#┈ ⋞ all mirroring gone from the world : ic ⋟ ┈

[cleverquaketrace]

JK — HEIR OF ICE —chapter 4

pairing — dom!jungkook × fem!reader

genre — slow burn, emotional tension, dominant ceo au, contrast of worlds, forced proximity, rich man × working class woman, caretaking masked as control, one-sided vulnerability (until it’s not), obsession, power imbalance, unspoken longing, corporate luxury vs quiet poverty, domestic moments buried under hard emotional layers, angst, eventual softness, no rushed romance

warnings —heavy emotional themes, class disparity, grief, loneliness, possessiveness, control masked as protection, emotional repression, fertility & medical themes, implied trauma, mentions of illness and financial instability, eventual emotional intimacy, heavy silences, and complex dynamics.

taglist — [open ✧ comment to be added]

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Four months. Y/N stared at herself in the full-length mirror of the guesthouse bedroom, her hand resting lightly on the curve of her stomach. It wasn’t dramatic yet — just a soft swell beneath her loose shirt — but it was real. Undeniable. She was carrying his heir.

The doctor’s checkups were now bi-weekly. Nutritionists hovered. The staff prepared every meal precisely. Her body wasn’t just hers anymore—it was monitored, protected, managed… like another asset in Jeon Jungkook’s empire.

But some things couldn’t be controlled. The quiet weight of late-night thoughts. The subtle, unsettling way Jungkook’s gaze lingered longer now. The questions that slipped past his guarded lips—rare, precise, but there.

“Are you sleeping well?” “The nausea — it’s manageable?” “If the staff miss anything, tell me.”

Not warmth. Not care. But… control. Wrapped in protectiveness he refused to name.

Tonight was the same. Y/N had just finished dinner when a soft knock came at the guesthouse door. She opened it to find Jungkook, sleeves rolled to his forearms, his usual tailored coldness intact — but his eyes… they lingered on her stomach. Not with emotion. But with possession. Calculation. And something he refused to analyze.

“The doctors sent me the report,” he stated. “Everything’s normal.”

Y/N nodded. “I could’ve told you that.”

The faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Almost a smirk. Gone before she could confirm it.

A pause stretched between them. Jungkook’s eyes drifted back to her stomach, unreadable. Then, quietly— “Does it… feel strange?”

Y/N tilted her head. “Pregnancy?”

He hesitated, an unusual crack in his usual precision. “Carrying… my child.”

For a moment, the sharp edges of his words softened—not warm, but real. Y/N’s heart kicked slightly, not from the question—but from the fact that he asked.

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “It feels… separate from me. Like I’m watching it happen to someone else.”

A beat. His eyes flicked up to hers, studying her. “Do you regret it?”

The air stilled. Y/N exhaled, fingers brushing her belly lightly. “No.” A pause. “I just… didn’t expect the loneliness.”

She regretted the words the second they left her mouth. But Jungkook didn’t mock her. He didn’t dismiss it. If anything… his gaze darkened slightly, thoughtful. Unsettled.

“Loneliness is… efficient,” he said finally, almost to himself.

Y/N’s brows furrowed. “You think that’s a good thing?”

“I think feelings complicate results.”

She let out a soft, humorless laugh. “You must be exhausting to be around all the time.”

For the first time, a faint smirk ghosted across his face—small, fleeting, dangerous. “Most people don’t get close enough to find out.”

A pause. His eyes swept over her, guarded but curious now. “But you… you’re already too close.”

The words weren’t a threat. They were a quiet, reluctant admission.

Y/N’s pulse flickered.

The nursery was under construction. Y/N hadn’t been asked for input. Of course not. Interior designers, staff, and architects handled everything — sleek, modern, detached. It wasn’t a room for a child. It was another investment, executed with military precision. Just like everything else in this house.

She stood by the doorway that evening, watching workers carry in custom furniture wrapped in plastic. Neutral tones. Minimalist design. Perfect, cold lines.

Behind her, Jungkook's voice broke the silence. “It’ll be finished by next week.”

She didn’t turn. “It doesn’t feel like a nursery.”

A pause. His footsteps approached, precise, measured. “It’s functional.”

Of course. Y/N finally turned, facing him. “Can I ask you something?”

His gaze met hers, unreadable as always. “You can.”

She exhaled, steady but guarded. “After the baby’s born… when I’m gone… how exactly do you plan to manage that?”

Jungkook’s jaw tensed faintly. His reply came sharp. “The same way I manage everything. Structured. Efficient. The child will have the best care. Private security. Education arranged. Full-time staff.”

His voice was so devoid of emotion, it almost made her dizzy.

“The child,” she repeated flatly, arms crossing. “Not… your son. Or daughter.”

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed, his posture tightening. But she wasn’t done. “You’re talking about a human being,” she snapped, the frustration finally cracking through her calm. “Not an acquisition. Not a stock option. A child, Jungkook.”

The air in the room shifted — sharp, brittle. “It’s mine,” he replied, voice low, clipped. “Of course, I’ll—”

But Y/N cut him off, stepping closer. “See, that’s where you’re wrong.” Her voice shook—not from fear, but from restraint. “It’s yours… and it’s mine too.”

A pause. His eyes darkened slightly, not in anger — in surprise.

“I carried it. I’ll deliver it. I’ll leave… because that’s the deal.” Her jaw clenched, throat tightening. “But don’t forget… leaving it behind will already be hard enough for me.”

Her voice cracked — raw, controlled, but finally real. “The least you can do… is not treat my child like a business deal.”

The words hung in the air. Heavy. Irrefutable. For the first time since they met, Jungkook didn’t have an immediate, calculated reply.

The CEO mask slipped — not entirely — but enough for her to see the tension in his jaw, the flicker of uncertainty behind his eyes.

For a long, loaded moment, they stood there — quiet fury meeting cold control.

Then, softly — almost reluctant — he spoke. “It’s not… just a business deal.”

Not warmth. Not an apology. But a quiet, reluctant admission.

Y/N’s shoulders eased fractionally. She didn’t thank him. Didn’t soften. But for the first time… He saw her. Not the contract. Her.

The argument lingered long after the words had faded. Y/N had gone back to the guesthouse that night, her heartbeat steady but her chest tight, her mind replaying every sharp syllable, every flicker of surprise in Jungkook’s eyes.

She hadn’t expected him to apologize. He didn’t seem like the type to apologize. Not to anyone. But the small, reluctant admission — It’s not just a business deal — circled in her head like quiet thunder.

The next morning, nothing looked different. The same sleek villa. The same perfectly arranged breakfast. The same watchful staff. But… something was different.

Jungkook wasn’t hovering. That wasn’t his style. But during the doctor’s morning visit, she noticed him standing farther down the hall — pretending to scroll through his phone, but his eyes drifting toward her every few minutes.

When the doctor mentioned her recent fatigue, his posture stiffened. When the nurse commented on her low appetite, his jaw tightened.

Not possessiveness. Not warmth. But… attention. Precise. Sharp. Quietly unsettling.

Later that afternoon, as Y/N walked through the villa gardens — the only part of this cold fortress that didn’t feel like a boardroom — she caught him watching her again from the patio.

His gaze wasn’t soft. But it wasn’t unreadable anymore either. It held calculation, yes. But also… awareness.

He wasn’t just seeing a contract. He was seeing her. The stubborn girl who’d snapped at him. The woman carrying his child. The one person in his perfectly controlled world who refused to stay silent.

Y/N stopped by the fountain, resting her hand on the gentle curve of her stomach, exhaling slowly. Behind her, footsteps approached. She didn’t turn.

“I’m not in the mood to argue again.”

Jungkook’s voice came steady, low. “I wasn’t going to argue.”

A pause. The faintest trace of discomfort in his voice — almost like uncertainty. “The nursery… I told them to change it.”

Y/N blinked, surprised, finally glancing over her shoulder. “Change it how?”

“Less… corporate.” A pause. “It should feel like a home.”

The words were simple. Businesslike. But beneath them… a quiet, reluctant shift.

Y/N’s heart twisted — not with hope. Not yet. But with the faintest, undeniable crack in his ice.

She didn’t thank him. She didn’t have to.

The silence that settled between them wasn’t cold this time. It was… unfinished. A thread pulled taut.

And for the first time… neither of them rushed to cut it.

Y/N stepped closer, heart steady but uncertain. “Can I say something?” she asked quietly.

He didn’t turn, but his shoulders shifted slightly. “You always say what you want.”

She exhaled, ignoring the faint bite in his voice. “I know I’m… not in a position to ask anything from you.”

A pause. “I signed the contract. I agreed to this. I’ll leave when it’s done.”

The words settled between them like fog.

“But…” Her voice wavered, soft but steady. “The child… it’s not a deal. It’s not just part of your legacy.”

Jungkook’s grip on the glass tightened faintly.

Y/N swallowed, pressing on. “I know you’ll take care of baby.” Her eyes dropped briefly to her small but visible bump. “You’ll provide everything. Security. Education. Opportunities most kids could only dream of.”

A pause. Her voice dropped lower. “But… please, Jungkook…”

A breath. “Take care of them not like a businessman… but like a father.”

The words cracked with quiet vulnerability, raw and unguarded. She hesitated, forcing herself to meet his gaze as he finally turned.

His expression was unreadable at first — eyes cool, face composed. But beneath it… something flickered. Sharp. Unsettled.

“I know you,” Y/N continued, voice soft but certain. “You’ll be a good father.”

Jungkook’s jaw tensed. “You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

A faint smile tugged at her lips, weary but real. “Because no one protects what’s theirs the way you do.”

Another pause. “But this child… it’s part of you. Not your company. Not your empire. Just… yours.”

The silence stretched long, heavy. Jungkook didn’t reply immediately. His eyes lingered on her face, sharp and thoughtful — not dismissive, but processing. Quietly unsettled by the simplicity of her words.

When he finally spoke, his voice was lower. Controlled. But… different. “I don’t know how to be anything other than… this.”

A small gesture to himself — the sharp edges, the CEO mask.

Y/N’s lips curved, just barely. “Then figure it out. You’re smart enough.”

For a moment… the faintest twitch ghosted at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t warmth. But it wasn’t dismissal either.

The thread between them pulled taut again — quiet. Frayed. But undeniably there.

Y/N didn’t wait for him to agree. She turned and left him standing there with her words — soft, raw, unfinished — and the first real glimpse of his own unknown future.

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taglist:@lovingkoalaface@yungies@beattiestreet

@magicalnachocreatorr @khadeeeeej@a21100@gigi4evr

@pitchblack0309

[infernal-lightning]

➻ closed starter for @trustinvox

It had been stupid, so stupid of her to come back to this damned tower. Much less when she’d been drinking. But there she was, in an elevator headed up to Vox’s office. It wasn’t like she was overly fond of the Television Overlord - he was smarmy, sometimes crass, manipulative… though, so was she. But he appreciated the visual - always a good thing in Ilaera’s book. And he'd been decent enough to work alongside these past few years. He had certainly made things interesting in Hell.

Perhaps that had been why her mind had continued to steer back to thoughts of the overlord. No one at the bar had given her a second glance, which she was quite unused to - it smarted her pride. So, off to Vox’s tower she went.

She had strode - well, somewhat stumbled - into his office, clutching a bottle of whiskey and two small clear cups she had picked up on the way from the bar to the tower, unsure of what her goal was, here - she was a bit too far gone to really think that far ahead, truthfully.

And there he was - chair turned facing away from her, observing his wall of screens as usual. In an effort to not startle him, she cleared her throat before sliding up behind him, reaching forward to place the bottle and cups on his desk.

"Darling, you really must stop working such late hours," she purred, attempting to enunciate well enough to not sound quite as drunk as she felt. "Come, let me distract you. We can drink here, or go out..."

[shouyuus]

shut up tho not you turning playboy!oliver into the world's biggest, soggiest simp man ever. not him having gone through some shit and thinking that "true love" isn't real so why shouldn't he have a little fun, but then in you sweep, and you don't even see him like that, not at first. but sweet god, does he want you.

he thinks it's a conquest thing, thinks that you'll fall to his charms just like every other girl (and a good number of guys) has and he'll move right the fuck on like he always has, but you don't. and you don't.

it isn't till you call him out on his bullshit that he realizes what he's doing -- chasing after sandcastles and ice sculptures because the pain of loss is so familiar he's started to call it friend.

and at first he hates it, hates knowing that you know, seeing how you see him for who he is instead of this porcelain facade he's spent his whole life painting. a face he barely even recognizes in the mirror every morning.

but, when he kisses you for the first time, he swears he can taste the next sixty years of his life tucked somewhere in the ridges behind your teeth, every lazy morning painted across the warmth of your lips, every midnight dance cadenced in the rhythm of your slightly uneven breaths. he wonders, briefly, how he could've ever scorned something like this, how he could've doubted when this is the one thing, the only thing -- the still-point of his turning universe.

the media has a field day when he posts as pic of him and you, posed in the mirror, his arm wrapped possessively around your waist, your face hidden in the crook of his neck, that signature lazy smirk slung across his lips. but the caption is marked different from anything he's ever posted of his various escapades and hookups before (all those posts also disappear sometime within a 48hr span, causing even more speculation), just a single word --

yours.

