#they love getting to know YOU and all your quirks/routines

[conclover]

Mr. Tenna x GN! Reader | Static Hearts Part 5

Previous chapter

Summary: As time goes on, you begin to enjoy this new routine with Tenna, and his love for you only grows. However, just as you start to appreciate all the attention and gifts he gives you, another side of him begins to show…

Warnings: Yandere Tenna, mentions of sex and masturbation, fluff (why is that a warning?!)

Notes: Get ready for the next chapter... it’s going to be smutilicious! (um...)

Word count: 3K (more or less)

Tenna’s cheeks were flushed, his screen still damp with sweat, and his shirt clung to him at the chest and under his arms, but you didn’t mind at all. He was glowing with happiness, and it was the sweetest thing you’d ever seen. The faint flicker of the still playing romance movie lit the room just enough to create a cozy atmosphere, casting lazy shadows over the couch where you lay wrapped in each other.

“Heh…Tell me something,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach the corners of his screen. “What’s got someone like you tuning in to someone like me?”

You looked at him through your lashes, letting the silence linger just long enough to think of something that would melt him.

“How could I not?” you said, voice syrupy sweet. “You’re beautiful even when you’re not trying to be!”

“Oh, sweetheart!” he laughed, fanning himself with one gloved hand. “Keep talking like that and I’ll need a commercial break to cool down!”

He leaned in and brushed his nose against yours, then your cheek, nuzzling with exaggerated affection. It tickled just enough to make you giggle, and when you tried to turn away, he only tightened his arms around you, holding you firmly against him.

“Don’t you go slipping off now,” he whispered, grinning as he pulled you closer. “You’re under contract, sugar. That makes you mine. Didn’t you read the fine print?”

“I don’t remember signing any—”

His nose continued its playful assault, earning more laughter from you as he nestled closer. The feeling of him was stronger now. His warm skin, the faint musk of his cologne, and the salty trace of sweat wrapped around you like a blanket. His body still buzzed with the intimacy you’d just shared, the glow of euphoria laced with something gentler, like a longing for touch that went beyond desire.

He paused for a moment, taking you in like you were the most precious thing in the world. There was a quiet awe in his expression, as if the world had shrunk to this couch. It was like he was still caught in the gravity of this new reality you shared, still craving every inch of you. Not just your body, but your whole being.

“I love you…” he murmured tentatively, almost looking away the moment he said it, as if worried of rejection.

Tenna, we just met today, sweetheart...

All I know about you is that you’re a goofy pathetic man who couldn’t help telling a live audience how turned on you were over a bit of whipped cream landing on me.

And you get hard from getting a few compliments.

Also, you’re trying to be romantic… while still wearing the same pants from earlier?

Oh! And let’s not forget how you lose it over the tiniest things... fangs out and everything. Adorable, but mostly terrifying. Work on it, okay? Mike sounds great, but I’m pretty sure he’s not exactly licensed for this kind of therapy.

And I’m not sure you even know how to form a real connection without forcing the other person to stay by your side.

But hey, who am I to judge? I mean, all captors have their little quirks, right?

“I love you too!” you exclaimed, desperately hoping he wouldn’t catch the hint of forced enthusiasm in your voice. But you had to say it, because if you didn’t, he’d make sure you did. It was probably somewhere in the contract you didn’t even remember signing.

“YOU DO?” he cried, practically springing off the sofa with the kind of energy only a love-struck lead in a cheesy romcom movie could muster. “Well, folks, we’ve got a winner! It’s me!”

The sheer size of him made the room seem small in comparison. He took your hands gently and before you even had time to react, he was lifting you effortlessly from the sofa.

His gloved hands slid around your waist with an almost protective strength, yet there was something strangely tender in the way he held you.

In a fluid motion, he spun you around with the kind of enthusiasm that seemed to come from somewhere deep within him. You were caught in the whirl of his excitement, your feet barely touching the ground as he twirled you, his long legs moving with surprising grace for someone so ridiculously tall.

“I love you so much,” he breathed, his voice trembling with emotion as he drew you closer, his screen glowing with affection. 

He kissed your cheek, then again, and again, each kiss lingering just a little longer, until it felt like he was savoring every second with you.

“So, so, SO, SO MUCH!” he murmured again, and then he couldn’t stop.

He kissed you everywhere. Your jaw, your chin, your lips, your temples, your nose, your forehead, your eyelids. His long, pointy nose bumped into your brow, nearly poking your eye as he nuzzled in, utterly oblivious in his adoration he didn’t even notice.

You laughed as he continued, relentless in his devotion, trailing kisses across your face like a man who feared he’d never get the chance to do that again. 

Just when it seemed he was finally done, he eased you down gently beneath him with that same love-struck expression. You thought the moment was settling, the storm of affection quieting. But then, without a word, he took your hand in his and lifted it to his lips. Slowly, he began pressing more kisses there along your knuckles, your fingers, your palm, the tender inside of your wrist… as if he still hadn’t said I love you enough.

He planted one final kiss on the back of your hand, the exaggerated smack resounding like a playful proclamation of affection. He drew in a deep breath, a grin stretching so wide it nearly spilled off the edges of his screen. He looked completely smitten. It was unmistakable. He was falling for you. But how? Why? He hardly knew you... Right?

“Well, darling,” he declared, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. “How about we keep this fantastic date rolling? The night’s just getting started!”

But as his head dropped to his pants, still damp from the frantic intimacy you had shared, his confident smile faltered. 

“After I, uh... take care of this little situation…” he muttered, his voice faltering as he glanced at the mess. 

His hand instinctively reached up to idly play with one of his antennae, the motion calming him as you looked at his wet spot. Now that his form had shrunk and he wasn’t as large as before, the dampness was even more noticeable.

“Don’t worry, darling,” he said, regaining his composure with a quick flash of determination, like a performer about to step onto the stage. “I’m about to transform this look into something that’ll knock your socks off!” 

His gaze flickered to the now cold plates and the movie, a spark of excitement returning as he clearly geared up to dive back into the real plans of the night.

“Keep your eyes on the screen, sweetheart,” he said, flashing a playful smile and pointing at the TV. “I’ll be right back, and trust me, you won’t want to miss the next scene!”

Before closing the door, he placed a hand over his lips and blew you a kiss, the gesture as exaggerated and heartfelt as only a hopeless romantic could manage. 

You rolled your eyes with a reluctant smile, the warmth of his gesture lingering in the air. With a dramatic sigh, you reached up, imagining the kiss floating through the space between you, and cupped it gently between your hands. You pressed it to your cheek with exaggerated care, trying to keep your face straight, though the urge to gag at the sweetness of it all almost made you break into laughter.

What an idiot.

A cute idiot, at least.

The door closed with a soft thud, but you could still hear his giddy love-struck chuckle echoing down the hallway. 

You weren’t sure which gods to thank for, but you didn’t escape to explore further. Just as you let out a breath, the door swung open again, and there he was, rushing in with a sense of urgency that made your heartbeat quicken.

He placed one hand on the couch, the other reaching out to gently cradle your head, his touch betraying a worry he couldn’t fully mask. When he held you, his face softened with a wave of relief. You were still here. Still watching the movie. Still waiting for him, as if nothing had changed. In that moment, he felt foolish for ever doubting you would go anywhere.

“I forgot something very, very, VERY, important!” he exclaimed, as though he were about to reveal the biggest prize of the night. 

Before you could react, he gently guided your head toward him and planted a smoldering kiss on your cheek, leaving a slick lingering imprint like he couldn’t bear to let you go for even a second.

He stood back up, clasping his hands together dramatically, before turning his attention to the TV and then back to you, just to make sure you were real, still there and still his.

…

The days slipped by in a surreal blur… or had it been months? You couldn’t tell anymore.

Tenna’s obsession with you only grew more intense. You might have expected the glittering novelty of the so-called honeymoon phase to fade into something gentler and more stable. But Tenna wasn’t like other people. No, his fascination with you only grew the more time he spent by your side.

Every quirk you revealed, every quiet laugh that escaped you, every sweet glance you gave him only fueled his adoration for you. And when you were apart, even briefly, he craved you even more, like the absence physically pained him. But he didn’t allow much room for distance. Almost every day, you found yourself on set, immersed in the fantasy world of his endlessly running television programs, seated beside him as his beloved co-host. 

You could feel the spotlight’s heat, the hum of the cameras tracking your every movement, and the eyes of the ever smiling audience fixed on you like painted dolls. But none of it compared to Tenna. His attention was the most intense of all, as if he was afraid that if he looked away, even for a moment, you might disappear. 

To the viewers, whoever they were, you were a perfect team. But to Tenna, you were far more. You were the heart of his story and the star of his private fantasy. The show was just the stage on which he could keep you closer to him. Sometimes, he would step aside entirely, watching you from the crowd with rapt attention, his smile gleaming like an overzealous fan as you took center stage.

There was never a dull moment with Tenna. He anticipated your moods, catered to your whims, and flooded your world with gifts. Little treasures, gadgets you didn’t know existed, indulgences you hadn’t realized you craved. Some things were beautiful, some ridiculous, some utterly useless. Who on Earth would need a lifetime supply of goopy slime?... But all of them were chosen with such fanatical devotion it was hard not to feel flattered. Worshipped, even.

He spoke to you in words so sweet it was intoxicating. The way he looked at you like you were the only person left in the universe. You had begun to enjoy it. The attention. The rhythm of the production schedule. The illusion of purpose and of control. There was something magnetic about it all, something strangely addictive. Tenna’s world wrapped itself around you like a soft blindfold that was just thick enough to keep reality at bay.

You sometimes found yourself wondering why the two of you hadn’t crossed that final line. You hadn’t had sex yet. Well, if you don’t count… that time. But Tenna dismissed it completely, brushing it off with a crooked smile and a wave of his hand. A slip, he’d called it. Like a scene that wasn’t supposed to be filmed. 

He insisted on doing things properly now. 

You can’t put the cart before the horse, he said. 

He insisted on following the precise beats of a romantic comedy. Step by step like the gentleman he claimed to be. He wanted the buildup, the anticipation, the perfect arc.

As he put it, the big moment has to be earned!

He really tried. Even when you tested him and pushed him to see how far his so-called standards would stretch. You teased him about that time he creamed his own pants. And, well… you’d walked in on him more than once, pleasuring himself to one of your shows, the ones where a little more skin was on display. Pathetic. 

But you liked it. You liked him. You liked how, even when he was barely keeping it together, he still knew where to draw the line. And somewhere along the way, you started to understand the rhythm of it too, the slow burn, the step by step, the dinner and flowers type of deal. Now, the reward felt like the grand prize. Like something worth waiting for.

However, even if you said you were fine waiting, he couldn’t stop the gnawing, ugly twist in his chest every time you smiled at someone else. Lately, you’d been talking to more of his staff, laughing a little too easily, drifting just a little too far from him. And that didn’t sit right with him.

Why would you go talk to Lanino, of all people, when you could be spending that time with him? Why? Why would you even look his way when he was right here? Wasn’t he enough?

He knew Lanino’s reputation. Everyone did. A shameless flirt, always sniffing around someone new the second things cooled off with Elnina. Just like a dog with no leash. And you hadn’t been touched in a while and you were starved for some… bed action. He knew that. He thought about that constantly.

That wasn’t going to happen, right? You wouldn’t fall for someone like him. You wouldn’t let that weather boy put his hands on you, would you? No. You wouldn’t.

His fists clenched, and his teeth ground together with sharp pressure, like he was trying to bite back the thoughts clawing at his mind. He was just imagining things. That had to be it. Just paranoia. You were his. You said you were fine waiting. You promised. And promises weren’t meant to be broken.

He had to check for himself. Just in case. No, he wasn’t jealous. Of course not. This was just a little… investigation. That’s all. A harmless investigation. Nothing more. Just making sure everything was fine. Just making sure you were fine.

And there you were. Near the vending machine. With him.

That sunny, smug faced waste of space. Grinning like he hadn’t already burned through the same relationship three times this month alone. Like he had any right to be that close to you.

Had he offered you something? A drink? Refreshments? How dare he. And you accepted? Nooo…

You were laughing with him. Leaning just a little too close for his liking. Like he was someone special. Like he meant something to you.

Tenna’s screen flickered, the edges glowing red with a loud rising hum of static. He barely noticed it. His focus was locked on the way Lanino reached out mid sentence and placed a casual hand on your arm.

He touched you. And you didn’t flinch. You didn’t pull away. You simply smiled.

No. No, no, no. No. NO! 

Something deep inside Tenna snapped like a frayed wire. His screen buzzed violently now, fine smoke curling from the corners. He couldn’t hear what either of you were saying anymore. Just the sound of his own thoughts reassuring him that you were his, not some disposable side character’s distraction.

“Sweetheart!” Tenna called out, voice bright as a bell, forcing a loving smile as his tall frame cast a long shadow over the both of you.

You looked up and even if he was trying to seem cheerful, something in the way his smile twitched and pulled just a little too tight made your skin crawl.

“Tenna, we were just getting—”

“Finished?” he interrupted, chipper and loud. “Amazing news!”

His voice was still sweet and singsong, but the way his screen glitched at the edges and his smile strained made it hard to tell if he was pleased or furious.

“Yes, I was just about to get back into the program,” you said, the words stumbling out.

You glanced toward Lanino, hoping for some kind of support, but he was already gone. 

Sunny bastard.

“He’s not coming back,” Tenna said flatly, his tone dropping the second he noticed you were alone with him. “Don’t worry about him…”

He stepped closer with a heavy stride that brought him directly into your space. Then he bent down slightly, just enough to level his glowing screen with your eyes.

“Tenna?” you whispered, unease prickling at your neck as you noticed the way his display flickered, blinking in and out, dimming like a faulty bulb. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, clasping his hands together with a plastic sounding snap. “I just have to make a few last minute changes to the show’s lineup.”

The smile was back, but this time, you could see the calculation behind it. He was already thinking. Already planning something. A punishment? A reward? It was hard to tell.

“Oh, um… do you want to go over it now? I’ve already prepared—”

“No need for that,” he cut you off again, voice laced with false cheer. “I think it’s better if I don’t ruin the surprise!” 

With a sudden sharp snap of his fingers, the world around you blurred, the sound slicing through the tension with an unmistakable finality. 

“Wha… Tenna—” you barely whispered, the word melting on your tongue.

He caught you before you hit the floor, one arm slipping beneath your legs, the other steadying your head against his chest.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured, his smooth voice drifting through the haze like a lullaby. “Don’t fight it. Just a little nap. When you wake up... you’ll love it. I promise.”

Your vision wavered, your limbs growing heavy as if the very air had thickened. You fought to stay conscious, but the pull of sleep was overwhelming. 

His breath ghosted against your ear as he leaned in closer, his words slower now, almost apologetic. “I’ve been so selfish, haven’t I? So stupid. You’ve needed me... and I was holding back. Taking things slow, trying to be gentle… But that’s over now. I’m going to make it right. You’ll see.”

Gloved fingers brushed your cheek with unbearable delicacy, lingering just beneath your eye like he was memorizing the curve of your face. Then, with agonizing slowness, he traced the line of your jaw, down to your throat, and back again. His touch was so gentle it almost made it more difficult to stay awake.

“You’re mine now,” he breathed. “Just mine.”

The last thing you saw before the darkness swallowed you whole was Tenna leaning in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. His lips lingered there for a heartbeat too long, and when he pulled away, his smile gleamed with something soft and unhinged at the same time.

“Sleep now, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice laced with something raw and trembling. “And when you open your eyes... I’ll show you how much I’ve been holding back.”

[dsz-bullet]

Alenoaheather head-canons bcuz poly wins

- The worst people you know are in a throuple

- They are so emotionally repressed they cannot be their deepest honest selves for a long while

- Alejandro loves pda, Noah can tolerate it, it takes Heather a while to get comfortable with it.

- Noah and heathers version of comforting each other is just. Sitting in silence until eventually the emotional tension has subsided (they can feel it when it does)

- “I literally can’t stand you” while looking deep into each other’s eyes and holding hands

- Noah is a dog person, Heather is a cat person, Alejandro can’t stand either he’s lowkey a horse guy

- Noaheather and it’s basically just a baddie and her dog of a boyfriend

- Aleheather and it’s basically just a baddie and her dog of a boyfriend

- Alenoah and it’s two undiagnosed assholes

- “We saw you across the bar we just love your vibe” no they saw you across the bar and made fun of your beige turtleneck they hate you

- They like to physically tease each other like drop kick each other to the ground or sit on each other.

- ^ Heather is unfortunately competitive in tease fighting + a biter.

- Noah was forced to start a skin care routine by ale and Heather. Now he puts water AND moisturizer on his face.

- Heather just doesn’t understand emotions very well so 70% of the time she’s just sitting there trying to analyze her partners. Her boys tease her about it every now and then.

- One of the Trio’s weirdest quirks is they can recognize each other by how they smell:

- ^ Noah smells like books and coffee, Alejandro smells like cologne and honeysuckle, and Heather smells like vanilla and rain.

- They talk loads of shit lol.

- They have their own pet names for each other:

- Noah: “Eel and Snake” or when he tries to be romantic, “Honey and Darling”

- Heather: “Ale and Noah bear”

- Alejandro: “Mi amada and “Amorcito”

- Bisexual all of them

Okay that’s all I can conjure up rn

[sprytesukii]

the intimacy of your partner washing your face for you <3

[amaranthinespirit]

simon riley has an obsession on showering with you.

you can never shower alone when this man is home. it is literally impossible. whenever the knob is turned and water is spewing from the shower head, it's like shaking a bag of treats because without fail, he'll stomp across the house.

but he's silent about it, somehow, despite his size. he'll creep up behind you, the bathroom door left open because it's just you two in the house, and find his arms around your waist.

he would press kisses to your bare shoulder, unironically mumble into your skin, "showerin' wit'ou me, luv?" his voice low and gruff, his hands wandering and pawing at your bare flesh before taking a step back to pull his shirt over his head.

usually, showers with simon go one of two ways.

the first of the two is when you've had a particularly rough day, desperately in need of a hot shower to rid your muscles of all the tension in your body.

so when simon enters the bathroom, your body more rigid than normal when he finds himself attaching to your back, he knows not to fuck with you. he learned this the hard way.

instead he'll massage your sore muscles, peppering soft kisses along your shoulders before helping you into the shower. he'll wash your hair for you, nails gently scratching at your scalp. he chuckles, a sound rumbling deep in his chest as he watches your eyes flutter shut and a low hum vibrate from your lips. his thumbs massaging either side of your temple before rinsing the suds from your hair.

he'll turn you around, your back flush against his broad chest as he lathers soap along your skin, muttering praises in your ear as his hands non-sensually rub your skin clean.

helping you back out, he wraps a towel around your wet skin, making sure that it's firmly around your body before turning his back to run a hot bath for you to relax in, a well-known routine at this point.

a few minutes pass, the bath is hot and full. he holds out his hand for you to take, helping you step into the bathroom and taking the towel from you. he loves the sighs that fall from your lips, the way you lay back further into the water as he finds himself sitting on the edge. his hand reaching for your hand as he rubs the strands between the pads of his fingers.

he'll listen to your day, only humming in response as he lets you be the one to do all the talking.

then there's the other times you shower with simon. the times when you aren't a heap of stress, body malleable under his rough hands as he fondles your skin. you haven't even stepped into the shower yet, and he's already got his paws on you.

and it gets worse in the shower. he constantly hovers over you, to the point where you can't even wash up as he rubs his cock between your thighs, your folds parting alongst his length.

he'll hum appreciatively, his forearm crossed against your collarbone, his other hand groping your breast, fingers pinching at the sensitive bud. his lip quirks at the soft mewls falling from your lips, his hips slapping against the plush of your rear.

depending on how he's feeling, he'd either have you on your knees in front of him, his body blocking the onslaught of water cascading down onto the two of you. his hand tangled in your soaked hair with your plush lips wrapped around the leaking head of his red, angry cock, soft, pink tongue licking away his arousal.

he won't make it that easy because it wasn't long until he was down your throat, blood further rushing to his dick as he saw the way your throat bulged because of him. grunts and groans falling from his lips as he thrust his hips further, your nose grazing the skin as the base of his heavy cock and his balls lightly slapping your chin.

saliva leaked from your lips, choking slightly as you looked up at him with tear pricked eyes. he loved the way you felt around him, the way your throat constricted and squeezed him, especially as you gagged on him.

but he's not mean, he'll praise you for taking him so well, the hand in your hair coming down to stroke your cheek, trailing down your jaw. he'll come down your throat, deep moans he couldn't hold back escaping his lips.

or he'll have you pressed against the shower wall, faced smushed into the cold tile. it made you shiver, your nipples hardening as his rough hand was less than gentle rubbing at your weeping cunt. his fingers pinched at your clit, sticky arousal coating his skin.

it wasn't long until he sank himself into your velvety walls, giving you no time before he was plowing his hips into your welcoming cunt. his meaty cock stretching out your walls, bulbous tip kissing your cervix, you're sure it's bruised.

both of his hands are around your throat, pulling you back to meet him halfway as he feels the vibrations of your moans under his palms. his pace is relentless and violent, pent-up.

and he does not last long, he doesn't try to when he has you all to himself for later.

there are no cons to showering with simon, especially since he's able to put up with the scalding, volcanic temperature you put the water to!

