#AND THEY JUST DROP IT CASUALLY IN CONVERSATION

[d-z20]

Neighbourly Care part 2 (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You try to forget the night with your neighbours by going on dates, but it doesn't go as planned. It goes better ;)

-OR-

Your hot MILF neighbours see you on a date and get jealous so they fuck you again

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, switch mommy Agatha, top daddy Rio, both are possessive, strap-ons, oral, double penetration, marking, degredation & praise kink, spanking, choking, orgasm denial, good bit of aftercare at the end

Words: 5.5k

A/N: If you thought it couldn't get any hornier you are very very mistaken. It is so much filthier than part 1

AO3 | Part 1 | Master List

Not For Sharing

Warmth envelops you as consciousness seeps back into your mind. A subtle, sweet scent lingers in the air—a mix of flowers and something distinctly comforting. You stir, the remnants of your dream still vivid: your impossibly hot neighbours had swept you off your feet, indulging in a passionate embrace and fucking you so good you’re pretty sure you died. The nights you dream of them are always that little bit better. Smiling, you let out a satisfied sigh, tugging the soft, firm thing in your arms closer. Must be a pillow, you think lazily, nuzzling into its warmth.

"Good morning, sweetheart," a familiar voice chuckles.

Your eyes snap open.

Agatha.

Not a pillow.

Not a dream...

You’re curled against her side, your head resting snugly on her stomach. She’s propped up slightly, her body warm and soft beneath you. An arm is draped around you, her hand brushing soothing strokes up and down your back as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. In her other hand, she holds a book, but as you blink up at her, she smiles and gently closes it, setting it aside.

"Mornin'," you mumble, your voice thick with sleep. You barely resist the urge to bury your face back into her, your cheeks burning as the realisation of last night fully dawns on you.

Agatha leans down and kisses the top of your head. The simple gesture sends warmth flooding through you. She tilts your chin up gently, her eyes twinkling with something unreadable. "Your clothes from yesterday have been washed and dried," she says, her voice soft and matter-of-fact. "And Rio’s in the kitchen making breakfast for us."

Before you can respond, Rio strides into the room, three mugs of coffee balanced expertly in her hands. She hands one to Agatha with a quick peck on her lips, then holds another out to you.

"Morning, sleepyhead," she says with a teasing grin, her tone impossibly warm.

"Thanks," you mumble, taking the coffee. She slides onto the bed beside you, lifting an arm and raising an expectant brow.

"Shift over," Rio says, wiggling her fingers invitingly.

"Hey! I was enjoying the warmth," Agatha protests, mock-affronted.

"Yeah, well, you’ve been enjoying it for the past couple hours," Rio shoots back.

"Hours?!" you exclaim, heat rising to your cheeks again as you sit up, coffee clutched between your hands.

"Well, yes," Agatha says lightly. "You were clearly very tired." She doesn’t elaborate, her smile mysterious, and Rio just hums in agreement, leaning back against the headboard as she pulls you snugly against her side.

—

The three of you share a leisurely breakfast in the kitchen—pancakes, eggs, and endless cups of coffee. Agatha and Rio exchange easy, affectionate banter, occasionally roping you into the conversation. They’re warm and welcoming, making you feel at home despite the lingering butterflies in your stomach.

"We were thinking of taking you out today," Agatha says as you finish the last of your coffee. "Just something casual. Then we’ll drop you off at the train station later."

Rio nods. "Sound good?"

You blink, momentarily startled by their kindness. "Yeah," you say softly. "Thanks."

They wave it off, smiling, and you excuse yourself to get changed into your freshly laundered clothes.

—

The day unfolds with relaxed simplicity. First, they take you to a cosy bookshop tucked into a quiet side street. Rio pulls a ridiculous rom-com novel off the shelf and insists on reading the blurb aloud, much to Agatha’s exasperation. Next, you stroll through a park, the crisp air filling your lungs as you wander past street performers and families enjoying their weekend. They buy you a coffee from a nearby cart, Agatha teasing you when you nearly spill it on yourself.

Afterward, they take you to a charming little boutique, where Agatha insists you try on a scarf that matches your eyes. “Perfect,” she declares, adjusting it around your neck with a soft smile.

By lunchtime, they lead you to a small, bustling restaurant with mismatched chairs and walls covered in framed photographs. The food is delicious—warm and filling—and the conversation flows easily. It feels surreal, sitting across from the two of them as if you’ve known them forever.

As the meal winds down, Agatha pulls your phone out of your hand. "We’re putting our numbers in," she announces, typing quickly, before sliding the phone to Rio, who does the same.

"We already have yours," Rio says, her voice warm. "If you ever need anything—anything at all—just give us a call or shoot us a text."

You nod, touched, and tuck the phone back into your pocket.

—

The drive to the train station feels bittersweet. They both walk you to the platform, hugging you when the train approaches.

"Thank you," you say again, your voice earnest as you meet their gazes.

Agatha’s smile is soft, her eyes lingering on you. "Take care, sweetheart."

"Don’t be a stranger," Rio adds, nudging your arm.

You wave goodbye as you board the train, watching them until they disappear from view. The train begins to move, and you sink into your seat, warmth blooming in your chest. You’re not sure what last night meant—or if you’ll ever fully understand it—but you know one thing for certain: you’ll never forget it.

—

It’s been five weeks since that weekend, and they still occupy your every thought. The scent of them in the air, the warmth of their arms, the gentle cadence of their laughter—it all plays on a loop in your mind. You’ve gone on a few dates with other people since then, trying to distract yourself, but nothing compares. Nothing satisfies.

A few nights ago, things hit a new low. In the midst of a heated hookup, as your date left a mark on your neck, you’d moaned Rio’s name. Somehow, you managed to laugh it off and keep going, but minutes later, when Agatha’s name slipped out, the whole thing came to an abrupt halt. You were left flustered, wet, and unsatisfied—wanting Rio and Agatha with a desperate ache you couldn’t shake.

You’ve thought about texting them. A thousand messages drafted and then deleted. What would you even say? They haven’t messaged you, either, you think. Were they waiting for you? Or was that weekend nothing more than a fun, fleeting indulgence for them—a way to “mix things up,” as Agatha had casually put it?

Tonight, you’re determined to move on. 

As you finish getting ready, you remind yourself to put them out of your mind. Your new date seems funny enough, and meeting them at a trendy bar feels like a step in the right direction. You’re going to have fun tonight. You’re going to be present.

—

The bar is loud and bustling, neon lights reflecting off polished surfaces. You try to focus on your date, but within minutes, it’s clear they’re not who you hoped they’d be. Their jokes are flat, their smile forced, and they’ve been unreasonably rude to the waitstaff. You make a mental note to leave as soon as politeness allows.

Then you see Agatha and Rio walk in, commanding the room without even trying. They’re magnetic, glowing under the low lighting, and your heart stumbles in your chest. What are they doing here? You’ve never seen them around before; okay, yes, they only live a few hours drive away, but their sudden appearance feels like a sign, though you’re unsure of what.

Agatha’s gaze sweeps across the room and lands on you. Her brows lift slightly, and a smirk tugs at her lips. Rio follows her line of sight, her expression shifting to something warmer—though there’s a flicker of irritation when her eyes land on your date. They exchange a look, and then both of them start making their way over.

Your date notices your distraction and huffs. “You gonna stop staring and pay attention to me, or...” Their tone is sharp, and they snap their fingers in your face.

Before you can reply, Agatha and Rio arrive at your table, flanking you on either side.

"Well, hello there," Agatha purrs, her voice warm but laced with something sharper. She leans in slightly, brushing her fingers lightly over your shoulder. "Fancy seeing you here."

Rio crosses her arms, her gaze fixed on your date. “Interesting company you’re keeping tonight,” she says, her tone neutral but her eyes anything but.

Your date bristles, clearly annoyed. “Who the hell are you two?”

Agatha straightens, her smile cool. “Friends. Good friends.” Her hand lingers on the back of your chair, fingers drumming casually but possessively.

Rio, meanwhile, focuses on you, her brow furrowed in faint concern. “You okay here?”

Your date scoffs. “We were just fine until you two showed up.”

Agatha chuckles, the sound low and dangerous. “Is that so?” Her gaze shifts to you, her expression softening just slightly. “Doesn’t look that way to me.”

Caught between them, you feel a mix of relief and embarrassment. You start to protest, trying to play it cool. “Guys, it’s fine. I—”

Agatha cuts you off, her voice firm but not unkind. “Sweetheart, we could see you weren’t enjoying yourself from across the room.”

Rio nods, her hand brushing against your arm. “You’re more than welcome to join us instead.”

Your date mutters something under their breath that sounds suspiciously like “fucking bitches," but Agatha and Rio ignore them entirely, their focus solely on you. The weight of their attention is overwhelming, and before you can fully process it, Agatha has her arm around your shoulder, guiding you out of your seat. Rio follows closely, her presence solid and reassuring.

—

They take you to an upscale restaurant, one far fancier than anywhere you’d normally go. You hesitate at the entrance, your protests spilling out in a rush. “This is too much—I can’t afford—”

“Our treat,” Agatha interrupts smoothly, holding the door open with a smile as Rio guides you forward, her hand firmly pushing on the small of your back.

The staff greets them by name—clearly they are regulars—and they lead the three of you to a cosy corner table. The atmosphere is intimate, the low lighting casting a golden glow. Over starters and mains, the tension between you shifts. What started as awkwardness melts into something electric.

Agatha and Rio tease you gently, their words laced with warmth and playful innuendo. Rio brushes her hand over yours when she reaches for the salt, and Agatha’s gaze lingers on your lips when you speak. The air between you crackles, the chemistry undeniable.

By the time dessert rolls around, you’re scratching absently at your neck, pulling the collar of your top aside. You don’t notice their gazes locking on the faint hickey, but you do feel the subtle shift in the room’s energy. Rio’s hand tightens on her wife’s thigh, and Agatha’s smile takes on a sharper edge.

Their questions come fast and pointed. “So, you’ve clearly been busy making friends since we last saw you?” Agatha asks, her tone deceptively casual.

Rio leans in, her eyes piercing. “What made you pick tonight’s winner?”

You stammer through answers, feeling their scrutiny like a physical touch. The intensity of their attention is both unnerving and thrilling.

Excusing yourself to the restroom, you take a moment to breathe. But as you wash your hands, the door opens, and Agatha steps inside. She leans against the counter beside you, her gaze heavy.

“Rio’s paying the bill,” she says, her voice low. Then her eyes drop to your neckline. “What’s this?” She tugs lightly at your collar, revealing the faint mark.

Heat floods your cheeks. “I—it’s nothing.”

She doesn’t respond, just steps closer, her hand brushing your arm. “We told you,” she murmurs, her voice dropping, “if you needed anything, you should call us.”

“I thought you meant a ride or—”

Her lips cut off your protest, the kiss firm and possessive. When she pulls back, her hand lingers on your arm, her eyes dark with intent. "Come,” she insists.

The air is thick with tension as Agatha’s hand wraps firmly around your bicep, her grip unyielding but not harsh. She leads you out of the bathroom without a word, and the sight of Rio waiting outside sends a fresh wave of heat through your body. Rio’s dark, smouldering gaze meets yours, and without hesitation, she steps forward, flanking you as Agatha moves to the other side.

The three of you walk in silence, their presence commanding, leaving no room for anything but anticipation. They don’t speak, and neither do you; trailing just behind them, your mind races. The click of their shoes on the pavement echoes in your ears, their hands brushing your arms or back every so often, steadying you, anchoring you.

—

When you reach a hotel, the atmosphere shifts. They lead you through the grand entrance, past a curious concierge, and into the waiting elevator. The doors close, and the small space amplifies everything—Agatha’s scent, Rio’s presence, the sheer weight of their eyes on you.

Agatha moves first, her hands gripping your waist as she pulls you to her. “We told you to call us,” she murmurs against your ear, her voice low and commanding, her fingers digging into your sides just enough to make you shiver.

Rio joins in, her hand finding its way to the back of your neck. “Yet, there you were, clinging to some asshole,” she growls, her tone laced with irritation and something much darker. Her fingers tighten, forcing you to meet her gaze.

The elevator dings, the sound barely registering as they usher you out, their hands firm and guiding. They walk you down the plushly carpeted hallway, their pace unrelenting, and when they reach the room, Agatha pulls out the key card with practiced ease. The door swings open, and you’re all but pushed inside.

The air in the room feels charged, the door clicking shut behind you like the finality of a lock. You barely have a moment to take in your surroundings before they close in on you.

“You were supposed to ask us,” Agatha says, her voice sharp as she steps closer, her eyes blazing. “For anything. For everything.”

Rio crosses her arms, her jaw set tight. “Instead, we find that you’ve been busy making friends,” she demands, her tone snearing at the final word.

You stumble over your words, your pulse racing. “I—I wasn’t trying to— It’s just, I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I thought maybe—”

“Maybe what?” Agatha snaps, cutting you off. “That you could distract yourself by throwing yourself at the first person who looked at you?”

“Yes! Wait, no!” You stammer. “All of the dates were just distractions, but none of them could get you guys out of my head.” You knew instantly you had messed up.

Rio’s eyes narrow. “All of the dates?” She repeats, her voice artificially soft.

“Uhhh… yeah, there’s been more than who you saw tonight,” you admit weakly, instantly regretting it when Agatha’s eyes flash with something dangerous.

“Clearly,” Rio hisses, stepping closer. Her hand shoots out, gripping your face firmly and tilting your head up so you can’t escape her gaze. “You are nothing but a common whore. I mean, just look at your neck.”

Agatha’s voice joins in, smooth and biting. “You’re ours. Don’t you get it? Ours. Not theirs, not anyone else’s.”

Your breath hitches, and you nod as best you can with Rio’s hand still holding your face. “Yes,” you whisper.

“Yes, what?” Rio prompts, her tone sharp.

“Y-yes, Mommy,” you manage, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

The effect is immediate. Rio’s lips crash against yours, the kiss claiming and consuming. Her fingers dig into your jaw, holding you in place as her tongue sweeps over yours, leaving you dizzy and breathless. 

Then Agatha’s voice fills the space, low and possessive.

“We’re not sharing you with anyone else,” she declares, her presence suddenly behind you. Her hands snake around your waist, pulling you flush against her as her mouth finds the mark on your neck. She bites down, hard enough to make you gasp into Rio’s mouth, and then she soothes the sting with her tongue before sucking hard, ensuring her mark overlays the one already there.

Her hands begin to roam, firm and deliberate. They slide under your top, her nails raking lightly over your skin, leaving tingling trails in their wake. One hand moves upward, cupping your breast, while the other drifts downward, deftly undoing the buttons of your pants.

“You’re ours,” Agatha murmurs against your skin, her voice like a promise and a warning all at once. Her hand slips into your underwear, her touch confident and unapologetic, as her mouth continues its path along your neck.

Rio finally breaks the kiss. “Is that understood?” She asks, her tone brooking no argument as she watches you with hooded eyes, her fingers brushing the edge of your jaw.

“Yes, Daddy,” you whisper, voice catching as Agatha’s fingers ghost over your clit. The words hang in the air, heavy with intent. 

It was a stab in the dark to use the term for Rio; you have no clue if she likes it or not. However, judging by the look on her face and the way she bit down on her own lip, it was a good choice.

Agatha chuckles against your neck, her teeth grazing your skin. “Good,” she murmurs, her hand moving with purpose. “Now let’s remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Rio starts kissing you again; it’s needy, like she’s trying to consume you. Meanwhile, both of Agatha’s hands find their way back to your waist, her fingers hooking under the waistband of your pants, tugging them down with a firm motion. You feel her sink to her knees and bite your ass cheek as she helps you step out of your pants, and you let out a small yelp.

You feel Rio smile against your lips before pulling back and spinning you to face Agatha. She playfully nips at the shell of your ear before trailing her mouth lower, sucking and biting at your jaw and the sensetive spot behind your ear. Just as she licks a stripe up your neck, Agatha’s open mouth presses against your core.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimper, shuddering slightly.

“You’re so pathetic,” Agatha breathes, “you’ve ruined your underwear, like the slut you really are.” She drags her tongue over you slowly, tasting your arousal through the fabric. Not wanting to miss out, Rio’s hand lightly bats away Agatha’s head so she can cup you through your underwear, and you feel her exhale shakily against your ear from how wet you are. 

Your head drops backwards in pleasure, but Rio’s other hand is there in an instant, forcing your gaze down to Agatha. “Don’t forget, you need to look at Mommy, baby.”

From this angle, you can see straight down the front of Agatha’s sleek black halterneck dress. It’s plunging neckline had offered you a tantalising view at dinner, but this was something else entirely.

“Thank you, my love; you can get ready now,” Agatha states, coming up to stand next to you. She grasps your hair and roughly drags you to the bed, shoving your face down so you’re bent over the mattress. She clasps your wrists behind your back, securing them with makeshift cuffs made from a belt. 

Just as you’re wondering exactly where she got the belt from, you feel her lean down, pressing into your back. “If you’re going to act like a harlot, then we’ll treat you as such,” she whispers in your ear. 

She places a hand between your thighs and starts rubbing gently, and despite her calm demeanour, you can hear her breathing get more ragged. She pulls the fabric of your underwear to the side and starts ghosting her fingers over your clit. “We’re going to make sure you never ever forget who you belong to,” she whispers before thrusting two fingers inside you. 

You gasp slightly at the feeling, but your arousal soon coats her fingers, and the movements become smooth as you adjust to her. Even though it had been on your mind since you woke up in her bed, you had forgotten just how good sex with Agatha felt. You can feel her grinding into you as she’s fucking you, clearly desperate for some friction herself.

Suddenly she stops and climbs off you; you’re about to protest when your underwear gets ripped off. 

“Well, they were already ruined, and they’re just going to get in the way,” you hear Rio’s voice chuckle behind you. 

You’re expecting them to start touching you, but instead you hear sucking, and maybe... was that the sound of a gag? You crane your head back trying to see what’s happening, and the sight causes an involuntary moan to escape your lips: Agatha was kneeling in front of a naked Rio, her head bobbing back and forth. You can see a part of the dildo not in Agatha’s mouth, but you don’t see a harness.

“Is that a..."

“Yes, baby, I’m going to feel every thrust just as much as you; Agatha’s just getting this end ready for you," Rio answers. You actually feel yourself start to drip, and watch as Rio takes a sharp inhale as it trickles down your thigh. “I think they’re more than ready for me now, my love,” she adds, tugging softly at Agatha’s hair.

Agatha releases the strap but pushes down on it slightly, making Rio’s hips jolt as the other end shifts inside her. 

Regaining her composure, Rio strides over to you and grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking you up so you’re arched into her. You feel the strap glide over your heat, and you can’t help but grind into it, moaning at the smallest bit of pressure against your clit. Rio lines up with your entrance and pushes the tip in before quickly withdrawing.

“Who do you belong to?” she groans, thrusting into you. But before you can adjust, she pulls out, leaving you feeling empty. All you can do is whine.

You hear a loud smack as Rio’s open palm hits your bare ass. “I asked you a question.”

It stings, but the pain blurs into pleasure as you feel another brief thrust in and out. 

“You,” you moan, wanting to get fucked properly.

There’s fresh pain as Rio smacks you again.

“Daddy. I belong to you, Daddy.” It comes out as a sob, far more desperate than you’ve ever heard yourself.

“Mhmm, that’s it, sweetheart. Now I’m going to tell you exactly how Mommy likes to be eaten out, and you’re going to be a good pet and do exactly what I say, okay?” She presses a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Yes, Daddy.”

With your agreement, Rio releases you from your restraints and starts fucking you, her movements rough and deep. Agatha lies down in front of you, her legs spread, and you can see just how wet she is.

“I’d say you need to start by warming her up, but by the looks of it, she already is,” Rio says greadily. Then it was her turn to moan as your body jerks back into her from a particularly deep thrust.

“Well, since you decided to disobey us, watching Daddy teach you a lesson has really got me going," Agatha teases, “but I still need to feel your mouth on me, pet.”

You obey and bring your mouth close to Agatha’s pussy; you’re about to begin when you feel Rio smack you again between her thrusts. “I haven’t told you to do anything yet,” she snarls. “Start with broad licks up and down; you’ll need to pin her hips as Mommy’s rather sensitive and tends to squirm around.”

“Rio,” Agatha warns, giving you the impression she still has control over the woman behind you.

You do as you’re told and begin licking firm but broad. Rio was right; Agatha was very sensitive, and she bucks her hips every time you get near her clit. She buries her hands in your hair and pushes you into her. “Yes. Fuck, baby, that feels so good.”

