#sometimes you just say something vulnerable

[cutiefulism]

i’m a dog, i’m a mutt ▼⁠・⁠ᴥ⁠・⁠▼ caleb , lads

✦ ~ 1.1k wc, german shepard!caleb x reader, fluff, caleb n reader both being a little crazy abt each other, this wasnt meant to be so long (⁠ ⁠≧⁠Д⁠≦⁠) but possible smutty pt2?????

you don't even get one shoe on your foot before you hear the familiar, false lightness of caleb’s voice from behind you, irritation brewing just below the surface.

“where ya goin’?”

a sigh blows past your lips. you've been trying to find a cure for caleb’s, err. . problem for the past three days, and each time you attempt to leave the house, he's there to reel you back in with a pout and a grumble, big, dark ears flat against his skull.

sometimes, when you're really stubborn, he just drags you towards him with his evol, locking you in his big arms where you are meant to be and shoving his face against yours.

his hearing has gotten aggravatingly good.

you slowly turn to face him, giving yourself a few extra seconds to smooth the guilty wince from your face. “caleb, you know you can't leave the house like this. won't it be awkward to explain to your subordinates that you now have fluffy ears and a fluffier tail?”

the strict, cold colonel of the farspace fleet turned adorable, helpless puppy. what a headline.

his head cocks to the side. “they won't say anything.”

they know better than to say anything. just because he's soft with you doesn't mean that same kindness extends to everyone else. you've witnessed it first hand, and, honestly?

it's a little hot.

maybe you're just a freak, but it's nice to have that warm, gentle bit of caleb reserved just for you. no one else gets to taint it. not that you'd let that happen, anyway.

“that's. .” you bite your lip. “that's true, but that's not the entire point. this,” you gesture to him with a toss of your hand, and his brows furrow, “whatever it is that's happened to you, clearly has other side effects. you literally barked the other day.”

gotcha.

that makes caleb stiffen, his eyes locked on you as heat tints his cheeks pink, and you can't help a cheeky grin. his bark was pretty cute — a deep, firm, sharp noise that was directed to the poor guy who delivered y'all's pizza.

“that was an accident,” he says with a cough. “a-and only a one time thing.”

you kiss your teeth, still grinning, and he doesn't even let those words that he just knows will be teasing get out. “i’m serious! you see i haven't barked or growled since, right?”

he's had to actively resist the urge to, but you don't need to know that.

in a few short strides, he crosses the small distance between you, his arms looping around your waist and tugging you to his chest, big tail happily swishing behind him. it might be a bit harder for him to hide his emotions thanks to this transformation, but it's not impossible.

nothing is impossible.

well, besides him not loving you. that's very much so impossible.

“c'moooon,” he whines, and you damn your stupidly weak resolve right now. he shouldn't look so. . cute.

big, violet eyes peer down at you, plush mauve lips pulled down into a gentle pout, and his dark brows are practically knitted together.

to be quite frank, caleb looks pathetic.

but both he and you know that you like pathetic.

“i’ll be fine. you can trust me. always.”

you hum, and that mischievous grin melts into something more contemplative. “‘s not that i don't trust you, it's just. .”

“just what?” a pause, and then that wet puppy look is gone from his face, his signature smirk taking its place. “oh. ohhhhh. you don't want anyone else to see me like this. that's what this is about.”

. . .

“what?” your jaw goes slack, something like embarrassment creeping up the back of your neck, and caleb can just see the idea worming its way into your vulnerable little mind and taking root.

perfect.

you shake your head, and he only chuckles. “that's not true! i just don't want people bothering you in public! wouldn't you be annoyed if people kept coming up to you, asking to stroke your tail or scritch your ears?”

you're so obvious, it's both infuriating and adorable.

infuriating because — despite him informing you numerous times that he knows you better than anyone, even better than you know yourself — you still continue to hide things from him.

adorable because you look so pretty and lively all fired up, like a firecracker in the dead of a summer night.

“no, no. you're the only one who would be annoyed,” he says, and his hand travels up to gently pinch your cheek. “what have i told you about lyin’, pipsqueak?”

you groan and shove his hand away, but the burning in your face tells him all he needs to know. “i’m not lying!”

caleb’s hand simply moves to your thighs, and then he's hoisting you up with a grunt, thick arm situated underneath your ass. “you sure? your voice is gettin’ all squeaky. if i remember correctly, that's a definite sign you're lying.”

the smell of your perfume graces his nose, and he can't help but let out a tiny, content sigh. you smell so good — mostly your perfume, probably some gourmand scent, with just a hint of his own musk and soap. he'd prefer you smell a lot more like him, but that'll come in due time.

he's waited for years to have you — it won't hurt for him to wait some more.

your arms, like they have a mind of their own, hook around caleb’s neck, despite the almost petulant frown on your face. “i’m not a little kid anymore. and even if i was lying, which i’m not, that wouldn't be a tell!”

he snorts. “i think you're overestimating how much you've changed. you still act like the little girl who'd come crying to her gege because someone knocked over your sandcastle.”

your gaze narrows into sharp daggers. “and you still act like some flirtatious know-it-all!”

at that, caleb shifts you closer, rubbing his face into your neck with a soft smile. a flirtatious know-it-all, huh?

oddly enough, he's never flirted with anyone but you.

his lips press a soft, almost reverent kiss on your pulse. “for you to be so smart, you sure can be dense, can't ya?” he mutters, and his voice is swallowed up by your skin.

caleb would never betray you like that. no, you're all he wants, all he needs. no other girl will fill that crevice in his heart, something perfectly carved in the shape of you.

he pulls his face back, and his soft eyes meet your angry ones. cute. “i’ll be your flirtatious know-it-all for the evening, how ‘bout that?” and when you only continue to glare at him, he sweetens the deal.

“i’ll even let you touch my ears.” as if on cue, they twitch, looking fluffier and softer than ever.

. . hm. that antidote can wait a little longer, can't it?

sweats.

[haqiqxt]

sometimes a woman just needs to gather her thoughts before she walks back into a burning flame she once was rescued from. i should also preface, it’s taken her years to feel absolutely nothing. you say there’s a feeling you long for that you haven’t felt—am i meant to read your mind? what is it? love, longing, inspiration, or a challenge or none? because these are simply words that yes, are written by me { whoever or whatever me means to you } but sometimes the essence of a personal touch like hearing or seeing is what may revive what’s flatlined. you ask what do my eyes hide? i’ll leave that for the interpretation of others maybe even you— and my smile? she only appears sometimes, almost rare that when i do smile i’m aware i’m smiling and immediately my thoughts are back in action. and my odd days? perhaps they tug away at the weights on my shoulders, in between the corners of my room where no one can truly hear me regardless of how loud i am. what do my normal days hide too? solace and routines. boring yes but i fear that i no longer can do uncertainty with anything anymore.

i’m talking in metaphors, which honestly i’ve come to hate because so much can be misconstrued in words—especially ours. but i still write all the time. i did stop for a while, but one day i remembered that muse i would write about isn’t the only muse to exist. maybe there are other forms of art in life that i could write about that aren’t a literal, physical, breathing human man whom i can no longer express myself to. though may not be as deep, but sometimes they do deserve a second thought. just like you.

we’re just going in circles, but why does this still make me giggle? why am i choosing to let you consume me again? every time i think about the after of it all and how much i literally felt my heart physically fall out of my chest and watched it still beat on the floor. how much i tried to erase you from everything, but all i kept getting were signs, one after another. part of me believed i was never going to escape it, ever. and so i became a bystander in my own life. i had no energy to hold myself anymore. to walk through life as though love— so genuine, and endless, yet soft, and complex, oddly transformative, yet sacred and vulnerable, persistent till now, unpredictable, and beautiful love—was right here and now it’s gone. as if i let you, let us, excuse ourselves. but then i remember—we’re juxtaposed, or so we were told to be. ironic as such, why you may ask? in every other aspect, we’re the most likely the first to call out injustice. this is injustice. this is madness. it’s okay to say you miss this, my dear. i do too. sometimes, when i watch movies, or go for a drive, or even sit at dinner, i remember the feeling. and sometimes, i’ll pause—close my eyes—to really feel the presence that my soul craves, that deep ache for something i can never quite touch. no matter how much i’ve sliced and diced myself, at this point, i feel like i have no limbs. i tried so hard to carve you out, but in doing so, i took myself with it. it’s something about the way we were, something so real, even if we can never be again. a haunting, almost, that lingers in the quiet spaces between my thoughts, reminding me that even in the absence of us, we are still somehow connected.

anyways, what is this all for — i really don’t know. but there’s a been a lot of times where i’ve read your words and thought to myself if only you knew.

[prettyangellllll]

Are You Okay?

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary:

Rafe Cameron may have a tough exterior, but underneath it all, he cares deeply for you. When no one ever asked him if he was okay growing up, he makes sure to check in on you at every possible moment. Every glance, every touch, and every word is his way of saying he cares. In a world where no one ever asked Rafe if he was good, you become the one person he asks over and over. This fluffy story is about Rafe’s quiet, yet deep, care for you and how he always makes sure you’re okay—even when he’s struggling himself.

