#I tried to add sarcasm and teasing

[xinganhao]

this love shit sucks! 🎤 chan x reader.

(although he does say, "if we’re still single at thirty…" and doesn’t finish the sentence.) ⸻ ikaw mula noon anniversary series 🎵 pare ko, eraserheads

includes: friendship, romance; mentions of alcohol consumption, drinking buddy!chan, idiots in love, feelings realization/denial

Cocktail Recipe: The One You Call After Midnight

Ingredients:

1 overflowing cup of shared McDonald's fries (cold, soggy, mysteriously comforting, eaten out of the same crumpled paper bag like you're two raccoons in love denial)

2 and a half shots of bottom-shelf tequila (regret optional, bonding inevitable, courage-enhancing in small doses)

1 splash of "remember that time?" nostalgia, aged to perfection

3 heaping tablespoons of mutual exasperation with dating apps and the people who say "I love hiking" unironically

5 a.m. pancake runs (substitute with waffles during emotional emergencies, or hash browns when one of you is "definitely not crying")

A generous dash of your laugh when he's tipsy and trying to flirt with the bartender (badly, tragically, like watching a puppy chase a car)

1 cracked phone screen from a drunken fall, both of you insisting "it still works!" as you use it to take blurry selfies

4.5 late-night heart-to-hearts, stirred, not shaken, spilling over with half-truths and quiet hopes

Half a teaspoon of lingering eye contact that lingers too long to be innocent

A pinch of jealousy when he hears about your date with that guy who wears too much cologne and keeps calling you "babe"

One whole hoodie you "forgot" to return, now infused with your perfume and his growing confusion

1 emergency Uber ride where you fell asleep on his shoulder and he didn’t wake you

A fistful of inside jokes nobody else understands

A drizzle of the way he says your name when he's tipsy and a little too honest

Instructions:

In a dimly lit dive bar, begin with two and a half shots of tequila. Let the burn fuel a flurry of increasingly unhinged stories about failed Bumble dates, including the time you matched with someone who brought their mother to the first date. Laugh until your sides ache and your cheeks hurt, and then laugh some more when he accidentally spills salt all over his lap.

Fold in the McDonald's fries, ideally consumed while sitting on a questionable curb somewhere, his jacket over your shoulders, your eyeliner smudged but your sarcasm sharp as ever. Bonus points if someone honks at you and he flips them off in your honor.

Add the pancake run. This is not just food—this is sacred ritual. Let the syrupy comfort of carbs at ungodly hours soften the sarcasm into something suspiciously affectionate. Watch him butter your pancakes without asking. Pretend not to notice.

Slowly mix in mutual venting over dating apps. Grind in just enough existential dread to bond over, but not so much that you both give up and start a cult. (Although he does say, "If we’re still single at thirty..." and doesn’t finish the sentence.)

Pour in the eye contact. Let it simmer. Make it weird. Let it stretch one second longer than friendly. (He'll notice. You both will. You'll pretend not to.)

Sprinkle in the laughter that always bubbles up when one of you tries to flirt with someone else and fails miserably. Stir gently until the moment turns from teasing to strangely quiet. Add a drop of "I didn’t like seeing you with him" and swirl it around, but don’t speak it out loud.

Let sit overnight. Preferably on his couch, under a shared blanket that neither of you acknowledge. Feet brushing. Breaths syncing. You pretending to be asleep when he tucks a pillow under your head, his fingers brushing your hair for just a second too long.

Reheat the whole mixture the next morning over texts that begin with: "U alive?" and evolve into memes, in-jokes, and that picture of you both with fry grease on your cheeks. Serve alongside a hoodie that you definitely stole on purpose and are wearing as you text him back.

Optional garnish: One cracked phone screen, a symbol of the chaos you both embody. Neither of you has it together, but the fractures make it easier to see each other clearly. The love slips in through the cracks, doesn't it?

Finally, pour everything into a tall glass rimmed with realization and just a hint of fear. Drink slowly. Sip cautiously. Let the flavors settle as he watches you, mid-laugh, bathed in streetlight and absurdity, and thinks: God, I am so fucked.

Serving suggestion: Best enjoyed when you least expect it—possibly during a shared hangover on his couch, wrapped in a blanket that smells like comfort, old fries, and something that might just be love in disguise. May pair well with strong coffee, scrambled eggs, and the possibility of something more.

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[monster-effer]

Autistic reader x LaDS headcanons

Summary: My headcanons on how the LADS men would accommodate an autistic!reader. Content: autism mention, fluff, Sylus x reader, Caleb x reader, Zayne x reader, Rafayel x reader, Xavier x reader (separate), perfectionism, rigid routines, self soothing, food cycles, missing social cues, gn!reader besides gendered word mentioned in Rafayel’s part, no reader pronouns mentioned (1.3k wc) A/N: I picked these autistic traits based on my own lived experience. If you don’t see yourself represented here, I’m always open to requests. For my fellow autistic bbs <3 (Also this was my first time writing for all the LADS men, so I hope I accurately depicted everyone)

Sylus – missing social cues

Sylus first noticed that you struggle with reading between the lines during the brooch hunting debacle. You took Luke and Kieran’s teasing remarks and sarcasm as genuine advice to take him down. And this made him wonder, did you really think he could be conquered with a pair of flimsy ‘Evol sealing’ handcuffs and a ‘tranquilizer gun’?

He was initially concerned about how gullible you seemed for a hunter. Until you grew closer and shared your autism diagnosis with him, along with the many ways it affects you.

Since then, Sylus thwarts the numerous pranking attempts from Luke and Kieran. Explaining afterwards that they were either being sarcastic or purposefully feeding you false information for their own entertainment.

He has Mephisto follow you around to make sure no one tries to take advantage of you.

Sylus would thoroughly explain any social cues that happen to go over your head when you’re attending auctions and other events in the N109 Zone. He amusedly raises an eyebrow when he notices a particularly flirty auction participant trying to get your attention. As you leave the event together Sylus teasingly whispers in your ear. “Trying to replace me already sweetie? I’m hurt.”

He goes on to describe the desperate attempts the auction attendee made to get in your good graces that night. And he can’t hold in his chuckle as he watches the confused look on your face morph into embarrassment. From your perspective, you thought they were just being friendly.

Sylus never looks down on you for missing social cues. He is your number one advocate and will serve as your social cues translator anytime you need him to. Because to him, you are perfect just the way you are.

Caleb – rigid routines

Caleb and you have been around each other since childhood. You have been together through so many struggles, triumphs, and discoveries about yourselves. He is very protective of you, bordering on obsessive. But you are his pipsqueak and he will protect you at all costs.

Since you were kids, he’s noticed that you stick to a very rigid routine:

Morning Wake up around the same time everyday Get ready for 1-2 hours Start off the day with a cup of tea

Night Go to sleep around the same time every night Go through your 5-step skincare routine Relax in bed for at least an hour scrolling on your phone/reading a book

But he wasn't sure why you did this.

Caleb has learned the hard way that if either of your routines get disrupted, it can throw everything off.

During his time as a DAA fighter pilot and now as a colonel, he’s become used to following a rigid routine himself. But he does not feel the same need to stick to these routines.

Caleb was the first person you talked to about your autism diagnosis, besides granny. And since he wants to know everything about you, he made sure to research autism thoroughly after your talk. He made it his mission to find out how to accommodate you properly.

He tries his hardest to help you stick to your routines and not add anything last minute to your day.

He makes sure you are not disturbed when you get ready in the morning or settle down for the night.

He has programmed his OTTO-SHD to restock the bathrooms with your skincare products when you begin to run low.

When he has a break from his colonel duties, he makes sure to call you before you normally begin your nighttime routine. Or if he misses that time window, he’ll text you instead and await your response when you are ready.

No matter what you need from him, he will always have your back. Because you are his and he is yours.

Zayne – struggle with expressing emotions/soothing yourself

You were childhood friends with Zayne, but you lost contact for a while before you reunited as adults.

You don’t even have to mention that you’re autistic to Zayne because he can spot another autistic person from a mile away. (He also has access to all your medical records as your primary care physician.)

As your relationship grows, he notices that you struggle with expressing your emotions and knowing how to deal with them. Especially when you are feeling angry or sad.

He discreetly reaches out to a colleague who specializes in working with autistic children and adults. From their conversations Zayne acquires a handful of methods to support you and encourage self-soothing when you get into an emotional funk.

Some days engaging in parallel play helps. Which usually involves him reading while you play a video game in the same room. Or he’ll cook a meal for you both, while you rot on the couch and watch cute cat videos on your phone.

Other days you want to be alone. Zayne has no problem giving you your space. Most of the time he walks around downtown Linkon on the hunt for some sweet treat to share.

Rarely, you want to be held. At first glance, Zayne may seem like a stoic, cold person, but he is the ultimate softie for you. He will cuddle with you for hours. And once you’ve had your fill, he’ll ask if you want to take a walk outside to get your blood circulating again.

You haven’t explicitly told him about your autism diagnosis, but you don’t feel the need to. Zayne makes you feel seen, and he wholeheartedly accepts you for who you are.

Rafayel – perfectionism

Although Rafayel is an artist, he does not suffer from perfectionism when it comes to his paintings. He lets the paintbrush and whimsy guide him.

When he "accidentally" meets you again, your perfectionism sticks out to him. He recalls you almost crying during a pottery class when you notice a bump on the vase you made that was fresh out of the kiln. Or how you agonize over the most minute details when he convinces you to paint with him.

When you confide in him that you have autism, he listens intently as you explain how it influences you. After you’re done, he's already came up with a plan.

Rafayel begins by getting you to paint more with him and offering reassurance when it doesn’t turn out how you would have liked it to.

He waxes poetic about how making mistakes is just a part of the journey. He digs up recordings of Bob Ross’ Joy in Painting series for you because that painter reframes mistakes as happy accidents.

He is overly dramatic and silly with you while you create art together so he can prevent you from spiraling into perfectionist tendencies.

Once you start to worry less about messing up when you paint, it carries over into other creative activities. Rafayel hopes that this change will eventually bleed into your everyday life as well. Because you are his queen, and he would do anything to make you happy.

Xavier – food cycles/safe foods

It is no secret that Xavier enjoys eating. And luckily you two have that in common.

But the more time you spend together, the more he notices that your eating habits are cyclic.

For weeks you’ll only want chicken nuggets and broccoli, once you get tired of that you’ll switch to wanting hot pot, then you’ll transition into only wanting peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for every meal.

He’s also witnessed you burst into tears over your favorite brand of snack changing their formula or being discontinued.

At first, Xavier was confused. He settled on believing you have strong and long-lasting cravings. But when you told him that you have autism, and explained how it manifests in your life, he leaned fully into accommodating you.

When you two are paired up on a mission together, he hands over your current favorite snack when you have some downtime.

When you are both free, he comes down to your apartment to eat your current favorite meal with you.

He has a collection of stamp cards from the local restaurants you two frequent depending on the current food cycle you’re going through.

Xavier never makes you feel weird about your eating habits, because he will happily eat whatever you want. You are his partner, and he would go through great lengths to help you feel safe and happy.

[10byten]

Last night, I imagined Jaehyun telling everyone just how deeply in love he is with his girlfriend. The way he’d talk about what makes her so special in his eyes, how she’s this perfect mix of chaos and calm that he can’t get enough of. How she’s not just someone he loves—she’s the reason everything makes sense. And that’s it. Just Jaehyun, utterly smitten, trying to put into words what feels impossible to explain.

Jaehyun finally told the guys about you. The way you live in his head, rent-free. The way everything feels a little too quiet when you’re not there. He tried to keep you to himself, but he couldn’t anymore—not when you’re all he thinks about.

-

“Wait, can you say that again?” Mark’s eyes widen like a cartoon character caught mid-thought. The boys are all gathered around the living room table.

Jaehyun had called what they jokingly refer to as an “emergency assembly” to drop the bombshell: there’s someone in his life now, and he’s planning to move in with them. It’s time, apparently, to finally introduce them to his friends.

“I mean, I don’t know, you’ve been hyping this girl up for so long, and we still haven’t seen her. At this point, I’m starting to think she’s a figment of your imagination,” Johnny teases, leaning back in his chair.

“Ha. Ha.” Jaehyun deadpans, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I know I’ve been talking about her for a while, and yeah, none of you have met her yet.”

“And we don’t want to meet her,” Jungwoo says, dramatically crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.

“Don’t listen to him, hyung. We’re dying to meet your ghost girlfriend. Like, is this some ‘Ghost’ movie situation where only you can see her, or is she gonna appear if we summon her with a medium?”

Jaehyun throws a pillow straight at his younger friend’s face.

“She’s real,” he insists, his voice softer near the end as if embarrassed. “I just... didn’t want to share her. I wanted to keep her to myself for a while.”

“Oh, you were scared we’d steal your girl, huh, Jung?” Doyoung smirks.

Jaehyun snorts, shaking his head with a calm confidence. “Not a chance, Kim. She’s not into innocent little boys like you.”

Doyoung pulls a face, his mock outrage making everyone laugh.

“Well, I’m happy for you, man,” Taeyong says sincerely. “We’re all excited to meet her.”

“So, tell us—what’s so amazing about her?” Haechan leans forward, curiosity sparkling in his eyes.

Jaehyun’s gaze drops to the table, a thoughtful look washing over his face. Then his eyes light up, and a soft smile stretches across his lips.

“She has this... effect on me. When she’s not around, it’s like this itch I can’t scratch, and nothing feels right until she’s back. She’s got this way of making everything in my life just... easier. She makes me feel like even the stuff that doesn’t make sense is still okay, like it all fits somehow. Sometimes, it feels like she controls the weather—my weather—and I think maybe she does. At least in my world.”

He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck with a shy laugh. “Honestly, even I start to wonder if she’s a mirage. She must be made of some kind of magic, though, right? Because who else could do that to someone? Every time I’m with her, I feel a little more drunk on her. It’s weird, but I finally get that saying about having someone under your skin.”

The room falls silent. The guys are all staring at him, wide-eyed and stunned.

“And of course,” Jaehyun adds with a sheepish grin, “she’s gorgeous, sweet, sexy, brilliant, and funny.”

Haechan is the first to recover. “Hold up—what happened to the emotionally unavailable, zero-feelings Jaehyun we know? This guy’s a clone. We need to file a missing person report.”

“Shut up, idiot. It’s called being in love,” Yuta says, rolling his eyes. “You might figure that out one day if your brain ever grows up.”

“I know this doesn’t sound like me, but—”

“But it proves you’re really in love,” Yuta cuts in.

Jaehyun blushes and nods, unable to hide his smile.

“So, when do we get to meet this ‘delicious creature’ of yours?” Johnny asks, grinning like he’s not about to let it go.

-

“Hey, love. Where are you?”

You slip off your shoes the moment you walk into the apartment, already eager to see him. When Jaehyun spots you, his face lights up, and the book he was holding is instantly forgotten as he crosses the room to pull you into his arms. He lifts you slightly, and you laugh, wrapping your arms around him.

“Hello, love of my life.”

“Hello, you.” You kiss him softly.

“How was your day?” he asks, just like he always does.

“Intense. And yours?” you murmur, your fingers threading through his hair.

“Long without you. Fun with the guys,” he says, stealing a quick kiss.

“Oh yeah? What did you guys do?”

He looks at you deeply, his eyes full of warmth. “Talked. About stuff. About you.”

You tilt your head, feeling a mix of flattery and slight embarrassment.

“They’re coming for dinner tomorrow,” he says casually, brushing his lips against your cheek. “To finally meet you. Is that okay?”

“I’m okay with anything that involves you or the people you care about,” you reply between kisses.

Jaehyun groans softly against your lips. “You have to be unreal. Always saying the perfect thing.”

“Then I guess this is one beautiful illusion we’re living together.”

“It definitely is. babe”

-

Part 2

[kpopscruggles]

My Little Whiney Bitch

yeah...idontknowwhatcameoverme

Just needed to spill, antoher 1200 word

Warnings - humiliation, unsafe sex, degrading, marking, hair pulling, pussy slapping, overstimulation, cocky heeseung fr

Obv bathroom bitch gave me inspo cause the song is fire

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Meet me in the bathroom” My heart burst out of my chest when Heeseung whispered this in my ear. I wasn’t gonna pass up the opportunity at all. Knowing none of the people from the group would notice we were gone I had no worries about arriving at the bathroom door. Giving a little knock I seen a smirk on his face. God he was so hot. 

Pulling me into the bathroom, I gasped slightly soon, feeling my body hit the counter. Taking a deep breath I accepted his kiss, a moan leaving me as I felt his hands rushing to scale down my body and lifting the jean skirt. Smirking against my lips knowing I had no panties on, and my bare pussy exposed. “No panties? Fuck I can’t wait to fill you” he groaned before holding my jaw, his tongue swirling circles around before pulling into one last kiss. 

