#two stubborn smartasses

[silvercrested]

continued from 🤍 @01army .

EYES NARROW in reaction to the other’s choice of words — smartass. head falls back against carseat , blowing out a frustrated sigh. “so who’s after me then ? & why are you helping me ?” guard remains up , if there was anything allison’s learnt from past experiences , it was to trust NO ONE ( not even family. )

[citrine-elephant]

resisting the urge to dive into the lore of gears of war again oh no

[writeriguess]

I gotta say☝🏼 you are too good of a writer, I THANK YOU!!! Soo I got a request for ya! I was thinking about Katsuki having a major crush on reader(who secretly likes him too) trying his hardest to make her fall for him. He sees that showing off his "skills" just isn't enough, so he makes multiple attempts to flirt with her until he can finally see her become a blushing mess. (≧∇≦)/

Flirting Lessons

Katsuki Bakugo was many things—loud, brash, stubborn, and explosively talented. But smooth? That was a different story.

Unfortunately for him, his usual methods of impressing people—blowing stuff up, dominating in combat, and being the best at literally everything—didn't seem to be working on you. And that was frustrating as hell.

Because, damn it, he liked you.

You were different. You didn't fawn over his strength like others did, and you sure as hell didn’t let his temper intimidate you. You treated him like a person, not just the future Number One Hero. You teased him, challenged him, and worst of all, you didn’t even seem affected by him.

He had to change that.

So, Bakugo devised a plan: Operation: Make You Blush.

Attempt #1 – The Classic Show-Off

It started with what he did best—showing off.

During training, he made sure to push himself even harder than usual, making his explosions extra flashy, his dodges extra sharp, his victories extra brutal. Every time he landed a hit, he’d glance at you, waiting for that moment when you'd look at him with admiration, maybe even awe.

Instead?

You yawned. Yawned.

“Oh wow, another explosion. Shocking,” you deadpanned, leaning against the wall. “What’s next? You breathing fire?”

“The hell?! That was awesome!” he snapped, stomping over to you. “You try pulling that shit off, smartass!”

You smirked, tilting your head. “You’re already great, Bakugo. No need to keep proving it to me.”

For a second, he forgot how to breathe.

You—wait. Did you already think he was great? Did that mean—no, wait, focus. That wasn't enough. He needed to see that flustered expression.

Time for Plan B.

Attempt #2 – The Accidental (Not Really) Touch

The next time he saw you, he made sure to get close. Real close.

It started small. Brushing past you in the hallway, lingering when he handed you something, letting his fingers graze yours just a second too long. He even "accidentally" sat too close during class, his knee nudging against yours under the desk.

But did you react? Nope. You just gave him a look and went back to taking notes.

Fine. Desperate times, desperate measures.

One afternoon, when you were reaching for a book on a high shelf, he saw his chance. Casually, he strolled up behind you, caging you in with one arm as he grabbed the book himself.

"Need some help, princess?" he murmured, voice low and teasing.

You turned your head slightly, blinking up at him.

"Thanks, Bakugo," you said simply, taking the book and walking away like nothing happened.

He stood there, book still in hand, fuming.

Attempt #3 – The Nicknames

Alright. The nicknames had to work.

He started off easy—"Dumbass," "Extras," "Nerd." But those were normal, and you barely reacted to those.

So he stepped it up.

"Oi, sweetheart, you comin’ to train or what?"

"Keep up, babe, or I'm leavin’ your ass behind."

"Damn, you look good tod—" No, too much, too much! Abort!

At first, you just rolled your eyes. Then, slowly, he started catching it—the slight hesitation in your step, the way your ears tinged pink for a fraction of a second before you forced yourself to act normal.

Bingo.

He grinned. "What's the matter, sweetheart? Cat got your tongue?"

You scoffed, shoving past him. "Keep dreaming, Bakugo."

But you were blushing.

And he saw it.

Attempt #4 – The Direct Approach

By now, he was feeling cocky. If the nicknames worked, then maybe—just maybe—he could push it further.

So, one day, after training, when the two of you were the only ones left in the gym, he decided to go all in.

"Hey."

You turned around, towel around your neck, sweat still clinging to your skin. "Yeah?"

He smirked, taking a few steps closer until he was right in front of you. "You're into me."

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You're into me," he repeated, tilting his head slightly. "I see the way you look at me when you think I ain't payin’ attention."

Your face remained neutral, but he saw your grip tighten on your towel.

"Wow," you said flatly. "Humble much?"

"Tch, I'm not wrong," he shot back, crossing his arms. "So just admit it."

You stared at him for a long moment before letting out a slow sigh. Then, with a small smirk, you leaned in—close enough that he could feel your breath against his skin.

"If I'm into you," you whispered, "then what does that say about you, Bakugo? Since you've been chasing after me this whole time?"

His brain short-circuited.

For the first time, he was the one caught off guard.

You? You just winked and walked away, leaving him standing there like an idiot, face burning hotter than his explosions.

Shit.

Final Attempt – Success

Days passed, and despite his failure, he didn’t give up. He couldn’t. He just needed to hit you with something you wouldn’t see coming.

And then, it hit him.

Late one evening, as you were sitting outside the dorms, enjoying the quiet, he walked up and plopped down next to you. No teasing. No smirks. Just him, sitting there, staring at the sky.

"You're really somethin’ else, y'know that?" he muttered after a moment.

You glanced at him. "That a good thing or a bad thing?"

He scoffed. "Dumbass, it's a good thing."

Silence.

Then, softer, almost hesitant—"I like you."

Your breath hitched. This… this wasn’t his usual cocky, over-the-top flirting. This was just him. Honest. Real.

And that was what finally did it.

Your face turned bright red.

Bakugo saw it. He smirked.

"Finally," he muttered.

"Shut up," you groaned, covering your face.

"Nah," he said, leaning back with a grin. "Took me long enough, might as well enjoy it."

And for once, you let him have his victory.

[mcrdvcks]

Could I request a one shot of Old Man Logan? Something with fluff and angst like a huge argument between him and his other half and Laura works to get them to make up after days of not talking

things i wish you said

chapter summary: You and Logan get into a fight and Laura tries to get the two of you to see the errors in your ways.

word count: 2.8k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: thank y'all for sending in requests! i've been working on the last chapter of i love you, in every time but i ran into a bit of writer's block so the requests really helped <3

anyways, i hope this was what you wanted anon!

warnings/tags: au of 'logan (2017)' aka logan doesn't die at the end, arguments, angst, laura being smarter than reader and logan, really this is just laura being a smartass, fluff

"I can’t believe you!” You set the dish towel angrily down on the counter, glaring at Logan. “You are the most stubborn man I have ever met.”

Logan leaned back against the doorframe, arms crossed, his expression hard. “Yeah? Well, someone’s gotta be stubborn, considering you’re trying to fix a situation that ain’t broken.”

“It is broken, Logan!” you snapped, pointing a finger at him. “You just refuse to see it because that’s what you do! Shut everything out, pretend like nothing’s wrong until it all blows up in your face.”

His jaw clenched, and he shook his head. “What’s wrong is you makin’ a mountain out of a molehill. I said I’ll handle it.”

“You handling it usually means disappearing for a week and coming back bloodied and brooding!” You threw your hands up, exasperated. “God forbid you actually let someone help you for once.”

“I don’t need your help!” he barked, his voice rising. “I’ve been doin’ just fine on my own for years.”

“And look where that’s gotten you!” The words came out sharper than you intended, but the frustration boiling in your chest wouldn’t let you stop. “You’re not on your own anymore, Logan. When are you gonna get that through your thick skull?”

Logan’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then, his voice dropped to a dangerous low. “You don’t think I know that? I didn’t ask for any of this, but here we are. I’m doin’ the best I can, and it ain’t enough for you, is it?”

“That’s not what I said!” You took a step toward him, shaking your head in disbelief. “But you don’t even try to meet me halfway. You just... shut down and push me out the second it gets hard.”

“Maybe I’m tryin’ to protect you,” he shot back, his words laced with frustration.

“From what? From you?” Your voice cracked, the argument chipping away at the walls you’d built to keep your own emotions in check. “I’m not scared of you, Logan. What scares me is losing you because you’re too damn stubborn to let anyone in.”

Logan’s mouth opened as if to retort, but no words came. He stood there, breathing hard, the weight of your words hanging heavy between you. Without another word, he turned and stalked out of the room, the screen door slamming behind him.

You stood there, staring at the door, your heart pounding. Part of you wanted to go after him, to yell more, to make him understand. But another part of you was too tired—too hurt.

The house was quiet now, save for the faint creak of the floorboards as Laura walked in from the hallway. She didn’t say anything right away, just hovered in the doorway, her arms crossed in that way that made her look far older than her twelve years.

“You two are so loud,” she finally said, her tone flat but edged with something that sounded suspiciously like annoyance.

You groaned, dropping your hands and looking over at her. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. We didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Laura replied, stepping further into the kitchen. She pulled out a chair and sat across from you, her sharp gaze studying your face. “You’re crying.”

You swiped at your cheek quickly, though you weren’t sure why. Laura didn’t miss much. “It’s nothing, kiddo.”

“It didn’t sound like nothing,” she said, her tone even. She leaned her elbows on the table, her small hands clasped together. “You and Logan fight all the time now.”

“That’s not true,” you replied automatically, though the words felt hollow as soon as you said them.

Laura just stared at you, unblinking. “It is.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Sometimes grown-ups argue. That’s just how it is.”

“Yeah, but you’re mad at him all the time. And he’s mad at himself. It’s annoying.” Her bluntness cut through you, and she tilted her head. “Are you going to leave?”

“What? No.” The question startled you, and you leaned forward. “No, Laura. I’m not going anywhere. I love Logan. I just... wish he’d stop shutting me out.”

Laura didn’t say anything for a while. She just stared at you, her gaze as sharp as ever, like she was picking apart everything you’d just said.

Finally, she shrugged. “Then tell him.”

You blinked. “I have told him.”

“No, you yelled at him.” Her voice was flat, matter-of-fact, and it made you feel about two inches tall. “That’s not the same.”

You sighed, running a hand over your face. “It’s complicated, kid.”

Laura tilted her head. “No, it’s not. You’re mad. He’s mad. You both stop talking. Then you stay mad.”

You stared at her, caught off guard by how simple she made it sound. “It’s not that easy.”

Laura didn’t respond to that, just gave you a look—one of those looks that made you realize this twelve-year-old could probably win a staring contest with the Grim Reaper. She stood up without another word and walked back toward the hallway, leaving you sitting there with a mix of frustration, guilt, and... something else you couldn’t quite name.

---

The next few days were... quiet. Too quiet. Logan didn’t come around much, and when he did, it was brief—mostly to grab a beer or say a gruff goodnight. You didn’t push him, not yet, but the silence between you was its own kind of argument.

You also knew that he wasn’t sleeping in bed with you. You could tell because you’d wake up early for work, only to find Logan sprawled out on the couch, his legs dangling off the armrest. You would’ve woken him up—told him to go to bed while you left—but you stopped yourself every time. The anger hadn’t completely faded, but it had started to feel hollow, replaced by something heavier.

This morning was no different. You paused in the living room doorway, coffee in hand, watching him. He was fast asleep, one arm thrown over his face, the other hanging off the edge of the couch. You sighed quietly to yourself.

“Just go to bed, idiot,” you muttered under your breath, knowing he wouldn’t hear it.

---

Laura stood in the doorway of the garage, watching Logan fiddle with the same part of the truck he’d been pretending to fix for the past twenty minutes. She didn’t say anything at first—just stood there, arms crossed, her quiet presence heavy enough that Logan eventually sighed.

“You gonna say somethin’ or just stand there starin’?” he muttered without looking up, his voice rough.

Laura shrugged. “You’re not fixing anything.”

Logan’s hands paused for half a second before he went back to the wrench, a little harder this time. “Truck needs work.”

“It doesn’t,” Laura said bluntly. “You’re hiding.”

Logan froze again, jaw tightening. “Ain’t hidin’.”

“You are,” she insisted. Laura took a step closer, eyeing him like he was some kind of experiment she was studying. “You and Y/N are mad. It’s annoying.”

Logan finally looked up at her, scowling. “What’s annoying is you stickin’ your nose where it don’t belong.”

Laura didn’t flinch. She just stared at him, unfazed as ever. “If you don’t talk to her, she’s going to leave.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, and his grip on the wrench tightened. “She’s not gonna leave.”

Laura raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

Logan stared at her, expression unreadable, but he didn’t answer. He looked back at the truck instead, as if the bolts and metal could give him something to focus on. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, kid.”

Laura stepped closer, crossing her arms tighter over her chest. “I know you. And I know her. She cries when you’re not looking.”

Logan stilled, his shoulders tensing, but he didn’t look at her. He didn’t want to hear it—didn’t want to think about it.

Laura didn’t stop. “You think shutting her out makes her safer, but it doesn’t. It just makes her sad.”

“Laura,” Logan said sharply, his voice low.

She ignored the warning in his tone. “You don’t want her to leave, but you’re acting like you do.”

That hit something, and Logan finally set the wrench down, exhaling harshly. “You don’t get it.”

“I do.” Laura’s voice was calm, but there was something pointed beneath it. “You’re scared. You don’t want to need her.”

Logan looked at her, his scowl deeper now, though it lacked its usual bite. “Yeah? Where’d you get all that from?”

Laura shrugged. “I watch you. I listen. You’re both loud.”

Logan shook his head and ran a hand over his face, grumbling under his breath. “You’re a real pain, you know that?”

She just tilted her head. “You’re worse.”

Logan let out a low, humorless chuckle. “Great. So now I’m gettin’ life advice from a twelve-year-old.”

Laura shrugged again and turned to leave. “If you don’t talk to her, I will.”

That got his attention. “Hey—”

But she was already walking out of the garage, not bothering to look back. “You’re welcome,” she called flatly.

Logan swore under his breath, watching her disappear. He sat there for a moment, hands resting on his knees, staring at the half-fixed truck. He hated that kid sometimes—hated how she could cut right through him like that.

And worse, she was right.

---

You came back from work late, opting to eat out instead of at home to avoid any awkward interactions. By the time you walked through the door, the house was dark except for the faint glow of the kitchen light. You set your bag down quietly, not wanting to risk waking anyone up.

But as you turned toward the living room, you noticed Logan sitting on the couch, a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the coffee table. He wasn’t looking at you—his gaze was fixed on the floor, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely together.

You hesitated, debating whether to say anything or just go straight to bed. Before you could decide, his gravelly voice cut through the silence.

“You didn’t come home last night.”

You froze, then blinked. “What?”

He finally looked up at you, his expression unreadable. “Laura told me. Said she noticed. I didn’t.”

You frowned, your heart sinking a little. “Logan, I—”

“I should’ve noticed,” he interrupted, his voice low, almost too quiet. He leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face. “That’s on me.”

You crossed your arms, unsure what to say. “I didn’t stay out because of you.”

“Yeah, you did,” he replied bluntly, cutting you off again. “You’re avoiding me. I get it.”

The way he said it—so matter-of-fact, like he was resigned to it—made something twist in your chest. You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I’m not avoiding you. I just needed... space.”

Logan scoffed, his lips curling into a humorless smirk. “Space. Right. Because I’m such a walk in the park to be around.”

“Logan—”

“I get it,” he repeated, louder this time, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “You don’t have to explain it. I know what I’m like. Hell, Laura reminds me every day.”

You shook your head, stepping closer. “This isn’t about Laura. It’s not even about you being... difficult. It’s about you not letting me in.”

He stiffened at that, his jaw clenching. “I’m tryin’.”

“Are you?” Your voice softened, but the hurt was still there. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you’re just waiting for me to give up.”

His eyes flicked to yours, and for a second, you thought he might argue. But then he sighed, slumping back against the couch. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice rough, almost bitter. “I don’t know how to let someone in without... screwin’ it all up.”

You stared at him, the anger you’d been holding onto slipping away, replaced by something softer. “You don’t have to have all the answers, Logan. I don’t expect you to be perfect. I just need you to try.”

“I am trying,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. “It just... doesn’t feel like it’s enough.”

“It is,” you said firmly, stepping closer until you were standing in front of him. “But you can’t keep shutting me out every time things get hard. That’s not how this works.”

He looked up at you, his expression guarded but vulnerable in a way you rarely saw. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, just studied your face like he was trying to decide whether to believe you.

Finally, he let out a long breath and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees again. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” you said softly, your voice steady. “But you have to let me stay.”

Logan nodded slowly, like he was finally starting to understand. “Alright,” he said, his voice low but resolute. “I’ll... figure it out.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” you said, offering a small, tentative smile.

He didn’t smile back, but the tension in his shoulders eased slightly. He leaned back against the couch, his eyes meeting yours. “You eaten?”

You blinked at the sudden change in topic. “What?”

“You look tired,” he said gruffly. “Bet you skipped dinner.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “I grabbed something on the way home.”

"Good," he muttered again, leaning back against the couch with a long exhale. His hand moved to the bottle of whiskey, but instead of picking it up, his fingers drummed against the glass absently.

You hesitated, then walked over to the couch, standing just in front of him. “Logan.”

He looked up at you, his brow furrowing slightly, waiting for you to say whatever was on your mind.

Instead, you sat down beside him, close enough that your knees touched. For a second, neither of you said anything. Then Logan let out another heavy sigh, reached over, and pulled you into his lap with a quiet grunt.

“Logan—”

“Just sit,” he said, his tone softer than usual, though still carrying that gruff edge. One of his hands rested lightly on your hip, the other settled on your thigh. His forehead dropped against your shoulder, and you could feel the tension in him start to ease as he let himself rest against you.