[rotagnus]

messages from your love life.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

some messages from your love life! can be short-term, long-term, etc. this will focus primarily on romantic love, however if there are strong messages on love in other ways, i will write them down as well!! enjoy, babycakes 💋

pile 1.

yeaaahhh so i feel like a lot of you feel like you're never gonna find love 'cause your boundaries are strong as HELL. for a lot of you, you've gone through it in the past, this imminent situation that reminded you 'i can't settle', or 'i have to keep my boundaries even if i lose this person'. for those of you who haven't gone through that, it's likely that you will. there's two different groups in this pile; those who are in this situation NOW or have BEEN, and those who are gonna get this coming to them.

honestly, it's not a big loss. this is probably a person who you already knew wouldn't be YOUR PERSON. if you don't doubt anything at all it's probably not talking about that, because you guys are deeply intuitive spirits and are gonna know deep inside that this is a test about your boundaries, not someone who's here just to be HERE.

a lot of you are doubting that the universe is ever gonna give you your love because you keep going through test after test in romance, and it's honestly getting to a point where you're starting to be hopeless. you're the typa person who'd say 'maybe i'm just destined to be a crazy cat lady' LMAOOO. nah it just takes time to meet the right person. this person is gonna be your pillar of light, the person you can lean on. you've probably heard it so many times you're doubting it, but listen; have courage. have trust. it'll work out.

signs: seigfried by frank ocean. butterflies. yellow. 555. sunflowers. tabby cat. lilypad. e- names. blue. ocean. ice cream.

pile 2.

i feel like a lot of you are self-reflecting rn on the relationships you've had in your life as well as the ones you WANNA have. you guys are very strong, very wise individuals, and you have this deep sense of what's going on around you. you guys can tell what phase of your life is coming up, y'know? you guys are definitely the listening person and you help people with THEIR life and watch them succeed and get booed up, or get over things, and you're just left in the dust. you're a true leader, protecting, taking care of others; never of yourself. when will you guys realize that the way you treat yourself is what you attract in other relationships? your friendships have always been a mirror of self-worth, babycakes. you ever thought of that?

you guys struggle with opening up and receiving things. very awkward when it comes to gifts or compliments because you think you don't deserve them. you guys have gone through your fair load of shit and kind of gave up on love. there's never gonna be someone who is gentle with you unless you're gentle with yourself, you hear me? deep down, you guys know you're lovable. you see yourself giving, you see your smile, your eyes, your hair, and you know that there's someone out there who'd give you the goddamn world, but you don't wanna believe it. so you chase the relationships in which you're always the one giving, always burning alive, just so you don't have to face yourself. just so you don't face vulnerability. you hate being alone without anything to stimulate you (music, hobby, etc) because you're faced with this knowledge.

honeybaby, i'm begging you, PLEASE love yourself authentically. genuinely. stop engaging in patterns that stop the people who truly wanna sweep you off your feet from coming. because i promise, they're THERE. they're out there, in your sphere right now. but you need to trust; yourself, the universe. know that you're lovable. i know it's hard to face because if you're so lovable, why haven't you found the one? but sometimes it's because of things taking time. sometimes, you just gotta trust god and wing it.

signs: chicken. cars. no one noticed by the marias. drowning. black cats. eagles. deck of cards. kiwis. sweet fruit. structure. spine.

pile 3.

😏😏😏😏 someone has a crush on you. not promising they'll tell you, i don't think you know this person well, but you're def someone's class crush, hallway crush, street crush, whatever you wanna call it. this could also, for those ina relationship, be your partner. i'm getting this pure warm energy. but i think most of you guys aren't in a relationship rn, and it's really cause you're being protected. i think a lot of you are in this period of your life where you're soft and tender, like a butterfly. your wings are still wet and you can't really fly yet. this is a time in which you must call back your strength. the calm before the storm.

you guys are soo powerful. such good manifesters. a lot of you are gonna get exactly what you want but rn you gotta wait a bit. and a lot of you have tunnel vision; you get a crush on a person and you're like they're the one. listen, never ever get so attached to someone where you say that, unless you know them WELL. you guys have issues with self worth and go lower than yourself because you think that's all you deserve. babycakes stop settling for shit.

romance is coming to your life though, but if you don't listen to this message and the rest that the universe has probably been goddamn throwing at you, it's literally gonna take a longer while. you refuse to believe you're loveable, and the world is ACHING to show you that you are, but first, you gotta stop hating yourself by staying in relatinonships/crushing on people who suck. it's a method of hurting yourself and ya gotta know you deserve greatness before you're ready for a relationship.

signs: black. 222. acrylic nails. duality. gold. clovers. zebras. national parks. library. z- names. honey. fiji water.

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

BIGGER THAN THE WHOLE SKY

drew starkey x fem!reader

SUMMARY: while filming an emotional scene, y/n receives devastating news about her mum, leading to a heartbreaking breakdown on set as her boyfriend drew and their co-stars comfort her.

based on this ask !! thank you @xoxosblogsblog for another amazing request, a very emotional one to write as i’ve lost a parent, but it was therapeutic to write <3

(check out my other drew starkey & rafe cameron works here !!)

WARNINGS: death of a parent, crying, panic attack, descriptions of dissociating, grief, the cast being adorable :’), very angsty but a comforting ending !! (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 2k

THIRD PERSON +

Y/N sat in her trailer, staring blankly at her reflection in the mirror.

The makeup artists had just left, the remnants of their work leaving her looking polished, camera-ready. Her character was meant to be grieving in today’s scene, but they had only given her a touch of concealer, a dusting of powder to dull the shine of the lights, and a hint of smudged mascara to make it look like she had been crying.

She was supposed to pretend to be devastated.

The irony was almost cruel.

Her phone vibrated against the counter. She glanced down at the screen, expecting to see a message from Drew, maybe a reminder from the assistant director to head to set soon. Instead, her father’s name flashed across the screen.

Her stomach twisted.

It wasn’t like him to call during the day. He knew she was working, knew she was filming one of the biggest scenes of the season. A sudden chill crept up her spine, a visceral knowing before she even answered.

With slightly trembling fingers, she swiped to accept the call.

“Dad?” she answered, her voice steady despite the unease gnawing at her.

There was silence for a beat too long.

Her father was a strong man, always composed, always measured in his words. But when he finally spoke, his voice was hollow, stripped of all its usual warmth.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, and in just that one word, she felt her world tilt on its axis.

She sat up straighter. “What’s wrong?”

Another pause. Then a sharp inhale, like he was bracing himself.

“It’s your mum,” he said, and the way his voice wavered sent ice coursing through her veins.

Y/N’s fingers tightened around the phone. “What about her?”

His breath hitched, and then—

“She’s gone, love.”

The words didn’t compute. They didn’t make sense, didn’t fit into any conceivable reality she had prepared herself for.

“What?” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

“She passed away this morning.”

Her father’s voice was thick, like he was struggling to hold himself together. But she barely heard him now. The words looped in her mind, repeating over and over, yet still, she couldn’t understand them.

She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone.

That wasn’t possible. She had just spoken to her mum a few days ago. She had promised to visit after the season wrapped. She had plans with her, had texts left unanswered, had so many things left unsaid.

A strange ringing noise filled her ears, drowning out whatever else her father was saying. She felt the weight of her own body disappear, like she was floating outside of herself, detached and weightless.

Her vision blurred.

The room around her suddenly felt too small, too quiet. The air too thick.

“… I know you’re at work,” her father was saying, his voice distant, “and I don’t want to take you away from that. There’s nothing you can do right now, sweetheart. I’ll handle everything here. Just—just get through today, yeah? Then we’ll figure everything out.”

Get through today.

That was the only option, wasn’t it?

She would have to book flights, pack a bag, make arrangements—but none of that could happen now. If she left set immediately, what would she do? Sit in a hotel near the airport, trapped with nothing but her grief?

At least here, she had something to do.

At least here, she could pretend for a little longer.

She swallowed, her throat raw. “Okay.”

Her father hesitated. “Y/N—”

“I have to go,” she interrupted, her voice eerily calm.

“Sweetheart, wait—”

But she ended the call.

The phone slipped from her fingers, landing on the counter with a dull clack.

The silence that followed was unbearable.

She stared at the mirror, at the girl looking back at her—the girl who, ten minutes ago, had been fine. Normal. Whole.

Now, she felt like a cracked porcelain doll, barely held together, each fissure running deeper and deeper beneath the surface.

Her face remained passive, her lips slightly parted, her expression unreadable. But her eyes—her eyes gave her away.

She wasn’t there anymore.

She was somewhere else, floating through the spaces between reality and nothingness.

Her body felt heavy, yet she was untethered.

Her fingers curled against her lap, gripping onto the fabric of her costume as if that alone could keep her from slipping away entirely.

It wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be real.

Because if it was—

A soft knock at the door made her flinch.

“Five minutes to set!” called a PA from outside.

She blinked.

Five minutes.

A deep inhale. A slow exhale.

She forced herself to move, to pick up her phone, to smooth down her clothes. She had a job to do.

She pushed everything else aside, packed it into a box, sealed it tight.

She would grieve later.

For now, she would pretend.

She opened the door and stepped onto set, not realising that in just a few short minutes, the cracks in her facade would shatter completely.

—

The set of Outer Banks was alive with the usual buzz of controlled chaos—crew members adjusting lights, directors conferring in hushed tones, the distant hum of the ocean blending into the background. It was supposed to be just another day of filming, another scene to capture before moving on to the next.

It was a heavy one.

Her character had just lost her father. The Pogues were there, trying to comfort her, trying to remind her she wasn’t alone. Even Rafe—played by Drew—stood nearby, a complicated mix of emotions brewing in his expression. The cameras were rolling, capturing everything.

Y/N tried to focus, tried to remember her lines, but something inside her cracked wide open.

She felt the grief swell like a rising tide, swallowing her whole. It was too big, too raw, too real.

When she started crying, no one questioned it. She was an incredible actress—everyone knew that. The scene demanded tears, demanded heartbreak. But as her sobs grew heavier, more uncontrollable, the air on set shifted.

Rudy shot a glance towards Chase, brows furrowed. Madelyn, kneeling beside Y/N in the scene, squeezed her hand, her own eyes glassy with concern. Drew, standing just out of frame, felt his pulse quicken.

Something wasn’t right.

The way Y/N clutched at her chest, the way her breathing hitched, sharp and ragged—it wasn’t just acting anymore.

Still, the cameras kept rolling.

Adrenaline surged through Drew’s veins. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his instincts screaming at him to cut through the scene, to pull her out of whatever was happening. But he hesitated. Y/N was a professional. If this was her choice, if she was using real emotions to fuel the performance, he had to respect that.

Then she collapsed to her knees.

The sob that tore from her throat wasn’t scripted. It wasn’t crafted for the scene. It was pain—real, unfiltered pain.

That was when the director finally called, “Cut!”

But Y/N didn’t stop.

She was still sobbing, her body trembling, her breath coming in shallow, panicked gasps. The cast and crew hesitated, frozen in the moment, unsure whether they should intervene.

Drew didn’t hesitate.

He was by her side in an instant, dropping to his knees, hands grasping her shoulders. “Hey, hey—Y/N, breathe. You’re okay.”

She wasn’t okay.

Her body was shaking so violently that she could barely hold herself upright. Tears streamed down her face, her expression twisted in anguish.

“Y/N,” Madelyn whispered, stroking her back. “What’s going on?”

“Someone get her water,” Chase called, already stepping forward.

Drew cupped her face, forcing her to look at him. “Love, talk to me.”

But she couldn’t.

The world around her blurred at the edges, the voices of her friends distant, muffled. She felt like she was floating—adrift in a sea of grief, unable to grasp onto anything solid.

“Come on, baby,” Drew pleaded, his own voice shaking now. “You’re scaring me.”

Y/N gasped for air, her chest constricting so tightly it hurt. She couldn’t think, couldn’t speak.

Madelyn was rubbing soothing circles into her back, whispering soft reassurances, while Rudy and Jonathan exchanged worried glances. The crew had fallen into an uneasy silence, watching the scene unfold.

Finally, through the sobs, through the suffocating grief, Y/N forced out the words that shattered the air around them.

“My mum… she’s gone.”

Drew’s heart stopped.

The words didn’t register at first. He blinked at her, his grip tightening instinctively.

“What?” he breathed.

Y/N choked on another sob, pressing her hands to her face as if she could somehow block it all out.

“My dad called me before we filmed,” she whimpered. “She—she died. I—I didn’t know what to do—I thought I could just—” She gasped, shaking her head frantically. “I thought I could just get through the day, but—”

Drew didn’t let her finish.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly it felt like he was trying to fuse them together. She collapsed into him, gripping the fabric of his shirt with desperate hands.

The rest of the cast looked on, their own eyes brimming with emotion. Madelyn covered her mouth with her hands, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“Jesus, Y/N…” Chase muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I—” Her voice broke again. “I couldn’t.”

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Drew murmured against her hair. His own eyes were wet now, his throat thick with emotion. “We’re here. I’m here.”

She let out a broken whimper, gripping him tighter.

Madelyn sat beside them, wrapping her arms around Y/N from behind. Rudy joined a moment later, then Jonathan, then Chase. A pile of bodies, all holding onto her, surrounding her with warmth, with love.

The weight of Y/N’s revelation hung heavy in the air, casting a sombre pall over the once-bustling set. The cast remained huddled around her, their collective warmth a fragile barrier against the encroaching chill of grief.

Drew held her as if anchoring her to the present, his fingers gently threading through her hair. “We’re here, love,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re not alone.”

Madelyn, her own tears silently falling, whispered soothing words, her hand never leaving Y/N’s back. “It’s okay to let it out. We’re with you.”

Chase knelt beside them, his usual playful demeanour replaced with earnest concern. “Whatever you need, Y/N. We’re family.”

Rudy and Jonathan exchanged glances, their eyes reflecting a shared resolve. “We’ll get through this together,” Jonathan said softly, his voice steady.

As Y/N’s sobs gradually subsided into quiet tremors, the director approached, his expression a mix of compassion and uncertainty. “Is there anything we can do?” he asked gently.

Drew looked up, his eyes red-rimmed but determined. “I think she needs some time. We… we need to get her home.”

The director nodded, understanding the unspoken request. “Of course. We’ll arrange for flights immediately. The production will cover all expenses.”

Y/N lifted her head, her eyes swollen and glassy. “I don’t want to be a burden,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

“You’re not,” Madelyn insisted, squeezing her hand. “You’re family.”

The crew moved with quiet efficiency, making the necessary arrangements. Within the hour, flights were booked for Y/N and Drew to return to her hometown. The cast remained by her side, offering silent support as she navigated the haze of shock and sorrow.

As they prepared to leave, Y/N turned to her friends, her voice trembling. “Thank you… all of you.”

Chase stepped forward, enveloping her in a gentle embrace. “We’ll be here when you’re ready to come back.”

Rudy nodded, his eyes earnest. “Take all the time you need.”

Jonathan offered a reassuring smile. “We’ll keep things running smoothly here.”

Madelyn hugged her tightly, her voice breaking. “We love you.”

Drew took Y/N’s hand, their fingers intertwining. “Let’s go home,” he said softly.

As they departed, the set remained in a hushed stillness, a testament to the profound impact of shared grief and the strength of chosen family.

The grief wouldn’t disappear. The pain wouldn’t lessen. But in that moment, she wasn’t alone.

