#something quick from yesterday

[matoitech]

tumblr annihilated the quality of this so i added a text free image of him so ppl could actually see him! the quality will probably hold up better on my FA lol. i wanted to use a text tool in paint or sai to write all that out but they were either crunchy or just straight up not working for me today

anyway i have had levels boyfriend-adjacent guy in my head for months (almost a year honestly i think) but i only had a fuzzy idea for his design itself in my head and the many attempts i made to just find smth by doodling weren't promising. so while i still think this is a little complex for him (probably kinda overdesigned especially cuz im still so pleased with levels design and her color blocking and she has a great 'looks more complicated than she actually is to draw' design to me) and ill likely mess w it a bit in the future, im happy with where i ended up this time! i have a lot less experience drawing robots than i do just normal furries so figuring out pleasing shapes, lines, and plating for more inorganic stuff isnt rly second nature to me, but i'll get there, and im happy with him for now :-)

one thing i was trying to translate w his design that i couldnt fit on the ref was that since he's level's mechanic and he also does as much of his own servicing as he can, i wanted some of their plating and (minimal) greebling to be similar. zag has some plating styles he likes i think.. i did want their colors to contrast but still look good together :) i had to fight everything in me to not make him just teal. i love you teal. level had enough teal in her design lol. zag got a greener teal for highlights than level's 'beachier' color scheme bcuz i cant resist at least a LITTLE bit

[moeblob]

I vote for Argenti! I hope you feel better soon!

Thank you ! I do feel much better (though I admit I hurt a little for very much my fault reasons but it's mostly manageable through light pain meds).

Take an Argenti o7 I got lazy and didn't draw the roses I was gonna draw to the left so there is now a wide open blank spot.

[kanene-yaaay]

Lan Xichen and Wei Wuxian only started to get into tickle fights because one day, while he was teaching about music cultivation to Wangji’s class, since he had to go to shufu resolve a serious matter, Wei Wuxian confused him for Lan Zhan and, in an unfair attack from behind, locked his arms in a hug and tickled his ribs until a very (not familiar??) laughter was ringing in the air.

Of course, even after saying that he didn’t take the confusion to his heart and accept his brother in law’s apologies, his revenge was swift and merciless. Not one to be easily outdone, Wei Wuxian decided to compete to see who was the biggest tickle monster in Gusu Lan

Rip mah bro Lan Wangji. And the juniors. They will all be missed

[goblin-enjoyer]

Ok I think I’m too far gone. I had a dream where izutsumi was demanding I eat better in a gift shop connected to what seemed like some sort of dark iron dwarf raid entrance. I know “haha watching/reading dungeon meshi makes the characters pop up in your head and tell you to eat better” is the funny joke around here, but were you gits not 100% joking or something? Am I just looking too much into a random dream? (Probably)

[court-of-constellations]

Hello everyone!! I'm back with another post about my original universe, this time about nymphs!

This is even longer than the vampire one so the rambling is under the cut, and I was so tempted to include information about my inspiration for certain things and why I made the creative decisions I did, but I refrained because I wanted to keep this focused and not go off on tangents (however, if you do want to hear about that stuff, feel free to send me an ask at any time! I'm always happy to ramble about this universe!)

So. Nymphs. They're typically defined (by humans) as nature spirits, but what does that mean?

Well, the literal dictionary definition is "a spirit born from the earth or water; a being connected to the earth." Nymphs are, in short, personifications of nature. That's not to say that every little aspect of nature has a corresponding nymph- but there are several kinds of nymphs for several different types of nature.

Nymphs, as a whole, can be divided into two categories: land and water. There are a couple types of nymph that could fit into both categories, and one specific type of nymph that doesn't fit into either, but most nymphs can be clearly defined as one or the other.

Nymphs frequently spawn in areas with high magical concentration; why this is, nobody knows, and most other scholars have put it down to those areas being sacred in some way. These scholars are the same ones that hail nymphs as creations of the divine, made to safeguard the lands that are rightfully ours, so any conclusion of theirs must be taken with several grains of salt. I find that many scholars who subscribe to this field of thinking have never even seen a nymph in their lives, and assume that they are all perfectly like us humans (despite their appearances). This is a lie, one that continues to be retold despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary.

To understand nymphs, one must first understand that they are not human. They are sentient, intelligent, and quite interesting, but no matter how humanoid their shape might be, they are not and never will be even close to human beings. The exceptions to this rule will be covered later, but true nymphs are nature in its purest form: wild, unpredictable, and untameable. Like fairies, they operate on an entirely separate morality than humans, but unlike fairies, there are no clever tricks you can use to escape them, no set rules you may follow. If fairies are order, nymphs are chaos. If you should encounter a nymph, then by all means converse with them and befriend them if you like, but never forget that they are not the same as you, and no matter how benevolent they may seem, they could turn on you in an instant.

With all of this out of the way, let's finally get to the types of nymphs and their origins.

Land Nymphs

This category of nymph, as the name suggests, are tied to the land. There are several kinds of nymphs who fall under this category, and those nymphs have so many subspecies among them that if I listed them all, this text would be thicker than my torso.

Still, I shall endeavor to at least impress upon you the general idea of which nymphs come from where, so that you might know to use the correct terminology when describing to a friend and encounter you may have had in the woods or fields. Any further study into the subspecies can be found in other, more involved texts, ones whose authors were compensated enough to care about listing every type of nymph that could possibly be found in our lovely lands.

The first to be aware of are dryads, nymphs who have spawned from trees. It is unknown how long a tree must live before becoming a dryad, but this author suspects it to be somewhere in the hundreds, if only for the fact that cutting down younger trees has not as of yet brought a furious dryad out for my blood into my path. Should this change, this text will naturally be updated should I survive long enough to do so.

There are as many types of dryads as there are types of trees, and though there are certainly scientific names for each and every one, I personally have found that simply using the name of whichever tree they spawned from is quite sufficient. A dryad who spawned from an ash tree is an ash dryad, from an oak tree is an oak dryad and so on and so forth; I am quite sure I need not recount the name of every tree for the reader to understand my point.

True dryads, once born from whichever tree they are, are from then on about as attached to the tree as a human might be their parents; their personal feelings vary from nymph to nymph, but in terms of life force, they can and will live even if their tree has been cut down. Unlike humans, the only thing that can kill a true dryad is when the last trace of their tree has disappeared from this world; be it by decay or fire or a misplaced disintegration spell, once the tree is well and truly gone, so too is the dryad.

In terms of a dryad's appearance, their skin will be made out of the same bark as their tree, their hair the same leaves, their innards the same wood. Their eyes may have fruits or flowers in them depending on the tree and time of year, but they may simply be empty sockets. In any case, you should know a dryad at first sight, for unless walking trees are quite common in your place of residence, there's really nothing you can mistake them for.

I would give a description of a dryad's typical personality, as so many others have in their own texts, but my experiences with them have made me aware that they differ in personality as much as humans do; this holds true for all nymphs and I will not repeat such trite and blatantly untrue statements as "all dryads are nurturing, all naiads are mischievous," etc. That is my final statement on this matter and if I receive one more letter from my editor asking where the personality descriptions are, I swear I will-

(Editor's Note: The rest of this tirade had to be cut for its vulgarity and surprisingly creative threats towards me, my place of work, the scholars that continue to perpetuate these stereotypes, their families, and oddly enough, any cows they may have in their possession. Rest assured it was very much unsuited for such a text, but I preserved as much as I was morally able to.)

The florae, nymphs born from flowers, differ from dryads in appearance and origin, and that is where the differences end. They are comparatively rarer as flowers are quite fragile and much more likely to be destroyed, but so long as the vine or shrub or roots survive, so too will the flora. Oddly enough, trees that produce a dryad may also produce a flora from its flowers.

Florae are typically made out of whatever their flower bloomed on, be it vines or stems or branches. Whatever their flower was, replicas of it will be blooming all over their body, including in their eyes, and their hair will be made out of its petals. I have encountered florae many times, and I have yet to figure out just how some of the hairstyles they have are physically possible. One of the many mysteries of life, I suppose.

I suppose now that we have discussed dryads and florae, we must now discuss the dragon in the room: the dryads and florae that were once human beings.

There are many, many different theories of why and how this phenomenon occurs, but there are three facts we know: one, that if a human being is turned into a plant, they will inevitably become a nymph, two, that these humans are visually indistinguishable from true nymphs, and three, they are much more fragile- if their tree is cut down or their flower dies, they will die too and there is nothing that can be done about it.

It is for this reason that turning people into plants is so harshly punished, for you have condemned them to either an early death or a painfully prolonged life that could easily be cut short by anyone unaware of their plant"s true nature. But this is not a book about ethics or law, and if you wish to know more, than you must look elsewhere, for I have shared everything that is relevant.

With that out of the way, let's talk about (gods save me) the other land nymphs.

There are nymphs far older than human civilization, and indeed, humanity as a whole. These nymphs are known to the particularly religious as "The Elder Ones" and to the rest of us as simply the land nymphs.

The best way to explain these nymphs is to take a quick look at history. All throughout time, the earth has been shifting and changing, and as it changes, so too do the nymphs who personify it. These nymphs are fluid and ever changing, their types only vague classifications that serve to describe just what they represent at the moment. They are old, wise, and frustratingly reclusive, and the only reason we know they exist is because of what other nymphs have told us.

Thus far, the classifications are:

Oreads (mountain nymphs)

Valleaeae (valley/pasture/glen nymphs)

Pratae (meadow nymphs (Editor's Note: I personally don't understand the point of this distinction))

Napaeae (dell nymphs)

Haliae (seashore nymphs)

Umidae (wetland nymphs)

This is all we really know about them, and though other nymphs claim that it was them who created all other nymphs, that sounds far too religious for this book.

Water Nymphs

Water nymphs are far less varied than land nymphs (thank the gods, this chapter is getting long enough as it is) and they are all, in terms of origin and appearance, functionally the same.

Naiads (the term for water nymphs in general) spawn from a water source that isn't the open sea (why, this is still unknown.) They are made out of water and may adorn themselves with objects found in their water source, such as colorful rocks or flowers and things of that nature.

The subspecies of naiads are:

Lacuae (lake nymphs)

Pegaeae (spring nymphs

Fluminae (river nymphs)

Naiads are a curious case. Unlike land nymphs, they cannot be killed by any means. Instead, they will spawn, live as long as they like, and then once they're done they will dissolve into the water from whence they came, and another naiad will spawn and the cycle will start anew.

There will never be more than one naiad at a time from one water source, and we have yet to discover any nymphs born from the ocean.

Underworld Nymphs

Underworld nymphs have only been said to exist by the precious few undead who are willing to discuss such matters. They are not proven to be anything more than the dreams of a dying mind, and thus I will not be including them in this text no matter how much my editor begs me to.

If you wish to research them, there are a number of scholarly texts that hotly debate their existence, role in the Underworld, origin, and quite literally every little thing about them.

Vagari

Whatever Vagari may be, they almost certainly aren't nymphs. Some say that they are the children stolen away by fairies, others say that they are the tormented souls of lost travelers. All that can concretely be proven about them is that they can be seen wandering the woods, wearing clothes made out of animal skins and leaves, and wearing a mask in the shape of an animal's head.

I write about them in this text solely because we are just uncertain enough of their true nature that they could, possibly, be some form of nymph.

And with that, this text comes to a close. I hope this will serve you well wherever you may be, and always remember: if you should meet a nymph, treat them and their source with respect, never forget that they are as wild as the earth that formed them, and don't get too attached to any objects they may see in your possession. Or just run. That would work as well.