 Feeling him turn me around, I leaned forward, growing flushed seeing my swollen lips and slightly droopy eyes in my reflection. “Don't you look so cute~” he smiled before kissing my shoulder as I heard him fall to his knees. My cunt gushing at the anticipation of his mouth of me. Feeling my clit tremble, my hole tightening around nothing. I needed him so badly. 

Once his tongue ran up my slit causing a gasp to leave me as I tried to squeeze my legs shut but it failed. Keeping my legs wide open and to hear him chuckle “So depressing how much you're trembling~ are you gonna cry baby?” Pushing a finger in me, my tear ducts grow wet at my cunt. He was right, I was so needy for him, I was a trembling crybaby begging for me. It was embarrassingly pitiful.  

“Let’s add another.” he chuckled before adding another finger and pushing them deeper. Wiggling my hips a little I gripped the sink as his finger hit my spot “Heeseung~.” Lips attaching back to my clit didn’t help either “Such a sweet pussy~ shows how much you need me~ pathetic isn’t it?.’ I didn't answer causing him to chuckle once again. Letting out whine I felt him remove his fingers before a sting formed on my cunt as he slapped it “Don’t you think it’s pathetic” He smirked. 

I nodded “V-very~ I’m embarrassed...” I admitted before feeling my eyes water, my vision going blurry for a moment before I finally blinked letting the tear fall. Watching him wipe the little bit of mascara he chuckled “Don’t worry, you'll be cumming soon” he whispered. I loved when he treated me like this, it was embarrassing but ran such a shiver up my spine when I knew I would walk back to our friend group, and they would know I got treated like the cum dump I was. Biting my bottom lip, I nodded at him. I let him know I wanted it, I craved it.  

Moving to my side I began unzipping his jeans, still letting out whimpers feeling him nibble and bruise my skin once kissing my neck. Letting the jeans fall I watched his cock twitch slightly through the briefs he wore. My body shivered once again as I pulled them down watching his cock come free. His pretty cock, tracing my finger over the veins and up to the sensitive pink tip. His leaving him as I slowly pumped him, watching the bead of precum form.  

Watching his swipe the bit of precum then bring it up to my lips I licked it clean, pulling his finger away he then smeared my lip gloss, a smile on his lips. Pulling me into one last kiss I felt him soon lick the little bit of smeared gloss off my chin “Bubblegum? Cute...” Looking into his eyes I smiled seeing him smile before positioning myself back on the counter. A chuckle leaving him “Oh? I can fuck you now?” he teased with sarcasm in his tone. I nodded back, as if he were not going to fuck me anyways... 

I whimper left me feeling his cock push past my folds, bottoming out, my cervix kissing his tip. A tug at my hair causing my back to arch more as his other hand hooked into my mouth, “AH!” was all that was vocal feeling him pull away and slam back in again. His thrusts starting a rhythm as he abused my cunt. “Is this what you wanted? Hmm? You want me to fuck you like this! Ugh~ so you can let everyone know you like the humiliation of being my c-ock sleeve!.” I nodded, looking in the mirror as I clenched around him seeing his face fucked out because of my cunt and how obedient I was to him. 

Tears spilling from my eyes, finally falling back onto the counter as his hands moved to my back, digging his nails in my skin before leaning forward. I felt his chest heave against my back and his groans in my ear “I’m gonna cum~!” I cried before watching him nod to the mirror. The small whispers as he told me to my release ‘Go on baby~ make a mess on my cock.... you can do it~ please baby I want it so bad- shit~.” My eyes rolled back before they squeezed shut, my stomach dropping, thighs trembling, before reaching back and pulling at his hair to calm myself “Fuck fuck Fuck!.” 

“Oh~ good girl, you can do it again!” he spat. Keeping my back against his chest he pulled me off the sink, his hand reaching over to grip my jaw as the other one pinched my nipple. I whined feeling the overstimulation hit as his cock ran in and out. Each vein, inch, every thrust he made sending me over the edge. My grip on his hair somehow managed to get tighter as he picked up his pace a little. I knew it was not going to be long till I came again.  

Watching my legs, still spread just enough to see his cock covered in me cum as it ran in and out of me. “Give me one more baby~ then I-I'll give you all my cum..I know you want it.” Fuck, I really did, I needed to leave this bathroom with him cum leaving me. My thoughts causing an adrenaline rush at the thought of his cum deep inside me with how much cum he would give me. I felt my cunt tighten and I knew I was gonna cum again.  

“Right there! Deeper please!” I cried and felt him go deeper just like I asked. I yelped before feeling my release and his thrust slow down. “Fuck I-m gonna fill you so good~ Just like you. Fucking. Deserve!” he groaned between each thrust and before I knew it, I was filled to the brim with his warm cum. His cock twitching uncontrollably and he gripped my breasts to steady himself, hissing in pain at the tight grip in that exact moment. A satisfied smile evident on my face as he kissed my head “Good girl~” 

Whining as he pulled away, I soon felt the warm liquid ooze out my cunt and down my leg. Feeling him wipe it up I immediately took it in my mouth. Sucking on his fingers and moaning at the taste. A smile on his face he pulled away and gave me a kiss “Let’s get dressed hmm?then I’ll get us to the car” he chuckled before helping me put my skirt on.  

[tiyawnyana]

Heyy! I'd like to request Viktor x f!reader, an academic rivals sort of thing. Lots of bickering, teasing and all that. I really love the concept, and I've read every fic I found like this, but I'd love to see it in your style!

So the reader is really frustrated, and they are arguing, lots of tension yk, then she accidentally confesses to liking him/finding him really attractive, so she turns all flustered and tries to deny it, aaand I'll leave the rest to you, maybe it could be smut? With a bit of dom Viktor, hehee

Thank you so much<33

Thank you for your request and patience!!! Loved envisioning Viktor in this 🥴

A/N: i had the woooorst hangover new years day oh my goodness

Characters: Viktor x Fem!Reader

Warnings: rivals to 'lovers', tension, dom!Viktor, teasing, praise (use of good girl), fingering, slight oral (f receiving), maybe a little ooc but I picture Viktor as a teaser

MINORS DNI

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—

In Piltover's esteemed engineering college, there were always self-proclaimed rivals in academics.

You stand in the entry hall, glaring up at the scoreboard for the most recent exams.

Your name was placed second.

Second to Viktor. An honorary student from the lower streets of Zaun. To be fair- he had clawed his way to where he was now. That much you could respect.

But come on. Really?

You were practically born reading, studying, bleeding engineering. This was your calling.

How was he able to score better than you? There's no way.

The sound of a metallic cane hitting the ground echoes in the hallway before stopping beside you.

You sigh, gritting your teeth.

A low chuckle can be heard,”Nice score,” the voice speaks smoothly, rolling the ‘r’ and looking your way.

You exhale angrily through your nose,”Oh, shut up.”

A mock look of surrender crosses his face as he raises his hands, cane hooked on his forearm as you cast a scathing look his way.

“Hostile, hm?” He smirks at you and you shove down the fester of butterflies swarming your belly.

With a scowl and a scoff, you turn and stalk off.

His pleased snicker can be heard, sending a jolt of anger up your spine.

The annual engineering designs contest was creeping up.

You were practically vibrating from excitement, having finally finished your own project weeks in advance.

In between that time there were seemingly countless exams that you had to cram study sessions in for.

As usual, it was a back and forth with a certain Zaunite for who claimed first place.

Frustration brewed in your belly, festering over time into something more aggressive.

The day of the Engineering contest was a huge success.

You had cleared your mind of all unease and submitted your invention, pleased with the professor's reactions along with your peers.

“Quite impressive, I will admit,” that accented voice sends a chill up your spine, and you turn to see Victor smirking at you and your invention.

”Sarcasm, how delightful,” you scoff.

“Not sarcasm,” he clicks his tongue, moving past you to peer down at your entry,”Interesting design- can’t help but notice its similarities to the early engineering of Piltover creations.”

You tense slightly, surprised,”What of it?”

He shrugs, a playful smirk on his lips,”Have you seen my invention yet?”

You narrow your gaze,”No, I have not-“

He keeps his smirk on his lips as he tilts his head towards where his invention is being admired. By many, you should add.

Even the Dean.

Hot, boiling jealousy brews in your gut.

You ended up storming out of the halls, needing to calm down.

You find solace in one of your favorite classes, Professor Daughtry’s room. Pacing back and forth, you attempt to calm down; looking at chemical compounds written on the chalkboard to formula’s on posters to distract yourself.

You’d worked so hard, going over seemingly countless versions of your invention in hopes to get the Dean’s approval and favor. With your parents breathing down your neck and now this overwhelming pressure to be the best- you couldn’t seem to calm down.

You hear someone approaching the room, door ajar.

“Sorry, can I please be left alone?” You mutter the most respectful way you can.

“This is a common area,” of course, it’s him and his stupid accent.

The hairs on your arm bristle up as you turn to glare at him.

He mockingly raises his hands in surrender, a small smirk on his lips. He walks in, allowing the door to slide closed behind him.

“Viktor- the door!” You yell but it’s too late. The automatic lock can be heard.

Professor Daughtry had it installed when one too many students snuck into his class to fool around.

“You- you imbecile!” You groan, crossing the room to try to pry the door open.

“Wiggling the doorknob isn’t going to unlock it,” he teases.

You whip around to glare, finding him already lounging against one of the tables by the front of the classroom.

“Oh- will you just- just shut up!” You scowl, glaring at him.

“Feisty,” he smirks, raising his hands again in mock surrender,”What did I do to get on your bad side, hm?”

You roll your eyes, huffing in annoyance. Your forehead comes to rest on the door, willing it to unlock.

Of course Professor Daughtry has an automatic lock, you think silently with an eye roll.

“Well?” Viktor hums, sitting against one of the desks.

You scoff,”What haven't you done?”

“Oh? There's more than one?” He smirks and you find annoyance in the butterflies that swarm everywhere inside you.

You narrow your gaze as you look at him fully, taking in his relaxed state.

Curse him to look so good in the Zaun colors. Curse him to have such a gorgeous set of golden brown eyes.

Curse him to be blessed with such a face.

Curse him, Curse him, Curse him.

“I was born to be a top engineer,” you scowl,”And you just come waltzing in being a know it all-”

“Sorry that I too, was born to be an engineer-” he looks bewildered, rolling his eyes.

“Shut up! This is my entire life-”

“It's my entire life, too! What are you going to do- sell off new inventions to the highest bidder?”

You glare at him,”What of it? Profit gets more creations made, all in the name of progress for-”

“For Piltover, right?” He huffs out a sarcastic laugh,”None of it for Zaun?”

You look at him in surprise, eyebrows shot up.

He smirks at you, but it's not the one you've found yourself liking,”Of course not. I am here in the name of Zaun, princess. Everything I do and create is in hopes that Topside will see that Zaun is capable of great things.”

“I never said-”

“You didn't have to, it's written on your face!” He shouts, pointing his cane towards you,”I see the way you glare, your judgement is based solely on the fact that I am from Zaun.”

“I'm not- glaring because of that!” You huff angrily, taking one step closer.

“Then why, huh? I’m scum to you? Filth from the undercity?” He steps closer too, cane hitting the marble flooring with a clack.

“You’re hot- you stupid-“ You cover your mouth instantly, face warming in embarrassment.

He stands still, eyes wide as he looks down at you in surprise before his mouth lifts in a smirk, an exhaled laugh leaving his now parted lips.

“That’s not- I-“ You stammer, backing up to the door and turning to tug on the knob while simultaneously hoping the floor beneath you would swallow you whole, saving you from this mess.

You rest your forehead against the door again, the cool varnish on the wood a contrast against the warmth in your face.

You hear his cane clacking against the floor as he steps closer before you feel him lightly hit the back of your ankle.

“Stop it-“

He huffs out a laugh that sends a shiver down your spine. You lift your head from the door, side eyeing him and that stupid smirk.

“So.. if I heard this correctly-“

”Ugh.. shut up,” you groan, clenching your eyes shut in pure mortified fashion.

He hits the back of your ankle again, taking delight in your embarrassment.

”You’ve been glaring and being a sour princess because you..” He takes a step closer,”Find me attractive?”

His cane is used to box you in against the door and you warily turn around to face him and the stupidity of your unfiltered mouth.

“No- that’s not-“ You try to deny but you’re shut up when he just smirks down at you, stepping closer.

“Oh? Well.. if that’s not the case, that’s too bad, then..” his voice is now bordering a sultry, seductive tone.

Your eyebrows scrunch, your confusion obvious on your face,”How- how so?”

He quirks a brow at your curiosity, a grin overtaking the smirk. He takes a moment, seemingly deciding if he wants to keep teasing you or just be out with it.

He deliberately lets his gaze trail down your front, tracing every detail, taking in every ripple of the university's uniform. He brings his gaze back up to your face, lingering over your lips.

He quirks up an eyebrow, waiting.

You inhale sharply, cheeks warming even more so, coming to the blatantly obvious realization that he was openly checking you out.

There’s a long pause, followed by him taking a few steps back to lean against the teachers desk. He rests his cane against the side, looking back at you before beckoning you with a quirk of his fingers.

It’s like a command you’d been praying for- you step forward so quick, hands coming up to cup his gorgeously sculpted face before you’re tugging him down to meet your kiss, clumsy at first but desperation obvious.

He’s just as desperate, hands pawing down the back of your vest, cupping around your waist firmly.

You release a shaky moan against his lips, leaning into him as he takes charge of the kiss, licking at the seam of your lips and invading your mouth. One of his hands come back up to cup the side of your jaw, tilting your head back.

You brace yourself, palms pressing down on either side of him on the desk, only to jump and pull back at the loud clang of his cane hitting the floor.

He huffs out a soft laugh, cupping your cheek again and tugging you back in, tongue pressing into your mouth.

“Mmph-“ You moan against him, pawing down his front before carefully unbuttoning the top buttons of his vest.

“Eager, are we?” He says once he pulls back from the kiss, lips now slightly red.

“Shut up-“ You huff in annoyance, but you’re stopped when he grabs your wrists.

“That’s not very nice.. is it?” He hums, eyes darkened with lust as he gazes down at you.

Your cheeks flush, swallowing thickly before rasping a soft,”Sorry-“

”Sorry for what?”

You’re surprised even more so, mouth agape in confusion.

“You must be so used to always getting what you wanted, hm?” He gently but firmly cups your chin, tugging you closer, teasingly brushing his lips against yours,”What are you sorry for, Princess?”

You chase, but he holds you firmly, ensuring you’re not able to get what you want. You whine softly, pleadingly looking up at him but he remains stoic, now, a disappointed look in his eyes.

You swallow thickly,”I’m- uh.. I’m sorry for telling you to shut up-“

”Very good,” He praises, and your thighs clench beneath the long skirt of your uniform.

He grabs your chin, tugging you back in for another heated kiss before pulling back to unbutton your vest. You get the message, unbuttoning his as well and helping him out of it before shrugging yours off.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs in praise as he helps unbutton your shirt, sliding it down your shoulders, his hands gently tracing down your arms, goosebumps following soon after.

You shake it off, cheeks flushed as you undo his tie and unbutton the first few buttons of his dress shirt, but leaving it on to admire his disheveled look.

“Enjoying the view?” He teases, beckoning you back in.

You roll your eyes but follow his call, sighing with bliss when he cups the side of your neck, fingers lacing into your hair to tilt your head to press kisses down your throat.

His touch sends heat through your body, your thighs tense beneath your skirt. You inhale sharply as his fingers unhook the back of your bra, carefully slipping the straps down your shoulders- your nipples harden in the cool air and it's almost like you can see his gaze darken.

His touch is careful, moving his hand from your hip up, up over your ribs to cup the underside of your breast and thumb over your hardened nipple.

He huffs softly,”To think- all this strife and annoyance could've been avoided..” He smirks and pinches your nipple, reveling in your soft yelp,”If we would’ve talked sooner..”

“Please,” you rasp softly, hands fumbling as you grip over his ribs, pawing at lean muscle and soft skin.

“Oh? Begging sounds so nice coming from your lips,” he praises softly.

You huff, leaning in to chase his mouth but he just chuckles at your eagerness, burrowing his fingers into your hair and tugging just right, a whimper escaping your throat.

“Please, what, princess?” He coos, tilting his head and giving you a lust filled look in his honey brown eyes.

You struggle to form words, licking your lips before finally managing to beg,”Touch me-“

“You’ve got to be specific, gorgeous, how am I supposed to know where?” He firmly cups your tit, nipple hard in his palm,”Here? Or..”

His knee suddenly presses between your legs, grinding into your clothed cunt.

“Mmmph- Oh, ahh-“ you whine, eyes fluttering.

“I’m almost tempted to make you get off like this, Princess,” He smirks, kissing your temple almost fondly, feeling immensely intimate,”But.. I’m not cruel.”

He disconnects from you, sliding over to the teachers chair as he uses the desk for stability, before beckoning you over and again, under his spell, you follow without hesitation.

