#this started off with me just wanting to do something with fun poses with the first bit of free time i've had in the last week

[reiding-writing]

hi!! can you write more of the banter between enemy!reader and spencer but like now he goes beyond limits and like tells her the team would be better without her in their lives or something drastic and then she either goes missing or badly injured by the unsub??

404. /spencer reid/

if spencer is going to continue shutting down all of your ideas for leads in front of the team, then you’re going to track the unsub down yourself. you don’t need his approval anyway.

s1!spencer x enemy!reader 5.8k angst. series masterlist. main masterlist.

CW | typical criminal minds violence, spencer is a real twat, details of kidnapping and grievous bodily harm, catatonic trauma response. imagine this like halfway through season one.

The moment you step into the precinct, you feel it in your chest—a tightness, a heaviness. It’s not just the fatigue of being called in at 3 a.m. or the smell of stale coffee and desperation thick in the air. It’s the kind of tension that says we’ve been chasing ghosts and getting nowhere.

You glance across the briefing room. The local PD is gathered awkwardly along one wall, arms crossed, faces pinched with defensiveness. They’re not happy to have the FBI here. You don’t blame them—getting sidelined in your own case is a bitter pill to swallow. But this unsub isn’t playing fair.

“This is the third victim in two weeks,” the lead detective mutters, flipping through crime scene photos projected onto the wall. “Each time, the unsub leaves a note. Always handwritten. Always addressed to us. Sometimes directly to me.”

Morgan leans forward, eyes narrowing. “He’s taunting you,”

The detective scoffs. “He’s gloating. This one said, ‘You didn’t catch me last time. What makes you think you’ll get it right now?’”

“Classic narcissistic behavior,” Elle murmurs. “But there’s more to it,”

Hotch’s voice is calm but pointed. “He’s not just showing off. He’s testing you. He wants to see if he can outsmart us next.”

You shift in your seat, arms crossed, gaze flicking from photo to photo. The unsub’s pattern is clean, almost surgical. No evidence left behind, no usable prints, no DNA. Victims all abducted within ten miles of each other, murdered within 48 hours, left posed—like the unsub wanted the scene to say something.

Spencer sits to your right, scribbling notes in that tiny chicken scratch of his. You pretend not to notice the way he looks over at you when you suggest a geographic clustering theory.

“I think we should be focusing on the clusters—if the unsub’s circling familiar territory, it could give us a window into their comfort zone. Maybe even a home base,”

Spencer doesn’t even look up. “Or they’re using the local geography as a red herring. Throwing us off on purpose. Which is more likely with his intelligence level,”

You grit your teeth. “Or maybe you just don’t like when someone else has a theory first.”

There’s a flicker of tension across the table. JJ coughs awkwardly. Spencer finally glances over, his eyes sharp behind his curls.

“Just trying to eliminate bias,” he says flatly. “You might want to try that sometime.”

It starts small. A glance. A jab. You throw it back, and the fire spreads.

—

You and Spencer used to be good at this—banter, playful jabs, mutual intellectual sparring. It was light. It was fun. 9 months of almost playful hatred. And somewhere along the way, it stopped being any of those things.

You know why, you both do. But you’re still too stubborn to actually address it. So now, every briefing is a minefield.

“He’s organised,” you say, tapping a finger on the evidence board. “He’s probably keeping souvenirs. There’s no way he’s not revisiting these crime scenes in some capacity,”

Spencer rolls his eyes. “That’s a reach. He’s already getting his fix from the letters. Revisiting is more common in disorganised killers with obsessive traits. But, by all means, let’s base our strategy on assumptions,”

You round on him, the heat rising in your chest. “You always do this—cut people down because they didn’t quote a research paper in their suggestion. Not everything is from a journal article, Reid. Some of us work off instinct

He doesn’t blink. “That’s a shame.”

The room stills. You can feel everyone watching you now—JJ's uncomfortable glance, Morgan’s frown, Hotch’s silent disapproval. Elle shifts like she wants to step in, but thinks better of it.

You clench your jaw. “Just because your IQ is the highest in the room doesn’t mean your word is law,”

“And just because you talk louder doesn’t make you right,”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Gideon’s voice cuts through the tension like a blade. “We are not here to flex egos. We’re here to stop a killer.”

You force yourself to look away, biting down on every retort itching to escape. Spencer doesn’t say another word either, but you can see it in the way he tightens his grip on the pen—he’s not finished. Not even close.

—

By midday, the briefing is over and you’re elbow-deep in case files, staring at photos of victims and crime scene reports that blur together. You’re trying to hold onto the idea that this is about the work, not about him, but Spencer’s voice grates in your head like static.

“Victim number two was killed in a different manner,” you point out, “which might indicate a loss of control or a change in the unsub’s emotional state,”

Spencer scoffs from across the room. “Or it might indicate that your profiling is, yet again, based on faulty interpretation,”

You look up slowly. “You’ve got a real talent for being insufferable,”

He shrugs. “Just pointing out the facts,”

“You’re not pointing out anything. You’re just undermining me. Again.”

He walks closer now, arms crossed, eyes full of cold disdain. “Maybe if you weren’t so obsessed with being right, you’d actually be useful,”

Your jaw clenches so tight it hurts. “And maybe if you got over the sound of your own voice, we wouldn’t waste half our cases cleaning up your messes,”

Spencer steps in even closer, and now it’s personal. “You’re reckless. Impulsive. You go off instinct like it’s a badge of honour when really, it just makes you sloppy,”

You fire back without thinking. “You’re emotionally stunted and completely incapable of functioning outside a textbook,”

The words hang in the air like a punch.

Silence spreads. The local cops glance over from their desks. One of them murmurs, “Damn,”

Then Gideon slams his hand on the table.

“Enough,”

His voice is sharp, final. “Both of you. I don’t care how long this has been brewing—this is not the place. You’re acting like children, and you’re making this entire team look like amateurs,”

You glance down, throat burning. Spencer doesn’t say anything. He’s stone-faced, but you can tell from the twitch in his jaw that he’s stewing.

Gideon’s not finished. “I don’t want to hear another word out of either of you unless it pertains directly to the case. Are we clear?”

You nod. Spencer doesn’t move.

“Are we clear?” Gideon repeats.

“Yes, sir,” Spencer mutters.

You don’t trust yourself to speak.

As you start gathering your files, Spencer’s voice cuts through the tension one more time—this time quieter, but not quiet enough.

“You know, we probably would’ve caught him already if you weren’t dragging us down.”

The words hit like a slap. You freeze.

The room goes dead silent.

Spencer looks away like he didn’t just say it. Like it didn’t just split something open.

You don’t respond. Not with words.

You finish collecting your files, slam the folder shut, and walk out of the room without a glance back.

—

You don’t say a word as you walk out of the precinct. You don’t slam the door or stomp your feet—there’s no drama, no outward explosion. Just a quiet, ice-cold silence that coats you like armour.

Let them think whatever they want. Let him think he won.

You move with purpose, jaw tight, eyes fixed ahead. You’re done trying to reason with people who have no interest in listening—especially a certain genius with a superiority complex. You tried to play by the rules, work within the team, but apparently the team doesn't think you have anything worthwhile to offer.

Fine. You’ll do it on your own.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket—JJ, probably, or Hotch, maybe even Gideon trying to pull you back into line. You ignore it. Instead, you pull out your notes, flipping through the photographs you took earlier, the ones the team waved off as nothing—redundant, too similar to previous kills, “unremarkable,” Spencer had called them.

But they weren’t. Not to you.

The unsub had made a mistake. A small one, but a mistake nonetheless.

In victim three’s crime scene photo, the position of the body had been ever so slightly rotated compared to the first two—enough that most wouldn’t care, wouldn’t notice. But the shadows were wrong. There was too much light coming in through a window that didn’t face the same direction as the other houses in the neighborhood. And the blood pattern—it had streaked upward at an angle.

Someone had moved the body. After the kill.

You’d mentioned it in passing. Spencer had dismissed it as “grasping at straws.”

Well, straws were all you needed.

—

You hole up in a dingy motel room a few blocks from the latest crime scene, spreading every case file and crime scene photo across the bed like a map to something only you could see. Your eyes flicker between documents, stringing together tiny inconsistencies—the make and model of the air conditioner in victim four’s apartment, the mismatched doorknob in victim one’s home, the off-center towel rack in number five’s bathroom.

The unsub didn’t just kill these people. He replaced things. Adjusted details.

Controlled them, even after death.

You flip back through the files, heart hammering now, and scan the addresses again. You map them out on the motel’s bedside notepad, drawing circles, checking distances between the apartments and the kill sights. Mixing and matching scenes chronologically or otherwise. And then you stumble on it.

A perfect crescent, not random but intentional. All ten locations arced around a center point—a forgotten stretch of suburbia with an abandoned cul-de-sac, a place zoned for housing development ten years ago that never got off the ground.

It’s the only place the unsub hasn’t struck yet.

It’s also the only place that could tie them all together.

You glance at your phone again. The screen is blank. No new calls. No new messages. Not from the team. Not from Spencer.

And maybe that’s a good thing. You don’t need him to validate you. You don’t need anyone.

You grab your gear, shove your files into your bag, and drive.

—

The cul-de-sac is quiet.

Not in the way quiet neighborhoods usually are, but dead quiet. No birdsong. No dogs barking. Just a biting, eerie stillness that settles in your bones the moment you step out of the car.

The houses are in varying states of decay—some half-built and gutted, others with boarded windows and cracked sidewalks. You grip your flashlight tighter as you move through the overgrown path between two units.

You keep your gun low, your ears straining for sound.

The data you gathered had pointed you to the house on the far end—the only one with signs of recent activity. The windows had been cleaned. The door, repainted.

You creep up the porch, careful not to make a sound. Your breath clouds in front of you, and the air feels colder here somehow. Heavier.

You reach for the doorknob. It turns easily.

Unlocked.

That should’ve been your first red flag.

The interior is dark, but not untouched. A table in the front room is neatly set for two. Plates. Silverware. A bottle of wine. It looks more like a dinner party than a murder scene.

You sweep the room, clearing corners, keeping your steps light. Nothing jumps out at you, but your gut won’t stop twisting.

Then you notice it.

On the wall.

A photo.

Your heart stops.

It’s you.

Snapped from the side, no more than a few hours old. Shot through the window of your hotel room, small map of the city in hand. The image is taped to the wall with surgical precision. Below it, a tiny note, one you have to walk right up to to read.

Congratulations.

You barely have time to react.

There’s a sharp sting in your neck.

You reach up instinctively, but your fingers are already clumsy. You turn, try to raise your gun—but the world tilts violently.

A face emerges from the shadows. Smiling. Calm.

“You should be more aware of your surroundings,” he says, almost apologetically.

And then everything goes black.

—

You drift in and out of consciousness. Time becomes slippery—your mind fogged, your limbs numb. Every now and then you feel something cold against your skin, a tug at your wrists, the uncomfortable pinch of something sharp near your ankle.

When you finally come to fully, you’re tied to a chair.

Hands bound behind your back. Ankles strapped to the legs of the chair with zip ties. Your head throbs, and there’s a metallic taste in your mouth—blood, probably.

The room around you is dimly lit. It’s not the main house anymore. You’ve been moved.

It looks like a basement. Concrete floors, unfinished walls, a single exposed bulb hanging overhead.

There’s a table nearby, neatly arranged with tools—not weapons. Instruments. Brushes. Tweezers. Surgical gloves.

You inhale shakily. You’ve seen what hems done with them before.

“You’re awake,” a voice says behind you.

You flinch as he steps into view.

The man is unremarkable in every way. Tall-ish, average build. Brown hair, clean-shaven. The kind of face you’d pass on the street and forget within minutes.

“You came here thinking you’d be the hero,” he muses, walking around you like he’s inspecting art. “They all do. You think your badge makes you invincible.”

You don’t say anything. You’re still trying to conserve what little energy you have, mentally calculating your options.

He crouches in front of you, smiling. “You found me. That makes you smart. Smarter than the rest of them, maybe.”

You meet his gaze, steel in your voice despite the pain. “They’ll come looking for me.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he replies. “I’ll lead them right to you if I have to. Whether you’ll be salvageable though, is up for debate,”

He walks to the table, picking up a small silver scalpel, running a gloved finger down its edge.

“A portrait is a powerful thing. It’s like capturing a snapshot of a person’s soul. Of course no true portrait is taken without the proper preparations being put in place first.”

You don’t flinch. You don’t show fear.

You just stall.

“They’re going to kill you,” you say evenly. “The second they find out what you’ve done, you’re done.”

He tilts his head, amused. “Then I guess we better speed things along,”

—

The sun had long since set when the rest of the team finally packed up for the night. The precinct lights buzzed with the kind of fatigue only unsolved murders could generate. Tension still clung to every surface, like dust no one could wipe away.

You’d been gone for hours.

And no one noticed.

Gideon assumed you’d taken some space after the confrontation—he’d scolded you both sharply enough in front of the local cops to warrant that kind of retreat. Morgan figured you’d gone to cool off, maybe back to the motel, maybe to follow up on a lead solo out of spite. JJ worried but didn’t say anything, not wanting to stir the already tense dynamic. Elle even offered to call, but Hotch had waved it off.

“She’s probably just blowing off steam,” he said. “We’ll regroup in the morning.”

And Spencer?

Spencer hadn’t said a word. Not one. He’d returned to his paperwork, methodically scribbling notes, analysing patterns, and doing everything in his power to ignore the hollowness you’d left behind.

He told himself you were being petty. Immature. Childish, even. Storming off like a petulant child after a simple observation.

But by morning, the quiet had stretched too long.

The motel clerk confirmed you never came back last night. Your room key remained untouched. Your bed, still made. Your rental car, gone.

JJ’s face turned white. “She always checks in. Always.”

Morgan’s voice was sharper than usual. “She would’ve called if she was going somewhere. Even if she was pissed.”

Elle was already reaching for her phone, scanning through emergency numbers and local hospitals. “We need to start looking now.”

Hotch gave a tight nod, reaching for his radio. “She wouldn’t go dark this long, not in the middle of a case. Not without telling someone.”

Then Gideon walked in with a manila envelope in his hand, face grim. “We just received another message.”

Everyone stilled.

He handed it to Hotch, who opened it slowly, bracing himself. Inside was a note—typed, this time—and a single, polaroid photograph.

JJ read it aloud, voice catching:

“At least one of the FBI Agents you corralled to help was intelligent enough to track me down. Too bad they weren’t prepared for the aftermath.”

Hotch turned the photo toward the group.

You.

Bound, unconscious, head lolled to one side in what looked like a concrete room. Your face was bruised. Blood smeared your temple. Your hands were zip-tied behind you, your body slumped forward like a discarded puppet. The lighting was dim, shadows slashing across your figure like jagged teeth.

A basement. A storage room. Somewhere hidden, somewhere wrong.

JJ gasped.

Morgan swore under his breath.

Elle closed her eyes and muttered, “No…”

And Spencer—Spencer leaned forward slowly, brows knitting as he examined the image.

“We need Garcia to enhance it,” he murmured, already reaching for his phone. “Maybe we can track down the camera. Or a reflection. Or—”

“Well,” he added suddenly, voice clipped, “She obviously wasn’t that intelligent if she got caught,”

The words dropped like a stone in still water.

The entire room turned toward him.

“What did you just say?” Morgan snapped.

JJ’s mouth dropped open. “Spence—”

But it was Gideon who moved first, stepping forward, voice low and dangerous.

“Say that again,” he said, “and I will bench you for the rest of this case.”

Spencer blinked. “I didn’t—”

“No.” Gideon cut him off. “I don’t want excuses. I want action. You think you’re the smartest person in the room? Good. Prove it. Use your genius to get over yourself and find her.”

The silence that followed was heavier than anything anyone had felt since the case began.

Spencer stared down at the photo, jaw clenched.

And then, finally, he swallowed his pride and got to work.

—

He isolated the enhanced image on the screen of his tablet, pushing aside his guilt and anger like clutter on a desk.

Don’t think about what you said.

Don’t think about the way you looked when you walked out.

Don’t think about the fact that you might not be okay.

Focus. Analyse. That’s what he’s good at.

“Lighting first,” he said aloud, mostly to himself.

He zoomed in on the image, filtering the background. The bulb overhead was exposed, casting distinct shadows.

“That angle suggests a single overhead source,” he muttered. “No side lighting. Probably a basement. At least eight to ten feet deep underground.”

He paused, adjusting the contrast on the image. “There’s no natural light at all, which rules out windows. Walls are unfinished. Cinderblock. Mortar lines are tight… That’s not a pre-’80s build. It’s too clean,”

Morgan leaned in. “So what—newer construction?”

Spencer nodded. “Late 90s or early 2000s. This wasn’t improvised. It was planned. It’s structurally sound, like a finished or semi-finished basement that’s just… been stripped down,”

Elle pointed to the corner of the image. “What’s that? Right behind the chair,”

Spencer zoomed in again. “It looks like… rust. A drainage pipe, maybe. Industrial-grade. Not common in most basements unless there’s risk of flooding. That, combined with the cinderblock, suggests this could’ve been built in an area prone to high groundwater. Maybe even flood plains,”

JJ frowned. “We’re not near the coast,”

“No, but if you look at the housing map…” He switched to a digital layout of the neighbourhood. “This cul-de-sac was supposed to be part of a larger development. Half of it was never completed because the land didn’t pass inspection,”

Hotch narrowed his eyes. “He’s in one of those unfinished units,”

Gideon nodded once. “Then we start there. We canvass the entire development. We don’t stop until we find her.”

Spencer looked at the photo one last time. His throat was dry. His chest ached. He thought of what he’d said—we would’ve caught him if you weren’t dragging us down—and suddenly it sounded less like a petty jab and more like a curse.

He looked up at the team.

“I’m coming with you.”

Hotch nodded. “Good. You’re going to lead the search.”

—

The SUV was quiet on the way to the development site. No one played music. No one made jokes.

Spencer sat in the front seat, his fingers tapping a rapid rhythm against his knee. He was trying not to picture you in that chair. Trying not to imagine what the unsub had done in the hours since that photo was taken. But he couldn’t stop the images.

You, bloody and bound.

You, unconscious and alone.

You, thinking no one was coming.

He had no right to worry.

No right to be scared.

But he was.

The words echoed in his head.

“She obviously wasn’t that intelligent.”

He wanted to take it back. Shove it into his mouth and swallow it down until it never existed. But that’s not how words work. They cut, and they cling, and they stay.

When they arrived at the development, the team split up fast. Morgan and Elle took the north end. JJ stayed with local officers to coordinate grid sweeps. Hotch and Gideon led the way into the southern row—newer units, all empty.

Spencer broke off on his own.

He had a gut feeling. It didn’t feel smart. It didn’t feel strategic. But it felt right.

And for once, he let himself trust that instinct.

The fifth house in the row was quiet.

Too quiet.

The front door was slightly ajar. No visible signs of forced entry. No sound from inside.

The front door creaked open under Spencer’s hand. The house was stale with disuse—thick air and thin silence. He moved cautiously through the entryway, gun raised, heart a thunderous rhythm in his ears.

Every shadow stretched too long. Every corner felt wrong.

Footsteps pounded behind him seconds later—Morgan, Hotch, and Gideon falling in silently. Elle and JJ soon followed through the back, their weapons drawn, movements swift and precise.

Then—

A noise.

A soft creak.

Second floor.

Hotch motioned with two fingers, and the team surged upward.

They found him in one of the back bedrooms. The unsub.

He was standing in front of a half-boarded window, arms crossed, calm like he was waiting for them. No fear. Just smug, eerie satisfaction, the kind that made your skin crawl.

“You’re too late,” he said simply.

Morgan didn’t hesitate. “On the ground! Now!”

But the unsub didn’t comply. He moved fast—reaching for something under his coat.

Hotch fired first. A warning shot into the drywall, forcing the man to freeze mid-movement. Morgan lunged in, tackling him with a grunt. They struggled, fists swinging, feet skidding across the half-carpeted floor.

Spencer stood back, watching the scuffle like it was underwater. His fingers twitched against his sidearm, but he didn’t fire. Couldn’t. His eyes were already scanning—behind the man, past the empty bedframe, to the blood on the floor.

He wasn’t thinking about justice. He was thinking about you.

By the time Gideon and Morgan got the cuffs on the man, Spencer was already moving—down the stairs, through the hallway, toward the door at the far end of the house.

There was a lock on it. Heavy. Old.

Spencer kicked it once. Nothing.

Twice.

On the third kick, the door gave way.

The basement smelled like mold, metal, and something sharper—sweat, maybe. Or blood.

The light flickered overhead as he stepped inside.

And there you were.

Slumped in the same position as the photo, tied to a chair, your wrists bound so tightly they’d gone purple. There was blood at your temple. Bruises down your neck. A split lip. Dirt smeared your cheeks. Rips in your shirt.

But you were breathing.

Barely.

Alive.

He nearly collapsed with the force of the relief.

“Hey,” he said softly, kneeling in front of you. His voice cracked. “Hey. You need to be conscious right now,”

Your eyes fluttered, but didn’t open.

You didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

Spencer's voice dropped lower, to fend with a failed attempt at lightheartedness. “You’re at a higher risk of permanent brain injury if you’re unconscious, and I doubt you need that on top of all of your other issues—”

His hands trembled as he reached for the zip ties, too afraid to touch you at first.

Morgan burst in behind him. “We need medics! Now!” he shouted up the stairs.

JJ’s voice echoed from above. “They’re already pulling up!”

Spencer carefully cut the ties, his fingers brushing your wrist. Your skin was cold. Too cold.

He looked at you again, eyes searching for any sign of recognition. A flicker of life. Of you.

Nothing.

When the medics finally came, they moved with military precision, lifting you from the chair, strapping you onto a stretcher. You didn’t resist. Didn’t flinch. You didn’t even blink.

“Low blood pressure. Likely concussion, threads pulse,” one of them said quickly, checking vitals.

They spoke in clipped medical shorthand as they wheeled you out. The words blurred in Spencer’s ears.

He didn’t follow.

Couldn’t.

He stood there, in that grimy basement, staring at the chair you’d been tied to. The blood smeared into the floor. The shredded zip ties left behind like bones.

He should’ve stopped you.

He should’ve known something was wrong last night.

He should’ve said something—anything—besides the venom he’d spat.

His hands curled into fists.

Upstairs, he could hear Morgan shouting at the unsub as he was dragged away.

“You think you’re clever? Huh? You think this makes you some kind of genius?”

The unsub just smiled. “She came to me.”

Spencer’s stomach turned.

—

Outside, the late morning sun was rising, casting long shadows over the front lawn as paramedics loaded you into the ambulance. JJ stood nearby, arms folded tightly, barely breathing.

Elle was silent, her eyes rimmed red.

Hotch was speaking with local police, organising statements and chain of custody. And Spencer stood off to the side, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets, face unreadable.

He didn’t go to the ambulance.

Didn’t try to see you again.

He didn’t think he deserved to.

You were silent. Still unresponsive. Not out of stubbornness, not anger, but trauma. Something had shut off in you, and Spencer didn’t know how—or if—you’d be able to come back from that.

He hadn’t just pushed you away.

He’d left you alone long enough to almost die.

—

The hospital was a cold place. The sterile white walls seemed to hold no comfort, and the bright fluorescent lights buzzed incessantly, as if trying to shatter the fragile quiet of the room.

But the team couldn’t shake the relief.

You were alive. Not unscathed—far from it—but alive. The doctors assured them you would recover physically, though they hadn’t made any promises about the mental scars.

But there was a sense of something else in the air, something they couldn’t quite name yet.

Gideon paced outside your room, eyes shadowed by a tiredness that went deeper than just the case. Morgan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his face taut with unsaid words.

Elle was in the hallway, sitting on a chair with her head in her hands, her phone still in her lap. She hadn’t spoken much since they left the house. JJ hovered near the nurses’ station, keeping herself busy with menial tasks, but her face was pale—gripped by some invisible weight.

And Hotch, though outwardly composed, carried the same heavy air of guilt.

But no one felt it as sharply as Spencer.

He was pacing in the hallway, arms stiff at his sides, a muscle in his jaw twitching with every breath. He hadn’t said a word to anyone since they’d arrived at the hospital, and though he’d checked in with the doctor, he hadn’t really listened.

Spencer’s mind was still replaying the look in your eyes when you were pulled from that basement—the emptiness, the unspoken words, the brokenness. And for the first time, he was painfully aware of the distance that had been wedged between you.

The anger, the insults, the barbed exchanges—it hadn’t been just his defence mechanism, and he hadn’t realised how much damage it had done until now.

But now you were silent, and Spencer could feel the full weight of what he’d done pressing down on him like a vice. You were the one who’d been hurt the most—physically—and still, it was his words that had broken you.

—

When he finally pushed open the door to your room, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting.

You were propped up in bed, the sterile white sheets bunched around your body. Your face was bruised—still swollen—but your eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. There was nothing there. No emotion. No spark. Just an emptiness that he didn’t know how to fill.

Spencer hesitated, his footsteps slow and deliberate as he crossed the room.

You didn’t move when he sat in the chair next to the bed. You didn’t acknowledge him at all. Your gaze remained fixed ahead, unfocused, distant.

For a moment, Spencer just watched you. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but the words didn’t come.

It was only when he spoke, his voice sharp and broken, that the silence shattered.

“What you did was reckless and idiotic,” he said, his tone colder than he intended. “You could’ve died. You left without backup, without even thinking about the risks.” He swallowed, forcing his words to keep coming. “You could’ve—you should’ve—asked for help.”

He paused, waiting for some kind of response. Something—anything—but there was nothing. You didn’t even blink. You just stared ahead, lost in the haze of your own mind.

Spencer’s fingers clenched into fists. “You think this is some kind of game? You think you’re invincible?”

Still nothing.

He leaned in slightly, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “Goddamn it, I’m trying to help. But you need to stop acting like you’re the only one who matters here. This isn’t just about you.”

