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mutualism (ch. 2)

summary: with fall semester in motion, you have no idea how you're going to keep up living with ryland. he's (shockingly) easy to like and your feelings for him are growing exponentially. (part 2/???)

pairing: ryland grace x gn!reader

word count: 4.5k

tags: (set in grad school, ryland and reader both in their early/mid-20s!) slow burn, more domestic fluff, mutual pining, roommates-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, developing feelings, rom-com logic, unresolved romantic tension, cocky!ryland, jealous!reader, linda cameo if you squint, gn!reader

cross-posted to ao3 / previous chapter here!

a/n: ty for your patience guys... fic writer = employed — also thanks @sinsilk and @corinthianism for keeping me company and letting me use them to screen my fics LOL <3

It’s almost past midnight and you’ve already gone through the motions of laying all of your things out on the coffee table. You’ve been liking the living room more and more—for a wholly unacceptable reason. There are, as you’ve noticed, acceptable and unacceptable things to think about Ryland to prolong your ability to live together. Acceptable things: he does his laundry promptly, he’s clean, he knows when to be quiet. Unacceptable things: he’s attractive even with the sass, the graphic t-shirts are… kind of cute, and you like seeing him read in the living room with his body laid out across the couch.

Neither of you have talked about that night after the bar since it happened. It’s a good thing, because there’s no normal way for that conversation to be carried out. Ryland doesn’t have to acknowledge that he thinks you’re “observationally” pretty, any more than you have to acknowledge that you liked laying that kiss on his cheek. All appears well the next morning when you two are slightly sluggish and fail to talk it out. Breakfast like normal, on the quieter side—and you and Ryland agree with certainty, and without a single word exchanged, that if you want to keep living together, it’s better to just sweep an incident like that neatly under the rug.

You couldn’t be more thankful for the start of Fall semester. Your schedule, paired with Ryland’s, results amicably in the apartment being a little more empty than it was during the summer. He’s in class or working, you’re in class or working—and the two of you barely have the opportunity to see one another aside from late nights or early mornings.

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table. A text from him: Grading running late, camping library till closed. That crosses out your late night sighting. A good thing, you think. Ryland won’t have to see you torturing yourself over heaps of computer work. And you won’t have to have that passing, heartwarming feeling you get when he asks you what you’re working on—and inevitably decides to sit and work with you.

—

You wake up on your side, arm draped down and fingertips nearly brushing the rug. From this angle on the couch, you realize you must’ve fallen asleep doing your work. Everything’s still as you left it—laptop half-open, notebooks, and a favorite pencil. Except, there’s a blanket strewn over you and a memory-foam pillow slotted just beneath your head. The pillowcase is a dark-blue, smells like dryer sheets—not yours, and there’s only one other option in the house.

Ryland must’ve tucked you in after coming home from the library. The thought of him unlocking the door, slowing at the sight of you knocked out in the living room, and tiptoeing to grab you a warmer, comfier setup makes your chest tighten.

You have to find your phone somewhere by you on the couch; it’d been at your side when you fell asleep, and when you find the cold glass screen, it’s nearing being wedged between the cushions. A click of the side-button, and the lockscreen reads: 7:36 A.M. You don’t have to get up for another hour or so, but Ryland should be up by now. It’s best practice, you think, to return the pillow and blanket back to its owner, before wandering back to your own bedroom. So, you get up on wobbly, half-asleep legs. The blanket gets folded as neatly as possible, with the pillow stacked on top, and you carry them with both arms over to his bedroom.

You give a soft couple of knocks on Ryland’s door. “Hey, you awake?” There’s a thud, a muttered curse, and footsteps padding over on the other side of the door. Definitely awake. “Sorry,” you say, “I just wanted to make sure you get your bedding before you head out for the day. And I also wanted to say—”

Ryland’s opening the door with one hand and tugging his shirt over his chest with the other. You get a good look at his bare stomach while pushing out a meek, “Thanks.” You don’t know how you’re going to get that image out of your mind for the next twenty-four hours. He’s… more toned than you would’ve expected—abs soft and tight. That’s an unacceptable thing to think. You give your attention over to his eyes instead, the usual murky blue, twinkling with amusement.

“Well, you were fetal positioned on the couch,” he considers, “I would’ve woken you up, but you seemed pretty comfortable where you were.” It doesn’t help that Ryland’s hair is wet—having just gone through his morning shower, blonde hair all damp and unstyled. He takes the folded blanket and pillow off your hands with a small grin, before turning around to drop them on his bed.

The wide crack of the door Ryland leaves open allows you to peer into his bedroom uninhibited. You’ve rarely gotten a good look like this in the past couple of months you’ve been living in the apartment, considering how private he is and how little you want to pry. But now, you’ve got a great picture: his gridded sheets, the PC display on his desk, a bedside table with a small, ceramic lamp, a rack of sweaters on the side. It’s all tidy, and a little plain—save for the few posters. You can pick out… a big periodic table? “Is that…?”

Ryland turns back to you with a couple steps, nearly chest-to-chest in the doorway of his room. He’s turning over his shoulder to trace your gaze, then peering down at you with a lightly dazed look. “Yeah,” Ryland says, picking at his nail, trying to feign disinterest—but it’s very apparent there’s some kind of sentimental value in the poster. It’s placed conveniently over his headboard.