He grips your hips, pushing you back against the desk and guiding one leg up onto the arm of the chair he sits in. He kisses the inside of your knee and you inhale shakily, stabilizing yourself against the desk with a white knuckled grip over the edge. His hands bring your skirt up, bunching up around your waist as he ushers you to lay against the desk.

He whistles teasingly, eyes lighting up as he sees the mess of wetness between your legs,”I haven’t even started, princess..”

“Don’t- don’t tease me,” you murmur in embarrassment, averting your gaze as warmth covers your cheeks.

“But you’re so fun to tease,” he coos, bringing the chair closer to kiss your inner thigh,”Take them off for me?”

You narrow your gaze, only to stop when he raises his eyebrow. Despite the embarrassment, it seems your need for him outweighs it, so you carefully shimmy your underwear off, not missing that he grabs them and stuffs them into his pocket- when you also spot his tented trousers.

“Spread them,” he taps your thighs.

You listen. Of course you do, almost like you were hypnotized by his voice and he can’t help the smirk almost permanently etched into his lips.

“Good girl,” he praises, petting your outer thighs and pressing a soft kiss to the soft skin inside, lingering as he groans from your scent.

He trails his hand up your other thigh, spreading you further before his thumb brushes over your swollen clit.

You squeak, releasing a shaky moan when he grins and rubs his thumb over it softly, not enough to get you off but enough to have you needy and whimpering for more.

“So greedy,” he murmurs against the skin of your inner thigh.

“Viktor- please,” you beg, gripping the edge of the desk with a pleading look in your eyes.

He chuckles, but decides to not tease, instead choosing to spread your folds with a pleased groan at the slick glistening on your cunt. He prods, allowing your slick to wet his fingers before looking up at you.

“Tell me to stop whenever, ok, Princess?”

You nod shakily, warmth gathering in your chest.

“Use your words, now..”

”Yes- I will, Viktor,” you stammer softly, chest heaving at his command.

He nods his approval, carefully pressing his pointer finger into your heat, groaning at the vice-like grip he’s greeted with. You open up so beautifully for him, gummy walls welcoming him almost greedily.

You huff, whining softly before slumping against the desk with a squirm of your hips, almost trying to pull him in more.

He pulls his finger back, then presses back in more, up to his knuckle, getting you used to the stretch. He listens to your soft, airy moans with a satisfied grin.

He presses another finger in, curling both upwards and gently pulling back just to press in harder, other hand holding you down flat against your stomach, thumb rubbing over your clit with precision.

Of course he’s a natural, you think to yourself with a huff before a moan is almost punched out of you as the pads of his fingers press something inside of you. You lift your head, dazed, as you peer at him only to groan at the self satisfied smirk on his mouth.

He sucks a mark into your thigh, speeding up his fingers and thumb, listening to you moan louder and longer, babbling nonsense and repeated pleads.

“Please- oh, don’t stop-“ You beg, head shaking back and forth against the desk.

“You sound so good, all desperate,” he coos, thrusting his fingers into you faster gradually,”Makes me wonder how you’ll feel riding me.”

You moan out loud at the imagery, your walls tighten up around his fingers and he groans, nipping into your thigh.

He keeps at it, grinding his fingers into you faster and harder as you gasp, whine and squirm against the desk. You babble, tears of pleasure pricking your eyes as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to that crest.

“Please- please, oh-“ you moan, back arching into his hands.

“You’ve been so good for me,” he praises,”I think you deserve a treat.”

He removes his thumb from your clit and you almost groan angrily only to yelp in pleasure as his mouth seals over the sensitive bud. He flicks his tongue over it, circling and sucking until you shriek out a moan, sure to have echoed around the empty class as you find your release.

After the mind numbing orgasm, followed by him licking your slick from your folds and his fingers, he pats the outside of your thigh to get your attention.

“C’mon, princess,” he coos.

You tiredly sit up from the desk, peering down at him as he sits back with a cocky smirk.

He points to a button on the inside of the desk,”Did you know that I was the one that installed the new locks to Professor Daughtry’s class? He requested that a secret button be placed on his desk that only he should know about- to unlock it, of course,” He tilts his head,”Sure, there’s a key that he carries, but there are perks to being one of the students he likes.."

He lifts a lone key after grabbing it from his pocket.

You raise your brow in confusion.

“We won’t be bothered at all,” he smirks, a lustful glint in his gaze as he scoots that chair back with his good leg before unbuckling his belt. He taps the floor with his foot,”Show me what else your mouth is good for.”

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—

A/N: got some more im working on!!

[hunnysahara]

˗ˏˋ 𝒲𝒽𝓎’𝒹 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒪𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝒞𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝑀𝑒 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝒴𝑜𝓊’𝓇𝑒 𝐻𝒾𝑔𝒽? ˎˊ˗

Hamzah x fem!reader

It's harder and harder to get you to listen, more I get through the gears. Incapable of making alright decisions and having bad ideas.

Premise: Your ex friends with benefits calls you in the middle of the night and you know before you answer why he’s ringing you.

CW: cannabis usage / suggestive / crude + sexual language

WC: 2.6k

The soft glow of your phone screen fractures the darkness like a sliver of unwelcome light, casting long shadows across the room. It's the dead of night when the world holds its breath in a hush, yet here you are, wide-eyed, heart knocking gently against your ribs. You had been unpleasantly woken from your sleep by the sound of your phone vibrating itself off your bedside table.

Hamzah's name lingers on your screen. The messages spill one after another, frantic and garbled, like a stream you can't dam—misspelled words, scattered thoughts like he had thrown scrabble tiles together to form texts.

You aren't even able to fully read one message before it's replaced with another. You throw your phone down beside you on your bed, running your hands down your face and grumbling. It had been months since you heard from Hamzah.

The two of you had a very casual friend-with-benefits relationship though you took the initiative to end it when there was a landslide shift and the unceremonious hookups turned into mumbled confessions against your neck. It was too intimate, it breached the contract the two of you initially agreed on.

Though here he was, blowing up your phone like he would die without another word from you.

The phone buzzes again, his caller ID taking over the screen of your phone. You groan, your thumb hovering over the screen, debating whether to answer just to tell him to stop, to leave you alone. Maybe then, maybe if you hear the slur in his voice, the edge of something broken and far away, he'll finally understand that you're not his to call anymore.

The phone lights up again, and this time, you answer.

"Hamzah, stop."

"I knew you'd pick up," His words are thick like velvet, his voice groggy and coarse.

"Why are you calling me?" You ask, voice sharp like a bullet through skin.

"I just wanna hear your voice," On the other end, you can practically hear the smile in his voice. The way the words drowsily fall from his lips brings you to one conclusion.

"You're high?"

"Perchance," He takes a sharp inhale. After a moment of virtual silence, he giggles and coughs eventually settling down "Fine, you caught me. I'm very high."

"What do you want?"

"Why are you being so mean? I just wanted to say hi," There's a hint of playfulness in his voice and you can imagine him sprawled out in bed, hair a mess and glassy eyes half drawn.

Your head throbs as he jumps from one half-finished thought to another, rambling through memories like they're fresh scabs he needs to pick at, unravelling every thread you've tried so hard to tie up neatly. "Maybe I'm being mean because you called me at three AM."

"Yeah, that's kinda annoying," He laughs to himself. His voice filters through the phone, slick with an edge of playfulness that sends a ripple of irritation through you. "It's been too long since I've seen you," Hamzah says, drawing out the word in a lazy, teasing way that always used to make you laugh. But tonight, it feels grating like sand paper against your skull.

"Not long enough." You press the phone tighter to your ear, walking barefoot across the cold floor to the kitchen. The hardwood creaks under your steps, and the cool air feels sharp against your skin.

"Oh, how you hurt me," He adds a tinge of melodrama to his sarcasm.

"Hamzah," you sigh, but he barely gives you a second to speak.

"Did I wake you up?" He pauses to take a breath and you can hear the blunt crackling, and paper shuffling in the background.

"Yeah, you did."

"My bad, my bad-" He coughs again "What are you wearing? Is it that Grateful Dead shirt that hangs off your shoulder?"

You look down at your pyjamas, you were in fact wearing the Grateful Dead that hung off your shoulder and draped past your hips. "No." You lie through your teeth.

"Damn," He mutters before his brain hooks on another ramble "Remember that time—God, you were wearing that little white sundress, you remember?—and we went to that park with the swings? You kept pretending you were too good to be on a swing, but you ended up laughing like a kid when I pushed you too high."

You roll your eyes, frustration simmering beneath the surface. His tone is light, and flirtatious, like he's trying to conjure up a nostalgia that never quite sat right with you. The kitchen light flickers to life as you reach for a glass, the soft hum of the fridge barely audible over his rambling.

"Hamzah," you cut in, more firmly this time, holding the phone between your ear and shoulder as you twist the tap open. The sound of water hitting the glass is oddly soothing, something real and grounded amidst the chaos of his voice. "You're not making any sense."

"No, I think I'm making sense. You just don't wanna admit it." There's a slurred chuckle on the other end. "Come on, don't be like that. I know you're smiling right now. You miss this."

You can practically hear the smirk in his voice, and it makes your skin crawl. You take a sip of water, trying to quench the heat building in your chest. He always does this—twisting every conversation into something flirtatious, something playful.

"I'm not smiling, I’m frowning if anything," you reply flatly, setting the glass down with a little more force than necessary. "And you really need to stop calling me in the middle of the night. This isn't funny."

"But it's not the same during the day," he says with a laugh that feels too close, too familiar. "Night's that thing in that one song- made for saying things you can't say another day," He paraphrases poorly. His voice lowers, taking on that soft, honeyed tone he used to use when he wanted to get his way. 

Your jaw tightens as you lean against the counter, fingers tapping impatiently against the cold surface. He's pushing, and it's infuriating how easily he slips back into this—this game of his, like he can flirt his way out of the chaos he's caused.

"Hamzah, I don't have time for this. You're high. Again."

"And you're still talking to me, aren't you?" he teases, his voice laced with a kind of smug satisfaction. "You didn't have to answer. Y'know there's this magical button on your phone that makes it so I can't message you? I think that you want to talk to me."

The audacity in his tone sends a spark of anger through you, your fingers curling around the edge of the counter. He always knows how to toe the line, to keep you teetering between frustration and the pull of something that's sweet on your tongue but now feels like quicksand.

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm. "Hamzah, I'm not doing this. You need to hang up and sleep this off."

There's a pause, and for a second, you think he's going to listen. But then he chuckles softly, voice dripping with mischief.

"You're so hot when you're mad at me."

You nearly groan aloud, the exhaustion catching up with you in waves. This is pointless. You've been here before, hearing the same lines, feeling the same tired tug of emotions you've long since buried. But there's a part of you—a small, quiet part—that almost misses this, misses the ease with which he used to reel you in. And that's what makes it worse.

"Hamzah," you start, your voice sharper now, "go to sleep. Seriously."

"What if I told you that I really missed you?" He adds like it sweetens the deal. 

"I would tell you that I don't care."

"When did you turn so cold on me?" 

You pause, the phone still pressed against your ear. "Hamzah," you mutter, exasperation thick in your voice. The glass of water in your hand feels heavy, like a tether pulling you back into his orbit, even as you stand there in the dim kitchen, staring out at the quiet darkness outside the window.

"Just hear me out," he says, voice too smooth for someone who's supposed to be slurring. "I think me and you should do something together."

You don't answer, your hand moving on autopilot as you rinse the glass and set it down in the sink. There was always a certain ease between you and Hamzah, but that was before it got complicated, before the lines blurred. You clench your jaw, stepping away from the kitchen and into the hall, eyes scanning the house for some chore to distract you, to keep your mind from wandering back to those nights.

"Come on," he continues, undeterred. "I know you heard me."

You sigh, frustration buzzing beneath your skin, but your feet carry you to the living room where a few stray magazines and an old blanket still sit crumpled on the couch. Might as well tidy up while he babbles. Maybe if you let him talk himself out, he'll fall asleep or something. You grab the blanket, folding it with quick, jerky movements as he keeps talking.

"Can I come over?" He asks abruptly.

"No?" You furrow your eyebrows "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Damn, I really thought that would work."

As you sit down at the kitchen table, leaning your head into your hand, you notice the faint hum of traffic coming through the phone—tires on wet pavement, the distant growl of an engine passing by. Your brow furrows and a flicker of concern sparks through your irritation.

"Where are you, Hamzah?" you ask, voice sharper than you intended. It's late, and the sound of traffic at this hour doesn't fit into the picture of him sprawled out in bed, half-asleep and rambling, like you'd assumed.

"Why do you want to know?"

"So you don't show up at my house."

He chuckles to himself "Why on earth would I do that?"

"Maybe because you're obsessed with me?"

"I'm not- no, yeah. I am obsessed with you." There it was, the confidence that he so lacked when he was sober. With the help of cannabis, his tongue was as loose as his morals.

You press your lips together, gaze flicking toward the window, though the night outside your house is still and quiet, completely unlike the soundscape on the other end of the line. You disregard his admission "So, where are you?"

"I'm... walking. Clearing my head or whatever."

Your chest tightens, frustration mixing with a flicker of something you wish wasn't there—worry. "Walking where?" you press, though part of you already knows he's not going to give you a straight answer.

"Just around. Nowhere dangerous, alright? You don't have to freak out." He tries to sound nonchalant, but there's an edge to his voice that betrays him. 

"Hamzah, you shouldn't be out right now. It's late, and you're—" You pause, choosing your words carefully. "You're not in the best headspace to be wandering around." You're caught between the urge to scream at him or call Martin to pick him up and haul him home.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine," he cuts in, that cocky smile returning to his voice. "I'm always fine, babe. You worry too much."

You want to hang up, to cut the thread between you and the mess that is Hamzah, but the thought of him alone, on some random street at this hour, makes it hard to press the button. "Go home," you say softly, barely above a whisper.

"Stay on the phone with me a little longer, alright? I'm almost home anyway," Hamzah pleads, voice taking on that boyish, playful tone you've heard too many times.

You rub your temples, eyes drifting toward the clock on the wall. It's well into the night, and here you are, listening to him stumble through whatever story he's trying to spin. "You always say that," you mutter. "But somehow, you're always ten minutes from home."

"Hey, it's not my fault time slows down when I'm talking to you," he says with a sly grin you can practically hear. "Like, relativity or something. I saw that in the Spider-Verse movie."

You roll your eyes, walking back toward the kitchen to grab another glass of water, your mouth feeling particularly dry. "You would know."

"Didn't we see that together when it came out?" He asks to no answer. "We should watch it again."

"I don't think so," You lean against the counter, cradling your glass as his words wash over you.

"I want to see you, I like the way you laugh," He humbles "That's why I was such a goof around you. I didn't mind embarrassing myself because it made you smile and god- that smile..."

 "I don't really care what you want."

Hamzah lets out a low whistle "And yet, here you are," he shoots back quickly. "Still on the phone. Ah- I got you there."

You lean back against the counter, the weight of his words sinking in. He's right, of course. You're still here, still wrapped up in this bizarre late-night conversation, still listening as he spirals through his endless stream of nonsense. There's an odd comfort in the banter, as much as you hate yourself for it, there's safety in the familiarity.

"Yeah, yeah," you say finally, shaking your head. "You know how to run your mouth. That's about the only thing you're good at."

"Hey, don't forget I'm a man of many talents," Hamzah quips, the humour softening just a little. "And one of them is keeping you on the line way longer than you should be."

"Trust me, I'm very aware," you mutter, though there's a strange warmth behind your words now.

"Yeah, but you still picked up," he says, almost gently this time, his voice losing some of that playful edge. "That's gotta mean something, right?"

"I wouldn't bet on it."

"Do you miss me? Like at all?" He asks, the words falling from his lips with ease "You can be honest." 

You roll your eyes, though there's a slight warmth blooming in your chest despite your irritation. "Please, Hamzah," you deadpan, pacing slowly across the kitchen. "Do you ever stop?"

A knock sounds from your front door, sharp and unexpected. You freeze, turning toward the noise, the sound cutting through the warmth of your late-night banter like a cold breeze. Your heart skips a beat, the suddenness of the interruption making your stomach twist with an uneasy kind of tension. "Hang on," you mutter into the phone, already moving toward the door. "Someone's at my-"

You trail off, eyes narrowing as another knock echoes through the quiet house. Your pulse quickens, a strange feeling creeping up the back of your neck as you grip the phone a little tighter.

As you open the door, the cold air hits you first, followed by the sight of someone standing on your doorstep. Your breath catches for a moment when you see him. There, leaning casually against the doorframe with that signature lazy grin, is Hamzah.

"What the fuck," You draw out. 

"C'mon, don't be like that," Hamzah says, giving you a crooked grin. His phone is still pressed to his ear—well, it is until he lowers it slowly, that playful glint in his eyes growing even more mischievous as he hangs up, ending the call without a word. “So- are you gonna let me in?”

[barcapix]

✮ Nerd - João Felix

Joao Felix x Fem!Reader.

SY: Everytime your boyfriend puts his glasses on, you can’t help but make fun.

A/N: Thought i would switch the footballer this time - i want to write more tropes but have no ideas 🥲

Warnings: 0

5:31pm

In London, the sun was setting low across the horizon, gleaming through the panes of glass through your apartment; allowing subtle light to pass inside.

The sky was a golden yellow, and the sun hung low, allowing the moon to slowly rise up.

Joao had only just returned home from training, greeting you swiftly before heading to the shower.

You lay comfortably sprawled across your couch with Floki on your lap; ‘Criminal Minds’ playing mellowly in the background.

Masses of blankets, cushions and covers had seized you both, and as your boyfriend claimed it, it looked like a ‘bomb site’. As long as you were comfy, who cared?

Joao creeped into the room, sliding next to you with ease. You stole a glance at him and noticed something different.

His Glasses.

You couldn’t stop yourself from giggling at the sight of him in those glasses you always teased him about.

He tried to be stealthy, but the way he was adjusting them makes him look even more adorable. “You know, you should really wear those more often,” you say playfully, nudging him with your shoulder.

Joao grins, leaning in closer, and wrapping his arm around your shoulder. You lean back into his touch, and bask in the warmth he provided for you.

7:30pm

After mindlessly finishing the entire 4th season of Criminal Minds, you sat up to bring yourself closer to your boyfriends face.

You brought up your index finger, and lightly traced around the rims of his glasses in circular motions.

“You know…” you started, staring into his dreamy eyes, “You look like a nerd with these on”

Joao laughed shyly, following the traces your finger stains that smudged the lenses. “A nerd?” he jokingly feigned offense, crossing his arms. “I prefer to think of it as… crazily adorable.”

You giggled at his silliness as you adored his playful side, that you only see him let out around you.

“Crazy adorable huh? I guess that makes me the cool girlfriend with her less cool, nerdy boyfriend then, right?” you smirk with a wink.

Your boyfriend flashes his charmingly pearly teeth as he was adorned to smile at your jokes.

You both appreciated each-other’s sarcasm, and that’s what you loved - you could express yourself around him.

Floki pooled around your lap, waking up from his sleep and attempting to snuggle closer into your jacket as he enjoyed the coziness of your woolly lined jumper.

Joao began to stroke Floki’s head delicately, then moving to caress his ears.

You ludicrously adjust his glasses and add, “Just promise you won't start quoting sci-fi movies at me." you uttered with a mocking hum.

He laughed and retorted, “No promises! But i’ll try to keep them at a minimum for our date nights.”

You grinned, nudging him for the final time. “You better not! I’m not ready for a full lecture on football.”

He leaned in closer, a twinkle in his eye. “Okay, I’ll save that for next week.”

You reposed in a giggle, your heart light. “You’re impossible!”

“Only for you,” he replied with a sarcastic wink.

As you both melted into the moment, the sky turning dark indigo, you caught hold of his hand intertwining it with yours, resuming the TV series.

“Whatever, nerd.”

[penelopegarcialovebot]

slow dance

spencer reid x gender neutral reader

summary: you're the only person whose brought out this side of spencer since maeve. and when you two are in rossi's backyard, slow dancing to the music from inside alone, it's when he realizes he'd really like to keep you around.

warnings: fluffy talk about relationships, teensy bit of angst about past relationships and self doubt, happy ending tho!!

♬⋆ .˚ now playing slow dance by clairo

a/n: first fic bare with me we're getting there!!

arms tangled around one another, stepping on eachothers feet, whispering sweet nothings together then laughing because you can't take eachother seriously when it's so quiet.

that's been the entirety of your life for the last hour, with spencer. not your friend, not your boyfriend, but some secret third option in between.

"you look nice tonight." he compliments, and you're sure it's for the millionth time tonight, "i don't think i've ever seen you dressed... formally?"

you're not wearing anything particularly fancy, but it's not exactly casual either. again, a secret third option.

there seems to be a theme of that tonight.

either way, you muster up the courage to tease him, "i don't look nice every other night?"

"well, you know that's not what i meant, i just mean, like, especially tonight. y'know?" he rambles as he moves his hands to your waist again.

"i'm just messing with you." you smile back, arms staying wrapped around his shoulders.

finally, the music from inside starts back up, a slower song.

one of the windows in the kitchen is cracked open just enough for the music to be heard from rossi's backyard. more specifically the pretty, fairy light decorated gazebo he loved to talk about whenever he got the chance as if he didn't live in a mansion.

"you look good tonight too. i'd say i never really see you in stuff like this but that'd be a lie." you say, hands running over his chest, tracing the tie tucked neatly into his brown blazer.

"that's not true. i'm not even wearing my converse, you have to admit that's different." he smiles, teasing back.

he was never really good with sarcasm. penelope prides herself in being the one to fix that, but really, something just clicked in him with you.

"but... thank you." he adds, "i tried to dress a little nicer for you."

"didn't try and out-dress me? how kind." you teased again, and he smiles. he loves that little expression you'd get that told him you thought of something witty to say.

"i know, right?" his smile never falters, only growing more as he looks down at you.

it's quiet for a moment, you two swaying back and forth, your head against his chest as he rests his chin right on top of it.

you're not sure if it gets better than this. how it gets better than this, if that.

"i'm glad garcia convinced you to come. maybe because she knew i'd be here." you hum.

"she didn't really convince me. she just... told me you were coming to one for once." he admits, and that makes your heart flutter.

"i don't miss them that much." you lie.

"in your four years at the bau with us, you've come to a total of three. once a year." he say it likes it's a joke, but it's true.

"hey. it's four, now. and if you promise to go to the christmas one, i'll make it five." you reach down to take his hands in yours, squeezing them.

it's true you never really came to these things. you loved the team. of course you did. you were on good terms with all of them. you just didn't trust yourself with alcohol and being in the same room as spencer at the same time. you'd never tell anyone as much, though.

"good. rossi's backyard is prettier in the snow." he replies.

"slow dancing with girls in rossi's backyard a common occurrence, then?" you tease once more, but he takes it at face value.

"me? of course not. i'd never. seriously. just you." his hands squeeze yours once again before moving back to your waist.

"just me." you echo his words. it felt good.

it gets quiet again, and you two are back to the comfort of swaying in one anothers arms. as if there weren't thousands of words left unspoken between the two of you.

what coworkers turned friends slow dance together like this? say things so sickeningly sweet? not ones that were actually just that. coworkers. friends.

it would be laughable, even. because it's not like you haven't seen jj peeking out the window and smile at the sight of you two, or rossi deciding to open the window so you could hear the music to begin with. he wasn't slick, that's for sure.

you weren't one to talk, and neither was spencer.

"what are you thinking about?" he asks, picking up on your silence that goes on longer than you usually let it.

"nothing and everything."

"you can't actually think about nothing. it involves concepts and ideas just to be thinking at all, which is nearly unstoppable unless you're actively stopping it. like if you're meditating right now. and i have a feeling you aren't doing that." he rambles, giving a smartass reply you didn't need, but always appreciated because you'd get to feel his chest lowly hum and hear his voice all at once.

but that's besides the point.

"then everything." you reply, half expecting him to launch the conversation into why that's not humanly possible.

instead, you're caught off guard when you hear, "in a bad way or good way?"

"more good than bad." your hands run over his hair for a moment. curly and oddly soft. he did try a little harder tonight.

"well that's more good than bad." he pauses and continues, voice less... sure, if that was even the right word, "what about, though?"

should you say the truth or lie? because nothing at all would be a lie. but you don't wanna bring up the inevitable when you two are so cozy already.

"us, i guess." you give in. please don't ask further, please don't make this a thing—

"...what about us exactly?" he asks further. makes it a thing. you'd make a comment about mind reading but aren't sure if it'd be appropriate.

"i mean... y'know. we both know. don't we? just... us." you gesture to you two again, before seeing his expression and sighing, "what we are..."

"what we are? as in our relationship status?" he asks, nervously fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, "i didn't know it's been on your mind."

it's quiet for a moment, because you both know his question is rhetorical despite it coming out seriously. you both know what you said.

you don't know why this topic holds so much negative weight right now when you could be approaching it with so much more positively. but you're just worrying about one thing: if he's still with the mindset that maeve was the only one for him.

he wasn't the type to play with a girl's feelings, though. you trusted him. it's come with liking him.

"you're overthinking again. i can tell." he brushed a hair through your hair, pulling your head back to his chest.

"you know this stuff isn't easy for me." he adds a little quieter. "at all."

"i know." and you almost say you're sorry for even letting it get this far into the conversation, but you don't.

he rocks you back and forth, cupping your head in his hand. in this position your ears right next to his heart and you can hear how it beats faster when you wrap your arms back around his waist.

"i'll always miss her. but i... i was talking to garcia a few days ago. she reminded me that i shouldn't give up just because of what happened. it's almost like she knew exactly what was going on in my head and it was kinda terrifying to hear but also it helped more than i'd like to admit." he explains.

it was always penelope. the angel of the office.

"with that being said," he adds, unexpectedly, not giving you time to process his previous words completely, "i think she knows how much i actually like you and i never even told her."

oops. guilty as charged—add that to the list of things you'd tell him only after you two were a thing. and not that secret third thing.

"maybe we're not as discreet as we think we are." you smile at the thought.

just as the words leave your mouth, you hear the window open a little more, seeing emily smiling with that i just got caught look before looking back at jj and returning to her with a laugh. talk about comedic timing.

"i like you a lot too, though. it's why i think about us a lot." you add yourself.

"it's just... hard after everything. what if i'm just a string of bad luck? what if something happens to you because of me?" he can't help but start up as he does with certain topics.

"i work in the bau myself, spence. you aren't any more of a threat to me than my daily job itself." you'd tease softly.

the third, but technically only second person he'd let call him that without him cringing.

"i can't argue with that." he admits, nodding, "but you know what i'm talking about. i mean..." he trails off.

"everyone i love has been taken away from me." he says. "i don't exactly have a good track record."

you feel like he's making this out to be he's protecting you when really he's just protecting himself. which makes more sense, now that you think about it like that.

but you also don't really know what to say to that. i won't let that happen. but the both of you know it's a promise you can't guarantee you'll keep.

"say something. anything." he whispers, voice filled with an unfamiliar feeling. anxiety, maybe?

"...i won't let it happen to you again." you mumble against his chest, feeling the way his breath catches in his throat before letting out a shaky exhale.

"you don't know that." he tenses up once more.

"i don't. but i'll try." your grip tightens in his blazer.

"god, how do i say no to you? i can't. the words don't come out." he sighs, almost frustrated. you think it's directed at himself, if anyone, though.

"sometimes i feel like you're nothing but an angel sent down by maeve herself. she'd love you, you know that?" he says and you feel your eyes burn.

"i wish she could've met you." he mumbles, kissing the top of your head, "i wish you could've met a less damaged me. i wish a lot of things, even if the probability of even one, if not all, happening is quite literally 0%." he rambles.

"you're in your head again, spence. too in your head." you point out. he laughs.

"i feel like i always am." he says, a little quieter.

"i don't think you're... damaged." you say, stroking his curly hair again, "you're just hurt. hurting. that's different, to me. that's what i think at least. it's not like you're not getting better."

"too good for me..." he shakes his head, but less defensive this time.

"just think about it, okay?" you say. you remember neither of you explicitly said what it was you were talking about. making it official. but it was implied, right?

"i will. we should get inside." he hums, "don't want you getting any colder in that outfit."

it slips out when you don't intend it to and your heart drops.

"will you be my boyfriend?"

he's quiet, and when you try and pull away to look at him, he holds your head to his chest with one hand. firm but gentle. three words that sum him up perfectly.

"...are you sure?" he first asks, pulling away to look right down into your eyes, hands on either side of your face.

you double down, "of course i am. very sure."

he's just looking down at you now, silently, but you know it's not so silent in that head of his right now. you let him stay in his head for a moment.

"...i still think you're too good for me. but..." he trails off, "yeah. i—just, yeah. i'd really like that."

your lips quirk up into a smile at that, arms still wrapped around his shoulders as they tighten ever so slightly, and you notice how he starts to smile too just from yours.

you see him nervously take his lower lip between his teeth before speaking up.

"can i, er, kiss you?" he asks, studying your face for a moment before his eyes flit up to your own.

you're caught off guard, but give a small yet eager nod, feeling his hands run down to cup your cheeks.

once he has your approval, he's leaning down in the blink of an eye, leaving a small kiss to your lips. this one's gentle, testing the waters.

he takes a brief moment to grasp your reaction, and when he sees it, he leans back down to press a longer kiss to your lips—mouth on yours, tongue running over your lips after you ease into it.

it lasts a bit, his hands on your face before one slips down to your waist and the other to tuck your hair out of your face before resting it on the side of your neck delicately, as if you were glass threatening to shatter.

you two finally pull away, breathing in a series of short gasps and sighs as you feel him press his forehead to yours.

"i hope you know you're gonna be the death of me." he breathes out, caressing the side of your face.

that makes you grin and bring him into another kiss, pulling him down against you.

[caprisun89bakerstreet]

How can I be guilty as sin?

Ch.2 - there’s no such thing as bad thoughts, only your actions talk

୨⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯. ༊*·˚‧ੈ₊˚ ೃ࿐ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯୧

Series summary: the 5 times you almost told Obi-Wan about your feelings for him and the 1 time it slipped out

୨⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯. ༊*·˚‧ੈ₊˚ ೃ࿐ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯୧

“Master— it’s just- a scratch-“ Obi-Wan tried to vaguely reassure you both. “Nothing- to worry about—-“ He adds but his eyes are starting to close.

“Obi-Wan no!”

୨⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯. ༊*·˚‧ੈ₊˚ ೃ࿐ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯୧

Pairing: obi-wan kenobi x f!reader

Wordcount: 4,1k

Chapter summary: You're on a mission with your master Plo Koon, Qui Gon Jinn and your fellow padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi who your feelings for are increasing with each mission. But during this one, things go badly. He gets hurt. Badly. Can you do something to prevent him from dying? Or would it cost too much?

Tags: hurt/comfort, obi gets hurt, reader (recklessly) saves him from death, pre phantom menace, angst, you’re both padawans, masters realize you might have feelings for him, forbidden love

Notes: this was so hard but fun to write because i could include both qui gon and plo and they’re some of my fav jedi, it’s not perfect but oh well, i had a plan for it but it went in a completely other direction somehow anyways, enjoy

“Quick, seal the door!” Qui Gon called and you did as he instructed, sealing the door behind you with a slash of your lightsaber.

“Master he’s not here, he isn’t in any of these cells-“ Obi-Wan told him. When you turned around you see him pressing buttons on the control panel. The camera’s flashing through multiple prison cells.

“No, he has to be there!” You say determined and need to see it for yourself so you push past both men and look at the screen. Pressing buttons, desperately trying to find him. He wasn’t there.

“Dank farrik—“ You curse hitting the panel with your fist.

You were on the planet Raxus, protecting civilians from bounty hunters. But it quickly got out of hand the moment you and Obi-Wan decided it would be a good idea to follow them and try to negotiate. It appeared they weren’t interested in negotiations. Not civil ones anyway. Qui Gon and your master Plo had both realized where you’ve both gone fairly quickly. And proceeded to track down your location.

Meanwhile you and Obi-Wan had both overheard some of the bounty hunters about the long missing chief of the village. Which the civilians had known to be lost for 5 years, you recently found out.

“We’ll have to sort this out later, there’s droids incoming—“ Qui Gon warns you both and hear him ignite his saber. And within seconds you hear the familiar hum of your own saber and Obi-Wan’s before the door opens. And once again the room was filled by blasterbolts. Droids continued to enter shooting left and right.

“How did these bounty hunters even manage to get their hands on battle droids?” Obi-Wan questioned out loud as his saber pierced through a droid.

“I mean you could always ask them, the trade federation might just awnser—“ You tease, slashing your saber again .

“Well i don’t think they’d be very cooperative, do you?” He retorted matching your sarcasm as he beheaded another droid.

“Stop bickering you two—“ Qui Gon Jinn said while gutting the last droid. “Now tell me, where is the chief located?”

“Well they never actually told us, master.” You reply retracting your lightsaber and clipping it to your belt, looking at the camera’s again.

“We overheard them saying he’d be in sector 7. We presumed they were talking about the prisoner cells here, but that must’ve been code.” Obi-Wan thought to himself.

“It appears you’re right.” Qui Gon replied.

“Where’s master Plo?” You ask the older Jedi.

“He’s waiting outside. Now come on, let’s see if we can find him.“ Qui Gon tells you and Obi-Wan as you’re already heading out the door. But before leaving he stops you both. “— but let’s use our minds before going into this head first.” He warns you. ‘’Again.”

“Sorry master.” Obi-Wan says. And you look back at him, eyes meeting his.

“We will.” You add after a moment and then Qui Gon nods as the three of you walk out the building.

You had to get back to the ship. That’s the only plan you had as you watched the village go up in flames. How could this have happened? How hadn’t you forseen something as terrible as this? There’s too much going on around you to focus on these thoughts as you deflect blasterbolts firing at you from practicaly every direction. With a furrowed brow you’re trying to stay focused while more battle droids keep coming in.

“Why are they still coming?” You yell not understanding just how many droids they’ve managed to get on their hands without the trade federation or the senate knowing. As far as the Jedi knew.

“Getting tired already?” Obi-Wan teased from a few feet away. Despite the sweat forming between his brow and his endeavors with you earlier, he still had precise movements. If you weren’t being shot at right now you would’ve silently admired his strength. But you quickly forget the thought when a blasterbolt nearly grazes your cheek and brings you back to the present.

“Quick! Get to the ship!” Master Plo called as he managed to get rid of two droids. He was closer to the ship then you were. But he was still only halfway there.

“Easier said then done master!” You called back because there were even more droids incoming from left and right- you were being crammed. If you turned away now, you’d surely get hit. There’s too much blasterfire.

Slowly you, Obi-Wan and Qui Gon retreated back to the ship. But it was terribly slow. And your focus was starting to wear thin, your movements getting less precise, sloppy. You were sweating, blocking less blasterbolts than you needed to to save your energy. Trying to focus on reciprocrating the bolts to get rid of the droids instead of wasting the shots. And you managed to. Until one grazed your left-upper arm. And you wince. “Kriff—“

Obi-Wan called out your name as soon as he heard you. “Are you alright?”

“Yes— I’m fine-“ you reply from a few feet away and continue to block the incoming fire. It hurt terribly. A burning heat was flaring on your left bicep. You were just lucky it wasn’t your right, and you weren’t ready to lose that now.

“We’re almost there!” Qui Gon called from your right. He looked tired too, you realized in a quick glance. This wasn’t going well.

But then you felt a disruption in the Force. A warning. You prepared yourself as anticipation and adrenaline filled you before you could register what was about to happen. You focused on the droids infront of you— worried that there might be another wave of them, or worse, what if those bounty hunters came back? But then you heard a cry out in pain to your left. Your left. Obi-Wan. And your body fills with panic as you see him.

“Obi-Wan!” You yell when you see him crumble to the ground a few feet away from you. And without thinking you rush over to him, barely avoiding two— no three blasterbolts, as you stand infront of him. Jumping over the debris of the city. And you block the shots firing at you when you’re standing infront of obi. Quickly the distance between you two diminishes.

Qui Gon called your name when he saw you recklessly change plans. Because of Obi-Wan. He tried to get closer. He needed to get you both out of here as soon as possible. The droids were closing in on you. And you were losing.

“Obi-Wan talk to me—“ You say your voice worried and insistant. Because if you looked at him right now you’d surely be too distracted to not get hit.

You hear another wince from behind you on the ground. Which only created a pit of worry in your stumach and you risk a glance at him. He was clutching his side.

“I’m fine— it’s fine nothing- to worry about—“ he said with heavy breath which you practically didn’t hear because you were still in the heat of battle. You did catch his last words. Which told you enough about his state, he was anything but fine.

You risk another glance at him but then see his side, he was bleeding. He’d been shot. And you saw too much blood for your liking in that one glimpse. “Qui Gon!” You call for his master, worry filling your voice because you couldn’t do anything to help him while you were still being fired at. But within a few moments that seemingly stretched out for eternity, Qui Gon was at Obi-Wan’s side.

“Master he’s bleeding— really badly—“ You start to panic and Qui Gon can tell.

“I need you to cover for me while i carry him to the ship. We have to hurry.” He says as he tries to carefully lift Obi up in his arms and he winces in pain. Your heart breaks at the sound.

“Yes master. I’m ready.” You respond more confident than you felt right now.

“Now, run!” He gave the signal. But you barely manage to block the firing at you and another bolt grazes your shoulder and you wince.

If you didn’t hold yourself up now, both Qui Gon and Obi-Wan would get shot. And die. You couldn’t let that happen. But the increasing burning sensation in your right shoulder made lifting anything feel like fire was bursting through your veins. And it hurt. It hurt so much. Like the brightest flaming red was the color of your insides and you almost felt yourself getting lightheaded. We’re you going to faint? No. You weren’t. You couldn’t let them die. Not like this. Not them.

“Master—“ You plead your steps slowing down without you wanting to, and Qui Gon seemed to realize just how worn out you were. This was it. He had pushed you both too far. He turned around and stayed behind you as you kept blocking the blasterfire coming your way. Keeping Obi-Wan secure in his arms, head against his shoulder, and his eyes were closed already. He really should’ve been better. For the both of you.

That’s when suddenly droid after droid gets blown to pieces as laserbolts fill the sky and you hear the familiar hum of your ships engines. Matser Plo. He made it to the ship early. And relief fills your body and you send a wave of gratitude through the Force. You knew you were too weak to reach him but it’d be a silent prayer anyway. Because you could really use a miracle right now.

“Come on, hurry!” Qui Gon said as you kept running away, the droids distracted by the new threat You were able to escape. Barely. But Plo managed to get you out there just in time as he flies to the atmosphere.

You still heard blasterfire in the distance as Qui Gon eventually stopped and carefully placed Obi down. He’s still breathing heavily and and whinces uncomfortably.

“Obi-Wan I need you to move your arm.” Qui Gon said because Obi was still clutching his side. As soon as you saw his pained expression you kneel down next to him and reach for his face. Cupping his cheeks in your hands. This couldn’t be it. You wouldn’t let it come that far. His eyes were glazed and he seemed too distant for your liking when you looked into those blue eyes. Which almost seemed to lose more color by the minute.

“Obi come on— i know it hurts- but you have to..” You gently but worriedly encourage him. His eyes flicker up to meet yours and he weakly calls your name.

Qui Gon then removed his arm to reveal the blood covering his chest. Obi grunts in pain and you try to sooth him removing his hair from his face and caressing his cheeks. But he was bleeding. A lot.

“Master— it’s just- a scratch-“ Obi-Wan tried to vaguely reassure you both. “Nothing- to worry about—-“ He adds but his eyes are starting to close.

“Obi-Wan no!” You say, still holding his face and trying to get him to look at you. Panic is coursing through your veins. He was losing conciousness. He wasn’t going to die, you knew that. It was Obi-Wan he’s seen way worse than this. This couldn’t be how he died. You felt worry take over your entire being. Thoughts going haywire as you hold his face. And then you’re on autopilot. You weren’t thinking. You were following your instincts now. The only thought you had was, heal. You needed to heal him. Right now. Even if you didn’t know how- or weren’t able to- and didn’t have the supplies- or abilities— you simply had to. Obi-Wan was losing conciousness. Because he was covered in blood. He was suffering. Obi-Wan was suffering. And you physically couldn’t stand it. So you reach for his tunic to reveal his wound.

Qui Gon noticed you were on autopilot. He couldn’t blame you, it’s not like he wasn’t himself moments earlier when you both ran away from those droids. But there was another kind of determination in you as he saw you cradle Obi-Wan. You were determined in a dangerous way. No, a selfless one. He had seen you grow up being gentle and often timid. But once either master Plo, himself or Obi-Wan were in danger, your whole demeanor changed. You were protective. Not in a selfish way, but a selfless one. You’d do anything to keep them safe. To keep them alive. In the earlier years of you being a padawan this change in you during missions surprised many. And over the years both master Plo and Qui Gon himself started to see more of this determined side of you. Because you were often facing dangers on missions. But one of you getting as severely hurt as Obi-Wan rarely happened. He looked at you now as you got rid of his tunic. You were a healer. Or taking classes, at least. But you weren’t proficient. You were a student. It took great effort, training and discipline to have the ability to heal another’s wounds. Especially ones this deep. But he knew you were talented though, being one of the youngest in class. But your determination might have been stronger than your skills in this moment. Qui Gon knew your healing capability wouldn’t be enough to save him. Not right now.

“He needs medic supplies.” Qui Gon says seeing the way your hands tremble as you reach for Obi’s bleeding chest. And Qui Gon reaches for his comm to send your coordinates to master Plo.

“We don’t have that right now—“ you say, your voice betraying your increasing concern. And you place your hands carefully on his chest, next to the wound bleeding a sickly, gushing red. “Obi hang in there please-“ you whisper a silent prayer and close your eyes. Reaching out to the Force and call on the light you feel starting to spread in your fingertips. Creating that familiar tingling feeling.

“Padawan—“ Qui Gon tries to warn you, seeing your body shaking from adrenaline and exhaustion, and your shoulder still bleeding. But you knew your wounds weren’t as bad as Obi’s.

“Quiet.” You tell him. And stubbornly keep going. Or as you liked to call it, selflessly.

___

After a few moments you hear the ship’s engines as it lands a few feet next to you.

“I need you to help me lift him up carefully-“ Qui Gon tells you and you help him, probably being more careful than you had to be.

Noticing obi’s expression turn pained you feel your stumach twist. And run off to get the medical supplies.

“Padawan, what happened—“ master Plo starts off but when he sees Qui Gon carrying Obi, who’s chest is covered in blood it sinks in. But you had always pushed past your master to get in the ship.

You were on auto pilot. Hands trembling and trying to keep a clear head. You were a Jedi. You were good at saving people. Especially vulnerable ones. It’s what you did. But why did it feel like you were losing grip on it? You were losing control- normally you’re able to help people- stay focused and keep a somewhat clear head as you went out your way to save people. But now? Now you were fueled by adrenaline and worry. Because you couldn’t lose your best friend. Not when he meant so much more.

Rummaging through the ship’s storage bins to get something— anything that might help you start to panic. None of this was gonna work if we didn’t have the supplies— if we didn’t that meant he would still be in pain- hurting- bleeding out— no. You wouldn’t let it come that far. Somehow. You rush back to Obi’s cot with some spare bacta packs. Qui Gon had already cut open his tunic. You rip open the bacta packs but Qui Gon stops you. Quickly stopping your wrist.

“Padawan. It’s too deep to heal from just those.”

“I don’t care—“ You hear yourself saying as you continue.

“Padawan-“

“I’ll do it myself! I’ll heal him!” You say desperate but determined. You had never treaten someone this badly before. You felt awfully unsure about everything right now. And you hated it. Panic started to spiral through your core. How were you gonna do that?

Your hands moved on their own, trying to position them just next to the wound without making Obi-Wan visibly squirm in pain. You’ve never had to heal someone with wounds as bad as this. Let alone someone so close to you. Someone as important as him. Not that you were allowed to think that way, you were a jedi after all. No attachments. And yet, seeing Obi in pain like this made your whole body betray you. You feel as if getting an adrenaline rush from being in the most dangerous situation you’ve ever been. And Qui Gon knows. Yet doesn’t say anything. And doesn’t stop you.

You place your hands on Obi-Wan’s chest, around the wounds and close your eyes. “Come on Obi..” you mutter nervously. Because he can’t die. Not like this. Not today. So you focus on the Force flowing around you, feeling Obi-Wan’s life Force weaken by the moment. Panick starts to rise on your chest again. But then you focus on you. The Force flowing through your body, your veins, your entire being. And you focus on your hands. Feeling a lighter and tingly feeling spread in them. And you let it flow to him. Into his chest. You felt the throbbinh pain in his chest affecting his entire body. Oh no. That’s bad. Really bad. You focus on sending the Force to his most crucial areas. But you even felt your own chest starting hurt. He wasn’t going to make it. Not like this. You needed a miracle. No. You didn’t. You just needed willpower. And determination. Because you weren’t gonna let Obi-Wan die. Your brow started to sweat as you send all your energy through him. Not that you noticed, you were too focused on saving him. Your best friend. Though that term seemed to feel more odd than usual right now. You were in a trance trying to save Obi-Wan. So you send everything through him. All of your energy. Even if it wasn’t enough. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if you didn’t try.

Qui Gon was still sitting next to you. He tried to call your name. Because he saw your trembling hands, furrowed brow, and focused demeanor despite being exhausted. But he also saw the color in your cheeks fade away. You were draining yourself. To a dangerous extent. Qui Gon placed a hand on your arm. But you weren’t noticing any of his attempts to get your attention. Obi-Wan was all that mattered right now. But you felt his force presence slipping away. And Qui Gon could tell Obi’s breathing had slowed down. Too much. And after a few moments he couldn’t tell if he was breathing anymore…

But your breathing started to get heavier, you started to feel lighter, seeing flashes behind your eyelids. You had to save Obi. So you send all of your Life Force to him. All of it. And before you knew it, you didn’t feel your hands trembling anymore. You didn’t hear your own thoughts anymore. And your head hurt. Feeling dizzy. Then there was simply nothing.

Qui Gon was too late to catch you when your head hit the ground as you fell over. You looked pale. Sickly. Drained. Qui Gon placed a hand on your forehead, worried. He tried to call your name, to wake you up. Was this it? Had you finally crossed your limit? When he focused on your force presence he felt nothing. Nothing. His heart sank in his chest. How could he have let this happen? He was supposed to protect Obi-Wan. And you. You were both just padawans. Now he lost both of you. Because of your own selflessness. He rummaged through the medical supplies spread around the floor. Until he heard a whimper. Obi-Wan. His eyes were still closed but he was breathing. Obi-Wan was breathing. When he looked at the wound, it still looked awful. As if nothing happened. But as Qui Gon looked at the deep gash he saw that it wasn’t gushing red anymore. It darkened. It partially healed. The worst part of the wound had closed, you had done it. You saved Obi-Wan. Qui Gon quickly tried to help Obi-Wan with the little supplies left.

Master Plo eventually entered the cabin and his expression fell. He had felt your Force presence starting to weaken when he was still in the cockpit. But when he saw you laying on the floor, motionless, next to an unconscious Obi-Wan who was still covered in blood his entire galaxy shifted for a moment. He had failed. As a master. He kneeled down beside you. You had always been stubborn, pushing yourself to no extent when it came to protecting the ones close to you. Or not. You had always tried to save everyone. No matter the cost of your own well being. And ofcours, when it came to Obi-Wan that willingness tenfolded somehow. Your friendship with him had always been a blessing. Or a curse when it came to you focussing on your jedi teachings. But to see the both of you laying unconscious on the floor deeply wounded your jedi master. And he prayed you would arrive on Lianna as quickly as possible to get enough medical supplies.

---

When Obi-Wan woke, everything hurt. He felt incredibly sore. But made the mistake of shifting in bed when he opened his eyes. Because a pain shot through his chest. What happened? He looked around the room he was in. Not recognizing it. Then it started to get back to him slowly. They were on the battlefield. Wait they were fighting— he quickly tried to look around the room and lean on his elbows to get up but it hurt. But it didn’t matter he needed to know—

“Easy Obi-Wan- lay back down.” Qui Gon’s voice. And a moment later he appeared next to Obi-Wan. Until he realized Qui Gon had been sitting in one of the chairs behind him.

“Master what-“ Obi started with a strained voice but cut himself off when he saw another bed in the room. With you in it. And his eyes widened.

Qui Gon helped him get back in bed carefully. “We made it out. Thanks to you. We’re on the planet Lianna because we were in need of medical supplies. You got shot. It was messy.” Obi-Wan tried to focus on Qui Gon’s words. But all he could do was stare at you. What had happened? He remembered you being fine. You were the one who protected him and got him out-

“Is she alright?” Obi-Wan blurted out worried. And Qui Gon sighed as he sat on the edge of his bed.

“She will be.” He spoke after a moment. And Obi-Wan felt his heart drop.

“What happened? She was okay when-“ Obi asked not caring how his chest hurt every time he used his voice.

“She was. Until you were bleeding out. She healed you. Even though i told her to stop because it was draining her life force. You’re alive because of her.”

“She—-“ Obi-Wan started but didn’t know how to continue. You had saved him? He got hurt so badly you had to save him? How had he been that careless? Because now you were hurt. You were unconcious because of him. Because of his recklessness and inability to stay focused. He felt guilt rising in his chest.

Qui Gon could sense Obi-Wan’s anxiety rising and placed a comforting hand on his arm.

“She’ll be alright Obi-Wan. She just needs rest. As do you.”

“Has she- woken up yet?” Obi-Wan couldn’t help but ask. But he saw Qui Gon shake his head. And an uneasy feeling washed over Obi-Wan.

He didn’t argue when Qui Gon helped him back down in bed. He was too tired to do so anyway. But his gaze was still on you.

“Rest Obi-Wan.” Qui Gon told him again, and left the room. But Obi-Wan stayed awake as he looked at you with a feeling of guilt, worry and something he can’t allow himself to feel. Especially not with you.

He only closed his eyes when his body demanded sleep. But he still dreamed of her. He always does.

And only a few feet away she still lay unconcious in that same room. But even though she seemed to be unreachable, in more ways than one, she was dreaming too. Dreaming of him. She supposed she always would.

[estellan0vella]

Robbery Older Brother Sukuna AU HFBU Pt2

You sit at the counter of the parlour, sketching random designs in your notebook while chatting with Gojo. Your best friend since high school, Gojo recently joined the shop as a piercer, and his cheerful banter has become a daily highlight.

"Hey, Y/N/N," Gojo says, leaning over to peek at your sketches. "That's some good stuff. Ever thought about doing the tattoos?"

You laugh, shaking your head. "Nah, I'm happy just doodling. Leave the ink to the pros."

Gojo grins, his bright blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "Maybe I'll just have to convince you one day."

Across the room, Sukuna is working on a client's back piece, his concentration intense and unwavering. His presence is commanding, even when he's completely focused on his work. Toji and Geto are busy with their own clients, exchanging jokes and stories as they ink intricate designs.

The door chimes as someone walks in, and you glance up out of habit. A man stands in the doorway, looking out of place and nervous. Your eyes narrow slightly as you take in the sight of the gun he's trying to hide under his jacket.

"Uh, everybody freeze!" he shouts, pulling the gun out and waving it around.

A tense silence falls over the room, but only for a moment. Then, to the man's surprise, laughter erupts from all of you.

"Wow, seriously?" Gojo says, rolling his eyes. "Compensating much?"

Toji smirks, not even pausing in his work. "Yeah, buddy, did you lose a bet or something? That thing's tiny."

"Is that a lighter in your pocket or are you happy to see us?" Sukuna taunts.

The man blinks, clearly not expecting this reaction. His face flushes with embarrassment and frustration, his grip on the gun tightening nervously.

Sukuna leans back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. "I gotta say, if you're here to rob us, you could at least bring something more threatening. That little pea-shooter won't get you far."

Toji chuckles, glancing over at Geto who nods in agreement. "Seriously, man. Did you think we wouldn't notice you sneaking in here with that?"

You, still seated at the counter, can't help but join in. "And here I thought I'd seen everything in this shop. Turns out, we're now a comedy club."

Gojo, with his usual irreverence, adds fuel to the fire. "I mean, look at you. You look like a marshmallow"

"What does that even mean?" You ask with a giggle and Gojo shrugs.

The man’s face contorts with a mix of anger and humiliation. "Shut up!" he yells, waving the gun again. "I'm serious! I'll shoot!"

Toji raises an eyebrow, his tone still teasing. "Oh, are we doing threats now? How about this: put that thing away before someone gets hurt. Namely, your ego."

The man looks flustered, his grip on the gun tightening as he points it at you. "Shut up! I'm serious! Give me all your money!"

You roll your eyes, unable to contain your sarcasm. "Sweetheart, I have epilepsy. My brain doesn't work right on the best of days. A gun doesn't scare me. Just don't mess with my face or my tits, alright? They're my best features."

Sukuna leans back, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Can confirm. I'm extremely fond of them"

Geto nods solemnly. "Seriously, those are top-tier assets. We should put them in a museum."

Gojo nods solemnly as you laugh. "We'd have to hold a memorial service for the girls. It'd be tragic."

Toji finally looks up, his expression one of mock seriousness. "The worst crime you'd commit today would be damaging that rack."

Gojo grins wider. "We'd put ourselves in the line of fire to protect those honkers."

Sukuna gestures lazily towards you. "Hey babe," he says with a grin, "don't worry, I'll protect those masterpieces," nodding towards your chest. "Can't have this guy ruining what I get to enjoy every day."

Gojo nods sagely. "He's right, those are national treasures."

Toji nods in agreement. "Yeah, I'd cry real tears if something happened to those."

The man's face turns bright red, his hand shaking as he tries to regain control of the situation. "Shut up! Just give me the money!"

"Is it an innie?" Toji asks, feigning genuine curiosity. "You know, your... equipment?"

The robber's frustration grows as the room continues to be filled with laughter and teasing. He finally lowers the gun, looking completely defeated. "You guys are crazy," he mutters before turning and bolting out the door.

As soon as he's gone, the room erupts into even louder laughter. Sukuna sets down his tattoo machine and walks over to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Glad our national treasures are safe," he murmurs, planting a kiss on your temple and you snort.

Gojo is still chuckling, shaking his head. "That was priceless. Best robbery attempt ever."

Geto nods in agreement. "Yeah, we really should thank the guy for the entertainment."

Toji stretches, leaning back in his chair. "Who knew our biggest concern today would be protecting Y/N's tits?"

You grin, feeling the warmth of Sukuna's embrace. "Well, they're glad to still be here."

"We're all glad they're still here," Sukuna says with a grin. 

The next day, you come into the parlour with a new sign you’ve created. It's bright and colourful, with bold letters that read, “No Guns Allowed. Seriously, We'll Laugh In Your Face.” Gojo takes a marker from you and neatly writes 'We will protect the honkers with our own bodies' making you laugh as you hand the sign to Sukuna who takes it from you, chuckling as he hangs it in the window for everyone to see.

Sukuna steps back to admire your work, a proud smile on his face. “Looks great, babe.”

Gojo, standing next to him, nods in approval. “Perfect. Now we just need someone dumb enough to test it.”

Toji and Geto walk in, glancing at the sign and chuckling. “I give it a week,” Toji says.

“Three days, tops,” Geto counters.

You all laugh, knowing that no matter what happens, you’ve got each other’s backs—and that’s more than enough to handle anything life throws at you.

The rest of the day goes by without a hitch. As you sketch, chat with Gojo, and watch Sukuna work, you feel a deep sense of contentment. Life may be unpredictable, but with this group of misfits, it’s never boring.

The bell above the door jingles, signalling a new customer. You glance up. “Welcome to the madhouse,” you say with a grin. “How can we help you today?”

[not-maggie]

Hypothetically, Of Course

A/N: umm, so hi! this is my first ever fic I've written but I do read a lot lmao. I was using a c.ai bot and it inspired me to write this because it was really cute! <3 this is lowkey a self ship bc I'm tired of seeing Y/N's who don't have a personality and are shy. nothing wrong with being shy ofc <3 just not who I am and I needed some self indulging. Anyway, enjoy! any criticism/comments are greatly appreciated!! (GIF not mine<3)

It was a cool afternoon in Stars Hallow, the dead leaves falling to the ground as the breeze shook them from branches. The bell above the door rings out as Y/N enters Luke's Diner, catching the attention of a certain brunette behind the counter.

Jess feels his heart stutter as she enters, silently cursing himself for having such a reaction. He throws on his signature smirk as she approaches the counter, "Hey, the usual?"

Y/N nods with a soft laugh, "I come here too often if you know it by now." She takes a seat on one of the stool as Jess begins preparing her order. "So, anything interesting happen today?" she asks, making conversation.

"Oh, y'know, annoying customers, Luke yelling at me for not working, the usual." Jess hums, turning his head to look over his shoulder at her. "What about you?"

Y/N lets out a scoff as she responds, "Y'know Brad, the quarterback on the football team? Total douche, anyway, had the audacity to ask me out, while I was in the middle of studying in the library. And, on top of that, got mad when I rejected him. Said something about winning a bet, total bullshit." She rolls her eyes, leaning against the counter.

Jess feels his blood boil, a bet? A bet to ask 𝘺𝘰𝘶 out? He takes a moment to collect himself before turning around and responding, placing her coffee down in front of her, "Wow, total dick move. A bet? What kind of bet? If he could get in your pants?"

Y/N rolls her eyes, "Don't know, and honestly, don't really care. I get the satisfaction of knowing he didn't win, whatever it was. Like I would ever go out with him," she scoffs.

Jess leans his arms against the counter, "Not your type?" His tone is teasing, his usual snark coming out, but there's a hint of genuine curiosity.

Y/N lets out a snort of amusement, "No, I would never go for a football player, or really any athlete. Anyone who doesn't know Austen is not worth it."

Jess raises an eyebrow, "Got high standards," he teases. "So, what, is, your type?" He asks, his head resting on his palm in a casual manner.

Y/N lets out a hum as she thinks, planning her answer. "Well, looks don't really matter that much. More into personality, someone who can keep up with my sarcasm. Funny, making me laugh is really important, and there's no way I can be funnier than my partner, that's a sad life. Well-read, I'm talking more than just Dr. Seuss and the Outsiders. Someone...spontaneous, impulsive, acts before thinking; adds fun to life. And, someone who isn't afraid to show me off, not saying we have to make out in town square, but hand holding, stolen kisses, stuff like that."

Jess's heart flutters as he hears her words, that's him. 𝘏𝘦'𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴, 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦. "So," he tries to maintain his casual, aloof appearance, "You got a guy in mind? That all seems pretty specific."

Y/N smirks at his words, "Maybe, it's kind of hard to find someone like that in this small town. You either get guys like Brad, high school has-been's, or Dean Forester. Perfect Dean Forester, although I guess technically he did move here from Chicago. But he has the 'Small Town Boy' act down."

Jess chuckles softly at her words, she was right, Dean did have that Small Town act perfected down to a science. "So, if there we're to be a guy, who matched this description, would he have shot with you, hypothetically of course."

Y/N grins, picking up what Jess was hinting at. "I'd say, hypothetically, if this guy we're to ask me out, or confess his undying love for me, I wouldn't shoot him down."

Jess straightens out, hip pushed against the counter as he leans in a bit. "So if this guy were to, hypothetically, say that he likes you and have for a while, you'd go out with him?"

"Yes, I would, but only if he told me directly." Y/N challenges Jess, knowing that he isn't big on sharing his feelings.

Jess stands up straight behind the counter as he meets Y/N's gaze, he takes a moment before talking. "I like you, have for a while." He runs a hand through his messy hair, "In fact, you drive me crazy. There isn't a moment when your'e not invading my brain, very distracting."

Y/N's smile grows as she hears him talk, "Well, I like you too. Just, don't start charging me rent for living in your head." She pokes his forehead as she teases him.

Jess laughs, 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘴, at her words. "I'll let you live rent-free on one condition, be mine? God, that sounds gross and sappy." He groans at his words and how cliche he sounds.

Y/N let out a laugh, "Yes, I'll be yours." She smiles, "Bad boy Jess has gone soft."

Jess rolls his eyes but a smile tugs at his lips, "Shut up, I'm not soft....Okay maybe, but only for you and around you. And if you tell anyone..." He doesn't finish the threat, but they both know there isn't any actual heat behind it.

"Yeah, yeah." Y/N rolls her eyes, "Your secret is safe with me." She crosses her heart with a smile.

"Good," Jess hums with a small smile. "So, your mine now, huh?" He grabs her hand from across the counter, thumb rubbing across the back of her hand as their fingers interlock.

"Yeah," Y/N smiles softly, squeezing his hand. "All yours"

Jess's smile widens at her words, "That's right, all mine" He brings her hand up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "Mine to protect," he locks eyes with Y/N. "Mine to love, mine to cherish..." He leans in further over the counter, "Mine to hold, mine to care for..." His eyes sweep over her face, taking in every detail and memorizing them. "Mine to spoil," he reaches his free hand to cup her cheek, thumb running across her skin. "Mine to be with...and mine to love, forever." He closes the distance between the two, his lips meeting hers in a soft, tender kiss, expressing unspoken thoughts and emotions.

As he kisses her, he feels a sense of peace wash over him. He feels complete, whole. He's never been good at expressing his feelings, but right now, he knows deep in his heart that he means ever word he said.

He loves Y/N.

And he's never letting her go.

"That's the sappiest thing you've ever said."

[pepi1989]

Hiii love your work!! Don’t know if you saw the clip of Ben in the Team Europe room and running away, but I would like to ask something based similar from that. Could I ask for fem reader and Ben being sappy/lovey dovey in the lounge room alone and getting caught by the cameras and Team USA teasing him for it? Thank you! Would love to have a long one for this one if you can :-)

Caught in the Moment - Ben Shelton

The atmosphere in the Team Europe lounge is a delightful mix of post-match celebration and playful camaraderie. The bright colors of the banners and the faint echo of cheers from the nearby court create a cozy backdrop. Inside, it’s just you and Ben, a sanctuary away from the bustling energy of the tournament.

Ben is sprawled on the couch, his hair still slightly damp from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. The sight is enough to make you blush, but it’s his playful smirk that really captures your attention. As he lifts a bottle of water to his lips, you can’t help but admire the way he carries himself, confident yet endearingly goofy.

“Hey, you! You look like you’ve just come from winning Wimbledon,” you tease, leaning against the armrest, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Just another day at the office,” he responds with a mock-serious expression, though his smile betrays him. “But I think I’d rather be here with you than on the court right now.”

The playful banter flows easily between you, as natural as breathing. You reach over to poke his side, causing him to flinch dramatically, and soon you’re both laughing uncontrollably. The joy of the moment is infectious, wrapping around you like a warm hug.

As the laughter begins to fade, the room fills with a comfortable silence. You steal a glance at him, noticing the way his big brown eyes shine with affection. Leaning in closer, you whisper, “You know, I’m really proud of you. You’ve been killing it out there.”

His expression softens as he meets your gaze. “Thanks, that means a lot. I wouldn’t want to share this with anyone else.”

With that, you close the distance between you, your foreheads resting together. The warmth radiates from his skin, and you can feel your heart racing. He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering against your cheek. The tension in the air thickens as you both lean in for a soft kiss, the world outside fading away.

But just as the kiss deepens, a loud burst of laughter from outside interrupts the moment. You both pull back, startled, and exchange amused glances. “What was that?” you whisper, trying to stifle your giggles.

Curiosity piqued, you both sneak a peek at the door. Unbeknownst to you, Team world has decided to make a surprise entrance, and as the door swings open, you catch a glimpse of Taylor and Frances, grinning like mischievous schoolboys.

“Look at the lovebirds!” Tiafoe calls out, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm. The two of them burst into the room, cameras in hand, capturing the scene in all its cheesy glory.

Ben’s face flushes a deep crimson, and he tries to retreat, but you hold him close, not ready to give up the moment just yet. “Come on, Ben! Don’t hide! We’re just getting started!” Fritz teases, making exaggerated heart gestures as he leans in closer, pretending to swoon.

You can’t help but laugh at Ben’s embarrassment, his attempts to maintain composure turning into a delightful mix of flustered and amused. “Seriously, man, caught in 4K!” Fritz continues, while Tiafoe shakes his head in mock disbelief.

“Hey, you’re the one who was just getting all mushy with your girl! It’s not our fault,” Tiafoe adds, nudging Ben’s shoulder playfully. The room is filled with laughter as the two of them continue to poke fun at him, and you revel in the lighthearted teasing.

Despite the playful jabs, you can see Ben relax, a grin breaking through his initial embarrassment. “You guys are the worst,” he chuckles, rolling his eyes. “But at least I know who my real friends are.”

“Real friends? You mean us, who are here to witness this beautiful moment?” Fritz quips, taking a step back to snap a picture of you and Ben, both caught in a candid moment of laughter.

You wrap your arms around Ben’s waist, pulling him close again, unbothered by the teasing. “Honestly, I don’t mind at all,” you whisper, glancing up at him with a playful smirk. “I kind of like being caught in moments like these.”

Ben leans down, resting his forehead against yours once more. “Same here. But maybe next time, we should find a more private spot?” he murmurs, a hint of mischief in his voice.

The teasing from the boys continues, but you’re too wrapped up in the moment to care. “Let them have their fun,” you say, smiling up at Ben, who now seems more at ease.

“Just wait until I get my revenge on them later,” he smirks, eyes glinting with determination.

As the laughter fades, you both settle back into your cozy moment, sharing soft kisses and gentle touches, completely unbothered by the chaos outside. It’s in these moments, sappy, playful, and filled with love, that you both truly feel at home, no matter the distractions surrounding you.

[vhyunjinverse]

Daddy! (Hotchner Ver.)

gn!reader x aaron hotch hotchner (18+)

summary: Jealousy gets the best of Hotch, and he just can’t help himself

warnings: dom!hotch, hard dom!hotch, sub!reader, daddy!hotch, spanking, degrading, blindfolding, choking, crying

“I’m only going to start over and add five more. Is that what you want?” His hand rubbed over the already bruised spot. You panted, legs shaking. You couldn’t see, the blindfold wet with your tears. Yet your sex throbbed. His thumb pressed your hole, his cooing sounding more like sarcasm as it slipped in. “Answer me.”

“No…No Sir-“ You gasp feeling that familiar sting on your ass. “Fifteen..” You whine. Your legs moved uncomfortably around his legs, nothing to balance them on as they dangled. He had you bent over his knees while he spanked you. Twenty! Could you believe it? He’s never went that high before. It all started at work. You went to visit Aaron before you headed off to work, and when Morgan did his usual flirting. You became just as close with the team as Aaron did- so it wasn’t an issue with you, when he did the same to Garcia. You flirted back playfully and even hugged him before leaving. You didn’t see an issue but it made Hotch furious, even after Morgan teased him for it. He didnt show it, but once he showed up to your apartment you knew.

“Fuck-!” you cried out at another smack. “What was that?” He hums, hands going to lift your hips a bit. He balanced you out well, everytime. “Twenty..F-Four.” You squeezed your thighs together, your ass imprinted with the outline of his fingers.

“Have you learned your lesson?” He moves your hair back, grabbing the back of your neck. You take a deep breath, nodding quickly. “Yes sir.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” He raises a brow. Oh that sneaky fuck.. always toying with you. He picks you up while he stands, laying you down on the bed. He flips you over onto your stomach. Your senses were heightened, the blindfold dark. You panted loudly into the soft duvet. You hear the sound of his belt clinking, and it slipping out of the pants sooner later.

“Daddy…?” You whimper. Aaron chuckles. You felt his presence behind you, lifting your hips and spreading your legs. Your sex dripped. His cock rubbing up against your hole. “Is this what you wanted? Purposely slutting around in my face just to be punished?” He groans, entering you slowly, just the tip.. Oh how you moaned…

“Answer me- Come to think of it, I’ve said this more than once today haven’t I?”

“Yes sir..” You shudder, back arching. You moan feeling him slip further into you. You hear the clink of his belt before your arms are pulled back. “Daddy-“

“Shhh..You have an awful lot to say for someone who doesn’t have the upper hand right now.” You felt the belt wrap around your wrists, pulling them together. With a pull, Aaron’s cock slips fully into you. “Fuck!” you gasp, your arms being pulled back, back arching. You felt somewhat scared. You couldn’t see, and now you couldn’t touch anything. But boy did he fill you up so well..

“You think Morgan will fuck you like this?” His hips snap forward, and back- pulling out to the tip. “No sir-“

“You think Morgan can have you on your knees taking his cock like a slut?” he tugs at the belt.

“N-No sir!” your eyes roll, you tried to catch your breath. Your orgasm hitting you hard. He fucks you through it just the way you loved..The way he fucked you hard, slowly. The way he spanked you everytime you took a second longer to answer him- everything felt so good.. At some point he changed positions, with his leg kneeling on the bed as he held your head down into the duvet. How you loved it when he whispered just how much of you belonged to him.

“Who do you belong to?” He leans down to you neck, biting down gently.

“You Daddy.”

“Damn right.”

[yurinaa-world]

Sylus and Rafayel with a fem Sunday please!! You know how Sunday has that duality thing (Like Rafayel) I just love men with dualities😫 it's chefs kiss💋✨ Thank you in advance!!🥰

“𝓓𝓾𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓲𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓽𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝔀𝓮 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝔀𝓮 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮.”

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Rafayel & Sylus x Female reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: with a reader that's like Sunday

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, & Spelling mistakes

💫𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈: sorry if this isn't good enough; my brain has been blank these days!

💫𝒮𝓎𝓁𝓊𝓈 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝒪𝒻 𝒪𝓃𝓎𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓊𝓈"

“You should be more careful Sylus.” an exasperated sigh left your lips with a seemingly permanent frown on your face while your hands went to wrap bandages on his arm—ironically treating him like he was some kind of doll.

Sylus, however, seemed completely unfazed by the scolding—in reality, he might be enjoying it. He leaned back slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched you work. “Ah, but where’s the fun in being careful, sweetie,”

“I have you as my nurse.” He raised his uninjured hand to tap lightly at the side of his forehead, a teasing motion he always used when he felt like being particularly charming.

And, of course, he stared at you lovingly—completely unbothered by the situation. His gaze was gentle. “Really? What’s your excuse?” You muttered, your focus wavering under his gaze as you tried to finish bandaging him up. The intensity of his look had a way of making your heart race, despite your best efforts to remain frustrated with him. He knows how cautious you could be. 

You hesitated for just a second before finishing up the bandages, the soft pressure of your fingers brushing against his skin making you feel all sorts of things you weren’t ready to admit. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, your cheeks warming, but Sylus simply leaned closer, his smile softening.

“I know.”

💫𝑅𝒶𝒻𝒶𝓎𝑒𝓁 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒜𝒷𝓎𝓈𝓈𝓌𝒶𝓁𝓀𝑒𝓇"

“You're acting a tad bit dramatic, it’s only a twisted ankle,” you smile, while trying to be gentle with your words and also not trying to be dismissive.

Which just makes Rafayel sigh dramatically at your words. How! How can you not be worried about him?! He slipped so embarrassingly on a paintbrush! You know how painful that was for him! His foot feels like it’s been cut off completely. 

But because of his ignorance when it comes to actually cleaning his place up—you’ve told him thousands of times not to leave his painting supplies around his house, or else he’ll end up getting hurt by them. But he never listens to you, does he? He’s sprawled out on the couch like some kind of maiden while lamenting over his poor injured foot.

But Rafayel just sighs dramatically, his hand pressing to his forehead like he's some tortured soul. "It's not just any twisted ankle, darling. This... This is the downfall of my graceful existence," he murmurs, his voice laced with a touch of sarcasm.

All while you were on the floor with an ice pack in your hand as you pressed it against his twisted ankle—which was already thinly bandaged by you. “You’ll be fine; you’re under my care, aren’t you? I’ll make sure you’ll recover quickly.” you comforted. 

He lets out an exaggerated groan, then peeks one eye open to look at you, a playful smile curling on his lips. "You know, I would be much more comforted if you gave me something else," he says, his voice laced with teasing.

You blink in surprise, but before you can react, he adds in a softer tone, his eyes twinkling mischievously, "Like maybe... a kiss to make my suffering go away? I hear it works wonders."

“Of course.”

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[simp-ly-writes]

Suits, Ties, and Thus Spies (pt.3)

Pairing: Spy!Task Force 141 x Handler!Reader

Summary: Its the task force's first mission as Agents at Taylor Tailor's. How will it go- will other agents accept them and most of all- will you be able to handle working with so many agents on the same mission?

Warnings:2500 words, light swearing and teasing, depictions of blood and violence. A/N: sorry for the delay... decided to change the look of these stories too (hope you like the change!). Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

6:00 PM | Autumn | National Museum of Art and History

Agent Whitby grips the back of another man's suit into a fist, slamming his face repeatedly into the brick wall of the storage room. Blood pours out from their nose, a harsh gash forming against their left cheek and forehead- the skin purple and blue as one of their eyes swells shut. “You really are wasting my time here- you’re a waste of time really for anyone so why not just tell me what the code is, make it easy on your looks and my patience- hm?” he challenges, flicking his head back as the man tries to elbow him in the face. 

Letting out a tisk, Whitby drops the man, holding him in place with a dress shoe to the chest as he feels the man begin to cough up blood as he cringes, eyeing at the lower fabric of his suit becoming damaged by the liquid. Letting out a sigh, while shaking his head, glass slipping down his face as he reaches into his waistband leveling the barrel of the gun in between their eyes. 

“Let us try this again, where-” Whitby pauses at the sound of your voice coming through his earpiece, tilting his head to the side as he continues to stare down at the man, waiting for him to speak the answers he evers-so needs. 

“Whitby, do you have a moment?” you ask coated in sweety-coated sarcasm as you watch him through a hidden camera put on his glasses- observing the man on the floor with mocking pity on your features as you turned to Laswell and point to the room Whitby closed himself into as various enemies flooded the floors below him, making their way upstairs and into the ancient egyptian part of the museum. 

“All my time is yours, love. Only to ask,” Whitby says lovingly while stepping into the man's chest harder, hearing as he wheezes out from the pressure. “Warming my heart here darling,” you start to say, hands moving across the keyboard as you add the scanned models of your newest agents into the digital model. “Whitby, I am sending my newest agents in to help you as a gage for the training that needs to be done. You are in charge, congrats- you are a new father of four!” 

“You’re joking-” Whity begins to say before Handler Jacobs patches themselves into the call, a still image of them setting on your computer screen as soundwaves spike and drop in rhythm to his speech. “Agent, this is Handler Jacobs, you are green to finish him off- passcode is.” You wince as the gunshot rings in your ears- stilling the blood in your body as switch yours and Laswell’s calls over to the boys comms as they arrive at the scene. Their once greyed out figures now bursting with colour and moving in sync to their current actions. 

“Alright Agents, give me a sign that you hear me,” you test, watching the surveillance coverage with a nervous smile as you begin to pick at your nail polish, blood pumping and making it way upwards to your head- settling its thundering beat in your ears. Laswell scoots her office chair closer, placing a hand on your shoulder for reassurance as you let out a large breath. “Loud and clear” rings through your comms as you shake Laswells hand off of you, moving to stand and lean over the diagram. “A physical sign please-” you stress as silence is all you receive on the line, watching as they start to whisper to one another and look around, feeling around their suits. 

“I don’t think I copy, Dee…” Gaz says, rubbing the back of his head. “I watch your every move boys while on a mission. And that is Handler D, please. Turn left and go through the staff entrance, inside the envelope is a swipe to get through the door. Charlotte has already put your biometrics into the security. You will have to climb up the disabled  elevator shaft. Agent Whitby is on the third floor in the Egyptian exhibit awaiting your arrival as we speak.”

“Oh,” Soap responded, waving his hands widely in the hair as you shake your head- looking at Laswell who is struggling to contain her laughter as you grip at the table, knuckles turning white. You watch as the task force makes their way, peering down each corner and into the elevator shaft as they begin to climb the ropes. You watch their technique, writing a few notes on a nearby paper-pad from your desk upon their technique. “We are on the third floor,” John states. 

“Walk as I talk please, turn left, left again, open the yellow door to your right there is a card swipe behind the suit of armour. In 10 steps you find a closet door, open it,” you order, falling back into your chair as their digital models work through the space, guns raised as you click your pen on and off, listening as your clicks sound in tune to the digital clock on your screen. You continue your notes as a ping vibrates through your phone. Mouthing a thank you to Laswell, the report you asked for finally in your inbox. 

“Well hello there,” Whitby states, picking up the dead man's handkerchief as he cleans his hands before shaking each of the task force’s in a strong grip and tight smile. “Agent Whitby, do follow me,” he commands, dropping the piece of cloth to the floor before ushering the group outside the closet as he starts to jog down the hall and places the code into the staff hallway before continuing to navigate the maze of white tiled floors and beige walls without a blink of worry. Handler Jacobs rattles off directions in his earpiece as the task force remains impressed by his supposed memorization of the building. 

“Alright boys, there is one hostile coming up on your west in 5, 4, 3 2, and…” you watch as Johnny tackles the forager into a nearby cart, various vitals of chemicals spill across the floor as they hiss and fizzle amongst one another, eating away at the leather of his shoes. Loosening his tie, Whitby restrains the woman, humming to himself while scanning the rest of the hallway. “Good work, agent,” Whitby compliments, clapping a hand down on their shoulder before continuing to move down the hall and sporadically turning on 90 degrees to slam the door back on another forger, they curse out in pain, dropping to their knees before quickly standing and rushing out into the hall, starting to swing at Whitby.

Dipping down and extending his leg outwards, the man falls over, face slamming into the tile floors below just before they grip his ankle, tackling the agent down with him. Various punches are shared before Whitby has their purple-head in between his thighs- they whimper for air, slamming their fists repeatedly against his thighs while. Whitby signals over for another tie as John wraps the fabric tightly around their wrists. Straightening his jacket one more, Whitby’s chest rapidly rises and falls- needing air he unbuttons a series from his dress shirt before punching in a code back into the door as it creaks in welcome. 

Flicking the lights on, Whitby now walks with a limp to his step- observing the various artifacts in the room sat beside the fakes that were to be sold. Pinching the edge of his glasses, he takes a series of photos- uploading them into the system. “Ghost and Soap, right? If you could demolish these fakes.”

“You have 12 combatants coming from the roof, 20 minutes until they reach you all,” you comment, eyes flicking from the model to the surveillance photo as you chew your lip anxiously. “I have already informed Kyle and Price in the hall but the police are on their way- 30 minutes tops you all. Destroy and set the forgers in place. We cannot be seen,” you state, setting a timer to each of their watches. 

“Then let the fun begin,” Whitby announces to the room before they all get to work smashing through the various fake vases and statues that were to be sold for profit through these criminals. Porcelain shards fly and rattle against one another, crunching beneath their shoes. Glass cabinets are flung open, mixing with the debris on the floor as Soap sets fire to a fake wooden ship carving. Flicking your vision back to the hall, John and Kyle made their way back into the room, tying the criminals to desk chairs and placing a bat at their feet with a smirk. Just as they shut the door behind themselves, you clicked a button on your console as the ties fell from their hands and the forgers scrambled and scratched against the door for an escape to only find none besides the prison cell that awaits them. 

“You are to take your cars back, Whitby is driving to get your gear cleaned before you step back into the facility- safety protocol. Good work today, boys- a few training notes I have for later but other than that, a successful mission is all that matters- management is pleased,” you note watching as they descended from the window, grappling with their belt and buckle before skirting off into the city streets.

A rock station began to bang through the car's audio system just before you shut off communications and watched them drive to the specialty cleaners. Taking a stand and clapping your hands, Laswell rubbed her eyes before announcing her departure. Taking a long hug together you showed her back to the store front before running across the street to pick up a bottle of liquor. Smiling at the black label brand you pay and dash back to the lobby - pouring out a series of cups with ice and phone for Charlotte, Jason, Jacobs, and Samantha to join you all for a debrief. 

–

You smile, watching as the boys do their best to flatten out their freshly primed suits and straighten their ties before walking up to you lounging in one of the many chairs in the large living space of the lobby. The leather creaks under each of their weight, each man smiling as you hand over a glass of Tennessee whisky just as Whitby sends you a knowing wink while eyeing up the bottle. 

“Interesting choice, sweetheart.” He teases as you roll your eyes, shoving his shoulder with your own playfully before he starts to lean closer to you, lips drifting featherlight words into your ear as your cheeks turn back. Charlotte smiles at the bottom of her glass, emitting an echoing chuckle before locking her ankles with Jacobs sat across from her. 

“Are you all dating? Or is this an agent-handler culture thing we don’t understand?” Johnny asks. Eyeing the way Whitby's hands drift across your clothing, finding hidden bits of your warm skin with a small frown as you furiously shake your head. “No, no, no, definitely not. But in this line of work specifically… you only want to get with people who really know you- for you. Not the management-mandated mask externally…” you drift off just as Whitby places a hand on your knee, smiling reassuringly before standing and distributing the rest of the bottle as you each cheer for a successful first mission. 

Returning back home, flicking on the bedroom lamp and getting ready for the night and the subsequent morning after. You could only close that night, snuggling into your cold empty sheets of your house- praying that your remaining “favour-missions” go just as smoothly as the last.

But as the cold night air wept its way through the curtains and into your harrowing dreams as you tossed and turned through the night, gripping and digging into your sheets as the streets became lively in the morning light. Your alarm sounded as you felt around to slam it down shut, another day, another mission done and with your bags packed in preparation. It would be a quick training session and the team's first international mission as a kidnapped royal needed your help. 

You groaned at the panic voice mail, the personal bodyguard shaking like a leaf before pleading through your home's digital system speakers. You start a voicemail while pouring a cup of coffee, the toaster pops up as you navigate through the kitchen and settle down at the island. 

“I have an agent close by to their last known location- they will be forwarded until I can get me and my team into a local base of operations. We will bring them home for the country,” you finish the note with, chugging down the rest of your drink before washing your plates in the sink. Feeling underneath the counter, your fingers dip into crevices- a light flashes red and the floor just beside your slides open. 

A fireproof box hisses open to your fingerprint, various foreign currencies and passports from your past missions flood your memories, fingers drifting over each material and number before settling them on the countertop. 

Stepping into your pantry you push back on a wall, the surface rumbles for a moment before turning itself and revealing a series of steps down towards your basement. The lights flicker on to your presence, humming slightly above your head as you make your way down the firing range and towards your collection. Gently picking up and cleaning each gun, you place them in their travel safe and locked containers before slamming the door behind you. 

Packing your belongings into a bulletproof suitcase- made from the same material as your suit. “X?” you request to your house, “Yes, Handler Daniels?” the AI responds in a pleasant accent back- awaiting your every order. “Please make a suit reservation in one hour, request for beige to be brought out- we are going tropical,” you state. “Very well,” X responds back before going silent once more. 

Suiting yourself up, tying up your dress shoes and slinging a shoulder bag on, you look between the car options you have before deciding on an SUV- needing the seating space for their airport trip that awaited you. Checking your appearance one last time in the rearview mirror you rolled out the driveway and down the country roads. Your house is locked automatically with the lack of your detected presence.

Clicking on the radio, Skyfall began to play through the radio as you tapped your fingers against the steering wheel while awaiting a light change. Rolling your eyes as a driver in front of you almost clipped a pedestrian on the sidewalk wishing to cross on their signal. You pulled into the underground garage underneath the building before driving into a specific parking spot off in a dim corner. It scans the bottom of your car, clicking with approval once finding your matching icon before lowering you deeping into the ground. You smile seeing the various sports cars and SUVs already parked in a line- workers busy or some that even worked through the night as you smile at Samanatha as she waves you in from the front desk, settling yourself in the office once more you read through Lasswell's report before sending out the email. Back your bags boys, we are going international.