Warnings: Fluff, angst (in passing), emotional vulnerability

---

The first time it happens, you’re sitting on the couch in his house, scrolling through your phone, trying to find something to occupy your mind. Rafe sits next to you, his shoulder brushing yours. It’s quiet, the kind of peaceful silence that settles over you when you're with someone who means a lot.

"Are you good?" he asks, his voice soft but filled with a quiet intensity you can’t ignore.

You glance up, blinking at him in confusion. "Yeah, why?"

Rafe shrugs, his eyes avoiding yours for a second, like he’s uncomfortable asking. "Just... checking."

It hits you then—no one has ever asked him if he's okay. Not in the way he’s asking. It’s not the usual casual question most people throw around; it’s a deeper, quieter inquiry, one that carries with it the weight of unspoken things.

You smile softly, reaching out to give his hand a reassuring squeeze. "I'm good. Really."

He nods, but there’s something in his eyes that lingers—a hint of something unresolved. You know, deep down, it’s not just about you. It’s about him, too.

---

The next time it happens is the following week, after a long day of running errands together. You’re both in his truck, driving back to his place, the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow through the windows. You feel the familiar buzz of his energy, like he’s a little more on edge than usual.

As you sit beside him, trying to casually hum along to the music playing, you notice his hand twitching slightly on the steering wheel. The silence between you grows a little thicker.

"Are you okay?" you ask, breaking the quiet.

Rafe's gaze flicks to you, his jaw clenching briefly before he forces a small, tight smile. "I’m good."

You can tell it's not entirely true, but you don’t push him. Instead, you place a hand on his leg, a silent gesture of support. "I meant, are you okay?"

His shoulders drop slightly, and he exhales like he's been holding his breath for far too long. Then, without missing a beat, he glances at you, eyes searching your face. "Yeah, I just—" He shakes his head. "I don't know, sometimes I just wonder if I’m enough. For you, I mean."

You blink, your heart warming at his vulnerability. This isn’t something he’s used to sharing, and for a moment, it makes you feel special that he trusts you enough to admit it.

"You’re more than enough, Rafe," you say gently, squeezing his hand. "You’re everything to me."

And just like that, he visibly softens, his lips curving into a rare, sincere smile. "Thanks," he mutters, but there's something more in his eyes. Something that tells you he’s not just asking if you’re okay for you—he’s asking because he wants someone to ask him, too.

---

It becomes a habit over time. Rafe constantly checking in on you, in his own subtle way. Whether it’s asking if you’re good when you’re lost in thought or casually glancing over at you after a long day, he makes sure to take the time to make sure you’re okay.

But there’s something else, too. Something that makes your heart swell every time it happens.

One night, as you lie in bed, his arm draped over your waist, he mumbles into your hair. "You sure you're good?"

You laugh softly, tilting your head back so you can look at him. "Why do you always ask me that?"

Rafe meets your gaze, his eyes full of emotion you can’t quite place. "Because no one ever asked me. No one ever checked on me. But I’m asking you now. Every time."

You feel the lump in your throat, touched by his quiet need to be seen and heard. "I’m always good when I’m with you, Rafe. Always."

And as he pulls you closer, his face buried in your hair, you realize that in his own way, he’s asking you because he cares. Not just for you, but for himself, too. Because asking is his way of saying, “I’m here. And I’ll always make sure you’re okay.”

[unabletonotlovesatoru]

Nanami having a reader who rarely shows being vulnerable?

teddy’s notes: thank you for the request!! sorry this is a bit short

nanami had always admired your strength. the way you carried yourself, the way you faced everything head-on, refusing to let the world see you waver. he knew that part of you wasn’t just habit—it was armor.

but even the strongest armor had its weak spots.

tonight, something was off. you came over as usual, sat on his couch, let him make you tea. but there was something missing—the usual sharp wit, the ease with which you bantered with him. you were quieter, your fingers curled tight around the cup, gaze distant.

nanami didn’t press.

instead, he sat beside you, close enough that you could feel his presence but not enough to push. he waited, patient as ever.

minutes passed before you finally exhaled, setting your cup down with a quiet clink. “it’s fine,” you said, preemptively dismissing whatever concern he might have.

“i didn’t say anything,” he replied.

you gave him a look, one that tried to be dry, unimpressed—but there was something else in your eyes, something tired.

nanami sighed, then reached out, slow and deliberate. you didn’t move away when his fingers brushed over yours, tracing over your knuckles before settling there.

“you don’t have to say anything,” he murmured. “just… stay a while.”

it was an invitation, not a demand.

you swallowed, staring down at your intertwined fingers like they were unfamiliar. then, without a word, you shifted closer, resting against him. not much, just enough to let his warmth seep into your skin.

nanami didn’t say anything else. he just let you be.

sometimes, that was enough.

[03den]

bfhamzah headcanons - part 2 ( gnreader )

a.n: my god i was not expecting allat on my first post, thank uuu sm have some more fun w my rambling (slightly suggestive & reader is referred to as gf/wife)

part 1

in part one i briefly talked about how hamzah texts you a lot, and i stand my ground on that. he def spams you with the most random things. if he encounters a funny thing on the street, he immediately takes his phone out and sends you a photo. wait, did hamzah just thought about a really bad joke that is not funny in the slightest? he's proudly texting you it with no context at all. sometimes you're sitting in the same room, both on your silent phone time, and he's just repeatedly sending you brainrot reels, laughing to himself. oh, and you better watch them and the tiktoks he sends you, because he will reference them later and be dramatic about it if you don't understand it. "hi im ol- ol- oliver" "what?" "you don't know what i'm talking about? babe, no. i literally sent you the og tiktok!" ohh he's going to be salty about it.

onto that, i don't think he's the biggest pet name user. i think he prefers to call you by a nickname only he has for you—he thinks it makes him more special. once, martin tried to call you by that same nickname during a video, and hamzah just side eyed him and went "dude, no. stop.” occasionally, he will call you babe or baby in situations where he's attention seeking, half-asleep, high, trying to win your affection back after pestering you for too long... but that's also what he calls you during those moments, when his mind is foggy with different thoughts, and constant stimulation steal his ability to self-control. anything other than babe or baby, i can see it lowkey making him cringe

something corny that def doesn't make him cringe though is matching clothes—oh, this man loves it. and i don't mean subtle matching. yk those iconic t-shirts hamzah and martin constantly wear? the ones he buys to match with you are like that—white t-shirt with black letters saying 'i think they're hot' with an arrow each pointing to different sides. he for sure has asked you to wear that shirt with him for a youtube video, and made you sit so the arrow on his shirt pointed to you, and yours to him. has bought himself the ‘i love my gf’ black hoodie and wears the ‘i don't need an encyclopedia my wife knows it all’ t-shirt more often now that you're dating. don’t worry tho he let's you choose normal matching clothes as well

he can be a very silly bf, specially in public where he feels too exposed to be vulnerable, however, deep down he’s so so sweet, so caring. mumbled confessions against your neck late at night, hamzah tells you things weighted with such love it puts you under some daze. it’s not so easy for him to be in such vulnerable state, his words come out messy and shy, but the fact he tries nonetheless gives his voice a certain rawness—there’s no room for you to doubt his words

his heartfelt ‘i love you’s are always heard during these moments. repeated over and over, in between kisses, one no more genuine than the other. hamzah feels every word in ‘i love you’, and so do you, so they’re more reserved for times like these. that doesn't mean you ever separate ways without a quick "love you" with a peck though, that's an essential for him.

you are so important to hamzah, like actually so important it’s in everything he does. it’s in the way he does his groceries thinking about what you’d want, in case you come over; it’s in the way every other concern is pushed aside the moment he sees you; it’s in the way his house is covered in evidence of your presence; and in how he cannot stop posting you—be it on tiktok, youtube, or wtv

something else the fans noticed during a video is how he keeps a polaroid of you two on his phone case—a selfie of you next to each other, camera too close to your faces but that still managed to capture your laughing fit and his grin. it’s cute, and even tho it was a moment between js the two of you, the picture clearly conveys the love you have for each other.

after some time dating, youtube gets flooded with compilations of your relationship. ‘hamzah annoying name for 15 minutes straight’. ‘every clip of Hamzah being absolutely in love WARNING: long video.’ ‘moments where name and hamzah openly flirted in front of the camera.’

extras!

literally had no idea on what to put on the brainrot line.. i havent been keeping up w brainrot also im so obsessed with every photo of his included in this post

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Arguments to I Love You’s

Pairing: 141 Boys x Reader (Headcanons)

Warnings: Angst with fluff, heated arguments

Author’s Note: I wrote this needing a bit of angst sooooo here :)

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

John Price

John isn’t one to raise his voice. He’s patient—stoic even—but tonight, something inside him snaps.

It starts with a simple disagreement about his constant late nights. “You never tell me when you’ll be home, John! I sit here wonderin' if you’re even okay!”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, his face etched with exhaustion. “I’m doin’ my job. You knew what you signed up for.”

