#projecting again got a cold

[daily-kinitopet]

Day 27

Told you not to install that virus dude

[operarock]

Hi...

[preluvz]

It's my birthday today and I declare I don't have to finish this wip on time!!! :3c tune in later this weekend for my tskym Valentines post ig

[thetimelordbatgirl]

Ngl youtube videos suddenly got me slowly turning into a Justin Russo hater.

[drdt-polls]

Ohhh I’m so behind whoops 😭 out of habit I’d definitely try and push getting stuff done until tomorrow but I’d better do them now!

[puppylove-mail]

logging in to say i am in final exam hell :3

not answering messages or lookin at anythin to not let myself be distracted bc i am good boy (real) even when it comes to doing big boy stuffs ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა

[vashti-lives]

Here it is. The last trendy color palette before greige hit. I kept thinking that these colors reminded me of something and then it hit me: it looks like it belongs on a Cold Water Creek mannequin circa 2013.

(It’s definitely more blue/green leaning irl, it just doesn’t photograph all that well. Tragic.)

[broke-on-books]

😍😍😍

[bruisedboys]

trouble — jacob black

it’s raining and you’re bored. your boyfriend proves to be an effective distraction (if you can distract him, that is) OR in which jacob is busy and you like to cause trouble. based off this drabble!

jacob black x fem!reader, 2k words. suggestive content 16+ pls!!

The rain is unforgiving today. It’s not uncommon for it to be wet in Forks, the rain a persistent, stubborn thing, but today it’s horrendous. Heavy and icy cold, big fat droplets that seem sure to pierce your skin and freeze you to death. It hasn’t stopped since last night and doesn’t seem like it’ll stop for a good few days.

You’re bored out of your mind. You realise rain just comes with living in Forks, and you’re mostly used to it, but you’d really wanted to go shopping with your friends today and the rain squandered your plans the moment you woke up. Jacob’s busy working on his bike in the shed, and everyone else is rained in. You’re stuck on the couch at Jacob’s while the rain comes down in sheets outside. You flick through channels on the TV until you can’t stand it anymore. There’s nothing good to watch, anyway.

You grab one of Jacob’s jackets from the hook by the door and brave the rain, using the jacket as a makeshift umbrella as you jog your way over to the garage, shoes sloshing in the mud.

You find Jacob sitting on the beat-up wooden bench, hunched over his newest project. It’s a bike he found second hand at a yard sale — when he first got it, it looked to you an unrecognisable hunk of metal, hardly a bike at all. But your boyfriend has a way with his hands, and now it at least has two wheels and a proper seat.

Jacob looks up as you come in, though the sound of the rain completely covers your footsteps.

“Hey, trouble,” he says. Then, at the look on your face, “You okay?”

Your frown deepens. “No,” you shake your head. “I’m bored, Jake.”

Jacob chuckles. Trust him to laugh at you when you’re clearly suffering.

“Yeah?” He asks. “You want to come help me?”

You take one look at the frankly confusing array of tools around his feet, and wrinkle your nose. “No, thanks. Can’t we go for a drive?”

Jacob wrinkles his nose back at you. “I’m busy, babe. And the road’s slippery, it’s dangerous. Maybe later.”

You roll your eyes. He can be such a grandma sometimes. Jacob goes back to his bike and you wander around the shed looking for something to do and moping. After a half assed search for some way to entertain yourself, you find an old novel you or Jake must’ve left in here a few months ago — you remember starting it and getting bored, but you’re already knee deep in boredom with no way out, so you decide to give it another try.

You sit in the bed of Jacob’s truck where it’s parked in the back of the shed, legs swinging over the edge. The rain drums rhythmically above you as you start reading. It takes about ten pages for you to get bored again, and five more for your mind to start wandering.

You think about how you could’ve been out shopping right now. Looking at all the lovely dresses in the new store they opened near the cinema. Sorting through books at the second-hand bookstore. Choosing a pretty new bra that you know Jacob would love seeing on you, and taking off of you. The thought gives you an idea. Unceremoniously, you give up on the book and slide off the truck bed, crossing the room to Jacob.

He doesn’t lift his head as you come up behind him, but acknowledges you with a brush of his knuckle to your thigh. You stand over him for a moment, watching him work. He looks hot when he’s concentrated, eyes trained in on his work, jaw set in concentration, arms muscles straining as he twists a particularly stubborn screw. He’s got big, strong hands, which only fuel your desire even more. What’s the best way to drag him away from his work?

“Did you want to help?” Jacob asks without looking up, interrupting your thoughts. You’re lucky he doesn’t catch you staring, or he’d figure out your plan in an instant.

You shake your head. “No. I’m just watching you.”

Jacob hums and goes back to what he’s doing, which happens to involve a lot of strained muscles as he tightens another loose screw with a wrench. You’re holding your breath as you watch his tanned bicep strain beneath the fabric of his t-shirt, and yeah, you’re a minx, but he’s really hot, and you don’t think anyone would blame you for reaching out and touching him.

Jacob doesn’t startle under your touch nor does he acknowledge it. You play it off casual, like you’re only rubbing his shoulder, palm gliding over the hill of it. You can feel his abnormally high body heat through his t-shirt, a nice change from the cold air. You find yourself pushing your hand down the expanse of his shoulder blade and up again, pressing the heel of your palm into his muscle.

Jacob sighs a little under your touch and rolls his shoulder back, leaning into your hand.

“Feels nice,” he murmurs.

You grin. This far into your relationship you’ve learnt that Jacob is a lot like a puppy when it comes to physical affection — he’s a total sucker for it, he melts for shoulder rubs and back scratches, and he turns to complete putty in your hands when you play with his hair (though you won’t implement that just yet.)

Instead, you just hum softly, smiling to yourself as you press both hands to his shoulders. He’s equally warm and muscled all over, and at this point it would take a hoard of vampires to hold you back from touching him. You get a good grip on his shoulders and push your palms into his muscles, massaging him.

It’s mean, because you know what it’ll do to him, know exactly what kind of mood it gets him into. Still, it’s not until you start to push your hands further up towards his neck that he confronts you.

He turns to face you, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Did you want something, sweetheart?” He asks, and you can tell you’ve begun to unravel him by the way he says it, plus he’s called you sweetheart, which almost certainly means he’ll give in.

You feign innocence, though the look on his face almost unravels you.

“Nope,” you lie. “Just watching.”

Jacob raises his eyebrows at you. “You sure? You’re being awfully touchy.”

“You’re really warm,” you say, shrugging.

Jacob squints at you, then shrugs. “If you say so,” he says, and (looking like he’s exercising quite a bit of restraint) turns back to his bike.

You stay where you are and give him about five minutes of peace before you start being cruel. Keeping one hand at the base of his neck, you slide the other up the back of it, pushing up into his hair. You card your fingers through the short strands at the very nape of his neck, and Jacob goes very still. You think he’s holding his breath. When you push your hand further up into the longer strands, and let your nails drag over his scalp on the way back down, he folds.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he murmurs. He drops his tools, scrubs his hands on his jeans and spins on you, hooking one leg over the wooden bench, straddling it so he can properly face you. He‘s giving you a dangerous look that makes your heart race. Finally.

You blink at him, a picture of innocence. “What’s the matter?” You ask sweetly, though you know your smile gives you away. As if you weren’t caught red handed already.

Jacob huffs and rolls his eyes, before grabbing your hips and pulling you forward roughly. You go tumbling into his lap and he catches you, hands hot on your jeans, adjusting you until you’re properly sitting in his lap. Your legs fall on either side of his hips and you giggle, pleased and flustered at his manhandling.

Jacob gives you a somewhat disapproving look, though his thumb rubs fond circles into the fat of your hip.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” He says in a low voice. His eyes flicker to your lips. He looks a bit like he wants to eat you.

“Sorry,” you say. You are kind of sorry for disturbing him, but the heat building in your chest outweighs the guilt. “I was really bored.”

Jacob laughs through his nose. “Yeah, I know, babe.” He spread his hands over your hips and butt and pulls you closer still. Your hands end up on his shoulders again. “You always know how to get what you want, huh?”

Something about the way he’s talking to you makes you so dizzy you can’t speak. You’re silent as Jacob dips his head to press a kiss to one of your wrists, then takes it in his hand and guides your hand up his neck and back into his hair.

“Keep going?” He asks in a quiet voice, encouraging your hand around the back of his head. “Please?”

Well, when he asks like that, how could you say no? You curl your fingers into his hair and Jacob barely gives you time to breathe before he’s kissing you, mouth landing on yours in the sort of kiss you can only describe as desperate. You’re equal amounts of needy as him, pushing forward in his lap and grabbing at his hair with greedy hands.

The rain thunders overhead. Jacob tilts his head, kissing you until your lips part under the pressure. His tongue slips into your mouth and your stomach swarms with butterflies. You grip Jacob’s hair harder, ensuing a sound from him like an angry dog, half moan half growl. It seems your touching earlier got him in exactly the mood you knew it would.

It’s not long before his hands start to wander. First your ass, then your arms, rubbing up and down as he kisses you hard enough to make you forget where you are. Then back to your hips, and you can feel the scalding heat of his hands through your jeans. He grabs you and tugs you further up his lap, close enough that your legs spread as you press against his bulge.

“Jake,” you whisper.

“Mmm,” he moans back. Then pulls away just an inch, lips swollen and forehead pressed to yours. “What, babe?”

You shake your head, breathless. “Nothing, just feels nice when you do that.”

Jacob ducks in to kiss you again. “Yeah?” He murmurs between hot kisses, sounding both pleased and a bit dangerous.

You nod your head, and it’s all it takes for Jacob to rock you against him again, pushing his hips up into yours as he goes. You moan and Jacob makes a similar sound from the back of his throat, heating you all the way through.

It quickly turns into not just kissing after that. Jacob’s kisses turn sloppy. You push your hands under his shirt to feel along the ridges and planes of his chest and abdomen, his skin like a furnace. Jacob guides your hips forward and back and forward again, grinding you against him slowly and breathing hard into your open mouth.

You forget about the rain, the pounding of your heart much louder than the downpour outside. You forget about the cold, your failed shopping trip, and the boring book abandoned in the bed of the truck.

It’s not long before Jacob’s got his hand on your thigh and a warm ache sweet as honey has bloomed between your legs.

Jacob’s busy kissing at your neck, bullying your skin with his teeth and tongue while you go breathless. His hand trudges further and further up your thigh until it’s high enough to abuse the waistband of your jeans.