Your hands moved up instinctively, one settling on his arm, the other gently threading through his hair. He didn’t say anything at first, just breathed deeply, the weight of the past few days pressing down on both of you.

“You should come to bed tonight,” you murmured after a while, your voice quiet but steady.

Logan didn’t move, but you felt the way his body tensed under you. “I’m fine out here.”

“You’re not,” you said simply, your fingers brushing through his hair again. “You look miserable on this couch.”

He huffed a quiet laugh against your shoulder. “I’ll survive.”

“That’s not the point,” you pressed. “I want you in bed. With me. Where you belong.”

Logan lifted his head then, his eyes meeting yours. His expression was guarded, but there was something softer there too, like he was considering your words. “You sure you want me there?”

“Of course I’m sure,” you said, your hand moving to cup his jaw. “I always want you there, Logan. Even when I’m mad at you. Especially when I’m mad at you.”

That earned a faint smirk from him, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Didn’t think I was much for sharing a bed with someone.”

“Well, you’re not great at it,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. “You steal the blankets, and you snore.”

“Don’t snore,” he muttered, his lips twitching slightly.

“You absolutely snore,” you shot back, smiling despite yourself. “But I don’t care. I just want you there.”

Logan studied you for a moment, his hand tightening slightly on your hip. Finally, he gave a small nod. “Alright.”

You smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to his temple. “Good.”

For a few minutes, you stayed like that, the silence between you no longer heavy but comfortable. Logan’s head rested against your chest, and you could feel the tension slowly draining out of him as your fingers moved lazily through his hair.

“Y’know,” he muttered after a while, his voice low, “Laura’s a pain in the ass sometimes.”

You chuckled softly. “She’s just looking out for you. For us.”

Logan grunted, his arm tightening around you slightly. “Kid’s too damn smart for her own good.”

“She gets that from you,” you said, smiling.

That earned another faint smirk, though he didn’t argue. Instead, he let out a quiet sigh, his eyes closing as he rested against you. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

“Good,” you said softly, your hand continuing to stroke his hair.

For the first time in days, the tension between you felt like it was beginning to mend.

[javiersvest]

breathe, hold, release (pt. 1)

joel miller x f!pilates instructor reader 

summary: when sarah forces joel to drive her to a new pilates studio downtown, he finds a new favorite way to spend saturday mornings. 

tags: mdni (18+ only), no outbreak au, no use of y/n, reader is afab/able bodied, has long hair, no other physical descriptors, meet cute vibes, no smut (yet! part 2 pending) but joel is having thoughts so, slightly pervy!joel, age gap (joel is 40, reader is 28), mention of a breeding kink if you really squint, joel is an angsty horny mess, if i forgot anything please lmk!

word count: 6.8k

a/n: this is my first published fic on here after bowing out of writing for a while, so i hope whoever stumbles across this enjoys. my user is misleading but i will be writing for pedro's other characters as well :) ty to my besties for beta'ing this for me ♡ pls be gentle.. alright goodbye!

“Pill what now?”

Joel’s headache throbbed in time with the sound of Sarah thundering down the stairs, nearly colliding with him as he stepped in from the backyard. It was only May, and already an unbearable heat had settled over Austin – eighty degrees before noon, causing sweat to plaster his shirt to his back. He’d spent the morning in a losing battle with a rotted fence post, back aching as he tried to dig it out of the ground. Stubborn bastard that it was, it wasn’t giving up easy.

“Pilates,” Sarah repeated, breezing past him with a blue tote bag slung over her shoulder. “There’s a new studio downtown and Vic’s mom got us a free class. Can you drive me?”

Joel bit back a groan, swiping the sweat from his brow with the heel of his hand. “Downtown?” he echoed, already dreading the traffic. Saturdays downtown were a nightmare; the farmer’s market turning a ten minute drive into half an hour, easily. Joel had unfortunately gotten stuck in the rush each time he had to make a supply run. He glanced toward the oven clock, the dimming light blinking 10:43 a.m. He needed to fix that, too. 

Sarah had begun filling her water bottle – the matching one he’d bought her two birthdays ago.

“You need to shower before you take me, you’re gonna get me kicked out.” Sarah remarks, her finger pointing at him and motioning to all of the grime and dirt that clung to him like a second skin. “Class is at 11:30, we have time right?” 

Joel ignored the question, sliding the back door’s lock into place. “What the hell is it anyway?” He rarely said no to her, despite his perpetual bearish nature and overall aversion for people. Too many times had Sarah dragged him out of the house just for him to get stuck somewhere that only reminded him of how lonely he was. 

“It’s like yoga but with machines,” Sarah’s words are muffled in between her bites of an apple. 

Joel’s brow raises. “Thought you said yoga was boring?” 

She rolled her eyes and dropped onto the couch, already absorbed in her phone. “Go shower. If we’re late, they’ll charge Vic’s mom.”

He sighed, deep and through his nose. Muttering something about who in their right mind pays to do yoga on machines, he trudged up the stairs.

The truck rumbled down South Congress, Joel’s elbow propped against the window, one finger pressed to his temple in an effort to soothe the persistent ache pulsing behind his eye. A silver sedan cut him off with zero hesitation, and he bit back the curse rising to his lips.

“I told you we should’ve left earlier,” Sarah said from the passenger seat, craning her neck toward the window in search of the new studio.

Joel huffed, his tone dry. “I was covered in dirt, you said I had to shower.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you were a walking health code violation.” She laughs at her own joke and Joel’s expression remains in a comfortable scowl. Such a smartass. As he made a sharp right turn into the plaza, Sarah perked up and let her arm stretch out of the open window. “Right there! That’s it.”

Joel gave the building a once over. It was new, pristine, and pretentious. Probably owned by some well-to-do Texan socialite who spent more on coffee in a week than he did on power tools in a month. He parked with a heavy exhale and cut the engine. Sarah had one foot out the door, stressed about missing a second of class, when she paused. “Oh – you have to come in and sign a waiver.”

Joel paused, fingers still on the keys. “Thought the whole point of this was me sittin’ in the truck.” Driving back home and turning around to pick her up again would be a waste of time; and gas. But lingering outside in a baking metal box didn’t sound much better.

“It’s five minutes,” Sarah assured him, then smirked. “Unless being surrounded by chicks in leggings is too overwhelming for you.” Joel shot her a long, withering look in response.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, shoving the door open with a little more force than necessary.

The parking lot shimmered in the sun as Joel stepped out of the truck, the soles of his boots crunching against the asphalt. Sarah was already halfway to the entrance, her tote bag bouncing against her side, curls swaying. Joel followed at a slower pace, dragging a hand through his hair. The studio came fully into view. Floor-to-ceiling glass, a glowing sign that read MOTIV in green serif, flanked by potted olive trees and dangling strings of fairy lights. 

Inside, everything looked soft, curated, and suspiciously spotless. He walked through the front door and was hit with a cool rush of air and the sharp scent of lavender and orange; his headache vibrates in his skull. A display shelf of similar cups to Sarah’s and matching workout sets sat to the right. A neon pink sign above a brushed gold water dispenser glowing Hydrate + Radiate. He hovered near the entrance while Sarah went to check in, arms crossed with a faint scowl. The chalkboard on the wall read “Today’s intention: be here now.” The hell does that even mean? 

Joel felt like a sore thumb with a heartbeat.

“Wow,” Sarah murmured, her voice echoing against the sleek linoleum floors as she looked around. “This place is so nice.”

Joel made a low sound in his throat, eyes narrowing at the bright lighting. The walls were all soft blush tones and polished wood, greenery hung in just the right places. Overhead a top fifty playlist sounded through the speakers, Joel recognized the current song from Sarah’s collection. 

A woman steps out from around the corner, clipboard in hand, smiling bright and open. Your hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, loose strands of it catching the morning light and framing your face. If he looked close enough he could see the flush over your skin, probably due to the heat. You wore a soft pink sports bra and black leggings, a matching sheer wrap tied around your waist in a loose knot that somehow made the whole ensemble seem less like activewear and more like intention. Not flashy, not performative. Just… natural. Must be what that stupid chalkboard was talking about. 

“Hi there!” you greet warmly, approaching with the kind of ease that could only come from liking the act of getting to know people. “Checking in?” 

Your eyes meet Joel’s and he feels something stutter in his chest. He might’ve managed a proper introduction if every part of his body hadn’t suddenly forgotten how to function. He’d expected your voice to be sharp and high-pitched, but it was lower than he thought, and warm. 

“I’m Sarah,” she answers, and Joel is grateful for it. “This is my dad. He’s just here to drop me off and sign the waiver thing?” 

“Got it!” you beamed at her, then turned your attention back to Joel, your smile undimmed. “We ask all guardians to fill one out - liability stuff, just in case. These machines are a little weird for people at first.” 

Joel feels like you’re overexplaining, his expression flat as you extend the clipboard to him. Behind him, Sarah coughed pointedly, silently telling him to stop being such an ass. When he glanced at her, she was already watching him with narrowed eyes. The pen attached had a small, fake sunflower affixed to the top. Joel stared at it like it was a trap. “...Really?”

You laugh, light and unbothered. “I know, but everyone seems to like them.” 

Joel doesn’t do the polite thing – a laugh, a nod, that reflexive smile people give each other when they lock eyes in a grocery store. Instead, he exhales slowly through his nose and squints at the waiver, pen scratching across the lines with a kind of grim determination. His handwriting is slanted and a little sloppy, like he’s trying to get it over with as fast as possible.

You turn your attention to Sarah, your voice softening. “We’ve got a few machines open, most people like being up front their first time so they can see what’s happening.”

Sarah perks up. “Cool. Is my friend Vic here already?”

You glance over your shoulder, smile brightening when you spot her. Now you remembered checking her in ten minutes ago, she’d mentioned she was saving a place for a friend. “Yep! She checked in earlier, I think she snagged the one in the middle for you. You two are doing this together?”

“First timers,” Sarah grins, adjusting the strap of her tote bag. “Her mom booked us the free class.”

“Trying new things, I love it!” you say, giving her a high-five. “She asked me earlier if it was normal to feel like Bambi on ice during the first class. I told her that’s half the fun.” Sarah laughs and heads toward Vic, who greets her with a dramatic stretch.

Joel is still standing at the counter, hunched slightly over the clipboard. He scrawls his signature on the last line, clearing his throat as he hands the clipboard back to you. Your eyes scan the page, and you find his messy handwriting endearing.

“Thanks… Joel,” you say, softly - not like you were spitting it out. Maybe he imagines that part. Joel gives a grunt that might be a thank you. You don’t seem to mind either way. You tuck the form under your arm and check your watch. 

“You’re welcome to wait inside if you’d like - there’s cold towels and water in that fridge over there.” You motion to the bench in the corner with your chin. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He can’t formulate a response, can’t even mumble a simple token of gratitude. You gave another breezy smile and turned to greet a pair of women walking in behind him, slipping easily into conversation. Across the room, Sarah and Vic are giggling over their machines, pointing at the foot straps like they’re some kind of amusement park ride.

Joel lingers for a beat too long with the clipboard no longer in his hands, as if waiting for something else to anchor him. He wondered if you were pretending, if you ever talked to people the way he did; uninterested, rushed. 

He sighs and moves toward the bench in the corner. The cushions are softer than expected. They remind him that he doesn’t belong here. He pretends not to notice the way each woman looks him up and down, probably wondering why the hell he was there. Still, Joel sits. Just a few minutes, he tells himself. Long enough to cool off. Long enough for his pulse to stop kicking at his throat. But as your voice drifts through the room - steady and laced with quiet command, he decides to stay.

Joel hadn’t meant to stare.

He really hadn’t.

But somehow, he found himself still on the bench fifteen minutes into the class, a cold towel slack in his hand, no longer pressed to the back of his neck. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, as if that’d make him less conspicuous. As if anyone in this goddamn studio even noticed he was still sitting there – except maybe Sarah, who'd sent him a single, suspicious look before disappearing into your instructions.

But Joel couldn’t look away. Not from you.

You’d claimed the reformer at the front of the class, surrounded by the ten students. Joel watched, rooted, as you’d settled onto it, feet covered with pink socks on the bar. You were fucking adorable. Every movement was fluid – graceful in a way that made his jaw clench. You moved through the class with quiet precision, your legs extending in a slow push that brought your hips off the carriage, then back down with a faint hiss of the springs. Your body stretched; long, flexed, contracted, then stilled. And then again. Again. Again.

It was obscene how hypnotic it was.

"Place your heels on the foot bar, toes flexed toward the ceiling. Keep your spine neutral and engage through that core,” your voice cutting through the lowered music like warm honey. You spoke like you trusted everyone in the room would follow you – even Joel, even though he wasn’t on a machine, even though he hadn’t moved an inch. 

“Good. Now press through the heels, extend the legs. Slow tempo. Four counts to extend, four to return. Feel the hamstrings fire up.” And God help him, he did. Watching your body glide slowly along that strange looking machine, smooth and controlled, everything tight and drawn in. You continue until the class is warmed up, then step off your machine to observe. 

“Now that we’ve got our legs warmed up, we’ll go ahead and move into foot loops,” you said. You’d taken the pink wrap from around your waist and tossed it onto the wall hooks, leaving only the curve of your hips in black leggings, your baby-pink sports bra clinging to your skin. Joel’s eyes followed you as you walked between the machines, stopping next to Sarah to help her get the foot straps on. Your voice lowers to guide her on where to place the straps, but he can’t hear you over the buzzing in his ears. 

You moved down the row, adjusting tension springs on Vic’s machine. “We’re going to start with some wide leg circles. Let the loops pull your legs back as far as they can go, feel that stretch through the backs of the legs and then pull down through the middle.” Your arms lift and mimic the gesture, feet padding along the floor as you inspect each student to check for anyone needing guidance. When you’re satisfied with everyone’s form, you return to your machine and slip your own feet into the loops. 

His breath caught when your legs started moving outward in slow splits, carving invisible circles in the air. Joel pressed the towel to his mouth. Not to cool off – just to keep from making a fucking sound. The straps catch in the pulleys above you, like silk thread tugging you from some invisible point in the ceiling.

“Keep your spine anchored, core doing the work. Focus on your breathing, that’s where the strength is.” 

Joel feels his breathing switch up to match your pace, and it felt good. The straps kept tension in your limbs, your legs moving in wide circles, gliding just inches above the mat before rising again. The control it took – not just to move like that, but to make it look so easy – tightened something deep in Joel’s gut.

Joel could feel the resistance just from watching. The subtle burn in your thighs. The strain in your lower belly when you drew your legs tighter. The slight tremble in your inner muscles that showed, just for a second, before you steadied again. And Jesus, the way your stomach drew in when your legs came together, toes pointed, straps pulled taut… Joel shifts on the bench, one hand pressing into his thigh. He blinked, trying to scrub the image from behind his eyes. But it was seared there now – your legs in those slow, perfect arcs, hips pinned down, your voice soothing and low.

Then came bridges, and his jaw ticks.

You guide the class through the setup with that same calm cadence that had been slowly wrecking him all morning. “Alright, this one is going to burn after the first few, but I promise it’s worth it.” You joke and earn laughter from the room. “Pull the carriage in with your feet, arms straight and long on the carriage.”

And when you demonstrated the motion yourself – feet on the bar and your hips rising until you were up in the air – Joel’s brain completely derailed.

From the bench, he could see it all: your knees bent, heels digging into the foot bar, the slow articulation of your spine as it peeled away from the mat. Shoulders down. Hips up. The curve of your back forming a line he had absolutely no business thinking about.

“Feel the glutes working here, not the low back. Squeeze and hover, then we’ll pulse for ten and roll down,” you said, calm as ever, like you weren’t using all of your strength. You rolled down slowly, vertebra by vertebra, until your spine was flat again. 

“Keep it steady. Don’t let the carriage slam. There’s strength in control.”

His jeans tighten further, jaw going slack. 

He could see every line of your body through those leggings – the way your hips rose and fell in rhythm, the tight pull of muscle around your thighs, your stomach flexing, ribs shifting beneath your skin. That pink sports bra rose with each inhale, clung tighter with every breath you blew out.

Joel couldn’t stop imagining your breath against his throat, hot and shallow. Couldn’t stop picturing what it’d be like to have those thighs wrap around him in the air, hips shaking as he traces his name with his tongue in your sweetest spot. To feel the strength of you – the steadiness, the ease, the command. Would you still talk him through it? Patient, encouraging, eager to watch him fall apart?

His jeans were fucking unbearable now. 

The machine creaks beneath you, slow and steady as you release and tell the class to catch their breath. Your palms flatten beside your hips, body curling as your knees drew in and your stomach hollowed. You begin rocking side to side to stretch through your lower back, instructing the class to do the same. His mind flashes with the image of you doing it in his bed, exhausted from him spending the night buried deep inside you, knees in the air to make it stick. 

Joel dropped his gaze to the floor, pushing a sharp breath through his lips. What the fuck was wrong with him? His daughter was here, just a feet away, laughing quietly with you, following your cues without hesitation. And him? He was on a bench with a hard-on, staring at you like some fucking creep. Arousal simmering under denim like he was seventeen again. He scrubbed a hand over his face and tried to will the tension out of his shoulders.

This wasn’t who he was. He was a father. He should’ve been paying attention to Sarah, making sure she felt supported, safe. But his mind had gone somewhere dark and hot and selfish – and no matter how he tried, he couldn’t drag it back.