And for now, that was enough.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

this was a every emotional one, but i hope you all enjoy it !! my requests are still open until i go away on wednesday so please send some in :)

as always, likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3

[bunny-jpeg]

hello bunny! may i please order a millionaire shortcake with a side of mocha coffee, served by dark!lando norris for verstappen!reader after zandvoort? thank you so so much ♡♡♡

bakery menu!

want to submit your own order? the bakery is open! (yay), there are tons of items from choose from and i am so thankful for everyone who has sent me things! i am currently working through some of the older prompts! so thank you to those who sent orders weeks ago, i am slowly getting through them <3

millionaire shortcake: "if they saw you now, you'd be the biggest shame to your family." + mocha coffee: breeding kink served by lando norris (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, breeding kink, post!zandvoort gp, dirty talk/degrading language, mean!lando, doggy style, chokehold

when you saw lando sail past the finish line multiple seconds ahead of your brother, you felt your stomach drop. this was max's to win, race after race the gap between him and lando was getting smaller and smaller. but, it wasn't just your brother losing out on another world championship, it was what lando called "the icing on the cake".

he beat your brother, and afterwards he got to sink into your pussy. anything lando wanted that night, he got. and winning the dutch grand prix, your brother's home race, you could only imagine what lando had in store for you tonight.

when your gaze met lando's he winked at you and you quickly turned back to your brother. your phone buzzed in your pocket and you felt a tightness in your throat. it was going to be a long night.

if max knew what you and lando got up to in the off-hours of racing. he would probably kill lando. you've seen max get aggressive with a number of drivers, even before formula one. in fairness you carried that aggressiveness too. stubborn, assertive, bordering on mean. you had an ex-boyfriend say it was the 'lion's blood', but you proved to be too much for him. lando made you into a kitten. gone were the claws and fangs, with him you were mewling, nipping at his hands rather than chewing into flesh.

it was maybe why you kept coming back.

you stood in the mirror of lando's hotel room. you knew you should be with your family right now. but instead you ended up with the winner of the race. most would've ran by now, hidden away in the hopes that lando wouldn't sniff you out.

"he could've put me in anything, but, why this." you dropped your shoulders, "fuckin' orange." to call what lando gave you as lingerie would be a disservice to the people who carefully craft such underwear. lando put you in something a porn star would wear, barely held together with thread and lace. the icing on the cake was the temporary tattoo on your thigh close to your pussy that was of the number four. lando's number. and you knew it would be a bitch to get off in the morning.

there was a knock at the door and you said, "relax, lando." before you took one last deep breath before you turned away from the mirror and headed out of the bedroom. lando's smile dropped at the sight of you. before he could say anything you said, "why did you pick orange. i look bad in orange."

lando picked his jaw up off the floor and went to you, a slight sway to his step as he closed the gap between you two. he rested his hands on your hips while you crossed your arms. he looked at you and smiled with those dazzling teeth of his. he said, "well because of mclaren."

"right, right. and it has nothing to do with the dutch at all." you get his gaze leveled with him. and his smile only grew.

"a coincidence." he said, heat in his tone, "you're just over thinking things. you know i don't like it when you think too much." his words made you run painfully hot. you had to give lando credit, he knew exactly how to get under your skin. he loved when you were stupid, dumb enough for him.

you made a face and he pulled you in for a hot kiss, one hand on the back of your neck. you squirmed against him and clung to the front of his t-shirt. the kiss was hot. it was heated in a way that you never had with anyone else. since you met lando, fucking other men bored you. you weren't a couple, this wasn't a relationship. this was mutually assured destruction as you pulled away from him.

"i was expecting worse from you. orange lingerie and a temporary tattoo, that seems tame for you." you remarked as you played with one of the straps of the bra. you could name on one hand all of the intense situations that lando had put you in.

from sex in a car that didn't have tinted windows on a side street in italy, to the time you went to the sex club in switzerland, and especially that time you has dinner with his family while there was a vibrator slipped into your aching cunt.

he tilted his head to the side and shrugged, "as much as i love torturing you, babygirl. i thought we'd keep it close to home, close together. as much as i would've loved to fuck you with the bed hitting the wall to your brother's room, i thought this was better." he cupped your breasts.

you groaned, "enough about my brother." you were soon pulled into the bedroom. lando had enough kindness left in him to fuck you on a mattress. there had been times you were left with rug burns in places where there should never be rug burns.

you got into the king sized bed and looked at him as he started to undress. your rubbed your thighs together and braced yourself on your arms. your body was so exposed to him. you knew he was hungry for you. just like he was hungry for the prize.

"fuck." he groaned, his cock was painfully hard. the tip a deep red and leaking thick pre-cum. his face more pink than usual as he got into the bed with you and rubbed his cock up against your thigh. the kisses grew hotter as you ended up on your stomach and totally nude. you could already feel the rush of pleasure throughout your body.

"lando." you groaned, "it's not fair that you can fuck this good. you deserve to suck at sex." your back arched a little further and lando smacked your ass.

"i love when you just shut up, beautiful. you're meant to sit there be pretty. guess that's why your brother looks that way, you took all the good looks. but because of that, you need to learn to shut the fuck up." he groaned as he rubbed his achy cock up against your ass, "seen, not heard." it was all dirty talk and it made you brain spark with pleasure. he had such a grip on you, he could degrade you every way and you'd still let him fuck you.

"fuck you, lando." you groaned. you tensed up as he slammed his cock into you. not caring about takin ghis time. you needed to be fucked right now. fuck some sense into you. your little yapping mouth needed to be quiet for a while. just while lando was feeling the high of his win.

you shuddered, "fuck. lando." your hips were raised more as lando pressed more of his weight against you. his cock filled you in a painful way when he took little time to prep you. tonight was his night, he didn't have to prep you.

he hissed through a tense jaw as he fucked you with little abandon. the bed shifted under you from the force he was fucking you with. he felt something heavy in his chest, he felt the sexual pull towards you. he needed you deeply, carnally. he needed to ruin you for any other man. maybe it was a possessive drive, but it kept him coming back for you.

"if they saw you now, you'd be the biggest shame to your family." he choked out, he could feel the hammering in his head as he rutted against you.

"shut the fuck up." you groaned as you gripped the pillows under your face. you clawed into the fabric and groaned, "shut up, shut up, shut up!" you wanted to throw the pillow at him.

it only spurred lando on as he fucked you with heavy thrusts. he eventually grabbed you by the arms and pulled them back using it as a way to bounce you on his achy cock. you whined a little louder as he said, "maybe i should get you pregnant. finish in your tonight, make a big fuckin' mess between your legs and ship you back to your dear, older brother. then a month passes and you have to tell him that you're pregnant. he's going to lose it." he pulled you against him tighter as his cock remained buried inside of you. your cunt was nice around his cock and it made him feel amazing all over.

"shit no." you whined.

lando laughed, "oh c'mon, be my wife? how does that sound, steal you from right under you brother's nose. he'd never know what hit him." his pace became quicker and you were seeing stars. reason left your brain and your core throbbed.

you whimpered and lando continued his rapid movements. there was little space for you to breath during his thrusts. you felt your heart in your throat as he fucked the words out of your head. you whimpered and whined. your noises were music to his ears.

"lemme make you a mama, beautiful. let me get you nice and pregnant." his words curled in your brain and you were left feeling on cloud nine, "you'd raise 'em so well. be such a good mother to them." his voice grew tight as the need to finish grew.

he fucked you, letting your arms drop in favor of your hips. the soft part of you that he loved the bruise. he bullied his cock into your achy pussy. the idea of getting you pregnant made him move against you faster. he could feel the race in his pulse as he fucked you. you with all the aches and pains of pregnancy, carrying his child. he only turned him on greatly. make you his.

you came first, your body betrayed you. you arched your back and near-yelled into the pillows. you hissed, "fuck!" lando continued his brutal pace. he fucked you with a fever that made your eyes roll back a little. there was no escaping lando norris.

"that's it, angel. that's it." he said with near-softness as he rocked his hips against you. he fucked you and then he finished inside of you, even tilted your hips at an angle that made sure it would stay inside of you. you whined a little as he pulled out. he gave your ass one last slap. you were near brain dead on the bed and your breathing was heavy. lando watched you, laid beside you with his hand on your left ass cheek. when you eventually fell asleep, you were curled up on your side and didn't notice when lando shifted in the bed and got out. if his phone wasn't on silent you would've hear the shudder of the camera on his phone.

he sent a photo of your face pressed against the pillows, he wasn't sending your nudes to your brother (your brother's teammate on the other hand). he sent the message to max, "better luck next time, mate. will bring her back before breakfast ;)" <3

[tojisun]

sugar, spice, everything on ice (hockey au mlist) - smut; f!reader; short drabble only!

yea i bet youre all tired of hearing hockey come out of my mouth but thinking about—

hockey player simon receiving a text from you after a game.

they defeated their opponent in a shutout—price carrying the team on enemy ice, with garrick coming in with solid defences, allowing mactavish and simon to sink a shot after another.

it was an electrifying game; even now as he’s stuffed in his cubicle, simon feels like he’s on top of the world. like the cup is so close to his reach—just a few more rally and he’s bringing it home.

the locker room is buzzed, congratulations getting passed from one to another while their coach awards the disk to price for the shutout. the media is still taping this whole interaction so the team remains conscious, guarded, until, finally, everything is wrapped up.

the others clamber to the showers but simon digs for his phone, desperate to talk to you. to tell you that he’s won—he doesn’t know if you’ve watched the game, not with how packed your schedule’s gotten—so if you haven’t, he wishes to at least be the first to let you know.

he wants you to hear it from him; hear from him how they dominated tonight’s game.

(6-0 for the specgru. in the playoffs.)

but there’s already a message from you, sitting atop the strings of notification filling up his phone screen. he ignores the emails from brands reaching out for brand deals or fans sending in messages to his public socials, and taps on your name.

his eyes grow wide, his breath hitching, because—

> 2 goals tonight, baby. almost a hatty.

> have i told you how your hockey makes me hot? almost makes me want to fly there to give you a reward

the start of a whimper builds in the base of his throat, scratching at his trachea.

jesus.

the last time you’ve rewarded him for his performance—a hatty, one of which was an empty net goal—simon had to grit through the horror of seeing you have a difficulty in sitting down the next few days. until now, he swears that he tried holding back, to take it easy despite his needs, but then you crawled to his lap and sang praises in his ears, and simon was gone.

you were so needy for him. for his skate and his play and his victory. and how could simon control himself then?

so this—your messages that are lidded with a tease—is torture. the flight won’t even be until tomorrow morning so you’ve just left him extremely pent-up, buzzing, with his desires poorly-leashed.

all he could do is send a weak,

when i’m back, can you give it then? <

you’ve only liked his message as a reply and simon knows it for what it is—a deliberate hooking; filling him up with tension. with unbridled energy, all uncontainable, so he can fuck all of that into you.

shit. now he’s all hard underneath his cup.

the quick rub in the shower stalls was not enough so he races to their hotel, locking himself in his room and proceeds to fuck his fist as he swipes at the album he’s locked away in his gallery. it’s the gallery that only you and simon know about.

it’s full of pictures. of videos and audios.

it’s full of you fingering your sensitive pussy, and of simon finally getting his hands on your cunt and dragging you up to his mouth for a taste, and of simon fucking you at every surface—on the island, in the living room, against the window, in front of the mirror.

in some of them, he’s still wearing his jersey. in most of them, you’re the one who has it on.

simon cums once. then rubs another one before the flight because he makes the mistake of rereading your previous message. the release isn’t euphoric; sure, it’s enough to stop the fever, but it was almost too clinical.

you’re still in your gym clothes when simon’s clumsily making his way home. you shriek at the way he just covers you with his bulk, before giggling at the ticklish feeling of his scruff rubbing against your cheek.

“missed you,” he says.

you whine, nodding, before pushing him back just enough that you can finally jump into his arms. simon soaks up the attention, like it’s sticky liquorice, and the nuzzled kisses.

even the words pressed on his lips, he devours but there’s one thing simon needs more, and he’s almost shaking when you finally noticed.

you laugh, poking his cheek, before giving him what he wants.

“your hockey’s so hot, si,” you trill. “fuck me?”

“please,” simon croaks out because that is all he could truly say.

[1d1195]

The Lottery - Extra II

Read The Lottery here | ~2.8k words

From me: there is some passage of time that is not particularly marked. I think it will be pretty straight forward but this is not all in one sitting

Warnings: SEXTRA there is not an ounce of plot to this. it's all sex and nothing else. minors, dni

Summary: Harry has made her so many pancakes that she tastes like maple syrup.

It was no secret that Harry was a quiet, grumpy man. His mum was his hero, and suddenly she was just gone. It did an absolute number on his mental health. It hurt him immensely. It made him believe he’d never be in love. Never smile again. He wanted to leave that town and the diner behind. But if he did, it felt like he would be forgetting her. Which would never happen. But Gemma and Louis left, and he felt so lonely.

That was until the peachy girl he loved and adored so much sat at his counter and flipped his world around. Was worship the right word? He wasn’t quite sure. It felt like it. Harry wasn’t overly religious, but he would pay tribute to whatever god was out there for her.

The way she yawned had him weak in the knees. If she sniffled, he swore mountains moved. Her laugh? He was putty to her. Maybe that was a bit dramatic. But he was in love with her; and love was dramatic, wasn’t it? The moon rose and set with her—forget the sun and day he didn’t need it. He lived for the night and the quietness of his time with the angel that ate pancakes that ruined his ratios and stared at the moon in the middle of the night.

Worshipping her came in all forms. Making sure she ate breakfast, of course. One peach and one white chocolate chip pancake. Or her half omelets. Or maybe just a muffin. Sometimes it was fixing her pipes at home so she could take a hot shower. It was assuring her car was maintained. Decorating the bookshop each season and stocking the shelves with new arrivals as she saw fit. It was coming home to find her baking in his apartment or eating pizza on her couch.

But his favorite way to worship her was to make her come.

The need to make her feel good, a fraction, of how good she made him feel daily. That’s all he wanted. All she deserved.

“Harry,” she whimpered. He woke her up with his head between her legs. He was impossibly hard and all he wanted was the sound of her voice moaning his name while she finished on his tongue. She tasted sweet. He thought she was practically half maple syrup, so he wasn’t too surprised. “Harry, I’m sensitive,” she cried as he continued licking her swollen clit after he lewdly and loudly sucked and licked her clean of her orgasm.

“Mm, one more. Please, Peach? Want you t’feel good.”

“I feel too good.”

He chuckled softly against her core, but her fingers held his hair and didn’t pull him away from her, so he continued licking her until she finished.

Harry had a small shower in his apartment behind the diner. It was a great place to press the front of her body against the glass and fuck her into the enclosure. He had the pleasure of seeing her body steamy and obscured in the mirror over the sink across from the shower. He pressed his lips to the curve of her shoulder as he slid into her from behind. “It’s too hot,” she moaned.

Harry all but slammed the knob behind him to ice cold. She was right; it was hot as hell in that tiny steamy bathroom. Pumping his dick into her wasn’t helping with the heat, even if the glass against her nipples was ten degrees colder. But the last thing he wanted was for her to pass out, especially before she finished. “I got you,” he promised, the contact of his hips slapping against her gorgeous ass each time he pumped into her made his heart race faster. She was so good. Carefully, she lifted her foot to the corner of the shower and the angle practically caused for fireworks. She whimpered instantly making Harry grunt or growl like a Neanderthal. “So good, kitten. Feel so good, y’want t’come?” He asked gripping her hips and pressing her harder into the glass with each thrust.

