#though if the strength of an ending makes or breaks a work for you maybe the end message doesnt apply

[sur-i-ki]

Okay another one shot because I am losing my damn mind. I think I've lost it, officially.

College AU, nerd reader, smitten naruto. Can you tell I have favourites? Edit; holy 2.0k words. I don’t like it, which is why it’s left where it is. Idk do we want a part 2?

Naruto wouldn’t consider himself to be dumb.

At least, not anymore. Sure, when he was younger he didn’t have the best grades, but his poor, overworked and underpaid teachers couldn’t be bothered to give him the extra attention he needed. Thankfully, two teachers, Mr. Iruka in middle school and Mr. Kakashi in high school, gave him the guidance and tools he needed to excel. And excel he did.

Now as a pre-law student at a prestigious university, Naruto was doing well. Not perfect, like Sakura, a rising pre-med student with a double major in criminology and neuroscience, or particularly skilled, like Sasuke, who was at a neighboring police academy, bringing in top scores, especially in detective work, just like his older brother. Naruto had his own strength: his hardwork and his charisma. He could talk to a wall and get it to move, and had formed a strong networking circle, built off of his parents’.

And it didn’t hurt that the three of them always had study sessions together. There were others he met, during breaks and stuff, keeping in touch with his high school friends who moved away as well.

Naruto remembers one instance very well. It was the summer after first year of undergrad, and he had a few days to catch up with everyone before he began his internship. Imagine his absolute surprise when he walked into a cafe and saw Shikamaru completely transformed. Hair long but tied up in a half-up half-down, a baggy shirt and matching pants. Basically, he’d completely transformed, and in such a way, Naruto even noticed the girls walking in giggling and glancing at their group. And he knew he needed tips. He’d pulled up in stained, black sweats and a minecraft hoodie, for goodness’s sake.

“Shi-ka-ma-ru!” each pause accented with a smack to the back, “What the heck is this?”

That got him the nastiest side eye ever, but Shikamaru grumbled out a reply regardless.

“Me and Chouji finally ended up listening to Ino about fashion. Landed three interviews and a couple of dates when she dressed us, and we just” he shrugs, “kept to it, I guess. It’s such a drag though.”

He hadn’t even finished speaking when Naruto's phone was already out in his hand, fingers flying as he texted his favourite (and only) blonde friend.

Needless to say, Ino worked her magic, and taught him because “God, Naruto, I swear you’re the only one who ever listens! Sakura’s always too busy, and I still dress the boys because sometimes, they’re so-” and viola! Naruto’s fame skyrocketed on campus. Along with this and his position on the varsity basketball team, he always walks out with flowers, chocolates, and cards after every game. Of course, he made an effort to style Sakura and Sasuke as well, which they didn’t mind because they had one less thing to worry about.

All of this is to show that, you know, he lives a life. Good social circle, tight-knit friends, a tad bit of popularity. Maybe it got to his head a little. Gave a swagger in his step he didn’t have before. Few well placed smiles and a couple of details remembered, and he could have a dinner date with any girl on campus.

Well, almost any girl.

They were about half way done the fall term, when there was a new addition to the study group. Sakura dragged you into the room, making quick, whispered introductions as you smiled at them, phone glued to your ear and a laptop in your arms, bag swollen and bursting at the seams. His initial thought was that you were another Political Science student, as he vaguely remembers seeing you in some of his classes, but based on the intense science-y jargon you were spouting into the phone, he feels slightly confused.

But what really caught his attention, as you put your stuff down and shook everyone’s hand, is that you were the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. Nothing like what you see on social media, although he would not bring that beauty down, but an ethereal, unique type of beauty that would’ve started wars in the past. He definitely would have, no questions asked. Your hands, surprisingly, had calluses, and the smile you flashed at him as you wrapped up your call could have made him fall over, if he wasn’t already sitting.

You introduced yourself in earnest. Another pre-med, doing a combined engineering and economics major, and had bumped into Sakura at a volunteering event. The two of you had immediately hit off, and when Sakura realized you went to the same university, she invited you to join their study session as well.

“I hope I’m not intruding…” You said at the end, giving a shallow nod to the three of them.

“Of course not, the boys don’t mind, right?” Sakura replied, kicking both of them under the table with a smile that promised death if they disagreed.

As Sasuke mumbled out some words of agreement, Naruto took this opportunity to get a few words in.

“You said you were taking economics as well? I think I saw you in my 356 class last year, with Professor Anko?” and your body gave a faux-full-body-flinch at the name. He chuckled at your reaction, realizing you were just as dramatic as he was, and loving it.

“Please never say that name around me again, I’m pretty sure I just got a PTSD flashback.” you laughed, and then the two of you were quick to start talking, bonding over shared classes and trauma. He thought he was getting somewhere. Clearly, there was a vibe, with the way you smiled at him, the eye contact, and with how much you laughed at his jokes. He was sadly mistaken, because you were just that attentive with the others, and behaved the same with everyone, to make them comfortable.

Case in point, when asked about your calluses, you brought up the martial arts classes you take, and training at a nearby gym, which caught Sauske’s interest. He soon joined the conversation as well, the both of you talking. You mirrored him completely, down to the accurate pauses, lack of energy, and calm overtone. He watched as his socially challenged friend flourished under your attention, talking more and letting his personality shine through. You adapted, matching his energy and vibe.

Contrary to popular belief, Sasuke was not shy, just quiet and not very well versed in the art of small talk. Once he got to know the other person, then it was smooth sailing, but he had, more than once, said something a little too bluntly, and suffered for it. Telling an aunt that she needs to stop feeding her baby less because “I’m pretty sure that’s an unhealthy BMI for an infant.” is not appropriate thing to say five minutes into meeting someone, and “Jeez, Sasuke, can’t you have just a bit of tact,” with an elbow in his ribs from his cousin Shisui. Naruto had folded himself in half from laughter during that, hiding in the corner.

But here, he can see the sure confidence in Sasuke’s words, and you take every savory and unsavory comment and question in stride. The same thing occurred when Sakura finally looked up, joining in after her readings. So you were social, clearly. It didn’t mean he didn’t have a chance.

You two had one class together, which he offered to walk to you, and you accepted. Win. Then as you dove into your world of AutoCAD and differential equations, he debated asking if he could walk you back to your dorm. Which at the end of the session, you accepted as well. Another win.

Except, as the semester progressed, he realized that as much as you were smart and social, you were severely lacking in the matters of the heart. Which is his pouty, whine-y way of saying that you were either unfazed by his moves, or just didn’t take them for what it was. Walking to class, brushing shoulders, as he bent his head down into your space to ‘hear you’? Oh, wow, you had a friend hanging off your other side. One on one coffee dates? Well, apparently engineering majors carry laptops everywhere, and soon Sakura and Sasuke crowded into the booth as well, making it an impromptu study date. Smiles, fueling your caffeine addiction, late night calls and playing roblox, anything, everything, nothing worked.

For the longest time, he thought he had no hope, until one day, during winter break, he talked to Sakura. He was promptly swatted on the head.

“Smart girls require a different approach to romantic attention, idiot. Besides, maybe if you opened your goddamn eyes, you’d be singing a different song.”

And open his eyes he did, because this semester he had three classes with you, which meant more opportunities to make headway. Stretching after sitting in a particularly long lecture, he didn’t squeeze his eyes shut. No, this time, he watched you, out of the corner of his eye, and saw you eyeing him with interest. You glanced at his abs peeking out, just a bit, before moving your eyes away to pack. He was on cloud nine the entire day.

Naruto is exceptionally good at hyperfixating. This time around? Studying you, without outright interacting with you. What style, color, body language makes you look at him a bit longer, a bit more with intent. He slowly adapted, learned that if he spent an hour before the lectures learning the content, you’d give him a wide eyed stare when he answered your questions like nothing. Saw you looked at him more when he listened, asked when he didn’t know. Seeing him being confident, slightly more cocky made your ears turn red. And the day he found out you thrived on verbal sparring? His foxy side came out, and class became a series of whispered wars and giggles. It made you touch him more, hands on his arms, ruffling his hair and what not.

Something shifted, and somewhere in all of this, he realized you were getting bolder. The both of you had become this flirty friendship thing. No longer were “study dates” crashed by other friends, walking in the halls with just you, doing side quests together to ‘unlock’ secret places on campus. And the times when you were in a particularly sweet mood, you’d complement each other, genuinely, and sometimes your sincerity had him turning his head away to hide his blush. The two of you grew closer together, and he knew where you were and what you were doing almost always, and vice versa.

One instance had even Sasuke staring at him flabbergasted, with Sakura’s jaw hanging opening when she had asked-

“Where is she? Did she get lost?”

Naruto glanced at his watch. “Nah, she’s probably getting her coffee and protein shake from the cafe, should be here in 10.” as if he was conversing about the weather. Sasuke pinned him with his incredulous look.

“...Why do you know that?”

Sakura chimed in, “And how did you answer so quickly?”

He smiled sheepishly, but didn’t elaborate.

Some nights, he'd lay in bed thinking (daydreaming) about you, about how you leaned into his space more, tilting your head up while stepping closer, or pulling him down by the collar to point something out in the crowd. He’d obediently nodded along, trying to hide the fact that the smell of your perfume made his head spin in the best way, drunk and intoxicating him until all he could think, hear, and feel was you.

But you were so infuriatingly dodgy! It drove him insane, made his head spin with thoughts of just bursting out his feelings for you during the tense moments.. His hand would be next to your’s, and he sees it twitch, knows that maybe, you want to close the gap too, but don’t. And he doesn’t know why. He can feel your stare on him sometimes, can see the way your bright eyes follow him when he decides to go shirtless for a run, can see the way you glance at his mouth. But you flake on him, you call him “a great friend” and sometimes he feels like he’ll die, trying to decode you to understand.

He doesn’t care though. Can’t care, not when you smile at him like that, saying his name in that voice of your’s, and that new nickname makes his brain stop working.

You’re so oblivious. Good thing he is a patient man (he isn’t, but for you…)

⇝ 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦��! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯

[hellooldshame]

Empirical Analysis

Mark Grayson x Reader smut 🔞

Synopsis: You're absolutely fascinated by how fast Mark Grayson heals. Mark is more than happy to indulge you in your science experiment. AKA You both get horny while realizing you might have some sadomasochistic tendencies.

Word count: 2.8k words

CW: MDNI 🔞 NSFW, barely any porn to warrant all that plot, biting, (attempted) marking, scratching, bottom!-ish Mark that is technically more switchy, Reader on top, lots of grinding now that I think about it, outercourse, masochist!Mark, y/n's awakening sadism. Not beta read, never beta read.

Idea taken from @clairewritesfanfics and their smart atoms talk. I think I got carried away.

A/N: This made me rewatch Invincible so I can write bouncing on him

Bullets, bombs, and most explosives barely leave scuff marks. A knife gets bent and most weapons break on impact. Punches work though. Bludgeoning damage makes him bleed out his mouth or break his nose. Which absolutely baffles you to no end. Granted, the people hitting him were strong. Like, really really strong, but it wasn't like he was hurt when a reinforced boot smacked him square on the jaw.

Mark Grayson and the limits of his invulnerability were an enigma to you. As one of the many many scientists working in the GDA, you were tasked with understanding Viltrumite physiology. How they heal, what could hurt them, if they could be hurt at all. Admittedly, the job was fun when Cecil wasn't hounding you for the reports that you barely did.

Despite your job, you didn't like exploiting the poor guy. This was purely... curiosity to be honest. A very morbid part of yourself would have loved to dissect that pretty face and see how he ticked. The reasonable part of you reminded yourself how a scalpel would sooner turn to dust before it pierced his skin.

Once, you had slapped him across the face—the moment was heated and sometimes he just said things that would really piss you off. Regardless, his shoulders had jerked and his face turned in the direction your hand swung. Despite his parted lips from the shock and the stinging on your palm, there was barely any warmth on his cheek. Of course, regular human strength could only do so much to a guy who was safe from a stabbing. But the look on his face and the rising heat on his cheek only after the moment had registered made you want to test things further.

For Science! You had claimed all too enthusiastically when you tried to persuade him. Emphasizing even that everything would be "off the record" and "never to be used against him." You meant that promise too. And maybe Mark believed the conviction in your voice because he seemed just as excited when he agreed. For the sake of science.

Now, the scientific method would tell you that empirical evidence was important. Which is why you had to take a very hands-on approach in this experiment. Yes, science never said anything about taking Mark to your bed and straddling him—a notebook by his head and your butt pressed comfortably on his pelvis—while you collected data but this was necessary!

Firstly, you needed a private place so it was off-record. Ergo, why you did this at your place. Second, it was only polite to have your test subject comfortable as you measured his pain tolerance. Obviously, the most comfortable place that would fit him lying down would be your bed. And lastly, you were straddled because you needed to observe every detail and walking around a queen sized bed took too much time.

It was all very rational.

And besides, Mark was way too pretty for you to not at least get a bit of a good look at him. You had the best seat in the house. Mark Grayson, under you, body sunken slightly into your plush sheets, chest rising and falling nervously in an uneven stutter. Inhaling deep to even his breath, the release too quick and shuddering to calm himself down. It was understandable that he was nervous, being scrutinized so intently.

Big brown eyes stared up at you through his lashes and the light from your window hit his eyes just right to see the pattern of his iris. The swirls and webbing that made up the varying shades of mahogany and maple. If you stared long enough, you could see the tremble of it, how his pupils dilate. You might have stared at it for a moment too long.

"Uhm- I'm ready," a shaky voice spoke up, those same eyes blinking, unsure now if this was a good idea. Granted, he had his own ulterior motives, but the long silence had him thinking too hard. His initial motivations clouded by doubt and worry. What if you lied about keeping this a secret? Was he sure you weren't planning to dissect him? What if you realized he also had intentions beyond helping in your experiment? That maybe he wanted to feel the way your hands snap against his skin aga-

"Alright," you nodded, reaching down. You could've sworn Mark held his breath when your hand hovered near his face to grab the notebook. Pages flutter across until you settled on an empty sheet, scribbling the time and date of the experiment. "You sure I'm not too heavy? I can adjust."

The question was more out of courtesy than concern, knowing he could bench entire icebergs. A part of you also hoped to stay seated, the warmth beneath you quite cozy. The quick nod and mumbled 'mhm mhm' was all you needed before beginning your experiment.

"Mind if you," you gestured to his shirt, wanting to have as much skin to work with.

Mark looks down, eyes wide as if he was surprised he wasn't already undressed. "Oh- yeah, hold on," hands that were unconsciously gripping the sheets moved to tug his shirt off in one motion. Hurried movements turn clumsy and a rip is heard before you see the hole between the collar and the rest of his shirt. His head was still trapped, indents on his face pressed on the fabric as he fumbled to get free. "Shit, wait just-"

Your hands were quick and careful in helping him take off his shirt. It was hard to bite back a laugh and you were certain you were making a face when you tried to hold back the smirk and snicker. A quick tug , the shirt was off, and your hands felt warm against his chest. You had always been heavy handed and even now you exerted more than the necessary effort to push him back to lie down. As expected, there was resistance when you pressed down but he had fallen back so quickly someone would have thought you knocked him down.

"Try to relax," you whisper, trying to come off as soothing but the husk in your voice makes it sound sultry. Not that you noticed. Mark did though, felt his stomach flip and his muscles did the opposite of what you instructed. "I won't be using tools since the running theory right now is that physical contact seems to work better."

The lump in his throat bobbed when your hand touched his chest and fingers spread to try and get a feel. Trying to decide where to start. Your hands were cold compared to how warm he felt. And they would not stop roaming. The tips of your fingers pressed and prodded, pushing down as hard as you can and leaving the faintest red mark as blood rushes to where you'd applied pressure. So it wasn't like his skin was hard steel. You pinch the skin at his sides and he flinches.

"Ow- hey," the yelp came out automatically, the feeling reminiscent of being tickled or poked at the side. He figured he should let you know lest you mistake that for damage dealt. "That tickled more than hurt."

A nod and quick "noted" was your only response before continuing. The process was slow but you needed to cover all your bases. One hand moved to write notes, your body leaning forward and closer to him. The view was nice and the boy in him couldn't help but glance, ogle really, at the gap between your shirt pulled by gravity and the torso hiding underneath. Nice.

Your other hand began dragging nails across his bare chest and that brought his attention back to you. Normally, for some people at least, scratching just hard enough would leave white or raised lines. You definitely feel skin dragging against your nails but see no indication that you'd done anything. Somehow, you don't notice how his diaphragm contracts and stays there when he holds his breath. Eyes too trained on the contact between your nails and his skin to see his lips trembling. You inform him that you were going to apply more pressure.

Nothing hurt, not right now at least. But the sensation of your cold hands on his skin felt refreshing. Especially against his warm skin. Then your nails scratched his skin just right that he'd nearly hummed in satisfaction. He started wondering if you could break skin when he felt you dig into him. He could almost convince himself that you were strong enough to do it.

There was just something so disarming about you on top of him. Watching him with such fascination that he felt completely exposed. Like he had no choice but to surrender under you. Your eyes wide with curiosity, your nails dragging against him heavily. Sharp, steady, trying so hard to cut-

A stuttered gasp choked in his throat, breaking his thoughts as the stinging registered in his mind. You looked equally surprised to see the scratch on his pec, like red dotted lines outlined in white. A thumb tentatively pressed on the slash and Mark couldn't stop his lips from parting for the broken whine to escape.

Now, you were never one to bask in other people's pain, so you decided to blame his squirming hip jerks.  The way the firm bulge in his pants rubbed up between your legs, the pleasure it shot straight up your spine coupled with that little cry was almost pavlovian. A professional would have gotten up and saved him the discomfort of having something so sensitive be put under pressure. A certain someone doing this out of the lab had decided it felt really nice when you sat yourself down firmly.

Mark was strong, you wouldn't be able to hold him down on your weight alone and by that breathless whimper, it seemed like he was okay with the way you readjusted and slid yourself against the hill on his pelvis. It was especially nice when he'd squirm underneath you, clumsy friction rubbing between you as your finger pressed harder on the wound. Your eyes nearly rolled back as you got lost in the slow carousel ride before he sighed out and finally relaxed.

Close. So close. Beneath your thumb was smooth skin, pristine and unblemished. Wide eyes stared at the newly formed skin and he swore he saw your gaze twinkle. He had healed. So fast, yet you couldn't help but miss the choked whines as he struggled to cope with the pain. You had expected him to have better tolerance than that but perhaps having tiny cuts compared to gashes and bruises felt different.

Mark inhaled lightly, breath finally steady as the stinging pain subsided and he wasn't forced to focus between his chest and the rubbing on his erection. "A-ah..." his voice cracked as you dug your nails in again and left three pretty scratches in your wake. Your eye twitched as you struggled to keep your gaze trained on him when his hips bucked again. Seeing the red flesh peek out had you holding back from leaning down and dragging your tongue over it. You needed to see it yourself.

A part of you was impatient, needing to observe every detail of his healing abilities. The other part was impatient for other things as you fidgeted. Hips rocking slowly only to incite tight-lipped grunts when you pressed on the open wound again. You don't know when his hands made their way to your sides, just that you were now pressed firmly enough that you couldn't lift up.

Then his hands grip and direct your lower half, moving you back and forth in his pace. You feel that ticklish sensation between your legs again as you watch skin merge back together, too fast to leave even a scab. Lips that had curled into an enthralled grin trembled when your eyes fluttered and the body below you lifted up slightly, pushing up as you were pressed down.

You looked good. Like, really good when you were watching him. Something almost manic in your eyes when you saw his body heal in real time. It made him go crazy thinking about what you probably wanted to do to him. The ill intent in your gaze as the corner of your lips twitched upwards in morbid interest, showing your teeth. It looked just as good when your eyes lost focus as he had you hump him, mouth hanging open to let out a surprisingly pleased moan.

The pleasure seemed to cloud any logic or reasoning left in you because you had forgotten to explain the next steps. No, you wanted to get straight to it apparently as you leaned down. Wordlessly, your chest pressed against his and if he wasn't holding onto you, you might have slipped off. Lips inched closer to his neck and your warm breath wafted against his already heated skin.

His eyes fluttered closed, expecting lips or a tongue to touch his neck. Instead, he felt pointed canines before you took a hard bite.  His hips stuttered mid grind, once again caught off guard by your actions. His groans matched yours as you found yourself enjoying the sounds and sensations of grinding your teeth against his collarbone. You knew he was sturdy and the fact he got off on your teeth rather than recoil only spurred you to clamp down harder. 

Nails dug into his shoulders as you held onto him. Hips gyrated and bucked against each other, your clothed sexes edging closer and closer to what you both needed. Mark couldn't take much more as he sat up, dipping you onto your mattress as he held onto your thighs and had you wrap your legs around him.

You didn't seem to relent either as your jaw refused to unclench. Not that it mattered to him. Moans muffled behind your teeth, hot air hitting his neck in quick puffs from your breathing. That and the faint ache on his skin had him rutting harder against you.

Strong hands moved up, stopping at your waist as a careful yet firm grip held you in place. Then he thrusted forward again, the movement quick and desperate and needy. He needed it, really really bad. Wanted it as much as you, whose attention was being taken away by the growing intensity of the body dry humping you. Jaw and abdomen equally as tight.

A stuttering slam against your pelvis has you seeing stars and you finally unclench your jaw to cry out. The crash of pleasure has you bucking back up into him and if that didn't do him in, the long scratches down his back and your legs locking him sungly into you does.

Mark collapses on top of you, spent and breathless and you both have most likely needed a change of clothes. Vision hazy, you try to crane your neck and see the damage you should have dealt on his collarbone. The disappointment on your face could be seen a mile away.

Despite your best efforts and rattling you'd felt in your teeth, all you had to show for it was indents from your canines. Already raising back up as if it had never happened.

"I nearly lost a tooth for nothing," you mutter, saving the fact you wanted to leave a mark at all to unpack for another day. A breathy laugh came from beside your head, feeling the vibrations against your chest. His hair tickled your cheek as her turned to look at you, eyes twinkling in the afterglow of climax.

"I mean, it's not bullshit that I'm called-"

A/N: yeah ofc I'd make that fuckass joke.

I haven't written in a good 2 years or so and have drafts before the pandemic for other fics (they're on Wattpad do you understand what type of person I am now). I didn't mean to make reader a lil biology freak but that was fun.

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

and that’s how it works; that’s how you get the girl

ft; haruka sakura, hayate suo, umemiya hajime

synopsis ; how did they get the girl?

cw ; violence (idek if this is needed since it's wbk but ykw screw it), fem!reader, swearing, use of (y/n), first time writing for wbk so tell me if this is shit

now playing ; how you get the girl - taylor swift

haruka sakura

haruka sakura got the girl by standing outside of your apartment in the rain for an entire hour because you got mad at him.

actually, he had gotten mad at you first. you doted on him and took care of him excessively while he was injured after a fight, and you refused to go home despite the fact that it was getting late and dark out. sakura knew that your apartment was only a few hours away, but he didn't see why you would be wasting your time on taking care of him when he could do it perfectly fine himself.

“you're pissing me off. i already said, i can just sleep this thing off. you're bothering me right now; go away. you're being annoying.” sakura cringed as the words replayed over and over again in his mind. when he first said it, he didn't think too much of it. but now? geez, if you had said those same things back to him, he would probably be having a way worse reaction than you.

you’ve been giving him the silent treatment for thirty-seven hours, twenty-six minutes, and thirteen seconds. not that he was counting. nope, he definitely wasn't counting. definitely not. he's probably checked his phone a thousand times today already, just waiting for a single text message from you; but none was found.

maybe he thought that this was a genuinely bright idea, because suo and nirei certainly didn't. maybe he really was just that desperate to see you again and for you to forgive him. maybe he's just plain stupid. yeah, probably the last one, but right after school ended, he stormed to your apartment complex as quickly as he could, ringing the doorbell and knocking on the door a multitude of times.

no response.

he knew you were in there; you always went straight back to your apartment right after school. “hey, i know you're in there. let me in.” he barely managed a slightly convincing calm voice, but he was panicking inside. he really didn't want you to ignore him forever. he really didn't want you to leave him. not when you meant so much to him.

it began to rain rather quickly. first, it was just a few droplets landing on his hair and gliding down his nose. but soon enough, his entire body was drenched in rain. he sneezed a few times, but his feet never once left it's location of standing in front of your apartment.

this was unlike him. he shouldn't be doing this. he would never do this for anyone else, so why you? his fists clenched as he heard the first clap of thunder; he should go back. but his legs refused to move, his heart refused to leave you. he glared down at his feet as if they were the reason for your anger at him.

“sakura?”

his eyes darted up, golden and gray-blue eyes meeting yours. “oh, hey,” he said dumbly, hands brushing the imaginary crumbs on his wet shirt. you both stood there awkwardly for a few moments, only the sound of rain hitting the concrete breaking the silence.

“how long have you been standing there?” you asked, a crease forming between your brows. sakura shrugged, as if he didn't spend the last hour contemplating his life and relationship with you.

“an hour.” i would've been willing to wait longer though, he thought. your eyes widened, mouth agape. you took his arm, attempting to take him inside, but sakura refused to budge.

“sorry, i was taking a nap! jeez, just come in already!” you exclaimed, trying to pull him inside with all of your body strength.

but sakura couldn't just come in. he knew himself well enough to he wouldn't feel the weight on his shoulders lift until he truly said what he needed to.

“i--i'm sorry.” his voice was slightly shaky. he probably didn't know how to properly apologize. “i didn't mean to make you upset or anything. i was just not used to it.” there. he should feel better now, right? but for some reason, the tension only weight down on him even harder. what more was there to say? he already apologized, he didn't need to--

“i love you.”

his tongue slipped before he could even control himself, and his entire face burned beet red as he practically jumped up. he didn't intend to say that, so why did his mind react faster than his body did? but you only laughed, hugging his rain-soaked torso with a blush yourself.