That stings more than you expect. “I signed up for you, John. Not this endless waitin' and worryin'.” Your voice wavers, the weight of loneliness sinking in.

His jaw tightens, words caught in his throat. He opens his mouth but shuts it again, frustrated with himself. Then, before he can stop himself, it spills out. “Because I love you! That’s why I do this! To keep you safe!”

The room falls into heavy silence.

Your breath catches as you meet his gaze—raw, vulnerable, his blue eyes glassy with emotion. “You… love me?”

He exhales shakily, stepping closer, the tension melting from his shoulders. “Yeah. I do. I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.”

You close the distance, wrapping your arms around him, feeling his warmth. “I love you too, John. I just want you safe.”

He holds you tighter than ever, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “I’ll try, love. I promise I’ll try.”

---

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Simon has always been guarded, his emotions hidden behind layers of armor. But tonight, you push through.

“You can’t keep shuttin’ me out, Simon! I care about you—why can’t you see that?” Your voice cracks, frustration and pain mingling.

He stands across the room, mask off, but his emotional barriers still up. His jaw ticks, hands clenched into fists. “I’m not good at this… at feelings.”

You feel the frustration bubble over. “Then tell me what you feel! Say something!”

He slams his fist on the table, startling both of you. “Because I’m scared, alright? Scared I’ll lose you like I’ve lost everyone else. But I can’t—because I love you.”

The words hang heavy in the air, like a secret finally set free.

Your anger melts, replaced with tenderness. “Simon… I love you too. You’re not going to lose me.”

His shoulders sag as you step closer, cupping his cheek. He leans into your touch, eyes softening for the first time, vulnerability shining through.

“You’re stuck with me now,” you whisper, your forehead resting against his.

A small, broken smile tugs at his lips. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He pulls you into a tight embrace, holding onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

---

John 'Soap' MacTavish

Soap’s usually upbeat and playful, but even sunshine cracks sometimes.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were goin' on that mission?!” you shout, arms crossed, tears threatening to fall.

He throws his hands up, pacing the room. “I didnae want you worryin’! It was supposed to be a simple in-and-out.”

“You could’ve been hurt—killed,Johnny!”

The panic in your voice hits him hard. He stops pacing, turning to you with wide eyes. “I didnae want to make you scared. But dammit, I cannae lose you either!”

There’s a beat before his next words fall out, unfiltered, raw. “Because I fuckin’ love you, alright? I didnae know how to say it, but I do.”

Your breath hitches, tears brimming over. “You love me?”

He steps closer, his face softening, reaching out to wipe your tears away. “Aye. I do. More than anythin’.”

You throw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. “I love you too, you idiot.”

He laughs, relief washing over him, holding you tighter than ever. “Guess we’re both idiots then.”

---

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

Gaz is patient, the calm in any storm—but even he has limits.

“You keep actin’ like I’m fragile, like I can’t handle the truth!” you exclaim, frustration pouring out.

He rubs his temple, his usual calm starting to fray. “I’m not tryin’ to protect you from the truth—I’m protectin’ you from the hurt.”

“That’s not your decision to make!”

His restraint finally cracks, his voice raised louder than you’ve ever heard it. “I’m doin’ it because I love you! I can’t stand the thought of you bein’ hurt because of me.”

The room goes silent, the words echoing.

You blink, processing his confession, your heart racing. “You… love me?”

His chest rises and falls quickly before he nods, stepping closer. “Yeah. I do. Probably from the moment we met. You’re all I think about when I’m out there.”

Tears well in your eyes as you step forward, taking his hand in yours. “I love you too, Kyle.”

His tense shoulders finally relax as he pulls you into a warm embrace, his arms strong and secure around you. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, holding you like you’re his entire world.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’ll try to do better.”

“You already are,” you whisper back.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[kuronarnze]

a/n: another kaiser oneshot.. hehehe... This was a request :)

Michael Kaiser x Reader !

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳

Behind the Golden Mask

Michael Kaiser was untouchable. Arrogant, confident, and always in control. His golden locks and sharp blue eyes held the world in their gaze, as if he owned it. That was how he wanted people to see him.

But you knew better.

You had seen glimpses—brief flickers of something raw beneath his carefully crafted mask. The exhaustion in his eyes after a game, the way his hand tightened around his phone before he turned it off, the way his laughter sometimes rang hollow.

Tonight was different.

Kaiser sat on your couch, his usual smirk absent, replaced by something you had never seen before—vulnerability. He looked down, fingers gripping his knee, his breathing steady but forced.

You sat beside him, watching, waiting.

"y/n," he murmured, his voice softer than ever. "Do you ever feel like no matter how much you win, it’s never enough?"

Your chest tightened. You had never heard him sound like this.

"Yeah," you admitted. "Like no matter what you do, there’s always someone waiting to say it’s not enough."

Kaiser exhaled, a bitter chuckle escaping him. "My entire life has been like that. I clawed my way up, fought for everything, and still… I hear their voices. My past, my mistakes, the people who said I’d never make it."

Your heart ached for him.

"You don’t have to prove anything to them, Kaiser," you said gently. "You’re already enough."

His hands trembled slightly, and before you knew it, he was leaning into you. His forehead rested against your shoulder, his body warm and tense. It was the first time you had ever seen him like this—open, fragile.

Your arms wrapped around him, holding him close. You didn’t say anything, didn’t try to fill the silence. You just let him breathe.

After a long moment, he sighed against you, his voice barely above a whisper.

"...Thank you."

And in that moment, you realized—Michael Kaiser, the man who always stood above the rest, had finally let someone in.

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳

Thank you soso much for reading ! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

[sweetfcwn]

request: Reader feeling sick/unwell and doesn’t wanna burden George cause he’s overwhelm with work and she’s too stubborn to admit.

rest easy - george clarke.

perfect time for me to get this request because i think i'm getting sick. need george to come take care of me 😖

you’ve been trying to hide it all evening—how your head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton and your throat is raw from swallowing every few seconds. you’ve got the chills, but you tell yourself it’s nothing. you don’t want to worry george. he’s been so overwhelmed with work lately, and you know how important it is for him to get everything done. you don’t want to add to his plate.

so, you sit there, quietly, on the couch, watching him from across the room as he furiously works on his laptop. you can tell he’s tired, his eyes looking a little more strained than usual, but he doesn’t show it. he’s always so focused, so determined. you admire it, but sometimes, you wish he would let himself rest.

you shift uncomfortably, pulling your knees up to your chest, trying to warm yourself from the inside out. you tell yourself you’ll be fine, that this will pass, but the ache in your body only seems to grow with each passing minute.

george finally notices, his gaze flicking over to you. you try to smile, but it feels forced. “you okay?” he asks, concern slipping into his voice.

“yeah,” you lie, your voice coming out a little raspier than you intended. “just a little tired, that’s all.”

george doesn’t seem convinced. he pauses for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s trying to read you. the silence between you stretches, and you can feel the weight of it.

“you sure?” he presses, setting his laptop aside and standing up. “because you look like you’re about to pass out.”

you can feel the heat rush to your face, and you shake your head quickly, not wanting to make a bigger deal out of it. “honestly, george, it’s nothing. just… a headache. nothing I can’t handle.”

he doesn’t say anything at first, but then he crosses the room, sitting beside you on the couch. his fingers gently brush your cheek, and the warmth of his touch makes you want to give in, to tell him everything that’s been weighing on you. but you can’t bring yourself to do it. you don’t want to be a burden.

george sighs, his voice soft but firm. “you’re not a burden. don’t ever think that.”

your heart stutters, and for a moment, you let yourself feel the truth in his words. you meet his gaze, and the tenderness in his eyes makes something in your chest loosen.

“george…” you begin, but your voice cracks before you can finish.

he’s already pulling you toward him, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you lean into him, finally allowing yourself to relax just a little. “you don’t have to keep pretending. let me take care of you for once, alright?”

you nod, your eyes fluttering shut as you let the comfort of his presence wash over you. maybe you didn’t want to admit you were struggling, but with george beside you, it’s easier to let go. to be vulnerable. to let him help.

you sink into his embrace, the tension in your body slowly melting away as george pulls the blanket around the two of you. his warmth is like a quiet reassurance that maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to stop being so strong all the time. it’s okay to let someone else take care of you for a change.

“just rest,” he murmurs, his voice gentle as he adjusts the blanket around you. you hear the subtle concern in his tone, but there’s something else too—an underlying sense of calm, like he’s relieved you’ve finally let go of that stubborn pride. "i'm not going anywhere."

you close your eyes, the world feeling softer in his arms. you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his presence grounds you, and for the first time all evening, you allow yourself to just breathe. you can’t remember the last time you let yourself be this vulnerable, this open, but with george, it doesn’t feel like weakness. it feels safe.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper after a long pause, your voice barely audible. “i didn’t want to bother you.”

george shakes his head, pulling you in a little tighter. “you’re not bothering me. i care about you, you know? you don’t have to hide it from me.”

there’s something in his words that makes your heart ache, a quiet promise in his voice that makes you feel less alone in this moment. you nod slightly, snuggling further into his side as your eyelids grow heavy.