[blank-potato]

Insomniacs with a z

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader x John Walker

Summary:

“Damn it, John, let go,” you whisper under your breath, carefully trying to pry one of his arms off your waist. No use. His super soldier strength is in full effect, and all you manage to do is shift the grip higher—great, now he’s got you in a chokehold. And as if the universe hadn’t punished you enough for choosing this sleepover, Bob snuggles closer behind you. You feel the warm tickle of his breath against your neck as his nose nudges into your hair, his arm casually thrown across your side like it belongs there. “Not you too,” you mutter, eyebrows furrowing as you attempt to wiggle free. But with John locked on one side and Bob clinging to you like a sleepy koala, your options are severely limited. Or You form the New Avengers' very first sleep sub-unit. You, John and Bob all struggle to sleep, so you sleep in the same bed together to help each other out. And it's definitely platonic.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, smut, fluff, little angst, threesome, p in v, oral sex (female and male receiving), creampie, sex dream, John and Bob being cute

WC: 9.5k

A/N: Started this ages a while ago but finally finished it. I wrote this because who wouldn't wanna be in a John and Bob sandwich, and I feel like since it's May (Challengers month but every month is Challengers month imo) I need to write threesomes. And I love Sentryagent, Thunderbolts has brought back the multishipper in me. Enjoy!

***

Sleep was something that often escaped you. After the things you’ve done, the things you’ve seen, you’re surprised you sleep at all. It’s like your mind refuses to shut down, always racing, always bracing for something that never comes. Like there's a part of you that's always on watch, never letting you fully rest unless your body gives in from pure exhaustion.

So here you are again, wide awake at god-knows-what hour, standing in the kitchen in your sweats, staring into the fridge like it’s going to offer you something other than the same sad leftovers and a questionable bottle of juice. You close it. Two and a half seconds later, you open it again.

You pace. Open a cabinet. Close it. Lean against the counter. Wander to the sink. Insomnia’s a bitch. The hum of the fridge is loud in the quiet of the night, and the soft creak of the floorboards beneath your feet is the only rhythm to your restless routine.

“What are you doing up?” a voice asks from behind you.

You turn to see John standing in the doorway, looking tired, his old white army shirt wrinkled, hair an adorable mess (not that you’d ever say that out loud). His expression is soft, caught somewhere between concern and exhaustion.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you say, shrugging. “Staring at my ceiling was starting to drive me crazy. What about you?”

John exhales deeply, like he’s carrying the weight of something heavy. “Same. Too much on my mind.”

“Feel free to join me,” you say, hopping onto the counter next to him. He doesn’t say anything at first, just moves around the kitchen trying to get his bearings. You sit on the counter, watching him as he searches the cabinets.

You never quite knew what it was. It wasn’t anything obvious, just something about seeing him like this, all comfy in his pyjamas. You liked it more than you probably should.

"You're staring," He says, snapping you back to your senses.

"Am not."

“Are too,” he replies smugly, finally retrieving a jar from the cabinet like he just found buried treasure.

“You’re such a child,” you say, rolling your eyes, though you’re smiling despite yourself.

“And yet, here you are. Watching me like I’m the last man on Earth who knows how to make a sandwich,” He says, going over to the fridge to grab bread. 

“I’m just making sure you don’t burn the kitchen down,” you lie, folding your arms.

“With peanut butter?” John questions, eyebrow quirked up. 

“You never know.”

He rolls his eyes at you and tosses his bread in the toaster as he goes to try to find the jam for his PB&J.

Just then, there's a quiet creak, the unmistakable sound of someone stepping into the kitchen. You and John both glance over to see Bob walk in, clearly not realising anyone else is there yet. He grabs a glass, eyes still adjusting to the light, then turns around. 

He stops in his tracks when he sees the two of you. His hair’s sticking up like he’d just rolled out of bed, and he's holding his empty glass like he’s just been caught stealing. In an instant, his powers kick in, the glass shattering in his hand. 

“Oh shit, I’ll…” Bob blurts, immediately rushing to pick up the broken glass with his hands.

John’s on the move before the words even finish leaving Bob’s mouth, already halfway across the kitchen, when he heard the glass break. “Be careful, you’ll hurt yourself—”

“I can’t get cut, remember?” Bob says with a small grin, crouched and collecting the shards like it’s no big deal.

John hesitates, hand still extended like he might intercept him anyway. He often forgot just how strong Bob actually was, it wasn’t something he ever led with. Something about the way he carried himself made you want to protect him, even if he was as strong as a God. Same for the rest of the team, probably.

“Still…” John mutters, his concern clinging stubbornly to the edge of his voice, even if it had no real argument to stand on.

You hop off the counter, bare feet, making a quick dash to the broom closet. “What are you even doing awake, Bob?”

“My mind was too busy. Plus, I’m kind of hungry,” he replies, tossing the glass shards in the bin. You start sweeping up the remnants of glass left on the floor when you get an idea. 

“Wanna have a midnight snack?” you offer.

“It’s 3 a.m.,” John cuts in, after glancing at his watch. 

You flash him a quick grin. “Wanna have a 3 a.m. snack?”

Bob nods, his grin matching yours now. You make quick work of sweeping up any remaining glass on the floor, and the two of you start raiding the fridge like a pair of delinquents. John watches from the side, towel slung over his shoulder, arms crossed. He rolls his eyes, but there’s the faintest curve of a smile tugging at his mouth.

“I swear, the two of you are going to be the death of me.”

There’s a beat of silence as you and Bob settle on cereal, clinking spoons against mismatched bowls.

“Do you smell that?” Bob asks, nose wrinkling slightly.

There’s a very distinct burning smell filling the room, thick and bitter.

“The toast,” John grumbles, fingers running through his hair. 

“I told you,” you gloat with a smug grin, watching as he rushes to the toaster.

He yanks the lever up and pulls out what is no longer a slice of bread but a small, blackened slab of charcoal.

“It’s cremated,” Bob says through a mouthful of cereal, casually stabbing another spoonful into his mouth.

John just sighs in defeat.

“Just join us in having cereal,” you tell him, nudging the box toward him with a smirk.

“Fine,” he grumbles, grabbing a bowl. Eventually, the three of you relocate to the couch, cereal bowls in hand, because the counters weren’t exactly comfortable, and the kitchen still smelled like a small appliance fire.

“So… what’s keeping you both up tonight?” you ask, nestled between them on the couch.

John answers first, his voice monotone. “The usual.”

The usual being everything he never says out loud, all his regrets, everything he’s lost, everyone he’s lost. All the weight he still carries. It’s been quite some time since the divorce, but he still hasn’t quite gotten used to sleeping alone, constantly tossing and turning, wanting someone to be there.

Bob chimes in, “Same. The usual.”

His mind was always too awake at night, too weak and susceptible to slipping back into the darkness. It was impossible for him not to think about everything that haunted him. He was unbelievably touch-starved. He knew touch was one thing that could help soothe the restless chaos inside. Sleeping alone, just feeling the cold sheets on his skin, only made the emptiness grow louder and kept him up.

You raise an eyebrow. “What an open group we have here.”

John glances over. “What about you, then?”

You hesitate, staring down at your cereal for a beat, then sigh. “The usual…”

The silence that follows is oddly comforting. Each of you lost in your thoughts, shoulders brushing lightly, grounded only by the shared sound of quiet crunching. You all finish your cereal, the moment hanging in the air like a soft exhale.

Bob stands, collecting the empty bowls. “I’ll wash these.”

“Are you guys going back to bed?” you ask, stretching slightly as you glance between them.

John shrugs, sinking further into the couch. “I’ll stay here for a bit…”

Bob returns a few moments later from the kitchen and flops down next to you, his shoulder brushing yours. “Same.”

The three of you start shuffling around on the couch until everyone finds a spot that feels comfortable, John leaning back with his feet on the coffee table, Bob sitting close enough that your knees touch, and you tucked between them like the final puzzle piece. From there, the conversation seemed to flow, distracting you all from what was keeping you up at night. 

“I mean, you turned my shield into a taco,” John says, deadpan but with a slight edge. You’ve always known he was a little bitter about it. 

“I said I was sorry!” Bob defends himself, holding his hands up in mock surrender, “I was a different man then.”

You chuckle at their banter, head resting back against the cushion as their voices wrap around you like a blanket. The warmth of their presence, the soft glow of the living room, and the gentle rhythm of familiarity start to lull you to sleep.

You don’t even remember when your eyes close. Just the sound of them, bickering, laughing, still talking as if the world outside these walls doesn’t exist.

***

You wake up the next morning, so well rested, you’d think you slept on a bed of clouds and dreams. 

John’s arms are draped loosely around your waist, his fingers just barely brushing your skin beneath the hem of your shirt. Bob’s head rests gently on your shoulder, his breath soft and warm against your neck, making you shiver even as you smile sleepily.

The sun is barely peeking through the curtains, casting a soft golden hue over the quiet living room.

You know you can’t stay here forever, so with great care and a ridiculous amount of flexibility, you begin to untangle yourself from their limbs. 

You pause once or twice as Bob shifts slightly or John murmurs something unintelligible in his sleep, but they don’t wake. 

It isn’t as easy as you’d think it’d be, especially once you realise you’re caught in a trap. John’s arms tighten around you in his sleep like you’re some kind of oversized teddy bear he refuses to part with.

“Damn it, John, let go,” you whisper under your breath, carefully trying to pry one of his arms off your waist. No use. His super soldier strength is in full effect, and all you manage to do is shift the grip higher—great, now he’s got you in a chokehold.

And as if the universe hadn’t punished you enough for choosing this sleepover, Bob snuggles closer behind you. You feel the warm tickle of his breath against your neck as his nose nudges into your hair, his arm casually thrown across your side like it belongs there.

“Not you too,” you mutter, eyebrows furrowing as you attempt to wiggle free. But with John locked on one side and Bob clinging to you like a sleepy koala, your options are severely limited.

It takes at least fifteen minutes before you finally manoeuvre your way out of the human bear trap that is your two oblivious teammates.

Once you’re out, you decide to have a little fun. You gently lift Bob’s head and nestle it against John's shoulder, shifting John's arm so it's draped protectively over Bob. The sight almost makes you stay.

Finally, you tuck a blanket around the two of them and step back, admiring your work with a sleepy smile. They looked peaceful. Safe.

You leave the room quietly, knowing full well someone, maybe Yelena or Bucky, would be the first to stumble in and find the two of them cuddled up like that.

They wake up hours later, the distant hum of activity signalling it’s definitely already afternoon.

“Walker?” Bob murmurs groggily, his voice rough with sleep, as he blinks at the ceiling. Then he turns his head and freezes, feeling John’s arm slung comfortably across his waist.

They both jolted upright like someone had hit a panic button.

“Nothing happened,” John says immediately, running a hand through his hair, eyes wide.

“Obviously,” Bob replies, a bit too fast, already scooting to the far end of the couch.

But any attempt at saving face is promptly ruined when Ava walks by with a mug in hand and a wicked grin.

“You two make a cute pair,” she teases without slowing, not even sparing them a second glance as she disappears down the hall.

They sit there for a beat, stunned, before Bob mutters, “Please tell me no one took pictures.”

John groans, rubbing his face. “We’re never hearing the end of this.”

***

The next few nights are tough. Worse than jetlag, worse than missions, worse than running on three hours of sleep and no espresso. You toss and turn like your sheets are made of sandpaper, pillow doing nothing to muffle the ache of absence beside you. You wanted to ask them, just once, to sleep beside you again. Just to see if it would help. Just to see if it meant anything.

But how were you supposed to do that? Knock on their door and go, "Sleep with me!"?

Mortifying.

Still, the restlessness was eating away at your nerves. So, gathering all the courage you can possibly muster, you decide maybe, just maybe, you’d go to both of their rooms and… ask. Or not ask. Maybe just stand there awkwardly until they read your mind.

You stumble out of bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and go to open your door—only to stop short at the sight of a tall brunette swaying nervously right in front of it, arm halfway raised to knock.

“Bob?” you whisper, blinking.

He jumps slightly, caught red-handed. “Oh… hey.”

You tilt your head, heart thudding. “What are you doing out here?”

He scratches the back of his neck, sheepishly. “I was just… walking. Or, not really. Thinking. Or maybe… not sleeping.”

You smile, because yeah, you know exactly what that’s like. “Same.”

There’s a pause. The moment stretches, as you both tiptoe around the same thought. Then, finally, you take the leap.

“So do you… wanna stay in here?”

Bob’s eyes flick up to yours, and his smile is small, but relieved.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Both of you lie next to each other on your bed, talking about nothing and everything. It feels more comfortable, and you can feel your body starting to relax a bit. 

But ten minutes later, there’s a knock on your door. You and Bob exchange a look, and you walk over to your door to see John standing there. He looks as tired as you are, eyes rimmed red, posture slack, like sleep has been eluding him for days.

John notices Bob already there, sitting cross-legged on your bed, half-wrapped in one of your throw blankets.

“I’m interrupting, aren’t I? I can—”

“Stay. Please, it’s okay. The more the merrier,” you say quickly, stepping aside. You were happy to see him, and judging by the soft smile tugging at Bob’s lips, so was he.

“So, I’m assuming you’re both here to sleep with me,” you start, watching as they both sit down on either side of you. They pause. Blink. The silence stretches, thick with implication.

“Well, you know what I mean,” you clarify, cheeks heating. “Sleep next to me. Next to each other in a totally platonic and cool friend way.”

“Yeah, like that…” John says, nodding way too seriously. “I actually slept really well when we crashed on the couch the other day, so…”

“Same,” Bob adds. “I… haven’t really slept since then. Not like real sleep.”

You look between the two of them, then glance at your bed.

“So… how are we all going to fit?”

There’s a beat of silence before John offers, “I’ll take the edge.”

“I don’t mind an edge either,” Bob shrugs. “Unless you want it.”

“I want pillows, that’s what I want,” you say, flopping backwards across the bed. “We’ll make it work.”

And somehow, you do. There's a bit of shifting, a tangle of limbs and blankets, someone’s foot ending up in the wrong place and being shoved off with a muttered complaint. You’re in a Bob and John sandwich, and it’s actually very comfortable. Just knowing that you didn’t have to fall asleep alone did more for you than you thought it would.

You smile to yourself and relax, the warmth of them on either side soothing you more than any blanket ever could.

“Are you guys asleep?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bob lets out a soft, “No,” and John follows with a groggy, “I was.”

“I thought of a name for us. We’re ‘insomniacs… with a z,’’ Good right?” you whisper with a grin, and though you can’t see his face in the dark, you know John rolled his eyes at that.

“You need to go to sleep,” Bob murmurs, leaning into you, his voice low and full of fondness.

You hum in response, already halfway to unconsciousness again, feeling his hand settle gently on your waist while John’s leg brushes yours under the covers.

***

For the next few nights, the three of you fall into an unspoken routine. Cramming into your bed, trading dumb jokes and half-whispered stories until sleep takes over. It’s oddly comforting. Easy. You've never slept better.

Sometimes when you’d walk in, John and Bob would already be there, lying next to each other, leaving just enough space for you, but close enough that their legs touched under the blanket. You saw it even if they didn’t. The way Bob’s shoulders relaxed just a little more when John was near. The way John’s usually guarded face softened around him. Bob’s quiet glances when he thought no one was looking. John’s compulsive need to take care of him, even in the smallest ways, like adjusting the blanket around Bob’s shoulders or handing him a snack before he could ask for one.

You even caught John absentmindedly running his fingers through Bob’s hair once, his other hand resting casually on your shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And maybe, for the three of you, it was.

It was your little (not-so-secret) secret. Until one morning when Bucky catches you all red-handed. 

He rounds the corner, coffee mug in hand, just in time to catch John and Bob exiting your room. They're both rumpled and sleepy-eyed, Bob rubbing the back of his neck, John trying to quietly shut your door.

They both freeze when they see him.

Bucky raises an eyebrow, lips already twitching.

“It really isn’t what it looks like,” John says quickly, holding up his hands like he’s surrendering.

Bucky takes a slow sip from his mug, never breaking eye contact. “And I’m really not sure I want to know, Walker.”

Bob makes a small noise of protest, like he wants to clarify something, but then thinks better of it.

“But whatever helps you sleep at night,” Bucky deadpans, walking past them.

John takes a breath while Bob chokes on air.

Trying to eat breakfast after that was… an ordeal, to say the least. Ava was in the kitchen, minding her business but clearly listening, her facial expressions and raised brows doing all the talking. And Alexei (of course) was making himself at home, throwing not-so-subtle glances your way that made you want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Alexei comments casually, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Young people need warmth. Back in my day, we shared beds all the time for survival.”

“Right,” you mutter, pushing cereal around in your bowl.

“Nothing brings people closer than shared body heat,” he continues. 

“Ugh…” you groan, dropping your spoon. But all this was worth it. You needed them in your bed… for completely platonic reasons. Obviously.

That night, you open the door to see John already leaning against the frame like he owns the place.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” you say with mock grandeur, stepping aside to let him in.

John heads straight to your bed, dropping onto it like it's his. He leans back, gets comfortable, then pauses—his brow furrowing.

“Have you been eating cookies in here?”

“…No,” you lie, a little too quickly.

