#my personal favorites are the first and last

[dextivestudios]

I haven't seen eighth's movie yet, but all of these are spot on. 15 is even my favorite! I have nothing but respect for Jodie for carrying the show during her run, though. Her shoulders must have hurt!

It is a shame that his departure had to be in an episode where RTD botched the entire thing. As much as I love the goofy fun charm of his style, when RTD does a blunder? Oh dear LORD he blunders HARD! Like, to the point where it makes you want to go: "Oh, honey...no, no, no! What are you doing???"

The only defense I have for those blunders is that he is working with multiple studios for Doctor Who. And studio work functions vastly differently from indie when it comes to things going on behind the scenes. So, some of the blunder can be at the fault of Disney and/or the BBC. But this does not absolve RTD of all blame. For all we know, the pre-studio version could have been worse and the studios could have left notes in an effort to...make it not as rough. (or it could be the other way around where the pre-studio version of the script was better. I genuinely do not know. lol)

But the racial bias getting approved is not a good look for anyone involved. If Disney's influence is as limited as RTD claims it to be, then the BBC should have definitely given him a "what the fuck?" or at least give him notes for some major revisions.

But yeah, while I don't know the process that goes into whenever RTD does a mess up and how much blame he actually has for them, I do know that he still does them and should take accountability for them. After all, there are likely several steps that are within his control that he could have taken.

At least have a sensitivity reader on the team, ffs. Or work with the POC writers on the crew for every episode if he can't just hire people onto the team like that!

With that said, I would love a behind-the-scenes insight on this particular blunder, because I can definitely see people's point when they mention this feels more like an ending for Ruby. It's definitely one of those situations where there might be a larger story behind it that is a complete mystery to the general public.

I'm not going to dickride RTD or completely defend him. He deserves the criticism going his way and people have every right to be angry at him. After all, even if there are other people involved who could have had a hand at it, RTD is the main name we know and can point to. If someone were to bitchslap him, I would not blame them. I would not do it myself, but it would be understandable.

I still feel like it's important to know and recognize that he is not the only person to criticize when it comes to a studio show such as Doctor Who. There are many moving parts that turn the show into what it is, and Doctor Who might still be in its rough patch, but the fact that a couple things breached containment is a positive sign of a brighter future. Well, I suppose I'm an optimist in saying that. But this is not the show's first "bad" era, it won't be the last, and if it won't survive this one? The precedent has already been set for a Doctor Who Gen 3 to be a possibility.

Which, the fact that 3 million people is considered "low" for viewership is...wow. I can't imagine getting that many people to view my art at once! That's basically a full country!

'Underrated Doctors Who Deserved Better' club

[ts19009]

Seventeen Fic Rec's Part 5

(CONTAINS SMUT AND MATURE SUBJECT MATTER)

(Bold title means favorite)

(UPDATED: June 2nd, 2025)

when their bb girl steals ur phone @mi9yuz

the small romantic gestures that seventeen would be @fairyhaos

Kim Mingyu

guilty as sin (the thought crosses your mind that this is something you definitely shouldn't be doing. that what you're just about to do will be a terribly wrong move for you and your freshly broken heart.) @toruro

clarity (bf's best friend mingyu, (awkward) acquaintances to lovers, the other side of the f2l trope, angst, smut, you could say there's a drizzle of fluff) @hannieoftheyear

pure coincidence (office worker!mingyu x officer worker!reader) @sluttyminghao

that’s so true ❤️‍🩹(exes!mingyu x reader.) @studioeisa

The Admirer Was Right in Front of You — Kim Mingyu (Non-idol au, college au, romance (?), comedy, modern au (no specific setting, but contemporary vibe), slice of life and light-hearted mystery ) @mylovesstuffs

STRAWBERRY SCENTED STRINGS (bassist! mingyu x cellist! f reader) @himewonu

SAVE THE DATE (5 weddings in one year. 5 dates you saved for you and your boyfriend to attend — before he cheated. and now, you had to force your best friend, vernon, to go with you. but after losing a bet, mingyu agrees to take vernon’s place and be your date. this wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go, but you guess you could settle going with your only one-night-stand from college.) @goldenhourology

Back To Me (Mingyu or Hansol? You finally decide who you want to be with.) @xomakara

still yours (exes to lovers, second chance romance, fluff, angst, smut MDNI!) @cherrynpink

Theories & Heartstrings (Neighbours AU! Fake Dating AU! (but only one is fake dating. It’ll make sense when you read it, lol). Non-Idol AU!.) @wongyuseokie

croissant cravings (A seating chart mix-up has you crossing paths with a very good-looking pastry chef. ) @facethesunflower

Let Me Hear You Say... (mut (minor dni), heavy angst, fluff, toxic, ranch au, brothers best friend au) @onlymingyus

KITTY'S GOT CLAWS (a svt spiderman x jujutsu kaisen au (what a mouthful >< ), spiderman!mingyu, blackcat!reader, lots of banter, mild fighting scenes = mentions of blood and injuries !!, fluff with angst if you squint) @yi2huo

might let you make me juno @straylightdream

good behavior (just smut tbh) @ddeonghwa-s

Jeon Wonwoo

My Ride or Die (Late one night, you're attacked outside the library—your bag stolen and safety shattered. But someone saw everything. A mysterious stranger steps in to recover what was lost. What begins as a random rescue soon hints at deeper intentions and unexpected connections.) @missgraylock

WHAT IF you were wonwoo’s gf and almost got caught during NANA TOUR surprises… @cherriicou

good sport | wicked games series (bartender wonwoo, bartender mingyu, messy love triangle, friends with benefits, right person wrong time) @hannieween

on call (you'd never sleep in an on-call room, but that doesn't mean you won't find other uses for it.) @kkaetnipjeon

first love/late spring (first love/s, feelings realization/denial, reincarnation.) @studioeisa

The Fine Print (Enemies to Lovers | Fake Dating | Revenge Pact | Forced Marriage Fallout) @kathaelipwse

Lip Tint Stains and Hair Ties (childhood friends to lovers, school, college, slow burn, fluff, one shot, peachesndreams) @shineesbackbitches

Yours to Keep (Before leaving for military service, Wonwoo hands you a disposable camera, saying, "Take a picture whenever you think of me." At first, you laugh it off, but as the days pass, you find yourself reaching for the camera more often than you expected) @nerdycheol

make 'em sweat (introducing you to his friends doesn't go quite the way wonwoo expected (title from water by seventeen ; technically a sequel to fuck the neighbors but can be read as a standalone) @sluttywonwoo

progress report: i am missing you to death - jww(Childhood friends to lovers, smut, fluff, angst, college au) @imnotshua

CHEMTRAILS (Wonwoo is the last person you expect to find at a grief support group, but he may just be the peace that you need to weather all of your storms.) @vampsol

Warning Signal (In a treacherous turn of events, your most recent mission gets tangled with Wonwoo's, the last person you'd want to partner up with. As the lives of your targets get more and more intertwined, and your plan gets more complicated, memories of the past and feelings you thought you could put aside threaten to ruin the mission.) @hannieoftheyear

A New Vendetta (Wonwoo x Mafia's daughter reader) @thedensworld

wish you were here (you don't do long-distance. you never have, and you never will. not unless it's jeon wonwoo - and those chances are slim, as it is.) @haologram

My Brother's Bestfriend (fluff, light angst, smut, established relationship, doting!boyfriend wonwoo, slightly possessive!wonwoo, light comedy, soft but intense makeout sessions, lap-sitting & straddling, emotional intimacy, domestic sweetness, wonwoo being obsessed with reader™, mild tension but nothing too serious, clingy!wonwoo (unintentionally), wonwoo official lipstick tester & lip plumper) @honeyhaeya

SLACKING OFF. ( being technologically averse, yet a complete control freak to your core, you tend to annoy senior IT specialist, jeon wonwoo, to no end. but after an apology brings you two closer together, wonwoo finds himself reaching out to you more often than not. on and off slack. despite what you two had originally perceived, you find yourself thrown into feelings that neither of you could've ever prepared for.) @goldenhourology

Hong Jisoo

tough love? (boy dad!joshua, parents au, teeth rotting fluff, domestic asf) @mvnscloud

heaven knows (non-idol au, seminary student joshua, hurt/comfort (??), secret relationship, mentions of church, joshua is the pastor's son, mutual pining, physical touching (ex: hugging, holding hands), pet names (joshua calls reader baby), they are not slick your honor everyone knows they're in love) @seokminfilm

When Tangerines Give You Lemons (joshua fluff, joshua angst, joshua both, joshua breathing, joshua existing, non-idol!au, lawyer!au, hurt & comfort, angst first fluff later kinda; a warm rain after a heavy storm) @moonstarsunflower

Break (h.js) (Witch!Joshua x Cursed!Reader) @sailorsoons

dude, nice try! masterlist (strangers to lovers, revenge fic, humor, smau bits) @joshujin

starting again (you're wallowing in self-pity at your friends' wedding after being cheated on. you think you're unworthy of love until you meet someone who changes your mind.) @wonwootattoo

i can still see it all. (best friends to strangers to friends to lovers, non au, set in svtverse, idol!joshua, hairstylist!reader, some angst, nsfw, smut, unprotected sex, biting, hair pulling, dacryphilia, teasing, fingering, multiple orgasms, drunk sex, mentions of alcohol.) @woncheolisms

we both 🐚 (romance, friendship, light angst. 🐚 includes. mentions of food, death; cussing/swearing. alternate universe: non-idol; joshua is a marine biologist. bad-at-being-exes/exes to ???) @studioeisa

blurring the lines (you think you know everything about your best friend, dashing bachelor joshua hong. when you stumble upon his suggestive literature from his recent travels, however, reading even an extract is enough to make you question everything. unsure of your newfound feelings, you turn to your confidante, unaware of just how much knowledge—and experience—he has to offer.) @amourcheol

begging for the next (no one needs to know what you and joshua get up to except the two of you.) @100vern

Yoon Jeonghan

dropout | part one (okay, so you dropped out of law school. and you need a job. and the only job your wildly specific resume can get you is… lifeguard at the local 3.2-star water park, and the person assigned to supervise you at your new post is the mysterious and gorgeous yoon jeonghan. what could possibly go wrong? ) @kkaetnipjeon

always the lover, never the loved (lovers to ??? ; angst, mentions of suggestive themes) @haologram

Undue Influence (lawyer fem!reader x lawyer!jeonghan) @starlightxsvt

the final defense of the dying (hunger games mentor!jeonghan x tribute!reader.) @studioeisa (IM OBSESSED WITH THIS ONE)

Even Dumbasses Deserve Love (Yoon Jeonghan, your beautiful, wonderful, amazing, dumb-ass of a best friend who somehow doesn't see how hopelessly in love with him you are. ) @cheers-to-you-th

like starglight (howl’s moving castle-inspired au, fluff, humour, romance, magic!) @gallivantingheart

𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙙 (after an arranged marriage you come to realize that your new husband, the crown prince, and his kingdom are not like anything you expected) @yerimacoustic

Lee Seokmin

you deserve each other (co-workers seokmin x reader.) @studioeisa

Best Neighbor of All Time Award | Lee Seokmin (M) (Seokmin is the best neighbor you've ever had, making it impossible not to fall for his charms.) @drunk-on-dk

picture of a perfect rose (n total years of your whole life, you met Seokmin only twice. That will change drastically starting now. Because the young King is unfortunately a good person, loves his mother, and a true believer in good of people. No matter how hard it is to find and how cold he looks outside.) @youngwonhui

You Know What They Say About Men With Big Feet @hansols-yoda-boxers

Lee Chan

Cherry Sours (l.c) (Mafiaverse, Cyberpunk, Strangers to Lovers) @sailorsoons

CHWE HANSOL

Dark Gospel (c.hs) (After experiencing what you’re sure is a possession, you try to help Vernon get his old self back. Except - Vernon doesn’t want his old self back and you’re not sure you hate the new Vernon either. ) @sailorsoons

KISS 'ER UP (CHV) pt. 1 (baseball player!vernon x fashion designer/fan!reader) @shuastar

Kwan Soonyoung

in the zone | ksy (strangers to lovers, (accidental) roommates; smut, fluff, lite angst) @100vern

we can be all we need (best friends to lovers, idiots in love, a bit of miscommunication, angst for like one second, happy ending) @joshujin

the accidental kiss (fluff, comedy, strangers to lovers au, college au, idiots to idiots in love, profanity, alcohol consumption—please let me know if i’ve missed anything!) @fxstpace

busy woman @straylightdream

Echoes of Summer (Get ready for the most unforgettable summer yet at Camp Logan, where lifelong memories are made, friendships are strengthened, and old crushes make new appearances.) @mr-cha-n

red wine supernova (friends to lovers, childhood friend to lovers, romance, fluff, smut) @straylightdream

Xu Minghao

Rain Room (x.mh) (Waterpark Worker!Mingao x Waterpark Worker!Reader) @sailorsoons

the quiet world (minghao saves his words for you.) @studioeisa

[demie90s]

Girlll you gonna get so tired of me but can you do platonic geno with menace reader?? Like more on their dynamic?

(I COULD NEVER GET TIRED OF YOU‼️)

Coach, I Swear It Was an Accident (It Wasn’t)

ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ ɢᴇɴᴏ ᴀᴜʀɪᴇᴍᴍᴀ x ᴍᴇɴᴀᴄᴇ!ꜰᴇᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: You’ve been testing Geno’s patience since the moment you stepped on UConn’s campus. You’re talented, unbothered, and just enough of a smartass to keep your scholarship hanging by a thread. But deep down, you’re his favorite headache.

Vibe: Whistle slams, eye rolls, chaotic love, and the emotional damage of saying “you’re like my kid” with his whole chest

No one stresses Geno out like you.

And no one lives for it like you do.

You’ve been on thin ice since the first time you called a press conference “ghetto fabulous” under your breath while mic’d up. Geno almost choked on his coffee. Azzi fell off the bench. Paige had to cover her face to keep from laughing.

“Did you really just say that into an NCAA broadcast feed?” Geno asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

You shrugged. “It was.”

He turned red. “You are going to ruin me.”

“I’m not the one who approved these chairs,” you replied, sitting in one like you were posing for Vogue and not a ranked post-game Q&A.

From that day on, you were his #1 problem child. But God, he’d go to war for you.

⸻

He yells at you the most. Because you deserve it.

“You think that behind-the-back pass was smart?” he snaps during practice.

“I thought it was flavorful,” you say, wiping sweat from your face.

“Flavorful?” he repeats. “You are one tech away from me throwing you out of the building.”

“Cool, I’ll just Uber to my NIL shoot.” He throws his clipboard. You wink.

⸻

But it’s not all jokes. Sometimes you check on him when nobody else does.

You bring him an iced coffee before early practices. Put ibuprofen next to his water when he rubs his temples too long. You sit in his office when you’re having a bad day, head down, quiet for once.

He doesn’t say much. Just passes you a protein bar and keeps typing. That’s how y’all say I love you. In chaos and quiet.

⸻

And even when he’s mad, furious, pacing the sideline and yelling your name after a steal you didn’t convert or a stunt you weren’t supposed to pull?

He still defends you to everyone else.

“Yeah, she’s a pain in my ass,” he tells reporters. “But she’s my pain in the ass.”

Bonus:

You Benched Me. I took it personal.

Okay… maybe not messed up. But you definitely pulled a fast break reverse layup, stared down the girl you just scored on, and said, “I thought y’all were ranked?”

Geno yanked you off the court so fast your sneakers squeaked.

“You’re done,” he snapped, waving you toward the bench. “SIT.”

You threw your hands up like you didn’t understand why you, of all people, were getting benched.

“Coach, come on—”

“No. Sit down before I sit you in the parking lot.”

You flopped into the seat next to KK like you’d just been hit with war crimes. She was biting her lip, trying not to laugh.

Azzi looked at you with the world’s deepest sigh. Paige was already reaching over with a towel and a muttered “You really can’t help yourself, huh?”

⸻

You were petty the whole time.

Refused to make eye contact with Geno. Didn’t speak during timeouts. Sat with your arms crossed like someone grounded you from your phone.

Even when the team got hype, you clapped in slow motion with a deadpan expression like a robot being forced to show spirit.

You deserved that benching. But you weren’t gonna act like it.