“thank you,” you say, your voice barely above a murmur.

he hums in response, his hand stroking your hair slowly. “anything for you.”

the world outside feels distant now, the overwhelming rush of the day fading as you focus on the rhythmic comfort of george’s touch. the headache still lingers, but with him holding you, it’s easier to push it aside. you let yourself relax into the moment, knowing that for now, you’re exactly where you need to be.

[blueberrybeomgyu]

― bnd & edging vs overstim .ᐟ ❁｡ﾟ･°

౨ৎ☕ warnings ⋆.ೃ࿔ : 18+, mayhaps edging and overstim i dunno just maybe!! mentions of subspace, probably typos forgive me 🙏/ wc: 810 / masterlist / divider

˚ ༘⋆｡➳ sungho

sungho prefers edging, his confidence is boosted when he can hold out for a while. he has the longest stamina out of the five, so he can handle edging for a while. with overstim, the desperation makes him lose grip on his mind, which is something he'd only want to experience on special occasions. he prefers to be lucid during sex so that he can pay attention to how you look, what you're doing, and what you're saying. he prides himself on being obedient even if he's mouthy, and it's more difficult for him to follow your instructions when his mind is super hazy, which is often is during overstim.

˚ ༘⋆｡➳ riwoo

riwoo prefers overstim. out of the five, he likes being in subspace the most and slips into it the fastest and the deepest. he likes being in your care and finds it romantic to surrender to you in that sense. during a lot of intimate sessions, he doesn't want to think outside of doing what you instruct. however, it's hard for him to relax during edging. he's so on edge, sensitive to every single touch and holding his breath wondering if this time you'll let him cum, but when you pull away he's so disappointed. he finds it fun, but it's not his favorite of the two. he likes the pain-pleasure of overstim more. similarly to edging, he's sensitive to every touch and word you say, but he gets to cum this way, it doesn't feel like he's holding his breath waiting for relief. he likes wondering if you'll have mercy on him and stop, or if you're going to work another one out of him, the lack of control over either is comforting to him.

˚ ༘⋆｡➳ jaehyun

jaehyun prefers overstim. to jaehyun, edging feels like a punishment. he'd much rather be sensitive from cumming than desperate from being on edge. edging would make him super frustrated, borderlining on not in a good way, so even as a punishment, it's not something you'd wanna keep up for very long. however, jaehyun always wants to be the #1 Best Boy, so he would try his best to take the punishment, but it's not long at all before he's begging, promising that he's learnt his lesson and deserves to cum, and he's cute, it's easy to give in when he's begging like that. jaehyun also just loves overstim. one orgasm is almost never enough to satisfy him, he'll immediately beg to keep going even if he has to do all the work because you're tired. he has stamina for overstim but not so much for edging. overstim is more likely to send him into subspace than edging, and he likes the haziness of subspace, the feeling of being brainless outside of following your instructions and being a good puppy. he's so satisfied when he's boneless and milked dry from an overstim session, whereas with edging, it takes him awhile to calm down after finally cumming, and if you overstim him immediately after edging him, it's a lot for him to handle, almost too much, and it takes a while for him to come out of subspace.

˚ ༘⋆｡➳ taesan

taesan prefers edging. he has a very love/hate relationship with edging. similar to jaehyun, it sometimes feels like a punishment, but he's not one to back down from a challenge. he can hold out the longest following sungho. however, the second you overstim him, his brain turns to static. the pain-pleasure is difficult for him to handle. he'd have to be in a mood where he's ready to be vulnerable for you, because overstim will definitely send him into subspace, and he doesn't want to be in subspace every session. going back to earlier, he's not one to back down from a challenge, so he's holding back pleas and only squeezing his eyes shut/grunting when you deny him. you will get him to the point where he's giving up and begging to cum, but it won't come without a fight for sure because taesan just enjoys putting up a fight. he wants to be able to (lovingly) brag about how good he is for you.

˚ ༘⋆｡➳ leehan

leehan honestly doesn't have a preference. similar to sungho and taesan, he likes seeing how long he can last during edging before he feels like the desperation to cum is driving him insane, but he also likes the brainless feeling that comes with being worked past his limit. he just likes being your sub, he doesn't care how you decide to use him. more than anything, he just wants you to praise him, either for holding back so well or for cumming so much for you. he also has pretty good stamina, but less than sungho and taesan, but even when he's tired, he'd wanna keep messing around if you do. he's just a chill guy,,

bunny and i agree that jaehyun would just be a big baby during overstim and edging so we think maybe he's the problem?

[acrosstheujiverse]

With You, Always

【📂】 summary: when jihoon, an idol overwhelmed by cruel criticism, retreats into his studio, you arrive to offer comfort and remind him that he is loved, no matter what others say. through tender moments and quiet support, you help him find the strength to overcome the darkness and heal. 【🖇️】 pairing: idol!jihoon x lover!reader. 【💿】 genre: slice-of-life, hurt/comfort, romance. 【🧺】 tags: vulnerability; trust; support in times of struggle; self-worth; unconditional love. 【📦】 w/c: 775

📬 — author’s note！i came back from the dead to write this story ( T_T).

i wanted to write this story to provide comfort and reassurance to those facing similar struggles. love and emotional support can heal the wounds caused by criticism and self-doubt.

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@/hxxxxxxx1899

왜냐면 우지는 키만 작은게 아니라서

못생긴 ��돌1등임 우지만큼 못생긴 남돌을 본적이 없음 그냥 일반인 남자 인플루언서보다 못생김

[translated from korean]

because woozi is not only short

he’s the ugliest male idol. i’ve never seen a male idol as uglier than woozi. he’s just uglier than the average male influencer.

11:05 PM ・ 2025-02-09 ・ 1M views

୨:୧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ · · ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈୨:୧

*knock* *knock* *knock*

"jihoon? it’s me."

no response.

"i—i just came here to check on you..."

still, no answer. the silence stretched, thick and unnerving.

"can i come in?"

click

you gently twist the doorknob and push the door open, stepping into the familiar, dimly lit studio. normally, jihoon’s space was always dimly lit, but tonight, the darkness felt heavier, more suffocating. it was like the shadows themselves were pulling him further into himself, wrapping him in a quiet solitude.

you knew what they said. you’d read it, too. the cruel words—"because woozi is not only short, he’s the ugliest male idol"—had found their way into his world once again. "i’ve never seen a male idol uglier than woozi."

you knew that the hate would never fully stop. but tonight, it felt like it had hit harder. jihoon had always been able to shake it off, but tonight… tonight, you could tell something was different. his usual resilience seemed to be cracking.

you moved quietly through the room, the weight of your footsteps softened by the silence. you found him curled up on the couch, shoulders hunched, eyes fixed on the floor. he was trying to hide it, but you could see the way his body tensed, the way his hands fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. he was hurt, maybe more than you’d ever seen before.

"jihoon," you said softly, your voice breaking the stillness, "i know what they said… but—"

he didn’t look up. he didn’t need to hear the rest, and you didn’t need to finish. you knew. he knew. the weight of the world was on his shoulders, and it was hard to bear alone.

you moved closer, your heart aching as you watched him. without saying another word, you sat beside him, your legs brushing against his. you gently reached for his hand, your fingers lingering for a moment before intertwining with his. his hand was cold, but as you squeezed it gently, you could feel him relax ever so slightly.

you shifted closer, leaning your head against his. "for every ounce of hate you face," you murmured, your voice warm against his ear, "there’s an even greater love waiting to surround you. just for you."

jihoon let out a shaky breath, his body unconsciously leaning toward you, seeking comfort in your closeness. you wrapped your arm around his waist, pulling him into the safety of your embrace. he tucked his head under your chin, the soft weight of him grounding you both.

"that love sees your beauty in ways others can’t," you whispered, "and it shines from within, reminding you that you are more than enough, exactly as you are."

he stayed silent for a moment, the only sound in the room the soft rhythm of your breathing. then, in a voice barely above a whisper, jihoon spoke, his words like a quiet confession.

"i… i don’t know how to keep going sometimes."

the admission hit you like a wave, and your heart clenched. he was always so strong, so composed, but hearing him say that—hearing him admit that he struggled—broke down the last of the walls between you.

you gently cupped his face, your thumb brushing over his lips. "you don’t have to do it alone," you said softly. "i’m right here. you don’t have to carry this by yourself."

jihoon’s eyes met yours, and there was something in them—vulnerable, raw. he didn’t say anything more, but in the silence, there was a world of understanding.

you kissed him, slow and tender, your lips pressing against his, promising that no matter what the world said, you would always be there for him. his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer and deepening the kiss. it was the kind of kiss that spoke of healing, of comfort, of a love that would endure.

when you pulled away, jihoon’s forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed as he exhaled a soft sigh. the world outside, with its cruelty and hate, seemed to fall away. in this moment, all that mattered was the love between you two, a love strong enough to fight against anything that came your way.

and with his head nestled in your chest, you both sat in the quiet, finding solace in each other’s embrace.

— fin.