His hand roves along the length of it, until he reaches the button. He tugs at it, mumbling into your neck a barely intelligible, “Can I?”

You nod vigorously, and your breath catches as he unfastens the button — his thumb skims over your underwear and you make a needy sound you can’t help.

Jacob emerges from your neck, smirking like mad. You’d say you hate him for it, but his thumb is tracing the hem of your underwear and you can’t speak.

“Not so bored now, huh?” Jacob teases in a low voice, but he’s out of breath too. You’ll tease him later for how quickly you managed to unravel him, but right now you can’t form more than two words.

“Shut up,” you manage, then make sure of it by pressing your mouth to his again.

He shuts up.

-

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed 🤍

[enhani-ki]

my biggest opp - reader x ni-ki

warnings : smut, nsfw, cursing, etc.

read part two

"suck my dick." "eat my ass."

you and ni-ki exchanged filthy words to each other at the same time, your voices were sharp and loud enough to turn your other coworkers heads. and even though they had long grown accustomed to your rivalry, they always still look at the two of you in shock.

it's like the office practically lived in fear whenever the two of you were around,

and it got to a point where the HR was already forced to intervene.

you both found yourselves sitting across from a visibly exhausted HR rep after a particularly heated argument during a department-wide meeting.

"l/n, nishimura... this is really out of control." they said while rubbing their temples. "you're sabotaging projects, disrupting meetings, and making the workplace hostile."

"tell her that. she started it." ni-ki pointed out.

you rolled your eyes.

"effective immediately, you're being reassigned to different departments."

and it should've ended there but somehow, despite being on separate teams, you both still found ways to make each other's lives miserable. you found loopholes and more ways to sabotage each other without making it obvious.

ni-ki took every ounce of restraint not to strangle you, and you might've run him over in the parking lot already if it weren't for security cameras around the building.

that late night, the office was already empty. you thought everyone had clocked out except for you.

you were also ready to leave, your bag is already over your shoulder but something was missing.

the important file, you knew you had just printed it.

"looking for this?"

it was the first time you saw ni-ki again. he's standing across the room, holding the folder between his fingers with a serious expression.

your stomach dropped. no fucking way.

"you're so fucking dead," he shook his head. "say goodbye to your career."

"gi-give me that!"

he held it high, stepping back when you tried to take it.

you almost had it but he made it more out of reach.

the folder has the confidential criteria of the next manager promotion, he knew you're a bad person but he didn't know that you'll just fucking cheat.

"yes, i'll give this back," he scoffed and nodded. "right to our manager."

your desperation turned to rage, that paper would literally ruin you. your eyes landed on a thick book sitting on a nearby desk, and you could've just explained and asked nicely to give it back but hell no, so you grabbed the hard thick book and threatened to swing.

ni-ki panicked, he looked around for a weapon of his own and in a split-second decision, he grabbed a cup off the desk and threw it at you...

very cold water splashed all over you and your clothes.

your jaw dropped. "you-"

"i- i didn't-"

then your foot slipped on the wet floor, ni-ki reacted fast, catching your head before you could crash to the ground but the momentum sent him stumbling too.

you groaned, his hands braced against the floor to keep himself from completely crushing you and next thing you knew, you were on the floor, your back against the cold tiles, and ni-ki was right on top of you, with his face buried on your tits.

he slowly moved, his eyes locked onto the view in front of him... your soaked blouse sticking to your skin, making your black bra and cleavage very much visible.

ni-ki cleared his throat before turning his head away from you. he was about to grab the scattered papers but you were quicker, you grabbed onto his collar, pulling him before he could escape.

"let go!"

"not a chance."

he struggled, trying to push you off but you were holding onto him so hard that the buttons of his shirt ripped, exposing his toned chest and abs.

you smirked slightly when you noticed ni-ki stopped pushing you away and his breaths became heavier.

he's still a guy after all.

your fingers roamed around his exposed chest, teasing him just to test something, to see if you could turn the tables,

you could feel his muscles tensed under your touch and ni-ki closed his eyes when you leaned close to give him a soft kiss on the lips.

the sound your lips made as they parted was too sexy so he leaned in to kiss you just to hear it again.

the kiss deepened, it became hurried, hard, aggressive, and messy.

like all his hate had nowhere else to go except right here.

ni-ki groaned against your lips, hands gripping on your waist.

you fingers slid down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin more beneath the open shirt again and before you knew it, you were helping him remove his shirt off completely, tossing it aside like it meant nothing.

"this is unbelievable." he thought, while his fingers worked hastily, unbuttoning each one from your blouse with urgency, making your heart race even more.

"you're impatient." you whispered, breathless.

"just wanna get this over with." he said before his lips crashed into yours to shut your annoying voice.

you wrapped your arms around his shoulders as he easily lifted you, his other hand sliding down your back to remove your bra.

ni-ki watched the way your boobs bounce and spread free right in front of his eyes.

he lay you down on a nearby couch, removing your skirt and stockings so he can have you naked completely.

you arched on his touch but ni-ki grabbed your wrist and pulled you on top of him with no effort.

and even though you won't openly admit or say it, you knew everyone found your coworker is attractive but damn, he's this big too?

so now it made it harder to stop all this and it's been so long too since you had sex, you already forgot how it felt.

you watched ni-ki slicked himself with his own spit, barely easing what was about to come because just as you suspected, the stretch really hurts.

maybe it just the tip but it was already too much. your nails dug into his shoulders, desperate for something to hold onto.

ni-ki started moaning, his entire body tensing as he felt the way your walls squeezed around him. it's so tight, so impossibly hot too like you were already milking him for everything he had and his cock's not even fully inside yet.

"fuck," he groaned, "you're sucking me in."

yes, ni-ki hates you and even though he wanted you to suffer for everything you did to him, he would never be cruel when it came to sex. his own self-control was also hanging by a thread, yet he still moved carefully, pushing in slow and deep, letting you feel every inch of him.

your head tipped back, moaning too as you adjusted to his size, tightening more around him involuntarily.

ni-ki smiled, probably the first time he did. "there you go," he thought, watching your reaction as he rolled his hips up to meet yours, slow while keeping your legs in it's place.

you couldn't even think now already, the way he filled you up, the way his body pressed against yours, it was overwhelming. your nails raked down his back as he picked up the pace, going deeper, and deeper that you just might pass out.

and when the pain faded into pleasure, your body moved on its own, you rolled your hips until you found a good rhythm, lifting yourself slightly before sinking back down, to take his dick even deeper inside you.

ni-ki threw his head back, eyes squeezed shut as you rode him with no mercy, your warm, soaked walls dragging over his cock at a pace that was too much. it felt like he had no control anymore, he could barely think.

"y/n, slow down-" his voice broke, desperate and strained but you ignored him, rolling your hips even more fast because then maybe you'll get to see him snap.

his whole body was trembling beneath you, muscles tensed as his breath came out in sharp, ragged gasps. he already came once, and it had already been so deep inside you but you just wouldn't stop.

"you wanted to fuck me, right?" you taunted, your thighs were shaking from how much pleasure was coursing through your overstimulated body. "then just take it."

ni-ki buckled up into you too, he's so close again, teetering on the edge, but he refused to give in to your words.

"you- you're one to talk," he rasped, "when you're so fucking soaked."

and he was right, you could feel how drenched you were, could hear how messy and filthy it sounded every time your hips met his.

the pleasure became too much again, unbearable ache building deep inside you it felt like you're going to pee anytime soon, you pulled his hair for support as your rhythm started slowing down.

ni-ki noticed even through his dazed, wrecked state before smirking again. "gonna fall apart on me?"

his hands held your hips down, forcing his cock so deep inside you that your vision blurred, a sob tore from your throat as the pressure snapped, crashing through your body so intense that you couldn't even moan.

your lips parted, body trembling uncontrollably as you came hard on his lap.

you didn't know how but somehow now, he had you on your hands and knees, chest pressing against your back as he drove into you, relentless, unforgiving.

"n-no, fuck!" you sobbed, your arms nearly giving out as he buried himself inside you again and again, ni-ki's lips trailing over your shoulder, hot and ragged.

and your pussy clenched around him again, he started losing it.

his fingers tangled in your hair, pulling it to where your back can press against his chest, his other hand gripping on your throat.

he cupped your tits, you could feel his cock twitch inside you, the thrusts of his hips turned frantic as he chased his own release.

...now the office fell silent but the reality of what just happened started creeping in slowly between the two of you.

you reached for your discarded clothes, your limbs were feeling heavy as you clumsily pulled your skirt back on. ni-ki, still catching his breath, sat up to and started buttoning his ruined shirt though half the buttons were missing, making it completely useless.

then, he held something up between his fingers.

"can i keep these?"

your head turned towards him, eyes widening when you realized he was holding your panties.

you snatched it from his grip. "are you fucking sick in the head?" you hissed, slipping them back on as quickly as possible.

he just laughed and shook his head.

maybe he's sick, after all, he just slept with the worst person he ever knew.

next day you and ni-ki sat across from each other in the office, both unusually quiet. no bickering, no scheming, everything was just... gone.

your coworkers noticed but ignored it, just enjoying while it's happening.

ni-ki exchanged awkward glances with you before quickly looking away.

your lips were still tingling from last night. you swore that your body still felt him, and every time you move in your chair, the memories just keeps on flooding back to your head. "stop... please... oh, my god."

he wasn't doing any better too, he can't stop smiling and running a hand through his hair, his knee were bouncing under the desk every time his eyes landed on you.

then he caught you alone.

you were at the copy room, trying to focus on literally anything else when suddenly, you felt him.

ni-ki pressed up behind you, my dick misses you, is what he wanted to say. "what the fuck are you doing here?"

you blushed, your fingers were curling into the edge of the machine. "p- printing, what else?" you stuttered.

"y/n..." his hands found your waist, squeezing lightly. "you don't miss it?"

you swallowed hard before turning around to face him, "keep dreaming, psycho."

liar.

the asshole ni-ki you know would never say these things and if he did, the old you would've punch his mouth and punching it once once so you'd make sure it'll bleed.

so what happened?

"remember, i still got the files."

you hushed him, "give that shit back," you whispered.

he hummed, tilting his head. "it's at my house. you can come get it."

"just bring it here!"