Her moans increased and volume and the last thing Harry wanted was the entire diner knowing he was making her come this hard in the middle of the day. “Please,” she cried. “It feels so good, I’m,” her voice literally broke and Harry reached in front of her with one hand to cover her mouth while the other held her hip steady.

“Shh, baby. We don’t want the whole town t’know how good it feels. S’jus’ for us, yeah? Jus’ you and me get t’know how good y’make me feel,” he groaned quietly in her ear. “Y’feel so good, Peach. S’like heaven. Such a pretty pussy wrapped around me, yeah?” He pressed another kiss to her shoulder hoping he wouldn’t make any of the noises he just asked her not to make. “Y’like this, kitten? Like being pressed against the glass? Gonna watch yourself come, hmm?”

“Harry,” she whispered against his hand.

It was insane that her quiet, grumpy, sweet, sexy boyfriend was capable of speaking such filthy things. The Harry that brought her coffee across the square and put up Christmas lights on her house was kind, reserved, and not this absolute sex god filling her up with more dick than she ever imagined he could have.

“So pretty when y’come, Peach. S’like m’favorite show. Captivating.”

“God, fuck,” she whimpered. “Please,” she begged. “It’s too much.”

But the arch of her back and the way she met his thrusts by pushing back toward him as he thrusted forward said differently. “Beautiful, baby,” he said dreamily. He removed his hand from her mouth and slid it down the front of her body to press the pad of his finger onto her clit making her whimper again and come around him with a gasp. He continued fucking her through the pleasure, admiring the way her whole body shook, catching the way her mouth popped open in the reflection of the mirror. “Stunning, really.”

It had been such a long time since Harry felt the kind of lust and love that she brought out of him. All he wanted was to have her wrapped around his cock. The first time he saw her walk into the diner he was overcome with how beautiful she was. He was lucky he was in the back of the kitchen, so he had a moment to control the rush of blood to his groin before introducing himself. With her routine of visiting each morning after that he could practically predict when he needed to steel himself for how stunning she’d look so he wouldn’t be sporting a hard-on in front of the whole town every time she entered the room.

But now that they kissed, loved, and fucked, it was next to impossible to keep his dick from hardening at the mere thought of her.

In the privacy of her house, they could hardly make it up to her bedroom and instead opted for fucking on her couch (or the stairs). Harry had her straddling his lap, his cock buried inside of her as she bounced arching backwards, so her hands rested on his knees. Her pretty nipples peaked and hardened, begging to be sucked while she fucked herself on his dick. “Beautiful, so beautiful,” he moaned steadying her hips with his hands while he wrapped his lips around her nipples aching for attention.

Harry had a hard time thinking about tomorrow after his mum was gone. He couldn't think about any kind of romance, let alone sex.

But her pretty being was enough to turn it all back on. All he wanted was to stay home, ruin his bed sheets, and make her come so many times. “Feels so good,” she whimpered.

“Mm,” he hummed. “Come for me, Peach. Please,” he begged and buried his face in her chest as she did.

A small moan ripped through her. Her walls pulsing around him, hard, fluttering as her bounces became less rhythmic as she tried to maintain her balance. Her legs were aching, her breathing ragged, and a thin layer of sweat coated her soft skin. “Fucking beautiful,” he whispered to himself as he watched her ride out her orgasm. Harry held her hips to hold her steady.

It was a wonder she wasn’t sore. Harry couldn’t keep his hands off her, not that she minded. The orgasms felt good all around. She swore she felt smarter. Her skin looked softer. Her cardio improved and even though Harry never made her want, she couldn’t get enough. She throbbed at the sight of him. Her romance novels didn't compare to the ache between her legs.

If he smiled, she was done for. She practically licked her lips in anticipation thinking about how good it felt to have him inside her.

When Harry worried about her being too sore, he fucked her slowly with his finger. Just his middle finger pressing inside her while his thumb ran small and slow circles on her aching clit. “Too much?” he asked. It was almost clinical in nature. The way he knelt on the bed by her waist, gazing at his finger disappearing and reappearing between her legs.

She shook her head. It wasn’t enough but also very perfect. It felt like heaven. “Can I add another?” He watched in awe as her body writhed for more attention from his hand.

“Yes, please, please, please,” she begged.

He did so, adding his ring finger to the mix and she felt so full and warm. Harry was so fucking good at this it seemed cruel he never let anyone else in during the time that she had known him. But she was selfishly grateful that he never did. She didn’t want anyone to share the knowledge about how good he was. Plus, she would have been irrationally jealous now knowing he was making someone come like this in the past.

After what must have been at least two maybe three orgasms, they laid on his bed silently. His fingers trailed up and down the length of her arm. Her head on his shoulder.

“You never wanted to date all the time I’ve lived here?” She asked.

“I mean... I met you,” he shrugged. “Didn’t think it was worth it.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She frowned.

“M’quite grumpy,” he smirked as he reminded her of practically the very first thing she ever thought of him. “Y’were all smiles and positivity,” he shrugged. “Didn’t want t’bring you down.”

“So, you just... haven’t had sex all this time? And you’re still that good at it?” She wondered.

He shrugged again with a smirk. “I had a good bit of meaningless sex while I was at university,” he admitted which she was right to assume she would be irrationally jealous about something in the past. At least she didn’t know who the women were. She could be blissfully unaware of his history as she intended to be. “When I was grieving my mum, I didn’t want t’do anything. Relationship-wise or sexually. I barely wanted t’get out of bed,” he explained. “I was jus’ so sad,” he repeated. “I didn’t think I would feel anything ever again.”

The idea made her frown deepen. Poor Harry. It was clear he felt a lot. She imagined the apathetic diner owner forced into ownership in order to keep his mom alive. Reliving her every move and step wishing to turn back time and just feeling completely trapped. Of course he couldn’t hold a relationship together. He could hardly hold himself together. “I would never want to rush your grieving process, but I wish you had told me you were going to ruin sex for me with anyone else. I would have waited forever for you.”

He chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “I don’t fault you for that,” he assured her. “Don’t get me wrong, m’very possessive of you now. M’gonna turn into a caveman if someone so much as looks at you,” he promised making her giggle. “But y’deserved t’be taken care of in whatever capacity y’found in the men y’dated.”

“Well, none of them could make me come like you do.”

 He sighed with a smile, satisfied in a way that wasn’t a mind-blowing orgasm. “Good,” he said smugly. It was quiet for a few moments again, his lips against her temple, his fingers circling her wrist. “Kitten?” He hummed.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t leave me, yeah? People I love always leave me. M’tired of being left and I know s’not fair t’ask you that, but I feel... I feel really safe asking you. Like you’ll know what I mean when I say it. M’not saying it t’be dramatic or anything. Jus’... yeah.”

Her heart nearly broke but immediately fluttered. “God, where would I go, Harry? I get all the orgasms and pancakes I want,” he smiled, shook his head and kissed her temple again. “Harry you’ll have to drag me out of this town kicking and screaming to get me to leave you. You’re gonna have to drag me to get me out of this bed, honestly.”

“I love you, Peach,” he smiled that gorgeous smile that was all hers. Because of her.

“I love you, too,” she wiggled up higher to reach his mouth. The only time she would ever willingly take his smile away was so she could kiss his pretty pink lips.

He pulled her tighter to him, his arms winding around her so he could pull her on top of him. He moaned softly with the weight of her fitting comfortably against him. His hands stayed on the back of her thighs, her legs falling to either side of his hips. Gently, she rocked herself against him, his cock already hardening against her core. Harry watched the moon charm on her necklace dangle and sway back and forth in front of him. It was the most tantalizing movie he could have watched. “Y’ready already, Peach?” He mumbled against her lips. She nodded. “So good, kitten,” he groaned. “Gonna make me come jus’ from this.”

She felt her entire body heat up. She loved making Harry overwhelmed by her. She was always overwhelmed by him and if she made him come from just rubbing herself against him then good. He always made her feel loved and safe he deserved to feel a fraction of how she felt. “You feel so good,” she whimpered.

“Fuck, Peach,” he moaned. “Keep going,” he begged.

“Like this?” She whispered.

“Jus’ like that,” he nodded breathlessly and brought her mouth down to his. His lips fit so effortlessly between hers, his tongue licking into her mouth, tasting her tongue the same way he licked into her to make her come. “Gonna make me come,” he warned. She grinded at the same pace and pressure as she had been but swiveled her hips into a circle as she did against his dick. “Ah fuck, Peach,” he groaned. His boxers turned wet and sticky, against her legs and they clung to her own underwear as she rubbed against him through his orgasm. He twitched at the sensitivity and gently pulled her from his hips. He kissed her again and again. Like every time he thought about not kissing her seemed like too much.

“S’your turn,” he ordered.

“I don’t need—”

“I don’t care. Come up here.”

“Punny.”

“Peach, sit on m’face and be quiet unless you’re going t’scream m’name.”

Harry wasn’t particularly scary when he made those threats but it was enough to make her wetter as she scooted her way up over his head. “Are you sure? I just came a minute—”

He yanked her hips down right as her pussy passed by his mouth. He sucked her clit and twirled his tongue over it making her gasp. She put her hands on the wall for support, but it was practically useless. Nothing could offer her enough support to keep her steady. Harry’s hands gripped her butt, fingers pressing into her. He moaned against her, dropping his mouth from her clit and focusing on the aching hole that hadn’t had his dick inside it for no more than a day and it seemed entirely too long.

“Taste so good,” he grunted against her.

“Harry,” she cried. “It’s sensitive,” it was the same thing she whimpered time and time again when he was insistent on making her come multiple times in the same round.

“Mm, I know, Peach. Can feel y’soaking m’face,” he smiled—smiled—against her core. Lapping at her like a popsicle on a hot day. “Better come quick,” he suggested. “You’re gorgeous,” he groaned. “Swollen, soaked, aching for me, hmm?” He asked. “Wanna be good for me and come?”

Without much more prompting she did exactly that. She ground her hips against his mouth the same way she did against his dick. She moaned as he wrapped his arms around her legs holding her suctioned to his face while she rode out her orgasm on his lips. He held her there even after she relaxed, her legs absolutely shaking against his ears while he licked her clean of her arousal.

“Peach,” he sighed softly. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” she grinned and flopped onto the bed. “Can you make me some pancakes now?” She asked, closing her eyes. Harry kissed the back of her head.

“Always,” he promised. “For the rest of our lives.”

-- general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

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I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

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[pshbites]

NO ESCAPE ━ nrk

pairing : bf!riki x fem!reader genre : fluff, est. relationship, angsty, college au warnings : desc. of a panic attack, crying, profanity synopsis : in which your boyfriend helps you through a mini panic attack wc : 0.6k a/n : for anyone who feels weirdly anxious rn <3, everything will get better just take a deep breathe and take it easy!

if u enjoyed pls like & reblog, feedback is always appreciated!!

your face was burning up. your stomach was in knots, you felt your heartbeat racing. the due date of your major project looked back at you, 2 days. you were two whole days late. that was 48 hours, 2,880 minutes, and 172,800 seconds. you were late, you couldn’t do anything about it either. 

“fuck” you mumbled, picking the skin around your nails. you flipped through your notebook, going back to the page you wrote the due date on. coincidentally you wrote the date for today as the due date. you looked at your laptop screen, eyes brimming with tears. riki furrowed his brows and looked up from his own laptop. 

he watched your chest go up and down, your eyes filling with more tears until one finally fell. “babe? what is it?” his soft voice broke you out of your own thoughts, shaking your head and beginning to sob. riki rushed up from his seat and sat down next to you, holding you in his arms. 

everything had been stressing you out lately and this was just the tip of the iceberg, you were helpless. you were stupid you missed the due date and you couldn’t ask for an extension either. the more you cried in his chest, the harder it started getting to breathe, like something was on your chest, stopping your lungs. almost as if it was this dumbbell weighing down on you and it wouldn’t go away. 

riki let go of you and held your face in his hands, making you look at him. “breathe baby breathe, like this” he breathed in and out slowly in front of you, making you mirror his own actions. he nodded as he continued to do breathing exercises with you. his thumbs wiped the tears from your cheeks, grounding you. 

the room didn’t feel like it was caving in anymore, that weight on your chest was now long gone. “what happened, baby” he asked, still looking into your eyes. you glanced at your laptop and sighed out. “i missed the due date by two whole days” he let go of your face, letting you turn fully to face the laptop. you fumbled with your notebook, hands still shaking. “i have to email my professor and get everything in order. probably cram-“ riki grabbed your hands to stop you from frantically moving around. 

he held them together and looked at you, “baby, it’s fine. you can do that tomorrow but right now, let’s call it a night” you shook your head, “no i need to-“ “look at me” riki spoke softly, causing you to look at him. his eyes looked in your own, in his eyes you looked tired and burnt out. one of his hands left yours and cupped your cheek. “you need a break,” he said, making you sigh. 

“everything will still be here tomorrow, just relax for tonight? okay?” you hesitated and sighed once more, how could you argue when looking in his own eyes full of worry. you nodded, making him smile softly. he leaned in to kiss your forehead and began packing your things up from the library table. 

you watched as he shut your laptop and stacked all your things, putting them neatly in your bag and then gathered his own things. you stood up as he put his backpack on and picked up your tote bag, slinging it on his shoulder. “thank you” you said, as he intertwined your hand with his own. “of course baby, now what kind of ice cream should we get.” he smiled down at you, making you smile back. 

taglist : @cupidhoons @leeechin @chobunz @wensurr @ja4hyvn @kozumesphone @17ericas @suneng @hyunnies-world @kiss4noo @jellyluv4eva @heelariously @laylasbunbunny @silquids @squiishymeow @heeambi @yourmomssneakylink @rriribelle @srehyaps @bubblytaetae @t1iqaa @en-heedeungie @wintertxt @sweettaitea @beatrizmel-472 @i03jae @jakef3ver @mamuljji @coqhee @luvyou2ooo @thedemonriot @justalittle-hee @jjongsaengzz @beigerin @mariahxrrera @cherrybeomm @vveebee @mitmit01 @blockbusterhee @yeehawnana @mochamvgz @livelaughluvryanreynolds @ami-soph @sunghoonsperfume @tzyunaes @cripplinghooman @sunooblitz @kolawnk @ningningiloveumarryme @m1kkso @ronniee-26 @wavetokgv (bold cannot be tagged)

enha taglist

© all rights to pshbites 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost my works

[infernal-lightning]

"Tch. You're no fun," she complains, performing one final flip before jamming the angelic knife into the desk between them. Her eyes brighten just slightly when he praises her work - good. She had something to fall back on when her own freelancing wasn't as lucrative - but Ilaera hadn't come here only for money.

"That's all well and good... but I believe we'd discussed something else, too. Power - protection. I need a way to ensure I won't fall in the next Extermination. I'd been hoping for... some sort of deal."

