#you know when everything is just too much

[certifiedyapperx]

imagine you’re dating ghost and no one knows. the two of you have kept it a secret on your end and his just for your protection— because ghost knows what could happen if someone finds out, how someone might try and target you to get to him, or worse, given his line of work.

but then imagine that he’s on a mission, interrogating some piece of filth ready to decorate the fucking wall with his brain matter when the guy says “you know what, simon, killing me would be the biggest mistake of your life.”

immediately ghost would pause, eyes narrowed, though his hardened demeanour wouldn’t fade much, he’d just blankly stare at the prick like “oh yea? n’ why don’ you tell m’ why.”

the shit-eating grin that would crawl across that fuckers lips would have ghost ready to kill him right then and there, but then he’d say “reach in my pocket. pull out my phone.”

id like to think ghost would have absolutely none of this assholes bullshit, not at all entertained by his theatrics. i’d like to think he’d just press the muzzle of his gun to the fuckers temple within an instant, all teeth barred and ready to get it over with when the guy would add,

“your girlfriend is a fucking beauty, isn’t she?”

everything would pause. ghost, time, the world, air, the universe itself—the life that would drain from ghosts face would almost be enough to make his alias a reality. his heart pounding in his throat, his fingers fucking trembling as he immediately reached into the assholes pocket to find his phone—a picture of a woman tied up (face not in view however) lighting up on the home screen. there’d be no thinking rationally, no thoughts in ghosts head except for making sure you were fucking okay. he’d do whatever he’d have to do, kill the guy, leave him strapped there, whatever—he’d be out of that room in two seconds flat and personally flying the helicopter back to your house calling you nonstop every fucking second until you answered.

“hello? si?”

he’d wait a second before answering. taking everything in. background noises, the inflection of your voice. it sounds calm, maybe too calm? he’s grasping his phone so fucking hard it’s a miracle it hasn’t shattered between his fingers.

“princess,” he breathes, fighting with everything in him to keep his voice steady. “see any birds today?”

though it was a genuine question, it also was an established one. ghost had set up a series of questions for a situation precisely like this. if you said blue jay, it meant you were fine, at home, as usual. if you said crows, it meant you weren’t.

“oh just the usual blue jays, si.” he could almost hear the smile on your lips. “everything okay? i miss you.”

ghost would exhale a shattered breath. “i’m coming home.”

and then he’d show up, not all but a few hours later, hands still trembling slightly, heart rate still struggling to regulate. it was too much, reminding him too much of his past traumas, he knew he needed to find better protection for you, but that was a conversation for another time.

he’d come in the house, barely even taking the time to shut the door behind him, almost frenzied again, relentless, unable to relax until he could finally lay eyes on you. and then, the second he did, he’d just pause and look at you, all messy hair and pyjamas still on, in the kitchen cooking breakfast for you both since you knew he was on his way.

and he wouldn’t say a goddamn word, he’d just come up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, hugging you so tight you’d hardly be able to breathe, his face buried in your hair and his heart thumping at your back. you’d feel the pain the fear the anxiety radiating off him and you wouldn’t try to say anything because you knew he needed this, you knew he needed to see you, hold you, feel your pulse stable and alive. you knew he just needed a moment to breathe.

and so the two of you would stand there like that for a while, and then he’d take a big inhale and spin you around to face him, pulling up his mask to plant soft kisses on your jaw.

“i love you so fuckin’ much.”

[nereidprinc3ss]

hi!!! here for a request. can we have a imagine where reader has a wound from surgery or whatever on like in a rib and she hides to change the bandages but then spencer sees her and he’s like ‘lemme help you’ and…

you do you for the rest!

in which spencer helps BAU fem!reader change her bandages in the bathroom at work. it's intimate, and he's adorable and awkward, and it only fuels her terrible, terrible crush.

warnings/tags: fluff, talk/description of wound, brief talk of being stabbed (does not actually occur in this fic lol), reader wears a bra, spencer undoes said bra but not sexually, lots of suggestive humor and teasing, a TINY sprinkling of angst but not really, idiots in love

a/n: i'm picturing early seasons spencer and it is filling me with so much unbridled joy. I. LOVE. HIM. thank you for the request!! and lets not talk about how inconsistent my formatting for requests is pls and thanks!!

It’s not like you meant to bend down so quickly that your wound reopened—but here you are, suffering the consequences of your actions in the women’s bathroom at Quantico as you try to assess the injury before you re-bandage it. And your shoe is still untied. 

Unfortunately, the fact that you had quite literally been stabbed in the back last week makes it hard to reach said injury—especially when you’re at work and so can’t take off your shirt like you normally would. And all this struggling means it’s taking longer than it should, so now you’re focused on the wound and its scabby, wet edges and all the things it’s secreting rather than hurrying to give another statement of the entire event to Hotch since the first one had apparently been too sparse on the details. 

A knock sounds on the open door. Spencer calls your name. 

“You in there?”

The angle of your neck has your voice slightly strained as you call back, “yeah, what’s up? Is it Hotch?” you pause to hiss as you accidentally scratch at the wound with a nail. You don’t even want to know how much bacteria you just introduced to it. “Tell him I didn’t forget our meeting, I’ll be there in—”

“It’s not Hotch. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with your back? I know you said you were going to check on it, but you’ve been in there a while.”

You sigh, dropping your sore arm as you continue to hold up your shirt with the other and regarding the reflection of your back in the mirror. 

“Actually—could you come in here?”

There’s a pause. 

“You want me to come into the women’s restroom?”

“Yes, Spencer. It’s fine. There’s nobody else in here. I just… I need some help, I think.”

The last part is admitted quietly, with an air of defeat. To admit to needing help, is, by your standards, the same as failure. Spencer knows this, which is probably the only reason he puts aside his hesitations and shuffles uncertainly into the tiled room. If you’re asking for help, it’s because you really need it. 

“What do you need help with?” he asks, sweeping his gaze suspiciously around the lavatory as if you were lying about there not being any other women present and this whole thing might be a trap of some sort. 

“It’s gross, and you can totally say no.”

He raises his brows expectantly, before spotting the weeping wound on your back. Unconsciously he steps closer, leaning forward. It’s not your fault, and the gore is not specific to you—anyone’s body would react this way to being stabbed. But you still feel embarrassed by the close attention to such an ugly marring, which nobody besides you and your doctors has actually seen up close.

“That doesn’t look good,” he mutters. The expression on his face is irritatingly familiar—the drawn brows, tightened eyes, barely parted lips—but it takes a moment before you realize what it is. 

“Reid,” you complain. He’s still stooped over slightly to examine the wound, and looks up at you through dark lashes with those infuriatingly warm puppydog eyes.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me the way you look at a dead body on the slab.”

His nose scrunches.

Some might say it scrunches adorably. 

“No, I’m not. That’s just my face.”

“Okay, well stop. It’s freaking me out.”

He pouts—actually pouts. Subtle, but bottom lip jutted out and all. It’s ridiculously endearing. 

“My face freaks you out?”

“Wh—no! That’s not what I said! You have—you have a great face! I didn’t mean—” 

You manage to claw yourself out of the hole you’re digging when you see the dopey smile growing on his face. 

Oh. He was fucking with you. 

He never used to do that. It’s unnerving to be the fucked with instead of the fucker for a change. Especially when it’s Spencer. 

“What did you need me for?” Spencer asks by way of peace offering. You close your eyes and sigh, attempting to collect your thoughts without his presence re-scrambling them.  

“Um—I just need you to put this bandage over it. I can’t reach without taking my shirt off.”

And now you’re forced to wonder if he’s thinking about you shirtless as much as you’re thinking about you shirtless.

“Yeah—don’t do that,” he says absentmindedly, stepping again closer to get a better look before turning to the nearest sink.

For some reason, this offends you. 

“Why not?”

Spencer pulls another face as he washes his hands—you love the constant flow of expressions he always seems so unconscious of. Even when they’re not pleasant and directed at you.  

“Are you asking me why shouldn’t you take your shirt off?” he clarifies. 

“I know why I shouldn’t take my shirt off, but I want to know why you think I shouldn’t take my shirt off.”

“Because we’re at work?” he observes astutely. You frown deeply at his completely logical reply. Spencer chuckles as he dries his hands and approaches once more, taking the square of gauze pre-lined with medical tape from your hand. “I mean, I can’t stop you. But it would be kind of a weird choice.”

“Oh, so me shirtless is weird?”

Cool fingers meet the comparatively hot skin of your back—where everything is still sensitive because the wound wreaked havoc on your nerves there. You flinch slightly. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs gently. Though his touch is so incredibly light it doesn’t really hurt—it hurts much less than when you’re tending to the wound, anyway. It’s almost soothing. After a moment he continues, a bit louder. “And that is not what I was saying. But I am completely comfortable asserting that it would be weird for you to be shirtless at work.”

The gentle touches contrast with his teasing words and serve to disorient you as you’re shaken back in to your usual dynamic. Which is markedly more sarcastic. 

“Well—”

Before you have to think of something to say, Spencer interrupts you. 

“Your, um—I think your… brassiere… is in the way.”

As soon as he says it you burst out laughing. It echoes through the room. 

“My brassiere? Are you actually 70 years old?”

His brows knit even tighter and his face gets very pink very quickly. He can’t meet your eyes over your shoulder. 

“That’s what it’s called.”

“Spencer, you may be the first person to use that word since 1952. Say bra.”

“I don’t want to,” he complains. Your laughter only grows as your head tips back. 

“Why? How is brassiere better than bra?”

“It’s—it’s too colloquial! I’m trying to be professional!”

“Call it a bra or I’m going to rub my dirty hands all over my back,” you threaten, adopting a poker face so he knows you mean business. His eyes widen immediately. 

“Oh my god! Bra! Do you want to introduce staph and meningitis and g—do not do that!”

“See? How hard was that?”

“I hate you,” he mumbles, face still flushed and adorable. “And you still have to take it off.”

“Excuse me?” you grin, pretending to be affronted because you know he didn’t mean it like that but it’s fun to pretend he did. Fun for you, of course. Not so much for him. He's utterly flustered by this point.

“Or at least undo it! It’s in the way.”

With a deeply bored sigh, you go to unclasp your bra—but as you go to do it your shirt drops down. You grimace, humor briefly forgotten as the fabric brushes the damaged skin. 

“I can’t—”

“Okay, just—I’ll do it,” Spencer says. “Just move your shirt again.”

So you do, watching his reflection as he works.