"like i said," he dragged the word out, stepping closer, "come get it."

you still found yourself standing outside his apartment later that night even though knew it was probably a trap.

ni-ki opened the door, leaning against it with that same smug expression like he knew you'd be here... he's wearing nothing but a loose bathrobe.

you looked down. is he naked underneath? he's this pervert? then you quickly shook your head, forcing yourself to look back up. "where is it?"

he sighed, stepping aside to let you in. "hmm, i put it somewhere over there," he murmured.

you shoved him away before he could try anything, making him chuckle.

so you started searching, bending down to check under his sofa and through the mess on his coffee table.

ni-ki stood behind you, watching. no, he was checking you out.

his tongue slipped to wet his lips, looking at your ass and if he stared any longer, he knew his dick will get hard.

you stood and stomped your foot. "just give it back!"

ni-ki sighed and fixed his hair. "okay, fine!" he said, "i already shredded it. you don't have to worry."

"how do i know you're not lying?"

he didn't answer right away. instead, he leaned back against the armrest of the sofa, legs spreading slightly as he pulled you closer between them.

"because... you fucked me so good, i destroyed every single thing i have that could ruin you."

you swallowed hard, chest rising and falling hard as you look into his eyes then you looked down, and... oh.

his cock twitched beneath the thin fabric of his robe, already straining against it, making his arousal painfully obvious.

the air grew heavier as you both watched him get harder, completely shameless.

your lips parted slightly, heat creeping up your neck, but then you shot him a glare. "can you put some damn clothes on?"

ni-ki smirked, playing with the belt of his robe. "but you came all the way here…" he said. looking at you with his needy eyes.

he didn't finish his words, you just reached forward, curling your fingers around the soft fabric, and dragged it off his shoulders, inch by inch.

your eyes followed every reveal, his sharp collarbones, the defined lines of his shoulders, the smooth, lean muscle of his chest.

his eyes were locked onto your lips, red, and swollen from the night before. that's his doing and it looked so good.

his fingers traced along your jaw, his other hand gripping your waist as he captured your lips in a slow, deep kiss. his body was already hot beneath your touch, tense, waiting for you to take control and do him however you wanted.

you knelt between his spread legs, dragging your hand over his thighs, watching the way his muscles flexed under your touch.

you wrapped your fingers around his cock first, stroking him slow, letting your palm glide smoothly over him. his cock twitched in response with a shaky breath slipping past his lips.

you leaned in and pressed a slow, wet kiss to his tip. ni-ki's grip in your hair tightened but not pulling, just holding, like he needed something to ground him.

and when your lips wrapped around him, he lost all of his sense of control. you took him deeply that your cheeks were hollowing while letting your tongue glide over every inch of his dick.

you pushed even lower, forcing him down your throat, stretching yourself around him until your throat clenched, gagging as you choked when he hit the back of your mouth,

"more, more... more..." ni-ki bit his lip.

and you let yourself struggle, deep throathing his cock that spit started pooling at the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin, and all over your hands.

you heard him swore in Japanese under his breath so you can't help but chuckle, vibration sent another set of pleasure through him before you pulled away, letting his cock slip from your lips with a pop, thin strand of spit still connecting your mouth to his tip.

ni-ki's hips bucked, desperate for your mouth again but you just smirked, dragging your tongue along the side of his cock, slow and teasing, before wrapping your lips around him again... only to pull away the second he's about to cum.

"y/n- stop... that." he warned but you ignored it. instead, you just wrapped your hands around him, stroking him slow and lazy.

"you were close, right?"

"you think you're funny?" he panted.

you started sucking his dick passionately again, enough to make him think you were finally giving in but only to pull away again at the last second, lips barely brushing his tip, making him fucking ache.

his voice cracked, "you're so fucking evil-"

"you sound so desperate right now." you teased, dragging a single finger along his length, feeling how hot and hard he was in your grasp.

"you're not gonna make me cum?" ni-ki asked before pining your hands above your head, he had you completely spread out beneath him,

he's too far gone to even remember why he hated you in the first place.

and he went on you so hard that night, you couldn't even move the next day. you would fall the second you tried to stand, and the soreness between your thighs made you collapse back with a frustrated whimper.

a deep chuckle rumbled beside you, raspy from hours of groaning, moaning, and going crazy.

you glared at him weakly, when you tried again and failed, ni-ki carried you in his arms. you yelped, clinging to his shoulders as he carried you towards the bathroom.

he really did a number on you.

"think we can handle another round here?"

now he had your cheek pressed up against the cool, fogged-up glass of the shower. ni-ki's hands were everywhere, his large palms gripped the soft flesh of your tits, squeezing, pulling, and rolling your nipples between his finger, making your body arch back into him.

you just hoped that it wouldn't leave bruising prints on your skin.

you breathed hard, fogging up the mirror. ni-ki groaned against your shoulder, your fingers kept slipping against the tile for balance, wet slap echoing through the steam-filled bathroom.

"i could fuck you for days..." he declared, his teeth grazing your shoulder before he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His fingers dug into your hips, pressing you harder against the glass.

the water kept shifting from icy cold to blistering hot, and it's so hard to breath, like you were both drowning.

next morning, your body ached in ways you didn't think were possible, ni-ki groaned into the pillow beside you, his arm draped over your waist, refusing to move.

your phone buzzed on the nightstand, probably an alarm or a message about work. you glanced at the time, then at ni-ki, who peeked at you with a smile.

"we're not going in, are we?" he asked, still sleepy.

you sighed, already knowing the answer. "nope, i can't."

he grinned and rolled over, grabbing his phone to call in sick.

"i gotta go home."

he hummed, nuzzling against your neck. "mm. or you could just stay here with me."

his hand slid over your thigh.

"i'm so sleepy," you mumbled, voice muffled against the pillow.

ni-ki's fingers were already trailing down your side so you hissed.

"what?" he murmured against your shoulder, pressing a warm kiss there. "i'm just holding you."

"you're not."

sighed, eyes fluttering shut. "i need sleep."

...but he can fuck you back to sleep.

ni-ki hummed, pretending to think. he rolled on top of you, pinning you beneath his weight.

"just five minutes." he agreed, lips brushing your ear. "if not, i'm waking you up my way."

later, just as you were drifting into actual sleep, something heavy landed on the bed, startling you both awake.

your eyes snapped open, only to be met with a pair of little eyes glaring at you.

a dog.

a small, fluffy thing that was currently growling at you like you had personally offended it.

"what the?" he muttered, scrambling back. "oh, bisco..."

"your dog?"

"that's my child."

you blinked at him. "i didn't know you we-"

"yes," he replied, reaching to ruffle the dog's fur. "i'm a single father."

you squinted at him, then at the dog, who was still very much growling at you.

"oh, come on," you huffed, sitting up. "what's your problem?"

the dog barked in response, stepping protectively over ni-ki's chest. "bisco thought you were hurting me last night."

"excuse me?"

the dog growled again, and you shot ni-ki a glare. "are you gonna stop it?"

ni-ki reached out and pulled you against him, ignoring the dog's outrage.

"bisco," he called out, "you'll get used to her."

bisco did not look convinced. "i think it can sense your evil attitude," he teased, rubbing the dog's ears.

ni-ki looked completely at ease... messy hair, lips still a little swollen from earlier, and worst of all, smiling.

like actually smiling.

you swallowed hard, your face heating up.

was this really the same guy who had spent months making your life a living hell? the same guy who stole your reports, sabotaged your presentations, and threw every possible insult your way?

the same guy you swore you'd never tolerate, let alone you expect to wake up next to?

it really doesn't feel real.

you sat there feeling like your whole world just tilted sideways and yet, here he was, laughing softly as bisco licked his face, as if he wasn't the biggest opp you have.

ni-ki looked at you, "what?"

you scoffed, grabbing the blanket and pulling it over your head. "nothing..."

ni-ki only chuckled, moving closer, "tsk, don't tell me..."

and you kicked him under the blanket, smiling like an idiot.

a/n: i need to write smut better omfg, thank you @greenparties for this request. and if you're a MOA and BEOMGYU is your bias here's another coworker/enemies to lovers fic of mine: coworker || c. beomgyu x reader

masterlist: マスターリストm.list || my biggest opp part ii

taglist 𖤘: @dolliewon @ziiao

[blueberrykefir]

Heatwaves

Joel Miller x f!reader 18+

Summary: A record breaking heatwave hits Texas. You’re left sweating in a bikini stranded without power… until your gruff, older neighbor offers some relief. As the temperature rises, so does the tension.

Content warnings: Smut! MDI! Oral (f receiving), fingering, age gap, dirty talk, teasing, praising, use of nickname Sweetheart, no outbreak au.

Word Count: 5k

The heat was the kind that made one stupid. The kind that turned their brain into mush and clothes into a second skin. 

You’d given up on dignity around hour four without power, stripped down to your bikini top and shorts, and flopped onto the porch like some overheated house cat.

Texas reached record breaking temperatures today, and was only projected to get worse the next two days. The wood beneath your feet was warm, but it was better than inside where the air hung heavy and wet like a damp towel no one bothered to wring out. You fanned yourself with your cardboard fan and considered if spontaneous combustion was a real thing. 

You continued to melt into your lawn chair, fantasizing about air conditioning when there was a rumble of a truck pulling into the driveway next door. 

Slowly, you lifted your head just in time to catch your neighbor, Joel Miller, climbing out, black shirt stuck to his broad back like a second skin. 

He was your dads friend, your neighbor, construction guy, and apparently bag of ice guy. 

You felt your heart skip a beat as he pulled out a blue bag of ice from the bed of his truck and swung it over his shoulder. You nearly whimpered at the thought of ice, thinking about how your freezer gave out on you hours ago. 

He grabbed a red canister of gas and turned just enough to see you. His eyes landed on you and stuck. 

You should’ve said hi. Covered up. Looked away. Done literally anything besides sitting there, like a deer in sweaty headlights. 

But instead, you stared back, flicking between the bag of ice and his tight shirt. 

His gaze was unreadable, but it burned hotter than the sun bouncing off the pavement. You were suddenly aware of every bead of sweat crawling down your neck, onto your heaving chest.

His gaze followed that one bead of sweat, then, wordlessly, he nodded once, and disappeared inside. 

—

You’d just managed to sink lower into your chair when the door creaked open again. Out he came, Mr. Miller, crossing the front yard with a lazy sort of purpose, something white clutched in his hand. A cup. Styrofoam, already sweating like it was nervous. 

He stopped at the edge of my porch, not quite stepping over, but close enough to smell of diesel and man. “Figured you could use some of this,” he said, holding out the cup like a peace offering. 

You blinked then scrambled upright, “Is that… ice?”

He nodded, expression unreadable as he glanced at your attire, then back to your eyes. “Bought the last bag. Got lucky– people actin' like its the goddamned apocalypse out there." 