“Hm.” You nod, completely unsurprised. It’s perfectly him. “Do you count floating molecules to go to sleep, too?”

“Okay. You—” he stammers. “You could do with a little bit more manners. I made sure you wouldn’t catch a cold last night, and suddenly you’re coming to my room and taking a shot at the decor.”

“I’m kidding. Don’t get butthurt,” you tell Ryland. “It’s super cute.” He seems even more worked up by your choice of words, already beginning to shut the door on you. “Okay—it just goes. You’re, like, the most science-y guy I know, and I like it.” ‘I like you’ seems like a more fitting translation of the words, and the pointed way in which you let them slip out of your mouth.

Ryland keeps his door open with a small crack left for the two of you to peer at each other. He murmurs, eyes softened, “There’s extra coffee in the pot. Don’t waste it.”

—

As the weeks pass, you find yourself in an odd back-and-forth with Ryland with the matter of favors. It’s a good thing on paper. He leaves you coffee in the pot, and you make sure to charge his laptop if you find it left on the dining room table. He restocks your snacks, and you make sure to make him an extra portion of your dinner on his harder study days. It’s a fully functional exchange that exceeds cohabitation. You’re both so programmed into the care that it's second nature.

Like, now, when you’re staring at the metal thermos in the fridge—having been in search of milk for your morning cereal. It’s his. Ryland is supposed to be between classes for the rest of the day, with a fifteen minute break to eat. And his lunch is wedged between your leftovers from last night and your communal carton of eggs. He’s a grown-up. He can fend for himself, probably grab a quick bite to eat at the student union. But you know he’s been trying to meal prep more, cut down on costs. You should take his thermos to him; you’d be a crappy roommate if you didn’t.

You slot your phone out of your back pocket, trying to check for his location. He’s on campus—and you’re sure that you could fit in dropping his lunch off before your class. With a soft breath, you pick the metal thermos up off the shelf of the refrigerator, and toss it onto the counter next to your breakfast. You’ll pack it with the rest of your things—the laptop, the notebooks—and Ryland will probably be very thankful for you later.

—

You’ve never been to this building before, let alone up to the third-floor and over to the student labs. It takes a fair bit of navigating, seeing as the hallways—all decked out in research posters and flyers for student job opportunities—are laid out essentially like a labyrinth. It’s strange to think that your roommate spends the larger part of his time on-campus in this hall. He probably has a certain air of authority weaving past these offices and labs, having earned it on the way to his Masters degree. Ryland is smart—cocky, of course—and walks with his head far too high. But he works hard, stays here even when he’s allowed to go home. You like that about him.

You’re very sure you’ve made a full loop of the third floor before you actually get to where you’re supposed to be. This is the room, as clinically white and void of decoration as it is. There’s a bunch of undergrads here, all in white lab coats and lab glasses. They look at you with an undercurrent of stern judgement. You don’t seem like you’re supposed to be there, because you’re not. They’re watching you, baby-faced and all, like curious, wide-eyed hawks. “Sorry, is Ryland here?” you ask them.

A girl with tied-back, coiled ginger hair answers first: “He’s grabbing a fresh set of agar plates from the fridge.”

Then, another girl, her lab partner, pipes up next: “Are you his—?”

“Roommate!” Ryland coughs out from right behind you. It’s difficult not to flinch at the exclamation, and your shoulders are still tensed up tight as he continues to speak. “This is my roommate who’s supposed to be at home until 2:00PM. What are you doing here?” Ryland is quick to drop the stack of agar plates off onto the nearby countertop space. The small cohort of students in front of him are clearly trying not to snicker at you both. You can practically see his right eye twitching just beneath the lens of his glasses. He’s not embarrassed, per say. But it’s deathly apparent that he’s getting worked up.

“I have your lunch in my bag. Here.” You’re just about to pull that small thermos out of your shoulder bag, but he’s putting his hands up to stop you.

“Wait, wait. C’mere.” Ryland takes his bright-blue medical gloves off and snaps them into the trash can with a foot on the pedal. Then, he’s shrugging his lab coat off, hanging it up, and making his way over to the sink. You stand a good distance away, watching him lather his hands carefully with soap, scrub them together, and rinse them clean. You rarely get the opportunity to see him like this.

Then, you’re following him out of the lab. He takes the thermos out of your hands gingerly, palms brushing unnecessarily over your fingers. “You didn’t have to drop it off,” he tells you, hands clinging around the cold metal of his thermos. You wish he’d stop looking down at you with that look about him. He has his jaw clenched, and there’s a light dusting of blush across his cheeks.

“It’s not a big deal.” You look away, shooting your gaze anywhere but his face. In the hallway outside, there’s a bookcase with an index card reading “free textbooks” taped to its top. He sets his thermos down on the top of it, before leaning on the expanse of wall right beside it. “I hope it isn’t weird for me to pull up to your work—” you tell him.

“Oh, no. I don’t mind it at all,” Ryland says. There’s a hesitation in his voice and makes you squint. “It’s just that they’ve been spending the entire semester so far trying to pry into my private life. And I’m pretty sure one or two of them have crushes on me, which is a no-go.” Ryland takes his glasses off with one hand and massages the bridge of his nose with the other. “Zero boundaries, very territorial—because I happen to be a pretty decent teaching assistant.”

“You think that’s why they have crushes on you?” you scoff loudly.

