#I don’t want to set myself up for disappointment but WHAT IF

[clairewritesfanfics]

Could you do Mark variants where their version of reader being replaced by a different version of reader, whose mark is dead, and she wanted her mark back, so she hurts and abandons their real s/o in their universe, and they find out she’s not their reader, but the real reader is still alive just stuck in the fakes universe!! Pretty please 💐

“When I was a girl, I dreamt of standing in a room looking at a girl who was and was not myself, who stood looking at another girl, who also was and was not myself. My mother took this for a nightmare. I saw it as the beginning of a career in physics.” ― Rosalind Lutece, Bioshock Infinite

He’s convinced that he has done something to upset you. You didn’t respond when he yelled “Welcome home” over the pot of sizzling fried chicken he was making for dinner. You didn’t kiss his cheek when you entered the kitchen. It was odd, but he brushed it off. Maybe you were having a bad day. Nothing a serving of extra crispy fried chicken can’t cure.

But you don’t talk. You don’t rant or even emote. You sit and watch him like you’re looking–waiting for something.

He sets down the chicken in the middle of the table. “Remember to chew the skin this time before you swallow, okay?”

It’s a joke, because you eat too fast for your own good. 

But you don’t laugh, you just stare.

He finds his seat and clears his throat. Forcing a smile, he asks you about your day.

You finally look at him, and you’re smiling at him like you’re admiring a photo from the past.

“I’m okay.” 

“Just that…”

“Yes?”

“You’ve been quiet for a while now.”

You continue cutting into the chicken. “I’m always quiet.”

He watches how you slice around the bone with practiced ease and finally asks the question pounding at his chest, “Who are you?” It comes out soft but loaded with unspoken fear.

His muscles are tense but he keeps his cool. He knows you, he knows that the woman in front of him is you, but you’re not here.

Unhurried, but looking disappointed, you stop cutting. 

He asks again, “I can tell that you aren’t a shapeshifter, but you’re not her, not really, who are you? What do you want? Where is–”

You inhale deeply.

Then you smile at him one last time, the despair in your eyes makes his heart ache. 

His chair topples behind him as he stands.

You hold up a hand. “She’s fine, just displaced. I’ll give her back so no need to get nervous.”

You put down your fork. “What a shame, I really wanted a taste.” But this doesn’t belong to me.

full mask, prisoner, viltrumite

He has always been a sharp guy. He also knows you well enough to know that the one standing in your office is not you. He also lacks the patience to deal with the imposter in a peaceful manner. He wastes no time in confronting you.

You give him the mildest look of surprise and ask, “What gave me away?”

“Your gait, your posture, your breathing pattern–there’s about a dozen other things, but I don’t like wasting time.”

“I can tell.”

He lifts you by the collar, black eyes manic. “The reason you’re still able to talk is because I need to know where she is, so tell me or–”

“Or you will kill me, yes?” You smile softly. “You’re welcome to try.”

mohawk, no goggles, sinister

He doesn’t notice at first, but that’s because he’s always been a bit dense. He knows that something is off, he just couldn’t put his finger on it. When he asks you, you give him a small smile and tell him everything is okay. He forces himself to believe you. Maybe today is just one of those days. He doesn’t want to start a fight for no reason.

But then you approach him on the sofa and straddle his lap. You start kissing him, it’s unlike your usual kisses, it’s strategic and foreign–and not yours.

“Hey.”

“Yes, baby?”

“Who the hell are you?”

You tilt your head. “Oh, are we roleplaying now? Okay, I guess I’ll be the naughty–”

He holds you back by the shoulder and sits up. “Quit screwing around. You think I can’t tell? Your acting sucks.”

“... I see.”

He flips you over, knees caging your thighs as he glares down at you. “Where is she?”

Instead of answering, you ask, “She and I look exactly the same, but I modified my behavior to match your preferences. Which part of me left you unsatisfied?”

“Answer my question!”

“Calm yourself, Mark. She’s alive and well–” also a little roughed up “–just not here.” Your once flirtatious gaze has lost all traces of emotion. “Now, it’s your turn to answer my question.”

“I don’t need to do jack shit.”

“You do want to see her again, don’t you?”

He grits his teeth, weighing his options. “Fine.” He thinks for a moment and then answers, “I don’t know. I just knew that you weren’t her.”

“But I am her, from a different timeline, but still her. And unlike her, I have plenty of data on you. I can be your sweetest, darkest dream come true.” Your fingers caress his jaw, a gesture betrayed by your dead eyes. “What do you say?”

His glare grows hotter as he snatches your wrist. “Don’t fuck with me, I don’t need a fantasy, bring me back my woman!”

You turn your head to the side and mutter, “Another failure.”

He blinks and you disappear from under him–now you’re standing across the room, fully clothed. 

“What the–”

“I kind of like this version of you, you’re cute, not as cute as my Mark though.” 

head cap, shiesty, target

He knows instantly that something is wrong. A hundred scenarios pop into his head as he watches you walk around the home you two shared. Your gaze is too curious, the faintest hint of surprise flickers when you look at certain mementos, followed by a look of longing, sometimes even mockery. He lets you do as you please. Lets you act like this wasn’t your house too, but a mere museum. 

When he confronts you, he is the picture of composure, like the surface of the sea on a good day; but you feel the depths of his ferocity from the way he speaks, “Where is she?”

You smile. “Gone.” 

In an instant, he has your throat in his hand. 

Your face is serene, like your feet are not dangling in the air right now.

“What are you? A clone? A shapeshifter?”

Your smile stretches mockingly and you point at the fist around your neck. He slowly puts you down, but keeps his fingers around your throat. 

You show no signs of distress as you explain, “I forget how fast you can be.”

He crosses his arms, glaring. 

You chuckle. “She’s safe, don’t worry. I just wanted some time with you.”

His expression hardens.

“This Mark is too serious.” 

The statement has his brow twitching and he finally talks again. “You

..you’re not a clone or a shapeshifter.”

“Nope.”

“Where is she?”

“You’re not even going to ask why I’m here? I came all the way here for you.”

He puts his hands on your shoulders, head bowing. “Please…I’ll get you what you want, just give her back to me.”

You click your tongue.

flaxan, maskless, omni-mark

You no longer live in a single universe, rather, you both exist and not exist in every probability, but not as yourself. Time feels weird now. Your memories are still your own, but they have the tendency to mix with the others–there are versions of you that hated academics and stopped after high school, some didn’t like physics and preferred the arts, others simply could not afford college. Some of them look like you with maybe hair that’s two centimeters shorter, others don’t even have hair. Some are healthier, others are barely surviving.

You thought that maybe your Mark could be found, somewhere in the ocean of time. You cannot resurrect him, but you had hoped for a reunion of sorts, even if you had to settle for a mirror image.

Alas, you’ve been to countless reflections of your timeline and yet… you only found pieces of him in every Mark you met. Mere pieces. 

You watch from your cat box of existence and nonexistence as Mark reunites with you. And you. And you and you and you–

A foul-mouthed Mark is laughing but you can see the tears he tries to hide as he hugs you. The one who took up his hated father’s mantle is quiet, unwilling to let you go. The Mark whose pink skin is covered with indelible reminders of his incarceration, cries on your lap as you pat his head. Another Mark floats involuntarily and covers you in kisses. 

So many worlds where Mark Grayson is alive, where he loves you, but not you. Devoted to the point of irrationality. 

You smile. How foolish.

Truly foolish.

a/n: anon, as a certified addict of the world-hopping trope, i loved this prompt so much! i know it's not exactly as you had requested but i kept drawing blanks and this is all i could come up with in short notice. i thought about writing a scenario for each variant but i couldn't afford the delay. hope you all enjoyed it anyway.

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[avelera]

I’m trying so hard not to have Arcane theories that would make me at all disappointed if the show went in a different direction, guys, seriously I’m trying SO hard to just focus on what they’ve given us and analyze that and NOT try to write fanfic in my head for what could happen next because I JUST want to enjoy what masterpiece they give us instead of being disappointed if I’m wrong…

… but GODDAMMIT if we find out that Jayce just broke out of a time loop, that would explain EVERYTHING:

- How quickly he killed Salo, a Councilor he used to work with, when Jayce is NOT a natural killer. He just said “I’m sorry too” as if he already knew what he would do and just did it. The decision making was too fast and too unlike him.

- The fact that APPARENTLY Jayce was muttering to himself, “I won’t fail again.” Like HELLO that is literally THE time loop line that is THE line people say when breaking out of the time loop. Did Jayce just break out???

- Does that mean Ekko and Heimerdinger are still trapped because they HAVEN’T found a way out yet? Or even pushed Jayce out so he could go save the day because he’s the one who has to do it?

- It explains how Jayce suddenly has the ability to see void creatures. He’s now experienced at fighting this future or these events and has more magical experience too.

- It explains how Jayce looks OLDER, not just bearded and dirty but actually OLDER. Also it’s such a time loop trope to go through various dystopias caused by getting it wrong and ending up in some Mad Max world which might explain the LEG BRACE, the guy has injuries he didn’t have but more than that he’s got injuries that he got a sophisticated ASSISTIVE DEVICE for. That would have taken TIME to put in place on him!

- His utter certainty that Hextech has to be destroyed. Early on when we first time we met Jayce he said his Hextech notes were HIS LIFE. And now he’s totally at peace with destroying it? Something is UP. He didn’t just see a few visions, I think he LIVED all the different possibilities OVER AND OVER. I think he’s had MULTIPLE TIME LOOPS to come to terms with having to destroy his life’s work.

- Speaking of life’s work, it ALSO explains how Jayce can just WALK UP and kill Viktor. No conversation. Barely any emotion. The shots of him fighting himself could be OVERLAYS of all the times he’s done this before. Which COULD mean we WILL see the version of Jayce needing to kill Viktor to save the world that we didn’t get this time, because it already happened in one or even HUNDREDS of other loops.

I mean I know I’m in fully conspiracy gif territory but I can’t get it out of my head. It fits so much of Jayce’s weird behavior. He’s DONE THIS BEFORE.

… oh shit we also saw hundreds of mirror images of him before he hit the Wild Rune, going back to the day he first saw magic. Shit guys I don’t want to set myself up for disappointment but WHAT IF.

Final note, all of Arcane S1 is about “what could have been” it’s scene after scene of turning points that all would have stopped the final scene with Jinx if they had gone different. The butterfly motif of the butterfly effect is everywhere. Could we FINALLY be getting the pay off for that by seeing Jayce live through a time loop alongside Ekko and Heimerdinger of all the OTHER possibilities?? It is Ekko’s power after all!

[burinazar]

:( patheticposting

nearly literally reduced to tears rn by how overwhelmingly it feels like nobody cares what I make or like or think about and how meaningless any of my creativity and love and effort is

[eyelessfaces]

look what the cat dragged in

bob reynolds x reader

summary: you get bob a cat for emotional support; the cat adopts you as parents and is undeniably bound to bring the two of you closer.

tags: fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, yearning, everyone in the watchtower knows you and bob are in love, bucky is lowkey done with this, bucky's cat alpine is mentioned, yes bob having a black cat is symbolism to ostracism and the void

word count: 0.7k

masterlist | taglist | ao3 | @eyelessupdates

buy me a coffee ♡

“Hey Bob,”

Bob turns at the sound of your voice, a wondering expression over his face until he notices the ball of jet-black fur settled in your arms; a bright smile starts to grow onto his face, one that you swear lights up the whole room. Bob gets up from the couch without ever breaking eye contact over you and the cat, setting aside the magazine he had been reading, cautiously approaching you, moving gently to try not to startle and scare the cat. “Who’s that here?” he asks in an ecstatic, hushed squeal as he steps closer.

“That is…” you trail off, unsure, taking a look at the nameless black cat in your arms. “Didn’t think it through, you’ll name her whatever you want but that’s your cat,” you smile, looking back up at Bob. “I mean, our cat, but mostly yours” you declare.

Bob is stunned for a moment, mouth moving but unable to get anything out. “Wha– I can’t–”

“It’s some sort of emotional support,” Bucky says, joining the conversation. “Kinda worked for me with Alpine. Gets your mind elsewhere, grounds you in tough moments” he mutters.

“But– I don’t even know how to take care of myself” Bob helplessly scoffs, gaze shifting back and forth between you and the cat.

“You’ll get to that. We’ll help anytime you need” Bucky pats his shoulder, walking past him, discarding the conversation and moving along with his own business. 

You give Bob a pinched smile and nod of approval and Bob sweetly smiles back at you in appreciation, but you’re quickly both distracted when the cat starts to wiggle in your arms, losing patience from being held too long. You let her plop down onto the ground and watch as she sniffles around, taking in the new scents and unfamiliar surroundings of the Watchtower. Bob carefully kneels down, eyes following the black cat in quiet fascination, wiggling his fingers to attract her towards him; she seems to take interest in it and tentatively approaches him.

“Hey,” Bob gently whispers, letting the cat sniff his hand. She leans in and lets Bob caress her face with the back of his knuckles, her ears pointing back. You don’t miss the smile that is growing onto Bob’s face, and you’re comforted into thinking this would be a good idea.

“You’re a natural,” you remark, unable to help the smile over your face either. 

Bob’s lips curl into a smile, looking up at you from where he’s kneeling. “I’ve never had any cats but whenever one’s around it always comes to me,” he declares as the cat curls under his hand when he caresses her back, practically already fully trusting him. 

Bob pets her for a while before eventually reluctantly standing back up. “Look, I really appreciate it and she’s really cute but– I don’t know if I can handle the responsibility” he declares, an evident look of disappointment over his face. 

“Hey, they’re mostly really independent. Besides feeding her and cleaning the litter, there’s not really much to do” you nod as your hand comes to rest over the side of his arm. “And if when the time comes you don’t have the strength to take care of it, there will be six of us to do it. We got your back” you grin in support. 

Bob’s face lights up, the corner of his mouth curving into a smile. He looks at you for a moment, his eyes soft with gratitude, your stomach sinking under the weight of his gentle gaze. “Thank you,” he says, his voice lower than before, like it’s not just about the cat anymore. 

His eyes search yours longer than necessary in a comfortable silence, and his mouth opens to talk again, but he halts and breaks away with a light clearing of his throat when Bucky makes it known he’s still in the same room as the both of you. 

You don’t even want to know if Bucky has been watching and what he has been reading into this; you know what everyone has been saying and are aware of the playful teasing about you and Bob those past few weeks, it’s substantial evidence and now just a matter of either of you daring to step up.

Your hand leaves Bob’s arm, and you both look down when the cat comes dancing at your feet, rubbing and swirling around your ankles affectionately, her low purr cutting through the silence.

“She likes you,” Bob quietly notes.

“Looks like it,” you reply with a light chuckle that releases a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding.

“She’s got taste” he smiles, just a little, warm enough for you to get his point.

—

any and every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated and helps more than you think!!

buy me a coffee ♡

[cloudcountry]

since you guys liked my idea so much here it is: WAYS THE NRC BOYS WOULD MAKE YOU WORSE

reader's personality is based more off of in-game yuu than anything? this set of hcs is a bunch of hypotheticals basically. this can be read as platonic or romantic idk each guy is written as if they are the closest person to you, friends or otherwise.

IF YOU SEE A TYPO NO YOU DONT

mentally preparing myself for the "i wouldnt do that!!!!!" comments...and post.

Riddle increases your attentiveness to the rules tenfold. No matter how meek you are, he makes your voice strong—and oh boy does it carry. You’re yelling at people for running in the halls, chastising them for not doing their homework, and opening your mouth wider when you speak. For a school full of troublemakers like Night Raven, the entire student body is so disappointed there’s another Riddle.

Trey makes you more passive, less likely to speak up when you see something. He’s always stood back in the shadows, watching over everything without saying a word, and it’s seeped into your personality, too. You’re spineless now. This world is unfamiliar, why should you try to do anything? You’d only stand out. You don’t want to be outstanding. You want to be as normal as possible. So you stand back.

Cater gets you wrapped up in the hype of social media. It started out as a way to indulge his interests but now you’re on Magicam all day, scrolling and scrolling and scrolling. You send things to your friends and say “hey, we should do this” but never make any actual effort to connect with them outside of that. You fall easier into jealousy because you’re surrounded by glamor.

Deuce makes you reckless. He’s so willing to throw himself into things and it spurs you to do the same, no matter how many times your teachers or potential upperclassmen tell you not to. You can’t hear anything but Deuce and his yelling, his enthusiasm and terror for whichever situation you two find yourselves in, knowing that you’d follow him anywhere.

Ace makes you all the more prickly, your sharp jabs and irritating smugness a product of spending too much time with him. You two are two peas in a pod, but to an outsider you two just seem...irritating. You have a talent for getting under people’s skin and have definitely gotten better at lying.

Leona thinks its so cute how you try to defend him at every twist and turn. Like no, he is as dastardly as everyone is saying. Why are you trying to deny it? You’re suddenly seeing reason in the most massive ego-ed people this side of Sage Island and Leona honestly doesn’t know if he should be concerned for you or be amused because of you. (This one in particular was inspired by @loser-jpg LMAO)

Ruggie could have made you prioritize yourself more, but you think he took it a bit too far. See, now you’re snatching cafeteria items and worksheets right under people’s noses, giggling as they demand you give it back. Sometimes they don’t even notice you, but even if they did you’ve learned how to be lighter on your feet.

Jack and you are incredibly uncooperative people (unless you owe someone, of course.) He’s guided you away from asking for help, insisting that the people here will take advantage of you then turning around to say that he doesn’t care, he just doesn't want to get wrapped up in your mess. It’s like you can’t trust anyone but him and your Heartslabyul friends anymore.

Azul has given you one nasty sense of perception, allowing you to key into every little detail and find loopholes in the things people say in a second. He’s turned you into a deadly asset, one he treasures just as much as the student body fears. You read over his contracts and point out what you would do to get out of them, and he adjusts accordingly. What a fine team you two make!

Jade makes it clear that his morals are less than savory, and will often encourage you to partake in things you really shouldn't. You rationalize it as Jade helping you go after the things you want, to finally take and take and take from people when you’ve been so selfless all your life, because it's what you deserve isn’t it?