⸻

Third quarter, two turnovers in a row, Geno’s eye twitched.

“Get in,” he finally muttered, not looking at you.

You stood up so slow.

“Oh, I’m allowed to play again?” you said, stretching dramatically.

“Reader,” he growled. “Don’t.”

You walked past him with the fakest smile ever. “Love you, Coach.”

“Drop 10 or don’t come back.”

You dropped 26.

⸻

Reverse layup. Stepback three. Full-court pass with your off-hand.

You lit the gym up like it was personal. Because it was.

And after you hit the last three and jogged back on defense, you looked over at Geno and mouthed, “Still wanna bench me?”

He didn’t smile. But you saw him shake his head and mutter, “Unbelievable.”

⸻

After the game, while media swarmed Azzi and Paige, you walked past Geno in the tunnel, pretending to look at your nails.

He cleared his throat. You turned slowly.

“…Good job,” he said under his breath, like it physically hurt him.

You gasped, hand to your chest. “Wait—what was that? I blacked out.”

“Don’t push it.”

“I’m framing that.”

He rolled his eyes. “I should’ve gone into real estate.”

You slung your arm over his shoulder and whispered, “Nah. Then you never would’ve met your favorite problem.”

He groaned. But he didn’t push you off.

[minkieater]

wait omgg ,,, mingi headcanons pls like fwb IM FEINING RN ,,, foaming at the mouth

SAY LESSSSSSS. i got carried away. its mingi. my bad fr

fwb!mingi who’s always your first text in the morning and your last text before you go to sleep

mingi who’s been your friend since your freshman year of college, who’s had his eye on you through your long-term relationship with your ex, who was the first person to console you after he broke up with you, completely by chance, he just saw you on campus and you spilled everything

mingi who made an effort to get closer to you after that, asking you how you are, if you want to hangout, completely friendly until it’s not

mingi who took you out for drinks, got you just buzzed enough for the lock on your lips to loosen, to tell him all your dirty little secrets, and he was disgusted to find out that your ex never made you finish. did he even realize how lucky he was to have you?

mingi who let you sober up a bit before he put his moves on you for real, who told you it was okay that he makes you finish for the first time because you’re friends, and that’s what friends do!

mingi who took you back to your place and laid you out on your pink and plush bed, all sweet words and careful touches, and took his time with you. open mouthed kisses up your calves, thighs, sweet pecks to your hipbones before he showed you exactly what you were missing

mingi who had you begging for him by the end, he made you cum twice, you couldn’t possibly let him stop there. if he could do all of that with his mouth, what could he do with his cock? he slept soundly beside you after a bath, an arm hooked around your waist, his face nuzzled in your hair, giving you warmth and comfort that you weren’t expecting

mingi who couldn’t quite leave you alone after that night, and you’d be sick to your stomach if he did

mingi who had to be touching you every time he was near you, it didn’t matter who saw, from your friends to your professors to your classmates. if mingi was close to you he was connected to your hip, a hand over your shoulders, around your waist, a finger slipped through the belt loop of your jeans

mingi who was over your apartment every single night, fucking you through the mattress, toying with you in the shower, waking you up the next morning with a face between your legs like he couldn’t get enough

mingi who would bring your favorite snacks over if you were feeling shitty, or if you were on your period. he called you every sweet name in the book, princess, my love, angel, beautiful, and would peck you on the cheek when your face flushed in embarrassment

mingi who started leaving tee shirts, hoodies, pairs of boxers scattered around your apartment, always saying he’d pick them up later, always an excuse to come back, not that you’d ever deny him. he would just add to the pile that was quickly growing, throwing his shirts wherever they landed when he walked through your front door, pressing his lips to yours

mingi who would sigh under his breath, a slight groan when your palm ghosted over his jeans, “fuck baby i missed you so much” he’d fuck you slow just as often as he blew your brains out, holding you close to him as he steadily rocked into you, an arm under your back and another holding your head, pressing open mouthed kisses to the column of your neck, “you’re so beautiful, so perfect for me”

mingi who made space for himself in your life, who was comfortable in the routine you two created, never asking for more, never talking about more

mingi who confused you more than anyone ever has in your life

mingi who laughed it off when yunho asked if he was going to make things official with you as you sat around a bonfire, all of your friends and their partners present

mingi who was confused when you stormed off in the house, but didn’t follow you. he was even more confused when you never came back out, damn near lost his mind when you wouldn’t answer his calls

mingi who came over your apartment to see what the fuck was going on just to be met with your pretty, pouting, tear soaked cheeks. he couldn’t help but ease all your worries, whispering praises and soothing words into your ears as he rocked into you, while reminding you all the same that all you ever were to begin with was a friend

you who let the routine reset, allowing him in time and time again, because at the end of the day he was honest, and even if you didn’t have all of him, you had some of him, and that was more than none of him at all

masterlist

i hope i did fwb mingi justice 🫣

[sapphicandgraphic]

Sick As A Dog—Chapter 4

Summary: You’re a dog walker. When your favorite clients notice you’re not feeling well, they insist on taking care of you.

Chapter: 4/? In which we discover the healing powers of Dr. Strange and finally get some clarity on where we stand with WandaNat.

Warnings: Mostly still fluff and sick!fic hurt/comfort with growing sexual tension and KISSING. That’s right. Also some allusions to parental abuse, family trauma, runaway experiences. Reader continues to struggle with accepting help, relying on others, and accepting self-worth.

A/N: Thank you to everyone for reading and commenting and getting in touch to request the next chapter! I’m planning to continue this story since it’s striking a chord with people. If you want to show me some love, please subscribe to my Patreon channel — you can vote on what happens next, and get early access to future chapter updates!

You woke in a warm tangle of flushed skin and heavy limbs. Sunshine was streaming in through the window, casting a bright, buttery column of light across the ceiling. The storm had passed, and you could hear a faint rumble of traffic outside. Horns honking, engines backfiring. For a few delicious, dumbfounded seconds you had no idea where you were—and you didn’t care.

You stretched, trying to shake off the tendrils of feverish discomfort. But as soon as you moved, you felt something tighten around your waist. You frowned in confusion, blinking sleepily as everything came into sharper focus. The blankets. The pillows. The toned arm flung across your stomach. Oh.

“Noooo,” the owner of the arm grumbled. “Too early.”

Lifting the corner of the blanket carefully, you discovered Natasha wedged beside you in the bed. Her face was half-buried in a pillow and she scrunched her nose in displeasure as light streamed into her carefully constructed cave.

“Too bright,” she whined. You felt a crooked smile working its way across your face.

“Someone’s not a morning person,” you said, voice scratchy and low.

On your other side was Wanda, looking composed and elegant and impossibly pretty even in her sleep. Her head was draped protectively across your chest, one leg slotted over your hips like a seatbelt holding you in place.

Most mornings you woke up alone, before the first rays of dawn stretched along the avenues. You had a ritual of sorts, moving through the shadows swiftly, mechanically—rolling out of bed, making coffee, exercising. Your routine had been your lifeline for the last decade, providing structure and stability and refuge. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d slept in so late. It was…really nice. Dangerously nice. Waking up with them felt like coming home.

Before you could examine that thought too deeply, a voice in your head issued an automatic, familiar warning: Don’t get used to it. This was just a one-time thing, you reminded yourself. The lazy grin slipped off your face, the warm, dreamy feeling in your chest fizzling.

Wanda’s eyes fluttered open. Her hand automatically reached up, touching your cheek, your clammy brow. The sensation of her fingers made you shiver. You couldn’t resist leaning in. You turned your head to face her in the same moment that she lifted hers, bringing you close enough to kiss. You froze, locked in the position.

“Morning,” you rasped.

Wanda shifted, bringing her knee up between your legs. Your hips jerked forward at the pressure and you inhaled sharply. Wanda glanced down at your mouth, exercising great restraint as she finally tore her gaze away.

“You’re awake,” she said, giving you a sleepy, sexy smile.

You swallowed thickly.

“When did we decide to have a slumber party?” You asked, trying to ignore the sensation of Wanda’s warm breath on your neck, her hairs tickling your cheek. “Not that I’m complaining...”

Wanda sat up. “You don’t remember?”

Her words made you go completely still, and a low-grade anxiety blossomed in your throat. Wanda noticed the shift in your body language—the tension that took root in your muscles, the way a shadow of doubt flickered across your face.

“Relax,” Wanda instructed gently. She laid the palm of her hand against your chest. Your heartbeat hammered beneath her touch, flighty and too fast. “Deep breath for me.”

You instantly complied, feeling the tightness ease a bit.

“Did I…” you trailed off, not sure how to ask the question. “Shit, did I embarrass myself? Or make you and Nat uncomfortable? I should have just gone back to my place last night. I’m so sorry—“

Sensing your agitation, Nat’s grip on your waist loosened. She finally emerged from the blankets, hair tousled and eyes narrowed in concern. “What’s wrong?”

Wanda sat up straighter, shifting slightly to give you some breathing room.

“You fell asleep downstairs,” she explained. “We put you to bed in here. I decided to…watch you sleep.”

She rushed through that last sentence, becoming a bit flustered. You noticed an adorable pink tint to her cheeks.

“You watched me sleep?” You repeated, unable to resist teasing her just a little bit.

Natasha chuckled, yawning. “Told you it was creepy.”

“It was not creepy!” Wanda insisted, voice a bit higher than normal as she attempted to characterize her actions in the proper light. She buried her face in her hands. “I was just worried about you.”

You softened, reaching out to pull her hands away. “Hey,” you said, smiling as she finally glanced at you. “I’m sure it was creepy in a cute way.”

She glared at you.

“Anyway,” she continued. “Then your fever got worse in the middle of the night.”

You squinted, struggling to follow her version of events.

Natasha reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “What do you remember?”

You frowned, realizing the previous night was rather hazy.

“I remember the movie,” you said. “And then…”

You concentrated. There were vague outlines of other memories: Natasha cradling you against her chest, carrying you up the stairs. Wanda tucking you in.

You felt your breath catch.

“Nat…took me upstairs,” you mumbled, feeling shy. “You tucked me in.”

Wanda smiled. “And then?”

You swallowed. There were a few vivid flashes of horrible dreams intermingled with snatches of real life….everything blended together so seamlessly that you struggled to differentiate what had really happened and what had been a figment of your imagination.

“Nightmares,” you admitted softly, eyes going wide and glassy. A shiver worked its way up your frame.

Natasha scooted closer to you, pulling you halfway into her lap and draping the covers over your shoulders.

“It’s ok,” she murmured, feeling protective.

“Do you remember what they were about?” Wanda asked, careful to keep her voice neutral. She didn’t want to pry, but seeing you so frightened had unsettled her. “They sounded…scary.”

You dipped your head against Nat’s chest, accepting the comfort she was offering. Her heartbeat was steady, soothing.

You had been in your dad’s house, running down the hall. You could hear the heavy fall of his footsteps thundering up the stairs behind you. He was drunk, furious. You had hidden in the closet, cowering behind cardboard boxes—a favored refuge of yours when you were younger. He had appeared in the doorway, shadowy and terrifying.

And then…Wanda’s voice, soft and anchoring, calling you back to the present moment. Wanda’s hands curling around the back of your neck, her forehead pressed against yours, murmured whispers. You’re safe. We’ve got you.

Your cheeks flamed with a mix of humiliation and desperation. It had felt so good to wake up in her arms, to be held like that, to be watched and cared for. But knowing they’d both seen you in such an unguarded state—so pathetic, so weak—made your stomach roil unpleasantly. You disentangled yourself from Natasha, fighting for some semblance of control.

“No,” you lied, hating the way your voice shook slightly. You cleared your throat, grimacing at the sharp pain when you swallowed. “Can’t remember.”

Wanda glanced at her wife, clearly concerned and thoroughly unconvinced. Before she could press the issue, you were peeling back the covers and crawling toward the edge of the bed.

“Sorry you had to deal with that.” Every instinct in your body was telling you to retreat. “I better get dressed. It’s almost noon. I’m sure you have —“

Natasha realized you were shutting down, running way. So she did the only thing she could think to do, and clapped her hands together. “Who wants pancakes?”

The abrupt question caught you off guard. You blinked at her slowly, foggy brain trying to catch up to the shift in conversation.

“Oh, how silly of me,” she said, slapping her palm against her forehead. “Little wolves don’t eat pancakes, do they? Cinnamon rolls, then? Or maybe…French toast?”

You ducked your head, trying to hide the reluctant smile that was fighting its way onto your face.

“Nooooo,” you moaned, glancing at the ceiling. “You don’t have to make me breakfast.”

Oscar raised his head from the foot of the bed, wagging his tail at the sound of his favorite word. You reached out instantly, scratching his ear. Natasha took advantage of your distraction, snaking a hand out to tickle your ribs playfully.

“But it would be cruel and unusual, sending a little starving wolf out into the world on an empty stomach!”

You laughed, squirming away from her and collapsing onto your side. The mattress bounced and Oscar barked happily, entering the fray and licking your face.

“Mercy!” You pled, laughing so hard that you started coughing. “Have mercy!”

In a matter of seconds you wheezing, struggling to catch your breath. Even that minor exertion tired you out. Wanda intervened.

“Enough, Nat,” she said, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you upright, away from the other woman. “No rough-housing! I swear, you’re like a teenager sometimes.”

“I’m fine,” you said as soon as you could speak, hating the matching looks of concern on their faces. Wanda handed you a glass of water from the bedside table, and you took a few grateful sips.

“You’re not fine,” she said. “But you will be.”

Wanda insisted you take a hot shower while Nat got busy in the kitchen. The redhead clapped her hands together again, waggling her eyebrows at you.

“Waffles for the little wolf!” She howled quietly before padding out of sight.

Wanda watched her disappear with an expression halfway between exasperated and besotted. Then she extended a hand, pulling you gently out of the bed.

“Come on, detka,” she murmured. “The steam will make you feel better.”

She was right. You stepped out of the bathroom about ten minutes later feeling marginally refreshed, the pressure in your head and chest lessened. Wanda watched as you toweled off, laying out a fresh set of clothes. Oscar started barking downstairs and the doorbell rang.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, giving you one last lingering look before she disappeared into the hallway. The heat from her gaze made your skin tingle. It almost looked like she wanted to eat you alive.

Whoa, where did that come from? A furious blush worked its way up your chest and neck. You buried your face in the damp towel with a groan, trying to forget the feeling of her leg pressed between yours, the traitorous way your hips had bucked against her firm thigh.

Once you were dressed, you hung your towel up on the hook in the bathroom and then sank onto the edge of the bed. This was partially out of obedience (Wanda had told you to wait here) and partially out of exhaustion. The shower had wiped you out again.

Downstairs you could hear Wanda speaking faintly, and then an unfamiliar voice—a deep baritone. A few moments later, there were footsteps on the stairs. The sound reminded you of your dream, and you pushed down an anxious shudder as the door to the bedroom swung open.

Wanda reappeared. She smiled gently, happy to find you right where she’d left you. A tall pale man with a dark beard lingered in the doorway. A stethoscope was draped around his shoulders.

“This must be the patient?” His eyes glittered with curiosity. Wanda nodded.

“This is Dr. Strange,” Wanda told you. “He’s a friend of mine and Nat’s, and an excellent physician.”

You raised a weary hand in greeting. The man in the doorway regarded you for a long moment, then closed the distance between you in a few efficient strides.

He knelt, opening a small leather medical bag, and retrieved a thermometer. As he started his exam, Natasha wandered back into the bedroom. She leaned against the far wall, watching the doctor silently.

“Symptoms?”

“I’m fine,” you said, wincing as he placed the thermometer in your ear. “Just feeling a little under the weather.”

Wanda rolled her eyes. “She has a fever, a cough, muscle aches, sore throat, and that’s just the symptoms I’ve been able to observe so far.”

Strange snorted. “That explains why you look like death warmed over.”

Your legs and arms pulsed dully with a persistent ache, and a throbbing pain had started to manifest again at the base of your skull. Still, you shot the man a weak glare.

“Nice bedside manner,” you growled.

“Thanks.” His lips quirked upward, clearly delighted at the barb. “It’s taken me years to perfect.”

The thermometer beeped and he glanced at the readout. “102.6,” he said, frowning. “Quite high.”

He reached toward you, palpating his fingers gently against your throat. You flinched. He noticed. “Does that hurt?”