“...Yes?” he murmurs. He looks pensive. There is no good reason for you to doubt his claims—but, he’s acting absurdly clueless. There are particular reasons for why this cohort might be fascinated with Ryland, and you don’t think it’s his teaching skills.

“Hm.” You give him a curt nod, trying your hardest not to give yourself away. He takes your silence uncomfortably, hands first held behind his hack in a tight clasp of his long fingers.

He can’t hold it in. “They’re going to think that you’re—we’re—” Ryland gestures between the both of you in some haphazard way, an altogether efficient means of stating the obvious. Seeing each other. Screwing. Dating. Whatever he’s trying to say, it’s all very unanimous and completely unnecessary. You raise your hand up, nearly brushing against the center of his chest—a wordless means of telling Ryland to not even try. His jaw tightens. “Okay. I’ve got a lab waiting on me.”

“Right,” you say warily. “I’m gonna go grab something to drink before class so… see you at home.” The half-smile you give Ryland—all nerves, and only half-genuine—is matched by his own.

Ryland nods, “See you. And thanks for the lunch,” before turning on his heel and traveling back through the doorway you both came out of. You make sure not to linger around, walking in wide steps toward the nearest elevator. Even halfway down the hall, the little giggles and murmurs are audible. It sounds like a middle-school class in there, and the same couple of undergrad students are chirping away. Out of the overlap, you can hear mimicries of your voice—“I have your lunch bag, Ry.”—that are certainly inaccurate and a little bit rude.

Then, Ryland’s stern tone cuts through the noise. “I’m still your TA.” It must work at least a little, because the ceaseless giggling seems to tire. In your head, you can imagine him shrugging that lab coat back over his shoulders, then crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt at being strict. The thought of him being flustered about all this teasing—you’ve never seen him this red before—makes you giddy. You have to get into the elevator with a hand tight on the strap of your shoulder bag, choking down a grin.

—

You’re the first to get home that day. Torturously, you’ve had him on your mind throughout all of your classes. His messy hair and his lab coat and the way he attempts some semblance of strictness as a graduate teaching assistant. All unacceptable. There’s no good way to excuse the way in which you’re picturing Ryland now. It’s all muddled with your own uninhibited attraction. Hormones, you try to tell yourself, and proximity. You know that any other reasonings would be nothing but trouble.

This festering conflict lasts through the afternoon. You hang around the living room with your laptop, legs crossed over the cushions of the couch as you type away. There’s work here and there, a couple e-mails to send—and you think you’d like to finish these up slowly so you might catch a glimpse of Ryland before he sequesters himself away in his bedroom.

According to schedule, Ryland can be heard plonking his Converse soles across the narrow hallway of your complex. Hearing the familiar, low jingle of his keys and the turn of the doorknob makes you straighten up a bit on the couch. You’re about to give him a soft greeting, maybe mention that you’re about to cook dinner, when you see that Ryland has a shadow. A sweet-looking girl shuffles in behind him through the front door—your front door—with honey-blonde hair tied into a soft ponytail. You can feel your throat dry up at the sight.

“You’re home. I was trying to ring your cell,” he says. “Sorry. Hope the visitor’s okay.”

You can feel your eyes shutter, a few rapid blinks interrupting your otherwise relaxed composure. “No, of course! It’s totally fine,” you say, a bit of a nod programming itself onto your reaction. It’s instinct and embarrassment all coalescing together, from the way you run your hair into your scalp to the way your fingers grip awkwardly at the corners of your laptop. “Hi,” you say sheepishly to the blonde.

She has a little bit of a glow to her, all too excited to be peering around into the apartment and getting a good look into Ryland’s everyday. Her gaze practically breezes over you. You know that look all too well. Ryland introduces you first, then her, before they’re quickly escorting themselves down the hall and to his room. This feels like punishment for enjoying him too much earlier—and the doting from his cohort of undergraduate students. The girl is pretty; you didn’t quite catch her name. Something starting with an L. All you know is that this is definitely a matter of the universe keeping your ego in check.—

You don’t know what to do with yourself after the door to his bedroom closes. The best course might be to go to your room—or out to a bar. You’re on the verge of closing your laptop and getting off the couch when you hear a light set of footsteps. Suddenly, you’re leaning back on the couch with your laptop balanced on your knees again. Ryland comes out of his bedroom with a gentle open-and-close of the door. You have an acute feeling of dread as he travels over to the cupboard to grab a glass. Then, the fridge for your shared pitcher of filtered water. “Stop staring,” he says. You huff. He can’t even see you. There’s no possible way for him to know—

“Thought we agreed on no hookups?” you say with a hushed tone. The best you can do is try to keep it light. It’s a good attempt.

“That’s not a…” Ryland guffaws. He turns around to face you, glass in hand. “We’re in the same grad cohort, nosy.”

You hum, “I’m pretty sure she wants to get in your pants.” Ryland is exasperated with the implication, placing the glass down on the counter with his hand still wrapped around it.

“She is my… colleague! She wants me to read over her research proposal.” You’re praying it’s not a girlfriend from Canada kind of situation. Ryland reads the skepticism on your face easily. He reiterates, “It’s a real proposal. We have a conference in Spring and she’s prepping the submission. I have one, too. We’re trading.”

“Well, if you end up accidentally trading proposals in bed, I’m just telling you now that I’ll have my headphones on. Noise-cancelling, just blasting straight rock,” you say, shrugging your shoulders slightly. Ryland picks the glass back up with a shake of his head, padding back down the hall and towards his room.