Rio’s nails bite into your hip where she’s holding you, and she starts to thrust even harder. Her moans are loud and gutteral. “Okay, now start to circle her clit with the tip of your tongue.” Her voice is breathy. “Fuck, okay, fuck, I’m getting close,” she pants. “And every so often you should put your lips around it and suck a little.”

Once again you do as you’re told, and once again Agatha starts to writhe beneath you, grinding against your face. Rio wraps an arm around your waist, her fingers stroking your clit, and you moan at the added stimulation, so close to climaxing. 

The vibrations push Agatha even closer to her own orgasm as she gasps, "Mmm, I love what you’re doing, but I swear to fuck, if you don’t put your fingers inside me right now, pet, I will RUIN you.”

You’re torn. On the one hand, you want to make Agatha cum, but on the other, Rio hasn’t told you to do that yet, and you don’t want to find out what happens if you disobey her.

A hand wraps around your neck, squeezing just a bit, and Rio pulls you up; she stills her hips, but her fingers keep going. “Mommy gave you an order, sweetheart.” With no further warning, she pulls out and shoves you down next to Agatha. “Now you don’t get to cum until she has.”

You whine at the empty feeling, but it soon turns into a whimper as you watch Rio push the strap into Agatha, not even bothering to wipe it clean. 

Your eyes flutter closed as you start to fuck yourself when all of a sudden Rio’s hand is back around your throat. “Uh uh, bad pets don’t get to touch themselves.” She turns her head, looking at her wife. “I’m sorry, darling. You’re going to have to touch yourself since this slut can’t keep their hands to themselves.”

“I mean, technically, I was keeping them to myself. You know since I was touching myself and not either of you.” You’re smiling, proud of the loophole you found, until you spot how both women are glaring at you, realising the magnitude of your mistake.

“Oh no. Oh no no no,” Agatha scolds. “You will keep your mouth shut, your hands on the headboard, and your face to the wall until we say otherwise.”

You get up, crawling to the top of the bed, head drooping at the realisation that you won’t even get to watch them cum.

The room is quickly filled with moans and gasps as Rio and Agatha help each other through their orgasms, but it doesn’t stop, and you’re pretty sure that they go for rounds two and three. Pressing your thighs together, you grit your teeth, determined not to disobey them again. 

It feels like it’s been an eternity, but finally you hear Agatha call you back, and when you turn around to look at them, they are a complete mess with red bite marks scattered across both of their chests. Rio turns, grabbing something from her bag, and you see the large scratch marks Agatha has left all down her back. 

“Thank you, my love.” Agatha says, taking whatever it was Rio had grabbed. "Now, pet, you are going to ride Daddy’s cock, and I will join you in a minute.”

You nod, excited to hopefully get some reprieve from the ache of having your orgasm denied. “Yes, Mommy,” you add quickly, trying to avoid another punishment.

Rio lies down on her back, pulling you into a quick kiss. “Clean it first.” 

Humming with excitement, you lower your head and take the strap in your mouth; it’s still warm from being inside Agatha, and you groan at the taste of her on it. 

You only get a few seconds before Rio pulls you away, guiding your hips so you’re straddling her, hovering over the strap. “You look so perfect like this,” her voice is soft and encouraging. You lower yourself down and let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. “So perfect,” she repeats.

“You feel so good,” you moan, starting to roll your hips.

Her hands grip your waist, helping you up and down, but it’s not enough, and she starts thrusting up into you. You stutter and fall forward into Rio, all your strength sapped from your muscles as she hits the perfect spot.

Agatha comes up behind you, her hand stroking your back. “Do you think you can take more, sweetheart?”

"Mhmm” is all you can manage before burying your head in Rio’s neck.

You were expecting some stimulation on your clit or maybe Agatha replacing Rio with something bigger. What you weren't expecting, however, was Agatha to push her own strap in as well. It stretches you at first, making you feel wonderfully full. 

“Oh fuck,” you mewl, biting down on Rio’s neck to suppress your moans

Agatha starts to move, causing you to cry out in pleasure. The sound encourages her, and she starts to bare down harder. “You’re taking us so well, baby.” 

Rio hums in agreement. The force of Agatha’s thrusts sending fresh waves of pleasure through her. She drags her nails up your back, digging in with every jolt of your hips. “Don’t you ever forget who you belong to again,” she whispers, starting to mark your neck and shoulders with her mouth, and you feel your stomach start to knot.

Desperate for just that little bit more, you start begging. “Please, please, I need more.” 

You grab Agatha’s hand and shove it between your legs. Chuckling softly, she gives you what you need, and your orgasm comes crashing over you. 

It takes a few minutes, but both of them pull out when your legs finally stop shaking. Rio lets you lie on her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around you. “You did so good for us,” she purrs, pressing kisses to your temple and running her fingers through your hair.

You hear Agatha turn on the shower as she cleans up the toys, returning to the bed when she’s done. “Sweetheart, do you need anything?”

You shake your head weakly at Agatha’s question, your body still tingling from the intensity of your orgasm. Rio strokes your hair gently, her fingers trailing soothing patterns down your back. “You sure, baby?” Agatha presses, leaning down to run a hand along your calf, her touch grounding and warm. “Water? A snack? Anything at all?”

You finally manage to whisper, “Water, maybe.”

Agatha nods, a small, reassuring smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll be right back.” She kisses your knee softly before disappearing into the adjoining room. Rio continues her ministrations, cradling you as if you might drift away. “Just breathe, love,” she murmurs, her lips brushing your hairline. “We’ve got you.”

Agatha returns moments later with a glass of water and a cool, damp cloth. She perches beside you on the bed, offering the water with one hand while using the cloth to dab tenderly at your flushed face and neck. “There you go,” she coos, her voice soft and melodic. “Nice and slow.”

You sip the water, feeling the cool liquid revive you slightly. Agatha takes the glass once you’ve had your fill and sets it on the bedside table before tucking the blanket around you more snugly. “You did so well, sweetheart,” she murmurs, her fingers brushing lightly over your arm. “We’re so proud of you.”

After a while, Agatha glances at Rio and tilts her head toward the bathroom. “Let’s clean up, darling,” she says softly, giving your leg a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll feel even better after a warm shower.”

Rio carefully helps you sit up, her arms still supporting you as your legs wobble slightly. She and Agatha guide you to the bathroom, where the steam from the shower has already fogged up the mirror. The warmth of the room wraps around you as Agatha steps into the shower first, adjusting the water temperature before holding out a hand to you. “Come here, love.”

You step in with their help, the hot water cascading over you instantly soothing your sore muscles. Agatha stands behind you, massaging your shoulders and neck, while Rio lathers up a soft washcloth, gently cleansing your skin. Their touches are tender, unhurried, and filled with care. Agatha presses a kiss to your damp shoulder as she rinses you off, while Rio keeps her gaze locked on yours, a soft smile playing on her lips.

When they’re satisfied that you’re fully relaxed and clean, they wrap you in a fluffy towel and guide you back to the bed. The sheets have been straightened, and the pillows fluffed, creating a cosy nest that feels like heaven when you crawl back in. Rio slides in beside you, pulling you against her chest once more, while Agatha climbs in on your other side, her arm draping protectively over both of you.

“Better now?” Agatha asks, her voice a quiet hum as she brushes a strand of hair from your face.

You nod, a content sigh escaping your lips. “Much better. Thank you.”

Rio chuckles softly, pressing another kiss to your temple. “Anything for our pet.”

-----

As always, please like and reblog if you enjoyed :)

I have a few ideas for more chapters if people want??

Edit: Comment if you want to be added to the taglist for future chapters :)) - you must have your age in your bio

[littlelamy]

family thanksgiving with rafe

The house was alive with the warm chaos of Thanksgiving. The smell of roasting turkey wafted through the air, mingling with the sound of laughter and clinking glasses. Your family filled the rooms with lively conversations, stories, and the occasional outburst of sibling bickering.

Rafe stood at your side, looking every bit the charming Southern gentleman as he greeted your family. His crisp button-up was neatly tucked into dark jeans, and his hair was combed just enough to look presentable but still had that boyish disarray you loved.

For a guy who claimed to be nervous about meeting your family, he was doing an excellent job of keeping his cool.

“You didn’t tell me your mom could cook like this,” Rafe murmured into your ear as you both carried dishes to the dining room. His voice was low, teasing, but the way his hand brushed your lower back as you walked sent a thrill down your spine.

“Behave,” you warned, shooting him a playful glare.

He smirked, but his eyes held a mischievous gleam. “I’m always on my best behavior, sweetheart.”

That was a lie, and you both knew it.

The first time he pulled you aside was when you were refilling your aunt’s wine glass in the kitchen. The others were still in the living room, chatting over appetizers.

“Rafe,” you hissed as his hand closed around your wrist, tugging you into the small pantry just off the kitchen.

“Shh,” he whispered, his lips already brushing yours.

The kiss was quick, soft, and utterly intoxicating. His hands rested on your hips, his thumbs rubbing slow circles that made your knees weak.

“Your mom’s a great cook, but you’re the only snack I care about tonight,” he murmured against your lips, his tone low and suggestive.

You shoved him lightly, a mix of exasperation and giddy laughter bubbling in your chest. “If someone catches us—”

“They won’t.” He kissed you again, longer this time, his lips moving with a confidence that made you forget the world outside the pantry.

The second time was when you were setting the table. He waited until everyone’s backs were turned, then leaned in to whisper something very inappropriate in your ear, making you nearly drop the fork you were holding.

“Rafe!” you scolded, trying to stifle your laughter.

He just grinned, looking far too pleased with himself. “What? I’m just thankful for you, babe.”

By the time everyone gathered around the dining table, you were already on edge—not from the family chaos but from the man sitting beside you. Rafe looked innocent enough, nodding politely as your dad asked him about his job and laughing at your cousin’s awkward jokes. But under the table, his hand had found your thigh.

At first, it was a simple, comforting touch. His palm rested there casually, his thumb rubbing soft, lazy circles just above your knee. You shot him a warning glance, but he didn’t move his hand. If anything, his grip tightened slightly, a silent challenge in the way his lips quirked into a smirk.

The conversation at the table flowed, but your focus was entirely on him. Every time he squeezed your thigh or shifted his fingers, your pulse quickened.

When his hand slid higher, you nearly knocked over your water glass.

“You okay, sweetie?” your mom asked, looking at you with concern.

You forced a smile, your face burning. “Yep! Just clumsy.”

Rafe’s fingers stilled, but you knew it was only temporary.

As the meal continued, his touch became bolder. His fingers ghosted over the hem of your skirt, then dipped just beneath it. The light pressure against your skin sent a shiver up your spine, and you clenched your fists on your lap to keep from reacting.

“Pass the rolls, Rafe,” your uncle said, breaking the tension.

Rafe’s hand disappeared as he leaned forward, grabbing the basket and handing it over with a polite smile. He was the picture of innocence, completely unbothered by the storm he was stirring inside you.

The final straw came when Rafe dropped his fork.

“Shit,” he muttered, letting the utensil clatter to the floor. “I got it.”

You froze, your pulse skyrocketing as he ducked under the table. His movements were casual enough to keep suspicion at bay, but the moment his hand wrapped around your ankle, you knew you were in trouble.

“Rafe,” you hissed through clenched teeth, trying to sound firm, but it came out more like a plea.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice muffled under the table. “Just getting closer.”

The answer came when his lips pressed softly against the inside of your ankle. A rush of heat shot through you as he trailed kisses up your calf, his hands gently parting your knees.

Your grip tightened on the edge of the table as he moved higher, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just above your knee. You tried to keep your breathing steady, but the warmth of his mouth paired with the occasional graze of his fingers was driving you insane.

“Rafe,” you whispered again, more desperate this time.

“Shh,” he murmured, the vibration of his voice against your skin making you bite your lip to keep from reacting. “Mhm… just let me.”

His lips hovered just beneath the hem of your skirt, teasing in a way that made you squirm. His fingers slid further up, ghosting over your panties, and your stomach tightened as he paused, pressing his thumb against the damp fabric.

“So wet,” he muttered under his breath, almost too quietly for you to catch, but the deep tone sent a shiver down your spine.

You opened your mouth to scold him, but before you could, you felt it—a quick, deliberate kiss over the center of your panties.

Your entire body froze, a gasp threatening to escape as he lingered for a split second longer, his breath warm against the fabric.

“Got it!” Rafe’s voice rang out suddenly, cheerful and innocent as he reappeared with the fork in hand.

He slid back into his seat with a smug grin, completely unbothered by the chaos he’d caused.

You shot him a glare, your cheeks blazing with a mix of embarrassment and frustration.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “You taste better than dessert, babe,” he whispered, his voice low and raspy, so only you could hear.

Your stomach flipped, and your thighs pressed together under the table. You refused to give him the satisfaction of a response, but judging by the satisfied look on his face, he already knew what kind of effect he had on you.

By the time dinner ended, you were ready to throttle him—and maybe fuck him senseless. As the family moved into the living room for coffee and dessert, Rafe caught your hand, pulling you into the hallway.

“You’re impossible,” you hissed, your voice low.

“And you love it,” he countered, backing you against the wall. His hands found your waist, and his lips were on yours before you could protest. The kiss was slow, deep, and absolutely intoxicating.

When he pulled back, his blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “Happy Thanksgiving, baby.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. “Happy Thanksgiving, Rafe.”

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy y @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

[bywons]

YOU'RE A SUNFLOWER! 🕷️ SPIDERMAN!JAKE FALLING FOR YOU

𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗬──── your superhero love story with spiderman jake

❪ 𝑃𝑅𝐸𝐶𝑖𝑆 ❫ ｡ spiderman!jake x f!r 211Owc 𖥔 fluff spiderman au ── 𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 mentions of fighting injuries kissing skinship 愛 ／ CATALOGUE

する ܃ this was supposed to be out a long time ago, but practicals said no TT

reb𝑙ogs& ˊᗜˋ 𝑓eedbacks

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who is your caring, obliging and hilarious roommate, with a secret.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE, your endlessly sweet, slightly chaotic, and hilariously dorky roommate, who always seems to be juggling late nights and suspiciously “urgent errands.” you’ve noticed his habit of disappearing at the oddest times, but jake always comes back with an excuse and that charming, slightly guilty smile of his. what you don’t know is that his “errands” involve swinging across the city in his spider-man suit, battling villains, and saving lives.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who quickly changes into his normal civilian clothes before you can walk in and catch him red handed in his spiderman suit. he prays you wouldn't make too much of the still open window, his sparsely webbed fingers and the cold beads of sweat forming on his neck and forehead, as you walk in through his door, greeting him.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who always seems to know when you're low, when you need him. it's uncanny really, you don't know how he always shows up with his pretty face and that boyish, contagious smile, knocking on your door with chocolates and an impromptu movie plan. “rough day?” he smiles so warmly at you, as you welcome him in.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE sits next to you in every class, it's like you're becoming best friends with him. and sometimes, he's extremely late to class and the students giggle at his funny excuses to the professor— “my alarm clock broke” or “got in a fight with my window,” he jokes, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as the class bursts into laughter. but when SPIDERMAN!JAKE runs up to you after those awkward excuses to be allowed into the lecture, he plops down next to you and pulls out a sweet treat everytime, an apology gift for being late, you must have missed him all this time!

SPIDERMAN!JAKE, who disappears at the weirdest times. you’ll be in the middle of a conversation, and suddenly he’s mumbling something about an errand and bolting out the door. “be back in a few!” he shouts, leaving you confused and a little suspicious.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who's your one call away. just a missed call or single concerning text from you and he drops everything, everything to be by your side and make sure you're okay. he doesn't care if he's in utmost danger, he'll always find a way back to you, “i’ll be there in a minute,” he promises, and within moments, he’s stumbling through your door, still catching his breath, hair disheveled, making up some vague excuse about losing track of time.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who's just so kind to the point it's infuriating. he always carries your bags and books after each class, brings you sweet treats and buys you soft plushies when you're feeling low, he offers to do your assignments at times when you're overworked. even at the perfect times, jake always has a granola bar inside his pockets when you're hungry.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who has had nothing but heart eyes for you since the day that he laid his eyes on you.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who tries not to let out a sly grin whenever he’s surrounded by faint whispers and giggles from his classmates or strangers about impressive rescues from the amazing spiderman. he loves his undercover state at times when his friends come up to him all excited, “bro did you news last night? spiderman was awesome!” , “yeah he's my hero!” and jake feels utterly proud and content with what he does to keep his city safe. but then there's you.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who first noticed you in the hallway, laughing with your friends, casual and confident, seemingly unimpressed by all the talk about the city’s newest hero. “what's so special about spiderman anyways?” you scoffed and rolled your eyes, as you walked by, your tone so nonchalant it made jake pause mid-step. he could see the others around you giggling and excited, but you? you didn’t even bat an eye at his name.

it stung SPIDERMAN!JAKE in a way he wasn't used to. everyone else idolized spiderman, a token of hope and strength of the city. but you? you were indifferent to it all, and he couldn't help but feel butterflies in his stomach. he would love a little chase.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who would start to have a little crush on you, and being a hopeless romantic and being a mildly awkward, superpowered guy— he did what he could, appearing all so suddenly when you would least expect it. “bump into you” at random times like when you were collecting your books from your locker for the next class, and just when you close it, SPIDERMAN!JAKE is already leaning against it, a coy smirk playing on his lips. he tries to act nonchalant, as if his heart isn't beating a million miles per hour right now, as if he didn't take down a villian last night. “hey” he’d greet you with a grin, eyes shining with curiosity. “you said something about spiderman earlier. got an opinion on him now?” you glanced at him, raising an eyebrow at him, “what? you're his biggest fan?” SPIDERMAN!JAKE would giggle nervously, rubbing the back of his neck as he mumbles out, “nah, just wondering if maybe you’ve changed your mind. you know, given all the... cool stuff spiderman does.” “still seems overrated to me!” you reply, shooting him a quick smile before returning to your class.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE couldn’t help it—his heart skipped a beat. you didn’t idolize spiderman. you didn’t worship him. you didn’t need to. and yet, that simple lack of interest made him want to know more about you.

and so fast forward to now SPIDERMAN!JAKE has developed relationships with you, and developed feelings about you at bay. he never thought of sharing a room with you, laughing and spending time after class with you or sometimes, sharing a tense eye contact with you. the one which wants him to kiss you right then, right there.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who in the middle of the night, stares up at his spiderman mask, feeling guilty for keeping you in the dark for so long.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who prays and prays that you will finally take a liking to spiderman, and that you will like the real, superhero him.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who's so overprotective of you, and he doesn't even realize it. you always wonder how he arrives just in 5 minutes after you just sent him a, “stuck at a party, come pick me up?” text. maybe he's just too fast? or maybe he's beating up creepy guys who tried to hit on you just to the next alley, you just don't know yet.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who comes late at night one day, adamant to go meet with your lousy, insufficient ex. and when you know about it, it's already late. jake’s already made him learn a lesson right after his mission. he looks at with puppy eyes, his glossy and sorrowful eyes reciprocating your worried, upset ones. “was it really necessary?” you whisper, gently tending to his wounds all over his face, as you look down at jake. “sorry, you didn't deserve that from him, that's all,” jake sighs, already too mesmerized by your face staring at him, too addicted to your honey touch on his skin. and as you see jake getting all guilty for his actions, you don't think much about it and press a quick, feathery kiss on his cheeks.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE whose eyes become wide and jaws hang low as you kiss his cheeks. you, kissed him? “thanks jake,” you mumble, a mellow blush creeping onto your cheeks. “d-dont thank me,” jake stutters as his whole face flushes up, he moves his hand up to capture your wrist, softly pressing it against your cheeks.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who swings around the city in joy the next day, who's so confident to confess to you now. he's super sure you'd like him back. maybe as spiderman too.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who spots you easily when returning home one night, still in his spiderman suit. you're alone, looking uncomfortable as you walk down the street. but there's no one around you, maybe you're just cold? but he doesn't think about it much before he swings down, gathers you in his arms and makes his way to your shared dormitory with him.

you gasp as SPIDERMAN!JAKE takes you along with him in the air, you feel like you're almost flying. he blushes under his mark as he feels you holding on to him. “but i didn't want…your help,” you mumble as he puts you down on your balcony. “a pretty girl like you shouldn't be cold outside, and it's my job to keep you safe!” you see the superhero giggle, patting his shoulder all by himself. “but how'd you know where i live?” you question, eyes narrowing. oh well, jake wasn't prepared for that. he clears his throat, “well, spiderman knows everything!” “well maybe not everything ‘cause…this is my roomate jake’s room not mine.” SPIDERMAN!JAKE gulps.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE tries to say something, but words are caught up in his throat. but before he could even comprehend, you step forward, and pull up his mask, revealing the handsome face of your roommate indeed.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who is stunned, didn't expect to reveal his true identity like this.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE, who’s now standing frozen on your balcony, watches as the realization dawns on your face. his heart races in his chest, a mixture of panic and anticipation swirling within him as you look at him, then back at the mask in your hand. “you really are terrible at keeping secrets, you know that?” you say, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow. jake stammers, his usual confidence gone. “i-i can explain,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “it’s just... i didn’t mean for you to find out like this. its not exactly how i planned—” “you planned for me to find out?” you interrupt, stepping closer. his blush deepens, and he’s never been more thankful for the night sky to hide the embarrassment creeping up his neck.