Nothing.

The silence stretched on, a taut wire between the two of you, the gap between him and you feeling like an abyss. Spencer couldn’t stand it. His gaze dropped to the floor, a wave of shame crashing over him.

He didn’t understand it. He didn’t know how to fix it.

For the first time in his life, Spencer Reid felt like he was completely and utterly lost.

—

The team began to gather in the waiting room outside your room, and no one spoke. Even the air felt thick, like the stillness before a storm.

It was Elle who finally broke the silence. “I can’t…” she trailed off, her voice catching in her throat. “She… she won’t even look at us.”

Hotch, though normally composed, looked exhausted. His hands were folded in his lap, his eyes shadowed by the weight of the situation. “She’s been through hell, Elle. We can’t just… expect everything to go back to normal.”

Gideon looked up from his place near the door. “No, it’s not that simple,” he said quietly, voice low but unwavering. “But I’ve seen this before. Trauma like this… it changes you.” He paused, eyes flicking toward the door to your room. “She’s going to need time, and we’re going to need patience. But we also need to acknowledge what we did wrong,”

The room grew quieter, each member processing the truth in their own way.

Morgan, who had been pacing with his hands in his pockets, spoke up. “Spencer’s not handling this well. But none of us are.” His voice was strained, but it held a sense of certainty. “We didn’t see it. We didn’t see how bad it was getting for her.”

JJ closed her eyes briefly, guilt flooding her expression. “We should’ve known. We should’ve stepped in. The way she and Spencer were fighting—it was too much. We should’ve told them both to stop before it got to this point,”

“I’m just…” Elle’s voice wavered. “I’m just so angry at him. How could he say those things to her? He was the one who pushed her.” Her eyes were wide, a mix of disbelief and hurt. “He acted like he didn’t even care, like she didn’t matter

Hotch sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. “We all failed her in some way.” His eyes flicked to Gideon. “And now Spencer’s struggling to process the fact that it’s his words that have hurt her the most,”

Gideon nodded slowly. “There’s no way to fix it right away. But what matters now is how we move forward. For her. Not for us.”

[darlingsblackbook]

Zayne x Crushing Nurse!Reader | Part Three

Mc messing with Nurse!Reader for 30 minutes straight - A compilation.

Part One Part Two

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

I | MC started calling you “Nurse Heart-Eyes” under her breath. Zayne overheard and said, “She does that.”. You still don’t know if he meant the nickname or the heart-eyes.

II | You caught MC raising a brow when you were adjusting your hair and scrubs in front of the door to Zayne's office.

She said, “Want me to knock so you can pose first?”

You said, “What? No!”

She banged on the door. Three times.

III | You once laughed too hard at Zayne’s dry remark.

MC just muttered, “Classic.”

You said, “What’s classic?”

She said, “The symptoms.”

Zayne: “Of what?”

MC: “A very obvious crush.”

You : 👁👄👁

IV | You reached for a clipboard at the same time as Zayne and flinched when your hands brushed.

He didn’t notice.

Mc's cackled told you she did.

V | You once tried to subtly ask MC if Zayne was “seeing anyone.”. She looked at you and said, “Yeah. Every day. Usually around 10 a.m.” You nodded for a full five seconds before realizing you were being clowned.

VI | Zayne once complimented your efficiency with a curt, “Good work.” Your smile looked like it was about to tear the muscles in your face apart. MC noticed. Later she whispered, “If he ever says you’re ‘adequate,’ propose immediately.”

VII | You nervously asked MC, “So, you and Dr. Zayne… are you two… close?” She smirked. “We’ve bled on each other. Is that close?” You didn’t respond. MC patted your shoulder. “Didn’t think so.”

VIII | MC once caught you spying into the office through the window. She got up and positioned herself with her back to the window - facing Zayne who was leaning against his desk as he spoke to her- in a way that made it look like they were about to kiss. 3, 2, 1- SLAM!

"Doctor Zayne!" You yelled out of breath. Zayne turned his head towards you, you could almost see the buffering icon right above his head as he's trying to figure out what is wrong with you.

Mc turned towards you and stuck her tongue out, "Are you alright, heart eyes?" You stayed silent. Zayne moved on with their convo as if nothing happened. "As I was saying-"

IX | MC gave you a cooling pack as she was visiting one morning. You asked, “Why?” She said, “For when you watch Zayne do literally anything and get flustered.”

X | Zayne once asked, “Why are you acting strange today?” MC leaned into the doorway and said, “Just today?"

XI | MC caught you fiddling with your necklace after Zayne walked by. She asked, “That a nervous habit or are you imagining he gave it to you?” You dropped the necklace. She laughed.

XII | Zayne felt something was off about you today. He wanted to call you to his office to make sure you were okay. "Y/n, can I speak to you for a moment?" You looked at him with wide eyes. Mc raised her eyebrows, "Is it finally happening?"

XIII | You once saw Mc put her hand on Zayne's arm as they stood right in front of you. You froze, eyes locked onto the hand. Zayne looked up and said, “Are you alright?” MC smiled,“She’s just calculating how many years she’d get if she hacked my hand off”

XIV | You tried to ignore MC’s presence for a day. She leaned in and whispered, “Your strategy is adorable. Ineffective, but adorable.” You hissed, “I’m being neutral.” She said, “You’re vibrating.”

XV | Zayne started answering your questions with one-word responses. You told yourself he was just focused. MC leaned over and said, “You’re not subtle, and he’s allergic to emotions. This is gonna be fun.”

XVI | You overheard Zayne complain about a nurse to Mc and mutter, “People are distracted this week.” You were the one who helped him mainly this week. MC later passed by you and asked, “Need a sign that says ‘I'm just in love, not incompetent’? I can make one.”

XVII | MC once deliberately called Zayne by a ridiculous pet name—“Zaynie Boo” just to see your reaction. You dropped the tray you were holding. Zayne didn’t flinch. “Don’t do that.” MC: “Why? It gets results.”

XVIII | You once said, “You two make a good team.” Mc answered, "Yeah, in many ways."

XIX | Zayne once asked if you were sick because you were so jittery. MC said, “Only with longing."

XX | Zayne asked you to assist him one-on-one. You nearly tripped walking toward him. MC whispered, “good luck, little nurse.”

You heard her. Zayne didn’t.

But when he caught your trembling hands, he paused, looked at the doorway, then quietly said,

“She’s messing with you again, isn’t she?”

All Rights Reserved © Darlingsblackbook

I love the Mc/nurse dynamic, here are some more moments. In the next part there will be more Zayne🤭

Taglist : @sylusgirlie7 @jeonjenny @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @draftbeerbibi @weebinator01 @satorustorm @asilaydead @ninaandtuna @gremlinartstudio

[lvrsturniolo]

Eiffel Tower -c.s & m.s

warnings; SMUT. THREESOME(no incest bcs 🤮). rough sex. DIRTYYYY. softdom!matt. roughdom!chris. eiffel tower position. edging. spitting. hair-pulling. creampie. praise & degradation. dirty talk. name calling(whore, slut, sweetheart, baby).

synopsis; you want to try your favorite Juno pose, so who better to ask than your favorite boys.

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

It started with a text to your groupchat. The one with you, Matt, and Chris.

“did i ever show you guys that pose sabrina did on tour in Paris? the eiffel tower one?” You hit send, holding your breath in nervousness.

“would you ever wanna… try it? like just for fun of course. If not it’s okay!” You send immediately after, because if you didn’t, you knew you’d puss out.

Once it was out there, you stared at the screen, heart pounding like you’d just confessed a crime.

It wasn’t a joke. You wanted it. You’d imagined it—Chris’s hands in your hair, Matt’s whispering soft praises in your ear, being used, pinned between them. God.

But they were your best friends. And now you might’ve ruined everything.

Then Matt snapped you back.

those fucks. that’s it??

Your stomach flipped. You changed twice. And now you were standing in their house, staring at Chris’s door, breath shaky.

What if they were going to laugh? Tease you?

You pushed the door open.

Matt was on the edge of the bed. Chris leaned against the dresser, arms crossed. Both of them looked at you like they already knew.

“Hi pretty” Matt said simply, his eyes slow as they slid over your body.

Chris’s lips curled, dark and dangerous, but he stayed silent.

You blinked, biting down on your bottom lip nervously. “So…”

Chris pushed off the dresser. “You wanted to do the Eiffel Tower, hm?” he said, already pulling his hoodie off. “You’re getting it, baby. Have no idea how many times we’ve talked about havin’ you.”

Woah.

Matt stood up, eyes warm but hungry. “Strip.”

Your hands shook as you peeled your clothes off. They didn’t touch you yet. Just watched.

Matt stepped behind you first, running his hand up your bare spine. “Such a pretty girl,” he murmured. “Thank you so much for asking us t’do this.” He says, tone sweet, but laced with something you can’t seem to understand.

Chris stepped closer in front of you, already shirtless, already hard. His hand curled in your hair, tugging your head back. “You think we haven’t thought about this? Every time you come over here in those slutty little outfits?”

You gasped as Matt’s hands gripped your hips from behind.

“Up,” Chris said. “On your feet.”

You stood. Shaking. Dripping, just from their words.

Matt lined up behind you, teasing your folds with the head of his cock. “Tell us if s’too much, okay?”

And then Chris shoved his cock between your lips.

No more talking.

Your hands landed on his thighs instinctively as he fed you inch after inch, muttering, “Look at that. Takin me like such a good girl. Fucking knew you’d be good at this. Fuckin’ slut.”

Behind you, Matt pushed in slow and deep, groaning when your pussy clenched around him.

“Oh, fuck, she’s tight,” he breathed. “Pussy so goddamn perfect.”

You whimpered around Chris’s cock, stuffed at both ends, unable to move without one of them controlling it.

Chris held your hands now, fingers laced with yours, forcing your arms still as he fucked your throat. “You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth,” he snarled, thrusting deeper, ignoring your choked moans. “God, listen to her gag—she loves it. Don’t you, slut?”

Matt’s pace was slower, deeper. His hand gripped your waist, the other sliding up your back, up your neck, until he held you in place. “Doing so good, baby,” he whispered, still gentle despite the power behind his thrusts. “Letting us use you like this. You’re fucking perfect.”

You were drooling down your chin, tears in your eyes, but your body trembled with need.

Chris leaned in, his breath hot on your cheek. “Gonna let us wreck you, huh? Y’jus a little cockhungry slut. You like lettin your best friends fuck you like a whore, hm?”

Their words were making the knot growing in your tummy extremely tight.

Matt growled behind you, feeling your walls clamp down on him. “She’s close.”

Chris yanked your head back. “Don’t you dare cum.”

You whined around him, thighs shaking.

Matt fucked into you harder now, angling perfectly, slamming against your g-spot. “She’s so fucking wet,” he moaned. “Be a good girl n hold it like Chris said, yeah? Just a little longer baby.” He almost whines as he feels your walls clamp down on him.

Chris pulled out just long enough to slap his cock against your cheek. “You wanna cum? Beg for it. Right now.”

Your voice cracked. “Please—please, I need it. I- ngh! N-need to cum so b-bad!please—”

“God, you’re pathetic,” Chris groaned, shoving back into your throat.

Matt pressed his chest to your back, lips brushing your ear. “You’re doing so good, baby. Just a little more. Wanna cum with you.”

And then it all broke.

Chris grunted, “Fuck—‘m gonna cum down your throat—shit.. fuckin swallow it—all of it.”

He slammed into your mouth one more rough time, and then he groaned loud, spilling down your throat as your lips sealed around him, swallowing everything he gave you, just like he told you to.

Matt wasn’t far behind. “Let go, baby,” he whined, hand in your hair as he slammed into you once more. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock—o-oh fuck—” he mumbles, voice shaky as his thighs start tensing.

Those words were all it took. You shattered around him, body shaking, moaning, vision white-hot as he spilled deep inside, warmth flooding you.

You all collapsed together — your knees finally giving out, Matt catching you before you hit the floor. Chris dropped to sit on the edge of the bed, sweat dripping, chest heaving.

For a second, all you could hear was breathing. Bodies tangled. Your legs shaking.

Even with Matt holding you, you could barely think. Every nerve felt raw, buzzing. Your throat was sore, your thighs sticky, and your skin was flushed everywhere. But you were glowing. Floating.

Chris stood up first, tugging his sweats back on before crouching in front of you, a softness in his eyes.

“You okay, angel?” he asked, brushing some hair off your face gently. “Need water? Anything hurting?”

You blinked at him slowly, dazed. “I’m… good,” you whispered. “Just…just overwhelmed.”

Matt kissed your shoulder, still cradling you against his chest from behind. “You were amazing,” he murmured. “We’re gonna take care of you now, okay?”

Chris pressed a soft kiss to your forehead — a stark contrast to the way he was treating you just nearly 5 minutes ago. He stood to grab a clean towel, a water bottle, and one of his hoodies.

Matt helped you sit, keeping one arm around your waist, grounding you. He grabbed the hem of your shirt and helped slip it over your head gently.

Chris was back, kneeling again, this time with the towel warm from the dryer. “Let me,” he said softly. The feeling pulling a slight wince from you.

“Too much?”

“No,” you murmured. “Just sore.”

They cleaned you gently, carefully, not missing a spot. Chris kissed your cheek every time you flinched. Matt kept whispering, “You’re okay,” into your neck, over and over, like a mantra just for you.

When they were done, Chris knelt to slip a pair of his boxers onto you, kissing the inside of your knee.

Then Matt pulled you onto the bed, settling you between them, your head on his chest, legs tangled with Chris’s.

God, you should’ve asked for this earlier.

tags; @hesvoid3434 @pair-of-pantaloons

main tags; @emely9274 @courta13 @sturniolo-szn2 @ivysturnss @chrislover696969 @riasturns @sophand4n4 @lezleeferguson-120 @slvt4chriss @tezzzzzzzz @iloveduckssm

[strangerexee]

(6) ᴛᴏʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɪ ʟɪᴋᴇ ɢᴇɴᴛʟᴇ ɢɪᴀɴᴛꜱ | ᴇʟɪᴊᴀʜ “ꜱᴍᴏᴋᴇ” ᴍᴏᴏʀᴇ

𝙼𝙾𝙳𝙴𝚁𝙽!𝙶𝙰𝙽𝙶!𝙰𝚄

pairings: Elijah "smoke" Moore x black!fem!reader

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢: 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 | 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 | 𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚐/𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜 | 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎/𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛 | 𝚝𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚌 𝚍𝚢𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚜 | 𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 (𝚔𝚒𝚍𝚗𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚜), 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 | 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚝-𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚢 | 𝚃𝚆𝙸𝙽 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙵𝚄𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽 | 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗.

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

It had been a few weeks since smoke let you back in his bed. You had a lil life to get back to. Ya lil apartment to get back to. Your job…that you kept calling out of…

Not just back in tho — back in good.

Now? You was up in there every night like rent-free real estate.

You done made yourself real comfortable.

Damn near lived there. Clothes in his drawer. Lipgloss on the nightstand. Breakfast every other day. You were living the dream.

He was gentle when he wanted to be. But clingy as hell in his own quiet way — always touching something. Your hand. Your leg. That lil crease in your waist.

He’d kiss on you randomly, like he just remembered he could.

Pull your bonnet down before bed like it was a crown.

Sleep hard as hell behind you with a thigh between yours like a seatbelt.

Anyway.

You had just got your hair done.

Knotless. Butt-length. Parts crispy. Baby hairs laid by God himself.

You posted one lil pic, and he was already texting like:

“Where you at? I’m tryna see somethin.”

So when he pulled up? You really didn’t know what he was doing there...

He came in smelling like Dior and weed.

Looked you up and down, reaching over to twirl a braid around his finger. Then nodded all calm like it wasn’t nothing.

“You wanna come with me?”

“Come where?” You tilted your head.

He just smirked.

Threw his arm around your waist. Kissed the side of your neck.

“Miami.”

You blinked.

He said it so casual. Like he was askin’ if you wanted to go get wings.

“We got a lil shit to handle, me and Stack,” he added, “but…figured I’d bring my girl with me. Have some fun.”

Damn near shed a tear…he called you his girl…

Your heart jumped so ugly. You played it cool, though.

Bit your glossed-up lip, leaned into his hoodie.

“Aight then. Lemme pack.”

next day.

Private jet.

No TSA. No crying babies. No coach seats. No stress.

You stepped up the lil steps in a skims set, black hoodie tied round your waist. Sunglasses on. Edges still immaculate. And he let you go first, his hand under your ass like a lift.

Stack was already on the plane, lounged out with a PS5 controller and a pair of Louis slides like they wasn’t headed to commit light crime.

“Daaaamn, look who came wit’chu,” Stack grinned. “Don’t start fuckin’ on the seats, damn.”

You rolled your eyes.

Smoke just smirked, wide and lazy.

Yall sat down and he had you in his lap like luggage. Hand on your inner thigh, thumb rubbin’ slow back and forth like he was markin’ territory.

You was takin’ pictures, snappin’ vids, postin’ lil sneaky ones on your close friends story like

“He don’t like pics, but look at himmm.”

He’d lean into your neck while you posed, kissin’ behind your ear.

Real quiet and low under his breath.

“Keep postin’ me like I ain’t gon’ fuck you when we land.”

“Nigga —” he cut you off.

“Keep postin’. Watch.”

You were gigglin’ so much he had to press a hand to your stomach just to stop you from movin’.

He kissed you.

Hard and slow. With tongue. With pressure. Pullin’ you closer by your jaw.

Not even tryna be discreet.

You straddled him sideways for a lil minute. Y’all was talkin’ low, touchin’ lips, whisperin’ stupid shit back and forth like —

“You miss me already?” You bit your lip.

He gave you a look. “I’m lookin’ at you.”

“Still.”

The jet hit the clouds, and all you could feel was his hand between your thighs and his hoodie strings looped around your fingers.

And his mouth?

Every couple minutes?

Back on your skin.

Just because he could.

The house was stupid nice.

Like MTV Cribs meets Cartel safehouse nice.

Marble counters, all white everything, a pool out back that looked like it came with a breathtaking view.

You walked through barefoot like a dream, silk robe flutterin’ behind you, braids tied up in a high bun like a crown. Took you a minute to do it.

Everything smelled like money, weed, and cologne. Like a music video before the chaos hit.

You had packed many bikinis.

The one you’re wearing right now. Just a simple one. Strings tied at the side of your hips and back of your neck and the trust you put into it was…let’s not talk about it.

It was cute tho.

When you put it on, you looked like a problem. Like his problem. His prettiest problem.

Like somebody who deserved to be on a boat right now, not chillin’ while her man got dressed to leave.

You threw on your anklet. Stepped out into the main room and leaned in the doorway.

“You leavin’?”

Smoke glanced up from where he was putting his chain on.

Black tee. Cargo pants. Diamond in his ear. Beard lookin’ sharp. Skin glowin’ like sun-drenched honey. Too fine.

“Yeah. Stack need me for a sec. Be right back.”

You blinked.

Then blinked again.

“I thought the whole point of me comin’ was to have fun with you.”

That man had the audacity to smirk.

“You is havin’ fun with me. I flew you out, didn’t I?”

He said it all calm. Like he didn’t see the way you were standing — thighs out, bikini on, glistening like a goddess in the Miami light.

You sucked your teeth.

“So I’m just supposed to sit here lookin’ cute while you go do…whatever the hell?”

Smoke walked over slow. Hands in his pockets. Laughed low under his breath.

“That’s what you wanted to do. When I first met you, anyway.”

Not true.

“Yeah, well.” You looked away, arms crossed, lips pouted. “Now I wanna do it with you.”

He was in front of you now.

Close enough to smell his neck. Close enough to feel the warmth off his body.

One of his hands slid up under your robe — just a little. Found your waist. His thumb brushed along the side of your swimsuit.

“You gon’ be alright for a couple hours, pretty girl,” he murmured. “Ain’t like I’m leavin’ for good.”

You leaned back against the door frame. Looked up at him from under your lashes.

“You always say that like I don’t be countin’ the minutes…”

His hand flexed just a little on your hip.

“Don’t start.”

You tilted your head. Let your lips brush his jaw real soft.

“I miss you.”

“I’m standin’ right here.” He chuckled.

“Still.”

He kissed you.

Once. Deep. Slow.

Then again. Tongue soft. Pullin’ a sound from your lips.

His fingers slid up to your neck and pulled you closer, pressed your bodies together. Your teeth tugged on his bottom lip before finally letting go.

“You gon’ make me stay,” he whispered. “For real.”

You smiled, real slow. Pressed your lips to his again like you didn’t care. Like that was the goal.

“Then stay.”

“Girl —”

“You gon’ leave me here like this? Hair done, skin out? That’s disrespectful.”

You could feel him biting back a grin. His hands were already low again. Gripping. Palming. Getting lost.

“Damn, baby…”

“Mhm.”

He pulled back finally. Swallowed hard. Adjusted his chain like it was your fault he was about to be late.

“Aight. Ima be gone just a couple hours. Pool out back. Pour somethin’. Relax.”

“Whatever,” you mumbled. But your eyes were still stuck on him.

As he walked off, you called after him:

“You better not be lyin’ this time!”

“You better not post no thirst traps while I’m gone.”

You smirked.

Already had your camera out. Face glowy, body glistening, caption loading.

Out back, you let the robe slide off.

Dipped your feet in the water. Slid your sunglasses on and leaned back like you owned the place.

Smoke might’ve had to handle business but when he come back he was gon’ have to handle you.

Sun was gettin’ low.

But the heat hadn’t backed off.

It was that sticky kind of Florida air. Heavy.

Sky soft orange, palm trees still.

Not a breeze in sight.

Smoke and Stack sat on the hood of a matte black Range Rover. Parked deep in some dead-end lot behind a warehouse near the water — boats nearby, tugboats creakin’, seagulls loud. Whole place smelled like sea salt and decomposing seaweed.

Smoke had the blunt between his lips. Stack was rollin’ another, long fingers fast, calloused. Gold chain glintin’ when he moved.

“Man takin’ his sweet ass time,” Stack muttered, eyein’ the road.

Smoke shrugged slow, eyes half-closed.

He was always the calm one. Looked like he could nap through a shootout.

“That’s how Miami niggas move,” he said, low around the smoke. “Slow n’ flashy.”

Stack just snorted. Lit his blunt and leaned back.

Then —

Headlights turned the corner.

Low, black Benz. Tinted.

Came rollin’ real slow into the lot like it was feelin’ them out before committing.

Smoke sat up just a bit. Didn’t move fast. Just tapped Stack’s arm once. They both stood.

The Benz stopped. Engine still running.

Door cracked. Out stepped a dark-skinned dude in his late thirties — gold fronts, lil chain, Dior shades on.

He had a blunt too. Lit already.

Wasn’t in a rush.

“You Hakeem?” Smoke asked, voice like sandpaper and quiet fire.

The man grinned wide around his blunt. Blew smoke through his nose.

“Y’all niggas twins?”

Stack barked a soft laugh, the sound light but not friendly.

“Nah,” he said, smiling. “We cousins.”

Smoke hit the blunt again, eyes on Hakeem the whole time. Didn’t blink much.

Hakeem laughed. More like a snort.

Didn’t seem fazed.

“That’s good.”

Then a pause.

Tension. But not sharp — more like everybody here knew what this was.

“You got it?” Stack asked.

Hakeem stepped back toward the Benz.

Opened the back door and popped the trunk from inside.

Didn’t say nothin’ — just walked to the rear of the car and lifted it up like he done this a hundred times.

Inside?

Two black, weatherproof duffle bags. Heavy. Zipped up like they were locked down tight.

“Glocks, baby,” he said. “Nine mils. Forty-fives. Couple of those titanium slides — real stealth, real light. Got the Cerakote finish, black and slate gray, keeps ‘em slick and quiet.”

Smoke and Stack didn’t move right away.

They let the silence stretch. Like they were tryna make Hakeem feel something. Nervous. Small.

Didn’t work — the man just pulled on his blunt again and leaned on the bumper.

“Y’all out here for vacation?” he asked, glancing between them.

Smoke finally stepped forward.

Grabbed one bag. Unzipped it halfway. Peeked inside. Matte black frames with silver accents gleaming under the lot lights, mags loaded, safety off.

He nodded once.

“Work don’t stop,” was all he said.

“So y’all workin’ and partyin’?” Hakeem said, grinning again. “That’s crazy. Niggas like y’all always end up with trouble.”

“Niggas like us always end up with money,” Stack said, stepping forward now.

“Or dead.”

Stack smiled again. Brighter this time. Teeth sharp.

“Ain’t we all?”

Smoke zipped the bag up again. Passed it to Stack.

“What about the other drop?” he asked.

Hakeem shrugged.

“Later tonight. Same place. Different face.”

“He good?”

Hakeem just tapped the ash off his blunt and looked off at the skyline.

“You ever seen a nigga with no tongue run his mouth?”

Smoke tilted his head.

“You tryna be poetic?”

“Nah.” He smirked. “Just sayin’. He good.”

They left it at that.

Money was handed off. Quick count. Nobody flinched. Nobody reached.

It was calm like rainwater — until it wasn’t.

As they got back in the Rover, Stack glanced in the mirror.

“Why that nigga talk like he in a Spike Lee monologue?”

Smoke laughed soft.

Started the engine.

“Long as the shit clean, I don’t care if he speak in haikus.”

You was warm.

Not just body warm — but deep.

Bones relaxed. Eyes heavy. Muscles floated.

That wine done crept up on you.

You ain’t even realize it at first.

Just a lil glass to sip while the Bluetooth speaker played some SZA in the background.

Legs stretched out across a plush outdoor chair by the pool.

The whole place glowing in the blue light of underwater LEDs and Miami night.

But that one glass turned into two.

Two turned into three.

Next thing you knew, you was giggling at your phone and talkin’ to yourself.

You dragged your thick lil tipsy self into the house just before midnight.

Shower ran hot — steam curling up against the mirror like a ghost.

You scrubbed that chlorine off your skin, deep conditioner in, body butter after.