“I’m still not like that, but great,” he tells you, “Good to know.” You’re still settled in on the couch as he opens and closes the door. You can’t even see the girl anymore. You wonder if she’s sitting at his desk or on his sheets. It’s probably better not to think about it.

—

As promised, you have your earbuds stuffed tightly into your ears—music a good few decibels louder than they should be to be considered healthy. You’ve been tucked away in your room for the last hour and a half, still typing away on your laptop. It’s difficult not to imagine what’s happening in the room over—but it doesn’t seem to last long. What you do eventually hear, past your blasted music, is a slam of the front door. You have to tiptoe from your bed to your door, then crack the door open a good inch.

You peek outside into the hall, the wire of your earbuds hanging over your neck. The girl is gone. Ryland is at the front door, head hanging low. He turns with a miserable blush peeking out from beneath the rims of his glasses. He seems to catch your eye almost immediately, and you realize it’s virtually pointless to conceal your prying. Ryland confesses briskly, “She tried to kiss me. On the mouth.”

You let out a breathy laugh—and curse yourself for feeling relieved. “Didn’t I tell you? Couldn’t be more observant.” You let your door swing open wide. He hangs his glasses off his face and scrubs his face with his palms. Ryland groans, and then he’s walking over. He leans against the closed door of his bedroom, parallel to your own. Your socked feet are facing each other as Ryland pushes his glasses back up, hands locked together over his head. His t-shirt is riding up, and he doesn’t seem to mind it much. You try not to pay any mind to his arms, either. This stressed posture he’s holding up is doing wonders for his biceps. Another unacceptable thing to think about him.

Ryland grumbles under his breath. “And here I was thinking you were getting jealous. Obviously, I know now that you’re just looking to be right.”

“And I am,” you say. “—right. I’m right.” You cling sheepishly to the frame of your bedroom door, fingers jutting against the jamb. You can’t believe he thought you were jealous. You were, a little. It couldn’t have been that obvious, and obviousness aside, you don’t know how he could bring it up so easily. Ryland does have a pretty full-of-himself attitude. A change of topic is probably best. “So, she tried to kiss you, and you…”

“Practically fell off the bed,” he nods. You can’t help but clasp your palm over your mouth, holding back a guttural laugh. Ryland drops both of his arms, mirroring your lean with his arms crossed over his chest. “It’s really only half as funny as you think it is. She was really embarrassed—said she had to go meet a friend downtown for dinner.”

You can feel your eyebrow tick up a bit at the thought of this girl dismissing herself from Ryland’s room and straight out to the front door. Aside from your very expected qualms with the entire situation, she did seem pretty sweet. You’d be embarrassed, too. Ryland seems just as unnerved, and he wasn’t even the one to make the move. You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “You weren’t feeling it?”

Ryland tilts his head, “Well, last time somebody tried to kiss me, I had a kind of similar reaction. Total stasis—” You. He’s talking about you, that night out with Marissa and Co., the hourly allegations of possibly-dating.

“I kissed you on the cheek! Don’t be weird,” you shoot back vehemently. Now, he decides to bring it up. After weeks of no resolution, Ryland decides that this is the perfect opportunity to play it all out. You’d expect nothing less. He really is a strategist.

Ryland blurts, “Nobody kisses their roommates on the cheek. I’m just saying.” Now, you’re feeling heat crawl up your neck, and Ryland’s looking a little bit more relaxed at the sight of this levelled playing field.

“Yeah, I think I’ll maybe think it through the next time an opportunity arises,” you retort sarcastically. He couldn’t be more on your nerves. You’re just about ready to retreat back, shut the door in his face with a hasty goodbye. The second you step back, Ryland steps across the hall, hand placed flat over your door. Your eyes flit from his face, down his arm, to his hand, and back again.

Ryland lowers it slowly, biting down against the inside of his bottom lip. “Sorry.” There’s plenty that you’d like to say—maybe, that it’s Ryland’s fault for calling you nice things, his fault for letting you room with him. Or, maybe it's your fault for deciding to reach out. It’s certainly nobody’s fault for the two of you residing within the same-enough social circles to connect. You wonder if you would’ve ended up on each other’s radars regardless. “To answer your question, no. I wasn’t feeling it. She’s not really my type,” he admits.

“Oh.” You can feel the exasperation on your face melt into something more sobered. You can’t tell whether or not Ryland knows how it’s coming across. It’s certainly dangerous waters. Ryland looks more serious than you’ve ever seen him, and the lump in your throat tells you that you’re on the more excitable end of hearing what he has to say.

He murmurs, “And I’m a dissertation-first kind of guy.” Right—that makes a little bit more sense. You straighten up, narrowly avoiding his chest with your own. With your soles sliding against the wood floor, you start to slip into the hall, out of his proximity. You can hear him shuffling behind you in a quiet trail.

“Obviously,” you say tightly. You’ve got to tick that off on the more acceptable things about Ryland. He’s scholarly. It’s a really good thing. You’re scholarly, too. Decidedly, you’re thinking of being wholly scholarly together, and nothing else. Roommates-friends-study buddies will likely be for the best. “You should probably shoot her a text or something. Courtesy and all,” you say to Ryland, a little more of a tease livening your tone.

He seems to think about it for a moment, running a hand through his hair. Then, Ryland murmurs, “You’re good at e-mails, aren’t you? Would you maybe help me draft it?”

