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em1i2a3 · 21 days ago

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I’m On Fire

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: The heating unit in the compound breaks during the peak of winter, leaving everyone in the tower freezing cold and grumpy, except for Bob–who’s a walking furnace. So you decide to get a taste of the warmth.

Warnings: No explicit warnings, just fluff! Bob and you are friends…With feelings…Friends with feelings I say.

Author’s Note: I really enjoyed writing this request anon, but I kept laughing when writing this because all I was picturing was this Tik Tok. Anyways, I absolutely loved writing this one! Very fun fluff for a Saturday, and thank you @receedingdawn for the cute ass banner.

Word Count: 4,034

The cold came in like a wave. It didn’t crash through the windows or blow in through the doors. It seeped through the cracks, and invaded.

It started sometime before dawn–quiet and unnoticed–at the base of the Tower, where a blinking red light pulsed steadily on the diagnostics board in the lower mechanical level. It was just a minor system alert. One line of code trying to tell someone to check the heating core. A low-priority flag. The kind of warning that gets buried under a dozen other maintenance requests, and a digital blanket.

Nobody noticed it, or bothered to check, so the cold just continued to climb. It crept floor by floor, rising like tidewater. Slow. Patient, and semi-forgiving it the alert got caught–which didn’t happen.

By midday, the lower levels had cooled to a mild chill–noticeable, but nothing out of the ordinary for winter in New York City. It was the kind that made you rub your hands together and blow against your palms to give you a little relief from the cold, before moving on with your day. But by the time the sun dipped below the skyline, the eightieth floor–the Thunderbolts living quarters–was freezing.

High above the city, the wind screamed against the glass walls like it was a living thing. The steel bones of the Tower groaned softly in response to each gust, and you could’ve sworn you could feel the floors shaking at some point. The vents blew nothing but a mechanical sighº–like it had risen a white flag in surrender to the harsh winter–and the lights that lined the ceilings flickered every so often as if they were shivering with you. The floor tiles had the bitter feel of ice cold concerte, mugs of hot coffee and tea went lukewarm within minutes of being poured, and your breath had turned visible even within the confines of the living quarters–puffing out in little clouds that hovered and curled like ghosts before fading into the stillness.

The air had a sharpness that bit at fingertips, slid down collarbones, and made people quiet, and frustrated all at the same time.

”I’m telling you,” Yelena muttered, pacing in thick socks, and two layers of sweatpants, “We are one bad power surge away from an ice age in this damn place.” She fixed her gloves on her hands, as she huddled into the collar of her sweater.

”Pretty sure my blood is trying to congeal in itself…I think I’m on the brink of death.” Walker added, hunched over on the common room couch with a blanket draped over his shoulders like a funeral shroud.

Across the room, Ava was bundled in a military-grade parka she must’ve pulled from storage. Only the sharp glint of her eyes were visible above the thick wool scarf that she had wrapped around her head. She hadn’t said a word in fifteen minutes, she just stared into her mug, watching as little frost specks floated on top of her coffee.

Nobody was handling the cold well.

Except Bob.

He looked like he had wandered in from a completely different climate–like he had gone on a beach vacation in the tropics and brought the heat with him.

Perched at the far end of the sectional, he sat cross-legged with a worn paperback in his lap, a bowl of salt and vinegar chips balanced on the armrest beside him, and a cold Coke Zero sweating quietly on the coffee table in front of him from the warmth of his hand touching it every so often.

He didn’t have a blanket or socks, just a pair of soft grey sweatpants and an old, slightly threadbare long sleeve shirt that clung gently to the shape of his chest and shoulders–damp in spots where the heat radiating off him had started to collect.

In comparison to the rest of the team–who looked like they were preparing to trek across the Arctic–Bob looked like he was five minutes away from cracking open a window. It also wasn’t just the fact he looked comfortable–it was that he was radiating heat.

It was rising from his skin in slow steady waves if you paid close attention to him. The faint shimmer was lifting off his forearms, and a soft flush clung to the tops of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, like he had just come in from a run rather than being sat unmoving in the meat locker common room for the last forty minutes. There was even a sheen of sweat glistening at his temples, catching the light every time he turned a page and tilted his head.

Yelena froze mid-pace and squinted at him.

”Bob…” Her voice was flat, bordering on accusatory, “Are you–are you sweating right now?!” Bob blinked up from his book, pushing his light brown hair out of his face.

”Uhm…” He lifted a hand to wipe at his forehead, as if he was surprised to find it damp, “Y-Yeah? A little. I–I mean, I told you guys I run warm…A-And I’ve got the Sentry in me, so–uh–of course I’m kind of…Y’know…Hot.” There was a beat of silence, then Yelena turned to the others.

”And he has the audacity to joke about it.” Walker let out a dramatic groan from beneath his blanket.

”He‘s not joking, he is hot. Like tropical-level hot. Bob…You’re a walking space heater.” Bob went pink immediately. Not just his face–his ears, too. He ducked his head with a bashful shrug and tried to laugh it off, but it came out awkward, then he reached out for his Coke Zero and took a long sip.

From the kitchenette, where a bottle of whiskey was being passed like emergency rations, Alexei glanced up from his glass.

”We should wrap Bob in blanket burrito, then take turns crawling in like it’s sauna.” He stated, and Bucky, who had been silent until now, raised his glass slightly, unbothered by the cold.

”I’d pay to watch that happen.” Bob choked on his drink. Not a little, polite cough–a real sputter. He turned his head and pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, trying to keep it quiet, but he could feel the heat continuing to rise beneath his skin. Alexei, of course, was completely unbothered.

”Just saying,” He shrugged, pouring himself another half-glass, “You get three people in there with you, rotate every thirty minutes…Efficient heat source I say.” Walker snorted.

”We could even install a zipper on the blanket, then call it the Bob Bag.”

“Worst part is I would definitely be the first person to try it…It’s freezing.” Bob hunched slightly where he sat, trying to disappear into the cushions. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the idea of someone cuddling up next to him–it was the idea of the entire team looking at him like he was the last functioning radiator in New York City that was making his skin prickle.

”G-Guys, “ He stammered, lifting his palms in surrender, “I’ll probably end up combusting if you all t-try to–if anyone–I–I mean…” He fumbled for a save.

”H-How about we just–uh–call m-maintenance again, yeah? I’m sure they’ll help…R-Right?” No one responded. Instead, they all turned toward him slowly. Creeping forward. Ava didn’t even stand–just started sliding across the armchair like a sleep-deprived slug with one goal: heat. Yelena grinned.

”You’ve been outvoted, human furnace.” Walker stood.

”Don’t resist Bob…Embrace your destiny.” Bob’s shoulders hit the back cushion as the group began to close in.

“G-Guys, I’m being serious–”

His voice cracked at the end–not from fear, but from that thing under his skin, the one that didn’t like being crowded. Not when he didn’t want it. Not when he wasn’t ready. Then his eyes glowed. Just a soft, flickering glint beneath his lashes. It was enough to make everyone freeze. Walker stepped back instinctively. Ava’s mug lowered a fraction. Even Yelena lifted her brows and let out a soft scoff as she retreated a step.

“Ugh…The sunshine god always has to ruin the fun and scare us off,” She commented, letting out a long sigh, “I guess I’ll call maintenance again and see what the hell they’re doing. Probably still trying to figure out how to reset a server without breaking a nail.” She grabbed her phone from the coffee table and turned her back on the couch. Bob exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“S-Sorry guys…Didn’t mean to uh–to flare.” He hated that part. That undercurrent of otherness. The way people joked until something flickered in his eyes, and then everything stopped being funny. How he went from Bob to the Sentry in a heartbeat without meaning to. Even here, in this mismatched pile of sarcasm and trauma and second chances–they still backed off when the light showed.

Bob was still hunched over, fingers pinched at the bridge of his nose, trying to will the faint glow in his eyes away when the sound of teeth chattering echoed down the hallway.

Everyone turned toward it.

The sound grew louder–soft footsteps over the cold floor, the rustle of layered blankets, the stifled clatter of a mug being carried between violently trembling hands. And then you appeared in the doorway, wrapped in two fleece throws like a cocoon, shoulders hunched, cheeks flushed with windburn, and face pulled into a miserable grimace.

You looked like you were on the verge of dying. Or committing murder. Possibly both.

“The hell…” You croaked through your chattering teeth, breath curling in front of your lips, “How did this happen without anyone catching it on time?”

Your voice wavered on the last word–not just from frustration, but from the way your whole body was trembling. You were shaking, jaw clenched, knees knocking together slightly under the blankets as you shuffled forward like someone trying to survive a blizzard in a hoodie.

Bob’s heart slammed in his chest. Not from panic, or from Sentry wanting to see you, but just from pure instinct. He felt it burn inside him–this pull toward you, this immediate, deep, animalistic need to wrap you up and make you warm. Not just because you were cold. But because you were you–someone that had connected and tethered to him on more than just a baseline friendship level. Though it was hard for Bob to really contain himself, and the desire to take care of you in general because he knew you probably didn’t see him in the manner he saw you in.

“They probably missed it. That’s the only reason this could’ve happened. Nobody flagged it in time.” Ava responded first, her voice muffled behind her scarf. You exhaled hard through your nose, steam huffing from your lips. Your eyes flicked to the sectional–to the wide, open space beside Bob. You took one step toward it, then paused.

Your eyes landed on him.

You blinked slowly, your gaze dragging from his flushed face to the damp edge of his collar to the Coke can on the table still sweating with heat.

Then it clicked.

“Oh, right,” You rasped, eyebrows lifting. “I forgot about you running hot, you’re gonna be my life saver!”

Before Bob could respond–before he could stammer out anything–you moved.

You dropped onto the couch beside him with the exhausted weight of someone who had given up on survival. You let your blankets slide open just enough to let the heat in, curled your toes beneath you, and leaned into his side with a soft, contented groan.

Bob stopped breathing.

He felt you. Every inch of you. Your icy fingers brushing his thigh. The chilled edge of your arm nudging his ribs. Your cheek settling lightly into the curve of his shoulder. And then–God help him–the tiny, blissful sound that slipped from your lips when the warmth of his body hit you full-force.

It was quiet. Barely audible. Just a hum of deep, unconscious relief.

“Mmm…”

But to Bob, it was devastating.

His entire body tensed like he was preparing for impact. His breath caught in his throat. His hands twitched on his thighs, and the heat under his skin flared so suddenly he had to will it back down before his shirt started to steam.

You didn’t even notice.

You were too cold. Too relieved. Too focused on not crying from the sheer comfort of finally, finally finding warmth after what felt like an hour and a half of your limbs feeling like they were going to shatter.

“Oh my god,” You whispered, pressing your face against the side of his arm like you were trying to melt into him. “You’re boiling. This is perfect.” You breathed in deeply, smelling the cool mint scent of his body wash, letting it invade your lungs, as you nuzzled even closer to him.

Bob swallowed hard. “I-I…Uh…”

You sighed again. And this one was worse. Better. More dangerous. It wasn’t just relief–it was pleasure. The kind that only came from thawing out after a deep freeze. A sound that vibrated low in your chest and hummed right against his ribs.

He couldn’t look at you.

If he did, he’d die. Spontaneously combust on the spot. Sentry and all.

You tugged the top blanket around the both of you, like it was natural–like sharing heat was second nature. Like you weren’t undoing him with every breath that ghosted across his neck.

A long silence settled over the room.

Not awkward. Not exactly. But heavy with something unspoken.

You didn’t notice the way everyone else had gone quiet. You didn’t see the way Yelena lowered her phone without pressing call, or how Walker and Ava slowly exchanged looks, eyebrows raised. You didn’t catch Bucky’s subtle nod from the kitchen, or Alexei’s low whistle as he leaned back in his chair like he was watching the beginning of a very good movie.

Because you were too busy melting.

Literally and figuratively.

Your arm moved slowly. Almost imperceptibly. It slipped from beneath your blanket, slid across Bob’s damp shirt, and curled around his torso–fingers splaying wide across his side. Not in a flirtatious way. Not in a way that begged attention. Just an unconscious, instinctual kind of closeness.

A gesture that said: you’re warm, and I need all of it.

Bob’s heart skipped.

He didn’t move. Couldn’t. His spine had gone rigid, and his breath had stalled somewhere between his throat and lungs. You were touching him. Really touching him. Not in passing, not in jest, not in the familiar bump of shoulders during a mission or a sarcastic pat on the back.

But this. A full-body lean. An arm around his waist. Your chilled hand flattening over his ribs, tugging him–gently–closer to you.

And he let you.

Because he would’ve let you do anything.

Your fingers brushed a damp spot on his shirt. He was sweating. Badly. But you didn’t flinch. Didn’t comment. You just let out another of those sighs–low, content, sinful in its softness–and nestled closer until your forehead touched the curve of his neck.

“God…” You mumbled into his skin, breath curling warm under his jaw, “You’re saving my life right now.” Bob let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a whimper.

His hands were still on his thighs, white-knuckled, as if he were holding himself down. As if one move would tip this entire fragile balance into something he couldn’t pull back from. Because it wasn’t just warmth he was giving you–it was everything.

Every part of him was screaming for more.

More of your voice. More of your weight leaning into him. More of your fingers splayed against his side and the way your leg was now casually draped over his calf under the blanket.

And yet–somehow–you still didn’t seem to notice what you were doing to him.

From across the room, Yelena’s voice broke the silence.

Soft. Distant. A whisper clearly not meant to be heard.

“Oh no…She’s gonna kill him.”

Walker coughed into his sleeve. “He’s not gonna survive the next ten minutes.”

“I give him five.”

“Three, if she sighs again.”

Ava hummed in agreement. “He’s gonna short-circuit.”

Bob could hear them. He could hear everything–every shifting blanket, every laugh being swallowed behind a cup, every knowing glance being passed around like popcorn.

But all he could feel was you.

The weight of your body against his.

The cold that finally eased from your limbs.

The way your breathing slowed, softened.

And the way you whispered–barely audible, but so close he could feel the words against his skin:

“…Think I could stay here all night.” The words left your lips like a sigh—half asleep, half joking—but Bob felt them hit.

They lodged somewhere between his ribs, soft and brutal, and echoed in his chest long after the sound had faded into the blanket-wrapped stillness.

He didn’t respond right away.

Couldn’t.

His mouth opened slightly, but no words came. His throat was dry. His breath was shaky. The heat he’d been radiating all evening was nothing compared to what flared through him now–less like warmth and more like a furnace igniting from the inside out.

You shifted again. Just a little. Your fingers flexed slightly against his ribs. You were settling in deeper.

Bob’s voice, when it finally broke free, was small and trembling.

“Y-You can. I-I mean–if you…If you want. I-I wouldn’t–I wouldn’t mind.”

You didn’t say anything at first.

But after a beat, you tilted your head and looked up at him.

And that was it.

The end of him.

Because you weren’t even trying to do anything. You just looked up–sleepy and flushed, lips parted, eyes soft–and you saw him.

The way his jaw was clenched. The way his shoulders were locked up. The way his fingers curled into his thighs like they were holding on for dear life. The way his shirt was soaked from heat and nervous sweat and yet he hadn’t dared move.

And then your eyes met his.

And you saw it.

The wreckage.

His face was flushed–burned red at the ears, his lips slightly parted like he was afraid to exhale too hard. His eyes were wide, glassy, stunned. Not from embarrassment. Not from discomfort.

From everything.

From being touched, and wanted, and needed.

From your breath on his skin, your arm around his waist, your words curling like ribbons into his ear and tying knots he didn’t know how to undo.

You blinked once, slowly.

“…Bob?”

His breath hitched.

“I-I’m f-fine,” He stammered, the lie so thin you could hear the tremble beneath it. “J-just…Y-You’re really close, and I-I’m trying not to–uh–I mean, I d-don’t wanna–”

He stopped himself.

But the damage was done.

You stared up at him for another long moment, blinking against the golden flush of his cheeks and the sweat dotting his brow, and the way he couldn’t quite meet your eyes now.

And something shifted in your chest.

You loosened your grip around his waist–but not to move away. Just enough to smooth your hand against the curve of his side. Gentle. Careful. Tender in a way that quieted everything else.

“…Am I making you uncomfortable?”

Bob shook his head before you’d even finished the question.

“N-No. G-God, no,” He said quickly, too quickly. “Y-You’re not. I-I like it. I–”

He swallowed hard.

His eyes finally flicked toward you, just briefly.

“I-I just…Don’t k-know how I’m doing this w-without Sentry going o-off the rails…” Your lips curved into a quiet smile against his skin.

“Maybe he’s used to me pestering you by now,” You murmured, voice low and teasing, “Maybe he knows not to get in the way of things.”

Bob blinked.

His chest lifted with a deep breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and the glow in his eyes flickered briefly behind his lashes.

“Y-Yeah,” he said softly, with a quiet sort of wonder. “M-Maybe.”

He didn’t add that Sentry was right there. Listening. Not pushing forward, not flaring to the surface like he so often did when Bob felt overwhelmed.

He was just…Calm.

Not silent, exactly. But watching through Bob’s eyes with something that felt like reverence. A kind of awestruck stillness that made Bob feel like his ribs were filled with golden thread instead of bone.

You were still watching him. Still close enough that every breath he took shifted you slightly. And even in the dim light of the living room, he could see the soft twitch of your lips and the calm around your eyes–like your nervous system had finally unclenched for the first time all day.

“Sorry I’m so clingy,” You added after a moment, eyes fluttering shut, “I know this probably feels like being tackled by a human-shaped block of ice.”

Bob’s voice cracked again.

“Y-You could tackle me any time.”

Your eyes opened slowly.

“What?”

His ears turned bright pink. “N-Nothing. N-Never mind.”

You snorted–this breathy, fond little sound–and let your hand trail lightly across the shape of his ribs, fingers drawing lazy circles through the soft fabric of his shirt.

“I think I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that,” You said, lips curving into a slow smile. “For your dignity’s sake.”

