#reproachfully

[homunculovers]

I have NEVER. Felt a sentiment so strongly

*picking petals off a flower while watching venture bros*

i love this show i hate this show i love this show i hate this show

[theabysss]

I was just sitting and watching funny cat videos when it dawned on me. Just imagine the sagau!Zhongli who isekai'd into your world and you allow him to stay in your apartment. Let's say you have a cat and at some point you decide to buy catnip, or you already had supplies and all of a sudden it starts to affect him. (suggestive)

Zhongli's breathing becomes heavier and deeper, his pupils become vertical and scales appear on his cheeks. When he kneels before you, his gaze is full of awe and greed emanating from his dragon nature, which he usually hides. His thoughts are full of you as always, Zhongli wants to serve you, to be with you. What a blessing that among all your followers, it was he who was lucky to be in your world. But the part of him, the selfish part that he usually tries to shut up, blossoms in all its glory. He served you for such a long time, millennia after millennium prayers in your honor escaped his lips. Zhongli wants a reward, some kind of confirmation that you noticed his efforts and appreciated them. And he takes the liberty of leaning his head against your thigh, begging for your mercy, for your touch. When your hand rests on his head and you start stroking him, the Zhongli make a short, semi-growling, semi-purring sound. Horns grow out of his skull, whose bases are very sensitive and touching them makes him moan, tears of pleasure welling in the corners of his eyes. Zhongli's tail crawls excitedly across the floor, his eyes are covered with long eyelashes, hiding the arousal burning in them from you.

[stardustedknuckles]

There is a dog in my apartment and she does not want to be pet. And I respect that, but what the fuck.

[dykementality]

working while recording thoughts about wuthering heights and frankenstein to convince my friend (frankenstein liker) that wuthering heights doesnt suck

[fear-is-truth]

“you could’ve killed him,” you mutter, dabbing at the split in his lip. jason shrugs, as though it barely stings. “he had it coming.”“you can’t just go ahead and beat up every guy who says something gross,” your thumb brushes the edge of a bruise that’s already blooming sickly green and purple across his jaw. it doesn’t make him any less beautiful. if anything, it just makes you want to kiss him better. you want to — god, you want to — but you know you’re supposed to be talking sense into him instead, like you’re not two seconds from caving in to the urge to snog him until he forgets why he threw the first punch.

“you didn’t have to hit him that hard,”

“yeah, i did,” he says, dead serious. “disrespecting you’s a valid reason to get his teeth knocked out.”

you glare reproachfully at your boyfriend, but it’s useless. he’s already stopped listening, green eyes fixed on your mouth. “idiot,” you whisper, mostly to yourself. but you don’t resist when he hooks two fingers into your belt loop and pulls you closer, so that you’re standing between his legs now. the curve of his mouth still tilted in a half-smirk as he looks up at you.

“you’re makin’ it real hard to regret it.”

[cherrixpie]

HOW NOT TO DATE A SLYTHERIN

part one of five

↬ being harry potter's sister wouldn't make dating theodore nott any easier - which was why you tried to hide it

↬ sfw; only fluff this chapter; wc: 3.4k; cw: none; secret relationship trope, potter!reader, griffindor!reader

( masterlist )

The chill of the night air bit at your exposed cheeks as you climbed the final steps to the astronomy tower, your breath visible in faint puffs. Winter had arrived particularly early this year, chilling your bones even now, on the last weekend of october. The school lay quiet below, the golden glow of the countless windows no longer having given in to the darkness of a cold autnumm night.

You pulled your robe tighter around you, wincing at the faint creak of the wooden door as it swung open by the push of your hand. You knew you shouldn't be out after curfew- your brother was usually the one breaking rules and making trouble- but the pull of him was irrestible. He, who’s voice cut through the haunting silence like a knife.

“I was starting to think you wouldn't show.”

You froze mid-step, your heart leaping to your throat at the familiar voice. Even though you had been expecting it. Theodore Nott was was leaning casually against the stone railing, his pale face bathed in the cold light of the moon that sharpened every dip and curve in the prettiest way. A light smirk was curling at the corner of his lips, his usual cigarette dangling from his pink lips. His green slytherin tie was loosened, his robes slightly crumpled, as if he’d wandered here on a whim rather than planned this meeting. But you knew better. Theo rarely did anything without careful thought.

“I had to make sure the coast was clear,” you replied, trying to copy his nonchalance. His dark eyes followed you closely as you crossed the space between you, coming to a halt a few feet away from the railing to keep some distance between you and the abyss. It was funny how you could ride a stick of wood regularly, tens of meters in the air, but looking down a great height with steady floor under you feet had nausea creep up your chest.

You tried not to shift under his prying eyes. Being eyed up by Theodore Nott was a rather particular feeling. Every time you met his eyes, you felt like he was staring right through you, blowing through every cover, every mask, every wall you had ever shielded your true self with and assessing it with disarming precision. As you returned his stare, his smile widened a little and he puffed on his cigarette. “You’ve gotten better at sneaking around, though. Tell me, do the Potter genes include an innate sense of rule-breaking?”

“And here I was, thinking I was your ‘good girl’,” you replied, quoting his teasing nickname. A rare laugh escaped his throat, more of a huff, really, that he hid in his hand holding the cigarette. You eyed it reproachfully.

“You’re going to die at a very young age, Theo.”

Slightly puzzled, he looked down at you, blowing smoke into the air and holding out an arm to beckon you closer. Answering the silent invitation, you let him nudge you towards him gently, the cigarette-free hand pulling you closer by the waist. “Is that a threat, cara? Because I could think of no better way to die than by your gentle hands.”

The charming bastard got a hold of said hands that were shivering slightly from the cold as you had forgotten to put gloves on, and pressed a gentle kiss onto your palm, carefully watching your reaction. You could only pray he took the flush on your cheeks as a symptom of the cold rather than your flustered reaction to his Italian.

“That's not what I meant,” you frowned, indicating the cigarette between his slender fingers. “What I meant was that you’re going to smoke yourself into an early grave.”

God, the way his eyelashes caught the few too-early snowflakes melting hopelessly on the ground. You gave a high-pitched tone of surprise when suddenly, he surged forward, pulling you even closer and trailing kisses up your jaw to your ear. “Tell me you’d hate that,” he whispered and you gave him an incredulous look he couldn't see.

“Of course I’d hate that!”

Before you could say anything else, Theo discarded the cigarette over the railing. Though you had no time to follow the tiny glowing ember on its way down, because just a fraction of a second later, his lips crashed into yours and you let out a startled squeak. Feeling him smile against your lips, you kissed him back in a weak attempt to take the initiative. He allowed you to play, but the movement of his hands, the caging of his arms and the way he beckoned your mouth open so easily proved his underlying dominance. Theo just wasn't beatable at kissing.

This was what you had been looking forward to all day, sitting through transfiguration, charms and defense against the dark arts, all subjects you had without him, stealing longing glances over dinner and quickly looking back as to avoid drawing the attention of your friends or brother to the silent exchange.

As the kiss got more heated, Theo’s fingers curled into your sides, spinning you around so you were with your back to the railing. Miraculously, you couldn't bring yourself to care. All there was in this microcosm of the two of you was him, you and the feeling of his lips on yours. One hand of his cupped your jaw, angling it slightly back to gain best access to your throat. As his lips trailed down the expanse of it, nipping, kissing and sucking, you found yourself snapping out of your theo-kiss-induced haze and pulled away aprubtly.

Panting, you covered Theo’s lips with one hand and he raised his eyebrow at you. He did that well, his eyes alone could make your stomach flutter. But you didn't give in. “Theo, what if someone sees marks on my-” You're were a little embarrassed about the subject matter, breaking off mid-sentence, and glared at his shit-eating grin, invisible behind your hand. “Well, I mean-” You were blushing. Oh god, you were blushing like crazy.

“Did you not enjoy that, cara?” Theo whispered seductively, carefully prying your hand from his mouth and kissing it gently. His eyes glinting with mirth, he looked at you challengingly.

“Of course I did!” you said, exasperated and embarrassed at the same time. You hated it when Theo took advantage of your unfamiliarity with intimacy and relationships. “But nobody can see!”

You expected him to tease you some more, so you were surprised when he merely breathed a long sigh and pulled you into his chest. Immediately, you buried your nose in his robes that smelled of him so deliciously. Smoke, old wood, a hint of mint, bookshelves. You felt him breathe your scent in as well, nose buried in your hair, and laughed lightly, but he didn't join in. His voice was a whisper, hard to make out.

“How long do you think we can keep this up before someone finds out?”

You didn't want to answer the question.

Something picking at the back of your hand snapped you out of your drowsy state. Still tired from last night, you had dozed off a little in history of magic, but as soon as you caught the culprit of the picking at your hands, a hardly suppressed smile pulled at your lips. It was a little paper bird, and the fancy handwriting clearly indicated it as a note from Theo.

You waited until Professor Binns turned his back to the class to write on the blackboard, before carefully slipping the note into your lap, shielding it from Hermoine who sat next to you, taking notes. When you carefully folded the note open, you were greeted by Theo’s elegant handwriting.

If you keep chewing on your quill like that, I might lose my ability to concentrate.

Your cheeks flushed pink as you glanced sideways at him, where he sat a few rows behind your brother who had his head buried in his folded arms, fast asleep. Theo was leaning back in his chair, his quill poised lazily over his parchment as though he had been diligently taking notes, instead of composing witty distractions. His lips curved into a light smirk when your eyes met, and he tilted his head slightly, as if to say, Well?

You hastily scribbled back, your handwriting looking sloppy and slanted next to his. Maybe I'm trying to distract you. Someone’s got to keep you on your toes, Nott. With a flick of your wand, the note floated subtly back to his desk, and you could barely contain a smile as his brows lifted in amused surprise before he began to write again.

Turning to the blackboard to copy the notes, you felt Hermoine's eyes on you and looked up from your parchment. She was eyeing you suspiciously. “What are you smiling about?” she whispered, sparing a nervous glance at the professor. “Nothing,” you answered, hastily grabbing the next messenger pigeon out of the air before it could enter your friend's vision. You could practically feel Theo chuckling at your unlucky predicament.

But Hermoine turned back to Binns once more to listen to his sermon and you stuffed the bird into your back subtly to read it after class and away from prying eyes.

“You’d be a half-decent Chaser if you didn't spend half the match showboating,” Theo drawled, his tone so casual it was clearly meant to provoke.

He leaned against the headboard of his bed, arms crossed as he regarded you with an expression that was equal parts exasperation and amusement. You, meanwhile, were sprawled across the emerald-green bedspread of his four-poster, arms tucked behind your head like you owned the place. At his words, you shot up immediately, propping yourself up on one elbow. “That's rich coming from the guy who winks at the crowd every time he scores- what’s that, part of your technique?”

The slytherin dormitory was quiet, except for crackling of the enchanted fire in the corner and the endless string of your playful teasing. Theo and you had the room for yourselves today as his mates were in Hogsmeade and Theo had stayed behind with the excuse of homework. As if he hadn't already finished all his work like the flawless O-grader he was.

“And anyway, I don’t see you scoring against Gryffindor’s defense without half your team clearing the way for you.” you teased, attempting to get a rise out of your ever calm and collected boyfriend.