And you have not one joke to break the heavy silence with as you feel his knuckles gently pressing into the middle of your back, as he unclasps the bra with his characteristic tenderness and a surprising amount of agility. It’s quiet except for your pulse in your own ears as he carefully pushes it out of his way, holding it down with a hand to your rib cage and fingertips slipping just under the fabric of your shirt—unintentionally and certainly non-sexual, no doubt, but skimming under your heart in a way that still feels so intimate you’re realizing how touch-starved you are. 

“You do that often?” you find yourself asking, because you’re stupid, and you need to cool the tension before it chokes you, and you can’t help yourself even though you don’t actually want to know the answer. 

“I,” he begins, voice quiet as rustling paper, tongue darting over his lip and eyes narrowed. The sentence stalls as he focuses on placing the patch just so. “Do not think that is an appropriate workplace question.”

Something aches in the pit of your stomach. 

Something resembling jealousy. 

It was not the timid evasive linguistic maneuver of someone who is insecure about the thing they’re discussing. It was not the awkward fumbling no but I don’t want to tell you that which you were expecting from Spencer Reid. 

Nor is it an easy yes—an admission between friends. He doesn’t want to tell you. 

You swallow and try to act like yourself. 

“Yet here you are, in the woman’s restroom at our place of employment, undoing my bra. I think we’re past professionalism.”

“When you decontextualize it like that it sounds like something it’s not. This is professional, because I’m helping you with a wound you sustained on the job. I’m being a good colleague.”

Your lips twist into a smile he can’t see. 

“A great colleague would kiss it better.”

“It's almost like you want me to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR," he says through a little smirk as he smooths the bandage over. Before you can snip back, he steamrolls over his own teasing—you’ve both been speaking in almost reverent tones since he started but his voice loses the sarcastic edge from a second before and reverts back to concerned and sweet. “Does that feel okay?”

You rotate your shoulders best you can without letting go of your shirt or flashing the good doctor to check if it feels secure.  

“It’s good. And hey—if I were going to sexually harass you I would do a lot better than that. You think that’s my best material? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I keep so many inappropriate comments to myself. You’d be shocked by some of the things I have almost said to you.”

He laughs, secures the band of your bra and begins fitting it to the clasp you’d had it on—and at that precise moment Emily walks in. 

“H—woah.”

“It’s—I’m—I was helping her!” Spencer panics, immediately removing his hands from you like his palms are burning and holding them up defensively. 

“Oh, you helped me alright,” you tease, pulling your shirt back into place. 

“Don’t say it like that!” And then, to Emily, “I was changing out her bandage!”

“Changing my bandage,” you emphasize, winking more than is advisable. 

“That’s—this is a hostile work environment! I feel unsafe!” Spencer almost yells, half laughs, as he scampers towards the door. “I’m going to HR!”

“Shut up! You love it!”

His laughter audibly travels farther away for several moments as he presumably goes back down the hallway to do his actual job. 

You have the stupidest grin on your face, but you wipe it off when you notice Emily staring. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head and looking away, moving toward a stall. “You’re just… you guys are funny.”

“What do you mean funny?” You demand, standing right outside her stall as she closes it. 

“Wh—I mean funny! Are you going to listen to me pee, you weirdo?”

You frown. 

She makes a good point. 

Unfortunately, giving Hotch a more detailed statement is just as bad as you’d thought it’d be. Despite how cheery you’ve tried to remain about the whole situation, despite the way you insisted that the wound was so shallow you didn’t need more than a few days off work, despite the jokes you make about forgetting it’s even there because it’s on your back—it’s hard not to remember exactly how the glass felt twisting under your skin, how you’d felt suddenly so hot and lightheaded and sick to your stomach and the way Morgan hollered because he didn’t know how deep it had gone after you crumpled quick from shock, when you’re asked to describe it all in excruciating detail. 

It only takes ten minutes, but they seem to drag on and on and by the time you’re leaving Hotch’s office you feel utterly drained. You hurry back to your desk, covertly wiping away moisture that you refuse to allow to become tears. Once seated, and having dodged sympathetic looks and avoided any do you want to talk about its, you allow yourself a few deep breaths with your eyes shut. 

When you open them, you realize there’s a fresh cup of your favorite tea on your desk, in the Snoopy mug the team is always fighting over. Now his little black nose is covered by a square of yellow paper. You’re already smiling as you peel away the sticky note and hold it closer. 

On it is an adorably odd smiley-face, and a note in familiar, messy looping scrawl. 

I would never report you to HR beautiful

That would be a stab in the back!

You snort loudly and clap a hand to your mouth—but you’ve already drawn the attention of almost everyone in the bullpen. 

When you turn to look at Spencer, he’s not looking back. Instead, his eyes are firmly trained on his computer screen. But he’s got his chin propped on his fist over the desk, and his knuckles are doing a poor job of concealing a giant self satisfied grin. He is the only person on the team who knows you well enough to make such a distasteful joke. And he also knows you well enough to know that it would make you feel so much better after your meeting with Hotch than all the well-meaning sincerity in the world ever could.

Funny. 

Maybe that is the right word for what you two are. 

[bi-writes]

thinking about being a new lieutenant working with laswell and getting to meet her a-team, tf141, and immediately clashing with your equivalent. that other lieutenant that wears a fucking costume and glares whenever he sees you, simon fucking riley. (kinda dark, 18+)

you hate him. you hate how good he does in the field. it sickens you when you see how every knife he throws hits its target with disgustingly perfect accuracy. you sneer when he aims his rifle, each bullet going exactly where he wants it to go because he's that fucking good, look at him, big man with a big fucking head and a big--

god, it's so frustrating to be out here for so long. on a cot, so far away from everything, reporting back to laswell and then spending time with a task force who is so intelligent on the field but shares one fucking brain cell off of it.

and it's so lonely. it's so lonely, and you feel so far away, and when you show up in front of ghost's room that evening, you don't even exchange words as he steps aside, letting you slink into the dark of it. you don't speak as he crowds you against the door, as he pushes you up against it, when he reveals the lower half of his face so he can kiss you and taste you in every way he's wanted to since he met you. you're so fucking annoying, you crawl under his skin, and when he tastes you, he sucks, his tongue tracing the inside of your mouth as he tugs his cargo pants just under his cock and hoists you up around his waist.

it's just stress relief, you tell yourself as he fucks you against the rattling door. i just need a little relief, is what you say to yourself as he mumbles against yours lips, gripping the fat of your hips in his big hands and putting his cock to good use. he's not gentle, but you don't want him to be. he's too good at what he does, you were hoping he would have fault in one fucking area of his life, but even like this, he shows you just how well he fucks and just how big he really is, everywhere.

please, please, please--! you beg. he snickers, and it's mean, and he's sucking a warm bruise into your neck when he mutters, "tha'sit, swee'eart. we both know who's really in charge, eh? yeah--yeah, good girl--y'r such a good girl--"

and you are. cum soaked thighs, your mouth still on his when he finally comes, grunting as he fills you so full, it's dripping onto your thighs, onto his, dampening the clothes neither of you bothered to take off. and when you leave, you tell yourself this will never happen again, that ghost will keep this a secret because he hates you just as much, that ghost is discreet and quiet and values his privacy, and if you don't speak of this again, neither will he. it suddenly comforts you how closed off he is.

so it does surprise you when the next morning comes, and you go to sit with your team to eat, that ghost snarls when you try and take a seat beside him. you expect this to be a rude gesture, but you squeak when he grips you around the waist and forces you into his lap. you stiffen, but his sergeants barely bat an eye. the braid of your hair is yanked backwards, and you gasp when you feel his breath against your ear, even through the mask.

"the casual shaggin' sort of deal? not m'thing, luvvie. now eat y'r breckie, swee'eart, 'm fuckin' hungry, and 'm not very patient."

he used to think having one of his sergeant's underneath him was the kind of power-play that got him right off.

wrong.

nothing like fucking a pretty little lieutenant good enough she can't fucking remember how to speak.

[slvttyplum]

masks are scary, right? the big ugly masks that jump out right in front of you, making your heart race and your blood pumping through you eagerly and a wet spot in your panties from arousal. that's what suguru caught onto when he tried scaring you with a ghost mask, emphasis on tried, because by the end of the night he was fucking you with the mask on.

suguru always tried to scare you when he could, whether that be to purposely come home early and wait in the dark, or just hide under the bed and grab your ankle. it was pure fun for the both of you, he loved seeing your pretty smile and hearing that laugh of yours once you realized it was him, that was until you threw him for a spin.

again suguru bought a mask and decided to scare you, nothing new besides the fact that when he jumped out to scare you, there was a smile on your face. your chest rising and falling, that's when he knew you were a little freak who got turned on by his scream mask, so he had to test out the waters more.

taking off his shirt to show you how he looked and that got you turned on even more, what was innocent fun turned into full-blown fucking. suguru didn't know whether to be turned on or scared, all he knew was that you looked sexy drooling over him in a mask.

it wasn't just the cliché scream mask that turned you on, making your cheeks warm and wanting to twist and turn with pleasure, it was the fact that suguru was the one under it. his long hair slipping out eh mask and his body on display for you, it was sexy, he didn't look like the original, yet he still gave off the scary aura that made your heart race and pussy wet.

to add on to the “act” he even got a little rough with you, one hand on your neck while he squeezed it while pushing deep inside of you and pressing into your lower stomach so that you could get overstimulated. the work he put in that particular night made your pussy drip to its core, it was too much, and you loved it, like role-play.

that's when suguru decided to do it occasionally, you never knew when he was going to pull out that mask and pin you down to the bed, it was a great surprise. he loved how your face got whenever he slid the mask on, your eyes lighting up and your thighs clenching together. he loved how you got scared for a moment, but the terror turned into you being turned on, he wanted to see that transformation in your face all the time.

chasing you around the house to add onto the terror, once he caught up to you, he would pick you up and throw you over his shoulder and walking you to the bedroom to fuck you stupid, this was everything you wanted and more. something that you never knew turned you on had you squirting back to back, and once he got tired he'll take off his mask and shower you with kisses.

it wasn't like the mask wasn't scary, sometimes when you stared at it too long you would think back to the popular movie and shudder but when he was pushing himself deep inside of you while spouting out dirty things, your brain couldn't think, pleasure was the only thing in your mind.

you could still tell that was your loving boyfriend under the mask fucking you crazy, making you cum until your legs were shaking, your toes were curling, and you were moaning out for him. the turning you around, fucking you even harder to see your ass bouncing back on him.

sometimes it's nice to try new things, even if it's scary.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hi!! could I request Argenti, Boothill and Jing Yuan when someone tries to flirt with their s/o? I absolutely adore your writing btw!! Hope you're doing good!!