↳ Taglist: @thriving-n-jiving @cringeycookies @lilliumrorum @brokenpieces-72 @infpt-zylith @kaoyamamegami @ashy-kit @notsaelty @hindi-si-ikay @sleepyycatt

[gamercookies]

Early Present!

Genre: Fluff, Smut, Romance. 

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: boypussy!han, dom!minho, pussy slap, fingering, bit of face-fuck, use of "master"(woah, new nickname!), squirting, praising. 

Note: Merry Christmas! Hope everyone is enjoying their day and I decided to post this bc the title has its meaning but yeah, merry Christmas 🎄💕🫶🏼 Enjoy & Take Care!

It’s Christmas Eve of course, a nice snow day for folks to celebrate, Han however has a special plan for Minho today, in which involves teasing. He had secretly purchased a maid outfit without permission, now Christmas Eve is gonna be enjoyable even more.

Today, December 24, 12:00PM : "Ring ding!" As the alarm clock went off, minho groan in frustration since he wanted to sleep. "Ugh.. is it morning already?" He murmured to Han. "Oh really?! It’s Christmas Eve babe!" Han says happily and gives Minho a quick kiss before he stands up to stretch while Minho pulls the blanket over his head wanting to sleep more.

He reaches over to tap Minho playfully on the shoulder. "Wakey wakey, sleepyhead! Time to get into the holiday spirit."

Minho grumbles and burrows deeper under the covers, clearly not amused by Han's enthusiasm at the crack of dawn. "Five more minutes... pleeease? We've got today and tomorrow," he mumbles, voice muffled by the blankets. Undeterred, Han pounces on the bed, tickling Minho mercilessly until he's giggling and squirming. "No way, Mr."  Han continues his relentless tickle attack, determined to rouse Minho from his cozy slumber nest. "Come on, cutie, it's Christmas Eve! Don't you want to wear something festive?" With a final flourish, Han pins down Minho's arms and leans in close, their faces inches apart. "And I have the perfect outfit for you..." He reaches for the Santa hats. "Ta-da! Isn't it adorable?"

"Han nooo~!!", As he tries to wriggle free, but Han holds him firm, a triumphant glint in his eye. "Oh, come on, don't be such a Grinch!" Han teases, placing the hat gently on Minho's head. "It suits you, really. You're so cute when you're all scowly and flustered like this." Minho lets out a dramatic sigh, resigned to his fate. "Fine, fine. But if I look ridiculous, I'm blaming you!" With that resolved Han jumps out of bed, excitedly, and hurries to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee, and a wonderful breakfast for his boyfriend.

… 

Meanwhile, Han hurried over to the couch where the box containing his outfit was hidden right after he finished preparing breakfast.

Han carefully opens the box, revealing the maid costume inside. His heart races with excitement as he unfolds the skirt and holds it up, admiring how it will look on him. "Okay, here goes nothing!" He puts it over his head, once he’s done he finally puts on knee-high stockings, grabs the tray of food and heads to the bedroom. "Hey handsome, I brought you some breakfast before we enjoy ourselves." 

Minho looks up, surprised to see Han standing there holding a tray laden with pancakes, eggs, and bacon. His gaze then drops to Han's lower half, taking in the sight of the short plaid skirt hugging Han's hips, followed by the white apron and frilly knee-high socks. "Uh... wow," Minho manages to stammer, blinking rapidly as he processes the unexpected visual feast before him. "You look... different," he admits, trying to keep a straight face despite the twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "Very festive indeed," he adds with a hint of sarcasm, gesturing to the Santa hat on top of his head.

After serving breakfast, Han sets the tray aside and climbs onto the bed, crawling over to Minho with a playful grin. He scoots in close, their thighs touching as he leans in to whisper mischievously in Minho's ear. "So, what do you think of my new look? Pretty cute, right?" Minho chuckles, shaking his head in amusement even as a small smile tugs at his lips. "I suppose it grows on you," he concedes, reaching out to lightly trail a finger along the edge of Han's apron. 

A few hours later, they're cozied up on the couch in the living room, snuggled beneath a soft blanket as they watch "The Grinch" on TV. Minho reaches over to steal a handful of popcorn from Han's bowl, earning a mock scowl from his boyfriend. "Hey, those are mine!" Han protests, pretending to be offended as he tries to snatch the pilfered kernels back. Minho just grins, popping another piece into his mouth. "Sharing is caring, babe," he teases, nudging Han playfully with his elbow. 

Han narrows his eyes at Minho, a sly smirk playing on his lips. "You know, stealing snacks is totally Grinch-like behavior," he accuses, wagging a finger at his boyfriend. "Maybe you should just stay in Whoville and leave the good stuff alone!" Minho laughs, tossing another piece of popcorn in his mouth. "Hey now, I resent that," he says around the chewy morsel. 

Han can't resist the opportunity to tease Minho further, shifting closer until their bodies are pressed together. He drapes an arm around Minho's shoulders, fingers tracing idle patterns on his boyfriend's side. "Mmm, you feel warm," Han purrs, nuzzling into Minho's neck. "Like a big, cuddly Who-ville dweller." Minho shivers at the intimate contact, his breath hitching slightly. 

Feeling restless, Han excuses himself to use the restroom, leaving Minho alone on the couch.

As soon as Han closes the bathroom door, Minho lets out a frustrated sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. The teasing had been fun, but now his body aches for more of Han's touch. He shifts restlessly, adjusting his position on the couch but finding no relief. "Damn it, Han," he mutters under his breath, "you always know just how to get under my skin."

After 10 minutes, Han emerges from the bathroom, a bit of toilet paper fell on the floor. As he bends over to retrieve the dropped paper towel, his skirt rides up, giving Minho a tantalizing glimpse of Han's bare bottom. Minho's eyes widen, and he swallows hard, his mouth going dry. "Oops my bad," Han says huskily, while Minho eyes were unable to tear his gaze away from the delectable view. 

Minho's patience snaps, and he lunges forward, pinning Han against the wall with a fierce grip on his wrists. "That's it, isn't it?" Minho growls, his face inches from Han's. "You've been driving me crazy all day with your flirting and teasing, and now you're just going to leave me hanging?" 

Han squirms against the wall, trapped by Minho's strong hold. His breathing quickens, and he meets Minho's intense gaze with wide, pleading eyes. "I didn't mean to, I swear," Han pleads, his voice trembling slightly. "I just couldn't help myself." Minho's grip on Han's wrists loosens, replaced by gentle fingers stroking through Han's hair. "Shh, it's okay," Minho soothes, pressing a tender kiss to Han's forehead. "I love when you get all playful and affectionate. Just next time, maybe give me a little warning before leaving me desperate and aching for you, hmm?" 

Han bites his lip, looking up at Minho with a mix of innocence and desire. "I want you, Minho," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. "Please, I need you so badly."

Minho's eyes darken with lust as he notices something important - Han's skirt has ridden up, exposing the smooth, bare flesh of his thighs. And below that, nestled between his legs, a glistening pink mound that's clearly not covered by any underwear. "Fuck, Han," Minho groans, his hands sliding down to grip Han's hips. "You naughty boy, not wearing anything underneath that skirt?"

Han blushes softly, "Y-yeah baby.. it’s just for yo- Ah!” As his voice gets cut off by a slap towards his pussy, "M-Minho~" Han moans again. As Minho brings his palm down again to his pussy, this time harder, the sound echoing in the quiet room. "Look at you, all flushed and panting," Minho purrs, his fingers dipping between Han's legs to stroke the damp folds of his pussy. "Your little clit is throbbing, begging for attention. Such a greedy slut, aren't you?"

"Yes! I’m so greedy for you.. it’s been weeks since I’ve been touched down there." Han whines needing his finger in him. With a smirk, Minho delivers another firm smack to Han's pussy, making the boy yelp and clench around nothing. "Liar," Minho accuses playfully, his fingers trailing up Han's inner thigh. "I bet you've been fingering yourself silly on the days I went to work." 

Han's cheeks flush a deep crimson, and he looks away, unable to meet Minho's piercing gaze. "Y-yeah, okay, fine," he admits sheepishly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I may have touched myself a few times... but it's not the same as having you!"

Minho chuckles darkly, his free hand reaching up to cup Han's chin and force him to look at him. "Oh, really? Then why do you taste like you've been licking your own pussy, huh?" 

"M-maybe because I did touch myself a few minutes ago in the bathroom.. and that’s why I took long Minho.” Han says looking down blushing shyly admiring the truth. Han nods, biting his lip nervously as he waits for Minho's reaction. "Yeah, I guess that's what happened," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to tease you, though. I just couldn't resist the urge." Just before he could speak again, Minho picks him up bridal style "Woah! Put me down!", Han squeals as he’s being carried towards the bedroom, and gently pushes Han into the bed and he pins him with his body. 

Minho grins, his fingers hooking into the waistband of Han's skirt and tugging it down. "Well, if you're going to tease me like that, you better be prepared for the consequences," he growls, his eyes dark with desire. "Spread your legs, Han. Let me see how wet you are." 

Han obeys without hesitation, parting his thighs to give Minho an unobstructed view of his glistening pink folds. "See?" Han says breathlessly, his chest heaving with anticipation. "I'm dripping for you already."

Minho's gaze rakes over Han's exposed sex, drinking in the sight of his boy pussy on display. "Fuck, you're gorgeous like this," he murmurs, leaning in to press open-mouthed kisses along Han's inner thighs. "I'm going to make you scream my name, Han. Get ready."

"Yes Minho." Han murmurs. "Yes? Is that all?" Suddenly, he slaps Han’s pussy again causing him to moan and arch back. “Ahh! I’m sorry!” 

Minho leans close to his ear and whispers, "It’s master to you, slut. Got that baby?"

"Yes, Master," Han murmurs submissively, his body quivering with need.

Minho smirks, pleased by Han's obedient response. His hand comes down in a stinging slap against Han's sensitive pussy, making the boy cry out. "That's right, pet. Remember who owns this pretty little cunt," Minho commands, his fingers tracing the reddened flesh. "Now, spread wider for me. I want to see everything."

Han gasps, his legs shaking as he complies, splaying himself open for Minho's hungry gaze. The cool air hits his slick, swollen lips, making them pucker and gleam. "Master..." Han moans softly, his hips twitching upward in silent plea. Minho devours Han's pussy with abandon, his talented tongue swirling and probing every sensitive fold. He laps up the boy's sweet nectar, savoring the unique flavor that's uniquely Han. One hand slides up to fondle Han's clit, playing with it gently as he sucks and nibbles on the tender skin of his inner thighs.

"Master, please!" Han begs, his voice high and desperate. "I need more... I need you inside me!" Minho pulls back, his chin glistening with Han's juices, and smirks up at the panting boy. "Patience, pet. We're just getting started."

Han whimpers in frustration, his body trembling with the effort of staying still. He wants Minho so badly, needs to feel his cock stretching him wide, filling him up completely. But he trusts his him, knows that Minho will take care of him when the time is right.

Minho stands, towering over Han's prone form, and quickly sheds his clothes. His thick, hard cock springs free, bobbing eagerly in front of him. Han's eyes widen at the impressive sight, his mouth watering in anticipation. 

"Get on your knees, Han," Minho orders, his voice low and commanding. "Show me how much you want it."

Han scrambles to obey, dropping to his knees in front of Minho. He reaches out, wrapping his small hand around the base of Minho's impressive cock, feeling it throb against his palm. Leaning forward, Han parts his lips and takes the head into his mouth, sucking gently.

"Mmmph, yeah, just like that," Minho groans, his fingers threading through Han's hair to guide him. Han relaxes his throat, taking more of Minho's length into his mouth as he bobs his head, working the shaft with eager enthusiasm.

After a moment, Minho pulls Han off, his cock glistening with saliva. "Enough teasing," he growls, hoisting Han up and tossing him onto the bed. "Time to fill that greedy hole of yours."

Han squeals in delight as he's tossed onto the bed, bouncing on the mattress with a giggle. He spreads his legs wide, presenting himself to Minho like a sacrificial offering. "Please, Master, I need you so bad!" he pleads, his boy pussy clenching hungrily.

Minho climbs onto the bed, kneeling between Han's thighs. He grips Han's hips, pulling the boy closer until their bodies align. With a swift thrust, Minho sheaths his cock deep inside Han's tight heat, a low grunt escaping him at the exquisite sensation. "Oh fuck, yes!" Han cries out, his back arching off the bed as he's stretched and filled to capacity. Minho sets a relentless pace, pounding into Han's willing body with powerful strokes that shake the bedframe.

Han meets each of Minho's thrusts with equal fervor, his hips rising to greet the invading cock. Their bodies slap together in a lewd symphony of flesh on flesh, the sound echoing through the room. Han's hands roam over Minho's back, nails digging in as he's driven wild by the intense pleasure.

"Harder, Master, please!" Han begs, his voice raw with need. Minho obliges, slamming into Han with brutal force, the head of his cock battering against the boy's prostate with each stroke. Han's vision whites out, his mind consumed by the overwhelming ecstasy coursing through him.

Han's entire body seizes up, his back arching nearly vertical as his climax rips through him like a hurricane. "Minho! Fuck..! I-I'm gonna cum! I'm gonna break!" he moans, his voice cracking with the intensity of his release.

As Minho continues to pound into him, Han's overloaded senses finally reach their limit. With a keening wail, he erupts, a gush of clear fluid squirting from his spasming pussy to coat Minho's cock and abdomen. The warm splash paints Minho's skin, marking him with evidence of Han's surrender to pleasure. Minho roars, his own orgasm hitting him like a freight train. He buries himself to the hilt, his cock throbbing as he fills Han's convulsing channel with his hot seed.

Minho withdraws, his softening cock slipping free of Han's well-used hole. A trickle of cum follows, dribbling down Han's thigh as he lies there, boneless and satisfied. Minho settles beside him, pulling Han into his arms and holding him close with a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Damn, baby, you squirted all over me," he teases, wiping a trickle of fluid from his cheek. Han blushes, a goofy grin spreading across his face. "Hehe.. I couldn't help it," he replies, his voice drowsy with contentment. "You made me lose control." Minho chuckles, pressing a gentle kiss to Han's forehead. "Good boy," he murmurs. 

“Merry Christmas.. baby, even though it’s tomorrow I decided to give you an early present from me.” Han murmurs as he drifts off to sleep. 

Minho's brow furrows in confusion as he hears Han's mumbled words. "Wait, what early present?" he asks, tilting his head to look at the sleeping boy in his arms.

Minho's eyes narrow, a hint of suspicion creeping into his expression. After a few minutes he carefully extracts himself from Han's embrace, sitting up and turning to face the slumbering boy. "Han, wake up," he says firmly, gently shaking Han's shoulder. Han's eyelids flutter open, bleary and unfocused. "Wha...?" he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes. Minho's grip on his shoulder tightens. "Tell me about this 'early Christmas present'."

"Oh, um... I might have forgotten to get you anything for Christmas," he admits, looking away in embarrassment. "So I thought maybe I could, uh, give you something else instead..."

His cheeks flush a deep crimson as he trails off, unable to meet Minho's gaze. Minho's eyes widen, a mix of shock and amusement dancing in their depths. "Give me something else? Like what, exactly?" he prompts, his tone laced with playful curiosity. Han swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing prominently in his throat. "Well... I, uh... I gave you my virginity," he stammers out, the words tumbling from his lips in a rush.

Minho stares at Han for a long moment, processing the boy's confession. Then, to Han's surprise, a deep rumble of laughter escapes him. "Your virginity, huh?" he repeats, grinning widely. "I think that was the best gift I could've asked for, baby."

He leans in, capturing Han's lips in a tender kiss filled with affection and gratitude. When they part, Minho cups Han's face in his hands, his thumbs stroking the delicate skin beneath Han's eyes. "You didn't have to do that, you know," he says softly. "But I'm glad you did. It means everything to me."

Han's heart swells at Minho's words, a sense of warmth and belonging washing over him. "I wanted to," he whispers, his voice sincere. "Because I love you, Minho."

Minho's grin softens, his expression turning gentle and loving. "And I love you too, Han," he says, his voice filled with emotion. "More than anything." He pulls Han into another kiss, this one deeper and more passionate, conveying the depth of his feelings.

As they make out, Minho's hands wander over Han's body, tracing the curves and contours of the boy's form with reverence. He breaks the kiss to murmur against Han's lips, "Let's celebrate your first Christmas as mine properly, okay?"

With that, Minho scoops Han up into his arms, cradling him against his chest. He carries the boy out of the bedroom, heading toward the living room where a small Christmas tree stands, adorned with colorful ornaments and twinkling lights.