#trying to get through my washing machine asks so i can move on with my life

[shittyutmv]

Drying ink on a clothesline is taking forever. Maybe you could speed up the process with a hairdryer?

guys i don’t know what to do anymore. i might have to goodwill him (context) ink by comyet

[highvern]

Work Me Out

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader

Genre: Smut, 18+

Warnings: working out, flirting, touching, almost car sex, making out, breast play, fingering, oral, face sitting, multiple sex positions, big dick mingyu, protected sex (gasp!), strength kink, dirty talk, choking, spanking :) lover boy gyu as always. let me know if i missed anything!

Length: ~5k

Note: y'all thought cheol rot was bad but the OG bias wrecker is back. dont come at me for gym terminology i go by vibes. replaced my gym crush with mingyu and this is what happened <3 i have a bonus/pt 2 in the drafts too but I'll wait to post it bc too much muscle pig mingyu is bad for the soul... and the [redacted]

to the anon that sent me a seok ask forever ago about his arms, im sorry i used it in this fic. but know i have a seok fic with exactly what you asked for in the works rn. everyone say thank you anon.

@bbychocolat do not hit my line about mingyu for at least 24 business hours i need to recover

Remember: Tumblr runs on reblogs and I run on validation in the tags and comments :)

read part II

read more here

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!

Figuring out the ins and outs of a new gym isn’t easy but it isn’t impossible. Go too early and you’re surrounded by creepy men old enough to be your grandfather. Right after work is a sure way to experience hoards of gym bros crowding around machines like they own them. 

So you go as late as possible. 

Only a handful of people are dispersed through the large space. A few run on the treadmills lined on the catwalk of the second floor, several switch through different weights in front of the mirrors. You make your way through the maze of equipment towards the leg press; your final sets before you can go home and wash away the grime of the day.

Or you would if someone wasn’t occupying the one machine you need.

Peeping your head around, you notice a black backpack and matching water bottle on the ground. You glance around, unable to find a clear owner since the next closest person is halfway across the gym doing a different exercise.

Would it be that rude to take the machine out from under someone if they’re not even using it? You could probably get in all your sets before the person even came back if you moved quickly.

You wait a few minutes. How embarrassing would it be to have the mystery person walk back up the second you sat down? But after five minutes pass and no one emerges to claim the spot, you set about changing the weights out.

And just when you slip into the seat, you look up and find someone approaching.

He’s tall, he’s handsome, and he’s barely ten feet away. Your saving grace is that he hasn’t spotted you yet thanks to his phone. 

But that doesn’t last long.

“Oh! Sorry! Were you using this machine?” You ask, trying to sound cordial. 

“It’s okay!” He smiles at you. “Do you need it?”

Yes.

“No, I can find something else to do.” 

You rise to do just that when he stops you with a shrug.

“I don’t mind sharing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I take long breaks between my sets anyway so it’s no big deal.”

So that’s where he went.

“Okay, thanks.”

“No problem.”

He moves to lean against the wall, face buried in his phone once again as you work through your set. Honestly you think he forgot you were even there until you start standing up and he pushes off his perch. 

Exchanging polite smiles, you skirt around him and snag your water bottle before occupying the same spot against the painted bricks. You try not to be a creep but watching the way the muscles in his legs bulge and coil with each rep is impossible to look away from. Especially when there’s just so much to look at.

He racks up twelve reps with ease and switches back off with you before wandering out of sight.

You work through two of your sets before he comes teetering back. 

“I tried putting it back to your weight.” You laugh, sipping from your water bottle.

“Three forty? Ouch.”

“What? Should I have made it lighter?”

“Try heavier. Like four hundred.”

“My sincerest apologies.” You mock, placing your hand over your heart. “I’ll remember that next time.”

He laughs again before slipping back into the seat and working through the motions.

This time you don’t bother hiding the way you watch him over your phone. He looks good, it’d be a waste not to watch the swell of his chest or the stretch of his thighs. The gym shorts and snug black t-shirt only exacerbate how cut his physique is. 

And if he makes a comment you can always twist your not so subtle gawking into a compliment about his form.

When he finishes his set again, he snags his bag and water bottle off the ground before turning to you. “All yours. Have a good night.”

“Yeah, you too.”

And he’s gone.

Over the next few weeks, you learn mystery man works out at the same time you. He’s there when you arrive and remains when you leave after an hour and a half of sweating and gasping like a dying fish, only absent on Wednesdays when you manage the most last luster workouts of your life. The disappointment the first time you realized you were looking for the backwards cap sticking out amongst the free weights would have been embarrassing but what's wrong with a little eye candy while breaking a sweat? 

And what a great view he makes. Your brief peeks into the mirrored walls are full of nothing straining muscles and glowing skin. The first day he did arms in a cutoff tee will go down in history as the worst day of your life. Only rivaled by all the other days he works his legs in shorts accentuating just how nice his ass is with every squat.

Your friends all ask when you’re going to talk to him again. As if you’ll just walk right up and interrupt the best part of your day. No, you’d rather watch him move across the gym floor from the corner of your eye, throw him a friendly nod, and go about your business than run the risk of making things awkward.

Unfortunately, doesn’t possess the same desire to remain a friendly nameless face like you do.

His name is Mingyu. Or that’s what the employee with glasses calls him while they joke around one night. You don’t mean to eavesdrop but they’re loud and the only exit takes you right past the U-shaped desk. Mingyu throws a grin as you pass by on your way out and the flash of teeth spikes your heart rate higher than any exercise you’ve done that night.

When he officially introduces himself at the water fountain the next night, you have to bite the urge to tell him ‘I know.’ Instead you snort at his extended hand, providing your own name over the firm shake like you won’t be haunted by the feeling of the calluses on his fingers or the heat of his palm for the next week. 

What’s worse is how he says your name back, rolling the sound across his tongue and past his quirked lips. 

And the final nail in the coffin is when you leave and you see the way he turns in the glass doors to watch, bidding you a goodnight with your name signed at the end.

Mingyu might be the worst gym crush in the world. Mostly because your thoughts of him extend beyond the brick walls he should only exist in. And partially because he’s caught you staring more times than you care to admit. 

Not as many times as you’ve caught him, but the point stands.

No, the worst part, you find out, is Mingyu is an incorrigible flirt. And he knows it.

Tonight you’re off schedule, runny nearly half an hour later than usual.; work clothes sticking to your skin as you make your way towards the off shooting hall housing the entrance to the locker rooms. In a rush, you step around another body only to end up in front of one much more familiar.

“There's my girl.” Mingyu smiles. “Thought you were skipping out on me.”

My girl. My girl. My girl, my girl, my girl….

There isn’t a thought in your head beyond the bold casualness he drops that bomb on you with so you nod awkwardly and force yourself not to sprint the next twenty feet to hide.

Half an hour later, when you catch him watching you in the mirror over his own weights, the bastard smiles like the cat who caught the canary. 

But you end up on top when Mingyu offers to spot you while doing weighted squats. He’s at your back, an appropriate amount of space between your bodies you wish he’d close. You don’t need his help. Your form is better than his (you would know, his ass and thighs give you tunnel vision when its his leg day). And the weight on the bar isn’t even enough to make you strain but why pass up on the offer? Especially with how Mingyu meets your eyes over your shoulder in the mirror with each dip.

And then he cheers ‘that’s my girl’ again when you re-rack the equipment with ease and it's over.

“Shit,” you grunt. 

Mingyu pops up from his perch between your breasts under your shirt, hair a mess and eyes glazed. “Good?”

“No, your steering wheel is in my back.” You wince, attempting to wiggle away and ending up further up his lap.

“Sorry, let me just…”

The seat flies back under your combined weight, throwing your forehead right into Mingyu’s chin.

“Fuck!” 

“Oh my god!” You gasp. “Are you okay?”

Mingyu’s head falls back as he releases a massive sigh. Each second that ticks by has you both coming to the same conclusion.

“Yeah,” you breath, sitting up. “I think this was a bad idea.”

“Oh…”

“I just mean like your car is small and you’re too big and I—“

The guffaw Mingyu tries to hide slips free too easily. “That’s what she said.”

“God, you’re gross.” 

Your nose crinkles as you rise up, using his chest for leverage. It feels as nice as it looks and its the worst knowledge you’ve gained in you life.

“Sticks and stones,” he hums.

“Well this was fun. I’ll ugh… see you around?”

When you try to shift back into the passenger seat to exit, Mingyu’s hands flex over your thighs to keep you in his lap. His sweats do nothing to hide his semi. Something he doesn’t even seem to consider as a concern given the way he unconsciously curls into you.

“Or we can go back to mine.”

He’s trying and failing to sound nonchalant. Like he won’t go home and fuck his fist in the shower with the echoes of your sighs filling his ears if you turn him down. You can see it in his eyes. What hinges on his offer and how much you’ll both regret it if the tension fizzles and dies in his SUV.

From where you’re sitting, it’s incredibly difficult to think with your head and not your hormones. Mingyu is hot, he’s nice, he seems decent enough. His behavior doesn’t hint at him being a creep. If he’s normal enough to fuck in his car, is he not normal enough to fuck in the comfort of a bed?

The thumb stroking your thighs and the hopeful eyes staring you down make the decision for you.

“Yeah, okay.” 

With his address in your phone’s GPS, you trail after his SUV in your own car. The roads are familiar because they’re the same roads you drive when you return to your apartment that turns out to be only three blocks closer to the gym than Mingyu’s. 

All this time he’d been so close and you never even realized. Did he think about you the same way you thought about him when he drove home? If he did, you’re in for a night.

Rolling into a space only a few down from where he parks, you pause to hype yourself up. 

People have sex all the time. It’s no big deal. I can do this. 

A knock at the window interrupts your spiral, finding Mingyu smiling sheepishly through the glass. The muscles in your chest squeeze when he opens the door and holds it for you to exit; and threaten to explode when his hand finds the small of your back and guides you towards the stairwell.

Footsteps echo down to the hall, Mingyu only a fraction ahead to lead the way to a non-descript door with a seasonal doormat that's seen better days.

“Ugh, this is it.” 

His apartment is shockingly clean for a guy your age. Not clean in the ‘I don’t own enough shit to even be dirty’ way. No, Mingyu’s apartment is cozy. There’s throw pillows and blankets on the couch. He has a lamp and bookshelf in the corner and the walls are adorned with a collage of artwork thoughtfully pieced together. Several personal photos are littered throughout, some with an obviously younger Mingyu propped next to what must be a sister or a cousin, a few of him with friends. One of him and a familiar man with glasses, their faces blurry but the glee clear as they’re frozen in time. Your lips lift with a soft smile at the personal touches bleeding into every corner of his space.

Turning over your shoulder you ask, “You and the guy at the gym are friends?” 

Mingyu’s watching you with something unidentifiable in his eyes, stepping forward to figure out which frame you're looking at until he’s only a foot behind you.

“Yeah, we went to the same middle school.”

“And this one?” You say, fingers tracing the edge of the wooden frame.

“My little sister.” Mingyu follows, still only a step behind.

“And I’m assuming these are your parents?”

“Actually those are Wonwoo’s parents.” He chuckles. “These are my parents.”

Mingyu’s arm reaches around to point at the correct photo, his chest brushing against your back.

“Wanna give me the tour?”

Mingyu manages to show you everything in five minutes. The living room and connected kitchen you’re already standing in, the door of the hall bathroom, and finally his bedroom. You take a seat on the edge of the bed, discovering the new smattering of details that uncover more about the man waiting with baited breath in the threshold. 

“Why are you over there?” You ask.

With arms crossed and shoulders up to his ears, Mingyu resembles a kid waiting to be scolded rather than a man who tried to hook up with you in his car less than thirty minutes ago.

“I’m nervous.”

You can’t stop the satisfaction from spreading to your face. “I make you nervous?”

Mingyu pushes off the door jam, shuffling forward until he’s standing a foot in front of you. “Yeah. I don’t really do stuff like this.”

“Stuff like what? Try and fuck girls in your car?”

“Haha.” Mingyu mocks, face descending until he rubs his nose with yours.

Your eyes slip closed when his do, breathing each other's air. “Stuff like what, Gyu?”

Your hands find the material of his shirt stretched across his shoulder. Each brush of his lips across your cheek, down your jaw, until he finds your ear.

“I don’t sleep around with girls I’m not dating.”

Oh.

“We don’t hav—”

“Which is not the best way to ask you out.”

You press him out of your space, far enough that you can look him in the eyes and see if he’s serious. The tips of Mingyu’s ears burn red but he’s looking right at you despite how embarrassed he clearly feels.

“You’re asking me on a date?”

“Ugh, yeah. I think it’d be fun. But you don’t have to! If you just wanna do this that's fine t—”

Whatever words Mingyu was trying to say fizzle on the tip of his tongue as you pull him into a kiss. He curls over you, pressing you further into his bed with every fervent pass. Wedging one hand under the small of your back, Mingyu lifts you up and carries you while he crawls to the center.

Your mind wanders to all the other ways he can manhandle you into the mattress.

He settles flat against you, hips cradled between your own while delving into your mouth. You fill your hands with his ass, dragging Mingyu’s covered cock against your core. A groan backs apart your lips as Mingyu falls into the curve of your neck. 

“This is a yes to the date by the way.” You pant now that he’s taken over, hands scratching up his back in an effort to get rid of his shirt. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

Mingyu’s clothes disappear over his head and across the room, yours following shortly after. The heat of bare skin on bare skin is better than anything until he takes one of your breasts in his palm and the other in his mouth. 

Every curse you know flies through your lips as he sucks and pinches until you're sore between the legs.

He takes the squeeze of your thighs and the rock of your hips as a greenlight, hands leading where his lips follow until it’s nothing but your panty clad core an inch from his face.

“This okay?” Mingyu asks in the fat of your thigh, tongue trailing fire across the skin.

You nod with a sigh, “Mingyu, please.”

He doesn’t need much more than that, the fabric barrier gone in a blink and his nose traces your folds until he’s dying for a taste.

Mingyu eats pussy like he doesn’t need oxygen. The path of his pointed tongue around your clit is nothing short of precise, meticulously tracing every ridge and curve until the sheets stretch under your fingers. When he flattens it to pay broader attention, your legs squeeze and Mingyu’s hands force them wide around his shoulders.

Your feet flatten on the bed and thrust up his mouth, wet and crude with fingers in his hair and your whines in his ears. Every suck of Mingyu’s mouth forces the muscles in your neck to lerch until they hurt and your head falls back. He takes pride in the way you drip for him, making the best mess he’s ever had the privilege to clean up.

You reward him with an lavishing praise at the next twitch of your insides, “Fuck, just like that.” 

Taking advantage of the slight arch in your spine, Mingyu’s hand sneaks under your back, fingers unforgiving as they dig into your ass. He curls your hips up and buries a finger in your core with mortifying ease.

Between your legs, Mingyu catches your eyes. Pupils blown wide, mouths bruised around stuttered breath. A matching set of debauched expressions. He’s more familiar like this; skin glowing with sweat, and hair matted to his forehead. Next time you see him at the gym you know it's all you’ll think about. Next time you're alone in your room, or the shower, or the grocery store. Or anywhere you’ve day dreamed about him before.

He leans back to watch the digit disappear, only to reappear soaking. “Feels good?”

“Give me another and it will.”

You savor the rhythm he sets, thick fingers working to prep you for what you felt under his shorts. His tongue is hard and wet at your clit, fingers stretching and spreading until your stomach dips and you nearly buck him off as your clit swells from abuse.  

Your fingers pluck at your nipples and Mingyu apparently likes to watch because he manages more enthusiasm, forces his finger to crook just the right way, and continues to suck even after you start screaming.

“Oh fuck, oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” You chant, voice cracked.

Something sounding suspiciously like a ‘thank you’ drops into the mix but Mingyu’s the only one to hear it. In his opinion, he should be the one doing the thanking; you just gave him enough spank bank material for the next six months.

You don’t dislike the taste of yourself on his tongue, his lips, his chin, his cheeks, and even his chest when you flip Mingyu over and aim to return the favor. He blushes when you lap against the hollow of his throat; embarrassed from the way he goes boneless with such simple affection.

He sinks into the plush of the mattress, propped up by the mountain of pillows at the headboard. Mingyu’s stomach stiffens under your tongue and the twitch blooms a smile on your face. Predictable.

“Sensitive?”

Your nails raking up the shape of his thighs turn the denial falling from his lips into a whine, and it makes you wonder what other sounds Mingyu will make with his cock in your mouth.

The vein bulging along the underside of his length gives your tongue something to trace along as you lap from base to flared tip, sucking down until it shines from spit and pre-cum. You take all you can until the curve of your throat protests.

Mingyu’s big and he’s loud.

“Oh God, shit.” He babbles with abandon, hands fisted at his sides until his knuckles turn pale.

You focus on the cock in your mouth rather than how pretty Mingyu’s chest would look covered in bite marks. How a bruise on his hip would be just visible when he reaches over his head to do pull ups, and red streaks from your nails on his bicep would make a great accessory.

A hand lands on the base of your skull, gentle until it's not. His thumb dips to stroke the bulge of his dick through your throat as you take him deeper. And like some ridiculous porno theres still an inch you’ll never be able to take even if you do nothing but let him fucking your mouth until the only thing you taste is cum.

“Fuuuuck,” Mingyu groans from a harsh suck on the upstroke.

He distracts you with his tongue on yours, keeping you from diving back down and destroying his ego from how quick you almost made him cum. Your one solace is the lazy grip you have on the base of Mingyu’s length, fingers tightening around the head while he cants into the squeeze.

You think Mingyu is going to plant you on his cock and make you ride it until one of you is crying. But he keeps pushing and pulling until you’re kneeling over his face, knees cushioned in the pillows and hands against the wall to steady you while he dives in again.

His head shakes back and forth, tongue out to swipe messily at your clit as you grind into his face. The last grip of sanity you have gives you the mind to reach back, jerking Mingyu off while he eats it, a cycle of moans moving through you; him into your folds when you squeeze from a grating pass off his tongue that has you whining to the ceiling fan.

“Shit, need you to fuck me.” You whine but don’t stop curling against the latch of his lips, legs stiff with ache.

It’s Mingyu who brings things to a halt, raising you away from his mouth until you're left on your knees while he stands to rummage in the drawer for a condom. You listen while the paint of the wall cools your forehead.

The hand at the dip of your spine makes you melt when he checks in, “Still okay?”

Nodding, you find him over your shoulder with a thick swallow. Mingyu’s nose follows the slope of your muscles, lips untying all the knots he’s worked into them over the past few weeks.

“Want it like this?”

“Yeah.”

You drop until your chest meets the bed and arch until it hurts just to put on a good show. Mingyu shuffles behind you, knocking your knees wider with his own, palms molding to your ass and spreading it apart to take a good look like he wasn’t tongue deep inside your pussy already. The room is nothing more than the sounds of grounding breaths; Mingyu watching the way your torso moves around the air, releasing a long exhale before moving closer.

The feel of his chest against yours was great, but the hard muscle of it along your back, his chain caught between and leaving a definitive mark, is life ruining. It shreds the last bit of humanity you’ve been clinging to since you dragged Mingyu to the parking lot and tried to stick your hands down his pants while leant against the passenger door.

No matter how well Mingyu stretched you for his cock it was never going to be enough. Taking the first inch nearly splits you in half. But you're soaked and needy; nothing short of the end of the world is going to keep you from getting the satisfaction of feeling him in your guts. You take it with measured breaths and affirmations to relax. Slow arches of his hips work him in until he’s flat with your ass and whispering absolute depravity into your ears.

“Fuck, you’re tight.”

Arching your ass higher, you whimper, “You’re huge.”

Your ass stings under his punishing hand, thrown forward by an involuntary buck of his hips.

“Don’t say that.”

You turn until you can look over your shoulder again, meeting wild eyes. “You feels so good.” You moan, eyelids low and wrecked.

“Didn’t—shit, think you’d have such a dirty mouth.” He bites into the side of your neck, sucking a bruise like a depraved teenager. 

“I knew you’d have a fat cock.”

You get what you want so easily it's almost insulting; Mingyu’s hand forcing your face into the sheets and his hips rushing into you with pure need. Every prod into your cunt has you wailing. It’d destroy your self respect if you could think of anything beyond how he’s ruining you for anyone else.

Pillows topple off the edge of the bed as you scramble for a hold. Anything to ground you against the burn in your veins with every tight squeeze around Mingyu’s cock. His balls slap against your clit teasingly, more degrading than the way he has you bent in half. 

“Harder,” you beg.

Mingyu falls back on his haunches, pulling you with him until you're sitting up right. His arm comes into view, curling around neck until your throat sits in the crux of his elbow and his hand latches on your shoulder; a crude headlock he uses as leverage to keep fucking into you. You’ve been choked but this is infinitely better. Whatever Mingyu wants to take from you, he’s in a position to do so.

“Gonna cum?” He nips into your earlobe.