All because of the way your voice wrapped around the room. Because of the curve of your back, the power in your legs, the way you didn’t even seem to know what you were doing to him.

And that was the worst part, this wasn’t a fantasy. It was real, you were real. 

You sit up on your machine momentarily, one knee bent on top as you face the class. 

“To cool down we’re going to do the same thing, but with our legs this time. What I mean by that is,” you pause and lie back down, everyone in the class sat up to watch your demonstration.

“Feet into the loops, your shoulders should stay grounded. With bridges we roll the back down one vertebrae at a time, this time think of lifting up with your spine instead.” Your legs rise up towards the ceiling, your toes pointed. Voice steady, you say something about keeping your tailbone tucked in, but Joel isn’t hearing you. 

His eyes follow your body like he’s a snake charmed, lips parting in awe. He’s watching so closely he can see your abdomen flex just slightly as you lift up through your hips, practically suspended in midair if not for your shoulders staying down. And your face – focused, serene, utterly unbothered by both the difficult maneuver and the effect you were having on him just feet away. 

You were so strong, so beautiful. Hell, he was old; probably didn’t know much about what people could do with their bodies outside of hard labor. 

He bet you’d teach him a lot of things. 

The best his imagination could do still had all his blood pumping to his cock. 

If he had you under him, legs hooked over his shoulders, spine arched, stretched and slack like that for him… christ he wouldn’t be able to stop. Guiding your breathing as he turns you into a soft puddle of skin in his grip, fingertips pressing into your knee as he holds you still. He’d do it all night if you would let him. Now that he’d seen you like this, strong and sweet and sexy without even trying, he had to show you how good you were. 

You held the pose for a few more seconds, some polite applause sounding from a few of the women. A bashful smile appears as you set your feet down, motioning for everyone to try. You start moving slowly, taking the time to correct each person’s form if necessary. The way you instructed was never malicious, no undercurrent of judgement if someone wasn’t at your level. Joel half expected every girl in here aside from his daughter to have that catty personality that made people feel bad about themselves just for saying hello. 

He follows you as you get to Sarah’s machine, the teenager’s brow furrowed as she tried to lift her hips in the air how you did. Her legs were shaky, unsure. Joel almost stood up in case the machine did something wonky and hurt her. Soon there’s a pair of hands on Sarah’s calves, supporting her legs while you talk to her. 

“Breathe into it, Sarah,” you say softly. “Imagine there’s a string pulling you right up, like you’re nothin’ but a feather.” You laugh airly at your own comment, Sarah’s eyes scrunching as she giggles back. Then your fingers are wrapped around her ankles, shoulder blades flexing under that baby pink sports bra as you guide her legs up.

She tries again – and this time, her body rises just like you’d said, wobbly, but right. You nod excitedly, a beaming smile on your face as you encourage her to hold the post without your support. Your fingers release and Sarah cranes her neck towards the bench. 

She was checking; checking to see if her dad was watching. Just like at every soccer game, every choir show, Joel was. He sees her trying something new and succeeding, and sees you helping her get there. Joel’s smile is soft and immediate. Pride floods his chest as he gives her a small nod, then his eyes carry back to you. 

You’re already looking at him, and Joel’s breathing nearly freezes. 

There’s a look written across your face that he can’t decipher. A flicker of curiosity, maybe? The way you’re looking at him now, head tilted, lips parted, chest rising slow; it tells Joel you know. You know what he’s been thinking. Know he’s been watching you, wanting you, sinking teeth into every soft command and slow stretch like a starving man. And worse than that: you’re not stopping it. You’re not asking him to leave, or giving him dirty looks. 

Joel swallows hard, jaw flexing as he drags his gaze down your throat, your shoulders, the curve of your waist. Lets you watch him imagine your thighs hooked over his shoulders, his hands keeping you steady, taking what he’s been aching for since the first breath you took in that room. 

You blink slowly.

And just like that, it’s over. You turn back to the class, guiding and praising like you didn’t just fucking unravel him from across the room. His hands curl into fists on his knees when he realizes this isn’t just some fleeting crush. Not anymore. 

The room settles, your voice softer but clear as you lead the class through a final cooldown. Your chin is tilted up towards the ceiling, shoulders rolling back. Then your hands come together in a gesture of appreciation. You thank everyone for coming, a few women already reaching for towels and water bottles. Sarah steps off the reformer and starts tugging her shoes back on, you coming over to adjust something with the machine Joel can’t see. She says something, he can’t hear it, but you both laugh, and Joel feels his chest crack open with something warm. Something more pure. But it’s not enough to smother the want.

Sarah joins Vic by the water refill station, the girls chatting excitedly and sharing their surprise for how fun it was. You’re kneeling by the machine she’d used, a bottle of disinfectant spraying onto the leather as you wipe it down with a rag. You do it to each machine, diligently moving through the motions like you’d done it a million times. 

Everything is back to normal except him.

His body is still too wired, every nerve still lit up from watching you teach. And now he has to walk over, play it cool, and be a good dad. Ask Sarah if she had fun and tell her how proud he is – without letting a single thing on his face give him away.

God help him.

Sarah bounds towards him, some of her curls stuck to her forehead with sweat. “Who’s the walking health hazard now?” Joel teases, bumping his fist into her shoulder gently. 

“It’s way harder than it looks,” she says with a tired smile, ignoring his banter. She must really be burnt out then. 

Joel chuckles and looks at the reformers with a dramatic puff of air. “Those look like hell.” 

“They are,” her grin grows, proud now. “But it was fun! Like, weirdly fun.”

He hums and lets her take a drink of water before asking, “You wanna come back then?” 

Sarah doesn’t think anything of his question, but shakes her head. “No way, I just wanted to try it. Pilates is expensive,” she answers. Joel’s heart clenches a little, a flicker of insecurity on his face with the knowledge that his daughter was aware of their financial situation. They were comfortable, but things were definitely tight most of the time. Joel did what he needed to do. 

“I’m sure they’ve got a payment plan or somethin’, c’mon let’s ask.” Joel jerks his chin towards the front desk. You’re sitting there now, sipping from a water bottle. Sarah looks at her dad in confusion, surprised that he was even entertaining the idea. 

When they approach the desk you set the bottle down, smiling at Sarah. “Hey! How’d you like it? You did an amazing job for it being your first time.” 

Her face lights up, and she can’t help but beam under the praise. “It was awesome, I didn’t think I’d be able to do half of that.”

“You’re always stronger than you think you are, at least that’s what I’ve learned doing this,” you offer kindly. Always affirming and attentive. 

Joel clears his throat, voice steadier than he feels. “We were just wonderin’ about the membership. If there’s uh, a rate or somethin’ like that.”

Reaching under the desk you grab a piece of paper, placing it on the counter. You turn it so they can read it, your pointer finger tracing the rates as you explain each one. “Since we just opened a few months ago we're still running a 25% off discount if you buy three months of classes.” 

Joel and Sarah share a look, but they don’t say anything, silently communicating. Joel’s hand moves to his back pocket, digging out his wallet and sliding one of his cards out. 

“You better become star pupil, how much this is runnin’ me,” he jokes with her, handing the card to you. You laugh at the exchange, not impolitely. Joel feels a sense of accomplishment that he’d made you laugh. 

“She’s already on her way, don’t worry.” You hand over his receipt with a smile, that same pen from earlier nestled between your thumb and the thin paper. The pen clicks against the counter as he hunches over to sign; sign himself away to you, it felt like. This time when the fake flower taped to the top grazes his knuckles, he just smiles to himself. Welcomes it, like that little flower was the closest he’d ever get to you. 

It had become routine, sacred in its quiet regularity.

Every Saturday morning, he’d watch her fill up her water bottle, tousle her hair, then watch her sling that tote bag over her shoulder like she’d been doing pilates her whole life. Then Joel drove Sarah downtown, pretending to dread the drive a little less each week that passed. The first time back, he’d tried to leave after dropping her off. Using coffee as an excuse only worked that first time, though, Sarah knowing there was no way in hell Joel was going to drop $9 on a latte three buildings down. At least not on a coffee for himself. 

It’d been about a month now; four Saturdays. Maybe five, he couldn’t remember. It was long enough that the receptionist knew him by name, long enough that Sarah had a favorite reformer, right next to yours, and a pre-class stretching routine. You had grown roots in his mind, but not just his – in Sarah’s too. Every afternoon after class she’d rave about your teaching, how funny you were, how she thought you were “just the coolest.” 

Aside from the fact he already thought you were beautiful, the way his daughter spoke about you made appreciation bloom in his chest. You really saw her. You never shrunk her, always met her teenage uncertainty with warmth and ease, matched her sense of humor. In a room of older women, toned and polished, you treated Sarah like she belonged. The studio, with its sun-warmed floors and pop music, had become a place they both looked forward to. 

And so, Joel would sit on that bench in the corner for an hour every weekend, watching you stretch and manipulate your body in ways he didn’t know were possible. 

He told himself it was purely for Sarah. That it was about her confidence, her joy. And it was. The way she’d fallen in sync with you each class, it was worth every penny. He’d picked up some night jobs on the weekends Sarah was at a friend’s house just to make up for the splurge, his back aching in places it hadn’t before. He bet you’d be able to soothe that ache in his back, your hands gently nudging him over the line of satisfaction, voice gentle as you guide his breathing. 

He couldn’t tell if you were aware of how much you fed his delusions. It was the way you smiled each time the pair walked in, the way you warmed up any conversation. The small talk had started slowly. Mundane things, safe things, like how long have you been doing this? 3 years. It’s really heating up out there isn’t it? I love the sun, it’s not so bad. Then it turned into questions about his week, how Sarah was doing, how he was doing. 

You never seemed rushed, never distracted. Even when students would trickle in, you never ended your conversation with him. Some mornings, your eyes would focus on him in a way he had deemed unnecessary, eyes searching for something in his face while he talked. 

Then you would laugh, quiet and low, when he said something he hadn’t intended to be funny. He wasn’t sure when you started touching his arm when you said goodbye, but he noticed now. The warmth of it. The quick, electric trail it left behind. You never lingered long enough for him to know for sure. Never stepped out of line. But you didn’t avoid him, either. 

You followed him home every weekend, embedded in his mind’s eye. Your smile, your body, your voice. Dancing around in his head like the ballerina in a musicbox. One absolutely insignificant detail he’d latched onto was your backpack hanging up behind the desk. Specifically, the pink and silver bow chain dangling from one of the zippers. He’d watch it clink against the fabric each time you took a step, or watch it catch the light when you went to grab something from the small pocket in the front. 

She’s got a bow on her keys, he’d think to himself, laying in bed with an arm behind his head. 

Of course she does.

You become Joel's little secret, the adoringly kind pilates instructor downtown who always wore matching sets and had a bow keychain hanging on her bag. 

Another class had concluded, women passing Joel as he leaned on the front desk, elbows starting to ache a little from pressing into the hard surface. Sarah started helping you around the studio a couple of weeks ago, wiping down machines and mindless tasks, anything to talk to you. This meant he got the hang around a bit longer, watch you. Talk to you. Sarah’s laughter echoes behind him; she offers to fold the towels, her good deed for the day, he hears her say. 

You stood behind the desk, shoulders relaxed now that the class ended, a faint sheen still clinging to your skin. There was a different ease to you in the emptiness. The professional brightness dimmed, leaving something quieter in its place – closer to the woman he imagined when he was lying awake at night, chasing the sound of your laugh in his memory while he stared at the ceiling.

“Got anything fun planned for the rest of the day?” you ask him coolly, head tilted in curiosity. You lean into the counter just a little, eyes catching his in that way that knocks the wind out of him.

“Mm,” he hums. “Laundry, dishes. Fix this drawer in the kitchen that never shuts right.”

You lift a brow, smile pulling slowly. “Wow, that does sound fun,” you tease, but not unkindly. 

He huffs a dry laugh, lets his gaze drag down the line of your arm and back up again. “Yeah, well. Sittin’ here in the air conditioning beats fixin’ drawers, but it’s gotta get done. Sarah’s been complainin’ about it for days.” 

You smile knowingly, a clever glint in your eye. “And here I thought you were sitting in here cause you liked the view.” 

He feels himself shift as he straightens up, like he’s been caught red-handed. His lips part as though he’s about to say something else, defend himself, put your suspicions to rest or apologize for being perverted. But nothing comes out. He could try to laugh, make a joke, say he’s just here for Sarah. Hell, maybe he could’ve done that a few Saturdays ago, but not now.

Not with the way you’re looking at him.

Like you already know.

Joel swallows thickly, the corner of his mouth tugging up like he might say something slick, something brave. But it falters, and he comes clean. “Would be lyin’ if I said I didn’t.”

Your brow arches, just barely. You don’t retreat, don’t fill the silence with something easier. You just hold his gaze, head tilted like you’re wondering how honest he’ll let himself be. He lets out a breath through his nose. “”M real sorry, I didn’t mean to..” he trails off, redness creeping up his tanned neck and peeking through the collar of his t-shirt. 

Then you laugh; not loud or cruel, just amused. “Relax, Joel,” you say easily. “Be lying if I said I minded,” you copy his words and they land right in his chest. 

He glances down at the counter. “Thought maybe you were just bein’ polite, or I read things wrong,” he shakes his head, brows knitted together.

“I was being polite,” you confirm with a nod. “But no, you didn’t read it wrong.”

Joel scratches the back of his neck, the shift in his stance subtle but telling. There’s still heat in the air between you, but now he’s glancing toward the hallway like he’s trying to redirect it, tuck it somewhere safer.

“By the way,” he says, clearing his throat, “Noticed one of the sinks in the men’s room’s got a slow drain,” he said, scratching lightly at the back of his neck. “These new buildings they rush the plumbing.”

You blink, then your brows lift in amusement. “Oh does it?” 

“Yeah,” he nods, earnest as ever. “Probably just a loose fitting or the trap’s clogged, but,” he shrugs, hands sliding into his pockets, “I could take a look if you want.”

It’s so innocent on the surface. Almost too innocent. You tilt your head, watching him and waiting for a punchline. “Is this a ploy for something?”

His head jerks back slightly, as if the thought scandalized him. “What? No –” he rubs a palm over his beard, then exhales a quiet laugh. “I mean… no. Just hate bad handiwork, drives me crazy.” 

You’re smiling now, arms crossed, leaning just a little into the counter. “So you’re not trying to impress me with your plumbing skills.”

He gives a low chuckle, something sheepish flickering in his expression. “God, no. Just wanna help you out, ‘fore it gets too bad.” 

You purse your lips, fighting off an even wider smile. There’s something magnetic about his awkwardness. The way he tries so hard not to overstep, even as his interest leaks out bit by bit.

You tilt your head slightly, eyes narrowing just enough to show you're considering him. “Does Monday work? That’s our upkeep day.” 

“Monday’s great.” Joel nods once, his eyes meeting yours with a tender expression in them. 

Sarah steps into the room and squints at the freshly printed class schedule taped to the wall, her gaze quickly moving between it and you.

“Monday?” she asks, her brows furrowing. “Did the class get switched?”

The words hang in the air, and the shared look between you and Joel is one of fondness, like you’re sharing an inside joke. 

“Your dad offered to fix a sink for me, what do you think it’s gonna run me?” you say, sliding a small pin across the counter toward Sarah.

You had a matching one affixed to your backpack, the studio’s name printed on it, and Sarah’s eyes light up. The beginning of a smirk starts to appear as she turns the pin over once. She doesn’t miss a thing. 

“Hard to say,” she says, she muses, exaggeratedly thoughtful. “He’s not cheap. You might end up owing him dinner.”

You stifle a laugh, trying not to look too pleased as you lean on the counter. “You go around fixing every girl’s sink in exchange for food?”

Joel opens his mouth, but Sarah cuts in before he has the chance. “Just the girls he has crushes on.”

Joel groans low under his breath, head tipping back like he’s asking the ceiling for mercy. “Jesus, Sarah.”

Sarah taps the pin once against the edge of the counter, then pins it to her bag. “Well,” she says with a shrug, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Guess I’ll see you next Saturday, and he will see you on Monday.”

“Looking forward to it,” you say, eyes lingering on Joel just a moment longer, catching the way he shifts under the weight of all Sarah’s teasing.

Sarah leads him to the door and he hesitates, his hand grazing the back of his neck like he’s not quite ready to go, like there’s something else he wants to say but won’t.

“See you Monday,” he says at last, voice low, sincere.

You smile, warm and easy. “I’ll be here.”

Joel nods once, then turns to follow Sarah, who’s already halfway out the door. Just before it swings closed behind him, he glances back over his shoulder – there’s a quiet hopefulness in his eyes, an understanding that the feelings are mutual. That you saw him and his inner turmoil weeks ago, and you didn’t shy away.

You lift your hand in a quiet wave, no teasing this time. 

Sarah is saying something about getting food on the way home, but Joel’s mind is still inside, with you. The way you’d smiled at him like you meant it. The way you leaned on the counter, eyes full of mischief, sweet as sin. He hadn’t expected any of this, and was getting more than he bargained for. As he gets into his truck, something settles in his chest – something heavier. 

He’d looked too long. Thought too much. You didn’t even know what you were doing to him, and that made it worse. You were so good, so damn sweet, and he’d sat there every week with his head full of things he hadn’t let himself want in years. Things he wasn’t sure he had the right to want now. He told himself it was harmless. Just a little crush, something to think about at night to help him fall asleep.

But he was already thinking about Monday. The sink, sure, but mostly the quiet. Just the two of you. No class in session, no students to pretend around, no reason to keep his distance.

And that scared him more than anything.

[frantic-fiction]

Tension 18+

Pic: littlelovelore

Astarion x f!reader

Summary: During a solo mission, Astarion takes the opportunity to indulge in some "depraved carnal lust".

Warnings: 18+ MDNI Slight enemies to lovers, sex bent over a desk, sex with clothes on, mild choking, rough sex, reader handles her crush like a fifth grader (by being mean) Astarion is his smug self

Word Count: 3.2k

Masterlist

Back-to-back posts brought to you by Bree's insomnia...Enjoy!

"Do you want me to do it?" Astarion smugly asks, flicking his wrist sharply, sending a dagger into the wood beam before him. He's leaning against the cracked wall of the tunnel. A condescending smile stretches across his pale lips.

"Shut the fuck up!" You snap, twisting the lockpick violently, it's stuck on something, and it is pissing you off. 

"My my, someone's testy today." The Vampire pushes off the wall to retrieve his dagger, only for you to hear the same thud of the knife hitting the abused beam once again.

You clench your jaw, wanting nothing more than to drown the bastard in the small stream of gray water. See him try to be a smartass when he's choking on sewage. 

No! Just breathe.

As soon as you get this damn door open, all you need is to grab the stolen lease for the damn butcher, and the party will have a nice payout. Then Astarion's snarky comments and teasing jabs can be ignored behind a glass of ale and a nice meal. 

Well, if you don't kill him first.

The relationship between you and the Vampire is a complex one, to say the least. Astarion is an arrogant, pompous dick. You're a temperamental stubborn asshole. It made for a messy mix of harsh insults and constant attempts to belittle the other.

It would have been so easy to hate him completely, but Astarion can be sweet under the cloak of night, and you could almost pretend he's a tolerable person when he speaks those honey-coated words. And when you let him feed from you, everything became so much more complicated.

The pick snaps, and you drop your head, groaning in frustration. You stand up and kick hard against a crate; the decayed wood breaks against your boot. Sighing in defeat, you motion to the rogue. 

Astarion laughs smoothly, tucking the knife away, and exchanges it for his thieves' tools. Giving you a wink, he bends down to examine the lock. You pretend not to admire the swell of his ass, but who are you kidding Astarion is extremely attractive.

With little to no fanfare, the lock turns over, and Astarion opens the door. "After you."

"I fucking hate you." You grumble, pushing past, making a point to shove your shoulder hard into the rouge.

"Keep telling yourself that Darling," 

You flip him off.

The sewer system is a winding path of tunnels leading to various places. The two of you walk in silence for a few minutes. 

"Are you sure we are going the right way?" Astarion asks, breaking the peace.

"Of course, this is the right way." You hiss, glaring over your shoulder. "I can read a map."

"Just like you could pick a lock, yes?"

You don't think you've ever seen a more punchable face. You're almost tempted to smack him just to see his reaction. Instead, you practice a semblance of self-control and ignore him.

After a few more turns, you hit a dead end. It's nothing but a damp brick wall. Scanning the map, you're sure you followed all the proper steps; there should be an entrance. Stowing the stupid paper away, you begin feeling the brick for any invisible button, unwilling to admit defeat in front of Astarion. All hideouts have secret levers. Right?

"Well, sweetheart, I think you've gotten us lost."

"No, I didn't, jackass, now be useful for once and help me." You bend down and begin trailing your fingertips against the rough bricks near the floor.

"I don't think I will. I'm quite enjoying the view from here."

You look back towards the rogue, "What are you talking about–" you choke on your words.

 Astarion is shamelessly eyeing your form. A fang tugs at his bottom lip, hunger darkening his eyes. You swallow hard, and a flame ignites low in your stomach. You have a sudden urge to press him against the wall. That thought startles you. This is Astarion. The obnoxious, arrogant, attractive–no, stop that. You stand up and shake your head, willing your thoughts to clear. 

"You're ridiculous," you sigh and dig through your bag. 

Retrieving the knock scroll, Gale scribed for you. Repeating the steps he told you to do, you mumbled the incantation, and soon enough, what was once a solid brick wall cracked open to reveal a hidden path.

"Told you I knew where I was going," you boast, sticking your tongue out childishly.

Astarion smirks, "Yes, a broken clock is right twice a day."

Scoffing, you shove him hard, causing him to take a few steps to correct his footing. The entrance leads to a broken-down ladder and a worn wooden hatch. Astarion steps up to pick the lock and lifts the hatch barely to survey the room. He pushes the trapdoor open and enters.

Following suit, you find yourself in a dusty broom closet. Astarion is already at the door to the hallway, a sliver of light pouring through the crack. Closing the trapdoor, you cross your arms and wait for Astarion to turn back to you. 

"It's abandoned."

"Are you sure?"

Scoffing, Astarion doesn't answer. He pushes the door open and begins down the hall. You follow after him.

The small hideout is plainly decorated, the common room has a dingy sofa and a coffee table. The fireplace is dead; not even embers remain. Good. In the corner, there looks to be an unfinished game of cards. The faded carpet runner leads down the hall to a large ornate door. 

Astarion is already opening the door by the time you reach him. By the looks of it, this is the boss's office. A large oak desk sat in the middle room. A plush chair pulled slightly away as if someone hadn't bothered to move it back. Bookshelves line the back wall. 

"Secure the door," you say as you move to the window to the left of the door. You hear Astarion mumble something but don't quite catch his words. 

The window is a short drop good for a quick escape if needed. 

You move to the desk and begin rifling through the papers on the desk. Tax documents, random notes, crappy doodles, and a cringey love letter, but not what you're looking for. You rip open the first drawer. Nothing. Second drawer. Nothing. Third, nothing. 

"Astarion, did you find anything?"

"Nothing important." His sultry voice is deep and so very close to your ear.  

Your heart drops, but you suppress any other signs of distress, knowing that is exactly what he's looking for. Sighing In annoyance, you turn around to face Astarion and cross your arms over your chest.

"Are you even trying to look for the damn paper? We need to get what we're here for and get the fuck out!"

Astarion's mouth cracks into a cheeky grin, and he closes in on you. You back against the desk instinctually, reaching a hand up that lands on his firm chest. Astarion has you caged against the desk, each hand on either side of your hips. You know Astarion can hear the thrumming of your heart and the shaky inhalation of your breath, and you curse your body for betraying you.

He bends his head down to press his mouth against your ear. "What if I'm looking for something else?"

You freeze. What did he mea–

The thought is forgotten because he's slamming his lips onto yours. You gasp in surprise, and Astarion wastes no time, delving his tongue into your mouth and claiming it as his. 

The slight metallic taste of blood that lingers on his tongue should repulse you but has you moaning desperately for more. You grip your fist tightly into the fabric of Astarion's armor. His body is flush against yours, but you need more. You scratch your nails up his neck and tangle your fingers into his hair. Astarion groans into your mouth, biting at your bottom lip.

Everything is hazy, and you're lost in the kiss. Your thoughts are slow to catch up with the situation, too consumed by the taste of his lips. Astarion's lips. Astarion.

You push him away, chest heaving in rapid breaths. "What are you doing?" 

"I'd hope my intentions would be obvious by now." He grins and dives back to kiss down your neck, dragging his teeth against your skin. "I could be more obvious if that would clear things up." 

A sharp bite of his mouth at your throat drags a choked gargle from your swollen lips. You feel dizzy from the scent of rosemary and bergamot invading your nose. Lightheaded from the sudden turn of events. Astarion presses a knee between your legs, applying firm pressure against your burning arousal. 

Gods, what was he doing to you?

Needing to gain any form of control, you tug sharply at the roots of his silver curls, drawing a hiss from the man. 

You finally manage to gasp out, "We hate each other." As if that would somehow clear up your raging thoughts.

Except, could you hate someone who is making you feel so good? 

Cold fingers trail against the skin between your leather armor and trousers. Astarion's deft hands start pulling at the lace of your pants. Another wave of arousal warms your body, and you feel drunk on the pale elf.

"You say that, yet I don't think you want me to stop." He purrs, halting his movements, and meets your eyes. "Do you want me to stop?"

You shake your head, desperate for more. Your dignity couldn't live with letting Astarion reduce you to a begging mess. However, if you were honest with yourself, you're already halfway there. Reaching out, you grab for his belt.

Astarion was having none of that. He's quick to twirl you around and press your torso flush against the top of the desk. A stack of paper flies off and scatters to the ground, but neither of you put much care into it. Astarion grinds his front roughly against your ass, and you moan at the feeling of his hardening cock against you.

"No, no, no, my dear, use your words."

"Gods, are you always so fucking annoying?" You whine pressing back and rolling your ass against him. Astarion grunts, gripping your hips tightly. "Are you going to fuck me, or should I just take care of myself?"

Astarion groans, rocking against each roll of your hips. "There's my spitfire." 

"I'm not yours."

Astarion tugs at your pants and underwear, pulling them over your rear and letting them pool around your ankles. You kick off your boots and free yourself, leaving your lower half bare to the open air. A shiver rushes up your spine as the cold air hits your dripping heat. 

Astarion's slim fingers trail down your folds, and you bite your lips to stifle a cry. Tilting your head back, you see the rogue admiring the slick coating his fingers. 

"You might not be mine, darling." Astarion slips his drenched fingers into his mouth, and you watch, mouth agape, as he swirls his tongue to clean each digit. "But who else has seen you bent over a desk looking as desperate and delicious as you do now?"

"I could name a few," you say cheekily, earning you a smack on the flesh of your backside. 

Astarion gropes the reddened skin and bends down, blanketing you with his body. You feel the soft pants of his breath cascade over your neck as Astarion brings his lips to your ear.

"Then it seems I'm just going to have to ruin you for anyone else." Astarion practically growls and licks along the shell of your ear before taking the lobe in between his mouth and teasing it with his teeth. You don't recall hearing Astarion unclasp his belt, but when you feel his bare cock rub against your back, all you can do is arch your back and moan.

"Astarion," you part your legs more in silent invitation.

"Yes, my dear," His voice is smug as he rocks against you. He knows what you want but wants to hear you say it. 

The head of his cock parts your folds and moves to tease your desperate clit; a collective moan fills the room, but it is not enough for either of you. And knowing that the two of you are currently in the middle of dangerous territory means there is no time to play. 

"Stop being a prick and fuck me."

"Have I ever told you, you always have such a way with words." Astarion chuckles before plunging deep into your cunt.

A shaky cry leaves your lips, all air seemingly ripped from your lungs. Astarion is bigger than most men you've slept with prior - though you wouldn't dare voice that out loud in case it inflates his already-inflated ego. The stretch holds a delicious sting, and you feel the beginning of the burn of tears at the corner of your eyes. 

Astarion's still his hips for a moment, letting you collect yourself. His thumbs are rubbing soothing circles into the small of your back and peppering kisses across your neck. Once the sting of his initial entrance simmers to a stirring heat, you tell him to move.

"Hells you're so tight." Astarion groans as he sets a teasing pace, dragging the rugged ridges of his cock out before plunging back in at the same agonizing pace. 

A pace you could imagine sharing intimately with Astarion all night somewhere secluded. Perhaps your tent or an isolated clearing, not a random gang's currently empty hideout. And since you're not one to play nice, you decide to play with fire instead.

Pushing up on your elbows, you move your head to look back at Astarion, a playful smirk on your lips. "You say you're going to ruin me, but I think Gale could be doing a better job of it right now."

Astarion's body freezes just as you hoped he would react. He shoots you a look full of daggers and bares his teeth in annoyance. Without comprehending entirely what's happening, Astarion pulls out of you and, with a strength you have not seen from the Vampire (the same Vampire who asks others on multiple occasions to carry his pack because it's too heavy), flips you over and has you seated firmly back on the desk leaving you dizzy but feeling giddy as a schoolgirl. 

"Oh darling, you're going to regret that."

Astarion rams back into your pussy and begins to thrust quick and brutally deep into your body. His cold hand is wrapped around your throat, holding it firmly enough to keep your eyes locked onto him. 

Your legs link around his lean hips, pulling him deeper into you. Moaning desperately, you run one of your hands up under his leather armor, splaying it across his stomach. You grab his face and pull him into a kiss, all tongue and teeth and perfection.

 The desk is groaning under the movement of your bodies. Random knick-knacks are clanging to the floor. A bottle of whiskey shatters, and the pungent aroma wafts into the air, mingling with the scent of sweat and slick. 

"You and that mouth of yours." He breathes deep into your ear. "Always so confident, so snarky, so bratty." 

"M-more…" you choke, clenching around his length, desperate for anything and everything he will give you.

"Do you think the wizard could handle you?" The hand not firmly holding your neck snakes between your legs and begins to play with your clit.

"Gods A-star.." You gasp, eyes rolling back.

"Could he or anyone else make you feel this good?" Astarion's hand tightens slightly against your neck, and the lack of oxygen leaves you feeling dizzy and euphoric. 

"N-no…please." 

"After me, no one will ever be able to satisfy you." His thumb is now rubbing fast, tight circles against your clit. "Fuck, that's it, squeeze me just like that."

Gripping onto the desk, you shift your hips, and Astarion is now hitting deeper into your abused cunt. You tighten your legs around his waist, urging him to go faster. That delicious coil is beginning to burn deep in your stomach, and you know you won't last much longer. 

"Tell me, who's making you feel this good," Astarion demands, voice husky. 

"Y-you," 

"And when you come on my cock, I want you to scream my name." He grunts, and the thrust of his hips is beginning to become sloppier. "I want to hear just how good I make you feel."

Everything is too much. Astarion's sinful words, the harsh thrust of his hips combined with the tight circles of his thumb on your clit, the musky smell of Astarion's sweat mingling with yours, and the intense fragrance of the spilled whiskey. 

You don't remember the details, just the wave of euphoria as the coil snaps and your orgasm washes over you. The words that spill from your lips hold no meaning in your clouded mind. The only thing that holds context is the feeling of Astarion stuttering thrusts of his hips as he chases his release from your spent body. 

And when he stills, and the world falls silent apart for your combined pants of breath, all you do is brush the curls off his forehead and kiss his cheek. Why? You're not sure, but that's something you'll ask yourself later. 

Once you return to relatively normal breathing, Astarion moves from his slumped position against your body. He stares at you in astonishment.

"Well, that happened." You offer because what else were you supposed to say?

Astarion breaks out into a genuine laugh, full belly and joyful as he tucks himself away. You couldn't help but join in as you move to put your clothes on.

"Yes, my sweet, I suppose that did happen."

"So where-"

The two of you jump at a commotion coming from the hall. Someone is jingling the doorknob, trying to open it; when it doesn't budge, there is a loud bang followed by an even louder shout of anger.

"Fuck!" You quickly finish tying your boots and collect your gear.

"Seems like our friends are back from their trip. I believe it's time to go." Astarion says as he moves to the window and opens it. Without waiting for you to respond, he gives you a devilish smirk and jumps out.

"Shit, the paper." You sigh, knowing you'll never hear the end of it. 

By the time you make it to the window, the door is being busted in, and a very angry-looking dwarf is storming into the room. You smile at him and give him a salute before diving out the window, knowing Astarion will be there to catch you.

***Later at camp***

"What do you mean you didn't get the document?" Gale yells, the others equally baffled by you and Astarion's failure. "That was the only thing you needed to get!"

You shrink in on yourself looking to Astarion for help. "I...I don"

Astarion rolls his eyes. "Stealing objects from heavily populated hideouts is harder than you might think, wizard." 

"That's why we sent you two!"

"Then perhaps next time-"

"HOLY SHIT!" Karlach interrupts, drawing everyone's attention. She's pointing straight at you with a look of bafflement. "Soldier's got a fucking hickey."

You clamp a hand over the spot Astarion was biting at earlier, wishing for the ground to swallow you whole.

Shadowheart's face scrunches up in disgust. "Please don't tell me, we're not getting paid because you two idiots decided to fuck?"

"Darling, it would seem the cat's out of the bag." The bastard has the audacity to look proud.

"I hate you all." You groan and storm off to your tent, contemplating just how bad it would be to join the Absolute.

Feedback always makes my day so let me know what you guys thought. And if you're looking for something sweet to balance out the spice check out my last post right here.

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[thanosscross]

There all along - Choi Su-Bong/thanos x reader part 1/?

Summary: Losing someone who meant alot to you was hard, having to live with it for three years you finally went back to the games to try and get revenge, but a new guard refuses to leave you alone, resulting in you being sent home for the first time in game history.

Warnings: death, you purposely getting people killed, heavy heavy drug use

During the games it was safe to say that you and Thanos got very very close, much to Nam-gyu's disliking. Thanos liked you though, you stubborn, rude, and rough, but whenever you grabbed his hand shaking like a leaf scared, you were so gentle, like you didn't even know how to hurt somebody if you tried. He got the sudden urge to protect you the moment you held onto his jacket for the first time in red light greenlight, it wasn't like you meant to, you went to hide behind him and before you knew it your hands were clenching his jacket.

You didn't mind it though, Thanos was an asshole, but he was always protective over you, only ever spitting off embarrassing raps that he'd come up with on the spot about your looks. As you walked back in from mingle you held onto Su-bong's arm, he just held your hand that held onto him walking towards their little area they claimed, cheering and chanting something about one more game. As Thanos sat down he pulled you down with him, helping you down a step lower to sit in between his legs, using his thighs and hips as a back rest "So, We got one more game, then we're gonna go right?" Nam-Gyu asked, shooting you a harsh glare "I dunno Nam-su, I think we could do two more?" You snapped in a smartass tone purposely getting his name wrong as you looked at your boyfriend smiling "We can play as many as you like, as long as you like, baby" He smirked holding your chin in between his fingers, you melted in his touch, his blue eyes staring into yours like he could see every thought in your brain "It's Nam-gyu, bitch" he snapped, you just rolled your eyes, grunting as Thanos suddenly raised his arms in the air "Stop it!, don't call her that, y/n leave him alone" He stated, shooting you a stern look.

Whenever they all left for the bathroom you laid down, thinking nothing of it, until the piggy bank lowered and started to fill, the loud speaker listing off players that were eliminated. What the fuck happened in there? You started to think before your heart dropped "Player 230 eliminated" Echoed in your brain as the doors opened and everybody started to walk in, your eyes immediately fell on Nam-gyu holding Thanos's pill necklace in his hands that were covered in blood. You jumped up rushing down, Nam-gyu immediately taking notice to the fiery glare in your eyes "What did you do!?" You screamed, swinging your fist, it connecting right where his jaw curved, sending him to the ground "T-The X's just started attacking us!" He shouted being looking up pointing at the guy who Thanos first got into a fight with whenever you first arrived "H-he's the one who did it!" He shouted, not wanting to die at the hands of a grieving psycho, you stood up, freezing as a guard shoved a gun into your back, stopping you from attacking the player "We ask that you all compose yourselves, as the voting process will start tomorrow first thing, please use this time to think over your futures" The guard shouted, you just kept your glare set on player 333, you were going to for sure kill him the first chance you got. As soon as the gaurd left you, you leaned down snatching your boyfriend's necklace from his stupid friend making your way back to the bunks, crawling into his bunk laying down.

Thanos woke up with a gasp, feeling at his throat and jaw, wincing as he felt stitching thread sitting inside of his skin holding it closed "Player 230, you have been eliminated, but we are offering you a chance to still earn money, if you are willing to accept we shall allow you to become part of our staff of guards for the games, if you choose to decline, we will eliminate you from the games" The guard spoke.

Whenever you walked into the address Thanos had left you with, you were greeted by a fluffy dog, a note sitting on the counter of the kitchen

'Su-bong! Congrats on the game show! So glad you're back home, we took care of your baby for you!'

Su-bong, it was a pretty name, you weren't sure why he chose Thanos instead of that, you explored the house further, getting a new sense of who your boyfriend was beyond the games. You would continue on for three years, growing close with Thanos's previous friends and neighbor, as you were lying on the couch one night, you heard soft scratching at your door, slowly walking over and opening it, you spotted a small black and pink envelope, you felt like it was a dream, or like it was some sick joke, as you opened the card you saw the familiar shapes and numbers. You felt sick, but deep down, you had a drive, a drive to revenge Thanos in the only way you knew how to. Hearing the phone trill and the deep voice ask for your name and date of birth, repeating the information back you looked at your baby "Don't worry, your daddy would want me to do this"

Oh were you so wrong, as soon as Su-bong got information back that y/n l/n was becoming a player again, he was fuming, why the hell would you come back? What was your reasoning? God he wanted to kill you for being so stupid.

Waking up in the large room again was startling, you didn't even go to a pick up spot, you literally just fell asleep at home, now you were back? Slowly walking to the center of the room with everybody, you took notice to the different things they had added and taken away, and how quickly they rushed you to the first game. Walking into redlight greenlight you held the cross necklace tightly in your hand, yelping whenever a guard yanked you back behind one of the large green doors that were propped open "What are you doing back, y- Player 243" The guard said, and for a minute, you could swear you knew his voice, but you quickly shook it off. "Just like everybody else, trying to win money" You snapped shoving past the circle guard, not being able to shake him whispering 'still just as rough' like he knew you. After being through the games once before it made the game relatively easy, but slightly boring aswell. You opened the cross locket, new fresh pills sitting neatly inside, you never said you were clean, you had picked up the habit about three days after getting home, emptying out the remainder of his stash within a week. As you set the pill on your tongue locking the necklace back you waited for it to kick in, not ignoring the guard slowly making his way to the other end of the field.

The pill hit you faster than expected, leaving you a smiling mess skipping around the field as people panicked, having the same realization you did the first time you ever played, but you didn't care though, you jumped and skipped towards the end, purposely bumping into people as you went by causing their eliminations. As you leaped across the safety point you cheered, flipping the doll off before a hand grabbed you dragging you off through a doorway hidden within the wallpaper. You looked around, this area was different than the rest, dark blue and purple walls with no doors, just stairs "Are you high right now?" The guard asked, the way his hands grabbed you relaxed you rather than scared you, you couldn't place why though, you tried to break free of his grasp, but he just tightened his hold "l-let go y-you're hurting me" You whispered trying to break free, the walls opened up as the players funneled in to go back to the room, an older man coming over "Excuse me, but I believe she asked you to let her go" He demanded, the guard dropped his hold, you immediately clung to the man holding onto his jacket tightly as you both walked back to the room. You spent dinner time getting to know player 213, who ended up being a younger guy who was fucked over in the same way your late boyfriend was.

When lights out came, you tried to make your way back, but three guards stopped you, rising their guns and escorting you out, your hands shook violently, this was new, maybe they were onto you? You were stopped in a large room, a giant screen showing the field for redlight greenlight "Player 243, you're causing quite the distraction for one of my guards" A man in a black mask and long coat said approaching you "I-I don't even know any guards! He is causing a distraction for me!" You argued, trying to hide your body shaking to the point it could be mistaken as a seizure, you weren't sure if you were going to die or not, you had a puppy had home to care for, you couldn't die. "So we're willing to offer you a deal. go home. Don't come back, and don't try to either" He said, you tilted your head "How does that benefit me in any way?" You asked, attitude lacing your tone with a hint of annoyance "Just take the deal, y/n, it's safer" You heard someone speak from a few feet behind you "Oh my god...you!? What is your fucking deal with me!? Who are you!?" You asked looking at the stupid O mask "You look so stupid just standing there!" You shouted starting to grow angry "Go ahead number 30" You heard the other masked guy say, and you watched as the guard pulled his mask off, the black underhood covering everything that a few strands of hair and bright blue eyes, and for a moment you had to remind yourself, Su-bong was dead.

Watching him pull off the underhood your breath got stuck in your throat, his overgrown purple hair was laying in every different direction, being slightly shorter than him allowed you to see the scar underneath his jaw. "S-Su-b-" You started but he shot you a harsh glare, you felt your hands start to shake, your mind starting to spiral, god damn did you need a high right now, and a damn good one at that. "30" He replied harshly, this was a different Su-bong than you knew, you barely recognized this version. "I thought you died" You whispered, feeling yourself lose your voice "I'll explain later, just take the deal, leave. go. don't come back" He said harshly, taking long strides to stand in front of you staring you down "O-Ok, If you want me to go" You whispered, looking back towards the man in the black mask who just nodded. Su-bong put his mask back on as he walked you out towards a dock inside of a cave somewhere within the building you had played the games in. You stayed silent, occasionally looking at him, studying his face, almost four years of not seeing him, of thinking he had died, and yet he was here. As he walked ahead slightly to scan his mask you took the opportunity to pop another pill into your mouth, ingesting it quickly right as his head turned around to stare at you, somehow even without being able to see his face you could feel his glare on you.

You stepped on the boat watching as Su-bong stood back as another person held a cloth to your face, you didn't fight it off, his words repeating in your head 'Ill explain later' Was he coming back? Waking back up in your actual bed was relieving, but you had a need deepness in your chest, Thanos was still out there..and he left you. You laid in bed for what felt like months, trying desperately to find a way back to the island to find Su-bong while being high out of your mind, until one night. It was maybe three or four am, you were wide awake, music blaring in your headphones while looking at the paperwork you had out in front of you, a rolled joint in one hand, a pill in the other. Popping the pill in your mouth you groaned, none of these papers made sense at all, and you could've sworn you heard the lock to the door try to click three different times in the last minute, thats whenever you did hear it click, you quickly walked over holding the door shut, not wanting whoever was trying to break in, in. "So help me.." You heard a frustrated and exhausted voice mutter before you were knocked off of your feet.

--

part two comin soon, like always lmk what you think lovelies <3

[angeliicheartt]

I’m in my bnha phase 😼

I need a whole ton of kisses with hitoshi if that’s okay! Do whatever you want ❤️

ꜱᴋɪɴ-ᴛᴏ-ꜱᴋɪɴ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀᴄᴛ!

includes: hitoshi shinso

gn!reader

a/n: icl i thought of will and kyra from love island usa season 3 while writing this whole thing, a lil suggestive..

hitoshi's lavender eyes pierce yours as he looks down at you. the two of you are entangled on his dorm room bed, each of you on your sides facing one another. hitoshi looks down at you, watching your expression as he gently plays with a strand of your hair, admiring you. he moves a section of hair away from your face, his cool demeanor not matching the warmth in his eyes.

“you are so beautiful,” he murmurs as he gazes at you, tracing your face with his large hand, his gaze full of affection. you roll your eyes as you look to the side, avoiding his keen gaze as he watches each of your features move in tandem with one another. your lips quirk up as he moves over you, his forearms resting against the mattress as you settle onto your back.

he chuckles softly at your eye-rolling, his arms framing either side of you, his face dipping lower as he gazes down at you.

“you're so stubborn.. you know that, right?” he teases, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“yeah yeah,” you comment, your eyes finding their way back to hitoshi’s as his eyes lock onto yours. you feel his knuckle begin to trace shapes into the skin of your torso. you let his knuckles turn over and allow his palms to ghost along the exposed skin of your stomach, his large, cool hands causing goosebumps to form, his smirk growing wider as he continues to stare unblinkingly at you.

“and a smartass, too.” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper as his knuckles glide over your ribs.

“yeah… but you love it,” you cheekily mutter, the corners of your lips quirking up as he laughs softly, his eyes shutting in bliss. eventually, his eyelids do flutter open, the corners of his lips curling into a soft smile as he looks down at you, his hand still tracing over your skin.

“you're right. i do.” he murmurs, his tone affectionate as he gazes at you fondly, his body shifting on top of you as he moves closer, his straight nose brushing yours as his palms find their way up to your ribs. 

he places a feather light kiss on your lips, then another, and another, getting more and more languid and sweet. almost syrup-like.

you feel him shift as he angles his shoulder to support his upper body as his other hand trails to your waist, his fingertips ghosting the hem of your shirt. his lips continue their abuse on yours, the boy parting to breathe every few minutes as he quickly wears your lungs out. 

“toshi..” you breathe out, his violet eyes fluttering open at your voice.

“mhm?” he hums lowly, his throat gravelly from the late time of day. his arm settles back against your side, his hands however continue to explore the expanse of your skin. your hand moves to settle in hitoshi’s hair, your fingers tangling themselves with his lilac locks.

“i love you,” you murmur, your lips quirking as hitoshi smiles softly.

“yeah?” he asks, his faint dimples popping out as he leans forward, burying his face in your neck. “i love you too.”

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @satelitis @whenanafallsinlove @kozumesphone

[tobesolnelyx]

Fratboy!Jackie x Mean Girls (Regina George)!Reader *Smut

Jackie and R hated each other to the core. They're both on opposite end of the college spectrum, fraternity and sorority, athlete and cheerleader. Both side always throw extravagent party, trying to one up one another. Both competitive and stubborn as hell. Throwing insults, shade everytime they're around each other. They're both really smart so showing off during lectures at uni. Like the prof as smth, one will answer then the other is like "well, actually..."

Hate fucking, choking (reader recieving), dirty talk, enemies/rivals to lovers, public/semi-public fucking (party/bathroom/locker room...), degrading, praising, R being a pillow princess,.. you can add more kink if you like

- 🐡

— style || fratboy!jackie taylor x sorority girl!reader 🍯 part 1.

a/n: hello 🐡 anon! SO, took me long enough, but i needed to rethink everything. that dynamic gives me vibe of 1989 by taylor swift (jules , stop talking about taylor at the beggining of every ff chellange). i decided to add some things, too <3.

summary: there's a thin line between hate and..desire? or maybe it was never really hate? modern college au. smut. rivals to lovers. g!p jackie.

warnings: NSFW content - MDNI. choking, hate sex, degrading, praising, public/semi-public sex. slight internalised homophobia...?

word count: around 3.3k.

Jackie Fucking Taylor had the audacity—yet again—to cut into your statement. Your goddamn literary analysis that you'd spent hours preparing for this seminar. And she demolished it, just like that, with one dumbass sentence that, in your opinion, didn’t even make much sense. As usual.

You shot her a look filled with as much murderous irritation as you could muster. The next words burst from your mouth like cannon fire.

“What is that bullshit even?” you snapped, your lip curling just enough to remind Jackie how profoundly repulsed you were by her entire existence—and her loud, insufferable mouth.

Jackie sprawled at her desk, raising her eyebrows with mock innocence. Her fingers, heavy with rings, tapped against the desk in a steady rhythm that made you genuinely question how she could even lift her hand. That smug little smirk played across her face as she met your glare with one of her own.

“Miss…” the professor began, clearly repulsed, but you were already too far gone. You silenced him with a flick of your wrist. Normally, that would’ve been unthinkable—but the two of you clashed so often that the elderly professor merely sighed and collapsed back into his chair.

“I’m simply saying your analysis is flawed,” Jackie began, her tone maddeningly casual—like she wasn’t doing this just to get under your skin. But you knew better. This was all to rile you up. And to be fair, it was working.

“Analysis is subjective, Taylor,” you hissed, crossing your legs as your high ponytail swayed with the motion. Your perfectly manicured nails dug into your palms. “Ever heard of something called interpretation, or are you too thick to know words like that?”

Jackie remained unfazed. She merely shrugged, like none of it mattered—though you knew full well she was enjoying every single second.

“I know it’s subjective,” she shot back, slow and deliberate, as if she were explaining algebra to a particularly dim-witted child. “But that doesn’t mean I have to agree with it.”

At that point, every student in the lecture hall had turned to watch. The exchange had taken on the rhythm of a tennis match. Not that it was the first time you’d gone at it like this. And not that anyone ever took it seriously. If anything, people saw your rivalry as entertainment—a welcome distraction from dry lectures and a prime subject for gossip. You two were practically the headline act of the university.

“Which is why you should shut that smartass mouth of yours,” you said, leaning back in your chair. “No one asked for your opinion on my analysis.”

“If I had a choice,” Jackie snapped back almost instantly, “I wouldn’t even engage in conversation with someone whose intellectual level rivals a cockroach. But I couldn’t stand to hear any more of that idiocy.” She rolled her eyes and then grinned like a fuckass cat who’d just knocked over a vase on purpose.

“Oh, forgive me,” you replied with exaggerated sweetness, placing a hand on your chest. Your gold jewelry gave a soft chime. “Next time, I’ll politely ask you to haul your annoying ass out of here and—”

A loud clap echoed through the lecture hall, cutting you off mid-sentence. You pressed your lips into a thin, furious line, bracing for the inevitable dressing-down from the professor. Honestly, you were still amazed neither of you had been sent to the dean’s office yet.

“Enough, ladies,” the professor said, casting you both a weary glance. “For next class, you’ll prepare a joint analysis project.” His voice was almost too cheerful. “Spend some time together. Maybe it’ll help you... ease the tension.”

“Seriously?” Jackie groaned, shifting in her seat.

“It’s decided,” the professor said with a smile so polite it bordered on cruel. For once, you swallowed your retort. “And the rest of the class will bear witness,” he added, gesturing broadly to the rows of silent, watching students.

Worse than a trip to the dean’s office. Ugh.

So, the very next day, your boyfriend’s arm was slung casually over your shoulder as he walked you to the library. Typical Jeff—trying to cheer you up. The problem was, Jeff was far too dumb to grasp why you were actually furious about the whole situation. He lived in this clueless little bubble where you and Jackie just didn’t get along, and that was that. End of story.

Except—it wasn’t. There were a million reasons.

The main one being that Jackie was an absolute asshole.

She was already there when you walked into the library. Bored, playing with her phone, but when the door creaked open, she looked up. Her brows knit together, and her lips curled into the tiniest sneer as Jeff pulled you into a long kiss. He smelled like the cheapest cologne imaginable and tasted like—well, like man. Which, in itself, was mildly revolting.

When he finally pulled away—having clearly marked his territory like a fucking dog pissing on a bush—he gave your ass a quick squeeze. You smacked his hand without hesitation. Jeff just raised both hands in mock innocence, grinning like the idiot he was, and moments later, he was gone.

"Good luck!" he called over his shoulder, and you cringed behind his back. As if that wasn’t bad enough, you were now stuck staring at Jackie Taylor, seated just a few meters away.

Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

"Wow. Which one is that this month?" she snorted, putting her phone aside. You glared daggers at her as you sat across the table.

You never kept a boyfriend around for long. Not because no one wanted you—quite the opposite. Besides being a total bitch to everything with a pulse, you were hot, popular, and smart. Half the university drooled when you walked by. Not to mention you were in a sorority and on the cheer squad.

And Jeff wasn’t even the worst, honestly. The problem was… guys didn’t really do it for you. Some part of you had a suspicion why, but you refused to let that thought take root. It was easier to pretend—to tell yourself and everyone else that you just hadn’t found the right one yet. That it would happen eventually. Even if your stomach twisted every time you considered that maybe it never would, and one day you’d have to admit what this was really about.

"At least I can get into a relationship instead of putting dick into anything that moves," you said sweetly, your smile so fake it could’ve given someone cavities.

Jackie mirrored your twisted grin and reached into her bag for what was likely the only notebook she owned. You rolled your eyes, pulled out your iPad, and tapped the screen with a manicured nail.

You’d agreed to do this project—begrudgingly. Mainly because it still had to get done. Somehow. It's always an occasion to get a good great, after all. You’d sent Jackie a long, detailed message laying out the terms: when you’d meet, how you’d divide the work, your expectations. She replied with a single word:

"Ok."

Seriously? That infuriated you even more than if she’d tried to start a fight again. For some godforsaken reason, you wanted her to care. You wanted your presence to burn her the way hers burned you. Maybe that was why you kept pushing her—trying to make her snap.

"Seriously?" she asked now, eyeing your iPad with skepticism.

"Not all of us write like cavemen," you muttered, snapping open the pink case and proudly picking up your pen. Jackie frowned, a grimace settling on her face like something rotten had wafted under her nose.

"Cavemen didn’t—"

"I know." You cut her off coldly. Any trace of amusement had vanished from your face. "Shut up."

"Make me," she shot back without missing a beat.

You looked at her. Then, without warning, you kicked her under the table—hard.

"Hey!" she snapped, ready to retaliate or start another fight entirely—but the librarian beat her to it.

"Quiet down, girls!" she hissed, waving at you from across the room with a whisper-shout. Jackie fell silent. She may have been a jerk, but she wasn’t the kind to ruin the entire room’s peace just because you decided to be difficult.

"See? Quiet the fuck down," you hissed at her, straightening on the chair.

Jackie pinned you with a sharp glare, clearly about to snap back at you—but then you stood up abruptly, as if driven by some impulse she couldn’t quite place. She blinked, thrown off by the sudden movement, but after a second, she followed. Step for step. Like a lost puppy.

Because no matter how much Jackie liked to pretend otherwise, she craved your attention in some completely fucked-up way. Maybe because, if she was honest with herself, you were the only truly interesting part of her life.

"Mind telling me what you're doing?" she asked, her voice sharp yet barely above a whisper—clearly trying not to piss off the librarian, but unmistakably annoyed that you had just walked off without a word.

Jackie had to know everything about your life, didn’t she?

"I’m getting the book we need," you said, shrugging, irritated by the way she tailed you, like she couldn’t bear even a few feet of distance between you.

"You could’ve said something," she scoffed. "Or do I not deserve to know?"

Her steps quickened to keep up. Maybe she hadn’t taken the whole cheerleading thing seriously at first, but even she had to admit—training had done something to you. And not just in the way you zipped between the shelves like a little machine. Jackie tried not to stare at your toned legs and arms—but honestly, it felt like they were staring at her!

"Seriously?" You stopped in front of one of the shelves and rolled your eyes. You put your hands on your hips and scanned the spines intently. "You're makin a drama over this?"

The reply came quickly. Jackie stopped too—too close to you—and crossed her arms with a huff. At least you’d gotten under her skin. Her usual mask of indifference was long gone now.

"I just think we should communicate—" she began, but you silenced her with a single raised hand. Even though she was taller, you looked at her with that same practiced superiority—chin tilted high.

And for some reason… Jackie fell quiet.

"It’s just a stupid project, and you’re acting like a child—"

"It’s an important project," she interrupted, because of course she did. You waved your hand dismissively, the corners of your mouth lifting in a smug smile.

Jackie went silent again, clearly thrown off by how easily—how confidently—you commanded her.

"You’re acting like a child," you repeated, clearing your throat and ignoring her failed interruption. "Go back and just wait for me. If I say we need this book, it means we need this book. You’ll survive a few minutes without my attention."

With that, you spun on your heel, the smugness practically radiating off of you. You were satisfied. Jackie Taylor, utterly speechless. A rare win.

But just as you turned away, you felt her hand clamp down on your forearm—hard enough to bruise.

You whipped around, outraged—but Jackie only pulled you closer. There was something burning in her eyes, and for a second, you thought she was going to slap you. Like this was it. All the venom between you had finally boiled over.

You were already rehearsing your apology in your head when it happened.

Jackie kissed you.

Well—no. It wasn’t exactly a kiss. Her lips crashed into yours in a way that wasn’t tender or romantic. It was messy. Angry. Sudden. For a moment, you froze. Completely stunned. The scent of her cologne hit you—so different from Jeff’s cheap spray—and surprisingly... kind of nice. Her grip on your arm, though firm, was somehow softer than any man’s hand had ever been.

Jackie Taylor was kissing you.

Her lips were insistent, warm, a little chapped. Your brain noted that she should really invest in some lip balm. And you didn’t keep that thought to yourself.

"Jesus," you muttered, gently pushing her back. Jackie looked like she was about to apologize. Her lips were red, slightly swollen, and—for the first time in your life—you saw something in Jackie’s expression that resembled fear.

"You ever heard of lip balm?"

You scoffed, eyes fixed on her. Her mouth opened like a fish out of water, caught somewhere between words and breath. But you didn’t give her the chance to respond.

Because for some strange, unknown (or maybe not-so-unknown) reason, you leaned forward—

—and kissed her again.

Jackie’s eyes widened in pure shock, and for a brief second, her grip on your arm loosened. But before you could fully register what had just happened, she was kissing you back.

The distant rustle of turning pages and hushed conversations faded into background noise. The only thing you could focus on was the sound of your own staggered breath as her mouth stole the air from yours, over and over again.

There was little romance in it—this was hunger. Raw, barely-contained hunger Jackie must have buried deep inside for far too long. And in the heat of it, you felt something crack open inside you, a truth you’d been trying not to name.

It only took a few seconds for her tongue to slip past your lips, and for a soft moan to escape your throat. A few more, and she had you pressed against the nearest bookshelf. You found yourself silently praying the whole row wouldn’t come crashing down around you.

Your fingers gripped the front of her jacket, unsure whether to shove her away or pull her closer. Jackie made the decision for you. Her entire body pressed flush against yours, her hands clamped onto your hips with such force, you were sure she'd leave bruises.

She was panting into your mouth now. The kiss had turned messy, rough. Teeth clashed, her tongue explored your mouth with shameless urgency. And you—God help you—you kissed her back with equal intensity, whimpering softly into her lips. You didn’t stop her.

Suddenly, the air felt a hundred degrees hotter.

Your thighs clenched involuntarily, prompting Jackie to force them apart with a sudden, almost reckless urgency that nearly sent you off balance.

“Could you not—” you began, pulling away slightly. You’d forgotten how to breathe properly, reduced to panting against her lips. You wanted to press your thighs together again, deny her the satisfaction of seeing the telltale dampness already spreading across your underwear — all from kissing, for god’s sake. No man had ever made you feel like this, and that only made it worse — a cruel confirmation of something you weren't ready to admit.

“Can you shut up?” she almost growled at you. The bluntness caught you off guard—enough that, honestly, you did. You tried to say something back, but her warm hand clamped gently over your mouth, like the very idea of you speaking might shatter something fragile between you.

“Quiet,” she murmured, voice low and firm. She was still giving you the chance to push her away. But instead, you pulled her closer.

It was almost shameful how quickly your body responded the moment Jackie took control. You’d always hated the way men tried to dominate — their rough hands, their entitled words whispered in the dark, like they owned the moment. But when Jackie was pushing your legs wide, and in her cock swiftly became hard, turned out that panties are sticking to your cunt and you're utterly soaked.

Jackie hooked your leg over her hip, and when you felt her throbbing erection (maybe through layers of her clother, but still erection), pressing to your core, you decided to worry later about how pathetic you were in that very moment.

Sure, there was a risk. Jackie could run her mouth, tell everyone. You weren’t naive. One quickie wasn’t going to make you suddenly like each other, wasn’t going to erase years of spite and eye-rolls. But the truth was — you didn’t want it to stop all that. And something in the way Jackie touched you, in the way her breath trembled against your skin like she needed this more than she’d ever admit, told you she didn’t either.

Her pre-cum started mixing with your juices, completely ruining your panties, and making large wet spot both on the fabric of your skirt and her jeans. Jackie started whining like wounder animal when she started rutting against you like dog in the heat. Her head fell on your arm and she was moaning quietly, ocasionally biting your shoulder.

She was steadily rubbing her dick against your clothed cunt, throbbing almost painfully in her pants. You let her desperately humping against you still fully covered and for the first time in her life, Jackie was reduced to needy puddle between your legs.

"Jackie," you moaned through her fingers on your mouth. Finally, it seemed like she decided that she's not fully satisfied with this position, cause the next second, your chest was pressed firmly against bookshelf. Her hand lighlty gripped your throat just enough to reduce your air supply but not quietly choking you yet. Your eyes rolled in the back of your head and more juices coated your thighs. Pathetic that...from all of the things, that was something that turned you on even more.

In some, fucked up way, her larger form was stabilising you from behind. Her cock was pressed tighlty against your ass, but Jackie still kept it in her pants. Even when it was leaking furiously with pre-cum. Probably because she didn't have condoms now. Her other hand slid lower until it reached uncovered piece of your thigh.

You shuddered lightly, but she didn't even smiled like you thought she will. Her smug smirk disappeared somewhere and she could only pant in your shoulder, grinding against your ass.

"Quiet, quiet..." she was muttering next to your ear, when her hand wandered under the fabric of your skirt, and you moaned. "We don't want anyone to hear us, right?" She murmured, pressing wet kiss to your shoulder. Your head fell against her, and she was still rubbing her cock against your ass, trying to find any release for her arosual.

Her hand gripped your throat tighter and in that moment, your legs started to tremble violently. You whined like wounded animal when her fingers found fabric of your utterly soaked panties, pushing it aside. She moaned softly, feeling how wet you are for her. Her hips jerked, your ass was flushed against her clothed dick.

"I didn't know you're so easy," she murmured again, and you started squirming so she pressed you even further to the bookshelf. Her hips rubbed faster, her fingers were making small circles on your clit, teasing you. "What happened?" She asked mockingly. "You're always barking so fucking loud and now you can't...choke out anything?"

She chuckled lightly, sound right from her throat. You felt how her cock was grinding more urgently, faster and harder.

"Can Jeff do it?" She whispered venomously to your ear, and you moaned in protest. "Or maybe you're completely fucking dry with him? Does he even know where your clit is, huh?" She scoffed and wihtout any warning, almost brutally, she pushed two fingers deep inside your velvet walls. You whined so she choked you harder. "You're supposed to be quiet," she reminded you.

She started slowly pumping her fingers in and out. They were going inside smoothly since you were dripping wet, and you were coating them with your juices. With each push, they were deeper and deeper until they hit this sweet spot of yours. You were whimpering quietly, unable to let out louder noise because of the hand on your neck.

"Jackie..." You managed to croak out only, but her whole fingers were buried inside you, and if she wasn't holding you, you were sure you'd landed on the library floor.

Right. You just realised that anyone could see there two of you. The only problem was, that you couldn't exactly bring yourself to care about anything else than Jackie's cock and fingers, which were moving faster inside your cunt.

"Pathetic," Jackie panted quietly into your ear. "You're bitching at me only to cum on my fingers in the span of minutes?" She barked a laughter.

"Im not pathetic..." You tried to protest, but she quickly cut you off by fucking you harder, ripping out serie of soft moans from your throat.

"You are," she said firmly not leaving you much to say back. "And now, just like good fucking girl you are, you're going to shut the hell up for once in your life and cum on my fingers, got it?"

But when only weak moaned answered her, she started rubbing your clit with her thumb, making you see white stars. You could barely stand straight on your feet.

"Y-yeah," you stuttered weakly.

"See? Just like my good girl," she said and pressed kiss to your shoulder again. Her fingers were squelching obscenely. Every single time she was hitting the same damn sweet spot until your finger started clenching on her long fingers. You bit your lower lip, thumb of her other hand started almost gently rubbing your throat. "C'mon, babe, you're doing great. Just a little more..."

Another few pushes inside you, made you cum hard on her fingers, almost alarming whole damn library that Jackie Fucking Taylor just fucked you. Cheating on your boyfriend and..

And realising things you didn't want to acknowledge.

[glamourscat]

TAKE TWO | actor au! tim drake x reader

part one | 1753 words | rivals to…?

“I let you in my trailer once and now it’s like you’re a pest I can’t get rid of.” Tim rolled his eyes dramatically as he walked into his trailer on set, only to find you, once again, sitting on his couch, reading the manuscript.

“Blame the crew. My trailer broke down.”

“Again?” His voice held disbelief, borderline annoyance with a dash of exhaustion.

“Yeah, another water leak. They didn’t fix the bathroom situation properly.” Your voice was too calm for Tim’s liking. Like you were used to this. Too used to this.

“Whatever,” he sighed, flopping into an armchair nearby to rest his legs. Then, after a beat, he let himself look at you.

“I thought you’d be getting ready by now. For the cast party,” he yawned. “It’s in, what, four hours? You take forever to get ready.”

“I’m not coming,” you said, too fast, too easily. Too unbothered, still flipping through the manuscript.

“Bullshit.” His tone was sharper than he meant it to be. “You? Not coming to a cast party? Sure. Then I’m the King of England. Stop messing around.”

“I’m not messing around,” you said, finally lifting your eyes to meet his.

“I’m serious. I’m not interested. I can’t be asked.”

“You can’t be asked?” he repeated, mocking just a bit too hard. “What are you, twelve? It’s a cast party. It’s about publicity and celebration we’re almost do—”

“I. Do. Not. Care.” Each word meant to land stronger and heavier than the last.

“Stop being stubborn. You’re coming. End of story,” he snapped, arms crossed, eyes locked on yours.

“What are you, my mum?” You scoffed. “Why are you getting so worked up? We always fight at these things. So why do you even care?”

He glared, jaw tight. You weren’t wrong. And he hated that. Smartass. He hated when you were right and he had no comeback.

“You have to come.”

“I don’t even have a dress,” you huffed, finally looking at him properly. “I wasn’t planning to go, so I didn’t bring one.”

“Oh my god, you’re so annoying.” He stomped over and flicked your forehead and you shoved him right back. “You’re going to the party, and I…” He hesitated, groaning. “I’ll find you something to wear, alright? Do you promise you’ll go if I get you something?”

“You have three hours, it’s a Sunday, and we’re in the middle of nowhere. Where are you even—”

“Do you promise me?” he asked again, firmer this time.

You sighed and nodded, not at all convinced, but anything just to shut his mouth up was worth it.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Time passed. Your eyes kept drifting to the trailer door. Eventually they slipped half closed, not fully asleep, just resting, until something heavy landed on your stomach and nearly gave you a heart attack.

“What the fuck—you!” You clutched your chest, heart racing, glaring at Tim, who looked way too smug for someone who had, almost, just gave you a heart attack thanks to a shopping bag.

“What? I did my part. You do yours now. Go change,” he said with a shrug, trying to hide the smirk that always got under your skin. Turning his back at you, as he prepared his own clothes.

Where did he even find this? That was your first thought when you saw the dress. A perfect copy, no, it couldn’t be a copy of Chanel’s 1992 black chain dress, accessories and all. The fabric felt like real silk. The size? A true fit. You were flabbergasted.

“How did y—” you almost called from the bathroom, but he stopped you.

“Try the goddamn dress on!” he yelled from the other side of the trailer, not letting you finish. A thump and a curse followed, probably him tripping over his own pants. Karma.

He was stupid. That’s what you’d call him if you knew the truth. Because that dress wasn’t a knockoff. It was the real thing. Perks of being an actor with ridiculous connections. “I have friends in high places,” what he would say if you asked.

What he wouldn’t, though, was how his friends called him out for this insane purchase he did. “You’re insane. For her? The one who drives you up a wall? So last minute? And expensive?” He heard it all. But they didn’t get it. Not like he did. Or so he thinks.

Because the second you called out his name, asking him to help zip up the dress, and he turned and saw you standing there with your hair undone, back bare, eyes unsure, he stopped thinking. The dress hugged every part of you, sure, but that wasn’t it. That wasn’t why his fingers stalled halfway up the zipper. Why he felt the need to trace your spine or spent hours doing nothing but trace gentle and soft circles on your back.

It was everything else. The way you rolled your eyes when he was being dramatic. The way you two argued like it was a sport. The way you cared less about appearances and more about staying true to yourself. You weren’t easy. You were complicated, intense, kind when no one was looking and so damn real. And in that second, as he stood behind you with his hand on your back, he realized it.

Fuck. No, no, no.

You should be his rival. That itch he can’t quite scratch away. Because that’s what you have always been. Someone who’s always been around, in the most absurd, loud, quiet ways. You’re an oxymoron as they come. You, who stole roles and awards from him. You, who are too much and too little at the same time. He refuses to even think about it, because thinking about it means that he has accepted it. And he is not ready for that realisation just yet.

You look like a dream in that dress. And he can’t get his eyes off of you. But at the end of the day, it’s because even at your worst, even when you were difficult and defensive and tired of everything, you were you. And that was the part he couldn’t get rid of. Not even if he tried.

His mind brings him back to the present, fingers still halfway up the zipper, heart thudding in his throat. What in the world is he doing?

“Everything okay back there?”he blinked, as if he was surly to hear your voice.

“Yeah.” His voice came out rougher than expected. He cleared his throat, trying again. “Yeah. All good.”

He zipped the dress the rest of the way, stepping back like the cold metal had burned his fingers. You turned around, lips parted like you might say something, but didn’t. You just gave him a look, curious, maybe a little confused. He didn’t meet your eyes. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair and muttered something about needing to change. The silence lingered, stretched, but neither of you addressed it.