“i love you too.”

suo hayato

suo hayato got the girl by never judging you or being mean to you whenever you were being a clumsy idiot.

you were never particularly gifted when it came to reflexes; your hip always bumped into desk corners which left bruises, you almost stubbed your toes which had you crying out in pain, and you almost always trip or have some pretty damn close calls to tripping whenever there was some sort of object in front of you.

because of this, ever since childhood, your classmates quickly learned to avoid you. who knew if you would trip over them and break a bone and then claim that it was their fault? they didn't want to risk it.

and you did everything just to get better. you took classes, you learned online. you really were willing to do anything and everything just to stop being so damn clumsy. but it would never help; you continued to fall flat on your face multiple times.

people made fun of you. they mocked you. they made rumors about you. all because you were uncoordinated.

you've admired suo for a while. when he first came to furin and was out on patrol, you noticed how calm he was. how graceful he was even when it came to something as trivial as walking or talking. he never seemed to get too emotional, he never even got mad. not even when you slipped and fell on him.

he didn't fall down with you, but you practically slammed head first into his chest. you didn't think you could be any more embarrassed in your entire life; your face was on fire and crimson red. suo managed to grasp both of your shoulders so he wouldn't collapse with you, but you face was still in his chest. god, this was so fucking embarrassing.

“i'msosorryididn'tmeantoi'msososososososososorry--”

“it's fine. are you okay?”

did time just stop turning?

wait. he wasn't judging you, he wasn't brushing off his clothes in disgust, he wasn't looking at you with an awkward and embarrassed smile, he wasn't shoving you off, he wasn't doing anything nasty at all.

with two small sentences and one small action, your simple admiration of suo turned began to fall. you both literally and metaphorically fell for him; for this guy who you knew next to nothing about other than his personality, name, and age.

even after the incident, whenever he was out on patrol, suo always greeted you with a smile and wave. sometimes, he would even come over and talk to you for a bit. god, he was literally perfect. he moved on from the incident this quickly?

one day, one fateful day, one beautiful day, you asked suo for his number, and the best part? he gave it to you. he doesn't use his phone in front of other people, so he typed his number and name into your phone, and even gave himself a cute and funny contact photo.

he. touched. your. phone. what did you ever do to get so lucky? you must've been a saint in your past life to have so much happiness in your life.

“i literally love you,” you blabbered the moment he handed your phone back. you clasped a hand over your mouth right after, shocked at what you just say. “uh, platonically! platonically!” you exclaimed, waving your hand back and forth and front and back like a mantra.

but suo only laughed. “it's okay. the feeling's mutual. just not platonically.”

you were falling for him all over again.

hajime umemiya

hajime umemiya got the girl by being an absolute, yearning, pining, whipped, down bad, stupidly in love simp.

the funniest part to everyone was the fact that he didn't even try to hide it. everyone could tell that he was absolutely in love with you. you were an employee at cafe pothos with kotoha, and you were always helping kotoha out, especially when she was new there a few years ago.

teaching her all of the recipes--including your secret ones--, cleaning up messes that she was supposed to clean, cleaning her up and helping her with injuries whenever she got hurt…umemiya saw it all. he saw it so much that he didn't even have to interact with you or talk to you a single time to fall in love with you before even officially meeting you.

when he did officially meet you for the first time, he was so starry eyed and smiley that it seemed to the bypassers that umemiya was about to propose to you or ask you out on a date or something.

“hi! i'm umemiya, furin first year and kotoha's older brother!” he exclaimed, taking your hand and shaking it feverishly, grinning like a child on his first day of school. “it's so great to finally meet you!”

“yeah, you too.” you replied, smiling at him. “i've heard a lot about you from kotoha, umemiya. it's nice to meet you.”

it really spiraled from there. your apartment always had some sort of snack on your doorstep, along with a handwritten note to you from umemiya. whenever his vegetables bloomed, you were always the first person to receive them.

carrying things for you, calling you all night, talking to you whenever he sees you--no matter how inconvenient the time--, carrying you bridal style all the time; everyone was convinced that you were both secretly dating but were just refusing to tell them.

of course, you were aware of umemiya's feelings for you, and you returned his feelings. you really did adore him. you just didn't want to start dating in high school, so you held your feelings back and relished in his affection while trying to drop hints that you liked him back.

if you could make this last forever, you would. just you and him. no one else. no one asking when you were going to get married or how many kids you were going to have or what your plan for the future was going to be. you couldn't stop time or slow it down, of course. you would if you could though.

“umemiya! guess what, guess what?!” you exclaimed, practically bouncing to the rooftop of furin. you didn't even go to school there, but it was practically your second home because of how often you came here. your phone held high in your hand, you sat down in front of umemiya, who was planting tomatoes.

“what happened? is it good? are you happy?” umemiya asked, his gleaming like a puppy's. you held your phone in front of him, a beam paving into your face.

“i got into the university of tokyo! can you belive it? it's the most prestigious university in japan! i studied for so long for this, oh my gosh, i can't believe it, i really got in!” you were practically glowing with happiness, and your energy radiated to umemiya, who seemed just as elated as you were.

“i'm so proud of you! all of those late night study sessions really paid off!” umemiya obviously didn't do much other than emotional support during the late night calls. he was in furin for more reasons other than the fact that he was a great fighter and charismatic leader.

he suddenly froze, coming to a quick realization. “so then…you'll be leaving makochi then? you're going to go to tokyo soon, right?” he still smiled, although the glimmer in his eye was a bit dimmer now. umemiya wasn't going to college, but you were. so he won't see you for four years?

“yeah. but i'll always visit for holidays and breaks and all! and i'll make sure to text you and call you as much as i can.” you remarked, quickly sensing the slight change in atmosphere. “and i'll leave a bunch of my stuff here for you and kotoha to keep. plus, i'm leaving in a few months, so we still have time.”

umemiya nodded, though you could still sense his drop in mood. sighing and shaking your head with a smile, you cupped his face. “here,” you leaned in, and umemiya's eyes widened as his entire face flushed bright tomato red.

you just kissed him.

you pulled away just as quickly though, grinning. “that should be enough for you to hold onto, right?”

that was enough for umemiya to cling onto for an entire lifetime.

[reginyani]

Lessons | s.reid x fem!bau!reader

summary: You take it upon yourself to help Spencer Reid, your genius FBI co-worker develop confidence and social skills— especially in flirting. As you continue to give Spencer casual lessons in flirting, you both begin to realize this isn't just 'casual'. This leads Spencer into overthinking, and making a rash decision which ends in with him in your apartment half-naked.

cw: smut, 18+, mdni, flirty!reader, mentions of being in bar and drinking, use of y/n, clueless!spencer, sub!spencer, softdom!reader, p in v, unprotected sex, reader rides spencer, spencer comes inside reader

wc: 2.7k

a/n: please like and reblog if you enjoyed! support is always appreciated<3 (i listened to smarty while writing this and im absolutely screaming.)

Spencer Reid had many strengths. He could recite the periodic table in under a minute, read 20,000 words per minute, and could quite literally remember every single word ever said to him in perfect detail. But when it came to social interactions?

Well.. He was a work in progress.

You had noticed it early on— how he hesitated before speaking, how he fumbled over his words when confronted with casual banter, how he shrank away from physical contact as if it burned him. It wasn't that he lacked intelligence, in fact, he quite literally was the definition of intelligence. The guy could outthink just about anyone. But social nuance? The art of casual confidence? That was definitely not his forte.

Which is why, one evening after work, you decided it was time to do something about it.

"You really are hopeless sometimes, you know that?" You said, leaning back against your desk as Spencer furrowed his eyebrows at you in confusion.

"I don't— what do you mean?"

You smirk, pointing toward the break corner, where a young woman from accounting had just left from, looking vaguely disappointed. "That girl was flirting with you, Genius."

Spencer blinked. "No she wasn't."

"Yes, she was."

"She asked if I liked tea," he said while rolling his eyes, as if that was somehow an airtight defense.

You groaned, shaking your head. "Spencer, she was looking for an excuse to speak to you. She was touching her hair, laughing at everything you said— even the things you said that weren't funny."

Spencer frowned. "I wasn't exactly trying to be funny."

"Exactly," you say, crossing your arms. "Which means she wasn't laughing at the joke. She was laughing because she liked you."

For a moment, Spencer just stared at her, eyes narrowing in thought as if he was cataloging this information for a further study and analysis. Then he suddenly sighed loudly. "Even if that were true, it's not like it matters. I'm not.. great at that kind of thing."

You tilted your head. "At what?"

"Flirting. Making conversation that isn't strictly informational. Even as a profiler I struggle reading people." He gave an awkward shrug. "Flirting isn't really a skill I ever needed."

You studied him for a moment before pushing off your desk. "Alright, that settles it. I'm making you my new project."

Spencers eyes widened slightly. "What does that mean?"

"It means I'm gonna teach you how to be more confident," you said with a smirk. "How to read body language of a person who isn't a serial killer, and how to hold a conversation without sounding like a Wikipedia page, and maybe even know how to throw a decent punch while we're at it."

He scoffed, though there was a faint blush creeping up his neck. "I don't need—"

"Yes, you do," you interrupted, grabbing your coat from the back of your chair. "Come on, Boy Genius. We're getting drinks."

Spencer hesitated. "I don't really—"

"It's a lesson, not a date," you teased. "Unless you're scared."

That did it. He straightened his back, squaring his shoulders slightly. "I'm not scared."

"Good," you said, patting his arm. "Let's go then."

When you both arrived at the bar, it was quieter than most. It was a small spot near your apartment that you go to occasionally to decompress. Spencer had never been here before— not surprising, given that he rarely went anywhere that wasn't work related.

"You do realize I don't drink, right?" he asked as they slid into the booth.

"Yeah, yeah, I got that memo," you said, crossing your arms. "You can have water if you want, alcohol isn't exactly the point, it's the atmosphere around us."

He folded his arms together, looking skeptical at your words. "And what exactly am I supposed to learn here anyway?"

"Confidence, Reid. Social ease. You spend way too much time in your own head that you forget to live in the moment. So, here's your first ever lesson: stop overanalyzing."

He opened his mouth to argue, but you raise your finger to stop him. "Nope. Don't say anything. Just trust me on this."

Spencer exhaled heavily, looking vaguely pained in annoyance, but he nodded anyway. "Fine. What do I do then?"

You gestured to the bar. "Pick someone in the room and tell me what their body language says. C'mon, use those profiling skills to good use."

He listened, scanning the room, until they landed on a man at the bar nursing a whisky glass. "That guy is probably going through some kind of personal issue. His posture is slightly slouched, and his fingers are tense around his glass, and he hasn't checked his phone once, which most likely means he's avoiding calls or texts from someone or possibly has no one to even reach out to."

You raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Damn. Alright, expert profiler. Now, please do it with someone less miserable."

Spencers gaze shifted to a couple laughing together in a nearby table. "Well, the woman there is interested in the man, but he's clearly not picking it up that well. She's leaning towards him, angling her body to fully face him, but he keeps glancing away, distracted. Either he's oblivious, or not interested in the conversation at all."

You grin. "See? you're better at this than I thought."

Spencer huffed out a small laugh. "Observing is one thing. Applying it in real time is another."

"Okay, well then let's practice." you say, leaning froward slightly. "Tell me what my body language is saying."

Spencer hesitated for a moment. "You're.. teasing me."

"Obviously, Genius. What else?"

He studied you, his eyes darting over your posture, the way you rested your chin in your hand, and the slight smirk playing at your lips. "You're comfortable. Your body language is opened, relaxed. But you're also amused, probably at the fact you know I'm over thinking this."

You laughed. "Bingo!"

Something flickered in his eyes, something victorious, straightening a bit as he smiled.

"Alright," you said, finishing your martini. "Lesson one complete. Next up is casual confidence!"

Spencer groaned. "This is going to be painful."

"Excruciating," you said with a grin. "But trust me, Spencer. You will thank me later."

Over the next few weeks, your lessons continued on.

You taught Spencer how to hold eye contact without looking away in embarrassment, corrected his posture when he hunched over too much. Much to his horror, you even demonstrated how to casually brush someone's hand without making it completely awkward.

But somewhere throughout these lessons, things started to shift between the two of you.

It started out subtle at first. A glance that lasted a little too long. A touch that lingered a second past appropriate. The way you started to notice how his eyes crinkled when he was smiling, and how his voice softened just enough when he spoke to you.

It wasn't supposed to mean anything, but it did.

Another normal evening, after a round of drinks, you both found yourselves outside of your apartment complex. It had surprisingly been a good night— Spencer had successfully navigated himself through a conversation with a stranger without stammering, and you were so damn proud of him.

"You're getting better at this," you nudged his arm as you both walked up the steps of your apartment building.

Spencer smiled, small but real. "You're a good teacher." he said as you both made it to your apartment door.

Something in the atmosphere changed in that very moment, the air charged with clear unspoken tension.

You weren't sure who moved first, but suddenly, you were closer, looking up into his unreadable expression.

For a second, just a second, you wondered.

Then Spencer cleared his throat awkwardly, stepping back. "I should go."

You nodded quickly, shoving your hands into your pockets. "Yeah, yeah.. of course." you said disappointingly.

Neither of you said what you were thinking, and it was quite clear you didn't have to.

The were both wrong about this 'just being a 'lesson', and you both knew it.

As you heard his footsteps fade away, you quickly fumbled through your purse to find your keys. When you did, your hands shakily inserted the key into the keyhole as you unlocked the door.

When you finally entered, you let out a heavy sigh, removing your shoes at the entrance and putting them on a rack.

The door had just barely clicked shut before a loud knock echoed throughout your seemingly empty apartment.

You immediately froze, already knowing who was on the other side of the door.

Your heart thudded against your chest, your fingers curling around the doorknob. He didn't even enter, theres no way he left something behind— he never did anyway. He definitely didn't just come back to say goodnight either.

No, there was only one clear reason he was standing on the other side of your door.

Swallowing hard, you reached for the handle of your door, hesitating for a fraction of a second before pulling it open.

Spencer stood there, his expression unreadable, his breathing uneven and as if he had walked down the stairs and immediately ran back up. His hands were curled at his sides, and for once, he wasn't overthinking— he was only acting on his emotions.

Before you could speak or process anything, he leaped forward.

His hands found your face, fingers threading into your hair as his lips crashed against yours.

A startled gasp escaped your lips before you melted into his touch, your own hands gripping at his jacket to pull him in closer. It was desperate and certainly messy, all the built up tension from the past few weeks of lessons spilling over in one perfect, and reckless moment.

Spencer Reid —your best work partner and friend— was here, kissing you like he had been holding himself back from it far too long. And honestly, maybe he had.

He wasn't being shy now. There was no hesitation on either of your ends, no second guessing. His lips moved against yours like he had been studying the movement for years, like he memorized every possible way to make you feel like your knees could give out beneath you at any moment.

Your back hit the doorframe as he pressed closer, and eventually he pushed you inside, shutting the door. His hands slid from your face down to your waist, gripping your hips like he was afraid you might disappear if he were to let go.

But God, no, you were definitely not going anywhere.

You tilted your head, deepening the kiss, your fingers tugging at the soft curls that hung at the nape of his neck. He made a quiet, shuddering sounds at your contact, and you grinned against his lips before pulling back just enough for both your eyes to meet.

His pupils were completely wide, his chest rising and falling unevenly as he caught his breath.

"Spencer," you whispered softly, still catching your own breath.

His hands continued to tighten on your waist, like he wasn't ready to let go of you just yet.

"I was completely wrong," he admitted, his voice low, almost dazed.

You arched one of your brows in confusion. "About what?"

"About not having feelings for you." His thumb traced against your waist, tapping in nervousness. "About this just being a lesson."

You let out a breathless laugh. "Took you long enough, Genius."

He huffed, half exasperated and half relieved. "You knew?" he asked in confusion.

"Of course I knew. I was just waiting to see if you were gonna figure it out."

He shook his head while letting a soft chuckle escape his lips. He finally let himself lean back, being able to fully take you in now. "And what now?"

You smirked, reaching up to brush your thumb against his soft pink bottom lip, swollen from the kiss.

"Now," you said, tugging him back toward you. "I teach you everything else you haven't learned in lessons yet." you say, grinning as you start to pull him away from your door and onto your couch.

Spencer is at a complete loss, unsure of what to do as you straddle his lap. He gulps, his eyes glued to you as you remove your shirt, throwing it somewhere across the room.

As if he were just following your lead, he removes his own shirt, completely unsure of what to be doing. His stomach seems to be twisting in knots, the heat rising in his chest.

Your lips crash into his once again, sucking on his bottom lip as your hips move against his lap, your skirt lying against your thighs. You pull away, the friction overwhelming and just enough on its own. Your hands grip onto his shoulders, feeling his erection through his pants.

Spencer bites his lip, holding himself back from letting out a loud whine, or saying something embarrassing like 'holyfuckpleasejusttouchmealready'. Although, as hard as he tried, of course he was unsuccessful.

"I.. need you, Y/N.." he whimpers, panting heavily as you move.

"That's all I needed to hear, baby." you tease, your hands quickly making their way to the clasp of his belt, quickly unbuckling it. You then unzip his pants, but instead of immediately pulling his boxers down, you rub his cock through them.

This drives him nuts, making him let out a loud moan.

"Please, just.." he mumbles, throwing his head back in pleasure.

"Please.. what?" you smirk, raising an eyebrow as you continue to move your hand, watching him as eyebrows furrow and his slick lips part.

"Just fuck me already!" Spencer begs, at this point almost screaming.

Although you wanted to tease him more, you could feel your own pussy throbbing as it quietly begged for the touch of the man beneath you. So instead, you smirk, allowing him to pull his boxers and pants down to his thighs.

You quickly scrapped your skirt, leaving you in just a pair of pink laced underwear. You look down at him, your own lips parted as you move your underwear to the side.

Suddenly, your hand takes his cock, slowly stroking it, before quickly speeding it up, making him moan in pleasure. "Holy— shit, Y/N.. Ah!—" he manages to sputter out, practically melting in your touch.

"Ready?" you ask, smirking down at him. He nods rapidly, not wanting to wait any longer.

At his approval, you lift yourself from his lap and position yourself above his cock, allowing it to hit your wet entrance. You groan in pleasure, feeling his tip slowly enter your pussy.

Eventually, his cock is all the way inside you, and you're bouncing up and down, feeling the warmth of him inside you as both your moans and slap of skin on skin filled your apartment.

"Fuck, Spencer... you feel— so good." you moan, stuttering as you continue to bounce on his cock, feeling him pulse inside you.

He rocks his hips, sliding in and out of you as you both begin to chase your high, sending Spencers mind reeling as he gasps.

"Is this okay?—" he asks, continuing to rock at a decent pace.

"Fuck, yes.. So good, Spence.." you answer, allowing the noises that are escaping your lips be the answer. "Shit.." you breathe out, "You're so fucking incredible, darling."

Spencer squints his eyes shut, feeling himself get driven closer and closer to the edge.

"Y/N.. 'M close.." he warns, beads of sweat rolling down from his forehead as he gets closer to coming.

"You gonna come for me Spencer?" you say with watery eyes, close yourself. "Look me in the eyes, baby." you demand him.

He looks up, his eyes meeting yours as you continue to fuck yourself into him, moaning in pleasure. You throw your head back, now your practically yelling out.

"Yes! Right there, Spencer! Come inside me!" you wail, your bodies now moving in synchronized motions.

This finally sends him through, jolts of electricity shooting through his body as he comes, legs shaking heavily as he fills you up with his sweet liquids.

You come soon after, moaning as the warmth of him inside you makes your own orgasm feel even better.

Eventually he pulls out, and your body finally gives out as collapse next to him, feeling empty without him inside you now.

"You better take me out after this." you tease, still catching your breath.

"Aw, do I have to? I wasn't planning on it." he jokes, chuckling as you smack his arm playfully.

"So, do you think my amazing lessons payed off then?" you ask, raising an eyebrow as you smile.

"Eh, I guess they were alright." he answers, zipping up his pants as he shrugs.

"Oh, c'mon!" you whine, defeated.

tags:

[softaestluv]

I love your writing so much like chefs kiss😌 I was wondering if you could write a really sweet story about reader meeting Simon and Johnny and joining their relationship. Maybe she gets insecure that she hasn't met them sooner but they give her lots of love. Ive read too much ghoap x reader angst and need some fluff😩(maybe a lil spice too lol)

The art store you worked at was small; a local shop that was occupied by elderly men and women more often than not. That wasn’t necessarily an issue; you enjoyed their company, though you would be lying if you said a particular Scottish man with a mohawk wasn’t your favorite customer.

When you first meet Johnny, he had been roaming the aisles aimlessly for a couple of minutes, so like the good worker you were, you asked if there was anything you could help him with. You practically swooned when he smiled wide at you— ‘aye, bonnie, fancy helpin' a lad oot?’

Soon after his presence became common place. At first, he would ask you for help, pull you from the counter so you could walk him down the aisles to the specific item. It seemed like an everyday thing; you were sure he didn’t actually need half the things he was buying— ‘Didn’t you just buy a sharpener last week, Johnny?’

‘Did I? Must’ve lost it.’ followed by a smile with a glint of mischief.

You didn’t really mind, you were quite enraptured with every animated story he told you in his thick accent while at work— even if you weren’t completely sure what he was saying half the time.

You couldn’t even act like seeing his burly shoulders walk through the doors didn’t make your day. Though, it was hard to admit that you had a small crush on him when you knew he had a boyfriend. It was even harder when Johnny started to drag Simon to your paint and drink classes and you became just as enamored with him— ‘Johnny, ya laugh at me paintin’ again, I swear that'll be your last.’

‘Si, this is meant to be therapeutic, aye!’

They became regulars; two ex-military men, massive boulders in the back of your paint and drink classes sat between the elderly. It was a comical sight to the say the least, but as much as they were amusing, they were gentlemen too. Helped carry the seniors bags and walked them to their cars at the end of the night.

Then, they helped you clean up after too, always stayed late to make sure you got to your car safely too even if you protested— ‘Only lookin' out for ye, lass.’

You felt bad for having a crush on both of them when they were clearly just trying to be friendly, but it became almost impossible when they started bringing you lunch on your breaks, when they started to brush their palms on your arms and back. When they kept inviting you over for dinner, but you kept denying them because you didn’t have the strength to eat with them and pretend you didn’t want more.

But, one particular class you indulged in the wine too— something you shouldn’t have done.

You ended up going out for more drinks with them after, confessed your feelings with tears in yours eyes when you were absolutely wasted. You thought it would be your biggest regret, that it would ruin your friendship, but you couldn’t have been more wrong.

They took you home that night, dried your tears with Scottish shushing and rough fingers. Cleaned your makeup off the best they could, stuffed you full of chicken nuggets, and snuggled you to sleep.

And then you never left.

It wasn’t always easy, especially when your boyfriends had been dating for years before you came into the picture, when they had been through traumatic experiences together that you would never know. They had a bond that you don’t think you would entirely have with either of them.

It was a hurtle you struggled to get over, but it stung your chest painfully when they seemed to communicate with each other with one look. Made you feel quite isolated in your own relationship because you didn’t understand them to extent they did each other.

So, when Johnny was sprawled on your chest, running your fingers through his mohawk, your head in Simon’s lap, the words came out of your mouth before you realized.

“I wish I met you two sooner.”

“What d’ya mean?” Simon asked, finding your eyes from above you.

“Well, I just feel left out sometimes,” You confessed quietly, Johnny’s body stiffening atop you.

“Why’s that?” Simon’s voice rang again.

You diverted your gaze from him; you hadn’t intentionally planned for this to turn into an actual conversation.

“Um, I don’t know. You two-,” You paused, licking your lips anxiously, “You two have a deeper bond with each other than I do, and sometimes I just feel like I don’t belong. That if I met you guys just a little sooner then it would be an easier relationship for the two of you.”

Johnny slid off your chest at that, pulled you to sit up beside him, “Bonnie, what are ye on about? Our relationship wisnae complete until we found ye.”

“You were the missin’ piece, love,” Simon said, banding an arm over your shoulder and pulling you close, “Everythin’ else just fell into place when you became our girl."

“We wouldnae change a thing for a' the world, nae chance,” Johnny confirmed, pressing a sloppy kiss to your forehead.

“Really?” You asked, pinching the smile that threatened to spill from your lips between your teeth.

“Aye, of course. Ye want us to prove it?” Johnny asked, but it was mischievous, a wolffish smirk smearing across his face which meant only one thing— you knew you were in for a night.

Anon I hope this is what you meant lol!!! Thank you for the kind words & request 🤍

[prael]

Day 5: Comfort

Newjeans Hanni x male reader smut

words: 9,650 12 Days of Praelmas Masterlist

Spotting a face in a crowd is like watching lightning. There's a moment that captivates you and then it disappears. You're not even sure where to look for it. It happens in an instant, but when that instant is over, you're not sure if it ever really happened at all.

That is life with Hanni.

She might well be sitting here now, on your couch, with her knees pressed against her chest and a mug of hot cocoa in her hands, but in another moment she will be gone and you will be alone again. The warmth of her body will linger on the cushions beside you. You will press your hand into it, but it will fade. And then there will only be her image in your mind and the memory of her voice.

She is always so busy, and you are always waiting.

"I need a break," she says, and this time, her voice is not in the past, but in the present.

You blink, pulled from your thoughts, and look up at her. She's watching you, her dark eyes soft. She's smiling. You don't know how long you've been staring into space. "Sorry," you say, "what?"

Hanni laughs softly, reaching out and taking your hand. Her skin is soft, unblemished, and her nails manicured. Her fingers are slim and dainty, but there's a surprising strength in them. "I said I need a break," she says, and then she squeezes your hand. "So let's go somewhere."

You don't have to think about it. "Where do you want to go?"

"I don't know," Hanni says, and her smile grows wider. "Anywhere."

Anywhere.