Tied your scarf like somebody grandma.

And slid into bed like you was in love.

Only you wasn’t.

Not technically.

But god — you felt like it.

The sheets smelled clean, expensive.

Room dim, soft glow from the bathroom light spillin’ across the floor.

You were on your side, legs bent, hoodie on — his hoodie, matter fact — the grey one you stole off his suitcase and never gave back.

You curled into it.

Nose pressed to the collar.

Smelled like detergent, weed, cologne, and him.

And you just laid there.

Still.

Quiet.

Thinking.

You wasn’t tryna be dramatic or nothing, but…

You kinda missed him.

And that didn’t make sense.

Because he’d only been gone 13 hours.

But something about the silence when he wasn’t around made the world feel off balance.

Like he carried the gravity of every room he walked into, and without him, shit just floated weird.

You stared at the wall.

Breathing slow.

Mind wandered to the way his hand found your thigh like it was made to rest there.

How he kiss your cheek without warning.

How he look at you sometimes — eyes low, lips parted, jaw tight like he ain’t know what to do with all that feeling.

You swallowed.

Tucked your bottom lip between your teeth.

You thought about earlier.

The way he’d said, relax, like it ain’t hurt him to leave you.

Like he ain’t look back at you twice on his way out.

You thought about the way he touched your chin that morning.

Real gentle.

You exhaled, slow.

Wasn’t nobody who ever made you feel like this.

Not soft. Not wanted. Not heavy in a good way.

He didn’t even say too much — but he was loud in all the places that mattered.

You blinked slow.

Mind startin’ to fade with the wine, body heavy against the mattress.

And then —

Click.

You snapped up.

Quick — like your body knew him before your mind caught up.

Eyes still half-sleep, but your ears perked at the sound of the front door shutting soft.

Not slammed.

Not loud.

That careful-close he only did when you was sleep.

Your heart kicked.

Then melted.

Then flipped again.

A minute later — you heard his voice, you heard his steps.

That slow, heavy-footed walk he always had, like the floor owed him silence.

And when the door opened and he walked into the room, it felt like somebody lit a match in your chest.

There he was.

Elijah.

Neck glintin’.

Chain heavy on his collarbone, eyes low like he ain’t had nothin’ left to prove.

He smelled like cold night air and weed and heat.

Your lips parted.

You was sobered up just enough to realize you wasn’t ready to pretend like you hadn’t missed this man this bad.

He was quiet. Just stood in the doorway for a second, eyes skating over you in bed.

The room still dim.

You in his hoodie, legs bare, scarf tied like a good girl.

Looking at him like he was the moon.

And you wanted to hug on him.

Kiss all on him.

Pull him in and lay up on his chest and tell him don’t go nowhere else ever again.

But your limbs was lazy.

Body melted into the mattress.

You just blinked at him slow, eyes all big and pink in the corners.

He came over though.

Didn’t say nothing at first.

Just leaned down and kissed you.

Real slow.

Real him.

One warm hand cradled your cheek and the other braced on the mattress as his mouth met yours like he’d been waitin’ to all night.

You sighed into it.

Drunk lips parting, letting him taste that wine you still had on your tongue.

You sucked his bottom lip out of instinct.

He pulled back a little, licking his own lip.

Eyebrows dipping just slightly. “You drunk?”

You blinked. Smiled lazy.

“…Just a lil bit drunk.”

He squinted. “Did you eat?”

You shook your head on the pillow.

“Damn…” He looked down at you, thumb brushing your cheek. “You want somethin’ to eat?”

You closed your eyes, still smiling.

“…No. Just miss you.”

That part came out softer.

Almost a whisper.

Like you was embarrassed to say it out loud, but you couldn’t not say it.

He stared at you for a second.

Didn’t smirk. Didn’t joke. Didn’t play.

His eyes just softened real slow, mouth parted like he ain’t expect you to hit him like that.

You looked back at him.

Skin glowing gold from the lamp light spillin’ in behind him.

Lashes low. Lips pouty. Eyes full of every feeling you had no business tryna hide.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered.

That time you meant to say it loud.

Meant for him to hear it.

And he did.

Smoke leaned down again — kissed you with his hand sliding under the hoodie, up your side, slow and possessive.

His breath was warm against your cheek when he whispered, “You been thinkin’ about me, huh?” He asked before standing up.

You nodded.

You smiled.

Then giggled.

The one you only do when your feelings real warm and gooey and girly.

The kind you hate that he be causin’.

You tilted your head, cheek mushed into the pillow.

Lashes fluttering.

Eyes a lil glossy from that wine, but they was all on him.

He ain’t say nothing else for a moment.

Just breathed.

Took another long look at you beneath the covers, then backed up slow to the edge of the bed.

The low thump of his shoes hit the carpet first — then the quiet creak of the mattress as he sat down, back to you.

Tugged his shirt off, slow.

He ain’t face you.

Just sat there in the golden spill of the bedroom lamp, the muscles in his back flexin’ soft as he rolled his shoulders a bit.

You blinked — then shifted.

Sat up onto your knees.

There was no hesitation in your body.

No wine fog between your thoughts.

Just need. Just comfort. Just the overwhelming ache of him.

You crawled across the bed and kissed the space between his shoulder blades.

Real slow.

He stilled.

You kissed his up spine next.

Then the back of his shoulder.

Then up the column of his neck, warm lips soft and open against his skin like a sigh.

Tasted his sweat and cologne and Florida air.

Your arms slid around him from behind, hands resting on his chest, and your cheek pressed against his back like you belonged there.

“You smell good,” you whispered, lips grazing the shell of his ear.

Elijah reached for your arms and pulled your hands up to his mouth, kissing your knuckles one by one.

Then turned, real slow, to face you.

You sat up on your knees in front of him.

He looked at you like you were everything.

His fingers ghosted your jaw, then dipped under the hem of your hoodie to rest against your waist.

Just warm enough to make you inhale.

He said nothing at first — just looked you up and down like he was taking inventory of all the parts he’d been craving since the moment he left the house.

Then finally — his voice low and soft:

“Imma spoil you tomorrow.”

You blinked. Your breath caught.

He smirked just barely. “You deserve it.”

“You say that now,” you mumbled, tilting your head. ���Then you gon act like spoilin’ me is a chore.”

He shook his head once, low chuckle spilling from his chest as his hands slid down to your thighs.

“You dramatic. But I’m for real.”

“You mean it?” you asked, tilting your face toward his.

He nodded, this time slow. Real slow.

“Whatever you want.”

You paused. Then smiled.

And kissed him again — soft, wine-lazy, slow enough to melt the moment.

He pulled you closer, slid his hands under your thighs and brought you into his lap like you was weightless.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, lips never leaving his.

It wasn’t about sex.

Not yet.

It was about intimacy.

And you was wrapped up in it — right here. On his chest. In his hands. In his arms.

A/N: Love me some Elijah “smoke” Moore — he can have this anytime- anywhere he want — I’m talkin abt IN ITTTT — NO lube, NO protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while i gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cow girl, doggy, backwards, forwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling. teeth jittering, mind boggling, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy, moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip bitting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, splendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tangos, he could put a nuclear bomb inside me and I'd still ride.

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[totalswag]

coachella baby ⎯ RAFE CAMERON!

authors note coachella fic is finally here. i know i went hiatus for a bit (again) but now that i finally had the time to finish my coachella fic ENJOY IT. kook and pogues are civil aka we love that. feedback is always appreciated <3.

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masterlist

summary attending coachella with your boyfriend and friends for the weekend to make amazing memories, watch artists perform, and just have fun.

warning(s) cursing, drinking, kissing, partying, mentions of loud music, and girls wearing badass outfits the whole trip.

The whole friend group made the biggest decision to fly out to Palm Springs for Coachella. Of course you all agreed. You’ve always wanted to go and now it’s finally happening, you couldn’t believe it. This is about to be a long eventful weekend.

Fast forwarding to today⎯Coachella day one. Everybody woke up this morning ready to start the day. The gates don’t open till one o’clock which gave everyone enough time to relax.

Morning started off with breakfast by the pool and mimosas. Laying by the pool with music playing from your speaker. The closer it gets to getting ready, you ran into the house to shower then get ready. The whole house was getting ready.

“Leaving in thirty minutes!” Sarah yelled from the kitchen reminding everyone it’s getting close to “go time” as she likes to say.

“Has anyone seen my other shoe?!” Topper yells from down the hall.

"Which one?" Kelce yells back. "Left, right, emotional support sneaker?"

"left, bro. I need the left," Topper practically screams.

Downstairs, Kie’s trying to untangle five different necklaces in the mirror while JJ runs through the living room like an absolute menace, a towel tied around his neck like a cape.

You were in your shared bathroom with Rafe putting the final touches of your makeup⎯leaning forward applying lip liner then you were finished⎯you looked hot.

“Are you tryna kill me or something?” Rafe says from behind with his arms crossed tilting his head to the side that makes you weak to the knees.

You turn your whole body around seeing him in full length⎯thin white button shirt with his tanned chest revealed, black cargo pants, white shoes along with his signature gold chain.

“Could say the same to you” you mock.

You roll your eyes, checking your outfit in the full-length mirror. “You’re one to talk. You look like a Calvin Klein ad got lost in the desert.”

He laughs and walks over, pulling you into him by the waist. “Then I guess we’re the hottest couple out there.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Ready, angel?”

The moment you arrived to the festival you found your way to the drinks⎯everyone made sure to buy waters too since the heat is no joke right now. Luckily there mini fans to buy at little tents.

Meanwhile, Cleo reaches in her back and brings out her small digital camera, and everyone gathers around.

"Okay, group photo first!" Cleo yells. "Then we'll do individuals and couple shots."

The girls cheer each other on the entire time, adjusting one other's accessories and swapping places. The girls looked unbeatable had to toe⎯each to their style⎯Sarah, Kie, Sasha, and Kendall.

“Y/N, tilt your head a little⎯yes! That’s it!”

“Cleo, you better send me every single one of these" you say in between pictures.

Meanwhile, the guys are doing whatever guys do when you put a camera in their hands. JJ and Kelce start making dumb poses, flexing muscles and arguing who's is bigger. Rafe just waits patiently, leaning back on one leg, watching you through dark lenses.

"You girls look so hot!" a group of girls yelled as they walked by. All of you compliment back with the same energy.

Couple photo's came out great. Cleo's camera does wonders with amazing quality too. All the couples outfits complimented each other in their own ways.

You slid into Rafe's arms, leaning into him. He placed a kiss just behind your ear, whispering, “You’re the hottest thing at this whole festival.”

“I think your ego is,” you teased.

“Debatable,” he murmured, brushing his nose against your cheek before the flash snapped.

Two hours into Coachella and it's been so much fun so far. You guys watched a few artists perform on stages⎯singing and dancing like your lives depended on it. Seeing what other's are wearing for day one was nice because everyone's vibe was different.

Watching different artists perform on stage felt like a fever dream. They all brought something different that made their stage presence unique⎯Tyla, Gorilla, The María's, and more.

Sunset paints the sky in bruised pinks and oranges, and everyone is glowing with sweat and happiness. Sunset pictures were a must.

Right now Missy Eliiott was performing on stage and you felt like shaking ass⎯you did. The energy she brought to the stage was unmatched. The crowd lost their shit the minute she started singing.

The guys were behind while the seven of you girls stood in front letting loose. "I am having so much fun!" Shay, Kelce girlfriend, says aloud, swaying her hips to the beat of the beat. You all agreed cheering then singing more of the lyrics.

You caught a moment alone with Rafe near a vendor, the two of you sitting on the grass. The bass from a nearby stage vibrated through the soles of your shoes. He leaned back on his hands, looking up at the night sky.

“This is kinda perfect,” he said.

You glanced over, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You mean me and you or Coachella?”

“Both,” he said, eyes flicking over to you. “But mostly you and me.”

You leaned in and kissed him, soft and sweet. He smiled into it, pulling you onto his lap with zero shame.

“Let’s never miss this weekend ever again,” he whispered. “Like… ever.”

The moment you guys have been waiting for⎯Lady Gaga⎯set to perform at midnight. One thing about Lady Gaga is she'll give it her all when performing. No one knows what she'll perform but you're most excited for her older songs.

When bad romance played you were at lost at words. The visuals were insane. You had your phone out recording the performance. Moving your phone to the rest of your friends in their own element.

Rafe reached for your waist, pulling you closer, the music vibrating between your chests. You moved with him, bodies so close that there wasn’t any air left between you. He wasn’t really dancing, not like the people around you were⎯he just held you, guiding your hips in time with the pulsing beat, like he didn’t want to let you slip away into the crowd.

When Gaga’s voice soared into the chorus⎯I want your love and I want your revenge⎯Rafe dipped you slightly backward, one hand cradling your lower back. You shrieked in surprise, laughing, gripping onto his shirt as the lights flashed wildly around you both.

Half way through Gaga's performance, she walked to the piano getting ready to sing the next song. Die with a smile starts playing on the keys. The whole crowd was silent at first then started singing along. You however, could feel your chest tighten up.

Rafe and you love this song. It means so much to you especially. Rafe is everything you want in someone. You allowed yourself to take a deep breath as you stared into Rafe's eyes.

Rafe tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear and stared down at you with this look you could feel all the way to your toes.

“This song,” he said, fingers dragging slowly up and down your spine, “is exactly how I feel right now.”

You blinked up at him, chest pounding from more than just dancing. “How’s that?”

He leaned in, so close his breath warmed your lips. “you meaning the absolute the world to me and I wouldn't know who I'd be without you."

You give him a delicate smile playing with the ends of his buzz cut hair, "you have no idea how much I love you," and pull him down to kiss your soft lips.

By the time you made it to the house, everyone went their separate ways in their shared rooms. Coachella day one was one in the books and can't wait for the next two days ahead.

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[wendichester]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ two winchesters walk into a bar²,

summary. making a quick stop at harvelle’s has never been more fun

pairing. dean winchester x jo's cousin!reader genre. smut ( mdni )

wordcount. 1888

notes / warnings. needless to say we're the worst cousins in the world // explicit sexual content, exhibitionism, teasing, dirty talk, power play, alcohol, mild possessiveness, dean being the cockiest little shit

ᯓ★ read part 1

You should’ve left this morning.

Packed up your things, kissed Jo on the cheek, and peeled off down the highway like you always do — wind in your hair, music too loud, heart untouchable.

But instead? You’re here.

Back at Harvelle’s. Same stool. Different outfit. Lower neckline.

You claim it’s just another whiskey before the road. But the truth? You’re here because Dean said don’t be a stranger — and your spine’s still tingling from the way he looked at you when he said it.

He’s already there when you walk in. Feet up on the booth across from him, arms spread wide like he’s posing for sin itself. He spots you, and that smug little smirk curls up slow.

“Back so soon?” he drawls, voice like warm gravel.

“Jo owes me a burger,” you lie.

He doesn't buy it for a second.

“You sure that’s all you came back for?” he asks, eyes flicking down your frame like he’s checking for hidden weapons. Or weakness.

“Depends,” you say, sliding into the booth beside him. “You still being friendly?”

He hums low. “That depends.”

“On what?”

Dean leans in just a bit — his shoulder brushing yours. “How well you can handle your cousin being jealous when she sees you sitting here.”

You laugh, soft and dangerous. “You want to mess with the girl that fixes your drinks?”

He doesn’t answer. He just tilts his beer to his lips and lets the silence burn between you like a slow fuse.

Jo’s behind the bar when she spots you two — and her expression instantly flattens. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Dean grins. “She missed me.”

You wink. “He’s a bad influence.”

“No shit,” Jo mutters, slamming a glass down a little too hard.

Suddenly, you're having way too much fun.

It starts small.

Dean orders you a drink before you can. Slides it across the table like it’s a peace offering laced with something illicit. His hand lingers too long when your fingers brush. He leans in to whisper something snarky — and doesn’t pull away.

He’s warm. Smells like smoke and soap and the kind of laundry detergent that makes you think of motel rooms and leather seats. His thigh brushes yours. Once. Twice. Then it just stays there.

You shift. He doesn’t.

Jo’s watching like she wants to throw a holy water bottle at both of you.

Dean catches her glare and leans closer, voice low. “She’s gonna kill me.”

You smile, all teeth. “Maybe you deserve it.”

He chuckles — and it’s dangerous, that sound. Makes your chest tight.

“You’re cruel,” he murmurs.

“You like it.”

You should’ve left. You really should’ve left.

An hour in, you’re on his lap.

Not intentionally. Not… not intentionally, either.

The booth’s too small, the group’s grown — someone brought cards and a second round of drinks. Jo has retreated to the bar like a defeated general. And Dean? Dean just patted his thigh and said, "You want room or not, sweetheart?"

So yeah. You slid in.

Now you're perched sideways across his lap, one leg crossed over the other, dress riding high and a little wicked.

And Dean?

Dean’s hand is on your thigh.

At first it’s harmless. Friendly. Maybe even gentlemanly, if you squint hard enough and lie to yourself.

But then his thumb moves.

Just a stroke. Absent-minded, casual — if casual felt like a live wire.

You shift slightly, pretending to adjust your dress. His hand follows.

Higher.

A little higher.

Your breath catches.

He doesn't look at you — just keeps talking to Ash and sipping his beer like he’s not drawing invisible circles on the sensitive skin of your leg.

And when his fingers creep even closer to the line where your thigh meets heat?

You squeeze his arm.

Hard.

He grins against his glass.

"You okay there?" he murmurs, voice like silk over sin.

You hum sweetly, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "Touch me like that again and we’ll be the reason Jo torches this place down.”

He makes a noise — low and rough — like you just threatened him and turned him on.

“Wanna test her patience?” he asks.

You pause. Smile.

“Dean,” you whisper, voice like a dare, “I am.”

Jo storms over ten minutes later like she’s had enough of the flirting and the smug and the thigh-touching that isn’t subtle at all anymore.

She slaps down a plate of fries in front of you like she’s trying not to aim for your head.

“You,” she points at Dean. “Out.”

Dean blinks. “Me? I didn’t do anything.”

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh.

“You think I don’t see what’s going on over here?” Jo hisses.

“I’m just sitting here.” Dean grins, hand now completely still on your thigh, a picture of innocent corruption. “She’s the one in my lap.”

You raise your hand. “Guilty.”

“Jesus,” Jo mutters, glaring between you both. “You’re like gasoline and a goddamn match.”

Dean leans forward, still grinning. “Yeah, but you’ve gotta admit — we make a hell of a fire.”

Jo throws her hands up. “I hate both of you.”

You sip your drink, smirking. “Love you too, Jo.”

She storms off.

Dean chuckles, soft and satisfied. His fingers trace one last teasing line just under the hem of your dress, and this time? You don’t stop him.

“You always this much trouble?” he murmurs.

You glance at him, eyes dark. “Only when it’s fun.”

He raises his brows. “And this is fun?”

“Dean,” you murmur, words syrupy slow, “this is so much fun.”

His grin goes full wolf.

“Can I make it even more?”

You barely have time to blink before his hand is on the move — slow, deliberate, fingers skimming up the inside of your thigh like he’s reading Braille in a dirty novel. You jerk, instinctively, but it’s too late — the dress doesn’t stop him. Nothing does.

And suddenly, he’s touching you.

There. Right there.

Skin to skin under the hem, where no one can see but you feel everything — the graze of his knuckles, the unmistakable slide of fingers stroking over your panties, testing the dampness like it’s a damn compliment.

You choke on your breath.

The table bursts into laughter at something Ash says. Dean just chuckles — all cool and casual, like he isn’t two seconds from breaking every decency law in the zip code.

You shoot him a look. Sharp. Wide-eyed.

His eyes flick to you for the briefest second, lazy and smug, like he knows.

He presses his fingers in.

Just slightly.

And oh — oh you’re wet. Already. Your cheeks go scarlet.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he mutters under his breath, lips brushing your ear like it’s an inside joke. “No one’s got a clue.”

They don’t.

Jo’s still at the bar, but she’s watching you like she’s waiting for Dean to try something. She has no idea it already started.

And Dean? He’s playing it cool — talking to Ellen now about hunting routes and some crap you can’t even hear because all the blood’s rushed between your legs.

You shift on his lap, trying to breathe, trying not to grind down, because his fingers are back — two of them now, stroking slow over the soaked fabric like he’s savoring it.

“Keep that poker face,” he murmurs. “Or they’ll all know how bad you want it.”

You squeeze your thighs around his hand, but it does nothing. If anything, it traps him tighter. His knuckle drags against your clothed clit and you bite the inside of your cheek so hard you taste copper.

“Dean—”

“Hm?” He’s sipping his drink again, calm as a cat in the sun.

“You’re such a fucking—”

“A gentleman?” he offers sweetly. Then dips a finger under the edge of your underwear. Just enough to make you jolt.

You gasp — and laugh immediately after, high-pitched and breathless, covering your mouth like Ash just told a really inappropriate joke.

No one questions it.

Dean’s fingers dip again.

Lower.

Skin to slick skin now, fingertips barely ghosting your folds. He doesn’t even move much — just rests there, warm and teasing, a whisper away from slipping inside.

You shiver. You want to grind against him. Instead, you sit stock still like a statue carved by lust itself.

Jo glances over.

You smile. Pink-faced. Shaking a fry like it’s your new personality.

“Everything okay?” she calls, suspicion laced into every word.

Dean’s the one who answers.

“Peachy,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “She’s just a little warm.”

You swear you’ll kill him later.

He slides one finger inside you.

You nearly drop your drink.

The heat between your legs is electric. He doesn’t go fast — just enough to remind you he’s there. Inside. Real. And you’re on his lap, legs spread, heart pounding like a war drum while he finger-fucks you in a goddamn bar booth.

No one knows.

No one.

Dean's hand stays hidden, his body blocking any curious eyes. He murmurs something about cars to Ash, never missing a beat, while his finger curls — just so — and your eyes roll back for half a second before you blink them wide again.

You’re breathing through your nose like you’re in labor. Every shift, every twitch of his hand sends a wave of ohmygod rolling up your spine.

And the worst part?

You're close.

So close.

You clench around him without meaning to.

Dean exhales — low, dark, impressed.

“You’re filthy,” he whispers. “I fuckin’ love it.”

You fist the edge of the table, lips pressed shut in a fake smile.

And then—

He adds another finger.

That’s it.

Your hips jerk just slightly. Barely a twitch. But enough that you know you’re not gonna last. Not like this.

“I need air,” you gasp suddenly, rising so fast you nearly knock over your drink.

Dean lets you go with an amused little smirk.

“Want company?”

You glare at him, flushed and trembling. “I swear to god—”

But he’s already standing.

You don’t wait for approval. You bolt toward the back door of Harvelle’s like a sinner sprinting from church.

Dean follows.

The door swings open and slams behind you — the back lot bathed in silver moonlight and shadows. The cicadas are loud. Your heart’s louder.

You don’t speak.

Dean grabs your wrist, turns you — slams you gently against the Impala’s side with a thud and a dark, dangerous smile.

“You’re soaked,” he says, mouth brushing yours.

“You’re a fucking menace.”

His hands are on you again before you can finish — shoving your dress up, dragging your panties down just enough.

“I could’ve made you come in there,” he murmurs. “Right on my fingers. Bet no one would’ve even noticed.”

“You’re such an asshole,” you gasp.

“Yeah?” His mouth moves to your neck. “But you’re the one who sat on my lap.”

You kiss him then — hard, desperate, filthy. His hips pin you to the car, and the metal’s cold but his body’s burning. You can feel how hard he is through his jeans and it only makes you wetter.

He drags a hand between your legs again.

“You want me to finish what I started?” he growls.

You nod, breathless. “Please.”

And he does.

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[rynwrites4fun]

Eyes On Me | Jack Abbot x Popstar ! Reader

Jack Abbot x f!Popstar !  Reader

Summary: You’re a breakout popstar on your first headlining tour. Fame hit fast—sold-out shows, screaming fans, and nonstop momentum. But behind the scenes, it’s overwhelming. You’re struggling to keep up with the pressure and pace. After collapsing backstage after a show in Pittsburg, you’re rushed to the ER—where you meet Dr. Jack Abbott.

Word Count: 6491

Warning: Age Gap (mid 20’s/late 40’s or early 50’s,) Mentions of mental health struggles discussions of suicidal thoughts/behavior

Author's Notes: Hi I’m ryn. Honestly this fanfic was is for myself LOL. Jack Abbot x Popstar ! Reader has been circling in my brain for the last 3 days and I just had to brain dump a story. Sorry for any grammatical errors and/or inaccuracies and unrealistic aspects. Like I said brain dump I just needed to get this out of my head before I went crazy. This is just for fun. Okay, enjoy.

Pittsburgh—night 22 of 36 shows on your tour across North America, all crammed into two relentless months. 

Your career had skyrocketed overnight. One day, you dropped your first single, Hands and the next, your song was all over the radio. Suddenly, you were doing live performances on late-night shows, Hollywood events, and festivals, posing for magazine covers, releasing your debut album Sultry, and now headlining your first tour. 

Performing and creating music was everything you ever wanted, but it came at a cost. You’ve been silently struggling for a while now. The pace, the preassure, expectations, the sheer magnitude of it all were starting to wear down—physically, mentally, and emotionally. You just wished you could hit pause. Slow it all down. Everything was happening so fast. You were trying to figure out how to process it all. And beneath all that, you felt incredibly lonely. 

You were exhausted, but you kept going anyway. You had to. People depended on you, your fans, your team, the crew, your label. You didn’t want to let anyone down, so you pushed through, running on fumes, but after tonight's show, it finally caught up to you. Once the curtains closed and your adrenaline wore off, you collapsed. 

—-

11:25 pm Dr. Jack Abbot reads on the computer at the ER’s Central station. His shift had started three hours ago, and so far, it had been uneventful. A few drunkards in a bar fight, some run-of-the-mill illnesses, the occasional kitchen mishap—nothing out of the ordinary. The night was still young. 