[itsnesss]

Hii! I was wondering if you could do a Miguel Diaz x reader oneshot where Miguel and the reader are at Miguel's house helping out with the new baby and it's just really cute and wholesome?

𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | miguel diaz × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | fluff, cuteness Overload, tender moments, lighthearted humor, emotional sweetness

word count | 1.0 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The afternoon at Miguel's house was much quieter than usual. The hustle and bustle that used to fill his home had diminished, and everything seemed to be in its place. The laughter, jokes, and usual arguments had been replaced by a kind of calm that could only be felt when a small person began to become part of the family.

Little Laura, Miguel's little sister, had arrived not long ago, and although she was still small, she had already changed the whole dynamic of the house. It was impossible not to notice how different everything felt now.

You had gone to visit because Miguel had asked for your help. Not only with the baby, but also to keep the peace in the house while his parents recovered from their exhaustion. And of course, you couldn’t say no to spending time with him, especially knowing how much he loved his little sister.

"Can you hold her for a moment?" Miguel asked, smiling tenderly as he handed you Laura, wrapped in her blanket. Although she had just been born, she was so small that she felt fragile in your arms. Miguel, on the other hand, was beside you, watching with a soft gaze.

"Of course," you replied with a smile, gently taking Laura. "She's like a little doll."

Miguel let out a soft laugh as he watched you settle her in your arms with such tenderness. "I know, it's incredible. Sometimes I forget how fragile she is. I don't want to do anything wrong."

The way he spoke about his sister made you feel a warmth in your chest. He was a different Miguel now, one who was more mature and, in his own way, more vulnerable. You knew how much Laura meant to him.

"Honestly, you're a great brother," you said as you stroked Laura's little head, watching as she slowly fell asleep in your arms.

Miguel smiled, his eyes shining with gratitude. "I don't know if I'm as good as you think, but I try. I want her to grow up knowing I'll always be here for her."

The air in the room felt softer, as if the whole world had calmed down to give them both a space to just be themselves. Without saying more, you sat next to him on the couch, with Laura still asleep in your arms. Miguel settled beside you, draping his arm over the back of the couch as he looked at you with a mixture of complicity and tenderness.

"You know?" Miguel said, looking at his sister sleep. "I never thought it would be so... beautiful, having her here. It's like the rest of life has a different purpose now."

He looked at you softly, and a sigh escaped your lips as you heard his words. There was something in his voice that showed how much he had changed, and how well it suited him. "It is. It's really beautiful to see how you take care of her.

Miguel smiled at you with one of those genuine smiles he alone could give, the ones that didn't need words to show how he felt. And in that moment, you understood how important it was for him to be the older brother, the protector.

Slowly, the room was filled with soft laughter as you began to tickle Laura, who, still asleep, couldn't help but move a little, making a face of discomfort that made you laugh. Miguel looked at you and, between laughs, said, "Are you really tickling her?"

"How can I not? She's just too adorable!" you replied, feeling like you were having as much fun as he was.

Miguel watched you for a second, and then, suddenly, he leaned in, gently tickling Laura's feet, causing her little toes to move. "This is going to be our little secret, right?"

You nodded with a playful smile. "Of course, we won’t tell anyone we’re waking her up like this.

You both laughed, and a moment of complicity formed between you. It didn't matter that Laura was asleep; what mattered was that you were sharing this tender and fun moment.

"You know what?" Miguel said after, still with a mischievous smile on his face. "When I grew up, I always thought I would be the typical big brother, protecting my sister. But seriously, being the big brother comes with a lot of responsibilities. I didn’t imagine it would be so hard!"

"Yeah, it must be tough," you replied with a smile. "But I think you're doing pretty well."

Miguel looked at you, his face illuminated by gratitude and something more. "Thank you for saying that. Really. And thanks for being here."

"Of course," you said softly, "I wouldn’t do it for anyone else."

The conversation between you continued with anecdotes from Miguel's childhood, where he was a little shy but also grateful to have you there. The conversation became lighter and more fun as you shared funny memories from his family.

Finally, the afternoon passed without realizing it. You had played with Laura, sung her a lullaby, and before you knew it, she was once again asleep in Miguel's arms, who was rocking her while looking at her with love.

You settled beside him, and without thinking too much, rested your head on his shoulder. The air was calm, and the light was soft. You had shared an afternoon of laughter, tender moments, and simple words that reflected how much you cared for each other.

"I'm so glad you're here," Miguel murmured, still looking at Laura. "You're like a big part of my family, you know?"

You blushed slightly upon hearing those words. "I feel the same way, Miguel."

There was a comfortable silence between you, only the soft breathing of Laura filling the room. Miguel, still looking at his little sister, seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then turned toward you. His eyes shone with something more than affection. Slowly, he leaned in and, with a softness that surprised you, gave you a small kiss on the forehead.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he whispered, his voice filled with a tenderness that made it feel like the moment was stretching out just for the two of you.

You smiled shyly, feeling the warmth of his words and the gentle touch of his lips. "I'm happy to be here."

[asheepinfrance]

i wrote this for so long i have no mildly witty intro. i love patrick and he's romantic to ME. comments and critiques welcome as always

He could stare at the curve of your shoulder all day and the thought is entirely foreign. Foreign but most certainly not unwelcome. In fact, when it made its way into his brain he welcomed it with open arms and walked it into the corner where he kept all the other you-based things he had stored. You on the day he’d met you at that stupid party you most definitely didn’t want to be at, you the first time he kissed you (the first time you’d been kissed, period), you just an hour ago when you asked him to spend the night. Now here he is, watching you watch some shitty movie he’d stopped paying attention to about 15 minutes ago. He’s watching the muscles beneath your skin bend at the will of your bones, watching your shoulders shake each time you laugh, hearing you steady your breath to prevent any sound from coming out, softening entirely when you fail. He remembers you saying you hate your laugh, and he thinks that’s just about the dumbest thing you’ve ever said. It’s not entirely shocking to him that he could feel this way for someone like you, because really, how could he not? Even he had some domesticity tucked under all that bravado, he just needed the right person to coax it out. And god, were you the right person.

Patrick forgets, sometimes, that you’ve never done something like this before. Shared yourself down to those ugly, nasty bits of your soul (though that only really applies to his half of your partnership, in his opinion). Inexperienced was what you were, and remain to be. He only forgets because it’s all come so naturally to you. You love like it’s the simplest thing in the world to be vulnerable. You love him like it takes no effort to, and it warms him up a little. He hadn’t been easy to love since he was 12 and found someone equally eager to be a man as him. His mother had always insisted he’d have to mellow out for someone to accept him, his father telling him to keep himself in check, women don’t like a man without that trademark stoicism. You’d proved them wrong. So he’s fine with just tracing the shape of your arm with his fingertips, eventually finding yours. He likes to think maybe, just maybe, if he held your hands long enough, your fingerprints would become one and the same. 

“Hey… I’m sorry, you know. For being slow about things.”

He looks up from your hands, which were so soft in comparison to his it made him feel ill, to the smallest bit of your eye peeking over your shoulder. 

“Why are you sorry?” 

He knows you, mind included, well enough to know the slew of stupid answers you can supply. ‘It’s embarrassing to have so little experience under your belt at my age’, ‘you’re you and you have sex all the time, so waiting for me is stupid’, so on and so forth. He knows these things because you’ve said them all time and time again, over the course of the 3 months he’s been doing this with you. 3 months went by quite fast. 3 months has never been so blissful. He’d also never experienced a longer wait in his life, not that he’d admit it. But he’d wait till his hair ran gray and his bones could hardly hold his own weight anymore. He could be happy just to see the orange hue to your skin in the dim lamplight of your room. 

“Don’t be, ‘kay? Don’t wantcha to be.”

You open your mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a sigh. He hopes it’s not a sad one. You turn over to place your cheek to his chest, stretch, bend, and soon fall asleep. He knows the sound of your breathing well enough to know the pace it takes in unconsciousness. He reaches out a careful, steady arm to turn the lamp off, his skin tingling with lack of contact until he places it back in its rightful place around your waist, exposed with your lack of a shirt. He’s more than happy to follow your lead in this, and he feels his eyes flicker closed in rhythm to your soft puffs of air against his skin. 

“Hey… Patrick, you awake?”

It’s darker out now, a dark that bleeds into the room enough that he doesn’t see you even if his eyes are open. He rubs at them until you come into a view, and he settles a bit. 

“M’yeah, what’s up? You alright?”

The digital clock you never actually use flashes the time: 3:23 A.M. Late enough that he’s more concerned to see you awake than happy to have this time to talk to you, though he’s happy with any time at all. 

“Patrick, I was thinking… well, you know, I had this dream and…”

You’re heated like a small sun under the palms of his hands, enough that he can feel a thin layer of perspiration at the points of connection between the two of you. And he’s listening as well as he can, what with his tired brain and general boyish inattentiveness, but he thinks he’s got enough of a grasp on things to understand where this is going. He’s grinning in the dark like the Cheshire cat, and he wouldn’t be shocked if all that was visible was the shine of his teeth against the moonlight. 