Boothill

Has a bullet with their name written on it and it was in times like theses where he wishes his shit hadn’t been tampered with, just so he could curse the bastard out for merely brushing shoulders either you.

Words such as:

Mother fudger

Heck

And Gosh darn it

Weren’t exactly going to scare the person flirting with you off with their tail between their legs but threatening to shot them would. However after the person had scampered off, Boothill would be subjected to you scolding him about threatening people for simply flirting with you, when there were other ways to do so without the inclusion of unnecessary violence.

Boothill can’t help it! He hates it when people flirt with his darling and he isn’t one for sharing you either, he’d much rather hog all of your time and attention for himself! You were his partner! Not everyone else’s!

‘Boothill.’ You said warningly.

‘What?’ He said as he tugged you into his side, keeping his arm at your waist possessively. ‘He was getting a little too cosy and I had to remind that fudging idiot to keep his hands to himself.’ He adds with a smirk, stealing a kiss from your lips.

His jealously stems from his own hatred towards his metal body, you could find someone else who could feel you in your entirety beyond from their face and head, unlike him.

‘I get that and I thank you for running them off, but you know you don’t have to worry about me looking at anyone else.’ You reassured him as you held his face in your hands and watched as his smile falters and his featured relaxed into your touch. ‘You’re all I want, you’re all i’ll ever need regardless of your inability to physically feel.’ You then pressed your forehead against his, feeling him push himself further against you in a selfish need to feel you. ‘You’re my handsome, handsome cowboy.’ You whispered.

‘I am your handsome, handsome cowboy.’ He muttered under his breath.

Argenti

He’s not jealous in the slightest.

He’s the most trusting in the strength of your relationship and you to even allow for an ounce of doubt to permeate his thoughts.

If anything he’d agree with everything the person was saying about you while adding onto it, making the person feel as though their attempts at flirting with you were useless, especially when the cherry haired knight beside you was casually waxing poetry on your ethereal beauty.

‘Indeed they are a beauty to behold indeed.’ He’d say as he knelt before you and held your hands in his all the while making sure his eyes remained glued on you as he spoke. ‘I’d kneel before their alter for the rest of eternity if it meant achieving the impossible and catching their gaze, they truly are my reason for breathing, the reason I see beauty whenever I travel, as they are the true beauty I have been seeking for my whole life.’ He finishes by kissing the back of your hands softly, his thumbs caressing the skin there as though they were porcelain.

The person who was flirting with you left not long after because how could they compare with that?!

All they said was that you were cute and Argenti took that and made you come across as though you were a deity lost to time, finally having been found after so long.

They knew they couldn’t win and left for easier people to pull their mediocre pick up lines on.

Argenti is your Gomez, you are his Morticia. There was no one getting between you two because the love you had was stronger than most.

Jealousy doesn’t exist when you actually trust someone whom you claim is half of your own soul.

Jing yuan

He finds the face they make upon realising who’s s/o they’ve been flirting with particularly funny to be even remotely jealous.

Not to say that he doesn’t get jealous, he does but it’s not nearly as evident. He’s self assured in his relationship with you that he didn’t even think of the person flirting with you as a threat even in the slightest.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt your riveting conversation but I’d like my partner back now.’ He’d say as he stood behind the person flirting with you.

‘Look buddy I found them,’ the person looked behind them, and upon realising who was behind them, the words of annoyance were quickly discarded as they could only stare at a smiling Jing Yuan, ‘first…’

Jing yuan raised his brows as the Cheshire smile on his lips only grew at the evident regret across their face. ‘Hmmm? Cat got your tongue? You seem a bit pale, maybe you should go sit down and rest.’ He suggested and watched in amusement as the person didn’t fight back, but instead wordlessly followed his instruction and walked away for you both to go somewhere else.

‘You’re having too much fun with this.’ You’d tell Jing Yuan as he placed a hand on the small of your back and guided you out of the establishment.

‘What can I say, their expressions may be the same every time but that doesn’t stop them from being more humorous than the last.’ He replies with a chuckle as he presses a tender kiss to your forehead. ‘However I cannot blame them for finding you as appealing as I do if they’re so desperate as to flirt for your attention.’ He adds and you huff and crossed your arms. ‘As if you were any different.’

Jing yuan raised his brows, silently telling you to continue.

‘When you wanted my attention, you would sit next to me and rest your head on my shoulder before falling asleep.’ You added and Jing yuan chuckles. ‘I didn’t-‘

‘All. The. Time.’ You cut him off, emphasising each word that left your mouth. ‘Yangqing told me that you only did that to me, no one else got that special treatment from the all mighty general.’ You smirked at Jing Yuan who muttered a soft ‘Yangqing.’ under his breath as you held onto his side. ‘It doesn’t matter now because I thought it was extremely cute.’ You reassured him with a kiss to the cheek as you both walked home, tucked closely against one another, the events that happened prior having completely been forgotten as you reminisced the past.

[arieslost]

lando looking after his gf when shes coming down with a fever. she’s all dizzy and nauseous but he’s by her side, holding her up with his hand on her waist to guide her around the house so that her dizziness doesn’t take over and she flops onto the floor. i just think he would be such a sweetheart when his girl is ill

the way this was exactly how i felt on my birthday a couple weeks ago bc i had covid…

TW illness/dizziness!!!

he seems like the type of guy to be very attentive to his girl no matter what, but especially when she isn’t feeling well. he might panic internally, because he can’t immediately come up with a solution that will make her feel better, but he won’t let her see it.

he’ll be sitting with her on the couch, her legs resting over his lap, gently combing his fingers through her hair because she’d mumbled, “feels nice,” the words barely discernible as they passed through her pale lips. and he wants to do everything in his power to make her feel better.

“d’you want to go back to bed?” he’ll ask eventually, after watching her adjust her position on the couch a few times.

“i’m so dizzy,” she whispers, a hand coming up to press at her eyes, her forehead. “even just laying here, i’m so dizzy.”

“let me help you back to bed,” he suggests, slowly sitting up as to not jostle her too much. “i’m gonna put your legs down, okay? i’ll help you sit up and we’ll go from there.”

she lets him guide her with utmost trust, and he’ll bring up how special and loved that makes him feel another time when she’s feeling better. eventually he gets her on her feet, holding her still for a moment so she can get her bearings.

“don’t let go,” she says, voice monotone.

“never,” he promises, one hand firm on her hip and the other tightly grasped in her own. “i’ve got you.”

she doesn’t express her thanks until he has her gently laid in bed, a cool cloth resting on her forehead. he straightens up for a moment in order to figure out how to best join her without disturbing her newfound peace, and she reaches for his hand again.

“lan?”

“yeah?”

“thank you for taking care of me,” she says quietly.

his heart melts at the sight of her, some color returning to her face as she holds onto him.

“always, baby.” he replies, kissing the top of her head.

and she knows that, when he inevitably ends up in her position a few days later, she’ll say the same exact thing to him.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Sleep II

Katrina Gorry x Teen!Reader

Summary: You forget your medication

The first and only warning flag that Mini needed was you and Kyra pulling pranks.

You'd always been a bit easily influenced by the older girls but you usually didn't get involved with pranks unless you hadn't done one thing that was meant to be second nature at this point.

So, as Mini watches you run your laps as punishment, she sighs.

"She's off her meds," She says in explanation to Charli, who is sitting nearby.

"Huh?"

"Her adhd meds," Mini elaborates as she watches Kyra try to trip you. You just barely keep your balance and immediately try to get revenge by shoving her over.

"Is she allowed to be off them?"

"I mean, technically, yes. It doesn't really matter if she misses a few doses but I don't think she's taken any this entire camp." Mini sighs as she stands, stretching out her leg before grabbing you by the back of the shirt as you jog past.

"Hey!" You complain," I still have two more!"

"Nope. Back to your room, please." She keeps her orders short so you can follow along. "Go straight in and shower. I'll be up to see you shortly."

"But-"

"Into your room," Mini insists," And shower. I will up soon."

"Fine."

You'd grown accustomed to listening to Katrina's orders. As soon as you came to live with her and Clara, you'd been put into a routine that you hadn't ever had before.

Your parents were always working and rarely home. You'd grown used to doing what you wanted, when you wanted. You hadn't even had a bedtime before moving into Mini's house and it came as a shock to you when she began to enforce one.

It had been extended a little during camp but not by too much and you were usually in bed way before anyone else in the team. It was a little annoying and everyone teased you but you didn't mind.

You didn't really cling to your routines as much at camp and really, that should have been the other sign that told Mini what she needed to know.

She's not at all surprised when she sees you lounging on your bed on your phone with no indication that you had even thought about showering.

"Shower," She says to you," Go on. In the shower."

You nod. "Yeah. Just one sec-"

"No," She insists," Now."

"But-"

"You need to shower before dinner. You know this. If you don't do this now then you won't do it later."

You frown. "I thought you wanted to talk to me."

"I do," Mini says plainly," But you need to shower first." She jerks her chin to the bathroom. "Go on. Wash you hair too."

You make a face. "I don't like wet hair."

"We've got plenty of time before dinner. Wash you hair and I'll dry it for you."

"But-"

She gives you a pointed look and you nod, shuffling into the bathroom with a towel and a change of clothes.

Mini waits briefly before relaxing when she hears the shower start running, digging around in your drawers for where you've stashed your hairdryer. You swear that you always know where it is despite it always being in a different place when Mini looks so after several minutes of searching, she manages to find it and plug it in.

It takes a while for you to return but when you do, you sit in front of her as she blow dries your hair, brushing it through once it's all dry.

"So," Mini says finally," You haven't been taking your medication."

"That's scary," You reply," Do you just know everything?"

Mini laughs. "It's the mum instincts but, really. What's up with that? Did you forget to grab a refill before we left?"

Usually Clara is the one to take you to refill your prescription but she had been busy during the week before camp and you hadn't really thought about it until a few days before.

You shrug.

"Camp isn't that long," You explain," I didn't think it would matter."

"You don't have to take your medication if you don't want to. We can find alternatives," Mini says with a hum as she pulls the brush through your hair again," Do you want to come off your medication?"

"No." You shake your head, turning it so you can look back at her. "I just forgot. Promise. It won't happen again."

Mini searches your face for a lie but it's clear to her that you're being truthful.

"Okay," She says," But stick close to me this time. I don't want Kyra being a bad influence.

"Why not?" You whine.

She grins at you. "Because you're entirely too susceptible to joining her schemes."