“You’re a saint,” You said without shame, grabbing the cup with reverence. The ice rattled inside the cup, slick, perfect, and cold. You plucked a cube out and pressed it straight to your neck.

“Oh my god,” You groaned, breath hitching as if this ice cube was something more illicit. The cold sent a jolt down your spine, dragging another breathy sigh from your lips as you traced it over your collarbones.

When you looked back up, his jaw was set tight. His eyes tracked the melting ice, slow and deliberate. Watched the bead slide down your chest, curve along your skin, and disappear into your navel like it was the most important thing he had ever seen. The heat crawling over your skin had nothing to do with the weather. 

Mr. Miller cleared his throat, ignoring the heat rising within him “What are you doing out here? Ain’t your dad got a generator?”

You sat up straighter, brushing some hair off your sticky forehead. “He does. But he is out of town for work until Friday.” 

This caught his attention. His eyebrows lifted lightly, “You’re here all by yourself?” 

You nodded, squinting at him through the haze. “Mhm. not that the generator does me good. I don’t have a car, so I can’t go get gas for it. And even if I did, I don’t know how to start the damn thing.” 

He stared at you for a beat, then huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Christ, you’re gonna cook alive out here.” 

“I'm aware,” you said dryly, sinking deeper into the chair, “Thanks for the concern, though.”

“My generator doesn’t need the whole gas can. I can spare some for yours.” 

You blinked. “Seriously?”

“Of course. Your dad’ll kill me if I let his daughter melt on my watch.” The way he said it, should’ve sounded patronizing, but it didn’t. If anything, he said it like he was reminding himself, as if heeding a warning. 

“That would be amazing, Mr. Miller.” 

“Joel,” He corrected, voice low, “I’ll grab the gas can. Be right back.”

Moments later he walked out holding the red gas canister. “Lead the way.” 

“It’s in the back shed, 'round the corner,” You reluctantly got up and led him around to the side yard. His gaze trailed lower than it should’ve and your barely-there swimsuit didn’t leave much to the imagination. 

The metal latch was hot to the touch when you opened the door. And sure enough, the generator sat untouched in the corner.

The door creaked shut behind him, and just like that, the space felt ten times smaller. The proximity made the air feel like smoke. Thick and hard to ignore.

You glanced back and caught the way his throat bobbed with a swallow. For a split second, you both just stood there, as if both realizing this is the first time you've been alone together. 

You felt nervous, “So, you gonna stand there all hot and sweaty, or you gonna start it, Joel?” His name tasted different on your tongue. You’d only ever called him Mr. Miller. 

He arched a brow at you, lips twitching, “Calling me hot?”

Feeling flustered, you shot back, “I said sweaty.”

“Hmm,” he drawled, crouching to uncap the tank, “Pretty sure I heard hot.” 

The way he poured the gas was painfully slow. Deliberate. You tried to stay cool, but the blush betrayed you.

“I- It’s just the weather-” You stammered.

A low chuckle filled the humid air, “Only teasing, Sweetheart.”

Before you could fire back, he sealed the tank, forearm flexing under sweat-slick skin. He rose to his feet and was tall enough to cast a shadow over you.

Then he nodded you towards the machine. “C’mere, grab that handle.” 

“Wait…” You paused, “You want me to do it?”

“You should know how to do it,” He said simply.

You gave him a look, “I can’t just call you every time?” 

“You could,” He said, low and rough, “But that’d be a real dangerous habit.” 

Your throat went dry, speechless, but you stepped in close anyway.

He smelled like heat and faint motor oil. His shoulders were solid and his hair was curling from the humidity. God, he looked like an outlaw from a dusty western. He grabbed the pull cord with the red attachment and held it out to you. Your fingers brushed his and they sizzled like a struck match. 

“Alrigh’,” He said, eyes on you, “Pull it back.” 

You took a deep breath and gave it a tentative yank. The generator made a short-lived cough, but didn’t catch

“Pull hard. Gotta mean it.” He said, tone demanding. 

“That's what you tell all the girls. Mr. Miller?” You looked up with a small but innocent smile. 

The words hit Joel low. Too low, he felt them in his stomach. "Careful." His tone was a warning.

You blinked at him, a fire burning deep within you. You cleared your throat and braced the cord again. You gave it a firmer pull. This time it gave a low rumble, taunting you, before dying once again. 

“It’s helpless.” You muttered, blowing some hair off your face. 

You felt it before you saw it. The warmth of him at your back, Joel stepped in behind you. Then his hand came over yours, large and calloused, fingers curling over yours to guide your grip.

“Here,” He murmured, “You’re pullin’ too slow. Let me–” His other hand braced your lower back, just barely there, but enough to set every nerve on fire. “Now pull back with me,” He said, warmth brushing the shell of your ear.

You swallowed and tugged the cord back together. His strength was subtle, but sure. And this time, the generator roared to life. 

Because of the force, you stumbled half a step forward. His hand caught your hip like it was instinct, the pads of his fingers just barely brushing the bare of your skin. 

“See,” He said, voice dark, “Not helpless.” 

You turned around, meeting his dark eyes, “Disappointed?” 

His gaze went to your lips. “Not the word I’d use.” 

For a second, all that filled the shed was the low hum of the generator and the heavy sound of your breathing. 

His tongue swept over his lower lip, his eyes flicking back to yours with an intensity that made the air feel heavier… hotter. The air crackled hotter than the Texas sun. 

“Joel–”

“You should head inside,” he cut you off with a sharp exhale, stepping back like you caught fire. “See if the generator is workin’.”

You stood there heart pounding. Disappointment washed over you like a cold wave. “You want me to?”

“That's not the problem.”

You took barely one step towards him and he stepped around you, "Let me know if ya' need anything else."

And with the slam of the shed door, he was gone.

—

“No, no come on… No!” The whine slipped out as everything in the house went still. The hum of the air conditioner died and the lights vanished with a final flicker.

You bolted to the shed, heart already pounding. The generatory reeked of gas and heat. You gave the cord a quick tug, just like Joel showed you, but the generator barely choked, not even a sputter of hope.

Inside you tried to cling to whatever cool air was left, but it was already slipping away. The warmth was creeping back in, warm and sticky, like an uninvited guest.

You told yourself you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t knock. You wouldn’t bug him. You weren’t that helpless.

So you waited.

And waited.

—

You lasted longer than you thought you would. 

Nearly an hour later, your knuckles met the warm wood of his front door with three tentative knocks.

He opened the door slower than he should have, like he already knew who was on the other side. And when he saw you, sun kissed skin, slicked with sweat and that damn bikini top clinging to you like a sin, his hand tightened on the doorframe. Like if he didn’t hold onto something, he might do something. 

You looked up at him through your lashes, chest rising and falling. “It died.”

His brow ticked, “Generator?”

You nodded eagerly, instinctively swaying closer to the cool draft coming from inside the house. “An hour ago. I waited… thought it might come back on, but–” you nearly cried, “It's too hot.”

His jaw worked, like he was chewing on a hundred things he shouldn’t say. Then he stepped back barely. Just enough. “Come in,” he nodded his head inside, “Can’t have you melting out there.”

You hesitated. Just for a second. As if the door was an invisible line between you and the man who shouldn’t be looking at you like that. Then you crossed the line. Your chest barely brushed against his. He didn’t bother to move to make room as you stepped inside, into the salvation of cool air. 

The door clicked shut behind you. 

“God,” you exhaled. Your eyes fluttered for a second when the cool air greeted you.

“Go ahead, make yourself comfortable. There’s a fan in the living room.” He gestured vaguely to the room you’ve been in, only a handful times before, whenever you visited with your dad for the occasional football game. “I'll be right back, and grab you some ice water.”

“Thank you… Seriously Mr. Mill-Joel," You corrected. "You’re a lifesaver.”

“Anything for my friend's daughter.” There's that word again. Friend’s daughter. Repeating it as if to remind himself. 

You nearly let out a noise of joy when you walked in and saw the fan pointed towards the couch, oscillating, in slow half circles. You hurried over and sank into the cushions with a sigh of relief. 

The draft swept over your overheated skin like a sigh and you let your head fall back against the cushion, chest rising and falling, slick with sweat and satisfaction.

Joel returned with a lazy stride, glass in hand. “Here you go.” 

You took the water eagerly, wrapping both hands around it, as if you feared it might disappear. 

He sat down next to you, a little too far, yet somehow still too close. His knees spread wide, tanned forearms resting on his thick thighs, hands clasped like he was trying to keep them to himself. 

The air was charged from being within his proximity, once again. He tensed as if he could read your mind and all the things you wanted to do.

You took a sip. Then another. Then another, all too quickly. The cold water hit your chest with a splash as you tipped it too fast, some trickling down your neck. You gasped from the sudden chill.

Joel’s hand lifted, steady, but sure, and his thumb wiped at the drops on your neck, before it could disappear into your collarbone. The touch is brief, but your breath catches. His fingers linger just a second too long.

“Christ, you’re burning up,” he murmurs.

“It’s the sun.” It’s a lie. A flimsy one. 

“Mm.” His gaze caressed your skin. “Of course.”

You were already damp with sweat. There was no reason to have wiped the water away. Except one. 

And the thought that he wanted it too, had your body buzzing with boldness you didn’t quite know what to do with.

“Then, are you gonna help me cool off?” You whispered, “Or just keep staring.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. His eyes were heavy, raging a war inside himself.

You gave a light but innocent shrug. “Guess I'll have to do it myself then.”

Without a response, you dipped your fingers into the glass, fishing out a single ice cube, then set the glass down. 

Slowly and deliberately, you brought it to your heaving chest. You pressed it there, just lightly, and let out a breath at the shock of cold.

The cubes instantly began melting, becoming slippery against your overheated skin. It left a glistening trail across your breasts. It caught the breeze from the fan and made you shudder. 

And when you glanced at him? He wasn’t even pretending to look away. Not anymore. 

His knuckles were white on his knees, eyes were dark and wild, set on your breasts, your stomach, your neck, your mouth. Everywhere.

When the cube melted down to nothing, you let the last of it fall onto your stomach. It slid toward your navel, vanishing beneath the band of your shorts.

“Gonna wipe it up?” You looked at him through your eyelashes, innocently. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.” His control was crumbling at the edges.

“And if I do?”

His gaze went to your mouth again. “Then I’d say this heat is making you reckless.”

“Or I’m just finally going after what I want.” You pulled your lower lip between your teeth. Your knees brushed and he exhaled, closing his eyes. And when they opened, it was like something broke loose.