But Theo’s smile only deepened, and he leaned forward just slightly, his voice dropping to a teasing lilt. “Jealous of my stats, are we, Potter? It’s not my fault you lot rely on your Seeker for every win.”

“You-” you started, your eyes narrowing, but his soft chuckle cut you off. You tossed one of his pillows at him instead, grinning when he caught it effortlessly. “Just keep laughing, Nott. You’ll regret it next match when I leave you in the dust.”

Suddenly, you felt his hand close around your ankle and shrieked as you were pulled towards him with alarming force. Before you could comprehend the shift in his behavior, he jolted forward as well, hovering over your body, sprawled out defenselessly underneath him. A light smile played around his lips as he took in your shocked expression with satisfaction and he brought a gentle hand up to your chin to tilt it upward, giving him access to your neck.

Theo dipped his head down to trail ghostly kisses down to your shoulder, muttering against your skin: “Are you sure about that, tesoro? Because I think you’ll have to work on your reaction time a bit before you can beat me.”

“Sneaky bastard,” you said, but couldn't suppress a high-pitched moan when Theo suddenly buried his teeth in your shoulder. Embarrassed by the sound that had slipped from your lips, you threw your hand over your mouth and blushed when he chuckled darkly into your neck.

“What, are you embarrassed?” he teased, looking up at you through his long dark lashes. Your pointed glare and flushed cheeks were answer enough.

When Theo broke out into a hearty laugh, you attempted to scowl at him, but it was hard when you were half in wonder by the sound of his laughter you got to hear so rarely. All the years you hadn't known Theo except for that one slytherin boy, you thought he couldn't laugh. When he did it for the first time with you, talking in the library over a muggle book you both had read and neither of you could talk to anyone else about, that was the first time you felt a flutter of butterflies rummaging in your stomach in his presence.

Awestruck by the sound of his laughter, you realized you had spaced out for a moment. Theo’s cackle had faded into a soft smile you could only reciprocate. His handsome features were painted with a gentle brush by the light of the fire. “You should laugh more often,” you said, not for the first time. “It’s beautiful.”

Theo hummed amused and leaned on his elbows to hover only a few inches above you. At this angle, his dark curls fell into his eyes, obstructing the view somewhat, so you reached up to run a hand through them. Savoring your touch, he closed his eyes and when he opened them, they held an implicit hunger that made you gulp. “I like your laugh too, tesoro. Love it, in fact,” he murmured, lips barely an inch from yours and you were itching to close the space in between. “And what I also love is y-”

Something banged at the door and both of you shot up, startled. As you stared at it unmovingly, the chatter of boy’s voices now unmistakably being heard through the closed door, Theo, the ever-quick thinker, jumped off the bed and beckoned you to follow. You shot up, heart thrumming with horror, scrambling onto your belly and rolling under Theo’s bed as far back as possible. With one quick glance to check if you were okay, that you answered with a silent thumbs-up, Theo got to his feet and walked over to the door, opening it.

“Theo, you bloke! Why did you lock the fucking door?” you heard a voice that sounded very much like Mattheo Riddle's shout. Several heavy steps resounded against the wooden floor and from under the bed, you could make out four pairs of shoes, undoubtedly belonging to Riddle, Malfoy, Berkshire and Zabini.

“I was studying,” Theo said, annoyance shimmering through his voice. “I prefer to do that undisturbed.”

You silently thanked the heavens that you and Theo had actually been studying before and therefore supplanted convincing evidence consisting of books and parchment. But suddenly, another realization dawned on you and your stomach curled with dread. Your parchment was up there too, with your handwriting and your name on it!

Theo’s eyes had also fallen on your parchment and he casually strolled over to his bed to collect it, concealing it with his and setting it aside. He felt annoyance rise within him and tried to keep it at bay. Of course his mates would barge in unexpectedly early in the exact moment he was about to confess his love to you. Clearing his face of any resemblance of emotion, he turned back around, leaning against his bedpost and trying his best not to worry about you, squeezed under his bed.

“You’re early,” he remarked, raising one brow. A memory almost made his lips twitch, of you trying to imitate the way he was able to raise one brow.

The boys threw glances at each other, some wary, but Blaise laughed. Only now did Theo notice his bleeding lip, and the others didn't look better of. Damn. He was really distracted when he hadn't even noticed it until now, when he always counted on his flawless perceptional ability.

“Who did you brawl with?” he sighed, though amused, looking directly at Mattheo who raised his hands in defense.

Draco nodded his way, dapping at a cut above his eyebrow with his shirt. “Mattheo picked a fight with Potter and some of his mates and we had to flee the scene before the old McGonagall caught us. Potter and Weasley got detention though.” He laughed in malicious joy and Theo's lips twitched slightly at the thought of you rolling your eyes under the bed.

“Potter’s sister wasn't with them though,” Enzo pondered, swapping out his slightly bloody hoodie for a clean one. When his head ascended from his collar, hair slightly disheveled, he was met with four pairs of raised brows. Well, three pairs plus one.

“What do you care about Potter’s sister?” Mattheo grinned wolfishly and Enzo rolled his eyes, chucking his bloody hoodie at him that got Mattheo right in the laughing face. Over that, he thankfully missed the subtle clench of Theo’s jaw at hearing him say ‘Potter’s sister’ in such an invidous tone.

Enzo, evidently, didn't like it either, which didn't help Theo’s irritation that he hid behind a mask of indifference. “She’s actually quite nice,” Enzo retorted, rolling his eyes at Mattheo’s and Blaise’s teasing whistles.

“Where’d you talk to her?” Theo asked, making his words sound so utterly indifferent nobody picked up on his sudden focus on the subject.

Under the bed, your heart did a little leap when you realized why he was asking. Though Theo was no outright jealous person, you sometimes caught him stealing glances at your male friends, voice tightening subtly when he talked about them. Anytime you teased him for it, he denied it, of course, saying jealousy was irrational and for fools because he knew you would never even glance at them. Hearing his inquire, you made a mental note to taunt him with it when this was all over.

“The library,” Enzo said, sitting down on his bed and taking one of his novels off the shelve. “I’m lousy in Arithmetic, as you know, and she isn't.”

“I’m surprised she even talked to you,” Blaise said as he magically fixed his lip in the mirror, making sure it looked flawless and untainted. “From what I gather, she’s the biggest goody-two-shoes in school, and a Griffindor ontop of that, why would she associate with a Slytherin?”

Enzo only shrugged, and Mattheo let out a loud groan as he longed himself at his bed that creaked under his impact. “Merlin, why are we still talking about Potters? There is so much more interesting stuff to talk about. Like what Theo has been doing today. Or who.”

He threw a teasing smile Theo’s way who raised his brow nonchalantly. “I told you, I was studying.”

“Yeah, sure,” Mattheo yawned, but kept his gaze fixed in his friends indecipherable expression. “You’re already five steps ahead in class, every assignment this year you got back with an O, what would you need to study for? Not to mention, you’ve been sneaking out more lately, and I bet it’s not ‘cause you’re dating Filch.”

Theo returned his stare unblinkingly, keenly aware of the fact that you were listening to every word. “So what if I am?” A slight smile graced his lips as he leaned his head against the bedpost. “Can't I fuck who I want?”

“Sure,” grinned Mattheo, unrelenting. “But you haven't done a lot of sleeping around for the last few months, from what I can gather. Seems to me like your man-whore-heart finally rests in the hands of only one unlucky girl.”

“Your audacity calling me fickle when you’ve slept your way through every willing girl in our grade is obnoxious,” Theo sneered, making the other boys laugh and directing the conversation towards the ravenclaw girl who’s heart Mattheo had broken just yesterday. With the other boys distracted, Theo dared kneeling down, pretending to tie his shoelaces while at the same time peering into the dark under his bed.

His eyes met yours in an instant as you raised your brows teasingly, and as he rose to his feet, Theo could hardly suppress a little smile that dared creep upon his face.

[p1nkshield]

Jason: What is this??

Dick: it’s the flour and butter you asked me to buy?

Jason: No. No it’s not.

Dick: ye-

Jason: I asked for CAKE FLOUR and UNSALTED BUTTER.

Dick: but-

Jason: now am I just supposed to trust the salt content of this salted butter???? And this is BREAD FLOUR this has opposite qualities and PURPOSES! Does it look like I’m making bread to you??

Dick: I’m-

Alfred: it was a foolish decision to ask any of your siblings to purchase any sort of ingredients.

Dick: Hey!-

Jason: I know Alfie but you already do so much. I thought he could get two items without infecting it with WEAPONIZED INCOMPETENCE! *begins to fake sob into Alfred’s shoulder*

Dick: ???

Alfred: *patting Jason on the back reproachfully* A shame really… perhaps you should leave.

Dick: okay tragicwing I get it! I’m going back! Who taught you such dramatics?

Jason: You.

Dick: 😐… worst decision of my life.

[bowtiepasta]

ushijima gently tilts your chin upward. “did your contact lens fall out?” — same grave concern he uses when talking about national volleyball rankings.

he sits next to you on the couch, one arm slung over the backrest, gaze flicking between the TV and your face. you’ve been rubbing at your eye for the past five minutes. “no, just itchy. I think there’s something-”

he nods, serious. “let me get the saline.”

you call after him, “‘toshi, I don’t need-” but he’s already in the bathroom, rummaging with the unmistakable determination of someone in a life or death situation. cute.

you barely have time to protest before he’s guiding you down, one large hand splayed between your shoulder blades, the other cupping the back of your head like he’s helping you lie down after a match injury.

your head rests in his lap, the firm muscle of his thigh beneath your cheek. his sweats are soft, still warm from when you sat down together.

“you’re not blinking enough,” he says quietly, almost reproachfully. “and you’re warm.”

“toasty warm or fever warm?” you ask, mostly to tease, eyes still closed. he ignores the question.

his thumb traces the ridge beneath your cheekbone like he’s checking for swelling.

“I’ll get a cold compress,” he murmurs, already starting to shift.

you reach up blindly and wrap your fingers around his wrist. “I’m okay. just stay.”

“lean back.” he says simply.

you do, and his hand finds the side of your face again as he peers into your eye with the focus of.. no man ever.

“It’s probably just irritated,” you mumble, suddenly hyperaware of how close he is — how he hasn’t moved, and you pout in hopes he’ll kiss it better.

ushijima blinks once, then twice. “you should stop scratching,” he says. “you might scratch your cornea.”

he places the saline bottle on the coffee table. “you should rest it, too.”

when you groan in protest, he kisses you. “close your eyes. I’ll watch the show and tell you what happens.”

you smile. “you’re not going to let me miss anything?”

“no,” he says with complete certainty. “I remember everything.”

[krilati]

Tim, who is not Robin, but still feral

Okay, let's say Tim's parents decide that even if their child doesn't need a nanny, they want someone to check on their son's well-being. So Tim is required to go to the doctor once a week. And after he tried to bribe his first one to just tell his parents everything was fine. Janette decided it would be someone else each time.

Tim gets a car once a week that picks him up to see a doctor he doesn't know.

That way he doesn't have time to search for dirt, and he can't bribe anyone, since everyone is more afraid of his mother than of him.

So after Nightwing turned Tim down (Dick later claimed the boy was black-haired and blue-eyed, but since he was often hallucinating Jason at the time, even he wasn't sure). The guy realized he couldn't go to Batman and insist on being Robin. The first fracture (which is 100% likely to happen in the early days of jumping on roofs and kicking angry adults) and the doctor would hand him over to his parents.