You’re still talking, though he’s not quite making the words out anymore, blood running past his ears in waves. He still registers that soft tone that you only adopt with him, though, and he’s trying to use it to pull himself out of the sunken, warm ocean of a wait coming to its end. He’s pulled to the surface with a gasp when your lips meet his, not unlike the times previous, but it’s not a feeling he thinks he’ll ever get used to. He’s gripping into your hair just as tightly as he can without hurting you, attempting to mumble something reassuring against your lips for the millisecond you pull away, but it’s swallowed up just as soon as it’s spoken. At least he’s sure that you’re sure. 

He’s well aware he’s been growing harder since the second you woke him up, he’s fairly certain you know it, too, but he refuses to let you acknowledge it yet. He slowly shifts his lips to your cheek, jawline, neck. He can feel your pulse thrumming in the vein in your neck, feels your skin jump against his nose with the strength of it. He can die happy just knowing that he made your heart race, but he’d live happier to continue doing just that. He’s soft, provoking, easing you into things. A gentle lead rather than a harsh tug. It’s what his girl deserves. He wants to bury himself in you until he’s beneath your lavender scented skin. He wants to watch each new crease, furrow and wrinkle in your skin appear in real time. He watches your head dip back, your hair shielding him from the outside world, caging him in possessively, tenderly housing him in. He sees your front teeth press into the plump flesh of your bottom lip, sees it dimple under that pressure. Hears the sigh that forces itself through that gap and he thinks that’s the sound he’ll hear when he goes to heaven.

He hears the relief in just the way you sigh when he opens your bra, and he doesn’t understand how you possibly could have kept the sight of you bare away from him. It’s almost cruel that he’s been in the presence of what could only be a goddess and you hadn’t proved as much. But he’s got the confirmation now, if your sweet, loving demeanor hadn’t been evidence enough, and he’s got all the time in the world to worship you. He trails kisses over the divots of your collarbones, between the newly exposed skin of your chest. He peeks through his lashes at you, sees the mess of your sleep-tossed hair against your shoulders, the glossy, half-lidded flutter in your eyes, the way your stomach jumps beneath his affection until he’s pressed between your thighs and he can feel how warm you are and he wills himself not to be selfish. You don’t pull away, but he refuses to move until he knows your mind is made up. He feels knuckles brush against his cheek, snake through his hair, and that’s all he needs before he’s pulling fabric over the width of your hips, the plush of your thighs and off your legs. He can see some unfamiliar scars and freckles scattered about, and he tracks them the way an astronomer would a constellation. 

“Fuck, I love you so much.”

He’s almost painfully gentle and it’d be frustrating if it wasn’t so sweet. Each brush of his tongue makes the muscles in your thighs constrict, and he’s whispering his apologies about the added intrusion of his fingers against your skin. He can feel you twitch around his face, watches your mouth fall open, your cheeks flush, your chest heave. It’s a bit of encouragement that he’s doing well, which he’s only ever been concerned about with you, and when the pitch of your gasps heightens, their frequency picks up he pulls away just as unhappy to ruin your incoming peak as you are not to experience it. His fingers are slick, lips wet, and the scent of you left on him is enough to have his eyes rolling back.

He lays you down, cradling your head despite there only being pillows beneath you, and with a kiss to your forehead and a nod from you he’s kicking himself out of his painfully tight boxers and slowly pressing into you. He chokes back a gasp, stills himself on his forearm, watches your brows pinch together in discomfort. He kisses you soft, slow, until you’re sharing gasps between your open mouths, and he doesn’t stop moving until he hears that same high-pitched cadence and watches you fall apart. He’s never seen something so beautiful as you writhing around.

“Wait- Wait, you didn’t-”

“Babe, it’s fine. All that matters is that you did so well.”

You look at him, visibly exhausted, and he looks back. You fall asleep just as easily as you did before, a quiet mumble of an ‘I love you’ into his skin that he returns. He doesn’t need to tell you that he finished in his boxers about an hour ago, even if he knows you’d laugh about it. Right now, he’s content in just having you close, watching your body move. He could stare at the curve of your shoulder all day.

[lindsey-laufeyson]

Distractions- Chapter 20

Distractions Masterlist

Pairing: Reader x FWB!Tom Hiddleston

Series Warnings: SMUT, fluff, angst, friends with benefits

Since the night of Kaitlyn’s birthday party, you hardly ate, you hardly slept, you threw yourself into your work in an attempt to distract yourself, but anytime you weren’t working you were laying in bed in the dark, crying until you physically couldn’t cry anymore. Weeks went by with no communication between you and Tom whatsoever. Was he thinking about you? Did he miss you as much as you missed him? Meanwhile you kept reliving your fight with him, hearing the awful things you’d said to each other over and over again in your head. Yes, you regretted the things you said, but he called you insecure and damaged, two things you knew were true but you’d hoped– you’d thought– he didn’t care about. It broke your heart. In more ways than one. Not only did it confirm your suspicions that he didn’t have real feelings for you, but it shattered your friendship. 

Weeks turned to months, and the more you thought about it, the more your sadness turned to anger and resentment. He’d led you on. The two of you could have just fucked occasionally and otherwise carried on with your separate lives, but he did and said all those sweet things and even paid for you to spend a week in Hawaii with him for fuck’s sake! And for what? You’d already given him sex with no strings attached, no emotional manipulation necessary. Did he just get off on that kind of thing? It probably fed his superiority complex like no other to know he could get someone as emotionally closed off as you to open their bloody soul to him just to cut them down at their most vulnerable. The thought made your blood boil, and soon you had no regrets for what you said to him. In fact, you were proud to be the one to finally call him out.

The benefit of all this anger was that it lit a fire under you. Your initial heartbreak kept you distracted at work, to the point where people were starting to notice. You were forgetting things, making simple mistakes, and sometimes even snapping at people. But when the anger took over, it motivated you to work even harder than you ever had before. You went above and beyond to make sure your work was flawless, you made the extra effort to teach the newbies rather than just getting frustrated and trying to do everything yourself, and you spent your free time building your portfolio, creating new looks, both realistic and fantastical. You kept yourself so busy, you were almost able to ignore just how lonely you were.

…

Tom wasn’t himself anymore. Even his fans could tell there was something wrong from his latest interviews. He was quieter, more reserved and serious, and just overall seemed depressed. His publicist, Luke, even had to talk to him about trying to be more upbeat. 

He tried his best to keep up appearances, but the truth was that the pain of losing you was unbearable. He’d never cried this much in his life. Everything reminded him of you, and when he closed his eyes, all he saw was you: your smile, your laugh, the way you’d scrunch your face and stick your tongue out at him when he teased you. More often than not, though, he’d see the very last mental image he had of you: your cheeks stained with tears, your hands shaking, and your eyes red from crying and filled with pain and anger. Then he’d hear your voice, clear as day, telling him to get the fuck out of your life.

And he did just that. No matter how much he wanted to, he didn’t text you, he didn’t call you. He’d lay awake at night, staring at his phone wanting desperately for your name to pop up on his screen. He’d think about breaking the silence and apologizing for the things he said, but after you accused him of putting on an act, he didn’t think there was anything he could say to convince you otherwise. After getting some distance, however, Tom started to realise just how little you must have thought of him. After everything the two of you had been through, you still only thought of him as some sort of playboy, just using you for sex. It didn’t matter what he’d done or said to show you how much you meant to him, you were convinced he was putting on a ‘prince charming façade,’ whatever that meant. Slowly he became more and more resentful. It wasn’t until he’d fallen so hard for you that you finally told him what you really thought of him. Maybe you weren’t who he thought you were.

…

It had been three months since you’d last seen or heard from Tom, and you were finally beginning to see a hint of your old self again. It was faint, but it was there, and you were going to need it.

It was London Fashion Week, and you’d had the honor of being asked to head the hair and makeup team for the week. It was a big opportunity for exposure, and an even bigger paycheck. The whole week had gone fabulously, and by the end of it, you were the closest you’d been to happy in over three months.

After the last runway show, you were able to join the festivities: a black tie Educate A Child charity ball. Once you were finished with the last model, you ran home to do your own hair and makeup and changed into an elegant, red, floor length gown, before your date picked you up to head to the ball. 

You met your date earlier in the week. His name was Adam and he was a model. You normally wouldn’t go for models. In fact, you were surprised one would go for you, but he’d been flirting with you all week and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the attention. So when he asked you to go to the charity ball with him, you figured what the hell, why not?

When the two of you entered, you were overwhelmed by the amount of people there, most of them supercilious, all of them beautiful. After grabbing champagne from a nearby waiter’s tray, you and Adam found a small high top table and you listened to him prattle on about his career. After a few minutes of mindless chatting, something caught your attention out of the corner of your eye. No. It couldn’t be.

You turned your head and there was Tom, looking devastatingly, irritatingly handsome in a designer tux, with a gorgeous blonde on his arm, talking to Ralph Lauren. Fuck fuck fuck. 

Your first instinct was to sneak out so that hopefully he wouldn’t see you, but then you realised that maybe you wanted him to see you. You were in this gorgeous gown looking particularly sexy, even you couldn’t deny that, and you had a model for a date. So he could eat a dick for all you cared. Now the trick was to try your very hardest not to keep looking at him. Ignore him. Pretend you didn’t see him.