[dazai-ritualist]

ONLY BOUGHT THIS DRESS SO YOU COULD TAKE IT OFF

— alastor + vox + adam’s fashion preferences on their significant other. gn!

— alastor

alastor finds anything that compliments your figure to be gorgeous. he can’t be upset when you’re confident in yourself.

though, if you’re really asking, he can’t be dishonest, can he? he adores formal wear. cocktail dresses, suits, waistcoats, gowns, the way they hold a certain elegance is something that just can’t be matched.

the way they hug your waist is simply too attractive, all he wants to do is eat you up. a beautiful sight like you would most definitely be a feast. not that he was thinking of eating you!

true, it’s not the most practical of clothes to be worn on the daily— but, it’s still a delectable treat once in a while.

“sweetheart, are you ready?” alastor asks, knocking on the door. “we must hurry, the opera waits for no one!” he laughs as he opens the door. and when he does, he is pleasantly surprised to see the outfit you’ve chosen for tonight.

the way formal wear compels you to carry yourself with poise and confidence is something that simply makes you all the more attractive to him.

“my, my! look what the cat dragged in!” alastor joked. “you look ravishing, dear. are you ready?” he asked. he walked over to you as he took hold of your hips, running his claws up and down the fabric and silently admiring your figure.

“mhm!” you nodded. “lovely.” he grins, holding his cane in one hand, and wrapping his arm tightly around your waist in the other.

as you walked, there was something off about alastor. he truly did hide it well, but there was definitely something bothering him.

his breath, quiet as ever, was heavy and reeking of desire. and, his body temperature was off the charts, as if he had been running a fever.

“alastor, are you alright?” you looked to your side. “of course, i am! simply excited for the show, that’s all!” alastor said, clearing his throat. “really? you’re kind of burning up, and you’re breathing heavily…” you noted.

alastor fell silent, choosing the best way to respond. “i’d suggest you not ask that, love.” he warned. “any further, and i may just eat you up!” he grinned as he left a kiss on your cheek, tightening his grip on you.

“oh? should i hold you to that promise?” you teased back at him. “hmph, don’t test your luck.” he shook his head in perplexity. “tell me, would you like to be cooked slow-roasted or braised?” alastor asked, to your shock.

alastor clearly enjoyed your reaction, laughing quite loudly. “wh— i’d like to not be cooked at all!” you frowned. “hmm… fine. only because you’re so sweet.” he shrugged in surrender.

— vox

vox loves everything elegant. whether it be a flowing dress, or a well-fitted suit, it gets him hungry. hungry for you, that is.

the way they accentuate every little curve and muscle is just so appealing to him, he just can’t help his hands to himself!

elegance simply compliments your body so sweetly, he wants to show off his little treat from heaven to everyone who’ll listen. this may or may not be the reason he brings you to every event.

“do i really have to go to this?” you frown as you lounge on your bed, waiting for vox to get ready. “‘course you do. you’re mine, and i have to show you off.” he grinned, straightening his bowtie as the finishing touch.

“come on. everyone’s awaiting our appearance.” he said, coercing you and pulling you up from bed with both arms. “urgh, fine…” you groaned, finally getting up.

vox rested his hands on your shoulder and hip respectively, taking in the sweet sights. “christ, you look sexy as hell…” vox sighed out, biting the side of his bottom lip.

“you know… i wouldn’t mind so much if we… missed tonight, and had some fun..?” he raised an eyebrow, looking you up and down. “pssh, after i already got ready? no thanks.” you teased “maybe tonight instead if you want me so bad.” you rolled your eyes at him.

vox frowned at your rejection. “fine, that might just bite you in the ass later.” he threatened, playfully slapping your behind, and pulling you along by the waist.

— adam

adam loves anything that shows your skin. short skirts, crop tops, tight denim jeans, no sleeves. anything that brings attention to your assets, it’s all super sexy to him.

the fact that you’re confident enough in yourself to wear such tight-fitting clothes is so downright hot, it might just encourage him to do some… sinful acts, to say the least.

still, adam is quite possessive when it comes to you. as much as he loves you in revealing outfits, these are for his eyes only. no one else gets to see this but him.

that still doesn’t stop him from having you perform a little show for him. for his eyes exclusively.

“holy shit… you look so fuckin’ hot, babe!” adam let out, sucking in his breath as he pulls you into his lap. “do i really have to wear this..? it’s kind of uncomfortable, adam…” you pouted.

“oh, don’t worry, baby.” he comforted you, petting your hair gently. “soon enough you’ll be taking it off anyway.” he said with a cocky grin, proud of such a dirty line.

“pssh, don’t say something like that. that’s just inappropriate.” you rolled your eyes at him. “heyy… but, don’t you like it? you can’t deny that, can you, angel?” he grinned.

and, as you glared incredulously at him, he started moving his hands. his grabby hands began moving anywhere that was left exposed— your arms, thighs, and waist. his fingers traced every vein, curve, and muscle, giving you a sneak peak of what he could do.

“come on, babe…” he said, coercing you further. “you know i could show you a good time.” he grinned.

adam could feel you growing weak under his touch, encouraging him further. he started to leave open-mouthed kisses all over your collarbones.

“just let me show you a good time…” he said, running a hand over your thighs.

“…fine.”

[azullumi]

“affection weaves into the letters on your screen” ; aventurine and ratio

premise — messages and calls between you and him.

content tags — w/ gender-neutral reader, established relationship, fluff, texts and messages, not proofread, 0.8k ; headcanons

note — i needed something easy and nice because everything has been too stressful

If there’s one constant thing about AVENTURINE is that he is an avid fan of messaging, texting, or whatever the proper term for that is. No matter where he is and what he’s doing, he’ll always find the time to type in a message for you and press send—it could be about anything, from the random thing he’ll see while he’s walking which he thinks you’ll be interested in to how his day is going and possibly, ranting about it. The only time he’ll be inactive is when he’s in the middle of something, like completely and utterly busy that he couldn’t pick up his phone to check up on you or update you on what he’s doing.

Would use the most out of everything; calls, voice messages, attachments, everything. He’ll use stickers whenever he can and would use those silly emoticons because why not? He’s very expressive overall; it’s like you can hear his voice, see his expression, and the gestures he’ll do over the screen. 

PHOTOS !! There are new ones added to the shared gallery of your conversations with him every single day. He sees something cool? He takes a photo. He’s currently having a meal? No questions asked, he’ll take a photo. The critters are in this silly position? The camera is pointed at them already and the image of them in a circle while seemingly discussing something is sent. He’ll send selfies of himself throughout the day and he’s the type to pose with random things; there was a time he sent you a photo of himself holding a potted plant (he said it was an addition to his office and he thought you should know). It’s ridiculous, you may say, but he can’t contain the smile on his face when you send a photo back.

Occasionally, it’s videos that he sends.

It’s the late night calls and messages. Aventurine has sleeping problems, struggling to fall or stay asleep no matter how much he physically exhausts himself, so when worse comes to worst and it’s already midnight yet there’s no ounce of anything that makes his eyes heavy, he’ll message you—asking if you’re still awake and if you’re doing anything. It’s your voice that guides him to his dreams, gentle and delicate as a lullaby; by then, you’ll receive no response from him as you call for his name and you’ll have to whisper to him goodnight as he sleeps.

BONUS : on the topic of calls, he likes spending time with you in silence as you do your own thing while he also does his own. Your presence is enough to comfort him and keep him grounded.

VERITAS RATIO is not much of a texter and if he does send you a message, it’s mostly about engineering designs for a machine, requesting that you give him a set of questions if he needs something to simulate his weary brain, sending you links to a sign-up form for a debate that is occuring, or proposals for a certain project as he asks for your input. There are times you’ll find yourself debating with him—all just casual and he won’t throw a chalk at you. However, the line of your conversation between you and him is short and is separated by intervals; he just prefers talking in person or over calls. 

He’s probably the fastest typer you know but he rarely ever makes typos, like ever. He types strictly and formally with proper capitalization and punctuations with the mixture of the words that would require you to bring out a dictionary to understand, always starting his sentence with an uppercase and ending it with a period. It feels like you’re having a corporate or business meeting whenever you’re talking to him due to how formal he is over text (you can probably hear his voice whenever you read his messages too).

“DRYEST TEXTER IN THE UNIVERSE EVER” some would say and maybe you too, however, there are traces of sweetness and affection in your (short) conversations with him. He’s the one to greet you first in the morning, so expect that the moment the sun has risen, there’s a message notification from him displayed on the screen on your phone—the time you’ll rise from your bed, your sleeping and wake-up patterns are embedded in his mind and he ensures that you always wake up with a good morning. 

In note with that, sometimes, you’ll find yourself wondering if he even thinks of you, if you occasionally appear inside his mind and distract him from his work—doubt begins to muddle your thoughts. However, you must remember that he’ll always send you reminders throughout the day, telling you of the agenda you have planned for the afternoon which you told him once or twice the day before, reminding you to finish this task you’ve been procrastinating on, or just simply telling you to take a break or to eat something (especially when he knows that you don’t take care of yourself).

Be kind to yourself, will you? He looks out for you and cares for you a lot even if you may think otherwise.

EXTRA : doesn’t call and is not exactly a fan of it, however, if his phone were to ring and he sees it’s you calling for him, he wouldn’t hesitate to answer it.

tagging the one and only amazing and lovely @toorurs 🗣️ first of all, i’m sorry that i haven’t replied to your tiktoks when i told you i will (plsdonthateme) and second, i actually dont have a second thing to say. anywaysss!! i think we’ve both been busy these days or maybe it’s just me (sorry finals are approaching) but do know that no matter what happens i still treasure and love you as a friend ‼️ i saw this one plant in our trip yesterday and i remembered you i dont know why i think it’s because it was pretty and the color reminded me of you 🫶🏼 but yeah, keep on doing amazing things and amazing works (DONT DIE FELI THE WORLD WILL LOSE AN ANGEL) !! you’ve become one of my most favorite people ever and remember that i will always be here for youu mwa

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[beenbaanbuun]

periods w/ choi san

so i said a while ago about san being a human hot water bottle right? and i’ve just started my period and the cramps are cramping… for some reason the first thought to pop into my head was boyfriend san just being so cosy to cuddle up to. let me just…

so periods suck and they hurt and they make you feel like shit for a few days but san is a gentleman and if he notices his partner in pain, goddammit he will do everything in his power to fix that. and while he cant magically wave a want and make it all go away, he certainly can help with the small things.