She cringed at the word - she hated the thought of giving up control. But there had been too many close calls in recent years...

"Yeah don't push it sweetheart. Angelic steel is expensive, more worth than you really." He said after a brief look over the pictures before putting them down in a drawer on his desk. "Yeah, you got a hire. You're useful and I'm sure Velvette could use something like this too if needed be. You can work freelance for Vox News, you get your own hobby done too or whatever. The more you do for me, the better pay. Small jobs like this might come too later on for extra cash. Got it, kitten?"

[infernal-lightning]

💅 from my own reblog ♡

//bc they rlly need to interact ❤️ hope ydm!

This was quite possibly the strangest thing she had ever agreed to do. Photographing all sorts of morbid scenes? Fine. Killing for her art? Dandy.

But having Angel Dust paint her nails in his room like they were at some sort of childish sleepover? The kind she had grown up hearing about but never participated in?

Very. Strange.

Still - she had an event coming up, had offhandedly mentioned needing to look her best, listed off getting her nails done as one of many errands to run over the next few days...And next she knew the porn star was dragging her upstairs.

"Had I known you were this enthusiastic about the whole thing, darling, I'd have asked you sooner," the feline sinner lied with an easy smile. In truth, doing things like this alone suited her best - doing most things alone was preferable. But making nice at the Hotel would ensure her place here for longer... so she begrudgingly played along.

Not that she'd ever let that show, of course - no, right now her face was one of picturesque relaxation, watching Angel as he meticulously worked on each nail.

"You're rather decent at this, you know," she observed casually, carefully crossing one leg to not jostle her hand nor his efforts. "Something you do often?"

[obfuscateyummy]

Only the Young.

Hi. Sorry this has taken me forever to get out. I'm back with another installment of the Welcome to the Pitt series. Please join me for a time jump a few years.

I am not the best at warnings, so if I missed something PLEASE let me know. Mentions of death (no main characters). Mass Shooting. School Shooting (guns suck, people suck). Mentions of Mental Health struggles (please babies take care of yourselves and if you need an ear my inbox and message are always open <3). Takes place in the future (Fall/Winter 2026). Probably medical inaccuracies (All medical knowledge is from medical dramas staring one (1) Noah Wyle. and the Google machine). Title of the fic is from the Taylor Swift song Only The Young. This was a lot more bloody, and detailed events of lucy's day in my head - but the teacher in me couldn't bring it to life

Michael "Robby" Rabinovich x F!ED Dr. Wife. Lucy - Age 5 Twins - Age 1

You splashed some water on your face and ran your hands over it as you looked in the bathroom mirror. You were barely even halfway through your shift, and you already lost count of how many codes you had ran. Your husband kept track - it was 6. You walked out of the bathroom and caught his eye.

He knew that look on your face. Pure exhaustion. He signed as he watched you sit down to type your patient notes. He went into the staff lounge and poured you a cup of coffee, just the way you liked it. He exited and walked over to you. 

“Hey, thought you might need this,” he said as he sat the cup next to you. 

You smiled at him. “Thanks,” you said as you took a drink.

“Didn’t have time to run to the cafeteria and get you an iced one. I’ll order one if you want.”

You were surely lucky to have the best husband in the world. “Crappy lounge coffee is fine, thanks baby.”

“If either of them don’t sleep tonight, I’ll stay up,” he offered, as he leaned on the table in front of you.

You were up the entire night with your son, who was going through a 12-month sleep regression. Your youngest daughter had gone through one just two weeks ago. Thankfully, they didn’t go through it at the same time. “As long as Mikey doesn’t scream his head off the minute he realizes I’m out of the room,” you said as you threw your head back and closed your eyes.

Michael chuckled. “He’s a mama’s boy, just like his namesake of a father. Besides, Cami does the same thing when I leave the room.” The twins had been that way since the day they were born. “At least Lucy didn’t care which one of us was with her.” Michael said.

You chuckled, “She still doesn’t care which one of us is with her. She just wants attention. Between the twins and her starting kindergarten, she misses us.”

Michael nodded. 

“Gotta go check on my patient in South 20,” you said as you stood up. “Thanks again for the coffee, baby,” you said as you both stood. You got on your tiptoes to reach his cheeks to give him a quick kiss.

You were barely down the hall before Dana walked up to him. “Hey Robby, school shooting in our zone, we gotta prepare for code triage protocol.”

“School shooting? What school?” he asked. He didn’t want to worry - but Lucy’s school was in PTMC’s zone.

“Allegheny Central Elementary.” Dana said. His face went white. Michael Robinavitch looked like he just saw a ghost.

“Robby? You okay?” Dana asked.

“Lucy,” he said, his voice a whisper. He didn’t have to say more, Dana realized instantly. “I got to go find Y/n,” he said as he ran towards South 20. 

Michael entered South 20 a mess. He had just run through half the Emergency Department. He opened the curtain, causing you to turn around quickly at the sound. “Y/n, we need to talk.”

You glared towards him. He never called you by your first name in front of patients. 

“I’m with a patient, Dr. Robinavitch,” you said. There was annoyance in your voice. You were unsure if it was lack of sleep or the fact your husband was acting like you weren’t at work.

“I’m sure your med student can finish up here,” he said pointing to the newest student assigned to you. “Please.”

“Fine,” you huffed as you followed him out. Once out of ear shot of your patient, you started to lay into him. “What the hell, Michael!” you hissed.

“Y/n,” he started but you continued,

“You never call me Y/n in front of patients. What is going on?” You asked. You were angry, furious even. The lack of sleep wasn’t helping your situation any.

“There was-” he started to say, as the intercom went off

“Code Triage - Emergency Department”

You looked up at him for the first time since he busted into the room. Tears in his eyes, panic on his face. You had seen this look a few times before, and it was never good.

“There was a school shooting,” he started to say.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head.

“At Allegheny Central Elementary,” he finished his statement. 

“Lucy,” you said as your phone began going off. You reached for it, reading the emergency alerts coming through about the shooting. 

“We’re the nearest trauma center…” Michael said, as he gained your attention back.

“I can’t do this,” you said, “I can’t go out there and save lives without knowing if our daughter is okay.”

“And that’s why we have to know she’s okay. She watches everything we do, everything you do. She wants to be a doctor because she wants to be you. She’s always asking us medical questions. Hell, Jack taught her how to make an improvised tourniquet this summer at the cookout. She’s going to be okay. And if she’s not, we’ll save her.” Michael said.

You looked up at him, and all you could think of was the worst possible scenario, “What if we can’t?”

Michael faked a smile, “We will save her.” He looked past you and saw Samira walking in. “Thought you were off today, Mohan.”

“I heard in on the scanner,” she said with a smirk, as Jack walked in behind her.

“Ah guess the old man is rubbing off on you,” you said laughing. The two got together after the Pittfest shooting, with a little help from you and Robby.

“Oh I would say the old man is doing more than that,” Jack said with a smirk, towards you and Michael.

“They don’t want to hear about our sex life, Jack,” Samira said with a giggle, and punched Jack’s arm.

“Hear that, brother? I guess we gotta find a new rooftop topic,” Jack said as he patted Robby on the back as he walked past him, towards Central.

Michael’s face turned beat red. Your eyes shot up to him, as he did everything to not make eye contact with you.

“Do you talk to Jack about our sex life on the roof?” you hissed.

“Nooo….” Michael said. He quickly got you back on topic. “I have to brief the team.” 

The two of you began to walk towards Central, where Michael could brief the team about protocol for the chaos that was about to occur in the ER.

“Alright, listen up. There’s been a shooting at Allegheny Central Elementary. We are starting our mass shooting protocol.” Michael said.

Jack began going over each team having a head in an orange vest. You had zoned out. Your eyes fixed on your husband. It was Michael’s turn to speak.

“Red Zone will be our trauma zone. The most critical patients. Dr. Abbot, Dr. Mohan, Dr. R, and myself will be in the Red Zone,” Michael paused as he saw the disapproving look on your face. “Next is the Pink Zone, patients that will die within an hour.”

Exhaustion, Fear, Anxiety were all rushing through your body as you worried about your daughter. 

Michael began to continue explaining the different zones that would be.  Jack was assisting him at this. 

“Call your loved ones now, I guarantee cell service will go down soon,” Michael said. “We meet back here in 5.”

Before everyone dispersed, you ran into the nearest restroom. You broke out into a silent cry you didn’t realize you were holding in. You took a few deep breaths as you pulled out your phone and dialed your mom’s number.

When she answered, you spoke before she could, “Hi Mom.” There was a crack in your voice.

“Hey honey, is everything ok? Aren’t you at work?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m at work, uh, mom, I need you to pick up the twins from daycare,” you said avoiding the question.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” your mom asked.

You took a deep breath, “There was a shooting at Allegheny Central Elementary. We are the nearest-”

Your mom cut you off, “Oh my god! Is Lucy ok?”

Your voice began to crack, again, and tears fell down your face as you spoke, “I-I don’t know. The first round of injuries will be here in a few minutes.” Michael walked into the bathroom as you were speaking. You looked up at him and he took you into his arms. You began to match his breathing as you continued to speak, “I’ll update you when I can. Can you please-”

“Yes, honey, I will go get Michael and Camile. I’ll take them to your house, I’ll make sure there’s something hot for dinner when you guys get home.”

“You’re the best, mom. Thanks,” you said.

“Of course. Thank Michael for calming you down.”

“How?”

“Your entire breathing changed. That’s when I knew he was with you,” she said. “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” you said as you hung up.

You took a deep breath as you spoke, “Mom’s gonna go get Mikey and Cami and take them to our house. She said she’d make sure to have dinner for us when we get home - if we get home,” you said against Michael’s chest.

“Sounds great,” Michael said, as he rubbed circles in your back.

“She said ‘thank Michael for calming you down.’,” you said.

Michael chuckled, “You can do this, you know.”

You shook your head and pulled away, “I want to know the moment she’s brought in. She’s going to be so scared. Michael, what if she is scared and doesn’t see anyone she knows?”

Michael shook his head, “I requested for Victoria to come down from her psych rotation to do triage.” You smiled at him as he spoke again, “Does that help you?”

You nodded your head. “Yeah, yeah that helps a little.”

“Okay, we have to go out. They’re pulling up any minute.” Michael said. As the two of you walked out, you heard the sirens rolling up. 

You had tried to black out most of the events occuring. The kids that came in who were crying for their mommy and daddy, the ones who came in unconscious, the two who didn’t make it, the countless adults from the school, teachers, assistants, paras, the secretary, a bus driver, and the 3 of them you couldn’t save. It had been an hour and you felt like you took your first breath since you got the news. Your daughter still hadn’t been brought in, and at this point you weren’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing. You went to walk out of the trauma room and were met at the door by your husband, who had a half full and a new bottle of water in his hand.

“Hydrate,” he said as he unscrewed the top of the new water and gave it to you. You took the water and took a drink. 

“Thanks, you hear anything about-”

He shook his head as he finished the rest of his water. “Just heard there were more coming in,” he said, as 2 more gurneys came in, “Got a kid and adult. Student and teacher.”

You didn’t register who said it. You took the teacher, Jack took the kid.

You looked at the lady laying on the gurney. You recognize her immediately. Ms. Lopez, Lucy’s kindergarten teacher.

“Robby! Now!” Jack yelled behind you, where he was working on a child just brought in. 

You snapped your head behind you, fearing the worst. You saw the kid. A boy. His name was Jason. A kid in Lucy’s class. 

“He’s in Lucy’s class, name’s Jason,” you said as Robby went over to assist Jack.

You were elbow deep in blood trying to save Ms. Lopez, who had a bullet to the chest, barely missing her heart.

“Bullet to arm. Responding to pain. Came in with this makeshift tourniquet,” Jack said. 

Robby’s eyes quickly landed on the child’s arm. He looked up at you, “Lucy’s sweater,” he whispered.

“Means she’s ok, brother,” Jack said, “And paid attention when I taught her that.”

“And I thought she’d never need it,” Robby said as he gloved up to help Jack.

“Yeah, I hoped she wouldn’t,” Jack said. Jack had seen more than he would ever admit. Jack looked over and saw you struggling, “Go help her save the teacher, tell her goose is ok.” Goose was a nickname Jack had given Lucy.

Robby rushed to help you save Ms. Lopez.

“I need another unit O-Neg,” you yelled as you continued to attempt to stop the bullet wound from bleeding on her right side.

“That’s the third unit,” Perla said to Michael as he walked up across from you, on the other side of Mrs. Lopez, next to Dr. Santos, who was giving her CPR.

“I got it,” you said as you looked up at him. “Go help Jack.”

When your eyes met Michael’s, he could tell you were fighting back tears. “She’s okay,” he said. He wasn’t saying it to be reassuring, he was saying it as a fact. 

“You don’t know that,” you hissed. “This is her teacher, Jason is in her class - the shooter was in her-”

Michael cut you off when he spoke, “Jason, he has a makeshift tourniquet above his bullet wound,” Michael said. You looked up at him, “She used her sweater, and some popsicle sticks. Just like Jack taught her.”

“You sure?”

Michael nodded as you spoke again. 

“Bleeding stops if I hold pressure right here,” you said.

“Stop compressions,” he said. 

“Nothing,” Trinity said as she checked for a pulse.

“Resume compressions,” you said.

Trinity looked at Robby who nodded for Trinity to continue. 

“I saw that,” you said glaring at Michael.

“She’s lost a lot of blood,” he said, “We don’t know how long she’s been down. Mass casualty protocol says..”

“Fuck mass casualty protocol, Robby! She’s our daughter’s teacher. Lucy loves her. I’m not, I can’t.” you looked towards the door and you saw it. You saw Victoria walking in, carrying something - or someone. She was looking around, frantic.

“Dr. Robby, take over applying pressure for me?” you said as he gave you a confused look.

“Stop compressions,” he said. 

Trinity stopped compressions, “Got a pulse, faint, but I got it!”

Michael walked over and took over for you. “You okay?”

“Lucy,” you whispered.

“What?” Michael said as he looked around. He missed where Victoria was standing. 

You ignored him, as you ripped off your gloves and ran towards Victoria. That’s when she saw you.

“Mommy!” a scream heard through the ER. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief they didn’t know they were holding in. Robby looked up, just as you took Lucy out of Victoria’s arms. Her clothes were covered in blood. You noticed she had a cut on her head, it likely would need sutures, but it wasn’t currently bleeding. You held her close.

“Lucy, my lovebug, you’re okay,” you said as you hugged her close. “It’s okay, you’re okay, I’m right here.”