Unfortunately, Adam also saw Tom and had other plans. “Whoa, Loki’s here! We should go say hi!”

“Oh, erm, we probably shouldn’t bother him,” you tried to convince him. “We don’t want to be those people.”

“I’ve always wanted to meet him though!”

You knew he’d go talk to Tom whether you went with him or not, but you decided it would be more awkward if you didn’t go than if you did. “Fine,” you said with a sigh, at which point Adam grabbed you by the hand and led you toward your ex-best friend/fuck buddy and his date. 

“Mr. Hiddleston, hi,” Adam said as the two of you approached him. 

Tom saw you coming of course, and put on his best fake smile– the one he used when he was in no mood to interact with fans, but would never be so rude as to turn them down– but there was an added bit of annoyance to it, just enough that you were sure only you could notice it. “Please, it’s Tom,” he said, shaking Adam’s hand. 

“Tom, Adam,” Adam introduced himself. “And this is my date, Y/n.”

Tom looked at you and you waved as you gave him a brief and rather insincere smile. 

“Nice to meet you both,” Tom said politely. “And this is my date, Shauna.” 

Shauna nodded shyly toward you and Adam. She was cute, you’d admit that. Poor girl had no idea what she was in for. 

Adam then went on to say how big of a fan he was and blah blah blah. The truth is you weren’t listening. You were trying too hard not to make eye contact with Tom, which it turns out is particularly difficult when the two of you can’t seem to resist looking at each other. 

After Tom gave Adam an autograph, you managed to pry your date away to get another drink. Rather irritatingly, Adam just kept on talking about how great it was to meet Tom. Tom Hiddleston this, and Tom Hiddleston that. You were starting to wish the bartender could slip some poison into your drink just to put you out of your misery. 

“I think I’m gonna get some air,” you eventually interrupted him, unable to take another word of it. 

“Oh, I’ll go with you,” Adam offered. 

“No!” you objected a tad too loudly. “I mean, err, that’s okay. I just need a minute. I’ll be right back, I promise.” 

“Okay, sure,” Adam said before you quickly headed for the garden. 

As soon as the cool air touched your skin, you took a deep breath and wandered down the stairs to a small fountain surrounded by various hedges and flower beds. There were a few people scattered around the garden, but it wasn’t hard to find a semi-secluded bench. You sat down, leaned forward and rested your head in your hands. You were able to have a few minutes of peace, at least, before… 

“Go away,” you said when you heard footsteps approach. You didn’t even lift your head to see who it was. You knew. That sweet, orangey musk threatened to cloud your thoughts.

“Look, we’re both here,” came his voice from just a couple of feet away. “We might as well at least acknowledge each other.”

You finally looked up at him. “What are you doing here, Tom?”

He sighed and sat down on the opposite end of the bench, being sure to leave as much space between the two of you as he could. “Educate A Child is a partner of UNICEF, so I thought I’d come and support the cause. I had no idea you’d be here, if that’s what you’re asking. Are you here for work?”

“Yeah. Well, I was. Tonight was supposed to be my reward for all of my hard work this week.” You scoffed at the ridiculous idea that you’d be allowed to actually enjoy yourself for once.

“And is that model in there part of your reward?” he asked.

You raised your index finger in front of him. “Don’t. You do not get to do this. My personal life is none of your fucking business anymore.”

“Oh please. Was it ever really?”

You narrowed your gaze at him. “And what about you? Is Shauna your new ‘best friend’ or is she too damaged?”

“You’re one to talk,” he countered. “How long are you going to string this poor bloke along before you decide to play the victim and make him the bad guy?”

“You know what? As lovely as this conversation has been,” you began as you stood up to leave. “I think I’d rather go ask Adam to shove needles under my fingernails than spend another second with you.”

“Likewise, I’m sure,” he replied bitterly as you walked away.

Seething with anger, you stormed to the bar and ordered another rather strong drink before finding Adam, who was chatting away with none other than Shauna, Tom’s date. There were hundreds of people there, and he’s talking to her. Great.

“There you are,” Adam said as you approached them. “Everything all good?” 

“Peachy,” you said as you took a sip of your drink.

“Hey, did you happen to see Tom while you were out in the garden?” Shauna asked. 

“Can’t say that I did,” you lied. 

“Oh, nevermind. I see him,” she said, craning her neck to look through the crowd behind you. 

You downed the rest of your drink and grabbed Adam by the lapel. “Let’s dance.”

“But—“ he started to protest, most likely because he wanted to stick around and talk to his apparent celebrity crush, but you yanked him toward the dance floor. Once there, you spun around and pressed your back to his chest, one hand reaching back to caress the nape of his neck and the other guiding his hand to your waist. Then you slowly slid down his body as your hips swayed to the beat, then back up in the same sensual motion. 

Unable to help yourself, you looked over at Tom who was watching you. At first glance, his expression seemed to be one of indifference, but there was no mistaking his flexed jaw muscles, the protruding vein in his temple, or the white knuckles around his glass. You smirked as you spun around again to face Adam, who was now fully fixated on you. His hands slid from your waist to your hips and then around to your lower back, slowly making their way down to your ass.

The sound of glass shattering behind you was just barely audible over the thumping music. Some of the other dancers stopped to see the source of the noise, but you just kept on dancing, a satisfied grin stretching across your face. 

Your satisfaction was soon soured, however, when you saw Tom and Shauna step onto the dance floor. Luckily, this was a public charity event, and you knew he wouldn’t dare dance in any sort of blatantly sexual way like you’d just done. Unfortunately that didn’t stop him from putting on a show. 

The next song began with an upbeat tempo and before you knew it, Tom was leading Shauna in a swing dance routine that made everyone stop and watch. People started to cheer and take out their phones to take videos of it, including Adam. A second ago he was grinding his semi against you, and now he practically had a semi for Tom’s little dance routine. Lovely.

You used to love watching Tom dance, and even more, you loved dancing with him. Now you watched with disdain, knowing how much he was probably reveling in all the attention, (and maybe a little bit out of jealousy). You decided you weren’t going to feed into it. While everyone else watched and cheered, you went to the bar for another drink. 

Eventually, to your relief, the song ended, and after an uproar of more cheering and clapping, the crowd finally dissipated. You were staring daggers at Tom from across the room when he locked eyes with you, a smug look on his face. You wanted to slap the look right off of him, but then the song “Slow Low” by Jason Derulo came over the speakers and you had a better idea.

Quickly and confidently, you walked toward him, never breaking eye contact, and then draped one arm over his shoulder, and with your other hand grabbed his hand and began dancing the bachata, without even the slightest hesitation from him.

Tom had learned the bachata during his time in Spain when he was filming The Night Manager. He later taught it to you, and that night, the two of you had come up with a whole routine just for fun. And it was a lot of fun. You missed nights like that.

“Roll your hips a little more, darling,” he had instructed you, his hands firmly on your hips, guiding your movements. “That’s it. You’re a natural.” He gave you a cheeky wink.

“Yeah, well, I’m used to this kind of gyrating while I’m sitting on top of you, not while I’m trying my hardest to avoid stepping on your toes,” you told him, looking down at your feet and counting your steps.

He chuckled as he lifted your chin. “Don’t worry about that. Just keep your eyes on me, and feel the beat of the music, don’t count it. The bachata isn’t about the steps, it’s about the chemistry between you and your partner.”

It had been months since that night, but it was like no time had passed. Your bodies moved perfectly in time with both the music and each other. His hand was on your lower back, pressing you firmly against him as you danced nose to nose, your hips and feet moving perfectly in sync. As the tempo sped up, so did you, and then when it suddenly stopped, he dipped you back in a semi-circular motion before you came back up, face to face, and the beat started again. 

While you danced, a crowd formed again, but you hardly noticed. You and Tom were transfixed on each other while you moved to the rhythm. There was a loud cheer when he spun you out and then back in, with your back now pressed against him. He pressed his palms against your lower stomach while you rolled your hips just like he taught you. You smirked when you felt something slightly hard against your ass. You stepped forward and back, side to side, the crowd completely in awe as you continued your routine. 

During the outro, Tom spun you a final time, ending with your hands on the nape of his neck, his hands splayed across your back, and your foreheads pressed together, panting as you looked into each other's eyes. The overwhelming roar of the crowd finally snapped you out of it. The two of you quickly pulled apart and forced a smile for your enormous audience, before you walked off of the dance floor and headed for the lobby bathroom. 

Once inside, you leaned back against the door while you caught your breath and tried to gather your senses. You would have splashed cold water on your face if it wouldn’t ruin your makeup. 

Suddenly you heard a knock on the door. “Y/n?” came Tom’s voice from the other side. You spun around and opened the door to let him in. “What the hell was that?”

“Well, you clearly wanted attention,” you replied snarkily. “I was merely helping you out.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t because you were jealous?”

“Ha! That’s rich coming from you. Did your glass just break on its own then, when Adam had his hands all over me?”