John shifts, brushing a hand across the blanket with exaggerated suspicion. “I can feel the crumbs,” he says, deadpan.

You roll your eyes, not wanting to hear the full lecture. “Okay, maybe one cookie. Or maybe it was more like… four.”

John sighs, dragging a hand through his hair, clearly fighting the urge to launch into a full monologue about hygiene and cookie crumbs.

“I’m not sleeping in your cookie-infested bed,” he mutters, shooting you a look. “Couldn’t you have, I don’t know, used a plate instead of just rawdogging it with your comforter?”

“Who takes a plate of cookies to bed?” you argue, arms crossed, as if this is a totally reasonable lifestyle choice.

John just stares at you. “People who respect baked goods and their sheets,” he rebuts dryly, rubbing his temple like you’re this close to giving him a headache. “When Bob gets here, we’ll just go to my room instead.”

But ten minutes pass. Then fifteen.

And still—no Bob.

You glance at the clock, then at John. “Think we should check on him?” you ask, the teasing drained from your voice now.

You were both beyond concerned.

Something wasn’t right.

John nods, and you follow behind him in silence, heart tight in your chest, hoping Bob’s alright.

“Bob? Are you in there?” John calls out, knocking once, then again, louder this time. But there’s no response.

He tries the handle. Unlocked.

Pushing the door open, you’re met with a rush of cold air. The window had been left wide open, the curtains fluttering slightly in the night breeze. The room is dim, quiet, and strangely still.

Then you see it—a Bob-shaped lump curled in the corner, knees drawn in, arms wrapped around himself like he’s trying to hold something in… or keep everything else out.

“Bob?” you say gently, voice soft but urgent, as you and John step carefully inside.

He doesn’t move. Still cradled in the same position. Shoulders tight. Breathing shallow.

The two of you lower yourselves to the floor, sitting near but not too close, not wanting to spook him, not wanting to leave him alone either.

“I’m fine,” Bob says after a long silence. His voice is thin. Flat. The kind of “fine” that clearly means anything but.

“This doesn’t look fine,” John replies quietly, a mix of concern and frustration in his voice.

You take in his dishevelled form—hair messy and clinging to his forehead, eyes wet with tears that he hadn’t bothered to wipe away. His whole body looks like it’s holding something heavy, like whatever’s going on inside him is too much to carry alone.

“You can tell us when you’re ready,” you say gently, your voice steady despite the ache building in your chest. “But we’re not leaving you alone.”

“We’ll stay on the floor with you all night if we have to,” John adds, firm and honest, with no hesitation.

Bob looks between the two of you, eyes wide and shining, like the idea of someone staying is new and almost too much to believe.

“You don’t understand…” he whispers, voice cracking. “If I lose control... I don’t hurt just me. I hurt everyone.”

Bob closes his eyes, and the memories hit him like a freight train—what happened in New York flashing through his mind as vividly as if it were happening again. He can still hear the screams, the panic in the streets, the chaos he caused. What he became. The helplessness of knowing that at any moment, it could all slip again. He could become that thing. And there’d be no undoing it.

“Bob,” you say gently, grounding him, your voice pulling him back from the edge.

His glassy eyes flutter open to the sight of you and John. He could see that you cared, more than he was used to. 

“If you lose control,” you continue, steady and unwavering, “every single one of us will be here to bring you back.”

“This will never be something you have to fight on your own. Never again,” John says, his voice thick with conviction.

And that’s when Bob breaks.

The weight he’s been carrying finally cracks, and he collapses into John’s arms, sobbing, raw and unfiltered. He reaches for your hand, grip tightens around it as soon as you find it. 

You stay there, the three of you, only the sound of Bob’s soft, trembling breaths audible. No one rushes him. No one lets go.

By the time you’re all finally drifting into sleep, slouched against each other on the floor, the first light of morning is creeping through the window.

***

The next day is a lot brighter.

The whole team is sent out on a mission that almost goes smoothly, if you don’t count the narrowly avoided international incident and the flaming jeep that somehow ended up in a fountain. But no one’s seriously hurt, and considering the usual chaos, that’s practically a win.

By the time you all make it back to the tower, bones are aching, eyes are heavy, and moods are dangerously close to cranky.

Then someone smells it.

Food. Real food.

The delicious scent winds through the hallways. The team practically floats toward the kitchen on instinct, lured like cartoon characters by the promise of actual food.

You spot Bob at the stove, apron slightly crooked, sleeves rolled up, a little flushed from the heat. You rush over to him, ruffling his hair without hesitation.

“You didn’t have to,” you say, smiling.

“I felt better today,” Bob says, glancing at you shyly, then smiling a little more freely. “So… I thought this might help. Everyone seemed like they needed something good.”

His eyes flick briefly to John, who’s leaning against the doorway, watching with soft approval.

“Well, thank you. We really appreciate it,” John says. “Plus, it’s definitely better than whatever the hell Alexei made last week.”

Alexei pipes up from the table, “It was fusion.”

“It was a war crime,” Ava mutters.

Everyone laughs, the tension melting into the kind of easy camaraderie that doesn’t come often, but when it does, it means something.

The whole time you eat, you feel it, that strange warmth in your chest, like a string pulled gently taut between the three of you. You catch yourself looking forward to nightfall in a way you never used to.

Like clockwork, they enter your room that night, John with a tired smile, Bob already carrying a pillow under one arm like he’s making himself at home. You scoot over to make space as they settle in on either side of you.

“Can you both do something for me?” you ask softly, voice barely above a whisper.

“Name it,” Bob replies without hesitation, already leaning closer.

“No judgment,” you say, a bit embarrassed, “but… can you run your fingers through my hair?”

There’s a beat of silence, then two sets of hands move almost simultaneously. No teasing. No questions. Just soft fingers brushing through your hair, careful and gentle.

You lean into their touch. Each stroke sends a calm shiver down your spine, melting tension from your body. You don’t mean to fall asleep, not that fast, but your eyes flutter shut and the weight of the day slips away before you even realise it.

“She’s been falling asleep a lot quicker lately,” John comments quietly, pulling the blanket up over you.

Bob nods, watching your steady breathing. “Yeah… think she just needed to feel safe.” His hand lingers for a moment, brushing a stray strand from your face before settling back. Then something happens that makes them question everything. 

You moan.

“Did you…?” John starts with a mix of hesitation and curiosity, but he’s cut off when you mumble in your sleep.

“John…” you whisper softly, dream-heavy and far too sweet.

Both of them freeze. Bob’s hand goes still on the blanket, and John stares at you like you just hit him with a truck. You continue, a few more unintelligible whimpers slipping out. They’re soft, needy little sounds that make both men immediately and awkwardly alert.

Your brows scrunch in your sleep, and then another mumble: “Bob…so good…”

Their hands are completely out of your hair now, as though it burned them. They exchange a wide-eyed look.

“What’s happening?” Bob says, whispering like the room itself might judge him.

“She’s dreaming,” John mutters back, blinking at you. “But… of what exactly?”

“She said both our names.”

“I know.” A pause. “Do you think we should wake her up?”

“No,” Bob cuts in quickly, eyes fixed on you, like you might say something even more incriminating. “We should let her sleep.”

They both sit stiffly now, backs straight, trying very hard to think about anything else as you sigh contentedly in your sleep, clearly having a very different kind of night than they are.

“Whatever it is,” John finally mutters, “it must be really good.”

“Walker…” Bob says, voice low and barely above a whisper.

“I’m just saying,” John mutters, lifting his hands in defence. The blonde’s ears were still pink, eyes wide. “I’ve never heard her make noises like that. That had to be… something.”

Bob runs a hand through his hair, clearly flustered. “Yeah, something. Something that included both of us.”

John sinks a little deeper into the mattress, staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers. “That’s what I’m saying.”

You gasp softly in your sleep, a breathy “Holy shit…” slipping out before your voice finally fades into silence. Your breathing evens out, those needy little noises replaced by soft, peaceful snores.

They both freeze, eyes locked on you like you’re a live grenade in the middle of the bed.

And then, finally, you shift slightly and curl in, utterly unaware of the absolute panic you’ve left in your wake.

John exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Let’s just… go to bed.”

“Goodnight, Walker,” Bob says, still sounding dazed.

They lay back down, each careful not to touch you or each other as if contact might electrocute them. They eventually fall asleep, but their minds? Nowhere near quiet. And between the memories of your sleep-talking and the unanswered questions hanging thick in the air, it ends up being the most uncomfortable restful night either of them has had.

***

The blankets rustle and shift, and you move closer to the two of them, shuffling about as you fight to get comfy.

“You need to stop moving,” John grumbles, his voice gravely as he's already half-asleep.

“I’m just trying to get comfortable,” you argue, shuffling over to press against Bob, who whines in protest.

“You really do need to stop moving like that,” Bob chimes in, his voice a little breathy, not entirely annoyed.

John’s hand finds your hip, firm but gentle, holding you still. “John…” you whisper, suddenly aware of how close his body is pressed against your back.

He leans down, lips brushing your ear as he murmurs, “Do you want this as much as we do?”

You look between the two of them and let out a soft, shaky breath. “Yes.”

He exhales like he’s been holding that breath for days, and then John’s lips are at your neck, slow and deliberate. Bob’s hands find your waist, pulling you closer, grounding you.

“Can I?” he asks gently, his eyes searching yours.

“Yes, Bob…”, you reply, and he leans in, your lips meeting in a kiss that’s careful at first, but quickly deepens. It’s a little messy, a little desperate, like he’s been waiting too long to do this. Pulling back, you gasp softly, breath mingling in the space between you.

Looking up at both of them, your words are a whisper, “I need you so bad.”

Your pleas are interrupted as John’s hands climb up your shirt and under your bra. It’s like everything he did was made to make you fall apart.

As if you weren’t overwhelmed enough, you feel Bob’s lips on your neck. His tongue tracing patterns, his lips kissing your sensitive spots so hard that it makes your toes curl.

Then suddenly all the touches stop, and you find yourself trying to catch up to the shift in the air. You’re about to open your mouth and whine about it when you notice them looking at each other.

It’s charged and quiet, electric, even.

Then John’s hand lifts, tentative, almost hesitant, and his fingers curl into Bob’s hair, like he’s done it before, or thought about doing it a thousand times. He leans in, and they kiss. It’s entrancing, the way their bodies shift toward each other like magnets finally giving in to the pull.

You’re sure you saw tongue.

Watching them kiss was a once in a lifetime experience and the fact that it was happening on top of you, “Holy shit…” 

Was this heaven?

You wake up, still a little dazed from that crazy dream you had, but feeling refreshed nonetheless. But you can’t lie, you wanted (needed) to see the end of that dream, but life couldn’t be so easy.

As you start to shake off the haze, you’re expecting the usual warmth, an arm slung around your waist, maybe a leg tangled with yours. Instead, there's nothing but cold sheets and the sharp absence of closeness. Your hand stretches out and touches only air. You blink groggily and glance around to see both Bob and John at opposite ends of the bed, practically clinging to the edges like there’s a force field between them, and you.

You let out a big, unfiltered yawn, and both of them twitch. Like actual startled animals.

They exchange a glance above you, a rapid, silent conversation with widened eyes and furrowed brows before both sit up like someone just sounded an alarm.

“What’s up?” you ask, squinting at them suspiciously. “You two look like you just got caught doing something illegal.”

“N–nothing,” Bob stammers, eyes flicking to John, then back to the floor. “I should get going, though. Breakfast… cleaning… stuff.”

“Yeah, I’ve got training,” John says, not meeting your gaze either. “Mission later, gotta prep.”

“Guys?” you press, voice dipping slightly with confusion.

“I need to, uh, do some chores. Important chores. Early morning chores.” Bob’s words tumble out of his mouth clumsily as he untangles himself from your sheets. “I have to go.”

And just like that, they both bolt, practically tripping over each other in their haste to leave the room.

You're left blinking at the door, your head spinning.

“…What the hell just happened?” you mutter to no one.

Did you miss something? Or worse, did you do something?

Because whatever it was, they’re clearly spooked.

All day, they ignore you, and you’d never seen either of them act like this before.

John, who’s normally a chatterbox, could barely talk to you on the mission; it was like when it came to you, it was like he couldn’t even hear your voice. And Bob, sweet and usually glued to your side, sat across the room at dinner like being near you might set him on fire. Every time your eyes met, he looked away.

To make matters worse, they break their ‘Insomniacs with a z’ club commitment. You wait up at night, waiting for them to come, but they don’t. Midnight, 1 am, 2 am, and they’re still not here, so you lie down in your sheets on your cold and empty bed, trying to sleep. You can’t, though, it’s the first sleepless night in a while, and there’s no other reason than the fact that they’re not by your side. 

You wake up alone again and with a mood. It was one thing if they didn’t want to do it anymore, but to drop you with no explanation wasn’t fair.

You were practically a walking sigh at this point.

Moping in the kitchen, tragically stirring your cereal like it personally offended you.

Moping in the gym, aimlessly walking on the treadmill like your heartbreak was some dramatic indie film montage.

You even moped in the laundry room, staring into the dryer like it could somehow spin your problems away.

And Yelena had had it.

“You want to talk?” she asked finally, catching you mid-mope as you stood in the hallway holding a half-folded towel like it was a fragile relic of a better time. “Because this sad little ghost routine is killing the vibe around here.”

You groaned, dragging the towel dramatically over your face. “They don’t want to sleep with me anymore.”

Yelena blinked. “Wait, what?”

You lowered the towel. “No—I mean—not like that.”

She arched a brow.

“I mean like… they used to come into my room. And sleep. With me. Next to me. It was a whole thing. We’d talk, they’d run their fingers through my hair, but no funny business, and now? Nothing. They’re avoiding me like I’m radioactive.”

“Well,” Yelena says dryly, “There’s only one way to fix it.”

“…How?”

“Easy. Corner them. Trap them. Use emotional honesty and eye contact. Or—if that fails—lock them in a room until they start talking like adults.”

You blinked.

“You’re a genius.”

“That’s what I keep telling people,” She gloats before she disappears down the hallway.

You just had to lure them in. That night, you send them a message that’s sure to have them running to you.

“Where’s the spider?” They ask, both rushing into your room at the same time. 

You appear behind them, locking the door behind them, “Fools.”

They froze. Like deer in headlights.

Bob blinked first. “You… tricked us.”

“You sent a code red spider alert,” John added, accusatory, like that was the crime here.

“And it worked.  You two aren’t leaving until I get some answers. So now, sit. Talk.”

They hesitated, glancing at each other like maybe, just maybe, one of them could break down the door and flee. But they decided not to test your wrath.

“Why didn’t you show up last night?” you repeated, slower this time, folding your arms like a disappointed parent. “You can’t just… vanish, and not just that, but you’ve been avoiding me. It’s been miserable.”

“Did I do something?” You ask quietly, and from the subtle little flinch, you know it’s true. “Oh…”

You suddenly feel self-conscious and start rubbing your arm to subconsciously comfort yourself. Bob then steps forward, unable to let you be so distressed. “It’s not really your fault. It’s not like you can control it.”

You tilt your head at him, confused, “Control what?”

They both take a deep breath, doing their whole little silent conversation thing before obviously deciding on something. “Your dreams,” John finishes.

“My dreams–” You cut yourself off as your memories of last night's particularly steamy dream come to mind. Did you talk in your sleep?

“Did I.. Oh, I did, didn’t I?” You cry out before almost launching yourself into your bed headfirst.

“It’s not a big deal, I mean it’s understandable,” John says, gesturing to himself with his usual little grin.  “I am kind of dream worthy.”

You want your bed to just swallow you whole. “This is unbelievable. I’ll never be able to get over this. This will quite literally haunt me for the rest of my life.”

You lie still like a plank, bathing in your self-pity before a question snaps you out of it. 

“What happened exactly?” Bob asks, and your head snaps towards him.

“You want to know what happened in the dream?” You question, your mouth agape. 

Rolling onto your front, you suck in air as you replay the dream in your head, both of them shirtless, Bob’s lips on your neck, John’s fingers rubbing your clit through your panties, watching them kiss. “I don’t think that‘s the best idea.”

“It involved a few things here and there…” You say hesitantly as you try to downplay it, but the way they were looking at you from either side of you.

“We want to know,” John says, sitting down next to you. At this point, they’re both crowding around you, and you thought you were the one supposed to be trapping them.

“Well, as you can probably guess, it was a sex dream.”

You twiddle your fingers as if that’s going to make things any better and delay the inevitable awkward silence.

“And we all kissed,” you finish, voice barely above a whisper.

“Like… we both kissed you or…” Bob asks, eyebrows raised, needing the clarification more than anything else, though his voice is gentler than you expected.

“We all kissed,” you reiterate, firmer this time, like saying it with more certainty would somehow make it less embarrassing.

Bob opens his mouth, then closes it again, clearly processing before glancing over at John, who’s staring off, lost in thought, his brow furrowed as if trying to puzzle something out.

“Huh…” John finally says, scratching the back of his neck.

Bob exhales, rubbing the back of his neck too. “That’s… not what I expected, but, uh, not entirely unwelcome.”

You blink. “Wait, really?”

“So…” you begin, your voice quiet, unsure. You hesitate, wondering if you’re about to cross a line, if you're reading too much into the charged glances, the way they’ve both been orbiting closer each night. “Want to make it a reality?”

You almost regret the words the moment they’re out. But then, to your surprise, they both say yes.

You blink. They’re closer than you remember them being, shoulders brushing, heat pooling in the small space between the three of you.

They look at you, clearly unsure where to start. Taking things into your own hands, you reach for them gently, fingers threading into their hair. Bob’s hair is soft and slightly damp from a shower; John’s is shorter and messier, like he’s run his hands through it a dozen times today. They both look at you, wide-eyed, alert, hungry for your attention but waiting to be guided.

You kiss Bob first, slow, deliberate. He melts into it, moaning into your mouth like you're his salvation.

Then you turn to John. His kiss is different—deeper, more controlled—but just as wanting.

You pull back, eyes flicking between them, your hand still in John’s hair as you whisper, “Kiss him.”

They hesitate, eyes locked on each other. But only for a second.

Because they trust you and they trust each other.

You watch as they lean in, cautious at first, a brush of lips like testing the edge of something new.  Again, another enlightening experience. It’s softer than when it happened in your dream, but no less passionate. 

They pull apart to breathe, Bob laughing a little as he catches his breath. He catches the look on John’s face and immediately goes to explain himself.

“No, it’s just your beard is tickling my face,” Bob says with a shy smile.

Bob chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling.

John opens his mouth, about to apologise or say something, but Bob stops him gently.

“No, it’s okay… I like it,” Bob admits quietly.

They turn to you, noticing the way your eyes linger, how much you liked seeing them together.

“Oh, you really like that, huh?” John teases, a smug little grin on his face as he runs his fingers through your hair, right behind your ear, like he knows exactly how much that gets to you.

Bob leans in closer, voice softer but no less intense. “Didn’t know watching us would get you this worked up…”

Then, in a rush, like they can’t wait another second to get their hands back on you, they start removing their clothes. Shirts pulled off, pyjama pants too, movements frantic but focused.

You could scream.

It’s one thing to have one good-looking, shirtless man standing in front of you. It’s another to have two, both looking at you like you're the only thing in the room that matters.