“Fuck.” He surged forward. 

His mouth crashed onto yours, rough and hungry. Like he had been holding it in all day, and you knew he had.

You gasped into the kiss, lacing your fingers through his hair. His hands found your waist, your back, your jaw, gripping everywhere like he needed to memorize the feel of you.

It was messy and desperate, all heat, tongue and teeth. You didn’t know where you ended and where he began. 

Your hand slid from his hair down the thick column of his neck, over the sweat-damp plane of his chest, all the way down, tracing the edge of something forbidden. And just before you could go further, he caught your wrist. 

His touch was firm, like a warning, not a punishment. Yet. 

You pulled back, lips swollen. His gaze met yours, dark and stormy.

“This is a mistake,” He looked away, like staring at you was starting to hurt.

You leaned in, brushing the shell of his ear with your lips.

“Then make it worth it.”

It was all he needed.

His mouth was on yours, rougher this time.  His hand cupped your jaw, angling your mouth to his. You made a soft, involuntary sound against his lips and felt him shudder. As if that sound unraveled him completely, he growled and sunk his fingers into your thighs. He pulled you into his lap with a certainty only a man who's been holding back could muster. 

Your legs slid over his, straddling him. His jeans were rough beneath your bare thighs. Your chest heaved, with every breath, pressing flush against his. 

Beneath your core you could feel how hard he was. You rolled your hips and he groaned, low and deep and so male it made your whole body ache. His hands slid up your thighs, slow and reverent, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to touch all of you or none of you. Because touching meant this was real. And real meant dangerous.

He tore his mouth from yours with a sharp, ragged breath. 

You almost protested, but then his mouth met your neck, dragging heat up the column of your throat. You let your head tip back, eyes fluttering closed. 

His mouth moved over you like it had every right, claiming the skin he swore he was only going to look at. Your hands moved on instinct, gripping his dark locks, when his teeth grazed your neck. The flash of pain was instantly soothed by the warm brush of his tongue. 

He followed the trail water the ice cube left behind. Down your neck, across your collarbone. By the time he reached the valley between your breasts, your skin was alive with goosebumps. He paused there, breath warm against your damp skin. 

Once more, he leaned in, towards your mouth. You tilted your chin, prepared to capture his lips in a kiss, but instead his arm shifted behind your back. When his hand came to view, an ice cube glistened in his fingers.

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

Without breaking eye contact, Joel brought the ice to your collarbone and pressed it there. You hissed through your teeth as the cold shocked your overheated skin. His other hand came to steady your back as he began to trail the ice cube achingly slow down to your chest.

“Driving me fuckin’ crazy.” He trailed the ice cube over the rise of each breast, never quite touching where you needed him most. “Wearin’ damn near nothing.”

Water trickled down your breasts, dampening your bikini top. You couldn’t tell which was hotter. Your skin? Or the look in his eyes as he watched your nipples turn into hard peaks?

“Joel.” The word slipped out a breathy whimper.

“What'd you need?” He dragged the icecube down lower between the valley of your breasts.

“I need you to stop holding back.” 

A smug smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Then without warning, one arm tightened around your waist and he rose to his feet with effortless strength, taking you with him.

Before you could gasp, he had you flipped in one smooth motion. Your back met the cushions of the couch with a soft thud.

He hovered over you, his gaze was dark and devouring. He slipped the ice cube in his mouth and lowered his lips to yours. You opened your mouth, accepting the coolness with a dance of your tongues.

The ice melts quickly, surrendering to the heat of your mouth in seconds.

Joel watches you intensely. Slowly, he placed another one between his lips, but this time, he leaned in, brushing the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

You shudder, legs trying to close on their own, chasing any friction, but his body is in the way, solid and immovable. 

The ice melted in his mouth as he messily planted kisses down your neck and every press of his lips felt like frost over fire.

Slowly, he dragged his mouth further down until he reached the hem of your bikini top. The anticipation was too much. You gripped the tendrils of his hair and pulled hard trying to encourage him.

A low, guttural sound, rumbled from Joel's chest. And in that moment you knew you’d do anything to hear it again.

He hovered over your bikini top, then gently brushed over your nipple with the ice cube. He swirled it over your nipple, causing you to shiver with icy pleasure.  He did the same to the other one, until both your nipples were straining against your bikini top, wanting to escape.

“Yes.” A breathy moan escaped your lips and you puffed your chest out further, aching for anything he could give you. 

He couldn’t take it anymore. With a low rasp and swift tug, your breasts were freed from the confines of your bikini top. You inhaled sharply when the breeze of the fan hit your slicked, bare skin.

Indulging in your sweet sounds, he took his time rubbing the ice cube over your nipples, taking his time like each one was special. He repeated the maddening torture until the ice melted away–but even then, he didn’t stop. He continued planting wet, cold kisses all over you, turning you into a trembling puddle beneath him.

“So desperate, lettin’ an older man have his hands all over you.” Joel’s voice turned to gravel. “I’d argue it's not your hands that are on me.” You barely recognized your sultry voice.

“Tell me where you want ‘em, then.”

You reached for his hand on the cushion above you, and pulled it downwards, to where you really wanted him. He let you guide him until it reached above your breast. Then he stopped you.

“Here?” he asked. The pads of his fingers hovered awfully close your sensitive peaks. 

You shook your head, trying to push his hand lower, but it didn’t budge. 

He let you try. Let you think you had control.

Then, he dragged his fingers down, brushing over your nipple carelessly. They landed on your waist, “Here?”

“No.” Your fingers curled into him, digging into the muscle of his shoulders, like you could speak through touch. Do something. Don’t stop. I need more. 

Responding, he slid it right past your navel, teasing the edge of your shorts, “How about here?”

Your hips responded for you, moving into his touch. “Yes.”

He popped the button of your denim shorts, looking up at you as if waiting for you to stop him. 

You didn’t.

So he dragged them down, baring you inch by inch until you were left in nothing but the bottoms of your swimsuit. His gaze dropped, lingering on the new expanse of skin. 

And then he muttered more to himself than you, “Christ.” He couldn’t help himself. He placed a delicate cold kiss just below your navel, then dragged his tongue until it reached the hem of your bikini bottoms.

With how he was looking at you from down there, dark and hungry, it was impossible to stay still. Your whole body writhed with need. 

“Joel–Fuck–just do something” Your hands fisted his hair, with a frustrated moan. The crack in your voice was just enough to betray how badly you needed him.

“You beg real pretty, you know that?” His mouth twitched in a carnal smile.

You couldn’t take another second of his torment, You pulled hard at his hair. “Please.”

“Let's see how badly you want it.” Then, finally, he hooks his fingers into your bottoms and tugs them down, revealing just how badly you wanted it.

“Fuck, Sweatheart.” He groaned. “You're dripping.”

If it was even possible, his lewd words made your skin burn hotter. 

A full body blush crept up on you. As if Joel could see the fire burning beneath your skin, he grabbed another ice cube.

“Poor thing, must be so overheated.” He lightly pressed the icecube to your inner thigh. You gasped, back arching in response. 

He leaned in and lapped at the water melting at your inner thigh, so close, yet so far from where you needed his mouth. Then painfully slow, he did the same to your other thigh, drawing impatient whimpers from your lips.

His gaze between your legs was hungry, like he was prepared to devour you at any moment. And you wish he did. 

He grips your hips with both hands and yanks you to the edge of the couch, then spreads your legs wide. You loudly gasp at the cold sensation when he places an ice cube to your clit. 

“Too much?”

You were a needy wreck. “Not enough.”

“You like that, huh?” He tsked with a devilish grin. 

“Fuck,” you cry, “That feels…” Cold droplets melted from your clit to your entrance, stealing your next breath. 

The sensation of ice against your heated core was intoxicating. He swirled the melting cube around your clit, then dragged it down, teasing your entrance. Very slowly, he pushed it halfway in. It was cold enough to make you gasp and hot enough to make you ache.

And then–God help you– his mouth was there, and you forgot how to breathe. He chased the trail of water like a man dying of thirst. The ice mixed with your arousal, a sinful combination, and he drank up every drop like he couldn’t get enough of the mess he made.

White hot pleasure burned through every part of you, making your toes curl and your eyes roll.

His cold tongue swirled and sucked at your sensitive bud, sending sparks of ecstasy up your spine. It was filthy–unholy. And you loved it.

“More.” A primal sound escaped you as your hips rock, matching the rhythm of his unrelenting tongue. 

His answering groan vibrates through your whole body. The scruff of his jaw is rough on your inner thighs as he grabs each of your thighs and throws them over his muscular shoulders, settling in like it's where he belonged. You had no choice but to surrender to his mouth. 

I might die right here. You thought.

His strong hands grip your ass, grinding you into his stubbled face. He alternates with quick, rough flicks and slow, lazy flicks, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you. 

Tremors shook through your body as his tongue drove you to insanity. Your moans–His moans– mixed with the lewd sound of slick heat, echoing between you like something sinful. 

Without warning, he slowly prodded a long finger into your entrance. You threw your head back, when he thrusted it in, hitting that perfect spot deep inside of you, ripping a feral sound from your lips. 

“Doing so good f’me.” He slurred from between your legs, drunk off the taste of you.

Languidly, he drove his finger in and out in tandem with his tongue. It was too much. You felt your pleasure build up too fast–too strong.

“Joel,” You cried out, gripping his hair like an anchor. “If you don’t stop, I’m gonna-I-” 

He looked up at you, flushed all over for him. “Didn’t know you could fall apart this easily.”

And just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore. He added another finger. The stretch burned sharp and delicious.

“Yes! Yes, yes...” You chanted as your hips moved on their own, using his face like it was made for your pleasure. 

“That’s it.” He praised, “That's it baby.” Fingers and tongue working furiously between your legs, chasing your bliss, like a man starved. 

You were a whimpering mess for him. A slew of helpless cries was all you were capable of anymore. 

Only then, did you glance at him. The sight of him, still fully clothed, kneeling before you, pushed you all the way to the edge. “Joel!” You come undone with a loud cry, squeezing around his fingers.

A thunderous sound rumbled from his chest. Joel didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. You were so sensitive and shaking beneath him, yet he didn’t stop. 

“Knew you’d taste sweet,” he groaned against your skin. He lapped at your release, not missing a single drop. Every swipe of his tongue had you tremble with aftershocks.

Finally, he pulled back, releasing your hips from a grip that was definitely going to leave bruises. His chest was heaving and his beard was glistening.