“She came in with the kid and teacher. Most of the blood belongs to the teacher, Lucy was applying pressure to her wound before the paramedics arrived. She wouldn’t come out of the ambulance. She was terrified, she didn’t see anyone she knew. One of the paramedics called me over, and as soon as she saw me..I think you know the rest,” Victoria explained, as she rambled. She does that sometimes, especially when she is nervous.

“Mommy, I was so scared. I tried to help Jason and make a tourn-eequet like Uncle Jack taught me. And I held Ms. Lopez when she was bleeding until the ambulances came, just like you held my knee when I feel off my bike,” Lucy said

You ran your fingers through her hair. “You did so good Lucy, helping people, I’m so proud of you.” You kissed the top of her head and held her like you were never going to let her go.

Dana walked over to where you were holding Lucy, “Hey kiddo. Let’s get you out of the middle of the hallway?” she said leading the two of you over to trauma 2. 

“Thanks Dana,” you said as you walked in. She nodded. She knew you would’ve stood there forever with Lucy.

Surgery was ready for the next wave of patients. First, they took up Ms. Lopez. A surgical intern took over for Michael holding pressure on her wound to control the bleeding. Michael ripped off his gloves. He scanned the ER for you and Lucy.

“Trauma 2, Rob,” Dana said as Robby sprinted in that direction.

“Mommy?” Lucy asked as she looked up at you. You had just finished stipping her blood soaked clothes off her, and traded them in for a peds patient gown. She was on your lap as you sat on a gurney.

“Yeah?” you asked.

“Where’s daddy?”

“Daddy is helping save,” you were cut off by Michael walking in the room.

“DADDY!” Lucy screamed as she reached for him. 

He sat next to you on the gurney, and Lucy climbed into his arms.

“You okay, bug?” Robby asked as he held Lucy close. 

“Yeah. My head hurts, though.” Lucy said as she went to touch the cut on her head.

“Let Daddy take a look,” he said as he looked at the wound, already knowing it would need stitches.

“You’re gonna need a few stitches,” he said.

Lucy frowned as she spoke, “Is it gonna hurt, daddy?”

“I’ll go get some medicine to put on it so it won’t hurt, and mommy will be right here, too,” Michael said.

“You’re doing them?” you asked.

Michael stood as he spoke, “I’m not letting an intern-” Michael said as you cut him off.

“Have Jack do them,” you said as you reached for his hand. He took your hand and looked at you for the first time since entering the room. Exhaustion washed over your face, and tears in your eyes threatened to fall. “Stay, please?”

Michael nodded as he sat back down. “Yeah, I’ll stay.” He pulled you closer to him, allowing your head to rest on his shoulder. He whispered, “I love you,” as he kissed your forehead. Lucy shifted so she was seated on both yours and Michael’s lap.

“Daddy? Is Ms. Lopez okay?” Lucy asked.

You felt Michael take a deep breath as he spoke, “She was hurt really bad  Mommy and I helped her when she was here, she’s in surgery now to help fix her.” He was trying to explain lightly to Lucy how serious Ms. Lopez’s injuries were.

“I held where she was bleeding, to help make it stop,” Lucy told her father. Michael looked into her little brown eyes.

“You did a good job,” Michael said in a soft voice.

“Did you and mommy help Jason too?” Lucy asked.

Michael shook his head, “Uncle Jack helped Jason.”

“I gave him a tourn-eequet like Uncle Jack taught me,” Lucy said.

“You did. Lucy, I am so proud of you,” Michael said as he looked down at her. His own emotions catching up with him and tears forming in his eyes as he talked about the day's events over with his daughter. She didn’t deserve to be put through this. No child deserved to be put through this, ever.

“Is he gonna ok?” Lucy asked.

“Yeah, he’s gonna be okay.” Michael said. “He’s in surgery to get the bullet out.”

There was a knock and then Jack walked into the room. “Hey, I heard there was a goose in here who needed a few stitches.”

Lucy giggled, “Uncle Jack!”

“Uncle Jack is gonna get you all fixed up, goose.” Jack said, walking over to his unbiological niece. 

“I thought daddy was gonna fix it!” Lucy said as she grabbed Michael and buried her face against his chest.

“Bug, It’s okay, Uncle Jack will do a good job..” Michael said as he rubbed Lucy’s back.

“Daddy, I’m scared though!” Lucy said as she started to cry.

“How about your daddy helps me?” Jack suggested. Lucy nodded against Michael’s chest. “You can put on the LET, Rob.”

“Okay, you gotta let me go, so I can help Uncle Jack,” he said.

Lucy shifted her body off Michael and back onto you. You lifted your head off Michael’s shoulder. He stood up and gave you an empathic look as he began to prep to assist Jack with Lucy’s sutures.

He walked back over ready to put LET on Lucy’s wound, as Gloria walked into the room.

“Ah, 3 of my best ED doctors in a trauma room. This better be an important case,” she said.

“Gloria, this is…” you started to say as Robby spoke louder, ignoring Gloria behind him.

“Lucy, Daddy is gonna put some of this on your head, okay? It’s called LET. It’s so you won’t feel anything when Uncle Jack gives you stitches,” Michael said as he looked into his daughter’s eyes.

Lucy nodded and grabbed onto your hand as Michael began to apply the gel to his daughter’s forehead.

“Is this your daughter Dr. Rabinovich?” Gloria asked.

“The oldest, Lucy,” you replied, knowing Michael wasn’t going to answer Gloria. Michael glared at you as you answered.

“Hi Lucy, I’m Gloria,” Gloria said as she extended her hand towards the girl.

Lucy looked up at you and you nodded. Lucy spoke, “Hi,” very softly, but did not extend her hand.

“All done, Uncle Jack is gonna give you some stitches now, okay Lucy?” Michael said. Lucy nodded in response to his question.

“Dr. Rabinovich, can we speak in the hallway?” Gloria asked.

Michael looked at you and you nodded. “Yeah, be right out,” he said as Gloria walked into the hallway. He let out a deep sigh as she left the room. He walked away to dispose of his gloves, and you could tell he was cursing Gloria under his breath. So could Jack. 

“Go on, brother, I got her,” Jack said.

Michael looked over, “Thanks, brother.” Michael turned his attention to Lucy, “I’ll be right back, okay bug?” He said walking back over towards you. He moved some of your hair that had been in your face and kissed your head as he walked away. “It won’t be long,” he said.

He exited the room. Gloria spoke before he even shut the door completely behind him. “You know we don’t work on fam-”

“I was just applying LET to her-”

“You were doing it during a mass casualty!” Gloria said.

“Jesus, you don’t stop, do you,” Michael said as he shook his head. 

“We don’t take outside patients during-”

It was Michael’s turn to cut Gloria off. “She wasn’t an outside patient! If you cared about your employees, or came down once to help out today, you’d know that!” Michael continued to yell at Gloria, “She is a kindergartener at Allegheny Central Elementary! That teacher, Ms. Lopez, that’s up in surgery? Her teacher. The reason she is in a patient gown is because her clothes were covered in Ms. Lopez’s blood as she applied pressure to her wound until help got there.” 

“I-I’m sorry,” Gloria started to say.

“You should be,” Michael said. As he ran his hands over his face. His voice was much calmer when he spoke again. “You really need to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” she asked.

Michael sighed, feeling like he was going to regret this. “Coming down here and pretending like you know what’s going on.”

Gloria blinked as she changed the subject, “I take it you are not willing to speak to the media about..”

Michael just shook his head, “I would like to get back to my daughter, who just experienced something she never should have been put through.”

Gloria nodded as Michael re-entered the room.

“All done,” Jack said as he did the last stitch. “Did it hurt, goose?”

Lucy shook her head, “No, thanks Uncle Jack!” Lucy said as she reached her arms out and hugged him. 

“Anytime, goose,” Jack said as he hugged her back.

Michael sat on the bed next to you and wrapped his arms around you. “I have to round everyone up, debrief..hand off cases..then we can go,” he said.

“No, no you don’t. I got you, brother.” Jack said. “And before you protest, Samira will work the rest of your shift.” As the words left his words, Samira entered the room.

You smiled, “You guys don’t have to do that, we only have an hour left.” 

“It’s never just an hour,” She said, “Peds brought down some clothes for the kids - I grabbed these for Luce.” 

“Thank you,” you said, taking the clothes from her and began to change Lucy.

“Surgery took up the last round. We are getting everyone into rooms, or discharging.” Samira said.

Jack nodded, “Okay, I’ll be out soon.” 

Samira left the room as Robby stood up and walked over towards Jack. “I can help.”

“No, Robby, my brother,” Jack said as he put his arm around his friend, “She needs you. They both do. Trust me. Go home. Be there for them, and for Ice and Viper too.” 

Robby shook his head, “I really wish you wouldn’t give my children nicknames based off characters from Top Gun.” He turned to walk back towards you and Lucy.

“It’s a good movie!” Jack yelled after him, as he left the room.

“Did he call the twins Ice and Viper again?” you asked. 

“Yup,” he said as he shook his head.

“Mommy, I’m hungry and I want beanie,” Lucy said. Beanie is her stuffed animal build a bear she got on her 2nd birthday. 

“We can go home soon. Did I tell you gamma is there?” you said as Lucy popped her head up.

“Gamma? Is she making meatballs?” Lucy said as she got excited.

“She better be,” Michael mumbled, as he laughed. 

Dana walked in with some paperwork. “Discharge paperwork,” she said. “You’re good to go kiddo!”

Lucy hopped off your lap and hugged Dana’s legs, “Thanks Aunt Dana.”

Dana bent down and hugged the little girl. “Sure thing, kiddo.” 

Lucy walked back over to you, “Come on, Mommy!” She said as she pulled at your arm. You stood up.

On the other side of the room, Robby and Dana were talking.

“I should have her talk to Kiara,” Robby said as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Tomorrow,” Dana said as she put a hand on his back, “Today, tonight, she’s gonna need the two of you, and her little siblings.”

“She rarely wants Cami or Mikey,” Michael said as he shook his head laughing, “Usually, she says ‘Mommy, can you put them back in your belly.’”

Dana laughed too, “Think she gets that sass from the kid.” She spoke as you and Lucy walked up to them hand in hand.

“What’s so funny over here?” you asked.

“Just telling Dana some stories about this one,” Michael said as he bopped Lucy on the nose with his pointer finger. “You ready to go home, bug?” 

Lucy laughed, “Ready, daddy!” She said as she held his hand with her free hand.

“See you tomorrow,” Robby said.

“Bright and Early,” Dana said.

“We’ll be here,” you said, as the three of you walked away.

“Bye Aunt Dana!” Lucy yelled back.

Robby stopped to get your backpacks. He handed you yours, and you put it over your shoulder. 

The walk home was mostly quiet. Lucy did ask Michael to carry her the minute they crossed the street right in front of The Pitt, which he didn’t object to one bit.

As the three of you walked in, your twins came straight for you. “Cami, Mikey, Mommy missed you both so much today,” you said as you picked them up. 

“Ma Ma Ma,” They cooed and babbled back to you.

Michael set her down, and she ran straight for your mom. 

“Gamma!” She exclaimed, as she hugged her grandmother. 

“Oh Lucy, honey!” your mom said as she hugged her. “I made your favorite.” “Meatballs!” Lucy screamed.

“Of course, and spaghetti,” your mom said as she stood up.

She hugged Michael, then you. Michael took Mikey from your arms, then Cami, and gave his youngest children hugs and snuggles, before you took Cami back. You both sat them in their highchairs, while your mom set the table and plated everyone’s dinner.

At your request, Lucy and the twins slept with you and Michael that night. Cami was the first one asleep, cuddled up against Michael’s neck. Next to fall asleep was Mikey, who fell asleep in the crook of your arm. As soon as the twins were asleep, Lucy, who was in the middle of you and Micahel, began asking a million questions - and rightfully so.

Is Ms. Lopez out of surgery?

When can I go back to school?

Are Jason’s mommy and daddy with him?

Is Jason’s arm gonna be ok?

Did any kids die?

Did teachers die?

Is Mr. Marks okay?

What does that mean? - That was always the question when she didn’t understand the response she was given.

Michael and you took turns answering the best you could - and the best you knew. Jack did text you during your walk home that Ms. Lopez was out of surgery, and in CCU. It was the last question that she asked as she began to fall asleep that hurt the most.

“Daddy? Mommy?” Lucy asked when she was almost asleep.

“Yes, Lucy?” Michael answered, as he let out a giggle under his breath. 

“Why did he bring a gun into my school and shoot people?”

Michael and you made eye contact as you both looked down at Lucy laying between you two. 

Michael sighed as you spoke, “Lucy, sometimes people do really bad things, and we don’t always know why.” You ran your fingers through her hair.

“It makes me sad. I loved school.”

“Do you not love school anymore?” Michael asked, worried.

Lucy hugged beanie as she spoke, “When I think of school now, my tummy hurts really bad and I wanna cry.” 

“I bet that’s so hard, Lucy.” Michael said as she looked up at him. She nodded as you continued to run your fingers through her hair. You and Michael shared an empathic look. 

“Was he sick?” Lucy asked.

“Was who sick?” Michael asked.

“The man with the gun,” Lucy asked.

Michael looked at you and you nodded. “Lucy,” you said as she turned away from Michael to look at you. “Sometimes, people aren’t really sick, but their brains don’t work like yours and mine. They have different thoughts and they can’t always control them. Special doctors talk to them, and give them tools and skills to help them, or sometimes medicine.” You tried to explain mental illnesses the best you could to a five year old.

“Are you and daddy those kind of doctors?” Lucy asked.

“No, those doctors are called psychologists,” Michael said.

Lucy nodded and yawned. “You had a really long day, bug. Why don’t you close your eyes and get some sleep, Luce?” you said. You never stopped running your fingers through her hair.

Soon, your oldest fell asleep. You and Michael watched your three children sleep between the two of you. You looked at him and he had that smile on his face - his goofy one. You quietly smiled as you watched him. He looked up and saw you watching him, watch your children.

“What?” he said as he smiled.

“It’s nothing,” you said.

“Oh it’s something,” he said.

“It’s just-today could’ve ended differently, and I’m glad it didn’t. But, I’m also glad I get to be on this crazy roller coaster called life with you. I love you, Michael.”

“I love you, too.” he said as he reached over to trace your cheekbones with his thumb.

[intrikatie]

The Game...

Hyunjin x Reader

🔞Minors DNI

For my love @skzdreamer13 & my darling @neverendingstay ♡ One Day ♡

✰ Pairing: Secret Boyfriend Hyunjin x Fem Reader ✰ Genre: SMUT with a bit of fluff at the end ✰ Info: MxF, FxM, Unprotected Sex, longing and desire

Word count: 3000

It’s your favourite game.

A game no one knows you play.

Not the fans. Not the press. Not even the ones closest to him.

They’re all a part of it, without realising.

No one knows.

Except your boyfriend.

