#I keep bursting into tears and then people are like are you okay and then I can’t tell them why I’m losing it

[namedforvalor]

I am so tired of feeling sick and then panicking because I feel sick and then the panic makes me feel even more sick and then I panic because I feel sick and

[stillwatervoid]

Now nothing’s the same | Alternate!Mark Grayson x Male!Reader

Summary: You know it isn't your Mark the moment he steps into your room. The blood on his suit isn't his. The way he looks at you isn't right. The things he whispers aren't things your Mark would ever say. Yet, you let him stay. And more.

Pairing: Alternate!Mark Grayson x Male!Reader

Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, frottage, overstimulation, rimming (R receiving), belly bulging, unprotected sex, spit as lube.

Tags: any Mark variant, Reader is lowkey not okay, and he’s a virgin (so prob unrealistic sex?), Unrequited love (for original Mark), Top!Mark, Bottom!Reader.

w.c: 12.2k  |  a/n: English isn’t my first language. This is the first time I write smut so it probably sucks, but hey, I wrote 12k? How did that happen? Yikes… Feedback is appreciated—as longs as is respectful. Also, I wrote this with no particular Mark in mind, so feel free to imagine your favorite variant! The only exception is Mohawk Mark, since his unique hairstyle would immediately reveal he's not the mainstream version at the very beginning (unless you prefer to imagine the reader being dense and oblivious to that glaring detail...).I guess it doesn’t really matter. IMAGINE ANY MARK! And enjoy!!!

You're here | Part 2

Ever since the news broke about cities around the world being destroyed by multiple versions of Invincible, you’ve been hiding. It’s the only logical thing to do��for someone powerless like you, there’s nothing else to do. You can only wait for the nightmare to end, for the heroes to rise victorious. For Mark to rise victorious.

So you stay in your home, clutching your phone, waiting for something—anything—to change. A day passes, and Mark still hasn’t answered your messages. He’s busy, you tell yourself, burying your face in your pillow to stifle the ache in your chest. Of course he’s busy. How could he not be? His hands are full with the weight of the world on his shoulders—fighting, saving, surviving. The news keeps reporting on the Invincibles’ rampage, updating the world daily. A stupid text message—of course Mark doesn’t have time to reply.

(You try not to think about how Mark has been pulling away from you, slowly but surely. How, ever since you confessed your feelings and ruined everything, he hasn’t looked at you the same. How you should’ve kept your heart locked tight, your love buried deep, just so you could keep him close. But you didn’t, and now nothing’s the same.)

So you wait, trapped within your four walls, your chest heavy with worry for your friends—your hero friends—who are out there risking their lives. You cling to the news like a lifeline, watching as the Invincibles tear through city after city, leaving thousands dead, all while they smile like it’s a game.

So you wait, and pray. Anxiety coils tight in your chest, pressing against your ribs until it feels like you might burst. But eventually, hunger forces you to move. You drag yourself to the kitchen, hands trembling as you fumble with the bread. You barely register the motion, your mind drifting to every terrible, unlikely scenario where Mark—your Mark—doesn’t make it. The thought alone makes your throat tighten.

It’s not good. You shouldn’t be this negative. But there are so many Invincibles, and if they’re anything like the Mark you know, then even the strongest heroes must be struggling. People will die. People you care about. And you try—God, you try—not to think about who, who, who.

Maybe that’s why you don’t hear him.

Not that there’s any particular sound to warn you. No footsteps, no creak of the floorboards. Just the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional rustle of the curtains by the open window.

One second, your eyes are on the bread on the counter, and the next, an unexpected voice brushes against your ear.

“Found you,” he whispers.

Your heart leaps into your throat, and you freeze, the knife slipping from your hand and clattering to the counter. Your breath hitches as you turn your head slowly.

(Vaguely, you think about Mark fussing over you like a mother hen, that familiar crease forming between his brows. “You really shouldn’t leave your window open like that,” he’d chide, voice laced with exasperation. “Anyone could get in.”

But you’d just laugh, brushing off his concern. “It’s a sixth floor, Mark. And you’re the only weirdo who does.”

I’ll always leave my window open for you, you wouldn’t say.

I’ll always be waiting for you to come, you couldn’t say.)

And then, there he is.

“Mark?” you breathe, relief crashing over you in an overwhelming wave. You don’t notice the differences—how his suit is wrong, smeared with fresh blood and viscera that drip onto your clean floor. How his eyes are too wide, too unblinking, something wild lurking behind them. You don’t see any of it. All you see is Mark standing there, safe, alive. “Oh my god, Mark.”

You rush to him without hesitation, arms outstretched, wrapping him up in a desperate embrace. You’ve been so worried, so consumed by the gnawing anxiety of losing him, that just hearing his voice, just seeing him, shatters any rational thought.

For a moment, he stiffens against you. But then, his arms lock around you with a force that nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. It’s too tight, too much, an intensity Mark has never held you with before. That should have been your first warning. But as soon as he hides his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your sensitive skin, you forget about everything that seems wrong. You forget about the blood, the wild look in his eyes, the way his grip feels almost possessive. All you can focus on is the way he inhales deeply, as if he’s been starved of this—of you.

You shudder, heart pounding for reasons you can’t quite explain, and then he sighs, low and satisfied, the sound vibrating against your skin.

(“You smell really good,” Mark would murmur, crowding into your space, his nose nearly brushing your neck as he inhaled deeply. “Like, really good.”

You’d shove at his chest, face flaming despite yourself. “Christ, Grayson, you’re not a dog. Back off.”

He’d laugh—that stupid, sunshine-bright laugh that always made your pulse stutter—and lean against the lockers with infuriating ease. “Just being honest… Hey, you could tell me what perfume you use. Maybe then Amber would actually like me on our next date.”

Your chest would tighten, eyebrows knitting together before you could stop them.

“Can’t help you there, pretty boy,” you’d say, slamming your locker shut harder than necessary. When he raised an eyebrow at you, you’d flash a razor-thin smile. “Turns out it’s natural. One hundred percent me.”) 

“It’s you…” Mark whispers, his lips brushing against your neck. You hold your breath, trying to suppress the goosebumps rising on your skin, but it’s futile. His voice is low, almost reverent, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He squeezes you tighter, his arms like steel bands around you. “Oh, it’s you.” 

“Mark?” you ask hesitantly, confusion laced in your voice. “What is it? Are you hurt?” 

You try to push yourself away, hands pressing against his shoulders to create some space—because you can’t do this. You can’t handle him holding you like this, his voice hoarse and low against your neck, his breath hot enough to make you weak. You’re friends. Only friends. He’s made that much clear, and this—this isn’t fair.

But you barely manage to put a few inches between you before he whines, a sound so raw and desperate it catches you off guard. In an instant, he pulls you back in, burying his face deeper into the crook of your neck, his grip unyielding.

“Mark?” you whisper again, voice trembling.

“Not yet,” he replies, his tone pleading. “Let me hold you one more minute.” 

And you don’t have the strength to refuse him.

Yet, as the seconds tick by and he keeps clinging to you like a child afraid to let go, you can’t help but notice the things you’ve been ignoring.

Why is Mark here? Why would he suddenly show up at your apartment when he’s supposed to be out there, saving the world? Why would Mark—the same Mark who’s been keeping you in this strange, distant limbo for weeks, who barely speaks to you beyond polite conversation, who’s been looking at you with a mix of discomfort, guilt, and something else you can’t quite place—be holding you so desperately right now?

Then your attention drifts to his clothes. His suit, but not really his suit. The blood—the thick, dark blood that, now that you’re truly paying attention, doesn’t belong to him. And it’s a lot, pooling around your feet, staining your floor, soaking your clothes.

A sickening weight settles in your stomach, curling, twisting, nagging at the back of your mind. Your arms go slightly limp around him, hesitation creeping in where relief had been just moments ago. Your brain, which had felt so light, so grateful just a minute ago at the sight of him safe, suddenly flashes back to the news. The destruction. The Invincibles terrorizing the world.

And you wonder.

Finally, he exhales—a slow, steady breath, like someone bracing themselves. Then, he lets go, his hands lingering on your arms as if he’s reluctant to break contact entirely.

“Y/N…” he whispers, a wide grin stretching across his face. It’s an unusual smile, unnatural, amused when it shouldn’t. “Here’s where you’ve been hiding, huh?”

“Hiding?” you ask, unsure. “Well—I can’t really do anything else, can I?”

Mark smiles spreads. But his eyes—there’s something in them you hadn’t noticed before. Wide, almost frantic, something raw burning behind them. The dark circles under them make him look exhausted. His hair is a mess. And yet, his expression softens as he studies you, gaze tracing over every feature like he’s trying to memorize you. It’s so intense, so intimate, it nearly steals your breath away.

“What—What are you doing here?” you ask, glancing away, flustered. “Is it—is it over? The fight?”

He coos, a gloveless hand reaching for your chin to tilt it back toward him with a grip that’s firm, almost possessive. “Oh, it’s over. There’s nothing to worry about anymore,” he says, voice light, too light, too nonchalant for someone who just came from a battle. Mark doesn’t speak like this after a fight—he’s never so casual, so detached.

(Mark’s hands would dig into his hair, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’m just—I keep fucking up.”

“You’re not,” you’d tell him, hand pressing warm circles between his shoulder blades. “You save people, Mark. Every single day—”

“Bullshit!” He’d jerk upright so fast you’d recoil, chair screeching against the floor. “More people die than I save!” He’d pace, fingers twisting in his hair. “Stop—just stop telling me I’m not fucking up! Stop trying to—to make me feel better! You don’t understand how I feel!”

Your chest would tighten, fingers curling into empty air where he’d been. “I know I don’t.”

“Then stop!”

“However—” you’d stand up as well, eyes locking onto his as you caught his face in your hands, palms pressing gently against his cheeks. Mark would freeze, his breath hitching, wide eyes locked onto yours. “However, I know the world would be worse without you in it. Just thinking about the possibility of not having Invincible on our side—it scares me. Because you’re the only one strong enough to protect us. The only one who can stand up to the worst threats.”

Your thumb would brush over his cheekbone, touch impossibly gentle.

“And I’m sorry you have to carry that responsibility, Mark. But you’re not failing. Not to me.”

His expression would crumble, his eyes glistening with unshed tears before he’d pull you close, burying his face in your shoulder. His breath would shake, and you’d feel his fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt.

Your cheeks would burn, heart stuttering, but you'd swallow your feelings and offer only the comfort a friend should.

“I’m sorry,” he’d murmur, voice thick. “I’m sorry.”

You’d breathe in, closing your eyes. “Don’t be.”)

Your cheeks burn as he tugs you closer by the chin, forcing you to look straight at him. Your hand instinctively reaches for his wrist, but you don’t pull away. You should. But you don’t. Yet, you can’t stand the weight of his stare, so intense, so close, it feels like it’s peeling back layers of you, exposing everything you’ve tried to suppress.

“Nothing to worry about?” you force the words out, trying to ignore the heat flooding your face and the fluttering sensation in your stomach. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” he nods, his voice low and steady. Then, without warning, he leans closer again, his face burying into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply like he just couldn’t get enough. “Oh, shit. How I missed this.”

“Mark?” you ask quietly, voice trembling despite your efforts to steady it. His breath is hot and electric against your skin. The warmth blooming in your face spreads down, coiling through your body. “What are you doing? Jesus—this isn’t like you.”

“Oh, really?” he hums, lips ghosting over your pulse. The brush of them—so soft, so deliberate—makes you shudder. “Not even a little?”

“No…” you exhale, shivering when his arms snake around your waist, squeezing hard enough to make you squirm. “No. Mark. What—what are you doing?”

Your hands reach for the counter behind you, gripping the edge tightly, desperate for something to anchor you. But Mark—his scent, his body pressed so tightly against yours, his breath burning against the most sensitive part of your throat—makes it impossible to focus, impossible to think. It’s like everything around you is spinning, and you can’t make sense of any of it.

“What do you think I’m doing?” he asks, his tone amused and teasing, like this is all some game to him.

And that finally makes you scowl, the heat in your cheeks now burning with a mix of anger and humiliation. You inhale sharply, trying to regain your senses, but an ugly feeling of shame and hurt settles heavily in your chest.

You lift a hand and push him, or at least try to, your strength no match for his. Still, he complies, pulling away with a reluctant sigh, an annoyed expression flickering across his face as he finally tears himself from you.

“This isn’t funny, Mark,” you say, glancing away, unable to bear the intensity of his stare. “Stop it.” 

“Stop what?” he complains, his fingers digging into your waist as if he’s reluctant to let you go entirely.

“That,” you snap, gripping his wrists and prying his hands off. “You can’t just—just ignore me for weeks and then suddenly show up and treat me this way. It’s—it messes with my head! It’s not fair, Mark!” your breath comes heavy, your chest rising and falling as you struggle to form the words. Your eyes drop to the floor, and you add quietly, “Just stop.” 

He’s silent for a moment, and you can feel his gaze burning into you, searching, analyzing. His head tilts slightly, as if he’s trying to piece something together.

“We’re not… together?” he asks after a beat, his voice incredulous, like the idea is absurd.

The question makes you flinch, and a fresh wave of anger surges through you.

(“I’m sorry,” Mark would mutter, his hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes avoiding yours. “I just—don’t see you that way.”

You’d glance away, your lips pressed together in a tight line, trying to hold back the sting of rejection. “I’m sorry too.”

“It’s just—there’s someone else I wanna try it with.”

“I get it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know,” you sigh, wanting Earth to swallow you whole and disappear forever. But this is Mark, and you couldn’t bear living without Mark. “We’re still friends, right? This doesn’t have to change anything.”

He’d smile at you, his eyes creasing at the edges in the way you adored. “Yeah—Friends!”)

“Of course not!” you snap, voice rising. “You made it very clear you—you love someone else!”

You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as you take a step back, putting some much-needed distance between you and his overwhelming presence. Was he mocking you? Playing some cruel joke?

But then again, as you pace around the kitchen, trying to hold yourself together, your eyes flicker to his odd suit, to the blood clinging to him, to the confused, almost baffled look on his face. And you think again—why is Mark here? Why, really?

Is he even Mark—

“But Y/N—” he whines, trailing after you like a lost puppy, his voice pleading, “—I would never, and I mean never look at anyone else but you!”

You frown, shaking your head. “I can’t even believe you’re saying this to me right now,” you mutter, trying to keep your voice steady. “Did you hit your head too hard fighting those lunatics?”

You don’t notice the way he tilts his head at your words, don’t catch the way his eyes darken, flashing with something unreadable.

“If you don’t have anything better to do, then just leave,” you huff, bitterness lacing your tone. “I don’t wanna—humiliate myself any more than I already have. You had your fun. So go away.”

You turn on your heel, heart pounding as you stride toward your bedroom where your phone is charging. There’s a gut feeling gnawing at you, a sensation you can’t shake, and you need confirmation. You need reassurance.

Is the Mark standing behind you even your Mark at all?

Your gut twists violently, but you can’t shake it. The second you step into your bedroom, your hand fishes for your phone, fingers trembling as you scroll through your contacts and press the button.

But Mark hasn’t left. He follows right after you, moving with an easy, unhurried stride, and when he realizes what you’re doing, a slow, knowing smile spreads across his face.

“O-ho?” he hums, amusement dripping from his voice. “My, my, Y/N, why’re you calling me?” 

His hand moves, effortlessly covering yours, fingers warm and firm over your knuckles. The phone rings—once, twice—and Mark leans in, his breath brushing against your ear, voice low, teasing.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You don’t need anyone else.” 

Your breath hitches. The sound of the third ring barely registers before he plucks the phone from your grasp with unnerving ease. You don’t even resist—your fingers tremble as they slip away from the device. Not that it would have done anything, anyway. The fifth ring echoes into silence, then clicks to Mark’s familiar voicemail. Useless.

The air in the room shifts, heavy and overwhelming. You watch, frozen, as he casually places your phone on your desk, just far enough out of reach.

Then, the moment your eyes meet his, you know.

This isn’t the Mark you know and love.

Mark hums, content, utterly unbothered as he slides back into your arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He sighs, pleased, like he belongs there, like nothing’s wrong.

Maybe you’re in shock. Maybe it’s fear, or disbelief, or survival instincts.

Because you let him.

Your arms fall open, letting him settle more comfortably against you, his weight pressing into you as he nuzzles closer. His warmth, his scent, the way he holds you tight—it’s all too much. And you—weak-kneed, breath unsteady—let him.

“Are you going to kill me?” you can’t help but ask eventually, voice quiet, barely a whisper.

He makes a confused sound in his throat, the vibration brushing against your skin and sending a shiver down your spine. “Hmm—not yet.”

Not yet. You should be terrified. Every nerve in your body should be screaming for you to run, to fight, to do something other than stand there, frozen, pliant in his grip. You know he’s dangerous. You know he could snap your neck without a second thought.

Yet—a curious thing happens in your brain.

You’re not afraid. You can’t be.

Because when your eyes settle on this Mark—and he looks exactly like the Mark you know, the Mark you have feelings for—something just… doesn’t click the way it should. Fear doesn’t come. Disgust doesn’t rise in your throat. Dread doesn’t tighten its grip around your chest.

Because he looks so much like Mark. And duh—he is Mark. But not yours, and that alone should be enough to make you want to bolt. Yet—as he nuzzles into your neck, his hot breath tingling against your skin, his solid body pressing into yours with a firmness that feels both grounding and overwhelming, and the way he called you ‘sweetheart’—it all makes you want to give in to him.

The feelings you’ve buried—the ones you’ve shoved down since the day Mark rejected you, since the day you forced yourself to be okay with just being friends—are clawing their way back to the surface, stronger, faster, more consuming than ever.

“Oh yeah, you don’t have to worry though,” he says, his lips brushing against your pulse in a way that feels deliberate, calculated. “It’d be such a waste to kill you so fast. I came here for you, after all.”

His lips trail along your neck, slow and purposeful, and despite everything—despite knowing this isn’t right—you sigh, shivering at the unfamiliar, intoxicating affection. He moves upward, lips ghosting over your skin until he reaches your ear, nipping at your earlobe.

“Mark…” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut, body melting under his touch.

“Ohh, I know, baby,” he mutters, voice thick with amusement, dripping with smug satisfaction. You can feel the smirk curving against your skin. “I know everything you like. I know every inch of you. Let me show you.”

Your body betrays you.

Your mind knows better—knows that this Mark isn’t yours, that the weight of his body pressing into yours should send alarms blaring through your head. But when his fingers skim your waist, when his breath fans hot against your skin, when he sighs like he belongs here—your body doesn’t fight him.

It welcomes him.

Your hands twitch at your sides, uncertain, but you don’t push him away.

“I can’t believe this universe’s Mark wouldn’t date you,” he muses, fingers wandering, exploring, curling behind your back before cupping your ass and squeezing. A choked sound catches in your throat as heat floods through you, your knees nearly giving out. “I mean—look at you.” His voice dips, teasing, triumphant. “Barely resisting.”

You bite your lip, swallowing a sound you refuse to let escape.

He laughs then—open, mocking, and so, so cocky. “And here I thought I’d have to fight this Mark over you, but—” his grin widens, wicked and pleased. “I don’t think I have any competition, sweetheart.” His lips brush against your jaw, his grip tightening possessively. “You’re all mine.”

He starts to push against you, forcing you to walk backward until the back of your knees hit the edge of your mattress. You fall onto the bed, breathless, your heart racing as he looms over you, his eyes dark and hungry.

“Just mine, okay?” he growls, his voice low and dripping with possessiveness. “I wouldn’t let anyone else touch you—not even him. Not even this universe’s pathetic version of me.” He scoffs, his hands gripping the hem of your t-shirt and tugging it off with a harsh, almost desperate motion. “Loving someone else? When I have you? He’s a fool. He doesn’t know what he’s missing. Y/N—you have no idea how much I’ve missed you, how much I’ve—” 

He groans, biting his lip hard enough to leave a mark, his eyes raking over your exposed skin like he’s starving and you’re the only thing that can satisfy him. You shiver, a deep blush spreading across your face. It’s too much, too fast, and you feel utterly exposed as his gaze devours every inch of you. His expression twists, a mix of desperation and adoration, as if he’s memorizing every detail of your body, committing it to memory so he’ll never forget. His fingers twitch, hovering over your skin but not touching, like he’s savoring the moment, stretching it out just to make you squirm.

It’s too intimate, too intense, and for a fleeting second, you forget that he’s dangerous.

“Stop staring,” you weakly complain, turning your face away.

“Oooh, oh-ho-ho, yeah, baby, you’re just like I remember...” he laughs, his breathing uneven, his voice shaking with a wild, almost manic energy. “Yeah—I’ll never let him have you. Never let anyone else even look at you. You’re just mine—holy shit.” 

And then he dives.

His lips crash into yours, claiming rather than kissing, his entire body pressing you down into the mattress, forcing your legs open. It’s desperate, feverish—starving. His tongue pushes past your lips, stealing your breath, and you moan into his mouth, eyes squeezing shut as you struggle to keep up with his messy, frantic rhythm. He kisses you with a ferocity that leaves you dizzy. He groans and growls against your lips as his hands roam your body, gripping and groping every inch of exposed skin. His fingers brush against your nipples, teasing and possessive, and you can only take it, breathless and overwhelmed, your mind spinning as he claims you in every way he can.

“Yeah, baby, keep making those sounds for me,” he murmurs against your lips before diving in again, swallowing every breath, every whimper like it fuels him. “So, so good. Fuck, you have no idea—it keeps me going.”

Your breath stutters as his fingers pinch your nipple, hard enough to make your back arch, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. His free hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat as he grinds his hips down. Your legs part without a second thought, welcoming him, urging him closer until he’s right there, pressing into you, slotting himself between your thighs.

“That’s it, spread wider for me,” he pants, voice dripping with dark approval. “You’re still so good, fuck.”

Your lips burn, swollen and tingling from his kisses, and when you blink up at him through your lashes, you catch the glint in his eyes. His pupils are blown wide, the usual warm brown of his eyes swallowed by something feral. That smirk—all sharp teeth and predatory hunger—should terrify you. Because the Mark you know has never looked like this before. This unhinged and unsteady. It’s a sharp, gut-wrenching reminder—this isn’t your Mark. This isn’t the sweet, awkward Mark who you fell for, the one you trusted. This Mark is wrong, a twisted mirror image, and you should be fighting him, shoving him away, clawing your way out even if it’s futile—

But then he leans down and presses the softest, faintest kiss to the tip of your nose.

And your mind blanks.

Because holy shit—Mark, the man you’ve been pining over for months, years, is kissing you. And it feels so good, so intoxicating, it messes with your head, scrambles your thoughts into something dangerous.

You know it’s wrong. You know this isn’t him. It’s like pouring your feelings into a stranger, a shadow wearing his face. But fuck—this Mark grinds against you, slow and deliberate, and you feel him, the hard press of him against you, thick and aching with want.

You gasp, body tensing, startled by how badly he wants you.

“Ohh, baby,” he whines, voice thick with desperate need, like he’s been starving for this moment for lifetimes. His fingers dig into your hips hard enough to leave bruises, marking you as his. “Let me—” His hips roll again, dragging his thick length against your own, and you choke on air. “Let me make you feel good. Let me make you come, please, baby, please.”

Teeth scrape along your jaw before finding that sweet spot beneath your ear—the one you didn’t even know was sensitive—and you arch off the bed with a broken moan when he sucks harshly at the skin. His lips, his tongue, his teeth—he maps every inch of you like he’s memorized you, like he already knows every single weak spot before you even realize them yourself.