His hand shoves its way between your legs, swipe roughly against your clit before you can even hope to answer.

A pathetic nod is all you manage thanks to the muscles gathered under your chin limiting your mobility.

Mingyu let's go then and your hands prevent a crash into the headboard, putting you back in the same position as before but you have to work for it now; ass bouncing in his laps as you ride him. Finding your balance, you drop one hand to your clit as Mingyu’s pinch your nipples.

“Let me have it, let me make you come." Mingyu pants into your spine. "Fuck you look so good like this, shit.”

He keeps rambling, flying with you towards the edge hand in hand; both breathless from the slap of your thighs against his.

“Mingyu, feel so good. Oh my god, oh my g—”

The softness of the pillows greets you once again while everything flashes white. Mingyu scrambles behind, fucking you into the mattress while you soak his cock. Muscles twitching, teeth ground till they crack, you come and come and come while begging him to do the same.

Mingyu gives in without hesitation, all his weight behind his hips as he fills the condom; dragging you back with an arm around your waist. Every jerk of his cock against your walls from the force makes you vibrate until he’s slipping out, soiled and used against the back of your thigh.

The last thing you register is his lips finding your shoulder again, rubbing back and forth as he comes down.

You fall asleep under the heat of his body for who knows how long, content in the mind shattering numbness of what just happened. Mingyu seems to feel the same, dead weight hanging half off you so you can at least manage to breath.

When you wake, whether it's twenty minutes or two hours later, Mingyu is snoring into the pillow, still naked. His lips pout in his sleep and you swallow the urge to shower them with kisses thanks to the drool at the corner of his mouth.

Even without the covers, you're warm. The kind of heat that slips over your skin, sinks into your bones and keens for you to fall asleep and stay. But Mingyu asked you on a date, not to spend the night. And you’d hate to assume and ruin whatever this is before it as a chance to start.

“Where are you going?” He pouts.

You don't make it two inches out of his arms before he’s pulling you back, tangling them around you so there's no chance of unnoticed escape. Mingyu digs his nose into your cheek and waits for an answer like he has all the time in the world.

Something tells you if he knew you were attempting to head home, Mingyu would throw a fit. And what use is that when you want to see what a night sleep with a giant human furnace is like?

“Bathroom.”

Adding to the list of information you’ve learned, Mingyu is a stage five clinger. He latches on to your back, guiding you into the shower stall for a quick spray down that leaves half your face, part of your thigh, and almost none of him clean.

He falls asleep against the base of your skull while brushing your teeth, because of course he has a stash of extra toothbrushes under the sink just in case. 

And when you crawl under the fresh sheets, he pulls you into his chest, leaves a kiss against your forehead, and tells you he can’t wait for your breakfast date tomorrow.

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[luveline]

𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐚 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

Hotch touches your face much more than a boss should. Or, 5 times you have a nosebleed +1 time Hotch does.

8k words, a slightly bloody coworkers to lovers, fem!reader, nosebleeds, reader works in the BAU but isn't a profiler, jack is a sweetheart, hotch has game fr, fluff + hurt/comfort

༺༻

You like your desk job. You handle paperwork primarily, and act as a sort of assistant unofficially. Anything to be useful — you get paid either way. It's why you don't mind trying to be helpful in the office and take on some of the office administrator's overflow. 

Today, that's fixing the coffee machines. The office can function on one at a stretch but both being broken means an entire roster of grumpy agents and all of them are on your back. And when they have to see all the stuff they say? You figure fixing the coffee machines is the least you can do. 

You're ignoring the weight of their waiting, elbow deep in one of the machines. The instruction manual had mentioned a little spout that can get clogged with detriment. Hopefully, you can clean it out and get at least one machine working by midday. 

"Oh no," you murmur. 

The piece you're trying to unscrew is tightly wound, too tight for your fingers to work behind. You're probably going to need a small tool, like an allen key. 

"No luck?" Agent Prentiss asks, sounding defeated. 

You look up from the machine and smile quickly. "I need smaller hands," you joke, letting the machine sit back on the counter and pulling out your aching fingers. "I'll have one working by the end of the day, Agent Prentiss. Scout's honour." 

She shrugs and waves a hand at you. "It's alright. What's one day without caffeine?" 

You laugh at her good-natured sarcasm and go back to your machine. When you're certain you can't jimmy it you turn your attention to the second machine and run through the steps. You're too determined to lose. Your coworkers depend on you. 

You start by changing the filter and are unsurprised when that doesn't work. You check the button connectivity, the fuse, and then you turn again to that small piece that needs to be washed. 

"Yes," you cheer under your breath, pulling the piece from its home to assess the problem. 

It's a tiny pipe with a piece of mesh that acts as a sieve to trap dust. Maybe. Whatever it is, it's full of caramelised coffee grounds. You move to the sink basin and turn on the faucet to clean it, washing with anticipation as the burned coffee trickles down the drain. 

You're pleased enough to feel a mild adrenaline rush, and your excitement leads to butter fingers: you drop the prized piece of pipe and it rolls out of sight.

This is not a good time for business casual. 

You tug your too-tight pants from your thighs and bend down in search. When it doesn't reveal itself you get on your knees and run your hands along the seams of the kitchen cabinets, face lowered. 

"Is everything okay?" 

You wince at a very familiar, very unfortunately timed voice. 

"Yes, sir, everything is perfect," you say, looking up to meet the eye of your boss' boss, unit chief SSA Aaron Hotchner. "I've misplaced a piece but I'll have the coffee machine working again in no time. I'm sorry." 

He raises his eyebrows at you. It's a very nice expression on him, his eyes light with an emotion you don't often see on him. "Is fixing the coffee machine in your job description?" he asks. 

You think it might be a polite reprimand. You won't insult him by insisting you're always on time with your actual delegated workload because he and your supervisor have to send you emails asking for missing paperwork all the time, so you try to disarm him. 

You beam. 

You're not a supermodel but everybody is pretty when they smile. "Sir, I thought I could sacrifice my lunch break for the good of the Bureau." 

"Yes, well." He looks like he wants to smile back. You might be seeing what you want to see, though. "That won't be necessary. Take your time." 

Your smile falters as you feel a telling heat at the back of your nose. "Thank you," you say quickly, covering your nostril with the pad of your index finger. 

You're hoping your swift words will send him on his way, but he's literally the lead profiler of the BAU. He knows suspicious activity when he sees it.  

"Is something wrong?" 

Blood starts to trickle down your palm. You slide your hand up to cover your nose the best that you can. The alarm on his face when he spots the blood sliding down your bare forearm can't be understated. 

"It's just a nosebleed," you placate, sounding stuffed up. 

He's a quick thinker, tearing a wad of paper towel off of the dispenser above the microwave and offering it to you.

If you weren't so distracted by your current predicament you'd say thank you. 

He turns back to the paper towels and tears off another wad. To your horror, Hotch bends down right there in the kitchenette and waits for you to open your palm, feeding the towels into your spare hand. 

"Should you tilt your head back?" 

"I think that's a myth," you say. 

Your skin starts to scrawl with embarrassment, the itchy, awful feeling of being pinned by his eyes. 

"How long do they usually last?" 

"Not very long, sir. I'm sure you're busy." 

He tilts his head slightly to one side as if conceding your point. "Let me help you up," he commands. 

You can't make yourself reject his help. Honestly, it's nice to have somebody care even if the nosebleed is purely superficial. His fingers curl around the crook of your elbow and he helps you onto your feet just in time for Agent Prentiss to return.

"Hotch, what did you do?" she asks, bewildered. 

You try not to laugh too much, worried you'll force another burst of blood. 

—

Confidential information. You hear it, you ignore it. Harder to ignore the whiteboards in the conference room that are currently choc-a-block with prints of crime scene photos. 

You don't mean to gawk at them. It's severely unprofessional and you shouldn't really be in here to begin with. The electronic screen is off, as are the monitors, so you know the room isn't in use. 

That could change any second, and it does. 

You hide your clammy palms behind your back at the sound of footsteps and try not to rush obviously toward the mug you'd come in here to collect. 

The door creaks open as you're leaning over the table. 

"I'm sorry," you say without looking. 

"You don't have to clean up after anyone." 

"Actually," you say quietly, abashed at having been caught, "this is my mug." 

You turn to face him. 

Agent Hotchner is tall and handsome. These are two undeniable facts and yet every time you see him it feels like a surprise. It might have something to do with how composed he is, how deliberate his movements are, or it might just be 'cause you have a crush on him. 

It's anybody's guess.

"I can make Reid wash it," he says. 

You're so whipped that your chest confuses his offer for something much worse. Like, he's on your side.

"That's okay, I don't wanna punish him for my own fussiness." You cover the mugs printed sides subtly, or as subtly as you're able. 

"What's special?" 

You smile at him, lips pressed together tight and eyes squinting slightly. You know what he's getting at but you ask anyways, stalling now he's caught you. "About what?" 

"About the mug." 

You peer behind him. 

"You can't tell anyone," you murmur, rounding the table to stand by his side with your shoulders to the door. "I'm not sure anybody knows it's mine." 

The mug is a corn-husk yellow and printed with a scene from a vintage Peanuts comic, dark-haired Lucy standing behind her lemonade stand that boasts 'Psychiatric Help 5¢'. Charlie Brown sits in front of it looking morose. 

It's hard to describe why you like it so much. 

"I see," Agent Hotchner says. 

It's become something of an office joke, offering each other five cents on bad days, calling someone Charlie Brown when they look lost. You doubt very much that anyone is making fun of you, you're just hiding that it's your mug because that's part of the fun. The mystery of the Peanuts mug. 

"I can't drink out of anything else," you confide, turning your face to his. 

He's definitely smiling this time. "Why would you?" 

You nod in genuine delight. "Exactly! Vintage Peanuts, and I searched so much for this because they used to use lead in glassware paint, and-" 

The nosebleed comes on suddenly. There's a drop of blood running down your lips before you've even realised. Agent Hotchner's eyes follow it all the way down. 

"Oh, no," you say, blood dripping to the hill of your chin. 

You use the back of the hand that's holding the mug to catch what's rolling down your neck and the other to pinch your nose closed, bending forward on instinct to hide your face. You're seasoned in nosebleeds. You know how you look — scary. Ridiculous. 

"Here," Agent Hotchner says. 

His hand comes into your eyeline, offering a dark square of fabric. You cringe at the idea of marring his likely expensive handkerchief but you can't not accept, pressing it haphazard to your bloody nose. 

"What were you saying about lead?" 

You're so frazzled about the blood you don't realise he's made a joke until it's too late to laugh.

"Do you know what causes them?" he asks. 

"I'm not really sure, sir. I used to get them all the time as a kid, um…" You pull the handkerchief away from your nose to check if it's still bleeding. When it doesn't continue, you say, "They're pretty harmless. It's done already." 

"If you need time off for a check-up, I'm sure the office administrator can find a sick day for you." 

You smile at him, and then remember the blood and grimace. I must look like Carrie right now, you think morosely. 

"That won't be necessary, sir, thank you. It's apparently the dry air." You're starting to feel more and more warm under his serious gaze. There's a startling amount of concern there. "I'm gonna go clean up now. Excuse me," you say, face glowing with heat. 

"Of course."

You cover your bloody face with the back of your hand, his handkerchief held in red-stained fingers. You pass Agent Prentiss on the stairs, hurrying past her with an I'm okay smile. 

"Hotch, again?" you hear Agent Prentiss ask incredulously. "Where do you get off?"

—

You can't return Hotch's handkerchief, it's a biohazard, but the fabric had felt so soft and the monogram in the corner had cued you in on how expensive it must have been. Your guilt manifests itself into three new handkerchiefs with the embroidered A.H. They aren't half as nice as the one he'd let you ruin. You leave them on his desk — or rather, you get Dr. Reid to leave them on his desk, as walking into his office doesn't feel like something you're allowed to do — and try to forget about them. 

For a week, you do. Agent Hotchner doesn't visit his office, Agent Jareau apprehends him on his way in that morning and the profiling team gather around their round table, and you don't see any of them for four days. The Friday they return, you're already on your way home. 

That's why his actions the following Monday shock you. 

It's unusual that he walks anywhere that isn't a straight shot to his desk. You're doing paperwork for once in your life, sitting awkwardly with your foot hooked under your thigh and a pair of wired earphones in. It's not technically allowed but he really doesn't venture over to you often. You've become complicit in your unsupervised nirvana of a desk job. 

You snatch your earphone out and struggle into a normal position. "Agent Hotchner," you say, wondering if you should call him Special Supervisory, or maybe something cooler, like your Highness. Your grace. He's intimidating in his accomplishments at the FBI, and he's super handsome. 

"Can I see you in my office? Ten minutes." 

You nod brainlessly. 

Your desk buddy doesn't wait long after he's left to investigate. 

"What did you do?" they ask from across the short partition. 

"I really don't know," you say, though you have your suspicions. 

"Were you reading on your computer again? I told you, read under the desk like a normal person." 

"No, I learned my lesson with that one when Agent Morgan started reciting Pride and Prejudice from over my shoulder." 

You check your face in a compact before you report to Agent Hotchner's office. Your heart beats in your throat as you knock his open door. 

"Come in," he says without looking up. 

You take a cautious step. 

He finishes off quickly and lifts his chin. His eyes are dark in the early morning light, his hair in mild disarray from the wind and drizzle. 

"Come in," he says again. 

You wish there was a word that could describe his voice accurately. He talks in the peaceable kind of cadence that comes with hushed tones without truly being hushed. 

"Sir…" You bite the bullet. "If this is about the macadamia cookies, I promise I'll replace them. I didn't actually eat any of them. They kind of fell out of the cabinet and exploded, it was a freak accident." 

He holds up his hand. "Thank you. For the handkerchiefs. They were unnecessary." 

He says 'unnecessary' with a smile. 

"Actually, sir, I think they were entirely necessary." You just disagreed with your boss. "Sir. I couldn't return the first, I ruined it and I- I didn't think you'd want it even if I got it dry cleaned." 

He raises his eyebrows. "It was unnecessary," he repeats, the word drawn out carefully. "But, I appreciate the gesture. Thank you." 

Two thank you's. You stop while you're ahead. "You're more than welcome, Agent Hotchner, sir." 

You share an amicable glance and turn to leave. 

"L/N?" 

You stutter to a halt. "Sir?" 

"Hotch is fine." 

You try not to swallow your own tongue. "Hotch," you say, and then worry that's something people only do in movies. 

A few days later, your humming along to your earphones and wading through the chaos of the bullpen feeling pretty happy. The office has been busy but not in the scary, suffocating way, and you're happy to be here. The BAU can be hard (and that's as someone who isn't on the front line). Times like this are cherished. 

You pause a foot from your desk, eyes creasing into a suspicious squint. 

There's a small box on your desk. 

"What is that?" you ask your desk buddy. 

"What?" they ask.

"That. There's a thing on my desk." 

"Nothing to do with me." 

"Think I should call the bomb squad?" 

"I'm sure you'll be alright. Maybe read the note before you raise the alarm." 

"There's a note?" you mumble, caution swiftly overrun by a burning curiosity. 

You'd be sincerely worried about a bomb, only this is the FBI. If a bomb got this far into the building half the people in it would lose their jobs. You kick your bag under the desk and drop your ipod onto the desk, tinny music blaring from your earphones. 

"What are you?" you ask under your breath. 

The box is wrapped in crepe paper and a yellow sticky note has been attached to the top. 

Rest assured, made without lead. 

That only confuses you more. You're hesitance has your desk mate sitting up in their chair. "Wait," they say, peering over the glass partition, "should I raise the alarm?" 

You slide a trim fingernail under a neat stripe of tape. "No, I think we're good," you mumble. 

And lo and behold, a mug is homed inside. A Peanuts mug no less; the mug has been printed with a Peanuts comic panel. Charlie Brown lays on the floor in a straight plank, and standing overy him is his friend Linus, who says, "I have been asked to tell you that your cries of anguish are keeping the whole neighbourhood awake!" 

You laugh loud and instinctively, shrill enough to attract the attention of half the office. Slapping a hand over your mouth, you slouch down as low as possible in your desk chair. Heat pools in your cheeks. 

"What is it?" your desk mate asks. 

"A present." 

And hence your new favourite mug is brought into life. You write your name on the bottom with black sharpie and continue to deny all knowledge of the first, which you retire to the drawer of your desk. 

For a while your nosebleeds go away. You know exactly who left the mug on your desk, and you remember the joke he'd made. Maybe Hotch had been on to something, and you'd inadvertently poisoned yourself.

You smile practically every time you see your new mug, and you're unsurprised when others appreciate its humour. 

You're not sure how to explain it to an eight year old, though. 

You're slumped over, nose to the desk and hand working diligently across your notes. Having a crush on your boss makes doing your work easier because you're constantly trying to impress him — an impossible task, but trying all the same. Your earphones bump a soft love song, something sweet to cut through the unhappy details of the case file you're working on. 

"What are you listening to?" a small voice asks. 

You drag your gaze up slowly and find Jack Hotchner standing beside your desk. You've seen him in person a few times, and once as Hotch's phone wallpaper, but he grows so much between visits you almost don't recognise him. 

"I'm sorry," you say, pulling your earphone out, "what did you say?" 

"What song are you listening to?" he asks, hands creeping up over the lip of your desk. 

You sit up and smile at him. You can't say he looks like Hotch, though maybe you can see it in his tiny grin, that hint of cheekiness. "I'm listening to a song called At Last. It's a love song. Do you… want to listen?" you offer quietly. 

He nods. 

You push your chair away from your desk and turn down the ipod's volume so it doesn't damage his hearing. "Here," you say, offering one of your earbuds. "Don't push it in, okay? I don't want it to hurt your ears." 

Jack takes the proffered earbud but doesn't seem super interested. "Do you have The Beatles?" he asks. 

"The Beatles! Is that what you and your dad listen to?" 

He nods, pleased, and you nod yourself, flicking through your songs in search of what he wants. 

"I have Here Comes the Sun. Do you like that one?" 

He beams. "Yes! Me and dad sing that one in the car." 

That's a really nice image, Hotch and Jack belting happy lyrics together in the busy mornings. It's also odd. Hotch singing isn't an image you can say you've ever thought of before. 

"I love this one," you tell him, letting your elbows dig into your thighs so the two of you are eye level with one another. 

"Me too." 

You share the earbuds, Jack combing your desk for something interesting no doubt. You cover a case detail that involves some gory images and almost knock over your mug in your haste. 

"What does that say?" he asks, pointing. 

Jack looks between you and the mug for answers. 

You lick your lips. "Uh, do you want me to read it to you?" 

He thinks about it. "Can I try?" 

"Of course you can." 

You clear a path for the mug and place it in front of him. 

"I have been asked to tell you," he begins confidently, "that your cries of an-" He frowns. "Anguish are keeping the whole ne… I don't know that." 

"I'm sure you do, it just looks weird. Neighbourhood." 

"Neighbourhood," he repeats. "Keeping the whole neighbourhood awake." He huffs a boyish, gentle laugh that makes your heart spin. 

"Good job, buddy." 

He melts under your praise. He's a cute kid, and his hair shines golden under the office lighting. It flops to one side as he tilts his head. "What's 'anguish'?" 

"Anguish. Uhm, it's like sadness." 

"Oh." He takes this in. "Do you have Let It Be?" 

You eventually give up your chair and let Jack sit with your ipod in his lap, playing through all The Beatles songs that you have. Nobody seems to be watching you and Hotch has yet to come out of his office and tell you off for supplying his son with technology, so you work around him, leaning over the back of the chair to fill in what's missing from your reports. 

Jack leans back in his chair, his adorable singing coming to a stop. "Do you have movies on the computer?" 

Yes, but should my boss' son know that? "It's for work," you say regretfully. 

"Not even FernGully?"

"I'm sorry." 

He shakes his head. "It's okay, it's not your fault."

"Do you like to draw? I don't have many colours, but we can play a game." 

He smiles for a moment, then hesitation crawls over his features. "Dad says not to disturb anyone." 

"I'm on my lunch break," you assure him. You hadn't been, but you don't mind taking it now. "Are you hungry? I have oranges." 

You and Jack end up sitting under your desk. You really don't mean to end up like that; you sit on your knees because your back has started to ache and Jack wants to sit with you. You can't say no to him. (You could, you just don't want to.)

"What did she say after that?" you ask, fingers digging into two orange segments to pull them apart. You shave off all of the strands of white pith before you pass it to Jack, who says thank you every time. 

"She said to ask Stacy who said to ask Morgan P who said to ask Joan. And Joan said she didn't wanna know, but then she changed her mind after I told her abd she said to ask Cooper." 

"What did Cooper say?" 

"Cooper says he doesn't think he knows where it is." 

You nod, chewing your own orange slice slovenly. "Well, what did your dad say?" 

"I haven't told dad." 