You don’t have to check your phone. You already know what the message will say.

But you check anyway.

Him: Here

Just a single word. No punctuation, no flourish. But you can feel the weight behind it, the restraint wrapped in familiarity.

You don’t reply. You never do. That’s part of the game, too.

From your spot in the foyer, you watch as the convoy halts outside, dark-tinted doors swinging open one by one. The air shifts. People straighten. A hushed excitement weaves through the space, palpable even in its silence.

The members move in quickly, seamlessly. A well-practiced routine. Hoodies up, caps low. The perfect blend of noticeable and unnoticeable.

One of them—Chan—glances your way. Just for a second. A flicker of curiosity, something bordering on recognition. But then he’s gone, moving past you without a second look, laptop bag in tow.

Hyunjin is the last to enter.

He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t falter. Doesn’t even pretend to look. But his body moves with a kind of precision—an extra slowness, an awareness only you can read.

And that’s enough.

That’s all you need.

You already want him. Crave him. The cool bite of ice water lingers on your tongue as you sip, watching him over the rim of your glass. Your thighs press together, restless.

He looks divine.

The sharp lines of his buzzcut, blonde and gleaming like gold under the lobby lights. No one knows you were there when he took the clippers to it. When he stood in front of the mirror, jaw tight, eyes locked on yours in the reflection.

A moment of impulse. Of need. Of want.

God, he fucked you hard that night.

You set your glass down on the table in front of you. Smooth. Unhurried.

Then, without looking up, you return to your book.

This part of the game requires patience. A technique you’ve mastered. One Hyunjin still struggles with.

Your phone buzzes.

Again. And again. And again.

Him: fuck. You look so good.

Him: room number. Now.

Him: don’t make me wait, baby.

You don’t reply. You don’t need to.

Instead, you return to your quiet observation.

You’ve been here for two days, watching from a distance as the hotel shifted around them. Staff busied themselves, preparing. Shutting off floors. Pulling in extra security before Stray Kids’ own team arrived.

Then came the luggage. Then the staff.

And even now, the arrivals haven’t stopped.

Because Stray Kids being here doesn’t mean the world slows down.

If anything, it moves faster now.

Staff hurry to finalise details, voices hushed but urgent. A last-minute check at the front desk with the head manager and their assistant—were all the key cards collected? Were there any last-minute changes to the room requirements?

A quiet word exchanged between security—the hotel’s and the team assigned specifically to Stray Kids. Someone rushes past with a clipboard, disappearing toward the kitchens.

Your phone buzzes again.

Him: don’t make me come and find you.

You close your book and stand, making your way to the elevator.

You don’t rush. There’s no need.

Hyunjin isn’t going anywhere. He’ll be tied up for at least another hour—luggage to sort, schedules to adjust, managers to appease.

And besides, you’re under the same roof now.

The elevator doors glide open, and you step inside, pressing the button for your floor. The ride is smooth, silent, giving you a moment to settle into the next phase of the game.

Your room is just as you left it. The curtains drawn, the air cool, the scent of your perfume lingering from earlier. You slip off your shoes, padding across the plush carpet as you set your book down on the bedside table.

Hyunjin isn’t the only one who needs patience.

You take your time.

A slow stretch, rolling out the tension from sitting so long downstairs. A glance in the mirror. You already look good, but you could look better.

You undress. A deliberate choice. You dig through your suitcase, fingers trailing over lace, silk, the softest things you own.

Something easy to slip on. Something even easier to take off. You opt for a silk and lace camisole with matching underwear. The perfect amount of tease.

Your phone buzzes again.

Him: baby

You smile, reaching for your lip gloss.

Let him wait. Not too long, just a little longer.

You take your time finishing up. A spritz of perfume at your pulse points, the faintest shimmer catching on your collarbones under the soft glow of the room’s lighting.

Your phone buzzes again. And again.

You don’t check it. You already know the pleas.

Hyunjin is impatient. Maybe a little desperate. All the better.

You slip on a pair of heels— because you know he likes them. Likes the way they change your posture, the way they sound against the floor when you walk toward him.

You sit on the edge of the bed and send the room number. Then, you set your phone down and wait. How he gets to you, alone, without raising eyebrows. That’s on him. That’s his game to play.

You wait.

Not long.

A few minutes, maybe. Just enough to let the anticipation build.

And then—

A knock at the door.

Firm. Measured.

Not rushed, not frantic, but there’s an edge to it. A warning.

You smile.

Finally.

You wait, trying to steady your heartrate which spikes at the sound. You exhale slowly as you pull the door open.

Hyunjin stands before you, his usual polished look swapped for something more casual—sweats, a loose hoodie, and the same lazy confidence he wears like a second skin. His excuse is obvious, and you can already guess what’s coming: “Just escaping to the gym for a bit,” his voice low and teasing.

You raise an eyebrow, the corners of your mouth tugging upward.

I’ll be sure to give you a workout, you think to yourself, a silent challenge hanging in the air.

You don’t speak. You don’t need to. His eyes gleam, scanning you for only a moment before his lips twitch into a knowing smile, dragging his full bottom lip through his teeth. The tension thickens.

His gaze flickers down to your lips, then back up to your eyes. The silent exchange crackles, a thousand unsaid things hanging between you.

And then, before you can even manage a greeting, his body surges forward. His hands wrap around you with a force that makes you gasp as he presses you against the wall.

His lips are on yours before you can catch your breath. He kicks your room door closed, the sound a signal you are finally alone. Alone and together.

His kiss is urgent, almost desperate, with the pressure of his body against yours leaving no space between you. It’s everything you’ve been waiting for—the tension breaking, the silence snapping, his familiar heat flooding you.

You melt into him, the world outside that door fading away completely as he presses you back against the wall, his lips devouring yours with a hunger that makes your pulse race. You don’t need words right now. His actions speak louder than anything you could say.

The waiting game? It’s over.

Now, it’s just him.

His hands are everywhere, roaming over you with a sense of urgency, as if he’s been starving for this just as much as you. You gasp against his mouth as his fingers slide under the hem of your camisole, his touch hot against your skin, sending sparks of electricity through your body.

The kiss deepens, his lips, his tongue, demanding, but still soft, as though savouring the moment while devouring it at the same time. You can feel the tension in him, the way his body is wound tight with need, but there's also a careful precision to his movements. He wants this, wants you, but he wants to control it too, holding back just enough to make you crave more.

Your fingers move to his hoodie, tugging it up, desperate to feel more of him. His lips trail down your jawline, his breath hot against your skin, and you shiver in anticipation. He pulls back just a fraction, eyes dark, intense, a warning in them. A promise.

"Patience," he whispers, his voice low and rough, as if he’s barely holding on himself. As though he hasn’t been the one pleading with you for the past hour and a half.

You can’t help the smirk that curves on your lips. "You first."

Without another word, he lifts you effortlessly, his strength surprising and familiar all at once, before pressing you back against the bed. His lips return to yours in a searing kiss, and you can feel the control slipping away, his body moving over yours in perfect sync with your own mounting desire.

His lips leave yours, a soft, breathless sigh escaping him as his eyes lock onto yours—dark, hungry, desperate. You don’t give him a chance to regain control.

With a swift motion, your hands find the hem of his hoodie, fingers digging into the fabric. You yank it over his head without hesitation, the action rough and urgent, matching the pounding of your heart.

His breath catches, but it only fuels the fire between you. His gaze flickers down to your hands, then back to your face, as if in disbelief, but there’s no time for hesitation now.

Your fingers are already on his sweats, pushing them down, exposing his skin, inch by inch. His body tenses under your touch, muscles rippling as he steps back slightly to kick them off. You catch sight of his hard and glistening length and your walls clench in anticipation. Fuck. You need him. You need him now. You’re already there, pulling him closer, not giving him a moment to breathe.

He groans, a low, throaty sound that sends a thrill through you, as his hands move to your waist, pulling you closer with an urgency that mirrors your own. There’s no soft teasing anymore, no buildup. Just pure, raw desire.

You meet him halfway, your hands roaming over his chest, the feel of his heartbeat matching your own. You can’t get enough of him. His skin, the way his body moves beneath your fingertips, how it feels to have him so close.

Your lips crash against his again, this time harder, more desperate, both of you hungry for the contact, the intimacy. Every kiss feels like it could consume you whole. He groans again, his hands leaving your waist to work on the straps of your camisole. The fabric falls away, and you can see the hunger in his eyes as he looks at you, and you know—this is it.

He lowers his head, mouth tracing the contours of your breasts before his tongue swirls over your sensitive buds. Finally his hands move lower, stripping you of your underwear. Your heels. Until you are finally bare beneath him.

He pulls back slightly, settling on his knees, his gaze sweeping over you—slow, deliberate, reverent. His eyes trace every curve, every contour, as his fingers ghost over the paths he’s already memorized, mapping you like sacred ground. Each touch is featherlight, almost worshipful, like a brushstroke against your skin. A shiver runs through you.

What does he see?

What kind of picture is he painting with his hands?

You can’t take the distance, not with the way he looks at you, like he’s trying to commit you to memory. You pull him closer, feeling the firm planes of his body against yours, the heat of him branding into your skin. His length glides through your folds, teasing, torturous, and you sigh as you slide your fingers over the short buzz of his hair, smooth forward, rough back. Like golden velvet against your palm.

Fucking intoxicating.

“Hyun,” you breathe, raising your hips, desperate for him.

His lips find your throat, tongue flicking against your pulse, and his breath is hot as he whispers, “You ready for me, baby?”

“Always.”

A quiet curse slips from his lips as he sinks into you. The stretch is familiar, but no less breathtaking, no less consuming. His fingers flex against your hips, as if he’s trying to hold back, even now. He shudders slightly, forehead pressing to yours, his chest rising and falling in staggered breaths.

Your noses brush, your breaths mingle. It’s quiet, intimate. Every movement, every shift, feels like a silent promise.

You roll your hips, urging him to move, and he obeys without hesitation. The rhythm between you is instinctive, second nature, but tonight, it carries more weight, like the space between you—every second spent apart—shrinks with each thrust.

His fingers weave through yours, grip tightening. Holding you, grounding you. His eyes meet yours, dark with desire but softened by something deeper. Unspoken, but there.

He moves within you like he’s trying to carve his name into your body, like he can’t get close enough, deep enough. His chest presses against yours, skin to skin, sweat-slicked and burning.

“God, you’re so perfect,” he rasps, voice rough.

His pace is steady, deliberate, dragging pleasure from you with each slow roll of his hips. The heat of him surrounds you, his scent flooding your senses. Every thrust feels like a slow burn, and you let it consume you, let him consume you.

You reach up, fingertips brushing his jaw, and his eyes flicker closed for a moment before they open again—seeing you clearer, deeper, like he’s looking straight through to your soul.

You’re the only one who gets to see him like this.

You’re the only one.

Your knee lifts to his hip, and he moves instinctively, rolling with you, his hand flattening against the small of your back as he shifts you both. He settles beneath you, his thighs firm beneath yours, his heart beat thundering against your palms and you gasp at the new depth as you sink down onto him.

His hands find your waist, your hips, then lower, gripping your ass as he helps you move. You rock against him, pace unhurried but purposeful, each movement drawing out the pleasure, intensifying it.

A deep groan rumbles through his chest as he tilts his head back, lips parted, eyes heavy-lidded as he watches you. Watches the way you take him, the way you move for him.

“Fuck, baby…” he hisses, pressing you down harder, pulling you deeper.

Your thighs burn, but the pleasure is too much, too consuming to care. You chase more, more, more.

“Sound so pretty, baby,” he murmurs, his voice frayed at the edges. “Feel so fucking good.”

Encouraged by his words, you pick up the pace, grinding down, gasping as the friction sends you hurtling closer to the edge. His hands roam over you—your waist, your thighs, up your spine—before gripping you tighter, guiding you, coaxing you toward that breaking point.

“Look at me,” he demands, voice thick, raw.

Your eyes snap to his, and the moment they lock, it’s over.

Pleasure crashes over you in relentless waves, shattering you from the inside out. Your head tips back, a sharp cry breaking free as your body tightens around him, pulsing, trembling. He rises up, pressing his forehead to your chest, his breath ragged, lost in the way you come undone above him.

But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let you go.

He grinds you down onto him, thrusting up into you again, again, again—prolonging it, pulling more from you, until you’re gasping, your whole body quaking from the force of it.

Then his mouth is on yours, desperate and consuming, swallowing every sound as he thrusts one final time. A groan rumbles deep in his throat as he follows you over the edge, his grip tightening, body trembling beneath you as he spills inside you. The pleasure drags him under, pulling you down with him.

For a long moment, neither of you move. You just breathe. Tangled, spent, lost in the haze of each other. Your chests rise and fall in sync, pressed flush together, still feeling the echoes of what just was.

You trace the line of his collarbone bone, dragging the sweat that has gathered there.

As your breaths steady, Hyunjin’s fingers trail lazily up and down your spine, his touch featherlight, absentminded. You shift slightly, your lips grazing the damp skin of his throat, tasting the salt of his skin and he exhales, his arms tightening around you.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. The silence is easy, comfortable. But then, his voice comes, low and almost contemplative.

“One day,” he murmurs, “we won’t have to play the game.”

You still, absorbing the weight of his words. He doesn’t say it like a promise, doesn’t paint some unrealistic dream—just states it, quiet and certain, like he’s already imagined it.

Like he already knows.

Your fingers press lightly into his ribs, grounding yourself. “One day,” you echo, softer still.

Hyunjin’s lips brush your temple, the touch lingering, his breath warm against your skin. But then, the moment shifts—like he won’t let himself linger on the thought too long. Because one day isn't today. And it won't be tomorrow.

But it will happen.

One day.

A beat later, he sighs dramatically. “But until then…”

And just like that, he flips you onto your back, grinning as he settles over you, hands bracketing your waist. The sudden motion makes you gasp but before you can say anything, he smirks, voice dropping into something playful, teasing.

“You kept me waiting forever. Now, I think it’s only fair that you make it up to me.”

You giggle against his lips. “Everyone knows you don’t gym like the others. Someone will come looking for you.”

“Just part of the game, Y/N.” He murmurs trailing kisses over your jaw.

♡ If you made it this far, thank you so much for your support!

♡ please consider leaving a comment, like or reblog. I love hearing your thoughts!!

♡ ©2025Intrikatie

[gilverrwrites]

Best friends to lovers, but it's Dick Grayson.

≈1.3K words, CWs: F!Reader, cunnilingus, dirty talk. Pet-names: Princess, baby girl, pretty girl. Rating: 18+ MINOR DNI

Your best friend Dick Grayson has no boundaries.

He helps himself to your food, swapping and changing dumplings for noodles, carrots for celery, dips his fries in your milkshake, without even asking.  