He scoffed. “He wouldn’t have a clue what to do with you if you gave him the chance”

“Puppies can be trained,” you retorted. 

“Some things you can’t teach, darling. You and I both know that.”

“Did you follow me in here just to be an arrogant prick?”

“No,” he growled as he suddenly pinned you against the wall, kissing you with a sort of aggression that you happily reciprocated. Then he lifted you up with your legs around his waist and sat you down on the edge of the sink, one hand tangling in your hair and tugging your head to the side so he could suck and bite on your neck. 

“Don’t you dare leave a mark,” you panted. Undoubtedly out of spite, he bit down hard on the crook of your neck. “Ow! Fuck!” You forcefully grabbed his face and brought his lips to yours kissing him hard once again, but this time you bit his lip and the taste of blood touched your tongue. 

“Ah, shit!” he hissed as he pulled away, touching his bottom lip and seeing the blood on his finger. He glared at you for a second before pulling you down from the sink and flipping you around. You shot him a devious smirk through the mirror as you braced yourself against the sink and spread your legs. He pushed your dress up past your ass and tugged your panties down, and after the brief sounds of the clink of his belt buckle and the crinkle of a condom wrapper, he plunged inside of you. You gasped and tried your hardest to quiet your moans. You had almost forgotten how good he felt inside you. Almost. 

You could tell he was holding back his noises as well, keeping his lips pressed tightly together as he pounded into you. As you watched him in the mirror, you hated how sexy he looked, but the anger only seemed to fuel the fire. Your climax was approaching fast and you knew it would be almost impossible to stay quiet. As the wave of pleasure threatened to crash over you, you quickly bit down on your fist, groaning against it while the wave engulfed you. Tom managed to keep his grunts deep in his chest as your cunt milked him for everything he had. 

“Now I have to come up with an excuse for my fat lip, thanks to you,” he said angrily after he finished, pulling out of you and throwing the condom in the bin.

“Well, given the teeth marks on my neck and my hand, I’d say we tell people we got into a fist fight,” you replied sarcastically as you pulled your panties back up.

He scowled at you as he tucked his dick and his shirt back into his trousers. “We’re not telling anyone anything.” Turning to leave, he paused with his hand on the door handle, not bothering to look back at you. “Wait five minutes before you leave.” And with that, he left.

“Dickhead,” you mumbled, as you smoothed out your dress. After five minutes of trying your best to salvage your hair and make up, you decided there was no way you could convince anyone you didn’t just have sex in the loo, based on the state of you, so you texted Adam that you were feeling ill and would take a cab home, before dashing out of the building and into a taxi as quickly as you could.

On the ride home, you thought about the night you just had. God, Tom infuriated you, but thinking about that dance, not to mention the sex, made you squeeze your thighs together. You just hoped this wouldn’t become a thing…

…

“Sorry, darling,” Tom said to Shauna when he rejoined her in the ballroom. “I went to get another drink and the bartender gave me a chipped glass that cut my lip.

Shauna gave him a look that told him she wasn’t buying it. “I’m not an idiot, Tom. I’m just not sure why you tried to pretend you didn’t know her.”

“It’s…” he paused to think “...complicated.”

“Didn’t look very complicated from where I was standing.” She sounded defeated as she grabbed her purse and walked out. 

Tom felt bad, but he didn’t follow her. She deserved someone who wasn’t so…preoccupied.

Why did you have to be there tonight? Even with all the contempt he had for you, he still couldn’t resist you. What was wrong with him? You weren’t exactly playing fair though; looking breath-taking in that dress, grinding on that model right in front of him, doing your old bachata routine with him. He didn’t stand a chance, really, and it only made him even more angry with you. He just wanted to stop wanting you.

Taglist:@chronicallybubbly , @the-princess-of-loki , @princess-ofthe-pages , @darcylikesloki , @kikster606 , @foxherder , @simone818283 , @newtomofgods@christinebloodwrittings@tom-hlover , @lulubelle814 , @kingliam2019, @leniram1890

[pangaeaseas]

Hmm--I think Sirius not knowing is not necessarily reflective of the wider Wizarding World's knowledge, as Sirius is still limited in what sources he has access to as a fugitive. He absolutely has the motivation to look for information, but not necessarily much information to find--Lupin, the most likely source, might not have known himself, as he seems to have been somewhat isolated from wizarding society post war. When he's telling Harry about other Death Eaters he largely draws on his own experiences in Azkaban, not information he's learned after escaping--so Sirius not knowing only confirms that Snape never was in Azkaban. On the other hand, the fact that Sirius IS saying this on page may reflect the degree of knowledge of Snape's involvement JKR intended readers to have, so maybe broader British society didn't know. We also don't see Order members really grappling with the reality of Snape being a double agent (and thus having to betray them for information security) on page--since I'm not entirely sure JKR thought about that part LMAO.

Now, Snape being a spy for Dumbledore in the Death Eaters was likely known among the people who it would be most important to have known--other Death Eaters, meaning that if Snape was ever to be useful as a spy again he would have to be a double agent (which is a very straining position), and members of the government. I think Dumbledore HAD to tell the government Snape was a spy for him, to be clear: there wasn't really another way to get him out of Azkaban because otherwise he would have been vulnerable. But knowing how Death Eater penetration in the Ministry was quite deep, it's likely Snape realized this would get back to the Death Eaters whether or not he told them. And Dumbeldore was already preparing for a second war at this point--so by telling the Ministry he was ensuring that in the second war, Snape would have to be a double agent (or defect fully to the Order, but he'd be less useful). Wider society knowing doesn't matter exactly: what matters is that the Death Eaters would likely know and thus instead of being a single agent and only a Death Eater, Voldemort would also be expecting him to spy on the Order and so he would be forced to betray Order members to retain Voldemort's trust. I don't really think Snape's employment prospects were affected by Dumbledore's revelation, and you may be right that it didn't spread to wider society, he probably could have become a St. Mungo's brewer and been happier or something but decided to watch over Harry at Hogwarts--I think the problem is his role in the war that Dumbledore was already preparing both himself and Snape for was now circumscribed. If Snape wanted to be useful in the war, which he clearly did want to do, he would have to be a double agent expected to spy on both sides and provide information on his own side to Voldemort knowing people on his own side might die because of it. (Dumbledore also knew this, one would hope: it's the whole point of a double agent). So he can't exactly get too close to Order members with that moral dilemma hanging over his head!

The Order just..not thinking about it seems to be JKR not thinking too deeply about the realities of spycraft--realistically I think Dumbledore must have had to tell them 'Snape's a double agent' and some of them should have then worked out 'in order for Voldemort to trust him he must sometimes give Voldemort information on us, so I don't really wanna be his friend knowing he might have to give me up to Voldemort for a greater purpose'. And ofc to keep the mystery of Snape's loyalties.

Another weird thing about Snape's spying is that...there HAS to have been someone in the Order who knew his true loyalties during DH, otherwise what's the point of making him Headmaster of Hogwarts and Voldemort's trust? What's the point of having a spy who can't give information? He needed to have someone to give information to for his information to be valuable. He can help Harry but Harry's not the whole war. But JKR writes the war as solely focused on Harry and not a wider societal conflict, so there's no sign of Snape having an Order contact when if he didn't it would be a massive waste of everyone's time.

dumbledore revealing Snape as his spy after the end of the first war is so interesting and so reflective of his character: it's an act of mercy and also a saw trap. BC I doubt anyone else, or any other strategy, would have been able to get Snape out of Azkaban: the other death eaters would be focused on saving their own skins, and without the protection of being a Death Eater Snape becomes just another poor half-blood, probably the exact kind of person who would make an easy scapegoat for Death Eater activity (in scapegoat terms he's just like Sirius! For different reasons obviously. See my Sirius the perfect scapegoat meta). So Snape is spared the horrors of Azkaban. BUT: Dumbledore burning Snape as a spy--in full knowledge of two things, that Snape is more motivated now than ever to attack Voldemort after Lily is dead, and that Voldemort hasn't been fully defeated, means that Snape MUST become a double agent. Otherwise he will be useless in the next conflict --a spy in Voldemort's ranks is much more valuable than another fighter, even one as skilled as Snape, and I think at this point in his life he would have wanted to cause the most damage to Voldemort by any means necessary. And being a double agent is no perfect redemption: it means having to betray both sides of the war. Snape can never be fully welcomed into the Order's side because every Order member knows he might have to get them killed so Voldemort will trust him. So by being revealed as Dumbledore's spy, Dumbledore ensures Snape will never have a full place on either side of British society.

[fireladybuckley]

I can’t believe a boyfriend made a silly sex joke to lighten the mood after both partners had a moment of vulnerability. The audacity. The horror. The normalcy! Unbelievable. How dare a conversation about feelings turn to levity. How dare a couple have a light chat about trauma-related things over dinner that doesn’t turn into an incredibly deep heart to heart instead of a joke and moving on. Unbelievable. I’m never watching this show again! 👎🏻

[fisherrprince]

oh so alisaie’s exaggerated bully behavior is 80% fanon. saying this she casually picks up a large rock