Even as you struggled to catch your next breath, still coming down from the high, looking at the man before you, had your body ready to ignite again.

He moved over you. He delivered a tender and gentle kiss to your lips, at complete odds with the rough man buried between your thighs moments ago.

When he pulled back, you gave him a lopsided smiled. “So. Are you always this helpful to the neighbors?”

Joel huffed a laughed. “No. Just the ones wearing damn near nothing during a heat wave.”

[meenaxskz]

when he gets sick (hyung line)

ot8 reactions | bf!skz x reader au genre: crack warnings: language a/n : sorry for the silence. life said ✨plot twist✨. but here’s something to distract you! ✧ hyung line | maknae line

bang chan

you walk into the room with tea in one hand and judgment in the other. chan’s in bed. sweaty. pale. wrapped in blankets like a sad spring roll. and of course… of COURSE. he’s got the laptop again. you stop. blink. “really?” he looks up, fake innocent. eyes glassy. lips dry. “what?” you squint. “why are you working right now?” he blinks slower. “…i’m not.” you glance down. ableton. open. project name: “BANG CHAN FINAL FINAL FINAL MIX ACTUAL FINAL I SWEAR” “christopher. bang. chan.” he winces “okay i was working but just for a minute—” “you have a FEVER. and a death wish.” he sniffles “my creativity doesn’t take sick days.” you sigh and set the tea down “wanna know where your creativity is gonna go?” he blinks. “IN THE CEILING. WHERE YOUR LAPTOP’S ABOUT TO BE.” he gasps. hugs the laptop to his chest like it’s his firstborn “don’t threaten her!! she has feelings!” you snatch it in one swift motion. “SHIT SHE’S FAST—” you unplug it. tuck it under your arm “you’re on rest mode. no tech. no work. no producing.” he groans. flops back dramatically. “you don’t understand. the project NEEDS ME—” “the project also needs you to be ALIVE.” five minutes later: he’s under three blankets. grumpy. arms crossed. you feed him soup. he pretends to hate it “what is this? poison?” “it’s chicken noodle, you absolute gremlin.” he slurps it anyway “…it’s pretty good.” you press a cold rag to his forehead. he sighs “you’re gonna leave me like this. laptopless. joyless. alone.” you stare “you’re gonna take a nap.” he groans. “will you at least sing to me?” “no.” “…hold me like a baby?” “…fine.” ten minutes later? he’s asleep. drooling a little. snoring soft. you check under the bed. just to make sure he didn’t stash a secret ipad or something. you find his phone. tucked into a sock like it’s hiding. you whisper “...i knew it.” bonus: the next day he wakes up feeling better. you catch him hugging his laptop and whispering, “i missed you, my love. she was so cruel to you.” you: “i will LITERALLY unplug your entire life.”

lee know

you walk into the kitchen and immediately stop. minho’s leaning against the counter like he’s doing a vogue pose on the verge of collapse. “you good?” minho (clearly not good): “never better.” he sneezes so hard he hits the cabinet. you raise an eyebrow. “you’ve blown your nose seven times in two minutes. you’re wheezing. your knees buckled when you poured orange juice.” “coincidence.” you step forward with a thermometer. he holds up a hand like you’re holding a weapon “i don’t need that. i’m not a CHILD.” “no. children usually listen better.” you try to press it to his forehead. he dodges like a ninja. you try again. he spins. you chase. he crashes into the couch. “STOP TREATING ME LIKE I’M FRAGILE—” “minho, you just fainted trying to open a yogurt.” he groans and lays back. dramatic. arm over his eyes. like he’s dying in a historical novel. “i’m fine. i’m a man. men don’t nap.” “men also die for no reason. lay down.” you drag him to the bed. he lets you. but grumbles the entire time. “this is humiliating.” you tuck a blanket over him. “this is degrading.” you bring soup. he looks offended. “…is this chicken flavor? i like beef.” “eat it before i shove it in your nose.” ten minutes later? he’s curled into the blanket. holding a warm pack to his stomach. soup almost gone. cheeks pink. “want more?” he mutters something. you lean in. “what?” “…yes please.” you grin “huh. what was that? i couldn’t hear over your PRIDE.” he glares. “don’t make me cough on you.” bonus: you catch him later whispering to doongie: “she tucked me in. like i’m some pathetic little—” he sneezes. “…anyway. i think i love her.”

changbin

you walk in to find changbin on the couch like a grumpy little burrito. blanket over his head. only his eyes and a single bicep visible. he’s watching cartoons. volume low. pout HIGH. you blink. “how are you feeling?” he sniffs. “strong.” you squint “strong like… ‘i’m good’ strong? or strong like ‘i almost cried trying to reach the remote’ strong?” he pauses. “i didn’t cry. i just grunted emotionally.” you sit down and feel his forehead. he doesn’t move. just stares dramatically. “am i dying?” he whispers. “you have a mild fever. you’re not dying.” he closes his eyes. “…tell felix to take care of my plushies.” you bring him water. he sips it like he’s been rescued from a desert. then cough suspiciously loud. “that cough was FAKE.” “was not. it came from my soul.” you hand him some sliced oranges. his lip wobbles. “…you peeled them?” “of course.” he turns away. sniffles harder “don’t look at me. i’m fine.” “are you tearing up because of fruit right now??” “no. these are just really… thoughtful citrus.” twenty minutes later: he’s in your lap. wrapped in a fuzzy blanket. cuddling a bunny plush. watching paw patrol. “i’m literally a tank,” he mumbles, full pout. “but like… a soft tank.” you kiss his forehead “my softest tank.” he sniffles again. “…don’t tell the others.” bonus: he gets better the next day and tries to act cool again. but you catch him sneaking the bunny plush into his gym bag. you: “strong again?” changbin: nods, flexing dramatically “back to beast mode, baby.” the bunny peeks out of his hoodie pocket. you say nothing.

hyunjin

you walk into the bedroom. hyunjin is face-down on the bed like he’s been defeated by life. blankets everywhere. a tissue stuck to his cheek. “…you good?” him, muffled: “no.” you bring medicine and tea. he doesn’t move. just dramatically points toward the nightstand like he’s too weak to lift a hand. “you’re so annoying.” “and sick. don’t forget sick.” you try to give him the pill. he stares at it like it’s poison “it’s huge.” “it’s literally the size of a tic tac.” “do you want me to choke and die right now? is that what you want???” he finally takes it after you bribe him with a popsicle. “you’re being so dramatic—” “WELL SOMEONE HAS TO BE.” you go to leave the room. as you turn to leave— ding-a-ling-a-ling you freeze. “…what was that.” you turn around. he’s holding A BELL. a literal. actual. fucking. bell. “where did you get that.” “my bag.” “WHY was that in your bag??” “i knew one day it would come in handy.” ding-a-ling-a-ling “stop.” “you said you’d take care of me.” “i didn’t say i’d become your room service.” “…i crave grapes.” “we don’t have grapes.” “…then cut a banana into circles and pretend.” your soul briefly leaves your body. “you are so lucky you’re cute,” you mutter, turning toward the kitchen. behind you, you hear the softest little "yay." a few minutes later, you return. plate in hand. banana. perfectly sliced. arranged in a damn circle pattern. sprinkled with cinnamon because you care, unfortunately. you set it on the nightstand. “your fake grapes.” hyunjin blinks at the plate. then at you “…you rolled your eyes so hard i thought they were gonna fall out.” “yeah. and yet here you are. fed.” he grabs the plate “i love you.” you sit beside him with a sigh “i know.” he pops a banana slice in his mouth. “…tastes like betrayal.” you throw a pillow at his face. --- twenty minutes later? he’s asleep, bell on his chest, lip poked out. you tiptoe over to take the bell. his eyes snap open. “i felt that.” bonus: you finally hide the bell. next day? he’s using the dog’s toy bell collar and shaking his whole head. “i’ve ADAPTED,” he announces, crown of tissues on his head. “you CANNOT silence me.” you sigh. “…i should’ve just let the cold take him.”

⤷ main m.list ❟

DISCLAIMER : This blog and all related content (fics, fake texts, headcanons, imagines, etc.) are entirely fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. I do not know Stray Kids personally, nor do I claim any of this reflects their real personalities, actions, or relationships. All characters and their personalities—including Meena King—are original creations.Please enjoy responsibly and remember : real people = real boundaries.

[stvrnioloslvt-inactive]

tie, a matt sturniolo blurb

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lewd squelches and passionate moans echoed in matt's bathroom, a clear telltale of what was happening to anybody who might have walked right by it. you didn't care, you really couldn't bring your mind to think about anything else beside your handsome boyfriend in front of you with his hair dishevelled, his white botton down shirt hanging open on his shoulders, giving you a clear view of your little art project – his perfectly pale skin covered in red lipstick, your kisses smudged everywhere on his chest and neck. could anyone really blame you? how could you resist him when he came through the door looking fine like that, his whole demeanor inspiring wild thoughts in your head?

what you loved the most, though, was how starved he was for you too. so it shouldn't have been a surprise when he picked you up from the couch, dragged you to the bathroom and put you down on the counter. one thing led to another and that's how you ended up in this position, with your own shirt tugging loose on your shoulders, your legs wrapped snuggly around matt's waist, pushing him deeper inside you with every thrust. but the most interesting detail of your little quickie was his crazy expensive dior tie wrapped around your own neck which he pulled as he pleased, whenever he pleased, making your eyes flutter shut as the pressure briefly cut the air from your lungs, light-headedness taking a hold of you.

you whimpered, head thrown back as your boyfriend tugged at the tie again, mumbling in your ear "feels good? y're being so good, such a good girl for daddy, yeah?", his cock slowly dragging in and out your gummy walls.

you moaned again, unable to form a coherent sentence, feeling high off the pleasure. "here, baby," he whispered, slipping two fingers inside your mouth, the cold metal of his rings pressing down on your tongue. "can't risk the guys hearing, mh?"

matt looked at you with a smirk planted on his lips as you obediently took his fingers in your mouth and sucked on them, pleased with your fucked out state. "can't even speak, baby? getting dumb on my dick, yeah?" he chuckled darkly, then whispered "so cute" before taking his fingers out of your mouth, letting go of the tie as his hand wrapped around your neck, pounding into you hard and fast while you came with a loud scream all over his cock, soon followed by his own release.

"oh fuck," he groaned, feeling your walls squeezing and milking him dry. "this tie definitely got you going, baby."

© stvrnioloslvt

ও

ও a.n: HOLY MOTHERFUCKING SHIIIT THIS SHIT IS MAKING ME CRAZY I NEED THIS MF LIKE NOW (chris ver)

[airosuiren]

The Abandoned Wayne.