Bob swallowed hard. You shifted a little closer until your forehead was tucked under his jaw and your fingers were curled in the hem of his shirt like you didn’t want to let go.

He could feel your eyelashes brushing against his skin.

Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“Give me a few more minutes with you…And then I’ll untangle and let you recover.”

That almost made him laugh.

But it caught in his throat because something about the way you said it–something about the gentleness behind the tease–made it feel bigger than just cuddling on a cold night.

It felt like you knew.

Maybe not everything.

Maybe not how often he thought about you. Or how many times he caught himself daydreaming about a moment like this–exactly like this. The weight of you against him. Your breath slowing. Your body folding into his like it belonged there.

Maybe you didn’t know how much he ached when you brushed against him on missions or leaned on him when you were too tired to stand. Or how long he’d been pretending it was nothing when every second of contact burned through him like a star being born.

Maybe you didn’t know that every part of him had been waiting for you.

But maybe you felt it. Just a little.

Because you didn’t pull away. You didn’t tease too much. You just settled in, calm and warm and real, and gave him the one thing no one had offered in a while.

Time and gentle touch.

A few more minutes. A few more inches of closeness. A few more breaths shared between them. Bob turned his face slightly toward your hair, just enough to breathe you in. Your scent was cold, but there was a depth of warmth beneath it, something fruity–like jammy blueberries and blackberries, maybe a field that had ripening strawberries. It was like you were bathing yourself in something that was tropical to emote the sense that you were someplace warm instead of a cold compound.

Finally Bob lifted his hand, and let it rest over your back. It was tentative at first, then more solid, like a soft protective weight. His thumb stroked gently across your spine, and he whispered:

”Take as long as you want.” You didn’t respond, you just let out a slow, steady breath that warmed his neck and a soft hum of contentment as you curled into his chest and closed your eyes again.

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lologoinsolo · 4 months ago

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Haunted House Masterlist

A fun little idea that’s very quickly written. Apologies for mistakes, I should be sleeping but brain wouldn’t allow.

Your alarm is blaring. It’s loud and obnoxious and screams for you to wake. You don’t want to but you have to “seize the day” as one would say. You turn to your side and hit snooze though, shutting it up and deciding that five more minutes won’t hurt. You had such a wonderful dream that you want to get back to it. It was about you being rich and never having to work another day in your life.

“Yer gonna be late again for work, lass.”

Your eyes pop open as you scream, balling your fist and punching the man that lays down on your bed. Your fist phases right on through though and he laughs so loudly that you wished you could actually hit him.

“Ah, ouch, lass. That hurt.” He feigns pain, rubbing his face and he grins like the Cheshire Cat itself.

“Johnny,” you rub your temples. Your want for sleeping in is fleeting, “how many times do I have to tell you. The beds off limits.” Glaring at your ghostly companion.

“Ye said, Johnny, make sure I stay awake even when my alarm goes off,” he mimics your voice horribly, really laying on an abnormally high pitch to make you wish you couldn’t hear. He places a hand against his cheek and the other comes around to tap your forehead. You shiver when you can feel the cool sensation, you’ve never gotten used to that. “S’not my fault ye keep sleepin’ in.”

“Yeah, yeah,” flinching when your alarm goes off once more. You groan even louder than before as you turn the alarm off. You sit and rub your face till it hurts. “Alright,” you feel his hand pressing and nudging on your back. You swipe at him like a hissing cat and tumble off your welcoming, warm bed. He laughs and lays still as you move around sluggishly. You walk out of your room even when you can hear your bed weeping for you and head to your kitchen.

Grabbing a tea bag, a mug, and pouring water from the sink in it before placing it in the microwave. Pressing the buttons and you watch the light flicker on the mug spinning slowly. There’s a growing heavy weight against your back, it press well against your shoulder and even when you try to shove him away. He doesn’t budge, a mountain of cold, hard steel that doesn’t move even when you say his name. “Simon,” you whine, trying to push him away but alas, your hands phase through him just like it did with Johnny.

“You need a kettle,” he says with so much disappointment in his brown eyes. There’s an atrocity happening before him, actually it’s happened many times. You’ve flat out refused to even boil the water on at least a pot. “I feel like I’m dying again just watching this.” He leans ever more and you’re damn near fused to your counter.

“Okay, okay,” the microwave beeps and you open it to grab your mug. Wincing and trying to hold the hot ceramic handle without it peeling your skin off. “I’ll buy a kettle this time around.” You say as you have many times over, “can you move? Please?” You hear him sigh like he’s suffering and he leaves. Disappears off into the nether and probably won’t come back until you pour him a glass of his favorite whiskey as an apology. “Fucking Brit’s.” Grumbling your annoyance as you dump your sugar and stir it in the cooling liquid. Not even bothering to blow as you drink it. You don’t really get the difference but somehow it’s always an offense when Simon sees you do that.

“He’s right,” John sits on your recliner. A cigar in hand and even though he’s as ghostly as the others he manages to find a way to smoke in your house. “That’s no way to drink a tea.” Of course he’d jump in on this, though you think he might only do that just to get a rise out of you.

“Buy me a kettle and make me a tea.” Holding the mug against your face. Drinking it defiantly and Kyle comes through a wall as quickly as you say that.

“You banned us from making drinks or food.” Holding a finger out as he nods in making his point. John grunts in agreement, smoke somehow puffing around in swirls.

“For good reason, Kyle.” The last time they tried to do anything it was a mess. And not in the incompetent way but more in the paranormal why is everything floating kinda way. “There was tomato sauce splattered on my ceiling! The ceiling,” placing your mug down on the counter. “I had to get a ladder to clean it.”

“Didnae ken that would happen when I touched the damn thing.” You hear Johnny somewhere in the room but have yet to spot him. Probably hovering in a dark spot as usual when he plans on scaring you by grabbing you. He seems miffed about the incident since he’s the main reason why they’re all banned. “Ye were sick at the time. We just wanted to help.”

That makes you feel a little guilty. Your ghosts do try to help around as much as they can but sometimes their paranormalness doesn’t always work well in your house nor around objects. So far they’ve been able to touch you with no problem but with other things though… somtimes they will float or get weird with the temperature, your hairbrush has been freezing cold here lately… one of them probably snooped around your bathroom again. You’ve gotten as used to your roommates as best as you can. Your ability allows you to see and hear hem as clear as day while others can’t. It’s a blessing and a curse with your wonderful little ability despite the learning curve.

The curve being that there’s ghosts in your house.

“Ah, shit,” Kyle pulls you from your thoughts. “You need to hurry, you’re gonna be running late again.” Kyle, ever the one to keep you on your goals quickly points that out as he looks at the time.

“Oh, son of a bitch!” You fly down the hall back to your room to get dressed. Forgoing buying breakfast on the way even when John yells for you to do so. You hobble to get your shoes on and nearly roll out your door to get to your car. Not even bothering to lock your house since your ghostly apparitions won’t allow an intruder to do harm. You slam your foot on the gas after reversing and drive off to your job. Blasting music down the road to get your mood right for the next eight hours.

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kannady · 5 days ago

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ever, ever after

pairing: sylus x non-mc reader

summary: sylus didn't love you. how could he when she was around? but would he come look for you if you willingly step into EVER's boundaries?

word count: 3.8k

a/n: HOLY SHIT! i did not expect that many people to read the prev part and actually like it???? thank you so much to all you lovely people. seeing everyone excited for the next part just lit me on fire. hope you'll like this one. lemme know your thoughts!

read rest of the chapters here!

The mug shattered on the floor.

The sound was too loud in the silence of the lab, ceramic shards skittering across the frosted glass tiles. Coffee pooled dark and bitter, seeping into the panels. You stood there, frozen, fingers still curled around the ghost of the handle, your pulse a frantic drumbeat against your ribs.

Behind the observation window, Sylus didn’t move.

His crimson eyes stayed locked onto yours, unblinking, like a predator eyeing his prey. Even through the distortion of the reinforced glass, you could see the way his chest rose and fell. Too steady for a man strapped to a chair, electrodes burrowed into his skin, a veterinary-grade sedative no doubt pumping through his veins. His lips were parted just slightly, as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

"Dr. (Y/N)?"

Mara’s voice cut through the ringing in your ears. You hadn’t even noticed her approach, but now she was right beside you, her gloved hand hovering near your elbow like she wasn’t sure if you’d bolt or collapse.

"What happened?"

Your tongue felt too thick in your mouth. "It.. Um.. It was too hot," you murmured, the lie slipping out before you could stop it. "I dropped it."

Mara’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t press. Around you, the other researchers had paused in their work, some staring openly, others pretending not to notice the way your hands trembled as you bent to pick up the broken pieces.

"Leave it." A senior researcher, Dr. Voss, dismissed you with a flick of his clipboard. "I’ve called for someone."

A cleaner arrived within minutes, silent and efficient, sweeping up the evidence of your momentary lapse. You barely registered their presence. Your entire body was wound tight, every nerve was burdened with the weight of Sylus’s gaze.

Someone handed you fresh lab glasses, gloves, and the file. Thick, heavy, the words SUBJECT M-7 stamped across the front in bold black letters. You took it mechanically, flipping through the pages without really seeing them.

Evol Classification: Energy Manipulation (Class VIII, potentially IX). Containment Protocols: Electromagnetic shackles. Sedation drip. Two cranial failsafe implants.

Your stomach twisted. A cold chill slithered down your spine.

You tilted your head, just a fraction, just enough, and there he was. Still watching. Still waiting.

What the hell are you doing here?

The question screamed inside your skull, a frantic, looping mantra.

How did they catch you?

Sylus didn’t get caught. Sylus was the trap. Right?

Why are you here?

Your fingers tightened around the file, the edges digging into your palms. Was this a trick? A doppelgänger? Some sick game EVER was playing to test your loyalty?

But no. No, you knew those eyes. Knew the way they darkened when he was amused, knew the way they gleamed like fresh blood under sunlight. Knew the way they’d followed you, even when you thought you’d vanished completely.

He found you.

And now he was here, strapped to a chair in your lab, at your mercy, and the irony was so sharp it could have drawn blood.

You forced yourself to turn away, to focus on the vials in front of you. But your hands weren’t steady. The chemicals sloshed dangerously as you measured them out, your thoughts a hurricane of panic and disbelief.

Then Mara nudged you.

She leaned in, her voice a whisper against your ear. "Do you… know this guy or something?"

Your grip faltered. The vial slipped, just for a second, before you caught it, your breath hitching. "No," you said, too quickly. "Of course not. Why would you think that?"

Mara’s gaze flicked toward the window, then back to you. "I dunno. He keeps looking at you." A pause. "Like, only at you. He hasn’t looked anywhere else since you walked in."

Your heartbeat stuttered. You didn’t dare look again. But you could feel him.

The weight of his stare. The unspoken question in it. The accusation.

"Dr. (Y/N)?" Voss’s voice snapped you back. "We’re waiting on those samples."

You swallowed hard. "Right," you murmured. "Sorry."

But as you turned back to your work, your hands moving on autopilot, your mind was somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere with crimson eyes and a voice that still haunted your dreams.

Somewhere you’d sworn you’d never return.

And yet here he was.

***

The lab was silent now, the usual hum of machinery and murmured conversations long faded into the night. You sat alone, bathed in the sterile glow of your computer screen, fingers stiff from hours of typing reports you barely registered. When you finally looked up to stretch, your eyes immediately darted to the observation window, only to find it empty. The reinforced glass reflected back your own tired expression, the chair beyond it now vacant, restraints dangling uselessly from its arms. A cold shiver traced your spine as you realized he was gone.

Fumbling for the tablet, your fingers left smudges on the screen as you pulled up the subject logs. The blue text glared back at you: SUBJECT M-7: TRANSPORTED TO SECURE HOLDING. Scheduled for observations and procedures only.

Your breath left you in a slow, unsteady exhale. Of course they wouldn't keep him here overnight. EVER wasn't foolish enough to leave a Class VIII Evol subject unattended in a standard lab. But the realization did nothing to ease the tightness in your chest.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it.

What were you even doing?

Two years. Two full years you'd spent building this new life, carving out a place where no one knew your past, where you could finally breathe without calculating every word and gesture. And yet, the moment those crimson eyes had locked onto yours through the glass, it was as if no time had passed at all.

You were right back where you started. Heart racing, palms sweating, that familiar ache settling deep in your bones.

The worst part was the ridiculous, traitorous thought that had flashed through your mind when you first saw him. Did he come here for me?

The idea was laughable now. Sylus didn't chase. Sylus didn't get captured. If he was here, it was because he wanted to be. Part of some elaborate scheme you were never meant to understand until it was too late.

Unless…

Your fingers stilled on the keyboard as the alternative occurred to you. What if he hadn't come willingly? The thought sent an entirely different kind of chill through you. You knew what EVER did to high-value subjects. You'd seen the files, signed off on procedures that had kept you awake at night. If they had truly captured him…

Your gaze dropped to your phone lying beside the keyboard. Two years since you'd last heard their voices. Two years since you'd walked away without looking back. Did you even have the right to call them now? Would they answer? Would they care? Your thumb hovered over Luke's contact, the number you'd never deleted, no matter how many times you told yourself you were done with that life.

The call didn't connect. Just a robotic voice informing you the number was switched off.

Kieran's was the same. The hollow ache in your chest expanded, though you couldn't say whether it was from relief or disappointment. This was stupid. Completely, utterly stupid. He was the reason you'd left. The reason you'd spent nights staring at the ceiling, wondering if you'd ever be more than just another asset in his carefully calculated world.

And yet here you were, ready to throw away everything you'd built. Your career, your safety, your hard-won peace, all because of one look from those damned crimson eyes. You shoved the phone into your pocket with more force than necessary, pushing back from the desk so abruptly your chair nearly toppled.

No. You weren't doing this. You weren't that person anymore.

Except if this wasn't part of his plan. If he really was trapped here, at the mercy of the same organization you'd seen tear subjects apart molecule by molecule. Your fingers curled into fists, nails biting into your palms. Damn it. You were going to regret this.

The phone felt heavy in your hand as you stood frozen on the sidewalk outside your apartment building, your thumb hovering over Luke's contact for what must have been the twentieth time that night. The wind bit through your thin lab coat as you pressed call again, listening to the hollow ringing that seemed to echo in your bones. Two rings. Then silence. Just like before. Just like every other attempt you'd made since leaving the lab.

Kieran's number didn’t even connect. That infuriating automated voice informing you the number was unavailable, the robotic tone doing nothing to mask the panic rising in your chest.

You shoved the phone back into your pocket with trembling fingers, your breath fogging in the cold air as you finally turned toward your apartment building. The walk up the stairs felt endless, each step heavier than the last. Some foolish, traitorous part of you kept expecting to see him. To turn a corner and find Sylus leaning against your doorframe with that infuriating smirk, crimson eyes glinting in the dim hallway light as if this were all some elaborate game. The thought made your pulse stutter, equal parts dread and something else you refused to name twisting in your gut.

But of course, he wasn't there.

You'd seen him with your own eyes just hours earlier. Strapped to that chair in the lab, electrodes buried in his skin, his silver hair matted with sweat and blood near his temple. The image burned behind your eyelids every time you blinked.

Yet when your key finally clicked in the lock, you still hesitated, the door creaking open far too slowly as you peered inside like some frightened child checking for monsters.

The apartment was exactly as you'd left it, your half-finished coffee still sitting cold on the counter, the blanket you'd used last night draped haphazardly over the arm of the couch. Normal. Safe. Empty.

The breath left your lungs in a rush as you stepped inside, kicking off your heels with more force than necessary, watching them skid across the hardwood. You collapsed onto the couch without bothering to turn on the lights, the dim glow from the streetlights outside casting long shadows across the ceiling. The silence pressed in around you, heavy and suffocating.

What the hell were you doing?

Your fingers twitched toward your phone again before you could stop yourself. There was no one else to call. No one trustworthy, no one who wouldn't ask questions you couldn't answer. The realization settled like a stone in your stomach. Where were they? Luke and Kieran never turned their phones off. Never. Not unless something was very, very wrong.

The thought followed you into bed, clinging like a second skin as you tossed and turned beneath the sheets. When sleep finally came, it was fitful and haunted. Flashes of a too-familiar mansion, the scent of gun oil and expensive bourbon, the sound of her laughter ringing through the halls like wind chimes.

***

You woke with a gasp, your body drenched in cold sweat, the digital clock on your bedside table blinking 4:47 AM in harsh red numbers.

For one disorienting moment, you didn't know where you were. The dream still clung to you, the weight of his gaze making your skin prickle even now. You fumbled for your phone with numb fingers, your heart hammering against your ribs as you checked for missed calls.

Nothing. No messages. No signs that either of them had even seen your attempts to reach them.

The shower was ice-cold, the water biting at your skin until it was numb. You scrubbed at your arms until they were pink, as if you could wash away the memories, the doubt, the creeping sense that nothing had really changed at all. That no matter how far you ran or how well you hid, you were still tangled in the same web.

The morning passed in a blur of too-strong coffee and mechanical movements, brushing your teeth, pulling your hair back into a ponytail, buttoning your lab coat with fingers that refused to steady. Before you knew it, you were standing outside the lab doors, your hand frozen halfway to the access panel.

You didn't want to go in. Didn't want to see him again. Didn't want to know what they were doing to him. But the weight of your keycard in your pocket reminded you that you had no choice.

"Dr. (Y/N), authorization code Rose-9-White," you murmured, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears.

The locks disengaged with a hiss that seemed far too loud in the empty hallway. You stepped inside, your eyes immediately darting to the observation window before you could stop yourself, only to find it empty again. The chair stood vacant, the restraints hanging loose. Your stomach twisted.

Mara glanced up from her workstation, blinking at you over the rim of her glasses. "Oh, you didn't check the morning logs?" she asked, her fingers never pausing as they flew across her keyboard.

You forced your hands to stay still at your sides. "No. What happened?"