-

The thing about the coast, the beach, the sea, is that it really goes well with sunshine and especially poorly with the winter. There is something about the ocean and the beach in the winter that is a bit depressing, and yet at the same time, that makes it feel more comfortable, more like you can imagine it as your own. You can walk on the beach without the crowds of summer. The waves are high, the water is cold, the sand is wet and hard, and the wind is sharp and biting, but there's a sense of adventure to it.

"It just doesn't seem to end," Hanni is explaining as you walk side-by-side, wrapped in padded coats and gloves, with thick hats and boots, "It just never seems to stop. It just keeps going. It's the same thing every single day. I wake up. I go to work. I do what I'm supposed to do. I go home. I sleep. I do it again the next day."

You nod, though you can't even pretend to understand it.

"Do you want to know what the worst part is?" she asks.

You nod again. "Of course," you say.

"The worst part is that I'm not even unhappy," Hanni says, looking at you with a smile that bears mixed emotions, "I love it. I just want something more."

"I think that's normal," you say. "It's like how when you finish a book, or a movie, or a TV series, you're sad that it's over, but you're happy that you finished it, and then you start thinking about what to watch next, or what to read next. It's like that."

You wonder if that makes sense.

Hanni nods slowly, and thoughtfully, as though she's taking the time to consider your words. "Yeah," she agrees, and then she laughs, "but sometimes I don't know if I want to finish the book. Sometimes I just want to skip to the end, so I can see what happens, you know?"

You don't. Maybe it's because life is much simpler outside of the spotlight. You don't have to wonder what happens next. What happens next is the same as what always happens. Work. Salary. Bills. Responsibility. It's the same thing, over and over again.

Actually, the only days you get to break the mould, are the days that Hanni is there with you. That is what happens next.

You don't tell her that. You don't think she would be all that impressed with your answer, given what she had said. So you don't say anything at all.

-

Vacationing in temperatures nearing freezing is hard, and the later it gets, the harder it becomes. Yet, the sky is so clear that the stars shine like a million little diamonds, and the moon hangs low and fat in the sky, casting a pale silver light over everything. In that, there's unmatched beauty. On this rooftop cafe, you can almost see the universe in full.

It took a little convincing for the owner downstairs to even open the roof. He called you a few variations of insane for not wanting to cosy up inside the warmth of the cafe. But you, and Hanni, are nothing if not determined. So here you are, on the roof, on the balcony, looking at the sky, at the stars, and the moon. It's a beautiful night, and there's no better place to be on earth.

"I like this," Hanni says, leaning into your side. "You're always good at coming up with ideas."

"I don't know if this is really an idea," you say with a laugh. "It's just sitting on a roof."

"Yeah, but that's the best part. It's just sitting on a roof." Hanni looks at you, her dark eyes glittering in the moonlight. "It's not fancy. It's not expensive. It's just us, on a roof."

"Okay, that's a fair point," you say, and then you laugh again.

You look out over the city, at the twinkling lights, at the stars, at the moon. You take a deep breath of cool air and let it fill your lungs.

"Hey," Hanni says, "I have a question."

You glance back at her. "Shoot."

"Why are we friends?" she asks.

"Wow, deep question," you joke, trying to lighten the mood, but Hanni doesn't laugh. "Um," you say, "Well, I mean, we grew up together, didn't we?"

"Yeah, but we're not kids anymore," she says. "We're adults now. We have lives. Jobs. Responsibilities. I'm an idol and I disappear for months on end. And when I come back, I always just drop in on you and expect you to be there for me, and you are. Every time. Why is that?"

"I don't know," you admit. "I guess I just... I just like you. I always have."

"You don't get sick of me?"

You shrug. "Sometimes, when you do that thing where you hum real loud, I want to strangle you."

It brings about a shared laugh. That right there; if you capture that moment and bottle it, you would present it to her as the reason. Because no matter how long she's gone, and no matter what happens, when she's here and you are laughing together, it feels like home. You don't need to be anywhere or do anything in particular. It's enough just to be.

Hanni shuffles closer, leaning further into your side. "You're my best friend, you know that?"

You nod, your heart swelling. "Yeah," you say, your voice quiet, "I know."

-

You've always been a sucker for romance, but you also recognise that the real world doesn't work that way. Romance is the domain of fiction, of books, of movies, of the stage, of the screen. In the real world, things are messy and complicated and sometimes they don't work out. And that's okay. It's not a tragedy. It's not the end of the world. It's just the way things are.

It's why you can spend time with a girl who's beautiful and talented and smart and funny, without getting caught up in the fantasy that she's going to fall in love with you and sweep you off your feet and carry you into the sunset, or whatever. You've seen enough romantic comedies to know how those stories go, and you know how they end. In the real world, the best you can hope for is friendship, and even that is something to be grateful for. Especially when it's Hanni.

"Which book is that?" Hanni asks as she steps out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and followed by a plume of steam. Her hair hangs wet and heavy around her shoulders, dripping onto the floor. The hotel room is nice, but it's nothing too fancy. You're sure Hanni is used to better.

You look at her for a moment, then close the book in your lap. It's in these pages, that those romance stories play out, or so you tell yourself. "It's nothing," you say. "Just some trashy novel."

She sits on the edge of the bed, her eyes on you. "Is it any good?" she asks. You're not sure if she's interested or just making conversation, but you answer anyway.

"I mean, it's not great literature or anything," you say, "but it's entertaining enough."

"I wouldn't have taken you for the type of person to read romance. I remember you being obsessed with... um... Who was that one author? Michael Connely? It was all detectives and crime."

"Guilty pleasure, I guess."

"What's it about?" Hanni asks. "The book."

You glance down at the cover, which shows a young woman in a flowing dress standing on a cliff, overlooking the sea. The title is in a fancy script, and the author's name is printed beneath it. You shrug. "It's about a girl who's an artist, and she meets this guy, and they have this whirlwind romance."

"And then they get married and have kids and live happily ever after?"

You laugh softly. "No, not quite," you say. "They have a lot of sex, but then they fight all the time and it's messy and dramatic."

"Then what?"

"I don't know, I haven't finished it yet."

"I bet they get back together," she says. "That's always how these things end, right? They have a big fight and then they get back together and it's all sunshine and rainbows."

"I don't know," you say. "Maybe. Probably. It's fiction."

Hanni laughs, shaking her head. "You're so cynical."

"I'm not cynical," you protest. "I'm just realistic."

"Right, right, of course." She stands, moving to the bag of clothes at the foot of the bed, and begins to rummage through it. She pulls out a pair of shorts and a top. "I'm going to get dressed," she says, and then she disappears into the bathroom again, closing the door behind her.

When she emerges, she's wearing a pair of tight black shorts that hug her hips and a white tank top that clings to her curves. Her hair is still damp, and it falls around her shoulders in dark waves. She looks good, and you can't help but admire her. She's beautiful.

You can tell she's aware of the attention, but she ignores it, instead flopping onto the bed beside you and letting out a sigh. "What are we going to do tomorrow?" she asks.

"I was thinking we could just drive up the coast," you suggest. "Maybe stop off in some of the little towns along the way, and see if there's anything interesting."

"Sounds good," she says, and then she rolls onto her side, her head propped up on her hand, looking at you. "You know, you're the first person I thought of when I said I needed a break."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I don't know why, but I just knew that if I could get away with anyone, it would be you."

"Thanks," you say. You're not sure how to respond to that, but it makes you feel warm inside. "I'm glad I could help."

-

The small towns are wholly uninteresting, but Hanni seems to find something to enjoy in every one of them. There is something about seeing the world through her eyes that makes even the most mundane things seem magical. A little store selling handmade trinkets and cheap souvenirs becomes a treasure trove of hidden gems. An old man playing guitar in the park becomes a musician worth listening to. An old, crumbling building becomes a palace of mystery and intrigue. The world comes alive when Hanni is around, and you can't help but be swept up in it.

You're on the last leg now, and you agreed to drive her home. It's late in the afternoon, the sun is low in the sky, and the horizon is a watercolour painting of pinks, oranges, and purples. It's a beautiful sight, and it makes you think of the painting that Hanni bought earlier. You're not sure what she saw in it, but she seemed to love it, and that's all that matters. She's asleep beside you, her head resting against the window, her breathing slow and steady. She's exhausted, and you don't blame her. She's been going non-stop for the past few days, and you're glad that she finally has a chance to rest.

You pull up outside her place and gently shake her awake. She stirs and blinks up at you, her eyes still heavy with sleep, and she smiles. "Hey," she murmurs, and her voice is soft and husky.

"Hey," you say. "We're here. You're home."

Hanni sits up, rubbing her eyes and stretching. "Already?" she asks. "I didn't mean to sleep the whole way."

"It's okay," you assure her. "Part of taking a break is getting some rest."

She nods, but she doesn't look happy. "I know, but I feel like I missed out on something." She looks at you. "Thank you for driving me home. I'm sorry for being such a pain in the ass."

"It's okay," you assure her. "You're always a pain in the ass. I'm used to it by now."

She laughs, but there's a tinge of sadness to it. "Yeah," she says, and then she glances away. Her voice is soft and hesitant. "Are you going to come inside?"

"I can help you with your bag."

"I was thinking more than just that." Her eyes meet yours. "Stay for a bit. I don't want to say goodbye just yet."

"I don't want to intrude," you tell her, knowing that there are four other girls in her place and it's their place as much as it is Hanni's. "Besides, it's getting late."

She reaches over and takes your hand, holding it tightly. "Please."

"Okay," you say, and you can't help but smile at her. "I'll stay for a bit."

It's the first time you've seen the inside of this place, but it's a lot nicer than your little apartment. It's spacious and modern, with a large kitchen and a living room that opens onto a balcony with a view of the city. It's the sort of place you would never be able to afford, but Hanni seems to fit in here perfectly.

There's a girl sprawled out on the couch, eyes closed, earbuds in her ears. You recognize her, from posters and interviews and magazine covers, and music videos. Her name is Minji, and she's got long, dark hair that falls in waves down her back. She's tall and pretty, with a slim build and a face that's both elegant and expressive. She looks like a model, but she's also an idol, a singer, and a dancer. It's a little intimidating.

"Better not wake her," Hanni says. "She gets cranky when she's tired."

You nod. "Right."

"Come on, let's go to my room. We can talk there."

You follow her down a hallway and into a bedroom that's big and bright, with a view of the city. It's tastefully decorated, with a bed that's bigger than yours, a dresser that's bigger than yours, and a desk that's bigger than yours. Everything is bigger here, and you can't help but feel a little out of place.

"I like it in here," you say. "It's nice."

"Thanks," she says, dropping a bag in the corner and you follow her by placing the two you were carrying.

There's a faint sound coming through the wall. Music that you can't quite make out, but it sounds upbeat and peppy. You can hear the bass thumping, and the occasional high-pitched voice singing along.

"That's Dani," Hanni says, sitting on the edge of the bed. "She's always playing music. It drives Minji nuts."

You laugh, leaning against the dresser. "It's kind of cute."

"Yeah, it is. She's a sweetheart." Hanni leans back on her hands, looking at you. "I can't believe this is the first time you've seen where I live."

"It's a nice place," you say. "I'm sure you're comfortable here."

"It's not bad." She shrugs. "It's not really mine, though. I mean, it is, but it's also not. You know what I mean?"

You don't, but you nod anyway.

Hanni sighs, running a hand through her hair. "You should visit more," Hanni says while taking off her jacket, reducing her clothing back down to just that tight white tank top now that she's back in the warmth of her room.

You can't help but look at her, admiring the way her body moves, the way her skin glows in the light. You can't help but want to touch her, to feel her warmth. "I don't know," you say. "I would be kind of out of place."

"You wouldn't be," she says, and her voice is firm. "I miss you."

"I miss you too," you say, and it's true. You miss her all the time, even when she's right here in front of you. You miss her smile, her laugh, her scent.

She looks up at you, her eyes wide and searching. "Do you think about me when I'm gone?" she asks.

"Of course," you say, and you can't help but smile. "All the time."

She smiles, and it's like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. "Good." She stands, walking over to you, and you can smell her shampoo, her perfume, her skin. She reaches out, touching your face, running her fingers over your cheek. "I'm glad," she whispers, and then she leans in and presses her lips to yours.

It's a gentle kiss, soft and sweet, and it lingers for a moment before she pulls away. You're frozen in this moment, unable to think, unable to speak, unable to breathe. You're not sure what just happened, or why it happened, or what it means, or what you should do next.

"I'm sorry," she says, stepping back. "I shouldn't have done that."

"It's okay," you say, and it is. It truly is. You don't know why, but it is. You want to kiss her again, to hold her close, to feel her warmth.

"I just... I don't know," she says. "I've been thinking about it for a while, and I just... I don't know."

"It's okay," you say again, and you reach out and take her hand, holding it tight. You look into her eyes. "I'm glad you did."

She looks up at you, and her eyes are wide and searching. "Really?"

"Really." You squeeze her hand. "I'm glad."

"Good," she whispers, and then she leans in again and kisses you. This time, you kiss her back. You wrap your arms around her, pulling her close, holding her tight. You can feel her heart beating against your chest, and it's a steady, reassuring rhythm. She tastes of strawberry lip gloss and you can't get enough of it.

You've known Hanni for years, and you've been friends for years, and you've been best friends for years. But it's never been like this. It's never been this close, this intimate, this real. You've never been able to touch her like this, to kiss her like this, to hold her like this. And it feels amazing.

You're not sure how long you stand there, kissing, holding each other, but eventually you break apart and look at each other, smiling.

"What are we doing?" she asks, her voice low and husky.

"I don't know," you admit. "But I like it."

"Me too." She smiles, and it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. "Can I tell you something? It's been on my mind for two days now."

You nod, and she takes a deep breath before continuing.

"I've been thinking about you a lot lately," she says. "A lot. I mean, I've always thought about you, but now it's different. Now it's like I can't stop thinking about you. Well, I can, but not for long."

She's stumbling over her words, and you can't help but find it cute. You reach up and brush a strand of hair out of her face, and she smiles at you.

"I don't know what it means," she says. "I'm not sure if I want it to mean anything. I'm not sure if I'm ready for it to mean anything. I'm not sure if I'm even ready to think about what it might mean." She laughs, and it's a nervous laugh, and you can tell she's struggling to find the right words. "I guess I'm just saying that I'm not sure what I want, but I know that I want to be with you. And I'm not sure if that makes any sense, but it's how I feel."

"It makes perfect sense," you say, and you mean it. You know exactly what she means. You've felt the same way.

"I'm scared," she says. "This feeling is new. It's exciting. But it's scary, too. I'm not sure what to do. I don't want to ruin our friendship. But at the same time, I want more. I want to be with you. And I don't know how to do that."

"It's okay," you tell her. "We'll figure it out together."

She smiles, and it's a shy smile, but it's genuine. "So you're not going to run away?" she asks.

"No," you say. "No, I'm not."

"Good," she says. "Because I don't think I could handle that."

You laugh, and she laughs with you, and it's the most natural thing in the world. You can feel the tension between you start to ease, and you relax into each other, holding each other close. You kiss her again, and this time it's a little less hesitant, a little less unsure. You kiss her, and you let yourself fall into her, and you let yourself forget about everything else, and you let yourself just enjoy the moment. You kiss her, and you feel her arms wrap around you, and you feel her body press against yours, and you feel her warmth, and her softness, and her strength. You kiss her, and you feel your heart race, and you feel your blood rush, and you feel your skin flush, and you feel your head spin.

And when you finally break away, breathless and dizzy, she's looking at you with a mixture of wonder and desire and something else that you can't quite put your finger on. But it's a good look. It's a look that makes you feel happy, and excited, and scared, and alive.

"So what now?" you ask.

"I don't know," she says. "I've never done this before."

"Neither have I," you admit.

"Well, uh..." she trails off, looking away. "I guess we can just keep doing what we're doing, but like, over there." She points to her bed, and you can't help but chuckle.

"I like that idea," you say, before pulling off your jacket.

"Woah, what are you—?"

"It's just my jacket, I'm not..."

You both laugh and Hanni does that thing where she covers her face with her palms and shakes her head.

"Okay, I'm an idiot," she says, before throwing herself backwards onto her bed.

You approach her, but you're still nervous. You place a knee on the bed, move closer to her, and lean over her. She looks up at you, and her eyes are wide and bright, and full of emotion. You lean down and kiss her, and this time, there's no hesitation, no fear, no doubt. This time, it's a kiss of passion.

You sink into her as the kiss deepens, and you feel her hands on your back, pulling you closer, pressing you against her. You feel her tongue slide against yours, and then you taste her mouth, and it's a taste that you want more of. You taste her, and you smell her, and you feel her.

All you can do is what comes naturally, so next you're moving your hand from the bed and onto her hip, and slowly moving it along her waist, sliding it under her top. Her body tenses slightly as the palm of your hand touches her soft, warm skin.

"Are you okay?" you ask between kisses.

"Yes," she says, and the look in her eyes tells you the same. "Don't stop."

So you don't. You keep kissing her, touching her and exploring her. Your hand moves up her side, feeling the curve of her waist, and the rise of her ribcage. You brush the edge of her bra and hesitate, but then her hand reaches for yours and guides it under the fabric. You feel her breast against your palm, soft and warm and firm, and you feel her nipple, hard and erect, and you feel her tremble beneath you.

"You're beautiful," you whisper to her.

She blushes and smiles before you slip your tongue against hers again.

You never allowed yourself to appreciate Hanni for her beauty. It's not like you were blind to it. It's just that you didn't let yourself see it. Maybe deep down you knew that if you did, you wouldn't be able to look at her as just a friend anymore. So you suppressed that part of yourself. But now, with her lying here beneath you, you can't help but appreciate not only how pretty she is, but just how hot her body is, especially as your hands explore her. She's toned, but soft, and you can't get enough of her.

Her own hands are busy, too. They're running up and down your back, and then they're slipping under your shirt, and you can feel her nails scratching lightly against your skin.

"Can we take off our tops?" she asks suddenly, breaking the kiss. The question is kind of awkward, you both feel this, there's this shared twinge of embarrassment that you can sense in each other. It's not romantic, it's not sexy, it's just a bit silly.

"Sure," you say, and you sit up and pull your shirt over your head. You look down at her and suddenly feel so exposed, even if she is the one in tight shorts and her legs on either side of your hips, you're the one that's topless.

Hanni sits up too, and pulls her top off, revealing her light blue bra. She's moving a little erratic as she reaches behind her back, so much so that she fumbles the clasp twice before unfastening it. She lets the straps slide down her arms and throws it aside, quickly crossing her arms over her chest. Her face is a deep red.

She's embarrassed. You've never seen her like this before. You've seen her nervous, shy, even scared, but never embarrassed. And it's adorable. You're sitting just a few inches from each other, yet she's still looking down and to the side.

"Hey," you whisper, and then she looks at you. "You're beautiful."

She smiles and uncrosses her arms, and your eyes move down from her face to her breasts. You've seen her in a bra, but not like this. Never this close, never bare, never with the intention of touching them.

So, you do. You place your hand on one of her tits, and then she's leaning into you and you're kissing again. She fits so perfectly into your hand, and you can't resist gently massaging it. Instinct takes over. You're not thinking anymore, you're just doing what feels right. So you break the kiss and move your head down to her other breast. You start kissing around her nipple, and then you take it in your mouth, and you hear her moan. It's a sound that sends shivers down your spine, and then she's tangling her fingers in your hair, pressing your face into her chest.

You spend some time like this, alternating between her two breasts, licking, sucking, and nibbling on her nipples. It's a little clumsy, and you don't really know what you're doing, so you just follow what her soft little moans tell you. You love the feel of her tits against your face, the taste of her skin, the sound of her breathing.

And then she's pulling you back up and kissing you, and you're lost in the sensation of her lips on yours, her tongue on yours, her body against yours. You can feel her heart beating, and it's beating fast.

"You're so hot," you whisper, and she smiles and blushes.

"So are you," she says, and then she's pushing you down onto the bed, rolling on top of you. She kisses you again, and then she's kissing your neck, your collarbone, your chest. She's kissing her way down your body, and you're not sure what to do, so you just lie there and let her explore. You become more aware of your own body, and the sensation of her wet kisses against your skin. You become more aware of the discomfort between your legs. It's only now, in this moment of respite from kissing her lips and her tits, that you realise she must have felt it. The whole time. Since you started kissing her, and you laid yourself against her. She must have felt the bulge in your pants pressing against her crotch. You're mortified. You can't even look at her, you just stare up at the ceiling with an embarrassed smile on your face.

"Hey," she whispers, and you look down at her. She's kneeling between your legs, looking up at you. Her eyes are wide and bright, and she has a big goofy grin on her face. She looks so cute. "Did I do this?"

She's not looking at you. You follow her gaze down to the bulge in your pants.

"Uhhh..." you're not sure what to say. "Yes. Probably. I think so. I'm sorry."

She giggles, a mischievous grin forming on her lips. "It's okay," she says. "It's nice. I, uh, I like it."

You laugh nervously, and she laughs with you, and then she's unbuttoning your pants, and you're not sure what's happening. You feel like you should say something, but you can't think of anything, so you just lie there and let her do it. You lift your hips so she can pull down your jeans and underwear in one motion. Although you can't bring yourself to look down, the feeling of being exposed is overwhelming. You stare at the white paint on the ceiling as if it's the most interesting thing in the world.

"I've never done this before," she says. "I mean, I've seen one before. On TV, or in a movie, or something. But I've never... I don't really know what to do."

"It's okay," you say, your voice shaky, and you almost don't recognise it. "You don't have to—" Your breath hitches in your throat as you feel her fingers touch you.

"I want to," she whispers, and then she's gripping your shaft in her hand, and you can feel her fingers wrapping around it.

You're hard, and she's touching you, and it feels incredible. It feels incredible and wrong and exciting and scary and confusing and perfect and you can't think straight.

"Is this okay?" she asks, and her voice is soft and hesitant.

"Yes," you reply, and you can't keep the desire out of your voice.

She starts to stroke you slowly, and you can feel her fingers moving up and down your length, and it feels so good. Her touch is so delicate, so gentle, so loving, so careful, and you can't get enough of it.

You can't help but look down at her now. She's staring at you with a mixture of fascination and desire, and you can see the way her eyes move as she takes in every inch of you. That's Hanni, right there, and you can't believe that she's doing this to you.

"I've never seen one this close before," she whispers, and then she's leaning in, and you feel her breath on you. "I didn't realise it would be so warm. Or that it would feel so... alive."

She's still holding you, and you're still looking at her, and then she's looking up at you, and your eyes meet. Her expression is a mix of curiosity and lust. It's an expression that sends a shiver down your spine.

She kisses the tip. It's a gentle kiss, and it sends a jolt of pleasure through you. She looks up at you again, and there's a smile on her lips.

"Do you like that?"

"Yes," you breathe, and you're surprised by the huskiness in your voice.

"Good." She kisses you again, and then she's running her tongue over the tip. "It tastes funny," Hanni laughs gently and smiles. "I don't know if I like it yet, but I think I do."

She licks you again, and then she's kissing you, and then she's licking you, and then suddenly she's doing both. Her lips part in one of her kisses and she takes the head into her mouth so her tongue can work uninterrupted. She's licking around the head, and then she's taking you deeper, and you can feel her tongue exploring your shaft. It's incredible. It's unlike anything you've ever felt before. You've seen this before, on screen, or in magazines, or whatever, but nothing could have prepared you for the sensation of having her mouth around you.

"Oh god," you groan. "Hanni..."

It's all encouragement for her. A signal to her unsure mind that yes, this is exactly what you want and it feels as good as anything that you could have imagined. You're already sensitive, so every little movement of her tongue sends a shockwave of pleasure through you. You can't keep your eyes off her, watching her lips slide down your shaft, her tongue flicking at the head, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks you, her eyes looking up at you, checking that what she's doing is right.

She's breathing heavily from her nose, and the hot hair is kissing your skin. You can't believe you're seeing her like this, that this is the girl you grew up with.

"Hanni..."

She doesn't respond. She's too focused on the task at hand, on making you feel good. And she's doing a good job of it. A very good job of it.

"Hanni..."

Her eyes flick up to meet yours, and she stops moving her head. "Is something wrong?" she asks, her voice muffled by your cock. She pulls her head back, letting you slip out of her mouth, and a string of saliva connects the tip to her lower lip.

"No, no, no," you say quickly, "nothing's wrong. I just... I don't think I'm going to last much longer." You're embarrassed. You've never been in a situation like this before, and you're not sure what to expect, or what you're supposed to do. But you know that you're close to cumming, and you don't want to do it in her mouth.

"That's okay, just don't let the other girls hear us," she says, and then she's smiling at you, and then she's taking you in her mouth again, and then she's moving her head up and down, and then you're watching her cheeks hollow as she sucks you. Tongue running patterns over the underside of your length, you can't take much more.

"Oh god, Hanni, I'm going to—"

She doesn't stop. She doesn't slow down. She doesn't even flinch. She just keeps going, and you can't hold back any longer. You can feel the orgasm building inside you, and you can't stop it, and you don't want to, and you're not sure if you should, and you're not sure what to do, and—

You cum, and it's the most intense orgasm of your life. You can't help but cry out in pleasure, and you feel your hips buck involuntarily, and you feel her tongue continue to lap at the head as your cum spills out of her mouth. She doesn't pull back, she doesn't stop, she doesn't do anything to stop you from cumming in her mouth, she just keeps going, and you can feel her swallowing some of it. Some pools on your skin.

"Oh god," you say, and your voice is a whimper, and you're still trembling with pleasure.

Hanni pulls away and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She looks up at you, and there's a mischievous grin on her face.

"Wow," she says, and then she's giggling. "I wasn't expecting that!"

"Are you okay?" you ask, and your voice is shaky.

"I'm good." She smiles and crawls up so she can rest her head on your shoulder, half draping her body over yours, your bare skin touching. She kisses your neck, her breath tickles your skin. You put an arm around her, holding her close. "I didn't know that would be so fun. Can I do it again?"