[b4kuch1n]

1/ true to luner new year tradition I've caught a cold after finally getting home and being able to unclench my cheeks. minor one probably so its just gonna be very annoying for a while 2/also true to luner new year tradition I've jumped into something new with No preamble so. hopefully I get this one done fast and we have a 12pg scribbly comic on hand 3/ I'm on bluesky now. do not ask abt what Ive been posting on there u will see

[wisebillygaysex]

head hurts

[pinecavity]

Thinking about how Caleb sleeps facing the door. Always.

It doesn’t matter where you guys are, his place, your apartment, he subconsciously positions himself between you and the exit like a human shield. You used to complain about it when you were kids, not really understanding why you always had to wake up to the view of his broad back. You’d even shove at him when you were groggy and annoyed. Move over, Caleb. You take up too much space. And he would just grumble, shifting only enough to let you push your cold feet against his calves before settling again, always between you and the door.

And sometimes, in the middle of the night, when you wake up to the soft sound of his breathing, you wonder if he ever truly sleeps. His body is still, but there’s a tension in the way he lies, like even in unconsciousness, he’s braced for something. For a threat that’s not there. Like the moment he lets go, something will come to take you from him. Like safety is only real if he’s awake to guard it.

Now, you don’t complain. You don’t tell him to move. Because you know that he’s not just sleeping that way because he wants to. He’s sleeping that way because he has to. Because something deep in his bones won’t let him rest unless he knows, knows, that if anything were to happen, if someone were to come for you, he’d be the first thing they’d have to go through.

So now instead, you press your forehead to the line of his back. Wrap your arms tight around his backside to help ease his mind, even just a little. That you’re here. That you’re safe.

And for a moment, he wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t react.

Then, ever so slightly, his shoulders would relax.

It’s barely noticeable, most people wouldn’t catch it, but you do. You always do. The way his breath leaves him in a slow, measured exhale. The way his fingers, curled into the sheets, unclench just a little.

You tighten your arms around him, pressing closer, letting your warmth soak into his skin. It’s not much. It won’t undo years of instinct, of trauma buried so deep it’s woven into the way he sleeps. But it’s something.

And when his hand— scarred, steady, yours—finds yours beneath the covers, linking your fingers together in the quiet, you think: maybe it’s enough.

// This was a lot longer than expected… I originally planned to write just a quick little hc but alas, can’t help but get carried away when it comes to him. He’s just so… guard dog?? Also, thank you all so much for your love! I just started this account yesterday because I wanted to post my writing somewhere and I was surprised so many of you like it! Was honestly expecting only five notes kekekeke. I’m kind of new to using tumblr as someone who posts so let me know if you want to be mutuals on here!!

[daemonbrain]

"One of me is cute but two though!"

2.4k, cw: breeding kink, smut, kinda baby trapping (?), not proofread

a/n: based off Juno by Sabrina Carpenter hehe happy reading :)

Simon Riley who would go to the ends of the earth for his bird. You wanted to watch your favorite movie for the millionth time with him? Done. You were craving take out from that special spot across town in the middle of the night? He’s placing your order and grabbing his keys to go pick it up after a quick goodbye kiss. You wanted him to kill a little red-haired prick who got too close to you -grazed your arm- yesterday at 17:37 while in a crowded line when he went to the loo, with his bare hands? Fan-tastic. (He may be projecting a little)

But he was worried. He might not be the most perceptive man, but he wasn’t so thick headed he couldn’t see the signs.

The way you made googly eyes at every baby you passed by. Fuck sakes he had never seen so. many. babies. 

Little things everywhere nowadays, though it might just be he’s now paying enough attention to notice. It definitely helped the unintentional search that your grip on his arm tightened every time you saw one. Your soft coos as you turned to him to say for a third time in a row that the babe was the “cutest thing you had ever seen”.

He loved you like he loved his gun after it got him out of a tough spot (he loved you more, but he's pretty poor at putting an example on it), but there was one thing he was wholly unsure he could give you. Being a father has never been something he was sure of, his own making his childhood a living hell assuring him that it wasn’t in his genes or anywhere in his future. He came to terms with that years ago and shoved the idea out of his mind entirely. 

As you both sat down at a coffee shop while taking a break from your park walk, you just happened to get seated right next to another woman, a stroller in your direct view.

Fuckin’ great.

Biting your lip you take a peek at the chubbiest little thing in a deep sleep. Catching the gaze of the mother you smile. “She’s adorable” you chirped. 

As the mother responded with a smile of her own, Simon felt a foot gently nudging his leg as gave him the prettiest eyes. Did you even try to hide it anymore? No, you really didn’t. Eyes filled with thinly veiled intentions, eyes that said “Look how cute! Jump across this table and give me one now,” 

“Isn’t she cute Si?!”

He sighed and replied in his usual grumble, “course, ‘er little jumper is nice.” Tactics. Swiftly move out from the topic and do not let the missus see the little bows… on the jumper… he just pointed- for fucks sake you saw it.

After quite some time giggling with the mother over photos, because of course that had to be the natural progression of things, Simon observed in his characteristic shadow-like demeanor before the little one began to fuss in her sleep. The mother excused herself and the babe to nurse and it’s then you finally turn back to your silent companion with your usual beaming.

“ ‘avin fun there, yeah?” He laughed which came out more as a snort as you mockingly kicked him under the table.

“I am as a matter of fact!”

Pulling his hands into the air in surrender he looks you head on. “Okay, I get it.”

“The baby was just so- ugh! Did you see how chubby she was? Her little hair.. Gosh!” Stay on task. Do not get distracted by the target's beautiful smile or laugh. Someone had to be the voice of rationale after all.

“Like I said ‘er jumper was nice.”

When the pout came to your lips, he considered it a success (you were hot either way) and chalked the whole thing as a minor bump in the road. Whatever this baby fever was would pass.

Nonetheless, he should’ve known his bird better than that. She wasn’t a quitter, that’s for damn sure. As you cooked up dinner in that cute apron and served it plated up so nicely it dawned on him just how… domestic this all was.

It was nice, he concluded. Calm.

You remained pensive and quiet for the most part during dinner, clearly desperate to say what you had been on your mind for weeks. He could see the way your mind's gears turned, wanting to blurt it out. Like an animal going feral at the bars of its cage. Except your the animal and your cage is the inherent trust you will not go awol and chuck your birth control pills into the trash while he’s not watching.

“Simon…” 

Here it comes.

Simon grunted out his response while chewing on his food, looking up to meet your cautious gaze. Leaning across the table you gently lay your hand on his which held his fork, pushing it down.

“I’ve been thinking… a lot lately.” There you went with that look again. “Have you… ever thought of kids before? I- I know we’ve had this talk before… but-”

“C’mere.”

He outstretched his big arms and patted his lap. With quick acceptance you hurried over and let him pull you on top of him, one hand on the back of his chair and the other on your ass for support. The deep kneading of it was also for support of course. 

“You know how I feel about them. ‘Is jus not somethin I think about.” He didn’t dare look away from your eyes. If he was about to take that gleam out of your eyes he at least owed it to you to watch.

You grabbed his face with a light touch and caressed the stubble which had begun to grow with a look beginning to resemble a spot of desperation. Pressing yourself further into his body, you couldn’t help your protests.

“Si.. I just- I want one so bad.” You began to slide your hand down the side of his neck, pressing forward to gently place a kiss. Leaning your forehead in the junction between his shoulder and neck you continued before he could respond.

“Don’t you? A little baby with us all the time.”

Someone had to be the voice of reason and Simon was going to have to put his foot down on this.

“You’re not thinkin straigh’. It would be cute-” He was cut off in shock as he felt the slight rock of your hips as you cowered into his shoulder.

“Just imagine it! One of me is cute enough, but two!” The pace began to speed up as you blatantly started grinding against him. He let out a little huff. Voice of reason. Though his reason was nowhere to be found when he put his hand that was idly on the chair to your backside to encourage the movement.

You knew what came next, you had to sweeten the pot. You knew you were being mean, but you just had to! You were practically given no choice!

“Don’t you want that Si! Don’t you wanna make something together?” You all but pleaded. He looked straight past your head with a crumbling steely demeanor. Fuck.

You already began to tug at his shirt and with a final glare, Simon couldn’t help but look at his pretty bird. His pretty bird on top of the prize she coveted, heat passing between their bodies. Just one time. One time and then they could talk about this properly. 

Simon gathered you up in his arms and stood while pressing an eager kiss to your lips. It was a soft and long thing as he brought you both to the bedroom you shared. He threw you down on the bed and stripped himself as you excitedly did the same.

Smiling up at him as if you won. You did not win. This was not a win, right? You were on your birth control either way, he would pull out as needed. What harm is there in fucking his own girl.

Pushing you on to your back he parted your legs to look what lay between them. There was the prize he was most proud of. Puffy cunt at the mercy of the cool air being pushed out by the vents. You were already beginning to shine.

“You were just waiting for it weren’t you? Knew I couldn’t leave you hanging, yeah?”

With a giggle you spread your thighs further and wiggled your hips teasingly. Simon dropped to his knees and pulled your body to the edge of the bed. Throwing each of your legs on either of his shoulders he spit into your cunt, taking two thick fingers and rubbing it in, catching on to your hole lightly as he played with the slick. He could see the way your stomach tightened as he circled your clit and he winded you up further when he firmly flicked it.

“Si” you whined.

“Wha’ is it?” He grinned as he lowered his head to press a kiss down. Devolving from a kiss, he grabbed onto one of your thighs with a strong grip and began to sloppily lick while you let out your breathy little moans, sensitive to the absolute tank holding you still as he ate straight from the source.

He licked and it just kept going. Dragging his tongue around your cunt, up to your puffy clit. He harshly sucked as he latched on to it drawing a cry from your vulnerable form. Tugging at his hair, he only looks up with his eyes, refusing to pull away his mouth. 

Shaking your head with wide eyes you couldn’t help but push your fluffy little agenda.

“Si please. Please. Please, I need it! I’d never ask for anything else-” you moaned in surprise once again as he added a finger into your hole. Willing himself to pull away from you, Simon continued to fuck his finger into you as he spoke up, spittle and slick coating his mouth. He had to switch gears, use logic (and cum) to deter you.

“We’d never have time. All this?-” He added another finger into your clenching pussy “Gone. We’d be cleaning spit up instead.”

“We’d have a baby!” You exclaimed insistently.

You were practically off the edge, usually by now Simon had you fucked into your own little world. This incessant begging for a little one of your own is keeping you sharper than usual. He’d fix that.

“Please Simon” You pulled him up, the strain of his cock to be inside you encouraging him to follow your movements. He looked at you pretty tits, pretty like everything else on you. Taking a nipple between his fingers and rolling hard.

“These’d get all full.”

Fuck that backtracked his own point. His mind fighting back the onslaught of thoughts at the sight of your tits growing round and heavy because of something he could do. Would your body get all soft- NO.

Lining himself up and looking at that pleading expression, the only time he’d ever seen you so wanting of something you were willing to roll around with nothing else on your mind.

“Just one Si, just one with your eyes your nose your hair-” Your breath went short as he pushed himself in, giving shallow thrusts to feed into your aching cunt. Recomposing yourself you gripped on to his bicep, “Just do it, lock me down tonight.”

Simon couldn’t help the way he subconsciously began pushing your thighs up to give himself a deeper angle, your ankles dangling weightlessly above your head, knees to your chest. The groans which sounded through the room as his hips hammered into you in a desperate chase. 