"We finished the preliminary assessments last night," she said, turning back to her screen. A few quick taps pulled up a file labeled SUBJECT M-7: PHASE TWO. "Today we're administering the first round of the Evol-transfer serum. We'll be monitoring his vitals closely, but we've got a stabilized backup dose prepped in case his system rejects it."

Your stomach dropped like a stone.

The words Evol-transfer serum echoed in your skull, each syllable sharper than the last. You knew exactly what that meant, you had helped design the protocols yourself. The process wasn't just painful, it was excruciating. Like having your very soul ripped out piece by piece. And if his body fought it? If the serum destabilized?

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms hard enough to leave crescent-shaped scars. The sterile air of the lab suddenly felt too thick, too warm, your lab coat constricting around your shoulders like a straitjacket. What had you gotten yourself into? More importantly, what had you allowed them to do to him?

What if you were standing on the wrong side of the glass this time?

The thought made you sicker than anything EVER could have dreamed up in their labs.

The sterile hum of the lab equipment filled your ears as you mechanically sorted through data files, your fingers moving across the holographic display with practiced efficiency despite the storm raging inside your chest. Thirty minutes had passed since Mara's revelation about the serum, thirty minutes of forcing yourself to focus on anything but the empty observation chamber and what was coming.

Then the doors hissed open, and your entire world narrowed to the sound of rolling wheels and the sharp, rhythmic beep of a heart monitor.

They brought him in, still strapped to that damned chair, his arms secured with reinforced electromagnetic cuffs, the electrodes embedded in his skin now surrounded by dried blood from yesterday's tests.

The medical team moved with clinical precision, adjusting IV lines and checking readouts, but you barely registered them. Your breath caught painfully in your throat as your pulse skyrocketed, the sudden rush of blood in your ears nearly drowning out all other sound. It felt like your heart might actually tear through your ribcage.

And then he looked up.

Those crimson eyes found yours instantly, as if he'd known exactly where you'd be standing. But unlike yesterday's hollow stare, today his lips curved into that infuriating, knowing smile. The same smug smirk that had haunted your dreams for two years, the one that said he'd already calculated every possible outcome and yours wasn't the winning move.

Your fingers spasmed around the tablet you were holding, the screen cracking slightly under the pressure before you forcibly turned away, shoulders rigid as you pretended to study a meaningless data stream.

Wait, no. The realization hit you like a bucket of ice water. This was your lab. Your workplace. Your life that you'd built painstakingly over two years of early mornings and late nights, of proving yourself again and again.

He didn't get to waltz in here and ruin everything with one damn look. Squaring your shoulders, you inhaled deeply through your nose, the sharp scent of antiseptic helping ground you as you turned back to your workstation with renewed determination.

The next hour passed in a blur of hyper-focused activity. You moved between stations with uncharacteristic efficiency, running calculations faster than the system could typically process them, catching errors in the serum compound ratios that had slipped past three other researchers. Even Dr. Voss, the senior researcher whose narcissistic tendencies made him universally avoided, paused by your station with something resembling approval in his cold gaze. "Impressive work today, Dr. (Y/N)," he remarked, the rare praise making several nearby heads turn. "Your focus is... exceptional."

You barely registered the compliment, your entire being focused on the presence thirty feet away behind the observation glass. Every nerve in your body was aware of him, of the way his breathing changed minutely when someone approached with a new instrument, of the faint tension in his jawline that no one else would notice. You'd spent too many years studying those microexpressions, learning to read what he'd never say aloud.

"Alright," Voss's voice snapped you back to the present. "Now go and get the serum prepared. We'll begin phase one administration in five minutes."

The words sent a jolt of ice down your spine. Your feet carried you to the refrigeration unit on autopilot, your hands moving to retrieve the small vial of glowing blue liquid that represented months of your team's work. The serum felt unnaturally cold through your gloves, its faint luminescence pulsing almost like a living thing. You stood frozen for several heartbeats, staring at the vial as conflicting impulses warred in your chest.

Voss had to physically step into your line of sight before you reacted, his impatient "Well?" making you startle. When you still didn't move, he strode forward and practically snatched the serum from your grip, his sharp features twisting in displeasure. "Unusual hesitation from you today," he remarked coolly before turning away.

But you weren't looking at Voss. Your gaze had snapped back to the observation window, to the man strapped in that chair. And for just a fraction of a second, so brief you might have imagined it, you could have sworn something flickered across Sylus's face. Not anger. Not pain. But disappointment?

The possibility sent an entirely different kind of ache through your chest, one you refused to examine too closely.

As the medical team prepared to administer the serum, you forced yourself to turn back to your workstation, your fingers flying across the controls to pull up his vital signs on your private screen. Every beep of the heart monitor, every fluctuation in brain activity would be recorded here. You told yourself it was professional curiosity. That you were simply monitoring a high-risk procedure. But when the first drops of serum entered his IV line and his body arched against the restraints with a silent scream, your nails dug into your palms hard enough to draw blood.

And when his eyes, those damned crimson eyes, found yours through the glass once more, blazing with pain and something dangerously close to betrayal, you realized with dawning horror that you might have just made the biggest mistake of your life.

The serum's effects were worse than you'd imagined.

Each scream that tore from Sylus's throat felt like a blade twisting between your ribs. You'd never seen him like this, never heard him make a sound of pain, let alone this raw, ragged agony. His body strained against the restraints, muscles corded tight, veins standing out in beneath sweat-slicked skin.

The monitors screamed alongside him, his heart rate spiking dangerously high as the serum worked its way through his system, attacking his Evol at the cellular level.

You stood frozen at your workstation, fingers clenched around the edge of the desk so hard your knuckles turned white. Every instinct in your body screamed at you to do something, to stop this, to rip the IV from his arm, to fix what you'd helped create.

But you couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't tear your eyes away from the way his head finally dropped forward, his body going limp as the worst of the pain subsided into shuddering tremors.

That serum was designed to rip it out of him entirely, to transfer it to someone else. And by the time the process was complete, he'd be dead.

Your stomach lurched. You'd known this. You'd helped develop this. But seeing it happen to him…

Your vision blurred.

Around you, the lab continued as if nothing were wrong. Researchers murmured notes to each other, adjusting dials, recording data. No one else seemed to hear the way his breath came in short, pained gasps. No one else flinched when his fingers twitched against the restraints like he was still trying to fight.

This couldn't be happening.

Sylus didn't lose. Sylus didn't scream.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look back at your screen, at the readings that confirmed what you already knew. His Evol levels were dropping. Fast.

A few hours later, the lab emptied for lunch.

Mara lingered by your station, nudging your shoulder. "Come on, let's go. You've been staring at that screen for ages."

You shook your head, not trusting your voice. "You go. I need to finish this report. I'll catch up in a minute." She hesitated, then shrugged. "Suit yourself. But if you take too long, I'm eating your share of the dumplings."

The second the door hissed shut behind her, your head snapped up. The lab was empty. Almost.

Your gaze darted to the security camera in the corner, its red light blinking steadily. You should have cared. Should have hesitated. But right now, you didn't give a damn.

"Fuck it," you muttered under your breath. You'd come up with a lie later.

In three quick strides, you were at the observation window. Sylus was slumped forward, his head hanging low, silver hair obscuring his face. You couldn't tell if he was unconscious.

You pressed your palm against the glass.

"Sylus."

No response.

Your chest tightened. You tapped the glass sharply, once, twice.

"Sylus, look at me."

For a heartbeat, nothing.

Then, slowly, agonizingly, he lifted his head.

His crimson eyes were duller than you'd ever seen them, his pupils blown wide with pain, but they locked onto yours with terrifying focus.

And then, he smirked.

That damn, infuriating smirk, even now. Even like this.

Your breath left you in a rush.

"You idiot," you hissed, your voice barely above a whisper. "What the hell are you doing here?"

His lips parted like he might answer. But then the lab door hissed open behind you.

You whirled around.

Dr. Voss stood in the doorway, his cold eyes flicking from you to Sylus and back again.

"Dr. (Y/N)," he said slowly. "Care to explain why you're talking to the subject?"

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gf2bellamy · 17 days ago

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hi athena!! hope youre doing very well<3 could i request reader staying at spencer’s place for the first time, she wakes up in the middle of the night to drink water or sth and gets cold im her light pajamas (its summer maybe) and wears his shirt to the kitchen, and when she does so he wakes up and sees her in his shirt and gets all flustered and blushy cause she looks so cute and pretty and it strikes him that he finally has a gf who wants him back and loves him and yeah sorry for the long description have a nice day <333

cold — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: fluff fluff fluff a/n: hiii !!<333 i hope you like this :)

You shivered as you tiptoed out of Spencer’s room. You immediately regretted your choice of pyjamas , a tanktop and shorts, the ones you had brought with you to Spencer's apartment. The choice of clothing had seemed reasonable at first. It had been a very hot summer day after all. Yet, the temperature dropped at night, by at least 10 degrees.

This was your first time staying over, and the evening had been nothing short of perfect. From giggling over Spencer almost dropping his food, because he was so nervous to cuddling on the couch as he read to you while brushing his fingers through your hair.

The two of you had fallen asleep just barely an hour ago, but you’d woken up again with a dry mouth and the need for some water. Which is why you were leaning against the counter now, a cup of water in your hand. While the cold water soothed your throat, it didn't help with your body temperature.

“Why is it so cold?” you mumbled to yourself, in the dark, rubbing your arms.

You didn't bother washing the glass, considering you were way too sleepy, and you already missed laying in Spencer’s arms. But as you walked past the couch towards Spencer’s room, his cardigan thrown over the arm of the couch caught your eye. (It was folded, of course.)

Your tank top wasn’t exactly keeping you warm, and before you could second guess yourself, you slipped it on. It warmed you immediately. Happily you patted back to Spencer’s bedroom. Spencer hadn’t moved much, still sprawled across the mattress with one arm outstretched toward the space you’d left behind. Once you settled under the covers, Spencer immediately pulled you into his arms.

“Where were you?” He didn't really sound awake. But he was rubbing his knuckles lazily over your spine.

“Just got thirsty. Go back to sleep,” you whispered, feeling slightly bad for waking him up. Spencer just made a soft sleepy sound as he pulled you closer. He managed to muster the last ounce of energy to kiss your forehead, before he went back to his dreams. You fell asleep with a smile and warm, from both his cardigan and his hold.

The next morning, you were the one to wake up to an empty side of the bed. Cold sheets and a faint indentation where his body had been just 20 minutes ago. You sat up slowly , stretching with a loud yawn. Somewhere outside of the bedroom, you could hear the coffee machine hum to life too. The sound immediately put a smile on your face. You could already picture Spencer filling up the two cups of coffee, clearly wanting to wake you up with breakfast and coffee.

And that was indeed Spencer's plan.

He slipped out of bed early, determined to surprise you with breakfast in bed.He was just pouring coffee into your favorite mug, the one with the tiny chip on the handle that you insisted made it “lucky”, when he heard your footsteps. His shoulders slumped, just slightly. So much for the surprise.

He turned, ready to greet you with a "good morning," but the words dissolved on his tongue the second he saw you.

There you were. Groggily rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

In his cardigan.

“Morning, Spence,” you mumbled, stepping closer as you stared at the pancakes he had made. He was still blinking at you, not moving, even when you stood next to him at the counter, your cheek resting against his arm. You didn't reach for the pancakes immediately, the taste of toothpaste still lingering in your mouth.

"You made breakfast?" you asked, pouting slightly, not in disappointment, but in that soft, overwhelmed way you did when he caught you off guard with his sweetness. The pancakes had chocolate chips on them, forming a smiley on the dough.

You finally looked up, noticing his uncharacteristic silence. "Spence?"

His face was flushed pink all the way to the tips of his ears, his lips slightly parted as he stared at you. You stared back, watching as he blinked rapidly.

You were in his cardigan. In his apartment? Arms hugging his waist ? Looking at him with those loving eyes? That look in your eyes that was only reserved for him?

“Morning”, he finally managed. His voice was quiet yet laced with so much sweetness, almost as sweet as the chocolate chips he had been snacking on. Your hands were still on his waist, softly rubbing his shirt.

“Where did you just go?” you grinned, tilting your head. The oversized cardigan slipped off one shoulder, exposing the strap of your tank top beneath. Spencer's hand reached out instinctively to tug it up. His thumb lingering on your shoulder.

"You're wearing my cardigan," he said, as if he needed to say it out loud to believe it.

You glanced down at yourself, suddenly self-conscious, and let your hands fall from his waist to adjust the sleeves. "Is-is that bad? Sorry, I was cold last night," you mumbled, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Not bad at all.” Spencer shook his head. “Not at all. If anything –” He paused, when you met his eyes. “If anything, I’d like you to just wear my clothes from now on.”

A surprised giggle escaped you, and Spencer took advantage of the way your face lit up, cradling your cheeks in his palms as he pulled you closer. His lips pressed against your forehead and you could feel the curve of his smile against your skin. "You look so pretty I malfunctioned," he admitted as he leaned back just enough to see your reaction. "That's all."

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting his with a smile so wide it almost hurt. "Well, it's very cozy," you said, fiddling with the hem of the cardigan.

Spencer's gaze dropped to where your fingers played with the fabric before returning to your face, his expression unbearably tender. "You wear it better than me," he murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"I really do," you teased, grinning up at him.

You were joking, of course you were, but Spencer just nodded, completely serious, his eyes tracing the way his cardigan swallowed your frame. The sleeves pooled around your wrists, the collar slipping off one shoulder again, and god, he never wanted to see you in anything else.

But more than that, more than the way you looked drowning in his clothes, Spencer still couldn’t quite believe it.Believe that you loved him. Enough to stay over at his apartment. Enough to fall asleep tangled together, your head on his chest, his fingers curled in your hair. Enough to be standing in front of him right now, bathed in morning light, his cardigan hanging off your shoulders, peeking at the pancakes with that sleepy, contented look.

He didn't notice himself zoning out again.

“Spencer. Where did you go again?” you asked, your arm slipping around his waist while the other sneaked toward the plate, popping a few chocolate chips into your mouth.

"Sorry," he shook his head, blinking rapidly. He needed to stop doing that, needed to stop getting so lost in the overwhelming reality of you choosing him, staying with him, loving him, but god, it was impossible when you looked like this. When you felt like this. When you were here.

You gave him another concerned look, your fingers tightening slightly at his waist before you grabbed another chocolate chip, holding it up to his lips. "You sure you're okay?"

Of course he ate it immediately but not without catching your wrist first, pressing a lingering kiss to your fingertips. The chocolate melted sweetly on his tongue, but it was nothing compared to the way you looked at him, all soft and fond and his.

"Mhm," he hummed, lips still brushing your skin. "I just love you." The words came out muffled, half-embarrassed, but so unbearably true. He was drunk on it, on you, his thoughts syrupy and slow with affection. "A lot," he added, because once wasn't enough, would never be enough.

You watched him with wide eyes. “Why do you have to be so lovely all the time?” you said, pouting now.

Spencer couldn't help it. He gestured dramatically at you, his voice pitching higher with playful emphasis. "Look at you." As if it wasn't obvious. As if the sight of you swimming in his cardigan, your hair mussed from sleep, wasn't enough to undo him completely. "You're wearing my clothes. How am I supposed to not be lovely about you?"

"You're too sweet for your own good, Spencer Reid," you sighed, shaking your head as you leaned forward to rest your forehead against his chest. His arms came up automatically to cradle you closer, one hand splaying across your back while the other gently carded through your sleep-tangled hair. You melted further against him as his lips found your crown, pressing a series of featherlight kisses.

"Can we eat?" you finally mumbled ( after at least 15 kisses. )

Spencer chuckled, the vibration rumbling pleasantly against your cheek before he placed one last kiss to your temple and pulled away. You immediately claimed the nearest chair, swinging your legs slightly as you settled in. Spencer followed, his chair scraping closer until his knee bumped yours. He turned his whole body toward you, so he could admire you.

"Oh my god, Spencer," you cheered around a mouthful, eyes widening in genuine surprise. "You didn't burn them."

"Funny," he deadpanned, though the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. He took notice of the way your sleeves kept falling into the way of your fork. without hesitation, he set his own utensils down and leaned across the space between you, his fingers gently folding back the soft fabric until your wrists were free. You repaid his kindness by pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, smiling when he immediately flushed pink to the tips of his ears.

"I love you too," you murmured, realizing with a startle you hadn't said it back earlier. You'd always prided yourself on never letting those words go unanswered, not when they came from him, not when they filled you up with so much happiness, you thought you might burst with it. Spencer looked up from his plate, syrup glazing his fork mid-air. His smile was soft, knowing, the morning light catching in his lashes as he met your gaze.

"I know you do," he said simply, like it was the most obvious truth in the world.

And it was.

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x you #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fic

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kismetlotts · 2 months ago

Text

cw: fluff, begins with smut, best friend Simon Riley, mentions of female masturbation, mentions of sex on the couch, mentions of sex against a wall, very minor mention of vomit, Simon falls first, Simon loves reader

Living with your best friend as your room-mate was as much of a blessing as it was challenge. Dull moments were inexistent with you two, movie-night Fridays turning into everyday as long as Simon didn't have to be up early. It felt like a hiatus away from the drama and loneliness of life before moving in together. If you had a bad day at work, you knew he would be at home waiting for you with a wide grin and a gob full of playful banter.

Simon knew you more than you knew yourself. If you were broken, Simon had the tools to fix you. If you were cold, Simon was there to warm you up, and if you lost yourself, lost your ways- who you really were- Simon could get you back with no problem.

He was your veins, the thing that kept you going and you loved him more than sunflowers loved a sunny day. The relationship between you two was always platonic so why now did you find your head in places it shouldn't be?

Find your eyes roaming down his wet, freshly-washed body while passing the bathroom. Biting your lip, shutting your eyes and storming away before you get caught or make an irrational choice. Asking yourself why can't he just shut the fucking door while he showers but why should he when you've seen it all before? When you're used to it?