So Tim came up with a Plan.

Batman was angry, for a month now someone, every patrol, has been standing up for criminals. If he's lucky, he manages to land 5 hits (dude, your 1 hit can put a person in the hospital, Tim just has short legs, he still needs to run to the edge of the necessary roof) when someone distracts him.

Last time, they poured a bucket of paint on his head, it became almost impossible to see through the mask. Another time, they shot paintballs at his head until he left.

There was another memorable incident when something small landed on his head, and the next moment he was attacked by bats.

But today he finally cornered the attacker, it was a child whose face was hidden behind a mask that completely covered his face, and his hair was hidden behind a hood. He slowly approached the boy, he needed to find out who he worked for. Who decided that they had the right to interfere with him punishing criminals.

Only when Batman grabbed the attacker by the shoulder he felt dizzy and then everything around him went dark. Tim quietly patted himself on the head for the backup plan of the backup plan.

After waking up, Batman did not feel calmer, on the contrary, this meeting ignited even more rage in him.

How dare this child run around Gotham so carefree when his son was killed, how dare he protect criminals when one of them killed his son, how dare he..

That day, a file on a new criminal with high priority appeared on the Batcomputer, Alfred only reproachfully pursed his lips.

By the time Red Hood escaped from Talia (Yes, he escaped here, I don't know for sure, but I think Talia was pitting Jason against Tim to ensure her son had direct access to Bruce's legacy). Batman and Tim's confrontations became legendary.

Tim even had his own name and merchandise! Several names, actually, he was called Gotham's Whisperer, the Soul of Shadow, or Little Shadow. And in various Gotham stores you could find little figurines of him with various weapons that he demonstrated during this time.

Nightwing adored the little guy, although he had never met him in person. In fact, no one except Bruce had ever encountered the kid. And although Oracle never officially supported the boy, she never warned Batman if she saw a small dark silhouette through the cameras. Although Dick really wanted to know where the kid got the sniper rifle with tranquilizers, or how he hacked the Batmobile to put a sleeping Bruce in it and send him to the Cave, or how he got so many incriminating photos of Batman that he scattered all over the city when Batman didn't take one of his threats seriously.

Simply put, Nightwing was a fan, and had wanted the kid's autograph ever since the kid evacuated an entire alley, including Bruce, by playing the sound of a pack of rabid dogs approaching.

Batman, though he had passed the peak of his rage, still made Gotham afraid if he was spotted patrolling alone.

Red Hood was furious, not only did his father not have the courage to avenge him, but he also dared to splash out his aggression on anyone who was not breathing smoothly on HIS Alley of Crime.

[covenofagatha]

Four times Agatha fails at cockwarming (and one time she doesn't)

The fourth attempt (based on this brainworm)

Word count: 5k

Warnings: agatha has a penis, restraints (on Agatha), breeding kink, jealousy, edging, orgasm denial, mommy kink, rio's a little annoying, think this is all?

The moment Agatha opens the door to the Westview Event Center for you, you immediately spot Rio’s head snap to look in your direction and you roll your eyes. 

There is obviously nothing to worry about—Agatha would never and you trust her completely, but you still think it’s pathetic how Rio throws herself at your wife over and over again. 

It really doesn't bother you as much as you act like it does, but you get a thrill out of how much Agatha overcompensates in her defense that her and Rio have nothing going on. It always ends up with her cock in your cunt as she tells you how much she loves you with every thrust. 

“Did you look at the auction list I sent you?” Agatha asks. You turn to look at her and take in her silky purple blouse with buttons all the way down tucked into a perfectly-fitting, long, navy skirt. Her black heels tie together the outfit and there’s a glow from her pale skin that compliments her bright blue eyes. 

You reach out and coil a strand of her loose, dark hair around your finger. “I did, but I didn’t see you on there.” You mockingly pout and she laughs before patting your chin. 

“You don’t have to bid on me, honey, my heart already belongs to you,” she says sweetly and you snort. 

“Not for me,” you say and lean in teasingly. “For Rio. I’m sure she’d jump at the chance to win a date with you.” 

Agatha gives you an exasperated look and you wink before sashaying away to the hors d'oeuvres table. She follows you and picks the flatbread slice right out of your hand before sinking her teeth into it. 

“You’re really going to start with Rio? We just got here,” she sighs through her chewing.

“And yet, she’s already coming over here,” you say dramatically and tilt your head to the left of the two of you, where the biology teacher is in fact making her way over. 

Agatha confirms this with a quick glance and sighs before reaching out to lay a hand on your arm. “I’m sure it’s just about the assembly or something for next week. Why don’t you go bid on a few items, get something to drink, and I’ll catch up with you later? I promise I’ll get away from her as fast as I can.”

You hum in disbelief and don’t move. Rio saunters up to you, hazel eyes flicking back and forth smugly between you and Agatha. She’s wearing a green suit and you had to admit that she pulls it off rather well. Her shorter dark hair is straight and falls to just below her shoulders with two small braids that connect in the back. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” she says, not sounding apologetic in the least, “Agatha, could I steal you for a second? Tony talked to Nick about getting more of a budget for the computer lab.” Her voice drops to a whisper at the last part like she doesn't want you to hear it and you almost roll your eyes. Agatha told you about this last week. 

Your wife peeks at you like she’s asking for approval and you wave a hand dismissively. “Go talk about this top-secret development that no one outside of Westview Prep teachers can know about.” 

Agatha smirks and Rio’s nostrils flare, annoyed at your sarcasm, before taking Agatha by the arm and pulling her away. 

Left alone, like you knew you would be, you grab a plate of finger food and find a table to slump against. You reproachfully watch Agatha and Rio talking in a corner, your wife gesturing wildly, and you can’t help but feel a sting of jealousy. 

“Where’s your other half?” a woman asks, sidling up next to you. You turn to find Wanda standing there, green eyes and red hair complimented by the long gray dress she’s wearing. 

You point at Agatha and roll your eyes. You and the English teacher have become close and she knows that Rio gets on your nerves. 

“With her work-wife already?” Wanda sighs and you choke on saliva, eyes bulging. 

“Her what?” 

Wanda grimaces. “In the staff meetings, Rio likes to refer to Agatha as that. Just an inside joke because they sit next to each other at lunch. I’ll tell you as many times as I need to, Agatha does not like her. You should see her every time someone brings you up—god, if someone talked about me the way that woman talks about you? That’s my dream. She loves you very much.” 

Your cheeks heat up but your heart swoons. “Thanks.” 

Agatha and Rio finally walk back over to join you and Wanda and you visibly perk up. Agatha wraps a hand around your waist so she can pull you to her and kiss your head. You lean into it happily. 

“Could I steal you for a second?” you whisper, parroting Rio from earlier and it’s not missed on Agatha. “I want to bid on things.” 

Agatha laughs and excuses both of you and Rio’s eyes are tinged with annoyance but she doesn’t say anything. 

You drag Agatha from table to table, browsing the options. There’s a boat trip you can bid on, there’s a stainless steel grill, there’s a flatscreen television with an entertainment center, there’s signed copies of books—almost anything you can think of. 

Unfortunately, other people have started bidding and the numbers are already higher than anything you’d want to pay so you settle for buying fifty dollars worth of tickets for the raffle, which is an all-expenses paid, one week vacation in Greece for two. 

“Fancy a romantic getaway?” you ask while dropping in your tickets to the slot box and shaking it so hopefully you’ll get lucky. 

Agatha watches you amusedly. “Think there’s a nude beach?”

The question goes straight to your cunt and fuck, now you can’t think about anything else besides you and her, walking hand-in-hand down a sandy beach in Greece, wearing absolutely nothing. Sitting together under an umbrella, her cock hard and your pussy wet from rubbing in sunscreen on each other. Waiting until it gets dark and everyone else leaves before she fucks you right then and there after being tortured all day.

She’s thinking about it, too, if the slight tent in her pants is any indication. 

“Is that for me or for Rio?” you murmur with a smirk. 

Agatha snorts before as casually as possible, tapping your ass. “Jealousy is rather unbecoming on you, honey.” 

You shrug unaffected. “Don’t pretend you don’t like when I ‘be-coming’ on you.” 

“Oh my god,” she says, pinching the bridge of her nose and shaking her head, while you laugh at your immature joke. 

The headmaster from Agatha’s school steps up to the podium at the front of the room and announces that prizes will be announced shortly so everyone should make their way back to their tables. Agatha takes your hand, squeezes it, and walks you back to the table with Rio and Wanda. 

“Find anything good?” Wanda asks you. Rio and Agatha dive into a conversation right off the bat and you try to ignore them and focus on the English teacher. 

“I put over fifty tickets into the raffle for Greece. I didn’t bid on anything because the offers were crazy. Someone put like two-thousand dollars on the grill. Clearly they don’t know the wonders of an airfryer.” 

Wanda chuckles. “I’m sure that was Dottie.” She nods over to a tall, slender woman with perfectly coiffed blonde hair and a lime green dress on. “Probably wants to get it for her husband in hopes it’ll keep his attention on her for one night.” 

Your mouth drops dramatically and you cover it with your hand. There’s something about other people’s drama that is so enticing and you can’t wait to talk to Agatha about it later. 

Agatha, who is now casually resting a hand on Rio’s bicep as she says something. Your nose twitches. 

“Hello and welcome to the sixty-fourth annual gala for Westview Prep!” the headmaster says loudly into the microphone and everyone winces at the static. Agatha takes her hand off Rio’s arm and you finally focus your attention on the podium. “Thank you all for coming and we’ve got some really fun prizes to give out, courtesy of the parents. Let’s give them a round of applause!” 

Clapping breaks out and Rio leans over to whisper something in Agatha’s ear, hand on her elbow. Agatha laughs and nods. 

You cannot wait until you get home so you can show Agatha exactly who she belongs to. 

The headmaster begins rattling off the winners of the auction. Sure enough, Dottie wins the grill and you catch Wanda’s eye with a grin. Dottie squeals and gives the man next to her a kiss on the cheek, a short, stout man with a beer belly. 

Your nose wrinkles in disgust. “He’s cheating on her?” 

Wanda raises her shoulders. “I’ve heard some rumors. He’s always at a bar and doesn’t come home until morning. Won’t tell her where he’s been.” 

Frowning, you realize that Agatha’s been staring at you and Wanda. You raise an eyebrow and she blows you a kiss. You return the gesture and she turns back to the front, satisfied. You keep clapping, now almost completely zoned out as the rest of the auction items are sold, and you’re only vaguely aware of Agatha and Rio chattering in your periphery. 

“All right, and now we’ve arrived at the most anticipated item of the night,” the headmaster says and you perk up. “The seven night stay at an all-inclusive resort on the shore of Mykonos!” 

He reaches into the box with the tickets and a hush falls over the room as he fishes around for the winner. You hold your breath and feel Agatha’s eyes on you. Even if you don’t win, you’ll still find a way to convince her to take you to Europe. 

Luckily, you don’t have to worry about that because he calls your name and you squeal with excitement. You pull Agatha by the arm and smash your lips onto hers, feeling her grin matching yours, before running up to shake the headmaster’s hand and get the certificate. 

You pose for a picture and your smile falters when you see Agatha and Rio huddled together, your wife’s hand on her waist and Rio’s on Agatha’s arm. It’s nothing more than a casual touch—you logically know that. 

But the need to remind Agatha that she’s yours is burning your skin and you barely register the headmaster congratulating you again. 

Like you’re on a mission, you storm back to your table where everyone awaits you with happy faces. 

“I can’t believe we’re going to Greece!” Agatha exclaims. 

“I am so jealous and please take me with you,” Wanda croons. 

Rio meets your stare with her own raised eyebrow. “Such a romantic place,” she drawls, reaching over to pat Agatha on the back, and you glower before grabbing your wife’s hand. 

“We need to go,” you say, providing no explanation at all. Agatha has only a second to glance at her fellow teachers with a confused look before you’re leading her out of the venue and to the car. 

You reach into Agatha’s pocket and grab the keys, taking extra care to roughly brush her cock through the inside fabric, and she hisses. You slide into the driver’s seat because you’re sure she’d stall the car until you tell her what’s going on and the only thing you need right now is to get her home. 

“We won a trip to Greece and you’re throwing a temper tantrum?” she asks lightly and you scoff. She sombers. “Baby, you don’t need to be jealous, okay?”

“I’m not jealous,” you say, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. “I just want to make sure you know you’re mine.” 

Agatha lays her hand on your shoulder before tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “Honey, of course I know. I’m all yours, just like you’re all mine.”

You sneak a peek at her to find her staring at you earnestly. Your mouth flattens into a serious line. “That’s right. And if Rio goes anywhere near your cock, I’ll make sure it’s the last thing she ever does.” 

She hums. “You’re hot when you’re feisty.” 

“I’m just possessive over what’s mine. Like your cock,” you say casually and she sucks in a deep breath. “I’m the only one who gets to touch it, to taste it, to fuck it. I’m the only one who gets to drive you crazy with need.” 

Agatha whimpers and a quick glance down at her lap confirms that she’s half-hard, just from your words that barely say anything. You bite back a smirk. Maybe, to teach her a lesson, you’ll cockwarm her. But instead of it being a punishment for you…you wonder how easy it’ll be to get her to come despite you telling her she’s not allowed. How easy it’ll be to get her to lose control. 

You rest a hand over the center console on Agatha’s thigh, feeling her muscle tense underneath you. You’re about five minutes from home as you begin to slowly drag your fingertips up and down the expanse of her covered leg while she grips the door. Each time, you get closer to the tip of her cock and there’s a small darkened spot from her precum. 

As you pull into the driveway of your house, her cock is visibly at full hardness and she’s flushed when you look at her with a smug smile. 

“Shall we?” you ask, turning off the car. Agatha nods quickly and frantically pushes open the door before walking up the driveway. 

You take your time, knowing you have the house keys and wanting to draw out the moment a bit more. Agatha taps her foot impatiently by the front door while you’re in no hurry to check the mail from the box at the end of the driveway and then shuffle through it on your way to her. 

She kicks off her heels the moment she gets into the house and you slide your own shoes off. She heads toward the kitchen, surely for a drink, but you clear your throat. 

“Upstairs,” you say firmly, easily slipping into your role. 

Agatha smirks, bemused by your little attempt to be in control. “Yes, ma’am,” she mockingly salutes. 

You don’t respond and lead her upstairs, right to your bedroom. “Get on the bed,” you order.” 

Your wife flops down onto the center of the duvet and watches you carefully as you walk over to the vanity and slowly take your jewelry off. Your eyes flick up every now and then to meet her gaze in the mirror. There’s wetness starting to pool in your underwear from the anticipation of what’s coming next and your hands tremble when you unclasp your bracelet.  

“You know,” you start conversationally, “I don’t even really mind that Rio likes you.” 

Agatha arches an eyebrow as you turn around and begin to saunter toward her. “Oh?” she prompts levelly. 

You shake your head and open the top drawer to the nightstand on her side of the bed, pulling out two purple silk restraints. Your cheeks heat up at the many memories of her using them on you and you hunger for the chance to turn the tables. 

“She can do whatever she wants and I can’t blame her for wanting you. I mean—” you pause and rake your eyes over your wife’s body, enjoying the way her cock twitches in her pants. “—you’re so fucking hot.” 

Agatha blushes and rolls her eyes. “Look who’s talking.” 

You smile genuinely before getting onto the bed and pulling her right arm to the side and up before tying her wrist to the banister. 

“Is this okay?” you murmur and she flexes experimentally to show you that it’s not too tight and you feel confident enough to move to the next one 

Instead of getting up and walking around, you slide a leg over her body and very sensually grind against her covered cock before moving your other leg over and taking hold of her left arm. 

“It’s the fact that you reciprocate. So now,” you sigh like it’s a burden, “I have to fuck her out of your head.” 

“I wasn’t even flirting with her,” Agatha argues and you roll your eyes, finishing the knot to tie her left hand to the bed bannister. 

“Really? Because it sure looked like it. Her hand on your arm, yours on her waist. I saw the way she was looking at you. Her work-wife,” you retort, a little surprised by how upset your voice sounds. 

Agatha scoffs and strains against the ties. “She was being friendly—and so was I! Look, Rio’s always like that, but it means nothing. The work-wife thing is a joke. People say that all the time about coworkers they’re close to. Honey, you and I are married. I love you. I wouldn’t even consider it.” 

You ignore her and unbutton her shirt all the way down before unhooking the front clasp on her black bra and letting her tits out. You roughly pinch a rosy nipple and her hips buck. She lifts her ass off the bed to help you slide her skirt and underwear off, and even though you’re in the middle of a disagreement, her cock is hard. 

“Guess you like the thought of me punishing you, hm?” you mock before raising an eyebrow. You climb off the bed and peel your dress over your head, leaving you in just your bra and underwear. Agatha whimpers. “Unless this is for Rio?” 

Agatha furiously shakes her head. “It’s not—baby, I promise. It’s all for you. Mommy only wants your cunt.” 

Musing on the sentiment, you kneel back on the bed and drag a finger along the underside of her cock before spanking it gently. She groans like she’s been wounded but her dick spits out another strand of precum. 

And to make matters worse for her, Agatha’s phone starts buzzing on the nightstand. She looks over and you both see the contact at the same time—her face gets even paler. 

“Why the fuck,” you say slowly, moving off the bed to pick it up and holding it up to her, “is Rio calling you?”

She babbles something about lesson plans and how Rio’s probably just calling to check in about the upcoming week but you cut her off by straddling her thigh and pressing her vibrating phone against her cock. Agatha moans loudly and pulls against the restraints so hard you think she might have marks after. You watch with satisfaction as she writhes around on the bed from the stimulation. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, honey—honey, please,” she chants, the veins along her length blue and prominent. You can see her throb as more precum oozes out of her tip and down her cock and her toes curl. 

You wonder if Rio will keep trying. “Do you want me to answer it, mommy? So she can hear how desperate you are for me, and only me? So she can hear how I’m the only one who can fuck this cock?” 

Agatha makes a sound and you press her phone against her even harder. 

The headboard creaks with how much effort she’s pulling against the restraints with. 

A loud whine rips itself from her throat and you get a thrill of sick pleasure and grind down against her muscle. You moan loudly, the pressure on your clit affecting you more than you thought it would, and Agatha pulls at the restraints again. 

“I can fucking feel how wet you are,” she chokes out in awe and you dip beneath the hem of your panties to quickly swipe through your folds. She leans forward automatically and you offer her your fingers—she eagerly starts to lap at them while whining from the vibrations still on her cock. 

Her phone finally goes silent and she lets out a long sigh of relief, her cock still twitching with phantom vibrations. You watch the screen with bated breath, hoping that Rio calls back. 

Much to your dismay, she doesn’t and you toss the phone to the other side of the bed. Agatha is trembling, cock spitting out more precum, eyes wide and pitiful. 

“That’s the only time Rio will ever touch your cock,” you say triumphantly. Agatha nods before slumping back against the pillows. 

“Please, baby,” she whispers hoarsely, thrusting her hips up weakly, and when you shift, you can feel how much of your slick is now on her leg. “I need you. I need to feel you.” 

You hum and give her cock a quick stroke, watching her face contort with pleasure. “You’ve come such a long way,” you coo and she grits her teeth. 

“Didn’t you say you were going to fuck me?” Her voice is taut and you smirk wickedly at her attempt to boss you around, even when she’s tied up. 

Shrugging noncommittally, you crawl up until you’re straddling her waist, reach down under your dripping cunt to pull your panties to the side, and grab onto her tip. Agatha keens and you hold her still as you begin to slowly grind along her length. She hisses and you can’t help from moaning as you tease your clit. 

“Please, honey, I need—”

She’s cut off by you angling her cock straight up and your wet, hot cunt enveloping her. You let out a loud gasp as your walls stretch around her and her hips buck into you because she can’t stay still. 

Agatha throbs inside you and strains against the silk ties. “Baby, mommy needs you so bad, please let me touch you, let me fuck you.” 

You clench around her and she lets out a guttural groan. “No moving, mommy. That’s what you get. And you are not allowed to come before I do.” She whines pitifully and you get a rush of endorphins from how easy it is to reduce your wife, who rarely relinquishes control, to this. 

She pulses again when you reach behind you to unclasp your bra and she gasps when you slide it down your arms and your breasts are free. You can practically see her salivating and you repress a breathless chuckle when her mouth drops open as you pinch your nipple and rock forward. 

“Mm, feels so good,” you say sensually, squeezing your tit and starting to gently rut back and forth on her cock. Agatha pants desperately, a trickle of drool slipping out the corner of her mouth. “Wish you were touching me, mommy.” 

Agatha keens and pulls harder against her restraints and even though she’s already inside you, you’re aching for her. You reach down with your other hand to rub at your clit while you roll your nipple and then switch to the other one. She bites her lip hard when she feels you getting wetter at your fingers’ administrations. 

“Please, let me touch you, I wanna touch you,” she babbles quietly, almost in awe as you slowly lift up until only her tip remains in you before sitting back down. Your wetness squelches. 

You pout mockingly. “You say that, but it seems like you’d prefer Rio.” 

She opens her mouth to retort but you grind against her before beginning to lazily ride her and no sounds come out from her. Her cock twitches and almost expands—is she about to come already? Her face is red, her hair is a mess, and her eyes are glazed over. You can feel how tight her muscles are and she gives in and thrusts her hips up, screwing her eyes shut and her chest rises and falls rapidly. 

“You feel so good, mommy, you fill me up so good,” you rasp and she sobs, hips jumping up again. “I’m so full—so full with you, fuck mommy, love it so much, love you so much.” 

“Please, please,” she says frantically and you move up and down on her cock faster, “baby, I need you, I’m gonna—fuck—please stop teasing, I can’t—” 

She’s about to explode, you can feel it, but instead of giving her what she needs, you freeze. Agatha grunts painfully, a hair away from her orgasm and denied, and she looks like she might cry. Her legs shift to try and reposition herself to get a better angle and she begins trying her hardest to fuck you. 

You dig your nails into her stomach and she hisses. “Uh uh, mommy,” you tut. “No moving. I think…I think because Rio stole you away from me again and because of the way you were touching her—oh! And for the ‘work-wife’ comment, I’m going to edge you three times. That was one.” 

The sound that rips itself out of Agatha’s mouth is one that almost makes you feel bad for what you’re doing. But there’s a gleam in her eye that says she doesn’t completely dislike what you’re doing, and that’s enough. 

You start to move again, playing with your tits and clenching around her randomly, and she’s reduced to begging much quicker. You trail a finger down her sternum and then her stomach and you lift yourself up about halfway off her cock and ghost over her base. 

“You’re a little worked up, aren’t you?” you croon and she makes a muffled sound. You spell out your name with your finger on her glistening cock and she bucks uncontrollably. “Is this all for me, mommy? What’s got you so turned on?” 

She twists her hands in the restraints, desperate to get out and touch you, to fuck you. “You better wait, just wait until you let me out, I’m going to spank you until it hurts to sit down for a week, I’m going to punish you so hard, baby girl,” she mumbles rather incoherently and you laugh sweetly. 

Agatha throbs when you sit back down on her and you can’t deny the burning inside your core. Her sounds, the way she’s so needy for you, is making your skin vibrate and you clench tightly around her. 

She throws her head back, hair sprawled everywhere, and she whines again. “I can’t wait to fill you up, baby, gonna breed you so good, my cum’s gonna be leaking out from that cunt all over this house,” she prattles, trying a different approach. It almost works—your rhythm falters and your clit pulses and your toes curl but you shake your head breathlessly and keep riding her. 

“God, you feel so good inside me,” you moan and you can see the frenzy that works her into. 

It doesn’t take long to bring her back to the edge with your clenching and movements and gasps and she is a fucking mess beneath you. You can see how hard she’s trying to obey your rules but she pulses inside you and her abdomen flexes and her hips lift. You can feel your cunt leaking with a mixture of your wetness and her precum. 

“I’m gonna—fuck, baby—mommy needs to come,” she cries and you stop again reluctantly because your own orgasm is building up. You can feel her aching against every ridge in your pussy, her heat is radiating, and it’s too good that you don’t know if you can make it one more time. 

Agatha groans in frustration and your walls spasm. Her cock is still twitching inside you and you think her lip might be bleeding from how hard she’s biting it. 

“Just one more time, mommy, and then you can come,” you say reassuringly and begin shakily grinding back and forth. She whimpers, writhing in sweet agony beneath you, and it seems like so long ago that you were mad about Rio. 

“I can’t, I can’t,” she chants, furiously shaking her head. You can see the knots on the restraints becoming looser and it’s only a matter of time until she’s free, so you start bouncing up and down. 

“You’re mine,” you say with a biting tone, “all fucking mine.” 

Before either of you knows what’s happening, Agatha gasps painfully, her breath hitching, her cock twitching, and she stiffens before you feel warmth spreading in your cunt. 

You don’t even have time to admonish her because she finally slips her left hand out of the rope, reaches down and collects her seed that’s now leaking out of you, and shoves two fingers into your mouth. You let out a surprised moan and begin lapping at her, moaning at the taste, while she ruts into you urgently. 

“I’m all yours, honey, fuck—you’re so full of me, I’m breeding you so good,” she grunts and even though her thrusts are slowing down and you can feel her cock softening, your walls convulse and it only takes a press of your thumb against your clit before you come, garbling around her fingers, pleasure exploding through your body. 

Agatha pats your hip when you finally come down from your high and you lift up slightly so that she slips out of you, along with globs of the mixture of your fluids. You wince at the feeling and move gingerly off of her and flop on the bed next to her. 

“You broke both of my rules,” you say, even though you’re not mad in the slightest. 

Agatha laughs giddily and shrugs. 

You shake your head. “Maybe one day. I was supposed to edge you one more time, too. God, you really just can’t help yourself, can you?”

She wrinkles her nose at your teasing before leaning over to kiss you. “I’ll make it up to you in Greece.”

You hum and nod to yourself, satisfied. The moment you’re able to get out of bed, you’re going to start planning the trip. 

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs @agathascoven1 @loneliestafterparty

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Doctor Doctor, Gimme The News | Part II

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Doctor!Reader

Summary: You receive a particularly difficult patient by the name of Bradshaw and you try your best to resist his charms.

CW: tall Bradley, Mavdad, it's still goofy XD

WC: 1800+

Part 1 | Masterlist

You’re sitting at the bar with a drink in your hand, waiting for your friend to finish flirting with the bartender so you can pay your tab, when you hear a familiar voice from behind.

“Almost didn’t recognized you without the stethoscope.”

You glance over your shoulder wearily, instantly recognizing the tall aviator you met at the clinic earlier in the week. Bradshaw, was it? “Yeah, I get that a lot,” you say, giving him a polite smile before turning away.

Bradley doesn’t take the hint and plants himself on the barstool next to you. “So, are you gonna tell me your name? Or am I just gonna have to keep calling you Doc? Might get a bit awkward in bed.”

You snort into your drink as you’re taking a sip. Bradley grins, clearly pleased that he’s made you laugh. His slightly narrowed eyes sweep over your face with a quiet confidence, and you find yourself rather enjoying his attention. “Well, for the sake of making things less awkward,” you respond with a small smile, and then tell him your name.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says, and then leans forward slightly to add, “again.”

You bite into your lip to suppress your widening grin.

“I was hoping I’d run into you, actually,” he comments, turning away to flag down the otherwise occupied bartender.

“Oh yeah?” you ask, feigning surprise.

“Yeah,” Bradley responds, tapping on his beer bottle and nodding at the bartender. He turns back to you and shrugs. “Saves me from having to fake an illness to come see you.”

You eye him somewhat reproachfully. “That would be extremely inappropriate.”

Bradley laughs. “If you think that’s inappropriate, I’m not gonna tell you what I planned on doing once I got there.”

Your eyes widen at the insinuation. “Lieutenant!” you exclaim.

Bradley continues chuckling. “Don’t worry, you’d have liked it.” He winks and then nods at the bartender who’s brought him his beer.

You stare at him because his boldness is mindboggling. “You shouldn’t be drinking with a head injury,” you point out.

He looks at you with amusement. “What head injury?”

“The one that brought you to my office?”

“You know what brought me to your office?” he says, and then points a thumb over his shoulder at a crowded table near the back of the bar. “Captain Maverick Mitchell. My self-appointed father figure,” he says in a tone that’s half-grudging, half-affectionate. “And possibly fate,” he adds as an afterthought.

You blink at him skeptically when he glances back at you. “Wow,” you say. “Pulling out the big guns.”

Bradley laughs again. “I have quite the arsenal.”

“Oh, I bet,” you say with a chuckle. “Aviator, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bradley responds proudly. Then he nods at the glass you bring to your lips. “Looks like you need a refill.”

You shake your head. “I was about to head out actually.”

Bradley purses his lips and narrows his eyes. “But then I arrived and changed your mind, right?”

You laugh slightly. “Not quite, Lieutenant,” you respond, rising from your stool and waving at the bartender. “I’ve got an early morning.”

Bradley gets out of his seat and pulls out his wallet. “Allow me, please,” he says.

“That’s not necessary,” you reply uncomfortably. You don’t like feeling indebted to anyone.

Bradley gives you a more serious look. “It’s the least I could do for nagging you this evening.”

You can’t help the smile that spreads of its own accord. You find Bradley reasonably attractive, sure. But it’s the way he carries himself that’s really got you hooked. You can hardly pull your gaze away. “Don’t forget about the part where you were the most obnoxious patient.”

Bradley lets out a hearty laugh. “That deserves a whole pint, Doc.”

You give him a smile. “Maybe another time,” you say politely. Despite his persistence, you can’t jeopardize your position at the clinic by consorting with a patient.

But before you turn to leave, Captain Mitchell approaches the bar and, upon perceiving you, he exclaims, “Oh! It’s the doctor!” He gestures in your direction while looking at Bradley.

Bradley gives him a flat look. “No shit,” he says.

Maverick glances between the two of you and then nods in realization. “You’ve spotted her already.”

You press your lips together to conceal a smile as Bradley brings a hand to his face like he’s thoroughly embarrassed by his ‘self-appointed father figure’. “Hello again,” you say to the captain, extending your hand.

“Good to see you, Doctor,” Maverick replies with a knowing grin, shaking your hand. “Almost didn’t recognized you without the stethoscope.”

“Oh god,” Bradley groans. “That's embarrassing.”

Maverick looks over at him with a confused expression while you giggle. “I was actually planning on scheduling him in for a follow-up,” Maverick says. “Noticed some concerning behaviors.”

You raise your eyebrows while Bradley watches Maverick’s profile incredulously.

“New behaviors?” you ask, glancing back at Bradley.

“No, no.” Maverick waves a hand nonchalantly as he settles onto a barstool. “Not new.”

Bradley shakes his head. “Why are you such a shit disturber?”

Maverick laughs and claps him on the back. “You buy the lady a drink yet?”

You drop your head slightly to hide your growing smile.

“I was trying to,” Bradley declares. “Before your ass showed up.”

You look up apologetically at the two men who are now watching you expectantly. “I’m not…thirsty.”

Maverick winces while Bradley’s shoulders visibly fall. “It’s his fault, isn’t it?” Bradley says, gesturing at Maverick with his thumb again.

“How is it my fault?” Maverick exclaims.

“It’s not his fault,” you attest, glancing at the captain.

“You should talk some more about my concerning behaviors,” Bradley retorts.

Maverick snorts. “I was kidding!” he says. “She knows!” he gestures at you. “You know, right?”

You glance between the two men patiently, wondering if they realize just how much they have in common. “Neither of you is driving tonight, right?” you ask, feeling, for some strange reason, a sense of responsibility for them.

Maverick turns to face you with a jolt. “I’m sober,” he asserts.

Bradley’s eyebrows converge in a dubious expression before he looks back at you. “He’s not driving,” he confirms.

“And you?”

“This is only my second beer!” he exclaims.

You meet his gaze with a smile because you don’t want him to feel attacked. “Okay,” you respond gently. “Drive safe.”

You start to walk away when you hear Bradley say, “Can I walk you to your car, Doc?”

You turn to face him again, about halfway to the door. “You know my name now,” you say, and he grins at you.

“I do,” he agrees. “That was for old times’ sake.”

You sigh. “Sure, Lieutenant. You can walk me to my car.”

…

Out in the parking lot, Bradley muses, “I’m thinking of maybe dislocating my shoulder next week. That’s an easy fix, right?”

You look over at him sharply. “That’s not funny.”

Bradley grins. “Not even a little?”

You roll your eyes at him and continue walking.

“Come on, Doc!” he calls after you. “My sense of humor is a good thing, remember?”

You smile to yourself and slow your pace to let him catch up. “There are other ways of getting my attention besides injuring yourself,” you remark as he falls back in step with you.

“Such as?” he asks.

You approach your car and unlock the door. “I can’t give away all the answers, can I?”

Bradley presses his lips together and grins. “Does that mean I have a shot?”

You lower your gaze coyly. “I don’t know, Lieutenant.”

“That’s not a ‘no’,” he points out.

You smile, glancing back up at him. “No,” you agree. “I suppose it’s not.”

Bradley’s eyes sparkle mischievously as he holds your gaze. “Can I take you to dinner?” he asks.

“No,” you reply almost immediately. Then, after a beat, you add, “Not yet.”

Bradley licks his lips, still grinning. “I’ll take it.”

You chuckle slightly, reaching for the door to your car.

“Can I stand here with you a little longer?” he asks, his voice a little more raspy when it isn’t bursting with confidence.

You pause, your hand still on the door, shocked at how desperately you want to oblige. How delightful it would be to just say yes on a whim. Without considering the repercussions or weighing the pros and cons. Without deliberation or apprehension. Impulsively. The word itself makes you flustered. “Okay,” you say, glancing up at him as he shifts a little closer.

Bradley smiles at you and leans his back to the car. He stands quietly for a few moments, just existing beside you, which you find both endearing and infuriating. You don’t have a lot of time on your hands and simply standing around is a colossal waste of it in your books. But something about the warm evening breeze paired with the smell of the ocean and Bradley’s crisp cologne makes the experience less harrowing, and maybe even possibly pleasant.

Still, you’re restless. “So, when you said you wanted to stand here, you actually meant stand here…” you comment.

Bradley glances down at you with an amused expression. “You got something else in mind, Doc?”

You half-snort, half-chuckle. “I just thought maybe you had something else to say. I didn’t realize we’d be standing in silence.”

Bradley grins at you. “It’s called being present.”

You study him with a slight grimace, genuinely trying to keep your cynicism at bay. Being present isn’t a kind of luxury you can often afford. Most days, you don’t even get a chance to eat sitting down. “What does that accomplish?” you ask.

Bradley, who’s still watching you with a smile, replies, “Does everything you do have a purpose?”

“Of course,” you say. “Why else would I do it?”

Bradley raises his eyebrows and puts his hands into his pockets. “That’s very practical of you.”

“It’s efficient,” you point out, trying to highlight the importance of productivity.

Bradley nods patiently. “Sounds like you need a night off, Doc.”

You laugh. “I just had a night off. But it had a purpose – my friend needed help wooing the bartender.”

Bradley chuckles. “Has the purpose ever been to just have a good time?”

You make a face and shrug. “That’s not really a priority of mine.”

“Wow, Doc, you’re a hoot,” Bradley replies facetiously.

“I warned you,” you remind him, opening your car door.

Bradley leans his arm over the frame of your car as you climb inside. “You know you leave me no choice, right?” he says, ducking his head slightly to peer into the vehicle.

“What are you talking about?” you ask, glancing up at him.

“We’re going to have to rearrange your list of priorities,” he says.

You watch him for a moment, marveling at his persistence. His gaze drops briefly to your lips before flitting back up to your eyes again, and you wonder what it might feel like to be kissed by a guy like Bradley. It would probably be sexy and spontaneous. It would probably catch you off guard and possibly even offend you a little. Then again, maybe you wouldn’t mind being mildly offended if it meant kissing Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw. “I’m not sure that’s a realistic goal,” you say. Your tone might be sarcastic, but the statement is fairly accurate.

Bradley grins. “I don’t mind a challenge.”

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[luveline]

WOULD LOOOVE to see badass reader get jealous over someone flirting with spencer

ty for requesting ♡ —spencer reassures you when he catches the eye of a receptionist at the ocean city precinct. fem!reader, 1.3k

Hotch lives on coffee lately. Any type from any source, he doesn't care what it tastes like so long as it keeps him awake. You're similar, in that even if you hated it, you'd keep it to yourself. 

But you're frowning in disgust at your cup. Eyebrows wrinkled, lips in a fierce line. Hotch sighs and puts his hand on the back of your chair. "Are you alright?" he asks. 

You've never told him otherwise. "Fine. Thank you." 

"There's water in my bag," he offers. You won't meet his eyes. You probably have a headache. "And aspirin." 

For as long as he's known you and worked with you, you've been as you are now, quiet, stern, with little sense of humour at work and not much more outside of it. The only evidence of your soft heart is how you work like a dog, and how you treat your coworker, Spencer. He's your achilles heel, your tender spot in all the tough scarring. Hotch knows there's nothing anyone can do to make you feel better if they aren't him. 

Hotch turns on the spot to look for him. The case you're working on here in Maryland has hit a lul, and exhausted faces peek out from behind their desks at Hotch's looking. He searches for the short mop of brown hair that's required and finds it in an unusual place. 

Spencer has been waylaid by a receptionist. Glimmering eyes, shiny silver fingernails that tap the desk in front of her as she speaks, the receptionist clearly has Spencer hanging on. He takes a step back and she doubles down, her storytelling audible from across the room. 

"You'll have to see it for yourself, Dr. Reid, it's a sight!" 

Hotch looks at you from the corner of his eye. "I see." 

"Don't know what you're talking about," you mutter. You stand and tip your coffee into the bin, letting the cup fall in after it morosely. 

"Why don't you go and help Reid?" Hotch asks. 

"Help Reid what?" you ask. Your tone betrays you —jealousy, sure, that slight crisp to your words that must hurt on the way out, but worse is the weakness as your sentence ends. You're jealous, and it's upsetting you. "I don't think I want to help him with that." 

Derek swings into the sequestered space you've been using to operate and beams at you like he knows exactly what you're thinking. 

"Isn't it surprising how quiet he can be? Years of catching bad guys and he can't say no to a pretty woman," Derek says, giving you a knowing look.

You and Derek have a half-hearted rivalry in that he loves to flirt and you disapprove. Your soft spot extends solely to Spencer no matter how hard Derek tries to sway you, though as you and Spencer have gotten closer, you've softened.

Hotch thinks that Derek's teasing might erase any progress that's been made. 

"Morgan," he says reproachfully. 

Derek makes a who, me? face but quickly gives in. "Why don't you go save him?" he asks you. 

"He doesn't need saving. Spencer is a grown man who can make his own choices," you say quietly. 

Hotch bites his tongue. Thankfully, Derek speaks up, without any teasing. "Spencer's been expected to  know how to do things without any help since he was a kid. I really think he just doesn't know how to walk away." 

You look down at your hands. Hotch has been doing his job for a long time, and he can guess what you're thinking from a misaligned finger. You don't feel like you measure up to the woman at reception. You're insecure about Spencer's affection for you, because you can't understand why he likes you so much to begin with. Hotch has thought it about Haley, Derek of Savannah. It's a very human doubt.

"Spencer tends to stand straight," Hotch says, bringing the lip of his paper cup up. "Right now, he's leaning away." 

It's in as simple terms as he can put it without outright telling you that he really, truly believes that Spencer wouldn't bother with anyone who isn't you. That Spencer loves you in the young, all encompassing way, even though neither of you seems to have realised the depth of it yet. 

Confident, no air of the girl frowning down at her hands, you leave the nook to approach Spencer from behind. 

"Hi," Hotch hears you say, "you okay?" 

Spencer visibly relaxes. "Hey, I'm fine. Uh, Y/N, this is Anabelle. Annabelle, this is my partner, Y/N." 

"Partner?" Derek asks. 

It's news to Hotch. Perhaps news to you, if the way you take his hand is any hint. It's like you've never held it before, and Hotch knows you have, he's seen you linking pinkies under tables. 

You strangle his fingers with yours. Spencer doesn't move an inch.

"She was just telling me about the sightseeing you can do here. Have you ever seen the world's longest worm on a string?" he asks you. 

"Hi, Annabelle," you say, turning to Spencer with poorly masked whiplash. "We're gonna try narrowing the search radius." 

"Oh, right." Spencer lets go of your hand in favour of putting a hand behind your shoulder, saying his thank yous and goodbyes to Annabelle before guiding you back to the makeshift BAU base camp. "What took you so long?" 

"What took me so long?" you ask.

"I thought you liked me!" Spencer says, teasing, his voice pitching higher. "I didn't know how to tell her I've already read the pamphlet she was quoting. She seemed nice though, right?" 

"She seemed nice, Spence," you agree, a little wobbly still but a thousand times less sullen than before. "I– of course I like you, you know I like you. Right?" 

Hotch is proud of Spencer for how remarkably he responds. Spencer puts his body between you and Hotch and Derek where they're standing to offer you the privacy you prefer, dropping his voice to match your tentativeness. "Yeah, I know. I was kidding. I think they'd have to reassess my position on this team if I didn't know that." He grabs your arm, thumb pressing into the crook of your elbow. "Are you okay?"

"I thought maybe she was flirting with you." 

Spencer shrugs uneasily. "Maybe. It wouldn't make a difference to me. Do you know that?" 

Your head dips down. Hotch can't hear what you say, honestly, he doesn't want to know. Eavesdropping on the people he cares about in their unhappy moments isn't something he makes a habit of, but it's hard not to hear Spencer's response. "Don't say that," he murmurs. "That's not true… We'll talk about it later, okay?"

You clear your throat. "Yeah. Whatever you want."

Derek doesn't hide that he's been listening very well, pulling a crime scene document up to his eye line as you and Spencer pull apart. Your eyebrows furrow into a glare, but it's Spencer who says, "What?" 

Hotch bites back a smile. Derek grins and holds his hands up in surrender. 

"Just nice to see you taking care of my favourite girl," he smarms.

"Stop. You're extremely unprofessional," Spencer says, helping you into your seat unnecessarily.

"And you're not?" Derek asks, gesturing to his hand where it lingers behind your shoulders. 

You finally chip in, apparently back to your regular self. "Only one of us was responsible for a unit wide HR mandate about inappropriate behaviour." 

"You cannot keep bringing that up." 

"Why not?" 

Hotch takes a sip of his tepid coffee. He'd rather not get involved. 

[moon-ttokki-x]

Your fic about safe is so amazing I'm inlove with it?? Could you do a similar one but with daddy issues like you're dating Han or Chris (idm which you pick) and you sometimes worry he'll leave you + Ur own issues, tw? Bipolar and depression? Whatever makes you comfortable to do at least

aha thank you so much ! i just titled this one 'depressed reader' but all of the main details are in the descriptions below >< also i couldn't decide between writing chan or han so i just kind of wrote both lol . . . hopefully this one brings you some comfort too, anon <3

hold me - bang chan x depressed!reader

pairing: bang chan x depressed!reader

summary: watching chan with one of his members makes everything you've felt lately rise to the surface.

genre: fluff, idol! au, comfort at the end, depression, hinting to bipolar disorder, heavy descriptions of relationship issues (i made it sort of vague so it applies to a lot of scenarios), descriptions of ed, deprecating and negative thoughts, breakdowns, attachment issues, chan is the sweetest most understanding person in the whole world, jisung is mentioned multiple times in this fic

a/n: sending love to all my readers ! you are all soso appreciated <3. divider from @ianrkives

You hesitantly open the door to the studio after knocking twice. When there's no reply, you quickly step inside and blink. The room is pretty much dark, the only source of light coming from a dim standing lamp in the corner.

Chan is seated at his desk, hunched over the soundboard, with a pair of headphones clasping either side of his head. You can barely see him in the dark, only his face, hands, and the column of his throat visible out of the baggy black clothes he always likes to wear.

He doesn't look up as you enter and then quietly shut the door, too focused on the wavy, lilting lines and sequences of the song production software in front of him. You sigh softly and walk up to him, coming from the side so you don't startle him. Placing your bag down on the small table before the sofa, you place a couple of hesitant fingers on the arm of his chair.

"Channie?" You say quietly.

He's still squinting at the screen, somehow so focused he doesn't even see you right next to him. Or maybe it's the light from the screen; when you stare at a device for so long in the dark, it gets difficult to see anything else.

But he suddenly seems to sense your movement, and he must have realised it was you, because he wraps an arm around your waist and gently pulls you closer.

"Hi, baby," he murmurs, not taking his eyes off the screen. His gaze is focused and almost intense as he scrutinizes every soundbar and beat of the music. You bite your lip.

You begin to worry a little then; have you disturbed him from his work? Maybe you shouldn't have come, or at least sent him a text telling him you were coming to the company studio. Maybe he would be more comfortable if you just left him alone.

Before your thoughts can descend on your head like a static black cloud, Chan finally slips off his headphones, leaning back in his chair with a heavy exhale. His arm is still around your waist and so he tugs you with him a little bit, eyes roaming over your face as he stretches.

"Sorry," he says, sighing contentedly as his back pops a little. "Got so caught up, didn't realise I'd be here so late."

"It's okay," you say quietly. "I figured."

Chan catches the hint of sadness creeping into your tone and he pulls you onto his lap, coiling strong arms around your torso. His unruly, ruffled curls tickle the naps of your neck and you squirm, letting out an involuntary giggle. Though the sound is happy, it immediately fills you with a creeping feeling of disgust, and you reproachfully close your mouth.

Chan doesn't seem to notice; he seems rather content to just keep you on his lap. He's absentmindedly singing something, and you stand up off of his lap suddenly, brushing yourself off. For some unknown reason, you begin to feel a bit embarrassed, like you used to feel around Chan when you didn't know him too well.

The man in question sits up a little straighter in his chair, smiling at you. "How was your day, baby?"

"Good," you say a little curtly. You're not sure where the tone is coming from, and you shove the feeling down before you can say something in a way you'd regret.

Chan hums thoughtfully and pokes you lightly in the stomach. "Just good, hmm? Usually I'd get a lot more than that... are you okay?"

"Yes," you say quietly, even though you feel anything but. You're grateful for the darkness then, because it means Chan can't see the tears beginning to prickly hotly at the corners of your eyes. You keep your voice strong and fight the urge to sniffle so as not to alert him. "Just had a long day. You?"

Saying those sentences almost makes you break.

Chan can never know what it's like; how it feels to be brushed off and ignored and attacked by someone who is supposed to love you. To feel like you don't really matter, or that your thoughts and ideas and dreams are just that; useless, empty words inside your head. And to be constantly reminded of how little your worth is, to the point where you're not sure what love is, or what it looks like.

Chan will never understand; he had a completely normal childhood, with a completely normal family and upbringing, and he's normal. Normal in the way that he has people to turn to, people who love and support him, and he's normal in the way that he doesn't scrutinize his own actions every single second of every single day.

And he will never know what it's like to be struggling with something to the point where it all just builds up inside your head like a messy pile of bricks. Where it all weighs down heavy on your mood and sends clouds of dust into the air, distorting and warping your emotions.

So far you've been able to control your mood swings around him; you'd succeeded in making Chan think that you're a person who likes to sleep a lot. In reality you just lie down and keep your eyes and mouth shut so you don't end up acting hypomanic or have outbursts at him. At least it's working; you would much rather keep it all inside than bare the most vulnerable parts of yourself to someone who might decide to turn away and leave you because of it.

You've learnt that keeping those thoughts and emotions inside is better, because then at least people stay. For some time, anyway. Lately you've been feeling like you're biding your time, waiting until the day where Chan finds out everything and decides to do what's best for himself.

When he decides to leave you.

"...And then Han decided he was going to try and do his makeup himself all of a sudden, and of course it was a whole mess. I had to clean sparkly highlighter out of his mouth. I mean, how does that even happen?"

You blink. Chan has been talking this whole time while you've been zoned out of your mind, pitifully burying yourself in your struggles. You climb out of the pit but for a moment and nod along, though he still can't see you because of the dark. You hope that he's just been talking about Han the whole time and not anything else, because if you missed something, Chan will definitely know something's wrong. You inwardly curse yourself for making a habit out of replying to every event and topic that comes out of Chan's mouth.

"Does he not know you guys have perfectly good stylists for that?" You murmur, carding a hand through his fluffy hair.

He sighs exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. "Apparently not."

You feel the slightest hint of mirth warming your heart as you notice the tips of Chan's rough, calloused fingers covered in the faintest hint of sparkles. But it quickly disappears, replaced by a cold, dead numbness that seems to encapsulate your whole being. Like icy water.

"Anyways," Chan stretches again, standing up. "How come you're here and not at home?"

Slightly taken aback at the blunt statement, you stutter a little. Chan's eyes go wide and he shakes his hands frantically in front of himself. "N-not like that! I'm glad you're here, it's just that it's really late and I thought you would be asleep by now..."

You blink at him, and then at the clock. He has a point; the white LEDs on the display read 1:43 am. Normally you'd be passed out in bed at this time.

"Couldn't sleep," you say. "I missed you."

And it's true. You did miss him. But suddenly you're looking straight through Chan to someone else and saying that last sentence to him instead. You clench your fists.

"Aww," Chan whines cutely, pulling you into a hug. "My baby. I missed you too. This new song track is killing me."

You pull back from the hug and kiss him on the cheek, partly because kissing Chan makes him go all red, and if you let him hug you any longer, you'll probably break down.

Chan does go red and you poke him lightly in the side, teasing gently. He chuckles and jerks away as you walk to the low table and pick up a bag. "I brought food."

"Oh, you're the best," Chan dives for the bag and eagerly digs through, clumsily kissing your cheek as he pulls the lid off one of the takeout containers. He sits down on the couch before pulling out a pair of chopsticks from the bag and heaping a mouthful of the food. He groans loudly. "This is so good."

"Tastes better after work, doesn't it?" You sit down next to him and lean back, looking at the ceiling. You cross your arms over your stomach to keep it quiet.

Chan nods eagerly and holds out his chopsticks. "Say ahh, Y/n."

You shake your head ruefully but Chan insists, moving closer. Relenting, you open your mouth and feel the warmth of the food against your tongue. It tastes so good, and for a second, you think about asking for more, but you realise that Chan needs it more. After all, he's been working all night.

Besides, if you ask for more of his food, he might think you're being greedy and look at you that certain way that someone else does.

In disgust.

You know in your heart that Chan would never do these sorts of things, but the doubt nags consistently at your consciousness, tugging your mood one way and then your emotions the next. The constant change between feelings is almost giving you whiplash and you exhale, closing your eyes and leaning back into the couch.

"Baby?"

"Mm," you say without opening your eyes.

"Is everything okay?" You hear him setting down his chopsticks, feel the tiny thud through the table as he sets the already-empty container down gently. Your heart drops to your stomach.

Keep it together. He doesn't know anything.

You sigh and sit up, your heartstrings twinging. "Just a lot to think about lately. Why?"

Chan nods, leaning back into the couch next to you. "It's just that you've been really quiet lately. I was wondering if something was going on..."

He ends his reply on a sort of question, like he's expecting you to open up to him about everything at once. You almost laugh out loud at the absurdity of it. How could he possibly expect you to do something like that? And so easily too...

You inwardly scoff. Nice try. You're not getting anything out of me, Chan. Better you don't know anyway. I know you'll change your mind about me.

But your heart takes control of your mouth, and maybe it's the constant sense of longing you seem to have around Chan, but you want to open up to him. Tell him everything, about your terrible past and terrible experiences, and all you are because of it. And a sudden, lingering sense of hope makes you believe that even after you tell him all of it, he'll stay.

Even if it's just for a moment.

"I, um.. I just had an argument with someone," you say vaguely. And it's not entirely the truth. But it's not exactly a lie either. The words shouted at you earlier flash through your mind, white and hot and painful. Like a fresh cut, a harsh, swift slice too deep and sudden to process. Where, for a moment, there's nothing, until the blood starts filling the white gap and then spilling over, like a gruesome parody of tears.

Chan turns to face you on the couch. "Argument? About what?"

You shift a little uncomfortably. Now you have to tell him. "About- just whatever."

"It's not whatever, Y/n," he says firmly. "Not if it's making you this upset."

And maybe it's the sudden realisation that Chan is so normal, with his normal family and mind and life that you feel a raging pang of jealousy fill you up from your toes to your head. You huff and turn away.

"It's nothing," you grit your teeth, fighting not to spit venom.

Stop it, Y/n. It's not his fault.

Chan blinks in surprise at your slightly harsh response but doesn't push you any further. You don't look at him, but you hear him sigh and get up to toss the empty takeout container in the trash. Your heart sinks and you wait for him to turn around and chide you for being so rude and stubborn. After all, he was just trying to help.

But he doesn't. He sits back down on the couch, and looks up at the ceiling, so that you two are lying next to each other in the exact same position. He doesn't talk, either.

You both sit in deafening silence.

You're grateful when the door opens with a haphazard bang and Han walks in, clad in an oversized grey hoodie and sweats. He's clutching a notebook in his hands, glasses slipping off the bridge of his nose. You know the story Chan told earlier was true because you can see smears of sparkly highlighter high on his cheekbones. He doesn't seem to be aware of the time, nor the dark state of the room, or the fact that you're so tense your shoulders feel like concrete.

You're grateful for the interruption until he walks over to Chan and promptly sits in his lap. Han murmurs a few lyrics to him, who seems unfazed by the sudden action, and questions about what he thinks could be changed with the song words. Chan replies quietly and his gaze flicks to you in the dimness of the room, but you just shrug, saying you don't mind.

But sitting there, watching Han sit so quietly and comfortably in Chan's lap makes your heart pang for some reason. He wasn't afraid, didn't ask if it was okay, just sat right down and made himself comfortable. Because you know for a fact Chan lets him do this.

And maybe it's the way Chan strokes an absentminded finger down Han's shoulder, or the way he speaks so softly, or the way it's so reminiscent of someone taking care of their child, but you find your eyes brimming with hot tears by the time Han gets up and leaves.

Chan turns to you, about to say something about the lyrics of the new track, but he stops short. A look of worry comes over his expression.

He scoots closer, placing a warm hand on your arm. "Baby? Are you okay?"

All you can do is shake your head, your eyes scrunching up as you fall into his arms. Chan holds you close, one hand cradling your head against his chest like you're the most precious thing in the whole world. Little do you know, to him, you are.

You sob. The reality of everything comes crashes down on you and all you can do is wail and hiccup into Chan's warm, solid chest. You expect him to push you away by the time the tears have soaked through his shirt, but he doesn't. He holds you close and rocks you gently, shushing you and cooing as he wipes hot, sticky streaks off your cheekbones.

You can't help but cry harder. Your eyes almost sting from how hard you've scrunched them up, and your hands ball in the back of Chan's hoodie like it's a lifeline. And it is. You feel that if you let go, you might fall and never return.

"I'm here," you hear Chan whispering through the mess. "I'm here."

Again and again he says it, and every time he does, your tears flow a little slower, and he keeps saying it until your breakdown has reduced itself to a fit of hiccups and messy sniffles. Still he doesn't push you away, or snap at you to get over it, or that your tears mean nothing. He just sits and holds you.

When you finally look up, Chan is smiling gently, reassuringly, though a little sadly. He sees the look in your eyes and knows you don't want to talk about it, so he sits and rocks you softly on his lap. You squeeze your eyes shut and heave in a rocky breath.

Please just keep holding me, you beg him silently. Just for a while.

And he does. And he doesn't let go, not even when you whimper into his shoulder and soak the juncture of his neck with your misery. He kisses the salty wetness away and strokes the pads of his fingers across your face, where the skin is red and sticky.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I'm sorry," you cry. "I can't get it all out of my head, and- it's too much, and I can't-"

"Shh, baby. I've got you, okay? Just breathe for me."

You heave in a few breaths and continue clinging to him. He feels so warm and safe. All you want is to be surrounded by him, to breathe him in, have him tell you that he loves you.

He must have read your mind, because he leans close to your ear and whispers firmly.

"I'm not leaving you, yeah? I'm gonna stay right here, hold you til you're better. You mean the world to me, hmm? Do you know that?"

You shake your head sadly.

"Now you do. I'm not going anywhere," he says with such conviction that you almost begin to believe it. He wraps his arms closer around you and kisses your forehead, whispering fiercely.

"I promise."

a/n: masterlist

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

coffee. l Joel Miller

Summary:  jealousy tastes like coffee

Warnings:  angst, but not much, fluff, some swearing, Ellie is annoying; some sexual innuendo for Joel

A/N: be gentle with me. your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

"This shit is awful!"

"Ellie! Do you have to make everything disgusting to me?"

"It's not my fault! You brought this home yourself. Don't expect me to pretend I like it!" the girl pushed the coffee mug away from her and rested her chin on hand "Where did you even get this?"

You poured the ground coffee out of the small grinder and carefully put it into the old coffee machine that Joel had recently managed to fix. The machine made a quiet humming sound.

"Collin gave it to me." you replied without taking your eyes off the machine "They got it in the last supplies."

"Oh, I see." Ellie sighed, clearly interested "You mean that guy who's making goo-goo eyes at you?"

"Shut up!" you hissed, but you felt your ears go red. "He just likes me."

"Yeah, for sure."

Heavy footsteps on the stairs stopped you from swatting Ellie with the cloth you had in your hand. You were excited, you couldn't wait to see Joel's face when you put a cup of freshly ground coffee in front of him.

"What smells so good?" he mumbled, still slightly hoarse as he entered the kitchen. "Is that coffee?"

The coffee machine spat out the last few drops of the black liquid and you happily put a cup of the steaming drink in front of him. Joel looked at it in surprise. He was still sleepy as he ran his fingers through his hair, making an even bigger mess on his head. His dark eyes widened with interest.

"Where did you get that?" he asked, looking at you with a smile.

"Tell him!" Ellie added quickly, and you gave her a murderous look.

"Tell him what?"

"Shut up, Ellie." you hissed, but Joel was already looking at you suspiciously.

The girl leaned back in her chair slightly, to a safe distance where you couldn't reach her, and grinned.

"Collin gave it to her." she said "You know, the one from the store. His eyes are always glued to her. I think he thought she would make him that coffee in the morning after…."

"You little..."

Joel, who was turning the cup over and over in his hands, slowly put it on the table. Suddenly the cup of coffee became the main problem in your house.

"Joel, don't be ridiculous!" you laughed to hide your embarrassment "You've been saying for days that you dream of coffee. You even fixed the coffee machine!"

"Naah, I don't feel like it." he muttered.

You looked at him in surprise. You felt as if Joel and Ellie were suddenly standing in opposition to you, and the subject of the conflict was the unfortunate coffee. This was crazy!

"Collin isn't hitting on me at all!" you declared, slapping the table with a cloth, and Ellie jumped with excitement "Stop talking nonsense!"

"Last week you got two jars of strawberry jam from him, remember?" Ellie reminded you with satisfaction, Joel nodded.

"Fuck! Seriously?" you looked at Joel reproachfully.

Miller didn't answer your question, only mumbled that he had a job at the stables and left you with Ellie, who seemed delighted with the chaos she caused.

"I think he's jealous." she stated as the door to the house slammed after a few minutes.

The whole day you were not satisfied with your morning conversation in the kitchen. As you could expect such behavior from Ellie, Joel was a grown man. You finished your duties with the intention of talking to him and explaining everything.

Collin was just your friend, you had no deeper feelings for him beyond simple sympathy. And jealousy was nothing normal in this situation. Because why would it appear at all, right?

You entered the stable and from a distance you noticed Joel cleaning the chestnut mare, which he liked very much. The footsteps were clearly audible, but he decided to ignore you, as you thought.

"Hi." you choked out, approaching him. "Do you wanna talk?"

"Not really." he replied, not stopping working.

"Okay, so I'll do the talking." you said "Joel, this is stupid. We can't have quiet days because of a cup of coffee. We're friends, right? Are you going to get all huffy every time I bring something home?"

"Depends if the guy is clingy to you." he replied quietly, and you rolled your eyes.

"Collin is not clingy to me." you pronounced each word clearly, so that he would definitely get it "Are you really going to listen to a teenager! Ellie has been teasing me all morning and you got mad at me like some brat! Are you really jealous?"

"That's not... Fuck! That's not what I mean!"

He finally turned to you and looked you in the face. The eyebrows were furrowed and his body was tense. The whole situation would have been even funny if you weren't both so worked up.

"I don't like it when some guys give you something because then they'll want something in return." he said sharply "That's how it works! Nobody does anything for free."

You folded your arms across your chest and glared at him defiantly. "Really?" you asked. "What did you want from me when you fixed my dresser door, huh?"

"I didn't... Shit! It's not fair and you know it! You know I'd never..."

"Listen, Joel." you said, pointing a warning finger at him. "I didn't say anything when Mrs. Jones asked you to take a look at her electric heater because... How did she say it? She needed a good warm-up." Joel gulped, clearly confused. "Another woman wanted you to replace some boards in her bed and make sure she was safe there. And one of Ellie's teachers..."

"That's enough!" Joel interrupted you, and you could barely hold back a laugh. "I get it! Okay? I made a fool of myself."

He looked a bit like a scolded puppy. You had been friends for a long time and this kind of conversation between you shouldn't have happened at all. There was never a situation where you were the one who got mad at him for doing something for someone.

"That was kind of sweet." You stated, shrugging. "Too bad the coffee got cold."

He nodded. He put down the brush he was using to brush his horse and grabbed the bridle to lead him to his place.

"You know, all those women... Fuck. Do you really think they were flirting with me?"

"Would you like to charge different fees now, Miller?" You snorted. "Yeah, they really were trying to flirt with you."

Joel cleared his throat and closed the stall. He thought about something for a moment, then looked at you and asked.

"Do you have anything I could fix? As compensation for the fact that this whole situation even happened." He said. "Maybe you have something that moves, or is too loose?"

"You know..." you thought for a moment. "Not really. Maybe not moving or loose, but…tight."

"Tight?" he was surprised and for a moment you saw in his eyes as his brain tried to understand your allusion.

You slowly moved towards the exit. "Yeah, Joel. Tight. Something very tight."

You threw him a quick look the moment your words finally sunk in. His eyes widened as he understood.

"Are you flirting with me? Fuck! Stay!"

You left the stable with a wide smile on your lips. Your revenge tasted like coffee.

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[l0vegl0wsinthedark]

Critter

He had gotten through a whole war with his mind intact. And yet, now, when he was back for his final year at Hogwarts - a whole year after he ideally should have finished - Draco was sure he was going absolutely insane.

You see, Draco had adopted a cat. A stray. Of all the things that could have wandered out of the Forbidden Forest, it had been this cat.

Jet black and wildly shaggy with enormous green eyes that always gleamed reproachfully at him, the creature had completely stolen Draco's heart.

He hadn't even meant to adopt it. But it had followed him into the castle, down to the dungeons, inside the Slytherin common room, and then straight up to his bedroom, where it had leapt onto his bed and settled on top of his pillow with all four paws and his tail tucked under himself.

"Listen, I only just met you," Draco had said, looking down at it with his hands on his hips. "You can't be in my bed this soon after we've met."

The cat blinked and looked away at the serpent-shaped candelabra, yawning widely and displaying very pointed teeth.

Draco had fallen asleep with his face in its furry belly, but when he'd opened his eyes the next morning, it was gone.

In the months that followed, the cat showed up only when he wanted to and never a moment sooner. He'd slither into the common room behind some unsuspecting Slytherin and bound into Draco's lap. Pansy would promptly dissolve into hysterics - something known as "cute aggression," Draco found out later - and others would jeer. The cat never let anyone else touch it, though. The only time Pansy had attempted to pet him, he had hissed menacingly and swiped at her hand with his claws out, missing by a hair's breadth.

It was only Draco who was allowed to pet him; allowed to scratch his chin, and whose lap and bed he curled up in.

But none of this was why Draco thought he was going mad. He was going mad because he was convinced, absolutely without a doubt, that the cat was Potter.

~

The Gryffindor common room was warm, noisy, and crowded. Harry sat with Ron and Hermione in their favourite chairs in front of the fire, and Harry watched the other two play wizard's chess.

Hermione was in a very bad mood. She had lost five times in a row to Ron and refused to let Harry play until she had won at least one game.

"No, not the bishop," Harry started to say.

"Shut up!" snapped Hermione, moving her one remaining bishop anyway and promptly losing it to Ron's very violent knight. "URGH!" she gritted, eyes bulging with fury. Ron wasn't even trying to hide his glee and sat there shaking with mirth.

"Harry!"

Harry turned to see Parvati climbing in through the portrait hole and waving him over. As he got up and went over, Hermione lost her head completely, moved her queen stupidly and,

"Checkmate, Herm-own-ninny," he heard Ron sing, followed by a choked off scream from Hermione.

"Hi," Harry said to Parvati.

"He wants a word," Parvati said, hooking a thumb over her shoulder at the corridor and then moving past him into the common room.

Harry stuck his head out to see who his visitor was, and grinned.

Malfoy stood there, arms folded very tightly across his chest, face pink with anger.

"What's up?" Harry said, climbing out but not letting the portrait shut.

"I know it's you," Malfoy gritted.

Harry blinked. "You did ask to see me?"

"Yes."

"Me? Harry Potter?"

"Yes."

"Well, then of course it's me."

Malfoy actually stamped his foot. "STOP playing with me."

"Playing what?"

"I know, all right? I know. I don't know how to prove it, but I know."

Harry grinned again. He leaned forward and said very quietly, "You'll figure out how to prove it, I'm sure." He turned and stuck a leg back inside, winking at Malfoy and adding, "I have faith in you."

~

[polutrope]

“Do you never question him?” Caranthir asks, eyes narrowed reproachfully – but his mouth, half-obscured by the crystal of his wine cup, quirks with affection. 

“Of course I do,” says Maglor. “The difference is: I am subtle.” Caranthir huffs, leaning back with one arm flung over the settee. “You see, there is an art to questioning.”

“There is an art to everything with you,” Caranthir remarks. Maglor ignores it.

“The difference, dear Moryo, is that my questions are formulated to guide him towards the wiser path. Never force.”

“Nonsense. Our lord-brother is too clever to fall for such tricks.” Caranthir slams his cup on the table for emphasis. “I think he likes you more.” 

Another instadrabble for Day 2 of @maedhrosmaglorweek, prompt: Power Dynamics.