You know exactly what they’d put in your autopsy report if you died right now:

“Cause of death: Abs.”

And honestly? Worth it.

It’s a mix of heat and motion, hands everywhere, so much that you don’t even know who’s touching you half the time. Fingers trailing your skin, lips brushing yours, pressure and pleasure blending until it’s all one glorious blur.

Your hands glide up and down Bob’s abs, firm and warm beneath your palms, while your lips trace along John’s bicep—so close you could just…

Before you know it, your teeth sink into him, biting down just hard enough to leave a mark.

“Did you just bite me?” John asks, blinking at you with a half-shocked, half-amused chuckle.

“Sorry,” you mumble, grinning. “Intrusive thoughts took over.”

“Bite me all you want,” he says, voice dropping low, “I can take it.”

Bob leans in from behind, his breath ghosting over your neck. “We both can.”

Just hearing that stole all the air from your lungs. In a flash, you’re lying on your back, as John ruts against you. You suspect he’s been hard ever since he and Bob made out, and you don’t blame him. 

Bob’s on the sidelines, completely entranced by John railing you, his desire on full display. Without hesitating, you reach out and palm his cock in your hands. “Can I?” You ask, and Bob swears your lips have never been so inviting. 

“Yeah, I…yeah.”

You take him into your mouth, with a kind of reverence that takes him by surprise. 

When you feel the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, you gag, a well of spit dripping out of your mouth onto the bed. 

“Doing so well,” Bob praises, watching you in awe, as he starts using your mouth more confidently. You moan desperately in response, and that’s all you're capable of right now. 

It’s almost too hard to keep up with. And you swear you’ve never been more full in your life. Your eyes screwed shut in pure ecstacy as you try to breath through your nose... You can’t think. 

“That’s a good girl,” John says as he pulls you close with each snap of his hips. You had to admit, you loved the praises they were giving you. Each one brings you that much closer to the edge. 

Suddenly, you feel Bob’s cum flooding your mouth, his hand holding onto yours as he comes down from the high you had given him. 

Then John pulls out of you, climbing off the bed and pulling the bottom half of your body with him. 

“John…” You whine, needing him back inside of you as soon as possible, because how dare he deprive you of his touch for even a second? 

“I know, I know... so impatient,” He laughs. You’re about to complain at him, but you’re interrupted by him getting on his knees, licking at your hole.  “John!” You scream out. No part of you was expecting him to start eating you out. Every part of your body, is freaking out and your hands scramble until they find Bob. 

As if to placate you, he kisses you, tongue invading your mouth just as John’s invades your pussy. 

You and Bob pull apart, a line of saliva still connecting your mouths as John continues to wreak havoc on your sanity—hands, mouth, voice, all driving you further under.

“Need you, Bob,” you whisper, breath shaky, and your mouth finds his neck, lips and teeth leaving a trail of heat. You press open-mouthed kisses along his throat, then bite down, again and again, each mark deliberate.

Bruises blooming like constellations across his skin.

You always thought he’d look nice all marked up with love bites, gasping out your name like you’re all he needs. 

And now you know he definitely does.

Just as you pull back to look at your masterpiece, John’s mouth pull away from your core only to be replaced with his cock. 

You hold onto Bob as John starts fucking you, each thrust hitting your sensitive spot dead on. “Please, John… please,” you gasp, voice wrecked with need as your words dissolve into incoherent babbles. You’re not even sure what you’re begging for anymore—his hands, his mouth, just more.

You feel him smirk against the back of your neck, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. His grip tightens, steadying you.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific, sweetheart,” he murmurs, low and teasing in your ear. “But I like you like this—messy and desperate.”

"Please, fuck me harder," You whine, not caring what you needed to say to keep feeling this good.

Bob groans softly behind you, his breath hot as he presses kisses along your shoulder. “You should see yourself right now…”

And just like that, you're gone again.

“Please never stop,” You gasp out to both of them and with another thrust from John, your orgasm hits you so hard, you think you might be done for. “Fuck!” You cry out, your legs trembling as you slide down Bob’s body, landing in the sheets next to his thigh. 

But John doesn’t stop, continuing to pound into you, not once losing pace. Damn that super solider serum. All your restraint and any trace of common sense were long gone. It had left the building as soon as their shirts came off. 

You fade in and out, until you feel him fill you up with his cum, your name coming out of his mouth in pants. 

John pulls out of you and immediately checks on you, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you puff out, chest rising and falling as you collapse onto your back, completely spent and dazed in the best possible way.

The room is warm with afterglow, breath and heat and tangled limbs. You barely register the sound of movement before John and Bob exchange a glance over you.

“Let me help you out,” John offers, seeing that Bob’s already half hard again. 

“You sure?” Bob asks softly, hesitation in his voice. He didn’t want to inconvenience him, but the words falter when John moves closer, solid and warm, his presence filling the space between them.

“I’m sure,” John murmurs, voice low and steady, his hand finding Bob’s hip like it belonged there. His touch is grounding, confident, and it makes Bob melt under it, like everything he was holding tense finally lets go.

“You don’t have to take care of me,” Bob adds, almost whispering.

John leans in, their foreheads brushing. “Maybe I want to.”

And with that, Bob exhales, letting him take control. His strong hands wrap around Bob’s dick, and Bob holds onto his arm, needing him so bad, he doesn't know what he’d do without him.

“Walker…John I—” He stutters as he moves his hips, thrusting into his hand with fervour. They look at one another. Bob’s eyes start glowing, the light pulsing with an intensity that feels almost alive. Unearthly, charged, and very imposing. It hums in the air between them, making John's chest tighten.

Afraid it might push Bob too far, might tip him into something he can’t come back from, John starts to pull away.

But Bob grabs him, firm, unyielding. “Don’t.”

It’s sharp, clipped, nothing like the sweet, careful way Bob usually speaks. The tension in his clenched jaw, the rawness in his voice, it’s not a plea. It’s a command. An order.

So John follows it.

He thrusts into John’s hand again and again, the control now flipped on its head, and John doesn’t mind one bit.

It was something else to see. Bob Reynolds, glowing, tense, his usual restraint stripped away. And still, like he was holding the universe back with his bare hands just to be gentle with him.

Then Bob’s eyes fall on you, intense and burning gold.

“Come here,” he says, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

He doesn’t wait for a response. You move, almost without thinking, drawn in by something magnetic and undeniable. You make your way over to him, and before you can even ask what he wants—

He’s kissing you. Like he’s been holding back for far too long.

John moves his hand away, letting Bob guide you until your back hits the bed.

“Are you ready?” Bob asks, smiling at you.

You consider your current position—John is beside you, lips trailing down one side of your neck, his hand firm on your waist. Bob’s cock is pushing against your hole, so close to giving you what you’ve been aching for. Your body is lit up like a live wire, and you feel like you might die.

And yet, heart racing—you let out a soft, breathy, “Yes.”

Bob pushes in slowly, and you find yourself mewling, John soothing you with his kisses. He starts slow, each thrust deeper than the last. 

As you start to get used to it, he picks up the pace, just enough to knock the breath from your lungs. Everything about this—your sounds, your body, the way you looked at him like he was the only thing in the world—was making him lose control.

He didn’t know it could feel so... so good. Overwhelming, all-consuming, better than anything he'd imagined in the haze of lonely nights and quiet want.

His voice is rough when he speaks, barely more than a whisper:

“I’m not gonna last if you keep looking at me like that.”

And honestly, neither are you.

And when John starts rubbing your clit, it’s over for you. Your moans become higher-pitched until you whimper out, “Holy.. I’m gonna…” 

A blinding orgasm hits you so hard, your back is arching off the bed. The sight is almost too much for them both, but especially Bob. When you come back down and relax against the bed, they both go back to touching you. Making sure you would have no peace while you’re with them.

Bob’s eyes glow again, and there’s a sharp cracking sound as a piece of your headboard is now somehow in his hand, splintered clean off without him even realising it.

Your eyes widen but there’s no time to focus on that, not while he’s fucking you into a new dimension. 

A few moments later, your bedroom mirror shatters, fractured by the force of the moment as he loses himself in you completely.

He starts to hesitate, breath catching, the weight of everything creeping in, but then he feels John’s hand on his back, steady and grounding, soothing him.

“Keep going,” John says, and all Bob wants to do is listen.

He ruts into you, fingers digging into your hips so hard, you know they’re going to leave bruises. 

Then Bob feels something, strong fingers threading into his hair as John pulls their lips together for the second time. This kiss is more desperate, more needy, like something inside him has snapped loose and there's no putting it back.

It’s messy and raw, and he doesn’t even try to slow down; his rhythm with you never falters, never once losing pace. You love a man who can multitask.

The kiss breaks only when breathlessness forces it, and Bob pulls back just slightly, eyes blown wide, lips swollen, his mind a complete daze. 

“I’m close,” You tell him, and he moves faster, doubling his efforts to make you feel good. 

“So perfect for us,” Bob says, matching his thrusts to how John was rubbing your clit. It feels too good to hear him say that. There’s something in the way he says us, the way his grip tightens on your waist… it makes you want to lose your mind.  There was no holding on any longer, so you let go. 

“I–” You start but cut yourself off with a guttural cry, as your climax rips through you. It’s like you're on fire with how the pleasure overcomes you. Your hip stutter against John’s hand, as your walls quiver around Bob’s cock. 

The feeling of you orgasming around him became too much for him to bear, sending Bob into his own.

Bob finishes inside of you, his breath ragged as he buries his face in your neck, holding you tight as the last waves of his release shudder through him.

Your chest is heaving with effort and aftershocks, your body trembling, but this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

They're nowhere near done with you. You can feel it, see it in their eyes.

And when John leans in again, lips brushing your ear, voice low and wrecked with want, he murmurs, “Hope you weren’t planning on sleeping yet…”

They could and would go all night long.

***

The next morning, you wake up tangled in their embrace again, and you're happy.

Sore, thoroughly exhausted, slightly disoriented... but happy.

Your bedroom, however, looks like it barely survived the night—mirrors broken, half the headboard gone, and a John-shaped hole in the wall. You're honestly surprised anything’s still intact, especially the bed frame, though it gives a warning creak when you shift to slide out from under the pile of limbs.

You stretch, muscles aching in that oddly satisfying way, and glance back at the bed.

John’s arm is slung over Bob’s waist, both of them blissfully asleep. Hair messy, skin littered with red marks—some from you, some from each other. You can’t help the little smile that tugs at your lips.

You didn’t quite know what this made the three of you now, but there was time to figure it out.

Eventually.

For now? This felt like a damn good place to start.

Masterlist

[spencersmopbucket]

Au Revoir | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader Summary: Going to prison changes relationships, but you were determined to withstand it until Spencer broke up with you in a letter. His return changes things. Themes & Warnings: Prison!Reid, i am addicted to writing angst with happy ending

You were happy. You were so, so incredibly happy.

You met Spencer at the university where you taught forensic psychology. He was consulting on a case involving a former student, and his presence was magnetic. His voice -- soft, precise, laced with more knowledge than most tenured professors -- filled the lecture hall with calm authority. He quoted studies off the top of his head, spoke of human behavior like it was poetry, and didn’t so much walk as glide through conversation.

You’d never met anyone smarter. Honestly, you doubted anyone smarter existed. His genius IQ, his eidetic memory, and his multiple phD's made it evident.

He was awkward and sweet and a little too fast with his facts, but he never talked down to you. In fact, he always looked awed by you -- by your wit, your lectures, your stubbornness. He remembered your favorite tea after one conversation and quoted your syllabus back to you a week later.

It didn’t take long to fall for him. It was easy.

Within months, you practically lived at Spencer’s apartment. You had a routine, a quiet rhythm that made the chaos of the outside world feel far away. He came home from work, jacket half-shrugged off, his tie loosened. And you’d be there waiting. You always sat and talked first. Not because you had to. Because he needed to. His head was always full -- of cases, of trauma, of things he didn’t know how to say -- and you were the only person who ever made it all quiet enough to sort through.

While he showered, you made dinner. Simple meals he always claimed were better than anything in Quantico. You'd plate it for him just the way he liked -- never too much, everything not touching. You knew his quirks. You loved his quirks.

Afterward, you'd curl up on the couch, some old noir or classic foreign film playing, and he’d play with your hair absentmindedly while reciting the film’s trivia under his breath.

Then, you'd crawl into bed. Sometimes you'd talk until 2am, whispering nonsense between kisses and laughter. Sometimes you'd fall asleep immediately, tangled in each other, warm and safe and whole.

It didn't matter if he was on the brink of sleep or wide awake. Before you drifted off, Spencer always said, "I love you, darling." Never failed. Like clockwork.

You went to bed happy. Giggling. Overjoyed at yet another day of loving each other.

Sometimes, it was hard. Sometimes, Spencer was gone for a long time. And now, he'd been gone a while. But you stayed at his apartment, keeping it clean and tidy and warm with your presence for when he came back. He needed your presence right now. His mother was getting sicker by the day, cases were getting more brutal, and the only thing that made it better was that you were always there waiting for him.

You didn’t believe it at first.

The call came early in the morning -- a colleague, hushed and panicked, asking if you’d seen the news. You turned on the TV, bleary-eyed, your heart already tightening with dread before you even found the right channel.

Dr. Spencer Reid. FBI profiler. Arrested for drug possession and murder in Mexico.

You stared at the screen like it was playing a joke. Like any moment, Spencer himself would walk through the door, rambling about how the media misrepresents facts and how probability makes false accusations more likely in cross-border cases.

But he didn’t come home.

And it wasn’t a joke.

Spencer had been arrested in Mexico, alone, without authorization, without backup, trying to obtain medication for his mother. It didn’t matter that it was compassionate. It didn’t matter that it was Spencer. He was caught with narcotics and implicated in the death of a doctor who had tried to help him. A setup. Clearly. But it didn’t stop the trial. It didn’t stop the sentence.

And it didn’t stop him from being sent to prison.

The man who recited Baudelaire in the kitchen and alphabetized your spice rack for fun was now behind bars -- bruised, cornered, alone. The letters started coming then, short at first. Then longer. Then emotional. You read each one a hundred times, your fingers brushing over the creases like you could smooth away his pain.

You cried for him. His friends and colleagues comforted you. Penelope had been by with one too many casseroles and cupcakes decorated in pink glitter. JJ tried getting you out of the apartment, even just to sit on a park bench and talk in the fresh air.

Finally, you were taken by David Rossi to visit him. They said you wouldn't want to see him. Said he looked rough. But you never stopped asking until they gave in.

You remembered every step through that prison like a dream you couldn't wake from. The clink of doors. The sterile, suffocating scent of bleach and old paper. The fluorescent lights that made everything feel too sharp.

Rossi kept a steady hand on your back, guiding you gently. He didn’t say much. Just, “Brace yourself.”

And you did. Until the moment Spencer walked in.

He looked nothing like the man you knew. His curls were wild, uneven, untamed. There was a cut on his cheek, a bruise blooming beneath one eye. His frame -- already lean -- seemed thinner. Clothes hung awkwardly on his bones. But it was his eyes that gutted you. Still the brown eyes you loved. But cold. Wounded.

They didn't light up when he saw you, like usual. But they did soften.

They softened until he got angry.

A fiery glare was directed at Rossi, one you'd never seen Spencer wield.

“I told you not to bring her here,” Spencer snapped, his voice low and ragged but edged in fury. “It's not safe for her here, these men are like animals, and I didn't want her to--”

Rossi didn’t flinch. “She asked. Repeatedly. You think I enjoy watching the two of you suffer?”

Spencer shoved back from the table slightly, the chair legs scraping loudly against the concrete. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn't have listened. I needed her to be safe, away from this. Away from me.”

You stepped forward before Rossi could respond, your voice softer than either of theirs -- but stronger, too. “You don’t get to make that choice for me, Spencer.”

His gaze snapped to you. Raw. Defensive. Cracked open. You glanced at Rossi, a look that told him it was finally okay to step out.

Spencer’s jaw tensed as he looked at you. “You don’t understand,” he said, voice low and gravelly. “You shouldn’t be here. You don’t want to be here.”

You moved closer anyway, heart aching. “I do. And I am. And I’m not leaving.”

His mouth opened like he wanted to argue -- like he had a hundred reasons why you should walk away and never look back, but nothing came out. His eyes dropped to the table between you, his hands curled into fists.

“You don’t know what this place does to people,” he finally whispered. “I'm not the same.”

You sat across from him, hands folding in front of you. “Then let me get to know this version of you, too. All of them. I’m not here because I want the perfect version of you, Spencer. I’m here because I love you.”

His breath hitched.

“You think I haven’t imagined this?” you asked. “What it would look like? Seeing you like this? I have. And it still doesn’t scare me off.”

Spencer’s eyes were red-rimmed now, and his voice cracked when he finally said, “I don’t deserve you.”

You exhaled, eyes softening at the tears developing in his.

“Spence..”

You thought the visit had gone well. You thought he was finally letting you in.

He'd squeezed your hands in his before you left, his eyelids squeezed shut as a tear dropped from his eye. Like he'd forgotten what it felt like to touch you. To talk to you and have you close to him.

When you went home, a few days passed before you received a letter from Spencer. You opened it eagerly, expecting to see how he'd changed his mind and he was happy you came. How he'd missed you and wanted to see you again. How he "loved you, darling," as he'd said to you for years.

But that wasn’t what the letter said. Not even close.

I need you to understand something very clearly: I’m not the man you think I am anymore. This place changes people and not for the better. I don’t want you anywhere near it, or me. You deserve better than the husk I’ve become. What we had was a mistake, a foolish hope in a situation that’s already lost. Holding on to me will only drag you down into a life of misery and pain. You’re stronger than that, and you don’t need me poisoning your future. Don’t come looking for me. Don’t send letters. Don’t wait. Forget me, because I’m gone. The man you loved died the day I walked through those gates. This is the last time you’ll hear from me. -- Spencer

You read it once. Then again. And again.

Each word like a hammer blow to your ribs.

Tears blurred your vision, and your fingers curled around the paper, threatening to crush it -- but you didn’t. You couldn’t. It was still his.

This wasn’t a breakup. It was a severing. A mercy killing of the most sacred thing you’d ever had.

He hadn’t signed it love, Spencer. Just Spencer.

And that alone shattered you.

You let the letter fall from your trembling hands, your knees buckling beneath you. The world blurred as tears spilled freely, raw and endless. Your chest heaved with sobs that clawed at your throat until your voice was stripped away, until your body convulsed with silent agony.

You curled in on yourself, the sharp sting of heartbreak twisting deep inside, and when your body could take no more, your pain spilled over, leaving you empty and broken on the cold floor.

You went through phases.

Awful depression was the first. All you did was sleep -- sometimes sleeping days away without eating. You'd lost a considerable amount of weight, but the sleep didn't help. All you did was dream of Spencer.

Your friends were concerned. Your mom was concerned. She began staying over at your apartment, forcing meals down your throat and waking you up every morning. She even held you while you cried, wiping your eyes and the snot from your face.

Next, you were angry.

Not just irritated -- furious. Blindingly, bitterly angry. At Spencer, at yourself, at the system that swallowed him whole and spit him back out as someone you barely recognized. You smashed a coffee mug when you re-read the letter. You ripped one of his old shirts out of the laundry basket and tore it in half with shaking hands. The quiet, aching grief hardened into something sharper, something that boiled behind your ribs like acid.

How dare he? How dare he shut you out, cut you off like you were nothing? Like what you had meant less than the pain of keeping you?

You’d stood by him. You’d waited. You’d believed in him when the world didn’t.

And he still left you bleeding with nothing but a letter. Just Spencer.

You didn’t cry that week. You paced. You snapped at people. You dug your nails into your palms just to feel something other than the sting of abandonment. Anger, at least, gave you control -- and control was the only thing you had left.

The anger stayed with you, burying the anguish. Until Spencer got out.

You saw it on the news first -- a quiet headline, a fleeting mention: Dr. Spencer Reid released after wrongful imprisonment. No fanfare. No apologies. Just a footnote in a week of chaos.

You stared at the screen, heart pounding, coffee forgotten in your hand.

He was free.

And he didn’t tell you.

Of course he didn’t.

That night, your rage came back in full force, but it was quieter now. Sharper. More refined. It didn’t explode -- it simmered. You cleaned your apartment top to bottom, tossing the last remnants of him into a trash bag. That scarf he always wore when you visited bookstores. The annotated copy of Lolita he left on your nightstand. A pair of mismatched socks. The tea he used to brew just right.

You didn’t cry. Not this time.

You just whispered to the empty room, “Don’t come back.”

And he didn't.

For weeks, you didn't see him. You didn't hear his name when you went shopping with Penelope, as if she knew you wouldn't want to. It was like your life before this evaporated into smoke. No mention, no sign of Spencer at all.

A month later, it was Luke's birthday. There was a party for him coming up, a little get together at his house. He begged you to come, and Penelope, and JJ, and Prentiss, until you finally caved. You could do it, right? You could withstand it, whether Spencer was there or not. You didn't care. It was in the past.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That it was just a gathering. Just old friends. That you’d walk in, make polite conversation, maybe even laugh once or twice. You’d wear something nice, something that made you feel like you — not like the hollow ghost you’d been when Spencer vanished from your life.

Luke greeted you with a hug that lasted a beat too long, like he was bracing you. JJ’s smile faltered for just a second before she pulled you into her arms. Penelope beamed at you, glittery and brave, but her eyes scanned the room anxiously -- almost like she was trying to prepare you for something she couldn't say out loud.

"I'm so glad you're here." Luke smiled, trying to disarm the tension. "Wouldn't be a birthday without you."

“Yeah, well. I owed you a drink and an awkward hug, so here I am.”

Luke laughed softly, squeezing your shoulder. “You’re stronger than you think, you know.”

You rolled your eyes, giving him the first genuine grin you'd had in months.

"Don't bullshit me."

It was almost familiar. Almost comfortable and warm. A party with old friends who loved you.

And then you saw him.

Spencer.

Standing in the kitchen, hair trimmed now but still wild, wearing a soft gray sweater you hadn’t seen before. He was thinner still, but no longer fragile. He was composed. Collected. Familiar in all the worst ways.

And when his eyes met yours, they didn’t just soften -- they broke.

He looked like he’d stopped breathing. Like seeing you had hit him harder than any prison wall ever had.

You stood frozen in the doorway, one hand curled tightly around the strap of your purse.

You hadn’t prepared for this. Not for the way your stomach twisted. Not for the way your heart stuttered at the sight of him. Not for the way every inch of you remembered -- vividly -- how it felt to be loved by him. And left by him.

You blinked once. Slowly.

Then, you turned away and headed straight for the liquor table.

Prentiss followed.

Shakily, you poured yourself a glass of whiskey, lifting it to your lips in a hurry. You hoped the liquor burning down your throat would arm you, hardening around you like a shell and making you impossible to break.

Prentiss didn’t say anything at first. Just stood beside you, watching you pour and drink like it was survival -- like this party was a battlefield and the whiskey was armor.

“You okay?” she finally asked, voice low.

You gave a humorless smile. “Peachy.”

Prentiss leaned a hip against the table. “You don’t have to talk to him.”

“I know.” You stared down into your glass.

“Ease into being around him. There's no rush.”

You nodded slowly, swallowing the next sip with a wince. “Yeah..”

Prentiss was quiet for a moment. Then, “Do you want me to stick around? Watch your six?”

You smirked faintly, heart pounding. “I think I can handle one skinny genius.”

She gave a soft snort. “Alright. But if you need backup…”

“I know,” you said, finally meeting her eyes. “Thanks, Emily.”

She squeezed your arm gently, then stepped away, giving you space.

You drank there silently for a while. It wasn't helping like you thought it would.

The burn in your throat faded too fast. The warmth in your chest settled into nothingness. You were still too aware of the room -- the quiet laughter, the conversation, the way people kept glancing toward the hallway like they were tracking someone.

Like they were tracking him.

You gripped the edge of the table until your knuckles ached, breathing slow through your nose. It wasn’t working. The whiskey wasn’t a shield. It wasn’t dulling the pain or the memory of his letter. Just Spencer. The cruelty of it. The cowardice.

And yet… you still felt him. Like gravity. Pulling at you even across the room.

You turned your head just slightly, and that’s when you saw him.

He was standing half-hidden near the archway to the kitchen, hands in his pockets, looking smaller than you remembered. His eyes were already on you. Not moving. Not blinking.

Like he’d been watching the entire time.

You almost looked away.

Almost.

But you didn’t.

You needed some air. You quickly walked towards the door, muttering apologies and promising to come back, before you reached the front porch. You sat on the porch chair, threading your hands through your hair and inhaling deeply.

You thought you could do this. Hell, you even thought it would be easy. But you just couldn't.

The dreaded tears came to your eyes before you noticed them, dripping down. You sniffled, looking up at the stars.

The stars blurred above you, gentle pinpricks of light in a sky that didn’t care how much your chest ached. You wiped at your face roughly, as if that could erase the entire last year: the prison, the silence, the letter. Him.

You’d told yourself you were over it. Over him.

But here you were, falling apart on someone else’s porch like the wound had never closed. Maybe it never had. Maybe it never would.

The screen door creaked behind you.

You didn’t turn. You didn’t have to.

You knew it was him.

There was a long pause. Then footsteps, soft and hesitant, and the subtle rustle of fabric as Spencer slowly sat on the step beside your chair, not too close, not touching. Just there.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence wasn’t comfortable. It was sharp, cutting, full of all the things that should have been said months ago.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he said finally, his voice low, almost broken.

You laughed bitterly through your tears. “I shouldn't have.”

Another silence.

“I'm glad you did. I didn't even know if I'd talk to you.. I just wanted to look at you again.”

Spencer’s voice cracked on the last word, and when you glanced sideways at him, his profile was haloed in porchlight. Soft, tired, and somehow still beautiful in the way that only he ever was to you. His hands were folded tightly in his lap like he was afraid they’d shake if he let them move.

“I used to dream about this,” he admitted quietly. “Just… being near you again. Seeing your face. Hearing your voice.”

Another wave of tears washed over you. You just listened to his voice. Part of you hated him. Part of you missed his voice.

“I counted the minutes I was in there. One-hundred and thirty-nine thousand and six-hundred eighty minutes," He continued, looking across the lawn at the cars that occasionally passed on the street. “With every minute that passed, it got more probable that I wouldn't leave. After all, the statistics for false imprisonment are..”

He stopped himself with a tight, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Sorry. I’m doing it again -- hiding behind numbers.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. Your throat was too tight with grief and memory and the ache of loving someone who had broken you in the name of protection.

Spencer glanced over at you, his expression open and fragile. “But I did count the minutes. I counted them because I was scared that you'd waste a good life waiting for me.”

“It wasn't your choice.” You hissed quietly, refusing to look at him. “But you made it your choice with that damn letter. Cruel.”

Spencer didn’t respond right away. You could feel him flinch beside you, like your words had physically hit him, maybe harder than anything he’d taken inside those prison walls.

“I know,” he said eventually, the words barely more than breath. “I read it back a thousand times after I sent it. And every time, I thought: I hope she hates me enough to forget me. I kept a copy. To remind myself not to reach out. Not to pull you back to me.”

You laughed, bitter and wet. “I didn’t. I couldn’t. I hated you, but I couldn’t forget you. You don’t just forget the person you built a life around, Spencer.”

Finally, you looked at him. He was already staring at you, devastated, like he was watching something crumble that he could never put back together.

“I wrote that letter like I was dying,” he admitted. “Because I thought I was. Not physically. Just… everything that made me who I was, it was getting chipped away. I thought if I died to you then, at least I wouldn’t take you down with me.”

“It wasn't fair. What happened to you wasn't. But it wasn't fair of you to shove me away,” your voice began to wobble, tears coming down your face again. “I loved you, Spencer. Wasn't it enough?”

Spencer’s face crumpled -- not all at once, but in small, controlled fractures, like he was trying desperately to hold himself together for your sake, even now. Even after everything.

“It was,” he whispered. “God, it was more than enough. It was everything. That’s why I let it go.”

You shook your head, the ache blooming sharp again. “That’s not how love works. You don’t just… take someone’s heart and decide for them what’s best. You don’t destroy them to save them.”

“I know,” he choked out. “I know that now.”

You let out a trembling breath, wiping your face with the sleeve of your jacket. “I would’ve waited. I was waiting.”

“I know, baby,” he said softly, his voice watery with tears he was trying to force back. The pet name slipped -- he hadn't even noticed he'd used it. It was too natural for him. “But I didn't know if I was coming back. And I didn't know who I'd come back as.”

You exhaled, but your lungs felt punctured.

“God, I hate you, Spencer. I hate that I still..”

Spencer froze, his eyes wide and glistening. He didn’t speak, he couldn’t. Your confession seemed to punch the air from his lungs the same way it had yours.

You shook your head quickly, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand, ashamed of how raw you sounded. “I hate that even after everything, the silence, the letter, the fucking goodbye, I still see you and my chest hurts in a way that feels like home.”

Spencer’s lips parted, but nothing came. Just another tear trailing down.

“I used to think if you ever came back, I’d slam the door in your face,” you said, laughing bitterly through your tears. “But I didn’t. I let you sit here. I let you look at me.”

“I don’t deserve it,” he murmured. “I don’t deserve you. But I love you more than anything in the world. All I did was pray to a God I don't believe in for you to heal.”

“Then how could you walk away? Like I was nothing?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles whitened.

“Because I was nothing in there,” he said hoarsely. “I was a number. A threat. A punching bag. Every day, I woke up wondering who I’d have to fight to stay alive. What part of myself I’d have to let die just to make it to the next hour. And the one thing that kept me going was you. The memory of you.”

You whimpered like the words had stabbed you.

“The only things I had in my cell were photos of you. That's all I wanted,” he said, his voice cracking with a fresh wave of tears. “When I felt human enough to read, I only read your favorite literature and poems.”

“Spencer--”

“I started with Jane Eyre. Because you said it was the first book that made you cry. I wanted to cry with you, even if you weren’t there.”

Your breath caught.

His voice was shaking, but steady enough to recite what he’d clearly read over and over, committing it to memory like a prayer.

“I have for the first time found what I can truly love -- I have found you. You are my sympathy -- my better self -- my good angel; I am bound to you with a strong attachment.”

He looked at you, his voice barely above a whisper now.

“I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wraps my existence about you.”

Tears streamed down your face freely now. You remembered reading that line to him once, years ago, curled together in bed.

“I used to repeat that in my head just to fall asleep,” he admitted. “I read the book hundreds of times. It was your voice.”

You covered your mouth, shoulders trembling.

“I thought I could bury it. Bury you. But I couldn’t. I can’t. And if I never get to hold you again,” he said, crying entirely, “I needed you to know… you were never nothing. You were the only thing that made me anything at all.”

“Spencer, I'm begging you not--”

“Let me finish,” he pleaded, hands reaching out for you but not quite touching you. “If there's any chance at all, any chance you'd let me come home, I'd make it my mission to love you for the rest of our days on this doomed Earth.” He said, his words rushing out as if he couldn't control them.

You were silent. Shocked. Your jaw dropped, but lips still quivered.

“I'll go right now and buy a ring if that's what you want. I'll recite your favorite poetry every single night. I'll scratch your back without asking for it in return. I'll listen to your favorite song in the car on a loop every damn time we go anywhere even though I hate it.”

He was breaking open in front of you, pouring himself out in fragments: hopeful, desperate, all the pieces you never thought you'd get back.

“I’ll memorize every meal you’ve ever loved and learn how to cook it perfectly. I’ll fix the leaky sink. I’ll reorganize your bookshelf a hundred times until it makes sense to you again.” His voice wavered desperately, rising into something raw and aching. “Just -- please. Please give me the chance to make it right.”

You stared at him, stunned. That flood of emotion -- grief, fury, heartbreak, love -- came crashing down at once. Your body shook from it. You had waited for this moment for so long. You had dreamed of it. But now that it was here, you didn’t know if you could move.

Spencer inched forward on the porch step, slowly, as if afraid to scare you off. His hands trembled between you, still waiting for yours.

“I don’t want anyone else. I can’t want anyone else. You were it for me before prison. You were it every day in there. And you're it now. No matter what you say.”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“What if you leave again if things get difficult?”

His breath hitched.

“I won’t,” he said, instantly but then gentler, more broken, “I can’t.”

You opened your eyes. He was looking at you like the question had gutted him, like he’d been waiting for it.

“I left because I thought it was the only way to protect you,” he continued, voice low and shaking. “But I see now -- God, I know now -- that hurting you to keep you safe wasn’t protection. It was fear. And I let it win.”

He leaned forward just enough for you to see how wrecked he was, eyes glassy and wide. “But I’ve lived through the worst thing imaginable. And it wasn’t prison. It wasn't Tobias Hankel. It wasn't Dilaudid, it wasn't those damn headaches, and it wasn't losing Maeve. It was the thought of you moving on, thinking I didn’t love you. It was living with the idea that I’d made you feel abandoned.”

His hand finally touched yours, featherlight. “So no. I won’t leave again. Not when things get difficult. Not when I’m scared. Not when I’m hurting. Because I’d rather face every nightmare in the world than ever look into your eyes again and see pain that I've caused.”

A pause.

“Please,” he whispered, “let me stay this time.”

You didn’t say anything at first. The silence was heavy, aching, filled with all the memories of the man he used to be and the one breaking before you now. His fingers were still barely touching yours, like he didn’t believe he deserved to hold your hand, only to beg for the chance.

Your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. You had imagined this moment a hundred times. In the best versions, he came home with flowers, apologies, promises. In the worst, he never came at all.

But this raw, desperate truth from him was something else entirely.

“I don’t know if I can,” you whispered. “I want to. But I don’t know how to stop being afraid.”

Spencer closed his eyes, nodding like the words bruised but didn’t surprise him. “Then I’ll stay outside your door every day if I have to. I’ll write you letters I sign with love this time. I’ll sign my soul away to you if that's what it takes. It's yours now anyways.”

You looked at him, really looked, and saw him again. Not the hollow shell who’d walked out. Not the angry, scared man from prison. But the Spencer you’d loved. A little more broken. A little more changed. But still him. Still yours.

Your hand turned, slowly, fingers curling around his. He gasped quietly at the touch, like it shocked him.

“Don’t make me regret this,” you said softly.

His eyes met yours, glassy with hope. “Never again.”

And suddenly, you were yanked forward. A watery giggle, half laughing and half crying, escaped you as you were pulled into Spencer's chest, your cheek coming into contact with the gray threads of his sweater.

His arms wrapped around you like they were made for it: tight, trembling, like he couldn’t believe you were real. His face tucked into your neck, breath shuddering against your skin, and for a long moment, neither of you said a word.

You just held each other.

The night around you was quiet, broken only by the occasional hum of a passing car, the soft rustle of leaves, and the ragged breathing of two people who had survived too much.

“I missed you so much,” Spencer whispered into your shoulder, voice cracking. “More than I knew a person could miss someone.”

He smelled like memories. Like all the nights you'd spent cuddling on the couch watching old Russian romances that you didn't understand, but he translated for you in his soft, lovely voice. Like kissing in the rain, but being scolded for “common cold inducing behavior.” Like a long hug after an especially drawn out and difficult case.

He smelled like home. Your home.

You were so happy to be home.

[kitten4sannie]

𝒶 𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑜𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒

pairing: bf! yunho x gf! reader

genre: pure smut

summary: yunho teaches you something new ♡

w.c: 1.3k

warnings: the softest dom to ever exist! yunho (he’s lwk perverted tho) , subby good girl! reader, subspace, major daddy kink <3, pet names (kitten, princess, sweetheart, baby), BIG DICK YUYU AGENDA 🫡, all praise baybeeee, one tiny instance of name calling but it’s not super direct, yuyu gives reader directions <3, corruption kink helloo, loss of anal virginity, implied marathon sex/creampies, anal fingering, clit play, overstim, brief (rough) missionary, squirting

a/n: LISTEN . i’m just a girl … (and have been quite feverish from having a nasty cold TT) but yeah i decided to write something entirely self indulgent and im not sorry uwu so if this is your cup of tea then please feel free to take a sip ♡ just be carefulll, it’s still hot ~

It was a typical Saturday morning for you and your boyfriend: both sleeping in till the late afternoon, leaving your phones on silent, ready to chill out after another long work week — though Yunho and you had recently adopted a unique routine of relaxation.

It usually began and ended with you stuffed to the brim with your boyfriend’s oversized cock, teary-eyed, and begging for more. However, after the third or fourth round, you couldn’t help but tap out for a moment, wondering if you’d finally get pregnant this time after taking a pounding for god knows how long, but, of course, you didn’t want the fun to end. There had to be some kind of solution, right?

Just as Yunho was about to shove his slick cock back inside you after leaving a few cumshots on your soft tummy, you pressed a hand into his chest, causing him to stop and look attentively at you. “Yunnie, my kitty’s full…”

“You wanna stop for now, kitten?” he asked gently, reaching down to run his long fingers through your hair.

“No, I wanna keep going!” you insisted with a small pout, your nuzzling into his palm when he caressed your cheek next. “Just wanna do something else for a bit~”

Yunho looked as though he was lost in thought, before his lips suddenly quirked up into an inquisitive smirk, his honey brown eyes shining with perversion. “How about we try playing with your other hole, princess?”

“M-my other hole?” you squeaked, your already flushed cheeks growing that much warmer. You’ve thought about it many times, having experimented a few times on your own, but never quite knowing what to do and exactly how to do it to make yourself feel good. Your fingers were short, to began with, so you never had much of a fighting chance, but with Yunho…it would be much, much more different. Your smile began to reflect Yunho’s. “Is Daddy going to take my anal virginity?”

“Oh, princess, I already own all of you,” he cooed into your ear, still hovering over you, amused by how small you look underneath his much bigger frame. “Spread your legs for me.”

“Yes, Yuyu,” you replied, smiling lazily up at him, a bit dazed from already cumming a few times. You always listened to your boyfriend, especially when he plays with you. “Like this?”

“Yes, just like that, kitten. Very good.” Yunho couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear, always so pleased with how good of a listener you are, and how eager you were to try something new with him. He then brought his pointer finger up to your mouth, nodding his head when you let it inside. “That’s right, just get it wet for me, okay?”