“not really. i mean, yes. no. i don’t know!” SPIDERMAN!JAKE groans, running a hand through his hair. “i just... i wanted to tell you eventually. it’s not easy being spiderman and your roommate, okay?” you can’t help but laugh softly at how flustered he looks. “you’re ridiculous, you know that? swinging me around the city like some kind of superhero, and then you drop me off here, your balcony, not even realizing it.”

SPIDERMAN!JAKE’s eyes widen. “wait—did you at least enjoy the swinging?” you hesitate, biting back a smile. “it wasn’t terrible, i guess.” “not terrible,’ huh?” he teases, a bit of his usual charm slipping back into his voice. “that’s practically a glowing review coming from you.” you roll your eyes but step closer again, the space between you almost nonexistent. “you’re lucky you’re cute, jake.” jake blinks, momentarily stunned, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to form words but failing miserably. “wait, what?” “don’t make me say it again,” you murmur, and before he can even process it, you grab the front of his suit and pull him down, pressing your lips to his.

for a moment SPIDERMAN!JAKE is too shocked to react, but then he melts into the kiss, his hands instinctively finding your waist, pulling you closer and deepening the kiss. the world seems to fade away—the late-night city noise, the cool breeze brushing against your skin, even the fact that you’re standing on a balcony. it’s just you and jake, and for once, he feels like he doesn’t need to hide. when you finally pull away, his face is flushed, his lips slightly parted as he looks at you with a dazed expression. “wow,” he breathes, blinking rapidly. “so, uh... does this mean you forgive me for the whole secret spiderman thing?” you smirk, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. “i’ll think about it. but you owe me, big time, spiderman”

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who just can't believe you kissed him, and that you're his now.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who visits you in the middle of the night when he says he'd be away, surprising you, both with his presence and a kitten he just saved.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who takes you out on dates but in a special way, swinging all around the nightlife of the glowing city with you in his arms.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who loves you, and only you, who promises to fight everyone just for you.

SPIDERMAN!JAKE who loves you, and only you, who promises to fight everyone just for you.

© BYWONS, 2024 / do not copy or repost without permission

taglist────open tags in the reblogs ! network tag. @/k-labels @k-films @k-nets CLICK ME

[peppermintquartz]

Buck volunteers for the Thanksgiving shift. When Maddie asks, he apologizes, saying, "I don't really feel festive right now. But keep some leftovers for me?"

On the day, firehouses around the country all have similar calls to deal with: kitchen grease fires from frying turkeys, sprains in backyard games of football, people injuring one another because "did you hear what she said about our Emma/Francis/Kailey?". Buck is kept too busy to think, and it's nice having the time to catch up with Ravi, who's thinking of going to school to study law.

Their brothers and sisters in uniform also drop off dishes at the station, so between calls, they get pretty good food. Captain Graham gives them an hour offline after four consecutive calls. Buck collapses into a chair and serves himself pasta salad and a delicious honey baked ham, while his dinner rolls warm up in the oven.

He's scrolling through his phone, diligently avoiding the messaging apps, when a message preview pops up.

Tommy.

Buck almost drops his fork. He scrambles away from the dinner table, even though no one on C shift will try to take his phone from him, and finds a spot in the stairwell to read it.

Tommy: hope you have a good & safe Thanksgiving

As he's reading, another bubble appears and Buck's heart skips several beats, but this time it doesn't disappear. A second message arrives, followed by a third.

Tommy: don't know why I texted that

Tommy: guess I just wanted to say something to you

Tommy: you don't have to reply

Tommy: anyway. Happy holidays

Buck feels a slight loosening of the vice around his heart that has been there since that night. With a smile on his face, he types, deletes, types again.

Buck: happy Thanksgiving to you too

Buck: how many kitchen grease fires you got this year? We had 3

Tommy: you're working today?

Tommy: 4, but one of it was in the backyard

They're having a conversation. They're having an actual casual conversation, as easy as they used to on calmer shifts. Buck wants to cry. But he has to answer Tommy's question or have this conversation end too soon. Thinking about his options, he decides that he has nothing to lose anyway.

Buck: I didn't wanna sit around and smile and pretend I'm thankful for everything

Buck: it's better to keep busy

Tommy: I know that feeling

Tommy: I'm sorry

Buck: I'm sorry too

Buck: I wish we could've celebrated together

Buck: I would've said that I'm thankful for you

Tommy: I would have said that too

Tommy: I'm still thankful for you jsyk. I'll always be grateful to have got to know you

Does Tommy think he can't stay in Buck's life just because they broke up?

Buck: I don't think you know me well enough

Tommy: sorry

Buck wishes he'd run after Tommy that night, or done something since to show that he wants Tommy. Well, here's your chance, his brain reminds him. Do something.

He takes a deep breath. Then he types.

Buck: I want to meet. If I come over after Thanksgiving shift, will you please be home?

Tommy: is that a good idea

Buck: idk. But I can't stop thinking about you, and I miss you, and I wanna know what I did wrong. I wanna meet.

Tommy: I miss you too. You didn't do anything wrong, I just didn't want to... Idk. I didn't want to get my hopes up too much.

Buck: we need to talk in person. Texting is not good enough.

It isn't. He needs to see Tommy again. Tommy with his storm blue eyes and tender smile and broad shoulders and soft clothes. Tommy whose crinkly smile drives Buck a little (a lot) insane. Tommy whose lips he now knows the shape of by touch alone, whose body he has mapped out in detail, who knows how it feels to be inside Buck in the most intimate of ways.

He waits for a response. Hopes there will be one. It comes several minutes after, like Tommy had to really think about it.

Tommy: maybe not immediately after Thanksgiving shift

Tommy: are you off on Monday

The relief that crashes into Buck feels almost as overwhelming as the tsunami he was caught in years ago.

Buck: yes

Buck: your place this time

Buck: I'll bring cake

Tommy: you don't have to bribe me to open the door

Buck: no I just baked too much stuff is all. I'll explain when we meet

Buck: I'm really thankful you texted

Tommy: I'm thankful you replied

Tommy: have a good rest of the shift, Evan

It's Evan again. Buck can't hide his smile at all. Tucking his phone into his pocket, he goes back to dinner. Monday can't be here fast enough.

[mynameismckenziemae]

No Nut November

Part 1 (Part 2 here)

Jake Seresin x Female Reader/You x Bradley Bradshaw

Summary: Bradley and Jake decide to partake in No Nut November…without consulting you first. You’re determined to make them cave.

Warnings: Adults (18+) only! MDNI! This work contains: adult language, dirty talk, teasing, talks of ass play/anal, oral (f receiving), a little spanking.

🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜

“You wouldn’t last a week,” Jake chuckles as he leans forward over the green velvet pool table to shoot, “I’ve bunked with you for chrissakes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bradley asks, resting his back against the wall.

The way his eyes heat when they flick to Jake’s jean-clad ass makes your stomach flutter as you drop off the round of beers.

There’s…something going on between them, but you never ask. Just like they know you’re hooking up with both of them, but neither ask you about that either.

“It means,” Jake straightens as he replies, “I’ve heard you rub one out. Like, every night.”

The image his words bring to mind nearly makes you drop the tray. Bradley lying there in the dark, hand shoved inside those boxer briefs, biting his lip to stay quiet as he hurriedly jerks off…

Bradley flushes but appears otherwise unbothered he takes the beer you offer. His eyes are on yours while he replies, “I’ve got a high sex drive.”

God, does he ever. Not once in the countless nights you’ve spent with him over the past year has he only gone one round. Usually, the next morning too, when you wake up to his hard cock pressing against your ass.

“And no self-control apparently,” Jake quips at your back, sliding his fingers down your arm as he reaches around to take one of the bottles.

Bradley rolls his eyes as he takes a long swig, holding the bottle out to you when he’s done. “Will you hold this while I wipe the floor with Bagman, sweetheart?”

“Hangman,” Jake corrects like he does every time.

Bradley winks as he hands you the bottle, knocking his shoulder into Jake’s after he takes the cue from him.

“So,” you say as you turn to watch, leaning back in the spot Bradley vacated before bringing his beer to your lips to steal a drink, “What were you two talking about?”

“No Nut November,” Jake replies, retesting beside you. “A couple of the boys are participating. Bradshaw thinks he could do it no problem.”

“What about you?” You look up day him, “Think you can go a full month without it?”

He licks his lips, taking a drink before meeting your gaze.

“30 days of without your hand,” your nails trail up his arm, goosebumps rising in their wake, “or mine.” He tenses when you lean in to whisper near his ear, “Without my mouth or pussy…”

“Fuck,” he breathes, turning his head. The green in his eyes is hardly visible from his lust-blown pupils. The low din of the bar fades away as he draws closer for a kiss.

“Your turn,” Bradley interrupts, causing you both to jump, “And you say I’m the one with no self-control?”

“Yeah,” Jake pushes off the wall, clearing his throat, “You’re the one who can’t wait to jerk off until his bunkie is asleep,” he turns to look at you with a haughty look, “and yes. I can go 30 days without.”

Your brow arches at the line he just drew.

Game on.

“Fuck off,” Bradley laughs, as Jake tugs the cue from his hand and lines up his shot. “Well instead of going to the bathroom 10 minutes later to do the same thing, you could’ve just said something.”

Jake doesn’t reply, but the way his body stiffens tells you what you need to know.

“That’s what I thought,” Bradley murmurs. His smirk turns to a frown when he takes his beer back that’s now only half full.

Penny catches your eye and back behind the bar you go.

🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜

Even though you don’t hear the rest of the conversation, they both leave shortly after with a bullshit excuse about an early morning hop.

Like that’s ever stopped either of them before.

A few days go by with radio silence. Which is unusual despite the casual situationship you’re in with them both. At least you keep telling yourself it’s casual.

Both Jake and Bradley have made it abundantly clear that they want more from you, but you keep using the excuse that you’re not looking for anything serious right now.

But the truth is, you can’t choose between them.

And how could you? Bradley’s charming, funny, and easy-going nature puts you at ease. His cool confidence carries into the bedroom too, the way he coaxes orgasm after orgasm from your body with his dirty words, his talented tongue, his big hands, and bigger cock…

Then there’s Jake. Sure, he’s a cocky asshole, but that’s the thing you lov-like most about him. The way he teases, overstimulates, pushes your body to the limits, and makes you beg is addicting in itself. But in the quiet after, his well hidden sweet, vulnerable side is revealed with murmured praises and sweet kisses to your trembling skin as he wraps his body around yours.

You don’t reach out either and a full week goes by before you see either of them again.

🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜

“Hey sweetheart,” the sound of Bradley’s voice from behind makes your heart flutter.

“Hey,” you turn, feigning nonchalance as you wipe down the bar, “Long time no see.”

I’ve missed you.

“Yeah,” he sighs, sitting on one of the stools, “it’s been crazy at work.”

“Oh,” you fill a glass with what’s on tap and set it down in front of him, “figured you were avoiding me.”

“Now why would I be avoiding you?” He smiles before he brings the bottle to his lips, eyes twinkling.

“You know why,” you lean over the bar, giving him a nice view of your pushed-up breasts down your shirt as you clean the wood in front of him, “You agreed to No Nut November, didn’t you?”

He’s licking the foam from his mustache, eyes locked on your chest when you straighten, “Huh?”

“You and Jake are doing No Nut November, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” he snaps out of it, giving you a sheepish look, “not the best idea in hindsight.”

“Not really,” you agree, brushing your fingers over his, “I’ve been lonely without you, Roo.”

He exhales shakily at that, giving you a heated look at the name you call him only in bed.

“And it’s only…” you look at the calendar, “November 10th.”

“I know,” he looks pained, “I’ll make it up to you, sweetheart, I swear.”

“Yeah, for a whole 30 seconds,” you say sarcastically, “can’t wait.”

“Really?” He deadpans, and you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing, “When have I ever gotten off before you did? The first time doesn’t count.”

That does make you laugh. He’d chased you for months and was excited, a little too excited the first time you finally let him in your pants. But he’d dropped to his knees after and definitely made up for being quick on the draw.

Just the thought of him looking up at you between your thighs with those honey-brown eyes nearly makes you whimper.

“You’re right,” you smile, “other than the first time, you’ve never gotten off before me.”

He smirks as he brings the glass up to his lips again.

“I suppose it’s not like I can’t get myself off either,” you sigh again, “it’s just not the same though. My fingers don’t fill me up the way you do.”

“Fuck sweetheart,” he sputters, “you can’t just say things like that.”

“But it’s true,” you shrug before leaning in to whisper, relishing in the way he tenses, “I ordered that bigger plug we talked about. It came in the mail yesterday.”

“Oh yeah?” He croaks, tilting his head to ghost his lips over your jaw.

He’s been obsessed with your ass since he first saw you. You brought up trying anal after he played with your ass during doggy and it’s something the two of you have been working towards.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “I wanted to try it out with you, but I don’t think I can wait that long. I need you, Roo. My fingers, toys…nothing compares to the way your cock feels.”

“Jesus,” he breathes, rising suddenly, “I-I gotta go.”

Your eyes drop and your mouth waters when he reaches for his wallet; his cock is straining against the tight denim.

“I’m sorry,” he grimaces as he throws a 20 on the bar before backing away, “I’ll call you, I promise.”

“Okay,” you shrug as if you couldn’t care less, but your heart races.

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Jake shows up 2 nights later and you barely spare him a glance.

This whole thing is his fault, after all.

He finds you doing inventory in the storage room when there’s a lull in service.

“You mad at me?” He asks, moving your hair aside to kiss the weak spot below your ear.

“No,” you try to keep your voice steady, “I love not hearing from or seeing you for over a week.”

Shit.

You cringe, kicking yourself for letting him see you vulnerable.

He pauses, but only for a moment. “I’m sorry, I’ve been busy with work.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, bending over suddenly to check the bottles of liquor on the lowest shelf, “Me too.”

The new position pushes your ass into Jake’s crotch and his hands instinctively reach for your hips.

“What are you doin’ honey?” He grits out, pulling you back to feel every hard inch of him, “‘sides playing with fire?”

His Texas twang comes out when he’s turned on but you suppress the shiver it brings.

“Inventory,” you reply, straightening to write the number down.

“I miss you,” he whispers, making your heart skip a beat, “and I don’t mean just this,” he finds the sweet spot on your neck again. “But I can’t seem to keep my hands,” his fingers dig into your hips as he ruts against your ass, “or my cock to myself when you’re around.”

“So don’t,” you murmur, turning your head to brush your lips over his, “Please Jake?”

I miss you too.

“I…can’t,” he sighs regretfully, squeezing your hips once more before taking a step back, “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

“Let me guess, you’ll make it up to me when November’s over?” Your eyes narrow as you face him, crossing your arms.

He cringes. “Well…yeah.”

You sigh. “Not sure if I’ll even need you anymore, I’m getting pretty used to my vibrator.”

He backs you up against the shelving and cages you in with his arms. “Does your toy fill you up the way I can?” He emphasizes his question with a roll of his hips. “Does it make you cum over and over until you’re trembling and tears fill your pretty eyes? Do you have to beg? Say ‘please’ for it to stop?”

“No,” your answer is soft and breathy. His eyes dip to your lips as you lean in, “but it doesn’t neglect me for a month over a stupid competition either.”

You duck under his arm and try not to laugh at his heavy sigh as you walk away.

🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜

Another week goes by. Bradley calls once and they each text randomly but keep things PG, not taking the bait when you send suggestive ones back either. Or send dirty pictures. Jake just sent you a 🖕🏻 in response to the picture of your hand down the front of your panties and Bradley left you on read when you sent him a photo of your lace-clad bottom, holding the new plug.

No Nut November is more than halfway over but you’re completely over it.

While the night before Thanksgiving is one of the busiest of the year, you took off to finish preparing for the holiday. You’re hosting the Daggers who aren’t going home or don’t have anyone to go home to.

Everything is good to go a little after 9. With a sigh, you begin to pull the apron over your head but pause with an idea.

Wearing nothing but the apron, you take a picture of your reflection; nipples just visible and your hand running up your inner thigh.

You: Everything’s ready for tomorrow. Wanna come over for a taste test?

Next, you turn around, capturing your bare ass and an innocent look.

You: Too bad the turkey is the only thing getting stuffed tonight.

With a sigh you hop in the shower, not realizing you sent the pictures to them both.

🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜🚫🥜

There’s a knock at the front door as you flick off the water.

“Just a second!” You call, wrapping your towel around you tightly.

“It’s Jake,” he calls back, muffled.

“Come in,” you reply. He knows where the spare is, but still knocks out of respect. “I’m just getting out of the shower.”

“What’s up?” You ask as you come out of the bathroom, the pictures already forgotten.

Jake’s leaning against the wall across, waiting.

“I’m here for that taste test,” he hungrily looks over your bare legs as he pushes off the wall.

“What about the bet?” Your breath catches as he weaves his hands into your hair.

“It’s still on,” he answers before capturing your lips in a dizzying kiss.

“But…” you start when he pulls off your lips to find your neck instead, “What are-“

“I’ll take a cold shower after,” he murmurs against the sensitive skin, making you shiver. “I can’t spend another night without yo-making you feel good.”

Your heart stutters at his Freudian slip.

“Okay,” you whisper, leaning back in. Your legs wrap around his waist when he grabs your bare ass and lifts, carrying you into your room before laying you down on the bed, your phone digging into your back.

He rips the towel open as you reach for the phone, tossing it aside without a glance…or noticing that you hit the call button.

“Oh Jake,” you moan loudly, drowning out the sound of Bradley picking up when he doesn’t hesitate to devour you like the starved man he is. Your hands find his hair as he tongues your cunt and tug when he hones in on your clit.

“I’ve missed this sweet pussy,” he sounds as wrecked as you feel as he brings his hand up, pushing two fingers inside you, his hips slowly rutting against the bed, “dreamed about it every fucking night and woke up hard and wanting you every morning.”

“Y-oh,” a needy whine escapes as he curls his fingers against your g-spot, “you poor thing.”

He pulls his fingers out to slap your clit, making you gasp, clenching around nothing. “Don’t be a brat.”

“You could’ve had me,” your fingers tighten in his hair before pulling him back in, “this was your idea.”

Your eyes fall closed and he groans when he puts his mouth on you again. “Stupid fuckin’ idea.”

“Uh-huh,” you agree, panting. “You’re never doing it again. I won’t allow it.”

“What about Roo?”

Your eyes fly open to see him smirking. “W-what about him?”

“Is he allowed to do it again?” He licks a long, slow stripe through your arousal as he waits for your answer.

You swallow thickly, before slowly shaking your head. “Nope.”

He arches his brow but doesn’t reply, instead doubling his efforts. You release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding when his tongue slides up to your clit, circling while he pushes his fingers back inside you.

“Yeah,” you whine, tugging his hair and grinding against his face, “that’s-that’s good. Just like that, Jake. Keep going, I’m close.”

Jake just moans as you use him. His hips rutting harder but his mouth and fingers keep the same, sweet rhythm until you’re teetering on the edge of release.

But then he gently sucks your clit into his mouth and that’s all it takes to push you over. Your hands pull his hair as your back arches, legs wrapping around his head as you ride out the waves of pleasure.

A low, guttural groan is ripped from his throat as you writhe against him, the sight, the taste and the sounds of your release proving to be too much.

“Fuck,” he pants, resting his head on your trembling thigh with a grimace, “I just lost.”

“You lo-what?” The ability to think straight left when the first brush of his tongue.

“I just came in my fuckin’ pants,” he sighs, his arms shaking as he lifts himself to his knees. Your eyes drop to the wet spot staining his jeans, “I lost.”

A breathy laugh escapes as your toes run over his still semi-hard cock, “Sorry?”

“No you’re not,” he sighs, his eyes darkening, “but you will be.”

The air is pushed from your lungs as he flips you onto your stomach, slapping your ass so hard tears spring to your eyes.

“Hey!” You scrabble to get away from the assault but his hand between your shoulders pushes you back down, “It’s not my fault! I didn’t even touch you!”