“Please? Please?” he keeps begging, voice so raw, so desperate, so utterly pathetic it makes you dizzy.

And you—you’re still too caught off guard to react properly. Because Mark—your Mark—never looked at you like this. Never even wanted you like this. But this Mark? He’s rutting against you like an animal in heat, his massive cock straining against his suit as he whimpers your name, making your head spin.

It’s wrong. It’s so, so wrong. Because Mark rejected you. Because you told yourself you’d be fine with just being friends. Because this isn’t even him—just the evil, dangerous version of him.

(Mark would slip into your open arms, his body heavy with exhaustion.

“I just—I’m scared,” he’d admit, voice muffled against your shoulder. “Scared of turning into my father. Scared of hurting people. And after everything with Angstrom…” his voice would trail off, fingers twitching against your back like he’s afraid to hold on too tightly.

You’d run a soothing hand along his spine, grounding him. “What do you mean?” you’d ask, gentle, coaxing him to keep talking.

“He—he talked about me like I was a monster,” Mark would whisper, voice tight. “Like there’s a version of me out there who destroyed everything. A version of me who’d kill everyone I love. A version of me who’d… destroy you.”

A slow, quiet exhale would leave your lips. “But you’re this Mark,” you’d remind him. “You’re my best friend. And you’d never do that.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, slowly, Mark would sags against you, burying himself deeper into your warmth.

“Yeah,” he’d murmur, barely more than a breath. “Never.”)

But when you move—when you grind up into him, your body answering before your mind can stop it—he makes a noise, something between a groan and a sob, and it’s so wrecked, so full of relief it makes your stomach twist.

Your arms loop around his neck, dragging him closer, pressing your bodies so tight together you can feel his heartbeat hammering against your own. And when his teeth sink into your throat, sucking so hard you know it’s going to bruise, a sharp, broken sound escapes your lips.

The room burns around you, filled with the obscene sounds of his desperate whines and your shaky gasps, the slick friction of fabric between your joined bodies.

“Yeah—” you gasp, nails raking down his back as pleasure coils tight in your gut. “Fuck, Mark, just—Do it. Do it.”

He groans, deep and guttural, a sound so full of possession it sends a sharp pulse of heat down your spine. Then his teeth sink into your neck again—hard enough that you know he’s breaking skin. And when his tongue licks the wound, sucking the blood like he owns you—you know he’s got you.

Your mind fractures into white-hot static as every rational thought—the blood crusted on his suit, the madness in his eyes, the thousands he’s slaughtered, the fact this isn’t your Mark—dissolves into primal need. Nothing exists but the electric pleasure coiling tighter in your gut with each desperate grind of his hips.

“Mark,” you sob, voice breaking as your body arches against him of its own volition. Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling him closer. “Oh god, Mark. Fuck. Mark.”

A guttural snarl vibrates against your throat as he claims your mouth again, his tongue pushing past your lips in a violent mimicry of what his hips are doing against yours. The growing dampness between your thighs should shame you, but all you can focus on is the delicious friction, the way his teeth scrape your bottom lip when you moan too loud.

But it’s still not enough.

Not with these fucking clothes between you, not with the way you’re both rutting against each other like wild animals, frantic and insatiable. It’s maddening. You need more.

Your nails claw at his back, at his suit, needing to feel his skin the way he’s feeling yours.

“Get it off,” you manage to gasp between feverish kisses. “Please, Mark.”

With a dark chuckle that sends shivers down your spine, he rears back just enough to grip his suit’s collar. The fabric shreds like tissue paper beneath his strength, revealing sweat-slick skin you immediately map with trembling fingers. His pupils blow wider at your touch, chest heaving as he crushes you back into the mattress.

“Oh yeah, Y/N...” he purrs, his voice thick with satisfaction as his fingertips trace the dark marks blooming across your neck like bruises. Proof that you belong to him. “Bet this universe’s Mark never made you feel this way, did he? Never touched you like this?” his grip tightens suddenly, making you gasp. “I’m the first, aren’t I? The only one who’s ever had you like this?”

You whimper, nodding without thinking, legs locking tight around his waist, keeping him close, keeping him there.

His grin stretches, wild and triumphant. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing,” he murmurs, his hand trailing down with agonizing slowness—down your neck, across your heaving chest, brushing over your sensitive nipples, gliding down your stomach... Until, finally, his fingers settle between your legs, pressing against the thick, aching bulge in your sweatpants, squeezing just enough to rip a needy moan from your lips. “Look at you,” he breathes, eyes wild with possessive hunger. “So fucking perfect for me. So ready to be mine. Does your Mark know what a desperate little thing you are? How easily you fall apart under my hands?”

His smile tilts, both awestruck and predatory. Then, he leans in until his lips brush yours, his hand working you through the fabric with rough, perfect strokes that have you trembling.

“So hard just for me,” he murmurs against your mouth. “He could never make you feel like this. Never touch you like I do.” His teeth graze your bottom lip. “He could never compare. I’m better, I’m stronger—”

He peppers kisses along the corner of your mouth, your flushed cheeks, tender and teasing, a sharp contrast to the way his pace quickens—faster, rougher.

“—I could make you feel even better,” he purrs, pressing his lips against your ear, voice so low, so filthy it makes you shudder. “Make you scream my name, so loud and clear, maybe the other Mark could even hear you.”

Your breath stutters, a deep moan slipping from your lips, body twisting under his touch.

“Ohh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” he chuckles, breath warm against your neck, teasing, taunting. “You’d love to let him watch. Love to let him see you break for me. Let him realize what he’s lost—what he’ll never have again.”

His voice dips lower, sinking into something darker, something twisted.

“You’d let me fuck you in front of him, wouldn’t you?”

Your body jolts, heat flashing through you in a violent rush, shame curling in your stomach like a vice.

“N-no—!” you gasp, eyes squeezing shut, face burning with humiliation. “No, I wouldn’t—”

But your body betrays you. Trembling, surrendering, completely giving in—your hips rut desperately against his hand, your pre-cum soaking through the fabric, staining it.

“Liar,” Mark breathes against your swollen lips before crushing them again in a kiss that’s hot, rough, and bruising. “I can feel how much you want it. How much you need it.”

His thumb presses cruelly against the head of your cock, rubbing slow, torturous circles through the fabric, making you see stars. Your whole body jolts, a strangled gasp tearing from your throat.

“Maybe I should drag him here,” he whispers, grinning against your lips. “Make him watch as I fuck you so good, you forget he’s your Mark Grayson. Make him see how perfectly you take me—how you were always meant to be... ours.”

You shake your head frantically, words lost between your ragged gasps. “No—”

But your back arches, cock throbbing obscenely against his palm. The more he whispers these filthy fantasies, the harder you get, hips stuttering, desperate and eager, seeking more, more, more, as his words sink deep into your brain, filling you with something forbidden, something wrong—something you like.

The pressure builds unbearable. His fingers move with ruthless precision, stroking, squeezing, dragging you to the edge, pulling sounds from you that should be humiliating—but you can’t stop.

Then you think about it. About your Mark. The one who’s still out there, fighting, struggling, exhausted and worn down. You think about what would he think. What would he do if he saw you like this. You imagine your Mark’s confused face watching—the horror in his eyes as he sees you come apart under his doppelgänger’s touch, moaning and whimpering like some cheap slut desperate for any version of him.

“Mark,” you sob as waves of shame and pleasure crash over you. “Mark, Mark—”

Mark exhales a breathy chuckle, eyes dark with fascination. “Oh-ho-ho. That’s it, baby. I’m here. I’m right here.”

And then it hits you.

White-hot pleasure blinds you completely as you spill in your sweatpants like some untouched virgin, his name tumbling from your lips in a broken prayer. Your body arches violently, convulsing as your legs clamp around his waist like a vice. Your hands claw at his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him, to this moment, to reality itself.

“Jesus…” he exhales, almost in awe, his grip tightening possessively. “My god… so perfect.”

You’re reduced to a trembling, gasping mess—shaky legs, toes curling, vision whiting out as the aftershocks rip through you. Mark watches it all with a smug, hungry smirk, his eyes locked onto your face, drinking in every twitch, every quiver like he’s trying to memorize it, to brand it into his mind.

“Yeah—let it out, Y/N,” he whispers, voice thick with satisfaction. “I did this to you. I made you feel this good.”

(“Does that feel good?” Mark would mutter into your ear, his hands still working awkwardly at the knots in your back.

You’d groan, face mushed into the pillow. ”Yup. Feels good. Really good.”

“I still can’t believe you’re making me do this,” he’d grumble, brows pinching together.

You’d stifle a laugh, eyes fluttering shut. ”You lost the bet, Grayson. Now keep massaging my back. My muscles are still wrecked from all the damn work you put me through covering you at Uni.”

“William never complains.”

“Because William sucks at covering! The only reason you’re not suspended is because I’m just too good at lying—Oh! Yeah! Right there, don’t stop,” you’d sigh, melting into the mattress. ”Oh my god, yes…”

His hands would freeze, fingers pressing hesitantly into your skin. ”…Can you stop making those sounds?”

“What sounds?” you’d murmur, half-dazed.

Mark would be quiet for a beat, then resume with a sigh. “Never mind. How about this? Does that feel good?”

“Mmmh, holy shit—yes!”)

Finally, you sink into the mattress, chest rising and falling in desperate, uneven breaths as your climax wears off. Your head falls back against the pillows, glazed eyes barely tracking Mark’s movements. His fingers leave the bulge in your sweatpants, moving to your waistband, fumbling briefly before tugging your sweatpants and underwear down, inch by inch.

“Just let me take care of you,” he mumbles, dazed. “Always gonna take care of you.”

The cold air bites at your oversensitive cock as he yanks it free, his pupils blown wide as he stares at what’s his. Before you can even process the exposure, Mark flashes you a wicked grin before his lips wrap around your cock, hot and wet and devastating. Your hips jolt, body convulsing at the sensation. His tongue swirls, savoring, exploring, a deep groan rumbling in his throat as he tastes you. The overstimulation is unbearable, electric. A strangled, pathetic cry rips from your throat as your hands fly to his head, fingers tangling in his hair, trying—failing—to push him away.

“Mark!” you jolt, thighs snapping shut around his head, trembling, squeezing, clutching. “Oh my god. Oh my god—oh my god. No—”

A deep, satisfied groan rumbles through him, vibrating against your cock and making you yelp. His hands pin your thrashing hips down, holding you there, making sure you take it.

“Mark—”

“Mine,” he snarls between filthy, wet sucks. “Gonna taste every fucking drop.”

The overstimulation borders on painful as he works you ruthlessly through your sensitivity, your cries growing increasingly broken. And yet, somewhere beneath the overwhelming pleasure, a traitorous part of you preens at being so desperately wanted.

Wanted. By Mark. Not your Mark, not the one who’d gently rejected you, but a Mark all the same. A version from some twisted reality who’d torn through dimensions just to claim you. And it sickens you—the satisfaction curling in your gut, the twisted pleasure of knowing that somewhere, in some reality, Mark has always wanted you. Craved you. And if he’s here, willing to ruin you, to unravel you with nothing but his mouth, then who are you to stop him?

His tongue works you over with filthy precision, hot and wet and perfect in ways you’d never dared fantasize about. You writhe beneath him, sheets twisting in your fists, as your gaze drops to where he’s sucking you off—Mark Grayson, on his knees for you, eyes close in joy. The sight alone punches a broken noise from your throat.

“F-fuck—!” you arch violently, tears spilling as pleasure crests into near-pain. “Fuck, I can’t—Mark, please, I can’t—!”

Finally, he lets you go with a slick, obscene ‘pop.’ He pants, breath heavy, lips red and wet as he leans over you. You’re gasping too, your chest rising and falling in erratic bursts, your body trembling like you’ve run yourself into the ground.

Mark watches you, gaze trailing over your flushed skin, your wrecked, tear-streaked face. And then he grins.

“I love you like this,” he murmurs, voice rough. His thumb swipes at the wetness on your cheek. “Love it when you cry.”

(“I hate when you cry,” Mark would say, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. ”I hate it even more when it’s me who made you cry.”

You’d slap his hand away, face twisting into a scowl. ”Shut up, Grayson. How dare you—how dare you act upset.” Your voice would shake, anger sharpening every word. ”You can’t even say sorry. Can’t even fake an excuse for why you’ve treated me like this, ignoring me for months… And don’t try to deny it—William noticed too!”

He’d wince, eyes darting away. ”I can’t—I can’t say it.”

“That you’re sorry?” you’d scoff, disbelief dripping from the words.

Mark would bite his lip, shaking his head desperately. ”No! Of course not. It’s—the reason.”

“The reason you’ve been pulling away?” you’d snap, swiping the back of your hand across your wet cheek. Then, it would hit you—heart lurching. ”Is it… because I confessed? I thought we were past that. That we’d still be friends no matter what…”

Your voice would crack, gaze dropping to the floor.

Mark would flinch, shoulders slumping in defeat. ”It’s part of the reason.”

“I don’t understand,” you’d murmur, voice breaking. ”You said it didn’t matter. You promised it wouldn’t change anything.”

“I don’t understand either,” he’d admit, hand scrubbing roughly through his hair. ”Just—just give me time. I need to… figure some things out.”

“You won’t even tell me?”

Mark would press his lips into a tight line, guilt flashing across his face as his gaze caught on your tear-streaked cheeks. ”I can’t.”)

A helpless sob rips from your throat as he surges forward, capturing your bruised lips in a desperate, feverish kiss. He moans into your mouth, deep and needy, and you can taste yourself on his tongue—hot, salty, intoxicating. The realization only makes you burn hotter.

Then, a moan rattles in your chest as his free hand trails lower, fingers teasing where you’re most sensitive. Your gasp is sharp when one presses against your entrance.

“W-wait—” you huff, shaky hands pressing against his broad shoulders. “No… I’ve never—never done this…”

Mark freezes, his expression shifting from surprise to something terrifyingly euphoric. “Oohh, Y/N can you get any more perfect for me? My god—not even in my universe were you a virgin.” He chuckles, low and dark. “Were you saving yourself for him? Hoping he’d finally see you the way I do? He’s such a fool—But I will make you feel good. I’ll make you feel so good.”

As he speaks, his hands roam, gripping your thighs with an iron hold before pushing them up—forcing you open, leaving you vulnerable beneath him. Your face flushes with embarrassment and arousal, your hands instinctively gripping the sheets tightly at the sheer obscenity of the position. He flashes a playful grin, his breath warm against your ass, causing you to gasp and breathe unevenly.

“What— What are you doing?” you stammer weakly, squirming uncomfortably, peering down with shame as Mark leans over your hole, a wide smirk across his face. You realize a second too late was he’s up to. “Wait, wait—Oh my god!”

Your back arches, mouth letting go a deep, throaty groan and your eyes rolling back when Mark inserts his tongue, licking and lapping at the inner walls of your hole, sucking and nibling and kissing. Your head throws back against the pillows, skin burning so hot you swear you’ll melt into the sheets. The sensation is overwhelming—Mark’s hot tongue delves between your cheeks with shameless enthusiasm, licking and probing with obscenely wet sounds that make you squirm uncontrollably. You writhe in delicious contradiction, torn between pulling away and pressing deeper into his merciless mouth.

“Mmh, look at you—” Mark pants between greedy licks, his voice thick with arousal. “That’s it. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

You’re beyond responding, your hips stuttering and your asshole clenching and unclenching with the unfamiliar, yet intoxicating sensation. The pleasure is so intense you bite your lip raw trying to contain the filthy sounds fighting to escape. It’s useless, though, because Mark keeps eating you out and it only takes a few minutes of this sweet torture until you start whimpering and mewling like a little whore.

“F-fuck—!” the curse tears from your throat as your toes curl and back arches off the bed. Your cock stirs back to full hardness, dripping pathetically against your stomach. “Fuck—Mark, my god! Don’t stop, fuck—Oh my god—”

You’ve never been touched like this before—it never even crossed your mind, not even in your wildest fantasies. But damn, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you. Who would have thought that being pleasured like this could feel so incredibly good? You might just climax right then and there with Mark’s warm, skilled tongue working its magic, and you’d die happily. Your erection is unbelievably hard, leaking pre-cum onto your stomach, but you don’t dare touch yourself because you’re too busy gripping the sheets for stability.

But then Mark pulls away, and you moan and whimper with need, trying to tighten around him in an attempt to draw him back.

Mark smirks and chuckles, and you feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment at your own lewdness.

“God, baby, you’re so perfect for me,” Mark rasps, pulling back just enough to loom over you. His lips glisten with your taste, his breath coming in ragged bursts. “Look at you—already falling apart just from my mouth. Think you’re ready to take me, sweetheart? Think that pretty little hole can handle my cock?”

You hadn’t noticed before, too lost in the haze of pleasure—but Mark’s hips have been moving restlessly the whole time, fucking the air with desperate, instinctive thrusts as he devoured you. Now, as he looms over you, you can feel him, hot and throbbing, grinding against your thighs through the thin fabric of his suit. And fuck—he’s massive. Even through the material, you can feel the sheer size of him, the way he twitches with every needy thrust. And yeah—his mouth has left you slick, loose, ready to be filled—but shit. Viltrumites have monster cocks, and it scares you.

And yet—and yet, as Mark moves against you, teasing, testing, making sure you feel the sheer girth of him even through fabric, all you can feel is hunger, a desperate need.

So, huskily, with glazed eyes, you whisper, “Yes, Mark. Yes.”

He doesn’t make you beg twice. One hand tears the remaining suit away like tissue paper, his cock springing free—thick, veiny, and already leaking. The flushed tip bobs against your thigh, leaving a sticky trail as your breath catches.

“Fuck, Y/N—” Mark’s voice breaks as he strokes himself, his wild eyes drinking in every tremble of your body. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this. How many nights I dreamed of this moment. You—here, with me again.” His breath shudders, his grip tightening. “Had to find you. Had to make you mine again. I missed you. I missed you.”

His feverish rambling sends your pulse into overdrive, and for one fleeting moment, you wonder about that other life—what version of you could make a man this desperate, this feral with need? What was their relationship like? How did it end? How did Mark end up here, in your universe, searching for you? But then Mark’s strong hands are spreading your thighs wide, his body settling heavily between them, and all coherent thought evaporates in a rush of dizzying arousal.

Shit, shit—Mark Grayson, the boy you’ve been in love with since eighth grade, is about to fuck you. And shit—that thought alone makes your cock ache, your hole clench with anticipation, even as your mind screams that this isn’t your Mark. Your real Mark is probably fighting for his life somewhere. Maybe even dying. And here you are, letting his evil counterpart have you—willingly.

That makes you a horrible friend. You’re disgusting. A traitor. You’re giving in to every dirty fantasy you’ve ever had, every longing you’ve buried for years, all because this Mark—the wrong Mark—looks at you with the hunger you’ve always dreamed of seeing in your Mark’s eyes.

It’s sick. It’s twisted. You’ll never be able to look your Mark in the eye again. Guilt twists in your gut, heavy and suffocating.

You should stop.

You should have never let it go this far.

But then—

“Shh, baby, I got you,” this Mark whispers, shattering your spiraling thoughts. His voice is soft, almost reverent, as he lines himself up. “I got you. Gonna make you feel so good.”

You shiver, heat flushing your skin as his cock presses against your entrance, thick and hard and real. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist, locking behind him, pulling him in.

Mark groans, deep and satisfied, his fingers pressing into your thighs as he grins down at you.

“Fuck, yes,” he hums appreciatively, running possessive hands along your trembling thighs. “You’re so good, Y/N. So good.”

His fingers dig deep enough to leave bruises as he drinks down every gasp, every shudder of your oversensitive body like a man starved. And just when desperation coils in your gut—when the teasing pressure at your entrance becomes unbearable—Mark sheathes himself inside you in one brutal thrust.

“Fuck—!” your cry shatters the air as your body bows taut, back arching off the bed. The stretch burns, his thickness forcing you open in ways that make your vision whiten at the edges. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

He’s massive, painfully so. You can feel every ridge, every vein as your body struggles to accommodate him. It’s too much—you’re certain he’ll split you in two.

And yet... The fullness is intoxicating. It burns. It aches. But it also satisfies something deep within you, a primal need you hadn’t even realized was there. Tears prickle at your eyes as you clench the sheets, overwhelmed by the sheer reality of Mark Grayson buried inside you.

“Fuck...” Mark’s voice is guttural, dripping with satisfaction as he bottoms out. “God, you’re tight.” His hips grind deeper, wringing a broken whimper from your throat. “Taking me so perfect—fuck, you feel incredible. Like you were waiting just for me.”

And then, slowly, oh so fucking slowly, he begins to pull back out, dragging a wrecked moan from your lips. Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, desperate for something solid, something to hold onto as he sets a rhythm, each movement sending heat curling through your veins.

“That’s it,” Mark pants against your neck, his breath scalding as he inhales your scent like an addict. “Just like that… you’re perfect. Nobody else could take me like this.” His teeth graze your pulse point possessively. “Only you. Only mine.”

The next thrust is deeper than the last, stealing the breath from your lungs and making your hips jolt up instinctively, a surprised sound catching in your throat.

“Oh god, Mark,” you whine, nails digging into his back, voice breaking on a breathy moan. “Ah—ngh—fuck—”

The agonizingly slow drag of his cock has your vision swimming, pain and pleasure blurring into one overwhelming sensation. He’s so thick, so long, so heavy inside you. Every time he pushes in, it feels impossibly deeper, stretching you, filling you—until it makes your stomach bulge slightly, a small bump appearing in the flat plane of your abdomen.

Mark groans, eyes going wide, his hand settling at the base of your belly. “God, look at you,” he breathes, awed. His fingers press into the bulge, tracing the outline of himself inside you. “Fuck, I’m buried so deep in you. Right here, Y/N—you feel that? That’s me claiming you. Oh-ho-ho, goddamn, look what I do to you.”

His dark chuckle vibrates against your skin even as awe colors his voice. He punctuates each word with a punishing thrust, fingers digging into the visible outline of himself inside you like he wants to brand the shape of his possession into your flesh. And you can’t look away either—because holy shit, this is the first time you’ve ever felt anything like this, and it’s almost too much. Too intense. Too consuming.

Tears streak down your flushed cheeks as your legs tremble violently. The initial pain has melted into overwhelming pleasure, your body adjusting to his impossible size with desperate, shameful eagerness.

“More,” you rasp between gasps, arching up shamelessly. “Faster. Harder. Please—”

Mark chuckles darkly, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deep. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice thick with hunger. “Gonna make you feel good. Gonna ruin you for anyone else.”

The dark promise in his words should terrify you. Instead, it sends another pulse of white-hot pleasure straight to your aching cock. Then he moves—harder, faster—tearing the air from your lungs, leaving you breathless and reeling. Your body clenches around him, every nerve alight as a broken whimper escapes your lips.

“Mark—Mark—” you mumble his name between gasps, unable to form anything else. “Mark, ah—Mark—mmh—fuck—”

A sharp cry rips from your throat as Mark shifts his angle, hitting a spot inside you that sends a violent shudder through your entire body. Heat surges down your spine, forcing you to arch off the bed, toes curling, every nerve alight with raw, electric pleasure.