You make an exerted effort to wander into the kitchen and make it to the fridge in search of leftovers. This leaves a good distance from him for you to think this all through. The opened fridge shoots a soft gust of cold air against your warmed face. You mutter under your breath, “It’s a sorry text, not a cold app.” You take the opportunity to peek over the door of the fridge at him.

He’s got a bit of a pout on his face, something you’ve really never seen before. His blonde hair casts a blurry shadow over his forehead. It conjures up a twisting feeling in your gut. You hate how easy it is for him to make you feel so obligated. You opt for taking a cold can of soda from the fridge instead (though you barely want to drink it). The condensation makes it slippery in your hand, and with a sigh, you shut the fridge. “I’ll proofread it. That’s all you’re getting out of me.”

“You’re the best,” Ryland says, shortly and simply, clapping his hands together in a bout of success. He’s far too proud of himself, and you have to keep a strong will slipping past him, out of the kitchen and straight for the couch. “While you’re at it, my research proposal could use a second look-over.”

“Don’t push it, Ry.”

•18+ Adults Only

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rockyhatemark

lights, camera, action! (colt seavers x f!reader) PART 2 (PART 1) summary: after filming the sex scene, a certain someone gets really jealous about all of the attention you and colt have been receiving. he tries to steal the spotlight back, fails miserably, and ends up unintentionally getting you and colt to hook up (for real this time) wc: 7.4k cw: light jealousy angst, unwanted kissing/touching (not forced), oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v, sassy colt, dirty talk a/n: lord almighty, this one took over a month to finish. thank you all for your patience :’) guys don’t ask me what the plot of this movie they’re filming is because I don’t know either LOL. it’s some kind of action spy movie with romance between long-time partners I guess?

Tom was livid.

He had been having a great morning; a journalist had written a piece about him that was getting a lot of traction and he’d received word from his agent that he landed another huge role in an upcoming film. The sun was shining when he strolled onto set, feeling like a million bucks.

So imagine his surprise when everyone and their dog was gossiping about the shoot yesterday- a scene Tom was supposed to film but couldn’t make it. (His friend was throwing an all-day party on a jet! How was he supposed to miss that?)

Apparently, whoever the hell they’d gotten to stand in for him had done an outstanding job.

w1nter-fairy

Operation: Get Barnes Laid!

main masterlist

pairing: tb*!Bucky Barnes x matchmaker!reader

summary: Bucky Barnes is one mission away from strangling his team, so naturally they do the reasonable thing: spend $800 on a matchmaking service as a prank. The plan? Humiliate him. The outcome? Not what they expected.

word count: 5.3 k

warnings: fluff, humor, idiots to lovers, mild language, mentions of violence (mission related), awkward dates, soft!bucky, teasing, light sexual innuendo, workplace boundaries (kind of... ignored), happy ending. (also, bucky sounds kinda pretentious because I just know that man is super smart, you'll get this when you get to this part) english is not my first language so I'm sorry if you see any mistypo/grammar error.

a/n: idk how I even came with this idea, lol, but I had something very clear: I wanted to post it in April Fools. also, who is this? Me not writing angst????? somebody call the police. I hope you enjoy it!

read on AO3

tw1sters

Rewind

Two names just landed on your hit list: your father, who dragged you back to the tiny town you swore you'd never see again, and Bucky Barnes, the infuriating farmhand whose smart mouth and sexy smiles threaten to ruin your career and your heart.

▸ PAIRING: Farmhand!Bucky Barnes x Pop Star!Reader ▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, public sex, no condom (don't try this at home), fingering, penetration, creampie, bucky is bossy in bed, brat diva!reader, sex tape leak mentions, hurt/comfort?, bucky calls her princess in a loving and lowk nasty way ▸ WORD COUNT: 23.8K ▸ A/N: i wanted to write a hannah montana: the movie au so i wrote a hannah montana: the movie au. partially inspired by the movie but with my own liberties!! im almost sorry for the length, idk why i cant shut up. thank you again to @iamthatonefangirl and @barnesonly for organizing this collab, excited to share my second contribution!!! check out my first one here <3

↤ main masterlist | bwat summer masterlist

Just when you think your father can’t find any new ways to torment you, he stoops to an all-time low. He’s done plenty of insane things throughout your life and your career, risks that you still question to this day whether they were worth taking, but this one takes the fucking cake.

“Turn this plane around right now,” you snap, arms crossed with a scowl stitched into your brows. Your pink heels tap impatiently before him, a new purchase as a reward for finishing one song for the new album.

cinnxmxngxrl

It’s a Match!

Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x reader

Robby Masterlist Updates Account

Robby has never been a fan of birthdays. This year, loneliness drives him to download Tinder on an impulse, only to come across the last person he expected to find there: his favorite resident.

warning/tags: minors DNI, p0rn with little plot, masturbating, sexting, pet names (sweetheart and good girl) robby loves talking you through it, unprotected piv, pussy eating, multiple orgasms, body hair, fingering, creampie, handjob, kinda softdom!robby, age gap (I imagined reader being in her 20s or 30s but could be in her 40s too, tried to keep it broad)

For those of you who read it the first or second time I uploaded it: during the days the fic was down, I expanded some scenes, added a bit more dialogue, and made it a little kinkier along the way. You might want to read it again for some extra content

•18+ Adults Only

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undoxt

if I lay here, if I just lay here

summary: you were kidnapped to use as bait for someone you had only ever met once months ago. between a batshit insane sadist, and the return of the man you thought you'd never see again, you felt utterly helpless.

pairing: court gentry x fem!reader

word count: 7.2k

tags: graphic depictions of violence and injuries, torture, mentions/threats of sexual violence, death, kidnapping, hurt/comfort, angst, non sexual nudity

A/N: I did decide to use Lloyd because why not lol wasn't planning for this to be 7k words but alrighty

based on this this and this request <3333

You had no idea why you were here; that was perhaps the worst part.