You glanced at Wanda, hating to see worry shining in her eyes, then Natasha, who gave you an encouraging smile.

“Don’t look at them,” Strange said bluntly. “You need to be honest with me.”

You pressed your lips into a stubborn line, not wanting to cause more problems. But then you relented, nodding once.

He donned the stethoscope and pressed the diaphragm against your chest. “Breathe in,” he instructed. “And out.”

You did as you were told. In the silence, you watched Wanda. You noticed the little crease in the middle of her forehead, the way she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying the soft pink flesh. You gave her a lopsided smile, and even mouthed the words totally fine.

She rolled her eyes in exasperation at your antics, and you realized it was a look eerily similar to the one she’d given Nat earlier. The thought made your heart stutter in your chest.

Finally, Strange rocked back on his heels, giving you an appraising look. “You’re fighting off a pretty nasty viral infection,” he said. “Something’s going around the city right now. Fever, muscle aches, cough, it all tracks. But I’m worried about your chest—there’s a rattle in your lungs, a shortness of breath. Could get worse if you’re not careful.“

You opened your mouth—to disagree, to argue, you weren’t sure—but Strange lifted his hand, silencing you. “I’m not finished.”

Your mouth snapped closed. The doctor quirked an eyebrow, relishing the dramatic pause.

“You’re also,” he added, jabbing an accusatory finger against your chest. “Very dehydrated.”

“Ouch,” you muttered resentfully, rubbing the spot on your sternum.

Wanda crossed her arms, clearly disliking this news. “What can we do?”

Strange sighed as he considered the options. “I can give her an IV,” he said. “Replenish her fluids and her electrolytes.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before Wanda was nodding her head. “Do it.”

He bowed sarcastically. “Yes, ma’am.”

Wanda smiled sheepishly. “Sorry,” she said, reaching out and fiddling with the hood of your sweater. “Is that alright with you? I just hate seeing you like this.”

You felt that familiar tug in your chest as the other woman stared at you, eyes brimming with an enormous unspoken affection. You couldn’t help but feel unworthy, undeserving of such kindness.

“‘Course,” you said sheepishly.

Strange glanced from Wanda to Natasha and then back to you, an unnerving expression on his face. “How did you say you knew each other?”

“I’m their…dog walker,” you said, feeling a hot flush of embarrassment lick its way up your throat.

Nat watched you carefully, noticing the way you swayed toward Wanda, like a flower seeking the sunshine. Only to freeze up at Strange’s question, relegating yourself to something small and unimportant. The second you started to retreat, to withdraw, she intervened.

“She’s more than that,” Natasha corrected, fixing you with a stern look that dared you to contradict this clarification.

You ducked your head.

“Fascinating,” Strange said, closing his medical bag with a snap. “Let me run out to my car and get my equipment. I’ll be right back.”

As soon as he was gone, Wanda joined you on the bed. You leaned against her shoulder instinctively, gazing across the room at Natasha. For a beat, the three of you regarded one another silently. Then…

“Do you really believe that?” The question slipped out before you could stop it. Being ill had worn you down, shredded your normally strong defenses. “I’m more?”

Wanda turned to face you. Her hands covered yours, her fingers drawing random shapes over your palms. You realized she was nervous.

“You’re so much more.”

You felt an impossible swell of hope and longing in your chest. It was almost painful.

“You’re just saying that because we slept together last night.” You meant it as a joke, hoping to cut the tension. But the air seemed to thicken even more. Wanda settled her hand on your thigh.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Wanda asked, voice soft. “How we feel about you?”

You drew in a shaky breath, refusing to let yourself believe they could possibly be interested in you like that.

“You feel sorry for me,” you guessed, dreading the confirmation that would shatter the fragile magic of the past 24 hours. You didn’t belong, you never belonged.

Then you felt soft fingers under your chin and you braced yourself for the terrible kindness that would no doubt be painted across Wanda’s pretty face as she let you down easy. But when you looked up, it wasn’t Wanda. It was Nat. She had crossed the room and crouched between your legs, staring at you with something fierce, something furious in her expression.

“How could you think that?” She asked, her voice a low, loving growl. You blinked hard, suddenly fighting back tears.

“We’re from different worlds, Nat,” you shrugged, breath hitching at the raw confession. “I’m not used to…”

You trailed off, gesturing at the air between you. Not used to what, Natasha wondered, half-afraid to hear the answer. Kindness? Love? Comfort? Each possibility broke her heart more than the last.

But Wanda nodded, sensing you were close to articulating something important. She squeezed your hand, encouraging you to keep going.

“But I love being here,” you whispered, terrified at how true the words rang. “When I woke up this morning, I felt so safe, like I was right where I’m supposed to be.”

Natasha traced her thumb over your jawline, hanging on your every word. “What are you so afraid of, little wolf?

Now that you had started to talk, your true feelings came rushing to the surface, spilling out in a rush of honesty and desperate surrender.

“I’m scared of how good I feel when we’re together,” you said. “Scared of wanting too much, getting greedy, and then…having it taken away.“

“You deserve to be greedy,” Wanda sighed, threading her fingers through your hair. “You deserve to feel safe, to be taken care of, to feel like you belong.”

“And you do belong,” Natasha added, gripping your chin firmly between her fingers. “Right here. With us.”

Your eyes fluttered shut at the claim, the possessive touch. Your head was spinning.

“What if you change your mind, realize I’m not worth it?” Your voice was barely a whisper now, eyes still closed like you couldn’t bear the answer. “That I’m too much, too messy, too broken—?”

“Impossible,” Natasha said, cutting you off firmly.

“You’re not broken, milaya,” Wanda breathed, leaning forward and resting her forehead against yours. “Whoever told you that was…sorely mistaken.”

You cast around for another argument, another evasion. But you found it harder and harder to resist the comfort they were offering, the acceptance in their expressions so open and honest. Gradually, the stiffness receded from your shoulders.

“Okay,” you sighed, curling closer to them both. “Okay.”

Natasha smiled, feeling the tension seep out of you. “Good girl,” she breathed, relief flooding her chest.

And in an instant, something shifted. Wanda’s eyes fluttered open, catching yours. All that vulnerability was still pooled around you like gasoline, and those two words were a match, catalyzing the dynamic. You could tell they both sensed it in the way they shifted closer to you, gripped you just a little bit tighter.

You licked your lips, entranced by the feeling of Wanda’s warm breath against your cheek, Nat’s gentle touch on your jaw.

“So good,” Wanda sighed in agreement with her wife, eyes darting down to your mouth. Your breath caught in your throat as those words washed over you again, the praise lighting up something desperate and beautiful in the very core of your being. They both watched, transfixed, as their claim stoked the fire, heating you up from the inside out.

Then, moving slow, giving you plenty of time to pull away, Wanda closed the distance between you, brushing her lips against yours. The kiss was impossibly soft and warm. At first you didn’t move, afraid to shatter the moment. Then you turned your head slightly, giving her better access. She sighed against you.

“Been wanting to do that all day,” she whispered. You could feel the shy curve of her smile where your lips met.

Wanda wanted to lean in even closer, but she paused, fighting to keep her own desires in check, needing to make sure you were ok. Natasha watched, hardly daring to breathe as her wife swayed back just a fraction, searching your face, saying your name softly. You didn’t respond, and her eyebrows knitted together in concern.

“Are you—“

You rocked forward, claiming Wanda’s lips again, interrupting whatever question she had been about to ask. The only thing you cared about was this moment, and making sure it never ended. You felt Natasha’s hand drop away from your face, moving to the back of your neck, guiding you, supporting you.

“Our perfect girl,” she said softly, the edges of her voice roughened by desire. “So fucking pretty when you let us take care of you.”

You whined, tearing yourself away from Wanda and gripping Natasha’s shirt. You were desperate to feel them both, to soothe the awful ache in your chest, the emptiness that suddenly seemed like it could only be filled by belonging to them. You pulled her onto the bed. She didn’t resist, pushing you backward, her strong arms bracketing either side of your head.

This kiss was different, messier. Where Wanda was tender and careful, Natasha crashed into you. She licked against your lips, seeking entry into the warm cavern of your mouth. You opened for her immediately, arching up into the hot, wet feeling. Her hand skated up along your ribs, your chest, your neck. You moaned in surprise when she bit you, pain blooming along your lower lip.

“Nat,” Wanda warned, pushing her wife off you like she was a wild animal. She muttered something in Russian. “Be gentle, she doesn’t feel good.”

“Yes, please be careful with my patient,” Dr. Strange said dryly. He had reappeared in the doorway holding an IV and a needle kit. “She requires rest and rehydration, not…whatever this is.”

Natasha blushed, pulling away from you and standing up in one smooth motion. You missed her instantly, craving the warm, rough feel of her hands on your body. She reached out, tangling her fingers in your hair before giving you a wink.

“I’m going to check on the waffles,” she announced, wiping her mouth delicately and then shoving her hands in her pockets.

Wanda helped settle you back in the bed, arranging the pillows and pulling the blanket up over your legs. You leaned against the headboard, sinking down into the soft sheets.

In a few swift motions, Strange had set up the IV drip and inserted the needle in your arm. He was surprisingly gentle. You barely felt a thing. Wanda hovered nearby, watching the entire process hawkishly.

“This should help her rest,” he explained. “And I’ll write her a script, something to bring down the fever.”

“Thanks,” Wanda said. “Stay for breakfast? Natasha’s —“

“Making waffles,” he interrupted drily. “Yes, I heard. Sounds lovely.”

She swatted him on the shoulder and he ducked out of the room, heading downstairs to give Natasha more grief.

“Wanda?” You mumbled blearily. “Gonna fall asleep.”

She smiled. “I’ll be right here.”

“Creepy,” you sighed, eyes drifting shut. “But cute.”

She rolled her eyes, running a hand over your forehead. “Brat.”

“Yours,” you added softly just before drifting off. And you had never meant anything more in your life.

Taglist: @boowhobabe @lizziescutiepie @lizzieslover129 @tvseries-writings @natascharomanoff21 @marvelwomen-simp @loverluzer @tomy5girls @annya05xtreme @unholyhelbig @lesbianexistence @upsidedowndanvers s @eatingouturmomrn @tobeawriter98

[nizhspo]

pairing: megumi fushiguro x gn!reader

synopsis: he answers every call with “fushiguro,” but it’s never cold when it’s you.

content: fluff, established relationship.

he’s been doing it since before you started dating.

honestly, he was doing it before you even liked him.

the first time you ever called his phone, you were just trying to get ahold of nobara. she’d borrowed your charger and forgot to bring it back to school, and somehow her phone was dead and yuji had left his at home. megumi was your last resort. reluctantly, you punched in the number nobara gave you and hit call.

he answered on the second ring. “fushiguro.”

just like that. no hello. no who’s this. just that low, steady tone, his last name sliding out like a sigh, flat and functional. and maybe you were just sleep-deprived and bored in class, but something about it made you grin.

“…okay, government name,” you murmured, twirling your pen. “you always answer like that?”

there was a pause, like he hadn’t expected you to ask. “…yeah?”

you heard the tiniest edge of confusion in his voice. like how else are you supposed to answer the phone? and it made you giggle.

you told him why you were calling. he sighed. and the next day, your charger was sitting on your desk before homeroom with a note scribbled on the sticky pad: returning this under nobara’s orders.

you’d smiled at that too.

the second time you heard it, you were calling him on purpose.

you’d been partnered for a senior project—megumi was smart, quiet, always on time, which meant you had no reason to complain, but you did need to figure out when to meet.

it was late. you called his number without thinking too hard about it.

“fushiguro.”

this time, you were ready.

“hi, fushiguro,” you said sweetly, “this is your project partner. gojo’s favorite student. miss me?”

there was a very long pause. “…we saw each other four hours ago.”

“it was a very long four hours without my favorite lab partner?”

he groaned, probably dragging a hand down his face. “what do you want.”

“a time and place, fushiguro. because you couldn’t give me proper ones in school, either.”

“you’re the most annoying person i’ve ever met.”

“you say that,” you replied cheerfully, “but you still answered on the first ring.”

the third time? well, you were officially his girlfriend.

it’d been three months. he walked you to class every morning. carried your bag when you were tired. waited outside the gym after volleyball practice, even when he swore the smell of sweat from standing next to the door to the football locker room made him lightheaded. sometimes, he’d hand you a cold drink without saying a word, like he could sense you needed it before you even asked.

but he still answered the phone like he was taking a work call in a corporate office.

you proved your point on a random thursday.

you were in his room, sprawled out on his bed, legs kicking gently against the comforter. he was sitting cross-legged at his desk, earbuds in, focused on some physics homework you were actively avoiding.

you called his phone. from five feet away.

he glanced at the screen. rolled his eyes. answered anyway.

“fushiguro.”

you nearly choked trying not to laugh.

he glanced over his shoulder, unamused. “really?”

“i’m just saying,” you said, pushing up on your elbows. “you’re literally my boyfriend. and you answer like you’re screening for telemarketers.”

he didn’t respond. just turned back to his worksheet.

so you got up. padded over. stood behind him with one hand on your hip and the other curved into the “call me” sign.

you cleared your throat, then in your best impression of his voice:

“fushiguro.”

he let out the deepest sigh of his life.

but he was smiling. just barely, and you caught it.

and when you leaned down and hugged him from behind, pressing your cheek to his, he didn’t pull away. just leaned into it. let your arms wrap tight around his chest. your voice teasing, soft by his ear.

“you’re such a weirdo,” you whispered.

he shrugged. “still answered your call,” one hand coming up to rest lazily on your forearm like he wasn’t thinking about it. like it was just instinct now. “besides—takes one to date one,” he muttered back, lips curling barely at the edge.

you grinned. shifted to press your cheek to his, voice low. “you know you love me.”

he didn’t look at you. didn’t say anything right away. just nodded. slow. certain.

“mmhm. always will.”

and your chest did that annoying little flutter thing you could never seem to stop around him.

[himasgod]

HIII I SAW YOU HAVE REQUESTS OPEN AND I WANTED TO REQUEST :>>

idon't know if your comfortable with this but can i request twst 2nd years (replace kalim with leona) and what they do if their s/o is gone?

their s/o is dead so i wonder how they would mourn, how they take care of their s/o's grave, and how they cope without them?

i don't know if you accept requests like these but if you do then THANK YOU SO SO SOOO MUCH IN ADVANCE 🙏💕

SECOND YEARS + LEONA X READER

Where you died

How the boys would live the mourning process, how they take care of your grave, and how they cope without your death, with a live without you

Warning: This is hard angst. If you're a very perceptive person who visualizes a lot or empathizes with what you read, be prepared for a bit of a tear.

Leona acts like he doesn’t care. At first. But deep down, he’s unraveled. He doesn’t cry in front of anyone. He shuts down. He sleeps even more, not out of laziness— because he can only see you in dreams now. There’s a rawness behind his eyes when your name is mentioned, but he covers it with silence. He avoids people because he hates how they look at him—with pity, like they expect him to break. He already did. Just not where anyone could see it.

Leona visits your grave late at night, always when no one's around. He doesn’t bring flowers. Instead, he sits in silence, talking to you about the mundane. “Ruggie got on my case again. Jack pissed me off.” Things like that. Sometimes, he brings pebbles from Savannaclaw and stacks them on your grave. Small tokens that only he would understand. He leaves when the sun starts to rise. Always before anyone can catch him there.

Leona tells himself it’s better this way—that he was only going to ruin you in the end. That you were too good for him. But that doesn’t stop the grief from choking him. He keeps something small of yours—a ring, a scarf, maybe a notebook with your handwriting. On bad days, he holds it so tightly his knuckles turn white. He doesn’t move on. He just becomes colder, harsher. Your loss is the scar he never lets heal.

Riddle shuts down entirely. He doesn't cry—not at first. He goes numb. Rules become his lifeline. Structure. Order. Anything but feeling. But when he finds the last gift you gave him, tucked in a drawer, unopened—he collapses. He screams into his pillow. Breaks a teacup in his hands. Grief terrifies him because it's messy—and Riddle was taught to fear mess.