Scolding yourself and banning all impure and dirty thoughts about him and what you could do to him: what you would do to him given the chance. Only for him to grab you by the chin and drag your face close to his, asking you some stupid question like if you ate the last packet of something or if you've seen where his favourite hoodie is.

Nailing up barricades to keep them thoughts out, only for him to go and loosen the screws. Let em' all in, fester in your mind until he's all you can think about, all you can get off to late at night in your room. Whispering out his name as you rub your pussy knowing he's only a few doors away.

And you knew it was impossible to read peoples minds, you knew that Simon had no idea what you were thinking but the way those deep brown eyes would flicker over your face, the way he would do absolutely nothing just too look back up at you and smirk, made you think otherwise. He couldn't read your mind, if he could he would've walked out on the friendship right away because that was all he was here for, right? The excruciatingly long eye contact, the air thick with an unspoken fog of tension- of course he was just here for friendship.

His tall muscular frame leant over the counter as he stirred his mug of coffee, hair a wild mess but you liked it that way. Muscles in his back, bulging beneath the baby-soft skin you'd brushed over times and times before. Your hands gripping the back of the couch as you watched him behind you, nails clawing deep into the fabric. God-you just wanted to rip his flesh apart, just pounce on him like a fucking lion and take exactly what you've wanted all this time. But no.

The metal of the teaspoon ripped through the tense silence as he bashed it against the mug. Thick fingers fisting through the handle as he spun around to you- taking a sip. Eyes holding yours while the liquid burnt and warmed his mouth; Hot.

"You were staring at my back. Have I got anything on it?" Face as stoic as usual but his tone thick with playful teasing. Your throat clogged with embarrassment and your face steamed with the same heat as his coffee cup, rolling your eyes and shifting your vision from him back to the television in front.

"Maybe." You sighed out.

"Oh? Well maybe you've got something on your back too then." There was a moment between you two before you looked back at him, eyebrows knitted in confusion as he took a step closer. Voice coming out husky as he leant in close to your face.

His breath on your face was making your mouth run dry and for a moment you thought he was going to kiss you. However all he did was reach over the couch and place his cup down on the table.

"Take off your top and I'll have a look for you." A laugh fell from your lips in an awkward panic. There was something hidden in his words and you weren't sure if he was trying to be funny or if the feeling you had hidden from him was mutual. You weren't sure if he wanted you out of your clothes so you can have passionate sex on the couch you share or if it was just banter over your excuse.

"I'm not taking my shirt off." You mumbled out. If he was joking how fucking embarrassing would it be if you actually did- and if he wasn't what were you getting yourself into? Sleeping with him would either make or break your whole relationship and it was fucking scary. You weren't in your happy, little dream world where Simon would fuck you against the wall and call you names, whisper in your ear about how long he had waited to slip inside you. How wet you were, how good you were being for him and how insane you were making him feel.

No, this was real life- real actions that have consequences and losing Simon was not an option.

"Okay."

His tone final and harsh but not in a bitter- angry way. More cutting, ending the conversation there but instead of following his natural human instinct to suddenly busy himself and move away or exit the room- he did not move.

In fact, his face moved even closer to you, something keeping him stood right there with his eyes holding yours and his head tilting to the right. Lips agape enough for you to see his tongue and some of his teeth, eyebrows furrowing as he scanned your face. His eyes squinting at you like he was trying to work something out or understand your thoughts but the smirk he was holding back made you wonder if he already knew.

Made you think that maybe it wasn't your brain complicating things and turning you on so every minor detail about him made you throb and wither in an unbearable desire. Maybe Simon had a role in all of this too. Maybe he could've shut the door while showering, maybe he could've kept his eyes from so obviously wandering down to your lips, to your neck, to your cleavage, while you spoke to him.

Maybe you didn't change the way you saw Simon, maybe Simon changed it himself because he was sick of waiting around and falling first. So tired of gripping his thigh while your fingers reach in the bowl of popcorn, to engrossed in the film to notice how badly he wanted to take your hand in his.

So bored of telling you that you look fine in your outfit to go grocery shopping and not that the world stops spinning each time he looks at you. Not able to comprehend the men that fuss over how their bride should look because you could be in ripped clothes, covered in vomit with hair an absolute mess, no makeup and he would still believe nothing was more beautiful.

Nothing was perfect in the world, Simon knew that all too well, but somehow between all the shit, You, his best friend, was his perfect. So yeah, he would play the game of teasing you, nudging you and slipping a little closer than he should be, and he will continue until you're ready to confront it.

When you're no longer scared to lose Simon from your advances- despite the fact that would never even be the case- he will wait.

And even if you're never ready. Never make the move on him, never kiss him- let him fuck you into a nice marriage, a home with a family. He would still be with you until the very end, next to you, all warm and comfortable with his arms around you. Hugging you with a big protective smile because that's what best friends are for.

And he would rather die a friend and live happy, than die in a rushed relationship. Either way he gets to love you the same, ones just louder.

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cressidagrey · 2 months ago

Text

That Kind of Love

We are interrupting our regularly scheduled programming to celebrate Oscar's 5th career win! (Is this now becoming a weekly thing? apparently.)

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: The most attractive thing about Oscar Piastri wasn’t his appearance. Or his mind, even though he was brilliant. It’s the way he loves his daughter.

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Felicity has always thought Oscar Piastri was attractive.

Not in the loud, centre-of-the-room kind of way. Not the kind of beauty that turned heads or commands spotlights. He wasn’t fire. He wasn’t thunder.

He was gravity.

The steady kind. The pull-you-in kind. The quiet force that grounds everything in place.

Felicity always been drawn to precision, to stillness in motion.

Maybe that’s why Oscar had caught her attention in the first place: because he was quietly extraordinary.

She fell in love with his mind first — sharp, methodical, deceptively fast.

The kind of intelligence that doesn’t flaunt itself, just is. It’s in the way he studies data. The way he absorbed pressure like a sponge and never cracked, even when the world demanded noise.

Oscar didn’t dominate a room. He didn’t chase the spotlight. He just… did what he did. With focus. With grace. With an almost irritating level of control.

His voice — calm, low, always careful with his words. She learned early on that when Oscar spoke, it mattered. That he listened more than he talked. That silence, with him, was never empty.

And then… his hands.

God, his hands.

Not just the way they handle a steering wheel or adjust a headset. But the way they held her waist without thinking. The way they brush her cheek when she’s frowning at a spreadsheet. The way they fit against the small of her back when the world is too loud and he just knows she needs to breathe.

(He’s attractive when he’s angry, too — which was annoying. Because he didn’t yell. He just got cold. Sharp. Icy. Strategic. Like a scalpel — not a hammer. And somehow, that was worse. But also… god, it was hot.)

All of that was attractive.

All of it.

But none of it — none of it — compared to the way Oscar Piastri was a father.

It was the most breathtaking thing Felicity had ever seen.

When the house was still dim and soft with sleep, and Bee was snuggled under a fuzzy blanket, blinking up at her papa with the kind of trust only children gave freely.

Oscar sat on the living room rug, hair messy, hoodie inside-out, and a plastic hairbrush in one hand while Bee twisted in his lap like a kitten in slow motion.

He held the braid gently, patiently, letting Bee instruct him in quiet whispers: "Not too tight, Papa. I don’t want my brain to get squished."

And he nodded like it was a reasonable medical concern. "Right. No brain squishing. Got it."

Felicity watched from the doorway, one hand on her coffee mug, heart doing something completely unscientific in her chest.

Because that — that was the most attractive thing about Oscar Piastri.

It was the way he woke up before sunrise just to FaceTime Bee from a hotel room three time zones away because she “wanted to tell Papa about her new socks.”

It was the way he kept that lopsided bead bracelet on his wrist even during press conferences, even when stylists asked him to take it off. “It’s for focus,” he said. And it was.

The way he let her cover him in stickers and never complained.

The way he said, “You’re safe,” like it’s a promise he’ll burn the world to keep.

The way he crouched next to Bee at parks and built leaf piles with full F1 driver focus.

The way he always, always listened — like everything Bee says is important. Because to him, it is.

It was the way he packed Bee’s backpack for preschool, humming under his breath and double-checking the snacks.

It was how he never forgot the things Felicity hadn’t even meant to ask for.

It was how he showed up, over and over, again and again, for both of them.

No spotlight. No ceremony. Just presence.

Just love.

The most attractive thing about Oscar weren’t the podiums.

Nor the interviews or the way he could navigate a race track like he was part of it.

Not even the way he looked at Felicity like she was his home.

Not the way he looked in a race suit.

Not the wins.

Not the calm under pressure or the world-class reflexes.

It was the way he loved their daughter.

The way he became her world, every single time she reached out her arms and said, “Papa?”

The way he never made being a father look like a chore.

He never used the word babysitting.

Never “helped” like he was doing Felicity a favor.

He was there. Present. Committed. Gentle in a world that rewarded aggression.

The truth was simple.

Oscar Piastri was a good man. A brilliant man.

But the most devastating, beautiful, breathtakingly attractive thing he had ever become—

Was a father.

Her daughter’s father.

And there was nothing — no podium, no press quote, no perfect sector time — that would ever top that.

***

Bee was asleep upstairs.

The monitor was on. The dishes were done. The lights were low. And Oscar was shirtless.

Not in a flashy way. Not even intentionally.

Just shirtless in that stupid, casual way that made Felicity want to strangle and kiss him in equal measure.

He was folding laundry, wearing old sweatpants, hair still damp from Bee’s bath — because he had been the one who insisted on “princess shampoo and spa night,” complete with glittery bubbles and a towel crown.

Felicity stood in the doorway, arms folded, watching him fumble with a pair of Bee’s socks. One was missing. It always was.

He looked up and smiled — soft and familiar.

“Hey.”

Felicity leaned against the frame. “You’re ridiculous.”

Oscar arched a brow. “What did I do now?”

She crossed the room and took the sock from his hand, tossing it onto the pile. “You’re folding laundry shirtless and you still don’t realize how distracting that is?”

Oscar smirked. “Didn’t realize it was a crime.”

“It’s not,” she said, stepping closer. “It’s just... unfair.”

He dropped the towel he was folding. “Unfair?”

Felicity shrugged, biting the inside of her cheek. “Because you’re... everything. You’re a world-class driver, you’re brilliant, and calm, and stupidly good at folding our baby’s shirts, and somehow—somehow—you also look like this.” Her hand slid up his chest, slow. “And on top of all that, you’re Bee’s dad.”

Oscar blinked. “You say that like it’s a bonus.”

“No,” she whispered, “I say that like it’s the thing that wrecks me.”

He went very still.

“Watching you with her?” Felicity murmured. “How gentle you are. How patient. How proud. The way you let her wrap you around her little finger and you like it. That’s what gets me. That’s what makes me want to drag you into bed and remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Oscar’s jaw tightened — barely.

Then he dropped the towel completely.

In the next second, she was in his arms — his hands on her hips, her back hitting the edge of the couch as he kissed her like it was the first time. Like he needed it. Like she’d said the thing he didn’t know he was waiting to hear.

Felicity laughed against his mouth, breathless. “Easy, Oz. You’re going to wake the baby.”

Oscar kissed her harder. “She won’t wake up.”

She tangled her hands in his hair. “You are so—”

But he swallowed her next words with another kiss, hungry and warm and real, and suddenly they were teenagers again — messy and flushed and reckless, but this time with a house and a baby monitor and years of love built between them like scaffolding.

“God, you’re such a good dad,” she breathed against his mouth.

Oscar groaned. “That is such a weird thing to say while kissing me.”

“You know it’s working.”

He kissed her harder.He kissed her like she was air.

She kissed him like he was gravity.

#formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #Oscar Piastri fic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #op81 fic #op81 imagine

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luveline · 1 year ago

Note

coworker!james and readers first kiss pretty pretty please? with cherry on top? i love these pining idiots in love so much!

ty for requesting <3 fem, 1.4k

“What are you doing?”

A warm voice and a warmer hand pressed to your shoulder. You hide the mug under your palm and look up, finding yourself face to face with a grinning James.

His glasses make his eyes a little smaller than they are in actuality. Closer, you can see all the different shades that surround his pupils, and his hedging of dark lashes, so dark it’s like he’s wearing makeup.

“Nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing.” His hand remains on your shoulder, a brand as the other grabs at a torn corner of a packet you’d failed to throw away. Your lips part in horror, but he can’t be stopped now. “Um, excuse me, lovely girl, but you wouldn’t know what this is off, would you?”

“Me?”

“You, yeah.”

“Um…” You squint at the packaging in mock confusion. “No, don’t think so.”

“Well, there’s one way to get to the bottom of this.”

He moves his hand, for which you’re thankful and disappointed at once. It had been close to a hug, that warmth lingering as James opens the kitchen cupboard and sorts through tens of boxes before pulling down a hastily returned cardboard box. ‘JAMES’ has been written across it in bold sharpie.

He slips out a hot chocolate sachet from the box and compares the scrap he’d found to the corner. They are, unfortunately, an exact match.

“Where do you get the audacity?” he asks plainly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So what’s that, then?”

“It’s nothing,” you say, sliding the mug further away from you both.

There’s a silence. James puts the box back in the cupboard and peers at you where you’re curling in on yourself. He’s trying to intimidate you, at least for fun, something weighted and smiley about his gaze as he slides his arm between you and the counter. “If it’s nothing,” he says quietly, “then show it to me.”

You angle your face up to explain yourself. He’d looked sad, tired even, and you’d hoped making him a cup of hot chocolate would cheer him up. Things between you lately are clearly different, not just to you but to everyone around you. All your interactions feel watched. James’ hand curling against your waist doesn’t even feel new, it just feels firm.

A big hand, his thumb pressing into your soft stomach.

Your breath catches as he moves you out of his way.

“Is this my mug, too?” he asks, all tension draining, your relief a quick breath. (Your disappointment somewhere hidden beneath it.) “You’re the cheekiest girl alive. Shame on you.”

You give him a strange look. He can’t ignore it, you’re too obvious.

“What?” he asks, nudging the mug back toward your hand.

For a second you…

“I’m just kidding,” he says, his eyes widening the longer you remain speechless. “You don’t have to panic. I’m joking, I don’t care.”

“I was making it for you,” you say.

James’ brows relax. “You were?”

You give him the mug, and you don’t know what to do, what can you do? If you linger he’ll work out what you’re thinking, he has a detector for all your most embarrassing thoughts, you’re sure of it. You nod emphatically and weave around him without another word.

“Y/N,” he says to your back. The door handle is cold in your hand. You almost walk straight into it. “Y/N, wait a second!”

You turn around, weary of a scene. “I’m fine,” you say, startled by his reaction, “I just need a minute.”

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I’m fine.” You summon your most convincing smile. Your heart bends against your ribs. “Really.”

You leave him standing in the kitchen, nonplussed, rushing out of the main part of the office and down the two flights of stairs. Out past the receptionists, down the concrete steps, where you stop at the bottom, and sit down hard.

What are you doing?

Where can you go? You can’t go anywhere. James is going to know exactly what it is that made you react like that, is going to realise you have feelings for him entirely outside of the common realm. And you’ll have to keep sitting at your adjacent desks pretending it’s not true.

Why would he do that to you? His hand on your waist turning you toward him, your faces much closer than they’d ever been. James must know that’s an intimate touch.

He’s messing with you.

You spend five minutes glancing out at the car park before he comes to join you. It’s awful that you know that it’s him. The wind blows in pangs against the side of your face.

“I’m really sorry,” James says, sitting on the second to last step beside you, a strange lack of space between your two bodies. “I didn’t mean to do that to you. To freak you out.”

“It’s okay.”

“I really didn’t. I know I’ve messed with you before, but you were looking at me like…”

You rub your eye, a migraine brewing behind it. “Like what?” you ask.

“I don’t know. Like that.”

“How was I looking at you?”

“I don’t know. Like I– Like I broke your heart.” He laughs ‘cos it’s stupid, but his laugh peters off strangely.

“James, you were looking at me like you were…” What’s unsaid stays heavily between you.

He looks off to the side, his hand coming up behind his hand to scratch his hair. Curls pull and plink as his fingers comb through them, he’s rough, but the lengths of his hair are shiny under what little of the sun floods through the cloud cover above. You watch him, stomach aching for an answer, some confirmation, but the more you look the less sure you are that you need it. Everything you feel for him wells to the surface. It’s hot, and urgent, and it’s getting too much for you to hold alone.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admits quietly.

“James,” you say, wanting him like a palpable wound. Wanting him to need you too. “James,” you say again, putting your hand on his thigh carefully.

He covers it instinctively. “What?” he asks.

“Please, can I…”

His eyes bore into yours, and follow your gaze when it tips down to his mouth.

The skin between his brow creases with one deep wrinkle, his full lips twisted into a heart-hurting frown as he leans in. You close your eyes before he can close his own, waiting for him, to kiss you and to get this tugging yearning dealt with, but he doesn’t kiss you. His breath warms your lips and he turns to you completely, but he doesn’t kiss you.

You want it so badly, you tip your chin up and press your lips to his. Terrified of him, because you really are in the palm of his hand now. It’s worse than when he hated you.

He has the power to be a thousand times more cruel than he ever had before as you kiss him softly.

James kisses back a second too late. He’s giving in to it and you’re pulling away, pins and needles in your hands. “Wait,” he says, his voice a shade of longing you’ve never heard, your eyes flashing open at the same time. His hand leaps for your waist. “Wait, please.”

His fingers press into the dough of your side, holding you still, butterflies alive and riveted under his hand.

You close your eyes on a whim, and he kisses you soundly. His lips part against yours to encourage a similar movement, his head tilted ever so slightly to one side and your noses smudged together. “Please,” he murmurs against your lips.

You kiss him back like he kisses you. Soft, open-mouthed.

His hand comes up to your face, pulling you forward, desperate to keep you close as he sighs against your mouth, the sound a vibration you feel at the back of your throat.

Please, he’d said, like he wouldn’t get another go.

Please. The tie on you snaps.