"Not right now," you say through strained breath. "Maybe later."

"Okay." She's looking up at you, and she has that same goofy grin on her face. "Was that okay? I've never done it before."

"It was more than okay," you say, and you can hear the awe in your own voice. "That was incredible."

"Really?" She sounds pleased with herself. "I wasn't sure what I was doing."

"It was perfect," you say, and then you kiss her forehead, and then you kiss her lips, and then you're lost in the sensation of her body pressed against yours. You can't believe that you're here, that you're doing this, that you're with her.

"I'm glad," she murmurs, and then she's looking at you again. "So, what now?"

"Can I try?" you ask. "With you, I mean. Can I... use my mouth on you?"

"You don't have to," she says quickly, but then her voice trails off. She seems unsure.

"I want to," you say. "If you want me to."

Her smile is wide and her eyes are bright. "I do," she says. She kisses you on the lips, and then she's rolling onto her back.

You lean over her, and your hands are shaking, and your heart is racing, and you're not sure what to do, or where to start, or if you're going to be any good at this, but you want to try. You want to make her feel as good as she made you feel. You want to taste her, to explore her with your tongue, to learn what makes her moan, what makes her gasp, what makes her squirm. You want to make her feel as good as you do.

So you start where you began earlier, at her chest, and you spend some time just appreciating them. Kissing them. Running your tongue over her nipples. Squeezing. Massaging. Listening to her breathing change.

"I love these," you mutter. "They're beautiful. You're beautiful."

Hanni doesn't respond with much more than a pleasured hum, but she doesn't need to. You can tell she's enjoying this, enjoying the attention. And it's a good thing too, because you have no intention of stopping. Not until she tells you to, at least. You keep kissing and licking and sucking her nipples, and you can feel her arching her back, pressing herself into your mouth, and you can hear her breath growing heavier, and her heart races.

Hanni gives a deep, full-bodied moan, the loudest she has so far. You take it as a signal to descend, and you trail kisses over her stomach, which makes her giggle and squirm. You feel the heat radiating off her body. Her scent is strong—intoxicatingly so.

When you reach the waistband of her tight black shorts, you pause for a moment, and then you hook your fingers under the elastic and pull them down. You're not even sure what to expect underneath, but whatever you had in your mind, the reality is so much better. Her black panties are lacy, and they hug her body perfectly, accentuating every curve, every dip, every contour. They're so sexy, so beautiful, that you can't help but stare. Your mouth hangs open and you can feel your dick stirring back to life already. You can't believe that you're here, that you're seeing her like this.

You take time to admire her. Her thighs and her hips and the delicate apex underneath the wet panties. Then you look up her body, taking in the way her wide hips give way to the curve of her waist, the way her breasts rise and fall with each breath, the way her hair frames her face, the way her eyes shine in the dim light, and they stare at you, accompanying her smile.

"What are you thinking?" she asks, and her voice is barely a whisper. "I know that face. You always have that look on your face when you're thinking about something."

"You're the most beautiful girl in the world," you say, and you mean it, and you're not sure why you've never told her before.

Her smile widens and she laughs, covering her face. "You're so cheesy," she says, but you can tell that she likes it, that she appreciates it, that she loves it.

"Can't help it," you say, and then you lean down and kiss her stomach again, the muscles tense under your lips, and her breath catches. You kiss your way down to the edge of her panties, and then you pause.

"Is this okay?" you ask, and you're not sure why, but you feel like you need her permission, even having come this far.

"More than okay," she replies, and her voice is soft and breathy, and full of desire.

You smile, and then you kiss the edge of her panties again, and then you start to pull them down. You can feel the fabric stick to her skin as you peel them off her body, revealing her pussy. The sight of it takes your breath away, and you can't help but stare. It's beautiful, of course, but it's also more than that. It's Hanni. It's the most intimate part of her body, the most vulnerable, the most sensitive, the most private, and it's right there in front of you, and she's permitting you to touch it, to taste it, to explore it. She trusts you.

You place your palms on her thighs and spread her legs. You move your head between them and you plant the most delicate of kisses on her wet skin. Her body twitches. Another kiss, and another, and another, and you can feel her legs tremble. You can feel her body tense.

"You're so wet," you say, and you can't keep the awe out of your voice. You can feel her juices on your lips, and you lick them off, tasting her for the first time. It's sweet yet musky, and it's a taste that you want more of. You lick her now, a few tentative ones over her lips and then one from bottom to top, ending at her clit. She reacts more to that last one. So that's the spot, then. You repeat that pattern a few times.

"Oh god, that feels so good," Hanni moans, her head tilting back and her eyes closing.

"I can do better," you whisper, and then you focus on the peak of your previous licks, pushing your tongue between her lips where she's most sensitive. Hanni gasps, her hips bucking involuntarily, and her thighs tense, her hands gripping the bedsheets, and she's so responsive, so sensitive, so receptive to your touch, that you can't help but smile. You keep licking, flicking your tongue over her clit, teasing it, circling it, and you can feel her thighs tremble, her hips rock, and her breathing grows heavier and heavier.

"Oh, oh, oh," she murmurs, and her voice is a whimper, and it's so cute, and so sexy, that you can't help but moan into her pussy, the vibrations sending shivers through her body, and she whimpers again.

Now it's your turn to lock your lips against her, enclosing around her sensitive nub. You suckle on her clit, running your tongue over it, and she's rocking her hips against every movement of your tongue. It's the sexiest thing you've ever heard. All the gasps, whimpers, and moans. You could listen to it all day.

In a moment of realisation, you worry if the others can hear it. If they're in their own rooms, then probably not, but you know that at least one of them is asleep in the living room. Your head is buried in your best friend's pussy. What if someone knocks on her door? How would you explain this? What if—

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," Hanni cries and her voice is louder than before, and you can hear the desperation in her tone, and you can feel her body tensing, her back arching, and her hands gripping the sheets tighter and tighter. "Don't stop, don't stop," she moans.

Her thighs clasp around your head and all your worries about being caught are washed away with a new fear. You're trapped between her thighs. Your head is being crushed by the muscles you were just admiring. You're going to die here, between her legs. It's a pretty good way to go, though, so you accept it. At least you got to eat her out.

But then, as suddenly as it came, the pressure is released. Her legs go limp, and her body sags, and her breathing slows, and her hands relax, and she's lying there, panting, and trembling, and whimpering.

"Holy shit," she whispers, and her voice is hoarse, and you can't help but feel a sense of pride. You made her cum. You made her cum hard. "That was amazing," she whines. "I didn't know it would feel that good."

You smile, and you kiss her pussy, and then her inner thigh, and then the crease of her hip, and then you move up her body, kissing her stomach, and her breasts, and her neck, and finally you reach her lips. You kiss her, and she kisses you back, and then you're both laughing, giggling, and smiling, and holding each other close.

"That was incredible," she says, and her voice is soft and breathy, and she's looking up at you with wide, sparkling eyes. She kisses you again, and then you're lost in the sensation of her body pressed against yours.

"I didn't know it would be that good," you admit. "I thought it would be nice, but not like that."

"Me neither," she whispers, and she's looking at you with a mixture of awe and adoration. "I've never felt anything like that before."

You smile, and you kiss her again, and then you're both lying there, holding each other, basking in the afterglow.

"So," she says, after a few moments. "I don't want this to be over. I want to keep feeling like this."

"What do you mean?"

She smiles, and her eyes are full of mischief. "You know what I mean."

"Are you sure?" you ask, and you can't keep the excitement out of your voice.

"Yes," she whispers, and her voice is soft and breathy, and full of desire. "I've been thinking about it for a while. There's, uh, things in the top drawer."

"Things?"

"Just open it, dummy," she laughs, and you do. Inside, there's a sealed pack of condoms. You pick it up, and you can feel your heart racing, and you can feel the blood rushing to your cock, and you can feel the excitement building inside you. You turn back to her, and she's looking at you with a mixture of love and lust. Her eyes are full of anticipation, and she's biting her lip.

"You've thought a lot about this, haven't you?" you ask, and you can't help but grin. "You've had these just waiting here?"

She blushes and looks away, but then she looks back at you and smiles shyly. "Maybe."

You take one out and kneel back on the bed, between Hanni's spread legs. You know what to do. Simple. But the way that Hanni is looking at you, with a mixture of anticipation and excitement, is making it difficult to focus, and your hands are shaking.

You manage it, though. You roll the condom down your shaft and look at her. Her smile is wide and bright, and you can't help but smile back. She reaches for you and pulls you down on top of her.

"I can't believe we're doing this," you say.

"Me neither," she giggles, and then you're kissing again, and it's a hungry kiss, full of passion and desire. You feel her hand move between you and take hold of your cock, and you feel her guide it to her entrance, and then you're both pressing forward. The kisses are replaced by shared gasps, and your forehead comes to rest against hers. She's so warm, so wet, and so tight, that you have to pause for a moment, just to catch your breath, and she does the same, her eyes closed, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Are you okay?"

She nods quickly and then tells you, "Keep going."

So you do. You push forward, slowly, carefully, and she takes you, inch by inch, until you're fully inside her, and you're both breathing heavily, and you're both trembling, and you're both holding onto each other, and it feels incredible.

"Wow," she whispers, and her voice is a whimper, and you can't help but smile.

"Yeah," you breathe, and you're smiling too, and then you're both sharing a laugh. "Doesn't it hurt? I thought it was supposed to—"

"A little, but don't worry," she tells you. "I'll let you know if it gets too much. Just... take it slow, okay?"

"Okay," you say, and then you start to move, slowly, and carefully, and her body responds to every movement, every thrust, every inch. Her hips rock against yours, and her hands grip your back, and her nails dig into your skin, and her lips press against your neck. She's so unbelievably tight.

"Hanni," you whisper, and your voice is a low growl, and you can't help but groan as you feel her muscles clench around your cock.

"Don't stop," she whines, and her voice is a needy whimper, her body is pressing against yours, and her legs are wrapping around your hips, pulling you closer, keeping you deep inside of her.

You pick up speed, but not too fast. You don't want this to end, you never want this to end, but you can't help yourself. It feels so good. It feels so right. It feels perfect. It feels like everything you've ever wanted.

"Oh god," you groan, and you plant your hand against her—half on her thigh, half on her ass. You grasp her soft flesh as you try to bury yourself deeper. Her body tenses in response. She likes it. "You're amazing."

"Mmm... more..." she moans, and you can't help but smile.

You start to thrust harder, faster, and her hips start to rock against yours, and you're both lost in the sensation. Breathless whimpers are broken by raw moans, which you try to stifle with kisses so no one can hear you, and then you're both lost in the rhythm, the back and forth, the ebb and flow. You're both in sync, both moving together, and it's the most beautiful thing in the world. You can feel the pressure building inside you, and you can feel her body tensing, and her breathing quickening, and you're both so close.

Hanni brings her hands to your head, running her fingers into your hair and pulling your ear to her mouth. She lets out a moan right into it, before telling you, "Take it off." You're not sure it's a good idea, but she's insistent. "I want to feel you. All of you. Please. Take it off."

"Hanni... I don't think—"

You're cut off by her moving her hands to your shoulders and pushing you onto your back. Hanni leans over you and looks down at your throbbing cock. "Let's do it properly." She reaches down and rolls the rubber off your shaft, leaving it bare. Your stomach clenches in a mix of excitement and fear. She throws the condom aside and then she climbs on top of you, straddling your waist, and her pussy hovers above your cock.

"Hanni, we shouldn't—" you start, but she cuts you off again. She takes hold of your shaft and rubs the tip of your cock along her wet folds. Her juices coat your cock. Her warm pussy teases the tip. Your eyes roll back in your head.

"It's okay," she whispers, and then she pushes your tip inside her, and she gasps, and you moan, and then she's sinking onto you, and you're sliding up inside her, and you're both breathing heavily, and you're both moaning, and you're both lost in the sensation.

"Oh god," you moan, and you can't help but grab her hips and pull her down, and you can't help but thrust up into her. You're bare. You're inside her, skin-to-skin, and it's the most incredible thing you've ever felt. The way she rocks her hips drives you insane. She's so warm, so wet, and so tight, that you're not sure how long you can last.

"Don't cum," she whispers, and her voice is a needy whimper, and she's looking down at you with wide, pleading eyes. "Not yet."

"I'm not sure I can—"

"You have to," she says, and she's looking down at you with desperate eyes, and you can't help but nod. "Please," she says, and she's grinding her hips against you, and she's riding you, and she's fucking herself with your cock, and she's moaning, and whimpering, and gasping, and you're both lost in the sensation.

"I'm close," you warn her. "I can't—"

"Wait for me," she whines, and you can feel her body start to tense, and you can feel her walls clench around your cock, and you can feel her start to tremble. "I'm—"

With a loud moan, her body tenses and cuts her words off. Her pussy clenches, and her hands grip your chest, nails digging into your skin, and her eyes squeeze shut. Her whole body quivers as her orgasm washes over her, and you can't help but thrust up into her, pushing yourself as deep as you can go. She cries out in pleasure, and you feel a heat in the pit of your stomach.

You thought nothing would be as intense as when you burst into Hanni's mouth, yet just half an hour later, you realise that was nothing compared to this. The rush is so powerful, so overwhelming, that it almost knocks the wind out of you. You can't breathe, you can't think, and you can't stop the flood of cum that's filling her. You can feel it, and she can feel it, and it's so hot, and so thick, and so wet, that you can't help but groan.

Pulsing and throbbing inside her, Hanni keeps riding you, her hips rolling, her thighs trembling and her cute little tits bouncing. Your cum spills out of her, and the mess is pooling beneath you both. It's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. You can't help but smile as you watch her. She's so perfect, so beautiful, and you're inside her—the reason she's cumming.

She collapses on top of you, her head on your shoulder, and her body limp. She's breathing heavily, and you're both covered in a sheen of sweat. You wrap your arms around her and hold her close, and she does the same, her fingers running through your hair, and she's kissing your neck, and your cheek, and your lips. You kiss her back, and it's a soft, gentle kiss, full of love, affection, and gratitude.

"I can't believe we just did that."

You can feel her smile against your skin. "I can't believe I let you cum in me," she giggles. "It felt so good, though." She lifts herself up and looks down at you, her smile wide and her eyes sparkling. "Did I do okay?"

"You were incredible," you say, and you mean it.

"Maybe next time we could—"

"Next time?" you ask, making sure you heard her right.

"Yes," she says, and her voice is soft and shy, and she's looking at you with a mixture of love and lust. "I want to do that again. And again. And again."

"Me too," you say, and you can't help but smile.

-

She's asleep. You're lying in her bed, watching her. She's so beautiful, and you can't stop looking at her. You can't stop thinking about her. About what you've done. You're not sure how you're going to get to sleep. She's snuggled up to you, her head resting on your shoulder, and her legs tangled with yours. Her breathing is slow and steady. She's peaceful, and you're so happy. You can't remember the last time you were this happy.

You can't remember the last time you felt so content. It's strange. It's like you've been living your life in a fog. You've been drifting, and you've been lost, and you've been searching for something, but Hanni has been right here. She was right in front of you, all along.

You just didn't realise it, until now.

[tpwk-formula1]

Kimi Antonelli. I would like to have my pizza with coliflower crust(grumpy reader) with Alfredo sauce. Now for the toppings, maybe with basil, broccoli and Gouda cheese. And for my drink sprite and truly. Maybe mt dew (sub reader) and yes aftercare. THANK U MY LOVE❤️❤️❤️

Lee-Lee's Pizzeria Menu

cauliflower crust sunshine x grumpy Alfredo sweet sex basil "I love to watch my cum leak from your pretty pussy" broccoli "Made just for me huh?" gouda “Slow down? You just told me to speed up, make up your mind silly girl” sprite size kink truly belly bulge mt dew dom/sub dessert yes served by Kimi Antonelli

Kimi x Grumpy! reader

TW - riding cock, belly bulge, size kink, missionary, unprotected sex, creampie

WC 1400+

Y/N POV

"Why are you so moody today," Kimi whispered into my ear while pinching my thigh is a "behave yourself" manner.

"I'm not," I snapped whispering back getting more annoyed with my boyfriend. He just rolls his eyes at me before turning his attention back to the rest of the table and joining in on their conversation leaving me to wallow in my own annoyance at my boyfriend.

"Are you good?" Ollie asks keeping his volume down so only I can hear him.

"I'm fine, why does everyone think I'm not," I whisper back at him letting him be on the receiving end of a verbal lashing. I cringe slightly when I realize Kimi had heard me snap at Ollie making him pinch my thigh a little harder.

"I mean you're normally pretty "grumpy" but today you have this look in your eye like you wanna destroy the world," Ollie whispers softly. I just shrug and we leave the conversation there.

He was right though, Kimi had always been the golden retriever boyfriend and I was the typical "black cat" girlfriend, which wasn't necessarily false but Kimi knew the truth. It was just a way to protect myself not wanting too many people getting too close to me, but Kimi spent years working on breaking my walls down, and here we are years later still going as strong as ever. As for the modd I'm in today, it's everyone else's comments on Kimi's F1 announcement that has me wanting to "destroy the world" or whatever Ollie said.

When the dinner wrapped up Kimi and I go back to his hotel room where he finally gets the answers he was looking for.

"It's just unfair Kimi! I mean they barely even watch you in Formula 2 and then the one time they watch you, you crash and while that is embarrassing I'm gonna be real with you BUT that doesn't mean you need to wait," I continue ranting laying in bed with Kimi making him smile but start kissing at my jaw and neck during my rant starting to distract me.

"Watching you get so mad on my behalf, it fucking hot," Kimi mumbles into my neck rutting his hips into my side letting me feel his hard cock through his briefs. I just roll my eyes and laugh.

"I can't believe my very serious rant about hating the fans of Formula 1 has you so horny you're grinding into me," I joke before turning onto my side so I'm facing him and pulling him in for a quick kiss.

Kimi refused to pull away so what was supposed to be a quick peck turned into us fighting for dominance with our tongues. Finally Kimi is pushing me on my back before climbing on top of me pinning my hands above my head all the while keeping his mouth on top of mine.

"Kimi, I need you," I whine against his mouth making him let out a breathy laugh making my pussy throb just at the noise.

"Hm. I wanna watch you bounce on my cock," Kimi said with a smirk before letting me use my strength to turn us over so I was the one on top now.

I start grinding my hips into Kimi's large cock making both of us whimper at the stimulation. I pull my sleep shirt off my body leaivng me in the lacey black panties I was going to sleep in before Im shuffling my body down slightly before pulling Kimi's briefs off letting his hard cock rest against his torso showing just how large he truly is. The tip is barely touching the bottom of his bellybutton.

I instantly start jerking his cock off dwarfing the size of my hand.

"Miracle I can walk in the mornings," I mumble softly making Kimi laugh at my little comment. Losing my virginity to Kimi was terrible and he refused to touch me for weeks after but as time went on we learned how to pleasure each other taking everything slow before I finally got my redo which was amazing.

"I can make it to where you can't walk tomorrow," Kimi said with a smirk written all over his face making my cheek heat at the suggestion. I just shook my head no, knowing tomorrow wasn't a good day for that.

I release Kimi's cock and make quick work of pulling my panties down before I'm climbing back into Kimi's lap. When I grip Kimi's cock I softly tease my clit making me whimper due to how sentive I was, but I needed to collect as much moisture on his cock as possible which wasn't very difficult.

Once Kimi's cock is drenched in my essence I slowly start sinking down making both of us gasp. Once I'm fully seated on Kimi's cock I give myself a few seconds to adjust before I start rocking my hips making both Kimi and I groan at the pleasure.

I start bouncing on Kimi's cock making both of us gasp and moan at the intense pleasure.

"Fuck, so fucking tight," Kimi groans making me speed up my actions slightly but still not going fast enough to bring either of us to an orgasm.

Kimi finally takes over and flips up back so he's on top and he slowly starts pounding into me making me gasp and moan feeling Kimi all over.

"Made just for me huh?" Kimi says with a smirk making me look at him noticing that he was staring at my tummy making me look down to notice the bulge from Kimi's cock.

I moan at the sight of Kimi's cock going in and out of my body slightly stunned at how noticeable it is.

"Fuck, faster please," I whimper while pulling Kimi's neck down to me so I can kiss him while he speeds up his actions making me whimper at the intensity.

Kimi pulls back slightly and starts fucking into me faster than he was previously making me gasp and feel my orgasm start to approach. Kimi knowing my body so well picked up on this and started pushing down on the bulge in my stomach making me feel Kimi so much more than before, it was starting to get almost too intense.

"Too much, slower," I moan and gasp out through a stuttered breath.

“Slow down? You just told me to speed up, make up your mind silly girl” Kimi says with a smirk all over his face. While he kept up the pace he let up just slightly on my stomach.

"I can tell you wanna cum," Kimi says before moving his hand from my stomach to my clit and rubbing it in soft circles bringing me over the edge.

"Fuck," I whimper while arching my back and cumming all over Kimi's cock sending him over the edge with one final thrust before unloading a massive load of his cum deep into my pussy making sure to fill me before slowly slipping his cock out not wanting to hurt my overstimulated pussy.

When Kimi slipped out of my pussy he just sits back on his knees and watches as some of his cum starts leaking out of my pussy.

"I love to watch my cum leak from your pretty pussy" Kimi mumbles softly leaning down to kiss my lips making me blush at the dirty praise.

"Do you feel better?" Kimi jokes with a smirk all over his face making me roll my eyes and nod softly making Kimi laugh.

"You take me so well," Kimi says while getting out of bed and pulling me into his arms where he carries me into the bathroom where he puts me on the toilet to do my business while he turns his back and turns the shower on.

After Kimi and I shower together he helps me get dressed into a new shirt to sleep in before helping me step into my panties before laying us both of us on the bed for a cuddle.

"Did I really look like I wanted to destroy the world?" I question feeling back for snapping at everyone today. Kimi just nodded his head softly making me groan while he laughed at me slightly.

"I yelled at Ollie," I state softly making Kimi pull me into his side and place a soft kiss on my cheek.

"I know, I heard. But, if you feel that bad you can apologize tomorrow on the flight back," Kimi tells me softly knowing I won't feel better until I do apologize to Ollie. I just nod my head softly before melting into Kimi's embrace and falling asleep in his arms.

[lavenderspence]

Needy & Embarrassed | A.H.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Content warning: MDNI, 18+ for suggestive themes, mentions of sex, suggested soft!dom aaron, embarrassment, the team lowkey being little shits

Word Count: 1.1K

Summary: You needed him so much, you ended up embarrassing you both.

Request: hey if you're looking for funny requests, what about Hotch's fuckbuddy calling for a booty call at the worst time possible while he's on a case and the bau team hear everything (idk if his phone is broken or it's on his comms or something??) and won't let it go? Feel free to adapt and make it your own! I just love to embarrass that old man and break that stoic wall lol

A/N: okay this was supposed to be funny, but it ended up more of a hoe fic, for the horny girlies (it’s me, i’m a horny girly). It’s very mild though. Pretty please, don't let this baby flop and enjoy!

Requests are CLOSED! | masterlist

The phone rang, once, twice, it kept ringing and he wasn’t picking up. 

You’d called him twice in the last 20 minutes, but he hadn’t answered. You knew he was busy, you knew he was working, and tirelessly at that, catching monsters and putting them away, putting them in their place.

But the truth was, you really needed him to put you in your place. You were hot, desperate for him - desperate to touch him, take all of his worries, and have him go pliant against you. Have him touch you, circle all the places that made you sing into the quiet, and make small goosebumps and beads of sweat cover your skin. 

You needed his fingers to touch you in the most electrifying way possible, challenge all of the strength and power he had over you. 

You needed to feel him push inside, the blunt tip of his dragging against your walls. His head buried at the crook of your neck - panting, licking, teeth scraping against the tender flesh. You maybe even needed him to leave a small bruise or two - it’s not like he hadn’t done it before. 

Just thinking about him like that, about the power he held over you and the things you wanted him to do to you in that very moment, was making you hot - your clit pulsing in desperation. 

This desire overtook all of your senses - you needed him with a passion. You needed him against you, inside you. You needed to be surrounded by him and his scent. You needed to surrender and let him lead this. And you needed it now. 

You redialed his number - you knew you should stop, but all rational thoughts had left your brain when that first fantasy, first scene, had invaded your mind. 

The phone rang again, and it rang, and he still wasn't picking up. You started scratching at your cuticles, the desire to take matters into your own hands was strong. You knew he wouldn’t appreciate it though, not at all. He never did - he was just a bit possessive like that. 

For a year, as long as you'd known him, he'd been the only one to touch you. You’d met at a bar one late fall evening. He’d been drinking with a group of friends, his team, you had learned later. And you were at the bar with your best friend. The night had stretched, and so had the drinks. 

Next thing you knew, a bathroom stall had been occupied, your skirt pushed up and the top three buttons of his dress shirt undone. Kisses were swapped, flesh ended up red and muscles deliciously stretched. A lipstick kiss was left on his peck - nice and vibrant against his soft skin.

It was quick, and it was easy. Electric didn’t even begin to describe it. But it was casual, and that’s the way it’s been since then. 

Nights well spent - ending up boneless under the sheets was just one call away. And that’s exactly what you needed at that moment. You needed him to make you relax, to see stars, and reach heights you only ever reached with him. 

You hadn’t seen him in two weeks, maybe that's where this desire, all the urgency came from.  You’d planned to see each other after he returned from a case in Wisconsin, but not 24 hours after his return, they’d caught a case in San Diego and he’d left again. 

There was one final way you knew you’d be able to reach him, but you’d never tried it. He’d said it was only for emergencies. But your “emergency” wasn't an emergency, to begin with, it was rather an increasing need for the man who wasn't answering.

You played with the idea, trying to stop yourself from doing something irrational. In the end though, when it came to him and this thing between you, this need, but you couldn’t even think -  all you felt was desire, hot, searing want. 