Nope, actually, on second thought, the worst part was definitely how you didn’t know where you were, didn’t know who had taken you, and didn’t know what they were planning to do with you.

sinsilk

SPEEDING DOWN THE BOULEVARD ── [ colt seavers ]

— colt seavers x fem!reader

part three to 'MAKE PEACE WITH IT' + 'WISH YOU THE BEST' you guys are taking it slow, colt struggles with taking this slow, but powers through until you guys have a beach day

✶.🏷 7.7k — cw: pt. 3/2. no use of y/n. 18+ CONTENT. fluff. soft smut. plot with porn. they have their beach day episode. colt in a backwards hat. colt manhandles reader. fun day at the beach. kissing. making out. dry humping. handjob + fingering. colt calls reader 'pretty girl' and 'good girl'. car sex. protected p in v. sweet ending. title pulled from 'stupid song' by olivia rodrigo. kinda edited; all mistakes are my own

a/n: surprise there's a secret third fic for the best duology!! this started off as an exclusive but i thought i shouldn't deprive the people of colt seavers nation of this fic LOL. and i unintentionally made this fluffier and softer than i expected LOL but shoutout danny and bibi being my unofficial beta readers on this fic LOVE YOU GUYS <33

colt seavers masterlist

mcybank

Busy Woman ! — Jack Abbot

pairing — jack abbot x fem!reader

summary — jack has seen you leave a trail of broken hearts and bad dates, and he’s determined to prove to you that you’re looking for love in all the wrong places.

warnings — 12.6k words. age gap (jack’s around 50; reader’s a 4th year resident, so 20s), attending/resident power dynamic; mentor/mentee relationship, idiots in love maybe?? yearning!jack, jealous!jack, jack ‘i’ll pay for it’ abbot strikes Again!!!! hurt + comfort (one instance of jack being an ass, but he smooths it over during the same shift - they can’t stay mad at each other), mild angst, patient death, jack’s leg - reader helps him adjust the prosthetic and takes care of him during a long shift, canon-typical medical scenes and probably lots of inaccuracies (i’m an english major reddit is my best friend) ; on-page patient death, reader performing compressions, reader DATES DATES and may be unprofessional (affectionately she just wants to find love and her entire life revolves around the hospital who can blame her), reader’s written to have hair she brushes and can pin up, she also gets on her toes to kiss him but that can be ignored i just liked the image jack basically bribes her into a date, no smut but they’re So very much thinking about it, rushed-ish ending i think?

notes — wrote this in a slump it took so Unbelievably long and i’m not even sure i like it but i wanted to post something before i give up on writing anything ever again!!!!

It was midnight and a peds nurse was lingering by the ambulance doors, and Jack knew that he wasn’t meant to be there. Lewis was his name, maybe, but Jack couldn’t even be sure of that — and knew he had no reason to be sure of it, because the guy wasn’t meant to be there. Running the ER in the middle of the night, with all of the day’s patients handed off, and the night’s still finding their way through triage, was difficult in itself, and he didn’t have the energy to also babysit Ryan-or-Lewis-or-whoever hovering there like a little boy waiting to be picked up from school.

“Is he meant to be here?” Jack asked, closing the space toward the desk where Lena was pointing something, jutting his thumb in the direction of the guy.

Lena flattened a printout on the desk with two fingers, hardly sparing him a glance.

“Him. Peds. Why is he there?” he tried again.

“Couldn’t tell you,” she said, but the corner of her mouth had flicked up, proving that she was simply choosing not to tell him.

“He’s off his unit,” he said. He knew he sounded just slightly silly stating the obvious.

“Seems so.”

“Send him back, then,” Jack drawled, incredulous, hands finding his hips. “There’s enough shit going on here.”

“You send him back,” she retorted, amused just slightly. “If you’re so concerned.”

snoopysupe

DOG DAYS — Jack Abbot

summary: jack meets you in the carnage of pittfest.

pairing: jack abbot / resident!f!reader

content: co-workers to (eventual but not in this) lovers trope. takes place during pittfest ep. implied age gap as r is a resident. meanie robby for the plot. characterisations: r has vitiligo & some self doubt — that’s it. descriptions of gunshot wounds, blood and death. inaccurate medical terms bc i scanned a couple of documents about REBOAs hehe. (wc: 4.9k)

mcthsman

*RING: a jack abbot x reader story.