Bat Family x Neglected Reader x Tokyo Revengers

A/N: Omg I had this idea stuck in my head for AGES!!! Batfam neglect trope combined with Tokyo Revengers is literally my new obsession!!! Hope you enjoyyy this twisted tale of neglect, revenge, and finding your true family!!! (this DOES NOT follow cannon)

Part 2

Wayne Manor had two daughters, but only one that mattered.

You and Lila Wayne - twins born to Bruce Wayne through a brief relationship with a woman who disappeared shortly after your birth. Identical in appearance but worlds apart in treatment.

From the moment Bruce took you both in, it was clear who the favorite was.

Lila got the bigger bedroom. Lila got the newest clothes. Lila got Bruce’s proud smiles whenever she mastered a new gymnastics routine or brought home perfect grades. Lila was “the good twin” - the perfect Wayne daughter who fit seamlessly into Gotham’s elite circles.

You? You were the afterthought.

“Dad, I got an A+ on my science project,” you said, holding up your graded paper at age twelve.

Bruce barely looked up from where he was helping Lila with her homework. “That’s nice. Did you see Lila made the honor roll again? Third time this year.”

You lowered your paper slowly, the familiar ache spreading through your chest. “Yeah. Great job, Lila.”

Your sister smirked at you over Bruce’s shoulder, her eyes glittering with smug satisfaction.

It wasn’t just Bruce. Dick treated Lila like a princess, always bringing her souvenirs from his travels. Jason taught her self-defense but claimed you were “too clumsy” to learn. Tim shared his tech knowledge exclusively with Lila. Even Damian, though generally unpleasant to everyone, reserved his rare moments of tolerance for her.

Only Alfred seemed to notice you, slipping you extra cookies when no one was looking or patting your shoulder when you retreated to your room after another family gathering where no one acknowledged your presence.

“Patience, Miss [Y/N],” he would say. “Family can be… complicated.”

But your patience was running out.

By fifteen, you had stopped trying to earn their attention. You found solace in martial arts, training secretly at a local dojo where no one knew you were a Wayne. The feel of your fist connecting with a punching bag became your therapy, each strike fueled by years of being overlooked.

Then came the night that changed everything.

You returned from training to find the manor in chaos. Lila was sobbing in Bruce’s arms, her perfect face marred by a nasty bruise on her cheekbone. The entire family surrounded her protectively.

“What happened?” you asked, dropping your gym bag.

Six pairs of eyes turned to you, cold and accusing.

“As if you don’t know,” Lila hissed through tears.

Bruce stood slowly, his face transforming into something you’d only seen directed at Gotham’s criminals. “Lila says you attacked her when she confronted you about stealing her homework.”

Your blood ran cold. “What? I didn’t touch her! I’ve been at the dojo for the past three hours!”

“We found your hairbrush in her room,” Tim said, holding up an evidence bag like this was a crime scene. “And the bruise pattern matches your distinctive ring.”

You looked down at the simple silver band you always wore - a gift from Alfred on your twelfth birthday. The only birthday gift anyone in the manor had given you.

“This is ridiculous,” you protested. “I would never hurt Lila!”

But as you looked around at their faces - Bruce’s fury, Dick’s disappointment, Jason’s disgust, Tim’s clinical detachment, Damian’s contempt, and Lila’s exaggerated fear - you realized with crystal clarity: They had already decided you were guilty.

No trial. No defense. No presumption of innocence.

Even Alfred looked uncertain, standing back from the family circle, his eyes troubled.

“I’ve made a decision,” Bruce announced, his voice Batman-cold. “This behavior cannot continue. You’ve been acting out for years, but this crosses a line.”

“But I didn’t—”

“Enough!” Bruce cut you off. “I’m sending you to our associates in Tokyo. The Moriyama family owes me a favor. They’ll take you in, get you into a good school, and hopefully… straighten you out.”

Your world collapsed around you. “You’re sending me away? To Japan? Because of a lie?”

“It’s not a lie!” Lila wailed, burying her face against Dick’s chest. “She threatened to do worse next time!”

“Pack your things,” Bruce said flatly. “You leave tomorrow.”

That night, alone in your room, you didn’t cry. The hurt had crystallized into something harder, colder. More dangerous.

In the darkness, you made a vow: You would never beg for their love again. You would never again call Wayne Manor home. And someday, they would realize exactly what they had thrown away.

Alfred came to your door as you finished packing.

“Miss [Y/N],” he began, his elderly face lined with regret. “I don’t believe… that is to say, I find it difficult to imagine you would harm your sister.”

It was the closest thing to support you’d received, but it came too late.

“It doesn’t matter what you believe, Alfred,” you said quietly. “It never has.”

The flight to Tokyo was long and silent. Bruce didn’t accompany you - he sent his corporate assistant instead. Your final glimpse of Gotham through the plane window felt like watching a chapter of your life being forcibly closed.

The Moriyama family was polite but distant. They provided you with a small but comfortable apartment, enrolled you in a prestigious international school, and otherwise left you entirely alone.

Freedom, you discovered, was both terrifying and exhilarating.

For the first two months, you focused on school and perfecting your Japanese. You kept to yourself, the wound of your family’s betrayal still too fresh to risk new connections.

Then came the night you took a wrong turn walking home.

Three men cornered you in an alley - local thugs looking for an easy target. What they found instead was a Wayne with years of repressed rage and six months of intensive martial arts training.

When the dust settled, two were unconscious and the third was running away with a broken nose.

You were catching your breath, knuckles bloody, when you heard slow, appreciative clapping.

A tall, lean Japanese boy with bleached blond hair and an unsettling empty look in his eyes stood at the alley entrance. Despite his slender build, something about him radiated danger.

“Impressive,” he said in Japanese. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

You straightened, wary but unafraid. “Gotham City.”

His smile widened, revealing a charm that didn’t quite reach those empty eyes. “I’m Sano Manjiro. Everyone calls me Mikey.”

“[Y/N],” you replied, deliberately omitting your last name. You weren’t a Wayne anymore, not in any way that mattered.

“You should come with me, [Y/N]-chan,” he said, turning to leave as if your agreement was a foregone conclusion. “I think my friends would like to meet you.”

Something about his absolute confidence, the casual way he had watched you fight without interfering, and yes - the dangerous aura that reminded you of the Bat Family at their most intimidating - made you follow him.

Kanto Manji headquarters turned out to be an abandoned building retrofitted with surprisingly comfortable furnishings. Inside, a group of young men looked up as Mikey entered with you in tow.

“Found something interesting,” Mikey announced, dropping onto a couch. “This is [Y/N]. She just took down three Tenjiku guys without breaking a sweat.”

“American?” asked a tall, serious-looking man with dark hair.

“Gotham,” you corrected.

Something in the way you said it - like the name of the city was a wound - made the room go quiet.

“I’m Sano Takemichi,” the serious one said. “That’s Hakkai, Chifuyu, Mitsuya, and the one eating all the food is Baji.”

Over convenience store bento boxes and cheap beer, you learned about Kanto Manji - a gang formed from the ashes of several others, now one of the most powerful in Tokyo. Their operations walked a fine line between legitimate business and underground empire.

You didn’t share your full story that night, but something in your eyes must have spoken to them. The way you fought. The way you carried yourself. The obvious absence of anyone looking for you or caring where you were.

“You got somewhere to stay?” Baji asked as the night grew late.

“An apartment,” you said. “But no one waiting there.”

Mikey, who had been unnervingly quiet for most of the evening, just watching you with those empty eyes, suddenly spoke: “You should work for us.”

The others looked surprised.

“Mikey,” Takemichi began cautiously, “we don’t even know her—”

“I know enough,” Mikey cut him off. “She fights like someone with nothing to lose. That’s valuable.”

You should have been offended. Instead, you felt a strange relief at being so perfectly understood.

“What would I do?” you asked.

Mikey smiled that disconnected smile again. “You’re from Gotham. Home of criminals and bats. I bet you know how to plan.”

And just like that, you found your place.

The Kanto Manji gang became your new family. Takemichi treated you like a little sister, always checking if you’d eaten or slept enough. Hakkai taught you Japanese street fighting to complement your formal training. Chifuyu, discovering your knack for strategy, spent hours discussing territory maps with you. Mitsuya even designed clothes specifically for you - practical but stylish outfits that became your signature look.

And Mikey… Mikey watched you. At first, it was unsettling - those empty eyes following your movements across rooms, his sudden appearances outside your apartment, his hand casually resting on your shoulder as if marking territory.

“He’s obsessed with you,” Hakkai warned about three months in. “Be careful.”

But the truth was, you didn’t mind. After years of being invisible, Mikey’s focused attention felt like water in a desert. He saw you. Really saw you.

Your tactical mind proved invaluable to the gang. You planned their operations with precision Batman himself might have admired - if he had ever bothered to notice your intelligence.

Within a year, your reputation spread through Tokyo’s underground. The foreign girl with the cold eyes and brilliant mind who stood at Mikey’s right hand. Some called you “The Ghost” because of how you seemed to appear from nowhere, always one step ahead.

Not once did Bruce or any of the Bat Family reach out. Not a call. Not an email. Not even Alfred. It was as if [Y/N] Wayne had ceased to exist the moment her plane left Gotham airspace.

On the night of your eighteenth birthday, Kanto Manji threw you a party that lasted until dawn. For the first time since arriving in Tokyo, you allowed yourself to fully relax, to laugh, to feel genuinely happy.

As the others finally passed out from too much sake, Mikey led you to the roof. The Tokyo skyline glittered before you, so different from Gotham’s gothic spires but beautiful in its own way.

“Happy birthday, [Y/N]-chan,” he said, producing a small black box.

Inside was a delicate silver chain with a pendant shaped like a crescent moon.

“Mikey, it’s beautiful,” you whispered as he fastened it around your neck.

“You’re mine now,” he said simply, his fingers lingering on your skin. “My strategist. My ghost.” His empty eyes seemed to fill with something like hunger. “My everything.”

You should have been frightened by the possessiveness. Instead, you felt a thrill. Someone wanted you. Not your sister. You.

When he kissed you, it felt like claiming and being claimed.

“Yes,” you agreed against his lips. “Yours.”

The next two years passed in a blur of power, respect, and a strange kind of happiness. Kanto Manji grew under your strategic guidance and Mikey’s fearsome leadership. You moved into his apartment, your foreign clothes mingling with his in the closet, your strategic plans spread across his dining table, your body wrapped in his arms each night.