You didn’t ask why he was quiet when you got in the car. Tim, normally would have already half complained about the long car ride, and yet he sat still beside you. Too still. Too quiet. His knee was almost touching yours, barely a brush of distance and you noticed. Of course you noticed. But you didn’t say anything.

Instead, you looked out the window. Watched the trees blur past the glass, eyes following the sun slowly setting leaving dust of purples and pinks in the sky.

And despite it all, your mind struggled to clear itself. Like you hadn’t spent the last twenty minutes in his trailer wondering if the air had actually shifted or if you were imagining it. Like your skin hadn’t prickled when his fingers lingered on your back, a little too long, a little too soft.

He was acting weird. Not bad, weird, just…different. And for the first time since knowing him you realise that, no, you don’t like this. This version of him is unsettling. As by appearance, he sits so calmly, but you know him and his jaw is too tight. As if something had happened and he wasn’t quite ready to admit it. You knew the feeling.

Because if you turned to look at him, really look, you were afraid you’d see it in his face. That same spark you’d been pushing down for months. That flicker of something that didn’t belong in the middle of fake Hollywood banter and petty bickering and long, stupid nights on set. That something that felt real.

You dropped your gaze to where your knees almost touched. Not quite. Close enough to notice, too far to do anything about it. You exhaled quietly. Looked back out the window. Neither of you said a word. But both of you felt it.

The driver pulled up to the venue, all fake smiles and flashing lights. You didn’t move right away. Neither did he.

“I hate these things,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

“I know,” Tim said. And for once, there was no sarcasm in it. Just knowing.

Yet you forced me to come, you almost said. But you didn’t because you allowed yourself to really look at him since setting foot in the car. His tie was loose, hair messier than usual. But it wasn’t just that. He looked guarded. Like something was troubling him and he was doing everything he could to keep it from getting out.

“You good?” you asked.

He blinked, clearly not expecting the question. “Yeah. Why?”

You shrugged, opening the door. “You’re quiet.”

He followed you out without answering.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Inside it was loud. The kind of loud that pretends to be fun but wears thin quickly. Music, laughter, way too many sequins. People came up to say hi, offer drinks, compliment your dress. You smiled, said thanks, played the part. Usual standard actor business.

You caught Tim’s eyes once across the room. He was talking to someone, nodding along to whatever was being said, but he wasn’t really listening. His eyes kept drifting. To you. And you looked away first.Because it was easier than dealing with whatever that was. The thing pressing up against the edge of your chest, the thing that made your skin feel warm even now, surrounded by dozens of people.

You were going to have to face it at some point. Whatever this was. This thing you refused to name.But not tonight. Tonight, you just needed to breathe. And pretend nothing had changed.

Even though you both knew better.

apologies for how long it took me to write pt2, I truly had no inspiration 😞 i hope you like it <3 likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated always and welcomed. <3

[graciedollie]

hii hi, could you make one where grayson and reader are wives and work together as council guards until one day reader arrives injured and grayson becomes extremely worried. I would really be happy if you did that! ❤️‍🩹, I love your writing, do it in your own time!!

Complications

Pair: Grayson x FemCouncilGuard!Reader

Summary: It was a pretty normal day while you were doing your normal duties, having to be sent to make an arrest in the grimy streets of Zaun. The arrest wasn’t going to go smooth obviously, but it definitely wasn’t supposed to go this way either.

Warning(s): Description of injuries (stab wound) ,mention of bleeding, swearing (ofc), reader being stubborn, Grayson scolding reader, fluff added too ofc <3, reader is kind of a smartass

A/N: I love writing for my bbg <3 also feel free to leave any requests

The sun was slowly turning in for the late evening, casting a beautiful hue of orange and purple across the hazy skies. You were handling your usual duties before you were requested by the councils, figuring it would be about handling a certain case. It didn’t take you long before you stumbled upon the large room, seeing all the members and your wife, standing attentively.

Grayson looked over at you as you stood next to her, flashing you a small smile before turning her serious focus back to the council members before one of them spoke, who happened to be council Mel Medarda.

“There have been reports of a group—preferably from the Undercity—causing havoc among our city, leading to the people being understandably upset. I trust that you will sort this problem, yes?”

Before Grayson could even speak, you quickly agreed with a swift nod and eager words. “Yes ma’am, of course. I can assure you this little mishap will be sorted.” In return, Mel gave you a soft smile and a firm nod before dismissing the both of you.

As the two of you soon left and walked along the long hallways, you were suddenly stopped by the large hands of your wife on your shoulders. You turned to look at her with a confused expression before she started to speak, “Sweetheart, I think it’s best if you let me take this one with you, yes? I know you’re well on your own, but you haven’t gone much in the Undercity as much as me.”

You couldn’t help, but grunt in slight irritation at her words, knowing she only worried for your safety—you were her wife for God’s sake. “Baby, I can do just as fine on my own. I’ll just take Marcus and backup with me, it’ll be fine.”

She narrowed her eyes at you, obviously not fond of the idea of not being partnered up with you for this case—especially such as these. Her eyes stared in yours intensely before softening, nodding slowly with a sigh.

“Alright…but, if I hear one bad thing goes down there..”

“It’ll be fine, Honey. I can handle it, plus I’ll have hep with me.

How hard could this possibly be? All you were doing is going down to the Lanes and making an arrest, nothing out of the ordinary.

Oh honey, you were wrong.

The night took over the golden sky, leaving the sky blanketed in a dark cover. Venturing into Zaun wasn’t the most extravagant thing, if you’re being honest. It was grimy. People giving you dirty looks. And definitely different from Piltover. Neon lights and signs crowded the dark streets, every angle except the dingy alleys.

The more and more you ventured into the streets, the more you realized how this arrest was going to be anything, but easy. You and your crew walked through the streets, looking around with hardened gaze at the peering standbys—obviously noticing the fiery glares.

Based on the information you and your crew were given, it seem that the group hung around a certain abandoned building—which didn’t take too long to stumble upon. You glared at the group, seeing how their teeth were yellow and how buffed they looked.

“We can make this easy or not so easy. All your choice.”

The group looked around at each other with disbelief before turning back to you with a chuckle, eyeing you as if you were prey—which you definitely seemed so to them. “Would ya look at that? Think you’re gonna take us in? We’re not going down without a damn fight.”

Sometimes you wondered why you even chose this damn job sometimes.

“Let me make this clear.”

That was all you said before you and another of your crew pulled your guns, aiming them directly at the group, earning a grunt of shock and irritation.

“Last chance.”

The group scowled at your crew as the rest of the crew pulled out the restraints, seeing how they dangled dangerously in their grasp. All of sudden, one of the members charged at you before you quickly aimed at the man before..

WHACK.

You don’t know how it happened or what did it come from, but all you knew was that you were on the floor and had blood dribbling down your lips—most likely from being brutally punched. Your eyes glared at the mysterious person, seeing them emerge from the shadow and saw that it was woman. You quickly shuffled onto your feet, looking over at your crew while they were busy handling the others before focusing your attention back to woman.

She had a nasty grin on her chapped lips, slipping a sharp knife from the back of her pants as she eyed you steadily—seeing how you were focused solely on her. “Oh c’mon, can’t handle a little punch?”

You grunted at her taunt before trying to reach for your gun, but saw that it was fucking gone? Fucking great. Luckily, you had close combat experience. You were steady on your feet, keeping eye contact with the woman before she lunged at you with her knife, causing you to lean back and grab her arm to pin it behind her back as she stumbled to the ground and the knife clatter out her hand.

“Made this way harder than it had to be.”

Your eyes narrowed down at the woman as you pinned her wrist behind the small of her back, only moving one hand to reach for the cuffs, but that was your biggest mistake. The woman quickly reached for a knife on her side and sliced you on the side of your stomach, earning a pained yelp as you scrambled back from the woman.

“Wonder how you made it this far..”

You sneered at the woman, panting heavily as you applied pressure to the bleeding wound before slowly standing up as did she. It started to feel that maybe—just maybe—you should’ve listen to your wife.

The woman chuckled lowly before quickly charging at you, but was quickly clocked in the back of her head by Marcus with a gun—specifically, your gun that was scattered to the side—successfully cuffing her. The rest of the crew cuffed the rest of the group, herding them back. He added the woman in with the her group as they were escorted away, shouting out streams of profanities and whatnot.

His eyes immediately snapped back to you as you huffed heavily, seeing the blood seep through the clothes onto your hand gradually. He quickly helped you, throwing your arm over his shoulder as he helped you walk.

“Shit—you ok? What the hell happened back there?” He grunted lowly as you both shuffled back through the grimy streets and onto the bridge, crossing over to piltover.

“Some fuckin’—shit—girl came from nowhere and just punched me…and stabbed me..” Your voice was strained and heavy, trying not to wince too much as the slash only continued to bleed heavily.

“God…do you have any idea how stupid it was to take this case? You know Grayson is already going to be on mine and your ass.”

“Mhm, I know…let’s just focus on me not dying, yeah?”

and brother, was he right.

You laid in the infirmary, laying slightly uncomfortably as the slash on your side was still recovering. The blood loss wasn’t too bad, but scary and a blessing that you survived. The infirmary was nice and quiet, despite having doctors check in on you and here and there, but that didn’t last long until..

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Your eyes shot up quickly at the familiar voice, seeing your absolutely enraged wife rushing over to your side, quickly embracing you before caressing your face with a firm grasp and stern glare.

“Baby, listen—“

“Don’t give me that! I told you that I didn’t feel right about you going there. I trusted that you could handle it. Do you have any idea how worried I was when I was informed to hear that my wife was in the infirmary—being treated for a stab wound? Do you really?”

Her voice was stern, but held a edge of obvious concern and worry—though she was pissed. You frowned slightly as she scolded you, which was definitely expected from her, but you knew she was only concerned and worried for you.

“Honey, I know you’re upset, but I handled a good bit on my own…” Your voice was raspy and low, due to being sleep for a good while or so. She let out a heavy sigh as she pinched the bridge of her nose, looking at you with a gradually softening before her hand caressed her cheek.

“I know and I’m proud that you did, but still, it was a risky idea to even take that case in a first place…you could’ve let me handled it.”

Though she was pissed, she still was worried and highly concerned for her dear wife, who happened to look like an angel despite being injured. Her thumb brushed over your cheek, gazing at you with obvious fret in her eyes as she murmured softly, “I swear I have to keep my patience in check with you…”

“Aww, I know you still love me.”

She couldn’t help, but chuckle at your cocky little remark, looking at you with a raised brow and an amused smile etched on her lips before brushing her hand over your thighs.

“Of course, I do, love. Though sometimes you make me want to strangle you..”

“Like how that woman wanted to before she stabbed me?”

Her eyes widened in surprise at your worst-timing joke, glaring at you with a tight pursed frown on her lips as she pointed a finger at you, “That is not funny.”

“What, you brought it up!?”

It would definitely be a wild before you ever got a case to go back to Zaun…it was definitely for the best to avoid complications.

hope you enjoyed and hoped this was to your liking, anon <3

[littlesmartart]

DRAWTOBER #16 - Morality is the Priority by @maura-labingi and @little-smartass

"So I beg you, Jiang-guniang, stay safe. Keep your stupid, stubborn brothers safe - Jiang-gongzi owes me money, and I want to see Wei-gongzi be ridiculous around Lan-er-gongzi again, and I want to gossip with your disciples and get glares from your handmaidens, and I want to speak to you again, Jiang-guniang. Despite - despite everything, I think of you as my friend.” Her hands shake in Yanli’s grasp, so she tightens them to chase the tremors out; Yanli squeezes back. “I think of you as my friend too, Luo-sima.” It may be stupid, to be fond of a woman her gongzi has insulted and broken a troth with, to be fond of a woman she may never see alive again with war towering over them. She cannot say otherwise. But she also doesn’t care. “Call me Mianmian. If we’re friends.” “Then you must call me Yanli.” “Stay safe, Yanli.” “Do not worry. I will.”

Part two of the series! I think this part is definitely my favourite, this is where we REALLY start pushing away from canon and exploring the huge ripple effects this sets off.

Yanli as a political figure with in the war camp, unable to fight but determined to use her adminstrative capabilities to support both the Jiangs and Jins. how does this develop her relationship with Zixuan?

Huaisang is far more capable than he lets on - how does he use his particular skill set to contribute to the war?

Mianmian is Zixuan's second in command, so what does that mean for her in the war? through her eyes, how does Zixuan grow from an awkward rich boy to a capable leader?

if Mingjue knows that Meng Yao is a spy in Qishan, how does that change their relationship? and would Mingjue, as the general spearheading the war tactics, make different decisions in light of that information?

if we don't have to worry about budget constraints like the shows, how can we make this feel like the HUGE war that the characters refer to it as???

[camficdiner]

[1.1] [2.6] [3.6] [4.2] please 👀🫡

☕ Cam’s Fic Diner – Order 007

To whoever placed this hot, stubborn, enemies-to-lovers head injury special on my counter:

You’re deranged in the best way.

You asked for tension, trauma, a full-on concussion protocol, and enough slow-burn smut to make a medical intern faint — and you’re getting exactly that.

Enjoy your meal

-your favorite server

💬 “Stay with me Tonight (Doctor’s orders)

✨description and prompts

• Character: Jack Hughes

• Prompt: you stitch his injuty he asks you to stay (with a little enemies to lovers add, its like whipped cream on pancakes, always on point)

• WC: ~1.5k

• Type: fluff to smut · slow burn · hurt/comfort · medical setting · soft smut

🛼🧁🍒✨

You’re not surprised when Jack Hughes acts like a dick about being pulled from the game.

What does surprise you is that they assign you to watch him overnight.

You’re not his trainer. You’re part of the team’s medical support staff — the one he always calls bossy, the one who once snapped at him for ignoring a sprain protocol and got eye rolls for three weeks straight.

He doesn’t like you.

You don’t like him.

At least, that’s what everyone says.

But when Jack takes a massive hit at center ice — helmet slams back, body whiplashes, lays still just half a second too long — the protocol kicks in fast.

Headache. Blurred vision. Slow to respond.

Pupils reactive but unfocused.

Complains the lights are too bright.

And then the clincher:

“Feels like the ice is spinning.”

Full concussion protocol.

He’s taken to a private hotel room, gear half off, hoodie thrown on, socks mismatched — and you’re sent in to monitor him.

⸻

They tell you in the hallway.

“He’s in protocol,” the head trainer says. “You’re monitoring him overnight.”

You blink. “Who?”

“Hughes.”

You stare at him. “Seriously?”

The look you get in response says don’t start. So you try not to.

Try.

“Great,” you mutter, snatching the clipboard off the table. “I’ll make sure the golden boy doesn’t accidentally swallow his ego in his sleep.”

Someone on staff snorts. You don’t even feel bad — you’ve been stuck cleaning up after Jack Hughes’ tantrums since day one.

Not that he’s the worst patient, exactly. He listens. He technically follows orders. But he also knows exactly how to get under your skin — and delights in doing it.

The last time you taped his wrist, he called you “Nurse Ratched” for an entire week.

Now you’re supposed to babysit him while his brain short-circuits? Fantastic.

You knock once when you reach the hotel room door. No response. You knock again.

“Open,” comes his muffled voice.

You step in — and you don’t get two feet before you sigh dramatically.

“Wow,” you say. “Look at that. Still alive.”

Jack looks up from where he’s slumped against the headboard, hoodie wrinkled, hair a complete mess. “You sound disappointed.”

“I’m not not disappointed.”

He grunts. “Thought you were gonna send the real medical staff. Not the one who hates me.”

“Trust me, I drew the short straw.”

You drop your bag at the foot of the bed. “Let’s get this over with. I’ve got a podcast and a frozen burrito waiting back in my room.”

“Romantic.”

You flash him a tight smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t touch you more than I absolutely have to.”

“Oh,” Jack smirks faintly, “now you’re just trying to hurt me.”

⸻

“How’s your head?”

“Feels like it’s trying to implode.”

“Blurred vision?”

“Off and on.”

“Light sensitivity?”

He points at you. “You mostly.”

You bite back a smirk. “Still enough of a smartass to answer sarcastically. That’s promising.”

He doesn’t laugh. Just winces as he shifts. “My ribs hurt.”

“I’ll check those last. Lie down first.”

⸻

You work in silence.

Check his pupils. Ask him to follow your finger. Watch as he flinches at the dull glow of the lamp. His responses are slower than usual, and his posture is all wrong — slumped, guarded, like he’s ashamed of how out of control he feels.

He doesn’t say anything until your fingers press lightly against his hairline, right near the bruising.

“You’re good at this,” he mutters.

You freeze. “Did you just compliment me, Hughes?”

He sighs. “Don’t make it a thing.”

You back off slightly. “You don’t have to be so tense. This isn’t your fault.”

Jack leans back against the pillow, eyes shutting briefly. “Everyone looks at me like I broke something on purpose.”

You glance at him, softer now. “I don’t.”

Silence.

His voice is quieter: “You don’t make it worse.”

⸻

You’re sitting in the chair across from the bed, going over his chart when you notice him watching you.

“Can’t sleep?”

He shakes his head. “Every time I close my eyes it feels like the floor moves.”

“Normal,” you murmur. “Concussion does that. It’s like your brain’s still skating.”

“Feels like shit.”

“I know.”

He’s quiet for a second. Then: “You staying all night?”

You nod. “I’m supposed to monitor you every hour.”

Jack hesitates. Then: “Will you… sit here?”

You glance up.

His expression is unreadable. But his voice is soft — uncertain in a way that makes your chest ache.

“I can’t keep my head straight,” he says. “But you make it easier to breathe.”