The two of you could do nothing but stare into each other's eyes, losing yourselves in each other while your cunt squeezes him like a vice. Determined to keep him there, body obstinately stuck on one thing.

 Someone had to be the voice of reason. Someone had to object to a little one with his eyes and your personality. Someone had to be rational and not think about painting the nursery while you waddled about. Someone had to remain level-headed and not imagine the way your eyes would light up with unfettered joy.

You tossed your head back and he couldn’t help but grip your face in his hand, tugging it right back to him.

“With me bird, with me. Look at me.”

Someone had to be rational.

Nodding your head shakily you keep your eyes on the massive man pounding away at you, feeling the way your stomach bulges trying to accommodate all of him, your cunt coaxing him further into the sticky trap.

Your body begging for one thing, you looked like you needed it. Tongue lolling out of your mouth as you were fucked stupid, sweat collecting on your brow. You looked perfect. Your whining swallowed by his own mouth when he presses another kiss to your swollen lips, body enduring in hopes the fat cock ruthlessly disturbing its peace would grant it the big load it craved.

Someone had to be rational?

Maybe it was the way you sucked him in, the way he couldn’t stop thrusting into you, but it’s as if your body sent some message to the receptors in his mind. All that flashed before him images of happy and full and with his baby.

As if you could sense his thoughts, your own peak quickly overcame you white hot. The way you spasmed around him with a loud cry of pure ecstasy.

“Give it to me!” You somehow managed. His mind went blank as drunk off the pleasure as you were, the only thing he could do was thrust, unable to comprehend anything else.

 A shame Simon couldn’t be rational when it came to his bird.

With the final slam of his hips, his release went into the deepest depths of you. His grip on your hips burning from how tight it was as he kept himself flush against you.

It took a few moments to come down from the high. Simon looked at your sweaty face, hazy from lack of energy. Maybe you did win this one, but he really didn't get all this effort (not that he was complaining) if you were still on birth control.

Birth control... which he hasn't had to remind you to take for quite some time...

Out of pure curiosity at his realization, he gently pushed the two of you further up the bed while keeping you plugged up. Opening the first drawer he manages to grab the box which contained your birth control pills. Upon further inspection, he notices it remains unopened and untouched. Shaking his head with a gruff laugh he peers down at you as you shiver from the rumble.

“Dirty girl”

You just smiled.

[whatsverstappeningnow]

how f1 drivers react

when they notice you haven't been eating enough (requested)

drivers mentioned: MV33, LN4, OP81, AA23, CS55, CL16, LH44, GR63

-> tw: obviously references to ED behaviours and not eating, reader discretion is advised if this is a trigger for you!

max verstappen

You thought you were being careful. Smiling while he cooked. Saying you were full from lunch and moving the food around your plate just enough to make it seem like you’d eaten more than you had. You knew it was wrong, you should say something, but couldn't find the words.

You thought you were getting away with it.

Then one night, after a particularly long, stressful day, while the two of are getting ready for bed, Max quietly hands you one of his redbull hoodies. It feels like a peace offering. He's silent for a moment, like he too is struggling to the the right words.

“You’ve lost weight.”

You freeze with your arms halfway in the sleeves, eyes wide and aimed at the ground. “What?”

His tone is neutral, forcibly so, but his eyes aren’t. They’re serious. Studying your reaction.

“I can feel it when I hug you,” he says, blunt and truthful. “You’re smaller. You're tired all the time. You barely touched dinner. Not the for the first time, either”

You try to deflect. “I’m fine. It’s just stress...work’s been a lot—”

“I’m not judging,” he interrupts softly, hands on his hips. “But don’t lie to me. Not about this, schatje.”

You stare at the floor, guilt swirling and pooling in your stomach. His hands find your waist, thumbs brushing over your hips as if to emphasize what he already noticed. He leans in just enough that his forehead touches yours, leaning against eachother softly.

“I know you think it’s not a big deal. But it is to me,” he murmurs. “I don’t care if it’s small meals, snacks, whatever... but you need somehting. I need to know you’re okay.”

Then, after a long pause, “Please don’t shut me out. Your hurting the woman I care about, I can't let you do that.”

He doesn’t push after that. Just holds you tighter that night. Makes breakfast the next morning and doesn’t say a word when you take the plate. Just smiles a little when you pick up the fork.

lando norris

You’re lying on your stomach across your bed, scrolling through your phone aimlessly, when Lando flops down beside you with a sigh. You laugh at his sudden, unexpected appearance, but it dies out when he you don't hear him join in.

“I’m gonna say something, and you’re not allowed to get weird about it.”

You glance over, up your phone down, suspicious, but trying to lighten the tone. The sudden seriousness leaves you uncomfortable. "Hm, ominous."

He gives you a look, one that says he's not joking for once.

“You haven’t really eaten today. Or much yesterday. And I don’t think that’s nothing.”

You open your mouth to deflect, but Lando cuts in, gentler now.

“I’m not mad. I just… I want you to know that I notice these things. I don't want you to hide this stuff. I'm a... a bit hurt that you thought you had to.”

"I didn't mean to it's just. It's hard to talk about this stuff," you try to explain.

"I know that. Of course, I know that. But we spend hours talking about how I'm going, where my head is at, and that's not a one way street, love."

He nudges your shoulder lightly when you you can't find the words to say. “Let me take care of you, yeah? We’ll order something...anything you want! You don’t even have to leave the bed.”

And when you nod, he grins and kisses your cheek like it’s no big deal...like loving you includes this, too.

oscar piastri

Oscar notices something's off before you say even say anything.

You're out running errands together and get dizzy out of nowhere in the middle of the store. You hand grips his as you try and blink away the blurry spots. He's quick to put a hand on your back to help you stay up right, and even quicker to ask whats wrong.

You try to brush it off , I probably just need water or something, but he doesn’t buy it. The crease between his eyebrows deepens.

“You’ve been lightheaded more than once this week.”

You blink at him, surprised, heart suddenly beating faster than before. “No, I haven't.”

But he nods like you've said the opposite. Eyes searching yours for... something.

“I’ve also noticed you keep skipping breakfast a lot. And lunch, probably, if I'm not home with you. And you’re ‘just tired’ every night.”

Oscar isn’t dramatic about it. He just says it plainly, as truth, fact. But that just makes it harder to brush off.

“I’m worried,” he admits, voice quieter, hand holding yours tightly. “You don’t have to explain it all right now. But I need to know you’re okay... I need to know if you're not.”

You murmur that you're not sure what's going on, and it's the truth. Oscar doesn’t press.

“Let’s get head home. Have something easy. And if you don’t want to talk, we can just sit.”

"I'm sorry," you whisper to him, unsure of what to say.

"Please don't apologise. I love you. I want you to be well."

carlos sainz

You’re on your apartment balcony together, lounging around after a long morning sleep in. Carlos offers to make you breakfast, but you tell him not to bother. You’re not hungry.

He pauses mid-step, one foot inside, one still on the balcony. Looks at you, slightly offended on your behalf.

“No desayuno? Why not?”

You shrug, trying to keep your tone light. “I don’t know. I just… don’t feel like eating, I guess.”

Carlos doesn’t say anything at first. He just watches you. But the crease between his brows deepens, and then he's moving toward you, slowly, like he’s approaching something fragile. Maybe he is.

“You’ve skipped too many meals this week, mi vida. I’m not blind.”

His voice is quiet but firm, that kind of gentle stubbornness you’ve learned not to argue with. The kind that comes from a place of love, not discipline. You look down, suddenly finding it too hard to look Carlos in the eyes, but he doesn’t let the moment slip by so easily.

He finally steps right behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist lightly, and resting his chin on your shoulder. His voice is softer now, words whispered right into your ear like a sweet secret for just the two of you.

“I don’t need you to be perfect. I need you to take care of yourself.”

His fingers rub little circles into your sides, grounding and steady.

And before you can come up with a deflection, he’s pulling away just enough to kiss the side of your temple and mutter, “I’ll make something light. You don’t have to finish it. Just try.”

It’s not about food. Not really. It’s about how he wants you well. Wants you cared for. It's about showing you you are loved, and deserve to be taken care of.

alex albon

You're facetiming while he’s away, talking about qualifying, how the pets are doing, your plans for tomorrow, what you did earlier that day, when you offhandedly say, “I had a granola bar today, that counts, right?”

He laughs at first, caught up in your cute rambling. Then stops suddenly, all the humour draining from his face in a milisecond.

“Wait, that was all you had? Actually?”

You realize too late how that sounds. You can't take the words back now, and you can't find it in you to play it off as a complete joke. Part of you wants him to know.

Alex's expression shifts immediately. “Babe… You need to eat. No excuses.”

He leans in closer to the screen, voice suddenly quieter.

“Are you alright? Seriously.”

You start to downplay it, words coming out quickly to cover yourself, you weren't that hungry today, you were busy, you would eat later to make up for it, but he shakes his head gently at each excuse.

“Hey, hey. You don’t need to explain if you’re not ready. I’ve been there, I get it. But I wish you’d told me. I would’ve sent you like… twenty reminders. Or ubereats meals.”

Despite the worry, he smiles at you, soft and sweet, with the kind of look he always has before he leans in to kiss you.

“Okay. We’re ordering food together, right now. Virtual dinner date? I'll get room servivce, order something to the house for you. Yeah?”

You laugh, tear up a little, and agree. He smiles bright at your agreeance, beaming with pride.

charles leclerc

You're halfway through slicing vegetables for dinner when you say it. You'd been tossing up the right words to say all day. Deflecting is an art.

“I’m not really hungry tonight, but you go ahead.”

Charles doesn’t respond right away. Just finishes stirring the pan in front of him, sets the spoon down carefully, and, without another word, switches the stove completely off.

You glance up, confused and stunned. “What are you doing? That's not done yet.”

He simply shrugs. “If you’re not eating, then we’re not cooking.”

There’s no edge in his tone. No accusation. Just quiet finality, as if he had anticipated you not wanting to eat.

You blink, confused. “Charles, that’s ridiculous. You shouldn’t skip dinner just because—”

“Because you are?” he says gently, stepping away from the stove and closer to you. “No, I shouldn’t. But I’m not going to sit here and act like I haven’t noticed what you're doing”

He closes the space between you, wiping his hands on a dish towel before setting it aside.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad, chéri,” he says quietly, searching your expression for the truth of the situation, but coming up empty. “I just want you to take care of yourself. And if I can help, even just a little, I will. If this is what it takes for you to know it is unhealthy, then I will do it.”

Charles reaches out and pulls you gently into his embrace. One hand on your back, the other smoothing your hair behind your ear. When he speaks again, his voice is soft against your skin. “Even if it’s just toast and juice. Even if it’s small. I’ll eat with you.”

You nod slowly, not because you’re convinced you can finish a whole meal, but because the idea of sitting across from him, even with something simple, suddenly feels like something you can do. Something you want to try. For him.

So he kisses your temple, rubs his hand down your back once again, and then says, “I’ll make tea. You pick the bread. Oui?”

lewis hamilton

You’re pacing around, trying to get stuff done, arms filled with knick-knacks you should have put away ages ago, when Lewis gently intercepts you. Hands on your upper arms, holding you still.

“You’ve been running nonstop all day, love. Did you eat yet?”

You wave him off. “I haven’t had time.”

That makes him stop cold. He exhales, long and hard, then walks over and takes your hands in his.

“That’s not okay.”

You go to respond, but Lewis lifts a hand. Gently, calmly stopping you.

“I’m not upset. But I also… don’t think this is the first time you’ve let yourself forget about food. And it’s scaring me a bit.”

