not?

Jaune: I hope you're right...

_ Ozpin and Glynda's POV _

Glynda: *sigh, feeling a headache growing in* Great, that's just great!

Ozpin: ...

Glynda: *pointing Ozpin, looking angry* I told you how many times that something like this could happen!? *Walking back and forth* Now there's a kid in the middle of a Grimm infested forest who can't even call for help!

Ozpin: I have complete fate in this batch of students. *Chuckle* Beside, the tracker of Miss Xiao-Long is now walking alongside Jaune's. *Shrug* He probably landed on his scroll, it would hardly be the first time this happened-

Glynda: Did you not see him?! There's no way he landed safely! Miss Xiao-Long is probably dragging him to safety as we speak!

_ Back to Jaune and Yang _

Jaune: *walking alongside her* Really!? Do you have it here!?

Yang: *sigh* No, my sister insisted on making modifications to her. But Bumblebee should arrive in a week or two.

Jaune: *looking excited* Yooo, you have to take me on a run! I always wanted to, but my dad always said it was "too dangerous".

Yang: *smirk* Seems like an overprotective guy.

Jaune: *rolling his eyes* You have no idea. It's as if he thinks i should be caged all my life for my own safety, but that's not life! *Grin* I want to fight Grimm, save the day, be a hero! *Sigh, slumping slightly* But my dad says it's just stupid dreams and that i should become an athlete instead.

Yang: That doesn't sound so bad-

Jaune: *deadpan* I come from a huntsmen family. My father is a huntsman, half of my sisters are huntresses and i'm the only one being discouraged to follow my dreams.

Yang: *wince* That rough buddy.

_ Weiss and Pyrrha's POV _

Weiss: *panicking* WHERE IS HE!?

Pyrrha: *pointing the marks on the ground* Probably that way-

Weiss: HOW!? HIS LEGS SHOULD HAVE SHATTERED ON IMPACT!

Pyrrha: *shrug* Probably has something to do with his wild-born attributes? Beside, there's a second pair of tracks beside his. *Pensive* Probably that blond girl, they did jump in the same direction-

Weiss: But she's a human! What will happen if she finds out, huh!?

Pyrrha: *crossing her arms, looking at her best friend with a dubious expression* Honestly, that was bound to happen anyway. Did you forget that we are only three in the entire school year? Probably even the entire school?

Weiss: I... Did not think of that. *Shake her head* But still! We could have chosen someone who is open-minded and-

Pyrrha: *sigh* Weiss, we don't really have the luxury to choose who is going to be partner with who.

Weiss: But-

Pyrrha: *chuckle* Come on, let's follow them. *Smirk* We just have to kill the Grimm before they find them.

Weiss: ... *Sigh* I guess you're right.

#rwby #weiss schnee #pyrrha nikos #jaune arc #yang xiao long #rwby ozpin #glynda goodwitch #rwby au #The Grimmwalkers

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madameisaacpereire · 3 days ago

Text

beautiful and brutal and cruel

❝ Lay with me a minute?”

There’s something soft there. Small. It’s so reminiscent of the way you remember him behaving before the accident, when he was just a little boy sick with fever, or cold, or recovering from a particularly rough bout of the measles. You can’t bring yourself to deny him very much when he’s at his best. When he’s like this, it’s entirely impossible.

You press your lips together as if to keep your answer in. Bite your cheek once, twice, as if you really have any say.

“Alright.❞

The one where you drop off Henry's migraine medication.

ok ok so the canon police might not like this one bc it's basically pure fluff and there's something sort of off about henry here imo but i've been working on this for far too long. so here's your promised angel fluff piece. also, if you like picasso, maybe skip this.

read on ao3 + the guardian angel collection

You intend to just drop the migraine medication off, but his house is too still when you arrive. The migraine must be far worse than he let on over the phone. Guilt needles your stomach lining. You’ve been trying to put some distance between you and him recently, because though it hurts to see the way his eyes stick to Camilla a half second longer than everyone else- it always has. What hurts most unbearably is the way her fingers graze his wrist any chance they get.

She reciprocates his feelings, so clearly, and the thick, black feeling that bubbles up in your stomach when you witness this is something you don’t want to process. You refuse to. You find yourself far too fond of Camilla for it to be something as simple as envy: you want her as happy as you want Henry, if not more. But there’s a touch of that alongside something much sharper, something far deeper, something terrifyingly certain. And you and Henry are merely friends. You have to be. Looking out for him, right now, is your job.

A job you’ve clearly neglected. So you run the kitchen tap until it’s shockingly cold, fill him a glass of water, and wet a washcloth to help soothe the pain. The apartment is eerily quiet. There’s no sign of life as you pass his desk; it sits well organized, as though it has been untouched for days. You should have checked in earlier or been easier to get ahold of, but you were too proud, too filled with that feeling you don’t want to give more power to by naming. Being responsible for his agony is your penance.