“You didn’t,” he agrees, slapping the other ass cheek equally as hard, “but you did tease me at the bar, and send me dirty pictures and-“

“I won’t tell Roo if you won’t!” You rush out when his hand leaves your ass presumably to spank you again.

“It’s a little late for that.”

Both of your heads whip toward your bedroom door where Bradley’s standing, clad in that gaudy Hawaiian print he wears so well, his erection obvious against the confines of the tight-as-sin jeans.

He also knows where your spare is.

His eyes rake over your naked body, smirking as he holds his phone up for the both of you to see. The color leaves your face as you see your name reflected on the screen.

He’s been listening the whole time.

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A/N: Hope you enjoyed part 1! Part 2 should be along in the next few days. Spoiler: the turkey is NOT the only thing getting stuffed 😉

Tagging a few I think may be interested:

@callsigns-haze

@writtingrose

@blindedbythelightt

@phoenix-rising-starbird-one

@dizzybee03

@shanimallina87

@lexixstewart

@hookslove1592

@jessicab1991

@livzblog

@carolina-on-my-mind03

@racerchix21

@that-one-fangirl69

@mrsbradshaw-seresin01

@sydneejean

@xoxabs88xox

@midnightmagpiemama

@its-the-pilot

@kmc1989

@psuedochakra

@fandomology101

@kneelforloki

@djs8891

@mavrellover91

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@seitmai

@emerald-jade1

@alwayshave-faith

@thespillingvoid

@glenpowellluver

@lunatygerqueen

@bigstrongpowellheart

@ahotmesswithprivilege

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER THIRTEEN ━━ Swimming in Sin

☆ ━ pairing: hopkins!paige x oc (dani callan)

☆ ━ word count: 6.6K

☆ ━ warnings: homophobia, religious themes, mentions of conversation therapy, emotional & physical abuse (it’s not much but if you’re uncomfortable reading it, don’t)

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, take me to church masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: imma just leave this here

IT’S MONDAY now, and Dani sits in the passenger seat of Paige’s car, the engine off but the faint hum of life around them in the parking lot loud enough to feel present. Students mill about the edges of the lot, but the two of them are hidden away in Paige’s old car. The smell of Paige’s half-eaten sandwich lingers between them, mingling with the faint scent of Dani’s lavender hand lotion.

Paige slouches dramatically in the driver’s seat, her legs stretched out so far her sneakered feet almost hit the pedals. Her sandwich sits abandoned in her lap, crumbs dotting the fabric of her sweatpants, and her face is twisted into a scowl.

“I mean, two and a half weeks,” Paige groans, leaning her head back against the seat. “It’s so dumb. No leaving the house, no seeing any of my friends, no hanging out with you. What am I, bro, twelve?”

Dani picks at the edges of the granola bar in her hand, peeling back the wrapper bit by bit. She keeps her voice light as she says, “What’d you think was gonna happen? He just lets you off the hook? You threw a party, Paige—and never even tried to get permission. And you were completely wasted.”

Paige rolls her eyes so hard Dani thinks she might actually sprain something. “It’s not like I killed someone,” she mutters. “And it’s not like I wasn’t gonna clean up after. Besides, you were there to take care of me. He should’ve been thanking you, not grounding me.”

Dani shakes her head, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth despite herself. “I don’t think that’s how he sees it.”

“Well, he’s being dramatic,” Paige insists, sitting up now, her hands gesturing wildly as she speaks. “Two and a half weeks of this? How am I supposed to not hang out with you for that long? I get separation anxiety!”

Dani shrugs, fighting a smile at the last sentence, though the thought tugs at her too. She’s upset about it, of course she is, but she’d seen this coming. In fact, she’d half-expected Bob to ban her from their house altogether after Saturday. Two weeks of grounding, in the grand scheme of things, doesn’t seem so bad.

“You’ll survive,” Dani says, trying to sound casual even though she knows Paige won’t let it drop that easily. “Besides, it’s only two weeks. And we can still hang out at lunch and in Lit every day. And we can FaceTime whenever you want.”

Paige groans dramatically, as if the suggestion alone is an insult. “But it’s not the same,” she whines, slumping back against the seat again. “I can’t cuddle you over FaceTime, Dani. Or kiss you.” She leans over suddenly, draping herself across the center console so that her head lands against Dani’s shoulder. Dani stiffens for a moment, glancing out the window to make sure no one’s looking, before relaxing.

“It’s not the same,” Paige repeats, her voice muffled against Dani’s jacket.

Dani sighs, tilting her head down to rest her cheek against the top of Paige’s head. She feels the familiar weight of her girlfriend pressing against her, grounding her, even as Paige continues to pout. “I know it’s not the same,” Dani says softly.

She shifts, her free hand moving to tilt Paige’s face up toward hers. Paige’s blue eyes, always so clear and striking, look impossibly—and dramatically—sad now, and it tugs at something deep in Dani’s chest. She leans in, pressing a light kiss to Paige’s lips. It’s quick, barely more than a brush, but it’s enough to feel the way Paige melts against her.

When Dani pulls back, Paige lets out a little whine, her lips still parted as though she’s waiting for more. Dani grins despite herself, resting her forehead against Paige’s for a moment. “Only two weeks,” she murmurs.

“Two weeks too long,” Paige mutters, her eyes closing as she leans into Dani’s touch.

Dani chuckles softly, brushing a stray strand of hair out of Paige’s face. “You’ll survive,” she repeats, though this time it feels more like a promise than a statement.

THE DRIVEWAY is quiet as Dani parks, the hum of the engine cutting off abruptly and leaving her in stillness. She exhales, her breath visible in the icy Minnesota night air, and slouches forward for a moment, forehead pressed against the steering wheel. The gymnastics meet had been a long one—nearly three hours of standing, crouching, and angling for the perfect shots. Her back aches, her legs are sore, and all she wants is to crawl into bed and disappear under her blankets.

But there’s homework waiting, a mountain of it she’s been putting off. AP Calculus, a Lit essay, and some editing work for the yearbook photos she’d taken tonight. Dani groans quietly to herself, leaning back in her seat before finally mustering the energy to grab her photography bag from the passenger seat.

The cold hits her immediately as she steps out of the car, sharp and unforgiving, slicing through her sweatshirt and sinking into her skin. She hurries up the walkway, her sneakers crunching against the thin layer of frost on the ground. Her fingers fumble with the keys, and she’s relieved when the door finally swings open, the familiar warmth of home enveloping her.

Dani kicks off her shoes, letting them fall in a heap by the door, and shrugs off her coat, tossing it onto the rack. Her keys find their place on the hook by the wall, and she drops her photography bag by the entryway, too tired to care about putting it away properly. Her stomach grumbles softly as she pads toward the kitchen, craving something quick and easy before she tackles the rest of her night.

But the second she steps into the kitchen, she freezes.

Her dad is sitting at the table, his hands clasped in front of him, his eyes already locked on hers.

The look he gives her is unyielding, sharp enough to cut through the fog of her exhaustion. His mouth is set in a firm line, his jaw tight, and there’s a weight to his gaze that makes Dani’s stomach twist.

She knows.

She immediately knows.

She doesn’t need him to say anything. She doesn’t need an explanation. She can feel it in the air between them, heavy and suffocating.

He knows about her and Paige.

Dani’s body goes cold. It’s not just the March air still clinging to her from outside, nor the exhaustion weighing her limbs from the long day. This is something else entirely—something that feels like dread pooling in the pit of her stomach, clawing its way up her throat.

She forces herself to meet her dad’s eyes, but it’s like staring into a storm—chaos barely contained behind the sharp lines of his face, his clenched jaw, his rigid posture. He’s keeping his tone measured, his voice low, but somehow that makes it worse. Scarier, almost, than if he were yelling at her.

When he gestures to the chair across from him and says, “I think we should have a talk,” her legs nearly buckle.

Her hands are trembling as she pulls out the chair and sinks into it. She sits on the edge of the seat, stiff and awkward, her fingers finding their way to the edge of the table to anchor herself. It doesn’t feel real. It can’t be real. This isn’t happening—not here, not now. But the look on his face tells her otherwise.

It feels like an out-of-body experience, that the thing she’s feared the worst over the past few months is finally coming true.

“I was talking to Beau’s father earlier today,” Dani’s father begins, his voice cool and detached. “You know—your apparent boyfriend.”

The way he spits the word out makes Dani flinch, her nails digging into the underside of the table. Her heart pounds so loudly she’s sure he can hear it. She doesn’t know what to say, so she says nothing.

“I hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to him since the fall,” he continues. “You know, since he switched companies and we no longer worked together. But today, he told me some very… interesting things.”

His eyes are sharp as they pin her in place, his words deliberate. “Do you want to know what they are?”

Dani can’t respond. Her throat is dry, her chest tight, and the room feels like it’s closing in on her. She can only stare at the table, her fingers now nervously picking at her nails beneath it.

When she doesn’t answer, he presses, his voice dropping to something sharper. “Except, I think you already know what they are, Danielle. So, do you want to tell me yourself?”

Dani’s breath catches. Every instinct tells her to run, to get up and leave before this gets worse, but her body is frozen, glued to the chair. Her father is watching her so intently, waiting for her to break, and she doesn’t know how much longer she can hold it together.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she swallows the lump in her throat and forces herself to speak. Her voice is small, barely audible. “Beau and I broke up.”

The admission feels like a death sentence, but she can’t take it back now.

Her dad’s laugh is cold, devoid of any humor, and it makes her stomach churn. “Yeah, you did,” he says, his tone dripping with disdain. “In November, apparently. Over four fucking months ago, Danielle!”

He slams his fist against the table, the sound reverberating through the room like a gunshot. Dani jumps, her pulse skyrocketing, and the first sting of tears pricks at her eyes.

“I just…” she begins, her voice breaking, “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me?” he repeats, his laughter sharper this time, almost unhinged. “Oh, we haven’t even scratched the surface on that.”

Dani can’t bring herself to look at him anymore. She stares at her lap, blinking back tears, wishing she could disappear.

“You want to know the most interesting thing Mr. Hudson told me today?” he says, his voice cutting through the silence.

Dani doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“He told me that Beau said you broke up with him for a girl.”

The words hang in the air, thick and suffocating. He lets them settle, lets them twist like a knife in her chest before he repeats himself, his voice dripping with disgust.

“A girl.”

Paige.

Dani’s lungs constrict as her dad’s words pile onto her like stones, each one heavier than the last. Her heart pounds so loudly in her ears she can barely hear him, but the venom in his voice is unmistakable.

“I didn’t want to believe him. Not even a little bit,” he says, his voice trembling now, teetering on the edge of something raw. He shakes his head, as if trying to erase the very idea from his mind. “I couldn’t help but think to myself that no, my little girl wouldn’t do this—not again. I thought you’d learned your lesson, gotten past these types of things.”

Her stomach twists violently at the phrase these types of things, a wave of shame and dread crashing over her. She can’t meet his eyes anymore. She focuses on a crack in the table, blinking furiously to keep her vision clear. But it doesn’t work. A tear slips down her cheek, then another. She wipes at them quickly, desperate to hide any sign of weakness.

“I thought that maybe the Hudson boy made this up,” he continues, his tone brittle, almost pleading. “To save face, you know? To make himself feel better about the breakup. I refused to believe it because I’ve been so proud of you, Danielle. So proud of all the progress you’ve made.”

His voice breaks on the last word, and it’s like a knife twisting in her gut. She feels the weight of his disappointment like an iron shackle around her neck, dragging her down.

And then he drops the pretense of restraint entirely. “But I came home,” he says, his voice growing sharper, harder. “I needed to figure it out for myself. So I went up to your bedroom and looked around. And sure enough, Beau Hudson was telling the truth. You did leave him for a girl. The same girl you nearly ruined your life for last summer!”

Dani’s breath hitches, panic clawing at her chest as he pulls items off the chair beside him, tossing them onto the table like damning evidence in a courtroom.

A Hopkins basketball sweatshirt. Paige’s sweatshirt. He must’ve found it in her closet.

The printed photo from last week’s state championship, where Paige’s mom had insisted on taking a picture of the two of them. In it, Dani and Paige are standing close, too close, their smiles wide and happy, the kind that only come from people who are comfortable in each other’s orbit. Their shoulders are pressed together, and Paige’s hand is wrapped around Dani’s waist.

A folded note with the initials PB scribbled on the front, the one Paige had slipped into her photography bag last week after practice.

More things follow: a pressed flower Paige had given her after a walk in the park, a ticket stub from the movie they’d gone to see together last month, a journal entry about Paige that Dani had foolishly written—her father must’ve ripped the page from the notebook. It’s all so mundane, these little artifacts of their relationship, but to her dad, they’re something else entirely.

All the air seems to leave Dani’s body as she stares at the pile. There’s no way out of this. None. He’s found everything.

Her dad begins pacing, his hand dragging down his face as his breathing grows heavier. His movements are frantic now, like he’s trying to physically outrun his own fury. He seems to be losing himself, his voice starting to rise, too.

“I thought we were past all of this!” he shouts, octaves echoing off the walls. “I thought you’d learned! I thought you’d grown! But here we are, right back at square one, and you’re still the same little sinner, getting caught up in all this gay bullshit again. It’s disgusting, Danielle.”

The words hit her like a slap to the face. She feels her cheeks burn, but it’s not from anger. It’s from humiliation, from the sheer weight of hearing him say the words out loud, like her existence is something filthy, something shameful.

Her breathing quickens, shallow and erratic, as he barrels on.

“I sent you to camp!” he yells, gesturing wildly as if the memory of it alone should be enough to set her straight. Truthfully, it might. “They told me they fixed you. They told me you got better, that you understood the weight of your actions, the power of God.” He pauses, running both hands through his hair, his eyes wide and wild. “I mean, Jesus Christ, Dani, I’m really gonna have to send you back there. Do you know how fucking embarrassing that is for you? That you’re gonna have to be sent back for a round two because you couldn’t get it through your thick fucking skull the first time?”

“No,” Dani whispers, her voice barely audible over the sound of her pulse roaring in her ears.

Her dad doesn’t hear her—or doesn’t care.

“I sacrificed so much to send you there!” he continues, his voice rising again. “And for what? For you to come back and make a mockery of this family all over again?”

“Please, no,” Dani says again, louder this time, but her voice wavers and cracks.

She can feel herself spiraling. Her hands shake uncontrollably as she grips the edge of the chair, her knuckles white. She can’t go back to camp. She can’t.

The memory of it flashes in her mind—cold, sterile rooms; endless hours of lectures about sin and shame; the suffocating, unrelenting pressure to repent for something she doesn’t even think is wrong. The thought of being trapped there again, of losing herself completely this time, is unbearable.

Dani feels herself sinking, her father’s tirade muffling into a dull roar as the panic grips her fully. Her breaths are shallow, too quick, and the edges of her vision start to darken. She clutches at the back of the chair, trying to steady herself, but the weight of his words is unbearable.

Not again. I can’t go back.

But his voice cuts through her spiraling thoughts like a blade. “Do you hear me, Danielle?” he shouts, slamming a hand onto the counter. “You’re going back. I don’t care what it takes. You need to fucking learn the severity of the sins you’ve been swimming in! I’ll send you on the next flight if I have to!”

The words snap something in her, a thread pulled too tight finally breaking. Her mind drags her back, unwillingly, to that first day at camp.

JUNE 2019

The air inside Mrs. Keating’s office is thick and stifling, a mix of lavender and cleaning solution that seems calculated to force calm. Dani sits in the chair across from her assigned counselor, her shoulders curled inward and her hands clenched tightly in her lap. She doesn’t meet Mrs. Keating’s eyes, instead keeping her gaze fixed on the wall behind her.

Mrs. Keating looks calm, unnervingly so. She’s an older woman, her hair pinned back into a severe bun, her glasses perched neatly on her nose. There’s nothing about her that invites warmth or softness.

She’s quiet for a moment, studying Dani like she’s some kind of puzzle to be solved. “Do you know why you’re here, Danielle?” she asks finally, her voice calm and deliberate.

Dani shrugs, her movements small and tense. “Not sure,” she says, her tone clipped.

Mrs. Keating tilts her head slightly, like she’s trying to peer inside Dani’s mind. “You’re here because your actions have led you down a path of sin. A path that separates you from your family, from your faith, and from God.”

The words sit heavily in the room, and Dani shifts uncomfortably in her chair. Her pulse is steady but loud in her ears, and she can feel the way her body tightens at the mention of God. It’s always God with them. Like He’s some weapon to wield against her, not some presence she’s ever known to feel safe or loved by.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Dani says after a long pause. Her voice is soft, almost apologetic, but there’s a firmness beneath it.

Mrs. Keating nods slowly, as though she expected the answer. “You believe that because the enemy—the Devil—has planted lies in your heart, Danielle. Lies that make what you’ve done feel natural, even good. But deep down, you know that it’s not. That’s why you feel guilt, isn’t it?”

Dani swallows hard. She doesn’t feel guilt—not about Paige, anyway. There’s guilt about other things, sure. About being sent here. About what it’s doing to her dad, about how she’s made everything so messy and complicated. But not about Paige.

Still, the way Mrs. Keating speaks gets under her skin. It’s calm, calculated. Like she’s dissecting Dani piece by piece and cataloging her flaws for some case study. Dani hates it. It makes her feel small. Exposed.

“I don’t feel guilty,” Dani says, but the words come out quieter than she intended. She’s not sure she even believes them.

“Of course you do,” Mrs. Keating counters smoothly, leaning forward slightly. “If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here. Your father wouldn’t have sent you.”

That makes Dani flinch. Her father. The sharp sting of his disappointment still weighs heavily on her chest, pressing down in a way she can’t escape. His face when he’d told her she was going to camp had been full of anger, yes, but there had been something worse beneath it—something that looked like shame.

He hadn’t even looked at her when he dropped her off.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Dani mutters, her voice barely above a whisper.

“We’re going to talk about it, Danielle,” Mrs. Keating says, her tone firm but still devoid of emotion. “Because this is the first step. You have to face the reality of your actions if you’re ever going to heal.”

Dani’s hands tighten in her lap, her nails digging into her palms. “There’s nothing to heal from,” she says, more forcefully this time before repeating, “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Mrs. Keating doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, she sits back in her chair, her sharp eyes fixed on Dani like she’s waiting for something. Dani shifts under the weight of her gaze, but she doesn’t break the silence.

Finally, Mrs. Keating speaks. “Tell me about the girl.”

Dani’s chest tightens. She doesn’t look up.

“The one your father mentioned,” Mrs. Keating presses. “The one who led you astray.”

“She didn’t lead me astray,” Dani protests quickly, the words tumbling out before she can stop them.

Mrs. Keating doesn’t react to the outburst. “So you do feel something for her, then.”

Dani freezes, her stomach twisting into knots. She doesn’t know how to navigate this, doesn’t know what answer won’t be used against her later.

After a moment, she settles for, “There’s nothing wrong with me. Nothing. Paige isn’t wrong. What we had isn’t wrong.” Her tone is slightly more argumentative, more confrontational than usual. But she’s been sent to this unfamiliar, scary fucking place so she supposes she has a right to.

“What you had,” Mrs. Keating repeats, leaning forward slightly. “You speak as though it’s in the past. Is that because you already know it cannot last? That it is not sustainable?”

Dani’s jaw tightens, her teeth grinding together. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t trust herself to speak without snapping. She can feel her nails biting into her skin, but the sharp pain is grounding. It keeps her from falling apart completely.

Mrs. Keating takes the silence as an opening. “This is a safe space, Danielle. You can be honest here. Talk to me.”

Dani doesn’t talk to her. She doesn’t talk at all. She looks away, her gaze zeroing in on a jagged pattern on the wood flooring, eyes wide and unblinking. Her eyes burn, but she won’t let Keating see her cry. She won’t give her that satisfaction. She refuses.

Eventually, Mrs. Keating stands, the movement slow and deliberate. She walks around the desk and stops in front of Dani, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Dani stiffens at the contact, trying to shrug the hand off, but Mrs. Keating’s grip is firm. It doesn’t hurt, not quite, but it feels invasive.

“You have a lot to learn here, Danielle Callan,” Mrs. Keating says quietly, her voice unshakable. “But that’s why you’re here. To learn. And you will.”

THE MEMORY lingers in Dani’s mind like a weight she can’t shake, thick and suffocating. Mrs. Keating’s calm voice echoes in her head, the grip on her shoulder a phantom pressure she swears she can still feel. She shakes her head slightly, trying to dislodge the thought, but it refuses to leave.

She can’t do it.

She can’t do it again.