Sharing loving eye contact with Yunho, you sucked gently on his finger, letting out as few sporadic moans as he idly rubbed a thumb around your sensitive clit. His finger eventually left your mouth with a pop. “What now, Yunnie?”

“Now, just lay back and let Daddy take care of his princess…” your boyfriend answered sweetly, grasping the underside of your ass with one hand, squeezing into it roughly and eliciting a small squeak of pleasure from you. “Here we go…” He brought his other hand down from your mouth and slowly coaxed his long, slender finger into your tight hole. “Is this okay? How does it feel?”

“F-feels kind of weird…”

“I hear you. Take a deep breath and let your body relax, princess…”

Taking in a long breath and letting it out in increments, your body naturally grew more relaxed, allowing Yunho’s finger to enter deeper. “O-oh…”

“Good? Bad?”

“G-good, keep going, Yunnie…”

Diligently studying your face and body language for any sign of discomfort, Yunho slowly began to push his finger in and out of your hole, allowing it to become more accustomed to the intrusion. Just as he pushed all the way in to his knuckle, you arched your back and reached out to grab his closest forearm, a sudden moan tearing out of your throat. “Yeah? Is that the spot, baby?”

“Oh my god,” you gasped, as though you had a revelation, your dilated eyes shining with wonder, suddenly seeing the world in a new light. You now had access to a pleasure you didn’t even know existed until now, thanks to your boyfriend. “More, please, Daddy…”

“Aww, you want more, princess? Want me to stretch out your little hole?” Yunho asked in a lilted tone, chuckling at your eager nodding. He wasted no time pulling his fingers out to send a wad of spit down onto them and pushing them both in at once, speeding up his movements once your hole allowed him to, taking in all the pretty sounds you began to make. “Does kitten think she can cum for Daddy just from having her ass played with?”

“Nnngh, yes, Daddy, I can…” With how warm and heavy your lower half was starting to feel, it was entirely possible for you to cum. You just needed a little push to make it over the edge. “Feels so good…”

“Yeah? Oh, god, baby, that makes me so happy. Daddy just knew you’d be a slut for anal,” Yunho mused with delight, unable to keep himself from wrapping his free hand around his throbbing cock and stroking it with vigor.

“Can’t help it,” you whined, tears pricking at your eyes from the overwhelming stimulation and the visual of Yunho eagerly getting off to all of it.

Yunho pouted down at you, cooing, “Aww, my princess was born to be a play toy, huh? Made just for pleasure?”

“Yes, fuck – Daddy, I was..!”

With his fingers still stuffed inside your hole, your boyfriend watched you squirm and jolt around underneath him, able to tell by the fucked-out face you were making that you were seconds away from cumming. “Fuck, Is kitten going to cum? Gonna make a big mess for Daddy?”

“Yes, just for you, just for you,” you repeated in between breathy moans, arching your back just as Yunho dropped his heavy cock down onto your cunt and dragged it up over your throbbing clit. “Oh, god–”

“That’s it, baby, I got you, let it out for me,” Yunho encouraged you under his breath, still dragging his cock back and forth across your clit, globs of pre-cum smearing onto your already slick skin. He watched you fall apart underneath him with love in his hooded eyes. Yunho was close, oh so close, but he just needed one more thing.

“F-fuck–” You were so busy drowning in pleasure that you weren’t aware of Yunho’s next plan of action.

“Good job, princess,” Yunho praised sweetly, giving your forehead a soft kiss. “Hey, can you be a good girl and open up for me? You can do that for me, yeah?” Before you had a chance to fully ride out your orgasm, Yunho slid his cock back inside your soaked cunt once you gave him a small nod and drunken smile, able to bottom out completely because of the mess he had left inside you not long ago, pumping himself inside you as though you were an onahole he was using out of desperation.

“Yunnie, oh my god…!”

“Fuck, good girl, Y/N, such a good fuckin’ girl…” Yunho groaned into your ear, as he felt your warm squirt coat his cock. He couldn’t help but pound himself into you, holding you close as he fucked yet another load into your womb, always delightfully surprised by how much you could take of him each time. “Mm, baby…How was that?”

“I loved it, Yunho,” you replied lovingly, wrapping your arms and shaky thighs around him, nuzzling his cheek. “I love trying new things with you.”

Yunho nuzzled you back, rubbing small circles into the sides of your hips. “In that case, we should try some more new things soon.” He met your inquisitive gaze with a sideways smile, his eyes gleaming with perversion.

“Lots of new things,” you reiterated playfully, mirroring his lustful enthusiasm.

Yunho, in turn, looked like he was about to pounce on you again. All he was missing was a wagging tail. “Now…?”

“Now.”

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© kitten4sannie, 2024.

[lazysoulwriter]

post-gym problems - drew starkey.

content: sexual tension, steamy makeout sessions, suggestive language, gym setting, established relationship, playful banter, domestic chaos

---

The gym is a mistake.

Not in the health is wealth kind of way—no. In the we're literally one glisten of sweat away from pouncing on each other like animals kind of way.

It starts with Drew’s tank top, or lack thereof, and the way it clings to his back when he lifts weights. He’s always been hot, sure, but there’s something stupidly sexy about him mid-rep, forehead shining, veins in his arms all dramatic like he knows what he’s doing to you.

“You’re staring,” he mutters, towel draped over his shoulder, catching your eyes in the mirror as he drinks from his water bottle.

You blink. “So are you.”

His lip quirks. “Not my fault you stretch like that.”

You arch a brow. “Stretch like what?”

“Like you’re trying to kill me.”

You laugh, but it doesn’t last long—not when he steps behind you during lunges, big hands hovering at your hips, breath ghosting against your ear like he’s considering starting something very illegal in a very public space.

And yet somehow, somehow, every single time, you both end up in the damn locker room bathroom like you don’t share a perfectly functional apartment with a perfectly usable bed.

It’s like a routine now. Get sweaty. Get annoyed at how hot the other one looks. Make out like horny teenagers in a cramped space that smells like disinfectant and testosterone.

Today’s no different.

You barely manage to shut the stall door before Drew’s pressing you against it, lips crashing into yours, all teeth and tongue and that little groan he makes when your hands slide under his shirt to touch his abs.

“You’re disgusting,” you whisper between kisses, nails digging into his back.

He smirks, mouth moving to your jaw, neck, the edge of your ear. “You’re the one moaning at the scent of my body wash.”

“You bought it because I liked it,” you gasp, hips grinding forward shamelessly.

“Exactly,” he says, licking into your mouth like a man who knows he’s winning.

It’s always like this—frenzied, breathless, like the weight of the day melts off through tongue and teeth and the way his hand fists in your gym shorts. You lose track of time. Lose track of how much noise you're making. Lose track of whether this was supposed to be just kissing or—

“Are we seriously about to do this again?” you mutter, lips swollen, trying to catch your breath.

Drew’s eyes are dark, mischievous, his grin way too cocky for a man still glistening from leg day. “Babe. We’re athletes. This is cardio.”

You snort, pushing him away with a laugh, still tangled in his arms. “We are menaces.”

“And yet,” he leans in, whispering against your lips, “you keep coming back for more.”

You roll your eyes, kissing him again anyway, because yeah—he’s a menace.

But he’s your favorite one.

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[pyract0]

Random thoughts with MHA men!

☁︎Lowkey just a heap of stupid ideas I had for different characters I thought were funny/ cute. Might extend on a few of these into longer fics if I find the time :) ☁︎Going back to finishing some requests after this! Sometimes read and can't process what I just read so might take a while to finish them all! Feel free to request but might be a bit slow at the moment, but I'll get through them when I can! ☁︎Not really any warnings other than swearing (Tried to keep it to a minimum but habit when I can't think of a fitting word)! Gn/ unspecified reader :))

╰┈➤ Katsuki Bakugo who follows a strict routine he set for himself to get the most out of the day, in bed by exactly 8:30. Yet he coincidently always happens to be awake when you try to sneak in and cuddle under the covers with him. Gets annoyed at you for "interfering" with his schedule, but he never lets himself fall asleep if he knows your planning to visit, even if at ridiculous hours of the night. ╰┈➤ Shoto Todoroki who lacks certain aspects of understanding when it comes to social cues, specifically the idea of personal space after you start dating. Will stand behind you breathing down your neck just wanting to be near you, not realising how odd it appears to anyone passing by. Similarly, will practically sit ON you instead of beside you, squeezing between you and anyone/anything so he can sit right beside you.

╰┈➤ Izuku Midoriya who often forgets or simply doesn't realise when his habit of rambling starts, sometimes scaring the shit out of you when he suddenly breaks the silence. Will need you to sometimes cover his mouth when out in public before he says something that would accidently make any sane person uncomfortable. Talked about murder out of context at least a few times and got y'all kicked out of somewhere </3

╰┈➤ Tenya Iida who understands the concept of money and it's overall value, but frankly doesn't care when it comes to you. Buys you awfully expensive items that reminds him of you/ thinks you'll like, hiding just how much he actually spent so you don't reject it (you know, you just don't have the heart to tell him.) Will gift you like it's only something small and beat himself up for not getting you something better (It cost more than what you make in 3 months). Prides himself on responsibility but it all falls out the window when about his decisions around you.

╰┈➤ Eijiro Kirishima who shows you off like some sort of deity, constantly praising anything and everything you do. Accidently degrades himself while praising you, saying how he doesn't deserve you (he's literally an angel :(( ). Will do anything for you, if you ask him or not, choosing to show just how much he loves you through his actions not just words. Tells you he loves you at least 5 times a day <3

╰┈➤ Neito Monoma who respects you even if you're in class 1a, never speaking poorly of you even when shitting on your class. Stops whenever you're nearby and starts acting all sweet like he wasn't badmouthing each of your classmates to their faces minutes prior. Another one who worships your every movement and the ground you walk on, but instead of degrading himself puts everyone else but the both of you down. (My favourite little menace)

╰┈➤ Hitoshi Shinsou who without fail whenever you're alone hands you some random ass cat inspired thing that reminded him of you. First it was a small succulent pot, next some really doped out looking cat plushie, then a little keychain of a black cat with a witches hat.. it just kept going. Gets you wondering how he manages to keep finding these objects, and how he always manages to have one when you see each other unplanned (He has a little hidden pocket where he stores the little strange trinkets) ╰┈➤ Rody Soul who sometimes activates his quirk, summoning Pino, at the most random hours of night. Will get woken up by your sudden screams, thinking you had a nightmare only for it to have been Pino scaring the shit out of you by sitting on your chest in the middle of the night and scrutinizing your very being (lovingly). Has been forced as a result to spend the next day begging for forgiveness for Pino's actions (He had a dream of you and she was just admiring you with the same level of affection as him, just hers a bit more creepy..)

╰┈➤ Mirio togata who even after years of practice with his quirk, happens to forget what activating it in normal clothes does. Has tried to phase through the ground to surprise you with his sudden appearance just to end up flashing you, both of you now sitting in embarrassment while your struggling to breathe through your laughter. Apologises before joining you in going along with your everyday life (It will happen again)

╰┈➤ Tamaki Amajiki who uses you as a form of protection, not from physical danger but from people trying to communicate with you both. Will hold your hand in his and stand right against your back, head often against yours or on your shoulder while he lets you talk for him as well as yourself. As soon as you finish, will drag you away to a more secluded area and embrace you with more confidence as a way of showing his appreciation for never complaining about his shying away from socialising.

╰┈➤ Giulio Gandini who chooses to not wear his eyepatch when you're both alone, trusting you in his most vulnerable form. Who is able to use his robotic eye as a camera, recording your interactions to preserve the memory. Often pulls up these moments on the screen of his prosthetic arm when you're apart, watching through them when he misses you. Moves certain ones to a USB and prints out photos to give you (some in lockets, some just as a copy to frame) leaving you confused on how he managed to get them. (I love him so much :(( lowkey the main reason I liked the 4th movie sm)

╰┈➤ Touya Todoroki/ Dabi who will only let you help when it comes to dyeing his hair (aka forces you when the black is washing out to help fix it up). Will sit on a random chair he dragged in or the edge of the bathtub while you touch up his roots, probably moves constantly unless you hold his head in place. Gets you to join him in the shower to help wash through it, being a little shit about it and smudging the dye on you so it'll stain.

╰┈➤ Tomura Shigaraki who refuses to touch you with all 5 of his fingers, even after he's confident in his abilities to control his quirk. Will always have a finger lifted from your body while he holds you in his embrace, wearing artist gloves when sleeping beside you just to be safe. Holds your hand constantly when alone like the touch starved person he is but never has a proper grasp, loosely intertwining your fingers while he leaves his pinkie away from your hand.

╰┈➤ Shota Aizawa who similar to his son has a habit of handing you random stuff when he returns home, though his are more concerning. If you had a nickel for every time he came home to hand you a kitten he found in an alley, you would have two but it was very strange it happened twice. Came home after his long shift one night and handed you a cat like it was just another causal Wednesday. So anyways you guys have 2 cats now :))

╰┈➤ Keigo Takami who likes to use his feathers to tickle you at the least expected times, often resulting in a fresh bruise the next day. Will each and every time forget you like to swing when his feathers are tickling at your sides, with your first or leg accidently colliding with some part of his body. One time was his face, another his calf, or the time you accidently hit him where the sun don't shine. He learnt to move back after that one..

[redeemingvillains]

ps i love you - mattheo riddle ft. the slytherin boys

summary: mattheo plans an unexpected valentine's day surprise for you

word count: 3.3k

a/n: honestly, this healed me a little bit. this is for anyone that just needs a heaping dose of love from our favorite boys, all of whom are absolutely head over heels for you. ♡

Your eyes fluttered open slowly and you smiled as you curled into your soft sheets, yawning and stretching your sleep-heavy limbs, enjoying the sacrosanct moment of a new morning, before the noise and thoughts from the day invaded you.

But the feeling faded almost as soon as it came and within moments your brain switched on and you felt a pang in your chest as you remembered...today was Valentine's Day and despite the devilishly handsome curly haired boy that had stolen your heart and claimed you as his own, you would be spending it alone; his father had whisked him away to something urgent, and he wasn't the type of man to argue with.

Mattheo had all but disappeared last night with quick but searing kiss and a promise to make it up to you. And how could you possibly be angry with him when you melted at his touch, at the look in his amber eyes, at the feeling of his lips against your own which you sensed even now as you ran your fingers over them?

You sighed, slowly dragging yourself out of bed despite the weighted sadness you felt and began readying yourself for the day.

You were in no rush to see the rest of the castle gushing over the holiday; the Great Hall would inevitably be awash in red and pink, filled with flowers and owls delivering love letters. There would be the predictable wave of students dosed by love potions, and an obscene amount of PDA that you would have loved to participate in that now made you sick to think about. Ugh. That alone made you want to stay in your room, but you took your time getting ready, grounding yourself as you did a full self-care routine.

Once dressed, you wandered down the corridor by your dormitory into the common room and found a tall, lanky figure leaning against the stone wall, eyes focused on his feet which he shuffled back and forth as he twirled a toothpick in his mouth.

"Enz?" you asked, as you got closer.

His eyes shot to you as they widened, brightening.

"There she is!" he said excitedly as he straightened up and righted his suit jacked. "You look divine today. Simply beautiful" he winked.

You blushed as you shoved his shoulder in reprimand and laughed at him.

"You're sweet" you conceded.

"You're sweeter" he cooed. "And I could keep this up for hours, babe, but it's my honor to escort you to our breakfast date."

"What?" you asked through another laugh as your face scrunched in confusion. Surely he has to be joking, you thought. Mattheo would strangle him with his bare—

"Oh! Shit! Yeah, uh here" he said, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket and handing you a sealed envelope.

You narrowed your eyes skeptically at him as you reached for it until you recognized your name scrawled in Mattheo's small script on the front and eagerly tore it open.

Good morning. You look gorgeous. I don't have to be there to know that you do. I love starting my days with you, and it kills me not to be there this morning especially. Enz will have to do. Tell him to stop laying it on so thick, this isn't a hallpass to eyefuck you all morning—

You peered over the top of the letter to see Lorenzo smirking appreciatively at you and smiled.

—And tell him if he steps a single toe out of line with you, I will take sincere pleasure in rearranging his face.

You laughed quickly and covered your mouth with your hand. Lorenzo's eyebrow quirked inquisitively but you shook your head, dismissing it.

Tell. Him. It's for his own safety. Enjoy breakfast. PS, I love you

You folded the letter slowly, unable to contain the smile on your face, absolutely giddy at the penned words you held and the notion that Mattheo had planned something like this.

"Gorgeous?" Enzo said as he offered you his arm.

You linked arms with him cheerfully, a new pep in your step as he led you through the common room and into the castle.

You received a fair share of confused glances which Lorenzo reveled in, beaming at everyone who did a double take at the two of you together, knowing full well who you really belonged to.

"Wonder what's for breakfast?" you mused as a pair of Hufflepuffs shuffled to get out of your way.

"Oh, we're not going to the Great Hall" Enzo clarified as he took a last-minute turn down an unfamiliar corridor.

You looked up at him, surprised, and he caught your eye.

"And have you eat with these peasants? Please" he scoffed, stopping in front of a door you'd never seen before. "No, Matty boy flew you breakfast, from Paris" he said with a flourish as he pushed the door open wide and you gasped at the scene in front of you.

The doorway opened to a small balcony with an astonishing view of the grounds, the myriad pine trees frosted with snow and the Black Lake that was shimmering like a sheet of obsidian in the cold.

Despite the wintry scene, there was a small table laden with steaming cups of hot chocolate, a mountain of pastries, macaroons, croissants and treats all the way from France. Gods I love magic you thought to yourself as Enzo pulled out your seat and handed you a blanket from a large pile which you took eagerly as you wrapped your hands around the warm mug in front of you.

The hot chocolate was rich with a large helping of whipped cream that warmed you all the way through to your toes and brought you right back to the time Mattheo took you to Paris himself and you sipped on the decadent drink by his side. Your heart ached briefly at the memory, but Enzo was quick to pick up on it, and eagerly began chatting away with you about classes, quidditch, and even the Ravenclaw he had his eye on and you realized how nice it was to have this time together to sit and really talk to one of your closest friends, to hear how he was doing.

"You didn't want to take your crush to breakfast?" you teased, kicking him gently under the table.

"And miss this? Babe. This is the highlight of my month, maybe my entire fucking year" he said as he smirked at you and popped another macaroon in his mouth.

You knew he was laying it on thick, but there was a hint of truth to it too, and the knowledge that he valued your friendship that way made you awash with emotion.

His eyebrow quirked as he looked over your shoulder and smiled sadly.

"Well, my lady, this is where I leave you. Our love shined bright though brief."

You turned to see Blaise and Draco behind you, each carrying an extraordinarily large bouquet of flowers that they were peeking out behind with equally large smiles.

"Guys! This is so sweet!" you exclaimed as they set the bundles down and embraced you, your feelings starting to bubble to the surface again at the amount of love and affection you felt.

"Of course, darling, Happy Valentine's Day" Draco said as he kissed your cheek.

"Here you are, love" Blaise said, flourishing a letter that sent your heartbeat soaring.

Another? You reached for it eagerly, tearing into it haphazardly, craving Mattheo's words.