You kiss him like you’ve never kissed anybody, hoping it isn’t just another obvious trick.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

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solbaby7 · 1 year ago

Text

Feel Me

pairing: azriel x reader

warnings: swearing, sexual descriptions, tensionnnn, cocky!az , minors DNI

summary: Fae males don’t make love like the sweet boys you knew in the human lands. Fae’s fuck.

based of the request in [ part 1 ]

—

No one else was supposed to be home.

Rhys and Feyre had left long before the morning dew could mist over the lawn. Cassian and Nesta had slipped out hours ago with their leathers on and hair neatly braided after a steaming cup of coffee.

Buttered pancakes steam on a plate, bacon sizzles on the stove and your hips sway in tandem with whatever bouncy song your humming. Strawberry stumps grow in a pile to your left, knife slicing at ripe fruit contentedly until a sneaky wisp of darkness snatches a piece for its master. “You planning on sharing?”

“Depends on how nicely you ask.”

Azriel doesn’t bite, he only raises a brow with a smirk growing at the corner of full lips. “Was it polite words that initiated Elain’s legs straddling your waist the other night?” Shock shoves the ability to form a sentence out the window and you despise the way your eyes linger on the mess of dark hair atop his head—thoughts wandering to less than respectable places when picturing other ways to muss up soft strands. “Bacon’s burning.”

A frustrated scoff pulls from your throat, a blush fanning across your cheeks and gratefulness floods your chest when you actually have something to busy your hands with to avoid Azriel’s honeyed stare. “Not that it’s any of your business,” You hiss, avoiding spattering oil while forking meat from the pan. “But, I was just helping out a friend.”

“Helping?” His morning voice was sinful; a low rasp coupled with lazy lids and a t-shirt that fit entirely too well.

“I offered sound advice.” The house cleans while you plate, stealing berry stumps as a warm rag is ran over the countertops. Hot water is poured in a mug, a tea bag string twirled around the handle. Azriel’s already next to you, twisting open the honey jar and passing it over before you can reach for it. “I demonstrated to ensure a thorough understanding—nothing more.”

“And what exactly were you demonstrating?”

“Like I said, it’s none of your business.” Syrup drowned pancakes are shoved into your mouth, favoring the possibility of choking on fluffy goodness over engaging in this conversation for a second longer.

Azriel doesn’t feel the same way, blocking off your hasty exit with his body. Was he always this tall? Giant wings hover behind him and they rustle softly when you reach out a hand to gently push him away. It was a mistake on your part—initiating physical contact because now all you could focus on was the warmth that ebbed through the soft cotton of his shirt and the hard muscles hiding beneath it. “Make it my business.”

You don’t pull away, too entranced with the smell of him. The feel of his body against your fingertips. The barely there distance that toed the line of entirely too close. “I don’t understand why you’d even care.” You mutter, snatching your hand away when you catch yourself subconsciously rubbing at the dark fabric. “I was—“ Words stammer, breath catching over the intensity of his stare and you have to will your voice to steady itself. “I was teaching her how to properly be intimate with a male.”

“I didn’t realize there was a proper way.”

“You know what I mean,” You ramble, obviously flustered when swatting away the inky fog that attempts to swipe crispy bacon from your plate. “She asked for advice and I gave a few tips to make her feel more confident—more comfortable. I was being friendly.” The pancakes have started to go cold around the edges but you can’t find it in yourself to care when Azriel keeps stalking closer, arms boxing you into the counter with ease.

“Hm,” His face is unreadable, void of any emotion but your certain his eyes go just a touch darker when you lean back, your shirt rising; broadcasting a sliver of your stomach and the pale blue panties peeking out of your sleep shorts. “And if I wanted some friendly advice—would you help me with that too?”

Breakfast is long forgotten, your eyes following the plate being pushed away by hands much bigger than your own. A shaky laugh emits, strands of your hair tickle at your cheeks and you’re painfully aware of your attire—or lack thereof judging by hardened peaks poking through delicate silk. “Az, you’re no blushing virgin. What could I possibly help you with?”

Cool shadows trace over bare legs, teasing up your calves and curling around your knees. “I can think of a few things.”

A predatory darkness coats every word, lids narrowing challengingly at you from above. There’s nowhere to run and truthfully you didn’t want to; falling into the trap of his insinuations until the smell of your arousal was becoming anything but subtle. But, then again, who fucking cared when this was exactly what you’d been craving for as long as you could remember. Filthy little fantasies about the Illyrian soldier had plagued your mind for decades. You were reduced to haughty looks and bitten lips while he sparred shirtless with Cassian, sweat gleaming against his chest and the sharp ring of swords colliding. Dirty desires that flared when you’d bump into Az late at night, his hair messy and eyes hazy—that lazy smile and those pet names that he’d let slip when he was too tired to overthink them.

Could it have been possible that Elain had been right?

That you just needed to look to find what you were yearning for.

You pray you don’t appear as desperate as you feel when your eyes scan his own; sifting through the shades of warm caramel and burnt sephia as if they’d shift into mystical beings with endless answers to your list of questions. “Such as?”

“Maybe,” The syllables are drawn out with a sing-songy lilt that has your legs shifting. “—we can start with why you thought she’d be using your tricks and charms on me?” You blame the breeze sifting through the curtains on the shiver that rakes up your spine.

The counter is cold when you lift yourself onto it, palms flat and back curving against the window pane. You shrug, breaking the eye contact and turning your head to face the flying creatures fluttering their feathery wings in the bird bath. “I hadn’t considered it’d be anyone else. You and Elain spend lots of time together and she’s obviously beautiful in that delicate, sweetheart in need of saving sort of way.”

“Careful, you almost sound jealous.”

“I am not jealous,” Well, not anymore. But, he didn’t need to know that you’d ever wasted a second of sleep on him. “It was just an observation.”

“A poor one.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing that I’m not going after your job.” Your arms cross over your chest, knees childishly nudging at the top of his thighs to push him away but he remains steady like a brick wall. Irritation pushes the fluttery twist of yearning out of the way the longer Azriel peers down at you with that look in his eye—that stupidly handsome smirk plastered on his annoyingly kissable lips. “Any other questions you’d like to interrogate me with?”

The vitriol in your tone only furthers the grin on his face, eating up the fluctuating emotions he pulls from you like a full course meal. “Just one more.” A breeze shifts through the open window, cutting through the strands of your hair and the smell of your conditioner permeates the space between you. “How much longer must I wait for you to pursue me before I have to take you for myself?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Beg all you’d like but not for your pardon.” It’s said so swiftly your brain barely registers the suggestive nature of it before he’s talking again. Sweeping you up in the whirlwind that was Azriel and all you could do was hold on tight for the ride. He obtains a boldness you could only dream of, hips jutting forward between your legs to keep you from slipping away; closing the distance until his wants and desires are anything but unclear when pressed so firmly against you. “How much longer?

You swallow, the movement tracked by a hunters stare as you scramble to pull together a coherent sentence. “I suppose that depends.”

“On what?”

“On if you have any almost lovers that you’re still pining after?” Shadows glide over the countertop, sneaking behind you and urging you forward. Silky sleep shorts shuffle upwards with the motion and Azriel’s wastes no time in his exploration. Warm hands rake up the length of your legs leisurely, tracing over barely there scars and memorizing moles many overlooked. “Or do you only want me because you’ve never had me?”

Tension hold thick in the air, heavy mugginess that coats your skin with an uncomfortable warmth as you and Az sized each other up—waiting to see who’d break first.

The odds didn’t seem to be swaying in your favor.

“Never had you?” Azriel repeats as if you’ve told a joke, confidence roaring in his veins from the reactions your body offers him. Goosebumps follow the tantalizing trail of his fingers up your legs, thighs subconsciously shifting wider, granting access for more of his body to touch against your own. “Every time I close my eyes, I have you.” He has to know the effect this has on you. That must be why he insists on stealing your backbone and converting it into a makeshift leash until you’re completely pliant in his grasp. “Not exactly conventional. Nowhere near comparable the real thing, I’m sure.” A wicked gleam twinkles in his eyes, his hard chest the perfect contrast against the softness of your own. “But, it’s certainly served to be good practice.”

“Azriel—“

“How much longer should I wait?”

The barely restrained need he emits makes your stomach clench. Forces your eyes to dart from his own to his mouth; lingering, lusting.

Fuck, not much longer at all. It felt like the clock was ticking and with each second that passed, your fate grew nearer and nearer.

Instinct speeds up the process, nudging you closer until the tip of your nose brushes against his own. It’s cautious—exploratory. Testing what was allowed and what wasn’t but Azriel’s patience only stretches so far and waiting for this—for you—is an impossible task.

His mouth covers yours in a claiming clash of eager lips and hands desperate to learn the shape of you.

You’re no better, nails raking through inky strands and scouring the strong slope of his shoulders like a woman starved. A relieved sigh tickles at his skin when he kisses over your cheeks, down your neck; until that spot just below your ear forces out low whines. “Az,” Your chest heaves, lungs struggling for a full breath. “Someone will see us.”

Azriel groans, lips searching for the spots that shut you up. The spots that had your spine curving and leg hooking over his waist. You lean back, anticipating the cool chill of the wall but all you meet is soft sheets and fluffy pillows as inky shadows disperse around the room. “Better?”

“Almost.” Eager fingers grip at the offending fabric hiding golden-brown skin beneath, attempting to yank it free. “Take this off.”

“You’re not this demanding in my dreams.”

“And in mine, your mouth isn’t really used for talking.”

Azriel’s efficient in adjusting to your suggestions, tearing apart soft silk as if it were nothing more than a piece of parchment in his quest of baring more of you to him. Hips buck up and nails dig into the hard-earned muscles of his back while his mouth sucked marks across your chest. Warm hands dip under the waistband of your shorts, back curving softly in anticipation as preening little moans cut through the darkness of Azriel’s bedchambers.

When he finally touches where you need him most, teeth sink harshly into the fat of your bottom lip; the feeling of his fingers dragging slow circles over the thin cotton of your underwear becoming the perfect torture. It feels too good to ponder on about the arousal soaking through your delicates or the desperate pleas for more that tumbles from your lips like sinful prayers.

Any remaining clothing falls carelessly to the floor, the hard length of him resting at the crux of your thighs. “Are you sure?”

“Don’t I feel sure?” Your brows are a little pinched when you stare up at him, a hand wedging between your bodies to guide the swollen head of his cock to your entrance.

“You feel like mine,” Az confesses hoarsely. Inch by deliciously devastating inch is pushed to the brim, hazel eyes transfixed on the snug wrap of your pussy and the warmth that follows. “Like you were fucking made to take my cock.”

He was better than you’d ever pictured, stealing your very breath away with each dragged out stroke. “Az,” His gaze is heavy, sliding up to meet your own with dark promise casting shadows against god-like features. “Please, just move.”

“Here I was trying to get you properly adjusted,” A biting grip begins at your waist, fingers digging precious prints into your hips as Azriel positions you as he pleases. Bare thighs are braced in the crease of his arms, a cocky smirk ghosting his face. “But you just wanna be fucked.” Eyes roll behind fluttering lids when the pace picks up, the position forcing you to take every inch until all you can offer is choked moans and garbled praises.

Claiming marks are placed wherever Azriel’s mouth can reach, muffled groans and deep grunts of pleasure vibrating against your skin as he carves out a space specifically made for him. You don’t last long, lips searching for his own as you clench around the length of him; toes curling and manicured nails biting at the base of his wings.

“There you go,” He croons, gently tucking stray hairs away from your face—a complete juxtaposition from the relentless way his cock fucks into you. “Taking me so well.”

Bleary eyed and boneless you are in his grasp; allowing him to act on every secret fantasy and salacious desire he'd harbored longer than he could remember until you feel the vicious twitch inside you, his hips stuttering and seed spilling.

The room reeks of sex, sheets sodden and clothes too ruined to walk out of there wearing them without looking like you belonged in a pleasure hall.

Not that it would matter—Azriel won't let you go now; hooked like an addict to their drug of choice. "You were wrong, you know." Your brow raises in silent question. "Now that I've had you, I can't see myself ever wanting anything else."

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enwoso · 17 days ago

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what could go wrong? | alessia russo x child!reader x leah williamson

-> based on this request!

grumpy masterlist

the day had started with good intentions. leah had basically dragged alessia and ella into the uber, grinning ear to ear as leah handed them their gift bags filled with two of the fluffiest white robes and a voucher for the best spa in central london.

"hot stone massages, champagne, hydrotherapy. you never treat yourself less," leah said, ushering them towards the curb.

alessia looked back at the house, worried. "i don't know, babe. lovie.. well you know she's been a bit... cheeky and a handful lately."

"cheeky?" leah snorted. "she's five less, she's building personality. i've handled katie mccabe after a red card. i'm sure i can handle one lovely kid."

alessia gave leah a look, a one where she wasn't fully convinced leah knew exactly what she was signing herself up for.

"i'm just saying le—she did convince your mum she could have a pet snake last week. a real one."

"hey where is the belief? i've got this," leah said, famous last words was they. smug and completely unaware of what lay ahead. "you, ella, spa day! me and y/n? we're bonding."

alessia climbed into the uber slowly. "alright. but if she destroys the house, just remember... you begged me to go."

⸻

the belief leah so confidently had this morning, yeah? well that was slowly but surely disappearing as the day went on.

leah stood in the doorway of the kitchen, one hand gripping a mug of coffee that had long since gone cold. the other was limp at her side, fingers twitching slightly as she processed the absolute devastation in front of her.

the living room— a once a calming, adult space with neutral tones and framed prints with a tidy corner dedicated to your toys—now looked like the aftermath of a toddler-led rave.

there was marker on the wall. not washable. on the wallpaper alessia had picked out after three hours in wallpaper isle of the home store.

toothpaste was foamed into your curls like a failed tiktok hair tutorial. and the glitter? there was glitter in leah's tea, glitter on the furniture, and leah could swear some had somehow ended up on the light fitings.

"how—" leah mumbled, eyes wide as she took a cautious step into the war zone, "—how did this all happen in thirty minutes?"

across the room, perched like a diva on the sofa, you sat wearing a tiara slightly askew and oversized sunglasses that probably belonged to alessia. you were calmly feeding gummy bears to the dog—waffles—while whispering conspiratorially into his floppy ear.

"don't tell her, waffles. it's a secret mission." waffles wagged his tail, clearly thrilled by the attention and sugar.

leah was still in joggers and her old arsenal hoodie, as she pulled out her phone and typed like her life depended on it.

le: 'this is a code red'

le: 'there's glitter in my tea'

le: ‘and she has drew a moustache on my framed england shirt’

le: ‘less... she used PERMANENT marker’

three blinking dots appeared, alessia had read it but then disappeared. then came the a reply alessia had clearly been waiting to use:

less<3: ‘sorry i'm currently unavailable during this time. enjoying my well deserved spa day 💅💖’

leah stared at the screen, blinking once. then again. "cruel," leah muttered. "so cruel."

⸻

a few hours had passed and while leah had managed half a mug of tea without glitter it was clear your chaos was far from being over. as leah was now crouched in front of you like she was giving a post-match pep talk.

"angel," leah tried, crouching in front of you, hands on her knees like leah was addressing a rogue teammate mid-match. "how about we do something... quiet. reading? a puzzle? or we can talk about our feelings?"

"i feel like you're boring," you deadpanned, pushing up her tiny sunglasses before turning back to your game with your dolls.

leah blinked. she didn't know whether to laugh or cry as leah rubbed her temples, stepped over a discarded barbie torso, and typed out a desperate message:

le: ‘i kid you not she's just called me boring’

le: ‘my ego is bruised. my shirt is ruined. the dog may be traumatized.’

le: ‘i want a refund on the spa voucher. or motherhood. whichever is easier.’

no reply.

you zoomed past on a makeshift ‘skateboard’ made out of a laundry basket, yelling "I AM QUEEN OF THE FLOOR" and bumping into the dining table leg with a dull thunk.

waffles barked. a glass trembled on the counter. "why is she always right.." leah whispered, alessia’s words of worry echoing in leads mind.

now it was raining. of course it was. because why not add a bit of pathetic fallacy to leah's slow descent into madness?

you were now sulking in the corner, wrapped in a blanket like a tiny, grumpy burrito. the latest tragedy? you had attempted to give your barbie a haircut and now the doll looked, in your words, ‘like a very sad potato with no dreams.’

leah didn't even have the energy to argue. instead she picked up the half-eaten slice of toast from the table, gave it a sniff, and tossed it directly into the bin without even breaking eye contact with the five-year-old.

leah typed again.

le: ‘i've lost control of the household. she's running a glitter cartel and i think i'm on her hit list’

still no answer.

the tv was playing bluey in the background. the smell of baby shampoo and peanut butter lingered in the air. leah’s phone buzzed.

less<3: ‘having the best time. my skin is glowing. love you girls, hope your having fun!😘’

another message followed from ella:

tooney: ‘tbh we both said you were doomed. but thanks for the spa, never felt so fresh xx’

leah groaned into her sleeve, 'having fun' was one way to sum up leah's day. as then from the living room, a tiny voice shouted, "mama! i poured juice on the floor so the waffles can ice skate!"

leah stood up slowly. "of course you have," she muttered. but then, as leah walked into the mess, you ran up to leah, arms wide open, juice on your shirt and glitter in your hair.

"i love you, mama," you said, entirely unprompted.

leah melted, on the spot practically as she rubbed your back, "...i take it back. maybe you're only slightly half satan."

⸻

when alessia finally walked in through the door, fresh-faced and glowing, leah was lying flat on her back on the couch, as leah stared at the ceiling like she was seeing into another dimension.

the only sound was the gentle hum of bluey in the background.

alessia peeked into the living room. you were curled up on leah's chest, fast asleep, your little fingers tangled in the strings of leah's hoodie.

waffles was beside them, also asleep, with a tiara lopsided on his head. leah raised one hand in the air as alessia approached a tried and dopey looking smile on leah's face.

"i have glitter in places no glitter should be," leah said, voice hoarse. "she called me a boring noodle. and if your wondering why the kitchen floor is sticky she built a juice rink for waffles."

alessia bit back a laugh, crouched beside leah, and kissed leah's temple. "you've done great, babe."

"no. i want vengeance. you can take her next time. i'm keeping the spa trip for myself next time."

"noted," alessia smiled as she lifted a blanket to lay over you kissing you on the forehead. "but hey... what could go wrong?"

leah groaned. "never say that again."

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fivestaralien · 8 months ago

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skz when your shirt rides up and your belly shows - hyung line

-> skz x chubby fem!reader

warnings"+: a bit suggestive in hyunjins but not really, lots of talk about bellies and the occasional love handle so if you are uncomfortable or not in a good mental state don't feel bad about not reading I completely understand. please be gentle to yourself and know that you are loved<3 wordcount: 715 a.n// had this idea last night and thought why not. especially with what's going on in America rn I needed to comfort myself so here you go! pls let me know when you think reblog/comment!!! I'll post a maknae version within the next few days<3 please check in on your friend and family and be kind to yourselves. stay safe and be careful everyone.

// maknae v. //

chan~ the two of you are making breakfast and as you wait for the water to boil, you decide to get a mug and make some hot chocolate. when you reach up to the top shelf, your sleep shirt rides up a little. chan turned to ask you something but stopped short at the sight of your exposed skin. he didn't even hesitate putting his hands on your bare hips, kneading gently. he then snakes his hands around to grab at your belly. you turn your head to look back at him with furrowed brows. chan doesn’t let you get a word out before kissing you, grabbing and squeezing at every inch of you he could. the blush on your face doesn't go unnoticed by him. he continues until you are fully relaxed against his chest, letting him dominate you in the intense kisses he was still planting on you.

minho~ his head turns to the door, a smile graces his face when he sees you walking through it. immeadietly minho notices the prominent frown on your face and waits for you to talk to him first before asking about it. he hears you mumbling sarcastic comments to yourself, probably finally letting them out after not being able to talk back to annoying coworkers. he figures his assumption correct when you walk back into the room, newly changed into your inside clothes and plopped yourself onto his lap, complaining about how your coworkers were making you all the work. minho notices your shirt has ridden up a little as you rant with your hands, and carefully pulls it down for you. it happens again but you were too worked up to notice so instead of pulling it down again, minho traces his knuckles up and down the soft skin of your belly. he tilts his head to the side, intently listening to your rant. a tickle to your side makes you cut it short and you swat minho's hand away. this time both of his hands come to graze under your belly button and you jump off of him with a yelp. the two of you laugh as minho tries to tickle you again.

changbin~ he hasn’t been able to pay attention to the movie playing on the screen for over twenty minutes now. as you were readjusting your position in his arms, the hem over your shirt hiked up, showing off your belly. you paid no mind to it so changbin took this time to openly admire your body that he couldn’t get enough of. you flinch at the feeling of his cold hand resting right below your ribs. he apologizes then trails his lips from your side all the way down just below your navel. your breath hitches causing your stomach to move up and down. changbin doesn’t stop though. he spends the rest of the movie kissing and leaving multiple love bites onto the soft skin of your belly. your hand threading through his hair and lightly scratching his scalp.

hyunjin~ light filters through the curtains causing hyunjins eyes to flutter open. the clock on his phone tells him it’s barely past 8 am so he flips his body back around to cuddle into you again. you were lying on your back wide awake now, due to hyunjins big movements. he sits up on his elbow, his other hand coming up to play with your hair. he leans down to kiss your cheek then nuzzles his face into your neck. the blanket had been kicked to the bottom of the bed, so hyunjin reached to get it but stopped. your (his) shirt had ridden up so high that your belly was on full display. you notice his heated stare and start to pull the shirt down but his hands wrap around your wrists to stop you. he smirks up at you then pulls the duvet all the way over his head. hyunjin’s lips travel all across your stomach and teased the line of your underwear with his fingers. you push the blanket down reeling at the sight of hyunjin going to town on the parts of your body that you didn’t feel the best about. he takes his sweet time, making sure that you knew he loved and cherished every inch of you.

TAG LIST: @velvetmoonlght

// masterlists , skz masterlist

#kpop imagines #stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids x chubby reader #skz fluff #skz imagines #skz x reader #chan imagines #bang chan imagines #changbin imagines #minho imagines #hyunjin imagines

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rubiehart · 2 months ago

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PS. i am madly in love with you

summary: the one where jj reassures you that every change your body went through after bringing your daughter into the world makes you even more beautiful to him…

warnings: gentle love, body worship (non sexual), allusions to sex, flirty remarks, descriptions of postpartum bodies, reader is insecure about post partum body, lots of praise, lots of gentle reassurance.

blurbs n’ other thoughts for this pairing found here!

when his truck tires roll over the gravelly road leading up to the driveway, it’s late. he’d texted you earlier and told you he’d been caught up with a sputtering engine on this guy’s truck who needed it for an urgent journey across county tomorrow morning, so it couldn’t wait.

he switches off the engine, twisting and pulling out the key and dropping them into the pocket of his work cargos. he whips off his cap to run a ringed hand through his hair, glancing at the house to see that pretty much every light was off, the only source of luminosity being the soft amber gleam of the living room lamp, signifying the possibility that you could still be awake, waiting up for him.

that thought makes the tension of the day clinging tight to the muscles of his shoulders and back loosen a little, heart warming at the image of your sweet face after a shitty day, the way your prescence seemed to instill some kind of calm and stability in him he could never explain, no matter what mood he’d come home in.

he grasps the handle of his toolbox in his hand, pushing open the driver’s side door, combat boots crunching against the gravelly stone as he made his way up the porch steps, swiping his boots on the ‘welcome’ mat infront of the door before pushing the key into the lock and pushing open the door, wary of his volume because of the high possibility that you’d already put quinn to sleep hours ago.

his eyes scan over the living room, throw blanket rumpled on the couch like you’d been laying there, a mug of what he assumed hot chocolate on the coffee table, tv turned off. he dashes his keys into the little bowl on the table in the entryway, clearing his throat as he hangs up his flannel, rubbing absently at dirt marks on his now bare forearms, eyebrows furrowed as he scans the conjoined kitchen and living room for you.

he’s immediately filled with a silent sense of relief at the faint sounds of the exhausted floorboards in the hallway to the bedrooms creaking softly, and then your figure appearing from around the corner, adorned in one of his old, threadbare muscle tanks, evidently without a bra from the eyeful of delectable side boob he’s getting, paired with a pair of plaid sleep shorts that cling to your newly thicker hips and thighs.

a subconscious grin overtakes his face at the sight of you, that cold, unrelenting grip the ache of physical labour had on his body momentarily melting away and forgotten at the sight and smell of your warm presence, like baby powder and that candle you always have burning, just about the only thing you spend money on for yourself, and something else uniquely you that wraps him in a warm blanket now that he’s home with his family.

you gravitate towards him without a word, eyes soft but there’s no trace of a smile, he assumes it’s because you’re exhausted and he’d never blame you, looking after a 6 month old all day alone must be tough, especially because quinnie was quite the milk monster.

his hands immediately find home on your hips, the warmth of your skin even through the soft cotton has him exhaling softly, eyes trained on your tired ones as you look up at him, cherub cheeks a little flushed and he realises you’d maybe been taking a nap, that’s where you’d been, also the reason why you looked so out of it.

‘you look tired, baby.’ he murmurs, drawing you forward when you start to shift your weight in a silent need to be closer, to have his chest to yours. maybe that’s what he needed too, subconsciously, just to be close to the woman he loved after a long day.

‘i missed you.’ you reply, voice barely above a whisper, cheek smushed to his chest where you’ve pushed herself as close as you can be to him, he inhales and gets another whiff of that soft figgy scent of your shampoo. he feels you press a soft kiss to his chest over the cotton of his greasy wifebeater, aware of his musk after a long day at the auto shop but you didn’t seem to care at all, you never had.

‘yeah?’ he smiles, and it’s playful, his tongue flicking out to lick at the rubied skin, hands sliding up to gently cup your head to bring it away from his chest, eyes on your own with a gentle smirk. ‘how much?’

‘too much.’ you murmur back, a lilt of a mirrored playfulness in your tone, eyes soft as you gaze up into his eyes. his hands grip your head, albeit a little aggressively but its cuteness aggression if anything, smushing a wet kiss to your temple, like a freakin’ mutt.

you murmur in protest, a soft breath of laughter evident and nuzzle your face against his shirt in attempt to remove the gross saliva he’d left as he watches, chuckling softly, chest rumbling against yours. your arms snake up and around his neck and you jump up into his expecting arms.

he catches you with little issue, his strong hands holding just under your thighs and ass as you koala yourself to his warm chest. a knowing smile graces his face as you push yourself against him, feeling the bare swell of your soft breasts through the thin cotton of the muscle tank you’re draped in, knowing exactly what you’re getting at.

he squeezes your thighs in his big hands gently, calloused thumbs rubbing soothingly over the soft skin. ‘oh, baby,’ he cooes. ‘you’re needy today, ain’t you?’

he starts to take slow steps towards the bedroom, practically a snail’s pace because his sole focus is on his angel in his hold, snuggling yourself against his chest. you rest your head on his shoulder and he watches your eyes flutter closed, soft lips murmuring, fingernails tracing soft patterns over the back of his neck where your arms are still looped around. ‘just feel safe like this.’

he hums, pressing a reverent kiss to your forehead, not sloppy and teasing like the earlier one, a gentle one that reassured you that he knew the security your body was craving in his hold, the security only he could provide you, and he was more than happy to do so. ‘i gotcha,’ before nudging open the bedroom door with the toe of his boot, mindful to not be loud for the sake of quinn, who you’d no doubt probably taken ages to manage to put down for the night.

you nuzzle your nose against the crook of his neck, not caring one bit for the tangy musk wafting from him after his long day fixing up motors in the scorching outer banks sun, you’ve grown accustomed to it and it’s almost a comfort to you by now. being close enough to smell it means you’re exactly where you want to be, right next to him.

he grins softly at your sweet search for closeness as he shoves a few stray items of clothing over on the bed, making a mental note to toss them in the hamper later, knowing how you get about things being untidy.

he deposits you gently onto your shared bed with a slight bounce against the mattress, pressing a soft kiss to your temple where you sit with one leg tucked under your butt, the other pulled up to rest your chin on your knee, tired, sunken eyes watching him whip off his dirty wifebeater.

your mind whirs with your next thought, watching him pluck a clean towel off of the pile you’d neatly folded this morning whilst quinn was napping, the only time you really get to yourself to get things done.

‘are you showerin’ now?’ you murmur, scratching at the back of your neck, him seemingly reading your mind, just as the words left your mouth, plucking a second towel off of the pile with a knowing smile.

he chuckles softly to himself at the look on your face, a little downward smile at the way he knew, eyes soft. everything seemed to make you emotional lately. ‘yeah, you comin’? offering out a towel to you with a raised eyebrow, knowing you’d been waiting for the offer.

your pretty features immediately light up with a grin, cherub cheeks blushy, like a switch had been flicked on because jj wanted to spend time with you. its a stupid thing to even consider, everyone seeing how utterly obsessed and in love jj is with you, has been since you were both 17, but pregnancy had fucked up your emotions and he wasn’t ever planning on holding that against you.

‘course i am.’ you hum playfully, hopping up from the bed and snatching the towel from his offering hand, sauntering towards the bathroom doorway with him in tow.

he chuckles in response, amused by the immediate switch in your mood he’d seen far too many times by now to still be impressed. ‘good girl,’ he praises, a smirk on his lips as he swats your ass.

you let out a soft snort of laughter, bare feet padding against the bathroom floor as you saunter inside, jj turning back into the bedroom, seemingly have forgotten to do something..

whilst he’s finishing up whatever he’s doing you undress completely, sliding down the sleep shorts and letting them pool at your feet, sliding off the threadbare muscle tank and immediately that lump slides up your throat and lodges itself there - some kind of hot burn in the base of your stomach accompanying like always.

you’re standing stark naked when jj walks back in, immediately crossing behind you to start the shower and get out your products - he’s not even consciously realising he’s doing it, going through the motions as he focuses in on you infront of the mirror above the sink.

he doesn’t miss this pre-shower stare in the mirror you seem to have, only really when you’re going solo and he can see you with that scrutinising gaze through the crack in the door. he can’t help the way his gaze drifts over you, standing in your natural state, the way your body has changed after pregnancy - the softness of your thighs, the thickness of your hips, the fullness of your milk heavy breasts. he has to swallow and plead silently with the halfie beneath his pants right now as he adjusts the temperature of the spray.

he pulls back after checking the temperature, unbuttoning and shucking down his cargos and boxers in one go, head turned slightly over his shoulder as his gaze traces your body, your back facing him as you pick apart your reflection in the mirror. he can’t help but admire how effortlessly beautiful you are like this - bare faced, not shaved for a while, completely bare and natural and so perfect.

he runs his hands under the water a final time, hoping you’ll take the hint and turn to see him ready to get in. but you don’t. ‘you comin’ in or what?’ he murmurs, soft grin on his face at the sight of your thicker body he can’t get enough of.

‘mhm, one sec.’ you hum, voice a little cracking and shaky, eyes never meeting his as you turn to the side in the mirror, running the soft pads of your fingers over the faint stretch marks that dribble down the sides of your stomach.

he notices the way you touch your soft tummy with an expression of almost disgust, and it makes his heart hurt at that looking your face he knows means tears are soon to be trickling down your pretty cheeks if he doesn’t intervene. he takes a few steps closer, broad frame pressed behind yours in the mirror, gaze meeting yours through the reflective surface, his big, rough hands sliding gently to rest on top of yours, covering the soft marks.

‘you’re beautiful,’ he murmurs, his voice low and sincere, chest rumbling against your back, breath hot and ticklish against the back of your neck. ‘you’ve give me a son, and these-‘ he says, his thumb gently grazing over the stretch marks. ‘-are proof of that.’

you smile softly at him through the mirror, blinking back the tears that are brimming in your gleaming eyes - you don’t really know where all this is coming from, you’ve never reacted this way to your changed body before, not so viscerally anyway, and definitely not infront of jj. you don’t hate it, really - it’s just different, you’re only looking.

he notices the way your lips tremble through the smile, how it doesn’t reach those beautiful eyes, instead they’re filled with a storm of emotions you’re struggling to keep contained. like a shaken soda ready to burst. he wraps his arms around you fully, pulling you back against his chest as he looks at you through the mirror.

‘hey,’ he whispers, his breath warm and tingly against your neck, and your belly still feels warm - but it’s not that white hot embarrassment, it’s something like flipping - and you think maybe it’s your heart. ‘you’re so beautiful, m’girl.’ he kisses the spot on your neck just underneath your ear, lips faint but steady, to let you know it was honest.

you let out soft, almost pained whimper at that, squeezing your eyes shut and taking in a deep breath, trying to control your breathing as his arms squeeze around your waist a little tighter, a comforting motion to hopefully help bring you back down.

holding you close, he nuzzles his nose into your neck, placing a trail of soft kisses along the smooth skin of your shoulders and neck. his hands move slowly and reverently, as if cherishing every new dip, curve and ripple your body had gained from bringing his baby girl into the world, whispering praises like sweet honey into your hair and against your skin. ‘so damn beautiful,’ he whispers. ‘in every way.’

‘it’s just..’ you start softly, sniffling to collect your thoughts, to grasp how you truly felt about the changes to your body. your hands graze from your sides to rest over his atop the soft pouch of your stomach, his hands turning to hold yours, stroking your knuckles patiently as he waits for you to talk. ‘i don’t hate it.. it’s just different,”

he continues to dot soft kisses along your neck, squeezing your hands gently in his larger ones before his head lifts to meet your eyes again, taller frame looming over yours through the reflection. ‘different ain’t bad.’ he reassures, voice a little gruff yet still gentle, thumbs rubbing little circles over the knuckles of your pointer fingers. ‘it’s a sign of what you’re capable of, baby.. what you’ve done for our boy..’

‘i know-‘ you whisper, nose crinkling as your voice breaks, cutting yourself off as one hot tear rolls down your flushed cheek, your back sweaty where it’s pushed against his chest. ‘s’ just,’ you try again, letting out a soft breath through your lips. ‘it’s hard.’

at the break in your voice his heart breaks a little, embrace around your waist tightening, his strong body enveloping your softer one. ‘i know it’s hard, momma,’ he mumbles, craning his neck around and pressing a soft kiss to the burning skin of your smooth cheek, tasting the salt of your tears on his rubied lips.

‘but you’re not alone in this. i’m here, and i ain’t goin’ anywhere.’ his hands holding yours up a little off your belly, shaking them gently as if to physically promise as well as verbally, eyes never leaving yours in the mirror, but his voice remains gentle despite the passion burning in his gaze.

he holds your gaze in the mirror for a few seconds, seeing you’ve sensed the finality in his words and maybe they’ve stuck - he prays they’ve stuck. seeing you like this is his least favourite thing he’s ever experienced, he’s decided. he continues to hold you tightly for as long as you need him to, content to stay here all night if thats what you needed.

his body is a protective shield around yours, chest molded to your back, the gently spray of water still echoing off of the tile floor of the shower and making for a calming lull.

after a few minutes he senses you calm down, your tight grip on his hands gradually loosened so he turns you in his arms, chest to chest, eyes never dipping from your face despite your naked body being right there. he kisses away your tears and listens when you pipe up with a slight hitch in your breathing.

"when we get outta the shower-um- i bought these new like- oil things... that you rub onto your stomach n' boobs... like postpartum, y'know?" you seem fidgety and ramble prone but he has no less patience than ever with his girl as you articulate to him what you need, without directly telling him through your slight anxiety.

he’s immediately nodding at the mention of oil’s and postpartum - willing to do anything you ask him to if it’s going to help make you feel better in your own skin, that’s the only thing he wants, to support you through this rocky journey.