Her dad’s voice cuts through her thoughts, sharp and furious. He’s been yelling for what feels like forever, pacing the length of the living room with heavy, deliberate steps. Every word he spits out feels like a lash against her skin, each syllable steeped in anger, in disbelief, in the kind of disappointment that makes Dani feel impossibly small.

“How could you do this to us again?” he barks, throwing his arms up. “After everything we went through, after everything you went through—this is how you repay us? By… by flaunting it like this? You didn’t even try to hide it this time, Danielle!”

Dani winces at his words, each one sinking into her chest like a stone. She stays seated on the hard chair, her hands balling into fists on her thighs. Her fingernails bite into her palms, the sharp sting grounding her, keeping her from unraveling completely.

He stops pacing suddenly, turning to face her with his hands on his hips. His eyes burn with conviction, his expression a mixture of frustration and bewilderment. “What do you have to say for yourself?” he demands.

Dani’s breath catches in her throat. She can’t hold his gaze for long, can’t stand the way he’s looking at her, like she’s some broken thing he can’t figure out how to fix. Her eyes drop to her lap, and she shifts uncomfortably in the chair.

Her throat feels tight, her eyes burning with the threat of tears she refuses to let fall. She swallows hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t—I…” she starts, trying to force the words out. “I can’t be fixed, Dad. This isn’t something that’s fixable.”

The silence that follows is heavy, almost unbearable. She risks a glance at him, but his face is unreadable now, his mouth a firm line, his eyes locked on her.

So she keeps going, her voice trembling but steady enough to push through. “I didn’t choose to like other girls—like Paige—like that. It just… happened. I was born like this. I’ve had these thoughts since I was little. I can’t be fixed, can’t be changed. The—the ‘gay’ stuff you’re talking about can’t just be prayed away.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, Dani thinks maybe, just maybe, he’s heard her. But then he straightens, his expression hardening, and he shakes his head. “You didn’t try hard enough,” he says firmly, his voice like steel. “You weren’t at camp long enough.”

The words ignite something in Dani, something sharp and bitter and raw. Her head snaps up, and for the first time, she meets his gaze head-on, her eyes flashing. Her voice is louder now, trembling with emotion she can’t contain.

“I did try!” she says, standing up as the chair scrapes against the wooden floor. “I tried so hard! I didn’t talk to Paige for months; I completely pushed her away. I dated Beau like you wanted me to. I did everything that was supposed to be right! And I was miserable for every second of it!”

Her voice cracks, and she feels the tears spill over now, hot and relentless. She swipes at them angrily but keeps going, because she has to. Because if she doesn’t, she might never say it again.

“I wasn’t happy that way!” she cries, her voice breaking with the weight of it all. “Can’t you just let me be happy, Dad?”

The tears come harder now, blurring her vision as she stares at him, her chest heaving with every breath. She’s willing him to understand, willing him to hear her, because all she wants—all she wants—is to be happy.

But the silence stretches on, suffocating, and Dani’s heart feels like it’s breaking all over again.

Dani’s dad stares at her, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as if he’s physically restraining himself from exploding again. His gaze feels like it’s drilling into her, searching for something, as if the right words might pull her back into the version of herself he’s convinced she’s lost.

Dani meets his eyes, even though everything in her screams to look away. They’re both standing now, face to face, close enough that she can see the tight lines of his jaw, the furrow between his brows that only deepens the longer he looks at her.

For a moment, she thinks maybe he’s going to soften, maybe he’ll finally hear her. But then his face hardens all over again, and his voice comes out sharp, slicing through the fragile silence.

“This is a sin,” he snaps, the words like venom on his tongue. “You think you know better than God? You think this is how He made you?” He throws up his hands, his voice rising with every word. “No, Danielle, you were not born this way. You were fine until… until her.”

Dani’s stomach drops. She doesn’t have to ask who he means.

He doesn’t stop. “It’s that Bueckers girl! She did this to you—she’s the one who ruined you!”

“No, she wasn’t!” Dani yells, her voice breaking halfway through. Her hands shake at her sides as she takes a step closer, her eyes wide and pleading. “Dad, no! Everything she did, I did too! There was no… no influence, no manipulation! I’m telling you, this isn’t something you or anyone else can fix!”

But he’s already shaking his head furiously, his expression twisting into something cruel. “It can be fixed!” he shouts back, his voice booming in the small space. “I refuse to watch you go to hell over this! I refuse, do you hear me? You’re gonna go back to that camp, and they’re gonna help you, and you’re gonna stay long enough this time to be saved, I swear it!”

Dani feels like the floor is falling out from under her. “I’m not going back there!” she protests, her voice cracking with desperation. She thinks her nails might be digging so harsh into her that it’ll draw blood. She doesn’t care.

“Oh, yes, you will!” he yells back, his eyes flashing with a fire she’s never seen before.

“You can’t make me!” she throws back, her voice raw.

For all his negative words directed at her, all the screaming and yelling, all the accusations—there’s always been something that’s held him back from ever going past using his words. He’s never dared lay a hand on his daughter. But whatever that something was that stopped him has clearly been thrown out the window.

It’s so fast she almost doesn’t process it. His hand comes down, hard, across her face. The sound of the slap reverberates in the room, sharp and deafening, cutting through the air like a whip.

Her head jerks to the side from the force of it, her cheek immediately stinging, a fiery burn spreading across her skin. For a second, she can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but stand there, frozen.

Her hand comes up slowly, almost instinctively, to press against the spot where he struck her. Her palm is shaking as it touches her face, as if to confirm the reality of what just happened.

She stares at him, wide-eyed, her vision blurring with tears she refuses to let fall. There’s something unfamiliar in his eyes now, a look she’s never seen before, and it chills her to her core.

Disbelief crashes over her like a wave, drowning out everything else. She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just stands there, her heart pounding in her ears, the sting on her cheek the only thing grounding her in the moment.

For a moment, Dani stands frozen, her mind struggling to catch up with her body. Her breath is shallow and ragged, her chest heaving like she’s run a marathon. Some people freeze in fear, others run. Fight or flight—it’s instinctual. And Dani has always been the kind to freeze up.

But the fear in her now is different, deeper, and it sinks into her chest like a weight she can’t dislodge. It’s not the kind of fear that paralyzes—it’s the kind that propels. She can’t stay here. Not with him like this. Not when she doesn’t know what he’ll do next.

Her gaze darts to the table, where her phone lies just within reach, and she finally forces her limbs into action. Her hand trembles as she lunges for it, but before her fingers can graze the sleek surface, her dad’s hand intercepts her.

“Dad—wait—”

Her words barely leave her mouth before he wrenches the phone away. She watches, helpless, as he hurls it across the kitchen with a furious motion. The phone hits the tile floor with a sickening crack, the sound cutting through her like a blade. Bits of glass scatter, catching the light, and the air feels heavier, oppressive, as if the walls themselves are closing in.

Dani lets out a strangled sob, the sound escaping her throat without permission. She takes a step back, and then another, her hands coming up instinctively to shield herself. Her back bumps against the edge of the counter, and she feels trapped, like an animal cornered by its predator.

Her father’s voice cuts through the silence, sharp and commanding. “Do you hear me, Danielle?”

His tone isn’t loud anymore, but it’s worse that way. The quiet intensity of it crawls under her skin and wraps around her chest like a vice. She can’t look at him. She’s too scared of what she might see. Instead, her eyes dart toward the shattered remnants of her phone, then back to the floor, her body trembling.

“Dad, please,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. Her throat feels raw, her words choked by the tears she’s holding back. “You’re scaring me. Please, just—just stop.”

But he doesn’t stop. He moves closer, his footsteps deliberate, until he’s towering over her. Dani flinches as his hands reach out, but he doesn’t hit her again. Instead, his fingers clamp down on her shoulders, firm and unyielding.

“You’re going back tomorrow,” he says, his face mere inches from hers. His voice is calm now, too calm, but every syllable lands like a blow. “You’re going back. And you’re staying there until they fix you.”

Dani tries to shake her head, tries to move away from his grip, but he holds her in place. Her tears spill freely now, hot trails streaking down her cheeks.

“I can’t,” she chokes out, her voice cracking. “I can’t go back there. You don’t understand. I can’t do it again.”

“You don’t have a choice,” he snaps, his grip tightening. “Go upstairs. Pack your things.”

His words slam into her like a physical force, and she feels herself crumbling beneath the weight of them. She’s trembling, her knees weak, but she doesn’t move.

“Dad, I—”

“No.” His voice is steel. “Do you hear me, Danielle? Do what I said. Now.”

The intensity in his eyes pierces through her, and for a moment, all she can do is stare back at him, tears blurring her vision. She feels so small, so powerless, her body shrinking under the weight of his anger. The room is suffocating, the air thick and unrelenting.

When she finally finds her voice again, it comes out soft and broken. “I don’t want to go back.”

Her father doesn’t answer. He just stares at her, his expression set, his hands still gripping her shoulders as if holding her in place. The silence stretches between them, heavy and unyielding, and Dani feels herself breaking under it.

Dani doesn’t think; she just moves. Her father’s grip isn’t as strong as his words, and she twists out of it with a force she didn’t know she had. Her pulse pounds in her ears as she spots the keys hanging on the small hook by the door. They’re so close—just a couple of feet away.

She can make it. She has to make it.

Her body acts before her mind can catch up, surging forward. Her dad’s hands grab at her, but she slips free, adrenaline pushing her faster than his reaction time. Her fingers curl around the cool metal of her car keys, and she yanks the front door open in one motion. The air outside is cold and sharp, but she barely notices as she sprints out onto the porch and down the driveway, her socks sliding slightly on the concrete.

“Dani!” her father’s voice bellows behind her, furious and disbelieving.

She doesn’t stop. She can’t. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, and the ache in her chest is overwhelming, but her body doesn’t let her pause. The car is right there.

She reaches it just as he does, her hands fumbling to open the door. Her father’s voice is louder now, closer, almost on top of her. “Danielle! Stop this right now!”

But she doesn’t stop. She slides into the driver’s seat, slams the door shut, and locks it in one fluid motion. Her hands are shaking so violently she can barely grip the steering wheel, but she manages to press the ignition button.

Her dad is at the window now, his face red and furious, his voice muffled but still terrifyingly clear through the glass. “This is my car!” he yells, banging on the window. “I pay for it! Get out right now!”

Dani can’t look at him. She keeps her eyes straight ahead, her vision blurred with tears. Her whole body is trembling, her hands slipping on the wheel as she shifts into reverse.

“Danielle!” His fist slams against the glass again, making her jump, but she doesn’t let it stop her.

The car jerks as she pulls out of the driveway too fast, the tires screeching slightly against the pavement. She doesn’t care. Her dad’s voice fades into the background as she speeds down the street, her hands gripping the wheel so tightly her knuckles turn white.

She doesn’t look back. Not at him, not at the house, not at the neighborhood she’s known her entire life.

Her chest feels like it’s caving in, her breath coming in shallow bursts. She’s crying so hard she can barely see, her tears mixing with the streaks of rain on the windshield. Everything feels blurry, distorted, like she’s underwater and the world is pressing in on all sides.

Her mind races as fast as the car. The words he said replay over and over, looping endlessly until they feel burned into her brain. You’re going back. You need to be fixed. I refuse to watch you go to hell.

Her dad’s voice has always been loud, always sharp, but this… this was different. Because for the first time in her life, Dani was scared of him. Truly, bone-deep scared. Not just of what he might have said to her, but what he might have done to her.

The thought of going back to camp makes her stomach churn violently. She can still hear the echo of Mrs. Keating’s voice in her head, those sickly sweet tones that masked something far darker. She can feel the weight of the prayers, the way they crushed her under their expectations, as if forcing her into a mold she could never fit.

I can’t go back there, she thinks, the words looping through her head like a desperate mantra. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

Her fingers tighten on the wheel, and she forces herself to focus on the road in front of her, though she has no idea where she’s going. The streets blur together, familiar landmarks passing by unnoticed. In the back of her mind, she knows she should have a plan, but right now, all she can do is drive.

In an ideal world, she’d go to Paige’s. Paige would know what to do. Paige always knows what to do. But Dani can’t. Paige’s house is too close, just one door down. Her dad would’ve followed her there in a heartbeat, and Paige is already in trouble enough as it is.

She lets out a shaky sob, her shoulders heaving as she turns onto a random street. The car feels too big and too small all at once, the silence inside it deafening. She’s not even sure how far she’s gone, but it doesn’t matter. The tears don’t stop.

Her hands are shaking so badly that she has to pull over, the car screeching to a halt on the side of a dimly lit road. She sits there, gripping the wheel as though it’s the only thing tethering her to reality, her body trembling with the force of her sobs.

Dani feels lost—nowhere to go, nothing in front of her.

[kookooluvr]

Teach Me How To Love - Part 2

pairing: professor!jungkook x (fem) professor!reader, fwb to lovers

genre: fluff, angst, smut, fwb au, economicsprofessor!jungkook, politicalscienceprofessor!reader, slow burn, some emotional constipation, some sappy moments, lots of sexy moments.

rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !

warnings: we meet jk's friends and tae makes his first appearance (we'll be seeing a lot more of him in future), oc is sick with a cold, jk is a simp and drops everything to make her feel better, lots of fluff, nothing explicit in this one, we find out some more of oc's rules, SATC mentioned, some marvel talk, talk of jk having a nice ass, mostly just lots of soft feels in this one <3

word count: 2.7k

summary: jeon jungkook, a fellow professor at yonsei university, is your friend, co-worker, and secret bed buddy. you have rules set in place to make sure there are no misunderstandings in your little arrangement. the #1 rule is as clear as day; no catching feelings. simple, right? wrong. let's see how un-simple it gets when a certain economics professor falls for an emotionally unavailable political science professor.

author's note: i'm so happy to see the amount of love part 1 got !!! part 2 is a bit shorter, but i think it's important to see their dynamic outside of the whole fwb thing. i'm aiming for the upcoming parts to be longer, i promise. i hope you enjoy all the feels in this one, and don't be shy to send me your feedback 🫶🏻

find tmhtl masterlist here

Jungkook sits at a table in a rather fancy restaurant, half-listening to his friends as they joke about something over dinner. They've been meaning to get together for a while but they've all been so busy with work and their personal lives that it just never worked out until tonight. Well, it worked out tonight because Taehyung practically forced everyone to come.

"Yo, earth to Jungkook."

He looks over at Jimin with raised eyebrows, realizing he was caught staring at his phone in his lap. He knows he should be paying attention to the conversation happening around him, and he knows that it's rude to be on his phone while he's in company, but he hasn't heard from you all day and usually you would've exchanged words (or funny memes) by now.

It's not that he MUST speak to you all day, every day to survive, but it just happens. If he sees a funny video of a cat on TikTok, he sends it to you. If you forgot how to do something on Excel, you text him and he replies within two minutes to explain how to do it. Sometimes he even goes through the trouble of doing it himself, screen recording it and sending it to you to give you a step-by-step guide. That's just how it goes with the two of you.

"Huh? Sorry, what were you saying?"

"I was just asking if there's a special someone in your life," Jimin says with a little grin, resting his chin in the palm of his hand.

"Actually, what he asked was if you're still on track to die alone," Namjoon quips, Jimin waving him off with a little "eh, same thing".

Jungkook rolls his eyes, flatly denying any romantic relations. It's not like he's lying. He just can't say that he might have started developing feelings for the woman he's casually sleeping with, so he just settles on, "Naah, I'm too busy with work." It's easier.

They know their friend is a terrible liar, but they also know that he would tell them if he really wanted to, so they don't pry. They've heard your name once or twice in passing, a little comment here and there like 'y/n likes that movie' or 'y/n uses this perfume'. As far as they know, you're his work friend. That's it. Even Taehyung doesn't know much about you, and he works at the same university as an English Literature lecturer, which brings us to rule #2.

Rule #2: It stays between us. It's just less complicated if less people know, and Jungkook knows that if his friends knew about it, they'd be pestering him about you all night and he doesn't need that right now, especially when his eyes drift back down to his phone and there's still no text from you.

You're in bed, surrounded by snotty tissues and a sleeping Miso, who really couldn't care less that you just underwent a violent coughing fit. You're about to doze off, when your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You check the notification, and when you see who it's from, you swear you feel your heart rate rise, but maybe it's just from all the coughing.

prof jeon |7:50pm]: hey, you. prof jeon 17:50pm]: haven't heard from you all day... prof jeon [7:51pm]: are you mad at me bc i said sex in the city was boring??? 👀😭😭

You [7:51pm]: first of all, it's sex AND the city 💀 You [7:52pm]: and it's not boring, you're just a nerd who can't watch anything other than marvel

He laughs, knowing he should've expected that response. Your next message comes through shortly after.

You [7:53pm]: sorry for the radio silence You [7:53pm]: i have a nasty cold 😵‍💫 You [7:53pm]: feel like i was hit by a bus You [7:53pm]: took some cough drops and slept for most of the day

He really shouldn't feel the need to immediately rush to your aid, but he does.

prof jeon [7:53pm]: want me to come over?

You [7:54pm]: you don't have to do that, kook You [7:54pm]: i don't wanna get my germs all over you 😕

prof jeon [7:54pm]: don't be silly   prof jeon [7:54pm]: i’ve had your bodily fluids on me before, who cares about a little snot 😂😂😂   prof jeon [7:55pm]: i can be there in a little bit 

You [7:56pm]: you're gross 🙄 You [7:56pm]: and really nice

prof jeon [7:56pm]: see you in a bit x

He excuses himself from dinner with the excuse of a family emergency and promises his friends to hang out again soon. He grabs his coat and heads out to his car, making a stop at your favourite Thai restaurant for some pho before driving over to your place.

You unlocked the door to your apartment and dragged yourself back to bed as soon as he texted you to let you know he's on his way up. You hear the door open and in walks Jungkook, looking very handsome you might add.

"You're dressed awfully fancy to take care of my cold," you tease with a little smile, your eyes drifting down to the plastic bag in his hand, a bag you know all too well due to countless trips to that specific Thai restaurant. "And you brought food?"

He smiles as he removes his coat and walks over to the side of your bed, placing the pho on your nightstand before sitting down on the edge of the bed, clearly not bothered by the array of tissues scattered around the duvet. Miso sees him and gets up from her spot on the bed, sauntering off to the living room, almost as if she knows her mom is about to get folded like a pretzel again. But Jungkook's not here for that tonight.

"I was actually out at dinner with some friends when I texted you. And I thought you might've been too lazy to get up and actually eat dinner, so I brought soup."

The thought of him dropping his plans with his friends just to come over and take care of you fills you with a warm, fuzzy feeling. Maybe it's just your high temperature. Maybe it's the fact that he's just so kind to you. Whatever the reason may be, you're too sick and weak to fight the soft smile tugging at your lips.

"Thank you, Jungkook."

"Don't thank me. I just didn't want you to drown in your own mucus."

Your laugh makes his heart feel funny, even if it barely managed to escape your sore throat.

He opens the lid of the steaming hot pho and holds a spoonful to your lips. If you were your usual healthy self, you would've told him that you're fully capable of feeding yourself, but you're sick and vulnerable and he has that soft look in his eyes, so you let him feed you the soup. It's warm and a little spicy, and it instantly makes you feel better as it slides down your throat. It's just that good. That, and the fact that he bought it for you and drove all this way to feed it to you.

He makes sure you take any necessary medication and even helps you flip over to lay on your stomach so that he can rub some VapoRub on your back, his hands giving you the comfort you didn't know you so desperately needed.

You aren't used to being taken care of by such a gentle man. He blows on your soup for you so that you don't burn your tongue. He wets a cloth with cold water and lays it on your forehead to bring down your temperature. He touches you like you're some delicate porcelain that could break at any moment. When he lays down with you and runs his fingers through your hair, you don't fight it. When he presses a soft kiss to your cheek, you don't protest like you normally would because rule #3 is no kissing outside of sex but you don't even care right now. You let him take care of you when you normally wouldn't. You allow yourself to be taken care of because it feels too good to overthink.

Jungkook feels a bit selfish for relishing in your current state because it allows him to care for you in your time of need. He would do it for any of his friends because that's the type of person he is, but this is different. This is you, and he would drive for hours and hours to get to you if you ever needed him. He would put everything on hold to be there for you. Hell, he would run into a burning building if you were in there. Because it's you.

He props his head up on his elbow and looks down at you, taking in your fevery flushed cheeks, your heavy-lidded eyes, your stuffy nose, and he thinks that no other woman will ever be as beautiful to him as you. He's not Taehyung. He doesn't teach literature and he doesn't have the best way with words, but he could spend hours writing poetry about the sound of your laugh or how animated you get when you're really passionate about something. He could sit and watch paint dry all day if you sat by his side and did it with him.