Riddle brings roses. Red, white, and blue—each carefully arranged. He memorizes the upkeep schedule of your grave, ensuring it’s spotless at all times. He even files complaints if the groundskeepers neglect it. When he visits, he reads aloud to you—poetry, or books you once loved. His voice is quiet. On your birthday, he always brings your favorite tea and pours a cup beside your grave. He doesn’t drink. Just… waits, in case you’re still listening.

Riddle reverts into old habits—strict routines, harsh punishments, stricter rules. But Trey knows. He sees the way Riddle’s hands shake. Eventually, Riddle softens—just a little. He keeps your photo on his desk, and he sometimes writes letters addressed to you, even though he never sends them. He studies healing magic obsessively. Not because he wants to bring you back—he knows he can’t. But because he never wants to lose someone like that again. You were his exception. His rebellion. His first real love. And he never quite recovers.

Floyd doesn’t react the way people expect. He laughs when he hears the news—but it’s not happy. It’s empty. Then he gets violent. He wrecks an entire hallway, shattering windows and breaking anything that reminds him of you. Then… he’s just gone. He withdraws so deeply into himself that not even Jade or Azul can reach him. He stops showing up to class. Stops smiling. The spark in his eyes is just gone. He mutters your name to himself like a lullaby.

Floyd doesn’t go often. When he does, it’s erratic. One day he’s calm, sitting by your grave with seashells and pearls he found. The next, he’s yelling at the sky, sobbing, asking why you left him alone. He presses his forehead to your headstone sometimes and just stays there for hours. Then he leaves, mood unreadable, but always more exhausted than before.

Floyd changes. He becomes moodier, but not in his usual way. He loses interest in his usual chaos. You were the one who made the world interesting, after all. He keeps something of yours in his jacket—maybe your old hairpin or bracelet—and clutches it when he’s angry or lost. When people ask about you, he snaps: “Don’t talk about them. Ever.” Sometimes, though, he swears he hears your laughter. And for a fleeting second, he smiles like he used to.

Silver is devastated, and it shows. He’s always been calm and emotionally steady, but your death shakes him to his core. He loses his rhythm—his duty falters, his naps grow deeper and longer. He wakes up crying from dreams where you’re still alive, only to remember you’re gone. His voice is softer now, as if anything louder might shatter him. He carries guilt. “Why couldn’t I protect you?” is a question that haunts him endlessly.

Silver visits your grave with quiet reverence. He brushes fallen leaves off the headstone with his hands, tends to the flowers, and replaces them often with lilies or whatever blooms you once loved. He kneels when he speaks to you, as if he still guards you even in death. He reads aloud fairytales you liked, letting the wind carry his words to wherever you might be. Silver doesn't rush. He stays until the stars come out. And sometimes he sleeps there. It's the closest he'll ever get to falling asleep cuddled up with you again.

Silver keeps a locket with your photo, tucked inside his shirt near his heart. He often touches it absentmindedly when lost in thought. Lilia, Sebek and Malleus worry about him, and while he remains gentle with them, there’s a sadness behind his smile. Silver believes you’re watching over him—so he tries to live a life you’d be proud of. It hurts. But that belief keeps him moving, one step at a time.

Ruggie pretends he’s okay. He makes jokes, forces a grin, but those who know him well notice the cracks—he laughs less, steals less, works more. He throws himself into being useful cause if he stops moving, the grief catches up. The first time he’s alone after your funeral, he breaks down hard. Punches a wall. Screams into his jacket. It’s the only time he lets himself fall apart.

Ruggie doesn’t visit often at first—not because he doesn’t care, but because it hurts too much. When he does, he always brings something: your favorite snack, some charm from the Sunset Savanna, a scrap of cloth from a hoodie you loved. He never stays long. Just stands there, hands in his pockets, voice low: “Hey… bet you’re still yelling at me from wherever you are. I can hear it.… I miss it.”

Ruggie becomes fiercely protective of the few people he has left. He values life more now, but laughs a little less. He keeps your last voice message in Magicam saved and listens to it sometimes under the covers at night. When he sees something you would’ve loved at the market, he stops and stares for a moment—then keeps walking. The pain never really fades. But he carries it like everything else: close to his chest, never letting it show unless he’s completely alone.

Azul is shattered, but he tries to intellectualize it. He tries to convince himself that grief can be processed in logical steps, denial, anger, bargaining. But that doesn’t stop him from breaking down in private, clutching the edge of his desk until his knuckles turn blue, trying to breathe through the panic of a world without you. He continues running the Mostro Lounge like nothing’s wrong. His smile is still polished. But behind the scenes? Azul can’t look at your favorite seat in the lounge without feeling like he’s drowning.

Azul dresses impeccably every time he visits your grave. It becomes a ritual He brings white roses, and small trinkets he made with his own hands. He kneels, brushing dust from your name. Sometimes his voice breaks. Sometimes he just sits in silence and lets the tears fall.

Azul spirals into overwork. He tries to fill the void you left with achievements, contracts—anything. But nothing is enough. He keeps your photo in the drawer of his desk, opens it during long nights, and murmurs to it like you’re still there. Jade and Floyd know. They say nothing, but keep a close eye on him. Azul never quite recovers. He simply learns how to live with a heart that echoes where your voice used to be.

Jamil becomes frighteningly quiet. His grief is organized, sharp, disciplined—he doesn’t lash out, but everything about him becomes colder. Internally, he’s drowning in guilt. He feels responsible somehow. He replays everything over and over, looking for what he missed. He doesn’t cry in front of others. But late at night, he folds your old letters and clothes, tears soaking into his palms.

Jamil treats your grave like a shrine. Every week, he brings fresh desert roses, cleans the stone, and places small food offerings from his own cooking—your favorites, made exactly the way you liked them. He never talks to you there. Instead, he meditates in silence beside the grave. Maybe he believes the words are already in his heart, or maybe it just hurts too much to speak them aloud.

Jamil becomes obsessed with control—over his routine, his environment, his emotions. He starts studying harder, sleeping less, doing more. But it’s all a way to avoid facing the pain. He wears a bracelet you once gave him and never takes it off. On the anniversary of your death, he disappears from everyone for a full day. Only Kalim knows where he goes—and he never asks questions. Jamil's grief is silent, disciplined, and buried deep. But it never leaves him.

Kalim doesn't understand it at first. He smiles, thinking you'll come through the door like always, calling his name. The reality doesn't hit until days later—when your laugh no longer echoes, when your perfume fades from his robes. Then he breaks. Not in fury, in grief so raw it silences even him. He curls up in bed, weeping into your favorite pillow, begging for it to be a dream

Kalim visits every week, rain or shine. He brings lavish flower arrangements, little handmade crafts, and occasionally food—things he learned to cook because you liked them. He talks a lot while sitting by your grave. Sometimes he cries. Other times, he smiles while telling stories, like he’s making sure your spirit is still included in his life.

Kalim throws himself into making others smile. If he can’t be happy, at least someone else can be. But deep down, there’s a hollowness. He wears a ring you once gave him—tells people it’s “for luck,” but it’s really a promise he’s trying to keep: To never forget you. Jamil ends up watching over him more carefully than ever. Kalim still laughs, still shines, but there’s a sadness behind it that never quite goes away

Jade’s grief is clinical, almost surgical in how neatly he tucks it away from others. No one sees him cry. No one sees him falter. He mourns in silence, in isolation. He’ll continue his duties, serve in the Lounge, smile with those sharp teeth—but inside, he’s completely quietly broken. His calm becomes eerie because there’s no balance anymore. Not without you.

Jade visits your grave with ritualistic precision. Once a month, on the same day, at the same time. He brings rare mushrooms, a flower you loved... He speaks rarely, if at all. He stays until nightfall, then vanishes like he was never there.

Jade becomes more elusive. Even Floyd can’t always read him. Jade starts going into deeper and more dangerous places, almost like he’s looking for something he lost. He keeps your memory alive through action—keeping what you loved alive in the world. But he never talks about you unless someone dares to ask… and if they do, he just smiles. A sad, secret smile. “You wouldn’t understand.”

[paxaz535]

CONTROL (4)

reader x nika x paige x azzi

azzi and paige’s turn to get manhandled

It was organized chaos.

Cameras being set up, makeup artists bustling around with powder brushes and blotting sheets, stylists fixing jersey collars and touching up edge control. The lighting rigs were hot, the hallways buzzed with chatter, and CD was somewhere yelling about timing and media windows.

You stood against a backdrop with Azzi, both of you in full uniform, arms crossed and flashing the same easy grin for the camera. She leaned close when the shutter clicked, whispering something about how good your ass looked in the shorts. You stepped on her foot—lightly. She grinned wider.

A few shots later, you were all shuffled toward the interview room.

It was simple: each player would sit down, one at a time, and answer questions for a “behind-the-scenes” segment UConn’s media team was shooting for fans. Just fun little stuff.

But with how tense everything had been lately—tense in the wettest, filthiest, horniest way imaginable—this was a test of pure will.

First up: Paige.

She sat in the chair, looking effortlessly calm. A media guy clipped a mic to her jersey.

“So, Paige. How’s the team chemistry this year?”

She smirked. “Unreal. Like… maybe the best it’s ever been.”

“Anyone you’ve grown closest to?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Azzi. She’s my person.”

You saw Azzi bite her lip off to the side.

Paige added, “But, like, in a teammate way of course.”

The media guy chuckled. “Sure.”

Next up: Nika.

Nika slouched in the chair, arms draped over her thighs, her expression unreadable behind sleepy eyes.

“Nika, describe the vibe on this year’s roster in one word.”

She thought for a second. “Dangerous.”

“Why?”

She grinned. “Because we all got something to prove. And some of us are…” She glanced toward you, slow and heated. “A little extra competitive.”

“Is there a player who pushes you the most?”

She licked her lips. “Yeah. [Your name]. We’re always trying to outdo each other. It’s fun.”

You flushed. Paige raised a brow.

Then came Azzi.

She sat with perfect posture, hands in her lap, that sweet smile she always had on during media days.

“Azzi, what’s been your favorite part of this season so far?”

Her eyes flicked toward the group watching.

“Late nights. On the road. We’ve had some good bonding.”

“Any teammates you’ve bonded with most?”

She smiled like butter wouldn’t melt. “Honestly? [Your name], Paige and Nika. We’ve been spending a lot of time together.”

The interviewer nodded, writing something on his clipboard.

“Off the court?” he asked.

Azzi blinked. “Yeah. Especially off the court.”

Your turn.

They called you up last.

You sat down, adjusting the mic on your jersey, trying not to think about all the eyes on you—especially the three pairs currently boring into your soul.

“Okay,” the interviewer smiled. “First question. Who’s the biggest flirt on the team?”

You almost choked. “Um…”

He waited.

“…Probably Nika,” you admitted. “But like… it’s not really flirting if it’s mutual, right?”

You heard Nika laugh off-camera.

“Interesting,” he said. “And who’s most likely to get you in trouble?”

You paused, smiling. “That’d be Paige. No hesitation.”

She raised her eyebrows but didn’t deny it.

“And Azzi?”

You looked at her—then down at your lap, biting your smile.

“She’s the one who makes it worth the trouble.”

Azzi’s cheeks turned pink.

The media guy blinked. “Okay. This is… good content.”

“Glad to help,” you said sweetly.

He wrapped it up with a few general questions, but by the time you were unhooked from the mic and walking off set, all three girls were already waiting for you.

Nika leaned into your ear. “I liked what you said about me.”

Azzi brushed her hand against yours. “Was that a compliment?”

Paige just looked you up and down. “You’re lucky we’re still on camera.”

You licked your lips. Gosh, you loved them so much.

-

The restaurant was dimly lit, buzzing with quiet chatter and the occasional clink of silverware. The four of you sat at a tucked-away corner table, plates half-finished and drinks slowly drained. Paige was leaned back in her chair, one arm slung over Azzi’s, while Nika’s hand rested lazily on your thigh beneath the table. Everything felt relaxed. Too relaxed.

Until she showed up.

A girl, maybe early twenties, clearly not from the team. She hesitated for a second by the hostess stand before making a beeline straight to your table. Tall, cute, clearly excited. But her eyes were only on Azzi.

“Hi, oh my God—sorry to interrupt,” the girl said breathlessly, already pulling her phone from her back pocket. “Are you Azzi Fudd?”

Azzi blinked. You felt Paige’s hand twitch against the table.

“Uh, yeah,” Azzi said, trying to be polite.

“I just—I’m such a huge fan. Seriously. You’re amazing. Do you mind if we take a quick picture?”

You watched as Azzi smiled—genuine, a little shy—and nodded. “Of course, that’s fine.”

The girl moved to Azzi’s side, standing a little too close. Her hip pressed against Azzi’s arm as she leaned in. “You’re even prettier in person,” she said, low like it wasn’t meant to be heard.

It was meant to be heard.

Your jaw ticked. Paige sat forward. Nika’s hand on your thigh clenched.

“Smile!” the girl chirped, snapping the photo.

You didn’t smile. Paige didn’t blink. Nika licked her bottom lip, visibly annoyed.

The girl didn’t even acknowledge the rest of you. Didn’t thank Azzi before walking away, phone already open to scroll through the photo she’d just taken.

Azzi sat back down, a little stunned. “Well… that was something.”

You leaned in slightly. “She didn’t even look at the rest of us.”

“She flirted,” Paige muttered, murder in her voice. “Right in front of us.”

“She touched your girl,” Nika added, her eyes still on Azzi. “That’s crazy.”

Azzi tried to laugh it off, but it was awkward now. Tense.

“I didn’t do anything,” she defended lightly, her eyes wide.

“You didn’t stop her either,” Paige said, not looking at her.

You tilted your head. “You liked the attention a little too much, huh?”

Azzi’s brows raised. “Wait, are y’all seriously mad?”

Nika leaned in close, her voice low and dangerous. “We’re not mad, baby.”

Paige smirked. “We’re going to show you what happens when someone thinks they can touch what’s ours.”

Your stomach flipped. Azzi visibly swallowed.

And she knew.

She was in for it tonight.

-

That night, back at the hotel, Azzi was the first to be pinned.

Literally.

You had her wrists bound to the headboard with Nika’s hoodie. Paige was between her legs, teasing the strap over her soaked folds but not giving her anything. Nika sat at her side, brushing her fingers down her ribs, her voice low and taunting.

“Oh, but she was just a fan, right?” Nika murmured, licking a stripe up Azzi’s neck. “Did she get you this wet?”

“She—she didn’t—” Azzi stammered, hips twitching up toward Paige’s hand.

You leaned over, close to her face, voice teasing but with an edge of control. “She touched you like she could take you from us. That pisses me off, Az.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Azzi breathed.

“Exactly,” Paige added. “You let her.”

And then Paige slammed her hips forward, burying the strap in deep, and Azzi cried out, fingers curling against the sleeves tied around her wrists. She was already close, and you could tell. Nika could too—she reached between them, pressing a small bullet vibe right against Azzi’s clit.

You leaned back, watching her unravel.

“Let’s see how many times she can come before she remembers who she belongs to,” you said softly.

⸻

Azzi was shaking after the third orgasm. Legs trembling, stomach clenching, her voice broken and ragged.

“Please—please, I’m sorry,” she whispered.

But none of you stopped.

Paige thrust deeper. You flicked the bullet up to its highest setting. Nika kissed her mouth open and sloppy.

Azzi screamed as she came again—harder this time, squirting all over Paige’s stomach and the sheets below her.

You were relentless. No one said stop.

“You like this don’t you, baby?” You asked her as her legs shook. She nodded viscously, her face filled with pleasure. “Let me fuck her, P.” Nika spoke as she waited for Paige to take off the strap.

Paige pulled out, making Azzi whimper from the loss of contact and watched as Nika pulled it over her. The brunette held eye contacts with Azzi, watching her bite her lip in enjoyment.

“Let’s see if you can squirt for me, pretty.” Azzi moaned at the words, her legs spreading even wider. You chuckled, “Oh she loves this shit.”

Paige looked at you with a smirk, before bending down and kissing Azzi on her lips. Nika slipped it in and Azzi’s moan was muffled by Paige’s mouth. You were lying down next to Azzi, pinching her nipples.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” Nika moaned as she grabbed onto her hips and pounded into her. “Mmm— shit!” Azzi moaned as she put her hand on Nika’s stomach.

Nika quickly slapped it away, “Stop running, take it.” Azzi squealed, tears sprinkling down her face. “It’s so fucking big— fuck!”