‘you got ‘em? ‘ he asks softly, remembering you’d mentioned something about them one night during some pillow talk, his hands still in yours and rubbing gently circles over your soft knuckles with his calloused fingers.

‘yeah,’ you huff softly, a deep exhale of relief at his reaction - not like you were expecting anything different, like he hasn’t been the utmost helpful throughout your entire pregnancy and now the ups and downs of post partum, it was just the anxiety making you doubtful of even the person you trusted more than anyone or anything ever.

‘i’ll help you with ‘em, alright? he reassures you gently, one hand lifting from yours to swipe away a tear you hadn’t realised had even fallen, so wrapped up in how loved he made you feel every single day. ‘whatever you need me to do.’

‘okay.’ you nod, voice barely above a whisper, afraid if you spoke any louder the tears would start again, but out of gratitude this time around. you murmur an ever so quiet ‘thankyou’ as he picks you up effortlessly against his chest and carries you towards the shower.

‘you don’t gotta thank me, baby,’ he murmurs as he sets you down on your feet, one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you steady as he closes the glass door behind the two of you, trapping the steam inside and fogging up the glass. he guides you carefully towards the warm stream, arms draped around your waist from behind as the water cascades over both of your bodies. ‘you know i got you.’ he whispers, lips pressed to the top of your head, pecking the wet, silky strands gently, his hands leave you for just a second to grab the shampoo bottle from the shower caddy, the soft fig one he loves smelling on you. and in this moment, things felt okay.

you did know, he’s always got you no matter what.

#jj maybank #꒰ bluecollar!husband!jj ꒱ྀི #꒰ sweetheart!wife!reader ꒱ྀི #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x reader #jj obx #jj maybank blurb #outer banks #jj x reader #jj maybank headcanon #jj maybank obx #obx #jj maybank outer banks #jj maybank fluff

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stevieschrodinger · 1 year ago

Text

Steve sighs to himself. It's so godamn cold his car door handle is frozen.

Which means he can't open the door.

Which means he can't get in.

It's fucking dark, it's fucking cold, and Steve is one hundred percent done. If he was actually parked in the lot at work this wouldn't be a problem - isn't normally a problem - he just goes in and gets a mug of boiling water and dumps it over the door handle. Not today though, oh no, the lot at work is being resurfaced and he's been forced to park a ten minute walk away for three days this week.

Steve contemplates what to do - actually briefly contemplating taking a piss on his own car door handle and wondering if that would even work- when the only positive about this whole thing comes around the corner.

The dog walker guy. He's so cute, especially in the cold, all his fluffy hair poking out from his lopsided, clearly home made, knitted pom pom hat. Yesterday he had a whole pack of dogs with him, today he's got one.

It's a very old looking Jack Russell, waddling along. Cute dog walker guy stops, "Bill," he calls after the dog. The dog does not stop, waddling on in a determined fashion. "Bill, this is our car," the guy tries again. Bill has made it maybe fifteen feet, but he turns and looks. Seems to come to the conclusion that, 'oh yeah, that is our car,' and starts to waddle back.

The whole exchange makes Steve's day better, and he can't help the laughter. Cute guy laughs too, giving Steve a 'what can you do' kind of shrug, and the prettiest smile Steve's ever seen.

Cute dog walker guy scoops Bill up and puts him in the passenger seat, before heading around to the driver side, he must notice Steve's helplessness, or demeanor, or something, because he asks Steve, "you okay man?"

"Yeah, yeah, I just...locked out you know, doors frozen."

"Huh," the guys says coming over to inspect Steve's frozen handle, "well, I usually get Bill a pupachino, want to get coffee with us? We can bring back a couple of to go cups of hot water?"

And that sounds way, way better than pissing on his car, "yeah,that's great thanks, I'm Steve, let me at least get the coffee."

"Eddie...and are you cool with a geriatric guy sitting on your lap, because Bill already called shotgun."

"I think I'll cope."

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #Bill the dog #meet cute #steddie ficlet #ficlet #fic idea #would you believe this is based very vaguely on real events

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nottswitch · 2 months ago

Text

꒰ chef!theo takes care of you while you’re sick ꒱

cw: fluff, reader is sick, mentions of bodily fluids

a/n: just me being sick and needing chef!theo to take care of me. haven’t written fluff in a while, so hopefully it’s not too crusty. enjoy <3

⋆˚꩜｡

just yesterday, you were feeling ‘a bit under the weather’, and this morning, you woke up with a pounding headache, a painfully sore throat, coughing your lungs out, and your nose so runny you felt like you could drown in your own snot. it was far from a pretty sight, but your fiancé was immediately on high alert – theo hated when you got sick, especially when he knew exactly what caused it.

“told you you should’ve worn a jacket, didn’t i?” he chastised you, his voice exasperated, as he looked at the thermometer. your temperature wasn’t too bad, which made his shoulders slump with relief, but it wasn’t one of a healthy person either.

“yeah, yeah, i know.” you rolled your eyes, immediately regretting the action – it felt like sand was stuck behind your eyelids, making your eyes water uncontrollably. he was right, you knew that damn well – you really should’ve worn a jacket when you left for work yesterday, since it was unusually cold for the month of may. but you blamed theo’s worries on him being his usual overprotective self, and now you were paying the price.

theo shook his head at your stubbornness, but he couldn’t stay mad at you for long – not when you looked so vulnerable with your cheeks flushed, your eyes glassy, the blanket pulled up to your chin as you shivered. he was already on his phone, calling off work for the day, and even your weak protests that you could handle yourself just fine didn’t help – subconsciously, you knew he’d stay with you, since he always did at the first sign of illness from you.

“they’ll deal without me just fine, amore,” he said firmly, but with a hint of softness in his voice, as if a single harsh word could shatter your fragile form. “now, stay here, i’ll be right back.”

he placed a kiss on your forehead and stood up, walking out of the bedroom. pretty soon, he was back at your side, with a steaming hot mug of ginger tea, a pot of honey and some medicine resting on the nightstand. he lifted the mug to your chapped lips, and you obediently sipped, feeling just a tiny bit better as the warmth started spreading through your chest and stomach.

“i have some chicken soup going downstairs,” theo said, carefully feeding you tea with one hand and holding your chin with the other.

“chicken soup?” you chuckled, but the sound got cut off by a wet cough, making some of the tea splatter onto theo’s face. he closed his eyes, fighting back a smile, and wiped the droplets away. “how does it feel, making commoner food for once?”

“delightful,” he muttered, secretly glad that you were still strong enough to tease him. “don’t worry, i have a chef’s specialty in mind for dinner.”

“i probably won’t even taste it.” you sniffled, taking another small sip of tea. “my tastebuds went bye-bye.”

“did they? well, amore, then i’ll have to work extra hard to bring them back, won’t i?”

you sighed and nodded, knowing that theo would take the challenge seriously. but you didn’t mind – it was endearing in a way, watching your usually calm and collected fiancé fuss over you like a mother hen. you finished the tea, a couple spoonfuls of honey, and then took the medicine theo brought you. as he stood up, ready to head to the kitchen to check on the soup, you looked up at him, pouting.

“chef’s special cuddles?” you whined, suddenly unwilling to let him go, even it was just to the kitchen.

theo couldn’t help a small chuckle, taken by the way your bottom lip jutted out in this adorable pout. “chef’s special chicken soup first, amore. and then, you’ll get all the cuddles in the world.”

au. more.

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yungistiny · 27 days ago

Text

Heaven And Back ═ chapter five

[ S. Mingi ]

chapter five: his fucking lifeline

╚═════════

summary: mingi is trouble wrapped in bleached hair and piercings and maybe that’s exactly what y/n needs

warning: emo mingi, stoner/dealer mingi, use of drugs, unprotected sex, possessive mingi, mention of panic attack

pairing: mingi x afab reader

genre: romance, drama, smut

word count: 5.6k

chapter four

chapter six

masterlist

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The second Y/N stepped into the cafe, she knew something was off.

Not in the usual, I haven’t had coffee yet, kind of way. No, this was deeper, settled under her skin like static. The door hadn’t even finished swinging shut behind her when Wooyoung popped his head out from the back, wide eyed and clearly already caffeinated beyond reason.

“There she is!” he called, dramatic as ever. “Freshly fucked and fashionably late.”

Y/N groaned. “You’re not allowed to speak ever again.”

He snorted, stepping forward and handing her a spare apron like it was a peace offering. “Too bad. Because you’ve got new trainee duty today, sunshine.”

“Trainee?” she blinked. “I thought I was on register.”

“You were, but I swapped you.” He dropped his voice to a mock whisper. “He’s hot. So naturally, I decided he’s your problem so I don’t do anything stupid.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, tying the apron around her waist. “You’re unbelievable.”

“That’s why you love me.”

He turned toward the back and shouted, “JAKE! She’s here!”

Footsteps approached from the hallway, and a moment later, Jake stepped into view.

Tall, broad shouldered, and wearing the kind of smirk that looked like it had gotten him in trouble a lot more than it had gotten him out of it.

“Hey,” he said, tone low and lazy, like he didn’t have anywhere to be. “You must be Y/N.”

She nodded, offering a polite smile. “Hi.”

Jake’s eyes flicked over her once, quick but deliberate. “Wooyoung said you’re the one to learn from.”

“Oh, he did, did he?”

“He also said if I fucked up the espresso machine, you’d murder me in cold blood.”

She smirked. “That part’s true.”

Y/N studied him with her gaze, something about Jake made her pause. Not the obvious flirting, guys flirted. It was the way he looked around the cafe like he’d seen it all before. Like this was just a pit stop.

And something else.

Something familiar.

It hit her then, Mingi. He moved like Mingi. Talked like him too. That same loose shouldered confidence, the same careful way of watching everything without looking like he was watching anything.

But Jake’s hands were clean. No rings. No lingering scent of weed and cologne. Just a denim jacket and a lazy smile.

Still… her stomach twisted.

Just that morning, she’d woken up tangled in Mingi’s sheets, sore in all the right places, her skin still marked by his hands. She hadn’t expected to find him in the living room, talking to someone, the air heavy with tension and the distinct metallic clink of a ziplock bag being zipped shut.

He hadn’t seen her at first.

And that was what made it worse.

Because when he did, his whole expression shifted. Like he’d been caught. Like he knew the version of him she saw last night didn’t match the one standing in front of her now.

She left. She kissed his cheek and whispered, “See you later?” and he only nodded, eyes flicking away before she walked out the door.

Now, staring at Jake across the espresso bar, something ugly clawed up her throat.

“Alright, rookie,” she said, forcing herself into motion. “Let’s see if you know how to steam milk without causing an explosion.”

Jake smirked. “I can handle heat.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The apartment was too quiet.

Mingi leaned against the kitchen counter, staring at the empty mug in his hand like it had answers he hadn’t asked for. His phone buzzed once, twice, notifications from Instagram, probably. He didn’t check. Not the one he was waiting on.

Not from her.

She hadn’t texted since she left.

He could still feel her lips on his cheek, the faint echo of her voice, “See you later?”

And he’d nodded.

Like a fucking coward.

He hadn’t expected her to wake up and catch him like that, mid deal, no time to clean up the image she’d built in her head. No silver tongue, no sweet nicknames. Just Mingi, as he was. Bag in hand. Client in his apartment.

She hadn’t said anything. That was what haunted him most. Not the judgment, Y/N never came at him with that, but the silence. The way her eyes dimmed just slightly before she whispered goodbye.

And now?

Nothing.

He tossed the mug into the sink with more force than necessary, the ceramic cracking sharply against the metal basin. His phone buzzed again, and this time, it was a number he recognized immediately.

San.

He swiped to answer. “What?”

“You home?”

Mingi frowned. “Yeah.”

There was silence on the other end for a second. T

“I need a place to crash.”

Mingi straightened. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Nothing,” San snapped. Then, a pause. “Okay, something. But not my fault. I just, look, I pissed off some people. Accidentally sold on someone’s turf. Not even knowingly, alright? I didn’t know who the spot belonged to.”

Mingi dragged a hand down his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not asking you to babysit me,” San said, voice tight. “Just need somewhere off the radar for a few days. Week tops.”

“Bullshit,” Mingi muttered. “You say a week, it turns into three, and next thing I know you’re using my toothbrush and finishing my blunts.”

“I’ll bring my own toothbrush and my own weed.”

“San.”

“Sorry. Not the time. Please?”

Mingi exhaled through his nose, glancing around his already small apartment. This was going to be a mess. “Yeah. You can crash.”

“Fuck yes,” San muttered, relief thick in his voice. “I’ll be there by midnight.”

He hung up before Mingi could change his mind.

Mingi stared at the phone for a long moment, jaw tight.

Y/N.

Now San.

All reminding him that he didn’t live in a world that let people like Y/N stick around for long.

He needed to get ahead of it.

Or he was going to lose her.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The sky was bruised gray as Mingi pulled up in front of the cafe.

He hadn’t planned to come. Not really. But his mind wouldn’t stop spinning, San was on his way, Y/N hadn’t texted back, and Mingi was half convinced if he didn’t see her soon, he was going to crawl out of his skin.

So he showed up.

Casual, hoodie over his head, rings glinting on his fingers as he shoved them in his jacket pockets. He was planning to keep it simple. Maybe grab an iced Americano. Smile at her. Apologize, if it came to that.

But the second he stepped inside, everything in him stilled.

Because behind the counter, standing next to Wooyoung, smiling like he owned the goddamn place, was Jake.

Mingi’s jaw locked so tight he swore he could hear it crack.

Jake.

Fucking Jake.

It had been three years since Mingi last saw him, right before he disappeared in the middle of a raid and left Mingi and San to take the fall. Word was, he flipped for leniency. Nothing was ever confirmed. But the timing? Too perfect.

Mingi hadn’t forgotten.

Neither had San.

But right now, Jake was just smiling politely, wearing an apron and a smug look that made Mingi’s teeth ache.

“Can I help you?” Jake asked, pretending like they hadn’t once made deals in the back alley of a club together. Like Mingi didn’t know exactly what that innocent little smirk was covering.

Mingi didn’t move for a second. His gaze drifted past Jake, toward the espresso machine, where Y/N stood.

She hadn’t seen him yet.

Jake followed the glance, then blinked. “Oh,” he said, surprise flickering across his face. “Her?”

Mingi’s jaw ticked. “Yeah. Her.”

Jake gave a low whistle. “Didn’t peg you for the monogamous type.”

Mingi’s eyes narrowed.

Jake grinned wider, like he knew he was toeing the line. “No judgment, man. Just… damn. Out of all the girls you used to…” He paused, as if catching himself. “Let’s just say I didn’t think you’d settle.”

“I didn’t,” Mingi said coolly. “I chose her.”

Jake raised both brows. “Touche.”

From behind the bar, Y/N finally turned. Her eyes lit up for a split second when she saw Mingi. But then they flicked to Jake, and some of the warmth faded, replaced with a confused little furrow between her brows.

Mingi didn’t look at her. Not yet.

He kept his focus on Jake, calm and steady, even though his pulse was pounding.

“Didn’t know you were back in the city,” Mingi said casually, voice low.

Jake shrugged. “Just got back. Trying to keep it lowkey. New life, clean slate. You know how it goes.”

Mingi hummed. “Sure.”

But the tension crackled between them like static, and Jake had the nerve to lean forward just slightly, his voice dropping as he added, “Small world, huh? Me working here. You dating her.”

Mingi smiled slowly. Sharp. Empty. “Yeah. Small world.”

Then he turned, finally catching Y/N gaze head on.

Her eyes held questions.

Later, he thought. He just needed to get her alone.

But first?

He needed to get the fuck out of this cafe before he stopped pretending.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The second her break was called, Y/N peeled off her apron, tossed it onto the back hook, and made a beeline for Mingi, who was sitting alone at the two top table near the window, one leg stretched out, his thumb tracing the edge of the condensation on his drink like it had personally offended him.

She slid into the seat across from him, the hum of the espresso machine and quiet cafe chatter filling the space between them.

He didn’t look up right away.

But she could feel the apology radiating off of him.

“I didn’t expect to see you,” she said softly.

“I didn’t expect to see him,” Mingi replied, finally meeting her gaze.

Jake.

The name felt weird on her tongue now. A classmate. A new trainee. Apparently someone who used to hang around Mingi. And based on the tension she’d just witnessed, the kind that practically steamed off Mingi’s shoulders, it wasn’t a friendly reunion.

“I wanted to see you,” he added quickly. “That’s why I came. Just… needed to.”

Y/N blinked at that, a little thrown.

“Oh.”

He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “I should’ve texted first. I didn’t mean to throw off your whole day. Or show up like some guy checking in on his girl during work hours. But this morning…” He trailed off, fingers tapping against the side of his cup. “I didn’t like the way it ended.”

She softened a little. “You mean with you making a deal while I just woke up?”

Mingi flinched. Not visibly. But she saw it, the subtle twitch in his jaw. The sigh he swallowed.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s not how I wanted you to wake up. I should’ve told you. I don’t usually mix… you… with that side of things.”

Y/N heart thumped once. Loud.

That side of things. The parts he still kept separate. The parts she knew existed but hadn’t really seen until this morning. Until she walked in, barefoot in his shirt, and saw him talking to someone like nothing had changed, like she wasn’t still marked up from the night before.

“I get it,” she said carefully. “I do. I just…”

“You don’t want to be some girl in the background of that world.”

Y/N blinked at how easily he’d said it. Like he’d already had the thought. Like he was already scared she would be.

She didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she reached across the table, her fingers curling lightly around his.

“I don’t need to know everything,” she said. “But I want to know you. All of you. Even the parts you don’t think are pretty.”

Mingi stared at their hands.

Then his thumb brushed over hers. “You’re too good for me.”

“That’s not your call to make.”

He looked up, finally, and the tension in his shoulders cracked just a little.