Jungkook takes the tv remote from the nightstand to turn on Sex and The City, clicking on a random episode from season 6 and getting comfortable next to you.

"What happened to Sex and The City being boring, hm?" you chuckle, giving him a teasingly pointed look.

"What, you want me to turn it off?"

"No, I just thought you didn't like it."

"But you like it."

You turn your attention back to the tv as a smile threatens to break out on your face, your head turned so that he doesn't see how much that simple response affected you.

He barely remembers the characters' names or much of the plot, but you enjoy the show, so he watches it with you, making comments here and there and even asking questions just so he can listen to your voice as you explain why Carrie Bradshaw does what she does. He mentally pats himself on the back for getting through a good handful of episodes before inevitably getting bored.

When you get up to go to the bathroom, he just can't help himself and turns on one of the Avengers movies, offering you a sheepish grin when you come back and see what's on your tv.

You roll your eyes and get back in bed, watching Iron Man perform a monologue for the millionth time. "Captain America's better."

He gives you a look like you just killed his dog or something, and you already know what's coming.

"Are you insane?! Iron Man is so obviously the best Avenger, y/n."

"He doesn't look like Captain America, though."

"He doesn't have to," he scoffs, looking back at the tv. "He's got that whole rich CEO thing going for him. Plus, he's like, a genius."

"Nerds defending nerds, I guess," you tease with a faint smile.

He grins, a hint of smugness in his expression. "Are you saying I'm like Iron Man? Because if you are, that's a huge compliment."

"Iron Man's a bit more of a bad boy," you chuckle, narrowing your eyes at him as you try to think of who he resembles in the Avengers. "You're more...boy next door, kinda like Spider Man."

"Wha- excuse me, I can be a bad boy too if I want," he quips, trying to sound offended, but when you mention Spider Man it kinda makes up for it. "I guess I'll take Spider Man. I do have a nice ass."

You laugh, giving him a puzzled look. "Who said anything about Spider Man's ass?"

"He's like, known for having a great ass. Have you seen him in his suit?"

"So, that's it? That's why you'd make a good superhero? Because you have a nice ass?"

"Well...not just my ass. I'd make a great superhero because...y'know...great power, great responsibility and all that other stuff."

You scoff, shrugging like you can't argue with that.

He's quiet for a while, a full-blown fight scene playing out on the tv, his mind starting to wander a bit.

"You'd be Black Widow. You've got that badass, independent woman vibe," he murmurs, looking over at you with a soft smile.

"You think so?"

"Oh yeah. You're smart, confident, you don't take crap from anyone. Plus, you'd look really hot in the tight outfit." He just can't help himself.

You roll your eyes, softly swatting his bicep. "Of course that's what you think of."

He chuckles, shrugging his shoulders, feigning innocence. "Hey, what can I say? I'm a man, I like what I like."

And I like you. He can't say it out loud, but acknowledging it is enough for now, and when the cough syrup starts taking effect and your eyes slowly start to droop, he feels content with just having your head on his chest.

His phone buzzes and he pulls it out of his pocket to see a text from Taehyung, and your eyes are barely open when they land on the screen. You didn't even mean to look, it was kinda just an instinctive thing, but you're not interested in his private texts from his friends. What catches your eye is the photo on his lock screen. It's a photo of the two of you from a year ago, both of you making silly faces at the camera. It's a cute photo. If anyone else were to see it, they'd think you're a couple.

“I didn't know that’s your lock screen,” you mumble, your voice a lot sleepier than it was an hour ago.

“Are you snooping?” he teases with a little scoff.

“I didn't mean to look, your phone is kinda in my face from this angle,” you murmur through a soft chuckle, looking down at the photo.

“I like this photo of us.” He smiles when you tap the screen after it goes black, wanting to get another look.

“Coulda used one that I actually look pretty in,” you murmur jokingly, and as the cough syrup drains the last of your consciousness, the last thing you hear is a soft, “But you’re always pretty, y/n.”

The next morning, you wake up feeling a little bit disorientated after taking all that cold medicine, blinking a few times to clear your vision. You slowly sit up in bed and check your phone, seeing that it's 10am. You almost think you overslept for work, but you realize it's Sunday. You think back to the night before, the way Jungkook came over and fed you soup, the way he gently put VapoRub on your back and made sure you were well taken care of. You turn your head to find Miso in the spot that Jungkook was in last night, and you would feel disappointed that he’s not there anymore if Miso weren't so damn cute. It's not like you expected him to still be here this morning. After all, staying the night is another boundary you don't cross, and he respects that, which explains why he left a little while after you fell asleep.

You feel that fuzzy feeling in your chest again when you take a better look at what's on your nightstand. Your water bottle stands tall, which Jungkook filled before he left last night, along with a little note from one of the notebooks on your desk.

The note says, 'Hope you're feeling a bit better. Get lots of rest and drink your fluids. Don't worry about falling asleep, Miso made sure I saw myself out. Hope to see you at work tomorrow xx'

You read the note again, and then again. It's simple but thoughtful. He didn't have to write a note. He didn't have to come over last night to tend to your illness, but he did, and you aren't surprised because he's him. That's just what he does.

You think about last night until you have to consciously stop yourself from smiling so much because your cheeks feel a bit stiff. You grab your phone from the nightstand and scroll to his contact, your fingers quickly sliding across the keyboard.

You [10:23am]: thank you for coming over last night, kook You [10:23am]: i owe you fr

prof jeon [10:25am]: you really don't 🙄 prof jeon [10:25am]: i just wanted to be there for you prof jeon [10:26am]: it's what spider man would've done 👀

You [10:26am]: 👁️👄👁️ You [10:26am]: nerd

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

Man, one day I hope to be able to do that in casual conversation. So far I can really just name the species names of the parasites I’ve been in contact with the most, R. campanula and R. fennica, genus Diplostomum, Acanthocephalus lucii, Bunodera luciopercae, those guys, all of them in fish (and mussels, and snails, and copepods, etc etc), really — no easy way to drop them in the conversation. But you live and you learn to memorise names! I want to become what people think a biologist is like, the aquatic science version of “just a little sodium chloride”

I’m in an aquatic parasitology class and I’m internally going crazy every time I see a little guy I recognise by name. “Omg it’s Rhipidocotyle campanula!!!!” “Philometra obturans…. I didn’t think I’d see you again…”

[littlebigmouse]

Sure, episode 7 doesn't really have much time to spend on Ekko's disorientation in this new reality and everyone else's reactions to it. But I have to respect that the writer's solution to this was to make AU Ekko pretty mentally unstable.

From Powder's perspective, she startles him, he throws something at her, becomes hostile, tries to defend himself with a screwdriver, and then just starts staring into space and goes nonverbal while giving clear signs of a panic attack, and Powder and Benzo's reaction to that is a benevolent and casual "One of those days, huh?"

Given where they leave off, and pick up in the Last Drop again, it's implied Ekko has his crisis the entire way over, and probably didn't react much to either of them the whole time. When Claggor and Ekko remain at the table while Vander and Powder have their conversation, Ekko is ignoring Claggor and drawing repetitive circles over his notes and constantly clutching his head in pain. Right up until he gets up, which is when Claggor finally reacts to what he's doing but is waved off easily, and stumbles outside throwing up in a dumpster. And no one seems to notice or care about him acting weird or being in pain.

Everytime he says something off-colour or outright concerning it's met casually or chalked up to his sleep deprivation and imposter syndrome. Man's dissociating like nobody's business and everyone just claps him on the back in understanding. If that's normal for AU Ekko, or everyone thinks that's normal for AU Ekko, that's uh, pretty concerning actually.

I mean, given context clues and Powder's conversation with Vander, all the kids (or at least Ekko and Powder) withdrew pretty heavily and keep themselves on the down low. I assume they both blamed themselves for Vi's death to some degree and became overly cautious and more quiet. Powder prefers to support her siblings similarly to how Vi did, but there's fewer problems to solve with violence as they grow up (and they all know how that ended) so Powder plays emotional support and prefers to stay in her familiar bubble (The Last Drop, close to her family).

AU Ekko seems to be overcompensating with his inventions, focusing on (academic?) success and productivity. Between his fancier clothes (even fancier than the others, who all have newer outfits, but stick more to zaunite dressing sensibilities than him) and his AU friendship with Heimerdinger it's reasonable to assume that he's involved with the academy in some way, maybe gunning to become a student if he isn't one already. That's a lot of pressure for a kid from the undercity, nevermind that academia itself is pretty competitive even if the deck isn't staked against him.

That all is to say, I don't think the AU is all sunshine and roses, for either of them. AU Ekko and Powder are both way less extreme versions of their canon verses, but especially AU Ekko is apparently way more quiet, withdrawn and insecure (and not at all active within his community?? I'm gonna be honest, I'm a bit mad the Firelights weren't even mentioned that episode, they've been Ekko's main family for the better part of a decade now, they deserve some focus, damn it).

So yeah, I don't think AU Ekko is doing too hot.

(And now I want a fic of him waking up in canon Ekko's body, lmao).

[smiley-mcdoggington]

Uhhhh what if Stan called like a year before Bill and Ford broke up but Bill was the one that answered the phone. TW SUICIDAL TW STANCEST!!!!!!

Stan's stiff fingers could barely feel the quarters he dragged to slot into the payphone. Three, one after the other. 75 cents. Not enough for a hot meal, not enough for more than a few miles in his car. Enough to change what was in his wallet from a side to a meal but on their own the coins didn't matter enough. It was okay, he just wanted to hear Stanford, that was worth more than 75 cents.

He felt the bones in his fingers as they pressed into the cold metal numbers - it was supposed to be warm in Florida, why the hell was it so cold? He didn't have to pull out the scrap of paper he'd written Ford's number on years ago - he knew it by heart, even if he kept it in his pocket anyway.

The phone rang twice before it picked up. "Yellow?" Stanford's voice intoned chipperly. No 'Dr. Stanford Pines' residence', no 'What's the purpose of this call?'. It was friendly, familiar. Was he waiting for someone else to call? Had he been waiting at the phone for someone and got his hopes up when it was only Stan?

Stan almost took the receiver away from his ear, almost put it back and wasted another 75 cents when Stanford's voice said, in the most knowing way: "Stanley."

Stan didn't know how Ford knew it was him - was he breathing too loud? Had he muttered something? Was this habit of his catching up to him? Stan tried to force his throat to open enough to let a word slip free, but then Stanford spoke again.

"You want something, don't you?" His voice didn't match the accusation, but it still made Stan wanna hurl.

"No-- I didn't - that's not why I called, I ain't some--" He lied through his ill-fitting dentures until Stanford cut him off.

"But you do want something. You want everything. You want S-- my attention. You want money, you want luck, you want a boat and you want me to drop everything so that my life can become providing you those things, don't you?"

"Moses - No, Ford! That's - I don't." The phone booth around him felt very cramped, and the light inside with the dark outside made it impossible to see outside the tiny space. "I-I just called to talk, okay? Nothing else, I swear." He felt like a kid pleading his case while already laid out on the curb.

"Talk, yes, you're a real talker, Stanley. I always hated that when we were little, you know, it was like I couldn't even get my thoughts out before you were blabbering on, taking all the attention you could grasp for while not saying a single thing of importance. But you can't talk your way out of being a bum, can you, Stanley?"

Stan wanted to hang up but at this point he was sitting on the cold ground letting the cold crawl into his skin and the hook was just out of reach. Ford knew? Some feeble, tiny part of him had always thought - thought if Ford knew how he was actually doing then Ford might care. That he was doing a good thing by not saying anything to Ma so no one would worry. But Ford knew. At least he knew part of it. He knew Stan was huddled in a phone booth spending some of his last quarters on a phonecall before going to find a side road to park in to sleep. Ford just didn't care.

"How much do you know?" The anger tried to reach his tone but the lump in his throat made the question a strangled whisper.

"Oh, I know a lot of things, Stanley Pines." Stanford's voice crooned mockingly, so clear over the phone it made Stan sick. "I know you've been living in your car since the day you were kicked out. I know you've got some interesting people tailing you. I know you've used that trick you learned with your tongue when we were fifteen on more men than you can count for pocket change so you could listen to me breathe for a minute." He said, tone so unaffected it made Stan wonder if the conversation was even real. Then Stanford said something that had his gut rolling.

"I know you didn't mean to break my machine." He said, so casually, as if he'd never thought he did it on purpose. "Of course you didn't - a plan like that to get me to stay close enough you could leech off me? You couldn't even think of something like that, could you, Stanley? No, you didn't mean to, but when it happened it clicked in your little pea brain that you'd get everything you wanted if you just let it be for once. So you let it happen. So I simply repaid the favor - let Dad beat your greasy face in and then throw you to the wolves. Your eyes for an eye, as the saying goes--"

"Fuck you." Stan spat, voice raw, thoughts scattered like broken glass.

"I think you've done enough fucking for the both of us, bruiser." Ford said amusedly. "Don't call again, your existence is a distraction I don't care to feed."

Stan wanted to say something - anything. But then the phone buzzed. Ford had hung up.

Stan screamed, throwing the receiver against the wall of the phone booth before leaving it to dangle while he threaded his hands in his hair. Ford knew everything - he knew everything and he couldn't give less of a fuck. Like he wasn't his brother, once. A brother that apparently talked too much around him but a brother regardless.

Now he wasn't anything to Ford, just a nuiscence on his land-line. Stan could die without a home or a family and Ford wouldn't care. Ford might even appreciate not getting the phone calls.

He thought of the revolver in his glove box with only one bullet. But he couldn't, today, because today's a Wednesday and Ma used to say it was her favorite day of the week because her soap opera that'd been running for as long as he could remember always had new episodes on Wednesdays and Stan and Ford would stay up half an hour past their bedtime to sit and watch the new episode with her. He couldn't ruin Wednesdays.

Could he even ruin Wednesdays? Or would Ma never think about that? Would she be glad, too, to not have the distraction?

He got up, and walked to his car. He couldn't feel his legs, or his hands, but he didn't think the cold had anything to do with it.

He sat down on the driver's side, and looked at his glove box.

Somewhere, on the other side of the country, a man with yellow eyes giggled as he sunk a fork into his hand over and over and over again, watching through the eye of a one-dollar bill as Stanley opened his glove box.

[didyoulookforme]

a different arrangement

a fluffy, rambling, unedited blurb based on this from months ago.

it just kept popping up in my mind, so yeah...

—

the morning feels like a secret. the air is cool and delicate, the kind that belongs to an hour when most people are still tangled in their dreams. the cafe patio is calm, empty except for the shuffle of leaves and the scrape of chairs against concrete. you’re moving through it on autopilot, balancing a tray in one hand, the other shielding your face from the sun cutting low across the horizon. the smell of coffee—warm and grounding—clings to you, though it does little to wake you up. opening shifts always feel like borrowed time, half-remembered and hazy.

and your feet slow when you spot him.

he’s sitting at the farthest table, one leg is stretched out, the other tucked beneath him, and a suitcase sits neatly at his side. his notebook lies open, its corners curling slightly, and a pen twirls idly between his fingers. his hair is dark and messy in a way that feels intentional—like he’s pushed it back a hundred times and given up. sunlight catches on the soft scruff along his jaw, softening the sharp lines of his profile.

he’s focused, brow furrowed as though the page in front of him holds a puzzle he hasn’t solved yet. but there’s no rush in the way he sits, like he has all the time in the world. polished isn’t the right word for him—he’s too unruly for that—but there’s something distinct about him, something that makes this sleepy town feel even smaller. and yet, he doesn’t seem out of place. he looks like he belongs to the morning in the same way the sunlight does, temporary but perfect for the moment.

the tray in your hand feels heavier as you approach, the cups clinking louder than you intend. “black coffee,” you say, your voice steady but unfamiliar in the quiet.

he looks up, and the moment stretches, folds itself into something unexpected. his eyes meet yours, and they’re darker than you’d imagined. not cold, though—there’s warmth there, something sharp and curious. he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away the way most people might. and then, the faintest smile curves his mouth. it sends a quiet, breathless ache somewhere deep inside you.

“thanks,” he says, and his voice is low and easy, his accent stretching over the word like honey. it’s the kind of voice that feels like it belongs to another life entirely, something out of reach.

your eyes flick to the suitcase beside him before you can stop yourself. “heading somewhere?” you ask, feeling suddenly too aware of yourself.

“yeah. back home later today.”

“and where’s home?”

“london.”

you blink at the answer, the word heavy in your mind. london. it feels distant and impossible, like it belongs to movies and postcards, not to this conversation on this patio.

“i’ve always wanted to go,” you say softly, the admission slipping out before you can think better of it. “but i’ve never made it past here.”

“why not?”

his question feels casual, but the way he asks it—his eyes steady on yours, his tone light but sincere—makes it feel like more. your fingers tighten slightly on the edge of the tray. “life, i guess. work, family, money… the usual excuses.”

he hums, tipping his head slightly as he taps his fingers against the mug. “sounds like you need a break.”

you let out a soft laugh, trying to deflect the way the comment lands too close to something you’ve been avoiding. “don’t we all?”

“maybe,” he agrees, his voice dropping to something softer, more deliberate. “but you mean it.”

there’s a certainty in his tone that makes it hard to meet his eyes for too long. you glance toward the cafe, catching sight of a regular waving for your attention. the moment breaks like a thread being pulled loose.

“i should—” you start, nodding toward the door, but he interrupts gently.

“wait. what’s your name?”

the question feels startlingly intimate, even though it’s simple. you tell him, your name unfamiliar on your tongue, and he repeats it softly, like he’s testing how it fits in his mouth. it sounds better coming from him, and you hate how much you like it.

“matty,” he says, offering his name with a tone that feels just a touch warmer than before. “nice to meet you.”

the words stick with you as you retreat into the cafe, your heart thudding in a rhythm that doesn’t belong to the quiet morning. when you glance back, he’s still watching, his expression steady but unreadable. it’s enough to make your pulse stutter all over again.

—

matty doesn’t just sit at the table—he claims it. every time you step outside, he’s doing something different, though the focus in him never wavers. at one point, he’s writing, the pen in his hand moving with a kind of urgency that makes you wonder if the page will catch fire. later, he’s leaning back, one arm draped lazily over the chair, a crossword puzzle in front of him. the grid looks like a battlefield—half-filled answers, some scratched out, others left untouched. his pen taps against his bottom lip, his brow furrowing like the clue in front of him holds the answer to something far bigger than a single word.

you also notice the napkin—a blank canvas when you brought him his coffee, now covered in tiny sketches and spirals. there’s a cartoon coffee mug with a ridiculous expression, a constellation of stars, and looping scribbles that don’t seem to form anything in particular. it’s messy and oddly endearing, the kind of thing you wouldn’t expect from someone who carries himself like he’s got everything figured out.

when you bring him a refill, he pulls out an earbud before you’ve even reached the table, his attention snapping to you like he’s been waiting. the way he smiles makes something unfamiliar twist low in your stomach.

“you’re spoiling me,” his is voice warm with humor, his fingers tracing the edge of the mug you’re refilling.

you tilt your head, feigning nonchalance as you set the pot down. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“not bad,” he says, leaning back in his chair as though the morning were made just for him, “just risky.”

his reply catches you off guard, and your face betrays you—just a flicker of surprise before you recover. his mouth curves slightly, almost smug, like he’s pleased he’s thrown you. you lift an eyebrow, refusing to let him win. “i’ll take my chances.”

his eyes dip briefly to the crossword, and he twirls the pen between his fingers before gesturing toward it. “you any good at these?” he asks, as if it’s the most natural thing to include you in whatever this is.

“why? need rescuing?”

“possibly.” he glances at the page, his lips pressing together like he’s fighting off a laugh. “turns out ‘chaos’ doesn’t fit into a six-letter space.”

your laugh is soft but unrestrained, spilling out before you can catch it. his gaze finds yours again, heavier this time, and your pulse stutters under the weight of it. “try ‘mayhem,’” the suggestion tumbling out before you’ve had a chance to think about it.

he raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. “clever and helpful,” he murmurs, jotting down the word. “what would i do without you?”

the question lands somewhere it shouldn’t, leaves a warmth behind that lingers too long. you glance away, catching sight of the tattoo covering part of his forearm. it’s bold against his skin, and you’re grateful for the distraction.

“mortal kombat?”

his gaze follows yours, and his smirk widens into something softer, almost nostalgic. “yeah. childhood obsession.”

“didn’t peg you for a gamer.”

“i’m full of surprises.” his tone dips, playful but steady, and he leans forward slightly, closing the space between you just enough to make you breathless. “what about you? ever play?”

“once or twice,” you admit. “terrible at it.”