You lift your head from the paper where Jack has drawn an impressive house with five windows. "You haven't told your dad?" 

"He worries about everything." 

"That's his job, Jack. He has to worry about you." 

"He worries about everybody." 

"Some people do." You clean another orange slice for him, and he says thank you again. "You're welcome… Jack, I really think you should tell you dad. It sounds like somebody might have taken your pencil case on purpose. And even if he can't find out who did, he can get you some new pencils for school." 

"I told mom but she hasn't done anything yet." 

Your stomach hurts. 

"Well," you murmur, picking up the green pen, "I'm sure she's trying her best, baby. Can I help colour in these trees?" 

You and Jack fall into a companionable silence, his head bobbing to You Make My Dreams (Come True) the cutest thing you've ever seen. You're not sure how long you sit there, but all good things must come to an end, and your half hour for lunch draws to a close. 

"Hey, Jack?" you say, straightening where you kneel and preparing to stand. "I have some stuff I have to do but you're welcome to stay there." 

Unfortunately, you don't manage to grab his attention. Double unfortunately, somebody else does. 

"Morgan, where's Jack?" 

You peek past your desk chair. A little ways away, Hotch stands looking sick to his stomach, and Agent Morgan looks lost. 

"I didn't have him?" 

"I asked him to sit with you," Hotch says miserably, throwing his gaze over the office. "Jack?" 

Jack hears that loud and clear. Something in his dad's tone must spark some urgency, as he stands in a rush and trips on his own shoelace, smacking the top of his head into your nose. 

You gasp. 

"Ouch," Jack moans. 

Blinking, you shake off your disorientation. "Oh no, are you okay? Here, sweetheart, stand up," you encourage gently, "I'm so sorry, have I hurt your head?" 

Jack's gaze to the floor, he rubs the top of his head with a clumsy hand. "It's okay, Miss Agent, it wasn't you and-" He stares at you. 

"What?" you ask. 

"Dad!" he shouts, backing away from you. "Daddy!" 

Jack runs out of your little alcove and straight into his father's legs, almost bowling him over. Hotch drops two relieved hands down to his small shoulders. "What?" he asks, startled, "What happened?" 

Your nose stings, admittedly, but you've felt worse. It's a light throbbing that distracts you entirely from the blood racing down your lips until you taste it. 

Shit, you think, crawling out from under the desk with one hand, the other clamped over your bleeding nose. Your movement draws Hotch's attention, which in turn gathers at least a quarter of the office's. 

"I didn't mean to," Jack says shrilly. 

"It's okay. It wasn't your fault," you say stuffily, clambering onto shaky legs. 

You turn your head away from the collective gaze of the office and start toward the kitchen and hear at least three different people say, "Wait!" 

You ignore them, using your elbow to help tear off a paper towel from the roll and pushing it without finesse against your face. You squirm under the weight of tens of eyes, more embarrassed than anything else, worse when a warm hand turns you by the shoulder. 

"He really didn't mean to," you say, looking up into Hotch's concerned face. 

"I know." 

"Is he okay?”

"He's not the one with a nosebleed," Hotch says, neither kind nor unkind. 

"I honestly didn't even feel it." 

His fingers curl around your wrist, a slow tightening. "That doesn't surprise me, Y/N." 

You bite your tongue to stop from laughing. “He bumped his head into me." 

"Mm. Just a red mark. It won't even bruise." 

You deflate in relief. "Oh, good." 

Hotch's hands have found their way onto yours. He pulls one from your nose, gaze hardening at the strong river of blood that makes its way into the dip of your cupid's bow. 

"I'm sorry, sir." 

He shakes his head and gathers another wad of tissue paper, a light blue that quickly turns to a wine dark when he presses it to your face. Your heart hammers at his proximity, a thousand and one nerves aflame. 

He's close but not too close, nothing anyone could mistake for something else, and still it feels like a strangely intimate moment. His careful touches. He directs your hand to hold a fresh paper towel to the stream of blood and discards the bloody tissue. You watch him push up his sleeves carefully and give his hands a quick rinse in the sink before he dampens another paper towel. 

It's cool against your neck. 

"I think your shirt is ruined," he says, dabbing at a line of dried blood. 

You shiver at the feeling of cold water dripping under your starched collar.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, moving up to your jaw. 

You don't know how to admit it to him. No, it doesn't hurt. Your hands are really warm, and you're touching me so gently I can barely feel it. 

"A little." 

"Well, Jack is very sorry." 

"He doesn't have to be. He tripped, he…" You fade off as Hotch lays his hand across your cheek, thumb lifting your head slightly so he can clean your chin. 

"How are you faring?" he asks. 

You pull your tissue away and wait for the tell-tale heat of continued blood flow. You're ashamed to admit it but you're almost glad it hasn't stopped, Hotch's hand warm and large and impossibly comforting. Nosebleeds don't stress you out, exactly, but it's not fun to be covered in your own blood at work where everyone can see you. It's nice to have somebody wiping it away. 

"I think I'll live," you say. 

—

Jack sends you an apology card. 

It's hand delivered. Hotch is coming up to the BAU main floor as you're heading out. Like a rock dividing a river, his teammates stream from the elevator around you and Hotch remains inside. 

"I'll catch up," he promises. 

Agent JJ raises her eyebrows. Agent Morgan chuckles. 

You draw in on yourself self-consciously. You don't dress as nicely when he isn't here, and today you're rivalling Dr. Reid for most lovable dork in a pair of brown pants and a big sweater. Teetering the line between professional and unprofessional. 

"Sir," you greet, stepping into the elevator.

He presses the ground floor button. "I have something for you." 

Your eyebrows jump up high. Hotch unzips the main zipper of his duffle back and threads between clothes and papers for a smaller envelope. 

"It's for you." 

You accept, careful not to tear the thin sheet of folded paper as you pull it free. You're thrilled to see a drawing of Charlie Brown on the front, crudely drawn but clearly him with his head-wrapped in bandages. His puppy Snoopy sits beside him with something in his hands. You're not sure what. 

The inside is even sweeter. 

To Y/N

I am sorry if I made your nose angwished. Please feel better soon 

Love, Jack Hotchner. 

"Oh, I love it," you say, rubbing your thumb over a heart drawn in red crayon. "He's really something else, Hotch. He's brilliant, and so smart. I mean, anguished." 

He laughs and it twists your chest in five different directions. "He is." 

"It wasn't his fault though. If my nose weren't so sensitive it really wouldn't have bled at all, I didn't bruise. How is he? Did his head feel better?" 

The doors open. You hesitate, waiting for his reply. 

"Children are made of harder stuff than we are," he says. 

You step backwards out of the elevator. "I felt so bad. I don't suppose he'll want to come and sit with me again." 

"Actually," Hotch says, stepping out of the elevator just as the doors close again, "he thinks you're, uh, in his own words, the 'coolest friend' I've ever had." 

"Friend," you repeat with a smile. 

You've focused on the wrong word, and you worry an awkward silence will ensue, but Hotch steps up to the plate and says, "Yeah. He wouldn't stop telling me about all the cool songs you have on your ipod." 

"Purely for non-working hours." 

"Right." His smile says that he's seen straight through you. 

You're thinking maybe he likes what he sees. 

"This is really amazing," you reaffirm, pressing Jack's card to your chest. 

"He felt guilty." 

"He doesn't have to. Please, tell him I said thank you. And that he's amazing. And that my nose was being dramatic." You smile softly. "He can sit with me whenever he likes." 

"Maybe at the desk, next time, rather than under it."

"Yes, sir." 

You nod at him and he nods back, and you take it as a dismissal, turning on your heel. You've barely walked a metre when he's speaking up.

"Y/N?" 

You look at him from over your shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Are you hungry?" 

You bite your cheek in a hurry to answer, “Yeah. I’m starving.”

Your heart is basically a ticking time bomb in your chest as you and Hotch make your way into the heart of the city. He's a fast walker with long legs and you rush to keep up. That’s totally why you’re breathless. Not because he makes you nervous. 

Hotch is a really surprising guy, though maybe he isn’t surprising at all, you’re simply unversed in how he is outside of work. He talks more and his voice grows louder the further into the city you go, more expressive. 

You’re no profiler, but you’d bet money on Aaron Hotchner being nervous.

Good thing you’re nervous, too. 

“It’s not far now. You like Thai?” he asks. 

“Yeah, of course. Have you ever had Tom Yum?”

“With shrimp?” 

“Exactly.”

“I think I’ve tried it. I lived off of pad Thai when I was a prosecutor,” he says, head tilting back very slightly. His Adam’s apple works under the skin. 

He looks back down, a sheepishness to his voice as he continues, “A lot of late nights.”

“More than now?” you ask skeptically.

His laugh is low and warm. “No. The firm was much closer to the city than the bureau. It’s a long walk.”

“It is,” you say, taking a small step closer to his side to share a secret smile, “but it hasn’t felt that way tonight.”

You try to keep it light. You don’t want to scare him off. 

“No,” he agrees. “It hasn’t.”

You duck into a fragrant Thai restaurant and order fast, the two of you knee to knee in the very corner. A potted plant threatens to blind him every time he moves, and so he endeavours to stay very still. 

The food's a little on the spicy side, and while you're laughing you can't find it in you to feel embarrassed about your runny nose. 

"You didn't like Seinfeld?" you ask, and how you got here's a mystery, but Hotch is extremely passionate about it in the best way. 

"No, of course not. How could you? George was always worrying about something, he was the definition of a self-fulfilling prophecy and he never learned!" he debates, all in a rush, chopsticks moving in emphasis. 

You snort and wipe your nose again. "It was like a relief, though, that it was happening to him and not to you, you know? You might be having a bad day but George Costanza's having a worse one." 

"Oh, honey," he says. 

It takes you a second to realise that he's talking to you. 

"What?" you ask, perplexed. 

Hotch stands up though there's no space for it, chopsticks ditched and hand pushed into the recesses of his pocket swiftly. He pulls out a small packet of tissues, and he lifts his chin, a jut. You lift your own, and he's quick to press the tissue to your nose. 

"It's bleeding?" you ask, startled. 

"Just a little." 

"Sorry." 

"No, no," he says, bent down, a comforting hand around your shoulder, "don't be. It gives me an excuse." 

"To do what?" 

"To be this close." 

Your smile is a slow, molasses thick thing. You can't get a handle on it, and Hotch's answering one is worse. He looks so happy to be here with you, to be wiping your bloody nose. 

It's only a small nose bleed. Hotch pulls the tissue away once or twice to check, wiping at it tenderly and giving you a comforting squeeze each time. The silence feels natural as breathing. 

"There," he says eventually, pulling the bloodied tissue away with a smile. "All done." 

"Thank you, Hotch." 

"I'd think you'd better start calling me Aaron, considering."

"Considering what?"

His hand climbs from your shoulder to the column of your throat. He doesn't make you wait any longer, leaning down with a sure, brave deliberateness. He presses his lips to yours. 

A sweet kiss but too short — barely two seconds and he's taking a half-step away, your lips tingling in want. 

You go to stand and he pushes you down into your seat, not unkindly. "I'm gonna go see if I can get some hot water for you," he says, placating your gutted look with a kiss to your cheek. 

He wipes it thoughtlessly with the pad of his thumb before he goes. 

You're genuinely surprised your nose doesn't start bleeding again at the look he gives you as he turns the corner toward the restaurant's kitchen. Protective, knowing. Your heart races in your chest. 

You probe at your face, elated. Your sensitive nose is good for something after all. 

—

The first time you sleepover with Aaron is an accident. You don't "mess around," as you'd crooned over the phone, joking but with enough salaciousness to make him smile. The gas and hot water had stopped working in your apartment, and though the landlord had promised they'd fix it the very next morning, Aaron couldn't stand to think about you cold and alone when you could easily be warm and with him. 

So here you are. 

"Are you sure this is okay?" you whisper, peering over his shoulder at Jack. 

His son stands in the living room in his pyjamas.  

"It's okay," he says, "I asked him, and you know he's obsessed with you. His one condition is that you watch FernGully." 

"FernGully," you say, enthused. 

"You'll like it." 

You actually really do. Showered and dressed in your own pyjamas, a little shy but not too much to stop from laying against his side on the sofa. He's got one arm around you and one around Jack but he might as well be invisible, the two of you talking in murmurs across his chest. 

"And that's-" 

"Pips," Jack supplies helpfully. 

"Pips," you say, hand spread over Aaron's chest. 

If he didn't know better he'd think this was a slice of heaven. 

"So many people," you whisper in Aaron's ear. 

"More in the second one." 

"There's two?" 

After the movies finished — "It was better than you said, Jack," — and dinner’s been eaten and cleared away, Aaron takes Jack to bed. 

"Do you want a story?" Aaron asks, flitting around the room in a half-hearted attempt to square away the mess. 

"No." 

"You sure?" 

Jack's eyes are heavy, and they have been since dinner. "Yes," he mumbles, face turned into his pillow, hands lax on top of his blanket. 

Aaron smiles and makes his way to Jack's side. He kisses his son's cheek, and strokes the soft hair from his face. He smells like strawberry toothpaste and kids shampoo. 

You're sitting on the end of the bed when he gets to you, face damp with skincare and shining in the light. Aaron kisses you without touching it, worried he'll mess it up. 

“He’s wiped. All the excitement,” he says. 

“Excitement- From me?” you ask. 

“From you.” He puts his hands carefully either side of your neck.

You haven’t been dating very long, and still he knows how easy it is to fluster you. And while he loves to see it, see you giddy and shy, blinking at nothing like there’s a light shining in your eyes. He’d once pressed his thumb with the very faintest of pressure into your windpipe while kissing you, and you hadn’t been able to look him in the eye for three days. 

He loves that, but he’d prefer if you slept facing him. He wants to see what you look like asleep, as odd as it sounds, he assumes you’ll be beautiful. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were more. 

“Aaron,” you whisper. 

“What?”

“Want me to massage your bad shoulder?”

He wonders, as he thinks is more than allowed, if that’s a seduction trick, but you genuinely just give him a massage, as you have a couple of times in his office after noticing how sore it gets now the weather’s cold. 

You rub into the problem spot carefully, sighing with sympathy. “Oh, baby,” you say, more to yourself than him. 

He fucking loves the way you say it. Aaron’s never been called baby like that — like it’s his name, and it’s sweet to say. Your tired yawns warm the back of his neck as you go. He doesn’t think he’s getting lucky tonight, and he doesn’t care one bit. He feels pretty lucky just having you near. 

He gets you under the covers before you can fall asleep against his back and makes sure you know how grateful he is for the massage with two kisses. The first is a genuine thank you and the second is to make you laugh, nipping and playful under your jaw. 

Aaron falls asleep thinking about it. 

He wakes to something much less idyllic. 

It’s that strange feeling. Being a dad has honed it, but he’s always had it. It’s one of the things that makes him so good at his job, a prickling at the back of his neck. At first he can’t pin it down. 

Your waist rises under his hand with your breathing. He remembers that you’re there and smiles contentedly, hand sliding behind your back to pull you in. You’d fallen asleep on your back, and you’ve turned toward him in your sleep. 

The metallic stick of blood is sudden and sharp in his nose. He knows what it is before he opens his eyes. The room is dark, lit only by the red light of his alarm clock on the nightstand. His eyes ache with fatigue, and he knows in his gut that it’s too early to get up. 

Blood pools under your nose. Not a lot, nothing to panic over, but blood all the same. He sits up, quickly turns on his bedside lamp, and rouses you as gently as he can, a hand slid under your shoulders to drag you up. 

You blink blearily. “What?” you ask, voice scratchy. 

“Nosebleed,” he informs, pinching your nose before blood can slink down your neck and ruin your pyjama shirt. 

You wince and he hates the way you flinch away from his touch, your clouded confusion. It’s only a second but it doesn’t sit right with him. 

“Sorry, honey.”

You catch hold of his bicep and blink some more. 

“You okay to pinch it yourself? I’ll go grab some tissue paper.”

You nod robotically and replace his light pinching with your own, much less kind. He rushes to grab a roll of toilet paper from the bathroom, and when he returns you've pulled yourself into an alert sitting position, awaiting his return. 

He tears you off a wad of paper. “Here, honey.”

“I think it’s stopped.”

“Yeah? Let me grab you a towel.”

Back to the bathroom. When he returns for the second time you’re holding his given toilet paper against your face. He’s alarmed to find your eyes glassy with tears, shimmering in the bedroom light. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly, sitting across from you. 

He’d been right about sleepy you. You look lovely, a little funny with your rumpled pyjamas, and now quite sad because of your tears. “Honey,” he says again, pulling your hand from your face so he can assess the damage, “you’re okay. Is it hurting?”

You’ve told him before the nosebleeds are painless, but maybe they’re a symptom of something, maybe you’re sick—

“I ruined your pillow,” you mutter. 

Ah. That’s much better than your being sick. He can work with that easily. 

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

He takes your chin between his thumb and his forefinger to lift your head. The blood has stopped already; your nosebleeds are often a whirlwind, over by the time you’ve started panicking. 

“I’m sorry.”

He drops your bloodied tissue into his lap and brings the dampened towel to your face. He’s cautious. Your nose gets irritated and any roughness could disrupt the blood clot or agitate the anterior blood vessels inside. 

“You think I’m mad over a pillow?”

“No, of course not.” 

You sound stuffy. It’s adorable. Adorable and sad. He rubs the hill of your chin in a show of affection. 

“Then why?”

“Sorry, I think I’m just tired. I- I was trying to make tonight perfect because,” — a small tear bumps down your cheek — “it’s our first night together even if it was accidental.”

He dabs at your upper lip and the wet blood there with a smile growing. “It was perfect. It is perfect. You getting a nosebleed on a seven dollar pillow doesn’t change that.” His hand moves to your cheek, squashing your baby tear. “You know I love any opportunity to touch you… Now, do you want a glass of water?”

You close your eyes and lean your face heavily into his palm. “Can I have one of those kisses from earlier?”

“Can you keep your blood inside your body?” he asks with a smile, rubbing your cheek with his thumb.

“Depends how hard you bite me.”

He’s very, very gentle.

—

+1

Aaron breaks his nose. You are not supposed to know that he breaks his nose, only he breaks it so bad that he has to go to the hospital to get it set, and he decides he’d like you there. 

Technically, somebody else broke his nose. The details aren’t important. What matters is that Aaron makes a rookie mistake and he has to deal with the consequences, which is a biting, aching pain behind his eyes and a trip to the ER. He does not let them take him in an ambulance, and it really isn’t urgent. He sits in a waiting room chair with a stiff back and it doesn’t take long before you’re striding inside looking terrified. 

“Hey, baby,” he says, testing it out. He doesn’t really like it. 

“What did they give you?” you ask, bending at the waist to take his face into your kind hands. 

“Vicodin when I got here.”

“Lucky you.” You turn his face in your hands. 

“You look beautiful,” he says. 

“I wish I could say the same, but somebody messed you up bad.”

He laughs and takes your face into his hands, the two of you smiling way too much for the situation that you’re in. “I was so worried,” you say with a little laugh. 

He kisses you soundly. It hurts, but it’s worth it. 

They call his name not long after and a nurse takes you both into a grey examination room. The doctor is a short, stern woman who has to use a stool to reach Aaron’s face, and she sets his nose with a swiftness that even he manages to recognise for the brutality that it is in his drug haze. 

You hold his hand. He has to try very hard not to crush your fingers. 

It starts bleeding immediately. 

Aaron meets your gaze over the doctor's head, eyes wide and in similar fashion as your own, and he knows it’s an adverse reaction to shocking pain but he starts giggling. Aaron Hotchner doesn’t giggle, really. He laughs, and sometimes when he’s with Jack that laugh can get super loose and high, but this is a bona fide giggle. 

You try to gasp in shock but you’re laughing too. “Aaron,” you reproach.

He holds his breath as the doctor presses gauze to his face. 

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he says.

You snicker behind your hand. The doctor presses gauze to his face and rolls her eyes. She likely does not get paid enough. 

“You’re still handsome,” you say giddily. 

“Oh, well that's good.”

There’s a small silence rife with tension, and when it breaks it bursts like a dam. You laugh so hard you end up clinging to his arm, chest pressed to his bicep. He strokes the back of your head with a wobbly hand, wondering how miserable he’d be if you weren’t here with him right now. 

“What happened to keeping all your blood inside your body, Hotchner?” you ask, delighted. 

He beams at you dopily. “I’ve never been any good at that.”

You kiss his forehead. The doctor is furious. 