You opened your phone, looking for the phone number before your thumb hovered over the call button, and the next thing you knew, you were holding it to your ear.

The round table was full of files scattered around one over the other. The coffee cups were emptied long ago, and no one had bothered to start a new pot. Everyone knew their time was better spent finishing the paperwork and going home. 

Maybe that’s why nobody paid attention when the phone in the middle of the table started ringing. Maybe that’s why he hardly paid attention when he answered the call. 

“Hotchner.” It came out tired and distracted. He was barely listening, even when the line cracked and a voice finally answered.

“Hi, Aaron.” A purr sounded from the other side, low and seductive, if a bit unsure. “Baby…I really need to see you right now. I'm so worked up, so needy. I can't wait anymore, I need your mouth wrapped-” He rose to his full height, his brain suddenly putting two and two together, his heart pounding.

“Now’s not a good time Y/N.” He rushed to stop you from saying any more, every eye in the room focused on him, and the phone, making them an audience to a far too intimate conversation you shouldn’t be having.

“Look, I know you said I should only call this number in case of an emergency, but Aaron, I cannot stop thinking about your co -” He pressed the end call button at lighting speed, feeling himself get hot, in embarrassment…maybe even in want.

Everyone stood still, silent, holding their breath, eyes wide and curious, and turned towards their boss. Looking, waiting for a reaction, anything.

He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, to erase your voice and the words you’d said to him - trying to stop himself from the added embarrassment that may follow if he didn’t. Just your voice, the desperation laced into your usual timber was making his body react, and not in an appropriate way.

“Well, that’s one way to go about it. “ Rossi commented, putting an end to the awkward silence. Penelope broke out in laughter, quickly followed by Morgan and Emily, and everyone joined in. 

“Poor girl. This does sound like an emergency Hotch,” Emily added before another big laugh followed. 

He scoffed and picked up his suit jacket, “We’re done, go home.” He grumbled, before making a beeline for the door.

“And don’t forget to wrap it before you tap it, boss. Girly seriously sounded like she needed that d-” Penelope’s voice followed him, “Too far? Okay.” He heard her murmur but he didn’t stop. 

No, determination led him outside the bullpen and down the elevator as he pulled his phone out and found your contact, typing a text. 

You better be ready, because this little scene you just caused? It’s going to cost you, baby. 

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[sylusgworl]

01 — REACHING OUT

synopsis: you keep away from people, feeling like you don't belong anywhere, with no will to do anything, but a certain doctor is able to move your heart in ways you can't fathom. except, will you let him in again?

content and TWs: modern!au, fem!reader, angst (with eventual comfort), caleb and tara cameo, no evol, graphic description of depression, self-harm, blood, blades, break up, exes to lovers (probably?), yearning zayne, alcohol (brief), both zayne and you are the same age (around 27), use of [name] instead of y/n

word count: 2.1k

REGULAR m.list — SERIES m.list

PART 01 — PART 02 — PART 03 — PART 04 ...

Everyone around you genuinely thought you were getting better.

Maybe, it was because your smiles and laughs had been more frequent, or maybe it was because you hadn’t opened up with anyone about your pain, so they just assumed it went away, as if someone had shaken it off with a magical wand.

It’s okay though—or maybe not. Nobody is actually entitled to always follow you around, knowing every detail about your days. It’d be impossible for them, it’d feel suffocating to you.

Yes, feeling like your freedom was suddenly revoked because of your past actions was the worst. Except, now that everyone had gone back to their usual routines, you finally could breathe again. The smiles you had so desperately shown, in an attempt to shake off the pitiful gazes, were finally no more, the spark in your eyes that was anything but genuine was gone. The silent pain you hadn’t told anybody about? Still there, lingering, chaining your blackening heart in iron wire, unrelenting, as it caused your strained breathing and aching throat.

You had no way to stop it. You had no reason to. And even its origin? Unknown. One day, you woke up with it. Suddenly, life felt gray, almost black, and nothing seemed to be worth living for anymore.

Sometimes, no tears would flow. You’d just sit there, eyes lost into emptiness, chest heaving and lowering in rhythmic beats, a knot obstructing your throat. Your head empty of any rational thoughts, inhabited by a demon who’d whisper to you what most would classify as nonsense. Except, it had become a code you lived by ever since.

It was the worst, except you actually had nothing to compare it to, in order to be fully certain. But people do tend to say that emotional pain, grief and the likes, are the cause of a greater suffering.

Now, with your “freedom” reacquired, you could finally hide away, maybe slowly disappear. Just like an insignificant particle of sea foam when it reaches the shore. Except, you weren’t surfacing ashore, but drowning in a deep pit, no idea of returning manifesting inside of your mind.

As soon as your day at work ended, the mask slowly bled away from your countenance—you’d hoped they’d be for a while.

You slowly went back home, ready to repeat your usual routine, no real strength holding your limbs. Probably, you were just pushing one last effort.

Clack.

The door opened, quickly, as if it was able to anticipate your coming.

Your silent and lone apartment felt cold and… bleak. The plain walls, the dull wooden floor, the silent bedroom. If you spoke at that moment, your voice would probably echo throughout the house.

Sighing heavily, you stepped inside. It was probably best to just stop thinking about the monotony of it all. After all, wherever you were, you could probably never make a home anywhere you went.

It was past 7 in the evening. You used your last bits of energy to shower and make something to eat—nothing fancy or tasteful, just edible.

Then you headed to bed, the softness of your mattress being the only nice and welcoming thing that day.

The room was enveloped in darkness. Windows closed, blinds shut, lights off.

Only small glow-in-the-dark stars that carpeted part of your ceiling, the side right over your bed.

Zayne.

He got you those back when the two of you were still in highschool, when things were still alright, when he was there and you were still unaware of the gloom that held your heart and mind captive.

Your head sank into the pillow and you closed your eyes, not because you felt sleepy, but probably as a way to shut off your mind, locking the rest of the world outside.

Probably, you were already drifting off to sleep. Most days, it was a struggle, mind too tightened by useless recollections.

It was your fault. You were the one to cut him off, giving him no closure. It just happened like a switch. One day you thought you were fine in your relationship, the next, you were in agony, the thought of being too much consuming you, the feeling of being unbearable to your own partner making you drive him away.

That day, Zayne looked at you, his green eyes overshadowed by a veil of burning tears. His lips, usually pinkish, seemed devoid of color, while his frown stung your heart.

“Why?” he walked closer—you could hear the agony in his tone.

“Just… because,” you answered, avoiding his scorching gaze. Because if you’d kept staring into those eyes you loved so much, you’d probably give in, right that instant.

“Is it me? Did… did I do something wrong?” Zayne said the last word like a whisper, like a secret nobody could hear of. His tone held no trace of arrogance, he was just… scared.

The same Dr Zayne everybody praised and revered, the doctor who gave everyone the cold shoulder, not bothering to display his feelings to anyone, was on the verge of sobbing.

A traitorous tear spilled over the rim of his eye, falling from his chin in a droplet of sorrow.

You gulped at the sight, shaking your head off as a response. Your throat felt tight, clogged, as you clenched your eyes shut, for just a couple of seconds. Don’t cry.

“It's me,” you muttered, backing away. You didn’t wait for his reaction, you didn’t dare to look at him another time—now you regretted it dearly. Turning around, not granting yourself a single look behind, you walked away—better, dragged your feet, almost in a death march. Then, you were running.  Because no matter how anyone viewed Zayne, with you he was always soft, always accommodating, always affectionate. He was just the kind of person who never left unresolved conflicts alone. You couldn’t bear it if he’d followed you then and there.

Only when you reached your flat did your legs finally give out.

The grip inside of your throat loosened, a sob escaped. Then another.

It went on for hours… it was the last heartfelt cry you were granted.

Now, one year later, the memories were still too strong, too monopolizing.

You sat up, sighing heavily, your hands crossed in front of your chest as they brushed your arms quickly, in a sort of self-soothing act.

Ping.

The sudden noise startled you, your eyes now wide open. Stretching out your hand, you gripped your phone from the bedside table, annoyed but relieved, finally saved from a never-ending swirl of torturing memories.

Your eyes squinted because of the sudden light, your breath caught in your throat as soon as your vision cleared, gulping down so hard, you felt a sting of pain.

The last person you were expecting actually texted you, after one year of no-contact.

Your hand trembled, you had to grip your wrist, tightly, to steady it.

Heartbeat leaping out of your chest, a nostalgic feeling crept up at you, but you readily shook it off. Not now.

You exhaled, loudly, then pressed the notification icon.

Hello [Name]. I know we haven’t spoken to each other for a whole year, but I’ve been thinking this through, day and night, and I think we need to talk. Properly. I tried to respect your timing, giving you space and everything. But I still think I need a clear explanation.

You didn’t know what it was exactly you were expecting. But this was so Zayne-coded, you could have chuckled, had it not been for the sudden shock.

A few minutes passed, your fingers hovered above the phone keyboard, not knowing how to answer.

Ping.

Will you open up to me?

It was an invite, one to bury old disputes and, perhaps, find a solution. Together.

As if. It's never going to happen. Not in this lifetime.

But even though your lack of trust prohibited you from viewing a flourishing future rather than a black canvas with no motion on it, something unknown took over your body, your fingers started typing before you could think.

Alright.

A short answer, one single word.

You dropped the phone on the bed, recoiling from it like it had scalded your hands.

One shy look was all you spared, eyeing his response, wondering what would come next.

It was nothing extraordinary, simple and neat. A bit like him.

Tomorrow, at the Summer&Sweet Café next to your apartment. At 5.

No more texts were sent after that. He didn’t need to, and you were too guilty to dare.

So, lying back down, you simply stared at the numerous glowing stars in different sizes, the room tightening more around you, the night feeling more overwhelming, as your brain birthed different scenarios.

Will he be mad? Well, obviously. I wouldn’t hold it against him if he were. What do I tell him, though?

Just like that, the freezing night went by, swiftly and silently, the same way it came.

You didn’t sleep a wink—how could you, after all that.

At 6 in the morning, sharp, you got up and made your way to the bathroom.

The light felt blinding, but still bearable. You almost gasped as your gaze met your monstrous form reflected in the small mirror over the sink. You didn’t though, you were very much used to that tired sight that welcomed you every morning.

Your hair had formed a live lump over your head, under eyes puffy and the rims red. The skin on your face seemed lifeless, inhuman.

Your gaze dropped down, your hands fumbling with the toothpaste cap, your brain too busy to focus on appearances. There was no point to it, anyway.

It was truly exhausting. Everything was.

Had it not been for the bills you needed to pay, you wouldn’t be bothered to get out of your apartment. Especially not in that state.

Don’t forget about your appointment with Zayne. An annoying voice slashed through your fake peace of mind, you wanted to kick it—you would have, if only it had a physical form.

No breakfast was on the menu. Like always.

But Zayne would’ve nagged you to eat at least one slice of toast. You shook your head. Damned memories that come and go as they want.

You dressed up into something that seemed remotely presentable, outerwear that would possibly let you keep your role as an accountant in your modest office, ignoring the piling laundry that sat in the basket for much too long.

One last look into the mirror, a habit you seemed to never be able to shake, no matter the circumstances. The puffiness was buried under multiple coats of concealer, your scraped lips hidden under a sticky layer of lipliner and lipgloss, and that frown.

The frown you had to hide under false pretenses for six hours straight. Again.

Looking down, not bearing to stare the monster in the eyes, you picked up your purse, and stepped out of the house, keys clinging in the lock.

The work day was nothing out of the ordinary. The clicking of the computer keyboards, the sour smell of the vending-machine coffee, the air-con, freezing you more than the outside weather.

You sighed with relief when your shift was finally over, as you logged out, gathered the few scattered pens and sprung up.

Not sparing one glance back into your office, you stormed out, hailed a cab and, only then, remembered your upcoming appointment. Liar, you’d been thinking of it every single minute, even in the midst of your tasks. You ignored the honest part of you, again.

One look at your wrist watch. 4:35 pm. You still had time.

When you got in front of the café, you sighed. There was no turning back now.

A bell chimed when you pushed the glass door, a waft of roasted coffee beans and freshly baked goods hit your nose like a soft and gentle caress.

It hadn’t changed one bit in the past year.

You had been steering clear of this place. But oh, your own feet took you there to meet the reason you’d started avoiding it in the first place.

Your steps clad in uncertainty clacked on the floor like a rhythmic march. Calculated. Unnatural.

Surveying the empty tables, as if drawn by a magnet, your eyes slowly found him.

He sat in that very same elegance that had always been a part of him, a black coat draped over his shoulders and a simple brown scarf lying right next to him.

Zayne's fingers fiddled with a couple of documents—work papers, probably. Then his gaze shot up, and he saw you.

taglist (comment HERE to be added):

@colonelkaboom @mephisto-with-a-knife @sapphic-daze @slowburnmithy @unsxnee @zayniedoll @abejaruby @bidisasterforevermore @rafayelridesfisheatsfish @d1ngal1ng @lowkaylove

© sylusgworl - 2025, all rights reserved / i don't allow anyone to copy, repost on other platforms or sell my works.

[w4ndal0ver]

The Art of Submission (2)

[minors don't interact, 18+]

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

chapter summary: The tension between you and Wanda becomes too much and you finally give into her alluring remarks and suggestions. She breaks you.

whole summary: As a growing author, you're grappling with a frustrating writer's block while trying to craft your next lesbian erotic novel. With a lack of personal experience holding you back, inspiration seems just out of reach. But when a captivating neighbour steps in, offering unexpected support and a tantalizing invitation to explore the depths of desire, you find yourself on a journey that blurs the lines between reality and fiction, leading to a discovery that you definitely weren't expecting.

content warnings: continuing the insane amount of sexual tension, mention of heavy dom/sub dynamic, fingering, orgasm denial, begging.

note: So this is the second instalment and I definitely have never put this much work into the build up of what's basically a shamelessly dirty smutty story, however I hope you enjoy. (the next instalment is where things get super interesting and it will be out soon)

The Art of Submission - Chapter 2

Your heart is still racing, the taste of Wanda’s lips lingering as you lean back, trying to catch your breath. She watches you, her eyes shimmering with a mixture of curiosity and something darker, more dangerous. 

“I can see the wheels turning in that beautiful head of yours.” she teases, her finger still resting on her lips as if savouring the kiss, “what are you thinking.” 

You try to compose yourself, offering a playful smile in return. “I’m thinking you’re trouble,” you say, but the voice betrays the thrill surging through you. Wanda’s energy is magnetic and you’re already caught in the strength of her pull. 

She chuckles softly, leaning closer so that her arm brushes against yours again. The subtle contact makes your nerve endings tremble. “Oh, I think you like a little trouble.” She murmurs, her tone smooth as silk. She tilts her head slightly, eyes gleaming as they enter that same darling lock with yours once more. “It's not the writing, is it?” she asks, eyes glistening, “It’s what you’re writing about.”

You shift, unsure of how to answer, but Wanda presses on, her tone softer, coaxing you forward. “You know what you want to say,” She whispers, her fingers brushing a slow maddening path along your thigh. “It’s the feeling you’re struggling with. The way to express it… to make it real.”

Your breath hitches. You don’t respond right away, too caught up in the way she’s watching you, her gaze predatory and knowing. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and it’s clear she’s not letting you off easily. 

“What is it that you’re really trying to explore?” Wanda’s voice is like velvet, low and intimate. “Sadomasochism, right? It’s more than just the physical, it's the headspace, the emotional surrender, pushing limits.” Her words stir something deep inside of you, a part of you that you hadn’t fully acknowledged until now. You nod meekly, almost on instinct, feeling the weight of her hand anchoring you in place. 

“You’re not struggling with the plot,” she continues, her voice soft but relentless, “You’re struggling with how far to take it. How far to go beyond ‘safe.’” Her thumb continues to stroke a slow deliberate circle just above your knee, and your breath catchers at the subtle increase in pressure. “You’ve written about control before, but this is different. This is about letting go completely.” 

With that your pulse is on fire, her words hitting home. It is different. It’s darker and dangerous and Wanda is pushing you toward that edge, darling you to step over it. 

Her lips curve into a slow and wicked smile. “Maybe” She pushes, her voice laced with heat, “you’re scared to write about what you actually want.” Your body tenses at the insinuation and Wanda picks up on it immediately. She doesn’t pull away though, if anything, she leans in closer, her breath brushing the side of your neck. “You want to write about power,” She whispers, her hand sliding higher, the pressure firm but tantalising, “About giving it up, about what it feels like when someone takes it from you.” She pauses, letting her words settle into the heavy air between you, “but the only way to write that truthfully is to understand it.”

Your throat feels tight, your body alive with the tension crackling between you. You can’t find any words, but Wanda doesn’t seem to need them. She reads every flicker of your expression. Every quickening breath makes that wicked smile deepen.

“You can’t fake that kind of intensity darling,” Her voice is almost hypnotic, “You need to feel it. You need to know what it’s like to hand over your control, to be at someone else's mercy.” You feel her fingers move higher up your thigh. She’s testing you, waiting to see how far she can push you before you break. 

“And maybe,” She adds, her hand reaching up to tuck your hair away from your face, her lips brushing the shell of your ear, “You’re tired of always being the one in control.”

This was when you realised how close she had gotten to you, her hand still on your leg, firm and unyielding, grounding you in the moment as her breath fans across your neck. “It’s okay.” her voice soft but demanding, “to want something different, to want to feel different.”

The tension between you is palpable now, the air charged with the unspoken promise of what could come next. Wanda’s touch, so deliberate, so confident, feels like a silent dare - a challenge to take that next step, to let yourself go. “Tell me,” Her lips are almost brushing yours as she speaks, “What do you really want.”

You meet her gaze, your heart pounding in your chest as the weight of her question sinks in. Your mind races, torn between the familiar safety of control and the intoxicating allure of surrender. But Wanda’s eyes hold you captive, drawing you deeper into her web and you know there’s no turning back now. 

Wanda’s hand remains a steady weight on your thigh, the heat from her palm seeping into your bare skin. The faint scent of her perfume surrounds you, the intensity of the smell pulling you in deeper. She tilts her head ever so slightly, her auburn hair falling in soft waves over her shoulder as she studies you, “You’re thinking too much again,” she says, her voice a quiet murmur. Her thumb continues its slow, torturous circle against your thigh. 

“I’m not- I just-.” You start, but the words get caught in your throat. Your hands restless in your lap as you fidget under her unwavering stare, the one that is watching every tiny flicker of emotion that crosses your face. 

“You don’t need to be nervous,” She says slowly, “Not with me.” You can feel her body heat now, the way her knee is pressing against yours, her hand resting higher on your thigh, just enough to remind you of her control without pushing too far. “Look at me.” She demands, her tone firmer now, the authority in her voice making your pulse jump. You turn your head back to her, your eyes meeting hers and she holds your gaze, unrelenting. “You can’t write it if you can’t say it.”

The words feel impossibly heavy on your tongue, but the heat of Wanda’s body so close to yours makes it harder to resist. You lick your lips, trying to steady yourself and finally the words come out, shaky and quiet. “I want to give up control.”

Wanda’s smile widens, a gleam of satisfaction flashing in her eyes. Her hand continues to slide higher, fingertips brushing the sensitive skin just above the hem of your tiny black skirt. Her thumb tracing the line of your inner thigh now with an agonising slowness. “Good,” She purrs, her voice dripping with approval, “But that's only part of it, isn’t it?”

You can’t look away from her, your chest tight with anticipation. She’s close enough that you can see the faint freckles scattered across her cheeks, the way her lips curve into that teasing smile. Her fingers move again, deliberate, testing, and your body reacts instinctively, a soft gasp escaping your lips.

Her eyes darken with amusement, “Tell me the rest,” she coaxes, her voice like velvet, “What do you want from me?”

The question hangs between you, and your breath catches itself. Your hands trembling slightly in your lap and you glance down, the words heavy and terrifying as they try to force their way out. Wanda’s touch on your leg is insistent, her presence so overwhelming that you can hardly think straight. 

“I- I want you to-” Your voice wavers, but Wanda’s gaze still doesn’t falter. 

“Go on,” Her fingers brushing just a little higher, dangerously close to where you feel the heat pooling beneath your skin, finally becoming aware of the arousal that had built between your legs, “Say it.”

The tension between you is unbearable, the pull of her command undeniable. You bite your lip, you’d never wanted anybody more than Wanda at this moment. “I want you to take control.” Now, everything feels suspended, the weight of your confession hanging in the charged air between you. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it.” She murmurs, her voice teasing your timid and shaky reactions. You shake your head in nervous response, her hand moves again, a millimetre higher, the pressure firmer and you feel your body shudder under her gentle but demanding touch. “Now that you’ve said it, we can explore what it really means.” 

Wanda’s eyes stayed locked on yours, that familiar, testing glint dancing in their depths. She leaned back, her posture easy, as if she was weighing her next move carefully. “You know what you want,” Wanda murmured softly, her voice caressing your face, “But you haven’t said it out loud yet.”

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry, “I- I don’t know if I can.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Wanda’s lips curved into a smile, her body leaning towards yours, her fingertips now dancing lightly over her own wrist, an unspoken reminder of the power she held, a soft contrast to the hard edge in her voice. 

Your eyes flickered to the small motion, captivated by the simplicity of it. Her confidence was dizzying, making your chest tighten with a mix of excitement and intimidation. 

“I-” You started, you wanted to tell her, to finally give in to that pull she had over you, but the fear of laying yourself bare - of admitting the truth - made your heart race, “I’m not sure how to say it.”

Wanda’s hand slid from her wrist, gliding across the table between you until it stopped short of touching yours. She hovered there, the warmth from her skin so close you could almost feel it, yet she didn’t make contact. 

“Let me make it easier for you then,” She whispers, her voice laced with control, “Do you want me to touch you? Is that what you’re afraid to say?” This time she cocks her head, her eyes never leaving your face. Her lips parted slightly as she waited, giving you the space to answer but tightening the leash on the unspoken tension between you. 

Every part of you screamed yes, but your voice remained trapped so all you could do was nod. Wanda’s eyes were still flickering with satisfaction, as though she had expected this. She didn’t move right away, letting the silence build around you, drawing out the longing anticipation until it felt as if time had stopped completely. 

“I didn’t hear you,” She said, her fingers finally brushing the back of your hand, the lightest touch, almost too soft to feel. 

“I want you to touch me.” You could hardly believe you had said it, your voice barely audible, but the words were out now and there was no taking them back.

Wanda’s smirk deepened, her confidence growing as she saw the effect she was having on you. Her fingers shifted over the back of your hand before slipping up to your wrist. She was barely touching you, yet it felt like she had control of every nerve in your body. 

“You see,” she said quietly, her lips brushing the words against the air between you, “this is the kind of power you need to understand. Submission is about giving yourself over completely… even when it scares you.” Her fingers tightened around your wrist, a gentle hold, but there was no mistaking the control she was exerting over you.

Your breath quickened, and you felt your chest rise and fall faster with each passing second. She was pushing you—testing you—but in a way that made you feel safe, even as your body screamed with anticipation.

Wanda’s other hand came to rest on your knee, light at first, but her grip slowly tightened, her thumb drawing slow, deliberate circles on your skin. It was all you could do to remain still, your muscles tense under her touch, your entire body hyper-aware of every inch of contact.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared back at her. The room felt smaller, the air too thick to breathe properly. She wasn’t just asking you about the book anymore. She was asking you what you wanted. What you were ready for. “Say it,” she commanded softly, her voice leaving no room for hesitation, sensing that you were holding back your words.

Your pulse quickened, your body aching with the tension of holding back. “I want to go further,” you whispered, the words leaving your lips before you even had time to think them through. “I want… to give up control.”

Wanda smiled, her satisfaction evident in the way her fingers flexed against your skin. “Good,” she murmured, her tone dripping with approval. “Then let’s start.” She leaned in, her breath warm against your ear as her lips barely grazed your skin. “But remember... it’s my control now.”

Your body tensed, but not from fear. The tension was different—an anticipation, a feeling like you were about to step off the edge of something and you weren’t sure what lay below. And yet, with Wanda, you felt drawn to that edge, even if it terrified you. She leaned back just slightly, her lips no longer hovering near your ear, but her eyes never left yours, still piercing, still searching.

“Are you ready to surrender?” she asked, her voice low but commanding, her fingers curling just slightly tighter around your wrist. “To give me what I want?”

You couldn’t speak right away. The knot of nerves and excitement twisted inside your stomach, making it hard to find your voice. You swallowed, your lips parting as you struggled to answer.

“I—” you started, but her fingers tightened again, not painfully, but enough to remind you that she was in control now.

“Shh,” she whispered, her thumb stroking lightly across your skin, calming and demanding all at once. “Take a breath. You’re trembling.”

She was right. You hadn’t noticed how much your body was shaking, every nerve ending tingling from her touch, from the intensity of the moment. You drew in a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and her grip loosened just enough to give you space to catch your breath.

Wanda’s eyes softened, though the playful glint remained in them. She seemed to enjoy watching you wrestle with the tension between desire and fear. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice soothing but with an undercurrent of control. “You don’t have to rush. Just tell me how you want this to feel.”

Her hand on your knee shifted slightly, her fingers sliding just a bit higher, making your breath catch again. She was so good at this—so practised, it seemed—like she knew exactly how to push you, how to keep you teetering on that edge.

You licked your lips, your pulse still racing, but your nerves slowly giving way to a sense of surrender. You didn’t want to hold back anymore. You didn’t want to be afraid of what you were feeling. “I want… I want to feel like I’m not in control,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The admission came out almost like a confession, like you were telling her something you’d barely admitted to yourself.

Wanda smiled, her eyes lighting up with approval. “Good,” she murmured, her fingers shifting again, just slightly, but it was enough to send another wave of sensation through you. “And what else?”

You felt heat rush to your cheeks, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to put the words together. “I want you to push me,” you said, your voice more confident now, even if your body still trembled under her touch. “I want to feel like I don’t know what’s coming next.”