“button-masher,” he accuses, the word landing like a challenge. the laugh that slips out of you feels unintentional, easy in a way you didn’t expect.

“is there any other way?” you counter, crossing your arms as though to steady yourself.

his smirk softens into something quieter, his gaze lingering on you for a beat too long. “not if you want to win.”

—

“so, you’ve always lived here?” he asks, not quite a question, more like a statement he’s waiting for you to confirm.

you nod, brushing a hand over the edge of the tray still balanced against your hip. “born and raised. it’s not exactly exciting, but it’s home. predictable, you know?”

he hums softly, his expression thoughtful as he glances past you toward the street. “predictable’s not the worst thing in the world,” he says after a moment. “but you don’t strike me as someone who’s too thrilled by it.”

you laugh softly, the sound more honest than you intended. “no, not really. but it’s easy to get stuck, you know? years go by, and suddenly you’re still here, doing the same thing you were five years ago.”

“sounds familiar,” he admits, his voice dipping lower, quieter. “sometimes i think the only reason i’m not stuck is because my job keeps moving me around. but even then, it’s not like i’m actually living in those places—just passing through.”

“what do you do, exactly?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

his gaze shifts back to you. “i scout locations for films. basically, i find places that match the story—where the light works, or the atmosphere feels right. spots that set the tone before anyone even says a word.”

“that’s… unexpectedly poetic,” you say, smiling despite yourself.

he chuckles softly, the sound warm and easy. “yeah, well, the reality’s a bit messier. lots of late nights, arguing over budgets, dealing with directors who want impossible things. but every now and then, you stumble across somewhere that just works, and it makes all the chaos worth it.”

his gaze flicks back to you, steady and deliberate. “this place… it’s got something. quiet, sure, but there’s a kind of honesty to it. like it’s not trying to be anything other than what it is.”

you raise an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “honest? that’s one way to put it. most people would just say boring.”

he shakes his head, leaning back in his chair as his fingers drum lightly against the table. “nah. it’s not boring. it’s… understated. besides, if it was so dull, you wouldn’t still be here.”

his words settle into something heavier than you expect, and you hate how much they get under your skin. you glance down at the tray in your hands, brushing your fingers over its edge.

—

you find yourself wandering back to his table. it’s not because you have to—his coffee’s still half-full, and he hasn’t waved you over. but something about the way he’s sitting there, relaxed and yet quietly focused, draws you in.

“everything alright over here?” you ask lightly, tilting your head as you stop by his side.

his attention shifts to you immediately, like you’ve just become the most interesting thing in the room. “more than alright,” he says, his lips curving into that expression that’s already starting to feel dangerous. “though i wouldn’t say no to a top-up.”

you pour slowly, the steam curling between you. when you glance up, he’s watching you again—not just watching, but really seeing, like he’s cataloging every little movement.

“so,” he starts, setting the pen down and leaning forward slightly. “if you could get out of here, just for a little while, where would you go first?”

the question catches you off guard, and your hand stills over his cup. “i mean… anywhere,” you say, shrugging slightly as you set the pot back on the tray. “i’ve always wanted to travel—see places that feel bigger than here. but it’s not exactly in the cards right now.”

“what if it was?” he presses, his tone lighter but still carrying a hint of something more serious.

you raise an eyebrow at him. “what are you getting at?”

he leans back again, crossing his arms over his chest. “hear me out,” he says, his smile widening just enough to make you suspicious. “you stay in my flat in london for a couple of weeks. see the city, live a little. in the meantime, i’ll stick around here. get to know what it’s like to slow down for once.”

the suggestion hits you like a splash of cold water—shocking, absurd, impossible. “you’re joking,” you say, though your voice doesn’t carry as much conviction as you’d like.

“dead serious,” he replies, his face softening into something clearly sincere. “you said you’ve never left. maybe it’s time to change that.”

you blink at him, your mind racing to keep up. “and you’d just… what, live my life for a couple of weeks?”

“something like that,” he says, shrugging easily. “seems like a fair trade. i get to breathe for a bit, and you get to see the world—or at least, a small corner of it.”

“you don’t even know me,” you point out, your voice quieter now.

he tilts his head, his gaze steady. “i know enough,” he says simply. “and besides, this isn’t exactly a permanent arrangement. think of it as… an experiment.”

you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “this is insane.”

“most good ideas are,” he counters, his voice dipping lower, warmer now. “so? what do you think?”

you hesitate, your pulse quickening under the weight of his gaze. “and how exactly would this work?”

“easy,” he says, reaching for the napkin covered in doodles. “give me your number. i’ll reach out once i’m back in london, and we’ll sort out the details. no pressure—you can back out anytime.”

his tone is light, but there’s a flicker of something earnest in his expression, something that makes it hard to look away. against your better judgment, you take the pen resting beside his notebook and scribble your number in the corner of the napkin, your handwriting slightly slanted from the nerves tightening your grip.

“don’t make me regret this,” you say as you slide the napkin toward him.

his fingers brush against yours as he takes it, the touch brief but enough to send a shiver up your spine.

“i wouldn’t dream of it,” he says softly, his grin returning just enough to make your heart stutter.

you straighten up, clutching the tray to your chest like it might keep you grounded. “we’ll see,” you manage, though your voice feels far less composed than you’d like.

“we will,” he says, and the way he says it—calm, certain—makes it feel less like a question and more like a promise.

—

the minutes stretch and settle as the day unfolds, but matty stays rooted at his table. his coffee cup sits empty now, his notebook tucked back into his bag, but he doesn’t seem in any hurry to leave. you catch glimpses of him through the window as you move around the cafe—leaning back in his chair, his gaze wandering over the trellis above, as though he’s letting the stillness soak into his skin.

when he finally stands, the scrape of his chair against the concrete draws your attention. you watch as he stretches, arms reaching high above his head, his movements slow and unhurried. his suitcase, still sitting neatly beside him, serves as a quiet reminder that this is temporary—that he doesn’t belong to this place the way you do.

he adjusts the strap of his bag and slips the folded napkin with your number into his pocket. the motion is deliberate, careful in a way that makes your pulse flutter, though you try not to let it show.

he lingers by the table for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the patio as though trying to memorize it. when he turns, his eyes find yours through the doorway, and that faint, crooked smile of his returns—softer now, less teasing but no less disarming.

“thanks for the coffee,” he says, his voice low and warm, carrying easily through the space.

“anytime,” you manage, though the word feels flimsy under the weight of his gaze.

he nods once, his expression calm and steady, before turning toward the street. you watch as he pauses at the curb, his head tilting slightly as though deciding which direction to go. the sound of his suitcase wheels clicking against the pavement feels louder than it should, each step pulling him farther away.

just before he disappears around the corner, he glances back. his eyes find yours again, and the curve of his mouth deepens into something warmer, something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t want to name. he lifts a hand in a casual wave, his movements easy and unhurried, and you lift yours in return, your heart racing as you watch him disappear from view.

the rest of the day passes in fragments—orders taken, tables cleared, polite conversations carried out without much thought. but his words linger, echoing softly in the back of your mind.

by the time you lock up for the night, the patio is empty, the chairs stacked neatly under the trellis. the air is cool now, carrying the faint scent of ivy and coffee grounds, and for a moment, you let it all settle around you.

[strawberryfairi]

I Want Her! — Ran Haitani

Pairings: Playboy! Ran Haitani X Black Fem Reader🤎 (ANYONE CAN READ🧚🏾‍♀️)

Synopsis: He knew he had to have you the moment he saw you

Content. MDNI: smut, p in v, oral (fem receiving), kind of a corruption kink vibe, sexual tension, playboy! Ran, good girl! reader

Word Count: 6.2k

The dim light of the party was softened by hues of amber and gold, and the hum of loud conversation rolled around him, occasionally punctuated by laughter. He wasn’t particularly interested in tonight, in the setting or the people, save for one. His current “distraction,” as he preferred to think of her, was hanging off his arm. She had introduced herself four months ago with the kind of confidence that didn’t impress him but didn’t repel him either. She was convenient, loud, and unassuming. She didn’t expect anything of him, which suited him just fine.

But then, in a moment that felt strangely and ironically cinematic, she called over someone.

Ran’s first clue that something was about to change was in the tone of her voice. There was an eagerness in the way she said her name—light, almost playful—“Oh, hey! I didn't think you'd actually come!” The inflection was so casual, so careless, and yet it carried a current of significance that Ran couldn’t have explained if asked. He lifted his gaze, mildly curious at best, to see who this friend was.

And then, she walked into his line of sight.

The world stopped. Or at least, it did for him. He didn’t hear her name when she said it, didn’t register the friend’s voice introducing her. All he could do was stare. His breath hitched, caught on an invisible hook in his chest, and his grip on the plastic cup in his hand tightened just slightly.

She was mesmerizing. The kind of mesmerizing that made Ran realize he’d been looking at everything wrong up until this moment. Her skin was deep-toned, glowing under the soft, golden lighting. She wore a chocolate-brown bodysuit that molded to her body like a second skin, paired with a short black skirt that seemed tailored to perfection. The color palette was understated yet commanding, effortless in its allure.

Her braided hair was styled half up, half down, the braids cascading down her back and framing her face. A pair of gold drop earrings caught the light every time she moved, and her thin gold chain necklace rested delicately against her collarbone. There was a simplicity to her choices—minimalistic, yes—but each piece added to an overall aura that was regal, almost unattainable.

Ran couldn’t help himself. His eyes lingered, trailing over her with a mix of awe and something darker—an undeniable lust that curled low in his stomach and set his nerves alight. She spoke, her voice low and smooth, but he couldn’t follow a single word. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to listen—he did, desperately—but her lips moved with a grace that distracted him entirely. The way her mouth curved around words made him feel like a fool, as though he needed to watch her lips just to sound out syllables in his own head. But even then, he failed to catch anything coherent.

It wasn’t just her appearance that threw him. It was the way she carried herself—calm, confident, as though she didn’t need to prove a thing to anyone in the room. It was such a stark contrast to her friend, who practically clung to him like an accessory. This girl—this woman—was different. She didn’t fidget or force her presence; she simply existed, and in doing so, she commanded attention. Her movements were deliberate but not exaggerated, her posture poised.

He didn’t even notice when she stopped talking until the silence hung heavy in the air. Blinking, Ran snapped back to reality, realizing with a start that he had entirely missed his cue to introduce himself. She was looking at him now, her gaze steady but unreadable, as though she were already dissecting his hesitation.

He subtly cleared his throat, attempting to regain his composure. “Ran,” He said, offering his name like it was the only piece of himself he could manage to give her in that moment.

Her lips curled into a small smile—a gesture that felt both polite and enigmatic. “Nice to meet you,” She replied, her voice still as smooth as honey and satin. He swore the sound of it lingered, wrapping around him and settling in his chest like a warm weight.

From that moment on, Ran knew. The girl who had been keeping him company for the past few months—whose name he couldn’t even bother to recall at the moment—was no longer relevant. She faded into the background, a blurry figure at the edge of his mind, eclipsed entirely by this new presence. This new girl.

She had become his focus, his singular goal. He didn’t know her yet, not really, but he knew enough to be certain of one thing: he wanted her. Badly.

Ran wasn’t used to struggling when it came to women. He was attractive and knew it, his sharp features and athletic build often enough to turn heads without much effort. Add in his natural charisma, and getting what he wanted was never an issue. But this felt different. This wasn’t just about getting her attention. It was about keeping it, holding it, bending it until it was solely focused on him.

His mind was already spinning with possibilities, calculating the best way to approach her, to reel her in. He wasn’t worried about failing; failure wasn’t an option. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted something—or someone—with such intensity, and that made her all the more irresistible.

As the conversation shifted back to the friend, Ran found himself lingering near her, his presence almost overbearing. He didn’t mean to loom, but his height and the sheer force of his focus on her made it feel that way. Every time she shifted, his eyes followed, cataloging every detail. The curve of her neck, the way her earrings caught the light, the way her fingers rested on the edge of her glass. Every movement was a study in elegance, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of the friend she had arrived with.

For a brief moment, she glanced up at him, her brow furrowing just slightly, as though she could sense his attention. Ran met her gaze, unflinching, and held it. Her eyes were sharp, discerning, and he felt an unexpected thrill when she didn’t immediately look away. Instead, she tilted her head ever so slightly, a silent question hanging in the space between them.

He didn’t answer—not verbally, at least. Instead, he leaned in, his voice low as he finally addressed her directly. “What'd you say? I didn't hear you.” He said, feigning innocence. It was a lie, of course. He actually heard every single word, but he wanted to hear her speak again, to feel the cadence of her voice ripple through him.

She raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at the corner of her lips. “I was just asking what semester are you?” She clarifies, her tone light but measured.

"Oh, fourth semester. I'm a sophomore."

Ran had always prided himself on his ability to read people. It was a skill honed through years of practice, trial, and error. Women, in particular, were like puzzles to him—ones he solved with ease more often than not. But this time was different. This girl wasn’t a puzzle with missing pieces he could fill in. She was a locked box, and Ran wasn’t even sure where to find the key. That thought alone exhilarated him.

He had seen her more often lately—just small glimpses around campus. At first, it had seemed coincidental. She was leaving the cafeteria as he was walking in, her hair catching the afternoon sun as she talked to a friend. Another day, he spotted her walking briskly toward her dorm building, earbuds in, seemingly in her own world. Each sighting was fleeting but enough to sharpen his focus, to remind him of why he had so easily discarded her friend.

The breakup had been quick and clean. His usual line came out with practiced ease, softened by a half-smile that never quite reached his eyes.

"You knew this wasn't gonna last forever, remember?"

It was late afternoon when Ran walked into the campus library. The tall, arched windows let in streams of golden light, the quiet hush of the space broken only by the occasional rustle of papers or the faint hum of fluorescent lights. Students were scattered throughout, some buried in books, others hunched over laptops, typing furiously.

He wasn’t planning to stay long—just coming to grab whatever stupid book his professor had told them all to get from the library—but then he saw her. She was seated at one of the long wooden tables near the far end of the room, her head bent over her laptop. A sleek presentation file was open on the screen, its slides filled with clean, precise text and diagrams. A girly spiral notebook lay beside her, filled with meticulous handwriting and neat bullet points. She was focused, completely unaware of her surroundings, and Ran felt his pulse quicken.

There she was: his challenge, his target.

He paused, leaning against the nearest bookshelf as he observed her for a moment. She was wearing a simple white turtleneck tucked into high-waisted jeans, her braided hair tied back today in a low ponytail. Her jewelry was just as understated as before—a small pair of gold hoops and a thin bracelet on her wrist. There was an elegance to her simplicity, a sense of refinement that made her stand out even in a sea of students.

Ran smirked. Making a move here, in this quiet and public setting, would require finesse. The thrill of it was intoxicating.

He walked over with the kind of confidence that turned heads, though he made sure to tone it down just slightly as he neared her table. His footsteps were soft against the carpeted floor, and when he reached her, he leaned down slightly, letting his voice drop to a low, friendly murmur.

“Looks intense,” he said, nodding toward her screen.

She startled, her head snapping up to look at him. For a brief moment, her expression was one of confusion, her wide eyes searching his face as if trying to place him. Then, recognition flickered, and she straightened in her chair, her fingers still resting lightly on the keyboard.

“Oh hey! It is,” she replied, her voice calm but tinged with a hint of surprise. “I have a big presentation next week.”

Ran tilted his head, feigning interest. “What’s it about?”

She hesitated, glancing at her laptop as if considering whether or not to indulge him. Finally, she said, “Well, it’s for my communication class. We’re analyzing persuasive techniques in media campaigns.”

Ran let out a low whistle, pulling out the chair opposite her without waiting for an invitation. “That sounds...impressive. And complicated.”

“ I mean, it’s not too bad,” she said, her tone modest. “It's just a tedious assignments kind of class.”

He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. “You make it look easy.”

Her lips parted slightly at the comment, her gaze flickering to his face. There it was—that faint crack in her composure. She blinked, clearly unsure how to respond, and Ran couldn’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction.

“Do you always work this hard?” He asked, keeping his tone light, almost teasing. “Because I think you’ve been in here every time I’ve walked by.”

Her brows furrowed, a small crease forming between them. “You’ve seen me before?”

“Hard to miss,” He said smoothly, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile.

Her cheeks flushed, just barely, and she dropped her gaze back to her laptop, clearly trying to focus. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here,” She said, her voice quieter now, as if she were speaking more to herself than to him.

“That’s 'cause I’m not really the ‘library’ type.” Ran admitted, leaning back in his chair slightly. “But if I’d known you were here the whole time, I woulda became a bookworm way sooner.”

Her fingers paused on the keyboard, and she looked up again, this time with a mix of amusement and disbelief. “Do you always talk like this?”

Ran chuckled, his grin widening. “Only when I’m trying to get someone’s attention.”

“Well, congratulations,” She said dryly, though her lips twitched as if fighting a smile. “You’ve got it.”

Ran studied her for a moment, noting the way she held herself—her posture straight, her gaze steady despite the faint flustered look in her eyes. She was composed, yes, but not immune.

“Good,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Because I’ve been trying to figure out how to introduce myself since the first time I saw you.”

That seemed to catch her off guard. Her eyes widened just slightly, and she tilted her head. “Since the first time...?”

He nodded, keeping his expression sincere. “You have this way of standing out, you know? It’s hard not to notice.”

Her flush deepened, and she glanced away, clearly flustered now. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or not,” she muttered.

“It is,” he assured her, leaning forward again. “You’re... different.”

“Different how?”

“Regal,” He said, the word rolling off his tongue like honey. “Like you know exactly who you are and what you want. It’s rare.”

She blinked, visibly taken aback. For a moment, she seemed at a loss for words, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her notebook. “That’s...quite the observation,” She said finally.

Ran shrugged, letting his smile turn just a bit playful. “I’m good at reading people.”

“Oh, is that a fact?” She asked, raising a brow.

He nodded. “Mhm. And right now, I’m readin' that you’re working too hard. You need a break.”

She laughed softly at that, shaking her head. “A break? In the middle of the library?”

“Why not?” He said, leaning back in his chair with a casual confidence. “Five minutes won’t kill you.”

Her expression softened, and for the first time, she smiled—a small, genuine curve of her lips that sent a jolt of satisfaction through him.

The air on the sixth floor of the campus building was thick with the mingled scents of rubber flooring, faint cleaning solution, and sweat. It wasn’t a place she frequented, but the broken water fountain on the library’s main floor had sent her here. Her reusable bottle clutched tightly in her hand, she weaved through the sparse crowd of students, her head down to avoid accidentally locking eyes with someone she knew.

But then she stopped—completely halted, rooted to the spot.

Ran was here.

Her gaze landed on him almost instinctively, like gravity had shifted to pull her focus in his direction. He was at one of the pull-up bars, his broad, toned back glistening under the dim overhead lights. Sweat clung to his skin like a second layer, emphasizing the sharp cut of his muscles as he lifted his body with practiced ease. His arms flexed with each upward motion, his biceps tightening, his grip unyielding. The rhythmic sound of his breath, controlled and measured, carried faintly to where she stood.

Her chest tightened. She should look away, refill her water bottle, and leave. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

Her eyes betrayed her as they swept over him, lingering on the defined lines of his back, the faint curve of his shoulder blades, and the taut muscles of his legs visible under his athletic shorts. Then she noticed it—the intricate tattoo running down the entire right side of his body.

From his shoulder, across his ribs, and disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts, the inky design was mesmerizing. Thick, bold lines intertwined with delicate ones, creating a pattern that looked both deliberate and chaotic. It was beautiful. He was beautiful.

A warmth crept up her cheeks, and she forced herself to swallow past the dryness in her throat. She shouldn’t be staring, shouldn’t be feeling the things she was feeling. But there was no denying the unfamiliar twinge low in her stomach, the way her fingers tightened slightly around her water bottle.

This wasn’t her. She wasn’t the type to get distracted like this, wasn’t the type to let her mind wander into... that territory. Her days were filled with classes, study sessions, and carefully maintained schedules. Boys—especially boys like Ran—weren’t part of the equation.

She had heard enough whispers about him to know what kind of guy he was. The charming playboy. The one who always knew exactly what to say to leave a girl flustered, who never stuck around long enough for anything serious. And yet, she couldn’t deny the pull he had on her. The sly grins, the playful remarks, the way his eyes seemed to linger just a little too long whenever they talked—he was magnetic. And right now, watching him like this, her feelings were shifting into territory she wasn’t prepared for.

Her chest rose and fell more quickly than it should have as a rush of guilt hit her. This wasn’t right. She felt as though she was peeking into something private, something meant to be hidden. But at the same time, she couldn’t shake the longing simmering just beneath the surface, a quiet yearning she didn’t know what to do with.