You have a huge crush on the night shift attending of your new workplace, Dr. Jack Abbot; he's nice, he's kind, he's always giving you his undevided attention. Too bad he is married to the day shift attending, Dr. Robby Robinavitch.

click here to join the TAGLIST. / click here for my MAIN MASTERLIST.

warnings: night shift ward clerk!reader, age gap (reader is mid to late 20s, jack is late 40s/early 50s), reader is afab and goes by she/her, fluff, miscommunications, death of a spouse, mentions of food, no use of y/n, alcohol consumption, requited unrequited, no physical description of reader, unreliable narrator, shen is a diva and a gossip, jack is a flirt but only when he doesn't mean it, work place crushes, everyone is queer because i said so.

rating: 18+. (there's nothing explicit in this but i dont want kiddos on my blog sorry!)

word count: 4.6k.

fox says: hi friends, thank you for reading! no smut on this one, sorry! this is me dipping my toes into writing jack and while i had a lot of fun, i'm sorry if he feels a little ooc to anyone. i'm still trying to grasp his characterization, it's not like the pitt gives us a whole lot to go on with lol as always pls let me know how we feel!

also available on archiveofourown.

•18+ Adults Only

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chronicyurning

Imagine bonding w/ Lars (Lars Lindstrom x GN! Neighbor! Reader)

Lars and the Real Girl Masterpost

This imagine took me out back and shot me. But it's okay. We ball. I'm gonna write a part two for this where reader helps Lars with physical touch...so stay tuned for that.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊ ༄ ❆⁠ ༄ ₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

Moving, so far, had been nothing but pain and misery for you. Furniture trucks going missing, flooding from snowmelt postponing your plans…it's all been a lot, with things seeming to go wrong at every turn. For the sake of your own mental health, you had pushed through the basics (setting up heating, electricity, water, etc.) and postponed anything else to a later date. In your time of need, the community had been a place of solace. Everyone was so lovely, always welcoming and wishing you the best. Some even offered to help unpack. It was heartwarming.

Present day, it's been about a month since you "moved" into your house. Everything is finally starting to feel situated, your space molding to what you really wanted it to be. With the big weight of hauling furniture off your chest, you decide to go to the library, wishing to scope it out now that you have free time.

You're checking out the books, fingers brushing against the spines, as you hear it: the subtle sounds of conversation. Curiosity gets the better of you and you go to the end of the aisle, peeking out. There's a circle of older women in comfortable looking chairs, knitting needles gently clicking as they talk together. The only outlier is the man amongst their midst, quiet as he looks down with a concentrated pinch to his brows, working on his own project. It's…undeniably sweet. It's only a matter of time before someone catches you, waving you over for a quick chat. While talking, you can't help the way your eyes drift toward the man, curiosity flowing. He looks kind. Quiet, but kind.

After, it seems that every time you go to the library, at least one person from the knitting group is there, always ready to chat with you. Eventually, the brunette comes up in the conversation. Lars—that's what you're told his name is. He's a "lovely young man", according to the ladies. You tend to agree, even if you haven't met him.

That statement holds true for about two weeks. Other than subtle glances, you two never interact. That is, until you're outside, enjoying the sounds of the migrating birds. The subtle crunch of snow under boots seems to be getting closer and closer to you. You immediately perk up, looking to your right. Low and behold, there he is. Lars.

His head is down, hands bundled into his jacket pockets. He doesn't seem to be paying much attention, mumbling something under his breath. You debate on offering a greeting before you eventually wave your hand loosely in the air as you say hello. He startles, blinking heavily before lifting his head up and seeing you. His cheeks glow pink from where they peek out under the bulk of his scarf. Inviting him in is easy.

From then on, it becomes a habit. Lars will take a walk, and you will intercept him, sometimes even waiting on your porch with a hot mug and a smile. He'll curl up on the couch, never one to take too much space, and entertain your attempts at conversation, slowly coming out of his shell over time. It's worth it, you think. He's a sweet guy.

He repays your kindness with words of affection and gifts. One time in particular, he even mutters out a compliment, speaking on how nice you are. He hands a heap of fabric to you before you can even think of thanking him. It's a sweater, custom made for you. You wear it as often as you can, ignoring the blush on Lars' face so that he can have peace of mind. He may be quiet, but he's a loverboy at heart. And that's enough for you.

Feel free to use this idea for fics/art! Just credit me ;p

honeypiehotchner

i've got it -- jack abbot x fem!reader

Jack said "i'll pay for it" and i blacked out. here's this. (the gif is def brett richards but ignore that!)

Summary: A short trip to the ER one night spirals into an unlikely accidental sugar daddy relationship with a certain night shift attending that you never expected.

Warnings: SMUT mdni 18+ only!!, medical innaccuracies (never been to the ER for a mild allergic reaction so just <3 look past any mistakes), slight miscommunication trope, jack is WHIPPED from day 1, sugar daddy jack yes god, lots of complicated feelings abt money, reader is trying her damnest to still be independent, so much fluff, robby has his whimsy back in this, jack is trying his hardest to be Normal abt you (he is failing), oral f!recieving, fingering, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (and the crowd...cheers? wear a condom!)

WC: 16.5k (I SAID I BLACKED OUT)

The last place you expect to end up on your birthday is PTMC’s ER and yet, that’s exactly where you sit.

honeypiehotchner

The Gambit || Masterlist

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!BAU Agent!Reader

Status: Complete and safe to binge :))

Main Masterlist || Hotch Masterlist

Gambit noun. an act or remark that is calculated to gain an advantage, especially at the outset of a situation.

Summary: Ten years after you first met Aaron Hotchner, you're placed on his team at the BAU. Ten years apart isn't nearly long enough to cool the hatred that began when you first met. In fact, it seems to have only gotten worse -- and the feeling is mutual.