Y/N offered a small smile. “And for the record, Jake?” she added, lowering her voice. “Kind of a weird vibe. What’s the history there?”

Mingi’s mouth twitched like he was biting back so much.

“We used to hang in the same circles,” he said flatly. “Then he got out. Guess he’s trying to pretend the past never happened.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “That the short version?”

Mingi gave a hollow chuckle. “It’s the one that won’t get me banned from your job for threatening a coworker.”

She snorted despite herself.

The tension broke, a little. Enough for him to reach for her again. Enough for her to let him.

But Jake? Jake hadn’t missed the way Mingi looked at her. And Mingi hadn’t missed the flicker of recognition in Jake’s eyes.

And as much as Y/N wanted to believe this was just a coincidence… something told her this wasn’t the last time those two would collide.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The cafe was packed. Loud. Blistering with noise and clattering dishes and the endless churn of orders flying across the counter. The espresso machine was screaming again, and Wooyoung was shouting something about oat milk while Y/N tried to remember how to breathe.

She couldn’t feel her hands.

She hadn’t eaten. Or slept. Not really.

Three papers due. A quiz she was probably failing. An inbox of unread emails blinking at her like an alarm bell. Her dorm was a disaster, her laundry still sitting in the basket from a week ago, and she couldn’t remember the last time she drank water without chasing it with caffeine.

And then there was Mingi.

Not a call. Not a visit. A few texts here and there, “u good?” and “busy tonight” but nothing real. Nothing grounding.

Not after that Jake run in. Not after he said Mingi had a rep for never settling down.

Not after he’d started to feel like a dream that was slipping through her fingers.

Her heart was racing, thudding wildly against her ribs, but everything felt slow, like she was underwater.

“Y/N.” Wooyoung’s voice cut through the noise. “Hey. Look at me.”

She blinked.

Realized she was gripping the counter. Hard.

That the drink she was holding was already half spilled down the front of her apron. That her vision had blurred.

“I can’t,” she gasped, and then it hit, fully. The air got too thick. Her chest seized. The world tilted.

“Okay, okay, babe, hey, it’s alright.” Wooyoung was in front of her in a second, taking the cup from her hands, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You’re okay. You’re okay. Just breathe. With me, okay?”

“I can’t…” Her voice broke. She couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t reel it in. Not now.

Wooyoung guided her toward the back hallway, away from the noise, away from the lights. He crouched with her behind the storage rack, both of them sinking to the floor as she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes.

“Deep breath in,” he murmured. “Come on, baby girl. One, two, three, hold. And out. Just like that.”

“I’m sorry….” Her voice cracked. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me…”

“Stop. Don’t do that.” Wooyoung’s voice was calm but firm. “You’re overwhelmed. You’re running on fumes and fear and student debt and heartbreak lite. It’s okay to fall apart for a second. That’s why I’m here.”

She nodded, shaking, trying to match her breathing to his. In. Out. In. Out.

Across the cafe, behind the counter, Jake leaned against the espresso machine, eyes narrowed, arms crossed. Watching.

Wooyoung had caught Y/N before she collapsed. She hadn’t even realized it, but she’d started to tip.

And Jake just… watched.

His gaze flicked down the hall, then to the front door.

His expression unreadable.

Unsettling.

And curious.

Almost like he was waiting for something.

Or someone.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The room was dim, lit only by a cheap salt lamp on the desk and the glow of fairy lights Ningning had insisted on stringing up at the start of the semester. Her side of the room was empty again, off tangled with her girlfriend somewhere, and Y/N was grateful. She didn’t think she could handle anyone else’s energy tonight.

Except Wooyoung’s.

He was sprawled across her bed like he lived there, hoodie pushed up to his elbows, socks mismatched, eyes half lidded as he watched the smoke curl from between Y/N fingers.

“Dude,” he murmured, voice thick with the weight of the high, “why does your ceiling look like it’s breathing?”

Y/N giggled, the sound surprising even her.

It had been days since she laughed. Really laughed. The kind that made her ribs loosen and her shoulders drop. The kind that didn’t feel borrowed or forced.

“I think,” she said, squinting up at it, “that’s just your brain trying to escape your body.”

Wooyoung pointed at her with lazy admiration. “Poetic. Tragic. Hot.”

She snorted and passed him the blunt, watching him take it with the same casual grace he did everything. They were halfway through their second one, the good one, as he called it, and her anxiety, for the first time in seventy two hours, felt like it was being held underwater.

Not gone. Just… muted. Softened around the edges.

Her limbs felt heavy in the best way. Her thoughts weren’t racing. The knots in her chest weren’t strangling her. She wasn’t spiraling. She was just here, on her bed, in a haze of weed and warm air, staring at the ceiling with her best friend who, even at his most chaotic, made her feel safe.

“Hey, Woo?”

He turned his head to look at her, hair a mess, lips pink from the smoke. “Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“For what?” he asked, eyebrows pulling together.

She shrugged, eyes blinking slow. “For being here. For knowing when I needed to not be alone.”

Wooyoung smiled, soft and crooked. “Always, babe. Ride or die. Except I’d like to not die. So maybe just ride.”

Y/N let out another sleepy laugh and closed her eyes for a second, letting the comfort of his presence soak into her bones.

“I felt like I was gonna explode earlier,” she whispered. “And now it’s just… quiet.”

“That’s the weed,” he teased.

“No,” she said, cracking one eye open. “It’s you too.”

Wooyoung didn’t say anything for a moment. Just handed her the blunt, his fingers brushing hers. Then, with a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, he whispered, “Okay, but if you write a poem about me later, I expect royalties.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled.

And for a little while longer, they laid there, high, warm, safe, and silent.

And Y/N didn’t think about school. Or the cafe. Or Mingi.

Just the glow in her chest and the way, for once, everything didn’t hurt.

They’d burned through most of the second blunt, the ashtray beside Wooyoung filled with little ghosts of stress and frustration. He was halfway through rolling a third, his fingers working expertly even as his head bobbed slightly to the music coming from Y/N laptop.

“You’re gonna get so crossfaded, you’ll start seeing your ex’s soul in the ceiling cracks,” he warned without looking up.

Y/N was giggling again, laying half on, half off the bed, her cheek pressed to the soft throw blanket. “Joke’s on you. I don’t have an ex.”

“That’s worse,” he said, dramatically sprinkling the last of the weed into the paper. “You’re spiritually vulnerable. You’ve got no emotional immune system.”

She was still laughing, about to fire back with something dumb, when…..

Knock knock knock.

Three quick, sharp knocks at her door.

She blinked.

Wooyoung froze mid roll. “If that’s Ningning, tell her I’m confiscating all her fruit snacks.”

Y/N snorted, stood too fast, and nearly tripped over her own legs.

“Jesus,” she muttered, steadying herself on the dresser as she made her way to the door, eyes glassy and body still buzzing with calm.

She unlocked the deadbolt, turned the knob, and pulled it open with a smile still halfway on her face.

And her breath caught.

Mingi.

Leaning against the doorframe like the night owed him something. Hoodie pulled up over his head, chain glinting just below the neckline. He looked off. Not bad, not dangerous. But different. His shoulders were tense. His jaw tight. His eyes….

Wild. Just a little too wide. Just a little too wired.

But his voice?

Soft. Even. Familiar.

“Hey,” he said, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket. “I… needed to see you.”

Y/N blinked, high enough that her heart couldn’t decide whether to race or float.

“Mingi?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, like he was grounding himself on the word. On her.

Behind her, Wooyoung sat up straighter. “Oh.”

Mingi didn’t glance inside, didn’t look past her. Just kept his eyes locked on Y/N like she was the only thing tethering him to earth.

She stepped back automatically. “Come in.”

He did. Silently. A little slower than usual.

Y/N caught Wooyoung’s glance from the bed, half teasing, half concerned, but she just waved it off and shut the door behind Mingi.

He turned once he was inside, standing in the middle of the small room like he didn’t know what to do with himself now that he was there.

Y/N stepped toward him, voice still soft. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said too quickly. “I just… I missed you.”

She blinked up at him, a little disoriented, her buzz tilting oddly now that he was here.

And still, she didn’t hesitate.

She stepped closer.

Put her hands on his chest.

Felt how fast his heart was beating.

“You okay?” she asked again, quieter now.

Mingi exhaled, looked down at her. His expression softened just a fraction. “I am now.”

He didn’t kiss her. Didn’t grab her. Just leaned forward until their foreheads touched and breathed her in like the moment was enough.

And for now, she let it be.

Even if something in her gut whispered this was the kind of storm that came with warning signs.

“Alright,” Wooyoung stretched, letting out a dramatic sigh as he stood, stuffing his lighter into his pocket and swiping the half rolled blunt off the desk. “That’s my cue. Gonna go make Yeosang listen to my playlist and pretend to be impressed.”

Y/N blinked up at him from where she was now curled next to Mingi on the bed, her head still floating somewhere soft and slow. “You sure you don’t wanna stay?”

Wooyoung’s gaze flicked to Mingi, still seated stiffly beside her, eyes unreadable under the shadow of his hoodie.

“I think you’re good,” he said lightly, reaching over to ruffle Y/N hair, then pausing to squeeze her hand gently. “Text me if you need me, okay?”

She smiled, sleepy and sweet. “Always.”

With one last look between them, something edged with more awareness than Y/N registered, Wooyoung was out the door.

The second the door shut behind, Mingi moved.

Fast. Fluid. Like a spring pulled too tight.

His mouth found her neck before she could even sit up, hands sliding under her shirt, pulling her into his lap with an urgency that knocked the breath out of her lungs.

“Mingi…” she started, giggling, trying to get her balance, but he was already pressing against her, mouth hot and open, sucking bruises into her skin like he was starving for her.

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t speak.

Just breathed hard against her collarbone as he yanked her shirt up, shoved it over her head, and tossed it somewhere to the floor.

Y/N laughed again, a little breathless, a little dazed. “God, you missed me that much?”

Her words were light, teasing, but her heart was starting to pick up.

Mingi didn’t answer.

He kissed her instead, hard, bruising, tongue sweeping deep into her mouth like he needed to taste all of her right now. His hands roamed her body without pause, rougher than usual, more desperate, fingertips digging into her thighs, her waist, her ribs.

She gasped when he pushed her back against the mattress, body following hers down like he couldn’t stand the distance for even a second.

Her high made everything swim, thick and dreamy, and for a while she let herself melt under him, let him take, let him claim.

But even through the fog, she could tell, this wasn’t like before.

Not just hungry.

Not just want.

Need. A frantic, wordless need she couldn’t name.

“Mingi…” she whispered as his hands fumbled with her shorts, breath hot and erratic against her chest. “What’s wrong?”

His mouth paused over her heart, jaw clenched.

He didn’t answer.

Just dragged her shorts down her legs like they offended him, like everything between them was a distraction from whatever storm raged in his head.

And then he was on her again, mouth trailing lower, teeth grazing her hip, hands gripping her thighs like if he held her tight enough, whatever haunted him couldn’t follow.

Y/N moaned, head falling back, too high to question the edge in his movements, the way he didn’t stop to ask, to check, to tease. Just took, her scent, her taste, her breath.

He kissed her like she was the last thing tethering him to the world.

And maybe she was.

Because Mingi was hiding something.

Something sharp.

Something raw.

Something bloody.

It was sitting just under the surface, behind his blown pupils and clenched jaw, behind the way he kept his hoodie on, sleeves pushed down like they were hiding sins instead of skin.

But Y/N didn’t know that.

Not yet.

All she knew was the heat of his mouth, the rough drag of his hands, the way he made her forget her name, her stress, her panic from earlier.

He made her feel wanted.

Worshipped.

Claimed.

And somewhere deep inside, under the weed and the warmth and the dizzy ache of his tongue, she told herself, he just missed her. That’s all this was.

And maybe, for now, it was enough.

Y/N didn’t have time to think. Didn’t have the ability to think.

Mingi’s hands were everywhere. Pushing her knees apart, dragging his hoodie off in a rough motion, baring his arms and piercings, the gleam of sweat already shining across his chest. His eyes met hers for a split second, wide, dark, before he kissed her again, swallowing her breath, her name, like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

He stripped her down with frantic fingers, not clumsy, but fast, urgent. His need was so sharp, so heavy it practically bled from his pores. He didn’t undress himself all the way, just enough to push his sweats down to mid thigh, the waistband catching on his thighs as he shoved his boxers out of the way, his dick already hard and flushed, twitching in the open air.

“Mingi” she breathed, dazed, but her voice barely got out before he was on her again, grabbing her thighs and pulling her down the bed until her hips were flush with his.

“No condom,” he rasped, breath ragged, “still okay?”

She nodded, too high to care, too needy to say anything else.

He groaned low and dark in his throat, relief and hunger all tangled together, and then he pressed forward, the head of his dick catching at her entrance before sliding in, inch by inch, stretching her open around him.

“Fuck” he hissed, voice wrecked, eyes fluttering shut for half a second.

Y/N cried out, legs trembling as she gripped his forearms, digging in just to stay there, to stay in this moment, because it was too much and not enough all at once.

And then he was moving.

No teasing. No slow buildup.

Just thrust after thrust, deep and deliberate, his hips slamming into hers like he was trying to outrun something.

Every push of his body into hers sent the headboard rattling gently against the wall. Her back arched, her moans slipping past parted lips like music he couldn’t get enough of.

Mingi held her hips in place, bruising grip, fingers pressing into her skin like he was etching himself into her. His hair stuck to his forehead, his jaw clenched, sweat trickling down the curve of his neck as he fucked her like she was his only salvation.

Every stroke hit deep, unrelenting.

It wasn’t about rhythm, it was about release. About forgetting.

And Y/N… Y/N just took it, half lost in the haze of the blunt, her body pliant, soft, her thighs shaking around his waist. Her nails scraped down his biceps, her breath hot against his neck as she whispered his name like it was the only word she remembered how to say.

“Shit, angel…” he groaned, voice cracking as he thrust into her harder, deeper. “You feel so fucking good…. you always feel so good…fuck”

He pressed his forehead to hers, their breath mingling, and for a split second, something vulnerable flickered in his gaze. But then it was gone, buried under the weight of everything he refused to say.

His thrusts grew sloppier, more frantic.

He was chasing it.

That edge.

That high.

And she was his escape.

His fix.

His fucking lifeline.

She was better than anything he’d ever smoked. Better than the drugs, the money, the rush of a deal gone right.

Y/N was the best goddamn drug he’d ever had.

And he was addicted.

“Mine,” he bit out, thrusting so deep she gasped, her eyes rolling back. “Say it… say you’re mine”

“I’m yours,” she whimpered, barely coherent.

“Again.”

“I’m… fuck…. Mingi, I’m yours”

That did it.

He buried himself inside her one last time, coming with a guttural, desperate moan against her throat. His whole body trembled with it, the weight of everything crashing down, and she clung to him through it, sweaty, shaking, half conscious with overstimulation, her orgasm cresting right after, pulled along by his.

They collapsed together, tangled and breathless.

Mingi didn’t pull out right away.

Didn’t move.

Just held her, his forehead pressed against her shoulder, trying to keep himself together as the high slipped away and the real world crept back in.

The real world, with its danger. Its threats. It’s secrets he hadn’t told her.

But here, in her bed, wrapped around her like she was the only thing that mattered, he could breathe.

Even if it was just for a moment.

Y/N drifted off first.

Still flushed, still buzzing from the high and the afterglow, her breath evened out as she curled into his chest. One leg slung lazily over his hip, her lips parted, skin damp with sweat and sleep.

She looked peaceful.

Safe.

And it made Mingi’s chest ache.

Because she had no idea what kind of storm he’d stepped into.

He stared at the ceiling, eyes wide open in the dark, every muscle taut beneath the softness of her body draped over him. The room was quiet now, only the faint buzz of the city outside, and her soft, steady breathing filling the space.

He hadn’t meant for things to go this far.

Not with her.

Not with them.

But the deal in Busan had gone sideways, fast. He’d trusted the wrong guy, and instead of clean money and clean weight, he ended up with two bricks full of baking soda and a Glock pressed to his jaw in a warehouse by the docks.

He should’ve walked away.

He almost did.

But then the name came up.

Kim Hongjoong.

They called him a ghost. A myth. The kind of man you only meet once, right before your life changes, or ends.

Hongjoong had stepped in with surgical precision. Cleaned up the mess. Paid the debt Mingi suddenly owed without blinking, and made it very clear he expected it repaid.

Not in money. But in loyalty.

And now, Mingi was in. Deeper than he’d ever been. No longer just a low level plug handing out dime bags and good blunts to stressed out college kids.

No. Now he was running bigger drops. Moving weight across city lines. Working for a man who made his old crew look like Girl Scouts.

And he hadn’t told Y/N.

Couldn’t tell her.

Because what was he supposed to say?

“Hey, babe. Sorry I’ve been off. I’m just part of an underground operation now. Hope that doesn’t ruin our whole slow burn sexual healing thing.”

Yeah. No.

She’d look at him with those wide, soft eyes eyes that trusted him, that believed in him, and she’d never look the same again.

Mingi’s jaw clenched, his arm tightening slightly around her waist as if he could hold back the inevitable with just his grip alone.

Because he knew it was only a matter of time.

Eventually, the truth would leak out, maybe not from him, maybe from Jake, or someone else trying to get leverage. Maybe she’d just start to notice things.

The blood on his knuckles.

The strange hours.

The scars he didn’t talk about.

She’d see him for what he really was.

Not her savior.

Not her escape.

Just another fucked up dealer with too many secrets and too much blood on his hands.

Mingi closed his eyes, trying to slow his thoughts. Trying to breathe her in. Trying to remember the feel of her skin and the sound of her voice when she moaned his name like he was the only thing she needed.

Because if he let himself think about the rest, about Hongjoong, about the phone calls in the middle of the night, about San showing up bleeding and breathless and asking for a couch to crash on, he’d spiral.

So he stayed there. Motionless. In her bed. In her peace.

Pretending, just for tonight, that he still had a choice.

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