Her friends wouldn’t have hesitated. They would’ve gone right up to him, batted their lashes, and said something witty or bold. They wouldn’t have stood there like a deer caught in headlights, frozen between propriety and desire. She thought of them now, with their easy laughter and casual confidence. For the first time, she envied them. Envy tinged with frustration and pure jealousy.

She had no idea how long she had been standing there, staring at him. But it was long enough to see him finish his last pull-up in the set, his muscles taut with strain, before he finally dropped to the ground in one fluid motion.

And then it happened. He turned his head.

Their eyes met.

Her heart jumped into her throat, and she froze as his gaze locked on her. His expression shifted from neutral concentration to something lighter—amused, curious. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a small towel, slinging it over his shoulder as he started walking towards her.

Panic flared in her chest. She should move, say something, do something?! Even if she had wanted to her body wouldn’t cooperate. Her grip on the water bottle tightened, and her mind scrambled for a plausible explanation for why she’d been standing there, gawking at him like he was a display in a luxury jewelry store.

“Didn’t know you came up here,” Ran stated, his voice low, smooth, and perfectly casual as he closed the distance between them. “Figured you’d be holed up in the library like usual.”

The sound of his voice jolted her from her trance, but not entirely. She blinked rapidly, her lips pressing together in an effort to stay composed, but it was futile. The closer he got, the more overwhelmed she felt.

“I-I was just...” Her voice faltered as she tightened her grip on the water bottle. “The-the water fountain. I was getting water. The one downstairs is broken.”

Ran raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eye. “Ah, lucky me, then.”

She didn’t respond. She couldn’t. The way he was looking at her—like she was the only person in the gym—made her heart race and her palms sweat. It didn’t help that he was standing so close now, close enough for her to see the painfully sensual sheen of sweat on his skin, the sharp definition of his collarbone, the way his tattoo seemed to ripple with every movement.

Her mind was a chaotic mess of thoughts, none of which were appropriate. She shouldn’t be looking at him like this. She shouldn’t be imagining what it would feel like to run her fingers along the lines of his tattoo, to trace the patterns from his shoulder down his ribs. She shouldn’t be noticing the faint curve of his lower abs or the way his athletic shorts hung just low enough to make her shiver with lust.

But she was. And it was mortifying.

“Hey,” Ran called out, his tone softening slightly, though his smirk remained firmly in place. “You okay? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Her gaze snapped back to his face, and she shook her head quickly. “Oh, yeah! I'm good.” The words tumbled out too fast, and she winced inwardly at how unconvincing she sounded.

“You're good, huh?” He teased, leaning slightly closer. “You sure about that? You look a little...distracted.”

“I’m not,” She blurted, her voice too loud for the quiet gym. She cringed, lowering her eyes to the floor as she clutched her bottle so tightly her knuckles turned white. “I mean, I’m not distracted. I just—”

Ran chuckled, the sound warm and low, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. “Relax,” He said, his voice dripping with amusement. “I’m just messing with you.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying her. Her usual self-control was nowhere to be found, replaced by a flustered vulnerability that he found utterly captivating. She was stammering, her gaze flickering everywhere but his face, as though she couldn’t decide where to look without embarrassing herself further.

He decided to push a little harder.

“You doing anything later?” He asked, his tone casual, as if the answer didn’t matter—though it absolutely did.

Her heart stopped, then started again in a frantic rhythm. She blinked at him, caught completely off guard. “What?”

“I said,” Ran repeated, his smirk widening, “Are you doing anything later? Because I’m free tonight, and I figured if you’re not busy with your usual school stuff, we could hang out.”

Her breath hitched. He couldn’t be serious. Could he? Her mind raced, running through all the reasons why this was a terrible idea. But as much as she wanted to say no, the quiet, rebellious part of her—the part that had been simmering since she first met him—wanted to say yes.

“Oh. I-I…,” She inwardly scolds herself for stuttering so badly, “I mean, I have some work to do, so—”

“You can spare a couple hours,” Ran interrupted smoothly, stepping just a little closer. His proximity made her chest tighten, her eyes instinctively darting back to his tattoo before she forced them away. “Unless you don’t want to?”

The challenge in his voice was unmistakable, and she felt her resolve waver. She did want to. That was the problem.

Her fingers fidgeted with the cap of her water bottle as she hesitated, her thoughts a tangled mess of nervous excitement and guilt. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her every move, and it only made it harder to think clearly.

“Okay,” She said finally, her voice soft and unsure. She glanced up at him, her cheeks burning as she added, “What did you have in mind?”

Ran’s smirk softened into something more genuine, but no less mischievous. “Something chill,” He said with a casual shrug. “If you’re more comfortable, I could come to your place. We’ll keep it easy.”

Her heart skipped a beat, her stomach flipping at the suggestion. She nodded quickly, unable to trust her voice, and hoped he couldn’t tell how nervous she was.

“Good,” He said, his voice low and smooth, sending another shiver down her spine. “I’ll see you later, then.”

He turned to leave, but not before giving her one last lingering look. The intensity in his eyes made her knees weak, and she could barely manage a quiet “Bye” in response.

She stood there for a long moment after he walked away, her pulse still racing, her cheeks still warm. She felt like she had just stepped off a rollercoaster, her thoughts swirling in a dizzying mix of exhilaration and nervousness.

Her water bottle remained empty, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. All she could think about was the night ahead—and the fact that she had just said yes to Ran.

Her room felt smaller with him in it. The warm light from her lamp cast shadows across the walls, and the faint lavender scent that always soothed her now seemed to press against her chest. She barely registered Ran’s gaze as he sat on the edge of her bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his posture both relaxed and commanding.

She hadn’t sat down. Couldn’t. Instead, she stood between his legs, holding herself stiffly, clutching her hands in front of her. “You can sit anywhere,” she’d said, her voice barely steady.

His smirk deepened, the kind of knowing curve that made her stomach flip. He leaned back slightly, one brow raising. “I already picked a spot. You should do the same.”

She blinked, swallowing hard, her cheeks warm as she fumbled for words. “II-I mean—I meant, I'll sit in a second.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and deep in his chest. “You don’t have people over much, do you?”

Her blush burned brighter as her eyes darted away. “I do,” She mumbled. “It’s just...it's been a while.”

“That much is obvious,” He teased, his voice like velvet.

She was going to say something, but completely forgot how to even breathe properly as she glanced at him. His gaze was magnetic, dark and intense, pulling her in and holding her there. The way he looked at her wasn’t fair—not the way his eyes softened but his smirk remained sharp. Not the way they flickered briefly down to her lips, lingering for a beat too long before dragging back up to meet her gaze.

Her knees felt weak. She glanced down, desperate for an escape from the weight of his stare.

“Come here,” He said softly, startling her out of her thoughts. He reached out, his hand resting lightly on her wrist, and gave her a gentle tug. She didn’t resist. She moved closer, letting herself be guided until she was standing directly between his long legs.

“There,” he said, his smirk returning. “That’s better.”

She laughed nervously, her eyes once again everywhere but on his.

They fall into a silence yet again, the lack of sound almost deafening in her eyes. It was too loud, the silence, it gave too much space for her mind to drift off somewhere dangerous.

Ran took her hands and placed them on his shoulders, his skin warm through the fabric of his shirt.

Her heart pounded in her chest as her fingers brushed the curve of his collarbone, though she tried to keep her voice steady. “Ran—”

She wasn't sure if it was herself of Ran that had cut her off, the intensity of his gaze freezing her words before they could leave her lips.

It was so loud. Too loud.

The unwavering fire in his eyes as he stared up at her made her heart leap for the thousandth time. They spoke such volumes that words couldn't have been able to articulate accurately enough.

Her breath caught as he pulled her closer, his grip steady on her waist. The space between them grew smaller and smaller, suffocatingly smaller, and every nerve in her body felt like it was on fire.

“Ran,” She tried again, but her voice broke on the syllable.

“Hmm?” He asked, his voice low and teasing, his eyes never leaving hers.

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her thoughts were spinning too fast, tangled between the firm pressure of his hands and the steady pull of his gaze. She felt his fingers flex against her waist, drawing her in even closer.

His hands cascaded down her body, leave a trail of electricity, before pulling her into his lap. He positioned her, using the back of her knees to place her legs on either side of him.

She froze, keeping herself stable by using his shoulders.

Neither of them said a word. His hands rested lightly on her hips, holding her there as though they had always belonged. Her breath came in short, uneven bursts, and she felt the heat of his touch radiating through her, making her head spin. She tried to focus, to gather her thoughts, but it was impossible under the weight of his gaze.

Ran’s eyes flickered down to her lips briefly, then back up to meet hers. The silent tension between them was almost unbearable, a taut wire threatening to snap. She swallowed hard, her fingers flexing against his shoulders as if to ground herself.

Then, almost without thinking, her hands began to move.

She started slow, hesitant, her palms trailing down from his shoulders to his chest. Her touch was light, almost experimental, as if testing what she could get away with. She could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips, the way his muscles tensed slightly under her touch. Her gaze flicked up to his face, searching for any sign of resistance, but he didn’t stop her.

If anything, he encouraged her.

Ran’s dark eyes followed her every movement, sharp and intent, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. He didn’t say a word, but the way he looked at her—hungry, patient, expectant—made her pulse thunder in her ears.

Her hands continued downward, over the ridges of his torso, the fabric of his shirt doing little to mask the firm lines beneath. Her fingertips brushed the hem of his shirt, and she hesitated, her breath catching in her throat.

He cupped her cheek with one hand, his thumb brushing lightly over her flushed skin. The other hand slid around her back, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.

Her lips parted, her breath shaky as her hands stilled against his chest. She could feel the strength in his hold, the unspoken promise in the way he touched her—a promise of more to soon come.

And when he finally kissed her, it wasn’t soft.

It was fiery, consuming, a kiss that left no room for doubt or hesitation. His lips moved against hers with a fervor that made her head spin, his hand tilting her face just enough to deepen the angle. She melted into him, her hands sliding instinctively back up to his shoulders, clinging to him as though he were the only thing keeping her grounded.

The world faded around her, her senses narrowing to him—the heat of his body, the roughness of his hands, the way he kissed her like he had been waiting for this moment his entire life. Her mind went fuzzy, her thoughts dissolving into nothing but the sensation of his mouth on hers, the way he tasted, the way he made her feel.

Her fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt as she kissed him back, her own movements growing bolder, more certain. His hand on her back pressed her closer, as though he couldn’t get enough of her, as though he wanted to pull her into him completely.

And she felt just the same.

Ran pulled away, and before she could even begin to wonder why, he plops her onto the bed beside him. He turned around, climbing on top of her like a prowling tiger.

They both knew where this was going, where it was always going to go between them. So at this point, she didn't bother to hide her desire, her deep rooted lust.

They struggle to maintain their open mouthed kiss while taking off each other's clothes, every movement as if they're somehow running out of time.

He didn't even allow her a moment to try and cover herself in embarrassment, let the usual coyness kick back in. His mouth and hands were already hard at work, kissing all over her neck and chest, his hands cupping and squeezing at her soft breasts.

He loved the way her chest rose and fell, harder and harder the more he touched and licked at her skin. He worked his way down her body, all the way down until he's kissing between her plush thighs.

His hands stroked and worshipped each leg, spreading them open by the back of her knees to make room for his face.

“R-Ran, wait!" She muttered, barely above a whisper. He ignored her, already understanding her protest to be her shyness talking.

His eyes found hers, gazing intently just to see her face contort into pleasure as his tongue gently kitten licks between her folds before slowly circling her pearly clit.

“Ohhh!" She cried out breathlessly. Her legs attempted to close, fighting against his strong grip under her knees, holding her spread for him to eat her out uninterrupted.

“Ughh.” She whimpered softly, obviously trying to keep her moans down. He wasn't having that though. He was determined to make her cry for him, make her scream. His tongue prodded at her little hole, before diving straight inside, in and out.

He ate her out sloppily and slowly—messily, moaning against her pussy as his tongue worked her to her first orgasm. He could feel her legs trembling, feel her grip onto his tresses as she arches her back. She was going to cum already, and he couldn't wait to taste her.

“Raaaan! Rannieee!” She cried out between pants, struggling to keep her body under control along with her pretty moans.

She squeezed her eyes closed, her body tensed up as she finally releasing on his tongue. He didn't waste a single drop, lapping up at her hole to catch it all. As she came down from her high he didn't bother to stop, continuing to suck and kiss her clit, and press his tongue inside her walls.

She couldn't hold herself back anymore, her hands pull and grip on his hair roughly, her brows knitted together in ecstasy.

“I-I can't! I'm cumming again!” She whimpered cutely, trembling worse than her previous orgasm. He moaned softly against her clit, the sound low and approving, sending a thrill down her spine. She climaxed once again, her body taut from the intensity of her release. He allowed her to ride it out, gently slowing to a stop before letting go of her legs, licking his lips as he'd just had a satisfying meal.

“You taste so good. Just as good as you look, Princess." He cooed, reveling in the flattered little laugh she let out in response.

He climbed over her, leaning down onto his elbows as he dove in for another kiss, tasting herself on his lips. She was too lost, too high off her orgasms and the kiss to notice him reach between them and angle himself with her dripping entrance. She gasped as his tip presses inside her, forcing her walls to stretch and accommodate his length. He couldn't help the drawn out moan that breaks past his lips, vibrating against hers as he finally bottoms out deep inside.

She felt even better than he'd been imagining this whole time. His fantasies and wet dreams couldn't compare to the real thing. Her walls gripped him so tightly, as if determined to lock him in place inside her forever. Her pussy was so overwhelmingly pleasurable.

He tongued her mouth, catching every moan and whimper while he strokes her walls. Her small hands barely manage to wrap around his biceps, but they try, her nails starting to dig into his skin.

She cried out to him, struggling to get her point across between kisses and pitifully loud moans of pleasure. “Mmmm! S-so....so good! Don't stop!”

Ran, motivated by her plea, begins pounding into her, picking up the pace. He pulled away from the kiss, his hands gripped her legs and folding her in half in pursuit of a better angle.

“Ugh, ugh yes! Right there, right there!” She moaned, throwing her back against the pillows.

“Right here, baby?” He teased, his hard dick kissing against her sweet spot, again and again. He felt her body trembling once again, only partially contained by his hands keeping her still.

She twitched and cried out uncontrollably, her moans and pleas no longer coherent. He had her right where he wanted her, fucked so good she turns into a babbling mess, begging and whining for nothing in particular.

He felt her orgasm ripple through her body violently, coating his dick with her cum as he continued pounding into her. She didn't come down from her high, he kept the momentum going, force feeding another orgasm right after the next.

“There you go, baby. Keep makin' a mess on my dick.”

Her trembling hands pressed against his abs, a weak attempt to slow him down. She'd already become overstimulated, pushed past her limit, but he doesn't care.

He wouldn't stop till he cums all over her pretty stomach.

She moaned his name over and over again, tears forming then cascading down her cheeks as he ravages her. She came once again, and another time back to back. She'd never felt so amazing before, so utterly taken care of and satisfied by a man. This was the best sex she'd ever had.

“Rannie, please...c-cum.” He felt his dick twitch as she starts begging and pleading for him to finally cum, unable to handle another world shattering orgasm. He looked down at her, the way her teary eyes silently begged him, the way her hands touched his stomach, her moans that blended with the erotic sounds of her sloppy, wet pussy as he fucked into her. He felt himself going to cum soon.

He coaxed another orgasm from her, causing her to whine loudly, her hands desperately attempting to throw off his rhythm.

He gave her three, four more strokes before he pulls out, cumming onto her stomach with a long, drawn out moan of satisfaction. She huffed, her body struggling to aid her in catching her breath.

Ran plopped down on the bed next to her, his chest rising and falling heavily as he comes down from his own high.

They laid in silence for a short while, before she finally spoke, “That was so good.”

Her tone was breathless, with a tinge of shyness, already making it's way back to the forefront.

“Yeah, it was. You're pussy's so good we might have to go for another round.” He mused, though his lilac eyes held a seriousness that left her no room for questioning.

“I...don't think I'd mind that.”

[crimsononiarataki]

He was wondering if Ayato could grow any redder than he already was but the Oni wasn't really trying to fluster the other man. There likely were many ways he could do so with relative ease but he wasn't actively trying to do so at the moment. He could see that the Commissioner's legs were shaking but he didn't think they were doing so out of fear. Anticipation was likely the cause, or maybe the other was simply nervous, he wouldn't blame him if that were the case at all.

The situation they found themselves in now was vastly different than any previous conversation they'd had with one another. The tone of the Yokai's voice was different than their much more casual conversations had ever been before, there was an edge to his voice that deepened it just slightly. He knew that arousal had an effect on his voice as did waking up. He knew his voice grew deeper but not how deep, or how it would affect Ayato for that matter.

He supposed only time would tell.

He'd take another couple steps toward the other man, watching as his legs continued to shake. He wondered if Ayato would want to touch him if he invited him to do so but at the same time, he felt that he already knew the answer to that question. One of his hands would drop to his belt, resting against the buckle, claws caressing the metal Oni mask that rest there as his sunset eyes merely looked at the Commissioner, wanting to see how he reacted to such a subtle move.

He stopped moving when there was very little space left between them, his free hand reaching out to caress the soft skin of Ayato's face once more. He found himself wondering if the other would taste as good as he smelled or not. He knew humans were fond of things like perfumes and the like, it wouldn't shock him if Ayato was someone fond of those sorts of things too, after all, the man had a lot of class. After caressing the skin for a little bit he'd use two fingers to tilt the shorter man's head up so their eyes could meet.

He would also take the time to lean down. Almost close enough to kiss but not quite.

"You're already shakin' so much and I've barely done anythin' to ya, Ayato."

He'd remove his fingers from beneath Ayato's chin so he could reach out and grab hold of one of the other man's hands, which would then get placed upon his warm skin, just above the waistband of his pants. As tempted as he was to slide it southward he refrained.

He wondered if the other would take his action as the invitation to touch him that it was.

Itto's words made a shiver run through his body, and he found himself swallowing hard. He was painfully aware of just how red he was right now, and he knew there was no way the other man wouldn't notice. He couldn't keep himself from blushing like that, not with the other man looking at him like that, and in all honestly, he was surprised he was still standing. Just the thought of taking his clothes off... he had a feeling that he wouldn't even be able to think straight once it actually happened.

He knew his legs were shaking, and he didn't think he'd be able to stop them from trembling as the other man stepped closer. As the door closed behind Itto, he took a few shaky breaths to try and gather his scattered thoughts. "Curious?" Oh, the other man had no idea just how curious he truly was. In fact, he had a feeling "curious" was a rather mild word to describe just how interested he was in seeing more of the other man. And hearing him speak, too. Archons, he wanted to hear more of that voice.

If he hadn't already felt hot, hearing the other man chuckle, seeing that smile... it was like the air in the room suddenly seemed to grow hotter. He couldn't keep his eyes from flicking down the other man's body, to the muscles on his arms and chest, and to his legs. Itto was bigger than him in every sense of the word, stronger, and every glance made him feel dizzy. He was going to get completely ruined, and he wanted it.

[completeoveranalysis]

[5]

GRAB LITERALLY EVERYTHING AND THROW IT ALL OUT THE WINDOW LET’S TRY THINK ABOUT THIS

THEY FINALLY DID IT

THEY FINALLY CONFIRMED THAT ALL THE WEIRDLY ALIGNED FACTS JUST DIDN’T ALIGN NEATLY ENOUGH FOR ALL THE HINTS TO BE REAL

CARDCAPTOR SAKURA IS NOT LAVA LAMP’S MOTHER

DESPITE EVERYTHING

BUT THEY MET ONCE 

And I’m just going to lie down and have to force all my thoughts to be back in line with reality for a while how do I do that. 

SO.

Confirmed: Here is Cardcaptor Sakura

Cardcaptor Sakura HAS MET Lava Lamp’s mother, in the dream realm

It is a little difficult to gauge exactly how old she is from here but it’d definitely have to be after the Cardcaptor Sakura manga. And most likely after Clear Card in the timeline, even though that didn't exist yet. She looks a lot older - and Clear Card is only a few months after the original manga, rather than years. 

Anyway. What a way to find out that I have to make even more charts than I was already doing. 

[weewoow-20706030]

Jason and Tim: *literally the most traumatic experience known to man, one that changes how anyone would look at them (e.g. Jason digging himself out of his own grave or Tim blowing up the leagues bases)*

Dick *absolutely mortified*: and you didn't tell me earlier because...?

Jason/Tim: idk, it never came up.

Dick: that's something you bring up!

[vargdottern]

i knew a chap who died of eating porridge