༺༻

[syoddeye]

consequence / ink

price x f!reader | 1.6k words series directory tags: alcohol, miscommunication (resolved) a/n: john is a down bad, as the youths would say. thank you to my beloved @/pfhwrittes for britpicking. ☕

her cast is gone. a sleeve hides the arm, but it’s clearly off.

john holds the door for a customer, unsure if he ought to take another step or retreat while he can. he tried to compose a text on the flight, on the drive, in the shower. a heads-up, a ‘hello, i’ve returned, i’m sorry, don't worry about my face when you see it’—but he couldn’t. somehow, he thought simply turning up would be better.

when she spots him, the look on her face says a text would’ve been the right call.

ah, well.

she glares over the other man’s shoulder as he pays. he’s truly awful because it only makes him happier to see her. if she didn’t care, her face would be a blank slate.

the man takes a short eternity to move to the end of the bar. john checks to ensure he isn’t holding up a queue he knows isn’t there, if only to buy another second—

“yurbeck.” she blurts out.

“sorry?”

slower, she repeats herself, “you’re back.”

“i am. you’re healed up.” 

“you’re not.”

the black eye he sports is ugly but faded. yellowish, with ugly splotches of blood still pooled beneath the skin. he’d like to say, you should see the other guy, but the bastard’s probably jaguar shit by now. instead, he shrugs. “looks worse than it feels. can we grab a drink when you’re off?”

she glances and frowns at her coworker, who’s clearly listening in over the noise of the espresso machine and sighs. her uncertainty is as plain as day.

“no.”

alright. damage control. he can fix this, he thinks, heart crashing into his gut. he didn’t leave her on bad terms. “listen, i know—”

she interrupts a second time. “we’ll go to mine.”

his mouth shuts, teeth clacking. he won’t argue with that.

~~

before you leave the café, you check your last exchange.

>> thanks for dinner the other night. i had a wonderful time. unfortunately, i won’t be by for a bit.

> ominous > prison?

>> not quite. work. i won’t be able to text.

> well don’t be gone too long > i might forget your order

it’s ridiculous, in hindsight, all your worrying over a man you assumed ghosted you. a regular you took a stupid leap of faith for. the shopping trip was a way to test the waters, and despite an awkward intensity he seemed desperate to hide and his bad jokes, john charmed you. even when you extended the exam to your place, he passed. no snide comments about cece or the decor. he helped with cooking without being asked. washed the dishes. it was a wonderful time. he said it. you believed it.

but two months isn’t ‘a bit’. it’s a disappearing act.

you say as much, as annoyed with yourself as you are with him. he quietly concedes he could have explained better. you tell him friends don’t go MIA for weeks. he laughs.

~~

“funny you should say that.”

“what?”

john stares hard at her profile as they walk. this part is always hard. pivotal. he puts it simply: “i’m in the military—special forces. that’s why i was ‘MIA’, as you put it.”

her brows raise, but she doesn’t falter. “oh.”

his lip curls. he’s been cussed out, fawned over, and ditched entirely for sharing his profession. no one usually reacts so little. it’s a divisive topic. everyone’s got an opinion. 

“that’s it? oh?” john echoes, trying to tease something out. he once listened to her harsh critique of the illegibility of packaging at the café—he cannot imagine her indifference as genuine. “you can ask questions, y’know.”

“okay. where were you? what were you doing?”

crawling on my belly through mud and fending off giant cockroaches. shooting. getting shot at.

“seeing the sights, meeting people.”

that withering glare returns, but it’s shorter-lived this time. she huffs. “see, i assumed ‘special forces’ means it’s the type of military business you don’t get answers about.”

“yes and no. i can’t compromise my clearance.”

“what can you tell me?”

he smiles when she sneaks a look, irritation giving way to curiosity. “i sunburn very easily.”

she snorts. “no way, not with that complexion.”

“and, i have thirty, forty mosquito bites where the sun doesn’t shine.”

john’s bruised cheek hurts from grinning as she laughs. this is the first time he’s heard it uninhibited, neither bitten back nor politely smothered by a hand. he needs to brush up on his humor. he needs to hear that sound more often.

“sorry. i’m a mess.”

john aligns their shoes and removes his jacket. it’s hardly messy. her flat appears mostly unchanged, except for the small mountain of citrus on her dining table. a single banana. she starts to sweep it into a plastic bin, but he catches a stray orange, and his thumb drags over an odd indentation. he turns it in hand, eyebrows pitching at the sight of a rose etched into the skin.

“is this…?” 

he watches her press a machine into a foam insert, then hurriedly zip a case shut. the look on her face clearly says he wasn’t supposed to see that. 

she takes the orange and shrugs. “something i’m having fun with. a new hobby.”

“solid work for a hobby.”

“don’t tease.”

“you’d know if i was.” 

she excuses herself to change after setting the bin aside, stepping over a wary cece. the cat stands guard at the mouth of the hall. unimpressed. he can practically hear the and where have you been?

john gives the cat a fond but tight smile. he’ll need to get in good with her again, too, it seems. he checks the water bowl before settling onto the couch. cece follows to investigate, her tiny black nose tapping his knuckles when he offers a hand. 

her aloofness swiftly melts after he coaxes her into his lap, though he suspects that the subsequent stabbing of her kneading paws is her brand of punishment. little thing seems to relish it.

“you can move her if she’s too much.”

his face lifts, and he wonders if the cat feels the palpitations in his chest.

given what he’s only just learned, he shouldn't be surprised, but the patchwork tattoos decorating her arms steal his breath anyway. the impulse to touch is instant. to trace every fine line and jealously ask where she had them done and by whom. 

he grips the arm of the couch hard, and cece pauses her biscuit-making, eyes half-lidded and judgmental. dismissing the cat, he nonchalantly places a throw pillow over his lap and scrubs a hand over his face.

the plot thickens.

“nice ink. didn’t realize you had any. makes sense.”

“yep. twenty-one. mm. no. twenty-two.”

far more than what the shirt shows. “any damage?” 

her head tilts as she cracks the refrigerator, pulling two bottles by their necks. “nope. don’t got anything there.”

john takes a beer as she plops down. she tucks her legs beneath, and he studies the artfully drawn black shapes on the one arm: a network of barbed thorns and flowers, a woman contorted into a skull, a mouse sleeping in a sardine tin, a stamp, and several stars.

“do you have any?” she asks, taking a swig.

nothing as lovely as hers. the first and last instance john had time to sit for a piece, he was clean-shaven and further from the thick of it. but she’s shown him hers; returning the favor is only polite. “one.” he sets the bottle aside to ruck up his left sleeve. she shifts, and the tips of his ears redden. fuck he wishes it wasn’t so—

“traditional. ha, had you pinned for the type. cute.”

cute. the ink has faded into muted tones, the lines softened. the mermaid’s once coy smile blurs into a vague shape, and now that he looks at it, the anchor’s shank is slightly crooked. the subtle, natural distortions of time make the mermaid perched in the curved arm of the anchor appear as aged as his face.

“can i?” 

she extends a hand. has she touched him before? intentionally?

“yes.”

her fingers follow the lines without an ounce of hesitation or hovering. the corner of her mouth quirks when john instinctively squeezes his bicep, the mermaid’s blue tail flexing under her thumb. he can’t tell what she’s thinking despite watching her pretty eyes. he simply laments he doesn’t have more to show her if only to keep her this close.

john’s focus narrows to the heat of her hand as it moves. he imagines five perfect ovals burning into his arm hair where she grabs and adjusts her view. that his skin might melt, and her palm would graft to his limb for all time, barring surgical intervention.

the first words out of her mouth in a minute are a bucket of cold water.

“six inches, right?”

“what?”

her gaze flicks up. “from the tip to the base?” a prolonged beat passes before she adds, “or, i guess, to the fins of her tail?”

she’s gonna be the death of me. 

“i think so.”

“it’s aged well.”

“ah. you’re taking the piss.”

“you’d know if i was.” she echoes. “i’m serious. i’m guessing it’s fifteen or twenty years old? it could look worse.” her nails scritch in a tight circle for a half-second, long enough that he might combust, but she pulls away and swirls her beer. “why’d you stop at one?”

“busy schedule. and i don’t want to be too identifiable.”

“yes. the chops are the subtler choice.” she smiles behind the bottle. “now i’m taking the piss.”

john thinks of precisely three responses to her cheek, none of which make it to his tongue. he sips slowly, catching on a slip of skin when she stretches, the hem of her shirt lifting just so. a tempting black line practically hooks his eye before it disappears.

“oh, you’re funny. got me curious, though. which one was your first?”

her legs straighten, and she pushes to her feet. “it’ll be easier if i show you.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Habits 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, age gap, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Andy Barber, Cole Turner (Professor AU)

Summary: your life is thrown into chaos after a night out goes awry.

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all.

The incessant beeping stabs at your brain. Goddamn. You must have left your alarm on!

Your head swims at the thought of moving but you can’t listen to that anymore. You flail your arm out, goosebumps rising in the cold air, as your hand catches on something. 

“Ermph,” you grumble at the bite on the back of your hand. 

You open your eyes bur just as quickly close them. No. You shudder and peek out through the slits of your eyelids. It’s bright. Too bright. Oh shit. 

You make yourself look completely. There’s an IV inserted in the back of your hand, the beeping from another machine at your bedside. Your throat is raw and your mouth tastes funky. Every inch of you hurts. 

No. It can’t be real. You’re in a hospital. You stare at the ceiling and try to remember last night. The lights, the music, the crush of bodies... 

Damn it, Mercedes, that pill definitely doesn’t mix with alcohol.  

You sit and wait, unsure of what else to do. The nurse comes to check on you. She asks you basic, rigid questions. There’s little empathy in her touch or ‘how are you feeling?’ She explains that you were brought in with alcohol poisoning. 

After checking your reflexes, your blood pressures, and heartbeat, she detaches you from the IV. She suggests you stay hydrates and not to kindly says to avoid alcohol. She tells you you’re cleared to go and leaves. 

You’re embarrassed. You can’t believe it got to this. You always said you would never get that bad. Worse, you’re all alone. Mercedes isn’t here. You wonder if she even knows what happened. What if you hadn’t been brought to the hospital? What then? 

You walk out in your mini skirt and the hospital gown. Your shirt is completely missing. You have only your purse and clunky heels, both of which stink. 

As you sit on the bus, you want to cry. Your loneliness sets in. And reality. You could’ve died and it would’ve been all alone in that hospital room. Aside from that, you wouldn’t have even known. It all just would’ve been gone. 

You get off at campus and keep your head down. You wind around Greek Row and enter the dorm building. You climb the stairs with an effort as your stomach lurches. There’s a hot pain inside of you that just won’t go away. 

By the time you get into your dorm, you’re nauseous. You’re too empty to vomit. You dump your things in your room and tie on your fluffy robe. You go to get a glass of water. You need coffee but not that instant acid you keep in your cupboard. 

It’s early. Too early for Mercedes. You don’t even know if you could face her. You’re angry and yet it isn’t your fault. You vaguely remember the bartender telling you to stop. Then it’s all muddy. 

You finish the water and get in the show. You can wash away the grime of sweat, alcohol, and other things you don’t want to name, but the same lingers. You can’t blame anyone but yourself. It’s not like you didn’t have a million warnings. 

As you get to your room, you hear your phone buzzing. You sit on the bed and pluck it out of your purse. Shit. It’s your mother. And, you remember, your emergency contact. 

You answer on speaker. 

“Mom--” 

“What the fuck is this!? I wake up to a goddamn voicemail from a hospital?! Are you insane?” She shrieks. “Coral. You are so fucking lucky I’m not driving down there right now. Is this what you’re doing with your fucking life? When I'm paying for you to get an education! When I have to work in two hours just to pay for your fucking party nights?!” 

You sit and shrink down as you take in her furor. You just stare at the phone. You deserve this but it’s also not unusual. Your mother only ever communicates in wails and roars. 

“I would say I can’t believe you but you’ve always been a fuck up,” she barks. “Get your shit together, girly, or it’s over. Got it?” You hear her huffing and puffing angrily. You cower instinctively, even though she can’t hit you through the phone. “Don’t fucking call me.” 

She hangs up before you can even try to apologise. The sorrys and tears only ever made her worse. You drop your phone and cradle your head. 

You have class. Not until noon. You planned it well. You could go out, get lit, and have enough steam to make it through the week one snooze fest. Nope. You’re not getting any sleep. 

You get dressed; a cropped sweatshirt and leggings, and pack up your knapsack. You’ll go get a coffee and something light. Crackers or whatever. Anything more and you might dissolve into the mess you are. 

As you walk across campus, you try to think. It’s so weird. You remember patches of last night but nothing connects. And there’s something that’s missing. You don’t know what but it tugs at your brain. There was something else... 

The cafeteria is closed but the cafe is open. You get your coffee and a plain bun. The cashier looked at you oddly as you asked for a breakfast sandwich with no fillings. You sit and nibble as you stare blindly across the empty tables. 

God, you feel hollow. Like you’ve been gutted.  

What do you do now? Where do you go? Is this the point when you change? When you hunker down and live a boring life? That sounds awful. Is that what it means to grow up? You have to live with your head in books and drag yourself through every dull day. 

You don’t want to be your mother. You don’t want to be angry and resentful because you ended up in a dead-end office with an asshole boss. Well, if you’re not going to that, maybe it is time you got your head on straight. If you’re going to be a PR lawyer, you can’t be waking up in a hospital bed with a pumped stomach. 

And you’re going to need to get some new friends. 

[emhm]

Coffee? Please?

Let me preface this by saying; I am not disabled and this is not about 'urgent' vet bills.

[I have an outstanding debt to pay in that regard, but the monthly payment is small and the service was already done. It was the amputation for our kitten Lucky's dead front leg.]

I do have a job and the pay is too good to quit. I work 40 hours a week and I spend almost 13 more hours just driving to and from work because our boss 'can't find a work assignment closer to where I live.' Up until about two weeks ago my partner was also working 40 hours a week on an opposing shift. We were just starting to get on top of our crushing pile of monthly bills. Then she lost her work assignment [not her fault] and he couldn't find anything else for her to do. So she lost a whole weeks pay. He found her a place, but now she's only getting 24 hours a week instead of 40. And we were already struggling to pay for the bare essentials. I was hoping so hard to just have something left when the bills were paid. But my entire tax return was used to pay for overdue bills and it still wasn't all of them.

-We have not had a working washing machine since September. Almost all of my ancient towels have rotted and ripped apart from trying to hang dry them to avoid killing the dryer too.

-Our house does not have central heat or air so we've been freezing for months with no money to buy wood for the stove. [It's warmer now but still in the low 40s at night where I am.]

-We have been flushing the toilet with buckets of water for almost a year because hiring a plumber is not happening.

-For over a year we have been fighting the flea infestation caused by the deadbeat trash-pit roommate we had to force to move out. They're biting me as well as the cats and I'm allergic to them. So I constantly have a rash on my feet and ankles. We never have money for flea drops consistently enough to get rid of them and I do not have a working vacuum to get rid of the flea eggs in the carpet.

-I just had to take on $1200 worth of debt because my tires were bald from my ungodly commute and they told me the brakes need replacing very soon.

-Our youngest cat Lucky will need to be fixed soon because she's almost old enough to go into heat. [She's indoors only but I don't want to deal with the screaming.]

Our predatory mortgage payment is almost $2000 a month with all their shitty add-on fees. My car payment is $334. The internet is $87. The power is usually $125. Car insurance is about $115. Garbage is $65. Our car is shared and I go through 1 tank +1/4 tank of gas EVERY WEEK. I owe both Sunbit AND Carecredit. We're both estranged from abusive parents and have no other family to turn to in an emergency.

I can't ask for money for fanfic. I know that's unethical and illegal.

But I can tell you that I write better/faster/more when I'm not distracted by gut-wrenching despair, crippling anxiety attacks and the bone-deep fear of quickly losing my home because I'm always two missed paychecks away from disaster. I know pretty much everyone is in the same boat, and my problems aren't unique or special.

But anything helps.

I have several hundred dollars in overdue bills from last month and it's already time for the next month's to start arriving. I feel so hopeless and I don't know what else to do besides resorting to begging.

I just set up a Ko-fi account - https://ko-fi.com/followmeontumblr

My Paypal is attached to this old email address - Nightshade518@yahoo.com

I have an Etsy shop with some things for sale - https://www.etsy.com/shop/PatchworkLaboratory

I also have a Spoonflower shop with fabric featuring my designs. [I only make $1.50 per yard that people buy though.] - https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/infamousdoctorf

And for anyone who was kind enough to read this whole thing- I do have some NSFW sketches I've drawn for "Eclipse Meets His Match" that I have nowhere safe to post. If you're bold enough to direct-message me with the line-

"I swear on all I hold holy that I am not a minor. Show me the art."

I'll let you see them. Thank you either way.

-Doc

[joelmillerisapunk]

Girl Next Door

Neighbor!Joel Miller x F!Reader

Masterlist

Wordcount: 3,646

Summary: Joel finds himself overwhelmed by the desire to possess something that belongs to you, leading him to indulge in a secret fantasy.

~Or~

What Odette dreams about

Warnings: 18+, mentions of Tommy being in jail, underwear/ underwear sniffing kink? Unprotected bathroom bar sex, hair pulling, no physical description of reader minus hair being pullable, oral - m!receiving

Notes: NERVOUS AS ALL HECK TO POST THIS AS MY FIRST FIC IN A MINUTE. didn't know I had this kink until I had a similar dream, so don't look at me, but also, if anyone else likes this, please let's talk so I don't feel weird 😂 thanks as always @saradika-graphics for the divider

Joel is restless as he mindlessly tosses his clothes into the washing machine in the shared laundry room of his apartment complex. He can't stop thinking about the woman he saw moving in across the hall. There's just something about her that captivated him, and he can't shake her from his mind.

As he goes to add the detergent to the machine, he notices a basket of laundry sitting next to his. His eyes scan over the pile of clothes until they land on a pair of lacy panties. A thrill run through him as he realises that they were hers - yours.

The ones he saw when he was watching you move boxes, the ones he watched appear when you bent over and your shirt exposed the small of your back.

And before he can talk himself out of it, he quickly grabs the panties, stuffing them into his pocket. He turns around just in time to see you walking into the laundry room.

"Oh, hey there," you say with a friendly smile. "I didn't realize anyone else was using the machines right now."

Joel feels his face flush with embarrassment as he stutters out a response. "Uh, yeah, was just finishin' up."

You chuckle softly. "Well, don't let me interrupt you. I just need to switch my load over to the dryer."

As you bend down to transfer your clothes, Joel can't help but steal a glance at your body. He feels a stirring in his pants, and he quickly looks away, hoping you don't notice.

When you straighten up, you catch him looking and raise an eyebrow. "Everything okay?"

Joel feels his face grow even hotter. "Uh, yeah, sorry. I just got a little distracted."

You smile knowingly. "Well, I hope it was a good distraction.”

You make small talk as you wait for your laundry to finish, and Joel finds himself even more drawn to you.

As you’re about to leave, you turn to him. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, what is it darlin?"

"Well, I seem to have misplaced a pair of my favorite underwear. I was wondering if you might have seen them around here?"

Joel's mind races as he tries to think of a response. He can't very well admit that he had taken them, could he?

"Uh, no, I haven't seen them," he stammers, hoping you don't notice the lie.

You look disappointed. "Oh, well, thanks anyway. I guess I'll just have to buy a new pair." And with that, you're gone. Shortly after, he gathers his things and leaves.

As soon as he’s outside the room, Joel lets out a sigh of relief. The adrenaline rush from stealing your underwear sends shivers down his spine. He can’t believe how easy that was. This is definitely the highest he's ever felt.

But as he walks away, a wave of guilt washes over him. What kind of sick fuck gets off on stealing women's underwear? He knows how wrong it is, but damn if it doesn't turn him on like nothing else ever could.

He walks aimlessly for a while, trying to distract himself from the thoughts in his head. But every time he thinks about those lacy panties clinging to his thigh, he feels his cock throb.

He needs to do something with them. He needs to feel them against his skin, to smell them, to touch them. But what? Should he hide them away in a drawer? Or should he just keep them nearby for whenever the urge struck?

Joel hesitates for a moment before finally making up his mind.

As he walks back into his apartment, he can’t help but imagine what it would be like to feel those panties on his body. The idea of feeling your softness against his skin makes his cock throb even harder.

Joel decides to try and sleep it off. Maybe by morning, the urge would pass, and he would be able to put this whole thing behind him.

He walks toward his bedroom and strips off his clothes before he climbs into bed. But try as he might, sleep eludes him. The urge to grab those panties and explore them with his tongue is too strong to ignore. He continues to shift restlessly in bed until finally giving in to temptation. He reaches down grabbing the soft fabric from his jeans wrapping one hand around his hard cock and using the other hand to bring the fabric up to his nose and inhales deeply.

Joel's hand moves up and down his shaft, stroking with a rhythm that he knows will bring him to climax in no time. He focuses on the sensation of his own hand, the softness of you on the lace, letting out a low moan as he feels himself getting closer to the edge.