“We got the bus coming from PGG Paints Arena. ETA 5 minutes” a nurse calls out. 

“Heard!” Jack shouts as he types. 

“Oh skin to skin, your touch feels like a sin- I want you can’t you see, I need your hands all over me…” Doctor John Shen sang under his breath a high pitch voice as he picked up a clipboard off the central counter and scans through it. 

John continued to mumble words. Jack raised an eyebrow, glancing up from the report he was typing up to look at his fellow attending.

John could feel Jack's eyes and looked up at him. John shrugs “Hey, Hands is a catchy song…gulity pleasure” he said, unbothered by being caught singing something vaguely suggestive. Jack didn’t ask—he just assumed it was some pop song.

“Never heard of it…” 

John was shocked. “You’re kidding! You never heard of Hands?” It’s all over the radio- pretty sure it's ranked at number 3 on Billboard Hot 100.” 

Jack sighs, “I don’t listen to the radio, or pop music for that matter, Shen” 

“Right, you listen to a police scanner in your free time like you’re-” John drops his voice into a gravelly imitation and makes a grump face “Batman”

Jack rolls his eyes, continuing to type.

“Honestly, if nightshift were a superheros you’d definitely be Batman- you know, you finding comfort in the dark and all-” John was a talker, already veering into one of his usual tangents. 

“Anyway, the singer of Hands, biggest Popstar in the world right now- she had a concert tonight at the area- she’s sold out 36 shows across North America– impressive honestly–”

Jack was only half-listening—actually, not even that. He hummed and nodded anyway, pretending he was following along. Jack usually zoned out when John was on his tangents when it was something not related to work. 

 “You should listen to her stuff, it’s actually really good! Her album Sultry—I’ve been playing it on my way to work some nights. For a debut album, it’s pretty solid. Bop after bop, banger after banger—”

“Don’t you have patients to attend to, Shen?” Jack cut in, needing him to stop yapping.

Jack looks over his shoulder, his attention drawn to sudden commotion in the ambulance bay behind him. Muffled noise, shouting, screaming, and strobe of camera flashes lit up the glass of the automatic doors. The chaos was visible—but just barely contained.

“What the hell is going on?” He furrowed his eyebrows as he fully turned around, and straightened himself from hunching over one of the computer monitors.

“The bus just pulled up,” John says

“Yeah, but-”

Before Jack could take a step or say anything more, the automatic bay doors slid open. The muffled noise from outside crashed into the ER like a wave.

The paramedics burst through, wheeling in the gurney. The head of the gurney was propped at an angle. 

“Well I be damned, it's her” John said casually, like Jack was supposed to know exactly who she was.

Jack furrowed his eyebrows as he looked over John “Who?” 

John shot Jack an annoyed You weren’t listening look and said your name. “Only the biggest popstars in the world right now—ring any bells? The whole conversation we just had- came on, old man, weren’t you listening?” 

From where Jack stood, he could see a young woman—you—trembling, your breaths shallow and rapid.

Your hair was disheveled, makeup smudged and streaked. A bomber jacket draped loosely over your shoulders. But beneath it, he caught a flash of purple sparkles—stagewear, most likely.

Beside the two paramedics wheeling you in, three people buzzed around you like bees, talking over one another, yet you looked numb. Not registering or taking anything they were saying. 

The paramedic shouted over all the noise and commotion  "Twenty-five-year-old female, syncopal episode post-performance. Now conscious and alert—”

Somehow, through the rush and chaos, your eyes managed to find Jack’s. They say the eyes are the windows to the soul—and in that moment, yours didn’t lie.

Jack didn’t see a popstar. He saw a human. A woman who looked disassociated, exhausted. Sad. Worn thin.

He’d seen that same look before—in the military, and even here, on the job. That quiet, aching kind of broken. The kind that creeps in when you’ve been running on empty for too long.

Time seemed to slow as you were wheeled past him. He was an older man, a doctor you assumed. You couldn’t look away from his dark eyes. The look in his eyes. No one had ever looked at you like that—not the way he was in that moment. Different from every glance, every stare you’d ever known. And for a moment, you thought he could see you. Really see you. The weight of it made you sit up slightly, still staring back at him.

“I got this one- South Wing, Exam Room 4 —move her!” John barked, falling in step beside the gurney as it sped past, your eye contact with Jack breaking. 

Snapping out what felt like a trance, Jack gets back to work. 

“Call for more security-” Jack snaps one of the nurses as he bolts from central, heading to the ambulance bay. The two security guards on duty were overwhelmed, struggling to control the crowd.

 “Hey! HEY! you can’t be here unless you are sick, injured, dying or are here for someone that is!” He shouts over the chaos “If not get the hell out of my ER and ambulance bay!!!” 

The commotion only grows—cameras flashing, people yelling, shoving for a better view, the frenzy thick with screams and blinding light.

More security comes to help push everyone back out, managing the crowd. Jack exhales, knowing they’ve got it under control. Without another word, he turns on his heel and makes his way back inside, the chaos fading behind him like background noise.

He was going to head to your exam room—something about you lingered. That look in your eyes. He’d seen people in pain before, but this was something different. Quieter. Deeper. And he couldn’t shake it.

He was gonna head over to your exam room, but he was cut off by another nurse.

“Doctor Abbot! Trauma Room 1—stabbing victim”

Jack glanced down the South Wing, hesitating for half a second.

“Copy that,” he said, before turning and rushing toward Trauma Room 1.

___

The exam room was loud and overcrowded. Your manager, publicist, and assistant hovered around you as a nurse tried to take your vitals and ask you basic intake questions. Doctor Shen was trying–unsuccessfully– to get your team to leave so their staff could do their job, but my manager refused. 

“It’s best if you wait outside-” The doctor states. 

Your manager protested “No!” 

“Look, we can’t do our job effectively and efficiently if-” the doctor is cut off by your manager. 

“Well your medical professionals! I’m pretty sure you can handle extra people in a room! Hello, you do surgeries and what not with more than five people in a room!”

Your chest heaved as you sat there, still listening, your breathing shallow and uneven.

“For the sake of the patient—”

“Well, the sake of my client—”

I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Stop!” You said sharply. “Mac, give them space-”

“What?” Your  manager blinked, stunned. 

“Let them do their job. I—I feel fine, like I told the paramedics,” You said quickly, forcing a shaky smile. “They just need to check me out. Once they see everything’s okay, I’ll be out of here in no time. And we’ll hit the road”

That was a lie. You didn’t feel fine. 

All these eyes on you—the world—and yet none of them truly saw you.

They couldn’t tell you were faking it. Couldn’t see how much you were silently struggling. How you really felt. Not even the people you saw every day. Part of you felt guilty for even being here—for slowing everything down, for putting yourself and your team behind schedule. Everyone was counting on you. And you were falling apart.

Your manager sighed “Alright.” nodded in agreement, and the rest of your team quietly made their way out of your exam room and directed to the family room. 

You let out a sigh.

“Sorry about them, I didn't mean to cause any trouble.” You apologized to Doctor Shen and the Nurse as they began to check my vitals. 

“Don’t sweat it. It’s fine—comes with the territory in the ER. Your team’s not the first to argue with us, and they’re definitely not the worst.” 

You let out a breath, nodding faintly.

“Still… I hate that it got like that.”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it. What we should be focusing on is you. Is it okay if we go over a few questions?”

Doctor Shen and the nurse continued their routine—asking questions, checking my vitals. I answered them all, but inside, I felt numb. Like I was moving through it on autopilot.

When they finally left, the silence swallowed everything.

You later there for god knows how long. Curled up on your side, motionless.

Your boots were scattered nearby, forgotten. The tights clung to me like a second skin, and the purple sparkle bodysuit caught the fluorescent lights—still shimmering like it belonged on a stage, not under a hospital ceiling.

But you kept it all in. You didn't let yourself break. Even though you wanted to. Desperately. Ypu wanted to scream. To beg someone to just see me. To understand. To notice what youwere holding together by threads.

You needed somewhere to go. Anywhere but these walls.

You slid off the exam bed, my boots still on the floor, untouched. You didn’t bother putting them back on. You didn’t need to. Out in the ER, the chaos buzzed around me—everyone seemed preoccupied, moving in their own world. But none of that mattered. You didn’t stop.

As you quickly searched for an escape, anything to get away, I finally found the stairs. Floor after floor, my body moved on autopilot, pulled by some quiet instinct—a need for silence. For up.

The rooftop door wasn’t even locked.

And suddenly, there you were —standing beneath the open night sky, the wind pulling at my hair, the city lights stretching out below me like a pulse, faint but steady.

___

Jack peeled off his gloves and paper gown, tossing them into the overstuffed disposal bin without a second glance. His safety glasses came off next, dropped into a tray with a soft clatter.

The stabbing victim had finally been stabilized—barely. They’d coded multiple times on the table, the blood loss severe, the damage extensive. It had been a fight, but for now, they had a pulse.

Jack made his way to the center of the ER, eyes lifting to the patient triage board glowing on the monitors above the central station. He stood there for a moment, just staring—taking it all in, processing the chaos the way only someone used to it could.

John approached quietly, coming to stand beside him. For a moment, neither of them spoke—just two physicians staring up at the ever-shifting list of names, numbers, and needs blinking across the screen.

“Rough night,” John finally said, his voice low, more of a statement than a question.

Jack didn’t look away. “When isn’t it?”

Jack’s eyes stayed on the board, but his mind drifted.

The popstar.

He didn’t even need to say her name—she was already burned into the back of his mind. The look in her eyes when they brought her in.

“How’s she doing?” he asked finally, still staring ahead.

John followed his gaze for a beat, then glanced at the chart in her hand.

“Vitals stabilized. Labs were all over the place when she came in—dehydration, low electrolytes, stress markers through the roof. But mostly?” She paused. “She’s just exhausted. Like, bone-deep. Extreme fatigue. Burnout, plain and simple.”

Jack finally turned to face him.

“Does she say anything?”

John shook her head. “Not much. I didn't need to. You could see it all over her.”

Jack nodded slowly, jaw tightening just slightly.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “You could see it the second she walked in… or was wheeled in.”

He leaned on the edge of the counter, eyes distant now, somewhere far above the triage board. “It wasn’t just physical. It was in her eyes. Like she’d been running on fumes for a long time, and this was the moment her body finally said ‘no more.’”

John studied him for a moment. “You connected with her.”

Jack didn’t answer right away. He just let out a quiet breath through his nose, staring at the board, but not really seeing it anymore.

“Maybe it’s because I’ve seen it before,” he said quietly. “That look. The kind of exhaustion that doesn’t show up in lab results. The kind that runs deeper than what anyone can measure. You can tell when someone’s been running on empty for too long... and their body just finally gives out.”

John says “She still has 14 more shows left. With the pace she’s been going, I honestly don’t know how she’s made it this far.”

A flash of purple caught their attention.

Jack’s eyes snapped to the hallway just in time to see you slip from your room—glittering tights and a purple sparkle jumpsuit, unmistakable even in the dim hospital light. You moved quickly, your bare feet barely making a sound against the cold tile, as though you were trying to be unnoticed, trying to outrun something—or maybe trying to find something.

John caught the movement too, his gaze following you down the hall. “I bet she’s headed to the roof,” he muttered, voice low, tinged with understanding.

Jack’s eyes stayed fixed on you, his jaw tightening.

Jack didn’t respond immediately. His jaw tightened as he watched you slip through the door at the end of the hall, already heading for the stairs.

John frowned, glancing at Jack. “You think she’s gonna be alright up there?”

Jack didn’t answer immediately. He just stared after you, his mind racing. There was something about the way you moved—like you were running, but didn’t know where you were running to. It made something shift in him.

“People like her… people like us, sometimes,” Jack began, his voice quieter, “they forget they don’t always have to do it alone. That there are moments where it’s okay to stop pretending.”

John didn’t push, but there was a silent understanding between them.

Jack was already moving toward the stairwell, his steps purposeful now. "I’ll check on her."

Jack follows your path, climbing up several flights of stairs to get to the roof

When he finally reached the rooftop, the door creaked open softly, the cool night air greeting him as he stepped out onto the open space. His eyes immediately found you on the other side of the railing, standing still, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself like you were trying to hold together everything that felt like it might break.

You were staring out into the distance, as if the city lights could somehow offer you the answers you were looking for. 

___

“Hey,” he says, his voice low but steady.

You let out yelp, startled by the sudden voice. You hadn’t expected anyone else up here. Your hands instinctively grab the railing behind you, gripping it tightly for support. There was still a sliver of space between you and the edge, but your heart was already racing.

 “Whoa, whoa—careful now,” says quickly, a hoodie draped over his arm. His hands rise in a calming gesture, fanning out as if to steady you.

You glance over your shoulder, blinking in disbelief. It’s him—the man you locked eyes with earlier across the chaos. Tall, calm, dressed in black scrubs that cling to his frame like a shadow. His salt-and-pepper curls are tousled just enough to soften the sharpness of the stubble along his jaw.

“I’m Doctor Abbot,” he continues, stepping closer but keeping his distance. 

“I didn’t come up here to jump—” you say defensively. 

“I’ve heard that one before.”

“No, really—I’m serious. I just—” You hesitated, your eyes drifting away.

It wasn’t a total lie. The thought had crossed your mind once or twice before—on different nights, in different places—This wasn’t that.

You just needed space. A moment to think, to breathe. 

“Hey…” he says softly. “I get it. I head up here to get away from everything down there.”

He nods toward where you’re standing. “That spot? It’s usually mine.”

You glance at him, surprised.

“I’ve seen enough chaos for ten lifetimes,” he adds with a faint smile. “Up here’s the only place where no one’s life is on the line or yelling at me.” His voice carries a dry edge—half joke, half truth.

He steps closer to the railing.

“Do you mind?” he asks, gesturing to the space beside you, silently asking for permission.

You give him a quick glance, and he understands—it’s okay. He ducks under the railing and steps up beside you, settling in quietly.

He lowers himself to the ground, knees drawn to his chest, arms resting loosely on top. His back leans against the railing with a quiet familiarity. After a moment, you follow suit, settling beside him, sitting cross-legged in the hush of the night.

A silence falls between us as we look at the city skyline. 

“I come up here when I need to feel like a person again. Not a doctor. Not the guy who’s supposed to keep it all together. Just… me.”

He lets out a slow breath. “There are nights—some harder than others—where the thought crosses my mind. Of just… stepping off. Letting go.” 

He pauses “But something always stops me. Reminds me why I stay.”

He glances at you, voice quieter now.

“It’s the need to help people. To connect. Even when it’s messy… even when it hurts. It’s what keeps me tethered. It’s what drives me. It’s in my DNA”

Jack hadn’t shared that part of himself because he was looking for comfort. He shared it because he saw something in you—something he couldn’t ignore.

He couldn’t shake the look in your eyes from earlier, when they wheeled you in. That numb, exhausted sadness. The silent plea buried deep in your gaze. A quiet scream for someone—anyone—to really see you.

You were young—early twenties, maybe. A pop star. To the world, you probably seemed untouchable. Perfect. Living the kind of life most people only dream of.

But up close, all Jack saw was someone unraveling. Someone barely holding on. And he’d seen enough to know that pain doesn’t care who you are, how famous you are, or how bright the spotlight is.

And he couldn’t imagine what it must be like.

To be seen by the eyes of everyone… but never really seen.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is… this is where I come to stop pretending. So… no pretending. You don’t need to be anything up here, okay? I see you.”

My head snaps up at his words. “W-what?” your eyes widened, caught off guard.

“I said… I see you,” he repeats, voice steady, eyes locked on mine with quiet intensity.

Something in you breaks. Your lips start to tremble, and then the tears come—uncontrollable, unstoppable. You start to sob, the weight of everything finally cracking open.

This man—this stranger—was the first person to really look past the surface. To notice the pain you’d been drowning in. To see you, not the version of you the world demands.

And in that moment, you realize how long you’ve been waiting for someone to do exactly that.

Without a word, he takes the hoodie he’s been holding and gently drapes it over your bare shoulders, shielding you from the cool night air. The fabric is warm, worn, and smells faintly of him—clean soap and something grounding.

You lean into his side, drawn by a comfort you didn’t know you needed.

He hesitates for a moment, unsure, then instinct takes over. His arm wraps around you, slow and careful, like he doesn’t want to startle you. His hand begins to rub your arm—slow, steady circles. Not to fix anything. Just to let me know you're not alone.

The sobs come in waves—raw, jagged, leaving your chest aching and my throat tight. I try to stifle them, to keep it quiet, but he doesn’t flinch. He just stays beside me, steady and still, his hand never leaving my arm.

Eventually, it passes. Not completely, but enough for you to breathe again. Your chest still hiccups with the occasional shuttered breath, 

“I—I don’t even know where to start,” You whisper, voice hoarse from crying. “I just… I’m so exhausted.”

He says nothing, but his presence says I’m here. Take your time.

“Everything happened so fast—my career, all of it. It’s like I’m on this train, expecting stops along the way… but it just keeps speeding past every one of them. No breaks. No time to breathe.”

You pause, trying to find the right words through the tightness in my chest.

“And then there’s the pressure. The expectations. People depend on me—my fans, my team, the crew, the label... all of them. I’m supposed to be the one who holds it all together.”

Your voice wavers. “But inside, I’ve been unraveling. It’s like I’m screaming, and no one hears it. Or worse—they hear it and just… don’t care.”

You glance up at him, tears clinging to my lashes, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I have everything I thought I wanted. Everything I dreamed of since I was a little girl. And I still feel empty. So lonely. Like I’m surrounded by people… but completely alone in all of it. My voice cracks on the last words. I look away, ashamed.

Jack doesn’t speak right away.

He just watches you, eyes full of something that feels a lot like understanding. His arm is still around you, steady and warm. And when he finally speaks, his voice is low. Gentle.

“I know that feeling,” he says. “Being surrounded… and still feeling like you’re the only one in the room who’s not okay.”

He exhales slowly, like the weight of my words hit something deep in him too.

“You’re not broken. You’re human. And humans aren’t built to carry everything alone—no matter how strong the world expects us to be.”

He shifts slightly so he can face me more fully, his hand still resting on my arm, grounding me.

“You’re allowed to feel lost. You’re allowed to not have it all together. And just because people look up to you doesn’t mean you owe them everything. You still deserve to be a person. To rest. To be seen.”

He pauses, taking a breath, then adds softly, “Your job is demanding, I get that. But sometimes, you have to do what’s best for you. Put yourself first, even if it means letting others down in the process. You have to take care of yourself. You have to. Don’t be afraid to ask for help when you need it, either. Because if you don’t, you’ll find yourself on a path that’s hard to get off of.”

Thank you, Doctor Abbot.”

“Jack,” he corrects gently. “My name’s Jack.”

“Jack,” you repeat with a small smile, then introduce yourself.

He chuckles. “You know… I’m really aging myself here, but I only found out who you were a couple hours ago.” Trying to lighten the mood. 

You laugh. “Honestly? That’s kind of refreshing.”

“I don’t really keep up with pop culture,” he admits. “Dr. Shen was the one singing your earlier in our shift—what was it? Hands?”

“Oh god…” you groan, burying your face in your hands. That song was definitely suggestive. Of all the songs…

Jack grins. “What was it—‘Oh skin to skin, your touch feels like a sin… I want you, can’t you see, I need your hands all over me’?” He stumbles through the lyrics, trying to recall them.

“No, no, please don’t sing it!” you laugh, half mortified, half amused.

Jack arches a brow, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Why not? It’s catchy?”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “Don’t encourage it.”

“Oh, come on,” he says, nudging your shoulder lightly. “It’s stuck in my head now.” 

“Why don’t you sing it?” 

You lift your head, eyes narrowing in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

Jack leans back against the railing, feigning innocence. “What? Fair’s fair. I butchered it—might as well hear it from the professional.”

You stare at him, mouth open. “You want me to sing that song? Right now?”

He shrugs with a teasing glint in his eye. “You’re the one who wrote it. Own it.”

You groan again, dramatically flopping your head back. “Absolutely not.” 

He arches a brow, clearly amused. “Why because it’s…?”

You shoot him a glare, cheeks burning. “You know why.”

Jack smirks. “Nope. Enlighten me.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands for a second before peeking at him through your fingers. “Because that song is suggestive, okay? And I’m not gonna put on a whole performance for the guy I just met while sitting on the edge of a hospital rooftop.”

He grins, utterly unbothered by your embarrassment. “I mean, you might as well—you’ve got the outfit, so you’re halfway there.”

Jack shrugs, his expression playful. “It’s not every day I get to share a rooftop with a pop star. Kind of a once-in-a-lifetime moment, don’t you think?”

You come back quickly. You cross your arms, giving him a teasing look. “But hey, if you’re lucky, I might just give you a private concert… somewhere a little less public.”

You freeze for a heartbeat, flustered, but the moment passes just as quickly as it came. Jack looks out over the city again, that easy smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth.

His brows rise, amused, but he doesn’t say anything right away—just lets the silence stretch for a beat too long before offering a slow, teasing smile.

“Oh really?” he says lightly, head tilting. “Didn’t realize I’d stumbled into the VIP experience.”

Your eyes widen. “Wait—I didn’t mean it like that, I—” You groan, running a hand through your hair. “That came out so wrong. I swear I’m not flirting.”

Oh, but you were.

And so was he.

Somehow, without meaning to, the two of you had tangled yourselves into this strange, electric mess. One minute you were unpacking the weight of everything you’d buried inside, the next, you were tossing playful banter back and forth like it was the most natural thing in the world. Somewhere between the quiet confessions and the shared silence, something shifted. Neither of you planned for it, neither of you were sure what to call it—but whatever this was, it felt real. Unexpected, but real.

Jack knew this was unprofessional—wildly unprofessional. He knew better. He should have known better. She was a patient—vulnerable, barely holding herself together just hours ago and years younger. The kind of line he’d never imagined crossing. Every rule in the book told him to step back, to keep the boundary clear and intact.

He told himself it was harmless. Just words, just a moment. He told himself it was just a moment. Just a conversation. But even he knew that was a lie. Jack knew it was more. This wasn’t about flirting. It was about connection—messy, imperfect, unexpected connection—and despite everything telling him to walk away, he couldn’t bring himself to.

Not yet. 

Jack chuckles, clearly enjoying every second of your flustered state.

“Oh great—now you’ve seen me at my absolute worst and my most embarrassing.”

You groan, pressing your palms to your face. “I swear, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh, I know what you meant,” he says with mock seriousness, nodding slowly. “A pop star tries to seduce a jaded ER doctor with a rooftop concert. Very scandalous. Very tabloid-friendly.”

You peek at him through your fingers, trying not to laugh. “Stop.”

You shake your head, laughing despite yourself. “This is humiliating.”

“Come on,” he says, nudging your arm with a lopsided grin. “If anything, I should be flattered. First time I’ve ever flirted with a pop star on a rooftop.”

“I wasn’t flirting,” you insist, a little defensive.

“Keep telling yourself that,”

Silence falls between you two again. 

Jack looks at his watch. 1:13 am

“We should probably head back down,” Jack says, standing up and using the railing to steady himself. 

“Right…”He ducks under the bars, making his way back to the safe side.

You follow suit, and he extends his hand toward you, offering support as you step back over to the safer side. You take his hand, steadying yourself as you make the move.

___

None of you speak as you head back down to the main floor of the ER. The silence hangs between you as Jack walks you back to your exam room, his footsteps steady and measured.

Once inside, Jack’s gaze softens, his expression shifting to something more serious. “The tests came back, and it’s clear you’re dealing with extreme fatigue and exhaustion,” he says, his voice calm but insistent. “Your body’s been running on empty for too long, and it’s starting to take its toll.”

He pauses for a moment, letting his words settle before continuing. “I’m recommending that you take some time off, but I also think it’s crucial that you talk to someone—a therapist. You’ve been through a lot, and it’s important to get the support you need to process everything properly.”

Jack looks at you with genuine concern. “We’ll discharge you soon, but I want to make sure your team knows what’s going on. I’ll have a word with them so they understand the need for you to take a step back for a while. You need the time to focus on yourself and heal.”

He pauses again, reaching into his pocket. “I’m also going to write down some resources for you—therapists and support groups, people who can help you through this. I want you to have everything you need to get better, okay?”

“Thank you,” you say quietly, feeling the weight of everything finally starting to settle.

Jack gives you a small nod, his expression softening. “The nurse will come back soon to hook you up to an IV to rehydrate. Rest as much as you can.” He pauses for a moment before adding, 

“I’ll come in a check up you soon”

With a final glance, he turns and leaves, the door clicking softly behind him. The room feels quieter now, but in a way, the silence feels less heavy—like a small sense of relief has finally started to creep in.

___

6:30am Day shift would be coming soon to relieve the night shift. 

You’d stayed in the ER throughout the night. Your team stayed with you too—quiet, worried, but present. When you woke up, you finally opened up to your manager. You told him everything—how you’d been feeling, how long it had been building, how it all finally broke.

He listened. Really listened.

And when you were done, he looked at you—genuinely shaken. “I had no idea you were carrying all that,” he said, his voice low with guilt. “I’m so sorry. You should’ve never felt like you had to keep this to yourself.”

He reassured you that things would change. That they’d meet with the label, reevaluate everything. “If we have to cancel the rest of the tour, so be it,” he said firmly. “You—your well-being—that’s what matters now. Nothing else is more important.”

___

“Alright you’re all set” Doctor Shen says, officially releasing you from the hospital. 

I was still in my stage outfit, my boots in hand, and wearing Jack’s hoodie.

“Thanks, Doctor Shen,” you say, grateful as you start to turn.

“Wait!” he calls after you, stopping you in your tracks. “Before you go, do you think I could get your autograph?”

You pause, surprised, then smile. “Yeah, of course,” you say, walking back over with a light laugh. It’s a small, sweet moment, something you didn’t expect, but somehow felt right—maybe even grounding in its own way. You take a moment to sign, your pen moving across the paper as you look up at him with a warm smile.

“Thanks for everything,” you add, handing it back to him.