He leaves his dirty clothes in your washing hamper, ‘borrows’ your lotions, and leaves his streaming services logged in on all your devices. In the winter he puts his cold hands under your shirt, stealing your warmth, and laughs when you flinch. “But you’re so hot!” He whines, hugging you tighter, “Let me hold you a while longer, please.”

In the summer he struts around your apartment, shirtless and sheening with sweat, eating your ice cream, pumping up the AC so he and Haley can chill out post-run. Not that you mind, it’s just that ‘oh, no, he’s my best friend’ is a hard sell when you bring dates home.

At random hours of the early morning, he wakes you up by crawling into bed with you, clings to the over-sized shirt you're sleeping in that is clearly his and makes fun of your tattered old underwear. “They’re comfy!” “They’re… something...” He trails off, all dreamy and quiet, refusing to expand before falling asleep, and is gone by the time you wake up.  

Your best friend Dick Grayson brings you gifts from all over the world. Chocolates from that one mom-and-pop you once mentioned in Keystone, jewellery, and perfume he probably paid way too much for from market vendors in cities like Paris and Istanbul, risqué pieces of underwear from Milan.

On late nights, he rests his head on your tummy, settled between your thighs as you watch your favourite film series for the nth time, smiling to himself as you babble on about your favourite scenes, about facts he already knows because you already told him, but he wants to hear you say it again anyway. When you start falling asleep on the couch, he lifts you, bridal style with ease, and carries you to the bedroom. “Come on then princess, let’s get you to bed.” “I can do it myself.” “You can’t even keep your eyes open, let me.”

He brushes stray pieces of hair out of your face when you’re too engrossed in something to do it yourself, when your hands are too full to reach, or when he wants to get a better look at you, just because he loves looking at your face.

“Um, what are you doing?” He nonchalantly hooks his finger into the waistband of your trousers, disappointed when he gets a not-too-subtle peek at neither your endearing threadbare usuals, nor the lacey Italian ones he’d bought for you.

Your best friend Dick Grayson flirts with you blatant and publicly;

“The red or the blue?” “Neither.” “I have to wear something!” “I’d love to see you wearing nothing.” “Wear the blue, always the blue.” Jason would never let it go otherwise.   “What do you want?” “You.” “I meant to eat.” “Same answer.” “I could never be you.” “What? Why?” “Must be tiring, being that cute.”

He texts you when you’re not together. “Good morning pretty girl” “saw this and thought of you.” “What are you wearing?”

One day you text back a picture, a mirror selfie from behind, your skirt hiked up, showing off the tiny navy-blue thong and he doesn’t text back. You worry that you’ve taken it too far, overstepped a line. 

Until your best friend Dick Grayson is waiting for you when you arrive home, sporting a nasty black eye and a smile the size of titan tower. In actuality, that image was exactly what he’d been hoping for every time he messaged. That image had been ingrained in his mind since you sent it, and it was one thousand times better than he’d imagined. That image was his hook, time to reel you in.

“Sorry I didn’t text back, I was speechless. No really, I got this” he points to the purple bruise forming around his eye “because I was distracted, thinking about you.”

“It’s cool, you didn’t have to say anything.” You lie. “Not like you haven’t seen it all before.” 

“Can I see it again?”

In the middle of your cramped kitchen, your best friend Dick Grayson lifts your skirt above your waist and drops to his knees, brazenly eying your folds. On request, you take the skirt from his hands, holding it up, exposing yourself as you do a little twirl for him, letting him see the full picture. 

When he lands a playful smack on your ass-cheek he grins, thrilled by the playfully petulant look you fire at him over your shoulder. When he runs a finger over your clothed slit, he’s even more delighted by the way your body shivers, by the hint of wetness he can feel seeping through the thin piece of fabric.   

You don’t stop him when he hooks a finger in the crotch, pulling the obstructing lace to the side, or when he runs his fingers through your now exposed lips. Deft fingers tease you, ghosting over your clit with no real fiction, making your pussy clench around nothing. 

“Want something?” The sight of him at your feet, watching you through defiant eyes has you weak.  

“Yes, touch me.” The sight of you, spread and writhing has him near feral, but he wants something more. 

“I’m already touching you, Princess.” He laughs, his warm breath against your slick tingles. If his breath is enough to make you quiver, he can’t wait to find out what his tongue will do to you. “Ask for something else. Nicely.”

You’re not sure exactly what he wants you to say, so you stammer the first words that come to mind; “Please Dick, stop teasing. Just do whatever you want to do, I want it too.” 

It’s enough. 

Your best friend Dick Grayson lifts you by your knees, setting you on the counter and securing your thighs over his shoulders as he descends on your folds. He’s messy and desperate, unable to get enough of your sweetness, darting his tongue in every direction until he finds the select few motions that have your fingers curling in his hair, have you panting his name between loose lips.

When you start to roll your hips, using his mouth for your own pleasure he can’t help but moan, the reverb sending further vibrations through your body that has your toes curling. He’s rock hard, itching to palm his cock, to grind it against the closest surface, but that’s an afterthought. He won’t get off until he’s lapped up your climax at least once. 

“Are you gonna cum for me?” His words are slurred, muffled between your legs, unwilling to pull away long enough to get his words out cohesively. “I want you to cum all over my face, okay baby girl?”

If he wasn’t already salivating against you, Dick’s mouth would water at the sight of you. Your body begins to jerk, your back arching, head thrown back as your orgasm hits you, his firm hands tighten around your legs, locking your lower body in place until all your tension is gone, and his face is soaked with your fluids. 

As you come down from your high, he savours the flavour, occasionally licking up stray droplets from your skin. He admires the way you look, head lolled to the side, eyes static under heavy lids, jaw slack, until it’s too much, until he needs to see you high on his doing once more. Without warning he lifts you. The collar of his shirt is damp, his cheeks are flushed, his hair a mess.

“Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable for round two.” Your best friend Dick Grayson says as he cradles your body in his arms. 

<3

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[aventurineswife]

Robin accidentally lashing out on S/O even tho it wasn't their fault (make at all angst not even a single speck of comfort, make me suffer)

“Left Unfinished, Like a Song”

Summary: After a disastrous performance, Robin lashes out at her significant other—you. Despite your gentle attempts to support her, she unleashes all her pent-up frustration and grief on you, cutting deep with words that cannot be taken back. This is not a moment of reconciliation. There is no comfort here—only silence, coldness, and abandonment.

Tags: Robin x Reader, Angst, Hurt/No Comfort, Emotional Abuse, Unresolved Conflict, Breakup (kinda?), Miscommunication, Cold Character, One-Sided Love (I guess lol), Toxic Dynamics.

Warnings: Emotional/verbal abuse, Degrading language, Toxic relationship behavior, Reader is emotionally hurt, No comfort or resolution Feelings of worthlessness/self-doubt.

A/N: Oh... What did my girl do to you?! 😭🙏

You stood in the dressing room, quiet, watching Robin from the doorway.

She sat before the mirror, her back to you, her reflection caught between shadows and glowing bulbs. Her lilac-silver hair spilled over her bare shoulders in a loose cascade. She hadn’t spoken since the show ended—hadn’t even looked at you.

You knew the performance hadn’t gone as planned. The sound system glitched, the backup dancers were late on cue, and the spotlight missed her mark during the final chorus. Still, none of it had been your fault.

You had only wanted to be there for her.

“Robin,” you began, gently, “I thought maybe we could go somewhere quiet. Just the two of us. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, but—”

“Do you ever listen?” Her voice was sharp. Cutting. “I don’t need you to fix things. Just stop pretending like you understand.”

You blinked. “I’m not trying to fix anything. I only—”

She stood abruptly, chair scraping harshly against the marble floor. Her eyes met yours in the mirror first—bright green, glassy with unspoken storms. But when she turned to face you, there was no warmth, only ice wrapped in velvet fury.

“You think standing there, smiling like some lost puppy, helps me?” she hissed. “You think your presence somehow makes the disaster less humiliating?”

You opened your mouth, words faltering before they could form. “I just… I thought I could support you—”

“Support me?” Her laugh was brittle. “You’re not a support. You’re a burden.”

The world seemed to still. Your breath caught somewhere between your ribs and throat, too heavy to release.

“I have carried this career on blood and grief,” she said, stepping closer. “I have sung through pain that would shatter most people. And every time I turn around, you’re just there. Standing in the wings like a ghost. Watching me break.”

You felt your heart crack, then collapse inward.

“I didn’t ask for your comfort. I didn’t ask for your pity. I don’t need you.” Her voice didn’t even waver. “If you really loved me, you would have left me alone a long time ago.”

Silence.

It stretched, suffocating.

She didn’t say anything else. She turned away, sat back at her vanity, and started fixing her makeup with the same steady, practiced grace she always carried on stage.

You stood there, for a moment longer than you should have. Hoping—stupidly—for something. A flicker of regret. A glance. A word.

But there was nothing.

So you left.

And she didn’t stop you.

Not even once.

[vixensmart]

La Squadra x Reader: Watching Your Drink

A/N: CW for drugging/slipping things into your drink.

Context: You and your S/O decide to go out for the night to a bar. For a moment, you excuse yourself and ask them to watch your drink while you're gone.

Risotto Nero

Risotto places his hand over your drink and pulls it closer to him. He knows he looks scary enough to deter any potential creeps from even thinking about slipping anything into your drink, but he's still vigilant. He's got a deadly stare going on, ensuring he intimidates anybody with ill intent from an attempt.

If anybody has the balls to try and slip anything into your drink, they're dead. You'll know it was Risotto's doing, too. The person will have razor-blades growing out of their eyes, or a pair of scissors stuck in their throat, or something of the sort. He commits these acts quite coldly and calmly, which frightens the other patrons at the bar. However, no one really has sympathy for someone who was trying to spike a drink, so the creep is quickly forgotten about.

When you return to your seat, Risotto will pass your drink back to you. It was well protected. But the rim of your glass is warm.

Prosciutto

Prosciutto takes your drink and places a napkin on top of it, keeping a watchful eye over it. He neglects his own drink for a while, feeling as though he might forget about yours if he indulges too much. Anyone who seems suspicious, he keeps an eye on.

If he finds someone trying to get to your drink, he'll use Grateful Dead to age them to death. And not quickly. Prosciutto is not one to throw any punches at the creep. He much prefers to make them suffer for ever thinking they could drug his S/O and try to harm them.

Prosciutto removes the napkin only after you've sat down again. He reassures you nothing happened to your drink while he kicks some dust under the bar.

Ghiaccio

Ghiaccio takes your drink into his hands after you excuse yourself. He thinks about freezing it, but remembers alcohol can't exactly freeze. Instead, he freezes the condensation on your glass and turns it into a protective barrier. Nobody is getting past that. Not on his watch, at least. Anyone whose eyes linger on your drink is getting the signature Ghiaccio death stare, which is usually enough to deter any creeps.

If someone is desperate enough to bring a heat gun or a hair dryer to try and spike your drink, Ghiaccio still has the situation under control. Unlike Prosciutto and Risotto, he won't kill them. Rather, this hot-head will scream at the top of his lungs and bring all the attention in the room towards the offender. Most likely, no hands will be thrown. The offender is usually so startled and embarassed, they get the hell out of dodge.

Once you return, Ghiaccio unfreezes the ice around your drink so you can continue enjoying it. You're astonished at the fact that your drink feels a lot colder than when the bartender served it to you.

Illuso

Like this asshole wouldn't just let your drink get spiked on purpose

Illuso is quite nonchalant about the whole thing. He doesn't cover your drink with anything, or make any moves to pull it closer to him. You worry he might not be paying attention, but he is. Illuso is confident he can keep your drink from being messed with without much stress. He's using the mirrors around the bar to watch any person who might be eyeing your drink a little too hard.

If someone should attempt to put anything in your drink, Illuso will catch them and pull them into the mirror world with him. He won't kill them, but he will rough them up a bit and frighten them. He's a big man, and he knows he can handle it if they should fight back. After a little beat down and a couple threats on their lives and families, he'll toss them out of the bar himself.

Illuso will proudly tell you about the poor excuse of a human he just tore a new one. All while he has a new drink for you, instead of the one you had been drinking. He won't admit he took his eyes off of it to beat the hell out of the person who tried to spike it, and forgot someone else could have tried to spike it while he was busy.

Pesci

Pesci goes all out when protecting your drink. He keeps it with him at all times, and never takes his eyes off of it. He places a coaster over the top, and covers it with his hand for good measure. Even given all the protection he's given your drink, he's still nervous about someone trying anything. He doesn't want you to get sick, or hurt. Anybody who looks suspicious gets watched like a hawk.

If someone does try to distract him to get something in your drink, he won't let go of the damn thing. You entrusted him with the safety of not only your beverage, but you as well. He's not going to start a fight, but he will tell the bartender (and maybe Prosciutto) what they're doing. He'll get them kicked out so you won't have to deal with them. Even after the creep is gone, he's still apprehensive that he might have taken his eyes off your drink for only a second. He asks the bartender to get you a new drink, just in case.

You'll return to the bar with a brand new drink waiting for you, and a nervous and flustered Pesci explaining the events that just transpired.

Formaggio

Formaggio places a relaxed hand over your drink and won't stress over it being tampered with. He doesn't think anyone will mess with it if he's got it. Plus, his hand is over it, so he thinks he'll feel it if someone tries to put something in it.

If someone does try to mess with your drink, they'll be caught by Formaggio. At first, he'll tell them to fuck off and shove them away, still remaining quite pleasant. If they don't take the hint, he'll get a bit more aggressive. If they still insist, he'll shrink them down and, quite hilariously, drown them in your drink. He can't contain himself. He's laughing like a maniac, but everyone around him can't really tell what he's laughing at. The patrons and the bartender are a bit weirded out, but they resume their own business, thinking he's just drunk.

You'll come back to a new drink. When you ask Formaggio why you have a new one, he'll brush it off by saying it spilled when some guy tried to mess with it. He won't tell you

Melone (the reason you need to cover your drink)

All jokes aside, Melone, as lascivious as he might be, will take your drink and place it next to his. He might take a curious sip of it to sample the taste, but that's the extent of his tampering with your drink. He keeps the glass close and watches it. Any suspicious faces at the bar are noted, but he doesn't watch them intently.

If someone tries to spike your drink under his watch, they can expect Baby Face to visit them later. Melone doesn't usually opt towards physical confrontation, but he won't sit idly by while someone tries to take advantage of you. He'll find a way to injure them after confronting them for their act. Once he's got a bit of their blood, they're history.

You come back to a very relaxed Melone, who passes your drink to you. He'll tell you that someone tried to spike your drink, but that they're nothing to worry about anymore. With a sly smirk, he'll admit to taking a sip of your drink, and offers you a taste of his to make it even.