But then, just as he's about to come, Joel hesitates. What if you found out? The thought makes him pause, making him wonder if it’s worth the risk. He decides to take a break for now. Throwing the panties to the floor, he lays there for a few moments, trying to catch his breath. But then he can't resist. The urge takes over slowly and then, all at once, crashing over him like a tidal wave about to suffocate him. Joel picks up the panties one more time and brings them close to his face, inhaling deeply.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath as he licks them slowly, savoring their scent. He runs his tongue over every inch of fabric before finally taking them into his mouth, sucking on them hungrily. "You taste so sweet baby."

He stops to hold the panties in front of his face, admiring their form, admiring the cut and color. He imagines how it would taste if he were to lick your pretty lips and your pretty little clit, imagining how it would taste when he slips his fingers inside you as you’re making a mess all over his face. It almost makes him come right then.

He moans softly as he imagines all the things he would be doing to you once he gets you alone. How you would feel wrapped around his cock, moaning as he pushes into you. His eyes light up as he envisions how you would feel, naked against him, begging and whimpering as he fucks you. He knows the perfect way to drive you insane; torturing you for pleasure before finally plunging into you, making you scream his name, begging daddy for his big cock. He pictures you writhing and crying underneath him as his seed spills all over your soft skin, filling the air with the musky scent of sex.

His fantasy is interrupted, however, as his phone rings, shattering the illusion of the forbidden paradise his imagination created. Joel groans in frustration, reluctantly answering it.

"Ya?" He demands, his voice rough with need and lust, not bothering to ask who it is.

"Hey, big brother. It's me." it was Tommy, and Joel could only guess what this was about. Tommy had seen himself in jail, his fair share these past few years, and Joel was tired of bailing him out.

"Tommy, I swear to god -" Joel starts, ready cuss out his brother and give him the old "I'm gonna kick your ass..." spiel, but Tommy cuts him off.

"I know what you're gonna say. You're gonna kick my ass. But it wasn't my fault this time. The guy had it comin. He was gonna hurt her. I was just tryin' to help. You gotta respect that, Mr. Southern gentleman himself." Tommy says, sounding sincere enough for Joel to believe him. He relaxes slightly. Tommy never did anything particularly bad, but he always manages to get himself in trouble somehow. Even as kids, he was always bailing Tommy out.

Joel rolls his eyes. “That's what you said the last time. I'm gonna kick your damn ass Tommy. I should leave ya in there."

"Alright, alright, look man-"

"What? Make it good, or I'm goin’ back to bed." Joel says impatiently.

"You bail me out this one last time, and I'll buy you the next round'a beer." Tommy bargains.

Joel can't help but laugh at his brother's proposal. "You're really tryin’ to bribe me with beer, huh? Fine, I'll bail you out one last time. But you better not fuck this up, Tommy, you ain’t gettin' another chance." Joel warns.

"Thanks, Joel. I won't let you down this time, I promise - promise on our mamma," Tommy replies, sounding genuinely grateful.

Joel sighs and hangs up the phone, shaking his head. He can't believe he was letting his brother talk him into this again.

But as he gets dressed and heads out to bail his brother out of jail, Joel can’t shake off the feeling of excitement that still lingers from his earlier encounter. The memory of those lacy panties, the scent of you on his fingers, the taste of you on his tongue - all of it is still fresh in his mind.

As he drives, Joel's mind starts to wander. He can't stop thinking about you, about the way you probably look in those silky panties, the way you feel and taste. He feels himself getting hard again just thinking about it. There’s something about you that draws him in, something that makes him want to possess you, to make you his own.

With one hand on the wheel, his free hand pulls out the underwear from his pocket, his hand shaking with desire as he holds the lacy panties up.

He lets out a low moan, his cock already rock hard in his pants and without thinking, he begins to rub himself through the fabric, imagining it’s your hand on him instead.

The sensation is overwhelming, and Joel can feel himself on the brink of climax almost immediately. He tries to hold back to savor the moment, but it’s no use. Within seconds, he’s coming hard, staining his jeans with his own release.

Panicked, he starts feeling around his truck for something to cover up the stain on his pants. He rummages through the glove compartment and the back seat before finally finding an old sweater that Tommy had left behind on a previous visit.

Joel quickly places the sweater over his bulge, hoping it would be enough to hide the stain.

When he arrives, he parks in the loading zone and jumps out of the truck, still trying to act casual while tying the sweater around his waist. But as he approaches the entrance, he can feel the eyes of the other visitors coming in on him, no doubt noticing the bulge in his pants and the sweater tied around his waist.

As he walks into the jail, his face flushes with embarrassment, and his mind still preoccupies with thoughts of you. He makes his way to the visitor's area, scanning the crowd for Tommy.

When he finally spots his brother sitting at a visitors table, looking bored and impatient, Joel approaches him, trying to act as casual as possible.

"Hey, Tommy," Joel says, as he sits across from him.

Tommy looks up and does a double-take when he sees the sweater tied around Joel's waist. "What the hell happened to you?" Tommy asks, with a smirk on his face.

Joel feels his face grow even hotter with embarrassment. "Nothin’, just spilled some coffee on my pants.”

Tommy raises an eyebrow, clearly not convinced.

Joel shifts uncomfortably in his seat, trying to discreetly adjust the sweater tied around his waist. He can feel Tommy's eyes on him, still skeptical about the "coffee" stain.

"Sure thing, big brother. Whatever you say," Tommy says, chuckling to himself.

—

Joel and Tommy walk out of the jail, the weight of the situation heavy between them but still Joel can't help but feel a sense of relief wash over him as they step out into the cool night air. He had done his duty as an older brother once again, bailing Tommy out of a sticky situation.

As they make their way to Joel's truck, he can’t shake off the thoughts of you that have been consuming him all day. He wants you, needs you, in a way that he has never felt before.

Tommy notices Joel's distracted state and ribbs him about it. "Hey man, you got a girl on the brain or somethin’? You've been acting weird since you got here."

Joel hesitates for a moment, as much of a dumbass his kid brother is, he’s really all he’s got, "Uh - yeah, there’s this girl... Can't stop thinkin’ about her."

Tommy chuckles. "Well, maybe you should ask her out or somethin’. What's the worst that could happen?"

Joel shakes his head. "It's not that simple. I... I don't even know her name."

Tommy raises an eyebrow. "Well, where’d you meet her?"

Joel hesitates for a moment before admitting the truth. "I saw her move the other day across the way. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. Just sat there starin’ for a bit, I just couldn't help myself.”

"Well, maybe you'll run into her again sometime. And this time, you can introduce yourself like a normal person."

Joel nods, feeling a glimmer of hope. Maybe Tommy was right. Maybe he would run into you again. And this time, he could do things differently.

—

The next evening, Joel finds himself at the bar down the street, hoping against hope that he might see you again, somewhere, somehow. He sits at the bar, nursing a beer and scanning the crowd for any sign of you.

As he sits there, he can't help but feel a sense of déjà vu. Has he been here before? It was like a fog had settled over his memory, making it difficult to recall the details.

And then, just as he's about to give up hope, he sees you walking towards the bar, your eyes scanning the crowd. And then, as if by some miracle, they land on him.

You smile, a shy, tentative smile that makes Joel's heart race. Joel can't help but feel a wave of nervousness wash over him as he sees you approaching him at the bar.

He's always been awkward around women, especially ones as beautiful as you. He tries to play it cool, taking a sip of his beer and glancing up at the TV, but his eyes keep flicking back to you.

"Hey there, cowboy," you say, a playful smile on your lips. "I haven't seen you around here before."

Joel feels a wave of nervousness wash over him, but he tries to hide it with a grin. "Oh, I'm just passin' through," he says, hoping he doesn't sound as awkward as he feels.

But you seem to be enjoying his discomfort, your eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, I'm glad you stopped by."

You lean against the bar, your body close to Joel's. He can feel the heat radiating off of you, and he finds himself struggling to focus on anything but you.

"So, cowboy, tell me what really brings you to this little dive bar?" You ask, your voice low and sultry.

Joel takes a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. "Just needed a break from the rodeo, I guess," he says, trying to play along.

You laugh, a loud, genuine laugh that makes Joel's heart skip a beat. "Well, I'm glad you found it. Maybe we can make each other's night a little more interesting."

Joel feels a thrill run through him at your words. He knows what you're suggesting, and he can't help but feel a surge of desire. "I'd like that darlin."

You lean in closer, your lips brushing against Joel's ear. "Follow me."

Joel follows you through the crowded bar, his heart racing with excitement. He can't believe what's happening, but he doesn't want it to stop.

You lead him to the bathroom, pushing open the door and pulling him inside. The room is small and dimly lit, but Joel can see the desire shining in your eyes.

You push him up against the wall, your body presses against his. Joel can feel your breath hot against his skin, and he finds himself struggling to breathe.

"I've wanted you since the moment I saw you."

Joel feels a surge of desire run through him. He's wanted you just as badly, and he can't believe this is finally happening. He reaches out, his hands tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer. Your lips meet in a passionate kiss, your tongues dancing together as you explore each other's mouths.

Joel's hands move down your body, sliding under your skirt and finding their way to your panties. He can feel the heat radiating off of you, and he knows you want him just as badly as he wants you.

He slides your panties down your legs, his fingers lingering for a moment before he lets them fall to the floor.

You break the kiss, your breath hot and heavy. "Take me."

Joel doesn't need to be told twicn.sbb

De. He helps you up onto the sink and your legs wrap around his waist as he slides inside of you.

You moan with pleasure, your head thrown back as Joel thrusts into you. The bathroom is small and cramped, but neither of you care. All that matters is the heat and the pleasure between you.

Joel can feel himself getting close, the pleasure building up inside of him. He knows he won't be able to hold back for much longer.

But just as he's about to reach his climax, you pull away, your body sliding down his.

"Not yet, cowboy," you say, a playful smile on your lips.

Joel watches as you sink to your knees in front of him, your eyes never leaving his. He feels a surge rush through him as you reach for his hard cock, you wrap your hand around it, stroking him slowly. Joel lets out a low moan as he feels your hand on him, the sensation almost too much to bear.

You lean in closer, your breath hot against his skin. He can feel your lips brushing against the tip of his cock, and he holds his breath in anticipation.

And then, finally, you take him into your mouth. Joel lets out another moan as he feels your lips around him, your tongue swirling around his cock. His thoughts are consumed with desire as he watches you pleasure him.

He reaches down, tangling his fingers in your hair as he begins to thrust his hips, fucking your mouth with a roughness that takes you by surprise. You moan around his cock, the vibrations sending shivers down his spine. He can't believe how good it feels and how much he wants you.

He feels himself teetering on the edge, and he knows he's about to come. He pulls out of your mouth, your saliva glistening on his cock.

Without a word, he pulls you up and turns you around, bending you over the sink. He can see your face in the mirror, your eyes wide with desire and anticipation.

He slides inside of you, your wetness coating his cock as he begins to thrust. He can feel you clenching around him, your body trembling. Joel reaches around, his fingers finding your clit. He begins to rub slow circles, hearing you moan with pleasure as he hits the right spot.

He knows he won't be able to hold back much longer, and with one final thrust, he spills his seed deep inside of you, filling you up as you moan with pleasure.

Joel watches in the mirror as you come with him, your face flushed with pleasure, and your eyes glazed over with desire. He can't believe what just happened, but he knows one thing for sure - he needs more of you.

He pulls out of you and helps you to your feet. You lean into him, your body trembling with pleasure.

"Wow," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel chuckles, feeling a sense of satisfaction wash over him. "Yeah, wow," he says, pulling you close for a kiss.

He helps you straighten your clothes, his fingers lingering on your skin for a moment before he pulls away.

You reach down, picking up your panties from the floor. You hold them out to Joel, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

"A souvenir," you wink.

Joel takes the panties, his heart racing with excitement.

You lean in, your fingers putting a pre-written note in his pocket, and your lips brush against his ear. "Call me, cowboy," you say, your voice low and sultry.

And then you're gone, leaving Joel alone in the bathroom with nothing but the memory of your body and the scent of your panties to remind him of what just happened. He can't believe what just happened, but he knows one thing for sure - he's never felt this alive before.

[callmedaleelah]

— Pinnacle [ tsukishima kei university au series ]

— i have a lot of regrets about that ; you’ve been avoiding him since you cried in front of him and the way he hold you so close still lingering in your head you’re so embarrassed you need to study harder

author’s notes : no mention of (y/n), written in second person pov, semi alternative universe, timeskip!tsukishima, college life, not proofread, english is not my first language

[ masterlist ] | [ ask daleelah go to box box 🐭 ]

It was late, and the campus was quiet, with only a few students still lingering around. The library, one of the few places that stayed open late, was dimly lit, and Tsukishima had just finished a study session of his own, the silence and solitude offering a rare moment of peace. As he stepped outside, his attention was drawn to a figure he recognized instantly.

You were just leaving the library, moving quickly as you answered a phone call. Tsukishima’s sharp eyes noticed the tension in your posture, the way you bit your lip and hurriedly tried to gather your things. He watched as you fumbled with your papers, dropping a pen and a few sheets to the floor in your haste. Among them, he spotted the familiar sight of your lab report, covered in his meticulous notes.

You didn’t even notice as you left them behind, too absorbed in your conversation to care. Tsukishima felt a strange pull to help, to return your belongings before they were lost or damaged. Without thinking, he walked over to pick them up, carefully gathering the scattered papers. As he straightened up, he noticed you standing by a vending machine outside, still on the phone.

He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but your voice carried easily in the quiet night. The way you spoke, with a forced cheerfulness that didn’t match the anxiety in your expression, caught his attention.

“I was just studying with my friends at the library, Mom. We’re going to eat Korean barbecue now,” you said, your voice overly bright but betraying a hint of something else—maybe guilt.

Tsukishima knew you were lying. He hadn’t seen you with anyone else the entire time he was there. You had been alone, diligently working through your notes, trying to grasp concepts that clearly frustrated you.

“Did you do my suggestion to copy their notes and ask for their study references?” your mother’s voice was audible, even from where Tsukishima stood, her tone filled with concern.

“Yes, Mom. I did. Don’t worry about it,” you replied, the lie slipping out so easily that it almost hurt to hear.

Your mother’s voice softened slightly, but the pressure was still there, a constant undercurrent. “I’m just worried, sweetheart. You said you haven’t found anyone to partner up with in the lab. What if you fail the subject because you’re struggling to study alone? You have to keep up and match your friends' grades, you know.”

“Yes, Mom,” you said again, and Tsukishima could hear the sadness creeping into your voice, though you tried hard to hide it.

“Alright, don’t forget to take your tonic and all the vitamins every day. It’s good for your cognitive function and brain. You need to be doing everything you can to keep up with your classmates. I don’t want to hear about you falling behind.” she reminded you, her tone firm but loving.

“Yes, Mom. I get it,” you said, your voice quieter now, the energy drained from your earlier attempts to sound upbeat.

Tsukishima stood there, holding your scattered papers, his mind reeling from what he had just overheard. He had known you were struggling—anyone in the lab could see that—but this was different. The pressure from your family, the way you had to lie to keep them from worrying, it all added a new layer to the person he thought he knew.

The call ended, and you lowered your phone, letting out a sigh of relief mixed with frustration. When you finally looked up, you froze, seeing Tsukishima standing not far away, your lab report and papers in his hand. The embarrassment that washed over you was immediate, your cheeks flushing as you realized he had probably heard everything.

“You…” your voice faltered as you tried to find the right words, but none came. The weight of his gaze made you feel small, exposed in a way that had nothing to do with your usual lab mistakes.

Ever since that day in the lab when you broke down in tears, you’ve been avoiding Tsukishima like the plague. It wasn’t just because you wanted to study harder and avoid making mistakes in the lab—it was also because you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he hugged you, the way his voice softened in those moments when he tried to calm you down. The memory of it made your cheeks burn every time it crossed your mind, and the thought of facing him again after such an emotional outburst was too much to handle. You didn’t want to give him any more reasons to scold you, and more than that, you were embarrassed by how much he lingered in your thoughts.

Tsukishima, for his part, didn’t move closer. He just watched you, his expression unreadable, but there was a softness in his eyes that you had never seen before. “You dropped these,” he said simply, holding out the papers to you.

You swallowed hard, stepping forward to take them from him. “Thank you,” you mumbled, your eyes downcast, avoiding his gaze. The silence between you was heavy, filled with the unspoken truth that he knew more about your life now than you ever wanted him to.

“You lied to your mom,” he said bluntly, but there was no judgment in his tone, just a quiet observation.

You flinched at his words, gripping the papers tightly. “It’s… I didn’t want her to worry,” you explained, your voice barely above a whisper. “She thinks I’m doing fine. It’s easier that way.”

Tsukishima nodded slowly, his eyes not leaving your face. “It’s not easy, lying like that.”

You bit your lip, trying to keep the tears that threatened to spill over at bay. “No, it’s not,” you agreed, your voice trembling. “But what else can I do? She expects so much from me, and I… I don’t want to disappoint her.”

He was silent for a moment, taking in your words. Then, with a sigh, he finally spoke. “You can’t keep doing this, you know. It’s going to eat you up if you keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, surprised by the concern in his voice. “I don’t have a choice,” you said, your voice cracking slightly. “I have to keep going. I have to try, even if I’m not good at this.”

Tsukishima watched you, his expression softening further, though his voice remained firm. “You don’t have to do it alone,” he said, surprising you once more. “If you need help, ask for it. It doesn’t mean you’re weak or that you’re giving up.”

You blinked, stunned by his words. It was so different from the sharp, critical Tsukishima you were used to in the lab. “Why… why are you being so nice?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

He scoffed lightly, but there was no malice in it. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I just don’t want you to keep messing up the lab reports. It’s annoying,” he said, his usual gruffness returning, but there was a small, almost imperceptible smile on his lips.

Despite everything, you found yourself smiling back, a small, tentative curve of your lips. “Right. Of course,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant, though your heart felt lighter than it had in weeks.

The awkward silence returned, but this time it was different, less tense, more understanding. You nodded slightly, clutching your papers to your chest. “I should go,” you said, breaking the silence. “Thanks again for these.”

Tsukishima nodded, his eyes following you as you turned to leave. But before you could take more than a few steps, he called out, “Hey.”

You paused, looking back at him expectantly.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, his voice softer than before. “And don’t forget your vitamins.”

A laugh escaped you, surprising even yourself. “I won’t,” you promised, feeling a warmth in your chest that you hadn’t felt in a long time.

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but glance back at him one last time. Tsukishima was still standing there, watching you go, his expression thoughtful. You didn’t know what to make of it, but for the first time since starting university, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t completely alone.

Your mind racing with everything that had just happened. Tsukishima’s unexpected concern, his words of advice—it was all too much to process. But one thing was clear: he was more than just the grumpy, perfectionist senior you had thought he was. Beneath that hard exterior, there was something else—something that made your heart beat a little faster when you thought about him.

[fcthots]

Hello!

I'm new to all this, I just downloaded tumblr a week ago, but I spent my entire day reading most of your posts!

I absolutely adore your personification of Jason, and was thinking, could you maybe write a little teeth rotting fluff fic about reader having a migrane and Jason just caring for them.

I'm projecting here because I've been sick for a week and I'm just thinking of big Jason Todd walking up to me, putting his hands on my neck and telling me I have a fever, then giving me tea and cuddling with me because he's like a Teddy bear and I need him 🫠

(Also, could I maybe get an emoji)

Thx so much! You're so talented with writing!!!!

I know this is like months late but i dub thee 🪅 bc i thinks its cool!! Anyway, thank you for the love 🥰

You fell asleep early the night before. You mostly ignored Jason's looks of concern and "are you sure you're ok?"s. You were fine. Just tired.

Until you woke up.

You don't immediately open your eyes. Your eyes and throat somewhat burned. Unusual. And now that you think about it, the rest of your body feels like it's freezing. Your head feels like it's tumbling stones in a washing machine and that doesn't even make sense, but you want to cry.

You try to open your eyes but the light from the window forces you to immediately close them. You're so cold, but your arms are too heavy to move. Your headache is pounding and you're freezing and you're whole body aches and a million other things. Thinking about it doesn't help and you can't help the pitiful sound that escapes you. It sounds more like a cry than anything else. You feel something move and the bed next to you and it makes you dizzy. For a moment, you can't register anything other than your discomfort.

The next thing you know, Jason is leaning over you. His hand rubs gentle circles over the small of your back.

"Shh. You're ok. You're alright."

You don't know how you forgot that Jason was here. Your head is just so fuzzy and everything hurts. Another whine escapes and you almost shed a tear at the nausea.

His other hand comes up to sweep your hair to the side. He presses his lips to your forehead on a chaste kiss. "Sugar, you're burning up." His warmth leaves you as you hear him move around the apartment. He can't have been gone for more than a minute, but you swear the noise the opening and closing of the cabinets lasts for hours.