You see Jack, approaching. 

“Would you like an autograph too?” I joke 

“Wow I really downgraded there. What happened to my VIP Experience? My private show?”

“You’re still on about that?” 

Jack laughs, shaking his head. “I’m just saying, I had big expectations for this VIP experience. Autographs? Really?” He sighs dramatically, pretending to be disappointed.

“Raincheck on the VIP experience?”

He nods, chuckling softly. “Alright, I’ll hold you to it” 

“So…what are your plans now?” He asks. 

You glance behind your shoulder, catching sight of Mac pacing on the phone, waiting for you by the automatic doors of the ambulance bay. “Uh, headed back home actually. Mac, my manager, is talking to the rest of the team and my label about me canceling the rest of the tour, taking care of my wellbeing,” you explain.

“That’s great to hear,” Jack says, his tone soft, genuine.

Silence falls between you two, an awkward pause that neither of you knows how to fill. You both understand, without saying it, that this is probably the first and last time you’d be seeing each other.

You shift your weight, unsure of what to say next, and Jack clears his throat, glancing down at the ground for a moment before meeting your eyes one last time. “Take care of yourself, alright?” he says, his voice sincere.

You give a small nod, managing a quiet, “You too.”

Jack steps back, his hands in his pockets, his expression still thoughtful. “I meant what I said earlier… about getting the help you need. It’s important.” His words hang in the air between you, as if he’s trying to convey something deeper, something he might not have the chance to say again.

You nod, the weight of the moment settling in. “I will,” you reply softly, feeling the weight of everything you’ve been through start to press against you again. 

You start to walk towards the automatic doors, the hallway stretching ahead, but you stop. You can still feel Jack’s eyes on me, pulling me back. You turn around, your feet moving almost without thinking, and walk back to him.

He looks up at you, confused by your sudden change, but before he can say anything, you drop your boots on the floor and fling your arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly. You hold him for a moment, feeling the warmth of his embrace, his hands finding your waist and wrapping his arms under his hoodie that you’re wearing.

“I didn’t think anyone could see me,” you murmur, your voice soft and vulnerable. “But somehow, you did. All these eyes on me, yet you’re the one who truly sees.” You hold him tighter. “Thank you… for seeing me. For truly seeing me.”

Before you pull away, you press a soft kiss to his cheek, a gentle gesture that lingers for just a second longer than expected. You let go, picking up your boots, and walk toward the automatic doors.

You take one last glance back, giving him a small wave, and for a fleeting moment, you catch his gaze. But then, you turn away, making your way out, leaving the hospital and the weight of everything behind you. I won't look back again.

___

Doctor Michael Robinavitch, 30 minutes early for his day’s shift, strolled beside Jack with a coffee cup in hand. He noticed the young woman in a shiny outfit, wearing Jack's hoodie. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to Jack's cheek before pulling away. Leaving the ER with her boots in hand. She shot Jack a final look, a wave and then disappeared out of the automatic doors.

Jack stood there, still in a bit of a daze. He hadn’t noticed Michael approaching. He could still feel the warmth of her kiss on his cheek, the feeling lingering far longer than it should have.

Michael finally broke the silence, glancing at Jack. “She took your hoodie.”

Jack blinked, coming back to himself, and then offered a small smile. “I know,” he said, his voice a little distant.

Michael raised an eyebrow, a teasing grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, guess that’s one way to make a lasting impression.”

Jack chuckled, a soft, almost wistful sound. He rubbed his cheek absently, still feeling the imprint of her kiss. “Yeah… guess so.”

Michael leaned against the counter, watching his friend with a knowing look. “You’re still thinking about it, huh?”

Jack met his gaze, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Maybe.”

A quiet moment passed between them. Jack knew, deep down, he’d probably never see her again. She was a pop star, and he was just another ER doctor. Their worlds were too different. But still, there was something about that moment—that made him hope he’d be wrong.

“I hope I do,” Jack muttered, almost to himself.

Michael looked at him, the playful edge gone from his voice. “Yeah. I can see that.”

Jack didn’t say anything else, his mind still caught up in the strange, fleeting connection. He wasn’t sure if it would ever turn into anything more, but for now, the memory of her was enough.

(another part??? let me know)

[siilent-wanderer]

Jealousy, Jealousy

Summary: It starts with a fansign and one overly flirty fan. Y/N says she’s “fine,” but the silent treatment, dramatic stares, and a not-so-subtle hotel room confrontation say otherwise — and Jimin’s not about to let her girlfriend stay jealous for long.

Genre: fluff, tension and jealousy

Word Count: 1.2k words

Yu Jimin (Karina) x aespa 5th member! reader

A/N: haven't written for karina in so long, so here's one very mediocre oneshot

During the fansign event, Jimin was all charm — radiant smiles, twinkling eyes, and her full attention locked onto each fan that sat across from her. She held their hands, laughed at their jokes, and even leaned in a little when they spoke softly. It was part of the job. Y/N had seen it a dozen times, and she knew better than to take it personally.

But today, one fan stood out. Bold, flirty, and just a little too confident.

She held Jimin’s hand longer than anyone else had. She leaned in, whispering something that made Jimin let out that soft, amused laugh she usually reserved for Y/N. And then, with a giggle and a hopeful look, the girl asked Jimin for a couple pose.

Y/N felt it before she saw it. Her stomach tightened.

Jimin chuckled politely, slipping into the role effortlessly as she draped her arm around the girl’s shoulder. The camera flashed. The girl smiled a little too wide. Jimin didn’t look uncomfortable. She never did. She was too professional for that.

Y/N, sitting just two seats away, gripped her marker a little tighter.

It wasn’t the first time she had to swallow down the ache of watching Jimin shine for someone else. But today, it stung differently.

By the time their break rolled around, Jimin immediately sensed something was off.

They were sitting backstage, the others joking and chatting as they took sips of water and fanned themselves. Y/N sat apart, scrolling through her phone with a little too much focus, her jaw clenched just enough to give her away.

Jimin leaned over, nudging her foot under the table. “Something wrong, baby?”

Y/N didn’t look up. “Nope.”

Jimin tilted her head, lips twitching with amusement. “Oh? You’ve barely looked at me for the last hour.”

Y/N exhaled, the edge of frustration leaking through as she muttered, “Maybe because someone else was too busy looking at you.”

Jimin blinked, surprised. “Ah,” she said quietly, biting the inside of her cheek. “So that’s what this is about?”

Y/N didn’t answer.

Jimin shifted closer, trying to coax her into softening. “Did you have to do that pose?” Y/N finally asked, not looking at her. “You could’ve said no.”

“She asked nicely,” Jimin replied. “It was just for fun.”

“Yeah, fun,” Y/N mumbled. “For her.”

Jimin leaned in, dropping her voice as her hand brushed Y/N’s knee. “Baby… you know the only person I’d actually want to do a real couple pose with is you.”

Y/N’s lips twitched, but she still didn’t look at her. So Jimin reached up, gently tilting her chin with her fingers, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

“Should I prove it?” she whispered near her ear.

But Y/N only pulled back slightly, not cold — just not ready to let it go. Not yet.

The silence returned later, heavier this time.

Backstage, Y/N barely spoke. She smiled when she had to, nodded when prompted, but her laughter was hollow and her presence felt miles away. Jimin watched her from across the dressing room, her eyes narrowing as Y/N leaned into a conversation with Minjeong and Yizhuo, completely ignoring the space between them. Enough was enough.

After the event ended, they walked in silence down the hallway of the hotel. The tension was a string pulled tight between them, stretched thin and dangerous. Just as Y/N reached for her room key, Jimin grabbed her wrist and pulled her into her own room, shutting the door behind them.

Y/N stumbled slightly, caught off guard. “Unnie—”

Jimin crossed her arms, voice cool and even. “You’re really going to ignore me all night because of a fan?”

Y/N scoffed, trying to sidestep her. “I don’t know. Maybe I should let one of your fans talk to you instead.”

Jimin’s brows rose, and a slow, amused smile pulled at her lips. “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not jealous.”

“Oh?” Jimin stepped closer. “Then why won’t you look at me?”

Y/N’s back hit the wall, but she didn’t move away. Her pulse quickened. “Because you make it hard to think straight.”

Jimin’s smirk faded into something softer, her fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from Y/N’s face. “You do realize I only have eyes for you, right?”

Y/N’s jaw clenched. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it.”

Silence stretched between them. Jimin leaned in just a little more. “Then maybe I need to start showing it more.”

Her voice was low, warm, wrapping around the air between them like a secret. She tilted her head, forehead nearly touching Y/N’s.

“I didn’t like that pose,” Jimin admitted. “I did it because I had to. But when I looked at her, I wasn’t thinking about her.”

Y/N swallowed. “Then who were you thinking about?”

Jimin smiled. “You. Sulking two seats away and trying not to glare.”

Y/N’s lips curled into a reluctant smile, her jealousy slowly giving way to affection. “You’re so annoying sometimes.”

Jimin leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to her lips, tender and apologetic. “I know,” she whispered, “but you kinda love me for it, no?”

Y/N reached for her again, burying her face into Jimin’s shoulder with a sigh. “Yeah, you’re definitely lucky I love you.”

“I know,” Jimin said with a smile, holding her tighter. “But I’m still gonna keep proving it.”

The morning sunlight poured gently through the hotel curtains, casting a soft glow over the bed where Y/N had somehow ended up tangled in the sheets — and in Jimin’s arms.

She stirred first, blinking against the light and realizing, with a slightly sheepish smile, that her head had nestled perfectly into Jimin’s shoulder sometime in the middle of the night.

Jimin was still asleep, lips slightly parted, one arm draped protectively over Y/N’s waist. Her other hand was loosely curled against the pillow, the edges of her hair softly brushing her cheek.

Y/N just… looked at her for a moment. Really looked.

All the jealousy from the night before had melted into something quieter — a warm, thudding awareness of how deeply she cared. Of how much it scared her sometimes. And how much more it comforted her.

Jimin stirred, eyes blinking open slowly. “Mmm… are you staring at me?”

Y/N tried not to grin. “Maybe.”

Jimin’s voice was raspy with sleep. “Still mad?”

Y/N shook her head, leaning in to press a featherlight kiss on her nose. “Not even a little.”

Jimin exhaled in relief, her fingers tightening slightly around Y/N’s waist. “Good. Because I don’t think I could handle the silent treatment again.”

Y/N smirked, playing with the hem of Jimin’s sleeve. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“You were talking to everyone but me. That’s crueler than it sounds.”

Y/N laughed quietly, then rested her forehead against Jimin’s. “Sorry for being a brat.”

Jimin’s eyes softened. “You weren’t. You just… care. And I love that about you.”

There was a pause.

“You know,” Jimin added, “if you ever feel that way again, just say something.”

Y/N nodded. “I know.” Then, teasingly: “But maybe I like being a little dramatic sometimes.”

Jimin chuckled, brushing her thumb across Y/N’s cheek. “Then I’ll just have to love you through it.”

And she did — with another sleepy kiss, warm arms pulling Y/N closer, and a promise in her eyes that said I’m yours, and I always will be.

[kxsagi]

heyyyy, how are you doing???:)

so I've been seeing a lot of bllk x fem!reader fanfic yk those typical "sneaking in" and "dressing up as a guy" to fit in blue lock. may I request about what the blue lock 11 starters' reaction would be when they found out? i can picture isagi making up different possible scenarios as to how reader hasn't been found and lock off by ego considering he's very VERY meticulous with every player's information? please don't mind this request if you're uncomfortable ｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡ thank youuuu, have a nice day:)

“𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬”

a/n: heyyy, i'm doing good! i hope you are as well, pretty

thank you for the request, this was more fun to write than i expected!

(art credits go to kaziris_ on x)

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, karasu tabito, otoya eita, yukimiya kenyu, aryuu jyubei, bachira meguru, chigiri hyoma, niko ikki, gagamaru gin

isagi yoichi

spirals. immediately. 

“wait. no. that’s not – wait. how?? ego checks everything. he runs background checks, medical records, locker room rotations –" 

cue isagi pacing like a madman at 2 AM trying to piece together how you avoided getting caught. 

at one point he’s literally scribbling plays on a whiteboard like it’s match analysis: “okay, so if she never showered when anyone else was around, and faked voice cracks at key points… wait. WAS THAT WHY YOU NEVER CHANGED IN FRONT OF US???” 

he’s not mad. he’s actually kind of amazed. 

"you're like... the greatest tactical deception of blue lock."

itoshi rin

“... i knew something was off.” 

lies. he did not know anything. he’s just salty that you were better than him in the last scrimmage. 

lowkey respects your ability to deceive the system. no one else could’ve pulled it off. 

“well, if you're still here, guess it doesn’t matter. just don’t think I’ll go easy on you because you're a girl." 

surprisingly neutral, but his eyes linger on you more often now.

nagi seishiro

“oh. huh. that’s why your hands are so soft.” 

not phased in the slightest. 

honestly thinks it’s kind of cool that you tricked everyone. “that sounds like a pain. but also kinda genius.” 

keeps accidentally calling you “dude” out of habit and then awkwardly correcting himself: “uh. dudette? nah that sounds weird…”

karasu tabito

laughs SO HARD he literally cries. 

“bro. BRO. you mean to tell me you were out here breaking ankles and gender norms???” 

starts making up fake backstories about how you smuggled a fake mustache into the dorms or used voice-changing tech. 

100% wants to know how you did it. every detail. for science (and blackmail).

otoya eita

the flirt switch FLIPS IMMEDIATELY. 

“so you're saying i wasn't crazy for thinking you were kinda hot?” 

annoyingly smooth about it. calls you “princess” just to see you get flustered. 

absolutely refuses to stop flirting. even more now. 

“if you needed help keeping the secret, you could’ve asked me. i’m great at keeping things under wraps, baby girl.” 

yukimiya kenyu

dramatic gasp. glasses off. slow-motion blink. 

“you… you’re a her?” 

the poetic side of him kicks in: “like a rose blooming in a battlefield…” 

would never admit it, but he starts fixing his hair more often around you now. 

supportive as hell though. tells you he respects your drive and the risks you took.

aryuu jyubei

strikes a pose and fans himself with his own hand. “mon dieu… the betrayal… you mean to say… all this time… i wasn’t the only icon here???”

says you’ve raised the standard of beauty and elegance in blue lock. 

insists on giving you a makeover “to match your true self,” even if you’re like, “bro please no.” 

might actually fight otoya for flirting too much.

bachira meguru

gasps in dramatic anime fashion. 

“NO WAY! you’re a GIRL?! THIS IS AMAZING!” 

he’s totally hype about it. takes it as a challenge, like, “you were able to sneak by the whole blue lock team?? you’re a legend, let’s be best friends forever!”

starts calling you “mystery girl” and constantly refers to you as his “partner in crime.” 

“i knew you were special, but this is next-level. no one can keep a secret like that and still play like a monster!!”

chigiri hyoma

goes very still. blinks. stares. 

“... wait. you're serious?” 

he has a lot of emotions. probably more than he expected. 

part of him’s like, “hell yeah. girl power.” and the other part is like “oh no she’s hot.” 

quietly covers for you when needed. he gets what it’s like to be underestimated.

niko ikki

poor boy.exe has stopped working. 

you tell him and he literally just stares with wide eyes like a deer in headlights. 

doesn’t know what to say for the longest time. then mutters, “i... always thought your voice was kinda nice.” 

gets super flustered afterward and avoids eye contact for three days straight.

gagamaru gin

“HUH???”

pure confusion. “but… you tackled me last week. and cursed at me. in a super deep voice. i thought you were just… intense?”

he's like a golden retriever trying to understand algebra. but he means well. 

“wait does this mean we weren’t supposed to share toothpaste???”

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[wheeboo]

"bluetooth hug!" | kim mingyu

SYNOPSIS. in which being long distance with your boyfriend comes with its perks. PAIRING. kim mingyu x fem!reader GENRE. fluff, comfort, suggestive, established relationship WARNINGS. mingyu basically using all the terms of endearment in the world, mingyu being absolutely smitten and so so in love with you it's ridiculous, they talk abt wanting to kiss each other A LOT save them from this distance, so yes kissing lots of kissing that i had wayy too much fun writing, lots of teasing from mingyu, brief shirtless mingyu moment, suggestive undertones, suggestive at the end, implied sexual content WORD COUNT. 8k

notes: personally after a kinda bad experience with long distance, i don't think i'd be able to do it LMAO. anyway! i had this idea for a while lmao n just couldnt stop thinking abt mingyu yelling out "bluetooth hug!" to the camera directors in TTT :((

“Wait, baby, baby, look at this!”

When you look back at the phone, Mingyu is proudly showing off his new collection of shot glasses, each one lined up on a shelf in his kitchen. He eyes each one before grabbing one up to the camera with a boyish grin.

“Ta-da!” he exclaims, gesturing like a game show host showing off a prize. “I told you I’d start collecting these when I travel, and look! Aren’t they cool? This one... I think... This one is from Jeju Island. This other one is from Paris…”

Your boyfriend has always been quite the adventurous kind. It’s the first thing you noticed when you tapped on his profile on Tinder and you were greeted by a plethora of photos of Mingyu in all sorts of places𑁋hiking in the mountains, posing in front of famous landmarks, and even one where he was holding a street food skewer with a bright, goofy grin. His bio had read, “Always looking for my next adventure! Maybe you can join me someday? 😙”

At the time, you had laughed at how cliché it sounded, but there was something about his energy, the way his smile lit up every photo, that made you swipe right.

The only catch was that he lived in an entirely different country.

Fast forward six months later, and here you are, completely and utterly smitten by the same man who had once been a stranger behind a screen. Even though your relationship is entirely virtual, it has blossomed in ways you didn’t think possible. Unfortunately, you’ve been occupied with studying for university and schedules filled to the brim, and Mingyu was quite busy checking things off his own bucket list, so there were hardly any opportunities for the two of you to finally meet.

Still, you loved hearing his stories and seeing the world through his eyes, even if it was through a screen.

Mingyu carefully places it back on the shelf before showing off another one to the camera. You can’t help the smile spreading across your face as you watch him enthusiastically present each shot glass. His cute little fangs show along with his grin, and it’s moments like this that make the distance between you feel just a little smaller.

“One day, I’ll fill this shelf up.” Then he turns his attention back to the phone, watching you diligently typing away some notes on your laptop. “Baby?”

“Hm?” You shoot a glance to the screen.

Mingyu juts out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout, resting his chin on his hand.

“You’re not paying attention to me,” he whines helplessly, dragging out the words like a kid vying for attention.

Letting out a giggle, you scoot your laptop away from your phone, the screen dimming from off your face. You shift your position so that you're properly facing the screen now, giving him your full attention.

You raise an eyebrow playfully. “Yes, my precious, annoyingly clingy boyfriend?”

Mingyu’s only pout deepens, and he crosses his arms over his chest as if to make his disappointment even more prominent. “You’ve been so busy with work lately... I miss you.”

“How could you miss me when we haven’t even met yet, Gyu?” You jest teasingly.

His features soften at your words, uncrossing his arms and leaning in closer to the screen, and it’s almost like the huge distance between the two of you lessens slightly.

“I don’t need to meet you to miss you,” Mingyu explains sheepishly. “I just... All I have to do is think about you and it’s like you’re here, but not really here, you know?” He rubs the back of his neck, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink that you can see even through the screen. “Gosh, the things I would do to just have you in my arms right now…”

A dreamy look lights up your face. You swear you could almost feel his presence right by you just from his words alone, but they aren’t enough to ease the longing ache in your chest, aren’t enough to fill the gap that stretches between the two of you. You let out a soft sigh, your heart warming at the thought of him.

“I think about it a lot, too,” You murmur gingerly, glancing down for a moment before meeting his gaze again through the screen. “About finally getting to be close with you.”

Even through the screen, you see the way his face melts, an expression nothing short of longing and expectation. His fingers drum against the counter, and you can tell he’s thinking of what to say next. The troublesome expression he wears tells you that it’s probably not something good.

“Tell me,” he says, resting his chin on his palm again. “What would we be doing if I was there right now?”

A thoughtful look crosses your features, but the answer is already so clear in your mind you could almost feel it.

“Cuddling?” You quirk a playful brow up at that. “Cuddling while listening to you talk... That would be nice. But then at some point, I’d get tired of hearing you talk, and just𑁋”

“Just what?”

“Hmmm,” You start, an impish flicker of your lips. “I’d shut you up with a kiss.”

Mingyu sputters in surprise at that, his brain and thoughts running haywire. “Oh? Oh?” He leans closer to the screen, a mischievous glint in his eyes now. “That’s dangerous talk, baby.”

You tilt your head amusedly. “Is it now?”

“You can’t just say things like that.” He pouts again. “Knowing damn well I can’t do anything about it. That’s just cruel. A crime, even.”

“Come on, I’m just speaking facts,” You retort back. “Now, tell me. If you could do something about it, what would you do?”

Mingyu lets out a sigh. “Don’t do this to me, babe.”

“I’m just curious,” You hum innocently, resting your chin on your palm now, mirroring his posture. “Would you kiss me silly?”

Mingyu’s gaze flickers back to you, and there’s something undeniably fond in the way he looks at you.

“You already know I would,” he grumbles. “I’d pull you in my lap and kiss you soooo hard that you wouldn’t be able to crawl away from me.”

You hum again, pretending to consider, despite the heat crawling up your neck. “Sounds nice.”

“Nice?” Mingyu scoffs at your indifference. “Just nice?”

You giggle. “Okay, okay𑁋really nice. Amazing. Wonderful. Fantastic. Perfect, even.”

He narrows his eyes playfully. “That’s more like it.” Then, he leans in just a bit closer to the screen, voice dropping slightly. “You’d be the one begging for me to stop talking then.”

Your stomach flutters, but you roll your eyes. “Okay, well, now you’re just being cocky.”

“Am I wrong, though?” He smirks, and you hate how good he looks doing it. “The moment I see you, I won’t be able to stop kissing you for a long, long time.”

For a moment, the teasing pauses, and all you can hear is the gentle hum of your heartbeat. You look into his eyes𑁋those same eyes that always made you feel both safe and that you could conquer the world all at once. You crave the feeling of his arms around you, his lips teasing you in real life, not just through words.

As you’re about to speak, though, a notification pops up on your computer.

When you read it silently, you let out a defeated sigh.

Mingyu notices your worry right away, like he always does. “Deadline notif?”

“Yeah,” You mutter, pulling away from the phone screen to force your laptop awake again. “I should wrap up this assignment, and you should go to sleep, Mr. Big Talk. You keep staying up for me.”

Mingyu groans dramatically, letting out a pettish whine. “The universe is always conspiring against me. I still wanna keep talking to you.”

You laugh softly. “I think you’ll survive, you big goof. I’ll call you tomorrow, alright?”

You watch as Mingyu picks up his phone, trailing over to where you could catch glimpses of his living room. He plops down on the couch with that same, irresistible sulkiness from earlier before a sudden gleam of mischief lights up his features.

“One more thing,” he says, sitting up excitedly, propping the phone down on the table before opening up his arms towards the camera. “Bluetooth hug!”

You blink confusedly. “Bluetooth what now?”

“Bluetooth hug,” he repeats, and you can tell how serious he is about it. “Since I can’t hug you in person, we do this instead.”

Your heart stutters at the sheer ridiculousness and sincerity of it all. “Gyu, you’re so𑁋”

“Shhh,” he hushes, wiggling his fingers like he’s beckoning you forward. “Just do it, baby. Please?”

With a chuckle, you shake your head, but you can’t deny him, not when he’s looking at you like that. Raising your arms, you mimic his motion, pretending to wrap them around his broad frame through the screen.

“Bluetooth hug,” You quip, and you can almost feel his body pressed up against yours at the thought. “There. Happy?”

Mingyu flops back onto the couch, a dazed look to his face. “Mmh, best hug ever. It’ll be our thing now before we end the call.” Then he pans the camera down to his chin, and gosh, he looks extra kissable right now. “Alright, alright. I’ll let you go now, okay?”

You give him a faint smile. “Okay.”

Some moments of silence pass, like neither of you want to break the spell that’s bound to you both. It happens basically every time𑁋where neither of you want to end the call, until one of you finally gets the guts to do it first, only to instantly miss the other right after. 

Mingyu stares at you for a few more seconds, like he’s trying to memorise every detail of your face before parting ways, and you do the same𑁋hoping to hold on to this moment a little longer.

“Okay,” he murmurs finally, his voice soft but resigned. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” You whisper back, trying to fight the tug at your heart. “I’ll miss you.”

He grins at you one last time, his boyish charm lighting up his face, and his gaze is soothing. “Miss you more, baby. Sleep well.”

And with that, the screen turns to black. Even though he’s basically an entire ocean away from you, you still feel his warmth lingering around you.

“Wait, I think you passed it! Go back a little, baby.”

You furrow a brow as you push back the shopping cart, nearly saving your phone as it almost falls off from where it’s perched idly on the child’s seat. You show off the endless rows of foods and packaged goods towards the camera, giving a better angle for Mingyu to see.

“Like... here?” You tilt the camera slightly, showcasing the aisle packed with different types of pasta.

“Yes, that’s the one!” Mingyu’s excited voice blasts through your headphones. “Get the one with the red logo, do you see it? It’s the one I always use for my spaghetti.”

Mingyu had brought up your bi-weekly tradition of cooking together as a little date night. Since the two of you obviously aren’t able to cook in the same kitchen, this was the next best thing𑁋letting him guide you through the store to pick up ingredients and calling over FaceTime while making the same recipe. Although, this time, it’s Mingyu’s own special recipe.

You pluck the spaghetti noodle pack from the shelf and place it into your shopping cart. “Okay, got it.”

“Perfect,” he says, completely satisfied. “Now, next is Parmesan cheese... Oh, baby, get some garlic too. Fresh, not the pre-minced kind.”

You roll your eyes at his determination, yet a smile tugs endearingly at your lips. “Affirmative, oh-great chef.”