“you still hurting, sugarplum?” he coos as he walks to the sofa with two mugs of cocoa in hand. he sets them down on the coffee table before flopping down onto the couch beside you and wrapping you up tightly in his thick, cosy arms. you let out a contented moan as you snuggle further into his chest, finally letting yourself relax now your love is close. “you took those painkillers 40 minutes ago… they should have kicked in by now, right?”

you nod against him as you let your eyes flutter closed. his warmth sinks into your skin, settling deep within your muscles and taking away some of the aches you’ve been feeling all day.

“don’t know why they’ve not worked,” you slur against his chest, face pressed too firmly against his pecs for any of the words you’re saying to come out comprehensible. you hear san chuckle above you before pressing a firm kiss against your hair. he holds it for a few seconds, inhaling your scent deeply as if he’s trying to fill up all his senses with you. “you help, though.”

“oh?” he queries as he pulls away, “i help, do i?”

you nod, “you’re warm… my own boyfriend-sized hot water bottle.”

there’s a rumble through his chest as he chuckles. it’s a nice sound, lulling you deeper into the state of relaxation you’d found yourself in. it’s even more soothing when he slides a hand between your bodies, resting it on your lower stomach where he knows your cramps hit the worst. your body practically turns limp in his grasp as he gradually begins to massage the flesh that sits there.

“does that help?” he asks as if he doesn’t already know the answer. as if you’re not acting like a kitten in his lap, curled up and purring as you bury your face in his soft sweater. he laces his other hand through your hair, petting you like he would a real cat.

“helps so much,” you barely manage to mumble out.

“then i’ll carry on…”

[helenanell]

A Breath Of Life || Part Two

 Part One 

Pairing(s) :  Reader x Art – Reader x Tashi - Reader x Art x Tashi

CW: MDNI - Smut. Infidelity (kind of?). So much love and lust. ANGST. Manipulative behaviour. 

Notes: Fem!Reader, No use of y/n. This is really just me exploring my own bisexual panic some more.  Spoilers for the film.

Wordcount: 4.2K

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

The moment you won the match that sealed your victory at Wimbledon,  the applause was rapturous.

And yet, Tashi’s triumphant shout was louder to you than hundreds of clapping hands. 

The sound of her celebration became yours, and when you let out a yell of your own, your racket falling from your hands, you became one with her. 

After that, her eyes did not leave you. You didn’t look but you knew it to be true, just as you knew the sun was shining onto your shimmering skin; Tashi was an incomprehensible being bearing down on you. 

When you lifted the Venus Rosewater Dish above your head–the silver trophy given to the women’s single’s winner–your smile was beatific. Not because of the rush of adrenalin, or the way your spirit had been buoyed by finally achieving what you knew you could, but feared you wouldn’t, but because you knew that in your victory Tashi had found her own. 

It had taken over a decade, but together you’d realised your dream. 

You knew deep down that you could have made it without her, but it would have been tasteless; a honeyed feast turning to ash in your mouth.

Achieving the title with Tashi by your side had turned everything technicolour. All of your senses were heightened and your sense of self revitalised. 

You lived for tennis and Tashi had helped that life become something glorious. 

When you stepped off the court it felt like a kind of conquest: your domain now stretched beyond the white lines that had so far confined you. You had taken more than a trophy, you had stolen space in people’s consciousness.

 You would not fade into the annals of time because your name had been recorded- it was to be engraved in metal which would be buffed into an unmissable shine. 

Even as you stepped into the plush locker room, you knew the winning moment was already being replayed and analysed. It made you smile to think that as commentators noted your form, they were publicly voicing the effects of Tashi’s coaching on you, to the entire world. 

You felt burned by her, but not as if she had branded you, rather that she had subjected you to such heat, that the very makeup of your body had been altered. 

Now, you're sitting on the wooden bench in the locker room with your head hanging low, sweat still dripping from your face when the door opens. 

You shoot to your feet, your beleaguered body screaming at you to slow down.

When you turn, you find Art standing in front of the now closed door. 

The sight of him takes away your breath. 

He is here too. 

In your greatest moment of euphoria, when you’ve never felt more tangible–more real–you get to be near him. Suddenly, all of the time that had passed between you didn’t matter.

He's with you now. 

Art leans back against the door, hands going into the pockets of his immaculate navy pants. A matching blazer that has been left unbuttoned stretches across his muscled torso, his sunglasses hanging from the neck of his white shirt. 

His cropped blonde hair is messy enough that you know he's been running his hands through it; with anxiety and elation he’d been dragging fingers through the blonde locks as he watched you play.  

Art has become something beyond handsome to you. Retiring has returned his vitality and it has been a stunning metamorphosis to witness. 

But it's change you’ve made yourself witness from a distance. The two of you have not been in a room alone together since he’d hidden in your bathroom as Tashi had convinced you to let her become your coach. 

For the first few months, things had felt far too fragile to acknowledge what had happened between the two of you. You and Art had come to a silent understanding that you needed the time to build back up a foundation with Tashi. 

If you were to remain in each other's lives, you needed solid ground.

But you had just won Wimbledon. You had just given Tashi a victory. Did either of you have the fortitude to go on denying yourselves? 

It has been a solid minute since Art entered the room and neither of you have shifted so much as an inch.

You’re fixed on the spot, watching him as he drinks you in. His gaze is laying possessive claim to your body, noting all the places the white vest and skort are clinging to your sweat-slicked curves. 

But it is when his eyes settle on your face, that a sort of peace soothes his expression.

“You were amazing.”

You can’t help but smirk, allowing yourself to feel cocky for once. “Of course I was, I won.” 

Art’s cheeks dimple with the strength of his grin.

“It’s not about the win. It’s how you moved when you played- like you could bend the whole world to your will. It was so beautiful. And you…” He pushes off the door and walks right up to you, chests almost brushing as he nudges your chin up with his finger. “You are so, so stunning.”

As he leans in, even though you don’t try to stop him, words of weak protest pour out of you.

“Art we shouldn’t. Not here-“

He cuts you off with a taunting kiss, his tongue trying to prize your lips open as his arm wraps around you.

His hand shifts up the sweaty material of your vest and lays his palm flat against the heated flesh of your lower back, all while his other hand trails up your outer thigh and beneath your skort to grab your ass.

You lean into him, hands wrapping around his neck and only when he draws back to kiss his way along your jaw, do you have a chance to speak again.

“Art, Tashi will be here soon. If she sees-“ 

“She won’t care.” 

Your brow furrows, but the confusion isn’t enough for you to stop his lips moving over your neck. “What?” 

As Art answers, his hand leaves your rear to dip beneath the waistband of your skort. You shiver as the pads of his fingers tickle all the way down, toying with the top of your underwear.

“You are all Tashi sees now.” Art clarifies, proceeding to nip at your exposed shoulder with his teeth. “You’re her everything. She could walk in on us right now and it wouldn’t change a thing.”

That gives you pause, indignation spiking at his easy dismal of Tashi.

You pull away from Art and he groans quietly but lets you go, his expression remaining completely content. 

“How can you say that?” You ask, growing irritable even as you let him take your hand in his.

“Because you’re everything that I couldn’t be for her.” He says. 

You sigh exasperatedly. “What does that mean, Art?” 

You don’t know why you’re asking, as you’re certain you already know the truth of it.

Art smiles, his other hand lifting to smooth a few sweat slicked strands off of your forehead. When he’s finished, his fingers settle with running over your cheekbone.

“It means…that you are all of her dreams realised. She resented me because every time I played, no matter how well, she knew it was nowhere near as important to me as it would have been to her had she never been injured. She hated me for not wanting it more….but, you have enough passion for tennis to play for the both of you. I never had that much to draw from. So, as long as you keep winning like you just did, she’ll love you. She’ll love you because you’re doing her justice.” 

After giving that insight that rang so true it almost hurts your ears with its incessant clamouring, Art leans in to kiss you again. You place a hand on his chest, gently pushing him back. 

“You felt like you were playing for her and it made you miserable.” You argue, hurt by the thought that his behaviour towards you is just rooted in gratitude that you have lifted the burden off of his shoulders. 

“It was different for me.” He answers simply. “I was miserable because I knew none of what I did was enough. I was still failing her. Tashi wants to watch great tennis and I didn’t give her that. You will. You are giving her that.” 

The way Art was speaking was producing within you a burgeoning unease; he was steady and assured, like he’d spent a long time thinking about this. And there was an undeniable undercurrent of pleasure to his speech.

A large part of Art was elated that the burden had been shifted onto you. 

But could you really hold that against him? You had seen how he was bending and breaking under the weight, it was why you’d told him to retire.

It was now your job to keep Tashi’s heart beating, you had known that the moment you’d agreed to let you coach her. That had been your choice and one freely made. 

So Art was right, you had to keep winning and you had to do so spectacularly. 

This was not a fresh revelation of course, but the possibility that Tashi wanting you close to her was entirely contingent on tennis, began to terrify you.

 You estimated you had a good five years left before you’d likely be forced to retire, but then what would become of you? Would Tashi even care to have you in her life after that? You were not bound to her like she was to Art by their daughter.

As if he can feel how your mind is whirring through the skin of your cheek, Art tips up your chin again and claims your mouth for another kiss. 

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, noses brushing. 

“When I think about all that you are, tennis doesn’t even register.” He says sincerely, placing a sweet peck to your lips.

You cherish his touch and ach for more, but it isn’t quelling the panic ripping into your insides like wind whipping up in preparation to become a storm.

“Art, I can’t- I need to tell Tashi what happened with us.” 

No anger or irritation appears on his face at your blurted words, but his other hand falls onto your back so he can pull you closer and you can tell he’s definitely upset about something. 

“What happened?” He rasps. “You’re placing what we have in the past tense. Is it not still happening” His fingers press into your skin proprietorially. 

“I can’t lose her, Art. But I also can’t lose you.” 

“Then tell her.” He says,  bringing your hand to his lips and kissing it. 

“You’re agreeing just like that? It’ll ruin your marriage.” 

His lip tugs up in the beginning of a bitter smile. “Tell her. It won’t change how she sees you.” he affirms “Then you should ask her about Patrick.”

You barely have time to process his implication when the door opens.

 The two of you pull apart as Tashi’s head pops in. She looks entirely unbothered as her eyes glance off her husband before settling squarely on you.

“Get in the shower, we’ve got to get moving.” 

And just like that she’s gone again.

━━━━∙⋆⋅⋆∙━━━━

“Do you need him?” 

Tashi’s question catches you off guard.

You’ve both been sitting in silence- her nursing a glass of wine and you with herbal tea as you both look out across the London skyline. Lights of skyscrapers are strung out across the black like fairy lights. 

You know who she’s talking about, but you’re terrified to acknowledge it.