Henry’s bedroom is night dark, illuminated only by the daylight that pours in as you crack his door open. He groans, eyes squeezed shut, clearly disturbed by this intrusion. He’s in bed, blanket pulled up to his chin, and appears to have been for quite some time.

“It’s just me,” You whisper, shutting the door behind you as quietly as you can.

“Angel?” His words are gritty, exhausted.

You hum in acknowledgement and move about the room as quietly as you can manage. You set the cloth on his forehead first, then lift a hand and place the water in it. He makes a miserable, exhausted, relieved noise at that, eyes fluttering open. He squints up at you like it’ll be any easier to see you through the dark, without his glasses. It’s cute, in the way he often is. It brings a smile to your face. You fish the pill bottle from its white paper bag, tap two into your hand, and hand those over as well.

He takes them immediately, pushing up onto his elbows to do so. He doesn’t hand the glass back to you until it’s empty, but when he does, it comes along with a tired, meek nod of thanks. He flops back against the bed with a speed that makes you wince on his behalf. You swallow once, and glance back toward the door. You should go, yet can’t bear to leave him in such a state.

“Do you need anything else while I’m here?” You ask, keeping your voice low.

He opens one eye again, his worse one, in an attempt to look up at you.

“Lay with me a minute?”

“Please, angel?” Both of his eyes are fixed on you now, or at least in the general area he presumes you to be.

You press your lips together as if to keep your answer in. Bite your cheek once, twice, as if you really have any say.

“Alright.” You pull the blanket back until the spot beside him is uncovered, then clamber over him gracelessly.

He assists as much as he can, touch burning hot against your waist and thighs, singeing through your skirt. It takes your breath away, but so does everything he does; you have practice feigning calm, however poorly. You hardly have time to pull the comforter up, tucking yourself in, before he has unceremoniously hurled himself into your arms with a pained groan at the movement. You click your tongue once out of pity, eyes feeling painfully soft at the sight of him.

His face is buried in your upper abdomen– too low to be indecent, yet far too intimate– and it stirs up more feelings you don’t want to acknowledge. Domestic ones. Dangerous ones. So you worry the cool cloth out from under his forehead, where it dampens your sweater, place it instead at the nape of his neck, and focus all your mental energy on playing nurse to the pitiful young man before you.

You know how much he must hate being this vulnerable in the presence of another, even if that other is you. This is an honor, of course, but it also comes with grave responsibility. You must be careful, so as not to frighten him. So you drag your fingertips across his scalp in as soothing a manner as you can, and savor this moment. It’s selfish of you, undoubtedly, but you don’t see the harm in being a little indulgent. Just this once, at least.

It never really ends up being just this once with Henry. Of course it doesn’t. But you tell yourself it is anyway, every time you find yourself in a situation far too close for comfort. You tell yourself that he is, essentially, your younger brother. You were raised in tandem, after all. You tell yourself that’s where all of this fondness stems from. You tell yourself you must really just be deprived of affection from other avenues, ignoring the fact that these avenues have dried up merely because you’ve allowed them to. Because you enjoy being free whenever he calls, however much it’s starting to hurt.

It didn’t used to hurt. Even two months ago, you don’t recall minding where he paid the most of his attention. Yet, somehow, slight irritation has built into an ache you often wish someone might notice. Perhaps, if they did, they’d know how to soothe it. You don’t. Or is it won’t? The boundary between the two is so blurred these days, you can’t even tell much of a difference.

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been sitting like this when Henry moves again, drawing your attention back from your thoughts. He pulls the cloth from his neck, now warm and therefore useless, and maneuvers onto his back. His head is still resting against your abdomen, but now he can look up at you. As though it makes any difference for him, in a room this dim.

“Feeling better?” Your hand now hovers beside his cheek, frozen still.

Henry breathes in through his nose and then lets out a sigh.

“Enough to entertain thoughts.”

“These ones must work better than the others, then.” You’ve watched him cycle through migraine treatment after treatment over the years. At first, they all worked. And then the migraines worsened, and then none of them worked at all. This is the highest praise you’ve heard in years.

He shrugs one shoulder, a small habit he must have absorbed from the twins.

“I suppose.”

If he’s feeling better, you should go. He reaches up and moves your hand back to his hair, a silent request for you to go back to toying with it, and you oblige. This feels even more intimate than it had when he was face down. You’re glad it’s dark enough that he can’t see the way your cheeks are heating. Your breath feels heavier, fingers like coiled springs ready to pounce from your nerves.

“Talk to me?” He asks, eyes slipping shut once more.

“What about?”

“Anything. I’ve been trapped without the capacity for thought long enough that even your taste in entertainment sounds preferable to another moment of silence.”

You try not to smile, lips twisting with the effort.

“So I could recap The Love Boat, in theory, and you’d be happy about it?” You’re teasing.

“Goodness, no,” He frowns, brows creasing, “I’d merely find it entertaining, in its frivolity. You don’t actually watch that, do you?”

You laugh softly and use your thumb to smooth the concern from his forehead.

“No. I don’t.”