You feel his lovely warmth back at your side soon enough. A hand slips underneath you and you think he's just going to keep rubbing your back, but the other hand goes to your waist and together they push you up and you think you might die. "Sit up for me. C'mon. There you go." His hands steal their warmth back and you'd curse them if you could, but in the next second a pill is being pressed to your lips. "Take this for me." You don't even have it in you to think of protesting. You take the pill in your mouth and then he presses a cool bottle to your lips. "We have to wash it down." You try to bring your hand up to help him but you're too weak to hold the drink up alone. "I gotcha. There you go." He takes the drink back and you mourn its absence, but that doesn't last long before his arms draw you close to his body. Your head rests against his stomach as he asks "are you cold?"

You make a sound that is supposed to be affirmative and he curses.

"Shit. I told you you were getting sick." Its aimed more at himself than you and even if you did want to object, you couldn't get the words out. "Do you think you could keep down something down?" You shake your head no against his stomach. "Ok. Can I make you something just in case?"

"Don' leave."

He sighs and runs his fingers through your hair.

[piftamere]

twelve - hello kitty bandages (wc : 600; cw : blood)

it’s late, he’s sitting on her washing machine, she’s standing between his legs. a pile of blood soaked tissue paper and cotton pads fills the bathroom sink. a spray bottle of disinfectant in hand, the kind that stings. every so often, he winces, and she mumbles some curse word under her breath. she’s not a fucking nurse, he’s an idiot, he should've went to a hospital, it fucking won’t stop bleeding…

he’s being as quiet as he can. things were weird between them since the other night, and what his friends told him has been silently haunting the back of his mind. but after running out of the locker room with a busted lip and blood dripping down his hand and face, he could only think of one place to go. that’s how he ended up here, and even if it hurts, he has no regrets.

she’s focused, biting her lower lip in concentration, and under the dim light coming through the curtains, she looks beautiful.

when she’s done, his face is covered in hello kitty bandages.

she comes back from the kitchen with a bag of frozen peas, holding out her hand. he places his bruised hand in hers.

she holds the bag a few inches away from his knuckles before speaking, “tell me what happened.”

he shakes his head. “you don’t need to know.”

her brows furrow, “don’t try to protect me.”

she’s holding up his gaze. she won’t give up until he explains.

he looks down at his hand. with a sigh, he whispers, “shion was talking shit.”

“about me?”

he nods, he still won’t look into her eyes. “you sure you wanna know?”

“i’m sure.”

“…he called you a slut. said you ‘begged for it’, he asked me if i ‘hit that yet’. i don’t remember what he said after that. i snapped. before i knew it, my fist was in his nose.”

he takes a quick look at her face, she’s lost in thought for a moment.

“thanks… i guess,” she mutters, as she sets the peas on his bruise. she stares in his eyes. she presses down hard on his hand, as if to emphasize her words. “but i’m not a damsel in distress. i don’t need you to defend my honor.”

“especially if you’re gonna get hurt.” she doesn’t say it, at least not with her words, but he reads it in her gaze. then again, maybe he only sees what he wants to see.

he winces, and with chuckle he whispers, “yeah i know.”

hesitantly he reaches for her hand and links his uninjured fingers with hers. his thumb draws soothing circles into her skin. her shoulders relax.

“i hope he looks worse than you.”

“oh trust me, he does.” he smiles, the tear in his lip threatening to bleed again, before continuing, “sorry i won’t look nice on our date tomorrow.”

she shifts her weight on her feet, “don’t worry about that.”

she inches forwards, wrapping her arms around his neck. he rests his head on her shoulder, closing his eyes. he places his hand on the small of her back, holding her closer.

he nuzzles his face into her hair, mumbling, “i should get going,” making no effort to move at all.

“and what? walk back to your place in this state?”

“someone can come pick me up.”

she insists, "did he hit you on the head? don't be an idiot. stay the night."

he chuckles, as he tightens his hold on her, the frozen peas falling on the ground. “okay.”

fun facts

atsumu was too upset about the loss to notice yn sneak away.

the bandages are yachi’s, it's all they had left.

yn's roommates went to celebrate the win but she wasn't in the mood to go with them.

atsumu and yn planned their date before the party and she was debating canceling it.

author's note

i really like this one :)

the men in this universe are lovely

play dumb! - next

taglist : open!

@alpha-mommy69 @bakugouswh0r3 @giocriedpower @itsdragonius @haechansbbg @wondipity @iaminyourfloors @na0koz @from-mae @eusaevi @kr1nqu @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @thechaosoflonging @littlemiyastars @seikamuzu @nymphsdomain @r4veeen @shesabeeler

if you're name is crossed out i couldn't tag you, if it's not fixed in a week i'll remove you sorry :(

[flowerchild28]

Hi!!! Can you do Louis Tomlinson x reader where reader has a little health scare and Louis gets really worried and concerned but everything turns out alright in the end? Tysm!!!

Sure let me know if you like it :)

In sickness and in health

Louis Tomlinson imagine

Warnings: angst

1.7k

The day started like any other, with you and Louis wrapped up in the comfort of your shared routines. He was in the kitchen, humming a tune as he flipped pancakes, while you lounged on the couch with your favorite blanket. It felt like a perfect morning, the kind where everything was cozy and warm. But as the minutes ticked by, a strange sensation settled in your chest—a tightness that was hard to ignore.

You shifted, hoping it would go away. Maybe it was just indigestion or a bad angle. But the discomfort grew sharper, spreading to your shoulder. Your breath came a little shorter, and an unsteady wave of dizziness washed over you.

“Lou?” you called, trying to keep your voice steady.

He popped his head out from the kitchen, spatula in hand, his boyish grin fading the moment he saw your face. “What’s wrong, love?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, pressing a hand to your chest. “I feel... weird. Like, my chest feels tight, and I’m a little dizzy.”

Louis was at your side in an instant, his eyes wide with concern. “Tight how? Like you’re struggling to breathe?” His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing soothing circles as he searched your face for answers.

“Not exactly, but it doesn’t feel right,” you said, trying to downplay the growing fear in your voice. “It’s probably nothing—”

“It’s not nothing,” Louis interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. “We’re going to the hospital. No arguments.”

You started to protest, but the look in his eyes stopped you. He wasn’t taking any chances, and deep down, you knew he was right.

The ride to the hospital was a blur. Louis drove with one hand on the wheel and the other gripping yours tightly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a steady rhythm. He kept glancing at you, his jaw tight, worry etched into every line of his face.

“I’m sure it’s nothing serious,” you murmured, trying to reassure him.

“Don’t do that,” he said, his voice strained. “Don’t act like this doesn’t scare you, because it scares the hell out of me.”

Your heart clenched, not from pain but from the raw emotion in his voice. Louis wasn’t usually the type to let his fear show, but this—seeing you like this—had him unraveling.

“Okay,” you said softly, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’m scared too.”

He nodded, his grip tightening as he whispered, “We’ll get through this. Together.”

At the hospital, everything moved quickly. Nurses ushered you into a room, attaching monitors and asking questions while Louis hovered nearby, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He tried to stay calm, but every beep of the machines seemed to make him flinch.

“I’m going to run some tests,” the doctor explained. “It could be something minor, but we want to rule out anything serious like a heart issue.”

Louis paled at the word “heart.” You reached for his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be fine,” you whispered, even as your own nerves threatened to overwhelm you.

He nodded, but the worry in his eyes didn’t waver. “I’ll be right here,” he promised.

As the doctor and nurses left the room, Louis dragged a chair over to sit beside you. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his hoodie, his knee bouncing nervously. “Do you feel any better?” he asked quietly.

“A little,” you said, though the truth was hard to tell. The tightness in your chest had eased, but the anxiety of being here kept your heart racing. “It’s probably just stress, Lou. I’ve been so busy lately, and—”

“Stop,” he said gently but firmly. His hand found yours, grounding you. “Don’t downplay this. You scared me back there, love. I thought...” He trailed off, his voice cracking slightly. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” you whispered, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I promise.”

He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “You’d better not. I’m not sure I’d survive it.”

The tests seemed to take forever. Bloodwork, an EKG, and even a chest X-ray—all the while, Louis stayed glued to your side. He offered you water, adjusted your blanket, and even tried to crack a joke or two to lighten the mood.

“You know,” he said with a small smile, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this terrified in my life. And that’s saying something, considering the fans once locked me in a bathroom during a meet-and-greet.”

You chuckled despite yourself, the memory of that story enough to momentarily distract you. “I remember that. You said they were apologetic, but only after you promised selfies with all of them.”

“Still traumatized,” he said with a mock shudder, earning another laugh from you.

For a moment, the tension eased. But then a nurse entered with a clipboard, and the worry came flooding back.

“The doctor will be in soon to go over your results,” she said kindly. Louis thanked her, but his grip on your hand tightened.

“Whatever happens, I’m here,” he said softly, his eyes locked on yours.

When the doctor finally returned, his expression was calm and reassuring.

“Well, the good news is that it’s not your heart,” he said, glancing between you and Louis. “It looks like you had a combination of acid reflux and a bit of stress, which can mimic chest pain and dizziness. It’s nothing serious, but I’m going to prescribe some medication to help with the reflux. And I’d recommend taking it easy for a bit.”

Louis let out a breath you hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his shoulders slumping with relief. “So... she’s going to be okay?”

“Absolutely,” the doctor assured him. “But listen to your body, Y/N. If anything feels off again, don’t hesitate to come back.”

You nodded, relief flooding through you. Louis thanked the doctor a dozen times before the two of you were finally discharged.

Back at home, Louis couldn’t seem to let you out of his sight. He hovered around you, fluffing pillows, offering tea, and insisting you relax while he took care of everything.

“Seriously, Lou,” you said with a laugh as he brought over a bowl of soup. “I’m fine. You don’t have to wait on me hand and foot.”

“Yes, I do,” he insisted, setting the bowl on the coffee table. “I nearly had a heart attack today, so if I want to fuss, let me fuss.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “You’re overreacting.”

“Am I?” he countered, arching a brow. “Because I spent the entire day thinking about what my life would look like without you, and I can tell you right now, it’s not a picture I ever want to see.”

Your teasing smile faded, replaced by a wave of emotion. “Louis...”

“I mean it,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he sat beside you. “You’re everything to me, Y/N. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you reached for his hand. “You’re not going to lose me. I promise. And thank you—for taking care of me, for staying calm even when I wasn’t.”

He chuckled, though it was tinged with lingering worry. “Staying calm is a stretch. Pretty sure I aged ten years today.”

You smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder. “You handled it perfectly. You always do.”

As the evening wore on, Louis gradually relaxed, though he still checked on you every five minutes. At one point, he disappeared into the kitchen, emerging with two mugs of tea and a sheepish grin.

“I Googled foods that help with acid reflux,” he admitted, handing you a mug. “Apparently chamomile is good for it.”

You laughed softly, touched by the effort. “Thank you, Dr. Tomlinson.”

“Anytime,” he said, settling beside you on the couch.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence, the only sound the soft patter of rain against the windows. Louis’ arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you close, and you felt a sense of peace that had been missing all day.

“You know,” you said after a while, “if today taught me anything, it’s that I need to slow down. I’ve been pushing myself too hard, and it’s not worth it if it means scaring the life out of you.”

He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering. “As long as you’re okay, that’s all that matters. But yeah, maybe take a breather once in a while. Let me spoil you for a change.”

“I think I could get used to that,” you teased, tilting your head to look at him.

Louis grinned, his blue eyes sparkling with affection. “Good. Because I’m not letting you lift a finger for at least a week.”

[hauntedhokage]

laundry day

Eijiro Kirishima/Fem!Reader 

word count: 2k

summary: Laundry day was one of his favorite days of the week for a few reasons. A broken washing machine in your apartment requiring a trip to a laundromat wasn’t going to ruin that for him.

warnings: public sex, fingering, needy!Kiri, references to past (probably painful) quirk mishaps, unprotected sex, Kirishima is a talker 

ao3 link

“Why don’t you sort your clothes?” you grumble, sifting through the laundry bag he carried in to see if there were any more white shirts hiding in there. You’d already found three, you were certain there’d be more. There was always one more. 

“Why is it now a problem?” he asks from where he sits atop one of the folding tables, watching as he was told while you load the washing machines. “Didn’t care last week.”

“Last week the washer wasn’t broken on laundry day.”

“So?”

“So at home I can just throw the next shirt I find into the machine. Here the door locks when it starts washing so I can’t do that and I’d like to protect your white clothes while not paying extra to wash them.”

“If these,” he lifts a pair of your red panties and swings them around his finger, “turn one of my shirts pink, then I’m not complaining. It’ll probably remind me of your p-”

“Stop right there.” 

“I was gonna say panties, before you get yours in a bunch.” The teasing only has you slamming the washer door shut, rolling your eyes as he laughs while slingshotting your panties into the other machine that already had some of his clothes in it. “Relax, baby, it’s laundry day!”

“Not as fun when we’re not at home, Eijiro.” 

“You’re working too hard, that’s all.” And he wasn’t helping, so go figure. The busy pro hero had not done the laundry since you’d moved in together - that was happily taken on as your task since he always managed to do the dishes even after long days of work keeping the streets clean and free from villany. The busy pro who always tried to take laundry day, or at least the morning of laundry day, to stay home since the rule was “everything worn gets washed” which meant he got to watch you walk around the apartment naked while he also lounged around in the buff. 

The washing machine breaking the other day, and your darling pro hero boyfriend’s tired attempt at fixing it only making it worse, is why you had to be in the laundromat and washing clothes while fully clothed. 

“Do you work later?”

“Trying not to, but anything can happen.” 

You nod at that, holding your hand out for more coins and looking over when he only put his hand in yours to hold it. The relaxed smile on his face eases all the tension in your body almost immediately; and you squeeze his hand with a smile of your own as he puts the coins in for you, bringing your knuckles to his lips for a kiss as you start the machine. 

“Not very chivalrous of me to let you do all the work here, when it’s kinda my fault we have to be here.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” you promise, leading him back towards the folding table you’d made your base camp for the morning. He lifts you onto it with ease, standing between your legs and resting his head on your chest. He hadn’t styled his hair this morning so the bright red locks laid flat against his head, making it easy for you to run your fingers through his hair and scratch at his scalp without getting product under your nails.

“'M sorry I messed up the washer.”

“All good, the thing was going out anyway. The new one gets delivered on Monday, and we’ll be back to normal.” Your reasoning is met with a hum, his fingers ghosting along the skin of your thighs left uncovered by your shorts. It’s an innocent touch, but quickly turns less than when those nimble digits dance their way under the loose material along the inside of your thighs. 

“Eijiro, we’re in public.”

“We’re alone, baby, ‘n I wanna say sorry:”

“You can say sorry at home.”

“Not fun.” He’s pouting at you now, trying to play at your weaknesses while his fingers stay just barely away from your mound. “C’mon, baby, it’ll be okay. Just wanna take care of you for taking such good care of me. Just my fingers, promise.”

There were many ways that this could go wrong. He couldn’t “just” finger you, he was too eager to please and once he got a taste of you he could never stop. Not until you were thoroughly spent and requiring that he stopped so you could breathe. But you couldn’t fight the pout, nor could you argue with the desire that he’d stirred up with his fingers alone. 

“Just your fingers?”

“I promise, and you know a chivalrous hero never breaks a promise.” 

He hadn’t yet, and that has you nodding while leaning in to kiss him. The grin on his face is nothing short of victorious, his fingers finding their place between your folds and finding that your body had chosen long before you did. 

“Already wet, and you didn’t wear panties. I’d say you wanted to get fucked in the laundromat this morning.”

“My body knows that laundry soap means I’m about to get dicked down, that’s all.”

“Mhm. I’m sure my big muscles carrying both of the baskets in one trip had nothing to do with it.”

“You caught me.” Your hand coming up to grip one of those biceps when two fingers push into your wet pussy with ease only has him smirking, pushing his forehead to yours to ensure he didn’t miss a single indication of pleasure in your face. “I do love your big muscles, Eiji.”

“Yeah, I know. What do you want for lunch?” His fingers move inside you as he poses the question, thumb carefully grazing over your clit which has you gasping before you can answer. “ I don’t think ‘ah!’ is food, baby.”

Your witty counter is just a whispered “shut up”, as he’s bringing a third finger to join the other two and the feeling of the stretch has your mind buffering a bit. It’d been about a week since you and Eijiro had time like this, he’d been busy and your own work had picked up a bit - two tired bodies and exhausted minds did not make for real interest in sex. 

“Missed you, baby,” he whispers, nudging your nose with his own as his fingers continue their easy thrusts. “Missed you so much, I hate how much I’m working.”

“Missed you too, Eiji,” you murmur back, teeth catching his top lip as his fingers curl inside you. “But your work is important, I can handle the late nights and early mornings.”

“Not very chivalrous to leave a beautiful girl all alone in that big bed.” His thumb presses against your clit, his free hand holding your thigh open to keep his access unrestricted. “Needed her big strong hero to keep her warm, help her cum, and I was off being chivalrous to other people.”

His thumb lifts, and you try to follow but his hands keep you firmly planted in your spot at the table. This wasn’t the time to tease, but you knew he wouldn’t risk dragging this out while you were in public, it was too dangerous for that. 

“I’d get on my knees for you right now if I could.” His whisper is heavy with his own need, a hiss escaping when your free hand cups the bulge in his shorts. “Baby.”

“It’s not breaking a promise if I ask, right?” your offer has him pulling back so he could properly look at you with pupils blown, lips parted - the picture of needy perfection, swallowing in anticipation when you whisper: “Please fuck me, Eijiro.”

You trusted that he wouldn’t agree if there was even a chance of being caught on camera. He was in the top ten, there was too much to lose in a scandal like this. So you knew it was safe when he nods, but you also knew that the excitement might end up being too much for him. 

His hands are only slightly shaky as he pushes his shorts down just enough to free his length, and you’re thankful that your shorts only needed to be pushed to the side to allow him to line himself up with your dripping core since you didn’t want to have to scramble for them should someone come in. 

Even with the prep; after two weeks without him, the stretch to accommodate feels insane. Maybe it’s the environment and the risk making you tense,which in turn was making your gummy walls akin to a vice around your sweet boyfriend, but you know by the look on his face that he’s not going to last long this time around - but he’d always deliver.

“Need a minute,” he mumbles, his hands gripping your hips as your hands carefully come up to hold his cheeks. “Can’t even begin to explain how fucking great you feel right now.” 

“Just keep that quirk in check, big guy,” you whisper, earning a breathy laugh from your lover at the reminder as his hands give you a gentle squeeze. Those hands were always gentle when they touched you, holding your hips at just the right angle as he started to move inside you. The pressure of his fingertips was just right, his hips meeting yours in borderline frantic thrusts with one goal: get off before getting caught in the act. Your hand finds itself on the back of his head, fingers interwoven in the soft red locks as he kisses along your jawline. Gentle nips are soothed by softer kisses, sweet nothings whispered in between while you relish in the attention you’re getting from your beloved.

And the whole time he’s talking. Whispering to you how much he loves you, how wonderful you are, how good you feel, how badly he can’t wait to get you home and do this all over again all day until he has to stop. It’d been too long, he’d missed you and your body so much, he never wanted to go that long without you again. 

“Baby, baby, fuck,” he groans, pressing his face into the crook of your neck as the grip on your hips grew tighter. The pace of his thrusts becomes uneven, one hand moving from your hip so he could rub at your clit to push you towards his desired end. “You’re so fucking good, gonna cum for me? Gonna cum so I can give you mine?”

You can only nod, your own hand tightening in his hair to keep him close while he fucks into you. You can hear the back of the table you’re perched on banging against the washing machines behind you, but you can’t hear the words tumbling from your lips into his shoulder as the coil in your gut continues to tighten. 

“That’s it, baby, please please cum. Always look so pretty when you do.” His mumbles into your neck only push you closer, your heart pounding and blood rushing through your ears the only thing that you could focus on as your legs tighten around his hips. You’re biting into his shoulder when you finally topple over that edge, the release desperately needed and has your toes curling as his hips still against yours and your senses are flooded with a different warmth. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, releasing his hair and gently massaging at his scalp to try and soothe whatever ache might have been left from your grip. “Needed that, baby. Needed you.”

“Yeah?”

“Pretty girl needed her big strong hero.” Your confirmation has him grinning into your neck, leaving a gentle kiss on your skin before he’s pulling back to rest his forehead against yours. 

“Let's get cleaned up, baby. Wanna sit or come with me to the bathroom?”

“I’ll sit.” 

He nods as he pulls out, tucking himself back into his shorts before leaving you with a kiss to your nose to go to the bathroom. You only sit for a second before you’re turning back to face where he was still heading to the bathroom. 

“There was a bathroom all along!?"