Floyd will often rope you into his schemes, and it's not wrong before you start doing the same. Once a model student, attending every class, you now skip class and watch with amusement as Floyd threatens another student, hiding your smile behind your hand. They may plead for your assistance, but who are you to stop Floyd? This poor soul clearly owed something.

Kalim instills you with a sense of jealousy and helplessness. He has money to solve all of his problems, his life must be so easy. You’ve lived through so many overblots and received no help from anyone, but Kalim has always been so kind and generous to you. It makes you resent him a little, and anyone else who tries to help, because they all have things that you don’t and that's just not fair.

Jamil twists and bends your mind so much that you can do the very same thing to others. You’ve caught onto his little game and he knows it, eyeing you with anticipation whenever you speak in the same honeyed tone he uses when he wants something. You’ve gotten scarily good at hiding it too, shooting him a smug grin because you know he knows, but nobody else does.

Vil brings out so much confidence in your abilities it’s borderline arrogance. You know you’re capable, so why doesn’t everyone just let you handle this? You can do it, they can’t. So they should just step aside. You’re not doing it to be mean, so why are they getting so annoyed at you? You’re just better.

Rook has some eccentricities, and you’re well aware of them. They put you off at first, but now you’re used to him. It just seems normal now. You’re not sure why everyone makes such a big deal out of his tendencies, that’s just how he is. He’ll stalk you, hunt you down, but he’s having fun! Don’t spoil it for him!

Epel is actually the perfect fit for NRC, you think. He’s a troublemaker, he’s stubborn, and he’s so, so angry. But he’s right! Why should you respect people who claim to be above you? It’s so irritating that they walk around with those annoying smirks on their faces. You two should do something about that, don’t you think?

Idia has a very specific way of talking that can not only be confusing, but can also irritate the hell out of people. Of all things you could pick up from him, you picked up his smug jabs and insults, accompanied by a tooth grin and a laugh. It’s unnerving how much he’s rubbed off on you, a true testament to how close you too are much to the chagrin of the rest of NRC.

Malleus finds so much delight in being your bodyguard, your most trusted companion, that he doesn’t even bat an eye when you use his magic for your own gain. You’ve gotten soft, molding to whatever shape Malleus wants you to be just so he won’t leave. You’re helpless without him, only he has the will and the magic to protect you. So won’t he please stay?

Lilia has a way of dodging the truth, putting a smile on his face even when he’s hurting. It makes you think that, if he can do that, why can’t you? Lilia is smart, he knows how to go about life, so you should follow his lead and bury your problems until they’ll never see the light again.

Sebek has done nothing but berate you for being human since you met him, and even if you’ve gotten closer to him over the course of your stay in Twisted Wonderland, you’re starting to think he’s right. If you had magic, if you weren’t human, you’d be more powerful. It’s a fact. You could do so much more if you weren’t so weak.

Silver has made you complacent. He takes each step carefully, protecting both you and Malleus, so why would you need to protect yourself in any capacity? It’s so nice, having this safety net. If you could, you'd rely on Silver forever, never facing the cruel realities of the world that are blocked by his strong arms.

[littlcdarlin]

surprising dbf!Joel with lingerie

warnings: big girthy age gap (unspecified), Joel puts his hand on her throat (no choking), teasing Joel in public, Joel Miller rendered useless by a bit of lace, reader is sort of innocent

note: Can you tell I bought new underwear yesterday? It's crazy how much more confident I feel in it, I just needed to write this. Enjoy, my loves <3

Joel always insists he loves you in your cotton panties, he says nothing is sexier to him than you in your usual underwear

He won’t let you spend your money on expensive lingerie (‘don’t go wastin’ your money on me, sweetheart, I enjoy myself just fine. Sides, ‘s ‘bout gettin’ you out of your panties anyway’) and won't buy you anything himself because that can’t be comfortable, ‘s barely even a string

One night he fucks you in your white cotton bra dotted in cherries, your cheeks warming when you realise you wore your ‘bad’ underwear, and although he sure doesn’t seem to mind, you make a mental note to buy at least one set of hot underwear

So you go on an online shopping spree, picking what your imagine Joel will like the most — nothing too darkly sexy, but rather lots of lace, light and girly colors, cuts that are revealing in a teasing way, that leave enough to the imagination for you to be able to hear Joel’s groan in your ear already

You keep more than just one set, and when you put on a white lace thong and bra, you feel incredibly sexy. It's not too forward for you, teasing and still strangely innocent despite your nipples showing through the thin fabric of your bra and your whole ass being visible. It feels naughty to put on your usual clothes over it

Joel’s eyes are glued to your shoulder during a neighbourhood barbecue when he sees some lace peeking out under your shoulder strap — you adjust your shirt and he drinks his beer quietly, holding your gaze, brows slightly furrowed

Should’ve asked me before buying that yourself, sweetheart, I would’ve gotten it for you, he tells you when you have a quiet moment away from the rest of the neighbours. You can tell he feels guilty for you using your own money, he usually gets you anything you just vaguely mention you’d like

So you tell him you wanted it to be a surprise, a little disappointed he already knows you’re all dressed up for him under your jeans and top, but for the rest of the afternoon his eyes don’t leave your shoulders and you think that maybe the anticipation makes it even more fun

You start to play with him, subtly move your shirt so that the lacy strap is visible. When you go to the bathroom, you adjust your jeans so that the little bow at the front of your new thong peeks out just barely

Joel’s useless when he spots it, he excuses himself from a conversation with your Dad to go to the bathroom, and you think you’re not the only one adjusting your jeans in there

When everyone’s going home and he’s sure it won’t rouse suspicion, you get a text from Joel: my place, 5 minutes. Don’t change

You make up some lame excuse about sleeping at a friend’s place, and leave your parents to it. Joel’s house is only a few minutes away, and as soon as you unlock his door with the key he gave you, he’s in front of you, all 6’3 feet of him

He doesn't even look at your face, his eyes glued to the bit of white lace peeking out from under your shirt, and with any other man it would make you roll your eyes, but something about Joel not functioning the way he usually would makes you excited

Before you can say hello, he starts toying with the the shoulder strap of your top, moving it to the side, his thumb sliding under the lace, tugging at it, his other hand resting heavily on your shoulder and caressing the side of your neck

Already you can feel heat in the pit of your stomach at Joel's quiet admiration, and when he mutters Jesus fuckin' Christ, you clench around nothing and lean up to kiss him, his mouth insistent and impatient on yours. You feel wanted, needed, when Joel leads you to the living room without breaking the kiss, one hand gently wrapping around your throat to stir you in the right direction while you're rendered useless by his mouth

Joel breaks away when you're almost at his couch, wanna look at you, angel, and starts lifting your top for you. All of a sudden you feel nervous he won't like what you picked, that he's a practical man through and through and really does prefer you in your comfy cotton underwear, but his eyes widen and you think he stops breathing for a second when your bra is revealed

He drops your shirt to the floor, and drags his hands over your skin, taking in your tits, which are barely covered by transparent, white lace. His thumb moves over your nipple, and an involuntary whine escapes you, the sensation of his touch over the fabric intense

Fuck, you're gonna kill me, babygirl. Did this for me? His voice is strained, like he's keeping himself from ripping your bra off your body and you know if you were to reach down, you'd find him fully hard. You want him to see your thong before things get too heated, though, so you smile up at him, press a sweet kiss to his throat

Wanted to look nice for you. His fingers are still toying with the fabric of your bra, constantly moving over your body

Always look nice, baby, but this is...shit, I need to fuck you in it.

You pop open the button of your jeans, and Joel's eyes snap towards your crotch, his bulge right in front of it, when you drag the zipper down. His hands are on your hips in a second, helping you drag your jeans down

You shaved for Joel, and your new skimpy little panties barely cover anything. What little fabric there is, is already soaked, just from Joel looking at you all hungry

Again, Joel traces the fabric with his fingers, mapping it out on your body, and when he realizes just how wet you are for him, he presses down on your clit, rubbing tight circles with two fingers

Although it pains you, you gasp wait, and he stops, lets you step out of your jeans, only in your underwear now. You take a step back and smile, letting Joel take you in completely

Spin for me, babygirl, he orders and you obey immediately. You hear him curse when he sees the fabric of your panties practically disappearing between your asscheeks, and you've never felt so sexy

When you're facing him again, he squeezes your ass with one hand, and teases your clit with the other once again. Gonna make you come in these before I fuck you in 'em

It doesn't take you long at all, Joel praising you, calling you his good girl, holding you up, before nudging you towards the couch and laying you down on it

He just drags your panties to the side, slips two thick fingers into you, impatiently preparing you for his cock, which is still straining against his jeans

Something about dressing up in lingerie for Joel while he's fully clothed makes you positively ache. It makes the difference in age more prominent – Joel, a greying contractor wearing what he probably wore thirty years ago, and you, his pretty, young, soft babygirl

The contrast is exhilarating – lace against flannel, naked skin against rough denim, gruff groans mixed with soft whines

When Joel slides into you, the stretch is familiar, and you sigh at the feeling. Been waiting for it all day, you whisper, wanted you so bad at the barbecue

It makes Joel curse, fuck into you with more force, shit, baby, y'look so pretty for me

He fucks you deeply, eyes constantly on your bra or panties, watching his hands toy with your nipples, or his cock disappear inside of you, sliding against the thin fabric of your thong

It doesn't take either of you long to come, Joel forcing his cock all the way inside and holding it there while he spurts rope after rope of cum inside of you. You tremble around him, clench and unclench, dragging every last drop from him

Afterwards, he lets you lie on top of him the way you like, strokes your skin, toys with your bra strap and waistband, presses soft kisses into your hair

I've got a light pink set, too, you tell him and yawn, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, and smiling when you feel his spent cock twitch against you. I'll wear that to the next family dinner you're invited to.

Joel swats your ass lightly, and you laugh, feel his own chuckle rumble in his chest. You're gonna kill me, angel. Old man like me, I'll have a stroke.

You rest like this for a while, quiet, enjoying each other's warmth, but after a while Joel's lips caress the shell of your ear, his voice making goosebumps appear all over your skin when he speaks

You know y'don't gotta shave for me or put on something fancy, though, right? You tell him you do, that you just wanted to surprise him, give him something special because of how special he always treats you

I ain't complainin', baby, just don't want you thinkin' I don't love you just as much in those little cherry panties of yours.

[wanders-in-wonderland]

As Planned

“You want me to fuck you while you pretend you don’t want it?” His voice is low and measured, his eyes holding mine. I nod and feel a thrill run up my spine when I see his eyes darken in response and he flashes me a smirk.

“I’d hate to disappoint my lovely girlfriend,” he purrs before pulling me in for a kiss.

—

His hands are rough as he pushes me down onto the bed, face first. “Struggle all you want, slut, we both know I’m stronger.” I let out a muffled cry into the pillows and writhe as much as I can.

“Wait, please, no, babe! Stop!” I almost smile from the excitement but stay in character as I feel him roughly pull my shorts and panties down my hips.

“Shut the fuck up,” he says before landing a harsh slap against my ass. I gasp as the pain goes straight to between my legs, making my pussy clench.

His rough fingers press in between my legs and I let out an obscene moan when he makes contact with my wetness. He chuckles darkly from behind me and sharply thrusts two fingers into me.

“Fucking slut, you really are a whore huh? Who else would be this fucking wet over the idea of being forced?” His words taunt me but I’m too distracted to think of a response as his fingers spear into me again and again.

I whine and arch my back, too lost in the pleasure to pretend that I don’t want it. I feel his fingers pull out of me and I whimper in disappointment but I don’t have to wait long before I feel the head of his cock line up against my soaking cunt.

I make a half-hearted attempt at playing into the scene, “No, please, I don’t want this.” He laughs in response before slamming his cock home into my cunt.

The sound of his harsh pants fill my ears as he holds me down and fucks me into the mattress. I moan at how good he feels inside of me, every thrust hitting so deep, the pleasure overwhelming my every sense.

I feel his fingers thread through my hair and he gives a harsh yank that forces the breathe out of me. “You know, I’m not sure this really counts as fulfilling your fantasy of being forced. You’re a little too willing right now,” he says.

I can’t help but moan in response as his cock sinks into my pussy over and over again. Until suddenly, it stops and he pulls out.

I pant brokenly and try to turn my head to look at him, trying to wrap my head around the abrupt change. And then, I feel the head of his cock brush against my asshole and my whole body stiffens.

“Wait, babe, that’s not what we talked about,” my voice is shaking.

“Shut up and take it, slut,” he snarls before starting to push into me.

“Wait, no, I’m serious, babe, stop!” I gasp out as I feel the head of his cock start to work its way into my ass. My pussy’s made it so wet that he doesn’t even need lube but this isn’t what I want.

I try to push myself off the bed but he tightens his hand in my hair and pushes me head down. “Shut up, and stay down, like a good slut. You’re going to take my cock in your ass, this is what you wanted right?”

“No, no, no! Please!” My voice is pitchy and breathless as he continues to push his cock into me. I whine, feeling the pressure and pain cloud my mind.

“Fuck, your ass is so fucking tight.” He doesn’t give me any time to adjust before he gives one final hard push and sheaths himself balls-deep into my ass.

I let out a choked cry, “Babe, stop, it hurts, I’m serious!” I try to move but it only makes his cock push in deeper and I whimper in response.

“This is what you wanted, you wanted to be forced, isn’t that right?” He laughs and suddenly, he moves his hips. His cock slides out of my ass a little, but not enough to give me any reprieve and he immediately slams his hips back down, drawing out a scream from me.

I struggle uselessly underneath him but he ignores my protests as he starts thrusting, setting a harsh pace that makes me gasp in pain.

“No no no, babe, please stop. I’m serious! Pineapple!” I choke out our safe word, begging him to stop and expecting him to immediately pull out. He doesn’t. He laughs.

“Your little safe word doesn’t mean anything to me right now,” he growls, yanking my head back and drilling even harder into me. Tears are streaming down my face now as I sob.

He doesn’t let up, thrusting his cock over and over again into my ass, each movement making me tremble and cry.

“Fuck, I’ve been wanting to fuck this tight ass for so fucking long,” he groans into my ear. I shudder and let out soft gasping cries as he continues to brutalize my ass. I feel his free hand move down my body and his fingers brush against my clit.

The sound of his laugh wraps around me, “Fuck, you fucking slut. I’m raping your ass and your pussy is fucking dripping more than before.”

I whine and his fingers rub against my clit in a way that makes my body spasm and I hear him groan in pleasure. His fingers set a cruel pace on my clit as he continues to fuck my ass but the sharp pain from before has faded into a dark, confusing blend of pleasure.

“I’m going to make you cum while I’m raping your ass,” he promises, his voice low and threatening. I let out a choked sob in response and I know he’s going to deliver on his promise.

I can feel the pressure of my orgasm building and I know that in a few moments, I’ll cum, just the way he wants, while he’s forcefully fucking my ass and making me like it. His fingers pinch my clit hard and I let out a wail as I shatter around him.

My cunt clenches around nothing and my ass tightens even more around his cock as I ride the waves of my orgasm. My ears are ringing and I’m shaking as the strongest orgasm I’ve ever had rocks my body. I distantly hear him curse and groan as he cums in my ass.

He collapses onto the bed, holding my body down with his own, cock still buried inside of me. I tremble from the aftershocks of my orgasm as my body lays limp and unmoving and my mind goes blank.

Eventually, I vaguely start to register the feeling of his fingers gently massaging my scalp and stroking my hair. I let out a soft whine and I hear him laugh lightly in response. His lips press against my temple softly.

“You okay, honey?”

I make a noncommittal sound and turn my head to look at him.

“Hey, honey, give me a verbal answer, you okay?”

“Mhm, I’m okay, baby,” my voice is soft and a little hoarse from the screaming.

“I’m going to pull out, is that okay?” He asks as he pushes himself up a little to take the weight off of me. I let out a soft moan and I nod in response.

The feeling of him pulling out makes me shiver and I whimper. I feel him step away and he comes back a little later with a warm washcloth and he cleans me up before coming back into bed with me and wrapping his arms around me.

“Did you have fun?” He asks as he shuffles me around a little so I’m laying flat and comfy. I smile at him, “I had so much fun.”

He smiles back, “I’m glad. Although, I almost forgot we agreed to a fake safe word.” He huffs out a laugh. I giggle back at him, “Well, I think it added to the fun.”

He gives me a soft smile again, “Anything for you.”

[moondustbaby]

Come Home

Blue collar!Rafe x SAHM/Wife!Reader Angst to Fluff

a/n: based on this request 💌!

Summary: Feeling overwhelmed and alone, You finally open up to Rafe about how much his long hours have been weighing on you and the family. It turns into a quiet, vulnerable moment that reminds them both where home really is.

⸻

The slam of the dishwasher door was louder than it needed to be. You didn’t mean to do it. Not really. But the pressure had been building—slow and quiet, like a kettle you forgot about on the stove.

You could hear Mia fussing in the living room, Jace calling for a snack he’d already had, and your phone lit up on the counter again.

Rafe: Running late, baby. Still on site. Be home soon.

You didn’t even respond.

You were tired—so tired. And it wasn’t just your body. It was the ache in your chest, the mental gymnastics of keeping everything running when Rafe barely made it home before the kids went to bed anymore. You weren’t mad at him for working. You knew he did it for the family. But lately, it felt like he was building houses for strangers and leaving yours crumbling in his absence.

By the time Rafe walked through the door—boots heavy, shirt stained, eyes tired—you had Mia on your hip and Jace clinging to your leg.

“Hey,” he said, soft, cautious, like he already knew. “Long day. Traffic was—”

“Don’t,” you said quickly, setting Mia down with a too-sharp breath. “Just—don’t do the traffic excuse. Not tonight.”

He blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You tried not to cry. God, you hated crying during fights. “It means I’m here all day with two kids who need everything from me. It means I haven’t showered in two days, the laundry’s overflowing, and Jace threw up on the couch this morning. It means I’m drowning and you keep telling me ‘soon.’”

Rafe’s jaw clenched. “I’m working, baby. I don’t have a choice.”

You scoffed, folding your arms. “There’s always a choice. You just don’t want to disappoint your crew, or your clients—but me? I’ll wait. I always wait.”

His voice was quiet, but firm. “That’s not fair.”

“Neither is doing this by myself.” The words fell like lead. “I miss my husband.”

That’s when you saw it—his expression falter, just slightly. The exhaustion cracked open and the guilt came pouring through.

He stepped forward, slow. “You think I don’t miss you? That I don’t wish I could be here more? Baby, I wake up at five, come home past seven, and think about you all day long. I walk in this house and I don’t even get to kiss you before you hand me one of the kids and tell me dinner’s cold.”

Your lip trembled.

He sighed. “I’m trying to give us everything.”

“I don’t want everything,” you whispered. “I just want you.”

Silence.

Rafe’s face softened in an instant. Like all the fight left him in one breath. He reached out, pulled you into his arms like it physically hurt to be apart from you for another second.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “I didn’t see how bad it got. I should’ve been here.”

You let yourself cry against his chest. He held you tighter.

“I don’t need you to fix it,” you whispered, voice shaking. “I just need you to see me. To want to be here.”

“I do want to be here,” he promised, pulling back just enough to cup your face. “With you. With them. I’ll start saying no to jobs, I swear it. You’re my wife. My home. Nothing comes before that.”

He kissed you then, slow and deep, like he meant every single word.

And later—after dinner was warmed up, after Jace was tucked into bed and Mia finally stopped fighting sleep—you lay tangled up together on the couch. His hand resting on your thigh, your head tucked into the crook of his neck.

“Don’t go in early tomorrow,” you murmured.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he said, kissing your forehead. “Might stay in bed all morning. With my girl.”

You smiled through your tiredness. “You mean it?”

He nodded, brushing your hair back. “From now on, you don’t have to ask me to come home. I’ll already be on my way.”

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: this broke my heart and then put it back together writing this lol 🥲 but also this is definitely the reality of their relationship especially when the kids are young and they’re still trying to navigate how to do things as a family and as a married couple with two littles.

♥️ lani

Send Me Requests! 💌

Mastserlist

[mapofsouthdakota]

Maps headcanons

The LADS boys -

The underwear edition

Details: 3000ish words.. What do they wear? What do they get you to wear? And most importantly… how do they gift it to you? Probably fem reader, but let’s be honest, it’s strictly just a gift. They want to see you in it. Full stop. Some adult fluff, some sexual tension and implied notinoti stuff. So 18+ I guess? And umh… yea I definitely went overboard. SORRY! But I had so much fun, I couldn’t stop myself.

❤️ Sylus

What Sylus wears:

Sylus is all sharp lines, dark elegance, and control. Underneath that crisp red-streaked suit? He’s wearing tailored, jet-black silk boxer-briefs. Luxurious. Breathable. Tactical. They’re tight enough to keep everything in place during any kind of… movement, but soft enough to feel like nothing’s there—no small feat, considering what they’re working with. No logos. Just that sleek minimalism only a man would choose if he knew exactly how handsome he was, didn’t care what anyone else thought—and never once looked at a price tag.

Sylus’s gift to you:

Oh, he’s not just buying you lingerie—he’s curating a message.

It’s a two-piece set, hand-delivered in a black velvet box—while you’re at work. No return address. Just a black wax seal with a crow pressed into the lid. Then a folded note in sharp, elegant script.

If this ends up on the floor, you better not be the one who puts it there. Don’t disappoint me, kitten. —S.

And inside:

A high-leg, sheer silk and lace thong in a crimson so deep it’s almost black—just enough opacity to leave things to the imagination, but not too much.

The matching bralette: underwire-free, soft lace, with feather-like embroidery in crimson thread—subtle nods to his own red-streaked shirt and the crow brooch he gave you. It whispers danger and intimacy at once.

But here’s the kicker—he’s had both your initials and his embroidered inside, side by side in tiny, near-invisible thread. Only you would notice. That’s his way: power in the quietest touches, like branding you without ever lifting a finger.

Scene:

You don’t even have to look out the window to know he’s watching. Heat creeps up your neck as you snap the box shut, fingers fumbling slightly. You tuck it into your drawer fast—too fast—just before anyone walks by.

Your cheeks burn. Your pulse stutters.

Later you open the velvet box in your bedroom—its crow insignia gleaming faintly under the light. It smells of something expensive and sharp—amber, burnt cedar, and a lingering metallic note… gunpowder? When you look up, Sylus is already there, leaning against the doorframe like he’s been watching the whole time. His smirk is lazy, eyes glowing faintly red.

“I thought you could use something… less modest,” he says, voice like dark wine. “Consider it… encouragement.”

You brush your fingers over the crimson mesh, the featherlike embroidery. “And this is supposed to motivate me?” You glance up at him. “Sending me underwear while I’m at work?”

He tilts his head. “Everything I do motivates you. Why should this be any different?”

You narrow your eyes. “Want me to try it on?”

His grin widens. “No. I expect you to.”

You disappear into the other room—and when you return, the change is undeniable. The set clings like a second skin: barely-there lace, delicate and daring in all the ways he clearly planned. Sylus is leaned back with his palms pressed into the mattress behind him, utterly at ease—blazer still draped over his shoulders, one brow cocked as his gaze trails down every inch of you.

You turn slowly, fingers trailing along the silk at your hip, then glance back at him with the faintest smirk. An unspoken well? hangs in the air—daring him to speak, to react, to move.

“Look at you. The gift, wrapped and worn—for the one who gifted it.” A slow smile curves his lips. “You’re lucky I let you wear it at all, kitten.”

Sylus doesn’t move—just stays there on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his palms, one ankle resting casually over his knee. But his gaze trails down your body like a hand.

“But don’t confuse indulgence for permission,” he adds, voice velvet-dark. “I unwrap what’s mine when I decide.”

You raise a brow.

Then he stands—slowly—and stops in front of you, fingers brushing the embroidery near your hip. His touch is light, almost teasing, but his voice has gone rough. “So now I get to peel this off… piece by piece… and watch your ambitions unravel.”

His fingers slide just under the strap at your shoulder, just enough to threaten movement. “I want to see how long you can hold eye contact while I take my time with you.”

He leans in close, gaze never wavering, and drags the tip of his tongue slowly along your bottom lip.

“So don’t blink, kitten.” He murmurs, voice a low drawl. “I want to watch every second tonight.”

——————————————————————————

💜 Rafayel

What Rafayel wears:

Rafayel isn’t really one for undergarments—too restrictive, too boring. He prefers fabric that flows, not hides. On regular days—when he’s in his paint-splattered studio with a half-buttoned shirt and flushed cheeks—he wears linen boxer-briefs, soft and pale pastels. But not just any linen—this is the kind handwoven by some obscure artisan, the kind that costs more per pair than most people’s monthly utilities. They cling loosely, comfortably, with a low waistband that dips dangerously on his hips when he stretches or leans too far over a canvas.

Rafayel’s gift to you:

You don’t even know it’s for you at first. He doesn’t say it.

It’s wrapped in a long strip of sheer silk, painted by hand. The gift is neatly tucked at the base of his easel, a soft rosy color catching in the early light, with painted waves in a beautiful baby blue flowing gently across the fabric. The fabric inside feels more delicate than air:

The bottom is a high-slit silk wrap, sea-blue and iridescent, that ties at the hip with a golden clasp shaped like a wave crest. The slit goes high—deliberately high.

The top is a lace halter bralette, stitched with tiny scales in shimmering threads—blues, pinks, and deep ocean violets. When you move, the color changes like it’s underwater.

And at the center of the chest? A small pearl—real, imperfect, kissed by the sea.

There’s a faint scent of paint, sea salt and saffron on the silk. You know he touched every part of it.

Scene:

You step into the studio—sunlight filtering through gauzy curtains, the scent of paint and salt lingering in the air. Raf’s crouched in front of a half-finished canvas, brush dangling loosely from one stained hand, shirt half-off one shoulder, eyes pink-blue and distracted until he notices you.

Then he blushes. Bright. Immediate. Cheeks, ears—flushed like a sunrise.

“There’s something for you,” he mumbles, looking away as if the thought of you seeing it—wearing it—is almost too much to bear. He nods toward the silk bundle. “I… made it. Thought you’d look… divine in it.”

You crouch beside it, fingers trailing along the silk wrapping, savoring the softness before carefully unfolding it. The fabric slips open, revealing the undergarments inside—shimmering, sea-glass delicate. You glance back at him then, eyes teasing.

“Should I put it on?”

Rafayel swallows hard, brush frozen in mid-air. “Yesss. I mean, if… you want to.” His voice cracks just slightly, the tip of his ear glowing like it might catch fire.

You disappear into the adjoining room—there’s a screen for changing, of course—but you leave it just slightly ajar. When you come back out, the set clings to you like seafoam. Rafayel stares—his brush forgotten, his lips parted. For a second, the artist is speechless.

Then, finally, he says softly, reverently:

“I’m never painting anything else again.”

You’re not sure if he means for the next hour, or the rest of his life.

With a small twirl, you step closer to him. The silk shifts with every movement—light, barely there, suggestive in ways that feel like poetry and sin all at once. Rafayel’s gaze follows the curve of your hips, the embroidery over your chest, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard.

His paint-stained fingers twitch at his sides. “Turn around again,” he says, quieter this time. “…Please?”

You do. Slowly. The moment stretches taut between you.

When you face him again, he’s closer. Too close. His hand lifts, hovers just above your waist, not quite touching. “I wanted it to feel like water,” he murmurs, voice rougher now, lower. “But it clings like heat. Like you’re melting into it.”

He finally touches you—fingertips tracing a line along the embroidery near your ribs. His breath stutters. “I don’t know if I want to paint you or pull this off with my teeth.”

You arch a brow. “That’s quite the choice.”

Rafayel leans in, lips brushing your shoulder, his voice a husky rasp against your skin. “Why not both?”

His hips press into you, letting you feel the full weight of his desire—hard, aching, and entirely focused on you. One hand traces the edge of your halter, fingertips ghosting along the lace before he gives it a curious little poke, like he’s testing his own creation. His lips hover just above yours, breath warm, eyes soft and burning all at once.

Then, just above a whisper, he adds—“Either way… I’m going to ruin you beautifully, cutie.”

——————————————————————————

🧡 Caleb

What Caleb wears:

In casual moments—when it’s just him and you in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, cooking for you—he wears comfortable cotton boxer briefs. Black, sleek, nothing flashy. He’s practical like that. But they hug him just right, sitting low on his hips, making it really hard to focus on the food. And the worst part? He knows. You’ll glance, just once, and he’ll smirk—subtly flexing one ass cheek like it’s a reflex. Just to mess with you. Just to watch you squirm.

Caleb’s gift to you:

It comes in a sleek, dark orange box. You find it on your doorstep after a long day. Tucked on top, folded with military precision, is a tiny origami fighter jet—his old model, of course. Unfolding it reveals a single line, scribbled in his handwriting:

Try it on, or I’ll just imagine it. Either way, I win.—C.

And when you open it:

A high-cut, gravity-defying black lace bodysuit. It’s sheer in all the right places, sculpted with subtle violet shimmer threading through the seams. Where the light hits it, it reflects a dull glow—almost like a nebula.

A thin, matching choker with a clasp shaped like an apple.

And one last piece: a purple silk sash. A tie. A leash. A promise of discipline wrapped in devotion, of control you never had to ask for, of just how far he’ll go to make sure you never forget who you belong to.

Yet the fabric carries just the barest trace of his cologne and… mouthwash(?)

Scene:

You confront him, of course—he left it there on purpose, knowing curiosity would get the better of you. You don’t even try to play it cool. You find him hours later, still at work on The Fleet, posture perfect, all crisp uniform and that infuriating calm. An adjutant’s just finishing a report when you step into the room. Your eyes lock on him like a missile. Caleb doesn’t flinch—doesn’t even turn. Just gives you a quiet, knowing look over his shoulder like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

“What’s the meaning of this?” you ask, holding the box like evidence, like a challenge.

His gaze drags over you from across the room, slow and deliberate. He uncrosses his arms, brushes a speck of dust from his uniform—measured, precise. Like you’ve interrupted something important, but he’s willing to indulge you.

That Colonel Caleb chill lingers in his eyes… but there’s a glint now. And the faintest curve to his lips.

“You found it,” he says, stepping closer until your breath catches. “Great. I had it made. Custom stitching. Seamless where it matters.”

You narrow your eyes. “So you just decided—?”

“I don’t ‘decide,’” he cuts in smoothly. “But if you really are mine…” his voice drops, dangerously low, “…then I want to be the only one who sees you in this.”

His gloved fingers brush your cheek, then trail down to your collarbone. The heat between you crackles like static in space.

Behind you, the adjutant clears their throat—once. A warning. A presence. Caleb doesn’t even glance their way.

“That’ll be all,” he says, voice low and firm, the kind that doesn’t invite questions. The door hisses shut behind you a moment later.

Then it’s just you. Him. And that charged space between.

“Put it on for me, Pip-squeak.”

It’s not a request. But it’s not entirely a command, either. He’s looking at you like you could refuse—but he knows you won’t.

Caleb shrugs off his coat with practiced ease, draping it over the back of the chair before pulling off his gloves, one finger at a time. He sinks into the seat in a single, fluid motion—then reaches up to loosen his tie, just enough to breathe. His legs spread, posture easy, but there’s nothing casual about the way he watches you.

You turn your back to him as you undress, the room quiet except for the subtle shift of fabric. The black bodysuit slides on smoothly, the silk sash tied loosely at your waist. The lace hugs your curves perfectly.

Caleb leans forward, forearms on knees, purple eyes trailing down your form like a scan. Slowly. Thoroughly.

“Turn around.”

You do, slowly, and when you face him, he’s already rising. He closes the distance in measured strides, hands sliding to your waist, voice low and tight.

He leans in. “You know,” he murmurs against your neck, “I wish I could deploy you in this. No one would dare touch you.”

You smirk. “Jealous, Colonel?”

“Obsessed,” he corrects, voice like a velvet threat. “And completely serious.”

You feel his lips graze your shoulder—soft, then firm. And then—his teeth sink in, just enough to make you gasp. Not to hurt. Just to remind you: you’re his.

“Do you know what I thought about every night when I designed this?”

You breathe out. “What?”

His fingers curl into the sash at your hip. “How fast I could undo it.”

Then he lifts you like it’s nothing, pressing you back against the console with stars spinning behind you—his mouth already trailing down your neck as the fabric slips from your skin. But you don’t see stars—you feel them crash.

Then, without missing a beat, the corners of his mouth curve—just slightly, just enough. “I’m betting it’ll take me ten seconds to undress you… if I take my time.”

——————————————————————————

🩵 Zayne

What Zayne wears:

Zayne is nothing if not understated excellence. Beneath his pristine three-piece suits? Charcoal-gray modal boxer briefs. Soft, breathable, structured—he’d never wear anything flashy or inconvenient. But they fit like they were measured for him, contoured to sit low on his hips beneath that crisp dress shirt. And if you ever catch him with the shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, forearms scarred and strong? The contrast of clean fabric and rough skin does things to you.

Zayne’s gift to you:

He doesn’t take you shopping. He doesn’t even mention he’s getting you something. It just… appears, neatly folded in a soft satin box inside your closet. Next to it, a small handwritten note in steady script:

The fabric’s hypoallergenic. I know how your skin reacts to lace. I hope the fit is precise—I took the liberty of measuring while you were asleep. —Zayne.

And on the inside:

A silk slip dress, cut short and minimal, in deep forest green with thin black straps that crisscross at the back. The inside is lined with cotton—soft, breathable. So Zayne.

A matching bra and panty set—subtle scalloped trim, no underwire, no push-up. Just comfort and beauty in quiet balance. He knows how to make you feel exquisite without shouting it.

And tucked in one of the folds? A thin bracelet. Jade.

Scene:

He doesn’t even bring it up at first. You only find it after he leaves for a night shift.

The next evening, you bring it up with a wry smile. “So… were you going to mention the intimate gift hiding in my closet, or were you just hoping I’d trip over it?”

Zayne blinks once behind his glasses, setting down his mug of cocoa.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says simply. “But I also didn’t want anyone else buying you something that didn’t… suit you.” His gaze drops, lingering on your wrist where you’ve already put on the jade bracelet. “So I took care of it.”

You arch a brow. “Do you want to see it on me?”

His eyes flick up, expression unreadable—but there’s a faint flush climbing up his throat. “That depends.”

“On?”

“If you want me to take it off you too.”

And there it is. The Zayne smirk—so faint, you almost miss it. Almost.

You step into the bedroom after a hot shower, damp hair over your shoulders, body wrapped in the green silk slip. It molds to you, effortless and cool. The straps kiss your shoulder blades, the hem teasing the tops of your thighs.

Zayne is seated at the edge of the bed, shirt undone at the collar, sleeves rolled to the elbows—relaxed in theory, but his eyes are anything but. Behind the silver glint of his glasses, hazel green irises rake over you slowly. Intently. Like you’re a case study he’s about to personally explore.

“You wore it,” he says, voice steady, but lower now. Tight.

“I did,” you reply, stepping closer, letting the silk sway just enough to tempt. “Are you going to examine it?”

He doesn’t answer—not with words. He pulls off his glasses and sets them aside with exacting precision, then leans forward and tugs you between his knees. His hands slide up the backs of your thighs, fingers splaying over silk and skin.

“I’m not your physician right now,” he exhales, his mouth brushing your sternum, “but I still know how to handle delicate things.”

You inhale sharply, and he shifts the slip aside—just a little—enough to make your heart race.

His lips brush the inside of your wrist—soft at first, then slower. He drags his mouth down to the base of your palm, then lets his tongue trace the curve of your finger, you like you’re his favorite candy—something rare, rich, and entirely his.

“…You realize,” he says against your skin, “you’re never wearing this for anyone else.”

You breathe out, quiet, shivering. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good.”

And the way he says that one word, low and clinical and full of heat? It feels like you’re about to be unraveled—one practiced touch at a time.

“I’ve studied anatomy,” he murmurs, gaze unwavering, “but I’ve never wanted to memorize someone like this.”

You tilt your head, a slow smile tugging at your lips. “So what now, doctor Zayne? Want me to act like your study sample?”

His eyes flick down your body, then back up—calm, absolutely smoldering. “Mm. Slow breaths for me, please,” he says softly. “I want to feel every shift under my hands.”

——————————————————————————

🩷 Xavier

What Xavier wears:

For all his ethereal calm and delicate looks, Xavier’s body is not soft. He’s lithe, compact, and stronger than he looks—and his undergarments reflect that contradiction. Sleek. Supportive. Understated. He wears fitted low-rise boxer briefs in pale gray or lavender. Soft, seamless, breathable—so easy to move in you almost forget they’re there. And while size has never been the point, there’s no denying the quiet truth: he’s big. The waistband is low enough that when his sweater rides up while he’s napping on the couch? You catch the edge, just barely. (And no, he’s not unaware. He’s just pretending he is.)

Xavier’s gift to you:

You don’t even realize it’s a gift at first.

You find a small folded bundle on your pillow—no tag, no note, but it smells faintly of that tangy-sweet, citrusy energy drink he drinks… laced with the subtle warmth of vanilla that always seems to linger on his skin. The fabric is impossibly soft. Dreamlike.

A silk cami set, sleeveless, light violet with silvery sheen. The camisole is loose, with barely-there straps and delicate lace at the hem. It looks like starlight.

The shorts are sheer, fluttery, with a ribbon drawstring. If you move too quickly, they shift… dangerously.

There’s a tiny embroidered constellation stitched near the hem.

You realize later that the embroidery thread is pale gold. Subtle. Like he wants you to wear the stars for him.

Scene:

You ask him about it later, holding the fabric between your fingers—right after sharing a burnt pizza he insisted he had under control (he did not).

“Did you leave this on my bed?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches you with that quiet intensity, like he’s still trying to figure out how you got past his walls with nothing but laughter and melted cheese. He tilts his head slightly.

“I thought you might sleep better with it on,” he says softly. “Or off.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that a suggestion?”

“No,” he replies, gaze dragging slowly down your figure. “It’s a preference.”

He steps closer, fingers brushing yours as he takes the fabric back from your hand—just long enough to skim his knuckles over your palm before he returns it. His voice drops a note lower.

“Will you wear it tonight?”

You swallow, pulse jumping.

“I might.”

He smiles—barely. But it’s real. “I’ll be upstairs if you need help taking it off.”

Later, when the lights are low and the house is quiet, your phone buzzes.

XAVIER: Did you end up trying it on?

You hesitate, then type:

YOU: Maybe.

There’s a long pause. Then:

XAVIER: Then I hope you’re not expecting sleep.

You stare at the screen, heart skipping.

YOU: Good night, Xav.

Another pause.

XAVIER: Good night… Don’t lock your door.

You wake to find Xavier standing in your doorway—messy silvery-blond hair, expression unreadable, sleep still tugging at his lashes. You’re wearing the silk cami set, curled under your blanket. He blinks once, slowly, as if committing the image to memory.

“…Door was unlocked,” he murmurs. “You sleep too lightly.”

“I sleep just fine,” you say, voice husky, watching his eyes flick down the curve of your thigh where the blanket’s slipped. “So why are you here?”

He walks in, slow and barefoot. “I was thinking about you.”

“And?”

His fingers brush the ribbon of your waistband, tugging lightly—just once, enough to let the silk shift against your skin. “And I wanted to see if you look better in… or out of it.”

You lift an eyebrow. “You’ve been staring long enough to know.”

His eyes drag up your body with excruciating calm, but there’s something darker flickering beneath the stillness. He leans down, brushing a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then just beneath your jaw—lingering there.

“I’m thorough. Still deciding,” he murmurs, breath warm and slow, thick with something you feel more than hear.

He undresses with quiet efficiency, unbuttoning his pajama shirt, folding it once before setting it aside, then slipping out of the pants with the same composed ease—until he’s left in nothing but his underwear.

Then he slides under the covers, pulls you into his chest, and whispers against your ear,

“You can keep yours on—for now.”

But his hand is already resting low on your waist, fingers curling just beneath the hem of your top, like he’s giving himself permission to explore later—inch by inch, breath by breath.

Then, without a word, he takes your hand and guides it along the plane of his chest, down the firm line of his stomach—slow, careful, like he wants you to feel how hard it is for him to stay gentle.

And just when your fingertips brush the edge of his waistband—he leans in, voice low and rough with need.

“This is me… trying to be good for you.”

Your fingertips slip just beneath the waistband, barely testing the edge of skin. His breath catches, and for a moment he doesn’t move. Then his hand wraps gently around your wrist—not to stop you, just to feel you there.

His voice drops. “But if you keep doing that… I won’t be good much longer.”

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: YE. I’m sorry. Nobody asked for this. I spent my Saturday night writing 3k words of underwear headcanon and then gave it the gentlest proofread over my Sunday morning coffee like that somehow made it respectable. Totally normal, balanced behavior. I’m thriving. Unhinged, yes—but thriving. Should I be finishing the Bear AU pilot? Absolutely. Am I derailed by one intrusive thought? Also yes. But! I will finish the pilot this week. Prrroooomise. I should touch grass… but let’s be real, that’s what triggered this spiral in the first place. Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Mrs. R Part Two

Part One | Part Three

Notes: Hi welcome to part two okay love you bye

Not beta-read.

Warnings: Angst; fluff; all that good stuff

Summary: You can’t remember the last time you and Robby were this close. 

“You got any more lightbulbs in here that need changing?” 

You lean in the doorway of the living room, watching Robby unscrew the old bulb and toss it onto the couch before lifting his hand to screw in the new one. 

“I don’t think so. Unless you wanna go around and change a few preemptively.” 

“Think we’ll just stick with this one for now.” 

You bite your lip, glancing down at your bandaged hand and picking at a stray strand. 

“How was the rest of your shift?” 

“Oh, fine. You know.” 

But you still don’t. You bite your lip, fighting back the argument as you pick at another stray strand. 

“How’s the hand feeling?” 

“Oh, fine. You know.” 

You shoot him a coy smile at his sidelong glance. He shakes his head as he turns his attention back to the light, fitting the fixture back over the bulb. He climbs down from the step ladder, folding it, and leaning it against the bookshelf. 

“Where was that, anyway?” You ask, nodding toward it. 

“In the basement.” 

“Ah. I don’t go down there much.” 

“Yeah, the film of dust gave that away.” 

Your smile widens at the tease, then falters as he turns away, dusting off his hands. 

“Alright. I should head out.”

Your stomach twists as he straightens, heading for the door, and where he left his bag. “Oh?” You fight to keep your tone even as you straighten up. “I ordered pizza. Should be here soon if you’re hungry.”

“You’ll have leftovers.”

“Sure! Sure.” You tuck your hands into your back pockets, wandering after him as he reaches for his bag. “I could just um…Wrap it in foil…Stick it in the back of the fridge…Forget it’s there for a few days until I inevitably remember that it’s in there on Friday. Nuke it, gobble down a couple of slices, give myself food poisoning, and then I’ll, uh…” You smile as he turns to face you again. “I’ll see you back in the ER.”

--

“Does it bother you that they still call me that?”

“Call you what?” 

“Mrs. R.”

You catch the slight delay in his movement, the pause in raising his beer to his lips. His eyes stay set on the tv, and you watch the flash and flare of the screen's glow lighten and shade his face. For as long a day as he’s had, it should be easier to read his expression—or maybe you’re more out of practice than you realized.

But you know that he heard it. It’s not as if he can pretend that he didn’t hear Evans or Langdon say it. You hadn’t gotten a good look at him when they’d had though not for lack of trying. 

“Why would it bother me?” He finally asks.

“Because we’re not married anymore.”

“You change your name yet?” 

You turn back to the tv as Robby’s head turns. It’s your turn to fall silent, to take a sip from your beer. 

“It’s a lot of paperwork.” It’s the lamest of excuses. It’s not a complete lie, but it’s not the entire truth, either. You hear Robby huff a soft laugh through his nose, and you can’t help the embarrassment that pulses through you. You push the feeling down, leaning forward and setting down your beer.

"You want that last slice?” You glance toward him and find his lips pursed. He wants to say no, but you’re positive he barely had anything to eat that day.

“You wanna split it?” You correct, already taking up a knife to cut it down the middle. 

“If you really want it, you can—”

“Oh, shut up and eat the slice, Robinavitch,” You lean back, holding it out and raising your own slice to your mouth. 

“Half slice.” 

“You’re way too particular for this late in the day. Did you get all hangry on the ducklings?” 

“...Not on the ducklings.” 

Your brows rose at the admission as you tore off a piece of the crust, popping it into your mouth. 

“Wanna talk about it?” You asked after a moment. 

“Nope.” 

Figures. You couldn’t even bring yourself to be wholly disappointed. But he’d come over, he’d changed your lightbulb. He’d stayed. Months of not seeing one another and now this. It felt like two steps forward and one step back…Though, for what it was worth, that was still one step forward. 

--  

You chalk it up to muscle memory. A late-night hazy wake up, an infomercial droning on the tv, and Robby's head in your lap. You manage to nudge him up, shut the television off, and find his hand to lead him to your bedroom. He doesn't gripe or grumble. His movements seem as automatic as he strips down to his underwear and climbs into bed with you, each on your own sides. 

You think, as you sink into the pillows, that you’re almost glad Robby is too tired to gripe or argue that he should be going back to his place. 

And you think, as sleep takes full hold of you, that you feel his hand curl around yours under the sheets. 

-- 

You wake up to the steady thump of Robby’s heart beneath your ear, and the rise and fall of his belly beneath your arm. You don’t open your eyes for a few moments—you don’t dare. You can’t remember the last time you and Robby were this close. 

For the last few months of your marriage, the two of you hadn’t slept in the same bed, and with the separation and divorce that had followed, your physical connection had ceased to exist.

The closest the two of you had gotten was when he’d bandaged your hand at the ER the day before. 

Of course, that same hand is now throbbing. 

You wince, wiggling the fingers a little and holding back a hiss of discomfort. Damn, you should’ve taken some Tylenol before you went to bed last night. You just hadn’t been thinking about it. You reluctantly push yourself up, sliding out of bed as gently as you can, wary of waking him.

You freeze as he shifts, watching him roll closer to the warmth you left behind and pressing his face into your pillow. You relax as he settles, and turn to your closet, sleepily fishing out your favorite hoodie and tugging it on over the PJs that you hardly remember changing into. 

--  

By the time you hear Robby coming down the hall, you have 500mg of Tylenol in your system, and coffee has nearly finished brewing. You glance back in his direction as he comes into the kitchen. You’re chagrined (but not surprised) to find him fully clothed. 

“Morning,” You greet. His answer is to take two mugs down from the cabinet, setting them by your wrist on the counter. 

“Sleep okay?” You prod. Robby leans against the counter beside you, and you glance up, watching him scrub his hand across his eyes. 

“Yeah,” He finally admits. “Thanks for letting me crash.” 

“Sure,” You shrug. “My fault, anyway. I talked you into staying for pizza.” You pick up the coffee pot, filling both mugs. Robby mutters his thanks as he takes one up, drawing in a sip. You let the silence settle back in, but you can only handle it for so long: “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

“About what?” 

“About whatever it is that’s been fucking with your sleep lately.” 

“Do you wanna talk about why you haven’t changed your name yet?”

It catches you off-guard, and you whirl around to face him. 

“I told you, it’s a shitton of paper work—”

“If you’d started when we filed for divorce, it would be done by now.” 

“Well if it bothers you that much, why didn’t you fucking say so last night?” 

“I didn’t say it bothered me, I just find it weird—”

“It isn’t that weird—And how the fuck did we get on to me? We’re supposed to be talking about you.” 

“We don’t have to talk about me.” 

“Yeah, we fucking do. Something is off with you, Michael. You’re not sleeping, you’re snapping at people—I get that you’re under pressure—”

“You don’t get it.” 

“Alright, maybe I don’t know how it feels, but I can see how much it’s fucking messing with you—”

“Forget it—”

“Mikey, c’mon, just talk to me—”

“Let it go!” 

The snap and bark of his voice startles you, and you unthinkingly take a couple of steps back. You become more aware of the way your face is crowding with heat, your heart pounding in your chest. You turn away from him, shoving your hands in your pockets and curling your good hand into a fist. You’re not gonna cry, not when he’s right fucking there. He’s going to leave, anyway. 

You hear him push out a weary sigh, chased by the sound of him putting the coffee mug down. He’s going to put his hoodie on and just fucking go—

“Hey.” His hands curl around your shoulders, and he sighs again as you shrug him off. You step away, turning back to your mug and taking it up. Maybe you can take a big gulp and pretend that your eyes are tearing because the coffee’s so hot. 

You feel the heat of him as he crowds up behind you, his hands landing on the counter and caging you in. You open your mouth to tell him to back off, but fall silent as he gently nuzzles his temple. 

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs. “I know you’re just trying to help.”

“And I know you’re a closed book, so why do I fucking bother.”

Robby inches closer, curling his arms around your middle. 

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to take this stuff on.”

“I don’t feel like I have to, Michael.” You turn in his arms, meeting his eyes despite the tears lingering in yours. “I’ve only ever asked because I want to, because I’m not okay if you’re not okay.” Your throat grows tight as you admit it, and you blink rapidly as more tears well up. You drop your chin, closing your eyes as you shake your head, fighting to steady yourself. 

Robby lifts a hand to cup your chin, thumb sweeping tenderly over the apple of your cheek as he tips your head up. You sniffle as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, then rests his forehead against yours.

“You shouldn’t still worry like this.” 

“I know.” 

Robby tips his head, nose gently nuzzling against yours. You can’t help but chase the touch, a few tears escaping and slipping down your cheeks. You each go still as your lips brush, then stop just a hair’s breadth from one another’s. Robby’s breath puffs warmly across your mouth, and you feel his chin tip up just a touch more. 

“Don’t,” You breathe, then hurry to explain—”Don’t do this if you’re just trying to fix it.”  

For a few harrowing moments, neither of you move; you hardly breathe. And then Robby’s hand lifts to cup your other cheek, thumbs gently disrupting the few tear tracks. He brushes tender kisses to your closed eyelids before his mouth descends tenderly on yours. You shiver, curling your hand in the fabric of his shirt and drawing him closer, until he’s pressing you fully against the counter. Your lips part and your tongue teases gently against his, his beard brushing pleasantly against your skin. 

The kiss breaks slowly, with Robby stealing another two languid pecks before resting his forehead back against yours, his hands smoothing over your shoulders again, fingers rubbing across the familiar fabric. 

"...Couldn't find that last hoodie, huh?" He asks knowingly. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from breaking into a guilty grin.

"Misplaced it."

Robby hums knowingly before he dips his head, giving you another tender kiss.

"How's that hand feeling?"

You grunt, raising it and wiggling your fingers.

"Better now. Hurt like a bitch when I woke up, so I took some Tylenol."

"Good." Another peck before he draws away, and you reluctantly let him go. You expect him to head into the front hall, to grab his backpack. But he goes into the living room, taking up the stepladder. You frown, straightening up.

"Where are you going with that?"

"To check the other bulbs."

Next Part

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen

@mad-girl-without-a-box ;  @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 ; @veryprairieberry

[saturnznct]

how he acts when you're pregnant | enhypen x reader

➸ request from anon; heyy, I’m so happy you’re back! You’re fics were always my go-to if I wanted to read anything dad/pregnancy related, loved them all! can you please write about how enhypen would treat you during pregnancy, like their protectiveness, taking care of the reader, or when she’s having complications etc. 🤍

➸ note; hehe me too thank you so much!! that makes me so happy!! i don't love some of these but I hope they're what you wanted <3

➸ word count; 2335 words

➸ sangyoon, sam, ella, eunhye, yeeun, seren; in the womb lol

➸ warning(s); mentions of vomiting, implied sexy time, gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, mentions of possible birth complications

enhypen masterlist

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

heeseung

Heeseung can’t take his hands off you.

You don’t know if it’s because you’re newlyweds, or if it’s because you’re pregnant, but he can’t stay away.

At least one hand is always somewhere on you, on your shoulder, around your waist, on your thigh or knee. 

At night, it doesn’t matter if it’s in the dead of summer, his arm is snaked around you and his head is buried in the back of your neck.

Once you reach your second trimester, and your bump becomes noticeable, Heeseung is always touching your bump, tapping it absentmindedly with his fingers, beaming from ear to ear when eventually he can feel your baby boy squirming underneath his touch.

Sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night to the push of feet against his palms, it made him smile every time.

Heeseung is also completely whipped for you, he’ll do anything you ask. 

Your cravings get intense, and he doesn’t complain when you wake him at three in the morning whining about salted popcorn with cheese on. And he goes to the store for you, every time.

Heeseung isn’t usually very sappy, but as soon as your bump pops up he’s the most sentimental soppy man in the world.

Every morning and night he talks to your bump about anything and everything. Even during the day he will randomly address the bump asking it questions.

‘Okay, little one,’ Heeseung sinks to his knees one morning, resting a hand on either side of your bump, ‘kick once for cornflakes. Kick twice for the chocolate cereal.’

You giggle, ‘you’re an idiot.’

‘I’m indecisive. This boy needs to pull his weight and help me. He’s already living here rent free for the next however long.’

You roll your eyes, going back to your own breakfast.

‘What do you think baby boy?’ Heeseung gently pokes at your bump attempting to illicit a response.

Eventually your son delivers a single kick, causing you to choke on your coffee. 

‘Unlucky,’ you laugh at his disappointed face, ‘cornflakes it is.’

‘I will evict him as soon as physically possible. How can he disrespect me like this in my own house.’

‘Can’t wait until he’s actually here,’ you murmur.

‘Me too,’ Heeseung kisses your bump before getting up to kiss your head and reach for the cornflakes.

jay

Jay isn’t too overbearing during your pregnancy. He’s not the type to constantly ask if you need anything, he will wait for you to ask him.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t anticipate your needs, you’ll come home from a late shift to find your pregnancy pillow already set up, your cravings are always fully stocked and there’s always plenty of bubble bath.

Where he does get somewhat intense is in public.

Jay constantly worries about harm coming to either of you. When you go shopping, he’s careful not to be recognised, wearing hats and glasses as to not to draw attention to you. In airports, his arm is always around you, guiding you around. 

So, when he’s on tour during your pregnancy and you come to visit, he’s on high alert.

‘Jay, I can walk around the venue by myself,’ you’re escorted into the dressing room by a security guard.

Jay pulls you into a hug, kissing the top of your head, ‘there’s lots of equipment around baby, what if you hurt yourself?’

You roll your eyes, ‘have I ever hurt myself backstage before?’

‘Let me look after you,’ he pecks your lips, ‘anyway, it’s soundcheck soon. There’s a nice chair set up for you beside the stage for the actual show as well-‘

‘Wait, I’m going to watch from backstage?’

‘Yeah, of course,’ Jay says, ‘going out there can’t be good for you, or the baby-‘

‘But you know I love being in the audience,’ you pout, ‘Jay, I want to be out there singing along with my lightstick just like everyone else.’

Jay tilts his head, ‘I don’t know, sweetheart, you’re so far along and the fans can be so intense…’

‘I’ll be in the stands with your managers, I’ll have so much space!’

‘I just have visions of you falling over or someone bumping into you..’

‘Please, baby,’ you pull out the puppy eyes, wrapping your arms around his waist, and you quickly see him crumble.

‘Fine, but minimal dancing,’ he taps your nose, ‘and a security guard.’

Just then, a stage runner knocks on the door, letting Jay know he’s needed for soundcheck.

‘Come on, I’ll take you to your seat.’ 

‘Jay!’

jake

When you first found out you were pregnant, Jake sort of panics a little bit.

You’re hunched over the toilet and throwing up he doesn’t really know what to do. This is completely new territory for him. Your early symptoms often have him incredibly flustered, you’re emotional, your boobs hurt and you’re constantly dizzy.

One night, Jake comes home from practice, and it’s like his instincts awaken when he sees you in the bathroom, on the floor sobbing.

‘Jake,’ you cry when you see him, and he’s instantly at your side on the tiles, ‘I can’t do this anymore.’

Jake takes you into his arms, letting you cry into his shoulder.

‘I know I haven’t been the most.. helpful,’ he murmurs, ‘but I know you, and you are so strong, and you can do this. And I will do everything and anything you need from me, okay?’

From then on, Jake is the most attentive boyfriend, and is very touchy. You don’t even have to ask, and he’s giving you a foot massage. You come home from work, and there’s already a bath run for you at the perfect temperature.

Once you’re four months in, your bump becomes noticeable, and Jake’s level of affection is just exacerbated. 

Every night he rubs your lotion on your bump, tells the bump about his day, and sleeping with his hand on it.

When you’re hormonal, he holds you.

‘Everything hurts, Jake,’ you sob, ‘all day. She’s been sitting on my spine all day, and I’ve been having braxtons, and my boobs hurt and they’re leaking, I tried to nap but I just couldn’t-‘

Jake from month one in your pregnancy would’ve freaked out at your outburst, but this Jake, in month seven, is calm and collected.

He runs you a bath, filling it with lavender bubbles. On your insistence, he gets in behind you, rubbing your back, shoulders and achy breasts.

’Is that better?’ Jake murmurs, the timbre of his voice sending a shiver down your spine and stirring up your hormones.

‘Much,’ you roll your head back against his shoulder, ‘you’re the best.’

He kisses your head, ‘how about we get out and go lay down?’

‘We can get out,’ you nod, ‘but can we do more than lay down?’

Jake grins cheekily, ‘incredible idea.’

sunghoon

For your whole pregnancy, Sunghoon is just filled with pride. He shows ultrasound photos to everyone and talks nonstop about your incoming baby girl to anyone that will listen.

Sunghoon becomes a bit of a pregnancy expert. Every book he can get his hands on, he reads cover to cover. He knows what to expect, what was abnormal and everything in-between. 

So Sunghoon did notice just how much you were needing to go to the bathroom. 

It was relentless. He would wake up several times a night to you wriggling out of his arms and padding into your ensuite. During the day, you’re constantly up and down needing to pee, when you’re driving you have Sunghoon pull into service stations constantly. 

He brings it up to your doctor at the next scan. Your doctor agrees that the rate of your bathroom trips are a little out of the ordinary, so he refers you for blood tests. 

‘Gestational diabetes,’ you read the words on the leaflet, slumped in the passenger seat of your car.

‘Y/N..’

‘This is my fault.’

‘Y/N, you heard the doctor. Sometimes these things just happen,’ Sunghoon rests a hand on your arm.

‘What if something happens to her because of this? I know he said that the risks were small, but what if?’ you begin to tear up.

’She was perfect on the scan the other day, remember? I’m going to help you through this. We’re going to get through this.’

Sunghoon stayed up all night that night reading article after article about gestational diabetes. You woke up the next morning to find a full google doc with meal plans, exercise routines and a schedule to check your blood sugars.

He happily did everything with you, eating the same meals and cutting down on sugar. 

On an evening, the two of you would go down to the pool in your apartment complex for a swim. You would slowly swim around while chatting, usually about the baby or work. 

‘You’ve made this so much easier for me,’ you stand over your daughter’s empty crib, damp hair occasionally dripping onto your bump, ‘thank you.’

‘It’s what I’m supposed to do,’ Sunghoon gently turns you around by your waist and kisses your nose, ‘as your husband and her father.’

‘We love you, Hoon.’

‘I love you too.’

sunoo

Sunoo feels totally out of his depth. 

Suddenly his fiancee is pregnant, something you never expected. He doesn’t know the first thing about pregnancy, and doesn’t know how to respond to your symptoms. He sort of just treats you as if you’re sick, bringing you soup and tea but keeping his distance. At the same time, you’re hormonal, and can’t understand why he’s staying away.

You worry he doesn’t want the baby, that he’s having second thoughts, or you’re bothering him too much with your requests. In reality, Sunoo is just so worried that he’s not being helpful, or that somehow he might hurt or upset you.

One night you’re laying in bed together watching TV in silence, you essentially lose it.

’Sunoo,’ you’re tearing up, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Why?’ he whips his head around to look at you, ‘for what?’

‘You’re just distant, and you keep away from me, I barely see you. If it’s me or the baby I would rather you just tell me-’

’No- no, that’s not it at all. I want you and the baby more than anything in the world.’

Sunoo is quiet for a few moments, ‘I’m sorry. I guess I’m just scared. I’ve been retreating into my head and haven’t been there for you like I should be.’

‘Sunoo, we need to talk to each other. I need to know how you feel. If we’re going to be parents, we need to be a team, we need to be in sync.’

‘I know, you’re right. I promise going forward I’ll be more open with you about how I feel.’

From then on, he’s obsessed with all things pregnancy and baby.

Every few days you’ll come home to a package addressed to you that you didn’t order, containing a weird pregnancy product that he saw on TikTok.

You and Sunoo talk constantly. You chat late at night in bed, in the morning on your balcony as the sun comes up, in the car on an evening, all about your excitement and fears surrounding the baby. 

Sunoo also becomes somewhat clingy, especially at night or when you’re in crowds. While before you were pregnant he would usually just throw an arm around you, now he sleeps completely pressed against you, his chest to your back.

‘I love you,’ he mumbles into your neck one night, ‘thank you for giving me my dream.’

jungwon

Your pregnancy with Serin is very turbulent. 

For the first half, everything is fairly smooth.

You get sick, and Jungwon holds your hair back. You have mood swings, he tries his best to be empathetic. 

Jungwon knows enough to understand that these things are par for the course, so he’s supportive but not too concerned about your symptoms. 

You were around halfway through your pregnancy when the less than normal symptoms began.

Jungwon would come home from practice to you sitting in a completely dark room. 

‘Why are you sitting in the dark?’

Your head was in your hands, unable to be lifted.

‘I have the worst migraine I think I have ever had,’ you whine, ‘I have taken as much paracetamol as I am allowed. I had a bath in the dark, put a cold cloth on my forehead. Wonnie it’s so bad, I can barely see..’

Jungwon holds you, massaging your head until you fall asleep hours later. 

When the headaches and vision problems persist, you make an emergency appointment. 

‘Bed,’ Jungwon practically pushes you up the stairs when you get home, supervising and making sure you were changing into comfortable clothes and getting under the covers. 

Your intense headaches turn out to be preeclampsia. Although at the moment Serin was measuring well, the doctor had warned you of the potential complications, including preterm labour or low birth weight. 

You’d been ordered to take strict bed rest. 

For the remainder of your pregnancy, Jungwon waits on you hand and foot. 

He’s suddenly fussing over you, messing with your pillows and cushions. He brings up your food on trays, eating every meal beside you. The two of you tear through countless shows on a plethora of streaming services. He holds you when you cry in frustration. He holds your hand when the doctor visits every week.  

‘Baby, it’s ready,’ Jungwon enters your bedroom, approaching the bed.

‘Really?’ you warm with excitement at the prospect of getting out of bed, ‘can I see?’

Jungwon helps you get up, wrapping an arm around your waist to help you walk. 

He leads you down the corridor and into your daughters nursery, which he, Jay and Heeseung had spent all day decorating.

‘Oh, it’s beautiful,’ hot tears spring to your eyes, ‘you guys.. It’s exactly how I imagined.’

‘She’ll be in there so soon,’ Jungwon lays a hand on the rail of the crib, ‘and no matter what happens, she’ll be fine.’

[celuere]

„When are you planning on coming home? And don’t tell me you have to work overtime again.“, the hologram displaying your name flickered up with the sound of your voice. A Friday night and your wife was nowhere to be found, especially not in your shared bed like she promised you to. Only option left was to call her workplace.

Yet, Zani was strictly sat inside the security office of Averardo Vault. Pen in hand as she went through the stacks of paper burying her desk while she opened yet another can of her favorite energy drink, „I fear I have to disappoint you, my love… Boss called me just as I was about to clock out, something about a bunch of messages threatening to steal a certain echo of the Calamity Class that’s been stored in the Underground. I-”

„Zani, if you don’t put that goddamned energy drink down I will personally clock you out. Your last forte examination clearly advised you to start eating more healthy! Did you even touch the salad I packed up for you? Be honest.“, despite you separating several miles, the Montelli Employee couldn’t help but flinch slightly at your threat. But what kind of spouse doesn’t eat their wives homemade meals? Right. Bad ones. And Zani was anything but a bad spouse. „Of course, I did… the dressing was certainly delicious but I still need something to keep me up throughout my shift, darling…“

„You wouldn’t need these if you stopped agreeing to do overtime. What about the wife that‘s dreading her husband‘s return back home…? Freshly showered… with her hair and makeup done… wearing your favorite set of lingerie. You can’t possibly expect me to take care of myself again…“, your sultry voice echoed through the office, ringing in Zani‘s ears as she takes in your words like a starving wolf. Suddenly, her pants started to feel awfully tight and if she hates one thing more than doing overtime- it‘s being sexually frustrated during work. She can handle being tired while dragging herself through her workload but tired and her dick wanting to burst through her pants? She doesn’t get paid enough for this.

After moments of silence passed, you dared to speak up „Zani…? Are you still th-”

„I‘m coming home. I‘ll be there in 20.“, there was a certain roughness to edge of her voice, something that forced the ache between your legs to grow painfully intense.

„20…? D-Doesn’t it usually take you 40 minutes to get home from the Vault…? And the thieves-“

„It does. But you know what they always say. Energy drinks give you wings. And worry more about the bed instead of a bunch of idiots once I get home.“, her sentence was followed by a long beep.

She hung up.

Well, time to put said lingerie set on. Wouldn’t want to disappoint her, right?

[leo-in-the-pitt]

The Aftermath

This is Chapter 2 of the Beginning to End series !

Summary: After a traumatic event happens to you, your almost 2 year relationship with Jack Abbot hits a wall. What will it take to bring you two back together again?

Warnings: Established relationship, implied age gap, topic of sexual assault, trauma, mental health struggles, strong language, mostly fluff.

W/C: 5.5K+

This is a sequel to Look Out For Her (highly suggest reading that first so this story makes sense)

The Morning After

As much as you found comfort lying in Jack’s arms after the night you had, nothing could keep your mind at ease. You managed to sleep for a couple hours thankfully. When you woke up around 7AM he was still asleep and had his top arm around you but managed to pull his arm out from under you without disturbing you. As much as you loved this man to death, you felt suffocated under the weight of his arm. You thought to yourself if he could move his arm without waking you up, you were sure you could move his without waking him up. And you were right. 

You grabbed a fresh set of clothes so you could go take a shower. And what better clothes to grab than his. Snuck out of the bedroom, making sure to close the door behind you so he didn’t hear you, and went into the bathroom. 

Your eyes were puffy from all the crying just a couple hours earlier. For a second, you forgot that your hand was broken as you leaned against the bathroom sink. The pain went shot all the way up your arm. You almost yelled but then remembered Jack was still asleep. 

You walked out of the bathroom wearing basically all his clothes. His boxers, t-shirt, even his socks.

The sun was already coming out so you decided to open the shades and sit on the couch closest to the window. Across from you, thrown over the kitchen bar stool was his Beers of the Burgh sweater that you had on only a couple hours ago. The sweater that the man slid his hands in to grab your waist. Under the sweater was the hospital belongings bag with your other clothes, the red dress and black heels. 

A sense of overwhelming guilt hit you. Why did you wear that dress? Jack picked it out for you. You were supposed to be wearing it for him, not for strangers at a bar. Why didn’t you hit him sooner? Yell for help sooner? You could’ve stopped it earlier but, you didn’t. And you didn’t understand why. 

You heard the floorboards in the hallway creaking. He was awake. 

“He’s, how long have you been out here?”

You wiped your eyes, not even realizing that you had fallen asleep. “Um I- I don’t know.” 

“You’re wearing my clothes.”

“Oh yeah”, you looked down at yourself, “sorry they’re just comfier I guess.”

You hadn’t looked at him since he walked over to the living room. 

He leaned his head down to get a better look at you. “You alright? Wanna talk now maybe?”

“Yeah I’m fine. Think I just need to relax today, hands really bothering me.”

You ignored his second question. He definitely noticed. 

“Do you want to go to the police station today?”

Shit. You forgot you had to do that. Was just hoping he’d have charges pressed against him without you having to speak about what happened again. 

“Uh yea- yeah, don’t really think I have a choice. Should probably just go now and get it over with.” You shook your head and looked up at him. 

He looked sad. Almost like he was disappointed in himself for what had happened to you. 

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, Jack it’s okay, I can go by myself.”

“I wasn’t asking.” He shook his head at your. “You’re not going alone.”

“You’re not going to take no for an answer are you?”

“No, I’m not. Lets go. We’ll get you some food after.” 

You walked into the bedroom together. 

“What does someone even where to the police station?”

“Um, well it’s warm out but windy. You can take my sweater that on the chair out there if you want?”

“The sweater I had on yesterday Jack? Really?”

“Sorry. I forgot. What do you want me to do with the stuff in the bag?”

“I don’t know just shove it all in the back of the closet or something.”

And that’s exactly what he did.

———————————————————————

It felt like you were in the police station forever. It was only an hour. On the way out, you felt off. Couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was. Definitely not the hand. 

Your heart began to beat faster. You felt sweaty, mouth watering. 

You two walked down the steps of the police station and you had a slight wobble in your step.

“Jack I- I don’t feel good.” 

“What’s wro- “

He didn’t finish his finish before you ran over to the bushes. You threw up right there. 

You were breathing deeply. Fast. 

“Fu- fuck. Fuck.” You put your head into your hair grabbing your hair. 

“Shit! Are you okay?” He put his head on your lower back. 

You jumped away. 

He stepped back and put both hands up. 

“S- sorry.”

“No sorry, sorry. It’s not you, it’s just- I don’t know. It’s like I can still feel his hands on me. I don’t know. I know it’s stupid but I- I”

“Babygirl, it’s not stupid. Something awful happened to know. Nobody expects you to be okay. You’re allowed to fall apart. I’ll be right here to pick you back up.” 

You smiled softly at him. 

“Come on, let’s go home and get you some food.”

———————————————————————

Jack stopped by your favorite diner on the way home to pick you both up breakfast and while he was inside, you decided to call Langdon. 

“Hey kid, been waiting to hear from you. Did you go to the police station yet?”

“Yeah I’m actually heading home from there now.”

“Abbott with you?”

“Uh yeah, he’s in the diner right now actually picking us up some food. Just don’t think I wanna be around people right now.”

There was a pause. 

“You two okay though?”

“I don’t know maybe, maybe not, I- I don’t know. I know that he’s blaming himself for this and maybe I blame him a little for it too. I- I know I shouldn’t but if he didn’t lose his shit over the possibility of me leaving, I wouldn’t have left last night. None of this would be happening. So I don’t know what’s gonna happen with us.”

“Did you talk to him about any of it yet?”

“I don’t know if I can. He knows what happened and that’s basically it. None of what’s running through my head though.”

“Well maybe it’s worth a seat down conversation. He actually just called me right before you did.”

“He called you while he was in the diner didn’t he? So you already knew that he was with me.”

“Uh yeah- yeah I did. He just wanted me to check up on you. He knows you’re gonna try to play the tough guy in front of him and not tell him everything. Told him I’d try to knock some sense into you.”

“Not sure anyone can knock any sense into me right about now.” 

“If anyone’s gonna help you through this it’s going to be him. You guys are basically the Pittsburgh Trauma power couple. Basically the real life version of Meredith and Derek.”

You smiled and let out a little laugh. The first time you had smiled since before it happened. 

“Alright, take care of yourself kid. And take care of that hand. You’re gonna need it when you become an attending here.”

Shit. Forgot your interview for the attending position is next week. 

“Talk to you soon.” And you hung up the phone 

And with perfect timing he was walking to the car with the food. 

“Alrighty, let’s get my girl home.” He leaned in to kiss you. 

You pulled away quick. It lasted less than a second. It was different. You didn’t know how but it didn’t feel the same. And you could see on his face that he felt the same.

———————————————————————

Once you got home, you went straight to the bathroom to freshen up and put his clothes back on. 

As soon as you walked into the kitchen, you saw that he had set out the food already. 

“They had that cheesecake you love, it’s in the fridge if you want some later.”

“I don’t really know if I have the appetite for all of this right now.”

“That’s okay, could eat the rest of it later if you want?”

“Yeah maybe”

You barely touched any of your food despite it being your favorite. Jack noticed but, didn’t say anything about it.

There wasn’t much conversation for the rest of the day until you were getting ready for bed.

Jack walked into the bedroom. “Hey so I’m going to be home with you the rest of the week.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“Yeah I knew you wouldn’t ask but, I don’t really think you should be alone right now so I talked to Robby and got some time off.”

“What else did you tell him?”

“He just knows about the hand. Nothing else. Told him that you would call him when you’re ready.”

You didn’t say anything, just crawled into bed.

“Look I’m just trying to help you out here.”

“Well you weren’t there to help me when I really needed it so what’s the point now Jack?” You got into bed facing away from him and pulled the covers over your shoulder.

“You already know that I blame myself.”

He let out a sigh and he shook his head.

“Think I’m just going to sleep on the couch tonight.”

You could here it in his voice. What did you just do?

——————————————————————— 

One Day After

You went in person the next day to talk to Robby in person early before Jack woke up. He stayed on the couch the entire night. You told Robby most of the story.

“So you sure you want to push the interview back? We could just do it right now if you wanted?”

“This isn’t exactly how I planned on interviewing for an attending job here Robby.”

“Well if I’m being honest with you, you don’t need to interview. The job is yours if you want it.”

“Wait, what?” Your jaw was on the floor.

“I’ve seen you grow into an amazing doctor here. Your not the same person you were when you walked through those doors as a med student and I think that’s for the best. The way you treat your patients, the way you teach the newer residents, you’re always trying to learn something new. This things can’t be taught. It what we need around here.”

“Robby I- I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything. Think about it. Talk to Jack about it. Let me know. Whatever you decide we’ll all be here to support you. 

“Not sure he wants to talk to me right about now.”

“If I know anything about him, it’s that all he wants to do is talk to you.”

———————————————————————

Two Weeks After

You went back to work two weeks after it happened. One week after Robby offered you the attending position. Jack still didn’t know. He just thought you pushed the interview but, didn’t ask to when.

You started back on nights with Jack. Robby offered to let you do days for the last 2 and a half months of residency but, you just wanted things to go back to normal. So you kept the same schedule and went right back to being chief resident. Things were awkward between you two at home but, at work you managed to keep it civil and everyone thought you two were fine but, truth is you were far from it.

Jack and you had been carpooling to and from work and you typically had to wait for him. Today he was taking longer than usual. 

“I’m sure you guys will be fine.” Said Robby.

“I don’t think we will. She won’t even talk to me. We’ve had maybe 5 conversations since it happened. She blames me for what happened to her.”

“You just have to give her more time Abbott. This isn’t going to be a quick fix. Her hand is still shattered. She cancelled all her interviews. You can’t expect her to be okay with everything going on.”

“Wait, wait, wait. What do you mean she cancelled her interviews? What about the interview here?”

“So I’d be right in assuming she never told you?”

Abbott shook his head. “I’m in the dark here man.”

“She already had her interview. She took the job here. She told me last week. She said she talked to you though.”

He put his head in his hands. “She just doesn’t trust me anymore.”

“Don’t say that.”

There was a pause, “I don’t know I- I guess I should return it then.” 

“You bought the ring already, didn’t you?”

“Bought it 2 months ago the day after we walked past that jewelry shop and she dragged me inside to look at them. Figured her looking at them with me meant she was ready for the next step but, I don’t know anymore.”

“You guys have already been through so much together, you can’t give up on her now.”

“I just thought we’d be in a better place by now.”

“When were you planning on doing it?”

“Once she finished residency. Once she got the job here. I wanted to step into the next part of our lives together. Watching her career take off as we start planning a wedding. Looking at houses with spare bedrooms for a future kids. Start thinking of baby names. I’m ready for the whole thing with her Robby but- but I don’t think we’re going to make it that far anymore.”

“Does she now you’re planning all of this?”

“She called me the night it happened. Right before it happened. Left me a voicemail that she was sorry and loved me. I tried to call her back. It went straight to voicemail, told her all of it, that she’s it for me. I was leaving that voicemail as it was happening to her,” his voice cracked, tears started to fill his eyes, “I couldn’t help her.”

Robby put his arm around him. 

“None of this is your fault and it’s definitely not hers either. You need to sit down and tell her all of this before it’s too late.”

Down the hall, Landon saw you waiting.

“Damn kid, why are you still here?”

“You haven’t seen Jack around have you?”

“Yeah, he’s in Robby’s office. Want me to go get him?”

“No, I got it.”

You walked down the hallway with your bags. You’d been waiting over half an hour for him. And you were pissed.

You opened the office door without knocking. “Hey boys, I’d like to go home if that okay- oh shit, sorry didn’t mean to disturb you guys.”

You didn’t expect to see Jack standing there on the verge of tears with Robby comforting him. 

He reached into his pockets and pulled out his car keys. “Here. I’ll be right there.”

You took the keys and left.

“Just talk to her Jack. The only way out is through brother.”

You waited outside for him, standing against the hood of his car.

He finally came outside. His eyes were red. He was crying. In the 4 years of knowing him and almost 2 years of dating him, you’d only seen him cry once after losing a patient.

He walked up to the drivers side door and tried to open it. 

“Can you unlock the car please?”

“No, I want to talk about what that was in there?”

He took a deep breath, “We were talking about you. That what you want to hear?”

“What’d I do this time?” You glanced over at him. 

“Think it’s more of what you’re not doing. You can talk to me you know? I’m just here to help you. Please let me help you.” He pleaded.

“I’m fine.” You looked down at the ground. 

He walked over and stood directly in front of you. You took a slight step back without realizing it. 

“I can’t even get within 2 feet of you completely losing it. We’ve kissed once in 2 weeks. You won’t let me touch you. At all. Were you going to tell me you took the job here? You keep things secret.”

“I don’t want to talk about this now.”

“Okay so if not now then when? You wanted to talk remember? We’ve been together for almost 2 years. You’re really going to push me away now? After everything that’s happened”

“Jack I- I’m not trying to push you away, I just- You have an out if you want it.”

“What the hell are you talking about? 

“I won’t blame you if you want to leave me. I’m not okay, and- and I probably won’t be for awhile and I don’t expect you to just sit around and wait for me.” 

You turned to walk around and get into the car. He grabbed your arm to stop you.

“Jack, just let me go please. You have to be the one to end this. Please. I can’t be the one to leave.” 

“No, fuck no, I’m in this. I can’t leave you. I’m never going to leave you. Just- just please trust me. I’m here for you, I’m here with you.”

Tears filled your eyes.

“You deserve better Jack.”

“Ple- please talk to someone. You need help that I can’t give you anymore. Please.”

And with that you fell into his arms.

——————————————————————— 

One and a Half Months After 

After your talk in the hospital parking lot, you agreed to start going to therapy. Which, much to your surprise, was actually helping.

Jack went on Tuesday and Thursday in the morning to his sessions and you went to yours. You’d meet up afterwards for breakfast at your favorite diner to talk over coffee afterwards. 

The first few sessions were rough. You struggled to open up but, once you did, you realized just how much trauma you’d accrued these past 4 years. 

“Hey babygirl, how’d it go?”

“Well today we just talked about you, so that was nice.”

“Should I be scared?” He laughed. 

“Um well actually she thinks that I’m scared to let you touch me because it reminds me of that night…”

Jack nearly choked on his coffee.

Coughing he said, “And do you agree with her?”

“I think so, I- I mean I’m not scared of you. Just the last person to put their hands on me changed me in ways I didn’t even know was possible. I know you aren’t him and I know that you won’t hurt me. It doesn’t make any sense and I’m sorry. If I could change it I would.

“No, I mean, I get it. You’re allowed to feel that way.”

You and Jack hadn’t had sex since before it happened. What was once an occurrence multiple, multiple times a week, was now unheard of. 

Yeah it was only a month. But it was a long month for you both. Especially him and you could tell. There was a few instances were to tried to initiate something more. A couple high school like make out sessions but, you always pulled back before things got too far. 

“I’m sorry Jack, I just think I need more time until we can be intimate again.” 

“Did she tell you how much longer that might take?” He was laughing. 

You chuckled lightly, “Wish I could tell you.”

“It’s okay, you’re worth the wait.”

———————————————————————

Two And A Half Months After

There was 2 weeks left until you were going to just be a resident anymore. You’d be an attending running all your own cases. 

4 years ago you never saw this coming. Working as An Emergency Room Physician in your dream hospital with your favorite people in the whole world.

Your hand finally healed. You were finally able to do everything pain free. Guess Jack bribing the best physical therapist in the hospital was worth it after all.

You and Jack were surprisingly better than ever. Still living together. You were going to be working night shift too once you started so you’d be seeing a lot more of each other. Which you didn’t know would be a good or bad thing. But you were hopeful.

There was still no intimacy between you two.  It almost happened after you showed him the outfit you were going to wear to your residency graduation but, once again it was you the stopped it. And he was still as patient as ever. 

———————————————————————

Three Months After 

The day of your residency graduation was finally here. You did it. You fulfilled your lifelong dream. Going to be working with some of your best friends. The best people you could have ever imagined working with. 

You walked out of the bedroom wearing the outfit that Jack was ready to rip off of you the day you bought it. A long red dress. 

He licked his lips as he looked you up and down. 

“You look good. Like really fucking good. That’s my attending physician right there.”

He was wearing a slim fitted black suit. His shoulders. His waist. The way his silver curls shined in the light. You thought to yourself, maybe tonight is the night you can finally jump over that last hurdle in your relationship. 

“You don’t look too bad yourself Dr. Abbott.” 

God you could jump this man right here and now.

“You know I love it when you call me that.” He did sideways smirk that always drove you crazy. “Come on, let’s go, wanna go show you off.” 

The ceremony was quick. There was only 5 in your graduating class. And everyone else was leaving the program to go somewhere else. It would just be you left here. 

You took pictures and videos with everyone. They would all be leaving right away to move for their new jobs and you didn’t want to forget this moment. It was the best day you had in as long as you could remember. All your problems just melted away that day. 

You may have had too much to drink throughout the day but, to be fair, so did everyone else. 

“Glad she’s doing so much better.” Said Robby. 

“Yeah, me too.”

“You guys all good?” He glared over at Abbott.

“Uh, yes and no.”

“Do I want to know what that means?”

“I don’t know, are you my friend right now or her boss?”

“Well we were friends way before she came along.”

“She’s gonna kill me for telling you this,” he took a deep breath, “we haven’t had sex in three months.”

“Jesus Christ, Jack.” Robby shook his head. 

“It’s not me I swear, I’ve tried, a lot actually. It’s just hasn’t happened.” 

“I don’t know, maybe all this excitement and joy today will help you out.”

“God I really hope so. Not sure how much longer I can hold out.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have told me that.”

“All I know is, I’m going to marry that girl. Soon if I can help it”

The day came to an end and all you could think about was getting Jack home and ripping him out of that suit. Tonight felt like it could be the night. 

Jack walked you back to the car. He opened the passengers side door for you like he always does. But before you sat down, you put your hands on his chest. 

You looked up into his green eyes shining in the light from the gleaming sunset and ran your fingers through his silver hair. And kissed him. The spark was back. 

Yeah kissing him always felt special. But something changed after that night 3 months ago. But it was back now. 

He kissed you back. His arms now wrapped around your back pulling your bodies together. Hands wondering. You were on your toes as your mouths meet. He let out a slight moan as his tongue slid into your mouth. 

After about a minute, you pulled away. 

“Take me home Jack.” 

“Absolutely.”

The entire drive home, he kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your thigh. Nothing was said but, you could feel the excitement. 

You got out of the car as quickly as you could. You normally waited for him to come and open your door for you since he would get mad if you opened it yourself but, you couldn’t wait this time around. 

You were stumbling as you two walked up to your apartment. Definitely wouldn’t failed a sobriety test. And he noticed. 

“You okay?” He asked as he put the key into the apartment door. 

“Yeah, maybe just one too many drinks. I’m fine though, I promise.”

As soon as the apartment door was closed, you threw your body onto his. 

The kiss was passionate, raw. You slid his suit jacket off and threw it onto the couch. You slipped off your heels and started to unbutton his dress shirt. 

Just as you reached for his belt buckle he gently pushed your hands away. 

“What’s wrong? I thought you wanted this?”

“Not like this, you’re drunk. You don’t wanna do this for yourself, you wanna do it for me.”

“No, I’m not. I want this, please.”

“You are. And that’s fine, you had a lot to celebrate today. And I want to do this. My god you have no idea how badly I want to do this but- but, no not like this.”

“Are you sure Jack?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m sure. It’s fine. Don’t worry. Think I’m just gonna go jump in the shower real quick. It’s late we should probably get some sleep.”

You didn’t sleep the entire night. Just tossed and turned. 

Once the alarm clock woke you up, you just sat on the edge of the bed. 

Jack rolled over and saw you sitting there. 

“What’s wrong babygirl?”

“What happened last night Jack?”

“Which part?”

“The part where you don’t want to have sex with me anymore.”

“You know I want to have sex with you all the time.” He laughed.

“So why didn’t you last night?”

“Cause that was all the alcohol talking. You wanna sleep with me because I want to sleep with you. Not because you want it. Not because you’re ready for it.”

“I am ready for it.”

“If I got up right now and tried to have sex with you, you’d stop it.”

“Yeah, because I’m not in the mood now.” You shrugged.

“You always used to be in the mood couldn’t get you off of me before,” he laughed, “you’re not ready and that’s fine. I’ll be here waiting for you. The sex is amazing, don’t get me wrong, earth shattering actually but, it’s not everything to me. It’ll happen when you’re ready. “

“What did I do to deserve you?” You laid back in the bed with him. 

“And I ask myself the same thing about you everyday.”

———————————————————————

Two Weeks As An Attending

You took no time off in between finishing residency and starting work. Graduation Thrusday and work starting Monday. Jack would be at work anyway, so you had no one to spend all that time with. 

The first week was filled with paperwork and classes you didn’t even know existed. The next week you were already starting work. Meeting all the new interns, starting all your new responsibilites. Work was occupying your mind for the most part but, next week was your 2 year anniversary with Jack. 

Of course he was going to plan something big and romantic, especially since you were on such good terms now. Besides the no sex part.

He forced you to go shopping a couple of days before your anniversary. You were filling a box all the things special to him. And at the bottom a photo album with all of your favorite pictures together. You figured he had to be planning something too since he was out of the house the entire day. 

He was out planning with Robby. 

“So you and Langdon have to go pick up the flowers.”

“I thought Collins was getting the flowers.”

“Oh for fuck sakes…”

“I’m just messing with you. We went over this a million times, we got this.”

“I’m planning a proposal in 4 days and you think it’s time to joke?”

“Just trying to help Abbott.” Robby laughed and put his hand on Jacks shoulder.

“You can help by making sure you get the fucking flowers on time.” Jack pulled back.

“Just trying to calm you down brother. I already told you if you want I’ll get Collins to subtly bring it up to her to see what her thought are.”

“No absolutely not. She scares easy.”

He knew you too well.

“And you don’t think this big proposal will scare her?”

“No, no it won’t. When we first started dating, she used to so me all these proposal videos, telling me what she liked and didn’t. She even has wedding ideas saved in her phone. She’ll love it, I’m sure.”

While Jack was finalizing the details of your marriage proposal, you were out buying his last gift. A new watch. He kept saying that he needed a new one and would show you which one he had his eyes on. But he always said he wanted it personalized, so that’s exactly what you did. 

It was expensive. But the new salary was definitely helping. The two of your initials were engraved on the back, along with the original day you met when you were still in med school and the day he asked you to be his girlfriend. 

You explained that to the jeweler who was giving you the watch when you were picking it up. 

“Maybe you can add a engagement day or wedding day on there soon enough!” 

“Yeah we’ll see about that I guess.” You awkwardly laughed remembering the voicemail he left you the night it happened. 

As soon as you walked out of the shop, you called Langdon. 

“What’s up ki- “

“We have a big problem!”

“Oh god, what happened this time?”

“What if Jack proposes on our anniversary?”

There was silence.

“Langdon if there’s any moment where you’re actually quiet for once, it should not be right now.”

“Sorry thought there was more to what you just said. Not sure I’m really seeing why you’re freaking out. Wouldn’t that be a good thing kid?”

“Yeah obviously it would be the best thing ever…” 

“I’m sensing that there’s more on your mind.”

“Well I mean we’re obviously in a good place now it’s just that- “

“Spit it out kid.”

“We haven’t had sex in 3 months.”

“Yeah I could’ve gone the rest of my life without knowing about your sex life.”

“You’re my best friend Langdon, I need to tell somebody about this.”

“Has anyone like tried to initiate something or?”

“Well yeah obviously, we both have. It just hasn’t worked out in our favor obviously.

“You just gotta give it some more time. You’re both probably trying to wait for the perfect moment.”

“What if the perfect moment doesn’t come?”

“It won’t. You both just have to stop overthinking everything. Trust me, I doubt that this is the end of your sex life kid.”

You finished telling Langdon about everything you bought for Jack and decided you should go home before he starts to think that you’re making a break for it before your anniversary.

All of the gifts came together the way you imagined. But his actual gift, was you. You were ready for him. You were ready to have sex with him again. You were since the night of your graduation. And you were ready to convince him too. 

As you walked up to your apartment door, you could hear Jack talking to someone. It was Robby. 

“Oh shit, I mean hey babygirl, didn’t know you’d be back so soon.” He walked you to you to give you a quick kiss. 

“I’ve been gone since 10.” 

It was now 4PM. 

“Time flies when you’re having fun I guess. I should probably start heading home anyway, Collins is waiting for me.”

And with that he was just you and Jack. Alone.

“So what were you guys up to?”

“Nothing just hanging out. Boring guy stuff you know.”

“You guys hang out like everyday at work. Is that not enough?”

“Guess not. Uh you wanna order some food or something?” He was speaking faster than usual. 

“Are you okay Jack?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know, you just seem frazzled or something.”

“Nope all good over here. I think we should order some food. Maybe watch a movie or something” And he picked up his cellphone.

You just stared at him. He didn’t look up. But you watched his fingers against the screen. He wasn’t scrolling looking for somewhere to order food from. He was typing.

To Robby: She knows brother. She knows.

There was only one thought racing through your mind in that moment. Oh my god. He’s going to propose.

———————————————————————

This one goes out to the handful of people that wanted a second part!

Obviously there has to be another part and I think we all know where that one’s heading. Or do we?Actually have plans for another 2 parts at least. The next one might be rated M for mature if you know what I mean. You'll have to wait and see.

See you next time! :)

[hy6erion]

Hii! I know I just send in an another request but this idea also popped into my mind and I feel like you could write it quite well so I didn't want to send it to someone else.

Viktor×reader, where readers way of expressing their love and care is by taking care of people and trying to help as much as possible to make life easier for everyone they care about (opening doors, making food, helping a friend study, all the small and big things). I think viktor would struggle to accept that reader cares for him and isn't just babying him. Him slowly realising that he can ask for help not only when it's absolutely necessary but also just when he wants help because it would be easier. But then also getting stuck with the feeling of the reader being so caring for everyone. Love confession or something? Idk

Sorry for sending two requests in a row, take your time please.

~🍒

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞 - 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✰⍣..𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩- 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞.

⇢ 𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐠𝐧! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭/𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭

𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 (╥╯^╰╥)

Viktor was used to doing things alone. It wasn’t a matter of pride—at least, not entirely. It was habit. Necessity. He had learned early on that asking for help often led to disappointment, so he learned to manage on his own. He had learned to be independent, to push forward no matter the difficulty, to adjust his grip on his cane and keep moving even when his leg ached and the weight of exhaustion pressed against his skull.

That was why he struggled with you. Because you—without hesitation, without expectation—made his life easier.

It started small, things he could brush off. You holding open doors when you walked ahead of him, waiting just long enough so he wouldn’t have to catch the handle himself. You adjusting his chair in the lab before he sat down, subtle, like you hadn’t even thought about it. You bringing him tea when you got your own, setting it down beside him without a word.

But it wasn’t just him.

You did it for everyone. Helping Jayce reorganize his disaster of a desk when you noticed him getting frustrated. Bringing Claggor coffee when he was pulling an all-nighter. Tutoring some first-years when you saw them struggling with equations you could solve in seconds.

You were thoughtful in a way that seemed effortless, as if your care for others was woven into your very being.

And it unsettled him. Because the more he noticed it, the harder it became to ignore.

He had spent years learning to work through pain, through difficulty, through exhaustion. He only ever asked for help when there was no other option. And yet, with you, help was simply given—before he could even think to ask.

And worse than that, you didn’t just do it because of his leg, or because you pitied him. You did it because you cared.

That realization was the most difficult thing of all.

The lab was quiet save for the occasional scratch of pen on paper and the rhythmic tap of Viktor’s cane against the floor as he moved back and forth between his desk and the chalkboard. He was immersed in his work, half-formed calculations filling the margins of his notebook.

Until—

“Viktor.” Your voice, warm and familiar, pulled him from his thoughts. He looked up just as you placed a plate of food beside him.

He frowned. “I didn’t ask for—”

“I know.” You shrugged. “But you haven’t eaten all day, and I was making something for myself anyway. Figured you’d appreciate not starving.”

Viktor’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know,” you repeated easily. “But I wanted to.”

That should have been the end of it. You turned to leave, already heading back to your own work, but Viktor’s grip tightened around his pen.

“…You do this for everyone.”

You paused, glancing over your shoulder. “What?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely at the plate, at the general atmosphere of you. “You help everyone. You—” He exhaled sharply, frustration edging his voice. “You don’t have to keep looking after me.”

You blinked, head tilting slightly. “I don’t have to. I want to.”

Viktor shook his head. “You should not waste your time worrying about me. I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can,” you said, more firmly this time. You took a step closer, crossing your arms. “But just because you can do something alone doesn’t mean you have to.”

Viktor opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to respond to that. He had spent so long believing he was only allowed help when it was absolutely necessary. When he physically could not continue without it.

But you—you were offering it simply because you cared.

And he didn’t know what to do with that.

It took time.

At first, he tried to resist. If he needed something from a high shelf, he would stretch for it. If his leg ached after hours of standing, he would grit his teeth and bear it. If his hands trembled from exhaustion, he would steady them himself.

But you were there.

Not pushing, not forcing—just there. And it became harder to ignore the fact that things were simply easier when he let you help.

The first time he asked for something—really asked, not because he had no other choice but because he wanted to—it was almost painful.

“Could you… hand me that book?”

You didn’t comment on the hesitation in his voice, didn’t make a big deal of it. You just passed him the book and went back to your work, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

And maybe, for you, it was.

So he tried.

He let you carry an extra cup of tea back to the table when he saw you holding two. He let you adjust the strap of his bag when it had slipped. He let you—just once—walk beside him at his pace without feeling the need to keep up.

And then one day, without thinking, he said, “Could you help me with this equation?”

And you did. No hesitation. No expectation. Just a simple, of course.

And he realized—he liked it.

He liked knowing that there was someone who cared enough to notice when he needed something. He liked the ease of it, the weight lifting from his shoulders.

But then— Then he caught himself watching you help others. Not just him. Everyone.

He told himself it didn’t matter. That it was simply who you were.

But the next time you reached out to help Jayce with something, something hot and tight twisted in his chest.

“Do you—” He hesitated, words feeling foreign in his mouth. “Do you care for everyone the way you care for me?”

You looked at him then, truly looked, as if you were searching for something beneath his carefully neutral expression.

“No.” Your voice was quiet, but certain.

His breath caught.

You took a step closer. “I care about a lot of people. But you—” A small, almost nervous smile played at your lips. “You are different.”

Viktor swallowed. He had spent so long avoiding the truth that it almost knocked the air from his lungs.

You cared for him. Not because you pitied him. Not because you saw him as weak.

But because you wanted to.

Because you loved him.

And suddenly, he was laughing—soft, breathless, incredulous.

Because maybe—just maybe—he loved you too.

[spicyspiders]

Professor Howlett

logan howlett x male reader smut

3.7k words

cw: power imbalance (logan is the reader's professor), age difference, rimming, virginity kink, thigh fucking, size kink, and spit as lube.

“This is utterly disappointing,” Professor Howlett tosses your paper down onto his desk with a thwap. The sound makes you jump, but you quickly steel yourself before he can look up and see how your calm expression is beginning to break.

You have to clear your throat before responding, though it does little to stop the lump you feel forming in your throat, ”I tried my best, professor,” you respond, keeping your eyes locked on the paper littered with red pen marks.

“Did you?” Professor Howlett questions angrily, making you jump once more at the tone, “because this sure as hell doesn’t read like it!”

“Professor, I-” you try to explain, but he cuts you off. 

“The first paper you wrote got the highest grade in the class, and then you go on to write this?” He asks, waving the red pen he used to mark up your paper angrily in the air as he speaks. If you weren’t biting your lip hard enough that at any second you thought it would bleed, you would laugh at the display. 

He looked at you expectantly, and with how angry he looked, you didn’t think any explanation that you could give would be enough. You had to try and do so anyway, knowing the sooner you spoke, the sooner you could leave his office and contemplate dropping his class or dropping out of college in general. 

You suck in a shaky breath before you respond, “I’m sorry, professor,” and when his angry expression doesn’t falter, you continue, “I knew I didn’t give myself enough time and knew I just had to take the hit to my grade and do better on the next paper.”

The man in front of you lets out a bitter laugh, “so you waste my time?”

“That wasn’t my intention, sir,” you respond, slouching down into the chair, trying to make yourself look as small as possible. You look up at the man across from you after a few moments of awkward silence, meeting his eyes as you try to calm your racing heart. 

He lets out a long sigh before he speaks again, “I must have set my expectations for the rest of your assignments too high,” he passes the paper across the desk until it sets in front of you, “I apologize.”

You can feel anger welling up in your body at his words. It was one bad assignment, it’s not like you were now some lost cause. “I can still write a paper just as good as the first one,” you snap before snatching the paper off the desk. “I told you,” you huff, angrily unzipping your book backpack to put the paper inside, “I didn’t give myself enough time, which won’t happen again,” you stand up in a flash, the chair shooting out from behind you fast enough you’re surprised it didn’t tip over, “I apologize, professor.”

“Hey hey hey,” Logan says, racing around the desk to grab your shoulder. He turns you around slowly from where you were about to stop out of his office and slam the door behind you, “I don’t want this to impact your grade.”

”It already is,” you spit, not angry at him, but angry at yourself. You remember getting the notification this morning that your professor had posted the grade, the number immediately turning your mood sour. 

“It’s okay,” Professor Howlett says, running a soothing hand down your shoulder, “I’ll give you a week to rewrite the paper and give you full credit back.”

“I’m not rewriting the paper,” you say with a bitter laugh that sounds a lot like Professor Howlett’s did earlier. 

“I know you can do better than this,” Professor Howlett responds, crossing his arms along his broad chest. 

“As you’ve already said,” you say, rolling your eyes, “I’m not writing an extra paper,” too tired to even think after you stayed up all night bullshitting the paper you had turned into Professor Howlett, you put the decision in his hands: “so what do you want to do, professor?” You ask tiredly.

You stare into Professor Howlett’s eyes, waiting for the man to make his decision. He looks back at you, observing you closely with his dark eyes. You are on the edge of feeling uncomfortable by the time he’s made up his mind, a look that you’re unable to pinpoint settling over his face. 

“Take off your bag and put it in the chair,” he commands, the lone tone of his voice making you shiver. 

“Okay,” you respond shakily, now back in front of him with your bag resting in the chair, “now wh-”

Your back collides with the door, and then a second later, his lips collide with yours. You gasp in surprise against his mouth and feel his tongue enter the opening, the appendage sliding wetly against yours. 

Too caught off guard to respond to the kiss, Logan moans against your unresponsive lips, one of his hands going to your chin to angle your head so his tongue can move deeper. His other hand you can hear beside you fiddling with the lock, and when the knob finally clicks, you can barely hear it over the sound of Professor Howlett’s breathing after he pulls away from the kiss. 

“Professor-” you begin, placing your hands on his broad shoulders, your mind too confused on whether you should push him away or pull him closer. You’ve already crossed the line you never thought you would cross. Sure, you had your fantasies dating back to the first day you walked into class, but you thought those would just stay in your head, only coming out in breaths of the professor’s name when your mind would wonder when you touched yourself.

“Logan.”

“Logan,” you correct yourself, trying to bite back a moan when Professor- Logan pushes his thigh between your legs, “I don’t think-”

He cuts you off with yet another kiss, but this time, you crane your neck to pull away from the kiss, trying your hardest to ignore the weight of your cock chubbing up in your pants. 

The second kiss ending abruptly does nothing to discourage Logan, instead, it gives his lips a new area to map out. “You drive me insane,” Logan moans against the column of your neck, his stubble digging into the sensitive skin. “So smart,” he says kissing down until he reaches the collar of your shirt, “so beautiful,” he whispers, moving to press his forehead to yours, “yet you barely talk in class,” he says, pressing his lips to yours once more, but this one much softer than the last. 

There wasn’t a participation grade outlined in the syllabus for Logan’s class like it was for some of your other professors, meaning you weren’t going to talk if you didn’t have to. Sometimes you did, feeling bad when he would ask a question and no one would respond immediately, hating the awkward silence. And now that you think about it, those were usually the nights your mind would think of him while your fingers were wrapped around your cock. Good job or good answer Logan would say, the praise lighting a coil of pleasure deep in your belly. 

“It’s only for me to see, is it?” Logan asks, his hands moving to hold your hips possessively, “only I get to see how smart you are,” he says in a low, gravelly voice, seemingly answering his own question. His lips go to the racing pulse point on the side of your neck, his teeth sinking into the skin. 

The bite burns, making your mouth fall open with a whimper, the sound a mix of pain and pleasure. Logan’s hot tongue runs over the mark, trying to soothe the pain with warmth. You give way to the feeling, letting your head fall back onto the wooden door, giving Logan more room to work. 

You bury a hand in his dark hair, running your fingers through the dark locks. Logan pulls away at the feel of your fingers in his hair, his eyes now darker than they once were, his pupils dilated in lust. You stare at each other once more before, taking in Logan’s already disheveled appearance with his dark eyes, messy hair, and crooked tie.       

You respond to the next kiss Logan initiates. It’s softer than you expect, at least, it is at the start. It begins to heat up when you tighten the hand in Logan’s hair to change the angle. You both moan when your tongues meet once more, spit mixing together. 

Logan wraps an arm around your lower back so you can stumble your way to the couch that sits against one of the walls of his office. Your lips break for air when you feel the back of your legs meet the cushions, your chest heaving as you suck in lungfuls of air.

Logan pushes you down onto the couch before one of his hands yanks at his tie, pulling it through the neckline of his sweater, and then he throws the garment away as if it has offended him.  Next comes the black sweater, leaving him with dark slacks and a button-up shirt. 

You feel your cock throb in your pants as you watch Logan lower himself onto his knees. He pushes his way between your legs, his hands going to your hips to get your pants down in a pool between your ankles. 

Your breath comes out in a stutter when Logan leans down, his nose coming into contact with the bulge in your underwear. He runs his nose along the length of your cock, then his tongue runs along the same path, paying extra attention to the wet spot on the cloth that rests over the head of your cock.

You slap a hand over your mouth to muffle your moan when Logan gets your underwear out of the way and swallows your cock. Logan takes it deep enough for you to feel, the hot, wet, constriction of his throat, his hand finding balance on your thighs. 

Logan’s breath puffs wetly against the head of your cock when he pulls away, his spit hardly having the chance to cool and dry as Logan runs his tongue up the length of your cock. He doesn’t take it as deep when he sucks it back inside his mouth, instead, he focuses on the suction. The hot suction of his mouth pulls a glob of precum from the head of your cock onto Logan’s tongue, the older man groaning at the taste.

The vibration through your cock makes your hips jump, sending your cock back deep into Logan’s throat. The movement catches Logan off guard, causing the man to gag around your cock, his throat convulsing wetly around the hard length of your cock. 

You pull the hand over your mouth and put it into Logan’s hair, trying to run your fingers through the strands soothingly. “Sorry,” you gasp, swiping your thumb under Logan’s eyes to wipe away the tears that fell. 

Logan surges up to pull you into a wet, messy kiss. His tongue is immediately in your mouth, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. 

“M’sorry,” you repeat. 

Logan chuckles softly, “it’s okay, baby,” he murmurs, pressing soft kisses on your cheeks.

Your stomach tightens at the pet name, affection coursing through your body. You place your hands on Logan’s belt buckle, already knowing how much you’re going to struggle trying to get his pants undone and out of the way. 

It takes you longer than you want to get his belt undone and his pants unbuttoned, and Logan doesn’t make it any easier when he presses, chaste, soft kisses to your mouth. Once open, Logan stands to get his pants down and off, the large bulge of his cock trapped behind his underwear. 

Just the sight of the bulge has you feeling intimidated, while at the same time making your mouth water. Anticipation joins the mix of lust and intimidation in your gut, which all combine into a feeling of pleasure that has your cock throbbing in the air. 

You place your hands on his waistband, Logan’s hands coming to rest atop yours a second later. With Logan’s help, you push his underwear down slowly, watching second by second as his cock is revealed to you.   

Your fantasies did not measure the actual size of his cock in all of its long and thick glory. It hangs heavy in front of your face, a bead of precum already glistening at the tip. Past the length of Logan’s cock, his balls hang heavy and full. This up close, you can also smell his musk: heady and all Logan.

A broad palm cupping your cheek draws your attention away, turning it instead to Logan’s face. A wave of heat washes over your body when you realize that in the moments where you were taking in the appearance of Logan’s cock, the man had pulled the rest of his clothes off. The button-up now lays in the pile with the rest of his clothes, giving you a full view of his broad, muscular chest. 

“I’ve never seen you so distracted,” Logan says with a smirk, his thumb running along your cheekbone. 

“What?” You question back, your voice breathy. 

Logan’s smirk broadens into a full smile, “I asked if you wanted to take that off.”

At a loss for words, you can barely think of a response, “oh,” you decide. 

Logan chuckles softly, his other hand running along the slit of his cock. When he pulls it away, a strand of precum follows the pad of his finger. Logan pushes his finger past your lips, still open in the shape of the soft oh you just let out. 

You suck at his finger when it touches your tongue, the salty taste lighting up your tastebuds. You hear Logan groan when you suck harder, wanting to get to the flavor underneath and see what Logan himself tastes like. 

Logan’s finger comes free with a slick pop, “let’s get the rest of this off,” he says. 

You only had your shirt and shoes to get off, and what should have been an easy, less than a minute process, felt like a lifetime. Logan tenderly pulled your shoes and socks off, one and then the other. Your shirt was next, coming off slowly with two broad palms sneaking up your shirt. Logan’s lips followed the path his hands made, all the way up to your lips that he kissed after your shirt was tossed away. 

Logan got back into the familiar position he was just in, but instead of sucking your cock, his mouth went lower. He bit into the meat of your thighs, and though you couldn’t see the one on your neck, you were sure that it matched the new ones he was making. 

“Roll over,” Logan commands, pressing a kiss to the mark he just made on your left thigh. Logan maneuvers your body into the position he wants, leaving your body pressed to the front of the couch, and your feet hanging over the cushions in front of Logan.

You press your forehead into the wall in front of you, feeling the puffs of Logan’s breath along your back, “do you have lube?” He asks in a low voice, his lips running across your skin. 

“No,” you reply, your body tense as you try not to shake in anticipation. 

“Fuck,” Logan breathes, his head coming to rest against your shoulder, “that’s okay,” he says, and you feel your body relax, “I can get you wet enough,” With how big his cock was, you doubt it, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. 

Logan’s first step to getting you to be what he says is wet enough is with his tongue. He starts with soft swipes of his tongue, letting you get accustomed to it. It wasn’t like it was hard, especially with the combination of the rough stubble on his face, which only added to the pleasure. 

The next step is spit, which, really you could say goes with the first. You already feel as if there’s enough of it already there from Logan’s tongue, a large extent due to when Logan kept pushing his tongue as far as it could go. It left you clenching down on the wet muscle, clawing your fingers into the couch as it massaged your walls. 

Logan didn’t let up and moved to spit a glob of spit onto your hole when it relaxed after pulling his tongue free. Caught off guard, you jerked forward, your cock coming into contact with the cushion of the couch. The friction had you gritting your teeth trying to stay quiet, hoping that because it was nearly five in the afternoon on Friday, most of the people in the building were already gone. 

Logan was quick to press the spit into your hole with a thick finger, all the way down until you were clenching down on all of it. “There we go,” Logan whispers from behind you, the wet heat of his breath on your shoulder. 

You turn your neck to face him, gasping into the kiss he presses to your lips. Logan swallows the moan that’s punched from your chest when his finger finds your prostate, the older man groaning as you clench down on his finger. 

Logan pulls away from the kiss at the same time his finger is pulled free. You feel the couch shift as Logan moves, the man making his way back down face-to-face with your hole. You’re proud of yourself for not jumping as hard when Logan spits on your hole a second time, the glob going deeper than the first after opening your hole just with one finger.    

“Does it burn, baby?” Logan asks, now that he’s using two fingers to chase after the spit instead of one.

”A little,” you whine around the burn as he scissors them apart. Almost like Logan can read your mind, he brushes his fingers along your prostate when the burn feels like it’s becoming too much. You feel precum leak from your cock, staining the upholstery. 

”That’s normal for your first time,” Logan says, pressing kisses along the shell of your ear. 

”I’ve done this before,” you respond, pushing back into Logan’s fingers. 

”Someone’s fucked you?” Logan asks, his arm coming to wrap around your stomach, right above your hard cock.

”Just my fingers,” you respond quietly. 

“How many?” Logan asks, his fingers coming to a stop. 

“Four,” you grit out, clenching down on his fingers like you’re wordlessly trying to get him to continue. 

Logan lets out a dark chuckle. He lays his hand on top of yours, his big hand bigger than your own. He stretches his fingers out, showing you how they compare in size. “That’s nearly your whole fist,” he says, his fingers starting to move again. 

“Need more,” you whine, clenching down on his fingers. 

“Shh,” Logan coos, “I know,” he lets out a warm breath at the back of your neck, “I can’t fuck you,” he says, pulling his fingers free slowly, “not like this.”

”Please,” you whine, louder than the one before. 

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he responds, pressing soft kisses to the back of your neck. You feel his weight on the couch shift once more as he spreads your thighs apart. It’s a tight squeeze trying to fit the both of you on the couch, but Logan makes it work. 

He pushes his cock between your thighs, right below your balls, already tight against your cock. He grips your hips tightly before he begins thrusting, only taking a few jerks of his hips before you push your thighs together around his cock. 

The sound of Logan’s groan behind you travels from his chest to your back, letting you feel how good you’re making him feel. ”Does that mean I was the first?” He asks, one of his hands moving to wrap around your cock. 

“What?” You asked, confused, your mind cloudy from the pleasure. 

“Am I the first to touch you like this?” Logan questions, his voice a low growl. His fingers are slick around your cock, gliding along the length. 

You nod quickly, too close to the edge and overtaken with pleasure to even say a single word. You cum to the feel of Logan’s hand around your cock, his teeth biting possessively into the skin of your shoulder, and his cock nudging your balls. Ropes of cum shoot from your cock, staining the couch in his office. You probably won’t be able to look at couches ever the same again. 

Logan’s hand shoots up to your mouth, covering your lips as you moan, overtaken by the pleasure of your orgasm. You rest against his palm, falling forward while at the same time tightening the slick valley of your thighs.

Logan muffles his moan in the crook of your sweaty neck when he cums. It nearly burns, making a bigger mess in your thighs and on the couch. 

In a blur, Logan gets you onto his chest, his back now resting on the couch, “you okay?” He questions, his hand running softly along the sweaty expanse of your back. 

“I don’t think I can move,” you respond, still riding the high of probably one of the best orgasms you’ve had. 

Logan laughs loud enough that your head shakes against his chest. Moments later, when you’re nearly lulled to sleep by the ticking of the clock in his office, Logan speaks, “I’m sorry for getting so frustrated with you,” he says softly. 

“What do you mean?” You question, craning your head to look up at the man.

“I see how smart you are,” he answers, his voice a low rumble, “it made me frustrated to see you not working up to your potential.”

“I said I was sorry,” you immediately respond, not sure if you should pout or roll your eyes.   

“I know, baby,” he says with a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling, “I know,” he leans down to press your lips together softly, “I just wanted to explain myself.”

This time you did roll your eyes, too fucked-out to try and control your expression, “I’ll write a better paper next time,” you grumble, moving to lay your head down once more over his chest.  

[babydollslibrary]

SNOW ON THE BEACH — LUKE HUGHES

luke hughes x fem!reader

published: February 8th, 2023

summary: in which shy, introverted y/n meets extroverted frat boy Luke and he takes a liking to her, even though everyone thinks they’re an odd match.

specific lyrics: “it’s like snow on the beach, weird but fuckin’ beautiful.”

notes: i really wanted frat boy Luke in order to really have them contrast each other, but i also didn’t wanna take away the hockey element or split up the UMich boys, so… Hockey House is a frat now.

GIF by 1-800-iluvhockey

the library is packed. i should’ve expected it, with it being so close to finals week and all, but it still disappointed me nonetheless.

this was my favorite place to escape and read when my obnoxious dorm-mate had her friends over. it was quiet and usually pretty empty. so i could usually sit and read for a few hours until i was sure none of Alex’s friends were still there. none of them knew how to use an inside voice, and with our dorm just being one big room, they constantly thought that meant i would want to join in on their conversations. which were mainly gossip about the hockey team. so, coming in and finding every space in the library full, ruined my plans. i don’t want to go back to my dorm and be subjected to them debating which UMich hockey player has the cutest smile, so i guess that leaves me with one option; find a seat.

i let loose a sigh and scan the room for who seems to be the quietest. i hate small talk. i find a table with only one person sat at it, a guy with one airpod in and a textbook laid out in front of him, and decide that’s the one. i walk over, fully planning on just motioning to ask if i can sit, but when i come to a stop in front of the table and he doesn’t even look up, i know i’ll have to speak up. i take a deep breath before i let out the quietest ‘excuse me’ known to man. the boy still doesn’t look up from the textbook, and i don’t blame him, he probably didn’t even hear me.

“excuse me.” i say slightly louder. this time the boy finally looks up, but i’m struck on what to say. suddenly, all the mentally rehearsed words have left my mind. this may be the cutest boy i have ever seen.

“can i help you?” his voice is soft. not judgmental or rude like what i would’ve expected from him after i came over and interrupted his studying just to end up staring at him. i shake myself out of my thoughts and give a light nod.

“do you mind if i sit here?” i motion towards a chair diagonal from his. “everywhere else is full.”

the boy nods.

“oh, yeah, go ahead.” i give him a small and grateful smile before depositing myself in the chair. pulling my book and a few highlighters out from my tote bag before hanging it up on the back of my chair. i open my book to where i left off, setting the bookmark on the table. but before i can start reading, the boy speaks up again.

“sorry to interrupt but, you’re reading that for a class?” he asks. for some reason, i take a look at the front cover of my romance novel before talking.

“oh. no. i’m reading this for fun.” i tell him. my voice is quite, my tone soft.

“oh okay. i guess i just assumed you were here to study since everyone else is.” he lets out a breathy chuckle as he shrugs.

“no.” i shake my head before explaining- “i’m here to get away from my dorm-mate and her friends. they’re too loud for me to focus and they keep trying to get me to weigh in on their debates.”

“what are they debating?” he asks.

“well, when i left it was which Wolverines hockey player has the cutest smile.” i tell him, rolling my eyes.

“and who did you say?” he seems curious, and almost amused.

“no one.” i shrug. “i don’t know what any of them look like.”

he lets out a quiet laugh.

“well you know what one of them looks like now.” he says. my brows form a v and i’m about to ask him to clarify but then it hits me. oh. he’s a hockey player.

“oh.” is my awkward response.

“i’m Luke Hughes.” he smiles at me. well, i have my answer for the next debate now.

“i’m y/n.” i tell him. “nice to meet you.”

“you too.” he finally looks back down at his textbook, and i’m relieved to be free of any more small talk.

the next hour or so passes by silently, and i manage to finish the last 75 pages of my book without any interruptions. i close my book, and put my stuff back in my tote bag, at the same time that an alarm goes off on Luke’s phone. he turns it off and starts packing his stuff up as well. we stand simultaneously, and he sends me a quick amused expression. my steps to the exit are slow, and Luke falls in line with me, slowing his steps to match mine.

“my frat is having a party on Friday, you should come. collect some more data for the next debate.” he smirks, and i rack my brain for a nice way to say that i don’t do parties.

“i’m not really a party person.” i say.

“then what kind of person are you?” he asks. his eyes fall down my body before he looks back up to my face.

“um, the reading type, i guess? i don’t really like doing the whole people thing.” i confess. he nods in understanding.

“well, if you change your mind, come. and if you need to escape your dorm again, i’ll be here tomorrow, same time.” he winks before splitting off, walking the opposite direction as me.

my entire walk to my dorm, i rethink every word we shared, wondering if i sounded stupid. i mean, i would assume not because he didn’t seem put off by me, but who knows, maybe he’s just a good actor. he was really cute though, gosh i hope i didn’t unknowingly embarrass myself.

opening the door to my dorm, i’m disappointed to see that Alex and her friends are still here. they don’t usually hang out this long on a wednesday evening. and i have to hold back an eye roll when i realize that it doesn’t sound they’ve changed their topic of conversation at all since i’ve left. logically, i’m sure it has and they just circled back onto this topic, but i honestly wouldn’t be surprised if it was all they were talking about the past couple hours.

“y/n! you didn’t answer before you left, so please, settle this for us!” one of them, Jess, says as she spots me. “which UMich hockey player has the best smile? i say Ethan Edwards, Alex says Rutger McGroarty, and Becca says Mark Estapa!”

my mind wanders back to the boy i was conversing with not too long ago and before i can think twice, i blurt out- “Luke Hughes.”

“you think so?” Becca asks “i feel like he rarely ever smiles. it’s so hard to get one out of him.”

“really?” i ask. they must be exaggerating, he smiled at me earlier. although, i think he was just being friendly.

“yeah! i have a class with him this semester and i swear he frowned at me when i tried to introduce myself. i mean, he’s still hot, but still.” Becca replies, shrugging.

“oh.” i say. what does that mean? if he wasn’t friendly to her when they met, then why would he smile and be friendly with me?

“oooh y/n is blushing! i think she likes him!” Alex coos.

“i don’t like him.” i turn away, letting my hair fall in front of me to hide my apparently pink cheeks. i set my tote bag on my desk chair and slip my shoes off before taking a seat on my bed.

“i think she does!” Jess joins in on the teasing, and now i’m regretting having left the solitude of the library. “a bit of an odd match, you two.”

i’m not sure whether i should be offended by her statement or not, but for some reason i am. i don’t plan on dating him, but hearing her say we wouldn’t match together makes me feel insulted.

“what is that supposed to mean?” i retort.

“she didn’t mean anything by it.” Alex defends her friend. “she’s just saying, Luke is an extrovert, he likes to party and let loose, he has a lot of friends. and you’re… the opposite. i don’t think i’ve seen you go out once in the entire school year that we’ve shared a room. you keep to yourself. like, we’ve been trying to include you so that you’re not lonely, but you always say you’re going to the library. you and Luke just don’t seem like you’d fit together.”

“i didn’t ask you to include me. i like being alone. people are draining.” i say. i don’t like their pity on me. it’s not like i don’t have friends. i do. we’re just all introverted and our hangouts between classes is enough social interaction for us. we don’t care for going out partying on weekends or anything. if we do want to hang out on the weekend, we’ll usually do a movie night at Casey and Ellie’s apartment. but the way Alex explains it makes my life sound pitiful, and it makes me defensive, so before i can stop myself, i speak again. “and for your information, i’m going to a party on friday.”

the trio gasps, as though this information is scandalous.

“oh my god, are you going the party at Hockey House?” Becca asks. ‘hockey house’, the nickname for the frat house in which most of the UMich hockey players live. the frat is comprised solely of hockey players, so i guess the nickname makes sense. “for Luke?”

“yes, i’m going to the party. but no, not for Luke.” i tell them. why did i say i was going to that party? i hate parties. i even already told Luke so.

**

friday evening has come, and i can’t even back out of going to the party because Alex, Becca, and Jess have decided we should carpool together. so now i’m stuck in this commitment.

when Becca and Jess arrive to pick Alex and i up, i become aware that i’m the only one not wearing a dress or skirt of some kind. instead i’m dressed casual, in jeans and a tank top, paired with an oversized cardigan to keep me protected from the evening breeze. but it’s too late to change now.

arriving to the party is a hassle on its own, with the girls fussing over whether they look good enough to bag a hockey player, and having a hard time finding a parking spot. and when we finally walk into the party, i immediately want to leave. music is blasting from multiple speakers, everyone is holding a stereotypical red solo cup, and the house is packed. i’m quickly forgotten about by the other girls, them walking off to get drinks and stop to have conversations with a few of the hockey guys. i still don’t actually know any of the players names, besides Luke.

i scan the room, but i’m not entirely sure what i’m looking for. or who. all my friends are probably laying in bed right now. before i can even figure out who i’m looking for, i hear my name being called.

“y/n!” i turn my head towards the voice and find a guy from my ‘intro to business’ class coming towards me. i think his name is Dylan, but it seems like everyone just calls him Duke. “never seen you at a party before!”

“yeah, it’s not usually my scene.” i tell him with an awkward smile.

“i figured. you give me more of the ‘reading in my room’ vibes.” he laughs.

“am i that obvious?” i joke. he laughs again and nods.

“you look pretty out of place. let me introduce you to some of my friends.” he takes ahold of my wrist and pulls me towards a group of guys in the kitchen. i’m immediately uncomfortable, they all seem intimidating, and i’m not great around boys. we get closer to the group and Duke begins to introduce me. “guys, this is-”

“y/n! you came!” i look over to see Luke, and i can’t help the smile that breaks out on my face when i see his wide grin. he slings an arm around my shoulders, and Duke’s jaw drops.

“THIS is the y/n you’ve been talking about? the one from the library?” Duke asks. i can feel my face heating up. he’s been talking about me? i hope he’s not saying anything bad about me.

“yup. this is my future girlfriend.” Luke exclaims, and i choke on my own spit.

what?! we barely know anything about each other! all i know is his name is Luke, he has the prettiest smile i’ve ever seen, and he plays hockey. pretty sure all he knows about me is my name and that i have an annoying roommate.

“hm. an odd match.” Duke ponders. there’s that phrase again! but now seeing Luke in his natural habitat, partying and joking with friends, and even just him being so confident, i can’t help but wonder if Duke and the girls are right. Luke and i do seem to contrast each other.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” Luke asks defensively.

“hey, i’m not saying that’s a bad thing!” Duke rebuts. “you guys are just kinda… opposites of each other.”

“opposites attract.” Luke shrugs. i’m kind of confused. does my opinion matter? Luke seems pretty confident that i like him back.

“uh, Luke.” i speak up. he looks down at me where i’m still tucked into his side. “we don’t really know anything about each other.”

“when you know, you know.” he shrugs.

**5 YEARS LATER**

i stare up at my now husband from my seat beside him with watery eyes and a soft smile.

“and i told her, ‘when you know, you know.’” he looks back down at me from his standing position. “and i knew. from the first time we met, i knew this would be the girl i spend the rest of my life with.”

everyone in the reception hall claps as Luke ends his speech. he gives me a soft kiss on the cheek before whispering in my ear.

“you got this, baby.” his hand clasps my shaky one and gives it a quick tight squeeze. i take one big deep breath and stand up, i hate public speaking, but i wrote my speech and i will read it.

“i didn’t know. well, at least not as quick as Luke.” a few people chuckle at that. “but what i do know, is that i went to my first party for him. which spoke volumes for me. and i thought he had the most amazing smile to ever exist.”

i look down at Luke and see the grin spread across his face.

“look, there it is!” i point to him as i look back at the reception hall full of our friends and family and everyone laughs. “i still think it’s the best smile, but i might be biased now. when we started dating, we had people calling us an odd match, i even had a friend compare us to ‘snow on the beach.’ she said we were ‘weird but beautiful.’”

“i used to think it was an insult, but now i look back and realize, our friends were right, we are an odd match.” i look back at Luke and now it’s my turn to smile. he takes ahold of my hand, squeezing it as a few tears roll down my cheeks. i finish my speech while maintaining eye contact with him. “but i like our differences, we balance each other out, and i can’t imagine what my life would be like if i hadn’t liked your confidence so much that night. i’m so grateful that i get to spend the rest of my life calling myself your wife.”

Luke stands, winding his arms around my waist and pulling me in for a sweet, slow kiss. i can hear everyone clapping, and someone lets out a loud “WOOO!”

i can distinctly tell that was Jack, and it makes me interrupt the kiss with a giggle. Luke just takes that chance to pull back and pepper my face in pecks. blood rushes to my face at the thought of our family and friends watching him do this, but he doesn’t care. his confidence is a constant, no room for embarrassment.

yeah, maybe my friend was right; Luke and i are like snow on the beach. at first glance, we’re an unlikely duo, different in a lot of ways, but we make a great couple and our love is beautiful.