Wanda’s smirk deepened, and her fingers slid higher still, her touch achingly slow, deliberate. “You want to be surprised,” she mused, her voice soft but filled with that same commanding tone that made your pulse quicken. “You want to be on the edge, not knowing what I’ll do, but trusting that I won’t let you fall.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you nodded slowly. “Yes.”

Wanda’s hand released your wrist, and for a moment you felt the loss of her touch like a sudden drop, your skin buzzing in the absence of her grip. But then, she moved closer, her thigh pressing against yours, her fingers brushing the side of your neck. It was such a simple gesture, yet it held so much weight—so much promise.

“I can do that,” she whispered, her lips curving into that dangerous smile. “But first…” Her thumb traced the line of your jaw, making your breath hitch. “I want to hear you say it again. Say that you want to surrender.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, your body feeling heavy with the tension she was weaving around you. But this time, you didn’t hesitate. “I want to surrender,” you whispered, your voice stronger, more certain. “To you.”

Wanda’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, and she leaned in, her lips brushing yours for the briefest of moments, a featherlight touch that made your body yearn for more. “Good,” she breathed against your lips. “Then let me show you what it feels like to let go.”

She pulled back just enough to keep the tension hanging between you, her hands moving deliberately down your arms, her touch slow, intentional, as though savouring the moment. Your entire body was on edge, waiting for her next move, but she kept you there—suspended in that delicious tension, every touch, every breath drawn out.

Her fingers slid down your arms, stopping just at your wrists, holding them with a gentle but commanding grip. “Let me take over,” she whispered, her voice so close to your ear you could feel the warmth of her breath. “Let me guide you.”

You nodded, your body trembling with anticipation, and with that single movement, you felt the shift. Wanda was no longer waiting for permission—she was in control now, and you could feel the power dynamic shift, a current running between you that electrified the air. The question wasn’t whether you wanted to give in anymore. The question was how far you were willing to let her take you.

Wanda’s fingers trace slow, deliberate circles along the inside of your wrist, her touch sending a quiet hum of electricity up your arm. She holds your gaze, her eyes darkening, the room suddenly feeling smaller, the air heavier.

"You don’t have to be afraid of saying what you want," Wanda whispers, her lips barely moving. Her voice is low, controlled, as if she already knows your answer, but she’s waiting—enjoying the power of making you say it aloud.

You swallow, your throat dry. Her proximity, the subtle scent of her skin, the way her fingers never stop moving—it’s all dizzying. Your mind spins, words getting tangled in the heat between you. "I—"

Wanda tilts her head, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile. She leans in closer, her breath brushing against your cheek. "Tell me."

It’s not a request—it’s a command, soft but insistent. Her hand slides up, teasingly grazing your collarbone, her fingertips feather-light but purposeful, waiting for you to open the door completely.

“I want...” Your voice falters, your chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. The weight of what’s about to happen presses in from all sides, but there’s something intoxicating in it. Something you can’t pull away from. “I want you to show me.”

Wanda’s smirk deepens, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. “That’s my girl,” she murmurs, and in that instant, everything shifts.

You’re burning now, every inch of your body is desperate to feel the touch of her, even your mind is beginning to surrender itself to her. Wanda’s eyes finally broke the strong gaze that she had been holding, her glare now roaming down your body. You weren’t wearing anything particularly flattering, just a plain white cropped jumper paired with a short black skirt, but Wanda’s eyes still sparkled in delight at the sight of you sitting trembling on the kitchen stool. 

Her grip around your wrist turns into a pull as she closes the gap between them, pushing her lips against yours, dragging her tongue across your bottom lip. You immediately give her the control, allowing her access, the kiss deepening as she slides her hand up the back of your neck, her nails grazing against your skin. You whine into her mouth and you can feel her lips curve into that same smile as she takes your bottom lip between her teeth, lightly tugging. 

As she pulls away, her hand trails from your neck down your back, just one finger tracing the line all the way down your spine. “Are you comfortable with this?” Wanda asks, her voice deeper, laced with lust. You nod, your hand roaming to the back of her neck, gesturing for her to come back. “No, you need to learn to use your words honey.”

“Yes I’m comfortable.” You say, your voice laden with confidence all of a sudden and the look that this earned you made you understand why you would do anything she asked of you. 

“Oh, sweet girl, that’s better.” Wanda praises and your cheeks flush scarlet in response. Her finger traces the outline of your jaw, her hand stopping against your chin, guiding you face upwards to meet her stare. With the length of your neck exposed, she leans in to make gentle kisses against your skin, the back of her hand keeping your neck rigid against her lips. You could feel your thighs squeezing together, the slow anticipation and sudden grazes of her teeth driving you crazy.

“Ah, ah, ah.” Wanda warns, spreading your thighs back open just enough that she can stand between your legs. Her hands roam down the underneath of your thighs, her touches so gentle that you were surprised you were so desperate for her. Her fingers kept brushing closer towards where you needed her, your hips rolling towards her hand in a desperate attempt for any contact. “I need to establish a few things with you okay?” 

You nod and you can see her suck her tongue between her teeth, the tilt of her head and the dark disapproving look that emerged immediately made you feel shameful in yourself, “Sorry, Yes Wanda.” Her frown turned into a smile, one that made your entire core shake. 

This time as her hand edged closer to you, she didn’t stop, allowing her fingers to lightly brush your dampened underwear, an excited gasp eliciting from the redhead as your head hangs in prolonged anticipation. “Much better, you see when you do what I want, you get rewarded.” Wanda was laying down her expectations of you, but your brain was fuzzy as her fingers continued to explore the edges of your underwear that had become completely soaked in the process. 

You begin to grip the sides of your stool as you feel Wanda dip her finger underneath the drenched material, gently skimming the length of your sensitive skin, not giving you what you needed but enough to make you tremble. Her stance between your legs, your head leaning to rest against her chest as she felt her way through the wetness that she found between your legs. 

“When you do something against what I’ve told you, for whatever reason, you will get punished.” Wanda states, removing her fingers from you, leaving you without any contact. You whine at the loss, hips jutting against your will in an attempt to regain some friction. “Do you know what you like?”

You shake your head, brain foggy with desperation. Wanda pinches the skin between your thighs and you yelp in pain, “No Wanda.” You say, immediately correcting yourself

“That’s okay, we can talk about it and I can help you explore these things.” She demands and you swallow hard as she bites her lip feeling the thrill of your innocent vulnerability. “From now on you’ll be my good girl, and I’ll guide you through this, do you understand?”

“Yes Wanda.” With your immediate submission to her rules, her eyes darken with intensity as she replaces her hand back to where you needed her. You gasp at the immediate contact against your clit, her fingers skilfully finding your bundle of nerves beneath your underwear, gently tapping the pad of her finger against it. 

“I know you’re familiar with the traffic light system.” Wanda continues, referencing your latest novel, a blush forming in your already flushed cheeks at the reminder that this is what led her into your apartment. “But this is very important, if you ever feel uncomfortable or want to slow down, just say your colour.”

“I understand.” You pant through breathy gasps, Wanda’s taps had become circles against your bundle of nerves and you could feel your core burning as she sent jolts of electricity through your body with nothing but gentle touches. 

“That’s it, you’re getting the hang of it, pretty girl.” A soft moan erupted from your lips at her words and Wanda’s gaze dances over your face, warmth radiating from her eyes as she cherishes in their first moment. She lifts your chin once again so your eyes finally meet and she smiles at the lust and desperation hidden within the depth of your eyes.

You feel your orgasm nearing as Wanda speeds up her movements, her grip on your chin forcing you to look at her as she unravels you in your own kitchen. “Rule one, you don’t cum unless I give you the permission to do so.” Her voice was commanding and authoritative, her look fierce and unwavering, making it clear that she knows exactly what she wants. 

“Y-yes.” You manage to get out, your body shaking as Wanda increased the pressure on your swollen clit, the short breathy moans that escaped your lips driving her forward, not wanting to tease you now, just wanting to see what you look like when you’re brought to the very edge, longing to see your head throw back and whine her name as she takes you over the brink. 

“You’re close aren’t you princess.” Wanda exclaims, her smile not once leaving her lips as she tilts your head backwards slightly, forcing you to look up at her with a longing desperation that she couldn’t wait to draw out in the future. 

“Wanda, please let me cum, I’m so close.” Your body was itching you closer and closer towards your orgasm but you were determined to wait for her order, wanting to prove yourself to her. 

“Hold it for me, you can do it.” Wanda instructs and you whine against her grip on your chin, doing everything you can to hold it back, every nerve in your body on fire as she relentlessly works against your clit. 

“I can’t, I need-” You splutter, slamming your hand into the counter, doing everything you could. Your fingers are gripping the counter, so tightly that your knuckles turn white trying to fight for control. You tilt your head back further, lips parting in a silent plea, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as the sensation becomes almost too much to bear. Even with your eyes closed you can feel Wanda’s gaze on you, a silent command for you to wait, keeping you just on the edge, right where she wants you.

Wanda leans closer, her lips ghosting over your ear, her breath warm against your skin. You shudder, barely able to hold on, her voice a soft, commanding whisper, ‘Beg for it.’

“Wanda,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, laced with both desperation and longing. The way her name rolls off your tongue feels almost sacramental, a plea that resonates deep within you. You shift your weight, leaning slightly closer, as if the proximity could bridge the gap between your need and her control.“Please... I need—” You pause, swallowing hard, the heat pooling in your cheeks, shame and excitement mingling in a dizzying dance. “I need your permission.”

The admission hangs heavy in the air, charged with vulnerability. You can feel the pulse of anticipation thrumming through your veins, your body alive with the struggle of restraint. You take a steadying breath, grounding yourself as your fingers twist into the fabric again, a subtle plea for her to grant you this one thing.

“Please let me...” The words falter for a moment, but you force them out, the urgency driving you forward. “I can’t hold back anymore. I want to let go... but I need you to say it.”

The sincerity in your voice is palpable, raw and real, and you can see the flicker of something in Wanda's eyes—a mixture of pride and hunger. You lean in slightly, tilting your head, your gaze unwavering as you lock eyes with her, silently urging her to make that connection, to pull you from the precipice you’re hanging on.

Wanda’s smile widens, a slow, deliberate curve of her lips that sends a thrill racing down your spine. “You’re doing so well,” she murmurs, her voice low and sultry, teasing your senses. She leans in closer, her warm breath fanning across your skin, igniting every nerve ending in your body. “But you know what you have to do to earn that release, don’t you?” Her swift circles against your clit were becoming stronger, the continuous roll of her contact pushing you closer and closer to an edge that you thought you’d already reached.

Your heart pounds harder, each beat resonating with the anticipation of what’s to come. You nod, swallowing hard, the words hovering on the tip of your tongue, begging to escape. Wanda watches you, her eyes glimmering with a mixture of authority and desire, and in that moment, you know that she holds the power to grant you the freedom you crave.

“Say it,” she instructs, her tone firm yet inviting. “Tell me what you want.” 

The air is thick with tension, and your body betrays you, trembling with the weight of your desire. You take a breath, feeling every fibre of your being attuned to her, your vulnerability laid bare. “I want... I want to come,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper, tinged with desperation.

For a moment, she holds your gaze, the intensity of her stare igniting something primal within you. “Good girl,” she murmurs, her voice low and sultry. “I want you to let go, to feel everything I’ve been promising you. When I give you permission, you can release all that pent-up desire.”

You feel the flood of relief and exhilaration coursing through you, a wave of warmth washing over your body at her words. “Yes... please,” you urge, each syllable laced with a sense of urgency. “I need it, Wanda.”

With a slow, deliberate smile, she nods, her expression shifting to one of wicked delight. “Then go ahead, my sweet girl. You have my permission, cum for me.”

The moment the words leave her lips, a rush of sensation crashes over you like a wave, and you feel your body surrendering to the intoxicating pull of release. It’s everything you’ve been yearning for, and in that moment, the world fades away, leaving only the intoxicating pleasure that Wanda has granted you. Wanda continues circling your clit, helping you ride out the orgasm that you’d so desperately waited for. 

Once the pleasure has washed over you, all you can do is sit with Wanda standing between your legs, her brazen eyes beating down at you, her fingers still massaging into your thighs, sensing the sensitivity from your subtle squirms in response to her touch. 

“My god Wanda.” You say in utter astonishment at the woman's talent and it was her turn for her cheeks to grow slightly blushed at the praise, “I’ve never felt like that before, you’re incredible.”

“So you want this?” Wanda blushes, that dominating persona slowly breaking down at a few compliments. You mentally noted that down, knowing that it would come in useful at a later date. 

“I want nothing more than to do whatever this is with you.” You state honestly, your body still burning. You reach up to tuck her auburn hair behind her ear, the one strand that had been sat directly in front of her eyeline the entire evening. 

With that you exchanged numbers and you found yourself eagerly sitting waiting for the first text.

[sttoru]

toji taking care of newborn megumi while reader sleeps?

⟣ tags. dad!toji x female reader. fluff. gumi isnt rlly a newborn but we ball. use of curse words teehee

“tch—i’m really regretting buyin’ this thing.” toji was running out of patience as he reads the instructions on the piece of paper in his hands. it was all so vague; he’s questioning himself for even trying to figure this stuff out in the first place.

the small coos and babbles coming from megumi sound throughout the living room, the baby sitting in the pillow fort that his dad made him. the correct name would actually be ‘pillow jail’, since the fort wasn’t built for megumi’s entertainment—it was mainly to keep the little boy confined so toji could peacefully work on setting up the playhouse.

your husband was so intensly focused on putting the playhouse together to the point that he didn’t even notice the little thief escaping his self-made jail.

megumi was crawling on his hands and knees, his palms making soft ‘pat’ sounds as they came in contact with the cold floor, pouty lips forming a smile as he crawled his way over to his dad. toji had his back facing megumi, giving the kid a good opportunity to sneak up on him.

“fuck.” toji curses idly as his hand slipped and his finger bumped against his own face. not thinking much about that slip-up, the man continues to put the parts together, until he feels something tugging at his shirt from behind.

toji glances down and spots his son trying to climb up on his back—the journey up to toji’s broad shoulders was like climbing a mountain for such a little thing.

“phack!” the cute voice from below repeats what it has heard with confidence. megumi used all of his strength to reach up to his dad’s shoulders, repeating the used swear word proudly, a series of ‘phack! phack! phack!’ echoing louder in toji’s ears with each movement upwards.

the kid eventually reaches his destination, head placed right next to toji’s, chubby arms circling around his dad’s neck—basically hanging on for dear life.

toji wasn’t even concerned about megumi repeating that bad word over and over. how his son had managed to break free from his confinement was of more importance. his green eyes land on the destroyed pillow fort behind his back and your husband couldn’t help but chuckle. almost proudly.

“i see y’re already outsmarting your dad, kiddo.” toji grins, one hand coming up to stabilise megumi on his back. the baby looks over his father’s shoulder, seemingly inspecting what he was building. toji sighs as his free hand holds onto the piece of paper that included the instructions; “maybe ya could’ve even helped me build this shitty thing if ya knew how to read.”

“sjiddy!”

it was as if megumi was purposely only picking out the curse words. toji chuckles at this and—unlike any other parent—encourages his child to continue for his own entertainment.

“mhm—tha’s right. repeat after me, son.” the dark-haired man nods with a smug grin and points at the half-built playhouse, making sure megumi knew what he was talking about, “that thing is shitty.”

“sjiddy! sjiddy!” the kid repeats loudly and giggles as his father ruffles his hair afterwards in a ‘job-well-done’ manner.

“good boy.” toji laughs softly, moving megumi over to his lap so it’d be more comfortable for the both of them, “y’r momma is gonna kill me if she hears you say such things, though.”

megumi tilts his head up until it rested against toji’s torso, big eyes glancing at the face hovering on top of his; “mama? mama ‘eepy.”

“no, mama isn’t.”

toji freezes in place, megumi gasps in delight. you had awoken from your nap and decided to check in on your husband and son whom you had left alone for a few hours.

and, apparently, you couldn’t leave toji and megumi alone without it ending in your kid picking up on his dad’s bad habits.

you put your hands on your hips and glared at toji. he knew what time it was and he was not about to sit through another lecture. the last time you gave him an earful, he had to sit and listen to you scold him for almost an hour.

“shit.. gotta run.” toji immediately grabs tightly onto megumi, gets up and prepares to flee—not even realising that he cursed. again.

“sjit!” megumi giggles happily, the boy just having fun as his dad runs around with him, unaware of the reason nor of the meaning behind the words he was repeating.

“mama shit!” toji’s eyes widened as he heard megumi combine the two words; mama—megumi’s favourite word—and shit, the bad word your son had just learnt.

your husband knew that that would only increase your fury more and thus shushes his kid while running around the house—your quick footsteps just meters behind them;

“crap. shut it, megumi.”

“crap! dada crap!”

“…”

guess he had it coming.

[gojossocks]

“Just a few more minutes.” is what Satoru likes to say when you’re tangled up in bed together. How many minutes has it passed? or was it hours? days? eternity?

and you would roll your eyes playfully, attempting to get off to get ready for work. But he always pulls you back into his arms again until you’re 15 minutes late to work. 

Time never mattered much to Gojo Satoru, it seemed as though he had a lot of time to spare with being left alone. Day and time blur when you’re burdened with being the strongest. After all, the only time he’d count is how much it passed since he lost his loved ones. So really, why does it matter? 

It all changed when he met you, though. 

Suddenly he’s hyper aware of everything. He starts doubting his abilities and strength and it all makes him so uneasy. You have successfully slithered your way inside his heart and he had no plans in letting you leave it anytime soon. 

He became aware of what time you leave for work, what time your shift ends, how your dates could both fit in your schedules, and he became aware of how long his missions are because he realized that he can’t endure more than a day without you. 

He knows that time is scarce for the two of you, so he grabs his chances as much as he can. 

Maybe if he pays attention now and cherishes the ones close to him, maybe it will end differently. 

And so he wishes for eternity within the four corners of your room. Where you’re snuggled in his arms and you’re tracing soothing circles on his bare back. Where he can hear you laugh at his lame jokes and he could observe and memorize every little detail on your face. 

He wishes for this to last an eternity. Hell, he’d be willing to give up everything just to live in this moment with you forever. 

Please, Just this once. 

He never thought he’d be begging for time. Let alone, begging for non-existent gods who refused to listen to him.  

Just this once, he begged.

But oh how the gods are so cruel to mock the strongest. 

All the power in this world yet he continuously fail to save the one he loves the most. 

He’s sobbing uncontrollably now, clearly out of composure. It doesn’t matter when the love of his life is slowly dying in his arms. Your body is slowly giving up on you, your once vibrant look that he loves so much dwindled down into a pale shell of a version of you. Your breath turned shallow, and you’re slowly closing your eyes.  Satoru breaks. 

 “Just a few more minutes.”

[sitepathos]

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 3: The End (Warning: this will be dark. Read at your own risk)

The last bell of the day rings, letting everyone know that they’re free to go. In unison, your classmates begin shoving books and papers in their designer book bags before getting up and flooding the exit all at once. People begin to pair up with their friends, talking about hanging out and staying over at one another’s house for the weekend, but as usual, you’re left by yourself; when you first enrolled in GA, many students wanted to be your friend, but you could tell they were more interested in Bruce Wayne being your father than you because they talked more about Bruce than you. When Tim became Timothy Drake-Wayne, everyone flocked to him, starstruck that he was now a member for two of Gotham’s most elite families. Since you lack Bruce’s good looks and charisma, Dick’s athletic prowess, Jason’s brute strength, Tim’s intelligence, and Damian’s pure pedigree, everyone here has deemed you unworthy of a passing glance; you’re painfully average in every aspect and in a family as prestigious and remarkable as Gotham’s beloved Wayne Family, that’s an unforgivable sin.

It didn’t matter to you, though. You didn’t care that no one in school or in your “family” acted like you didn’t exist and think you unworthy of a fraction of their attention, you had your video games. When the silence of Wayne Manor became deafening to you, you had your faithful 3DS with multiple generations of teams full of loyal and strong Pokémon that have defeated the mightiest of champions and your preowned laptop that’s allowed you to play a wide variety of games, your favorite being Fallout New Vegas as it took place in your rightful home of Nevada and started off in your beloved Goodsprings. You’ve gone through countless playthroughs because you feel close to your childhood home, no matter how many times you go through the same dialogue options and quests.

In fact, video games have been a major influence on you that you’re determined to be an indie video game developer when you finally graduate. Your laptop isn’t too old to run a visual novel maker software that came out four years ago and you spent over a year scribbling away in a notebook that held all the details that would form your first game, staying up late for three months working on the plot alone and the remaining nine months on side quests, combat, dialogue, and everything else. Despite your best efforts, you’re not an artist like Damian (and how ironic that someone so spiteful like him has the gift to create beauty) or a musician, so the only thing you’re able to work on right now is the code, but you’re not tech smart like Tim so it’s full of bugs and errors and despite you following your Guide to Making Video Games book to the letter, the code just won’t do what you want it to do. With spring break around the corner, maybe you’ll be able to make progress on it.

As you step through the front door of the school, you see Damian and Tim being dragged into a bear hug by Dick, the little shit quickly breaking free; Dick laughs and ruffles his hair before all of them getting into the older man’s car and drive off, leaving you behind. That’s nothing unusual, though, Dick’s always picked up the two of them from school and you know they always go get ice cream or go to an arcade while you get left behind to find your own way home. You’ve never been offered a ride to or from school or asked if you’d want to go hang out with them and with how they’ve treated you over the years, you’d sooner have a tea party with the Mad Hatter before you ever got in a car with any of them. Knowing them, Damian would probably try to strangle you with your seatbelt, Dick would most likely try to guilt you to spend more time with your “brother,” and Tim would just sit there, not saying anything, no matter how wrong their words were or how upset you got.

You’ve been relying on Alfred to give you rides (always a block away from the school since you didn’t want them knowing you were relying on him), but Bruce gave him the month off. He tried to turn it down, of course, insisting that he had important duties at the manor (you knew it was because he was worried about what would happen to you while he was gone), but Bruce insisted. Only after you promised to text him everyday and call him the moment something went wrong did he book a flight to Essex. After taking care of a museum the size of the Smithsonian, taking care of a family full of assholes, and dealing with your emotional baggage, the man deserved to take off and relax for a while.

Since he’s been gone, you’ve used the bus to get to where you need to go and have kept a wide berth between you and the Waynes and so far you’ve managed to stay under their radar. Though, with you not even clocking on their radars, can you really claim such an achievement. Hell, you’re positive they wouldn’t notice you even if you were right behind them. World’s greatest detectives, your ass.

That’s right, you knew about their nightly activities of wearing bird themed costumes, jumping across rooftops, and battling with the demented freaks locked up in Arkham. Not because Alfred told you (and god knows they’d never tell you shit), but because your status as the unwanted and forgotten firstborn of Bruce Wayne is like an invisibility cloak allowing you to walk in plain sight without anyone noticing you and it’s thanks to that you’ve been able to spy on conversations. You’ve come down many times in the late hours of the night to find them sitting at the dining table, eating, talking, laughing, and enjoying their lives as if you don’t even exist. Sure, it hurt you to see them so happy while you sit above them, miserable, what hurt even more was the fact that Alfred didn’t tell you. Sure, you have no intention on joining them in fist fighting Joker or solving the Riddler’s Saw-inspired puzzles (not that you could, you obviously lacked the capabilities), but you thought that after all that they’ve out you through, you were entitled to know what was going on.

But, you know that Alfred is also in on it, providing support from cave under the mansion (that you found after investigating the library while they were all out) and since he’s helped you through the bad times, hugging you tightly white you cried your eyes out, you decided to keep your discovery to yourself. Besides, if the secret ever comes out, you have plausible deniability.

Your phone rings and when you pull it out to check the caller ID, you see a picture of Alfred and you on the screen.

“Hey, Alfred,” you answer.

“Good afternoon, Master Y/N. Did you have a pleasant day at school?”

“I did. Since spring break is next week, the teachers toned down on the lessons.”

“And how did you fare on your algebra test?”

“Fine, I guess,” you mutter. “I’m sure I got more right than wrong.”

Math’s always been your worst enemy (at least until you met Damian) and getting an A on an anything math related was always once in a blue moon. A B was always your goal back in Goodsprings Elementary, but with Gotham Academy being a prestigious institution, their math classes were as difficult as a speed run in Dark Souls. Sure, all your classes are hard, but math has always been your Achilles’ heel.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you prepare for it. Maybe I should come home—“

“No,” you quickly say, cutting him off. “It’s fine. I studied my notes and found some practice problems online. I’m sure I passed.”

There was a brief pause before the man said, “Very well, Master Y/N. If you’re sure. How have you been faring? I trust you’re eating three meals a day and sleeping enough?”

“Of course,” you say. You’re lying, of course. You skip breakfast and dinner since they’re all downstairs at the same time in the mornings and at night use before going out on patrol and only eat lunch at school, where lunch is prepared by five star chefs because their elite students will accept nothing less. As for sleep, you’ve been cramming for this test and trying to work on your game, where as soon as you fix one bug, three more come to take its place.

“Of course,” he says, obviously not convinced, but chooses not to call you out. Not over the phone, anyway. Had he been here in person, it would be a different story. “And how have the others treated you?”

“Like I don’t exist. So, things are status quo.”

“I know their behavior has been nothing less than unacceptable, but have you tried talking to your father? Maybe he’ll be more receptive to you if you approached him while he was alone.”

“We both know that’s not gonna happen, Alfred. Bruce can’t stand the sight of me because I’m his greatest mistake.”

“Master Y/N!”

“It’s true and you know it! Both he and Momma were young and stupid, one thing led to another, and I was their reminder why condoms were invented. He got stuck with me and he’ll never forgive me for that. You know it and I know it.”