“Thank heavens.” His features relax fully once more.

You pause.

“Guernica was moved to Madrid last month.”

“Picasso?”

You hum in response.

“Good riddance. He’s rather awful, isn’t he?”

“Critics don’t seem to think so.”

“They haven’t any taste.”

You hum once more, in concession this time, still working your fingers in circles over his scalp. It must be nice, you think, to be so certain of one’s own opinions. Where you’ve never had such conviction, he always seems to have enough for the both of you. Opinionated. That’s the word you’re looking for.

He looks much younger when he lies like this, less severe and foreboding. You like it more than you know you should. You swallow and look away, as though there’s really anything to see but gray shadows with a grainy quality to them.

“You’re thinking far too loudly to keep all those angelic little thoughts for yourself.” Henry says, voice sticky with relaxation.

You roll your eyes.

“I’m not thinking about anything.”

Henry hums disapprovingly.

“Lying is never permissible, according to Aristotle. And the church. Honestly, angel, it’s appalling.”

“I thought you preferred Plato.”

The smallest smile spreads across his mouth.

“I do.”

“Doesn’t he say something about lying being alright in The Republic?”

Henry tips his head up in a slow nod.

“If it’s for the greater good, yes. Have you been reading something with substance for once?”

You laugh.

“No, I just listen to you.” The words come out softer than you mean them to.

“Good,” His eyes blink open and he gently pushes himself back up to sitting, “Maybe you’ll learn something while you’re here, after all.”

He picks up a pack of cigarettes from the bedside table and busies himself with lighting two. He never asks if you’d like one- he assumes. You aren’t sure what’s more infuriating: his assumptions, or the fact that he’s very rarely wrong.

“Right, it’s not like I take classes here or anything.”

You could let it go, this condescending needling, but you rarely ever do. It occurs to you that maybe you enjoy arguing just as much as he does. As though it’s some sort of foreplay or perhaps your only real outlet for your more grotesque feelings. You ignore those thoughts, as you always do, and accept your cigarette.

“Your classes really shouldn’t count as higher education.” He leans back against the headboard, propping himself up.

He’s slouching, for him, that is- his slouching is anyone else’s best attempt at sitting straight- which is one of your preferred ways to see him. As relaxed as he ever gets. It almost soothes the bitter sting of his words. Almost, but not quite.

You clench your jaw and take a deep, calming pull off your cigarette. It’s sharp and heavy, burning your throat in a way you despise, but it’s a cigarette at any rate. A cigarette is a cigarette, at the end of the day.

Your eyes are still trained on what you can see of Henry’s form, sculpted as ever. His pajamas are cream, you note, and lend him an ethereal air. Right here, in the dark, he reminds you of Swift-footed Achilles; the iterations with darker hair, that is. Beautiful and brutal and cruel.

Henry used the word minunthádios to describe Achilles once, during one of his countless self-contained discussions pertaining to Homer’s works. Short lived, he had said it meant, for nothing so beautiful and strong could last. You wonder, briefly, if this also may apply to him. But that’s a silly thought, fleeting as a bumblebee hopping flower to flower in search of pollen, with just as much potential to sting.

It’s too dark to fully appreciate the strong lines of his nose or lips, let alone the jawline you imagine could even cut through silence, but you know him well enough to pick those features out anyway. Even if he weren’t beside you, you could imagine him there with enough accuracy to set your heart aflame. Still, you won’t let yourself get distracted by the intimacy that is sitting together in his dark bedroom, ‘nor by his looks. You drag your eyes off him forcefully, directing your attention to the blank space before you.

“A bit pompous, even for you.” It takes a considerable amount of effort to keep yourself from sounding affected, “Classical studies are hardly the only ones that matter.”

You bring your cigarette up to your mouth again, shutting your eyes for just a second at the sheer relief it provides. It calms the edginess creeping into your muscles. It makes Henry more tolerable at his worst and heavenly company at his best.

“Maybe so.” He sounds contemplative, and his agreement comes far too easily for you to find it completely satisfying.

Yet, you don’t mind. If you wanted to, it would be incredibly easy to interpret this as pure fondness. And, perhaps, there’s a level at which it is. But you won’t think about it, or will, at least, avoid thinking about it as much as possible. Eventually it’ll spill over, as it always does, because you’ve never been particularly skilled at keeping your feelings to yourself. But for now, you accept it for what it is. An indulgence granted.

You let yourself enjoy the silence, just a little, wonderfully oblivious to what’s to come. You don’t know that you’ll stay over, sleeping beside him with little to no space between your bodies. You don’t know that he’ll spend most of tomorrow with his head on your stomach once more, cool cloth at the nape of his neck just as it was earlier. And you most certainly don’t know that when you leave tomorrow evening, it will be on the coattails of an argument.

For now, this is all there is. And, for now, that’s plenty.

#henry winter fanfic #henry winter x reader #henry winter #the secret history #[ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞; x reader fic.]#[ 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢'𝐦 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦; henry winter. ]

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