General themes/warnings: enemies to lovers (these two HATE each other y'all), typical level of violence and cases for the show, depictions of panic attacks, eventual smut, chapter specific warnings will be given as well of course!

girllblogging777

summary : two universes collide when spencer has to watch the team meet his workplace crush, called in from another branch for her decryption skills - and he doesn't really like sharing.

word count : 2.3k

pairings : spencer reid x FBI!reader (workplace romance)

notes : there is such thing as the intelligence branch !! spencer is very jealous and it shows, modern romance would say they're at that point in the talking stage where they still won't aknowledge eachother irl

working for the FBI had its perks.

mostly social, you had to admit. certain jobs, tough you weren't exactly sure why, carried prestige. the prestige you felt when over drinks on first dates or small talk with old friends, someone asked what you did for work.

you could've been a linguistic analyst anywhere else, the years of studies and countless research papers you'd worked on would've earned you nothing but eye rolls and judgemental stares.

curiously, with the acronym of FBI came instant gratification. federal bureau of investigation, the magic words that earned compliments and sometimes mocking gasps.

how does it feel to work for the government ?

you're part of the Intelligence Branch ? of course, you're so smart.

the best perk however, apart from the thrilling feeling pulsing through your veins that came with having a purpose, worked three floors above you at the behavioural analysis unit.

with his tall figure and soft cozy looks, spencer reid didn't look like he belonged in this world either. united by the feeling of standing out in the crowd, or rather feeling invisible between individuals with a stern appearance and a sterile heart, you two connected.

a workplace crush, that's all he was.

greenwitchfromthewoods

Gentle Monday 🤍

my girlfriend. l Lars Lindstrom

Lars Lindstrom [Lars and The Real Girl] x Reader

warnings : what are we? ; a little jealousy ; naming feelings ; mentioning kissing ; dating

note : Everyone wants to belong to someone, like you two.

a/n : I like to think that this is a continuation of that story dance. l Lars Lindstrom x Reader

[Ryan Gosling masterlist][main masterlist] [gentle monday series]

Sunday dinner was simply pleasant. Karin had prepared a delicious salmon, and the smell of apple pie drifted through the house. Outside, the sun occasionally broke through the thick clouds, and although the day was chilly, it was beautiful nonetheless.

Lars glanced up and shifted slightly in his chair when Gus walked into the dining room and set a bottle of beer in front of him.

"So," Gus began as he sat down across from his brother, "everything okay?"

Lars nodded and offered a small, nervous smile. "Yeah. Everything's okay."

Gus nodded back, took a sip of his beer, and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "And how are things between you two?"

•18+ Adults Only

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deathreverse

APARTMENT SEVENTEEN — SERIES MASTERLIST

★ indicates smut / 𖤓 indicates fluff / ♡ indicates angst

SUMMARY: Jack Abbot is not an overly-neighborly person. He has secret nicknames in his head for most of the people on his floor and actively avoids any and all types of neighbor politics. However, he can’t deny his growing fondness for the single mom and toddler in apartment seventeen. (Nor his burning hatred for your baby daddy).

WARNINGS: this series includes a very chaotic reader with an even more chaotic toddler, mentions of abandonment, Jack's inability to consider anything good and worthwhile for himself, eventual smut, friends to lovers, mentions of previous abusive relationships, mentions of mental health struggles, miscommunication, age gap (reader is around 27 and Jack is in his 40's), medical inaccuracies and more.

A/N: I am very very excited to share this series and bring it to life. It started as a very random idea that quickly transpired into a huge story in my head within a matter of minutes. It does touch on some potentially triggering topics but warnings will be given in each chapter!

PAIRING: Jack Abbot x Single Mom!Reader

STATUS: Ongoing

Alternatively, you can read on Wattpad or Ao3!

grilchgurt

hot seat (ryland grace x reader)

also posted on ao3 | my masterlist Grace has, apparently, elected not to wear pants today. You decide this warrants a little pop quiz. ~2.8k words; smut; thigh biting (and sucking, etc etc); hand job; vaguely subby Grace; gender neutral reader (no pronouns, no use of y/n, no descriptions other than...having hair, i guess?) a/n: ok ok i know i said it would be a minute before i posted anything again but i was inspired. i also had kind of a shitty time applying for my visa (it's a long thing) so finishing this was kind of like a treat for myself. i wrote a good chunk while on a plane and the guy next to me would not stop looking my screen, so--i hope he enjoyed this lol

“Everything looking good up here, doc?”

Grace doesn’t look away from the cockpit’s screens at your greeting. You lean against the frame of the hatchway and cross your arms, taking in the back of his head, the way his arms reach forward and rest upon the console. “Yep. It’s all still the same as when I checked last week. Well, except for, you know, that we’re one week closer to Erid. Out of,” he pauses to do some quick mental math, “one hundred and ninety-six weeks, give or take a few days.”

You simply hum. He clicks through a few more menus before sighing. It’s been nearly a year—so one hundred and forty-four weeks remain, or something like that—and while the Hail Mary wasn’t necessarily short on entertainment, there was only so much to occupy the time with. He is probably bored out of his mind.

The pilot’s chair swivels, then, so Grace can face you, and you start to ask, “Well, wanna watch a—”

And then the question is cut short, because he is now completely turned toward you, and he is not wearing any pants, only a pair of boxers.

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