“It’s not like that… I promise,” you reply in a hushed tone.

His thumb traces small circles over your knuckles, constant and soft.

“Ok, and I trust you to know if it was like that you could tell me. But I’ve seen what burnout looks like. What forgetting to take care of yourself does. I won’t stand by and watch it happen to you too. I love you too much to watch you crash and burn.”

"Lewis—"

He takes all the clothes and cups from your arms and places them on the table, leaving your hands empty and your heart beating fast.

He leans in and kisses your forehead, hushing you. “Let’s start small. Something warm. Something easy. Please? Gotta make sure my girl is taken care of.”

He doesn’t ask for more. Just reminds you, with every soft word and touch, that you’re worth taking care of, even on the days when you forget how.

george russell

You're lying in bed together when George brings it up for the first time.

"Love, I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me. Please?"

When you turn to look at him, his face is dead serious, his undereye bags heavy and dark like something’s been worried about something for a while.

"You haven’t been eating enough." He says it quietly, thumb brushing just beneath your cheekbone like he’s afraid he’s already said too much.

"That’s not a question," you reply, a little too fast. A little too defensive.

George doesn’t take the bait. He just watches you for a second, gaze steady but soft. There’s no judgment in it, only worry.

“I know,” he says. “But I’ve been holding it in, waiting for you to come to me, waiting for the right time, and... I guess there isn’t one, is there?”

You sigh, low and long from the weight of everything you've been feeling. He shifts closer, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“I’m not angry. I don't want you to think that. I just...noticed recently. And I didn’t want to corner you, or make you feel.. attacked, but I love you, and I can’t keep pretending I don’t see what’s happening.”

You rest your forehead against his chest, and his hand runs gently up and down your back.

“You don’t have to explain anything right now,” he murmurs. “Just let me help. We can start slow. A good breakfast tomorrow. I’ll make tea. We can talk about it, if you'd like. One thing at a time. Yeah?”

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, none of that. This isn't something you need to apologise for. I got you. We got this."

You nod against him, curling tighter into his soft hold. George presses a soft kiss to the top of your head like a promise. One that says: you’re not doing this alone.

lowkey inspired by both the anon request and the quote "i love you, i want us both to eat well" <3

[trusweethrt]

— ୨ৎ sleepover with secret bf!rafe

authors note: i got a request for this a few weeks ago but the ask deleted itself so I'm so sorry to whoever sent that! and i'm trying to get out of my writers block so enjoy...whatever this is. (not sure how I feel about this) not proofread!! content warnings: contains smut, 18+

“come over? just for a little bit?” rafe asked as he looked at you through the facetime camera. it's been a rough day for him and you were really the only person he wanted to see right now. but it was past midnight and you weren't supposed to be out of the house around this time, let alone going to his house.

you've been told by your parents to stay away from him—countless times, actually. rafe knew he had some...things to work on, but in his mind, he wasn't that bad. at least towards you. “dunno rafe...'m already in trouble for skipping school yesterday.” you frown, tapping your manicured finger on the side of your phone. rafe sighed, sitting up against his headboard “please? it'll be quick. i'll sneak ya in and out.”

you were hesitating and that's something rafe could see clearly, but he was desperate. you were one of the only people he actually cared about these days and he didn't want to be alone right now, especially not at night.

“please..? you're the only person i want to see right now.” he pleaded, almost begging in a way. he was never one to beg, but it was the only thing he could think of that could convince you to come.

you thought it over as you bit the inside of your cheek. you knew how it would end if your parents found out you snuck out of your house. “isn't sarah home though?” rafe was silent for a moment, his hand running through his hair “no...she's out. won't be home 'til morning” he murmured. that was one less obstacle so it was one good thing. but you still weren't sure. rafe was your boyfriend and you cared about him, but sneaking out wasn't the best idea right now. “but my parents said-”

“i know sweetheart and i'm not tryna get you in trouble, but i swear it'll be like thirty minutes.” he cut you off, his tone almost desperate. you bit your lip as you leaned back against your headboard. “rafe...” you trailed off with a sigh. you weren't saying no right away, but you weren't saying yes either. it was clear you were conflicted as you hesitated before adding, “okay, fine. but just for thirty minutes. not a second longer.”

rafe's face lit up as he heard you agree. he knew he could be convincing if he wanted to and he was so glad it worked this time. “thank you baby, be outside waiting. i'll come get you.” with that, he ended the facetime, standing from his bed as he grabbed a jacket and his keys. it didn't take long for you to change into some shorts and a hoodie and put your shoes on. you carefully crept out of your room and out into the livingroom, pausing to listen for any noises. once you were sure your parents were asleep, you opened up the front door and slipped outside, shutting the door quietly behind you. by the time you were out of your house, rafe was already parked outside.

rafe was leaning against the door of his car as he waited for you. he heard the door open and shut, looking up and seeing you walking towards him. he could see you were nervous, but it didn't stop him from pulling you into a tight hug. “hey,” he greeted, his voice tired but he felt better with you in his arms. you returned his hug, leaning into the embrace. “hey...” you murmured back, your tone almost equally as tired. you could feel the exhaustion in him as he hugged you and you felt the need to ask, “you okay?”

rafe let out a sigh against your shoulder, giving you a light squeeze before leaning back “not really...” he mumbled, releasing his hold on you reluctantly. he opened the passenger side door for you, waiting until you got in before shutting the door and walking around to get into the driver's side.

you got into his car, leaning back in the seat as you looked over him. you could tell something was bothering him by the look on his face and his tone of voice. it's been a long time since he sounded that exhausted. “...rough day?”

rafe ran a hand over his face, looking over to you wearily “rough life.” he mumbled, starting up the car as he pulled out from the curb. “seatbelt.” you hummed quietly as you reached out to grab the seatbelt, buckling yourself in. you decided not to ask more about what exactly was bothering him; in time, he'd probably talk about it.

the car ride was silent as rafe drove back to his house. you didn't mind though, figuring that he needed the silence in order to calm his head for a bit. a few moments passed before he parked in his driveway, unlocking the doors and getting out. he came around the side and opened your door for you, offering his hand to help you out of the car.

you slipped your hand into his, letting him help you out of the car. walking through his yard, he quietly unlocked his front door and let you in first. “wheezie's home so we're gonna have to be quiet” he said as he shut the door behind him, locking it again.

you followed him inside “gotcha” you whispered as you looked around. “is she awake? i don't wanna be the reason she doesn't sleep.”

“she's asleep.” he mumbled, nodding towards the stairwell. “come on..” he took your hand again, quietly leading you upstairs to his bedroom. once inside, he closed the door and locked it before turning on his bedside lamp and walking over to his bed.

you followed him to his bed, crawling onto it and moving to lay back against the pillows. you could still see the exhaustion in his body as he laid down next to you, his head resting against your shoulder as he wrapped an arm around your waist. “wanna talk about anything...?” rafe was silent for a moment, almost as if he was thinking about your question. he really didn't wanna talk about anything at all. all he wanted was to lay here with you, which he thought to himself as he shook his head. “nah”

you nodded once he answered, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as you closed your eyes. you could tell he didn't want to talk and you were okay with that. you both laid there in comfortable silence, no sounds besides the sound of your breathing and the occasional passing of a car outside. “can i do anything to help?”

it felt good to lay here with you. it was the only real peace he's felt in weeks and it helped calm him a little. when you spoke again, he lifted his head to look at you, his tired eyes meeting yours.

he moved a bit closer to you, his arm around your waist tightening as his head rested on your chest. “this is more than enough for me, sweetheart” he murmured, his fingers brushing against your side. “i do have a request though”

you looked down at him, your fingers lightly running through his hair as you waited for him to speak. you could tell he was still thinking about something and you waited patiently before finally speaking, “what is it?” rafe's eyes closed as your fingers ran through his hair. he loved when you did that and it relaxed him greatly

he was still silent for a few more moments before finally speaking. “i need to relieve some stress.” he murmured, his fingers gently brushing against your waist once more before suddenly resting right above the drawstring of your shorts.

────୨ৎ────

“a-ah shit, rafe” your hands clench by your sides as rafe glides his tip between your drenched folds, looking down at you with this tongue between his teeth. “mmh...this wet already, darling? barely even touched ya yet.” rafe hummed, smirking down at you. all you can do is nod and let out a whimper as he tapped his cock against your cunt. “nuh-uh, words. none of that whimpering shit”

you were already a stuttering, whimpering mess as he ran his fingers over your clit. you needed more from him, wanted to feel more of him, but you knew that he wasn't going to give that to you until you answered.

you let out a shaky breath as you looked up at him, eyes wide. “yes!” you quickly whimpered, “been thinking about it all night. please, please rafe...” you whimpered, your hips bucking up in an attempt to get more from him. “i know baby, i know” rafe murmured, running his tongue over his bottom lip as he teased your clit with his thumb again “been so long since you've had this cock, yeah?”

you nodded rapidly, eyes pleading him to do something, anything. you wanted him so badly and you could tell he was just teasing, which was driving you absolutely insane. “rafe..." you murmured, your voice trembling a little. rafe chuckled softly, shaking his head “come on. don't get all shy with me now. tell me what you want” he said with a smirk, his fingers still moving over your clit, barely applying pressure. he could feel you shaking beneath him, which encouraged him to tease you a little more. “tsk tsk i want an answer. i know you know how to talk, baby. i just wanna hear your pretty little voice say it.”

you swallowed hard as you looked up at him from under your lashes; he looked so damn proud of himself. you were almost positive he got off on teasing you like this, and the last thing you wanted to do was give him that satisfaction. but your patience was wearing thin and you were getting desperate. you just wanted him to touch you already, but he was always so stubborn. you ran your tongue over your bottom lip as you met his gaze again, your voice shaking a little as you finally spoke up, “n-need you rafe…please...”

“mmh, that's my good girl. i knew you could do it baby.” rafe murmured, finally pushing his cock into your aching hole, causing both of you to let out simultaneous moans. “a-ah fuck” you gasp, gripping onto his biceps as he pushes all the way in, making you groan at the feeling, his cock slowly slipping all the way down, filling you to the hilt, “so fuckin' tight” he groans under his breath at the feeling of your narrow pussy engulfing his member.

you whimper as he remains motionless, denying you the much needed friction. “mmh what do we say after i give you something, baby?”

you could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he murmured the question into your ear. he knew what he was doing. he knew exactly how to get you to say what he wanted you to say, knowing how well he filled you up and how he wasn't moving. you moaned quietly, hands moving to grip onto his back as you looked up at him with watery eyes, “thank you.”

rafe hummed and nodded against your neck, lightly kissing just under your ear as he lifted his head, “good girl.” he said “you're welcome, my love. anytime.”

he finally pulled his hips back a little, thrusting back into you “you feel so damn good, baby.” he breathed before beginning to thrust into you harder, repeatedly hitting your cervix deliciously “been too long without having you.” he murmured, his hand gripping onto the back of your thigh, lifting your leg up over his shoulder. the change of position caused his cock to slide even deeper, making you gasp.

you whimpered at the feeling of him hitting your sweet spot, unable to speak clearly “oh...oh g-god rafe” you tried, your eyes already shut as you tried to move your hips in time with his. he could feel your nails digging into his shoulders, leaving red indents. “look at me.” he murmured in your ear, his hand reaching down to grab your chin, turning your face towards his “look at me while i'm fucking you, sweetheart. ” your mind goes a little blank for a moment when he says that, only able to focus on the feeling of him inside you. it takes a few seconds before you manage to open your eyes again, meeting his gaze. rafe's eyes are focused on you, a small smirk on his lips as he sees you staring “there you are.” he hums, biting down on his lip once he feels you start to clench around him “shit, you gonna cum already?”