His silence tells you he knows you’re right. You hate to say how you really feel since you know that Alfred raised the man after his parents were murdered and telling him things like this makes him feel like he failed as a father figure, but after being treated like shit for most of your life, you’ve really run out of fucks to give. Hell, when you turned eighteen last month, you had your bags packed and were ready to buy a ticket on the first bus to Las Vegas, but Alfred begged you to stay long enough so you could graduate and since it would be a pain in the ass to transfer this close to schools letting out for summer, you agreed. Plus, it’d look good on a resume that you graduated from Gotham Academy. .

“Maybe I could talk to him for you? I just don’t want you to leave hating your father so much.”

“Look, Alfred, I really don’t wanna talk about this. I gotta go, I’ll be late for work.”

“Very well, Master Y/N. Please be safe. You know I hate you being out at night all alone.”

“Don’t worry, I will. Talk to you later, Alfred.”

And with that, you hang up and head to the nearest bus stop to take you to Chinatown. When you turned sixteen, you decided that it wasn’t fair taking Alfred’s money (in your defense, you helped out in cleaning the mansion, but you were still taking his hard earned paycheck), so you went out and found a job working at Gotham Games, a small store in one of the few nicer parts of Gotham that specialized in video, trading card, and tabletop games. Your boss, Mr. Chen, is a sweet old man who loves to talk games with you, especially Pokémon; in fact, he always gives you a free booster pack when he hands you your paycheck, saying that it’s a bonus for doing a good job. You love your job and aside from Alfred always willing to lend an ear to listen to your troubles, it’s made living in this hellhole of a city actually bearable.

After arriving at the bus stop in Chinatown, you walks a few blocks to find Mr. Chen closing the door and locking it.

“Mr. Chen,” you say when you near him, making him turn around to face you.

“You’re always on time, Y/N,” he says with a chuckle, but you can see he’s sad about something.

“Is the store closing for today?”

“No, I’m afraid I’m closing the store for good.”

Your heart stops and you feel yourself losing balance a little and you quickly steady yourself. You quickly think for any reason why the store would be closing for good.

Poor sales? No, you helped Mr. Chen with the spreadsheet for last month and sales had gone up by 11% thanks to the Pokémon TCG tournament you hosted.

Too much theft? No, you keep a close eye on all the customers and last time you checked, all inventory was accounted for.

Threats? Please, Mr. Chen’s been here for twenty-five years and is a pillar of the community. If anyone ever had the dumbass idea to threaten him, all shop owners in the street would rush to his aid, yourself included.

So, why?

As if he read your mind, he says, “My daughter said she was worried about me when the Penguin broke out of Arkham the other day and his car chase with Batman ended when he crashed a block away from here. She said that she and her husband had already set up a room for me at their house and now they’re here to take me with them to Florida.

You remember hearing about that. Bruce devotes all his time to fighting Gotham’s crime problem and one would think all the time he doesn’t spend with you could go to keeping things like car chases with Arkham’s inmates far away from innocent people and their businesses, but guess that’s what you get for having expectations when it comes to Bruce.

“What will happen to the store?”

“Mark’s already taken care of it. He called up some company that owns plenty of stores that’s just like mine and they agreed to buy my entire stock. They’ll have some people here tomorrow to get it all.”

For the second time in your life, it feels like your entire world’s been turned inside out. Working here and being around Mr. Chen was the best thing that’s happened to you since you over to Gotham and with Alfred gone and the loss of your job and boss, you’re extremely tempted to get on the nearest bus and ride it out of Gotham right now.

“I also wanted to wait for you so I could give you this.” He hands you a neatly wrapped box that you just now realize he’d been holding this entire time. “To thank you for keeping an old man company.”

You take the box and with shaky hands, you unwrap it and open the lid to see a pristine aqua blue Game Boy Advance surrounded by several cartridges. When you take a closer look, you see that they’re all Pokémon games, ranging from the original Red and Blue to Red Rescue Team.

“You appreciate the classics and it seemed a shame to let that Game Boy and those games just sit around, collecting dust. Plus, it’s my way of saying thank you for taking care of an old man.”

At this point, you realize you’re crying and can’t help but hug your boss. “Thank you, Mr. Chen.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N. When you move back to Nevada and win big in Vegas, don’t forget to give me a call so we can celebrate.”

You laugh at that and it makes you feel better, but only a little bit. When he promises to call you when he’s set up in Florida and you promise to call him when you’re back in Nevada, you two separate and watch as he gets in his daughter’s car and drive off, waving at him until he’s out of sight.

As you neatly tuck the box into your backpack, you realize that your schedule’s totally fucked up now. Normally, Alfred comes and gets you when you get done working at 7, but with him gone, you’d been using the bus that comes at that time to take you to the closest stop to Bristol and walk the rest of the way to Wayne Manor, but that bus won’t be here for hours. And you’d sooner chew your own arm off before calling any of them for help.

You mull it over for a minute or two before deciding to walk to the nearest stop, hop on the bus, and ride it to as close to Bristol as possible. With the store closed (and your beloved job lost) you can use the time to get ahead on your spring break plans and work on your game, ironing out bugs and working on your art. You pull out your map of Gotham’s bus stops and see the closest station is over in the East End, a place no one with a half working brain cell goes. Still, it’s the closest bus stop and you’ll only be there for a few minutes. You’ve survived Wayne Manor for thirteen years, surely you can deal with Gotham’s trash can for a little bit.

With your mind made up, you make your way to the East End. As you cross into the district, you’re greeted by a group of kids playing Cops and Robber, but instead of cops, one of them plays the role as Red Hood, complete with two stick guns and a red plastic pail on his head. That’s right, East End is Jason’s territory and is well loved by many of the children. The thought of the brute gives you even more incentive to leave the area as fast as possible because you’ve heard Jason yelling at the others for entering the East End because it’s his to protect and he doesn’t want any of them unless it’s a really big emergency and even then, they need his permission. Knowing him, he’ll accuse you of invading and try to fill you full of lead, despite the fact that you’re not a vigilante and he ever pulled his head out of his ass, he’d know that, but you guess that being in a family full of distrust and paranoia has polluted his higher reasoning skills.

The further into the district you get, the closer you hold onto the straps of your book bag. With every step you take, you hear glass shattering, people screaming, and even a gun shot or two, making you regret ever coming here. You should’ve found another bus stop or just found something to kill time until your regular bus showed up. Still, you’ve already come this far and turning around would probably be more dangerous than continuing forward, so you keep your head up high and try to change your stride to be more confident, hoping that appearing more confident would keep people away from you.

You see the bus stop and pick up speed to get there quickly, but just as you get close enough to see the map and schedule, you feel something grab your book bag and you’re quickly yanked backwards. You turn to look behind you to see three men staring down at you and by the way they’re grinning down at you, you can tell this won’t end well for you.

“Well, what’s a little GA snob doin’ here,” one of them sneers.

“Surprised you’re actually walking,” the other jeers. “Thought all you little shits were carried around by your butlers and maids. Too good to use your own legs.”

That little joke actually pissed you off because you’re not like the rest of your classmates who have their private drivers open their car doors when they go to the airport to spend Christmas on their private islands. You aren’t using Bruce’s money to pay for every little thing you see (not that he’d give you any because he’s forgotten you exist), you actually have a job and work hard for your money, damn it!

“Bet there’s someone who’d pay a pretty penny for you,” the man, obviously the leader of the other two, says. “Looks like we’ve hit pay dirt, boys.”

You struggle to break free of their grasp, but the three of them are too strong for you. The leader pulls out a rusty pipe from his back pocket and the last thing you see is said pipe rushing towards your head before everything goes black.

“Wake up, you little bitch,” a gruff voice says as you’re overcome with feelings of sheer cold and wetness.

You open your eyes to find that you’re sitting on n extremely dirty floor. You look up to see a man looking down at you, a sadistic look on his face and a dirty metal bucket in hand. Your mind finally boots back up and you remember being stopped by three dirtbags and being knocked out be a pipe to the head. As if on cue, the memory triggers immense feelings of pain in your head and while you’re no doctor, you’re pretty sure that you have a mild concussion. When the rest of your senses come to, you realize that you’re tied to chair with thick ropes you have no chance of getting out, at least without a knife. Through blurry eyes, you’re able to look around to see you’ve been dragged to some dirty shack and based on what you see through the busted windows nearest to the door, you know two things: that you’ve been dragged to Gotham Woods and you’ve been knocked out for a while.

“Alright, now that you’ve had your beauty sleep, it’s time to get to business.” The leader squats down to your level, an old flip phone in hand. “You’re gonna give us a number we can call to ransom you off. Try any funny business and…” he trails off as he brings out a gun and points it at you. “You won’t live long enough to regret it.”

You hears the words, but all you can focus on is the gun aimed at you. You’ve known Gotham is a dangerous place and going to certain parts of the city at night is practically committing suicide, but you never thought you’d be in this position, where the slightest action or inaction was the difference in sleeping in your bed or being put to rest in a pine box when everything was said and done. Ever since you’d turned eighteen, you’ve kept a tally of how many days you have until you graduate and put this city of the damned behind you and now there’s a good chance you’ll die here, in a city you’ve hated since you were forced to move here.

“Hey,” he says, breaking you out of your stupor. “Number. Now.” He emphasizes his point by waving his gun.

At first, you’re tempted to give him Alfred’s number, knowing the butler would probably come to your rescue and kill these thugs John Wick Style, but you know that they wouldn’t appreciate talking to someone on the other side of the world and right now, you couldn’t take the chance on pissing them off; you need someone here in Gotham and as much as every fiber in your body wants to throw up at once just for even thinking it, you know Bruce is your only hope of making out of this in one piece. Even if he doesn’t care about you, he’ll be able to swoop in and bash in the heads of a bunch of kidnappers, so that should be enough of a reason to bring him here.

“Alright, you can call my father,” you say, the word “father” leaving a bitter taste in your mouth, but right now, you can’t afford to let your hatred for the man get the better of you; not when your life hangs in the balance. You give him the manor’s home phone number, which he dials and puts it on speaker.

You wait with bated break as the phone rings. After the third time, you can feel yourself breaking into a cold sweat and when you look up at one of your captors, you can tell he’s getting angry by the second; with every ring, his scowl gets more and more intimidating and the gun starts to shake in rage.

Finally, after an eternity, you hear someone pick up.

“Hello,” Bruce’s voice comes through, and based on the tone, he sounds pissed. Knowing the time, he was probably getting ready to go out on patrol. Still, you can’t help but feel just a little to relived to hear his voice. You just might make it through the night. “Bruce Wayne speaking.”

“Holy shit, man, we’re about to be rich,” one of the other men whispers to his cohort, who nods in agreement.

“We have your son, Wayne,” the man says with an air of confidence. “Do as we say and you—“

“No, you don’t,” Bruce says, cutting off the man.

“What,” the leader says, the wind obviously taken out of his sails.

“No, you don’t,” Bruce repeats.

“Fuck you mean,’ he shouts. “I’m looking at him right now! Don’t you know you’re missing a brat right now?”

“All my kids are right here with me and I’m none of them are missing,” Bruce says in a matter-of-fact tone that makes your heart stop.

“Did you really think we wouldn’t notice if someone was missing” Dick chimes in.

“Man, you’re fuckin’ stupid,” Jason mocks.

“You’re not the first to fake holding a Wayne for ransom,” Tim explains. “It hasn’t worked before and it won’t work now.”

“If you lowlifes put as much effort into finding a job as you did trying to steal money, you’d be rich,” Damian taunts.

“Wow, you’re a loser,” Cass laughs. “Don’t you have anything better to do with your life? Why don’t you get out of your mom’s basement and go outside to touch grass and maybe talk to a girl.”

They all laugh at that and you can feel your heart just collapse in on itself. Right now, you have a better chance of sprouting wings and flying out of here than this man letting you go after being insulted by every member of the Wayne Family. And based on the fact that his face is as red as a beat, this definitely won’t be for you.

“As you can see, all my children are home, where they should be. I don’t know how much you hoped to get out of this, but you aren’t seeing a dime.”

And with that, the call ends and so does your chances of leaving here in one piece. You always thought that your existence was a complete unknown to them, but to actually see something that proves it? You can’t help but begin to cry, both at how the call went and for the world of hurt you’re no doubt about to experience with your captors.

“Bet you thought that was funny,” the man says as he slowly flips the phone shut, indicating that he’s pissed off beyond words.

You decide that Alfred is the one you should’ve had him call, but before you correct your mistake, you’re filled with pain as he strikes you on the head with the pipe. He hits you again and the force sends the chair tumbling to the floor, but that doesn’t matter to the man; he’s pissed and all he cares for now is hurting you. He’s spouting off insults and threats, but all you can focus on is the immense pain you’re in. He never hits in the same place twice, spreading the pain to your head, arms, torso, and legs. You feel your skin tear, bones break, and blood shed and the pleas you’d been shouting since he began his assault finally die, opting for crying and sounds of pain.

By the time he’s finished, you’re in so much pain, you can barely think. All you want to do is die.

“Hey, look what I found in his bag.” You look up through swollen and blood filled eyes to see one of the other men is holding up your Momma’s pen. “Looks like real gold. Might be worth something.”

After the pen incident three years ago, you’ve lived in constant fear that Damian would take you pen in an act of revenge, so you’ve kept the pen on you at all times, even keeping it under your pillow as you slept, only taking it out when you were in the safety of your room. Up until now, it’s kept your most treasured possession safe, but it looks like it’s about to cost you dearly.

“At least it’s something. Anything else?”

“Naw,” the man responds as he rummages through your bag. “Just the regular school shit, a wallet with a few bucks in it, and…” He pauses before pulling out the box Mr. Chen gave you and opens it. “Holy shit, looks like an old Game Boy! And there’s a bunch of games with it!”

“Is it worth much?”

“Might be able to get something for it. A bunch of collectors out there looking for shit like this. Couldn’t hurt to check around.”

“Haven’t seen one of those in years,” the last man chimes in. “Had one when I was a kid. Someone stole it, though. Hey, if we can’t get much of it, can I keep it?”

“Not now, Butch,” the leader growls. “Batman’s busy dealing with that clown bustin’ outta Arkham and all we got out of this is a lousy pen and a stupid video game.” He looks down at you. “Since you didn’t give us a name to ransom you off to, guess no one’ll care if you go missing.”

He picks his gun up and aims it at you. You feel your heart skip a beat at the sight of staring down the barrel of a gun aimed at you.

“No, please,” you beg, struggling to spit out the words as you’re so badly hurt, it’s a miracle you’re able to talk at all, but right now, all that matters is that you do what ever it takes to survive this.

“What’re we gonna do with the body,” one of the men asks.

“There’s the chasm near Mt. Gotham,” the one called Butch says. “That thing goes down for miles. We dump him in there and not even Batman’ll find him.”

Is this how it ends? After everything you’ve gone through, you die from being shot by three thugs in the forest and you’re thrown in a big ditch like a trash bag when you’re so close to leaving this damn city behind. You try to open your mouth to say something, anything that will at least buy you a few more minutes, but whatever you wanted to say is drowned out by the flash of a muzzle and the bang of a gunshot.

Your world goes to black.

A/N: Sorry, we were a little under for on cliffhanger quota, so we had to up production. The original plan was to split this chapter into two, with the kidnapping at the end of the first and the shooting at the end of the second, but with October upon us, I think things are going to get really crazy for me this semester, so I decide to be merciful (this time) and make one big chapter that only has one cliffhanger. Enjoy the wait for the next chapter! Also, if you asked to be added to the tag list and don’t see your name, I promise it’s not because I didn’t do it on purpose, but because when I went to tag you, Tumblr didn’t find your blog. I always check twice before uploading a new chapter to ensure everyone who asked to be tagged has been added.

Tag List: @space1crow @bat1212 @minkyungseokie @solelifauna @nosyrobin @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @l0serl0v3r @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick

[moody-alcoholic]

This Is Going To Hurt

Part 3 - Useful Hostage

Summary: Poly141 x reader, established relationship, medic reader, kidnapped reader, mini fic.

CW: Dead dove don’t eat, use of weapons, death, torture, blood, assault.

AN: My birthday is on Wednesday so I'm taking a break from writing to do birthday things.

Previous parts - masterlist- next AO3

Enjoy <3

You actually get a break from the torture. Which means you get some sleep. Maybe it’s a thank you, but more likely they’re going to let you get your strength back up before it continues. The room you’re being held in is small, there’s only the door, no windows or vents. 

In fact you haven’t seen the sun since you were taken. You have no idea what time of day it is, how long it has been. There’s no point in trying to keep track, they purposely avoid a schedule, come for you at what seems like random times to take you to the bathroom or for more torture. 

You’re woken mid sleep and dragged back into the wetroom. That’s what you’ve started calling it, you always leave the place wet and shivering. It’s getting harder and harder to fight against your instincts and keep quiet, not panic. The safe space in your mind is getting harder and harder to imagine, it’s almost like the mental barriers you try to put up are being pulled down one by one. 

“No one is coming for you.” The stranger says, you turn your head to look at him while you gasp for air.

“You’ll die here. Alone.” You can’t help but scoff. You always knew this would happen, now they’re switching up their tactics. Maybe they’ll try and flip you, try and promise you a new life. It’s not going to work, it will never work. 

He doesn’t try the new tactic for long before switching back to the questioning. At one point you think you pass out because the next thing you know your straps have been undone and you’re rolled on your side heaving onto the floor. 

Angry voices ring in your head before you’re hauled back to your room. Everything hurts, your stomach and your lungs. The wound on your arm- you’re pretty sure is infected at this point. You can barely keep yourself up as you're thrown back into the room and the door is slammed closed. Like you have the energy to do anything right now. You pull yourself up into the corner of the room. 

Laying down just makes your stomach turn. You wish it would end. For the first time you feel your resolve slip. 

He’s right, they’re not coming for you. You’ve always known that, you just didn’t want to admit it, somewhere deep down you hoped they would come for you. You feel tears come even though you’re too exhausted to cry. 

You just hope they’re safe wherever they are.

___

“We’re in.” Soap says in Price’s ear. 

“Keep it tight, we need at least one of them alive.” Price says. This is their only chance to get intel, without having to resort to other methods. Price and Gaz move to the front door of the small house. There’s at least 5 people in here, all hostile.

Price pushes through the door first hearing Gaz following behind him, Ghost and Soap will be making their way around the ground floor so Price makes a b-line for the stairs. He looks around quickly, making sure Gaz is following him as they make it up the steps. 

They take it one room at a time. There are 2 people both sleeping. They take them out silently, hands over their mouths, their throats slit. Price takes the first one, Gaz gets the second one. 

There’s no third floor which means the last 3 are on the ground floor. 

“Ghost, sitrep.” 

“Ground floor’s clear. 2 down, one in custody.” He responds. 

“We’re clear here too.” Price responds and nods at Gaz to make it back down the stairs. When they make it into the living room, Ghost and Soap already have him tied to the chair. 

“He speaks English.” Ghost says his eyes meeting Price. They’ve done a good job, they were quick, they have what they need. 

“Yeah, beggin’ for his life when we got him.” Soap says. Price sighs walking round the chair to stand in front of the man. He shouts something in Arabic. Price’s patience is wearing thin already. He has to keep cool, keep it together. 

It’s like there’s a timer in his head though, ticking down each second, minute, hour. The longer they take, the more chance you’ll be killed. The thought makes his stomach sink, he swallows the lump in his throat and lets the adrenaline calm his mind. 

“You took a hostage. Female, British, medic, we want to know where she is.” Price says. The man's eyes flick to him, there’s blood on his forehead.

“I don’t know anything about a medic.” He says. It’s a lie, Price knows that. He nods at Ghost who throws his fist into the man's face. As Ghost straightens back up, Price watches the man spit blood. 

“The hostage. Where is she?” Price asks. 

“Fucking American pigs!” He snaps spitting at Price’s feet. Price crosses his arms looking over at Ghost, who pulls a knife off his vest. 

“The hostage!” Price snaps. The man just laughs and Price lets out a sigh. Ghost walks over and plunges the knife into his thigh. He screams thrashing against the chair, shouting in Arabic. Price goes over bending down in front of his face. 

“Tell us where she is.” He orders through gritted teeth. 

“I don’t know.” He says between breaths. Price doesn’t believe him, he has to know something. Suddenly there’s a beeping Price shoots up watching as everyone raises their weapons towards the origin of the noise. 

Soap is the closest and he moves over to the table. “It’s a laptop.” He calls lowering his weapon. 

“Bring it over.” Price says and he comes over placing it down on the coffee table. When they open it, it shows a page with a video. In the middle a chair, the backdrop is all al qatala flags, Price sees the red ‘live’ watermark flashing in the corner of the video.

“What the hell?” Gaz asks. Price reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. 

This can’t be good. 

__

The door to your cell opens, jolting you from sleep. It’s Sayyid, he has a bottle of water. You don’t even want it. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks putting the bottle down on the floor. You scoff as you move yourself back into the corner. Your body is stiff and sore, you wonder how long you were asleep for. 

“Fuck you. You don’t care.” You say. 

“I came to ask for your help.” He says, you look up at him confused. You can’t believe what you’re hearing. You laugh, maybe you’re dead and this is hell.

“There was a missile strike, injured are being brought here.” Sayyid says. 

“Oh my God you’re not joking.” You say. He looks somber as he shakes his head. You get up to your feet taking a step towards him.

“I’m not helping patch up terrorists.” You say with anger in your voice. How dare he ask you to help the very people keeping you here. 

“Innocent people are hurt too. Civilians with no affiliation. You took an oath when you became a medic. Do no harm.” He says. Fuck him, how dare he throw that in your face. 

“Fuck you!” You spit your fist crashes into his face. “I spent the last few days being tortured and you want to lecture me about not wanting to help terrorists.” 

The door to the room opens, someone steps in but Sayyid shouts at them holding his hand up. You watch as he rubs his cheek. You wish you had the energy to throw a proper punch, you wish you broke his nose. 

“Your allies are the ones firing the bombs at us!” He snaps. You shake your head, you don’t have to help them. No one would blame you. 

You look back up at Sayyid. You would blame yourself though, you will blame yourself. Do no harm, who dares wins, none of it fucking matters at the end of the day. 

You joined to help people, to make a difference. You've treated the enemy before and if you get out here you will again. You won’t treat them, the people holding you here, just the innocent people caught in the crossfire. 

“Why are civs coming here and not going to a hospital?” You ask. He looks up at you sad. “Shit, they hit the hospital.” 

Fucking Americans. Why did they fire on a hospital? Maybe it was a stray? 

“They’re diverting critical cases elsewhere but we have to pick up the rest.” 

“I can’t believe this. I’m your prisoner. Why do you even trust me?” You say throwing your arms up.

“I don’t but what are you going to do? Run? You wouldn’t make it to the door.” He says. “We need- I need help. You might as well be useful.” 

“Okay. I need to see what you’re working with though.” You say crossing your arms. He nods and moves to the side so the man standing behind him can grab you. 

His grip is strong, his fingers digging into your skin as he drags you down corridors and staircases. You catch your first glimpse of the outside world. It’s dark out, you don’t get to look for long before you’re dragged away. You’re moving deeper and deeper into the building and down more stairs. You’re pretty sure you’re on the ground floor, or a basement by now. 

You’re about to go through some double doors that you assume lead deeper into a basement. This place is huge, way bigger than you thought it was. Suddenly there’s an eruption of shouting. You’re stopped and you turn behind you to see 3 men walking towards you. They sound angry, they have weapons in their hands. 

Sayyid walks past you talking to them. He gets shoved out the way and two of them grab you. You resist this time. 

“What the hell!” You snap. You look back at Sayyid who looks confused as you’re dragged back to the stairs.

“What’s going on?” You ask as you’re pulled up them. Something's wrong, somethings changed. They shout at you in Arabic as they continue to drag you down the corridors. You’re bought into a room and it makes your stomach sink. 

There are more terrorists, all holding weapons. One of the walls is covered by al qatala flags, there’s a chair and a camera, lights and a microphone. The whole place looks like a shitty movie studio. You’re dragged over to the chair and they force you down. You have to squint and the lights are bright in your eyes. 

The two men stand directly behind you. One them presses the barrel of his weapon against the base of your skull. You feel sick, your body freezes up. You look over and you can see yourself on a laptop screen, this is live. They’re doing a livestream? Why? 

There’s no way this ends well, you wonder if 141 are watching. You hope not. 

One of the men comes up to you and hands you a piece of paper. You look down at it then back up at him. 

“Read.” He says. You swallow looking back down quickly. 

“I can’t read.” You say. You’re not going to give them what they want that easily. He hits you with the butt off his weapon, it stings forcing your head to the side. His hand then grips round your neck forcing your head up to see him. 

“Read!” He spits before letting your head go. You clear your throat and look back down at the piece of paper in your hands. 

“In response to the recent missile attacks by the Americans on civilian targets including a local hospital.” You pause for a second looking over at the laptop. The barrel of the weapon is pressed harder into your head. 

“We have no other choice but to-” Your eyes snap up at the man standing next to the laptop. This can’t be real, this is not how things work. 

You’re worth something to them, you're a hostage. You look back down at the words on the paper. Apparently not. 

“Execute the hostage.” You finish. This is it, this is how you die. You feel fear rise in you, there’s no way you can get out of this you’re dead anyway. The paper is ripped out of your hands. You look back over at the laptop. Now you really hope they’re not watching. 

The man by the laptop moves to the front of the camera and says something in Arabic. You look down at the floor, you're not sure what you're feeling. Sadness, fear, confusion.

You're about to die.

You won’t cry, you won’t give them the satisfaction. When he’s done talking he comes over and presses a pistol to your temple. 

You look into the camera, you wish you could see them one more time, the people in the room start chanting when they’re done the man moves to stand in front of you. The barrel moving to your forehead. You look at him, right in his eyes. 

See you in hell fucker, you let yourself smile. He doesn’t deserve to break you, even now. You let out a breath and think of them all, John and Simon, Kyle and Johnny. You never stopped loving them. 