[ladybelladonna76]

Rachel didn't know what her stepdad saw in that stupid girl he was dating

She was obviously hot, but she was also bitchy, vain, and materialistic

Unsurprisingly he'd met this goldigger shortly after the medical negligence payout from her mother's accidental death, at the hands of a drunk quack doctor, when Daddy had been looking for some comfort at the bottom of a whiskey glass in questionable bars

"We're going to have so much fun, Daddy says we can spend whatever we want today, I have permission to spoil us both rotten"

Rachel rolled her eyes

"Let's just get this over and done with"

"Okay Rachey, I promise you're going to love it, this salon works miracles, then we go shopping!", Rosie squealed as she said shopping like some over excited middle school girl on a carnival ride

"Whatever, I'm doing this because DAD asked me too that's all, after the salon you can drop me off home before going out shopping"

"Okay meanie" Rosie pouted

Inside the salon it was as bad as Rachel had feared. This was just a grooming kennel for over primped high maintenance bitches, she couldn't think of one treatment she wanted to try.

"Please try the New U facial treatment Rachey" Rosie whined in her bimbo voice for the hundredth time

"Fine if you'll shut up, at least I get to lay down and relax"

She laid back and the beautician put the mask over her face

The mask started to emit a pulsing wave of light

It feels wrong, invasive, it hurts

She tried to sit up but couldn't move

Her brain felt like it was aflame as the light seemed to penetrate her skull

Suddenly words and concepts started to run through Rachel's head.

Bitch, cuckold, homewrecker, conniving, golddigger, manipulative

Every word brought a flood of images and memories of Rachel as the living embodiment of these words

Rachel knew she wasn't, there was no way she could be, she had never, would never do any of those things, her mom and dad raised her with a strong sense of right and wrong and everything she saw herself doing was wrong.

Rachel could sense new color behind her eyelids even though her eyes were closed tight

More information washed over her, new feelings and ideas.

She had secretly coveted her Step Daddy for years after her mom had married him. No he was always her Daddy, no my Dad, wasn't he?

I'd fucked that gold digging bitch's plastic surgeon behind her back, mommy dearest was fucking him to get a discount so he was fair game.

That's how I got him addicted to drugs and me, I got him drunk, high, and fucked him all night before the day of the surgery. I'd made him botch the surgery

Rachel screamed inside the mask, that's not me I wouldn't, I couldn't, I love my Mommy

Rachel felt her body starting to alter as the new light worked it's magic

She started to groan inside the mask as she felt her body staring to firm and tone, her breasts grew as implants formed inside them, her lips plumped, her nails lengthened into beautiful manicured claws.

Daddy loved her body so much better than her mom's pathetic..

"Oh my God, mom I'm sorry this isn't me, this isn't what I wanted!!"

Rachel removed the mask and looked around for her stepmom

Where was she?

"There's only us Raquel", she thought

This didn't make any sense

"We were always jealous of Mommy since middle school, all her boy toys, her clothes, cars, vacations, we just had to bide our time until we were all grown up and then he could be ours"

He?

Daddy?

Was Daddy hers now alone?

Ever nerve in her body fired in unison at this realization as an orgasm swept through her body

Of course New U Salon's machines didn't really work miracles they only used a cutting edge application of Quantum Mechanics.

They did however merge Rachel and her stepmom's quantum realities

A little tweak here and there, so the Quantum realm remained while and all was perfect with the world again

Another happy customer with guaranteed repeat business and referrals to boot

Rachel was very satisfied

Raquel skipped shopping that day and rushed home to her Daddy

She'd wanted him since he'd first walked into her life with her bitch mother

She spent years preparing for when they could be together. Years studying her mother's manipulation techniques, daily exercise at the gym to sculpt her body into a temple to be worshiped, style to dress in a manner befitting a goddess, oh and sex, how she'd perfected the art of love making and giving, she'd become such a slut.

All to be ready for her Daddy and now he was hers, she'd never give him up

New U Salon really was miraculous

[nicoline1998enilocin]

Keep us warm forever

PAIRING || Boyfriend!Tony Stark x Girlfriend!Fem!Reader

WORDCOUNT || 1.4K

SUMMARY || Once a month, you're in absolute hell when your period comes knocking again. From nearly insufferable pain to being unable to move at all, you're going through the same rollercoaster every month, and with seemingly no end in sight. Luckily, you have a sweet boyfriend who's always happy to keep you company and take care of your every need - but most of all, he's happy to act like your personal heater each time.

RATING || Mature (M)

TAGS || Semi-canon compliant. Established relationship. Former sugar relationship.

WARNINGS || Multiple mentions of periods.

A/N || I desperately need some fluff, so I figured there's no better way than to do that with my favorite Sugar Daddy and the sweetest kitten. I want to give full credit and endless gratitude to @ccbsrmsf1 for giving me this idea and being there for me no matter what, and this story is a gift from me to you. I love you, bestie 🤍

A/N 2.0 || I opened my ask box for the Summer of Drabbles! Please don't hesitate to send in a few prompts, as they always brighten my day, and I enjoy working on those little stories while working on a few (new) series behind the scenes 👀🤍

Photo: @ccbsrmsf1 || All other graphics are made by @nicoline1998enilocin

Main Masterlist || Tony Stark Masterlist || AU Masterlist

From the moment you woke up this morning, you knew what kind of day it would be. Tears were streaming down your face, soft whimpers falling from your lips as you were curled into a ball, all to try and cope with the cramps you got. All of it leaves you completely unable to move.

Tony stirred awake next to you, hearing soft whimpers and cries before turning around, immediately being on full alert as he moved over to you. As he takes a look at your form - lying in the fetal position from the pain - and your flushed face from the tears, he knows exactly what to do.

"I'm here, Sugar. It's going to be okay," he whispers as he places a soft kiss on your temple, making you cry even harder. While you realistically know you will be fine, it doesn't feel like it right now, no matter how hard you try.

"I'll be right back, Sweetheart. I'm gonna run you a comfortable bath with some candles, and I'll make sure to have a warm towel and some of my comfiest clothes ready for you when you're done," he tells you then, and you sigh as the worst wave of pain passes.

"Okay," you croak out, and with one more kiss on your temple, Tony heads to the bathroom to run you the perfect bath. Over time, he has perfected it to a tee, and now you wouldn't want anything other than your favorite bath during the heaviest parts of your period.

As soon as Tony comes back with some painkillers and a tumbler of water, you happily take them to reduce the worst of your pain, your tears now having dried on your cheeks. While you still have an exhausted look on your face, your boyfriend still thinks you're the most beautiful woman to grace the face of the earth.

"Do you want me to help you get up, or do you think you can do it?" he asks as he's crouching on your side of the bed, his thumb softly caressing your cheek as he looks at you with an adoring look.

"Help, please," you groan. Tony nods before getting up himself. Once you've shed every layer of clothing, he gets you off the bed and into the bathtub, and he immediately throws your clothes in the washing machine together with the sheets.

Your period came rather unexpectedly this month, and even though you bled through everything and onto the bed, Tony doesn't bat an eye at it. Within no time, the entire sheets are replaced by clean ones, and he has laid out a pair of loose sweatpants and his hoodie, which will forever be your favorite thing to wear during your time of the month.

"How's my special girl doing?" Tony asks as he walks into the bathroom, and you open your eyes to look at your boyfriend. While you're still in pain, it's considerably less, and you smile up at him, warming his heart.

"Better, thank you. And I'm sorry for your sheets and everything; I thought I still had a few more days to go, but my calculations are a bit off apparently," you say in a small voice, and Tony gives you a reassuring smile as he crouches next to the tub.

"You don't have to worry about any of that, Sugar. The washing machine's going and will take care of it for us, so that's not something you should worry this little head of yours over," he tells you as his fingers carefully trail over your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"Do you want me to make some breakfast, or are you not hungry?"

"Yes, please. Can you make me my favorite?" you ask, and Tony nods before leaning in to kiss your cheek, making you smile at the feeling of his facial hair against your skin.

"Anything for you, Sugar. I love you." The twinkle in his eyes you love so much has the pain in your abdomen make way for butterflies, and his smile has your heart beating faster. He can make you feel better without even trying. Though it also doesn't hurt that you can have a look at the way his ass sways beautifully when he walks out of the bathroom and on his way to the kitchen.

Once Tony's almost finished making your breakfast—Moon sitting on the counter by his side, watching his every move—you walk into the large kitchen in Tony's sweatpants and hoodie, combined with a pair of fuzzy socks and your glasses, not wanting to bother with contact lenses today.

"Look who it is, Moon, it's Mommy!" Tony says as he spots you, and Moon immediately gets up before stretching, getting ready to give you all the cuddles and love you need today. He jumps into your arms, making you laugh heartily as he presses himself as close to you as possible.

"Good morning to you as well, Moon!" you say as you place a few kisses on his head, which are rewarded by loud purring.

"How're you feeling, Sugar?" Tony asks as he plates your breakfast, and you sigh.

"I'm doing okay. Still a bit cold, but I'm hoping that breakfast and some cuddles with both of you will clear that up as well," you tell your boyfriend as you sit down at the kitchen island, Moon still in your arms as you get comfortable.

"Hmm, that sounds like a challenge I'll happily accept," he says as he puts the plate in front of you, your favorite breakfast waiting to be eaten. You smile up at Tony and happily receive the kisses he has to offer you, and then it's time for some much-needed food to go into your belly and to crash on the couch afterward.

Now, that's exactly where you've found yourself. Tony lies on his back, you are on your side as your hand is splayed over his belly as you trace an abstract figure, and Moon is curled up on his arc reactor - his favorite place to nap. With the extra warmth, you're very comfortable, and Tony is, too. He's happy to spend the day like this instead of worrying about anything concerning Stark Industries or SHIELD.

"Tony?" you ask, your voice soft as you try not to wake up Moon.

"Hmm?" he hums in response, his face tilting down to meet your gaze. A small smile tugs at his lips as his gaze meets yours. His eyes sparkle with a hint of honey as the sun brightens his features, making him look even more angelic.

"I have been thinking about something and can't get it out of my head, so... here I go. Would you like to keep me and Moon warm forever? Like, you know, 'til death do us part?" you ask, and for a few moments, it's completely silent as the words sink in with Tony.

"Did you just... propose?" he asks, and you can feel the heat on your cheeks as he lifts his brow. A wide smile now dominates his expression.

"Y-yeah," you say with a chuckle, fully realizing what you did. You asked Tony to marry you in a way you'd never expected - you have thought about it, of course, but in all those fantasies, you never once pictured doing it while you were lying on the couch when you're in the heavy stages of your period.

"In that case, I will happily marry you, Sugar. Nothing would make me happier than to call you my wife. But-" he says, your brows raising as he waits momentarily.

"You deserve a proper proposal, Sugar. I will plan the most beautiful proposal anyone's ever seen, and the wedding will be everything you've dreamt of and more. But first, I want to lie here and snuggle with the two of you for a little longer before returning to reality," he says, and you're beaming up at him.

"And, of course, I will include our Angel, too. Ever since you saved this little guy, I knew he would become a big part of our lives, and having him included would make it the cherry on top," Tony says as he pets Moon, who opens his eyes briefly before sighing and returning to sleep.

"I would love nothing more, Tony. And I can't wait to call myself Mrs. Stark," you say, sealing your words with a loving kiss before settling against his side again, ready for some more much-needed sleep in the arms of your future husband.

[art-by-jas]

𝑈𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 (AO3)

𝘋𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘚𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘺 𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘪 𝘑𝘳 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Word Count: 5k

Rating: M

Summary: As the new addition to the Manhattan SVU, Detective Sonny Carisi found it challenging to fit in without causing a stir. He had a chance encounter with you while doing laundry late one night in the new apartment he moved into. The following day, after a long shift working a case, he happens to run into you again at the coffee shop where you work.

As the clock strikes midnight, the old laundry room in the apartment building is illuminated by the dim, flickering overhead lights. The air is thick with the scent of damp fabric and the rhythmic hum of the aging washing machines. 

 The sound of rain pounding against the glass can be heard through the small, grimy window. There is a sense of calm doing laundry at this hour.

 The door to the room creaks open, the sound barely registering in your consciousness as you sit hunched over your phone, thumb mindlessly scrolling through an endless feed. 

 “Hey, Ummm… I’m sorry to bother you, but do you have a few quarters? The machine decided to munch on mine! I just need a few for the dryer." A cheerful voice interrupted your dissociated episode of staring at your phone screen.

As you lift your gaze from the flickering screen, the unexpected sight of another person in the dimly lit room greets you.

"Yeah, sure," you say, reluctantly setting down your phone to retrieve a few quarters from your pocket. "Here you go," you say, passing the coins to the newcomer. "I have had that happen before; it is annoying as hell."

With a chuckle, the man reaches out his hand and accepts the quarters. "Thank you so much," he says, his warm smile brightening his face. An easy grace and a playful glint in his eyes gave him an endearing quality.

 He glances at the whirring machines, watching the damp clothes spin inside. "Doing laundry at this hour? Couldn't sleep?" He opens the washer, transfers the wet clothes to the dryer, and feeds quarters into the slot. His strong, steady fingers move with precision, confidently guiding the process.

"Yeah," you reply. "Insomnia's been keeping me company lately. You?"

The man echoes, "Same here," as he closes the panel on the machine and presses the start button. The machine instantly springs back to life, its hum resuming with renewed vigor. 

Turning back to you, the man's warm smile remains. "It’s my first day at a new location for my job soon," he explains, leaning against the machine.

"Sometimes I have late nights at the office, so my sleep schedule's all over the place."

"I noticed the room across from mine was being cleared out. Did you just move in? You don’t look familiar," you ask.

The man's soft, low chuckle sends a strange flutter through your chest. "Yeah, you caught me," he admits, smiling at you. "I just moved in last week, and I'm still unpacking, trying to figure out where to put everything." He pauses, meeting your gaze. "I'm Sonny, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Sonny. Welcome to the building. I know it's not much, but it's a nice little spot to call home." You introduce yourself to him as you move to shake his outstretched hand.

Sonny tips his head in acknowledgment, his gaze holding yours for a moment. "Thanks; I appreciate it," he replies, his voice low and soft. "I've lived in worse places, so this is a definite upgrade." Sonny runs his hand through his silvery hair. He glances at the machines, then turns to you with a casual curiosity. "So, I take it you've been here for a while?" he asks.

You nod, "Yeah, a few years now." The realization you’ve lived here long enough to be considered a "long-term resident" is faintly disturbing. You run a hand through your hair, feeling slightly disheveled. "It's a fairly quiet building, for the most part."

Sonny’s voice took on a thoughtful tone. "That's good. I've lived in places where the noise was constant. You could never get a moment's peace. It was maddening, to say the least." He turns his gaze toward the window, his eyes taking in the faint glow of streetlights filtering through the rain.

"If you don't mind me asking, where did you live previously?" You inquire.

"I used to live in Queens," he replies, "but it didn't work out, and my job ended up transferring me here instead," Sonny speaks, his fingers tracing an idle pattern on the cool metal surface of the washing machines. "But it's not all bad," he adds, a hint of optimism resurfacing in his voice. "New places can be good. Fresh starts, you know? Sometimes we need those."

A moment of silent understanding passes between the both of you before he speaks again, a half-smile playing at the corners of his lips. "And hey, at least I’ve got neighbors like you to keep the company."

You manage a small chuckle, the compliment sending a subtle flush of warmth through you. 

Sonny's smile widens, his eyes holding yours for a moment. The silence returns, but it feels different this time—more comfortable, less isolating. The rhythmic hum of the machines continued to fill the room, like a shared heartbeat between two strangers in the night. The rain continues pattering softly against the window, creating an intimate atmosphere in the old laundry room.

The washing machine beeped, signaling that your laundry was finished and ready to be transferred to the dryer. He observes, watching as you transfer your wet clothes to the dryer. As you make small talk, time idles by while you wait for your clothes to finish.

"So," he finally says, "what do you do when you're not doing laundry at ungodly hours?"

The unexpected question momentarily catches you off guard, prompting you to pause and carefully formulate a response. "Well," you begin, a faint smile tugging at your lips. "When I'm not tackling the laundry, I'd like to think of myself as a fairly interesting person. I'm an avid reader, enjoy experimenting in the kitchen, and may or may not have been known to binge-watch an inordinate number of TV shows."

Sonny's smile reveals his rapt attention as he casually studies you, his eyes brimming with curiosity. "An avid reader, a connoisseur of the kitchen, and a TV aficionado," he muses, his voice laced with amused approval. "Quite the impressive trifecta you've assembled there."

Leaning in slightly, his eyes alight with curiosity, he asks, "So, what shows do you binge-watch? Because the answer will either make us friends for life or enemies for eternity.”

The playful challenge in his tone was unmistakable, and you can’t help but feel a flutter of excitement. "Hmm," you think about, pretending to ponder the question. "Well, I enjoy science fiction, thrillers, and the occasional drama. But if you must know..." You lean in. "My guilty pleasure is baking competition shows. There's something about the dough, sprinkled with the tears of defeated contestants, that really appeals to me."

Sonny's rich, hearty laughter echoed through the room. "Baking competition shows, huh? I enjoy those myself, but 'Cake Boss' is a bit much. I appreciate the artistry, but those cakes are just towering, frosting-laden monstrosities that make my teeth hurt. I'd much rather stick to perfecting my nonna's classic cannoli recipe."

You both exchange a knowing glance. "Ah, cannoli," I reply, my mouth nearly watering. "A classic Italian dessert. Do you come from a large, close-knit family that gathers for lively Sunday dinners?”

Sonny's broad, guilty smile confirms my suspicion. "I come from an Italian family, full of the loud, opinionated, and emotional dynamics you'd expect," he confesses. "And yes, our Sunday dinners are quite the spectacle—a lively blend of mouthwatering food, family gossip, and heated debates on everything from politics to the proper way to season a ragu."

Seeing Sonny's smile, you couldn't help but mirror it, the warmth and vibrancy of his family gatherings stirring a touch of envy within me. 

"It sounds like a lot of fun," you say. "I'm a bit envious. My family is more... subdued, I suppose—less colorful." You chuckle as you watch him, for it’s his turn to retrieve his clothes and begin folding them. A few minutes pass, and you follow his movements of folding your own.

"Shall we head back upstairs then?"

Sonny agrees with a nod. "Yeah, we should probably call it a night—or morning, rather." 

He passes your neatly folded clothes over to you, and his fingertips graze yours, sending a subtle shiver through you.

Your conversation flows effortlessly as you make your way back to your apartment. The dimly lit hallway cast a faint yellow glow, broken only by the soft patter of our footsteps and the occasional creak of the building's aged floorboards. Reaching your doors, you both pause. The silence between you grew comfortable, a lingering sense of familiarity and connection palpable. Sonny's gaze met yours, his eyes conveying a mix of reluctance and resignation.

“It was nice meeting you, Sonny,” you say with a smile.

Sonny's boyish smile returns, his warm gaze stirring an unexpected flutter in your chest. "Likewise," he replies, his pleasant, rumbling voice lingering in the air. "I'll catch ya around, alright? Have a good night."

“Night.”

He vanishes inside, the soft click of the door closing behind him echoing in the otherwise silent corridor.

------------✧♡✧------👮🧺💓🧑-----✧♡✧-------------

Rushing to the precinct, Sonny carries a coffee and takeout bag in one hand and his gym bag in the other, determined to be on time. Realizing the sergeant was not present, he saw no need to rush once he made it inside the bullpen. With a few minutes of free time, he decides to explore and familiarize himself with the layout. Several other detectives sit at their desks, filing paperwork as he looks around.

Two women's voices filtered into the bullpen. The first had dark hair flowing freely, slightly older than the other. The second woman's blonde hair was tied back, with a few stray bangs falling across her face.

As Sonny interrupts their conversation, he exclaims, "They shot at cops right outside the police station? So, they want us to know they're crazy."

"You must be my new detective," the brunette says.

Dominick Carisi, Jr. ” He introduces himself, "Call me Sonny. I brought Zeppoli," as he shakes their hand.

"I asked for an experienced, empathic detective, and they sent you," she says.

"I'm way experienced. Sensitive and moody, too, and I can do that whole empathy thing," he assures.

"Where are you from?" the blonde woman asks.

"Staten Island SVU for two months, Brooklyn for almost a month, and then Queens last week," he rattles on.

“So, they love you wherever you go, Carisi?" The brunette says he later finds out that this is his new boss, Sergeant Benson.

"Call me Sonny. I know I was supposed to start tomorrow, but I heard about the shooting over my scanner, so I came in. What's our read?"

Benson and the blonde, who introduced herself as Detective Amanda Rollins, brought him up to speed on the current case, explaining how it connected to a previous case from a few months ago involving Ellie Porter. Ellie had been the victim of human trafficking and gang-raped before being set on fire—a horrible crime. 

Sonny also learned that the young woman they arrested that morning while 'serving’ a john appears to be associated with the same crew. Benson teams up with Sonny to go pick up the girl and instructs Sonny to follow her lead, warning that failure to do so would result in him being sent to the SVU in the Bronx.

Sonny nods, his expression conveying understanding. "Understood, boss," he replies firmly and resolutely. "You have my word. I'll follow your lead."