His obsession never faded. If anything, it intensified. Mikey wanted to know where you were every moment. He called randomly just to hear your voice. He left marks on your skin where others could see them.

“It’s not healthy,” Takemichi told you once.

You just smiled. “Nothing about my life has ever been healthy.”

Besides, you thrived on Mikey’s attention. On being the center of someone’s world. On mattering.

You hadn’t spoken the name “Wayne” in three years when the past finally caught up to you.

It started with a text from a number you didn’t recognize:

They’re coming for you. Wayne Industries expanding to Tokyo. Family accompanying Bruce for the opening. Be prepared. - A

Alfred. It could only be Alfred.

You stared at the message for a long time before showing it to Mikey.

His reaction was immediate and intense. “They abandoned you. They don’t get to come back now.”

That night, he called an emergency meeting. The entire gang gathered as Mikey explained the situation.

“Wayne,” Baji spat the name like a curse. “The bastard who threw away our [Y/N]?”

“The same,” Mikey confirmed, his arm possessively around your waist. “They’re coming to Tokyo. Business, they say.”

“But really for [Y/N],” Hakkai finished, his eyes narrowing.

“What do you want to do?” Takemichi asked you directly. “It’s your call.”

You looked around at the faces watching you - these men who had become your brothers, your protectors, your true family. And Mikey, whose empty eyes filled only when looking at you, whose obsession had become your safety net.

“I want them to see exactly what they lost,” you said finally. “And who I’ve become without them.”

The gang nodded in unison.

“Then that’s what will happen,” Mikey declared, pressing a kiss to your temple. “They’ll see our Ghost. And they’ll regret the day they sent her to us.”

A week later, Wayne Enterprises opened its Tokyo branch with a lavish party. You watched from across the street as limousines delivered Gotham’s elite to the red carpet - including five tall, well-dressed men and one woman in a shimmering gown.

The Bat Family had arrived.

And they had no idea what was waiting for them.

A/N: There is a part 2 for thiss Please wait for itttt

[gf2bellamy]

hello!!! i love your spencer reid fics!!! i'm sorry if you've written something like this before or don't want to lololol pls disregard if so! I would highly appreciate if you wrote an argument fic with spencer, and it just escalates out of nowhere and he yells at reader (😞) and he chooses to sleep on the couch for the night, but he hears her having a nightmare from the bedroom and goes to comfort her ? n she feels very guilty and sad over bothering him again after he was mad and hes like no my baby darling i love u 4ever heart eyes emoji, sorry for my ramble i just love angst to fluff hurt comfort and i want to be babied by spencer sigh,,, love your stuff again and have a great day !

anger — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader having a nigthmare ( no explicit detail of what it is ) , reader and spencer having a fight , emotions run high a/n: hii !! i hope you like this <3 i loved writing this !!

Spencer Reid never yelled.

You knew this with the same certainty as you knew the way he mumbled equations in his sleep or how his hands always hesitated for half a second before touching you , simply because he still got nervous around you. His voice was a living thing, shifting effortlessly between lecture-hall projection and late-night murmurs against your skin, but it always remained controlled.

Until tonight.

It wasn’t shouting, not really. But the way his words turned razor-sharp at the edges, the way his voice cracked over a single syllable, it might as well have been a yell. His hand raked through his hair, leaving it standing in chaotic tufts. In another moment, you might have smiled at how boyish it made him look. But now, with his shoulders rigid and his breaths coming too fast, all you could think was: I did that.

The argument had started over something simple, his recklessness in the field, the way he threw himself into danger without hesitation. But then, as arguments often did, it spiraled. Old wounds were opened, and before either of you could stop it, the conversation had turned into something far uglier. 

Now, standing in the suffocating silence of your apartment, you had nothing left to say. So you turned away, retreating to the bathroom, the click of the door behind you sounding far too final. You leaned against it, your breath shuddering as you pressed your palms against the cool wood. A single tear slipped free before you could stop it, and you swiped it away angrily, as if your own emotions were betraying you. Your reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror caught you off guard , eyes glassy and red-rimmed.

On the other side of the door, Spencer stood frozen for a long moment before exhaling sharply. He dragged his hands down his face, guilt already gnawing at him. Instead of following you, he sank onto the couch dropping his head into his hands. He didn’t know how long he sat there, caught between regret and exhaustion, but eventually, he moved. He grabbed the throw blanket draped over the armrest, the one you always curled under during movie nights, and tugged it over himself before lying down.

When you finally emerged, the apartment was quiet. Your steps were slow as you made your way toward the bedroom, but you stopped when you passed the living room. 

There he was. Spencer, stretched out on the couch. A fresh wave of hurt crashing over you. He’d rather sleep here, cramped and restless, than share a bed with you. For a second, you considered going to him. You could reach out, brush your fingers through his hair, murmur an apology, anything to bridge this gap. But the stubborn ache in your heart held you back.  So you turned away, slipping into the bedroom alone. The bed felt too big, too cold without him, and as you curled into your usual spot, you stared at the empty space beside you.

Spencer was tossing and turning. 

A car passed outside, headlights sweeping across the wall. For a fleeting moment, the light caught on the framed photo on the end table, your smiling faces at JJ's wedding, his arm slung carelessly around your shoulders. He pressed the heels of his hands against his stinging eyes. The statistics on successful conflict resolution ran through his mind on a loop (87% of couples reconcile within 48 hours, 63% report stronger bonds post-reconciliation) but the numbers turned to ash before they could comfort him.

He should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to sleep without you.

The silence shattered with a whimper. The sheets rustled violently down the hall, followed by a choked gasp that sent ice flooding his veins. Before his mind could catch up, he was moving, the blanket pooling at his feet, as he moved toward the bedroom. The sight before him made his stomach twist. You were asleep, but barely. Your body twitched under the covers, your fingers clutching at the sheets. A pained expression flickered across your face, your breath coming in uneven gasps. 

A nightmare. 

Spencer crossed the room in two strides. He sat carefully on the edge of the mattress, his hand hovering over your shoulder before he finally let it rest there, his touch feather-light. 

"Hey—" His voice cracked as he reached for you, hands hovering, too afraid to startle, too desperate not to touch. Your skin was fever-hot under his fingertips when he finally brushed them along your arm.

You didn’t wake up. Your breathing hitched, a sound of distress escaping your lips, and something in Spencer’s chest cracked open. He squeezed your shoulder gently, his other hand brushing the hair back from your forehead.  Then, you shot upright with a gasp, your eyes flying open, heart hammering against your ribs. For a disoriented second, the room spun, until your gaze landed on Spencer.

The first tear slipped down your cheek. Then his arms were around you, crushing you against him so tightly you could feel his heartbeat stuttering against your sternum. His lips moved against your hair, whispering words too fractured to make sense."I'm here, you're safe, I've got you" as you clutched at his back.

Then, barely audible, you whispered, “I’m sorry for earlier.” 

Spencer stilled. Of all the things he expected you to say, that wasn’t it. Not when your breaths were still uneven, not when he could feel the faint tremor in your hands. Guilt twisted sharply in his chest. 

You swallowed hard, your voice fraying at the edges. “I really didn’t mean to be overbearing—” 

“Hey, stop.” His hand cradled the back of your head, his thumb brushing the nape of your neck.

You were sorry? After he’d been the one to raise his voice, after he’d let his frustration push him to sleep on the couch like some petulant child? After you’d been the one to wake up trembling from a nightmare, and his pride had kept him from coming to you sooner?  

He shifted, pulling back just enough to cup your face in his hands. Your eyes were glassy in the faint moonlight, your lower lip caught between your teeth like you were fighting to keep it from trembling. 

God, he’d been an idiot. 

“Look at me,” he whispered. When your gaze flicked up to his, he held it, his thumbs sweeping over your cheeks. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who—” His voice cracked. “I shouldn’t have let it get that far. I shouldn’t have acted like that.” 

You shook your head slightly, but he pressed on, his forehead dipping to rest against yours. “I hate fighting with you,” he admitted, voice cracking. “And I hate that I made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me tonight.” 

A shaky breath escaped you, your hands lifting to grip his wrists. “I just worry,” you whispered. 

Spencer’s chest tightened. Of course you did. After everything he’d seen in the field, after every close call, how could you not? Spencer's thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone as he whispered, "I know. And I'll be more careful. I promise."

You searched his eyes , those warm, hazel eyes that usually sparkled with facts and theories, now darkened with remorse. Your fingers twisted slightly in the fabric of his worn sweatshirt as you asked, so softly it nearly broke him, "Will you sleep here with me?" 

Spencer's breath caught. The question, so small and tentative, landed like a physical blow. That you even had to ask, that his childish anger had made you doubt whether he'd stay, sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing through him. You were asking permission for something that should have been unquestionable. That his anger had carved this hesitation into you, made you doubt your place in his arms, made him feel sick to his stomach.

"Yeah," he breathed, his voice cracking as he gathered you closer. His lips pressed against your forehead, lingering there as if he could imprint the truth through touch alone. "You never have to ask. I'm not going anywhere." 

The bed dipped as he slid beneath the covers. His arms encircled you, pulling your back flush against his chest. His knees tucked behind yours, his heartbeat steady against your shoulder blades, his nose buried in your hair. The warm press of his palms against your stomach, fingers splaying calmed you down. The steady thrum of his heartbeat against your spine too. His nose brushed the nape of your neck. The familiar scent of your shampoo mixed with the salt of dried tears sent another wave of guilt crashing through him. He pressed his lips to the sensitive spot behind your ear.

"I'm sorry," he murmured into the darkness, the words muffled against your skin. "For the couch. For making you feel like I wouldn't want this." His hand found yours, intertwining your fingers and squeezing gently. "There's nowhere I'd rather be." 

You turned in his embrace, your nose brushing against his. Spencer's hand came up to cradle your jaw, his touch feather-light. "Next time I'm being an idiot," he whispered, "just come get me, okay? Even if I'm mad. Even if I'm stubborn." A small, self-deprecating smile tugged at his lips. "Especially then." 

His nose brushed yours again. "Drag me back. Yell at me. Throw a book at my head if you have to." A quiet laugh shook his frame, as you smiled at the sound. You didn't trust your voice not to break so you nodded, pressing closer. Spencer's fingers began a soothing pattern along your spine.

As sleep finally claimed you both, Spencer pressed one last kiss to your temple, his arms tightening slightly around you.

[homiebromantic]

it's been a weird of year of not being the worst but still bad /: