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tonycries · 6 months ago

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Love Thy D!LF - T.F.

Synopsis. Yes, your neighbor is a hot, pérvy D!LF. Yes, he’s a total tease. No, you don’t think your poor new bed frame is going to stay in one piece…

Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, older! Toji, voyéurísm, pánty-stéaling, male mast., exhibítionísm, he is so DOWN BAD, matíng presses, marathon s, víbrators, oraI (fem rec.), face-sítting, p slápping, p talking, BRÉEDING, mentions of kids, PÚSSYDRÚNK TOJI, proposals, overstím, creampíes, shóoting blanks, he’s a tease that’s shírtless half the time, Megumi’s a real one, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 8.1k (PHEW)

A/N. Apartment building wouldn’t last a week if he was my neighbor.

Neighbor (UGH): another pair of those cute lil’ pajama shorts made their way onto my balcony again, ma.

Your neighbor was a tease.

Ever since you’d stepped foot into this apartment building a mere few months ago, it seemed like everything and anything he did was to rile your poor head up into a frenzy - and, well, down there…

Because, for lack of a better term, Toji Fushiguro was hot.

Once your landlord had off-handedly mentioned that the occupant of the apartment right beside your own was a single father, you’d imagined a sweet older man that doted on his young son and would likely steer clear out of your way.

What you certainly had not expected was for your housewarming gift of a fresh batch of cookies to be oh-so-blatantly greeted by a staggeringly gorgeous man that took up every inch of the doorframe. Shirtless.

Bzzt–!

Your skin burns with the realization of just how deeply you’d been reminiscing back to that heavenly sight, hastily snapping your eyes back onto your blaring phone screen.

Neighbor (UGH): well? hurry before i start to like them too much <3

Ugh, you’re rolling your eyes at that mischievous little heart placed at the end of his text. It was absolutely embarrassing how that was enough to have a tiny squeal slipping through your lips involuntarily. Calling you flirty nicknames, flashing winks your way, lingering his hands just slightly whenever he helped carry your groceries upstairs - Toji did everything.

You find yourself giving your reflection a slow one-over in your phone camera - just in case. Before padding eagerly down the treacherous pathway that carried you out of your apartment and along the five steps down the corridor to your neighbor’s door.

Heaving out a shaky breath, you knock.

And Toji Fushiguro never made you wait. He never had you standing in the hallway for more than two seconds before that heavy wooden door swings open…almost as if he’d been suspiciously standing by for this.

“Took ya long enough. Heh, I was beginning to think you almost wanted me to have it, doll.”

Oh.

Shit, you should’ve known - and it takes every ounce of will in your body to keep your gaze locked with the forest-green eyes sweeping down the expanse of your figure. Greedily.

Because Toji was showing off what looked like miles upon miles of slightly-tanned, bulging muscles that were just about seconds away from ripping straight through the thin, white undershirt that stuck to him like a second skin. Molding to every curve and dip down, down, down-

It’s not something new exactly, and if there was one thing you’d learned during your time here, it was that your eccentric neighbor wasn’t shy to show skin.

Especially around you.

In one hand was grasped the soft fabric of your cotton shorts, swallowed up by his thick digits. The other propping up on top of the door to flex his strong biceps in a way that makes you gulp.

You notice with a jolt that Toji’s pinkish tongue briefly peaks out to swipe over that sinful scar sitting prettily at the very edge of his smug smirk. Moving to hum cockily, “Cat got yer tongue?”

He knew what he was doing.

God, this was already shameful enough without him making it worse. You were only grateful that so far you’d been called over for only a few sundresses and t-shirts - nothing scandalous, yet.

“No-” you’re mumbling out. Trying oh-so-hard to not let your eyes flicker to the too-tight strain of his boxers around his thick thighs. Failing. “Just wondering how you probably need those shorts more than me, anyway.”

He didn’t - in fact, you’d prefer him without one.

A fat thumb of his finds its way to the hem of his boxers, tugging down so tantalizingly slightly to give you a sexy flash of skin. Lined with a sharp hipbone, and a dark happy trail - “S’that your way of tellin’ me you want me out of this, ma?”

“You wish, pervert.” You try to swipe at your shorts, only for Toji to dangle it far, far away from you. “I just meant those b-boxers look like they’ve seen better days. Years, even.”

“Hah?” Toji’s dragging out mockingly, leaning his broad shoulders against the doorframe. He’s crossing his hands, letting your sight be obscured by the display of his strong, rippling forearms. So close now that you feel his breath fan your face, could smell every waft of his cinnamony masculine scent. Grin only widening, “M’being nice enough to take the time outta my day to hand over your cute lil’ pieces of laundry and this is how ya talk to me? I have better things to do, y’know.”

Huffing, you’re ready with a quick apology on the very tip of your tongue to get this over with as soon as possible. That is, before-

“He’s lying.”

Both of you snap your heads down towards the direction of the sullen, deadpanning voice. And you already know by the wearied sigh at the end who it belongs to.

“Why, hello there, Megs-” you’re smiling, reaching out to ruffle those spikes of black hair that’d magically manifested beside the door. Ignoring Toji’s affronted grunts of “he never lets me do that.”

“He’s lying, y’know.” Megumi blinks his eyes up at you, and you silently wonder just how it was possible for a six-year-old to look like he’s seen all the horrors of the world already. He’s ruthless. Pointing a sharp, accusatory finger up at his father, “He doesn’t have better things to do. He’s been giggling disgustingly to himself in front of the door for the past-”

“That’s enough- why don’t you get some homework done, my son.” Toji’s clapping his hand immediately over Megumi’s mouth, wrangling his tiny, thrashing body over one shoulder before briefly disappearing inside.

“Just tell her!”

“I’m taking your iPad time away!”

It’s just about all that you hear from inside before he makes his appearance again - shaggy, black tresses now disheveled, high cheekbones flushed, and from the corner of your very obvious staring you notice a pearly bead of sweat disappear between his cushiony pecs. Though, your eyes follow, you didn’t mind…

“Tch- kids these days, right?” he’s gasping in a few hurried lungfuls. Planting the shorts into your open palms, his calloused pads linger on your hand. “S-so uh, I take that the dryer’s not working, yet?”

You’re sighing, rubbing your fingers over your throbbing temples. “Yeah, I told Higuruma- our landlord to look at it, but he’s still on that business trip and won’t be back for a while. Sorry about all this, Toji.”

“Please-” he’s waving. “You worry your pretty lil’ head too much, it’s not like m’complaining now. Am I?”

“Yeah but-”

“Besides. Why don’t I take a look at it?”

“What?” your brows scrunch together, and the thought of Toji being inside your home made your words tremble ever-so-slightly with- anticipation? Excitement? Want? Whatever it was, it made his dark brows raise, and you’re sure you had an utterly unexplainable look on your face right now. “Do you even know how to?”

He’s scoffing, eyes rolling at you with practice. “Asking me if I know how to fix shit- of course, I fuckin’ know how to fix a dryer. Probably better than ol’ clipboard Higuruma himself. You need to be taken care of, y’know.”

And, yes, that might be so - but more than that came the idea that Toji had to enter your home to do so. You couldn’t help but think of something else. Making you mutter out a heated, “I’ll…consider it.”

He smiles a smug smile, a tiny dimple digging into the very end of his cheek. “Tha’s what I like to hear, ma.”

The very second that door shuts, you’re rushing back to your own apartment. Shorts clutched to your thumping heartbeat and thighs slightly weaker than they were just a few minutes ago. Slightly…hotter. Ready to scramble back into your bedroom and create just a bit more laundry for tomorrow.

And only a few seconds later does Toji find himself doing the most pathetic fistbump behind closed doors. The beginnings of a sleazy smile on the very edges of his lips.

“Smooth, dad.”

“Now I’m serious about no iPad-”

Megumi’s running back into his room before that rasping threat has even left Toji’s predictable lips. Grumbling, he’s making his way to that godforsaken frog-cased iPad cushioned in the middle of the sofa, possibly to hide it away for a few hours.

And then, he sees it.

Now, one of the very reasons that Toji had rented this apartment in the first place was for that idyllic skyline winking up from over his balcony. Towering buildings, flashing lights, all overlooking his living room couch - which, unfortunately for him - or, well, fortunately more like - just-so-happened to be positioned right next to your own balcony lined with laundry.

So it wasn’t exactly a surprise for him to catch a fluttering piece of cotton or ratty sleep shirt of yours for him to tease about later.

With a sigh at the flashing piece of fabric, he’s shuttering the sliding window open - ready to call your pretty self over again before-

“Shit.” Toji hisses, deep baritone wavering. His brows are raising down at the stray cloth, prominent Adam’s apple bobbing with a gulp. You really wear this type of shit? Well, he shouldn’t exactly be surprised but…

But this?

Because wrapped easily around his long fingers was a pair of pretty, pretty lace panties. Panties. All pink and see-through enough that Toji thinks he could see his own fingerprints through that flimsy excuse of underwear.

All of a sudden…his hands mindlessly raise up, up, up - mere inches away from his nose when…fuck.

“Damn, woman.” he’s spitting, snapping back to his senses. Ignoring the tightening in his pants to speedwalk his hasty way over to his bedroom in search of his phone. Just a few clicks away from texting you- “Gonna be the fuckin’ death of me I swear-”

And, see, Toji Fushiguro isn’t the type to stutter.

He isn’t the pathetic type to let anyone else’s voice shoot a bolt of electricity down his spine - to choke right in the middle of his sentence.

But, you always did throw him off, didn’t you?

Because he’s letting his maw slack open in a sharp gasp- no, shudder at the muffled, drawling sound from beyond the walls. Fingers loosening around his phone in sheer shock when he snaps his head towards his shared wall where your bedroom was.

Where he could hear your honeyed voice. Moaning.

And Toji gulps…before locking the door to his bedroom.

Like an animal, he’s immediately sneaking up to press his greedy ear against the wall where it was emanating from. Aching for every tiny gasp and whine, he could just imagine the way you were splayed out across your plush mattress, fingers buried deep.

So cute.

“Please- it feels s-so good.” Comes your cute mewl, followed by the buzzing vrrrr—! of what he assumes to be that hot pink rose toy of yours that’d accidentally gotten delivered to his address last week. And Toji almost snickers.

“F-fuck-” he breathes out shakily. Unabashedly listening for more, more, more- “Ya can’t be serious- what a treat.”

And Toji knows he should be the bigger person and stop listening, he knows he should ignore the sultry way your trembling moans were sending shockwaves down to his tight boxers. But he can’t.

“Ngh- r-right there-” you’re whimpering, and Toji tuts at the way he could’ve found your sweet spots much earlier. “-yeah- hah- jus’ a little more- Toji-”

His phone clatters! to the ground.

Did you just say…his name?

“Fuck-” One massive hand of his comes down to clap over his jaw-dropped mouth, biting back an answering moan coming from something dangerously dark, primal from inside his heaving chest.

Shit, he can’t breathe - he can’t even think right now because every drop of blood in Toji’s entire body was sprinting down to his heavy cock smacking down his thigh. Rock-hard. Angry. Just twitching when your voice repeats his name louder.

“Toji—!”

Ah, there it was again. And with it, he can feel every shred of his sanity being thrown away. Only once- twice was enough to get Toji addicted. To have his melty mind yearning to hear it again. And again. And again and again and-

Toji feels pathetic.

Like some hormone-hazed, younger version of himself when his hands frantically fumble their way to hook into the elastic band of his boxers. Feeling absolutely zero guilt when he tugs-

Toji was hard. Painfully, furiously hard just from the mere sound of your voice. Swollen and sobbing. It was enough to have his fat, strawberry-pink tip smack! against his toned abs, smearing down a wet glissade of precum that makes him hiss. All but drooling at the scratch of your panties being wrapped delicately around his sensitive shaft.

“Oh god.” he’s breathing out, thumbing over a wet glide on the bawling divot of his swollen head. It’s pooling like a translucent little puddle, wet enough that those pearlescent beads gloss a wet trail all the way down to his wrist. And he’s popping the salted-caramel digit into his mouth. “Wh-who the fuck do ya think you are ta get me this hard, ma?”

The fat curve of his thumb latches on to plug up the very ends of his cock, stopping himself from wasting a single precious drop before listening.

For anything.

“C-c’mon–” Toji lets his heavy body lean against the wall after a few more sloppy squelches that pull from your saturated cunt. He could already hear how dripping wet you were. How needy. “Wanna hear your hah- pretty lips talk-”

Toji’s sinking his sharp canines onto his lower lip to hold back a groan. Because as much as he loved to hear himself talk - hearing you moan was worth more than anything. Even if it cost him his rationality to quieten down. Please-

Ah, his prayers are answered.

Because the wall slightly jitters with your vibrating voice once more. “Oh- sh-shit it feels so good-”

“Heheh, does it?” he’s grunting, drawing a slow wetness of swirls on the underside of his slit. Hard enough to send him seeing stars. “Tell me- t-tell me more, ma.”

And could you read his mind?

Because whatever’s left of it certainly seems to think so at the way that no sooner are the words spilling from his babbling lips that you’re feeding his blessed ears with a few more syrupy sweet whines. And Toji shivers when he hears the creak of your bed.

Damn…he could make it break. He’s sure.

The thought is enough to send his hips rutting into his fist, furiously fucking up into it like he was angry. Like he wishes he could do with you-

“O-oh-” Toji gasps out a hot, condensed breath feeling the slight massage of your thin panties at his twitchy balls. He’s unsteadily picking its sticky cloth apart to press it even deeper into the drenched tufts of black at his hilt, down every thumping vein that’s lightning-bolted down his length. “This thing b-barely even wraps around my cock, doll.”

He’s hot. So, so hot. Latching onto the hem of his undershirt with his teeth to swipe across his sensitive nipples.

Burning.

And, really, he didn’t know what was worse for his poor self - your noises from just the other room, or the way your panties felt so good down his cock in this one.

“Good fuckin’ girl.” He twirls your panties around his fat hilt, meshing against the creamy pink at his hefty base. Fucking it up, up, up with pound after pound that half-leaves the poor thing in tatters. Well, he sure hoped you didn’t like this pair too much. “Probably so fuckin’ oh- wet now, huh? Did I do that? Didn’t know you were s-such a slut f’me.”

Every slobbering drag down his length has Toji’s dark brows knitting together. Back and forth back and forth back and- So hard.

So hot and heavy. He could barely catch his breath, sweat perspires across his forehead, and Toji could almost taste the metallic tang of blood when he’s holding back every rasping ah! ah! ah! just to hear your voice.

It was agonizing.

And he couldn’t help but imagine the way you were probably toying your tired fingers over your clit - the way you’d probably be so shy at how he could so clearly hear you. Killing Toji that it was the only thing he could do.

SLAM!

“Shit-” Toji’s snapping his head up at the mindless way his free hand had come smashing down onto the nearby drawer for any shred of balance. Sharp ears searching desperately for any sign that you’d heard-

“Ngh- yes- jus’ a bit more-”

He breathes out a guilty sigh of relief when the saturated slurps of your cunt only continue. Filling his mind sloppily like his favorite song. Gulping in a harsh wad of saliva before spitting a thick stream right onto the very edge of his plump, reddish head. His hulking body wracks with a violent shudder as it drip! drip! drips down every tender spot on his swollen cock. Beading down to cover his heavy balls in a thin sheen of spit.

“Look what you’ve done.” he’s spitting. Other hand coming down to rub lazy, massaging circles around his bulbous, cum-filled sacks. The sheer stimulation enough to have his head lolling drunkenly against the wall.

“M’so close-” Your voice only makes Toji fuck into his hand even harder - if only it was you. You, you, you - the only thing playing around his currently stupid mind. “-g-gonna cum ah-”

That makes him bawl out another furious wave of precum staining your panties see-through, glinting with every flutter down his raw cock. Faster. It was building and building up so close-

“C-close already?” he’s snickering, bending at the knees with how weak he was. Toji’s biceps flex and and ache with just how wildly he was fucking up into his fist, abs rippling with each wild buck. He half-wonders if he’d be able to see that pretty frilly pattern of your panties imprinted on his cock the next day. Over and over- “I woulda m-made you cum sooner.”

Would your beautiful eyes roll to the very back of your head when you did?

Would you beg him to cum, too? To fill you up. To breed you. Shit, that had his hefty shaft twitch in his hands, electricity flashing behind Toji’s eyes.

Would you moan his name - oh, please moan his name.

“P-please-” Toji finds himself gasping, and his entire body was hunched over now. Pathetic. Waiting for any second that you’d reach your high - he was a gentleman, after all. “Cum f’me- ah fuck fuck fuck-” Twiddling a manicured thumb in a slow line underneath his sensitive slit, it was making him moan so dangerously loud. “-please- cum on this fuckin’ cock, ma.”

“Fuck! Toji-” Comes your yelp, and it makes his mouth water. Breath held in a choked-up gasp in his puffing chest, “-m’cumming.”

He could see it already - just how pretty you’d look with your head thrown back and your back arching into his cock when you finally reach your high.

Now, Toji doesn’t know what overtook him to drag those drenched panties up to his face - to press it thoroughly against his nose and smell your essence. Breathing it in. drinking it in. But he can’t pretend like he hadn’t imagined it many, many times before.

And it makes him cum

It makes him shudder with a heavy puff of air, once. Twice. Before dumping and dumping out stringy wads of seed until your soft panties were soaked.

“Oh shit- shit shit shit-” he spews out a slurring slew of profanities, painfully hard cock bursting at the end with wet splatters of cum. So much of it. It’s making such a filthy mess that he almost feels guilty.

Jaw clenching when he’s forced to part with your panties with a pained gruff, sliding it along his thoroughly coated cock. Hi cum seeps through the fabric and into a milky puddle that pools at his wrist, dripping down a milky sheen across his skin.

“Mmpf–” his mouth salivates. A low, disappointed scoff bursting at the back of his throat when your own obscene noises quieten down. He missed you already. Dewy eyes veering to the back of his head, he’s only wondering how much prettier these would look on you. Still as ruined. “You’d be lucky to get these fuckin’ panties back, woman.”

Bzzt–!

From its discarded place on the floor, he can read the notification flashing across the phone screen.

Cutie-next-door: I’ve decided - can you come by tomorrow to fix the dryer, pleeeease?

---

“-ah, ya see when this vent is clogged s’gonna stop working. And so what you hafta do is-”

You weren’t listening.

You couldn’t.

Because Toji Fushiguro was sprawled out across your cramped kitchen - completely shirtless.

You had half the mind to turn him away after he’d knocked on your door with absolutely no sign of any upperwear - that sleazy grin plastered all over his face begging the answer to whether this was on purpose. To tease you. “Can move better this way” your ass.

But the thought of having even more of your laundry fly away, forcing you to potentially face this very same display multiple times is what had you opening your front door wider to let him inside.

No matter how much you would’ve appreciated the view…

And so here you were, squirming in one corner of the kitchen while Toji worked on your dryer. Sweat sheening down his swole muscles, disappearing in tempting beads down underneath his low-hanging pants. Slight smears of grease decorate his pecs, and you have to cross your arms to stop yourself from thumbing them away. He was so handy.

Shit, this was why you’d dolled-up just a bit more than usual. He was so-

“-doll? Doll.”

“Uh-” you’re yelping, blinking your eyes back up to meet an extraordinarily smug smirk now directed at you. “W-what were you saying?”

“Heh, I was saying you should take a picture, it’ll last longer.” he titters with a slight rumble, tools clinking when he’s taking off his bulky gloves. “Ya can enjoy the view later, but I was askin’ if ya had anything to dry right now to test this piece of junk.”

Urgently, you’re looking towards your empty laundry basket. “Sorry, seems that I dried them all out yesterday.”

“No pressure, besides-” You can only watch when he shuffles a hand inside one of his curiously bulging pant pockets. “-I came prepared.”

“Wh-wha- where did you get that?”

Because held so daintily within Toji’s cocky clutches, dangled one of your missing pairs of panties. They looked recently washed, and you’re reaching with a yelp for it. Falling onto your knees to match his seated position - which, obviously didn’t mean he’d hand it over.

Why would he? This was Toji Fushiguro.

He only throws them into your dryer, before closing the door with a dark snicker, “More like why let them fly their merry way over to my balcony again. Honestly- you call me the tease but look who’s talking.”

“You’re saying I’m the tease?” you shrill. The embarrassment was getting to you now - it was overconsuming you - and if the leering smirk on Toji’s face was anything to go by, you were sure that it was visible.

“If the shoe- or, well, panties fit.”

He was so cocky about his stupid lil’ joke.

You stab a rude finger right between the valley of his pecs, copping a feel of the velvety smooth skin. “Sh-shut up, if you want to talk about a tease then let’s talk about who showed up to fix a dryer shirtless.”

“Part of the outfit.” he shrugs. Tilting his head up at you, and shit, it finally hits you how precariously close you two are right now. Toji’s splayed out on your cool kitchen tile, while you’re straddling his slender waist with jittery legs, pressed up against the heated proximity of his unfairly shirtless body. Chest-to-chest. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy the view, little miss had-a-fun-time-yesterday.”

You blink, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

But in true Toji fashion, the closest to an answer you get is a large hand attaching roughly onto your waist. Jostling your body close enough for him to breathe out in a feverish chuckle - hot, and purposeful against your ear. “The walls are thin. Just sayin’.”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

You knew exactly what he was talking about - and so did he.

“...I heard you, too, y’know.”

Ah, you can now live your life happily knowing that you managed to make the ever-confident Toji gasp. You managed to make him part his lips in a slight gape, green eyes glinting with a hint of something dangerous as they widen. His sensory digits pinch at your hips.

“You mean-”

“Yes.”

Uncharacteristically, Toji takes a few gulping seconds to find his voice. And when he does - the very sound is enough to send shivers down your spine and make you wonder for a split-second whether this was really him. Hoarse, pained when he muses, “You heard me and still continued?”

Instantly, you’re trying to form excuses. “No! I mean- yes. It’s just that…”

“Heh, cute. You continued because of me- didn’t ya?”

Your jaw drops in shock, now a slightly defensive tone bleeding in with the embarrassment of your actions. “I-I mean I was doing- it- just fine before I heard you.”

Toji cocks his head, and only says one thing - “Prove it.”

“T-Toji this is embarrassing-”

But oh, all that Toji was wondering was whether he’d knocked his head on that goddamn dryer and gone to heaven already.

Because splayed out for all his pleasure on the cushiony bed was you - quivering legs straddled wide open, your back arched in such a delicious curve that makes his mouth water. Your silken sheets were disheveled and sloppy enough that you’d have to pray the dryer works now. Glistening cunt winking down at him eagerly, just begging him in cute, slurring squelches after every buzzing push of your vibrator.

And Toji? Seated right underneath your cute cunt - hovering mere inches away from sitting on his cocky smirk.

All he’d been imagining. As gorgeous as how he’d imagined you yesterday- no, even more so.

Toji’s leering up at you, muscular thighs manspreading even more to show off his furiously hard erection. “Shhh sh sh-” Toji hums, eyes unwavering from right between your legs. “She’s the one talkin’ to me right now, doll.”

And surely enough, it’s almost like he’s having a conversation with your pussy. Nodding and drunkenly humming along to every slurp that resounds across the heady room. “Tha’s right, make her- make her even wetter for me.”

He’s letting loose his long pinkish tongue to catch the drops of your sweet, sweet juices that slide down his throat.

His breath is so steaming hot against your cunt. Feverish. You huff out a dragged-out whine, kissing up your plump clit with the very edge of your rose toy. Just barely teasing the sensitive hood, “B-but I need you so-”

“Now now, what did I say?” he tuts away your stubborn moans easily. And you’re gazing over your shoulder upon the utterly unapologetic grin that falls across Toji’s face when he tugs down his own pants to flash you with the fat, rotund curve of his ruddied tip. Curling his fingers over the very top, “You don’t need me, remember- Let that pretty pussy talk with me or all you’re gonna do is watch.”

Except now you didn’t think you could talk even if you wanted to.

Your eyes are glazing over with a fresh wall of need when they fall greedily upon the peaking sight of Toji’s fat cock. So massive that it makes your jaw slip open, your cunt gushing out in a few gushes of slick.

“Oh shit- shit-” his eyes widen at the sight, so thoroughly honed in. Almost as if he doesn’t even realize he’s speaking to you. Doesn’t even know. And a few ringing squelches is all it takes for him to throw his head back with a groan. “That got ya wet, ma, didn’t it? Made your cute ngh- c-cunt happy?”

“Yes-” you’re gasping, winking away the overstimulated tears in your eyes. “B-but I want you-”

“Tell me exactly what you want, doll.”

So bossy, you want to snap back.

But right now you’re too hypnotized by the slutty sight of him to say a word. The way he seemed so ruined. That you can’t help but whimper, “I want you to hah- make me cum.”

And it’s just a split-second later when his brawny arms come wrapping around your jittery waist, hauling you over like some glorified rag doll to seat your fatigued legs down. Your dripping cunt meeting his mouth in a sultry, sultry French kiss.

He doesn’t waste a second longer - almost as if beating himself up for all the time wasted - before dragging his tongue to open your presoaked folds. Swirling so hotly to smear them out across his lips, Toji dredges his raised scar across your most tender spots and moans.

Sweet.

So sweet.

“This- this fuckin’ delicious?” He sounded like he was losing his mind, swatting aside your hand. “Move that fuckin’ hand. Y-you were- you were holding out on this? Could eat this cute cunt all the time- could marry ya-”

Proposing and proposing and kissing-

He latches down his glistening canines around your clit and pinches, almost as if a little punishment. And you could practically see the delight lighting up his dark eyes when your cunt slowly grows even more drenched. Little masochist, he’s thinking.

You yelp when without any sort of warning his cheeks hollow out in a sudden suck at your sensitive nub, swirling his tongue over it. “H-how’s that feel?” he giggles - giggles. “Better than your imagination or what?”

It already was.

But you couldn’t let his ego expand anymore than it already has, so the only thing you’re managing to do is trap a few sweat-dampened locks of his hair and drag your slobbering cunt down Toji’s mean mouth. Partly because you needed it, partly because you needed him to shut up.

Choking out, “D-don’t get so full of yourself, Toji–”

“Full of myself?” he’s chuckling - face smeared with a translucent mask of glistening slick that told you exactly why he should be full of himself. It glosses over his curled lips and drips down Toji’s sharp jawline. “Full of myself? Gimme that-”

Instantly, your till buzzing vibrator is being snatched meanly out of your hands. “S’this what ya want, instead, ma?”

Toji didn’t expect an answer.

And you can’t give him one.

Because that furiously jittery probe is being bullied right between your puffy pussy lips, licking a languid line down the edge of your sloppy hole. Before he’s bullying the long end inside your eager entrance-

“Does it feel good?” he’s taunting. Sinking down onto your clit and pulling. “Oh yeah- feels great. Doesn’t it?”

But it’s such a mouthful that sputtered out into your clit. The vibrations of white-hot pleasure making your spine bow like such a slut into Toji’s ravenous mouth. And your jaw slack open in the most strained of whines, “Y-yeah feels so-mmpf-”

Immediately, your mouth is being firmly shut closed with one of Toji’s mountainous palms, and he snickers. Giving you pretty lil’ cunt a pat that has splatters of slick speckling all the way to his lips - ones that he gladly licks up. And then some at the remnant excess all over your thighs. “I was talking to her.”

“Y-you’re so mean.”

At this, he pulls back and blows a heated gust of air against your puckered hole. “And you’re fucking drenched.” That spearing bullet is lodged firmly against a few tenderized sweet spots that make you keen. “And she’s saying…s’not enough.”

You were sure he was talking for himself.

Or…was he?

Honestly, you don’t even know - you didn’t even realize what you were missing until the fat girths of Toji’s digits shove their filthy way into your narrow opening. Already so stuffed, yet, he’s scissoring aside the vibrator into the gooey depths of your walls.

Either you could take him or he’ll make space.

Whistling out in awe, “Dontcha think this feels muuuch better?” As if to whittle out another one of your syrupy sweet noises, you’re being gifted with another sopping wet thwack! against the ready nub of your clit. Before Toji wraps his scarred lips around it and sucks. “Look- she’s even fuckin’ wetter.”

You didn’t even have to see to be able to know - because you could hear.

Toji was steadily pummeling your cunt with the most staggering smashes of the rounded curves of his fingertips into your sweetest spots. Jostling the vibrator inside, knuckles smashing it with friction to rub up against your constricting walls.

Honestly, it was just so much. You felt stuffed.

“F-feels like m’gonna explode.” you mewl at the heady thump! thump! thump! shuddering all across your body - and you didn’t know whether it was because of the thundering pulse in your ears, because of the way Toji’s fingers were crashing and thrusting against your tender g-spot. His neatly cut fingernails glide soaking wet grazes over and over in a sloppy staccato. “Ah! Right there, it f-feels so good-”

“Tch, you think I don’t know?” Toji’s rolling his eyes, muttering his words into your sopping slit. His free hand comes slamming down in a harsh smack! against your ass to make you lug against his face faster. “Ride yourself on me, ma.”

You stumble through it - yearning for more.

“Faster.”

“I-I’m trying.’”

But it wasn’t enough. Obviously.

And Toji’s impatiently revolving one hand around the curve of your waist to make you press down hard in the most sultry gyrations. Around and around it had him hypnotized. “Not tryin’ hard ‘nough. Cuz this pretty lady h-here’s just crying to cum, doll. Ya hear her?”

How could you not?

It’s all that you replay in your mind. Accompanied with a shot ngh ngh ngh that was curdling at the very back of Toji’s throat. Whispered into every graze of his tongue down your slit, you took a quick glance backwards to catch the way that he was properly fucking his fist now.

Long, thorough drags down his achy cock to bead out wet sloshes of precum. Only getting faster. Sloppier. Red and angry-

“Shit.” you’re whimpering, hands steadying on either side of his bulging deltoids. It felt like your very bones were rattling along with the vibrator. Nails digging in to the muscle, “I th-think m’close- think m’gonna-”

And oh Toji’s eyes stray to the back of his head at how reminiscent this was of just yesterday. Snickering a heavy, “You ‘think’? I know she’s so fuckin’ close. Can feel her. Isn’t she? Gonna cum? Gonna make a ngh- mess on me, is she?”

Answeringly, he’s leaving another few smacks! on your mound that have your gooey walls fluttering, the double penetration of both the buzzing bullet and his fingers too much. Too close. You feel every delicate bundle of your nerves exasperate.

And it’s impossible not to mumble out drunkenly - embarrassingly. “Sh-she is.”

It’s so rough.

Both your release and the way that Toji was fucking you through it - because the very moment he hears your breath hitch in a saturated manner similar to last time, he’s tugging out your buzzing vibrator and toppling it somewhere over the bed. Replacing it with every long inch of his heated tongue-

Like hell he’d have you cumming on some damn plastic before his tongue.

“Shit- it feels so-” Barely managing to formulate the words into coherent syllables. Your body convulses when he swiftly pecks your pretty clit with the rose toy instead. “-so good- ngh! M’cumming m’cumming ah-”

Toji’s fucking you through your high with the double stimulation of his fingers and his tongues spreading open your snug insides mercilessly. Ruthlessly. Wave upon wave of pleasure that had your toes curling, vision flashing white. Sensitive pussy dredging up from the very bottom of his sharp chin all the way up to his button nose.

It’s adorable how tired you were already, already huffing and puffing for breath. He could almost laugh if he didn’t have a mouthful already.

“Yeah tha’s right-” he slurps, more than talks. Thick digits curling tight and thumbing over his twitchy divot to wall up that velvety wisp of cum from escape. Leaving kiss after kiss to have your drooling cunt ride his sexy features faster. “-give it t’me.” Greedy. “Give it alllll to me.”

But even that didn’t seem like enough.

Because even after your aggressive orgasm was petering out into mere tingles at your quivering pussy, even after he’d slurped up every tiny drop of your honeyed juices - Toji Fushiguro was starved.

So completely ravenous when he speaks, “I think…she’s sayin she wants ta squirt, doll.”

“Wh-what?” you’re breathing - you didn’t even know if that was possible.

With a surprising amount of gentleness, Toji’s placing you to sit all prettily on his spread legs. Just slobbering your pussy lips in an innocent smooch over his hardness.

“Heh, what? Don’t trust me?” Toji cocks his head down at you in sheer smugness, a glistening gloss stained all around his lips. It made him look so fucked-out. And he felt like he already was - but Toji wouldn’t admit that. No, he’s only murmuring a wet, “Or are ya scared that m’gonna get ya ah- addicted?”

You showcase him with a slight pout that makes his riled-up cock twitch in one hand. That makes him immediately kiss it away - letting you taste him. Taste yourself.

It’d already taken everything in him to stop himself from cumming just by making out with your cunt.

“No s’just that- I’ve never squirted before…”

His words are sure. Confident. He’s echoing them from not too long ago, “Lemme take a look at that.”

And apparently Toji’s definition of taking a look is to slide the curve of his thick thumb in-between your dribbling slit. Up and down until his lips curl in a smile, “Well she’s tellin’ me that she can-oh shit, look at that.” Those very same fingers wrapping around the hilt of his thick cock to nudge your folds apart. “So why don’t I fix that, hm?”

God, Toji is so much bigger than he looked - which was staggering considering his sheer bulge was enough to send your mind reeling.

The curve of his fat tip bathes in a few more of your syrupy drops before bullying inside-

“O-oh my god-” Your voice wavers, sweat simmering all down your body at how dizzyingly Toji was spearheading your cunt open. Wide. So much of him that you didn’t know whether to buck your hips away or down for more, more, more- “S’too big- shit, don’t even know if I can ngh- t-take it, Toji–!”

“Oh, say my name like that once more n’ you’re gonna ah- hafta take every inch.” he grunts out, snarling smile making your gummy walls flutter around him.

You’re being fed every solid inch, Toji’s girth making your tight circumference stutter. Gaping your sloppy hole wide open around his expanding cock- shit, just the slightest peak into your heavenly depths was enough to have his fat length swelling. Pushing into your tender sweet spots when he grows.

“Y-you got even bigger?” you gasp, and it makes him cackle.

Throwing his head back to laugh, “Of course I got f-fuckin’ bigger when you feel like this, ma.” And two of his roughened palms glide their greedy pathway downwards to spread your thighs even further. Using gravity to his lewd advantage to help you gulp down your every mindless grind to simply fit himself inside. “W-where have ya been all my life.”

And Toji sounded like he was genuinely distraught that he didn’t know.

He was genuinely so upset, lower lip wobbling with pure bliss once your overstuffed pussy was resting on his sharp hip bones. Giving an experimental little gyration of his hips to swirl his shaft around your walls, it makes you whine.

“Tha’s what m’fuckin’ talking about.”

And then in a split-second, you’re being slammed onto your back and wrangled into the meanest mating press you never thought possible.

It’s like Toji was out of control.

Feral.

A slight trickle of drool trailing down the edge of his growling lips, “Shit- take my fucking cock ngh- take it all, doll. Ya don’t know how long I’ve been d-dreaming of this.”

“Yes yes yes-” you sputter. Edging your uselessly limp thighs to lock around Toji’s straining neck - and if he was going easy on you before. Then oh, you weren’t ready for the way this makes him snap his flexing body down to fold you in half. His sweat-beaded forehead knocking gently into yours, “-been ah- been dreamin’ of this ever since I m-moved in-”

Shit.

The thick pudge of Toji’s relentless head careens into the bullseye of your g-spot easily. And Toji titters to himself about the pretty moans that drag from your shot throat - that is, if he had the self-control.

Because your previous words were still thundering in his pussydrunken mind, and it makes him gasp. It makes him shoot his eyes open almost comically, it makes him crash his lips into your with a sullen hiss. “Give a man a fuck- warning. You c-can’t just say- things- like- that-”

As if to prove his point, he’s planting a few more heated French kisses against your sweetest spots. How he mapped them out so quickly you had no idea.

His feverish breath hovers over your own mouth, gusts bounding out with every pound into your cunt. He’s bruising the circular branding of his sobbing tip down your spongy cervix, a tiny ah! of disappointment leaving Toji’s stern lips at the recoil that had him pushing back from the very bottom of your pussy.

He’s so filthy.

“Because what if–” It takes you a few seconds to realize that he’s still babbling drunkenly, flicking over a calloused thumb over your clit to get your delirious attention. “-are ya listening, woman? What- ah- what if I told ya I was the fuckin’ same. Wanted to f-fuck this cute cunt the moment I saw ya, wanted to ruin her- to breed her-”

And just when he’s heaving in such a sharp inhale. As if he’s spoken too much.

Yet, even through the way that Toji was fucking you stupid - you still manage to latch onto his words.

“Y-you wanted to ah- cum inside?” you’re blinking up at him innocently in a way that only made his hips jackhammer against yours harder. Teasing your sensitive clit with a pinch. “Tell me, Toji.”

God- you said his name.

Shit shit shit, didn’t he tell you not to-

“Yes!” Toji’s shuddering out, hefty balls twitching and thwacking their tight, cum-filled sacks against your ass. He’s fucking you so wildly. The mating press that he had you in let him glide a wet thrust down every single nook and cranny inside you. Every forbidden sweet spot. “Wanted- wanted it so badly- ah-”

Batting your teary lashes, “How badly?”

Two of Toji’s mean fingers come up to smush your cheeks together into an embarrassing pout, and he’s using that cutely ajar opening of your mouth to spit. A thick, honeyed wad of saliva that purposefully splatters along the edge of your lips - because Toji had perfect aim. He could’ve streamlined it all neatly between your lips.

But you looked and tasted so sweet this way.

When he could just kiss it away filthily with a drag of his tongue, “Shit- what a filthy fuckin’ mouth. Ya really know how to m-make me lose my mind, hm?” Splaying out one large palm about halfway down your stomach, he’s exploring for a lewd cylindrical nudge. A throb when his thickened head was smashing into your g-spot. “If ya i-insist- m’gonna fill ya up until I can feel it-” Pressing down. Hard. “Here.” And now he’s running his mouth a mile a minute, he’s dazed where his cadence grows sloppy. “Until you’re overspilling. Until yer all r-round and hngh- glowing and shit-”

God, he was flying too close to the sun.

Egging him on, he was fucking you into the bed like he was furious at you. Lurching out rickety creaks from the bedframe at his riotous slams! Teasing, “S-s’that it?”

“Is that it? I-is that it?” he’s repeating. Over and over like a humorless mantra. “No tha’s not- ah- fucking ‘it’. M’gonna shit- make you mine. Gonna fuck a b-baby or two into ya.” Shockwaves of electric white flashing down his spine when your gripping walls cling around him like a velvety channel. Stumbling through words, “So they’re gonna know- ah- th-they’re all gonna know what I did. Hah- how I ruined ya…”

You can only sob, “Toji– m’gonna-”

Stimulating tears gather up beside Toji’s eyelids with every pressurized ram, and he finds it in himself to rasp a drunken giggle. “G-gonna give Megumi a lil’ sibling, ma?”

He doesn’t have to hear your response, he doesn’t think he can. Because no sooner are you crashing into your orgasm that Toji is as well.

He realizes before you - far, far before you at how you were squirting.

Drizzling your juices in a coating gloss down his cock, his abs, some spattering up to Toji’s lips. He took a look into it alright.

Your bolting waves of bliss intruded by his rummaging cock. Twitching once. Twice. Before struggling out thick gushes of sweltering hot seed.

It’s splattering onto the very back of your bruised and battered cervix in a wet thwack! Oozing out the sides of your silt, you feel your gummy walls being inflated. The tug of ribbons upon ribbons of cum being fucked into sloshes inside and coats your melty walls like a second, sticky skin.

THUD!

Toji collapses onto his wearied forearms, caging you in with his big beefy biceps. Hips slowing down to tiny, subconscious ruts wrenching out the most obscene wet squelches. “Th-the heh- the fuckin’ bed.”

Only then are you batting your fatigued eyes open to realize that one side of the bed was sagging dangerously. “Toji did you b-break the bed?”

“Ah- so what?” And he’s scooping up your pliant body easily into his arms. Lifting you. Manhandling you. Pulling out of your split cunt for just a second to slam! you down onto your nearby work desk. The cool mahogany against your front makes you hiss, “I’ll jus’ t-take a ah- look at it.”

With this, he’s pressing down on the slightly bloated area near your cunt. Gaping. Gushing out thick remnants of his cum - it’s like he was playing around.

The sight so heavenly that with a dragged-out gasp he’s finding his weepy cock blast out a few more wispy strands of cum. Shit.

“Shit- marry me-” Toji’s throwing his head back with a whimper - a whimper - when his jolting cock veers dangerously into the territory of shooting overstimulated blanks. “Marry me I-I swear. Gonna ah- put a pretty ring on ya, my doll.”

Which is why he’s swirling around his greedy pointer around your gaping entrance. Toying with the creamy ring of seed that’d painted its way around his thick base. Toji pools a few creamy dredges on his fingers and shoves them into your babbling mouth. “Ngh- Toji–!”

“Nowww, let’s see ngh- already finished off th-the bed-” he’s rattling off. Counting on a few fingers of his, “-we have the ohhh fuck- don’t squeeze m-me like that, ma, m’still sensitive- this desk, the floor- the dryer.”

“The dryer?” you mewl. “But you j-jus’ fixed that-”

“Ah, consider it a lil’ payment…along with those panties of yours, of course.”

And it’s only later.

Hours and hours later, with your bed frame broken on one leg, your desk absolutely shattered, and your carpet soiled with a few whiteish rivulets that you’re finding yourself seated into a tight full nelson on top of the dryer. Toji still splitting you apart inside, shooting blanks before the front door rattles with a sudden knock! knock! knock!

A deep voice resounding from outside, “Anybody home? It’s Shiu Kong. Higuruma sent me here to fix the dryer.”

“Fuckin’ Shiu…wanna let him in?”

---

“Hello, Shiu? How did the fixing go?” It’s by the next day that Higuruma gets a call in the middle of his important business meeting. One that would probably stay with him for a long, long time. “What do you mean the dryer is broken beyond repair?!”

A/N. Hope you all have a lovely week <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x you #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk fic #toji #toji fushiguro #tonywrites

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sodacowboy · 10 months ago

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slowly but surely I’m working my way towards the final draft of this crochet pattern

#I got the two patterns I was referencing to finally blend well #and tbh I think it was blending just fine earlier #I just didn’t realize that the repeating aspect actually started after the third layer #and not the second #which means all the trial and error was kinda for nothing #but I’m still glad I did it because I like this version of the pattern the best #and I wouldn’t have gotten it without that trial and error y’know #also #bonus #the top of it is staying pretty flat #it’s not curving like a lot of shawl patterns do #I hate it when shawls curve #anyway #this whole process is like….#I can feel it unlocking a new skill set within me #and I love that #like I’m learning how to analyze crochet patterns and how to make my own #it’s so exciting tbh #it’s also making love lace more???#like I used to hate lace but idk it’s growing on me ever since I did my first crochet doily

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abbotjack · 1 month ago

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A Year of You

part three of the life we grew series (part one ✧ part two)

summary : Jack experiences the life he never thought he could have—one small moment, one milestone, one quiet act of love at a time. Through first steps, long winter nights, and the ache of watching her grow too fast, he learns that family isn’t something you find. It’s something you make—and hold onto with everything you have.

word count : 11,658

warnings/content : 18+ MDNI! marriage intimacy including smut, emotional vulnerability, parenting milestones (first words, first steps, first birthday), marriage-coded affection, strong family themes, soft but explicit depiction of married sexual intimacy, very husband-coded and dad-coded Jack Abbot energy.

MONTH ONE

It’s the first night home from the hospital when Jack realizes no amount of emergency training prepares you for a seven-pound newborn screaming at 2:00 a.m.

You’re crying, too.

Soft, exhausted tears you wipe away with the heel of your hand while trying to figure out the damn swaddle that looked so easy in the maternity class.

Jack watches you for a second from the nursery doorway, heart caught somewhere in his throat. Then he steps in, limping slightly from the long day and the prosthetic pinching at the socket, and kneels awkwardly next to you on the carpet.

“Move over, honey,” he mutters, hands gentle as he scoops up the baby—your baby—his daughter—like she’s something sacred.

"You’re doing good," he says, voice low, rough around the edges. "We’re just outnumbered, that’s all."

You let out a low, breathless laugh and lean into his side, drawn in by instinct more than thought. Jack smells like the hospital—something sharp and sterile clinging to his skin—but beneath it, there's a rougher pull: warm skin, worn leather, the dark, carved scent of mahogany and teakwood.

“C’mon, little bean,” Jack murmurs, voice low and rough with exhaustion. “We’ve made it through worse nights than this.”

You snort under your breath.

“She’s five days old, Jack. What worse nights?”

He shifts the baby higher onto his shoulder, the motion easy, instinctive, like she’s already been part of him forever. Without missing a beat, he deadpans, “You ever been stuck inside a Black Hawk during a sandstorm?”

You smack his arm, half laughing, half crying again, the sound breaking loose before you can catch it. Jack just grunts, the barest curve tugging at the corner of his mouth. He rocks the baby gently, his palm splayed wide over her tiny back like he could shield her from the whole world if he tried hard enough.

“You’re not in a war anymore, Jack,” you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

He doesn’t look at you. Just leans down, pressing a kiss to the soft, downy hair at the crown of your daughter’s head.

“No,” he says, so quietly you almost miss it. “But I’m still fighting for something.”

The first month is a mess.

The kind of beautiful mess Jack would throw fists for if anyone ever tried to take it from him.

You both live in pajamas now. The kitchen has surrendered first—an open graveyard of half-drunk coffee cups, takeout containers, and meals nuked just enough to be edible. Some nights, you collapse into bed with the baby between you, swearing you’ll move her to the bassinet as soon as you can feel your legs again.

Jack, somehow, turns out to be better at diaper changes than either of you expected.

“Field dressing a sucking chest wound’s harder,” he mutters at four a.m., hands steady as he peels back the tabs of a fresh diaper. You’re blinking back tears over the latest catastrophic blowout, but Jack just shrugs, casual, like he's back in the desert again. “You just gotta respect the shrapnel.”

You’re better at feeding her—at being soft, patient, warm, even when you’re dead on your feet.

Jack watches you from across the couch sometimes, nursing her with your sweatshirt slipping off one shoulder, and he thinks about how he almost didn’t get this.

How easily it could’ve gone the other way.

And he aches.

God, how he aches.

At her two-week checkup, Jack nearly decks a stranger.

You’re pushing open the door to the pediatrician’s office when it happens—some old guy with too much time and too little shame leers and says, “Bounced back fast after birth, huh?” His eyes drift lower, lingering where they have no business being.

You freeze, the words catching in your throat.

Jack doesn’t.

He moves without thinking, sliding in front of you with the kind of quiet, coiled force that doesn’t ask twice. It’s instinct, muscle memory, something deeper than thought. His frame blocks you from view, every line of his body taut with warning.

“Move along,” Jack says, low enough to rattle the floorboards.

The guy doesn’t argue. He takes one look at Jack—at the broad set of his shoulders, the dead-calm heat in his eyes—and stumbles off without another word.

Your fingers find Jack’s wrist, a light touch, grounding him before he slips somewhere darker.

He flexes his hand once, twice, the tension bleeding out slow. Then, wordlessly, he threads his fingers through yours, squeezing once.

He doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t have to.

On the nights when the house feels too small and the baby won’t sleep unless she’s moving, Jack drives.

He straps her into the car seat so carefully you'd think she’s made of glass, adjusts the rearview mirror just to catch a glimpse of her, and drives the empty streets of Pittsburgh while you nap in the passenger seat, a ratty Allegheny General hoodie drowning you to the wrists.

Jack hums under his breath to fill the silence.

Old Johnny Cash songs. Some half-forgotten lullaby he doesn’t realize he knows.

You wake up once at a red light and find him staring at the baby in the mirror like she’s the first sunrise he’s ever seen.

You don’t say anything.

You just reach across the console and wrap your fingers around his wrist again.

Jack squeezes back.

Always back.

By the end of the first month, the house is wrecked, your work email has 235 unread messages, and Jack is one wrong word away from brawling with the guy at the grocery store who keeps asking if he needs "help carrying his bags" because of the limp.

Some nights you fall asleep on the couch with the baby breathing soft against your chest, too worn down to even shift her to the bassinet. Tonight’s one of those nights.

Jack walks in from the kitchen and stops when he sees you there—both of you curled into each other, the porch light casting a soft glow across the room.

Slowly, carefully, he lowers himself down. Not onto his knees—he plants himself into a sitting position, legs stretched out, leaning his good shoulder into the side of the couch so he’s right there, steady and close.

He brushes your hair back from your face with the backs of his fingers, so gently it almost doesn’t touch.

You stir at the contact, your voice thick with sleep.

"You’re tired too. Let me take her."

Jack shakes his head.

"No."

It’s soft. Absolute. Final.

He reaches up, sliding his hand over your shin, anchoring himself to you. His other hand comes to rest lightly on the baby's back, fingers spanning nearly her whole body.

"You’ve done enough today, baby," he murmurs, voice rough and low, barely stirring the air.

"You both have."

Jack tilts his head against the couch, eyes slipping closed. He doesn't need to say it—how much this moment means, how deeply it roots itself inside him.

The weight of it—the love, the exhaustion, the brutal, perfect ache of having something to lose again—presses deep into his bones, his chest, his blood.

And he lets it.

Finally, finally, he lets it.

MONTH TWO

The second month of her life feels quieter—but not easier.

The house settles into a strange rhythm: sleep in broken stretches, coffee going cold on the counter, laundry half-folded before someone cries (you, him, the baby—any of the above).

And Jack, god love him, tries to hold it all together like he's still back in combat—shouldering it, swallowing it, limping through it even when it's bleeding him dry.

You wake up around 3:00 a.m. to the soft, rhythmic creak of footsteps.

The baby’s crying had pierced your dream, but what keeps you awake is the sound of Jack pacing the living room—steady, stubborn, relentless.

You get out of bed and creep toward the hallway, heart aching at the sight you find:

Jack's shirt is rumpled, hanging loose over sweatpants. His hair's a wreck. He's moving with that stiff, exhausted limp he gets when he’s pretending everything’s fine. When it's been rubbing wrong all day and he hasn't said a word about it.

Your baby is pressed against his chest, tiny fingers clinging to the fabric of his t-shirt, and Jack’s rubbing her back in slow, soothing circles, murmuring nonsense under his breath.

You stand there for a second, heart splitting open inside your chest.

He’s trying so hard.

He’s carrying all of it.

And you’re not about to let him do it alone.

"Jack," you say softly.

He startles a little, blinking over at you with that war-tired look he gets sometimes, like he forgot he's allowed to have backup now.

You cross the room without hesitation.

"Hey," you murmur, gentle but firm, sliding your hands around his forearms. "Give her to me, baby."

Jack opens his mouth to argue—but you’re already untangling the baby from his arms, lifting her carefully against your chest.

He lets go with a shuddering breath he didn't even realize he was holding.

You bounce your daughter lightly, whispering soft, nonsense words into her ear while you use your free hand to tug Jack down onto the couch beside you.

"You’re limping bad," you say, thumb brushing over the line of tension at his brow. "You’re running yourself into the ground."

Jack huffs, looking away like he’s embarrassed, like admitting to needing anything is too much.

But you don’t let him.

You tilt his face back toward you with two fingers under his chin—gently, insistently.

"You don’t have to earn this, Jack," you whisper, so low it barely stirs the air. "You already have."

He closes his eyes like the words hurt—and heal—all at once.

You settle your daughter into the crook of one arm, and with the other, you start tracing slow, soothing circles against Jack’s wrist.

Just touching him.

Just reminding him you’re here.

That you’re not going anywhere.

Jack leans his head back against the couch, breathing you in. He doesn't say anything for a long time.

He just lets himself be touched.

Be loved.

And somewhere around the fourth circle you draw against his wrist, he shifts closer and drops his forehead to your shoulder with a heavy, broken little sigh.

You turn your face into his hair and close your eyes.

In the second month, the baby starts to smile for real.

Real, gummy, lit-up smiles that make Jack feel like some knife's getting twisted deeper and deeper in his chest every time he sees them.

She smiles biggest when Jack talks. It doesn't matter what he's saying. He could be reading off the damn grocery list, and she lights up like he’s singing Sinatra.

You catch him one afternoon standing in the kitchen, holding her in the crook of his arm like it’s second nature now, explaining in a deadly serious tone why the Pittsburgh Steelers are going to break his heart again this year.

“Listen, kid, it’s tradition. You root for them, they let you down. Builds character.”

You grab your phone and snap a picture before he can bark at you not to.

Jack scowls, but you see the faintest twitch of a smile he can’t fight back.

He wants to remember this.

You both do.

The second month also brings the first real fight since bringing her home.

It’s stupid.

It’s exhaustion and hormones and pride, the way all stupid fights are.

You leave the car seat in the wrong spot—tilted funny, not latched all the way into the base—and Jack’s voice cuts sharper than he means it to when he points it out.

“She’s tiny, for Christ’s sake, you can’t just—”

“I’m trying, Jack!” you snap back, tears already stinging because you’ve been running on fumes for weeks and you hate feeling like you’re screwing up.

“Yeah? So am I.”

You’re both breathing hard, the kind of thin, angry breaths that never come from real hatred—only from fear.

Only from love.

You turn away, chest heaving. Jack grips the counter, knuckles white, wrestling the instinct to bark something else, something mean just to end it.

Instead—he exhales hard, walks over to you, and wraps his arms around your shaking shoulders from behind.

You don’t fight him.

You crumble.

"I’m sorry," he says, rough against your ear. "You’re doin’ good. Better than good."

His mouth presses to your temple.

"I’m just... scared, honey." It guts him to say it out loud. It tears something wide open. But it’s the truth.

You turn in his arms, grab two fistfuls of his t-shirt, and bury your face against his chest.

Jack just holds you.

Breathes you in like it’s the only thing keeping him standing.

At her two-month appointment, the pediatrician grins and says she’s perfect.

You hold Jack’s hand in the sterile white room, squeezing so tight he must feel the bones grind together.

He doesn’t pull away.

He squeezes back.

Hard.

In the car afterward, Jack drives one-handed with his other hand curled protectively around your thigh, thumb tracing slow, steady lines into your jeans.

You lean into his shoulder at the stoplights, both of you blinking back tears that neither one of you says a word about.

That night, when the baby finally sleeps and the house goes still, you coax Jack into the shower first, insisting you’ll handle the night feed if she wakes.

He tries to protest.

You kiss the protest right off his mouth, slow and deep, until he’s dizzy from it. Until he forgets how to argue.

And when he comes back. you’re waiting for him in bed, the baby curled between you like the only piece of heaven either of you has ever touched.

Jack hesitates for half a second in the doorway, looking at you like a man seeing home for the first time.

Then he crawls in beside you, tucking you against his chest, wrapping his hand around both you and the baby like he can physically keep the whole world at bay.

"You’re my best thing," you whisper into his skin.

Jack's arms tighten around you instinctively.

You feel the rumble of his voice more than you hear it when he answers.

"You two are mine," he says hoarsely.

"My only thing."

And for the first time since she was born, all three of you sleep through the night.

Together.

Whole.

MONTH THREE

The first real laugh doesn’t come from you.

It doesn’t come from the hundreds of stupid faces you’ve been making, the toys you bought, the songs you sang off-key.

It comes from Jack.

Of course it does.

You’re sitting on the floor one slow Sunday afternoon, sorting laundry, when you hear it—a sharp, surprised little giggle that bubbles out of your daughter’s mouth like she’s just been given the whole damn world.

You snap your head up so fast you almost get whiplash.

Jack’s standing over the bassinet, freshly showered, shirt slung loose over his broad frame, cradling her under the arms and bouncing her so carefully.

She’s looking up at him with those big, bright eyes—utterly delighted just to exist in his arms.

And he’s looking at her like she’s gravity itself.

Jack bounces her again. She squeals, full-body, gummy-mouthed, hands flapping.

Jack grins—a real one, crooked and wide and rare—and chuckles under his breath.

"You like that, huh?" he mutters, voice going soft the way it only ever does for her. "Yeah, you would. Tough little thing."

You don't realize you’re crying until Jack glances over and sees you.

His grin fades, replaced by that worried furrow between his brows you know too well. "Hey. Hey, honey, what's wrong?"

You crawl over the laundry, heart a molten, useless mess, and surge up to kiss him—just grab the collar of his stupid, soft t-shirt and haul him down into a kiss so full of love it knocks both of you sideways.

He catches you with one arm, the baby cradled between you, and lets you sob into his mouth without complaint.

Lets you cling.

Because he knows.

Of course he knows.

"I love you," you breathe against his jaw when you finally surface.

"I love you so much I don't even know what to do with it."

Jack presses his forehead to yours, breathing hard.

"You’re doin’ fine, baby," he says hoarsely.

"You’re doin’ perfect."

Jack starts pulling on his black scrubs again.

Not full-time.

Not yet.

Just a couple shifts. Just enough to feel like he’s still the guy who shows up when it counts.

You watch from the kitchen doorway, the baby warm against your hip, as he adjusts the fit of his prosthetic with practiced, impatient hands. The grimace flashes across his face for just a second before he smooths it away.

You shift the baby higher, heart aching.

"You don’t have to prove anything, Jack," you say softly, voice thick with sleep and worry."You’re already everything we need."

He exhales slowly through his nose, scrubbing a hand over his jaw, his movements stiff with exhaustion.

Then he shakes his head once — small, stubborn, final.

"I gotta do it for me," he says simply.

No drama. No explanation. Just truth.

You don’t argue.

You just step closer, barefoot across the tile, and reach up to cup the back of his neck — that vulnerable, familiar spot you’ve loved for years — pulling him down into a slow, steady kiss.

"Come back safe," you whisper against his mouth.

Jack leans into you for a second longer than he means to, his hand sliding instinctively over the baby's small back, grounding himself in you both.

"Always," he promises, voice rough.

You let him go — but not before slipping a small, folded scrap of paper into the chest pocket of his scrub top when you hug him goodbye.

A stupid, crumpled love note, already warm from your palm.

He doesn’t find it until hours later — after he’s stitched up a kid with a broken bottle wound, after he’s cleaned puke off his boots, after he’s barked orders across the trauma bay like muscle memory.

It’s almost 3 a.m. when he sinks down onto a bench in the stairwell, legs aching, head heavy.

Jack fishes the note out absentmindedly, thinking it’s a scrap of gauze.

But when he unfolds it, it’s your handwriting — messy and rushed, like you couldn't get the words down fast enough:

We miss you. We love you. Come home to us.

Jack stares at it for a long second, the breath catching thick in his chest.

He presses the heel of his hand against his face — hard — willing the burn behind his eyes to back off.

Then he folds the note carefully, tucks it back into the pocket over his heart, and pushes himself upright again.

One more patient.

One more hour.

One step closer to home.

The baby starts reaching this month. Grabbing everything. Blankets. Your hair. Jack’s dog tags, which he sometimes wears tucked under his shirt when he needs grounding.

The first time she grabs them—those worn, cold little pieces of steel swinging free when Jack leans over her bassinet—he freezes.

She wraps her tiny fist around the chain and pulls. Hard.

Jack just stands there, staring down at her like she’s cracked open his chest with one touch.

You come up behind him, pressing your hand to the small of his back, feeling the shudder that goes through him.

"You okay?" you murmur.

Jack swallows.

Nods.

"Yeah," he says roughly.

"Yeah, she’s just... strong."

You curl your arms around him from behind, forehead pressed to the sharp line of his spine.

"You’re allowed to be soft too, y'know," you whisper against him.

"She's allowed to make you soft."

Jack closes his eyes and lets the weight of your words settle into his bones.

Late one night, after a particularly brutal shift, Jack comes home bone-deep exhausted. You meet him at the door, baby asleep on your shoulder, wearing nothing but his oversized hoodie and a pair of fuzzy socks.

Jack stares at you like he’s forgotten how to speak.

You press the baby into his arms without a word.

Then you wrap your arms around his waist, lean your cheek against his chest, and stand there breathing him in—hospital soap, sweat, exhaustion, love—until he finally melts against you.

Until he finally lets himself be held. He presses a kiss into your hair, breathing out a laugh that sounds more like a sob.

"Missed you" he rasps.

MONTH FOUR

Jack notices it before you do.

The shift.

One morning, while you’re wrestling a footie onesie onto the baby and cursing under your breath about the tiny snaps "Who invented these? Satan?", Jack leans against the doorframe, rubbing a hand absently over the back of his neck.

“She’s different,” he says quietly.

You look up, exhaustion written all over your face, and squint at him.

“She’s four months old, Jack. She’s not gonna start driving a car yet.”

But he just shakes his head slowly, eyes never leaving her.

“No. She's holdin’ herself different. Stronger.”

You look down—and sure enough, your daughter is sitting up better now, her spine wobbling but proud, little hands planted on her thighs like she’s ready to start throwing punches.

Jack steps forward like he can’t help himself.

He drops to a crouch—careful with the stiff pull of his prosthetic—and cups one big hand around her tiny side, steadying her without overwhelming her.

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice breaking a little at the edges.

"Look how tough you are, bean."

You watch him, heart climbing into your throat. Because you see it too. Not just the way she’s changing—but the way he is.

Jack Abbot, who once stood half a step too close to a rooftop edge because the world was too heavy, is now kneeling barefoot on the carpet, whispering praise to their baby girl who thinks the sun rises and sets just for him.

You slip your arms around his shoulders from behind, pressing your cheek against the crown of his head.

"I love you," you say simply.

Jack kisses the back of your hand.

"I know," he whispers. "And I love you back, honey. 'Til my last damn breath."

This is the month she starts teething.

You survive it through sheer grit, coffee, and the unspoken pact of taking turns walking endless circles around the house with a red-faced, furious, drooling baby in your arms.

Jack handles it the way he handles everything: quietly, stubbornly, with a fierce, aching kind of patience that makes you want to cry and kiss him all at once.

You find him one night at 2:00 a.m., swaying barefoot in the kitchen, shirtless, sweatpants slung low on his hips, the baby gnawing furiously on his knuckle while he hums some gravelly, broken tune into her hair.

You lean against the doorway and just watch him, blinking hard against the tears that well up.

Jack catches you watching. Doesn’t say anything—just crooks a finger at you without shifting the baby from his chest.

"Get over here, pretty girl," he rumbles.

You go willingly, sliding into his side, wrapping your arms around his middle and burying your face in the warm, solid plane of his ribs. He smells like soap, exhaustion, and her. Your whole world tucked into one man.

"You’re the best thing that ever happened to us," you whisper into his skin.

By the end of Month Four, she’s rolling over.

You’re standing in the living room when you hear Jack’s startled bark of laughter from the floor.

You whip around to find him sprawled out on his side, laughing helplessly, while your daughter beams at him proudly from her belly, arms and legs kicking like she just won the goddamn Super Bowl.

Jack slaps a hand to his heart dramatically.

"Baby girl, you’re killin' me!" he groans. "You’re growin’ up too fast already. Slow it down, huh? Let your old man catch up."

You cross the room, scooping the baby up into your arms. "You hear that?" you coo into her hair. "You’re makin’ Daddy emotional."

Jack props himself up on an elbow, watching you two with the softest damn look you’ve ever seen on his face. The one he only ever shows you. The one no one at the Pitt would even believe exists.

You kneel down beside him, easing your daughter into his arms again. You watch the way his whole body softens around her without thinking. How his scarred hands are somehow the safest place in the world.

"She’s perfect," you say softly.

Jack leans down and kisses the baby’s forehead, then yours.

"Yeah," he murmurs.

"So’s her mom."

You spend the rest of the evening curled up together on the living room floor—baby between you, laundry forgotten, the whole messy, perfect world you built breathing around you.

And for the first time since she was born—you’re not scared of time passing. You’re just grateful for every second you get.

MONTH FIVE

It happens by accident.

The first time she says it.

Jack’s sitting cross-legged on the living room rug, hair mussed from sleep, still wearing the black t-shirt and flannel pants he stumbled into after pulling an overnight shift.

You’re curled up on the couch, fighting to keep your eyes open, watching the early spring sunlight spill across the floorboards.

Your daughter is sitting between Jack’s legs, gripping his dog tags in one tiny fist, drooling determinedly all over them while Jack pretends to be scandalized.

"Hey, those are government-issued, kid," he drawls, grinning like a fool. "You gonna pay for ‘em with your drool tax?"

And then—like it’s the most natural thing in the world—she looks up at him, eyes bright, and squeals:

“Dada!”

The word is messy. Slurred. Half-drooled through.

But it’s real.

Clear as day.

Jack freezes.

Completely still, like something in him just snapped loose.

You sit up fast. "Jack," you breathe.

He doesn't move.

Doesn't blink.

The baby bounces in place, fist still clutching the tags, crowing delightedly: “Dada!”

Jack finally exhales, a broken, wrecked sound like he just got the wind punched out of him. He scoops her into his arms so fast she squeals again, arms flailing, laughing.

He presses her tight against his chest, hands shaking.

"You talkin’ to me, bean?" he rasps, voice thick, kissing the top of her head over and over.

"That me?"

You slide off the couch, crawling across the floor to them, feeling your heart explode into a thousand shimmering pieces inside your chest.

You wrap yourself around both of them—Jack and the baby—your forehead resting against Jack’s stubbled jaw. He’s shaking. Full-body, unstoppable tremors. You just hold him tighter.

"You deserve it," you whisper into his skin.

"You deserve every single thing she sees in you."

Jack swallows hard, arms crushing both of you close.

"You’re my whole damn world," he chokes. "You and her—you’re it."

You kiss the corner of his mouth, the scar on his jaw, the salt of tears he didn’t mean to shed.

And when the baby says it again—“Dada!”—giggling and tugging on his shirt, Jack laughs through the wreckage of himself.

Laughs like he’s got a whole new heart built from the two of you.

This month, Jack comes home earlier when he can. Steals hours when the Pitt is short-staffed but Robby covers.

You make a ritual out of it without even meaning to:

Jack coming through the door, dropping his bag with a heavy thunk, immediately seeking you out first.

He always kisses you first.

Even if the baby’s squealing for him, even if she’s kicking her legs and reaching. He presses his mouth to yours first—hard, desperate, like he’s coming up for air.

Then he takes her from you, murmuring nonsense into her hair, like he can't bear to go another second without her.

You watch him sometimes from the kitchen, heart brimming so full it feels like your ribs can’t contain it.

You let the pasta overboil, the laundry pile up, the emails from your accounting firm stack unanswered.

Because nothing matters more than the way Jack Abbot holds his daughter like she’s sacred. Like she saved him.

Late one night, the baby finally goes down after an hour of slow rocking and whispered lullabies.

You tiptoe out of the nursery, heart thudding like you just disarmed a bomb, and find Jack waiting for you at the end of the hallway.

He’s leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. That tired, crooked half-smile lifts his mouth when he sees you.

"She out?" he murmurs.

You nod, grinning like an idiot. "For now. If we breathe too loud, she’ll start screaming again."

Jack chuckles low under his breath. Then he crooks two fingers at you—small, unmistakable—come here.

You pad over and melt against him without hesitation.

Jack’s arms slide around you automatically, strong and sure, pulling you flush against the solid line of his body.

For a few minutes, you just stand there.

Swaying a little.

Breathing in sync.

Letting the world be small and soft for once.

His hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, thumb stroking lazy circles into your hairline. "Miss you," he says roughly, voice low enough that it rumbles against your chest.

You pull back just enough to look at him—really look. At the dark shadows under his eyes. The worn edges of him. And the way his whole face softens when he’s looking at you.

"I’m right here," you whisper, sliding your hands up under his old t-shirt to trace the warm skin of his back. "You always got me."

Jack huffs a soft, broken sound and leans down to kiss you.

Slow.

Lingering.

The kind of kiss that says a thousand things neither of you knows how to say out loud.

His fingers flex against your spine, like he’s grounding himself. Like he’s still a little terrified that one day he’ll blink and you’ll be gone.

You deepen the kiss, tipping up onto your toes, tangling your fingers into the short hair at the nape of his neck. Jack groans quietly into your mouth and tightens his arms around you, lifting you slightly off the ground like it costs him nothing. (You know it does—you know he’s tired and sore—but he doesn’t care.)

He kisses you like you’re oxygen. Like if he stops, the whole world will collapse.

When he finally pulls back, breathing hard, he presses his forehead to yours and just stands there.

Silent.

Anchored.

You guide him gently down the hall, fingers laced through his. The two of you slip into your bedroom, leaving the door cracked just enough to hear the baby if she wakes.

He eases onto the bed. The prosthetic comes off with a practiced, tired motion — a routine so familiar it barely registers anymore — and he sets it aside without ceremony, like he can't stand the thought of one more thing strapped to him tonight.

You slide into bed beside him, the mattress dipping under your weight. Jack doesn’t hesitate—he hooks an arm around you and pulls you in close, pressing you against the steady, grounding thump of his heart.

With his free hand, he pulls the blanket up over both of you, tucking it carefully around your shoulders like he's sealing you in. Then he drops a slow, tired kiss into your hair, lingering there for a second longer than he means to, breathing you in like you're the only thing anchoring him to the world tonight.

You fall asleep like that—safe. Held. Loved. The two of you breathing slow and steady together, with your whole world sleeping peacefully in the next room

MONTH SIX

The thing about six months is—everything starts feeling bigger.

Her smiles.

Her babbling.

The way she kicks her legs like she’s training for the Olympics whenever Jack comes home from a shift.

And your love for her—your daughter—isn’t something neat and quiet anymore. It’s loud inside your chest. It’s messy.

It’s overwhelming in the best way.

You get the morning to yourself one rare Saturday.

Jack’s still knocked out in bed, sleeping off back-to-back night shifts, and the baby wakes early, squirming and babbling in her crib.

You scoop her up before she can start crying and carry her to the kitchen, heart already aching at how much bigger she feels in your arms.

She babbles nonsense at you while you fix a bottle one-handed, bouncing her on your hip.

You talk back, just as nonsensical, just as giddy.

"Yeah? You think so? I dunno, kiddo, the market’s not looking great for that kind of investment portfolio," you joke, nuzzling her soft cheek.

She giggles—full, wild baby giggles—and you feel it shake right through your ribs. You feed her at the table, tucked into the crook of your arm, sunlight pouring across both of you.

The house is still and warm and safe.

It’s just you and her.

When she finishes, you keep holding her, rocking gently. Her little fingers find your hair and tug, clumsy but affectionate. You laugh quietly and kiss the top of her head.

"You’re my best girl," you whisper.

"My whole heart."

You don’t even hear Jack come in. You just feel the change in the air—the way the world gets steadier when he’s close.

You glance over your shoulder to find him standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. Sleep-tousled hair. T-shirt wrinkled. And looking at you like you hung the goddamn stars.

"Hey," you murmur.

"Hey," Jack echoes, voice low and rough with sleep.

He crosses the room without hesitation and drops a kiss onto your hair first, then the baby's. Then he sinks into the chair beside you, resting his forearms on the table, eyes drinking you both in like he’s starving for it.

"You’re beautiful, you know that?" he says softly.

It’s not performative.

It’s not dramatic.

It’s just the truth, plain and steady, the way Jack says everything that matters.

You feel your face flush, your chest tighten.

Even after everything—even after the sleepless nights, the spit-up stains, the exhaustion—you still feel beautiful when he says it.

You still believe it.

Because it’s Jack.

And Jack doesn’t waste words.

That afternoon, you all pile into the beat-up Jeep and drive out toward the river, just to get some fresh air.

The baby's strapped into her carrier against Jack's chest, her little arms poking out. He adjusts the straps with the easy, absent-minded care of a man who would walk through fire just to keep her comfortable.

You hold hands as you walk, your fingers laced tight, your body leaning naturally into his.

Jack lifts your joined hands sometimes just to kiss your knuckles, like he can't help it. Like the love is leaking out of him at the seams.

The baby finally goes down around 9:30. You stand frozen outside the nursery door. Across the hall, Jack leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with that sleepy, crooked smile that always gives him away.

The 'I’d burn the world down for you' smile.

The one he thinks you don’t catch.

You tiptoe toward him, socks sliding slightly on the hardwood, and he lifts his hand—palm up, waiting. You grin, fitting your fingers into his without hesitation.

He squeezes once, slow and firm.

"Mission accomplished," he murmurs, voice low enough that it doesn't even ripple the heavy quiet of the house.

You snort quietly.

"One kid. One bedtime. And it almost killed us."

Jack tugs you gently toward the kitchen. "Almost," he says, mock serious. "But not quite. ‘Cause you married a damn machine, sweetheart."

You roll your eyes so hard you almost sprain something.

"A machine who just bribed a six-month-old with four rounds of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and half a pack of graham crackers?"

Jack smirks as he grabs two beers from the fridge—one for him, one he opens and hands to you like he’s presenting you with fine wine instead of a Sam Adams.

"A win’s a win, pretty girl. Don’t question the strategy."

You lean your elbows on the counter, taking a long pull from the bottle, watching him. Loose, hair messy. T-shirt stretched across his shoulders. Grinning at you like he’s just happy you’re standing in the same room breathing.

He sets his beer down, then leans in until his forehead bumps yours lightly. "Still married to me," he murmurs, like it’s some grand, ridiculous miracle. "Still puttin’ up with my ass."

"Somebody’s gotta," you tease, nose brushing his. "Can't let you run around unsupervised. You’d live on black coffee and beef jerky."

Jack laughs, low and warm, and drops a quick kiss onto your mouth—chaste, easy. But you feel the zing of it anyway.

The way you always do with him.

Like the earth tilting a little under your feet.

You set your beer down blindly and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Jack goes willingly, hands sliding low around your hips, thumbs slipping under the hem of your sleep shirt to find bare skin.

He grins against your mouth, voice rough with teasing. "Careful, honey. House is quiet. Baby’s asleep. Husband’s feelin’ reckless."

You tilt your head back a little, laughing softly.

"Oh yeah? What exactly is reckless gonna look like?"

Jack leans in again, bumping your nose with his. "Thinkin’ about throwin’ you over my shoulder. Maybe take you to the bedroom. Show you you’re still my girl first and her mom second."

You feel it—the way your heart slams against your ribs, the way heat flares under your skin.

God, you missed this.

Missed him like this—teasing and full of life and all that wrecking ball love aimed straight at you.

You tug his shirt higher, fingers skimming the hard plane of his back. "You’re all talk, Dr. Abbot," you whisper. "You forget—I know you."

Jack’s grin turns dangerous. "You sure about that, honey?"

Before you can answer, he sweeps you off your feet with one fast, practiced move—arms under your thighs, lifting you onto the kitchen counter like you weigh nothing.

You gasp, laughing breathlessly as your beer bottle clatters harmlessly.

Jack crowds into your space, standing between your knees, hands braced on either side of you. His eyes are heavy-lidded, burning dark under the dim kitchen light.

"You’re still my girl," he says, voice dropping.

"Always gonna be."

He kisses you then—and it’s nothing like polite.

It’s deep, dirty, teeth dragging gently against your lower lip before his mouth seals over yours in a kiss so consuming it makes you whimper low in your throat.

Jack groans in answer, sliding his hands up under your shirt, palms rough and reverent over your ribs, your back, the soft curve of your waist.

You clutch at his hair, pulling him impossibly closer, your body arching into him on instinct.

The kiss goes on and on—long, slow, greedy—like he’s trying to make up for every second the two of you have been too tired, too busy, too wrapped up in being parents to just be husband and wife.

When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathing hard, faces flushed, chests heaving.

"Love you," he murmurs, so low and wrecked you almost cry. "More now than the day I married you. More every damn day."

You kiss him again, softer this time, and thread your fingers through his.

"Same, Jack," you whisper. "Same. Always."

Jack presses another kiss to your temple, then another to your cheekbone, then one to the corner of your mouth—because he’s a man who doesn’t know how to stop once he starts.

And you let him.

You let him kiss you like he’s starving, let him hold you like you’re the only thing that’s ever made sense.

Because you are.

You always have been.

MONTH SEVEN

The late afternoon light spills golden across the living room, catching on the scattered toys and half-folded laundry.

Jack’s flat on the carpet, army-crawling after your daughter, who’s shrieking with laughter as she belly-flops toward her stuffed dinosaur.

"And she’s on the move!" Jack calls, his voice exaggerated and playful, dragging himself forward with his arms, shifting his weight carefully off his prosthetic like it’s second nature now.

Your daughter lets out a victorious squeal as she clutches the dinosaur, kicking her legs against the carpet.

Jack grins up at you from the floor, flushed and a little breathless. "Looks like the rookie’s got me beat," he says, dragging himself into a full, lazy sprawl. "Think she’s got a better crawl time than I ever did."

You’re sitting on the couch, your legs tucked under you, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

"Maybe if you had a binky and a stuffed T-Rex in basic, you would’ve made it further," you tease.

Jack barks a laugh, slow and rumbling.

"You tryin’ to start something, honey?" he says, rolling onto his good knee and levering himself upright in that smooth, practiced motion he’s mastered without fanfare.

"You got the mouth for it."

You arch a brow, playful.

"You wouldn't dare."

Jack tilts his head, that cocky, lopsided grin tugging at his mouth. "Wanna bet?"

Before you can move, he lunges—slow enough for you to see it coming, fast enough that you shriek anyway, scrambling off the couch.

You dart for the hallway, laughing breathlessly. Jack’s heavy footfalls thud behind you—the lighter footstep mixing with the solid stomp—and you’re laughing so hard you can barely breathe as he catches you around the waist.

You squeal, kicking your legs uselessly as he lifts you, hauling you easily against his chest.

"Gotcha," he murmurs, nuzzling into your neck, his voice a low, delighted growl.

You slump against him, laughing helplessly, your heart hammering in your chest.

His hands are warm on your hips, steady and strong. Jack chuckles low, pressing a kiss to your hairline.

"Raincheck," he murmurs against your skin. "Handle her first. Then you’re all mine."

It takes an hour to get her down.

A bottle.

Three lullabies.

Some quiet rocking with Jack swaying on his feet, his body moving instinctively to keep her settled. You watch him from the nursery door, heart aching so sweetly it hurts—the way he holds her, the way his whole body softens when she finally, finally gives in to sleep.

When he lays her gently in the crib and brushes a calloused knuckle over her cheek, you know you’re done for.

Jack straightens slowly, adjusting his balance before he turns back toward you. He’s flushed and tired and barefoot, in an old black t-shirt and sweats—and he’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

You take his hand silently.

He lets you.

Lets you pull him down the hall, fingers laced tight into yours.

The second you’re both inside the bedroom, Jack tugs you to a stop.

"You sure?" he says, voice low, serious. "Honey... we don’t gotta rush. You’re tired, I know—"

You cut him off with a kiss.

Hard.

Needy.

Full of every word you can’t fit into your mouth fast enough.

Jack groans low in his chest and lifts you carefully, steadying you against him before easing you back onto the bed.

No rush.

No slam.

Just the kind of rough, reverent touch that only he knows how to give you.

He crawls over you slowly, moving like he’s already half-drunk on you. His weight shifts naturally off the prosthetic, instinctive after all these years—but this time, he pauses. Sits back on his heels, eyes never leaving yours.

Wordlessly, Jack reaches down and unclips the prosthetic, setting it aside with a soft thud against the floor.

He exhales through his nose, rough and steady, the kind of sound he only makes when he’s dropping the last of his defenses. When it’s just you and him and nothing else that matters.

Then he’s back over you, heavier now, hotter, real in a way that steals the breath from your lungs.

Jack fits himself between your thighs, the mattress dipping under his weight, his hands bracing on either side of your head.

"You good, baby?" he mutters, voice gravel-thick, the words brushing warm against your mouth.

You nod, already arching up into him, already lost.

Jack smiles—slow, crooked, hungry—and kisses you like a man who’s got nowhere else to be. His hands slide under your shirt, fingers rough and reverent against your skin.

"You’re so goddamn beautiful," he mutters, voice wrecked.

"Been drivin' me crazy all day. Chasin’ you around the house like a damn fool."

You giggle breathlessly into his mouth, tugging his shirt off over his head.

Jack chuckles low, dragging your sleep shirt up inch by inch, kissing every new patch of skin he uncovers.

He’s warm and solid and stupidly good at this—kissing you until you’re panting, until you’re squirming under him, until you’re gasping his name.

"You’re mine," he murmurs against your skin. "Still my girl. Always."

When he finally slides inside you, it’s slow.

Deep.

A rhythm he sets without thinking—steady, grounded, devastating.

You clutch at his shoulders, your nails scraping gently over the broad planes of his back. Jack buries his face in your neck, groaning low as he rocks into you, one hand sliding under your thigh to angle you closer, deeper, better.

"God, baby," he pants. "Feels so good—always you, only you—"

You arch into him, every nerve ending blazing, every breath catching.

He kisses you like it’s the first time.

Like it’s the last time.

Like it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense.

You come apart first—soft, wrecked, clinging to him—and Jack follows with a groan that sounds like your name shattered across his lips.

He stays there, breathing hard against your skin, his body heavy and warm and so damn real on top of you.

You thread your fingers through his messy hair, stroking gently. Jack hums low, shifting carefully so he’s not crushing you, pulling you into his side, tucking your head under his chin.

"You’re my whole world," he whispers, voice cracking. "You and her. Always."

You kiss the center of his chest, right over his hammering heart.

"You’re ours too," you whisper back. "Always."

MONTH EIGHT

The house is so quiet in the early mornings now.

Jack is always the first one up. Not because he has to be—but because he wants to be.

You find him almost every morning sitting at the kitchen table, coffee in hand, the baby in his lap.

Sometimes he’s got her pressed against his chest, one hand wrapped completely around her little body.

Sometimes he’s reading aloud from whatever’s nearby—sports page, medical journal, the back of a cereal box.

This morning, it’s the latter. Jack’s deep voice rumbles through a very serious dramatic reading of the Lucky Charms ingredients list.

You lean against the doorway, grinning like an idiot, just watching them. Watching the way he sips his coffee absently between sentences, the way the baby clutches a fistful of his t-shirt, drooling contentedly.

The way Jack drops a kiss onto her hair every couple minutes without even realizing he’s doing it.

This is what love looks like, you think. This is what home feels like.

It happens on a Sunday morning.

One of those soft, slow days where the house smells like coffee and pancakes and the baby’s shrieking happily in her bouncer.

Jack’s at the stove, wearing nothing but flannel pajama pants and an old army t-shirt, trying to flip pancakes while holding a spatula and a coffee mug at the same time.

You’re sitting on the counter, swinging your legs, wearing Jack’s hoodie and absolutely no pants, grinning like an idiot.

"You're gonna burn those," you warn, sipping your coffee.

Jack glances over his shoulder, smirking.

"Negative, pretty girl. This is controlled chaos."

The second he turns back, the pancake flops halfway out of the pan, folding over itself in a sad, gooey mess.

You laugh so hard you almost spit out your coffee. Jack groans dramatically, setting down the spatula and mock-bowing to the baby.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he says solemnly. "Your breakfast has been compromised."

The baby claps her hands excitedly.

And then—clear as a bell—she looks straight at you and says, "Mama!"

You freeze.

Jack freezes.

The whole house freezes.

Your coffee cup slips out of your hands onto the counter with a thunk. Jack turns, eyes wide, mouth falling open in slow motion.

"Did she—?" he croaks.

"Did you—?"

You slide off the counter, rushing over, scooping her up in your arms, laughing and crying all at once.

"Say it again, baby," you whisper, beaming through your tears.

And sure enough, your daughter beams back at you, kicking her little legs, babbling happily: "Mama! Mama!"

Jack’s standing frozen by the stove, coffee mug forgotten in his hand, just staring at the two of you. His face is flushed, his eyes suspiciously bright.

You turn toward him, bouncing your daughter on your hip.

"Jack," you laugh, voice thick.

"She said it! She really said it—"

You don’t even finish. Jack’s across the room in three strides, careful not to trip on the rug, pulling you both into his arms.

He hugs you so tight you can barely breathe, his head dropping to your shoulder, his whole body trembling with the force of it.

"I’m so goddamn proud of you," he mutters hoarsely, pressing a kiss into your hair, then one to your daughter’s head.

"So proud of my girls."

You blink up at him, overwhelmed with love, cupping his face in your hand. Jack leans into your touch shamelessly, his lashes lowering, his mouth soft and wrecked.

"Mama," the baby chirps again, and Jack laughs—low and broken and full of more joy than you’ve ever heard from him.

"Yeah, that’s right, bean," he whispers. "That’s your mama. Best damn one in the world."

You end up on the couch in a heap—Jack stretched out with you sprawled half on top of him, the baby curled between you, all three of you breathing each other in.

It’s messy.

It’s imperfect.

It’s everything.

The first real crisp Saturday, Jack piles you both into the Jeep.

No agenda. Just air. Leaves. Time.

He drives with one hand on the wheel, the other reaching over to hold yours across the console.

The baby babbles in her car seat, kicking her little feet at the window, and Jack keeps glancing at her in the mirror with that soft, wrecked look you’ve come to recognize.

You end up at a small park—just woods and trails and a rickety playground. Jack lifts her out of the car seat with the same appreciation he uses for the most fragile patients.

Presses his forehead to hers.

"You ready to see the world, little bean?" he whispers.

You walk the trails together, Jack keeping her tucked close to his chest, narrating everything he sees: "This is a maple tree, sweetheart. Turns red in October. Looks like the whole damn world’s on fire when it hits right."

"These are squirrels. Little thieves. Don’t trust ‘em."

You laugh the whole time, half at him, half at the sheer overwhelming joy of watching the two people you love most in the world wrapped up in each other.

Jack pulls you into a kiss when you least expect it—deep, slow, hungry—with the baby giggling between you.

Like he can’t help it.

Like loving you is as natural to him as breathing.

MONTH NINE

Jack’s the one who insists on it.

You catch him late one night scrolling through his phone in bed, looking at local pumpkin patches like he’s planning a heist.

You smother a laugh into his shoulder.

"You serious about this, Abbot?"

Jack snorts.

"First Halloween. First pumpkin. Non-negotiable."

He books it two days later—drives you both out on a crisp Saturday, one hand on the wheel, the other resting over your knee the whole time. Your daughter’s bundled in a little fleece onesie with bear ears on the hood, clutching the strap of her car seat and babbling to herself.

When you get there, Jack’s all in.

Wheeling the wagon.

Letting her "choose" a pumpkin by the scientific method of whichever one she tries to eat first.

Crouching slow and careful so she can sit in a pile of leaves while he snaps a thousand photos on his phone like a proud dad on steroids.

At one point you turn around and find Jack sitting in the dirt, legs sprawled out, your daughter crawling all over him—tugging at his hoodie strings, trying to steal his hat.

He’s laughing, full and unguarded, his face lit up in a way that makes your heart physically ache.

It happens when you’re least expecting it. Which, you’re starting to realize, is how all the big moments happen.

You’re doing dishes in the kitchen. Jack’s sitting on the floor, flipping through a toy catalog someone left at the nurses' station, pretending to be very serious about Christmas gift planning.

The baby’s on her playmat, babbling to herself, surrounded by stuffed animals and teethers.

You walk into the living room—and freeze.

She’s got her tiny hands braced on the couch. Her legs wobble dangerously under her.

But somehow—God, somehow—she pulls herself upright.

Your mouth drops open.

"Jack—"

Jack’s eyes are wide, almost panicked.

Like if he blinks, he’ll miss it.

Like it’s the most fragile miracle in the world.

She wobbles, Jack lunges—and catches her gently before she tips.

"That’s my girl! You’re gonna take over the world!"

You sit down hard on the couch, heart pounding, grinning so wide your face hurts. Jack beams at you over her head, and you swear to God his eyes are shiny.

He won’t admit it.

But you know.

You both pretend it’s for her.

It’s not.

It’s for you and Jack.

Jack spends hours on the couch sketching costume ideas like he’s designing a battle plan.

Pirates?

Farmers?

Superheroes?

Jack suggests "trauma surgeons," but you veto it when he tries to strap a fake scalpel to the baby’s diaper bag.

You finally settle on a simple one: A little pumpkin suit for her.

You and Jack wear matching orange hoodies.

Jack grumbles, but secretly loves it—you can tell by the way he keeps brushing his knuckles against your side every time you get close.

At the neighbor’s block party, Jack holds her the whole time, proudly accepting compliments like he personally grew her in the backyard.

He lets her chew on his hoodie string.

Lets her grab fistfuls of his hair.

Lets her shriek in his ear without flinching.

Later, back home, you find him sitting on the floor in the nursery with her asleep on his chest—both of them still wearing their pumpkin outfits.

MONTH TEN

The front yard was Jack’s idea.

"You can’t stay cooped up in the house forever, bean," he tells her, propping the storm door open with his boot while he adjusts the old quilt he spread out over the browning fall grass.

"You gotta touch some dirt sometime. It's character-building."

You smile from the porch, arms folded loosely over your chest, heart full to the point of aching. It’s cold enough that you’re both bundled up—Jack in an old hoodie and jeans, your daughter in a too-puffy jacket that makes her arms stick out like a tiny scarecrow.

Jack crouches carefully. He sets her down on the quilt.

She sits there for a second, blinking up at him.

Then at you.

Then down at the crinkling, crunchy leaves scattered across the grass. Jack tosses her one—big and orange, almost bigger than her face. She squeals, clutching it in both hands, waving it around like a victory flag.

You laugh quietly.

Jack turns his head, grinning that slow, easy grin that still knocks the breath out of you.

And when he turns back—it happens.

She pushes herself upright.

Wobbly.

Determined.

Like the whole world’s just waiting for her to take it.

Jack freezes, one hand still half-extended like he was about to offer her another leaf.

You watch, breathless, from the porch—hands fisted in the sleeves of your sweatshirt, heart pounding.

And then—one step. Another.

Toward him.

Toward Jack.

Jack doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just stays absolutely still, arms hanging loose at his sides, his whole body vibrating with the effort not to rush forward and grab her.

When she stumbles into him—three full steps later—he scoops her up so fast you barely see it happen.

Lifts her high into the air, spinning once under the porch light, laughing that full, broken, wrecked-little-boy laugh you only hear when he’s completely undone.

"That’s my tough girl," he breathes, pressing kiss after kiss into her pink cheeks. "God, you’re somethin’ else, baby bean."

He tips his head back toward you, still holding her high against his chest—and you see it.

The way his mouth is trembling.

The way his eyes are suspiciously bright, blinking hard.

Jack Abbot, who’s been shot at, seen death on rooftops and in ER trauma bays—wrecked into soft, helpless pieces by a pair of wobbly baby legs and three whole steps.

You jump down off the porch without even thinking, running toward them, wrapping yourself around them both.

Jack catches you one-armed, pressing his face into your hair, breathing hard.

"You see that?" he mutters against you, voice rough and low. "She chose me. Took her first steps to me."

You nod, laughing through tears.

"I saw it, Jack," you whisper back. "I saw everything."

The first real cold snap hits two weeks later.

Jack makes a production out of it—dragging down tubs of winter clothes from the attic, testing the space heater, checking the baby monitor batteries like you’re preparing for the Arctic.

You find him one evening sitting on the floor of the nursery, surrounded by a sea of tiny coats, mittens, hats, and boots.

The baby’s crawling around giggling, trying to chew on every hat she can get her hands on.

Jack’s holding up a toddler-sized snowsuit with a deeply skeptical expression.

"She’s gonna look like a marshmallow," he mutters. "Can she even breathe in this?"

You laugh, sitting down beside him. "You’re gonna be that dad, huh?" you tease, bumping his shoulder. "The one who brings her to preschool wearing a parka in 40 degrees?"

Jack lifts his chin stubbornly. "Better too warm than too cold."

He glances at the baby trying to fit an entire mitten in her mouth and grins. "Besides. She’s gotta survive Pittsburgh winter. It’s a rite of passage."

You didn’t plan on getting a tree that day.

Jack says it’s too early. You agree.

But when you drive past the little lot tucked between the church and the fire station—when you see the tiny white lights strung overhead—you both say nothing.

Just look at each other.

And turn in without a word.

Jack lifts the baby out of her car seat, tucking her close against his chest inside his coat. You wander through the rows slowly, letting her grab fistfuls of pine needles, letting Jack argue seriously with the teenager working the lot about which tree "looks the most structurally sound."

You settle on a small, sturdy one.

Jack ties it to the roof of the Jeep himself, refusing help.

You know better than to argue—watching him knot the ropes with steady, competent hands, his mouth set in that focused line you love so much.

When you get home, he lifts the baby onto his shoulders and lets her "help" you string lights—her squealing laughter echoing off the walls.

Jack catches your hand as you walk past, tugging you into his side.

"We’re makin’ a good life, huh, pretty girl?" he murmurs.

"One hell of a good life."

MONTH ELEVEN

You didn't plan to make a big deal out of it.

First Christmas.

She's too young to remember.

That's what you kept telling yourselves.

But Jack...he can't help himself.

You find him at the kitchen table on Christmas Eve, hunched over a roll of wrapping paper, tongue poking out slightly as he wrestles with Scotch tape and a box that’s clearly too big for its contents.

The tree glows in the corner of the living room, soft and gold, the whole house smelling like pine and cinnamon.

Your daughter babbles from her playpen, chewing on a crinkly ribbon Jack forgot to hide. Jack just shakes his head fondly and lets her.

When he sees you standing there, arms crossed and smiling, he tries to scowl. Fails miserably.

"What?" he mutters, sticking another crooked piece of tape down. "Santa’s gotta show up somehow."

You cross the room, sliding your arms around his shoulders from behind, resting your chin on top of his head.

"You’re gonna ruin her for real Christmases when she’s older," you murmur against his hair. "Nothing’s ever gonna top this."

Jack hums low in his throat, one hand reaching up to squeeze your forearm where it crosses his chest. "Good," he says simply.

"I don’t want her ever thinkin' she’s gotta go lookin’ for somethin' better. She’s already got everything she needs."

It’s still dark when you feel him stir.

Jack’s body slides out of bed carefully, trying not to wake you. You crack one eye open and watch him pad silently to the nursery in sweatpants and a ratty old Steelers hoodie.

You follow a minute later, wrapping a blanket around yourself.

You catch the scene from the hallway: Jack crouched low by the crib, one big hand resting gently on the bars, his head bowed.

Not saying anything.

Just... being there.

Breathing her in.

He lifts her slowly, carefully, pressing his face into her hair, and you hear it—the soft, wrecked sound he makes when she cuddles into him without hesitation.

"Hey, bean," he whispers, voice cracking.

"Merry Christmas, baby girl."

You stand there, hand pressed to your mouth, heart splitting wide open.

Jack turns finally, cradling her tight against his chest. His eyes find yours in the half-light. And even though he doesn’t say anything, you hear it clear as day:

Thank you. Thank you for her. Thank you for this. Thank you for choosing him.

It starts snowing after breakfast. Big, lazy flakes drifting down outside the windows, blanketing the world in white.

Jack builds a fire in the living room fireplace, cursing gently under his breath when it smokes at first.

You bundle the baby in a ridiculous red-and-white onesie covered in tiny reindeer and sit her in the middle of the couch with a pile of pillows on either side like she's royalty.

Jack flops down beside her with a grunt, stretching out his long legs and tilting his head back to watch the snow.

The fire crackles low. The tree lights blink softly. Your daughter babbles, chewing happily on the sleeve of her onesie. You settle into Jack’s side, his arm automatically looping around your shoulders.

He kisses your temple without thinking. Without needing to.

"You warm enough, pretty girl?" he murmurs. "Got everything you need?"

You don’t answer.

You just nod, curling closer into him, breathing in the scent of smoke and pine and Jack. Because you do. You really, truly do.

The baby sleeps early, worn out by too many presents, too many relatives, too much excitement.

You and Jack stay up late.

Too late.

Sitting on the living room floor like teenagers, backs against the couch, drinking hot chocolate and eating the burnt-edge cookies you forgot to take out of the oven in time.

You talk about stupid things at first. Work. Sports. Whether the baby's going to end up a hockey player or a piano prodigy.

And then Jack gets quiet. Staring into the fire. "You ever think it’d be like this?" he asks finally, voice low and rough. "Back then?"

You know what he means.

Back when the world was a lot harder.

When he never thought he’d make it past thirty.

When you weren’t even sure you believed in happy endings.

You slide your hand into his, threading your fingers tight.

"No," you whisper. "Not like this." You turn your head, smiling soft against the firelight. "Better."

Jack squeezes your hand once, hard, and you feel him nod. Feel him breathe. Feel him let it in. The good. The love. The life he never thought he deserved.

MONTH TWELVE

The holidays are over. The tree’s gone. The stockings are packed away. The house feels a little empty without all the lights and glitter, but honestly?

You’re relieved.

You and Jack have been circling the same conversation for two weeks now: How big should her first birthday be?

Jack leans over the kitchen counter one evening, thumbing through a battered old notebook, his mouth pulled into that stubborn line he gets when he’s pretending to be casual but is actually spiraling.

"I mean..." he says, flipping a page. "We could just do somethin' small. Family. Cake. A couple of her toys. No big deal."

You lift an eyebrow at him.

"And by ‘small’ you mean...?"

Jack shrugs, grinning sheepishly.

"Maybe invite, like, Shen. Dana. Robby. Princess. Perlah. Ellis. Collins. Langdon. McKay. And maybe the rookies if they don't annoy me"

You snort, dropping into the chair across from him.

"So, basically... the entire Pitt."

Jack smirks. "You wanna tell Ellis she’s not invited to her honorary niece’s first birthday?" He taps his pen on the paper. "'Cause I’m not getting in the middle of that one, pretty girl."

You shake your head, laughing under your breath.

"You’re impossible."

Jack leans across the counter, catching your chin lightly between his thumb and knuckle, tilting your face up.

"You love me anyway."

The January sky is sharp and dark, heavy with the kind of cold that makes the world feel smaller.

You find Jack in the nursery after you put the baby down—sitting in the old rocking chair, one foot nudging the floor in a slow rhythm. He’s staring at the crib. Silent. Still.

You lean against the doorway, watching him. Watching the way the weight of the year—the weight of love—settles heavy over his broad shoulders.

Jack finally looks up, catching your eye. His voice is low, rough with something he hasn’t figured out how to say yet.

"You remember..." He clears his throat. "You remember when we brought her home?"

You nod, stepping quietly into the room. Press your hand to the back of his neck, feeling the tension there. The life humming under his skin.

"I didn’t know what the hell I was doin'," Jack mutters, a ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. "Didn’t know if I deserved her. If I deserved you."

You slide your fingers through his hair, soft and sure.

Jack leans into it like he can’t help himself.

"You do," you whisper. "You deserve all of it, Jack. You always have."

He pulls you into his lap then, wrapping his arms around your waist, tucking his face into your neck. Holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth.

And maybe you are.

Maybe you always will be.

The day of her birthday dawns cold and gray, the streets dusted with a thin layer of January snow.

You wake up to Jack already downstairs, setting up balloons and streamers with the grim determination of a man trying to fix a leaky roof mid-thunderstorm.

You find him half-wrestling a giant "1" balloon into the living room, muttering curses under his breath when it refuses to cooperate.

"You good, champ?" you tease, sipping your coffee.

Jack glares at you over the top of the balloon, but there’s no heat in it. Only love. Only joy. Only him.

"You wanna fight the damn helium next?" he mutters, half-laughing as he pins the balloon to the back of a chair.

The party is perfect.

Small, chaotic, full of noise and warmth.

The Pitt crew shows up—Dana with an armful of presents, Robby with some ridiculous talking toy that immediately gets banned to the garage after ten minutes, Shen slipping Jack a flask when he thinks you’re not looking.

Jack never puts her down.

Not really.

He lets her toddle a little—lets her show off the new steps she’s so proud of—but he’s always within reach. Always there to catch her.

You cut the cake.

She smashes her tiny fists into the frosting with a triumphant shriek. Everyone cheers. Jack laughs so hard he almost drops the camera.

Later, when the guests trickle out and the house quiets, you find Jack standing in the kitchen, wiping down the counters like he can scrub the day into permanence.

He turns when he hears you, setting the rag down. Looks at you with that look—the one he only ever gives you. The one that says everything without a single word.

You cross the kitchen, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your face into his chest.

Jack hugs you back immediately, fiercely. Kisses your hair. "She’s gonna be so damn good, honey," he murmurs against your crown. "You’re makin’ sure of that."

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes. "You too, Jack," you whisper. "You’re the best thing she’ll ever know."

"Can’t believe we made it a year," he murmurs. "Can’t believe we get to keep doin’ this."

"Best thing we ever did." you whisper.

#jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #dr abbot #dr abbot x you #dr abbot x reader #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt x reader #the pitt hbo #fanfiction #shawn hatosy

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missdynamighttt · 2 months ago

Text

happy birthday to the love of my life, katsuki bakugo. hope he enjoys his gift for his easter birthday: his favorite little bunny.

it had started with a birthday plan. well—technically a birthday easter plan. the odds of katsuki bakugo’s birthday landing on easter sunday weren’t high, but fate had a sense of humor. and you? you had a sense of drama.

you’d already given him gifts for his birthday. his letter—handwritten, sealed with a kiss, full of sharp sarcasm wrapped around soft, sappy sentiment you’d never admit out loud.

he read it quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed, thumb brushing over your kiss mark at the bottom. his brows furrowed in that way they always did when he was feeling too much but didn’t want to show it.

“you’re such a damn brat,” he muttered, voice thick, eyes refusing to meet yours. “but… you write good shit.”

“don’t cry, tough guy.”

he didn’t look up, just folded the letter carefully—too carefully—and tucked it into his nightstand drawer like it was something fragile. precious.

“shut up,” he said, voice rough. “you’re lucky i like your dumb handwriting. even if it looks like a drunk squirrel tried to learn cursive and gave up halfway.”

“aww. that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“don’t push it.”

he reached out, grabbed the front of your shirt, and yanked you into a rough, lingering kiss that left no room for misinterpretation. when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“best fuckin’ letter i’ve ever gotten,” he murmured, low and soft like a secret.

a few small gifts were scattered on the dresser: limited edition all might merch, a new hoodie he’d been eyeing for a while (that he absolutely knew you were going to steal), and that spicy snack mix he always hoarded like a dragon with gold.

he stood there, arms crossed, doing his best to look unimpressed, but the way his ears turned a little red gave him away.

he eyed the merch first, holding the figure up with a raised brow. “…you been stalkin’ my browser history or somethin’?”

you grinned. “nah. just love you enough to pay attention.”

he shot you a look—equal parts flustered and fond. “tch. hoodie’s mine. you’re just gonna steal this in two days.”

“i give it one,” you said sweetly.

he looked at you, eyes soft but unreadable. “still wearin’ it anyway.” then he found the snack mix. “you didn’t eat any, right?”

you gasped, mock offended. “i would never.”

still, he leaned down and kissed your cheek before grabbing the snack mix and tearing it open immediately.

the cake? well, it was slightly lopsided, the frosting uneven, but it was made with love—and caramel with cinnamon. he didn’t say much when he ate it, just grunted, grabbed a fork, and took a second slice without a word.

you hovered awkwardly nearby. “so… good?”

he chewed slowly, gave you a deadpan look. “tastes like love and poor frosting skills.”

“rude.”

he grinned, leaned over, and pressed a sweet kiss to your temple. “still the best fuckin’ cake i’ve had in years.”

“you say that every time.”

“yeah,” he said, mouth full. “and i fuckin’ mean it every time.”

now, though, it was time for the real present.

so when he walked into your shared bedroom after a long morning of birthday messages and half-assed hero paperwork, the last thing he expected was you, perched pretty on the bed.

pink bunny ears twitching with every little movement you made. a tight, pastel one-piece hugging your every curve. sheer stockings accentuating your thighs, and a fluffy little tail pinned to your lower back like a gift-wrapped tease.

katsuki stood by the edge of the bed, arms crossed, expression unreadable as he took you in.

you sat perched on the bed, legs crossed, every bit the picture of flirty confidence. your gaze was locked on his, unapologetic.

“happy birthday, katsuki,” you purred, lips curling into a sly smile.

his crimson eyes dragged over you slowly, deliberately, his tongue running over his teeth before he finally spoke. “the fuck is this?”

“what’s it look like, hm?” you stretched out, back arching just enough to show off your curves. “figured i’d... hop into something special for you.”

his jaw ticked. “you think you’re funny, huh?”

“a little,” you admitted, shifting onto your hands and knees, crawling toward him at the edge of the bed.

his eyes darkened as you closed the distance, your hands sliding up his chest when you reached for him, kneeling in front of him. “thought you’d like a cute little bunny to play with, birthday boy."

katsuki exhaled sharply through his nose, grabbing your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up so you were forced to meet his gaze.

“you know what happens to dumb little bunnies who tease too much?”

you swallowed, trying to keep your confidence, even as the heat in his gaze sent shivers down your spine. “they get spoiled rotten?”

“wrong. they get fucked.”

a thrill shot through you, heat pooling in your stomach as he crowded closer, his other hand slipping down to grab your ass, giving it a firm squeeze.

“bet you thought you were bein’ cute, puttin’ this on. bet you thought i’d let you bounce around and tease me all night.”

you let out a breathless giggle. “bunnies do like to bounce…

his fingers trailed down your back, playing with the delicate ribbon lacing up your tail before giving it a sharp tug. you gasped, gripping his shoulders to steady yourself.

“that so?” his lips brushed against your ear. “then let’s see how long you last when i really make you bounce.”

he took you in—your ridiculously boner-inducing ensemble, the way your chest rose and fell a little faster, the anticipation in your eyes. then, with slow precision, he sat down on the edge of the bed and patted his thigh.

"come here," he ordered, voice thick with authority.

you swallowed, your body already thrumming with heat as you climbed onto his lap. his hands settled on your waist, thumbs stroking your skin through the sheer fabric of your stockings. he let you hover there, deliberately drawing out the moment, making you feel the power shift between you.

"go on," katsuki murmured, his lips brushing against your jaw as he guided your hips to settle against him. the heat of him pressed against you, even through the layers between you.

your breath hitched as he held you there, letting you feel just how hard he was, how much he wanted you. his grip was firm, unwavering, making it clear that he was in control even as he let you take the lead.

he shifted, leaning back to watch you straddling his lap. his hands slid down, gripping your hips, guiding you to grind against him—slow, deliberate, teasing. the heat between you was undeniable, the layers of fabric doing little to hide just how affected you both were.

you whimpered, trying to tug your bodysuit aside, reaching for the bulge pressing up against your core. but his hands stopped you, fingers curling around your wrist.

“uh-uh,” he hummed. “not yet. little bunnies gotta hump first.”

you whined softly, frustration bubbling to the surface as you squirmed in his lap. “katsuki, please—”

“please, what?” he cut you off, voice sharp, mocking. “please fuck you already?”

you nodded desperately, biting your lip.

he scoffed, his expression darkening as his hand shot up to tangle in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to expose your throat.

“i said hump,” he growled. “that needy little cunt doesn’t get filled until you earn it.”

you tried to slow, to catch your breath, but his hands were relentless, grinding your hips against the hard line of his cock beneath you.

his fingers dig in as he helped you move. every time you tried to slow down, his hands tightened, forcing you to keep up, forcing you to take it.

you barely had time to catch your breath before katsuki pulled you forward, burying his face between your tits.

“fuck, you’re soft,” he groaned, tugging the fabric away before his mouth latches onto one of your nipples, sucking hard.

you gasped, back arching as heat shot straight between your legs. his teeth grazed your sensitive skin before his tongue soothed over it, his other hand coming up to knead your other breast.

you tried to keep moving, to keep bouncing, but between his hands gripping you and his mouth marking you up, your body was giving out, shaking from the overwhelming pleasure.

“k-katsuki—” you gasped, hands tangling in his hair, tugging.

he growled against your skin, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips glistening. his smirk was feral, eyes burning with satisfaction.

“hm? thought you liked to bounce?” his fingers dug deeper into your thighs, a warning. “or do i gotta fuck you like the greedy little thing you are?”

you whimpered, hips bucking desperately along with a nod. he laughed, licking a stripe up your chest before capturing your nipple between his teeth again.

“that’s it,” he praised, voice strained. “knew you’d look so fuckin’ good like this.”

you sobbed, rolling your hips, desperate for more, and he grinned like he’d won. you weren’t sure how long he made you keep going, but by the time he finally took the reins, you knew you were fucked.

“aww, poor thing,” he cooed mockingly, pressing a hot kiss to your throat before nipping at your skin. “tired already? guess i better take over before my little bunny gets too worn out, huh?"

before you could respond, he shifted, one arm wrapping tight around your waist as the other yanked your bodysuit to the side, finally giving you what you’d been aching for.

the thick head of his cock pressed against your dripping entrance, teasing, pushing just enough to make your breath catch.

nails digging into his shoulders, your legs trembling as he eased inside—slow and torturous, filling you inch by inch until your walls clenched around him.

katsuki groaned through gritted teeth, holding you still for a second, letting the stretch overwhelm you. then his eyes flicked up to your face, and that familiar, dark grin curved his lips.

“you wanted to be a cute little bunny, huh?” katsuki grunted, fingers digging into your hips, guiding you as you bounced on his cock. “bunnies fuck like crazy, y’know that? they go at it all night long.”

you could barely respond, your moans breaking into gasps as he thrust up to meet you, driving deeper, harder, forcing you to take him to the hilt every time.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he taunted, voice thick with amusement. his fingers dug in as he guided you, making sure you didn’t slow down. “thought bunnies were supposed to be full of energy.”

you whined, gripping onto his shoulders for support, trying to keep up with the brutal pace he was setting.

each bounce forced his cock deeper, the obscene sound of your bodies slapping together filling the room. you whimpered, legs shaking as he controlled your pace, refusing to let you fall back into lazy movements.

he leaned forward, breath hot against your ear. “put on the ears, shake your ass, act like a toy—and now you’re surprised i’m treatin’ you like one?”

you sobbed, clutching at him, body trembling from the overwhelming mix of pain, pleasure, and the pure, filthy thrill of being used exactly how you wanted.

“good fuckin’ girl,” he rasped, slamming up into you harder.

your moans were broken, breathless, every movement sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. your hands clutched at his shoulders, desperate for something to hold onto as he thrust up to meet you, filling you so deep it made your head spin.

your head fell against his shoulder, body shuddering as pleasure built higher, hotter. his arms wrapped around you, keeping you flush against him as he took control, lifting you just to slam you back down, hitting that spot that made your vision blur.

every time your pace faltered, he’d lift his hips, thrusting up into you so deep it stole the breath from your lungs. a whimper slipped from your lips, fingers digging into his chest as you tried to keep up, but he wasn’t making it easy.

“what if i fill you up, huh? make sure this bunny knows her fuckin’ place?”

he suddenly slammed you down onto him, making you cry out, and he groaned low in his throat. your nails raked down his back as another wave of pleasure crashed over you, but he wasn’t letting up—not when you looked so fucked-out and desperate.

“gotta train you better,” he muttered against your skin, his smirk widening when you clenched around him. “bunnies are supposed to breed, aren’t they?”

you let out a broken moan, body shuddering, and he laughed breathlessly, one hand slipping down between your bodies to rub tight circles against your clit.

he was gripping your waist before flipping you in one fluid motion, pressing you down into the sheets. his breath was hot against your ear as he settled behind you, caging you in.

“aww, don’t tell me you’re tappin’ out already?” he cooed, tilting his head. “and here i was thinkin’ i’d finally get to see you breed like a proper bunny.”

heat shot through you at his words, making you clench around him, and katsuki groaned, his grip on you tightening.

“oh? you like that?” his grin widened. “shit, maybe you are just a dumb little bunny in heat.”

you gasped, nails dragging down his back, and his hips suddenly snapping up to meet yours, driving deeper, harder—sending sparks of pleasure up your spine.

katsuki didn’t give you a second to breathe. toes curling against the sheets, your vision blurring as he fucked into you harder. the slap of skin echoed through the room, punctuated by your gasps and his low, hungry groans.

“that needy little pussy’s fuckin’ leaking,” he growled, dragging his fingers through your slick before pressing them against your clit in tight, punishing circles. “soaked through that slutty little costume, too.”

you choked on another moan, face buried in his chest as your body shuddered, everything building—tight, unbearable, right on the edge.

“gonna cum like a dumb bunny while i fuck you full? huh?” he taunted, pulling your head closer by the ears on your head and forcing your back to arch deeper.

“yes, yes, katsuki, please—” you sobbed.

“beg for it. tell me what you fuckin’ want.”

“i want you to—want you to cum inside, need it, need it so bad, katsu—”

“yeah?” his thrusts faltered for only a second, a low, wicked groan slipping from his throat. “wanna be bred, huh? wanna be my filthy little bunny full of cum?”

you cried out, so close it hurt. “yes! please—please, fill me up—”

his grip tightened on your hips as he slammed into you one final time, deep, brutal, until you screamed his name. your body convulsed, pleasure crashing through you as you clenched around him, falling apart.

“take it. every fuckin’ drop.”

katsuki growled low, and then he was spilling inside you, hot and thick, hips jerking with each pulse. he buried his cock twitching deep inside you as he spilled hot, thick spurts into your clenching walls.

you whimpered as you felt it, the heat of him flooding you, dripping out before he’d even pulled out.

katsuki didn’t let go right away. he held you there, impaled and filled, his breath ragged against your shoulder. he stayed pressed against your chest, panting, one hand stroking slowly down your side as the other cradled your hip with surprising gentleness.

“shit,” he muttered against your skin, lips brushing your shoulder as his breath slowed. “fuckin’ hell..”

you snorted, too tired to do more than flop your face into the sheets. “that what you wished for when you blew out the candles?”

he chuckled—an honest-to-god laugh rumbling from his chest as he finally eased out of you, warm stickiness following in the wake.

“didn’t know i could wish for somethin’ i already had.”

“wow. look at you. getting soft in your old age.”

“twenty-six is not old,” he grumbled, but the faint blush on his ears betrayed him.

you hummed teasingly. “sure, grandpa.”

katsuki shot you a warning look, but instead of snapping back, his hand came up to card through your hair, bunny ears askew and all, his fingers surprisingly gentle.

“so... did the costume make the top ten birthday presents list, or…?”

katsuki huffed out something between a laugh and a groan, finally pulling out of you slowly, both of you flinching a little at the oversensitivity.

you felt the mess between your thighs instantly—sticky and warm, dripping down your skin—and you shivered at the loss of him.

his hands never left your body as he shifted you gently onto your back, reaching for the nearby towel he’d tossed on the nightstand earlier—because of course he was prepared, even if he pretended not to be.

“top three,” he muttered, wiping you down carefully. “right after the cake and that dumbass letter that made me feel shit.”

you flopped onto your back with a dramatic sigh, a smile tugging at your lips. “didn’t think birthday boys had to do cleanup.”

he shot you a look as he gently dabbed between your thighs, taking his time, making sure you were comfortable. “birthday boy’s the one who ruined you, so yeah—he fuckin’ does.”

you smiled, soft and real this time. “you’re getting sappy in your old age.”

he tossed the towel aside and climbed back onto the bed, settling beside you, pulling you into his chest like it was instinct. “yeah, well, turns out its not too bad when i’ve got a stubborn, sexy weirdo wearin’ bunny ears for me.”

you laughed against his collarbone. “you’re lucky i love you.”

katsuki kissed the top of your head, nose brushing against your ear. “nah. i’m lucky you’re mine.”

“and i’m lucky you’re easy to distract with cake and tits. y’know, i was actually gonna jump out of a giant egg and yell ‘surprise!’ but i figured you’d actually murder me.”

“you’re not wrong,” he said, arm tightening around you. “and you look better in that stupid bunny suit anyway.”

“careful, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

“say that again and you’re spendin’ next year’s birthday with a vibrator and a guilt trip.”

“worth it.”

he glared at you before he stripped you, hands moving with familiar precision as he pulled off the bunny ears, the one-piece, and the stockings that had barely survived his earlier onslaught.

without a word, he grabbed one of his old t-shirts and slid it over your head, the fabric swallowing you up, before he joined you under the blankets.

you felt his gaze on you, warm and intense, and you looked up at him, brow arched. “what?”

he stared at you for a long moment, his expression softening as he took in every detail of you—maybe still a little in awe, maybe still a little surprised at the way you fit against him. his fingers lightly brushed your hair away from your face.

"god, i love you. so fuckin’ much, baby.”

your heart did somersaults. but you nuzzled in closer to him.

“i love you too, old man.”

“tch. shut up and go to sleep,” he grumbled, brushing a kiss over your cheek.

but as you started to drift, wrapped in his warmth and the lingering high of everything, he murmured, barely audible:

“best fuckin’ birthday ever.”

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ AHHH HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY MAN 💗💗 omgomg i apologize for the blogs i couldnt tag, blog name wouldnt come up for some reason😭😭 I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED THO 😝😝 please consider this my 4k special lmao (its only fitting sinces it 4/20 and shi), instead breeding kink with katsuki is 5k special!! would like to thank this request (one of the few first requests i had when i started this account), hope this fulfilled your request somehow!! 💗💗

⋆˚࿔ tags ˚⋆ @kodzubaby @akiii143 @mindless-existence1 @dollyfetti @st4ntwic3 @skylermiller1 @sugarcubepop @jazzywazzy859 @jealousmartini @kksmush @2elusional @ch3rryjampi3 @happinessisabutterflie @thirstygorl @zennypiee @kiansss @dullcets @kirishimasboobs @jo8920 @vrtualghoulz @inlovewjay @grim-reapers-wife @just0jordyn @ettesxythia @quixtic @whorecityyy @izayanara @valeriannnnnn @hanako-0kun @lmaolmaolmao @raining4food

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pascalispimp · 2 months ago

Text

Whiskey Bent and Heaven Bound

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

Summary: She’s been riding his nerves for years, but when she waltzes into his bar in that little dress, pushing every damn button, Joel’s patience snaps. One jealous glare, one bar fight, and one heated moment against his truck later—he’s finally got his hands on the one thing he was never supposed to have. She may be forbidden, but tonight, she’s his to break.

Warnings: 18+ afab and fem reader, p in v sex, dbf fic, unspecified age gap, no description of reader but has big boobs and ass, dirty talk, no use of y/n, unsafe sex, oral (f! receiving), creampie, degradation, praise kink.

Word count: 3.5k

Joel Miller had never been a patient man.

Life had never given him the luxury of it. He had worked with his hands since he was young, learned early on that the world didn’t give second chances. He was a man of discipline, a man who knew how to keep his head down and his wants buried.

But she was making it damn near impossible.

She had been a teenager the first time he met her, trailing after her father, all wide eyes and laughter, running barefoot in the summer heat. He had watched her grow up, watched her turn into the kind of woman who could bring a man to his knees.

And now, she was back.

Older. Smarter. Dangerous.

She had always been off-limits. The daughter of his best friend, the one woman in the world he had no right to want. But she was making it impossible not to want her.

It had been easy to tease him, to poke at that ironclad patience of his and see ifshe could get a reaction. A lingering touch here, a too-sweet smile there. Watching the way his jaw clenched every time she called him Mr. Miller in that honeyed voice just to watch his ears turn red.

But no matter how much she pushed, Joel never broke.

Miller’s was packed, bodies moving, voices loud, music twanging through the air.

Joel had been behind the bar all night, pouring drinks, barely listening to the conversations around him. He had been doing a good job of keeping his mind on work, on anything but her.

Until she walked in.

The air seemed to shift, a pull in his gut that made his grip tighten around the glass in his hand.

And then he saw her.

That pretty little dress clung to her, the hem swaying just high enough to make his throat go dry. The cowboy boots only made it worse, giving her the perfect mix of sweet and wild, like she belonged there, like she wasn’t trying at all.

Except he knew she was. She knew exactly what she was doing.

Her gaze found his across the room, and a slow smile curved her lips.

His gaze dragged over her, slow and deliberate, before snapping back up to her face. He looked pissed.

Good.

Smiling to herself, she let her friends pull her toward the bar, where Joel was still watching, still brooding. She leaned against the counter, resting her elbows on the wood, waiting for him to say something.

He didn’t.

Instead, he grabbed a glass and poured her a drink, sliding it across the bar without a word.

“Not gonna say hello?” she teased.

Joel kept his gaze on the glass in her hands. “You ain’t supposed to be in here.”

She tilted her head. “Since when?”

“Since you started struttin’ around like you want trouble.”

She let out a soft hum, dragging her fingers along the rim of the glass he had just poured for her. “Maybe I do.”

Joel’s jaw tightened.

She was doing it again—pushing, testing, seeing how far she could go before he snapped.

“Not tonight,” he muttered.

“Not tonight what?”

His jaw clenched even harder, his teeth grinding.

She leaned in just a little, voice soft, sweet, coaxing. “You don’t like my dress, Mr. Miller?”

Joel exhaled sharply. “You think this is a game?”

Her lips twitched, like she was trying not to grin. Joel had to look away before he did something stupid, something reckless.

Like pull her across the damn bar and show her exactly how much he liked that dress.

The night carried on, the bar growing louder as the drinks flowed. She was laughing with her friends, sipping her whiskey slow, when she felt it—

A hand.

Not Joel’s.

Rough fingers slid along her lower back, dipping too low, too familiar. She tensed, turning sharply to find a man standing too close, grinning like he had a right to touch her.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he slurred, breath heavy with beer.

She moved to step back, but he caught her wrist, holding on just tight enough to make her stomach twist.

“Let go,” She said, voice cool.

He laughed. “Aw, don’t be like that.”

Then, all at once, he was gone.

Yanked back so hard he stumbled, nearly falling on his ass.

Joel.

He was furious.

She had never seen him like this, not even when he was arguing with her dad about football scores or fixing some busted-up truck in the heat of summer. This was different.

Dangerous.

His hand was wrapped around the man’s wrist, squeezing so tight she could see the strain in his forearm.

“I told you,” Joel said, voice low, steady, lethal. “Get your goddamn hands off her.”

The man tried to laugh it off, but Joel yanked him forward just enough to make his breath hitch.

“You touch her again, I will break your fuckin’ hand.”

Dead silence.

The man swallowed, eyes darting around the room, looking for anyone who might step in. But no one did.

They knew better than to cross Joel Miller.

He let go, shoving the guy backward. “Get the hell out of my bar.”

The man didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t even look at her again. Just turned and left, tail tucked between his legs. And then Joel turned to her.

“Outside. Now.”

"Lets go," he barked, his voice cutting through the cacophony of the bar like a knife. The other men gathered around her table with protested, but Joel's icy glare sent them retreating faster than a coyote with its tail between its legs. She was still taken aback by his sudden aggression, but didn't struggle as he practically dragged her out of the bar and to his truck.

He didn’t stop until they reached his truck, the metal cool against her back as he crowded into her space.

“What the hell were you thinkin’?” he growled.

Her pulse was racing, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. “I wasn’t doin’ anything.”

Joel exhaled sharply, his hands braced against the truck on either side of her. His body was close, heat rolling off him in waves.

“You been runnin’ me in circles since you got back,” he muttered. “Wearin’ these little dresses, givin’ me that damn smile, callin’ me—”

She licked her lips, voice soft. “Mr. Miller?”

Joel groaned. His fingers flexed against the truck, like he was fighting every instinct in his body to keep from touching her.

“You don’t know what you’re doin’, girl.”

She tilted her head, her lips a breath away from his. “What if I do?”

Silence.

Thick, heavy, charged.

Joel’s hand came up before he could stop himself, rough fingers tracing the line of her jaw, tilting her face up. His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, slow and deliberate.

Her breath hitched.

“Joel—”

He kissed her. It was desperate, all fire and hunger, years of restraint snapping like a damn rope pulled too tight.

His hands slid to her waist, pulling her flush against him, pressing her against the truck. She gasped against his lips, and he took advantage of it, deepening the kiss, claiming her.

Her hands fisted in his shirt, tugging him closer, like she wanted to crawl inside him, like she had been waiting for this just as long as he had.

Joel lifted her onto the edge of the tailgate, his grip firm on her thighs. Her dress rode up, exposing soft, smooth skin against the rough denim of his jeans.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, breathing ragged.

“You sure about this?”

She didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him back in. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Joel groaned, resting his forehead against hers. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

She smiled, breathless. “Then at least you’ll die happy.”

His control shattered.

He kissed her again, deeper, hungrier, and this time, he didn’t stop.

He opened the door of his truck and threw her into the backseat, the leather cool against her bare skin. He didn't bother with pleasantries or explanations; he knew she was playing with fire, and it was high time she felt the burn. His eyes raked over her, taking in every curve and freckle that made her uniquely her. She met his gaze, a mix of defiance and curiosity in her own eyes. He leaned in, his breath hot against her neck, and whispered, "You've been asking for this all night, darlin'."

Her heart raced as he climbed in beside her, the weight of his body pressing her into the seat. The smell of his cologne, leather, and something uniquely Joel filled the small space, making her head spin. His rough hands began to roam, tracing the lines of her body as if they were an ancient map, each touch setting her skin alight. Her own hands found his beard, and she pulled his face closer, feeling the prickle against her cheek. His lips claimed hers in a kiss that was as fierce as it was possessive. She could feel his hunger, his need to claim her as his own.

He pulled away, his eyes dark with lust, and grabbed his hat from the front seat. "Wear it," he grunted, placing it on her head. The brim shadowed her face, making her feel a mix of excitement and naughtiness. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of her in his cowboy hat, a stark contrast to the bratty persona she had been putting on all night. She bit her bottom lip, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

With surprising gentleness, Joel pulled her shirt over her head, revealing her ample breasts that bounced free, the cool air making her nipples tighten into delicious little buds. He took one in his mouth, teasing it with his tongue, while his hands found there way under her dress, tracing her soft thighs. She gasped, arching her back, the fabric of the hat brushing against her neck as she reached for him. Her hands roamed over his muscular chest, feeling the strength beneath.

Her own dress was quickly discarded, leaving her in just her lacy panties. He groaned, taking in the sight of her. His own desire was evident, pressing against the fabric of his jeans, but he took his time, savoring the moment. He reached down and slid her panties off, tossing them aside. "You're going to be the death of me," he murmured against her skin as he kissed his way down her body.

He settled between her legs, his breath hot against the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. He took a moment to appreciate the sight before him, her pussy glistening with want. "So sweet," he whispered, his voice gruff with desire. He dipped his head and licked her, a long, slow stroke that made her moan. She was already close, her body tightening with every flick of his tongue. He chuckled darkly, the sound sending vibrations through her. "You're eager, aren't you?"

Joel didn't wait for an answer; he feasted on her, his tongue delving into her depths, lapping up her sweetness. She squirmed beneath him, her hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair as she pushed herself closer to his mouth. "You taste like heaven," he murmured, his breath tickling her clit. His hands gripped her thighs, holding her in place as he worked her over with his mouth, his teeth grazing her sensitive skin.

The tension built, coiling tighter and tighter within her until she couldn't take it anymore. She shuddered, her orgasm ripping through her like a tornado, leaving her panting and trembling in its wake. He looked up at her, a smug smile playing on his lips, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Good girl," he praised, his voice thick with lust. "Now, you've been teasing me for so long, let's see if you can handle the real deal."

With a swiftness that belied his size, Joel stripped off his clothes, his muscles rippling in the dim light of the truck's cabin. He was a vision of raw masculinity, a stark contrast to the gentle care he had taken with her moments before. He grabbed her, pulling her onto his lap so that she straddled him, his erection pressing against her soaked pussy. "Ride me," he ordered, his voice low and commanding. She didn't hesitate, sliding down onto him, feeling him fill her completely.

Her gasp was music to his ears, and he watched as she adjusted to his size, her eyes fluttering closed as she began to move. Joel's hands found her hips, guiding her movements, his thumbs tracing lazy circles on her skin. "Look at me," he said, his voice a gruff whisper. She obeyed, her eyes locking with his, and he could see the trust, the need, the desire all swirling together in their depths.

He leaned back against the seat, watching her ride him with a fierce determination that sent bolts of pleasure through his body. The hat sat askew on her head, her hair a wild mess around her face, and she had never looked more beautiful. His grip tightened on her hips, urging her to go faster, deeper. "Take what you want from me, darlin'. Show me what you've been hiding from me all these years."

Her movements grew more frantic, her breasts bouncing with every bounce, her moans filling the space around them. Joel could feel his own climax building, the base of his spine tingling with the promise of release. He leaned forward, capturing one of her nipples between his teeth, giving it a gentle bite that made her gasp and ride him harder. "That's it," he murmured, his voice a dark rumble in his chest. "You're going to make me come sweet girl."

The words seemed to spur her on, and she began to grind down on him with a fervor that was almost animalistic. Her nails dug into his shoulders, leaving little half-moons that would likely bruise by morning. But Joel didn't care. All he could focus on was the exquisite pleasure she was giving him, the way her pussy clenched around his cock with every movement she made. He knew he wouldn't last much longer.

With a growl, he flipped their positions, her back now pressed against the cool leather of the seat. He was relentless, pumping into her with a force that made the truck rock slightly. His hands found her breasts again, kneading them roughly as he claimed her mouth in another bruising kiss. She could feel his dominance, his need to possess her, and it only made her wetter.

Joel's hand slipped down between them, his calloused fingers finding her clit. He began to rub it in time with his thrusts, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her body. She moaned into his mouth, her nails now digging into his back, her body begging for more. "Cum for me," he murmured, his voice a dark promise in her ear. "I want to feel you come all over my cock."

Her walls tightened around him, and she knew she couldn't hold out much longer. With a cry, she shattered, her orgasm tearing through her like a wildfire, consuming every part of her being. Joel followed her over the edge, his own release hot and powerful as he buried himself deep within her. They stayed there, locked together, for several long moments, their breathing the only sound in the quiet parking lot.

When he finally pulled out, she could feel the emptiness he left behind, both physically and emotionally. He didn't say a word as he tucked himself back into his pants, his movements efficient and practiced. She watched him, her chest heaving, the hat still perched on her head. It felt strange now, a symbol of what had just transpired between them.

Joel reached for a pack of cigarettes from the dashboard, lighting one up with a shaky hand. He took a long drag, the tip glowing red in the darkness before he turned to her. "You know, you've been playing a dangerous game," he said, his voice a low rumble. "You can't just tease a man like that and not expect consequences."

She sat up, her breath still coming in ragged gasps, the hat slipping slightly on her head. "I know," she whispered, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "But you liked it, didn't you?"

Joel's expression was unreadable, his eyes hooded as he took another drag of his cigarette. He beckoned her closer with a crook of his finger, his voice a soft rumble. "Come here, darlin'." She complied, sliding over to him, the leather of the seat sticking slightly to her skin. He pulled her into his arms, holding her close, the hat still perched on her head.

The warmth of his embrace was a stark contrast to the coolness of the night air that had seeped into the truck. His heart thudded against her ear, a steady rhythm that seemed to echo the beat of her own. He inhaled deeply, breathing in her scent, a mix of sweetness and sex that was uniquely hers. "You know your daddy's going to kill me if he ever finds out about this," he murmured, his breath hot against her skin.

She giggled, the sound a little shaky, and snuggled closer to him. "Don't worry," she whispered, "I won't tell." Her fingers traced lazy patterns on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath her touch. The gravity of their situation settled on her, the reality of what they had just done heavy in the air between them.

"You're mine now," Joel said, his voice gruff but not unkind. "All those pretty dresses you wear, all for me to peel off." He reached down and picked up her discarded panties, holding them up with a smirk. "And these," he added, tucking them into his pocket, "are mine now."

She looked up at him, the hat tilting slightly to the side. "What are you saying?" she asked, her voice a mix of surprise and excitement.

"I'm saying," Joel began, his eyes dark and intense, "that from now on, every time you wear those little dresses that drive me wild, it's my cock you're thinking about. Every time you spread your legs for anyone else, you're going to remember whose cock you really want." He took another drag of his cigarette, his gaze never leaving hers. "And when I say no one else gets to taste you, darlin', I mean it."

Her heart fluttered at his possessive words, a thrill of fear and excitement racing through her veins. "But, Joel, my dad—"

"I don't care about your daddy," he cut her off, his voice firm. "You're mine, and I'm not sharing." His eyes bore into hers, leaving no room for argument. "You'll wear those dresses, keep 'em guessing, but they'll never know what's hidden beneath. They won't get to taste what's mine."

He took her hand and placed it over his heart, the steady beat beneath his palm a declaration of his ownership. "You're not just a pretty face in a short dress anymore. You're mine to protect, mine to cherish, mine to fuck." He leaned in, his breath a warm caress on her neck. "And when you wear that hat," his voice grew gruffer, "you're riding the cowboy."

Her cheeks flushed with a mix of excitement and trepidation. The weight of his words was intoxicating, a heady blend of fear and desire that had her knees trembling. She knew the rules had changed, the line she'd been toeing all night had been crossed, and there was no turning back. "I won't let anyone else have me, I'm yours," she murmured, her voice a soft promise that seemed to vibrate through him.

Joel's grip on her tightened, his eyes never leaving hers. "You'd better not," he warned, his tone playful yet laced with a hint of seriousness that made her stomach flip. He leaned in and kissed her again, a kiss that spoke of ownership and passion. His hand found her bare thigh, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin, sending waves of pleasure through her body. "Every time you wear one of those dresses, I'll know that underneath, you'll be dripping full of me, my cum will make sure it says 'property of Joel Miller.'"

The thought made her blush, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned into his touch, her hand sliding down to his crotch, feeling him harden again. "Only for you," she murmured, her voice a siren's call in the quiet night.

He groaned, his hand coming up to cup her face, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. "Good girl," he praised, his voice thick with lust. "Now, let's get you dressed and back inside before anyone starts asking questions." He helped her into her clothes, his movements almost tender. As she adjusted her dress she couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret, knowing that she'd be giving up the thrill of the chase. But the look in Joel's eyes told her that the real fun was just beginning.

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flux1563 · 2 months ago

Text

Seeking attention ft karina

Words :7k

Tags : squirt, titfuck, creampie

"You're not listening to me, Karina," groaned her friend Winter, her voice cutting through the buzz of the crowded cafeteria.

Karina's eyes snapped back to Winter, a hint of annoyance flashing across her face before she plastered on a smile. "Sorry, what'd you say?"

"I said, you're not listening again," Winter repeated with a knowing look. "You've had your eyes on him all week."

"Him?" Karina played coy, but her cheeks betrayed a soft blush as they turned towards the figure Winter indicated—Y/N, the enigmatic scholar who sat at the corner of the room, nose buried in a book. His tall frame and chiseled features made him the center of attention without even trying, yet he remained oblivious to the whispers that followed him. "What about him?"

Winter rolled her eyes. "Come on, Karina. You can't ignore the fact that every guy in class wants a piece of you, but you're pining over the one who barely notices anyone exists outside of his textbooks."

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch and the start of another dreaded afternoon class. Karina's heart skipped a beat as she gathered her books, her thoughts racing. Winter's words echoed in her mind—everyone else saw her as the object of desire, but she only had eyes for the unattainable. The one who didn't seem to care about her curves or her smile. The one who was perfect for her, yet so out of reach.

As the students shuffled out, Karina took a deep breath, steeling herself for the challenge she was about to undertake. She had to get Y/N's attention somehow. She had to make him see her beyond her body. An idea began to form in her mind—she would ask him for help with her homework. It was a simple plan, but it was a start.

That evening, Karina found herself standing nervously outside Y/N's apartment, her heart pounding in her chest. She had sent him her address earlier in the day, hoping he wouldn't think it strange. The door creaked open, and there he was—his piercing gaze meeting hers, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"Hi," she managed to squeak out, her voice betraying her nerves. "I, uh, I need help with my homework."

Y/N looked at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a curt nod, he stepped aside to let her in. "Follow me," he said, his voice low and even.

The apartment was small but meticulously organized. Textbooks and notepads lined the shelves, and a faint scent of coffee lingered in the air—a stark contrast to the chaos that was Karina's own living space. She followed him to a clutter-free desk, her eyes scanning the room for any personal touches that might give her a glimpse into his soul. But there were none, just the cold embrace of academia.

He sat down and gestured for her to take the chair opposite. "What do you need help with?"

Karina's mind went blank. The words she had rehearsed on the way over escaped her. "Everything," she blurted out, feeling like a fool.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing at the corner of his lips. "Everything is a broad subject. Be specific."

Her cheeks burned as she opened her book to a random page, her thoughts racing. This wasn't going how she had planned. "Just...just math," she stuttered. "I'm really bad at math."

For a brief second, she thought she saw a flicker of something warm in his gaze before it was gone, replaced by the cold detachment she had come to expect from him. "Alright," he said, pulling out a notepad and pen. "Where shall we begin?"

And so, the night of tutoring began—a dance of numbers and formulas that Karina stumbled through, eager to impress him with her ability to learn. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more she needed to do to capture his heart. Little did she know, the real lesson of the evening was just about to start.

Y/N's patience was unyielding, breaking down complex problems into bite-sized pieces that she could digest. His eyes never left her face, watching as she struggled, nodded, and finally, clicked with the material. It was as if he could see into her mind, understanding her thought process and gently guiding her to the right answers. The way he spoke—so calm, so certain—was like a balm to her frazzled nerves.

As the hours ticked by, Karina's mind began to wander. The way Y/N's fingers moved with precision across the page, the way his tongue darted out to moisten his lips as he concentrated, the way the light hit his sharp jawline—it all painted a picture of a man who was more than just intellect. He was a masterpiece of focus and discipline, and she found herself drawn to him in ways she hadn't anticipated. Her thoughts grew hazier, and the room felt hotter, her heart racing as she stole glances at his strong arms.

The math grew simpler, but the air grew thicker with tension. Each time their eyes met, there was a spark—quick and fleeting, but it was there. Karina's cheeks flushed, and she swallowed hard, her pulse quickening as she wondered if he felt the same. She tried to shake off the thoughts, telling herself to focus on the task at hand, but it was no use. The more he taught her, the more she found herself adoring him—not just for his brains, but for the way he made her feel seen.

Her bladder finally decided it had had enough of the emotional rollercoaster and interrupted her thoughts. "I need to go to the bathroom," she said, a bit too loudly, her face flushing deeper.

Y/N looked up from the book, his eyes briefly meeting hers before he nodded towards a hallway. "First door on the left," he said, his voice a bit gruffer than usual.

In the bathroom, Karina took a deep breath and stared at her reflection in the mirror. The idea that had popped into her head in the cafeteria now seemed silly and desperate, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she needed to do something drastic. With a shaky hand, she turned the faucet the wrong way, watching as the water spurted out and drenched her shirt. Her heart raced as she called out, trying to sound more panicked than she felt. "Y/N! Help, the sink's broken!"

The footsteps grew closer, and the door swung open. Y/N's eyes widened at the sight of her, his expression a mix of concern and confusion. "What happened?"

"I...I don't know," she lied, trying to look as flustered as possible. "It just sprayed everywhere." Water droplets clung to her lashes and trickled down her neck, her shirt clinging to her skin.

Without a word, he stepped in, his movements efficient as he turned off the faucet and began to mop up the mess. The tension in the room was palpable, and Karina felt her breath hitch as his arm brushed against hers. This was it—her chance to get closer, to show him she wasn't just a pretty face.

He handed her a towel, and she took it, her eyes never leaving his. The fabric of her shirt had grown translucent in the dampness, the lacy outline of her black bra visible beneath it. She knew he could see it, could see the curve of her breasts and the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

Summoning all her courage, Karina took a step closer, her hand shaking slightly as she reached out to him. Before she could second-guess herself, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was tentative at first, a soft brush of skin on skin, but as he didn't pull away, she grew bolder. She felt the towel drop from her hand as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

Y/N's body stiffened for a moment, but then, to her surprise, he relaxed into the embrace. His hands found their way to her waist, holding her gently as he returned the kiss with an intensity that made her knees wobble. Karina's pulse raced as she felt his warmth envelop her, his scent overpowering the lingering smell of ink and coffee in the room. It was everything she had hoped for and more.

Breaking away, she whispered, "Just touch my breast, dear." Her voice was a breathy plea, her eyes searching his for any sign of rejection. For a moment, she thought he might push her away, that she had crossed a line she shouldn't have. But instead, his eyes searched hers, as if looking for an answer she hadn't given. Then, ever so slowly, his hand moved up, his thumb brushing the fabric of her shirt before sliding beneath to graze the sensitive skin of her collarbone.

"Ahh," Karina moaned as his hand finally reached its destination, cupping her breast gently. The feeling was exquisite, and she leaned into his touch, her breath hitching. His thumb traced lazy circles around her nipple, eliciting a whimper from her lips. The warmth of his hand seeped through her damp shirt, sending shivers down her spine.

Without breaking eye contact, Y/N reached behind her and deftly unclasped her bra. It fell away, revealing her full, round breasts to the cool air. He took a step back, his eyes drinking in the sight of her exposed flesh. The look of amazement on his face was all the validation Karina needed—she was more than just a pretty face.

"You should be proud of yourself, Y/N," she murmured, her voice filled with passion. "Everyone in this university wants my body, but they can't have it because I've fallen in love with you."

Y/N's gaze remained locked on her, his expression unreadable, but his actions spoke louder than words. His other hand found its way to her other breast, kneading it gently as he bent his head to take her nipple into his mouth. The sensation was heavenly, and Karina's back arched as a soft moan escaped her. She had dreamt of this moment, of feeling his warm breath against her skin, his lips wrapped around her sensitive flesh. His tongue danced around the peak, flicking and suckling, sending bolts of pleasure straight to her core.

Encouraged by his responsiveness, Karina grew bolder. She reached for the button of his pants, her trembling hand slipping it free and pushing the fabric down just enough to reveal his thick, hard erection. She couldn't believe what she was seeing—nine inches of pure masculine beauty, the girth of it making her mouth water. "Oh, my god," she murmured, her eyes going wide.

Y/N's eyes snapped to hers, a mix of surprise and arousal. He didn't protest as she guided him to sit on the edge of the tub, his back against the wall. "What are you doing?" he breathed, but she could see the desire in his eyes.

"I never knew you had such an...impressive size," Karina said, her voice a seductive purr. She knelt before him, her eyes never leaving his as she wrapped her hand around his shaft, feeling the heat and power of him. "It's like you're holding a piece of the universe."

Y/N's cheeks colored slightly at her words, and he couldn't help the smug smile that tugged at his lips. "I've never had anyone...measure me up quite like that," he said, his voice thick with desire.

Karina's hand looked almost comical around his length, her fingers not even coming close to touching her thumb. "Look, my hand can't even wrap around it," she said, her voice filled with awe. "You're just too big."

Y/N's smile grew wider, a hint of pride in his eyes. "I've been told I'm...gifted," he said, the word rolling off his tongue with a hint of arrogance.

Karina couldn't help but laugh, the sound echoing through the bathroom. "Gifted is an understatement," she said, her hand still stroking him. "But I'm going to need two hands for this."

With a sly smile, she leaned in closer, her ample breasts pressing against his thighs. "Do you like it when my boobs wrap around you?" she asked, her voice playful and full of mischief.

His eyes widened, and he swallowed hard. "I...uh...yes," he finally managed to say, his voice strained.

With a knowing smile, Karina leaned in closer, her breasts pressing against his thighs as she began to move her body up and down in a rhythmic motion, her nipples grazing his shaft with every pass. The feeling was exquisite, and she watched with rapt attention as his expression grew more intense. Her breasts moving faster and faster around his thick cock.

"Karina," he gasped, his eyes squeezed shut as she worked him with her body. "I'm gonna cum."

"Cum on my boobs," she whispered, her voice a siren's call. "I wanna feel it on me, I wanna feel you in me."

The words were barely out of her mouth when she felt him tense, his hands tightening on her shoulders as he let out a deep groan. Warm, sticky cum shot out, covering her breasts and chest in a hot, pulsing wave. She moaned in pleasure, feeling the warmth spread over her sensitive skin. It was a sensation she had never experienced before, and she reveled in the power she had over him in that moment.

Panting, Y/N opened his eyes, looking down at her. His gaze was a mix of shock and lust as he took in the sight of her cum-covered breasts. "I've never..." he trailed off, unable to find the words to express his thoughts.

"It's okay," she murmured, standing up and reaching for him. "We're just getting started."

Their clothes discarded in a pile on the floor, Karina led Y/N to the bedroom, her eyes never leaving his. The air was charged with desire as they tumbled onto the bed, their bodies entwined in a passionate embrace. His hands roamed her body, exploring every curve and valley, worshipping her in a way she had never felt before.

He kissed her again, his tongue delving into her mouth as she straddled him, her wetness coating his stomach. His cock was still semi-hard, and she felt it nudge against her inner thigh, sending a thrill through her. She wanted more—needed more.

With a seductive smile, Karina slid off him and lay down on the bed, her legs spread wide. "Keep playing with me," she murmured, her voice a sultry whisper.

Y/N's eyes darkened as he complied, his fingers moving back to her swollen clit. He teased it mercilessly, circling and flicking, watching as she writhed and moaned beneath him. Her hips rose and fell, seeking the friction she craved, and he took the opportunity to glide his fingers down her body, tracing the path of her curves before returning to her core.

Her breath hitched as he pushed a finger inside her, feeling the warm, wet embrace of her pussy. It was tight and slick, and he could feel her muscles contract around him as he began to move in a slow, deliberate rhythm. He watched her face, memorizing every expression that played across her features—the way her eyes fluttered shut, the soft moans that escaped her lips, the way her cheeks flushed a deep pink.

He added another finger, curling them inside her as he continued to rub her clit with his thumb. Karina's moans grew louder, her body trembling with the effort of holding back. "I'm close," she panted, her eyes squeezed shut. "So close."

"Cum for me, Karina," he urged, his voice thick with need. "Let go."

And with that, she did. Her body arched off the bed, a high-pitched scream tearing from her throat as she came, her pussy clamping down on his fingers. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever felt before—intense and overwhelming. It was as if every nerve ending in her body was on fire, sending waves of pleasure crashing through her.

As her orgasm subsided, Y/N didn't give her a moment to catch her breath. He kissed his way down her body, his mouth finding her sensitive clit once more. He began to suck and lick with renewed vigor, his tongue swirling around the swollen nub in a way that made her hips buck against his face.

"Oh, fuck," she gasped, her eyes flying open. "Oh, oh, oh!"

Y/N felt the warmth of her climax flood over his face, a salty sweetness that only added to his own arousal. Karina's body convulsed above him, her legs trembling and her toes curling as she squirted like a fountain, her juices spraying across his cheeks and chin. It was a sight he had only ever seen in porn, but here it was, happening in real life. He lapped at her, eager to taste every drop, his cock pulsing with need.

Her body finally went lax, her breathing ragged and her skin glistening with sweat. Y/N sat back, wiping his face with the back of his hand, a look of wonder on his own. "I've never seen that before," he said, his voice filled with awe.

Karina giggled, a lightness to her tone that hadn't been there before. "I've never done that before," she admitted, a shy smile playing on her lips. "But with you, it just feels...right."

He leaned in, kissing her deeply, tasting her on his tongue. His hands found her hips, pulling her closer to him. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

The words sent a thrill through her, and she felt a newfound confidence bloom inside her. This wasn't just a physical attraction anymore—it was something deeper, something she hadn't even realized she craved. "Thank you," she whispered, her eyes searching his for any sign of doubt. But all she saw was desire—pure, unbridled lust that mirrored her own.

Without another word, Karina swung her leg over him, straddling his waist. His cock stood at attention, and she took it in her hand, feeling the weight of him, the heat and power of his arousal. She positioned herself over his tip, her heart racing as she lowered herself down. The first inch was tight, a slight burn that made her gasp, but she didn't stop. She wanted all of him—needed all of him.

Y/N watched with bated breath, his eyes never leaving hers as she took him in. His hands found her hips, guiding her, urging her to take more. She felt the head of his cock push against her tight entrance, and then with a sudden, desperate need, she slammed herself down onto him. The pain was there, but it was overshadowed by the pleasure—a white-hot spark that ignited within her.

"Ahh, you're so deep," Karina screamed, her voice echoing off the walls of the small room. His cock filled her completely, stretching her in a way that she had never felt before. She paused, panting, trying to adjust to the feeling of being so completely filled. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she began to rock her hips, sliding up and down his length.

Y/N's eyes rolled back in his head, his hands gripping the bed sheets tightly. "You're so tight," he groaned, his voice strained with the effort of not losing control. "So fucking tight."

Karina's nails dug into his chest as she took him deeper, her body moving in a rhythm that was both agonizing and exhilarating. Each time she slammed down onto his cock, she felt him hit a spot deep within her that no one else had ever reached. It was a feeling she had only dreamed of, a feeling that made her feel alive. "Ahh, so good," she moaned, her voice breathy and full of need.

Y/N watched her, his eyes dark with desire. He could feel her walls tightening around him, her muscles clenching as she grew closer to the edge. "Cum for me again, Karina," he ground out, his own release building.

Obeying his command, Karina raised her pace, her hips moving faster and faster as she chased the elusive orgasm. She could feel it building, the pressure growing until it was all she could focus on. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she threw her head back, her long hair cascading down her back.

Then it hit her—a wave of pleasure so intense that it stole her breath away. "Ahhhh," she screamed, her pussy spasming around Y/N's thick cock as she squirted against his belly. He watched in amazement as a gush of liquid spurted out, painting his stomach and chest with her essence. The sight was erotic, and he couldn't hold back anymore.

"Now it's my turn, Karina," Y/N growled, his eyes dark with need as he raised his hips to meet her thrusts. "Let's come together."

His words sent a jolt of excitement through her, and she eagerly leaned into his rhythm, her body moving in perfect sync with his. She could feel him swelling inside her, the heat of his climax building with every stroke. The room was a symphony of moans and skin slapping together, the sweet scent of sex hanging heavily in the air.

With a final, powerful thrust, Y/N buried himself to the hilt, and Karina felt his warmth flood her as he came with a roar "AHHHHHH". Her own orgasm crashed over her, a second wave of pleasure so intense it left her trembling. She threw her head back, her mouth open in a silent scream, as she felt herself squirt again. It was as if her body was claiming him, marking him as hers.

Collapsing onto his chest, Karina tried to catch her breath, her heart pounding like a drum in her ears. Y/N's chest heaved beneath her, his cock still hard and pulsing inside her. She felt the sticky warmth of their combined releases, the evidence of their passion smearing between them as she moved.

They lay there for what felt like an eternity, the only sounds in the room their heavy breathing and the distant hum of the city outside. The weight of his body was comforting, anchoring her to the world. The feel of his heart beating against her cheek was reassuring, a steady rhythm that matched her own racing heart.

Finally, Y/N pulled out with a groan, and Karina felt a sense of loss as his cock slipped from her. He rolled to the side, taking her with him, and they lay there, their limbs tangled together. She could feel his softening length against her thigh, the stickiness between her legs a constant reminder of what they had just shared.

The silence grew heavier, and Karina felt a twinge of nerves. What came next? Would this be a one-time thing, or had she finally broken through his icy exterior? She turned to look at him, his eyes closed, his face a picture of peace. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

Y/N's eyes fluttered open, and he looked at her with a softness she had never seen before. "For what?" he asked, his voice low and gruff.

"For making me feel...important," she said, the words spilling from her lips before she could stop them. "For noticing me for more than just my body."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. "You're more than just a pretty face, Karina," he whispered, his breath sending shivers down her spine. "Much, much more."

The words were a balm to her soul, and she nestled closer to him, her heart swelling with happiness. The night had started as a simple homework session, but it had turned into so much more—a confession of feelings she had never dared to hope would be reciprocated.

But as the reality of what had just happened sank in, Karina felt a flicker of fear. This was uncharted territory for her—she had never been with someone who valued her mind as much as her body. Would she be able to keep his interest? Would she be enough for him?

Y/N must have felt her tension, because his arms tightened around her, pulling her closer. "Don't worry," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. "I've noticed you for a long time now. And I like what I see."

The words sent a shiver of pleasure through her, and she let herself relax into his embrace. For now, she was content to lay there, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking and the promise of what was to come.

But as the moments ticked by, Karina grew restless. She knew she couldn't just lie there forever—there was still so much to explore, so much more of him to experience. With a sultry smile, she rolled off of him, her body still sticky with their combined arousal. "Now get all on fours," Y/N said, his voice a command that sent a thrill through her.

Without a second thought, Karina did as he asked, her hands and knees sinking into the plush comforter. She felt his body shift behind her, the heat of him a stark contrast to the coolness of the room. "What kind of stamina do you have?" she asked playfully, peeking over her shoulder at him.

Y/N's eyes never left hers as he lined himself up with her wet, pink opening. "Let's find out," he replied, a smug smile playing on his lips. With one powerful thrust, he pushed into her, filling her completely. Karina gasped "ahhh", the sensation of his thick cock stretching her was almost too much to handle. It was a feeling she had never experienced before—like a mix of pleasure and pain that left her breathless.

He didn't give her any time to adjust. Instead, he began to pound into her, his hips moving with a fierce, almost brutal rhythm. His hand found her hair, and he gripped it tightly, pulling her head back as he slammed into her again and again. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through her body, making her toes curl and her nails dig into the bed. "AHHHH!" she screamed, the sound a mix of pleasure and surprise.

Karina felt herself stretching to accommodate him, her body adjusting to the relentless onslaught of his thick cock. It was a delicious pain, a feeling she had never experienced before. Each time he hit the deepest part of her, she felt an intense pressure that bordered on unbearable—but she never wanted him to stop. "Yes," she panted, her voice barely audible. "Harder, Y/N. Just like that."

Y/N complied, his movements becoming more forceful. He could feel her body tensing, her muscles clenching around him as she grew closer to climax. He watched her in the mirror, the sight of her bouncing breasts and arched back making him even more determined to push her over the edge. "I'm gonna squirt again," she screamed, her voice echoing off the walls.

He leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back as he whispered in her ear. "Do it, Karina. I want to feel you come all over my bed."

And with that, she did. Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over her body with a force that made her see stars. Her pussy spasmed around him, gripping his cock like a vice as she squirted uncontrollably. The bed beneath her grew wet, the fabric soaking up her juices as they spurted out in a torrent.

Y/N's hand didn't stop moving, his palm connecting with her ass cheek with a loud smack. She yelped, the pain mixing with pleasure, sending another bolt of sensation straight to her clit. It was a delicious cycle—each spank making her cum harder, each orgasm making her more sensitive to his touch.

"Yess..." she gasped, pushing back into him. "Spank my ass, baby."

He complied with a smack that was harder than the last, and Karina's eyes rolled back in her head, her mouth forming a perfect O of pleasure. "U like that, don't you?" he taunted, his voice a dark growl.

"Yes, I do," Karina moaned, her body begging for more. Each slap of his hand against her flesh sent a fresh wave of arousal through her, making her pussy clench around his cock.

"You're such a good girl," Y/N said, his voice thick with satisfaction as he continued to pound into her. "So responsive to pain."

The smacks grew more intense, each one sending a jolt of electricity through her body. Karina could feel the beginnings of another orgasm building, the pressure in her pussy growing tighter with every hit. "AHHHHH," she screamed, her voice raw and needy. "Y/N, I'm gonna cum again!"

He leaned down, his teeth grazing her ear. "Come for me, baby," he murmured. "Come all over my cock."

With a final, hard spank, Karina's body shattered into a million pieces, her orgasm consuming her completely. She screamed his name as she squirted once more, her pussy flooding him with her release. Y/N groaned, the feeling of her tightening around him too much to resist. He thrust into her one last time, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself deep inside her.

Their bodies went still, both of them panting and trembling with the aftershocks of their shared climax. Y/N leaned down, kissing her neck and shoulder before slowly withdrawing. Karina felt the emptiness acutely, a sudden coldness where he had been so warm and hard.

They lay there for a moment, their limbs entangled, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the room. Then, with a soft groan, Y/N rolled onto his back, pulling her with him so she was nestled against his side.

Karina lay down beside him, her heart racing. She looked up at the ceiling, trying to process what had just happened. It was more than she had ever dreamed of—more than any of the fantasies she had concocted in her loneliest moments. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "For giving me an orgasm that no one else ever has."

Y/N's eyes searched hers, his expression unreadable. "It was nothing," he said, but the tenderness in his voice belied his words. He stroked her hair, his touch gentle and soothing. "You're welcome to come over for homework help anytime."

The room was quiet, the only sounds their breathing and the distant hum of the city outside. Karina felt a warmth spread through her, a sense of belonging that was new and exhilarating. "I will," she said, her voice filled with promise. "As long as you don't mind me...distracting you like this."

A smirk played on his lips, and he leaned in to kiss her forehead. "I don't mind," he said, his voice low and intimate. "In fact, I might just enjoy it."

With that, Y/N pulled her to her feet, scooping her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing. Karina giggled, her arms wrapping around his neck as he carried her back to the bathroom. The cold tiles against her back were a stark contrast to the warmth of their bodies, and she felt a thrill of excitement at the thought of what was to come.

He set her down gently, his hands sliding down her body to grip her ass. "Bend over," he ordered, his voice firm and commanding. Karina complied eagerly, her hands braced against the cool porcelain of the sink. She felt his cock nudge against her wetness, and she pushed back, eager for more.

Y/N didn't disappoint. With one swift motion, he plunged into her from behind, his cock filling her completely. Karina gasped, her eyes squeezing shut as she felt him stretch her open. He began to move, his hips slapping against her ass as he fucked her with a ferocity that left her trembling.

Each thrust was punctuated by a smack, his hand coming down hard on her ass cheek. The sound echoed through the bathroom, mingling with her cries of pleasure. "Oh, fuck," she moaned, her body writhing beneath his touch. "You're so rough."

"You love it," he grunted, his hand coming down again, this time harder. "You love it when I spank your pretty ass."

And she did. The sting of his hand only made her more aroused, her pussy clenching around him as she pushed back to meet each of his movements. The mirror in front of her was foggy with steam, their reflection distorted but unmistakable. She watched as he claimed her, his hand rising and falling in a rhythm that matched his strokes.

Her body felt alive, each touch a spark that ignited a fire deep within her. She could feel another orgasm building, the pressure in her core growing tighter and tighter with every smack. "Yes," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Keep going."

Y/N's hand never stopped moving, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing it in time with his thrusts. Karina's legs began to shake, her body on the edge of something she hadn't felt before. It was as if every nerve ending was alight, every inch of her skin sensitive to his touch.

And then it hit her—a climax so intense it felt like a supernova. Her pussy clamped down on him, her body convulsing as she screamed his name. He didn't stop, his hand never faltering, his cock plunging into her with a relentless pace. "Cum for me," he growled, his voice a dark command that sent shivers down her spine.

And cum she did, her pussy spasming around him as she squirted once again. Y/N watched in amazement, his own release building until he couldn't hold back any longer. With a final, brutal thrust, he came deep inside her, filling her with his warmth.

They stood there, panting and shaking, for a long moment. The only sound in the room was the dull thud of their hearts and the distant rush of the shower. "You're mine," Y/N murmured, his voice a gentle rumble in her ear.

Karina leaned back into him, her body still trembling. "Yes," she whispered, the word a declaration of ownership. "I'm yours."

Their bodies were slick with sweat, their breaths mingling as they held each other close. The world outside didn't matter anymore—all that existed was the two of them in that small, steamy room.

But eventually, the moment passed, and reality began to creep back in. "We should clean up," Karina murmured, her voice still shaky with the aftermath of pleasure.

Y/N nodded, his arms sliding from around her waist. He stepped back, giving her the space to stand up straight. "Let's get you cleaned up," he said, his voice a mix of satisfaction and concern.

Karina felt a blush creep up her neck as she turned to face him. She had never been so exposed to anyone before, not even herself in the mirror. But with Y/N, she felt a strange sense of vulnerability that was thrilling rather than terrifying. She watched as he grabbed a towel, his own body still flushed with arousal.

He wrapped the towel around her waist, tucking it in gently. "Come on," he said, taking her hand and leading her to the bathroom. The cold tile felt good against her hot skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the room they had just left.

Y/N turned on the shower, the water spraying hot and steamy. He stepped in, pulling her in after him. The water cascaded down their bodies, washing away the sweat and cum that had painted them both. He took a washcloth, his movements deliberate and tender as he began to clean her. The sensation of the cloth moving over her skin, combined with the warm water, was almost too much for her to handle. "You're so gentle," she murmured, her eyes drifting shut.

He didn't respond, his focus solely on her. He washed her thoroughly, taking his time to pay special attention to her breasts and pussy. His touch was soft but firm, as if he was afraid to break her. Karina felt her body responding to him again, her arousal building once more.

But she knew they couldn't go on like this forever. "We should get out," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "We're going to turn into prunes."

He chuckled, his eyes meeting hers. "You're right," he said, turning off the water. He stepped out first, grabbing two towels from the rack and handing one to her. They dried each other off, the silence between them a comfortable one.

Once they were both dressed again, Y/N turned to her, his expression serious. "I need to tell you something," he said, his voice low.

Karina felt a sudden knot in her stomach. What was it? Had she done something wrong? "What is it?" she asked, her voice small.

He took a deep breath, his eyes searching hers. "I didn't just do this because you're...beautiful," he began, his words tentative. "I did it because I care about you, Karina."

The confession was like a weight lifted from her shoulders. "I know," she said, her voice firm. "And I care about you, too."

He leaned in, his hand cupping her cheek. "I want us to be more than just...this," he whispered, his thumb brushing against her bottom lip. "I want to get to know you—all of you."

Karina felt a warmth spread through her chest. "I'd like that," she murmured, standing on her tiptoes to press her lips to his.

The kiss was sweet, filled with all the unspoken promises of a future together. When they pulled away, she knew that this was just the beginning. "Let's go back to the living room," she suggested, taking his hand. "We have the whole night ahead of us."

Y/N nodded, a smile playing on his lips. "I've got an idea," he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "How about we start with a movie?"

They settled onto the couch, their bodies still humming with the aftermath of their passionate encounters. Karina curled up against him, feeling more content than she had in a long time. The TV flickered to life, but neither of them really watched it. Instead, they talked—about their hopes, their fears, their deepest secrets.

And as the night grew darker outside, their bond grew stronger, weaving a web of trust and desire that neither of them wanted to break. For the first time in a long time, Karina felt truly seen—not just for her body, but for the person she was inside.

Y/N pulled her closer, his arms wrapping around her in a fierce embrace as they lay down on the bed, their limbs intertwined. The scent of their lovemaking still lingered in the air, a potent reminder of the passion that had just transpired between them. Karina's heart fluttered in her chest, the feeling of his naked skin against hers both familiar and new.

The sun had just begun to peek through the blinds, casting a soft glow across their entwined bodies. The light danced across Y/N's features, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the softness in his eyes. He leaned down to kiss her, a gentle pressure that spoke of affection rather than lust. Karina felt her heart melt a little more with each brush of his lips.

"We should get ready," Y/N murmured, reluctantly breaking the kiss. "We don't want to be late for class."

Karina groaned, burying her face in his chest. "Just five more minutes," she begged, her voice muffled. But she knew he was right—they had to face the world outside of this cocoon of intimacy.

With a sigh, they both sat up, the cold air of the room hitting them like a slap in the face. Karina watched as Y/N stood, his cock still semi-hard and glistening with their combined juices. The sight made her stomach flutter, and she couldn't help but admire the way his muscles rippled as he reached for his boxers.

They dressed quickly, the act of putting on their clothes almost mundane in comparison to the intensity of the night before. But even as they stepped into the crisp morning air, Karina felt a newfound lightness in her step.

They walked together to the university, her hand in his, their bodies close enough to feel the heat of each other. As they passed other students, she noticed the glances thrown their way—a mix of surprise and envy. Y/N had always been the quiet, brooding genius, and she had always been the flirty, popular one. But now, they were something more—something she hadn't even known she wanted.

Men's eyes followed them, lingering on Karina's curves and the way she leaned into Y/N. They whispered among themselves, their voices filled with disbelief. "How did he get her?" she heard one of them murmur, the words sending a thrill through her.

Y/N seemed oblivious to the attention, his focus solely on her. He held the door open as they entered the lecture hall, his grip on her hand tightening slightly. Karina couldn't help but feel a sense of pride, a swell of happiness that he was hers—at least for now.

As they took their seats, she couldn't stop herself from laying her head on his shoulder, her hand wrapping around his arm. He tensed for a moment, then relaxed, his hand coming up to squeeze hers. It was a silent declaration, a promise that no matter what the day brought, they had each other.

The professor droned on about calculus, but Karina's mind was elsewhere. She was lost in the sensation of Y/N's warmth beside her, the feel of his muscles shifting as he took notes, the way his eyes would occasionally flicker over to hers. It was as if their night of passion had forged an unbreakable bond between them, a connection that went beyond the physical.

But she knew it wasn't all rainbows and butterflies. They had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed, and she couldn't help but wonder how it would affect their dynamic outside of his apartment. Would he still be cold and aloof in class, or would he treat her differently? And what about the other students—would they whisper and gossip?

Karina pushed the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the steady beat of Y/N's heart beneath her ear. For now, she was content to bask in the warmth of his presence, to revel in the knowledge that she had managed to crack open the shell of the enigmatic student she had been pining for so long.

The rest of the world could wait—for now, all that mattered was the here and now, and the promise of what was to come.

---

Winter's words played on a loop in Karina's mind as she sat in class, unable to focus on the lecture. "I think you got what you wanted, Karina," Winter had said, her voice filled with a knowing smile. "Tell me your stories." Winter's curiosity was palpable, and Karina felt a blush creeping up her neck as she thought of the tales she could now share.

Her thoughts drifted back to the night before, the way Y/N had looked at her with such intensity, his eyes dark with passion. It had been more than just a physical connection—it had been a meeting of minds, a melding of souls that had left her feeling both exhausted and invincible.

Karina leaned back in her chair, her eyes glazing over as she remembered the feel of Y/N's cock sliding into her, the way he had filled her so completely. It had been more than just sex—it had been a declaration of intent, a claiming that she had never experienced before.

But Winter was waiting, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Karina knew she had to tread carefully, to choose her words wisely. After all, this was new territory for her—how did you explain to your best friend that you had not only slept with the guy you've been crushing on for months but had also managed to break through his stoic exterior?

---

"So, what happened?" Winter asked eagerly as they met up for lunch, her eyes wide with anticipation. Karina took a deep breath, her heart racing as she recounted the events of the previous night. Winter's jaw dropped, her eyes never leaving hers as she listened to the details of their steamy encounter.

"You've got to be kidding me," Winter whispered when Karina finished, her voice filled with awe. "You actually did it. You got him to crack."

Karina couldn't help the smug smile that played on her lips. "It wasn't easy," she admitted, "but I think I've figured out the trick."

"Well, spill it," Winter said, leaning in. "I want to know everything."

Karina took a sip of her soda, her mind racing with the memories of Y/N's gentle touch, his fierce passion, and the way he had made her feel. "You just have to be...persistent," she said finally. "And vulnerable. He's not like other guys—you can't just throw yourself at him and expect him to catch you."

Winter nodded, her gaze thoughtful. "So, you had to show him that you're more than just a pretty face," she mused. "That you actually care about him, not just his body."

Karina nodded, feeling a warmth spread through her. "Exactly. And once he saw that, he couldn't resist."

The cafeteria buzzed with the chatter of students, but the two of them sat in their own little bubble, lost in their conversation. Winter's eyes were filled with admiration, and Karina felt a sense of pride that she had managed to do what no one else had.

#kpop smut #male reader #girl group smut #aespa smut #gg smut #karina smut

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baby-yongbok · 6 months ago

Text

Come Back Soon

Bang Chan × afab!reader

✮ Genre: Smut, Sex Worker!Bang Chan ✮ Word count: 5k ✮ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors DNI), sex work (Like a sexy host club kinda?), oral (m rec.), nipple play, unprotected sex, Reader is called pretty (a lot..) ✮ Summary: Who's the cute guy with the white jacket and the thick accent? ✮ A/N: Bang Chan + Bed Chem by Sabrina Carpenter as requested by this anon! Enjoy! + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡

✮ Masterlist✮

In your defense, it’s not a brothel. It just kind of operates like one.

You heard about Railway from a friend of a friend. It’s a hole in the wall club that she swears is a gem. You looked it up and found close to nothing. There was only a small reddit community of people in your area asking questions about this mystery place. Here’s what you gathered:

It’s a club where women can meet men and pay for attention. Whether or not that attention includes your clothes being ripped off in a private room or a tongue down your throat is up to you.

You decided to visit one Thursday when your Tinder match was being flaky and you were sick of waiting for replies from men who were either a catfish or can’t find the clit.

The place was hard to find. You walked passed it twice before you realized that you needed to go down the sketchy staircase next to the hotpot restaurant.

You expected a place packed and run down with women all over the men working there. You expected a mess and you were met with the opposite. The space was clean, pretty and not nearly wild enough to be considered a club. There are red curved couches and lounge nooks all around. A fully stocked bar and music playing loudly but not so loud that you need to yell. This is not at all what you imagined.

You learned that night that the only guys in the club were the ones working there. They come up to you, charm you, and only stay if you want them to. If you decline they’re onto the next.

You spent some time there, got some attention but it wasn’t until your eyes met his that you really felt like you were getting the attention you desired. He was in a suit, no shirt underneath the jacket and looking damn good while doing it. He walked into the room like he was six foot two even though he’s just about average height, it doesn’t matter to you though - he’s hot.

Once he saw you he went straight for you, walking over like he had all of the time in the world. You sat pretty on the couch, sitting up a bit straighter and sipping your drink like you didn’t even notice him. He thought that was cute.

“Excuse me.” Oh? Is that an accent you hear? You hum, looking up at him like he didn’t have your attention from the moment he walked in. “Is this seat taken? Or can I join you?”

That’s how you ended up meeting Chris.

The two of you sat and spoke for at least thirty minutes before his cautious touches turned into much more and a make-out session in one of the lounge nooks.

He pulled you into his lap, hands on your hips and pretty sounds clashing with yours. You considered taking it further for a second, just a second before your phone rang and your friend effectively cockblocked you. Chris thought it was funny. He smiled while you pouted about having to leave but he didn’t let you go without another kiss - deep and lingering. His tongue on yours and those pretty hands on your hips.

“Come back soon, yeah?” He smiled up at you, his eyes turning into gleaming crescents and you were hooked. Unfortunately, the soon that you promised him wasn’t as soon as you wanted.

Work has been hectic, your friends have been messy and you’ve just been busy. Every plan that you had to return got canceled until tonight, Christmas Eve. You threw on a red sheer dress and put your phone on Do Not Disturb. When you get to the club this time there’s a guy at the door, a cute blonde with a deep voice and pretty accent. He gives you a card with some instructions for the night. You look it over and turn to him.

“Wait, how does this work?” He smiles - fuck, he’s hot - and points out the QR code on the card.

“You can scan this to get the clubs app. Then you go to the event tab, press the holiday party chat and it will match you with a random guy from the club. You chat anonymously and if you like him you can take it further. If you don’t like him you can unmatch the chat and try again.” You nod, half entranced by his voice and half listening.

You nod at him, smiling sweetly but his smile has got you beat. Is he on the app? Gosh.

You head over to the bar and order a drink then scan the code. You open the app and it’s surprisingly smooth. You follow the instructions that the hot blonde gave you and go to the holiday party chat. A button pops up with big pretty letters reading “Spin”, so you do. Two seconds pass and the bartender is sliding you your drink while you get connected to a chat. This is interesting.

So, the guys are nice. Really nice, but there’s no spark. You’re on your second drink and you just unmatched your second chat. You look around the club, the men are dressed in sexy, festive all white outfits with their main charming point on display to lure attention.

You scan the room looking for that familiar face you made out with a month ago but there’s no sign of him. You sigh, deciding to try your luck and press the pretty button on your phone again. You get connected to someone new and they start off the conversation just as the others did, sweet.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing here alone on Christmas eve?”

You sip your drink, typing a reply and waiting less than a second to get one back.

- You think I’m pretty? You don’t even know who I am yet. - “Let’s play a game then, yeah? I’ll guess.”

Oh? This is getting interesting.

- And if you guess the wrong pretty girl? - “Then unmatch me.” - “If I don’t recognize you then I don’t deserve your time.”

Wait… did he say recognize? Like he knows you? Knows what you look like? You look around again, searching for Chris. You’d recognize him in a heartbeat but he’s nowhere to be found. You turn your attention back to the app to see that your match has texted again.

- “Deal?”

You hesitate but agree. You wait with bated breath as you watch the little chat bubble pop up.

- “By the bar? Sinful little red dress.”

You stare at his answer then look around again. What the hell?

- “You didn’t unmatch. I knew I had the right pretty lady.” - Lucky guess, I’m not the only pretty girl in a red dress.

You scoff, getting ready to unmatch when he texts back.

- “But you’re the only one here tonight that I was hoping to see again.” - “The only one here that I’ve had my eye on for far longer than I should.” - “The only one I was hoping to match with so I can kiss those pretty lips again.”

Oh fuck, it’s him. Thank the heavens.

- Oh? Is this the guy with the cute accent? - “Pretending that you don’t remember my name? I’m hurt.”

You smile, finishing your drink and texting back. Suddenly you’re having a good time. A very good one.

- Remind me of it. - “Oh, I plan to”

The chat is ended before you can text back and your heart drops. What happened? Did you actually hurt his feelings? What does he mean he plans to? The bartender interrupts your flurry of wonder before you can go any deeper. He slides you a shot and you furrow your brows.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t order this.” The bartender smiles at you and nods to the other side of the bar. “It’s from him. On his tab.”

You turn around and your heart drops to the center of the earth. Chris is there. White fur jacket, white pants and no shirt. He’s leaning against the bar with a grin that you’d like to kiss off of his stupidly handsome face. How could you forget to look behind you?

You lock your phone and turn your bar stool to face him. He’s sipping on something while his eyes roam down from yours and over the curve of your neck then the swell of your chest. He’s practically eye fucking you and you have no idea what to do about it. So you take the shot.

The burn of the alcohol along with the desire bubbling in your core is enough to steel you for the moment that Chris pushes back off of the bar and makes his way over to you. You get a full view of him as he walks over and part of you starts foaming at the mouth while the other part of you has to hold down the fort and act normal about this.

“Excuse me.” His thick accent rings through your ears and you grin. “Is this seat taken? Or can I join you?”

“Is that your pick up line or something?” The dopey smile on your face gives Chris all the confirmation he needs to take the empty seat next to you. “You should come up with something new.”

“Is that right? Any suggestions?” Damn it, he’s still as hot as you remember. “I could just tell you how stunning you look in this dress instead.”

You feel a flush creep up your neck at his compliment. "That's a start," you manage to say, trying to keep your cool. "But I've heard better."

Chris smiles leaning in a tad bit closer. Just enough for you to notice, "Oh? Then I'll have to up my game." His eyes sparkle with mischief. "How about this - I've been waiting to see you again every night for a month. I was starting to worry I'd lost my touch. What good am I if I can’t get the prettiest woman coming back to see me?"

You laugh, the tension easing slightly. "Maybe I was just playing hard to get."

"Were you now?" Chris raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "And here I thought you forgot about me."

"Trust me, it's impossible to forget about you," Your mouth was moving before you could stop yourself. We’ll blame that on the alcohol.

“You’ve thought about me then?” He asks with a smile that’s much sweeter than any other that you’ve seen tonight.

Fuck it, let loose, It’s Christmas eve.

“Maybe I have, but the details are classified.” That takes his sweet smile and turns it into a blush real quick. You can’t help but mirror him since you just indirectly admitted to thinking of him while you had some solo play over the past month - which is one hundred percent true.

“Classified, hm?” He speaks up, nodding. “I’ve thought about you too. And those details are free to the public. If you ask for them.”

Your heart races at his bold admission. That was unexpected. You lean in closer, your voice lowering to a sultry whisper. "And what if I did ask?"

Chris' eyes darken ever so slighty. He leans in too, his breath hot against your ear. "Then I'd tell you how I've imagined your soft skin under my hands, the taste of your lips, the sound of your moans as I..."

He trails off, pulling back slightly to gauge your reaction. Your breath catches in your throat, heat pooling low in your belly.

"As you what?" You breathe, unable to look away from his intense gaze.

Chris grins, hoping that he has you hooked. "On second thought, that information is classified. The rest you'll have to find out from experience."

You swallow hard, your mind racing with possibilities. "And how exactly would I do that?"

He reaches out, his fingers trailing lightly over your hand that’s resting on the bar.

“Come with me downstairs.” There’s a downstairs to this place? “I’ll get you away from the noise and then we can make some of our own.”

Your heart races as you consider his offer. Every bit of you is screaming at you to take his offer and bring your lingering fantasies to life but you still try to play hard to get. At least you were going to before the alcohol and desire coursing through your veins drowned everything out and had you nodding in a quick second.

"Lead the way" You say, your voice huskier than intended.

Chris' eyes light up with a mix of surprise and excitement. He stands, offering you his hand before you could even dare to change your mind. You take it, relishing the warmth of his skin against yours. As you slide off the barstool, you take him in and realize just how little justice your memory of him does for his insane body.

He guides you through the semi-crowded club, his hand on the small of your back sending shivers up your spine. You follow him down a narrow staircase, the music fading as you descend. The basement level is dimly lit, with plush velvet sofas and private alcoves tucked away in corners.

He leads you over to one of the private spaces, very few of them are free but he leads you to the one in the corner like it was reserved just for him. “After you.” You step into the cozy space. There’s a couch on one side, a semi-sofa on the other with a small table next to it, then there’s nothing but a bare wall.

Chris slides the door shut behind the two of you as he steps in and it’s almost like you’ve entered your own soundproof barrier.

He almost looks sheepish when he steps forward to close the space between the two of you. His hand finds its way back to the small of your back, his touch gentle and warm. You turn to face him fully, his proximity making your heart race.

"Now where were we?" He whispers, his shy smile turning into a more sly one. You look up at him, unable to tear your gaze away from his.

"I like your coat." You comment, changing the subject to buy yourself time to calm down but the desire thick in your tone lets you know that there’s little that you can do to calm yourself. "It looks good on you."

He grins, "It would look better on you." Before you can protest he's shrugging the long white fur off of his shoulders, leaving his broad build open on display for you. You stare, taking in each dip and curve of his chest and stomach. How could you not?

He drapes the coat over your shoulders and you smile in a nearly futile attempt to stop the moan clawing up your throat when you realize that the warm fabric smells like him. You slip your arms in the sleeves and Chris hums in approval.

"Now..." He brushes your hair back, his gaze shifting into something more possessive now that you're wearing his coat. "Where were we?"

"Right about here, I think."

Before he can react your lips are on his in a hungry and demanding kiss. We'll blame this on the alcohol too.

You melt into him, your hands indulgently taking in the soft skin of his bare shoulders while he returns your passion. His tongue traces along your bottom lip and you part them, allowing him entry.

He groans into the kiss, his hands finding purchase on your waist for just a second before he lets them trail up under the fabric of his coat and over the sheer of your dress. Every inch of you that he takes in is better than anything he could've imagined in the month that you've been on his mind.

He pulls you closer, his desire getting the better of him. He has to know what you feel like against him. He just has to.

You can feel his erection pressing into your hip and a rush of arousal floods between your thighs.

Your hands explore his chest, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. He pulls back slightly, his breathing heavy as he looks down at you, his eyes dark with need.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmurs, his accent sending shivers down your spine. "This is part of those classified details, ya know."

"Mine too." you admit, biting your lip. "So don't stop."

With a growl, Chris captures your lips once more, his hands sliding further up your back just to slide back down to your waist. You press yourself against him, craving every bit of him you can get your hands on. The proximity deepens the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth, leaving you breathless.

His hands cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, teasing them through the fabric of your dress. A soft moan escapes you and he swallows it, his lips trail kisses along your jaw and down to the sensitive spot on your neck. You squirm against him, his touch driving you crazy.

"Fuck, Chris," You gasp, gripping his shoulders tightly.

"Say my name again," He breathes, his teeth grazing your skin.

"Chris," You whimper, his name slipping from your lips without a second thought.

His hands leave their exploration of your curves and trail their way up the backs of your thighs and over the curve of your ass. He lifts you up, bypassing both sofas to pin you against the wall. Your legs wrap around his bare torso, pushing his pants down lower on his hips. Once he has you settled he begins to work his way down your neck, his lips setting off a blazing trail of fire across your skin.

"So soft," he mumbles, his accent thicker now, betraying his growing desire.

His mouth trails back up to yours, stamping a hot kiss against your lips and pulling away right after. You whine, chasing his lips with yours.

"Impatient, are we?" He chuckles, his hands pushing the bunched up fabric of your dress further up your thighs. You shiver, goosebumps forming where his fingertips brush against your skin.

"You're doing everything right, how could I not be."

"Oh? Is that so?" He hums, his lips brush over yours teasingly.

"It is." You breathe, your hands moving over his shoulders to tangle in his hair. This time you kiss him, it’s deep and indulgent but then you break it to kiss over his jaw.

"You're a fucking tease, you know that?" He groans, his thumbs stroking the smooth skin of your thighs. It’s taking all of his self control not to absolutely rip you apart.

"Me?" You breathe, smiling against his skin as you place another kiss. "I'm not the one whose been flaunting around the club half-naked all night. And now you’re here teasing me."

Your teeth graze over the shell of his ear and his cock jumps in his pants. He moves swiftly yet gently, turning to lay you down on the sofa.

“Am I being a tease?” He asks, staring down at you with those dark brown eyes while his hands work on his belt. You watch the way his fingers move so strategically. The veins in his hands alone are enough to get you feeling hotter. “How can I make it up to you?”

He’s diving down to attach your lips before you can even answer. His hands smooth over your curves hurriedly until he reminds himself to take his time with you. His hands are back on your breasts, pulling down the red fabric of your dress to expose you to him. He catches himself, stopping and pulling back just a bit.

“Can I see you? Is that alright?” You nod, whimpering a hasty “yes” then crashing your lips back to his. He moans against you, pulling down the last of the fabric containing your breasts until they’re resting in his palms. He groans and you swallow it.

Chris lighty pinches and pulls at your nipples, the buds rise at the attention and you moan in response. "You like that?"

"Yes," Your fingers tangle in his hair and tug. "How about this?" He rolls one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

"Oh, fuck," you whimper, your head falling back.

"That's it, baby. Let me hear you." He dips his head down and takes one of the stiff peaks into his mouth. The sound it pulls from you is unbecoming but you ignore the embarrassment lingering in your chest and let the pleasure spread further.

Chris on the other hand, is in love with every sound you make and he’s determined to hear more. His teeth graze over your nipple. Your grip tightens, a louder moan escaping you. "Just like that."

His hands trail down, pulling your dress further up your thighs until the black lace covering your soaked sex is in full view. His hands stroking the underside of your thighs, teasing you further and you nearly fall apart at the seams.

"Chris," You moan, grinding up into him. Begging for him to touch you where you need him most.

"How wet are you, pretty girl?" He coos, his hand slides up between your legs. You gasp and he groans when his fingers trace over the lace of your panties. "Fuck, you're soaked."

"Please," You beg, bucking against his hand. "You’re driving me crazy." His thumb circles over your clit and your hips rock in time with his movements. You're already so close, and he's barely touched you.

His tongue darts out to lick over your neglected nipple. You shudder, your nails dig into his shoulders and he hisses at the sweet sting.

"I want you," you plead, trailing a hand down the expanse of his back. He continues his ministrations, kissing and nipping at your sensitive bud while his fingers work smooth circles over your clit.

Your legs are practically shaking with desire but your needy whimpers are nothing compared to all that Chris is holding back while he strokes himself on his knees in front of you. You’ve hardly noticed that his hard cock is in his hand, leaking and angry red at the tip but that’s only because he’s swallowing every moan that he possibly can just so that he can hear you clearly. He wants to remember this.

"Chris," you moan, grinding up against his touch. He pulls back, letting your nipple go with a faint pop.

"What is it, love?" His face is twisted in pleasure as he pants, trying desperately to keep himself in check.

"I need you," You whine, grabbing and rubbing over his bare chest until you grab hold of one of his chains.

"Tell me what you want." He wants to hear you say it. He needs to.

"Fuck me." You breathe, your cheeks flushed. "Please."

Chris doesn't need any further encouragement. In a swift motion, he's standing and lifting you up again. His lips find yours in a hungry kiss and you melt against him.

He turns around and sits down with you straddling him. His bare cock rests against the soaked lace of your panties and he can’t help but to make a sound that he didn’t know was possible.

His hands grip your hips, digging in like you're the only thing grounding him to reality. "You're sure about this?"

He asks, his voice low and rough. You nod, reaching between you to move your panties to the side and sit your bare cunt over his length. He hisses, his breath catching in his throat "Oh, fuck." His head falls back against the sofa.

"Let me ride you," You whisper, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his neck. Chris’ face is red, blushed crazy with desperate desire and restraint. You lift up and pump his cock, spreading your dripping slick and getting him nice and wet before you sink down.

You two are a splitting image of each other. Faces twisted in pleasure, fingers digging into the other and choked moans spilling over your kiss swollen lips.

"Fuck, you're so wet." He groans, holding his breath just to make sure he doesn’t bust too fast. "So tight."

“You’re fucking big. Oh god.” Your head falls back, eyes shut tight as you take in the stretch of him.

Chris hisses, his hips instinctively bucking up into you. "Shit, sorry. Are you okay?"

He holds still, his hands massaging the swell of your ass. You nod, adjusting to his size. "Yeah, just please move. Don’t stop."

You're impatient, rocking your hips against him. Chris is quick to give in, rocking his hips up slowly until he loses it and starts snapping his hips up into yours. He drives his cock deep and hard into your fluttering cunt and you clench around him wildly, fucking down onto him like he’s the last man you’ll ever touch.

You can feel every inch of him, his length dragging along your walls and hitting every spot inside you. It's like the two of you are a perfect fit. Chris' hands roam over your body, mapping every inch of exposed skin.

"So fucking beautiful," he mutters, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he watches the way your tits bounce in his face. "Look at you, taking me so well." He holds your hips still, keeping you in place while he fucks his thick length up into you. You cling to him, burying your face in the crook of his neck as he fucks into you.

Chris' eyes flutter shut, a string of curses falling from his lips. His fingers dig into your hips with each bounce of you on his cock.

"Is this what you wanted, pretty girl?" He grunts and you clench, driving him closer to the edge. “Is that what you thought about?”

The sounds coming from the both of you are filthy. Pornographic in nature and incessant.

"Y-yes," you manage to gasp, your fingers digging into the muscles of his chest, surely leaving marks to remember you by. "Just like that. Oh, oh fuck, Chris. You're gonna make me cum."

Your words send him reeling, his thrusts faltering slightly. "Do it, baby," he rasps, his eyes burning into yours. "Cum all over my cock."

The coil in your belly snaps, his name spilling from your lips as you cum. Your release has his head spinning. The tight squeeze of your cunt and the sounds he has vibrating from your chest drag him closer to his own blinding release. He holds back, fucking you through your high with a sloppy rhythm.

"Fuck, I'm close." You pry his grip from your hips and lift up off of him, sinking down to your knees. You look prettier than Chris can handle, on your knees with his fur coat pooling around you. Your lips wrap around his throbbing cock and he moans, his hand finding purchase in your hair immediately.

"Shit, yes, oh god." He breathes, his hips rocking forward. "So good, jus’ like that." A deep, guttural moan escapes his lips and his hips stutter. "Fuck, oh fuck."

His eyes shut tight as you bury his cock deep in your throat, swallowing around him and milking his chest dry of every last ounce of oxygen he possessed.

You hum, reaching down between your legs and rubbing your throbbing pussy while he makes such pretty sounds above you.

"’M gonna cum," He groans, his accent thick and his grip on your hair tightening. You keep your pace, bringing your hand up to stroke what can’t fit into your mouth as you suck and lick him like you know everything that drives him crazy - because somehow, you do.

His jaw clenches, his abs tense and the muscles in his neck strain and suddenly you wish that you were still on top of him, letting him fill you full of his sticky seed but that will have to wait until next time.

Chris tenses above you, a loud groan erupting from him as the first spurt of hot cum falls against your tongue.

"Fuck, oh, fuck. Just like that, baby. ‘M cumming for you, take it all." He shudders, rambling as his body jerks as he spills himself down your throat. You swallow him greedily, his sweet taste lingering on your tongue.

Chris' breathing is heavy, his chest rises and falls rapidly while he watches you. You pull up off of him, kissing the head of his twitching dick while his heart races.

You smile at him, "Good?" You ask, wiping the corners of your mouth. “Are you kidding me?” Chris huffs out a breathy laugh. "So fucking good."

"Come here," He mumbles, lifting you up and bringing you to his lap. His coat drags behind you and he runs his hands up under the furry fabric and over your back. “You look so good in this.”

He fixes your dress, bringing it up to cover your exposed chest and smoothes the fabric over your thighs. “Do you say that to every girl you let borrow your clothes?”

Chris smiles, shaking his head and running his greedy hands up your thighs.

“You're the only girl I’ve ever let wear something of mine. And I’ll keep it that way under one condition.” You smile, resting your own greedy hands over his chest and leaning into him.

“What would that be?” He cups your cheek bringing you in for a soft kiss, much softer than what’s in his job description. In his defense, he’s never felt this much chemistry with any other lady who’s walked through the front door of this club.

“Come back soon, okay?” He smiles against your lips and kisses you again, whispering this time. “And I’ll make sure that you’re the only one wearing my clothes both inside and outside of the club.”

You mirror his smile, kissing his lips with a tenderness you didn’t foresee when you first met him.

“Deal.”

Thank You For Reading! 💕

Divider credit to @bunnysrph

ALSO, please follow my back-up acct. @minniee-verse 💕

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beloveds-embrace · 3 months ago

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(Omegaverse poly 141 x designationless reader)

You learned sometime on that, while your team may not think much about your lack of a designation, they still react to things on instinct.

And those instincts? They’re ridiculously easy to manipulate.

Take Ghost, for example. Big, intimidating Alpha. Stoic, unreadable, all sharp angles and careful control. But bump into him just right- tilt your head like you’re subconsciously presenting your throat, slow blinking at him- and suddenly he’s there, steadying you, holding you in place with a grip that lingers just a little too long.

Or Gaz who can’t stand the sight of someone looking even remotely cold. It takes nothing- nothing- to get him to bundle you up in blankets, to press close for warmth without a second thought.

Johnny is the easiest of them all, though. He’s naturally affectionate, eager to touch, to tug you into his space. All you have to do is sigh, maybe rub at your temples like you’re exhausted, and he’s pulling you into a hug before you can blink.

And then there’s John. Your captain, your steady anchor. He pretends he’s immune to your antics, but you know better. Let your shoulders slump, let yourself look just a little too small (irrelevant of your height), and suddenly he’s standing closer, touching the back of your neck, rubbing slow circles against your skin like he’s scenting you even though there’s nothing there to mark.

They can’t help it. It’s instinct.

So, really, is it your fault if you use that to your advantage?

It’s been a long mission.

Your muscles ache, your head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton, and all you want is warmth and comfort.

So you get to work.

You start with Johnny, because he’s the easiest mark. You drop onto the nest beside him with a heavy sigh, letting yourself slump dramatically against his shoulder, against the warmth of his bulk.

“Johnny,” you mumble, voice thick with exhaustion. A little whine, barely there. “I’m so tired.”

It takes less than a second for him to react.

“Aw, c’mere then, hen.” He says immediately, already shifting, pulling you into his side with an arm slung around your waist until you are comfy and cozy against him.

You don’t even try to hide your grin.

Kyle is next. He sees you curled up against Johnny, eyes drooping, a little shiver flowing up your spine, and immediately starts fussing.

“You’re cold.” He says, already grabbing a soft, thick blanket. He drapes it over you before you can protest, tucking it around your shoulders with a soft tsk and then kissing your forehead.

Perfect.

Simon is a little harder, but you know what works.

You shift, stretching just enough that your neck is exposed, turning toward him when he enters the room slightly as if expecting him to slot into place beside you.

And oh, he does.

He doesn’t say anything, just moves, settling on your other side with a quiet sigh, his presence solid and warm. One big hand lands on your thigh, not gripping, just holding, like he needs to feel you there. You can feel his satisfied grumble when you relax further more than you can actually hear it.

Last is John.

You crack one eye open, watching him linger near the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

You sigh again, softer this time, and let your eyes flutter closed, tilting your head just enough to bare the curve of your throat to him, as well.

There’s a beat of hesitation.

Then-

The nest dips as Price joins the pile, one large hand cupping the back of your head, his chest broad and solid as you nuzzle against him, all of the other three making space for him yet sticking close regardless.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he murmurs.

You smile against his shoulder. “And yet, here you are.” Sleepily, you mumble.

Price just chuffs, low and warm, and you smile stretches wider in return, eyes fluttering shut while your body turns fully pliant under their care.

You’ve won.

Omegaverse Masterlist

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rafedarling · 6 months ago

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𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞

request: open

pairing: drew starkey x actress!reader

summary: new parents and beloved hollywood couple drew and you take to the jimmy kimmel live stage to discuss your latest movie project together, which releases in may. between balancing new parenthood and demanding film schedules, you two finds yourself sharing a funny, heartfelt stories about life on set with their baby girl, emma starkey. a viral behind-the-scenes video brings laughter to the show, as you discuss how parenting has influenced your lives and careers. based on today drew interview on jimmy kimmel live interview.

warning(s): english is not my native language. fluff, humorous parenting moments, discussions of balancing work and family life.

au: like, reblog and feedback are much appreciated. taglist | tagging: @rubixgsworld @rafeyslamb @bisexualcvnt @tracymbcm @maybankslover @anamiad00msday @stuffyownswrld @httpsdrewstarkey @mileyraes @enjoymyloves @akobx @noobmazter69 @victwrvale @xoxohoneymoongirl @xoxosblogsblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @saviorcomplexrry @percysley @littlelamy

gif: rafedarling

“Ladies and gentlemen, our next guests are not only Hollywood’s favorite power couple but also the stars of the highly anticipated romantic-action film Against All Odds, which hits theaters this May. And if that’s not enough, they’ve recently stepped into the chaotic world of parenthood with their baby girl, Emma. Please welcome Drew Starkey and Y/N!”

You can hear the audience roared with applause as Jimmy Kimmel welcomed his next guests.

You and Drew walked out hand in hand, smiling and waving to the audience. Drew’s free hand rested on your back as he guided you to the guest couch. The applause was deafening, with some cheers and whistles peppered in. You laughed as Jimmy gestured to quiet the audience.

“Wow,” Jimmy said, shaking his head.

“You guys have the crowd in a frenzy. I mean, Hollywood’s hottest couple and now officially parents? Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” you said, smiling at the crowd. “It’s been a crazy year.”

“Yeah,” Drew chimed in, “between the movie and the baby, I’m not even sure what sleep feels like anymore.”

The audience laughed, and Jimmy leaned forward.

“Okay, we have to start with the most important question: How’s parenthood treating you? You’ve got a baby girl, Emma. How’s life with a newborn?”

Drew chuckled and ran a hand through his hair.

“It’s… humbling, to say the least. Being a first-time parent is no joke. I don’t think I could survive it without this one,” he said, nodding toward you.

You playfully nudged him. “Oh, stop it. You’re doing great.”

Jimmy smiled. “Okay, Y/N, your turn. How’s life as a mom?”

“It’s amazing,” you said, your voice softening.

“I mean, it’s exhausting, but Emma’s such a sweet baby. Watching her grow and discover the world makes all the sleepless nights worth it.”

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “Sleepless nights? Drew, are you pulling your weight with those 3 a.m. feedings and diaper changes?”

Drew grinned, holding up his hands defensively.

“Absolutely. I’ve mastered the art of the one-handed diaper change. My record is forty-three seconds.”

The audience erupted in laughter, and you rolled your eyes.

“He’s not lying. But let’s not forget the time you forgot to put the diaper on at all.”

The crowd gasped with laughter as Drew shook his head, groaning.

“Okay, in my defense, I was running on two hours of sleep. And the burp cloth worked just fine… temporarily.”

Jimmy laughed, slapping the desk. “You’re officially a dad now, Drew. Forgetting a diaper is like a rite of passage.”

Drew nodded solemnly. “It’s a learning curve.”

Jimmy turned his attention back to you. “Now, let’s talk about Against All Odds. The trailer has everyone excited. What can you tell us about the movie?”

You leaned forward slightly.

“It’s a romantic-action film about two rival spies played by Drew and me who are forced to work together on a mission to stop a global threat. Of course, things get complicated when they realize they have a shared past.”

“Ah, a little romance, a little action,” Jimmy said. “And a lot of explosions, I’m guessing?”

“Definitely,” Drew said.

“The stunts in this film are insane. We’ve got car chases, hand-to-hand combat, and this one sequence where Y/N literally jumps out of a helicopter.”

The audience gasped, and Jimmy’s jaw dropped.

“Wait, wait. You’re telling me Y/N did her own stunts?”

You shrugged with a smile. “Most of them, yeah. The helicopter scene was terrifying, but the adrenaline rush was worth it.”

Jimmy turned to Drew. “And how did you feel about your wife jumping out of a helicopter while pregnant?”

“Oh, that scene was filmed before we knew about Emma,” Drew said quickly.

“But I still worried about her constantly. Every time she’d do a stunt, I’d be off to the side like, ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’”

You laughed. “He was basically my personal cheerleader-slash-bodyguard.”

Jimmy shook his head, smiling. “And Y/N, how was filming while pregnant? Did the crew make accommodations for you?”

“They were amazing,” you said.

“They adjusted the schedule so that I could rest when I needed to, and they made sure I always had plenty of snacks on set.”

“Snacks were essential,” Drew added. “She had a bag of trail mix with her at all times.”

Jimmy laughed. “It sounds like the two of you had a lot going on behind the scenes. Speaking of which, I have to ask about the viral video. You know the one.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. Drew laughed, shaking his head.

“Oh no. You’re not really going to show it, are you?”

“Of course I am!” Jimmy said, grinning.

“For anyone who hasn’t seen it, this is a behind-the-scenes video of Drew and Y/N on set. Drew’s building a baby crib, and Y/N is… well, just watch.”

The screen infront and behind you lit up with the video. The audience howled as they watched Drew hammering away at a crib while you sat on a couch with a breast pump. The rhythmic “whirr, whirr” of the pump provided the perfect comedic soundtrack as Drew worked intently. At one point, you casually scrolled through your phone, looking completely unbothered.

When the video ended, the audience erupted into cheers and laughter. Jimmy was wiping tears from his eyes.

“So my question is… is this what you do on set?”

“Well,” Drew said, still chuckling, “Emma needed a crib, and we didn’t have one on set. So, naturally, I decided to build one during a break.”

“And I,” you added with a grin, “was taking care of my part of the parenting duties. Multitasking at its finest.”

Jimmy shook his head, laughing.

“You two are the epitome of modern parenthood. Drew, do you moonlight as a carpenter now?”

Drew smirked. “Not yet, but give me a few more months of parenting, and I’ll be building treehouses.”

The audience laughed again, and Jimmy leaned back in his chair.

“Okay, last question: How do you balance it all? Filming, parenting, being a couple; what’s the secret?”

You exchanged a glance with Drew before answering.

“Honestly, communication is everything. We make sure to check in with each other and divide responsibilities as evenly as possible.”

“And coffee,” Drew added. “Lots of coffee.”

Jimmy nodded sagely. “Coffee and communication. Words to live by.”

The interview wrapped up with more laughs, and even a clip from Against All Odds. As the applause filled the studio, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the life you and Drew had built on and off the screen. together.

#drew starkey #rafe cameron #drew starkey imagine #rafe cameron imagines #drew starkey imagines #rafe cameron imagine #drew starkey x y/n #rafe cameron fanfic #drew starkey x you #rafe cameron x y/n #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fanfic #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey x reader #drew x reader #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey gif

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kisakunt · 5 months ago

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ODE TO THE V CARD!

description... losing virginity! taking the v card! getting laid!

warnings… honestly not many. just sex pretty vanilla

word from the writer… the gets killed is mid idk it’s not my best work but i tried ok guys

KILLERS

“aw, look at you,” his hands knead at your breasts, head dipping down to press a coy kiss to the side of your lips. “so sensitive.” you shudder at the contact, whine passing from your lips when he rocks his hips against you. “gonna make you feel good, yeah baby?” he loves you like this, so confused and needy under him, pure and vulnerable and so okay with him ruining you. his thumb hooks along the curve of your waist, tracing the outline of your bare skin under him before resting on your clit, grin widening at the garble that leaves you.

“no one’s ever touched you here, yeah?” you think, by default, this makes you his. as if that would ever be a question to begin with. “no one’s ever made you feel like this?” his finger moves— not in the small circles you’ve heard about, but up and down, pressing just hard enough without alleviating the pressure. it’s dizzying, the way his callouses shift over your bud, his breath shallow but composed.

“you want more, doll?” you nod— scared, helpless, desperate. it’s a mess— hands reaching over for lube to make the experience easier for you (though you think, honestly, you might be wet enough as is), an anxious laugh bubbling at your lips while you pull your legs back in an almost birthing position. it’s real, intimate and deep between the two of you, authentic and honest and nothing like the porn you’d watch late at night thinking about him.

and when he finally does it— when he slowly inches himself in between your folds, rubbing your clit with the tip of his dick, teasing you, right before slowly breaking at your walls, it hurts.

he doesn’t bottom out immediately. even when he’s cruel, he’s nicer than that. he takes his time filling you up, before he develops a slow rhythm that makes you squirm.

“that okay?” it’s not as sweet as you’d intend it to be, selfishness laced inside the question. you nod pathetically, hair laid out under you and eyes hazy.

“good.” then, without a second thought, he’s really fucking you. and you can’t do anything but lay there, legs loosely around his waist, and take it.

MEGUMI, GOJO, TOJI, CHOSO

GETS FUCKING KILLED

he didn’t know what to expect. maybe some flare of passion; ripping clothes off, declaring love, crying even.

he didn’t think it’d be you; down on your knees, one hand at the base of his cock, your lips suctioned on the rest with your tongue swirling over the tip. he didn’t think he’d be breathy, moaning, desperate before even trying pussy.

you don’t let him cum. you do a good enough job, pulling back with a pop, and then you give him a little lopsided grin. you trace your fingers over him, swirling up the last of the precum.

“so,” you’re standing up now, leaning over him and licking your fingers. you make a show out of it, he can’t help but wonder how insanely experienced you are compared to him. “you wanna fuck me or what?”

he won’t be too eager. he knows he’s already about to make a big fool of himself, so he can’t make an ass of him too. he nods, diligently, thoughtfully, and wonders how you’ll take him.

he expects maybe for you to ride him, but you lay on your back and rest your hands under your thighs, ready to pull them up whenever.

“you gotta learn sometime. get to it!” he’s nervous. his hands rest right next to your hips, one of them raised trying to figure out exactly how to get inside. you laugh and he feels his world crumbling.

“here,” you grab his cock, lining the tip up with your hole, hand massaging it gently as you do. “there you go, baby. you got it.”

when he starts, it’s too sloppy. his hips stutter, they can’t find a proper rhythm, but then you tell him how. you boss him, telling him how fast to go, where to angle, how to hit. it’s more of a tutoring session than sex maybe, but then he does something that makes you gasp and he’s obsessed.

“yeah, yeah, harder. no— don’t speed up, i said harder.” he listens to your every word, and the sound of your wet, and the sound of his breaths, and he can tell he’s going to cum all to quick.

“fuck, sorry. fuck! sorry!” it couldn’t have been more than five minutes, honestly. but you bring your hand to his face and pull him down to you after he cums, kissing him soft and sweet.

“lot of potential there, mister.” you swipe your thumb under his eye and he squints. oh. he guesses there was crying involved.

SUKUNA, GETO, NANAMI, YUJI

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oldermenfucker · 28 days ago

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Mama’s Boy | J. Abbot

summary: Your son interrupts you and your husband’s “fun” time every time Jack gets his hands on you. Tonight he’s had enough.

warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, unprotected sex, breeding, creampie, Jack’s getting cockblocked and he doesn’t like it ONE BIT lmao, your son is around 4-5years old, mom!reader & boy dad!Jack, totally inspired by Shawn Hatosy’s tweet about how he is so thankful for his (asshole) sons and his hot beautiful wife lol, English isn’t my first language<3

word count: 2k+

an: so this happened today… THE QUESTION IS: should I write a Robby version of it but with girl dad!Robby and sexually frustrated!reader??? YES OR NO?🤭

Reblogs & comments are always appreciated💕

Four months, twenty-two days, eleven hours.

Not like Jack is keeping count or something, but those numbers? They are driving him nuts.

Four months, twenty two days and eleven hours without fucking you. Yes, he is using the ‘hush! He’s too young to learn this word!’ curse, because this kid… this fucking kid is interrupting him every single time he thinks he can get his hands on you.

Somehow, you are always interrupted by the magical word of ‘Mama!’ Bouncing off the walls anytime he corners you against the wall, his hot mouth covering yours as he almost gets what he wants.

But no. His own kid, the son he created with you, the very baby he would burn the entire world down for has to become a pain in his ass. Jack loves his son so much to the point you tease him about turning your little boy into a spoiled brat, but he just waves you off and keeps doing what he does.

As much as he loves his son, his body and heart ache to hold you, whether it is cuddling, showering together, or enjoying a moment of peace on the couch with tea in his hands.

But his son has to be a total mama’s boy.

He doesn’t fault the kid; you are magnificent, the most beautiful woman he has had the honor of meeting, the most perfect wife anyone could ask for, the mom of the year. He understands why this little boy is so enamored by you, but his patience has its limits.

One time, he was so pent up after a rough shift that all he needed was to smother you with his weight and cling to you all day like a koala, but his precious son had a stomachache that needed to be taken care of.

Another time you were wearing nothing but his shirt on, swaying to soft music while you cooked dinner for him after you put your son down on his night off, and it was the second most beautiful scene he had ever seen — the first being you on your wedding day — and you looked so soft and full of warmth that he wanted to do nothing but feel you thoroughly.

But even then, his son woke up thirsty, and you had to jump off the counter when he had you with your legs wrapped around his hips and his tongue down your throat. And Jack to his delight watched as you kissed the baby’s hair and picked him up, walking over to Jack to grab a glass and fill it with water — He loved this sight, so pure and beautiful, but in that moment he wished he could have had all your attention even for a second.

The last straw was when he arrived home after his rough night shift, checking on the little gremlin first before he pads into the room, finding you snuggling his pillow with the tightest tank top known to mankind and shorts that barely covered the curve of your ass.

He had stripped himself off of his scrubs as soon as possible, kissing his way up from your ankle to your thighs and your shoulders, his heavy hands caressing your soft skin with anticipation.

You hummed and smiled sleepily, turning around in his arms to kiss him, but as soon as you wanted to do, you heard the soft whimpering ‘Mama?’ Coming from the doorway, making Jack groan and drop next to you on the bed, watching as his son shyly crawled his way between your arms, mumbling a soft ‘I felt lonely’ before he fell asleep.

Jack has endured four damned months of having a hard on that he had to take care of with his own hand, but enough is enough. He will change that tonight.

“I can’t believe you are ditching your shift on Ellis to take us out!” You laugh softly, putting on the red lipstick Jack so adores while he closes the door to your son’s room as he takes his afternoon nap before you leave for the restaurant Jack made reservations at.

“Not ditching, sweetheart,” he walks into your shared bedroom to put his own clothes on, “Just letting my senior resident and the new attendee have their fun running the ER.”

“Don’t be surprised when you go and find the floor on fire, babe,” you reply, putting on the new earrings you bought just for the occasion, not noticing the heavy look Jack is giving you.

He is dying, he must be, because goddamn he can’t breathe as he watches you pull the fabric of your black dress up your thighs, giving him a nice view of your asscheeks hanging out from the thong you decided to wear for the occasion.

He doesn’t reply, he can’t, because he is so busy gawking at you. Jack doesn’t even bother with dressing fully as he waltzes inside the bathroom you are getting ready in with his belt undone and the fly of his pants open, chest fully on display.

He shuts the door behind him as quietly as possible to not wake the little demon up from his power nap, locking it as well just in case.

You notice him through the mirror, giving him a confused smile as he stalks closer, his hands immediately on your hips. Jack rests his chin on your shoulder, pressing a kiss on your skin as he drags his eyes over your body, groaning while he takes you in.

“What’s gotten into you?” You lean back into his chest, resting your hands on top of his as he wraps them around your waist, kissing you from your jaw to your collarbone.

“I miss my wife,” his words come in a rush, and he turns you around in a blink of an eye, making you gasp as he grabs the back of your thighs, picking you up before he lowers you on the edge of the bathroom sink, “And I need her now.”

You moan lowly, biting your lip when he attaches his lips to your neck, sucking and biting every inch he can get his lips on. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, legs spreading with a tap on the outside of your thigh so he can make room between them with ease.

“That kid better be dreaming, cause I ain’t stopping if he wants to interrupt,” he whispers sucking on the thin skin of your lips as he pushes your dress up around your waist, growling at the sight of the thong you are wearing, “Fucking hell, sweetheart—“

“Please, Jack,” you pout, wiggling to the edge while you press your heels into his butt to bring him closer, gasping when the cold metal of his belt rests against your heated thigh.

“Don’t beg me,” he grins, pushing his pants down with his boxers until his cock is out, heavy and needy to be inside you before he reaches between your bodies, pushing the tiny cloth out of his way, “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes…”

You can feel your face heating up when he finds out just how wet you are, dripping for him as if you are just as pent up as he is. The realization hits him like a truck, making his pulse quicken and his cock throbbing in anticipation.

“Jack, we don’t have too much time—“

“Don’t remind me, I’m trying not to make any sound that might be loud enough to wake him up,” he puts his hands on your waist, his hazel eyes staring at your face when you reach down to stroke his cock a few times before lining up the thick head with your soaked entrance.

“Shit— fuck-baby…” You mewl as he pushes inside, stretching you out and filling you to the brim, making home inside your warm walls with ease, “So so good.”

“That damn kid,” he growls, pressing his lips to yours when you whine loudly as he starts thrusting into, dragging his cock in and out of you in a quick pace, “I didn’t have you for months, he better not wake up now.”

“You’re jealous of your own kid?” You squeal when he angles his hips just the right way to hit your sweet spot, having your head dizzy and hazy as he fucks you faster and harder.

“I’m jealous of anyone who spends more time with you than I can ever do—“ he knows he is not envious of his own kid, it would be ridiculous, but also he wants his wife all to himself for fifteen minutes at least, and he was not getting that for four fucking months.

You cling to him, nails scratching his freckled skin, leaving red angry marks all over his back while he buries his face into your neck, nibbling on your pulse point as he fucks you harder into oblivion.

“Please, please, pleaseplease—“ you stutter over your words when his finger comes down to rub your clit, making your legs shake around his hips as he moves harder, nearing his own orgasm.

The white hot pleasure crashes into your veins, having both of you quiver in each other’s embrace as you gush around his length and he shoots his warm sticky cum deep into you.

Jack quickly silences you with pressing his lips to yours, muffling your loud moan and his deep groan in an instant as he finally finally releases all the pent-up lust, his shoulders relaxing after months of torture.

Just when he rests his forehead on yours and tries to catch his breath, his ears perk up at the sound of the soft, slow footsteps.

“Mama?”

“Fuckin’ hell—“ he tips his head back and you take this as your cue to lean down and kiss his throat, caressing his jaw before you urge him to pull out of you, “He is too punctual for his age.”

“He just hates pervy men around his mama.” he glares at you playfully when you reply, pecking your lips before he tucks himself back into his pants quickly before your son comes into your bedroom, helping you hop down from the sink, “He’s all yours, Jack.”

“With pleasure,” he winks at you, and in an instant, you know he is going to say something to keep you alone in the house for the rest of the night.

“Hey, bud,” Jack says as he finds your son on the bed, clutching his little bear in his hands, his feet dangling from the edge of the mattress, “What are you up to?”

“I had a nightmare,” the baby mumbles, looking at Jack with those big, wide eyes, making his heart clench in despair.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, little guy. C’mere,” Jack picks his son up, sitting against the headboard as the little boy cuddles into his chest, sniffing a little before Jack starts rocking him slowly, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No,” his son shakes his head, pressing himself tightly into his old man’s arms, “Will we go out now?”

“Would you like to go out, buddy? We can always stay and order something,” Jack softly strokes the little boy’s head, kissing the crown of his head. “What do you say? Pizza night with mama and daddy?”

“And SpongeBob!” Suddenly, the boy sits up, beaming with his little teeth at his dad, making Jack laugh and nod.

“Yup, Pizza and SpongeBob!” They both turn around when you step outside the bathroom, makeup removed after hearing them change the plans, and the dress replaced with a pair of pajamas, “Look who’s here.”

“Mama!”

“Yes, baby boy?” You crawl next to them, lying on the bed with your arms stretched out, and to your delight, Jack and your son both snuggle into you — somehow Jack manages to fit himself into the embrace, “Family night, yeah?”

“Oh, definitely,” he grabs the back of your neck to pull you down, kissing you softly before he chuckles when your son makes a gagging noise, trying to separate you from Jack.

“Ew!”

“She was mine first,” Jack glares at the boy, and he glares back, both too interwoven into this playful banter to notice you looking at them with soft eyes.

“No! She is my mama!”

#the pitt #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot smut #jack abbot x female reader #jack abbot fanfic #jack abbot x you #jack abbott smut #jack abbott #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt smut #the pitt x reader

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girlgenius1111 · 1 month ago

Text

learning curve part 5

alexia putellas x reader [& r's nephew] after a hectic and rushed morning, will gets sick. r and alexia take care of him. later in the week, r and alexia lose to real madrid, and will tries to help. fluff + hurt comfort 🙂

—

It seemed as though for every obstacle overcome, another one almost immediately presented itself. Every time you were able to push some doubt you had about yourself out of your head, another one replaced it. And every time, Alexia was there to ground you back to reality. She had enough confidence in you that it was okay when you didn’t really feel it in yourself.

And as time passed, your own confidence grew, and it seemed like Alexia’s did too. Until it was shaken.

Mornings in your household were pretty routine. Alexia got up, giving you time to sleep in as she got Will up and ready for the day. At first, you’d felt bad that she was taking the morning with him and you weren’t doing anything. But, as Alexia argued, you did almost the entirety of his bedtime with him, while Alexia pretended not to fall asleep on the sofa. And Ale liked having time with him in the morning, and she was awake anyway.

The two of them had their own special little morning routine, which included a walk around the neighborhood and Will spending 10 minutes picking his outfit out. It was practiced, at this point; Will and Alexia moved through the morning with purpose while you moved through the morning practically half conscious until your coffee kicked in, normally just as you were leaving the house to drop Will at school and head to training.

This morning, however, was neither routine nor practiced. You and Alexia had been up later than you’d intended. Normally, her internal clock woke her up without fail. It seemed that not getting her 9 hours had messed with her internal alarm, and she was roughly shaking you awake just 20 minutes before you had to leave.

“Amor. Amor. We overslept, levántante!” Alexia was almost frantic.

You groaned, batting her hand away from your shoulder. She was usually much nicer when she woke you up, though the circumstances obviously wouldn’t allow for the few minutes she normally spent stroking your hair and kissing your face.

“If you do not get up right now, we won’t have time for coffee.” Alexia called over her shoulder, heading down the hall to get Will up.

And with that, you were scrambling out of bed and stumbling into the bathroom. What followed was a very chaotic and very rushed 20 minutes, but you managed to make it out of the house in time, travel mug of coffee in hand. Will was eating his breakfast quietly in the backseat on the way to his school, Alexia driving calmly like she hadn’t acted like a maniac to get everyone out of the house on time, and you were trying to make your hair look less like Alexia had very clearly had you on your back the night before.

Alexia pulled into the dropoff line, and you reached back to undo Will’s car seat buckles.

“Have a good day, buddy. We’ll see you later.” You told him, ruffling his hair as he gave you a small smile.

“Love you Tia, love you Ale,” he called, opening the door and carefully climbing down out of the car.

You only really had time to think once you were driving towards training, half your coffee already gone. It was more than a little odd that you and Alexia had been allowed to oversleep. Will woke up at roughly the same time everyday, and in the rare event Alexia didn’t get him up, he got her up. Today, though, he’d still been sleeping when she’d gone in to wake him, almost an hour and a half later than normal. It hadn’t struck you as odd until you’d thought about it for more than 5 seconds, but once you had… you were retroactively trying to analyze your nephew’s behavior in the short time you’d been with him that morning.

“Did something seem off to you? With Will this morning?”

Alexia hummed, thinking. “No. A little quiet, I guess. Maybe he didn’t sleep well.”

You nodded, going over Wil’s behavior that morning. Quiet felt like it was only part of it, but Alexia was always more observant than you.

“You’re right. He’s fine.”

“He’s fine.” Alexia echoed, reaching over to grab your hand and lace your fingers with hers. She glanced over with a reassuring smile. “You’re overthinking. He’s okay.”

You returned her smile, trying to convince yourself. There was just this nagging feeling in the back of your head, one you couldn’t get rid of. Will’s face as you dropped him off this morning kept popping into your head, and maybe you were imagining things, but it seemed different than his usual smile. His goodbye had been quieter, and you could have sworn he walked slower into the building than normal.

You shook your head, squeezing Alexia’s hand and trying to focus on her next to you before you began to freak out over nothing. Will was fine.

—

Will was not fine. He’d woken up feeling positively awful, like everything in his body wasn’t working right. His head felt cloudy and his brain felt slower than normal. He’d barely been able to eat even a few bites of his breakfast before he had to give up, his stomach turning. He was warm when he woke up, his dinosaur comforter and matching sheets pushed to the bottom of his bed, but so cold his teeth were chattering in the car on the way to school, even wrapped in his new Barcelona sweatshirt. [Alexia had brought it home for him two days ago, despite you telling her he didn’t need anymore clothes. Alexia was always bringing him home little things she saw that made her think of him, and those were his most favorite things. The brontosaurus ornament from the christmas shop she’d gone to with you, the glow-in-the-dark shoes she’d brought home from a nike photo shoot, the spiderman keychain to attach to his backpack she’d gotten in the airport on the way home from an away game.]

Will wanted nothing more than to go home and burrow under the knit blanket you kept on the couch. He didn’t even care if you didn't let him watch the TV, as long as the icky feeling that filled his entire body went away soon. He thought about saying something, telling you he didn’t feel well.

But then he’d remembered what Alexia had said the night before, about today being an important training session before you played Madrid over the weekend. Will wasn’t quite sure how long training was, but he assumed it was like school, and you’d be gone all day. And Will knew that football was your and Alexia’s job, and his Dad had always told him how important jobs were. When Will still lived with his Dad, he hadn’t been allowed to stay home sick, because his Dad couldn’t miss work.

If anything, your and Alexia’s job seemed even bigger and more important than his Dad’s job. If Will said he was sick, one of you might have to stay home with him and miss training. That would be making way too much trouble, Will had decided. So, he’d put on a brave face and gone to school.

Maybe, when he got home, he could say he was extra tired, and take a nap on the couch with one of you. Maybe you’d lay with him on the couch and scratch his back like you did when he had a bad dream. He had to get through the school day first, a task that was feeling more and more impossible with every passing second.

—

The call came after the gym session. You always kept your phone on you now, as the adult responsible for a small child. It was a beautiful day, the kind that you pictured when you’d signed with Barcelona. Sun shining, warm on your skin. Your muscles ached in the best way, and though your worry for your nephew persisted somewhat, Alexia had been very reassuring. You walked with her now, from the gym out to the pitch, chatting easily about some gossip her sister had told her on the phone. It was funny, how you spent practically all your time together but you never ran out of things to talk about. Your teammates teased you for it, how you were constantly together, attached at the hip.

Your phone rang, but Alexia kept going on about Alba’s horrible co-worker, assuming it wasn’t a call you’d need to take in the middle of training. Yet when you pulled it out of your pocket and saw it was Will’s school calling, and Alexia caught a glimpse of the caller ID over your shoulder, she cut herself off abruptly.

“Hello?” You answered, stopping just off the pitch. You motioned for Alexia to go ahead without you, as Pere was calling everyone to gather around him, but she just rolled her eyes, leaning her head closer to try to listen.

“Hello, is this Will’s guardian?”

“Yes. Is everything okay?”

“Well, we have Will here in the nurse’s office, and…”

You listened intently, as did Alexia, though there was something heavy now weighing on her mind. You’d told her that something wasn’t right with Will that morning. And she hadn’t listened. She’d been more focused on reassuring you and calming your anxiety, not pausing to think whether you might be worrying for a good reason.

The nurse explained that Will had gotten sick in class, and needed to be picked up right away. Alexia was telling one of the assistant coaches who had wandered over that there was a family emergency and you both had to go before you’d even hung up the phone. As soon as you did, though, you turned to Alexia, face pinched with concern.

“Ale, you can stay–”

“No.” Alexia said assuredly, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the building. “We will both go get him.”

Through your concern, your heart felt like it grew in size. Alexia never missed training voluntarily. Never. But now, she was rushing out with barely any notice to go with you to get Will, and you were reminded of how lucky you were to have her with you in this.

Even if she wasn’t thinking the same thing about herself in that moment.

—

The two of you rushed into the nurse’s office, panicked to a level that the nurse was not unfamiliar with. It was always the same with first time parents, when they had to come get their sick kid from school for the first time. The panic was always the same, you and Alexia practically breaking down her door in your haste to get to your nephew.

“Will,” you sighed, some of the stress and anxiety leaving your body at the sight of him in front of you. He was curled up on his side, tears still falling, pale and shaky, yet you were with him now, and that made it a little better.

“I’m sorry.” Will whimpered, sitting up shakily and wiping at his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay, mi amor, don’t be sorry.” Alexia cooed, crouching down in front of the small cot and leaning in to kiss Will’s temple. She followed up with her hand right after, pressing it to his forehead and feeling the heat of his skin. He had a fever. How had she missed this?

Carefully, you pulled Will into your arms, lifting him easily.

“Please don’t be sorry, Will. I’m sorry we didn’t realize you weren’t feeling well.” You told him, slowly rubbing his back as he cried.

“I threw up in class and everyone saw.” He sobbed, burying his face in your neck. Your heart broke, and one look at Alexia told you hers was doing the same.

“I’ll sign him out.” Alexia murmured, resting one hand on Will’s back for a moment before heading to the desk, Will’s dinosaur backpack comically slung over her shoulder. You began to walk with your nephew out of the building and to the car, hearing his cries begin to slow.

When you finally got him buckled into his seat, after some convincing required to get him to let go of you, you felt his forehead just as Alexia had.

“Oh, buddy, you’re burning up.” You murmured.

Will’s lip was still trembling, but he tried to smile at you. “I’m… I’m okay.”

You could have laughed at how visibly untrue that statement was, but nothing about this was funny. Not even Alexia wearing Will’s backpack out to the car, much too small on her back.

You just kissed the top of his head, shut his door and headed around to the passenger seat. The car was quiet for a minute as Alexia backed out of the parking lot, only just noticing how poorly she had parked in her haste to get to Will.

“Are we going to football?” Will piped up quietly from the backseat. He’d come a few times, when he hadn’t had school, and he was hoping you and Ale would just bring him there so you wouldn’t miss work.

You and your girlfriend exchanged confused glances, Alexia studying him in the rearview mirror.

“No, bud, we’re going home. You’re sick, you need to rest.” You replied.

You weren’t expecting Will to start crying again, but the sound of his sniffling soon filled the car.

“But… but work is important. You can’t miss just for me!”

You twisted around in your seat to look at him, reaching out a hand to rest on his knee. His little face was flushed red, from sickness or emotion you weren’t sure. It shattered your heart that he would ever presume that football was more important than him.

“Will, you are much more important than work. So much more important.” You told him, tilting your head slightly to make eye contact with him.

“Cariño, did you feel ill this morning and not tell us because we had training?” Alexia cut in, the question practically burning on the way out.

A moment passed before your nephew nodded slightly. You half wanted to tell Alexia to stop the car so you could get into the backseat and pull Will into your arms, and half wanted Alexia to just run you over. You weren’t sure where he’d gotten the idea to lie about being sick, but it felt like a massive failure on your part.

“If you’re sick, baby, you have to tell us so we can take care of you. You don’t need to worry about football or training or anything; you come first, okay?”

“Will, you are the most important to us. More than football, do you understand?” Alexia asked, her voice shaking slightly with emotion.

Will nodded, his brown hair flopping into his eyes as he did so. “Okay.”

—

Alexia felt like the guilt could crush her. She never never wanted you or Will to think that football was more important to her. Yet here Will was, so sick his little body was shaking, but he’d tried to power through so he wouldn’t interrupt training.

It was with this guilt in her mind that she hovered uncertainly over the sofa, watching as you tucked Will under her favorite knit blanket, the one she preferred when she was sick, too. Alexia assumed neither you nor Will would want her around in that moment. You, because she’d talked you out of being rightfully worried for your nephew. And Will, for making him feel like he came second to her.

She was minutes away from offering to go to the grocery store and get the ingredients to make soup, just so she could have an excuse to call her Mami in the car and tell her how badly she messed up.

Well, how badly she thought she messed up.

“Okay, buddy. What can I get you? A snack? Soup? Anything?” You wondered, brushing his hair out of his face.

Alexia’s thoughts were still racing as Will’s gaze flicked over to her.

“Pancakes?” He wondered quietly, giving you a half smile. You chuckled, not sure why you thought he’d ask for anything else.

“Of course. I’ll go make them.” You stood, freezing when Alexia cleared her throat and spoke shakily.

“No, I can. You stay here with him.” She said quietly.

You raised your eyebrows, something about your girlfriend’s demeanor throwing you off. She seemed miserable and close to tears, somehow. Frowning, you opened your mouth, ready to ask her to join you in the kitchen for a minute so you could figure out what was wrong.

Will beat you to it, though. “Tia, sit with me?”

Will wasn’t looking at you, though. He was looking at Alexia. Her gaze flickered between yours and Will’s for a moment, completely dumbstruck.

“M-me?” Alexia asked, wringing her hands together. It had been a while since you’d seen her like this, so visibly upset when she was normally the picture of composure.

It didn’t seem to push Will off, though, because he just nodded. “Tia Ale sit with me. Tia go make pancakes.”

Will had called Alexia… Alexia the entire few months he’d been here. Sometimes Ale, but never anything else. You were Tia, and Alexia was Alexia. Until now, apparently.

Alexia could have sobbed, truly. Just when she’d been thoroughly convinced she was a horrible.. guardian or whatever she was, Will had innocently asked for her to sit with him, and fixed every doubt that was gripping her heart.

And you… you were looking at her with tears in your own eyes, a smile on your face. There was no annoyance on your face, no blame in your eyes. You just looked happy.

Maybe she hadn’t messed up as bad as she thought.

Without another word, Alexia sat on the couch, sliding under the blanket with Will and tucking him into her side. He snuggled right against her, his face still slightly pinched with discomfort, but seeming a lot more comfortable now.

After a minute of silence, Alexia now beaming at you from the couch, Will looked away from the TV back to where you were standing, watching the two of them fondly.

“Tia? Pancakes? Please?” He reminded you.

You nodded with a small laugh, leaning down to kiss his temple, and Alexia’s before heading into the kitchen.

You really loved your little family.

—

Will admittedly didn’t know much about football. He knew that you and Alexia were very good, knew that you both worked very hard. He knew Barcelona wore the blue and red colors, and he’d learned the numbers that appeared on the back of your kits. Though he’d yet to attend a match, he’d watched most of them from Eli’s couch while she gave him all the snacks he could ever want.

Will was watching when you and Alexia lost to Real Madrid, and Eli tried to explain to him the significance. All he really took away from that conversation, though, was that you and Ale would be sad, and he should probably give you hugs to make it better.

He’d done so when you picked him up from Eli’s, allowing Alexia time to head home and decompress. Will hugged you tight, Alexia even tighter once he got home and saw the frown on her face. It was late in the evening, already past his bedtime, and the two of you were very quiet.

Will thought he sort of knew how you felt, because he didn’t like losing the games at recess, either. There wasn’t much he could think to do, though. He’d barely been home 10 minutes before you were asking him to go get his pajamas out, so he could start getting ready for bed. You and Alexia walked in a few minutes later, after having a tense whispered conversation in the hall, one that Will did not miss.

He could tell you were both upset, but you tried your best not to let it show that you were somewhat upset with each other. It always happened after a loss, especially one like this. You and Alexia would be tense, snap at each other. It was a different situation entirely now that Will was here, his little face gazing up at the two of you, wide eyed, where he sat tucked under his covers.

He’d put his pajamas on himself, and both you and Alexia cracked smiles when you noticed his shirt was on backwards. He smiled back, wordlessly holding out his favorite book for one of you to read.

You took it, perching on the edge of his bed while Alexia leaned in the doorway, exhaustion causing her eyes to droop. Will looked between the two of you as you opened the book.

“Are you fighting?”

Alexia’s eyes were on you, you could tell, waiting for you to take the lead. You didn’t quite feel like looking at her, so you smiled softly at your nephew, running a hand through his brown curls.

“No, bud. We’ve just had a long day.”

Will looked dubious, even as Alexia nodded along.

“It sounded like you were fighting. In the hall. When you said Alexia was being mean and Alexia said you didn’t care about her feelings.”

You froze at that, not quite sure what your response was supposed to be. You were so tired, too tired to figure out how to explain that you and Alexia were just having a small argument to Will. Every part of your body ached from the physical match that had been played, and you swore you still felt as cold as if you’d stepped out of the rain just a minute ago and not several hours ago.

Just before you were about to stumble your way through some explanation, Alexia cleared her throat.

“We aren’t fighting, cariño. Your Tia and I just care a lot about football, and when we lose, it makes us sad.”

“That’s what Eli said, that you would be sad, and I should give you a really big hug.”

Alexia smiled softly, stepping further into the room, but not quite approaching you. You still wouldn’t look at her.

“She’s right, your hug made me feel so much better. Your Tia and I hate losing, and sometimes we aren’t very nice to each other after we lose. But we aren’t fighting, just… disagreeing.”

Will thought for a moment, his fingers fiddling with his navy blue spiderman pajama top.

“You should be better at losing.” He said finally.

You snorted, and Alexia laughed. Will smiled proudly, even as you shook your head in mock disbelief.

“Says the little boy who flipped the board over when he lost at checkers yesterday!”

Will giggled, and the tension was broken. Mostly.

Neither of you wanted him to carry the weight you were feeling, feel sad just because you both were. You kept his nighttime routine as normal as possible, reading his book and tucking him in, both of you kissing his forehead before heading out.

Alexia didn’t say anything as you headed to your shared bedroom, but to be fair, neither did you. It was a bit early for the two of you to head to bed, but after the day you’d had, both of you knew sleep would be the best thing.

Pajamas on, you and Alexia slid into bed, the room still silent. It only took a minute after you flicked the light off for the bed to shift, Alexia’s warm body sliding closer until she was pressed up against you.

Tired of being mad, you turned into her, resting your head against her chest as her arms encircled you. A deep sigh escaped you, and you felt like it was the first real breath you’d had since the full time whistle had blown.

“I’m sorry. I was harsh, and I shouldn’t have been. I love you.” Alexia murmured, lips pressing a kiss to your hair.

You snuggled closer, inhaling again the scent of her. “I’m sorry too. You’re allowed to be upset, I shouldn’t have tried to fix it when you just needed to feel it.”

“And we both need to get better at losing.” Alexia replied. You could hear the small grin in her voice, feel her chest shake slightly as she chuckled.

“Apparently.” You agreed.

“Goodnight, mi amor.”

“Goodnight my Ale.”

And just like that, everything was fine again. Everything was fixed.

—

Will woke early the next morning. As was his routine, he got up and headed for your room to wake Alexia up. She was an early riser, didn’t mind getting up with him and letting you sleep in. Most of the time, she was already kind of awake, scrolling on her phone.

This morning, though, when Will pushed the door open and peaked his head in, Alexia wasn’t awake. She was out cold, head practically shoved under her pillow, while you slept completely on the other side of the bed, one arm hanging off the side of the bed. You both looked very comfy, and Will remembered last night, how tired Alexia had seemed. She’d practically fallen asleep in his doorway standing up.

Thinking for a moment, Will turned around and headed back to his room. He grabbed his ipad out from his backpack, the one he took with him for the car trip to Eli’s. He wasn’t technically supposed to have it now, but he figured that you wouldn’t mind if he let you sleep. He grabbed his headphones, too, his favorite blanket and his most favorite dino, Robert. As quietly as he could, he crept back down the hall and into your room. Climbing up on the bed, he took advantage of the ample space between the two of you, settling back against the pillows under his blankie. He plugged his headphones in, tucked his dino under one arm, and pressed play on his favorite dinosaur show.

This way, you both could keep sleeping, and he didn’t have to play alone somewhere by himself.

—

You awoke to small, insistent hands pulling at the comforter so it covered more of you. Before you could open your eyes, little hands pushing into the blanket, tucking it in nice and tight around you. Groggily, you cracked an eye, finding Will’s face just a few inches away. He looked… guilty, like he’d looked when he broke the vase on the coffee table, and you were immediately alert.

“What’s up bud?” You whispered, conscious that Ale was still asleep on the other side of your nephew.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean t’wake you.” Will whispered back. “You looked cold.”

“What are you doing in here, hm? You should be in your bed.”

Will pulled a face, tugging his headphones off his head. “But it’s late and I was bored.”

You clocked the sun peaking in between the curtains, startled to realize it was much higher in the sky than it should have been. It was at least 10, and Will always got up before 7:30.

“Oh, buddy, it is late. I’m so sorry, why didn’t you wake one of us up?”

By one of us, you meant Alexia.

Will just shrugged, shyly smiling at you. “You were sad last night. And when I’m sad, you tell me it makes my body tired and that’s why I’m more sleepy. So you needed more sleep too, you and Tia Ale.”

Your heart melted and you pulled the small boy down into your arms, squeezing tight.

“You are the sweetest boy.” You told him.

Will beamed, squeezing you back. “I got my ipad even though I wasn’t supposed to.”

Leaning back, you brushed his messy hair off his forehead. That was what the guilty look was for. As if you’d be upset with him for wanting to let you both sleep, but also not wanting to be by himself. As if you’d be mad he brought his ipad in here and put on his Dino show and wore his headphones and tucked the blankets around you because you looked cold.

“That’s okay, buddy.” You replied. “You are so thoughtful to let us sleep in.”

“Tia Ale says it’s important to be thoughtful and kind.” Will said, echoing something you knew Alexia told him every morning before he left for school. It was something her Mami had always said to her, Alexia had told you once.

“Alexia is right.” You nodded, settling back into the pillows with Will now laid in your arms. Next to him, the mattress shifted, and a raspy voice piped up.

“Alexia is always right.” Ale said sleepily, not even opening her eyes as she blindly reached to pat Will on the head. Will laughed, a sound that was quickly becoming one of your favorites in the world.

For a few minutes, the room stayed silent, Will laid between the two of you, for the moment content to sit still. You were still waking up, and Alexia could probably barely be considered awake.

“Hey, Tia?” Will murmured, breaking the quiet peacefulness of the morning. You hummed for him to continue. “Can I call my Daddy?”

Sometimes you forgot. You shouldn’t forget, but you did, and you knew Ale did too. Sometimes things just went so well, Will fit so perfectly into your family that you forgot the circumstances under which he was here. And when you remembered, you were instantly filled with guilt. Like you were stealing something from your brother. You should be talking more about Leo, calling Leo more often.

Will wasn’t yours, but he was. It was a difficult line to walk, a difficult thing to balance. Will wasn’t your son but you felt like a parent. Alexia felt like a parent, had taken to being one so easily. But Will wasn’t your son. He was your nephew, and the last thing you wanted was to try to take the place of Leo.

As you pulled your phone out, dialling the number for the prison, you wondered if you’d ever figure out how to fit into Will’s life without feeling like you weren’t doing enough, were doing too much. You wondered if you’d ever feel like you were doing right by your brother, and right by Will.

You were torn from your spiral when the call connected. Instead of the usual robotic voice stating you would soon be connected through to Leo, it was the same robotic voice, telling you the call had not been accepted. There were plenty of reasons for Leo not to pick up the phone, plenty of real, valid reasons. For some reason you couldn’t explain, though, your stomach had dropped. Something about it felt wrong, especially knowing that Leo knew Will liked to call Sunday mornings.

You glanced over to where Will was poking at Alexia’s face, where she was pretending to be going back to sleep. He was laughing, and you could see Ale fighting a small smile herself. With a deep sigh, you forced a tense smile onto your face.

“Will?” The boy turned towards you, face lit up with excitement as he reached for the phone. “I’m sorry, baby, your Dad couldn’t pick up. He’s… he’s busy.”

The smile fell from Will’s face, the room suddenly feeling a few degrees colder. Alexia’s eyes flew open, fixed on Will’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment.

“Oh. Okay.” He whispered, fidgeting with his fingers in his lap.

It was like the life had been sucked out of him. You thought hard, trying to think of anything you could offer him or promise him that would lift his mood again. Alexia beat you to it.

“Hey, cariño? Do you want to go out for pancakes?” She suggested, resting a hand on Will’s back.

Still staring at his hands tightly clasped in his lap, Will slowly shook his head, much to your astonishment. Will never turned down pancakes, especially at his favorite breakfast place. You didn’t go often because it was a ways away, and normally, the suggestion would have had him skipping around the room with joy.

“No thank you.” He mumbled, sniffling. His small fist came up to rub at his face and your heart broke even more. Alexia looked like she was in physical pain, fighting the urge to pull Will into a bone crushing hug.

Carefully, you shifted back down in the bed, opening your arms for your nephew. He practically lunged forward, wrapping his arms tight around your neck and shoving his face into your shoulder.

“Oh, buddy.” You murmured, wishing there was something you could say to make it better.

There wasn’t.

Alexia ran a hand through her disheveled hair and moved closer, wrapping her arms around you both as she kissed the top of Will’s head. One of Will’s hands unwrapped itself from around your neck, moving to grab a fistful of Alexia’s sweatshirt. Like he was trying to be as close to the two of you as possible, as if you could protect him from what he was feeling. You wished you could, more than anything.

The three of you sat there in silence, all deep in thought, and you knew neither you nor Alexia would move until Will moved.

What you didn’t know, though, was that this was the first of many unexplained declined calls from Leo. Just the beginning of a sudden complete silence you couldn’t begin to explain to yourself or to Will.

—

:) cranked this out in between studying. hope you enjoyed ❤️‍🩹

#woso x reader #woso imagine #barcelona femeni x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #woso fanfics

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colouredbyd · 9 days ago

Text

She Will Be Loved

james potter x reader, black!brothers! x fem!sister!reader

'Til All That's Left Is Glorious Bone— part 3 (drabble)

synopsis: at Potter Manor in spring, even a Black can begin again—where healing stumbles, but sweetness lingers, and love, warm as frosting and softer than rain, finds its way home. ( i suck at summaries)

cw: chronic illness, emotional breakdowns, physical pain, unfiltered intrusive thoughts, references to childhood neglect, emotional repression, fluff fluff fluff, tooth-rotting fluff x2, lots of reassurance. can be read as a stand-alone!!

w/c: 6.5k

a/n: based on she will be loved by maroon 5, this is probably the most adorable shit ever </3

part one part two masterlist

“You’re stiff-wristed, sweetheart. The secret’s in the swirl, not the stab.”

Her voice—Euphemia Potter’s—wraps around you like the hush of soft rain against old glass, all lilting warmth and quiet command.

She stands behind you, close but not crowding, guiding your hand with the kind of reverence you imagine one might reserve for spun sugar or wounded birds. Her fingers barely touch your wrist, feather-light, as though afraid you might shatter from the weight of anything firmer.

The frosting clings to the whisk like silk, pale pink and shimmering beneath the golden kitchen light, and you stare at it as though it might give you answers you’re too afraid to ask for.

She hums something low, a tune you don’t recognize. It drifts around the kitchen like it’s always belonged there, curling into the corners like the scent of vanilla and lemon zest.

You think she must be the kind of person who hums to flowers when she waters them, who sings lullabies to empty rooms and means it.

You wonder, distantly, if she’s always been this kind to kids with fucked up families.

You press your lips into a tight line, unsure what to do with the softness curling at the edges of this moment, and murmur without looking up, “I’m not stabbing it.”

A beat. Then laughter—low, honeyed, and bright enough to make something crack inside you.

“You’re threatening it,” she says, her grin audible in the curve of her words. “You’ve got to coax it. Love it a little.”

Love.

The word lands in your chest like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples through something long frozen. You don’t know what to do with it—how to hold it, where to place it in a life that’s been stitched together with silence and survival.

So you shrug like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t matter, and let the whisk move in wide, uncertain circles.

You don’t look at her. You look at the frosting, at the way it smooths under your hand when you stop fighting it. At how something can come together when you let it breathe.

The kitchen is warm in a way that startles you—cozy, cluttered, too alive to be anything but real. It’s the kind of lived-in mess you’ve never learned to trust, all soft disarray and stubborn comfort.

There are crooked portraits on the walls and mismatched rugs softening the floors, and the light from the windows pours in thick and gold, like early spring is trying to wrap you in something gentle.

The whole house smells like vanilla and something older, deeper—like magic that has settled into the floorboards and refuses to leave.

You keep your sleeves rolled down despite the warmth, even as your hands stir with careful deliberation. There's flour on your knuckles and a strange tightness in your chest, like you’ve wandered into a memory that doesn’t belong to you.

From beyond the archway, chaos hums like a second heartbeat. James lets out a yelp as Sirius tackles him onto the sofa, their limbs a tangled mess of laughter and mock indignation. Cushions fly.

“He’s cheating!” James shouts, voice muffled by upholstery and betrayal.

“I’m winning,” Sirius growls, smug and breathless.

And there—just behind the couch, half in shadow, half in sunlight—stands Regulus. Still and composed, arms crossed like a barrier, eyes narrowed with the bored disdain of someone raised in rooms where no one ever raised their voice.

You glance up, and for a moment, his gaze catches yours.Something wordless passes between you, soft and sharp and impossible to name. He looks away first.

Your thoughts drift, unbidden, to yesterday. To the Potters’ den, flickering firelight painting lazy patterns across the room. You and Regulus on opposite ends of the hearth, James lounging like a spoiled cat between you, half-on, half-off the armrest.

He’d been demolishing a cupcake—frosting smeared across his cheek, crumbs dotting the fabric like confetti—when he paused, blinked, and looked at you both.

“You’ve never had one?” he repeated, like the very concept offended him.

You and Regulus had nodded in tandem, as if admitting a shared sin. Regulus looked faintly embarrassed. You hadn’t bothered.

“No cupcakes,” James had whispered, horrified. “You poor, repressed creatures.”

You’d shrugged, lifting your teacup with both hands. “We weren’t exactly allowed to eat with our hands.”

James had stared like he could see your childhood printed in bruises across your skin. “That’s it. Mum’s baking with you tomorrow, with Regulus too, if I can pry him off his high horse.”

And so here you are. In socks that don’t belong to you and an apron that does—barely—reading “Kiss the Cook” in faded embroidery. Your hands are sticky with sugar, your elbows awkwardly bent, and Euphemia Potter stands beside you, the very image of maternal grace in motion.

Every movement she makes is soft, efficient, full of something like love. She shows you how to spoon frosting into the bag, how to twist the top just so, how to guide the tip in slow, looping swirls instead of the instinctive little jabs you keep trying.

Her voice is low, her patience unshakable, but her eyes are sharp—they see too much. They had settled on you the first night with a kind of quiet knowing, like she could already feel the ache tucked behind your ribs, the weight you never speak of.

You feel strange in your own skin—tied into the apron like you’re being stitched into something unfamiliar, clutching the piping bag like it might burst between your fingers (which it might well considering how anxious you are)

It’s strange, isn’t it, how some places don’t just shelter you—they learn you. Grow around you like moss, slow and soft and impossibly gentle. The Potters’ house is like that. A space that doesn’t just exist, but exhales. Its colors are warm, its corners worn by laughter and living.

The curtains breathe in the wind like old lungs, the frames are all crooked, like no one ever bothered to make anything perfect, only meaningful.

“You doing alright, darling?” Euphemia asks softly, not looking up from the cake tin she’s buttering.

“I’m fine,” you reply, too fast. The word lands oddly in the space between you, hard-edged and out of tune with the golden hush of the kitchen.

You don’t meet her eyes. You glance toward the sitting room instead, where laughter crashes like a tide against the floorboards.

James is shouting—again. “If he strangles me, tell Mum I loved her—!”

You roll your eyes instinctively. “They’re idiots.”

“They sure are,” Euphemia agrees with a fondness that makes your chest ache. And then—she turns to you fully, flour dusted on her hands, her eyes a little too sharp, a little too knowing. The kind of gaze that only women who’ve borne grief like children know how to wear. “They’re yours too, now.”

Your hands keep moving, mechanical. The frosting in the bowl is starting to lose its shine. You swirl it once, then again yet, it still doesn’t look right.

You want to tell her something. Anything. That you don’t know what “yours” means. That you’re afraid of claiming things that feel too soft to last.

That you still brace for shouting when you drop a glass. But the words wedge themselves between your ribs, stubborn and silent. So you just nod.

There are still letters from your mother. They come like bruises—paper-thin but lingering. Sirius tears them up before you can read them, jaw tight with old fury.

James doesn’t even look. He lights them on fire with a flick of his wand and watches them curl into ash.

Once, you caught the edge of your name written in her careful script, underlined like an accusation. You didn’t ask what it said. You didn’t want to know. Some things are meant to be burned.

So instead, you learn to make frosting.

You’re not sure what to call what you and James have. If it’s dating, it’s the kind with missing rules and unspoken agreements. There are no labels, no promises carved in stone—but there is his hand in yours when you walk in the garden.

There is his kiss on your forehead when your dreams turn sharp. There’s his laughter echoing down the hallway as he spins you beneath the afternoon light just because it’s pretty. You lean into him more than you mean to. You laugh more than you expected to. It’s not perfect. But it’s warm.

And sometimes, when sleep slips away and grief curls against your spine like a ghost, you wake to find someone already there. Sirius, slouched in the armchair with a blanket thrown over his legs.

Or James, curled at the foot of your bed like he’s guarding you from whatever still lingers in the dark. Sometimes it’s both, sprawled like overgrown puppies, as if they heard your heartbeat change and followed it.

Just James, pressing a kiss to your temple, whispering, “Hey. You’re here. That’s enough.”

And in those quiet hours, maybe it is.

Outside, the sky is still gray—the way spring always begins. Soft and threatening. Like a promise that hasn’t made up its mind. Inside, the kitchen is warm. The air is sweet with sugar and butter and the faintest trace of something old—like memory.

You’ve been standing here long enough for the light to change. The kind of morning that feels like it might last all day.

“Alright,” Euphemia says after a while, brushing her hands clean on a tea towel. “Let’s try your first one. Pick a cupcake!”

Your hand hesitates above the tray. It’s silly, maybe, but this feels like a test. You reach. Choose the one with the least cracks. The cleanest top. It’s still warm in your palm, soft around the edges.

And you think—Regulus would’ve picked this one too. The most perfect on the outside, like that could save you from whatever’s rotting underneath. Like surface beauty was ever enough to survive.

You lift the piping bag with uncertain fingers. Squeeze slowly. Your swirl ends up lopsided, a little tight at the base—more question mark than spiral.

“Not bad,” Euphemia says, smiling. “She’s got the hand of a sculptor!”

You blink. Then glance up, startled. Not just by the compliment, but by how gently it lands. Like it wasn’t meant to test or teach you, just offer you a truth.

It feels good, for a second. To be seen by someone who isn’t waiting for you to fall apart. Who gives kindness freely, without demanding anything back.

From the sitting room, Regulus calls, “Is she doing alright?”

You don’t look. “No,” you call, voice flat, automatic. “She’s surviving.”

Sirius whoops, “Like a true Black!”

And something in you eases. You don’t laugh, but the corner of your mouth twitches—an almost-smile.

Because it’s true. You are surviving. You are a Black. You still move like you expect the room to collapse beneath you. You still speak like a warning. But now you’re here, in a sun-drenched kitchen, with pink frosting on your wrist and sunlight on your collarbone. Learning something new.

You stand at the edge of the kitchen now, tray in trembling hands.

The cupcakes are uneven—some leaning like they’re tired, others piped too thick with nerves you couldn’t quite still.

Euphemia stands behind you, her hand resting lightly at the small of your back.

“They look beautiful,” Euphemia says gently. Her voice is velvet, all warmth and hush and pride you don’t know how to hold.

Your eyes stay pinned to the tray in your hands — twelve cupcakes, swirled in soft pinks and lavenders, their colors uneven, the frosting imperfect.

One leans too far to the left. One has too much icing; another, not enough. They’re not neat. They’re not elegant.

You’d asked too many questions in the kitchen. Kept second-guessing yourself, measuring the sugar twice, afraid of ruining something you’d never been trusted to make.

Euphemia had only smiled, quiet and patient, as if she could hear the uncertainty in your bones.

It was supposed to be simple. Cupcakes, James had said. Something to try. Something you’ve never had before.

You hadn’t expected how much that would matter.

Now the tray is warm in your hands, and your sleeves still carry the scent of vanilla and sugar. You can’t tell if the sweetness stayed with you or if you left it all behind in the frosting bowl.

Inside the sitting room, you can hear Sirius mid-argument, half-laughing, half-shouting about something inconsequential.

Regulus leans stiffly over the arm of a chair, trying to explain something with too many syllables to James, who keeps interrupting just to make him scowl. It’s loud. Familiar. Ordinary in a way that makes your chest ache.

You’ve always watched this kind of life from a distance — the kind where people interrupt each other without fear of being punished, where laughter is constant and never cruel.

Problem is; you don’t quite know how to step into it.

“They’re waiting,” Euphemia murmurs. She steps forward and opens the door all the way, but she doesn’t push. She just rests her hand gently at the small of your back — not forceful, just present.

The tray shifts slightly in your hands as you cross the threshold. You steady it quickly, trying to school your features into something neutral. All three heads turn at once.

James rises first, his expression flickering from surprise to something quieter. He just looks at you like you’ve brought something more than sugar into the room.

And for a breath, you forget what you’re holding.

“I, um…” You clear your throat. “I made these.”

Sirius squints. “You? In a kitchen? With actual ingredients?”

You shoot him a look, but your voice doesn’t wobble this time. “Do you want one or not?”

“I’m just saying,” he says, grinning, “this could be a trap. What if they’re poisoned?”

James is already stepping forward, inspecting the cupcakes with a kind of gentle reverence. “They look brilliant.”

“They’re uneven,” you say quickly, before anyone else can. “I didn’t mix the color all the way. And I think I overfilled the third row.”

James ignores that. Picks a lavender-swirled one with a little too much icing and cradles it like it might sing. “They look so pretty, love,” he says softly. “Just like you.”

That catches you off guard. You don’t know how to carry a compliment that tender. So you don’t reply.

Regulus doesn’t speak at first. His eyes skim the tray, then flick to your face. “Which one’s yours?” he asks.

The question is simple. But it lands like a stone in water.

You hesitate. “The ugly one?”

He tilts his head. “They’re all a little ugly.”

Sirius snorts. “Which means they’re honest. I like that!”

You laugh, a breathy, uncertain sound that escapes before you can stop it.

Regulus steps forward slowly. He doesn’t reach for a cupcake. He just looks. And then, quieter this time: “Can I have yours?”

It’s such a small sentence, but it knocks something loose inside your chest.

You nod, carefully. Select the one with the uneven spiral, where the frosting pooled too fast and dipped at the edge.

He takes it from you like it’s a glass relic. And then, with a quiet kind of sincerity, he says, “Thank you.”

Sirius bites into his with theatrical flair. “Oh, hell, this is good.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” you mutter.

James is already halfway through his. “I’m putting in a request for another batch. Maybe lemon next time?”

“There’s not going to be a next batch,” you say, but it’s a soft lie. One you hope someone sees through.

Regulus finally bites into his. His expression doesn’t change much, but his gaze returns to you — steady, unreadable — and then, after a pause, he murmurs, “It’s sweet.”

The laughter rises again, light and irreverent, as James starts a dramatic monologue about how cupcakes are the purest form of magic and Sirius demands to be taught immediately so he can outshine you. Regulus settles back into his seat, eyes flicking between the cupcake and you.

You set the tray down on the coffee table, then retreat a half-step as if the cupcakes might embarrass you by existing.

You’ve never made something like this before — sweet, delicate, not meant to survive a war or a dinner at the Black family table.

You don’t know how to be proud of it. You only know how to hope it isn’t a disappointment.

James doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks at you, then at the tray, then back at you. The silence stretches too long.

He smiles — not his usual grin, not the cocky, tilted thing he uses when he wants to charm or tease. This one is quiet, like a secret he’s sharing only with you. “It’s perfect.”

Your throat tightens. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I don’t,” he agrees, stepping closer. “But I’m saying it anyway.”

You glance down, but he reaches out and gently taps the edge of your hand. “Hey,” he murmurs. “Look at me.”

He’s all warmth and open sky. There’s frosting at the corner of his mouth. His hair’s a mess from wrestling Sirius earlier, and his voice is steady in a way yours hasn’t been all day.

“You did something new,” he says. “You made something. You shared it. That’s brave. And I am so so proud of you, yeah baby?.”

Something catches in your chest — like a thread being pulled too tight. You don’t know how to answer, so you don’t.

He just brushes a curl from your cheek, fingers warm against your skin, and the softness in his touch undoes you more than anything he’s said.

James reaches for another cupcake and holds it out to you.

Your brows raise. “What’s that for?”

He shrugs, tilting the cupcake toward you again — an unspoken offer, gentle and insistent. “You baked them,” he says, voice low. “You haven’t even tried one.”

“I know what they taste like,” you murmur, though your eyes remain on the small swirl of frosting.

“Do you?” he asks, and there’s a smile in his voice. “You stood next to Mum, mixed everything, piped the frosting like an artist—” his hand gestures loosely to the tray, already missing three cakes, “—but you haven’t taken a single bite.”

James nudges it forward again, a nudge that feels like kindness disguised as teasing. “First time for everything, yeah?”

Your fingers hover, then curl slowly around the paper casing. It yields beneath your grip — soft, still warm from the kitchen heat, as if it had been waiting for your touch.

You bring it up, careful, uncertain, aware of the hush that falls across the room. You don’t meet anyone’s eyes.

You just take a breath and press your mouth to the top, just enough to taste.

The frosting melts instantly on your tongue — silky and slow, bright with vanilla and a whisper of lemon, like sunlight folded into sugar. It’s not overwhelming, not too rich.

Just… soft. The kind of sweetness that doesn’t need to be earned. The kind that offers itself freely. For a moment, your chest feels too tight for your ribs, your throat too narrow for words.

You swallow. “That’s—” Your voice falters. You blink. “Good.”

James beams. Not like someone who expected praise, but like someone who’s just watched a door open. “Just good?”

You look down at what’s left in your hand. You dip your finger gently into the frosting, curl it into a neat spiral, and pop it into your mouth.

The taste is quieter now, familiar already. But still — still — it makes you feel something that has no name.

Sirius makes a dramatic sound of protest from the sofa. “Criminal,” he declares. Regulus mutters something darkly unimpressed, but neither of them matter right now.

Because James is still watching you. Like he’s been handed something rare and breakable.

“You’re telling me,” he says softly, “you’re going to eat only the frosting?”

“It’s the best part,” you reply, licking your thumb, almost defiant.

He reaches for another cupcake, peels the paper halfway back, and takes a slow, deliberate bite of just the cake — clean, unfrosted.

He chews, thoughtful, then glances at you, the corner of his mouth curling. “Well,” he says, “we’re clearly soulmates.”

You blink. “What?”

“I hate frosting,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Always have. It's way too sweet and sticky. I'd much rather eat the cake part.”

Your brow furrows. “You’re making that up.”

“I swear on all of Gryffindor’s noble dead.” He raises a solemn hand, though his eyes are dancing. “This is fate. You eat the tops, I eat the bottoms. Every cupcake perfect, every piece devoured. Balance in all things.”

You try to glare at him. You try to keep your mouth straight. But your lips betray you, twitching at the corners. You look away, but not fast enough.

“You’re flirting again,” you say, voice too soft to sting.

“Can you blame me?” he murmurs, leaning in just enough for his breath to touch your cheek. “You’re frosting-drunk. It’s adorable.”

“It’s frosting,” you reply, scoffing. “I’m not drunk.”

He tilts his head, studying you like a poem he’s trying to memorize. “Are you sure?” he says, voice a hush now. “Because I think I just fell in love all over again.”

James doesn’t say anything else. He just watches you, eyes warm, quiet, full of something that doesn’t need to be spoken aloud.

You feel it anyway — that impossible softness, that lightness he brings with him like a second skin. The kind of sweetness that lingers even after it’s gone.

And as you bite into the frosting, as Sirius resumes his argument and Regulus sighs into his tea, something inside you begins to settle.

Maybe sweetness doesn’t have to be earned.

The rest of the evening settles like golden syrup over the table — slow, warm, and rich with laughter. The sun filters through the windows in long amber slants, gilding the countertop where half-eaten cupcakes sit like tiny triumphs.

You’re tucked between Sirius and Regulus on the floor, knees brushing, while James sprawls at your feet, arms flung behind his head like the world’s most content boy.

He keeps glancing up at you as if he’s never seen you smile before — like he’s trying to memorize every possible angle, afraid he might blink and miss it.

Sirius is midway through some outrageous tale about a stolen broomstick and second-year mayhem. Euphemia gasps in mock horror. Fleamont peers over his glasses with a grin that threatens to tip into laughter.

Regulus groans into his palm and mutters, “You two are why she has grey hairs.”

And for a moment, you let yourself laugh.

Really laugh — not the careful, calculated chuckles you’ve grown used to offering like coins at a tollbooth. This is warm, bright, unguarded. It spills out of you without permission, lifting your shoulders and loosening something long-caged in your chest.

When James reaches for your hand, you let him take it. His fingers thread through yours, firm and certain, like a promise you almost believe.

For a little while, you let yourself believe this could be yours — this ordinary sweetness. Something with frosting and sun-drenched floors and a kitchen that always smells like cinnamon and safety.

Something not carved from pain. Not built on survival.

You go to bed that night feeling full in a way that has nothing to do with cupcakes.

—

The ache begins quietly, as it always does. A heaviness that coils at the base of your spine, patient and precise. Something about the way it settles there—like a bruise blooming behind your ribs, tender and unnoticed—makes it easy to dismiss.

You stretch your fingers. Roll your shoulders. Breathe through it like it’s nothing more than morning stiffness or a restless night’s sleep.

You tell yourself it will pass, that maybe you’ve just been sitting too long, dreaming too hard.

But two days later, it’s harder to rise.

The bed feels heavier, the light colder, and the spring air bites through the cracks in the stone like it wants to warn you of something. Still, you manage. You wrap a blanket around your shoulders and curl beside the others near the hearth.

The pain deepens when you move too quickly, or laugh without bracing for it. It hides in strange corners of your body—sharp beneath your ribs, warm and aching behind your knees, slow and stubborn in your breath.

Sometimes it steals the air right out of your lungs as you climb the stairs or reach for something just out of grasp.

But you smile through it. You always do. You bite the inside of your cheek and hold your posture like a prayer, like it might keep you whole a little longer.

You don’t want to ruin it. They’re so happy — Sirius losing at chess with theatrical flair, Fleamont snorting into his tea, Euphemia gently guiding Regulus’s hands through loops of yarn as he pretends not to care.

James tugging you into corners thick with laughter and warmth, brushing your cheek with reverence, telling you your eyes look like dusk when the world is kind.

You won’t be the shadow in their light.

So you laugh when you’re meant to. You nod at all the right moments. You stir the ache into your tea like it’s just another kind of sweetness.

You tell yourself it’s nothing — that it will pass, that it must. That you owe them this version of you, the one who is steady and soft and whole.

And when the hurt steals your voice, you simply say you’re tired. It’s easier that way. You’ve had years to perfect the script, and the silences between the lines.

You breathe through it, quiet and constant.

Because what else can you do?

You don’t cry. You just sit there, letting the rain pour over you like a second skin, not harsh but steady, familiar — not the warmth of this place, not the laughter pressed between the walls, but something older, something colder, something that remembers the echoing halls of Grimmauld Place.

The kind of silence that didn’t need a reason. The kind that stitched itself into your bones so long ago you forgot what it felt like to live without it.

You sit with the rain in your lap like it belongs to you, like the storm found you first and decided to stay.

It slides down the curve of your spine, pools in the hollow of your throat, traces your wrists like rivers returning to the sea. It’s cold, but you don’t flinch.

You’ve always known cold — cold hands, cold glances, cold corridors and colder silences — and this kind of chill feels almost merciful, soaking into you gently instead of cutting you down.

Through the glass, the fire glows soft and golden, and their laughter spills out in waves, blurred and beautiful — Sirius, all brightness and reckless limbs, draped across the couch like it was made just for him; James beside him, head thrown back, eyes shut with joy, tipping into Sirius like gravity’s favorite joke.

Their laughter is loud and unbreakable, the kind of joy that fills rooms and hearts and lifetimes.

And as you watch, you realize they are whole in ways you were never taught to be.

Near the window, Regulus leans toward Remus, long fingers brushing across an open book, nodding as Remus speaks. Their voices are low, private, thoughtful.

Regulus is in a sweater too big for him and socks with mismatched toes, the kind of domesticity you never thought would suit him.

But it does. He looks… soft. Happy, maybe. Or something close enough to it that you could believe in it if you squinted.

Even Peter, curled up near the fire, hums to himself without shame.

And you — you are the ghost at the glass. The story that doesn’t belong in this chapter.

They’ve all found something that quiets the noise in their heads. Sirius with his rebellion. Regulus with his books. James with his heart wide open.

You want to reach for them — you do — but your hands feel wrong, too heavy, too worn, made of sharp edges and sore joints and skin that’s forgotten how to feel safe.

You shift, just barely, and pain flares up your spine like a slow-lit match, bright and hot and unmistakably alive.

Your bones ache as though they’re begging to be remembered. The rain, relentless and soft, hides your tears — the only kindness this sky offers.

You try to breathe around it, around the heat coiling behind your ribs, around the memory that presses down on your chest like a weight you can’t lift. It shouldn’t hurt like this anymore.

You’re not there. You’re not hers. You’re not her daughter anymore.

And still, you can feel her fingers in your scalp, ghost-thin and cruel, tugging until obedience became instinct.

Even now, even with your hair down and soft and brushed through by Euphemia’s patient hands, the ache lingers — hot and deep at your crown, where braids once pulled tight enough to silence you.

You wonder if the pain will ever leave you, if someday you’ll touch your own head and feel nothing but skin.

She braided your obedience into your body — every twist a warning, every knot a prayer for silence.

You remember sitting beside Regulus, knees knocking together as your mother yanked the brush through your hair.

You whispered, “Do you think cupcakes taste good?” and he smiled like it hurt, like something blooming too fast — neither of you had ever tasted one.

And now, somehow, you’ve found yourself somewhere soft, somewhere warm, where the air doesn’t sting and the quiet isn’t cruel — but still, you carry the weight of old commands in your spine, and your skin tenses like it expects to be scolded.

Even now, even here, you feel like an intruder in your own softness.

You watch James laugh again, mouth open wide, the kind of joy that belongs in sunlit fields and childhood games. And suddenly, you want to scream.

You want to bury your face in his shoulder and cry and say I’m still hurting. I still wake up afraid. I still hear her voice in mine when I speak too sharply. But instead, you sit very still. You keep your shoulders straight.

Because this is the only way you know how to keep from breaking open.

And somehow, even with your twin in the room, even with James who loves you more than air, you’ve never felt more alone. It’s like watching life through glass, your fingers pressed to the warmth without ever quite feeling it.

Their laughter is real, their joy is real, but you are a quiet echo curled in the corner, a shadow in a room full of light, trying to remember what it felt like to belong.

It starts at your spine.

A low throb at first, something quiet enough to ignore if you just breathe through it, if you just pretend long enough that you’re still strong, still whole, still more than what she made of you.

But it spreads. Down your legs, up through your ribs. Every breath starts to feel like a small betrayal — your lungs stiff and aching, like they too are tired of you surviving.

By the time it reaches your hands, you can’t even feel the rain anymore.

It always begins softly—never a crash, just a hush, like memory, like shame, like your mother’s voice woven into the fabric of your childhood.

You’ve learned to carry pain quietly, tucked behind small smiles and well-timed stillness. Inside, they laugh.

And that is when it hits you. The quiet rage. The kind that doesn’t scream but digs deep into your ribs.

Because why didn’t she stop this? Why didn’t she see you breaking and fix it? Why did she look at your pain and name it a lesson?

You hate her. You hate your name. You hate that no matter how far you run, your body still sings in her voice.

You can still feel the ghost of those braids. Can still remember the weight of silence tied to the nape of your neck.

And you wonder — as the rain runs into your eyes and your bones begin to tremble — if you’ll ever be free of her.

If the damage is permanent. If you’ll always be the girl with the broken smile who hides in corners and gardens and rain.

You feel so far away from joy, from light, from yourself, breath snagging not on a sob but on a scream too tired to rise, your body tight with silence, with the weight of what you won’t let slip.

Then warmth, sudden and soft, fingers on your cheeks, steady and certain, anchoring you to the now.

You flinch, bracing for the sting, for the world to splinter beneath the touch, but the hands stay, quiet and kind.

A voice follows, low and breathless, threaded with something like worry, something like care—“Hey, look at me, c’mon, open your eyes for me,” And you do, slowly, like coming up for air after a long, aching dive.

And there he is — James Potter, kneeling in the wet grass in front of you like he was sent by the gods of mercy themselves. Soaked clean through, curls matted to his forehead, glasses beaded with rain.

His hands cradle your face like he’s holding something sacred, and there’s not a flicker of pity in his gaze. Only concern. Only knowing. Only love.

Your mouth trembles, but the words won’t come. He doesn’t try to fill the silence with cleverness, doesn’t ask what’s wrong or tell you it’s okay—because it isn’t.

He just stays close, forehead nearly brushing yours, his gaze steady and bright like lanterns flickering through the rain.

You don’t notice the tremble in your hands at first, only the sharp hitch in your breath and the way your bones begin to shake, too deep for the rain to be the cause.

The ache builds quietly, curling behind your ribs like smoke, but then it crests, pressing up into your throat until your mouth tastes of salt and sorrow. And then the tears come—jagged, hot, unhidden.

You hate it. Hate how your body betrays you like this. Hate that even now — surrounded by warmth, by voices that laugh like nothing hurts — you can’t stop breaking. That even now, soaked in the middle of spring rain, your grief still finds you.

His thumbs sweep along your cheeks.

“Hey,” he says, and the word breaks something open in you. Not because it’s loud. But because it’s kind.

“I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You shake your head. The words come before you can stop them. “I’m sorry. I— I don’t know why I’m crying, I just— I still feel so broken sometimes. And I hate it. I hate that I can’t just be fine.”

Your voice cracks, and so does your chest.

James doesn’t say anything right away. He just pulls you close — soaked wool and trembling hands and that smell of petrichor and something sweeter beneath it, something like safety. One of his hands slides to your back, the other still at your jaw, grounding you.

And then he says, soft as rain, “Then I’ll just love you in pieces.”

“I’ll love you whole, when you’re ready,” he continues, breath warm against your temple, “but if all you can give me today are pieces, then I’ll hold them all. I’ll love you as you are. No fixing, no conditions. Just you.”

Something in your chest gives in.

And you sob again, not from pain this time, but from relief. From the unbearable gentleness in his voice. From the way he’s still here, even as your tears fall like spring rain and your body aches with every breath.

“I don’t want to be pieces forever,” you whisper.

“You won’t be,” he says, pulling back just enough to look at you — really look at you. His hair is plastered to his forehead, his cheeks flushed from cold, but his eyes are steady. “But if you are, even just for a little while… I’m still yours.”

You don’t know what you’ve done to deserve him.

Then his voice cuts gently through the hush, low and steady near your ear.

“Some days,” he says, “your smile will feel like a lie.”

James doesn’t pull away, doesn’t ask you to stop crying, doesn’t try to fix the ache sitting heavy in your chest. He just keeps going, voice warm, soaked hair sticking to his forehead as he holds your gaze.

“And that’s alright. I’ll know where to find the real one.”

You glance up at him, lashes damp, heart aching. “Where?”

He grins, the smallest tilt of his mouth, not smug or teasing but certain, like he has spent months learning every version of you, and this one—wet with rain, worn thin, unraveling at the edges—is just another part of the map he already knows by heart.

“I find it when you’re baking with Mum,” he says first, brushing a lock of wet hair from your cheek. “When you pretend not to care but you lean in every time she offers to teach you something.”

You swallow. He goes on.

“When you try something new and your face gets all confused, and Regulus teases you, and you act offended but you never actually stop.”

You let out the softest breath — almost a laugh.

“When Sirius hugs you and you pretend to hate it, but you always hug him back for half a second longer than he does.”

You hate how seen that makes you feel.

“When I kiss you,” James says, voice dipping slightly lower, “and you push me away, all huffing and scowling — but then you smile anyway, right after. Not for me to see. Just… because.”

You look down, heart a mess in your throat.

“When you steal the biggest jumper in the room but still act like it’s not enough and curl up into yourself like you’re trying to disappear.”

You blink. You hadn’t even known he’d noticed that.

“When you fidget with your rings during serious conversations. When you cut your toast into perfect halves but only eat one.”

He brushes his thumb beneath your eye, gentle.

“When you braid your hair with shaking hands on bad days because it’s the only thing you can still control.”

He keeps going, and he doesn’t falter once.

“When you laugh at something Sirius says but bite the inside of your cheek after, like you’re not used to joy lasting that long.”

You’re crying again. This time you let yourself.

“When you tuck your feet under you on the couch and pretend you’re cold, even though we both know it’s just so you won’t be touched unless you choose it.”

You want to look away, but he won’t let you.

“When you whisper goodnight to your own reflection in the hallway mirror — like you’re still learning how to be kind to the girl staring back.”

“And when you say nothing at all,” James murmurs, “but your fingers reach for mine under the table anyway.”

His voice is almost a prayer now.

“I find your real smile in the in-between places—the quiet moments, the gentle cracks where the light slips through.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering like a promise.

“So even when you feel like you’re disappearing, like you’ve slipped too far into the dark — I’ll still know where to look.”

You don’t even realize you’re crying again until James wipes a tear from your chin, not startled, not worried — just there, always, with hands steady and patient.

“See?” he says softly. “Even when you’re hiding, you still leave a trail.”

“And you’ll always find it?” you whisper, throat thick.

He leans his forehead against yours, soaked and breathless. “Every time.”

His thumb brushes another tear from your cheek, slow and reverent, like he’s touching something sacred.

Then another. And another. As if every drop matters to him. As if each one deserves to be seen, and then let go.

His other hand finds its way into your hair, tucking back a rain-heavy strand that clings stubbornly to your skin.

You’re both soaked — your clothes plastered to your bodies, your hearts just as bare — but his gaze holds so much gentleness, it feels like warmth.

He leans in.

Not rushed, not greedy — just sure. Like this moment has always been waiting for itself. His lips meet yours, soft and slow and steady, like the way honey slips from a spoon.

And when you pull back — cheeks damp with rain and love alike — you wrap your arms around him and bury your face in the curve of his shoulder, voice barely a whisper.

“I love you, Jamie.”

He stills. Just for a second. Like the world stopped to catch its breath.

Then: “Merlin, I love when you say my name like that.”

You laugh, a little hiccup of sound against his chest, like joy finally broke the surface.

He grins into your hair, arms tightening. “Say it again.”

“No,” you murmur, but you’re still smiling, your face warm despite the chill. “Don’t get greedy.”

“Oh, but I will,” he says, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, “because I’ve been waiting since the minute I met you for this moment. For you, all of you.”

You shake your head, blushing, but before you can bury yourself back into his chest, he tugs on your hand and nods toward the house. “Come on, love. Let’s go make some more frosting.”

You blink at him. “Didn’t we have frosting two days ago?”

“Yeah,” he says, practically beaming, “and we’ll have it every day if you want. Frosting and love and all the soft things you never got.”

You don’t answer right away.

You just let yourself be pulled forward, hand in his, the rain washing down your spine like a second spine. Inside the house — warm, golden, safe — light spills through the windows.

Through the foggy glass, you can already see Sirius rolling his eyes at something Euphemia says, while Regulus sips tea like it’s a ceremony and pretends not to smile.

Inside, your voice rises again—bright and unexpected, like a flame refusing to go out.

James watches you with that look he doesn’t bother hiding anymore, the one that says he’s memorizing you, holding each moment like it’s something rare, something he’s scared to lose.

You swipe frosting onto his nose, slow and teasing, and he doesn’t flinch. Just stands there with that soft look he gets sometimes, the one that feels like a held breath.

Then, grinning like it’s the easiest thing in the world to be known by you, he dips a finger into the bowl, brings it to his mouth, and pulls a face so exaggerated it nearly breaks your laugh into two.

He grimaces like a child tasting medicine, all scrunched eyes and over-the-top theatrics, and you can’t help it—you laugh, a real one, bright and full in your chest like something blooming open.

He leans in close, gentle in a way he doesn't speak aloud, and presses a kiss to your cheek like it’s sacred.

The world hums along as if nothing has shifted, but something has. In the stillness that follows, he looks at you like he could live a hundred lives and choose this one every time—just to be here, covered in sugar and light, with you laughing in the kitchen like it’s never hurt to be alive.

Outside the doorway, tucked in the quiet curve of the hallway, two figures stand watching. The lights from the kitchen paint them in warm shadows.

Euphemia stands in the doorway, her silhouette lit soft by the kitchen light.

She watches her son with something ancient in her gaze — not surprise, not pride, but the kind of quiet understanding only mothers ever seem to carry.

Her hands are tucked gently into her sleeves, like there’s something sacred she’s holding onto.

A moment later, Sirius joins her, silent and slow, leaning against the frame beside her.

“She thinks he hates frosting,” Euphemia says softly, her voice like the rain still tapping the roof.

Sirius glances sideways. “He doesn’t?”

“He adores it,” she murmurs. “Used to sneak it out of the tin with a spoon when he was ten. Still does, when no one’s looking.”

Sirius huffs a breath of laughter. “Why let her think otherwise?”

Euphemia doesn’t look away from the pair in the kitchen. “Because she always lets him have the cake part. And he wants her to have the sweet.”

Sirius looks toward his brother, who’s now brushing a smudge of flour from your nose while you pretend not to smile too much.

“He’d give her anything.”

“He does,” Euphemia says. “Even the things she doesn’t know she’s missing.”

There’s a pause, soft and full of something unspoken, before Sirius says quietly, almost to himself,

“She’ll be loved.”

And so you stand in the kitchen washed in gold, where the rain outside sings soft against the windows and the scent of vanilla drapes itself over the bones of the house.

There were years when love came braided in silence and obedience, when sweetness was something you only ever imagined, something you gave away without tasting, something that lived in storybooks and other people’s birthdays.

But here — in this glowing hush, in the weight of his eyes on you like a vow he keeps choosing — something breaks open in you. Gently. Without pain.

The bowl is nearly empty, but the love lingers, rich and steady, not loud or grand, but real in the quiet curve of your mouth and the warmth in your chest.

Behind you, in the doorway, a mother and a brother stand without speaking, carrying a kind of ache that only love knows — the kind that waits in the wings, the kind that chooses softness again and again.

And maybe that is what love is in the end, not the absence of pain but the presence that follows it, the quiet return, the choosing again and again.

He never stopped loving the sweetness. He just wanted you to have it first — to taste what your childhood kept out of reach, to learn that softness could be safe, that someone would wait in the rain with hands full of kindness just to be near you, that someone would stay even when you break, even when you cannot ask.

Simply to show that no matter what the world took from you, you will be loved.

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thecoochiefairy · 12 days ago

Text

slim pickens. toji.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 10.9K words. blackfempregnant!originalcharacter, toji fushiguro, husband!toji, countryboycoded!toji, snakewrangler!toji, grumpy!toji, sweet!toji, dominant!toji, nasty sex, sweet sex, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough, lil bit of sweet talkin’, creaming, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, condomless sex, fingering, kissing, spanking, violence between characters, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ this one is a heavy trigger warning, okay? i missed toji too, and just wanted to truly tie the loose ends to one of my favorite stories, the snake wrangler, so this would be pt 3 after lovesick. be warned, if that last tw might be uncomfortable for you, please don’t read! it’s cutesy for the most part, but tackles important subjects. hope y’all don’t mind more of the storytelling rather than smut. i love y’all.

visual.

A FIT OF GIGGLES CONTINUOUSLY BOUNCED OFF THE WALLS, THE SCENT OF RICE MILK HUGGING HER NOSE AS THE AROMA WAFTED FROM THE RUSTIC BATHTUB. It was similar to an oversized bucket, stainless steel as the clawfoot design curved at the top, Stoney’s name carved within the metal—her husband had designed it just for her.

She couldn’t help to return the giggles of the child beneath her, the eight year old smiling as bubbles collected within her wet coils.

“Mommy, I told you I could wash my own hair!”

She sighs, “I know, Sai. But mommy isn’t ready to be without you just yet, yeah? Give me a couple more months?”

She blows a bubble into the girl's cheek, “Maybe even a few more years?”

“I’ll always need you, Mommy— I’m just growing, like a plant—Like the flowers in our garden!”

Stoney hummed, a smile following after. She loved this little girl more than the stars combined within the earth.

“Of course. You’re right, as always. C’mon, flower— Let’s get you cleaned up so you can finish your chores. Help mommy up, yeah?”

She huffs, a palm rising against the swell of her belly—the stretch marks painting across her skin remind her of the excitement she felt when finding out that she was pregnant for the second time—but being pregnant with twins? That was another story.

“Thank you, pretty girl.”

Chores wasn’t the definition Stoney would use, as that was something kids didn’t necessarily enjoy doing. One year of being engaged, two years of being married changed her life. She didn’t expect to be living in her dream home so soon—A coquettish design, pointed at the top as bricks replaced the smooth walls that would’ve been on a modern house. And in the backyard—a farm, essentially. Two acres of land—Seven chickens, two pigs, and one cow. It was a domesticated life, as her husband always wanted to make her happy.

Stoney learned against the fence, watching as Sai tossed grained corn onto the ground, flushed pecks sharply nibbling at the ground as the chickens ate their dinner.

“You’ excited about your birthday, baby?”

Sai hums her nod in acknowledgment. But as her age increased, her curiosity might’ve peaked more than when she was only five.

With that being said, her next question was hesitant.

“Is Daddy gonna be at the party?”

Stoney’s eyebrows falter a bit. She pulls her hair behind her ear as she replies, “Of course, baby—um, why wouldn’t he be?”

Sai shrugs carelessly, “I know you two fight, Mommy.”

She was definitely intuitive. Sai may have been just seven, but she was smarter than most. There were things that Stoney wanted to be able to explain once her baby girl got older—she wasn’t supposed to know any of that now.

Not to mention, Sai’s words had reminded her of the text she’d received earlier that morning.

Stoney gives a weak smile, “How about you go wash up and set up the dinner table, yeah?”

Sai’s eyes flickered up to her mom. She wondered for a moment if she’d made her mad, but when Stoney gave her that smile, she couldn’t help her own.

“Yes, mommy. I’m hungry!”

With a sweet kiss on her momma’s belly, she walks towards the house, her small ponytail bobbing with every step. When the soft click of the back door closes, Stoney sighs.

Finding her way to the miniature barn behind the chicken coop, she presses her fingers into the maroon painted outhouse for the cow—her choice of color, complimenting the browns mixed within the red wood.

Her eyes find him immediately—onyx tresses hidden beneath a backwards cap, his equally dark eyebrows furrowing as he continues leaning into scrubbing the animal's fur. Each muscle within his arm flexes— his olive skin coated in tattoos from the ankles to his neck. The deep cuts on the sides of the loose top show off the sculpt of his inked abdomen, serpent slithering on his arm each time he curved his bicep.

She pulls the curl of her hair behind her ear, watching him for a while.

Her voice is soft as she then greets, “Mochi only sits in silence when you clean her. She must have a crush on you.”

He never stopped his hand from carefully scrubbing down the animal, but the corners of his eyes wrinkle as he chuckles.

“She must,” his deep voice carries into the ceiling, “I told her ass I’m happily married.”

Her fingers absentmindedly trace to her stomach as she questions, “Did you have a client this morning? You left pretty early.”

“Yeah.”

His gaze finally turns, Stoney’s figure standing in the doorway—the red sundress compliments her tatted brown skin and honey freckles, her dark hair shaping around her face that flushes from pregnancy—Her skin glowed under the light, pretty as she could be.

“Job went quick as hell—somebody asked me to transfer a bearded dragon to the lab by the Zoo. How you’ doing, momma?”

That name—It always brought her a sense of comfort. Toji could be worrisome, constantly at her aid as she was carrying two of his children for eight months now, yet, she still tried to keep herself in the same loop she always had been—working a couple of days at the pottery shop, helping around the house, even venturing out to the backyard at times. He’d rather her sit on her feet all day, but Stoney had never been the type. He knew that.

“I’m okay,” she says softly, “Was a bit nauseous after you left for work, but I’ve been trying those kale chips the doctor recommended—they’re gross,” she scrunches her nose.

Here’s the thing—she’d now been with Toji for about three years, getting eloped instead of a wedding, spending their honeymoon in Prague as she’d always dreamed—he was willing to give her the world, but she’d come to learn a side of him that wasn’t always her favorite. He could be frustrating, stubborn, and set in his ways. When he felt a way about someone, there was no fixing it—and that person was her ex-husband. Any conversation about him didn't go well.

“I wanted to come ask you something.”

He was silent as he listened to her, but his motions stopped—a brow raising on his expression. This behavior was almost always a precursor to something—disagreeable.

“What you’ need, baby?”

Okay, his eyes might’ve had her back down on what she really wanted to bring up. Her voice is sweet, “Come lift up my belly? Like they taught us in the Mommy and Me classes? It feels heavy, baby.”

His brows relaxed at her question. He chuckles as he reaches for a hand towel in the bucket of water next to him, patting his hand dry.

“Yeah, baby. I’m comin’.”

He comes around the cow, Stoney smiling at him with a warm greeting. She had her arms open, Toji cupping her soft cheek and pulling her into a rough kiss. He grunted— but as expected, their intimacy was cut short as Mochi moo’d impatiently.

“Okay, okay, Mochi. Relax, lemme’ show my woman some love.”

Stoney giggles softly as she pecks the sharp of his jaw, turning to press her chest along his back as she guides his hands beneath her stomach.

She softly rambles, “Been tryna’ find ways to get these stretch marks off my belly. They look hideous.”

“Here you go, talkin’ yourself into a coma. You love sayin’ bullshit, huh?”

His hands cup beneath her belly, “They’re beautiful.”

She can feel his full lips against the shell of her ear as he’s pressing his fingertips into the bottom of her swollen flesh, elevating the weight of it with him. The relief is instant, and she moans—low, long, just the way he likes.

“Oh—Toji,” she sighs sweetly, a squeal of his name following suit, “Thank you, baby.”

“Now you know I can’t handle all them’ sounds you’re makin’. Keep that shit up, I’ll have you bend you over this fuckin’ hay—“

She giggles again, laying her hands over his as she begins to softly rock from side to side.

“Must you be nasty, Fushiguro? Can’t you just gimme’ love?”

“I give your ass plenty of love, that’s why you’re in the state you’re in now.“

She shakes her head, accepting the kiss he gives the side of her throat. Toji falls deeper into the flush of her skin, Stoney raising her hand up, snaking it around to tug at his hair beneath the cap he wears. The rocking of their bodies continue, making her more comfortable to get on with the conversation she actually wanted to have.

“Sai asked if Nathaniel was coming to her birthday party.”

He doesn’t still against her, but his grip on her belly becomes more weighted.

He pauses, before letting out his next question.

“Is he?”

Stoney turns her head a bit to find his face, “He is her father, Fushiguro.”

“I know that.”

That was all he said before he removed himself from Stoney’s back, her stomach falling. He reached for the bucket, preparing to return to his chore of cleaning Mochi once more.

“That’s all you were tryna’ tell me?”

Stoney holds back her sigh, the absence of his body feeling a little cold as his energy now feels dismissive. Her arms crossed as she continued, “Well—he said he wants to pay for the whole thing, even after I told him that you were covering the cost of it. He insists that he’s her father, and should be responsible for her party.”

He doesn’t look at her, “You gonna’ let him do that?”

“I—“

Stoney does sigh, “I don’t know. He asked for all of us to go out to lunch tomorrow to discuss how everything’s gonna go—“

She sees his face, continuing anyways, “I think it might be good for the two of you to find some common ground.”

“Yeah, you think we should braid each other’s hair too? Gossip?”

“Fushiguro.”

“I’m good on’ that.”

“You’re good on’ that? That’s how we’re ending this discussion?”

“It was a discussion?” he finally turns to look at her.

Okay, Toji wasn’t a big fan of Nathaniel—it was clear as day. Meeting Stoney as he did, seeing the way he treated her after being divorced, it made him think of how he treated her when they were married—nothing good, he was sure. It made him angry, and he wasn’t trying to take himself to that point.

“I’m not gonna’ be an ass, so like I said—I’m good off that.”

“Do you think I’m doing this for me? Or because I want to?” She frowns, “I’m doing it for that little girl who loves her father and thinks he’s a superhero—but she loves you too, Fushiguro. You’re just as important to her, and the both of you coming together would make her happy.”

He doesn’t say a word—because she’s right. His lack of understanding towards Nathaniel was more than his dislike for the man, and it was clear. But he loved Sai like she was his actual blood.

“I heard you, Solaya.”

She raises an eyebrow, “Now I’m Solaya? So you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset,” he shakes his head, “I haven’t even said ‘nothing. I’m listening.”

She can feel this man like no other. Dealing with the tension between her ex-husband and new husband wasn’t always easy— But Toji was protective of his wife, and he wasn’t willing to deal with Nathaniel if he didn’t have to.

Stoney lowers her arms, “Seeing him outside of drop offs and pickups doesn’t sound exciting to me either, okay? But Sai’s getting older and—“

She releases an exhale, “She said that she knows me and him fight, Fushiguro. And if being cordial with him will make her happy—then that’s okay with me.”

Toji’s jaw flexes. His brows furrowed as he looked at Stoney, his eyes boring into her. Sai was extremely perceptive, and to hear that she knew the relationship they carried with her father—that wasn’t good at all.

On the other hand, his wife’s selflessness could be frustrating—Stoney was always so—forgiving. It was the reason why her and Nathaniel stayed together as long as they did. But that wasn’t the point of this, the point was to come to a solution.

So he settles for, “If we’re supposed to go to this lunch, what time is he comin’?”

That changes Stoney’s energy. She tries to hold her smile, her head tilting as her teeth dig into the plump of her lip, “So, you’ll go?”

She kneels her face into the top of his back.

He rolls his shoulder, his hands moving to grab her front as she leaned into him.

“If it’ll make you happy,” he mutters, “I’ll play nice, Momma. You know I’ll do anything for Sai.”

She pouts, giggling a bit as his palm finds the flesh of her ass, “What about me? The love of your life? The one bearing your children?”

He smacked, Stoney squeaking into his back at the unexpected contact. His hand smooths down her thigh, his thumb tracing circles into her skin as he murmurs, “The love of my life don’t’ need to ask for shit, I’ll do it regardless.”

She kneels her nose in the muscles that flex at the nape of his neck. “I love you, Daddy. You’re so sweet.”

He hums at her words—that name came from her lips like a sweet spell the moment she wanted to butter him up—and it worked. His fingers trace along her thigh, his grip pulling her even closer.

“You tryna’ show me how much, huh? It’s a little while before dinner—“

“Nuh-uh, boy. You still have Mochi to finish washing, and Buttons and Bows need to eat!” She reminds him of the pigs, “You’re easily distracted, farmer.”

“You say easily distracted, I say motivated—if your ass didn’t distract me in the first place, I would’ve been done with Mochi hours ago.”

Stoney giggles once more before she releases him, “Can you come rub some more cocoa butter on my belly before dinner?”

“Anything to make you and the babies more comfortable, Momma. Go start up dinner before I make you the fuckin’ meal.”

“You’re nasty! You gon’ watch me walk away?”

“Am I gonna watch you waddle away? I always do.”

“Oh wow—rude!”

“I love you too.”

𝓐ᥫ᭡

OF COURSE HE WAS LATE.

The crease in her brow hadn’t left for the past hour, as her ex-husband was being a little too accurate—he was late, having the couple sitting within this restaurant with no food and only drinks on the table.

“You sure you don’t want anything to eat, baby?”

Stoney blinks—her eyes fall back on her husband, his legs spread as his attention is on a beer—he tried not to drink around her or Sai anymore, but he needed a distraction.

She shakes her head, “I don’t think the little one’s took too well to breakfast this morning,” holding her belly with a soft frown.

Toji watches her with careful eyes, his thick brows furrowing as he looks at the pout on her face. He could tell by now that Stoney was nervous more than anything, and less that she was simply nauseated.

Being on time never seemed to be high on Nathaniel’s list of priorities, at least not since he’d met Toji. He was always late—picking up Sai, dropping her off, recitals, important events—it had been three years, and nothing had changed.

“Maybe some soup?” He offered.

“Don’t think I’m in the mood to throw up liquids,” she briefly glances over the menu, bringing her hand to his thigh as she apologizes, “I’m sorry—I don’t want you to be late to work.”

“I got employees, baby.”

He turns over his hand, threading his large fingers with hers, “How are you feelin’?”

“Sai’s birthday is already a pretty difficult time,” she pressed her lips together, making a face with a smile, “But I’m fine. Just—glad to have you here with me.”

Just as Stoney knew her husband, Toji knew his wife. Something felt—off in those words.

She reaches for his ear, rubbing at it comfortingly as she dismisses, “What client do you have today?”

He was silent for a moment, wondering about her behavior—he didn’t want to push, as she wasn’t exactly the most open when it came to her past. Toji hums softly as she plays with his ear, his head tilting back to lean in closer.

“Takin’ that bearded dragon from the lab back to the Zoo’s terrarium, then I gotta’ go visit an old employee—he wants me to bring this Boa over to his son’s apartment as a birthday gift—Easy ass money.”

Stoney’s nose scrunches, “ And you’re gonna put that demon in your truck?”

Toji chuckles, “Momma, you say that like my truck ain’t already been full of reptiles. I’ve kept a Boa in the backseat plenty of times—you think this one is finally gonna take me out?”

She flicks his ear, “Fushiguro, don’t say that. I will actually vomit on you.”

His laugh is low as he places a kiss on her knuckles, “I’m playing, you know that.”

The moment she gives him the smallest smile, her attention is pulled at a familiar voice coming increasingly closer—he’s talking into the phone, bullshit consisting of some stocks he prepared to sell. No surprise there.

Nathaniel had finally appeared. He never looked any different each time he came around, a button up suit covering his caramel skin, brown eyes empty, waves shining beneath the lights of every room he walked into—he was handsome, always had been—but his unattractive spirit took that all away.

Their eyes flicker over the man as he continues talking into the phone, sitting across from them without a greeting.

When he finally hangs up, this is the first thing he says, “A beer, huh? What’re we celebrating?”

Toji being a man of no nonsense, he replies with, “You should greet my wife first and apologize for bein’ late.”

Nathaniel’s eyes flicker over to Stoney as if he’d just noticed her.

“Hello, Stoney,” his eyes moved down to her stomach, “You look beautiful—Pregnancy suits you, even if it’s the second time around.”

Toji’s eyes narrow.

Stoney quickly squeezes his hand, dismissing the sailor language she knows her husband can spout, “You’re late, Nathaniel. You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

Nathaniel’s smile is easy, “Business calls. You were with me long enough to know all that—how far along are you?”

She knew he had no intention of apologizing.

Her voice is gentle, “I’m almost nine months, but I’m not here to talk about my pregnancy—You wanted us to meet you here, so what did you want to talk about?”

“My daughter’s birthday party, of course,” he reaches for the wine glass on the table, “I insisted that I cover all of the charges, since I am her father.”

Father.

He has an emphasis on it, flicking his gaze over to a leg bouncing Toji.

Stoney’s voice is pensive, “I understand that. But before you called me to ask about plans, Toji had already planned to cover all costs. With him being her step father, I didn’t have a problem with it.”

“It’s my responsibility to handle anything that has to do with Sai, Stoney,” Nathaniel reminds, “Step-father is just a title. Don’t make him any different than just your new husband.”

“You can both—“

“‘The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Toji raises an eyebrow, “I provide for her just as much as you do, if not more.”

“Don’t get too offended, man. I’m not speaking on how much you provide for her—“

“You’re right. You can’t speak about that because you don’t know,” Toji cuts off.

“Fushiguro—”

“What?”

His voice is clipped, Stoney closing her mouth as she tries to avoid a potential argument between the two of them. Toji keeps going, “You want to celebrate Sai as her father, I’m not tryna’ that shit away from you,” his leg is still bouncing, Stoney’s eyes flickering towards the beer bottle he could potentially break in his hand, “I take her to school, take her to ballet—I’m there at her recitals, sitting at the edge of her bed if she’s sick. I’m there for her. So if we’re really here to talk, we need to be going half on this shit.”

“Half?” Nathaniel repeats, “For what?”

“I think it would make the most sense, Nathan,” Stoney agrees, “You’re both trying to make sure she has the best celebration, I think what matters is what would make our daughter happy.”

Nathaniel’s gives a chuckle.

“What is it that you planned for her?”

Toji looks at Stoney, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

“A party at the science museum—it’s her favorite subject. They do a kid’s birthday package, and I plan on renting out a couple of the main galleries for her,” Toji explains.

“And you think you can afford that by yourself?”

Toji’s face is cold.

“Money ain’t shit for me. But that ain’t the point— I’m more than willing to split if it means you’re willing to actually spend time with your daughter. You think you can afford that, or should we be checking on your finances too?”

Nathaniel’s face drops.

He looks to Stoney as he questions, “You gon’ let this nigga talk to me like that?”

Stoney’s voice is still gentle, “He’s not talking to you in any type of way, Nathan—Okay? Can you calm down? Please?”

Her face. It’s a face that Toji had never seen before, almost as if she was—scared?

“Baby,” Toji lowly calls, hand reaching beneath the chair to tug her closer, “You okay?”

When Stoney turns back to him, she relaxes her face a bit. Almost as if she didn’t mean for that expression to slip—Stoney slides her hand back into his as she brushes off, “I’m fine. Look—You both have an impact in Sai’s life. So you need to be able to come together simply for the sake of her, and going half on her party is a way to show some type of mutuality. Can we do that?”

She’s too good. Her heart is too big for her chest. Toji sees this, but as much as he loves her for who she is, Nathaniel’s a different story.

“I’ll split for it. Shit was never a problem for me in the first place,” Toji finalizes.

Nathaniel doesn’t say a word in response, which has Stoney clutching along her stomach, “Nathan?”

“Yeah, we’ll split it.”

Stoney let’s out an inaudible sigh of relief, but the moment quickly shifts as her ex-husband stands from the table, his harsh movements having the booth shake as he stomps off—it makes Stoney jump a bit, a heavy breath pushing from her lips the moment she hears the door of the restaurant slam behind him. Stoney’s lashes flutter as she blinks, feeling the warmth of tears glaring at her vision.

“Hey, hey—momma, what’s wrong, huh?”

Toji’s already clutching her face, pulling her forehead against his—it makes Stoney awkwardly giggle, pulling herself back a bit as she wipes under her eyes, “I’m okay—I promise. Can we go home?”

She wraps her arms along his neck, burying herself within his larger frame—she’s shaking.

Toji’s eyebrows lower as he’s pressing his lips against her forehead, his large hands tracing up her back, “Of course we can.”

His voice is soft, “C’mon—I’ll pick up some ingredients to make them’ lil’ popsicles you like.”

“The raspberry ones?” she nearly gasps, which makes him chuckle.

“Anything you want. You eatin’ for three now.”

He leans down to kiss at her belly, Stoney tugging at his hair as she sighs, “Let’s have like four more after this.”

That’s when Toji halts his movement.

“Four?”

“So you hate me? Okay.”

“Woman.”

Here was the thing—two days had gone by, and Toji couldn’t keep his mind off the discussion that happened nearly forty-eight hours ago. He knew that her ex-husband could be childish, but he couldn’t stop thinking about their specific interactions, wondering how much he missed when she talked to Nathaniel by herself, or when he wasn’t there to protect her. He always tried to stay in his place as her husband, but this was his woman.

His mind still wandered as he slid another box closer to the front door, planning to pick it up and take it onto his truck—he was currently helping Serena move out of her apartment and into her new home, Stoney and Sai currently out shopping for her birthday outfit.

“I appreciate this, brother-in-law. But I told your ass to bring that cute employee of yours—I wanted his number!”

She holds a glass of wine, watching as he effortlessly moves the boxes by himself.

Toji chuckles, his shirt sticking to his sweat, “He’s married—got two kids and a pregnant wife, remember?”

She sighs, “Oh yeah. I forgot about that.”

Serena takes a long sip of her wine, “How’s my sister doing?”

Toji hums, carrying another box, “She’s good. She seems a little exhausted lately—I keep telling her to stay in the house, but you know how that goes. Still accepting bookings at the shop, trying to put together Sai’s birthday alone—you know she had me and that dumbass ex-husband of hers play nice, huh?”

“Yeah, well—Stoney’s been that way since she was younger,” Serena’s eyes lowered, “She’s always been the one to put her needs on the back burner for everyone else—that’s why you gotta get on her ass sometimes.”

Serena takes another sip, “And I’m not saying it to go against you or nothing—but that man has been in her life since she was a young girl. It almost makes me wish she didn’t have a kid with him, but Sai is the only blessing to come out of that relationship.”

Toji’s eyebrows lower as he listens. It makes Serena ask, “You’ve never asked her to go in depth about that part of her life, have you?”

He’s quiet for a moment, the air a bit tense. It was true. Toji knew whatever his wife told him, but he often got nothing when wanting to know everything about her past relationship.

“She doesn’t like talking about it.”

Serena makes a sound, finishing off her wine before she answers, “Stoney’s more dependent than she tries to admit, which includes accepting comfort from those who love her. Her and Nathan’s relationship—it wasn’t good, you know? It hurt me to see my sister going through what she did.”

Toji’s stopped moving now, watching Serena as her expression falls.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure—yeah?”

“Nathaniel—He never put hands on her, did he?”

Serena’s eyes flicker to him, her lashes batting a bit.

She doesn’t answer.

Toji’s blood grew cold at her silence, “Serena—“

“Don’t ask me to get in the middle of my sister’s relationship with you.”

She wasn’t looking at him, but her tone had risen a bit. A warning.

“Just keep being good to her. That’s all I want, Toji.”

“Serena.”

And right on cue, her phone rings. She presses the phone to her ear as she leaves him with, “Finish up carrying those boxes so we can go—yeah? I’m tired as hell—would you excuse me?”

And with that, she closes the door behind herself to the bathroom.

Toji had never been an easily angered man. He prided himself on his ability to remain calm and collected, especially for the sake of his family. But this was different.

He’d found a new conversation to fixate over, the scowl on his face stuck for the next couple of days—he wanted to bring it up to his wife, but not only had Stoney been driving herself crazy with party planning, she’d also had been dealing with early on contractions, and although the doctor said that was entirely normal in pregnancy—it didn’t make it any less painful.

Stoney laid sideways along the bed, her fingers clutching at the duvet as she released deep breaths, eyes scrunching as she continuously squeezed the ball between her thighs as some type of relief—it didn’t seem to be helping.

“They talked about this peanut ball in class, this shit isn’t even—agh, helping,” she huffs.

“Just focus on breathing, Momma,” he murmurs, “You’re doin’ so good, I know it hurts.”

Toji’s large hand held her waist, digging into her hips, which made her release the smallest moans. His face is close to hers, watching as sweat beaded along her forehead.

Stoney turns her head towards the crook of his bicep, huffing along his skin, "These are pretty strong for Braxton hicks."

She makes a whimper, clutching his wrist as she squeezes the ball between her thighs. He knew it must’ve been feeling intense now.

“Did you feed Mochi?” Her eyes squeeze shut, panting, “And everybody else?”

“I told you don’t worry about that,” he mutters, his hand tracing to the nape of her neck, his fingers massaging the base of her spine.

“But I did. I watered the garden, too,” he hums, a bit amused at her mothering, even in the state that she’s in, “You just breathe, baby. You want me to get the hot pack?”

“It broke this morning,” she whimpers again, “Forgot to tell you.”

She squeezes the ball tighter beneath her thighs, “Should I try another position? This isn’t helping.”

Stoney presses her knees into the sheets, leaning her upper half against the ball now—she’s rotating forward every few seconds, arching her back up with heavy breaths. It does something—not much, but the low moan she releases tells otherwise.

Toji’s hands trace along her hips, his head lowering to press an open mouth kiss along the small of her back where her shirt rises.

She releases another whimper—she’d always been sensitive even when she wasn’t pregnant. His deep voice carries, “How’ that feel, baby? Talk to me.”

When she feels his palms continuously grinding into her sides, her eyes nearly roll as she feels him rocking her back and forth himself—the pressure he puts on her body is like no other, and she softly whines, “That feels sooo good.”

He chuckles at her reaction, his lips trailing along her side before he murmurs, “You sound pretty, baby.”

He loves it when she’s vocal, and he’d be lying if he wasn’t tempted to do more—not to mention, the feminine pheromones releasing from her constantly had his dick throbbing, but he was far more worried about her comfort than his own. He missed her like hell, though.

She keeps her hands touching the opposite end of the ball, moving her body with the rotation of it as she questions, “How’s Serena doing? I told her I’d come by to see the house since she works on Sai’s birthday—I hope she isn’t upset with me.”

His fingers dip beneath the hem of her shirt, brushing against the soft swell of her belly as he presses another kiss to the side of her stomach.

“She’s good. Didn’t have that much stuff to move in anyways,” he pauses, “I don’t think she’s mad. But she said if you ask her how much you owe for making Sai’s cake one more time? She will get upset.”

Stoney shakes her head, “She keeps tryna say that she doesn’t need me to pay her—you know I’d never do that. It’s her business, you know? Being related doesn’t matter to me.”

“That’s what I said,” Toji mutters, “Even after I talked to her about it, she still wants to do it for free,” he chuckles, “Your sister’s a stubborn one—just like you. I can see how you’re related.”

“She’s so irritating.”

As Toji watches her— he wonders if he should bring up the conversation between him and Serena. He’d been worried about this for the past couple of days, and he wasn’t sure if he could hold it in any longer.

“Baby,” his voice is low, “You don’t regret being with me, do you? Feel like we moved too fast on getting married, having kids—anything?”

Stoney halts her exercise. She turns towards him, holding her belly with a soft huff as she frowns, “What? No, of course not. Why would you think that?”

“I know I’m the first man you’ve been with since him—And I want you to be comfortable in talking to me about anything—including your past relationship. That’s all. You know I’m always here to listen, right?”

She releases a soft exhale at his words, feeling a sense of tension rush over her body.

“Not now, baby.”

“Stoney, I’m tryna’ be patient—“

“Fushiguro, I don’t want to do this right now. Okay? I have these painful—“

“I’ll keep massaging. I’m your husband, Stoney. I need you to talk to me—Shit is becoming frustrating as hell,” he admits, a small harshness to his voice.