You stop yourself from giving into the instinct to peer back through the open sliding door and into the hotel room where Art is watching TV. 

“In what way?” You ask, fiddling with the handle of your mug, still looking forward. 

Tashi huffs, putting her glass down and then turning to you, kneeling beside you on the outdoor couch. She takes the mug out of your hand, setting it on the nearby table before curling her fingers around your chin and forcing you to meet her unflinching stare. 

“Will Art improve your game or will he wreck it?” She sees your eyes widen and shushes you, stymying the words that had been gathering on your tongue. “This isn’t about me. I’m your coach, so I need to know that you’re going to keep giving this your all.” 

“I will.” You nod furiously, still held in her grip.

Tashi’s eyes flicker down your lips before finding your eyes again. Her hair is loose and being blown into your face. 

“I need you to tell me that if he’s watching you in the stands, that you won’t choke.” She says. “What the two of you have needs to light a fire in you, or it fucking dies. Do you understand me?” 

“I won’t choke.” You insist, your tone hard.

Her full lips press into a pleased line. “So are you going to keep dominating?” 

Slightly breathless, your eyes fall to where your fingers have been absentmindedly brushing her knee. You let your digits outstretch and as your eyes return to Tashi’s, you tentatively run them over her scar. You feel her shiver. 

“I’m going to keep dominating.” 

You both go still, and just as the corner of her mouth tugs up, she’s leaning in. You inhale a sharp breath as her lips just skim yours. She holds there, not pressing any further. 

When Tashi speaks, you feel her lips form the words against your own. “Then you do whatever it takes.” 

You truly couldn’t say which of you closes the distance, it feels more like an external, undeniable force driving the two of you to converge.

 When Tashi begins to move her lips against yours, her hand cradles the back of your head, twisting into your hair and pulling. You can’t help but let out a soft moan into her mouth, a hand landing on her waist and digging into the thin fabric of her silk shift.

Tashi draws back first, her hot breaths on your face as she presses two fingers to your throbbing lips. 

The question that comes out of your mouth has no malice or jealousy behind it, just an aching curiosity: you want to know her completely, in the way that you used to, and Art’s words from the locker room told you there was something you don’t know. 

“Tashi, what happened between you and Patrick?” 

She doesn’t rear back, she doesn’t slap you like she might have, she just lets out a slow almost contented breath.  

“I slept with him.” She admits calmly. “A few years ago in Atlanta, and the night before the Challenger match against Art.” 

All at once the visceral passion of that match makes so much more sense and even though you’re aware how twisted it is, you laugh. 

“You forced them to have the best match of their lives.” You say, your tone warring between disbelief and awe. 

Tashi answers with another brief, but ardent kiss to your lips, before she’s rising to her feet, her demeanour steady. Her expression is already returning to the stern set of your coach. 

“You need to get to bed. It’s a busy day tomorrow. Your physiotherapist is here at eight am. Nutritionist at eight-thirty.” 

You nod in agreement, lips still tingling as you rise to your feet. 

The night breeze stirs your hair and the thin fabric of your robe. Only when you turn do you see Art leaning in the doorway, his arms crossed against his chest, the fabric of his grey shirt strained against his muscles. 

When you meet his gaze he smiles so fondly that, combined with the residual heat of Tashi’s contact, you’re set ablaze. 

Right now you have both of them.

“Stay here with us.” Tashi asserts, running a hand over Art’s arm as she passes him to head inside the room.

“No need for you to go wandering down the hall in your nightgown again.” Art continues, the corner of his lips lifting as he holds a hand out to you.

You take it, letting him draw you inside. 

When the two of you reach the massive Queen bed, Art pulls back the sheets and you crawl happily into the middle of the mattress. 

All at once your exhaustion hits you, the softness cradling your aching form both lulling you into drowsiness and making your limbs remember each strained movement of the day.  

Your eyes fall shut, so you’re not sure who it is who causes the bed to dip, but you lean into the warmth irregardless. 

Art’s toned arm wraps around your torso as he draws the back of your body to be flush with his front.  He’s already pulling hair away from your neck and laying lingering kisses there, when movement in front of you causes your eyes to flutter open. 

Tashi’s standing in the bathroom doorway opposite you, her form backlit by the warm light as she finishes rubbing lotion to her arms.

 She watches Art holding you and she notes how he’s kissing you, a frenetic vibrancy takes over her expression. 

You hold her gaze as she switches the bathroom light and walks over. When she crawls under the covers, one of Art’s hands is moving past the neckline of your robe, his thumb running over your nipple. 

You sigh, your head falling back against Art’s chest, but your hand is moving forward across the mattress, searching for Tashi. 

It’s such a terrible idea-  an act that will join you all in another irrevocable way, but you have to have it. You have to have them. 

If you’re going to play tennis with Tashi as your coach and Art still in her life…you can’t choose. You can’t separate yourself from either of them. 

Your hand makes contact with Tashi’s as she lays herself right in front of you. She intertwines your fingers and leans down to kiss your chest, her lips skimming your collarbones. 

Art draws his hand away from your breast and his touch travels down your body, between your legs. 

You moan as Tashi’s mouth explores your chest, her tongue brushing over the swell of your breasts all while Art is pressing his knees between yours from behind. Now more open to him, he bunches your robe in his hand and rucks it up until it’s gathered at your waist. He pulls down your underwear.

When Art’s fingers begin to tease your centre, your gasp is lost as Tashi covers her mouth with yours, her free hand threading into your hair. 

Between the two of them, you find security in the ecstasy they draw out of you. Your entire body is flushed and sweating, cheeks red and chest heaving.

You’re beyond overwhelmed, but you try to savour every small touch and shift of their bodies.

Mostly you’re trying to remember the sensation of Tashi, because you have a feeling this may never happen again with her: even in your addled mind as Art begins to roll his hips, a finger pressing inside you, you’re aware that for Tashi this could simply be a form of motivation. You know that if she thought you needed this now, in order to keep playing the way you had today, then she’d do it without question. She’s motivating you.

 But is that all this is for her? It certainly means a lot more to you.

Tashi was the first woman you had been attracted to, the first person to make you question the limited nature of your desires as a young woman. And then she’d been your best friend, you’d loved and wanted her…and then you’d lost her. 

You both knew this wasn’t a sustainable dynamic, it would likely never be repeated, but for now you would savour being desired by the woman who had awoken yours so long ago. 

Right as Art presses another finger into you, plunging them the two in almost lazily, as if he has all the time in the world, he whispers in your ear: 

“Are you okay?” 

Tashi is still kissing you, but draws back when she hears the question, her lips plump and glistening. She’s giving you the chance to answer, you realise. 

The glorious tightness inside you worsens, friction growing as they stop touching you. 

“Yes.” You whine impatiently.

Art chuckles into your neck as you grab his wrist and guide him back into you, his fingers curling inside your warmth. 

But Tashi’s lips don’t return to yours, instead she leans down and presses them to your forehead before she’s crawling out of the bed.

You’re not worried by her retreat because you’ve always been able to read her face. As she backs away, your orgasm drawing closer as Art fucks into you with his fingers, you see that she isn’t regretting anything. In fact, she’s pleased. Not necessarily with what’s happening in front of her, but because Art–someone she has loved and still loves in her own way–can give you the intimacy she can’t quite bring herself to. 

You play tennis for Tashi and Art loves you for both of them. You think you can live with that.

 Even though you know you could, you don’t begrudge Tashi for any of it. She’s given you this. She’s given you Art and in as much as she can, she’s given you herself. 

As she slips out of the room, no doubt to go to her Mother’s suite and to her daughter, you are entirely content. 

Once you’re alone, you buck up into Art’s hand, your ass grinding against his hardness. He groans deeply against your neck and you almost cry out in protest as he pulls his fingers from right when you’re so close to release. 

But you are not left bereft of him for long. His arm moves beneath you, bracketing your chest with his hand and settling with a soft grip against your throat. He pushes down his pyjama pants.

It’s all too much when he begins to tease his hardness against your core. 

“Art. Now.” You reach down and dig your nails into his now bare thigh with force. 

As his grip on your throat tightens ever so slightly, Art complies and pushes himself into you from behind. He sounds drunk as he whispers into your hair:

“This will never be enough.” He thrusts into you with sweet slowness, letting you feel every tiny thing. “I’ll never have enough of you.” 

So lost in the pressure of him moving inside you that you’re alienated from your capacity for speech, you can’t find the language to tell him how this feels for you; you can’t tell him how much it means. 

Then he speaks again, his movements becoming more forceful: “I’ll never have all of you will I?”

You whimper as his hand that’s not on your neck dives between your legs, adding pressure with his fingers even as he fucks you.

“You do have all of me.” You answer raggedly, relinquishing free movement entirely as he cradles your body so restrictively.

He’s like a snake, tingling around your form before consuming your entire being.

“Tell me it wouldn’t change anything if it was just us.” Art begs, his breath catching in his throat and body shaking. “Tell me I’d be enough for you.” 

He thrusts again and you almost break with your shuddering release. You don’t try to remain quiet, crying out into the night. Art continues to move in you, desperate in more ways than one. 

“I can’t Art.” You admit, tears of pleasure and a sweet sort of pain gathering in your eyes. “I can’t tell you that. We need- we need them. B-both of them.” You stutter out, relinquishing yourself to your euphoria. 

Them. Them being Tashi and Patrick.

 You don’t understand Art without either of them. You don’t understand yourself without them. 

Everything was in relation to them, even the sex you and Art are having right now isn’t just about the two of you. And you both know it.

An indecipherable noise comes from Art as he pulls out of you, and in a blink, he’s rolled you onto your back and is pressing himself into you again.

His pace becomes rapid as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, hips snapping against yours.

You wrap your legs around him, driving him deeper as his body begins to tremble.

When Art comes apart, draping himself over you as he gathers himself, a tear of utter confusion rolls down your cheek and falls into his hair. 

Whatever comes next, at least you know you’ll never be alone. Art is a part of you. Tashi and Patrick are part of you. 

Without each other, there is no survival.