Did you like the hot chocolate? I hope it reminded you of our trip to Paris. I'll never forget how happy you were, the way you shined brighter than that whole fucking city... And what we got up to in the hotel that first night, when you wore that red lace set... Needless to say, don't let any of these idiots read these letters—

"Soooo, what's he writtennnn?" Blaise asked, peering over page.

"Nothing!" you replied, bending the top of the note protectively as you kept reading.

You deserve breakfast from Paris and everything your heart desires. The boys have my credit card, go get whatever you want in Hogsmeade. No smutty books, though, you have a real boyfriend that's better than any book boyfriend. And no clothing that's too revealing, unless it's for me... in which case, you should know, I'm partial to red lace... PS, I love you

Your eyes twinkled as you looked up at Draco and Blaise with excitement.

"It's fucking on" you said, as they cheered.

You went into every. single. store. Lollipops, chocolate frogs, candy hearts and pumpkin pasties from Honeydukes, the most divine stationary and a new set of quills from Scrivenshaft's, and then cue the full montage of you trying on outfits for hours while the two boys sat amidst a pile of shopping bags, enjoying their candy and eagerly goading you on.

"Yes, babe."

"Smashing it!"

"Absolutely."

"You have to get it, get both actually."

"Love, you're wearing it better than the fucking model."

Until Draco turned, finally, yelling over his shoulder to a passing attendant.

"We'll take the lot!"

And gods help the people in the bookstore. Draco could barely see over the bags and boxes he was carrying and now Blaise's arms were laden with every single book you've had on your TBR list, chatting excitedly with you about them.

"Nooo, isn't that the latest one in the series? Didn't that come out like, yesterday?!" he exclaimed as you held the hardcover book in your hands like a holy relic and nodded.

"Can I borrow it when you're done?" he asked quietly.

"We'll just get you one too!" you said excitedly, grabbing a second.

Both of them followed you without complaint, cheery and upbeat, treating you like the princess Mattheo saw you as, they all saw you as, as you made your way back to the castle in the pending twilight, high on candy and your shopping spree.

Mattheo had undoubtedly pulled out all of the stops today, so surely there had to be a something big for the evening?

You tried every way you knew how to coax it out of Draco and Blaise but they held strong, insistent that you be patient as they led you through the castle, down a first floor corridor you hadn't been down before as you continued to question them incessantly.

Was it a five-course meal from your favorite restaurant in London? A private concert from Taylor Swift? I mean, what could possibly top the day you'd had already? They stopped in front of a plain door and pushed it open to reveal... the kitchens, large, industrial-looking, and decidedly...not what you had expected.

But then your eyes swept the space and landed on Theo, in an apron, working diligently at the counter on something as Enzo moved quickly around him, in an apron of his own, a dash of flour on his cheek.

And then you saw the small wooden table just big enough for the five of you, replete with mismatched chairs and a few floating candlesticks.

And then the smell hit you.

"Bella!" Theo shouted, waving you over in flurry of Italian you couldn't follow.

You approached slowly, taking in the scene of him rolling homemade pasta with practiced ease and the steaming pot of sauce on the stove that smelled divine, like fresh tomatoes and roasted garlic, and your stomach growled in response.

"You're cooking for me? you asked, your voice a hoarse whisper at the overwhelming gentleness and kindness, the domesticity of it all.

You'd seen Theo break someone's nose, you'd seen him put puking pastilles in someone's goblet and trip a first year just for the fun of it, but you'd never seen him do anything so... tender.

"Yeah" he said quickly, acknowledging you. "And if you don't start rolling, we're not eating, tesoro" he said, tossing an apron at you, which you caught with a laugh, tying it on eagerly as you moved next to him, bumping his shoulder as you copied his movements and the gentle rolling of his hands.

Draco and Blaise poured wine and helped set the table and the three of you shared stories about your afternoon, all of you chatting about your day, about everything and nothing in the way a family would, natural, easy, unforced and relaxed.

Theo wiped his hands with a towel and then reached into his back pocket, brandishing your letter, which you unfolded and read as you leaned back against the counter, shifting into a world where it was just you and Mattheo's words.

Gorgeous - Theo promised he'd make you something good for dinner, and if I trust him with anything, it's food. Fuck. This one's hard. Because it should be me with you tonight. Please know there's nowhere else on earth I'd rather be than right there with you, right now. The boys will do the best they can, I know they will. Try not to laugh too hard when Theo tells you about the time his Nonna ran from the cops in Sicily. He thinks it's hilarious, and it's his way of trying to impress you. He knows how much you mean to me. Enjoy, my 'bella donna' PS, I love you

You smiled at the familiar last sentence, tracing your fingers over the ink, like you could feel him through it and you realized you were biting your lip to keep from crying. You had kept the feelings at bay all day, but this, being here tonight without him, was hard on you too. You missed him so fervently it was like your whole body ached.

"Ok, ok" Theo said, gently putting his arm around you as he guided you towards the table. "Sedere, sit down, now we spoil you."

You sniffed and swiped quickly at your eye as you settled into your chair and the boys followed suit, surrounding you. And then Theo placed the most perfect bowl of pasta you'd ever seen in front of you, more beautiful and better plated than any restaurant you'd ever been to.

"Theo, this is..." you said, looking up at him, at a loss for words.

He nodded his appreciation. "It's my Nonna's recipe. Best fucking sauce in Sicily" he said as he scooted his own chair in across from you and winked as he raised his glass in a toast.

"To the most beautiful girl in Hogwarts" he said as you all raised your glasses alongside him.

"Here's to cheating, stealing and drinking. May you cheat death, steal hearts and always drink with me!"

The boys cheered and you laughed as you clinked glasses and settled into your meal.

You twirled the pasta and delved into your first bite, the most incredible taste taking over your tastebuds as your eyes fluttered closed.

"Mmmmm Theeeeooo" you said.

"Fuck. That was hot" Enzo whispered as you opened your eyes to glare at him.

"I'm telling him you said that to her" Draco muttered as Enzo kicked him under the table.

"It's soooo good!" you exclaimed, ignoring them all as you dug in for your next bite.

"Did I ever tell you about the time Nonna dodged the cops?"

Your eyes watered with tears at his story, just as much from laughing as from the overwhelming joy you felt at Theo telling it to make you happy, to impress you, consistently eyeing your reaction to his every word.

After awhile you gestured around the room with your fork, savoring the last bites of your meal.

"It's hard to imagine that the heartthrob of Hogwarts himself isn't doing this for one of his girls tonight" you said, teasing Theo.

Theo put down his wine glass and looked at you like you'd asked him if he wanted to be a muggle.

"This?! Bella. Please" he said, shaking his head. "This is marriage shit right here. I don't just do this for anyone. Matty boy loves you, that's for fucking sure."

You smiled and nodded as you looked back down at your plate.

"Yeah he does" you agreed, thinking to yourself just how much he'd proven that today.

You sat around the table for hours, listening to the boys talk and laugh and joke, the night washing away in a haze of a perfect meal, a full belly and a couple of glasses of wine. You eventually dropped your head onto Blaise's shoulder comfortably.

"We wore her out boys" Enzo said affectionately, tilting his head to mirror your own and smile at you.

"Let's get you back" Blaise said, standing with you.

The two of you walked with your arm wound around his in amiable silence all the way back to your dorm, and it wasn't until you were nearly there that Blaise whispered, "Did we do alright?" with a sense of vulnerability you'd never heard from any of them before that stopped you in your tracks.

"Blaise" you reassured him, grasping his arms as you looked up at him. "I was dreading being alone today, I think you could all tell I was teetering on the edge of a breakdown the entire day..."

He nodded his head sadly.

"But each of you completely swept me off my feet, and made me feel so loved, so cherished, and so special. I couldn't have asked for four better stand-in-Mattheo's" you said, smiling widely. "Thank you" you whispered, pulling him into a warm hug.

"You deserve it, and more" he murmured against you, squeezing you tightly. "Sweet dreams, YN" he said, as you unwound from each other and you made your way towards your room.

The warmth you'd felt throughout the day carried you up to bed, lingering with you as you crawled into your pajamas and under your covers as you reached for Mattheo's letters, reading and re-reading his words as you traced your fingers over his script.

I love you, I love you, I love you he'd written and you marveled at how someone could be so far away yet still make you feel so deeply cared for. Your heart squeezed, the sadness you'd felt throughout the day numbing to a dull ache as your eyes fluttered closed.

You slipped into a deep sleep, lost to all sense of time when your mattress dipped, rocking you awake. You turned slowly, groggily to see Mattheo crawling under your covers, his eyes bright, cheeks flush with exertion.

"Matty?" you whispered hoarsely, your heartbeat quickening as you tried to wake your brain, your body up fast enough to respond.

"Gorgeous" he whispered, with a sigh of relief as he reached for you, pulling you quickly into his arms and nuzzling into you as your limbs intertwined with his, your heart resting against his own.

"How are you here right now?" you asked.

"Told 'em to fuck off, he didn't need me anyway" he replied quietly.

You pulled back to look at him, the confusion clear on your face.

"Alright, not exactly like that — it doesn't matter, I'm here and I'm so fucking sorry about today, I had this whole thing planned for us and —"

"—Matty—"

"—You deserve everything, gods everything you do for me—"

"—Matty—"

"—I just love you so fucking much, please don't be mad at me—"

And finally you leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his lips and winding your hands up to grasp his face, to center him, to force him to hear you, to feel you, and within a moment you could feel the stress leaving his body as his shoulders fell, and his body molded against yours, his hands wrapping around you as he slid you beneath him and kissed you back earnestly, passionately.

You pulled back for just a moment, meeting his twinkling brown eyes, taking in his lips, swollen from your kiss.

"I missed you every moment of the entire day" you whispered. "But there wasn't a second I didn't feel completely loved. Thank you."

"I love you so much" he said, his head shaking slightly as his eyes met yours and he brushed the back of his fingers over your cheek. "You really have... no idea."

You blushed, nibbling at your bottom lip.

"Actually, I think I do" you said, pressing your lips to his again.

@kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @chelawrites @loverliner @smut-anarchy @locknco

[taegimood]

— nudes?! (k.th) ♡

pairing: kang taehyun x fem!reader genre: best friends to ?, non-idol au, suggestive rating: nsfw, mdni wc: 1.4k warnings: mention/description of reader's nudes, mention of reader in lingerie, implication of sexy time at the end, tyun gets hard and is v clear abt what he wants, they’re both horny asf synopsis: what happens when your best friend who secretly has the hots for you accidentally sees your nudes?

requested forever ago by @mapofthemazeinthemirror <3 [blog status: semi-hiatus, requests closed]

| yeonjun ver. | soobin ver. | beomgyu ver. | kai ver. |

masterlist

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taehyun considers you one of the bros.

right up there along with his 4 other crazy best friends, you fit right in, no sideways feelings to worry about and endless wingman opportunities to gain — hell, he even forgets sometimes that you've got a pair of boobs under there somewhere.

and all of this, of course, is completely and absolutely:

not true.

it's exactly what you seem to think in that pretty little head of yours, though, as taehyun often observes; it's quite cute actually, he thinks.

"out of all the guys i could like, why does it have to be the one guy in my life who would draft me onto his football team if he had one?" he'd overheard you complaining to yeonjun one day.

(sorry, but trust me, sweetheart - you wouldn't even make it past tryouts, he'd thought afterwards upon fighting back a laugh and an endeared little grin.)

oh, if only you knew.

if only you knew the steady breaths he has to take whenever you stand so temptingly close to him; or how many filthy images he has to shake out of his mind when he's helping you with your workouts; or that annoying little shadow called jealousy that he has to push down when you smile so sweetly at a man that isn't him.

taehyun is a man of self control, and a man who would do anything for the people that he loves — which means that no matter how much he'd enjoy changing your mind about what exactly you assume he perceives you as, he knows for the sake of your friendship that he can't.

and so he doesn't.

but oh, you wish that he would.

taehyun is quite good at keeping his feelings in check, to the point where you're convinced at this point that if you were to strut naked across the room in front of him, he wouldn't even pay you any mind;

pft, you scoff at your own silly thought, as if something so ridiculous would ever happen. (…well....)

today you've decided that you're getting real tired of your own pining and yearning and eyes that shoot hearts like confetti every time your best friend walks into the room —

you pout at the sight of yourself reflected on the open camera screen of your phone as the self-timer counts down yet again. this has become quite the routine of yours.

body bare save for the lacy lingerie that doesn’t cover much of anything as you perch at the edge of your bed, posing so prettily, so sensually, just the way you imagine taehyun would like; just more photos to add to the naughty little album in your camera roll that you wish you could send to him but know that you never will.

there was a time where you used to try testing the waters a bit, some flirting here, a fleeting touch or two there. but you'd quickly learned how pointless it was. after all, a brick wall is never gonna flirt back.

you sigh. it's time to get going anyway; speak of the devil, he'll be here to pick you up in 20 minutes.

~

taehyun can see in his peripheral the way you keep glancing at him from the passenger seat of his car.

as usual, he maintains an even expression. "excited to see me or something?"

his lips quirk as you jump in your seat a little, quickly looking forwards and crossing your arms as you grumble, "you wish. i just saw you like two days ago."

he merely hums in acknowledgment, which gets you even more grumbly — ("no fair that i can never get a reaction out of you! why is it always me?!" you'd wailed in defeat one time after a failed attempt to get him back, your cheeks flushed pink and pretty).

taehyun smiles.

when he soon pulls up outside your friend's apartment building that you’d needed to drop something off at first on the way to yeonjun’s, he decides to be nice as he asks,

"where was that new cat café you wanted to go to? we can stop there before meeting the guys."

bingo. the smile that lights up your face is exactly what he was looking for as your previous pout melts away and you gasp, "really?! okay wait, i took a screenshot of their instagram page the other day, you can check and put the address in! i'll be super super quick!"

he bites back a laugh as you shove your phone into his hands and excitedly rush out of the car.

"5 minutes tops or i'm going without you!" he calls out the window, to which you shriek and scurry away even faster.

he grins to himself, shaking his head as you disappear into the building and he turns to click open your camera roll.

"alright, cat café, where are............ you."

taehyun feels as if a lightning rod has just shot straight through his entire body.

his muscles tense. all his breath escapes him in a rush.

you...

the sight of you is what greets him through the screen...

you,

completely naked.

it's like his skin is consumed by fire as his eyes roam across the rows of pictures in the album you'd left open; most taken on your bed, some in the shower at the gym that you both go to together, some where you’re donned in sets of delicious lingerie — his eyes widening and pants tightening when he even spots one from his own room, your skirt hiked up in the reflection of his full-length mirror as your panties dangle cheekily from one finger, leaving the delicious curve of your ass on full display.

when did she even take that??

he scrolls, and he's barely hanging on by a thread as his best friend who's supposed to stay his best friend poses so irresistibly pretty from the screen; his cock is so hard that it's painful as your big innocent eyes look up at him in complete contrast to the lewd position that you'd put yourself in.

god, the positions he wants to put you in...

alright, reel it in, kang taehyun. this can't go anywhere. you have to take it to the grave. you’ve gotta think about the friendship. you’ll just pretend you didn't see it. you’ll act aloof like you always do.

but every single ounce of self control that taehyun has spent so long holding together finally crashes down around him like a breaking dam when his gaze lands on the name of the album at the top of the screen.

— t ♡

his cock jumps.

fucking hell, these are for me.

when you skip your way back to the car minutes later, you don't notice at first how firmly he's gripping the steering wheel or the fact that he isn’t even looking at you, remaining staring straight ahead as you climb back into the passenger side.

you don't notice — that is, until your phone catches your eye, set neatly on the middle console with your worst nightmare staring right back up at you from the screen.

it feels as though a bucket of ice water has crash landed down on your head (both the water and the bucket) as you realize what happened.

but you barely even have the time to panic or react or beg for mercy, or perhaps for a lobotomy on you both, before taehyun is asking you:

"back seat or my place?"

his voice is so calm that you almost don't process his words. your thoughts buffer as you pause.

"wh... what?" you breathe.

that's when he finally turns his head to look at you, and the intensity of the hunger swimming in his stare is enough to leave you even more winded than you already were before as a familiar feeling stirs between your legs and your thighs clamp together of their own accord.

"back seat," he repeats slowly, "or my place?"

you swallow hard.

this.. t-this is... he means.…

your head is reeling, and dumbly you stammer back, "w-what about the guys..?" as if the plans with your friends really matter anymore in a moment like this.

fuck the guys. fuck the cat café. taehyun has already decided: he’s done holding back from what he wants, and what he wants is to make you his.

you blink at him wide-eyed as he leans towards you slightly in his seat, his voice low and assertive as he replies,

"we're not going."

he taps your phone as if to draw your attention back to it. as if it should be obvious.

"so, you choose." your eyes fly back up to his —

"where do you want me to fuck you?"

your lower belly explodes with heat as an electric shiver rolls down your spine, and you swear that this is the best day of your entire fucking life as you see the promise that flickers in his eyes.

maybe you won't be finding yourself on the football team after all.

──────────────────────

— taglist: @razsberrie, @saejinniestar, @hyukalyptus, @florestalio, @beomiracles, @kiss4baku, @kejingken, @hyukascampfire, @cherr4es, @stawmerry, @choikanghuening, @dawngyu, @soo-blue, @paradigms13

if you want to be added to my taglist and get notified whenever i post any writing, drop a comment or an ask and let me know! ♡

[padmesweetheart]

Glow up

Pairings: Hayden Christensen x Young Wife

Warnings: Domestic Bliss and Fluff

Authors note: if he ever gets Botox that’s the day an angel has lost its wings

Hayden wasn’t old. He refused to believe it.

Sure, the years had given him a few crinkles at the corners of his eyes and maybe a couple of grays in his scruff, but that only made him look more distinguished—at least, that’s what he told himself.

And then you came along.

You, with your dewy skin and endless energy, bouncing around the house in your cozy shorts and oversized sweaters, making him feel ancient. You, who had an entire routine for your skin that took longer than his entire morning shower. You, who would gasp dramatically when he admitted he washed his face with bar soap—as if he’d committed some kind of crime.

Tonight was one of those nights. You were sitting cross-legged on the bathroom counter, your favorite silk robe slipping off one shoulder as you meticulously worked through your nighttime routine. Hayden, fresh out of the shower, stood by the sink in just his sweatpants, rubbing a towel through his damp hair.

You caught sight of him in the mirror and sighed. “You’re doing it again lovie.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Doing what?”

“Destroying your skin.” You turned, giving him a pointed look. “Come here.”

He smirked, arms crossed. “And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll tell everyone Darth Vader uses three-in-one body wash.”

His jaw dropped, feigning offense. “That’s low, baby.”

You just giggled and patted the space beside you. “Come on, old man. Time to get educated.”

He grumbled under his breath but stepped closer, standing between your legs as you studied his face like it was some kind of project. Your fingers skimmed over his jaw, thumbs tracing the slight roughness of his scruff.

“You have nice skin, but you don’t take care of it,” you mused, tilting his chin up slightly.

“I do take care of it. I wash it,” he defended.

“With what?”

His silence was damning.

You sighed dramatically before reaching for a bottle of cleanser. “Okay, first step: cleansing. This one’s gentle, and it won’t strip your skin.”

“I like my skin stripped,” he joked.

You shot him a look. “Well, I like your skin soft, so we’re doing this my way.”