“Fuck! There! Mark—ngh—fuck!” you moan, biting down on your lip so hard you taste the faint tang of blood. Mark growls, his movements deep and unrelenting, each thrust pressing you further into the mattress. The bed creaks beneath the force, your skin burning where his grip tightens. “There! Keep going! Fuck, it feels so good—Mark!”

Then—through the haze of heat, through the sinful sounds of skin against skin, of your wrecked moans and his low, animalistic groans—something intrudes. A sharp, buzzing vibration. Your ringtone.

Your eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, flickering toward your desk—just a few feet away, where Mark tossed your phone. You’re aware the screen glows, the sound ringing in the background, before another brutal thrust wipes all coherent thought away. Let it ring. Nothing matters except the way Mark’s splitting you apart, remaking you as his with every snap of his hips.

The phone rings and rings… then stops. And you don’t even notice when it goes silent, too preoccupied with the drag of Mark’s cock inside you, the way your nails sink into the broad expanse of his back, leaving behind deep, angry marks.

“Perfect,” Mark rasps against your ear, his voice wrecked and reverent, “Taking me so fucking good, Y/N. Made for this. Made for me.”

Your thighs shake violently around him, toes curling as his filthy praise reduces you to nothing but lustful moans and pleading whimpers.

Then—your phone starts ringing again.

This time, Mark notices.

He stills inside you with a low snarl, his body tensing as he straightens slightly, casting an annoyed glance toward the device. But when he reaches for it—his cock still buried deep inside you, making you whimper—his expression darkens with wicked amusement as he reads the caller ID.

“Well, well,” he purrs, looming over you once more, planting one hand beside your head while the other dangles the phone just inches from your flushed, dazed face. “Take a look at this.”

Your stomach drops at the familiar name flashing on screen. It’s Mark—your Mark—calling you.

“Should we answer it, baby?” he muses, tilting his head as his lips curl into a smirk. “Let him hear what you sound like when you’re properly fucked?”

“No—!” you gasp, wrecked and breathless, your heart hammering against your ribs as you reach for the phone, desperate to snatch it from his grasp. “Mark—”

But he’s quicker.

“Ah, ah,” he tuts, lifting a single finger in mock reprimand, effortlessly keeping the phone out of reach. His other hand tightens around your hip, keeping you pinned. “You need to get your shit together first, Y/N. Wouldn’t want him to know what you’re doing, now would you?” His eyes gleam with wicked delight. “With that pornographic little voice of yours—so wrecked, so needy for my cock…” He leans in, his breath fanning over your ear. “I bet he’d figure it out immediately.”

A shudder rips through you.

Your vision blurs—tears welling at the edges, cold fear twisting deep in your gut. But worse—worse—is the way your body betrays you. The way you clench around him involuntarily at the thought. At the sheer humiliation of it.

Of your Mark listening on the other end. Unaware. Oblivious. As his variant fucks and ruins you.

“See? I know you,” he murmurs, his voice syrup-thick with satisfaction as he strokes your cheek with unnerving tenderness. His free hand cups your face, his thumb dragging over your lips. “I know exactly what kind of fucked-up little thing you are.”

His grin widens as he watches your lips tremble, your breath coming in quick, uneven pants.

“I’m glad you’re the same here as you were in my universe, Y/N. I adore you like this.” Then, his tone dips lower, velvet wrapped around something dangerous. “Now—try to keep him distracted while I take my time with you, yeah?”

Before you can react, he thrusts—sharp and sudden—just once, but it’s enough to steal the air from your lungs. A strangled gasp escapes you, body reacting on instinct, pulse hammering as he stills once more.

Mark leans in, his breath hot against your parted lips, his amusement dripping with warning. “Otherwise, he’ll keep calling,” he murmurs. “And I don’t want him interrupting us.”

Your stomach twists in knots of anticipation and dread. The phone is still ringing, still just out of reach—Mark’s name flashing on the screen, a second away from being answered. And all the while, this Mark remains inside you—hot, solid, pressing deeper with each second of silence.

“Okay...” you breathe, forcing air into your lungs. “Okay.”

Mark’s smirk turns predatory as he brushes a featherlight kiss to your nose before tapping the answer button, offering you the phone back—and as soon as you grab it and press it to your ear, he immediately resumes his slow, deliberate thrusts that make your toes curl.

“Y/N? Y/N!” The real Mark’s voice—familiar, concerned, kind—crackles through the speaker. He sounds breathless, frantic. “Are you okay? You called and I couldn’t answer but then—but then I called back and you didn’t pick up, and I’m—I’m worried—”

You squeeze your eyes shut, teeth sinking into your lip, fighting so hard to keep quiet. But the Mark above you doesn’t make it easy, his hips moving with cruel precision, his smirk deepening as he watches you struggle.

“…Y/N?”

“I’m here,” you choke out, voice miraculously steady despite the way your body arches into each thrust. The not-yours-Mark’s eyes glint with dark amusement as he increases his pace. “I’m... okay.”

Your voice wavers. You can’t help it. A shaky sigh escapes when he ducks his head to nip at your throat, his hot breath raising goosebumps across your oversensitive skin.

“Thank God,” your actual Mark exhales, the relief in his voice almost painful to hear. “Listen, Cecil just— he lost track of a variant. Said he was heading your way, Y/N.”

The not-yours-Mark stills inside you, his expression shifting to something dangerously intrigued. “Oh?” he murmurs against your pulse.

“Y-yeah?” you blurt too loudly, praying the real Mark didn’t hear him.

Your fingers dig into the sheets as the not-yours-Mark begins moving again with renewed purpose, each thrust calculated to wring helpless sounds from your throat while you struggle to keep your breathing even.

“Yeah,” your actual Mark replies through the phone, his voice strained. “I’ll—I’ll come your way. Or the GDA will pick you up, but—it’s dangerous to stay in your apartment! Please, just—just leave. Right now.”

You choke back another gasp, barely holding yourself together. No—you can’t let Mark come here. You can’t let the GDA get involved either. The humiliation would be unbearable—agents witnessing you like this, being taken apart by the same monster who probably leveled cities and slaughtered thousands before claiming you in your own bed.

“No!” you blurt out, voice cracking under the weight of too many emotions. “No, nngh, fuck—you can’t!”

You’re losing control. This Mark—the wrong Mark—is hitting your prostate with every brutal thrust, his teeth sinking into that sensitive spot on your neck while his fingers twist your nipples mercilessly. Stars explode behind your eyelids as another lewd groan escapes you. Virgin or not, there’s no way you could stay quiet under this assault. You realize with dawning horror that he doesn’t want you quiet—he wants you loud, to moan, to let your Mark hear you. To let him know.

That yeah—he’s here.

And yeah—he’s fucking you.

For a moment, there’s only silence on the other end of the call.

Then finally, Mark speaks again, slower this time. “This—this isn’t negotiable, Y/N,” he says, though there’s something off—a hesitation, a shift in his tone as your breath stutters audibly. “Are you… okay?”

No. You’re not okay. You’re overwhelmed, wrecked by pleasure more intense than anything you’ve ever known, losing your virginity to a twisted version of the man you love. Hot tears of shame spill down your cheeks as a sob tears from your throat.

“...Y/N?” Mark’s voice sounds distant now. You can barely hear him over the rush of blood in your ears, over the slick sound of skin meeting skin, over the obscene, broken whimpers falling from your lips.

“Mmmh, fuck,” you gasp as the pressure builds unbearably inside you. “Fuck—Mark—”

“That’s it, baby,” not-your-Mark whispers in your ear, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction. “You wanna come, don’t you? Wanna scream my name?”

The dam breaks. “Yes! Fuck, yes, yes!” Your voice shatters with each punishing thrust. Dignity forgotten, you arch desperately against him, meeting every movement as you beg mindlessly. “Mark—I can’t—oh god, please, please...!”

The line goes silent for an agonizing moment, the static crackle carrying more weight than words ever could. You squeeze your eyes shut, shame and guilt and disgust warring with the pleasure coiling tight in your belly—but it’s too late now. Far too late.

“Y/N...?” his voice comes through the receiver—your Mark’s voice—strangled and low, thick with realization.

Your stomach drops. He knows. Oh god, he knows. He fucking knows.

Not-your-Mark lets out a pleased hum against your neck, his fingers lazily plucking the phone from your trembling hand while his hips snap forward, forcing a needy moan from your lips. The wet sound of skin on skin is unmistakable. There’s no way your Mark could mistake what’s happening.

Not-your-Mark’s eyes glint with something wicked as he presses the phone to his ear, smirking.

“Too late, dickhead,” he says, just as breathless as you, his voice dripping with smug victory as he punctuates each word with another brutal thrust. “He’s already mine.”

Mark’s furious roar bursts through the speaker. “You—!” you close your eyes, mortified, tears falling down your cheeks because this is the moment Mark realizes you’re a horrible friend. “I’LL FUCKING KILL YO—”

But the sound is cut off with a sickening crunch as not-your-Mark’s fingers tighten, phone shattering, fragments falling like dust.

“Oops,” he pouts mockingly, tilting his head with feigned innocence before his expression darkens. His hand snakes around your throat, not tight enough to hurt but firm enough to claim. “Now where were we, sweetheart?”

When he slams back into you, you arch off the bed with a broken scream, your legs spreading wider of their own volition. He chuckles darkly, hands sliding under your thighs to fold you nearly in half, opening you up so completely that each thrust punches the air from your lungs.

“Fuck,” he growls, pace turning erratic as his control fractures. “Look at you—taking me so perfect. Tell me. Tell me how much you love this. How much you love taking my cock.”

“I love it,” you gasp without thought, your mind obliterated by pleasure. “Fuck—I love it. I love you.”

A deep, guttural moan tears from his throat, his grip on you tightening as he nods frantically. “Yeah? Love me? Fuck— I love you too, baby. I love you so fucking much.”

And you know he’s not your Mark. You know your real Mark is probably flying at full speed right now, minutes, or even seconds from bursting through your window. But Christ—hearing those words, in Mark’s voice, from his lips, with his face twisted in raw, desperate worship—it makes you dizzy. It makes you happy.

“I love you,” you say again, fingers twisting into his dark hair, dragging him down until your panting mouths brush. “I love you. Always have—fuck—since—since before you even got your powers, Mark!”

“Yeah?”

“Yes! Ah—fuck, yes!” The words dissolve into moans as you kiss the corner of his mouth, your lips sliding messily against his. “When you were such--a nerd! Loved you since we were kids. Love you now. I always will—”

He groans, swallowing your words with a feverish kiss, his hands squeezing your cheeks until your mouth falls open, surrendering completely. Tongues tangle, breath mingles, and he moans right into you—

“I love—” he pants, his movements growing erratic. “I love you, Y/N. Fuck—Gonna take you home with me. Gonna keep you forever. Steal you from that idiot...make him see what he threw away—”

Then—suddenly—his hand wraps around your cock.

It’s been untouched this entire time, leaking wildly against your stomach, and the moment his fingers curl around it, a sharp, broken whimper escapes you. Your hips jerk helplessly, legs trembling as pleasure rips through you.

“Fuuuuck,” you sob, shuddering against him. “Don’t stop—don’t stop. I’m gonna—”

“I got you, baby,” he growls, stroking you faster, fucking into you harder. “Gonna make you feel so fucking good. Gonna take you away. Gonna own you!”

And God help you—his words don’t sound like threats when you’re drowning in white-hot ecstasy. In this moment, you’d let him drag you through dimensions, would beg him to claim you completely—because he wants you. He loves you. He craves you in a way you’ve always ached to be craved. And right now—you’d let him take you. You’d let him do whatever the fuck he wanted.

“Ah—ah, Mark—” Your body locks up, stomach tightening, hole clenching around him as the pressure on your cock becomes unbearable. “I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come—”

“Yeah, baby, let it out,” he growls against your lips, his hand working your cock in perfect sync with his punishing thrusts. “Come for me. Now.”

You shatter with a strangled scream, body jerking violently as you spill across your stomach in thick, hot stripes. Your vision whites out, every muscle locking and spasming as pleasure tears through.

Mark groans like a man possessed, his thrusts faltering as your hole flutters and clenches around him. “Fuck—fuck—” He slams into you one final time, burying himself deep, and then he’s coming too, hot and thick, filling you to the brim. His grip tightens as he grinds himself deeper, prolonging every last spurt, wringing every aftershock from you until you’re trembling and spent beneath him.

You can’t move. Can’t speak. All you can do is lie there, trembling, as he keeps pumping into you, dragging out your orgasm until you’re sobbing from oversensitivity. His hips grind against yours, forcing every last drop into you like he’s determined to make sure you remember this.

When he finally pulls out, you whimper at the loss, your body limp and wrecked. Sweat and come cling to your skin, your chest heaving as aftershocks wrack through you. Every inch of you is marked—bruises blooming where his fingers, his teeth, his lips claimed you.

You barely register the mattress dipping as he lays beside you, his arms wrapping around your exhausted frame. A soft, lingering kiss presses to your forehead, his voice a soothing murmur against your damp skin.

“Shh, shh, Y/N,” his fingers trace lazy circles against your back. “Go to sleep. I’ll take care of everything.”

Even in your dazed, post-orgasmic haze, you understand what “everything” means.

It means your Mark—your universe’s Mark—is on his way. It means a fight is inevitable. It means blood, destruction, the clash of two forces that look the same but could never be. And when that moment comes, you’ll have to face him—face the shame that will devour you whole.

Because how dare you?

How dare you moan his name for someone else? Whisper desperate I love yous to the wrong version of him? Come undone beneath a man who wears his face but isn’t him?

And after you told him it was fine—that you were fine—staying just friends. After you swallowed every aching, desperate feeling just to keep him close. But in the end, you gave in. You let temptation pull you under. You let yourself have him—or the closest thing to him. And now, there’s no taking it back.

You know you’re wrong.

You know time is running out.

And you know that when he says he’ll take care of everything, this Mark intends to kill your Mark—just as your Mark wants to kill him.

But your body betrays you—mind foggy, muscles lax with satisfaction, the afterglow pulling you under. As consciousness fades, this not-quite-Mark draws you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. His breathing steadies, his solid frame surrounding you in deceptive safety.

(And vaguely, you think about your Mark. About how he’s been pulling away from you, slowly but surely. How, ever since you confessed your feelings and ruined everything, he hasn’t looked at you the same.

“I promise I’ll tell you,” he’d say, a week ago, his eyes avoiding yours in a way that pains you. “I promise I’ll tell you the truth. All of it. And—”

Then he’d looked up, and something in his gaze pinned you there—fervent, almost feverish.

“I’ll—” he’d stop himself, cheeks coloring faintly, and yet he wouldn’t relent his steady gaze. ”I’ll tell you the reason I’ve been acting like such an asshole to you. And I hope...you can forgive me after.”

“Why not now?” you’d ask, puzzled, fingers curling into your palms. ”Why not when I’m asking you, Mark? Right here, and right now.”

He’d flinch, his eyes closing for a fleeting second before opening them again. ”Just—gimme one more week,” he’d rasped. “One more week and—I promise I’ll tell you everything. I’ll—confess everything.”

And as he’d turn around, his broad back to you as he’d take off—not before glancing at you with troubled eyes, an intensity in his eyes you can’t quite place—you’d only guess he’s gonna say he hates you. That he’s gonna say, now once and for all, he can no longer be your friend.

And how you should’ve kept your heart locked tight, your love buried deep, just so you could keep him close. How you should’ve never, ever opened your big mouth and let your feelings spill out.

But you did, and now nothing’s the same.)

“I’ll take care of it,” Mark murmurs again as you drift away, his voice a dark promise. “Never gonna lose you again. Never.”

The last thing you register before sleep claims you is the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your cheek.

And in the final flicker of consciousness, a single thought drifts through your mind— You wished Mark had told you the reason.

Now, he never might.

[forever-rogue]

Trouble

AN | Hello, I'm here to fix it. It never happened. Joel is back in Jackson. Enjoy💕

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader 

Warnings | Canon typical injury

Word Count | 2.6k

Masterlist | Joel, Main 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You were covered in dirt, blood, and gunk but none of that mattered in the moment. What mattered was that no matter how bruised and worn down you felt, you were alive. You had survived, Jackson had survived…everything would be okay.

Dragging yourself up off the ground, you spotted Tommy and Maria up ahead. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you slowly made your way towards them, helping any stragglers along your way. It was going to take a while to recover from this disaster, but at least you knew things would get better. And, if anything, you now had more knowledge on the enemy and their…abilities for lack of a better word.

Brushing some blood and dirt off your face, you spotted Ellie getting off her horse just up ahead. Thank fuck.

They were all okay. Everything was fine. Ellie, Jesse, Dina, and Joel were back. 

You ran as fast as you could which, given the state you were in wasn't very fast, ready to make your way to them. It was more of a limping skip as you made your way over.

“Tommy! Ellie!” You shouted over the wind, waving your arm to get their attention. When they heard you and finally turned around, you were met with a sea of grim faces. Your stomach dropped; they should be happy. If not happy, at least not so grim. Right? When you finally got to them, you realized that you didn’t see Joel. You immediately knew something was very wrong, “where's Joel?”

Ellie opened and closed her mouth a few times, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Where's Joel?” you asked again, swallowing the lump in your throat. You turned to Tommy and saw that the look on his face mirrored the one on Ellie's. In fact, no one looked happy, “Tommy. Where's Joel?”

“Listen-” 

“Where is he!?” You demand again, tears welling up in your own eyes. Tommy put his hand on your shoulder and held onto it firmly, “T-Tommy. Where is he?”

“He's at Kat's,” he finally said, his own voice shaking as he tried to keep it together, “he's…he's not doing well.”

You choked out a sob before turning on your heel and running towards Kat's house. Your own body was screaming in pain but none of that mattered in the moment. All you could think about was getting to Joel. That was the only thing that mattered. 

You burst through the front door of the house, lungs on fire as you headed towards the stairs. You took a moment to catch your breath, clutching the stitch in your side, “Kat? Kat!”

You started up the stairs, Kat meeting you at the top with a grim expression on her face. She was a kind, older woman that always had a way of making you feel better no matter the circumstances. She was a good doctor.

She took your face in her hands before sighing softly and pulling you in for a hug. You clutched onto her tightly, fearful for what she was going to say to you. When you pulled apart, she brushed some dirt off your clothes, “I'm going to have a look at you next.”

“There's other people that need your help more than I do,” you insisted, “where's Joel? I-I need to see him. Please.”

“Look,” she gave your hand a squeeze, “he's lucky to be alive. I hate to say that, I do. But he's lucky Ellie and Jesse found him when they did.”

“What happened?” You were reeling from her words; the idea of losing Joel was unbearable, “tell me. Please.”

“Seems like some people he made enemies of a long time back found him,” she sighed, “and they had some sort of vendetta against him.”

You couldn't wait any longer and gently pushed past her and into the room where you knew he'd be. As soon as you opened the door, you stopped in your tracks when you found him on the bed. You let out a shaky breath as you dropped to your knees by his side, “oh my god. Joel.”

“He can't hear you,” Kat followed in after you, grim look on her face, “he's out. He's gonna be out for a while.”

“What did they do to him?” His face was bruised and there were remnants of dried blood all over him. He looked so pale that it made your stomach drop. It took you a moment of notice that his leg was completely bandaged up.

“Shot in the side, his leg was broken badly. Ellie said…there was a girl beating him with a golf club before resorting to using her fists. He's got some broken ribs and lost a lot of blood. He's going to be a while before he's up and able to get, let alone get around.”

“But he'll-”

“There's no swelling in his brain and his lungs sound clear. He's past the absolute worst but he's not out of the woods just yet,” you hated that she wouldn't just confirm that he'd make it, “but its Joel. You know he's not going to give up fighting.”

“What can I do?” You asked, voice cracking as tears blurred your vision, “anything. Whatever it takes.”

“There's not much you can do right now. Its just going to take time,” she whispered, “take care of yourself. And the others. Things will be alright.”

“Will they?” You plopped onto the ground and reached for his hand; it was cold and stiff, “I can't…I can't lose him. I just can't.”

“We'll do everything we can do,” she promised, “we just have to be patient.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Here,” Tommy's voice pulled you of your stupor as he walked in and held a hot cup of tea out to you, “our mama used to say that there wasn't anything a cup of tea couldn't fix.”

“Thanks,” you clutched the warm mug in your cold, tired hands as you stared at the golden liquid. You stretched, your body tired and aching from the stiff wooden chair that had basically become your second home. You'd been camped out by his side, refusing to move unless absolutely necessary. You’d cleaned him up as best as you could but he still looked so…fragile. Broken.

“You can leave you know,” he said as you looked at him incredulously, “you can rest and take time for yourself. You ain't going to be helping anyone by not making sure you're okay.”

“I don't want to leave him,” you sighed, looking Joel over. It had been almost two weeks, and while he seemed to be healing, he still wasn't up and conscious, “what if he wakes up and I'm not here? O-or something happens?”

Tommy let out a low sigh as he looked forlornly at his older brother, “I keep thinking the same thing. But you know if anything happens, someone will get you right away.”

“Yeah,” you sipped the warm liquid and closed your eyes for a moment. You knew this was just hard for him and Ellie, “what happened to her? The girl?”

“She got away,” he gritted his teeth, “for now. We'll find her.”

“I keep thinking I want to go out there and kill her myself,” you whispered, reaching over and gently brushing a rogue lock of hair out of Joel's face, “that I want her to suffer as much as he did, or worse.”

“But…”

“Nothing excuses what she did,” you whispered, “but I can't imagine doing that to another living being. It makes us no better than them. But at the time I don't know if I care about that.”

“Its hard,” he agreed.

“It is,” you took his hand in yours, “I don't know what to do. For now, I just want him to be okay.”

“He's a stubborn old fool. He's not going to leave us that easily.”

“Promise?” Your voice was quiet and you weren't even sure you'd intended for him to hear it. Tommy nodded as offered him a small smile in return, “you better hurry up and get better soon, old man. Can't believe I'm saying this, but I miss your grumpy old face.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Time seemed slower than it ever did before as you remained by Joel's side. A few more days had passed and as much as you wanted to remain hopeful, you had to admit it was hard to. While his pallor returned and the dark bruising faded to green and yellow, he hadn't woken up. You never thought you could miss someone so much when they were right next to you. 

“You know,” you had moved onto the bed, laying on the edge to be close to him without hurting him further, “I remember when we first met after I got here. It was kind of like this then too, except I wasn't hurt as bad. One of the first things you said to me was that you knew I was going to be a pain in your ass. Turns out you were right, but I could say the same about you.”

The room was silent, filled only with the combined sounds of your soft breathing. You tentatively reached out a hand and traced your fingertips along his side, barely a ghost of a touch.

“I miss you, you know,” you continued, “I always miss you when you're gone, even if its only a few hours, but this is so much worse. Its like you're right here but a million miles away. I want you to come back to me soon. We're all waiting for you. Ellie misses you so much too. She saved you, you know. She never hated you, which I think you know deep down. She loves you, you'll always be her Joel. I love you. So much.”

You laid there until you fell asleep, only moonlight filtering in. You weren't sure how much long your heart could handle this.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was going on three weeks and you were still a wreck as much as the first day. You were growing impatient and tired and angry, and a million other emotions.

“You know I hate to ask you to leave but can you give Maria a hand with some stuff at the stables?” You looked at Tommy and glanced at Joel before nodding. He hadn't woken up yet, and at this you weren't sure when he would. It was probably fine to be gone for a few hours.

“Of course,” you stood up, giving Joel one last look before heading out. You'd be back soon enough.

It was a few hours of some back breaking labor that you were finally able to take a moment to breathe. There was still so much left to do to rebuild Jackson, and as reluctant as you had been to leave Joel, you were happy for the work that had taken all of your attention.

You heard your name being shouted from the distance and looked over to Benji running towards you with Tommy running after him. You exchanged a look with Maria and bent down to scoop him up in your arms.

“Hey kiddo, what's got you so excited?” 

“Uncle Joel,” he started simply, a big gap toothed smile on his face. Your heart stopped for a moment as you looked over to Tommy, who had managed to catch up.

“Tommy?” You tried to keep the excitement out of your face, “is he…?”

“He's awake,” he confirmed, “just woke up.”

“Oh my god,” you gently set him down and ran off without another word. You figured they'd understand.

You burst into the house and ran upstairs and into his room, chest heaving from the exertion. Kat raised an eyebrow at you but there was a smile pulling on the corners of her mouth, “just in time.”

“Joel?” Kat stepped out of the way and slipped out of the room to give the two of you some privacy.

And there he was; still looking worse for the wear but sat up in the bed and fully conscious. It might have been the most beautiful sight you had ever seen.

“Hey trouble,” his voice was dry and raspy but hearing him immediately brought tears to your eyes.

“Joel,” you took a few tentative steps towards him, part of you refusing to believe this was real. He moved his hand to reach out for you, “you're…you're…I thought I was going to lose you.”

“You can't get rid of me that easily,” his laugh turned into a cough and you handed him the glass of water that was by his bedside.

“Take it easy old man,” you joked through your tears, finally happy ones, as you sat next to him on the bed, “don't need you to hurt yourself now.”

He smiled at you, putting his hand on top of yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze, “you were here. The whole time.”

“Where else would I be?” You sniffled as he reached up and wiped your tears away. You put your hand on top of his and held it gently against your cheek.

“Preferably out living life,” he stroked his thumb over your skin, “not worrying about me.”

You studied him, taking in the brown eyes you'd missed so much. He was definitely far from recovered but he was here and he was alive. That was enough for now.

You gently took his hand off your face and took his face in your hands. You frowned at the bruising that was lingering but you knew it'd be gone soon enough. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his, kissing him as softly and tenderly as possible. With a relieved sigh, you touched your forehead against his, “I don't think I could ever stay away.”

“You know I'm never going to leave you,” he whispered as you nodded.

“I love you,” you promised, “even if you are a stubborn grump.”

“I love you too, trouble,” he shifted over gently before patting the same next to him, “c'mere.”

“I don't want to hurt you,” he scoffed and you kicked off your boots before getting into the bed next to him, slowly to make sure you didn't cause him any pain. You laid down and rested your head on his good leg, letting out a slow, deep breath. Joel started gently playing your hair, causing tingles to shoot through your entire body. You hadn't realized how much you missed his touch, “you should lie down too. You need the rest.”

“So do you,” he insisted, grinning as you yawned, “you've been here the whole time watching me, let me take care of you.”

“Only if you lie down with me and we both stay here for a while,” you insisted, turning your face to look up at him.

“I suppose,” he shifted with a grimace but was able to get himself comfortable next to you, draping an arm around your waist and pulling you against him, “you alright?”

“Better than I have been in weeks,” you turned so you were facing him, “I was scared that we'd never get to do this again. That I'd never see you again. That you would be gone…”

“Oh trouble,” he whispered, “that's never going to happen. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed, “I'm going to hold you to that, Miller.”

“I'd expect nothing less, trouble.”

[gladiatorcunt]

🎾 - #LOVE ON THE FLOOR !!

cw: unrealistic public sex on a tennis court 💀 (it’s nighttime and no one else is there), college era, afab reader, gross friends to lovers, strip tennis, soft dom!art x inexperienced!reader, vaginal fingering + titfucking + brief analingus (afab reader receiving), implied (soft) obsession & toxicity like art would marry you tomorrow, teasing (towards reader), nipple sucking (m receiving), art putting in overtime to hit on oblivious!reader, reader is so comically unaware pls just roll with it and suspend your disbelief, mandatory Patrick™️ mention, 3.5k of pure need, art’s so horny in this like 😔 (+subtle implications of him either being a manwhore or a porn addict, as a little treat), lowkey canon typical mind games, unedited

this was requested by a bot looking blog that i had to block but the idea still slapped! combined with an ask for inexperienced reader

Art Donaldson sees your instagram story that’s only a repost of a Ethel Cain song and tries not to click his heels together. It’s not like he’s happy you’re clearly going through something, but if the story is a result of what he thinks it’s a result of… then he’ll comfort you through it however he can. With his words, his tongue, babying you in the bath and washing your hair, etc. Just getting to be intimate with you at all is an opportunity he’d never turn down.

Suddenly you’re bursting into Art’s dorm like a bat out of hell, tears dotting your waterline and lower lip wobbling. His heart lurches and leaps in equal measures, his backwards cap feels like it constricts around his head as he resists the urge to fidget with it.

“He… he didn’t show up!”

Art shoots up and gets off his bed, rushing to you and rubbing his hands up and down your arms, “What are you talking about?”

He gives you a lingering hug and passes you some of your favorite fast food that he always keeps in the little fridge in his dorm. Somehow knowing that it’d be just what the doctor ordered, you’re so lucky to have such a caring friend. You two haven’t left each other’s side since you bumped him on the first day of class, bringing a clice to life by spilling your coffee all over his polo. Sometimes you still lie awake at night and cringe at yourself, trying to assure yourself that he’s stuck around your awkward ass for a reason.

You’re hiccuping through your story while munching on your chicken sandwich, “Mark acted so exicted yesterday, and now he’s stood me up. I waited in front of the café for an hour, people were staring…”

Art eyes you from his position on the bed, crowding against you due to the size and having half of his torso glued to your back. He doesn’t giggle at the adorable way you get frustrated when the pickle in your sandwich always slides out in between your teeth during a bite, but he thought about it! He reaches up and brushes his fingers against your hair, wanting to just touch it more than move it.

“I don’t know what to tell you, he’s an idiot and you’ll move on. It’s not like he’s the only person in the world.” He grumbles, not quite pouting as he hooks his chin on your shoulder.

“Okay now you’re just grumpy because I beat you at uno.” You tease, gesturing to the scattered pile of brightly colored cards on the bed.

He’s definitely made you feel better though, he always does. You both finish your food and Art stands up from the bed to grab his tennis bag. He pulls you up too and winks, saying that you can’t beat him at everything. You ask what he’s doing and he only grins, telling you to come with him. You nervously glance around as you’re pulled to race through the halls to the court. There’s a simmering feeling weaving in and out of your tightly intertwined fingers.

divider

Art lets go of your hand to drop his bag on the ground, leaving your palm feeling strangely cold without his warmth.

You’re still not sure you should even be out here, you know that you’re definitely not allowed but Art seems to sense your hesitation because he rushes towards you and cups your hands in his.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re not gonna get in trouble or anything, y’know that?” He chuckles, gently knocking the tip of his nose against yours. “Look up for me, the moon’s really pretty tonight.”

You follow his lead and tilt your head back to gaze up at the goregous crescent moon high in the oil colored sky. You don’t notice that he’s looking at you instead, that he doesn’t say that the moon reminds him of you but he feels like the one orbiting around you instead of the other way around. Luckily there’s not a cloud in sight, just a floating city of stars with a glowing center. Art lightly pulls on your wrists, clearly wanting your attention back on him, so you comply.

You’re not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but you don’t miss the odd glint in his eyes as he narrows them slightly.

His eyelids crinkle as he smiles charmingly, “Don’t you trust me?”

You answer with your heart, “Yes, of course I do.”

He beams at you and explains the rule of the game he dragged you all the way out here to play. It’s just like a regular game of tennis so you really shouldn’t sweat it, he says. His expression shifts when he makes a show out of being unable to look you in the eye when he tells you the special rules, knowing full well you can see him try to tamper down a self satisfied laugh. Whoever scores gets to pick whatever piece of clothing the other takes off, and the loser of the game has to get completely naked if they aren’t already.

Your cheeks warm and you gawk at him, “Isn’t it weird that you’ll see me… like that?”

“So you already know you’re gonna lose, huh? And it’s not like i haven’t seen most of it before.” Art laughs, not bothering to hide the blush on his face. “You’ve seen all of me, anyway.”

It’s true, you usually laze around in nothing but your underwear and that’s been the norm for you two. Art’s no different, he’ll change in front of you and will literally walk around butt naked around your dorm. More often than not, he’ll answer the door in only a towel around his waist and sitting on his hip bones, no matter if it’s one of your other friends or a project partner. You're constantly having to text the other because you forgot that you left your toothbrush behind. You’ve never had a chance to be embarrassed by it. It’s been like that for the longest time and anytime you’ll tell Art that your friends keep asking if he’s your boyfriend, he’ll just reassure you that you guys are just really close. And isn’t that a good thing?

“Besides, I think this’ll help get you out of your shell.”

You’re embarrassed at the reminder of how inexperienced you are. Sure, you shouldn’t have a whole thing about it or whatever, but it just is kind of alienating from other people your age to not be able to say you’ve done what they’ve done. And you would’ve been able to have some stories of your own if you could manage to hold down a date. But tonight isn’t supposed to be about you wallowing, you’re supposed to be having fun. Even if the sight of your best friend in tight fitting sporty clothes makes your pussy throb.

divider

You giggle nervously when he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you, swaying you from side to side before moving his grip up to your arms.

“Relax, i’m just checking your form. Being close to you is just a bonus.” He winks and presses his stomach up against your back.

It’s so cheesy, the situation and the pose. But you lean into his touch and pretend to care about how he’s showing you the right way to hold a racket and all that, he doesn’t even really care if he’s being honest. It’s romantic though, and he can’t resist the opportunity to get a taste of what it’d be like to pin your body down with his weight. He guides you through a few “practice” swings and then throws a two finger salute at you as he jogs around the net to his side of the court.

It’s your serve, and despite you being very much a beginner, you get the first point.

Art stands there expectantly, cocking his head to the side and bouncing on his heels in anticipation. You honestly didn’t consider that you’d actually be telling your best friend to take off his clothes for you, but you’re new thing is taking shit in stride, you guess.

“So, what’s it gonna be?” He shouts and hovers his fingers around the collar of his polo, ready for you to say the word.

You take the coward’s way out, “Your shoes.”

Art frowns but obeys the rules, swiftly unlacing his sneakers and tossing them to the side. The court’s not so rough that it’d be hell on his feet, but he’d do it for you even if it was all a bunch of jagged rocks cobbled together. The game goes on with Art scoring the next point, and then the one after that. He has you discard your necklace, one of those cheesy half heart ones that matches with one he has, and your shoes as well. He doesn’t wanna scare you off, but he knows what he wants to have you take off for him.

You score the next time, down goes his pants. Without them, few things are left to the imagination. Every time he’d walk around you naked you’d always keep your face firmly glued to your phone or something. But being faced with the very… detailed outline of his bulge through his underwear, that’s another thing entirely. It looks so long against his thigh it might as well be a third leg. There’s already a little wet spot where the tip must be.

You must’ve been taking too long to ogle him, because Art yells at you to “Focus on the game, yeah?”

You’re lucky it’s not a cold night when he gets the next point and has you take off your pants, which are really just glorified shorts. You unfasten them and shimmy them down your legs, letting them pool around your ankles and kicking them away from you. You haven’t shaved today, but you know that Art doesn’t care about that sort of thing. He’s made sure to tell you as much many times when you complain about how much your back hurts after you get done with it.

Art takes his sweet time dragging his gaze down your legs, already imagining bringing them around his waist or over his shoulders. Your panties are so cute too, cupping your pussy so closely that he can see the shapes of your puffy lips from all the way on the other side of the court, a “camel toe” or whatever you call it. He thinks it’s so hot, but you’re shy about it, asking him to see how you look in jeans that are a size too small. He always does a thorough inspection.

Whoever scores next wins the game, and you’re too busy trying not to fall on your ass to put any effort into it. It’s not a real game away, and besides, it’s not like anything has to happen when the loser completely undresses. Out of the corner of your eye you see Art’s dick twitch in his briefs and you get so distracted that you freeze and miss the neon yellow-green ball hurtling past you. Art whoops and cheers as you process the fact that you lost.

“You know what that means.” Art grins from ear to ear. “Make a show out of it for me.”

divider

You don’t even mind the staring, it’s such a common thing that you’d be more pissed off if he wasn’t looking at you at all. The way his eyes devour every inch of bare skin and drop of sweat that you earned during the game. You pull your tank top up and over your head, leaving you in just your bra and panties. Your bra isn’t a frilly thing, you wear it mainly for support, but Art can’t seem to tear himself away from the view of your pushed up tits rising and falling as you breathe.

You…. don’t know what to do now, the big appeal of the game is over, you awkwardly laugh it off and bend over to pick up your clothes. Art shakes his head to snap himself out of his horny fever dream and races over to you, latching onto your wrist and stopping you from getting dressed again.

“You’re supposed to take it all off, remember?”

You drop your clothes, noticing that he still doesn’t let you go.

Heats fills your cheeks as he steps closer, delicately sliding his fingertips up the inside of your arm and around your back. He plays with the hook of your bra, gazing down at you with a look full to brim with unknown intent and purpose. He doesn’t do something as bold as unlatching it right out the gate, no, he just stares into your soul.

“I remember.” Your eyes drop down to his lips, and that’s when you know it’s over. “Can’t exactly do it myself if you’ve already got one foot in the door.”

You’ve gotta know when to fold ‘em, and all that.

Art softly smiles and loops his fingers under your bra strap. You have to remind yourself to breathe, but you don’t really get much of a chance to. Before you can stop yourself and think with your head, you’re canting up to press your lips to his. Art immediately kisses you back, chuckling into the kiss when you gasp as he expertly unhooks your bra with one hand.

In the blink of an eye, you’re flat on your back on the court, Art having hastily thrown his shirt under you while you were tangling your tongues together. He presses an array of wet open mouthed kisses down your body, paying extra special attention to the trimmed patch of hair at the top of your mound.

“Smells so good, ‘s cute, too. It figures you’d have the prettiest pussy I've ever seen.” He coos, dragging a lone finger down your slit before gently pushing it inside.

You gasp, wrenching your eyes shut tight at the intrusion. He takes good care of you, slowly sinking his finger in to the knuckle and sliding it in and out of you. He gradually adds more fingers as the minutes pass. Your walls throb around him, and if Art were a weaker man (like the guy you almost went out with) he would’ve said fuck it and plunged his dick into your cunt in one smooth stroke. But you deserve the best first time possible, and all the distractions he’s used have helped him be patient enough to refrain from humping you like a dog.

“You’re okay, you can take it. It’s nothing compared to what this pussy’s going to be taking later anyway, baby.” He hums and nuzzles his nose into where your inner thigh meets your mound.

As he’s languidly thrusting his fingers into your puffy pussy, Art strains his neck to lap at your ass. He holds one of your fat cheeks in his free hand and spreads you open, diving in to suck on the puckered hole between them. He sharpens his tongue and jabs it into your ass, his cock throbs when you let out the sweetest little squeals at the squelching and throaty noises he’s making. He can feel your hole unfurling with every slurp and suck, something that only makes him increase the speed of his long fingers in your pussy, maintaining a breathtaking steady rhythm.

Eventually his poor leaking cock can’t take anymore grinding into the ground, so Art crooks his fingers and (albeit a bit cruelly) jams them into your sweet spot. The velvet grip of your pussy strangles his digits like a dream, you’d take dick so beautifully. Your eyes fly open and your throat spasms around a mangled moan. He pulls his fingers out of your soaking wet pussy, smirking up at you as he sucks them try like a professionally trained whore. Your clit receives a loving kitten lick as an apology for neglecting it, and with that Art hovers over you at an even eye to eye level again.

“Holy shit…” You pant and flick his pebbled nipples, absentmindedly rolling them around with your thumb. “Are we really doing this?”

“Yeah, we are.” Art sighs, his head falls back as you duck down to suck his nipples into your mouth, the saliva you lathered them with dripping down your chin. He grabs the back of your head and pushes your face into his chest, arching his back.

“Relax, I bribed security and told them to fuck off for the night.”

That doesn’t concern you as much as it should, you’re too transfixed on Art wrenching your mouth off of his pecs and moving to straddle your chest.

“Can you push them together for me?” He breathes hard and grinds his weeping cock against your tits, mesmerized by how his precum makes your skin glisten.

“Oh, fuck.” He groans when you do, making quick use out of the delicious new friction the little pocket provides. “Thanks, honey.”

You keep staring at the tip of his dick, loving the little peek you get of it as he fucks your tits and it pokes your chin. You don’t even realize you’re doing it but you let your mouth hang open, angling your head down so his cockhead pecks your tongue at the end of every thrust. You make sure to lick every drop of pre cum away as it oozes out of him, looking so nice against the flushed pink skin of his tip. Art groans when he finally summons the strength to watch you do it, the sight hurtling him over the edge before he has the time or vocal ability to warn you.

His thick load jets out to land all over your tits, half of it on the lower half of your face. You’re almost sad it didn’t get high enough to clump your lashes together, it would’ve made for the perfect contact picture. Oh well, maybe next time. It’s amazing, the switch you’ve made from the shy friend to the writhing slut underneath him. You blame it on the honest to God sweet taste of his milky white cum, surprisingly making you think of the pineapples he always snatches from your plate when you eat at school together.

(Another painstaking effort made just for you, love)

It’s a miracle you get back to his dorm, some of your clothes are swapped and put on incorrectly and you both didn’t clean up at all. As soon as you reach the door, Art practically shoves you inside and onto the bed. He gets so frustrated with having to get your clothes off again that he just rips them right off of you, promising to take you to the mall tomorrow (or whenever he lets you leave the bed) to buy replacements. You literally couldn't care less if he shackles you to the wall, you need him to rearrange your guts so badly, you’d kill for it. Should you be having deep conversations about your feelings and what the future will look like? Absolutely, but your clit is clouding your sense of rationality and you don’t mind that right now.

“Do you even know how much i’ve wanted this? To fuck you so hard that we end up attached at the hip?” He bites, breaking away from your lips to suck bruises down the column of your throat. “We can have a baby- please have my baby, fuck!”

There’s something so weirdly romantic about the leftover scent of the court combined with the twinkling stars outside. Art’s moans and hands scrambling to pin you down so all you have to do is take it, you’re doing things all out of order, but this was always going to happen sooner or later. Art is a clumsy manipulator but he’s so handsome… you find yourself agreeing to every frantic declaration flying out of his mouth as he spears his long cock into your sopping wet pussy. You claw red lines into his shoulders and back, and Art nearly creams on the spot. The sting and the fact that you’re so out of it, you’re marking him up, are crossing the wires in his brain. His taut thighs burn with the effort of fucking you so far into the mattress.

You’ll get to cum four more times than he does, and by the end of it you’ll wish you never came at all. Your soul’s goikg to be so far away from your ruined mess of limbs that you won’t notice the sacred promises being muttered into your sweaty hair or pay attention to your phone being out on Do Not Disturb. You’ll be right where you should be, inevitably molded around the shape of his dick and branded by all the love bites that litter your body. You’ll think you passed out during most of them, but you’ll give him a loopy smile, hook your pinky around his, and let yourself melt away.

It feels as if your walls are still clenching around a dick that’s no longer buried to the hilt in them.

“I love you”’s are for early mornings with coffee and pancakes. Gloating to Patrick will be for hours before then, Art blocking him when you’re deep asleep and unable to mend the growing rift between them.

[f0ofishies]

bonten!rindou , you found out your little psychopath boyfriend.. was an actual psychopath. you should've known that insignia tattooed on the front of his neck.

bonten!rindou accidentally leaving his blood-stained gloves in the dumbest compartment of his car. Your first arguement ever– and a huge one at that.

bonten!rindou , who made you so desensitized on the topics of how he beat another guy with some bat– or even shoot people. You'd just looked at him.. your eyes. He knew he was in trouble.

bonten!rindou that still got you to stay with him, you knew you loved him, he knew that too. There'd be no way you'd leave him– even if he was a part of a criminal organization. He stared at you, he pouted a bit.

bonten!rindou , who was late from your upcoming date because he had this huge meeting. It basically escalated another argument like before. You were pissed off.. already sleeping on your backside.

"Baby.. don't sleep yet.." His back against the doorway, he contemplated onto whether to approach you or not. Long strides of his quickened pace on the floor was heard. "Mmm, my darling.." He confided in you in his whiny voice.

You felt his pesky hands, trapped between him. You grumbled.. "Rin..not now.." You buried your head into the silky pillows. He grumbled– and his purple hair slid over your shoulder. "Just hear me out.. okay..?" The desperation in his tone made you ache.

"What is it?.." You whispered back at him, finally letting him rest beside his purple gaze, leaning in to kiss your cheek desperately. "I'm going tomorrow..." "Where–" You interrupted as he shushed you, by the way his eyes fell You could tell it wasn't good news. "A mission tomorrow, It's going to be dangerous.. and I won't be back for a few weeks."

Your eyes widened at the revelation. "But–" Your hands quickly grabbed his head, pulling him closer. "Don't– don't leave me, not when our relationship.." You panicked, babbling on about how he needed to be here– to stay with you.. to stay together. You huffed– tears welled up in your eyes.

He kissed those salty tears away, you huffed as his thumb swiped at your eyes. "Mmm.. cmon beautiful.. it's just two weeks..?" "No..!" You spouted out loud. "No– you can't.. please..."

bonten!rindou chuckled, kissing your stray tears.. it was salty to him– he always thought how cute you were when you cried. But it did tug on his heart the way you just wanted him to stay. Another plead, a wail or even a cry.. he'd just stay, he really would.

bonten!rindou who was rocking his hips inside you, "Cmon, pretty.. put your legs over me.." He huffed when you didn't listen. Tugging at your calf– he hoisted up your leg muscle against his defined chest. He wasn't very muscular but defined through the years. Your leg straightened, accommodating to the stretch with no prep.

"Rin– no more..!" Your cries could probably be heard by the neighbors.. you've had too much sex with rindou. The neighbors already got the full show at that, you couldn't care less 'bout them. He suddenly picked up his thrusts, his hips grinding against yours.

"So good for me.. so shittt–" He could feel your walls clenching around him, he's pesky thumb rimming around your ass hole. Even as much as spreading it wide.. juices of both of you sliding back out. Such a lewd sight. Your face changed into an 'o' as he did that move, you were so familiar with.

"I wish you could look at yourself– you always make such lewd expressions when I do that..!" He murmured close to your ear, those redden ears of yours matching your eyes, he could tell it was too much. You could catch a glimpse of his adam's apple bobbing– that made another moan quiver right out of you.

And just when he finally bursts his load right inside you, he can't help but keep his hips jerking slightly. Hearing another whimper for you, his signature smile catches you off guard. Rindou was a cold man, but you always had a way to tug on his heartstrings. "Promise.. promise you'll come back, dont matter the things you need to do.." It earned a laughter from him.

"Come back? Baby, you know I'll always come back.. even when you hold that ring on your finger?" oh,, Rindou Haitani, that sneaky man, had slipt an engagement ring right around your finger.

[fxllfaiiry]

─ you're the sunflower ੈ✩‧₊˚

✶ pairing: miguel o'hara x fem!reader

✶ synopsis: everyone on the team loves you, expect miguel who seems to hate you more than anyone.

✶ warnings: angst!! major angst. sunshine!reader x grumpy!miguel. reader is nicknamed sunflower, mentions of death.

✶ notes: there's one spanish sentence in this, I'm not good with spanish so if I've made a mistake please tell me so i can fix it! part two is already up!!!

Everyone on the team loved you from the moment you joined, everyone, except Miguel. 

You knew Miguel was cold towards everyone, but he was extra cold with you. Maybe it was because of how different your personalities were. 

You were the embodiment of sunshine, always positive in any situation, putting others before yourself. Hence why everyone calls you sunflower, it fits perfectly, Miles was proud of coming up with it. 

Miguel on the other hand was cold and distant but that didn't stop you from trying to get him to open up. You'd try to have simple conversations with him but nothing, all you would receive in reply was an eye roll or a slight grunt, but you wouldn't give up that easily. 

Like today, you got him some coffee. 

"Morning, boss. Got you some coffee." You said in your usual cheerful tone. 

"Why?" He raised his eyebrows, looking down at you suspiciously. That's the most he's said to you all week. 

"Because I wanted to." You shrugged, placing it down on his desk. 

He steped down walking towards his desk, you couldn't help but stare at him, unfortunately for you, everything about him was so attractive, it's such a shame he hated you. 

"This isn't how I like my coffee." 

"Huh?" You snapped out of your daydream at the sound of his voice. 

"The coffee, it tastes terrible. Get it from another place next time." 

"Well, actually I made it-" But he had already walked away from you not listening to a word you said. "Alright, never mind, I'll just go back to work." You mumbled hurt by his words. 

"Wait, hold on." You looked up, thinking, maybe he'll say something nice after all. 

"Yeah?" 

"Take the coffee with you, I won't be drinking it." 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"Girl, why do you look so sad? Did Miguel do something again?" Jess asked with a frown, she did not like seeing you sad. 

"No."

"Sunflower…"

"Okay, yes." Miguel being cold towards you was normal, he never spoke to you unless necessary. Out of everyone here, he probably hated you the most, even more than Miles.  

"Sunflower, I've told you to stop trying." Jess sighed. 

"I know, I know… why does he hate me so much, Jess?" 

"That's just the way he is, don't overthink it. It's his loss, baby." She replied, gently patting your shoulder. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Today was going to be a good day, you were so sure of it. 

But, of course, you were wrong. 

Everything was going great up until a few hours ago. 

Miguel had assigned you on a mission to catch an anomaly, alongside a few other spider-people. His instructions were clear, stick to the plan and catch the anomaly. It was supposed to be simple. 

If only you didn't disobey him. You screwed up badly, and because of that, you could have been killed. 

"Why don't you ever listen?" Miguel shouted. No one had ever seen him this angry. 

"I was just tryin-" 

"¡Ay, por el amor de Dios!" Being yelled at by your boss in front of your coworkers was humiliating, everyone was looking at you with pity. 

"I'm sick of this, why can’t you follow simple instructions? Is it that hard to understand?" He barked, towering over you. 

"It's not a big deal." You tried to keep your composure, you didn't want to humiliate yourself further by bursting into tears. 

"Not a big deal? You could've died! A simple mistake would have ruined the whole mission." 

Don't cry. Don't cry. 

"But we're all fine, aren't we?" You weakly chuckled. That was the wrong thing to say because it only made him angrier. 

"Oh? If that's the attitude you have then you shouldn't even be on the team." Ouch. 

"Miguel, I think that's enough-" Hobie said, quickly jumping in. 

"Not now, Hobie." He growled. 

Never once did you think that you'd be in a situation like this. 

"If you put more focus on trying to be good at your job, rather than impressing me, we wouldn't even be here!" Oh, so he did notice that. 

At this point, tears were streaming freely down your face and you made no attempt to stop them. 

"Yep, you got it, boss." You smiled up at him through your tears. It was pathetic, but you did not care, you just wanted to leave and never come back. 

"Next time make sure this doesn't happen." 

"It won't happen next time." That's because there won't be a next time.

[kxsagi]

hi okay this is my first time requesting you hehe i love ur work sm omgomg (ᵕ—ᴗ—) i was thinking,, preferably isagi(!!) rin, and sae telling reader they're soo proud of them and then reader just starts bawling sobbing on the spot LMAOO (bonus points if they're the type of person to not cry or show as much emotions as a normal person would) OKAY THAT'S IT TBH TYSM feel free to ignore !!

“𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐟 ♡”

a/n: thank you so much lovey!!! this was such a cute thing to write, it actually brought me so much comfort myself and i hope it can do the same for you!

i love these boys with all of my heart (was listening to i love my boyfriend by princess chelsea while making this)

(i don't know art credits, sorry)

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi sae, itoshi rin

isagi yoichi

he says it so softly. so gently. 

you're just brushing your teeth in your oversized shirt, talking about something you did at work like it was no big deal, and he leans against the bathroom doorframe, arms crossed, and says, “you know i’m really proud of you, right?” 

you pause. the toothbrush is halfway to your mouth. the minty foam dies on your tongue. “… huh?” you blink once. twice. 

and then: FULL MELTDOWN. ugly crying. ugly sniffling. 

you sit on the edge of the tub, hand over your face, going: “w-why would you say that???” 

isagi is panicking. 

“WAIT WAIT, ARE YOU OKAY?? WHAT DID I DO?” 

you sob harder. 

he kneels beside you and cradles your face with both hands, kissing your wet cheeks like: “no no no, you’re doing so amazing, please don’t die on me, i was just being NICE???” 

eventually he starts crying too. 

now you’re both crying in the bathroom at 11:37 PM. 

“yoichi, stop crying, i’m the broken one today.” 

“you started it!”

itoshi sae

you’re doing something simple. dishes maybe. scrolling on your phone. tying your shoes. 

and he looks at you from across the room and goes, “… i’m proud of you, you know.” 

completely unprompted.  totally quiet. like he’s just stating a fact. 

you freeze. your soul leaves your body. the words echo in your head like a church bell. "i’m proud of you." 

suddenly you’re short-circuiting. 

“… why would you say that to me,” you whisper, voice already cracking. 

you break down. RIGHT THERE. 

you are sobbing into your hoodie sleeves like it’s a k-drama finale. 

“stop saying nice things, i can’t handle that!!” 

sae just blinks. 

“… what did i say wrong...” 

he walks over slowly like you’re a scared kitten and he’s trying not to spook you. “you okay?”

you shake your head, tears streaming down your face. 

he sighs. wraps an arm around your shoulder. rests his cheek on your head. 

"you’re ridiculous. i love you. but ridiculous." 

acts chill, but lowkey tries it again later just to see you cry again. finds it adorable. never admits it. 

itoshi rin

you two are sitting in the car. you’re venting about something – people being annoying, goals not being met, your own high standards eating you alive. 

he listens, eyes forward, fingers flexing on the steering wheel. and when you finish, he goes, “i’m proud of you.”

you blink. “… what?” 

he looks over at you. “i mean it. i’m really proud of you.” 

and then it’s OVER. you burst into tears. like ugly cry tears. 

you’re trying to keep it quiet but your face is in your hands, and you’re shaking. he’s just sitting there like: “oh my gosh.” 

reaches into the glove box like there’s an emergency girlfriend-crying kit in there. "uh… here’s a napkin??" 

you sniff, voice all wobbly: “why would you say that, rin? i don’t cry!” 

he’s stunned. "you’re literally crying right now?" 

“yeah and it’s your fault!!" 

softens. puts a hand on your thigh, thumb rubbing slow circles. 

“you do everything perfectly. you’re allowed to feel things.” 

then mutters under his breath, “… even if it kills me to watch you glitch out like this.” 

he never says it out loud again, but texts you “i’m proud of you” once a week now, just to keep your system on its toes. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[alchemistc]

Once again I need to get off my ass and go work but instead all I'm thinking about is Them:

Buck's mostly got his breathing under control by the time he hears the side door slide open, and he adjusts his weight automatically, tips his chin as he straightens his spine, tugs at the bottom of his suit jacket like that will fix the wrinkles he'd made bending at the waist for the last ten minutes.

"Buck?"

He's turned away, thank god, so Tommy can't see the wince.

"I'm fine," he says, annoyed with himself and the world at large when it comes out wobbly. "Go back ins-." When he hears the door click shut again he takes a moment to hope Tommy's just left, again, but -

No such luck.

"That door locks from the inside," Buck murmurs, and tears his gaze away from the gentle expression on Tommy's face. There'd been a cardboard box wedged up in there by whatever line cook had been out here smoking when Buck burst through the doors, and the guy had left it with a warning about how insanely large this building was and how few doors along its perimeter were unlocked, and now the broken down box is somewhere beneath Tommy's left foot.

Tommy tries the door anyway.

It doesn't budge. "We could just call Eddie," Tommy says, and Buck feels the ire rise in his throat.

"Eddie's not here," he spits, and it feels like a knife under the ribs. Everyone fucking leaves, eventually. "Call your date, if you want. I'm walking."

Buck heaves himself up from his lean against the brick, takes two large strides to make it past Tommy and keeps going.

He should have known better than taking Bobby at his word that this stupid gala would be worth his time. So far he's dodged conversations about the curse of the 118, spent an unbearable five minutes smiling blandly at Gerrard before he could excuse himself, and tossed two numbers written on raffle tickets into the trash in his mad dash through the kitchens because apparently Tommy had been chosen as the rep for 217 and he looks fucking good in his suit, and he'd been pretty sure they'd be spending this Christmas together, until last month.

He's twenty yards down the alley when he hears footsteps catching up to him. Light, brisk - he's jogging to catch up and Buck doesn't want to deal with -

"Not my date," Tommy says, and Buck curses his own body for automatically slowing to allow him to catch up.

Buck snorts. "Okay." The guy was older - than Buck, at least. Grey around his temples, fat lips and clever eyes that caught Tommy's mid-sentence and sent them both into quiet hysterics.

"Buck, would you just -."

He's close enough to reach for Buck's arm, so Buck wrenches it away before he can make contact. "Don't call me that."

December twenty-third is one of those weird days where the world doesn't quite work the same. Traffic is heavier or lighter in weird places, people with nothing to do wander the streets or hole up in their homes making too much food and watching weird holiday movies, and even in LA it gets chilly enough at night to need a jacket. This one isn't doing shit to keep Buck warm, but the anger catching in his throat sure is.

"It's your name," Tommy says, exasperated.

"Not to you." Buck stops dead in his tracks, watches Tommy take another three steps before he realizes he's alone. When he turns, Buck doesn't allow himself to turn away from his gaze. Annoyance isn't a new look - Buck has tested the waters enough in six months to know intimately exactly how far he could push it before Tommy stopped indulging him.

He looks upset. Frustrated. Tired. Hot as fuck. Buck sort of wishes he'd do something about those first two.

Something other than walk away.

Tommy sighs. Runs a hand through his hair, and the sides aren't as high and tight anymore. There's a piece curling over the tip of his ear and Buck wants to tug at it, slide his fingers in there and tuck it back. "That was Sal," he says, and Buck flicks through the sadly small Rolodex of names Tommy has mentioned in the past. Another boundary Buck hadn't realized was a brick fucking wall in the way of getting to know his boyfriend.

Ex.

Sal. He'd been at the 118 with Gerrard, in the early days. Before Chim and Hen, before Bobby. He'd been the one to prompt Tommy into filing a complaint against Gerrard even though he'd been scared out of his mind to do it.

"I don't care."

He does care, is the problem. He cares so much. He's got a pile of fruit cakes and half a dozen pies sitting on his kitchen island right now that prove it. He can't seem to stop caring.

Tommy looks sceptical.

Buck brushes past him again, keeping his strides long. Tommy's the same height, but both literally and metaphorically he's always struggled to keep up when Buck had somewhere to be.

At least the panic attack has passed. Maybe he could take up running, as a cure all, instead of the weak ass recovery period he usually takes that involves him drinking a bottle of water and staring at the same spot on the wall until he sees stars.

So, fine. Tommy hadn't brought a date to the work function it was entirely possible Buck would be at six weeks after breaking up with him and disappearing into the damn wind. He'd bubbled Buck seven times that Buck knew of, and he hadn't brought a date.

Fine.

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You looked -."

Buck had watched Tommy wheeze with laughter and curl a hand around the dudes - Sal's - wrist and he'd felt like maybe he was gonna throw up. Like six months and the something he'd been working his way up to defining hadn't meant a damn thing. Like Tommy could just move on like he seemed to think Buck could.

"Doing great, Tommy. My best friend is moving to Texas and the man I thought I could -." Buck clears his throat. Shuffles sideways just a bit because Tommy is keeping pace now and his cologne is familiar and devastating. He doesn't have anything inside. Once he rounds this corner he could just order an Uber and go home.

There's nothing keeping him here.

"Eddie's moving?"

The no contact thing had extended to everyone at the 118, apparently. At least Buck wasn't alone in that.

Buck digs out his phone, slows his pace just enough to pull up the app he needs. He can feel Tommy's eyes burning a hole in the side of his head.

"Yeah, well. I'm getting used to people leaving at this point," he says, filling it with as much ire as he can. His voice doesn't wobble this time.

"Buck."

It's soft, this time, same inflection as when he'd cage Buck against a counter and lick into his mouth. "Don't worry about me, Tommy. You made it a point not to."

"That's not fair."

Buck couldn't care less. He's spent six weeks on a depression baking spiral and now he wants to go home and destroy every bit of baked goods he's made that are still left.

It only takes a few taps. They're surging prices, but that's not exactly a shocker.

He'd really thought the next time he saw Tommy he'd just be sad. Maybe he'd feel a little wistful about all the moments they'd shared that had meant something to Buck even if they hadn't meant the same to Tommy.

He wants to swing a fist, if he's being honest. He wouldn't. Not ever. But the desire is there and he hates it.

"Buck, could we just -."

"Stop calling me that!"

"I pay a mortgage, Evan!"

Buck can't remember Tommy ever raising his voice. It's - weird.

"I'm forty years old and I own a house and you asked me to move in to your loft after you told me you admired me." The emphasis isn't lost on him.

His ride is three minutes away.

"I got it the first time, Tommy. Haven't sucked enough cocks or done enough tests to know what I really want, so. Go enjoy your evening with Sal and -."

"That is not what I said." Cool, calm. Infuriating.

"Well that's what I got from it, so clearly we were never on the same page. I wanted a future with you and you've been eyeing the expiration date the whole time so -."

He's definitely not expecting Tommy's lips. But there they are, on his, and Buck's stumbling back, fully expecting the sharp crack of the brick at the back of his head as Tommy surges forward with him, only Tommy's hand curls around his skull at the last second and takes the brunt of the landing. His mouth opens on a groan and Buck licks up into it. Their noses clash and rather than shifting for better positioning they just press closer. Tommy's free hand finds the soft give of Buck's waist and his thigh finds purchase between Buck's legs and -

"You're willfully misunderstanding me," Tommy says, lips on Buck's jaw, heart pounding under Buck's hand, his breath ghosting along Buck's cheek.

"Never really gave me the opportunity for clarity," Buck bites back, and Tommy huffs, rolls his hips, tucks his forehead into the juncture of Buck's shoulder.

His pulse is pounding in his ears and there's a cloud of Tommy Tommy Tommy obscuring his senses.

"Do you still want that?"

Buck's phone dings in his hand.

His ride is here.

"Not if you're just gonna walk away again," Buck bites out, and shoves. Hard.

It barely moves Tommy, but it's enough to slip out of his grasp.

He doesn't glance behind to see if Tommy follows as he pulls at his suit jacket again and rounds the corner to try to catch - he eyes his phone - Sheri before she cancels the ride on him.

Doesn't stop him from hearing the footfalls behind him while he searches out the blue Honda Civic.

[daddyslittlecrow]

How about period Sex with caleb⁉️⁉️

YES YES I WILL!!

Oh.

You meant…no, no, of course. It's just a prompt! Not a serious possibility 🤧

Anyway….I love these types of prompts. Menstruation happens whether people like it or not and I absolutely love that the game has 5 such gentle, kind period trackers ❤️

And they would all absolutely fuck you during it if you let them

Not proofread, sue me 🤘

Warnings: 18+ MDNI

Painkiller - Caleb

For some reason, the cramps seemed to be much more intense this month. You spent the last few hours curled up around a heating pad, willing the painkillers to keep working. While the pain was still manageable, you peeled yourself from the sheets, hobbling to the bathroom to change your pad.

By the time you were washing your hands, you heard the door to your apartment shut. Caleb. You shamelessly texted him a while ago, begging him to come over after work so he could take care of you.

You collapsed back into your nest of self-pity just as he burst through the door. “I bought 4 different kinds of chocolate to avoid any tears. Learnt my lesson last time.” He said immediately, a plastic grocery bag in one hand and the other hiding behind his back.

He bent down. His kiss told you how much he missed you, caressing your lips with his. The scent of aftershave mingled with steel consumed you. You breathed him in, urging your racing heart to settle. It didn't help that he was still in his sexy uniform.

Caleb straightened up, a boyish grin plastered on his face. “Also got you these for being so brave.”

Red roses. Emotions swelled in your chest as you admired them. His gesture was returned with a weak smile. “They’re beautiful Caleb. Thank you.”

He left the bag of supplies next to you before walking out with roses and the vase that held last week’s bouquet. While you felt somewhat okay now, you knew the cramps were lurking. Patiently waiting until the painkillers left your system so they could seek revenge.

Thank God you asked him for more. The pills you took earlier were the last one in the box. You brought the grocery bag closer to you, sifting through the chocolate and pads. Oh no. Quickly dumping everything onto the bed, pure panic bubbled.

“Where are the painkillers?” Caleb was walking back into your room, eyes growing wide at your words. His cheeks flushed. He had forgot them, distracted by the flower stand.

You tapped your phone screen, checking time. It was too late. By the time Caleb returned to the store it would be closed. You sighed dramatically. “I guess I'll die tonight then.”

Caleb chewed on his bottom lip, feeling terrible that he racked his brain for a solution. He placed the roses on your nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. The warmth of his finger tips felt soothing as he traced patterns along your back. You were wearing the comfiest things you could find. A pair of sweatpants and one his t-shirts.

His amethyst eyes drank you in like you were the most beautiful creature on earth. Even if you thought you looked horrendous with your hair piled on top of your head and a lovely hormonal spot screaming for attention on your chin.

“You know Pips…i think I read somewhere that orgasms can help. Eases the cramps.” You laughed despite feeling your cheeks start to burn. Despite feeling miserable during your period, it also made you extra…sensitive.

“Nice try. Did you suddenly forget there’s literal blood flowing out of me?” You reached for one of the chocolate bars, trying not to focus on the slight tremble of your hands. “Come back when the river’s running clear.”

Caleb shook his head, hand sliding down to the hem of his t-shirt. Last month he had finally realised you got incredibly horny during your period. But you never initiated anything and he gave you space, assuming you weren't into it. But he decided to test the waters today.

He loved taking care of you and if that meant making you cum so you'd be less uncomfortable, well? It was a win-win in his books. “What if I told you I don't care whether you’re on your period or not?”

Avoiding the burning glare of his eyes, you snapped off a piece of chocolate and shoved it in your mouth. Anything to distract you from the pulsing sensation that started between your legs.

It's not that you thought it was gross to have period sex, you just couldn't stop imagining a grimace on your boyfriend’s face if he looked down. You’d rather just avoid the potential for embarrassment.

Caleb leaned over and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. Your breath hitched, a dribble of chocolate at the corner of your mouth. He knew his proposal interested you. Your thighs pressing instinctively together did not go unnoticed.

But he could also see you were too in your head, worrying about the worst case scenario. At war with yourself. He just needed to get you to stop thinking altogether.

The pad of his thumb collected the chocolatey drool before pushing it back into your mouth. Your heart hammered in your chest as you felt his thumb go past your lips.

“Suck.”

The command went right to your pussy, feeling it flutter with anticipation. A small groan slipped out of you. Instantly your lips wrapped around him, swirling your wet tongue around the tip. Just like you did with his cock.

Caleb hissed. Restraining his desires was quite the challenge when you hollowed your cheeks slightly to suction him. Your eyes locked on his - eager, waiting. His jaw clenched, forcing himself to ignore how hard he was already - straining painfully against his work trousers.

This wasn't about him.

A soft pop followed as Caleb removed his thumb from your mouth. Then his lips were on yours, claiming them, swallowing the soft moans the came from your throat. He took those sweet sounds as permission to keep going but he wanted to make sure.

He grabbed the material of the t-shirt, peeling it up over your head. Your back hit the mattress as he gently pushed you down. His eyes trailed down to your bare breasts before lowering himself, his body almost on top of you.

He kissed a scorching path down your neck, stopping when he reached one of your nipples. Your back arched, pushing your breast closer to his mouth. He smirked, flicking out his tongue to tease the sensitive bud. You whined. “Caleb…”

“Good girls use their words, pipsqueak.” His hand slipped under the waistband of your sweatpants, then your panties. A wave of embarrasment hit you and you tried to move his hand away.

Caleb tutted before grabbing your wrist with his free hand, pinning your arm over your head. His fingers pressed against your clit and you moaned loudly as he worked in agonizingly slow circles. Every bit of hesitation melted away as your pussy clenched around nothing. His eyes never left yours.

“Tell me what you want or I’ll stop.” He murmured against your breast before sucking your nipple into his mouth. The tempo of his fingers increased, making your hips buck.

“You - ah - I want…you.” The pleasure started to build, making it difficult to speak. Caleb growled against your breast before removing his hand from your panties.

He practically ripped your bottoms off your legs, leaving you bare before him. His eyes hungrily roamed your body before stopping at your swollen pussy.

He didn't expect how aroused he got seeing your wetness tinged pink with blood. His dick was leaking at the sight. You’d feel so much wetter, hotter, if he sank his length into you right now. And because you were extra sensitive, you'd be able to feel every thick inch as he dragged through your gummy walls.

Before you could start overthinking, he gripped your thighs hard and pushed them apart, opening you wider for him. “Just like back and let me make you feel good, beautiful.”

Your fingers clutched the sheets, trying to anchor yourself as he resumed his touch on your engorged clit. You moaned his name like a prayer. He answered by bringing his middle finger right next to your pulsing hole.

“You want it Pips?” His voice was rough with raw need. He ignored your desperate hips urging him to go further, to fill you with his long finger. “Fucking beg for it.”

You let out a sob as his movements on your clit slowed, refusing to indulge you until you obeyed. “Please let me cum on your…ah…your fingers. I need you.”

The air left your lungs as he slammed his finger into your pussy. He grunted as he fucked it into you hard, making your eyes roll back as your body writhed. In. Out. In. Out.

The sounds of your squelching cunt was sending you close to the edge. He added a second digit, stretching your slick walls. Your hips rocked to match his pace, fucking his fingers as your stomach clenched from the intense pleasure that grew.

“That’s it baby. I know. It feels good doesn't it? So tight. Want you to cum.” Caleb curled his fingers, massaging your g-spot as your moans grew louder. “Good girl. Cum for me. All over my fingers.”

The tension in your body finally snapped. Your jaw went slack as you let out a guttural scream, pussy clenching as you chased each wave of your orgasm. Caleb continued to sciossor his fingers into you, loving how your back arched from what he did to you.

After a few more leisurely pumps, he withdrew his fingers. You melted into the mattress, utterly spent. Your flushed face only burned hotter when Caleb immediately went to the bathroom. He returned with a damp washcloth and gently cleaned you up.

“How are you feeling?” He asked softly, afraid he may have been a bit too rough. He just couldn't help it. He stopped cleaning a few times to leave kisses on your stomach.

Despite cringing at the undeniable mess between your legs, he may have been right. Your orgasm seemed to keep your cramps at bay for a while longer. “That was definitely better than swallowing a few pills.”

You broke out into a fit of laughter and he grinned as he leaned over to kiss you. Your eyes bore into his when he pulled away, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You didn’t miss the michevious spark that burned in his gaze.

“I’ll check in with you we get something to eat. I might be able to give you something…stronger if the pain comes back.”

[whatifitis]

♡ i wish you would've stayed - LN 4 ♡

Summary: you and lando had a fling and things end but did he lie? he found someone new when he said he wasn't ready.

WC: 2636

CW: angst, very small mention of weight loss, overuse of song lyrics, use of quotes i found on tiktok

How can it be that everytime someone says they aren’t ready for a relationship with you, they always end up ready for the girl after? 

You and Lando had been friends for a couple of months before you ended up developing feelings for him. Like, who wouldn’t fall for him? He’s funny, cute, and charming. You guys would talk for hours on end. Everytime you two would find something in common, it felt like the invisible string between the two of you was real. Maybe all these things were signs that you had finally met your person. 

When you were able to talk to him, it felt like everything was okay. When it felt like no one wanted you around, he did. It didn’t matter if you just had a hellish day or not, he was always able to bring you back to joy and contentness in a second. He showed you how it felt to be loved, for the first time in your life. 

When you’d confessed to him about your feelings for him, he’d said he liked you as well. You remember nearly bursting into tears as giddiness swirled in your chest. This was the first time your feelings had been well received, and it was someone who you had really grown fond of. He didn’t want to be anything yet so as to not feel pressured so early in this relationship and you understood, you were fine with it. The two of you often joked about what to call your situation as neither of you liked the term ‘situationship’ and ‘casual’ definitely wasn’t it. It was just two people who really liked each other and wanted to see how things went.

Everyday, the two of you spoke for hours at a time and it was fun. You’d shared music with each other and you’d actually grown to enjoy music from his favorite artist. When you asked him to make a playlist of all his favorite songs by the artist, he was genuinely so excited and got to work instantly. You loved seeing him so happy and you’re glad it was because of you, selfishly so. When he’d sent you the playlist, he’d named it one of the verses from a song that you had sort of dedicated to him. You really fell hard for him. 

Even though it had just been a month or so, you were excited to picture a life with him. The two of you had even planned out your future home together. The colors of the walls of every room had already been picked out and it was the happiest you had been in a long time. 

“We’re gonna have a house by the beach, yeah? And we’re gonna have a dog that’s practically our baby. And we’re gonna name it ‘Lando’.”

“Lan, why are we naming it after you?” you softly laughed. 

“Well, when I was a kid, my family had gotten a dog and it was my job to name it. As the uncreative child I was, I named it after the best thing ever. Myself.” he smiled cheekily.

“No way. Oh my god.” you couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Hold on. I’m not done painting the scene.”

“Alright, apologies, my love. Please continue.” 

“So our dog, Lando, will lie in the sheets with us. The sun will always shine and there will be a ring on your hand. On your ring finger specifically. And I’ll hold you every night.”

But he lied. He made a promise he could never keep. He tried and tried until he couldn’t. 

As time went by, his texts began to slow down. But you weren’t upset. When the two of you began this whirlwind of a relationship, he’d mentioned how with work and his mental health, he’d often go days without having the energy to talk to anyone. You understood, you’d been there before, you told him as long as he would talk to you whenever he was able, that you were going to be okay. And you were. Your days would go by where you wouldn’t get a text from him and it was okay. You were productive during the days and while you did miss him, you knew his struggles and you let him be with the occasional messages to check on him. 

Then one Thursday in the fall, your world came crashing down. You sort of knew it was coming. There were signs that you chose to ignore, hoping it wasn’t true. But then you got the text “I don’t think we should talk anymore.” You really tried to understand. He said he felt guilty for dragging you along and that he didn’t want to keep doing it to you. He said he was tired and he wasn’t able to maintain a relationship of any sort. So you said ok. That was the last time the two of you spoke. 

For weeks, you cried over this loss. It wasn’t just about essentially getting dumped. To you, he was your best friend and you lost him. That was the worst part. Not the fact that you didn’t have anyone to love anymore. Not that he just up and left. It was the fact that he was your friend before everything and you don’t have any part of him now. 

You knew you had some fault in the ending though. You’d said things that weren’t the right things to say at the time. You had messed up often. You just wish you could take those back though. You wish you could’ve said something different. Then maybe he’d still be yours. 

You told your friends what happened and it’s safe to say they all dislike him now. After everything, they started stating their opinions and talked shit about him but it didn’t help. You didn’t hate him, although you should have. You wished you could hate him and be angry, but you’re not. You’re just sad. 

Everything reminds you of him. Every song is about him. Every poem is about him. Every book is about him. The blue in the water is him. The sun shining through your window is him. His face is everywhere. His voice is everywhere. His laugh is everywhere. The laugh you thought you would get to listen to for forever, is now a stranger. 

You would find yourself still imagining things with him after the end of everything. You’d think of him in the stupidest things. You’d think of him while in the shower, how it’d be nice to have your things with his sitting along the edge of the tub. You would even imagine running out of soap so you would end up using his. You would go to work and the store wearing it. Only when in the night, when you would lay next to him in bed, would you smell where all your missing soap had gone. 

It was those stupid little things that made the healing process so much harder. 

He forgot you overnight. Meanwhile you lost your head and appetite. You ate a lot like a fly. Your anxiety had also gotten worse, making your heart race every second of the day. You thought of giving up everything. It was a dramatic thing to consider considering you couldn’t even classify what happened as a breakup, as he was never yours. 

After some time, the tears stopped. The heartbreak didn’t, but you were able to continue with your life and get through some days. Every so often, you still check on him through social media, just to make sure he’s okay. Of course, that came back to bite you in the ass when you found out he was talking to someone. 

The day you found it, your heart dropped and it felt like that Thursday all over again. All that healing had gone out the window because now everything feels like a lie. Was he making fun of you with some esoteric joke? 

He said he wasn’t ready for a relationship, that he couldn’t maintain any relationship. He said he cared about you. You believed it. You were stupid to believe it. A fool for thinking any of it was real. The house, the songs, every little thing was a lie. All you ever thought about was there the hell he was and if he was okay but he didn’t give two shits about you. There was never a you and him. And there never would be. 

You go back and forth between being angry and sad. You can’t tell if you’re making everything up in your head whether it was your relationship with him or the events after. 

Every page you wrote, he was on it. Every word you wish you could say to him. 

After letting you sulk for a few months, your friends dragged you out of the house so you could all go to a club and just have fun. There was no pressure to meet someone or walk away with someone. They said that all you owed them was to show up and have fun. So you went. 

The night was beautiful at first. After pregaming a bit, you ordered yourself a drink at the club and just let loose with your girls. Dancing the night away and not caring about tomorrow. All that mattered was right now. 

You could feel arms moving around you, your heart beating to the music, the alcohol working its magic through your system. You were glad to be there with your favorite people, when everything felt like it was falling away, you still had them. 

It was truly an amazing night until there were whispers spread across the room. Lando was there, with his new girl. The two walked hand in hand towards the back corner of the club with their group. 

What the fuck was he doing here? He could be anywhere in the world, why is he here? 

You didn’t know what to do. For the longest time, you’d imagined what you would do if you were to be in the same room as him again. You composed a hundred ways to tell him the reasons why you could’ve played for keeps, all of which would sit collecting dust, rotting in your house. 

You watched as they settled into the rhythm of the club, when Lando looked straight at you. He looked different. He looked lighter. 

Your friends caught this moment and immediately grabbed you and tried to get you to ignore them. They wanted you to show Lando that you’re better off without him, that you’re okay. So you tried. You tried to keep dancing, to keep your heavy feet moving, to act as if your heart wasn’t being dragged through you. 

You needed a minute. Telling one of your friends you were going to the restroom, you pushed through the crowd. Squeezing through a mess of entangled, sweaty bodies. You kept pushing until you found yourself on a balcony, trying to catch your breath. You moved to a more secluded spot so you could try and recuperate. 

Resting your arms on the railings, you lowered your head to try and figure out what to do. Did you want to confront him, ask for closure? Or did you just want to let it go and try to be free? 

You were caught up in your head when you heard someone clearing their throat somewhere behind you. Looking up, you were met with those hazel green eyes that you had fallen for all those months ago. 

“Hey,” Lando started “didn’t know you were here. Small world, eh?”

“Yeah. Crazy.”

“Come on. Why you being short with me?”

“Nothing. So, uh. Who’s the girl?”

“Oh, yeah. Hannah is my girlfriend. She’s pretty great.”

“Good for you. I’m glad you found someone who can love you the way you deserve. We all need someone to hold and now you found your person.” “Thanks. She helps me a lot and she knows how it feels to be alone in the rain. I guess I just needed someone to stay.” he shrugged, smiling at you. He wasn’t trying to be malicious, he was just happy that he’d found his love.

I stayed. 

“She seems great. I’m happy for you.”

Please, keep me close. 

“Yeah. You’ll find someone too. I’m sure you will.” Couldn’t you love me most?

“Yeah. Sure.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, savoring the silence for different reasons. You knew this was gonna be the end of your story with him. This was going to be the last time you would see him. He thought it was great that everything could remain civil. 

“Well, I gotta go back in.” he said, pointing behind him towards the dance floor, “I’ll see you around. Take care.”

“You too!” you shouted back before he disappeared into the blinking lights and mess of music. 

At the end of the day, you’re hopeless. He found someone better. He found someone to love. Someone to love him. 

So here you sit in the bedroom of your apartment, just missing him and wishing things were different. And you can wish all that you want, but it won’t bring you two together. No matter the things he said or did, you still loved him. 

After all this time, you would still bend back to him if he left the door open. All he had to do was say the words, and you’d play again. But who were you to ask for more? You were just a little chapter in his story while he was more to you. 

If he needed someone, he could’ve picked you. You would’ve given him everything. All he had to do was ask. And you know that can’t solve everything. You just wish he chose you. For once, you wish you had been chosen. You wish he had chosen to love you. You wish he chose you even if it was just to toy with you for longer. 

You still can’t hate him. You honestly wish the best for him. You want him to be happy, even if it means it’s not with you. You want him to have the life he’s dreamed of, with the walls of his house painted blue, red and pink. You hope he gets to go to the city his favorite artist was born in and have a drink at the bar they used to perform at. You hope he’s okay. 

You now know, you’re just not that girl. It was your own fault for not being good enough. She won him, the girl with the gold hair. That’s the girl he chose. So one day, when he walks down the aisle to complete his great love story, you hope he remembers that you’re glad to see him win. You can’t claim to be on the side of love if you can’t even support it in someone you love. It’s not fair to him. 

Your birthday falls on the 29th night of December and you stand in the middle of your kitchen surrounded by your family who say they love you. A birthday cake sits in front of you, coffee flavored, a flavor you never liked. Everyone sings you a happy birthday as you stand there, not letting the tears fall from your face. No one can see the ache in your heart and the way it feels like it’s being dragged down your body. So you just smile. 

You close your eyes to make a wish, but no wish appears as you blow out the candles, just the thought ‘Only three more days left living in a year where you loved me. Only a few more days left in a year where I've allowed myself to love you knowing you don’t’.

Wishing only wounds the heart, after all.

[pomelace]

everything but us

pairing: frank langdon x afab!reader

content warnings: angst, panic attack, emotional distress, patient death, grief, cheating, alcohol mention, kissing, guilt, medical trauma, no physical descriptiors used for reader, let me know if I missed anything!

magui speaks! : I don’t know where I wanted this to go, I started writing and couldn’t stop. it’s heavily inspired by all the tweets I keep seeing of people saying they want frank x mel cheating trop next season. hope you enjoy it and please send me ideas you have. I'm happy to write anything! 

word count: 2,485

The restroom door clicked shut behind you, sealing you in with the sound of your own unraveling. 

The fluorescent lights above flickered, harsh, and sterile, casting distorted shadows on the white tile walls. You clutched the edge of the sink, knuckles white, breath stuttering in short, ragged bursts. Your reflection in the mirror stared back like a stranger — eyes red-rimmed and wide, cheeks streaked with tears you couldn't recall starting.

You tried to breathe— in, out, in, out—but your chest felt caved in, lungs refusing to expand. Your scrubs were soaked under your arms, clinging to your trembling structure. You squeezed your eyes shut, as if you could block out the world, the hospital, the soft flatline that still echoed in your ears.

It happened so fast, there was no time to think—no time to figure out why.

The patient came in alert, smiling, laughing. She looked fine. You’d done everything right. Every test, every consult, every careful step. She was young. Healthy. Talking your ear off about her upcoming trip to Europe.

And then she wasn’t.

One moment her eyes were alive, full of light, full of plans, and then she went out like a candle. Her heart just… stopped. You reacted before the shock hit you. Gloves on. Code called. Epi drawn. You started compressions, fast and hard, trying to push life back into her.

It was all too much. Your hands didn't even feel like your own anymore; they were tingling, numbing at the fingertips, the sensation coming and going like a flickering static. You couldn’t catch your breath. Couldn’t stop the spiral. Patient after patient, life after life, slipping through your fingers. It felt like death clung to you, like you were cursed. Tainted. Everyone you touched seemed to fade. 

As if you carried a quiet plague you couldn’t shake.

You clung to the sink like it was the only thing anchoring you, your chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. Head bowed; eyes shut tight. If you kept them closed long enough, you’d disappear, you’d fall into a place where none of this was real. 

Somewhere better. Somewhere safer.

But then, the soft creak of the door broke through the silence, and your eyes fluttered open. You didn’t need to turn around. Didn’t need to look in the mirror to know who it was.

Frank.

He had followed you. Of course he had. After you left in a blur, he stayed outside the restroom door, caught in hesitation. Weighing the moment. Debating whether to come in, whether to cross that invisible line.

But now, he’d made the choice.

His footsteps were quiet, deliberate—careful, like he was approaching something fragile. 

Frank’s brows knit together the moment he sees you—like he already knows. Like he felt it. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay; he knows you’re not. Instead, he stands next to you, shoulder brushing yours in a way that makes you ache and calm at the same time.

He lets the silence hang for a moment, heavy but bearable. You feel him glance sideways, like he’s waiting for you to say something, but also ready to just stand there with you if that’s what you need.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says gently.

It was like he could read your mind; knew everything you were thinking in that moment. He knows you too well.

You hated him for it.

You shake your head, eyes still fixed on the small crack on the tile beneath your foot.

“I did everything right,” you whisper, voice cracking. “And it still wasn’t enough. I don’t think I’m cut out for this. I—I made a mistake.”

Frank exhales, and it’s not frustration—it’s empathy. He leans forward; hands clasped like he’s holding something fragile between them.

“You didn’t make a mistake,” he says quietly, turning his head just enough to meet your eyes. 

“You’re one of the best damn residents I’ve ever seen come through these doors.” And not because you always get it right—but because you care. That doesn’t make you weak. It makes you real.”

You want to believe him. God, you want to. But all you can think about is the weight in your chest and the way his presence both soothes and burns.

“And what if caring is the thing that breaks me?” you ask, voice barely audible.

He turns toward you now, fully. His eyes search yours, and there’s something in them that feels too raw, too sincere. 

“Then I’ll be there to help pick up the pieces.”

The words linger in the air like a secret he wasn’t supposed to tell. And suddenly, you're not sure if the ache in your chest is from grief—or from him.

You almost hate the way the words make you feel better so soon, as you feel some of the tension in your shoulders release. Although your eyes are aligned on the tile, you can feel his eyes on you, and for some reason that thought makes something in your stomach swell. Your mouth works to say something, but no words come out, and you think he can sense your internal struggles, as he hesitantly reaches a hand to rest on your back, rubbing it in a way meant to soothe. It does make it better, though you’re left with a different type of ache in its place.

You swallow hard, your throat dry and tight. The warmth of his hand on your back is gentle, steady—and completely undoing. You hate how your body leans into it before your mind can stop you. How your breath stutters in your chest. How much you want something you can’t have.

No matter what you said, no matter how much you pushed him away, you always ended up here letting him comfort you, letting him in, even when you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t. 

You lifted your eyes from the floor, catching the reflection in the mirror. There he was, watching you, and for a moment, he saw what you saw: red, swollen eyes, a sniffing nose, and a pale, drained face. You hated being seen like this, hated that it was him seeing you like this.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward and pulled you into his arms. He wrapped you up without asking, pressing your head to his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. And that was the moment you broke. The tears came fast and hard, no longer quiet or hidden, and you sobbed into him with all the weight you’d been carrying. 

He didn’t flinch. He held you firmly, gently, like he’d been waiting for this, and he didn’t let go.

It felt warm. Too warm. Comforting in a way that made your chest ache. It was suffocating and soft, all at once. And you didn’t want it. 

You didn’t want to fall back into this—into him. 

You had told yourself last time would be the last, that you’d never let yourself crawl back into his arms, or worse, his bed. You swore you’d never kiss a married man again, never let his hands on you, even if the world would call this nothing more than a friendly embrace. But you knew better. You both did. This wasn’t casual. This was vulnerable. This was stripped bare, and you hated that it still felt like home.

And yet, you didn’t move.

You didn’t push him away, didn’t tell him to stop. You let his hands stay on you, let the silence stretch between you like thread pulling tighter and tighter. Your body betrayed everything your mind was screaming. Because despite everything, despite the guilt, the shame, the promises, you felt safe here. Held. Known.

You closed your eyes and let yourself breathe in, just once, just long enough to remember how it used to feel when things were simpler. When the lines were blurrier, and consequences felt far away.

But they weren’t far now. They were pressing in on you from every angle. His wife. Your career. The hollow ache in your chest that never really went away.

You opened your eyes and pulled back just slightly, just enough to look at him. His expression didn’t change—steady, unreadable, like always. But you saw the flicker behind his eyes. The guilt. The want. The knowing.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you whispered, voice hoarse. “We can’t.”

But even as you said it, your fingers were still tangled in his shirt, knuckles white, like you didn’t believe yourself.

“We aren’t doing anything,” he said.

His voice was calm, too calm, like he wanted to turn the moment into something innocent. Like if he said it softly enough, it would make it true. But it wasn’t. You know better. You weren’t imagining things—you could feel it in the way his hands lingered just a second too long, in the way his eyes dropped to your lips before finding your gaze again. You could feel it in the ache between you, the silence that hummed louder than any excuse ever could.

“Don’t do that,” you said, barely above a whisper. “Don’t make me feel crazy.”

He didn’t respond at first. Just looked at you like he was trying to figure out what the right answer was—what version of the truth would hurt the least.

But there was no version of this that didn’t hurt.

“We can’t,” you said, your voice shaking.

Still, he didn’t move. Still, you didn’t let go.

It was maddening—this closeness, this tension wrapped in denial. He wanted to pretend. You couldn’t. You were already bleeding from the truth.

“We can’t? Or you can’t?” he asked, like all of it—this mess, this weight—rested on your shoulders. Like the choice was only yours to make. But it wasn’t. He had started it, and now here he was, acting like this was normal. Like it didn’t mean anything.

Before, it had been simple. You hated each other. You pushed each other’s buttons, pulled loose threads until something snapped. Everything between you was a challenge of words, of pride. You walked all over each other, tore into each other’s work.

But he changed it.

One kiss. One stupid, drunken kiss behind closed doors. One moment where the fire between you flipped into something dangerous. That night ended with him in your bed, your bodies tangled together like you were trying to erase everything you’d ever said to each other. Since then, it hadn’t stopped. It hadn’t slowed. And now the rules were gone. Burned to ash.

And still, he looked at you like this was nothing. Like the lines he crossed didn’t matter unless you said they did.

“Don’t put this on me,” you said sharply, your voice cracking as you finally stepped back, out of his arms, out of the heat of him. Your body ached at the distance, but your pride demanded it. 

“You don’t get to make this my fault.”

He followed, closing the gap just enough to steal your breath again. 

“Why?” he asked, his tone low, edged in something sharp and bitter. 

“Because you don’t want to admit you’re wrong too?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. 

“This isn’t about being right or wrong, Frank. This isn’t a damn competition.”

He leaned in closer, eyes locked on yours, taking your space like he always did—slow, deliberate, like he knew how hard it was for you to hold your ground when he got this close. 

“Don’t act like you don’t want this.”

That hit something raw inside you. Your jaw clenched, your fingers curling at your sides. 

“I don’t want this,” you snapped, though the words felt like lies the moment they left your mouth. 

“I want peace. I want to walk into work without wondering if I’ll crumble the second you look at me like that.”

“And yet,” he said, voice softer now, “you always come back.”

You looked at him, blinking hard. 

“So do you.”

“But I don’t deny it,” he said, voice low as he took another step forward, closing the space, boxing you in until your back hit the wall.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

“Call me sick,” he murmured, eyes burning into yours, “but I don’t regret an inch of it.”

The words landed like a blow. You flinched—not visibly, not enough for him to see—but inside, something cracked. Because part of you wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe the ache meant something. That this wasn’t just recklessness but need. That you weren’t the only one waking up every morning with the guilt still clinging to your skin.

But hearing him say it aloud—so bold, so unapologetic—made it real. And it made it worse.

Guilt surged up in you, thick and heavy. It filled every hollow place, pressing against your ribs until you felt like you might choke on it. You didn’t know what you hated more: the fact that he didn’t regret it… or the fact that a piece of you didn’t either.

He was close now—too close—and every inch of your body screamed to move, to escape, to walk away. But the part of you that had been holding on, the part that had wanted this even when you swore you wouldn’t… didn’t want to. And it terrified you.

His breath fanned across your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine, and you felt the tension in his body, the storm building just under the surface.

For a second, everything froze. His gaze flickered to your lips; the air thick with the weight of it. You wanted to pull back, wanted to say something, anything, to stop him from reading the way your chest was rising and falling too quickly, stop him from seeing how desperate your heart was to tear down the walls between you.

But then his hand was at your cheek, fingers gently brushing against your skin, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. It was a touch that felt too familiar, too intimate. And before you could think, before you could stop yourself, his lips were on yours.

The kiss was soft at first, almost tentative, like he was testing the waters. But that didn’t last. It deepened, the urgency behind it undeniable. His mouth moved against yours, warm, insistent, as if he were starving for this—starving for you. 

And you? You didn’t pull away. You didn’t stop him.

Instead, you kissed him back, the guilt slipping away in the heat of it, the noise in your head drowned out by the frantic beating of your heart.

When the kiss finally broke, you were both left breathless, your hands trembling at your sides. His forehead rested against yours, both of you silently grappling with what you let happen again, what you had just allowed.

And that was the moment you realized there was no going back anymore.

©pomelace 2025

[archangeldyke-all]

ANGEEEEEEL DO A LITTLE FUCKER AND ISHA FIC AND MY LIFE IS YOURS 🫵🫵🫵

okay okay okay long awaited but let's do it finally ehheehehe

as always with these fics, don't ask me the logistics of how the pregnancy happened. it's yuri magic. have some fun.

men and minors dni

jinx is twenty when she decides to go to college. after a few years of taking care of herself-- through therapy, moving in with you and sevika, isha's good influence, and vi and ekko's support-- jinx finally felt ready to look to her future.

she got into a good school in piltover; full scholarship, because she's a fucking genius.

you don't worry about the workload overwhelming her, though she's decided to enroll in a dual degree program, studying chemistry and engineering at the same time.

you don't worry that her demons will catch up to her; she'll be living with cait and vi, and she'll be within walking distance of her therapist. plus, she's done a lot of good work for herself.

the only thing you worry about is isha.

though the girl is older now, around eight years old and much more used to you and sevika than she was when you first met, isha's favorite person in the entire world is still jinx. and the feeling is mutual. so, while jinx will spend her weeks with cait and vi up top, on weekends she'll come back to zaun to catch up with isha.

it's still a rough adjustment.

isha's just... lonely. you miss the giggles that used to fill your home-- isha entertained endlessly by her older sister's shenanigans. and despite all you and sevika have done to keep her occupied-- buying her new games and pets and books-- you can tell that isha's bored all alone.

"what if we had a baby?" sevika asks one night after you've turned off the lights and cuddled into her arms.

"another cat?" you mumble. sevika laughs.

"i was thinking a human baby, but we could get another cat if you want."

you sit up in bed, reaching out to flick a light on and stare down at your wife. "where the fuck is this coming from!?" you squeal.

sevika shrugs. "isha's lonely! we should give her a little sibling."

"wh-- like our own baby?! like one of us gets pregnant!?"

"well unless isha drags home a stray kid i don't see how else we'll get one." sevika chuckles.

you gawk at her. sevika smiles up at you. "s-sevika, we already have two to five children, depending on the day." you say.

sevika snorts. "ekko, cait and vi are ours only in spirit, love, they won't ever need us in the way jinx and isha do." she says. you pout. sevika snorts. "and jinx is all grown up, now." she reminds you.

tears well up in your eyes. "no she's not." you say, your pout worsening. sevika giggles and swipes your tears away.

"look; i know we said no kids when we started dating. but we said a lot of shit back then. remember when we thought we'd go hiking every saturday? we were crazy." sevika says. you giggle. "shit happened between then and now baby. life happened. deaths and marriage and adoptions and moves-- that kinda shit changes people. you changed me. and... we bought this big ass house for our family. might as well fill it up."

"well fuck, sevika, how many babies are you planning on giving me!?" you ask through a sob of happy tears. sevika laughs.

"as many as you'll let me." she says with a shrug.

you go to the doctor to talk about pregnancy the next week, only to find out that you're already a month into your first trimester.

"wh-- i'm-- but--" you sputter.

"she's already pregnant!?" sevika squeals.

the doctor laughs. "it would seem so. good timing."

sevika bursts into laughter and scoops you out of the doctor's paper covered seat, spinning you around her office and sobbing into your shoulder as you blink in shock.

"what the fuck?" you ask. sevika cackles.

on your drive home, you look over at your wife with a suspicious glare. "did you plan this?"

sevika laughs. "you think i'm that diabolical?"

"no, i just-- you decide you want a baby and boom, i'm magically already pregnant?!"

"i can probably smell it on you or somethin'-- my instincts could sense it. like how i can smell when you're ovulating."

you giggle. "that's probably how you knocked me up in the first place."

sevika grins. "fuck yeah it is. i did the math. i think it was the weekend we sent isha up to spend with the girls."

at the mention of your girls it hits you. you're about to have a baby. another one. your own-- one that you know from the first shit it takes.

you burst into tears, and sevika laughs. "there you go, i was waiting for that to happen."

"we're having a baby." you cry, scrambling to grab the hand she reaches across the console. "oh, janna, sev-- i don't know how to change diapers! all our other kids came to us potty trained!"

"i'll change all the diapers in the world, for you, love." sevika promises, kissing your knuckles. you laugh.

"you're such a liar."

isha's one smart little shit. you and sevika decide not to tell her until the second trimester, when it's less likely that you'll miscarry.

she figures it out within a week of you and sevika getting the news.

it could be the way sevika keeps touching your stomach, or the giddy kisses the pair of you keep exchanging when you think isha's not looking-- but something tips her off.

she sits you and sevika down one evening with a frown and her arms folded in front of her chest.

is there a baby in your belly? she signs. you sputter. sevika gasps. isha's suspicious glare melts into an excited smile. is there!? she asks with a gasp.

you burst into laughter and sevika shrugs. "we thought you might wanna be a big sister." isha grins, tears welling up in her eyes as she launches herself at you and sevika, laughing and crying.

i do. isha signs. i'm gonna be the best big sister ever. don't tell jinx. or violet.

you spend your pregnancy being waited on hand and foot by all your girls. vi, cait, and jinx all come to visit once or twice a week-- all three of them enchanted with your swollen stomach and always bringing baby supplies in tow.

isha makes a count-down to your due-date, bedazzles it and hangs it on the fridge so she can keep perfect track of how much longer she has to wait before meeting the baby.

isha's also started to call the baby her baby.

how many more doctors visits do you have before you have my baby? isha signs to you one afternoon as you wait in your doctor's office. you burst into laughter.

"your baby, huh?"

isha nods. i'm her sister! she signs, before gently reaching out and rubbing your stomach.

"what makes you think it's a girl?"

isha shrugs. most of your other babies are girls.

you cackle.

isha must be psychic, because your little girl comes into the world kicking and screaming in the middle of a family potluck.

it's horrible. violet passes out. surprisingly, ekko is the most helpful, giving everyone instructions and calling an ambulance for you while you wail on the living room floor.

isha's watching with a disgusted fascination the entire time, her lips curled in horror and shock, her eyes big and sparkling as she witnesses the miracle of birth.

powder and cait help keep you propped up-- both of them toweling up all your... fluids... while sevika holds your hand and kisses your head.

one baby, a ruined rug, and an ambulance ride to the hospital later, and your family finally gets to see you in better condition, and they get to meet your little girl under better circumstances.

"aweee." your four grown kids coo as they shove into the hospital room.

"hey, no shoving around the baby!" sevika whisper scolds.

isha pushes her way through all her older siblings, crawling up in sevika's lap to look down at her little sister.

she gasps in wonder. she looks like big mama. isha signs.

cait chuckles. "she does."

"what a little fucker, comin' out lookin' like the parent that did nothin..." vi teases. sevika scoffs and you giggle in agreement.

"she really is a little fucker. ruined our dinner." jinx huffs. "i was looking forward to that potroast, y'know."

isha giggles, pinching her fingers together, then flipping off the baby and pointing at her. little fucker.

you all burst into laughter. little fucker's silver eyes pop open, and she bursts into tears.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @sevikasfan @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb

[burreauxsworld]

Ours To Keep | Joe Burrow

Smut/18+, Angst, Fluff

Takes place at the beginning of the 2023-2024 season. Reader is Joe’s assistant, and they are really good friends, whose lives are about to change forever.

Shit. This was never supposed to happen. This never should have happened. None of this should be happening. Your breathing picks up as you stare down at the the plastic stick in your hand. The two bold pink lines staring back at you, taunting you. Punishing you for getting intimately involved with, Joe Burrow, your boss. Your heart felt as if it was going to burst out of your chest.

Fuck. Joe. You scrambled around, dropping the stick onto the bathroom counter and bolted toward your bedroom. You’d lost track of time. You have to be at work in 15 minutes, and it’s a 30 minute drive. He shouldn’t be too mad. I mean you guys are friends, maybe even a little more. Definitely a little more after today.

Let’s go back to how this whole thing happened.

Flashback / January 2023

Your tires came to a screeching halt in front of Joe’s mansion. After a frantic call, where Joe was damn near crying into the phone begging you to come over, to say you were worried would be an under statement. He gave you no insight on what you were about to walk into. You slammed your car door, and shivered. Regretting only wearing leggings and a long sleeve sweater in the cold Cincinnati weather. You rushed toward the door, and entered the house with your spare key.

“Joey?” You called out. The place was trashed. Glass broken everywhere, cushions from the couch thrown around the room, wine stains on the white carpet. “Joe?!” You yelled, a little more frantic, moving toward the living room. Joe sat in the center of the living room, on the floor. His head in his bloody hands, and an empty bottle of grey goose laying next to him. “Joey, what happened? Are you alright?” You frantically ask, kneeling down in front of him, just nearly missing a piece of glass.

He looks up at you, and your heart nearly shatters. His eyes bloodshot, and cheeks stained with tears. “Oh, Joey” you frown, pulling him into a hug. It had been a rough few months for Joe. After finding out his girlfriend of 5 years, fiancé of a few months, had cheated on him. She was gone that night, and you were there to pick up the pieces within an hour. Joe was distraught. You’d never seen him like this in the 3, almost 4 years you’d been working for him. Usually he was Joe Cool, everything just rolled off his back, but this was different.

If anyone knew Joe, they knew how much he loved Olivia. Hell, he would’ve went to the ends of the earth for her if it would’ve made her happy. You actually almost lost your job in the beginning because Olivia had gotten jealous, but the two of you ended up becoming great friends. You often had dinner with her and Joe on late work nights.

So when he discovered the messages in her phone, his heart was broken. Completely shattered. A big fight had happened, and Olivia was gone that night. You’d received a number of text messages from her before Joe even called you, telling you how sorry she was and she hoped you’d stay friends. That went out the window as soon as you heard what happened.

“I tried. I really did,” Joe slurs, motioning to the empty bottle next to him. “It’s okay. Let’s get you to bed, I’ll clean up” you told him, attempting to help him to his feet. However, his 6’4 stature compared to your 5’1 stature didn’t make it easy. “You don’t have to clean up. I’ll hire someone in the morning” Joe slurs, and you scoff. “The last thing you wanna deal with is people you don’t know. I’ll take care of it” you tell him. “Alright, hold onto the railing” you order, bracing yourself for the journey up the stairs.

“Joe, hold onto the railing” you scold, when he reaches his other pen toward you halfway up the stairs. “Joseph, you’re going to make us both fall. Put your hand back on the railing” you order, and her frowns but does your bidding.

After what felt like an eternity you made it to his room, him falling onto his back on the soft mattress. “I’m gonna go clean up. You get some sleep okay? You have practice tomorrow” you told him, knowing he was gonna feel like absolute shit in the morning.

“Don’t go. Please stay with me. I don’t want to be alone” he pleaded, and you shook your head. Knowing this wasn’t what he needed right now. “You need to sleep-“

“Please stay. I’ll give you a raise”

“Joe, I don’t need a raise” you argue, and his pouty face makes you crack. “Fine, I’ll stay. But only until you fall asleep” you told him, kicking your shoes off.

End of flashback

It wasn’t only until he fell asleep. You ended up falling asleep too, and woke up tangled in his limbs the next morning. And you were correct, he did feel like absolute shit and practice went horrible that day. Nothing sexual had happened that night, just sleeping. It wasn’t until a few weeks later that you were in his bed again, only this time, no sleeping happened.

Flashback / February 2023

You don’t know how this happened. One minute you’re in the living room having dinner and watching a movie. The next, you’re sprawled out on his bed with your face shoved into his pillows and your hips up in the air. Skin slapping skin, your moans, and his grunts fill the room. Your loud moans muffled by the pillow.

Joe wraps your hair around his hand and pulls your head back, hard. “Wanna hear you,” he grunts. He slaps your ass with his other hand, and you let out a loud moan. “Fuck, Joey! Right there!” You cry out. “Yeah, right there? Fuck you’re taking me so well, baby” he groans, slapping your ass again. “This pussy was made for me. Fuck” he grunts.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum!” You whine loudly. “I’m gonna cum so hard” you grit your teeth. You gasp when his free hand reaches around to toy with your clit. “Cum for me baby. Cum all over this dick”

You yell out his name like a mantra as you come undone. He wasn’t too far behind you, grunting loudly as your walls squeezing him hard. “Fuck baby” he moans. “Milking me dry” he taunts, smirking while he unravels your hair from his hand. Weakly, you fall against the mattress, and he drops down next to you. Both of you trying to catch your breath.

“What just happened?” You ask, your voice to shaking from your orgasm. “I don’t know. But I’m not mad at it” Joe says, letting out a breathy laugh. “Joe, this can’t happen again,” you murmur. “It’ll complicate things” you conclude, looking over at him. He nods in agreement.

“We just act like it never happened,” Joe confirms, and you agree.

End of flashback

But it did happen again. It happened a lot more. It’s now July, and the two of you haven’t stopped fooling around since the first time. Now it was coming back to haunt you. What the fuck were you gonna tell Joe? You sigh as you pull into a spot outside of Paycor Stadium. Conveniently, right next to Joe’s Porsche.

Quickly getting out of your car, you rush toward the door. Practice started about a half hour ago. You hoped Joe wouldn’t be too upset with you.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Gabby, Ja’Marr’s assistant jokes as you walk into your shared office. “Don’t worry, he’s not mad. More worried than anything because you’re never late. Why are you late, by the way?” Gabby asks, as you set your stuff down. “Lost track of time. Took an everything shower this morning,” you lie, and she smirks.

“Who’s getting the goods?” She questions, and you roll your eyes. Pulling out your phone, you make an online appointment with your gynecologist for tomorrow. Maybe the test was a false positive, doubtful, but you could hope. “No one. Just needed an everything shower” you told her, laughing slightly. “Are you okay?” She questions, noticing you seem slightly off.

“Yeah, I’m good. Being late to work throws off my entire day” you lie, and thankfully she believes it. Her phone chimes, and she sighs. “Duty calls. See you out on the field” she says, before leaving the room. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Hiding this was gonna be harder than you thought.

You began to pull out your laptop when you hear a light knock on the doorframe. “Hey, you okay? You’re never late” you look up and make eye contact with Joe. “Yeah, I’m all good. Just lost track of time while getting ready. I’m sorry,” you apologized, and he raised an eyebrow. “You never lose track of time. Are you sure everything’s okay?” He asks, stepping into the office with concern written on his face. “Joey, I’m sure. Just more mad at myself than anything. I swear-“

“You’re lying.” He says, eyeing you. “Excuse me?” You ask, feeling slightly offended. “You do this thing where you play with your bracelet when your lying. I noticed it last year when you’d lie to guys about why you couldn’t go out with them” Joe said, laughing slightly. “You wanna tell me what’s wrong now?” Joe asks, leaning on your desk closer to you.

“I’m okay, Joey. Promise”

He sighs, but lets it go. Until you open your mouth to speak again. “I’ll be late again tomorrow. I have a doctors appointment in the morning”

“Y/N-“

“Joe, it’s nothing. I told you I’m fine, now can you please drop it” you snapped, and immediately regretted it when he frowned. You never snap at him. Other people, definitely, but never him. “I’m sorry. I’m just stressed out right now, and I shouldn’t have snapped at you” you say, walking around your desk to stand in front of him. You think he’s mad when he moves away, but you realize he’s just shutting and locking the door.

“Baby, talk to me” he urges, and you cringe at the pet name. Not because he called you it, you’re used to that since you guys started sleeping together, it’s the name itself. Your breath feels like it’s caught in your throat. You’ve never been nervous around Joe, but this was different. Your lives are changing. You’re afraid of what might happen once you say something.

“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t cry. Come here” he pulls you into his arms, rubbing your back while you softly sob into his chest, getting mascara on his practice jersey. “It’s just me. You can tell me anything” he reminds you, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head.

Finally you pull away and look into his eye. Here we go.

“You might wanna sit down for this” you tell him, and he shakes his head. “I’m good right here”

“Joey…” you trail off, your voice cracking. His concern for you growing, and you can see it in his face. “I—I um…took a home pregnancy test this morning” you start, not looking up at him, but you can feel his body tense up. “It was positive” you say, letting out another sob.

“Joey, I’m pregnant.”

[gettingyourselfwetforme]

gateway drug - bff!harry

hello to everyone! this is my first one-shot on here! i posted a lil something somethin’ on my page that’s about me if you’re interested! please leave any feedback you have <3

warnings: marijuana use, fingering, slight exhibitionism.

word count: 4k+

.

.

“you’ve got to pinch and twist m’love”

“okay if you wanna micromanage me, why don’t you do it yourself.”

“baby you were the one who wanted to learn.”

y/n throws the half rolled joint onto the tray, undoing her work entirely. she wants to learn how to roll, but her fingers just can’t seem to move in the right ways to get the green leaves to stay inside of the pretty pink paper.

harry senses the frustration in y/n’s face and tone. it is a hard thing to learn, and he hates to see her struggle. “do you wanna take a break, petal? i’ve got one rolled already in the bag if y’want to just light that one.” he holds up the sandwich bag half full with weed.

y/n groans and gets up from sitting on the couch. “but that one isn’t pink! i wanted to make it pretty.” she sighs and paces to the kitchen. “i think im just gonna stick to cones. they’re at least a little bit easier than those fucking papers.”

harry turns around and looks at y/n. his mouth cracks into a smile, chuckling softly at her frustration. rolling is something that everyone is bad at at first- it comes with practice and patience. he could remember his first roll, which was a nightmare considering he was doing it in a moving car with all of his mates, and how messy and bad it was.

“you just have to keep practicing, it’s okay. you’ll get it eventually.” he prys his eyes away from y/n, who is chugging a glass of water as if she were a kid coming back from playing outside, and starts to roll the forgotten joint on his own.

harry and y/n were best friends: they met in high school in detention, where harry frequented (more often than he liked to admit), and y/n had been just caught passing notes in class. the poor girl was terrified to be in detention, coming in with puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks- harry had provided her with a small pep talk and offered to help her out with her assigned detention duties. soon enough, after vacuuming the entire school and scrubbing some baseboards, the pair had become inseparable.

after harry had fixed the joint up to an acceptable roll, he puts the joint between his lips and stands up, turning to y/n and providing a small head tilt to her as if to say “follow me”. she grabs her now refilled glass of water and follows behind him. He closes the balcony door after she steps out with him, and lights the pink paper with (what y/n would say) a brat green lighter.

y/n’s eyes linger at the look of his lips wrapped around the cardboard filter, enjoying the view she has of him in this light. they’re both sat on the balcony of their shared apartment, with only the light from the sunset highlighting his face.

y/n is one of those types of people where nothing comes above her friendships. not situationships, not work, not school. she has such a strong love and respect for her friends and couldn’t imagine anything being better than that bond. that’s why when she looks at harry, she feels as if her heart could burst, knowing that he chooses to spend time with her and loves her right back.

she was clingy- but so was he. harry had a tendency to develop “friend crushes”. it’s similar to the obsession you get when you have a romantic crush, where you have the desire to know someone inside and out, and become close to them.

the thing about harry’s “friend crush” he has on y/n is that it slowly started becoming a full-blown romantic crush. it was embarrassing for him to think about, but he knew that he never wanted to spend a minute away from y/n when he didn’t have to. it was something he had learned to shove down, knowing that he didn’t even have a chance with her.

harry passes the lit joint to her, catching a glimpse of her staring at him. a small “thanks” leaves her lips at the motion, and inhales the smoke. she lets out a small cough at the tickle in her lungs, looking at harry, who has a smile on his face, holding back a small laugh.

“hey… i’m still new to this. you can’t bully me.” she says, smirking and hitting his shoulder with her own.

“you love it though.” he replies. his lip is turned up in amusement, looking between the joint and y/n.

“aish, just tell me you want it instead of looking at it like a puppy does a treat.” y/n giggles, takes another inhale, before handing it off to him. with a laugh, he takes it from her and takes a few hits.

“i just think you’re a joint hogger.”

.

“okay but katya totally deserved to win all stars 2.”

“was she good? yes! do i think she did better than alaska? no?”

y/n looks at harry with an open mouth and wide eyes (as wide as her eyes could go while being absolutely stoned.) since they finished the joint, they’ve been arguing over who deserved to win each drag race reason, whether or not flip flops are an acceptable shoe choice for anything other than the water, and the new episode of celebrity big brother.

“you’re insane, opinion revoked. you’re literally a man, i don’t know why you thought it mattered anyways.” y/n holds a hand up to his face and turns her head.

“do you forget that 75% of the queens on drag race are men? i think i should get more of an opinion on it than you if that’s the case.” harry defends, pushing her hand down and forcing her to look at him.

“okay well most of them are also GAY and im like, halfway there.” she shrugs, sipping her water and side eyeing harry.

harry lets out a groan at her words. “whatever you say, pretty princess” he says, a dopey smile written on his face that has pretty much been permanent since smoking the joint.

they sit in a comfortable silence, harry’s head now resting on her lap, while she tangles her fingers through his hair. y/n feels good- she thinks. she used to always get paranoid when she smoked, but being with harry makes the paranoia disappear. her mind is cloudy, yet so clear all at once.

“do you ever think about us?”

harry’s voice startles her out of her thoughts for the second time tonight, yet this time makes her heart skip a beat. she lets out a gulp.

“what about us?” she asks.

“just… us as people. as friends. as roommates. just, like, i don’t know… us.” he rambles. “i think we’re good together. i couldn’t imagine being without you, like, ever. i couldn’t imagine having to live my life living in a house that you’re not in, you know?”

y/n’s brain feels like it’s sobering up just a little bit, enough for her to feel like what he just said was a… confession of sorts. they’ve always been strictly platonic- never dabbling or messing with one another. the thoughts have definitely floated around but she never entertained them.

y/n’s silence would be worrisome to harry if he wasn’t on an out-of-this-world high, but instead just continues on. “i just want to be your boy, keep you all to myself. wanna be able to love you in every way. i dunno. just something ive been thinking about”

that’s what makes y/n stop all movement and makes her breath hitch.

what does she even say to that? she has pushed her small crush on him down for years, always just saying it was just because they spent so much time together, or saying that she was just ovulating and was ready to be with anybody.

“yeah… i know what you mean. i do… i couldn’t imagine a life without you either. but eventually you’ll find someone you love more than me in a different way.” she says, mind still putty under the influence of weed. her hands continue dancing through his hair, causing him to let out a small noise of contentment.

he lets out a huff of air. “i don’t think i will.”

.

when y/n wakes up, she feels a heavy weight on her lap. slowly peeling her eyes open, she sees a curly haired boy asleep on her lap. it’s bright, she thinks, realizing that they both totally fell asleep on the balcony last night. it was early morning, they had only been asleep out here for a few hours probably.

she opens her eyes fully, letting out a deep yawn. it’s louder than she expected, causing the man on her lap to stir softly. he lets out a small groan, making y/n aware that he’s awake too.

“mornin’.” harry says, voice hoarse from smoking last night and sleeping. he lifts his head up and places a hand on his back, attempting to sit fully up. “jesus fuck, did i sleep like that all night? my back is gonna be fucked up all week ‘cause of tha’.”

y/n looks at his face, littered with sleep lines and paired with bloodshot eyes. she finds this state of him absolutely adorable. “guess so. the weed hit us too hard. don’t even remember falling asleep.” she mentions, stretching out her limbs and letting another yawn out.

the memories of last night are coming back slowly, them arguing about mindless shit, being all too cuddly with each other, and worst of all…

how he told her he wants to spend the rest of his life with her, and wants to ‘love her in every way’.

maybe she was getting carried away. they were both high last night, and they have had many pointless high conversations. it was probably just one of those things. it’s a weird thing to think about for her though- if he was being for real, what would that mean for them? they date, breakup, then lose eachother? the thought of losing him makes her sick.

y/n’s mind starts wandering into if she actually does have romantic feelings for harry, more than just the small crush she keeps pushing down. they spend almost every non-working minute with the other, and honestly she also couldn’t see herself living with anyone but him.

harry’s large, unringed hand stretches to her and boops her on the temple. “it’s too early for your brain t’be workin’ that hard. can’t have you worrying your pretty little head at…” he checks the time on his phone, “6:32 in the mornin’.”

y/n blinks away her thoughts to focus her eyes on harry. “whatever, i’m still tired and neither of us work today… so i’m going to take my happy ass to my bed. are you coming?” she stands up, turning around to look at a sleepy harry agreeing with a simple nod.

.

y/n has been acting weird. harry picked up on it after their nap, but it’s been lingering for the last couple days. she avoids eye contact with him, cuts conversations short, and even fell asleep without saying goodnight to him. he was pondering what he could have said to her to make her feel bad, but he couldn’t pinpoint it! he tried to relive the last few days, going over every (very few) interactions they had, but still coming up short.

that was until he remembered that they got high the night before the nap.

fuck. when he was high, all of his thoughts just came out. he has no filter, and everything he thinks, he says. what could he have said? what could have caused her to be so dismissive with him? he never thought anything ill of y/n (except for maybe when she forgets to put his keys back after moving his car) and he certainly wouldn’t have said anything to her that wasn’t the truth.

he gets up from his bed to go sit with y/n in the living room, who is currently sitting with her feet tucked under, reading a book.

“do you wanna go outside and smoke with me?” he offers, picking up the lighter and a pre-rolled joint. her eyes look up from the book, catching his own, as she marks her spot in the book and places it down.

she honestly wasn’t even really reading the book anyways. she’s been too busy thinking about her feelings towards harry to focus on anything else.

they walk out to the balcony, shutting the door and sitting down. the sun is setting, but it’s still pretty early for them to be smoking. it’s honestly odd that they’re smoking at all- he doesn’t like smoking more than once a week.

he hands the unlit joint to y/n, alongside the lighter, offering her the first hit. he knew she liked seeing the little paper burn at the top, and it always amused him how much it intrigued her.

“so… what’s going on? it’s the second night this week we’re getting high. it’s very… unlike you.” she says, covering the flame from the breeze in order to get a good light on the joint. she takes the first hit, a small cough building up again.

harry scratches the back of his neck. “that’s what i wanted to ask you about. i feel like you’ve been… distant from me lately. ever since our last smoke sesh. did i say something wrong?” he almost sounds nervous, she thinks, which makes her frown a little.

yeah, she’s been cutting their conversations short and been dry texting for the better half of the week, but it’s all because of him. the weird feeling that arose in her stomach when she thought about him saying that he “wanted to be her boy”, made her question a lot about their relationship. she couldn’t get over it.

“you seriously don’t remember what you said?” she passes the joint over to him.

“no, i really don’t. if it was anything mean or inapp-“ he’s quickly cut off by her own words.

“you told me that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me, and ‘love me in every way’. “

well, fuck.

he didn’t think he said something like that.

“uh…” was all he could muster out. he’s shocked at his words, and slightly embarrassed about it. he wants to crawl into a hole to curl up and die thinking about him saying that to her.

they both sit in silence for a few minutes, taking hits off of the joint whilst taking turns. y/n’s mind is running around all of the words he spoke to her that night, while his head is trying decide if he wants to tell the truth.

after finishing the last of the joint, y/n smushes it out in the ash tray and breaks the silence.

“if what you said was true, i wouldn’t mind being your girl.” she turns to look at him with a nervous smile.

“i… i- um…” his brain just won’t work! he’s trying to say something but for some god forsaken reason nothing will come out. he looks away from y/n, trying to gather his words. “i… i do… i do feel that way about you, yes. but don’t feel like you have to say anything about it. you can just pretend that you didn’t hear me. i mean clearly it was meant to be an inside thought, but i don’t think-“

his nervous rambling was cutoff by y/n turning towards him and pressing her lips against his. at first, his eyes go wide, not realizing what was happening, but as soon as he collects himself, he leans into the kiss.

y/n had been thinking about it- she knows that if their romantic relationship didn’t work out, they could never NOT be friends. she honestly doesn’t care if it would be awkward after, there was absolutely no way she could live without harry.

harry is the first to break away from the kiss. he can’t tell if his head is spinning because of the kissing or the weed, but either way, he loves it. the rush of adrenaline he got from getting a kiss from someone he always thought was off limits was addicting. kissing her was addicting, and he’s only done it once.

“you know how they say marijuana is a gateway drug?” he says, causing y/n’s eyebrow to raise.

slightly out of breath, she shrugs. “yeah?”

“well i think my gateway drug is you.”

he pulls her into his lap and puts his lips back on hers, but this time much firmer. she can’t believe what is happening right now. she’s kissing her best friend- the one who helped her get over her last girlfriend, the one who would always come and get her from the bar after a bad night out, and- the one who she never could have ever imagined showing any sort of interest in her.

her mind is all fucked by the dizzying kiss and the weed that was slowly entering her system. she’s straddled on harry’s lap, kissing him with a sense of desperation, and her body feels hot. she knows that they should talk about whatever this is between them before doing anything, but her body just can’t help itself from becoming aroused.

“can i touch you?” harry murmurs between kisses. his hands are on her hips, but he needs to feel her more. feel more of her body under his touch.

y/n lets out a small groan, and leans her head back. the way he sounds almost desperate is just so hot. “fuuuuck, yes please.”

her lips return to his, and his hands are moving around her body. around her thighs, around her back, her shoulders, neck, ass- everywhere on her body. his long fingers grasp and pull at her, and she can’t help but let out a little moan at the feeling when his grasp got a little tighter.

he smirks, lips still on hers, and lets out a small ‘hmm’. he pulls away just enough for him to speak. “fucking freak.”

y/n rolls her eyes. “you’re an asshole, you know that?” she says, smiling and leaning back to look at him. he has a shit-eating grin on his face, almost teasing.

his hands move around her ass, kneading the muscle in his palms. “oh no, i know. but i think you like it.” he states. “and i think there’s something you want from me.”

she looks around at the balconies around them- there’s nobody out here, and it’s dark out, apart from the light coming from their apartment. she’s not exactly an exhibitionist- but she’s so desperate for him to touch her, she’s willing to do anything.

“and what do you think that is?” she replies, a teasing tone in her voice.

his pupils have enlarged, the green iris almost invisible. his hands move from her ass to her hips, and he thumbs gently at her waistband. “i think… you want me to touch you under…” his thumb breaks the waistband of her shorts and fiddles with the top of her panties. “here.”

her breathing hitches at the feeling of his touch so close to where she wants it. “then do it.”

he shakes his head. “nope, i wanna hear you say it.” his voice is deep, and wanting.

listen, she’s not above begging. she may come off as someone whose ego is too big to beg, but if she wants something, she’s gonna try her damndest to get it.

she gulps. “please touch me harry, i want you to touch me and make me feel good.” she says in a small, pleading voice.

his cock twitches at the sound of her begging to touch her, and immediately gives in. his hands push down her shorts all the way, and he brushes his knuckle against her wet panties.

“all this for me? already so wet…” he says, ghosting his fingers across the fabric. his fingers pull her panties to the side, finally exposing herself to him.

her breathing is heavy, and her mind is fuzzy. her hips involuntarily jerk at his touch to her bare clit, and he can’t help but smile. collecting some of her arousal on his fingers, he traces gentle patterns on her clit. a loud moan leaves her lips, and her pussy is so wet, she can hear him playing with her.

“fuck, you hear that? hear how wet you are? hear how desperate you are for me to touch your pussy?” it’s official-he thinks. his favorite sound are the little moans of desperation she’s letting out. she can’t even be bothered to give a sarcastic reply, because he just feels so good touching her.

her hips start rocking back and forth slightly, encouraging his fingers to move faster. the little moans get louder the more friction there is on her clit, and her eyes are screwed shut from pleasure.

“f-fuck, harry, faster, please.” she begs. he lets out a little groan at her words, and it just fuels him to move faster. his fingers tease her entrance, dipping in slightly before pulling them out, focusing on her clit again. he looks up at y/n, seeing her eyes shut and face full of pleasure.

“nuh-uh, look at me. look at me while i rub your clit.” he demands. her eyes shoot open. holy fuck. he’s nasty. and she fucking loves it.

her eyes meet his, her jaw slack. the look in his eyes is nothing but lust. nothing but a need to touch her and make her feel good.

she feels her climax getting closer, and her hips start rocking harder on his hands. “fuck harry, that feels so fucking good, fuck.” her voice moans loudly.

hearing his name come from her mouth in a moan makes his cock throb. “you gonna cum for me? gonna cum all over my fingers? wanna hear you say my name when you cum. wanna hear who makes you feel this good.” he growls in her ear.

the words send her over the edge. she’s trying to keep eye contact with harry but her eyes roll back at the feeling of of her orgasm taking over her body. “i’m coming- i’m coming. harry- oh my god. fuck.” her voice is loud, feeding into his ego.

“oh, good girl… yeah, i want everyone to know who makes you feel like this. fuck, soaking my fucking hand, pet.” he almost moans at the sound of her voice. he gets off on making others feel good.

he rubs her clit, carrying her through her orgasm. before long, her hand meets his and pulls it from her clit. “t-too sensitive, fuck” she mumbles, justifying her actions.

she’s fucked out. the last few months she’s been getting nothing but mediocre lays and subpar orgasms, but honestly she thinks that it’s all led up to this moment. she leans her head on his shoulder, taking a few deep breaths. “you’re too good at that.” she says, finally breathing normally.

he chuckles. “so i’ve heard. how are you feeling baby?” he asks, checking in with her.

she raises her head to look at him. “great. that- was really good.” she responds. her memory is coming back, still hazy from the weed, but much clearer than a few minutes ago, and she breaks the question that they’re both thinking. “so um… what, what does this mean for us?”

harry smiles, his little dimple coming out. he suddenly gets a little shy. he pushes a tendril of hair behind her ear and looks at her flushed face. “if you wanted to, i’d like to take you out on a proper date.” he tries to keep his cool, but he always gets so shy when it comes down to it.

y/n likes what she hears. she’s so glad that they got over this barrier they’ve had the last few days. “i think i would like that very much, mr. styles.” she giggles a little bit with giddiness, nose scrunching up at the look of harry being shy over asking her out.

when she finally gets off of his lap, she looks down at his shorts and smiles.

“you want some help with that?”

[lieslab]

Will you still walk me home?

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Seungmin X gn reader

Summary: Your boyfriend snaps at you after your caring nature starts to feel like suffocation.

Genre: Angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 2k

Trigger warning: Mentions of anger and codependency issues.

_ _ _

At some point, you didn’t know how to detach your limbs from the stretched mold you’d been thrown into your entire life. Growing up and taking care of everyone around you, it left you wounded with more scars than you’d like to admit, but you survived, didn’t you? You always thought you should be thankful for that, at least. 

When you met Seungmin, the world warped from silver to gold. Strength, love, courage, optimism, and most importantly, companionship. Being with Seungmin meant companionship. You didn’t realize just how much that same companionship you loved would break him. You thought you were helping, not hindering. 

Seungmin had other ideas. 

_ _ _ 

“Good morning!” Your cheery voice filled the air. Across the way, Seungmin glided across the hardwood flooring with sleep in his eyes and sock-clad-feet. He rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up. 

“I made you coffee and I packed your lunch for the day.” 

“Okay.” 

“And I made you breakfast.” 

A grunt left his lips. Usually exhausted from the leftover bits of sleep, you didn’t take this as a bad thing, but rather a chance to continue. “So I was thinking that maybe after you finish work, we could-” 

“We can’t,” he interrupted before you could finish. “I have to stay at work late. I don’t know when I’m going to be home.” 

“That’s okay, maybe tomorrow we-” 

He sighed and rolled his eyes. The sight caused you to freeze. Your stomach twisted itself in knots. For whatever reason, the actions caused a lump in your throat. You didn’t dare finish your sentence. 

“Don’t you get tired of wanting to do everything together? God, you’re so clingy. Can’t you just go away or something? It’s to the point where I can’t even wake up and have my own breakfast because you think you know me better than myself.” 

“Don’t you get tired of doing this all the time?” He gestured around the kitchen. “Can’t you just worry about yourself for once? This is exhausting. You’re like a moth that keeps coming to my front porch light and every time I try to leave, you launch yourself at me. It’s not healthy.” 

The words swung and chipped away at your soul. The fine grains of sand shifted and down you fell. Sucked into a hole, more sand slid, and it suffocated you. It burned your lungs more than anything. The lump in your throat grew so prominent, you figured it’d burst into a sob. 

“I-I’m sorry,” you uttered weakly. Shame dusted your cheeks and caused your ears to burn red. “I-I didn’t know I was making you feel that way. I’ll stop.”  Your head bowed, hoping for forgiveness. 

“It’s about damn time,” he mumbled. His eyes cast over to the granite countertop. The warm cup of coffee you made him sat steaming. “I don’t even want hot coffee this morning. I want it cold.” He reached for the freezer, as if his words just didn’t matter. 

You blinked rapidly. The bite of tears became harder and harder to fight. Glossy little things coated your eyes and turned you into a mess. With your head ducked, you disappeared from the kitchen and back to your shared bedroom. 

You didn’t know why it hurt so much. His demands and outcry, it was a reasonable demand. You knew you could be overbearing, but on the other hand, it’s all you knew. You knew how to be overbearing and fill everyone’s cup before your own. To make sure every other plate is filled with food before you grab yours. 

Was that really such a bad thing? 

_ _ _ 

When you define yourself, you can't do it alone. The shape of other people clouds your silhouette. For as long as you could remember, there was never just you. Someone to please. Someone to manage. Someone to take care of. Your responsibilities littered with the sake of others. 

But what about you? Who picked you first? Who made sure you were tucked into bed and contained a stomach lined with a filling, hearty meal? Who took care of you when your shoulders slumped and you lay defeated due to disease? Who picked you up when you were down? 

Seungmin’s words stuffed your ears all day. The harsh words whispered against your eardrums, even without his presence. Who were you really? Alone. Isolated. Someone unable to find yourself in the murky sea of life. 

The tears kept coming and they stung. It became harder and harder to idly stand and continue working. Your shift stretched on and on. The entire time, you wanted to go home and curl beneath the covers. 

Who were you, really? Deep down, through the fixtures you hung, the need to care for others, what lay at the bottom of the ocean of you? What treasure unfolded? What kept you sane throughout all of this? 

By the end of the day, you weren’t sure if you ever really knew who you were from the start. A present day mess, warped and morphed by the past. You did what you had to survive. That’s all you knew. 

Why wasn’t it good enough? 

_ _ _ 

In the underbelly of the darkened night, guilt eased into Seungmin’s bones. He remembered the way your smile faded from your face. The hurt siphoned in your eyes. He knew he hurt you, but he didn’t know how to take it back. He spat out the words so easily, but coming to terms with his dickheadness, it hurt. All you wanted to do was make his life simpler. 

Jeongin picked up the lingering silence quite easily. As he drove Seungmin back to your shared apartment, he glanced over. “What’s wrong with you? You’re usually talking my ear off, but now you refuse to utter more than two sentences.” 

“Do you ever do something you regret? Lash out in a fit of frustration and never know what to say to heal the hurt? Because I said something this morning. I could have worded it better and I just…” 

“Ah, trouble in paradise.” Jeongin’s hands gripped the wheel tighter. He adjusted his grip on the wheel. “Well, I’ve lived most of my life with seven other guys who annoy me to no end because I’m the youngest. Remember the time I got mad at Chan because he kept babying me?” 

“Because you’re a baby in our eyes.” 

“I’m not much younger than you. I just wanted to be seen for myself. Not as a baby. Not as someone incapable. I might appear younger in your eyes, but I’m still grown, you know?”

“I know. We know. Sometimes, you’re just so cute, I can’t help it.” He reached out a hand and ran it through Jeongin’s hair. He yelped and shoved his hand away. Seungmin chuckled and glanced back out the window. 

Bits and brightened pieces of Seoul passed by. Buildings ignited with light. People scattered here and there. On their own path, a hundred lives flickered before him. Each one with their own thoughts and opinions. The passing thought caused his head to lean up against the window. Jeongin adjusted in his seat and kept driving. 

“My words came out wrong this morning. I worry about them a lot. I always do. When I see them constantly taking care of me, I worry so much. I worry that I’m not good enough. Maybe I’m not working hard enough to make them feel appreciated. Maybe, as much as it hurts, maybe I’m the shitty boyfriend that nobody wants.” 

“Then tell them that and talk through it.” 

_ _ _ 

When the door cracked open with Seungmin’s homecoming, you stared at the pile of dishes from the previous night. You always let the dishes from the previous dinner soak overnight. The bits and pieces of food stuck and dried to the sides. You let it soak with soapy water and that never changed until now. You worried that maybe if you did the dishes, Seungmin would grow upset again. 

Approaching footsteps soured your heart. Your hands rested against the edge of the sink. You didn’t bother moving them. Seungmin appeared in the door frame of the kitchen with messy hair. 

“You’re still here? Good. We need to talk.” 

Your fingers tightened around the lip of the sink. Your eyes shut and all you could do was hesitate. What if this was it? What if he broke up with you right here and now. What if- 

“I’m sorry.” 

Your eyes reopened and you stared at the wall in confusion. 

“I didn’t mean to snap at you this morning. I understand why you’re upset with me. That was a horrible and shitty thing to do. You just wanted to make sure I was taken care of. I hurt you in an indescribable way and I’m sorry.” 

He waited for your reaction, but you didn’t turn around. He sighed and a hand reached for the back of his neck. “I’m not good at these things. Jeongin said I should talk to you and tell you the truth. The truth is that I worry about you. You’re constantly taking care of me. Sometimes you take care of me and it feels like you abandon your own needs.”

“I love it when you make me morning coffee and breakfast. I like that there’s a thousand little things you do for me, but at the same time, I worry so much. You’re very codependent and I know it’s none of my business how you were raised, but I worry I’m being a horrible and terrible boyfriend.” 

The words sent a wave of panic through your heart. You jerked around instantly to find him. “Don’t say that, you’re not a horrible and terrible boyfriend.” 

“You do so much for me and what do I do for you? When you’re constantly taking care of me, you abandon yourself. You forget that your needs are important, too. I’m capable of taking care of myself. I know you like doing that, but we have to find a balance.” 

You didn’t respond right away. His words took a few moments to settle into your skull. He shifted the weight on the balls of his feet. “So I’m sorry and I know that doesn’t cut it. I said horrible things this morning out of my own stupid insecurity. I know you’re upset and mad, but what I’m trying to say is, please don’t be upset forever.” 

His eyes squeezed shut. “Because the truth is so much harder to describe. I love you so much and I’m afraid one day, you’ll see me as this horrible person because you do so much. I’m always working and so busy, what do I contribute to this relationship? It feels like you do everything. I try to do things too, but you’re really the only one contributing consistently.” 

“That's all I know how to do,” you finally whispered. “I don’t know how to be alone. I don’t know how to exist without taking care of others. For so long, it’s all I’ve ever known. Outside of that, I don’t know who I am.” 

Someone squeezed Seungmin’s heart and milked out despair. His silhouette blurred and before you knew it, you were wrapped up in a hug. The familiar scent of some fancy cologne, a subtle birchwood and vanilla. 

“Then we’ll figure it out together. We’ll grow and figure out how to balance each other out. It’ll take a while, but if we’re honest with each other, we can figure this out, right?” 

You nodded and sniffled. Seungmin squeezed you tighter and you wrapped your arms around one of his arms. “Thank you for being honest,” you whispered. 

“Shut up. Thank you for being you and taking care of me. I don’t deserve your love sometimes.” 

“You’ll always deserve to be loved.” 

“And you deserve to be taken care of, so shut up and let me hold you.” 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @danihwang882 @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz

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[robinminustherichard]

Several Sentences Sunday or whatever the kids are calling it

And If you See Me in the Darkness, I Hope You Know I'm Not Alone

BuckTommy | MCD Aftermath | Getting back together

It's a little under a month after they've buried Bobby that Tommy hears Evan laugh again. They're at the cemetery, Evan sitting at the side of Bobby's grave and Tommy leaning against the tree that throws just a few inches of shade over the headstone, five feet away.

He knows Evan has been here a few times with other members of the 118, with May, with anyone who has needed him; but based on the stoic face he wore to the funeral and beyond, Tommy imagines he hasn't actually talked to Bobby too much himself yet.

Tommy hadn't been listening in, wanted to give Evan privacy while still being present in the way he knew Evan needed--evidenced by the way he had texted Tommy earlier with can you come see Bobby with me? Please? Just me; but he hears the laughter anyway. It's loud and bright and more hysterical than Evan's laughter usually is, but it might be the best thing Tommy has heard in his life.

"--and, and get this, Bobby, he ran from the Army. He was pulling maneuvers I'm pretty sure he's only seen in movies--" Evan cuts himself off with more laughter and Tommy feels warmth welling up inside of him.

"God, if Athena really had been in that chopper I think she would have arrested Tommy when we got out just for scaring the hell out of her."

Evan laughs again, and Tommy sees one of Evan's hands reach up to swipe across his face. Tommy is torn between going to him and being rooted where he stands.

Evan, of course, makes up his mind for him by turning at the waist to look at Tommy. He holds a hand out towards Tommy, and Tommy can do nothing but go to him. He makes it to the grave in three long strides, letting their hands connect and his knees fold until he's sitting next to Evan.

"You told me once that Tommy is good people, and that he's good for me," Evan says, cracking and raw but firm, "at your fu-funeral, Athena pulled me aside and said," Evan hiccups on an breath in, another tear slides down his face. He composes himself before continuing.

"She said, 'Buck, that man came when you called. He loves your family just as much as you do. He looks at you like you're his everything. When I found that, in Bobby, I married him. It was the best five years of my life. I only got five years. Don't you dare waste another second denying yourself."

Tommy feels stunned down to his bones, only able to look at Evan in awe.

"I didn't listen to her, clearly," Evan says, and laughs under his breath, "because I haven't been fair to Tommy. I've relied on him through all of this but he has no idea what I'm thinking, where we are--"

"No, Evan--" Tommy finds the words to interject, but Evan only squeezes his hand and turns his eyes on Tommy's.

"It's true, Tommy. I'm sorry we haven't talked. It's never felt like the right time. But Athena was right, I can't keep denying myself...or you."

Tommy stays silent, knows that Evan needs to get his thoughts out all at once. He can't help but feel hope burst into his chest, however.

"I wan't you, Tommy. All of you. I want my great life love--that's you. If losing Bobby has taught me anything it's that I need to go after my happiness, and let it into my life completely. Because we never know when our lives will end."

Tommy feels tears in his own eyes well up, and he can't stop a shaky gasp from falling from his mouth.

"Tommy," Evan says, still looking right into Tommy's eyes, "any chance you'll give this another go with me? I've got it on pretty good authority that we're pretty stupidly in love with each other. I'm ready to admit that if you are."

"Yes," the answer is ripped from Tommy, "Yes, Evan. I want that too. I am so, so stupidly and hopelessly in love with you."

Evan laughs again, warm and delighted. Tears spill down his cheeks, but he grins blindingly. "Okay," he gets out between laughs, "Okay, Tommy."

Tommy's laughing too, suddenly finding himself unable to resist and further unable to stop. His sides are hurting but Evan is leaning into him, here in this cemetery, in the sunlight, and they're laughing and it feels like life running up to meet them.