You rise and move to the bed. Sit beside him.

⸻

His head finds your lap without asking. You freeze — only for a second — before letting your hand move through his hair slowly.

He hums. Eyes still shut.

“I don’t hate you,” he says.

You smile faintly. “That was clear when you didn’t throw a pillow at me earlier.”

“No, I mean…” He cracks an eye open, gaze glassy. “I think I just didn’t know how to talk to you without flirting or fighting.”

You blink. “Was that what you were doing? Flirting?”

Jack closes his eyes again. “Felt safer than admitting I like the way you touch me when I’m hurt.”

Your heart stutters.

“I trust you,” he adds. “Even when I’m like this. Especially when I’m like this.”

You trace his jaw with your fingertips. “You can sleep.”

He doesn’t move. “Can you stay in bed with me? Just… for a bit.”

⸻

You lie down beside him. Careful. Still clothed. Still professional, in theory.

But then he shifts closer. One arm snakes around your waist.

And when he exhales against your collarbone, your fingers curl into the back of his shirt.

“You still dizzy?” you whisper.

“Less.”

“Pain?”

“Only when I think.”

“Then don’t think.”

His lips graze your shoulder.

“Hard to do when you’re this close.”

⸻

The kiss starts quiet — a shared breath, a brush of lips, a pause like he’s waiting for you to tell him to stop.

You don’t.

Your hand slides into his hair, tilting him toward you.

Jack groans softly into your mouth, the kind of noise that’s more need than want.

“Still okay?” you whisper.

“Yes,” he breathes. “I just—don’t rush. I don’t want this to be fast.”

It’s not.

He peels your clothes off like a secret, kissing every inch he exposes. His touch is gentle but confident — the touch of someone who’s thought about this a lot.

You ride the edge of tension for minutes that feel like hours — kisses that linger, breath caught in your throat, his hands guiding yours under the waistband of his boxers.

When he finally presses into you, it’s slow. Deliberate. Like grounding.

His forehead rests against yours. His hands hold your hips like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered.

“You feel…” he exhales. “You feel so fucking good.”

You cup his jaw. “So do you.”

⸻

The room stays quiet. No dirty talk. Just gasps, skin, and soft repetition of your name like he’s using it to stay awake, stay real.

When he comes, it’s with a shaky groan and your name caught in his mouth. He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t move.

Just holds you.

⸻

You wake hours later to the sun just starting to rise.

Jack’s eyes are open. He’s watching you.

“Better?” you whisper.

He nods. “Head still aches. But I don’t feel as… lost.”

You trace a line across his cheek.

“I’ll still have to report this. The overnight stay.”

“Yeah,” he says. “But leave the part out where you saved my fucking life.”

You raise a brow. “Did I?”

He smiles.

“You stayed, didn’t you?”

💌 If this fic left you dizzy (in the right way), the tip jar’s always open:

[abiatackerman]

Sweat Soaked Confessions

The sun is beginning its descent, casting a warm glow over the training grounds. Levi Ackerman is there, as usual, pushing himself to the limits. Sweat glistening on his skin, soaking through his white shirt and making it cling to his chiseled abs. He has been at it for hours, despite the recent injuries he has only just recovered from.

After finishing your regular work in the infirmary, you walk towards your barracks. The training ground is on the way and while passing, you catch a glimpse of him, swirling his sword in his unique way. He's totally drenched in sweat which is unusual. You've seen him drenched in blood but not in sweat before.

Means he's in pain and he's been training for hours.

You keep watching him with a mix of admiration and frustration for a while. You knew how stubborn he could be, but this was reckless, even for him.

"Levi! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

You call out as you march over to him.

"I thought I told you to rest for a week?"

You ask in a pissed tone as you stop in front of him, having a distance of one foot between you two. You hate it when your patients disobey you. It's only normal to get pissed when you do your best to heal them but they won't just listen to you.

He glances at you, his gray eyes betraying no emotion, though a flicker of something unreadable crossed them for a moment.

"Training."

He replies curtly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Have you forgotten what I said? You should be resting for at least three more days!"

You scowl, hands on your hips.

"I don't have time to rest. We're always at risk. I need to be ready."

Levi retorts, wiping sweat from his brow.

"That's no excuse to push yourself to the point of breaking! What good will you be to anyone if you're dead?"

You snap at him with a pissed tone making him clenching his jaw, a muscle in his cheek twitching.

"I'm not dead. I'm fine."

You sigh and take a deep breath to calm yourself down. You snatch his sword from his hand.

"Levi, I know you're the strongest and everyone depends on you but you need to take care of yourself. You're the best soldier but you're a human too! Humans are not invincible, so not you! Taking rest doesn't mean you're weak, ok?"

For a moment, there was silence, the only sound of the distant call of birds and the rustling of leaves. Levi hesitates a bit, something uncharacteristically vulnerable in his eyes.

"Your words...... make things easier."

As always he was blunt, straight to the point. It's not like you hate it, it's actually the opposite, you love it!

"I know I'm good with words but... Hey... "

Your face softens as you hold his hand softly.

"I can't stop worrying about you, you know? It's almost like I want to protect you all the time even though I'm no match with you when it comes to physical strength."

You laugh sarcastically but Levi intertwines his fingers with you. He lets out a slow breath, his shoulders relaxed.

"I've been…thinking about you, too. More than I should. They're so fucking weird.... I never cared for anyone other than Isabel but shit.... I don't see you as a sister. I can't ever! I also don't see you as a friend either, tch..."

Your heart pounds in your chest but you smile anyway.

"You're an idiot. If you're sure you don't see me as a sister or friend then there's only one option left! And that is "as a romantic partner."

You say in a "smartass" tone making Levi "tch" again.

"But you're an idiot too, because you've been thinking about me in the same way. Though we both know it's impossible. The only thing we are vowed to is killing titans and protecting humanity.... We have no time for romance."

Levi says releasing your hand and looks up at the sky, watching the sun going down, splattering reddish-orange sun rays in its wake.

"Right, we're both idiots. But if our war ends before we die....."

You say smiling as you keep staring at the setting sun.

"I'll be your partner."

You say softly and hold his hand again as you both keep looking at the beautiful view of the sunset.

"And even if our war doesn't end, I'll be with you. Maybe we won't have the time to be a couple but at least we'll be able to enjoy the sweet little moments like this, right?"

You tilt your head towards Levi and smile. The golden sun rays falls on your face as the winds blows your soft hair. Levi smiles softly looking at your beautiful smile, your beautiful face as the sun rays makes you look more prettier.

"Right."

He says, squeezing your hand in return as if silently promising to you.

"You kinds stink you know?"

You say chuckling just to make him look away from you because his stare is so intense, so beautifully dangerous that was already rising your hormones up.

"But we both know you like the smell, brat."

Levi says and  looks away from you, just to hide his chuckle. You elbow him playfully and he just "calls" you a brat again.

Even after all these little sweet banters, you both know, there is nowhere else you both would rather be. Surrounded by the fading light of the sun and the lingering scent of Levi's sweat and earth, you know this was your sweet little heaven, in this cruel world.

[surfeitstar]

reflections — iwaizumi x reader

ᯓ✦ ๋࣭ ⭑ social media au! (smau)

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

bonus #3 — sick 🌀

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

written portion below! ⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃🎐 ⋆

back in your second year of high school…

you spot him before he spots you. standing outside the facility entrance, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, rocking back and forth on his heels. the streetlights cast a soft glow over him, and even from a distance, you can tell he’s been waiting for a while.

he looks up when he hears your footsteps, eyes immediately scanning over you like he’s checking for injuries.

“took you long enough,” iwaizumi says, but the corners of his mouth twitch. as if he’s fighting back a smile. “was starting to think i’d have to break in there and drag you out myself.”

you snort, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder. “like you’d make it past security.”

he raises an eyebrow. “i could take them.”

you roll your eyes, but it’s fond.

the two of you fall into step beside each other as you start walking toward the station. he’s carrying your bag, like he always does. the air is crisp, carrying the lingering chill of late evening, and you try to suppress the shiver creeping up your spine. you don’t succeed.

hajime doesn’t miss a thing.

“you’re cold,” he states, matter-of-factly.

“no, i’m fine,” you lie, because you’re stubborn.

“right,” hajime drawls. then suddenly, you feel the weight of his jacket draping over your shoulders.

you blink down at it. “haji—”

“put it on.”

“but you’ll get cold—”

“i said,” he repeats, eyes flickering to you, “put it on.”

his voice is gruff, but it’s not because he’s annoyed. you know this tone well; it’s the same one he uses when he’s telling you to take care of yourself.

so, with a tiny huff, you slip your arms into the sleeves. it’s warm, smells like his shampoo, and the second you’re fully wrapped up in it, hajime lets out a satisfied little “hm.”

“happy?” you grumble. “yeah,” he smiles.

“adorable, actually.”

you smack his arm.

the train ride home is long, the seats mostly empty at this hour. you settle into one by the window, and hajime drops into the seat beside you. before you can say anything, he’s already pulling something out of his bag and handing it over.

cold medicine.

you stare at it. “…did you buy this for me?”

“no. i just happen to carry around cold medicine wherever i go,” hajime deadpans. “yes, smartass. i bought this for you. knew you’d be too stubborn to admit you’re sick or take care of yourself.”

your fingers tighten around the packaging.

“thanks,” you murmur.

hajime just shrugs like it’s nothing, then nudges an earbud into your hand.

you take it without hesitation. you press the earbud into your ear, the familiar sound of his playlist filling your ears. it’s a mix of everything— some songs you know he knows you love, some he likes, and some that you swear he only listens to for the gym.

some that remind him of you.

you don’t remember falling asleep.

but you must have, because when you wake, your head is resting against his shoulder, the train rocking gently beneath you.

he doesn’t move, doesn’t shift away.

he just stays there, completely still—except for the one hand that slowly, carefully, brushes your hair out of your face.

you look peaceful like this, curled into his side. the soft rise and fall of your chest in sync with the rhythm of the train.

you don’t stir, good. his gaze softens.

you’re exhausted, and he knows it. he knows how hard you’ve been pushing yourself, how much weight you carry on your shoulders, how much you refuse to admit when you’re struggling.

so if this is the only time you’ll let yourself lean on him, he won’t ruin it.

iwaizumi sighs, tilting his head back against the window.

tooru can’t know about this.

he clenches his jaw, staring up at the train’s ceiling, like maybe it’ll have all the answers he needs. like maybe it’ll tell him what the hell he’s supposed to do with all of this—this feeling that digs under his skin, settles in his chest, refuses to leave.

he squeezes his eyes shut and shoves it all deep down, where he can’t reach it. and then he rests his head against yours.

and he lets himself forget, just for a little while.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

fun facts! ❀༉‧₊˚

you were definitely down with a fever, but you still went for practice anyway

he knows you rarely take care of yourself so he picks up the slack for you

hajime has a difficult time trying to grapple with the guilt of dating you behind tooru’s back.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

taglist (open!) ❀༉‧₊˚

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𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

thanks for reading! all characters belong to haikyuu, all writing belongs to surfeitstar, please do not repost without permission. reblogs are greatly appreciated:) — ©️ 2025

[mandarinmoons]

okie doke! i was thinking of spencer x fem reader enemies to lovers, a classic scenario of “your enemy gets injured and it’s me you realize how much you actually care for them”. they’re sort of work rivals with him and are also very smart - not nearly as smart, but y’know - and so sometimes they tend to talk over each other or undermine one another. on a case reader doesn’t heed spencer’s warning and it ends up costing her. you can take it from there, im sure what you do will be grrrreat </33

So sorry it took so long x

The BAU were invited to help out on a case in a small town in Maryland. A town usually quiet with rarely any crime, was suddenly plagued by women missing every few weeks.

Everyone split into teams and investigated the areas victims were last seen. The place you and Spencer made your way to was an abandoned house on the north side of the town.

Spencer was someone you rarely got along with and when Hotch told the both of you to team up, it took everything in you to not roll your eyes at your boss or try and argue with him. But you bit your tongue and dragged your feet to the SUV as you and Spencer made the way to the location.

As you arrived at the building, you jumped out of the car and made your way to the back, but you stopped in your tracks when a familiar voice scratched your ears.

“Y/N, stop!”

Rolling your eyes, you looked over your shoulder and were met with Spencer’s stern gaze.

“What now?”

“We’re not supposed to break apart.”

“I’m just going behind the house!”

“We’re supposed to follow orders!”

“And you’re not supposed to be such a smartass all the time, but you still are.”

Clenching his jaw, Spencer watched you walk away before sighing and muttering to himself, “Don’t come crying to me when you get hurt.”

Making your way behind the house, you took in the scenery. A swingset that looked like it hadn’t been used in years, flowerbeds by the sides of the fence that were full of dead and dry plants. It looked as though no one had taken care of this place in years, such a poor condition where no sane person would come. And so it would be the perfect place for an unsub to hide out.

Hearing a rustling coming from behind the trees, you latched onto your gun and walked over to the source of the noise, slowly and carefully. Only a few steps away, you felt someone walk up behind you, but when turning around you were met with nothing. Turning your head back only a second later, you were met with the unsub and before you had time to react he shot you in your leg. The gunshot echoed and you fell to the ground in agony.

“Y/N!”

Spencer came running to you and crouched down to you, brushing the hair out of your face.

“What happened?”

“He shot me-,” a cry left your lips as Spencer applied pressure to your wound.

“I told you not to go alone.”

“Just shut up and help me!”

Grabbing his phone, Spencer called for an ambulance. He stuttered out the situation as his hand was still pressed against your wound, blood seeping from the sides and covering his hand.

After finally being admitted to the hospital, Spencer was sat, waiting to hear how you were doing and every second was hell. He knew he shouldn’t have let you go all alone and yet he still did because his stubborn self was mad at you from a previous argument. What was the argument about? The two of you argued over directions to the unsub’s hideout.

“You’re supposed to turn to the left, Reid!”

“Y/N, I know my way around this town. I memorized the map before we left, we’re supposed to go straight ahead.”

“That’s not what the locals said.”

“Oh so you don’t trust me?”

“I’m just saying it doesn’t hurt to trust the people who know how to get around this place.”

“It also doesn’t hurt for you to trust me.”

“I’d rather get shot than rely on you.”

And now here you were, in surgery after getting shot and Spencer replaying the scene of finding you all bloody, over and over again in his head. This was one of the times he wishes he didn’t have an eidetic memory.

A few hours later you were resting in your hospital bed. Spencer was hesitant about whether he should come check on you or not, he knew that he was the last person you’d want to see, but he was the one who found you and he needed to know how you were.

Bracing himself, he took a deep breath and walked into the room. His eyes scanned over you with his eyes stopping at your leg.

“It’s not polite to stare.”

Spencer locked eyes with you and saw your mouth curl up into a smirk; even in severe pain, you managed to sass him.

“Watch it now or else I won’t come to check on you anymore,” Spencer chuckled and made his way towards your bed and sat on the edge of it.

“You don’t have to, you know.”

“Yes, I do. I shouldn’t have let you go alone.”

“Spencer, stop. It’s all on me. I was the one being stubborn and-”

“That doesn’t matter. I was annoyed too and yet I ignored everything we’ve been taught and let you go by yourself.”

Spencer’s voice grew shaky and you noticed his eyes glistening. Were those tears? It couldn’t be.

“I’m sorry Y/N,” Spencer sniffled and quickly dried off a few tears threatening to spill from his eyes. You had never seen him like this. You were used to cold stares and eyerolls from him sure, but seeing him be so upset over your wellbeing? It was a sight you thought you’d never witness.

“Spencer, don’t be so hard on yourself, please. It was my fault too.”

“It’s nice of you to admit that.”

“Hey!”

Lightly smacking Spencer’s shoulder caused a chuckle to fall from both of your mouths. You hadn’t been this comfortable with each other in a long while and neither of you ever thought that such a day would come again.

While you were recovering, Spencer came to see you in the hospital for the short while you still had to be monitored and when you finally were able to go home he’d stop by to see you even more. Spencer was adamant that he was making regular visits because he felt it was his responsibility after letting you walk off by yourself, but the rest of the team had other ideas as to why he was making so much time to come and see you, and little did they know that their suspicions would be proven true.

Penelope was making her way to your home with a basket of freshly baked muffins, a baked good of hers that you raved about every time she made them, and she thought that it was just the thing to lift your spirits. She reached your door and waited for an answer after she knocked. After a few minutes of complete silence, she took out the spare key to your apartment that you gave her for emergencies and made her way in, her mouth falling open at the sight.

There you were, perched on the lap of The BAU’s boy genius, who was also known as your sworn enemy, or at least was known to be.

“Oh, what do we have here?”

Penelope shut the door and made the way to you and Spencer, her smile beaming while your rosy cheeks hid in the crook of Spencer’s neck. Sitting on Spencer’s lap was the last place anyone thought they’d find you, especially yourself.

“Please don’t tell the team about this.”

“Oh sweetness, everybody already had their suspicions.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

Penelope chuckled and left the basket of baked goods on the kitchen table and quickly walked off so you and Spencer could enjoy some “alone time,” clearly enjoying seeing her favorite coworkers finally getting along with each other.

As the door shut, a sigh escaped your lips and Spencer caressed your back in order to comfort you.

“How long do you think it’s going to be until everybody else knows?”

Before Spencer could answer, both of your phones went off notifying an incoming text message. Both of you took out your phones and unsurprisingly it was messages from Emily and Luke, congratulating you both on your new found love.

“I was going to say an hour, but yeah, fifty six seconds sounds like a better answer.”

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