That’s when Stoney raises an eyebrow, “Or what, Toji? You’re gonna leave me if I don’t tell you every single thing about my past relationship?”

Toji frowns, “Don’t say shit like that, Solaya. I would never leave you.”

His words have her eyes flick up to him—she can now see the scowl on his face, and a part of her feels bad. She just didn’t want to drudge up the past.

“I just—I can’t,” she admits, her voice soft.

She pulls him closer, feeling her hands under his black tee, her fingers warm against the flesh of his abdomen, “I’m sorry.”

He could feel that it was a genuine apology. Toji’s voice drops as his hand traces to her wrist, his lips brushing the soft of her forehead, “You never have to apologize for not being ready,” he mutters, “But I can’t help you if you don’t let me, alright?”

He lowers himself, his lips meeting hers, not wanting to upset her. Toji keeps his voice soft, “How about you get more comfortable? Let me put on your favorite show, and I’ll start dinner,” he kisses her again, “You’re hungry, yeah?”

She could see how patient this man was with her. It made her feel guilty. Her fingers brush at his tattooed bicep, nodding as she reminds, “You know you’re my heart, right? You know that?”

“‘Course I do,” he mumbles, “And you’re my world—shit is no different.”

And in that moment—Stoney feels a nudge. She gasps, “Baby—they’re fighting again!”

She yanks his hand, pressing it along the swell of her stomach, “They like hearing you talk to them.”

He leans forward, his cheek pressing against her belly as he murmurs, “Quit all that playing around in your momma’s stomach. No wonder she has cramps and shit—“

“Language, Fushiguro.”

At that moment, the door bursts open to their bedroom—Sai greets them with three popsicles in her hand, “I got everybody a treat!”

Stoney smiles, “Hi, baby. That’s sweet—you came in at the perfect time, you wanna come feel mommy's belly?”

Sai’s face lit up. Her brown eyes flicker to Toji, scurrying over and climbing onto his lap as she presses her hands to her mother’s stomach, “Are they fighting?”

“Yeah,” Toji hums, “They’ been bullying your momma all day. Told ‘em they gotta chill—but you know they don’t listen. Think you can help me out with that?”

Sai nods, “I’m their big sister—they’ll have to listen to me,” she pats along Stoney’s stomach, “Hey, stop being mean to mommy!”

Toji watches the way her face changes as she feels a kick, and Stoney makes a soft sound.

“Woah!” Sai giggles, “That was a hard one!”

“I think you might’ve made them angrier,” Stoney playfully pouts, “Mission failed, big sister! The court grants tickles as punishment!”

A fit of giggles fills the room as Toji playfully picks up Sai, throwing her onto the bed as he tickles her sides.

These were the moments that mattered.

Their good energy lasted up until the day of Sai’s ninth birthday. It was perfect—the sun was shining brightly against the blue sky, the wind blew

cool air to lessen the heat of the sun, and miniature bodies scattered the marble flooring of the science museum—giggles bounced along the walls, doe eyes currently preparing to go to the next exhibit—they’d already seen the butterflies greenhouse, seen the stars within the planetarium—now, all the children waited excitedly in line for the terrarium, where Toji would be able to give them a small show of the reptiles.

Seeing the smile on her daughter’s face as her friends gathered around her, it couldn’t have made Stoney any happier. Sai giggled as she swung the frill of her green tutu left and right, showing off the outfit that her mother had made for her. She was happy.

Stoney leaned against her husband— blood orange bandeau top rubbing against his leather jacket, the material showing off the beauty of her belly—her hips and ass had grown tenfold with her pregnancy, matching skirt flowing down to her woven sandals.

“The girls are loving this,” she stands on her toes to kiss at his jaw, “I’ve never seen Sai so happy.”

“She deserves it.”

His fingers dip along the sides of his wife’s waist, making sure her body stays close, “I think I might’ve had just as much fun as she did today—but you should’ve let me bring Lily.”

Stoney shakes her head, “Hell no, you keep that tennis python where she belongs—in her cage!”

“You mean ball python?”

“That too!”

Toji chuckles, “Chill. You’re gonna go into labor doing all that.”

Stoney rolls her eyes, pulling her attention back towards the front of the museum—Here was the small issue of the day—Nathaniel was nowhere to be found.

“Did Sai tell you where she wanted to go eat?” she distracts herself, tugging at her husband's jacket.

“That pizzeria by our house—that’ll give us time to mentally prepare for six little girls in our house,” he chuckles, “I’m gonna cry just thinking about it.”

Stoney gives a weak smile at his words, too distracted to laugh. That’s when she hears the little girls cheer, an employee of the museum beginning to unlock the doors to the terrarium.

She turns, “How about you head in and start the show? I’ll call the pizzeria, yeah?”

His brows furrow, “You sure you don’t want me to do it before I go in there?”

“I got it, baby. No worries.”

“You’d tell me if something else was wrong, right?”

“Mhm.”

Toji’s frown deepens, “Stoney—“

“Go, Fushiguro. I’m fine.”

“Did I tell you how pretty you are?”

Stoney rolls her eyes, laughing softly as she feels his palms circling around her hips, finding the weight of her ass to squeeze. She hums, “This is the thousandth time today, I think. Can you stop being so worrisome, grandpa?”

“You have jokes,” he chuckles, “That’s cool. Imma’ show you old, later.”

Stoney giggles as he lifts her body a bit, pecking her lips in repetitions. At the moment Sai’s name is called, Stoney gives her husband a playful push, “I love you, dork. Go be a kid in there.”

She watches as he walks backwards, his smile genuine, “I love you,” he calls, giving her a small wave before he turns to head towards the exhibit of the show.

Making her way into the next hallway, she feels a bit winded—She felt bad for her daughter, and she feels helpless at the fact that Nathaniel promised he’d show up to her birthday, but was nowhere to be found. To make matters worse? The money he promised was never given to her, and to keep Toji from breaking her ex-husbands neck, she took the small profit she’d made from SAI’S, playing it off for Nathaniel’s money. She actually hadn’t heard from him since the lunch they had.

She’s dialing, dialing, and nothing. She could feel the heat starting to rise off of her body. Nathaniel was a lot of things, had done a lot of things—but this took the cake. Going awol and not showing up for a time that mattered the most—she was pissed.

But nothing pissed her off more as she held the phone to her ear, watching as a familiar frame turned the corner into the quiet hallway—there he was, Nathaniel, in that goddamn suit. He wasn’t in a rush, and he was of course—on the phone.

“You can’t be fucking serious right now, Nathaniel. You just can’t be.”

“Hold on, I’m putting you on hold—“ he lowers his phone, his eyes flickering back over his ex-wife, “What’s the problem?”

“What’s the problem? The problem is that you’re three hours late to your daughter’s party that’s damn near over—where the fuck have you been, Nathaniel?”

“I got held up. I was going to meet you at the restaurant—Why are you nagging? I’m here, aren’t I?”

He then holds a finger up as he raises the phone back to his ear, “I’m back, yeah.”

Stoney’s blood was boiling.

“Did you forget you were supposed to go half with my husband on’ this party, Nathan?”

“Half,” he chuckles, making Stoney’s brows furrow with irritation, “I was going to pay for everything—but I had to pay off my divorce lawyers—your new nigga said money ain’t shit to him, right? What’s the problem?”

Stoney had to completely dismiss that this man was on his second divorce, “What don’t you understand? It’s not about the money. It was an effort to show how much you care about your child, to show me that you actually want to be in her life!”

“What do I have to prove to you?”

Stoney blinks, “What?”

“You’re even more stupid than you’ve ever been if you think I care about proving myself to you?”

His voice is cold, “I don’t have to take care of Sai. But I do,” he reminds, “I’ve been trying to do the right thing because I don’t need your ass taking me to court. I’m not doing this for you, or him— yet, you’re still finding something to bitch about. Can’t you ever say thank you?”

Stoney’s eyes widened. She’s disgusted, completely and utterly disgusted. To hear this man talking to her like this—she wasn’t surprised, but she still couldn’t fathom it. She’s in disbelief, and the fact that he was acting this way with their daughter in the next room—it had her seeing red.

“You’ve lost your mind. Thank you? Thank you?” Stoney’s voice raises, “I have been nothing but civil with you since the divorce, putting everything personal aside for my daughter,” she holds her stomach, trying to keep herself calm.

“I’ve always wanted you in Sai’s life, no matter what happened between us, no matter what you did to me—but you failed her. Again. Eight years, and you’re still a selfish fucking idiot.”

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth, Stoney,” Nathaniel snarls, “That husband of yours ain’t here to protect you.”

“Fuck you!” she fires off, “I don’t need anyone to protect me! I learned that when the man I loved threw me to the side— said things to hurt me, left me!” She can feel her vision blurring, “All because he wasn’t the man he wanted to be!”

Hearing herself say those words out loud, they hurt more.

Nathaniel’s eyes narrow, and Stoney jumps at the sudden bang of his palm against the wall— right beside her head.

“You’re not some fuckin’ victim,” Nathaniel mutters, his voice low, face hovering hers closely—Stoney can feel the heat of his breath against her skin, “You should’ve been a better wife. Instead, you fucked a mover and tried to replace him with me.”

Stoney could admit something to herself—years of trauma with this man, and she still couldn’t shake the fear that rushed through her body when he got like this. Being pregnant and alone in this hallway didn’t make it better. Her body shudders as she holds her belly, tears hot as they drop from her eyes, “You don’t scare me, Nathaniel.”

The thing is, he knows that he does. He gives a dark chuckle, Stoney unable to react quick enough as his palm latches onto her throat, squeezing so hard that the bottom of her face instantly throbs—Stoney whimpers, gripping onto his wrist to attempt at pulling him away, “You’re hurting me, Nathan—“

“You should be lucky that I haven’t killed your ass yet,” he mutters, “Imagine what that man would think of you if he knew how you really were? A manipulating, lying, whore.”

His grip on her tightens, and Stoney could barely breathe anymore—Nathaniel’s large frame has her small body held against him, and her hands can’t get a good grip along his arm to pull him away. She thinks about her daughter, the last ten years of her life, Toji.

But everything changes in that second.

Nathaniel turns, but not before the harsh punch of a fist cracks against his jaw. His body is thrown back against the wall, stumbling before he falls—a body is already atop of him, swinging, pummeling his face in. She could hear his bones breaking.

Stoney’s already latching onto the back of his jacket, “Fushiguro—stop!”

There’s blood everywhere—along the halls, the marble floor of the museum, even the front of his white shirt. Nathaniel can’t stop the man on top of him, his face barely recognizable any longer— Stoney cries as she begs for her husband to stop, pleads for him—her arms are wrapped around his waist as she tugs his shirt, “Toji, please! You’re gonna kill him!”

But Nathaniel’s already unconscious, the hits halting as Toji’s blood covered body towers over him. His shoulders rise and fall quickly with every huff, his teeth clenched, eyes wild and dark with hatred—security from the museum nearly rips him in half as they tug him onto the wall, already attempting to put him him cuffs—Stoney grips at the front of his shirt, shielding him as she whimpers, “Calm down, baby. Please.”

To make matters worse—the group of girls are flowing into the hall, curious at the noises they hear. Stoney’s deepest fears come to life— her child stares at the scene in front of her.

“Mommy? What’s going on?”

She sees the blood, “What happened to Da—“

“It’s fine, baby. Can you let the tour guide take you guys back into the butterfly greenhouse?” her voice is urgent, wiping her tears as she keeps her face away from her daughter, “Please?”

Sai’s eyes are wide with shock, her birthday dress that pretty green, her feet covered in a pair of sparkly white sandals—she’s staring straight at her step father drenched in blood, eyes flickering to her unconscious father in fear.

“Mommy? Mommy,” her bottom lip trembles when she asks the question, “Is that—“

“Go inside of the butterflies, Sai.”

Stoney can’t even look behind herself as an employee escorts the children out the hallway. Toji hadn’t said anything in the past five minutes, having the energy of a monster. He tugs out of the security holding him back, snapping, “Get the fuck off me. I’m good.”

Security questions, “What happened?”

“I was—arguing with my ex-husband and he—“

Stoney didn’t even have enough time to really come to terms with what he did. Her mind flashes back to memories of the past, and she can’t stop her body from shaking.

“He attacked me,” she admits, the tears rushing down her face, “I’m so sorry this happened at your establishment—my husband was just defending me—“ she throws her hands over her face, crying as she can’t finish her words.

“He did more than that,” Toji’s words snapped, “He threatened to kill her—I heard him. He threatened to kill my fuckin’ wife.”

“We’ll have to call the police, ma’am—You’ll need to explain to them what happened.”

“Please don’t,” she begs, “I—“

“It has to be called in, ma’am. We’ll need to review the cameras and have you file a report. This was a physical assault.”

Hearing those words, everything sinks into Stoney right in that moment. She sniffles as she nods, allowing the employees to call the police. Everything moves quickly after—they put Nathaniel within an EMT, Stoney explaining the entire conversation from the moment they began arguing to the moment he put hands on her. The police offered Stoney the option to press charges, to which she immediately said no, and that might’ve caused a tension between her and Toji.

The next hour felt unreal—Stoney was able to call all of the girl's parents and explain the situation, hoping this wouldn’t ruin Sai’s sleepover. She was thankful enough that everyone was empathetic of the situation, allowing all the girls to stay as a distraction for her daughter. All the girls rounded up in her Princess themed bedroom, giggles and yells consuming over the silence of the other part of the house.

But Stoney couldn’t help it—the moment the door closes to their bedroom, her voice cracks as she whimpers, “Why would you do that?”

Toji hadn’t said anything since the incident—he’d been silently seething, trying to keep it all in. Even when he was questioned, he’d give short, clipped answers.

“Why would I do what?”

“You could’ve killed him, Fushiguro. You could’ve gone to jail! You put yourself in jeopardy—my daughter in danger!”

“HE COULD’VE KILLED YOU, SOLAYA!”

His voice nearly rumbles the entire house—scaring the shit out of Stoney.

“Do you think for a second that he would’ve gotten off of you if I hadn’t come? I should’ve fuckin’ killed him.”

“Stop,” she whimpers, “We—we can go to court about this, Toji. We can—“

He cuts her off, “You should’ve pressed charges. You’re gonna let him walk after what he did to you—after what he said? Allow him to still see your daughter? I’ll be fuckin’ damned. From what I saw today—that wasn’t the first time he’d put his hands on you, Solaya! Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Stoney feels her chest tighten, crying as she covers her face with her hands, “Stop yelling at me.”

She can still feel the way her legs shake, not being able to control it—and he notices, he always does, “Baby—calm down, you’re shaking. I’m not angry with you.”

“Yes you are,” she trembles, her hands nearly vibrating against her face, “Y—you hate me…”

“Stoney.”

Toji’s eyes soften, and he huffs as he takes a few steps towards her—he cups her cheeks, pressing their foreheads together, a gentle move that he hadn’t given her within the last couple of hours. Her body tenses at the touch, and he instantly pulls back.

“I’m sorry,” he grunts, “I’m not angry with you, and I’d never hate you, momma. I just—How can I protect you? How can I make things better if you don’t even trust me?”

“I do trust you,” she sniffles, “I do—“

They hadn’t even heard the door open.

“Mommy?”

The small voice interrupts the two, Stoney wiping her face and turning herself away from her daughter's entrance into the room.

“My friends asked if they could see the farm—is that okay?”

“Of course, baby. I—“ she takes a deep breath, “How about Toji grabs those popsicles from the freezer for your friends to eat downstairs—Can I talk to you about something?”

Sai smiles, and nods. Her eyes then flicker across her mother’s body—the reddened skin along her neck, the way she’s trembling.

“Okay.”

Sai watches as Toji leaves, “I’ll be back up to get you in a little bit, pretty girl.”

When the door shuts, silence is back to consuming the room. The nine year old’s voice is soft as she approaches Stoney’s side, “Mommy,” her fingers trace her mother’s neck, “Who tried to hurt you?”

Stoney’s soft breath halts when she feels her daughter’s fingers tracing the same spot Nathaniel’s hand had been pressing only moments ago. But she couldn’t keep doing what she’d done for the last couple of years—shielding her daughter from the truth of her father.

“Your father did this,” she admits, wiping under her eyes, “I’m—I’m so sorry I haven’t been honest with you, baby girl.”

Sai blinks up at her mom’s words. Her father? Her superhero?

Her hand reaches for Stoney’s belly, as if trying to comfort her.

“Is it my fault?”

“No, baby. It will never be your fault. It—“

She exhales, “It’s nobody’s fault but his.”

“Why’s he so mean to you?”

The question haunts Stoney.

Her voice is weak, “I don’t know, baby. I don’t.”

That’s enough for Sai. She nods, her hand tracing along Stoney’s belly. She doesn’t want to see her mother upset, “Okay. Then we just won’t see him anymore?”

She didn’t expect her to say anything close to those

words.

Stoney frowns, “That’s what you want?”

There’s no expression on the nine year old’s face as she confirms, “He hurt you, Mommy—That’s what I want.”

Stoney wasn’t expecting that, but in the way her daughter was staring at her, she didn’t think she was changing her mind—But right now, there was a sleepover to enjoy, and this was too much for a child to carry.

“How about we um—talk about this tomorrow, huh? Mochi needs to eat, and I know the girls will just love giving her apples,” Stoney giggles, pressing her index finger against her daughters nose, “I hope you enjoyed your birthday today, LoveBug. You mean the world to me.”

Sai finally smiles, “I had the best day,” she hums, “You’re the best Mommy ever.”

The warmth that Stoney felt in her chest, the love she felt from her daughter was like no other. She squeezes her into a hug, allowing her to run out the room at the call of her friends downstairs.

She didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep for four hours. Her mind wandered—her relationships, her strengths, her weaknesses, her child, her upcoming children—could she handle all the new things within her life?

It was nearly midnight, and Toji had run himself mad dealing with little girls. He was able to get them all settled for bed, making his way back upstairs to find the bedroom in complete darkness. The box fan masked the silence, Toji able to hear the soft intakes of Stoney’s breath.

She feels the dip of the bed, softly adjusting her body with an exhale. He’s sitting along the edge, rubbing his palm along the arch of her foot beneath the duvet.

“Did the girls make you cry?”

Toji chuckles, “Almost. One of them said they were gonna steal my kneecaps if I didn’t make ‘em a snack before bed.”

He can hear her soft giggle, keeping his palm moving along her foot. His voice is low, “How are you feelin’, baby?”

She gives herself time to think on that question. Her face tucks more into the pillow as she softly replies, “I’m okay. I um—I just wanted to say thank you for keeping me together in all this.”

He rubs along the arch of her foot, “I’ll always keep it together for you. You and the kids,” he means that.

A beat of silence.

“I want to talk to you,” he grunts, “About today—“

“Sai’s birthday was something that was always really important to me, you know? I—“

She doesn’t expect herself to admit this—to admit any of this.

“I um—it was actually a year before I’d met you—Sai’s fifth birthday, and she was so excited to be having her first sleepover. Me and Nathaniel weren’t on the best of terms as I’d told him I wanted a divorce—but we were trying to keep up appearances for the sake of our daughter. We had the smallest disagreement—and it just—it happened so fast—I didn’t even feel the moment he hit me.”

Stoney could feel Toji tense, but he doesn’t stop rubbing her feet. He listens.

“I was so scared. I was too afraid to say anything because it was our daughter’s birthday—so I just smiled and pretended like everything was okay. Sai was too focused on showing off her room to notice that my face was bruised—and as long as she was happy, I was okay. That’s all that mattered to me. I figured that it was a mistake, that it wouldn’t happen again—It just didn’t feel important to tell you, because I thought I was fine.”

She feels herself becoming emotional, swallowing down the heavy lump in her throat. Her voice is returning to shakiness, “I’m just—I’m so sorry that I never told you, Fushiguro.”

“Baby.”

He can feel the heat of her body rising, he knows the tears within her eyes. This woman hurts, and it angers him to see the pain she’s been put through.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he mumbles, “Understand that I’d never hurt you, and I’d kill for you,” he grunts, “I love you. So goddamn much. Can I hold you, baby? Can I touch you?”

Stoney releases an unsteady breath, “Yes.”

That’s all the permission he needed.

She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer than she ever had before. Her face is within his neck, shoulders slumping as she sobs, releasing everything she’d ever been holding in.

This was a woman that had been holding her pain in for years, and now, she’s letting it all out—a weight had lifted off her shoulders. His large palms caress her back, her hair, pulling her as close as he possibly can. He loved her.

She does it without thinking—Stoney’s lips lift to his mouth as she kisses him within the darkness—It’s warm, passionate, digging her fingers into the dark tresses of his hair—she needs him.

His body looms over hers, breath hitching the moment his mouth equally finds every part of her skin—her lips, her throat, her shoulders. He’s everywhere.

Toji’s grunting, already pinning her ankles against the headboard, hovering himself above her body to keep him from putting his weight against her stomach. Similar to her—he can’t wait, he needs her even more. He tugs his bulge from beneath the material of his sweats, Stoney whimpering as he slaps his tip against the slick of her folds.

The sound of Stoney’s gasp trembles within his ear, digging her nails within his back as he sinks inside—her legs shudder, face burying into his neck as she softly whines, “Toji…”

Toji groans when her voice gives in his ear, his large palms traveling beneath her body, cupping the arch of her back as much as he possibly can—she fits into his hand perfectly.

His hips are already grinding into her—Stoney can feel him sucking along her collarbone, that rough hand tugging on the back of her neck, “I’m impatient, baby. Need you to open up for me. C’mon.”

He’s holding onto her legs, her ankles, pinning her down, and she’s squirming beneath him, “Baby, I’m gonna be too loud—“ He cuts her off with a harsh spank against her ass, Stoney turning her face within the pillow, mewling into it to mask the sound.

“You gotta’ let me take care of you, baby. “

She hears him, and her body thrums in pleasure.

The way he says that, and the way his eyes glare down at her—it makes her thighs throb even more.

“I know what you want.”

His voice was low.

“Come make my dick creamy, it’ll look so pretty after you’re done with it.”

His words make Stoney’s breath hitch—it sounded crazy, but he knew allowing her to pleasure herself on top of him was all she needed. All she wanted.

His tongue drags along her neck, her head kneeling up as she whimpers a breathless, “Fushiguro—”

“You know that’s all you gotta do, baby.”

Another spank.

“Just come bounce for a little.”

She pouts within the darkness. Toji could get away with murder, his words proved that every time. The balls of her feet laid against the plush of their king sized bed, fingers along his chest as his arms are stretched atop the pillows—Stoney’s going, bouncing her hips onto his dick, down to meet the glare of his face, her lips screwing into a frown as she whimpered defeatedly.

“There you go, baby.“

He puts his larger hand on her lower back for support. Toji’s breath becomes slightly deeper, but his eyes stay on her face, admiring her through the moonlight casting in the window.

Stoney’s hands slide around the clench of his jaw. Her thighs are quivering, eyes rolling as she pouts deeper, “U—Ughn…”

Her hair shadows the frame of her flushed face, head leaning into his body as she just. Kept. Going.

“Put all that noise on my mouth, baby. You know I like that shit.”

She’s becoming more dazed as the seconds pass. But she listens, dragging her mouth up to reach his, centimeters apart as she breathily whines in the softest way.

She admits, “Love you, Fushiguro.“

“I love you.”

He kisses her. His mouth swipes her lower lip, taking her whole.

Stoney’s arms cradle along his shoulders and neck, eyes flickering to his hands that go back to the pillows beside him, never planning on moving themselves. He loved seeing her this way, barely having to touch Stoney in the process as she lost herself on top of him.

She tried to cover it, but she exhaled another whine, one of her fingers slipping between her lips as she moved above him—her thighs clapped against his abdomen, the sticky cream of her arousal beginning to collect between their skin. She moans, “Fuck.”

His eyes narrow.

“Do you hear how good that sounds?”

His abdomen slants from the way he lays beneath her body. The sculpt of his muscles, his tattooed frame—the sight makes it all the more worse—including the way he talks to her.

Stoney nod, “It’ssoogood, baby.”

He grunts, “You’re so fuckin’ pretty.”

His large hands come down to her hips, where he begins to guide her. It’s rougher, lifting and tugging her down like she weighed nothing. Her hands find placement on his knees behind herself—curls draping as she knocks her head back, groaning, “Ohmygod, baby…”

She wraps her fingers around to find the nape of his neck, tugging him forward in a way that he sits up against the headboard—they’re both grinding to meet each other, breathless, panting—whimpers pull from the both of their lips, Toji unable to find a place for his hands to go— he’s dragging his fingers into the flesh of her back, circling and guiding her hips down, fucking her in a way that she feels him.

Toji’s palms swipe along her hips, his large hand grabbing at her hair, tugging back gently. Stoney’s moans echo

within the large room.

“It feels good, huh?” Toji grunts, “You hear me?”

Stoney’s head kneels back—her chest arching forward, a soft cry in her throat.

“Ye—yeah, baby. I—I can hear you.”

She’s dipping her hips lower, taking a deep breath as she admits in a soft whine, “My stomach feels a lil’ heavy, baby…”

Toji groans at that—his fingers gently go along her jaw as he leans down, kissing her deep—it’s messy, and it’s hot. Stoney cries a whine into his mouth, his muscles flexing with each movement, his thrusts deep, hitting the spot within her pussy makes her body vibrate.

“Let me hold you—“ he huffs, “C’mere, Momma.”

The discomfort decreases the moment he takes full control. She’s wet, folds gripping onto his tip each time his balls schluck in contract with her arousal.

“T—Toji…I’m…” she gasps, “Sensitive, baby. I’m cumming,” she whimpers to him, shocked by the intense waves within her body already.

“I know,” he grunts, “Cum, baby. Need to see how pretty your pussy looks after. Want it all, give it to me.”

Her fingers dip back into the nape of his hair, tugging him into burying his lips within her neck—she gasps as pleasure rips through her body, tears blinking within her vision as she quivers. She tucks her mouth within his shoulder, other hand clawing the skin of his back.

Toji moans when she buries her face in his shoulder, equal pleasure coursing through his body as he cums inside of her. Stoney’s body was warm against him, her fingers gripping at his hair—he felt her body spazzing, holding onto her in a way that made her feel safe—his tongue dips along the crook of her neck, his other hand caressing along her cheek. She’s panting, and it makes him press his nose against her cheek.

Her face is flushed, keeping her eyes hidden within his shoulder as she softly whispers, “…You think the girls are asleep?”

He hums, “They better be,” Toji grunts, a smirk on his face as he turns, his gaze flickering to her messy locks.

His fingers comb them, Stoney pulling her head up so that their noses are pressed together. Her lashes flutter, and he chuckles.

“Don’t laugh,” she softly whimpers, “Think I might be getting those cramps again.”

“What do you need?” His voice is immediately concerned, his large palms cupping her cheeks to give her his warmth, “Wanna’ take a bath? Go back to sleep after?”

She nods, “Some warm water and that milk rice soap would be perfect. Will you come sit with me?”

Before he could answer, a small voice carried on the other side of the door—it’s Sai’s, “Mommy! One of the girls threw up!”

Toji leans his head into Stoney’s, hearing her soft giggle as he smacks his lips, “After I go handle that.”

The moment he gets up, Stoney’s eyes follow him—tattoos, muscles, dark hair, frown and all—he was hers.

She reaches up for his hand, tugging him a bit as she questions, “You know something?”

“What is it?”

He’s already pulling his gray sweats on, not yet meeting her eye.

Stoney’s fingers cup his jaw, pulling him back to meet her gaze. Her eyes twinkle, her voice soft, “That I love you.”

Toji stares at her for a moment, feeling the warmth of her fingers along his face—her eyes tell him the very same words. He smiles, his larger hand cupping hers.

“I love you too, Solaya.”

“Promise?”

“More than Mochi loves apples, woman.”

Stoney giggles, “You must really love me.”

“Always, you know that shit.”

And he meant it. Always.

#toji fushiguro x reader #toji imagine #toji x you #toji smut #jujutsu toji #jjk toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji zenin #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x y/n #toji fluff #jjk smut

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gracie-eilish · 1 month ago

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YAY INBOX OPEN!!! pretty please 😣🙏🏻 experienced or clingy billie in a relationship with reader but she's shy or like touch deprived 😼😼😼

just touch me

warnings: contains smut and a wholeeee lotta kissing.. this got super fucking long lol

summary: it’s your first time hooking up with your budding situationship, billie. it’s been a minute for you so you wanna take it slow. that is until you’re met with touchy, clingy, romantic, soft billie…

The afternoon had fallen softly into a quiet, amber-tinted evening that hummed with the possibility of something intimate. Billie had come over earlier, hood up, cheeks slightly pink from the chill outside, a bag of snacks in her hand, and a sleepy smile on her face.

"Hi, mama," she smirked, walking through the doorway and burying herself in a hug. You snorted at her immediate attempt at flirting. "Hi Billie," you replied between giggles.

You had ordered takeout and half-watched a movie while sharing a blanket on the couch, while your legs tangled up beneath it and your bodies edged closer with every shared laugh.

You were still laughing at one of her dramatic reenactments of a scene she hated, when her voice softened and she leaned in, eyes sparkling.

“You’re so cute when you’re giggly,” she murmured, brushing her nose against your cheek.

The kiss that came next came naturally, like breathing. It always did. You could kiss Billie Eilish forever and never get tired of how she tasted like mint and sugar and felt like warmth. Her fingers traced your jaw, your neck, your waist, curious and slow, like she was trying to learn you all over again.

“Wanna go get cozier?” Her voice was low, kind. The kind of tone that asked a question and also whispered, only if you want to.

You nodded, and she took your hand without hesitation, leading the way with that little sideways smile of hers, the one she wore when she wasn’t quite sure what would happen next, but hoped it would be something good.

Inside your bedroom, the world narrowed to just the two of you and the soft hush of the room. The blankets were rumpled from this morning, and Billie crawled onto the bed with a sleepy smile, waiting for you to join her before reaching out her arms.

"C'mere."

You smiled and crawled into the bed beside her and it was like everything else melted away. She pulled you close, her nose brushing yours, her fingers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. And then she kissed you, so slowly and sweetly, like she had all the time in the world. And you melted into it, your hands finding the shape of her shoulders, the curve of her neck, the softness of her hoodie under your palms.

The kisses picked up, hungrier now. Her lips moved against yours slowly, but her hands were less patient. Still respectful, still gentle, but clearly craving more of you.

She shifted slightly, pulling you closer until you were pressed chest to chest, her hand sliding under your shirt, warm fingers skimming over your tummy.

That’s when it happened—you froze. Just for a second. Enough for her to feel the difference.

Billie pulled back, immediately attuned. “Hey love,” she whispered, brushing your hair out of your eyes. “Too much?”

You shook your head, then gave a little shrug. “I just… I haven’t done anything in a while. Not since my ex. And we broke up like a year ago. And you… You’re more experienced than me anyway.”

Her expression softened, and she leaned in to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Thank you for telling me, baby. Seriously.”

You looked up at her. “I don’t know if I want to do more tonight.”

She didn’t hesitate. “That’s totally fine, lovey. We don’t have to. We can just kiss. Or just cuddle. Or literally just lie here breathing. I’m good with all of it mama.”

That made something melt inside you.

So, for a while, that’s what you did. You kissed and held each other, Billie’s hands roaming in quiet patterns over your arms, your back, the curve of your hip. She didn’t try anything more. She was just there, gentle and warm and all yours for the night.

But the longer you kissed her, the more you felt your body shift. Something deeper stirred beneath the quiet comfort, something warmer, something wanting. Billie wasn’t rushing you. She wasn’t even asking. She was just being—soft lips at your jaw, breath warm on your neck, her fingers exploring the safe places you’d let her reach, never crossing a line unless you pulled her with you.

And maybe it was the way she murmured your name between kisses, like a promise. Or the way her hand drifted across your waist, not under your clothes this time, but pressing with reverence. Maybe it was just the way she waited—for you to meet her there.

Whatever it was, your fingers curled into her shirt and you found yourself whispering, “I think I want more.”

She paused, her breath catching just slightly. “Are you sure?” Her voice was barely audible, like she was afraid to break the moment by saying it too loudly.

You nodded, your nose brushing hers. “Yeah. With you… like this… I’m sure.”

Billie’s smile was slow and tender, and she kissed you again, deeper now. Not hurried, not demanding. Just full of meaning. Full of care. Her hands found your skin again, and this time, you didn’t freeze. You sighed, arching into her touch, letting her explore you like you were music she wanted to memorize by heart.

Everything about her was slow and warm and good—the kind of good that didn’t need to be fast or perfect. Just honest.

The air around you buzzed with anticipation, the heat between you growing gradually, sweetly. Every kiss made you ache a little more, not out of impatience but out of how much you wanted to give in to her hands, her mouth, her love.

And in that quiet, breathless space between words and touches, Billie whispered, “You’re beautiful like this, you know that?”

You smiled against her lips, your hand sliding up her back. “So are you.”

"Seriously though.. Your face is all flushed and glowy, and your lips are a little swollen... We should make out more often." You snorted at her last statement, hiding your face for a second in her shoulder.

"Noted. I'll definitely add that to our list of things we can do," you both dissolved into more giggles until they turned to just smiles.

"Are you still sure, angel? I don't want you to feel pressured in any way to do this. I know it's been a while for you, and I don't wanna rush you." You could have melted into the floor at her statement.

"Yeah, love, I'm sure. But uh.. I um.."

"You what, doll? Say the word and I'll make it happen."

"Actually... I wanna change."

"Change? Like your clothes? You know those usually come off right?" You couldn't help the snort that came out before you nodded, biting your lip shyly.

"Yes, I know that you goose. Just wait here." You kissed the corner of her mouth before scampering towards your dresser, grabbing something from the back of your top drawer, and heading to the bathroom.

In the bathroom, you slipped on a pretty matching set. A delicate, lacey set you had bought a few weeks ago with Billie in mind. This wasn't your first time having sex, far from it. However, it would be your first time with a girl you really cared about. After you and your ex-boyfriend broke up last year, you had a few flings... and then came along Billie. You just had a feeling this one... this one would work.

You stepped out of the bathroom, shutting off the light and leaning on the doorframe. Billie was still lying on her back, one arm behind her head, until she turned to look at you. The candle burning on your bathroom counter flickered behind you, framing your silhouette.

"Baby..." she barely whispered, practically bouncing as she sat up fully, her eyes never leaving you.

"You like it?" You tried to sound confident, but your nerves made your voice about seven octaves higher than you wanted. She reached a hand out softly, flicking her middle and ring fingers to beckon you closer.

"C'mere," it was barely a whisper. When you reached her, she took your hand so you could get up on the bed and straddle her hips steadily. She only let go of your hand to then run both her hands up your thighs to your waist, softly sitting there, rubbing your back a bit too.

"You, my dear," she started. "You look like Aphrodite." Her voice was soft and low, her eyes were wide and sparkly, and her breath was hitched and light.

"Oh! Oh, um," you were distracted by her wandering hands playing with your bra straps around your shoulders.

"Bils, I don't wanna ruin the moment, but um.. what exactly does she look like?" Billie fully threw her head back, cackling at your question, making you giggle a bit too.

"Sorry, doll, I didn't mean like 'oh you look like her, you both have dark hair' or whatever," she flushed a bit before continuing. "Aphrodite is the goddess of love..." she trailed off, hoping you caught her drift. There were three words she wanted to say right now, but couldn't get out quite yet.

"Let me love on you, baby girl," she whispered directly in your ear, kissing right below it, making you shiver. "I'll talk you through everything if you want, I know it's been a while for you."

"Okay," you breathed out, tilting your head back so she could continue her kisses on your skin.

"Let's get you comfy, pretty girl," Billie said between kisses before leaning back so she could help you lie down. She fluffed the pillow a bit before guiding your head down onto it and kissing your cheek.

And then your jaw..

And neck..

and collarbones...

"God, you're gorgeous," she mumbled more to herself than anything, but the red flush on your cheeks told her you heard it.

"Can I take this off?" She asked softly, tracing her fingers on the light embroidered flowers on your bra.

"Yeah, baby."

Baby. The name struck her in the gut. She had used it on you since day one. You, on the other hand, were reluctant to use such an intimate nickname with her. Sticking with love and lovey as a safe bet. Baby.

She tucked a hand behind your back a bit, looking for the clasp, when you grabbed her wrist to stop her. Confused, she leaned back, only to watch you unclasp the bra from the front, revealing your breasts to her like a precious artifact kept hidden in a box, being revealed for the first time. You sat up slightly to shimmy your bra down your shoulders and fling it to the side.

Her brows furrowed watching you, the same way her brows furrow when she's holding back tears or she's experiencing something so heart-wrenching.

She situated herself on your hips so she could lean down and kiss your breast once.. twice.. three times... until you were softly squirming under her grasp. She sucked and bit softly at your one nipple while she kneaded and played with the other in her hand.

"Bils," you gasped, eyes fluttering shut as you grasped the sheets next to you.

"Shh sh sh, I've got you, doll. You ready for more?"

You nodded, chest heaving softly. "Please.. just touch me."

Together, you slowly took off Billie's clothes, leaving her naked in front of you. You took in her perfect body for a few minutes, fingers tracing her tattoos delicately, giggling softly when she shivered from the feeling.

"As much as I adore the feeling of your hands all over me, I want this to be about you, angel." She pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then the other corner, and then directly on your lips. Your hands found their way into her dark hair, pulling slightly to keep her close.

Her hand drifted delicately down your torso until it found the waistband of your panties. She pulled away just enough to look you in the eye to silently ask for permission. You smiled softly and nodded, lifting your hips to assist her as she pulled your panties off of you.

"Alright mama, you're in complete control here, kay? If anything feels uncomfy, or you want more or less, or whatever you want, you tell me. Okay?"

"Okay." You seriously thought you were in a dream. A year ago, you were dating a loser who basically fucked you and then knocked out next to you. Forget about finding the clit, motherfucker didn't know the clit existed. And now you couldn't tell if you were on earth or in heaven because of this girl, who was showering you with love, and comfort, and patience.

You gasped softly when you felt her fingers on your clit, rubbing soft but tight circles on the bundle of nerves.

"Fuck," you whispered, letting you head fall back onto the pillow, eyes fluttering shut.

"You're so wet, baby," Billie purred into your ear, letting two fingers dip into you just at the tip. She spread your wetness around, making sure everything was lubricated before even asking if she could go all the way.

"Wait," Billie sat up immediately, a concerned look on her face. You interrupted her before she could even start to fuss.

"Want the strap.." Your voice got quieter with every word, confidence dwelling. Billie's heart swelled.

"Can I stretch you with my fingers a bit first? Maybe we do strap another night, I don't wanna hurt you."

"Billie, I trust you right now more than anything else on this planet. I'm gonna be honest, I have no idea what we are. But I do know that I don't think there's another woman on the planet who will ever be as loving and patient as you are being right now. I don't want this to end tomorrow, and then I have to be uncomfortable with someone else. I wanna be uncomfy with you... You bring comfort to my discomfort. I want it with you."

The silence between you two was palpable, and Billie looked like she could cry. With a kiss to your lips and not another word, she got up and went to her dresser drawer, and pulled out her strap, fastening it to her hips.

Before she could even get back on the bed, the two of you had resumed making out, but the energy shifted once again when you flipped her over so you were on top.

Billie didn't question it, letting you do what you wanted. Like earlier, she took your hand softly so you could maneuver yourself, straddling her hips until you were sitting on top of her strap, snug up against her.

"Go as fast or as slow as you want to, okay, princess?" She said gently as you sat up on your knees, situating the dildo at your entrance. You nodded and leaned in to kiss her as you started to sink down.

Maybe an inch down, you flinched and hissed at the stretch, it had been a year after all, and your own fingers and toys just didn't do it how you needed. Billie grabbed one of your hands, letting you squeeze as hard as you needed, while the other traced soft shapes on your hip, hoping your muscles would start to relax.

You two sat like that for a bit, you up on your knees slightly sunk down on the strap, Billie holding you up, fluttering tiny kisses to your cheek and neck, both of you squeezing hands..

After a bit, you started to move again, slowly sinking further and further until you bottomed out on her, sitting directly onto her thighs.

"Shit Bils," Your voice sounded much more sexy and husky in you head, but all Billie heard was moany whines she knew would float into her dreams.

"You feelin good angelface?" You couldn't even form words once you made eye contact with her icy, hooded eyes. She was biting her lip, and her nose scrunched up a bit when you barely let out a breathy confirmation to her question.

"Need some help?" You nodded again, letting her guide your hips forward to where you were grinding down on her strap.

"Jesus Christ.." Your forehead made contact with her shoulder.

Your pain soon became pleasure, and your confidence grew. Soft rolls of your hips turned into you slowly bouncing on her strap, letting it hit her own clit perfectly.

The room became a filthy symphony of slapping skin and harmonizing moans, with just a twinkle of a creaking bed.

"You are so fucking hot, holy fuck Y/N," Billie let one of her hands creep up to your breast, pinching your nipple ever so slightly, making you groan and throw your head back in pleasure. Something primal came over her; she never wanted anyone else to ever see you like this.

"You starting to get close, doll?" she purred.

"Fuck. Yes," you responded between slams down onto the dildo. If this wasn't your first time together, Billie would have called you her little bunny about a thousand times by now. The way you so confidently and seductively took your pleasure from Billie, switching between rolling your plush hips and bouncing up and down on her.

"Wanna cum together," you gasped out, bringing your own hand to her breasts, toying with her perky untouched nipples making her cry out.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum if you keep doing that pretty girl,"

... Naturally, you kept doing it.

Neither of you had to say anything. The flush of your skin and the increase in pitch between your moans told the other you were both close.

"Billie?"

"Yeah- fuck.. Yeah, doll?"

"Can I tell-oh my god - Can I tell you some- something?"

"Right now? Shit.."

"Uh-huh,"

She giggled a bit between her moans.

"What's up- ohhh. What's up little lady?"

"I think, " You groaned in pleasure, tightening on her strap. "I think I'm falling in l- fuckkk. Falling in love with you." You threw your head back for a second before looking back up to see Billie's face.

"Babygirl," She whined out. She couldn't even tell if it was emotions or pleasure. But the slight smirk on her face told you it was at least good.

"Y/N... I'm so in love with you."

Euphoria.

Both of you hit your climax at the same time, neither one slowing down, to drag it out as long as humanly possible, only stopping when you began to wince from overstimulation.

"Okay, okay. I've got you, I've got ya." Quickly but comfortably, she helped you sit up so she could pull out. Only for you to flop right back down into her arms.

For a few minutes, you both sat in comfortable silence, holding each other close and basking in the afterglow. Until...

"Baby?" Billie squeaked out.

"Mmm hmm?" You didn't even lift your head off her shoulder.

"Did you mean that? Are you really falling in love with me?" That made you sit up fully.

"Oh Billie.." You pushed some sweaty hair out of her face, cupping her cheek. Billie raised her hand to hold yours to her face, nuzzling into your hand.

"I've been falling in love with you since the day I met you."

With that, Billie pulled you into a kiss you swore only existed in fairytale movies. She cradled your head in her hands and kissed you so fiercely yet delicately like you were made of glass.

When she pulled away, you both smiled at each other.

"My girl..?"

"Your girl."

The two of you fell asleep that night tangled up with each other, leaving no space for air between your bodies. Not even being sweaty from sex, or hot and steamy from a quick shower, there was no breaking you two away from each other… this truly was the beginning of something beautiful for both of you.

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