Benson drives Sonny and herself to Luna Garcia's house. The peaceful journey was accompanied by a pleasant, cloudless day. Sonny savors the warm sunshine and gentle breeze as they drive. His mind wanders briefly, but he refocuses when Benson speaks up.

"So," Benson begins, "you've worked with the Special Victims Unit before; how was that?"

Sonny gazes out at the passing cityscape. As Benson inquires about his past SVU background, he shifts his attention to her, offering a faint smile. "It was intense, no doubt," he replies. "But also immensely rewarding. Dealing with victims of such heinous crimes is grueling work, yet being able to provide even a small measure of comfort and justice makes it all worthwhile."

His expression softens, his eyes reflecting a glimmer of empathy and understanding. The memory of those past experiences still weighs heavily on him. "It can take a toll, though. The trauma those victims endure... it stays with you, you know?"

A brief sigh crosses Sonny's face, the weight of his memories momentarily visible. After a contemplative pause, his gaze returns to Benson, his tone shifting to a more conversational manner. "My time with the SVU has taught me a lot," he remarks. "How to handle sensitive cases, how to approach victims and witnesses, you know the drill."

Benson's gaze flickers to Sonny before returning to the road. “You seem to have the right mindset and approach,” she observes, 'but I need to ensure you play by the rules,” she says, offering him a kind smile. The drive to the girl's house was filled with pleasant conversation as they got to know each other better.

After bringing Luna back to the precinct, the detectives interview her, showing her a photo of Ellie. At first, Luna was uncooperative, insisting she would rather go to jail than provide any information. Benson tried coaxing her with a gentle tone, but this approach went nowhere fast. 

Sonny then intervened, speaking to Luna in a manner he thought might appeal to her, before switching tactics and offering to help her obtain T-Nonimmigrant Status, but only if she helped and gave them a statement.

After Garcia's sudden change of heart, Serg pulled him to the side, outside of the interrogation room, and told him that what he had just done in there was not how they do things here in Manhattan. Sonny apologized and continued working Luna over.

As the day progresses, Sonny is introduced to his new colleagues, Odafin Tutola, and beat cop Nick Amaro, who originally was in the SVU but due to recent events was demoted. 

Together, they planned for Nick to go undercover as a dirty cop looking for a handout with the information he has and a raid for later that evening. Sonny rubs his tired eyes, surprised by the eventful nature of his first day on the job. He stops at a nearby coffee shop to refuel before the eventful night, while Nick prepares to pull over Joaquin Menendez and warn him of the impending raid, a gesture of good faith to maintain their cover.

˖⋆⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆⋆˖

Sonny's fatigued senses were beckoned by the rich aroma of the corner coffee shop as he walked in the door. As he waits, his mind drifts—a mix of energizing adrenaline and overwhelming exhaustion swirls inside him.

Sonny's eyes widen in surprise as he recognizes you standing behind the counter.

“Hello, thanks for stopping by. What can I help- Sonny?” 

Surprise flickers across his face, his blue eyes widening as they meet yours. "Hey," he says, a smile spreading across his face. "I didn't expect to see you here." Joy stirs in his eyes, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. He steps up to the counter, leaning against it lazily. A hint of weariness still clung to his features, but the sight of you brightened his mood considerably.

With a grin, you say, "What can I get for you? It's on the house."

Sonny's eyes widen in disbelief as he protests, "You can't be serious." A grin tugs at the corners of his lips as he shakes his head. "I can't let you do that. Let me pay."

Chuckling at the memory, you reply, "Nonsense, it's not every day you bond over doing laundry at midnight."

He laughs, Alright, alright," he concedes, "if you insist."

Sonny's eyes scan the menu, weighing his options. "I'll have a strong espresso," he declares. "Caffeine is all I've had today."

You frown. "That's it? Sonny, let me get you something from the bake rack. You can't survive on just coffee."

He chuckles faintly at your concern. "Alright," he surrenders again, a sheepish grin on his face. There's something about squabbling with you that feels oddly familiar, comfortable even. "Surprise me, then."

 Sonny waits for his drink and glances around the cozy coffee shop. The walls are adorned with eclectic artwork, and soft music plays in the background, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere. Leaning against the counter, Sonny's gaze occasionally flits to you moving efficiently behind the bar. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the lingering scent of sugar and pastries filled the air. After a few minutes, you place a steaming espresso and a blueberry muffin on the counter. 

Sonny smiles appreciatively as he sips the rich, robust espresso, then bites into the warm, fluffy blueberry muffin. He moans. "This is exactly what I needed," he says, savoring the perfect balance of bitterness from the dark roast and sweetness from the muffin. He settles into a chair near the counter, continuing to sip and nibble on his delightful breakfast.

The espresso's caffeine gradually revives Sonny as he leans back. Every so often, you'd enter the lobby with a rag to clean the tables and restock the napkins, making sure to chat with him whenever you could between helping other customers. As he watches you navigate the coffee shop, skillfully attending to other customers, Sonny couldn't help but admire the seamless way you worked. 

However, he also noticed the subtle signs of tiredness in your eyes; he could empathize. Despite your exhaustion, you continue serving customers with a genuine smile. Sonny's admiration for you grew, not just because of your coffee-making skills but also for your resilience and warm personality.

Sonny gathers his belongings; his thoughts linger on his enjoyable coffee break. He makes his way to the counter.

"Hey," he begins, his voice slightly rough from the potent espresso. "I have to get back, but I just wanted to thank you again for the coffee and muffin. You didn't have to do that."

You dismiss his concern with a casual wave of your hand. "It's no big deal," you say with a warm smile. "I know you've had a long day, and I'm not letting you leave without something in your stomach besides caffeine."

Sonny chuckles softly, knowing that arguing with you is futile. He rubs the back of his neck, still marveling at your kindness. “I owe you one, you know?"

"I'll keep that in mind," you reply with a mischievous grin. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

During a nighttime raid, the SVU team discovers several undocumented girls as well as a 14-year-old named Missy Brooks. They also apprehend Joaquin, but Detective Tutola allows him to leave after he mentions Amaro's name, to make him think the whole Amaro undercover story was real.

At the precinct, Rollins notices Missy's cell phone background is a photo of an infant. She tells Missy that the police raided a house in May and found children inside. Rollins then asks Missy where her baby is. 

Meanwhile, the TARU team examines the phones of the trafficked girls and discovers they all have the QuickRide app installed. However, Missy remains tight-lipped and refuses to provide any information.

As dawn approaches, Sergeant Benson instructs Sonny to go home and rest for the night, assuring him that the team has the situation under control. She promises to call Sonny once they gather more information and leads.

Sonny nods, visibly tired after a long day and an intense raid. Although he wanted to stay and help the case along, he knew Benson was right. He needed rest if he was going to be of any use.

───  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Sonny trudges into his small apartment, shuts the door behind him, and leans against it for a moment, letting out a long, weary sigh. The quiet embrace of his apartment envelopes him, and the realization that he was finally alone after such a hectic day washes over him with a sense of relief.

The apartment fell into a peaceful hush, save for the whisper of Sonny's gentle breaths. Occasional murmurs from the air conditioner and distant city noises punctuated the silence. Sonny finally surrenders to a well-deserved sleep.

───  ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅  ───

When it rains, it bleeds. In Attica, Little Tino was viciously stabbed by three fellow prisoners and required emergency surgery, narrowly escaping death. 

Meanwhile, in the Bellevue prison ward, someone fatally injects a lethal dose into Diego's neck. 

Across town in Queens, Missy and a client are discovered shot to death inside a car. 

Concerned for her son Noah's safety, Detective Benson calls his nanny Lucy, only to learn she has taken him to the DeWitt Clinton Playground. Suddenly, Benson hears the chilling sound of gunfire over the phone. Racing to the playground, she finds that, mercifully, no one has been harmed. 

At the precinct, the squad regroups, and Sonny is introduced to Rafael Barba, an eccentric Assistant District Attorney. Benson then proposes a plan for Nick to meet with Joaquin again, leading to the arrest of both Nick and Menendez.

Time ticks by, and the squad tirelessly works to piece together the complex puzzle. Sonny can feel the exhaustion of the relentless investigation gnawing at his mind. He glances at the clock on the wall, surprised to realize hours had passed. Rising from his chair, he stretches his limbs, his muscles protesting the prolonged sitting.

Benson and Fin visited a now conscious Tino at the hospital, where they ran into his mother, who told them so information to further the investigation to arrange a meeting with a woman named Carmen on Craigslist to locate Selena.

In the seedy hotel room, Sonny prepares to play his part, pretending to be a disgruntled "John" seeking a rougher, more aggressive sex worker. As the knock on the door signals her arrival, Sonny puts on his creepy charm, complimenting the woman and touching her hair, though he feels conflicted about the situation. When she offers only a massage, Sonny becomes aggressive, prompting the woman to flee to the bathroom and call Selena. Moments later, Selena and her driver arrive and confront Sonny at gunpoint. However, Detectives Fin and Rollins intervene and apprehend Selena and her driver.

After escorting the group back to the precinct, the two detectives left Sonny to take a few minutes for himself. Needing time to refocus and regain his composure, Sonny stepped outside the motel and sat down, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. Knowing a visit to his favorite coffee shop would lift his spirits, Sonny soon headed that way, eager for the comfort of a familiar routine.

The familiar and comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee fills his senses. He notices you behind the counter, your smile effortlessly radiant as you greet him.

Taking a deep breath, he approaches the counter, his nerves and the events of the day already making him tense.

He returns your smile, attempting to appear composed despite the nervous energy coursing through him. "Hey," he began, his voice slightly strained. Sonny made his way into the shop, the familiar and comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee filling his senses. He notices you behind the counter; your smile is effortlessly radiant as you greet him.

"Hey there, can I get a repeat of yesterday?" Sonny steps closer.

"Of course, coming right up," you say with a grin.

Sonny leans against the counter, his eyes on you as you pour the black coffee into the cup. 

You place the cup and this time a banana muffin in front of him. Sonny couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort. "Thanks," he says, his voice slightly rough. "You don't know how much I needed this today."

He accepts the cup and muffin, his fingers subtly touching yours for a brief moment, sending a jolt through him. The contact felt natural but also electrifying as if his body was hyper-aware of your touch.

He glances up from his cup and muffin, his eyes flickering over to the counter and you. The thought of asking for your number comes to him. He goes to the same chair next to the counter and begins to eat and sip.

After cashing out a customer, he notices you approaching him and takes a seat on the opposite side of his table. 

"Hey," Sonny replies, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He studies you, noticing the little details he hadn't observed before—the subtle sparkle in your eyes.

"I hope I'm not interrupting your lunch," you say, your voice casually light. "But I wanted to check in on how you're doing. You look tired."

Sonny chuckles softly, surprised by your observation. "I am tired," he admits. "It's been a long day." The weariness has settled into his eyes, and his slumped shoulders probably betray his exhaustion. He takes another sip of his coffee. "But I appreciate you checking on me," he adds, his eyes meeting yours.

"How did your first day go? You mentioned in the laundry room that it was coming up soon." You ask.

"It was..." Sonny starts. Where to even begin summing up the events of the two days he’s had? It had been a whirlwind of chaos and danger. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts, then replies. "It was intense, to say the least. Long hours, lots of work,” Sonny smiled slightly, touched that you remembered their brief conversation from a few days ago. 

You let out a lighthearted laugh as you remarked, "Well, that's not at all mysterious and cryptic."

Sonny chuckles at your remark, feeling the tension in his shoulders lighten a little. "Can't give away all the secrets," he replies, his voice just slightly teasing.

Sonny appreciated that you didn't pry further, even if he could see the curiosity and maybe a bit of concern in your gaze. It was refreshing to be with someone who respected his boundaries and understood not to press for details. He takes another sip of his coffee, the conversation settling into a comfortable rhythm between you two.

"How was your day?" he asks, genuinely interested to hear about your life and experiences. Alone with you in the quiet coffee shop, he hoped to continue the conversation, savoring the chance to linger in your company.

“A customer ordered a drink with sparkling water. I handed it to her, but she immediately frowned and asked if it contained sparkling water. I reminded her that the menu clearly listed the ingredients. Ugh, it frustrates me when people don't read.” Your cheeks redden as you realize you are ranting. "Sorry," you say.

Sonny's exhaustion was momentarily forgotten as a soft smile tugged at his lips. Listening to your little story, he finds himself amused by your rant. He could see the frustration in your expression and the way your cheeks flushed just a bit. It was endearing.

"No apologies necessary," he says, his voice gentle. "I get it. Some people just can't be bothered to pay attention, even when it's spelled out right in front of them." He chuckles softly, enjoying the glimpse into your world. He wonders how many other little annoyances you deal with on a daily basis. He finds himself wanting to know more about your life—the things that made you laugh, the things that made you angry. And he couldn't help but realize that he found your rants quite charming.

"Besides the sparkling water incident," he teases, "was the rest of your day uneventful?" He leans back in his chair, his eyes fixed on you, enjoying the lighthearted moment amidst the day's chaos.

"Yeah, it's pretty dead today, which I'm thankful for; last week we were so swamped."

"Well, here's to a quiet day then," Sonny replies, his tone earnest. He takes another sip of his coffee, his eyes still lingering on you. He was grateful for the brief reprieve the calm atmosphere of the coffee shop provided—a chance to reset before diving back into the chaos of his day.

He glances at his watch, realizing he should probably get back to the precinct soon. But the thought of leaving the quiet comfort of the coffee shop and the easy conversation with you made him hesitate for a moment. He wants more time to talk to you and to know more about you. Taking a deep breath, he pushed his chair back, signaling he was getting ready to leave.

"Hey, Sonny..." You begin calling out to him before he leaves. "Can I have your number?"

Sonny stops in his tracks, his heart skipping a beat at your unexpected question. He turns back to you, surprised but pleasantly so.

"Uh...yeah, sure. I'd like that," he replies, a genuine smile spreading across his face. He quickly grabs a nearby napkin from the counter and fishes a pen out of his pocket. Writing his number onto the napkin, he can't help but feel a mix of nervousness and excitement. Handing the napkin over to you, he watches you closely.

"I'll text you later; you go save the city." You giggle as you hold onto the napkin.

Sonny can't help but smile at your words. There's something about the way you say it—so casual yet sincere—that makes his heart skip a beat. Your carefree attitude is a refreshing contrast to the seriousness of his job.

"And you save me a coffee for tomorrow," he replies with a wink before heading out the door.

He can't help but feel a little lighter than he did before—a subtle boost of energy and anticipation. He knows he has an exhausting day ahead of him, but the knowledge that he'll see you and talk to you again soon makes the idea of returning to work much more bearable. 

Sonny enters the precinct, and the familiar sights and sounds immediately bring him back to reality. He put on his game face. He makes his way towards the squad room; a small smile still lingering on his lips, evidence that the thought of you had brought a glimmer of joy to his day.

Chapter 2

[unbreakabledawn]

The good part about being injured was the popsicle.

The bad part was literally everything else. Dick's chest hurt like nothing he'd ever felt before, worse than any bruise or scrape or bump from the numerous falls he'd gone through at Haly's, during practice for a show, or playing outside, climbing trees and vaulting across playgrounds. Never bad enough to need to go to a hospital, just band-aids and warm wash cloths and ice packs.

We should tattoo a band-aid on you, it would save us time and money, his dad would say every time Dick scraped his knee, which was every other week. And his mom would brush the hair back from his forehead, kiss his cheek with a warm hum, and sneak him a popsicle even though it was Wednesday and he wasn't allowed sweets on weekdays.

Another pang of pain flared in Dick's chest, and it wasn't his ribs this time.

And Bruce freaking poking right where the pain was at its worst did not help at all.

"Ow," Dick yelped, scowling at Bruce.

"I'm sorry. I need to examine you." Bruce continued pressing gentle fingers to Dick's side, moving along the bones and the edges of the blooming bruise. "Is it hard to breathe?"

"No," Dick said, lips wrapped around his strawberry popsicle. "Just hurts a little. If I breathe deep."

"Where does it hurt the most? Here, or here?"

Dick used his free hand to trace the throbbing center of pain. Bruce nodded and reached for his hand, slipping a small plastic clip with a tiny screen onto his finger. "Um, what's that?" Dick asked, watching numbers appear on the screen of the clip.

"Pulse oximeter. It measures the oxygen saturation in your blood." Bruce was now pulling a stethoscope out of a set of drawers. He'd shown Dick how to use one a few weeks ago, slipped the ear pieces into Dick's ears and placed the little disc on his chest so Dick could hear the slow, steady drum of his heart. Bruce was leaning forward to place it on Dick's chest now.

"Can you at least wait until I've finished my popsicle?" Dick said, sullen, trying not to squirm as the cold metal slid across his chest while Bruce told him when to breathe.

"You can multitask. It's a useful skill to have. Lean forward," Bruce instructed, and repeated the procedure on Dick’s back.

"I'm okay," Dick said, because Bruce was acting like the one who'd crashed straight into a concrete ledge instead of Dick. He'd been practicing hand flips in the garden, and he'd stumbled on a cracked tile and fallen and hit the side of his chest on a stone flower bed. Ugh, how embarassing. His first injury after moving in with Bruce, and it wasn't even as Robin! And still, Bruce had whisked him down to the Batcave's medbay, promising him a popsicle in exchange for being allowed to check him out.

"Yes. I just want to make sure," Bruce said, worried frown still firmly in place. He was scrawling notes on a chart, because he was a freak like that and needed to document the fact that Dick was clumsy enough to get himself injured playing in the garden.

Dick sighed and licked off the last bit of the popsicle, and the juice that had dripped onto his fingers.

The sound of something large being wheeled closer made Dick freeze. He looked up towards Bruce, who was bringing some sort of machine to the gurney Dick was laying down on.

"What are you doing?" Dick asked, alarm bells ringing in his head over the whirring and humming of the strange machine.

"This is a portable x-ray device," Bruce explained while he manipulated the machine into position. "I need to take an x-ray of your chest."

X-ray? That’s what they used for broken bones, wasn’t it? Crap, did that mean he broke his ribs?

“But I’m fine,” Dick said, trying and failing not to let his panic bleed into his voice. “I don’t need it.”

Bruce paused, hands on the handles of the machine’s head pointing it towards Dick’s chest. He peered down at Dick. “It’s just an x-ray. It’ll take me two minutes.”

“You don’t need to,” Dick said, accidentally raising his voice. “It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

“Dick,” Bruce said gently. He hesitantly reached forward to brush the hair off Dick’s forehead. “It won’t hurt, you won’t feel a thing. It’s like a big camera that lets us look inside your chest.”

Dick stared up at what must be the lens of the camera. He bit his lip. It didn’t look like it would hurt. “How does it work?”

“This”—he touched the head of the machine—“sends out x-ray beams. They go through your body and this plate catches them, creating an image.” He held up a wide, black plate. “So I need to place this under your chest.”

“What are x-ray beams?”

“We can do a radiation physics lesson tomorrow, if you like. For now I need you to lean forward for me.”

He did, and let Bruce place the cold, hard plate behind his back. It wasn’t comfortable, but Bruce said two minutes. He could handle two minutes.

Bruce put on some sort of black apron, and attached a broad collar around his neck. “Lead protection,” he explained to Dick, and held up a remote that looked like the trigger to a bomb. “Ready?”

He nodded.

“Breathe in.” A buzz and a louder whirr. “And we’re done.”

Dick opened his eyes. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Oh. That wasn’t so bad,” he admitted, leaning forward again so Bruce could remove the plate and put away the equipment. "So,” Dick said once Bruce returned to his bedside. “Are my ribs broken?"

"I don't know. Probably not." Bruce was writing something down in the chart, but the line between his eyebrows was the familiar I'm-Concentrating frown instead of a Oh-My-God-You're-Hurt frown, so Dick felt more annoyed than upset for the moment.

"What?! What do you mean you don't know? What was the freaking point then?"

"I needed to check your lungs. Rib fractures can be hard to see or even undetectable on chest x-rays."

"Oh. So my lungs are okay, then?"

"As far as I can tell. I'm no radiologist."

Dick rolled his eyes. Good thing Bruce wasn't a doctor, because his bedside manners sucked. "Hmph. Well, you owe me another popsicle. Since I let you do an x-ray on me."

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him, and Dick just barely caught the quirk of his mouth before he smoothed out his expression again. "You drive a hard bargain, chum. Strawberry or pear?"

"Strawberry. Duh."

-

a/n: this is 50% due to @froizetta asking me about rib fractures for her fic, and 50% due to a patient i had last week: a young girl around dick's age who started sobbing as soon as i called her name for her exam, and who continued loudly sobbing throughout the two minutes it took to take a single x-ray of her hand. she was terrified, hospitals and medical tools and big machines can be scary to little kids! i work with a large variety of patient groups and kids are definitely the ones i struggle the most with, so this writing exercise also has professional merit (<- me making excuses for self-indulgent fic)

[ao3 link]