Mingyu wiggles his brows at that. “Say that again.”

You scoff, shaking your head with a laugh as you push your cart down the aisle, trailing towards the produce section of the store. “Nope. You get it once, and that’s it.”

He lets out a groan. “Ugh, you’re such a bully. Just say you hate me and want to break up with me already.”

“I lovingly hate you,” You tease, reaching for a bulb of garlic and holding it up to the camera. “This work for you?”

He narrows his eyes, inspecting it through the screen, his head tilted like he’s some sort of critically acclaimed food critic. “Hmm... yes, that one looks good. You pass.”

You chuckle, dropping it in your cart. “Lucky ol’ me.”

After you finish shopping for all the ingredients, you find yourself lining up at the register for check-out. You compare the ingredients to the list Mingyu had sent you. Spaghetti noodles? Check. Garlic? Check. Basil? Check. Parmesan cheese? Check. Tomatoes? Check...

“Okay,” Mingyu starts. “I’ve sent the money for the groceries to your card.”

Your eyes widen at that. “I𑁋Gyu…” Then you roll your eyes, knowing you can’t argue back with him. “You know, my frontal lobe may be averagely developed, but I’m a grown adult, with money of my own.”

“Yeah, well, I’m also a grown adult who wants to spoil his favourite girl,” Mingyu retorts back playfully. “Let me treat you once in a while, okay?”

You card a hand through your hair. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Mingyu simply grins at that. “I really am.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” You remark, pushing your cart up to the register. “I’ll call you when I’m home.”

“Drive safe, okay?” he says, suddenly softer. “Text me when you get there.”

Your heart does that annoying little flutter it always does when he’s sweet with you like this, swallowing down the warmth creeping up your neck, your fingertip lingering on the end call button. “I will.”

By the time you get home and call him back, Mingyu is already in his kitchen, phone propped up against the counter, sleeves rolled up to his elbow like he’s about to film his own cooking show. The sight of his exposed arms makes your stomach do a flip.

“Welcome, welcome,” he beckons with poise. “Tonight, I, Chef Mingyu, will be guiding the love of my life in whipping up the best spaghetti of her life.”

You snort, setting your phone against the kitchen backsplash. “Pretty bold claim, mister.”

His infectious grin only shines with confidence. “Just wait and see, princess.”

The two of you start cooking together, Mingyu guiding you through each step like a seasoned pro𑁋boiling the pasta, sautéing the garlic, and getting the sauce to the perfect consistency. All while he’s playfully critiquing your chopping and cooking skills (“Baby, what is that? Are you making garlic chunks instead of minced garlic?”), and you teasingly mock his over-the-top chef persona (“Should I start calling you ‘Gordon Kim’ now?”).

The comforting aroma of tomatoes and garlic fill your kitchen as the sauce simmers, bubbling gently under the heat. You find yourself standing at the stove, slowly running a wooden spoon through the makeshift sauce.

“Make sure you’re stirring it evenly,” he chimes in randomly, watching you intently.

“I am stirring it evenly.”

Mingyu squints, bringing the phone up to his face as if that’ll definitely help him see better. “Mmm… I don’t know, precious. Let me see the consistency.”

Rolling your eyes, you lift the wooden spoon, letting the sauce drip back into the pan. “Chef Kim, does this meet your expectations?”

He taps his chin theatrically. “You are barely passing, but I’ll allow it.”

You let out an exaggerated gasp. “I am literally following your recipe, Gyu.”

“I know, and I’m an amazing teacher,” he says smugly. “Okay, let's check on the pasta. Should be al dente now.”

You grab a fork and scoop up a strand, blowing on it before taking a bite. “I think it’s good?”

Mingyu hums, watching you closely. “Are you sure? Not too soft? Not too hard? Do the official chef bite.”

You raise a brow. “Please enlighten me on what the official chef bite is.”

He straightens up his posture confidently, dramatically miming the act of chewing like some Michelin-star judge. “You gotta, like, taste it with full concentration, eyes closed, and nod like you’re making the most critical decision of your life.”

You roll your eyes but comply anyway, exaggerating the nod just for him, claiming in your best food critic voice, “Ah, yes. Exquisitely divine. A fine noodle with a delicate texture.”

Mingyu beams at that, and walks over to give his pasta noodles a quick taste test of his own. He moves with a sense of elegance in his step, albeit slightly chaotic. He’s always been like this, always throwing himself fully into whatever he loves, especially cooking. And right now, he’s throwing himself into making sure you get this recipe just right.

As the two of you finish draining the pasta, you begin to toss it into the sauce, ensuring that it’s properly mixed. Mingyu watches you carefully, your lips pursed in concentration.

“Make sure every strand is coated and𑁋oh!” He leans in closer to the screen, watching you mix. “Don’t forget to leave a little bit of pasta water.”

You pause mid-stir, eyes narrowing at him through the screen. “Why didn’t you tell me that before I drained all of it?”

Mingyu’s mouth drops down to the floor. “Baby, no! The starch in the pasta water helps the sauce stick better.”

You huff defeatedly. “Guess my spaghetti is less Mingyu-fied now.”

“It’s okay, you’re still a beginner,” he assures. “My love and patience are boundless.”

“Wow, you’re so generous.”

You scoop the pasta into a plate, sprinkling a generous amount of Parmesan cheese on top of it, tucking in some loose noodle strands with a fork to make it cute for your little dinner date. Mingyu does the same, positioning his plate just right so you can see it on screen.

You set your phone up against the tiny succulent on the table, grabbing your fork in hand.

“Moment of truth. First bite together?” Mingyu suggests excitedly.

You nod, twirling some spaghetti onto your fork and holding it up. “On three?”

“One, two…”

“Three.”

An explosion of flavours coat your tastebuds, your eyes widening in surprise. You chew through it leisurely, savouring it with a pleasant hum, before diving in for another bite. Mingyu’s attention is solely focused on you as he takes a bite of his own, his face lighting up with triumph as he soaks up the way you’re enjoying it.

“Damn,” You wipe some sauce off the corner of your lip. “This is really good.”

“Yeah?” His eyes crinkle with pure happiness. “Knew you’d love it, sweetheart.”

The two of you continue to eat together, and it’s almost as if he’s sitting right across from you at the table. You catch him up on what the week has showered down on you, rambling to him about something in regards to one of your professor’s strict grading style, and he fills you in with a humourous story that happened to him with his coworker Soonyoung at work two days ago.

Even though you’re in different places, it’s moments like these that make the distance feel smaller, that make time feel infinite𑁋knowing one day, you’ll be with him in person.

And as you finish your last bite, you can’t help but think𑁋if love had a taste, it would be this.

“I’m stuffed,” You mutter after washing your plate in the sink, plopping back down in the chair. “And need a shower.”

Mingyu lifts a brow, smirking devilishly. “Take me with you.”

You shake your head, sending him a suspicious look. “In your dreams, pervert.”

“Can’t help it, love. You’re absolutely ravishing, even in dream-form.”

A lump forms in your throat at your boyfriend’s downright shamelessness, heat threatening to spread its way and infect all parts of your body. Mingyu basks in your reaction with a prideful grin, biting at his bottom lip to suppress a giggle.

Then, as if he had read your mind, he outstretches his arms towards the camera.

“Bluetooth hug?” he asks softly, wiggling his fingers in invitation, as if he’s attempting to reach out to you through the screen. He always knows how to get under your skin so easily.

You give him a roll of your eyes, before extending your own arms towards him as well, the two of you curling your arms, basically hugging the air. But even in the empty space, knowing that he’s right on the other side is enough to make it almost feel like the real thing. Almost.

“Feel that?” he murmurs, squeezing himself tightly. “That’s me, right there with you.”

Your heart stutters, warmth blooming in your chest. “I feel it.”

A pleased look paints his face, but then his voice turns teasing again. “Wish I could do more than just a hug, you know…”

Your fingers twitch against the screen. “Oh?”

“Oh.” His grin turns wolfish. “You’d like that, huh?”

You only sneer, but there’s no real bite to it. “Goodnight, you dirty-minded freak.”

Mingyu shoots you a kiss through the screen. “Goodnight, pretty girl. Dream of me.”

And as you hang up, face warm and heart full, you know sleep won’t come easy𑁋because every little word, every little tease, lingers, like the taste of his love on your tongue.

“I talk about you, you know.”

Your attention is momentarily taken away from the book in your hands, and you peer towards Mingyu on your phone screen, who appears to be completely submerged within the comfort of his bed. The sun has nearly risen on his end𑁋as he is stubborn and wants to fall asleep at exactly the same time as you𑁋while the sky is plagued with darkness on yours. He looks adorable, as he always does, and your chest can't help but tighten at the sight.

“What?”

Mingyu emerges slightly out of the sheets, revealing more of his pretty bare face. “To my friends, my family. I talk about you.”

Your breath catches in your throat at that.

“You do?” You murmur, setting your book aside and shifting under your blanket as well.

Mingyu only nods, resting his cheek against his pillow. “Of course. All the time. They probably think I’m obsessed with you.” He gives a sheepish grin. “Which, I mean... they wouldn’t be wrong.”

A quiet laugh escapes your lips, but it doesn’t quite mask the way his words turn your insides into mush. “What... What do you tell them?”

“Hmm,” he hums, pretending to think hard. “I tell them about how amazing you are. How we met on Tinder and how it grew from there. How you make me laugh so effortlessly. How you somehow always know exactly what to say. How you’re unbelievably pretty and cute and sexy when you’re focused on something𑁋like, seriously, it’s unfair, babe.”

His words swirl around you like a thick fog, settling over your body and creeping in within the crevices of your heart. A smile crawls its way across your features, half-buried in the pillow, but for some reason, it simmers just slightly.

Because you talk about Mingyu too𑁋to your friends, your family, hell even strangers you’ve known for a day. He probably doesn’t realise himself how much you speak so fondly of him day-to-day. Yet, the thing is, there are people who have told you that long distance relationships hardly ever work. Or that meeting Mingyu through a dating app meant that your connection with him is bound to fizzle out after some time, that it wasn’t real love. Those words stick to you like an annoying flea sometimes.

But if those people could see you right now𑁋see the way your heart leaps out of your chest when Mingyu smiles through the screen, the way his voice alone can make the world feel a little more bearable, the way he talks about you like you hung the moon and stars in the sky𑁋maybe they’d understand.

However, there’s always that tiny part of you that worries.

Because what if they’re right? If love isn’t this, then what is?

“...and I tell them I’d do anything to finally just… be with you, you know?” Mingyu continues mindlessly, before stopping, as if sensing the sudden shift that you weren’t entirely listening. “Baby?”

You blink, shaking off the thoughts. “Huh?”

Mingyu’s brows knit together slightly. “You okay? You kinda went all quiet.”

You hesitate for a moment, caught between shoving your thoughts away and admitting the quiet fears that gnaw at your skin during the wee hours of the night. But Mingyu knows you too well. He always does.

“Yeah,” You respond quietly, but it’s more than obvious how unconvincing your tone is. Even a three-year-old could probably sense it.

Mingyu doesn’t press, at least not right away. He watches you carefully, waiting, giving you the stage to decide how much you want to say. That’s one of the things you love most about him𑁋his patience when it comes to you being vulnerable with him, his effort in wanting to communicate with you, his willingness to listen when you’re ready.

So you exhale, pressing your lips together before whispering, “Do... you think this will last?”

Mingyu adjusts his position to get a better look at you. “What do you mean?”

You swallow nervously. “I mean us. Long distance, life pulling us in different directions one day. People say it’s not sustainable. That... maybe this isn’t real love.”

Mingyu’s eyes darken at that, his jaw tightening as if his body is physically rejecting the idea. “Who the hell says that?”

You let out a weak, humourless laugh, giving a shrug. “People who think love only works if it’s easy, I guess.”

Mingyu’s expression just softens, his gaze carefully boring into you as if he’s searching for every ounce of doubt in your words. He leans closer to the screen, making the distance feel smaller, if only for a moment, just as he always does.

“Listen to me, angel,” he prompts. “Love isn’t easy. It never is. It’s work. It’s effort. It’s choosing someone over and over again, even when it’s hard. If things ever get hard between us, then we fight for it. Because this? Us? It’s real, precious, no matter what anyone else thinks. I’d literally walk the entire earth just to tell you that we’re okay.”

Your throat tightens, and for a moment, you don’t respond. Because this, you realise, is what love is, right? It’s not just the soft, dreamy moments of cooking together through a screen or whispering sleepy goodnights before ending the call. It’s this𑁋being honest about your fears and knowing that no matter what, the person on the other side isn’t going anywhere.

That this𑁋he𑁋is worth every mile. And no matter what anyone says, this love? It’s real. You know it is.

Mingyu’s voice drops, more gentler now. “Do you believe me, love?”

You could only let out a soft laugh, letting the warmth bloom throughout your face at his words. “You’re too confident for your own good sometimes, you know that?”

“I’m confident because I know what I want,” he replies matter-of-factly. “And what I want is you. I love you. I could scream that to my next-door neighbours right now if I wanted to. I’m in this for the long run, so... I guess you’re stuck with me now.”

You scoff a little. “I guess.” Before your expression merely melts, your worries lifting off your chest. “Thank you, though. I... I really needed that. I love you too.”

His grin turns radiant, like the sun peeking out at sunrise, so full of adoration that it makes your heart stutter. “Yeah?”

You laugh softly. “Yeah.”

Mingyu clutches at his chest in a dramatic fashion. “Say it again, please. I need it in writing. Maybe a voice memo for proof so I could replay it for hours.”

Though you’re notorious for leaving him on the edge sometimes, this time, you can’t help but cave in.

“I love you too, Kim Mingyu.”

You swear you see the temptation in his face that he could practically leap off the bed and bounce off the walls in his room from giddiness, just like an overexcited puppy. His mouth stretches into a cheesy, toothy grin, and he lets out some sort of muffled squeal𑁋half a cheer, half a laugh, all purely Mingyu.

“God, baby, I think you killed me again,” he tells you, cheeks pained from all the ridiculous smiling he’s been doing. “I wish I could kiss you right now. Like, really kiss you. Wouldn’t even hesitate.”

You breath hitches at the thought, but you attempt to play it cool. “And what if you come here and discover I’m the most disastrous kisser imaginable?”

Mingyu’s eyes widen in comical horror. “Impossible. There’s no way I’d believe that. You’d have to try really hard to be a bad kisser, babe.”

You roll your eyes, trying to suppress the smile threatening to break free. “I’m serious. What if I’m an awful kisser and ruin everything?”

“Then I’d just kiss you again,” Mingyu responds, completely unbothered, as if that solves everything. “And again. And again. Until I figure out how to teach you properly. I’d take a hundred bad kisses if it means I get to kiss you a hundred times.”

“Wow,” is all you can utter out. “You’re really down bad for me, aren’t you?”

Mingyu’s grin widens even more, if that’s even possible at this point. “Down bad? No, baby, I’m crazy for you. To the point I think I’ll suffer from a heart attack one day. There’s a difference.”

You can’t help but chuckle, shaking your head fondly at how absolutely unapologetic he is in his affection. It’s one of the many silly quirks you love about him𑁋how he wears his heart on his sleeve and isn’t afraid to show it, even from cities away.

When you shift in your position within your covers, a yawn escapes from you as the exhaustion finally begins to catch up with how late it is. You don’t really know how long the two of you have been calling, but you don’t bother to check for yourself.

He’s your little infinity.

“Tired?”

“Mmh, yeah. A little. Been a long day,” You respond with a low mutter, stretching your legs out under the sheets.

Mingyu thinks for a moment, before reaching out to grab the pillow right next to him, wrapping an arm around it and squeezing it tightly.

“Bluetooth hug!” he exclaims eagerly, voice muffled into the pillow.

The corners of your mouth lift as you grab your own pillow, squeezing it with the most affection your body could muster. It’s the closest thing you have to him.

“Bluetooth hug,” You repeat back with a sleepy smile.

“Fall asleep with me?” Mingyu proposes with a sly look.

“Unless you want your phone to explode later on,” You remark playfully. “Sure.”

The two of you are swift to curl yourselves comfortably under the sheets, the only sounds being the occasional shift of Mingyu in his bed and your quiet breathing. You feel Mingyu’s eyes still on you even as you’re struggling to stay awake, a simple, comfortable silence taking over in the way you both simply exist in this bubble of virtual connection together.

“Gyu?”

“Mhm?”

“I love you. Goodnight.”

Maybe love isn’t easy. But with him, it feels like the easiest thing in the world.

“Goodnight, baby, I love you too.”

You don’t really need to say anything more than that; the simple truth of his presence, even through a screen, is enough. The love, the connection, the trust you share together𑁋it’s all there. It’s real.

Eventually, the call fades into silence, the sounds of your quiet, rhythmic breathing and the steady fall and rise of your chest being the only things Mingyu can see and hear. He stays like that for a few minutes𑁋just simply taking you in within the darkness of your bedroom he hopes to share with you one day, admiring you from afar, knowing you’re just a screen away yet somehow right there beside him.

When he’s sure that you’ve fallen asleep, he lets out a breath he’s been holding within his chest.

“One more month,” he whispers to himself as he closes his eyes, the gentle sound of your breathing lulling him into a peaceful state. “One more month, and I'll finally get to hold you.”

One more month, and everything will be right.

Your overthinking may as well make your brain combust.

Mingyu hasn’t called you or has been answering his calls for the past ten hours, and it’s making you worried sick.

Your mind runs through all sorts of scenarios, ranging from the logical to the most absurd. Maybe he fell asleep. Maybe his phone died. Maybe he’s just busy. But ten hours? Mingyu always, always makes time to send at least a quick text if he’s not available, always makes time to call you at least twice a day, and would definitely let you know if he can’t call at all. What in the world happened?

This was definitely not how you imagined you’d start your March break with, with your boyfriend basically going AWOL-radio silent on you for almost half a day. You try not to let your thoughts spiral too much, but your chest tightens nonetheless. Is he okay? Did something happen? What if he got into an accident? What if he lost his phone? What if𑁋God forbid𑁋he’s ghosting you?

No, that last one is absolutely out of the question. This is Kim Mingyu we’re talking about. He would rather cut off his own limbs than ignore you for this long without a good reason.

You chew at the inside of your cheek as you stare at your phone, debating if you should call again or to send another text, or if you’re going overboard from being worried over literally nothing. You’ve already spammed him enough𑁋eight texts, four missed calls, and a voice memo where your tone was a mix of concern and frustration.

Just as you’re about to work yourself into another wave of panic, your phone vibrates on your nightstand. You scramble to grab it, barely registering Mingyu’s name flashing on the screen before answering, bringing it up to your ear.

“Mingyu? Where have you𑁋”

“Hi, baby,” he interrupts, voice warm like melted chocolate, but there’s something else there too𑁋something you can’t quite place. “Sorry I didn't call earlier. Were you worried?”

You let out a breath, flopping back against your pillows. “Worried? That’s an understatement. I was already debating if I should call that Wonwoo guy to track you down. I thought you got kidnapped or something!”

Mingyu lets out a breathy chuckle, the sound oddly laced with amusement. “I promise, no kidnappings today. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you, love.” There’s some rustling sounds on the other end, like the sound of a piece of clothing being adjusted or the wind breezing through the air. “Are you home right now?”

“I𑁋Of course, I am. Are you? You sound like you’re outside.”

On the other end, Mingyu clears his throat. “I... uh, I had to do a lot of errands today.”

“Errands?” You frown, sitting up straighter in bed. “Since when do you run errands for ten hours straight without answering your phone?”

“Um, since... today?” he tries, voice holding that signature boyish charm, but there’s an unmissable nervous edge to it.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Gyu, what are you up to?”

“Nothing, nothing!” He laughs, but it sounds a little too forced. “Just… stuff. Important stuff.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“You caught me,” he teases, but you hear the sound of a door closing on his end, the faint rustling of fabric, then𑁋what was that? The beeping of an elevator? Your brows knit together in confusion.

“Gyu,” You deadpan, your tone serious. “Where are you, really?”

“Home, obviously,” he answers, his footsteps echoing on the ground through the phone. “Can you do me a favour, baby? It’s a quick one, I promise.”

You huff a breath, unsure how much more you can tolerate him avoiding your questions. “What?”

“Check your front door.”

Your heart skips a beat at that, pursing your lips together at his words, throwing the covers off your body anyway. “Gyu…”

“Go open your door,” he repeats, voice soft now, almost giddy. “Please?”

“Did you send me a package?” You ask back. “I swear to God, Gyu, I’m going to be in a lot of debt just to pay you back.”

You hear the smile that blossoms on his face, even through the call. “Nonsense, baby. It’s just a small gift.”

Your mind races, breath catching in your throat as you practically throw your phone on speaker mode and stumble clumsily out of bed. With each hurried step towards your front door, your pulse thrums louder in your ears. This better not be a joke. This better not be some elaborate prank where he’s made you run to the door for nothing, or else you’ll kill him.

Pausing in front of your door, you take in a deep inhale.

Hand shaking slightly, you unlock the door and pull it open𑁋

𑁋and nearly stop breathing altogether.

Because standing right there, under the dim glow of the hallway lights, is Kim Mingyu.

Your Kim Mingyu.

Live. In person. Not pixelated through a stupid phone screen with spotty WIFI.

Kim Mingyu, in all his six-foot-something, broad-shouldered, grinning glory, standing on your doorstep with a suitcase propped by his side. His eyes glow under the dim apartment light with unrestrained joy as he takes your vulnerable appearance𑁋barefoot, hair slightly disheveled, drowning in an oversized hoodie that he bought you for Valentine’s day, your face a mixture of disbelief and awe. He’s drinking in the sight of you just as much as you’re drinking in him, standing frozen in the doorway.

“Bluetooth hug?” he requests shyly, voice slightly breathless, holding his phone up and ending the call. 

Before you can even fully register everything, your body moves on autopilot. One second your feet are rooted to the floor, the next you’re launching yourself at him.

Mingyu barely has time to react before you’re in his arms, wrapping yourself around him in a tight embrace, your face burying into his chest. He lets out a soft, breathless laugh before his own large arms curl securely around you, pulling you in as close as humanly possible. His scent washes over you𑁋warm, familiar, safe𑁋and the moment his hands splay across your back, the reality of it all finally sinks in.

He’s here.

For the first time ever, he’s really, truly here.

And you’re sharing your first ever hug together. Not a Bluetooth hug, not that little hugging emoji he sends you through text. A real one.

“You idiot,” You mumble against his chest, clutching at the fabric of his sweater. “I can’t believe you𑁋”

“Believe it, baby,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the crown of your head, his hold on you tightening. “God, you feel so much better than a pillow.”

You let out something between a laugh and a sob, tilting your head up to look at him. His gaze softens instantly at the sight of you, his hands cradling your face like you’re a precious gift. For a second, his eyes drop down to your lips, before coming back up to your face. You’re so much more beautiful in person. A phone screen is incomparable.

He sucks in a breath.

“You flew here?” You ask him, still caught in a daze of disbelief.

Mingyu chuckles, his thumb caressing the skin of your cheek. “Of course, I did. Didn’t want you spending your March break alone. But, uh…” He licks his lips, eyes dipping to yours again. “I really need to kiss you right now.”

You let out a soft hum, peeking up at him with half-lidded eyes.

“Hmm, well, do you?” You murmur, allowing your fingers to trail lightly over the nape of his neck. “I think you’d have to earn it.”

Mingyu blinks at that, letting out a choked sound𑁋half-frustration, half-amusement. “I just crossed an entire ocean for you, you little devil.”

And you know you can’t counter anything back with that, because he did.

“Yeah,” is all you can say with a heartfelt look, flickering a gaze at his lips as well, granting him permission to cross that line. “You did.”

And then his lips are on yours.

It’s slow and tentative at first𑁋like he’s taking his precious time memorising the feel of your mouth against his for the first time. It’s way better than what his dreams have given him, way better than what his fantasies have showed, way better than anything else he could imagine. But then you sigh against him, melting into him completely, and a coil within him snaps.

Mingyu presses into you firmly, causing you to stumble back towards the doorframe, deepening the kiss with a low, pleased hum and a wicked smirk that you could feel. You part your lips slightly, coaxing his tongue to sweep against yours, and he swallows the sounds that elicit from your mouth. It’s full of need, full of want, full of desire. His hands tighten around your waist, fingers gripping at the fabric of your hoodie like he never wants to let go.

Your knees feel weak, almost like jelly, and you swear you might actually float away if it weren’t for the way Mingyu holds you in his grasp, the way he keeps you his.

“Sweetheart,” he rasps against your lips, the heat of his kisses blossoming its petals throughout your body. “You taste like home.”

When you pull away slightly, breathless, Mingyu chases after your lips with a small whine.

“Come on.” You take his hand in yours for the first time, and it’s almost familiar in the way he fits perfectly in your hold. You can definitely get used to this. “Let me show you around.”

It’s the last night of your March break.

Which means, it’s also Mingyu’s last night with you too.

You don’t know where all your time with him went𑁋how it passed by so quickly yet so slowly. You’ve shown him so much of your world in just this miniscule window of time, shown him various spots in your city that created a particular chapter in your life, and yet, there’s still so much you want to share with him.

You watch as Mingyu stuffs some of his belongings into his suitcase. His flight is not until the next day, but seeing him begin to pack already makes your chest squeeze tightly. You feel as if he’s already perfectly settled his way into your chaotic routine, as if he’s already belonged in your day-to-day life. Even if it’s inevitable, the thought of your relationship going back to what it once was𑁋behind a simple screen, a simple text𑁋makes your stomach twist into a knot.

But you can conquer it, right? Most of your relationship has been spent doing long distance, anyway. He could always fly back to see you again, and you could always wait for the opportunity for your schedule to be free to finally cross that threshold into his own life.

This is merely the beginning for the two of you, merely the start of something new.

“You keeping that?” Mingyu’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts, his affectionate eyes watching the way you're threading your fingers through one of his shirts.

“Yeah,” You give him a faint smile. “Smells like you.”