[finniestoncrane]

PREWAR COOPER STUFFS ❤️‍🔥 DESPERATELY needing some fluffy morning after/Sunday morning routine with his wifey 😩👏 him being VERY grabby and just an absolute horndog dkfnfnrk (he is down bad for reader)

Morning, Sunshine

Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader, word count: 1k hello post divorce cooper, please hit me up, i'll make you eggs (also post-divorce barb i know you're a baddie but that's just my type so i'll make you eggs too pls lemme make you eggs too...ANYWAY) but please this is so cute and i have made it gender neutral as you corrected so everyone enjoy being cooper's little chef and getting caressed by this hungover idiot 🤎 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw:

Cooper stumbled into the kitchen, his feet shuffling on the floor as though they were made of lead, unable to lift them any higher. He groaned as the light from the windows assaulted him, and you smiled without turning to him, offering a brief, hushed 'good morning'. He returned the greeting with a groan. His entire body felt weighed down, the ache of sleeping in one position all night, lacked out in a drunken stupor after he had pawed at you and attempted to fuck the lingering stress out of his body.

And now he was in his own kitchen, messy from the small gathering of friends from the night before, stressed once more and hungover as shit to boot.

But there you were, by the stove, the source of the wonderful smell that had woken him up and had him drifting from the sancutary of his dark bedroom to face the world. Even when he was hungover, or sick, or just too damn tired to accept reality, he did it anyway. Who knew how many more mornings there were for him to see? That looming threat, the dark secret he had to keep to himself, one not even Barb knew was the real reason for their divorce. The source of his agonies, but also, the reason he felt so inspired to wake up each morning and spend as much of the time he had left with you as possible.

"I wasn't expecting you out of bed any time beforeat least midday, Coop."

"Then you shouldn't have started cooking something so god damn delicious."

His voice grew closer as he made his way, instinctually, towards you.

"I'm sorry, did it wake you up?"

"It did, but there's nothing to apologise for."

He was behind you now as you stood in front of the burners, a pan in your hand, your signature omelette cooking over the heat, your grip wobbling a little as Cooper looped his arms around your body. Everything he did stole your attention, pulling your focus with his charismatic personality, the way he commanded a room the moment he entered. And it didn't help that he had begun to kiss at your neck, letting his lips drag along your prickling skin as he moved down to your shoulder, nuzzling back into you as he sighed. The satisfied moan on the exhale had your stomach tensing, eliciting a soft moan of your own in reply.

"You want me to make you something to eat?"

"Please, darlin'. If that isn't a bother."

"Never is for you, Mr Howard. You get a coffee and take a seat, I'll be right with you."

Once he was seated with his mug, the morning newspaper to the side of the place setting at the kitchen island, you turned from the stove to plate up the omelette for him. It was the first you had properly looked at him that morning, and you could feel your breath hitching as you took him in. Even in this state, bedraggled, skin greasy with a sheen of sweat, hair unkempt and slicked back in messy waves, his breath, which you could smell over the countertop, still tainted with the cocktails he’d been making the night before. Even with all of that, he was still the most handsome man you had ever laid eyes on. And those same eyes couldn’t help but fall to his chest, his robe hanging open, exposing his torso down to his navel.

You wondered if he’d bothered to find any underwear to put on before covering himself with the short robe when he’d stumbled out of bed.

“Oh, sweetheart. You made this for yourself.”

“You eat first, I’ll make one for myself just now.”

Cooper flashed you a grin, one you remembered seeing so often in press photos, at promotional events.

“You really are a doll, know that?”

You returned his smile, turning back to the stove as he ate a few bites of the omelette with a satisfied groan. Cooper took a sip of coffee, watching you over the top of the mug. Every day could be the last. He didn’t want to believe it, but it always hung in the back of his mind. He’d lost Barb to Vaut-Tec, lost Janey, at least partly, to the divorce. He’d lost his sense of security to the war, his work to the paranoia that had burrowed inside of him. You were all he had now, and intended to cling to you with everything he had. Holding your hand tight at the party last night, clutching your body in the bed as he fucked you, passionate, desperate. His fingers entwined in yours as you slept, then holding you in his arms, your body smooth and warm.

Cooper stood up from his chair, unintentionally quiet to the point where you didn’t even notice he had moved until he was right behind you again, pressing himself against you so tight that you could feel the beginnings of his erection pushing into you. With a firm hand, he took your wrist, guiding you to set down the pan, switching the stove off and turning you in a choreographed spin so that you were facing him, your chests together, eyes trained on one another.

“You got enough ingredients for another, right?”

“Uh… yeah? Why?”

“I just think it might be ruined by the time I’m finished with you.”

His hands slipped down from your lower back, cupping both of your cheeks as he raised his eyebrows in a silent, questioning plea. Every moment with you was precious to him, every inch of your body worth placing a kiss to, worth tasting and savouring. Why not make the most of your time together by making sure you were as close to each other, as pleasured and satisfied, as possible?

So, when you blushed, biting your lip and giggling, he knew you agreed, and he took your hand and pulled you back to the comfort of the bedroom with you, hoping to relieve himself of a little more stress.

[inkdrinkerworld]

hi! i saw you were taking requests for post prison spencer, so hey

i was thinking about spencer meeting a kinda sunshine reader, and it’s like…love at first sight. she’s literally the one to make him smile for good

feel free to add your magic to it, and to ignore it, don’t feel pressure at all!

have a good day/night <3

babe you guys are saving my life with these requests right now! I'm feeling so good about everything I write again <3 enjoy sunshine!reader x post prison!spencer who looks less tense and serious around you

You’re at his desk, sitting there all perfect in your orange button up and flared pants, Mary Janes clicking on the linoleum tile as you tap your pen against your lips. Your hair is scraped back into a ponytail, the plait brushing the spot between your shoulder blades. 

Spencer had asked about you to Penelope, asked about your personality, about how you work- all the important things. What he didn’t ask was if you were gorgeous and Penelope, who loves to divulge, had never said a thing about your looks. 

“Hi, you’re Y/n right?” Spencer’s standing before you, not realising how intimidating he must look till you jolt in your chair. 

You’d been trying to get your morning crossword and read in before the day had officially begun, a habit you’d been trying to keep up with since you started the job. So far it’s been going- the crosswords are boring so you have to pretend to be distracted by it to let it last a bit more than four minutes.

“Oh sorry, I am. You’re Doctor Spencer Reid,” you lean back in your chair, not bothering to hold out a hand to you. Penelope had grilled you on his aversion to germs and touching people more than needed. “I’m sorry about taking over your desk, but they didn’t have any free ones.” 

Spencer shakes his head, you take a moment to look him over. His hair is a bit looser than you’d imagined, Penelope said curly hair and you’d thought tight spirals- he has pretty loose ringlets, dark and mocha-like.

He smells like leather and something else, maybe plum and black currant- it’s a bit of an all encompassing smell that you like already. He’s much prettier too, he looks tired, but still pretty. His stubble presents a problem, you know it’s going to be your downfall. 

“It’s alright, we keep a tight ship. Have they been treating you well?” 

You tilt your head, “The team or the unsubs? Because it’s been too many cases to have real team building.” You grin when Spencer huffs, making his lips twitch. “But I think getting concussed while saving Newbie’s ass counts for something.” 

Luke grumbles as he walks by with his coffee, “You were hired after I was,” patting Spencer on the back when the taller, lithe, man rolls a chair to sit opposite you. 

“Do you still experience headaches or migraines?” Spencer kicks himself when he sees your tongue poke into your cheek- you’re trying hard not to smile at his question. He also thinks he’s doing a shoddy job of flirting but that can be fixed- he’s been in prison for the last three months, he just needs to get back in the swing of things. 

“I’m pretty sure your first official day back starts with you in Emily’s office and not giving me an impromptu physical, Dr. Reid.” His lips twitch again, cheeks jumping as he shakes his head. 

“It’s just a check-up, no physical yet.” he stands, not really giving himself time to overthink what he’s just said. It’s more than a little presumptuous on his part but you don’t call him an asshole or swear at him, so he thinks he’s okay with it. 

“Do you want your desk back, Spencer?” you’re earnest in asking, not wanting to fuck up his routines and his norm. You can tell you like him already and it’s hardly been a fifteen minute conversation. 

“No, it’s okay. I’ll take the one right there.” Spencer points a finger to the desk right in behind yours with a little less severity to his lips, his stubble looking even more attractive as he does so. 

You watch him walk away, willing yourself to be professional about all this, he may be hot but he’s your coworker and you know all about close proximity relationships possibly being shams. You’re not here for that, so Spencer will be a good friend. 

You make your way into the kitchen, steps light as you reach for your mug- a cute blue mug with an orca as the handle. 

“So you come in and the kid’s already obsessed with you?” Rossi’s right beside you, making you jump as you put more than the recommended amount of tablespoons of coffee into your mug. 

“It’s not like that, you all made him out to be this awkward shy mess and he isn’t.” You try to sound as casual as you can, but you profile your own voice and know how it sounds to everyone- wistful. 

“Maybe he’s seen a pretty girl and the ‘awkward shy mess’ melted away,” Rossi places his hands on your shoulders. “He’s a good kid. You can trust in that.” 

You roll your eyes, stirring your coffee. “I’m pretty sure he’s in his thirties, Rossi.” You take the milk from him, pouring it in till your coffee is just at the lip of your mug and smile. “Definitely too old.” 

Rossi waves his hand, “I’ve been married four times, old isn’t a marker for romance anymore. Not when you’re only twenty four.” He leaves you be for a moment, and on your walk back to your desk to fill out the remaining crosswords you mull over his words. 

As you sit, you look down and find it all filled out in black ink, opposed to your blue and you know who did it, if the messy scrawled message is anything to go by- ‘You should get The Washington Post puzzles, much more stimulating.’

[winterrrnight]

what’s stopping rafe from letting reader carve her initials on his v line ??? lowk might need a fic like this tbh

oh my god I love this so so much here is a blurb for you beautiful <3 i 100% see pogue!reader giving rafe a stick and poke tattoo of that heehee (especially maybank!reader cause r definitely learnt how to do these from JJ :p) let me know your thoughts on it ml! 💚

you give rafe a stick and poke tattoo of your initials on his v line <3 a rafe x pogue!maybank!gn!reader blurb <3 cw: established relationship, minimal usage of nicknames and swear words, usage of needles and giving a stick and poke tattoo, a very small mention of bleeding, I did research on how these are done cause I had no idea lol so if anything is wrong please forgive me 🤠🙏🏼

“really? you’d let me do that?”

“yeah sure, why not?”

you couldn’t believe your ears. it was just another night for you at tannyhill, you and rafe under his covers snuggled close to each other as you rested your head on his chest, your fingernails softly dragging across his torso. your fingers had just reached his prominent v line that was showing because his shorts were hanging low, and as you gently scratched it, your mind couldn’t help but think how enticing your initials carved against his skin would look. so, you asked him, and mentally prepared to get your idea straightaway rejected, but he complied, too quickly, and that definitely excited you.

you practically jumped off your bed to get your bag that you always brought with you each time you came to tannyhill and got your supplies out.