“yeah...mmh, so close ray.” you moan, struggling to keep your eyes on him as his hand reaches to press his thumb against your clit, rubbing tight circles. “so fast, sweetheart?” rafe murmured with a smirk “been that long, huh? gonna make a mess all over my cock already?” you don't even have time to respond before your orgasm hits you hard, your body shaking as the coil in your stomach snapped. eyes squeezed shut, walls clenching around his twitching shaft. the way your pussy cinched around him is all rafe needed to go over the edge, spilling his seed deep inside you.

“mmh ray?” you murmur, looking up at him with your glossy eyes. “hm?”

“think 'm gonna stay here tonight.”

taglist: @bunbun-3 @drewscoquette @untitled10351 @rafesweetie @meetmebehindthemallrafe @supercutelovergirl

© anqelrafe

[esote-rika]

Red is Your Color | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bau!reader

Category: smut 18+ MDNI

Summary: You just committed perhaps the most atrocious wrongly sent message ever. By some trick of nature, your coworker is more than willing to play along. (This is from @imagining-in-the-margins Wrong Recipient prompt list. Character receives scandalous selfies from a coworker; check out her prompts, they're really fun!)

Content: softdom!spencer, fingering, multiple orgasms (female receiving), p in v, creampie, reader is on the pill, Spencer calls reader a naughty girl and pretty girl, tenderness and lots of checking in, vaguely Christmas themed. 

Word count:  3.1k

A/N: I read something really poetic and profound yesterday and it inspired me to write, but my mind was in the gutter, so this happened. lmfao happy holidays. UNEDITED, I wrote this at 2 in the morning T.T

Do you think Santa would bend me over and punish me?

Spencer Reid was almost too scared to even open the following messages—he’d already made the mistake of opening this one. And there was a barrage of them, sent a few minutes after the very first one, in quick succession, one right after the other. His phone buzzed and buzzed, matching the distracting hum in his brain at the moment. He should probably read the next messages, because surely, surely those contain the explanation to this one.

Unfortunately, his eyes were glued on this first one—it seemed like it was the only one that contained a picture, after all, and what was that they said about a picture saying a thousand words?

What could it mean then, this picture his coworker had sent to him? What did it mean that he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from it? (What did it imply if he didn’t want to? That he liked the picture? That it made his pants uncomfortably tighter?)

He stared at the picture, his eyes greedily taking every inch of smooth skin exposed by the short, strapless sexy Santa dress his coworker was wearing. It wasn’t explicit—she was fully dressed, after all, but the caption, paired with the way she had been posed… Sitting on what he presumed was her bathroom counter, her legs artfully crossed, the fabric of the dress hiked up to reveal long, luscious thighs. With her pursed lips painted crimson, it was obvious what the message was meant to imply and Spencer felt his mouth grow dry. He shifted on his seat, both hands gripping his phone because he didn’t trust them not to wander down, to give himself relief.

No, he should not be jerking off to his coworker. He shouldn’t even be fucking looking at this photo. He should delete it, call Penelope and ask her to rewire his cloud or memory or data or whatever it was called. Just to get rid of it from his phone. That would be the decent thing to do, and Spencer had always prided himself on being a gentleman. 

He knew that would be futile; knew his mind would be treacherous and have the image of her with those supple thighs, and red mouth in his dreams, his nightmares, in every fantasy—

His phone was ringing.

He stared at it, wondering how she was sending so many messages so quickly, before he realized that she wasn’t texting anymore.

She was calling.

His thumb found the answer button without his consent. The next thing he knew, her voice was pouring from his phone’s speaker. Soft. Contrite. Embarrassed. He frowned. What on earth was she embarrassed about, he wondered. She, who looked stunning, who looked good enough to be worshipped—

“—Please say something, Spence.” she was saying, pleading, and something in his gut clenched. That nickname, coming from her lips. That nickname, coming from her lips, while she was wearing that dress.

“Spence—”

“It’s all right,” his voice was strangled. He cleared his throat, “It’s all right. I’ve deleted it.” Lie, what a liar, she deserved better than hastily told lies.

“Okay,” she sighed, relief palpable even without seeing her face to face, “I just didn’t want to get in trouble with HR, on top of everything.”

HR. He almost laughed. They wouldn’t care (unless someone blabbed, like what happened with Derek and Penelope, but he would never do that to her, not in a million years.)

“You wouldn’t, I promise… it wasn’t even that explicit, if I’m being honest.” he heard himself say. He rubbed his eyes in frustration—why did he have to add that?

Her laughter floats from the phone, nervous and low. “I guess not. I wasn’t about to send a complete nude to my friends.”

He straightened up, confused. “Your friends?”

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice still wavering nervously, “Like I said in my texts, it was wrongly sent to you, I was talking to my friends.”

In other words, it wasn’t for him. He would have known that, had he opened her texts, had he not been too busy ogling the picture she had mistakenly sent, the picture that wasn’t even for him. Something unpleasant burned in his chest, but he ignored it in favor of the curiosity that lingered.

“You send explicit pictures to your friends?”

“I thought you said it wasn’t that explicit,” she chuckled, “But, uh, yeah I do… I dunno, maybe that’s weird, but we were joking around.”

That was something new he learned today. That friends could casually send sexually charged photos to each other. The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. “So you don’t actually want to be bent over and punished?”

Dear heavens, sometimes he understood why his teammates gave him weird looks. If he had a mirror, he would give himself a weird look. Still, he held his breath for her answer, surprised by the wave of disappointment at the thought of her saying no, it was just a silly text.

The pause grew between them, and Spencer was almost about to apologize, when she spoke again.

“I mean, if someone were willing to do it…”

He swallowed. His pants felt tight once again, and he had to force himself to take deep breaths. This was not an invitation, he thought, she had not asked him, she was not saying if you wanted to do it (which, he does, desperately so.)

“Right.” he managed to croak. Another pause, as if she was contemplating. 

“Spencer,” she was whispering now, “Do you want to?”

“Yes.”

“How fast can you get here?”

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

You’re not sure what possessed you into inviting your coworker over, but you did. And now, you’re sitting in your living room, in that blasted sexy Santa dress, panic texting your friends about it. He had said fifteen minutes. Eight minutes had gone by, and you knew he would fulfill his promise. He would be here in seven minutes.

Perhaps you weren’t expecting him to agree. Your perception of Spencer Reid has always been of a sweet genius, wholly brilliant and too preoccupied with academics to even give a second thought to sex and romance. He was a germaphobe, for crying out loud, you had thought it would make him have some sort of aversion to the inevitable sticky, sweaty mess of two bodies coming together. 

But you’d heard it in his voice. Strained, low, and riddled with desire. 

So you had mustered enough courage to ask. And now—

Your doorbell cut through your thoughts. Taking a deep breath, you shoved your phone into a drawer, not wanting to see the offensive piece of technology for the rest of the night. You looked out through the peephole, and there he was, still in his office clothes. Tall, and slender, and dishevelled and yours for the night.

You pulled the door open, ignoring the heavy thump in your chest. 

He smiled. “Hi.”

“You’re early.” You teased, standing aside to let him in. His eyes were glued to you, pupils dilating as he took you in.

“You’re still wearing the dress.”

Right. Once you had realized you sent the text to Spencer instead of your friends, you had spent the next several minutes in agonizing anxiety, sending text after text to Spencer in an effort to explain. In your utter mortification, you had forgotten to change out of it.

He seemed to like that. It gave you enough confidence to surge forward, blindly, recklessly.

“I am.” You said, red lips tugging into a smile you reserved for handsome strangers at a bar. You lowered your voice, just enough for the next words to come out breathless, “Honestly, it’s a little itchy.” 

“Is it?” He stepped forward, crowding you into the door. It creaks as it moves with your weight, the knob clicking in place. He reached forward, and you held your breath, anticipating his hands on you, gently running over your skin, but instead they closed over the doorknob, locking it. He didn’t miss your reaction, though, his eyes a glittering night sky of sweet, utter want. “Maybe I can help you with it.”

You nodded, mouth parted in silence, whatever words you wanted to say have died in your throat.

He brought his hand up, caressing your jaw, and you marvelled at how large his hands are, long fingers reaching the nape of your neck. “Red is your color.” he murmured, before leaning in to capture your lips.

His lips were cold and chapped, and you returned his kiss eagerly in an attempt to warm them. Your mouth opens at one swipe of his tongue, moaning as he leans his whole body into you, pushing you harder against the door. Tonight, you learned that Spencer Reid, the sweet, unassuming genius, kisses like he wants to crawl into you. It’s a sloppy mess of tongue and teeth, and a whimper escaped your mouth as he bit your lower lip.

“Too much?” he asked, pulling away for a moment. 

As an answer, you wrapped your hands around his neck, and returned the fervor of his kisses. You heard him chuckle, felt it on your own tongue as it happened and it made your knees buckle from sheer want. 

His arms wrapped around your waist, hoisting you up into his embrace. You felt him move, stumbling across your apartment before setting you down again. The blunt edge of a drawer hit your lower back, just as he pulled away. 

A whine left your lips. You didn’t know if it was from the pain, or the loss of his kiss.

“Turn around, darling.” he murmured, but your brain was so damn distracted you just stared at him blankly. He grinned, hands at your hips gently maneuvering you to face away from him. “You said you wanted to be bent over.” 

Chills went down your spine as he pushed you forward, elbows landing on the smooth, wooden desk. 

“Y-yeah, I did say that.” you managed to reply. This time, the breathless quality in your voice was not an affectation. You felt his nose on your neck, pushing away the stray locks of hair, before his mouth landed over the skin, open and wet, traversing the expanse of your flesh with reckless ardor. You moaned, craning your head back in a wordless plea for more.

You felt teeth, the sting of it clamping over your flesh. You didn’t even realize you’d yelped until he stopped.

“Sorry,” he whispered, soothing the bite with his kisses.

“It’s okay,” You replied, one hand reaching up, running through his hair. “Do it again.”

The rumble of his laughter made your stomach warm. He sunk his teeth into your neck again, sucked at the spot he bit, and you would have face planted into the desk had it not been for his hands holding you up. 

“You’re a naughty girl,” he purred against your skin, “Aren’t you? Sending that picture to me, I bet it wasn’t even an accident.”

“It was,” you protested, but then he grinds his crotch into your ass and any indignation was stifled by the feeling of how damn hard he was. “It was - I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to make me this hard?” he asked, rolling his hips against you, “I think you knew exactly what you were doing, naughty girl.” Before you could answer, you felt something digging into your ass. He was tugging at your panties. To the side, as if he couldn’t even be bothered to strip it off of you. 

It was hot as all hell.

“My god, you’re absolutely soaked for me.” he groaned into your ear, and you gasped as the rough pads of his fingers ran through your cunt. Somehow, his fingers have remained cold, and the sensation sent a shudder down your spine.

“S-Spencer,” you whined, knuckles finding leverage at the edge of the desk you’ve been sprawled over.

“Mhm? What is it, darling?”

“M-more.”

His laughter filled the room once again, “And I thought I was being needy.” he said, but he obliged your request easily, slipping two fingers into your pussy. His breath fanned over the overheated skin of your neck as he buried his face against your shoulder, “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you moved your hips against his hand, chasing the rhythm of his fingers. You’d never enjoyed this by yourself; your own fingers were thin, too short to cause any sort of pleasure when you touched yourself. But Spencer’s hands were large, his fingers long and elegant and perfect. They curled inside you, hitting a spot you’ve never been able to with your own hands, and you cried “Oh, fuck yes!”

It was everything. Quite literally. His arm was holding you against him, his body a solid, lean mass behind you, pressing into the slopes of your own, digging in wherever your softness yields to his hard angles. You moaned and moaned again, as his fingers quickened, as his thumb found your clit and rubbed fast circles until your arms gave out and your entire upper half was splayed on the desk. 

He didn’t stop, cooing soft words into your ear, his tongue and lips and teeth a whole other dangerous territory of its own. You knew you would have hickeys tomorrow. You knew the team would ask questions. You didn’t particularly care.

“Can you take more?” he asked, and you nodded, eager to take whatever he was going to give. A third finger slid into your dripping cunt, stretching you in ways you haven’t felt in a long time and you groaned, head buried in your arms. He paused, his other hand rubbing circles on your hip, “Are you all right, darling?”

“Yes.” you sobbed, and you knew he wouldn’t believe you because you sounded sad, and everything that Spencer has done up until this point proved that, despite it all, he cared. 

“You can tell me if it’s too much, you know.” he murmured. His lips laved featherlight kisses along your shoulder.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, bucking your hips. The idea of being slightly incoherent from the pleasure he’s been giving you was a little too enticing, and you were in no mood to stop, “Please.”

“Okay,” he resumed his ministrations, slower this time, dragging his fingers in and out of you with a precise rhythm, now that he’s figured out your weak spots. “You are so pretty like this, darling. Dress hiked up, your lipstick smudged.”

A mewl came out of your throat, and you would have been embarrassed if you still had the presence of mind to feel an ounce of shame. He coaxed a second orgasm from you, and you marveled at the fact that he could elicit responses like these with just his fingers. It seemed unfair, but a large part of you reveled in it.

“That’s it,” he whispered, slowly pulling his fingers out, “That’s my pretty girl.”

You lifted your head from your arms. The sight that welcomes you is a blurry one, impeded by the clumpy eyelashes and messy tears that had gathered in your eyes. You knew you looked a mess, far from the pretty girl he kept repeating, but you ate up the praise all the same.

As if by their own accord, your hips move back, grinding into his erection. You wanted more. You wanted him to be in the same daze you were in right now, wanted to be one. “Spencer,” you whined, and he laughed, and you wondered if it was possible to get drunk off of a sound.

“You’re insatiable, aren’t you?” he replied, playfully chastising, but the sound of his belt buckle reached your ears and you grinned.

“Just wanna make sure you get something too.” you mumbled.

“Is this a bad time to tell you that I had forgotten a condom?”

Now it was your turn to laugh, bracing yourself on your elbows again, and looking over his shoulder.

“Wow, isn’t your whole thing the complete opposite of forgetting?”

“I was a little distracted.” he said, his smile sheepish.

“I don’t mind,” you replied, “I’m on the pill.” 

“You’re sure?”

“Mhm-hmm.” You nodded, one arm moving and blindly grasping for the zipper of your Santa dress. His hand gently encircled your wrist, placing it back on the desk.

“It stays on,” he said, as the blunt tip of his cock pushed past your pussy, “I told you, red is your color.”

Your mouth dropped open as he sheathed himself inside you in one thrust, and wordless expression of pleasure. He had spent a large chunk of time fucking you with his fingers, and the necessity of it dawned upon you now.

He was big.

The stretch made you groan, eyes squeezing shut as your pussy fluttered around him. He pressed his body over yours, pushing you into the desk as he began to rock, in and out of you. Involuntarily, you clenched around him, earning a sharp hiss.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, holding you tightly around the waist with one arm. The other went to the desk, steadying himself as he found a rhythm that made you writhe beneath him, “Oh god, yes.”

You couldn’t even respond, your body moving on autopilot, meeting his every thrust with your hips. The sounds your bodies made were obscene, wet, sloppy noises of flesh meeting flesh. It filled your head, made you dizzy with pleasure. 

“Spencer,” at this point, you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve repeated his name. The world has anchored all meaning to that one sound, and you said it, over and over again, “Spencer.”

“Mhm,” he responded by snapping his hips, pushing his cock so deep into your toes curl, “That’s it, darling, say my name.”

“Spencer,” you said in your broken voice, every repetition turning higher and higher in pitch, and it seemed like the higher your voice went, the harder he fucked you. Your desk banged against the wall from his rough thrusts, joining the cacophony of sounds from your coupling. 

His pace grew rougher, faster, his grip on you reaching the point of painful and bruising, but it made your head spin in the most delicious way possible. You clenched around him, squeezing his cock in an attempt to find your peak, and instead initiating his.

“Fuck—” he groaned, as his load exploded inside you, somehow filling you even more, and you dropped your head to the desk again as your own body shuddered with release. 

Panting, and exhausted, you both stayed there, bent over the desk half upright, like a tower about to topple. He kissed the back of your neck as you fought to catch your breath. Looking over your shoulder, the sight of him fills your vision, hair tousled and sticking to his forehead, his lips smudged with your lipstick, and you couldn’t help but think that red is his color too.

[yuukiiqwq]

Satoru was confident that you liked him back. He was positive. He had no doubt in his mind that you were going to be his pretty little wife. Is he getting ahead of himself? Sure, he is, but he's that confident. That's until he noticed how he hadn't received any chocolate from you.

It was Valentine's Day, and he still hasn't received any chocolate from you. Yeah, he had a mountain worth of chocolate from all those people who gave him it, but where was yours? He couldn't find it anywhere. He was sure that you would have placed your chocolate on his desk since you hadn't given him his. He double no triple checked all the chocolates, yet he could not find the one that has your pretty little name written on it. He continued to search through the chocolate pile for the fourth time today.

He must have missed it, right? Or did someone steal it? He swear he's going to hunt that person to the end of the Earth. Who dared to steal something that was rightfully his?

"Satoru, calm down."

He looked up at his best friend, who was trying to hold down a laugh at his panic.

"She'll probably give it to you later. The day just begun."

Right. Suguru is right. You'll give him his chocolate later. He's a good boy. He can wait.

That's what he told himself, but Suguru and Shoko have already received theirs this morning, and his is still nowhere to be found. Where is his chocolate? You're just sitting there in your seat, looking all pretty as if Satoru is not going through a huge dilemma because of you.

He couldn't help his hands that kept inching itself closer to the chocolate you gave Suguru. He wouldn't know if he snatched it, right? Suguru had received a lot of chocolate! He wouldn't know if he took it... was what he convinced himself before Suguru slapped his hand away.

"Satoru," he sighs.

"But Suguru!!!" Satoru whined as he sunk down into his seat.

"Be patient. You'll get yours soon."

But how soon is soon? Satoru isn't exactly known for his patient.

It was the end of the day, and still no chocolate from you. He asked Suguru and Shoko to leave first because he thought you would finally give it to him when both of you were alone. But you haven't. Where was his chocolate?

The two of you were approaching the exit of school, so Satoru made a quick decision, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into an empty classroom. He quickly shut the door and locked it.

"Satoru?" You asked in confusion. "What's wrong?"

"My chocolate."

"Your chocolate?"

"My chocolate from you! The symbol of your love towards me!"

"I didn't make you any," you replied smoothly. "Forgot to make them yesterday, so I woke up early today to make them, but I guess not early enough. I only had time to finish Shoko's and Suguru's. I didn't have time to make yours. Otherwise, I would have been late."

Satoru swear the world just ended. He looked down at his chest because he swears his heart ripped out of his chest at your words. Nope. Still alive. Why is he still alive in this cruel world? You had no chocolate for him? None? Not even a crumb?

"That's fine with you, right? I mean, you got a bunch of chocolate from other girls! You don't need mine."

He swear he is about to burst into tears. He didn't care about other girls. He didn't care about their chocolate. He wanted yours. How could you be so cruel and deny him of your chocolate? To reject him like this? He was devastated. No. Beyond devastated. Where is the closest cliff so he can jump off?

Pure silence radiated the room as Satoru tried to comprehend this horrible situation. Then he heard a small giggle slip pass your lips. That small giggle soon turns into a full-out laugh.

"You should have seen the look on your face, Satoru," you say as you try to stop laughing.

Was this funny to you? Why were you laughing at his suffering? Do you know how much he looked forward to today? To receive the cute little wrapped up chocolate you made for him? He dreamed of today, and you didn't have chocolate for him?

He then sees you reach into your bag and pull out exactly what he had imagined. A cute little chocolate box wrapped up in a baby blue color with a touch of white ribbon to finish it off. Fuck. He thinks he just got a heart attack seeing your chocolate. His chocolate.

"Princess, please don't joke like that to me ever again. You scared me half to death. I was going to jump off a cliff," he whined as he took the chocolate from your hand.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his dramatic behavior. "Stop being dramatic, Satoru. It's just chocolate."

A look of offense dawned his face as you utter those horrendous words to him.

"Chocolate? Just chocolate?" He huffed at you. He can't believe you as you treat this amazing god send gift as just chocolate. "Don't you dare call this just chocolate! This! This right here is proof of your undying love towards me!"

You laughed at his antics– "You're getting ahead of yourself, Satoru."

He delicately placed the chocolate safety away in his bag, treating it as a prized possession. He's looking forward towards white day. He already knows what he wants to get for you. He pulled you into a hug, nuzzling his face against your neck as he mutters– "You won't be saying that after I wife you up."

[maruflix]

r/AmITheAsshole u/THEsajaboy • 17 hours ago

My manager said I’m “unprofessional” and all I can think about is how I want her all for myself. AITA?

feat. saja boys (jinu-centric)　　⎯⎯　wc. 1.5k

content: female reader, manager!reader, fluff, slight crack, gets kinda dark at the end, possessive jinu, no beta we die like me after finding out that lee byung-hun is the voice of gwi-ma

note. goofy ass...

I (400, M) have a really cute manager and I kinda like her. Sometimes I tease her to get her attention (you know, like all men do) but yesterday, she tells me that I’m unprofessional and I piss her off :(

“Jinu! What did I say about posting Instagram stories without going through me first?!”

Abby is quick to scramble away from the scene of the crime, taking his phone with him. Baby, who’s looking for something to drink, quietly closes the fridge and speed-walks to the living room.

No one wants to be in your line of sight when you’re angry, demon or not.

Meanwhile, the source of all your headache is slumped over the kitchen table lazily, scrolling his phone with one hand. His other hand is deep in a bowl of popcorn as he munches away without a care in the world.

“Jinu!” Slamming your hand on the table, Jinu finally angles his head to look at you.

“Oh, hey, manager.” He smiles dazzlingly. “What did I do now?”

You exhale in frustration, knowing that Jinu loves to press your buttons. “Who’s on your Close Friends list?”

Jinu tilts his head. “There’s only one person. Guess.”

“I’m really not in the mood to play games.”

“Aww, come on~”

Instead of trying to talk with a man with the personality of a seven year old, you opt to do this the easy way: you snatch Jinu’s phone and checks his Instagram settings, sighing in relief when you see only one person in his Close Friends list:

You.

“Very funny. As if you don’t annoy me enough in the real world already, you just had to insert yourself into my online life too.” Grumbling in annoyance, you deleted his dumb story as an extra measure before handing it back to him. “Why would you post a photo of me and caption it with ‘smash’?!”

“Because...” Jinu slings an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him with one swift motion, “I would...?”

That answer must’ve not been good enough because Jinu earns himself a hard smack on the arm.

“You’re the most unprofessional idol I’ve ever had the misfortune of working with! If you piss me off one more time, I swear—!”

She’s indeed very competent at her job and she takes things very seriously. That’s part of why I like her... and also why I like to tease her. I just want her to be able to let loose and take it easy instead of always worrying about numbers and charts and promos. For the record, we actually have a pretty good relationship.

“Damn it!”

The Saja Boys didn’t even look up from their telenovela, already used to your outbursts by now.

“What now?” Jinu deadpans, “Did they cancel the feature?”

“No, worse.” You sigh, “Golden is so damn catchy.”

The boys’ head slowly turns to your direction.

“You saved it on your Spotify playlist, didn’t you?!” Jinu points, gasping in horror.

“I-” Hiding your phone behind your back, you stand up under the critical eyes of the Saja Boys, “What I do in my free time is none of your concern!”

“Have you saved Soda Pop on your playlist, have you or have you not?” Jinu narrows his eyes, crawling from the sofa to the chair where you’re sitting.

You quickly turn your attention back to your phone and clicked the plus button.

“There! I have! Of course I have!”

“Traitor!”

“It’s not what it looks like!”

.

.

.

But it is, because the next time Jinu discovers your traitorous ways is when he catches you humming a ‘We're goin' up, up, up..’ in the living room sofa as you scroll that week’s stats.

“Traitor, stop humming that song now!”

Jinu’s tickling your sides mercilessly, making you scream.

“I can’t believe we have a traitor amongst our midst!” Your laughter is infectious because he’s also smiling now. However, what you did still annoyed him and so he will punish you for that.

You try to roll away and shove him but he quickly moves on top of you, holding you in a vice-like grip as he continues his assault on your sides. You and your little arms are no match for him.

“Jinu! Ahahaha! Sto-hahaha! Ji-ahahaha!”

Upon seeing tears running down your cheeks, Jinu finally decides to take pity on you and stop his tickling. The two of you are huffing now, trying to catch your breath. None of you are moving from your position.

“Asshole,” you huff, but your eyes are smiling. “You’re so annoying.”

Jinu leans down, “But you like me annoying.” he grins, savoring the way your cheeks glow scarlet and your eyebrows furrow at your inability to make a comeback.

When you’re no longer able to fight, you choose flight.

You break away from Jinu’s grasp to stand up but your leg gets tangled with his. “Crap!”

Jinu pulls you before your back hits the edge of the table and you crash, instead, on his sturdy chest. When you look up, Jinu is smirking down at you. He doesn’t say anything, yet he doesn’t let you go. It’s like there’s a magnetic pull between the two of you. The way Jinu looks at you intently has your breath hitching.

‘Is he going to..’

You know this is not right, but you can’t move when his grip on your body keeps tightening. You can practically smell his cologne now, his eyes never leaving you even when he angles his head and your lips part—

Abby and Baby burst through the door with pizza boxes and a big bag of energy drinks, unaware of what just went down in the living room sofa.

“What are you two doing?” Abby questions, eyeing the two of you in suspicion.

“It’s not what it looks like!”

Jinu narrows his eyes when you scramble away from his lap. Damn it. And he was so close.

Lately I feel like I get jealous a lot. I even scare myself during those moments because I get so inexplicably angry when I see her with other men. I feel like I want to monopolize her.

“Abby, the shirt stays on!”

Jinu sighs quietly when the music comes to a screeching stop. Next to him, Mystery slumps to the ground. He doesn’t blame him; they’ve been trying to shoot a ‘dance practice’ video for over an hour now.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s a passive skill.” Abby grins sheepishly, walking over to you, who’s sitting crosslegged on the floor. “Are you sure, though? Surely the fans appreciate some.. service.” Abby squats down to your height and flexes proudly, the layer of sweat on his muscles glistening.

You look away, suddenly feeling flustered. “I swear..”

Jinu raises an eyebrow at this.

“Ha! I knew our manager also appreciates some of... this!”

His flexing only causes you to blush even more. Sure, you’ve also managed other boy groups before, but all of them are the cute, respectful type who calls you ‘noona’ and looks up to you with puppy-dog eyes.

The Saja Boys, though? They’re in a league of their own.

The ice cold water bottle to your burning cheek is a lifesaver. You turn to see Romance, looking at you unblinkingly.

His goofy face makes you laugh. “Thanks. Sure is hot in here.”

Before you can finish drinking, Jinu is already by your side, seizing your arm and dragging you with him.

“Whoa- wait!”

When the two of you is outside, Jinu stops. Truth be told, he also doesn’t know why he reacted like that.

“Jinu? What’s gotten into you?”

What has gotten into him, indeed? All he knows is when you look at someone else, his heart churns. When you get flustered and it’s not because of him, something dark writhes inside him.

The Saja Boys are his comrades, but if they get in his way, he’ll—

“Jinu! It hurts!”

Your yelp breaks his train of thoughts. He quickly lets go of your arm. “S-sorry.”

“What’s wrong? You’re scaring me!”

Jinu just stares at you, his jealousy growing even deeper when he remembers you smiling and laughing with the other members.

Someday, when you see his true colors, are you going to leave him?

“Jinu!”

Your grip on his shoulders is secure, anchoring him back down to reality. Jinu looks at you and smile. “I guess I feel left out when I see you getting along with everybody..”

“What? Jinu...”

“I know I’m a handful. You probably hate working with me, and—”

You pull him into a hug. Although you scold him a lot, you don’t want him to misunderstand your feelings: he’s a great guy and you like him. Sure, you think he’s an all-around cocky guy and that ego of his can be knocked down a notch, but... to think that someone like Jinu can also feel self-conscious...

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Jinu. I can never hate you.”

Jinu smiles, slipping his arms around your waist to hug you back. Has he been approaching this with the wrong tactic? The gears in his brain are turning, thinking of ways to bind you to him.

All the while, his demon mark gleams silently.

I think she likes me but she wants to take things slow because she’s still unsure of her feelings. The problem is, I’m not a patient man and I want to have her all to myself ASAP. I can’t risk her having second thoughts. What can I say? I love her so much, so it should be normal, right? So what do you think?

[drewswife]

summary — your hot neighbor heard your baby screams, and he volunteered to help you while you shower

warnings — baby scream, fluff, you having throw up in your hair

a/n — i’m reading a book called “life to short” and the scene was so cute i got to write it

The shrill, insistent cries of a small human being ripped through the thin membrane of your sanity. It was 6:00 AM, though the pre-dawn gloom still clung stubbornly to the windows, mimicking the darkness that felt perpetually draped over your life these days.

Your baby, whose tiny lungs seemed to be powered by industrial-grade bellows, had decided that dawn was the perfect time for a full-throttle vocal performance.

You dragged a hand across your face, feeling the grit of exhaustion under your eyelids, then reached up, fingers finding something suspiciously damp and chunky tangled in your hair. God, was that carrot puree? Or worse. It was always worse.

Every single bone in your body screamed for respite, for silence, for just five minutes where no one needed anything from you. You’d been up all night, pacing, bouncing, whispering reassurances to a creature whose sole mission seemed to be the eradication of your sleep.

You smelled faintly of sour milk and desperation. Your clothes, a dubious combination of yesterday's leggings and a faded nursing tank, bore the faint but undeniable stains of recent skirmishes with baby bodily fluids. You were a walking, breathing monument to maternal disarray.

Just as you considered the profound comfort of simply sliding to the floor and joining your baby in a symphony of despair, a firm, rhythmic knock echoed through the apartment. You froze, heart thumping a bewildered rhythm against your ribs. Who, in the name of all that was holy, would be at your door at this hour? Your mother knew better. Your friends were still probably comatose.

Creeping to the peephole, you peered through the tiny lens. And there he was. Rafe Cameron.

He stood on your porch, leaning casually against the doorframe, looking unfairly put-together. His blonde hair, still slightly damp, hinted at a recent shower – a concept so foreign to your current existence it felt like a cruel joke. He was wearing a plain gray t-shirt that, frustratingly, hugged his shoulders and arms in a way that screamed "effortless perfection."

Even from this distorted angle, his sharp jawline and the lazy confidence in his posture were palpable. He was, objectively, your hot neighbor. And you, objectively, looked like you'd wrestled a badger and lost. Badly.

Taking a deep breath that did nothing to alleviate the pungent aroma clinging to you, you unlatched the door, opening it just a crack. "Hey, Rafe," you mumbled, trying to subtly tuck the clump of dubious hair behind your ear. It snagged, of course, and you winced.

He straightened, his blue eyes, usually sparking with mischief or a hint of recklessness, softened almost imperceptibly. "Morning," he said, his voice a low rumble. He tilted his head, a faint, sympathetic smirk playing on his lips as another ear-splitting shriek erupted from the nursery. "Sounds like someone's having a rough start."

You let out a humorless laugh, a dry, raspy sound. "That's one way to put it. My kid thinks they're auditioning for a touring heavy metal band. I'm pretty sure I have throw-up in my hair, and I haven't seen the inside of a shower in well, let's just say a long time." You gestured vaguely at your head, then at the baby monitor clutched in your hand, which was currently emitting the auditory equivalent of a smoke alarm.

Rafe's smirk faded, replaced by something genuinely concerned. He ran a hand through his own, immaculately styled hair. "Man, that sucks." He paused, his gaze drifting from your exhausted face to the monitor, where the baby's cries escalated into a full-blown roar. "Look," he began, his voice surprisingly gentle, "I was just about to make some coffee, head out for a surf. But, uh if you wanted to grab a quick shower or something, I could… you know, keep an eye on the little guy. Or girl."

You stared at him, jaw slack. A shower. A hot, uninterrupted shower. The very thought sent a dizzying wave of longing through you. It was a mythical luxury, whispered about in hushed tones by other beleaguered parents, a legend you’d long since given up on. And Rafe, the guy who usually seemed more concerned with his next adrenaline rush than childcare, was offering to stand sentinel over your screaming, possibly projectile-vomiting infant?

"Are you serious?" you croaked, the words barely escaping your throat. It felt like a test, like he was playing some elaborate prank.

He chuckled, a low, easy sound. "Yeah, I'm serious. I mean, how bad can it be? I've dealt with my cousin little monsters before. Pretty sure I'm immune to anything less than a full-on tantrum from a five-year-old." He gestured towards the nursery. "Besides, you look like you're about two minutes from falling over. Go get clean."

A wave of relief so profound it threatened to buckle your knees washed over you. The prospect of hot water, shampoo, and the blissful feeling of being truly, utterly clean, even for a mere ten minutes, was overwhelmingly tempting. All thoughts of propriety, of the sheer oddness of leaving your child with Rafe Cameron, vanished in a cloud of desperate anticipation.

"Oh my god, Rafe," you breathed, a tear pricking at the corner of your eye. "You would be an absolute lifesaver. I could kiss you."

He laughed outright then, a flash of his usual roguish charm returning. "Let's save that for after the shower, then," he teased, stepping past you into the living room, his eyes scanning the chaos with an almost clinical detachment. "Go on. I'll be right here."

You hesitated for a fraction of a second, a flicker of parental guilt, then caught another whiff of yourself. And that was it. You practically sprinted for the bathroom, not daring to look back, not wanting to give yourself time to second-guess this wildly irresponsible, yet utterly necessary, decision.

The bathroom felt like a sanctuary, a quiet, steamy oasis. You locked the door behind you, a small, defiant act of reclaiming a sliver of personal space. The instant the hot water hit your skin, a sigh escaped your lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated bliss.

You scrubbed at your hair with frantic, grateful hands, working in shampoo until thick, luxurious suds replaced the sticky residue. The scent of coconut and vanilla, a smell you hadn’t truly registered in weeks, filled your nostrils, a small piece of normalcy in the chaos.