An airy chuckle leaves him, his gaze taking in the saddened, defeated features of your face. He drops the pants he was folding up and picks himself up, sitting down right next to you at the edge of your bed. Leaning in, he presses a reassuring kiss to the tip of your nose, making your face scrunch cutely.

“You know this isn’t the end, right?” he assures, reaching out to lock a hand with yours. “I could always come visit you again. In the summer, most likely.”

“I know,” You reply dispiritedly, running a finger over his knuckle. “but I... I don’t want you to feel pressured to come visit me all the time. You have your own life, Gyu. I don’t want you to put everything on hold for me.”

Mingyu exhales softly, tilting your chin up so you're looking into those dark, warm eyes that seem to hold entire galaxies in them.

“Baby,” he murmurs tenderly. “You are my life.”

Your breath catches at that, and before you can say anything else, he’s already leaning in, capturing your mouth with a slow, sweet, loving kiss. A low whimper leaves you when he trails his lips to place one at the corner of your jaw, his hands finding its way to your waist, drawing you closer to him.

You don’t have it in you to resist𑁋you never could when you’re with him, anyway.

“I don’t care how far apart we are,” he whispers against your skin, the warmth of his breath fanning over you. “I’ll always come back to you. Every single time. I’ll make time for you, no matter what, as long as you have me.”

And you want to have him. For a long time. His words wash over you like a calm, ocean tide, one that laps deliciously up your skin and drags you deeper into his embrace. Your heart beats in time with his, and it feels like you can’t get close enough. His lips brush back along the line of your jaw, and then, with a daring shift of his mouth, he presses a soft kiss to the sensitive spot just below your ear. You inhale sharply, feeling a surge of heat rush through your body.

“Gyu…” You breathe out weakly, but he hears it, of course, the way your body reacts to his touch.

“You’re so cute,” he continues, lips ghosting over the column of your neck. “My girl, my princess, my entire heart. And I’ll make this entire night worth it for you, yeah? So you don’t forget it when I leave.”

The sweet promise of his words spikes up your pulse, rendering you breathless and melting into the arms of your mattress. Mingyu pays particular attention to a sweet spot on your neck, one he’s gotten to know very well now, nipping lightly. Then he lets a hand slide under your shirt, causing you to let out a gasp. The room suddenly feels confining, almost too suffocating to breathe in, yet you crave the closeness to him, the way he makes you feel like you’re the only girl that matters in the world.

“God, I need you,” he pants thickly. “I can’t leave without having you just one last time. Will you let me, baby? Let me love you tonight?”

The only thing you can do is nod, and that’s all it takes. Mingyu slowly peppers his kisses back up to your mouth, pulling away slightly to gaze at you. Desire clouds his half-lidded eyes, but his features reveal nothing short of devotion, adoration, just pure love. Compared to his other kisses from before, the one he simply gives you next is soft, languid.

Then he pulls away from you fully to stand up, and you watch as he grabs the hems of his shirt and pulls it off effortlessly, granting you with the sight of his chiseled, sculpted torso, his honey skin glowing under the dim lighting of your bedroom.

You gulp down a lump in your throat as he steps back towards you, looming over you with the familiar, teasing smirk tugging at his face. Then he dips his head down to catch your lips in a slow, tantalising kiss. His hands find their way to your waist again, fingers pressing firmly as he gently coaxes you backward down to the bed, easing you down with him.

He delicately cages you within the safety of his arms, his warmth swallowing you whole as he hovers above you. His lips don’t just kiss𑁋longing plagues how he lingers, how he tastes you like he’s memorising every inch of your mouth, like he’s afraid to forget the way you feel beneath him once he leaves.

His body shifts slightly, pressing you further into the mattress, slotting a knee between your thighs in a way that makes your head dizzy.

When he pulls back, he relishes the flushed look to your face with pride.

“My pretty girl,” Mingyu praises under his breath, already pushing up the ends of your shirt. “I’m all yours. Always.”

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@fujiswn

[wonderjanga]

Cap Being A Dad

Just some more dad Marvel because why not. I love writing it.

Marvel: *catches KD trying to shave his face* “What are you doing?”

Kid Flash: *has entirely too much shaving cream on his face* “Uh… nothing?”

Marvel: “Are you… trying to shave your face?”

Kid Flash: “…Yes.”

Marvel: *stares* “Is there even anything to shave?”

Kid Flash: “Wha- WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?”

Marvel: “Nothing! My bad. I meant no offense. Do you need help, by the way? You have like five cuts on your face.”

Kid Flash: “No!” *looks to the mirror and sees the cuts* “Well, maybe. Also, how can you tell? I have all this shit on my face.”

Marvel: “Some of the shit- I mean, stuff is pink. Anyways, do you like want some pointers?”

Kid Flash: “I…” *just gives up at this point* “Sure.”

Marvel: “Great! Put that down.” *wipes off some of the shaving cream from Wally’s face*

Kid Flash: “The razor?”

Marvel: “Yes, that. We’re going to be using this.” *puts hand into pocket dimension and whips out this shit*

That’s how, with Solomon’s help and a bit of Billy’s own memory of seeing his dad, Marvel successfully taught Kid Flash how to shave. Fun fact: after this, Wally wasn’t able to shave with a modern day razor ever again. He’ll cut his face 5 million times but for some reason, with the version Marvel gave him, he’s absolutely perfect.

or

Marvel: “Alright, so driving is pretty simple.”

Robin!Tim: “You sure?”

Marvel: “Yup! Now hit the gas pedal.”

Robin!Tim: *floors it* “Aren’t I supposed to buckle my seatbelt first?”

Marvel: “What? Don’t you know those are just for show? Anyways, you’re doing great! Now make sure not to hit anything.”

After a couple minutes…

Robin!Tim: “This actually reminds me a lot of driving the Batmobile.” *swerves out of the way of a honking truck*

Marvel: “In what way?”

Robin!Tim: “This is exactly how Batman drives in it! I honestly thought driving as a civilian would make it so that you’d have to be more cautious but wow!”

They got pulled over like five minutes later. They were then sent to jail, full costumes mind you. They even got mug shots. Marvel pulled the Ken mugshot pose while Tim did the “Blue Steel” Dean Winchester one. Batman had to bail them both out. Also, yes, this is connected to my Who Let Him Drive?! post.

or

JL and YJ: *at the beach*

Marvel: “I’m good guys.” *sits down, letting out a little oof*

YJ: We’re literally at the beach. Don’t tell us you’re just gonna sit there.

Marvel: “I, in fact, am.” *pulls out newspaper and starts reading*

Him and Batman were content to just sit in beach chairs, sipping virgin Mojitos together while Marvel read the paper and Batman did something on a tablet. Also, I know this isn’t necessarily dad Marvel, but my father, whenever it came to water, would just be like “Go on ahead, I’ll join you eventually” he would say as he got out the paper, lying straight to my face because he would never join.

[pagesfromthevoid]

Super-Man Wannabe | r. r.

Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x superpowered!reader

“I’ve got you,” he promises, lifting her chin just slightly to meet her eyes. “I’ve always got you.”

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Valentina is an actual lunatic, slight violence, brief descriptions of mania, established relationship

Author's Note: Idk about you but this feels like something Valentina would do. Part of the Honey & Glass universe but can be read independently. Also inspired specifically by this image of Superman and Lois Lane (fun fact, the Superman comics are canon in the Marvel comics!)

Masterlist | Talk to Me! | AO3

Bob doesn’t like this.

Not that he doesn’t like taking pictures with her; he likes taking dumb selfies and bad polaroid shots with her. 

No, no he doesn’t mind taking pictures. He just doesn't like posed, forced photos for photoshoots that Valentina schedules for them. He especially doesn’t like that he has to wear the Sentry uniform –he really hates wearing it, even if he’s not actively using his powers. It gives him a sense of dread; like they’re pushing their luck doing this. But Valentina insisted that this would be good PR and the PR manager –his girlfriend –reluctantly agreed with the director.

So they’re standing on the platform where the jet takes off, closest to being in the air without him actually flying. The photographer is still setting up, explaining something about making it look like a Super-Man comic panel. Bob thinks that’s kind of dumb, but he doesn’t say anything as he tries to straighten his posture out. It doesn’t really work, though, and he’s still slouched some as she walks out with her outfit on. 

She’s dressed kind of like Lois Lane –which, he thinks, is what she usually looks like when she’s technically working. A pencil skirt and a nice shirt and sometimes a blazer or a cardigan. Except Valentina made her wear heels and make up, saying something about looking more feminine in comparison to him. Bob hates that Valentina doesn’t think she’s pretty enough, and he wants to say that, but she’s telling Valentina to “bite me” when the director complains that her lipstick isn’t red enough.

“I don’t like red lipstick and if you’re going to make me do something like this, I get to at least choose what I wear,” she says, walking up to Bob now and giving him an appraising look. 

Her annoyed look softens around the edges when she looks at him, and it makes his heart ache. This is the first time she’s seen him in the Sentry uniform since…well, everything. And he wonders if she’s scared of him. The idea that seeing him in this suit scares her suddenly makes his thoughts spiral –what if she is afraid? What if she realizes she’s made a mistake, and she doesn’t actually love him because loving him means loving Sentry and Void and –,

But she’s reaching up to push his hair out of his face with a smile on her lips. “You look handsome,” she says, and even though Bob is in his head –fingers flexing against her waist gently –he smiles down at her thankfully. 

“I would have preferred if he was still blonde,” Valentina complains, but she’s looking at her phone and not at them.

“I prefer whatever he likes,” she counters, and her eyes are on his as she rests a hand on his chest gently. The photographer had been taking pictures already of them interacting, saying something about catching the natural interactions between them. “It works just as well with your gaudy gold suit design, Val.”

Bob didn’t like the blonde. It was fake, and forced, and just…didn’t fit him. Whatever they’ve done now –not really blonde, but not really brown (according to the box dye she used on him to help fix it, it’s like a dark ash blonde) –he likes more. But he just wants his hair to grow back out to its normal color.

“Alright, let’s get this started –Robert, at some point, you will need to use your powers just a tiny bit,” Valentina orders, motioning for them to start. 

“Wait –what? No, I’m not –I don’t feel like that’s necessary,” Bob quickly argues, shaking his head. “Why?”

“Yeah, why?” she demands, stepping slightly in front of him, like she’s defending him. Which Bob always finds a little funny, because he’s…technically indestructible. But he knows what she’s doing, and why she’s doing it. He likes that she wants to protect him. It’s the little things she does that help remind him that he loves her and she loves him. “You said he didn’t have to –,”

“We need to get a shot of the eyes,” Valentina reminds them, rolling her eyes. “Just a quick flash, then we can photoshop the rest.”

“I don’t use photoshop,” the photographer argues, shaking his head. 

“That’s stupid,” she counters, giving both the photographer and director a dirty look. “Use photoshop or you don’t get gold eyes.”

“You’re being petty,” Valentina counters her counter, narrowing her eyes. “I’m just trying to help Robert here come off as a real hero –the people’s hero. What better way than showing the world he’s so very human with his very fragile girlfriend. Kind of like a wannabe Super-Man.”

“I’ll show you fucking fragile,” she snaps, but Bob is holding her arm gently, trying to coax her back from charging the director. 

“I’d be more afraid if you could walk in those heels,” Val comments, motioning up and down at her. “Let’s get this over with so I can get back to DC.”

“I just need you two to do what you were doing earlier,” the photographer explains as Val steps away for a phone call. “Let me just…,” the photographer reaches out to Bob, but he pulls away almost immediately, frowning deeply. “No touching. Got it. Okay –just put your hands on her hips like you did earlier, when she was fixing your hair. And you, fix his hair again.”

She rolls her eyes but follows directions, reaching up to touch his hair. Bob is suddenly more awkward than usual (well, more awkward than he’s been with her in the last few months) as he touches her hips. The photographer makes some sort of dissatisfied sound though. 

“Could you pretend like you wanna touch her?”

“I don’t need to pretend,” Bob snaps, and the photographer puts his hands up in defense. Taking a breath, Bob tries to calm down, pulling her closer by her hips. He doesn’t like how any of this feels; holding her while he’s in this suit, like Sentry is the one that’s in charge. “I feel dumb,” he whispers to her, ducking his head down some so it’s just between them. 

Her hand is resting below his jaw, and she’s giving him an apologetic smile. “You don’t look dumb, if it makes you feel better.”

The clicking of the camera is louder than it should be –louder than it probably actually is but Bob is struggling to tune it out. Even with her touching him, he can’t seem to ground himself. Sentry is clawing just below his skin –he can feel it, trying to get out. Trying to be the one that’s doing this stupid photoshoot. It would make more sense if it was him; he’s more confident when he’s Sentry. But if Sentry comes out, then Void comes out, and Bob is too afraid of that to give in. He just…has to fake that confidence for now.

“Ugh, hang on,” Valentina complains and hangs up. Then she’s pushing the photographer out of the way, making her way over to them. “I’m going to show you what I want this to look like. Don’t move, either of you.”

He’s suddenly hyper aware that Valentina is far too close for comfort, especially as she adjusts his cape and pulls them apart. His heart is pounding in his ears, and he’s reaching back out to her but she’s just glaring at Valentina so he tries to remind himself that it’s okay. This is just…part of being a superhero. Or something. He doesn’t actually know what it means, he thinks. 

“Can you just…,” Valentina adjusts her some, tapping her backwards towards the edge of the platform. She’s about to argue, clearly, as her mouth opens and she puts her hands up to keep Valentina from touching her. But the director is insistent, inching her backwards as she’s trying to keep herself steady in the heels that she’s been forced to wear.

It’s like time stops suddenly then. 

She’s got this look on her face –like she’s about to scream, like she is suddenly terrified, and that’s when Bob realizes she’s in Valentina’s head. The director’s hand is outstretched, shoving her shoulder back just hard enough to set off her balance entirely –purposely pushing her. Purposely pushing her off the platform. Vaguely, he’s aware of the photographer screaming and Valentina telling the guy to wait.

But she’s falling.

She’s falling, and Bob isn’t thinking now as he shoves Valentina out of the way and damn near trips as he’s throwing himself over the edge. Then it’s like…everything makes sense in his head. The anxiety of Valentina’s closeness; the conscious suspicion that she was up to something. He knew –Sentry knew –that she would do whatever she needed to get Sentry to come out and she did. And somehow, even though that’s what the god-like being that lives in his veins wanted, Bob is very aware that he’s not happy.

She’s screaming, and the sound doesn’t scare him but it pisses him off. Then his hands are grabbing at her before either of them recognize the touch. And his arms are wrapping around her waist and pulling her close to his chest. Her fingers are deftly grasping at his chest and his shoulders, trying to find somewhere to clutch onto before she finally finds purchase around his neck. Where she’s pressing her face into the crook of his neck, hyperventilating as he brings them to a slow stop in midair. 

Her entire body is trembling even as she slowly realizes that she’s no longer falling. He can feel her heart pounding in her chest, against his own that he’s trying to bring back down. 

“I…,” she starts as their feet hit the platform again.

“I’ve got you,” he promises, lifting her chin just slightly to meet her eyes. 

She’s refusing to let go of him, staring up at him with the same gaze she had when she first told him she loved him. Like he’s something worth loving; like this is the first time she’s seeing him again. Bob’s hold on her doesn’t slacken, and he doesn’t care that the photographer is still taking photos. Or that Valentina is looking disgustingly smug from the otherside of the hangar. All he cares about is that she’s looking at him like he’s the only thing that matters, but he wants to make sure she knows that…it’s her. She’s all that matters to him.

“I’ve always got you.”

[cuteandhughesy]

I’m Talking Nonsense╰┈➤ MR96

summary: everyone in the avalanche social media room knows that getting mikko rantanen to participate in content was a lost cause—that is until you showed up.

[word count] 4.3k

warnings: MATURE! flirting | lil bit of pining | mature themes | lil hot and heavy kissing | allusions to sex but no actual smut | read at your own discretion

a/n: okay…so obviously I started writing this before the trade—because nobody in their right mind was expecting mikko to get traded. but I digress, anyways! I originally wanted to post this on valentine’s day but in this moment of sadness, I knew all the mikko girls (myself included) needed this pick me up ❤️ to all you liking my old mikko fic—I see yall and we got this.

🎵 nonsense by sabrina carpenter

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

mikko rantanen didn't hate social media — actually, no he did hate it. the finnish native always knew it to be invasive and impersonal, and he'd rather not have to look at fake happy, posed pictures and videos that make his life feel less than. and that's coming for a guy living as a professional athlete.

so when tiktok started gaining more traction and other nhl teams were making accounts for their respective teams—mikko was dreading it. he thought there was a level of privacy that should be respected, and having a camera shoved in your face is totally breaching boundaries. the thought of the avalanche making an account was just not something he wanted.

after a shitty practice—hell even a good practice—the last thing he wanted was to be asked if he thought he could land a plane, or if he believes in aliens...mikko just wanted to go home.

and mikko understands that the social admin was simply doing their jobs, but he couldn't help but fill with irritation anytime they'd approach him with the phone and mini-microphone and/or question cup. it was the quickest way to piss him off.

it didn't help that the avalanche fans were always in the comments asking about his noticeable absence. they wanted to see more of their assistant captain outside of gruelling post-game interviews and game highlights—they wanted the real and fun side of mikko they very rarely had the chance of seeing.

but that didn't change mikko's opinion of social media—he'd avoid the admin team at any costs, especially when he saw that stupid tiktok phone and various props he knew he'd hate to use.

that is, until you showed up.

the first time mikko saw you—standing behind the usual admin suspects with a nervous gaze and fiddling hands—he didn't think much of it. sure, you were pretty, but mikko thinks a lot of girls are pretty.

but then as the months past and your surprisingly warm and bubbly personality began peeking through your hard exterior shell, mikko begin feeling intrigued. you are always smiling, even if someone is giving you a hard time—when he is giving you a hard time—and you're constantly trying to bond with the players. you remember who these athletes are at their core—human, which a lot of people in your job description seem to forget.

the team quickly grew fond of you, and when they saw it was you in the hallway with a cup of questions, or in their locker room with that stupid tiny microphone—the energy would shift. that's just how you are though—vibrant and welcoming, and the guys feed off that energy and turn into a fun group of giddy boys.

even nathan mackinnon, who was almost as turned off by social media as mikko, enjoyed your company, doing silly things for tiktok's he'd never even dreamed of.

it had mikko's own exterior beginning to crack. before he'd be more apprehensive to the idea of participating in social media trends he had no clue about, but you and your grin had him changing.

—

lina, your co-worker looks at you over the top of her laptop, analyzing your soft face as you work on your own computer—editing a tiktok that needed to go up today. you're left with very minimal time, as the avalanche practice finishes in 5 minutes. which means in 15 you both have to head down for some more content.

it's the third time in the past minute lina as looked at you—you can feel her eyes burning through the middle of your forehead. slowly, your eyes trial up and meet hers, a questioning pull to your furrowed eyebrows. "you okay?"

she huffs—not in annoyance or impatience, but rather curiosity. lina flicks her red hair over her shoulder, and then crosses her arms—her gaze never leaving yours. "i'm trying to figure out how you do it."

you're even more confused now. "do what?"

lina snorts like it's obvious. "you've been here five months, y/n. it's been five months of watching you work with the guys and more specifically, getting mikko to work with you."

your lips contort into a confused pout—any more confusion and your head will begin to pound. you're not sure what lina is trying to imply, because as far as you know all the guys on the avs are extremely good with you and have never given you a hard time—that's just how they are...right?

"mikko is great." you hum dismissively, your fingers resuming their place on your keyboard as you continue the code in your side bar to enable the audio change in the clip—attempting to remove ross' loud voice from the background so you can better hear cale's answer.

"that's the thing," lina starts, eyes full of amusement as she leans over the table. "he's really not."

you pause. "what?"

"before you showed up, mikko was always turning a blind eye to me and nick. if we even attempted to talk to him the way you do—well, it never ended how we wanted it to." her face contorts as if she's reliving it.

one of your brows raise in question. "did he like...sentence you to a guillotine or something?"

lina disapproves of your humorous tone, sending you daggers across the meeting room table. she shuts her laptop, resting her elbow atop the logo as she puts her chin in her palm. "ha ha."

satisfied with her pointed response, you get back to work. but, lina isn't done. "he hates this kind of stuff."

"no he doesn't," you retort quickly. "mikko seems happy when I have questions for him. in fact, yesterday he came over to me and asked for one—said something about how they 'make his day bright'" you mimic mikko's deep accent to the best of your abilities, but you sound more like a drowning troll rather than the 6"4 winger.

lina's eyes widen comically—she can't believe what's she's hearing. "anytime I even point the phone in his direction he scowls and walks away. so what are you doing to get him to cooperate?" she eyes you quizzically for a moment before a devious lightbulb goes off in her head, expression morphing into a playful, teasing one. "are you fucking him?"

you squeak, and your cheeks heat up to an undeniable level of embarrassment. "no!" and it's true—of course you're not sleeping with mikko.

she raises her hands in surrender, but her smile doesn't let up. "I wouldn't blame you if you were, y/n. he's hot—like stupid hot."

"okay," you huff, covering your burning cheeks with your hands. "maybe you should sleep with him then."

lina snorts. "trust me—if I could get near him I would."

"you know," you start, "I really don't think what you're saying is true. maybe mikko didn't like it in the past, but I think he's changed his option on the social media stuff."

she raises her brow—almost challengingly. "think so?"

"yup." you hum.

"let's test it, then." lina chimes. "today i'll go up to mikko first, and ill do exactly what you would do when approaching him. and when he sends me away—which he will—then you'll go up to him, and we'll see what happens."

it's tempting—mostly because you're certain there won't be a difference in the way mikko acts towards you then he does lina. sure, mikko isn't always the most sunshine and rainbows when it comes to his personality, but he's always been compliant with you.

so although he's broody and definitely not in love with the idea of having a camera in his face—you're sure he's not going to turn lina away.

"you're on."

it's not 5 minutes later you're both packing up your respective things, preparing to make your way down to the locker room where the guys are surly anticipating your and lina's arrival.

the room is bustling with people—half dressed hockey players and pressing reporters fill the locker room, which creates a slightly hectic environment—but you're used to it by now. so neither of you seem suspicious, you ask a few of the other avs players your selected questions for the day. questions you and lina had argued about for the entire morning—she thought most of them were stupid, you thought they were was hilarious.

plus, the reporters are still swarmed around mikko's stall—the finnish native standing in the middle with a deadpanned look on his face, barley listening to them as they ask the same repetitive questions as usual.

you and lina get some good content from ross colton and josh manson, both players giving you ridiculous and enthusiastic responses to the absurd questions you'd earlier shoved in the alumni silver cup.

lina's mischievous look is back as the sea of middle aged reporters move onto their next victim—cale makar—leaving mikko by his lonesome. "i'll be back." before you can react, she plucks the phone out of your hands, effortlessly making her way through the room until she's in front of mikko.

you strain your ears, but it's no use as the chatter in the locker room is too overpowering, and you're unable to hear lina or mikko. miles wood gives you an odd look—eyeing the way you stand ridged beside his stall, gnawing your thumb as you watch lina talk to the blonde winger—but you don’t notice.

it's only a moment before lina turns around, her grin even wider than it was before as she makes her way back towards you. "your turn." she chimes, thrusting the phone back in your palms.

"what happened?" you question.

lina raises one her brows, pushing you in the direction of mikko's stall. "he didn't want to answer anymore questions."

"okay," you draw. "so maybe I shouldn't go over there."

lina continues guiding you in his general direction. "no it's actually exactly why you should go over there."

you don't get to argue any further as you're suddenly right in front of mikko—almost too close, and if you take another step towards him you're thighs will bump his knees.

speaking of thighs—mikko's are on full display. the huge, muscle carved limbs spread wide as he manspreads in his stall. the expanse of smooth, hard skin making you feel flustered and suddenly intrigued. your eyes flicker upwards, finding the icy blue ones of mikko looking back at you.

you swallow, a heat rising to your cheeks. "hi, mikko."

"hi, y/n." he says your name playfully, the faintest smile pulling at his lips. "you okay?"

you nod too quickly and immediately curse yourself for acting so uncool. you've never been this nervous around any of the avs, especially not mikko, but lina's comments about his looks earlier are lingering in your mind—leaving you flustered.

because obviously you are aware mikko is hot, but now you can't help but be really aware of the fact. damn lina.

"yeah," you clear your throat, clutching the cellphone tightly in your hand. "I was actually just wondering if you'd answer a question for tiktok? for me? promise it'll be quick."

his eyes flicker over your warm, hopeful face, and after a beat he sighs gently, a quick nod following. "yeah I can do that for you."

you can't help the way your eyes widen at his agreement. mikko seems oblivious to your shocked state, removing his remaining elbow pad and tossing it towards the back of his messy stall.

you catch a whiff of his intoxicating scent, and even with the sweat lingering across his forehead and soaking his branded undershirt, mikko smells so good. he's always been enveloped in a cloud of clean laundry and something slightly woodsy, and even though you're extremely professional, it never fails to make you falter.

you clear your throat and your head. "really?"

mikko runs the damp towel previously hung around his neck through his messy curls, making the appearance of them even more fluffy and soft. his eyes twinkle with amusement, a matching half smile blossoming on his lips. "yeah, really. why do you sound shocked?"

you make a tiny noise of confusion in the back of your throat, shooting a glance to lina over your shoulder. she sends you a triumphant look, brow raised like she knew that she was right.

she is right.

you look back at mikko quickly, "I just thought..." you trail off, brows pulling tightly as you think about the excuse he gave to lina—you're so confused. you've never noticed before if mikko had a certain favouritism towards you over lina, or even nick. I mean, you never paid attention to anything like that—but now you feel like you should be more aware, because this doesn't make sense.

"you thought..?" mikko raises one eyebrow, waiting for the second half of your sentence.