“Yeah?” Paige asked as she rubbed Azzi clit. The curly head nodded, eyes rolling back as Nika continued to pound in her.

You put your hand on Azzi’s lower stomach and felt the strap, eyes widening. “I can feel it, she’s deep.” Azzi screamed, the pressure making it feel even better.

“Fuck, i’m gonna come—“

“Let it out baby, make a mess on Nika.” Paige spoke in her ear as she continued to rub Azzi.

Azzi legs shook, her back arching off the bed. “Mhmm— okay! okay—“

Nika pulled out as she seen Azzi’s stream of wetness squirt onto her stomach, her grin on her face. “Shit, that was hot.”

By the time you all stopped, Azzi was boneless. Red-faced, soaked, hair stuck to her forehead. Her thighs still spasming every time you touched her.

Nika smirked. “Still thinking about your little fan?”

Azzi didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Her mouth opened but no sound came.

You kissed her gently then. “Next time, say no to strangers.”

-

It was finally time to head back, and you were excited to return to the comfort of your own home. You missed your bed, your kitchen, your couch. The hotel had been fun—really fun—but you were more than ready to leave.

“Dang, I feel bad for whoever gets this room next,” Paige teased as she zipped up her suitcase.

You snorted, already knowing what she meant.

“They should be happy,” Nika chimed in from behind you, her big, soft hands gripping your thighs as you sat contentedly in her lap. Her fingers slid along the inside of your legs, a lazy rhythm that made your body ache. “We’ve blessed this room with our presence.”

Azzi walked out of the bathroom holding a Ziploc of her toiletries. “I feel bad for housekeeping. Look what I did last night.” She pointed down at the carpet, where a very obvious dark patch sat near the edge of the bed.

Everyone glanced at it.

“Ha, I was the cause of that,” Nika said smugly, licking her lips.

Azzi rolled her eyes, not even entertaining it.

“Actually that was me, twin. Let’s not,” Paige challenged as she crossed her arms.

Nika didn’t respond—just hit her with a flat, “Shhh,” and continued rubbing your thighs. She already knew better than to go back and forth with Paige when it came to competition. That battle never ended.

Paige laughed and flopped back onto the bed, legs spread wide, hands behind her head like she owned the place.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then—

“Y’all think we can get one more in before it’s time to go?”

Everyone turned to you.

You blinked at them innocently, trying to hide your grin.

Paige sat up immediately. “I thought you’d never ask.”

⸻

The ride back had been calm. Sleepy. Paige drove. Azzi dozed in the back with her head on your shoulder, and Nika rested her chin in your lap. Everyone was tired, but satisfied. You didn’t end up going again at the hotel—time got tight, someone forgot to charge the toy—but you’d promised to make it up later.

That night, one of the players hosted a casual postgame party in her apartment. Just a few drinks, good music, and people standing around in crop tops and tight sweats, showing off abs like it was nothing. You stuck close to your group, mostly tucked between Azzi and Nika while Paige leaned on the counter, beer in hand.

That’s when it happened.

She came out of nowhere—a girl from the opposing team, tall, beautiful, and clearly tipsy. She walked right up to Paige and didn’t hesitate. Ran her eyes down Paige’s arms, then her legs. Laid a hand gently on her bicep.

“Damn,” the girl said. “If I were your girl, I’d never let you leave the house in those shorts.”

You froze.

Nika looked up slowly, one brow raised. Azzi’s head tilted, a dangerous kind of smile blooming on her lips.

Paige laughed. Cool and smug. “You tryna start a fight or somethin’?”

The girl just winked. “Nah. Just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

You caught the look on Paige’s face. Amused. Proud of herself. That little grin like she knew she could get attention if she wanted.

Oh, hell no.

⸻

No one said a word on the ride over. Paige drove again—still smug. Nika sat with her arms folded. Azzi had your hand in hers, her jaw tight.

The moment the front door shut behind you, it changed.

“Bedroom,” you said flatly.

Paige turned. “Damn, y’all mad?”

You didn’t answer. Just walked past her. “Get on the bed.”

She blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Nika stepped in then, low and sharp. “You think you’re cute, huh?”

Azzi pushed Paige by the chest, guiding her toward the bed. “You think we’re just gonna let that shit slide?”

“What?” Paige laughed, sitting back on the edge. “It’s not my fault she wanted a piece—”

You grabbed her chin, forcing her eyes on you. “And do you want a piece of her?”

Her breath hitched. Just slightly.

“No,” she said.

You leaned closer, face inches from hers. “Good. Because you belong to us. And tonight? We’re gonna remind you exactly who the fuck you belong to.”

⸻

Clothes came off fast. You took her top and tossed it aside. Nika peeled down her shorts. Azzi leaned in, mouth hot at Paige’s neck.

Paige tried to smirk through it. Still cocky. Still teasing.

Until you pushed her back flat and climbed on top.

She inhaled sharply when she felt the press of your strap—already harnessed, already slick with lube.

“Oh, shit—”

“No talking,” you warned.

You kissed her hard. Bruising. Nika straddled her arms, pinning them above her head while Azzi sat on her stomach, grinning.

“You’re not gonna be smirking much longer,” Azzi murmured.

You pushed in slowly. Inch by inch.

Paige moaned, legs twitching under you.

“Oh my god—”

Nika covered her mouth. “Did we say you could speak?”

Her hips bucked.

You dragged out the first few thrusts. Deep. Cruel. Paige was already writhing by the time you hit your rhythm, sweat gathering at her temples.

Azzi leaned down and bit her collarbone, then whispered, “Was she hotter than me?”

“No—fuck—”

Smack.

Nika slapped her thigh. “Wrong answer.”

You started fucking her harder. Deep, relentless strokes that made her eyes roll back. She looked wrecked already—but you weren’t close to done.

You pulled out.

Paige gasped for air, only for Nika to climb down and wedge a vibrator between her thighs. You locked it in place with a strap, then handed the remote to Azzi.

“Edge her.”

“Gladly.”

You didn’t even let Paige adjust before you were sitting on her chest, your strap brushing her lips.

She opened without being told. Of course she did.

“Such a good little slut when she’s put in her place,” Nika muttered as she watched her girlfriend choke on you.

Paige’s legs were shaking already. Azzi clicked the vibe up to max, then back down, then up again—laughing every time Paige tried to lift her hips.

Eventually she stopped fighting. Eyes glazed, mouth full, hands trembling as Nika held them still.

You pulled out of her mouth and stood back, admiring the mess. Her lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed. Her thighs were soaked with vibration.

“Ready to come?”

She nodded frantically.

“No.”

You clicked the remote off entirely.

She wailed. Actually wailed.

“You shouldn’t have smiled at her like that,” Azzi whispered, crawling between her legs.

“I’m—sorry—”

“Not yet, you’re not.”

-

Paige was shaking by the time you turned the vibrator off.

Her legs kicked out weakly, desperate for friction, for relief, for anything.

“I’m—fuck, I’m sorry—” she gasped.

You knelt at the edge of the bed, gripping her jaw.

Behind you, Azzi was already sliding down her body, slow and deliberate, like a predator about to feast. Her fingers gripped Paige’s thighs, prying them open, and her voice was calm. “You know better than to act like that.”

Paige tried to nod, tried to say something else, but then Azzi’s mouth was on her.

Full tongue, no mercy.

The sound Paige let out was somewhere between a moan and a sob. Her back arched, arms still pinned by Nika, who leaned over her face now, grinning down at her.

“Aw, look at you,” Nika cooed, brushing Paige’s sweaty curls back. “Little miss cocky can’t even keep her legs still.”

You watched Azzi work, biting your lip. Her rhythm was devastating—slow enough to tease, deep enough to torture. Paige’s thighs trembled with every pass of Azzi’s tongue, her hands twitching uselessly against Nika’s grip.

You climbed back onto the bed, straddling Paige’s hips. Reached down and gently circled her clit with your thumb.

She screamed.

“Too much—fuck—don’t—”

“Yes you do,” you whispered. “You can take it.”

“No—I can’t—”

You leaned closer, letting your strap drag over her stomach while Azzi moaned into her cunt. “You don’t get to decide. Not tonight.”

Paige was crying now. Not out of pain—out of sheer desperation. Her whole body was twitching, every muscle tight. She was so close she could barely breathe, and still, you didn’t let up.

Nika kissed her jaw sweetly. “You look so pretty like this.”

You pulled your thumb away and sat back. “Azzi. Stop.”

Azzi pulled off slowly, face glistening, lips slick. “She’s right there,” she warned, almost breathless herself.

“I know.” You reached for the remote and clicked the vibrator back on, holding it there until Paige was screaming again. “Let her feel it.”

Paige thrashed, completely undone.

“Fuck—please—please, I’ll be good—”

You tilted your head. “Say you’re ours.”

“I—I am—”

Nika tightened her grip on her arms. “Louder.”

“I’m yours—fuck—I’m yours, all of you, please—”

You let her come.

Not softly. Not gradually. You slammed her into it—Azzi back on her clit, you circling the toy harder, Nika kissing her neck as Paige shattered under all three of you.

She didn’t just cry—she sobbed through it. Her orgasm hit so hard her legs locked up, then buckled completely. She squirmed, begged, moaned, then finally went limp.

For a second, there was nothing but the sound of her breathing. Ragged. Spent.

Then you reached for her again.

She whimpered. “No—please—too much—”

“Mm-mm,” you murmured as you pulled her onto your lap. “Not even close.”

⸻

This time, she was on all fours, arms shaking. Azzi and Nika knelt at her sides, whispering to her, stroking her back. You lined up behind her, dragging the strap through her slick folds before pushing back in.

She howled.

You fucked her deep. Rhythmic. Slow. Every thrust made her cry out, her hips twitching helplessly as her body lit up with oversensitive nerves.

“Such a good girl now,” Azzi whispered, stroking Paige’s curls.

“Think she learned her lesson?” Nika asked.

You slammed into her hard enough to knock her forward.

“She’s learning.”

Her voice was cracked now, nearly gone. “I’m—I’m sorry—m’sorry—”

You didn’t stop.

You kept going until she collapsed. Until she couldn’t hold herself up. Until her knees slid out from under her and she sank into the mattress, your strap still deep inside.

Only then did you pull out.

Only then did the others release her wrists, stroke her spine, kiss her gently.

Azzi curled up beside her, brushing sweaty hair from her face. “Still think she was hotter than me?”

Paige gave the tiniest shake of her head.

“Didn’t think so.”

⸻

You wrapped her in blankets and laid her between the three of you.

She couldn’t speak. Just blinked slowly, breath steady but spent.

Nika kissed her temple. Azzi rubbed her arm. You laid a hand on her chest.

“We’ve got you,” you whispered.

She managed a tiny smile.

“…still the hottest one here, though.”

All three of you groaned at once.

“You must want some more.”

“Ding, ding, ding.”

[absinthe-over-tea]

either way it's gonna || the pitt

pt 4 <<prev • next>>

pairing: jack abbott x f!resident!reader quick synopsis: When Langdon leaves The Pitt for rehab, Robby hires you as a new senior resident. Meeting Jack on your first day spirals into a year of almosts and miscommunication — all you know is either way this goes, it's going to hurt. Inspired by Hurt by Jasmine Jethwa. warnings: age gap (older man/younger woman), canon-typical death, probably a gross amount of medical inaccuracies, vague allusions to reader's past a/n: Welcome to part 4, featuring an absurd level of conclusion jumping and miscommunication between these two fucking morons. Thanks to everyone who's hopped along for the ride! This one's a little angsty, and longer than the last two updates (close to 4.1k). Pls let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list! Not beta read.

“We’re not talking about it.”

“Did I just see what I think I saw?” Robby asked, undeterred. Jack was still reeling, both from the euphoria of having your lips on his and the hurt of you running away. 

“I said we’re not talking about it.”  

“Because I think I just saw you making out with my favorite resident.” The grin on Robby’s face grew with every word he spoke and every step he took toward where Jack was still planted next to the railing. 

Jack rolled his eyes. “Collins is your favorite resident,” he corrected. “And we’re not talking about it.” 

“Favorite residents are like best friends, you can have more than one,” his friend waved off the technicality. “And it feels like you’re purposefully avoiding the point.”  

“It feels like you’re purposefully avoiding the fact that I said we’re not talking about it.” 

For one, blessed minute, they stood there in silence, Jack’s brain still trying to fully catch up to what the hell just happened over the course of the last five minutes. 

Of course, it didn’t last for long. 

“You know, I’m a little hurt that you brought her up here,” Robby nudged his shoulder against Jack’s. “I always kind of considered it our spot.” 

Jack groaned. God, he was such a little shit. “I’m going to push you off this roof.” 

“But then I’d be wheeled into your OR, Dr. Abbot.”  

“And I’d have them stick you in a room with Myrna. I saw she’s back at Casa de la Pitt tonight,” he threatened, pulling himself off the railing to head back inside. Patients were waiting, and not for the first time, Jack was extremely grateful for the distraction of a 12-hour shift ahead of him. 

After that shift ended, Jack didn’t go back to the roof like he usually would’ve. Instead, he went outside to that bench in the park where the day shift sometimes drinks after a hard day, beer in hand despite the morning hour. 

The universe had clearly been plotting against him — it had been a mostly quiet night in the ED. Not even Shen pointing out the fact (followed by Parker throwing a wadded up paper ball at the side of his head) had picked up the pace. And while that meant fewer people hurt or sick and no one lost on his watch, it also meant plenty of down time for paperwork and overthinking what happened between you two on the roof. It didn’t help that he was clearly in a shit mood, and everyone gave him a wide berth throughout the evening. Even Walsh had stayed clear, only grumbling once about a chest tube he’d put in.

Kissing you was…fuck, he hadn’t felt like that in over a decade. It was like jumping off the deep end and coming home all at the same time. But the way you’d reacted when Robby opened the door? You couldn’t get away fast enough. Were you ashamed of being seen with him? Did you regret it? 

And the more Jack thought about it, the more angry with himself he got. 

You’d had a horrible day. The case with the teenager and her dad had clearly shaken you to your core, though Jack didn’t fully understand why. You’d cried in his arms! And what had he done? Taken advantage of the situation and your willingness to be vulnerable with him for his own personal gain and gratification. He was an attending, for fuck’s sake. You were a senior resident. And it didn’t matter that you were on different shifts, he was still technically a superior. It was entirely inappropriate of him, even if you had been the one to kiss him first. 

“Are we still not talking about it?” Robby plopped down on the bench next to him, two to-go cups in hand. 

“No.” 

“Shen said you snapped at Ellis over a blood draw she could do in her sleep, and you’re out here drinking a beer at 7 a.m. Feels like maybe you need to talk about it.” The teasing from the previous night was gone, replaced by concern and that tone Jack recognized as a warning he wasn’t going to let something go. 

Jack took a deep breath. Might as well get this over with. “There’s nothing to talk about. I fucked up. She ran away.” 

“Well yeah, she ran. She was embarrassed.” Robby was looking at him like he was stupid for thinking it possible you’d react any other way. And while Jack knew he was stupid, hearing his friend lay it out so plainly was still hurtful.

“Exactly,” he grumbled, hand raised to take another swig of his beer. Robby leaned over to snatch it out of his hand before he could and replaced it with a warm to-go cup. Chamomile, by the smell of it.  

“Not embarrassed of you, dipshit. Embarrassed at having been caught by her boss.” 

“But why be embarrassed if she didn’t regret it?” He balanced the cup on the bench next to him, leaning forward to bury his head in his hands. “Let’s be realistic about this. She’s young, she’s beautiful, she’s incredibly competent, she’s got her whole life ahead of her. The last thing she wants is a middle-aged man with a dead wife, PTSD, and half a right leg.” 

“Have you thought about asking her?” He suggested it like it would be easy, just a casual conversation to be had in the lounge. 

With a sigh Robby stood up, putting a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Look, I know you and I don’t generally do the mushy shit, but I need you to hear me when I say this.” Jack looks up to meet his eyes. “Don’t sell yourself short, brother. Or her, for that matter. You deserve to be happy.” 

He didn’t wait for a response before walking back toward the hospital entrance, leaving Jack alone on the bench to mull over his words. 

*** 

You hadn’t been able to get Jack alone. You’d come in early and stayed late, hoping to talk to him about what happened on the roof, apologize for running away like that. But he was constantly in motion, always with a patient or Robby or one of the other residents. 

You were positive he was avoiding you, not that you could blame him. 

Kissing him was… fuck, you didn’t know if you’d ever felt like that during a first kiss in your life. You’d been so consumed by it, by him, that you’d forgotten everything — where you were, who you were, what had happened before he joined you on the roof, all of it.  

Well, at least until Robby had walked through the door. And then it all came crashing back in an instant — the teenager you couldn’t save and the way her dad had screamed in your face just like yours used to, the fact that you’d just made an absolute mess of Jack’s scrub top sobbing like a child in his arms, how absolutely unprofessional you were being making out with an attending at work. 

So you’d bolted. Like a coward.  

It definitely wasn’t your finest moment. You hadn’t even told Heather about any of it, though you were sure Robby had said something. They may technically still be exes, but they told each other everything, and every time you spoke to your boss lately, he eyed you with barely concealed glee that caused your face to flush. 

You wanted to tell him that you’d just panicked, that you didn’t want your boss to think less of you or that you were throwing yourself at an attending the first chance you got, that you couldn’t stop thinking about it or him or what it all meant. 

But that would have required him to look at you. To speak to you about anything other than patient care. 

A week went by, and then two, and your desire to apologize morphed into irritation at his behavior. Two turned to three, and your irritation turned into anxiety. Maybe you had it all wrong. Maybe the reason he pulled away so definitively wasn’t because he felt rejected. Maybe this was him rejecting you. 

By the time a month had passed, you’d accepted Jack’s behavior for what it was: a boundary. You were a resident, and he was an attending, and what happened on the roof was nothing more than a hard day and a lapse in both of your judgments. 

Then Langdon got out of rehab. 

“Are you sure?” Heather asked after the informal residents staff meeting where you volunteered to move to nights to accommodate his return to the schedule. 

“McKay has a kid, Mel has her sister, Samira is the only thing standing between Gloria firing Robby over day shift patient satisfaction scores and med students and interns aren’t allowed to be on permanent night shift,” you repeated the same rationale you said in the meeting when Robby asked if you were sure. 

“I could have switched,” she pointed out gently, shoulder nudging yours as you walked side by side back to the ED.

“You’re the chief resident, and the best teacher we have other than Robby,” you argue back. Instead of acknowledging the sympathetic look you could see her giving you out of the corner of your eye, you knocked her with your elbow, waggled your eyebrows dramatically, and did what you did best: deflected. “Plus, you and I both know you’d get cranky without your daily dose of Michael Robinavich.” 

She snorted, rolling her eyes, but otherwise didn’t take the bait. She studiously avoided naming whatever weird exes-to-coworkers-to-definitely-more-than-coworkers-but-infuriatingly-less-than-lovers situationship she had going on with Robby regardless of how many sly remarks you made about it. “What are you going to do about Jack?” 

You still hadn’t told her about what exactly happened on the roof. Just that he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested, and you were respecting his choices. You could tell she didn’t believe that was all there was to the story, and god knows what Robby had or hadn’t told her, but she thankfully hadn’t pushed further. 

The man in question came into view as you stepped back through the doors of the ED. He was leaned up against the nurses station looking over a tablet and talking to Dana, still in his street clothes. The black tshirt fit tighter over his arms than his scrubs, and his hair still looked a little damp, like he’d taken a shower and hadn’t bothered to dry it before heading in.

You sighed, turning around to put him out of eyesight. “Nothing to be done. He’s a great doctor; I’m sure I’ll learn a lot from him.” 

Heather leveled you with a stern look, eyes pointedly glancing behind you. You made the mistake of turning to follow her gaze to where Robby was handing over the new schedule, ostensibly breaking the news to Jack about his newest night shift senior resident.

Hazel eyes whipped locked on you from across the room, and you quickly turned back around. You didn’t want to see whatever reaction he was going to have to you joining his service. 

Heather was still looking at you, arms crossed and one perfect eyebrow raised. But true to form, she didn’t push. 

You gave her a sad smile, grateful for your coworker turned friend. “It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. Pinky promise.” 

You showed up to your first night shift with a cup of steaming hot black coffee from the hospital lobby cafe, sliding it across the counter to Jack. He glanced up from the patient chart he was working on, eyebrows raised in an maddeningly unreadable expression. 

You huffed out a sigh and straightened your shoulders. “I want to learn, and I want to do good work on your service.” You gave no other explanation, hoping he would read between the lines. Please don’t make this personal. Please don’t reject me here, too. 

He sat there, eyes locked on yours, for a beat too long. He wanted to say something — you could feel it in the weight of the silence, see it in the hard swallow he took like the words were caught in his throat. You felt the buzz of anxiety creep up your neck, but you refused to squirm. You met his stare unwaveringly. 

After what felt like an age, he sighed, and you saw the way his eyes softened almost into something resembling sadness and his shoulders deflated just slightly before he nodded. As if he were the one giving something up and you the one taking it. The move flared a split second of anger in your chest at the audacity for him to act like the one spurned when you were the one who’d put everything on the line, the one who had been rejected. 

But then Shen’s voice broke through. “You know, I heard they were letting a daywalker join us, but I didn’t fully believe it.”  

With a final tap on the counter with your fist, you tore your eyes away from Jack and plastered a smug smirk on your face as Shen sauntered up with two Dunkin iced coffees in hand. “For you,” he held out one. “Call it an official welcome to night shift.” 

“Should I be concerned about what’s in this?” you joked, holding the light-colored liquid up to the light as if to inspect it. 

Jack’s quiet chuckle startled you so much, you nearly jumped. “I guarantee there’s more sugar than coffee in that thing,” he quipped. Shen flipped him off but didn’t deny it. 

When you spared a glance over at him, eyebrows raised, he met your eyes with a small smile. You mirrored it with one of your own. A truce. An implicit promise that this would be okay. 

And as you settled into a new rhythm and a new schedule, things were, shockingly, okay. 

Turns out, you loved the night shift. You’d always been a night owl by nature, and your sleep schedule adjusted quickly. Getting off at 7 a.m. also meant you could swing by to visit your mom during breakfast visiting hours, and she was generally much less irritable earlier in the day. Traffic was easier to navigate. 

But beyond the logistics of night shift, you also loved the work. There was less oversight, more freedom. You were able to learn and practice procedures you’d never get to see on day shift. The cases were often harder, but more rewarding. 

Ellis and Shen were quick to bring you in on the night shift gossip, including Jesse’s insufferable crush on Mike, the security guard. (And you had to admit that Jesse had good taste because that man was fine.) And you loved getting to learn from them. They were both so solid. Quick to act during a crisis, but just as quick to relax in the lulls. Everything seemed to roll off their backs in a way you envied. 

And then there was Jack — Dr. Abbot, you tried to remind yourself to keep him firmly in that box. 

You hadn’t worked with him that much when you were on day shift, had only seen glimpses of his leadership and mentorship style, how he interacted with patients. Seeing him fully in his element was different. He was still firm, decisive, an “ER Cowboy,” as Walsh called him. But he was also somehow softer in the wee hours of the morning. 

He made bets with Ellis on who could make the most paper baskets (Ellis won every time — she’d played field hockey in undergrad and Jack’s far-sighted vision wasn’t what it used to be), he gave Shen constant shit for his beverage choices (I’m just saying, someone drinking iced anything when it’s 38 degrees outside is cause for concern). He was kind to patients, took his time especially with the kids. 

People were intimidated by him on day shift, the rough around the edges vet. But on the night shift? People adored him. 

It was somewhat disorienting, but also completely endearing. Which made his continued distance with you twist painfully in your chest. 

He was a consummate professional, a fantastic teacher. Told you when you did a good job on a case, corrected you with a gentle hand when needed, never once treated you unfairly compared to the others. But it was different, he kept you at a distinct personal distance, and you weren’t the only one who noticed. 

“Okay, what’s up with you and Abbot?” Ellis asked point-blank one night during a lull, fully leaned over the nurses station with a half-eaten protein bar in her hand. “There’s a pool going, and the guesses are starting to get a bit ridiculous.” 

“Someone should seriously look into whether this ED has a gambling problem,” you muttered under your breath, taking a sip from your water bottle but otherwise keeping your focus on the patient chart on the screen in front of you. 

She snorted. “If the hospital paid nurses and PAs what they should, they wouldn’t have to run a gambling ring for their vacation funds. Let them live.” Touché. “Come on,” she whined. “Just give me a hint. Secretly divorced? Secretly married? You know, he would be the type to keep his marriage a secret at work so he could keep pretending to be all professional about working with you.” 

“I hate to disappoint, but there’s nothing up with me and Dr. Abbot.”

You hit save on the chart and exited out, pushing away from the computer. It was time for a break — your stomach growled — and a snack. 

“I don’t believe you!” she called after you. You just waved her off as you headed to the lounge for a water refill and the apple slices and peanut butter you had stashed in the fridge. 

Despite the apparent second betting pool about you and your attending, it was easy to settle into a routine. 

Come in and chat with Heather and Dana for a bit to catch up on any day shift gossip before they left for the night. Tackle patients until the mid-night lull. Try not to let it get to you when you caught Jack laughing with Shen or teasing Walsh. Grab some food and a coffee refill before catching up on charting. Finish off the shift with the morning rush before handoff with day shift. Pretend you don’t linger a little longer than necessary at the nurses station in the hopes that maybe Jack would ask if you wanted to grab breakfast and talk. Rinse and repeat. 

At least, until the night of the robbery gone wrong.  

She was young. A vet, dog tags around her neck. Four stab wounds in her abdomen, one slashing right through a Semper Fi tattoo on her ribs. She’d realistically already lost too much blood by the time she came in, but that hadn’t stopped Jack from hanging blood bags and pushing meds, doing his damndest to plug the holes. When she coded before surgery could even arrive, he’d done compressions for far longer than protocol demanded. 

Shen had tried to get him to call it. Ellis had stepped in when that hadn’t worked. You knew better than to interfere, could see it in his eyes and the set of his jaw that nothing any of you said or did would move him. The three of you weren’t vets, none of you fully understood. 

In the end, Walsh was the one who got through to him. They usually argue like cats and dogs over patients, but she said something to him too quiet for you to make out, her eyes locked on his and her hands covering his on the patient’s chest. 

His movements slowed, the only sounds in the room his labored breaths and the steady drone of the flatline on the heart rate monitor. She called it when he didn’t. Time of death, 3:53. 

All at once, it was like he came back to himself, as if realizing he was in a Pittsburgh ER and not an Afghanistan field hospital. A few deep breaths, and he was stepping back and tearing off his gown and gloves. Unflappable Dr. Abbot mask firmly back in place, almost like it was never off. Almost.  

He went back to work after, like it had been any other case, any other loss. You all knew it was a lie, but no one seemed keen to call him on it. 

When her husband arrived, Jack went out to greet them. Accompanied him to the morgue. After, he excused himself, said he needed some air. Notably, he went out through the waiting room and not upstairs to the roof, which somehow worried you even more. You asked Shen if someone should go check on him, but the other attending shook his head. 

“He’s always like this when we lose a veteran, but he hates anyone trying to talk to him about it. Nearly bit Parker’s head off one time after she tried convincing him to take the night off,” he shrugged. “Said he didn’t need to be coddled. None of us like it, but we all learned a long time ago to leave him be.” 

Despite Shen’s assurances that he’d be fine, you couldn’t help yourself from keeping an extra eye on him the rest of shift. At first glance, he always seemed fine. But you also saw the way his jaw stayed tense, the rigidity in his shoulders that went beyond his typical good posture, the faraway look in his eyes. 

You recognized it all. You knew what it looked like to barely be holding yourself together, to be clutching onto the broken pieces of yourself so hard your hands bled. You knew what it felt like to not want to let anyone treat the wounds because admitting they’re there meant risking falling apart completely. 

So at the end of shift, you didn’t linger at the nurses station to wait for him. Instead, you snuck away a few minutes early, took the elevator to the top floor, parked yourself at the top of the stairs to the roof, and waited. 

He stopped short when you came into view, body blocking his exit path.

“I’m fine.” The croak of his voice sounded anything but fine. Angry. Devastated. Guilt-ridden. Of course, you didn’t think there was a shot in hell of him admitting to any of that. At least not here. 

“I don’t recall asking,” you said instead, leaned back with your elbows propped up on the step behind you. Your voice was hard, a razor edge to it that you hadn’t purposefully employed in years. Not since your dad died. “Roof’s closed tonight.” 

Shen said he didn’t want to be coddled? Fine, you wouldn’t coddle him. But you damn sure weren’t going to let him torture himself two feet from a 22-story drop. 

He just stood there, glaring at you with his hands on his hips. Under different circumstances, the hard lines of his face and the coldness in his eyes turned against you would make you squirm. Make you question whether you were crossing one of the many invisible lines he’d drawn over the past couple of months. But you steeled yourself against it tonight; this was about something bigger than a romantic rejection, and you wouldn’t let your fear of that stop you from being there for him as a friend and colleague. Whether he wanted you there or not. 

You met his glare with your own, chin raised and lips pursed. A challenge. 

A door opening several floors down is what finally broke the silent standoff, both of your attention momentarily shifting to the voices bouncing off the cinder block stairwell walls. With the tension stretched thin between you two cut, his entire body seemed to soften. You watched as some of the anger seeped out of him, replaced with a bone-deep exhaustion. 

“You���re not going to let this go, are you?” he asked when his eyes met yours again. 

“I’ve been told I can be quite stubborn,” you confirmed, doing your best not to let a smile creep up on your face. You could tell from the look on his face that you’d won this round — he wasn’t going to fight you on this. 

He sighed, raking a hand through his salt and pepper curls. 

“Come on,” you stood, smoothing your hands over the thighs of your pant scrubs and stowing your stethoscope in your pocket. “If you want to brood with a view of the skyline, you can do it at my place over breakfast. We both need a meal from somewhere that isn’t this hospital, and I don’t feel like being alone.” 

You both knew that the last bit was for his benefit, a way for him to pretend this was about what you wanted and not what he needed. But he didn’t argue with you or scoff at your demand. Instead, he just turned and gestured for you to lead the way.

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tag list: @brnesblogposts @nosebeers @emma8895eb @nerdgirljen @woodxtock @misshoneypaper @starrykitn @qardasngan @artsymaddie @evrybodydies1 @teenage-iridescence 

[guiltyandashamed]

hi! this might be a strange ask but could I please get some headcanons of the obey me brothers with an MC who laughs a lot? MC laughs at the smallest and most random things in public (like insta reels) and their laughter is contagious too. just a thought bc I laugh a lot (and for a long time, I once laughed for 20 mins straight over a trolls meme LMAO) and it rlly confuses my friends.

headcannons: MC who laughs a lot

Lucifer

At first, he’s slightly confused when you laugh at mundane things, but over time, he finds it oddly grounding. You remind him not everything has to be serious.

He doesn’t always join in, but he watches you with a small smile as you cackle at your screen.

If your laugh disrupts class at RAD, he raises a brow and gives you “that look”… but doesn’t say anything unless it goes on too long. He's ecretly amused.

The first time you made him laugh, really laugh, it caught him off guard. “...You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, still smiling.

Mammon

You're his favorite kind of person. Your laughter gives him an excuse to mess around even more, just to hear it again.

Will go out of his way to send you ridiculous memes and out-of-context Devilgram clips to get a reaction.

If you start giggling in public, he immediately joins in even if he doesn’t know what you’re laughing at. “Heh—wait, what? What’s so funny?”

Acts like he’s not affected, but the way your laughter makes his chest feel warm? He’s addicted.

Leviathan

At first, he's self-conscious about your laughter in public, afraid people are watching, but when he realizes it's you being your genuine self, he softens.

Loves when you laugh at dumb video games or anime outtakes with him. Starts saving funny clips just for your reaction.

If your laughter causes him to spiral in embarrassment, he might hide behind his hands, but deep down, he’s thrilled to be the reason you're happy.

Once joined in with an awkward snort-laugh and then froze. You teased him for a week. He secretly loved it.

Satan

He’s observant, so he notices the way people smile when you laugh. He admires how light your presence is in the room.

Will start setting up jokes just to see if he can get that belly laugh out of you. Especially puns or dry humor, it’s a challenge he takes seriously.

Occasionally feigns being annoyed if you laugh too hard in the library, but the way his eyes soften gives him away.

“That laugh of yours is a kind of spell,” he says one day. “You charm everyone in a ten-foot radius.”

Asmodeus

Thinks your laugh is one of your cutest features. Absolutely obsessed with it, especially when your eyes crinkle or you throw your head back.

Will post reaction videos of the two of you watching funny content because your laughter is genuinely entertaining.

If you laugh at his jokes or jokes about him, he feigns offense for drama. but eats it up.

“You should come with a warning label,” he teases, “May cause spontaneous joy and uncontrollable laughter.”

Beelzebub

At first, he’s quiet about it, but he smiles every time he hears you laugh. Even stops eating sometimes to glance at you when he hears it from across the room.

Loves how free you are with your joy. Makes him feel like the world isn't so heavy.

Sometimes asks, “What’s so funny?” just so he can laugh with you, even if he doesn’t fully get it. He likes sharing the moment.

If you start laughing while eating together, he chuckles and hands you a napkin. “Careful. You almost choked last time.”

Belphegor

Your laughter sometimes wakes him up from naps. and instead of being annoyed, he just watches you with a soft smile, eyes half-lidded.

Absolutely the type to lean against your side while you’re doubled over laughing, just to soak up your warmth and joy.

Will occasionally deadpan something outrageous just to hear you wheeze with laughter. Pretends it wasn’t intentional.

“You laugh at the dumbest things,” he says. But then he watches you giggle until you tear up and he hides his grin in your shoulder.

[lycanlupins]

NSFW Alphabet - John Walker

Warnings: NSFW content ahead as always, we don’t kink shame here ♥️

This man has taken over my brain, it’s just Bob and John 24/7 and I had to get this out for him because I have a hard time doing NSFW for Bob rn 😭

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Good with aftercare, probably cleans you up and runs you a hot bath to make sure you're comfy and cozy afterwards.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite on you is your thighs. He loves a good thigh, thick and plump. He loves when they squeeze around his head or waist depending on what position you guys are in.

On himself he loves his baby blues. He gets anything he wants when he looks at you with 'em, and when he's mad they get the point across that you need punishing.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He likes cum marking. That man wants everyone to know that you're his and if that means cumming in you or on you he'll obliege.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He keeps a pair of your underwear on his person when he's on missions, especially long ones. When he can get time alone he gets off into them and wipes his cum with them.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He has a kid...you tell me.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary or pile driver, its either simple or he needs to get inside of you then and there with no remorse.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He takes sex seriously 99% of the time, sometimes there's room for cute little moments where you both giggle at something that happens but more often than not its serious.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He keeps it trimmed but not fully waxed. His happy trail makes you drool when his shirt gives you a sneak peek.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Depends on the mood and atmosphere. If its at home its very sweet, gentle and romantic but if the two of you are out and about...he's a different breed of man. He's needy, sloppy, rough. He's almost animalstic with want.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

It takes minimum three rounds before he's even breaking a sweat so he tends to give you a show when he knows you don't have a lot of energy in you to go for more than one round.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding

CNC

Daddy Kink

Vouyerism

Praise

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Preferrably at home but he’s not opposed to pulling you aside on a mission or when you’re out with friends.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You breathe in that man’s general vicinity and he’s fully hard and ready to go.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Degradation, he’s not into it when it’s being received.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He’s a certified munch, he likes when you give him head but man…he needs to give you pleasure before he even touches himself.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Again, depends on his mood. He can swing either way and he’s good at what he does.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He’s a fan when he can’t have a full round with you but he’d much rather spend his time watching you come undone.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s a risk taker at heart. No birth control? Eh, he knows what he’s getting into. People will hear? Not the first time they’d hear you screaming for him.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Like mentioned earlier, he can go minimum of 3 rounds before his body even reacts to exhaustion.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn’t own any himself but he isn’t opposed to using them in bed. Though he may get a little self conscious that he isn’t enough for you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He’s a big tease when he has the time. He likes to tell you about all the dirty things he thinks about doing to you, or sneaking up behind you and kissing the back of your neck before walking away.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s not too loud but he loves to talk and grunt. “Let daddy make you feel good.” “That’s it my pretty baby.” “C’mere doll, let me see you.” He’s a yapper. Don’t let that fool you though, you take control and that man is whining, begging for release.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He’s a switch but he’d never admit it, you just find out one day when you grab his throat while riding him and he immediately softens his demeanor and whines.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

6 in. soft, light beige with a pink tip. 8-9 hard, angry vein that goes up the underside, tip turns slightly more red. Thick as all hell.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

THE YEARN THIS MAN HAS FOR YOU IS CRAZED. He could be in your presence, you in nothing but days old pjs, messy hair and probably half asleep and that man would find you the sexiest human alive. His sex drive is at 100 all the time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn’t fall asleep fast at all, in fact he’s usually wide awake afterwards making sure you’re safe and taken care of.

[universefcb]

hector fort as ur young hubby❤️

HÉCTOR FORT AS HER YOUNG HUSBAND — HEADCANONS

→ Pairing: Hector Fort X fem!reader

→ Warning: Mention of Reader. Fluff, confort.

→ Author's note: I did it in the headcanons style, because an author received the same request as mine. So to avoid any intrigue or make the person who wrote it first uncomfortable, I decided to do it this way.

And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

husband!héctor ღ | The day after the wedding, Héctor woke up before you just to look at the ring on his finger and think: 'fuck, she's my wife now.' A silly smile doesn't leave his face all day.

husband!héctor ღ | He calls you 'mi esposa' in any possible context, even if it's just to ask for something simple like: 'Esposa, ¿dónde está la mantequilla?' — just to repeat the title and see you laugh. He still sometimes stumbles on the 'novia… quiero decir, esposa', but always with that adorable shy smile.

husband!héctor ღ | On the day you set up your house, you both laughed a lot while putting together the furniture, you had a slight argument about where the sofa would go, but you ended up with pizza on the living room floor, amidst open boxes, saying: 'This is our mess now.

husband!héctor ღ | who bought personalized frames with your initials and a wedding photo without even telling you. When you saw them, you almost cried — and he was super proud.

husband!héctor ღ | He loves it when you walk around the house wearing his shirt with the last name 'Fort' printed on the back. He always says, "I married the most beautiful woman in the world, for sure."

husband!héctor ღ | where every morning he gives you a kiss on the forehead before going to train and says: 'I'll be home in a hurry, love.'

husband!héctor ღ | At first, he finds it a bit strange to share everything: wardrobe, blanket, time, space. But deep down he loves knowing that you are there, every day.

husband!héctor ღ | You create a tradition: Sunday is breakfast day together without cell phones. Just the two of you, pancakes, and sleepy smiles.

husband!héctor ღ | He looks at you washing your face before bed, laughing in an oversized t-shirt, and thinks, "She's my family now." He gets emotional and hugs you out of nowhere.

husband!héctor ღ | When you receive a letter in the name of 'Mrs. Fort', he freaks out inside. And when someone calls you “the Fort couple”, he responds with that stupid pride of someone who loves someone very much.

husband!héctor ღ | Sleeping cuddled up is still a bit messy (he moves around a lot, you steal the blanket), but he says he prefers it a thousand times over sleeping alone.

husband!héctor ღ | Leaves little notes around the house like 'good luck today, my beautiful wife' or 'dinner at 8pm? just the two of us. love you.'

husband!héctor ღ | Whenever he arrives from a tiring game or training session, he goes straight to look for you, kisses you and says: “Now I'm home.”

husband!héctor ღ | He insists on carrying the heavy bags at the market, saying: “My wife doesn’t touch weights, only flowers and cuddles.” And yes, he always buys flowers too.

husband!héctor ღ | He started learning your favorite recipes in secret, just to surprise you one day with a complete dinner saying: “Today you don't touch the kitchen, just sit down and let me take care of you.”

husband!héctor ღ | He loves planning little weekend trips just for the two of them. He always makes sure to reserve a place with a beautiful view, saying: “Nothing is more beautiful than you, but let's try to compete.”

husband!héctor ღ | Who sends you a random message in the middle of the day saying: “I thought of you just now. And before too. And probably in the next five minutes again.”

husband!héctor ღ | He is amazed every time you show up at an event with him, all dressed up, holding his hand — he can't stop looking at you and whispering “mi esposa... mi reina... mi todo.” (my wife... my queen... my everything)

husband!héctor ღ | Who always ends his prayers with something like: “...and may I never forget to make my wife happy every day.”

husband!héctor ღ | He includes you in absolutely all of his future plans. He no longer says “if one day”, he says “when we”, because for him, now everything is about the two of you.

husband!héctor ღ | Even with his busy life, he never stops reminding you how lucky he was to marry you: in messages, touches, or just in that look that says it all.

Taglist: @paucubarsisimp @nngkay @meganesanchez @htpssgavi @merinottt @luvvpedri @moonvr @joaosnovia @httpsdana @ilovebarcaaaa @p4uul0vr @pedricando @barcapix @owala6789

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

Hello! I would love a tech x reader where his brothers actually catch him daydreaming of the reader who’s he’s crushing on bad and she’s the only one to really prove as a distraction to him? (Song-Daydreaming by Elliot James Ray)

Absolutely adore your writing love! Please know you’re one of my favorite authors! -🤍

“Daydreaming”

Tech x Reader

The mission was over. The gear was cleaned. The Marauder hummed steadily through hyperspace. But Tech hadn’t moved from his seat in over an hour.

At first, no one noticed.

It wasn’t unusual to find him hunched over his datapad, fingers flying, glasses reflecting whatever readout he was analyzing. His silence was the background noise of the ship — second only to Echo and Hunter quietly strategizing in the cockpit, or Wrecker’s laughter rolling from the back, probably over a holo-cartoon or Crosshair’s latest sarcastic jab.

But this time?

He wasn’t typing.

He was just… staring at a blank screen. A half-written diagnostic, frozen for the past forty-seven minutes.

“Hey, Tech,” Echo called from across the hold, curiosity piqued. “You alright over there?”

Tech didn’t respond.

Hunter turned slightly in his seat, eyeing his brother. “Tech.”

Nothing.

Wrecker, grinning, leaned around the corner and stage-whispered, “Maybe his brain short-circuited.”

Finally, Tech blinked — slowly, like he was returning from another planet. He looked up, startled.

“Oh. I—apologies. I was… distracted.”

Crosshair arched a brow from where he was cleaning his rifle. “You? Distracted?” he echoed dryly. “That’ll be the day.”

“What were you thinking about?” Echo asked, too amused to let it go.

Wrecker elbowed him. “Probably a new flight path! Or—oh! One of those ship mods he was nerding out about last week.”

Tech hesitated. Just long enough to be suspicious.

Which meant: the whole squad instantly perked up.

Hunter leaned forward slightly. “Come on, Tech. You don’t just blank out mid-calculation. What was it?”

The ears under his helmet turned slightly red. He adjusted his goggles — always a tell — and cleared his throat.

“It’s nothing. Merely an abstract consideration of, ah, interpersonal variables and their psychological effect on focus.”

“…So a person distracted you,” Crosshair said, deadpan.

Echo leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Do we know this person?”

Another pause.

“…Possibly.”

Wrecker’s jaw dropped. “No way! Tech’s got a crush! Who is it? Is it that bounty hunter from Sorgan? Wait—no, no, is it—”

“It’s not the bounty hunter from Sorgan,” Tech snapped, uncharacteristically flustered.

Crosshair smirked. “You’re blushing.”

“I most certainly am not,” Tech muttered, furiously trying to refocus on his datapad — which he had, in his trance, typed a nonsense string of letters into. “This is not productive.”

But Hunter was watching him closely now, and something clicked.

“Oh,” he said, smiling slowly. “It’s her.”

Tech stiffened.

Wrecker blinked. “Wait—who?”

“You know,” Echo said, catching on. “Her.”

“The one who patched him up last mission?” Crosshair added lazily. “Didn’t shut up about how efficiently she dressed his wound.”

“She applied the bandage with surgical precision!” Tech defended, voice rising an octave. “And she—she was able to disable that perimeter alarm using only a spliced data spike and improvised code!”

“So you like her,” Wrecker said, matter-of-factly.

Tech groaned and dropped his datapad on the table, hands to his temples. “Yes,” he admitted, exasperated. “Yes. Fine. I find her… distracting. Highly distracting.”

Echo grinned. “And you were just sitting there, what—daydreaming about her?”

“I do not daydream,” Tech said stiffly.

“Your screen says otherwise,” Crosshair muttered.

You stepped aboard the Marauder with a tired smile and a small crate of supplies in your arms. You’d gone into town to restock the medkit and bring back a few things you knew Tech had been looking for—rare synth cables, thermal-resistant pads, and a tool that didn’t even have a name you could pronounce.

You paused at the top of the ramp when you heard voices—their voices. Specifically:

“Should we tell her?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“I think it’s cute.”

“She doesn’t even know, and he’s suffering.”

“I am not suffering! I am simply experiencing… a recurring pattern of involuntary distraction.”

You blinked. That voice? Tech’s.

You edged closer, trying not to make the floorboards creak.

“She walks in,” Echo said, “and suddenly Tech’s spouting the wrong numbers. Mislabeling data fields. Remember that time he walked into a wall?”

“It was a pillar, and I was observing my scanner!”

Wrecker let out a bark of laughter. “Bro, you were staring at her the whole time. You even said her name by accident during a debrief!”

You clamped a hand over your mouth to keep from making a sound.

Your name?

Your cheeks went hot.

Crosshair’s voice was smooth. “He’s not thinking about battle plans. He’s thinking about her eyes. Her laugh. The way she calls him ‘Tech’ with that stupid little smile.”

“You’ve all made your point,” Tech said, voice muffled—probably burying his face in his hands. “If she ever discovers this, I will have to relocate to a desolate moon out of sheer embarrassment.”

And that’s when the floor creaked.

All heads turned.

You froze at the entrance, clutching the crate.

“…Hi,” you said, cautiously. “I, uh… I brought the thermal pads.”

Silence.

Wrecker elbowed Tech so hard he nearly knocked him over.

Tech turned to you like a malfunctioning droid — slowly, stiffly, with wide eyes. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

You took a careful step forward. “Everything alright in here?”

Hunter gave you a too-innocent look. “Oh, you know. Tech was just… telling us how you’re his greatest weakness.”

Tech looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him.

“Hunter,” he hissed.

You blinked. “Wait—what?”

Crosshair leaned back, smug. “He’s been daydreaming. About you.”

Wrecker nodded eagerly. “He totally has a crush!”

You stared at Tech. He looked… horrified. Glasses askew, ears red, hands twitching like he was calculating how to open a hyperspace portal and vanish through it.

You softened.

“…You could’ve just told me, you know,” you said gently, walking forward to set the crate on the table.

“I wasn’t certain how you would respond,” Tech said, voice barely above a whisper. “You are… extremely capable. Intimidatingly so. And every time I attempt casual interaction, I end up referencing atmospheric data or historical archives.”

You smiled, stepping closer.

“I like when you do that,” you said.

Tech blinked.

“You… you do?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of adorable.” You paused, then tilted your head. “You’re adorable.”

Crosshair groaned. “Maker, I’m leaving.”

Wrecker whooped. “She likes him back!”

Echo smirked. “Told you you should’ve said something.”

Tech looked stunned.

“I…” he adjusted his goggles. “I may need to recalibrate my expectations.”

You reached out and gently touched his arm. “Or maybe you could stop daydreaming and actually ask me to dinner?”

He made a noise somewhere between a cough and a squeak.

Hunter clapped him on the back. “Go on, lover boy.”

Tech turned to you, cheeks pink, smile wobbly but real.

“…Would you… like to have dinner with me?”

You beamed. “I thought you’d never ask.”

⸻

That night, Tech couldn’t stop smiling.

Not even when the others teased him the entire time.

And later, alone at his station, his fingers paused above his datapad again.

Not from confusion.

Not from distraction.

But from something softer. Something warmer.

Your laugh still echoed in his ears.

Your hand had brushed his under the table.

For once, he allowed himself to stop calculating.

And just feel.

He smiled, softly.

And let himself daydream.

[cutehoons02]

PREVIEW: Blood Sacrifices

words of the one-shot: around 17/18k taglist is open!! publication: 5 June or 6 June This one-shot is the first of 4 stories: Desire:Unleash

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The Blood Bank was packed with with vampires, each with their own code granting access to special rooms where they could drink from blood bags or, for those who preferred it, pick up sealed packs to take home. He was sitting in the designated room, where his blood type was clearly marked on the wall, waiting to drink. But the moment the first drops touched his tongue and slid down his throat, he knew something was wrong: the scent from the bag had changed. Jake noticed it instantly, as the ruby liquid grazed his palate. It wasn’t the same. It no longer had that warm, deep note... the one that used to scream inside him every time his tongue touched the vial’s spout.

He drank. One sip, two... then stopped. His fangs had emerged of course they had, it was still blood but they hadn’t tapered the way they usually did, and his breathing grew shallow. His heart-if he could still call it that-was beating too slowly and he didn’t feel that jolt of electricity, that erotic surge, that always came when he drank blood. Especially yourblood.

He placed the container on the lab table, staring at the red liquid trembling under the cold neon light. “What the hell…” he muttered, pulling the sleeves of his sweatshirt tighter over his arms too long, too thin. The lab door opened with a hiss of sterile air.

'Oh, Jake. Still here? It’s late. Why haven’t you finished all your bags?' The Blood Bank supervisor a vampire who looked about seventy, but was probably over five hundred gave him a warm, familiar grimace. He had known Jake since the first time he’d shown up, one of the rare vampires who could only feed on one very specific type of blood. 'I’ve never seen you leave a single drop behind. What’s going on, kid?'

Jake shot to his feet, red eyes gleaming. “It’s not… it’s not the same as always. This isn’t the blood I drank last week,” he said, irritation sharp in his voice from the lingering taste. 'What do you mean?' the supervisor asked, puzzled. “The AB Rh negative blood bag I get every week. This one’s different. The chemical profile is off. The iron levels are higher. The glucose composition, different. And the smell... The smell is completely wrong.”

'Jake…' “I want to know why. I want to know why you changed my donor.”The supervisor sighed. He opened an old tablet, tapped the screen a few times, and scrolled through the data. Then he stopped. 'Anonymous donor. Code ‘VT019-Z’. Last donation: two weeks ago. The donor signed off. Chose to stop contributing. No explanation given.'

Jake went pale. His hands turned colder, as if someone was ripping away the only thing that still kept him warm kept him alive, these past five years. He’d gone through several donors, but you were his favorite. He didn’t even know who you were, but your blood was pure addiction, poison, and longing all at once.

“They… don’t want to donate anymore?” he murmured, lips tight in a pout. 'It happens. Sometimes donors change their minds. Too tired, too drained… or they just stop. They can’t donate forever. What’ll you do when the person with this code dies? Jake, you need to understand-humans have the right to choose. And don’t worry, there will always be someone out there with the blood type you need.'

“It can’t happen to me.”

'Jake-' "I need that blood. I’ve been fine for five years, even with slightly lower glucose or iron levels. But my body will feel the difference.” His tone was too human, too childish and the supervisor realized just how fragile he was under all that brilliance. Jake said nothing more. He walked out. He returned to his bunker in the university basement, where the hum of servers drowned out his thoughts. He still had a couple of your bags left in his apartment, and now more than ever, he was determined to find out who you were.

Twenty-four hours later.

The code was burned into his mind: VT019-Z. He wasn’t supposed to access the donor database. It was locked down multiple layers of protection and if anyone found out he’d violated privacy protocols, he’d be slapped with a lawsuit and a massive fine but to discover who had kept him alive for the past five years, Jake would do anything. And Jake was a hacker. A desperate one and when you put those two things together, even the gods start to tremble.

So he slid on his nerdy glasses, his noise-cancelling headphones, and started typing. Encrypting. Bouncing through firewalls. Masking his IP. “Who are you, VT019-Z?” he whispered, fingers dancing over the keyboard as he entered the code into the Blood Bank’s account database.

Then—he saw it. The file opened after nearly two hours of relentless hacking, and Jake couldn’t believe his eyes. Your photo but most of all your name, bolded above the blood type he’d been drinking for years. That blood had come from yourbody. And you were the only girl who had ever truly driven him mad—from the first moment he saw you in the computer science classroom.

Name: [YOUR NAME] Age: 22 Major: Communication and Marketing Status: Influencer – verified profile Last Donation: Two weeks ago Reason for Stopping: Confidential

Jake’s breath caught. He shoved his chair back and slammed his head into the backrest. He knew you, of course he did. Everyone at university knew you. You were one of the most popular girls on campus, one of the hottest influencers in the state. You’d taken a basic coding class with him. Sat in the front row with your oversized Apple headphones, designer sunglasses: Prada, Miu Miu, Céline. Hats of all kinds. Bags that cost more than his entire apartment. A clean girl dream, styled like someone who had it all and you’d smiled at him once in a while. Maybe just to be polite. Because to you, he was the loser in the back row. The one in faded hoodies, who stammered when he spoke to you. The one who watched you from afar when you ordered matcha vanilla lattes at the campus café. The one who’d had a crush on you since day one.

“It was her. It’s always been her. The blood… it was hers.”

Jake buried his face in his hands. His lips trembled. He felt like crying but his body hadn’t allowed itself that release in a long, long time. So instead, he collapsed onto the bed: a giant mattress with black covers that smelled of something dark and citrusy, set atop stacked server crates. He still held your half-empty blood bag in his hand, drinking from it like it was his only reason to exist. And maybe it was.

After a few minutes of silent sobbing and cursing the world, Heeseung walked in his work partner, roommate, and one of his closest friends.

-Bro, where the hell have you been? You disappeared for two days.-

Jake didn’t answer. His lips were stained red, he buried his longish hair into the pillow and groaned softly.

“Did you binge again?” Heeseung asked, walking closer like an older brother checking on his little one. Sometimes Jake overindulged in the rare blood he was allowed to drink and it left him a mess but Heeseung could see Jake looked physically fine. It was the expression that was off.

“It’s not my blood,” Jake muttered, clutching the bag to his chest like a child hugging a stuffed toy.

-What? What do you mean, Jake?- Heeseung said, serious now.

“My blood. The one I always drink. The one that keeps me calm, that makes me feel… alive. It’s gone. The donor stopped. And I’m obsessed.” -Jake… I’m sorry. But you know donors can stop after a few years. It’s their right.-

“It’s her. The girl. It’s always been her. She’s my worst nightmare,” Jake whispered, curling up against Heeseung. -What girl?- Jake turned to him, eyes shining.

“Her. [Your Name]. The popular one. The one everyone wants. I was drinking her blood and didn’t even know it, every time I looked at her, I felt something and couldn’t explain it. Sure, she’s gorgeous and completely my type but now I get it. It’s because she was inside me. Her blood. Every week. Feeding me. And now…”

-Oh… shit.- Jake nestled into Heeseung’s arms, still hugging the bag like a lifeline.

“Why did she stop, Heeseung? Why doesn’t she want to donate anymore? I didn’t do anything to her. She doesn’t even know me. I respect her....I do..but I need her. I need her blood. I need to feed… and I need to possess her.”

Heeseung crouched beside him, lost for words. Jake’s eyes welled up with blood-tinged tears.

“I want to talk to her. I want to give her everything. I just want her to let me stay close. I just… I just need to feel her inside me again. Just one more time.”

And in that moment, Heeseung realized the youngest vampire in the room had crossed a line....He wasn’t just dependent anymore. He was obsessed and it was about to get worse.

----------

[dreaminguponlilypads]

SHOW-OFF.

finally blessing you all with a fic WOOOO I GRADUATE NEXT WEEK

Ghost rubbed his forehead and silently sighed, shifting his grip on the phone pressed to his ear.

For what felt like the fifth bloody time that day, Laswell was droning in his ear again, this time about their favorite obsession — you.

An assassin. A thief. A ghost of your own making.

“Known aliases, two. Real identity, unknown. Confirmed kills: fourteen, maybe more. Last seen outside Prague, then Paris, then Madrid. Every time we get close, she vanishes like smoke,” Laswell explained, like it was the first time she’d said any of this.

“Don’t you think we’re wasting our resources pursuing this one person?” Ghost muttered, voice laced with annoyance. “Even if they do damage, most of it’s private property. Hardly screams national threat.”

“She’s highly skilled,” Laswell pressed. “Untraceable. And frankly… she’s starting to show off.”

He dragged a rough hand down his face. “I know, Laswell. We’re on it. She won’t evade us forever.”

He ended the call without waiting for her response and tossed the phone onto the nightstand with a thud. You had everyone on edge.

And if they ever found out…

A soft creak behind him drew his attention.

“I hear you’re showing off, eh?”

Ghost’s voice was amused — gravel and smoke — but there was a dangerous undertone laced in it. Not angry, no. Just sharp.

You stepped out of the bathroom, steam curling around you like a veil. A too-small towel clung to your damp skin, water trailing down your legs. Your hair was dripping, sticking to your shoulders, and your eyes locked with his like you’d just heard every word of the call.

You had.

“That’s rich coming from the man harboring me in his hotel room,” you said sweetly, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you were into rule-breaking.”

Ghost leaned back on the bed, arms behind his head, watching you with that unreadable skull-marked mask still on, though his eyes betrayed his calm. Dark. Heated.

“I told you to lay low. Didn’t know you were an exhibitionist.”

“I am.” You stepped further into the room, bare feet silent against the floor. “Just happened to visit a private art gallery. Took a few souvenirs. Left through the roof.”

“You left your signature,” he pointed out. “Again.”

“Of course I did. If I didn’t, how else would you know it was me?” You smiled, catlike. “Besides. You’re the one who told them you’re on my trail. Gotta make it convincing.”

“You’re pushing it,” he said, voice low now. “Laswell’s breathing down my neck.”

You rolled your eyes and reached for the drawer where one of his shirts was folded, yanking it over your head. It swallowed you whole, but that didn’t stop you from acting like you owned the place. Owned him.

“I’ve been pushing it since Prague. That didn’t stop you from kissing me in Vienna.”

Ghost said nothing. He didn’t have to. His gaze was locked on you, unmoving, but not cold. He was processing. Calculating. Wanting.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he finally murmured, sitting up. “One wrong move and I’ll have no choice but to turn you in.”

You stood in front of him now, arms crossed. “You won’t.”

“Don’t test me.”

You leaned in, your hands resting on his shoulders, wet hair brushing his jaw. “I already do. Every day. And you love it.”

He didn’t deny it.

Instead, he pulled you into his lap, wet towel forgotten, shirt half-riding up your thighs. His hands were firm on your hips, his voice next to your ear.

“Tell me you didn’t kill the guy in Madrid.”

“I didn’t,” you murmured. “He tripped. And then I…encouraged gravity.”

Ghost sighed again, but this time, it wasn’t frustration.

It was something much more dangerous.

“You’re gonna get me killed.”

You smiled. “Not before I get you in deeper.”

The silence stretched between you and Ghost, the weight of what you were — the risk, the thrill — settling thick in the air.

He should’ve pulled away. Should’ve grabbed his comms and called in your location. Hell, he’d had a dozen chances since you’d slipped through the perimeter at that safe house in Istanbul. But each time, he let you go. Each time, he kept your secrets.

Now?

Now you were straddling his lap, damp and smug, wrapped in the shirt of a man tasked with hunting you down.

And Ghost — Simon — was doing nothing to stop it.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he said, voice rough. “Shouldn’t even be seeing you. Let alone-”

“Let alone what?” you whispered, nails lightly scratching over his shoulders through the cotton of his black tee. “Letting me in? Touching me like you don’t care who’s watching? Like I’m not the target?”

He gave a low, almost bitter laugh. “They’ll gut me when they find out.”

“They won’t.” Your breath ghosted over the edge of his jaw. “Because you won’t let them.”

His grip tightened. “You’re playing with fire, love.”

You tilted your head, lips brushing against the edge of his mask. “Then burn with me.”

For a beat, everything stopped.

Then his mask was halfway off — just enough for his mouth to claim yours, hot and punishing, like a man torn between instinct and orders. You kissed him like you had a death wish. Like you wanted to be caught, just to see if he’d betray you.

He didn’t.

His hands slid under the hem of his shirt you wore, exploring your skin like he was memorizing it in case he never got the chance again.

“I should arrest you right now,” he muttered into your mouth.

You smiled, breathless. “But you won’t.”

[guiltyandashamed]

Helloo i love ur content so much , so entertaining to read and im exreamly greatful for it <3 , if its not too much of a bother could you write about how the brothers act when mc has curly hair and how she take care of it? I think that would be fun (totally not because im a curly hair gorly 👀)

headcannons: curly haired MC

(Consulted my curly haired friend for this, hope its accurate! Thanks and enjoy :))

Lucifer

At first, he doesn’t fully grasp the level of effort it takes, he assumes it’s just hair. But he notices the discipline in your routine and starts respecting it deeply.

Once tried to run his gloved fingers through it without thinking and learned quickly that you don’t do that without permission. His gloves have a tendency to make it frizzy, so you allow him only if he takes them off. 

Has offered to order expensive Devildom-grade conditioners (for his shower) and satiny pillowcases for his bed “for your convenience,” but it’s clearly because he likes how happy your good curl days make you. (And he wouldn't mind you sleeping over in his room more often.)

Mammon

Absolutely obsessed. Your curls are one of his favorite things, he’s always playing with them (until you tell him not to mess up your curl pattern).

Secretly tried to use your leave-in one day to make his own hair “bouncier” and it backfired hilariously.

He’ll join you on wash days, chatting happily while watching you go through your hair-care routine. Loves the intimacy of watching you care for yourself.

Sometimes you let him shampoo it and he loves it. Brings him the same joy a bubble bath would. He smiles as he looks down at you, hair in his hands. You trust him, almost feeling like a dog getting a good scratch.

Leviathan

Was nervous to touch it at first, thinking it was too delicate, but once you told him how to safely scrunch it or fluff it, he got obsessed.

He loves watching you slip a gaming headset on. Will gladly help you move your hair to make it sit comfortably, blushing the whole time. 

Will ask you to cosplay his favorite curly-headed characters. Dies if you do. 

Anytime he thinks about summoning Lotan, he remembers how furious you got the last time because it messed up your hair. So now, he takes a deep breath and reconsider. 

Satan

Reads up on curl science and protective styling so he doesn’t ask ignorant questions. Quietly observant of what you need on high-maintenance days.

Loves seeing you with a silk scarf or bonnet “it makes you look “regal,” he says.

Occasionally helps you finger-coil if you’re tired. He’s methodical, focused, and a fast learner.

Will write little poems or comparisons to nature about how your curls look in the candlelight, or how rain makes them swell. 

Likes when you lean on his shoulder while you read together, he can smell the products of your hair. It smells distinctively of you. 

Asmodeus

Absolutely a curl enthusiast. Thinks your hair is high art and treats it accordingly.

Constantly gushing over your volume, bounce, and texture. “Darling, your curls have more personality than most demons!”

Loves doing your hair with you, will sit behind you with a wide-tooth comb and detangler while you two gossip or listen to music.

Is always eager to try new hairstyles, occasionally weaving in ribbon or other fashionable accessories. 

He steals your products, all the time. But he makes up for it by giving you free hair-care products sent by his sponsors. 

Beelzebub

Thinks your hair smells amazing all the time. Is very gentle when he hugs you so he doesn’t smush it.

Always offers to help you on wash days, because you always say it makes your arms sore. It's sort of a workout, so he's intrigued. 

If your hair is frizzy or wild, he doesn’t mind, he thinks you look soft and warm, like a pillow.

He once asked if he could “pat it.” You let him. He was overjoyed. 

Fell asleep with his head on your curls once and called it the best nap ever.

Belphegor

Finds your hair fascinating when it's extra fluffy in the mornings. Has taken secret photos of you mid-sleep when your hair looks “cloudy.”

Constantly tugs at a curl while you’re talking just to watch it bounce. Smirks every time.

Loves napping with his face buried in it, even if it leaves your hair tangled and frizzy he doesn’t care. “You're soft. That’s all I need.”

Thinks it takes too much work to maintain. Says you should just use magic to do it. 

Will fall asleep holding your bonnet if you forget it on his bed.