From the living room, through the closed door, the baby monitor offered a strange symphony. The piercing shrieks had indeed subsided. Instead, you heard a low rumble of Rafe's voice, surprisingly soothing, followed by gentle coos and gurgles from your baby.

You paused, a dripping hand suspended in mid-air. What was he doing? Was he a baby whisperer? The idea was almost comical, conjuring images of Rafe Cameron, charming an infant into submission. Yet, the relative quiet that had descended upon your apartment was undeniable proof of his success.

You washed the grime of sleepless nights and baby spit-up from your body, letting the hot water sluice away the tension in your shoulders. It wasn't a long shower – maybe seven minutes, max – but it felt like a spa day. You emerged feeling like a new human, albeit a slightly damp one.

You quickly wrapped your hair in a towel, then pulled on the cleanest, least-stained pair of sweats you could find and a fresh, blessedly unsullied t-shirt. The world already seemed a little less blurry around the edges.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the bathroom door and stepped back into the living room, half-expecting to find a scene of utter devastation – Rafe tied up with burp cloths, the baby covered in marker, the room turned upside down. Instead, you found peace.

Rafe was sitting on your worn armchair, the baby nestled securely against his chest, head tucked under his chin. Your little one was utterly, completely silent. Not just quiet, but content. her tiny hand was fisted around Rafe's finger, and their eyes, wide and curious, were fixed on his face.

Rafe himself looked bewildered, almost. He was gently rocking, a faint, surprised smile playing on his lips as he gazed down at the baby. He wasn't talking, just rocking, a soft, almost domestic hum filling the space between them.

He looked up as you entered, his blue eyes meeting yours. "Hey," he murmured, his voice low so as not to disturb the sleeping (or at least, very quiet) infant. He looked genuinely intrigued by the small creature in his arms. "she, uh they just kinda stopped. After a minute or two."

You walked over, disbelief warring with profound gratitude. "I- I don't know what to say. You got her to calm down." It was less a question, more an awe-filled statement.

He shrugged, a small, self-conscious smile gracing his features. "Guess I've still got the touch. My niece used to pull this trick on me." He gently shifted the baby, who stirred slightly but remained blissfully silent. "What do you do now? Does she, like, nap? Or are they just recharging?"

You let out a soft, genuine laugh, the first one in days that didn't feel forced. "Hopefully nap. Thank you, Rafe. Seriously. That was I don't even have words."

He met your gaze, and for a moment, the usual guard in his eyes seemed to drop, replaced by something warm and almost vulnerable. "No problem," he said quietly, then cleared his throat. He carefully handed her back to you, his movements surprisingly gentle.

"Just glad I could help." He stood, stretching slightly. "Well, I should probably go get that coffee. And hit the waves before the tourists clog everything up." He glanced at your baby one last time, a strange, almost wistful expression on his face, before turning to leave.

🏷, @spencerreid66 @starrii-sturns @dsfault @vxncevis

[erwinsvow]

soft-spoken but bright shy reader who loves day shift. she can hide behind the scenes, take her time with the waiting room patients while letting the other residents duke it out for the more urgent, trauma cases that roll in. her skills aren’t rusty but she just prefers a different approach, still in love with the quickness and urgency of the er but not in the right mind set for the competition and favoritism. but after pitt-fest she really can’t look at day shift the same again. becomes even quieter, even more withdrawn, flinches at every noise and not defending herself when the occasional patient chews her out for taking too long.

it’s not good for you. not sustainable. robby thinks the solution is to give you a change of scenery. asks if you’d want to give night shift a try for a week or two. it’s quieter—though he makes sure to mouth that word instead of actually saying it—and in a twisted way, a little more balanced. it actually calms down eventually, gets into a lull where you can catch up on notes and eat granola bars while the place fills with some snores. you can’t lie, it does sound pretty appealing. so you take a chance and switch with some other resident who grumbles something about finally being able to get some sleep. but you’re not phased. maybe this is what you need.

you know the night shift. you thought you knew them well, but it turns out you just know them regular. you’ve interacted during trade offs, those group bonding activities they really try to push every other month, and throughout little stories during the day, reports of something funny or crazy that happened during the hours of the infamous night shift. but actually being one of them takes you a little by surprise.

shen has a secret drawer of snacks in central. underneath the handle there's a label that says something inconspicuous, and even then, the food is hidden under a stack of papers and a box of pens. your second night he shows you the hiding spot, so you don't have to run to your locker for your protein bar like yesterday. ellis is the one you reminds you not to get sloppy just because it's late. you don't know how she can tell, but your body hasn't really adjusted yet. you got a few hours of sleep but the sun was really bright and the dark grey curtains that had always been sufficiently dark were suddenly not. she's the one who airdrops you the link to proper black-out curtains, standing somewhere across the room when you look up to thank her, giving you a nod.

but you're still deciding if this is really better for you. it's hard to leave the routine you've known for almost two years and expect a decision overnight, even though you do expect it.

at the end of your first week, the curtains have been delivered and you're sleeping a lot more soundly. from seven to ten you handle the overflow from the chairs until it's more or less settled. you're never really going to catch up, but there's more movement some nights than others. you report your orders to ellis, make sure to debrief shen every hour on the status of your beds. the charge nurse tells you who next up and where to take them, and you do, no cherry-picking allowed. it might be a fraction less busy, but it just seems a little more organized, more managable. you might be able to see yourself here for a little longer.

and of course, he doesn't help matters. dr. abbot. shen and ellis and the other handful of residents keep the place running but dr. jack abbot is what keeps all of you running. you knew that robby had told him something about you, something about how you need an eye on you for now, that you're not acting like yourself. you know this because abbot checks in on you no less than once every two hours, more if you're swarmed.

you didn't think he'd be interested in hearing about the allergic reaction in bed eight or the sprained wrist in six, but he does. watches you with that gaze from across the room, observing, noticing. you don't know exactly what, but you hope it's good. he stays a couple steps behind you for some of the first few shifts. when you closes the curtain and move too quickly, you've even bumped into him, not realizing how close he was. you stammer out an apology while his hand is on your shoulder, steadying you from losing any more of your balance.

"doin' okay, kid?" he asks, and you hope the heat on your face isn't as visible to him as it feels to you.

"y-yeah. i'm good. sorry-"

he settles down eventually. then there's the other things.

a hot cup of coffee at nine-thirty, closer to the ending half of one of the bigger rushes. you're getting your bearings, yawning at the screen while you type out some orders. he just sets it in front of you and walks away, doesn't even stay long enough to hear your thank you. (but he does hear it, and walks away from you smiling. not that you could see it.)

tea closer to one in the morning. you could try to get sleep but that's pretty impossible, and you think mostly frowned upon. the day shift doesn't get to sleep, so it'd be unfair if you snuck off for a nap. and besides, the er never really quiets down that much—there's always some car accident or late-night injury while making dessert. the middle of the night is a haven for falls—in the hallway on the way to the bathroom, getting out of the car in the dark, missing a step in a sleepy state.

so tea. energy drinks aren't really your thing, but english breakfast or earl grey has just enough caffeine to get you through to another hot cup of coffee around four or five. but somehow, without you ever telling abbot how you take your coffee and tea, he's figured it out. each cup is always perfect, always exactly what you needed.

the silly girl inside you thinks it's so sweet. your attending is so caring, so attentive to everyone on his night shift. you hear him take over for shen when he's had four or five back to back, interrupting ellis before she takes on another, instructing her to go take five minutes and that he'll deal with it.

and now you're one of them, and you get cups of coffee and tea, gentle encouragement with nods from across the room, asking you questions throughout so you don't feel like you're missing anything from the day shift. he's even gotten you to trend to incoming traumas with him. at first you'd tried what worked during the day—letting the others fight for it, but it's not like that past a certain time. in fact, shen and ellis think you should take all the incoming traumas, get more experience that way.

"incoming," jack says, and you look up at him, and then around to see if you can find who he's talking to. there's no one else but you and the nurses. "with me, kid, let's go."

shit. you follow his lead, not exactly sure how to tell him that this isn't the part of the job that you're perfect at. you're better with patients who are awake and alert, families that want answers, people that need things explained to them with patience.

"you sure you don't want someone else to assist? i'm-i'm not-"

"i want you to assist," he says, handing you a gown and then pulling one on himself. "turn," and you comply immediately. he ties the neck and back for you, and then you tie his. you reach for gloves but he's already pulled ones in your size.

the paramedics roll in, rattling off a long list of things that you try to organize in your mind. the patient is groaning and bloody, shirt ripped in half and mumbling something you can't make out from over the oxygen mask. you realize the last time you'd really been forced to deal with incoming traumas was the day of the shooting, and your mind wanders briefly. what if he liked this shirt? where is his family at? it's two in the morning, they're probably sound asleep, about to wake up to the worst news in the world if you don't get it together and save him.

"hey," you hear jack's voice over the milion other noises in the room. it's grounding. it whips you into shape, answering his questions and ordering scans and drugs and not stopping until his heart is stable and surgery is aware that he's coming.

outside of the trauma room, you rip off the bloody gown and gloves. when you turn to confront jack, he's already right behind you, the two of you almost colliding.

"i'm so sorry. i-i don't know what happens in there, i just, i freeze, and-"

you feel a hand guiding you, hovering over your lower back. so warm that you can almost feel the heat radiating from him. he takes you into a quiet, empty little corner and doesn't start talking until you meet his eyes.

"what you went through, it's not nothing. it's scary for all of us, but especially if it's the first time."

"i've been here two years. it's not the first time. i shouldn't be reacting like this."

"and if this was happening to me, would you tell me that i was overreacting? hm?" the way he asks the question and the way his eyes don't leave yours makes your face feel warm again. "there's nothing wrong with needing to ease yourself back into it. i'm not gonna lose it if you can't answer every question. no one's judging you for needing a minute to get started. but if you don't stop judging yourself, you'll never get better. and i need you to get better, okay? the whole night shift does."

you nod, coming to terms with what he said. and for the first time in a long time, you do feel better. the patient's fine. jack's fine. you're fine.

until one day, he refills your water bottle for you. cold water, a little bit of ice but not too much. the bottle is easter yellow, the brightest thing at the desks at central, and it looks weird in your attending's hands.

"oh," you get out, a little softly. it's two in the morning, and your tea is almost empty, but you might need another cup. you're not alert enough to notice that your bottle even went missing. maybe fifteen minutes ago, you tried to take a sip but it was empty. your eyes flick between the yellow of your bottle and the brown of jack's eyes for a moment, brain not functioning. "thank you."

"no problem," he says, walking away before you can even process what happened. besides you, the nurses try to conceal their laugh. across from you, you see ellis and shen whispering to each other, but you can't put two and two together.

"is everything okay?" you call out to them. they make their way over, leaning against the counter while stretching. when you look next to you again, the nurses are gone.

"yeah," ellis starts. "it's nothing-" you interrupt.

"-what? did i do something-" those little fears creep their way in, starting at the back of your neck, spreading like ice water throughout you. it seems stupid, but you've always been anxious, and sometimes your field helps you stop being anxious, and instead puts you in go-mode. it's what you used to like about the day shift. so much to do, there's not enough time to sit and think about what everyone else is doing and thinking all the time. but night shift is just a smidge different.

"no-"

"really, it's nothing-"

"-it's just that he's never filled my water-"

"-or gotten me coffee-"

"-i don't even think he knows what my water bottle looks like-"

"-and he's definitely never asked me if i drink tea-"

"oh."

oh.