“you carry that with you all the time?” he asked amusedly as he saw you sit back down on the bed with your supplies.

“of course,” you said with a deadpan look. what kind of question is that?

rafe only chuckled and shook his head, watching you intently as you prepared everything for it – which wasn’t a lot, a disinfectant and a cotton pad, the bottle of ink, the needle, and a small container of vaseline – but you were definitely more hygienic when it came to stick and poke tattoos than your brother, who just straightaway dove into it.

you gently cleaned the area on his v line where you wanted to tattoo your initials with the disinfectant, and then got to etching the tattoo. you were slow, and careful. you kept on taking regular looks at rafe to see if he was in any sort of pain, but he was taking it like a champ, barely letting out any noises at the stinging of the needle. you kept your steady speed up, and carefully etched your initials, separated by a period mark.

“and done,” you smiled as you lifted your head from your bending position over his leg, and gently cleaned around the area and wiped the small drops of blood with the help of vaseline.

“whoa,” rafe muttered as he saw your initials on his v line, the ink black against his fair skin.

“you like it?” you asked with a smirk as you cleared your supplies and kept them back in.

“oh i love it,” he said softly, his gaze fixed at the initials. “that’s hot, like really motherfuckin’ hot,”

you softly laughed, shaking your head as you leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to his skin right next to the tattoo.

“now you’re all marked up.”

— —

I WANNA MARK RAFE LIKE THAT HELLOW???

[pinkyqil]

R is very very shy and a little awkward, a couple of years younger than Ingrid and not famous, they've been seeing each other for a couple of months and she's been to a couple of games supporting Ingrid. The fans and the media all try to know who she is, crossing her privacy ecc and start to say very mean things to her so she start to pull away cause she's sad and think that Ingrid can have someone much better but Ingrid confort her cause she only wants her

I want you and you only // Ingrid engen

You and Ingrid had been dating for a couple of months now despite the three year age gap you both had going on. She loved you loved her that all that matters.

Ingrid always wanted to come wacht a few of the games oblivious and to support her. but due to timid and shy personality she understands and didn't push your buttons about it anymore.

You being you not wanting to feel like you disappoint her started going to the machetes even though sometimes you felt overwhelmed.

A few fans started noticing you're interaction digging in to recorde any sweet moments they could catch and post it on various platforms. The media trying to see if you had any celebrity status.

Ingrid had noticed the sudden attraction you both got from the public and told you to keep it on the for your own behalf but you took that too heart thinking that she was pushing you away and didn't want people to know about you.

You continued visiting Ingrid and supporting the team which lead to more media abuse.like fans finding out your private account and send you hateful messages saying Ingrid deserves better than you targeting your looks weight and everything they could critique about you.

You stopped coming to the games and kept rescheduling dates with her where you bearly showed up.

Slowly you started wondering if you were good enough for her.you already got the memo from people you weren't good for her or anyone.

tonight you planned on breaking up with her she had invited you over and you couldn't ignore your girlfriend soon to be ex.

Ingrid on the other hand had been very worried about you. Especially when she saw how the past few days you had declined her she was very worried after seeing things being said about you.

Arriving at Ingrid places you felt really nervous you were about to break up with the woman you loved the most.

Taking a deep breath before knocking on her door.

The door had opened with a worried looking Ingrid.she had immediately pulled you into a hug and kisses all over you face.

Oh lord how we're you supposed to break up with her you thought.

"Baby I was worried you stopped answering my text the last few days-". She tried to finish but got cut of by you.

"Let break". You told her with a cold stone face.

"What why did I do anything wrong".

"No you did nothing wrong it me I'm the problem you deserve better than me". You told her.

"What do you mean you're amazing please tell me your aren't listening to what people say".

"It not only that Ingrid you pushed me away when I tried to be there for you".

"Baby no I didn't mean it that why I just said it so you don't feel pressured I love you please don't leave me. She told you with tears flowing from her face.

You couldn't believe yourself for believing all that you had an amazing woman in front of you why would you try to ruin it.

"I'm sorry baby I just don't understand why everyone just seems to have something to say about me". you told her now crying.

"I love you and you'll always be enough to me". she told you

"Love to too".you said before grabbing her face and kiss her.

Ingrid_engen&Yourusername

Love you always and forever liked by alexiaputellas,onabatlle,lucybronze and 20,66 others

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A/n: hope you like this and it reaches your standardsfeedback are appreciated and feel free to send in more or just chat in

[barcaatthemoon]

unlucky || alessia russo x reader ||

alessia gets sick and has to miss out on the conti cup final, bringing up some feelings for both of you.

one thing you had learned early on about alessia was that she was not as slick as she thought. you had noticed alessia coming down with whatever was going around the training grounds just a couple days before the game. the conti cup final was a big deal, and alessia wanted so badly to win with arsenal, but you knew that wasn't going to happen.

arsenal's chances were good, but there was no way that alessia was making it to the game. she had been bedridden the day before with a migrane and a fever. alessia played it off like a minor headache, but you could hear the whimpers whenever she thought you weren't paying attention.

that morning, alessia had gotten out of bed and dressed herself up for the game. she had nearly managed to make it out of the apartment without waking you up. the crash in the living room from alessia tripping over herself was more than enough to have you running into the living room. you weren't exactly surprised to find alessia sitting on the floor, but you were definitely disappointed.

"come on, back to bed with you." you reached out to help her up onto her feet. alessia looked utterly miserable as you dragged her back into the bedroom. "what were you thinking less? you're still burning up!"

"i've got a game, and it's an important one," alessia told you. "i can't miss this, it's the final."

"you don't have a choice, and neither do i. if you really want to go, we can watch and support our friends, but you aren't playing," you told her. alessia pouted as she settled back in the bed with you. as much as you wanted her to get better, you were somewhat grateful that she was still too sick to really argue with you.

alessia was fairly quick to fall back sleep, still dressed in her kit. you usually loved watching alessia sleep, but this wasn't the same. alessia tossed and turned in bed, never quite able to get comfortable. your heart ached for her, knowing that the look on her unconscious face wasn't just because of her illness.

winning with arsenal was a big deal to alessia. she wanted to hold that trophy up for the gunners alongside her team. it was all alessia had been talking about since she signed. the season had gone well, even if there had been quite a few wrenches thrown into the plan. each of those times, alessia had been the picture of optimistic, but today she seemed utterly defeated.

"hey, how are you feeling lovely?" you asked alessia as she started to wake up. she sounded a lot less congested, but you weren't going to suggest going to the game for her. if she felt up to it, you were sure that she'd say something to you.

"i feel like everything i've worked towards doesn't matter," alessia grumbled. you sighed as you turned onto your stomach. the look on alessia's face was even worse now that she was awake. you didn't think that you had seen her look so upset since the world cup final. "i don't get it. i work so hard all of the time. why can't i catch a fucking break?"

"lessi, baby," you sighed. you tried to move in to comfort her, but alessia slipped out of bed. "come back to bed, please. talk to me, i don't want you to shut down, please."

"no, i can't right now. just, please, give me a few minutes to myself. i'm going for a walk," alessia said. you watched as she put a hoodie on to cover up her jersey. it was hard to watch alessia just walk out like that, but you knew that you had to give her space. she didn't ask for it often, and you knew better than to try and get close when she resorted to that.

you tried to stay in the bedroom, but you couldn't just sit there and wait for her all afternoon. it was hard, but you managed to get through most of your afternoon with alessia gone. she had sent you a couple of texts promising that she'd be fine, but that didn't stop your worrying. it didn't help that alessia's walk out turned into a pint before she made her way to the stadium to watch the game.

a part of you wanted to go and support your club, but you stayed in the apartment. you felt like alessia's bad luck was all your fault. the only times in the decade that you'd known her that she had gotten like this was after the two of you had begun seeing each other. it was like every single loss in alessia's life was your fault. she had hit a string of bad luck, and you were at the center of it.

sometime during the game, you had pulled out a few bottles of alcohol from the fridge. by the end of the game, you were definitely way past tipsy. you laid your head down, prepared to rest for a moment before you called the girls to congratulate them. instead, you completely passed out, only to wake up to alessia carrying you back into the bedroom in the middle of the night.

"less?" you cracked your eyes open. your head was killing you already, as if the alcohol had worn off just enough to give you a taste of what you'd get in the morning. "what time is it?"

"it's just a bit past 10. sorry that i stayed out so long," alessia apologized. she laid you down in the bed and pressed a kiss to your forehead. "the girls missed you in the locker room. katie tried to facetime you, she thought something was wrong."

"something is wrong, and it's all my fault. i'm like your little bad luck charm," you mumbled. you never would have said that sober, and alessia tried not to think about how long you had felt that way. "all the bad things happen because of me, and i'm sorry. you should leave me, find yourself a lucky girl because i'm like a goddamn black cat."

"i don't want a lucky girl. i don't think you're unlucky at all, not one bit," alessia told you. she pressed a kiss to the top of your head as the two of you settled down comfortably. you knew that it'd only be for a moment, but you were happy in her arms. "you didn't get me sick. in fact, you took off from your recovery to help me get better today. any time that i need something, you practically trip over yourself to get it for me."

"excuse me, but we are not all as clumsy as you, ma'am," you joked. alessia shoved your shoulder as you laughed at your own joke. "i'd do anything for you. missing today hurt me too, but i'm glad that you went to watch the game instead of getting drunk like me."

"oh my god, i'm an idiot!" alessia exclaimed. you flinched at the sudden shouting fit, which alessia quietly apologized for as she gave you a quick squeeze.

"i don't think you're an idiot, less." you leaned up to press a kiss to her cheek.

"you're injured. you've been injured for months now, and i miss one game because of a cold and i bitch all about it. i'm so sorry, i didn't even think about your feelings. how could i be so inconsiderate?" alessia looked like she was about to cry as she came to the realization that she had moped around for most of the day with you. you had gotten used to knowing that you'd miss things because of your injury, and alessia was always painfully careful about the things she chose to celebrate.

"don't beat yourself up, it's fine. i knew when i went down that it wasn't going to be on the six weeks side of things. this was big for you, and it was your dream to win with arsenal. you had to sit out on this game, but by this time next year, you won't remember how bad it felt when you're scoring hat tricks left and right," you said. alessia smiled, and you knew that she was thinking about that feeling. "but before you can do any of that, you've got to rest and get better."

"i don't know what i'd do without you sometimes," alessia admitted. she felt a bit foolish about how she had acted earlier, even if you repeatedly let her know that her feelings were valid.