There’s a loud bang of a door being thrown open. Someone shouting in arabic. The gun barrel is pulled from your forehead. The man moves and you look over to see Sayyid rush in. There are more angry voices, people shouting. You wish you knew what they were saying. 

The same man turns back around to you, you see confusion in his eyes.

“Is it true, you are part of 141?” Your stomach sinks. How did they know? You didn’t tell them. His fist crashes into your face.

“Answer!” He demands. You’re not going to say anything. He pulls out a knife pressing it up against your throat. 

You swallow and it digs into your skin. “Where are they?” He spits. You keep as still as you can, your heart is pounding in your chest. you hold your breath.

“I don’t know.” You say through gritted teeth. You feel the blade slice into your skin. It makes your eyes water. Sayyid says something again. The knife is dragged away from your neck. Your hand goes up to it and you feel blood pool between your fingers, the wound is not deep, just enough to bleed. 

You look up at Sayyid who smiles at you. What the hell? What the fuck just happened? You watch the livestream get turned off. There’s another shout, another order, the barrel of the weapon is moved off the back of your head. You feel a sharp pain as something hits you over your head and everything goes black. 

__

No one moves. No one says a word. 

Price can feel eyes digging into the back of his head, looking at the same screen they just saw you on. 

“She’ll be dead already.” The terrorist chuckles.

“John?” Price hears Laswells voice in his ear. 

“Send traffic.” He replies, trying his best to keep a level voice. 

“I traced it to a relay but that was as far as I got. Chances are you’ll be able to pick up the signal from there. I’ll send you the details.” She says. Price doesn’t reply, ending the call.

He reaches down, unclipping his pistol. He’s not even thinking as he clicks the safety off and shoots the terrorist in the head. 

“Laswell has a lead. Let's move.” he says putting his weapon back in his holster and walking to the exit.

Now they have even less time.

Next

Banners by plum98

[no1blacksapphirefan]

Hope things get better for you!! If it’s not too much to ask I was wondering how you’d imagine the cookies would react to reader obviously being sick but still logging into the game, like “idc that I’m sick and need rest I need to do these quests IMMEDIATELY”

Me when I got hit in the back of the head with a frisbee tho. I couldn't leave my fav cookies alone <33 Pure Vanilla probably so disappointed though.

Thought it would be funny/entertaining to have this w/ cookies who have the healing element hehe

Pure Vanilla He shakes his head disappointed, you're sneezing so much!! You must get some rest, and no you playing the game to make yourself feel better does not count. Sleep will you? Take some medicine and then, after a long nap. If you're feeling better, THEN you can play.

He wants to tell you this, perhaps you'd be too sick to realise he's talking to you directly. How he wishes his powers could go through the screen and make you feel better, alas he'll have to settle on scolding you while hoping you don't realise in your sick state

Mystic Flour She knows it'll be hard to convince you to rest, she sees it in your eyes. You're dead set on finishing quests and other various tasks. So, she'll just make sure the work you want to do, how do I put this. Isn't doable till you get better.

Your main quest aren't working? Why not put the phone down and it'll be better when you wake up! The timers you want to use? Looks like they're buggy, worry not. It'll be done in a few hours. Rest.up. The longer you stay online, the more likely you'll catch her glaring at you through the screen...oh that? It's just a...glitch...come now, log out and rest, that's what you need.

Herb Cookie As your friend...he begs for you to rest. He's willing to "break the 4th wall" if it means managing to convince you to take a nap, sleep for 8 hours. Anything, as much as he enjoys having you around, he much prefers you to be happy and healthy. He doesn't want to see his friend just, lay around sneezing and coughing but still continuing to play because "there's work to do"

You may not care but he does!! A lot, he's worried about you. If talking to you through the screen is what he has to do to be able to convince you to go to bed, then so be it. Maybe he can mask it off as him talking to his plants? He'll just name it after you and put jr in front of it, he prays it works.

Sparkling Cookie Tut tut, you really shouldn't bother with your quests when you're clearly not well enough for it, he's seen things like it before in his own bars and he had to stop some drunken cookies from doing something they were unfit to do like drive/walk home. So while the reason for you being unfit to do something is different, he isn't exactly a stranger to this kind of thing.

Similar to herb, he isn't scared to talk to you through the screen, gently advise you to go to bed. Even if this ends up freaking you out to the point you exit the game, he hopes you're taking the time to rest, perhaps chalking it up to simply being to sick and hearing things.

Rockstar Cookie He didn't quite catch it at first but when he does he sighs. Do you really love the game that much you're willing to place it in front of your own health? He shakes his head, while he finds the reason to be...endearing in a way, especially if one of the things you "had" to do was say hi to him, maybe update his build and then tap him thousands of times, he still wants you to rest.

He'll play a song, a lullaby even if you had to name it. Something to make you sleepy, something gentle. He knows it's working as your eyes seem to flutter close, you yawn (and cough/sneeze...) and your grip on your phone slowly looses it's strength until you are fast asleep. If it doesn't work he'll only sigh and see if he can get other cookies to help, if it does he smiles and wishes you a good night...let's hope your game doesn't drain your battery though

[cap-trio]

no grave can hold my body down (i'll crawl home to her)

summary: After a bad fight, Matt ends up in a coma. Unsure if he's going to make it or not, you decide to finally get something off your chest. It feels safer to confess assuming he most likely can't hear you, but when Matt wakes up, you find out you were wrong.

pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

tags: Angst, fluff, friends to lovers, love confessions

tw: Mention of a coma and hospitals

word count: 4.5K | Read on AO3

You get the phone call on a Tuesday night.

It started as a typical day; you got up at 6:00 on the dot to get ready for work. Matt met you at your door at 7:30 to walk with you, despite your numerous protests you could make it to work fine on your own. Not to mention your apartment was out of his way by ten minutes. But he knew about the danger that lurked around every corner of Hell’s Kitchen and when it came to you, he wasn’t going to take any chances.

Foggy’s name lights up your phone. Nothing out of the ordinary, but things go south as soon as you accept the call. “Hey, what’s -”

“Matt’s in the hospital,” he interrupts. “He’s in a coma.”

The phone falls to the ground, and you ignore Foggy’s voice calling your name. You don’t care that the screen is definitely cracked. You have tunnel vision and can only focus on Matt. You hear Foggy repeatedly asking if you’re okay and that you’re still on the line.

Sinking to the ground, you pick the phone back up. “Sorry, I’m here. What hospital?”

After getting the address, you make it there in record time. You don’t even bother waiting for the elevator, instead climbing the stairs two at a time to floor five. The ICU.

Foggy and Karen greet you in the lobby. Both look disheveled, with fresh tears on their cheeks, dark circles under their eyes, and hair askew from constantly running their hands through it. “What happened? Is he…” going to make it? You can’t bring yourself to finish the question. If you don’t say it, you won’t accidentally speak it into existence. You don’t want to let your thoughts go down that path, but how can you not?

“Fisk got to him,” Karen’s voice is low. “We don’t know what Matt told them happened, or if he said anything at all.”

“He called me, and I knew this was worse than the other times. He could barely breathe and then he passed out. I called 911, then you guys. It’s just been a waiting game.” Foggy takes a deep breath. “All I could make out was something about Fisk and how he got the upper hand this time.”

It takes every last ounce of strength not to collapse to the floor. Karen notices and leads you over to the seating area. “When can I see him?”

“We aren’t sure; they haven’t left his room. No updates yet, ” Foggy replies. 

You were on a mission to get to the hospital as fast as you could. Now that you’re here, everything hits you like a truck. It’s a pain you’ve never felt before, like someone carved a hole in your chest, ripping out your heart like they were pulling weeds out of a garden, leaving you hollow. So hollow you can’t even cry. Everything is just numb like the switch controlling your emotions was flipped off. It’s like an out-of-body nightmare; you’re aware it’s not real, but you’re stuck anyway, forced to live in it. What you wouldn’t give for this to only be a fucked up dream. 

The three of you sit in the lobby, hands interlocked, waiting in silence. Between the fluorescent lighting beating down like the sun, the faint sound of heart monitors, and the receptionists carrying on conversations like you weren’t at risk of losing your friend, you knew you couldn’t handle it for much longer before going crazy.  

Maybe that would be okay though. It would prove you could still feel something other than the shell of who you were an hour ago. 

“Am I broken?” Your voice is just above a whisper. “Why am I not breaking down in tears? Or having a panic attack?”

“It’s a stressful situation. Your body doesn’t know how to respond, so it’s pretty much just…not. It’s normal to shut down, so I promise you aren’t broken,” Karen assures you.

“I’m at the same level. I don’t want this to be real, so my body is responding like it’s not. Like this is all some fucked up dream,” Foggy adds.

For some reason, Foggy’s words are what bring on the tears. Not a gut-wrenching sob like you had expected, but still something. “Shit, was it something I said?” He asks.

“No. Yes,” you let out a small laugh. “I was just thinking how grateful I am that you two are here with me. If I were alone…” You don’t finish the thought, and you don’t need to. They know exactly what you mean.

Karen pulls you in for a hug, shedding a few tears herself. Foggy tries to brush off how he’s doing the same. The receptionist notices and quietly brings over an extra box of tissues and gives an apologetic smile. The sound of the door opening separates you three in hopes it’s any sort of update, but they go to the other family waiting.

An hour passes. You don’t move from your seat.

Another hour. Foggy goes to the vending machine for snacks. You don’t eat.

The third hour is when the panic really starts to seep in. You don’t want to be one of those people, but you’re about to go to the desk and demand some sort of update. Instead, you pace around the lobby to try and release the nervous energy.

The sound of the doors opening again freezes you in your tracks. Finally, a doctor appears. “Murdock crew?” She calls out. The three of you race over, but she says, “It’s best if we sit down.” Nervous glances are shared. That’s a telltale sign things are most definitely not good.

“So, I’ll start by saying Matthew has improved since he first arrived. Vitals are almost where we want them, but he needs to stay in a medically induced coma while we continue working on him. I don’t want to make any guarantees as he’s still in bad shape. Matthew is suffering from a concussion, several broken ribs, and internal bleeding. The coma could last up to a month, depending on whether or not he shows signs of recovery.”

Whether or not. Her words ring in your ears. Or not. Or not. Or not. 

“But he’ll live, right? People have survived worse. He’ll be fine. Right?” Foggy sounds delirious, not that you can blame him. It’s not the update you guys were hoping for.

“Like I said, I don’t want to make any promises. I’m sorry I can’t give any definitive answers. Just know we’re working our absolute hardest.”

“Can we at least see him?” You beg.

“Not tonight, unfortunately. We’re hoping he’ll be ready for visitors in the next few days. We’ll keep you guys updated. For now, I recommend getting some rest and making sure you’re fed and hydrated. In stressful times, we tend to shut down and not take care of ourselves. We’ll call if anything changes, good or bad.”

Good or bad. Or bad. Or bad. Or bad. 

“Thank you,” Karen says with a small smile.

She leaves the three of you alone again. “I don’t want to go home,” you admit. If something happens and you aren’t here, you’ll never forgive yourself. 

“They don’t let people stay overnight,” Foggy sighs. “My apartment is the closest, why don’t we all head there and at least try to sleep?”

You’re all too exhausted to walk, so Karen hails a taxi. No one speaks, not even the driver. He takes one look at your group, mumbles a “sheesh” to himself, and starts the drive to Foggy’s apartment. 

He provides some pajamas for you and Karen while you all set up camp in the living room. Phones charging and on the loudest setting, you all settle into your positions for the night. Karen on the couch, you on an air mattress, Foggy on the loveseat. It would almost be a fun sleepover if not given the circumstances. Not to mention how empty it feels without Matt.

You weren’t sure you’d be able to sleep, but the fatigue kicks in and you can’t resist it any longer. Hoping to get an escape from this hell, you close your eyes and slip into an escape.

“We’re sorry. We tried everything, but Matthew wasn’t able to pull through. You’re welcome to come in and say your goodbyes. Again, our condolences. He was a fighter.” A painful sob comes from deep within you. You don’t even recognize yourself, everything feels raw and cracked. Grief fills you to the brim, like a thick smoke clouding your lungs, enough to leave you choking and gasping for air. You follow behind Foggy and Karen to say your goodbyes to Matt. The sight of him lying lifeless in the hospital bed sends you collapsing to the floor.

You wake with a scream. Foggy and Karen shoot up, immediately asking what happened. You can’t answer yet; your body takes a second to come back to reality and recognize it was just an awful dream. But it could happen, a twisted voice reminds you. 

“I’m so sorry. I was having a nightmare, and it felt so real,” you sigh. 

“It’s okay, we’re here,” Karen squeezes your hands. “I think we all had the same dream.”

Foggy nods in agreement. “Just wanted to get some rest, but here we are.” He chuckles humorlessly. 

No one knows what to say next. Nothing can be said to make anyone feel better; trying would be pointless. It would all just feel like one person is saying what everyone wants to hear when really, no one has a clue how this will play out.

“Maybe we watch a movie? It doesn’t seem like sleep is an option, and it might be somewhat of a distraction,” Karen suggests. 

It’s better than sitting in silence, especially when that silence invites dark thoughts to creep in, so Foggy fires up the TV and finds the most absurd comedy he can find.

Eventually, the three of you are able to doze off again by the time a second movie plays. No bad dreams happen this time, but the sound of someone's ringtone jostles everyone awake. The small amount of light peaking in lets you know it's sometime the next day, but everything feels disorienting.

Foggy answers and puts the phone on speaker. “Hello, we’d like to let you know Matt is ready for visitors. Our visiting hours are from 9:00 a.m to 9:00 p.m every day. If anything about that changes, we’ll reach out.” 

“Thank you so much,” Foggy says before hanging up. Everyone takes a few minutes to freshen up before catching a cab back to the hospital. Anxiety courses through you, though it's different from last night. You’re not sure what you're going to say to Matt, or how he’ll look; you feel entirely unprepared. Having Karen and Foggy with you makes it a little less scary at least.

Karen checks in with the receptionist, and five minutes later a nurse comes to let the three of you in. She pauses outside his door. “I want to warn you that he looks pretty beaten up. It won't be easy seeing him in this state, but having someone with him might be good for his recovery.”

She has everyone take a deep breath before opening the door. Matt looks similar to how he did in your nightmare, all bloody and bruised, hooked up to various machines with tubes. You’ve seen him after a fight before, even helped clean him up, but it was never like this. Not even what the nurse said could’ve prepared you. 

“What should we say to him? Anything that could make him wake up?” You ask.

“Hearing familiar voices is good no matter what. We recommend just telling him about your day, or maybe reading him a book he likes. Anything that feels right for you.”

None of this feels right, you want to scream. Instead you thank her for the tips. 

“I’ll leave you guys alone, but feel free to press that button if you need anything at all.” She gestures to a CALL button near Matt’s bed before slipping out the door.

It's silent at first while everyone takes in the sight of him. 

“Maybe tell him a story from college?” You suggest to Foggy. “It might be good to hear something familiar.”

He launches into the avocados at law story which has you and Karen laughing. You would’ve loved to have known them back then.

“I don’t think anything I say will top that,” Karen says. “I don’t even know what to say, anyway.”

Foggy assures her anything will be better than nothing, so she tearfully tells Matt how grateful she is for her and Foggy’s help during her trial. It moves you and Foggy to tears too, and everyone ends up a blubbery mess.

“Sorry to kill the mood,” she chuckles. “What’ve you got?” She asks you.

You decide to tell him about the first day he showed up at your apartment to walk you to work. How you weren’t expecting him at all, given that you’d only been friends for a few weeks at that point and he never mentioned he would be there. How even though you poked fun at him for it at first, he makes you feel safer and you’re lucky to have him.

“I didn’t even know he does that,” Karen says.

“I always thought it was weird when he’d be late for work when it wasn’t related to his…activities,” Foggy adds, not knowing if anyone outside the room could hear. “He really loves us all, huh?”

That brings on more tears. How grateful are you all to have someone like Matt in your lives?

“Alright, I think I’ve had enough crying for the rest of my life,” Karen laughs.

“I think it’d be good to talk about our day like the nurse suggested,” you say. “Not after we found out what happened, but before that.”

And that’s what the three of you do for the next week and a half, once a day and always together. Foggy brings up the idea of doing separate visits, suggesting it might be good for some alone time with him. 

Your first visit alone is awkward. Without Karen and Foggy to describe your days together, you aren’t sure what to say. It’s like trying therapy for the first time, knowing you have things to talk about, but being too scared to bring anything up, making it feel too real.

His progress has been up and down, worrying you that it might stay like that for months. Or years. And there is one thing that Matt doesn’t know about you, a secret you’ve acknowledged and thrown into a locked box, refusing to open it. The sick, dark voice from before warns you this may be the only chance you get to tell him.

“Hi, Matt. It’s just me today; we decided it might be good to spend some alone time with you. Uh, today was alright. We went to Josie’s, played some pool, and had a few beers. Felt empty without you though. I’m trying to stall here because I want to tell you something. Something big. But I’m terrified, and a wuss, so I have to do it while you probably can’t hear me or respond at all.” You laugh at yourself for being so ridiculous. 

“Well, here goes nothing,” you pause. “So uh, I’m kind of in love with you? Not sure why I phrased it like a question. I know I’m in love with you, and it scares the shit out of me. We’ve known each other for years, and I don’t know if telling you is worth the risk. I care about you too much to let some feelings get in the way. So yeah, that’s my secret.”

You’re not sure if you feel better or worse now that it’s out there. It feels good to get it off your chest, but nothing has really changed by admitting it. Matt will continue to be oblivious to your feelings while you have to continue carrying them around.

Exhaustion kicks in and you slump back in the chair. Just as your eyes begin to drift shut, you hear a groan and shoot awake. Matt starts stirring, mumbling to himself, and you watch helplessly before adrenaline kicks in.

“Nurse! I need a nurse!” You shout into the hallway. They instruct you to wait in the hall; on your way out, you see Matt’s eyes open and you let out a gasp. You swear you see him reach for you, but you’re also feeling a bit delirious so it could be your mind playing tricks on you.

You call Karen and Foggy with the news. Less than ten minutes later, the three of you are standing outside of his room, playing another round of the dreaded waiting game. You fill them in on the moments leading up to Matt waking up, purposefully leaving out details of the conversation.

Thirty minutes go by until one of the nurses comes into the hallway. “He’s awake and stable. You can come in and see him, but I’ll warn he may be slightly out of it.” 

Matt gives a weak smile as the three of you enter. “How do I look?” 

“Out of it, my ass,” Foggy laughs. “You look like shit.”

“Ouch. Aren’t you supposed to be nice to someone in a hospital bed? A blind man I might add.”

“Little too late to be playing the blind card,” Karen adds.

He turns in your general direction. “What’s your verdict?”

“I’m with these two. You’ve looked better.”

It feels good to be joking around like this again. Things certainly aren’t back to normal, but this is a step in the right direction.

“Even though you hurt my feelings, could we talk alone for a second?” 

Foggy and Karen exchange a look and turn to raise their eyebrows at you. You shrug, indicating you’re not sure what this is about.

“I better get some alone time too,” Foggy pouts.

“There’s plenty of me to go around.”

Your friends leave, and as soon as the door shuts you feel like you’re suffocating with anxiety. What could he want to talk about that he couldn’t say in front of his best friends?

“Can I ask you about something?”

“Of course. Anything.” Your voice shakes when you answer. 

“Earlier, right before I woke up, I thought I heard you say you’re in love with me.” 

Panic settles in hard and fast, like being taken under by a cold ocean wave when your back is facing the water, unexpected and unpleasant. 

Fuck. 

“That’s not a question.” Stupid. It's the only thing your brain can think of to say, trying to delay the shitstorm that’s brewing. 

“Okay,” his mouth quirks up into a small smile, trying to cover a laugh. He knows you well enough to know what you're doing. “Let me rephrase - are you in love with me?”

“I uh, no. I’m not. Must've been a crazy coma dream or something!” Your laugh that follows is too loud and brash to sound even remotely convincing.

“You’re lying.” There isn’t any uncertainty in his voice. He says it like it’s a known fact and not an educated guess. 

“Wow, I feel like I should be offended,” you huff. You’re not sure why you’re angry at him when he’s right. Or maybe you’re angry that this conversation is even happening when you vowed to take these feelings to the grave. “I promise I’m not.”

“You are.” The way he emphasizes the word sucks all the air out of the room. That one word makes everything feel different. It’s confirmation you can’t brush this conversation off. Matt isn’t going to let it go.

“Jesus Matt, can we just drop it? I told you, I never said it. I don’t know why you can’t believe me. And is this really the most important thing to be focusing on right now?”

“To me? Yes, it is that important. And I can tell you’re lying.”

You roll your eyes. He knows even though he can’t see it, because he knows you. “Because of what, my laugh? I admit I sounded weird, but -”

He cuts you off. “It was your heartbeat.” He’s frustrated that you can’t understand, as if this is some normal thing people can do, or like he’s mentioned it before and it’s something you just casually forgot. Like you would ever forget something like that. 

You snort at how unbelievable this situation has gotten. “My heartbeat? What the hell are you talking about?” 

Surely this is a weird side effect of the concussion. Maybe he’s hearing things now? Or he’s playing some weird prank on you? You should probably call the nurse back in.

“I can hear people’s heartbeat. When they lie, it changes rhythms. When you said you aren’t in love with me it got faster. So I’m asking you again, are you in love with me?”

“Matt, you can’t just brush that off like it isn’t the most insane thing I’ve ever heard! You expect me to believe you, especially when you can’t prove it? Look, I’m gonna call in the nurse and have her check your head because clearly, the concussion isn’t any better.” 

You reach for the call button but he grabs your wrist before you can press it. Warmth spreads across the spots where his fingers are touching you. Now is not the time you try to relay that message to your body. It doesn’t listen.

He lets go of your wrist and sighs. “Have I ever lied to you?”

“Yes. You constantly made up excuses when you’d show up to work with mysterious bruises or cuts. Not gonna work in this argument.”

“I didn’t realize we were arguing,” he raises an eyebrow. “But to be fair, that was only to keep you safe. Have I ever lied about anything else?”

“I don’t know, I can’t hear your heartbeat.”

Now he rolls his eyes. “I know you’re trying to avoid talking about it. But please know I wouldn’t make something like this up. After the accident, my senses got heightened more than what would happen to the average person. I know it seems like I’m an asshole for keeping something like this private, like I use it to take advantage of people, but I don’t. Even when someone lies, I don’t force them into telling the truth. It’s a blessing and a curse.”

He sounds exhausted, and can you blame him? Having to live with this gift, but knowing he can’t really do anything with it, would take a toll on anyone. 

But he’s also putting you in an uncomfortable position, despite claiming he doesn’t use it against people. “So why are you doing it to me now?”

“I’m sorry. We can drop it, but don’t you want to know why I’m so hung up on this? Why I’m seconds away from getting on my knees and begging you to tell the truth?”

Yes. No. Because admitting that makes this all too real. Too scary. It opens up a door you want to bolt shut because it allows too many what-ifs into the mix. What if things don’t work out? What if you work better as friends and break up, making everything complicated? You could write a whole book full of different scenarios.

But there is another possibility: what if Matt loves you too? 

It’s enough to make you want to unlock the door and throw it open. “I do.”

Time seems to stand still. You both know what’s coming, and it scares the hell out of you, but it’s worth it. He’s worth it.

“Tell the truth. Please, I want to hear you say it.”

You already did, you want to point out. But now isn’t the time to be a smart ass, not with the way his gaze is piercing you and the tension rising with every second unspoken. 

“I’m in love with you, Matt.”

Thump. Thump. Thump. The sound is music to his ears, better than any song he’s heard. If he wasn’t ruined by you before, he sure is now.

“I’m in love with you too.”

“Good, or else that would’ve been really embarrassing.”

He laughs. “Now was that so hard to admit?”

“Oh please! You didn’t give me much of an option.” You deepen your voice in a terrible attempt to mock him, “I’m Matt and I can hear people’s heartbeats, so I know when they lie. I’m in love with you too, but instead of saving time and saying that, I’m gonna make you do it first. Even though I clearly heard you before.” 

You both erupt into laughter; you can physically feel yourself getting lighter as the crushing weight of tension leaves your body. 

“I’m never going to get over hearing you say that,” he admits.

“I won’t either.” You pause, feeling a shift in the conversation tone. “I honestly never wanted you to know. I only said it because I was scared of losing you, and it was a cowardly way of getting it off my chest. I tried convincing myself maybe you also felt that there was always something more between us, but then I’d get in my head and decide you didn’t. Decided it wouldn’t be worth losing you if I said something and you turned me down, but then I thought I’d lose you in a different way.” Your voice cracks at the end, and you force the tears back in, hating that you’re making things serious again. 

“I’ve always felt it,” Matt confesses. “I never wanted to pressure you or make things weird if I misread the signs. Am I happy this is what it took for us to be together? Of course not, I pictured this moment a million different ways, and not one involved a hospital. But I am happy it happened. So unbelievably happy.”

“I am too. I’ve wanted this for years.”

“I really want to kiss you, but…” he gestures to his current state. 

“We can make it work. We’ll just be careful.”

“I’ll make it up to you when I’m healed,” he smirks. He gets a little cocky from how he can make your heartbeat quicken, and how intimate it is that only the two of you can experience it together.

“Such a tease,” you roll your eyes, leaning down inches from his mouth.

“You’re one to talk.”

And then his mouth is on yours.

His hands cup your chin while yours rests on his hip, careful not to apply any pressure. You can both feel the other holding back; his lips are just grazing yours, but it’s enough to feel like hot lava is coursing through you. If his lingering touches over the years left sparks in their wake, kissing him is like being electrocuted. It’s delicate and sweet and you’re overwhelmed with how right it feels. The only thing on Matt’s mind are you and more, but he knows this is just the beginning. 

So instead he focuses on the now, mentally adding this moment to a scrapbook of memories filled with you.