He chuckled, letting you lather up the cleanser before spreading it across his face with delicate fingers. His eyes fluttered shut as you massaged it in slow circles, the soft touch surprisingly soothing.

“See?” you murmured. “This isn’t so bad, right?”

His voice was quieter when he answered, “Not bad at all.”

After rinsing his face, you reached for a small jar of moisturizer.

“Now, we hydrate.”

He eyed the cream skeptically. “That looks thick.”

“Because it is. your skin needs it.” You scooped some onto your fingers, dabbing it across his face before gently smoothing it in. His skin drank it up, and you smiled, satisfied.

“There,” you said, giving his cheek a light pat. “Perfect.”

Hayden’s hands settled on your thighs, squeezing slightly. “You enjoy bossing me around, don’t you?”

“Absolutely,” you grinned.

He hummed, studying you with that soft, unreadable expression that made your heart flutter. His hands drifted up, fingertips tracing along the curve of your waist beneath your robe. “You take such good care of me.”

You rolled your eyes, playful. “Someone has to.”

His lips quirked. “And here I thought I was the one taking care of you.”

“You do,” you admitted, wrapping your arms around his neck. “In all the ways that matter.”

His gaze softened. “You teach me a lot, you know.”

You tilted your head. “About skincare?”

He chuckled. “About life. About keeping up with the world. About…” He exhaled, running a hand through your hair. “About feeling young again.”

Your teasing smile faded into something gentler, more affectionate.

“You are young,” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his. “You’re just seasoned.”

He groaned. “God, you make me sound like a steak.”

You giggled, pressing a kiss to his lips soft, warm, and full of love. When you pulled back, you whispered, “A very handsome, very well-moisturized steak.”

His laughter rumbled through his chest as he pulled you even closer. “I love you, you know that?”

You smiled, brushing your fingers through his damp curls. “Yeah, I know.”

And as he kissed you again, slow and deep, you knew you’d be teaching him a lot more than just skincare for years to come.

[sleepyhoon]

SAY YOU LOVE ME. — TRAILER

starring lee heeseung, park sunghoon, and you.

“ i know you like her, so do something about it „

syn. your once bold and confident figure skating partner — park sunghoon — has grown shy, stiff, and timid around you now that your routines have crossed the line from friendly intimacy to borderline sensual. with an upcoming performance at the annual figure skating convention on the line, you’re worried your partner’s incompetence could cost you opportunities to further your careeres. your boyfriend, heeseung, however seems to have the perfect solution to get sunghoon back on track.

running time. est 15k+

release date. mid to late january 2025

tickets. taglist open — reply to join or join my perm taglist here

rating. NC-17 :: mentions of dieting and harsh workouts, mentions of anxiety. swearing, alcohol consumption & drinking games. sexually explicit content in the form of — voyeurism, rough sex, cunnilingus, spit, fingering, multiple creampies, cum eating, slight mxm content, soft dom!hoon, mean dom!hee.

director’s note. surprise!! in honor of hitting 2.5 billion followers here is a teaser of my gift to you all! possibly my fave thing i’ve written in all my years of writing fanfics so this is extra special to me! hope you enjoy it, and special thanks to my angel @intromortal for designing the banners, dividers, and layout <3

— TRAILER

running time. 500+ || rating. PG-13

“I have a theory,” Heeseung pauses, taking a sip from your Stanley Cup as you quirk a brow at him, “about Sunghoon.”

It’s not often that Heeseung actively engages in conversations regarding your skating partner, so your curiosity is piqued. “What about him?”

Your boyfriend shrugs, setting your tumbler on the ground before slipping his boxing gloves back on, “About his, uh…date. I don’t think he’s into Jisu like he said he was.”

You snort, leaning your head against the rugged brick wall as you watch Heeseung give the punching bag a few light taps. “Trust me, I figured that out by now. I just don’t understand why he’d lie about liking someone.”

Heeseung glances at you for a moment, shaking his head at the fact that you clearly didn’t understand Sunghoon’s dilemma. “He definitely likes someone, just not her.”

“Then who?”

“You seriously don’t know?”

You throw your arms up in mock frustration, “How am I supposed to? He doesn’t talk to me about girls or his love life.”

Heeseung chuckles, mumbling “I bet” under his breath as he lands harder hits on the punching bag. “Sunghoon likes you, YN, that’s why the date with Jisu didn’t go well. That’s why he can barely even look you in the eye and why it’s so awkward skating with him now.”

“Your routines are so fucking — ugh — romantic now, and he’s obviously into you. He probably — ugh! — feels guilty, or some shit.” Heeseung punches grow harsher and harsher as he speaks, pausing every so often to let out a loud grunt as his fists connect with the leather.

Dumbfounded, you stare down at your sneakers in awe. You’d never imagined the possibility of Sunghoon having a crush on you, but Heeseung’s theory makes more sense than you’d like to admit.

“But, why would he tell me-”

“Because you fucking cornered him and demanded he tell you who he liked.” Heeseung interrupts, already knowing what your question was, “He was probably seconds away from pissing himself and blurted out the first girl he could think of.”

“I did not corner him.”

Heeseung rolls his eyes, using his forearm to wipe the sweat off his brow, “Whatever, just pointing out that you probably scared him.”

You sigh, awkwardly toying with your shoelaces as you mumble, “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know you didn’t, baby,” Heeseung ducks around the punching bag a few times, pretending he’s in a ring with an opponent as you stifle a laugh at him, “he was just nervous, is all.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do about this? His … crush on me is making it impossible for us to skate together, and I can’t do much about it.”

Heeseung allows his arms to fall to his side, chewing on his bottom lip as he gazes at the beat-up punching bag. There’s one idea that may just work, and maybe it’ll be enough to get you out of Sunghoon’s system just enough for him to go back to normal, or at least learn to not be so nervous around you.

“What if, for one night, we just … let him have you?”

Before you go to respond, Heeseung delivers another heavy punch to the bag, watching silently with a tense jaw as it breaks off the chain and falls to the ground.

[aomiiine]

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

love & deepspace w ZAYNE warnings. nsfw. mdni. fem!reader. orgasm denial. lots of praise(good girl, etc). brief cockwarming. jealous and mean zayne. zayne gaslighting you into thinking you’re not fucking him good enough. sylus mention. summary. zayne gets jealous when he finds out you’ve been hanging out with sylus. not much plot or build up.

author’s note. kinda half-baked but i like the idea of zayne getting pissed off & a small reminder to us zayne to sylus converters

“So you thought it was funny to go with Sylus on a little auction date on our night?” Zayne grimaced, his hands tight on your waist as he questioned you, his eyes staring deep into yours with his brows creased.

You fucked up. Royally.

You thought that going out with Sylus this morning was a good idea since you usually spend your nights with Zayne, knowing he would rarely ever truly be available during business hours. But what you didn’t know was that Zayne would text you asking about dinner tonight. You were having so much fun with Sylus that you didn’t check your phone until you two parted ways. And how you regretted doing so.

Now you were in your boyfriend’s lap, who was the most jealous, and angriest you’ve seen so far in your years of knowing him.

“It wasn’t a date. And.. it’s not really our night specifically when there’s no occasion..” you tried reasoning, a hand placed on your man’s bare chest that peeked from his loose robe. You noticed his eyes only narrowed further.

“Every night is our night, my love,” Zayne so bluntly countered, his tone speaking in a matter-of-fact manner as if you’ve broken the norm of some routine. In a way, you certainly did.

“I..” you uttered, your parted lips closing with your failed attempt to defend yourself. He quirked a brow at you once your eyes lowered, averted your gaze from his with utter guilt. Zayne almost wanted to scoff at your pitiful state but he held it in, scolding himself for finding you adorable instead.

“I’ll forgive you. As always,” he finally spoke after a moment of silence he gave you to use your excuses to the fullest—though you failed.

“But that doesn’t mean you get to leave this night unscathed, my dear,” zayne’s soothing voice added with a hint of menace, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips further. The sharp sensation made you squirm slightly in discomfort, your eyes darting up at him briefly with a whine leaving your lips as if to garner his mercy.

“Oh, please. Don’t look at me like a kicked puppy,” he coldly clicked his tongue, his head tilting to the side as he stared at you with his sharp gaze. “You’d look much better like a rabbit in heat instead.”

“Fuck, baby, not like that,” he groaned, his big palms planted on your hips tightly and guiding you to ride his cock.

Everything seemed to displease him and it brought you to the brink of tears at how cruel he was being to you. Your thighs were slick with your mixed juices and your cunt was nearly overstimulated with how much he was you reposition and restart on fucking yourself on him. Despite it all, you were still so desperate, not wanting to cum until you were sure you made him feel good.

You cursed him for his excessive effort on maintaining his poker face tonight, knowing damn well your lover was fragile to intimate touches, and incredibly expressive in bed. But now he was being so cold-hearted, stoic like the man he led others to see him as.

“Zayne, please, tell me you feel good already. Your cock says the opposite of your words,” you mumbled between sobs and moans, not sure if your sentence made sense as you kept on slipping your cunt up and down his thick length, feeling it throb around your velvety walls. Your hands curled to fist his robe, positioning yourself better on his lap to fuck him ‘better’.

“Mmh.. no. Not good enough,” was he grunted between his heavy breaths, his pupils clearly dilated in pleasure and his expression nearly breaking into one of need but controlling himself to maintain a displeased frown. He couldn’t hide arousal entirely. He still bit his lower lip and had his eyes fixated on your bare pussy that slid down his hard cock so easily, enchanted by the sight of your nectar making his shaft wetter than the last thrust.

“What’s wrong? Don’t tell me this is the best you can do, my love,” zayne taunted, shutting you and your whines up by roughly pulling you down onto his cock with heavy pants, low growls leaving his throat when your tits jiggled while he made you fuck him right. He gripped on your hips tighter, squeezing your flesh and making your grind onto him once he made sure his cock was fully nestled inside you, a breathless yet needy curse slipping off his tongue at the feeling of your walls clenching around him, spasming as if pleading him to continue on fucking that naughty cunt of yours so you could finally cream on his cock. As much as it tempted him, he held back, for now.

“Now? Please? Zayne..”

Your whimpers and pleas were like music to his ears, something he couldn’t get enough of. He made you cockwarm his cock still, subtly making you grind into him. His lips curled a faint smirk, his narrowed eyes finally lifting to look at the mess that was your face. In a twisted way of his own, he liked that he gave the illusion that weren’t fucking him properly, even though you were. God, you were.

“.. Fine,” he finally conceded with heavy breath, his hazel green eyes staring into yours with an intensity that told you weren’t totally off the hook.

“If you promise to inform me when you’re hanging out with bastards that aren’t me beforehand. Can you do that for me, pretty girl?” was all he had to say to have you nodding your head continuous, your swollen lips parting to breath out a soft cry of relief when he finally began lifting your hips up, your thighs working in tandem to fuck yourself on him again like you wanted.

Zayne’s fingers moved to secure his hold on your hips further until he was practically clawing onto your skin with his frantic movements to fuck you faster. You had your nails clawing onto him as well, your heart skipping with joy when you felt his own hips bucking up into you, reciprocating your thrusts and showing some sign that he was feeling it as much you were, signs that made sure you were making him feel good too.

“Yes, baby, fuck—cum for me, my good girl,” zayne encouraged, his breath hitching in his throat with his head slightly thrown back against the the backrest of the armchair now that was inching closer to his orgasm. Your name left his lips like a mantra along with praises that you long awaited for, every syllable urging you on. With a few more frenzied thrusts from both you, he finally spilled his hot seed inside you, the sensation of the warm fluid filling you up triggering your own climax that made your entire body tremble, your hands gripping onto him tightly and vice versa.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” You heard him murmur by your ear now that you’ve collapsed onto him, your head rested on his shoulder. Zayne’s lips brushed against the top of your head with his arms wrapped around you in a secure embrace, his thumb rubbing your skin in soothing circular motions to calm you down.

“You didn’t even let me apologise,” your voice rumbled against his skin, your lips puffing to a pout and your brows furrowing to a playful pout.

“That’s because I know you’ll always be sorry. I don’t have to convince you to,” zayne scoffed by your ear, a knowing smirk on his face as he looked down at you. He knew he didn’t really have to scold you for straying. Since you’d always come back to him eventually.

[markleessodalite]

Relationship Quirks: NCT Dream

content: just a headcanon about little quirks you had to get used to in your relationship with bf!dreamies :)

warnings: none really

a/n: i'm at that stage where i have 5 million different ideas of what to write and i have started on... none of them :/ but i WILL i MUST

Mark:

He needs absolute silence during his night-time routine. Like, completely silent.

At some point you just stopped trying to be in the bedroom while he washes his face in the attached bathroom, bc even the slightest giggle at something on your phone would bother him.

His night routine is his relaxation time and he cannot have any disturbances

(and he works so hard every day that you don’t mind moving to another room while he decompresses)

Renjun:

He has a specific way of organizing the closet. But you don’t know how he does it bc he won't tell you.

You’ve tried to just watch him and figure it out but no matter where you put something, it's somehow always wrong.

Like you’ll hang up a shirt with the other shirts, but actually it was a blouse and you put it with the t-shirts and he has to go behind you and fix it.

And he’ll always tell you when its wrong too.

So now laundry is his special designated chore and you’re not allowed to do it

Jeno:

He spaces out. A lot.

Even in the middle of a conversation.

You eventually learned that you need to watch him as you talk to see if his eyes are unfocused, that's your clue.

And you have to pause between sentences to wait for a response, just a little nod or a ‘mhm,’ instead of yammering at a thousand miles an hour.

Its not like he’s purposefully tuning you out, he just has a mind that wanders. He can’t help it!

Haechan:

He can dish it out, but he can’t take it.

Meet lee donghyuck, the whiniest bf in the universe.

He loves to tease you if you say something weird or have a dumb moment, but the second you say something even half as sassy, you get the sigh.

And the eye roll.

And the slumped shoulders and silent treatment.

The only thing that can settle his mood is reassurance in the form of lots of physical affection ;)

Jaemin:

Forgets things. Everything. All the time.

If you want him to remember to do something, you have to write it down for him.

But he’ll also forget to keep that note with him, so you’ll either end up texting him or setting a reminder on his phone.

For a while you thought it was weaponized incompetence, but when he does remember something, he remembers every single detail.

He does everything just the way you want it, and he never complains about doing things for you.

He just has an absolute shit memory lol

Chenle:

He has to plan when to share a bed with you.

Chenle is just a very neat and tidy person. He likes his systems.

He also finds it hard to sleep when there’s too many distractions.

Its not that he dislikes sharing a bed with you, he likes it too much.

So if he’s got things to do or places to be in the morning, he must sleep by himself, or else he’ll spend all night yapping at you and try to spend the entirety of the next day in bed with you too.

Jisung:

Needs to plan everything with plenty of advance notice.

Jisung is just not spontaneous. By any means.

If you decide you wanna go shopping tomorrow, you better be ready to beg him to go with you.

And if you do get him out of the house, don’t you dare suggest going to a new, not previously discussed location, or he might literally cry.

To be fair, he has tried to improve on this ever since the two of you made plans for your first date… and he tried to set the date for 2 weeks later, which you took as disinterested obligation.

Now you know that Jisung would pretty much say yes to whatever you asked him to do– just give him enough time to mentally prepare for whatever outing you have planned!

[blairxbear]

Do you think you could write an Aizawa x fem reader who is a new teacher and her quirk is having cat like qualities like night vision, sharper nails, quiet walking, excellent balance etc. and she also has cat ears and a tail?

(If she can have an “orange cat” personality as well that would be wonderful. If not I understand and I’m sorry,I’m not sure if I did this correctly I’m still trying to figure out how to word things correctly)

A/N: Hi Lovely! No problem at all, I hope you like it!! I wasn't sure if you wanted it in a romantic context or not but it did end up going that way, if you don't like that though let me know and I can make changes :)

The Stray That Stole His Heart

Shota Aizawa had always been a man of patience.

A man of routine, discipline, and quiet solitude.

So naturally, when Nezu had announced a new hire at U.A., he had assumed nothing would change.

But then you arrived.

And Aizawa quickly realized that nothing would ever be the same again.

The first time Aizawa met you, it was during the faculty meeting, and he immediately knew two things:

You had cat ears and a tail, which made an impression on everyone in the room.

You were completely unpredictable.

It wasn’t just your quirk—which, admittedly, was impressive. Enhanced agility, night vision, sharp reflexes, and an uncanny ability to move so quietly that even he—someone who had trained himself to be hyper-aware—could barely hear you coming.

No, it was your personality that truly caught him off guard.

You were chaotic, to say the least.

Unfiltered, playful, mischievous—with a penchant for getting into trouble just for the fun of it.

An orange cat in human form.

And it drove him insane.

But what was worse?

It also fascinated him.

From the very first week, you had made it your personal mission to test his limits.

You frequently showed up late to meetings, claiming you got “distracted by something shiny.”

You napped in the most inconvenient places—on top of file cabinets, across the teachers’ lounge couch, even once on top of Aizawa’s desk (which had earned you the deadliest glare of his life).

You stole his coffee. Regularly.

You pounced onto his shoulders from above, just to “see if his reaction time was as fast as everyone said.”

(It was. But he still nearly had a heart attack that day.)

And yet—

Despite your absolute disregard for personal space and normal social conventions, you were a damn good teacher.

Your students adored you, your battle tactics were sharp and effective, and you had a natural talent for handling even the most rowdy kids (cough Bakugo cough).

And somehow—despite all your antics—Aizawa found himself growing used to your presence.

To the way your ears twitched when you were listening intently. To the way your tail flicked when you were irritated. To the way you always tried to get a reaction out of him, even when he refused to give you the satisfaction.

And then, one day—

He realized he had a problem.

Because he liked it.

It was late one evening, long after most of the staff had gone home.

Aizawa had been grading papers, exhaustion creeping into his bones, when he heard the softest footfalls outside his office.

No one else would have noticed them.

But Aizawa knew exactly who it was before you even poked your head inside.

“Still working?” you mused, stepping in without an invitation, tail swaying lazily behind you.

Aizawa sighed. “Obviously.”

You hummed, moving closer, perching yourself on the edge of his desk—a habit he had long given up trying to correct.

“You know,” you mused, eyes glinting in the dim light, “you’re always telling me I should take my job more seriously. But when was the last time you actually took a break?”

Aizawa didn’t respond.

Because the answer was too damn long ago.

Your lips curled slightly, as if you could read his thoughts.

Then—before he could react—you reached out, plucked his red pen from his hand, and tossed it across the room.

Aizawa stared at you.

“…Did you just—”

“Yep.”

“…Why?”

“Because you’re done for the night.”

His eye twitched. “I still have work to do.”

“Nope.” You grinned, tail flicking playfully. “Work is done. I have officially declared it.”

Aizawa exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t have time for your games, Y/N.”

But you weren’t backing down.

Instead, you tilted your head, ears twitching slightly, and for the first time since you had met, your voice was softer.

“I mean it, Shota,” you murmured. “You do too much. Just… take a break. Just this once.”

Something in his chest tightened.

Because no one ever told him to slow down.

No one ever took the time to worry about him.

But you?

You had been paying attention this whole time.

And that was the moment he knew.

That he was completely and utterly doomed.

Ko-fi / Masterlist

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