"nothing." you blink quickly, adjusting the phone in your hand. "sorry, let's just get to it."

you're still in some sort of shock for the rest of the day—the pieces of the puzzle in your mind loose and turned upside down as you try and understand mikko's dismissal of lina, or better yet, his compliance with you.

it had you further trying to solve the mystery. does mikko just prefer you? does he like your voice over your co-workers? maybe you smell like his favourite desert? does he like you? does mikko want to fuck you?

you're not sure where to pinpoint the source, but you're also determined to find the answer. with some help for lina, and even a little input from nick, you conjure up a plan—which lina finds the upmost entertainment in.

but you mean nothing but business. for the next few weeks it's only you who works with mikko rantanen—it's you asking him questions and having him participate in stupid games. and without fail, every single time you ask him, mikko complies.

so you get crazier with it. whether it's a questions about my little pony—a show mikko has never even heard of—or having him lift you onto his shoulder while a sabrina carpenter song plays through the tiktok recording—he is participating without complaining.

every. single. time.

it has your good friends, but ever so annoying colleagues theorizing.

"maybe he's got a thing for girls with her hair colour? can't resist them." nick chimes, sipping some piping hot coffee from an avalanche branded mug.

you roll your eyes, pulling open the microwave to grab your shitty frozen meal.

lina's laugh echos through the staff room, "mhmm...or maybe her eye colour." she sends you a teasing look before slurping some saucy noddles up into her mouth.

before you can respond nick pipes up again, "he definitely wants in her pants."

you take a seat beside lina—across from your male coworker—and send them both a slightly amused, but deadpanned look. "are you guys done?"

despite your attitude towards them, you can't help but wonder if their theories are correct. sure, mikko seems sweet enough—towards you anyways—but with the way you're barley pushing him into participating in stupid little tiktok's, has you pondering. mikko is nice...but not that nice.

is he just trying to get into your pants? and then forgot about you? the thought has you feeling angry, because you're not just some girl who he can treat nicely until he gets what he wants—absolutely not. and you're not going to let him treat you like a fool, just because he wants his dick wet.

the following day you’re determined to get answers and put your mind at ease. you like mikko—he’s a great guy—but you don’t want to feel like you’re being used. there was a team meeting and breakfast today, without the pressure of practice or a game—essentially an off day for the guys.

as the chaos of the dining room begins clearing out, only a few lingering athletes and staff members at some of the tables, you make your way across the room with a determined step, looking for mikko.

you catch the broad expanse of his back and blonde hair sticking out from underneath his beanie just as he slips out the door. you grumble to yourself, speeding up in hopes to catch him before he leaves the facility.

pushing open the rather heavy door to the hallway, you’re immediately greeted by his familiar laugh and gabe landeskogs smooth voice—spewing some dad joke that only mikko would find funny.

before you can sike yourself out, you march up to the two european teammates. “rantanen, I need to talk to you.”

they pause in their slow steps, conversation halting abruptly as both men turn to look at you. the sight of your hard expression and pointed gaze has mikko swallowing roughly, eyeing you with confusion.

gabe snickers quietly, the sound missing your ears, and pats mikko’s shoulder sympathetically. “last name, huh? good luck.” with that the avalanche captain stalks off, disappearing down the quiet hallway.

you cross your arms defensively, looking up—way up—at him, tone rough and determined. “are you trying to fuck me or something?”

“whoa whoa, just hold on a second.” mikko’s eyes widen, looking around the hallways quickly to ensure you were alone. even though he doesn’t see any physical bodies, mikko can’t be too sure—especially when he can sense the conversation is going in a direction that doesn’t need to be overheard.

he gently takes ahold of your wrist, guiding you towards the open meeting room directly across from the kitchen. the censor lights flicker alive as you step into the empty, quiet room—illuminating the once dark space.

mikko lets go of your arm, shutting the door with a soft click before turning back to you. he analyzes your face, eyes flickering over your still pointed eyes and the angry pull to your mouth. confused, he steps towards you. “are you joking with me?”

you raise your brows. “do I look like i'm joking with you, mikko?”

he shakes his head gently, like he’s trying to come up with a reason for your sudden coldness—you’ve never acted this way around him, and seeing you so irritated is rather strange. “why are you asking me that?”

he’s referring to the first question you’d asked him—rather angrily may he add. mikko is unsure what brought on the rather sexual outburst of a question, only because it’s so unlike you. in fact, one time ross colton tried to make a sexual innuendo with you, and you just about turned the colour of a ripe apple.

mikko thinks he must’ve done something—or said something to make you not only think like that, but ask him about—without so much as a blush on your face. you were serious.

you cross your arms again, defensive walls still built high. clearing your throat, you look away from mikko and towards the navy blue patterned rug covering the floor. “ why are you so nice to me?”

you practically whisper, timidly running your foot along the worn out carpet.

mikko blinks. “what?” he’s even more confused now—because why wouldn’t he be nice to you. you’re sweet, and respectful, and funny, and beautiful, and you’re you.

you meet his eyes again, expect this time there’s more emotion swimming in them, and you’re slowly coming down of your flurry of anger—left with fear and your own confusion. “like..,” you start unsure, “you only do the media stuff when i'm the one asking you to. are you only being nice to me so that like, you'll get in my pants?”

you’re right, he thinks. he only does media when you ask, but it’s not because he suddenly wants to if you’re the one asking, it’s because he can’t say no to you. mikko never wants to see you sad—he never wants to see the current look on your face when he can help it.

mikko shakes his head, slow and steady. “no. that's not why i'm nice to you.”

“no?” you parrot, the tiniest hint of disbelief in your tone.

“no.” mikko repeats firmly. “i'm nice to you because I like you.”

“like as a friend?” you gulp, arms falling to your sides as you’re no longer strong enough to hold them around yourself.

mikko doesn’t see the point of hiding his true feelings any longer. the thought of you thinking he had ulterior motives with his kindness literally makes his stomach hurt, and he can’t have you believing he’s trying to use you for his own benefit.

so with a gentle sigh, he takes another step closer to you, eyes softening as he takes in your hesitant gaze and red cheeks. “more than a friend.” mikko admits gently.

your face falls, “oh.” you’re in some sort of shock, looking up at the winger with parted lips and wide eyes. the way mikko is looking at you, so raw and real, has any lingering hesitance falling away, and your expression quickly shifts.

“yeah, oh.” the corner of mikko’s plump lip slides upwards, the beginning stages of a lopsided smirk growing on his flushing face.

he reaches towards you, slowly, hands enveloping the sides of your head as he holds you in his palms. mikko’s hands are so warm and big, completely covering your cheeks and ears—the feeling itself has you turned on.

your breath hitches as mikko’s rough thumbs begin running over your cheekbones, stroking your warm skin absentmindedly.

his tongue licks along his bottom lip, moistening the skin slowly. mikko swallows gently, not once taking his gaze off your flustered face. “but like, just so there’s no confusion, I would eat you out on the table until you’re crying if that’s what you wanted.”

you inhale sharply, stomach dropping with excitement and adrenaline. your body flutters at his words, “mikko.” you whine in a whisper, hands reaching out and resting against his hard pecks. you have no control of your hands, the need to feel him under your palms too strong. you begin running over his covered chest, his muscles tightening and nipples hardening under your deliberate touches.

mikko huffs shakily before he comes down, kissing you with as much passion he can manage. his lips are surprisingly soft and smooth, enclosing and teasing yours in a messy, hard way. the feeling has your stomach swooping further, toes curling in your shoes as the kiss grows harder—needier.

suddenly, mikko’s hands run down your body, passing over your ass with a firm squeeze. you moan into his mouth as his hands find the backs of your thighs, picking you up.

you gasp as he lifts you effortlessly, sitting you on the table like it’s nothing—mikko smirks at the sound you make, and he can’t help the way his dick twitches in his pants. his wet lips trail off your mouth, travelling over your jaw and down your neck where he continues giving you hot, and hurried kisses.

reluctantly, your eyes flutter open, running a hand under mikko’s beanie, gripping the base of his hair between your trembling fingers. “we can get in a lot of trouble for this.” you breathe.

despite your words, your hips rolls against his hardening length, your cores at the perfect angle with you sitting on the table to grinding together deliciously.

mikko pulls back, eyes glazed with lust as he grins. “I know. so we'll just have to be sneaky.” his words are husky, sending your blood pumping and head swirling with need.

he leans back in, giving you another eye rolling kiss. you push his hat off his head completely, giving yourself free reign of his messy curls, tugging the blonde strands as your heart desires.

mikko pulls you closer on the tabletop, further bumping your clothed heat against his. his large hands slide underneath the back of your top, running over your spine and fiddling with the edge of your lacy bralette.

you sigh trembly, disconnecting the kiss. “i'll have to stop asking you questions though. because now I really won't be able to control myself around you.”

the admission has mikko smirking, biting his lip seductively. one of his hands round to your front, groping your tit over your bra. “I turn you on baby?” he already knew the answer to his question—your hardened nipples and shifting hips giving him all the information he needs.

you laugh through a breathless exhale, and you gently hit his shoulder. “be serious. you'll have to tolerate lina, and start saying yes when she asks you to do things.”

“no promises.” he chimes playfully, hands running back down your torso—leaving goosebumps in their wake.

you give him a soft, serene smile, which as mikko following suit—looking at you the way he always has. “I really like you, mikko.” you admit gently, one of your hands running over his building bicep before sliding around to rest on his shoulder blade.

for a moment, his smile remains admirable, looking down at you like you’re the only thing that has ever mattered. mikko has been dreaming of the day you say those words, and actually hearing you speak them is just otherworldly.

but because he’s a boy, and you’re his dream girl with his spit coating your plump lips—he can’t help himself. mikko’s hand rounds to your front, dipping underneath the waistband of your leggings and sliding over your underwear. he thumbs your clit over the thin material, and your mouth goes slack at his touch.

he breathes, smirking at the feeling of your arousal soaking through your panties. “yeah I can tell.”

“shut up.” you huff, pulling him back in to continue your desperate kiss.

[psychoticallytrans]

There's this idea, fairly common in society, that mental illness is for teens and up. Children are happy little creatures, generally, right? Sometimes they're abused and the trauma can make them mentally ill, but that's not common.

There are two fundamental problems with this attitude. One, it's incorrect to assume that trauma is the only reason a young kid can be mentally ill. Two, trauma is more common than people think. I'll be covering the first problem in this post through the lens of my particular experience.

Where I live, you can be diagnosed with bipolar disorder at 18 years old. You cannot be diagnosed with bipolar disorder as a minor. This poses a problem because my age of onset was in first grade, roughly six years old. Because of the fact that I was very young and new to the world, this was also the age of my first suicide attempt. Thinking I wouldn't be able to pass a spelling test genuinely felt like something worth trying to die over. So, I ate some hemlock, since I'd read about Socrates being killed with it. Luckily, I ate western hemlock, an unrelated species, and just felt kind of sick.

I'm not recounting that for fun or pity. I'm recounting it because children with mental illness are in genuine danger because they have little to no experience with managing their emotions, have little to no concept of the idea that their life can change and improve, and are dismissed by adults. I told a teacher that the test made me want to die, though not that I'd attempted to, and it was brushed off as little kid hyperbole. If I had used a method that was effective rather than one I thought would be, I would have been dead at six years old.

I would not receive medication that worked even a bit for another two years. I would not receive treatment for bipolar disorder specifically for ten years, and that required my PCP fudging the reason for the medication because she was afraid I would die if she didn't, and diagnosis was still two years off at minimum. I received a formal diagnosis at age 19, thirteen years after onset.

But surely that's uncommon, right? This story is a huge edge case, right? I actually have no idea, because age of onset and age of diagnosis are massively conflated for most disabilities. Policies like the one in my area that restricted bipolar diagnoses by age can artificially raise the age of "onset", in my case by thirteen years. The general idea that children are somehow immune to mental illness can also delay diagnosis by several years, perpetuating the idea that young children can't be mentally ill. The data on when people start experiencing mental illness is inherently skewed upwards, and I frankly don't have a good estimate on how bad that skew is. If anyone does have that data, please chime in.

Listen to children. If they're saying they're sad all the time, that they don't care about anything, that they don't see a future for themselves, those are signs of depressive symptoms. If they say that tests make them feel sick, that they can't do anything because they're scared, that they can't breathe and freeze up, those are signs of anxious symptoms. Many children talk about imaginary things, and that's just fine, but slip in a question or two about them to make sure that the kid is just playing, and not experiencing psychosis.

Children are new to the world and vulnerable, and they don't know what's normal and what isn't. They need people who are more experienced watching out for problems they might be having, and listening when they talk about having problems. If you can, try to be the person who perceives them, and tells them that things can be better.

[lokis-army-77]

Cozy

Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Waking up the day after Eddie has fucked your brains out you have a little more fun.

Warning: 18 +. unprotected sex, p n v, breeding kink, kinda innocent reader, soft dom eddie, 1 whore, a bit of hair pulling.

Thank you to those of you who beta read! <3

Masterlist

You wake up in the late morning, sun shining through the blinds, warming your bare body. You can feel the heat radiating from your boyfriend as well. He's awake too. You can tell by how his hips keep pressing into you from behind, still not satisfied even after a night of rolling in the sheets 

Eddie's arm holds you close to him and you feel his lips barely caress the shell of your ear. "Morning baby." He hums. 

You smile sleepily. "Mornin'," you say as you snuggle further back into him.

He grunts. "Don't do that or you'll start something you can't finish."

"I don't know what you’re talkin' 'bout." Your giggles are soft, muffled by the comforter.

Eddie rolls his hips into the curve of your ass. "Oh, I bet you do." He bites at your ear lobe. 

"Eddie stop." You swat your hand behind you at an awkward angle. 

"Stop what?" He asked, rolling his hips again.

This time you can't help but moan. 

You can feel him grinning lazily, his unshaven scruff catching on your hair. 

He's getting harder, his cock is pressing into you and it's impossible to ignore with neither of you having clothes on. 

Eddie slowly moves his hand down your body, fingers contouring to every curve until he ends up between your legs. 

He pries your leg back and hooks it over his own. "You're so wet, baby. I've barely done anything." He says as he runs a thick finger through your folds. 

You shift, sighing when he touches your clit. "Eddie..."

You liked him like this. Liked living in the softness of a late Saturday morning. But you can't lie, you liked it when he was rough too. 

Memories of the night before had you buzzing. Skin on skin, mouth to mouth. You loved when he dominated you but you loved when he was soft and sweet. 

"What is it, sweetheart? What'd ya need?" He asks, finger now circling languidly around your entrance. 

"Mmm, you. Need you." 

"Me? What from me?" He teases.

You just whimper, brain foggy from sleep and his touch.

"Come on, Sweetheart, tell me." His thumb swipes over your clit.

"Please," you breathe. "Need your cock." Your face is flush. He knows how much that word embarrasses you. 

"Is that right? Want me to give you my cock?" His finger dips ever so slightly into you 

"Yes!" Your hands grip the covers when he finally pushes his finger into you fully. 

Eddie takes his fingers away from you and gives your ass a quick smack. He leans in and gives you a kiss on the cheek before whispering, "Then get in that puppy pose I love so much."

Your legs squeezed shut and your heart fluttered. He could always make the most dirty things sound so innocent. 

Wasting no time you throw off the covers and get onto your knees. Eddie watches you with lust-filled eyes as you slowly put your chest to the mattress, leaving your ass bare and presented. 

With your head resting on the bed, you can only hear and feel Eddie moving behind you. You suck in a deep breath when his large hand grasps your ass cheek. 

"Such a good girl for me." He praises and you keen. You wiggle your hips and he laughs through his nose. "Gonna give you what you want." 

His hands roam over the roundness of your ass, spreading your cheeks even more apart. 

You clench around nothing, waiting as he admires you. 

"Eddie?" You ask.

He hums in response, still staring at how you are spread out for him.

"Need you really bad," you whine. You could only stand so long without him being inside you and patience was starting to wear thin. 

"Okay, okay." He pressed up into you. He's hot, you can feel the heat radiating from him as he pushes his cock through your wet folds. He passes through them a few times before he takes a breath and pushes into you completely.

The angle had him hitting deep within you. His head rubbed against your walls in a way that had you clenching your toes. 

“Fuck,” you moan into the sheets, fingers grasping for anything that could help ground you. 

“That’s it, baby.” Eddie groans. “Pussy’s just squeezin’ me.” He begins to pump in and out of you at a steady pace. “God you’re perfect.” 

You close your eyes and reach your hand behind you. Your fingers come in contact with Eddie’s hip and he slides his own hand from your ass down your back. His touch sends a shiver down your spine. 

A long whine is pulled from you when Eddie fists your hair in his hand, tugging only hard enough for you to feel a small amount of pressure on the back of your head. He moans when you start to rock back into him. “That’s right use my fuckin’ cock.”

He pulls your hair harder and you mewl. “Wanna be closer to you.”

“Okay Sweetheart.” Eddie lets go of your hair and reaches down with both hands to help you up. He pulls your back flush to his chest, it’s sticky with perspiration. He dosen’t stop his efforts, his hips still move, pucnhing into you. 

All you can do is grunt and groan as you feel him fucking into you. Your head rolls back onto his shoulder and he wraps an arm around your chest so that he can hold you steady but also grab at your breast. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you moan into his ear. “Want- fuck I want-”

“What’s that baby? What do you want?”

You can’t answer, too embarrassed to say but when Eddie gives you a firm smack on the ass, the words come fumbeling past your lips. “Cum inside me. Want you to cum inside me, gimmie- fuck- gimmie- ah!” 

His hips press harder into you. “oh? Want me to fuck you full?” He slaps your ass again. “Hum? Want me to fuck a baby into you?”

Those words had you crying, begging for more. You love when he talks like that. When he fucks into you so despretly at the thought of you having his children.

“Mmm, that’s what I thought. Such a whore aren't you, Sweetheart? Need everybody to know you’re mine.”

“Yes. Yes, Eddie, I’m yours.” You heave. 

Eddie lets you go and you crumble back to the bed. His pace quickens and you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. His breathing gets heavier, and you can feel the pleasure building inside you. Your moans get louder and more frequent. 

“Right there!” You cry when he goes deeper. 

“Yeah, baby? Right there? That’s the spot?” 

You nod and he continues to hit just the right place. Your mouth is hanging open, drool pooling on the bed. It feels so good to have him so close. 

In and out, in and out he goes, hips clapping against your ass. Your back arches and you feel yourself coming closer. 

You let your hand fall from behind you to the bed before you bring it between your legs. Your fingers find your clit and begin circling. Another shudder courses through your body and you clench around Eddie. 

“God, fuck baby, don’t do that.” He grunts, thrusts faltering as you squeeze him again. 

“AH! Eddie, please, I'm gonna cum.” You moan. Wetness is dripping down your thighs and hand and onto the sheets. 

“Then cum, sweetheart. Cum on my cock like the good girl you are.” He tells you, hips snapping into you faster. 

You feel yourself tensing in pleasure before you finally let go, cumming hard. You keen and arch your back, your orgasm crashing through you. Eddie thrusts a few more times before his own orgasm overtakes him and he groans. You both collapse in a heap, breathing heavily. 

When you open an eye to peek at Eddie, he’s already watching you. A smile envelopes you and you hide back in the sheets. 

Eddie tuts, “Let me see that pretty face.” He takes his hand and tries to pull you from your hiding place. “Come on, Sweetheart, show me how beautiful you look.”

You finally peer up at him again and he just beams, cheeks round and eyes scrunched. He leans forward and plants a kiss on your forehead before leaving pecks down the bridge of your nose and lastly on your lips. You hum into him. 

“I love you, y’know that?” He asks. 

“Yeah, I know. I love you too.” You say sweetly before you are interrupted by a yawn. 

Eddie gives you another tender kiss on the cheek, “Go back to sleep baby, I’ll clean this mess up.” 

“Okay-” you comply, yawning again. Before Eddie can leave and come back with a warm cloth, you are already fast asleep. 

[urstruly-ghst]

have you ever tried this one ?! - 3rd years

in which you remember the song 'juno' and start to perform in your bedroom. forgetting you invited someone over.

author's note: (not edited, just thoughts) i promise, im trying to churn the fics. but hehe... i got the idea from my brainrot of crowley bringing your world's music to you.

content: can be read platonic/romantic (leaning on romantic), gn! reader, suggestive (its juno positions, what did u expect ?!)

As you stay in the privacy of your own room, you remember the old playlist Crowley gave you. You roll your eyes, out the of the many ways Crowley can help... He brings you music? He stresses that "It is a good way to connect with your home! And, who knows, this is a key to get you back?"

He said that and still insists he can't find a way. However, one step closer, right? You sigh and look at the limited music that was summoned. Looking at the music choices, you laugh as you saw "Juno." You decide to chime in and remember how you performed it back in your own privacy.

"Have you ever tried this one?" You say in a very flirty tone as you strike a pose, similar to what Sabrina would do in her tour. Mortified, you saw someone at the door.

trey clover

being confident in your own privacy, you dance and be as sensual as you want. usually, you wouldn't. but hey, a bit fun never killed anyone? plus, the position you pulled was fairly tame. it was just you pushing your butt a bit more out there, which may have shown something...

you gasp as you realize trey was there, standing, mortified and red. he looked shocked as the song in the background still played. it came to the part where Sabrina declares she was "so fucking horny." you were still in that specific pose before you stood up apologizing. trey coughed and shook his head, trying to shake off the image of you being that sensual.

"the look in their eyes, oh sevens. and the way that pose with uh.." trey's thoughts grow frantic as he apologized and tried to close the door

"prefect! i'm so sorry! let me just... next time, maybe lock the door? that was.. quite the show." you can basically hear the smirk.

cater diamond

cater was vlogging on the way to the dorm and to your room. he was hearing how you sang from the hall, he was excited to catch you off guard with a video. he giggled at his plan and barged in, but as he barged in, you were posing with that flirty tone cooing out of your mouth.

he nearly dropped his phone and his mouth was agape. your pose was so perfectly tame and lewd, he couldn't help but loose some air. cater tried to cover his eyes and try to laugh it off

"dear sevens, not now. don't let my imagination do the rest!" cater begs in his mind as he tried to grab his phone and shuffle out the door.

"nice voice though, bestie! uhm... maybe learn to lock things? that wasn't really... uhm. ah! let me just edit this, don't worry i won't post it!"

leona kingscholar

leona was annoyed how he had to get out of his nap. however, your dorm was oddly very comfortable, and you invited him over. it won't hurt, right? he stalks the halls, annoyed how you didn't bother to see if he arrived.

hearing your footsteps, he heard some tunes and decided to open the door to your room. leona was about to complain when you both were caught in a stare down of a very explicit pose. you were quiet and tried to make yourself decent before

*slam* leona closed the door. he was appalled and a bit too invested in the pose you just did. his tail was swishing around and he tried to avoid the heat building up, "what a show" he thought

"if you're gonna invite me to do that, wine and dine me first, herbivore. as a prince, i expect better" he teased

vil schoenheit

vil was expecting that you'd remember his promise of pampering. as vil walked to your room, he was wondering why you haven't noticed the way he nagging. vil made sure his voice was heard.

imagine his horror when he bursts the door open and see such a vulgar display of yourself towards him, though he did have to give where credit is due. you performed well and... got the reaction you wanted.

"hmm. not bad, that did get a reaction from me. ah, i got bested once more" vil thought as you scramble to be more decent, vil's glare causing you to hurry up. but that didn't stop the song to continue playing.

"horny? potato, what are these songs? hm, but your performance... i have some strong words" vil said as he listened in, you blush and turned it off.

rook hunt

let's be honest, he was watching the whole performance. your invitation was just a signal of when he will arrive at your door. he notes each note and decided to watch the spectacular performance up close.

as rook bursts through your door, he was blushing at the fact he realized that the innuendos were becoming serious. he was shocked to see you in such a pose. but that pose!

"ah, such perfect angles. if only i could've captured this moment, what a waste!" he thinks as he tries to take in the view of your pose.

"ah! my dear prefect! what a show! and that pose, such grace and vulgarity! and what's this? you are willing to try it?" rook said with so much enthusiasm. you glare.

idia shroud

he was honestly just about to ask something but that question died when he entered the room. he was floored when all you did was something not even his idols would dare to do.

idia didn't know what to do but panic and yelp as you try to calm him down in case he'd faint (he was close to doing so). your pose was now ingrained in his mind, he can't remove how your eyes and...

"oh sevens! oh sevens! that was so?!! oh im... is it obvious?!" idia panics as he pulls down his hoodie before overheating and tripping to the door.

"stupid... you should've locked the door. now i forgot why am i even here and-" idia tried to push his hoodie and hide somewhere

malleus draconia

he was excited to see you as he heard how you were singing and performing, he found the first lyrics odd, but he was strolling with ease. malleus just wanted to check up on you, and the shock he felt when you were posing

at first, he tried to be reasonable. but as his ears cannot deceive him, and his eyes too. he was shocked and speechless and the way you were displayed. you gasp and realize you nearly flashed the strongest one among the student body.

"how do i tell my child of man the implications of their words and actions?" malleus worries as he felt the blush creep in at the awkward situation they were in. he coughed and offered some space as he stood in front of the door

"does that mean... no. but ah, i can't have such feelings just yet. what enchantment has my dear done?" malleus said embarrassed.

lilia vanrouge

lilia was like rook, he saw it from a mile away. however, unlike rook, he was willing to not barge in. lilia calmly stalked you and appeared upside by your door. however, he was shocked and nearly fell at the display.

that pose and flirty tone was enough to cause such scandals. you yelp and try to stand up as quick as you can as lilia giggled at the notion. he went down on the ground and tried to calm your frantic explanations, humming alongside the song. he found it good.

"oh! that is quite a display. hmm, do they know how scandalous they are being right now? and quite the nice melody over something so raunchy." lilia giggled as he smirked as the song played on.

"quite the scandal, dear. keep the door locked next time, fufufufu~ though, i must say, the song is quite a treat. i would love to learn it on my guitar, i can hear that guitar solo after~"